Contents

The Flow Tales So Far

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Acknowledgement

The Whirlpool Scar

Victor Klayin

Copyright © 2025 Victor Klayin

All rights reserved.

The Flow Tales So Far

Zaleck Iavari, an albino farm teen from the city of Kaldhill, was kidnapped by slavers and taken south. Amidst the journey, other prisoners stage an escape and free him from his bonds. Only three captives survive that confrontation: Zaleck, a huntress named Vellis, and a Daht’Gahren monk named Arneth.

Pursued by the remaining slavers, the trio ends up in the ruins of Dessari Keep. There, in a battle for their freedom, Zaleck unlocks unknown magical powers. Arneth explains he is a “flowcaster”, one of a rare people who can command the “Flow of Life”. With the Flow, few things are beyond his control, providing he doesn’t break its fundamental rule: never use the Flow to kill.

After another scuffle with the pursuing slavers, they discover they are being hunted by none other than another flowcaster, archpriest Theron Vangard of the southern kingdom of Kaylor, also known as the “death kingdom.” Tired of running, the three decide to take the fight to Theron and travel to the city of Highport to confront him in hopes of finding out his plans.

The confrontation doesn’t go as expected, and Arneth is killed by Theron’s men. Zaleck, in a fit of rage, summons the Flow and unleashes a burst of flames that kills each of Theron’s men, save Theron himself. However, the fire around the dead soldiers never goes out, and they rise again as uncontrollable undead flaming zombies.

Fleeing from these “flamewalkers,” Zaleck and Vellis meet with Derith, another Daht’Gahren monk. Derith, who studied flowcasting theory, explains what happened. When flowcasters use the Flow to kill, they incur on what is known as a “Paradox Flow.” This is an uncontrollable magical effect that will attempt to find and destroy the flowcaster who created it, in this case, Zaleck.

To try and find a way to deal with the Paradox Flow, Vellis, Zaleck and Derith travel back to Highport. There, they perform a ritual by means of which Zaleck is thrust back into the memories of one of his past lives, one in which he learned how to deal with a Paradox Flow.

But the ritual doesn’t yield too many answers. Zaleck remembers a life when he was a steppe rider called Beri Ezzari and was taught flowcasting by a woman called Erona Aellar. She told him there is only one way to dissolve a Paradox Flow, one way that is three ways at once. Those are: the way of justice, through which he must accept the punishment for his actions; the way of forgiveness, through which he must regret what he did and seek penance, and the way of power, through which he must resist the very forces he unleashed upon the world.

Right after the ritual, Theron Vangard tracks them down, forcing Zaleck, Vellis and Derith into a confrontation. Theron starts with the upper hand, especially because he possesses five magical rings that each grant him a different power. At the last moment, they defeat him when Zaleck has the idea of weakening the ground beneath his feet, causing him to fall and lose consciousness.

When the flamewalkers catch up to Zaleck, who’s still unable to decipher the meaning behind Erona’s words, he decides that his life isn’t worth the lives of everyone else endangered by the Paradox Flow. Step by step, he advances towards the flamewalkers, coming face-to-face with them. They turn their flames at him, creating a burn scar in his chest in the shape of a whirlpool.

To his surprise, Zaleck survives this confrontation, though he loses the ability to flowcast. Vellis gives him Theron’s magic rings and takes him back home, where he finally meets up with his family once again.

Chapter 1

The Flow weaves through the world, filling it with life, bringing about every thought, emotion and experience—good and bad. It makes no exceptions; it plays no favorites. It creates every single creature, even the rabbit that nibbled at a patch of clover, five paces away from Zaleck.

Holding his breath, Zaleck aimed the bow. No leaves rustled in the woods. The few strands of silver-white hair that fell over his eye were not enough to make him lose sight of his prey. If he let the arrow fly, they’d have meat tonight. He squinted, his arm at the cord shaking with effort.

The rabbit’s ears perked up, its head scanning about on high alert.

Zaleck closed an eye, aiming still. He would not lose this prey, not this time. This time, he would hit it.

In a heartbeat, his perception shifted. He was no longer crouching behind the bushes, but he knelt by the clover as well. He wasn’t aiming at the rabbit, but he also looked for danger around him. Himself and the rabbit, both at once.

A blink later and his senses got thrown back into his usual self. The arrow flew sideways, and the rabbit hopped away.

He cursed, dashing after the rabbit, his knees burning with the sudden effort so much he almost lost his footing.

What had just happened?

He leaped over a fallen log by the woods, his foot missing it just so. A patch of white fur scampered between the bushes ahead. Zaleck evened his breath. He could still get it.

Running right to the left of the rabbit, he forced its fleeing path to veer towards an outcropping of boulders at the foot of a ravine. The rabbit fell as it tried to scurry atop a rock.

With nowhere it could run now, Zaleck once more raised the bow.

The rabbit climbed over a boulder, looking for a hole to crawl into. It tried to fit into a dark shadowy patch but only half its body got in.

Zaleck aimed. And aimed. He gritted his teeth, the sense of the rabbit’s pounding heart still with him from when he shared bodies with it. Its fear, panic, almost streaking alongside his sweaty brow.

He couldn’t do it.

Lowering his aim, he sighed as the rabbit finally climbed over a rock and disappeared into the woods.

A whistle blew through Zaleck’s ear as another arrow passed by him, striking the unseen rabbit further away, an impossible shot, except for one person.

Zaleck released the tension from his bow, beating earth off his pants while trying not to look up.

She wouldn’t let this one go.

A stout woman passed by, her red braided hair dangling behind her in a way that always seemed too slow to be real. Zaleck expected a frown and disapproval from her deep green eyes, but she seemed to make it a point not to look at him. Vellis, the ex-assassin huntress, his best friend despite decades of an age gap between them.

The sunlight filtering through tree leaves danced by her skin and brown clothes while she knelt by the dead rabbit, retrieving both her arrow and their dinner.

The rabbit had died, and despite his sudden burst of synchronicity, Zaleck felt nothing. No Flow, no power.

Again, he sighed.

Only after tying the rabbit to her belt did she pierce Zaleck with her gaze. The scar on her left cheek seeming to draw her mouth ever downward.

“Do you mind explaining what this was about just now?” she asked.

Zaleck still avoided her gaze as he answered. “What was what?”

“You know what I mean, Zal! When we practice with tree trunks, you hardly miss a shot. You had the rabbit right there. You missed it once, but why didn’t you try to shoot it again?”

“I thought…” he clenched his fists, “I was… I dunno!”

She read right through him, though. He could tell by the way she moved closer, softer, and by how her voice came out mellower.

“Were you thinking about flowcasting again?”

Zaleck bit his lip. He hoped silence would be answer enough, but every chirp of the birds and every rustle of the treetops by the wind seemed to clutch his throat even more.

“You—you don’t know what it’s like!” he blurted, “I–I could do so much stuff before! I could feel so many things! And since I came back, nothing. I’m alone here, Vel! I’m alone and no one understands.”

His chest hammered harder than he thought it would. Hearing his own voice say it had been worse than if Vellis had called him out herself.

Zaleck tensed when Vellis drew near him. If she laid her hand on his shoulder and tried soothing him yet again, he would run away right then. Instead, she just passed him by.

“Come,” she said.

Out of the woods, they emerged upon the path of beaten earth that led towards the farms dotting the hillside around Kaldhill. The blue sky had started reddening as the two suns began their twilight descent. They’d be home before dark, by that pace.

“I—I didn’t want to kill it…” he started, “I felt…” was he going to say it? How would he say it? “I thought it was so scared, is all.”

Nonsense. He felt its panic right down to his bones, that’s what happened, but how would he say it and not seem weaker?

“It’s alright.” Vellis said, though she sounded unconvinced. “I also had to learn how to hunt, one day, and the first kill wasn’t easy for me either.”

“How d’you do it, then?”

She leaned her head backwards and wiped a few hair strands from her face.

“Hunger spoke louder. It was a nasty winter, that one… Don’t beat yourself over it.”

Zaleck might not beat himself over not killing the rabbit, but that flashing moment still lingered. He felt something. Not the rabbit’s Death Flow, for sure, but something. He closed his eyes, reaching out to the Flow once more, though, as always before, nothing answered. It was like a hole had been carved in his chest, where the whirlpool scar now stood. It was like losing sight, and going blind, even though he could still see.

“You know, right before I flew the arrow, I, kind of…” his voice trailed off when Vellis stopped walking, tensing.

As the last bend that led back to their house came up, someone came toward them. A short man in a blue jacket riding a green gelding. He nodded slightly at the two of them, tipping his bicorne hat at Vellis while he rode away.

Only when the man was far enough that Zaleck thought he wouldn’t hear them did he risked asking.

“What’s wrong?”

“That man, he’s an officer from the crown.”

Zaleck frowned. “The crown? What would the queen want with us?”

He rushed to Vellis as he finished his question. She already strode on towards the house.

Stone walls held the thatched roof atop which only a sliver of smoke still ran. Though they should be readying for dinner, it seemed the fire hadn’t been lit yet. Candlelight seeping through the windows lit the whole room within.

They went in to find the whole family by the table. Zaleck’s father hunched forward. His brothers and sister before him, and his mother at the oven, turned to them. They all glanced at Zaleck and Vellis with eyes too wide, brows too raised. Only little Rina, his sister, looked down, sobbing.

Vellis sighed, taken by a sudden weariness, like she already knew what this was all about.

Iavad, Zaleck’s father, bent by the table and leaned toward Zaleck while extending a hand at his son.

“S’down, son,” he said.

His toned arms moved heavily, his slender tan-hued frame, always so imposing, motioned with a slow shaking. Zaleck hesitated.

“Da’… what’s going on?”

Iavad blinked, tired.

“S’down, Zaleck. Please.”

He sat, all the while glancing at Arius and Navid, his younger brothers, who couldn’t stop staring at him with mouths half open, and at Zida, his mom who now clearly wiped tears from her cheeks with her apron.

His father spoke with a somber tone, “The death kingdom has invaded. Highport has fallen. The queen ordered every household to contribute one man or woman of fighting age to help in the war.”

Zaleck pressed his back against the chair, his breath getting heavier and heavier.

War. After all he went through, after letting Theron live, war had still come to them.

“B—but… no. Why?”

Iavad looked down. Zaleck gritted his teeth. He had lost his flowcasting, and now he would lose his family all over again. He would have to go fight a war he started, from which he may never return, like his older brother never did years before.

“When was this?” Vellis broke the silence, leaning on the wall behind Zaleck.

“Bit over a fortnight ago,” Iavad replied.

Vellis nodded, “Damn, the queen’s moving fast, as she should.”

“Miss Vellis,” Zida said, “you’ve been in the army afore. D’you think ours can win?”

Vellis sighed again, then closed her eyes, shaking her head. “No. If we could build a coalition of the northern kingdoms… who knows, but both Aeloria and Voulan would like nothing better than for Ayrn to fall. Highport is extremely defensible. If it’s fallen already, I don’t see how we can win this.”

Zaleck gazed at his father, whose weariness sagged every move, at his mother, whose frown of worry only deepened, and his brothers and sister, who could only stare at Iavad in start fear.

Zaleck forced his next words out.

“When… when d’I have to go?”

Iavad snapped his glance back at Zaleck.

“You’re not going, son.”

“But, what d’you —”

“I’m the one who’s going,” his father said.

Zaleck stood up, his chair tumbling down behind him.

“No! No, Da’! It has to be me. I’m already of fighting age.”

“We’re not losing you again, son!”

“But it’s my fault!” He spat back. “I did this! I have to go.”

“No!” His father yelled. He leaned at him, holding both his shoulders in his hands. “You don’t ever, ever repeat that again, d’you hear? ‘Tis not your fault! You did everything you could to stop this. Promise me, right now, you’ll never say it again.”

Zaleck swallowed dry.

“Al—alright, but, Da’, ‘tis not fair. I’m learning to swordfight, and to shoot the bow. I can go, really.”

Iavad drew him near, whispering at him.

“I know you’re brave enough, son, but if you did, it would break Ma’ for good. Stay, take care of everyone else, stay and live.”

Zaleck took a step back, his breath pushing a gasp out of his mouth.

“But, if you go, you—you won’t —”

Come back. But those words clogged at his throat, strangling his voice to a wheeze.

Zaleck turned and ran away. Four steps out of the common room and into their communal bedroom. He punched the stone wall, though he only bruised his hand in the process, and solved nothing.

Is that why he got the scorch marks in his pale arms, the scars in his belly and the whirlpool-shaped burn in his chest? Is that why Arneth died? So Zaleck would live to see his father die in a ditch, fighting a war he himself began?

If he were a flowcaster, he’d end this war in a heartbeat, Paradox Flow or not. He wasn’t one anymore, but he might still help his father somehow.

Reaching beneath his hay pile, he pulled back his sword. Not the wooden, practice one, but the steel blade Vellis got him back in Wolfpine. He’d been keeping it sharp and oiled, but there had been no need for it for the last months. In the army, though, you could keep whatever equipment you owned, and it was not like the army would issue his father a blade like this.

As he retrieved it, a wooden thud drew him to the small box that lay beside his sword. No bigger than his hand, it still contained the five rings from Theron Vangard. Each of them granted a different ability, and though three of those were a mystery to him, he still remembered quite well the two rings he saw Theron use. One of these, a jade ring with an inlaid amethyst, might be what would save his dad’s life. He took the ring, cool to the touch, the purple facets of the amethyst glistening under candlelight.

He hated Theron enough to not use these rings, and they reminded him too much of Arneth to throw them away. To save his father’s life, however, he would swallow the bitterness and bring them back into the world.

Zaleck walked back into the common room.

“…likely they concentrated their forces there and—” Vellis stopped talking as she glanced at him.

Zaleck inched towards his father, step by step, extending him his sword.

Iavad perked up, his eyes staring straight into Zaleck’s. He nodded with a soft smile when he took the sword by its scabbard.

“Thank you, son. I’ll make good use of it.”

Zaleck took a step back. “There’s one more thing I ought to give you, Da’.” He held the ring up to him as well.

Iavad, Zida and Vellis widened their eyes.

“By The Twelve, son,” his father said, “what’s that? You could buy a house with this!”

“Son, where d’you get this?” Zida asked.

“We took it,” Vellis answered, “from Theron Vangard. This is a magical ring, mister Iavad.”

Iavad slowly took the ring from Zaleck’s hands, turning it over as he admired its inlays.

“Son… I can’t take it. T’is too much.”

“Please dad, put it on.”

Iavad tried it until finding it fit his middle finger. As soon as he pushed the ring in, Zaleck grasped his sword hilt and drew it from the scabbard held by Iavad. He whirled the blade around and struck right at his father’s neck.

Everyone gasped.

Less than an inch from the skin, the blade was thrust back, pushed away with such strength that it flew from Zaleck’s hand, landing beside the door.

Only when the sword hit the ground did his mother cry out in surprise. His father stood up, retreating two steps. His brothers swallowed a yell. Vellis pressed her forehead, sighing.

“Wow!” Rina said.

Iavad still struggled to find his breathing again, while Zaleck explained.

“While you use this ring, no metal weapon can touch you. Take it, Da’. Take it and come back for us. Then we can buy a house with it.”

Zida touched Iavad’s shoulder, her lines of worry replaced by a different expression, as muted hope shone through her eyes.

Iavad knelt before Zaleck, placing a hand in his head.

“That’s a deal son. I’ll take it, and I’ll come back for you.”

Chapter 2

Keena scrubbed her arms in the river water, washing away the blood, trying not to scrub herself raw. She brushed each finger, leg, and toe, and still found red clots in her nails. Even her hair, the more she washed it, scarlet streams ran down her brown locks.

Beside her lay the still twitching carcass of the elk, soaking the riverbank’s earthen ground with blood.

Gods, an elk. She had killed an elk. The thrill of the hunt still dwindled in her mind—how she ran after it, how it tried to escape, jumping over logs and bushes, only to find her right after it. Then, the kill, cleaving her knife in its soft and yet muscular, rippling skin, feeling its life ebbing away as she opened its belly and sank her teeth into the animal’s entrails…

She convulsed, lurching forward to retch into the river as her belly twisted.

It had happened again—this bloodlust frenzy. What was going on with her? This time it hadn’t been rabbits or foxes; it had been a whole bloody elk.

She leaned over the riverbank, washing off her clothes. She held her cotton dress, once so white, now a mess of running crimson blood. She scrubbed it in the river, over and over, darkening its waters with each rinse.

No matter how much she cleaned it, though, a brownish taint remained, splotching her dress all over. She needed to scrub it with a soap, she needed to leave it by the sun, she could do neither.

She could try telling her parents it was her own blood on the dress, if they asked about it. When they asked about it. After all, she had just started her monthly bleeding, but to have it all over her dress? Dad and Mom would never believe her.

How could she go back home? What could she tell them this time? She had managed to hide it the other times, when it had happened with small animals. Maycon, her younger brother, even helped her with a few white lies, though he made her promise to tell them the truth afterwards. She didn’t.

However, the true issue still stood a few paces away from her. The knife she used to kill the elk. It lay on the ground, amid running blood. Her mother’s kitchen knife. She would have to take it back, one way or another.

Back when she killed the rabbits, she had no idea what triggered it. When she ran for the foxes, she started suspecting it. This time, however, she knew it. It happened when she picked up a knife. Each of the three times she lost herself to the frenzy after touching a knife.

She crept toward the blade, stepping as widely as she could to avoid the elk’s blood and gore. The knife, an arm-length away, beckoned her, called to her, daring her to wield it again.

She found a wooden stick by the ground to nudge it into the river, holding it with part of her dress wrapped around its handle as the water washed over it. This would further sully her dress, but what could she do?

There was no way around it this time… she needed to tell them. What would they do? Send her away? Abandon her? That couldn’t happen, she wouldn’t have it.

Yet, the thought still loomed. Rabbits, then foxes, now an elk… how long until she would to it to people, to her mom, dad, or brother?

Finally, she put on her dress, soaking and drenched, dirty and bloodstained. She couldn’t stay away for long. Mom would call her for breakfast any time. She took all care not to touch the knife as she wrapped it around her belt.

The short walk through the woods back to her home took her over the hill overlooking Ironshore. The clutter of stone and wooden houses pressed together towards the beach by both hills and woods, right beside the mouth of the Chiorn river, so wide that even as she crested a hill she couldn’t see the other side. The town’s shadows still fell upon the waters of the Great Sea as the suns were coming up. A few fishing boats were already being cast into the water and another, hardier ship approached from the horizon.

A ship whose flag wasn’t Ayrnian.

She hurried to her house. The two-storied building by the woods still stood as silent as the city, with only a few muffled sounds coming from the kitchen, carrying her dad and mom’s voices.

She crouched, stepping as lightly as possible while approaching the back door. She pressed it with her hands, trying to avoid its cranking sound while opening it. If she could reach the stairs, she might make it to her bedroom unseen.

A lanky boy with messy brown hair and a diminutive nose over a wide mouth faced her as she entered the house. He carried an empty bucket that he put down as he glanced at her. Though still thin as sticks, his arms had already started to develop from helping their father at the forge. A month later and he still hadn’t lost the haunted look, the one he gained the night their parents had to choose between sending him or his twin to serve in the army.

“Keena,” his brother whispered, “where the hell’s you’ve been? Why are you—”

Keena looked down, shivering with the cold and with her own memories.

“It’s happened again, Maycon. Worse this time.”

“Damn it!” he said, “Mom and Dad are in the kitchen. Dad’s woken up already. If you hurry up you might make it to your room. By the ash, Keena, you gotta tell them.”

Keena nodded. She could reply, but what would she tell him that wouldn’t be a lie? She tiptoed towards the stairs as fast as she could without making too much sound. At the fifth step, the wood creaked.

“Keena, is that you?” her mother called from the kitchen.

Keena froze, gasping in silence while still climbing the stairs. Another board creaked.

“Come here, Keena!” her dad called out.

Her hand shook at the handrail. Her breathing came faster than her own heart. She had to say something, but what?

A knock thundered at the door. Keena almost jumped at the sound, bolting upstairs.

“Who is it now?” her dad said from the kitchen as she slipped into her room. She stepped beside her wooden bed with its wool-stuffed mattress, kneeling before her oak chest with iron fittings. On any other day, she would take her time choosing from one of her ten dresses. Pressed as she was, she picked up the first she found, which slipped away at her shaking hands. She put the dirty dress she wore far beneath the others, also taking a pair of shoes from under her bed.

She ran her hand through her hair one more time, to make sure no red cloths remained. She tensed her hands to keep from shaking, and opened the window.

At a time Ironshore would be slowly waking up to the new day, dozens of people ran about the street, some shouting, some crying out. Everyone hurried somewhere, like dizzy ants whose anthill had been crushed.

She skipped a breath. Something seemed to be happening in town, something not good. From within her house, his father’s voice yelled at whoever he was talking to.

She came out of her room in time to see the door slamming shut. From the second-floor corridor she glanced at her father. Jorgen Venan, a huge hulking mass of muscles of a man whose burly hands always had the softest touch for her.

He shot her a glance as well, a mix of worry and annoyance in his eyes.

“Come down, Keena, quick! Maycon, where are you, come here!” he shouted in his gruffy voice. This was no ordinary urgency in his tone.

“Come now!” her father urged as he went for the kitchen.

Maycon came back from the garden.

“Dad? What’s happening?”

“Children, come at once!” her mom’s voice sounded from the kitchen. Though worried, she still didn’t lose her melodic tone.

Keena went down the stairs, glancing once at her brother.

Layra, her mother, stood at the kitchen, stuffing bread, cheese and ham into bags.

“There you are, girl!” she said with hardly a glance at Keena, “where have you been? I’ve been calling you all morning. Here, quick, fill in these bags, we’ll talk about it later.”

She moved towards her mother, but her father came before her.

“Kids, listen, we have a problem and—have you been swimming?”

Keena ran a hand through her sticky, moist hair.

“Oh, no, I was, eh, washing outside and—”

Jorgen grabbed her shoulder, still gently, but harder than she ever felt it.

“Listen up, there are Kaylorite raiders approaching, we must leave, now! Take only what you need, grab a backpack, and help your mom, we’re getting out of here.”

Keena blinked. The ships she saw, they were from the death kingdom?

“Eh, okay…”

“Maycon, you come with me.” Jorgen left the kitchen, his steps resounding through the floor’s wooden planks. Maycon followed.

Keena breathed deeply twice before getting a grip of herself. The one time she needed a diversion from her parents, and she got it in the form of an attack on their village. Was that the Gods’ or the Ashen’s doing?

“I’ll say,” her mother mumbled as she stuffed their backpacks, “as if taking my Alaron weren’t enough, where’s that army the queen promised when we need it?”

As she began helping her mother, the city’s gong started ringing.

Moments later, before Keena could have filled half of the bags her mother had separated, Maycon came back in full travel gear.

“Mom, Keena, are we ready?”

“Go get your father,” Layra said.

Jorgen came back into the house. Keena held her breath at the sight of the score of swords and knives he carried.

He extended one to Maycon.

“Here, son, take it.”

Maycon gasped, naked amazement in his eyes.

“Dad…” he said.

“Take it, son. You might need it.”

Screams started coming from the streets outside. The alarm gong now rang faster still.

Maycon took the sword. Jorgen ran for the door.

“Let’s go, everyone.”

Grabbing hold of whatever they could run with from the kitchen, the family of four stepped out of their house into Ironshore’s streets.

The city had already devolved into chaos. Downtown, closer to the beach and the harbor, people ran around, armed soldiers at their heels. The ship she had gazed now loomed closer and closer, though it hadn’t yet landed.

Then where had the Kaylorites come from?

They had but turned around the bend of their house, moving towards the woods, when an arrow zipped by them. Five armed men appeared from the bushes, encircling them. Dry and hungry stares bore into Keena from dirty faces and smirking lips.

They came from the woods. Keena might have walked right past them on her way back, or maybe they’d followed her. Had she doomed their family when she ran out of home earlier?

The soldiers loomed closer, sizing up the fleeing family. Though Jorgen and Maycon had blades, the Kaylorites all wore lamellar mail and wielded metal clubs. They weren’t out to kill them; they meant to capture them.

Maycon gripped his sword, breathing heavily while the blade tip shook. Jorgen took a step before Layra, covering Keena with a hand while the other raised his blade.

The five men grinned. One of them, looking straight at Keena, licked his lips.

Maycon screamed, raised his sword and advanced.

“No, son!” Jorgen said.

Maycon attacked, the Kaylorite parried his blade while connecting a punch to his belly. His brother reeled back. Another Kaylorite struck him, the club hitting his leg. Maycon fell on the ground, screaming in pain.

“No!” Jorgen cried. “Ashes, where are you? If I ever needed you, it’s now!” He advanced as well. Three Kaylorites converged upon him. The opponent before him stepped aside, dodging his attack, while two others hit him simultaneously from each side. Jorgen kneeled on the ground, letting out a grunt of pain. Two enemies immobilized him while another took a rope and started tying him up.

The remaining two closed the distance to Layra and Keena. Her mom stood before her, but both men advanced, grabbing her arms and turning her around.

Her mother let out a cry of pain before calling to Keena, “Run, Keena, run!”

Keena turned around, starting a sprint she never completed. The last Kaylorite grabbed her arm, forcing her down onto the cold wet floor.

Keena screamed. The soldier laughed.

“Nice haul!” he said, “and we can have some fun right now!”

Her mother flailed on the ground as the enemy on top of her started raising her skirt. Her dad thrashed, but three Kaylorites tied him up as he yelled.

“No! No! Layra!”

The soldier on top of Keena twisted her arm, shooting up pain across her shoulder. She was forced down, face flat on the cobblestone street. The soldier kneeled on top of her.

There, right in reach of her right hand, stood a sword handle in the soldier’s sheath.

It called for her, it drew her in, it promised carnage and blood, while it also promised salvation. At the same time, the sight of the dismembered elk flashed in her mind, and she hesitated.

The soldier gripped her leg with callused hands, his fingers running up her thighs.

Keena gasped. With wide and teary eyes, she let out a single prayer.

“Divine, forgive me. Dad, Mom, forgive me.”

She reached out, her hand closing on the soldier’s blade.

Chapter 3

A week of travel, two weeks training. That was how much time Iavad had before being thrust into the war. The unit he’s been assigned to, under captain Willas Merani, took to patrolling the supply lines that ran from Caerlon to Wolfpine.

In two weeks, he’d already been in two skirmishes, though he hadn’t fought on any. The first happened in a flash. Before he could have arrived at the scene, it was over, and his only job was to take the wounded back to camp. The second happened at night. Kaylorite scouts testing the road had found them, exchanged a few arrows, and ran away.

A few days later, the order had come for Willas to scout west of Olderhill and assess the strength of Kaylorite presence between Bluecliff and Wolfpine.

Willas’s command consisted of mainly northern conscripts, farmers, smiths, miners and the like. He had only four hunters under him, and so he composed the scouting unit of these, plus a survivalist, an apothecary, and two others who tagged along to learn the ropes.

Iavad was learning the ropes. No one expected a farmer whose only training had been with a spear to amount to much in a mission like this, but, as Willas said, everyone’s got to learn from someone.

They’d been to three villages already. In every one they heard talk of Kaylorite parties snooping around. No one could say the exact size of these groups, though, and thus, the mission drew them westward.

They walked through woods who would hide them, and by creeks who would mask their passage. In spite of the few mounts, the terrain seemed intent on stretching itself into a multicolored plain dotted by the occasional farmstead or the abandoned fort. At night one of them would always take sentry duty while the others ate. That is, except for Gaenlen, the apothecary. He was the only one who could give their gruel any semblance of flavor.

Quenn, the other soldier in training, had been assigned sentry duty this time. A lanky lad so eager to prove himself that when Dickard told him to keep quiet, he said nothing for four days straight. That earned him the nickname that’d likely stay with him all through his life in the army, “Silent pup.”

Only a few stars lit the sky that night. Clouds gathered and scattered, revealing the moons at odd intervals. Gaenlen picked up everyone’s bowls after meal when he whispered to Iavad.

“Where’s Pup? Hasn’t he come back?”

Iavad shrugged, Gaenlen spit, turning to Dickard, the leader for this party.

“We’re missing one,” Gaenlen said, “Pup hasn’t come.”

Dickard snorted.

“Tripped on his own feet while taking a piss, more likely. Iavad, he’s from around your place, go fetch him.”

Iavad stood up, walking out of their darkened camp.

“No chances, farmer,” Dickard called out, “anything funny and you come right back.”

Iavad nodded, leaving the others to set up their cots while he started walking aimlessly around, looking for a green lad who might as well have deserted by now. He’d been told there were two types of people who deserted. There were the ones who’ve been in the business for too long, seen too much, and at one point they snapped, and the ones who saw one battle, and couldn’t take another. Iavad sure thought Quenn would be of the second type.

Of course, he could likewise have been lost. Looking for Quenn while keeping track of the camp proved to take longer than Iavad expected, with the night advancing and the dark so thick he struggled to see his feet.

How long should he look for the boy before taking him for a loss? No one told him that in training.

A ruffle on the bushes far to his left and Iavad reached for his spear. He’d been shown about five different combat stances, but right then he grasped at the wooden haft like a hoe.

A glint by the floor drew him in, a buckle. Around the buckle, a torso with gambeson and padded chausses on the legs. A face with a scraggly beard stared up, eyes unmoving, an arrow sticking from his mouth.

Quenn.

Iavad took a step back, his jaw slackening as he glanced at the body. He blinked once, twice, and still the corpse lay before him. Dead already. That very night Quenn had been sitting beside him, cracking bad jokes, telling him of his folks up in Ayrith and how he’d do right by then to send all of his earnings to his ma’.

No more bad jokes from Quenn, no more earnings for his ma’. Dead.

Something tugged at Iavad’s neck, as if someone had flicked it. He turned around in time to see an arrow fly straight at his eye, bounce back and lodge itself on a trunk.

The Kaylorites had found him, and they’d have killed him if not for Zaleck’s magical ring.

He ran back to the camp faster than he should have in the dark, even if it was too late. They were likely already surrounded.

He yelled.

“To arms! To arms! We’re under attack.”

Three more arrows zipped at him. Two missed him, but one would have struck him in the back if not for the ring. His son’s gift had saved his life two times already.

He screamed and screamed as he ran back to camp, until he stumbled and fell, tripping over roots and scratching his face on vines. He almost got up when a dark shape jumped over him, a glinting metal blade in his hand aiming for Iavad.

The assailant struck at him with a knife, or perhaps a shortsword, a cut that would have found his neck, had it not bounced back, away from his hand and into the dark. The enemy’s eyes widened, confused for but a moment.

A moment in which Iavad’s own sword, the second of Zaleck’s gifts, pierced his neck instead. The Kaylorite gurgled something while Iavad struck again, and again, and again, sticking his blade into every pore of the man’s body.

Chest hammering, Iavad stood up. His enemy spasmed under his feet, blood gushing from a score of wounds.

The first time he’d ever taken a life. It wouldn’t be the last.

Iavad ran again, the camp now appearing in between trees. The ringing sound of clashing steel guided Iavad, who picked up his spear as he went back into the clearing. He ran at a Kaylorite from behind. Four members of his scouting party already lay dead. Kaylorites flooded them.

Two enemies came at him. All training instructions ignored, Iavad ran straight at them, spear in hand. They parried his attack with a blade, closing in on him while one man grabbed his arm and the other stabbed his neck.

The attack never connected. Instead, another sword bounced away. Iavad drew his blade again, thrusting it into the man’s head from beneath. The one who held him also picked a short blade and attacked, only to lose his weapon as well. Iavad pushed the thrusting blade into the man’s eye. Another Kaylorite dead.

Gaenlen the apothecary fell with a long gash at his neck. Only Iavad and Dickard remained, and four Kaylorites advanced. Dickard screamed something at Iavad, but he couldn’t hear it amidst his own shouts when he dashed towards the enemies. Iavad struck, the opponent dodging with a step back while two others grabbed him and held him down. Dickard’s sword met the dodging man from behind, only to be struck by an arrow at the back.

The two men who held Iavad thrust at him with their own blades. When their hands were pushed backwards, Iavad disentangled from them. Grabbing one of the opponents and rolling over him, he punched the man’s nose once and started strangling him. The other opponent struck at him once more, only for his weapon to go flying away.

Iavad squeezed the man’s neck, locking eyes with that grimy bearded face who now regarded him in both horror and shock. The Kaylorite gnawed at him, eyes bulging.

Iavad knew one other enemy stood behind him, knew he would attack him, but he could not disengage; he had to pry out the life from that man, he had to feel his neck breaking under his thumbs. This thing, this one thing, he’d do it by himself.

The man went limp in his grasp as Dickard fell beside him. The opponent at his back now thrashed on the ground, Dickard’s sword sticking from his chest. Only one Kaylorite remained, a woman, by the shape of the gambeson. Iavad stood up. They both exchanged a glance for one breath. A moment when Iavad begged her in silence to walk away. She didn’t.

She dashed towards him. Iavad kneeled, picking up his enemy’s dagger. The woman rushed to him, striking from two sides at once. Her two weapons being thrown away forced her to stumble back, her guard open.

His blade found her neck. She screamed, advancing at him in the maddening last moments of one whose life is forfeit. He pushed her close with a hand, a gesture that could easily have been caring, if only he hadn’t pierced her heart.

She fell. Iavad stumbled sideways, sitting down on the same larger rock where he’d had his meal earlier.

Over... was it over? Yes, it was. But then, why wouldn’t his hands stop shaking? Why wouldn’t his chest stop drumming? He ran a hand by his hair, smearing it in blood. He grasped at it, as if pulling out every strand could make him forget.

He wouldn’t, though. He would never.

One moment, he was a farmer thrust into a war, in the next, he became...

How easy had it been, after it started. Just a slice of the blade, just another death. How many have he killed right then? He chuckled with a nervous gasp. What was he doing? Counting his kills? Had it already come to this?

Zaleck, his son, he’d been through this as well. He’d seen all of this too. Iavad’s heart sank, back when his son told the tales of his capture. Now, however, now he knew. He knew why his son had never raised that easy smile again, why he’d grown so quiet since coming back, or why he’d never ran, excited, when Iavad came home from a trip anymore. Something had died in his little boy; something had died in him as well.

Up to this day, Iavad still thought he could somehow go back home, kiss his wife again, embrace his kids. Gazing at the scores of corpses around him, he knew better now. Iavad Nareni would never go back home. Someone else might, but not the farmer, not the man Zida married.

Arms and legs still twitched around him. Dickard and his gruffy orders, gone. Gaenlen and his spices, gone. Everyone, his whole unit, turned to lifeless meat under the dark night.

In training, no one told him what to do if his whole team was murdered before his very eyes. Maybe he should go back and report. Go back without his team.

A shudder ran through his back. No, he would not do that. Instead, he rummaged through everyone’s backpacks, picked up a good sizeable score of rope, tied their shoulders one to another making big handles, passed them over his own shoulders, and started walking.

Yes, that was just like in the farm, but instead of pulling a plow, he’d be pulling the deceased body of his comrades. He could do that.

A day went by until he came upon the nearest village. The villagers gazed at him in mute disbelief as he edged closer. Perhaps out of pity, or out of fear, they let him have a cart, where they helped pile the dead bodies. They didn’t lend him a horse, though. Their charity only went so far.

Three days later, he arrived at the encampment of captain Willas Merani. The sentry guards stood silent as Iavad passed them by, scores of soldiers opening a way for him as they gathered by the entrance. A subdued rush of comments ran through them, but not enough that Iavad could hear anything.

He stumbled, falling on his now-reddened knees from the journey back. Two pairs of hands held him up. A dumbstruck captain stood before him, his mouth moving in a way as to demand explanation while his eyes dropped with pity.

Captain Willas saluted Iavad. Everyone else in camp followed.

Chapter 4

The suns beat down on the parched fields by Zaleck’s house, casting shimmering waves of heat off the earth. Zaleck gripped the handles of the wooden plow, his pale skin outlined against the dark soil. Sweat trickled down his face, letting rivulets fall that stung his eyes, forcing him to blink away the discomfort.

Beside him, his younger brother, Arius, struggled to keep Savior, their horse, on a straight path. The poor thing had been with Zaleck through thick and thin. He rode him with a bleeding Arneth in his back, he fled from flamewalkers with him, and the first time Zaleck galloped was mounted in his dark flank. Now, Savior’s head heaved from side to side, the white spot in his forehead dancing before them like a daylight star. He wanted to ride, not pull a plow behind him.

Zaleck also wanted to ride. Life was what it was, though.

Savior’s muscles rippled under a foam-speckled coat. Arius wiped his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a smear of dirt across his sunburned cheeks. Zaleck’s chest tightened as he watched his brother strain with the effort, but with their father gone, even the youngest, Navid, had to start helping, coming right behind them throwing seeds at the plowed earth.

“Steady, Savior,” Zaleck murmured. His voice, though gentle, carried the increasing exhaustion that meant he would soon need a rest. The plow jolted as it hit a rock, sending a shiver through Zaleck’s arms. He paused, glancing back to survey the uneven furrows that marked their progress. It wasn’t nearly as straight as when Iavad did it, but it would have to do.

“Arius, let’s give Savior a break, okey?” he suggested, though neither he nor his brothers objected to a little rest. Arius nodded, and together the three of them led Savior to the shade of an oak tree by their field’s edge.

As they settled under the tree’s boughs, Zaleck’s eyes drifted across the neighboring fields, all turning dark as nearby families started their spring work as well. Slow work, this year, as all other families were also one person short. At least they had a horse. This made their field about half closer to done than others, though it only meant they would sooner have to move on to help their neighbors.

A sigh escaped him, the sound lost in the rustle of leaves above. One month. One month without his dad, and no one had received any news about the war.

Zaleck was snapped from his reverie by Arius’s quiet voice.

“D’you think Da’s okay?” he asked, eyes wide.

Zaleck ruffled his brother’s dark hair, forcing a smile. “’Course. Who else’s got magic on their side? He’ll win this war on his own.” He inhaled, wiping his brow. “For now, we have fields to tend, right?”

“Right,” Arius agreed, though his gaze lingered southward, hungry for news that wouldn’t come.

Resigned, Zaleck stood, anchoring the plough on the earth as they prepared for another run of work. He glanced at their shadows, assessing the daylight hours they had left. “Come on, let’s finish what we can today,” he said.

Arius picked up Savior’s reins and Navid already stood behind him, but Zaleck didn’t move. Something stirred, deep within him. Some sort of unease feeling, like knowing that something dreadful was about to happen.

Was that the Flow he was feeling again? It didn’t seem like it. Still, whatever this feeling was, it was too strong to be made up. Zaleck was sure of it.

“C’mon, Zal!” Arius said.

Zaleck glanced around. No one ran, or screamed, nothing out of the ordinary was happening, and yet, he knew it. Whatever it was, it was coming. It was like, this time, he was the rabbit.

Someone yelled, a shrill voice coming from the woods. Rina’s voice. Arius and Navid also glanced that way when Rina came out, running, screaming.

“Help! Help! Zal, Ari, Navi, help!”

Zaleck ran, kneeling before her.

“Rina! What’s wrong?”

Between cries and tears, she pointed into the woods.

“A monster! A monster in the woods.”

The feeling grew closer. Almost upon them now.

“Arius, Navid,” Zaleck said, getting back up, “take Rina into the house. Go get Vellis.”

His two brothers glanced at each other only once.

It came out of the woods. At first, a dark, huge shape, resembling a bear. As it grew closer, though, it became clear its two legs were far longer than a bear’s, its arms far stronger. No bear had talons that long, either.

A humanoid creature, half taller than the tallest person Zaleck ever saw. It had no hair; its triangular face held two burning beads in place of eyeballs and a pair of shifting horns that never set on any shape. Its grey skin seemed marbled at first, but it was in fact completely cracked, as if it was meant for someone much smaller, and ripped apart as it grew. From within its cracks, instead of blood, a glowing orange viscous liquid shone.

Zaleck gasped, moving backwards.

A monster indeed.

While his brothers and sisters already ran, screaming, Zaleck’s hand went for his blade, only to realize he didn’t have it anymore. What could he use as a weapon? His bow was unstringed back in the house, and he couldn’t unhitch savior in time to gallop away.

The monster turned to him, leaned down, seeming to stare right into Zaleck’s soul, and roared. Not a loud or deafening roar, instead, it came like a rasping sound, like someone scratching at their own burning throat.

Zaleck ran away, and the thing came right at him.

The hoe on the field, maybe he could use it as a club. The monster’s steps were larger than three of Zaleck’s own. He would never get it in time.

Zaleck ducked by instinct, switching direction. The monster’s hand passed right where his chest would have been.

It turned to him again. This close, its actual nature was clearer. It wasn’t a living thing at all. It seemed to be a statue made of… ash.

It attacked. Panic alone thrust Zaleck forward, running between its legs as the monster again struck raw earth. Heaps of dirt flew up as it sliced the ground.

Zaleck pushed his legs to their limit. The monster’s growls came behind him, closer than ever. He jumped as another strike hit below him, avoiding it, then dodged behind the beast.

The monster turned with a frustrated howl. Zaleck took a step back in the heartbeat while they both faced each other once more.

Again, it advanced, Zaleck dodged, rolling on the ground, straight into the beast’s other hand.

The ashen beast raised Zaleck like a trophy. It growled, pleased. Its fingers, hot enough to burn, crushing Zaleck’s chest.

Zaleck kicked and punched at the monster, but whenever he hit it, his fists dug into its skin as if it were soft as cotton.

One, two, three arrows struck the beast. They passed right through the monster, taking streams of ash with them when they emerged on the other side.

Vellis came up to him.

“Holy crap!” she said.

“Vel!” Zaleck gasped, his chest crushed such that each breath came shallow and strained. “Get the rings. The crushing ring!”

Instead, Vellis picked up the hoe and ran at them. The monster turned to her, still crushing Zaleck with its hand. Zaleck tried digging into the monster’s arm, and though he clawed a portion of ash out of it, its insides burned his fingers so much that the pain had him screaming.

The monster clawed at Vellis. She parried the attack with the hoe, but instead of stopping it, it sheared its ashen claws at the middle, leaving blackened strips in its wooden haft.

Vellis glanced at the cut-off claws and swung the hoe at the monster’s arm. It passed right through it, cutting it off at the elbow. The hoe’s handle burned midway.

Half the monster’s arm fell off. All pressure left Zaleck when he crashed down, gasping for breath. His shirt and pants burned in the same pattern as the beast’s ashen hand.

It roared, stepping back. All its body rippled while its severed arm grew back, the ash that made its body readjusting into a new form.

“Holy mother of hell’s crap!” Vellis said.

“We —” Zaleck gasped, snuffing flames away from his shirt. “We need the crushing ring.”

Vellis picked up the wooden box from her belt and threw it at him.

“There. I don’t know which is which.”

The monster advanced, striking Vellis with a rush of blows that forced her to retreat while parrying with half the hoe’s haft. At each attack, more and more of its ash got shorn off, and shorter the hoe’s haft became. Its last strike hit Vellis straight in the chest. She rolled on the ground with the impact.

Zaleck fumbled with the wooden box, opening it and taking the grey-white ring engraved with tourmalines. Theron had used it to crush them down. Zaleck could very well do the same against a beast this size.

The ring felt loose in his index finger, but still, Zaleck pointed it at the beast and flicked his finger down.

Nothing happened, but the ashen beast did turn to him, as if it had sensed something.

How did nothing happen? Theron had crushed down Vellis, Derith and Zaleck with this ring. What was he missing?

“Zal!” Vellis yelled. “Run! To the woods.”

He did. The beast advanced at him, striking at Zaleck after taking only two steps. Zaleck ducked aside, avoiding its claws. It was too close, though, and the woods too far.

Vellis ran at it again, daggers raised. The monster swatted her aside, throwing her back once again. That gave Zaleck another opening for a sprint.

The beast’s howls came louder as Zaleck passed by the first trees. He had to dodge aside once again.

Zaleck avoided the beast’s attack far better than Vellis. For some reason, the monster seemed less intent on killing him than Vellis. It seemed like it wanted to grab him instead.

Zaleck and the beast faced each other once more. Was it—smaller?

Vellis attacked from behind it, taking ribbons of ash from its back.

The beast turned to her, advancing with maddened, reckless strikes.

Vellis jumped back, but two strikes hit her straight on, igniting her jacket into a flare.

“Vel!” Zaleck screamed.

Vellis rolled on the ground, putting a tree between her and the beast. She took off her blouse as it burned.

“Look!” She pointed at the tree between her and the beast.

Half of the tree’s trunk, blackened and charred, started cracking.

Zaleck grinned. That was very clever of her.

He ran to the beast, right beside the tree’s trunk, waving his arms.

“Yo! You want me? Here I am!”

The monster did want him. It lowered its head, horns twisting as it reached for him.

Zaleck jumped back, moving to the other side of the tree. The beast’s advance made the whole trunk shudder.

“Try again, moron!”

The beast turned, reaching out for him once again. One of its strikes hit the tree straight through, slicing away over half the trunk.

As the trunk got burned and splintered, the whole tree fell on top of the monster. It collapsed onto the beast while it still stared at Zaleck. The monster burst, splattering ash and magma streams all over the place.

Zaleck’s own shirt started burning, forcing him to take it off as well.

He panted. Was it over?

Vellis stumbled towards him.

“Hey… are you okay?”

He looked at his own arms and legs, ran his hands through his hair before nodding back.

“Am I okay? It’s a miracle we’re alive after —”

The whole ground shifted. The beast’s ash and magma, spread through the woods, started running back towards the fallen tree, towards a glowing orb that seemed to be made of molten metal on the ground.

“What’s that?” Zaleck asked.

Vellis picked up a dagger, aimed it and threw it at the orb. It burst in a small explosion of molten metal.

The ash and magma stopped moving. Between the cracks of the flames and the rustle of fallen branches, only their heavy breathing could be heard.

“I think,” Vellis gasped, leaning on a tree, “that was its heart.”

“Hey,” Zaleck touched her shoulder, “let me help you get back.”

“Oh, come on,” she waved him away, “I can still wa—” she stumbled down.

Zaleck picked her up, helping her crawl back into their house. Black with sooth and earth, the two of them neared the door where Zida, Arius, Navid and Rina all stared at them, mouths agape.

Zaleck let his mom wash the dirt off him with the water she had in the kitchen. Vellis, when she found her breathing again, joined them.

“Y’know, son,” Zida said, cleaning up his face and hair, “I did believe you somewhat, when you told us what happened down south, but now, now I believe every word. What was that?”

Zaleck shrugged.

“Whatever we faced before, Miss Zida,” Vellis said, “was nothing like that… thing. That was something new.”

“I saw it!” Rina said, beside Zaleck, “I saw it first. I warned him!”

Zaleck ruffled her hair, spreading ash all over it.

“You did! You saved us.”

“D’you see, mom?” Arius said, “How Zal and Vel fought the monster? He, zung, and zwing, and then, wham, bam!” With every word, he mimed a play fight to the death, “They crushed it!”

“Oh, I saw it alright!” Zida replied with a far more trembling voice.

Zaleck looked down. His brother’s enthusiasm could have just as easily been tears, if Vellis hadn’t had the idea of trying their luck at the woods. Luck was all that saved them.

Zaleck glanced at Vellis, and her somber gaze was enough of a reply to his worry.

“Vel,” he said, “did you see how it attacked you? It was fast and careless.”

She closed her eyes while nodding.

“And then,” he took a swallow and continued, “when it attacked me, it was much slower, and it didn’t use its claws, it tried to grab me. It did grab me, and if it wanted, it could have killed me right there.”

Vellis pursed her lips, understanding dawning on her weary face.

“What d’you mean, son?”

Zaleck touched his mother’s face.

“I dunno why, mom, but this beast came for me. It wanted to get me, specifically.”

Zida’s frown formed very slowly.

“But… why?”

Zaleck shrugged.

“I dunno, but this was a thing of magic, and whoever sent it, can send more.”

“He’s right, miss Zida,” Vellis said, “You, Arius, Navid and Rina are in danger as long as Zaleck remains here.”

Zida leaned back. She looked down, covering her mouth. Her glance shifted at Zaleck’s brothers before returning to him.

“No… no, son!”

“But, mom, what if more of these things come?”

“We—we face them together. As a family.”

“Be realistic,” Vellis replied, “you’ll die as a family, more likely.”

“We dunno if more are coming. That may have been… an accident.”

“A bear attack is an accident, a starving wolf pack is an accident, a beast made of ash and fire is no accident.”

Zida got up, moving away from them. “Where—where would you even go?”

“There is one place I can get answers, mom. Verian Tower. With the Daht’Gahren.”

“The monks? Why would they let you in?”

“I think I know someone there,” Zaleck said.

“Zal,” Arius said, leaning on him, “are you going away too?” Though he asked as if expecting for a ‘no’, his gaze bore into Zaleck’s as if no answer was needed.

“Don’t say that!” Zida snapped. Arius took a step back. She pointed at him and Navid, “you two, I need more water for dinner. Go get some.”

“But, Ma’…” Navid started.

“Don’t say ‘but’, say…” Zida replied, glowering at them.

“Yes, Ma’am…” they both leaned their heads, picking up the bucket and moving out.

Zida turned their back at them, picking up a cheese hanging from atop the ceiling.

“You two wash up. I have a dinner to prepare,” she said quickly.

Zaleck and Vellis finished cleaning while exchanging crestfallen glances at one another. There was no way around the fact that he had to go, and Vellis would never let him make the trip alone. His mother said nothing while she prepared them fried greens, cheese and fried eggs over bread.

His brothers returned with the water, cleaned up and sat for a meal under deathly silence.

Zida spoke only once as they ate.

“You two could at least wait until our field is done. Who’d help me if you go?”

Zaleck looked down. If he did wait until the fields were done, she’d ask them to wait until the garden was ready, and then help with house repairs, and then weeding the crops, and every week something new. Just one more reason for them to be together. He would take any one of those reasons if he could. He’d already been taken from her once, and after coming back he thought nothing would keep them apart anymore.

Except, if he did stay, she’d die. Gods knew, maybe one day would already be too late.

“We’ll leave Savior and Scarlet with you,” he said. “ou can use Savior in the fields and rent Scarlet to get some help. Ari and Navi already know how to help too.”

When they were done with dinner, Zida stood up, picking their plates and taking them to the water before anyone else could help. She washed her hands, poured flour over the table, cracked some eggs and started stirring a dough.

Zaleck walked up to her. “What’re you doing, Ma?”

Zida wiped a tear with her arm.

“Bread,” she said.

“At this time?”

She stirred the dough some more before replying. “Can’t have you two going hungry on the road now, can we?”

Zaleck gazed at his mother as she buried herself in cooking. This bread would taste like tears, but he could at least make sure they wouldn’t be hers alone. He moved to the cabinet, taking a ceramic pot with a cloth cover.

Zida stopped him with a touch.

“Wash your hands first. And that’s not the yeast, that’s the lard. The yeast is over there.”

Vellis approached them as well. They both washed their hands, picked up the ingredients Zida pointed, and stirred dough with her in silence throughout the evening.

Chapter 5

Free at last. Free from the confines of her walled-off mind, free from the tyranny of opinion and morals, free to hunger and eat, eat once more true living, human flesh. How long had she waited for this, and now, now she would finally feast.

Keena grabbed the soldier’s wrist with her free hand and squeezed it. It was a pity she couldn’t see the horror and surprise in his eyes, as she broke each bone in his dirty, disgusting fingers, but his painful gasp was a sound sweet enough for her to smile at.

She pulled the sword off the soldier’s sheath, ripping apart its leather straps. The soldier lurched forward as his belt was torn off, rolling on the ground.

Keena stood up. The raider who had been immobilizing her now stared at her with the most disbelieving expression his scarred face could make. He clutched at his broken fingers, crying in surprise as a girl young enough to be his granddaughter now loomed over him.

“Did you miss something?” she said, brandishing his sword at him. Oh, this was going to be fun. “Here, let me give it back to you.”

She walked to him. He crawled back, leaning on the house wall for support. Keena turned the sword on her hand and thrust it at his belly. The soldier grabbed her arm right before the blade connected, but it seemed he hadn’t yet learned what Keena could do with his wrist.

She grabbed his other hand, crushing it at the sound of breaking tiny bones. He cried out once more, and yet again when Keena’s sword hand pulled back the blade and thrust it again into his guts.

“There,” she said, “a swordsman should never part with his sword.”

She could drag this on. The soldier’s cries were worth it, for sure, but she still had so many more people to kill. She would have to end this one right then.

She sliced flesh and skin as she pulled the sword back out, launching a jet of red stream through morning daylight. She turned the blade on her hand and thrust it again, into his neck, straight up to his skull. He went silent at once.

“There, it’s all right now.”

The enemy’s blood sprayed all over her when she pulled the weapon back. She smiled, licking it from the corners of her mouth. So much sweeter, and with the right metallic tang. Neither rabbit nor elk blood could ever compare.

The other raider, who grabbed her mom, raised his head at her. The sheer look of terror in his face was the balm she needed after being constrained for so long. Letting go of Layra, he dropped his club and drew his sword, advancing at Keena.

Too slow.

Keena took a step aside, dodging the amateur strike and bringing her blade down at the joint of his hands. His sword, and the hands that held it, fell on the ground.

The soldier’s start terror burst into a cry of naked panic as he gazed at his severed hands.

“I’ll be taking that,” Keena said, retrieving his sword.

The raider fell to his knees, breathing through screams as he gazed at her. His raised chin made the neck such a sweet target. Keena inhaled, taking in the sweet sound of his screams, so melodic she had to let him live for a moment more.

She aimed it straight on. The sword cut clean between his vertebrae, slicing meat, sinews, and tendons like butter, splitting apart head from body.

Layra, still on the ground, crawled back away from Keena. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened without a sound. She half raised her hand at Keena, as if restraining herself at the last moment. Keena’s throat tightened for a spell. Just a touch, though. She couldn’t falter yet, not while she still had so much more blood to draw.

The tree soldiers who held her father drew their blades when Keena decapitated their comrade. They did not expect her to jump in their middle, landing an inch beside her tied-up father. Her two swords sliced through the air as she cut off two of them, biting through their mail armor and into their chest.

Her first blade already chipped badly. She’d have to replace it in a few more strikes.

Even wounded, the three Kaylorites struck at her. Keena jumped, twirling in the air. One attack swung above her, the other, below, the last one thrust where she had been in the air while she fell on the same spot, unharmed.

She got up, swinging both blades. One of her strikes met a soldier’s hand, slicing through his fist as he released his weapon. The second met a soldier’s arm, a string of red shooting from the wound.

The third soldier advanced at her with a flurry of blows, measured and practiced attacks he may have trained for years. Keena stepped back, parrying each one until finally connecting a strike against the man’s own sword. Both blades broke with the impact.

She took a step to him, swinging her good blade. The man reacted, bringing his arm to parry the attack. He would have defended it had she been anyone else. She wasn’t anyone else, though, and as she cut through his arm, her weapon sliced at the man’s face, sending him reeling backwards.

Another raider came right at her, the one with the wounded arm. Keena stepped aside, choosing to dodge the attack instead of parrying it, since she only had one blade now and couldn’t afford to lose it. As the man’s own momentum brought him close to her, she thrust the weapon into his chest, piercing his heart through the cut in the mail she’d made before.

The man gasped, all strength already waning. Keena took his sword from limp fingers almost like he had gifted it to her.

Only one soldier remained, the one with the sliced hand, but he had retreated, grabbed a dizzy, bound Jorgen and now took a blade to her father’s neck.

“Get away,” he cried out, under breathless gasps of panic, “go away or he dies!”

Keena tilted her head.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk…” she said.

Lightning quick, she threw one of her swords at the Kaylorite. The blade flew, whistling through the air. It nearly nicked her father’s face, striking the soldier right between his eyes. His whole body twitched as he fell, thrown back with the impact. Jorgen’s neck got no more than a shallow cut.

Her father scrambled towards her mother. Keena walked to the last Kaylorite, who, twitching on the ground grasped at his open face wound. She pierced his neck slowly while her parents and brother watched.

Keena breathed in a deep rhythm while gazing at her family. His dad, brother and mom stared back at her, eyes wide in their deliciously bloodstained faces.

A quick wince passed by her. Not a physical pain, but a memory of regret that went as quickly as it came. She couldn’t stop now. It wasn’t over by a long shot. Villagers still ran, raiders still terrorized Ironshore. Much blood would run before the day was through.

Switching one of her chipped blades for a new one from the fallen soldiers, she ran downtown.

A villager fled from a soldier down the street. This Kaylorite died as she threw one of her swords straight at his chest. Another victim was being dragged by two soldiers. Keena ran at them, slicing one’s belly and the other’s neck before they reacted.

Two raiders from afar saw it, drew bows and shot at her. The arrows came piercing through the air, whizzing so fast she stepped out of the way by sheer instinct. She grinned while jumping onto a house’s roof, then back down on the street, falling beside the archers before they had time to reload.

She split one skull apart as she landed, though her blade stuck at the hard bone. The other soldier ran away, babbling. Keena picked a dagger from the fallen soldier and threw it at the other, slicing open one of his tendons. The man screamed more in fear than pain as he went down.

Keena walked to him, picked up some arrows from his quiver, and nailed him to the cobblestone floor to an inch of his life, enough that he would still scream a lot before dying.

By then the Kaylorite ship had docked at the harbor, and more enemies flooded into town. Keena dashed towards them, streams of blood dripping behind her as her clothes clung to her body, sticky, wet and sweet. At Ironshore’s plaza they met, the lone girl and the dozens of slavers.

She let them encircle her. Let them be a challenge for a change. One soldier marched towards her, his armor plates more expensive than the others, a kind of military insignia on his chest.

“Who the hells are you?” he said, mild surprise in his voice.

“Your death,” she replied, giggling, “And you, you are lunch.”

The soldier leader widened his eyes, as if for the briefest moment he believed her. He drew his sword, pointing at her.

Three spearmen advanced. Keena jumped, flying over a soldier, falling right behind him, one of her swords impaling him through the neck. He jerked, letting go of the spear that she caught before hitting the ground.

Taking a step forward, she threw the spear with one hand at another spearman. The impact had him flying several steps back before hitting the floor. The spear itself went all the way through him, lodging itself on a house’s stone wall far away.

The last spearman stepped back, the tip of his spear shaking. Keena ran to him. As afraid as he might be, he still found it in himself to thrust with his weapon. Keena stepped aside, letting the spear pass beside her. Grabbing it, she pulled the soldier close, running her sword into his gaping mouth.

The other dozen or so Kaylorites stepped back. Keena turned around, pointing her sword at each of them.

“I am hungry,” she yelled, “and today I feast on slaver flesh!”

Chaos descended on the town plaza. Several soldiers stood frozen in place, some ran away, most advanced. She twirled her sword and braced for combat.

She killed, and killed, and killed. One soldier, pairs of soldiers, a whole squad. She struck them down one by one, dodging and parrying right before delivering deathly blows with each swing. Severed limbs twitched behind her and blood ran into the sewers like rainwater.

Only when she broke one of her blades she would pause, enough to retrieve another.

It took over an hour to clear the raiders from the city. Of the dozen or so who disembarked, only a handful managed to run away. She could have gone after some of them, too, but they were too dispersed for one single girl to pursue.

Instead, Keena walked back to the town square. There, defeated, with his armor bloodied and bent, the last remaining Kaylorite-- their leader, stumbled back, babbling as he raised his hands. The man fell to the floor, begging for his life in their foreign accent. Keena brought both blades down, severing both his arms. He twisted, anguished and panicked, as he fell backwards. Keena stepped over him, slicing open his armor straps until she could tear its plates off, revealing his gambeson undergarment.

Under the morning iron-gray sky, the plaza lay scattered with fallen Kaylorites. Keena stood alone, her chest heaving with ragged breaths, the cold wind tugging at her bloodstained tunic. Her swords, slick with her enemies’ blood, trembled slightly in her grasp as the rush of battle began to ebb.

The silence of the aftermath was punctured by her labored breathing and the soft moans of the enemy leader, each of her exhales misting in the chill air. She looked around, her gaze darting from one still form to another, then gazed upwards, victory swelling within her.

The feeling gave way to a rising tide of triumph, a fierce, fiery joy that ignited in her chest and roared through her veins. She raised her sword high.

She cried in triumph, in the elation of her freedom, in the relief of once again having been set free.

Scores of faces popped up from behind corners and walls. Surviving villagers gazed at her, incapable of approaching the plaza.

Keena kneeled over the enemy captain’s body, who still moved weakly. She ripped open his gambeson and opened his deliciously sweaty and muscled belly.

There, she gorged on entrails, raw meat, spleen, liver and kidneys.

It had taken her a long time, but at last, she was free.

With cold breeze in her lungs, sweet red rivulets running down her drenched body, pieces of meat dangling from her smiling mouth, she exhaled, letting her sword fall from her grip…

* * * * *

…and as the swords left her grasp, Keena Venan, Jorgen’s daughter came back, and all around her was death and destruction.

Chapter 6

First light dawned on Zaleck’s home to find him and Vellis already packing their backpacks for the journey. He would take all his clothes in the trip, only two changes, since his work clothes had all but burned to ash. Still, the backpacks got full of pots, kitchen utensils and Zida’s cheese and breads.

Zaleck’s old mail armor clung tighter now, the once-loose fit now snug and unyielding. What once had protected him like a loose blanket now sticked to his skin leaving out his ankles and wrists. However, armor saves lives. A tight, worn-out armor was better than none.

All that gear plus his practice sword, bow, arrows, quiver and bedroll weighed a touch more than he expected.

Dawnlight cast beams through the morning mist as it passed through the house’s roof, lighting Zaleck, Vellis, Zida and his brothers in yellow-blue hues when they met out the door for their farewells.

Zida winced as she adjusted Zaleck’s mail shirt in his shoulders yet again.

“I still say you should at least wait till after breakfast, y’know.”

Zaleck almost pleaded with his mom. “It’s a long way to Verian, Ma’. If we leave now, we can still get to the Three Ways Inn by dusk.”

“D’you get everything? Didn’t you forget the toothpick?”

“We’re fine.”

“And those magical rings of yours?”

“They’re here.”

“You take care of those, you hear? I dunno about magic, but the wrong person sees you with them and it may be trouble for you.”

Zaleck nodded. Zida wiped his cheek and kneeled.

“Son, I want you to take this.” She extended him her hand, showing a thick golden ring between her fingers.

Zaleck’s eyes went wide.

“Ma! That’s Gramma’s heirloom!”

“I know, but that’s all I can give you. It’s not magic, but you may fetch a good price for it. Who knows, get better armor. It may save your life, son.”

“But —”

“No! No ‘buts’. Pa’ would want this as well. Take it.”

“I, I—”

I can’t, he should say, although he also agreed that he must.

He covered the ring with both hands, also taking Zida’s hands in his.

“I’ll bring it back, Ma.”

Zida’s lips curved upward as she gazed at her son, though the smile trembled at its edges.

“No, you won’t. You come back instead. You’re worth every goddam gold ring in this world.”

They embraced.

Zaleck and Vellis waved his family goodbye, taking three steps into the road when Arius ran at them.

“Zal! Zal!” he said, frowning and panting more than the short sprint should have made him.

Zaleck turned to his brother.

“Zal… you’ll—you’ll come back, right? You and Da'.”

Zaleck kneeled before Arius, ruffling his hair.

“Yea, Ari. I’ll come back. You can count on that.”

“If… if you find those monsters, give them a good one for me, okay?”

He nodded. As they walked, they could still hear Zida yell at them one last time.

“You watch out for him, Miss Vellis! You bring my son back home!”

Vellis looked downwards the whole way. When they left sight of the house, she pulled Zaleck close by the shoulder, walking with him in an embraced silence for a bit.

The way east took them straight through Kaldhill, which was slowly waking up to the morning chores.

Cool mist still hanged over the village’s earthen streets when Zaleck and Vellis entered through the western low wooden gate, their boots whispering against the ground.

From the small, thatched houses lining the narrow lanes, the clink of a pot, a whispered conversation, the soft creak of a door swinging open signaled the town’s awakening. The scent of smoldering hearths mingled with the damp earth.

As they passed by Sahil, the baker, the air grew thick with the scent of fresh bread. Sahil, a stout man with flour dusting his apron, already arranged his morning wares in the window. He nodded at them as they passed. Zaleck waved in greeting, his stomach growling at the sight.

Further down the street, the blacksmith’s hammer had started singing, rhythmic and sharp, sending sparks flying into the morning air. The ringing stopped when Asghar, the widowed smith, moved closer.

“Morning miss Vellis. Zaleck.”

“Hey, Asghar!” Zaleck waved.

“Where’re you two off to now?” Asghar leaned on his wall, glancing at Vellis.

“Just visiting some friends,” she replied.

“D’you, eh, expect trouble?” He frowned, not that Zaleck could blame him. Zaleck and Vellis did seem ready to join the army themselves.

Vellis shrugged the comment away. “Oh, nowhere’s safe these days anymore, Asghar.”

He nodded, gravely. “All too true. Say, d’you think you’ll be gone long? I was looking forward to your next hunting lesson.” His eyes squinted a bit, his mouth curving upwards.

“I don’t know. Maybe a few months. Hard to say, really.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you, but I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Asghar, I’m sure you’ll hear from us one way or another.”

They moved on. As soon as Zaleck thought Asghar was out of earshot, he grinned at Vellis.

“He likes you, Vel!”

Vellis smiled back, running a hand at her hair.

“It does seem so, doesn’t it?”

“So,” Zaleck leaned a bit closer to her, “d’you like him back?”

Vellis rolled her eyes in mock outrage.

“Heavens, Zal, give a woman some space, will you?”

They made their way through the small marketplace at the center of town, where vendors were setting up stalls in the cool shade of the old oak tree at the square. A woman with a basket of eggs chatted with a man laying out strips of dried meat, their voices low and friendly.

Zaleck tensed as they passed old Kaveh’s place. It seemed they’d walk by unnoticed, but as they left the house behind, the dry, rasping voice cursed at them.

“Running away already, Zaleck? Don’t worry, I’m sure the recruiters will find you wherever you go!”

Zaleck looked down as the painful jab hit him. A thousand replies ran through his head, but none of them found enough breath to come out. Kaveh’s son, Namek, had been with Zaleck the night he was kidnapped. Namek’s body, ran over by an arrow, was the last thing Zaleck saw before being captured by slavers. He still shook whenever he saw old Kaveh, and Kaveh also remembered his son, as he grew bitter and bitter towards Zaleck in the months after his return.

Vellis side glanced Kaveh, and for a moment Zaleck thought she would do something stupid. Shoot the man dead right there, for instance. Her bow was unstringed, however, and she may have decided he wasn’t worth the blood on her daggers, this time.

They came upon the town’s east gate when a girl with ruffled dark hair, freckled face and a perfect small nose came from outside, carrying a bucket of water that seemed too heavy for her. Though weary, she put the bucket down as she smiled at Zaleck.

“Hey, Zal! Miss Vellis. You’re up early. Where’re you two going? You’re not joining the army, now, are you?”

“Hey, Nyra. No, we’re off to visit a friend.” Zaleck said, a shy smile forming in his face.

“Oh, bummer! I wanted to drop by your house to ask for your help with our fields. You know, Savior could really speed things up for us.”

“Oh, right, sure. Ma’ still has it though. You can ask her.”

Nyra looked down a bit.

“It wouldn’t be the same thing, though, would it?”

Zaleck smiled.

“No, it wouldn’t. Say, you need help with that?”

“Oh, no. Thanks, but I’m sure you folks have a lot of road to cover. Seeya. Take care of him, miss Vellis.”

Vellis pulled Zaleck closed in a sideways embrace. She replied, teasing. “Don’t worry, Nyra. I’ll take good care of him. Then you can ask for his help and watch him work your fields all day, sweating under the sun!”

Nyra blushed as she picked up the bucket and left in a hurry.

It was now Vellis who grinned at Zaleck.

“She likes you, Zal.”

He didn’t reply at first. Kaldhill was already a huddle of small houses behind them when he said, “So, eh, ya think so?”

“Oh, please! Of course you noticed.”

“And, if that’s true, then, what d’you think I should do?”

Vellis glanced at him, smirking all the way. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. Believe me, it’s working. But… since you asked for an advice, next time you offer to help a girl, and she says ‘no, thanks’, ask if she’s sure.” She winked at him.

They made their way along a dirt path that wove through dense greenery. The morning suns casting their glare through the leaves of trees created a mosaic of shadows and highlights on the way.

Zaleck adjusted the strap of his worn leather pack on his shoulder. His pale skin already starting to burn in the dappled sunlight. Vellis walked slightly ahead, her eyes scanning the surroundings. She had her bow stringed, though none of them planned to stop for a hunt.

Midmorning, the landscape opened to reveal rolling fields of green and brown. Sunlight glistened on each blade of grass, like daylight stars beneath them. They paused, taking a moment to breathe in the fresh, earthy air.

“I didn’t think I’d miss our horses so much,” Zaleck said.

“We could have brought Scarlet, at least. Zida would be fine with Savior alone.”

Zaleck replied as he wiped the sweat off his brow, his voice already pining back for home.

“She needs them, Vel. She’s all alone now…”

“I know, I know. You did the right thing. I’m not complaining… Well, maybe I am, but we’ll get some horses along the way.”

“I hope we don’t have to kill a bunch of slavers for them this time.”

She seemed to ponder what he said, then got up of a sudden. “Come on.”

They crossed the meadow, the grass whispering against their legs as they passed it by, the suns climbing higher, dancing their slow dance around one another.

“D’you think we’ll stay in the Three Ways? D’we have money for that?” Zaleck asked.

“I don’t think so, but don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll give us lodging if I hunt them some game and you chop them some wood.”

“Why do I have to chop wood while you go hunting?”

“Because you have a pair of strong, working arms that are coming along quite nicely. Besides, if you had killed that rabbit, I might know if you’ve become a half-decent bowman or not. As we stand, all I know is that you won’t get in my way.”

Their path led them next to a babbling brook, its waters clear and cold, rushing over smooth stones. They stopped to refill their water skins and take some cool sips of water. Zaleck cupped his hands, splashing the chilly water on his face.

His clinking pouch drew his glance at where he kept Theron’s magical rings. Four rings, only one of which he knew what it did, and even that didn’t seem to work anymore.

He picked up the grey-white ring with tourmalines. He was sure Theron used it to crush them down. He had felt Flow running through it. But then, why didn’t it work against that monster?

“You should wear them,” Vellis said.

“What?” Zaleck turned to her, “You mean, all the time?”

She nodded. “Theron was wearing them all the time, after all. I don’t think anything bad is going to happen.”

“I’m gonna draw every thief a mile away,” Zaleck said.

“Perhaps, but we won’t know what they do if we at least don’t give them a try.”

“This one, Theron used it to crush us down, remember? Somehow it didn’t work against the monster.”

Vellis squinted her eyes at the ring. Nodding, she took a step back and opened her arms.

“Okay, come on, let’s have it.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Try using it on me.”

Zaleck gasped. “You—You’re sure?”

“I’ve survived it once. Come on, try using it on me. Let’s see what happens.”

Reluctantly, he slid it in his index finger and pointed at Vellis.

“Okay, here goes.”

He flicked his finger down. Vellis crumbled to the ground as if a huge boulder had fell on top of her. She looked like she would have screamed, but all she could do was gasp.

Arms and legs twisted on the ground, she opened and closed her mouth as if to say something, though only wheezes escaped her.

“Vel! Vel! Damn it, how to I make it stop?”

Her fingers contorted and her face turned on the brown earth.

“Up! Up!” She gasped.

“Right, of course.”

He pointed at her again, and this time, flicked his finger up.

From being pressed down on the ground, Vellis was thrust upwards, like tossed by an invisible giant. She twisted and turned midair, falling right onto the brook, a tenpace away.

Zaleck ran to her.

“Vel! Vel! Are you alright?”

She awkwardly stood up, slowly moving her arms and legs as if checking to see if they all still worked.

“I think so… I think nothing’s broken. Oh, boy, we’ve sure determined the ring works.”

“Right,” Zaleck replied, looking at the ring, “but then why didn’t it work against the beast?”

“I have an idea about it. Give it to me.”

She picked up the ring, slotting it in her finger.

“Now, take off your shirt,” she said.

Zaleck frowned.

“Why?”

“I have a suspicion about it.”

Zaleck slowly removed his shirt, barely avoiding a glance at the whirlpool-shaped scar in his chest, a reminder of the times when he had the Flow of life at his command. His stomach tightened a bit when Vellis glanced at him.

Vellis pointed at him and flicked her finger down.

Zaleck fell onto the ground, exactly like when Theron used the ring on him. However, this time, the pressure wasn’t all over his body. Instead, only his legs were being pushed down.

“Gah!” he said, “Okay, it works, it works!”

Vellis flicked her finger up, but unlike Zaleck, she did it slowly.

The crushing pressure left Zaleck’s legs. He got up, wobbly.

“Did you see it? Did you feel it?” she asked.

“I sure did. It only worked on my legs.”

“The ring doesn’t affect a person, Zal. It affects a person’s clothes. That’s why it didn’t work on the monster, because it had none.”

“Of course!” Zaleck said, “If the ring acted on someone, and they suffocated or died, it’d trigger a Paradox Flow, because the Flow can never be used to kill someone directly. Acting on someone’s clothes, it’ll never trigger the paradox.”

Vellis returned him the ring.

“Take it. I think you should wear them all, Zal.”

“Aren’t you afraid of thieves?”

Vellis narrowed her eyes, her reply half-eager, half-enticing.

“Oh no, I’m hoping they’ll come.”

Zaleck looked away.

“Don’t say that, Vel…”

As if she had entered a town fair in dirty hunting clothes, a flash of embarrassment passed by her face. Vellis turned away, going back to the brook.

Zaleck took the four rings, placing one in each finger. The first three fit a bit too loosely for him. The last one, though, a dark ring engraved right out of rock with a rough, pitted surface, looking like cooled lava, shrank itself down to precisely fit Zaleck’s pinky finger.

A shiver ran by him, followed by a soft cracking sound and a sense, no, a certainty, of the existence of something far, far to the west.

“This one… it did something,” he said.

“Did what?” Vellis asked.

“It’s, like… ehm…  like it’s telling me that there’s something, that a ways,” he pointed.

“That’s it? It’s just… telling you there’s something that way?”

“Yea, but it’s very far.”

“Well,” Vellis shrugged, “pay attention to anything else you feel from now on. Who knows, we might find how these things work. Anyway, knowing how to use the crushing ring is pretty good. I can’t tell you how much it would have helped me if I had something like this with me.”

When she was an assassin, though Zaleck knew better than to comment.

He agreed, though. Together, they picked up their gear and set off again, following the brook as it meandered through the fields.

Still, the feeling stayed with him all the way. All he had to do was look at the ring to get a sense of it again. Whatever this thing to the west was, it seemed like Zaleck could almost see it in his mind, even if all he had was the indistinct sense of a… large rock… slowly cracking open.

Chapter 7

Iavad stood at attention inside the captain’s tent while Willas paced behind his paper-filled desk. The day had only begun and he’d no time for a meal when summoned by the unit captain.

“—and how many did you say they were?” Willas asked.

“‘Bout ten or so, captain.” Iavad replied, again. The canvas above flapped by the early wind that brought the smell of salty buttered scrambled eggs from the kitchen. Gods, he needed those eggs.

“Ten or so? Was it ‘ten’ or was it ‘so’, soldier?”

“I counted ten dead, sir, but there may’ve been some who escaped. T’was a dark night, after all.”

Willas pressed his fingers at his forehead, frowning. That set ridges up his balding head.

“I don’t know what to make of you, soldier. It’s uncanny that you brought your unit back, almost unbelievable actually. Some would say it would be the perfect way for a spy to ingratiate himself with his commanders.”

Iavad knew what ‘uncanny’ meant, from having it read to him from one of Zaleck’s books, but ‘ingratiate’ was a new word.

“Captain—” he started, held back by two fingers from Willas.

“Don’t interrupt me. On the other hand, no spy worth their salt would concoct such a contrived plot only to get on the good graces of a unit as small as this one. Also, there are seven families that can bury their dead and move on thanks to you. Thus, I’m at a loss here.”

Iavad opened his mouth, but Willas raised an eyebrow at him. Iavad quickly shut his mouth.

“So, here’s what I’m going to do, soldier. I’m getting rid of you.” Willas sat down, running through a stack of papers until finding a folded one and handing it to Iavad. “If you are a hero, you’ll have plenty of chances to show it where I’m sending you, if you’re a spy, I’m cancelling all your efforts here.

“I’ve got orders to send a new supply report south, alongside a small contingent of troop replenishments. It seems Wolfpine is under siege by the death kingdom, but it’s just happened, and there’s a chance we can break it before it begins. You are to go there and report to captain Serone Allais. She’ll sort you up.”

His eyes landed on the hilt of Iavad’s sword, also narrowing a bit more when glancing into his jeweled ring.

“Talk to the stablemaster, he’ll outfit you with a horse. Congratulations, soldier, you’re going to the front lines.”

That didn’t sound congratulatory at all. Still, Iavad replied with a quick salute.

He did have time to stop by the kitchen tent and get at least half a breakfast while the quartermaster set up his horse for travel. Before everyone in the unit had woken up, Iavad already rode south, into Wolfpine, the city where so many of Zaleck’s tales took place. At least he would only have to contend with an enemy siege, and not flaming undead soldiers. His ring would not have protected him from that.

It would be a two-days ride south until the city of seven bridges. No matter how far he rode, though, the dark behind his eyelids remained stamped with the sight of the dead by the clearing. Only in the rare moments where he would look around, towards the quiet countryside, and forget about what happened, only then did bile rise to his mouth.

Sent away the very next day. After all he’s done. It’s like they say, the lamb that heals the wolf is the first dinner it’ll make.

He could have stopped in one of three inns by the road, but his whole earnings so far barely amounted to a silver pound. Thus, he opted for an outdoors night. A campfire would at least let him grill the cheese and warm the milk. That, alongside some dried meat, would be the best dinner he could hope for.

After eating, he found himself staring into the flames. The Kaylorites who attacked them had been vicious, equipped and trained. His unit was not only smaller but composed mainly of newly trained recruits. If those were Kaylorite scouts, what would their soldiers be? Was there a chance to win this war?

He counted his rations, then his pennies. He went over the travel plan and recalled the pointers the quartermaster gave him as to the best way into Wolfpine. Then, when there was nothing else to do, he did it all again. All to keep from sleeping, to avoid going back to that clearing that haunted his dreams.

Thus, he stood awake when the footsteps came in the dead of night.

Iavad picked up his spear, turning towards the sounds. Soon enough, three newcomers came into light of his fire. Galina, Iorhahn and Breyn, three other soldiers from Willas’s unit.

“Hey there,” Galina said with half a smile, spreading out her arms, “expecting trouble, farmer?”

Iavad eased his stance. He would have sat down, if only Iorhahn and Breyn weren’t glowering at him like they had swallowed nails for supper.

“Wouldn’t you be?” he asked.

Galina sat down by the fire. Iorhahn and Breyn followed, though none of them kept him off their glances.

“I suppose I would be wary, yes,” she said, “who knows, another duster scouting party may come up anytime now.”

That would have sounded taunting, hadn’t he lived through it all. Still, the way Galina said “duster scouting party” carried a sarcastic undertone that raised the hair in the back of his neck.

Iavad sat down, glancing in turn at each one of the three.

“You the reinforcements the captain promised? That’s why you’re here?”

“Oh, yes, we are,” she said, “took us some time to find you, you know?”

Iorhahn chuckled, not an amused laugh, but rather a grunt with a hint of dark expectation.

“D’you have time for provisions?” Iavad asked, “I still have some cheese and bread.”

“We’re fine,” she said. She seemed intent on being the only one to say anything, “but, you know, before we lie down, perhaps you could tell us a bit about what happened, you know, with the rest of your unit. How did it go, really?”

Iavad looked down, his breathing getting heavier.

“Oh, come on, you must have something you can say. After all, you took down an entire duster unit, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t,” he snapped, “I only took down three of them.” What was this tone in his voice? Who was he apologizing to?

Galina whistled, “Oh, my! Only three! You know, one would think things about this whole business. Some of those folks were downright vets, and they all came back in your cart, but not you, oh, no, you took down three!”

They all stared at him now, their expressions darker than before.

They weren’t reinforcements. They had come for him.

“What about Gaenlen, how did he go down?” Galina asked.

“Cornered by two,” Iavad replied, “a cut on the neck, a blade in the back.”

Galina stood up of a sudden, a gesture followed by Iorhahn, Breyn and Iavad himself.

“What did you say, mud-slogger? He was—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” another voice cut in, “what have we here?”

They all turned to the newcomer, a middle-aged woman with a slender build that would have seemed ladylike if not for the half a dozen scars on her face. Dark braided hair falling on deep brown eyes and thin eyebrows pushing outwards gave her face the semblance of a lynx.

“Oh, wow, have I interrupted something important?” the newcomer said. Iavad also remembered her from the camp, she was the one always trailing after Willas. What was her name again? Merina.

“Just a chat, just a chat,” Breyn said.

“Screw this, Galina,” Iorhahn said with a scowl. He drew his blade, Breyn followed. Iavad turned his spear at them.

“Keep out of this, woman, this is between us and the whelp,” Galina said.

So, it was personal.

Merina didn’t draw her own weapons, neither did she step back.

“I would think very carefully on what you’re about to do, soldier,” Merina said. “What if, by chance, things did happen like he said?”

Galina turned to Iavad, her eyes narrowing.

“This harvest fodder here? Gaenlen was a veteran of two wars, and this one comes back and he doesn’t? Not a chance. Not, unless they were sold off. He was my brother, you hear? My brother!”

Iavad would have apologized, but the three advanced at him first. He thrust his spear, but Galina deflected it with her blade. Iorhahn and Breyn fell on top of him, holding him down by his arms.

Galina thrusted downwards, her weapon going for his heart, then bouncing back on his skin and flying aside, away from her grip.

Iavad struck her jaw with his knee, drawing a cracking sound while she reeled back.

“End him, now!” Breyn said. He and Iorhahn drew their knives, pushing them into Iavad’s flanks only for them to also fly away. They both lost their grip on him.

Iavad rolled backwards, standing up while drawing his sword. Breyn had already recovered, drawing yet another knife. His attack came faster and precise, but still the blade flew out of his hand. As he stumbled, Iavad stuck his sword into his neck.

“Damn it,” Iorhahn said, tackling Iavad down onto the ground. They grappled at one another, but though Iorhahn had time to draw his side arm, Iavad’s didn’t bounce off like his. Instead, Iavad pierced him sideways and in the back, four, five times until he became a limp body on top of him.

Galina, clutching her bloodied mouth, took a step back. She mumbled something, some sort of loath-filled swearing before turning around and running away.

Merina remained unmoved, her eyes locking with Iavad’s in silence. He stood up, stumbling once, breathing like a chick before a storm.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Merina said again, “what have we here?” This time, though, she did seem amazed. “Now I believe what I’ve heard about you.”

“It’s—I can…” Iavad looked around, at yet two more dead bodies on his conscience. How could he possibly explain this? Better to not even try.

Merina put her hands on her hips. “Willas sent me to make sure those three wouldn’t try anything stupid, but they were stupider than I could handle. You need a hand there, soldier?”

Iavad waved her away.

“I’m—I’m fine. It wasn’t my fault, you saw it.”

Merina grinned.

“Oh, I saw it. I saw it and I’ll vouch for you when we both reach Wolfpine.” She touched her chin. “I think we’re going to be real good friends, Iavad Nareni. You always need friends in the army, you know.”

Her gaze ran over him, pausing for a touch upon his ring. Not only she didn’t seem at all fazed by what she saw, she clearly saw enough to know of his “ability”, or at least that there was something very strange about him. Yet, she made no move at him. If she had indeed been sent by captain Willas, and if she was intent on going to Wolfpine with him, there was nothing he could do about it now but take her along.

Chapter 8

Keena shuddered whenever her dad ran the moist cloth over her face. She couldn’t gaze at him, but neither at anywhere else, so her eyes danced about, never fixating on any object around the kitchen. She wanted to say something, anything, but her jaw wouldn’t stop shaking.

Jorgen cleaned her up, bit by bit, the cloth always coming out deep red after he washed her for a while. On the other side of their kitchen, Maycon, already awake, stood, clutching at his belly, as her mom attended him as well. Whenever he shot occasional wide-eyed glances at Keena, she would flinch. Not so much at him, but at the memory of what she did.

Jorgen ran the cloth over her cheek, and she shook so much at the touch that he recoiled.

“Darling, it’s alright, it’s alright now.”

It’s alright? How could he say that? Nothing was alright, she had murdered dozens of people, and it wasn’t midday yet, then she opened one up and ate his…

She lurched forward, vomiting pure bile as by now her belly had got empty of anything she’d eaten. Jorgen held her, stopping her from slipping and falling onto her own filth.

“Oww…” she moaned… “Dad… I… I’m sorry…”

He held her close, embracing her even if it meant he also sullied his clothes red. He stroked her drenched hair. His breathing, so close, like morning sea breeze, was the one thing that centered her right then. Enough for her to speak.

“Dad… Dad, help me. What’s happening to me?”

His embrace tightened. She responded with her own weak arms.

“Shhh…” he said, “hush, dear. We’ll work it out, I promise you. Everything will be fine.”

Maycon dragged himself up, leaving the kitchen as if pushed away by Keena’s very presence.

“How is he?” Jorgen asked.

“Nothing broken,” Layra answered, “but his pride. He does have a cracked rib and his bruises will take a few weeks to heal.”

Her mother brought Keena a cup.

“Here, have some milk, honey.”

Jorgen helped her drink while her mother sat beside them. Only when the cool milk went down Keena’s throat did she realize how parched she was, enough that she grasped the cup with both hands and gulped it all down.

Muffled whispers and hushes of assembled villagers outside their house reached her, clear suspicion, and distrust in the tone of every comment even if she couldn’t make them out.

A knock came from their door. Jorgen moved to answer while her mother held her close. A balding man came in, with a ripped and dirty brocaded shirt that right this morning had been pristine. He shot Keena a furtive look once, though he seemed more intent on gazing straight at Jorgen.

“Mister Haylor,” Jorgen said, “be welcome.”

“Jorgen, nice to see you and... yours are fine,” Haylor replied. For an alderman who always spoke so steadily, his shaky voice could only announce bad news.

“What tidings, sir?” Jorgen asked, wiping his hands clean of blood. Haylor did briefly glance at them.

“Jorgen, we have been talking, those of us who survived. Most of us did, thanks to, eh, your daughter.” He nodded at Keena, the first time he ever seemed to acknowledge her existence. “We think it’s best for us to get the raiders’ ship, take off its flag and sail west. Into Voulan, or perhaps into Hador or Calebor. Out of here, anyways, away from the war.”

Jorgen nodded. “Seems like a good thought, but we’d better be quick about it. The Kaylorites will be back for sure. When do we leave?”

“Ehm… if we all pull ourselves straight, I guess we’re aiming for leaving before dusk today.”

Jorgen crossed his arms, looking pensive. “Mine can make it; we’ll take only essentials with us.”

The alderman looked down, again shooting a sideways glance at Keena, “Thing is, Jorgen, most folks are, you know, downright scared… of your daughter, I mean.”

Jorgen narrowed his eyes. “I understand,” he said.

“So, ehm, when we leave, we’d like her to… not come with us.”

Jorgen’s tone raised with clear outrage.

“What?”

“Please, Jorgen, you have to understand… Folks are grateful, they are, but… what she did… they’re talking, you know… what if she does it again, and we’re all on a boat, and…”

Jorgen clenched his fists, taking a step towards Haylor. The alderman took two steps back, almost out of their house.

“She just saved your sorry hides. She saved this whole damn village, and you want to leave my girl behind?” Keena never saw her dad so enraged. Even from the kitchen, she shook at his words.

The alderman shook as well, as he stepped further back at Jorgen’s outburst.

“Jorgen, we—we took a vote on that. It was a hundred twenty-three to fifteen. We can’t have her. For sure, she saved us, but then, now we have to leave our homes because of her.”

“You flinging hypocrites!” Jorgen cried. “So, you’d rather be Kaylorite slaves by now? Are you gonna say my Keena brought them here as well?”

Haylor looked down, then glanced at Jorgen, then looked down again. “You—you guys can come, Jorgen… having a smith with us will help us a lot, but… she’s not coming. It’s decided. Look, most folks have let her take whatever she wants from their homes.”

“Why you…” Jorgen took another step to the alderman, closing his fists around the alderman’s neck. Layra ran to her husband, her touch easing away his anger. Jorgen breathed in, then burst out at Haylor, “you spineless cowards, the lot of you!” He shouted to everyone outside. “Cowards, ungrateful hypocrites! You’ll leave my daughter to die after she saved you all! Get out of here, you rats, get!” He shouted, nearly running the alderman out, who scrambled to leave before Jorgen threw him from the doorway, slamming the door in his face.

Jorgen breathed deeply by the closed door a few times before turning back to Keena.

“I can’t believe this,” he said, “I just can’t. Twenty years in this village, they’ve known Keena all her life, and now they throw her out like that.”

Layra ran her hands through her husband’s ruffled hair, ending in a caress to his cheek.

“Jorgen,” she said, “I’m also mad at them, but think about it: if you were in their place, wouldn’t you think the same?”

“No,” he said, “I would never leave a girl who saved my life behind, no matter who or what she was.”

What she was.

Keena trembled, hiding her face with her hands at her dad’s words, closing her throat while a gasp threatened a crying spell that she knew would never stop.

“Oh, no, dear, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” Her dad embraced her again.

Layra sat down beside them.

“Don’t you worry, honey,” she said, “we’re not leaving you behind, no matter what they say.”

Maycon had come back to the kitchen door, likely because of the commotion with the alderman. He gazed at Keena, Jorgen, and Layra. Though he still seemed sick to his stomach, his eyes had lost some of their wild edge.

“You’re right we’re not, sis,” he said, though he seemed to want to convince himself more than Keena, “we’ll be with you whatever comes.”

She could already see them, the family of four riding away from Ironshore. It was like the alderman said, though, the Kaylorites would be back for sure, so they’d be four people running from a group of soldiers. People who could and would hunt them down, until they were either killed or captured on some random woods.

Unless she picked up a sword, and the same wretched thing happened to her again. Only, this time, would she be able to stop it? She only did it last time because she was tired from killing, but what if this time she would instead only stop after hurting her family?

She squinted and frowned, forcing herself to say, “Mom… Dad… you gotta go.”

“No way!” Maycon replied, taking a step to her.

“Don’t talk nonsense, dear,” her mother said.

“It’s… it’s not nonsense, mom… what if… what if the alderman’s right? What if I can’t control myself?”

Layra glanced sideways at Jorgen, who lowered his eyes with a slightly pained expression.

“We’re not leaving you, Keena, not for anything.”

“Dad…” she pleaded, “please, I don’t wanna hurt anyone…. but I know I will.”

“No, no you won’t. Listen, I… I think I know someone who can help you.”

Keena leaned back for a bit.

“Who?”

“I know someone, from my soldiering days. She’s a flowcaster.”

Keena gasped alongside Maycon.

“You knew a flowcaster, Dad?” Maycon asked.

“Yes. It was a long time ago, though, but I think if I find her, I can get her to help us. If anyone can, it’s her.”

Jorgen looked at Layra, puffing as he frowned.

“You go, love. Take Maycon and go with the villagers. I’ll stay with Keena.”

Maycon stumbled towards them.

“Dad!” he said.

Jorgen stood up, helping Maycon sit beside his mother, ending with a hand on his shoulder.

“If the four of us stay together, we’ll be caught for sure. It’s best if you two go somewhere safe, and let me take Keena north. You take care of your mom, Mayk, you’ll have to help each other until your sister and I can find you again.”

Layra stood up by her husband, cupping his bearded chin in her hands.

“It’ll be a long way,” she said with moist eyes, “and there’s a war going on, are you sure you’ll be fine?”

“I’ve been in wars before, wife, but it’s not like I have any other choice.”

Jorgen glanced at Keena, followed by Layra and Maycon. He kneeled before her.

“Don’t worry about the alderman or the rest of the village. I’m not abandoning you, ever.”

Keena nodded. She wanted to embrace her father, but all she could do was bury her face in her hands once more and cry.

The afternoon went long as the entire village started boarding the Kaylorite ship, while the Venans said their farewells to each other. Since the ship had no room for horses, Jorgen and Keena had their pick from the best in the village as they packed their saddlebags.

Maycon took most of Jorgen’s smithing tools, but Jorgen got a few of his swords and latest commissions with him, since his clients wouldn’t get them anyway now. Keena stood as far away as she could from those blades.

Layra handed Jorgen a loaded backpack.

“How will you find us? After you’re… done?”

“I’ll run every port town from here until the western steppes if that’s what it takes.”

Layra touched his chest.

“I’m sure you would, but I don’t know how effective it would be. I’ll try to come back here, once the war is gone. Before that, I’ll see if I can get them to see us off in Alronais, or I’ll travel there once we find port.”

He leaned forward, embracing her as they kissed, a kiss that started warm, growing savage and passionate, ending in a long parting of lips. After they broke apart, they still stared into each other’s faces for the longest time.

“My sun, I’ll pray for you every day.” Layra said.

“Root of my heart, I’m with you forever.” Jorgen replied.

Maycon also embraced Jorgen, sniffing, and wiping his eyes as they parted.

Layra kneeled before Keena, adjusting her backpack with teary eyes.

“You take care, you hear? Always obey your father. You are my little star, just as he is my sun. I’ll miss you forever.”

Keena embraced her mother, gasping as silent tears rolled down unbidden.

Whatever happened, their only road now led north.

Chapter 9

Although Zaleck and Vellis had to stop to rest much more often than if they were travelling on horseback, they made good time on the road east. In two days, they reached Harnstead, then five more days until Marton Hills, which stood at the edge of the Hallen Mounts.

They only had to sleep in the woods once, as they couldn’t find lodging that day. All other nights, they either found an Inn or a household willing to give them shelter for the night. Despite Zaleck’s complaints, he only had to chop wood once. Sweeping the floor and doing the dishes were also things that helped them pay for their lodging, even if Vellis’s hunting was the main reason they got rooms in the first place.

They also made several tests with the crushing ring. Zaleck tried it on trees, animals, insects, never getting it to work. However, anything that wore clothes could be affected, such as when he tried it on a scarecrow far away, only to watch it crumble down into the fields.

“Damn it, Zal!” Vellis complained when the scarecrow fell.

Zaleck gasped at the cloud of debris that rose from the fallen scarecrow.

“Oh, wow… I guess… we should go and apologize…”

“And tell them what? That you used a magic ring to destroy their scarecrow? Learn your lesson and let’s move on.”

“You’re the one who said I should try to find out how they work!”

“I didn’t say you could destroy other people’s property though.”

Zaleck let shame foul his mood all the way till nightfall.

For the latter half of the journey, they followed the Sharin River as it met with its affluents, growing to a large, flowing waterway beside which the brunt of the valley’s farming took place. Further east, at the edge with the kingdom of Eboris, it would turn into one of the tallest waterfalls of the North. The two of them would take a road southeast far before that point, right after Marton Hills.

As the suns dipped behind the rugged crests of the titular Marton Hills, their final light bathed the landscape in green-red tones. Zaleck and Vellis walked towards the small mining community with a weary pace, their eyes glancing at the silent expanse.

The road to the city stood at an incline, and when they neared the first houses, a glance back showed them a good portion of the valley they had come from. Far away, its fields still received the suns’ last glow, whereas closer to the village it seemed like the gods were slowly wiping away the colors to make room for the incoming night.

Zaleck moved with a decisive rhythm born out of the promise of rest. He clutched his threadbare cloak closer around his shoulders. Though summer approached, the valley seemed to have caught a chill spell these last few days.

Beside him, Vellis shifted her walk to the now-familiar prowling of the huntress. With a frown in her face, she scanned around, almost like she heard a stalking predator moving about.

“Anything wrong?” Zaleck asked.

“I don’t know. The place is quiet, too quiet, right when it should be livening up for the night.”

“Maybe they’re quiet folk. Not every village has to gather at the alehouse at night, like back home.”

She chuckled,“One thing you’ll learn on the road is that, yes, every village gathers at the alehouse at dusk.”

The duo paused at the crest of a small hill, overlooking the handful of weathered structures that made up Marton Hills. Only one smoke plume rose from the chimneys, and lights flickered behind only two of the windows. Scores of mining tools lay abandoned, as if their owners had vanished in mid-motion. The cold wind grazed at their cheeks, making the leaves rustle with a sound like quiet whispers.

Zaleck’s hand moved to the hilt of his practice sword. He turned his gaze towards Vellis for reassurance. Vellis, glancing back, gave him a slight nod.

Together, they stepped forward into the shadow of Marton Hills, their figures gradually merging with the outlines of the small community. The last light of the day slipped beyond the horizon, and Zaleck shuddered at the first evening chill.

They made way for the only house where sound could be heard. It was, indeed, an alehouse.

Swinging the door open, it creaked as lamplight filtered out from within. The pair stepped inside, their entry sending a hush through the already subdued murmur of the place. The air was thick with the scent of stale ale and the last remnants of a fire still crept at the hearth, seeming exhausted after having burned for so long. Every eye in the room snapped towards the newcomers.

Zaleck hesitated beyond the threshold, his eyes burned enough at the light to cause him to draw a small, almost imperceptible breath. His gaze swept across the faces turned toward them, some had wide eyes and gaping mouths, other had narrow eyelids and pursed lips.

Vellis, standing a step before Zaleck, surveyed the room before moving to an empty table. Close to the hunched, sooth-faced miners, her broad shoulders and the visible weapons she carried made her an imposing figure.

A burly man with a scar trailing down his cheek, the first to recover from their entry, came to them while clearing his throat. “What brings you two capable fellows to Marton Hills?” he asked, his voice tinged with wariness. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Zaleck’s unusual appearance.

“We’re just passing by,” Vellis replied, “if you have a meal for us, we can work for it, and if there’s a place we can stay for the night, we’ll be out of here tomorrow first light.”

The man eyed Vellis for a touch too long when a woman at the back of the room nodded at them, “Come now, Faeren, get them some of the broth we’ve left. We don’t see many strangers these days.”

The man turned, glancing one last time at them before moving into the kitchen. When their meal came, the woman brought them the two plates.

Zaleck took his meal as he said, “Thanks, miss…”

“Tanara’s the name, my boy. And forgive my Faeren, he’s been too edgy of late.”

“Forgive my asking, Miss Tanara,” Zaleck said, as cautious as he managed to be, “but you seem to have a lot of empty houses here.”

Tanara swallowed dry, her eyes shifting around for a heartbeat before answering. “Yes, we’ve had an… incident at the mine. A lot of good folks died. Many a family couldn’t support themselves and left… Then the recruiters came, and demanded one person per household for the army, and it didn’t matter to them some of the households were empty.”

Vellis squinted her eyes, “The queen’s recruiters demanded soldiers for empty houses? And you all stood for it?”

Tanara took a slight step back. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, my lady, that you don’t get too much trouble when you ask for something while holding a blade. Now excuse me.” She left before either of them could say anything.

One after another, the tavern’s patrons left while Zaleck and Vellis ate their meal. Zaleck’s gaze dropped to the hearth as silence stretched within the alehouse. Its low flames died little by little, seeming sad that there was nothing else to burn. By the end of their meal, only two other people remained. Vellis’s own expression grew darker and darker. By the end, she picked up their plates and walked over to Tanara, who had returned to the counter.

“How much do we owe you, Miss Tanara?”

“Oh, nothing. Those were leftovers of the night, we’d have thrown them to the dogs had you not come anyway.”

“Still, I insist.”

“Please, my dear, we don’t want to take advantage of two travelers.”

Tanara’s voice seemed to tremble slightly at times.

“Then at least let us do your dishes —”

“No, no,” Tanara cut her off. “Please, it’s alright, really.”

Vellis crossed her arms, her voice taking the low tone Zaleck knew to be one step before mayhem.

“Is there any place we can stay the night?”

Tanara blinked at Vellis and straightened up.

“You can pick any empty house. I’m sure no one will notice.”

Zaleck waited for Vellis by the door. When they faced the night’s biting cold again, none of them needed to say anything.

They walked about the few streets of Marton Hills until coming to a small cottage with a barn beside it. It stood at the edge of the city, far away from any house with either sound or light.

“This one will do,” Vellis said, her voice a touch above whispering.

“Vel, wouldn’t it be better for us to move on? We can sleep in the woods tonight. I don’t like this.”

Vellis moved into the house, swinging the door open into near pitch darkness. After Zaleck moved in, she said, “They’re following us. They’re watching and following us. If we leave, they’ll come for us anyway.”

Zaleck turned around, trying to peer outside.

“Man, I wish you’d have taught me how to notice things like this.”

“In my defense, I hoped I’d never have to. Here, light that.” She pointed to a half-worn candle by a wooden table.

Zaleck ignited the candle with his flint and steel. The lone flame caught on with a silent whisper of gratitude.

“You have a plan, right?” He said.

“The plan is to survive the night.” she surveyed the house as she spoke.

“But why are they doing this? What’ve they got against us?”

“Let’s call finding that out a secondary objective.” She returned with two dark, faded, worn-out, ripped blankets. “Cover yourself with this. We’re going out the back door, and we’ll move, slowly, into the barn. Now, be very, very silent.”

Opening the hanging back door took Vellis much longer than Zaleck thought he could bear. Each step she took outside was beyond stealthy. Zaleck’s own heartbeat deafened him, its hammering almost making him stumble.

Zaleck himself couldn’t hear it when Vellis opened the barn door, bit by bit, and moved in. As he followed her, she closed it after him in the same turtle’s stride.

“What now?” he whispered.

“Now we string our bows and wait.”

“For what?”

“For the candlelight in the house to go out.”

The moons’ light, obscured by thick clouds, covered the house before them in a darkness broken only by the flickering frame of the candlelit window. The air inside the barn hung stale and heavy with the scent of hay and the musky tang of livestock long since removed. Zaleck and Vellis crouched among the shadows, their breaths shallow, their senses heightened to every whisper in the silence that enveloped them.

Zaleck shifted slightly, the straw beneath him rustling. His breath labored as he strained his eyes to penetrate the darkness.

Maybe they wouldn’t come. This town’s folk might just let them be, and he and Vellis could move on come morning. They had to, because otherwise, Zaleck would have to nock an arrow, aim his bow, and shoot them. He’d have to kill a person, on purpose. That would not be like back in Theron’s ship, where he killed a lot of people but didn’t quite know what was happening. This time, it would be a planned thing. Could he do it, if it came to that?

Silence stretched on, suffocating, tangible throughout the night. Zaleck started dozing off. Though all he could see of the candlelight was its reflection in the house’s walls, its flicker brought him back to awareness. It was almost like, in his mind, he could hear the flame sighing when it finally gave out.

That was it. If they were coming for them, it would happen now.

The faintest rustles came from outside—a soft, scuffling sound like leaves brushing against the dirt. Vellis’s hand tensed and a cold thread weaved through Zaleck’s back. The rustling grew clearer, now accompanied by the muffled thud of boots on soft earth and the quiet clink of metal.

The house’s front door creaked open. The villager’s voices got clearer. Though their shapes couldn’t be discerned, it seemed an argument had broken among them.

Maybe they’d think Zaleck and Vellis had escaped and moved away. They had to.

Instead, the back door opened. Two villagers sneaked out, dark shapes moving in the blackest night, approaching the barn.

Zaleck’s breathing slowed, he nocked an arrow to his bow. Vellis already raised hers.

She shifted, a small movement, almost imperceptible, her body coiling. Her eyes glistened, two shards of flint in the gloom.

A shadow passed in front of the slatted barn door, another followed. Zaleck held his breath.

The barn door swung open with a groan of tired hinges. Two shapes stood framed against the cloudy backdrop.

Vellis shot, once, twice. The arrows whistled. One hit a man in his throat, the other, in the head. Both bodies fell limp, sending muted thuds as they hit the ground. The other villagers heard it and ran at them.

Vellis nocked another arrow, letting it fly into a man’s chest as he entered the barn. Four other attackers came close. Zaleck aimed, and aimed, and aimed, his hand shook, his throat gasped.

He couldn’t do it.

One more villager fell to Vellis’s arrows, but now three men closed in on her. She drew her daggers, but two men waved clubs at her. She stepped back, avoiding the hit by a slice of a fingernail, while her daggers escaped her.

Zaleck dropped his bow, pointed at a man, and flicked his finger. The man came crushing down.

Vellis rolled on the floor, retrieving her daggers while dodging another attack. Zaleck crushed yet another villager down. Only one opponent faced Vellis now, and this one found a dagger thrust into his throat. He fell, gurgling in his own blood.

Shouting rang outside. Three more people entered the barn, and more steps approached.

Vellis slit one of the crushed men’s throat while Zaleck brought villager after villager down by flicking his finger.

The first man Zaleck had crushed down stood back up, right behind Vellis, embracing her in a bear hug.

“Here! I got her,” he shouted.

Arrows zipped past. Even in the dark, the villagers also aimed at them.

Vellis wrapped both her legs around the man that grabbed her from behind. They both fell while she rolled aside, coming up while slicing his throat twice.

Zaleck kept crushing as many villagers as he could, but always after crushing a fifth one, one of the other ones always got up again. Yet, the mess of so many people falling down and losing their breath was all that Vellis needed to pick up her bow and take them out, one by one.

She emptied her arrows, then moved to finish those who remained with her daggers. Grunts and gasps turned to desperate stifled howls as the villagers, crushed by Zaleck’s ring, realized this night was their last.

As soon as she sliced the final attacker, Vellis ran outside. Zaleck followed. On the city’s earthen street, a dark shape stumbled away, running in desperation. Zaleck pointed his finger at it and flipped, crushing down whoever it was.

They both advanced to the last fallen attacker. Hints of candlelight from further away washed them, revealing both Zaleck and Vellis to be fully covered in bloody mud all the way to their hair.

The fallen shape belonged to Tanara, the alehouse keeper. She tried twisting her arms and legs, gasping for breaths that came harder and harder.

Vellis towered beside her.

“Miss Tanara, your only hope of surviving this is if you tell us what we want to know. I’m sure you realized by now you cannot escape me.” She glanced back at Zaleck. “Let her go, gently.”

Zaleck slowly flicked his finger up. The pressure on Tanara eased, and she crawled a few steps away from Vellis.

Vellis pointed one of her daggers at Tanara. Blood still dripped from the blade.

“Now, why in the name of all hells did you lot attack us?”

Tanara gasped twice before answering.

“He… it… we had to… we had no choice.”

“I did not ask for the lies you tell yourself. I want to know why you attacked us.”

“We—we were told to do it.”

“By who?”

“By a… oh gods… a monster. You have to believe me, it’s true.”

Zaleck took a step to her.

“A big monster that looked like a person made of ash, with liquid fire beneath the skin?”

Tanara blinked, somehow more surprised by hearing Zaleck say it. She nodded.

“This monster,” Vellis said, “it talked to you? With words?”

“Yes. It said that a red-haired woman and a white-haired boy would come here. We were to kill the woman and capture the boy. It… please, forgive us, but it killed half our village, and said if we didn’t obey, it would come back and kill the rest.”

Vellis cursed under her breath.

“How long ago was that?” she asked.

“Three days.”

Three days? So, there was another monster already looking for them.

“If you had captured me,” Zaleck asked, “what were you to do?”

“Wait. It said it would come back in a month or so.”

Vellis swung her daggers, wiping most of the blood away before sheathing them.

“One more thing,” she said, “where do you keep your horses?”

Tanara pointed to a large house by the city entrance.

Vellis and Zaleck walked past her. Tanara cried after them.

“Please, please! You can’t go, it, it’ll kill us all!”

Vellis didn’t glance back at her.

“Take your survivors, if there’s any, run away, and pray we find this thing before it finds you.”

Chapter 10

The road north from Ironshore followed the right bank of the Chiorn river as it wound between steep walls of rock carved within the Dezzari mountains. Legend holds this part of the Chiorn had been opened by a vast flowcast over a thousand years ago. Since then, the rolling winds that passed through the canyon had further eroded the cliffside, carving pillars of rock and stone entryways by the riverbanks.

In the waning afternoon light, Jorgen and Keena rode alongside the dirt road that sidled the river. The cliff wall beside them sliced the suns lights into bands of golden dust that glowed as they met the cliff’s red and ochre striations.

All through the day, as they rode, Keena thought of a thousand ways to start a conversation with her father, only to keep herself from talking as she still shuddered at the mere memory of what she did.

As they rounded a bend in the river, a small cottage came into view, nestled on a patch of land where the canyon widened. Smoke curled from the hole in the thatched roof, mingling with the mist that started to rise off the river as the air cooled. A rough-hewn wooden dock jutted into the water, where a single moored boat bobbed gently with the current.

Jorgen glanced at Keena. She attempted to look hopeful at the prospect of having a roof over their heads. By then, the spray from the river had dampened her brown hair, making it cling to her cheeks. She wasn’t looking forward to sleeping outdoors that night.

They moved towards the house, dismounting from their horses when a figure emerged from the cottage. A man appeared from within, with a dark beard, broad shoulders and as much hair as a man could have in his body, except for the head. His hands gripped at a wooden club while his eyes darted to Jorgen’s sword. Behind him, two children peeked from within their house.

Jorgen approached with spread arms and open hands.

“Hello, there. Name’s Jorgen. We’re travelers from Ironshore. We’re just passing and would like to ask for a place to stay the night. We can pay. This one’s my daughter, Keena.”

The man squinted. “Jorgen, the blacksmith?”

“One and only, friend.”

The man nodded, lowering his club.

“Iben, these here are Vira and Gelf, and—you can come out now!”

A woman stepped warily out of the house, also eyeing Jorgen’s weapon. Iben addressed her.

“Ulla, this one’s Jorgen, Ironshore’s blacksmith.”

Ulla frowned. “Oh. You might not remember us, sir, but you fixed the fittings on our boat a while back.”

“I do remember, Miss Ulla, though at the time I hadn’t met your husband.”

Ulla never lost her frown as she called them in.

“Come on, come in, we had a good catch today, and I can fry you another fish.”

Iben and Ulla’s cottage had only one room, where everybody seemingly slept on arranged piles of hay. Still, they kept the floor clean and arranged scores of herbs by the house that cut off some of its fish smell. The warmth inside felt like the long-missed hug from a friend as it started drying Keena’s hair.

They sat down around the wooden table while Ulla got them two plates with a large fried fish each.

“What news from Ironshore, master Jorgen?” Iben asked.

Jorgen paused for a moment before answering.

“Attacked,” he said, lowering his voice.

The whole family glanced at him, their expressions growing serious.

“Kaylorite raiders,” Jorgen continued, “by miracle we drove them away, but they’ll be back. And they’ll not stop there, mister Iben.”

“By the gods!” Ulla said as she sat beside Jorgen.

“We’re riding away, and I advise you do the same as soon as you can.”

Iben scowled.

“As if the queen taking our Hamit to fight for her wasn’t bad enough.”

They ate in further silence, and somehow even the buttered, herb-spiced fish tasted bitter that night.

Jorgen took a few copper pennies from his coin pouch, but Iben stopped him with a gesture.

“Oh, no, master Jorgen, we’ll have no payment from you tonight. The news you brought us may have saved our lives. You keep your coin.”

Jorgen nodded. “Much appreciated, good sir. Tell me, is there a pasture nearby where I can hitch our horses?”

“You can use our own hitching rail,” Ulla replied. “Take our hay as well. I don’t think we’ll stay here for long, after what you told us. We’ll set you up for the night in the meantime.”

Jorgen nodded at the couple, taking an oil lamp with him as he and Keena stepped into a cloudy night whose moonlight cast silvery outlines in the cotton clouds that peeked over the cliffs.

They hitched their horses in the clear night. As Jorgen brought a bale of hay for their horses, Keena sat up on the hitching post and asked.

“Dad… do you know what’s happening to me?”

Jorgen turned to her, caressing her hair. He sounded both worried and sad as he replied.

“Dear… how long has this been happening to you?”

Keena looked down, tensing her arms trying to contain the shame that shuddered her far more than the night chill.

“About… a few months now.”

“So, you’d say, it began a while after you started bleeding?”

Keena blinked. He was right about the timing.

“Yes…”

“And do you know when it happens? What causes it?”

She nodded. “I… I think so, Dad… It’s whenever I pick up a knife or a sword. It started when I was working the kitchen. I can, like, I don’t know, but I think they call to me, I can sense… the blood… calling.”

“Like…” Jorgen said, picking up one of his swords, “like this sword?”

Keena flinched at the weapon, but a heartbeat later she eased up. No, that sword didn’t call to her, not like the knife at all.

“I… It’s strange, but, no, I feel nothing.”

“What about this one?” He took another weapon, a shorter, older sword.

This one, oh yes, it stirred her, awakening a faint desire, a soft lust for blood that had her licking her lips before she realized what she was doing. She looked away with a sharp movement.

“Yes, yes! Please, put it away.”

Jorgen put the sword down, scratching his beard. His eyes never left her, and they seemed to fill with pity when he spoke.

“Kitchen knives, raiders’ weapons, this old sword, they all have one thing in common that the other blade didn’t. Whatever’s happening to you only comes out when you touch a blade that has tasted blood.”

Keena frowned. Jorgen breathed deeply, his worry lines lengthened by the lamplight beside him.

“But…” she said, “but why? What’s this?”

Jorgen spoke but above a whisper.

“I think, and I may be wrong, but I think there’s a demon inside of you.”

Keena widened her eyes, perking up on the wooden beam.

“A what?”

“A demon.”

She forced herself to breathe in, lest she suffocate right there.

“But… how… why… how do you know this, Dad?”

Jorgen sat beside her.

“Do you remember that I told you my parents died in a bandit raid?”

“Yes.”

“You see, that happened when I was only a lad, and I saw it all. We were travelling with a group of people, and then one night bandits fell upon our encampment, killing everybody and raiding the place. I only survived because I had gone away to relieve myself, but still, I saw it from afar. I saw them kill my own parents, but I was a child back then, nearly Maycon’s age, and I had no weapon, so the only thing I could do was hide.”

Jorgen looked down as he continued.

“Ever since then, all I could think about was how to take revenge on all of them. I was a scrawny boy, and those guys had been bandits since before I was born, they knew how to attack, kill, and run away. There was no way I would get close to them. But then, I got this idea, that I’ve read in one of Gramma’s story books, of… asking for a flowcaster for help.”

Keena leaned back.

“Oh… you mean, just like that?”

“Well, it was a bit trickier than that,” he chuckled. “At first, I had no idea how to do that, so I looked for information wherever I could. I already knew a bit about smithing, so I joined a mercenary band as their tinkerer. Eventually, I heard about this woman, her name is Erona Aellar, and she was supposed to be an immortal flowcaster, someone very wise, very knowledgeable. Thus, I found out where she lived, picking up hints here and there, until I had her at a house in Redhawk.”

Jorgen looked to the lamplight, nostalgy in his voice.

“She was the strangest and yet most impressive person I’ve ever met. Her skin was darker than night, and the way light glistened on it was like twinkling stars. One of her nicknames is ‘the night walking,’ and for good reason. She wore very little clothing, even in autumn, when I met her, and her gaze was so intense she could temper a blade with it.

“I told her my tale and asked for her help. She looked at me for a long time and said if I had any notion of what I was asking, I would run away and never come back. Still, I insisted, and she said, in no uncertain terms, that she would not help me and that I should forget all about this. In retrospect, I suppose this was the wisest counsel anyone’s ever given me.

“I stayed with her for a few months. I think she took pity on me. She had this enormous library, and I devoured every book. That’s when I learned about demons and how they manifest. But though she was kind enough, I mean, far kinder than I had any hope she’d be, I was just too driven. If she wouldn’t help me, then I’d have to help myself. So, I left her.

“I went on to become a very good mercenary and a very good smith. I was unbeatable, back then, or so I thought. Until, that is, I met your mother. Till then, I lived for the blade, fighting and killing for gold.”

He looked down, sounding like he was consoling himself. “I knew nothing else in my life. Layra took all that away, and instead she gave me calm, and someone to talk to, and love. Too much love for someone like me. I decided to settle down, and with my gains from soldiering I bought the forge we had in Ironshore. And then you came along, my little miracle, and I knew whatever happiness I would ever deserve; I had found it.”

Keena got down from the hitching post, taking a few steps. She grasped at her hair, running her hands over her face as her breathing got heavier and heavier.

So, she had a demon inside of her. A demon. It wasn’t her, then. None of it, the rage, the anger, and the bloodlust, these were the demon’s. Her hands shook so much she closed them into fists, and yet, she couldn’t help but grin.

She wasn’t going mad, then.

“Okay… alright…” she paced around, “So, I’ve got a demon in me… but this… this flowcaster woman… she can fix me, right?”

“I hope so. If anyone can, it’s her.”

She paced back to the hitching post.

“So… did you get it? Your revenge?”

Jorgen nodded.

“Yea, a year after I became a mercenary.”

Keena sighed. “Dad… if you’re wrong… I don’t know what to do.”

He caressed her hair.

“Neither do I, honey.”

Chapter 11

The first thing of Wolfpine that came into view was the topmost of the church’s towers, followed by its three sisters and the town’s cathedral at the summit of the hill in the city’s center. Its roads were all but swallowed by the rooftops of stone houses, all crammed so tight the whole island seemed to be one big heap of houses piled one atop another. A second, smaller island held the castle, that went almost as tall as the church, overlooking the width of the Ravanni River.

The closer Iavad and Merina got, more and more the city unfurled before them. So much that as they neared the gates by the northern bridge, it sprawled east and west beyond their sight.

The two of them seemed to be the only ones going into the city, navigating against a constant flow of people coming out of it. As large as it was, it looked like it might soon be empty of anyone but soldiers. No soldier kept the mass of people from leaving, but Iavad couldn’t help but wonder where they all would go.

Iavad handed the paper with Willas’s orders to a soldier by the gate. He pointed into the city, like that would mean anything to him.

“You’re with the sixth spearmen, soldier. They’re at the harbor, that a ways.”

Following those instructions proved far more complicated than pointing somewhere. None of Wolfpine’s roads went straight for too long, and the city had so many alleyways and turns that he would have been lost if not for Merina.

“First time in Wolfpine, I take it?” she asked. Iavad grunted in reply.

“You can see the church tower from mostly anywhere,” she said. “There’s a plaza with a few lookouts up there that’ll help you find your way. Come with me, I’m going there as well.”

They followed the labyrinthine streetways, almost all of them patrolled by a few guards, though fewer and fewer citizens appeared as they crested the hill. Thousands of soldiers had already come to the city, and the market square that Merina mentioned had been turned into an actual army barracks, complete with smiths, training fields, food stalls and stables.

At the lookouts, though, he paused. From that high up, the southern plains should have been visible in the horizon, with their rolling fields of wheat and cotton. Instead, another city was being built right beyond the river, an expansive set of square tents, wooden buildings and marching soldiers that reached up to as far as he could see. Tens of thousands of soldiers assembled a palisade, scores of siege towers in their first stages had already started going up. For every soldier in Wolfpine, the Kaylorite forces beyond the river seemed to have ten more.

“Gods,” Iavad mumbled.

“Nah,” Merina said, “gods can’t help us here.”

“Can we win this?”

Merina sighed, pointing towards the city’s southern exits.

“Can you see how the southern drawbridges out of town have already been raised? They can’t get in that way. They could go around, but that would mean risking getting hit from behind if the generals decide to order an assault on their rear. That’s a bad position to be in. The dusters know this, so they will expect the queen’s forces to be marshalling south of Caerlon.”

“So, why doesn’t she attack?”

“She needs more time. This means, the dusters’ only option is to cross west of the Ravanni somewhere north, but from the church tower we can see almost all the way into the plains. We’d know if they plan this.”

“So, that means…”

“They have to try and take the city. Wolfpine is the gateway to the heartlands of the kingdom. It’s a very defensible place to be in, but, still, those are some damn big numbers down there.”

Merina pointed to a southern stretch of the city by the riverbank.

“That’s you, Iavad. Sixth spearmen. Think you can get there on your own?”

Iavad snorted. He intended it to be a chuckle, but it came out a bit more offended than he wanted it.

“Merina,” he said. Merina glanced at him.

“Who are you, really?”

She raised an eyebrow as she answered.

“Merina Castlar, strategic advisor to general Faeren Maranis.”

“You’re—a noble?”

“I have been called a lady by some, yes. Not by many, though.”

Before he realized it, he bowed to her.

“Thanks for the assistance, m’lady.”

“Oh, don’t mention it, farmer. And here, we’re all soldiers. Get used to talking to me, Iavad. I have a feeling we’re going to spend quite some time together.”

She turned around, walking towards the cathedral.

Iavad had to ask for directions three times before finding his assigned unit. The sixth spearmen stood by the southern harbor, one of the only stretches of the city that didn’t have a wall, and, therefore, the one with the greatest number of units guarding it. His new captain, Serone Allais, took in Willas’s reports and waved him away without so much as a word. The quartermaster proved a touch more forthcoming, examining his equipment before pointing him to his new quarters.

“Morning inspection starts at first light,” he told Iavad, “then it’s training all to mid-afternoon. We’ve no breakfast here; lunch is at midday. Make no fuss, do as you’re told, listen ten times more than you speak, and you’ll do fine.”

As the day faded into twilight Iavad took a walk by the camp. No one spoke too loud or moved too fast. Instead, more often than not furtive glances were shot southward, to the other riverbank, where the throng of Kaylorite soldiers became a wall filled with the spikes of their spears, ready to chew them whole.

Eventually, someone would notice him. Whoever these spearmen had been before being drafted, it all melted away when they took on the colors of Ayrn. However, from beneath a few greedy stares, hints of their past shone through. Stares that, more than once, fell upon his ring and sword.

He was going to have to find a way to deal with this. Zaleck’s ring was the only thing keeping him alive amidst this madness, and its jewels drew so many glances Iavad doubted he’d still have it come morning. Still, what could he do? If he took it off, he could be stabbed in the back like anyone else. If he kept it, it was just a matter of time until he got robbed. As good as it was against knives and blades, thieves with clubs could still break every one of his bones.

No, what he needed to do was find out how it worked, and he needed to do it that same day.

In a city as large as Wolfpine, now devoid of civilian life, full of soldiers cramming on specific neighborhoods, it took Iavad no more than a few minutes to find an alley where no one could see him. He sat down on a moist cobblestone street, three-storied houses closing in on him so tight he could touch both sides with his hands, their shadows darkening the last hours of the day.

Right. First test. Does the ring work on any metal weapon thrown at him, or does it have to come from someone targeting him? If he happened to fall on a blade by the floor, would it be thrown back?

That was an easy test. He drew his rondel dagger, holding it atop his hand as far as he could. All he had to do to test it was drop it.

Yet, he took a moment to breathe in. If he was wrong, that would make a nasty cut.

He let go of the dagger. It fell straight down into his open palm. At the last moment, it bounced back, its tip veering towards his face. Then it bounced again, flying away from him.

The loud clanking sound as it hit the street had Iavad scanning the alley for anyone else. No one seemed to have heard it.

Second test. Does he have to wear the ring around his finger for it to work, or would it be enough for him to touch it?

Retrieving his dagger, he took off the ring, grasping it with his hand. Once more the dagger came down, once more it bounced away.

So, touching the ring was enough for it to work. That was promising. Perhaps he could wear it in a chain around his neck, that’d hide it pretty well. However, it could still be stolen. Iavad had to sleep sometime.

Third test. What if he swallowed it? Would it still work? Iavad turned the ring with his fingers, it seemed large enough that he wouldn’t be able to swallow it so easily. And if he did, who could say what would happen once it got inside him? It could block something in his gut, or maybe the incrusted jewel would cut through his belly, and then he’d cough and bleed and die drowning in his own blood.

There was a way to test it, though. A compromise. Iavad put the ring into his mouth, holding it there with his tongue. Again, he raised the dagger and let it fall, again it got thrown away.

So, he just had to touch it, and it didn’t have to be with his skin. That was good. He could work with that. Putting it in a chain and wearing it as a pendant might be his best option, his safest bet.

This wasn’t like a trip to the city, though. This was a war, and this ring was his only hope of going back home in one piece. Especially after he’d seen the forces amassing out of Wolfpine. This was not the moment to play safe. He’d have to be drastic, he’d have to make sure no one could take this ring from him, no matter what.

Iavad had been in the army for a few weeks now, but one thing he learned already is that wherever there are soldiers, there will be someone selling alcohol. In this city, it was at a pub. A local owner who still hadn’t left took to selling his stock to the soldiers, and his place, the ‘drunken school,’ was up day and night.

The girl at the counter greeted him with a weary though still beaming smile.

“New face! What’s your poison, soldier?”

“Got any whisky?” Iavad asked.

“A penny a cup.”

“Can I take the cup with me and get it back to you later on?”

“That’ll be two pennies, but I’ll return the one if you do come back.”

Iavad slid two copper pennies by the counter, taking a metal cup half-filled with an orange whisky. He walked back to his alleyway through a different winding path, stopping to check if he wasn’t being followed. He wasn’t. No one knew him enough to care—yet.

He sat down in near total darkness. Only a sliver of gold still tinged the sky, and that was fast fading.

Taking off the ring, he dropped it into the cup. He also wiped his dagger’s blade with the whisky and raised his shirt. Closing his eyes, he held his breath.

Was he actually going to do this? Cut himself open to protect some goddamn magical ring? He could just wear it. No need for any self-mutilation. But, then, there was always that chance, that smallest off-chance that he’d be robbed, or that he’d lose it, or be ordered by a noble to hand it over. This way, he would keep it for sure. He would keep it inside of him.

Still, a hundred things could go wrong. The wound could infect, the ring could stop working inside his body, not to mention the pain. Would he be able to see this through?

Yes. He had to do it, even if it would hurt like the hells.

Stifling a groan, he pushed the dagger into his belly, enough to cut through the skin. His hands shook under the lancing pain. He slid the blade, opening the cut just a touch.

A grunt came out. His head swung with the effort. His breathing came in rasped gasps. Before he lost his nerve, he picked up the ring.

And stuck it into his belly.

He stifled his cries, pressing upon his self-inflicted wound. The ring passed into his belly, dancing around his guts like he had swallowed some marble. A moment later, only the pain remained.

His hand went for the cup. No need to waste some good whisky, and by the Gods he needed a drink right then.

One final test. He picked up his dagger and let it fall once more. As expected, it flew away from him, thrown by the ring’s magic.

Now he could sleep at night. Now no one could steal it from him.

Leaning up on the stone walls for support, he got back up and started hobbling towards the physicians’ building. The place looked like it had been a warehouse not long ago, and though scores of cots awaited future wounded, only four stood occupied at that time. A doctor squinted his eyes as he entered.

“Now, what’s that?” he demanded like someone who already knew the answer.

“I was just…” Iavad replied, trying to sound drunk enough, “working with my dagger, then it fell, and I fell on it, and…”

“Let me see.” The physician raised his shirt, frowning at the smell of alcohol.

“‘Tis nothing,” he told Iavad in such an offhand way Iavad wondered how often he saw cuts like this. “Lie there and we’ll patch you up.”

Whatever he thought of Iavad, he kept to himself as he worked on his wound. Iavad lay in the cot, wishing he’d taken more than a few mouthfuls of whisky whenever the doctor passed the needle through his skin.

It would probably hurt throughout the next few days, and he would sport a bandage during training. Never mind, though. He had made sure that one way or another he would go back home.

Chapter 12

Zaleck ran in the dark, the crawling shapes looming closer, gnawing at him. The gloomy house he was in, so big only moments ago, shrank all around him until the walls pressed against his shoulders. No where to run anymore, and still the dark shapes came, crawling, from all over, until they were upon him, extending bloody hands, their faces torn and slashed and muddy —

Zaleck woke up, gasping, holding back a scream. Panting, he wiped the sweat from his brow with shaking hands. This had been the third time, the third night in a row with the same dreams.

The biting cold of night filled his throat as he recovered his breath. Campfire had long since gone out, and with both crescent moons up on a clear sky, the trees and bushes around their camp got covered in a pale greenish light bright enough to walk around.

Vellis shifted, still in her bedroll. “Same dream again?” she asked, groggily.

Zaleck stood up, walking three paces into the woods. Would he ever have a good sleep again?

“Aye…” he mumbled.

He started when Vellis touched his shoulder, having got up herself. Even when she didn’t want to, she moved stealthier than a panther.

“Hey, are you alright?” she asked.

“I—I dunno, Vel… I don’t know…”

She frowned, leaning down to retrieve his blanket.

“You… you’ve been in the army, right?” he asked, “did you ever feel like this?”

“You mean, did I ever have a string of bad dreams after a moment I thought I was going to die?”

He nodded.

Vellis lowered her head and voice when she replied. “Too many times…”

“How did you do it? How did you get over it?”

She leaned on a tree, glancing at him.

“I was lucky, I guess. I had a friend in the army, and we would… talk about these things. I would tell him my bad dreams, he would tell me his, then we would ask a very hard question to each other, and if we answered it, for some reason, things got better.”

Zaleck walked back to the campfire, picking up flint and steel to rekindle the flame. Sparks flew right away, dancing joyful in the air, almost mocking him.

“This friend of yours…” he asked, “he wasn’t one of the Orphans of Grief, was he?”

It would be the worst thing to find they had killed Vellis’s one friend in the army. Thankfully, she answered, “Oh, no. The Orphans, we would never talk about these things with each other. He was another soldier. A blacksmith, really.”

“So… what was this hard question?”

Vellis sat opposite him in the fire.

“If you want to know that, first you have to tell me about your dreams.”

Zaleck sighed, staring at the flames as they danced around the burning firewood. His mood could very well douse that fire. The flames flickered back, as if they were replying to him. If they could burn wood that damp, he could also find it in him to answer Vellis.

“It starts normal,” he said. “Dream things. Then, when I realize it, it’s night already. Next thing I know, I see something coming for me. Dark shapes. Crawling. I try to run, but I never manage to. They come from all around me, and I get surrounded. Then they get close and… I see them and… they’re dead people, all of them, trying to get me. And then I wake up.”

He wiped the sweat away, if only to steady his hands.

“Okay, Zal, then tell me this. How do you feel about it?”

“How do I feel? I feel bad, of course.”

“Why?”

“Because…” could he say it? “Because they know I did it. They’re coming for me because I did it.”

“You did what?”

“I killed them!” he blurted out, as a kind of hopeless apology mingled with an impossible plea, “I killed them all.”

Vellis sat beside him, bringing him closer.

“No, you didn’t. You killed no one. I did it.”

“‘Tis not true and you know it. I used the ring to crush them down, and then you finished them off. I did it, Vel, same as you. We killed them. They weren’t even bandits, or soldiers, they were people, like us, like Mom and Dad, normal people, and I killed them… Gods… I killed them, and I dunno what to do!”

She embraced him, and through his clenched fists, his breaking voice and hammering chest, he found that he needed it. He embraced her back, and for as long as their campfire surrounded them in warmth, they held each other in silence.

The next day, the mountain path became a string of dirt and stone, twisting its way through the white-snowed peaks around them that sometimes came out from among the nearby clouds. Zaleck and Vellis rode along their half-stolen horses, their hooves crunching softly against the gravel and their breaths misting the morning air. The suns had begun to climb the sky, spilling golden light over jagged rock faces and casting long, deep shadows that outlined the trees and the path amid the mist.

“I’m surprised.” Vellis said in an offhand way.

Zaleck turned to her, still somewhat forlorn.

“Four days now and you haven’t named our horses.”

He had to chuckle, even if it came out with a twinge of sadness.

“Right…” he said, “I’ll name mine… Survivor.”

Vellis raised an eyebrow.

“Your last horse was Savior, and this is Survivor? Okay, alright, mine is… Hilly.”

Hooves clopped on the earthy path for a while before Zaleck said anything.

“Vel… tell me the truth… if we do catch up to that ash monster, we’re dead, aren’t we?”

She took a long time to answer.

“Maybe… maybe not.”

“C’mon, we only survived the first by sheer luck. That tree could have very well fallen sideways.”

“Yes, but we’ve learned some things since then. We know they have a core, we know this core can be attacked, and that it is their weakness. We also know that someone, or something, can see through their eyes, and it is this entity that wants to get you.”

He turned to her.

“We know that?”

“Think about it. Days after we dealt with the first monster, Marton Hills gets attacked by another, similar beast, that was trying to get their people to work for it. Well, we defeated the first beast, so we know it couldn’t have reported back to anyone about its failure. If the second monster knows about us, it can only be because it was told, and that could only happen if someone was watching the first monster when we fought it.”

“D’you think Ma’ and the others are in danger?”

“No. Leaving them may have been the best thing we could do. Whoever our enemy is, it knows we’re on the move, so why would it attack your home, if it’s trying to get you on the road?”

As they ascended the mountain’s final crest, a gust of wind carried with it the scent of pine and wildflowers that grew along their way. The path leveled out, and the world opened before them.

A vast valley sprawled out to the east, an expansive plain stretching on forever. Its colors shifted under the blowing wind and rolling clouds, the greens of the forest, the gold and brown of fallow fields, and the deep blues of a winding river. The path they walked sneaked through the mountains until coming, far below, to another larger road running southward.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Vellis said, mingling nostalgy with sadness, “That’s the Nuran Plains, and far beyond you can almost make out the walls of Kessdel. Further west, at the Aelorian border, is my hometown, the small village of Liuris.”

Zaleck paused, taking in the details. The way the clouds clung to the mountainside, making peaks appear and disappear was like emerging from a dream. Distant specks of grazing animals dotted the landscape, and lazy smoke rose from a village nestled near the heart of the plain. A single bird surveyed the land, almost as high as they were.

“Look,” he said, pointing at the bird, “an eagle.”

Vellis also glanced at the bird before them.

“Looking for a morning meal, I suppose.”

“I hope it finds one. I could also go for a meal right about now.”

The eagle turned to them, as if it had been called. It veered right at Zaleck, headlong towards him.

Flying straight at them.

“Eh… Vel…”

Vellis hesitated.

“Don’t worry. Eagles don’t attack people unless they were trained to do so, and even then, they’re not good—”

Vellis gasped as the eagle now ascended and took a dive, gaining speed, fast closing the gap among them. It turned, circling them as it would study its prey.

Vellis drew her bow, unstringed as it was.

The eagle veered once again, diving straight at Zaleck. He flinched back, putting his hands on his head. Instead of biting him, though, it flapped its wings, lowering its speed as it slammed its head into his hands.

The whole world spun around Zaleck. He twisted and turned as he fell from Survivor’s saddle, waving his arms while he flapped his wings. His legs let go from the saddle and his claws tried in vain to grasp at any nearby branch.

He rolled on the floor, twisted and disjointed. Vellis cried out by his side.

“Zal!”

She stringed her bow, but instead of aiming at the eagle, she aimed it at him.

Zaleck thrashed his arms as he tried to stand up. Something was wrong with his legs, they felt much shorter than they should be, and he stumbled down right when Vellis’s arrow missed him.

Vellis got off her horse, falling beside a boy by the road. An unconscious pale boy with white hair. Zaleck himself.

How could he be looking at himself right beside Vellis? What happened? Had he died?

Vellis nocked another arrow to her bow. Zaleck cried out to her, but a sharp call came from his beak instead of her name. He waved his arms at her, but by instinct or panic, as he beat his arms, he was thrust upwards, gliding by the earthen path as he passed over Vellis.

He waved his arms and legs, climbing awkwardly into the air, tumbling around when another arrow zipped past him.

He opened his wings, the horizon levelling before him. The mountain path, far beneath him, now a sliver of brown amid an ocean of trees that rolled over the mountainside.

He moved above it all, gliding as his arms took in wind.

Somehow, he was flying.

He had become the eagle.

He could also see everything around him, not just what happened right before him, but he could at once see what happened beside and behind him. Not only that, but he saw everything in detail. Vellis, kneeling beside his body, was about the size of a pea in his eyes, and yet, he saw the lines of worry in her expression as if he were right beside her.

He shuffled around, afraid to move his arms until realizing that he needed to twist his pelvis to turn around. He flapped, gaining height, and then diving forward for more speed. Everything seemed so tiny. The wind blowing past him caused his drumming heart to race faster in the tiny chest. He wanted to scream at the rush of exhilaration, instead, he called, high-pitched and triumphant, like the king of the skies he had become.

Vellis kneeled beside his human body, however, and though he saw her clearly, he couldn’t hear the words she said very well. Her expression, though, contrite and nearly desperate, as she held him, was more than enough to remind him of the one thing he had to do.

How would he go back to his own body now?

No sooner the thought had formed, a certainty came about him. He knew what to do, no, he was drawn to what he had to do. He had to touch his hand again. One specific finger in his hand.

He veered, still turning somewhat awkwardly. Diving at Vellis and his human body, he flew at them, spreading his wings. Vellis turned around, but as she raised her bow, he flapped his wings, lowering his descent speed, until crashing on the ground before her.

Vellis and Zaleck-eagle both stood up. He called for her, trying to say, “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, It’s me, I’m here!” Only a shrill call came out.

She shot him.

The thud in his head threw him back, rolling as darkness embraced him. Lancing, intense pain ran through his left eye, all the way to the back of his head. He cried, taking his hands to his face.

“Aaaah!” He yelled, screaming as he thrashed about the ground.

Vellis held him while he struggled against the lancing agony in his head.

“Zal! Zal! Thank the gods! Zal, it’s alright.”

He moved his shaking hands away, gasping for breath while his head throbs diminished and he recomposed himself. Vellis, the horses, his own size. Yes, he was back in his body.

Vellis helped him sit on the ground. Panting, he grasped at her shoulder.

“Vel… it… it was me…”

“What do you mean?”

He pointed at the dead eagle before them.

“In there. It was me. I was in the eagle.”

Vellis blinked.

“Say again?”

“It’s true. When the eagle slammed in my face, I went into its body. I, I can’t explain it, Vel, but it was me!”

As he glanced at his hand, at Theron’s rings, he recalled the feeling he had while inside the eagle, how drawn he’d been to one of his rings, the one with the intertwining silver-copper strands.

Vellis leaned back.

“It’s one of the rings, isn’t it? One of the rings did it.”

“I guess so. This one.”

“Try it again,” she said, not containing her excitement.

Zaleck stood up, glancing around.

“I can’t find any other bird close by.”

“Well, call for one anyway. That eagle was too far to hear you when you called it. Maybe the bird doesn’t have to hear you, you can call it from afar.”

“Okay, let’s try. Uhm… let’s see…” he extended his hand, “Raven!”

Nothing happened, at first. He turned to Vellis.

“By the way, Vel, if it does work, don’t shoot the bird, okay? That really, really hurt.”

Vellis raised an eyebrow at him.

“Kraa!” came a call from within the trees. A raven flew past them, turning over as it eyed Zaleck straight on. Instead of putting his hand right over his face, this time he raised it.

The raven flew by his hand, brushing its head against his finger.

Zaleck inhaled, and for a moment he was once again in two places at once. His body started going limp while his feathered chest and arms took in the wind, beating his wings to gain new heights.

Vellis cradled his body as it fell, and he once again soared into the sky. This was a different body, though, tighter, lighter, whereas the eagle had felt strong and majestic.

He circled around Vellis while she followed him with her gaze. Three times he called, realizing how this body could make such different sounds. At last, he thought of coming back to his body, being drawn straight away towards his limp hand.

He flapped around, trying his best to ease his descent, but again crashed on the ground, rolling over the dirt. Birds had a much easier time flying than landing.

Vellis watched his bird self as he walked awkwardly to his body, the ring calling for him with an irresistible pull. He brushed his head against it.

The world extended and twisted as he regained his own shape. The return felt much smoother this time, now that he wasn’t being shot and killed, but still he needed some time to adjust to the dizziness. Being a bird was way too different than being a boy.

He turned his head at Vellis as she embraced him. His chest bursting with exhilaration, pushing tears out while he grinned.

“I can fly, Vel! I can fly!”

She grinned back.

“Well, that’s going to make all our meals a lot easier to catch.”

They took a day to descent the mountain range and reach the southern road by the plains. They still tested the bird ring a few times, and even Vellis tried it, wanting to know what it felt like flying in a bird’s body, though her choice of an owl puzzled Zaleck.

His dreams still returned every night, but talking them over did seem to help. One way or another, they had new weapons and new knowledge, and as soon as they reached Verian Tower, they’d find out at last what was going on.

Chapter 13

Horzan Malek paced around the ship’s deck. Under the eyes of all sailors and soldiers, his gaze went to the five graduates of the Jade Falcon, the order of swordsmen of which he was a master.

“So far, our generals saw it best to keep you from the frontlines,” he continued, “no doubt thinking you are too valuable to go in the field. I can assure you, though, that this will soon change.”

He moved his glance from one graduate to another. Four boys, one girl, adolescents all, and yet Horzan knew very well what they endured in their five years of training to achieve graduate status. They all held their jade-blades for the first time only a week ago.

“No one here doubts your prowess. I have seen you train. You do well enough against each other, when you know a word from me will stop the exercise. However, being a Jade Falcon is not so much about training, and much more about doing what needs to be done when the time comes. Can you do that, graduates?”

“Yes, master Malek!” the five intoned.

Horzan chuckled. So well trained, these five. One could almost post them at the entrance of the Immortal Palace, if only Kaylor weren’t at war, and they weren’t on enemy shores.

“Well then, let’s see how far you are willing to go, shall we?” Horzan motioned towards his quartermaster. “Bring in the training material.”

The crowd around them parted as soldiers brought six disheveled, dirty, stinking prisoners wearing but rags. Horzan had specifically selected them for this exercise, young men, a bit older than the graduates, clearly strong, who looked like they at least knew how to hold a weapon.

The graduates exchanged a glance at each other.

Horzan pointed at one prisoner, a blonde boy with tan-hued skin and shoulders wider than an ox.

“You, stand up.”

The soldiers behind shook him up. Horzan stepped towards the prisoner, whose loath-filled stare grounded him when any reasonable person would have flinched. Horzan drew one of his swords, offering it hilt-first to the prisoner.

The prisoner glanced at the hilt, his eyes darting from the weapon to Horzan, his expression betraying raw suspicion.

“Take it.” Horzan said, easing into the local accent so the prisoner would understand him better. “We’ll fight, you and I. If you can draw my blood, you’ll be released, free, with my guarantee no Kaylorite will hunt you for a week. Your other option is to die right now.” He leaned forward, almost whispering, “What’ll it be, prisoner?”

The prisoner took the hilt. Horzan stepped back, drawing his jade-blade, the curved, one-sided sword made of marbled steel, with the jade hilt engraved specifically for his hand.

“You have gained your jade-blades five days ago.” Horzan said. The prisoner advanced, striking at him with such an obvious move he only stepped aside. “Today, you’ll earn them.”

The prisoner yelled, running at him with an enraged upwards attack. Malek dodged that, too.

“No metal can match Kaylorite marbled steel, but that doesn’t mean your swords are unbreakable. Against obvious attacks, you must learn to dodge instead of parry.”

The prisoner turned around, swinging madly at Horzan, forcing him to step backwards until coming upon the ship’s wooden wall. Horzan swung his blade, striking the prisoner’s weapon away as he sidestepped him.

“A Jade Falcon is measured by how sharp his blade remains after each engagement.”

The prisoner turned, gasping for breath. He rushed at Horzan, feinting an attack from above, switching his blade’s momentum into a diagonal cut. Horzan’s weapon touched his blade while he connected a cut to his flank. The prisoner grunted, kneeling.

“A fight is often decided by the first strike. That’s why your exercises stop at the first touch.”

The prisoner swiveled around, stumbling towards Horzan sword-first. Horzan kicked the boy towards the watching sailors.

“However, this man is fighting for his freedom. He will not stop until he’s dead. In these occasions—”

The prisoner once again advanced in a desperate flurry of strikes. Horzan parried the first attack, the second and third, sidestepped the fourth, turning his blade at the prisoner from beside him. The edge met his nape right at the gap between the bones, passing straight through his neck, slicing his whole head off.

“—It’s best to be precise!” He tried but couldn’t keep from grinning. That was a clean cut if he ever saw one.

As the prisoner’s body slumped down, and the rush of commotion ran through sailors, soldiers, and graduates alike, Horzan wiped his blade in the silk at his scabbard as he slid it back in.

“These,” he pointed at the other five prisoners, who, by now, eyed him with stark terror in their trembling arms, “are your exercises for the day. The same rules apply. If any of them draws blood from you, they’ll be free to go, and you’ll forego your jade-blades to them. Do it one at a time. Call me when it’s over.”

He stepped away from the deck, the soldiers making way for him as he entered his cabin. He stifled his grin, trying to look solemn. It wasn’t so much the danger of these demonstrations that thrilled him, although that was a factor. It was good to remind the crew occasionally why he was captain, especially with half of them being older than him.

The cabin door only half-opened, restrained by the armor sets packed behind it as there was no other space for them. He could cross his cabin in three steps, and yet someone had the bright idea of bolting an oak table at the floor. It took up more than half the whole place, such that his cot and shelves had to be, by necessity, smaller than he’d ever have liked them to be.

Surathris, his aide, saluted him. A reliable boy, though his efficiency couldn’t take away the sour taste of having to take him because of his family connections. At least, he soon learned not to speak before asked. The healed scar in his left hand would remind him of that.

“Now that is done with,” Horzan said, “what do we have for the day, Mister Hasser?”

“You received a number of front-line reports, Captain,” Surathris retreated, making way for Horzan to sit at his paper-filled table. “We have accounting requisitions for the Quartermaster, new food supplies and orders for one of your ships to move to Highport, to reinforce their defense against a potential naval attack.”

“Potential naval attack,” Horzan scoffed, “as if this broken country still had anything resembling a navy. Very well. Anything else?”

“You also received another priority message from the archpriests. Sealed by Archpriest Xallan Na’Hali, Captain, like the others.”

Horzan sighed. By now, he could probably recite the contents of the letter before opening it. Still, a priority message is a priority message. He waved Surathris away.

“Give me some time to sort this paperwork, Mister Hasser, then see to my lunch.”

Surathris saluted him before leaving.

Horzan took the folded paper with the skull wax seal, fiddling with it for a while before opening. Would this message be any less cryptic than the other ones? Would the archpriests finally reveal exactly why they crossed the Great Sea to take over a random northern nation? Somehow, he doubted it. Who was he, one more captain, to demand anything of an immortal flowcaster?

Breaking the letter’s seal, he read the communiqué while moving towards his oil lamp. Protocol dictated all such letters had to be burned upon reading.

“To all captains and admirals. This is to reinforce the utmost need of encountering five items stolen from archpriest Theron Vangard in his last diplomatic mission. These are five rings. Their descriptions read as follows: One is a jade ring with an inlaid amethyst, another, a grey-white ring engraved with tourmalines, then we have a ring made of pure bone, painted black, then a metallic ring with intertwining silver-copper strands. At last, a ring carved out of volcanic rock with a rough surface. If any such ring is discovered, we reiterate the reward of five hundred ashas of land and a thousand stones of gold. However, currently, we expand upon the reward for the final ring alone. Whoever finds it will be adopted into the family of archpriest Vangard, given the title of ‘eternum’ and will have their pick of spouse. Any knowledge leading to the recovery of such rings will be thusly compensated. Any false lead will be punished with the cutting of the tongue. Glory to Kaylor. Signed, the Exalted Archpriest, Xallan Na’Hali.”

This had to be the fifth, no, sixth priority message with almost the same text. Did the archpriests think that by sending these messages they could magically make these rings show up? Although adoption into archpriest Vangard’s family… they were growing desperate, to offer such a position to a captain like him.

As the letter burned, Horzan returned to his desk, and the curse of paperwork that had been following him ever since leaving Kaylor. This morning’s exercise was the closest he’d been to action. Not for the first time, he envied his brother. Still a sergeant, but he got to command his own raiding party.

He read each report slower than the other as the sounds of sword fighting intensified on the deck. The graduates would prevail, of course they would. Five Jade Falcons against half-starved peasant prisoners? There’s no way they’d lose, but the rush of battle would be new to them, and it was something they’d have to get used to one way or another.

As he re-read the Quartermaster’s requests once more, Horzan stood up from his chair when the door into the cabin burst open, slamming armor parts that fell, clanking, one onto the other.

“Freezing sands, boy!” He screamed at Surathris, who stood wide-eyed at him. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“It’s—Captain—news from your brother’s raid.”

“By the seven Laws, boy! What happened? It had better be something worth the scare you gave me.”

“I’m sorry, Captain, but, it’s worse than that.”

Horzan straightened his jacket, glaring at Surathris.

“Well, what is it?”

“With your permission, sir, some of your brother’s men have returned. May I let them in?”

He waved at his assistant.

“Go on. Let’s see what this is about.”

Three brown-dirty, panting, half-panicked soldiers entered his cabin. They all looked downward, less so because of his rank, but more likely because they all cowered as if dreadfully ashamed. Still, awkwardly, the three raised a fist at him in the usual salute.

“Speak,” Horzan said, “one at a time.”

“Captain… it’s… it’s about Sergeant Hussar.”

Horzan crossed his arms. Whatever his brother did this time, it was not going to be good. Devils, how he hated having to discipline his own brother.

“He… Captain… he’s not coming back.”

As Horzan lowered his arms, his fingers curled up in fists.

“Say that again?”

“Sergeant Hussar, he… he was killed in the raid, Captain.”

Killed in the raid? His brother?

“I’m going to ask you to explain very well what you mean. That was an undefended port city. Are you saying a bunch of dirt-poor peasants managed to defeat my brother’s entire party?”

“N-not a bunch of them, Captain—only one.”

“Only one?”

“A—a girl, sir.”

“What?” Horzan said, “Did they had a city guard in waiting? The scouts reported no one was left to defend the city.”

“There was no one, sir… the villagers were all running from us, hiding, and we went about their houses, taking our plunder, but then…”

Horzan stomped the wooden floor as he closed the distance to the soldiers, glaring at them like he could melt their already broken spine with his stare.

“Then what?”

“This girl came up… a child, truly, and she was, well, really fast, and wicked, and—”

“She killed them all, Captain. Only a bunch of us managed to escape.”

“Did I hear you well? A girl, you said? A child?”

The three of them nodded.

“One girl? One? Not a secret society of warriors, not a hidden city guard, no, one simple girl, killed an entire armed Kaylorite raiding party?”

They nodded again. Horzan could only blink. He couldn’t even picture the scene in his mind.

“How? How did she do it?”

“She… she was strong, Captain, unnaturally strong, and fast. She had these swords, and when she brandished them, she even cut through armor. It was not normal. And your brother, he…”

“He what? He what?”

“He fought her, for, but a heartbeat, Captain, and she sliced him open, and when they were all a mound of corpses beneath her, she… she…”

“She ate them, Captain. She ate your brother’s guts, while he still lived.”

Horzan stumbled back. What was happening? Were these three lying? But then, how could they be telling the truth? One girl? That wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

But then, what if it was? Archpriest Veza Ossori does have undying shapeshifters at her command after all, couldn’t this land have something similar?

His brother, eaten alive? Hussar had always been trouble, always eager, always violent. Not a drop of strategic thought in that thick head of his, but for all his stupidity, he was a darn good soldier. Horzan never got the better of him in brute strength. His brother, that tower of a man, who’ve been fighting for so long in the army, one of the best raiders in Kaylor… to end like this?

The three soldiers now shook more than when they had come in. No doubt they expected suitable punishment. Horzan would give them one, oh, he would, a punishment far worse than they thought possible.

“Stand at attention, you cockroaches.”

The three men straightened up, military training taking over their fear.

“Very well, you spineless dogs. Either you are lying, or you are telling the truth. I can’t tell, because a lie like this would be too much for you morons to come up with, and yet this cannot be true.”

“It’s the truth, Cap—”

“Silence!” Horzan breathed in, forcing his teeth to unclench so he could continue. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to take another fifty men, and with you three, gods-forsaken bastards, we’ll go back to that village. If you are lying, you hear me well, I’ll peel off your skin, one by one, with my own knife.”

Even at attention, the three men shook when Horzan said “go back.” Rats and snakes, these three were afraid to their core.

“But, Captain, what if we’re not lying?”

Horzan squinted his eyes, spatting out the answer in the soldier’s face.

“Then we’ll take what we want, find this ‘little girl,’ and I tell you the Ashen Lord himself will pity anyone who gets in our way.”

Chapter 14

Zaleck and Vellis turned the bend on the cobbled mountain trail. Seventeen days after leaving home, one massacred village and two stolen horses later, at last Verian Tower came into sight.

Some long time ago it may have been a tower, when it first started, but by now Verian had evolved into an actual castle with an underlying city sprawling around.

Huddled by a steep mountainside that made it seem impossible for a city to stand on, Verian Tower stood like a gigantic, chaotic pile of stacked stone coins brought together. Its main tower looked like four towers put one atop each other, each smaller than the one below, and it went dozens of floors high, going higher than the nearby mountain peaks. Touching this construction, five other stone towers of different sizes created a kind of chaotic, unordered building that seemed to grow by itself, on a whim, with no long-term planning to its appearance. A sixth tower was in its early stages of construction, expanding Verian’s grounds.

The city around the tower clutched the mountain’s flank, its streets winding up and downwards in a multitude of stairways, bridges, and inclines. Having grown on its own, it was a collection of stone houses that seemed to defy gravity as they surrounded the tower at its center. The structures were built from the gray stone of the mountain itself, making the city appear as a natural extension of the cliffs. Smoke curled from chimneys into the cool air, blurring the line between the natural and the man-made.

No wall or gates stood to protect the city, but a long stone arched bridge separated it from the mountain trail, the only visible path into the city. The bridge itself seemed too long to be natural, though Zaleck had no idea how to create something like this through flowcasting and still get it to stand centuries later.

As they passed through the bridge, the whole city grew around them, the smell of grilled meat coming from the taverns, the chatter of merchants peddling their wares, and the laughter of children that ran around the narrow alleys. The streets bustled with people in contrast to the silent expanse of the trail they had traversed.

They made their way inwards, the city growing steeper and the streets narrower as they rode to the tower. Close to its entrance, the roads were filled with dozens of inns and taverns and the hubbub of young people walking around, carrying books, and talking to one another.

Already several bald people walked around, but what got Zaleck to perk up in his seat was the number of youngsters around. Some of them, not much older than himself, already had greying or white hair, even if their skin wasn’t as pale as his.

No guards stood at the entrance to the Tower, and a constant trickle of people moved in and out of its gates. Inside, at the courtyard, two stables offered to keep their horses, and for free if they would take them out by the end of the day.

The first hallway into Verian Tower already looked like a gigantic library  repurposed as a main hall. Long, thick stone stairs spiraled upward while large wooden doors stood open, leading into the many corridors of the place. Every wall displayed bookcases and scrolls where a regular castle would have paintings and armor. At least, in Zaleck’s mind they would since he’d never been to a castle before.

No one came to greet them or stop them. Everyone around moved with a steady, busy purpose, going to and from somewhere, reading a book or discussing some weird mathematical topic.

Vellis stopped two students who seemed a bit more at ease than the others, talking leisurely with each other.

“Excuse me,” she said, “we’re looking for Miss Derith Halar?”

A  young female student replied, “Master Halar? Oh, she should be in her office now. I don’t know when her next class is, but she usually lectures at night.”

“Thank you. Would you mind telling me how to get there?”

The student drew a soft frown.

“You don’t know? Apprentice,” she told Zaleck, “take this woman where she needs to go.”

Zaleck blinked.

“He’s not an apprentice,” Vellis said. “We’ve both just arrived.”

“Oh,” the student said, “please, forgive me. I just assumed… well, it’s on the seventh floor, you take the purple corridor  to the end. Her office is the last door to the right.”

Seventh floor… Zaleck looked up to the staircase spiraling into forever. How many floors were there anyway?

Zaleck and Vellis followed the instructions to Derith’s office, though they had to stop and ask for them again at the seventh floor. The so-called purple corridor had a purple rug running down it. The door to Derith’s office, as tall as any other on Verian, stood half open.

Within, a familiar voice echoed, soft and high-pitched, with a kind of melodic tone that might as well have belonged to a bard.

“…these ones should go into the third shelf. I’m going to use Leonus’ classification here so everything that is themed after derivations and circular series must be packed alongside with…”

Vellis knocked on the door.

“Oh, that should be my guests. Open the door for them, please.”

A young girl with puffy eyes under balding white hair bowed to them as she opened the door. Her perfectly straight nose highlighted discrete lips that seemed ready to both laugh or cry at any given moment. She glanced at them, seeming more like a religious statue, with the most perfect creamy skin Zaleck had ever seen.

“May I help you, miss, sir?”

Zaleck frowned. No one had ever called him “sir” before.

“We’d like to speak with Professor Derith Halar, if you please?” Vellis replied.

“Your names?”

“Vellis and Zaleck.”

The girl raised her eyebrows, which were already thinning.

“Ah, yes. You are being expected. Please, come in.”

They entered a vast hallway that was larger than Zaleck’s own home. Bookshelves filled every wall, save one where a blackboard stood, covered in chalk scribbles of numbers and symbols. A hard wooden table at the center, surrounded by stuffed chairs, had a complete tea set arranged, letting out the soft herbal scent that filled the room. Stacks of books stood nearby on the floor. Even more doors led to other rooms, one in which Zaleck could spy a linen bed.

The place was more a mansion than an office.

Derith Halar clasped her hands and widened a soft grin as they entered, which, for her, was the largest beaming expression she could muster. Within her own environment, she moved at ease and with a calm Zaleck never witnessed when they’d been in Wolfpine or Highport. She may have been younger than Vellis, but being completely bald somewhat masked her true age.

“Well, look what the fates blew to us! As I live and breathe, Zaleck and Vellis!”

Vellis smiled back at her. “Professor Derith, or should I say ‘master’? It’s been a while.”

Derith took Vellis in a measured, courtly embrace. As they parted, though, she said with light surprise. “I see your grip only improved since last we met, my dear! Please, be seated.” She turned to Zaleck. “And look at you! My word, you’ve grown! You’re a proper young man now!”

Zaleck raised an awkward grin. “Hey, Der. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, I’ve been fine, fine!” She glanced to the girl who attended her, “Aenara, please, go to the kitchen and grab something sweet for my friends. They’ve had a long journey and are just famished!”

Aenara bowed, her bland expression never shifting, though she did glance at Zaleck a touch longer than Vellis.

“At once, master.”

Zaleck sat down on the chair, embraced by the cushion with such a soft caress that he almost felt like dozing off.

“So… a master now, are you?” Vellis asked.

Derith served them tea while she answered.

“After the mishap at Highport, the HighCalculators saw fit to create a new chair of arcane studies. I was their first choice as the head for this discipline, which means that yes, I am a master of arcane studies now. My class currently holds only six students.” She motioned around, “but the position does come with its perks, like my own office and a personal attendant.”

Zaleck sipped the tea, its soothing warmth easing his muscles one by one.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Derith asked.

Vellis smirked. “Come now. I’m sure you’ve already read us enough to know why we’re here.”

Derith pursed her lips, raising her left brow at Vellis.

“Somewhat, yes. I know you’ve come to ask me something about a monster and that you were attacked. You are very worried for Zaleck’s family and for your own safety. It seems this monster wants to get you for some reason.”

“No way,” Zaleck said, “you got all that just by talking to us?”

“Oh, no, dear. I got quite a bit more. I know you’re struggling with your dreams, that Vellis is helping you through it, and that you’re all the time thinking about—flying? How fascinating. And I also know you can’t get a certain girl out of your head that you think you should have helped.”

Zaleck looked away. If he had been standing at Kaldhill Square during the harvest fair, fully naked, he wouldn’t be so flustered.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Derith said, “you adolescents are so transparent, it’s no fun reading you. Anyway, back to your immediate problem, I am going to need a bit more context than what I got, if I’m to help you. So, if you please, tell me everything. Every single detail.”

Zaleck and Vellis proceeded to tell her all that happened, from the attack of the ash monster to the massacre of Marton Hills, and even the bit about Theron’s rings and their own feelings about it. Derith listened to them, only a few times interrupting to ask for a bit of seeming unrelated detail.

As they spoke, Derith’s expression, muted and bland as it were, did get a bit more somber.

She slowly put her teacup on the table as she said. “I do think I can help you somewhat. I know what this monster is. I’ve read about it in a number of treatises and diaries. It’s called an ‘ashenbeast.’ It’s a creation of magic, a direct servant of the Ashen Lord himself.”

Zaleck gasped. Vellis widened her eyes.

“The Ashen Lord?” he asked.

“You mean,” Vellis said, “the real Ashen Lord? The guy who tried to end all life and was imprisoned by Rezi Atris and the Five Immortals at the turning of the last age?”

“The one and only,” Derith said.

“But he’s supposed to be imprisoned for eternity. That’s what the church says, anyway,” Zaleck said.

“It does, my dear, and, truth be told, there’s never been reports of an ashenbeast since his imprisonment, a thousand years ago. Something must have changed.”

“Is there any way we can defeat them?” Vellis asked, “I mean, any easier way other than throwing a frigging tree at them?”

“In the sources we have from the time of the Banishing, they were defeated with flowcasting.”

Zaleck looked down.

“Yeah… but I’m not a flowcaster anymore…”

Derith leaned back. “Actually…”

Zaleck glanced at her, his heart beating a touch faster.

“I have looked into your particular condition,” Derith explained, “you’re not the first flowcaster to ever lose the ability, but there are sources that mention this condition can be reversed.”

He stood up.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. You said that, in the memories of Beri Ezzari, Erona Aellar told you that you’d lose your ability if you survived dissolving a Paradox Flow, but she didn’t say it was going to be forever, did she?”

Now that Zaleck thought about it, she didn’t.

“So… what do I do to get it back?” he clenched his hands.

Derith blinked at him. The reply came somewhat saddened.

“I don’t know. I don’t think anyone or any book in the Tower can help you with that, but I know one person who can.”

“Who?” Vellis asked.

“Erona Aellar herself, the Night Walking, the Immortal Lifegiven. She was one of the Five Immortals who imprisoned the Ashen Lord. She could not only help you get your powers back, but also explain everything about the ashenbeasts and how to defeat them.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“I’m sorry, but I haven’t had the time to look into it. However, we have here at Verian a complete account of tales and news about famous individuals. I’m sure that, with time, we could go over them and retrace her steps.” She grinned. “Would you like to stay here with us to sort this out?”

Zaleck turned to Vellis, who frowned.

“We would, yes,” Vellis said, “but truth be told we couldn’t afford the cheapest inn around here.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Derith said, “you’ll be here as my guests. The Tower will cover your expenses.”

Zaleck took a step towards her, taking her hand in a handshake she seemed all too awkward with.

“Thank you, Miss Derith. Master. Thank you very much!”

Vellis, though, seemed less enthusiastic when she sighed.

“Yes, that’s very generous of you. I’m not a Daht’Gahren like you to read your behavior and know what you’re thinking, so I’m going to ask it flat out. What are you expecting to get in return?”

Derith sipped her tea before answering.

“Ashenbeasts on the loose are very worrying news, enough that anyone who knows about it should try to do something. Also, I want to study those rings, of course.”

That sounded like truth, but the slightest smirk on her face and the deepening frown on Vellis told Zaleck neither of the women truly believed that.

Chapter 15

Keena rode forward, the leather reins biting into her hands. The horse tensed beneath her, each step a jolt that reverberated up her spine. Jorgen still rode ahead, seeming much more at ease in his saddle. She couldn’t help but think that, if not for her, he would have covered double their distance already.

The woods around grew to tall pines whose shadows darkened the floor even at midday, the towering trees casting long shadows that cut off the leaf-dappled sunlight. The scent of pine needles and damp earth mingled with the faint metallic tang of blood that clung to her memory. A memory both nauseating and enticing, that caused her to glance more and more at her sword, strapped to the horse’s saddlebags.

Keena’s grip tightened, and Jorgen glanced back at her, her wide eyes darting around the darkened forest. “Stay close,” he muttered, his voice a low rumble. “We’ll reach Redhawk soon.”

“How soon?” she asked.

“If we rush, by tomorrow’s sunset we should be there.”

The trail ahead, swallowed by the thick undergrowth and the encroaching gloom, made their riding slower. Each crack of a twig, each rustle of leaves, caused her to scan her surroundings. Were the raiders following them? Had they forgot about Ironshore, satisfied with the destruction they’d wrought? Not knowing gnawed at her.

Until she couldn’t keep quiet no longer, breaking silence with a voice both fragile and trembling. “Dad, do you think they’ll follow us?”

Jorgen sighed. “I don’t know,” he replied, “but from what I heard of Kaylorite raids… they’re not going to let that go. I think they’ll be looking for us, that’s for sure, but will they pick up on our trail? Maybe not.”

She shivered on her saddle, and Jorgen reached out to her, patting her shoulder.

Her father’s eyes darted around the trees, though to her the gnarled branches twisted like skeletal fingers and the patches of darkness seemed to move and shift, though they told no tales. Her mind was thrown back to Ironshore no matter how much she tried avoiding it. The corpses, the blood, how much she reveled in it. Would she ever forget it?

“Dad…” she said.

“What is it, honey?”

“You said that I have this… demon inside of me…”

“I think so, yes.”

“Right, but, when I, well, when I did what I did back in the city, I totally knew what was happening. I remember doing those things. Dad, I wanted to do those things. Are you sure I’m… I’m not going mad?”

Jorgen leaned his head forward, answering above a whisper, in a voice so heavy Keena thought it would break.

“Oh, daughter. I wish I could tell you ‘no’ for sure. If I’m right, having this thing with you may drive you mad one day, but not right now anyway. It’s just that—”

Jorgen wiped his brow, seeming much more tired than he should be. “Don’t think of the demon as a ‘person’ that’s inside you. Instead, it’s like a presence of pure rage. It enhances your anger beyond anything you would ever feel, it grants you strength and speed, but it’s not another individual. You cannot talk to it, and it cannot communicate with you. It’s like an irrational animal, but it cannot make you feel or think something that wasn’t already there.”

“So… those feelings, those desires… they’re my own?”

Jorgen shut his eyes, flinching as he answered.

“Every person feels anger, or rage. What you felt were the worst possible desires you could ever feel. The demon plucks them from within you, increasing them a thousandfold, they are born within your heart, but you would never feel like that without the demon.”

“How… so, if they’re my feelings, can I ever resist them?”

“Perhaps. It may not be easy, my dear. It may be a daily struggle for you; one I would have never wished upon your. If that’s at all possible, it starts by accepting that what you feel when it takes over you, are, in fact, your own worst desires.”

Ahead, the path dipped into a shallow ravine, the sides steep and shadowy. Keena hesitated, but when Jorgen urged his horse onward, she followed. She could hear his breathing as he spurred the horse onward.

A sudden snap echoed through the trees, halting them both. She turned, glancing around, half expecting another ambush. The forest remained still, the sound fading into the distance. Jorgen exhaled, “Just a deer,” he murmured, though she wasn’t sure if he believed it himself.

The path began to ascend, the trees thinning as they climbed higher. Keena’s gaze fixed on the crest of a hill before them, where they could have a look at their surroundings.

As they rode on, the shadows of the forest receded, and an expansive horizon greeted them. A carpet of treetops extended before them, opening onto a plain stretching far ahead and to their right. To the left, a mountain range blocked their view of the Kylar River, which marked Ayrn’s boundary with Voulan.

The path they took since leaving the margins of the Chiorn had already become a thin strip of land on the horizon. Even the riders that came their way seemed like little toy soldiers—

She widened her eyes.

“Dad!” she pointed southward, to the influx of riders coming from the Chiorn.

“Ashes,” Jorgen cursed. “Well, that’s one question answered.”

“Do you think they’ll find us?”

“They’ve seen us already. Hells, but they’re too many, an actual army.”

Keena grasped at her reins, all her back pain evaporating as she drew heavy breaths.

“What do we do?”

“We ride!” Jorgen spurred his horse. Keena followed.

They now dashed through trees and bushes, overgrowth around them and undergrowth beneath them, both of which she struggled to see. All it would take was for one of their horses to trip and fall, and they’d be caught.

Still, they rode. Jorgen often advanced before her, only to glance back and ease his gallop.

She was holding him back. She could very well be the death of her father.

“Dad!” she cried. When Jorgen didn’t reply, she continued, “you know there’s another way. I—I could face them.”

“Don’t say that! The more you call on the demon, the harder it’ll be for you to control it, and if you lose control, you’ll kill anyone before you, friend or not.”

“But, Dad, where are we going?”

Jorgen pointed forward, a bit to the left. From between tree trunks and foliage, the outline of the mountain range appeared and disappeared.

“The Chullan Mountains, if we make it there, we can take a narrow mountain trail that’ll force them to slow down. I know of a pass through that mountain where horses cannot go. Bite hard, lean forward, and press on!”

He spurred his horse once again, and through panic and agony, Keena did the same. She almost fell twice, but Jorgen kept giving her pointers on how to keep her seating.

Keena’s heart pounded at the same rhythm as the horse’s hooves. Her fingers went numb from the tight grip as the horses galloped with desperate speed. Trees and bushes blurred past, and by sheer luck,neither of their mounts tripped over the uneven shadowed ground.

“Faster,” Jorgen urged, his voice almost lost in the wind. Behind them, the raiders couldn’t be heard yet, but she saw them cresting over the same hill they’d just been.

Jorgen leaned forward, pushing his horse onward, distancing himself from her to the point she almost cried. The path ahead narrowed, gradually winding its way up towards the mountains. The trees thinned, replaced by jagged rocks and steep slopes.

Keena’s eyes darted around, following but the shadow of her father. The raiders behind gained on them. Their shouts now reached them through the cries of the birds they spooked.

“Hold on tight,” Jorgen called to her, over his shoulder.

“Dad! I can’t!” Keena cried, her legs burning, a strip of blood running through her throbbing palms.

“Look ahead, Keena! Forget everything else. Breathe deep and count your heartbeats. Now, come!”

Keena tightened her grip ever more, leaning forward and trying her best to follow her dad’s advice.

They broke free of the forest, the trail turning into a rocky ascent. The mountain now loomed ahead, its craggy peaks scratching the sky. The path grew steeper, more treacherous, but Jorgen pushed them forward still.

Keena felt every jolt, every lurch of the horse’s frantic climb. Cold wind bit at her cheeks, howling like a dying thing. The narrow path streamed ahead, their one, slim chance at safety.

“Almost there,” Jorgen muttered. Keena nodded, her eyes fixed on the path. The riders ascended the mountain slope now, the thunder of their horses more than a faint resounding through the air. However, the path funneled them, like Jorgen said, and in their clumsy hurry Keena and Jorgen managed to gain some distance.

The trail wound through higher and higher ravines, forcing Jorgen and Keena to also slow down. Several times, it split and merged with other winding ways, though Jorgen always seemed to know which way to go.

Then, the path narrowed further, to the point where trotting became a threat. If a horse but slipped on a loose stone, there’d be no saving it. To their right, the forest and the plains below extended outward, the green and brown expanse darkened by cloud shadows that rolled over them. On another life, Keena would want nothing other than to stop and take in the view.

“Steady,” Jorgen murmured, guiding them with professional precision. They edged through the narrow pass, the walls of the mountain closing in on the left, the green abyss to their right, until he called a stop.

“We dismount here,” Jorgen said.

“Here? But dad, where’s that pass?”

“It’s right here,” he pointed to the mountain wall beside him.

There it was, a sliver cutting through the rock, a pass so narrow, a person would have to turn sideways to slide through. Jorgen said horses cannot go there, but even a burly man wouldn’t fit in.

Keena took up her backpacks and awkwardly clasped her belt, taking all care not to touch her sword hilt.

“What about the horses? And the rest of our food?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, but it’s us or them.” Jorgen slapped their horses’ hinds, scaring them into trotting onward without their riders.

“Now, come on,” he said, “you go in first.”

Keena squeezed through the pass, sidled with mountainous rock so close and tall she thought they might at any time close in on them. Their progress slowed down to a dreadful pace, especially when, moments later, the voices of the raiders grew louder and louder.

At intervals, the pass widened enough that she could walk normally, only to once again close in so tightly the rock cut and scratched at her whole dress.

Cries and shouts reached them. The raiders had found the pass, though glancing back Keena saw none of them. Something cracked behind them, like a loud twig breaking. Twice, then a third time.

“What’s that?” she said.

“They’re trying to shoot arrows at us.”

Keena forced herself to squeeze in faster, her scratches now becoming bruises, her bruises becoming cuts. Now her legs and arms throbbed, and through ragged, claustrophobic breaths, tears rolled down her cheeks.

Still, she went on.

The path widened, and as it closed in once again it came to a dead end. Her throat knotted, a panicked cry formed, only to be snuffed back when she saw the opening, a hole cut through the mountain she’d had to crawl down through. She pushed her backpack before her, sobbing, throbbing, towards the bright orange light ahead.

She made through the opening, coming upon another trail, though now, on the other side of the mountains. Before her, the Kylar River split the land in the savage mountain range, where she stood, and the expansive plains of Voulan beyond. Both suns blinded her as their light already reddened into twilight.

Jorgen crawled back right after her, somehow coming up dirtier, bloodier, and seeming more exhausted than she did.

They exchanged a glance, and from beneath the depths of her exhaustion, a smile climbed its way into her face, forcing her to don yet more tears.

“Oh, Dad… we made it!”

Jorgen leaned in before her, hugging her close.

“Yes, honey, we did, but there’s one more thing we have to do.”

“What?”

Jorgen stepped back, leaning on the mountain wall for support as he found his footing again. “Stand back, Keena,” he said, as he drew his blade, the old one, the one that called to her.

Keena crawled away, hugging her legs while she held her breath. It was obvious, what her father was about to do, but knowing it only made her arms shake even more. The raiders, coming through the pass, sounded closer and closer, as she breathed heavier and heavier.

They stood right on the other side of the crawl hole. Keena pressed her hands upon her mouth. Scratching sounds announced the first Kaylorite passing through the gap.

A helmeted head shot through the hole. The man, also blinded by the suns, glanced around. Jorgen’s blade descended upon his neck.

Keena swallowed in. She thought she’d be more scared, more horrified of the scene. Instead, as blood gushed through his father’s sword, all she could think of was, “I hope you burn in hell and your next life!”

As the raider’s corpse slumped, closing the gap in the hole, Jorgen offered her a hand, helping her to stand up. He pulled her close, as he whispered. “That’ll hold them for time enough.”

Orange light turned red as both suns touched the plains west. Jorgen led her through another mountain trail, running northward. Further ahead, by the Ayrnian bank of the Kylar, stood a tall fortress keep, its stone walls painted scarlet by the setting suns.

“Is that where we’re going?” Keena asked.

Jorgen nodded. “That’s Garsley Fort. It was built way back when, in the time of the Voulan wars. Nowadays, it’s not nearly as heavily manned, but it is a fort, and a large raiding party wouldn’t stand a chance against it.”

Keena glanced back.

“But, can’t they still reach us?”

“After what I did back there, they won’t try to crawl through that hole anytime soon. They know we could take them out one by one if they tried. Their only chance is to double back and go around the whole mountain range. By then, it’ll already be morning, and we’ll be safe.”

Safe. Keena dared to hope, to believe her father’s words, though she now glanced at his sword more and more. The sword that had tasted blood once more.

Back then… when he killed that raider… I could have done that… I should have done that.

Chapter 16

Training regimen in Wolfpine was like basic training for recruits, except that at each passing hour the training soldiers could see the Kaylorite forces establishing their fortifications beyond the river. To Iavad’s relief, they trained with wooden spears, so no one would find their weapons being thrown about randomly when they struck him. To his dismay, though, those were not recruits, and every sparring session ended with him getting another thrashing.

Two days after arriving in the city, with his wound still dressed and his belly still hurting whenever he tensed, at midday his captain called for him. The other soldiers eyed him sideways when he left for the command building. Being singled out by the captain was rarely a good thing.

He found Serone Allais talking to a messenger from another unit, identified by his tabard. He hadn’t been around to learn the colors of every general in command, but it did seem this messenger had her a bit on edge, taken by the way she scowled as he entered.

“Iavad Nareni,” she said. Iavad replied with the usual salute of a fist to his chest. “You’re from the northern valley, right? Village of Kaldhill.”

He nodded.

“Says here you’ve got a boy of fighting age, and yet you chose to come instead.”

He straightened up. What was she going on about?

“I didn’t want to—” he started, only to be cut by a gesture from the captain.

“You weren’t given leave to speak, soldier. You may have noticed most folks here are on the younger side. Generals like it that way, they learn faster. You, however, all you’ve seen in your life was the hoe and the plow. You’d be of much more use to us back at home, making more kids to fight.”

Iavad bit his lip, keeping his eyes level with hers to stop himself from punching his captain and cutting short his foray into the army.

“And you weren’t given leave to disrespect my family, Captain.”

Damn it, he shouldn’t have said that. Serone raised her eyebrow, pursing her mouth at the brink of ordering him to a lashing. Instead, she broke into a chuckle.

“Well, at least you’ve got some fight in you. Divine knows we need that.” She pointed to the messenger beside her. “This here is Patrush. You are to accompany him to the barracks by the cathedral. You have been summoned by the Lord General Durant of House Evoren.” She measured him with a glance. “Are you fit for a sprint, soldier?”

“Yes, Captain,” he ran a hand through his bandage, “‘tis nothing, really.”

“Well, then, off you go. We don’t keep the Lord General waiting in this army. And, soldier?”

“Captain?”

“Mind your tongue up there,” she said on a dangerously low tone, “I can tolerate a quip or two because I know what that life is like, but you’ll get no such understanding from the higher-ups.”

Iavad nodded as he left.

He thought the way back towards the cathedral would be faster this time, but without Patrush to guide him, he would have been lost thrice over in those narrow streets. Finally, they emerged into the cathedral’s plaza, still as crowded with soldiers as an autumn fair.

Patrush took him into the cathedral itself. People with far richer clothes than he’d ever wore talked in hushed tones to one another. Knights wearing armor that cost more than all houses in Kaldhill eyed them only in passing. Patrush led him into some back rooms, behind the main hallway. At last, he was shown into a spacious room with about twenty people, seven of which seemed to be soldiers like him. At the center, a table filled with maps focused every glance into a scribbled drawing of the city.

Merina shot him a glance. Of course she’d be there.

“Iavad Nareni, my lords,” Patrush announced, bowed, and left.

All eyes turned to him. In training, they said: “when in doubt, salute,” and so he did. One man, wearing a long bright-blue gambeson, beckoned him to approach.

“You are being called into a special unit, soldier Nareni, assembled to perform a tactical operation into the enemy camp,” the man said. “Now that we are all here, let’s go over the plan.”

That was as much an introduction as he’d ever get. The man, likely the Lord General himself, turned back to the maps and went on explaining the plan. No one gave Iavad a second glance, except for Merina, who side-glanced him more often than he’d like to.

“The Kaylorites seem to have been under the misguided impression they were invited into our country,” the Lord General said, “and saw fit to land a sizeable army by our river. We cannot allow them to remain. As you may have guessed, a frontal assault on our part is not advisable, but neither can we let them do as they please on our land.”

He pointed to a few spots in the drawn map before him.

“Of paramount importance is to disrupt their logistics as much as possible. To that end, our informants have identified four structures in their camp that are at present being used as their supply storage. Your task is to enter enemy camp and set fire to the four deposits at once.”

Each of the seven soldiers had their own subtle reaction to the plan. Some frowned, another scratched his beard, one seemed like he would curse. Merina eyed Iavad with an intense, analytical gaze.

“To that end,” the Lord General went on, “we have procured a number of Kaylorite uniforms that you might use. At night you will ride north to fort Kalahn, cross the river there, turn south and move into their camp. Once in there, you’ll split into four groups and each will conduct the operation with the aid of a few collaborators we have acquired. You will pose as scouts coming back from patrol. Each of you will carry these.” He pointed to a bunch of oilskins by the table.

“That’s refined oil, imported from Akalor. At precisely midnight, you are to spread it around the storage houses, set it on fire and leave the place. You are not to engage the enemy unless it’s unavoidable. You will then return by way of Fort Kalahn.”

He paused his gaze into each of the soldiers in turn. Iavad crossed his arms and frowned a bit, trying his best to look like he belonged, and not like someone being sent on a suicide mission right after joining.

“Questions.” The Lord General said, in between a question and a statement.

“Will we have mounts?” a soldier asked.

“Most Kaylorite scouting parties don’t use them, so, no.”

“My Lord,” another soldier said, “how confident are you that we can just walk into the enemy camp?”

“We have observed their movements. Parties leave and return on a tight schedule, which we were able to calculate. The uniforms we acquired belong to a scouting party set to come back this night.”

A middle-aged woman stepped towards them, devoid of all hair, down to her eyebrows. A Daht’Gahren, one of the calculator monks.

“This night will be your best chance at this operation, soldiers,” she said. “Trust our calculations.”

The soldier bowed to her. After a pause in which no one spoke, the Lord General continued.

“This is Professor Carina Marr of the Tower. As you can see, agents, this has been planned to precision. Now, if there are no more questions, the Quartermaster will see to any additional equipment you might need. You will also carry two crowns each in case you are unable to return via the bridge and are forced to take a longer route.”

He cleared his throat, eyeing each of them in turn.

“The teams will be split as follows, Gwynna, you’re with Dereyn; Siona, you have Thrann; Gulan you’re with Varakh; and Merina you’re with Iavad. You are dismissed. I suggest you use this time to rest. This will be a long night for you, but Divine willing, I’ll see you all at breakfast tomorrow.” He took a fist to his chest in the usual salute. “For the Queen, for our families, for our future.”

“Queen, family, future,” everyone replied, Iavad included, though his salute came a bit slower than everyone else’s.

The agents drew near one another, pairing up as the Lord General grouped them. Iavad flexed his hands into fists when Merina beckoned him out of the room. She had to be why he was here. She told them about him, sure as taxes. She told them about the ring’s power.

“Listen,” he said as they walked through the mirror-polished corridors of the cathedral, “I dunno what kind of strategic advising you do, but you must know I’m the worse person for this mission. I’m just out of basic training. In the yards, three out of four soldiers get the better of me. Now you’re asking me to walk into the enemy camp, at night, and set fire to their storehouses? I mean, if you wanna kill me, just get it over with.”

Merina sighed before replying.

“First, it’s not ‘mission,’ Iavad. This is recruiter-speak. We say ‘operation.’ Second, don’t you ever, ever again talk about operation details outside the briefing room. Third, you don’t get to decide who’s the best for a job, this is the strategist’s role. And finally, Iavad Nareni, you are mistaken if you think you are being ‘asked’ to do anything. You got your orders, and you will fulfill them or die trying.”

He should have bowed to her and let it be that. This time, however, he was not having it.

“Well, then, now I know how I’m going to die, don’t I? Please share with this lowly soldier, miss strategist, why d’you think I’m at all capable of pulling this off.”

They left the cathedral into the plaza while Merina answered.

“Well, for one, you could very well pass for a Kaylorite yourself, with your dark hair and sun-tanned skin. Now, I know about your lack of training, don’t forget I saw you fight, but this operation is not about fighting. However, if it comes to it, I’d much rather have by my side a soldier that can’t be hit.”

“You specifically asked for me, didn’t you?”

“Of course I asked for you,” she smiled, “or do you know anyone else in the general’s council?”

“But why? Sure, you’ve seen what I can do, but this requires stealth. I can’t even speak like them.”

“Well, I can speak like a Kaylorite native. You worry too much, Iavad. Divine, were you always like this in your farm? Oh, I wonder if it’ll rain this autumn, I wonder if frost will kill the crops, I wonder if plague will strike… You can go mad worrying about everything that can go wrong. Don’t worry. Prepare, but don’t worry. Besides, no one was born an agent of the crown, some people are drawn to it, and some are called, and you, my ex-farmer, have been called.”

Iavad grunted. He’d been warned enough about how useless it was to get superiors to share their plans with soldiers. Still, he’d give his two crowns to find out what the Lord General was thinking. This was as much a waste of time, effort, and people as there could be, unless there was something else at play. And if there was, then he knew very well what his role would be for the night. He wasn’t only about to set fire to some storehouses. He was bait.

Chapter 17

Zaleck had already been to inns and taverns, ate a range of foods, and slept in all kinds of beds. Still, he never ate so much, slept in a fluffier bed, or felt so warm throughout the night than in the three days he’d been at Verian Tower.

Derith gave him and Vellis rooms in the tower’s third floor, just because it was closer to the ground. However, the library they’d work on, being at the twenty-first, meant he would climb and descend more flights of stairs in these three days than in all his other days combined.

Everyone gave Vellis curt nods, but sometimes people would tell him “Good day, apprentice.” Derith later explained they mistook Zaleck for an apprentice, the first degree of learning at Verian, on account of his white hair. It seemed everyone who studied would soon develop gray hair, then go bald, until losing every single hair in their bodies. So much so, you could track someone’s advancement by the color and amount of their hair.

Zaleck watched in disbelief at yet another pile of books that Derith’s attendant, Aenara, dropped at the table before them. He managed to read about three entire books the days they’d been in Verian Tower’s library. Vellis had read about six. Derith and Aenara flipped through pages with but a glance, almost like they were browsing the words, and still managed to remember the gist of what the books said better than Zaleck. Aenara had read no less than thirty books on these three days, while Derith read fifty.

The library around them, a circular three-story hallway with a labyrinthine array of shelves, stairways, and inner balconies, stood almost entirely silent but for their page-flipping. Some students would enter and leave, and three others read some books on a distant table. As Derith explained, this was their “Casual Library,” where non-curriculum books were stored, such as those with the stories of famous people. Verian Tower still had three other libraries, one exclusive for the masters.

The greatest chandelier Zaleck ever saw hun, unlit, above them, as most doorways leading into external balconies stood open, allowing both a gentle breeze and intense daylight to fill the whole hallway. Large tapestries hanging from the ceiling leaned back and forth with the breeze.

Zaleck flipped the last pages of his book with his ringed hand.

“You’re wearing your mom’s gold ring,” Vellis whispered.

He glanced at his hand for a bit. “I figure, if there’s one place I can wear it openly, it’d be here.” Might as well be his only chance to wear his family’s heirloom.

He closed his book as he finished it, a most boring recount of travels and extramarital affairs from the kingdom of Voulan of a hundred years ago. He hesitated before picking another. Would it make a difference, considering how Derith flipped through her own reading at such breakneck speed?

“Professor,” he said, keeping his voice to but a whisper. Anything louder would get him dark stares from most everyone around.

“Hmm?” Derith replied, not moving her eyes from her book.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, like, since we met.”

“Go on,” she said.

“You mentioned, once, that Arneth had made, like, a prophecy about me or something, and that’s why he left the tower to go help me?”

Derith stopped flipping her pages, moving only her glance at Zaleck.

“Yes,” she said.

“So… what was it? This prophecy?”

Aenara shot a glance at Derith, who now gazed directly at Zaleck. Vellis also closed her book and looked at them.

“We don’t use this term, ‘prophecy’,” Derith began, “it’s full of all the wrong connotations. We call it a fate prediction, the result of a fate calculation, and though it tells of the future, it can always be changed.”

Zaleck leaned back. Derith went on.

“His prediction stood as follows: The Ashen Lord will return. The northern nations will fall to his might while embroiled in a devastating war. Only one nexus point remains in the graphs that can lead the fate lines into a different direction. That point is an albino male from the northern farms who is about to die. If he dies, the Ashen Lord returns.”

Zaleck paused for a moment, a sense of hopelessness growing about him, like the sense of a rabbit about to be struck by an arrow.

“I… I don’t understand… why is it that if I die, the Ashen Lord returns?”

“We don’t know either. Most times, fate calculus doesn’t tell you why two events are related, only that they are.”

“But… if my death means the Ashen Lord returns… all he has to do about it is wait. I’m gonna die one day, right? He’s been trapped for a thousand years, I’m sure he could wait for sixty or seventy more.”

Derith sighed. She glanced at Aenara, who opened another book and got back to reading. When she returned her gaze to Zaleck, she said, “I thought about it and about many other points of his calculation. You know, everything we calculate about the future depends on how much information we have on the present and past, and the fact is that we’ve had very little direct observation of flowcasters. In the time we’ve been together, on Wolfpine and Highport, I had managed to observe you and your abilities, and I got a lot more insights on how flowcasting affects the future. Thus, when I got back to the Tower, I was able to refine Arneth’s calculation.”

She let the silence stretch until Vellis broke it. “So, what were these refinements you made?”

“When Arneth translated the numerological resultant of the thirteenth component function of the main fate branch, the one that talked about Zaleck’s ‘death,’ he dealt with insufficient data. My refinements proved Arneth’s calculation was not about Zaleck’s death at all, it was about the death of his powers.”

“So, you mean, Arneth’s prediction was that if I lost my powers, then the Ashen Lord would come back?”

“Yes.”

“But I did lose my powers.”

“You did.”

“So…”

“He’s coming back, yes.”

No one spoke for a few heartbeats, daylight dimmed as a cloud passed over the sun, increasing the weight Zaleck suddenly had on his mind.

“Then, are we all lost?”

Derith shrugged.

“Well, we’re all still here, so I must assume his return is gradual. Now, although fate calculus doesn’t tell us the ‘why’ of things, I believe in this situation context is everything. That’s why we must get you to Erona Aellar. She might be the only one who can explain what’s going on.”

“But how many books will we still have to go through?” Vellis asked, “this could take us a lifetime.”

“Hardly. There are about two hundred thousand books in this library. Together we can read thirty books a day, on average, which means in about six thousand and six hundred days we’ll go through them all. That will be 16 years, give or take. Much less than a lifetime.”

Vellis blinked. “You’re joking, right?”

“Oh, don’t fret. Aenara here is an expert archivist. She’s filtering the most relevant books for us in advance. It may take us far less than that.”

Zaleck stood up, pacing the library’s carpeted floor before growing too stifled by his own uneasiness that he had to go outside. At the balcony, overlooking the entirety of Verian town and the mountainous landscape around them, he grasped at the ledge with white-knuckled intensity.

Could he even find an immortal flowcaster when no one seemed to know if she still existed? And if he did, if she were to help him get his powers back, what good would that do? Arneth’s prediction had already come through, the damage had been done. He would still be a lone flowcaster against an unstoppable force that took the six most powerful flowcasters of old to stop.

Clouds rolled over the sky, some above the tower, some below, and a few at his level, blocking distant mountaintops from view. One of them, though, a darker one, rolled a bit faster than the others.

In fact, that dark cloud veered away from the others, against the wind, towards the Tower.

Like when he was at the fields, right before the first ashenbeast attacked, a feeling of dread came over him, too strong to be something he was imagining on his own, a kind of despairing certainty. This time, however, he knew it came from that western place he sensed, beyond the black volcanic ring.

Zaleck ran into the library, screaming.

“It’s here! The ashenbeast’s here!”

Vellis stood up, her hands going for a bow that wasn’t there.

Derith jumped out of her chair. “Aenara, get out of here, now. Get the Grey Guards.”

Aenara also stood up.

Ash flooded into the room, filling the whole place in diffuse dust. Blocked daylight turned the whole library into a gloomy, dark hall.

Zaleck coughed as searing-hot ash went into his throat. A chorus of gasps and coughs also came from everyone else. Someone tackled him into the ground with callused hands. Vellis. She took off her scarf, wrapping it over his nose and mouth.

Muffled, clean air, allowed him to breathe once again though his eyes burned so much it kept him from tearing up.

Zaleck started crawling away from the library, only to realize Vellis wasn’t following. He returned to her, groping the ground as the ashen dust got so heavy he couldn’t see his hands if he stretched his arm.

Vellis coughed weakly on the floor.

“Vel, come on!” He cried.

She reached out for him with a blind hand.

“Run. It’s after you. Run and it’ll let us be.”

Zaleck stood up, and though dust and burning ash blocked his vision, he ran in the entrance’s general direction. He came upon a bookcase as it appeared from the dark, then turned aside, running into another. Where was the entrance?

Red light started flickering. Fire. The books had started to burn on their bookcases.

Zaleck ran anywhere, trying to find any sort of exit. He nearly fell over the balcony railing as he ran outside.

The dark cloud seemed to have noticed it, and as Vellis guessed, it moved away from the hallway, floating outside before Zaleck. A mass of writhing, dark red ash from which two searing orbs glowed, almost like eyes. It had a kind of face that stared right into him.

A thick dark tentacle spewed forth, aiming at Zaleck. He rolled on the ground, ducking it as it passed over him. With nowhere else to run, he went back into the library hallway.

Dozens of flame tongues leapt from book to book across the hall. Vellis, Derith, Aenara and everyone else now lay unconscious.

The ashenbeast returned, floating towards him. It didn’t expand again, this time taking the form of a coalesced slimy tentacled mass floating around. It lashed at him twice more, but he dodged both strikes by leaping back and forth.

“Who are you? What d’you want?” Zaleck screamed. He knew the thing could speak if it wanted. It might as well have been the same ashenbeast that attacked Marton Hills.

It replied, a rasping sound, like the cries of a hundred dying men at once, “You. I want you.”

Again, it lashed. Zaleck ran behind a bookcase that exploded as its tentacle burst it open midway, books and pages burning as they flew apart.

From the entrance doorway, four knights in full plate stepped in, halberds in hand.

The monster lashed at them with four simultaneous tentacles. They tried dodging it, but they moved much more slowly than Zaleck, who wore nothing but a woolen tunic and pants.

The tentacles hit the guards straight in their faces. Fire burst from each of their armor joints. Their  agonizing cries silenced in heartbeats as they charred from within.

Zaleck gasped and fell backwards. That beast was far stronger than the brute that attacked them in the fields, and he had no tree to crush it with this time.

Zaleck stood up, crawling towards the exit, but the beast moved to block his way out.

“Coooome…” it hissed, “Come and no one else dies.”

Zaleck hesitated. The four guard’s bodies still twitched on the floor as they died. This thing could kill the whole tower if it wanted. What could he do but surrender?

One, two daggers flew past its body, drawing ashen streams as they emerged behind it. Vellis stood up, drawing two more daggers from the sheathes at her calves.

The ashenbeast hissed, lashing out at Vellis with three simultaneous tentacles. Vellis jumped backwards, flipping and twisting midair as she dodged all three attacks.

“Be careful! It kills whatever it touches.”

The ashenbeast advanced at her while she retreated, dodging its strikes at the limit of their reach.

“Ready your finger, Zal!” she yelled.

Vellis threw her daggers upwards, much higher than the ashenbeast. They struck the wall, where a small crank kept one of the tapestries hanging.

The tapestry, already strewn with flaming lines, fell on top of the ashenbeast. For a moment, before it could burn to cinders, it covered the whole floating mass.

Zaleck pointed his finger at it and flicked it down. The ashenbeast was, after all, “wearing” the tapestry.

The tapestry crumbled down, crushing the ashenbeast so strongly all its ash burst aside from beneath its gaps. There, in the middle of the tapestry, between its crumpled folds and ridges, the form of a sphere stood out. The beast’s core.

Vellis threw one, two, three daggers at it, but the tapestry was so thick the blades didn’t pierce it. Zaleck ran to one of the fallen guards, picking up its halberd and running back towards the core.

A step before he could reach it, the whole tapestry burst into flames, the beast’s core rising as it coalesced ash around it again. Zaleck still thrust it with the halberd, but it floated aside at the first attack, while the second one didn’t reach it.

“Damn it!” Vellis said, “that was a good plan.”

It writhed, screaming a multiple scream like an entire village had woken from a nightmare at the same time.

Flames now howled about them as the entire library burned. Scores of guards watched outside the entrance, hesitant to enter as their fallen comrades still burned a few steps into the hallway.

The ashenbeast advanced at Vellis, lashing out at her with more tentacles than Zaleck could count. Vellis retreated, dodging its attacks with acrobatic backflips that belonged more in a circus than on a huntress.

Yet, its attacks were numerous, and one such strike hit her straight in the chest. Vellis fell back, rolling over the floor for a moment before a mass of tentacles enveloped her.

“Vel! No!” Zaleck screamed.

All the beast’s tentacles fused into one while it raised Vellis off the ground. She flailed and kicked at it, still unburnt, though her winces and grunts clearly showed her to be in pain.

“Come!” the beast hissed, “Or she dies.”

Zaleck ran at her, stopping right beneath the ashenbeast. He could not let it kill her, not Vellis.

He spread out his arms. “Alright! Alright, take me, damn you.”

The beast hissed again with a dozen different triumphant growls. It extended a tentacle at Zaleck while Vellis descended back into the library floor.

Red embers surrounded Zaleck, their searing heat sending agony through his chest and belly. He stifled a scream when his clothes burst into flames.

The beast’s tentacles let go off Vellis, and she rolled on the floor, taking off her blouse and attempting to douse the flames on her pants. The ones holding Zaleck raised him as the ash sustained him, surrounding him more and more. Fire ate at his skin, and his very screams got stifled by the pain.

Then, a cold spell washed over him, flowing within from the whirlpool scar in his chest. Like liquid ice running through his veins, the pain lessened and died out. Though his clothes were still aflame, his scar seemed to draw the flames in, stopping him from burning.

The ashenbeast raised him. His arms and legs surrounded by searing ash that still extended, covering his feet and hands.

Then, the whole beast writhed, crying out in multiplied agony. The tentacles raising Zaleck lost their grip, and he crashed down on the floor, an unburnt boy with flaming clothes.

Zaleck glanced at the beast while it agonized. In its ashen body, a scar had appeared, a solid glowing mark amid its twisting body.

“The ring, Zal! Your ring!” Vellis screamed between coughs.

One of his rings had done it. The volcanic one, maybe? Whichever it was, he now had in his hands their only weapon against this thing.

Zaleck ran towards it, his clothes’ flames leaving pathways through the air, he leaped, trying to grasp at the beast’s lower tentacles.

The beast writhed again, louder this time, something in his hand glowed yellow-hot, as if he were holding a third sun. Not the volcanic ring, though. The ring that glowed was his family heirloom.

Grasping at the ashen beast, Zaleck was thrust upward as it twisted. Flailing about like a ragdoll, the ashenbeast now tried to get rid of him by throwing him around. Still, he held on, as the beast slowly descended.

Vellis picked up the halberd by the floor and attacked. The blade went into the beast a few times, drawing nothing but ash as it came out. It contorted, trying to escape Zaleck’s grip like a wounded animal, until one of Vellis’s attacks struck something solid within. The whole beast shuddered and burst into an explosion of ash and fire.

Vellis fell back, coughing as she rolled on the ground yet again, smothering her flaming clothes. Zaleck took a step to her before realizing that with his burning clothes, he’d only make things worse if he were to help.

Dozens of people rushed into the library, covering Zaleck and Vellis with blankets, throwing bucket after bucket of water at the burning books.

In his hands, his golden heirloom ring still glowed, pulsating with diminishing light. Whatever it was, whatever power it had, Zaleck couldn’t feel any of it. However, he did feel the surprise, the sheer terror that arose in whoever stood far west, beyond the volcanic ring, trapped into the ever-cracking rock.

Chapter 18

Horzan crawled out of the hole in the rock, helped by the two soldiers who had gone ahead of him. Twilight advanced as the suns sank halfway into the horizon, covering the sky in hues of yellow, to red, to green, to black.

He wiped the dust off his armor as he stood up, flaring his nostrils in rage after being so close to the girl. So close he could see her in his mind as she had fled, a whisp of a thing riding on her horse, with twigs for arms that he could snap in half if he grabbed them. Still, his men maintained that girl, that child, had killed his brother.

The image still clung to him. His brother’s corpse, standing atop a mountain of his dead men, with his open gut pecked by vultures. Something did devour him, something did slice open his gambeson and feasted on his entrails, but… had it been that girl?

Another soldier crawled through the hole, which reminded Horzan to kneel and call out to those on the other side.

“Stop,” he said, “don’t come.”

“What, but, Captain—” a man beside him complained.

“There’s no point,” he said, “they are gone and we’ll never reach them before they get to that fortress there.” He pointed to the fort by the riverbed, halfway through the horizon.

“What do we do, then, Cap’n?” a soldier asked from beyond the crawlspace.

“Go back. We’ll regroup on the other side of this pass. Tell everyone to double back.”

“Aye!” came the reply.

“But, captain,” the soldier beside him said, “we’re so close. If we run, the four of us can catch them.”

Horzan pointed to one of the men, one of the three who survived the initial raid.

“You were there. You saw what happened. Tell us, if half of what you said is true, what chance does the four of us have?”

The man lowered his head.

“She’ll gut us before we know it, captain.”

“You see? We need our numbers. Let’s regroup on the other side.”

The way back through the pass scratched and cut at him even more, since they had to do it in near pitch darkness as soon as night descended. His men waited for him in line at the mountain trail, holding torches and already turning their horses around.

Grollen, his sergeant, the widest, strongest man in the group, held him the reins of his horse.

“What now, Cap’n? We can’t lay siege to that fort and hold it ‘fore reinforcements come.”

“Now, we go to that plain over there.” It was hard pointing at anything in such a cloudy night, but he did remember a plain extending northeast of the mountains. “We need a few locals, and where there’re plains, there’re farms. Let the men know they’re not to kill anyone, and that we’re all to converge on the first house we find.”

Trotting through the mountain trail at night was as slow as the way back through the pass. That wouldn’t be the first narrow trail his men had gone through in their time, but still one of them fell down the ravine as his horse stumbled on a crevice. They found him twisted and broken on the floor, crushed by his own horse.

Horzan kneeled by the fallen man, touching his bloody forehead and speaking a prayer as brief as possible before they moved on.

The woods soon gave way to plains, whose grass and bushes twinkled when moonlight, filtering through the clouds, glistened on the night dew. The company spread out, covering almost all of the plains’ expanse as they searched for the first house in their way. The moons were halfway through their course in the sky when the call came from a scout by their left.

As commanded, the company converged on the house. Right before they reached it, the back door opened and four people attempted to run away. His men circled them, laughing while they caught the fleeing family with their nets.

Horzan dismounted while his soldiers tied up the family. A middle-aged man, a comely wife, a girl, and a younger boy. The woman also clutched a baby in her chest. The five of them screamed, pleading for mercy like so many other cowards.

Horzan towered over the man.

“We’ve got you now.”

“Please, please, sir, take what you want, but let us go, I beg you!”

“We don’t want this crumbling hovel, old man, we only want you.”

“M—me?”

Horzan pointed westward.

“Tell me about the fort beyond those mountains.”

“Eh, Garsley Fort. It’s been there since before I was born. Belongs to Baron Karlahm.”

“How many ways to get there?”

“You can go south, ‘round the peaks, or go north, then take the road west when it comes up.”

“Have you ever been there? Anyone there knows you?”

“N—no. Some soldiers slept at our barn many years ago, on their way back, but that’s all. P—please, sir, will you let us go? I swear I’ll tell no one about y’all.”

“That all depends on you, my good farmer.”

The man stared blankly at him.

“You will take me there, to Garsley, on your horseback. I’ll take some clothes from your house and you’ll present me as your son. We’ll be running away from my men, who will make it seem like they’re on your trail. If you scream loud enough, if you make the soldiers there open the gate enough to let us two in, you may just survive this.”

He pulled the man closer by the neck.

“You’ll tell them your family was attacked and that only we survived. You will be very convincing, because if we both don’t return, my men here will do whatever they want with your little wife and kids.”

The man’s eyes went wide, and even under the faint moonlight color drained from his face.

“B—but, sir…”

“Did I make myself clear?”

The man nodded. Horzan turned to Grollen. “Do you see, now, Sergeant, how we’re to get into that fort?”

Grollen grinned.

“Yes, Cap’n. But how can you be sure they’ll open the gate?”

Horzan slapped Grollen’s elbow.

“Sometimes, life is a gamble.”

The first light of day dawned on Fort Garsley, shining through the mountains to light up two peasants riding an exhausted horse, fleeing an incoming Kaylorite raid that gained on them like an avalanche.

Horzan, holding on to the farmer as they rode towards the fort, said, “Call out to them, now. Be the desperate coward that you are.”

The man raised a hand, screaming with not-so-faked desperation.

“Open up, by all that’s holy, open up! Let us in! By the Twelve, let us in!”

The soldiers at the walls reacted, judging by the way their heads moved. Horzan could almost see them trying to gauge if they could open and close the portcullis before the raiding party arrived. They could, though. He had timed their distance so his men wouldn’t be in range of the fort’s arrows as they reached it.

The fort neared, the many soldiers at the wall ran about, yet the portcullis remained down.

Open, damn it! Will they let one of their peasants die like this? Had his ruse been so obvious, or were they true military men there?

Horzan and the farmer entered range of the fort’s arrows, galloping towards the entrance though it still stood unmoved.

“They’re not going to open, sir!” the farmer said.

“Then cry louder, you moron.”

“Gods and Devils, open up, I beg you! Please, I beg you!”

The portcullis grid shook and started going up. It rose in weary rusty clangs, such that an arm’s length from it Horzan had to jump out of the horse. Bringing the man with him while they tumbled on the cobblestone floor, they passed right beneath the metal bars.

A score of men-at-arms surrounded them. The portcullis clanged shut behind them.

One of the fort’s soldiers, better armed, a little older, came close.

“What’s this?” he demanded.

“Please, sir, please have mercy. I’m Finnas, and this here’s—Kynel, my eldest. We have—had a farm across the mountains. I was attacked last night; raiders took my family. All I could do was run with—with my boy here.”

The sergeant or captain or some such looked them over, taking the measure of the two of them. He nodded.

“You’re not the first to arrive. You might not be the last. Go wash yourselves. I’ll send something for you two to eat.”

Finnas nodded, bowing to the soldier.

“Thank you, thank you my good lord.”

Horzan shot a glance behind him. His men had already doubled back. They would spread and hide around the place, lying in wait for the night, for when Horzan made his move.

“You, boy!” The soldier called for him.

Horzan turned around, taking a moment too long to bow his head. The soldier continued.

“You look like you can be of use here. Ever held a weapon in your life?”

Had he ever? Instead of telling the truth, though, he had to look meek. Was he capable of that?

“I’ve used spears, sir.” Horzan replied, trying to mask his accent.

The soldier narrowed his eyes, glancing back at Finnas.

“I’m Callan, Captain of the guard here. I know you may have already lost one son to the army, but we need any able-bodied person to help here. You think we can have your boy for a while?”

Callan didn’t ask it like someone who expected an actual answer. Finnas nodded. Callan pointed to Horzan. “Go talk to Sergeant Grynn over there. He’ll put you on guard support duty.”

Horzan nodded.

Was it going to be this easy? Would they trust two peasants who wandered into their fort, during wartime? They would have to be complete idiots to do so. Or, not idiots, just desperate. Maybe this place was far less fortified than it seemed.

Guard support duty, as it turned out, meant washing latrines, bringing food to the guards, and shoveling manure on the stables. He and a score of younger boys performed the task with long faces, but Horzan used the time to assess the fort’s defenses.

Garsley had clearly been built to guard from an invasion from the west. Its towers had arbalests pointed everywhere along the river, which meant that a force coming from the east would face as little resistance as possible. With only one building and a tower, a few walls enclosing an inner courtyard, the whole place was a small keep. Still, it wasn’t called a fort for nothing. A force of fifty raiders would never take it by conventional means.

Horzan estimated a hundred men could defend this fort against an army of thousands. Thirty men could defend it against hundreds. Instead, Garsley’s whole complement numbered twenty, which was why captain Callan was even arming the pages and stableboys. Horzan himself received a chipped dagger to use, “in case of an attack.” If he were to account for all aides, stablehands, cooks and servants, there might be fifty people here.

Hells, with a little bit of luck, he himself could take out the whole fort.

Yet, for all his searching, he could find no trace of the girl or her father.

Later, as he finished the menial tasks the soldiers had set him to, he found Finnas sitting at a corner, looking forlorn and defeated.

“I need you to do one thing for me,” Horzan said, lowering his voice as much as he could.

Finnas didn’t even move as to reply.

“I need you to ask around for a father and a daughter that may have come here last night. Brown haired, the man with a beard and the girl about this high. Someone here must have seen them.”

Finnas nodded.

“Sir… my family…”

Horzan pushed him close, feigning a sideways embrace while nearly crushing the man’s shoulder.

“Do what you’re told, old man. I gave you my word. Hate me, fear me, makes no difference to me, but don’t you ever doubt my word.”

Finnas nodded again. While he stood up and moved around, trying to chat with the servants, Horzan ate whatever gruel they served in the place. One thing you can always count on, wherever you go, is that army food will be harder than the Law and taste like the oldest leather, but this gruel was as bland as a cloudy desert morning. No one ever taught these northerners to put a hint of spice on their meals.

Before long, Finnas returned.

“They’ve been here. Arrived at dusk yesterday, went straight for the baron. The girl was hurt, so they were treated overnight and left soon after. No one here knows where. The Baron would know that.”

“Good job, my man, good job.”

Horzan stood up and strolled about for a while, taking note of the keep’s corridors and entryways. The circular tower stood beside the entrance, so the portcullis mechanism had to be inside it. Horzan waited for a moment when the guards didn’t seem to be looking and leisurely slipped in by the tower door.

The circular room took up the whole tower. Plates and crumbs by the center table and weapon racks by the walls marked this as the guard’s lunchroom. Dotting the wall, murder holes allowed archers to attack whoever came near the gates uninvited.

A wooden stairway lead up, to another circular room with cots and beds, smelling of sweat and puke. Towards the gateway, however, two huge circular cranks stood alongside a myriad of ropes and pulleys that went up through the ceiling. Two cranks. The portcullis had to be raised by two people at the same time. Whoever made this, designed it to be easy to close and hard to open.

The room also had a stairway leading up, from which a soldier was coming.

“What’re you doing here, lad?” he asked.

Horzan answered the first thing that came to mind.

“I was sent to clean up this room, sir,” he bowed a little as he answered.

“Ah, we need some washing here that’s for sure, but what’re you cleaning it with? Are you going to lick the floor yourself?”

“Ah, no, sir, I just came to see how bad it was afore bringing in the tools.”

The guard drew near, his eyes narrowing. He wore full chainmail over gambeson and an open bascinet helm. An archer, with his bow stringed at his back and a quiver by the belt.

“Say, where are you from, boy?”

He had noticed Horzan’s accent. What could he say, what could he do right then to keep his cover?

Horsan’s chipped dagger flashed, entering the guard’s mouth. He spasmed, gurgled, eyes bulging in surprise and pain. Horzan stabbed him three more times, opening a large cut in his neck. He held the guard before he fell. The man still tried to scream but coughed in his own blood. Horzan laid him on a cot as he died.

Damn it, damn it, damn it! That was not supposed to have happened. It would be moments before someone else came in and found out what happened. The alarm would ring, they’d all converge upon him, and he couldn’t fight twenty men-at-arms all at once.

Unless he didn’t fight them all at once.

It seemed that, in the end, he would indeed have to take out the whole garrison by himself.

First, however, he needed any sort of protection, such as the soldier’s gambeson, mail, and helmet. Besides his bow, the guard also had a score of daggers, much less chipped than his own, and an arming sword. Switching clothes with the man took him longer than he’d like. From the floor above, casual banter could be heard, and it would only take one of them coming down the stairs to sound the alarm.

He managed to don the soldier’s armor before arousing anyone’s suspicion. He had counted ten archers and ten guardsmen in the fort’s garrison. That would make it nine archers now.

He took the bow and three arrows in hand. Those were longer bows than the ones he’d been used to, but still, at close range he’d probably not miss.

Climbing the stairs step by step, Horzan peeked through them to the floor above.

Five soldiers stood, three sitting at a table and two others watching out, archers all. The ones by the table seemed to be playing some sort of game of cards and dice.

This would have to be very fast. His greatest threat would come from the two archers on watch, though they had their backs to him right now. Still, if he managed to neutralize these two right away, three against one weren’t good odds for anyone.

Bah, enough. Thinking time was over.

His two arrows came out in near perfect succession, striking the two guards further away in the back of their necks. The other three stood up, the moment of surprise flashing through them while Horzan jumped into the room, one hand throwing a dagger while he pushed himself towards the table over the stair handrail.

The dagger struck one of the three men right in the eye. Horzan landed among the others, slicing through both their necks with the arming sword.

The five fell almost all at once.

He sliced all their throats just to be sure, while also retrieving his blade and taking another arming sword. Six archers down. Fourteen soldiers to go. Yet, the alarm still hadn’t gone off. The closest four soldiers were guardsmen manning the keep’s walls. There was no way he could reach any one of them, much less kill them, without being seen.

Well, if an alert was going to sound one way or another, it better be on his terms.

Going back down to the floor level, he took an oil lamp and lit it. He left the tower, walking towards the stable. Nothing strange about it, nothing but another guard going to check on the horses with a bloodstained chainmail and a lit lamp in the middle of the afternoon. No one stopped him, though.

He chose a stall that had no horses, went in, dropped the lamp, and walked out. By now, it wouldn’t matter if anyone saw him. As he walked back to the tower, the flickering flames already started lighting up the courtyard.

The alarm rang. Cries for help sounded through the yard as servants and soldiers ran about. Horzan climbed up the two flights of stairs, back into the gatehouse with the dead archers. He tied a rope to a support beam, and watched the fire.

Commotion soon took over the keep as everyone moved to assist with taking out the fire. From his vantage point, Horzan pinpointed the last four archers. They’d have to be the first targets. When they all came into view, his arrows flew.

Horzan took out five other soldiers, the four archers and one other guardsmen, before people realized where the arrows were coming. That was more than half the garrison down already.

The remaining nine guardsmen ran to the tower, swords and shields at the ready, but the narrow door forced them to line up. Horzan took the rope, held it in a gloved hand, and jumped out.

He fell right behind the nine guardsmen, his sword cutting through one’s neck all through the collarbone with the impact. He didn’t even try to unstick it, drawing his second blade instead.

The eight other soldiers turned around, yelling for assistance, but four of them had already gone into the tower. Horzan parried two strikes, attacking with a feint as he cut into one soldier’s leg, bringing him down. Another circled back around him, but Horzan turned in a swirling motion, cutting through his face before returning to the first opponent. Another soldier still came from further beyond, but Horzan’s free hand threw a dagger into his mouth. The guardsmen before him advanced. Horzan stepped to him as well, crashing into his shield and striking the man in the face from above it.

Only four remained, and these ones showed in their faces they finally knew who they were up against. Horzan stood at the tower’s entrance door, funneling their attacks and lowering their numerical advantage.

“I’ll say this once,” he said, “surrender and you’ll live.”

A glimmer of doubt ran through the soldier’s expressions. One of them advanced, though. Horzan threw a dagger at his feet, forcing an opening in his shield guard as he cried out, time enough for his sword to run through his face.

“Your reply?” he asked as the soldier crashed down.

The three remaining opponents laid down their weapons.

Sands and devils, he did it! He took over the whole garrison alone.

He commanded his newest prisoners to tie one of their own, ordering the remaining two to go up the stairs right after.

“Now, raise the portcullis,” he ordered.

The two men looked down with sour faces, but obeyed.

Moments later, his whole raiding party flooded into the keep’s courtyard, weapons high, screaming battle cries, only to be cut short as they entered into the bloody, fiery scene in which Horzan greeted them.

Grollen dismounted, disbelief in his voice raising Horzan’s grin into laughter.

“I’ll be damn’d, Cap’n. You left nothing for us!”

“Oh, don’t be so sour, old boar. We’ll still share the spoils equally. Besides, there’s still the baron and his family, and for that, I want you all with me.”

His men, perhaps humbled by his latest murder spree, went ahead of him as they burst into the keep proper. At the second floor, four soldiers remained, forming a shield wall before a doorway at the end of a corridor.

Horzan opened his mouth to order an advance, but before saying anything, arrows already rained down on the last defenders. After they fell, his sergeant opened the door for him.

The baron, a somewhat overweight middle-aged balding man stood before his wife and a toddler. He held a sword, but nothing else. Horzan paced before him while three of his men entered the room.

“Don’t be an idiot. It’s over.”

“It’ll never be over, slaver scum.”

Horzan raised his arms, arching his eyebrows.

“We try to be reasonable, we try to offer them a peaceful solution, and still all these people can do is offend us. Listen, you imbecile, we’re not going to enslave you. We’ll enslave everyone else here, oh, yes, but not you. You are much more valuable as a hostage to be ransomed.”

The baron lost the grip on his dagger, falling on his knees before his wife and child.

“Or we can kill you all, it all depends on how you answer one simple question.”

Horzan leaned forward to him, grabbing him by the neck. Soft menace underlined his voice as he spoke.

“Where have you sent the father and girl who came here last night? Brown haired, bruised, dirty and hurt?”

The baron’s babbling answer could hardly be heard.

“Redhawk. I sent them to the count, to ask for reinforcements. They left before first light.”

Horzan let him crash down on the floor.

“And with that, you live.” He turned to the rest of his men. “Take what you want, then find a place to lock up the survivors.”

“What about the farmer, Cap’n?” Grollen asked.

“You mean Finnas, my good man? Why, I gave him my word! Let him take whatever he wants from this place, then tell Karille to take him back to his farm. His family is to be released, unharmed.”

Grollen nodded.

“And while you secure the place, get me your five best. We leave for Redhawk right now.”

Chapter 19

Iavad and the other seven soldiers walked northward for all half of the afternoon until coming upon fort Kalahn. The two-tower keep stood at one side of the Ravanni, overlooking a stone-arched bridge. Other than a few soldiers on patrol by the walls, no one else moved on either side of the river. One could almost forget a few hours walk south there was a siege going on.

At the fort, the captain on duty held them back until night had started to fall.

“Professor Carina’s orders were precise,” he said, “we’re to let you pass right when the second sun has sunk beneath the mountains, and not a moment sooner or later.”

Whatever magic the Daht’Garen command, it seemed to have paid off. The group crossed the bridge as twilight ended, and all through their walk south, they didn’t come across a single Kaylorite scouting group.

They came unto the enemy camp under a night so darkened by clouds that it forced them to ease their pace. Kaylorite scouting parties lit no torches, so neither did them. Still, the encampment’s lights shone brighter than Wolfpine’s. A veritable second city had been assembled by the other bank of the river, so much so that now the enemy had taken to raising a palisade wall of their own.

A group of five soldiers stood at watch by the entrance. Merina took the lead and approached them. A bit further beyond, thousands more enemies: walked around, talking, boasting, arguing, and whispering. Too much to count, moving among dozens of square rows of tents and a few higher wooden buildings. Further south, larger wooden constructions had started being assembled, but by night Iavad couldn’t make out what they were.

“Jade party returning,” Merina said, sounding so much like a Kaylorite that Iavad could hardly understand her.

“You’re expected,” a guard replied, seeming at ease. “Captain’s in tent four-naly,” he pointed somewhere into the camp.

She motioned for the rest of them to follow, and just like that, they walked into the enemy camp.

No sooner they melded into the throng of soldiers, the group of eight split into their assigned four groups of two. Iavad and Merina went on together, towards a two-story wooden building close to the center of the encampment. Iavad could count his own heartbeats as they strode.

He was supposed to walk confidently, with ease, as if he belonged. Yet, his eyes darted from one group of soldiers to another. A few men by a smithy gave him a nod which he replied. Have they noticed me? Did I do anything wrong? Still, no one stopped him.

The warehouse that was to be their target had two entrances. A larger one, facing south, guarded by two soldiers, and an eastern one, smaller, guarded by a single man. The guard took notice of them when Merina drew close. So confident she moved that Iavad would never have taken her for an Ayrnian hadn’t he known better.

“Hey there,” she said. “Boring night, heh?”

The guard shot her a lazy glance.

“What’s it to you?” he said.

“I wanted to make it a bit more interesting with my man over here. How about you let us in for a bit of,” she winked at him, “privacy?”

The guard breathed in.

“Find somewhere else. No one’s to enter.”

“Why, there could be something in it for you,” she insisted. “How much, huh? Just for a spell of time.”

The guard glanced at Iavad and back to her in an ever-frowning expression.

“Get out.”

Iavad fidgeted. A forced entry was out of the question. The place was as wide open as it could be, right in direct view of about a few dozen soldiers. Iavad’s hand almost went for his spear, but he held himself with a grimace. What good would it do?

Merina turned to him, whispering very quickly.

“Follow my lead.”

Iavad narrowed his eyes. What lead? Before he could ask, though, Merina leaned onto the guard, like someone ready for a kiss. The guard’s eyes widened. A flash passed by her hand, her blade digging into the guard’s neck.

She kissed him. The woman both stabbed and kissed him at the same time. The guard gurgled something, like someone trying to cry out, though he coughed up blood right on Merina’s face. She pulled him into a tighter embrace. From a distance, it would seem she was snuggling him.

She raised one of her hands towards Iavad, a keychain hanging from her fingers. Iavad took the keys, trying them on the warehouse door as fast as his shaking fingers allowed him. He almost cursed aloud, but after three keys, one turned on the lock and the door swung open.

Merina pulled the soldier into the warehouse. Iavad followed into a room as dark as it was damp. Only torchlight from beyond the windows reached them, and even that faded as all windows stood a floor high. Iavad almost stumbled on a barrel, and then again on a group of wooden crates. As soon as the guard’s feet went in, he closed the door behind them, locking them in.

Merina let the guard’s body slump, spitting blood with a disgusted, blood-drenched expression.

“Oh, Divine,” she whispered, “oh, that was…”

“Are you alright?” Iavad asked.

“Yes, yes, just— oh, my word, I’m never doing it again.”

Iavad glanced at the dim shapes of the crates piled around them.

“How are the others going to get into their targets?”

“Don’t worry. An army this big, and this full of slaves, always has some people willing to switch sides for money or freedom. General Silas has established a sizeable network of contacts, informants, and collaborators. They’ll help the others.”

“We sure could have used some of them.”

“Why?” she said, “you have me.” It seemed like she winked at him, but it was hard to tell in that gloom. Yet, her eyes glinted stronger in her blood-drenched face. “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s torch the place.”

They spread their oil all over barrels and crates, though many were stacked so high they could only spray it on their sides. As dark as it was, they moved slower than Iavad would have liked. It would be no good to let the oil spray into them when they lit the place up. Merina took her flint and steel.

Shouts came from outside. A gong started ringing.

“Crap,” he said, “Some of the others are already done.”

Merina took her dagger and flicked the steel across the flint. She took three strikes until a shower of sparks lit the room like a miniature thunder. That was all it took. A wave of flame began spreading through the oil they’d sprayed.

“Let’s go,” she said, “before—”

The large door out of the warehouse shook. Something, or someone, also bumped onto the side door they came from.

“They’re here!” Iavad said.

Now the fire had started spreading they had a much better look at the place. A warehouse, for sure, but so stacked with crates its inner space had been turned into a jumble of narrow corridors winding around in a chaotic maze. Every crate had a label, and though Iavad couldn’t read them, the pictures on many of them made their contents clear. A pile of salt on one, a string of sausages on another, a cut round cheese on yet another.

Again, the doors thundered.

Merina beckoned him as she moved further into the warehouse.

“Damn it, damn it,” she said.

“There’s no way out,” Iavad said, “and the windows are too high.”

He blinked, trying to tear-away the growing burning in his eyes.

For a moment, a loud rumbling, like two massive doors sliding, drowned the shouts of the incoming soldiers. Iavad and Merina reached the opposite wall, cornered between very flammable wooden beams and barrels. No one else had noticed them yet, ducking among the supplies. For now, the fire was no more than a flickering glow, a growing warmth, and an increasing scent of smoke, but with no way out, it was just a matter of what was going to kill them first.

Merina grasped his shoulder.

“Get out,” she said.

“What?”

“You have to get out. You can do it, you can run past them, they won’t hit you… am I right?”

So, she didn’t know yet. He should have guessed it. The fight she witnessed had been too quick, too messy for her to understand what was happening. Iavad himself didn’t fully understand this power.

“Even if they can’t hit me, they can still tackle me down. Against this much? There’s no way out for me either.”

Shouting increased. It seemed the whole army had converged to the warehouse, and now more gongs rang across the encampment.

“What’re they saying?” Iavad asked. With the flames and the shouting, he couldn’t make out a single word in their thick accent.

“They’re trying to call more people to help with the fire, but there’s something else going on. The alarm that’s ringing, it’s their battle call. They’re being attacked.”

“You think Wolfpine is attacking the encampment?”

“What else could it be?”

“But we’re still here.”

“Yes, but we were supposed to—” she coughed, “be out of here by now.”

Iavad wiped his brow. The heat had risen to quite more than a growing warmth by now. He slumped down, glancing at the flickering narrow corridor of crates and barrels. Was that it? Would he die in a place like this? Somehow it seemed… unexpected.

Merina leaned closer to him.

“Hey, look at me. Don’t give up yet. We’re still here, aye? Think. Is there anything here we can use?”

“Like—like what?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. I can’t do, well, whatever it is you do.”

“I don’t do anything, Merina. Weapons, they bounce off me. That’s it.”

“Weapons? Any weapon?”

“Metal ones. Daggers, swords, spears, bodkin arrows, things like that.”

She chuckled.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said, wiping her eyes, “It’s just, hearing you say it so matter-of-fact, in a place like this, it’s—” she coughed, “—it’s not how I thought this day would go.”

“Wait,” he said, “you gave me an idea. You can read these crates, can’t you? Can you find one that’s full of pans and cookers and things like that?”

“Yes, I think there’s one around here. There.” She pointed to a crate a few steps from them.

“Let’s get it open.” Iavad said.

“Iavad, so far they still haven’t found us. If we do that, they’ll hear it for sure.”

“Merina,” he said it like an apology, “that’s all I got. You have a better idea?”

She shrugged. Between the cracking sound of growing flames and the cries of soldiers a few corridors away, they grabbed the crate of utensils and pulled it beside a stack of others.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Now we open it.”

“With what?” Merina sounded both infuriated and incredulous, right before another cough.

Iavad made a fist with his hand, punching a nail on the crate. It bounced away from his hand, so further into the wood that it cracked. The sound of splinting wood reverberated through the warehouse, lost amidst the shouts of soldiers and the crackling flames. Iavad repeated the punch for the other nails atop the crate, weakening its cover until they could both pull it off. Piles upon piles of metallic utensils appeared.

“This is great,” he said with a cough. “Now come on.”

Iavad climbed over the crates right beside the one they’d opened. By now smoke took hold of the entire ceiling, rolling ever downward and thickening the air.

“What’re you doing? They’ll see you!”

He offered her a hand.

“Come here. I’ll have to carry you.”

“Carry me where?”

“Up,” he said.

She widened her eyes for but a moment before squinting them again. Something poked Iavad on his back. Yes, he had been found, and now Kaylorites once again shot arrows at him.

Merina climbed beside him. Here, the smoke got so thick they could only hold their breath. Under an increasing shower of arrows, he picked her up. Not the lightest woman he’d carried, but still, light enough for him.

“Get ready to grasp the window in three, two, one,” he jumped, into the crate with the pans.

It blew apart, spreading forks, knives, spoons, pans, ladles, and cauldrons. Iavad also shot up, propelled upwards by the metal objects. He pushed Merina away from him.

She grabbed the wooden windowsill, dangling from it. Iavad grasped her legs, hanging from them as well. This high up, smoke got so thick that breathing became impossible. At least, it would also prevent the soldiers from aiming at Merina.

Merina pushed herself upwards, bringing Iavad along. When he grasped the windowsill, desperate for a gasp of air, she jumped out from the window to the outside. Iavad leaned outwards, breathing in blessed fresh air. A moment more and he’d have fainted.

From the window, a view of the northern half the camp spread about him. Tents flapping, warehouses on fire, and many, many riders flowing into the camp coming from Wolfpine’s lowered bridge.

Iavad pushed himself out, dangling from the window by the outside, landing on the floor with a loud thud. Merina helped him up.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Think so…” at least nothing seemed to hurt so much as to be broken, “I think so.”

“That was… Divine… that was something to talk about,” she said.

“Let’s survive first, shall we?”

They ran about the camp, drawing in stares and shouts from all over. No one stopped them, however, as everyone seemed to have larger problems than two aimless soldiers.

He wished, he hoped they would walk out without finding the eastern guards. Why would they be there after all? An attack was going on; their warehouses were on fire. Yet, despite his hopes, there they were, five guards, staring right at them.

Merina took the lead, approaching the group.

“Let us through,” she said, “We’ve got a priority message to deliver.”

The guards, instead of opening a way, readied their weapons.

“Back away,” one of them said.

“We have to leave,” she said, almost pleading, “by orders of general—”

“Go back to your unit!” They replied. Of course, they thought them to be deserters.

This time, Merina’s silver tongue wasn’t going to help them. That much was clear. Thus, Iavad did the only reasonable thing someone could do when facing five enemy guards.

He rushed at them.

Their surprise was such that Iavad tackled the first guard into the ground, his dagger going for his throat before they could react. When they did react, though, swords and spears beat down on him. They all bounced back, flying away.

Merina sliced one of the guard’s back while Iavad stood up. The three remaining guards took their sidearms and still went for him. Iavad advanced, but his attack was parried while the three guards swung at him. He would have died three times over if not for the ring’s power. As their weapons flew away, Merina took down a second guard. The remaining two stepped back, their hands going for weapons, but once they realized the weapons weren’t in their scabbards anymore, fled.

Iavad and Merina ran as fast as a pair of weary, soot-covered legs could carry them. Some arrows were shot their way. Iavad had heard of it, Kaylorite soldiers whose role was to prevent desertion by shooting down whoever tried to flee the battle. He ran as close to Merina as possible, shielding her from behind, and at least twice felt the tugging that meant another arrow had bounced off his back.

They only slowed down to a walk after the encampment had become a glowing flickering torch on the horizon.

“So,” he said while panting, “the Lord General wanted to use arson as a diversion for an attack.”

Merina nodded.

“D’you think we have a chance to win?” he asked.

“Oh, no. This attack is not about winning, Iavad, it’s about keeping the pressure. It’s about showing them we can do it, and let them worry every night if this is the one when we’ll do it again. They are too many to be defeated by such a simple strategy, but in a siege situation, we have to use every opportunity we can.”

The clouds above them parted somewhat, casting their silvery cloud tops onto the sky. Iavad and Merina walked for yet a few more hours before any of them said anything.

“Back there,” Iavad said, “I—I thought that was it, y’know. Burned alive, suffocated, crushed under a collapsing building, I dunno what it would be, but I was sure this was it.”

Merina nodded.

“Well, you handled yourself fine enough, for your first scrape with death.”

“Merina, you… You haven’t told anyone, have you?” Though he framed it as such, he didn’t mean it as a question.

“Does that surprise you?”

“It does, yes.”

“Whatever your secret is, Iavad, it won’t remain secret for long. This is a warzone, after all. It’s a matter of little time until people realize you can bounce off weapons. When that happens, you will cease to be a soldier, and you’ll become a weapon yourself. A very useful weapon. If the generals play you right, you might even win them the war.

“Until that time comes, however,” she winked at him. The gesture may have been meant as a tease, but her bloodied face and sooth-filled arms made it as ominous as a call from the hells.

“I want you all for myself,” she said.

Chapter 20

High night advanced when Zaleck and Vellis entered Verian Tower’s infirmary room where Derith and Aenara recovered. Now awake, they glanced at them with weary expressions. The pair inched closer to them in the pastel blue painted room where clean beds stood lined alongside aromatic herbs shelves.

“Hey, Der.” Zaleck waved at her. “You know, we gotta stop meeting like this.”

She couldn’t keep from chuckling, though she winced at the effort.

“The doctors tell us you two will make a full recovery.” Vellis said.

Derith closed her eyes while scoffing.

“Please. As if I didn’t know myself how bad it is.” She coughed. “We breathed live embers and had our chests crushed by a burning bookstand. We’ll have coughing spells for the rest of our lives, for however long they take.”

Zaleck looked down at the immaculate clean floor. Was there anything he could say to cheer her up after that?

“I’m more interested in you two, though,” Derith said.

“Der, you should focus on your own recovery,” Zaleck said.

“I am focusing on my own recovery. Working, that’s how I focus. Now, come on, spill it out. Why weren’t you charred to a crisp yourselves?”

“Oh, but I was burned,” Vellis replied, raising the bottom of her shirt to show the bandages. “Only I managed to douse the fire quick enough to not get too hurt.”

“Right, I saw you stripping down to avoid the flames, but Zaleck did none of that, his clothes burned through and through, and yet here he stand, unharmed.”

Vellis, Derith and Aenara glanced at him. He shrugged.

“I… I dunno what happened. Truly.”

“Take a guess, my dear,” Derith asked.

“I think, somehow, the whirlpool scar in my chest saved me.”

Vellis raised an eyebrow. Derith leaned closer while coughing.

“How so?”

“I dunno… I’ve never felt that before. When the beast picked me up, and my clothes caught fire, I felt the scar, like, protecting me somehow.”

Zaleck walked towards one of the many lit candles by the room. Could he do it again, at will? Was this protection something he could conjure up, or a one-off artifact from his mystical scar?

There was one way to find out. He stuck his hand into the flame.

Vellis gasped and Derith scratched her chin while a piercing intense pain shot into his hand. He gritted his teeth, holding back the jerking reaction to take his hand away. He grunted, letting out a single painful moan.

Once more, a cold spell washed over from his chest, extending through his arm into his hand. The pain and heat went away, like sucked into the whirlpool scar.

His hand still stood by the candleflame as it licked his unburnt skin. He looked back at Derith, Vellis and Aenara. They all stared at him agape.

“I… I can’t be burned,” he said.

“Well, I’ll be…” Vellis said.

“Aren’t you… in pain?” Aenara asked.

“No. I mean, I was, for a moment, then it seemed like the pain was sucked away by the scar in my chest.”

“Show us,” Derith said.

Zaleck raised his shirt with his other hand. There, at the center of his chest, small glowing yellow droplets of energy flowed into the whirlpool scar beneath his skin, following the scar’s pattern. They merged into the center, pulsing away at the beating of his heart.

“Very impressive,” Derith said, “I don’t know what it means, but it makes total sense.”

“It does?” he asked. He removed the hand from the candle, and the glowing energy stopped flowing into his chest.

“Yes. You faced an entire flaming army and survived with only minor burns, other than the scar on your chest. It could be that somehow, when you overcame the flamewalkers, you also overcame fire itself. At least, in part. There may be enough heat that can eventually burn you, but it seems ordinary flames won’t do it.”

Vellis sat down on a chair by Derith and Aenara’s beds. Zaleck moved beside Derith.

“Professor, I’d like to ask you for something.”

“Oh, of course. Just talk to the Tower’s quartermaster. I’ll issue you a lending permit.”

Vellis and Zaleck blinked at her.

“Right,” Vellis said, “you already knew what he was going to ask, but might I know what it was?”

“Zaleck is a bit embarrassed to ask for some more clothes, as he only came here with three changes, and one is all but cinders now. Don’t worry, we’ll set you up right proper for the journey. I’ll also throw in some new armor for you. Your chainmail was so tight I thought it would burst whenever you breathed.”

Zaleck frowned.

“What d’you mean, ‘the journey’? Are we going somewhere?”

Derith closed her eyes, raising a faint grin as if to herself.

“Of course. Forgive me, I thought you had read my meaning as soon as you walked in. We get so accustomed to non-verbal communication here at the Tower that I must keep reminding myself to spell it all out for you. Go on, Aenara, you tell them.”

Aenara dragged herself up on her bed, leaning on the wall.

“Before you ran into the library, screaming when the ashenbeast came, I had found an indirect reference to Erona Aellar in the book I was reading. It stated that thirty years ago, the Count of Redhawk personally visited a woman that was staying in his town. This woman was described as having an incredibly dark skin. It is said that the count addressed her with more deference than the queen herself. The description and her way of behaving fit what we know of Erona Aellar.”

“Redhawk?” Vellis pondered, “That’s a long way away. Anyway, it’s a large city, how will we find one woman who’s been there thirty years ago and may or may not be there still?”

“Well,” Aenara said, “I got an address. It’s a mansion in the high part of town. Even if she’s not there, there might be someone who knows where she’s gone to. Thirty years is not that long ago, historically speaking.”

Zaleck’s voice went up a pitch.

“It may work, Vel. We can find her.”

Vellis shot him a worried glance.

“Sure. We’ll go there, Zal, but don’t get your hopes up. Redhawk is about two weeks ride and it’s a warzone all the way there. Not to mention, whatever’s after you, Ashen Lord or not, may keep coming for us.”

“Well, let them come!” Zaleck clenched his fists, “I can’t be burned! And besides… we got this.” He showed them the golden ring on his finger.

Derith nodded.

“Yes, this is a surprise indeed. Where does this ring come from?”

“It’s an old family heirloom. It belonged to gramma, who wore it on her wedding, and she got it from her mom.”

“Do you know how old it is?” Aenara asked. “Can I see it?”

Zaleck gave her the ring. Aenara examined it with seeming expert gaze.

“Common craftsmanship. It’s been polished many times. The style is not too archaic. The engraving technique is somewhat recent as well. It can’t be over three hundred years old.”

She handed it back. “Meaning, it can’t possibly be something crafted over a thousand years, when the Ashen Lord was a menace.”

Derith leaned back. “How fascinating.”

Vellis crossed her arms. “Any of you two care to explain?”

Derith leaned forward. “If Zaleck’s ring is nothing but a family heirloom, then it means it’s not the ring itself that hurt the beast. It means the ashenbeast is vulnerable to gold in general.”

Vellis widened her eyes.

“Come on! The greatest threat the world has ever faced, the most powerful enemy anyone has ever confronted. The Six Immortals themselves couldn’t defeat him, only seal him. You’re telling us it’s vulnerable to gold, and we just now found that out? Like, that wouldn’t have survived on any account from that time?”

Derith shrugged.

“A thousand years is a long time. It is possible that this fact was known at the time and then was lost. Don’t forget that between the Banishing War and now there was the Atris Imperium, and almost all the Imperium’s literature and records were destroyed by the Church. Also, it is said the ashenbeasts were destroyed by flowcasters, and there were a lot of flowcasters back then. If flowcasting is such an effective tool against them, it stands to reason that no one would think about trying out different materials against them.”

“Well,” Vellis said, “you can be sure when the next beast comes for us, and I know they will, I’ll throw anything golden I have at them.”

“I might be able to help with that,” Derith said, “I can offer you some of my own personal funds. They amount to a few gold crowns, but they are gold you can use against them. Also, I can lend you two of the Tower’s horses. You could sell the two you came with for another few crowns or so.”

“Won’t that get you into trouble, miss Derith?” Zaleck asked.

“No more than burning down an entire library or causing the death of four guards. I’ll already have a very difficult meeting with the High-Calculators as soon as I’m recovered. I would like nothing else than to have more time to study your rings, Zal, but I see now that time is of the essence. I advise you to pack your things and make haste for Redhawk.”

Zaleck and Vellis exchanged a glance. Derith’s unspoken plea ringed clear in his mind: leave before more of those things come for us. Whatever her true reason for sending them away, however, they were now closer to finding Erona than they could ever be without having come to Verian.

Vellis and Zaleck stepped out of the infirmary, but before closing the door, Derith called.

“Hey,” she said.

Zaleck and Vellis turned around.

“When you get to Redhawk, look for the Four Winds Inn, it doubles as a tavern and it’s close to Erona’s last address. Might be a good place to stay.”

Vellis nodded. Zaleck shot a last glance at Derith and Aenara. He straightened his back, raising his arm and touching two fingers on his forehead.

“May your minds be clear,” he said.

Derith smiled, repeating the gesture.

“And may your answers be true, Zaleck Iavari.”

The Tower’s quartermaster set them up with hardy travel clothes as well as new boots and a complete backpack set with a travelling kit. New bedrolls and saddle bags, and a full complement of rations for the whole journey. At the stables, they were fitted with thoroughbred ironwood destriers, bred for their stamina and endurance, and known for their copper-grayish coat.

“I hope you don’t get to call your horse anything that starts with ‘S’ or is related to saving,” Vellis told Zaleck while they stroke the manes of their new mounts.

“Really? I was thinking ‘Salvation’ was a great name!”

“Oh, don’t you dare!” she teased him.

Zaleck chuckled. “Nah, this one is Rockhoof. What about yours?”

“Mine is Emberbane. For obvious reasons.”

“Wow, cool name! I wish mine was Emberbane.”

“Get your own name! This one’s taken.”

“It’s alright. Rockhoof is fine, right, Rockhoof?” He stroked the horse’s neck. He neighed. “See? He likes it already.”

At noon that day, they left Verian Tower behind, riding along the mountain trail while leaving the stair and bridge-filled town. The tower itself could still be seen hours after, its peak only fading away among the mountaintops as twilight started to set.

The next day they reached Highwatch, a fortress of a town by the foot of the mountains, with seven layers of walls and an imposing, solid castle atop a cliff.

They slept at an inn outside Highwatch, since Vellis was worried a pair of armed and armored folks might be drafted into the army on sight if an officer saw them.

From there, it took them three more days to Twainstream, a large farming community that seemed like an oversized version of Kaldhill. Clusters of houses stood packed among each other leaving uneven, random dirt avenues among them. A large church at the center overlooked a permanent fair at its plaza. There, Vellis sold Survivor and Hilly, and sold and re-bought, and sold again much of their equipment, like their armor and food, always at a profit.

“Vel, why are we selling and buying back stuff? Don’t we have enough coin?”

“We have far less than it seems, and however more we make may save our lives down the road.”

Nearing twilight, she found a fletcher and asked for new arrowheads— pure golden arrowheads smelted out of their gold crowns. She kept one crown with them and got them about twelve golden arrowheads from the others.

“Now,” she said as they left the fletcher’s, “whether it’s your ring who works against the ashenbeasts, or anything made of gold, we’ll find out next time we meet them.”

“Twelve arrows don’t seem like much,” Zaleck said.

“I’m hoping I can retrieve them, or at least, most of them.”

Two more days of riding would take them to Ayrndel, the kingdom’s capital, two more to Caerlon and the last two would take them to Redhawk.

They rode along the Charat river, with long expansive plains to their left and dense forest to their right as they neared Ayrndel. Farmers worked the many fields extending toward the horizon, though the work was carried mainly by women and children. As they passed, some would look at them with the lost, hopeless gaze of those who waited for any news from their loved ones. Zaleck knew that look all too well by now.

“Zal… I’ve been meaning to tell you something…” Vellis said with an overly cautious tone.

Zaleck glanced at her with a slight frown of worry.

“When we were at the library, fighting the ashenbeast…” she began, “well, I know you saved my life back there, and I’m forever thankful for it, but you shouldn’t have traded yourself for me.”

Zaleck gasped.

“You’re not serious, are you?” Then, and only then, it dawned on him. “Is that why you wrapped your scarf around my nose instead of yours? Did you want to trade your life for mine?”

“This is the Ashen Lord we’re talking about. Now, I am not an expert in religious history, but I know enough to know the guy would have killed everyone in the world if Rezi Atris hadn’t sealed him.”

Zaleck looked away from Vellis. He would not hear it.

“This is serious! What if you had traded yourself for me, and the beast had taken you and awakened the Ashen Lord?”

“We don’t even know if that’s what it wanted.”

“He’s coming for you, you understand? For some reason he needs you. You can’t trade one life for all the world. What if—”

“Stop it! I’m not talking about this. I won’t let you go, Vel. Not now, not ever. Not for the whole world, you hear?”

“Zal, I’m way past my prime, and I’ve killed more people than I can count. Let’s face it, I’ve been living on borrowed time for a while now. If it comes down to it, you—”

“Shut up!” he spat, “Just shut up! Don’t you dare say your life is worth less than mine, ‘cause it’s not, okay? Not to me!”

“But now he knows that if he threatens me then you—”

“Hyah!” Zaleck spurred Rockhoof. The horse caught speed in a heartbeat, taking Zaleck for a fast, intense gallop. His heart racing, he clenched his fists around the reins.

She was wrong. He would not let her go. He couldn’t. Somehow, they’d find a way to get through this together, or not at all.

Chapter 21

Redhawk came up as this sprawling gathering of buildings that got higher and higher as they rode. Having gone through Verian and Ayrndel, the castle at its center wasn’t the tallest building Zaleck had seen, but it did have a central spire that stood at least twenty floors high. The whole city seemed like a stone circus canvas supported by the castle’s tower.

No less than four rows of walls separated its neighborhoods. Being set amidst such an expansive plain, the first signs of the city showed up far before its outer walls came up on the horizon. The road leading up to it, large, cobbled and straight, allowed Zaleck and Vellis to reach the gates by midafternoon.

The city seemed to have leaked people out. Before they passed by the first stone houses, waves upon waves of tents and hastily assembled shacks filled the surrounding fields. Around them, the improvised streets were bare earth without a channel for the refuse to flow. Thousands upon thousands of families huddled in these slums, ragged and dirty, glancing at the travelers with gazes both dark and hopeless.

Zaleck would not want to sleep outside the city that night, and found himself sticking his ringed fingers inside his cloak, to avoid the wrong people having the wrong idea about him.

“Refugees…” Vellis murmured, “Gods, but they’re so many…”

“You mean all these people are running from the war?”

“Running or trying to outrun it. Either way, every one of them is someone who’ve already lost everything. I don’t know how this war is going to end, but I tell you something, this, right here, is how revolution starts.”

Travelers formed a huge line before the first gate into Redhawk. Zaleck and Vellis had to wait for their turn as afternoon advanced, only arriving at the gates when the sky’s blue started fading into red.

The gates, tall stone fortifications over three stories high, seemed to embrace the sturdy wall from which an army of archers stood at watch. One of the many City guards on gate duty halted them.

“Entrance is a penny a person,” he said.

“What?” Vellis said, “you are charging people for getting into the city?”

“New law. Don’t like it, complain to the constable, but you’ll have to get in line there as well.”

“Wait, let me get this,” she replied. “There’s a war going on, refugees are piling right out of town. These are good people who have nowhere else to go, and the count, instead of letting them in, responds by keeping them out with a fee they can’t possibly pay?”

“These ‘good people’ you say were robbing folks blind and killing each other on the street for a loaf of bread. You want in? It’s a penny a person.”

Vellis paid the guard, though the way she slammed the coins in his hand made Zaleck wonder if she didn’t want to cut it off instead.

“When’s curfew?” she asked.

“Suspended for now,” the guard replied, waving them into the city.

Beyond the walls, Redhawk, unlike other cities they’ve been through, was almost entirely made of stone buildings. They all used a red type of stone that gave the city a darkened look. Even the water running at the center of the road looked like blood. There was no faking the smell though.

“I can see why it’s called ‘Red’ hawk,” Zaleck said, “d’you know the way to that Four Winds Inn?”

“Never been here before, but we’ll find out.”

Even with an entrance fee, the city had so many people every larger street had become a market. So many stalls lined the wall of every house that their doors often got blocked. About anything was being peddled around them. The hungry, semi-desperate ways in which Zaleck and Vellis were accosted by numerous merchants told them these were likely also refugees. They were only the lucky ones who could still sell something.

Vellis asked for directions twice until finding out about the Four Ways Inn. At one time she turned, abruptly, grasping a young boy’s hand and pressing a dagger onto his neck. No more than a child, he was.

“Try that again and I’ll rip the skin off your hand,” she said.

The boy ran away faster than a sparrow fleeing a red hawk.

Vellis scowled. “Watch out for your things, Zal.”

He would try, though he never saw the boy coming before Vellis had grabbed him.

The Four Ways Inn stood after two gatehouses into town, which this time had no toll, way in Redhawk’s richer districts. Far less people walked the streets there, oil lamps lit the walkways, and the smell of unwashed people gave way to a thick floral scent that reminded Zaleck of Derith’s office.

Taking up a whole block, the Inn had stables, lodgings and an adjacent tavern like Derith told them. Vellis haggled a room for them, but mumbled to herself when she handed Zaleck his room key.

“For this price, we could have stayed for a week in an inn by the entrance.”

“Right,” Zaleck said, “but would our horses be there come morn?”

She sighed. “At least, the price for the bath is included.”

“Can’t we go eat right now? We only had breakfast today.”

“Alright, I could also eat a horse myself. But you’ll wash before bed no matter how late it is.”

The Four Winds Tavern had to be the noisiest establishment in the entire neighborhood. About a hundred people clustered on its tables, a score of waitresses carried food and drink to and fro, banter and laughter rose such that the group of minstrels by the corner could hardly be heard. People played cards, shared gossip, argued and dated with equal intensity within those walls.

Vellis got them a plate of grilled meat so tender the fat drizzled and melted in their mouth. Instead of ale, they served mead, which went down so smoothly Vellis had to stop Zaleck from drinking past his second cup. All through their meal, the place remained packed full.

For all the different types of people around, however, Zaleck’s gaze was drawn over and over to a table beside them. A girl, no older than him, by the looks of it, sat in silence with a much older man. Many other youths went in and out of the place, but she was, by far, the youngest.

Brown haired, she wore a travel cloak that, though worn, still retained some bright blue hues. Looking thoughtful and sad, her hair flowed over half her face, highlighting in their shadows her delicate chin and small, pointed nose. A few freckles and a scrape on her cheek gave her the air of someone who could get into far too much trouble for her own good. Zaleck found himself wondering how a mischievous smile would fit on her face.

Furtively, he also caught some glances she shot his way, though that was nothing new for him. He’d seen thousands and thousands of people already, and only in Veryan had he found anyone close to his appearance.

Vellis stood up, “I’m gonna take these to the kitchen, then it’s off to bed.”

She stood back, bumping into a hulking man who carried two full cups of mead, the man who’ve been sitting by the girl.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man said.

Vellis stepped aside, agile as a cat. “No, it’s fine, I was—”

They both gazed at each other.

“Vellis?” the man said.

“Jorgen?” she replied, “by the missing Gods, Jorgen! I almost didn’t recognize you with the beard!”

Jorgen set the cups on the table, running a hand by his beard.

“Forge me blind, Vellis! It’s been ages!”

“Well, I see you’ve kept up smithing! Those arms of yours are, what, two inches thicker than when last I saw you.”

“A decade at the forge will do that, but who are you to talk? You’ve been keeping fit, alright!”

“Oh, I’ve led an… active life.”

Vellis grinned at Jorgen, a longing, easy grin Zaleck rarely ever saw in her. She lowered her shoulders, running a hand at her hair. Meeting this man made her more at ease than he’d ever seen her these past months.

Jorgen motioned to the girl.

“Come here, honey. Vellis, this is my oldest, Keena. Keena, this is Vellis, an old friend from the army.”

“Oh, my! You told me she was a baby, now I feel old!”

“Hah! As if. You’ll outlive us all yet. And who’s your son?”

Vellis exchanged a quick glance and a chuckle with Zaleck.

“Oh, he’s not my son, Jorg, this is Zaleck, and he’s a  friend.”

Jorgen raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t say.”

Zaleck stood up, waving at them. “Hi, Mister Jorgen, Miss Keena.”

Keena nodded at Zaleck with a shy smile, taking a step behind her father.

“Actually,” Zaleck told Jorgen, “we save each other’s lives for a living.”

“Well, then I’m sure she’s been keeping you busy, young man. This one is as reckless as they come.”

Vellis punched Jorgen’s shoulder playfully.

“Come on, you old bear, what brings you two here?”

“Oh, actually, we came on behalf of Baron Karlahm, to warn the count of an impending raid on Garsley Fort.”

Vellis stepped closer to Jorgen, lowering her voice and speaking with a dangerous undertone. “That explains why there are six Kaylorites posing as peasants, sitting on a table far to your right, staring at you two since you got here.”

Jorgen’s face lost its grin. He clenched a fist, taking his hand to the sword at his scabbard, only to be stopped by Vellis’s touch.

“Make no move, Jorg. They are watching you right now.”

Jorgen bit his lip. “I’ll say, Vellis, I know we haven’t met in years, but I’m in a middle of a bind right now, and I wouldn’t mind some help here.”

Vellis leaned back for a bit.

“Oh, Jorg, killing Kaylorites is almost a sport for Zal and me by now.”

Zaleck tried a quick glance in the direction Vellis indicated. The tavern, so full of people, gave him little room for a clear look at them, but those six did seem to stare at Jorgen and Keena with a dark, long expression.

His glance was cut short, though, by another feeling. A foreboding, dreading sense he knew too well by now. He widened his eyes, gasping.

“Vel,” he said with mounting panic, “they’re here!”

Vellis turned to him.

“The ashenbeasts? You mean, right now?”

“I mean, right on top of us!”

A scream from outside was all the warning they had. The ceiling came crashing down onto a group of people, spreading tiles, stones, debris, and smoke all over the place while a mound of burning ash flooded into the tavern.

Every single soul in the room screamed and ran for their life. Some, shocked beyond action, also screamed while frozen in place. Dozens of people crammed one another, struggling for a way out amidst the wave of instantaneous panic.

The beast extended its legs and arms. This one seemed like a gigantic ashen spider with sword-like articulated pincers.

“Holy bloody heart of God!” Jorgen said, “what in the hells is that?”

“Watch out,” Zaleck said, “here comes another.”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me!” Vellis said.

A second ashen cloud descended through the hole in the ceiling. This one coalescing into a kind of demonic-like giant centipede, where each leg burned what it touched.

The two beasts turned to him, their incandescent eyes staring at Zaleck, the feeling coming from the volcanic ring growing to an anticipation.

“Time to see if this works!” Vellis said. Standing up on a table, she drew her bow and one of the golden arrows. “Jorgen, get Keena and run,” she said, “You don’t want to be here for this.”

Jorgen drew his sword instead.

“How about I help you and you help me?”

Vellis shot. The arrow struck the spider ashenbeast right at its belly. Instead of going through it, it flashed in a golden light that blinded everyone nearby. The beast reared back, screaming with a rasping sound, the arrow sticking out of its malleable, shifting form.

“It works!” she cried, triumphantly.

“D’you have gold, mister Jorgen?” Zaleck said, clenching his ringed hand, “only gold hurts these things. If not, get out.”

Vellis shot another golden arrow at the spider, drawing yet another. Each shot forcing it backwards. The centipede advanced, stepping over the mass of people huddling by the exit. Whoever its legs touched, burned from within in a conflagrating burst that shot out of their eyes and mouth.

“Ah, dad!” Keena let out a shrill scream.

“Keena, get down!” Jorgen said.

The centipede drew close. Zaleck advanced at it before it could reach Jorgen, punching it with his ringed hand. The beast drew back, dodging the attack.

So, they’ve also learned that Zaleck knew of their weakness.

While Vellis thrust arrow after arrow onto the spider, the centipede lurched at Zaleck. He ducked, trying to dodge its strike, but one of the beast’s legs struck him on the chest, sending him reeling through the floor.

Zaleck’s chainmail reddened at the impact, and his gambeson underneath heated up so much he lost his breath, stumbling before getting up again. The centipede came down on him, snatching him up with a pincer-like mouth that shaped itself around him.

All his clothing burst into flames. Zaleck screamed, his whole body surging in unbearable agony. He kicked and flayed, his mind and reason going blank under so much pain until the cold wave from his chest sucked it all in. Once again, fire didn’t hurt him anymore.

He gasped for breath, suspended by the centipede’s crush that pressed upon his chest and dizzy by all the flames while his clothes incinerated. He punched downward, trying to hit the beast with his golden ring, only to find his arm had been surrounded by the beast’s ash, immobilizing it. The ash now covered almost all his body, leaving out only his head and hand.

Intense bright light shot from the centipede when one of Vellis’s arrows struck it. It reared, shuddering and twisting, releasing Zaleck, who crumbled down onto the floor.

He scrambled back up, trying to get the lay of the place through the flames surrounding him.

“Ah, ah!” Keena screamed, somewhere behind him.

“I’ve got her, I’ve got the girl,” a voice also shouted. Two of the six Kaylorite had grabbed Keena, holding her down as they tied her. Zaleck pointed his finger at them and flicked it. The two men released her at once, crushed down on the floor by the ring’s power.

Vellis appeared beside him, a safe distance from his flames.

“We need a plan. I can keep them out, but I’m running out of arrows. They hurt them, but that’s not enough.”

“We need to strike their core, but these ones are too big.”

Vellis shot at the centipede again, preventing another strike at Zaleck.

“Suggestions?”

“Take it, Vel!” Zaleck took off the crushing ring, throwing it at Vellis. She picked it midair.

“What do I do with this?”

Zaleck closed his ringed hand in a fist. “I’ll be your next arrow! Flick me at that thing.” He pointed at the centipede, a table away from him.

“Brace yourself,” she said, pointing at him.

Vellis flicked her finger forward, as if pushing something with it. Zaleck flew right ahead, into the centipede ashenbeast.

Whatever clothes he wore that hadn’t been on fire before, burst up in flames now. Zaleck passed right through the beast, fist first. The incandescent flash from his hand as it touched the ash shone brighter than all flames combined. The centipede shuddered with a hole open amidst its body that wouldn’t close.

Zaleck hit the tavern wall rolling over the floor until coming upon a group of flaming debris. The spider ashenbeast stood beside him, pierced by so many golden arrows it looked like a living firework. It clawed blindly at anything in its path, slicing tables, chairs, torches, people.

“Again,” Zaleck said, “there!” he pointed at the spider with his fist.

Vellis flicked her finger. Zaleck was thrown once more, though this time with far less speed. He opened his fingers as he struck the spider, diving into its molten body. He clawed inside of the beast as it reared and twisted. The light from the ring no longer an issue as he couldn’t see anything anyway.

His hands brushed something spherical, hard. He grasped at it and crushed it.

The spider blew up, spreading ash and lava all through the demolished room that once had been a tavern.

“Zal, Zal!” Vellis called out to him. He could only discern where the sound came from, flashes and smoke blinding him.

“Zal,” she called again, “arrows!”

Between yellow flashes of light, the vague shape of a woman stood before the smaller shape of a girl, cowering before a misshapen centipede of ash that chittered towards them. It also glowed with several arrows stuck in its body.

Zaleck looked around, searching for the arrows that had been on the spider. He found three, throwing them at Vellis.

“Throw me at it!” he cried.

“I’m trying, but I can’t. I can’t see you.”

He ran at the centipede, stumbling over wooden junk, chair parts and overturned pieces of table.

“I see you,” she said.

Instead of flying towards the centipede again, only a vague surge pushed him forward. Not nearly enough to take him through it. It seemed his flames, the smoke and bright light between him and Vellis wouldn’t let her flick him with the same speed.

He jumped at the beast, who struck him with its tail. This time, though, the strike found his hand first.

A loud, low scream made the room shake when Zaleck caught the ashenbeast’s tail. It turned to him, circling him and closing in, twisting itself around him.

“Tie your scarf around an arrow, shoot it and push it into it!” he cried, “it worked on the scarecrow.”

Darkness enveloped him, ash, all around, so dense the very light from his ring got muffled. It pressed around his mouth and nose, suffocating him in a thick smell of coal. He tried to struggle against the beast’s embrace, but his hands and legs wouldn’t move an inch.

His strength ebbed away, he coughed, drawing in burning lava that would have charred him from within.

Then it burst. The whole ashenbeast around him blew up. An explosion so strong his ears ringed and his throat rasped when all ash around him suddenly expanded outward.

He gasped, coughing. His arms shook, his legs trembled so much he didn’t even try to get up. He had lost all clothing, but his chainmail and chausses remained with him, glowing bright red. The intense heat formed veins of energy running under his skin as they flowed into the whirlpool scar. His golden ring, which should have melted by now, remained in his finger, still shining bright, like a sun that refused to set.

Flexing his fingers sent jolts of pain through his arms. Breathing came hard, since all the ash around made it seem like he was taking in a ton of charcoal at every breath.

Someone moved about; Vellis, by the looks of it. The bright flashes of light subsided, and he could make out her shape as she looked for golden arrows spread around the place.

He leaned on the debris of a table for support, but as his overheated chainmail touched it, it ignited. He crawled to the stone wall, clutching it as he pulled himself up.

Every one of his muscles cried out for respite. Here and there, painful moans, low and desperate pleads reached him.

The once bustling and lively tavern had become an open field of destruction where wooden rubble now burned alongside the dead. A few people did survive, some wounded, some scratched, all of them paralyzed. They all seemed too dazed to understand what had happened.

Keena, by some miracle, still cowered at the tavern corner. At one point, Vellis must have shielded her, using a bunch of overturned tables to protect the girl.

Vellis ran to him with a long face.

“Damn…” she said.

Panting, Zaleck reached his hand out to her for support. She took a step back.

“Oh, no, I’m not touching you. Look at you.”

“R… right…” he said, “let’s go out the back… better not let too many people see this.”

Keena got up, slowly, gazing at the place in the same expression of stark disbelief as everyone else.

“D—dad… my father…” she mumbled.

Vellis took her by the hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We can talk outside.”

The three passed by the kitchen, untouched by the destruction, guided by the weird point-light emanating from the golden ring. Exhausted, they stumbled out of the demolished tavern by the back door, into a small alleyway. Even there, a group of people stared at the tavern’s rooftop, still on fire. Zaleck tried covering the glowing golden ring with his hand, but it drew glances wherever he went.

The cool night air felt like a balm as Zaleck inhaled it. He paused after a few steps, leaning backwards to take it in.

Breathing easier, he wiped ash from his face. He looked back at the tavern, speaking with a determination born of the dozens of victims who lost their life because of him.

“We have to finish this, Vel. Whatever we do, this cannot go on. Look at what just happened.”

“I hear you. I do,” she pointed at his hand, “would you like me to keep that for you?”

“Oh, yea. I dunno why it’s still shining, though,” he passed her the golden ring. Vellis pocketed it in their leather money pouch. Shutting out the bright light blanketed the whole alleyway in a gloom born of Zaleck’s glowing hot chainmail.

“It seems to be already fading,” she said, “but it’s best if we keep it out of sight for now.”

Keena sat on a crate by the street, her hands, arms, and legs shook so much Zaleck thought she would never speak again.

“Keena, are you alright?”

She looked at him and nodded, urgency growing in her face.

“D… dad…” she said.

Vellis shot a glance at Zaleck, who lowered his eyes.

How many more orphans would he make until this nightmare would end?

Vellis kneeled before Keena.

“Keena… I’m sorry…”

“No!” she shot back, sounding much more composed than she seemed, “you don’t understand, they took him. The Kaylorites took him while you… fought… those things.”

“Keena,” Vellis said, “are you sure you saw Jorgen being taken away?”

She nodded.

“Aye. While you two, uhm, fought, they came for us. They grabbed him, and grabbed me too, they took my sword before I could get it… but then, something happened to the men who were on me, they all fell, and that was when you came to help me, miss Vellis.”

“But how did they get out of the tavern,” Zaleck asked. “The door was a mess.”

“The window,” she said.

Zaleck sighed. He shot a sideways glance at Vellis, and she nodded back.

“Well, I still have my armor,” he said, “and after it cool off I think I still have a good gambeson on the backpack.”

“You can have my spare travel boots, if you want.” Vellis said.

“Thanks,” he said.

Keena frowned.

“What do you folks mean?”

“Why, dear, it’s obvious. We’re going to save Jorgen, and we’d better move fast, before the Kaylorites gain on us.”

Keena frowned. “You mean… like that? You just met us.”

“I’ve known Jorgen for a long time, girl. We fought together in the Aelorian war, and I’ve saved his life as much as his steel saved mine. I’d rather lose my arms than abandon him right now, or his daughter. Do you think you can ride?”

She spoke almost as an afterthought.

“Aye. I’ve seen worse.”

Zaleck blinked.

“You… have?”

She glanced at him again, with the sudden alarmed expression of someone who knew she shouldn’t have said that.

“Uh… not much worse, though.”

Vellis touched her shoulder.

“Let’s go then. Every moment counts.”

Keena half opened her mouth before embracing Vellis in a tight hug. She wiped a few tears from her eyes as she said, “Thank you, thank you!”

Chapter 22

A small drizzle had started to fall on Redhawk when Zaleck, Vellis and Keena got to the Four Winds Inn’s stables. The tavern on the other side of the block, with its rooftop still engulfed in flames, drew guards and citizens alike who had gone to watch the destruction, help survivors, or put out the fire. Thus, they stood alone among horses and carts.

Zaleck now left a small cloud of smoke whenever he moved, as droplets sizzled when touching his glowing-hot chainmail.

“At least my armor didn’t melt,” he said.

“I think,” Keena said, “those things were made of ash and embers, right? Takes a lot more heat than that to melt forged steel. They were only molten iron in their core.”

Zaleck glanced at his horse, his face etched with worry.

“I can’t mount Rockhoof like this…” he said with a crestfallen tone.

“Take off your chainmail and drop it in the water pail,” Vellis said, “that will cool it off.”

Keena shook her head. “That’ll stress the rivulets, they’ll get weak and might break,” she said, her tone thoughtful. When Zaleck and Vellis glanced at her,he shrugged. “Just a few things I picked up while watching Dad at work.”

Zaleck frowned a bit. “It doesn’t matter. If I don’t do this, it’s gonna take too long for it to cool on its own, and we can’t afford the time.”

Vellis and Keena went into the stables to retrieve the horses while Zaleck threw his armor into the water, the steam rising in a hissing cloud. He changed into a new set of clothes while the chainmail and chausses cooled off. It still felt hot to the touch when he pulled them out. At least it wouldn’t ignite his clothes anymore.

The trio rode away from the inn onto Redhawk’s now empty streets. Moonlight shone through the overcast sky, lighting the cobblestone ways in a pinkish path clear enough for them to ride on.

“How’re we gonna find them?” Keena said, “they could be anywhere by now.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Zaleck said. Raising his hand up, he called, “owl!”

With a soft hoot, an owl swooped by them, surprising Keena who flinched on her saddle. Zaleck remained steady, focusing on the bird. The owl brushed by his fingers and flew right past them.

Zaleck twisted and turned, struggling with his new, tight, awkwardly mobile form when his mind jumped into the owl. The world expanded into a plethora of sights and sounds that, of a sudden, dizzied him.

Then, he was flying again.

This time, it was like someone had placed a white sun over the whole city. It lit up before him almost as much as if it were noon. A myriad of sounds reached him, guiding his flight. The clop of horse hoofs on the streets came clear and sharp to his ears.

Zaleck soared, clear and focused, beholding the entire city of Redhawk like only the birds, or the gods, did. He knew he was searching for a group of riders, and he remembered Jorgen’s voice. All he needed was for Keena’s father to scream, or talk a bit louder, to find him.

He heard nothing, though. The raiders had gone deep into an enemy town, and if they ever hoped to leave Redhawk, they’d have knocked Jorgen out. Zaleck flew above the city’s gates, looking for anyone rushing out. By chance, he went for the southern gates first.

The commotion at the tavern had already started to spread, drawing in guardsmen from all over town to help keep the fire at bay.

Even at night, several people rode out of town, but always on a slow trot, and in smaller numbers than he’d expect, but… there! Four horses, galloping away. Not at the gates, though, they already rode far south of the city. Zaleck dove towards them, turning his head aside in a move that would have broken his human neck.

Four riders, carrying someone on the back of a horse. Zaleck couldn’t identify them, having only glanced at them at the tavern, but the man was as big as Jorgen, with the same brown beard, the same clothes, down to the scratch by his right elbow.

He hooted, letting the night know he had found his prey. To save Keena’s father, though, he would have to go back to his body.

Right away he knew where to fly. Zooming past Redhawk’s walls once more, he found Keena and Vellis, mounted on their horses, while Vellis held his unconscious human body.

He glided at them, trying to slow down as he came close. Would he ever get the landing part right?

Slamming into his own hand, he went back into his body. He started, flailing his arms and legs while Vellis held on to him.

Panting, he embraced Vellis tight, to keep from falling out of her horse.

“I… I found him. They are going south… That a way,” he pointed.

Vellis let him go gently, though she spoke with urgency.

“Can you ride?”

“I… I think so, yea. Let’s go.”

They galloped out of Redhawk, following Zaleck’s guidance. At least they didn’t have to pay a tax for leaving the city, which was also why the raiders may have left so quickly as well.

“Are you two gonna tell me what you just did?” Keena asked.

“Oh, I… I can take control of birds.”

“No way!” Keena’s eyes widened.

“Yes, way,” he glanced at her, failing to contain the pride in his voice, “It feels really good!”

They rode into the southern plains that surrounded Redhawk, filled with endless wheat farms stretching out beneath the cloudy sky. The golden stalks swayed in the night breeze while they passed, surrounding the landscape with a pale silvery glow.

On the otherwise quiet night, they thundered by the road, raising rustling leaves and followed by the distant hoot of an owl.

Vellis called for them to slow down.

“Zal, can you find them again?”

His response was to raise his hand once more. “Owl,” he said.

He found them further south, after searching through the myriads of branching roads. After returning, his dizziness seemed to take a bit longer to subside.

“They’re going that way,” he said.

“I know this way,” Keena said, “I think they are going back to Garsley. It’s where Dad and I came from.”

“Are you alright, Zal? You seem a bit… worse,” Vellis asked.

“I dunno,” he answered. There was a sense of numbness when he turned his head too fast, “I think so, but I haven’t used the ring so much before.”

“Alright, then. We ride.”

Throughout most of the night they followed the Kaylorites. Not only did the raiders gallop at speed, but they also switched Jorgen among themselves to keep their horses from wearing down too fast. The three of them had to stop a few times to find them, and each pause allowed the raiders to gain more distance.

The plains gave way to a few woods, and before long they came upon the right bank of the Kylar.

“They are sure going to Garsley,” Keena said.

“You’ve been there, Keena,” Vellis said, “What can you tell us of the place?”

“It’s a fort. Not very big, but it’s sturdy. It’s mostly stone. There’s a keep and a tower, and an inner courtyard. There were a lot of people when Dad and I stayed there.”

“You think the Kaylorites took it?” Zaleck asked.

“I don’t know, but what else could have happened? They wouldn’t be going back there unless they had the place.”

Vellis cursed under her breath, a misty cloud forming when she spoke.

“If they did take it, we’ll never get in there.” She straightened up on her saddle, turning to Keena. “Okay, dear, I know this night has been hell for you so far, but we need you to come clean with us.”

Keena leaned back. “What do you mean?”

“Six Kaylorite raiders would not have posed as Ayrnian peasants, entered one of our most guarded towns, followed you into an inn full of people, just to grab a random blacksmith and his daughter. That was personal, deeply personal. What have you two done to them that had them following you all the way north?”

Keena bit her lip, fidgeting as she answered.

“We… I… they attacked our village, and I… kind of… killed them.”

“You kind of killed them?”

“I did. I killed them all. They’ve been on our trail since then.”

Vellis leaned forward.

“You mean… everyone in your village banded together and fought them off?”

“I… eh… I did it alone,” her voice broke, “Please, please, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Vellis shot a disbelieving glance at Zaleck, who shrugged.

“Come on, Vel… I can take on birds and am immune to fire… We’ve seen stranger things.”

“No, I don’t think we have, and I don’t think I want to, but if what you’re saying is true… then it’s clear why they captured your father and brought him all the way back here instead of killing him. They want you. I would wager they knew they were being followed.”

“So, what d’we do?” Zaleck asked.

“We sneak in, if it’s at all possible. Keena, you think there’s somewhere around Garsley we can have a look at the place without being seen?”

“There’re some mounts nearby, and some woods.”

“Okay, then. We move on. Keena, when we get close, before getting in view of the fort, let us know, okay? We’ll try going around the place until we can get a read on it.”

They moved south along the road by the Kylar, until Keena let them know that right around a bend Garsley Fort would be coming into view. A steep mountain range to their left would be a perfect place to evaluate the fort, if only it wouldn’t take so long to get there. Instead, Vellis led them through a nearby woods with such a thick undergrowth they could hardly see the ground beneath their horses, keeping the fort within view as much as they could.

Vellis dismounted when they found a small clearing, and the night brightened when one of the moons shone through an opening in the clouds.

“Keena, can you draw us a map of the inside of the keep?”

“Aye,” she dismounted, tracing a crude layout on the ground with broken twigs. “There’s a bedroom here, and another here, this is their kitchen and their dining room, and there’s a corridor here…”

“Where do you think they would keep your father, or prisoners in general?” Vellis asked.

Keena gazed at her twisted drawings on the earth. She replied with such a forlorn tone that Zaleck fought the urge to hug her.

“I—I don’t know…”

Vellis also glanced at the layout.

“Damn, we can’t go in blind like this.”

“I’ll find him,” Zaleck said, raising his hand again. “Hummingbird,” he called.

It took longer than he expected, but a hummingbird flew at him, stopping before his hand as it touched the bird ring with its beak.

This time, it was like being crushed from all around as Zaleck almost didn’t “fit” the small bird’s frame. He shook his head, whizzing around, before getting used to the feeling.

Unlike any other birds, Zaleck didn’t had to “flap” his wings with this one. Instead, the beating hummingbird wings felt like a “vibration” on his arms, something he could increase or decrease at will. The impressive control over his flight left him dazed at first. He could hover in place, go back, or zip forward at lightning speed.

Above all, however, he never thought he would experience the world so… slow. Vellis, Keena, his human body falling on the ground, the leaves on the wind, everything moved slower, as if time itself had stretched for him.

He flew to Garsley, but halfway through the way another unexpected feeling came up. Sometime after flying, he was suddenly taken by an intense, almost irresistible thirst. A few flowers blooming in the night beckoned him, and he had to stop to drink from their immense, colorful corollas.

Right before Garsley, he had to stop to drink again. This bird lived in an almost constant state of thirst.

Entering the place could not have been easier for him. He flew past a window and through its wooden corridors, passing by raiders who moved too slow to try to catch him. He found the rooms and hallways Keena drew them, as well as the kitchen. Someone had left a honeypot open by a table, and Zaleck drank the honey to sate his already mounting thirst. At the floor level, coming out through the courtyard, a second door lead into a part of the keep containing a few cells.

Going through the door, Zaleck found a corridor with four cells so filled with people they could hardly sit. A younger raider stood before a cell, looking into it, where Jorgen lay, awake, dizzy, and scowling at him. Zaleck couldn’t hear their voices properly, everything they said sounded low, and the words didn’t seem right. Flying through the corridor, past the Kaylorite, he found yet another door, leading to a tight corridor on the keep that led once more into the main hall.

He flew out of Garsley, beginning the journey back to the clearing and his own body. The pull of the ring came as strong as his desire to drink, and he nearly missed a meal before returning to his immense, gigantic body.

His mind flowed back to his body in a long inhale, sitting up with Vellis’s help. He tried to speak, but fumbled the first words. Even what Vellis and Keena asked him sounded dull and garbled for a time.

“Okay…” he said at last, “we’re not meant to be in bird’s bodies for too long…”

“Did you find him?” Keena asked.

Zaleck nodded.

“He’s, in a… there’s this… oh, what’s the name… uhm… the thing with… eh… metal, eh… bars…”

“A cell?” Vellis asked.

“That. That thing. And there’s this… place where… uhm… people walk… you know? That ways thing…”

Keena and Vellis exchanged a glance just as the word came to him.

“Corridor. Eh… that’s it. There’s a corridor to the main hall, here,” he drew on Keena’s outline, completing it.

“Jorgen’s here,” he pointed.

Vellis sat beside him.

“Okay, no more bird ring for you for a while.”

He nodded back.

“It was…” he grinned, “so slow. You were all so slow.”

“Aye,” Keena said, “but you’re the one who’s slow now.”

He nodded again. “I’m slow…” was that banter? Should he be annoyed at her comment?

“I need you, Zal. Can you come with me?” Vellis asked.

Zaleck stood up, touching her shoulder.

“Why, yes, I’m with you all the way. I’ll never let you go, Vel,” he grinned, “you’re like a mother to me, you know?”

Vellis blinked. “Get a grip of yourself! I can’t do this without you.”

“I’m sorry, it’s… hard to think… but I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

Vellis turned to Keena.

“Are you going to be alright if we leave you here for a while?”

Keena looked down, then aside, almost as if confused.

“You… you don’t want me to go with you?”

Vellis placed a hand on her shoulder with a light touch.

“Whatever happened before, I’m not saving your father only to put his daughter at risk. We won’t be long and we’ll come back with him. Can you stay here?”

Keena nodded.

Vellis motioned for Zaleck to follow her. As they left the clearing, Keena called out.

“Miss Vellis.”

Vellis turned to her.

“I would… well… I’d feel safer if you at least left me one of your knives.”

Vellis smiled.

“Of course, dear, here it is,” she placed a throwing knife by a stone.

Zaleck approached Keena, placing a hand on her shoulder, drawing her downcast glance upwards. Such deep green eyes, she had. Zaleck would banish all gathering tears from those eyes. One way or another.

“Don’t worry, Keena. We’ll get your dad back.”

She nodded. A smidge of a smile on her lips.

Zaleck followed Vellis as they moved towards Garsley. She took a winding path, keeping bushes and trees between themselves and the fort. They circled it, going around the walls until coming upon the building by the back.

Zaleck swallowed dry as they came upon the place.

“Vel,” he said.

“What?”

“I’m sorry for what I said before. I didn’t mean for it to be so awkward.”

She turned to him, patting his shoulder.

“Think nothing of it. You know, more people would benefit from thinking like a bird sometimes. For what it’s worth, you’re also like a son to me.”

Zaleck grinned a small grin. He glanced at the imposing fortress they were about to sneak into, full of enemy soldiers, somehow feeling lighter than he thought he should.

Chapter 23

Iavad woke up way past noon the next day, a luxury afforded him by the Lord General due to their success on last night’s operation. True to his word, he shared a meal with him and the four other soldiers who returned alive, in the common room at Wolfpine’s cathedral.

On the table before Iavad, fresh bread shared a space with fried veal, hardboiled eggs stood aside a vegetable bowl and round cheese sat right next to sausage strips. This was neither a breakfast nor lunch, but something in between. Maybe Iavad ought to call it a “lunchfast,” though the name didn’t roll off the tongue.

Merina, now washed and cleaned, sat beside him, filling her plate for the third time. Iavad’s belly also asked for another round, but his eyes kept glazing off into yesterday. He still saw before him the warehouse where he almost died and the fight with the guards. He didn’t think twice before killing them. Thus, his third plate sat half-eaten before him.

The other three agents who returned also ate in silence. It looked like each one brought back a few more demons with them from this operation.

By the looks of it, they would have a free day today. No one came with orders or assignments for them, save a comment from the Lord General asking them to stick around, because he would have further need of them in the coming days. Or rather, they would have a free day if, when their lunchfast was about to end, a messenger hadn’t rushed into the room, panting and wild-eyed.

“Lord General, Lord General! You must come.”

The Lord General stood up.

“What’s the meaning of this? Report.”

“My Lord, it’s the enemy general. He’s at the gates, and he says he wants to talk.”

The Lord General strode out of the room, only pausing to shoot a glance at Iavad and the others, saying, “Come along.”

They all rode to the southern gate, followed by a small battalion of the Lord General’s assistants and personal guard. Though Iavad had never been to that part of town, he recognized it from Zaleck’s stories. Every single house by the entrance had black scorch marks and the cobblestones themselves still held some of the ash from when his son faced the flamewalkers.

The southern walls had to be the most patrolled ones of the whole city, such that going up the walkways had Iavad negotiating space shoulder-to-shoulder with as many other soldiers as it could fit. Everyone’s eyes fixed on the single, lone figure standing beyond the other riverbank.

If that was a man, he would be the tallest man Iavad had seen, about an arm taller than any other Kaylorite soldier. It was hard to tell what he was, however, as his entire body stood covered in the heaviest possible plate mail. So much so that through the lowered helm no single feature of him could be discerned.

Even from the distance, though, something—shone—inside that helmet. Two dots of pale light, unnaturally bright, gave the impression the person inside stared right into their sins. Tiny patterns adorned the whole armor, making it more a work of art than a practical piece, seeming to converge into a single image etched into the helm, a golden skull.

“Oh, no, Divine!” Merina said, coming up beside Iavad.

“What is it?” he asked.

“That is no general. That is Xallan Na’Hali, one of Kaylor’s three archpriests.”

An archpriest, like when Zaleck said he faced Theron, who was another of them.

“You mean, he’s a flowcaster?” Iavad asked.

“He’s not just a flowcaster, he’s an immortal flowcaster who’s been ruling Kaylor for centuries. Do you know why it’s called the “Death Kingdom?” It’s because of him. He puts ‘death’ in the “Death Kingdom.””

“Make way, make way,” the Lord General ordered, coming up the gatehouse tower himself. He took a moment to gaze into the archpriest, same as everyone else, before saying anything.

“I was told you want to parley!” The Lord General shouted. “I am the Lord General Durant of House Evoren. Speak your piece.”

Xallan shifted his stance towards the Lord General. He spoke, but instead of shouting, his voice came from everywhere at once, a dry, rasping voice that cut into Iavad’s mind, drawing shudders down his spine. That voice alone could give a man nightmares.

“Lord General, I was hoping for a more, private, meeting.”

The small rustle murmur at the walls died down at the sound of Xallan’s voice. It seemed the very birds and insects ceased their chirping in his presence. The Lord General looked down for a moment, seeming to compose himself before replying.

“This is private enough.” He shouted back.

“Come now, General. I am one person. What danger would I represent, surrounded by so many of your soldiers? Clearly you can give me leave to enter your city under a banner of truce.”

Two people stepped towards the Lord General and started discussing with him. Iavad could hear them say “he wants to come alone?” and “too dangerous,” but not much else. At last, the Lord General replied.

“You can come.”

He waved to a gatehouse guard, indicating they should lower the drawbridge. Before anyone else could move, though, Xallan did. He kneeled down and jumped. A high, impossible jump that took him vaulting over the river, coming up at them fast as an arrow until he landed on the gatehouse beside the Lord General. The crashing sound made the whole stone wall shudder.

Xallan stood up. A jump and a fall that would have turned anyone into mashed meat, and he took it in stride. The soldiers by the gatehouse opened a space around him, crowding tighter. Some weapons were drawn, but the Lord General held his men with a gesture.

“This is much better, no?” Xallan said.

“W—what do you want to talk about, eminence?” The Lord General held his stammering voice with professional coolness.

“A proposal, Lord General. An exchange if you will. One I do not offer lightly. I will retreat my army back to Highport, and there I will stay for six months. No attacks, no skirmishes, no scouting parties for this duration.”

“And in exchange?”

Xallan Na’Hali raised his arm, pointing his finger right at Iavad.

“Him. I want that man.”

He knows. Of course, he knows. Iavad’s ring came from Theron, another archpriest, and now Xallan had come to collect.

Whatever soldiers stood beside Iavad also stepped back, at risk of falling down the street below. Merina closed her eyes, sighing. Iavad swallowed dry. Xallan’s eyes bore deep into Iavad’s flesh, draining the very blood from his veins.

“Him?” The Lord General said, for the first time showing any emotion other than awe. “Why him?”

“That is my offer, highness. I will give you until tomorrow this time for a reply. Think about it very carefully.”

Xallan jumped again, away from the gatehouse, arcing a path over the sky and landing close to his own encampment. A small contingent of servants rushed to him.

All eyes turned to Iavad, but none so wild and confused as the Lord General’s.

“You,” he said, “my room. Now.”

Iavad rode back to the cathedral beside the Lord General under armed guard. As they went into the briefing room, the Lord General uttered.

“Leave. Everyone. Not you, professor, you can stay.”

One of the guards who escorted Iavad replied, “My lord, at least let me stay.”

“No, Tillis. Stay outside.”

Aides, secretaries, and other lesser generals rushed out of the place, closing the doors behind them in a thud. The Daht’Gahren professor sat down on a couched seat while the Lord General paced behind his desk.

“Well, then, Iavad Nareni. I am listening.”

What would he do? Lie? Tell the truth? He believed Merina when she said his secret would come out sooner or later, but damn if this was too soon. Then again, there was a Daht’Gahren beside him, ready to stare right through any one of his lies. Zaleck had told him of how they read someone’s mind by analyzing their slightest movements.

If he told the truth, though, that would be it for him. At best he’d be in this fight all the way through to the end. At worse, he would never come back. Even worse still, if he told the whole truth, they would go after his boy.

So, not the truth, then, and not a lie, but a careful dance around the two.

“I have this ability, my Lord. Metal weapons bounce off me.”

Professor Carina shifted in her seat. Whatever the Lord General expected from him, that was not it. He frowned, leaned back, replying in between confusion and disbelief.

“Say, what?”

“‘Tis true, my Lord. If you strike me with a blade or throw a dagger at me, it won’t hit me.”

The Lord General kept staring at him, his expression shifting from worry to outrage. This was, without a doubt, too much to take in at once, but only then did it occur to Iavad what would be the answer he expected. Why would Xallan have asked for him specifically? Because he was an undercover spy, of course.

The Lord General glanced at Professor Carina.

“He’s not lying, my lord,” she said.

“Then he’s insane.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Try it, my lord,” Iavad said, “pick your blade and throw it at me.”

The Lord General’s frown deepened further. Iavad raised his hand.

“Fine,” the Lord General said. Iavad didn’t see him pick up his weapon before the blade flew. It bounced off his hand, flying up towards the ceiling where it hit with a clang before landing on the floor.

“I’ll be…” the Lord General said, and yet another weapon flew at Iavad, straight into his shoulder where it ricocheted back at the Lord General, missing him by a finger.

“By the twelve aspects of the Divine Mind,” he said. “It’s true.”

Iavad shrugged. The Lord General sat down on his chair, his eyes widening beneath his frown.

“Are you a flowcaster?” he asked.

“No, my lord.”

“Then… how?”

That was the question, then, the one that could cost him his son’s life. Do not look at the Daht’Gahren, stare right into the Lord General. Do not move a finger. Just straight out tell him.

“It was a gift, my lord, given to me by a flowcaster.”

“Another flowcaster, here in Ayrn?”

“Yes.”

“And where is he, now?”

“I tell you truly, my lord, I do not know.”

The Lord General glanced once more at Professor Carina. She nodded back at him.

“Damn it, man. While you were up farming in your village, I could have used you. I could have used you indeed, and now, right when I found you, that slaver scum wants to get our best advantage away from us.”

He could have used Iavad. Used. Like a plow or an ox. That was it, then. He was just a weapon now. No surprises there. Nobles always saw the peasantry as a tool anyway. He clasped his hands, bracing himself for what he was about to say.

“M’lord, I’ll do it. I’ll hand myself over to him. Whatever I am, I’m one man.”

“Oh, that’s a very noble sentiment, soldier. Romantic, I’d say, but here in the army you don’t do what you want to, you don’t even do what you think is right, you do what you are told. Professor,” he said, turning to Carina, “what do you make of the archpriest?”

“It’s very hard to read a flowcaster, my lord, but I picked up signs of subtle duplicity in him. I don’t think his offer is false, but there’s more to it.”

“Such as?”

“If I go any further, I would be guessing, my lord, and that would be beyond my assigned duty.”

“For instance,” the Lord General said, “he said he would retreat his army, but he never said he would retreat as well. If he were planning on staying behind and come at us with his flowcasting abilities, would that be in line with what you saw?”

Carina nodded. “It would indeed.”

The Lord General stood up and resumed his pacing, closing his hand in a fist and biting at a finger.

“We have no reason at all to trust that priest’s words, and he proved he can find our best assets better than we do. Not only that, but he also proved his presence in the battlefield could define the whole war, especially if we have no way to counter it. You said metallic weapons bounce off you, soldier. Is that it? That’s all this ability does?”

“Well, m’lord, actually, anything made of metal bounces off me, if it comes too fast.”

“So,” the Lord General said, “if you were facing a knight in full plate armor, that knight would be unable to land a single blow on you, is that right?”

Iavad nodded, only then following his reasoning. The archpriest wore full plate armor.

“Divine knows we need this truce,” the Lord General said, “the archpriest sure knows it as well, but this is a trap if I ever saw one. No, soldier, you will not hand yourself over. You are to stay right here. I’ll get you a room in the cathedral, and you are to wait for further orders. You are both dismissed for now.”

Iavad bowed and left the room. He let out a deep sigh when he passed over the guards and aides who awaited by the corridor. He needed some air; he at least needed to gaze at the sky.

Out of the cathedral, he found the same lookout where he first gazed into the Kaylorite army with Merina. For one reason or another, no one approached him while he sat down, staring at the clouds. No one but Professor Carina Marr.

“Iavad Nareni,” she said.

“Professor,” Iavad stood up, “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“That’s alright, we, from the tower, do not require bowing or scraping from others.”

“Right,” he looked around, anywhere but to her face. So strange, standing before someone who could read his thoughts. How could Zaleck stomach it?

“I have news for you, Iavad. From your son.”

That brought his gaze right back into her eyes.

“News from Zal?”

“Yes. He’s been to Verian Tower. He’s fine and healthy, but he had to leave Kaldhill. He and miss Vellis are on a journey to find another immortal flowcaster who will help him get his powers back.”

“Oh,” Iavad said, a grin rising in the corners of his mouth, “thanks. Thank you, Professor. I mean, truly.”

Carina nodded at him. She turned to leave, but the question in Iavad’s chest came out unbidden.

“Professor, you… you know, don’t you?”

She turned back to him. If she was half as good as Zaleck said, she would realize he meant to ask if she knew he hid the truth from the Lord General. To his surprise, she raised a hairless brow in a half conspiratorial manner.

“I know a lot of things, Iavad Nareni. Most of which I keep to myself.”

“But then… why?” He asked.

Carina took a step closer to him, clasping her hands and raising her chin. She only stood up to his shoulders, but how she towered over him with that gesture and that stare.

“I am walking a finer and finer line by the day. There are so many things people think I can’t see… so many intentions I could reveal. However, for all I know, I must weigh everything I say far beyond what would be the obvious choice right now. I weigh my actions not only in regard to my loyalty to this kingdom, but also my duty to the future. And for us to have a future, Iavad, we need you and your son to be free.”

Once more, she nodded at him and walked away, leaving Iavad to the warmth of the news she brought, and the bitterness of what awaited him. Now there was no more hiding it. The Lord General knows; everyone would soon follow.

Well, if he was a weapon now, he would at least make sure he’d be the best damn weapon in the field. Turning away from the lookout, he strode back to the barracks, towards the training grounds.

Chapter 24

Garsley Fort’s keep tower stood at about four stories high, its outline framed by pale moonlight diffused by clouds. The walls that extended out of it had a score of archers on watch, though at this time any sane person would be asleep.

Kaylorites weren’t sane, though, and they were expecting them.

Zaleck and Vellis watched from a small distance, hidden behind a score of trees. The fort’s stone walls seemed to have been settled with mortar and even chiseled into place, because Zaleck couldn’t find any way to climb to the second floor, where stood the lowest of the keep’s windows.

“How are we going to get inside?” he whispered.

Vellis, crouching beside him, replied in the same tone.

“We are not going. I will. I’ll climb it.”

“What, are you a master climber, now? How can you get that high, at night, without equipment?”

“Ah,” she said, a subtle yet sharp grin across her face, “but I do have equipment, I have you, and you have this,” she said, handing him back the crushing ring.

Zaleck nodded, mirroring her grin, “you want me to throw you up there! We’re gonna have to get really close, we know the ring won’t work unless I can see you.”

Vellis took off her cloak, covering Zaleck with it and pushing the hood over his white hair.

“Come with me, be very slow, and pay attention. It’ll be like in Marton Hills, we’ll do it one step at a time.”

Zaleck nodded, crouching behind her with a shiver. He sighed, hoping it would not be like Marton Hills, at least, not the part where the two of them slaughtered the whole village.

The pair moved out of the small woods that shielded them from sight of the guards. Approaching the keep slower than the clouds rolled in the sky, Zaleck followed Vellis’s guidance as she stepped over rocky surfaces, avoiding dry grass whenever she could.

The guardsmen by the wall, mere silhouettes against the cloudy backdrop, moved from one side to the other of their runways. Zaleck couldn’t make out if they were even looking at them, or had their backs to them. At one point, Vellis made a sharp gesture, telling him to stop. One guard came so close to the edge of the walls that Zaleck could almost believe he saw his eyes glinting against the dark.

Vellis and Zaleck remained frozen in place while the guard overlooked the field where they stood. It seemed at any moment he would cry out an alarm. When Zaleck’s legs started burning with the effort, the guard turned around and walked away.

They moved on, arriving at the base of the keep. Although the whole place was likely on alert, no guard at the wall seemed to have line of sight to them right then. If they didn’t move, no one would see them.

The keep wall now seemed even higher, with the window having become a slit of dark against the outline of the stone wall, far, far above them.

“Are you ready?” Vellis whispered, taking position beneath the window.

Zaleck nodded.

“We’ve got one shot at this. If I fail, we both run away, understand?”

He agreed.

“One last thing, the faster you move your finger, the higher you will throw me. You should stay right behind me; it will give you the best chance to aim at the window.”

Zaleck positioned himself, moving as cautiously as his drumming heart would allow.

“On your call,” he whispered.

Vellis looked up, glancing at the walls beside them.

“Hold it… hold it… now!”

He flicked his finger. Vellis was thrust upwards, right towards the window. She straightened her legs and arms, as if she were diving into water, only, she was diving upwards.

She passed the window by half a body, but as she started to come down, she grasped its ledge, pushing herself upwards. With half her body illuminated from the candlelight within, she made a gesture at Zaleck that looked like she meant it was alright so far.

She swooped in, vanishing from view.

Zaleck pressed himself against the keep’s wall, breathing slower and slower while trying to keep steady. Hood or no hood, cold sweat gathered at his brow. He breathed in shallow, uneven gasps, he turned his head to every rustle of leaves or to each call of birds, almost mistaking them for an alarm by the guards.

Wait, wait and watch, that was all he had to do.

In the silence, even the rattle of the guard’s chainmail on the wall startled him. They’d have to be about a stone’s throw away. If he but extended his hand, he might be seen. Still, Vellis went into the keep like someone going out to the market. How could she be so confident in times like these?

Moments dragged on, each one longer than the last. Had she found the corridor? Had she been seen? Would he hear it, if she was caught? What if Vellis couldn’t find Jorgen? What if she was attacked from behind?

His gut knotted, his hands curling up at the thoughts.

What if she needed help, and he weren’t there to give it?

Zaleck glanced up at the keep’s wall again. Could he get to the window by himself, if he had to?

He dug his nails into his palms. “Come on, Vel,” he whispered.

Someone said something inside. A cry, or a shout. He couldn’t discern what it was, but something was happening.

Vellis had told him not to use the bird ring anymore, he himself knew he shouldn’t, but he had to know, he had to see if she was alright.

Extending his hand as much as he dared, he whispered.

“Owl.”

A hoot came from beside him. A grey shape flew close, and before he could turn his head, something brushed his fingers, he spun around with arms, legs, wings, and claws, and once more shifted into a bird’s body.

Suddenly, he could see again. Humans were not made for the night, but the owl, the owl was king in the darkness.

He swooped around, flying upwards, aiming straight for the window. Flapping his wings, he tried slowing down when candlelight flooded him, blinding him with dazzling flare while he swooped around the room. He slammed onto a wooden wall, falling onto an empty bed.

Flying inside this building was far harder now than when he had been a hummingbird, but he remembered the place alright, and at the very least, he knew where to go.

For a moment he worried he had caused too much of a ruckus entering the keep. The fallen human body at the floor, fallen face first onto a pool of its own blood, let him know the Kaylorites would not come this way.

Likely, he could find Vellis by following the blood trail she left.

Flying out of the room, he veered into the corridor. Another body lay there, then he flew down the stairs and into the kitchen. Three Kaylorites dead on the floor paved the way for him to fly into the hallway. He veered for the open backdoor, leading to the cells. Beyond it, the narrow corridor already had three, live Kaylorites shouldering each other as they peered into the cell block.

Zaleck flew over their heads, followed by surprised cries and yells.

He swooped onto the corridor leading to the crowded cells. There he found her.

Vellis stood, back against a wall, surrounded by Kaylorites. About six enemies faced her with their swords raised, and a bunch more crowded outside the corridor.

Zaleck stopped at the door leading out into the courtyard, perching himself over its ajar frame. Soldiers, prisoners, and Vellis herself paused whatever they were doing to glance at him in surprise.

Vellis, already sporting a few cuts, widened her eyes.

“Oh, no!” she said, encircled by foes, “don’t come. Get away! Run!”

One of the Kaylorites, the young one Zaleck first saw talking to Jorgen, turned to her, speaking in their horrid accent.

“Woman, no one is running away. You already cost me five men, and by the Law, you’ll pay back for each one when we sell you. We’ll make some good crowns out of you.”

Even in the body of an owl, Zaleck shuddered. Again, he was back at the slaver’s wagon where it all began, where Vellis saved him from being sold and sacrificed. Again, he was running from mercenaries who wanted to capture him.

He would not let that happen to her. Whatever the cost, he would not let it.

He hooted, diving into the Kaylorite’s neck. His beak sliced at his skin, drawing flesh and blood as he clawed at his back in a frenzy.

The Kaylorite screamed. Other soldiers advanced at him. Zaleck veered at them, biting into one’s eye, then flapping back, clawing at another’s neck. The soldiers now turned to him, weapons raised, but still he struck at anyone he could reach, blind to whoever he was hurting.

A sharp, cold cut sliced through him.

Zaleck gasped, thrashing arms and legs on the ground while inhaling. He had to strike them, he couldn’t let them take Vellis, but his hands only clawed at grass, and his feet only spread earth around.

Gasping, coughing, he kneeled on the ground. He had to go back in there, save Vellis, but even looking up would send him into a dizzy spell that almost made him faint.

He leaned onto the keep wall for support, then lost his footing and fell.

Damn it, he had to get up. Vellis needed him right now.

He breathed in. What could he do? He was no climber, and if by luck he did manage to grab the window ledge, woozy as he was, he wouldn’t hold onto it.

Only one way into the keep was left for him. Over the walls. He could get into the cell block by the other door, the one leading out to the courtyard, where dozens of raiders stood.

Standing up, shaky and wobbly, he glanced at the walls beside him. They loomed almost as tall as the window, and about five soldiers manned this part of the keep alone. If he approached it, they’d see him for sure.

All he could do, then, was not give them time to react. Standing close to the wall, he pointed his ringed finger at himself and flicked it up and forward.

Thrown upwards, Zaleck flew over the keep wall, almost brushing a foot at the stone crenelations. Unlike Vellis, who flew up with the elegance of a diver, Zaleck waved arms and legs while he arced over the inner courtyard.

An army of raiders stood inside, all staring into the cell block. Zaleck descended upon them, like a catapulted stone ready to burst on impact. He barely had time to point at himself again, and once more flick his finger upward.

The second impulse up eased his fall, and instead of crashing down, breaking every bone, he rolled about, slamming on the floor as if he had jumped from atop a table.

Dozens and dozens of enemy soldiers now turned their heads at him.

He could crush them down, but he could only do it five at a time, so it would solve nothing. Instead, as he got up and started darting for the cell block, he pointed at anyone before him and flicked them at each other.

Like trees falling before a landslide, the soldiers opened up a way for him. Zaleck ran, the moment of his surprise entrance fading fast. The ground seemed to whirl as dizziness caused him to stumble, but he managed to glance into the corridor, to the five Kaylorites surrounding Vellis. One by one, he pointed at them and flicked his finger backwards, throwing them out of the corridor and into the courtyard.

He reached her. Vellis, her hands already bound, her face a mask of bruises, stared at him in open disbelief. She opened her mouth, but her expression couldn’t fixate on anger, surprise, or relief. Her jaw shook too much for words.

The other Kaylorites, coming from within the keep, advanced. Zaleck flicked the first of them back towards the others, causing them to tumble one on top of another.

“Z-Zal,” she said.

“Let’s talk later, Vel. Now, I’m getting you out of here.”

“Zal!” she screamed. A warning.

He turned.

Too slow, something hit him on the head, a cold piercing impact that sent him reeling back. Zaleck rolled onto Vellis. He stumbled, trying to get up. Another dizzy spell came over him, and he fell.

Another hit, right on the temple. The world spun around him, exploding in a muted pain.

“No, Zal!” someone cried.

Hands grabbed him. What felt like an army fell on top of him. He looked around, but blood falling over his eyes distorted his sight.

Caught. Like before, like that dreadful day in Kaldhill, he was caught. He screamed, twisting and thrashing, but his arms and legs were held too tight. He gnashed his teeth and spat out a muffled cry.

It would not happen again. It could not.

Someone grabbed him by the cheeks, turning his face so the two of them stared into each other’s eyes. The young Kaylorite leader from before.

“Well look at this. If that one was a good catch, this here is a fortune.”

Zaleck bit at him, but his mouth clenched too far from the man’s neck. He still fought against his captors. Hopeless as it was, he would break every one of his bones before surrendering.

“Wait, wait, wait.” The man grabbed his arm. “By the frigging broken Law!”

The man glanced at his hand, the one with the rings.

“No!” Zaleck screamed.

The man punched him in the nose, a strike that sent his head knocking into a metal bar behind him. The world once more spun around him, and Zaleck’s arms and legs went limp.

He hardly noticed when the man removed his rings, one by one. He knew it enough, though, that anger, frustration, and rage melted into hopeless tears.

The man stood up, gazing at the four rings in his hand.

“I’ll be damned!” he said, “I’ll be thrice damned!”

“Cap’n,” another Kaylorite said, “what do we do with them?”

The leader waved at the man, never taking the eyes off the rings.

“Throw them on a cell. That one.”

Zaleck was thrust into a crowded cell like a ragdoll. The other prisoners grabbed him before he hit the ground. Vellis was already there. Vellis, who he tried and failed to save.

Could anyone be more stupid than him? He curled up when the door shut close, blood still gushing from his forehead, mingling with tears while his head, arms and legs throbbed at the rhythm of failure.

He glanced at Vellis, who kneeled beside him, running her hand through his forehead. He thought he could withstand everything, but what broke him at last was seeing, for the first time, tears in those eyes. Tears that he put there.

Without sobs or screams, they held each other in a silent embrace. Right then, that embrace encompassed the most important thing in their worlds.

Someone cried out from the courtyard.

“Captain, come, you gotta see this!”

The man with his rings, their captain most likely, didn’t reply. He still examined the rings one by one.

The voice called again.

“Captain, it’s the girl. She’s here.”

The captain turned to the exit, amazement in his face. Vellis and Zaleck glanced at one another, fear deepening in their eyes. “The girl” could only mean one person.

Chapter 25

Keena sat alone in the clearing, hugging her legs while staring at Vellis’s knife. Moonlight came and went as the moons passed behind gradually thinning clouds, causing shadows to dance around her and then fade away. The cool grass beneath her smelled fresh already, thickening the air with the scent of pine and earth.

Vellis’s knife gleamed in the muted light. Its blade, short and slightly chipped, seemed to pulse as it beckoned her ever closer. That knife had tasted blood, Keena felt it in the growing urge within her.

She looked down, wiping away the pang of shame for having asked Vellis for her knife. She and Zaleck didn’t know what it meant, how could they? She was sure if they did, though, they’d take every sharp object they had and gallop away from her as fast as they could.

Instead, they moved forward, to Garsley Fort, to save her dad, and hadn’t returned. She could make sure they’d all be safe, though, she could end it right here. All it would take was for her to reach out and touch the blade.

“Can I really do this?” she asked. At Ironshore, when she grabbed the slaver’s weapon, she had no idea what would happen. She thought it would be something bad, but she never imagined the depths of carnage she would inflict. Now, however, she knew full well what was coming. If she picked up this knife, and walked to Garsley, she would kill every single raider in there or die trying. She would be choosing to kill them. She, and not the demon. She would become… a murderer. Like the Kaylorites.

Could she look at her father after that? Was that the price to save him? Her stomach twisted into knots.

Her hands trembled at her sides, fingers twitching as if reaching for one of her dolls. She could almost hear her father’s voice, as in that day when she brought home a wounded bird, tried to feed it back to health, and cried half a day when it died. “You have a kind heart,” he said, ruffling her hair, “Never lose that.” That kind heart felt like a burden, now, impossible to bear.

“Is there no other way?” Her voice came but above a whisper, lost in the rustle of leaves. Her breath came in shallow gasps, the edges of her vision blurring.

A single tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it, pressing against her skin and pulling her eyelids aside. She couldn’t let the slavers take her father, couldn’t stand the thought of him bound or dead, because she refused to do the one thing she could.

Damn her, damn her sideways. She was damned if she did it, damned if she didn’t. Her father’s smile flashed before her, the raiders’ cruel faces, the blood she had spilled like water. A scream rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down, forcing herself to silence.

She stood up, woozy after the sleepless ride through the night. “Goodbye, Dad,” she said, “your girl dies today, but damn it, I’ll save you!”

She opened one of the backpacks Vellis and Zaleck had left behind. Her gaze paused a bit longer at their travel rations. She could eat about anything right then, but instead, she picked up a scarf that might have been Vellis’s. Wrapping her hand around it, she took the knife, sticking it through her belt. Even this indirect contact brought about a swell of anger. She almost started running at Garsley.

But no. She would walk there. She would face them as herself. Only if she had no other way, would she pick up the blade.

Hunger, thirst and weariness made the journey even longer. Bit by bit, the fort came into view, a building that grew and grew as she edged closer, slower at each step. She had to pause, breathing deep, and to force herself forward when she saw the entrance already open.

The soldiers also seemed to have seen her, tiny heads sticking out of the wall crenelations that moved about faster as she advanced. No way back now, they would come for her, as surely as she was coming for them.

Out of a sudden, a splash of white fell on the inner courtyard far ahead of her. Zaleck. Somehow, he had, what, flown, and landed amidst all raiders, and now ran among them, throwing people around while pointing his finger.

The sheer uncanniness of the scene made her pause. She was seeing it, Zaleck throwing people around like ragdolls, then running into the sideways door by the keep, the door he outlined as the one that led to the cells.

The raiders he had thrown about stood up, converging onto the open door. One of them picked a bow and shot inside. Keena gasped, holding her breath. Was he alright?

She ran to the keep now, past the open gatehouse, taking two steps into the courtyard.

Dozens and dozens of Kaylorites turned towards her. Raising their swords and bows, they crept closer, step by step, eyeing her as if she were a rabid animal. They weren’t all wrong.

“It’s—it’s her!” a raider said.

Keena’s arms, legs and even her chest shook so much she thought she’d faint before she could say anything. She forced her head up, spitting out the words.

“I am Keena Venan. I’m the one you want. Let my father go.”

One of the raiders turned to the open door and yelled, “Captain, come, you gotta see this!”

She centered her breath, flexing her hands. For some reason, no one advanced.

Another Kaylorite cried out, “Captain, it’s the girl. She’s here.”

A man came out of the keep, not nearly as strong as her dad, but sinewy and muscled enough that his arms bulged when he moved. A nasty gash ran across his neck, letting dripping blood taint his chainmail. He stopped a tenpace from her, a step closer than the other soldiers.

Covering his wound with a hand, he glanced at her with a scowl.

“It’s you! It’s really you.”

Keena swallowed.

“I—I’m here. I’m the one you want. Please, let my dad go.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Let your dad go?” he said, then yelled, “Let your dad go?” He breathed in, his hands snapping into fists. “You killed my brother. You ate his guts. Did you? Did you?”

Keena swallowed her own disgust and nodded.

Somehow, he seemed not to believe her. His face contorted in a frown and a grimace. He drew his blade, lightning fast, pointing at her.

“Well, I am Horzan Malek, and I’ll gut your dear dad before your eyes, you miserable bitch, then I’ll grind you down and feed you to my dogs!”

Keena wiped a tear, trembling more than she thought she could stand. She widened her eyes, bringing her own measure of rage to bear. Not the demon’s, her own.

“Well, you’ll have to do it while I suck the marrow from your bones.”

She grasped the dagger.

* * * * *

Free once more, free and willingly summoned. This was going to be a dance, oh, this was going to be a ballroom worthy of the queens of hell.

The captain advanced. Keena could have slipped beneath him, cutting him open from head to belly, but, oh no. He would be the last. Didn’t he say he wanted to feed her to his dogs? Let’s see him say that after she’s feasting on his soldiers.

She jumped towards a soldier, digging the dagger into his neck while taking his sword from shaking hands. Swirling around, she threw the dagger at a lancer. As he stumbled back with the impact, she picked up his spear, throwing it at another soldier. The weapon went through the raider, lodging itself on the chest of yet another one behind him.

And they all hadn’t blinked yet.

She ran at a group of enemies who hastily tried to put up a shield wall. Close to the tip of their spears, she jumped, vaulting over them, falling behind the group and slicing through them. Two soldiers fell as she severed their spines. The others turned to her, stepping back, but she rolled beneath two of them, coming up with her blade cutting off their ankles. Picking up a spear, she threw it, impaling the one who tried to get away.

Ten of the fifty had already fallen. She picked up new blades while her opponents now stepped away from her, realizing who they were up against with sweet terror in their widened glances.

She drew breath, containing a shudder on her legs. This body was too weary already; she’d have to be quick about it.

She glanced at Horzan, tilted her head and grinned. He gripped his sword tighter. His eyes narrowed, like someone preparing to attack, but his chest’s uneven breaths betrayed his fear.

A whistle behind her and Keena jumped backwards. An arrow missed her head by a hair’s breadth. She cursed. If she had been a bit more tired, she’d have been taken out. She would have to prioritize those archers. She ran towards the gatehouse tower, with more arrows whistling behind her.

Two soldiers within the tower stepped back, but she cut them as they tried to flee. She almost stumbled when going up the stairs, but threw a sword at an archer’s chest, pushing him out of the tower. Another archer shot at her, but this close, sidestepping the shot was as easy as opening a gash in his throat.

A wall led out into the keep’s walls. Before opening it, she had to stop to take a breath. Her legs now shook visibly, her hands still holding on to the slippery handles of her blades. To fall now would be to die. Damn, this body was too unfit for combat.

She emerged from the tower, running through the keep wall. The archers who, moments before, had been so far away from her, now ran in panic. That made it all the easier for her to advance, swinging her blade at them, severing limbs and reaping blood.

She went into the keep, never slowing down, coming up on the opposite wall and pursuing the remaining archers. These tried to take a stand, shooting at her as she ran to them. She jumped when they released their shots, arcing over the arrows, twisting in the air, and slicing an arrow that almost hit her.

She fell right before them, severing one’s arm and another’s leg while her blade broke with the impact. As her opponents fell, she renewed her weapons, cutting down the remaining opponents before they could nock the next arrow in their bows.

She stood, deep scarlet rivulets running down her blades, her dress drenched and her tongue licking at the bittersweet blood that mingled with her own sweat. Damn if she was parched for more.

She jumped from the wall, twisting, cat-like in the air as she fell on her two legs. By her account, half the enemies were done for, though it was hard to tell. So many could still be hiding.

The ten or so Kaylorites at the courtyard stepped away, weapons pointed at her. Horzan retreated as well, all pretense at bravery dropped from his demeanor.

“What’s the matter, little raider boy? I thought you wanted to get me. Haven’t you chased me across woods and mountains? Well, here stands your prize, little soldier, little coward.”

To his merit, he did not let himself be goaded. Instead, he took two fingers to his mouth, whistling loudly twice.

Horzan, and every other enemy soldier at the keep, ran. Not to Keena, but away from her, towards the entrance.

The crappers were trying to run away.

She advanced to the mass of fleeing soldiers, swinging her weapons at their backs and legs. She managed to cut down one, three, ten raiders, but a herd of horses came from the stables. Far more horses than raiders, by now, and amid the messy stampede, she was left swinging at air while a good number of them mounted and fled Garsley Fort.

She picked up a horse’s reins when it passed beside her, vaulting onto its saddle. Horzan already galloped away beside his remaining soldiers.

Her hands shook, trembling. Her vision blurred. She had exerted herself too much, too fast, and this body, thin and frail, had run out of wind. She had already been tired at the clearing in the woods, and now, all the weariness came crushing back. She screamed, howling in unbidden rage, but her cry broke at the middle when she stumbled out of the saddle.

She rose, leaning on the wall by the entrance. She took a step to the fleeing raiders, now a blur in the night, then another. She almost fainted at the third, and her swords slipped away from her grasp.

* * * * *

Keena blinked, puffing as she tried inhaling. She turned around. Garsley Fort had become the picture of a massacre. Moans of pain and sobs of despair cut through the otherwise silent night.

She fell on her knees, looked up, at the untainted cloudy sky. People started trickling out of the cell block. They all halted when seeing the courtyard.

Then her father stepped out, followed by Vellis and Zaleck. Weary, battered, wounded, and bruised, each pair of eyes stared at her in disbelief, fear, and amazement.

Jorgen kneeled before her, holding her in his arms once more. She tried to say “I’m sorry,” but she had no breath for even a whisper. Instead, she melted into his embrace, and fainted.

Chapter 26

Zaleck winced for what he hoped would be the last time when Alyra, Garsley Fort’s doctor, closed the suture in his forehead. Vellis, before him, leaning on the keep’s kitchen wall gazed at him with narrow eyes and crossed arms.

“Is it hurting?” she asked.

“A bit…” he complained.

“Good. I hope it does. If that arrow had been an inch to the left, it would have done more than nick your temple, you know?”

Zaleck grimaced with a sad tone.

“Ouch, Vel! That hurt even more.”

“Don’t you, ‘Ouch, Vel’ me, young man! What you did was dangerous, reckless, and borderline suicidal. What were you thinking? Taking on all the raiders on your own?”

Zaleck looked down, at the bloodstains on the floor that hadn’t been cleaned yet, or the feathers from the owl he possessed that got spread around the place.

“I was thinking… of saving you, y’know…” he pouted.

Vellis sighed, pulled a three-legged wooden chair, and sat before him.

“You have got to be smarter than this. No one in their right mind would doubt your bravery, but bravery alone will only get you killed, as you damn well nearly were. You must learn to think a little bit strategically. Think of the price you could have paid.”

He puffed.

“I know… you’re right… but don’t worry…” he looked at his hand, nakedly devoid of rings, “I’ve paid a price, alright.”

She sighed alongside him.

“Here,” she said, taking his family heirloom ring from the pouch and sliding it back into his finger, “at least you still got that.”

He looked up, straight into her eyes, “and you. At least I still got you.”

Vellis patted his shoulder, shaking her head and rolling her eyes like someone who just knew he’d do something like this again.

Alyra started applying a honey paste on the recently closed suture, then dressing it with bandages. A tall man with a slight bulging girth entered the kitchen, wearing a red brocaded shirt far neater than the frayed, bloody one he wore when he had been in the cell beside Zaleck.

“And how fares our white-haired little hero, Alyra?”

Alyra nodded at the man.

“Baron. I’m nearly done here. They’ll both be fine, if they avoid too much effort for a few days.”

Vellis and Zaleck bowed their heads at him.

“Baron Karlahm,” Vellis said, “thank you for your hospitality.”

“What hospitality, my girl? You both saved my house, my servants, my family. You and…” he lowered his voice a notch, “the blacksmith and his daughter. Anyway, ‘tis I who owe you. Alyra, if you’re done, please, attend to the rest of the staff.”

“Of course,” she said, standing up and leaving the kitchen.

“I would offer you both a place at my house, if I thought you would accept it. I am in dire need of brave men and women, and you are as brave as they come. But, since I know I can’t have it, at least let me offer you horses, supplies, and whatever equipment you choose from my property.”

Vellis bowed lower.

“You are far too kind, my lord. By necessity, we humbly accept.”

“M’lord,” Zaleck asked, “can we see Jorgen and Keena?”

The baron looked downward, answering in a faster tone than usual.

“I hear they’re already awake and have asked for a bath. I put them in a guest’s quarters. If you want to talk to them, go ahead, but know they still have a message to deliver for me, and I’d expect them to leave, well, as soon as possible.”

He left a bit more awkwardly than he entered. Zaleck stood up, moving to leave the kitchen, but Vellis held him with a hand.

“Let’s give them some time, shall we? It’s best we wait for them by the courtyard. We can all talk on the way back to Redhawk.”

He nodded. After Vellis had picked the cell lock and released the fort’s Kaylorite prisoners, no one could believe the gruesome scene in the courtyard. Bodies upon bodies of raiders, thick puddles of blood on the ground, dismembered limbs and moans of shock and despair from the few survivors. At the center of it, Keena, unharmed, soaked red, kneeling on the ground and looking up like some sort of messenger from the hells. No one had any idea what happened, but everyone understood, from the screams they had all heard, that she, somehow, defeated them all. Alone.

It was no wonder people referred to her in a kind of fearful awe.

They filled their horses’ saddlebags with food, changes of clothes for Zaleck, and a spare set of armor for the two. Vellis replenished her throwing daggers, choosing double what they had. They both breathed easier when they checked their quiver to find no one had time to check on Vellis’s arrows. They could still count on their golden tips.

“We could have asked the Baron for a reward, Vel. One or two more arrows could make a difference.”

“Look around the place,” she said, “these people lost friends, family, and all their protection. They are poorer than we are right now. If Redhawk doesn’t send reinforcements, they’ll be forced to leave, and then we’ll find them alongside the refugees, in the slums around the city.”

A few servants moved about the fort’s inner courtyard, sullying their boots with dry blood instead of dirt. A smoke plume rose outside the walls, carrying the smell of burning bodies. The stink of charred meat reached them and Zaleck held back an onset of nausea.

The suns neared midday when Jorgen came out of the Keep with Keena beside him. His arms and face sported dark bruises, but he moved with the same iron-clad intensity. Keena, however, showed no wounds, but hunched down as she walked, looking forlorn all the way.

Vellis handed Jorgen the reins of his and Keena’s horses.

“Here you go, Jorg.”

Jorgen nodded.

“Can I ever thank you enough?”

Vellis raised her eyebrows.

“Even though we miserably failed your rescue?”

“You came through, and you too, Zaleck. I am proud to have met you.”

“Well,” Vellis said, “since we’re all going to Redhawk again, I thought perhaps we could travel together. You know, maybe talk for five minutes without fighting mythical monsters or southern raiders.”

Jorgen grinned.

“I like the sound of it. But, truth be told, if we do meet other monsters or Kaylorites, I’d like nothing better than to have you both at my side.”

He helped Keena onto her horse, then mounted himself and pointed at the fort’s gateway.

“Show us the way, my captain,” he told Vellis.

“Captain?” Zaleck asked as they passed by the archway.

“That was my last rank in the army,” Vellis replied.

“The highest you can go as a lowborn,” Jorgen said.

They rode under the rhythmic cadence of the horses as they trotted northward along the dirt road. Zaleck drew his hood up when the glare became too strong, but most of the way they moved through woods, so he didn’t have to squint that much.

Though wildflowers dotted the way and verdant fields rolled further to their right, neither Zaleck nor Vellis could contain their shifting glances at Keena. She rode downcast all the way, but apart from that, she might very well have been a lady, by the way she dressed and how clean she was.

Jorgen also cast a worried glance at his daughter from time to time, his brow creased, the corners of his mouth turning down.

By mid-morning, they stopped to eat some of their rations which Vellis heated up in an improvised campfire. Silence stretched their meal to an unbearable strain until Vellis handed Keena a bowl of  dried meat with melted cheese.

As Keena touched it, Vellis said, “I do have this habit, you know, of thanking those who save my life, and who keep me from being enslaved.”

Keena didn’t look at her, but her mouth nevertheless curled in a smirk.

When their meal was done, as Zaleck started to pick up everyone’s plates, Vellis said.

“Jorg, do you remember when we broke the siege at Kessdel?”

“Aye. Nasty business, that was. A touch after we’d first met, right?”

“Yes…” she went on, dragging a painful nostalgic tone in her words, “I was a markswoman already, but that siege was actually my first time in melee combat. I was so inexperienced, I nearly died twice. By sheer luck I survived, but it was not before I had to take up my sword and run it through an Aelorian spearboy. I’ll never forget his face, you know. A kid on the wrong side of a war, and his eyes… I mean, they were so, so scared in the end…”

No one said anything. Even Zaleck stood motionless for a spell.

“Aye,” Jorgen finally broke the silence, “you told me about it.”

“And the thing is, you know, I don’t want to forget it. Remembering what happened is, somehow, my way of keeping him alive. All through these years, I never forgot it, but talking about it with you, in time, made it easier.”

Vellis got up, standing face to face with Zaleck.

“I thought I had put it all behind me. After all, I had killed so many more after that, but I was wrong. What I did was to put up a wall, I muted myself, and believed I was strong and hardy. That wasn’t strength. You’re the one who showed me strength, Zal, the day you allowed me to grieve, and to love again. You remember?”

Zaleck nodded.

“That day was when I learned what it truly means to forgive myself. It’s not about forgetting, it’s about giving me another chance to love. Because everyone of us, no matter what we’ve done, we can always give ourselves another chance.”

Zaleck touched Vellis’ hand. Her intent couldn’t be clearer, but though her words weren’t meant for him, he squeezed her fingers a bit.

They mounted and resumed the journey. It seemed the trees were passing them by slower than before, and the very suns held their gaze to them. Keena drew a deep breath and said of a sudden, “So, I have a demon inside of me.”

Vellis gasped. Zaleck almost said “No way” but held himself back at the last moment.

Keena raised her chin, turning her frowning face to them. Her lower eyelids shimmered with the start of unshed tears, and her voice came with clear mock confidence.

“It comes out whenever I touch a blade that has tasted blood. So… questions?”

Zaleck exchanged a glance with Vellis. Birds chirped about them, and squirrels ran through the tree trunks. Jorgen eyed his daughter with slightly slanted eyes and an almost proud smile.

Vellis nodded at her, a gesture followed by Zaleck. He tried to mount a grateful expression, as if thanking her for sharing this, but Keena remained so stout it was hard to tell if she noticed it.

Then she pursed her lips and covered her mouth.

“Oh gods,” she let out a small wail, “oh gods!” She buried her face in her hands. She almost broke down, but instead wiped her tears, drawing a deep breath.

Jorgen patted her shoulder.

“That’s why we’re going to Redhawk, in fact,” he said, “There’s a flowcaster woman there called Erona Aellar, and we want to ask for her help.”

Zaleck’s breath was cut short. Vellis raised an eyebrow.

“Well, you don’t say! We also want to find her.”

Jorgen frowned just a touch.

“I’m a flowcaster,” Zaleck said, “or I was a flowcaster, but I lost my powers, and I want to ask her to help me get them back.”

“Amazing,” Jorgen said, “what a coincidence that we have met, then.”

Vellis looked down, mumbling to herself within Zaleck’s earshot. “Derith, you wily devil.”

“Don’t worry, Keena,” Zaleck said, “if there’s anyone in the world that can help you, it’s her.”

“You’ve met her?” Jorgen asked.

“Well, not in this life.”

“Not in this life? There’s a story there that I very much would like to hear, but I have met her in this life, and —”

“You have?” Zaleck asked, “how is she?”

“She is… impressive. That’s the only way I can describe her. It’s not just her exotic appearance, but the way she moves, the way she talks… It’s almost like she’s empress of the whole world, but her authority is so great that she doesn’t need a court or a throne.”

Keena turned to them. “Please, please don’t tell anyone.”

Vellis chuckled, “As if anyone would believe me.”

Keena rode straighter after that, sitting up with her chin raised, an ease coming upon her expression.

They exchanged glances for a moment, when Vellis caught Zaleck gazing at her. She put on a smile that seemed a tad forced, nodding at him as if nothing was wrong.

Damp leaves stuck to Zaleck’s boots as Rockhoof picked a path through some knotted roots. Keena rode just a bit ahead of him, and although she rode straight for a time, she soon started shifting her weight from one side to the other of her saddle. Whenever she did that, her horse would flick his ears.

She winced, a soft breath that nevertheless caught Zaleck’s ears. He guided Rockhoof closer to her.

“Hey,” he said, stretching an arm at her reins and stopping short of touching them.

“Press with your knees,” he said. “Let your horse move under you. Relax your grip.” He spoke as low as he dared, maybe his words would also calm Keena herself. She nodded back at him.

She seemed to try following his advice. Her horse lowered its head, and a thin smile rose on her face. She flicked her gaze at him. Could a smile be both shy and beaming at the same time? Hers was. A slight heat rose in Zaleck’s chest, forcing him to look away.

They rode through the woods under a shower of light beams filtering through the trees. He couldn’t help but glance at her with furtive eyes. Once or twice, he met her gaze as well, and whenever it happened, nothing could keep him from smiling back.

They came to a bend in the road, leaving the woods behind. The city of Redhawk began to crest on the horizon, its castle tower shooting up first. The dark-red tiles of rooftops and the stones of the city walls came second.

“Before we approach anyone else,” Jorgen said, “do you mind explaining those, uhm, monsters at the tavern?”

“Ashenbeasts.” Vellis said.

Jorgen almost fell off his horse.

“Surely you don’t mean, actual ashenbeasts, servants of the Ashen Lord?”

“You’ve heard of them?” Zaleck asked.

“Read about them on storybooks and heard about them at the Church, but I thought the name was an allegory for the armies of the Ashen Lord. Even Chapel Myria, our cleric at Ironshore, thought so.”

“Well, there’s nothing allegorical about them,” Vellis said, “and they are coming for us, Jorg. Specifically, they are coming for Zaleck, and the only thing we know we can use against them is gold. That’s why I have these,” she took one of her golden arrows, “but although the arrows wound them, they don’t penetrate too deep. We need a melee weapon made of gold, like a dagger or a shortsword.”

Jorgen scratched his beard.

“You can’t make a weapon like these with solid gold. It’s too soft. It wouldn’t just have no edge, but it would fold under its own weight. Not to mention, it would cost a fortune. However, we could engrave gold onto a blade.”

“How so?” Vellis asked.

“Here,” he took a dagger from one of the many weapons strapped to his saddlebags. Its blade was engraved with an intricate swirling pattern, depicting a copper dragon coming out of the sea.

“Gods, Jorg! This blade is a work of art! You could sell that to a count or a duke.”

“It was, in fact, a commission for a count. My point is, like I engraved the image of this dragon on the blade with copper and silver, it’s possible to engrave the outlier of a blade with a golden pattern running along its length. It would still be a fine weapon and better suit your purposes.”

Vellis handed him the dagger. “I want to talk about this as soon as we’ve sorted our business with Erona.”

“Well,” he said, “could I ever refuse you?”

Redhawk’s scarlet stonework shone bright when they neared its gates. The suns, reddening on the horizon, enhanced the city’s natural colors while highlighting its shadows. After another long stay in line and another entry fee paid, the four returned to the cobblestone streets and crowded alleyways of the city of refugees, the kingdom’s western gateway.

Erona Aellar’s house took up an entire block of the city’s richest district, a few corners away from the castle. A proper mansion, it stood encircled by a wrought-iron fence with ornate floral designs alongside its length. Beyond, an overgrown garden could be seen taking over the house’s walls, windows, and doors.

The gates, made of sturdier metal, had been sealed shut by soldered chains with no lock. Vines had claimed the fence, twisting through the metalwork and covering it in a frayed green shroud.

The mansion itself was a chaotic jumble of stone and timber hallways merged, its many gables and turrets reaching up in a haphazard silhouette. The roof lay in disarray, patches of tiles missing and exposing the skeletal framework beneath. All windows they could see had been boarded shut.

“It looks like no one’s been here for a while,” Zaleck said.

“Jorg, is this the house where you met her?” Vellis asked.

“The very one. However, back in the day it was much tidier.”

“Why would she leave a house like this?” Zaleck asked.

“Better yet,” Keena said, “how are we getting in?”

“With a large and sturdy saw,” Jorgen answered, “we passed through a few smiths on the way. I’m sure one of them must have a tool like this, but… we may have to cut through the fence all night, and someone is bound to notice.”

“Do we need to get in?” Vellis asked.

“What other choice do we have?” Jorgen replied.

“Well, this house has been here for years, that much is clear. A house like this, in this neighborhood, so close to the castle, would have changed hands by now, unless its owner is still paying taxes to the crown. This means that someone must have their current address. Now right on that plaza over there we passed by a post office. I wager we can go there and get Erona’s current address.”

Jorgen scratched his beard.

“That’s a mighty good idea!” Zaleck said. Vellis winked at him.

“Always trust the bureaucracy,” she teased. “Come on,” she called for them as she moved along.

At the post office, a single room by a larger building housing a score of shops, they found a lone boy locking wooden boxes while checking a list of goods. He jumped when the four of them entered, darting his eyes between Vellis and Jorgen. Tufts of dark hair had started sprouting along his jawline, scraggly and coarse, though he seemed too proud of them to shave just yet.

He straightened his jacket when Vellis drew near.

“May I help you, my lady? Sir? I was about to close.”

“I do hope you can, my good boy. I am Captain Vellis Navar of the fifth scouting group. We’ve come here from Ayrndel on behalf of General Galran Mandor with an urgent message for one Erona Aellar, but it seems the address we were given is a bit outdated.”

“Miss Aellar?” the boy said. Something in his voice, a hint of familiarity, made Zaleck hold his breath.

“She hasn’t been in town for ages. I have never seen her,” the boy said.

“I surmised as much by the state of disrepair I found her house in, but she has been in contact with the count, no?”

The boy frowned. “I… I’m not sure I can talk about this… can I see this message you’re to deliver?”

“It’s for her eyes only, I’m afraid. Look, I understand, you’re new here, aren’t you, and you wouldn’t want to do anything untoward. But, you see, there’s a war going on, and I’m on a time-sensitive mission. I could go to the count, and he would order you to give me her address. By then a few days would have passed, and who knows how many cities would have fallen. Who knows how many other young men like yourself, fighting on the front lines, would have lost their lives. Please, son, help me find her,” she took a silver pound, sliding the coin on the table to the clerk, “for the good of the realm.”

He picked up the coin with deft fingers, unblinking at Vellis. “One moment,” he said.

Turning to the stacks of locked wooden boxes behind him, he took a thick keyring and opened one of them. Filled to the brim with books, he flipped through a few of those until retrieving a large, thick volume and opening it on the desk.

“Here,” he said, “her last parcel came through just last month. Coming from… Arbeniss cottage, Clausten beach, south of Andersel, Voulan.”

Vellis leaned toward him, “You have paid a great service to the crown, my good boy. Forsooth, to the whole world.”

Chapter 27

The dull thud of clashing wood resounded over the training yard, breaking the rumble of voices from the barracks. Iavad wiped sweat from his brow, his hands trembling around the weight of the spear. The cathedral beside him cast its shadow over the whole yard, slicing the cobblestone plaza into light and dark halves. Far off, the Kaylorite encampment blurred against the double twilight, its banners hanging limp, like waiting, waiting for an answer.

Iavad forced himself to hold the stance he’d been shown so many times in training, though his shoulders ached more and more as he repeated the regimen. Not for the first time, he glanced around, looking for a sparring partner. No one met his gaze. Everyone’s voices dropped to whispers when he came near, their movements shuffling just enough to box him out.

Serves him right for having been singled out by the leader of the enemy army.

He raised the spear again at the training dummy, the haft biting into his palm. The tip wavered as he thrust it, skimming the dummy’s side. He adjusted his grip and struck again, harder this time. The impact sent a jolt up his arm.

“Overextending,” a woman barked behind him. Merina stalked past. “Have you had any training, farmer?”

“I think I haven’t had a good instructor yet. I could use some pointers.”

“Oh, you sure could, but I was on my way to the mess hall.”

“Alone?” he asked.

“So far, yes.” She leaned a hand on her hip, eyeing him sideways.

Iavad stood straight, half bowed and motioned to the mess hall.

“Well, let’s fix that, shall we?”

Food has never been any army’s strong point. Iavad didn’t dare hope for something like Zida’s cooking, but that cheese was extra-rancid, and you could build a castle with bread like this for stones.

“Oh, my,” Merina said, “regretful already?”

Iavad chuckled.

“Merina…” he said.

Merina leaned back. “Oh, this is going to be serious, is it?”

“You don’t just—speak like a Kaylorite native, d’you?” He’d been meaning to ask her that. She was so at ease among the dusters, very much like one of their own.

Merina looked down, pressing two fingers against her forehead.

“Fine,” she said, “you know what? Fine. You saved my life, you get to know this.”

She lowered her voice as she went on.

“I was born in Kaylor. In a very large city down south, called Kal’Natar. My family had next to nothing, which is about half the families in Kaylor. When I was a child, I don’t know how old, my parents sold me to a nobleman. So, yes, I was a slave, which is also about half the population in Kaylor. Those were… not good years.”

She paused, gulping down her milk as if it had been the strongest alcohol

“One day, my owner was visited by an Ayrnian diplomat, who happened to be Lord Faeren Maranis. He took one look at me and bought me.” She chuckled with a bitter smile, “I was later told it was a hard bargain. Anyway, Lord Maranis then put me on a boat to Ayrn and said: ‘You’re free now’. You see, he has this thing he does. He’s very, very wealthy, and he spends most of his wealth on trips to Kaylor where he buys heaps of slaves to then set them free. I’ve been in his service ever since.”

Iavad looked at his half-filled plate. So many questions, so many things he could say to her, but would the scars from her past let her hear them?

Merina gulped down her drink and stood up.

“Divine, look at that. I also have my own share of meetings to attend. Keep up the fight, farmer. One day you may get to my level.”

Iavad nodded as she left for the cathedral. Each of his breaths came heavier, his hands grasping at the cup as if he held her hand.

The other soldiers in the hall eyed him with sidelong glances, whispering to each other their own version of what happened with a veiled suspicion no one dared speak out loud. The Lord General hadn’t yet made his ruling, and the strike of those stares, that could hit him.

Thus, he went for his appointed room in the cathedral, a space only as large as he could lay down, likely a previous storeroom repurposed for the army. Still, it was a room all for himself. Even back at the farm, he’d rarely ever slept alone.

A narrow window overlooked the city with a view of the Kaylorite encampment. Somewhere out there, that impenetrable metal knight who called himself an archpriest also waited for the Lord General’s response, and though Iavad knew why he asked for him, one question lingered still.

What would Xallan do with him? Iavad had thrust the ring into his own belly. Would Xallan rip him apart to get it? He sure looked like he could do it.

Iavad’s fingers curled into the blanket, his breath steadying. Tomorrow he would know the Lord General’s answer, and then, everyone else would know about him as well. There was nothing to be gained by going over it in his head right then. Still, sleep eluded him for as long as he could think of yet another thing that could go wrong, then another, then another… then another… then…

Something poked him awake in the night. The whole room in darkness, a blanket over his face.

“Damn, he’s awake,” someone said.

Iavad struggled, but hands already held him down, he cried out, but only a muffled sound came through the gag. He twisted his whole body, but three, maybe four people lay on top of him.

His head rang with a punch. He coughed, twisted, struggled with every inch of his strength.

The next punch took him down.

Awakening came slowly through a pounding pain on his head. Iavad stirred, and the rattle of chains shook him up.

Cuffed to chains that kept him standing, Iavad shuffled his feet only to find them also cuffed to the ground. The damp pungent scent of urine mixed with refuse drew out a wince, and the nausea almost brought his dinner out. A wooden room. A cell. A Kaylorite cell. It seemed that the duster army took building detentions a priority in their encampment. Of course they would. They are a slaver nation, after all.

Two men stood before him in the cell. Their Kaylorite uniforms marked them as high-ranking members of their army, though their frames were anything but athletic. One of them turned around, shouting out to someone outside.

“He’s awake.”

This wasn’t by far the only cell in the building. A corridor spreading before him stood lined with about eight doors. In fact, this one cell had a few too many furniture, tables full of instruments, chairs with spikes—

This was a torture room. So that’s why he’d been stripped to his underwear. If the smell of the place weren’t nauseating enough, knowing he had been betrayed and handed over to the enemy like a tool, that alone would have broken him. He could almost chuckle. Almost. Why would these dusters think they’d need to torture him?

The whole building shook. Then again. Then again. Rattling, clanking sound thumped closer. Iavad’s heart sank, his chest breathed faster. An irrational shudder took over him. If being chained to an enemy cell wasn’t enough to make him faint again, whatever was coming would be. He knew it.

The walking hulking armor came into view. Every piece adorned with exquisite detail, like someone decided to wear a whole painting made of metal. From beyond the helmet visor, those same glowing eyes stared back at him.

Iavad opened his mouth, though no sound came. Breathing came harder and harder. That man, or whatever he was, could not be natural, and every one of Iavad’s bones rebelled against that presence.

The two other men in the room stepped back, bowing.

“Iavad Nareni,” the man behind the helmet spoke. “I am Xallan Na’Hali.”

Iavad raised a weak glance at him.

“Not pleased to meet you… eminence.”

Xallan stood unmoved. When he spoke, it was like whispers rose from beneath to shroud his words, like a voice born of the hells.

“You have something that belongs to me.”

Iavad thought of a quip in reply, but what good would it do?

“Where is the ring?” Xallan asked.

“Ring?” Iavad said, “what ring? As you can see, I have none.”

Xallan took an iron poker and swung it at him. The metal bounced off, lodging itself halfway into the wooden wall.

Iavad bowed his head again. Xallan stepped towards him, his gauntleted hand going for Iavad’s neck. At the last moment it was shot backwards, thrown with such force that would have broken the arm of any normal human in at least three places.

Xallan unclasped his gauntlet, pulling it off with the other one. The hand underneath was anything but human. Shriveled and darkened, like a dried out gray raisin folded around a bony skeleton. A dead hand.

Xallan Na’Hali wasn’t immortal… he wasn’t even alive.

The free hand grasped Iavad’s neck, forcing his chin until they locked gazes once again.

Some… thing… happened in a heartbeat. He inhaled, also growing larger than the horizon. Iavad felt not two but four arms and legs, he gazed at Xallan at the same time as he saw himself through his eyes. The archpriest’s body, every one of the shriveled creases of his skin, his unbounded strength. He was Iavad and Xallan, all at once.

None of those feelings, though, compared to the myriads of tiny strands of light that suddenly flowed into and out of everything. His own body, thick with some sort of inner light, Xallan’s body, a blackened mass of burned-out strands, the chains, the woods, the torture instruments. In the blink of an eye, he felt each of those things, he was each of those things.

One such vortex of light, though, shone brighter than all others, a swirling bright-grey coruscating energy mass right inside Iavad’s belly. Theron’s ring.

Iavad was yanked away from that state of oneness with such savage force his whole body shuddered. His mind, numbed back to his weary aching body, spun around in isolated despair. He let out a single scream, a cry of hopelessness.

That had been the Flow. For the briefest of moments, he felt what Zaleck must have felt so many times. Now, apart from it, thrust back into the darkness and smallness of a single body of flesh, only then did he have an inkling of what his boy must have felt when he lost his powers.

Xallan stepped back, turning to the other two people in the room. He spoke in Ayrnian, likely to hammer the point that any resistance was pointless.

“It’s inside of him. The man thrust the ring into his own guts. That’s why you haven’t found it.”

One of the men bowed, replying.

“Great eminence, we beseech forgiveness for our idiocy. What are we to do to him?”

Xallan halfway turned back to Iavad.

“Burn him. You can pick up the ring from his charred corpse.”

The two men bowed and left. Xallan remained, facing Iavad as if expecting something else, though he made no further demands.

Burn to death. Iavad struggled against his chains, only to stop when the lancing pain became too much. Whatever pain he felt, though, would be nothing close to being burned alive. He would have cried, he would have pleaded, if only he thought it would make any difference. One look at those eyes, though, shut down any fantasy. No mercy could live inside one who was already dead.

A smaller, lithe boy rushed into the room.

“Eminence, eminence, a priority message arrived!”

Xallan turned around.

“What is it?” he said, “I gave orders that I was not to be disturbed.”

The dead knight’s whispering words rang within Iavad once again. He wasn’t speaking in Ayrnian. He wasn’t speaking at all. Xallan was a walking corpse, he had no throat to speak with. Instead, his words reached directly into his mind.

The messenger bowed deeper, extending a sealed letter towards Xallan.

“Indeed, great eminence, you should not be disturbed, but for this.”

Xallan took the message and read it. He raised his head back to Iavad one last time, then turned to the messenger.

“Ready my carriage at once. Send word to Highport. I want their fastest ship ready to sail as soon as I arrive.”

He thumped out of the building, his messenger hurrying behind, shutting the door after him. Whatever message had him in such a hurry, it changed nothing for Iavad. Chained by the ankles and wrists, all he could do was wait until his jailors had set up the place where fire would corrode his skin, burn his flesh and take away Zida’s husband and his children’s father.

He had failed at being a soldier, failed at protecting his family, failed at being a man. Head bowed, pounding pain running through arms and legs, dirty and wounded, Iavad slumped in his chains, letting the weight of his defeat drag him to his unavoidable, agonizing death.

Chapter 28

Garsley Fort had long faded from view, and the woods had given way to mountainous terrain. Far ahead, a few hints of the plains beyond appeared when Horzan pulled up his horse to a halt. The glare of the rising suns forced him to look down. They seemed to fade from view, but Horzan’s whole right side, with his armor streamed red, reminded him he might instead be fainting from blood loss.

Grollen rode beside him. The man had lost an eye to the owl that attacked them, his face worse for wear than Horzan’s, but still he rode like the soldier he was.

“What now, Cap’n?”

Horzan leaned forward, grasping at his saddle to keep from falling.

“Cover that eye, old sea dog, you could start a plague with that face.”

Grollen scoffed.

“And you could feed a hound with your neck. I’ll get you a bandage.”

The rest of his soldiers, fourteen in total who survived, now circled around him. Few seemed as wounded as he or Grollen. When the girl attacked, she left no survivors.

Horzan cursed and spat, drawing blood from his hands with his fingernails. Grollen handed him a half-clean strip of cloth that he wrapped around his neck.

His men waited for a command. They needed him to give them some order, anything they could follow. Yet, what could he say other than, “you were right?”. One of the three original survivors from his brother’s raid still rode with him, his face not only awash in fear, but a pitiful knowing shone in his eyes. He knew what Horzan was thinking. If Horzan was a forgiving man, he might have said “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

Instead, he said.

“We ride back. To Ironshore, to regroup with the fleet.”

Grollen rode beside him.

“Cap’n, are we gonna leave the girl behind?”

Horzan closed his eyes and held back a shuddering.

“We would need an army against that girl.” He put a hand on his pocket, feeling the four rings stashed inside, “and that’s exactly what we’ll get. Who among you is the best tracker?”

Grollen replied, “Wishari, over there, Cap'n,” pointing to a lithe, dark-haired fellow who might have started shaving this year.

“Follow them,” Horzan told him, “Keep your distance, take no chances. Find out where they’re going, then report back to Ironshore. The rest of y’all, pigs, a collection for him.”

The men took out whatever meager resources they had, handing them over to Wishari. Horzan contributed with two silver pounds that amounted to more than what they all had given, combined.

They parted, beginning the long, silent, tortuous ride south. Past midday they passed by old Finnas’ farm, unoccupied by now. Reaching the Chiorn at dusk, they stopped for the night by the riverbend. At noon the other day, they had reached Ironshore.

The two remaining ships of his fleet, docked at the harbor, stood empty but for the few sailors attending the ropes and sweeping the decks. He could have chosen any of the city’s houses to stay in, as most of his men did, but even with its diminutive bunk, he’d decided upon his cabin.

Surathris, who had been organizing the shelves, stood at attention when Horzan entered. Horzan motioned for him to be at ease while he stumbled into his bed.

“Captain,” his aide said, “I’ll call for the doctor at once.”

He had to give it to the boy. If his appearance startled him, he did a great job hiding it.

“Later. First, I want you to write me a letter. Get the pen. This will be a priority message for his Eminence, Archpriest Xallan Na’Hali.”

This time, Surathris did raise his eyebrows.

“As you command, Captain,” he said, though his tone implied he thought it was a very bad idea.

“Your exalted Eminence, the immortal Archpriest Xallan Na’Hali, protector of Unaris and keeper of the blades,” Horzan started, “I, Captain Horzan Malek of the Yellow Falcon Fleet, have found… three of the rings you require. I have in my possession the grey-white ring engraved with tourmalines, the ring made of bone painted black, and the silver-copper ring. I have also found the location of a fourth, the dark stone ring, but, alas, this one has escaped me. We have found a girl possessed by some power who managed to…”

He panted. Indecision made him pause. Yes, that’s what it was, indecision.

“Scratch that part about the girl,” he said, “…this one has escaped me. I await at your pleasure further instructions on how to proceed with these possessions. Signed, your ever faithful servant.”

Horzan stood up, leaning on the table to watch as Surathris finished the letter. His aide pushed the letter aside for a bit, preventing a drop of Horzan’s blood from smearing it.

Surathris handed him the pen, and Horzan signed it.

Horzan moved back to his bed, but stumbled, falling on the floor. Surathris tried to help him back up, but he shoved the boy away.

“Send it now. Now!”

His aide took a step back, saluted him and left.

Horzan dozed in and out of consciousness for the next days. He might have been asleep when the doctor sutured his neck, because he only realized there were stitches when he ran his hand over the wound after an itch.

He drank soup and ate meat for the next days while his men trained on the city plaza. Surathris immersed him in paperwork and news from the front lines. His and two other fleets stood at reserve, and it seemed there would not be any need for them in this war.

However, his stomach knotted every day, and he would grit his teeth whenever he touched his neck. Whatever time in the day he had left out of reports and balance sheets, he would spend training. Every night he would drink himself to sleep. Yet, she was always there, in the back of his mind. The girl who ate his brother, the peasant from hells.

One night, his men thought a bit of company would suit him and found two somewhat comely camp followers to share the bed with him. One of them was brown haired, however, and he send them both away after taking a glance at the pair. His nightmares came worse that night.

Several weeks had gone by without a reply from the archpriests, until one day he woke up to find a tall, armored man in his cabin. Fully clad in a dark plate, such that not an inch of skin could be seen, his polished, fully engraved armor glistened in the dawn while a golden skull painted in the helmet seemed to shine. The eyes, though, the glowing pale eyes. He’d seen them from a distance, once. This close, they cut through his mind, jumbling his thoughts into a shaking that took over Horzan’s hands and wouldn’t stop.

Horzan kneeled before the man.

“Your eminence!” he said. Xallan Na’Hali, the immortal archpriest, had come in person, as he expected.

“Rise, Captain Malek.” The voice came with a guttural, low sound that seemed to have been made by many different people at once. Not a human voice at all. No one expected the immortal archpriests to be human, but still, it was more than morning chill than ran through Horzan as he stood.

Xallan opened his gauntleted ring at him.

Horzan opened a lockbox, retrieving three of the four rings he took, handing them to the archpriest. The fourth, the one they wanted the most, this one he kept in his pocket still.

Xallan’s helmet lowered, as if he were gazing at the rings, if two dots of light could see.

“You did well, Captain. You have gained the immortal’s thanks, and our blessings. Your lineage will be rewarded accordingly.”

“I—I am not worthy of such honors, eminence.” Why did he stumble to reply? What was this chill running through him? This was the closest he’d ever been to greatness, and yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about getting away from there.

“Tell me about the fourth, the final ring.”

“I took these rings from a boy, a—”

“An albino boy?” Xallan’s tone rose to a threat. Horzan stepped back at the sound, still not looking up.

“Y—yes. An albino. I was taking the rings from him, I recognized them immediately by your letters, but then… we… we were attacked, great eminence. A girl, an adolescent, she walked into the fort we were occupying and single-handedly fought off my men. I tell you, eminence, those were battle-tested, hardy men. There were no greens on that group, but the way she moved, the strength of her attacks… she was not human, I dare say. We had no choice, eminence, but to retreat.”

Xallan paced around the cabin, his armor clanking at the slightest movement.

“A vessel. How quaint.”

“I beseech thee, eminence, in honor of my fallen men, enlighten me. What is that girl?”

Xallan turned to him.

“You said she’s fast, and stronger than many men?”

Horzan nodded.

“Was she consumed by a single-minded emotion, like anger, rage, or envy, such that she seemed to be irrational?”

Horzan nodded again.

“Yes… forsooth, a vessel,” the archpriest said. “This girl, Captain, was an ordinary human who found herself possessed by a demon. We call these beings ‘vessels’. As you can attest yourself, she is a force to be reckoned. I advise against further contact with such a being.”

Horzan narrowed his eyes. He would peel off his own skin before letting her go. He couldn’t ‘avoid contact’, no more than he could avoid bleeding when he bit his lip.

“They travel together, eminence, the vessel and the albino. How should we proceed if confrontation is inevitable? Do these ‘vessels’ have a weakness?”

Several rasping guttural sounds came from behind Xallan’s helmet, almost as if he were laughing, amused.

“You cannot stop yourself, can you? Very well, vessels are strong and fast, which is why the usual way to dealing with them is at a distance. They may parry one or two arrows, but make them rain, and you’ll eventually hit them. Furthermore, they are limited by their own bodies. She is a girl, not a warrior such as yourself, and her augmented strength and speed take up too much energy. If you can avoid her attacks, you can wear her out. Finally, every vessel has a ‘fetter’, an object which they need to be in contact with for the demon to manifest. This can be any object; rings, necklaces, bracelets. If you separate the vessel from its fetter, you break the possession, and she returns to be a simple girl.”

At last, a way forward. Horzan grinned.

“I thank you, eminence.”

“Do you know where they are?”

“I have sent a tracker after them, eminence, but, alas, they have yet to return.”

Xallan leaned back.

“Hmm… makes no difference. Do you know their names? Any one of their names?”

“When she faced my men, the girl announced herself. She is called Keena Venan.”

“Excellent!” Xallan’s multiple, grating voice seemed pleased. “Come with me.”

Xallan stepped out into the ship’s deck. The few sailors and soldiers on duty spread out as he passed, bowing in salute. Horzan followed him until he came upon the top deck, behind the ship’s wheel. Under direct sunlight, the many intricate details of Xallan’s armor stood out, an artistic engraving in each plate depicting battles and magic, telling the story of the Banishing war.

Xallan handed Horzan the black bone ring.

“Put on this ring.”

Horzan obliged.

“Now, clasp your hands, bring them close to your mouth, and whisper the girl’s name.

“Keena Venan,” Horzan whispered, scowling and growling as he did so.

A brief, sudden dizziness took over him. Something tugged at him, like someone grasping all his insides at once and slightly pulling them in a specific direction.

His shadow on the deck shifted. Instead of pointing a little to the south-west, it veered aside, against the natural light of the suns, pointing west-northwest.

Horzan gasped.

“That is where she is,” Xallan said, “If we follow the shadow, we find the girl.”

“This will take us into Voulan, eminence.”

Xallan leaned westward, gripping the wooden rails at the deck.

“Indeed. Not just Voulan. I know where in Voulan this shadow is pointing to. Ah… I know where they are. Unfurl your sails. We leave at once. Take command of the fleet once more… Admiral Malek.”

Malek kneeled before him.

“By your command, eminence.”

Chapter 29

A day after leaving Redhawk, Zaleck, Vellis, Jorgen and Keena arrived at Aargen, the first Voulanish city on their way to Arbeniss. It could very well have been a twin town to Redhawk, given the same stone housing and extensive layers of inner walls. However, the lack of refugees piling around it, the much less crowded streets, and the fact that Zaleck could hardly understand a single word that anyone said, made it very clear they had indeed entered another kingdom.

Still, remnants of the Kaylorite invasion had already seeped into Aargen. Though it had no refugee slums, a lot of Ayrnians walked the streets, mostly dirty and unkempt. Several people eyed the four of them with wary side-glances, or sometimes open scowls. No one spoke too harshly at them, but that may have been because they carried enough weapons for a small mercenary group.

The taverns were something to remember in their dreams. Voulan had much less meat in their dishes, but the sheer variety of breads and cakes everywhere made Zaleck’s mouth water constantly as they passed by Aargen’s streets. The whole city had this bread-like smell, topped with a sweet undertone.

“Ah,” Vellis said as they had their breakfast, biting on a small cake the size of her fist, “there’s nothing like Voulanish pastries.”

“Can we get some for the road?” Zaleck asked.

“A cake like this is the same price as a day’s rations. We’d better keep to our dried meat and cheese. Still, try them while you can.”

She didn’t have to say it twice.

The next day on the road took them deep into Voulan’s countryside. The flat, never-ending plains rippled under the wind as the green stalks of wheat had already started to grow. It was like sailing over a golden ocean. Back in Kaldhill, fields were a mosaic of color as every family planted whatever suited them best, but here, it was almost as if everyone happened to agree on one single thing to plant.

“Here in Voulan,” Jorgen said, “they sure don’t grow wheat, they summon it.”

“How do they do it,” Zaleck asked, “don’t they have to cycle their crops?”

“They do,” Vellis explained, “but over a much larger area. Voulan has the most fertile land and the most numerous populations of the north. It’s no wonder it’s known as ‘The Undefeated Voulan’.”

That day they found an inn by the road, and only because Jorgen had a passable understanding of Voulanish did they manage not to be completely ripped off. Vellis wasn’t happy with the prices, though.

“They are charging extra for the conversion,” he explained while they moved on to their rooms.

“What do you mean, dad?”

“They use a different coinage here. If we pay them in Arnish crowns, they’ll have to exchange that at a mint, and that costs extra.”

“Sounds like an excuse to milk us out of our gold, and don’t get me started on how much they charged for our baths,” Vellis said.

“When we get to Andersel we could exchange some of our coin ourselves. That’ll save us the rates.” Jorgen said.

“What do you say, Vellis,” he asked, “one room for me and Zaleck and another for you and Keena?”

Vellis widened her eyes for a heartbeat before smirking back at Jorgen.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of separating you from your daughter, Jorg. Besides, Zal and I have already slept on the same room a few times.”

“Actually,” Zaleck said, “could I meet you later? I’d like to practice a bit in the back yard.”

“Knock yourself out, kid, but don’t you dare come into the room without washing first. And, oh,” she called as he was leaving, “you’re dropping your guard too fast in the fourth sequence. Watch out for that.”

The orange tint of twilight painted the glade behind the inn in golden-green hues when Zaleck started his training sequence. From orange, the sky faded into red, then blue and dark. Zaleck went over his regimen five times until night overtook the backyard. Flickering red light came from the door when Keena appeared, bringing a lit oil lantern.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he waved back at her.

“Thought you might need this.”

“I sure do. How d’you know?”

She shrugged, looking downwards for a bit.

“I was watching you. Our room is just above.”

Zaleck also looked down, for a moment drawn away from Keena’s gaze. He moved to a bench by the wall where he’d left his waterskin.

“So,” Keena said, “you train very well. Have you been in too many fights?”

“I, eh… no, not really. I’ve mostly ran away from them.”

“My tooth you don’t!” she said, “I saw you take down two monsters with my very eyes, and that’s the truth.”

“Oh, right, the ashenbeasts… I thought you meant, like, with people.”

“Have you? Fought people?” Her voice lowered a notch. Someone could mistake her for being worried, but the undertone of pity did not go unnoticed.

Had he fought people? He fled from slavers, he faced the Orphans of Grief, he helped Keltrak against Calahan, and yet none of those fights seemed to have been really his. He was always running or being protected by someone. So much so his only answer was to look at his practice sword and wonder, would he ever be able to fend for himself?

“Sorry,” Keena said, “I didn’t mean to get you down. It’s just that dad saw you training too, and he said your moves are very fluid. You’ll be a great swordsman if you keep practicing like that.”

“He said that?”

“Didn’t I just say so?” She sat beside him on the bench.

“Keena,” he asked, “what do you think you’re going to do? When it’s all over?”

It was Keena’s turn to look away, though she replied with a whisper.

“I don’t know… it may never be over for me…”

“Come on,” he said, “dreams are cheap, right? Whatever’s happening, we can still do that. Go on, if you could choose anything, what would you like to be?”

She raised a faint smile.

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“No.”

“Well, I’d like to—wait. Did you say ‘no’?”

“Laughing is so good! Why wouldn’t I?”

“At me, silly. Promise you won’t laugh at me!”

“Still no.”

“You’re not making this easy, are you?”

He leaned a bit towards her.

“But you’re still gonna tell me, right?”

She straightened up, raising her chin.

“Very well. And if you want to laugh, it’s your loss! I want to be a midwife.”

Instead of laughing, Zaleck found himself gaping.

“That’s not what I thought you’d say at all. Why a midwife?”

“Well, back in Ironshore we had this midwife, Eriya. I helped her a few times, with towels and such, and every time, when the baby finally came… she took this small person, crying and afraid, taking its first breaths, and handed it to their parents. It was so… I don’t know… I wish I could feel that forever.”

Zaleck drew a deep breath, if only to keep from staring into Keena’s dreamy eyes.

“You’ll be a great midwife, Keena.”

“Now you. What would you rather be?”

“That’s easy. I wish I could be a Daht’Gahren.”

“One of the scholar monks? Why’d you want to be one of them? They live away from everyone, and they are always staring at people, and they are creepy all the way to their bone!”

“They know everything, Keena. And what they don’t know, they know how to know, or even, they know how to know how to know. I think there’s nothing they can’t do.”

Keena shrugged.

“Pity though,” she said.

“Why?”

“They’re all bald, aren’t they? It’d be a shame for you to lose your hair.”

Zaleck leaned a bit away. A shame, she said? What was she talking about? He’d do anything to have any sort of color on him, to keep people from staring wherever he went, or thinking he’s sick, or feeling sorry for nothing at all. Yet, for all his self-loathing, he found his chest getting lighter when Keena side-glanced him with a beaming smile.

She took his hands.

“Thanks.”

“What for?”

“Just… thanks.”

She got up and left, though not without one last glance at him. Zaleck stayed on the bench a bit into the night, not quite sure if he should have said anything more, or anything less.

After a deep night’s sleep, when Zaleck woke up after everyone else and nearly missed breakfast, they veered off south, after passing through a small community that gathered around the crossing.

Vellis convinced them to speed up their pace, passing by an inn when twilight crept close, to instead camp outdoors after night had fallen. Zaleck and Keena couldn’t complain more about that choice.

It took them an hour to gather the firewood, then set up camp and clean Vellis’s catch of two rabbits for dinner. The meat cracked and sizzled over the campfire while Zaleck performed his nightly swordfight routine.

“So, Jorgen,” Vellis said as she stoked the fire, “what do you think of our current situation?”

Jorgen nodded at her, “Well, I think it’s pretty much decided, don’t you agree? When did you first notice?”

“Soon as we left Ayrn,” Vellis said, “You?”

“Damn, I’m old. I only realized it yesterday morn.”

“You gotta wise up, big man!” Vellis teased him.

“What’re you talking about?” Keena asked.

“We’re being followed, dear.” Jorgen said.

Zaleck paused his sequence, turning towards them. “What?”

“Continue your exercise,” Vellis said, “like nothing’s happening.” He resumed the sequence, though he may have missed a few moves as he listened to them.

“It’s one raider,” Vellis said, “and he keeps his distance. Surely someone sent to spy on us, so that raider whose brother you killed may find us again. He’s not half bad, I’ll say that, but he did make one or two mistakes.”

“What’re we going to do?” Zaleck asked between jabs.

“You are going to go to sleep like every other night. Later, Jorgen and I will sneak up to him from each side and try to grab him by surprise.”

“As if we’ll manage to sleep!” Keena said.

“Pretend, dear, make it seem like nothing’s amiss.”

They ate their rabbits in sepulchral silence that evening, the crispy skin and tender meat going down with a sour aftertaste. Vellis had laid a slice of cheese on the rabbit, which melted into the meat filling it with a salty, pungent taste that took over the mouth. Still, Zaleck’s stomach knotted up all night, and the meat rumbled uneasy as he laid down on his bedroll.

It almost seemed that Vellis and Jorgen had forgotten about their pursuer, so long they took to move. It must have been the dead of night when Zaleck heard the faint rustle of leaves coming from Jorgen’s bedroll. He feigned turning around in his sleep to check up on them, only to realize Vellis had already gone.

His breaths grew deeper and the drumming in his chest grew louder. He curled up, pressing his hands against his chest, trying to keep still enough to hear what was about to happen. If only he still had the bird ring.

He almost started when an owl hooted closed by. On the other side of the camp, past the unlit fireplace, two beady glints stared back at him. Keena, also awake, and just as still.

Cracks and crashes cut the night silence. Grunts and cries caused a flock of birds to take flight. Zaleck stood up, unable to keep away anymore, and started running towards the sound.

He stumbled on a bush while he ran and almost tripped a second time when passing through a ditch. Shadowy silhouettes blurred before him, a metallic clang of someone parrying a blade.

Vellis’s form stood out with her long ponytail and scarlet highlights, Jorgen and his naked, burly arms also shone under the moonlight. The third form, a dark cloaked figure, had to be their pursuer.

Vellis advanced at him, but he moved away, deft and agile, jumping backwards.

Zaleck ran, pushing one leg before the other with no care for the terrain. Vellis threw two daggers at the raider, one missed, the other was parried in another ringing clash.

Zaleck advanced, coming from beside the man. He had time to turn, reacting in a snap, his blade coming for Zaleck. Zaleck jumped at him, twisting sideways. The blade slid off his chainmail, but he slammed into the raider, bringing both of them down.

The raider drew yet another blade, but a pair of hands held him. Vellis descended upon them, immobilizing their assailant. Jorgen came soon after, grabbing him by the legs.

The raider struggled in the dark, but Jorgen locked his arm and leg from behind, crushing them with bare hands stronger than a vise could ever be. Vellis stood up, took a rope from her belt, and started binding him.

Red flickering light flooded their patch of the woods. Keena came close, a lit torch on her hands. Vellis pulled back the raiders’ cloak.

Zaleck half expected him to be a girl, having tacked his lithe frame onto the ground, but instead, a young boyish face stared back at them. Older than Zaleck, that’s for sure, but almost the same age his older brother would be, had he still been alive. Long, greasy dark hair wrapped in a ponytail and a dirty tanned face with a whisp of a growing beard.

Zaleck stepped back. Vellis circled the raider while Jorgen took the torch from his daughter.

“I’ll grant you that, lad,” Vellis said, “three, four years more and we wouldn’t have seen you coming. I guess your leader’s lost too good men already, didn’t he? You were the only one left for the job.”

The raider’s eyes darted from Vellis to Jorgen, and then to Keena, widening whenever he glanced at her.

“Why are you here,” Jorgen said, “what’re your orders?”

The boy didn’t respond, still locking eyes with Keena. Jorgen kicked him in the back, drawing a painful grunt.

“Look at us, brat. It’s us you need to worry about.”

That drew his gaze, though he still offered no words.

Vellis kneeled before him, running her hand before his head in what seemed like a caress, until she yanked his hair back.

“Listen, lad, you know you’re going to tell us what we want to know. You know this only ends one way, so I’m going to ask this from the bottom of my heart. Please, make it easier for you. Please, do not make us do what you know we’ll have to do to get you to speak.”

For a moment his face was shadowed by fear, but rage asserted itself in his expression, intensified when he spat in Vellis’s face.

Vellis sighed. She stood up, turning to Zaleck and Keena.

“Kids, go back to camp and wait for us there.”

Keena took a step back.

“What… what’re you gonna do to him?” she asked.

“Keena, please, do what Vel said,” Jorgen said.

“But, Dad—”

“Now, Keena.” His reply came both tender and firm.

Keena wrapped her hand around Zaleck’s, pulling him back.

As they walked, Zaleck’s mind remained fixed in the image of Vellis and Jorgen closing in on the bound boy on the ground.

Zaleck knew full well what they were going to do to the raider boy. He’d seen Arneth “interrogate” a prisoner before, and to this day the man’s screams still made him wince whenever he remembered them. Vellis also “extracted” information from a raider once, when she found out about how Theron Vangard had ordered him captured. Although Zaleck didn’t see that interrogation, he shuddered to imagine what transpired.

Now, she would do it again. For months, while she lived with him in Kaldhill, it seemed like that old Vellis had become but a memory. Seeing the steel in her eyes just now, however, shattered that notion. She would likely never stop being the ruthless assassin, no matter the peace she’d found with his family.

Which meant that doing the right thing fell entirely up to him.

“No,” he said.

“What?” Keena asked.

“No, I’m not letting them.”

“But—” Keena started to say, letting her own voice falter. She nodded to him.

Zaleck turned around, striding back towards the torchlight.

Vellis had grasped one of the boy’s fingers, pressing the tip of her dagger beneath his fingernail. The boy’s face already knotted in pain.

“Stop.” Zaleck said.

Vellis only slightly turned her head to him.

“Zal, I’m not repeating myself.”

“Good. Neither am I. This stops now.” Though he said it with as much confidence as he could muster, he had to clench his hands to keep them from shaking.

Jorgen moved towards him.

“And what do you propose, eh? We need to know what he knows, and you’ve noticed by now he is not going to tell us anything unless we take it by force.”

“Do we? Do we really need to know what he knows? We know his leader sent him to follow us, and we know if he escapes, he’ll tell him where we are, what else is there to know?”

“Names, places, the size of their forces,” Vellis replied.

“We’re four people camping in the woods, we’re not a mercenary company that needs to know these things.”

Vellis came close, the dancing shadows cast by the torch deepening her scowl into a fierce menacing stare.

“You do realize that you’re just convincing us to kill him sooner, don’t you?”

“Release him, Vel. Nobody has to die here. Please.”

“I will forgive you for asking that because you’ve never seen a battle yourself, never lived through the carnage and the death that follows your every waking moment after that. He is the enemy and we’re not letting him go.”

“How can you even say that?” Zaleck burst out. “After everyone I killed, after everyone who died because of me? I felt them in here,” he beat on his own chest, “they burned inside of me and are still burning in my dreams. I know what death and war are like, more than I’d like to, and I know you do too, same as me. That’s why we have to let him go, Vel. At one point, it has to stop. At one point, someone’s gotta say: that’s enough.”

Vellis kneeled before him, holding both his shoulders in her hands. She spoke with a sadness born of the hopelessness of war.

“I wish things were that simple, I do. I wish we could let him go and make friends with him, hells, with every single raider, I wish Kaylor wasn’t a slaver nation, but my wishes don’t matter a penny. It’s him or us. We let him go, he’ll bring an army back on top of us.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Kid, she does,” Jorgen said, “I’m sorry to say that, but she does.”

“Vel,” Zaleck also held on to both her shoulders, “if you ever want those wishes of yours to have a chance, it’s you who’s gotta give it to them. You gotta give them a chance, and it starts here. You said more people could benefit from thinking like a bird sometimes. Well, here it is. Fly, Vel, fly away. Let him go. Just… let him go.” He knew he sounded pleading, but his voice didn’t falter once.

Vellis stood up, taking a step away from Zaleck.

“This is a mistake if there ever was one,” Jorgen said.

“Yes,” Vellis agreed, “once I said the same thing to a great friend. It was true then as it is true now. But, if this is a mistake, then we make it together, agreed?”

Jorgen looked down, casting a glance at Zaleck, then another at his daughter beside Zaleck. He nodded.

Vellis turned to the raider boy, bound and struggling on the ground.

“Whatever you do, you slaver pig, remember who you owe your life to.”

She untied him. The boy sped away from them, dashing into the woods, silent and quick.

Vellis turned to Zaleck, and he couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or a touch approving when she said, “Arneth would have been proud of you.”

“Of all of us,” he replied.

They rode in silence the next day, and it seemed they would go on like that into the night. Arriving in Andersel, they couldn’t help but talk to each other about lodging and food. Thus, when they retired for the night, they could almost be said to be on speaking terms again.

Clausten beach, as it turned out, was less than a day away from Andersel, straight south. They left the city with directions that would get them to Erona Aellar past midday.

The road south ended abruptly at what looked like a precipice. As they neared it, they found themselves at the edge of a tall, sharp cliffside overlooking the beach. A narrow winding pathway down lead into a large cottage, greater than most inns they’d stayed, a fenced joining of rooms with an inner courtyard. From the house, one could take a short walk until coming upon the beach proper.

As large as the cottage was, however, it was the tree behind it that drew their gazes. It had to be the largest, widest spruce tree Zaleck had ever laid eyes upon, towering thrice over the crown of any other nearby tree. Its trunk, though, instead of the expected shade of brown, was jet-black. So black it was hard to make out its features at all.

“That’s… some large tree…” Keena said.

“I think we found her, alright,” Jorgen said.

“How do you reckon?” Keena asked.

“Well, I don’t know about the tree, but the place does have her style. Oh, by the way, I have to let you know of a small… uhm… feature of Erona.”

Eyes upon him, Jorgen continued. “Erona has a butler, Barclay’s the name. Now, don’t be alarmed, but this Barclay is… well… he’s a walking, talking wooden statue.”

Vellis frowned, Keena widened her eyes, Zaleck chuckled.

“Why am I not surprised?” he said.

“You mean, for real?” Vellis asked. “A statue that moves?”

“Yep, and he was perfectly carved. You would mistake him for a person, from a distance.”

“Well, thanks for tiling the field for us,” Zaleck said.

They weaved the path downward, slower than Zaleck would have liked, as they were forced to dismount and bring their horses by the reins the whole path. By the foot of the cliffside, they found a cobblestone road leading up to the cottage by the beach.

Zaleck stopped, the sudden wave of panic mixing with the futile desire to be wrong, though he knew he wasn’t.

“Oh, no,” he said.

“What?” Jorgen asked.

“Oh, no?” Vellis asked as well, then after a glance at him, she mirrored his hopelessness. “Oh no!”

“What’s going on?” Keena asked.

“Ashenbeast, right here.”

“Just one this time?” Vellis asked.

“Uh-huh,” he nodded, scanning around the beach for it.

A heartbeat later, it appeared, rising from beneath the beach sand.

Chapter 30

Zaleck, Vellis, Jorgen and Keena took a step back. Before them, appearing from beneath the white-yellow beach sand, another creature rose. Cracked grey skin with an underlying glowing yellow fluid, the ashenbeast took a form with legs, arms, a body and a head. This time, instead of a monster, it seemed even human, if not for the magma blood and its smoldering eyes.

The man, or the semblance of a man, stood before them, its skin shifting and twisting as its form asserted itself. It seemed to wear plate armor, and atop its head the ash shaped itself like wavy grey hair.

Before Zaleck could breathe, Vellis took out her bow, nocking a golden arrow. Jorgen drew his sword. Keena retreated further.

The ashenbeast didn’t attack. Instead, it gazed at them, or seemed to.

Zaleck also drew his blade, bracing himself for an advance that never came. The creature took a slow step towards the group.

It spoke in the same guttural, grating voice as before.

“Zaleck Iavari… The time has come.”

“Has it?” he said, drawing in a confidence that did not belong to him, “then come on!”

“Why such hurry… I thought… this time, we could talk.”

None of the four said anything. The human-shaped ashenbeast paced around them. When his feet touched grass, it burst into small flames.

“First, I tried brute force, then I tried to send other humans, then I tried a formless cloud, then I tried adding the numbers. None of that worked. For a youth such as yourself, you are very resourceful.”

“So now what? You wanna bore me to death?”

It shook, all its skin rippling as its voice skipped its beats. Was that a laughter?

“You are amusing. It’s almost a shame I need to take you. No, I won’t bore you, I will state a fact. Every time we met, I learned. At every attempt I got an inch closer to your weakness. Now, it ends here. Now, I know it all. You cannot win anymore.”

“Wanna bet?” he said.

“No bets are needed, but since my victory is assured, I thought I should offer you a chance to come willingly. No one else gets hurt this way.”

“Oh, you are so thoughtful!” Vellis said.

“Tell me this, then,” Zaleck said, “are you really the Ashen Lord, who was imprisoned a thousand years ago?”

“I have been called that, yes, and for good reason.”

“Then, why? Why d’you want to kill everyone? It makes no sense.”

The being stopped pacing. It bowed its head, the burning globes in its eye sockets letting out a dark smoke for a moment.

“I do not want to do it, but it’s the only way. You don’t understand. No one can possibly understand, but it must be done. I am imprisoned here, and I need to kill you all.”

Its voice came weightier, deeper than usual. Zaleck could almost believe it.

“You need to? Hogwash!”

“I am not washing any hogs!” It cried, taking a step to them, “Life itself imprisons me. I… am a Paradox Flow.”

Zaleck gasped. A Paradox Flow was supposed to be an uncontrollable magic, the result of a flowcaster who used the Flow to kill. He knew it full well, having faced one himself. Could such an anomaly be intelligent? Was that why everyone said the Ashen Lord was unbeatable? It could be… a Paradox Flow would only ever end when it killed the mage who created it. If that mage was immortal, and had fled away from it, the Ashen Lord could indeed be its Paradox Flow.

Zaleck breathed, trying to center his mind although the smell of burnt ash had started to make it harder.

“Right… that kind of makes sense… but then, why d’you need me? You should be going after the one who created you.”

“I need to escape this prison, and you are the lock that keeps me bound. The one who imprisoned me, Rezi Atris, he wove the magic of my prison around your very spirit, young Zaleck, in one of your past lives. Only you can release me because you are literally what keeps me bound.”

“So, you wanna kill me.”

“No! Killing you won’t free me, your spirit would migrate to a new body, taking my prison with it. I need to unravel my prison. You won’t suffer a thing, you won’t get hurt at all, being flame-kin as you are. Come with me, Zaleck. Let us end this needless dance. Come willingly, and no one gets hurt, not even you.”

Zaleck looked down, grasping at his sword in an ever-tightening grip while the grip on his own resolve faltered. He believed the creature. Somehow, without any reason to, what it said rang true within him. He could not explain it, but as he listened to it, he knew it to be true.

Could he refuse it, then? If they fought it and won this time, how long would it take for the Ashen Lord to come for him again?

“Tell me this, then, if I release you, even if we all survive, a lot of people will die, won’t they? You said it yourself; you have to kill everyone.”

The beast stood immobile, but its flaming eyes rotated downward.

“Yes,” it said, the low tones of its voice carrying deep regret.

“Then thanks for explaining all this, but I refuse.”

Vellis aimed her bow, Jorgen raised his sword in a defensive stance, Zaleck put on his heirloom ring.

The beast extended its arms, opening its mouth in an unnatural gap. It screamed, a wrathful, frustrated scream that also carried a battle cry.

Vellis jumped backward. The ashenbeast appeared right where she had been. It didn’t ran or jump, instead, it shifted from one place to another, leaving out a trail of ash in the space between. It cut through the space where her body had been with an ashen sword that appeared out of its hand.

Vellis shot two arrows in less than a heartbeat. The beast’s body shifted again, holes appearing where the arrows would have hit it, allowing them to pass through.

Jorgen took a step towards the monster, thrusting with his blade into its body. The metal went in and out of the ashenbeast three times, drawing a stream of ash when he pulled the sword back. It stood unhurt.

The beast shifted towards Jorgen, striking him with both hands. Jorgen flew backwards, rolling over the sand several times while his weapon flew out of his hands.

“Dad!” Keena screamed, running for her father.

Four more arrows flew. Each one passed through the ashenbeast as it opened and closed holes in its body.

Zaleck attacked, punching the monster with his ringed hand. Lightning fast, it dodged his strike while grasping his wrist with its hand.

The beast raised Zaleck over the ground, crying out in triumph. Vellis aimed at it straight on, but dared not shoot another arrow with Zaleck between her and the beast.

Or so Zaleck thought. Vellis shot anyway. The arrow zipped beside his hand, lodging itself into the ashenbeast’s wrist that held Zaleck. It roared, all its skin shifting while Zaleck fell onto a group of jagged stones.

Zaleck got up, punching the beast before it could recover. It had already recovered, though. Before he could blink, it shifted towards Vellis. Vellis jumped aside, but the ashenbeast became a cloud, enveloping her.

Vellis’s arms and legs thrashed while the rest of her body, covered by the ashenbeast, shuddered. Her scream came out muffled.

A fiery jet shot out of the ashenbeast. Vellis, thrown upwards with her clothes on fire. She arced through the air, landing on the beach with a deep, muted thud, followed by the sand’s soft hiss.

“Vellis!” Keena screamed, running to her and splashing water into her flames.

The ashenbeast had again become humanoid, holding on to its wrist where Vellis’s arrow still pierced it.

What could Zaleck do? If he attacked blindly again, it would only dodge and grab him. He couldn’t run from it, either. There were no trees close by he could throw onto it. With Jorgen and Vellis already taken out, it seemed it had won.

“No,” Keena screamed, louder, “No!”

Zaleck’s eyes widened. She was going for her father’s sword.

“Keena, no!” he screamed.

She took it.

The ashenbeast shifted before Zaleck, grabbing him by the throat.

“Now, young Zaleck, you come with me.”

“Hey,” Keena said, stepping towards them, dragging her father’s sword while raising a sarcastic grin, “aren’t you forgetting someone, ash-face?”

The beast shifted again, right in front of Keena. It attacked, but before his arms could touch her, she already brandished the sword in a flurry before her, cutting off attack after attack, raising an ashen cloud around them.

Keena stepped forward, pressing against the beast. Zaleck couldn’t follow their moves, the beast’s attacks and her own moves having become a blur. A glint beside him caught his eye, Vellis’s missed golden arrows.

He picked two, running towards the ashenbeast. It shifted around Keena, trying to attack her from behind, but every time she would turn just in time, parrying its attacks and drawing out more ash.

Keena wasn’t fireproof, though, and as she parried the ashenbeast, droplets of magma fell onto her clothes, lighting up small flames. She winced and grunted, crying out in rage and pain while still pressing on.

Zaleck moved behind the beast, thrusting the two arrows like daggers. The beast shifted again, dodging his attacks while still trying to land a strike on Keena.

At last, it retreated, shifting to a tenpace away from them. It hunched over, like it was mimicking someone exhausted and hurt. Keena ran at it, her flaming clothes leaving ribbons of fire behind her. The beast shifted further away, but still she followed.

“Come here! Come back!” she cried.

Zaleck ran after them as well, but whenever he took one step, Keena would take five, and the beast could move as far away as it wanted.

If Keena closed in on it, it escaped her, forcing her to run faster. Her painful, angry cries started carrying a growing weariness.

“Keena,” Zaleck screamed, “you’re on fire!”

Keena halted, by now having followed the beast amid the beach. She looked at her arms and legs as if only then noticing her flaming clothes. Her cries became only painful. She dove into the sand, turning and spinning around while trying to douse her flames.

Her thrashing became slower and slower, until she, too, ceased to move.

The ashenbeast shifted before Zaleck. It had lost much of its ash, its magma veins pulsing visibly beneath the skin. Still, it smiled.

“Finally,” it said.

Zaleck’s knees buckled. Too breathless to scream, too worn out to cry, he fell. It had won.

The ashenbeast stepped over him. It extended a hand that grabbed his mail shirt. Zaleck winced at the searing heat, moaned for a moment when his gambeson caught fire, until the burning washed away into his whirlpool scar.

The beast pulled him up.

“Now—”

Bright light shot from behind its head. It grunted; it’s now gaunt face contorting in surprise. A golden arrow had struck it from behind.

Someone came up, a lithe cloaked figure, bow in hand, nocking another of Vellis’s golden arrows into his weapon. The raider lad.

He shot another arrow, but the beast let it pass from within him. It still held Zaleck, though, and while it looked at the raider, Zaleck extended the hand with the golden ring and grabbed its veins.

The beast shook. Zaleck gripped its innards, looking for its core. It kneeled.

The raider ran towards Vellis’s unconscious body, but the ashenbeast extended a hand towards him. A jet of searing magma thrust forward in a thin line, striking the raider from behind, running through his chest. He fell beside Vellis with a scream.

Zaleck still clutched at the beast. With his other hand, he pushed one of the golden arrows into it. The beast had already let go of him, but now he latched on to it with a strength born of rage alone. Grunting and yelling, it dragged Zaleck through the beach, towards the unconscious Keena, Jorgen’s sword a hair’s breadth away from her hand.

“Let go!” It cried. Zaleck squeezed further.

“Let go!” It spoke again, raising an arm over Keena. The ashen sword formed in his hand, pointing down.

“Never!” Zaleck said.

“She dies!” It said between grunts.

The sword descended.

Zaleck let go, jumping over Keena.

The ashen sword passed right through him, into his belly, and out from his back.

He stumbled, falling onto Keena.

Zaleck grasped the ashen sword. His belly exploded in pain, his sight clouding. He extended his hand again, grasping the beast. If he was going to go down, he’d bring it with him!

Keena stood up behind him, screaming a shrill cry. Grabbing Jorgen’s blade, she picked up an arrow that sticked out from the beast, thrusting it repeatedly into its fading body.

It exploded, spreading ash and lava all over. Zaleck fell. Keena, screaming and burning, thrashed onto the sands once more, dropping the sword as she doused her flames.

The pain in his belly rose to a searing, unrelenting agony that radiated from the wound. Each breath sent a jagged spike through the cut. An aching throb started to rise, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

Zaleck grasped the wound, feeling his own blood seeping from the gash, warm and sticky against his skin. The world blurred when a lithe figure stumbled towards him. The raider, he survived.

The lad knelt before Zaleck, his face a mask of contained pain that might as well be mirroring his own. Zaleck pointed to the cottage far down the beach.

“Please,” he said, no more than a whisper, “get help.”

The lad nodded, then ran, stumbling, towards Erona’s house.

Keena’s body, a few steps away from him, stirred. She groaned, bringing herself to kneel on the beach.

She shot a weary glance at Zaleck, raising her eyebrows in an alarmed expression. Every one of his breaths brought him a new painful stab, but seeing her alive made them somewhat easier to endure.

Keena crawled to him, running her eyes through his wound.

He raised a hand to her. She took it.

“Zal, Zal…” she said.

“Thanks,” he whispered, “for saving me.”

“No, no, please, Zal, don’t…”

“Hey, hey,” he said before a wince cut him short, “it’s alright.”

“Don’t you say that Zaleck Iavari. This is not alright. Don’t you die on me, now.”

“I… I can’t hold it, Keena, I’m losing it…”

She held his face.

“Look at me, look at me. I’m with you. All the way.”

“All the way…” he whispered. “Take care of Vellis… she still needs someone to show her which way is north…”

“No, I’m gonna take care of you, you hear me? This isn’t over yet. I’m not letting it.”

He caressed her cheek. A pity he smeared a bit of blood on her sweet, freckled face. He wanted to tell her he knew she’d have a happy life, he knew she would overcome her demon, she was stronger than she thought, but no words came out. Only a sigh as darkness took him over.

Chapter 31

Keena held on to Zaleck’s hand, now limp between her fingers, counting each of his breaths. Sea waves washed under his body, drawing a red stream from underneath him whenever they receded. He still breathed, so he could yet recover, but how long would he stay this way?

The wound in his belly now painted the front of his gambeson and chainmail in dark red. He seemed to be bleeding a lot, but was he? She couldn’t tell. If he was bleeding too much, though, what could she do? Who could she turn to? Both her father and Vellis lay on the ground, and for all she knew, they could both already be dead.

Kneeling by her newfound friend, sunlight dried her face in an oppressive heat while the cold water beneath froze her legs and feet. She had heard the lapping rhythm of the sea all her life, and now, it would also cradle death.

Fast, heavy steps echoed, a dark silhouette running at her in the midday suns. A man, by the looks of it, approaching from the cottage, carrying a kind of medical case on his hand.

The man kneeled beside Zaleck, opposite her. Middle aged, by the looks of it, with dark wavy hair falling up to his neck and a sharp jaw whose line cut through his cheeks in a strong, austere face. His leather overcoat, full of folds and precise ridges, only emphasized the professional, posh look.

His skin, though, was wooden. The man was a moving wooden statue.

Despite everything else around her, Keena found herself blinking at the man, her gaping mouth incapable of sound.

“Kheh ssehtill pah-sseh ee-see?” he asked.

“W—what?” Keena said, breaking out of her trance, “I don’t speak Voulanish. We’re Ayrnian.”

“What happened here?” he repeated with a slight accent.

“We were attacked,” she said, too fast for anyone but her to understand, “by a man made of ash, he burned us, and I think he may have killed my dad, and—”

The man grasped her arm.

“His wound,” he pointed to Zaleck, “how did it happen?”

“He was run through by a sword.”

“Did it leave through his back?” he asked.

Keena nodded.

The wooden man glanced at the fallen shapes of Vellis and Jorgen, also unmoving by the beach sand. He took Keena’s hands, putting them over Zaleck’s wound.

“Keep pressing here. I’ll be right back.”

Keena did as told. Zaleck turned his head, moaning, but also seeming unaware of anything around him. Seagulls cried above, in the rhythm of her own sobs, and a lone cloud eased the sunlight.

Gods, what a place to die!

The wooden man returned, kneeling before Keena.

“They are fine, for now. They are not wounded, only unconscious. I will have a better look at them later, but first we need to take care of this boy, here.”

Keena nodded, wiping out a few tears.

“Say, is that man over there Jorgen Venan, the blacksmith?”

“Y—yes, my father. I’m Keena.”

“Keena, I’m Barclay.”

“Of course,” she said, “Erona’s butler”.

“Keena, listen, I need your help here. Help me take off his mail and gambeson.”

She pulled Zaleck’s chainmail over his head while Barclay untied his gambeson, removing it as well. They also took off his linen undershirt.

Keena gasped. The cut at his belly wasn’t Zaleck’s first wound by a long shot. A few old scars crossed his belly, two on his arms, and through both his forearms ran long scorch marks upward into his shoulders. His chest, however, held this enormous burn, as if someone had whipped him with a coal-hot cane and then twisted the bruises, forming a vortex-like swirling scar centered on his sternum.

“Gods,” Barclay said, “and he’s so young.”

“What do we do now?” Keena asked.

“Lean him over, I want to look at the exit wound. Gently, now.”

She pulled Zaleck aside while Barklay inspected his back. Blood still ran from his belly, and his moans now became laden with a painful groan.

“He’s not bleeding too much, otherwise he’d be dead by now, and the blade missed his spine,” Barclay said, “We have a chance here.” He folded Zaleck’s gambeson into a bundle, putting it below his back wound. “Turn him back up and keep putting pressure on that wound.”

Barclay turned to his case, opening it and taking out a vial of some dark liquid.

“What’s that?” Keena asked.

“Bowlflower extract. It’ll put him right under.”

He took the vial to Zaleck’s mouth, but his head started swiveling around, resisting it.

“No… no…” Zaleck moaned, “not the wagon… not again…”

“What’s he saying?” Keena asked.

“He’s delirious. Keep his head steady.”

Keena held him by the cheeks while Barclay forced his jaw open, turning the liquid over into his mouth and then closing it shut until he swallowed it. Zaleck coughed and struggled, his strength ebbing at every breath, and he soon stopped moving altogether.

“Now what?” Keena asked while pressing on the wound.

Barclay rummaged through his case.

“Now we operate on him.”

“What?” Keena gasped in both panic and disbelief, “For real?”

“Very real. And I need you.”

“But— but I’ve never done anything like it before.”

“I was also very scared on my first time, but we don’t even have time to take him to the house. Either we do it here and now, you and me, or not at all.”

Keena nodded. “What must I do?”

“Do you know how to sew?”

“Yes.”

“This is going to be like sewing, Keena. First, we need to close any cut in his intestines. Show me your hands.”

Keena extended her hands at him. Barclay opened a bottle of some light-yellow liquid and poured it over them.

“What’s that?”

“Whisky. Wash your hands in it.”

While Keena did it, he took an iron needle from the case and passed a thread over its eye. He handed it over to her.

“I’ll have to cut open the wound a bit. You must put your hand into his belly, run your fingers all through his intestines looking for where the blade may have cut them. When you find a cut, you pull it out and sew it close.”

“Me?” Keena cried.

“My fingers are made of wood. I can’t feel touch the same way you do.”

“But, but, but, but… I can’t. I just can’t.”

“If you can’t, no one can. It’ll take me too long to do it on my own. You’re his best chance. His only chance, by the looks of it.”

“No, you don’t understand, I—can’t.” She gazed at the needle by his hand, already a bit smeared with blood. The calling was there, the pull of the demon, drawing her in, daring her to extend her hand and take it.

She leaned back; her jaw shook so much she could hardly say it.

“I have a demon inside of me. If I take a metallic blade, even this needle, it comes out and takes over me.”

Barclay widened his eyes.

“You’re a vessel? Of all things…”

“So, I… I can’t.”

“Listen, Keena, if you can’t, he dies. If you take it and lose control, he dies, but if you take it and don’t lose control, there’s a chance we may save him.”

Keena’s hands trembled so much she didn’t think she could do it even without the demon in her.

“What do you mean, if I don’t lose control? It always takes control.”

“Have you ever tried resisting it?”

Keena shook her head.

“When it takes over, what do you feel?”

“Anger, rage.”

“Look at this boy dying before you. Look well into him. If you have any memory of him that’s the opposite of anger, focus on that. Keep that in your mind and follow my voice. I’ll guide you.”

“I… if I fail…”

“You won’t, Keena. You’ll do fine, but you must do it. Now.”

Keena stared into Zaleck’s dirty, pale face, his unkempt white hair and those subtle freckles of his. She didn’t have to think too far to find a memory that was opposite of anger. Moments before, he had jumped into a sword to save her life. No one else ever did anything like this for her. Now he was dying, and it was her time to face the fire.

And she’d fail without trying? No. Not her.

She took the needle.

Swelling rage erupted. She closed her free hand into a fist, scowling at Barclay’s audacity. Who does this freak of magic thinks he is to tell her what she can and cannot do? She would teach him to be quiet; one punch and she would take that head off its wooden body—

No. She wouldn’t. Not now. She might do it later, but now she needed him to save Zaleck.

The pitiful, poor farmboy, who whined and pouted and all he could do was beg for Vellis. “Please let’s not kill the slaver, let’s all be friends.” His gut wouldn’t even be a delicacy worthy of her. It would be a mercy, to just rip open his neck with the needle.

She breathed in. How she wanted to see his blood flow, wipe the self-righteous look off his face with her own hands, but not like this, not while he was passed out. She would have a good face-to-face with him one day, and for that, she needed to save him.

She scowled at Barclay.

“Do it.”

He took a knife and cut open the wound, widening it enough for Keena to put her hand into it.

Her free hand went into Zaleck’s belly. She felt for his intestines, running the length of their smooth, oily surface.

Her fingers found a gap in his guts, running almost half of its circumference. She pulled it out. A pinky-red tube, sliced open, showed up at the wound.

“Do you know what a ‘double sew’ is?” Barclay asked.

“Yes, I know what ‘double sewing’ is, birdhouse.”

“Do you see how thick the tissue is? That’s how you’re going to have to close it, one pass inside, the other outside.”

Keena gritted her teeth. The things she had to endure to save a cute face.

It took her ten stitches to close the cut. She pulled it back in, running her hand once again through the intestine.

Once more, she found another cut, a smaller one this time, which only made it harder to close with her already slippery fingers. The needle slipped and fell from her hands, into the wound.

She cursed. She couldn’t pull it back like she wanted, it could rip open another cut. She’d have to be gentle about it, pull it by the thread.

She grunted in effort. The needle came back up, dripping blood. She opened her mouth, sticking her tongue out.

So much blood, such tender meat. She leaned over, her breathing heavier. One bite, she could take one bite, she deserved it. Yet, she shouldn’t.

“Keena!” Barclay said, his alarming tone holding her back.

Her hands and arms shook. She couldn’t do it, but how she wanted it. Zaleck was nearly dead anyway, all that effort could very well be for nothing.

She shut her eyes, wincing. No, no, she promised herself she’d see this through. Not for Zaleck, not for Barclay, but for herself. She had to know she could do it.

She took the needle back, extending it to Barclay while avoiding his gaze. He seemed to have picked up the hint, as he washed both the needle and her hand.

Taking a deep breath, salty sea breeze mingling with thick blood, she closed one more cut in Zaleck’s guts.

She still found two more cuts. One as large as the first, but the other somewhat smaller. Barclay watched as she worked, useless as the piece of wood he was, but at least he let her do what she must.

Zaleck’s face had grown even paler, and Barclay could not hide his worry at his shallower breaths. At last, Keena pulled back her hand, by then red all the way to her elbow.

“It’s done!” she said.

“Not yet,” Barclay said.

“What?” she cried, further rage swelling onto her. “You idiot, there’s more?”

“I saw two cut veins that were a bit too large. We need to close them, but I don’t have time to heat up an iron to cauterize it.”

She chuckled. “Even if you did, wood-face. The boy here can’t be burned.”

“You don’t say… anyway, you’ll have to close them too. Look at this one here,” Barclay pointed.

She saw it, a sweet, red delicacy spouting salty-metallic liquid that better belonged in her throat. Its tip pulsed at the rhythm of his weakening heart. She passed the needle over it, tying a stitch that closed it.

She also managed to close the other vein, and blood flow went from a small gush to a dull throb.

“Now what?” she said.

Barclay picked up a waterskin from his case.

“His intestines have been cut open. We need to clean up his innards from any material that may have leaked.”

“You want me to clean up feces from his belly?” she snarled.

“I can do it,” he said, “keep the wound open.”

She pushed open the wound while Barclay dropped water into it and started cleaning it up. That was nothing she hadn’t smelled before, but she should be feasting on it, not saving a life.

“Right,” Barclay said at last, “now let’s close him up. Try to do a lot of small stitches instead of long big ones,” Barclay said, wiping Zaleck’s belly with a wet cloth. It did make it easier for her to find out where to sew.

Stitch by stitch, Keena closed Zaleck’s wound.

“Now, the exit wound.”

Barclay pulled Zaleck aside, exposing the wound at his back for Keena to work on. This was much easier than the others, being smaller and cleaner.

Barclay laid Zaleck down once more, leaning away from him.

“That’s it. You did it, Keena,” he said.

Sunlight had died down from scorching dryness to a windy caress on Keena’s cheeks. She stood up, gazing at the boy whose life she saved, and who had just saved her life in turn. Her hands shook when they should be steady, her chest swelled when it should be tightening.

She had saved him.

Zaleck’s chest rose and fell steadily, almost at the rhythm of the waves. Keena ran a hand at her hair and could not contain a grin.

Why a grin, when she should be scowling? Why this lightness when she wanted to cut and kill? She could not fight it, though. It rose unbidden, a smile taking on her mouth, erasing the scowl and bringing about a laugh.

She let ringing laughter come, so unlike her, and yet, so natural. A wave of dizziness washed over her. Her legs wobbled, giving her time to take one step back before falling on her knees.

She raised her hand, still holding on to the needle. Was she still possessed? Was the demon still with her, or was she herself again? Where did she end and where did the demon begin?

She didn’t know, she didn’t care. She opened her mouth, her laughter rising into a battle cry, a battle for life. For life, for once in her existence, and she won.

Barclay embraced her, a cold, hard embrace, and yet so careful and tender. She embraced him back.

She never realized when it was she let the needle drop.

Barclay moved away, caressing her cheeks as he wiped them clean.

“You’re a fine surgeon, Keena Venan.”

She smiled back, letting unfettered tears wash over her eyes. She had summoned the demon, and no one got hurt. She took a deep breath, filled with the salty sting of the sea. The smell of victory.

Chapter 32

Keena stumbled through the beach towards her father. Jorgen, fallen between a few bushes, lay motionless in an awkward position that almost had her thinking his arms were broken.

“Dad?” she said, “Dad?”

She didn’t dare touch him, his clothes half burned, bruises already forming on his arms, but his chest moved evenly. At least he was still breathing.

It seemed like a lifetime had passed until he stirred.

“Hmmgh…” he winced.

“Dad, Dad are you alright?”

Through half open eyelids, he extended his hand at her bloodstained cheek.

“Keena… by the Gods, you’re alive…”

“Oh, Dad,” she said, embracing him. A grunt of pain arose from his heavy chest, pulling her away.

“I guess… I’m not as alright as I thought, but I’ve been worse, dear.”

“You have?”

He smiled. “I’ll tell you about it someday.”

Barclay leaned beside them.

“How are you feeling, Jorgen?”

“Barclay… long time no see. I, eh… everything is twirling.”

“Nausea? Vomit?”

“No… not much.”

Barclay touched his feet.

“Do you feel this?”

Jorgen winced, stifling a moan.

“Good enough,” Barclay said, “any pain?”

“Butler, I’m all about pain right now.”

Baclay patted him on the cheek. “You’ll survive it, big man. I’ll get you something for a crutch.”

A ways away, someone with a tuft of wavy red hair stood up, only to stumble and come down once again.

“Excuse me,” Barclay said while he moved to attend Vellis.

“Are we all… alive?” Jorgen asked.

“Yes, Dad.” Keena said with an unbroken beaming smile.

“I can hardly believe it. We actually faced the Ashen Lord and survived to tell the tale.”

“Not so much,” Barclay said, returning. Vellis leaned onto him, apparently having decided to use him for a crutch. “The boy there is not yet out of danger. If he doesn’t get a fever till tomorrow, then we can rest.”

Barclay seemed to take the measure of each one of them before continuing.

“If you can stand up, Jorgen, lean on me. I need to take a litter from the house to move Zaleck, and in the meantime I can get you all a place to rest.”

Slower than the tides, the group of four limped their way towards Erona’s cottage. Barclay held both Vellis and Jorgen back as they stumbled onwards, but when they came to the entrance archway, he paused.

“Oh, no,” he said. There, lying before the stone stairs into the house, lay the body of a lithe, tan-hued Kaylorite lad.

Beneath him, a pool of blood had already drained into the crevices by the stone steps. His face too pale, his chest unmoving, left no doubt as to his state.

Barclay slowly let go of Vellis and Jorgen, helping them sit down before approaching the Kaylorite.

“I didn’t know…” he said, “he’s the one who called for me, he told me a boy needed my help by the beach, I didn’t notice the wound in his back…”

Vellis leaned forward to them.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said, “he came through. He really came through.”

Jorgen stood up, almost stumbling, nearly falling if not for Keena’s help. He closed his hand on a fist and touched his chest. Vellis followed with the same gesture, helped up by Barclay.

“I don’t know who you were, boy,” Jorgen said, “but I wish I did. I will believe you were too young to have enslaved anyone, but regardless of where you were born, of how you lived, I bear witness that you died honorably.”

“As do I,” Vellis said. “May the Gods receive you in kindness, and may you find your happiness in the next life.”

They lowered their heads, letting the weight of the moment keep their silence. It seemed to take a long time to wash out, but bit by bit, they started moving back into the house.

The first room they walked into could contain the vast majority of Ayrnian houses. With a wooden table big enough for twenty people at the center, the hall opened to the left into an open kitchen, and to the right into a living room filled with couches and oversized cushions. Right before them, a corridor winded slightly to the left, lit up by openings in the ceiling. The whole place had windows so big that no other light source was needed.

Plants grew everywhere in the house. The living room, to the right, had an actual tree at its center, and the walls were all lined with vines, many pots holding all manner of bushes. If it were at all possible, the house seemed greener inside than outside.

Erona Aellar sure knew how to live the life.

Barclay motioned to the cushions, helping both Jorgen and Vellis as they lay onto couches.

“Wait,” Jorgen said, “let me help you with the litter.”

“Let me help you instead, Jorgen,” Barclay said, “by telling you both to rest and relax as best you can. You were both knocked very hard, and you need to rest. I can take care of bringing in young Zaleck and burying the lad outside.”

“I can help,” Keena said.

Barclay turned to her. If she could believe he was capable of breathing, he would have breathed in very slowly right then.

“Fine. That’s true. After all, what’s carrying a litter around after what you just did? But you do need a bath before anything else.”

“I like you already,” Vellis said.

Barclay turned to leave, but Vellis’s call held him.

“Wait,” she said, “we have to know. Please, tell us, is Erona Aellar here or not?”

“Hmm… Yes, in a manner of speaking. I’ll take you to her, tomorrow morning, if you promise to rest.”

“Well,” Vellis said after he’d left, “that doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

Keena washed herself in a slightly cool sea water and helped Barclay all through the rest of the day. Carrying Zaleck in a litter was the greatest effort she had to make, as Barclay buried the Kaylorite boy all by himself and only asked her to hand him the tools. He gave her the run of the house, a mansion by any measure, whose size would have made it seem a lone despondent place if not for all the greenery and natural lighting.

They found bedrooms for each one of them, her own being at least twice as large as the one she had in Ironshore. As the day moved into twilight, Barclay prepared a meal of cooked vegetables for them all.

Keena helped bandage Jorgen and Vellis’s wounds and found a crutch for Vellis when Barclay realized she would need to keep from leaning onto her left leg for a few days.

With everything that had happened that day, Keena thought sleep would take her over in a heartbeat. Instead, she turned over and over on her bed, an elevated cot with the softest feathered mattress she’d ever laid on.

Most of the time, she thought about Zaleck, but not whether he would survive. With a certainty born out of ignorance she had no doubt he’d pull through. Instead, she thought about how she felt while she operated on him. The demon had always enhanced her anger, but that took a different turn at the beach. Something else arose within her, while she sewed the boy’s entrails, while she fixed in him the very wounds she’d once inflicted on others. A new feeling, a kind of longing, or maybe a type of togetherness.

Lying down at night, in the silence of her own thoughts, she wondered, more than once, that she might genuinely want to see him recover.

Perhaps it was because he dropped everything in his life to help save her dad an hour after meeting her, or it may be because he seemed so damn mysterious… a flowcaster albino who remembers past lives and already had more scars than her father. One way or another, though, she had to find a way to thank him, even if it would take her a long time to do it.

Especially because it would take her a long time to do it.

“—not Keena, though—” the voices came from somewhere in the house, snapping her eyes open. Somewhere, the others were talking about her.

She strained her ears to listen, but only garbled sounds reached her. Thus, because she had no other option after hearing her name spoken aloud, she moved out of bed. Tiptoeing her way into the door, as stealthy as she could, she walked through the corridor towards the main hall.

At the corridor’s bend, before anyone could see her, she could make out their voices. It seemed her dad, Vellis and Barclay were talking in the living room.

“—it’s not the same though,” Jorgen said.

“How so?” Vellis asked.

“It’s different depending on which weapon she wields. When I had the demon, its presence was stronger the longer the blade. If I held a knife, I’d feel a lot of anger, but if I picked up a sword, I became pure wrath.”

Wait, what is it her father had just said? Did she hear him right? “When he had the demon?”

“But still, Jorg,” Vellis went on, “you must admit, what she did is impressive. How long did it take you to learn how to resist the demon?”

Oh, Gods! He knew. His father knew about it all along. Keena’s vision blurred, and she cupped her mouth, stifling an unbidden growl.

“Seven years,” Jorgen said, “seven years of constant, daily self-control. Vellis, I don’t think she may have got it after one afternoon. Now, I never held a bloody needle in my hand, but I’d wager it’d be much easier resisting it with so little metal in my hand.”

For a while no one said anything. It was all Keena could do, to keep still as a statue, trying to calm the growing tempest in her chest.

“I’m afraid,” Jorgen said, “I’m afraid for my little girl. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m right here with you, Jorgen,” Vellis said.

“Barclay,” her father asked, “you’ve read as many books as Erona. You must know if there’s a way for us to help her.”

Keena’s chest pounded so hard she retreated a step to keep them from hearing her. Only a step.

“If it were still in you, Jorgen, the ritual could be reversed. Not without cost, but it could be reversed. After it jumped into Keena, however… there’s no literature that mentions someone having overcome a demon in her condition.”

“I’ll go to the ends of the world,” Jorgen said. “If Erona can’t help us, I’ll take Keena to the other side of Unaris if I have to, but I’ll never stop looking.”

“Until the day she turns on you,” Vellis said.

Her father’s sigh reached her even into the corridor.

“What do you propose, then?”

“I have nothing to offer you, Jorgen. I’m not even sure if I could hurt her, even if she were possessed.”

“So that’s it, then. If I can’t get any help, my daughter is fated to kill her own father.”

“For what it’s worth,” Barclay said, “I think you are both wrong. I was right there with her. I saw it all unfold before me. I can see you love her, Jorgen, but you might never see her as more than a girl. I tell you, what I saw today was a woman in all but her age. She’s ready. She’s stronger than either of you give her credit. If I ever met anyone who could overcome a demon, I tell you, it’s her.”

Now she couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. Soon, the sobs would come, and they’d hear her. She would have gone there, confronted her father and Vellis with all they’d said, but then what would that tell them?

Instead, she slinked back to her room, every sob stifled into an outrage that shook her whole. If Barclay, who just met her today, was the only one who believed in her, then she would find a way to believe in herself as well. She’d find a way to prove to her dad she could be better than he thought of her. She would do it, on her own, without her father’s help.

She did not sleep that night.

Chapter 33

Iavad struggled once more against his chains, not so much because he thought he’d somehow get away, but more because the burning pain in his arms had now reached his back, and every breath became agony. It didn’t help, though.

One way or another, soon, his jailers would return, and then it would be the pyre for him. What was taking them so long? Oh, of course. Wooden building. They’d be setting up the bonfire outside.

He winced, again, at how stupid and careless he’d been, at how his mistake would cost his family far more than it’d cost him.

No. He would not go back to hopelessness. He was still alive. He still breathed, albeit painfully. Back in the warehouse, he also thought he was done for, and he escaped. There had to be something he could do.

Hanging from the ceiling, chained by his ankles and wrists, though, it didn’t seem like he could do much. If only he had a metallic object in his hand, a pin would do, he could thrust it into his wrist, and hope that in the blowback it would open his chains. A lot of such items stood at the table not an armlength away, though they could very well be on the other side of the world.

Except for the chain cuffs themselves. They were metallic. No one knew he had the ring within him back when they chained him, so they would not have prepared for this.

So, what does he know about the ring? It blows metallic objects away from him. Also, it’s about speed more than the object itself, any item will be thrown back if it hits him fast enough. This blowback only occurs when the object is very close to his skin. Finally, in the warehouse, he found out it works both ways, he will also be thrown back if he’s about to hit a large enough metallic object.

What if he could, somehow, make his chains move fast enough to trigger the blowback? He might not have to move the chains themselves, but himself in relation to them.

He could try twisting his arms, but the cuffs pulled at his wrists so much that he might slice them open instead. His hands were all but numb. His feet, however, were chained together. He could try twisting his legs.

His breathing came hard enough, sending jabs of pain through his chest. His arms screamed as if on fire, his shoulders thundered lancing agony up and down. Twisting his legs, on top of it all, would be pure torture.

Well, it was either that or burn to death.

With a yank, he pushed one leg against the other. His whole body shook. Every bone screamed within him, letting out an unbidden cry of agony. Nothing happened.

Faster. He needed to be faster.

Once more, another yank, another shock of pain. His hands, arms and legs shuddered. Yet again, nothing happened.

One more time. Faster still. Tearing down, he drew a deep breath, tensed every muscle, and yanked his legs while gritting his teeth.

The cuffs around his feet blew apart, spreading bloodied links and chains everywhere. His ankles, cut at the middle and trickling blood, dangled free.

It worked. It did work. He would have cried, had he any tears left.

Now, for the hands. Curling them into fists, he tensed again, stifling a groan, and pulled his knees up, towards his wrists.

He missed. By then his body shook so much he had to take a breath. Come on now. He’s so close. He can’t fail now.

Again, he pulled his knees. This time, they struck his wrist. The cuff went flying away. Iavad now dangled from only one arm. With his free hand, he punched the last cuff apart.

He fell to the rough wooden floor with a dull thud. It didn’t even hurt. At least, not any more than his already throbbing body.

Iavad pulled himself up, dizzy and panting. Free. How curious. Not a few moments before, he’d been ready to give up. He had given up, judging himself a complete failure. The gap from coins to rags does sit in a breath.

Now all he had to do was escape from the middle of the enemy camp, where about tens of thousands of soldiers patrolled every corner.

A door creaked further away and sibilant voices leaked into his room. The jailers.

What could he do? These two knew about the ring, they would not attack him with blades.

He’d have to take care of them the old-fashioned way. Taking two sharp blades from the table, he crouched by the wall beside the door.

The door swung open and Iavad leaped, one of his blades going into the jailer’s throat. Just like Merina had done. This one fell, gurgling in his own blood. The second leaped back to the corridor, the moment of confusion fading from his eyes.

Iavad dashed to the jailer, smashing against him and shoving him down to the corridor floor. The jailer cried out in surprise, already drawing a wooden club as he hit the ground.

Iavad’s free hand strangled him. The jailer’s club hit him beside the chest, but what was one more throbbing pain for Iavad? He closed his fist, crushing the jailer’s throat while his other hand plunged the dagger into his chest.

Over, and over, and over. After the jailer stopped moving, after his eyes went blank, still Iavad struck him, five times, ten times, one for each time he himself thought of giving up.

Iavad leaned on the wall, pushing himself up, only to slip on the blood-moist floor and fall back down. His chest heaved in large gasps; his eyes darted around.

No one else. He stood alone.

Clutching at his own hair, he grasped it as if that would yank all the burning pain away. Every breath came with a raging moan, like an animal ready to die.

Get a grip of yourself, farmer. You still have work to do. Bloody work.

Once more he stood up, taking his daggers from the jailor’s chest. This was a prison building, and the only people they would imprison would be the enemy, so if Iavad found someone else in those cells, he would at least have some help. He wouldn’t even have to punch them open, the keys dangled from the dead jailor’s belts.

Every single cell had prisoners, about five each, all of them chained to the wall. Iavad opened the door to the first one, drawing in forlorn glances from the prisoners inside. One of them, though, a scarred woman, threw the most disbelieving expression at him.

Merina. What was she doing here? Had she tried rescuing him? Had that much time passed? It didn’t seem so, at least, the swelling on his head from the punch he got, the one that knocked him out, still throbbed.

So, if she hadn’t been trying to save him, then the only reason she’d be here was if…

“You?” Iavad said. “You betrayed me?”

Merina scoffed.

“Oh, don’t look so sour, farmer.”

“Why?” he asked, advancing a step.

“Why do you think, huh? I had orders, that’s why. Not every general agreed with the Lord General’s decision.”

Iavad flared his nostrils, his hand curling into a fist. He didn’t strike her, though. She wasn’t worth it.

One by one, he opened up each cell, freeing every prisoner but one. He left Merina for last. None of the other soldiers said anything above a whisper, but they helped themselves to the torture implements on the room nearby.

Iavad stood before Merina, frowning more at himself than at her. Would he free her? Would he let her go only to betray him again? Every aching joint told him to let her rot. He would lose no sleep over it.

Bah, who was he trying to fool? Of course he would.

He threw her the keychain, turning back to the other Ayrnians.

“My lord,” one of them whispered to him, “what do we do now?”

“If we leave here now,” another said, “we’re dead anyway.”

“Anyone knows where in their camp we are?” Iavad asked.

“Smack in the middle,” came an answer.

“Then we go for the river,” he said, “towards Wolfpine.”

Everyone whispered at once.

“But what if they don’t lower the bridge,” asked a lad with ruffled sandy hair.

“We’ll never get there,” said a man with so much grime in his face only his eyes could be seen.

“They’ll strike us down as soon as we go out the door,” said a thin man with wild eyes and a scarred face.

“We should wait here,” whispered a slender girl with bruises across all arms and legs.

“We should try to sneak out,” said a short fellow with cuts across his wrists.

Iavad raised a hand, waiting for the murmur to die down.

“Listen. All of you have a choice here. I know we’re all soldiers, but I’m no lord. I’m a farmer, like most of you. So, all I can do is tell you how it is. There’s no way they won’t see us. There’s no way we can hide here. We have to leave, and we have to take the shortest route, and that is towards the city.”

He drew a breath, wincing only once. He took in all their dirty, beaten-down faces before speaking.

“Your choice is between slavery or dying free. Now, not all of us will make it, but each one who falls will give everyone else a chance to get through. I know what I choose. I will not be a slave. I choose freedom, I choose hope, and I will die for each and every one of you beside me. If by chance I survive, I will not call you soldiers, I will call you brothers and sisters, and I will remember those who fell as my own.”

He turned around, going for the door outside. Before opening it, he shot a glance back.

“I will not look back to see who’s coming, but if you do follow, stay behind me.”

He opened the door and ran.

A patrol of six enemies passed before him, their faces turning as they readied their weapons. Iavad dashed at them. Three spears would have taken him down, had they not veered away at the last moment. His already bloodied dagger found an enemy face. Swords and daggers sliced at him, never to touch him. He hacked the enemies, grabbing them and drawing them close. Teeth gritting, blood spraying on his face, he took down three of them before the others fled.

Gongs started ringing. Kaylorite shouts screamed about. Iavad took a spear from the ground and ran.

Dozens of enemies converged upon him. Speartips and shields formed a wall before him. Iavad advanced, pushing through as he stabbed and stabbed, as the enemy’s weapons bounced away. He struck one in the shoulder through the mail, another in the leg, one other in the groin. No blade found him. He broke through the shield wall, going straight into the crowd of Kaylorite soldiers. Picking up an arming sword from a fallen enemy, he hacked at whoever stood around him. He cut through skin and tendons, swinging wildly. How many had fallen already? He didn’t know, he wouldn’t count.

The enemy crowd spread apart, shouting their orders, opening a circle around him which just gave him more room to keep on running. The dozen or so enemies now had mounted to hundreds, and they all fell on top of him.

Thuds and pokes surrounded him as more and more weapons flew away, but someone grabbed his ankle, and someone else grabbed his arm, and he was tackled down into the floor. Held once more by his ankles and wrists, his body tingled with all the blades that went for his skin, only to shoot upwards instead.

The whole mass of enemies around him shuddered, and whoever held him let go. Other shouts joined the battle. Ayrnian shouts.

“He’s here! He’s here!” He knew that voice. Merina.

No sooner Iavad stood back up, he took another spear from a soldier and started trusting it into anyone with a Kaylorite uniform. The other prisoners, a sorry line of fighters, pushed against the avalanche of Kaylorites. They would never make it, but they did put the enemy’s backs to him.

Once more, he thrust and thrust, felling soldier after soldier. Still, the enemy’s numbers swelled, encircling the prisoners. Iavad took down dozens, a hundred Kaylorites, but the rush of enemies was neverending.

A horn blared, the ground thundered. The enemy line, focused away from Wolfpine, bent and broke at the impact of dozens of riders. Iavad turned, looking for more Kaylorites to strike, but now their numbers thinned. Ayrnian cavalry rushed into the camp, picking up the surviving prisoners. A pair of burly hands yanked him from the ground and into the back of a horse. The jolt of pain alone would have made him faint, if only he weren’t right in the rush of battle.

He held on to the rider, head bobbing, arms and legs bloody and numb. After they passed by the wooden drawbridge, the sound of the chains pulling it back up came to him as a distant rustle.

Iavad dismounted, landing on Wolfpine’s darkened cobblestones with wobbly legs and dimming sight. A wave of triumphant cries washed about. Soldiers raised their weapons, all eyes to him.

Before him, Merina dismounted too. She raised a weak, sorrowful smile and took a step towards him. On the second, she stumbled. Iavad braved the lancing pain once more to run towards her. On her third step, she fell onto his arms. Iavad embraced her, his hands running around her back until coming upon three arrows lodged therein.

She raised a hand, touching his chin. The light from her eyes already fading.

“Damn it,” she said, “it hurts.”

“Hold on,” Iavad replied, “doctors are coming.”

“Divine, you’re a bad liar.”

He chuckled.

“Hey, hey, don’t go crying on me now, farmer. Don’t you… do this to me.” Her head bobbed.

“It’s alright,” he said. “I’m here with you.”

She smiled a weak smile.

“And now I have you… all to myself.”

“All to yourself.”

Her head leaned back, and it seemed it took all her remaining effort to raise it once more at him.

“Don’t you dare get sad… hear me? Don’t you dare. I… die… free…”

He brought her close. Enough that he could hear her whisper.

“Like your own,” she said.

He kissed her forehead.

“Like my own,” he replied.

She let out a long breath, as if she’d been holding it for years, like someone who’d been waiting to hear that ever since childhood. In the end, she smiled.

Chapter 34

Zaleck winced when streams of pain came from his abdomen, shaking him awake. The world around him resolved in a white-plastered room, daylight stinging his eyes while his stomach knotted in painful pulses.

He moaned, louder than he would have wanted, curling up on his bed. A soft, feathered mattress beneath him, white sheets over him.

Moving his arms brought a grimace to his face. He ran his hand over his belly, to find a score of bandages wrapped around it, so tight they might as well suffocate him.

Light flooded the room from a window that took up a whole wall, forcing his eyes to close while he covered them with his arm.

For a moment he thought he was back in Derith’s apothecary, but this room was far larger than her diminutive house in Wolfpine. No, this had to be Erona’s cottage, Arbeniss, and he… he was somehow alive.

He coughed, an effort that sent pure agony lancing through his body, becoming a loud moan instead.

The door opened, and a man went in. Tall, soft-moving, well dressed, stern and wooden. A wooden statue. The uncanny sight had him forgetting the pain for a while.

“Welcome back, Zaleck Iavari,” he said.

“Who… what…”

The man had brought a metal cup with him. Pulling up a chair and sitting beside the bed, he helped Zaleck lean up while saying.

“Take this. For the pain.”

Excessive honey masked the acrid taste of the medicine, giving it a slightly nauseating undertone. Zaleck gulped it all at once.

“I am called Barclay,” he said.

Zaleck nodded.

“Vel, Jorg, Keena…”

Barclay nodded with a soft smile.

“They are all well. Better than you, for sure. You were on the knife’s edge last night, but when we saw you had not developed a fever this morning, everyone breathed a little easier.”

Keena strode into the room, wearing a common, light brown daily dress, so unlike the travel clothes Zaleck had grown used to seeing her in. She edged closer to him with a relieved, and yet surprised expression, as if seeing him awake was nothing short of a miracle to her.

It was to him as well.

Zaleck smiled.

“Hey, Keena.”

“Hey, Zal. How do you feel?”

“Like someone ran me through with a sword.”

She giggled.

Barclay pointed at her.

“I think you should know, this young lady here single-handedly saved your live.”

Keena blushed, looking as far away as she could while still locking her gaze with Zaleck’s.

“Really? You did?”

She nodded.

Vellis limped into the room, leaning on a crutch, followed by Jorgen, who winced whenever he breathed.

“Guys…” Zaleck said, “you’re all alive.”

Vellis sat at the foot of his bed.

“Not everyone,” she said.

Zaleck frowned. Jorgen explained.

“The raider.”

“That’s right,” Zaleck said, memories of asking for the raider’s help flashing vaguely in his mind, “he came back for us. He helped us.”

“He’s the one who called me,” Barclay said, “he told me to go help you, but when we came back to the cottage, we found him lying on the entrance. He hadn’t told me about his own injuries. Instead, he urged me to try and save you. It was too late for him by then.”

Zaleck looked down.

“I never knew him. I only spoke to him to ask for help, and then he sacrificed himself for me… He wasn’t all bad, Vel.”

Vellis nodded.

“I never thought he was, but I’m glad I listened to you anyway.”

Zaleck tried to lean up, but Barclay held him with a hand.

“Hey,” Zaleck asked, “did you find Erona? Is she here?”

Jorgen crossed his arms.

“From a certain point of view,” he said.

“According to Barclay, here,” Vellis said, “Erona got in some sort of mess about twenty years ago and got very hurt, so much that she had to retreat for some years in order to recover. As it stands, it seems that the way she recovers is by going inside of a big tree and hibernating for decades.”

“She’s—in the tree outside? Inside of it?”

They all nodded. Zaleck’s stomach sunk lower, his eyes grew distant.

“So, was it all for naught? All this work and not a single sprout to show for it?”

“Not quite,” Barclay said, “Mother knew she might be required to return before her time, so she left a way for someone to pull her out of her trance. A riddle.”

“Wait,” Zaleck said, “did you say, ‘mother’?”

Barclay smirked.

“She made me, she sculpted me out of wood and breathed life into me. As much a mother as I’ll ever have.”

“Thing is,” Jorgen said, “none of us can tell the hammer from the anvil with this riddle. We’re thinking of going to Alronais, Voulan’s capital. There’s a huge library there, the largest in the whole north, we think.”

“Well,” Zaleck said, “what’s the riddle?”

“To you who seek instruction,” Vellis intoned, “every lesson start with the first. To you who seek help, all you have but do is ask.”

Zaleck frowned. At first, he thought he couldn’t tell the seed from the weed of this puzzle as well. In fact, he didn’t, but Beri Ezzari, his past life, could.

“I… I think I know how to solve it,” he said.

Vellis, Jorgen and Keena said, all at once.

“You can?”, “For real?”, “Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“Beri, he had studied under Erona, and I remember some of it, the first lesson.” A slight smile raised his mouth. “I know what’s this first lesson. Can you take me there?”

“Oh! Not so fast, little beetle,” Barclay said. “You are going to stay put for at least a week.”

“Come on, we can take him there, Barclay,” Keena pleaded, “on the litter, like we brought him into the house.”

Barclay leaned back, eyeing the group with as suspicious a gaze as a statue can ever have.

“Fine, we’ll carry him there.”

They brought in a wooden litter made of a single board larger than Zaleck. Whenever he moved but a finger, one of the group would hold him back while they covered it with blankets and pillows to make it more comfortable. They raised him by holding onto his bed’s sheets and slid him into the board. Jorgen and Barclay raised it from each side and started moving him through Erona’s house.

They passed through wide corridors and a dinner room with a beach vista, coming up on the back door, following a cobblestone pathway leading up to the big, dark spruce tree. Zaleck’s belly winced and throbbed, but a light-headed dizziness had started to spread all over him, somewhat dulling out the pain.

The grass around the tree, covered in a myriad of tiny flowers, surrounded it in a multicolored crown that seemed to embrace it like a bowl. Whole families and dynasties of birds flew between its branches. As they came close, its upper branches became lost in the thick shade its foliage provided. If trees had a kingdom, this one was their king.

A pedestal beside the trunk had the inscription of the riddle, etched in three different languages.

“Okay, Zal,” Vellis said, “now what is this first lesson?”

Zaleck coughed. He took a breath and held back a painful grunt.

“The Flow makes no exceptions; the Flow plays no favorites,” he intoned, as loud as his rasping throat allowed.

The tree’s branches shuddered, casting hundreds of birds into the air and a shower of dew onto the group. As the movement ceased, a ripple ran through its gigantic trunk, its cracking bark adjusting around the edge. The trunk opened before them, unfurling into an opening that led into a dark, hollow crack.

From darkness, tiny specks started glistening, like delicate stars shining and adjusting in the shape of a sheen, a sheen that moved in the silhouette of a leg, then another, then two arms.

A woman emerged from within the tree, taller than Jorgen and more slender than Vellis. Her skin, darker than the darkest night, pulled in the light that rested on her shape, intensifying the sunlight glints like a dew of her own. She opened her eyes, two white globes with such dark circles that looked like a pair of inverted moons.

Step by step, she approached them, naked for only a few moments until Barclay covered her with his overcoat. Her gaze jumped from one to another of the four, with a penetrating silence that spoke louder than a Daht’Gahren’s stare. Her glance paused over Jorgen and an icy expression took over her face. Even if Zaleck had never seen a flowcaster before, if he had never known about them, he would still believe this woman capable of miracles.

She raised her hand halfway. Barclay took it, accompanying her in her last two steps.

“You stand before Erona Aellar,” he intoned, “the night walking, the immortal lifegiven, mother of trees and keeper of the world.”

Erona squinted her eyes. Jorgen paled.

“Of all things…” she said with a thick velvet of a voice, “of all people, you had to be here when I woke up.”

Zaleck and Vellis turned to Jorgen, who had taken a step back.

“Erona, I—”

“Silence!” she commanded. The flowers and plants, branches and bushes shook at the sound of her speech. “Do you know why I was in there, little thief? Do you know why I had to retreat from the world for so many years?”

Jorgen looked down. Erona continued, taking a step to him.

“It was because I nearly died after fixing the mess you made! You thought you could steal my book on demonic summoning, get your petty revenge on a few lowlife brigands and that would be it? Have you any idea what you unleashed?”

Keena took a step back, away from both Erona and Jorgen. Instead of crying, though, she bit her lips, almost like she was possessed again.

Erona never raised her voice, still, it came sharper than any of Jorgen’s blades.

“You didn’t, did you? You were too reckless and obsessed to care. You learned how to open a doorway into the hells, but the book didn’t teach you how to close it. While you made your little pact and reveled in your petty revenge, something else came through, an incarnation of murder that found its way into the body of a just deceased girl. Did you know it could do that? You didn’t, did you, because that was not in the book you stole.”

Jorgen and Keena gasped.

“That girl had a brother, poor thing, who got so confused when he saw his dead sister going on a killing spree that he thought it was his fault. He even attacked me when I tried to destroy it. It found its way through many, many villages until I finally caught up to it, and when I did defeat it, I had lost a leg and an arm and was leaking lifeblood all over. Barclay got me back and helped me into slumber in the nick of time.”

Birds chirped a sad song, and leaves rustled while Erona stared Jorgen into kneeling. She could freeze water with that look.

“And now, over a decade later by the looks of it, you had the gall to come back to my house, and wake me up before my time was through?”

Jorgen didn’t look up. All other eyes fell upon him.

“Well?” Erona demanded.

“Lady Erona, I came not to ask for forgiveness. I know I don’t deserve it. I came to ask for my daughter. Garbalzur, it left me when she was born, and it rests in her now. Please, do what you want with me, but help my daughter, I beg you. Have mercy on her, not on me. She’s paying for my own failings.”

He turned his gaze to Keena, tears watering those hardy eyes. “My daughter… forgive me.”

“Far more people have paid for your failings with their own lives, little thief.” Erona raised her chin. “Stand up, if there’s one thing I can stand less than a reckless thief, it’s a melodramatic reckless thief.”

Jorgen started standing up but stumbled aside. No one helped him find his feet again.

Erona raised a finger at him.

“By rights I should send you away to never return, never look upon me again. But then, I’d also be punishing your daughter, the victim of your crime. Whatever help I can give her, I will. You, however, will do nothing, say nothing unless spoken to. You are here because I pity her, but you are not, nor will you ever be welcome in my house.”

Jorgen bowed so much his forehead touched the ground before Erona.

Keena took a step to Jorgen. “Dad…” she said, “Dad, why didn’t you tell me?”

Jorgen didn’t answer. He reached out to her, an inviting caress in his fingers, but she stepped away from them.

“Let that be your punishment, little thief,” Erona said, “the shame whenever you look upon your daughter from here on out.”

Erona walked past the four of them, escorted by Barclay, into her house.

Chapter 35

It seemed dawn would come before twilight could arrive, the day dragged on. With nothing to do but stay in bed, Zaleck soon ran out of ways to shuffle on the mattress and lay out his pillows. The pain that had receded for some time came creeping back bit by bit, until he found himself wincing at the smallest effort once again.

Further into the house, Erona’s voice could be heard as she talked with Barclay and Vellis. Zaleck made an effort to try and pick up on the conversation, but he couldn’t make it out if they were talking about dinner or the Kaylorite invasion.

Barclay brought him a soup by the afternoon, a rich spicy flavor that Zaleck took in the smallest possible gulps just to lengthen the mealtime. A jug of milk by the bedside stand never got empty, which became a mystery he tried solving on his own. Where does the milk come from?

At high afternoon Erona came into the room. She wore a very revealing dress made of red silk strips running down from her shoulders all the way to her ankles. Silvery cords tied it up, in sharp contrast to her skin. A silver necklace and a coppery tiara shone like brighter stars in the night of her skin, even if she had no earrings. Her hair, tied in a myriad of braids behind her head, fell down to her chest length.

She stopped by the door, glancing at him with a penetrating gaze for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“I’ve been told much about you in these few hours, Zaleck Iavari.”

Zaleck shrugged only slightly.

“Coming from an immortal, I guess that’s a… compliment?”

As she drew close to him, the wooden chair by the bed moved on its own, dragging itself through the ground until stopping at just where she was about to sit. Zaleck raised his eyebrows, though perhaps he shouldn’t have. Things like this were likely commonplace in a flowcaster’s house.

“Why have you come to me, child?” There was no warmth in her voice, but instead, some sort of austere decisiveness, as if she were offering herself as a pillar of security.

“Haven’t they told you already?”

“I’m not asking them. I’m asking you.”

“I… was a flowcaster too, but I lost my powers, and I was told you can help me get them back.”

“That’s all?” She asked like someone who knew that wasn’t all.

“I’ve been… pursued by ashenbeasts. We managed to fend them off every time for now, but they keep coming stronger and smarter. I was told this is somehow related to the Ashen Lord, and me? And the one we fought by your house told me I am the key to unlock his prison. I want to understand that; I want to know what I can do about it.”

Erona leaned back on the chair, crossing her fingers and resting her chin on her hands.

“I’m going to have to ask you to start from the very beginning. Tell me everything. Leave no detail out and take your time.”

“Okay, so, it was fall back home, and we had just finished harvest. We were all at the city, I live close to Kaldhill, when my friend Namek asked me to go with him to…”

For the next hours he relayed everything that happened since being kidnapped by Kaylorite slavers. He told her how he met Arneth and Vellis and found out he could flowcast. With teary eyes he recounted the tale of Arneth’s death, and the Paradox Flow he brought about. His flight from the flamewalkers, then his return to Highport. He told her about remembering his life as Beri Ezzari, and how he remembered meeting her back then.

That was the first time a forlorn look came by her face, a deep yet subtle sadness that melted her dry exterior. He went on to tell her how they fought Theron Vangard and how he dissolved the Paradox Flow, how things seemed fine until the ashenbeast attacked him at home, and then everything they did afterwards.

“—and then I ran to it, because I saw my ring was glowing, and I punched it, and that’s how we found out they are weak against gold, and—”

“Wait,” she said, “what did you say?”

“That the ashenbeasts are weak against gold. Didn’t you know that?”

“Gold? You mean, normal gold?”

“Yeah, is there any other type? Vellis even had golden tipped arrows made for her. They’re the only things that can hurt the ashenbeasts.”

Erona leaned back, a faint surprise dawning on her face.

“Very, very interesting…” she said.

“You didn’t know that? Weren’t they weak against gold when you fought them way back when?”

“They most certainly were not. This is a new development. We’ll have to go back to that, but meanwhile, please, continue.”

Zaleck finished recounting how they’ve been looking for her for a while, how they met Keena and Jorgen, all the way to the battle before her cottage.

Night had fallen, and Barclay had brought a few candles for them. Zaleck drank a cup of milk after finishing his tale, all the while Erona remained pensive, almost as immobile as Barclay.

“Very well,” she said, “let’s address your questions, then. What do you want to know first?”

So many things ran through Zaleck’s mind at once that the first question out of his mouth was the one he never thought of asking.

“Was it all true? Was I Beri Ezzari in a past life?”

Erona tilted her head aside with a smirk.

“That’s your first question? Of all things you’ve been through, this is what you want to know the most?”

“It’s that… well… I’ve been trying to find you so hard, but ‘til today… I didn’t think I’d actually meet you, but you are just like I remember, when I was Beri, and…” he looked down, gulping, “I remember how I let you down back then. I remember how much you helped me, and I was cocky and died for a stupid Paradox Flow. I guess, if that was all true, then I’d like to say, I’m sorry, Rona. I truly am.”

Her soft smile shifted into a nostalgic glance, her eyes un-focusing as she leaned forward.

“Let the dead stay in their graves, Zaleck Iavari. Being born anew is the greatest mercy we could ever be given. Every life is a new chance, another beginning, a wiping of all past sins. Do not let yourself be burdened by bygone memories. Beri Ezzari, for all his virtues and flaws, which were many, is not you. You are a better boy than he ever was. Carve your own path into the light, and do not bind yourself to long, lost shadows.”

She leaned back, still glancing into his misty eyes.

“Can I… eh… call you Rona?”

Erona frowned almost imperceptibly.

“You, and you alone.”

“Okay, so… can I really get my powers back?”

Erona extended her hands to him.

“Grab my hands.”

He touched her cold, hard rough fingers. That was no human skin. Her fingers felt… wooden. Like Barclay’s.

“You… you are also a living statue!”

“Shh. Close your eyes. Let your mind drift.”

He tried to. For a few heartbeats, even more questions raced his mind. Bit by bit, his breaths evened out, an expansive feeling taking over him, as if his body was growing bigger and bigger.

Light shone within, not a physical, blinding light, but mental light, like imagining thousands of delicate strands of light, each with their own color, glowing inside and out of his body. Some of those strands stood dark, burned, whereas others stood strong and vibrant.

His pain lessened to a memory while he sat at the chair and at the same time lay on the bed. A strong and slow flux washed over him, moving this way and that, from one direction to the other.

The Flow. He was feeling the Flow again. It ran over both their bodies. The body of the boy by the bed shone with intense, eager light. The body of the woman on the chair had almost all black filament strands, only letting a trickle of light pass through.

Erona had synced with him, like he had done with Vellis by the cart back on Wolfpine.

Erona released his hands, bringing his mind back into the single body he wore. The light, the expansiveness, the calm, all of that faded away as the painful throbs bound him to his physical self once again.

Still, the grin would not leave his face.

“I… I felt the Flow…”

“Yes, and what have you learned?”

“It’s… it’s still there. It’s like it was when I fought Theron. But then, why can’t I use it anymore? Why can’t I feel Death Flows anymore?”

Erona leaned back.

“Do you remember the feeling of flowcasting? Of what you felt the very moment the Flow ran from you into the things you were affecting?”

Did he? He would never forget it. He nodded.

“Describe it,” she said.

“It was very fast, it was a flash, but in that flash, it was like… I was expanding, like I was going into the thing. When I used it in the grass, for instance, for a moment I was the grass.”

“For a moment, you and the target of your flowcast become one and the same,” Erona said.

“That’s right it.”

“And when you used the Flow to kill, did you feel the same thing?”

He grimaced, and not from the pain in his wound. Back in Theron’s ship he had been angry, and sad, and he wanted to kill them all, but in that very moment, in the flash of magic… “yes… it was the same feeling.”

“Now answer me very carefully. At that precise moment, who was it, then, that you were trying to kill?”

He looked down. If he could get up and leave the room right then, he would have.

“The sailors… Theron…”

“But you were one with them.”

“I was…”

“So, who were you trying to kill?”

“My… self…”

Erona looked down for a moment, resting her chin on a hand.

“Do you want to feel that way again?”

“No,” he was whispering now.

“But if you were pushed, and angered, and taken beyond your limit once more, do you think you could be that angry again?”

He nodded.

“So now you answer me, Zaleck Iavari. Why can’t you flowcast anymore?”

“I’m…” was it that simple? If it was, could he answer her? He had to breathe in, coming to terms with the words themselves before saying them out loud. “I don’t want to do it again… but I know I will, so… I’m stopping myself? I can’t flowcast because I know I’ll kill again if I do!”

A proud smile came upon Erona’s face.

“And there you have it. You came all this way to learn this.”

“But then, is it over for me? Won’t I ever flowcast again?”

“Maybe you won’t, maybe you will. It’s all about trust. Can you trust yourself not to do it? You must only do two things. First, you must prove to yourself you won’t do it anymore, no matter how bad the situation gets. Second, you must give yourself another chance.”

“Oh, that’s all?” Zaleck’s shoulders slumped, “I’m never flowcasting again…” he mumbled.

Erona raised an eyebrow.

“Tell me, are you always this low on self-esteem, or are you playing the pity card on me?”

Zaleck glanced at her with raised eyebrows and pouting lips. Erona nodded.

“Pity card. You must have been a spoiled little boy, but that’s good. Means there’s hope for you yet.”

Erona stood up.

“For now, you rest. Tomorrow we’ll start your training.”

“Training? Barclay said I’d have to stay many days in bed.”

“That would be true for most people, but us, flowcasters, are far healthier than most people, especially when we’re young. Can you remember a time when you got sick? Even with a common cold?”

Zaleck frowned. In fact, he couldn’t remember it. There had to be a time, though. Even Rina got sick sometimes, but if that had happened to him, he couldn’t recall it.

“You see,” Erona said, “the Flow keeps us healthy, no matter if we never flowcast. You’ll heal just fine, and you’ll be up and about before you know it. Furthermore, we’ll start basic, but we need to train you, what we’re facing is not going to wait for your recovery.”

She walked to the door, stopping right at the edge. “Oh, one more thing,” she half-turned to him, “that flowcast you did, to remember your past lives.”

“What about it?”

“You put too much Flow into it. It’s still ongoing inside of you. It’s suppressed for now, like the rest of your flowcasting, but if you ever recover your powers, it will come back as well. You might want to do something about it when you’re able.”

“What’s the problem? What can happen?”

“You’re still too young, though you might not notice it. All those memories, surfacing one after the other every time you sleep, could very well overwhelm you and drown out your sense of self. For now, don’t worry. If it comes to it, I can guide you through the process of unwinding the flowcast after you get your abilities back. Have a good night.”

He blew the candle, blanketing the room in the soft pale light that seeped from outside, from the moonlight reflected on the huge tree. Zaleck laid back down, his belly reminding him of the wound at every other breath, though the throbs came ever duller, until he dozed off, and morning came.

Chapter 36

Keena took another bite of warm fermented bread with recently whipped butter that nevertheless went down like a grating piece of coal. Her dad wouldn’t look at her all through breakfast, and Vellis also kept her silence, although Keena didn’t think she knew they’d been overheard.

Barclay kept bringing plate after plate of food, so much the table was running out of space. She could have her pick of grapes, cheese, hard-boiled eggs and right now he was placing an open-faced pie filled with chopped sorrel, parsley, and spinach, bound together with eggs and rich cream.

“Barclay, I think it’s enough…” she said. Much more than they could all eat, especially on a morning like that.

He looked at the table, seeming somewhat confused.

“Is it? Oh, forgive me, it’s been so long since we’ve had human guests.”

“You mean,” Vellis asked, “there are other types?”

Barclay shrugged, going back to the kitchen to whip yet more butter.

To say Erona came into the room would not do her justice. She appeared there. Not by magic, she walked in alright, but far more silent than the very rustle of leaves. Suddenly everyone turned to her, the tall, imposing woman that appeared beside them. Her dress could very well be a swimsuit. Strips of silk ran through her body, tied up by silvery pins and a golden belt. She crossed her arms and raised her chin as she gazed upon them.

“Barclay, dear,” she said, “have you been pampering our guests again?”

“Oh, Mother, they’ve been on travel rations for over a month now. They do need proper food.”

She walked to them, sitting on a chair by the table that slid on its own for her.

“It seems the gods once again play pranks on me,” she said, icy cold, “for I find myself in need of a good blacksmith. Do you know of any, Jorgen Venan?”

Jorgen raised his head to her, and though he said nothing she went on as if he had indeed answered her.

“I need, nay, the whole Unaris needs you to forge a golden sword. Can it be done?”

“With proper equipment, I can make a gold inlaid blade, yes.”

Erona rested her chin on her crossed fingers.

“I do not exaggerate when I say the fate of the world may rest on this one weapon, blacksmith.”

“Lady Aellar,” he said, “fate or no fate, a weapon such as this is far beyond our means. I need a good forge and experienced assistants, not to mention the materials, which would themselves cost a fortune.”

“How much?” she asked.

“At the least a hundred crowns.”

Erona pointed her finger at a wooden cabinet by the wall, whose drawers opened by themselves. Barclay took a pouch from one of them, letting it fall on the table with the clinking of coins. Gold coins.

Vellis whistled.

“Surprised?” Erona asked. “Don’t be. Time is the single most relevant factor when it comes to acquiring wealth, and I’ve had that in spades. The important question here is: how long, mister Venan?”

Jorgen would not keep his eyes from the pouch.

“With that much I can go back to Andersel, rent a forge and hire enough workers. We’re talking, at the fastest, a month of work.”

“Unfeasible. We need it far sooner. Can you make it in two weeks?”

Jorgen frowned. “If I buy an already good blade and only work on the inlay… if I make no mistakes, it could be ready by then. Assuming you need the inlay all over the blade, and not just at the base.”

Erona stood up.

“Hear my words and hear them well. Two weeks may already be too late, but if that’s what it takes, so be it. After a thousand years of search, we finally have one thing, the one, against which the Ashen Lord is weak. He will return for Zaleck, and the boy needs this blade by then. Go, Jorgen Venan, make us a weapon to pierce a living abomination, for if you make a mistake, if you delay it by a day, it may be the end of us all.”

Jorgen stood up. “Then I leave at once.”

He went to the door but halted when Keena took a step towards him. They both gazed into each other’s eyes, father and daughter. Her throat knotted up, preventing any words from coming up, and Jorgen’s gaze glanced downward for a bit.

He took a step and ran a finger through her hair, taking a lock off from before her eyes. He raised a weak smile, she nodded back, and then he was off.

Keena turned back to Erona. Damn if the woman was an imposing figure, but she could not let her trample over her father like that.

“So, it seems in the end you did separate father and daughter.”

Erona raised an eyebrow, replying in a near-amused tone.

“Be careful, child, your tongue may get so sharp you’ll draw Garbalzur on your own.”

Keena frowned a touch. Erona explained.

“It’s the name of the demon that’s inside of you.”

Keena puffed as she replied.

“I should go with him. At least I’ll be with someone who cares for me.”

She flinched at her own words. She’d be with her father, up until the day she killed him.

Erona moved a finger to the exit. “There’s the door. You’re not a prisoner. What you are, however, is a threat to society. If you do go, every person you kill, and they will be many, will be on all of our consciences.”

“That’s not true. I can control it.”

“Don’t delude yourself.”

“But I can. I did it when I saved Zaleck. I held on to the needle, and this Garbalzur came, and I beat it back on my own.”

“Yes, Barclay told me what you did. You are not without merit, girl, but don’t fool yourself into thinking that because you controlled your demon when it was at its weakest, you have any chance of defeating it. You are what is called a ‘native vessel’, and do you know how many native vessels ever defeated their demons? Not one. Not. One. Instead, they all die young. They get confident, they start thinking like you, that they can beat it, and then, one day, in a fit of emotion, their demon surfaces with far greater strength they can hope to control. Every single native vessel dies young, either because they are put down like the beasts they become, or because they kill themselves after seeing what they did. That, little Keena, is your fate.”

Keena’s breath heaved so much she kneeled down. She would have fallen, had Barclay not held on to her shoulder.

“No…” she whispered, not minding her tears anymore, “no, there has to be something I can do.”

Erona crossed her arms. She spoke without the same steel as before, on a mellower tone. One could almost say she was touched.

“I can offer you, and the offer is sincere, a quick and painless death. Do not refuse it outright. Think it over. It may be for the best, for everybody, for you.”

Keena gazed up at Erona, her bile rising only to be kept back by a knotted, closed throat. She squeezed her voice out, though she said it more to the gods than to anyone else around her.

“Please… please… anyone, help me…”

“I have never seen a native vessel overcoming their demon,” Erona repeated, “but then, I have been proven wrong on many occasions. Tell me this, child, are you sure you want to try and beat it?”

“I am!”

“And what are you willing to do to get it?”

“Anything.”

“No matter how hard it is?”

“Yes.”

“Are you certain indeed? If you suffer and despair, if you lose everything else, are you certain that’s what you want?”

“I am. That’s all I want. That’s the only thing that matters.”

Erona towered over her, crossing her arms.

“I do not envy the struggle you’ll have to face. I assure you, in time you’ll learn to hate me. Still, if you want to have any chance of beating this thing, you’ll have to strengthen your mind and body, and I only know of one way to do it. Grueling, merciless martial training. Barclay will start with you. Today.”

“If you allow me,” Vellis said, “that is one area I think I can help.”

Erona turned to Vellis, who sat by the table as if lazing about. She seemed to measure Vellis from head to toe before answering.

“That might be a good idea, perhaps a more feminine touch would help her as well. Especially if it’s a feminine touch… such as yours.”

Vellis dipped her head at Erona.

Chapter 37

Keena knocked on the door to Zaleck’s room with her feet while trying to keep the tray with his lunch from tumbling over.

“Come in,” he said, and only then did she notice she’d have to lean on the wall, pressing the tray against it while holding it with one hand so the other could turn the handle.

As soon as she stepped into the room, Zaleck closed the book he was reading and leaned over, like trying to get up to help her, only to wince and fall back down again.

“You stay there, mister,” Keena said, “I only came to leave you your lunch and take out the old trays.”

“I’ll say,” Zaleck said while Keena placed his lunch on the bedstand. “I can’t eat a crumb anymore, and now you get me enough food for my whole family. By the time I’m healed, I won’t be able to get up on my own.”

“Oh,” Keena replied, “so that’s what you’re worried about? I can help with that.”

She took a miniature carrot cake with whipped cream on top from the tray and bit away half of it. She wanted it to be a tease, but instead Zaleck’s eyes narrowed in a worried expression.

He extended his hand, reaching out to Keena’s bruised wrist.

“Keena, what happened?”

She took a step back, pulling over her sleeve. She had to look away as she answered.

“Oh, nothing, it’s just… I’ve started training with Miss Vellis yesterday, and she, well, she’s a bit rough, you know?”

Zaleck nodded, his expression even more serious.

“Do I know? She trained with me all year, and I know how I felt the first few days. Don’t worry, it gets better, though.”

“How?” Keena replied, sitting on a wooden chair by Zaleck’s bed. “How does getting hit and thrown to the ground about a dozen times per hour gets any better?”

“Well, you learn to avoid it.”

Keena sighed. Though her arms weren’t as swollen as yesterday, they still throbbed whenever she tensed.

“I don’t know… I don’t think I can do it… I didn’t think it would…”

“Hurt this much?”

Keena nodded.

“Well, if Vellis were here, I’m sure she’d say something like,” he sat up, impersonating Vellis’s gruffy voice with a low falsetto. “Life hurts much more than me, girl! You better take it while you can!”

Keena giggled. Vellis would say something like that, alright.

Zaleck reached out to take the metal cup, but as he winced at the effort, Keena took it for him and poured him some milk.

“Keena, they’ve told me you saved my life.”

She ran a finger at her hair while she answered with a smug tilt on her lips.

“Well, let me put it this way, if anyone ever says you’ve got no guts, point them to me. I can attest that you really, have some very long guts, and that’s the truth.”

Zaleck chuckled.

“They’re also kind of smelly,” she said, “but I suppose that’s true of everyone’s guts.”

“No, really, did you open me up and fixed me?”

“You were already half open, and Barclay told me all I had to do. It was a group effort, but, yes, I did it.” She beamed as she answered, so much she didn’t pull her hand back when Zaleck took it.

“You saved my life. Whatever I do from now on, it’ll be because you helped me. I’ll never be able to pay you back.”

“Well, the way things are going with us, I’m afraid you’ll have your chance sooner or later.” She placed her other hand atop his, a casual touch, nothing unusual—except it was.

The room fell silent as their hands touched. Her fingers intertwined with his, his calluses brushing against her skin. Keena’s eyes widened. Her breath caught. Her throat went dry. The air between them crackled like the beach before a summer storm. She leaned forward, their faces closer than they’d ever been, drawn by some tide she couldn’t fight. Keena’s lips parted. Her free hand rose to hover near Zaleck’s chest, not touching, but close enough that she felt the heat from his scar through his tunic. Their noses brushed, the lightest touch. He smelled of tilled soil, hay and crushed grain.

Something happened.

At once she wasn’t herself anymore, and at the same time, she was more herself than ever. It was like someone had inflated her, like she’d grown to become far larger, not one person anymore, but two.

She breathed in with two noses, the air filling both her chests. She wasn’t holding Zaleck’s hands anymore, but her own, with Zaleck’s own hands. She was herself, sitting by the chair, and him, sitting on the bed. Two bodies, one feeling.

The expansive feeling came so sudden that she stood up, tumbling on the chair and falling onto the floor.

As it came, the feeling went. Half of her whole self was ripped apart of a sudden. While before she saw with two sets of eyes, heard with two sets of ears, now she had been thrown back into one, single, small, crammed body.

“W—what the hells was that?” She said.

Zaleck, still sitting on the bed, glanced from his hands into her eyes.

“We… we synced.” He said, much more surprised than he should be, since he seemed to know what this was all about.

“We—what?” Keena leaned on the wall opposite his bed, holding onto it as she stood up.

“We synced. I—I didn’t know I could still do this.” He gazed at her as if apologizing for it.

“Do what? Ashes and demons, Zal! What’s going on?”

“It’s something flowcasters can do. If we touch someone, we can set the Flow running through both bodies as one. This is called syncing. We become, like, one single person. I’ve done it once, with Vellis.”

“Could you, by all that’s holy and damned, have at least warned me about it?” She shuddered as she spoke.

“I swear, Keena, I didn’t know I could do it. Ever since I lost my powers, I never tried doing it again. I guess I just assumed I couldn’t do it.” His eyes went a bit wider, a sudden realization running through his expression. “That’s what happened with the rabbit. I synced with it.”

Keena pulled her chair back up. At least the food tray hadn’t toppled over. She sat down, taking deep breaths.

“Okay,” she said, “fine. Just another day at a flowcaster’s house, I suppose. I wonder what’s next. Is there anything else you think you can’t do?”

“I’m sorry. It’s not gonna happen again, I promise.”

“No!” she said, though she couldn’t tell why she replied so fast. “It’s alright. Really. I was just… surprised, is all.”

Both their breaths filled the room for a few heartbeats, while they each glanced everywhere but to each other. In the mess, Zaleck had spilled the milk all over his bed.

“I’m gonna change your sheets,” Keena said.

“You don’t have to, Keena.”

“Well,” she said, standing up and pulling out his milk-soaked sheet. “Lucky for me, you can’t stop me. Might as well use the opportunity. Who knows when I might get another?”

Zaleck let her change his bed with a downcast glance. She finished by tucking the sheets back around him.

“There,” she said, sitting down again. “Now, about this thing you did. How do you call it?”

“Syncing.”

“Yes. Syncing. Do you think you could… ehm… maybe do it again?”

“For real?”

Keena shrugged, not taking her eyes off his.

“I’d like to know how it feels, now that I know what to expect.”

Zaleck raised a mischievous half-smile, extending his hands at hers. She took them, and the boundary between the two of them… dissolved.

Two heartbeats thundered in her chest—hers racing once more, his steady and focused. Her vision doubled, then merged. She saw herself through his eyes—delicate small, shining with joy, so sure of herself—nothing like what she believed herself to be.

“This is amazing!” She thought, at once realizing he also thought the same.

Thoughts themselves flowed between them like water joining water, like the Chiorn merging into the Sea. Images washed over her mind—so many years beneath sleeping under a thatched roof, how tired he’d always been at the end of a day helping his Da in the fields, the horror of waking up tied to a slaver’s cart, the relief when he first saw Vellis.

Wonder and worry flooded into her as he also experienced her thoughts—the days watching Jorgen at the forge, how much she cried when her brother went to war, the panic whenever the demon left her, and she witnessed the carnage she’d inflicted.

Tears spilled down both their cheeks just as they smiled as one. Nothing hidden between them. Nothing lonely. “They” didn’t even exist anymore. For so long she’d been shutting down, closing in to keep anyone from realizing what she’d become, and yet now all that panic melted away, giving way to a calm that defied the oceans.

She was whole and doubled, connected and free, herself and more.

Parting away came as slow as the tides themselves. This time, however, when their hands stopped touching, instead of being yanked back to her previous self, the return came like awakening from a deep dream. Little by little the feeling receded, veil over veil collapsing again unto her senses, dulling the “Zaleck” part of her until, once more, Keena was just herself.

Keena opened her mouth. Closed it. She should say something. Anything. Words crumbled before they formed. What language could possibly capture what they’d witnessed?

Blood rushed to her face. Heat spread down her neck. Zaleck had seen everything—her all.

His face softened. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, mirroring her own.

He had tasted her loneliness. She had tasted his fears.

Lost in each other’s eyes, their silence held everything they were unable to say far into the afternoon.

Chapter 38

Zaleck re-read the same paragraph three times now and still understood nothing. He knew the words, he even knew some of their meaning, but the whole message was too far above him.

That was the second book of the twenty that Barclay had stacked beside his bed for him to read. The title read “Aspectual Thread Theory: Basic Flowcasting Lectures.”

“Basic” was not how he would describe it. Not only was he being asked to understand theories and thesis but a year after learning to read, but these books had been written so long ago no one talked like that anymore. It was like reading something in another language altogether.

Outside, the sound of ringing metal, grunts and yells of training made his stomach sink lower. Keena had started training swordfight with Vellis and Barclay. She’d be exhausted and bruised before the morning was through, and he couldn’t even be there for her. Instead, he had to lie down and read incomprehensible words.

The door opened, and much to his dismay, Erona came in with yet two more books.

“And how are you today?” she said, peering into the jug of milk by his bedside table. “Have you been drinking enough?”

“Rona,” he said, scratching his hair, “I know I said I wanted to learn about flowcasting and such, but, I don’t think I’m getting anything off these books.”

“Have you read ‘A Flowcasting Primer’ and ‘Mental State Transition Theory’, by Gwann Mir?”

“Yes, those were the first ones I read, like you said.”

“Then let’s see it. Recite the five forbiddances.”

Zaleck bit his lip. It was a poem, it even rhymed. It was supposed to be easy to recall. How did it go again?

“Uhm.. first is… To kill is to sever the sacred art, to end a life tears all apart.”

Erona nodded.

“Then, hmm… To raise the dead is a hollow prize, their restless gaze will haunt the skies. Then the… eh… last weight?”

“The past’s own weight…” Erona said.

“Yea. The past’s own weight cannot be erased, for time is a river, forever encased. No will shall bend to magic’s plea, each heart must beat wild and free. And the last is… hmm… about the moons?”

“The lunar sphere marks magic’s height,” Erona said, “Beyond it lies eternal night. Not perfect, but good enough. Now what are the five mental states?”

“Uh… hmm… Ilonis, hmm, Ezaris, ah… Gnaras, Theris and Arthesis,” he said while Erona sat beside him.

“And in which state are you now?”

“Ilonis, I’m awake and alert.”

“So, you did understand something.”

“Fine, I remember some things alright, but check this out,” he opened his current book and recited the last passage he’d read. “‘the linear conflagrations of congruent threads must not be understood as an ineffable nexus no more than the mere causality of their knots can be measured in terms of the self-same luminiferous strength’. Come on! What even is this?”

Erona took his book and flipped through it. “This is basic theory. You should be able to understand it after reading Gwann Mir.”

“Well, I don’t!” He threw his hands up.

“Fine,” she lay the book beside him, leaning back on the chair. “What are your doubts? Ask me anything.”

He stifled a grin.

“How come you are a wooden statue like Barclay?”

Erona closed her eyes, and by the way her chest moved he could almost believe she was drawing a deep breath.

“Zaleck, I know you are young and curious, it’s only natural, but we don’t have time for chit-chat. If you must know, becoming a wooden statue is how I became immortal. I used the Flow to create a wooden body that was identical to mine, down to every hair strand, and then I transferred my spirit and my mind into this body. I do grow old, but since my body was fashioned out of pine, I’ll probably live for another four thousand years still. There. Are you satisfied now? Can we go back to saving the world?”

Zaleck recoiled a bit. “Okay, alright. Touchy subject, I get it.”

“Let’s try something a bit more practical. You may have a better understanding of the theory if you find value in it. You know by now all flowcasting starts with the caster going into Arthesis. You mentioned you did it once, when you confronted Theron.”

“Yeah.”

She extended her hand to him.

“Sync with me.”

He eyed her hand for a spell, holding his breath as he braced for such an intimate experience. Not to mention, she would know he did it to Keena as well.

He took her hand. Nothing happened.

With a small frown, he asked, “Eh, Rona, nothing’s happening,”

“I asked you to sync with me, not for you to let me sync with you. I want you to initiate the sync this time. You are aware you can still do that, aren’t you?”

Oh, he was very much aware. He focused, thinking of the Flow moving from his body to Erona’s, and then back, into and out of her. They were each two parts of a circular river through which the Flow ran.

Once more the world expanded while his body seemed to inflate. His hands and legs becoming four, his chest and head becoming two. The Flow flared up all around him, into and out of every single item in the room.

Something different happened this time, however. Back with Vellis and with Keena, when they synced, thoughts merged into one. It was like they both had become one single person. Now, However, Erona pulled back at the last minute. He couldn’t feel her thoughts as his own. Their bodies had merged, but their minds remained apart.

“Don’t be alarmed”, she thought. He would say he heard that in his mind, like a thought projected from Erona into him, but it was more than that. It was an instant understanding. He knew what she wanted to say before the very words formed in her mind. It was as if the whole message had been transmitted in a single burst of intention.

“This is a surface sync”, Erona explained in the same super-fast mental transmission, “what you experienced with Vellis was a deep sync. Deep syncs are very intimate experiences. It’s natural you would be wary to do it again, but we don’t have to. With a bit of practice, you’ll be able to stop the sync from going deep with no problem.”

“That’s a relief”, he thought back to her. It was like thinking to himself, only, there was someone else listening as well.

“Now, you say you’ve entered Arthesis once. Show me. Do it again.”

“Can I do that? Even though I still can’t feel the Flow on my own?”

“Arthesis is a mental state anyone can reach. It is the start of flowcasting, but doesn’t depend on it. Rather, it’s flowcasting that require it. Go on. Do your best.”

Zaleck recalled the feeling of Arthesis, the hyper-awareness coupled with complete serenity he felt when facing Theron. He tried relaxing his body, almost like going to sleep, but keeping part of his mind alert at the same time. He dozed off a few times, almost falling into unconsciousness, only to be brought back to alertness and overshooting the state quite a few times.

He knew he could do it. Bit by bit, he tiptoed his mind closer and closer to that very specific point where the world opened up. At times, it almost felt like he got it, only to miss the mark once again.

Then, a flash, a memory, of the rabbit that escaped him, of the feeling of togetherness that blinked by him back then. That was it. It had been so long he had forgotten how it feels, but that moment with the rabbit was a very quick dip into Arthesis.

He focused, imagining he was aiming an arrow at the state of Arthesis, like a prowling hunter aiming for its prey.

Everything opened up. The whole world turned itself inside out, like revealing the inner part of everything around him. The Flow, that he already felt because of Erona, became a tapestry of lines and threads that weaved all over the smallest object. Even the words within the books shone bright, he could read them without flipping a page, if he so desired.

The Zaleck part of his body grinned. How could he have forgotten how it feels? Why was it he never tried to do it again. It was as if nature itself embraced him now. He could stay motionless if he wanted, for hours even, and he would not tire of it.

“Good,” Erona thought to him. “That you already know how Arthesis feels will expedite your learning for sure, but it took you quite a while to get it. Let me show you how it’s done. Relinquish Arthesis.”

Reluctantly, he forced his mind back into its usual, daily state of mind.

“Now, pay attention.”

It happened faster than a heartbeat. It was—instantaneous. Suddenly, they were in Arthesis again.

“Wow!” his mind expanded in surprise.

“That’s how fast you must do it. In a moment of danger, a few seconds may cost you, so you must learn to control the state just like this. If reading is still too much for you, I want you to take at least half of your day to train entering and exiting Arthesis.”

“I can do that!” his excitement poured into her, drawing a smile from Erona’s lips.

Erona’s body let go of Zaleck’s hand, and though his mind tensed at the gesture, it soon eased into yet another expansion of surprise.

“We are still synced,” he thought. “You let go of me and we are still in sync!”

“If you enter Arthesis while synced, the sync will remain for as long as you hold the state. I could go far away if I wanted, and we’d remain in sync as long as either of us could still hold on to Arthesis. In the old days, apprentices were taught a small litany that helped them train for Arthesis. It goes like this:”

“With no arms I reach, with no legs I move, with no body I rise, I yield the mind to stillness, I stand at the core, unbound.”

Zaleck agreed with a slight expansion of thought.

“Yea, that’s the feeling, alright.”

“You can repeat it yourself, on your training. It may help you get used to it. Now, are you ready for yet another lesson?”

“Bring it on!” he thought back to her.

“For that one, I want you to go to sleep.”

“Okay, I can try that, but we are in sync, and in Arthesis. What’s going to happen?”

“You’ll see.” A faint mocking feeling washed over him, like she was teasing him.

Zaleck’s body lay on the bed, and he let his mind drift, evening out his breathing as it got slower and slower. It almost felt like Erona’s mind, synced with his, was caressing his thoughts, unfurling his worries, sending him deeper… deeper…

Water washed over his bare feet. Zaleck took a hand at his eyes to shield them from the suns while a cold breeze flapped his tunic. Somehow, he was back at the beach, beside Erona’s house.

Erona, right beside him, touched his shoulder.

“What?” he said, “What happened? How’ve we got here?”

Erona smiled. Only then did Zaleck notice her touch was warm and soft. The touch of true skin.

“We are dreaming, in a manner of speaking. This is what we call a ‘mindscape’, and the act of going into a mindscape is called a ‘mindcast’. This is your mindscape, but because we are synced, I was able to come here with you.”

“So, we are still in my room?”

“Yes.”

“But this seems so real!” He kneeled, picking up a handful of wet sand. It ran off his hand in a cool coarse flow when he squeezed it.

“A mindscape is more than a dream. This is a perfect replica of the world created by your mind, assisted by the Flow. Here, you can feel pain, hunger, thirst, you can bleed, and you can die.”

“What happens if I die here?”

“You wake up very, very scared. But this is a good thing. You see, I didn’t bring you here so you could play in the sand. Mindcasting is a useful and powerful tool for flowcasters.”

“How so?”

“Because within a mindscape, you can flowcast at will, as much as you like. By yourself, you can only flowcast every effect once in your life, and then your pathways burn up and you cannot repeat that ever again. So, how could you possibly train flowcasting without burning yourself up in training? Mindcasting. This is how flowcasters train. Even you, in your current state, can flowcast in here.”

He jumped at her.

“Really?”

“Try it out.”

Zaleck turned around, looking for something to do. The first time he would flowcast after losing his powers, and for a moment he could hardly make up his mind.

He looked at all the sand around him, imagined it rising, in the shape of a great castle, a full-sized sandcastle. He pushed the image out of his mind, into the sand, with one single thought, half and order and half a request.

“Rise!”

The beach came alive, sand extending in the form of towers, walls and hallways. Erona’s cottage, way into the distance, was broken in half and became rubble before the inverted sand avalanche that shifted the whole beach.

Zaleck let out a cry, almost a laugh, almost a sob. His hands shook as he turned around, surrounded by a vaulted ceiling on a ballroom made of sand. He opened his hands, turning around like dancing.

He felt it, he felt it once again. For a moment, he and the sand had been one.

His chest rose and fell, his mouth refusing to close. This was life. True life, and he’d got it back.

He ran to Erona, who stood beside him with a faint smirk. He threw himself at her, embracing her in a tight hug.

“I did it, Rona, I did it again! It was just like before.”

She let him take her for a spin by the sandy hallway. When they parted, a new expression shone on her face, her eyes squinting with bittersweet memory, her mouth curling up on a proud grin.

“From now on,” she said, “by day you will read and practice Arthesis, and by night, instead of sleeping, you will mindcast. Train your flowcasting, Zaleck, use your powers as much as you like in here. Day will come when you’ll need all experience you can get.”

“How do I do it? How do I mindcast without your help?” he asked.

“Go to sleep in Arthesis. The Flow in you will unfurl and create this simulacrum of reality. It’s not that easy, though. It may take you a few tries to get it right.” She walked around, inspecting the ballroom he had created. “Be careful not to lose yourself in here. Time runs differently inside your mind. Many days in a mindcast can be but moments in real life, but there have been more than one case of apprentices who went to sleep one day and simply never woke up again.”

She turned to him. “Let me show you how you leave. Since you can only mindcast in Arthesis, think about that feeling, bring to your mind the senses that you have while in Arthesis.”

“Okay”, he said. It took him a breath to do it. Arthesis was there, just beyond the horizon. A feeling of being in two places at once, but unlike a sync. Instead of feeling two bodies as his own, this time he felt himself as he were in the mindcast while also feeling his own body as it lay in bed.

“I feel it. It’s weird. What do I do now?”

“Relinquish Arthesis. The mindcast will unfurl and you’ll go back to your natural sleep.”

He raised his chin at her, looking deep in those darkest eyes before letting go.

“Thanks, Rona. Thank you very much.”

“Thank me by studying harder.” She pointed at him as she answered, though her voice also carried a softer tone.

As he let go of Arthesis, his mind dove back into a myriad of images and the jumble of memories of his dreams. For once, though, they weren’t as nervous, and when he woke up the next day, the wave of relief had him lying in bed, smiling at himself for a long time.

Chapter 39

Cuts, welts and bruises, plus a cracked rib, forced Iavad to stay at least three days in bed rest. As soon as the doctors gave him leave to walk out of his claustrophobic locker, before breakfast that day, the summons came from the Lord General.

What awaited him was a full war room where every general and commander expected his report. That included General Faeren Maranis, a thin elderly man with an overly long goatee. Merina’s Lord. The man who, according to her, had ordered him captured and delivered to the Kaylorites against the Lord General’s orders.

If the Lord General knew of this, he didn’t show. Instead, he paced behind his table, scratching his chin as he berated Iavad.

“By the Divine, man! What were you expecting? How many prisoners did you manage to free?”

“About twenty, m’Lord,” Iavad replied.

“I know how many there were. Twenty-three. That was a rhetorical question, you peasant. So, twenty-four soldiers, you included, and do you know how many dusters we estimate to be in that field? Do you?”

Iavad drew a deep breath, but this time it didn’t help.

“Well, m’Lord, us peasants can’t really count more than our fingers, so I have to say, a lot.”

The Lord General widened his eyes, as if the very defiance of Iavad’s retort had taken his breath away.

“Fifty thousand. Fifty thousand, you hear? Yes, that’s a lot. And you, twenty-four, against fifty thousand, what was your plan? Huh? Dash into them and hope for the best? Tell me, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking—my Lord—that I’d rather die free, on my own terms, than live as a slave.”

A rustle of shuffling feet and murmur ran across the room.

“Do you know how many of you survived?” the Lord General asked.

“Ten.” Iavad had spoken to each of them while resting. “None, if you hadn’t come for us.”

“Of course, we would come for you, you idiot. You managed to line the dusters all with their backs to us. We’d be fools not to take that chance. Still, only ten survived, you included. We have five thousand men in this city. Those thirteen who didn’t make it, I could have used them, soldier.”

Thirteen wouldn’t have made a difference against the Kaylorites, but they would have made a difference to Iavad. He raised his chin, meeting the Lord General’s gaze.

“You speak out of turn, you rush headlong into danger, you have no thought to strategy at all,” the Lord General said. “Yet, you did bring nine of ours back home, and these nine would now follow you into the very hells if you asked them. There’s only one thing I can do with someone like you, soldier.”

The Lord General stopped pacing, gazing into Iavad, eye-to-eye.

“I’m promoting you.”

Iavad eased his stance despite himself. He opened his mouth, though this time it was him who lost his breath.

“Kneel,” the Lord General ordered. Iavad obeyed.

The Lord General stood before him, placing a hand on his head.

“Repeat after me,” he said, which Iavad did. “I, Iavad Nareni, from now unto my dying breath, do swear my life to the kingdom of Ayrn, to its ruling monarch, Queen Wyla Orr, and on this field to her appointed Lord General. I will follow every command; I will accept every judgement. I offer all my strength and will to this land, blessed by the Divine, and to its principles of Freedom, Justice and Honor. Should I fail, I ask only the harshest punishment, so that others may learn from my mistake. Should I succeed, I ask all reward to be handed to those who need it most. May the Divine bless the kingdom of Ayrn.” Everyone replied to this last line, as well as “For the Queen, for our families, for our future.”

At last, the Lord General took a step back and said, “You kneeled a soldier. You now rise a captain of our majesty’s army.”

Iavad stood up, almost as dizzy as when he rose in the torture chamber. With a line and a swearing, his whole life had changed. His family’s as well, as a captain, Zida would get a lifelong stipend even after his passing.

“This ring will serve as your badge of office,” the Lord General said, handing him a silver ring encrusted with a blue gemstone. “I usually put my captains to work right away, but the doctors tell me you’re to remain out of any stressful activities for at least two weeks. Instead, I’ve arranged for a tutor to give you basic lessons on strategy and tactics. I suggest you apply yourself in this study. You’ll also be moved to an officer’s quarters and are allowed to have your meals in the officer’s hall.”

Iavad stared into the ring he’d been given, trying it out on his fingers until finding it fit his right index.

“That is all, Captain.”

Iavad saluted him, though that sent a jab of pain up his chest.

Outside the cathedral, a crowd of soldiers awaited him. Iavad glanced at so many of those faces, men and women unknown to him a month ago, who now would follow him side by side, blood for blood.

He raised his hand, the one with the new ring. A soldier, one whom he saved from prison, shouted out, “Captain Bladesbane!”

Everyone followed, fists to their chests.

“Captain Bladesbane! Ah-huh! Ah-huh! Ah-huh!”

No one knew who came up with the nickname, but it caught so fast there was no avoiding it now. While each soldier saluted him, he walked with them over the common mess hall for one more meal.

The next days were spent in lessons of past battles, getting to know the ones in his command, and the eventual meeting in the Lord General’s room. His bruises faded from black to green to yellow, and the pain in his chest subsided a little bit each day.

The Kaylorites continued their siege, raising palisade walls and assembling large wooden towers that would serve as temporary bridges during an assault, or so Iavad was told. Whatever harm was done to their lines by Iavad’s escape seemed to have no effect, as day in and day out their numbers only increased.

On their side, however, they had not been idle. Although they received far less recruits than the Kaylorites, an influx of arms and armor started coming in from Ayrndel. General Maranis increased the soldier’s training to their near exhaustion, and General Silas reported more and more Kaylorite defectors in his contact network.

It was two days after Iavad had started training again when he was summoned for an emergency meeting. The Lord General stood in his room; his strategic council assembled alongside all captains in the city. Even professor Carina attended, sitting on her usual couch.

“What’s going on?” Iavad asked another captain.

“The dusters have sent a messenger.”

The messenger came into the room escorted by three guards. A slender short fellow with overly long hair. He bowed to the assembly in the Kaylorite fashion, where they spread their hands apart and almost kneeled on one knee.

“Lords and ladies, I thank you for this courtesy,” he said in perfect Ayrnian.

“We are assembled. Speak your piece,” the Lord General said.

“Lords and Ladies, our great eminence, the Immortal Xallan Na’Hali offered a truce in good faith, and you repaid his kindness in treachery. By our law, that alone would merit war. However, the immortal ones are not without mercy, and once again we have come to you with an offer by which you can avoid disaster. We have in our custody, on our camp at this very moment, the heir apparent to the throne of your kingdom, the one you call Danya Orr.”

An eruption of whispers spread across the room, growing so louder the Lord General had to bang on the table.

“Silence. Let the man speak. Please, go on.”

“Much obliged, my Lord. We, of course, are aware of your many previous attempts to negotiate for her release. This time, it is we who come to you with that offer. We will release princess Danya into your care in exchange for that man,” he pointed to Iavad, “the one you took to calling the Bladesbane.”

The messenger looked like he expected another outburst, given the length of his pause. Instead, not a breath sounded. At last, he concluded.

“We understand you might want some sort of assurance that the princess is, indeed, in our camp. To that end, we will bring her out, into view of your walls, at midday today. We hope you consider this offer carefully, my Lord. We will await your reply until twilight tomorrow. My lords, it is with utmost contriteness that I must say any further act of deceit on your part, as well as the refusal of our offer, will be repaid with the princess’s life.”

A shuffling and clanking ran through the room. Hands grasped at their weapons. The Lord General rose, hands in fists at the table, boring into the messenger’s face.

“Your message is received. Begone.”

The messenger eased his shoulders, let out a subtle sigh, bowed and left with his escort.

The room exploded into a noisy mess.

“You cannot allow this!”, “We should attack right now!”, “Why is this man still here?”, “You cannot fall for this!”

The Lord General banged his hand on the table.

“Silence! Silence! Be silent, my Lords. By the Divine I will have order in this command.”

The Lord General ran his gaze across the room, letting it linger a bit longer on Iavad.

“I will first hear what the Tower has to say about this. Professor?”

Carina stood up.

“They were clever to send a messenger this time. I cannot read their intentions clearly through intermediaries. Still, Kaylorite messengers are trained to mimic the slightest variations in their master’s voice. Therefore, I do detect duplicity in this offer. They are aware you have broken their offer once, and they fully intend you to do so again. In fact, Lords and Ladies, I would go so far as to say they expect a rescue attempt to be performed this very night. They are counting on it.”

“My Lord, if you allow me,” a general stepped forward. The Lord General motioned for him to speak.

“They were brazen enough to threaten the heiress apparent to our faces. They are goading us. This is a trap if ever there was one. In fact, I believe our newest captain’s life is irrelevant to them, they only mentioned him because they needed to give us the sense this was an offer at all. We cannot give in.”

“You would let them kill little Danya?” The Lord General asked.

“Never, my Lord. What I mean is, whatever we do, we must outmaneuver them.”

“I’m open to suggestions, Lord Silas,” The Lord General said. “They have us at a corner here. We cannot let them keep the princess, and we cannot mount an attack to get her.”

“Then we do what they don’t expect.” Iavad said.

“Barely a captain and already speaking before his betters,” someone said further into the room.

“No, I will hear what he has to say,” the Lord General replied, “after all, you are an interested party in this. Tell me, Captain, what is it they do not expect us to do?”

Iavad took a step forward.

“Honor the agreement. Hand me over.”

Nods and murmurs of agreement ran through the room. The Lord General turned to Carina.

“Professor, what say you to this?”

Carina shot a quick glance at Iavad, a slight stern gaze on her eyes, then resumed her cold demeanor back to the Lord General.

“If we do that, they’ll kill her anyway.”

Iavad could not explain why or how. Perhaps because of the way Carina glanced at him, or because she spoke with an overly stern tone, or maybe because of what they talked about by the lookout days ago. One way or another, he knew, just knew she had lied. No one else seemed to sense it, though. The Lord General sat down, running a hand through his hair.

“Lords Silas, Maranis and Caelen, I want scenarios for a rescue operation by twilight today. If they are waiting for us to attempt it, we will be happy to oblige, but I want it to be the best damn operation they never expected. Captains, I want all your teams on alert. Tonight, we’ll call on the parties we selected for these operations. For now, you are all dismissed, and I, for one, am going to the walls. I want to look at the princess with my own eyes.”

As the crowd of officers left the room, Iavad adjusted his pace to walk beside Carina Marr. Once they had left the battlements and were on route to the walls through Wolfpine’s streets, he said, “Professor, why did you do it?”

Carina kept staring ahead as she replied.

“Didn’t you swear an oath for Queen, family and future? Well, then, Captain, I have upheld all three of these things at once.” She eyed him askance. “But I never swore an oath to Truthfulness.”

About half of every soldier on Wolfpine showed up at the southern walls, crowding over each other worse than when Xallan first appeared. The Lord General and most of the other officers climbed atop the gatehouse tower, but Iavad couldn’t get up there to save his life.

Midday came, and a battalion of Kaylorite soldiers marched towards the walls. A group of slaves carried a litter with a throne, and sitting atop it, a small girl in a regal pose. No more than an adolescent, she had to be as tall as Iavad’s chest. A flowing blonde hair braided backward outlined a slightly round face that drew stares for its overly large eyes. She would be called exotic, but never beautiful, and yet, she sat like one who owned the world, not like a hostage at all.

Iavad could not help but admire that little spirit. At her age all he wanted to do was dance and play. If he were taken for a hostage as a boy he’d likely be shaking to his core. If Danya Orr shook, she hid it very well.

The murmurs had already started.

“It’s her,” “It’s the princess,” “How beautiful.”

Even before the procession of Kaylorite soldiers halted, she stood up. The slaves carrying the litter turned their heads around, possibly looking for guidance. The line of soldiers missed a step.

Danya raised her fist and shouted. A delicate, childish voice.

“Ayrn! Ayrn! My country! Do not fall for tyranny! Resist! Resist! Resist! Queen! Family! Future!”

A thunderous roar erupted. Every single soldier raised their weapons, cheering in reply.

“Queen! Family! Future! Ah-huh! Ah-huh! Ah-huh!”

Nothing could hold their shouts anymore. If the drawbridge were lowered, there’d be a charge right there. Instead, deafening noise and messy shouting took hold of the defenders.

Iavad climbed down from the walls amidst the roaring soldiers. He walked past the plaza by the entrance when the Lord General and his entourage came out of the gatehouse. When they met between charred buildings, the Lord General grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Be ready, Bladesbane. Tonight, you save a princess.”

Chapter 40

Keena fell and rolled on the grass once more. She didn’t even have time to cry out before Vellis had thrown her backwards, disarming and pushing her away with one single move.

She spit back dirt before she could say anything, though instead of raising her voice, she shot Vellis a baleful glance.

Vellis paced around her, noon lighting casting a blinding halo around her head.

“So,” she said, “what was your mistake this time?”

A thousand curses went by Keena’s head while she picked the practice wooden sword again.

“I don’t know!” she said, “why don’t you tell me? It’s always something different with you.”

Vellis retreated a step.

“You raised your weapon too high. A move like that has to be either very fast or you have to make it while your opponent is unaware of you. I could see your strike from a mile away.”

Keena got up, leaning on her bruised arms and wiping dust off her legs, only to realize the reddish smears came from a shallow cut at her calf that had started throbbing.

“Once more,” Vellis said.

“Are you kidding? Look at me!” Keena said.

“Kaylorites won’t stop just because you’ve got a few bruises.”

“It’s not fair! You are too big and too strong.”

Vellis lowered her practice sword. A perfect opening for a surprise attack, if Keena wanted to get back at her, if only she hadn’t tried that before and ended up on the grass yet again.

“Welcome to life, girl. If you want to talk about fairness, go talk to a judge, I’m trying to get you ready for real danger.”

“Well you’re not getting me ready for anything except getting beaten up by a bully!” she cried out.

“You know what? If I even did that, that’d be progress, but if you wanna find an excuse for why nothing is your fault whenever you make a mistake, then what are we doing here?”

Keena flared, staring at Vellis, unmoving.

“I don’t think”, Vellis said, “you understand what’s going on here.”

“Oh, sure I do. You want to keep humiliating me to see how far I can take it until I summon the demon.”

“That’s not at all what’s happening.” She still paced around Keena. “You think I like seeing you like this?”

Keena stared back into Vellis’s eyes. She wanted her gaze to speak for itself; she wanted her bruises alone to denounce Vellis’s hypocrisy. Instead, the cry rolled up in her throat like unrestrained thunder.

“Yes!”

Vellis narrowed her eyes, twirled her practice sword and tucked it in her belt.

“I think you need to take some time. Think over what we’re trying to do here. What you’re trying to do. You yourself said you’d do anything to learn how to resist this thing. Yes, right! A lot of people say the same, ‘I’ll do anything to’ whatever. Until they find out what this ‘anything’ means. It’s not going to be easy girl; it’s not going to be something you can do in a week.”

She turned to leave, taking two steps before turning back.

“Oh, and yes, you do need to learn how to take a beating if you ever want to learn to fight back.”

“But I don’t want to fight back! I never did. I want to go home and live a life. I want my room, I want to help mom in the kitchen, I want to watch dad in the forge, but I never wanted to do—” she pointed to herself “—this.”

“So,” Vellis crossed her arms, raising her chin. The suns light cut half her face in a shadow that only heightened the cleft left by the scar in her cheek, “you want a peaceful life, do you?”

“Yes!” she said.

“You don’t believe in violence, do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

Vellis took three steps until coming so close to her that Keena could smell her sweat.

“You don’t want a peaceful life, Keena, you want an easy life. Being peaceful is not about foregoing violence. You can only ever be someone peaceful if you have every way to fight, to be violent, and still, you choose not to. Before that, you are not peaceful, you are a target. And I don’t just mean a target for other people; you want to resist the demon inside you? Try resisting your own anger first.”

Keena bit her lower lip while looking down.

“Every single person I’ve met who learned this lesson, Zaleck included, only did so after they lost someone they loved. I’m trying, Keena, I’m trying to prepare you to choose peace over violence, but you have to be willing to do the ‘anything’ you told Erona.”

Vellis turned around, leaving her in a silent stride as she walked towards the nearby woods.

Keena sat down on a wooden bench carved out of a fallen log. Now she was alone, at least she could wince and moan, but even that seemed pointless now. She pressed her hand against her throbbing thigh, though by then the trickle of blood had already stopped. Still, her arms and legs had so many brown and yellow splotches in them she wondered if the dulling pain didn’t mean something had broken in her.

A cool breeze washed over her when clouds rolled before the suns. Crickets chirped nearby, seagulls cried in the distance and the low lapping sound of waves could have almost been a lullaby, even at noon.

This would otherwise have been a great place to live, if only…

It had been ten days now that she drew the demon for the last time, when they fought by the beach. For a while, on those days, she could almost believe things would be fine, she could almost see herself living a normal life here. She could do it, all it would take was for her to never touch a metallic blade again.

However, little by little, the desire for blood increased. When they sat to eat, she would scan the kitchen, looking for knives that called to her. In the moments she was left alone, she found herself wandering about the house, looking for places with such blades. Yesterday she woke up in the middle of the night, sweating, fighting an urge to look for any blade and simply cut herself with it.

Yes, something was broken in her.

Erona Aellar seemed to be the only person who knew something about this, and she told Keena to learn swordfight. Thus, every day either Barclay or Vellis would take her on training sessions. Vellis’s were savage, violent, and full of pain. Barclay’s weren’t any better, however. Though he seemed to care for her far more than Vellis did, the guy was made of wood. He couldn’t understand human limitations at all and often forced Keena onto practice sessions that lasted for hours on end, no water, no food, and only ended when she fainted with exhaustion.

Her hand wrapped around the practice sword, and for the briefest moment she lamented that it wasn’t a real one.

Gods, she hated it, she hated it all, herself, this demon, she hated—

No, she would not say it, even to herself. Whatever happened, she would never hate her father.

Approaching heavy steps brought her out of her turmoil. She’d know these steps anywhere. Barclay’s.

She waved at him when he came into view, though he only gave her the briefest of nods.

She ran to him.

“Hey, Barclay—” she began.

“Forgive me,” he said, “there’s a task I have to do.”

“But Barclay,” she touched his arm. He halted, and when he turned to her, for the first time he saw annoyance in those wooden eyes.

“Barclay, what happened?” she asked.

“Nothing happened. I just need to do something.”

“But I wanted to talk about our training. I know Erona said you and Vel should train me every day, but I’m really starting to hurt more and more, and I thought we could come up with—”

He turned around, walking away from her midsentence.

She ran to him again, reaching for his arm.

“What happened, Barclay? Something is wrong.”

“Get away from him!” came the cry from behind her. Keena and Barclay turned to Vellis, who came up from the woods, daggers raised.

Metallic daggers that had tasted blood.

“What’s happening?” Keena said.

“Get away from him, Keena! This isn’t Barclay. I saw it when he was in the goat pens. Some small ash cloud went into him. I think he’s been possessed or something.”

“What are you talking about?” Barclay said, “of course it’s me, Keena. This woman has gone mad.”

“Keena, step away!” Vellis ordered.

Barclay turned to Vellis.

“No, woman! Keena has seen through your lies. You don’t want to help her. Can’t you see she’s hurting?”

Keena glanced from Vellis to Barclay. What was happening?

Barclay took a step towards Vellis, raising a hand to shield Keena from her.

“I’ll protect you, Keena. Stay with me,” he said.

“Get away, Keena, get away now!” Vellis urged.

This couldn’t be happening! Who was right? What should she do?

Barclay stepped towards Vellis. Vellis’s dagger flew, striking him right in the chest with two dull thuds.

“No, no!” Keena cried, “stop, you two!”

They wouldn’t stop, though. She’d have to put a stop to it herself. She reached out for one of the daggers in Barclay’s chest.

* * * * *

Keena yanked the dagger out with so much force that Barclay stumbled forward, face-first into the ground. So, Vellis wanted to fight, did she? She wanted to beat her up, did she? Let’s see how she likes taking a beating herself.

She jumped, crossing the distance to her in a single leap. Her knife cut into where Vellis’s chest was. Vellis had dodged, one step back, one forward, striking Keena with a kick that sent her reeling over the floor. Again.

Keena leaped up in time to strike at Vellis, who already advanced. Vellis stepped aside, letting Keena’s slice meet only the air. Keena twisted her body in the momentum of the slice, connecting her own kick into Vellis’s belly.

Vellis stumbled back, held standing only because she met a tree trunk as she almost lost her balance. Keena ran to her, the blade yearning for blood, she struck at Vellis’s heart, but the woman rolled aside, stumbling to the ground, while the knife dug deep into the tree.

The woman was fast; Keena had to give her that. As fast as any human could ever get, but Keena was more than human, and while she could keep this up for hours still, Vellis already breathed heavily.

If only she could unstuck this blade from the tree.

Vellis retreated while standing up, picking up her bow and nocking an arrow in one fluid movement.

Vellis aimed at Keena. The knife still lodged at the tree shifted only for a touch, but not enough to come free. Keena held on to the blade, grasping the tree trunk while twisting her body around it, in time to dodge the arrow.

“Keena, let go! Drop the knife!” Vellis cried.

Keena screamed, lodging her feet onto the tree trunk while she pulled the knife out with both hands. Vellis aimed at her, right in her face. The arrow didn’t fly.

“Damn it, Keena! Don’t make me do this.”

Vellis stepped back, as if that could give her any room for combat.

Straight into Barclay’s arms, who grasped her shoulders from behind her.

“I’ve got her, Keena,” he said.

Keena jumped, arcing a path through the air towards Vellis’s heart. She could not dodge now, she would not escape.

Keena never finished the jump.

Vines shot from the ground, twisting themselves at her, holding her up midair a heartbeat before she could draw blood. Keena yelled while more and more vines wound their way upwards, surrounding her, immobilizing her, forcing each of her fingers to open until she dropped the knife.

* * * * *

Keena’s mind fogged, almost fainting, brought back by Erona’s sharp cry.

“What the hells is going on here?”

“Barclay’s been possessed!” Keena grunted, squinting her eyes.

Erona stepped into the woods beside them, gazing at Barclay. Her distant expression melting into the first look of naked emotion that passed by her eyes since Keena met her.

“What?” Erona said.

Barclay let go of Vellis, who fell wincing. He turned to Erona.

Erona touched Barclay’s arm. In an instant, her already pained frown intensified while mouth opened in a soft wail. If those eyes could cry, there’d be tears there.

“Oh, no…” she said, “oh, no, Kane, please, no.”

Barclay lowered his head, not taking his eyes off hers.

“I thought I’d try being subtle this time… I thought I could get to the boy this way… seems I underestimated you yet again.”

Erona caressed Barclay, or maybe, the Ashen Lord in Barclay’s body, cupping her hands in his chin.

“Kane, please, let go of him. Please. He’s my son, Kane. You’re killing him.”

Pleading. The one thing Keena thought Erona would be incapable of.

Barclay’s body raised a hand, reciprocating Erona’s caress.

“Too late, Rona. My ash burns through this body too fast. It is wooden, after all.”

“Kane, please, give us more time. We can work this out.”

Barclay ran his fingers through Erona’s face, his own expression contorting in between rage, pity and longing.

“You don’t know, do you? You have no idea. You thought I’ve been asleep all this time, and I have slept, for many years. But then I’d started to wake up, only to find myself fused within rock, suffocate and die. Over, and over, and over. So many times, my dear, so many times…”

Erona’s eyes ran over Barclay. Her pleading tone rose with urgency.

“Kane, please, forgive me, I didn’t know, but I beg you, I beg you, let go of him.”

Barclay’s body looked down, closing his eyes. When he looked back up again, he said.

“We’ll continue this conversation soon enough.”

He opened his mouth. A stream of a fiery ashen cloud escaped him, spreading around until it disappeared in the air. Barclay stumbled, kneeling beside Vellis, held from falling by Erona.

The vines that still held Keena eased up their grip, lowering her until she touched the ground. Like the others, she couldn’t get up. She could hardly look at them.

“M—mother…” Barclay said. “I’m… burned…”

“Oh, I know, my son, I know.”

Their faces touched. Barclay had lost much of his vigor, speaking and moving in stilted, sharp movements.

“Mother… I’m… sorry… I don’t think I can stay here… much longer.”

Erona ran her hands through his face, half opening her mouth though she said nothing.

“Don’t… be sad… I can hear him… father is calling. I’ve always been so afraid of this… but now, I… remember… him.”

“Oh, my son, my beautiful son… I should have taken better care of you.”

“No, mother… you were great. I’ll… go back to father now… but I’ll… always… love…”

He stopped moving altogether.

Erona embraced him with a tight grip, arms shaking. The branches of every tree beside them rustled. A strong gale by the sea blew leaves and grass. Flocks of birds rose into the air. Shadows covered the suns, casting the glade into a winter-like gloom.

Erona cried out, a single, sharp scream melting rage and hopelessness, a scream that gradually lost its strength, ebbing into a single sob until it faded away.

She stood up when the suns’ light rays touched her again. Once more, the imposing queen she’d always been. Her icy stare dug into Keena’s soul, who retreated on the ground. What was that in those eyes? Scorn? Disappointment? Rage? Vellis also flinched when Erona’s gazed rested on her.

Keena expected, she wanted Erona to berate her, accuse her, send her away. Any of those things would have been better than what she did. Instead of giving her the time for a single word, she turned around and left.

Chapter 41

Zaleck wouldn’t call the bread stale, nor the cheese sour, but there was a hint of bitterness in the butter, and the eggs had been slightly overcooked. Not something he would ever complain about, but it was no doubt lower than Barclay’s standards.

In fact, all the standards seemed to have lowered without Barclay. Not the least of which was how everyone wasn’t talking to anyone anymore. He’d been two days out of bed, and the house sounded like a cemetary already. Vellis shot constant glares at Keena, Keena never took her eyes off the ground anymore, and Erona moved about as if no one else was in the house. The only one the three of them would talk to was him.

That might not be the best moment to complain about breakfast.

These past days had been filled with books and meditation, and more and more he started getting the hang of going into and out of Arthesis. His nights, though, had expanded into a whole new life for him. Though it took him a few days of trying, he could now mindcast every night as he slept. Within the confines of this new parallel world, he had already flowcast storms, landslides, walking trees and an eclipse. He had even died twice, once when he turned the ground into chocolate and drowned in it, and another when a huge wave washed over the whole beach after he summoned an earthquake.

As the suns rose that day, filling the room with golden light reflecting off the dew that vines and plants collected all around, Zaleck decided to start off by talking about something innocuous.

“Rona… may I ask you something?”

It was unnerving enough having her at the table without eating for her to also be silent. Erona never ate and hardly drank anything.

She glanced back at him.

“They call you the ‘Immortal Lifegiven’. I get the immortal part, but what’s a lifegiven?”

She blinked at him, answering in a nostalgic tone.

“It’s the opposite of a deathtouched. Flowcasters are either deathtouched or lifegiven. Whereas a deathtouched can feel the Flow of death, we, lifegiven, feel the Flow of birth.”

“Really?”, he asked. “What does it feel like?”

She leaned her head back as she said.

“It’s both intense and calming, it’s wild and it’s pure. When I feel someone coming into this world, it’s as if all their struggles to be born, and all the laughter they’ll laugh in their lives, it all echoes within me at once. I carry with me the hope and joy of thousands of children, and though most of them are gone by now, their innocence remains, flaring inside of me.”

“Wow,” Zaleck said, looking down at his cup of milk, “I wish I could feel that.”

“Don’t you start getting forlorn on me again, young man. I’ll have you know back in the olden days of magic, deathtouched had a very special role in society.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“You were the escorts of the dead. When someone was about to die, they would call for a deathtouched, who would take their hand, sync with them, and stay with them in their last moments. I’ve been told they would help the deceased cross into the world of spirit and ease their suffering as they passed. I always got the feeling the deathtouched who did it became a little, how can I say… wiser.”

Zaleck gulped a bit of a large pint of milk. He almost choked on it, but it did nothing to make him forget he was not a deathtouched anymore. Better change the subject to something he could do.

“And what does it mean, that I’m ‘flame-kin’? The Ashen Lord called me that, but what does it mean?”

“Oh,” she said, resting her chin on her fingers. “It means fire itself considers you a friend. That’s why you don’t get burned. You have proven to fire that you can be trusted. You have earned its friendship.”

Zaleck widened his eyes. Vellis and Keena shot sideways glances at Erona.

“I’d never heard of this.” Vellis said.

“It can often be mistaken for flowcasting,” Erona’s tone grew a touch colder when replying Vellis, “though they are very different things. It’s not uncommon, though, especially among flowcasters. I, for instance, am plant-kin.”

“So, that’s why you can control plants.” Zaleck said.

“I don’t control plants. Kinship is not a relationship of power, it’s a friendship, and if you want to advance in yours, you should keep that in mind. I talk to plants, and ask them for favors, and more often than not, they answer.”

“What can I do with it?”

“Whatever you can think of doing with fire.”

“And you said I can… get better at it? How?”

By Erona’s softer tone, Zaleck could almost believe he was indeed easing the tension in the room. Getting technical did seem a sure way of taking her mind off things.

“That’s a very personal path for any ‘kin’. However, it’s always about strengthening friendship. How do you strengthen friendships? Surely not by ordering your friends around, and neither by neglecting them. Fire has been keeping you unburnt because it cares for you, but if you want it to do things, find a way to get closer to it. It’s a reciprocal thing.”

Zaleck leaned back on his chair.

“I’m gonna have to think about this.”

“You do that,” Erona said with a hint of a smile.

Keena looked backwards with a start. Not the first time Zaleck saw her do it in these past few days. Erona narrowed her eyes, ice returning to her voice.

“Any problem, child?”

“N–no, it’s nothing.”

Erona frowned, her squint deepened.

“Still, I would know what’s going on.”

“I… I don’t know, it may be nothing.”

“Explain this ‘nothing’, Keena Venan.”

Keena breathed in before turning back at Erona, trying, and failing, to meet her eyes.

“It felt like someone was tugging at my back, but it’s nothing.”

Erona stood up of a sudden, her chair sliding through the floor. She stared into Keena, leaning forwards a bit.

“Has this happened before?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Yesterday, today, I think It woke me up tonight as well.”

Erona gritted her teeth.

“That’s not ‘nothing’, Keena Venan. This is what you feel when someone is using naltherais on you.”

“Na—what?” Vellis asked.

“Nal-therais, ‘the whispering shadow’. One of Theron Vangard’s rings. It can find people at a distance if you know their name and allows you to talk to them. All you must do is clasp your hands and whisper their name into the ring. Your shadow will point the way to the person. Someone has been using it to track you.”

“Wait,” Zaleck stood up. “You mean, all this time we’ve been looking for you, if I just did that, we could’ve come straight to you?”

Erona leaned her head to him, raising her eyebrows.

“Oh, man…” he said. “But what now? What do we do?”

“Nothing.” Vellis said. Everyone else turned to her.

Vellis extended a hand, pointing towards the beach beyond the windows.

“Too late,” she said.

There, by the sea, the hull of two ships broke the otherwise even horizon. Still only two black dots, clearly moving towards them.

Erona cursed. “As if the Ashen Lord weren’t enough.”

“They’re still too far off,” Zaleck said, running to the window, breathing faster. “We can escape them if we run now.”

“They’ll track us,” Keena said, “like they tracked Dad and I.”

“She’s right,” Vellis said, also approaching the window, “what’s the use of running if they can find us with magic? But still, two ships, there’s a small army there.”

“The army is the least of our problems,” Erona said. “I could stop them, Keena could slaughter them, the real issue is the one at the prow.”

“Who’s at the prow?” Zaleck asked

“Xallan Na’Hali, one of Kaylor’s own archpriests. Theron’s friend, and one of us, six immortals.”

“You can see him from here?” Keena asked.

Erona strode out of the house. Vellis followed. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“Our only chance is to talk to him. There may be a way to sort this out. You can watch, but keep back, the three of you. Especially you, Zaleck. Xallan has an aura that frightens whoever approaches him.”

Zaleck would not wait idle, however. “Vel,” he called, “let’s at least don our armor.”

The ships grew larger and larger while they put on their gambeson, chainmail and chausses. Vellis replenished her knives and picked up an extra belt with a short arming sword.

“Come here, Keena,” she said.

Keena tensed.

“Are—are you sure? This blade, it’s…”

“I don’t like it any more than you do, but let’s call it a precaution, alright?”

Keena raised her arms very high while Vellis clasped the belt around her waist. Zaleck ran to a storage room, taking up an oilskin they used to light up the lamps at night.

“What’s that for,” Vellis asked him when they met again in the hall.

“Well, I can’t be burned, but I can sure catch fire.”

Vellis and Keena widened their eyes when Zaleck poured oil onto his clothing, arms and legs.

By now the ships towered on the horizon, looming over the beach. The heads of dozens of sailors could be seen by the decks when Zaleck, Vellis and Keena went out of the cottage, striding towards the beach.

* * * * *

Horzan grasped at the ship’s railing so no one else would see his hands shaking. There she was, about a few hundred paces from him, standing by the beach alongside the albino and the redhead. He opened his mouth, and only at the last moment kept himself from giving out the order to attack.

Instead, he made it a point to turn towards the armored archpriest. It had been increasingly hard to look at him, but damn if he’d seem weak before his crew.

“You orders, eminence?” he asked.

Xallan took a step towards the railing, standing right beside Horzan while seeming to look not at the two kids, but at the dark woman by the beach who stood apart from them.

“You are to wait,” his grated voice sounded.

Horzan replied between clenched teeth. “Eminence, they are right there, we can end this right now.”

Xallan pointed at the dark woman.

“That woman stood by my side a thousand years ago when we imprisoned the Ashen Lord, boy. No one else in the world commands my attention as she does. If she wants to talk, I’ll talk to her.”

Horzan straightened his back and pulled his arms behind, the only way to hide their shaking.

“Very well, eminence, I’ll have a boat lowered for you.”

“I do not need boats. You are to only act if you see either of us strike at each other. In this case, the albino must survive at all costs. Do with the others as you will. Was I clear, Admiral?”

Horzan nodded. If he said anything, he would not keep from stammering.

In a single movement, Xallan jumped out of the ship into the water. The sudden rush of relief that washed over Horzan was only marred by the slightest hint of worry. Armored like that, the archpriest was sure to drown.

He and the whole rest of the crew leaned by the railing. There weren’t even bubbles coming up. His men all pointed and yelled at the water.

“Cap’n—I mean—Admiral, the archpriest, he—jumped!” Grollen, his recently promoted captain said.

Horzan blinked slowly as he turned at Grollen.

“I noticed.”

“But, what d’we do?” Grollen asked.

Horzan glanced at the girl. Right there, within reach of his arrows, though at that distance they’d all likely miss anyway. There was no way she would survive this, but Xallan wanted him to wait, and he would wait.

“Ready the boats, everyone at attention. We take no action for now, but I want all archers ready, and that,” he pointed to the girl, “will be their target.”

While sailors and soldiers took position at the deck, a wave of gasps ran by his men. Xallan Na’Hali came into view again, emerging from the water as he walked towards the beach coming from the depths of the seafloor.

“I’ll be…” Horzan said.

* * * * *

Erona Aellar crossed her arms and raised her chin at Xallan Na’Hali. She’d lost count of how many centuries ago she’d last seen him, but he still wore the same armor, by the looks of it.

The sea waves lessened, the breeze stopped blowing and the clouds held their place in the sky before either of them spoke.

“Xallan,” she said.

“Erona,” he acknowledged.

“I’m curious,” she said, “what gave you the thought that coming here with two warships was a good idea? Those things are made of wood, you know? I could ask them to turn over and drown every one of your soldiers.”

Xallan raised a hand towards Zaleck.

“First you tell me why you thought it was a good idea to have the Ashen Lord’s lock stand beside a teenage vessel?”

“Fine, right after you tell me what gave you the bright notion of having Theron in person come to the north and try to kidnap, enslave and kill that boy. You must have known who he was.”

Xallan shifted his feet on the sand. Water still dripped from the gaps in his armor.

“In fact, I did not. Theron only told us he’d found a suitable flowcaster for the cleansing. It was only after his return in disgrace we found out who he had dealt with.”

“Oh, and I take it you decided to invade a whole kingdom just because he was sent back without his pride? The lad always lacked in self-confidence, but you cannot have been so easily manipulated.”

“You know very well why we came back, Erona,” his grating voice rose a pitch. Any mortal person would have run away in panic with the sudden increase in his aura. “You yourself betrayed our deal. We came for the key.”

“I betrayed no deals, dead knight.” Erona changed into a dangerous undertone. Immortal or not, no one accused her of going back on her word like that. “I have the lock, but no one here has the key.”

“You lie,” he stated, “my soldiers saw the boy carry it with him.”

“Well, someone is lying, that’s for sure, because those kids told me they did have the key, but it was your men who took it from them.”

A gale blew from the sea, shifting the sands by their feet while Xallan and Erona stared at one another, unmoving. At last, Xallan turned his helmet back towards his ships.

“You don’t say…”

“I do say. So why don’t you take your key and your ships, turn around, go back south to the kingdom you desecrated into a desert and leave us the hells alone? Then we can all keep our deals, and your sailors get to live.”

“You know I can’t do that, night walking. The situation has changed. The Ashen Lord stirs in his slumber. His prison has weakened. The boy is too dangerous to be left unguarded anymore.”

“Unguarded by you, you mean. So,” she feigned mock amusement, “it does seem I’m not the one going back on my word, am I? Pray tell, what are your plans for him?”

Xallan rested his hand on his sword, a gesture that would probably have commanded the attention of anyone but Erona.

“We’ll take him south, force him to become immortal, and weave a flowcast of eternal slumber around him. Watched day and night by my jade falcons, we will assert Kane’s prison, though weakened, cannot ever be broken.”

Erona lowered her chin, smirking at him.

“Come now, you just made it up, didn’t you? Kane’s ashenbeasts would get to him eventually.”

Though Xallan hadn’t had to breathe in centuries, still he mimicked the motion of drawing in a deep breath.

“It’s too dangerous to let him live, Erona.”

An arrow shot from one of Xallan’s ships. Treachery, and Erona would not wait for another.

* * * * *

Horzan glanced from Xallan to the girl. His fingers tapped the railing unevenly. Even at this distance it was clear she, the albino and the redhead had noticed him as well, but there, as well as in his ships, all eyes were on the two immortals speaking at the beach.

Then Xallan turned around, his helmet moving in the general direction of his ship, almost as if he was glancing straight at Horzan.

He knew it. Somehow, Xallan learned of his deception, which meant that, if Horzan were lucky, his life was forfeit.

Which meant he had nothing to lose anymore by going against his orders.

“Captain, get me the best archer in this ship,” he ordered.

A lanky fellow of about his age stepped forward, with arms twice as large as his own.

“Here he is, Admiral. Quillen’s the name.”

“Quillen, can you hit that girl over there?” Horzan asked.

Quillen narrowed his eyes, scratching his bearded chin.

“It’d be a toss Admiral. Too far, too much wind.”

“Can you?” He insisted.

“Half-half,” Quillen said.

“Take the shot.”

Quillen bowed. Picking up his bow, he nocked an arrow. He aimed at the girl, straight on, then leaned back, tilting the bow as he drew it. When he finished drawing it, the arrow pointing halfway upward, it flew.

Chapter 42

Zaleck bit his lips, grasping the sword hilt in his belt. There he was, up on that boat’s deck, the Kaylorite who stole his rings. He also saw him, by the way he pointed his way, though he was more likely interested in Keena.

“That’s him,” Keena said, “Horzan Malek. He’s been hunting me since I…” she looked down, squinting her eyes before raising them again with a steely glance at the ship.

“I almost wish he would disembark,” Vellis said.

“But Vel,” Zaleck said, “they’re too many. Even for us.”

“That’s the ‘almost’ part, Zal.”

“What do we do,” he asked, “if Rona can’t convince that archpriest to leave us alone?”

Vellis glanced in the direction of the two immortals.

“Come on! We’ve faced Theron. Do you really think she can convince one of those guys to just go away?”

He half-sighed.

“You’re right…”

“So, it’s not about ‘if’, it’s about ‘when’. What do we do when she can’t convince him.”

Keena turned to them.

“They came all this way to find a demon girl. I say, let’s give it to them.”

Zaleck softened his voice in reply.

“Keena, are you sure?”

“No, I’m not, but you know what? I’m also tired, so gods-damn tired. I’m tired of running, I’m tired of being afraid.” She shot a glance at Vellis, “I’m tired of being a target.”

Vellis widened her eyes, she took a long step towards Keena, she could only start saying, “Keena, watch—”

Keena was thrust backwards, stumbling to the ground. Only after Zaleck kneeled by her side did he see the arrow sticking out of her left arm.

“Keena, are you al—” Zaleck began. Keena brushed him aside, throwing him away such that he rolled over the sand as he fell.

She got up, her face contorted in rage.

“My, my, my,” she said, “how stupid can they be…”

A trickle of blood started running from the arrow, but even if Zaleck could yank it away from her, by the time he got up Keena had already drawn her sword and dashed towards the beach.

Vellis drew her bow. Zaleck dashed after Keena.

“Keena, stop! It’s a trap. Don’t do it alone.”

She replied as she ran.

“Then keep up, silver boy.”

* * * * *

Erona took a step back. Her mind focused on the ever-present, cool-tranquil feeling of the plant-mind.

“Earthen roots, this metal man wants to do me harm. Stop him, I beseech you.”

A jumble of roots and vines shot from the underground, entangling Xallan’s arms and legs while Erona retreated. No sooner the plants touched him, they started withering away, as if thousands of years were passing them by in an instant.

Erona’s eyes fixed on the two boats, particularly on one where archers already drew their bows.

“Wooden planks and masts,” she thought, focusing her mind, “You are not where you should be. Can you turn upside down? That would be much better.”

The whole ship swiveled, tilting as if an invisible wave had hit it broadside. She focused on the other ship, from which boats were already being lowered, but had to step aside to dodge Xallan’s sword attack.

“You would strike at me?” he said.

“Well, you would put the whole world at risk, so, obviously.”

At her request, more and more vines broke from the underground beneath him, but now, expecting this, he cut through them while he advanced. His sword melted wood like butter, decaying it and withering it in an eyeblink.

One of the ships by the beach had completely overturned, casting a sizeable wave at them.

Erona dodged another strike, asking for an underground vine to hold her hand.

Xallan turned to her, his sword ready to strike right when the wave hit, washing him aside.

“Vines and roots, open a hole for this evil man, bury him in this sand,” she thought.

Xallan fought against the waterflow to reach her, but took one misstep, stumbled and disappeared from view. Water gurgled as it filled a sinkhole beneath him for but a moment, only until sand rushed in, burying the archpriest.

Now she could concentrate on saving Zaleck from the army that already swam to the shore. She gasped at the sight of the two kids plus Vellis advancing towards the Kaylorites. The girl had an arrow sticking out of her.

“Boards and planks”, she focused her thoughts on the second ship, “can you jump? How high can you jump? Let me see.”

The second ship started bouncing up and down the beach. The few boats that had already disembarked got thrown aside, the soldiers who swam to the shore being washed away.

Keena reached the first of the Kaylorites, who somewhat groggily tried standing against her. Her sword flashed and blood started mingling with the sea. Though Erona knew better than to expect pity or pause from a demonic vessel, still her heart sank at the sight of such a young girl taking life after life.

Vellis ran towards her, eyes wide.

“Erona!” she cried out.

Erona turned around when Xallan burst from the sand, jumping high towards her. His blade sliced through her clothing an inch from her belly when she stepped aside.

“Need a hand?” Vellis asked.

“Not unless you have cold steel. Keena might need it more.”

* * * * *

Zaleck ran after Keena, though when she reached the first Kaylorites he hadn’t yet covered half the distance to the shore. Every enemy that emerged from the waters met her sword. Moving in water did slow her down, but still she jumped and somersaulted towards her enemies with a trickle of blood running down her arm.

However, too many came from the ships, more than she could kill at once. Far to the left, a line of archers started forming. To the right, a group of warriors gathered, forming a wall as they advanced.

“Keena,” he shouted, “arrows!”

She seemed to have noticed the archers as well. When they let out the first volley, she jumped aside, twisting in the air.

The warriors to the right also noticed him and now turned to advance at him rather than Keena.

Zaleck couldn’t deal with two opponents. Heck, by their size alone, he couldn’t deal with one. He could, however, set himself on fire. Picking up flint and steel from his pocket, he started striking one against the other.

The soldiers had crossed half the distance to him when sparks started flying. Half again when his shirt ignited.

Flames gushed through his gambeson and pants, biting at his flesh and searing his skin. It took him a second of intense agony for the whirlpool scar to start protecting him. By then, flames burst from every link in his chainmail.

The soldiers paused, their eyes bulging. It was now Zaleck’s time to advance.

He ran with a trail of smoke rising after him. The soldiers took a step back, readying their spears. Zaleck struck once, parried by the enemy. He took a step beside his weapon to run straight into him.

Though terror painted their faces, the enemies held their ground. The Kaylorite Zaleck slammed into retreated, trying to douse his own flames. The other turned his spear around and attacked Zaleck with its butt.

Zaleck swung his blade, deflecting the strike while also running into the other soldier. He stumbled back, tripped over a loose stone and fell to the ground. Zaleck fell on top of him.

The soldier yelled, thrashing about the ground while a flaming boy punched him in the chest. A dull thud rang over Zaleck’s head, the first soldier’s spear had struck him from behind.

Zaleck rolled on the sand, dizzy. The soldier towered over him, the tip of the spear raised to his face,

An arrow took the Kaylorite in the head. He stumbled down beside Zaleck. Vellis’s arrow.

The one remaining soldier, half aflame, stood up, striking at his burning clothes. Zaleck slammed into him again. As he fell, he lost the grip on his spear.

Zaleck stood over him, his blade raised before the Kaylorite’s face. From beneath the agonizing pain of being burnt alive, the soldier shot a hopeless glance at Zaleck.

He could do it. It would never be this easy. The soldier thrashed about, flames still licking at his gambeson, whereas Zaleck stood like a towering conflagrating statue of fire over him. All he had to do was lower his sword. For sure the Kaylorite would have done the same to him.

Instead, he stood, weapon raised.

A flash ran through his mind, a sudden expanded sense now familiar to him. Like with the rabbit, he synced with the wounded warrior at his feet. For a moment, their breaths were one, their bodies had four arms and legs, they saw with both sets of eyes and heard with both sets of ears.

Zaleck’s heart raced at the same rate as the soldier’s, his mind muted by the knowing panic he was about to die. At the same time, all the soldier’s flames were snuffed out, flowing into Zaleck’s whirlpool scar at a distance.

Zaleck gasped. They were one body now, and as such, the soldier also benefited from his kinship.

As it came, the moment went, but the soldier also felt it. He crawled back, mouth agape while easing his screams. He stood up in a leap backwards, picking up his spear again.

He could have charged. Zaleck would not stop him. Instead, they both gazed into each other’s eyes. A mute understanding passed between them, the knowing that none of them would take the other’s life, at least, until the soldier’s neck was pulled aside by an arrow, another of Vellis’s.

Zaleck ran to him, kneeling by his side as he fell. Damn it, Vellis! This should not have happened. He wasn’t in danger anymore.

Blood gushed through the soldier’s neck. They hadn’t lost each other’s gaze, and he held it until the soldier’s body fell limp.

* * * * *

Keena jumped aside of yet another shot of arrows, her blade letting out a crimson path as it cut its way through a soldier’s neck. Falling on the waters by the beach with a splash, her head bowed in a wave of dizziness.

How many had she already killed? Dozens? Many Kaylorites drowned as they fell from their ships, but still, dozens more managed to swim ashore. This time though, none of them advanced. They all stood as far as they could, shooting at her instead of engaging in bloody combat.

Many arrows missed her, however. They had to be desperate to shoot at her with drenched bows.

She screamed, a defiant, angry scream.

“Aim… and shoot!” came Horzan’s voice. The Kaylorite took his stance far behind the lines of archers, and whenever Keena advanced, he retreated far into the waters. As fast as she was, these waters did drag her down.

The waters cut off her speed, the distance cut off her strength, humidity ruined the archer’s bows. She would have smiled at the challenge, if only it wasn’t so frustrating.

She jumped again, a leap three times her size where she turned around, halting her rise with a turning that brought her down too soon. Arrows zipped past her, one nicking her back and cutting her crimson dress. As she fell, another archer died, then another and another as that line broke before her blade. She ducked behind the body of the last, using it to shield herself from the next volley.

She’d have to be creative here. Instead of dashing to another line like before, she picked the body up with a hand and put it before her as she ran. That meant she’d drop the blade, but the arrow in her arm kept Garbalzur awake.

Pushing the body towards the nearest archer, she ran over him, grasping his arming sword as he fell and already swinging a cut by his neck. Archer after archer died, only stopping when she, again, had to dodge more arrows.

There, up ahead, Horzan Malek stood behind the last line of archers. Keena would have leaped for him, but archers at her back had loosened their arrows, and she had to flip back to avoid the shots.

The archers before Horzan could have shot her right then, but one of their number fell with an arrow in the nape, and the whole line wavered for moment.

Vellis. From far into the beach, she’d also been taking out the archers by the water.

A moment was all Keena needed. One last dash and her blade cut off one soldier’s foot by the ankle, another’s arm by the elbow.

Pain erupted on her leg, causing her to stumble with a splash. Amid all the barrage of shots she avoided, one found its mark on her thigh. No more jumps for her.

Horzan turned to her.

“At last,” she said, gritting her teeth.

“At last,” he replied, an elongated curved weapon in his hand, more a work of art than of war, but one he wielded with sharp precision.

She tried running. She could ignore the pain alright, but her leg couldn’t find its footing. Instead, she limp-vaulted to him. He met her in what seemed a defensive stance.

Steel ringed against steel. Her one good hand hacking at him in the most savage advance she could muster. He parried, nicking her blade aside as he stepped back. As she passed over him, he risked a cut to her neck, but she turned around, parrying the blade so fast she broke his stance.

On the offensive now, she thrust and cut with a scream. He dodged her, every cut bringing them closer, then he swept his feet under her, causing Keena to fall.

Keena rolled on the beach floor, Horzan’s blade biting into her left flank. It would have met her heart, had she not veered aside mid-roll.

They gazed at one another for a breath, his eyes narrowing, steel-like. She smiled a weak smile while panting. Damn childish body had so little energy.

They both advanced. He went for a high cut, but his feint was so obvious Keena didn’t even try to defend. Instead, she turned aside at the last moment, when he switched for a low cut. Her worn-out blade met his elbow, slicing through tendons and sinew, cutting off his right forearm.

The red line appeared by her chest. Horzan’s other hand had gone for a dagger, cutting her open from the belly to the shoulder. Keena stumbled. Horzan now kneeled by the water, screaming, defenseless. She raised her sword. One last strike, and she’d end it, but black dots filled the edges of her sight.

Rolling blood took her strength away. The sword left her grip, and she fell right after.

* * * * *

Erona retreated step after step, summoning a barrage of vines onto Xallan. Every time, he would swing his grey blade and cut the plants like wet paper. She opened yet another sinkhole underneath him, but he jumped over it before it could form.

If this had been a forest, she’d have neutralized him already. At a beach, though, not many plants could answer her.

He swung at her, his sword arcing closer in faster and faster circles.

If she couldn’t stop him, she could confuse him.

“Vines from below, come on,” she thought, “burst forth all over the beach, let’s turn this into a very dense forest for fun.”

From all around, roots and vines shot once more. Instead of entwining him, however, they now made a labyrinth around Erona and Xallan. A wall sprouted before them, and Erona dashed aside, mingling with the vegetation.

Xallan hacked the first plants before him while Erona circled around. Instead of stopping, though, he went onwards. Erona glanced around. It didn’t take her long to see what drew his attention.

Bright flickering red light shone far into the beach. Zaleck, fully clad in armor and flames, kneeled by a fallen soldier.

Stupid Erona! Xallan didn’t need to find her, she wasn’t his target. Zaleck was.

Xallan burst from the labyrinth of vines, cutting it open, not only with his sword, but also by slamming into it. Zaleck raised his head at him. The youth got up, stumbled back and fell.

Erona jumped, vaulted up by a shooting sprout from beneath her. She arced over Xallan, falling between he an Zaleck. The boy’s flames more than gnawed at her wooden body, but at least she was moist enough to ignore them for now.

Xallan swung his blade, readying it in an offensive stance.

“Zaleck, run!” Erona said.

“I… I…” he replied.

Damn it. Xallan was too close, and Zaleck was only mortal. He couldn’t make a run to save his life.

“Arthesis!” She yelled.

Xallan thrust at her. She stepped back, kicking Zaleck away. The boy rolled over the sand.

“Vines and plants, please, take that boy away from here, he’s my friend and he’s in danger,” she thought.

Every bush around enveloped Zaleck, taking in his flames, shifting him away from her branch by branch.

Xallan ran to him, Erona grabbed his arm as he passed, twisting her whole body when she threw him back. Xallan thrust his sword down on the sand as he flew, halting the throw midway.

Xallan stood up, each joint of his armor clanking. Zaleck ran away now, towards the beach, where Keena fought another Kaylorite.

Xallan jumped. Erona jumped behind him. He flew over her, but her impulse was faster. She landed right before Zaleck, who stopped in its tracks as she appeared in front of him.

Xallan descended. Onto her. She veered aside, but he twisted in his fall.

His sword went into her chest, out from the back, forcing her to kneel. Her head shot back with a mute scream. Cold decrepitude filled her wooden being, desiccating her from the inside out.

She shook, her sight faltering.

“No!” Zaleck cried, already a distant sound, “Rona, no!”

She reached out to him, but her hand stopped moving midway. Sight failed her, hearing left her. Darkness embraced her alongside a myriad of soothing voices.

One of those voices was Barclay’s.

* * * * *

Zaleck’s throat dried out in a desperate cry amidst flames and smoke when Erona Aellar, the night walking, the immortal lifegiven, was run over by Xallan’s greatsword.

“No!” he screamed. “No!”

Xallan yanked his sword from Erona’s chest, walking towards him.

Zaleck stumbled up, took but a step back and fell again. His legs shook too much, his hands failed him, almost losing the grip on his sword. He would have thrown himself at Xallan, kicked and punched him and asked fire to burn him, but all he could do was watch.

“You killed her!” he shouted. “You killed her,” as if saying that could bring her back.

Xallan extended a hand, grasping him by the chainmail. His flames, now much smaller, didn’t seem to bother that man at all.

Xallan pulled him close. The rotting smell wafting from his helmet almost made Zaleck puke. He seemed to take the measure of Zaleck, although he kept to himself whatever he thought of him.

Beside them, Erona, like Barclay before her, had become a wooden statue by the beach.

“You coward,” Zaleck said, “you killed her!”

He would not lose to this monster. He would not. His limbs refused to move though, and only his chest rose and fell, heavier and heavier.

No. Get a grip of yourself.

Erona told him to go into Arthesis, to find his center.

With no arms I reach, with no legs I move, with no body I rise, I yield the mind to stillness, I stand at the core, unbound.

Arthesis flooded him, expanding his mind, taking hold of the irrational fear and blowing it away. Zaleck’s hand gripped his blade tight and thrust it into the gaps of Xallan’s armor, right at his elbow.

Xallan’s hand released Zaleck, who splashed into the water. They gazed at each other, and for the first time Zaleck didn’t shy away from those pale shining eyes.

Xallan turned to him.

“Curious,” he said.

Zaleck advanced, slicing with precision after months of training. Xallan stepped away from his blade, once, twice, a third time. Water dragged his movements, and when Xallan countered with a gauntleted punch, Zaleck managed to dodge it enough that Xallan’s blow glanced against his armor.

Zaleck thrust the blade into the gap at the armor’s neck, but Xallan turned around and the blow glanced off his armor. Xallan charged towards him, his whole body moving like a steel avalanche towards Zaleck. He stepped aside, but Xallan raised his arm, striking him in the cheek, sending him flying down to the water.

Zaleck stood up, a punch hit his belly, bursting open a thunderous pain. He reeled back. Arthesis wavered and left him, and he fell limp on the water once more.

Xallan stood beside him, reaching down with slow inevitability. He dragged Zaleck by his armor as he strode into the water.

A bit further away, Keena sliced away the arm of Horzan Malek. She got up, raised her sword, ready to strike him down for good, and fainted.

Horzan stumbled up, his gaze soon drawn to the armored menace that approached, carrying a flaming Zaleck whose fire fast faded.

“Horzan Malek,” Xallan said. Horzan glanced once at Keena, fallen by the beach, then at the stump of his arm, then back at Xallan. He also seemed to want to run away and be unable to.

Xallan grabbed his neck, raising him up.

“Give me the final ring,” Xallan ordered. “Now!”

Horzan, paling at every breath, reached out into a pocket with his good trembling hand. From there, he produced the volcanic ash ring.

Xallan took it while Horzan fell onto the water.

“For this treachery, I give you a slow, painful death.”

Xallan dropped Zaleck, drew his sword and cut open Horzan’s belly. Enough that his guts spilled over, but not enough to cut him in half. Horzan opened his mouth as if to scream, but his widened eyes kept him silent.

Xallan grabbed Zaleck again. Like a toy in his hands, an incapable, useless object, he raged in silence. His eyes would have watered had they any more tears to shed. Instead, all he could do was curse him in his mind.

He would end this man, this monster, if it was the last thing he did.

“Retreat!” Xallan cried out. “Go back to the ship.”

One of the ships had capsized by the beach, but the second still stood, though some of its masts had given away.

Once again, Zaleck was dragged, limp, by Kaylorite slavers.

Chapter 43

Horzan Malek coughed himself awake by the beach, horrendous painful shocks running from his belly all the way through his body. He moaned what should have been a scream. He moved about his arms on the sand, only for another burning pain to fill him to the elbow when his open stump met cold sand.

So, that’s what death felt like. Alone, disgraced, his brother unavenged. A failure in every way. If he had a weapon on hand, he’d take his life. From half-parted eyelids he could see a few knives and swords that had been left on the beach, but his body would faint before reaching any of those.

What was he thinking, lying to the archpriest? Had the girl been worth that gamble? And where was she? Last he saw her; she lay unconscious by his side. If he could at least find her, he could strangle her while his one remaining hand had the strength to. Instead, he seemed to be the only living person on the beach.

For now.

His eyes closed, heavy. He would welcome fainting, if unconsciousness overtook him, but the pain kept him awake against his wishes. A long painful death, that’s what Xallan promised, but he was somewhat merciful in that promise. It would take him about a few hours to die, not like the dragging pain of starvation, hunger or sunstroke.

No… he found out he would have done everything just the same, if he could do it again, only, he’d been smarter about it. He wouldn’t have lied to the archpriest, but perhaps he could have asked for his help in his own revenge. Xallan would likely have given it.

Why didn’t he think of it back then?

Cries of gulls came closer. Some already descended upon other corpses far away. That was another way he could die, eaten by seagulls and crabs. He chuckled. Which would come first?

His own reason seemed to fail him when the sands before him shifted, as if the beach had come alive. Small dunes of blackened sand rose before him, though the smell of burnt wood brought a hint of something else.

Ash. A cloud of ash rose before him, pulsating with red-vibrant fire within. He’d think himself mad, had he not witnessed the same thing in the Inn at Redhawk. One of those monsters who destroyed the Inn appeared before him.

The ashen formless mass floated before him, circling him. Horzan could try crawling away, but what good would it do? If the thing wanted to kill him, let it kill him. One last defiance to Xallan’s proclamation.

Instead, a large human-like face appeared amidst the ash. It spoke.

“Human who’s about to die…” it said. Somehow, it seemed a bit like Xallan’s own voice, only while Xallan sounded decrepit, this one sounded grating.

Horzan didn’t reply. He wouldn’t if he could.

“I propose a compact…” it said.

Who was behind that face? Couldn’t he see Horzan was so useless right then that he couldn’t even die straight?

“I can save you. I can give you power.”

Damn it, he could hardly believe it. Some mystical monster offered to save him, was that it? He knew how those stories went. It would offer him something, he would accept, then the price would be too high. All the same. How about he skipped to the ending right away?

“Do…” he croaked. It took him every ounce of breath to speak over the pain from his belly. “It…”

The ashen cloud swirled before him, enveloping him in so much more pain that every fiber of his being trembled. It went into his mouth, his nose, into his open belly and missing arm. It filled his veins with molten lava; it burned and cracked his flesh into a hardened crust.

Horzan felt everything. He would have fainted from the pain, he should have fainted, but the same supernatural power that now healed him kept him from losing consciousness. His guts burned as they cauterized and went back into his belly. His missing arm grew back, one ashen flake after the other. Searing heat ate into his lungs, his throat cracked in his mouth, his eyes melted into flaming orbs and the world itself took a reddish tint.

He would have screamed endlessly. He would have refused the offer had he imagined the agony. Pain decomposed his very reason, ash melded into blood, his muscles bulged, his body extended itself. His skin became as malleable as strong.

He grasped at the sand with a hand. It melted to his touch. The pain receded into throbs; the burning became warmth.

He rose. Taller than before, a tight armor in each flake of ash. His missing arm, having grown back, shifted its form as he gazed into it, becoming a blade, three blades, a hammer, an arm again.

No one would call him human. He himself could still feel, little by little, how the fire within ate at his remaining flesh. Whatever had happened to him wouldn’t last… but it did give him another shot at revenge.

“Horzan Malek.” A voice ringed within, like someone speaking straight into his head. Not a grating burning voice like before, but a deep melodic baritone.

“You…” Horzan replied in his own voice, which still came out croaked, “you are the Ashen Lord, are you not?”

“I have been called that,” it replied, “but my name is Kane Atris.”

“Why… why did you save me?”

“I have not saved you, and you know that full well, but I could see your battle from afar. You yearn for revenge. I yearn to be free. Be my hands and arms, and you’ll get your wish.”

“What can I do with this gift you gave me?”

“Many things. In time, you can learn to do most of what you can imagine. For now, you are stronger, more resistant, faster than any human. Far more than any childlike vessel.”

He glanced around.

“The girl… where is she?”

“I know it not, but no matter. Find the pale boy and you will find her. They are drawn to each other, those two, and I can guide you to the boy.”

He bowed his head.

“I am yours to command, my Lord.”

“Then run my servant, run west while you can’t yet fly.”

Horzan looked up. The ash covering his skin expanded, forming an ashen cloud like before, one which he now felt like an extension of himself.

He dashed away, putting one leg after another like he weighed nothing. Faster than he ever ran, faster than he ever rode on a horse, and not a breath of weariness to show for it. Black smoke marked his path while he cut his way through beach, hills and mounts, westward, back into the kingdom of Ayrn.

Chapter 44

Keena moaned with a soft broken yawn, her hand reaching out to scratch her arm before she opened her eyes. A stab of pain brought a louder wheezing.

The room around her resolved into sturdy wooden walls and vast windows, a spacious puffy couch where she lay and the scent of vegetable broth coming from the kitchen. Somehow, she had returned to Erona’s cottage.

The red-haired woman stepped to her, a bowl of broth on her hand. Vellis.

“Well, look who’s alive,” she said.

Keena tried pushing herself upward, but her arm and leg sent such a thundering pain she almost fainted again.

“Careful,” Vellis said, “you’ve lost a lot of blood. You should avoid sudden moves.”

Keena’s arm and leg, bandaged all the way, only throbbed less than her chest, also fully covered in bandages.

“What… happened…” she whispered.

Vellis left the broth by a side table, sat down and leaned back on a couch.

“I picked you up, cauterized your wounds, sewn them, cleaned and dressed them.”

The arrows she took, the cut by her chest… had she been saved… by Vellis?

“W—why?”

“Well, those arrow wounds were deep. If I had only sewn them, you could have bled internally. Also, they may have carried some dirt into you. By cauterizing them first, I closed the blood vessels and prevented infection.”

Keena closed her eyes and sighed. Opening them up again took some effort.

“No, I mean… why did you save me?”

Vellis leaned forward, frowning.

“You’re not serious, are you?”

Keena pursed her lips, looking upwards to the wooden beams at the ceiling, then back at her hands. They looked clean enough, but how she wanted to scrub the blood off them anyway.

“I… I gave in, Vellis. I wanted to do it. I liked it so much. I… I can’t control it. It’s like you told dad. One day, I’ll kill him.”

“Have you?” Vellis asked. Keena blinked at her.

“Have you killed him already?” She asked again. Keena shook her head.

“And that’s the end of it.” Vellis said. She helped her sit up, a movement that sent her head spinning. “Take this. You’ll need your strength. We have to leave shortly.”

“But… the beach… Erona… Horzan…”

“Right,” Vellis said, “I’ll tell you about it, but whenever I pause, you take a spoonful, alright?”

Keena nodded.

“Erona was defeated. That armored archpriest, Xallan something, cut her down.” She paused. Keena took a spoon of broth, a rich flavor with so much spice it burned her throat, and yet she yearned for more. “Then he took Zaleck, cut down Horzan as well, and sailed away.” Another pause, another spoonful. “By then I had hidden beneath some bushes because it was clear there was nothing I could do anymore. When they were gone, I went into the shoreline and picked you up.” By now Vellis didn’t have to pause, Keena was gulping down the broth as fast as her hands would let her.

“So,” Keena said, “that’s it… he’s dead.”

“Not—quite.”

Keena raised her eyebrows at Vellis.

“He sure seemed that way when I picked you up, but something happened after I brought you here and started treating you. One of those ashenbeasts came up, by the beach. It looked like they talked, then the beast went—inside—of him. Then he got up, more a monster than a man, and ran away.”

“He turned into one of those things?”

“Seems that way.”

Keena looked down. “Gods, what now?”

“Now we take our horses and Erona’s cart, we go to your father and pick him up. We have an albino boy to save.”

“But how are we going to find him?”

Vellis procured a ring from her pouch, a single black rough band.

“That’s…”

“One of Theron’s rings. Erona said its name, nal-whatever. It’s what Horzan was using to find you. I picked it off his cut-out arm.”

Vellis twirled the ring in her fingers. “I’ve used it already. Looks like they’re moving eastward. It’s very likely they’re going back to Ayrn, where their army is.”

Vellis took the empty bowl from Keena’s hands, walking over to the kitchen part of the hallway.

“Vel…” Keena whispered.

“Yes?”

“I… want you to teach me how to fight.”

Vellis turned around, a hand in her hips.

“Excuse me? You think I wasn’t doing that ‘til yesterday?”

“No, I mean, I want it. I want it. If you beat me up, if you throw me down, I’ll take it. If I could fight like you, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Vellis sighed, running a hand by her forehead.

“No matter who you are, Keena, you can’t save everyone. I’ll do what I can to help you save yourself, though I know you’ll regret those words soon enough.”

Keena’s arms and legs shook at her next words. She had to exorcise them out of her mouth.

“P—promise me… that you won’t let it happen.”

“Let what happen?”

“You’ll not let me kill my father.”

Vellis approached her as she answered.

“Keena, how can I possibly stop you from—” Her eyes widened for a touch, she bit her lower lip and took a slight step back. “Oh.”

“Promise me.”

Vellis turned away, leaning over the table.

“Promise me!”

Before that, it seemed impossible to Keena for tears to form on Vellis’s stony, rough face. Yet, there they were, gathering slowly beneath her eyelids.

“You won’t feel a thing,” she said.

Keena nodded, and that was the end of it.

Not an hour later, they left Erona’s cottage behind. Vellis hitched their horses to a small wagon Erona kept in the yard, and Vellis drove it while Keena laid back over a pile of skins and blankets.

The road to Andersel spread before them after they climbed the cliffs by the beach. Scores of houses spread about the fields where dozens of families tended to their crops, seeming oblivious to what had happened right that morning. Life went on, tranquil and silent as ever. Two immortals had faced off not a day from where they stood, the fate of the world hung by a thread, Zaleck had been taken away from her, but life went on.

They had their lunch at a farmer’s house that took them in for a penny. A few moments after they left, Keena asked.

“Vel, what do you mean when you said ‘if I lose control?’ Whenever I call on the demon I lose control, and it always goes away when I drop my weapons.”

“The way your father explained it, the more you call on the demon, the stronger it gets, and the harder it gets to resist its call. At one point, if you call on it too much, it may never go away, even if you drop all your weapons.”

“But, how far can I go, then?”

“Jorgen couldn’t say, because he himself started resisting it before it got to that point.”

Keena frowned, squinting her eyes. The pain she felt in her chest did not come from her wounds alone that moment.

“I still can’t believe it… that he’d known it from the start and told me nothing.”

They rode past a nearby woods where birds circled overhead.

“You think you can do better?” Vellis asked, a hint of defiance in her tone.

“I…” how could she answer that? Sincerity would be arrogance, and a lie would be false modesty.

“Then prove it,” Vellis replied.

Vellis pushed their horses such that a bit after lunch Andersel came up before them, a bunch of tiled roofs outlined against a clear sky. Keena’s wounds tugged and throbbed, never ceasing to announce their presence, but by the end of the trip it did seem to her she could breathe easier than in the morning.

Andersel’s walls only covered about a quarter of the city, the rest having overgrown them and spreading through the nearby fields. Two guard patrols stopped them, asking about their business, to which Vellis replied she was taking a sick girl to meet her father, and that she needed to find him soon. Keena must have looked the worse for wear because one glance at her had the guards giving Vellis directions to this newcomer blacksmith who rented old Freyen’s place.

The two-storied stone house took about half the whole block, doubling also as a shop. By its yard, a forge spread about in what could have very well once have been a stable. Vellis knocked on the doors a few times before an aging woman with puffy eyes and disgruntled face answered.

The elderly woman spoke in a harsh an unapologetic voice while Vellis replied as courteously as Keena thought she could be. Finally, the woman pointed to an adjacent smaller house and slammed the door in Vellis’s face. Her grumbling could still be heard for some time.

Keena’s heart jumped when they neared the smaller house. Vellis knocked three times until a tall man built like a bull opened it. His bright eyes shone wide over his bearded face when they fell upon Vellis and Keena.

“Vel, Keena,” he said, “by the gods, what happened? Come on in. Keena, you’re hurt!”

Keena almost raised a smile when Jorgen ruffled her hair.

“I fought an army, dad.”

The comment drew no smiles from him, however, but a dark expression that deepened when he carried Keena into a small single-room house where the cot shared space with a small kitchen and a table.

They shared their tale with Jorgen while he served them some of the bread, cheese and ham he had for lunch. When they ended, his breathing overtook the hooting sounds of night birds.

“Thank you,” he said, “for saving my girl. I should never have left, Erona be damned.”

“To her credit,” Vellis said, “we did think our only worry were magical ashenbeasts coming from the Ashen Lord. We never expected a frigging army with another archpriest in tow.”

“Yes,” he said, “that reminds me—” he got up, going over the straw cot by the wall. From within he retrieved a long object wrapped in black cloth.

As he lay it on the table, unfurling the cloth revealed a straight, shiny blade with a simple “T” shaped guard. All along its length danced twisting golden lines, emmeshed into steel with so much precision the steel itself seemed to have been golden. Its pattern covered most of the blade, creating a design that seemed to twist and move as light shone onto it.

“Dad,” Keena gasped, “it’s beautiful.”

“May I?” Vellis said with a near-reverent tone. Jorgen nodded.

Vellis took the blade, swinging it a few times.

“Jorgen, I—I don’t know what to say. This is a work of art. A masterpiece. Kings would fight wars for a weapon like this.”

Jorgen crossed his arms, not hiding the smug expression.

“It did turn out good, didn’t it? I still have some polishing to do, but the gold welded into the steel very nicely.”

“Have you named it?” Vellis asked.

“I call it ‘Third Sun’, because of how bright gold shines when it touches those beasts.”

“Can you do the polishing and oiling on the way?” Vellis asked.

“It’ll be slower, but if we’re going back to Ayrn, it should be ready for when we arrive.”

Vellis placed Third Sun on the table.

“I’m not sure how long it would take you, Jorgen, but I also need you to do one other thing. How fast can you craft a cold iron dagger?”

Jorgen leaned back, scratching his beard.

“I have most of the materials in the forge, there’s a rough handle we can use. It’d be a day at most, though if you help me, we could yet finish it tonight. How fancy does it need to be?”

“It’d just have to cut.”

“If we start right now, we could do it. Why do we need it?”

Vellis squinted her eyes, shooting a dark glance at him.

“To kill death.”

Chapter 45

Zaleck bumped his back onto the wooden hull when thrown into the cell at the Kaylorite ship’s lower decks. His belly sent an explosion of pain so shocking that both his arms and legs twitched. To his shame, he even let out a moan.

The metal door behind him slammed shut. From beyond the iron bars, among crates, sacks and coiled ropes, flickering lantern flame outlined the hulking frame of Xallan Na’Hali, granting an eerie life to his engraved plate armor.

Eyes flaring up in wild rage, Zaleck advanced at the monster, fingers curling up trying to grasp him. Xallan stood a foot away from his reach.

“Coward!” he bellowed, “liar, coward! I’ll kill you! I’ll end you!”

Xallan turned around, thumping his boots on the wooden boards as he left.

“Come back, you coward! Idiot! You are no one! You are worthless! You did not deserve her!”

Xallan’s boots thumped lower and lower as he moved away.

“Don’t flee! You nothing! You are nothing! I am more than a hundred of you! A thousand! You are dead, you hear? I’ll kill you!”

Xallan stopped. Turning around, he walked back towards Zaleck. His hands went for his helmet, slowly removing it.

From beneath, a withered, desiccated face appeared. Shrunken so much only its skeletal frame could be discerned. Within its eye sockets, two dots of pale light shone through. A walking corpse.

Zaleck hesitated, his breath once more growing heavy, his hands going numb.

“You want to kill me, Reziki? You are a few centuries late. I advise you to quit your raging, young flame-kin. I need you alive, but your arms and legs are not required. And before you think about using your fire to burn your way out of here, know that you will go down with the whole ship before boring through these bars.”

He turned to leave once again, halting itself as if something else occurred to him.

“And I did not kill her. Erona Aellar is the most resilient of the immortals, save Kane himself. It would take far more than my blade to end that woman. I merely took her out, and only because she had to stop to protect you. She will return, however. She always does.”

Zaleck widened his eyes, though the corners of his mouth sank by themselves. Odd, how one line could both soothe and sting him in the same breath.

Xallan donned his helmet once more, ready to move away.

“Why d’you need me? What’re you gonna do with me?”

“We will turn you into an immortal again, Reziki, keep you alive and away from Kane, and forever asleep. We will flowcast you into a dream so real you’ll never see the difference.”

“Why d’you keep calling me that? My name is Zaleck.”

Xallan thumped towards him, so close to the metal bars his decaying smell threw Zaleck back against the moist wall.

“You don’t know, do you? She haven’t told you.”

“T—Told me what?”

“What do you know of yourself and Kane, the Ashen Lord?”

Zaleck bit his lip. This close, answering came as a struggle. He had to reach inwards. Ignore the pain and the smell for a while.

With no arms I reach, with no legs I move, with no body I rise, I yield the mind to stillness, I stand at the core, unbound.

Within Arthesis, everything was easier.

“I know that Rezi Atris flowcast the prison of the Ashen Lord around my spirit a thousand years ago, and that he needs to find me to break free.”

“That is true, but she couldn’t get over herself, could she? She couldn’t tell you the whole truth. A person’s spirit is untouchable, so much so it is impossible to weave a flowcast around it.” Xallan raised his finger as he explained, almost as if he enjoyed it. “The only way to spirit-cast, as we call it, is to do it around your own spirit. ‘Reziki’ means ‘little Rezi’, because you are the reincarnation of Rezi Atris. It was you who imprisoned Kane Atris, your own brother, so long ago.”

Zaleck’s focus wavered, almost letting go of Arthesis. He did it? He had been Rezi Atris, the man who saved the world, then ruled it and became its worst tyrant? He? A farmer from Kaldhill?

“But, why? Why would I flowcast his prison around my own self?”

“Precisely because a spirit-cast is untouchable. It cannot be countered, except by its own caster. It is absolute. That was the only way to make sure it would last for as long as we needed.”

“But then, why would I make the volcanic ring into a key that can open it? Why not imprison him and let it be that?”

Xallan paced around, though the space lower decks only allowed for one pace.

“We never intended for his prison to be permanent. We believed we would imprison him only for as long as it took us to find a way to destroy him. But we never had this breakthrough, and you grew worse and worse in your tyranny, so much so that we all had to band together and end you.”

Xallan stopped, shooting him a sideways glance.

“You say you hate me? You mean to destroy me? I know that, Reziki. I’ve known this day would come ever since I stabbed my great friend in the back. In battle, I would have followed you to the depths of hells, but your oppression had to stop. To your hatred, I can only say: here I am. But do you know what is the greatest irony in all of this? The day we all decided to come together and betray you, do you know who was the only one to oppose this plan? Do you know who your only friend was in the end? Not Erona Aellar, oh, no. It was Theron Vangard.”

“Well,” Zaleck said, “he’s come a long way since then.”

Xallan moved his helmet as if measuring him head to toe.

“As have you.”

Xallan thumped himself away. Zaleck turned around his cell, grasping at the bars like he could crush them, as if rage itself could kill every single Kaylorite.

He hardly had enough space to sit. Old fish, rust, sweat, spice and citrus, every scent hit his gut like the last day of autumn fair. Chest tightening, he clutched his own legs, for the first time wishing they had left him unconscious.

Planks groaned and the deck tilted when the ship sailed away. Wherever he was being taken, it would be a long trip, and he would find no mercy from Kaylorites. He had learned that on a slave wagon so long ago.

That’s why he’d always had this dry sense about Erona, not like she’d been helping him because she cared, but like it was her duty. She betrayed him, or rather, his past self. That gave her “Every life is a new chance” speech a whole other meaning. She was saying that to herself as well.

Now, she wouldn’t say it to anyone else.

If he could call upon fire to burn down the whole ship, him included, he would. That was how much he wanted Xallan gone. Instead, all he could do was wallow in grief and self-pity.

Which is everything Erona wouldn’t do. He could almost see her, if she were here, saying something like, “Oh, I didn’t know farmers from Kaldhill gave up so easily.”

He smirked. Yes, she would say that, but still, what could he do?

Nothing. At least, nothing while he was awake. In his mindscape, though, he was free, and he still had a lot to learn. Sitting as best as he could, which wasn’t comfortable at all, he closed his eyes, centered his breath, and eased himself into Arthesis. If training was all he had left, it would be everything he would do.

The ship creaked and groaned as it swiveled from one side to another, going about its route to where Zaleck couldn’t tell. He went in and out of Arthesis a few dozen times, and even tried sleeping in order to mindcast, but stink and pain made it a tad too hard on him.

Checking on his belly wound, he drew a sigh of relief to find it still closed. Xallan’s punch, though, left a nasty bruise on the other side. No way it would stop throbbing anytime soon.

It didn’t seem anyone would bring him anything to eat or drink. Dull voices from above carried their disgusting sibilant accent, but down there, it was only him, crates, rope and oil lamps.

Being flame-kin didn’t help him nearly as much as Xallan thought. Erona, as plant-kin, could draw vines from the ground, make a ship turn upside-down, and breathe life into a statue. What could he do? Not get burned.

About three armlengths away from him, the flame from the oil lamp flickered, like taunting him. Erona said kinship is friendship, but how could he be friends with someone he can’t talk to?

“Are you even there?” he asked. “Can you listen to me?”

The flicker changed. Anyone else would think nothing of it, but a shifting came about in Zaleck’s mind. Not an answer, like one would expect an answer in words and such, but a kind of ‘knowing’. As if he suddenly knew something he didn’t know before, like a new memory popping inside of him.

And it did reply. It said it was, in fact, there.

Zaleck stood up, taking a moment for his legs to stop shaking.

“Are you there?” he said aloud, though he pursed his lips soon after. Erona didn’t speak to the plants aloud, why would he have to? The flame spoke into his mind, who knows, he might reply likewise.

“Can you help me? Please?” he thought, imagining as if he was speaking right into the flame.

It flickered again, a reply popping up. “How can we help,” it said, carrying a rush of worry.

“Melt these bars,” he thought-replied.

A sense of pulling back came over him, a certain disappointment linked with disinterest.

“What’s wrong?” Zaleck thought, but only the same feeling came as a reply. What did it mean?

The flame by the lamp resumed its normal flickering, though time again it seemed as if it sent another rush of worry his way.

The whole ship creaked, the voices above growing louder. In time, three men came down the ladder, followed by the clinking, thumping movements of Xallan.

“This doesn’t have to be unpleasant, Reziki,” Xallan said, “just come along.”

Zaleck met them with a level gaze.

“Go eat manure, dead meat.”

“Chain him,” Xallan said.

The two sailors opened his cage and shoved him out, sending flaring spikes from his bruises. They held him while clasping metal cuffs around his wrists and feet. Xallan crossed his arms, watching.

“What’s the matter, you dead grape?” Zaleck said, “Too afraid to do it on your own?”

“Gag him,” Xallan said.

The sailors shoved a dirty cloth down his throat, held by a leather strap tied behind his head. Zaleck screamed a muffled scream, still holding his gaze at Xallan.

The sailors threw him up their backs, shoving him like another sack of food. Hoisting him up, they pulled him to the upper deck.

Blinding light bore into his eyes, resolving into the outline of rooftile stone houses broken by the frame of a few castles on the way. Two steep cliffsides on the horizon held the mass of buildings that huddled the whole city together. Right beyond the ship, a labyrinthine dockyard spread about.

Zaleck knew this city. He knew it very well. Here he discovered his powers, here he created the flamewalkers, faced them, died and rose again without the Flow.

He had arrived at Highport.

As bad luck would have it, he was thrown into a cell on the very same guardhouse where he found Derith, after waking up having lived Beri Ezzari’s life. A damp, dirty place whose stink was only rivalled in disgust by the slimy moss that cling to him wherever he touched. Having been thrown into the cell, he rolled on the floor until bumping on the wall, so he had dragged enough muck to smell for a century.

No one bothered to remove his gag, his binds, or bring him any sort of meal. As soon as the cell door shut close, he was plunged into a gloomy loneliness. Only the flicker from the lamps by the guardroom further into the corridor reached him, square-framed by the window at the door.

He shouldn’t have spoken back to Xallan like that. He might still be in this dank cell, but at least he wouldn’t have chafing cuffs cutting into his wrists and ankles, nor would he halfway choke in this gag.

He sat with his back against the wall, bringing his legs close. He bit into his gag, letting out another angry moan. No, there was no way he would not have talked back to Xallan. Even if he knew where it would lead him.

Once more, if he had nothing else to do, at least he could train. He eased himself into Arthesis, he almost didn’t need the litany anymore, and focused his thoughts on the flicker beyond the door.

“Fire, are you there?” he thought. The flicker shifted in reply. He didn’t see it, but felt it in his mind just as clearly.

Why had it reacted like that when he asked for it to melt his cage by the ship? Would it do the same if he tried it now?

“Fire, I’m hurting, I’m trapped. Please, help me, melt the iron in my hands.”

A rush of heaviness bore down into him, a wave so powerful he bowed his head and held a sob. Worry, pity, dismay. It wanted to do something, it wanted to help him, but right after that, came another feeling, disinterest, disappointment.

Disappointment at what? Fire would not answer him in words, that much was clear, so he’d have to decipher this feeling on his own. How come it wanted to help him and at the same time felt so aloof?

Zaleck focused on the feeling, trying to piece it together. Had he himself ever felt like this? What would it mean to him? While fire didn’t answer in words, the feeling it conveyed came very precise. He would know what it was right away, if he could at least recognize it.

Memories came and went, and the feeling seemed right out of reach. He had felt like this, but when? Zaleck couldn’t recall being indifferent just like that, and what did the disappointment mean?

He recalled disappointment three years ago, when frost destroyed more than half their crops, but that was a pungent, hopeless disappointment. He recalled being indifferent when he saw his sister playing with her dolls, but that was a warm indifference, almost endearing.

Indifference and disappointment. Would it be like when he wanted to do something, but couldn’t? Like when his dad told him he couldn’t come with him to the city? No, there was no indifference there. It was more like… like he wanted to do something, but nothing he did would matter.

Boredom. That was it. Fire was bored by his request. But why bored?

His eyes widened with the realization. He would have choked even without a gag. In his mind, he thought of fire as this raging, strong element that cannot be contained, but that was his perspective.

No. Fire flickers and dances nonstop, it’s always moving and jumping. Fire is not an angry element. It’s playful. That’s why it felt bored, because Zaleck was asking things of it that weren’t any fun.

Was that it? There was a way to find out.

Imagining the flame by the guardhouse once more, he focused his mind.

“Oh, fire, I’m so bored. I’m in this cell and there’s nothing to do here. Let’s play a game.”

His chest rose with excitement. His blood seemed to boil with anticipation. His whirlpool scar heated up, shining bright in his chest. One single, intense feeling of curiosity bloomed, as if it asked, “What game? What game?”

Zaleck smiled through the stinky gag.

“How fast can you melt iron? I bet you can’t! Come on, I’ve got a lot of it right here,” he thought.

The flame beyond the door flickered faster, stronger, like a sudden raging bonfire came about the guardhouse. When, before, his whirlpool scar had always drawn heat inwards, it now expelled it, sending bright flares running underneath Zaleck’s skin, into his wrists, ankles and neck.

His binds heat up, more and more and more, so intense the air flickered around him. The straps of his gag burst into flames, his cuffs melted. They flowed by his skin, yellow-bright, like a warm goo.

Of a sudden, heat stopped flowing from his scar. A shudder ran through his arms, legs and chest, as if a winter gale had nested within. He pulled himself away from his melted binds, gasping for very hot air.

“Fire? Are you there?” he thought.

A reply came, much fainter. Recognition, expectation. It wanted to know what he thought.

“That was very good! You sure did it,” he thought back, trying to remember the times when he played with his younger brothers. Fire seemed pleased with it, but soon after, its presence faded.

That’s what Erona meant when she said kinship is a relationship. He managed to draw forth enough fire to melt his cuffs, but that was about it. He wasn’t that much of a “friend” yet to ask for such impressive feats as Erona did.

But, still, he had done it. He stood up in his cell, and though it now stank to burned refuse, he could not stand taller. He clenched his fists, raising a grin and holding back a triumphant cry.

Only the next day did someone brought him a meal. The guard’s eyes went wide when he glanced at Zaleck and the melted cuffs beside him. A few hours later, someone removed the oil lamp from the room beyond the door.

“Fire, are you still there?” Zaleck thought, trying to shout louder and louder in his imagination. Only a vague whisper came back into his thoughts, like someone calling back from far away.

The day passed in utter isolation, and by nightfall Zaleck would have eaten anything they’d have thrown before him. The rancid cheese and leftover meat they brought went down his throat too soon.

Xallan seemed pretty intent on taking him to Kaylor first thing. He sure had ships enough for that by the harbor. Then why was he still in this cell? Something seemed to be wrong with his plan, but Zaleck couldn’t wrap his head around what it could be.

Only the next day, by noon, did Xallan return with three soldiers. He stood in front of Zaleck’s cell, arms crossed.

“Shall we try again, Reziki?”

Zaleck spread his arms, raising his hands.

“Alright, Xallan,” he said, “you win.”

Xallan pointed to the door.

“Open it,” he said.

Zaleck would go with Xallan, he would hold his tongue, he would be the docile prisoner, and then, when the right moment came, Xallan was in for a hot surprise.

Chapter 46

At the briefing room, the plan seemed simple enough. Late night, put on the Kaylorite uniform and sneak into their camp through a smuggling hole in their palisade. There, meet Lord Silas’s contact at the main building and get in. Find the princess, dress her up as a soldier, dye her hair, get out. What could go wrong?

Everything, such as, for instance, the smuggling hole not being there.

“The crap!” Kilren said, beside Iavad, “it should be here.”

Walking by the enemy’s outer palisade like any other patrol would do, Iavad lowered his pace a little. Only Kilren and Vanna followed him, as it had been decided the smaller the team the better. Kilren spoke like a Kaylorite, and Vanna could lockpick her way into anything, or so he’d been told.

None of them could dig holes beneath walls in a matter of minutes, though.

“Captain,” Vanna whispered, “do we abort?”

Iavad pursed his lips. This was their one shot. Professor Carina said their best way into the camp would be if they attempted to enter at this time. The earth around where the hole should be had even been upturned recently. It may have been found and patched after they got their information.

“Captain?” Vanna asked.

“We do not abort,” Iavad said, “we look for another way in.”

“There’s no other way in, Captain,” Kilren said.

“That’s why we look for it.”

Eastward, the encampment’s entrance held about two dozen guards at any time. West, the nearest entrance would have about ten, and the way the Kaylorites had reinforced their night guard left them no room to try approaching either way.

They turned around, trying to make it seem like they were another regular patrol, though any guard watching them from the palisade would have noticed the odd behavior even if they couldn’t hear them.

Shouts came from within the camp, and a different gong rang, higher pitched than the one they used for alarm.

“What’s that?” Vanna asked.

“That’s their officer alert,” Kilren replied. “Someone is either coming in or out that demands everyone’s attention.”

Further south, the two moons lit up a silvery procession that rode fast towards the camp. The largest possible carriage, pulled by ten horses, came with about twenty riders on tow. Its banner would indicate who’d be in there, though being that far Iavad couldn’t yet make it out.

Its effect, however, was much easier to notice. Rows and rows of soldiers flooded the entrance, standing at attention. A few patrols also converged upon the entrance.

“Come on,” Iavad said, running east. “We’re gonna walk in there.”

They reached the multitude of soldiers, falling in line alongside a few hundred or so Kaylorites. The carriage drew near, its banner growing larger, displaying the heraldry of three intertwined golden skulls. The archpriest’s banner. Xallan had returned.

Iavad drew a deep breath as the carriage passed them by. Xallan being here would make everything harder. Impossible, even. Or, who knows, easier, if he were to command everyone’s attention or call upon an emergency meeting or some such.

As the carriage entered the encampment, Iavad, Kilren and Vanna followed, alongside a few dozens of soldiers marching beside them.

They walked into the Kaylorite camp. Without the smuggling hole, however, they might not get out. Vanna and Kilren’s glances at each other betrayed their worry, though they had the common sense of keeping quiet.

Xallan’s carriage rode up to the officer’s building, a two-story wooden structure that was the first thing the Kaylorites raised when starting the siege. Iavad and his team eased their marching to a stroll after entering the camp, taking a sideways path to the building’s service entrance.

They reached the door, which stood before a large empty ground where part of the soldiers trained. About thirty people or so talked in hushed tones, and even if Iavad couldn’t understand them, he could guess what they talked about.

Iavad knocked. No one answered. He knocked again. Only silence replied.

Now, where would their contact be? He was supposed to open the door for them.

“I can do it,” Vanna whispered.

“Not without everyone noticing,” Iavad replied.

“This lock, I can do it in thirty heartbeats.”

“You better,” he said, “Kil, stand guard beside me.”

Iavad and Kilren stood before Vanna, pressing her against the door while trying to make it seem nothing untoward was happening. His eyes darted from one group of soldiers to the next. All it would take was one shout, and that’d be it.

Instead, it was he who almost shouted when the door behind him swung open.

The three rushed into the room swifter than an arrow would fly. The small deposit space greeted them with sacks, shelves and barrels that let out a rich, spicy smell. A young Kaylorite stood up before them, his eyes wide in surprise even if his face seemed a bit dazed. A kind of pipe hanged from his fingers.

Kilren ran him through with a knife while Vanna thrust her shortsword into his mouth. The youth stumbled back, twitching. How old was he? Old enough to drug himself on the job, by the looks of it. He would never have another pipe, though.

Iavad wiped his brow, glancing at his two soldiers. No blood seemed to have spilled into their uniforms.

“Come,” he said.

They left the storeroom into a tight kitchen where three servants but glanced at them, one of them frowning, though none said anything. From there, they came upon a corridor leading to the entrance, a stairway going up beside them. The’d find the princess in a room up above, they’d been told.

If only they could reach the stairs, if only Xallan Na’Hali didn’t stood ten paces before them, surrounded by a group of officers and soldiers.

Iavad’s heart raced, his hands grasping his sword while he forgot to breathe. Xallan’s clenched fist held a small prisoner by the arm, a slender young boy with white hair and pale skin, marred only by a bunch of bruises. Zaleck. His son.

Iavad pushed Kilren and Vanna into a side door and into what seemed like a small lounge, or a briefing room. No one stood there. No, they would all have come out to greet Xallan.

His son, right there, captured by Xallan. Iavad knew too well what the dead monster could do, and now he’d do it to his son. What could he do? Save him? Amidst all those officers? Forsake the operation?

“Change of plan,” he whispered, “you two go up to save the princess. I’ll make you a diversion.”

“Captain…” Kilren started. Iavad shut him down with a gesture.

“You all saw it. We three will never get to her now. You need a diversion, and I’m the only one who can do it.”

“What’ll you do?” Vanna whispered.

“I’m going for the archpriest. Everyone will turn to me. You go up and take her, disguise her. Go for the stables beside here. If you can make it, ride out as fast as you can.”

The two shot each other a glance and lowered their heads to him far more than a nod. They bowed.

Iavad opened the door and ran. He put every ounce of breath into those legs, dashing so fast three steps later they started burning. He went for the group by the entry hall, aiming for the hulking armor with its back half turned to him. One step away, he jumped towards Xallan.

Iavad crashed into him, only to be thrown back to the corridor once more. Xallan, however, was thrust outward with such force he raised a cloud of dust by the entrance, kicking on the ground and rolling far, far away.

The other officers and soldiers, alongside his son, turned to him. He would spare Zaleck the bloody sight of what’s to come, but to save his battered son, he’d kill a demon if it stood before him.

He drew his blade and advanced. The soldiers rushed to him, attacking with his weapons, but as each blade pivoted away, his own weapon found skin, necks, heads and arms.

Zaleck took three steps back until coming upon the wall. His eyes as wide as his son could make them, his mouth gaping in an eternal surprise that couldn’t hide the upcoming grin.

Three soldiers down, and still they attacked. Four dead, five, and the last three ran away from the building. Iavad wiped the blood from his sword. Moving away from the door, he stood by his son.

“You’ve grown taller, son,” Iavad said, “but not any better at staying out of trouble, I see. Though, knowing dusters, I expected more chains.”

Zaleck shrugged.

“I melted them.”

Iavad ruffled his son’s greasy hair while turning back towards the door.

“Dad, don’t be afraid.” Zaleck said.

Before Iavad could have asked ‘why?’, it happened again. In a flash he was two places at once, he breathed with two bodies, its two hearts beating as one. Zaleck realized this wasn’t Iavad’s first sync, and Iavad himself gasped with both mouths when he noticed his son’s thoughts melding into his own.

“Let’s play a game,” Zaleck thought, “let’s jump around this place! Staying in these lamps is boring, no? Let’s dance all over!”

Iavad’s confusion filtered into Zaleck, who replied with the amused smirk of someone who didn’t want to spoil a surprise.

The flame tongues by the lamps in the room leaped from their casing, drawing arcs of fire towards the chairs, couches and walls.

“That’s it,” Zaleck thought, encouraging the flames, “this is great, call our friends, let’s do it again!”

Smoke started rising in the room. His son, with his own mind, was setting the whole building on fire.

“Damn, son,” Iavad said, “I could have used you a few weeks ago.”

Iavad’s belly sank as the words hung in the air. That had been the same thing the Lord General told him when Iavad realized he’d become a weapon of war.

His son had grown, gained new bruises and scars. His armor now held on by a thread, cut and slashed in most places, charred in others. His face, dirty and grave, watched him beneath shining eyes who’d seen much more than even he did.

How many times did he think he’d never see his boy again? Now here he was, and the first thing he does is treat him like a tool. Iavad bowed his head.

Zaleck touched his arm. His thoughts still melding into his.

“We’re both more than we ever were, and less than we’d been.”

They nodded to each other, turning back to the door.

Why hadn’t Xallan returned? He could have rushed back in by now.

“He wants to get me in the open,” Iavad thought.

“And I don’t think he expected me to burn the building, either.”

Flames already bit into the walls, creating an upside-down carpet of scarlet-black. Smoke started billowing out from the building.

“He’s got us cornered,” Iavad thought, “he doesn’t need to come in.”

Back into the corridor, Kilren and Vanna climbed down the stairs, bringing a small, lithe soldier. The princess.

“We go out back,” Iavad said.

“They’ll be expecting us that way as well,” Kilren replied, ducking from the flames.

“They won’t be expecting me,” Zaleck said.

“After him, you two—you three,” Iavad said.

The five moved to the storeroom behind the now empty kitchen. Wherever Zaleck went, flaming tongues followed, turning the whole building into a conflagrating mausoleum. Kilren and Vanna turned wide eyes at his boy. The princess, though she seemed a bit more composed, couldn’t stop coughing.

“Fire, I have a new game for us,” Zaleck thought, “can you dance around me? Can you come with me and follow my moves?”

Flames gushed into Zaleck and Iavad, wreathing the two of them in fiery armor. Iavad twitched in surprise, only to realize the flames didn’t hurt him at all.

“We are one now, dad!” Zaleck thought back at him. “We are in sync. We are one body. I can use your ring just as you cannot be burned like me.”

Iavad, still synced with his son, expanded his mind in surprise.

“Let’s burn this army down,” Iavad said. A rush of hesitation from his son held him, though.

“What’s wrong, son?” Iavad thought.

“Dad, please, we’re going to run to them, and scare them off, but, please, promise me you won’t kill them.”

Iavad blinked at his son in disbelief.

“Please, dad, I’m serious,” Zaleck thought.

“I’m not sure I can promise you that. There’s an actual army out there.”

“At least, let’s try, alright?”

Iavad sighed. “Alright, son. No killing them, if I can avoid it.” Turning to his two soldiers and the princess, he said, “as soon as we leave, count to thirty and run out through the front door. We should have raised enough of a diversion to clear you a path.” They all nodded.

“We go together,” Iavad thought.

“Together, Dad.”

They both ran out of the back room. The kaylorite army had indeed encircled the whole structure. As soon as they stepped out, arrows rained down on them. They all bounced back. Still, burning or not, ring or no, an army is still an army. They were too many.

But, man, what a way to go down.

Burning father and son crashed into the enemy line. Their flames opening a path for them. Iavad waved his sword, aiming at no one, hoping to force them away at least to clear the way forward. After the first Kaylorites started burning, their line soon broke.

Acute worry from Zaleck struck Iavad’s mind like a punch in the gut whenever a soldier started burning. His son cared for these soldiers. Slavers and murderers who wronged him more than anyone else, and through it all, Zaleck still cared. His boy had become twice the person Iavad had ever been.

Zaleck turned to Iavad, a smile both proud and sad rising on both their faces.

“Where do we go now?” Zaleck thought.

“That way, to Wolfpine,” Iavad replied.

The army gathered for a new defense, a shield wall coming before them. A cavalry unit started charging at them from the side.

Iavad jumped on a shield on the ground. The blowback sent him vaulting over the shield wall and into the enemy line.

“That’s nice,” Zaleck thought. He jumped onto another dropped shield. The impulse sent him flying much like the crushing ring when he used it to jump over Garsley’s wall. He landed a few armlengths from Iavad, and though their sync wavered as he fell, it still held on.

Iavad already ran by the soldiers, forcing them to run away as the flaming man advanced. Enemy soldiers fled as they burned, but instead of more enemies, they formed another circle around them.

“This is not going to work,” Zaleck thought.

“It never would have, son,” Iavad replied, “but, damn if it was good seeing you again.”

A circle of archers raised their bows to them, arrows nocked. These ones, however, didn’t glint. Wooden arrows through and through. No bounce-back for them.

Iavad stood back-to-back with his son. The flames around their bodies now burned much smaller than before.

Xallan thumped his way into the circle.

“At last,” he said, “the rings are gathered again.”

“He wants the ring in my gut, son,” Iavad thought.

“In your gut?” Zaleck thought. “Oh, wow, that’s, uh, bold. Anyway, he won’t shoot, Dad, he needs me alive.”

“Are you quite ready to give up,” Xallan said, “or do we need to get more unpleasant, Reziki?”

Their flames gave out, leaving Zaleck and Iavad with burned rags for clothes and scorched mail armor.

A warning came over Zaleck’s mind, flowing into Iavad’s through the sync. It fell upon him like dreaded anticipation, like the feeling right before a suicide mission.

Zaleck sighed. He knew the feeling, and Iavad could scarce believe it even through his son’s very thoughts.

“No, Xallan,” Zaleck said, “we’re not giving up, instead, it’s you who’ll be joining us.”

“No more games,” Xallan said, drawing his sword and advancing at them.

“That,” Zaleck said, “is no game.” He pointed upwards.

There, in the sky, a burning flowing fireball hurled itself at them. Xallan turned around in time to brace for its impact. It struck amidst the Kaylorite line, expanding into a burst of yellow-hot ash. Iavad shut his eyes before the explosion hit him. A wave of searing heat washed over him, Zaleck, and everyone around.

Soldiers screamed, contorting in pain while their flesh cracked and petrified. Tents went up in flames. Iavad threw himself down, grasping at the ground to keep from being thrust back by the flaming wind. The sky became a red flowing inferno. For as far as they could see, everything burned.

Screams and cries of pain ended as soon as they rose. Zaleck held on to the sync with Iavad, saving his father from burning alive, though neither of them could breathe under the conflagration. The sync flickered, wavered, and still it held.

Just as the explosion came, it went. Iavad drew blessed air, gasping with a burning throat. Zaleck beside him also stood back up.

It rose before them. A huge column of ashen smoke throwing thick tentacles around, like a burning, gigantic underwater monster. At its top, however, a humanoid figure arose, something like a hollowed burnt husk of a man, surrounded by a thick armor of ash.

“Oh, no,” Zaleck’s thoughts came, “It’s Horzan.”

Larger than the two-story house they’d been in, spreading tendrils of ash and flame around, this Horzan turned its eyes to the three who survived. Half an ashenbeast, half human.

“You idiot!” Xallan bellowed at the ashen Horzan.

“Master sends regards,” he replied.

Chapter 47

Zaleck choked on the smell of charred flesh and boiled blood. He shut his eyes, turning all focus back into his mind-state. He’d never been in Arthesis this long, but still he had to endure. The state, once an expansion of relief, started demanding more and more focus to be kept.

What had been a war camp had now turned into a series of bonfires where tents once stood, and charred petrified statues, each one a soldier. Only he, his dad and Xallan still moved, they and the ashen Horzan floating before them.

Xallan jumped towards the beast. Though it flew higher than a three-story building, the dead knight crossed the distance like an arrow, drawing his blade and swinging it three times against Horzan. The beast dodged aside, letting Xallan arc through the sky and land between a bunch of flaming tents.

His steel sword, no matter how big, would do him no good against this thing. Only gold could hurt him, but Zaleck would be damned if he told Xallan that. Let the corpse priest suffer, for all he cared.

“Gold?” His father’s thoughts reached him through the sync, “you mean normal gold?”

“Yea, Dad. Like this.” Zaleck spread his hand before him, the golden ring in his finger glinting against the flickering flames.

“How can we reach it, though?” Zaleck asked, “can we jump on top of shields like before?”

“I don’t think so, son,” Iavad said, “The ring’s blowback can push me about a full body upwards, but this monster is much higher.”

Horzan turned his back to them, throwing his ashen tendrils further away. From among his attacks, Xallan burst forward once more, attacking with his blade as he passed through Horzan. He landed on the ground a few steps from Zaleck.

“Xallan,” Zaleck said, “if you can jump like that, you’ve got to carry me with you.”

“This is exactly what it wants,” Xallan echoed back, “Run away. No matter what happens it cannot take you.”

Ashen tendrils struck against Xallan, who leaped away from them and then back towards Horzan in another jump.

He was right. Zaleck flying straight into Horzan would be just what the Ashen Lord wanted. Not his dad though. He could do it.

“Give me the ring,” Iavad said, having sensed his son’s intentions.

Zaleck pulled out the heirloom ring, throwing it to his dad. Xallan passed through Horzan yet again, landing on the ground in a mute thud.

Iavad ran to Xallan.

“Throw me,” Iavad said. Xallan took a glance at him, tilting his head while his pale glowing eyes flickered.

“Your funeral,” he said. Taking hold of Iavad by his frayed chainmail, Xallan threw him up, straight into Horzan. Iavad flew, his hand with the ring before him open in a grasp.

A blinding golden flash shone over the charred encampment. Horzan Malek twisted midair, Iavad holding on to his ashen body by the ring. They both turned and twisted, coming crashing down.

Xallan ran towards the falling bodies, his sword swinging upwards as Horzan fell. The blow connected, throwing the beast back up in another arc. Iavad, dizzy and blinded, let go of his grasp, tumbling on the ground.

Iavad’s arms and legs shot painful lances through his bones. Zaleck closed his eyes, breathing deep. Keep the sync. Keep Arthesis.

“What was that?” Xallan demanded, turning to Iavad.

Iavad coughed, finding his footing while leaning against a burning wooden stake in the yard.

“Tell me what you did!” Xallan said, grasping Iavad’s armor.

Xallan Na’Hali disappeared amidst a pillar of ash that fell from Horzan. Iavad stumbled back down, his legs too wobbly to hold him.

Horzan floated before them again, pulling Xallan up. The dead knight swung his blade, but all it did was spread flakes of ash around. Horzan engulfed him, surrounding the struggling archpriest in burning lava, such that only Xallan’s hands and feet, waving about, could be seen.

Iavad crawled back towards his son, his pain subsiding faster than he expected.

“It’s the sync, Dad,” Zaleck thought to him, “it helps with healing.”

Father and son stood up before the floating monster that had engulfed the archpriest. A loud metallic snap resounded through the grounds, then again, then again. A shoulder plate flew away from Horzan’s ashen body, then another. Piece by piece, every part of Xallan’s armor was torn apart, chest plates, vambraces, leggings, boots, they all fell beneath Horzan. Xallan continued to thrash midair until, at last, his helmet fell off.

Xallan raged, his scream echoing through the camp louder and longer than any living scream ever could.

Ashen tendrils held the now naked, desiccated body of a skeleton. Devoid of its armor, Xallan stood as a thin whisp of a corpse, from which only the two pale lights in his eye sockets gave any semblance of un-life.

Horzan threw Xallan away. The skeletal body flew over the camp, falling far, far away towards the city. The ashenbeast floated down, condensing his ash around him in the shape of an armored man. In his hand he held a round object, a ring.

The volcanic ring.

“Now, only one thing remains,” he said, turning to Zaleck.

Zaleck clutched his fists. Iavad, beside him, did the same, the heirloom ring still shining in his hand.

“Be careful, Dad,” Zaleck thought, “he can make swords of ash. The ring won’t blow them back.”

“Blowback or no, son,” Iavad thought back, “we stand together.”

“Surrender, young Zaleck,” Horzan said, “Surrender and no one else dies,” he glanced at Iavad.

“My,” Zaleck replied, “don’t you have any other threats than this one?”

Horzan pointed at him. “You were warned.”

Another blinding light flashed before them. Horzan bellowed, stumbling back. An arrow stuck from his ashen chest, an arrow with a golden tip.

“Who said you could start the fun?” Vellis cried out, running towards them.

“Zaleck,” Jorgen said, coming beside them, “we fight with you.”

A third, shorter person flew above them, leaping towards Horzan, landing right before the beast. The sword in her hand glistened white and gold.

“You are mine, charred meat,” Keena said, “and mine alone.”

Zaleck clutched his fists even tighter, shouting back with a grin.

“Guys! You’re here!”

Horzan pulled out his arrow with a scream, a howling cry of challenge.

Zaleck ran, drawing upon Iavad’s resolve to push his legs beyond agony. A touch, a mere rustle was all he needed. He brushed his fingers by Keena, drawing her into the sync, then turned to Jorgen and Vellis.

“Come,” Horzan bellowed, “come demons and humans, come and turn to ash.”

Zaleck jumped to Jorgen and Vellis, touching upon the two of them a heartbeat before the explosion hit. Horzan burst into a flaming conflagration once more, spreading searing heat through the yard.

Zaleck kneeled. Drawing in burning air with each gasp.

Concentrate, focus, keep the sync, save their lives.

His head bobbed. He crumbled down; all thoughts turned towards the state of Arthesis. Five people in sync. That was too much. Too many arms and legs at once, too much to keep track of. He coughed. He wouldn’t make it. He could feel Arthesis already unravelling before the explosion was through. How long could he hold on to it?

Not much. Not at all. As the last of the flames washed over him, so did his breath. His consciousness wavered and, with a cough, he passed out.

* * * * *

Keena stumbled back, struck by a pyroclastic blast on her face. Her head spun with the sudden, weird sense of everyone else’s bodies merging into one. Surviving such a blast and then being jerked back to her lone self again made her legs and arms shudder.

Horzan Malek, now the ashen monster before her, seemed like he also didn’t expect it. He stared at her, what remained of his face both charred and contorted in anger. She would not give him time to recover. In one hand she held her sword, the one that drew forth Garbalzur. In the other, Third Sun, the golden blade who hadn’t yet tasted blood.

She would remedy that soon enough.

With a leap, she rushed towards Horzan. He dodged the first flurry of blows, but Third Sun nicked at his ash, drawing forth shining cuts in his smoky shape.

Horzan leaped up, flying above her, but another golden arrow struck his flank, bringing him down. Keena bore down onto him, slashing wildly. He rolled on the ground, leaping away from her assault. Iavad and Jorgen advanced to him as well, each from a side.

He slashed back at Keena, his hand now an ashen blade. She ducked and then jumped, leaping over him with an overhead strike from which he veered aside.

Iavad punched him, the hand with the golden ring going into Horzan’s belly. He pulled away, but Iavad grasped into his ash, groaning in pain. Jorgen’s hammer went for his human arm, but Horzan turned his blade into a burst and pushed Jorgen away.

Keena leaped at him again. Horzan turned his body, placing Iavad before her attacks, but she twisted midair, her blades missing Zaleck’s father by a hope and a wish, aiming their cuts into the ashenbeast’s body. Horzan summoned his ashen armor right on time.

Third Sun’s cut became a line of coruscating golden light. Horzan screamed at the cut. He jumped back, mimicking Keena as he twisted around to avoid Vellis’s arrow. Iavad stayed back, clutching at his burned hand.

He assumed a fighting stance Keena had never seen. She couldn’t care less. His blood called to her; his face taunted her. She’d have her revenge right then.

She aimed at him, focusing on his face. Her strikes came savage and quick, and still he dodged them all. He countered with the ashen blade, but she parried it. Another attack came from the other side, she parried that as well, then a third one from above. Third Sun blocked that last one, and her whole chest got exposed to him.

Horzan exploded before her once more, sending out a jet of magma that threw Keena away. Clothes burning, hair on fire, she rolled on the ground, losing her grip on both blades.

* * * * *

Keena slapped at her clothes, rolling onto the earthen ground and smothering her flames until they subsided. Horzan stood before her, unmoved. His face turned to Zaleck, fallen a bit further away, then back at her.

Vellis shot another arrow at him, but he stepped away from it in a single, fluid move. He gritted his teeth, still staring at her.

Keena got up, running towards her blade. Before she could reach it, Horzan shot an ashen tendril at her. It coiled around her body, raising her up. Searing hot ash dug into her skin once more, but not as strong this time, almost like he wanted to take her alive.

Vellis took two golden arrows in her hands and advanced, using them as knives. Horzan leaped over her, carrying Keena with him. Another tendril of smoke wound around the unconscious Zaleck.

He rose up in the air, carrying both Keena and Zaleck in flight. Vellis took her bow once more and aimed another arrow, but he rolled away from it mid-air. Keena struggled in her ashen bounds, but whenever she moved, the burning pain kept her in place.

Horzan Malek flew over the Ravanni, towards Wolfpine. His flight ran uneven, like a wounded bird, though he still managed to carry them over the walls, across the city’s streets, towards the cathedral’s tower.

Chapter 48

Iavad grasped his throbbing burned hand, already swollen and reddened, while watching Horzan fly away with his son. He tried standing up, at least to run after him, but his vision blurred, and he stumbled down. He would have hit the ground, had Vellis not held him up.

“Iavad, are you alright?” she asked.

“Gaah,” he gasped, “I’ve been worse—No, I’m lying, I’ve never been worse, but who cares? Let’s go after that thing.”

The heirloom ring on his finger, the golden sword on the ground, Vellis’s golden arrows. His son was left with no gold to help him against Horzan. Could they get there on time?

The tall mountain of a man came close, picking up the golden sword.

“Iavad,” Vellis said, “meet Jorgen. Jorgen, this is Iavad, Zaleck’s father.”

Jorgen nodded. “Can you run?” he asked. Iavad nodded back, and the three of them started running through a devastated, calcinated army encampment. Past the petrified soldiers who died where they stood, they dashed across a field of burning corpses, and then through another where panicked soldiers stood gaping at nowhere.

From the Wolfpine walls, a multitude of soldiers gazed either at them or at the burning, flying comet that Horzan had become. It wove its way towards the cathedral, hitting its tallest tower in another pyroclastic explosion, sending boulders and debris flying apart.

Iavad waved at the soldiers by the gatehouse.

“Lower the bridge!” he called. “By all that’s holy, lower the drawbridge!”

Captain Chryss, the gatehouse captain, came up to the walls.

“Bladesbane? Is that you? What’s going on?”

“By the Divine, lower the bridge!” Iavad bellowed. “That burning thing in the sky is a servant of the Ashen Lord. He’s summoning his master as we speak, and only this weapon can hurt it.” Iavad pointed at Jorgen’s sword.

Chryss took a glance at the trio for a moment too long, but then waved at the guard beside him.

“Do it, let them in.”

Chink by chink, chain-link by chain-link, the drawbridge started lowering.

“Damn, that’s slow,” Vellis said, “How long do you think we have until Horzan can free the Ashen Lord?” she asked Jorgen.

“No idea,” he replied.

“Not long enough,” came the echoing, rasping voice from all around them. A walking skeleton appeared from behind a burning tent, its pale glowing eyes flaring in anger. “You have doomed us all.”

“Xallan,” Vellis said, “throw us over the wall, we can still reach them.”

“No, we can’t woman. He’s won, and you are now deader than I.” He pointed at Iavad. “Instead, I’ll rip my ring off your entrails and begone.”

Iavad took a step towards him. The drawbridge still lowered crank by crank, over halfway down by now.

Jorgen handed Vellis the golden sword.

“Go, Vel. Climb the bridge, run. You can make it.”

Vellis nodded. “Use the dagger, Jorgen,” she replied.

“You think,” Iavad told Xallan, “you can come to our kingdom, lay waste to our land and our families, to my family, and then walk away? No, little priest of nothing, you will never step a sorry foot on your land again. You end here.”

Xallan lowered his skull.

“As you wish, soldier.”

Iavad drew his sword and Jorgen drew a dagger. They both dashed towards Xallan to the clamor of the soldiers by the wall. The skeleton bared his bony fingers. Three steps away from him, Iavad’s legs gave out. His gut sank while a shiver ran his spine.

What was going on? Xallan was right there. Iavad wanted to fight him, he had to fight him, and still, he wouldn’t.

Jorgen, however, kept on going. Xallan struck at him with hands like grasping claws. Jorgen dodged the attack, closing in with his blade, but Xallan twisted his body, dodging the strike. His hands clawed at Jorgen’s chainmail, slicing it open in the middle.

Get up, Iavad. Get up and fight. To save your life, for your son, for Zida and the kids. Get. Up.

One step after another, Iavad stood back up. Still, he couldn’t run. His eyes darted around, as if refusing to look at Xallan.

Jorgen swung his blade in a nonstop sequence of strikes. Xallan moved his arms faster than any dead person had any right to, parrying strike after strike with his hands. Only once did Jorgen’s blade connect with his shriveled skin. A black smoke started billowing from the cut. Xallan growled, as close to pain as that monster could seem.

Then, Iavad could move again.

He dashed, striking with his sword in a maddened rush, all care for self-defense thrown away. Xallan parried his strikes with its bare bones, but Jorgen took the hint and pressed on Xallan from the other side. Each of Xallan’s arms parried one of their blows. He retreated a step, then another, and then leaped up, flying backwards, landing a tenpace away from them.

The drawbridge, almost level with the ground, got near enough that Vellis climbed over it and started running into Wolfpine.

Xallan’s eyes flared, and Iavad’s strength waned once more, his arms going so limp he had to draw all his focus to hold on to his sword.

“He’s—doing—something to me…” Iavad told Jorgen. “I can’t fight it, but it stopped when you hurt him. What is that?”

“Cold iron,” Jorgen replied.

Xallan advanced at Iavad. Jorgen interposed his dash, parrying his strikes, grabbing his arm and sending him tumbling over. Iavad would not have dodged that. He couldn’t even move.

He could at least call it what it was. Dead fright. How could anyone fight against this thing? What was he afraid of?

Xallan went for Jorgen now, but not only the man was stronger than an ox, but he also fought like a madman, retreating step by step while also trying to counter Xallan with his own swings. Brave as he seemed, though, Xallan would be tireless. It was just a matter of time until Jorgen was ripped apart, a notion that sent Iavad kneeling, shaking.

Death. He was afraid to die. Of course that would be the fear Xallan commanded. So, all Iavad had to do was face death itself. Fight him ready to never go back home anymore.

“I will die here,” he thought while Jorgen blocked another of Xallan’s attacks. “I will cease to breathe and never look upon Zida again. I will die, but they will live. I’ll do it, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Hand on his knee, he pulled himself back up. His arms still shook, his legs remained wobbly, his mind raced with thoughts of his blood spraying about. Yet, he advanced.

He struck against Xallan, his sword so shaky the skeleton almost didn’t need to dodge it. Still, it drew his attention, easing the pressure on Jorgen. Xallan parried all three of Iavad’s swings, but one of Jorgen’s strikes met him again.

Another line of smoke started rising. Once more, Xallan screamed his omnipresent scream. He leaped back, putting distance between them.

“Glad you could join,” Jorgen said.

“Quick,” Iavad said, “before he can focus again.”

They both ran towards Xallan. Halfway through, however, Iavad’s fright returned.

Push onward. Die if you must, but end him.

They flanked the archpriest, though Xallan’s focus was all turned to Jorgen. With his back to Iavad, he pressed onto the blacksmith. Iavad struck him with his blade, sending a few flakes of desiccated skin flying. He seemed not to notice. His advance towards Jorgen sent him reeling back. Xallan bore down onto him, slicing open his arm.

Iavad dashed into Xallan. It might be strong, it might be invincible, but it was a skeleton, and as light as any would be. Iavad crashed into Xallan’s ribcage, sending him rolling sideways.

“Attack! Attack! Protect our men!” came the call. A throng of Ayrnian soldiers thundered through the bridge, running to their aid.

Xallan stood back up, glanced over Jorgen and Iavad, and laughed.

“Come, mortals, come and face your destiny.”

Soldier after soldier ran towards Xallan. Most would halt their charge midway, though a few brave ones managed to get through the fear and connect a blow, only to be sliced open. Xallan’s blows sent armor pieces flying and blood spraying upwards. Iavad pulled Jorgen away from the fight.

“Damn, that’s ugly,” Jorgen said gazing at his arm.

“Even with this dagger,” Iavad said, “it’s too fast.”

“I know,” Jorgen replied. “We have to immobilize it somehow. Even if for a moment.”

Of the dozens that charged, about five soldiers attacked Xallan at once. Their weapons missed his bones as he danced away from their strikes, swinging his arms, wounding and maiming anyone in his way.

“I know a way,” Iavad said, running a hand through his hair.

Jorgen grabbed his shoulder.

“Don’t go in blind. What’s the plan?”

“All this time, he’s always been after one thing, a magic ring inside my belly. I’m gonna give it to him. Can you still fight? How fast can you be?”

Jorgen gazed into Iavad’s eyes.

“Fast enough.”

Iavad nodded. A few steps away from them, Xallan had turned the riverbed into a bloody patch of earth. A few soldiers now encircled him, incapable of taking a single step further.

Iavad pulled Jorgen up. “Flank him from behind,” he said. Jorgen answered with a nod and a wince, blood gushing from his arm.

Iavad stepped into the circle, opening his arms.

“Let’s end this, Xallan Na’Hali,” Iavad said.

Xallan cracked his joints, pulling himself straight. The desiccated skin moved about his mouth. If corpses could grin, he’d be grinning.

Iavad advanced, Xallan stood. He swung his blade once, twice, Xallan dodging both strikes. He connected a third attack, too wide, leaving his belly open. On purpose.

Xallan let the blade bite into his shoulder bone, stepping towards Iavad. Xallan’s hand went into Iavad’s belly and out through his back. A loud “snap” resounded through the grounds. Jolting, unbearable pain exploded in Iavad’s back, and still he grabbed Xallan’s shoulders, pulling himself towards the monster.

“Got you!” he said.

Jorgen, coming up from behind, thrust the dagger into Xallan’s skull. The skeleton still attempted to turn around, but having Iavad’s body through his arm made the movement awkward. The blade went in all the way to the handle.

Xallan shuddered. His jaw opened all the way down, the pale dots from his eyes shot out in a burst of blinding light. Every one of his joints sparked with small purple lighting. A roar erupted from the ground, the sky, the rivers. One last cry, one final bellow of pain, a thunder into everyone’s minds that numbed all their thoughts.

It collapsed, every bone coming loose, its skin cracking into dust.

Xallan Na’Hali, the immortal deathtouched archpriest, was no more.

Chapter 49

A cool gentle breeze blew into Zaleck’s face as he woke up, drifting through the air, carried by ash towards the church gong tower.

Towards the tower? He gasped, thrashing in the ashen tendrils that held him, bracing for impact.

He, Horzan, and Keena crashed into Wolfpine’s church tower. Zaleck grasped Keena’s foot right on time for a sync. Horzan burst into flame again, tearing apart the rooftop and its support columns into boulders and stones that blew away from them. The gong sounded its long, low alarm one last time as it crashed through the cathedral’s rooftop.

Zaleck held on to Keena, crawling back with her until coming upon the tower wall, its parapet halfway burst open. Keena shuddered in his arms, her eyes as wide as his.

Horzan stood up, his skin shifting with an ashen carapace. He turned towards the two. One step closer and he towered over them, his head shifting its gaze from Zaleck to Keena. Zaleck’s hands groped for a loose stone he could use against the monster, but none remained. Even calling his friend, fire, would do him no good against a being who’s already burned down.

Horzan stood, his face contorting in, what was that? Pain? Confusion?

Keena scrambled away, going for the stairway down. Horzan raised a hand, engulfing her in ash. In an instant he’d burn her whole.

“Let her go,” Zaleck cried, “It’s me you want.”

Horzan looked back at him, then at Keena again, then back at him. Gritting his teeth, he said, “Yes, I’ll do it.”

Throwing Keena away to the other side of the tower, he turned to Zaleck. His hand still held to the volcanic ring.

Indecision. That’s why he didn’t burn Keena outright. It wasn’t only Horzan. Kane was also in there. Kane wanted him, Horzan wanted Keena.

“Jump, Keena,” Zaleck said, “save yourself.”

As expected, Horzan turned back to her. She held on to the parapet as Horzan closed the distance to her in two steps.

“Now, demon girl,” he said, “now I’ll send you to my brother in hell.”

Keena met his gaze unflinching.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Horzan halted. His voice carried every possible tone of disbelief. “You what?”

Keena, her frayed dress billowing in the wind, lit by the sideways moonlight, her unkempt hair falling in a perfect sway of defiance, replied.

“I’m sorry. I truly am. I’m sorry you lost your brother. I didn’t want to kill him.”

“You ate his guts! You slaughtered my brother and disemboweled him, and now you say you’re sorry? Be sorry as I rip the flesh off your skin!” Horzan raised his ashen arm.

“She’s innocent,” Zaleck yelled. “She didn’t do any of those things. The demon inside her did. Kill her now and you’ll never get your revenge.”

Keena’s eyes glanced at Zaleck’s, then back at Horzan. The ashen man turned to Zaleck, then twitched his head, his ashen skin rippling in savage waves around him.

“I said I’ll do it,” he said, “I’ll do it.”

He turned back to Keena, grasping her by the neck with his human hand.

“Summon it.”

“I—can’t,” she said.

“You did it well enough in the fort and in the beach.”

“It’s true, she can’t,” Zaleck yelled. “The demon only comes out when she touches steel that has tasted human blood.”

Horzan glanced at Zaleck, then at Keena once more. His body shuddered.

“No! No!” He said. “First, I’ll have my revenge.” He dragged Keena by the neck as he moved closer to Zaleck, the burning smell carrying a scent of Horzan’s own charred skin. Was he hurting in there? Maybe wearing the Ashen Lord’s ashes was for him much like Barclay, the ashes ate Horzan’s flesh from within. Even with this power, it must be painful.

“Steel that tasted human blood, you said?” A thin tendril of ash shot from his leg, slicing away a few links of Zaleck’s chain mail. Horzan’s tendril picked them up, melting and wrapping them into a long, thin needle. He pulled Keena up. Though tears ran through her eyes, she met him with a level gaze.

Horzan raised the needle he made over Keena’s head, shooting it into her back from above. Keena doubled back, falling on the floor with a scream that lasted but a moment.

Horzan recoiled his ashes, his armored skin and the new ashen arm, all into his body. He stood, a charred husk of a man, his face unrecognizable, with shifting bulging muscles and rippling molten blood that lit up beneath his skin.

Keena, lying on the floor, said, “Weeeeell… you asked for it.”

She jumped at him, twisting in midair while going for a punch. Horzan parried it, swinging for a kick, but Keena leaped over his leg. They glanced at each other for a breath, and then both advanced.

Keena, arrow-fast, struck blow after blow. Horzan, with a single arm, blocked all her attacks. He kicked at her, and she leaped back, she jumped at him, and he dodged aside. Zaleck could barely follow their moves, but the wound by Keena’s back let out strings of blood as she moved. Too much blood, while Horzan was a human cauterized scar. If he only kept her at bay, she’d wear out sooner or later.

Keena jumped, kicking at his face, but Horzan grasped her ankle and brought her crashing down into the stone floor. He fell on her with a punch to the face, but she rolled aside, striking his belly with her knee while she leaped back up.

Horzan kicked again, she dodged one more time, but he reverted his spin into a punch that struck her from behind. Keena fell flat faced onto the stone, and Horzan kicked her head from above. A crack came from her head. She rolled aside, dodging yet another kick, her nose now a bloody mess.

She screamed, going for a full-out flurry of punches. Horzan blocked the first three, grabbing her wrist and sweeping his feet from under her. She went flying for the stone parapet once more.

Horzan dashed towards her. She pulled herself backwards, sliding through the ground under his legs. With a leap, she connected three punches on Horzan’s back with three cracks. Horzan stumbled forwards, falling over Zaleck.

“I’m right here,” Zaleck told him, “You can get free right now.”

Horzan stood up, but instead of advancing at Keena once more, the shifting ashes under his skin pulsed towards Zaleck. Horzan contorted himself.

“Gahhh. Not before my revenge!”

Keena advanced, striking the contorting Horzan five times with five punches that would each have broken a normal person’s bone. She fell, panting, pale.

Horzan stood up again. Though he stumbled, Keena stumbled more. Even through the ashen skin, her blows gave him dark bruises. She, instead, had become a bloody mess.

For a moment it seemed they would stare into each other till daybreak. Both breathless, both heaving. Until Keena stumbled back and fell.

Horzan stepped over her. Reforming his ashen arm, he picked her up. Her face, a mass of scorn and rage, winced at the pain.

“At last. At last, I won,” he said.

That was it. Zaleck had bought her every heartbeat he could. Now a moment kept her from burning alive. He couldn’t reach her in time for a sync, and if he did, Horzan could just knock him out.

Instead, he climbed the parapet.

“Goodbye, Kane,” he said, “you’ve had your chance, and you lost it.”

Horzan looked back at him. Zaleck pushed himself away from the tower, towards the debris-filled ground far below.

A scream resounded through the tower. The fall brought a lightness in Zaleck’s gut, a sudden weightlessness. Before he could pass through the church ceiling, an ashen tendril enveloped him, hoisting him back up.

Horzan twitched on the ground before Keena, frothing. Keena, gasping for air, still moved. The ashen mass that had surrounded him now held on to Zaleck.

They had split apart. Unable to get both Zaleck and his revenge, Kane left Horzan behind, like he left Barclay at his last moments.

His play may have saved Keena, but it could not save him. The ashen mass produced a face before him, a face that grinned. It forced his hand to spread apart and slid the volcanic ring back into his finger.

Once more, the sense of Kane’s presence, far away, trapped in stone, came to him. It was like they stared into each other across the impossible distance, but this time, and he was all so pleased.

Kane’s ashes forced the volcanic ring to turn in Zaleck’s finger.

An explosion of light filled every one of his pores. Held aloft by the ashenbeast, Zaleck shone like a third moon. As if every strand of hair were pulled apart at the same time, his whole body unraveled. Strands upon strands of light, resting one atop another, disentangled from deep within his bones.

It was like breathing for the first time. It was like closing his eyes for the last. It was lightness, and it was sorrow. Something he never realized he had, something coiled within his very thoughts, ripped itself away from him.

A beam of white light burst from him, skyward, pushing clouds away, flaring like pale daylight. Far in the distance, horizons apart, Kane screamed, sighed, and moved. The stone around him cracked and broke.

After a thousand years, the Ashen Lord was free once more.

The ashenbeast released Zaleck, who crashed into the tower’s stone floor. His whole body numb, his unfocused eyes running wild, his mouth gasping for breath as if he could once more fill the whole that had opened within his very spirit.

The Ashen Beast floated downward, coming face-to-face with him.

“You imprisoned me, brother, and now I reclaim my freedom.”

“Get out,” Zaleck spat, “get out and leave me alone!”

“After what you’ve done? After all this time, you think I’ll let you live? No, Rezi, you will be the first to die!”

The ashenbeast reared back, expanding into a dozen or more tendrils.

“Close your eyes!” came the shout from below. Zaleck turned his head away in time to shield from the blinding flash. The beast reared in the air while Vellis came unto the tower.

“Zal, Keena,” she said, “thank the gods!”

Zaleck stood up, reaching for Vellis’s arm. One, two thoughts later and they went in sync.

The ashen beast struck. Zaleck jumped to Keena. Burning ash suffused them all, searing Keena’s skin, eyes and throats. A moment later, she also went fireproof.

Surrounded in the ashen cloud, Zaleck felt her groping for him, getting back up.

He coughed, trying to focus his last thoughts on Arthesis through the stabbing pain, the bruises and the coughing ash in his throat. Kane didn’t have to burn him; he could suffocate him.

“Give me that,” Keena said amidst the smoke, picking up Third Sun from Vellis. A cleft opened in the cloud as she cut a way through the ash. Zaleck stood up while the ashenbeast reared its tentacles back.

“I’m—alive!” Vellis said.

“We’re one,” Zaleck replied, “for now.”

“As one we end it,” Keena said. “You think you can sync with one more?”

“I think so, but who?”

The beast flew into them, surrounding them in dark smoke. Keena swung Third Sun, but it shifted its ash away from her strikes.

“The ash! Sync with the ash,” Keena said.

Zaleck focused on the Flow, syncing with the ashenbeast. To his surprise, it worked. Now, beyond three pairs of eyes, ears, arms and legs, they were all a mass of dark, dry burning smoke. A mass amidst of which they could all sense the pulsing molten core.

“There!” Keena cried. She jumped, striking with Third Son into the one point of the cloud that could not be shifted away. It burst apart, sending magma and ash all over.

Keena stood at the parapet, just at the threshold of the fall, sooth-filled, blood drenched, pained and hurting. She heaved. Zaleck pulled her into the tower, and she passed out in his arms.

Vellis watched as burning magma slid off her skin.

“Did we do it?” she asked, “Did we stop him?”

Zaleck lowered his head.

“No, Vellis, we didn’t. We failed.”

Chapter 50

Zaleck held Keena in his arms, breathing in the cool night air. He could hardly move a bone. Breathing came as its own share of agony. Still, holding on to the sync helped. It was like he, Vellis and Keena could share on their very strength across their bodies. The weariness and hurt took their toll, however, and the sync soon broke.

“Is she alive?” Vellis asked. Zaleck nodded.

“No…” came the moan. Lightning fast, Vellis stood up, daggers in hand. Horzan, burned, calcinated, the skin peeling off his body, moaned again.

“No… no! I won! I won!”

Vellis took a step towards him, raising her blades.

“No, Vel!” Zaleck said.

“What?” she said, “Are you true-to-your-soul telling me to spare him?”

“Vel, just leave him.”

“No!” Horzan called. “Face me! Fight me!” He tried pulling himself up. How was he even alive, Zaleck didn’t want to know.

Vellis took a step back, coming before him and Zaleck.

“Vel, he’s been through too much.”

“Oh, right you are, he has. And he made a lot of people go through too much as well.”

“Vel, please.”

“No,” Horzan stumbled towards Vellis, falling face-first on the ground. “You… will… fight…” Then he said no more.

Zaleck stood up beside Vellis, watching as Horzan spasmed his last.

“I don’t believe it,” Vellis said, “you do feel for the guy, don’t you?”

He nodded.

“You would help him, wouldn’t you?” She shot him a glance. “If you could.”

He nodded again.

“I would. I will.”

He kneeled before Horzan’s limp body and took his hand, syncing with him. At once, his whole body burned and a deep shudder ran through him, every inch of his muscles crying in piercing pain. Then, as Horzan shared it with him, the pain eased, getting subdued beneath the drifting of their sync.

“What?” Horzan’s thoughts struck him like yet another blow. “What are you doing?”

“It’s alright, Horzan. It’s all going to be alright.”

“Nothing is alright you midget. I’m dying, and even now you won’t leave me alone. Get away.”

Instead, Zaleck leaned a hand on his burned-out head.

“You’ve been fighting all your life, haven’t you? You don’t have to fight anymore. You can rest, now.”

Horzan’s thoughts wavered, growing distant.

“I… can’t… she’s still alive… Hussar…”

“He’s already gone ahead. I’ll take you to him, if you’d like.”

“Yes… but how…”

Zaleck didn’t know it himself, and Horzan’s thoughts wavered with his indecision. The Kaylorite’s body now had dulled to a slight throbbing far away. It was like slowly forgetting he had arms, then legs, then a chest, then a head.

A wind blew. Not a physical wind, but some current of intentions that caught both their minds, lifting them up. No, not upwards, but somewhere else, somewhere away that was in no direction. They drifted to this new place, Zaleck and Horzan’s minds held in an embrace, keeping each other from falling back, though it seemed to Zaleck that Horzan clung to him far more than he did.

The last of Horzan’s anger crumbled, his weariness, or his ease having grown so much he couldn’t keep his own self together. At once, his mind unfolded. Thoughts flooded into Zaleck. He and Hussar back at home. Their father, drunk, striking him again, only for Hussar, two years older, to step in and take the blow instead. How many times had that happened? And yet his brother always took the blow in his stead. Then the night they both ran away, and the years they’d lived on the street, running from slavers, stealing and cheating and counting their pennies day after day. Then the day they stole from Captain Saran, only to be captured and taken to him. The captain, however, after ten lashes of punishment, saw something in them, and offered them a way out, a job. Horzan and Hussar had been in the army since then, fighting side by side, saving each other’s lives and sharing each other’s spoils.

Until she came, the demon girl who took him away. Hussar, his big brother, who’d always been there for him, and in the end, he couldn’t be there for him. He couldn’t even avenge him.

Horzan’s thoughts pulsed, held together by Zaleck’s. They still drifted away, towards a gentler wind.

“I’ve always had him.” Horzan echoed from all over. “Then, when I lost him, I thought I’d end up alone, like he did, but you are here…”

Zaleck pulled Horzan’s thoughts tighter. They seemed so small now, like a waning spark.

“No, brother,” another voice resounded, “you were never alone.”

Horzan’s mind flared up, letting thoughts and worries fall aside.

“Big Hus, is that you?”

“Come, Little Hor, come and let me take you home.”

Some unseen presence, just out of Zaleck’s awareness, reached out to Horzan. He raised an intention at it. If spirits had hands, that would be one. They touched, Horzan and this echoing mind, and a new light flared within the dying soldier. A quiet, yet bright light, pulling him away. He drifted on, leaving Zaleck’s mind behind with an expansion, an echo of diffuse hope, which, if put into words, would be something like, “Thank you.”

Zaleck’s mind drifted back, his own body coming into focus as the sync broke bit by bit.

At first, he thought a fire had broken out somewhere in the city, but the feeling came from too close. Then, he thought fire itself was speaking through his kinship, but it came too bright. Instead, a flare of light burst forth within him, spreading strands of power all through his body.

A Death Flow. Horzan’s Death Flow.

Zaleck gasped. His mind widening with the sense of the Flow. Vellis, Keena, Horzan’s body, the stones around them, the very wind. It all flowed with life through him, with him. One single life around everything, and he saw it whole, he felt it in him while also feeling himself into it.

“Vel!” he cried out, “Vel! I can feel it! I can feel the Flow again!”

Vellis kneeled beside him.

“For real? You did it?”

“I did it, Vel! I can flowcast again!”

She hugged him, ruffling his hair. Despite their state of hurt, and their smell, and their filth, it was the same embrace she gave him when they both left home.

“Well, I say, if after all this you still hadn’t got it back, I would have some words for these powers of yours.”

They both chuckled, almost as if they were in sync. In a way, they were.

“Come on, flowcaster,” she said, “let’s get down.”

They carried Keena down, and the mass of soldiers by the plaza took her towards the doctor’s building as soon as they saw her. Vellis and him didn’t escape the same fate, though they were left waiting while other worse cases came in. Zaleck but leaned his head on the feathered mattress, resting for a bit…

Yanked from a restless sleep, Zaleck stirred on his bed. Daylight shone through the windows; the scent of breakfast wafted into the room and the muted sounds of training soldiers reached him. Images, voices and scenes melted away from his mind while he tried recalling them. It seemed, somehow, this dream had been very important, and yet, so far away. Still, as dreams do, in time it faded.

With yet another mass of bandages all over his body, Zaleck ate soup for breakfast before being allowed out of bed. Vellis greeted him when he came out into the plaza, sporting far less bandages.

“Well, look who’s up,” she said. “You know,”

They both completed the phrase.

“We gotta stop meeting like this.” He chuckled. “How long have I been out?”

“Two days.”

“Where’s Keena? Dad? Jorgen?” he asked.

“Inside,” Vellis pointed at a nearby building. “Keena is fine. They took out the pin from her back, but she lost a lot of blood and will have to rest. But, Zal, your dad is not so good.”

“What? Where is he?”

Vellis took Zaleck to the care ward of the doctor’s building. His dad, being a captain, had got a bed a little further apart from the other patients. A line of soldiers had formed to see him, but when Vellis told them Zaleck was his son, they all gave way.

Iavad lay on a bed, pale faced and groggy, but with open eyes and a breathing chest. Zaleck approached him.

“Hey Dad,” he said.

“Son. Thank the gods you’re alive,” Iavad said.

“I hear you defeated Xallan.”

Iavad nodded with a weary smile.

“Well, he asked for a fight, son.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Doesn’t hurt too much.” He sighed. “Bah, forget that. It hurts like a ‘no’ at a marriage.”

Zaleck took his father’s hand. Breathing in, he set the Flow running through their bodies, bringing them in sync. A stab of pain ran through his back, flaring up his legs, so much Zaleck stumbled and fell, breaking sync.

Vellis helped him back up as he gasped.

“Dad…” he said, “your legs.”

“Yes, son. I’m never walking again.”

“No,” he said, holding on to his hand again. “No!”

He synced once more, gritting his teeth when the pain struck one more time. Now, with the Flow running alongside the sync, he could pinpoint every corner of his dad’s body. There, at his back, the Flow broke. His spine, shattered, almost seared in half, split his body into two distinct Flow patterns.

“Thank you, son…” his dad’s thought flowed into his mind, “this feels good.”

“Dad,” he replied in the sync, “I won’t let that happen. I can flowcast again. I’ve got my powers back. I’ll fix you up, you’ll see.”

“Zal,” Iavad said aloud, “son, I faced death itself, and I came out on top. I killed an immortal slaver. By rights, I should have died out there. If this is the price I have to pay, I’ll do it. But, son, use your powers to live your own life. Do not waste them on a soldier who’s already been at the top. Be your own person, my son.”

“Well,” Zaleck replied, wiping an eye, “this own person here will not let my dad go back home a cripple. No way I’m doing that, Dad. Just… as soon as I find out how to do it properly.”

He would have to spend some time mindcasting this. If he were going to save his dad, he’d find out the perfect way to do it. No side effects this time.

“I’ve heard,” a gruffy voice sounded behind them, “we have a true hero in our midst.” Jorgen walked in alongside Keena. Not as pale as Iavad, though still moving slower than usual, his left arm bandaged around a splint, Keena’s father moved beside Iavad’s bed.

“I’ve been in the army for a decade, Captain,” Jorgen said, “and I must say, fighting beside you was the highest honor I’ve had.”

Iavad nodded back at him.

“Though I suppose you forgot a few things behind,” Jorgen said, “like this.” He held out the blowback ring. “Can’t have a Captain Bladesbane who don’t bane blades, now, can we?”

“Also,” Keena said, “Dad took the other rings that Xallan stole from you, Zal.”

“How’re you feeling, Keena?”

“Everything hurts”, she said, though it seemed like she enjoyed it, “but the doctors said it’ll all pass.”

“Are you, eh, going back home?”

Keena looked down, though she didn’t break her gaze at Zaleck.

“I don’t know. What’ll you do?”

Zaleck sighed, glancing briefly at Vellis.

“I dunno. Kane is free now. Everybody’s always been afraid of this, but we’re all still here. I dunno what he’s going to do, and I dunno if there’s anything I could do.”

The mass of soldiers by the entrance shifted, someone far away shouted out, “Make way, make way for the Lord General.”

A middle-aged man strode in, a tall stiff man with far too much wrinkles for his age, his beard growing white stripes to match the ones in his brown hair. Coming after him was a cadre of assistants, secretaries and bodyguards.

Iavad nodded at him, he returned the gesture.

“Iavad Nareni,” he uttered, “you’ve been named protector of the realm, and hero of Wolfpine.”

Further back, the soldiers cried out, “Captain Bladesbane! Captain Bladesbane!”

The Lord General side-glanced one of his aides.

“Please, get them to behave.”

The aide bowed and left. The Lord General continued.

“It is fortunate I found you all here. I take it you are Miss Vellis Navar?”

Vellis tensed, her eyes narrowing, she nodded stiffly.

“As you may all be aware, we have rescued the heiress apparent from the Kaylorites, due in great part to the efforts of Captain Iavad. I have corresponded with the queen, informing her of our victory and of all that’s happened that night. The reply just came. She’s sending the army south, to Highport, but she bids us send her child back home, and she specifically asked for you by name, Miss Navar.”

Vellis closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Well,” she said, “we can’t let her Highness down, can we?”

The Lord General bowed to her. “I’m glad I didn’t have to persuade you further. Talk to my quartermaster, Borian, for whatever you need for the trip. And now, I have an army to march.”

Vellis sighed again as soon as the Lord General left.

“Well, that’s where we’re going, Zal, to Ayrndel, to deliver the princess.”

“I don’t understand”, Keena said, “didn’t we kill Xallan? Didn’t we defeat the Kaylorites?”

“They were dealt a huge blow, dear,” Vellis said, “but Kaylor is, or was ruled by three archpriests. Theron, Xallan and Veza. Veza Ossori, the third archpriest is still in command of the invasion army at Highport.”

“Well,” Keena said, “I kind of understand the princess wanting to go back home. I’d like to go back home myself, but, Dad, can’t we make a detour to Ayrndel to go along with them?”

Jorgen closed his eyes, raising a half smile. Vellis was less subtle when she rolled her eyes, amused.

“Oh,” she said, “to be young again.”

Chapter 51

Sunlight caressed her skin, blowing warm life into her pores. Water lapped by her legs, filtered and drained of salt, then pulled into her body. Bit by bit, the hole by Erona Aellar’s chest closed. As day shifted into night, then into day again, her skin folded back into place. Her inner threads rejoined, her desiccated bark glistening with life until, at last, she could breathe once more.

First, Erona moved her fingers, then her hands and feet, then her legs. She pulled herself up, the beach water kissing her back into health lap by lap. The last was her neck, that cracked a bit when she started walking back towards her cottage.

Facing Xallan with a whole army in tow. What a stupid, stupid thing to do. She had been brought out of recovery before her time, and Xallan had been in perfect form. In the end, she lost him. How long ago was that? Days? Years? Decades?

By the way her cottage was abandoned, but not yet overgrown, it might have been days. Did she dare hope? Could she still have time?

A shudder from beyond reached her, a sense of wrongness coming from her friends. They whispered to her, telling of worry, of horror, of death. They told of a stone that cracked, and of a walking abomination.

She sighed, though she just mimicked what she’d have done if she were still human. Kane Atris, free once more, and all because she couldn’t do her job. Zaleck had the right of it. They should have run when they had the chance. They could at least have chosen a better place to face off against Xallan.

Should haves and would haves never grew a garden, though.

Someone of the others must have survived, seeing as they used her kitchen and medical tools, but Gods, they were unattached people. All her gold was still in her chests and drawers, they didn’t even seem to have tried to open them. They did take one of her carts, though. Thankfully, she had a second.

After a change of rags into more appropriate clothes, she went back to her storeroom.

“Wooden Chest,” she thought, “would you come with me? I’m so lonely right now.” Her wooden chest of gold started sliding on the ground, coming after her as she moved to the stables. It jumped unto the cart by itself, though the cart complained of its weight.

She adjusted herself on the driver’s seat, caressing the cart while trying to console it.

“Cart, it has been a long time since we’ve been together, hasn’t it? Care to spend some time with me? I’d like to stay with you while you roll around for me.”

The cart started moving by itself. She exchanged a few stories with it, listening to its feeling while it moved across Voulan’s plains towards Andersel. It had been over a decade since she’d last been there. It was pleasing to see how the Voulanish still stared at her in such blunt disbelief when she passed them by. Riding a cart with no horses also draw a few stares.

She asked the cart to stop by Mirel’s old forge. Her son, who she last saw as this whisp of a child, now ran the place by himself.

“Féher,” she called out by the entrance. The boy stopped his hammering, walking to the front gate only to halt at the sight of her. At once, he kneeled.

“Oh, please, Féher, stand up.”

“Night walking,” he said, “it’s you.”

“So I am, and I’ve come to impose on you with even more work, my boy, but first, let me look at you. Such a strapping lad you’ve become.”

He stood up, blushing at her.

“My lady, last time you brought us work, you saved us all from the plague. You never impose.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said, coming down from her cart after Féher lent her a hand. “Because what I ask of you will test all of your skill.”

“What is your need, my lady?”

She opened the chest, filled to the brim with gold coins.

Féher took a step back, glancing around in a sudden expression of alarm.

“My lady, that’s—too much!”

“I hope it is. I need you to make me a chainmail, Féher, one where every ring will be gold-plated.”

Féher’s eyes remained transfixed on the open chest.

“Will that be enough?”

“How large of a chainmail?” he mumbled.

“Make it as long as a dress, to my measure.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, “that’s more than enough, but Night walking, it will be very heavy. You won’t be able to move much in combat.”

“It’s not for combat, my boy.”

Féher frowned a touch. “What would it be for, then?”

She smiled back at him.

“For talking with the Ashen Lord.”

The End of

The Whirlpool Scar.

The Flow Tales will continue in

The Last Flowcast

Acknowledgement

A big thanks to everyone who made this book possible, and who contributed to it one way or another:

Beta Readers:

Angela Traficante from Pikko’s House

Clara Piochi

Erin Lehman

Fernanda Granzier

J. Flowers-Olnowich

Maddy D

Nathalia Van Leeuwen

Copy Editing / Proofreading:

Erin Lehman

Cover Art and Design:

Daniel Schmelling