Date: 2012-02-14 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Young Adult; Horror; Fiction; Fantasy
Description: There is always a cost to raising the dead... The Magician Raettonus has been agonizing over the death of his master, Sir Slade, for centuries, studying necromancy in the hopes of bringing him to life once more. Soon after Raettonus arrives at a key defensive citadel to tutor the general's sons, the trickster god Kimohr Raulinn comes to him, promising to bring Slade back to life. Raettonus is all too eager to make the deal. But where Kimohr Raulinn goes, suffering follows. The citadel falls under siege by foreign forces, and matters look increasingly grim for the small force of defenders. The
Rights: Copyright 2012 Ash Stinson

Dirge for a Necromancer

Ash Stinson

Copyright Warning

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Published By:

Etopia Press

P.O. Box 66

Medford, OR 97501
http://www.etopia-press.net

Dirge for a Necromancer

Copyright © 2012 by Ash Stinson

ISBN: 978-1-937976-13-2

Edited by Katriena Knights

Cover by Amanda Kelsey

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Etopia Press electronic publication: February 2012

~ Dedication ~

For Anita and Kirk Stinson, who always encouraged me; and for Noel Daniel, who drove me to improve myself.

Prologue

Skeletal fingers with strips of rotting flesh still clinging to them trembled up out of the soil all across the muddy field as the rain pounded down on the knight and the boy. The child trembled as the man urged his horse on down the path toward the bleak, abandoned castle, breathing in the stench of rotting flesh and looking with horror as the bodies pulled themselves from the ground. He was no older than four, the little, blond-haired boy—a tiny, malnourished wisp of a child with wide, green eyes flecked with brown, and gently pointed ears. He shook and sobbed and would’ve fallen under the hooves of the horse but the knight held tight to him and kept him on the saddle as, all around them, the unmarked graves stirred.

“Shush, child,” the knight said in a quiet voice as his black destrier splashed through a puddle. “They won’t hurt you. No one’s going to hurt you.” But the boy continued to cry and the rain continued to fall and the corpses continued to drag themselves out of the ground.

* * *

It was a miserable autumn day. The sky was the color of slate, and the leaves were thick upon the ground, leaving the trees sad and bare.There was a chill in the air, but it didn’t bother Raettonus as he made his way to the stables. Steorra whinnied as Raettonus entered and tossed his big black head. Raettonus patted the destrier’s nose as he reached for the brush. The stables were large and smelled of old wood; in times long before, they might have held fifty horses, maybe even more than that. Now, however, they held only Sir Slade’s old horse. Steorra was still in good condition for his age, but Slade often spoke of buying another horse. In the seven years Raettonus had been living with him, however, he never had. Perhaps that was on his mind today when he told Raettonus he was to groom and saddle Steorra for him.

“Good boy,” said Raettonus, patting the horse’s neck as he brushed out his mane. Steorra snorted into the boy’s hair, messing it up with his hot breath. With a giggle, Raettonus smoothed his hair back down with one hand and then rubbed the old destrier fondly beneath his chin. He set the brush away and began to ready the horse with the ornate black and red bridle and saddle Slade liked so much. They were Slade’s family colors, though he rarely wore them much himself, save for on a flamboyant cloak pin which was a favorite of his. Raettonus rubbed Steorra’s neck and led him out into the courtyard where Slade was waiting with the friend who had come calling on him earlier in the day.

Slade was a tall, broad-shouldered man with black hair that shone almost blue when the light struck it just so. His chin was strong, and his nose was straight and noble. Though he always smiled kindly, Raettonus had always thought his smiles were sad too; his lips smiled, but his eyes didn’t. No, his eyes were deep, blue pools of sorrow and regret. Slade had never told little Raettonus a lie, except with his expression.

As Raettonus led Steorra into the yard, Slade broke off the conversation he was having with his friend, who was mounted on his own large, gray horse. “Ah, there you are,” Slade said, taking the reins from the boy with a smile. “Thank you, Raettonus.” He turned back to his friend. “This is Raettonus—he’s my ward. Raettonus, this is Sir Rhodes the Unicorn.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Sir,” Raettonus mumbled, bowing his head politely.

Rhodes nodded in acknowledgement, but said nothing else to Raettonus. He was a heavyset man, Sir Rhodes. Though still fairly in shape, his gut was beginning to bulge and his face was beginning to sag beneath the stubbly beard growing on his chin. He wasn’t as handsome as Slade—his nose was bulbous and crooked as if it had once been broken, his cropped brown hair was graying at the temples, and he had eyes the color of mud. Raettonus thought he looked like a drunk as well, though the man didn’t smell of liquor. Rhodes had already turned his attention back to Slade.

“I’m just saying, what’s the use of a castle with no one to staff it?” he asked Slade as his mount whickered softly beneath him. “They’re serfs, for God’s sake—it’s not as though they would have a choice in the matter.”

Slade shook his head and put his foot in the stirrup of Steorra’s saddle. “They were scared to leave their homes. They think I’m some sort of demon, Rhodes,” he said as he pulled himself up onto the horse. “I had to release them from service.”

Rhodes sighed. “You’re softhearted, Slade,” he said. “You know how dangerous that is in times like these…”

A mirthless smile appeared on Slade’s lips. “I think I’ll manage,” he said. “My heart might be soft, but my walls are made of stone.”

“Well, then,” said Rhodes. “Shall we be going?”

“Yes, let’s,” said Slade. He twisted around in the saddle and offered his hand to his ward. “You too, Raettonus. I’m going to need your help later.”

Raettonus nodded and happily took his hand, and the former knight pulled him up onto the horse to sit behind his saddle. Rhodes chuckled and shook his head. “That boy doesn’t have his own horse?” he said. “Poor Steorra. That can’t be very good on his old bones.”

Slade smiled apologetically and rubbed his steed’s neck fondly. “I know,” he said. “But Raettonus weighs hardly a thing. I’ve been meaning to get him his own horse, but… Well, you know how things go.”

“Maybe you ought to leave the kid behind?” said Rhodes, turning his ugly, mud-colored eyes on Raettonus. Raettonus glared at him and gripped Slade’s tunic. “I mean, for Steorra’s sake. Besides, it’s going to be dangerous. I should think a little boy like that—”

“He’s eleven years old, and capable of taking care of himself,” Slade said. “And Steorra’s plenty capable of carrying us both.”

The other man gave a resigned sigh. “All right then,” he said, reluctance obvious in his voice and in the way he held himself. “I just don’t want your boy getting hurt, or your horse going lame. But if you’re set on bringing him, we should start off, I guess.”

“Lead the way.”

Sir Rhodes nodded and obliged and, horses abreast, they rode out of the courtyard. As they passed beneath the murder-holes and portcullis, a skeleton passed by them, its bones clacking softly with every movement. Raettonus saw Rhodes shiver as he spied the skeleton and quickly avert his gaze. The boy couldn’t help but smirk at that. He didn’t like this man, and he was glad he was afraid.

The portcullis lowered when they were past it, and they started across the overgrown fields around Sir Slade’s castle.

“Master?” asked Raettonus softly. Slade looked back at him over his shoulder. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to fight some bandits who have been troubling a road a few miles away,” Slade told him with a smile. Even if it wasn’t genuine, Raettonus still loved his smile. “They’ve been ambushing travelers going into and out of Sir Rhodes’ father’s lands.”

“We’re going to stop them, Master?” Raettonus asked.

Slade’s eyes grew sadder, though he smiled still. “Yes,” he said, turning back around. He placed one hand on the hilt of his longsword. “We’re going to stop them.”

“So,” Rhodes said as they drew close to the edge of the field. “The kid here—”

“Raettonus.”

“Raettonus, right. Sorry,” said Sir Rhodes, nodding to the boy. “How’d he come into your protection? Is he a relation of yours?”

Slade shook his head. “No,” he said. “Just a child who needed a guiding hand. I’d rather not talk about that now. Tell me—how have you been? Is your father well?”

As they began to speak of Rhodes’ father and the times the two had shared squiring together, Raettonus wrapped his arms tight around Slade’s waist and, leaning against the man’s back, drifted off to sleep.

He dreamed of rain and rot and of a tall, blond man who spoke harshly to him. The man grabbed him by his wrist and dragged him along a dark hall, and he cried and begged to be let go but it fell on deaf ears. They were nearing the end of the hall, where a gaunt, iron-banded door stood, and as they came close, the door burst open and flames danced out of it. Raettonus dug his heels into the ground and screamed, but the man paid no mind, and Raettonus was too small to resist. The man picked Raettonus up like a sack of turnips and hurled him through the door into the fire.

Raettonus jerked suddenly awake, and Slade turned to look at him. “Something wrong?”

“No, Master,” said the boy. “I was only having a dream.”

“What did you dream?”

Raettonus blinked and tried to recall. “It’s gone now, Master,” he said apologetically. “I can’t remember.”

He glanced around and found he had been asleep for a longer time than it seemed. Dusk was upon them, and they were plodding along a dusty road between two orchards. The sky was pink, and the trees cast long shadows across their path as motes of dust lingered in the orange-tinged air. A few bats were winging their way into the sky from out of the trees in search of their night’s prey, as were big brown owls. A sharp wind rose suddenly, causing Slade’s dark blue cloak to flap against Raettonus’ face. He winced and slunk down.

“I don’t see any evidence of bandits here, Sir Rhodes,” Slade said, looking around.

“The area is farther on, I believe,” Rhodes said, urging his gray warhorse into a trot. “Maybe half a mile…”

“You said that two miles ago,” Slade said, falling in behind him. “We’re running out of light, Rhodes.”

Rhodes shrugged. “Maybe we ought to take a rest,” he said. “I could use a walk for a bit, and I’m sure your boy’s getting sore, riding bareback like that.”

“All right,” said Slade. “That sounds like a good idea.”

They traveled a little farther along the trail before turning off into the orchard and dismounting. Rhodes readjusted his sword belt as he stretched his legs. Raettonus took the reins of the horses and went to tie them to a tree. Steorra whickered softly and nipped at his hair. “Be good,” Raettonus told the horse, patting his jaw. As if in answer, the horse snorted in his face, spattering him with snot. He furrowed his brow and wiped his face on the sleeve of his tunic and then patted Steorra’s nose lovingly. “Well, I know who’s not getting any sugar cubes when we get back home.” Rhodes’ horse whinnied, and Raettonus patted his nose as well.

Slade leaned against a tree, watching Raettonus with those sad eyes of his as Rhodes walked slowly around behind him, tapping his fingers against the hilt of his sword. “I hadn’t noticed before,” Slade said. “But that’s a different horse than you used to ride. Did something happen to old Stoneblock?”

“No, Stoneblock is just fine,” Rhodes said, walking back and forth slowly. He stopped his tapping and instead tightened his fingers around the sword hilt. “This is Silvershield.”

“He’s a fine looking horse,” Slade remarked. “Where did you get him?”

Rhodes paused behind Slade and slid his sword up ever so slightly so the blade peeked out of its scabbard. “Oh, you know,” he said nonchalantly. “It was just a gift from some vassal lord of my father.”

“A gift?” said Slade, his eyes still on Raettonus and the horses. “That’s very nice. Is he broken for war yet?”

There was the sound of metal sliding against leather as Rhodes quickly drew his sword. Slade straightened hastily and pushed himself away from the tree just as the sword swished down at him. The blade tore through his cloak and tunic and bit into his arm, leaving a bloody gash in his shoulder, but Slade managed to dodge any real damage. His left hand darted down to his own sword, and he swiftly unsheathed it, dancing away as Rhodes took another swing. “Rhodes,” said Slade calmly. “I’m sure you don’t want to do this.”

The other man gave no answer, but came again with his sword. Slade parried the blade with his own and pressed forward, knocking his old friend off balance. The sound of steel on steel bounced off the trees and set Rhodes’ horse to screaming which, in turn, startled Steorra. Raettonus watched in fear as the men fought, frozen as he tried to figure out what was happening. Recovering himself, the child pulled a knife from his boot and went rushing to aid his master. “Raettonus, stay back!” Slade called to him, catching another one of Rhodes’ swipes with his blade. Raettonus froze mid-step, clenching his little knife in his trembling hand.

Rhodes pushed Slade violently back. With a yelp, Slade fell backwards as he caught his foot in the roots of one of the trees. Rhodes lifted his sword to strike. As the blade came down, Slade lifted his hand. A stream of water shot from Slade’s palm, striking the other man squarely in the face. Rhodes sputtered and gasped for air and dropped his sword. Slade took the opportunity to get back to his feet. He strode quickly forward and jabbed with his sword.

Raettonus winced as Slade’s sword entered Rhodes’ thigh and came out the other side, dripping with blood. Rhodes cried out, his already red face turning a bright crimson. “Raettonus, get his sword,” Slade said, his voice icy cold. Quickly, the boy complied and fetched Rhodes’ weapon. Slade moved closer to his one-time friend, driving his blade deeper into his meaty thigh. “You ought to die.”

Tears ran down Rhodes’ sagging cheeks, and he began to sob. “Slade, Slade!” he pleaded. A trail of snot was dripping from his nostril. “D-don’t do that! I’m—we were friends!”

“Yes. We were,” said Slade. His face was expressionless. “So I’m not going to kill you. How much did they pay, whoever it was that bought you? How much gold does it take for you to murder a friend, Rhodes?”

The man didn’t answer. Narrowing his eyes, Slade pulled his sword from Rhodes’ leg, prompting an agonized scream. He turned away and started toward the horses, and Raettonus ran ahead of him to untie them. Slade helped Raettonus up onto Silvershield and then mounted Steorra. “Slade, wait!” shrieked Rhodes, limping towards them. “Y-you’re not going to leave me here, are you? Oh, God, Slade—I’m injured! I’m bleeding… I could die!”

“If you die, that’s God’s will. I don’t really care what happens to you,” Slade said, his eyes hard. He turned Steorra around. “Raettonus, come.” They started for the path as Rhodes called after them. The sun was gone; night was imminent. Somewhere a wolf howled and dogs began to bay.

It was a miserable autumn night. The chill in the air pierced bone-deep. However, Raettonus didn’t mind.

Chapter One

Raettonus opened his pale eyes to stare at his ceiling and listened to the morning sounds outside his home—the chirp of birds, the laughter of children, the passing conversations of people arranging their day. He rolled over onto his side with a sigh and curled up into a ball beneath his thin blanket. Even though he was now a grown man, and remarkably well muscled, his bones were still slight and his features androgynous. He hugged his knees and stared at his wall, his gaze tracing the outlines of all the familiar stains and cracks in the plaster.

He’d dreamed a dream that he’d had a million times. It was more a memory really, which would come to him at night when he thought he’d left it behind. In the dream, he was in Slade’s room, lying on his bed, crying with his face pressed against his master’s chest. The room was dark, but he could see all the same—he could see the tapestries in black and red with a gryphon rampant upon them, and the chest at the foot of the bed, and the suit of armor that stood beside the open window, and the thin drapes flapping as the rain poured outside. He could see the blood soaking into the mattress all around them. He watched the blood spreading; it was all over his hands and his stomach, and it smelled so strong he could’ve sworn it was in his nose as well. He stared at Slade’s broad, bare chest—at the pale, moist flesh—because he was too afraid to look up. If he looked up, he’d see his master’s face. If he saw his master’s face, he’d start crying anew.

With one hand, Raettonus brushed the long, blond strands of hair from his face and threw off his blanket. As much as he would’ve liked to hang around in his bed the rest of the day, he’d learned that such an action would only give him painful sores. Besides, he needed to be going.

The curtain drawn over his window did little to stop the light that flitted into his room, illuminating the stained plaster walls and the piles of books and papers strewn about the floor. As Raettonus swung his legs over the side of the bed, his stomach rumbled. “Brecan?” he called out, but there was no answer. He scowled. “Figures he’d be off screwing around…”

He stood with a grunt and rubbed at his stomach as he shuffled over to his desk. His torn black tunic had been unceremoniously flung across a stack of books. He picked it up and slipped it over his head, ignoring the smell of death that clung to its fibers. He had dropped his belt and rapier carelessly on the floor on his way to bed the night before, and it took him a moment to locate them. Buckling his belt around his middle, Raettonus glanced out the window. The sun was full up; he had slept well past noon. It was going to set him back on his journey some, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

A worn leather bag lay against his bookshelf. He picked it up and began to fill it with jars and little velvet satchels of herbs. Slinging it over his shoulder, he took one last look around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything before he left his tiny hovel of a home.

Ti Tunfa was a small town that sat in the weedy plains of central Zylekkha. It was a neat, tidy place with cobblestone streets and square, whitewashed buildings with peaked roofs of crumbly red tile. Raettonus thought of it as being a very sterile place. There was little color in it and, though he’d lived there many years, he’d never seen the streets busy.

Today was no exception. His boots pattered softly against the stones underfoot as he walked into the almost completely empty street. In this part of town, the buildings were cracked, decaying things that cried out for new coats of paint to hide the chips and mold dotting their exteriors. He didn’t bother to lock his door. No one would bother a broken shack at this edge of Ti Tunfa.

“Hey, Raet!” called Brecan from down the street. Raettonus scowled and turned toward his voice. “I was wondering when you were gonna wake up! I was gonna wake you, but then I thought you might be angry, so I let you sleep instead.”

Brecan was the first friend Raettonus had made in this alien land. The only friend, in fact—though “friend” was more of Brecan’s word than his. They had met when Raettonus had first entered Zylekkha. Brecan had attacked him.

He was a unicorn, Brecan. That was what he said, at least, but in truth he was more like some strange perversion of a unicorn. He had the face and arched neck of a desert horse, true, but his mouth opened wider, and it was full of sharp fangs. His horn was short and slender and looked like blue-tinted glass, and he had a bristly mane of off-white hair that stood up along his neck. His forelegs were slim, also like those of a horse, save that his light-colored hooves were cloven and sharp. There was a gentle slope to his back—which, along with his large, leathery wings, had made him hard for Raettonus to ride at first—and his hindquarters were those of a white lion with a long, thin tail with a brick red arrow at its end.

Raettonus slapped Brecan sharply on the nose. “You should’ve woken me,” he said. “I wanted to get an early start before it got hot out.”

“Ow,” said Brecan, his tail drooping. “But, Raet, you always yell at me when I wake you…”

“That’s other days. Today I wanted to get an early start before it got hot out.”

“I’m sorry, Raet,” Brecan said, lowering his head. “I didn’t mean to let you down. I was just helping Rhodes get—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” said Raettonus, smacking the unicorn again. “Let’s get going.”

Brecan closed his mouth and nodded eagerly. He moved his long, white wings forward so Raettonus could mount him. “When we get to Kaebha Citadel, I get to stay with you, right?” he asked, craning his neck around to look at Raettonus with his pale blue eyes. “You’re not going to send me away, are you? I get lonely here by myself.”

Raettonus pulled up his riding boots. “You’re not by yourself here,” he said nonchalantly. “There’s Rhodes.”

The unicorn considered that for a moment. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, there’s Rhodes. But that’s only sometimes, and it’s not the same.”

He shrugged. “If the general will let you stay, you can stay,” he said. “I don’t care either way, honestly.”

That seemed to strike Brecan. He flattened his ears. “You don’t care?” he asked in a small voice.

“Not even slightly,” Raettonus said, grabbing a hold of his mane. “Can we get going?”

“Y-yeah,” said Brecan, spreading his wings. “Sure, Raet.”

He took a few running steps and then leapt into the air. The unicorn and his rider spiraled up, away from Ti Tunfa. Raettonus watched the little city sink away beneath them, the little white and red buildings falling farther and farther away as the pair rose into the clear blue sky. Raettonus could still remember the first time he had seen Ti Tunfa, approaching it on Brecan’s back. Scared half to death, he had gripped the unicorn tightly as the city had appeared on the horizon like a row of little dollhouses coming closer and closer.

“When you dropped off my books at the citadel, did they let you inside?” Raettonus asked as they glided over the plains.

“Huh? Oh, no,” said Brecan. “I didn’t think to ask. A couple centaurs came out and took them from me, and the general thanked me. I didn’t ask to go inside. Why?”

“Nothing. I was just wondering how many men were there,” Raettonus answered, turning his attention downward. He could see the patchwork fields of the farmlands off in the distance. To the east of the farms and soft, weeded hills, he could see the icy wastelands called Noa Kurok, which stretched on clear to the ocean. The Dragon’s Teeth Mountains rose up before them to the south—a jagged, purple blemish against the blue horizon.

“It’s right beside the ocean,” Brecan said. “Well, no—I don’t mean right beside, because it’s up on a cliff, carved into a mountain. But the ocean’s down beneath it. You can see it from the citadel.”

Raettonus rolled his eyes. “Oh, the ocean. How nice,” he said. “Yes, I’m sure I’ll be very glad that we’re right beside the ocean when the waves crashing on the cliff are keeping me awake. Or maybe when a storm kicks up and batters the citadel for a few days.”

Brecan lowered his head and mumbled, “Well, I thought it was pretty…”

With a heavy sigh, Raettonus leaned back. Miles below them he could see workers moving through the fields, looking so much like ants. This is how God must view us, he thought, not for the first time. To Him we must all be little specks moving about so far below Him that He can’t tell one from another. That’s why He doesn’t care.

“I should’ve stayed in Ti Tunfa,” he said. “This is stupid. God knows how long I’m going to be stuck down there now.”

“But, Raet, it’ll be fun,” said Brecan. “You’ll have something to do! You need something to do, Raet. When you don’t have anything to do, all you do is sleep and drink and play chess, and you yell a lot. You’ve got a short temper when you’re bored, Raet.”

“I’ve got a short temper all the time.”

“Yeah, I guess,” the unicorn allowed. “But it’s even shorter when you’re bored. Besides, it’s only going to be a few years. Ten at most. Ten years isn’t anything, is it, Raet?”

Raettonus sighed again. “No,” he admitted. “Ten years isn’t anything at all. I can put up with some centaur’s snot-nosed whelps for ten years. I’ve put up with you for several times as long, after all.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Brecan cheerfully. Raettonus scowled, irritated that he hadn’t understood the dig.

A gryphon cried somewhere in the distance, and Raettonus turned his face in that direction, toward the blood-colored burn that was the Koa Kurok desert. The beast’s sad call echoed over the empty landscape, and Raettonus found himself thinking of Slade’s coat of arms—a gryphon rampant over a field of red checkered with black. Close on the heels of that thought came the memory that had been with him as he had awoken. He needed only to close his eyes to see it all over again, and he did. Slade’s room, with the drapes blowing wildly, the rain coming down outside in hard sheets, the shutters clacking against stone, sounding like a heart beating out of control, the blood soaking into the sheets…

When all was said and done, the blood had soaked all the way through and had begun to fall onto the stone beneath the bed in great, coalescing drops by the time he’d finally gone to clean it.

“Please don’t hate me,” Slade had said to him, taking his hand. “Please don’t hate me for this.”

Raettonus couldn’t hate him. Not him. No matter what.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and wondered why it had to always be that memory. There were other things he might have thought about; there were better times with Slade. Slade had taught him how to ride, and how to hold a sword, and how to read. There had been good days, back then. Why did it always have to be that memory that was so ingrained in his mind that he only needed to close his eyes and he was there in that cold room, reeking of blood?

All at once, he noticed that they were rather closer to the mountains. Brecan was singing a song about a maiden who had killed herself and her lover who, seeing this, had flung himself into the ocean. Raettonus pinched one of Brecan’s ears and the unicorn yelped. “Stop singing that,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“Ouch—sorry, Raet,” Brecan said quickly. “What song would you rather I sing?”

“I’d rather you sing none at all.”

They flew on in silence.

* * *

At night, the wolves came out and prowled the world. The Kingdom of Zylekkha had no shortage of wolves. They wandered the wastelands, scuffing the ice and the sand as they lurched over the rises and through the valleys. They roamed the forests and the cliffs and the plains land. Zylekkha was full of wolves, and the night belonged to them. The moon was full up by the time Brecan reached the mountains, and on his back Raettonus could hear the wolves howling.

Even in daylight, the Dragon’s Teeth were a dreary, unwelcoming place full of sandy soil and sheer rock faces. The paths were uneven and narrow, and in places they crumbled away to nothing. The bridges, where they existed at all, were made of wood and rope; they were rotting, treacherous things that might break beneath one’s weight with little warning. The only trees that grew in the Dragon’s Teeth Mountains were thin, sparse things, and even those were not very common. There were a few nice places—scenic ponds and slow moving stretches of river that sat in some of the valleys where the grass grew green around them and some hardier trees managed to eke out a fair survival—but they were few and far between.

That was in the daytime, but at night, everything about the Dragon’s Teeth was worse. When it was dark, goblins hunted. They knew the crumbling paths better than any traveler could ever hope to, and they could navigate even when there was no moon or stars to see by. When it was dark, faeries hunted. The light hurt their eyes, so they only crept out from the bowels of the rock at night, to seek flesh to sustain themselves for a while longer. The faeries were always hungry, and in what surface-dwellers perceived as complete darkness, they could see perfectly well. When it was dark, will-o-wisps hunted. They climbed from fissures and came from the world between worlds and led travelers off cliffs so they could gorge themselves on their broken remains. The lucky ones died when they fell. The unlucky ones were devoured alive as the fall left them broken and helpless when the will-o-wisp moved in.

Tonight the moon was out—a large, red-orange half circle rising slowly through a purple sky, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of millions of stars. Beneath them, Raettonus could make out a few cliffs and crags and a broader stretch of road curving around the mountain by the moonlight. Beyond the mountaintops, the sea was just visible—a calm, dark mass which could be smelled and heard even from this height and this distance. He leaned against Brecan’s neck and yawned. “Can you go any faster?” he asked the unicorn. “They’re all like to be asleep at this rate. If we would’ve left on time…”

“I’m sorry, Raet,” said Brecan. “But you get so angry when I wake you up, so I didn’t wake you up even though you told me we needed to leave earlier. And I would have woken you up, but I thought you’d be mad if I did.”

He flew a little lower, so that they were no longer so far above the mountains. Instead, they were of a level with some of the higher peaks. Here and there Raettonus spotted the unnatural lines of buildings—temples and fortresses only. No one built houses in the Dragon’s Teeth. No one but goblins, and they lived in dragon- and wolf-skin huts. He spotted a temple atop a mountain, its lines stark in the moonlight, and knew it was the Hell’s Gate temple of Cykkus. It was said to sit atop the only bridge between the realm of Zylx and Hell itself. Raettonus watched it for a second, and then they were past it and it was rapidly fading into all the other shadows of the night.

Fires burned inside some of the fortresses, but these were not the ones he was looking for. The Kaebha Citadel sat beside the sea. Brecan knew the way; he was an idiot, but he was an expert at navigating, whether he had ever been to the destination or not. Raettonus closed his eyes and turned his face toward the unicorn’s bristly mane. He wasn’t tired enough to sleep. Instead, he lost himself in his thoughts and toyed with the hilt of his rapier. The smell of sea salt was growing stronger and stronger, and the air was colder and colder, and the sound of waves crashing upon the jutting rocks was growing louder and louder. It seemed to take an eternity, but finally he could feel Brecan descending, and he dug his knees in and wrapped his arms around the unicorn’s neck so he wouldn’t fall off. Brecan’s hooves struck the ground hard, jarring Raettonus and causing the contents of his backpack to clink together. “Easy!” he hissed, opening his eyes.

“Sorry,” Brecan said quickly.

Raettonus straightened on the unicorn’s back. “I just about bit my tongue in two,” he complained. He glanced at the dark outline of the fortress looming over them from atop its mountain. “Is that it? You could’ve landed closer.”

In the darkness, the Kaebha Citadel was a gloomy place. Its walls were built of enormous stone blocks, which had been cut from the mountain around it when they had leveled the peak to make a place for the fortress to sit. It had been an expensive undertaking by King Ryahnrish, who many considered Zylekkha’s most paranoid king—and in a kingdom like Zylekkha, that meant a lot. It had thousands of arrow slits in it to accommodate the enormous garrison it had housed in its stronger days. Now the number of defenders was far smaller, though no one was sure how many men there currently were. The battlements were lined with a cage of wicked iron spikes to prevent aerial attacks, and a number of middle-sized catapults were visible upon the roof. Centaurs in full plate armor patrolled the fortress with longswords and spears and bows slung across their backs, and several guards with halberds were positioned at each entrance. They watched Raettonus approach on Brecan’s back with subdued curiosity. As they drew near, one of the guards—whose armor was more ornamental than his companions’—nodded to Brecan and raised the visor on his helm. “Hello there,” he called, trotting forward. Where the plate mail didn’t cover him, Raettonus could see that his horse portion was chestnut in color. “I remember you from before. Brecan, was it?”

“It was!” exclaimed Brecan happily. “Still is, in fact.”

“I take it that this, then, is the magician General Tykkleht was expecting?” the guard asked, looking at Raettonus. “Good evening to you.”

Raettonus dismounted. “Yes, yes,” he said. “My pleasure, or whatever you’re wanting to hear. Is the general up?”

“I’m afraid not,” the guard said. “He left instructions for me to show you to your chambers, though. My name’s Daeblau. I’m the Captain of the Garrison.” He held out his hand, but Raettonus didn’t shake it.

“All my books are there, I assume?”

Daeblau nodded. “Yes, Magician,” he said. “We’ve arranged them for you and everything.”

Raettonus scowled. “Wonderful. Now I’ll have to spend the rest of the night fixing what you bumbling idiots have messed up,” he said. “Lead the way, sir. Brecan, with me. You can ask the general tomorrow whether you can stay for the duration, I suppose.”

The centaur turned and called to someone within the citadel in Kaerikyna—the hard-sounding language of the centaurs—and, after a moment, the portcullis rose and the sturdy, iron-banded double doors swung open, moved by a pair of centaurs. Raettonus entered alongside Daeblau, Brecan taking up the rear. As they entered the wide hall, the guards behind them swung the doors closed again and lowered the portcullis. Most of the torches in the sconces on the walls weren’t lit, leaving the high-ceilinged hallway full of gloom and shadows. Squinting into the darkness, Raettonus could make out tapestries on the walls, but not what was upon them. Massive pillars made of gilded brick and decorated with red and purple hangings were set along each wall to hold up the heavy stone roof. The entry hall, however, was the only extravagantly decorated corridor they passed through. They walked a long way, past many smaller hallways that branched off the main, and passed simple staircases that ascended sharply and were soon lost in darkness. They walked up a broad stone staircase with wide, shallow steps—the kind of steps Raettonus was used to seeing in centaur-built habitations. The landing above was better lit, and here Raettonus could see painted shields hanging on the walls, which he paused to look at.

“Who’s this, here?” he asked, pointing to one of the shields. It showed a centaur with dark red fur drawing back a bow with four arrows nocked. The artist had neglected to paint his eyes, it seemed. “Daebrish?”

“Kaeriaht,” Daeblau told him.

“Ah, right—the fire god,” Raettonus said, nodding. “I was used to seeing him depicted as made of fire.”

“That’s the elves’ vision of him,” the centaur said. “If you’d please, Magician—there’s still quite a way to walk.”

“Yes, all right,” Raettonus said, and they resumed their trek through the fortress.

The Kaebha Citadel was deathly quiet, but with the faint ticking of a clock in some unseen place echoing through it. Raettonus found it peaceful. It was a place without ghosts wandering through it in great, writhing herds.

Raettonus’ room was up high in a tower which, thankfully, didn’t look out on the ocean. Two tapestries hung on the walls—one depicting Ryahnrish’s erection of the citadel, and the other showing Daebrish driving the vampires into the Koa Kurok desert. A bronze brazier sat in one corner, unlit, beside a large bed with a heavy wooden frame. There was a desk and a bookshelf which had been filled with his dusty, worn books. Raettonus scowled at the order the soldiers had put them in as he set his backpack down on the desk.

“Is everything to your liking?” Daeblau asked. “I can get a fire started if you’d like—”

“No, it’s fine,” said Raettonus, waving him away. “Back to your duties, sir.”

“Sleep well, Magician,” said the centaur with a bow. He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him with a soft thud.

Raettonus lay down on the bed, which was lower to the ground than he would’ve liked, and also big enough to comfortably fit at least four grown men larger than himself. Brecan hopped into the bed beside him. “I like Daeblau,” he said, resting his jaw across Raettonus’ stomach. Raettonus pushed his head away, only for the unicorn to resettle it across his chest instead. “He’s a nice guy. He gave me half a sparrow on one of the trips I made down here with your books.”

Raettonus pushed the unicorn’s heavy head off himself again. “You have bad breath,” he muttered. “Did I say you could get up here?”

“I wonder what the general’s like?” Brecan said, rolling over onto his side. He twitched his long, thin tail slowly to and fro.

“We’ll see tomorrow,” Raettonus said, closing his eyes. “If I sleep past eight, wake me. I mean it too. If you don’t wake me up I’m going to snap off that horn of yours and stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Brecan blinked. “Where doesn’t the sun shine, Raet?” he asked. “Is this a riddle? I’m no good at riddles. Is it in forests? Does the sun not shine in forests? Oh, but that’s not right—there’s sun between the leaves. Hm…”

Raettonus sighed and went to sleep.

* * *

His dream was vivid, far more vivid than it had any right to be. He was standing at the entrance of a temple of some sort, built on a bluff overlooking many other weedy bluffs. Beside him a shallow, square, marble pool shone in the moonlight, reflecting the clear night sky. He knelt beside it, looking at his reflection—a thin-lipped, high-cheeked man of twenty-six with pale red eyes. It was the same as it ever was. Always twenty-six…

He stood and looked toward the temple. It was a large, clean building made of white stone polished until it gleamed like bleached bone. The architecture looked very classical to Raettonus’ eyes, with wide steps leading up from all directions and ornately carved pillars supporting the portico. As he ascended the stairs, he found the wide, open doorway covered only with a white silken hanging. He pushed it aside and entered the temple.

The inside was richly decorated in any manner thinkable—murals, paintings, tapestries, weapons, sculptures, carvings into the stone itself. Raettonus walked along slowly, looking at everything, but not really taking in the details, until he reached an enormous chamber. A jade throne stood sentry on the other end of the room. Wearily, Raettonus approached it, moving his hand down to his waist to grip the hilt of his rapier only to find that it wasn’t there.

From the throne, an elf in flowing white robes watched him. His face was obscured by a mask, but Raettonus could see his eyes through it, glowing yellow. His wrists and waist and the ankles of his bare feet were wrapped in beads of many colors and decorative chains of gold, and copper, and silver. Long, white hair fell across his shoulders, a few strands of it caught upon his teardrop shaped ears. As he approached, Raettonus felt the masked elf’s smirk before he saw it through the gaping mouth of the mask.

“Where am I?” Raettonus asked him.

The elf’s smirk widened. “In a dream, Raettonus,” he said, leaning his elbow on the wide, intricately carved arm of the throne. His voice was soft and smooth—a charming, seductive, treacherous voice.

“Who are you?” Raettonus asked him.

“A dreamer, of course,” answered the elf with a slow chuckle. He waved Raettonus closer with one hand, beads clicking together with the movement. Cautiously, Raettonus approached until he was standing beside the barely raised platform upon which the throne stood.

“So, what then, you’re trying to convince me I’m in your dream?” Raettonus asked.

“My dear boy, I’m not trying to convince you of anything.” The masked man smiled, showing his straight white teeth, and leaned forward. “It’s a lovely night out, isn’t it? It’s always night here, even when the sun is up.”

Raettonus looked away uneasily, toward the temple’s entrance. “What is this place?” he asked.

“It’s a graveyard,” answered the elf. His mask was painted in red, green, and blue, but the paint was old, and it was beginning to crack and peel.

“I’ve never seen a graveyard that looks like this,” answered Raettonus, glaring at the elf out of the corner of his eye. “And I’ve seen a lot of graveyards.”

“It’s a graveyard for ideas,” the masked man replied, his demeanor still smooth. What Raettonus could see of him through his mask proved him to be a young man, no older than twenty years. “The whole world is.”

“A graveyard?”

“A graveyard of ideas, yes,” the elf confirmed with a nod. “Hopes die and fall to the ground, and civilizations are built upon their ashes. We visit dead hopes and ideas only in dreams, Raettonus, my dear child. This is their graveyard.”

Raettonus shifted uncomfortably. “You’re not making a whole lot of sense,” he said, taking a seat beside the throne.

The masked man beamed down at him, his eyes glowing like to the eyes of a cat in moonlight. “Oh, dear, sweet Raettonus,” he said. “If I wanted, I could easily have power over you. I would never use it, though… You do my work without my intervention.”

“What on Earth are you going on about?” he asked the elf, cocking one eyebrow.

The masked man sighed and leaned back in his throne. “Oh, nothing,” he said. “Pay me no mind; it’s just the jabbering of a tired old soul. You know how tiring it is not to die, don’t you? Why, it feels like the days just get longer and longer until all your life has only been one single, endless day.”

“That I can agree with,” Raettonus said. He focused on a crack in the floor tile under his foot. “I used to know where everything ended. Death—for everyone it ends in death. But, if that stops being the case, then what? Life can’t just go on and on forever…”

“It doesn’t,” the elf said. “Everything dies, Raettonus. It’s why life is so dull; we know the ending, so everything between is just a forgone conclusion. I’ll die some day, you’ll die some day, Brecan will die some day. When you die, I’ll make sure that you’re buried beside Slade the Black and Red.”

Raettonus looked up at him sharply. “What do you know about Master Slade?”

The masked man slid from his throne and knelt beside Raettonus, placing one hand on his jaw. He leaned in close. “Only what you tell me,” he said, kissing Raettonus’ cheek softly. He slipped something hard and cold into Raettonus’ hand. For the first time, Raettonus got a good look at his eyes, behind the mask. They were sad eyes, full of regret. Like Slade, his smile was only skin deep.

“Who are you?” Raettonus asked again.

“Only a dreamer,” the man in the mask responded, and Raettonus awoke.

For a long while, he stared up into the darkness as Brecan snored beside him. Raettonus’ mind wandered from thought to thought. Who was that man in the mask? What did he want? Was he a friend or a foe? He could still feel something hard and cold clutched in his fist. He knew with certainty—painful, unsettling certainty—that it hadn’t been a dream at all.

Chapter Two

General Tykkleht was a deeply spiritual man, so Raettonus had to attend him in the citadel’s shrine that morning before they could speak further. He was a heavy man whose stomachs—both human and equine—bulged, though not sickeningly so. He had a strong face with a powerful jaw and round eyes that bugged out a bit. Not a handsome man, by any means—Raettonus found himself hoping his sons did not take after him, because it’d be quite a thing to have to put up with all day, every day, that sort of ugliness—but he had the countenance of a hard, trustworthy man. It was a face to lead with.

Raettonus couldn’t care less about the gods of the realm of Zylx—or any gods, for that matter—but he knelt beside Tykkleht all the same. First they prayed before a statue of the King of Gods, Kurok, who was also the God of Warriors. It was a fine statue, carved in ebony with rubies for eyes, the skin of the figure gilt in gold. Many other soldiers also knelt beside the statue, deep in silent prayers, or else softly singing songs about Kurok’s glory. After that, they knelt before the statue of Cykkus, the God of Death, which was a suit of polished black armor with black, granite wings and candles set in the helm for his eyes. While Tykkleht prayed his silent prayer to Cykkus, Raettonus glowered at the suit of armor. He didn’t care about the other gods—they meant nothing to him. But this one, this god of death, had his full hate.

They prayed at three more statues—Harkkan the goblin god of war, Virkki the werewolf god of camaraderie, and Syrinna Teba the elven goddess of healing—and then Tykkleht insisted on praying before several smaller shrines, whose gods Raettonus didn’t even know. It was two hours before they were done praying before the shrines of all Tykkleht’s gods, major and minor, at which point the service proper began, conducted by an elven priest in plain white robes.

The sight of the priest made Raettonus remember his dream the night before. When he had woken up that morning, he’d opened his hand to find a small figure, carved of obsidian, in his palm in the very same shape of the gryphon on Slade’s coat of arms. It was not at all large—from foot to head the gryphon was around four inches, he guessed. He had stared at it for an almost inappropriate length of time, wondering if he was still in a dream until it became obvious he was indeed awake.

Aside from being an elf in white robes, however, the priest wasn’t anything like the man in his dream. He was elderly, with wide, kind eyes, and a gravelly voice. Raettonus only half listened as he droned on and on about Kurok and his Guardians, and about one of the Divine Campaigns and how the Old Gods fought the Rebel Gods. Raettonus glanced at General Tykkleht at his side, who was watching the priest with great concentration, nodding every now and again. Groaning inwardly, Raettonus turned his eyes toward the statue of Cykkus.

It was another hour before the priest was done with his bit. The centaurs recited a final prayer to Kurok, pounded on their breastplates, and then the service was done. General Tykkleht got to his feet before helping Raettonus up. “What a spectacular service today,” said the general boisterously, flicking his cropped tail back and forth. “I’ll tell you, Magician, there’s nothing better than starting your day acknowledging the gods. I can already feel their blessings upon us.”

“Yes, invigorating,” Raettonus said dryly.

“For an elf, our priest here at Kaebha is a pretty smart little fellow, wouldn’t you say?” Tykkleht asked as they left the shrine. “He’s a meek fellow, knows his place. Smart for an elf.”

“For an elf,” agreed Raettonus blandly. “General, if I may get down to business with you—”

“You may.”

“—I would like to discuss your sons and exactly what it is you’d like them taught?” Raettonus said. “Also, I would like to amend my terms.”

“Amend how?” asked Tykkleht, furrowing his brow. “You haven’t decided to leave, have you? If your room is inadequate I’ll find you better quarters.”

“No, my room is just fine,” Raettonus said, hooking his thumbs through his belt. “I would just like to have Brecan with me for the duration of my stay here.”

“That hunter unicorn?”

Raettonus nodded.

“Certainly. Of course. Not a problem,” said the general. “Now, about my boys—I’d like you to teach them how to kill.”

“How to kill?” asked Raettonus, cocking one eyebrow. “I would think that’d be your area, General.”

Tykkleht shook his head. “No, no,” he said. “My younger son is rather sickly, and my older son is crippled, so neither of them can be soldiers in the traditional sense. However, I’ll be damned if they don’t get to come to war with me and their uncles, just the same as all our ancestors did since King Daebrish conquered Zylekkha. No, if they can’t wield lances and swords, then at least they can fight our enemies with magic. That’s what I want them taught—to kill with magic. Of course, it’s not all magic. They need a tutor—someone to teach them languages, and mathematics, and all the finer points of academics. You can do that, can’t you, Magician?”

“I can.”

The general smiled. “Good—I was a little worried for a second,” he said. “I’m sorry, by the way, that I couldn’t personally negotiate the terms of your coming here. I should’ve thought ahead and sent more information with the messenger I sent to Ti Tunfa to speak with you…”

“Not a problem,” Raettonus said evenly as Tykkleht led him through the citadel.

They reached a door that had been painted red, and the general opened it and invited Raettonus to enter ahead of him. Within the room two centaur children sat at a low table arguing over an open book in Kaerikyna until their father cleared his throat. Behind them sat a human woman in a simple dress. She was the Zylxian type of human, however—not the same sort of human Raettonus was—with slightly pointed ears and hair that was an improbable shade of dark green. She was middle-aged and plump with a motherly look about her.

“Magician, allow me to introduce to you my sons,” said Tykkleht. Both of the children were red-haired with cream-colored fur on their equine lower bodies. “This is my older son, Dohrleht.”

The larger of the centaur children—a broad-chested boy of sixteen—nodded politely. His eyes were a deep green, and he had freckles across his face. Raettonus could only assume he took after his mother since he didn’t look nearly as hideous as the general. Although there was no ruling out that he might grow into that kind of ugly with age. As it was, however, Dohrleht was a rather attractive young man, though his front teeth were a tad prominent, and his ears were rather large. One of his forelegs was twisted abnormally to one side.

“And this,” said the general, motioning to the other boy, “is my younger son, Maeleht.”

Maeleht was even fairer of face than his brother, lacking the prominent teeth and ears, but still with the freckles. He was around twelve years old, though he looked much younger. His eyes were a pale blue, and his face had a very bloodless look to it. Raettonus nodded curtly to the boys and then indicated the woman sitting quietly behind them. “And who’s she?”

“She’s called Ebha,” Tykkleht said off-handedly. “She’s trained to look after the boys’ medical needs. Not a very talkative creature, but bright enough, I think. Do you require anything, Magician? I really should get to the courtyard to oversee my men’s training.”

“No, I’m fine, General,” said Raettonus, waving him away. With barely a word more, Tykkleht departed.

Raettonus eyed the boys appraisingly as he crossed the room. The children got to their feet as quickly as their conditions would allow. He could see that they were evaluating him, as well. For a while they stood in awkward stillness, all staring at each other. Finally, Raettonus broke the silence and said, “My name is Raettonus. You will address me as Raettonus. Never as ‘Magician.’ Not even as ‘Magician Raettonus.’”

“Yes, Raettonus,” said the boys in unison.

“Go ahead and sit down,” Raettonus said, leaning against the windowsill. He nodded toward Dohrleht. “What happened to your leg?”

“I broke it when I was a kid,” he answered, still studying Raettonus with his moss-colored eyes. “I was learning to joust, and I got my hoof stuck on a rock and slammed through a fence. It broke in a couple places and never healed right.”

“Raettonus,” ventured the younger brother timidly. Raettonus turned his pale gaze on the boy. “Y-you’re from… Well, they told us that you’re from another realm. That’s… that’s true, right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Raettonus answered, crossing his arms and readjusting himself on the sill. The naked rapier shoved through his belt clinked against the stone behind him.

Maeleht’s eyes widened in awe. “Truly? Another realm?” he asked, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. “What was it like? Will you tell us?”

“Some day, maybe,” Raettonus said, glancing out the window. In the yard below the soldiers were practicing, and Brecan was down there with them, Daeblau at his side. “It’s nothing very interesting, I’m afraid. We don’t have gryphons, or unicorns, or dragons where I’m from, you know.”

“Dragons aren’t interesting, anyway,” Dohrleht said. “We see them all the time, lurking up on the cliffs. Dad killed one two days ago.”

“His men did most of the work,” Maeleht said quietly. “But he struck the killing blow through its eye. Are you really going to teach us to do magic?”

Raettonus looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “That’s the plan, yes,” he said. “Though, really, it all depends on whether you can learn it or not. Some people don’t have it in them. Some people won’t work hard enough.”

“We’ll work hard,” Maeleht assured him, balling his tiny hands into fists. “I want to do magic!”

“You’ll have to do more than ‘want,’” Raettonus told him. “Magic comes hand in hand with pain, boy. That’s the kind of magic we do—the painful kind. The kind that kills.”

“Will you teach us other types of magic too?” the younger boy asked.

“He doesn’t want to kill,” Dohrleht said knowingly. “He’s afraid to.”

“I am not afraid!” Maeleht protested. “I just think it’d be neat to do other things with magic. That’s all.”

Raettonus straightened up from his place at the windowsill. “Yes, I can teach you other things, I suppose,” he said. “There are lots of non-lethal magics I could show you.”

“Could you show us right now?” Maeleht asked. “Some magic? Dad said you were the greatest magician in all of Zylx.”

“And outside of it,” Raettonus said. “Yes, I suppose I can show you something.”

He took a seat beside their table. The two boys’ attention was fully on him, but behind them Ebha was staring blankly at a wall, in her own little world. Raettonus lifted up one of his hands and reached forward into the empty air. He imagined himself reaching into a space between realms—a room unaffected by time with a few trinkets lying about inside it. His fingertips explored the space, sliding across cloth and steel and leather and cold flesh. He continued to probe that unseen place between places until his fingers brushed against a smooth, cold ceramic handle and he grabbed hold of it. Dohrleht and Maeleht gasped as Raettonus withdrew his hand, a red and black pitcher appearing in his grasp. The younger boy clapped his hands together. “You made a vase!” he exclaimed, reaching out one hand toward it. “And it’s so pretty too! What’s that gryphon on it for?”

“I didn’t make it,” Raettonus told him, pulling the pitcher out of his reach. The water inside rolled against the walls of the vessel. “I merely pulled it out of a holding place.”

“That’s not so great,” Dohrleht commented.

“Shut up,” said Maeleht. “It’s better than you can do.” He tuned his light blue eyes back toward Raettonus. “So, you’re going to teach us to do that?”

“Eventually,” he answered, cradling the pitcher in his lap. The water inside was dusty and cold. “Not today, though. I’m supposed to teach you other scholarly pursuits, and so we’ll start there.”

Dohrleht furrowed his brow. “Like what?”

“Maths, language, other things,” Raettonus said.

“We already know how to count and add,” Dohrleht said. “I don’t see why we need more math. We’re going to be magicians, not accountants.”

Raettonus scowled at the crippled boy. “Well,” he said coldly. “I can already tell we’re going to get on famously, you and I.”

“I want to learn,” Maeleht said. “What else will you teach us? Are you going to teach us the history of your world?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t teach you much about that,” Raettonus said with a shrug. “I left my world a long, long time ago. It’s changed a lot since then.”

Maeleht frowned. “You don’t look very old,” he said. “How much could it have changed since you left it?”

“Stupid,” chided Dohrleht, punching his brother in the arm. He leaned in close to his little brother, but didn’t bother to drop his voice any. “This is the magician that doesn’t have a soul that they always talk about. The one from the plains. He’s immortal.”

Maeleht’s eyes widened. “O-oh. This is that magician?” he asked his brother. Dohrleht nodded. Maeleht quickly turned back to Raettonus. “I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Quite all right,” Raettonus answered, moving the red and black pitcher back into the holding space. He stood and wiped the dirt from his tunic. “That’ll be all today. We’ll begin our lessons tomorrow.”

“W-wait,” Maeleht weakly called after him as he strode to the door. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I—”

Raettonus closed the door, cutting off the sickly child’s plea. A soldier passed by and mumbled a polite greeting to him, but didn’t look him in the eye. Raettonus scowled at the soldier until he turned a corner and was lost out of sight. After a moment had passed, he sighed and started toward his chambers. It was the same as ever—he didn’t know why he had expected anything to be different. He was born feared, had always lived feared. It didn’t matter where he went or what he did.

Lost in his thoughts, he wandered around the fortress for a while, fingers hooked through his belt, head down. He thought about the little obsidian gryphon lying on his desk. Someone had reached out to him through a dream, for a reason he couldn’t imagine. There was nothing particularly threatening about the man in the dream’s manner, but the things he had said and the way he had said them… Raettonus couldn’t help but feel vaguely disturbed by the whole ordeal. Something wasn’t quite right about that elf. Not to mention, Raettonus simply didn’t like the idea of someone having that much power over him—being able to just pull him, dreaming, into something like that.

He descended some stairs absentmindedly, blindly walking through the citadel. Somewhere a clock was ticking very faintly. He could hear the ocean, out beyond the thick stone walls, beating on the cliff with all its watery might. He passed by a couple of centaurs, nestled close together in a hallway, holding hands and whispering to each other. Raettonus continued on, paying them little mind.

It was a long time before he realized that he was lost. He had ended up in a stark, cold hall he was certain he had not passed through on his way to his own room or to the citadel’s shrine. With a frustrated grunt, he turned and backtracked toward the hallway where he was certain he’d seen the centaurian lovers before, but he found no trace of them. He called out, but his own voice echoed back, sounding bitter and alone. Somewhere a clock was ticking very faintly.

He started down the hallway, hoping he’d chance upon the pair of centaurs again, though he was certain they had already left to take their turn at the watch or maybe to train in the courtyard. The ticking of the clock grew fainter and fainter as he traversed the shady hall. He came to a staircase and descended it, wondering which floor of the complex he was on. He passed by some hangings of the Royal Zylekkhan coat of arms—a hoof with a sword behind it on a checkered field of red and purple—before he reached the next floor down. No torches burned at all on this floor, but Raettonus’ flesh began to take on a faint orange glow, providing him enough light to navigate the hall by. The floor was grimy and it smelt of disuse. With a sigh, Raettonus ran a hand over his head.

“Great,” he muttered to the darkness. “I’m never going to find my way out of here. I should’ve been given a map. That should’ve been part of the agreement…”

He squinted into the blackness, which his own illumination did not dispel. Certainly this floor—or at least this wing of the floor—was abandoned, and he had not passed there. However, instead of going back, he pressed on in hopes of finding another stair to take him back up, hopefully to a place he recognized. He heard a scratching from far off in the shadows and put his hand on his rapier, hoping to God there weren’t rats hiding in the darkness.

Just thinking about rats made it hard for him to breathe. In the complete darkness around him, there could’ve been thousands of rats, crawling all around each other with their beady eyes and their disgusting, bald tails. Raettonus’ chest tightened as he thought about those horrible, filthy animals watching him from the shadows, full of disease, death clinging to their fur. He shivered and reached out with his left hand, a fireball appearing in his palm. Warm, orange light filled the area, and Raettonus could see that it was free of rats—though it was full of cobwebs. Whatever the reason for the room’s abandoned state, it had obviously been that way for quite a while. Raettonus’ pulse began to slow, and he could breathe again.

By the light of his fire, Raettonus could see he was in some sort of large chamber instead of a proper hallway. He guessed it might’ve been a dining hall at one time by the high ceiling, though the tables seemed to have been long since removed. At each end of the room there were banners hung in red and purple, and large, dusty paintings hung on the walls. Raettonus moved toward one of these curiously; centaurian art was always so delightfully brutal. They were a race awash in violence, which was as interesting to study as it was grating to be close to.

Dirt dulled the colors of the painting, but he could still make everything out without too much difficulty. It showed a bunch of centaurs burning down one of the elven cities that used to border Ti Tunfa, long, long before Raettonus had ever come to Zylx. He walked along the painting, examining the carnage so carefully detailed upon it. At the center of the painting stood the proud King Daebrish, a crown of bones upon his brow. Raettonus made his way slowly past the painting to the next one, which depicted an eyeless Kurok in a forest with blood dripping from his abdomen as a black unicorn stood over him, protecting him from wolves creeping in from the edges of the painting. He noted there was much less dust on this one than the last.

There was a gorgeously detailed painting a little farther along the wall showing the five High Guardians of the realm of Zylx. They stood together in the strange, half-completed edifice called the Center of Souls—ten ornate pillars ringed around a mosaic depicting the five-pointed star of Kurok. Each of the Guardians drew their power from one of those pillars; they used the pillar as a conductor for elemental power beyond imagining. Here in the middle was Guardian Bregdan, the unicorn Guardian, and there, beside him, was Guardian Dokkdan, the vampire Guardian; and there was Shidan, and beside him was Rhigdan, and there behind them all was Nekkdan. It was a handsome work of art with a great deal of attention paid to even the smallest details, from the feathers in Bregdan’s wings to the gleam on Nekkdan’s red scales.

An enormous painting hung beside the one of the Guardians—a huge, panoramic view of what Raettonus could only assume was one of the wars between the Zylxian gods, though he’d be damned if he could tell which war. There were a slew of creatures at each side, charging into battle, and all of them without eyes. Kurok rode upon the enormous, white unicorn Guardian, Bregdan, with a sword in his hand and his long, purple hair streaming behind him, leading the charge for his side. Across from him was another elf—Ahkvaeriahn, Raettonus thought it was, though he couldn’t be sure—who rode upon a crocotta. There were dragons and sea serpents in their ranks, along with goblins, centaurs, wolves, and werewolves. Minotaurs charged against gryphons, selkies against will-o-wisps, unicorns against hippogryphs, boudas against lions, phoenixes against hippalectryons. There were creatures among them that Raettonus had never seen and couldn’t name, and creatures that had died out long ago. He saw Cykkus in his gleaming black armor, a poisonous aura about him; Kaeriaht with fire streaming from his hooves as he forced a spear through two elves, pinning them together; Virkki, running before Bregdan, an arrow lodged where one of his eyes should’ve been; Harkkan, with his flat, cruel face; and Kebuk, the Justice God, with his belly full of swords in a pool of his own blood.

The painting was easily twenty feet across and fifteen feet high, and for a very long time Raettonus stood looking at it, studying all the gods he recognized and all the ones he had never heard of. He almost didn’t notice the lone figure at the top of the painting, floating above the battle in the empty space. When his eyes did come across it he let out a small utterance. He could’ve smacked himself; he felt so foolish for not realizing it all before.

He heard a scraping sound behind him and wheeled around, suddenly coming face to face with a goblin. Without a thought, he drew his sword out of his belt and pointed it at the goblin. “Who’re you? What do you want? Why were you trying to sneak up on me?” Raettonus asked in quick succession. He touched the sword’s point to the goblin’s chest. “Best answer quickly.”

The goblin raised his hands to show that they were empty. “Please,” he said, his voice heavy with the accent of his ancestral language. “I wasn’t sneaking up on you. I was merely curious as to who might be down here.”

“And just what were you doing down here, skulking about in the dark, hm?” asked Raettonus, raising one eyebrow.

“I live down here,” the goblin said. “I’m not armed. Can you please move that blade from off my chest? You can see that I don’t have a weapon.”

Raettonus considered a moment. “Fair enough,” he said, withdrawing his rapier. The goblin was at least two feet taller than him with sharp nails and spikes growing up from his shoulders, but if it came to a fight Raettonus was certain he could beat him, even without his blade or any magic. Raettonus’ limbs were short, but they were thick with muscle, whereas the goblin’s were long, but thin and without definition. He didn’t look at all hardy, the goblin—his cheeks were hollow and his sand-colored eyes were sunken, his hair was thin and long and greasy. The goblin’s skin was a pale blue color, and Raettonus could see his veins beneath it. “Who are you?”

“I’m called Deggho dek’Kariss, or—in the common Zylekkhan tongue—Deggho Who Leads the Kariss,” the goblin answered. His eyes came to rest on the fire in Raettonus’ hand, and his mouth opened into a little “O” for a moment. “That’s…not a torch.”

“No, it’s not,” Raettonus agreed. “What’s Kariss? Is that your tribe?”

Deggho nodded. “I don’t really lead it though—it’s a family name,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Youngest son of the Kariss chief, that’s me. That was a few years ago though, and my father wasn’t in such good health, so maybe the Kariss chief is my oldest brother now. But, no—someone would’ve sent word if my father died, I guess. Or maybe they forgot about me.”

Raettonus leaned back against the painting behind him, and Deggho winced at the action. “And what is a goblin chief’s son doing in one of the Zylekkhan army’s fortresses, I suppose I should ask?” Raettonus said. “Is this the sort of thing I should tell the general about?”

The goblin shook his head. “General Tykkleht? No, he knows I’m here,” he said. “I’m his hostage, as a matter of fact. He is still the general in charge here, right? I haven’t spoken to him in a long while. I—I wonder sometimes if they’ve forgotten about me. I find supplies at the foot of the stairs in this room every day, but I haven’t seen a soul down here in such a long time that my mind begins to wander, and I start to think…”

“He’s still in charge, yes,” Raettonus answered. Deggho twitched and fiddled with his tattered doublet. “How long have you been down here?”

“Three years, I’ve been given run of this wing,” Deggho said. “Before that I had a room beside the general, and before that I had a tower room, and before that I had a room in the dungeon—but that one was just for a little while, when I was first captured. S-say—are you the Magician Raettonus?”

Raettonus raised his eyebrows. “I see my reputation precedes me, even to the most forgotten corners of the kingdom.”

Deggho scratched at one arm idly. “It was your eyes that gave it away,” he muttered. “That and the fire. There aren’t many magicians with red eyes. Though…I was expecting someone bigger. You don’t look at all like they describe you in the stories they tell.”

Cocking one eyebrow, Raettonus asked, “And how do they describe me in your stories?”

“I…I don’t want to say. It’d be rude,” Deggho said. But Raettonus insisted for several minutes until he finally wore the goblin down. “Mind you, it’s a…it’s a very second-hand description. After all, when was the last time you spoke to any goblins, much less any goblins of the Kariss?”

“Not for a long time,” Raettonus said. “Go on and tell me, then.”

“Okay,” said Deggho, looking down timidly. “Let’s see, um… Well, the stories said you were at least nine feet tall, with pale red eyes rimmed with fire. They said you had great big tusks and horns and claws, and that you rode upon a hunter unicorn.”

“Well, that last part’s true,” Raettonus said. “I do ride a hunter unicorn.”

“Really?”

Raettonus nodded. “He’s here with me, in fact.”

Deggho glanced around and then pointed toward the painting behind Raettonus. “I noticed you were looking at this,” he said. “Do you like it?”

“It’s fairly good, for a war scene,” said Raettonus with a shrug.

Deggho bit his lower lip; it didn’t seem to be what he had wanted to hear. “I painted it,” the goblin told him softly.

“Is that a fact?” Raettonus asked, turning to look at it again. “What about the others? Did you paint those as well?”

“Some of them,” the goblin said. “It’s how I pass the time down here. I have a lot of time to pass… I paint gods and Guardians and kings and all those other things that centaurs like to hang up. Sometimes I hang them on the walls around here, or else I leave them at the foot of the stairs where my supplies are given to me. I don’t know what happens to them after that, but they’re always gone…” He fiddled with his doublet, readjusting it nervously.

“I have somewhere I’m supposed to be,” said Raettonus. “Is there a way for me to reach the courtyard from here?”

A mournful look crossed Deggho’s broad, flat countenance. “Y-yes, there is,” he said. “It’s down a few floors though, and I’m not allowed to leave this wing. I can show you though, which staircase to take. Ah—you’ll come back, right? You’ll come visit me?”

“Perhaps,” Raettonus told him offhandedly, not looking at him.

“I’d like very much to paint you, Magician,” the goblin said. “You’ll come back and let me paint you, right?”

Raettonus looked at him blankly and then looked away. “Sure,” he said, waving him off with one hand. “Now, if you’d please, Deggho dek’Kariss, my presence is required elsewhere.”

Frowning, Deggho lead him through the hall, down a smaller corridor that branched off of it. There were more paintings along the walls here—everywhere there were paintings, depicting any Zylxian folk tale imaginable. There were paintings of lovers, and of assassins, and of soldiers. Grisly scenes of child murder hung beside paintings of women calmly bathing in serene lakes. Monsters and minstrels and martyrs hung side by side; death, and love, and vengeance hung side by side.

They passed what must have been a hundred paintings, maybe a thousand, before finally they paused before a broad staircase with food scraps littering its entrance. Warm light flooded the area from the floor below. Deggho told Raettonus how to reach the courtyard from there, and with a curt good-bye Raettonus parted from the goblin, who watched him go anxiously.

It wasn’t hard for him to find the courtyard from there—Deggho’s directions had been concise and direct. He snuffed out the flame in his hand as he entered into the late afternoon light. Dark shadows lay across the yard where, far above them, iron spikes on the ramparts made a cage over the citadel. Brecan was across the yard with Daeblau, who was showing the unicorn his lance. Spotting Raettonus, Brecan excused himself and trotted over to meet the magician. “Hey, Raet!” Brecan called as he approached. “Daeblau taught me how to joust.”

“You can’t joust,” said Raettonus with a scowl. “You haven’t got hands. You can’t hold a lance.”

Brecan’s tail and wings drooped. “Oh, yeah,” he said, flattening his ears. For a moment he was silent, but then a thought seemed to grab him, and he brightened again. “You could hold the lance, Raet! Daeblau could teach you to joust, and then we could joust together!”

“I already know how to joust,” Raettonus said irritably as he started away from the unicorn.

“Hey, where’re you going, Raet?” asked Brecan, hastening to follow him. “Did you meet General Tykkleht’s kids? How’d your lesson go? I was talking to the general earlier; he wants us to join him for dinner. We can, right?”

Raettonus sighed. “I don’t want to join him for dinner,” he said. “I just want to go organize my books and be left alone.”

“But, the general would be so sad if you didn’t come, Raet,” said Brecan, following after him. “I wouldn’t know what to tell him if you didn’t go. Couldn’t you mess with your books some other time, Raet?”

With an exasperated sigh, Raettonus wheeled on the unicorn. “Fine, I’ll go with you to see the stupid general for dinner,” he said, flicking Brecan in the nose.

“Oh, that’s great!” chirped Brecan.

“I do far too much for you,” Raettonus said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “When are we supposed to meet him?”

“In about an hour,” the unicorn replied. “Daeblau said he’d show us to the general’s chambers then. You sure you don’t want to learn to joust, Raet? He could teach you.”

“I told you—I already know how to joust,” Raettonus snapped. “It doesn’t interest me to learn it again. It doesn’t interest me in general, as a matter of fact.”

“You never told me you could joust, Raet,” Brecan said as they crossed the yard.

“That’s because it’s been completely irrelevant,” said the man, brushing a few strands of hair out of his eyes. “There’s never been any call for me to joust—ever. It’s not like anyone ever runs into a tavern all in a fright, looking for a last-minute jouster.”

“I would look for a last-minute jouster,” declared Brecan thoughtfully. Raettonus flicked him on the nose again. “Ouch!”

“Shut up, and no you wouldn’t,” he said.

“I wouldn’t? Oh…” He glanced around. “Hey, where’re we going, Raet?”

“I’m going to my room,” Raettonus said. “I don’t know where you’re going, quite honestly.”

“But, Raet, you said you were gonna come to dinner with the general.”

“And I will. But that’s not for an hour,” Raettonus said. He paused and glanced around. “Which way leads to our tower?”

The unicorn nodded his head toward an open archway. “You take that hall, and there’s a flight of stairs, and then a hall, and you go left down the hall to the second flight of stairs, and then you go left down the hall at the top of it, and then—”

“I think I can figure it out from there,” Raettonus said, starting purposefully away. Brecan made to follow him, but Raettonus waved him away. “I think I can also manage to get there without you.”

Brecan flattened his ears and sat back on his lion’s haunches. “But, Raet,” he began sadly.

“Why don’t you go play with your new pal, Daeblow, or whatever his name is?”

“Daeblau,” said Brecan as Raettonus left him. “A-all right…”

This time around, Raettonus managed to make it up to his chambers without losing his way, even though the citadel was as labyrinthine as ever. He entered the room, closing the door slowly behind him. Someone had lit his brazier while he was out, and the room was warm and filled with light and the smell of smoke. On his desk the obsidian gryphon glittered as Raettonus stared at it. He felt as though the bottom of his stomach was dropping clean out as he looked at it. “When you die,” the elf in the mask had said. “I’ll make sure you’re buried beside Slade the Black and Red.”

To Raettonus, that sounded like it could only be a threat.

He crossed the room slowly to the bookcase, keeping his eyes on the carved hunk of obsidian for a long while. After he finally tore his gaze away from the figure, it took him a couple minutes of looking to find the book he wanted—a large, black volume bound in the tanned flesh of a vampire. It was an old book that he had found in the ruins near Ti Tunfa many years prior. The words inside had been something he’d never seen before then—Zykyna, the language of gods. The language of the gods of the realm of Zylx, at any rate. Raettonus was sure other deities in other dimensions had their own languages.

Zykyna. There had been no easy way to learn to read the language and even now, after years spent in study, he was not fluent in that archaic tongue. No mortal was.

Portions of the book, happily, were written in the elven language of Taurkyna, which he knew just as well as he knew common Zylekkhan or even his own native English. He sat down on the bed with the book spread over his lap, looking at the yellowed pages with the faded ink upon them. When he found the book, he had taken it to a number of elven scholars to find out what exactly it was he had. He knew it was full of power—he knew because when he touched it he could feel it coming into him, turning his veins cold, making the hair on his arms and neck stand up—but he didn’t know from where the power came. None of the scholars could tell him that either, though one said she suspected the book was written five thousand years ago, shortly after the elves abandoned the Creator God to live their own lives. That was why it was written in both Taurkyna and Zykyna, she had told Raettonus—the elves had spoken both languages back then. That was why it had so many rituals and incantations meant to protect from the gods.

The elves had made their choice to live freely, and they feared divine retribution. Typical, Raettonus thought.

Slowly, Raettonus turned the pages. They were brittle and ragged at the edges, but they were still in good condition for a book so old. There were illustrations of a number of creatures done in fading inks—all drawn without any eyes—tearing apart the world, or fighting one another, or killing creatures that were drawn with eyes. He flipped through the pages, glancing at the illustrations, until he came upon the incantation he desired. In the strange characters of Zykyna, the page declared Dur Ghana’iis Pel’lukhro—the Spell of Hiding.

Raettonus stood and drew his rapier, the book still open in his left hand. He began to carve a symbol into the stone in the middle of one of the walls. “Faerha,” he read from the book as he carved it. He went to each of the corners of the room and carved a different symbol in each one, saying its name as he did. “Dulla. Kaemur. Nygrii. Erhiin.”

There was a glow about the symbols as Raettonus took to the center of the room. They were lines of direct power, to the source of elemental magic in the realm of Zylx—the Elemental Pillars of light, shadow, fire, wind, and rock. It wasn’t the sort of magic system Raettonus was used to working under, but he could put it to use in a pinch. This definitely qualified as a pinch. He lifted his sword and began the incantation proper, in the language of the gods.

“Dae balui fa sep; dae dubhra khoriin sep,” he read from it, not understanding all the words. With his sword he pointed to each of the symbols he had made in the stone. “Faerha laeka. Dulla lyka. Kaemur lorha. Nygrii lahba. Erhiin laesha.”

For a moment he felt ill, as though he might collapse onto his knees and vomit until his stomach was dry. He endured and the moment passed, though it left him feeling extremely weak. The symbols he had carved glowed in white and black and red and blue and gray—all the colors of the elements they represented—and then disappeared into the stone. Closing the book and sliding his sword into his belt, Raettonus collapsed onto his bed. All he wanted was to sleep for days and days, until his muscles were atrophied and he was covered in sores. It felt as though he had ran a marathon all at once, and then gone out and fought a war all by himself. Yet, at the same time, he felt serene. He was in a peaceful place now, protected from the prying energies of gods and mortals alike. Raettonus closed his eyes and dozed for a while.

He was awoken not much later by Brecan and Daeblau at his door. Groggily, he put the old book back onto his shelf before going out to meet them in the hall. Daeblau lifted the visor of his helm and frowned as he looked Raettonus over. “You’re going to wear the same clothes as you were wearing earlier?” he asked, leaning on his halberd.

“What’s wrong with that?” asked Raettonus, glaring up at him.

Daeblau shrugged half-heartedly. “Your tunic’s pretty ratty,” he murmured. “Surely you’ve got something a little fresher you could wear?”

Raettonus crossed his arms. “I don’t really see the point,” he said. “Now, sir, if I’m not mistaken, you are not, in fact, my mother. Would you kindly just do your job and show us the way?”

Daeblau cleared his throat and, letting his visor slide back down, said, “Certainly. With me, if you please.”

General Tykkleht kept his private hall on the fourth floor of the citadel, overlooking the courtyard. It was a warmly lit place with portraits of great generals long dead on the walls, and with silken banners in red and purple hung everywhere. Tykkleht greeted them warmly and invited Daeblau to stay. “I’d be delighted to dine with you, General,” said Daeblau with a deep bow.

Raettonus sat at Tykkleht’s right hand, beside the head of the table, with Brecan beside him. Daeblau took his place across from him, beside Dohrleht, who was beside Maeleht. Daeblau took off his helm, and for the first time Raettonus got a good look at him. He had a strong, handsome face, with sharp brown eyes, and a sharp nose. His long, sandy blond hair was tied back, but his bangs fell across his face as soon as he removed his helmet.

Raettonus hated having dinner with centaurs. He hated it more than anything. He was the only one at the table sitting, on a chair Tykkleht had kindly provided. Everyone around him was standing, which made him feel like a child who had somehow snuck his way to the adults’ table unnoticed.

They were brought ale by vacant-eyed Ebha, the human woman Raettonus had met before. She set mugs down in front of Raettonus, Tykkleht, Daeblau, and Dohrleht, and a bowl of ale before Brecan, before placing a cup of goat’s milk before Maeleht. Then she went off, still vacant-eyed, to go do something else. Maeleht toyed with his cup. “I want ale,” he said quietly.

“You can have some of mine,” Brecan offered.

“No, no,” said Tykkleht. “No ale for Maeleht. It aggravates his condition.”

“General,” said Raettonus, leaning back in his chair so as not to let on how small he felt among the centaurs. “I was wandering about your fortress today. It’s a very nice place.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Tykkleht said genially. “I’m afraid we’re not as well staffed as we might be, so we don’t use a lot of the space. I’ve tried not to let it get into a sad state, however. It’s hard; times are tough for the Royal Zylekkhan army. This isn’t an academy citadel like Ruahn or Daerkii, so we don’t have a surplus of men. They always promise me more than they send.”

“As I was wandering about,” Raettonus continued, “I met your hostage.”

Tykkleht furrowed his brow momentarily, but then a look of understanding came over him. “Ah, yes. The goblin prince,” he said with a nod. “Dekho, or Dema, something like that…”

“Deggho dek’Kariss,” supplied Daeblau. “The Kariss chief’s son.”

“That’s the one,” said Tykkleht. He wagged one finger at the air and smiled a little. “Yes, I knew it started with a ‘de’ sound. I mean, Dekho—that’s a goblin name, right?”

“I think that’s actually a werewolf name, General,” Daeblau said.

“No matter.” Tykkleht chuckled. “Goblins, werewolves—doesn’t matter. All those barbarian races are pretty much the same.”

“Oh, yes, very much the same,” agreed Raettonus dryly. “Yes, I don’t know how to keep them straight. I mean, men who turn into wolves are almost exactly the same as seven-foot tall blue-skinned mountain monsters.”

Ebha came back to bring them soup and bread. “So,” Tykkleht asked, pointedly ignoring Raettonus’ tone. “Did Deggho say anything of interest to you? I haven’t seen him in a while. I meant to check up on him more than I have, but you know how it goes. He’s set up fairly, I think, and he doesn’t cause much trouble, so I forget about him.”

“He didn’t say much, no,” Raettonus said. “He showed me some of his paintings, though.”

“Oh, those? They’re pretty good for a barbarian,” Tykkleht said. “He’s taken up the centaurian style of art, which is a plus. I’m not overly fond of his work—I find it unnecessarily violent, and he uses too many bright colors—but quite a few of my men are. They hang those paintings of his all over.”

“I’ve got one of them in my own quarters,” Daeblau said, stirring his soup with a hunk of bread. “It’s a stirring picture of Syrinna Teba with her recently murdered husband, the Creator, Kraah Shohk, in her arms.”

“I’d like to see that painting,” Dohrleht said.

Daeblau smiled at him crookedly. “Then you should. It’s a very…significant scene, I would say. Maybe I could show it to you after dinner.”

“Deggho didn’t mention any specifics of how he ended up here,” Raettonus said to the general. “Who are the Kariss?”

Tykkleht let out a tired sigh. “They’re a stone in my hoof, that’s who they are,” he said. He tore a piece of bread apart. “Since the first day I took command here, they’ve been nothing but trouble. Well, up until I got Deggho. Now we don’t have to deal with them as much, and when we do deal with them… Well, the relationship’s not hostile, but it’s strained. But that’s the best we can expect from that lot.”

“How’d you end up with Deggho?” asked Raettonus.

“Luck, mostly,” Tykkleht said. “We have patrols travel the paths every now and then to make sure there aren’t any armies skulking about, or broken bridges, or—well, you know. All those things that we need to make sure are kept up. The Kariss are under the impression that this mountain belongs to them, so they didn’t like that so well, and they sent a message to us telling us as much. Well, I’m not about to let goblins tell me what to do. I mean, I start bending to the will of goblins, and I might as well cut my hair short and go be an elf. So, I send a message sealed in purple wax and stamped with the king’s hoof back to them, inviting them to kindly bugger off, and inform them that we are a division of the Royal Zylekkhan Army, and that there isn’t a damn place in this entire realm that’s off limits to us, and that if we wanted we’d march right up their asses, and we’d be well within our rights to do so, and they’d have to thank us for the pleasure of getting their guts ground under our hooves… So that’s how a, erm, smallish war started. I mean, there was fighting, but it wasn’t anything worth writing home about.”

“Oh, a smallish war?” Raettonus said, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, definitely nothing to write home about. I mean, only a war?”

“Well, see, that’s it exactly,” said Tykkleht, fixing Raettonus with a hard gaze. “It was a conflict, like you might expect in an outpost like this, and it wasn’t a remarkable one by any means. Not even goblins are stupid enough to think they could take a fort like this with their melee weapons. Instead they would ambush our patrols and attack our guards. Well, I’ll be damned if I was going to let them make us retreat behind our walls as though we were in full siege mode. Instead, we took the fight to them. Goblins move their villages around a lot, though. They just pack up their huts and move. So we couldn’t just destroy them while they were sleeping. We got in a few lucky strikes though, and grabbed some hostages, and when we were getting their names we just happened to have gotten a dek’Kariss, and we knew what that meant.”

“Victory?”

The corner of Tykkleht’s mouth twitched into an amused smile. “No, Magician,” he said. “It meant peace. We returned the other hostages, but Deggho stays with us, to be executed if we’re molested by the Kariss any further. As long as his father’s the chief, or one of his brothers is, we don’t need to fight the goblins anymore. After that…well, maybe there’ll be a chief who never knew Deggho and doesn’t care what happens to him, and when that time comes, I’ll probably just release him. In the mean time, however, it stops my men from getting murdered while they’re trying to do their jobs, and I try not to treat Deggho too badly.”

“You’re a very kind man, General,” Daeblau said.

Raettonus stared at his soup, which had gone uneaten. He was more tired than he was hungry—though he was certainly hungry too. However, the soup had gone cold, and an orange film of fatty oil had begun to form at its top. It didn’t look very appetizing. He pushed it over to Brecan, who went at it happily, and began nibbling on some bread.

The conversation went on, but Raettonus was too tired to contribute much of anything to it. The general spoke at length about everything from how he began his military career putting down a vampirian rebellion, to how the Kaebha Citadel got its supplies from boats that sailed out of Bribarrah. He was a very tedious man, Raettonus decided early on into the conversation, who liked his own voice and thought himself wise. Raettonus also found himself hating Daeblau, who nodded and agreed with the general far too eagerly. Raettonus would glance across to find him deep in quiet conversation with Dohrleht whenever he wasn’t agreeing with the general. By the time Ebha arrived with the actual meal, Raettonus was practically half asleep.

He only ate a small amount before pushing away from the table. “I’m afraid I’ve overtaxed myself today,” he said. “Good night, gentlemen.”

“Would you like me to escort you back to your quarters?” Daeblau asked. “I’d be more than happy to.”

“I don’t need to be escorted, Captain. I do believe I know the way perfectly well,” Raettonus answered with an edge in his voice. “Good night.”

He left them all there, enjoying their meal and having their dull conversations. He had never really been one for conversations anyway, but the least they could do was attempt to be interesting. Talking about the citadel’s supply ships wasn’t even trying. Effort was all he asked for. Raettonus stepped out into the dim, cold hallway. For a moment, he stood in a patch of light from the fires within Tykkleht’s hall. Then the door closed, and he was left in darkness and silence.

He still preferred it to Tykkleht’s constant droning.

Chapter Three

“Master Raettonus?” Maeleht asked, several weeks into their lessons. “Why isn’t your magic elemental in nature?”

“Some of it is,” Raettonus answered. He lifted his hand, and a tiny fire appeared over his fingers.

“How do you do that?” asked Dohrleht. “I want to learn that. We’re wasting our time with all these languages you’ve been teaching us.”

“What I mean,” said Maeleht. “I mean—I was told all magic comes from the Elemental Pillars, so it’s all either light magic, shadow magic, fire magic—”

“I told you—I have fire magic covered.”

“—wind magic, or rock magic. Or it can be the low elements, but I don’t remember those ones.”

“Chaos,” Dohrleht said. “Chaos was definitely one of them. And water.”

Raettonus sighed and snuffed out the flame in his hand. “Look,” he said. “Magic is a complicated thing, and there are no set rules that apply universally. In different realms, magic takes different forms. Zylxian magic is based on ten elements. That’s well enough. But I’m not Zylxian. I’m not bound by your realm’s rules.”

“We’re Zylxian though,” Dohrleht said. “Does that mean we’re bound by the rules of this realm?”

“No, not really,” Raettonus said dismissively. “Once you learn one system of magic, if you have the means to understand others then it’s not too difficult to learn those sorts of magic. That’s if you can do any magic at all. Some people can’t. Hell, some people can do some types of magic, but are unable to do others no matter how hard they study. I guess I’m saying that magic is mostly luck.”

“That’s not very encouraging,” Dohrleht said with a frown.

“Well, I’m not a very encouraging type of person.”

For a few months, Raettonus taught them no magic. He was barely able to do any himself after the exertion involved in the spell of hiding he had conducted. Instead of magic, he taught them to read Taurkyna and a little bit of English. He tried to teach them some math as well, but they knew all the simple stuff, and the harder math served mostly to throw him through a loop. Finally, he decided they probably wouldn’t need to know any more math anyway and gave up on it. He taught them some of the more important points of Zylekkhan history, but he didn’t know too much about it, and found himself instead usually matched in knowledge by the brothers. He usually spent their lessons explaining different magic or—usually at Maeleht’s request—telling them about other realms.

“What about the realm you came from?” Dohrleht asked one day after Raettonus had just finished telling them about the realm of Cordichad, which was almost completely engulfed by oceans. “What was your realm like?”

Raettonus thought for a moment. “It wasn’t anything special,” he said. “It was just a place. Nothing I could say about it would be of any interest to you.”

“I think we could decide what’s of interest to us,” muttered Dohrleht, crossing his arms and readjusting his crippled leg.

“Please?” asked Maeleht. “I really want to know.”

Raettonus sighed and brushed some stray strands of hair out his face. “Fine, fine,” he said. “It was a very wet place, when I was a child. So wet that, for a while, crops wouldn’t grow. They just drowned in the fields, and it wouldn’t stop raining. That was just for a few years though. Other than that the land was…mostly fields and forests and orchards and some hills. I couldn’t say much more. I didn’t travel a lot when I lived there.”

“Why’d you leave?” asked Maeleht.

He shrugged. “Because there was no reason for me to stay there,” he responded. It was an empty answer. “Let’s get back to language, hm? Which would you rather do today? Taurkyna?”

“English,” said Maeleht, flicking his tail.

“We’re never going to use English,” said Dohrleht disagreeably.

“We’re never going to use Taurkyna either,” Maeleht said. “What are we ever going to have to do with elves?”

Dohrleht turned to Raettonus. “Couldn’t you teach us Zykyna?” he asked. “I mean, that’s something you know, right?”

“Not well enough to teach it,” Raettonus said. “We’ll study English today.”

“What?” asked Dohrleht. “Why English? My vote was for Taurkyna.”

“Maybe I like Maeleht better,” Raettonus said with a shrug. The younger brother beamed until Dohrleht punched him in the arm.

* * *

The sun was beginning to set when they finished their lesson for the day. As Raettonus walked the halls of the citadel, rusty orange light filtered in through the arrow slits in the outward-facing walls. He paused beside one to look out on the mountaintops below, bathed in dusky sunlight. Slade used to tell him that dusk was the time when magic was strongest; it was the time when faeries came out to play. In Zylekkha, it was the time faeries came out to hunt and kill. A hippogryph was soaring in a lazy circle near the citadel, until a few of the guards nocked their arrows and loosed them at it. With a screech, the hippogryph plummeted, landing hard on the stone with a horrible crunch. The centaurs let up a cheer and two of them went to retrieve their kill.

Raettonus moved away from the arrow slit. A sweet smell was drifting from the main dining hall where the soldiers ate together, but Raettonus didn’t seek it out. He preferred to take his meals in his room, alone. As he passed by the doorway to the dining hall, he could hear the laughter and conversations of the soldiers as they teased and chatted and roughhoused. He met a pair of centaurs as he was passing who were coming from the hall with a tray of food. It didn’t look very appetizing. Mostly it seemed to be fatty meat, bones, and slightly burnt bread. “Hello, Magician,” said one of the soldiers, bowing his head politely.

“Who’s that for?” Raettonus asked, nodding toward the tray.

“It’s for the goblin,” the other centaur said.

“Deggho dek’Kariss?” Raettonus said, and the pair nodded. He hadn’t thought much about Deggho since meeting him that day. He thought for a moment about the conversation they had had. “I think I’ll accompany you, gentlemen—if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, Magician,” said one of them, hesitating just a bit, and they started down the hall together.

When they reached the foot of the stairs that led into the hostage’s domain, Raettonus relieved them of the tray and bid them a curt farewell before walking into the darkness. He could hear something moving around at the other end of the chamber in the impenetrable shadow, but this time he knew it was only the goblin creeping about. They met in the middle of the grimy hall.

“Magician Raettonus,” said Deggho. It was too dark for Raettonus to see him. “I—I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back. Actually, I was beginning to think that I maybe imagined our whole conversation. I do that sometimes. I get to thinking how quiet it is down here, and how lonely, and I imagine someone’s down here with me and we talk about all kinds of things… Is that my dinner?”

“It is,” Raettonus said, holding it out. The goblin took it from him.

“Are you here to be painted? I have a canvas set up in another room,” Deggho said. He locked his arm around Raettonus’, and the magician flinched.

“Sure. Why not?” said Raettonus, letting Deggho lead him to the room he’d spoken of.

To Raettonus’ relief, the room was well lit with torches blazing on the walls. It was a medium-sized room, messy with painting supplies, with a couch, a chair, a table, and an easel with a blank canvas board set upon it. Deggho set the tray down on the table and led Raettonus to the couch before rearranging the easel and the chair so he could look past the canvas at Raettonus.

Raettonus sat uneasily on the stained couch. “How have you been?” Deggho asked him, taking up a paintbrush and seating himself behind the easel.

“Better than you, I imagine.”

Deggho smiled crookedly. “Well, that’s not too hard to manage,” he said as he began to paint.

“Why do you paint so many pictures of gods?” Raettonus asked after a moment. “Doesn’t that get tedious after a while?”

“Not really,” said Deggho. “There are so many scenes I can think of to make into pictures. I think that even if I spent the rest of my life painting, I still wouldn’t have painted one image from every story that I know. Besides, the gods like to be honored. I’m not allowed to leave this floor, so I can’t honor them in the shrine. This is all I can do.”

“Your gods are vain.”

Deggho chuckled. “Well, maybe,” he said. “But they’re gods—isn’t it their right? I’d be proud too, if I were a god.”

“You’re a chief’s son,” Raettonus said. “You don’t seem particularly proud of that.”

“I’m not a great man, Magician,” said the goblin, frowning. “You know how I got captured by these centaurs? I was asleep. I didn’t even put up a fight when I woke up. What should I be proud about? I’m a shame to my father, and my brothers, and the Kariss in general.”

They sat in a stiff silence, and Raettonus began to regret coming down there. The torches flickered on the walls, and Raettonus stared into them absently. Finally, Deggho started the conversation up again. “You don’t worship our gods, do you?” he asked. “You have your own gods from the Other Realm.”

“I don’t keep any gods at all,” Raettonus answered. “I used to. But that’s neither here nor there. I wouldn’t have taken you for a religious man, Deggho, I must admit.”

Deggho smiled. “I like to pretend that I talk to the gods when I’m all alone,” he said. “It helps pass the time. That and painting them, of course.”

“I take it Kaeriaht’s your favorite to paint,” Raettonus said. “I see a lot of paintings of him on the walls around here.”

“Oh, that’s really just for the soldiers,” Deggho said. “I’m not overly fond of Kaeriaht. Kaeriaht created the centaurs, after all—we goblins would’ve had an easier time if he hadn’t done that.” He chuckled and set down his paintbrush before grabbing up a larger one. “No, I prefer to paint the elven gods. They’re much more majestic. My favorite to paint, actually, is the Moon Son. I don’t do that much though.”

Raettonus raised his eyebrow. “The Moon Son?” asked the magician. “I’ve never heard of him.”

Deggho shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s not really his name,” he said. He dropped his voice to barely a whisper. “It’s another name for Kimohr Raulinn.” He cleared his throat and shifted again in his seat. “Like painting him, though, it’s not a good thing to say his name.”

“Really?” Raettonus asked. “Why’s that?”

“Because it’s bad luck,” the goblin answered. “Saying his name, painting him—anything like that—it draws his attention to you. Sometimes it doesn’t matter, but other times there’s no way to escape his notice after that. And he is not the kind of god you want to notice you. He’s cruel and… Well, needless to say, ‘chaos god’ is not a very honorable position.”

“Indeed,” Raettonus said. “I’ve never heard any of this before. And, well, I’m not new around here.”

“You’re new around here,” Deggho said. “The mountains, I mean. Up north, they don’t hold onto the past as well as goblins. I’ve heard centaurs just throw his name about casually. It’s bad luck, but they don’t seem aware… Goblins try to say it as little as possible, and it’s worked out well for us. We’ve never gone to war with any of the other races.”

“That’s because you live in the mountains,” Raettonus said. “To get in a war, it’d have to mean that any of the other races wanted these bloody rocks and weeds.”

“The centaurs want the mountains,” Deggho said in a small voice, looking slightly hurt.

Raettonus made a point of looking widely around the room, at the stone walls and floor, before returning his gaze to Deggho. “And a wonderful job you’re all doing of keeping it from them.”

“That’s not fair,” muttered Deggho. “Have you ever fought a centaur?”

“No, but apparently you haven’t either.”

Deggho frowned. “I’d really like to be friends, Magician,” he said softly. “You’re the only one who has come down here to talk to me in such a long time, and I’d like to be friends. You’re making that really hard.”

Raettonus shrugged. “I don’t really have it in me to make it easy,” he said.

“I can see that,” answered Deggho. He twitched and looked down. “I guess I’ll just have to try harder then. Just…just don’t stop coming down here, all right? I don’t know if I could stand it if you left and never came back. It’s so quiet and dark down here. Sometimes… Sometimes I start to wonder if I’m dead. The Book of Cykkus says that when we die we go to a place without any colors, but I think I’ll probably end up on this floor, all alone in the dark. That’s the scariest hell I can imagine. I’m so alone…”

“There aren’t any guards posted at any of the exits to this wing,” Raettonus pointed out. “What’s to stop you from simply leaving this area?”

“N-no,” said Deggho. “I’ve thought about it, but… Well, they’d just find me and bring me back down here. Or else they’d decide I was trouble and put me in the dungeons instead, or maybe a tower cell. I’m not sure whether a cell would be better or worse than this, actually. I have room to move here—so much room. Too much. There’s so much room that sometimes I feel like all the empty air is crushing me. I think about all these empty rooms, all in darkness, and I start to feel them weighing on me. And then I can’t breathe…”

He chuckled nervously. “That’s just…just me over-thinking everything though,” said the goblin. “I do a lot of thinking. You never really realize just how much thinking one can fit into a day until you have a whole day and no way to spend it but to think.”

“Try having a whole eternity,” Raettonus muttered.

“I’d rather not,” said Deggho. “It’s only been a few years, and it already feels like forever. I don’t have any windows, you know. We’re on the interior of the fortress here. Not a single window. Not even a vent hole that leads outside; they all just lead into other rooms. I haven’t seen the moon in years, or the sun either. There are still mountains outside, right? And an ocean?”

“Well, mostly,” said Raettonus. Deggho stared at him for a moment. “Of course the mountains and the ocean are still out there. I was joking.”

“Oh.” Relief showed on the goblin’s face. “I wasn’t certain and…well, at this point, if you told me the only part of Zylekkha that still existed at all was this fortress, I’d believe you. I start to wonder sometimes if I didn’t imagine everything I ever knew before this point. I mean, I think I was once the son of the chief of a tribe of goblins called the Kariss, but I don’t have any proof of that, except my name and my memories. But my memories get sketchier and sketchier every day—everything blends together. I’m not so sure what the difference is between my dreams and fantasies and memories and life are anymore. And my name… Maybe I just made up my name and then forgot I made it up. Maybe I’m not Deggho dek’Kariss. Maybe I’m Deggho sal-Kariss. Maybe I’m not a Kariss at all. Maybe I’m not even a goblin.”

“I can tell you,” Raettonus said, “you certainly are a goblin.”

“Yes, but how can I trust you?” said Deggho slowly. “You might just be a figment of my overactive imagination, inventing someone for me to talk to. I mean, I’ve had stranger fantasies than meeting and painting immortal magicians. I had one just the other day that I was visited by a sphinx with fire for eyes. Oh, that scared me something awful, too, before I realized I was just imagining it all. Maybe I’m imagining you too. There’s no way for me to know. I mean, think about it—when you dream, and you realize it’s a dream, do you ever turn to the nearest person and tell them so? If you do, they just tell you it’s not a dream, and that everything is fine. And then you wake up and… Well, you wake up. It was a dream, after all. You could be one of those people from a dream, assuring me I’m awake when I’m really asleep.”

It wasn’t often Raettonus had met someone who was more pitiful than himself. He really enjoyed watching Deggho flounder about as the darkness took his sanity.

Deggho continued to ramble on as he painted, exposing his fears and wonderings—only about half of which Raettonus actually listened to. Eventually the conversation turned lighter, and they shared jokes and second-hand anecdotes, and Deggho told Raettonus a little about goblin society.

“Centaurs are so high-strung,” Deggho said. “Goblins are much more lax. Kariss spend most of our time playing games of chance with bones or whittling tools and weapons. I was never very good at those things though, so I spent a lot of my time wrangling mounts.”

“Mounts? Like what kind?” asked Raettonus. “Dragons?”

“Gods, no! A dragon would snap your head off in a second,” Deggho said, eyes going wide momentarily. “No, I just wrangled ‘gryphs and unicorns. It’s not so hard—you just have to get a thick leather strap through their mouth so they have trouble biting you. Then you get a choke chain on them, and at that point they’ll usually give up the fight and let you ride them.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then usually at that point, we’d stick them with spears,” Deggho said. “They taste all right, but dragon’s better. That’s why we try to get them to let us ride them to the hunt. It’s easier to take down a dragon if you have a few riders in the air, throwing spears down.”

“Did you ever kill a dragon?” Raettonus asked with a yawn. It was getting very late.

“No,” Deggho said, shaking his head. “I was never a hunter. I just wrangled the mounts. How about you? Have you?”

“Have I what? Have I killed any dragons?”

Deggho nodded.

“No,” said Raettonus. “Wait, no. Yes, I suppose I have killed one. A frost dragon, actually.”

“R-really?” asked the goblin, wide-eyed. “That’s quite impressive.”

Raettonus shrugged. “It wasn’t really anything at all,” he said. “I killed it with pyromancy. It never really had a chance to fight back. Say, earlier, you mentioned that saying Kimohr Raulinn’s name draws his attention.”

Deggho winced at the name. “Yes, that’s right,” he said. He glanced around and ducked his head slightly, as though he expected the roof might suddenly collapse on top of them at any second. “We call him the Moon Son instead, actually…”

“Does one need to say his name to attract his attention?” asked Raettonus. “That is to say, is talking about him the only thing that gets his attention?”

“Well, no,” Deggho replied. “There’s really no telling whether or not you’ll attract his attention. But saying his name aloud is taking a chance you don’t really need to. That’s why it’s bad luck.”

“I see.”

After a couple more hours, Raettonus excused himself from the goblin’s company and started toward his own quarters. The corridors were dark and full of silence as he made his way through the Kaebha Citadel. He could hear hoof beats on stone somewhere far away and the distant ticking of a clock, but they served only to make the immediate area feel all the deader.

Yawning, he pushed open the door to his room. It was dark and chilly as he crossed to the brazier. With a flick of his hand he lit a fire within it before going to his bookshelf. It was late, but he still thought he had enough energy to get some reading done.

He pulled a book with a red and silver cover from the shelf and tucked it under his arm. With another yawn, he strode to his desk. He was starting to rethink the reading as he pulled out his chair and laid the book down. As he opened it, the cover brushed the little obsidian gryphon sitting on his desk, knocking it over. With a grumble, Raettonus reached toward it, knocking down a second statuette he hadn’t noticed. Startled, he looked at the little carving, done out of red stone, and found it was a phoenix with its wings spread wide. It was much the same as the gryphon in that it was smoothly and expertly worked.

Violently, Raettonus stood and drew his sword. He tapped at the wall with it, and the symbols he had carved appeared glowing in the stone, though he could’ve sworn that the glow was dimmer than it had been.

Someone was trying to undo his spell.

He sunk back into his chair, laying his rapier across his lap, and turned his gaze on the carved phoenix. It appeared to have been carved of opaque garnet. Looking upon it, Raettonus began to feel odd, as though there was something half-remembered lurking in his skull that was connected to the figurine. He brushed his fingers across its chest, feeling the texture of the feathers carved into it, before taking it up in his hand. Leaning back in his chair, Raettonus closed his eyes and tried to recall what the figure meant to him. An image came to mind, like a piece of a memory, though not quite, where he was just a kid being pulled down a hallway. It was a nightmare he used to have, he remembered with a start. He hadn’t thought of it in centuries, and couldn’t think what it had to do with the phoenix.

Raettonus opened his eyes and set the carved stone figure back down on the desk beside the gryphon. He no longer felt much like reading, but the prospect of sleep made him uncertain. The runes were still there in his walls, protecting him from interference, but they were being worn away, and he wasn’t sure whether they’d hold out for another month or another hour. He didn’t have the power to recast the spell—not yet—and even if he did, anyone who could break it once could certainly break it twice.

“This is silly,” Raettonus said aloud, laying his sword on the desk and standing. “What should I fear? More tiny sculptures of mythical beasts? More vague threats about burying me beside Master Slade?” He sat on the edge of his bed and kicked off his boots. “Master Slade wasn’t even buried.”

He stripped off his tunic and lay on top of his blanket for a while, staring at the ceiling. He thought of the masked elf in his lavish temple for quite a time. He thought, as well, of the phoenix statue and the images it had brought to mind. There was no doubt in him that the masked man had put the phoenix in his room; it was too reminiscent of the gryphon for it to be otherwise. Even though his mind was busy, at length his eyelids grew heavy, and he slipped into a troubled sleep.

* * *

He was having a nightmare. It was the same nightmare that had plagued him throughout his childhood and early adulthood, but it was so much longer and more vivid now.

It began with Raettonus sitting on the floor of a tiny stone room with a small window covered by a grate of iron bars. He sat with his back against one of the walls, his knees pulled up to his chest, looking through the window at the overcast sky. It was beginning to rain outside.

In the dream, he was only a child—a tiny, starving child, shivering with cold. The room was bare and filthy and suffocatingly small, with only that single, small window that was high up on the wall where he couldn’t reach it. Opposite the window was a thick door of wood so dark it was almost black, banded with iron, too heavy for Raettonus’ frail body to move alone, and locked from the other side to boot.

Terror clawed at his chest as he heard a key turning in the lock. He pressed himself against the wall, trembling as the door swung inward. A tall, stony-faced man with blond hair and severe brown eyes entered the room. There was disgust written on his features as he looked at Raettonus. For a moment he regarded him in silence, then, in much the same manner one might address a particularly ill-behaved dog, he said, “Boy—come over here.”

Unsteadily, Raettonus got to his feet. It was hard for him to walk—he felt as though his legs were bare sticks and all his organs had turned inside out. As best he could manage, however, he made his way to the blond man’s side, watching his feet the whole way because he couldn’t stand to look at the man’s openly hateful glare. “Yes, my Lord?” he found himself asking in a tiny, subdued voice when he reached the man. He kept his eyes on the blond man’s boots and the dirty stone blocks beneath them.

“Look up when you speak,” said the man sharply, and he smacked Raettonus across the face. Raettonus winced, but didn’t cry out, and turned his face upward to look at the man. The man’s lip twisted slightly, as if it was all he could do to remain stoic. “You’ll be leaving here today.”

“L-leaving?” Raettonus asked, breathless with panic. He was being sent out into the world, all alone. He was going to die, all alone. “P-please, Father, I—”

“The Gryphon Sorcerer agreed to take you,” continued the man. “He’s waiting for you downstairs. Let’s go, boy.”

He reached out, and Raettonus shrunk away from his hand, shivering furiously. “N-no,” he protested weakly. “I—I don’t want to go.”

The man scowled and grabbed Raettonus’ wrist so tightly the boy couldn’t help but give a shriek. “You’re going with the sorcerer, you awful little changeling,” he growled through clenched teeth. “I will not have you here, dishonoring our blood.” With his free hand, he swatted Raettonus a few times across the back of his head, and neck, and ears before dragging him out the door.

They were suddenly in a hallway. Raettonus begged not to be made to leave. He said he was sorry and promised he wouldn’t ever be any trouble again. The blond man wasn’t listening to him though. He dragged Raettonus, crying and pleading, through the hall, past white and red banners which were all partially burned. They were nearing an iron-banded door at the end of the hall. Raettonus didn’t know what was beyond the door, but even looking at it filled him with dread. He flailed and protested and cried and tried to wrench out of the man’s grasp, but he could not get free. The door grew closer…

Raettonus awoke suddenly to find the fire in his brazier had burned itself out, leaving his room dark and chill. His blankets were damp with sweat, and he cast them aside. He was trying to remember the dream—the man’s face, what he had said—but as he lay thinking about it, it all began to fade away. After a moment or two, all he could remember was something about a changeling and the burned banners in the hall. They’d been white—he could recall that much—with something red on them. What was it?

He closed his eyes and tried hard to remember, but he couldn’t. Everything was gone—the red pattern on the banners, the man’s face, the words that had passed between them. He couldn’t recall any of it. With a sigh, Raettonus turned onto his side and curled his legs up toward his chest, not feeling so much like sleeping anymore. He found himself wishing they hadn’t found a different room for Brecan, so at least he might have someone to talk to. Though, God knows, Brecan was always the absolute bottom of his list when it came to talking.

In Ti Tunfa, when he found his sleep poor, he could always seek out a tavern where he might get a few drinks and mayhap play a few rounds of chess with a drunken elf or two. Taverns never closed in Ti Tunfa.

What was he to do here? Wander the soldier’s barracks, looking for drinking buddies? No, with the Spartan philosophies of Zylekkhans, if he wandered soldiers’ rooms in the middle of the night, he was far more likely to stumble on things that would give him nightmares rather than soothe them.

Raettonus rubbed at his eyes and sat up. He couldn’t go back to sleep; he had to do something. He stood and pulled on his tunic. Dimly, he could make out the jagged outlines of the little figurines on the desk, and a shiver went through him. That’s just because of the cold, he told himself. Except he couldn’t feel the cold.

Chapter Four

Before he arrived at the door to Kaebha Citadel’s shrine, Raettonus didn’t really know where he was going. He had only been walking the lonely hallways, hand on his rapier, head lost in all kinds of thoughts. The doors to the shrine were slightly ajar, and through the crack he could see candlelight flickering within it. He paused outside the door, not sure if he wanted to go in. In the end however, he entered quietly. He certainly couldn’t go back to sleep, and where else was he to pass the hours until daytime?

Despite the candles, the interior of the shrine was still quite dim. Raettonus moved through the gloom uncertainly, pausing to look at the statues of the major gods as he passed them. He stopped at the statue of Cykkus—a suit of armor with wings, though the candles in his helm that served for eyes had been extinguished. For a moment, he simply stared at the statue, taking everything about it in and feeling the hate boil up in his stomach. “You know what?” he said to the statue, leaning in close and peering up into its empty helm. “I hope you’re miserable as hell too.”

He heard someone stir behind him, followed by soft hoof-falls. “Well, Magician,” came Daeblau’s familiar voice from behind him. “I wouldn’t expect to find you here.”

“I wouldn’t expect to find me here either,” Raettonus answered. “Just thought I’d drop by, air my grievances with your gods. You know, normal stuff to do at five in the morning.”

Daeblau smiled. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a religious man, Magician,” he said. “Certainly I didn’t think our gods would hold any importance for you.”

“I have a bone to pick with this one,” Raettonus said, nodding toward the statue.

“Black-winged Cykkus?”

“Yeah, sure,” Raettonus said. “Whatever you call it—Death. Death is the same in all worlds, and I’ve got a bone to pick with him. I don’t see any depictions of my world’s Death around here, so this is the one I’m gonna tell off. If it offends you… Well, you can apologize to it afterwards, or you can make a sacrifice to appease it, or however it is you Zylxians make your insane gods happy.”

“We don’t make them happy, Magician,” Daeblau said, looking toward the statue. “We just try to stay out of their way, and then whatever happens, happens.”

“So,” Raettonus said, “you just try not to draw their attention, huh? It’s bad luck?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s bad luck exactly,” said the centaur. “Just that—well, you seem an educated man, Magician. Certainly you’ve read the stories? Mortals who find themselves the object of gods’ attentions don’t tend to come out of everything on top.”

“That’s if you believe the stories,” Raettonus said dismissively.

Daeblau gave a chuckle. “How could you not?” he asked. “Kurok turned the whole eastern half of Zylekkha into a wasteland. His Guardians roam the kingdom; it’s not hard to track them down. Hell, I’ve seen the Dragon Guardian, Nekkdan, five times since I’ve been stationed in this fort. That doesn’t leave a lot of room for doubt, Magician Raettonus. Not unless you try very, very hard.”

Raettonus scoffed lightly and turned his pale red gaze back on the statue. “If you don’t want their attention, it sure is a funny direction to go—what with all the prayers and such.”

The Captain of the Garrison ran a hand through his hair and laughed softly. “You might think that, yes,” he said. “But the key is, in Zylxian prayers you don’t pray as an individual. You say, for instance, ‘Kurok, I am a warrior and I serve the Royal Zylekkhan Army and yourself. Protect me and my brothers.’ So you pray as a warrior—part of a whole, but not anything worth notice. Or you say, ‘Syrinna Teba, there are sick people in this world who would benefit from your healing touch,’ or maybe, ‘Virkki, we’re going into a war and would like your blessing so that we may die for our brothers.’ You never pray that ‘I want’ anything. That way you don’t draw their attention.”

“Is that so?” Raettonus asked. He pondered that for a moment. “How about Kimohr Raulinn?”

“The chaos god?”

“No, Kimohr Raulinn the gardener. Yes, the chaos god—who else would I mean?” snapped Raettonus. He let out a sigh and looked around. “I notice there are statues of all the other major gods here, but not him.”

“Kimohr Raulinn is a traitor to Kurok,” said Daeblau, as though it should be obvious. “Statues of Kimohr Raulinn are not kept in the holy kingdoms. I hear they worship him in Kyshem’mur, but it’s common knowledge that the Kyshem people are idiots who live in a horrible country. They’re mostly elves, on top of it all. It’s no wonder their kingdom falls to pieces every few months.”

“I heard it was bad luck to say his name aloud,” Raettonus said.

“I’ve never heard that before,” answered Daeblau, looking amused. “Did you hear it from an elf in Ti Tunfa? They’re silly, superstitious things, elves are. They have all kinds of beliefs about things like that. No mirrors can be brought into a temple, say the elves, and always sleep with your head facing east, toward the Noa Lokul, and if a vampire attacks you, you should scatter sand because he’ll need to count it.” His smile widened. “That last one is why the great King Daebrish drove them into the Koa Kurok, you know. ‘Sand paralyzes vampires?’ said Daebrish. ‘Well, then, we’ll give them so much sand that they’ll never bother anyone again.’ He was a good man. I’m a distant descendant of his, you know. I don’t expect you to understand the complex naming traditions of centaurian society, Magician, but the ‘dae’ in my name comes from my father’s side, which could be traced back to Daebrish.”

Raettonus did, in fact, understand centaurian naming traditions. He understood, most of all that the “dae” in Daebrish and Daeblau was there to mark it as a bastard’s name. He held his tongue on that point, and instead asked, “So, then, you don’t think saying his name would draw his attention toward you?”

“Well, Magician—no, quite frankly. I don’t think so,” Daeblau said. “The thing about Kimohr Raulinn is that he watches everyone. You can’t draw his attention by saying his name, because you already drew his attention by being alive. Now, prayers to Kimohr Raulinn…those are another matter.”

“Do tell.”

“It’s bad luck to ever pray to him,” said Daeblau. “Because, no matter how much you present a plea as part of a greater whole, he still treats it as an individual’s wish. I don’t like to admit it, but prayers to other gods, by and large, fall on deaf ears. Prayers to Kimohr Raulinn, on the other hand… Well. The difference between other gods and Kimohr Raulinn is that Kimohr Raulinn can be summoned.”

“Summoned, you say?” The magician raised one thin eyebrow and pursed his lips. “If he can be summoned, then he can be bound,” Raettonus said, leaning against the statue of Cykkus.

Daeblau winced, though whether it was at the idea or at his leaning against the statue, Raettonus couldn’t tell. “Perhaps he could be bound,” he said, furrowing his brow. “Though, even for as renowned a magician as yourself, I’m sure it’d be no easy task. He’s not just some powerful creature, Raettonus. He’s a god, with all the powers that entails. Besides, supposing one could bind him—what then? You might be strong enough to get a god like Kimohr Raulinn into your power—I don’t know—but, even though I have no doubts that you are a very wise and clever man, I don’t think you’d be smart enough to keep him that way. No, please don’t take offense. I don’t think any mortal could be clever enough to keep him in their power. There’s a reason we hold onto the old tales even if you believe they’re nothing more than that. They help to warn us that gods should not be messed with. Least of all that god.”

Raettonus regarded Daeblau coolly. “I’ll bear all that in mind,” he said. “So, Captain—who’re you here giving your prayers to tonight?”

“Oh, a few gods,” said Daeblau, turning away. “I prayed to Kurok for the warrior’s strength, and to Virkki for a warrior’s courage, and to Cykkus for a warrior’s death. The same prayers I always do before it’s my turn to take the walls.”

“You pray every day, then? How quaint.”

“Every day. Not every day in here though,” Daeblau said. “Today I came here to pray at Shimae’s shrine—the love goddess. Do you know her?”

“I know her fine,” replied Raettonus, a bit shortly.

Daeblau smiled a little. “What I said before about prayers applies to all the gods except her. To Shimae, a man must come to pray before her shrine, and he must do it as an individual, Magician, because praying for love can only turn out well.”

“So, you’re here this morning praying to find love?”

“No, I’m not. Rather, I’ve become smitten, and I’m here to pray that the young man I’ve fallen in love with will return my affections,” Daeblau said. “Though, praying to find love is not a bad idea. Perhaps you ought to try it, Magician? You could stand to smile a little more and scowl a little less, I think.”

“I smile perfectly often as it is, thank you,” Raettonus answered curtly. “Besides, I’ve found that, in one way or another, love always turns to bile in your throat. The best you can hope for is that you die before the person you love. It’s a race to the grave, because reaching the grave before they do—or before they stop loving you, or before they start hating you—is the only good outcome to ever be had.”

The centaurian soldier smiled, but it was a forced expression without any warmth to it. “Is that a fact, Magician?” he said. “You speak in the way that only a man who’s never loved can.”

“I speak as only a man who has outlived love can,” Raettonus answered. Through the window he could see the sky was turning pink. Somewhere out of sight, sparrows were waking and beginning to chirp their birdsong into the valleys around the citadel. “I would suggest suicide, by the way. If you find out the boy loves you, I mean. I would suggest that you kiss him and then immediately go drive a sword through your belly, or wherever it is a centaur might drive a sword to end himself. That way you die with happiness in your mouth instead of bile.”

“I’ll take it under consideration,” said Daeblau, forcing all the emotion out of his voice. He glanced up at the window. “It looks like dawn is upon us. By your leave, Magician, I must go take my watch.”

“Yes, I imagine you must,” Raettonus replied. Daeblau nodded to him curtly and started past him. Raettonus turned and watched the centaur disappear out the doors. It wasn’t long after that the shrine began to fill with other worshippers, and Raettonus took his leave as well.

* * *

Raettonus’ lessons with the boys were very lax that day. By afternoon, he found himself dozing off every now and then. Maeleht would wake him, and he’d start lecturing again, only to nod off once more. “Raettonus,” said Maeleht, shaking him awake the fourth time this had happened. “You promised to tell us about necromancy today.”

“Right, right,” Raettonus said with a yawn. “Fine. Fine, give me a second.”

He hunched over, yawning again, and rubbed at his eyes. Straightening back up, he began, “Bear in mind that I will not be teaching you how to do any of this for a very long time. It’s a very difficult craft, and I don’t think either of you is ready to learn it. You may never learn it, even if I teach you.”

“Where did you learn it?” asked Dohrleht.

“I learned it from my master when I was a boy,” Raettonus said. “It took me many years to be able to do it even passing well.”

From her seat on the other side of the room, Ebha asked, “You can make the dead live again?”

Raettonus was surprised to hear her speak; it was the first time she had said anything at all in his presence. “No,” he told her plainly. “If I could make the dead live again, do you think I’d be here tutoring two cripples?”

“I’m not a cripple,” Maeleht objected.

“No, I’d be the God King of this whole realm, and probably every other realm I wanted to barge into,” Raettonus said. He turned back to the centaurs. “There are two sorts of necromancy. There are the quicker animations, which involve putting your own energy into a corpse to move it; and then there are the slower resurrections, where you attach a ghost to a corpse, allowing the ghost to inhabit the body. The former is easier, but more tiring, while the latter is difficult, but doesn’t wear you down after the fact.”

“But you said you can’t make the dead live again,” said Dohrleht. “That sounds kind of like living.”

“Hardly,” responded Raettonus. “Their bodies continue to decay, unless a myriad of spells are applied to preserve them, and those sometimes don’t work. Unless you’re a very skilled necromancer, they won’t be able to speak, either, and their movements will be awkward and clumsy. Most importantly, only ghosts can be tied to bodies, which means that the person in question must be tortured enough to hang around after death, or else you have to grab hold of them immediately after they’ve died.”

“Grab hold?” asked Maeleht. “Grab hold of their ghost?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Raettonus said. “You reach out with your energy and grab hold of their ghost before it departs. It’s difficult then, because they fight. Souls don’t want to stay on this plane of existence. They’ll fight you until they’re bound to the body. Sometimes even then. Inexperienced necromancers get killed by ghosts and corpses all the time. It’s a dangerous art.”

“Have you ever been attacked by ghosts and corpses?” Maeleht asked him.

Raettonus nodded slowly. “When I was young and just learning, yes.”

“What was it like?” Dohrleht asked. “Is it hard to fight a corpse?”

“A corpse? No, not really. It’s easier than fighting a man, in fact,” Raettonus said. “It’s far more dangerous to fight ghosts. For the time that you’re holding them with your energy, you’re connected to them. For a moment, all their memories and their experiences become an extension of your own. You can feel the death they experienced if they want you to—and I’ve yet to meet one that didn’t want you to. All the while, they’re gnawing on your life force, wearing you down. Killing you. They don’t want to go to hell alone, and they don’t want to stay here.”

“How do you keep them from killing you?”

Raettonus shrugged and yawned again. “You just do what you’re doing quickly,” he said. “Or else you let go of them and hope they’ll let go of you, as well.”

“Raettonus?” asked Maeleht after a lengthy silence had passed over them. “When are you going to teach us to do magic? I’m tired of hearing about it. I want to do it.”

Raising an eyebrow, Raettonus crossed his hands over his lap. “You’re quite eager. You might not be able to do any magic, you realize,” he said.

“But I won’t know if you don’t ever teach me to try.”

For a moment, Raettonus gave him an appraising stare. Finally, he relented. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll teach you a little bit of pyromancy. Both of you—come over here, get in close. All right. Hold out your hands. No, just one hand, each of you.”

He began to instruct him, as his own master had instructed him so long ago. Of course, when Sir Slade had begun to teach him magic he had tried to teach him hydromancy, not pyromancy. Raettonus hadn’t been able to do it, but he had enjoyed the lesson immensely. He and Slade had sat in the grass on a hill beside a river at the edge of Slade’s land, on an overcast yet rainless morning.

“Look here,” Slade had said, pulling him close and opening one large, empty hand. “Watch this.”

And just like that, the air above Slade’s hand began to swirl gently, and a great sphere of clear, clean water appeared there even as young Raettonus watched with wide eyes. He reached out and touched the orb with tiny, trembling fingers and found that it was just like sticking them into a glass of water. Slade smiled at him kindly. He twitched his fingers, and the water began to swirl and reshape itself into a rearing gryphon. “Just like your coat of arms,” Raettonus had said in breathless amazement.

Slade nodded. “Would you like to learn how to do this?” he had asked.

“Yes, master,” Raettonus had answered eagerly. “You can teach me?”

“Of course,” Slade said. But he hadn’t been able to teach him. Not hydromancy. Later along, he switched his lessons to pyromancy, and it went better. All the same, Raettonus had fond memories of that first hydromancy lesson. It was the moment he began to put away his fear and had started to love Sir Slade.

Raettonus’ pyromancy lesson to the young centaurs went much better. After a few hours, Dohrleht was able to make a very small flame for a second or two. Maeleht had more trouble and only managed to make a tiny spark before a coughing fit shook his thin chest and he doubled over, hacking and rasping. Raettonus waited patiently for the fit to pass. They had only just resumed their lesson when Maeleht suffered a fainting spell, even before he could try again. His eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp, and Ebha went to his side to attend to him.

Maeleht came to after a minute or so, but he was made to rest in the corner for the remainder of the lesson—a fact he didn’t seem pleased about. They worked until sun down, but Dohrleht couldn’t manage to make a sustainable flame. “Don’t worry about it,” Raettonus told him. “It’s plenty pathetic now, but we’ll work on it tomorrow.”

“How long will it take until I can make an actual fireball?” asked the centaur.

Raettonus brushed off the question with a shrug and turned to Maeleht. “Whatever your father believes, magic is no less strenuous than sword fighting,” he said. “You don’t seem like you’re strong enough for magic.”

“N-no,” said Maeleht. “I am. I’m strong enough.” He was seized by another coughing fit, and he doubled over.

“It’s going to kill you,” said Raettonus. He spoke the words with no emotion, just a pure statement of fact. “I had my doubts when I first saw you, but now I’m certain this is not a good idea for you.”

“I want to do magic,” said Maeleht, struggling to get to his feet. Ebha tried to hold him back, but he swatted her across the jaw and she withdrew quickly. “I need to learn to do magic. I need to be useful.” The boy was beginning to cry and tremble. “I can’t lift a sword and I can’t run. If I can’t do magic, that means I’m going to be a disappointment to my father until the day I die. I’d rather die trying not to disgrace him.”

“If you don’t care whether it kills you that’s your business,” Raettonus said, starting for the door. “I’m just informing you that it probably will. I’m not your mother. If you’re in here tomorrow, I’ll go on teaching you. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“You’ll keep teaching me?” said Maeleht. He threw his arms around Raettonus and hugged him tightly. “Thank you. You don’t know what it means to me.”

“I don’t care what it means to you,” said Raettonus, pushing the child away. He started once more toward the door. “If you’re here, I’ll teach you. If you’re not, I don’t care about that either.”

With that, he left his students and went out into the hall. He thought of going down to visit Deggho, but quickly decided against it. Instead, he went to the courtyard to see if he could find Brecan. Alas, the unicorn was absent, and night was falling fast on the mountain. With a resigned sigh, Raettonus left the yard and made his way to his quarters, hoping his dinner had already been brought up.

He entered his dark quarters and lit a fire in the brazier. Turning, he discovered a plate of food on his desk and, beside it, the carved gryphon and the phoenix, now joined by a white unicorn with its head lowered. Raettonus bit his lower lip and took a seat at the desk. The unicorn was familiar to him, but it took him a moment to place why. After some thought, he realized that it was the heraldry of Sir Rhodes’ house—a white unicorn on a field of gray and blue. “Christ,” muttered Raettonus, knocking down the unicorn with one finger. “Is he planning to flood me in little stone animals from all the banners I’ve ever seen?” He blinked and turned his gaze toward the phoenix. “Huh. Red…”

He narrowed his eyes at the little garnet figurine. He pressed his thin lips hard together so that they grew even thinner. The little, glossy, carved eyes of the phoenix stared back at him blankly.

After a time, he recovered himself. “Silly little thing,” he muttered, returning to his dinner.

Still, as he ate, his gaze would sometimes stray from the plate, and he’d find himself chewing slowly and lethargically as he stared at the figurine, thoughts rolling sluggishly over in his head.

* * *

When Raettonus went to sleep it was very reluctantly, hours later. On the desk, the stone figures taunted him, so he snuffed out the fire in the brazier. The darkness didn’t help much; he could still feel them there. The gryphon, he felt, was watching him accusingly. The unicorn was pleading. The phoenix was…hateful. Hateful was the only word for it.

He slept, finally. His dream was very familiar to him. It was less a dream and more a memory, and he had dreamed it more times than he could count. He was in Slade’s room, on his bed, his head pressed close against his master’s chest. Raettonus’ hands and stomach were covered in blood, and it was soaking through the mattress all around him. By the window, the drapes flapped, and outside the rain fell. Raettonus’ face was wet from tears, but he wasn’t crying—for now. If he looked up and saw Slade’s face, he’d certainly start crying once again. He was so afraid and uncertain. He tried wrapping his arms around his master’s still form, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t comforting. Slowly, he withdrew his hands and gripped himself instead. As he closed his eyes a sob wracked Raettonus’ chest.

“There’s nothing sadder than a grown man crying,” said a smooth, familiar voice.

Raettonus felt his organs clench inside him and opened his eyes to find himself beside the reflective pool outside the temple on the bluff with the masked elf standing over him. Raettonus looked up at him slowly. The masked man only smiled back at him mildly, his eyes glowing in the moonlight like a cat’s. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” Raettonus mumbled. “Except stop putting those stupid statues in my room.”

“Oh, good,” said the elf. “So you did get my messages, then? I was worried. You’ve been hiding from me, Raettonus. That was some sort of spell you cast. Impressive, really. Bravo.”

“I know who you are,” said Raettonus. He stood up and was eye-level with the elf. “You’re Kimohr Raulinn.”

The corner of the elf’s mouth twitched upwards into a smirk. “It was the temple that gave it away, wasn’t it? Damn. I knew we should’ve met in a quaint little pastry shop instead of the temple,” he said. “But yes—Kimohr Raulinn the chaos god, son of the moon, at your service. I wondered when you didn’t know at first, but you were asleep so I didn’t hold it against you. No man’s brain works quite right when he is dreaming.”

“I want to know why you sent me that phoenix,” Raettonus demanded.

With a soft chuckle, Kimohr Raulinn sat down at the pool’s edge. Pulling his robes up to his knees, he submerged his bare feet in the water. “Sit with me a while. There’s no need to be confrontational,” he said. Reluctantly, Raettonus sat cross-legged beside him. “It was no easy task to find out what I should send to you. I mean, I knew about the heraldry animals from your world, and that you were very attached to the banner of your master, which had a gryphon on it. And I knew that Sir Rhodes had a unicorn on his, because when I looked in on him I saw it on his tunic, beneath his robe. I’m sure he misses being nobility, the way he still wears his coat of arms after all these years. Or maybe it’s his father he misses.”

Kimohr Raulinn turned his face upward, toward the partially clouded night sky. “But you—who were you? Not a gryphon,” he said. “I had to look into your world to find out, and it was no easy task.”

“It was a red phoenix on a field of pure white,” Raettonus muttered. “That was my family’s coat of arms.”

“And a very fitting one it is,” Kimohr Raulinn said. “I didn’t see it on anything you owned. I had to look into your world. Quite a feat, that, since my power as a god does not extend beyond my realm. It was made even harder, because the world you think you came from is not, in fact, the world you did come from. They’re similar enough, I think, but different in key ways. It took me weeks to figure out which one you came from, because there were so many like your world. But I found it and, for a brief moment, I was able to see your family’s banner and the phoenix upon it, and I sent it to you. Did you like it, by the way? The statue? I made it all by myself. You can keep it, you know. Think of it as a token of my affection and esteem.”

“I don’t want your stupid token,” grumbled Raettonus. “I want to be left alone.”

“Oh, but my dear Raettonus,” said the elven god, fairly hissing the name out from between his teeth. Kimohr Raulinn kicked his feet slowly through the water. “I only want to help you. I have an amazing offer for you, sweet child.”

“I know how your ‘help’ turns out, Kimohr Raulinn, and I don’t want it.”

“You wound me, Magician,” Kimohr Raulinn said, placing one hand on his chest and feigning offense. “I only do what I can for anyone who needs me. It’s more than can be said of the other gods. They sit their lofty seats divorced from the creatures who toil and die on this mortal rock and pretend they’re better than them. I do my best to help. Certainly, helping does often benefit me, and may sometimes—only sometimes, Magician—have, shall we say, unforeseen consequences for those I’ve aided. All the same, I am only trying to put my godly gifts to good use. Anything else you might think is only Kurok and his band trying to paint me black for daring to associate with mortals.”

Raettonus gave him a hard look. “I don’t find myself convinced, somehow,” he said dryly.

Kimohr Raulinn let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Raettonus, Raettonus,” he said softly. “So untrusting. I wonder, were you always so cynical?”

“Since the day I was born,” Raettonus affirmed blandly.

“That’s not good for you, you know,” Kimohr Raulinn said. “Cynicism ruins your health.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

The elf gave a soft chuckle and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “So you’ve really got no interest in me? In why a god would contact you?”

“Lots of people contact me,” Raettonus said.

“Lots of mortals,” Kimohr Raulinn agreed. “However, I’m not here to ask you to run an errand or to teach some children arithmetic and pyromancy. I’m here to offer you a service.”

“And I’m not interested, as I said before.”

“But what I am offering you, for only a small price—”

“Damn your offer and damn your price,” said Raettonus, rubbing his temples and squeezing his eyes closed. “I already told you: no. The answer’s going to stay no. A thousand times no. If you ask me every hour of every day for the rest of our fucking lives, I’m still going to tell you no, God damn it. I know about your offers and your prices. I’ve been around, Kimohr Raulinn, and I know perfectly well what kind of self-serving snake you are. So leave me alone. Go far away from me and let me back to my own dreams. I’d rather be in that awful nightmare than here.”

Beneath his mask the god frowned, looking somewhat hurt. “You didn’t even let me tell you my offer,” he said. “I don’t do this for everyone, you know. You’re of special interest to me, and I thought I’d be nice and offer you the thing you want most.”

“Whatever it is you think I want most, I certainly don’t want it from you,” Raettonus said.

“Ouch, Magician. Ouch,” said Kimohr Raulinn, looking down into the water. “I suppose I’ve been stoutly shot down, then? I must admit, I’m not used to such refusal. I feel like I’ve been jilted, to tell the truth. I think I’m even becoming a little bitter. A little resentful, maybe. Yes—that’s it. Resentful. I’m now beginning to wonder how it was I ever even thought of breaking the barrier between life and death for you. Certainly I was a fool.”

“Wait—what was that?”

“Oh, never mind,” Kimohr Raulinn said with a sigh. “You’ve already gotten across just how much you abhor me, and that it doesn’t matter to you what I was going to offer. I mean, I was going to—for a very, very small price which would certainly have been insignificant to you—restore your beloved Sir Slade the Gryphon back to the land of the living. But you’re on to my tricks, aren’t you? You’ll have none of it. I should quit while I’m ahead, I suppose, and let you go back to your regular dreams. Yes, certainly, I should.”

Raettonus looked at the masked elf wearily. “You don’t have the power to bring someone back to life,” he said, standing.

Kimohr Raulinn looked at him, his yellow eyes glowing faintly. They were terrible and mesmerizing, those eyes; they were like the eyes of a mountain cat stalking prey in the night, or like a fire consuming the bones of warriors. Slowly, he got to his feet. Water dripped down his pale flesh and puddled in his footsteps as he stood there on the cool marble. “Dear, sweet child,” he said to Raettonus. “I have more power than you could possibly conceive of. All you need do is give me his body and pay my price, and I’ll crack down the gates of Hell to bring him back to you.”

Kimohr Raulinn reached out his hand. For a moment, Raettonus was still, contemplating it. Then, slowly—carefully—he grasped the god’s hand in his own. Why not? Raettonus figured. After all, I haven’t got a soul to lose, this time around.

Chapter Five

Raettonus was uncertain when he awoke whether he had dreamed a regular dream or whether he had actually spoken to Kimohr Raulinn. The three statues sat on his desk, the same as the night before. His conversation with the masked god by the reflective pool seemed so distant to him in the midmorning light that he could only wonder if it had happened at all.

When he gathered up his books and made his way to his students’ chamber for their lesson, he found that Maeleht had indeed shown up. He started their lesson with summoning elements, the same as he had the previous afternoon, using water and earth instead of fire. It went about the same as it had the day before for Dohrleht; he was able to create a tiny sphere of water for a couple seconds before his power drained and the water fell into his hand and onto the floor. Maeleht was able to create only a small pebble in his hand before he began to cough and had to take a rest.

They broke off learning about elemental summoning then, and Raettonus taught them about some herbs with magical properties. He named for them some of the healing herbs and the hex-breaking herbs and showed them the drawings of useful plants from one of his books. The brothers took notes on the herbs as he was lecturing. As Raettonus wrapped up their lessons, he told them, “I’ll expect you to know those off the top of your head.”

“Yes, Raettonus,” said the boys in unison as he left their room.

It was still light outside, so Raettonus made his way to the courtyard, where he found Brecan running laps with some of the soldiers. Spotting Raettonus, he changed course and galloped over to the man. “Raet!” exclaimed Brecan happily. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever! How’re your lessons going?”

Raettonus shrugged. “Fine,” he said. He nodded toward the soldiers taking laps. “I see you’ve been conscripted.”

“Oh, no,” said Brecan. “Nothing like that. I’ve just been out here training with them. They’re a lot of fun, these guys. I’m making a lot of friends.” He pointed with his nose toward a few of the soldiers. “That’s Reghahd, and there’s Toriika, and that’s Vyrah—he’s getting married whenever his fiancée can get herself down here to marry him—and there’s—”

“How nice for you,” Raettonus interrupted. “I wouldn’t think I’d have to tell you this, but I don’t care.”

“Oh. Right,” said Brecan. “I’m sorry, I should’ve known you wouldn’t.” He hung his head slightly and then suddenly seemed to change his mind and all at once his countenance brightened. “What’re you in the yard for, Raet? Is it for me? Did you come to see me?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Raettonus said. Brecan danced giddily, pawing at the ground with his fore hooves. “I’m feeling rather restless. Let’s go for a ride.”

“In the mountains?” Brecan asked.

“No, in the ocean. Yes, the mountains, you dullard.”

“Oh, all right,” said Brecan, stretching his wings forward and out of the way so Raettonus could mount him. They rode out of the courtyard, through the citadel. The guards let them out of the fortress without comment and then they were on the twisting, narrow path which had been carved through the Dragon’s Teeth Mountain Range.

The pair rode for a long while along cliffs and through valleys as the sun crept lower to the west. Raettonus gripped Brecan’s short mane loosely with one hand, resting the other on the unicorn’s neck as they rode leisurely through the mountains. Raettonus had first learned to ride on a saddle, but for years after that he mostly rode bareback behind his master up until he had gotten a horse of his own. It was comfortable for Raettonus—far more comfortable than a saddle had ever been to him. It reminded him of riding behind Sir Slade with his arms wrapped around the man’s middle as they surveyed his master’s lands.

“I had a dream last night that I spoke with Kimohr Raulinn,” Raettonus suddenly felt inclined to say.

“I had a dream that I had cherry tarts. Lots of them,” Brecan said happily. “But then I woke up and I didn’t have any tarts at all, cherry or otherwise. I was kinda sad about that.”

“He promised me he could make my master live again,” said Raettonus, not really listening to Brecan. “We shook on it.”

“And did he?”

“Hm?”

“Your master—did he live again?” Brecan asked.

“It was only a dream,” Raettonus said.

“But in the dream, did Kimohr Raulinn make your master live again?” the unicorn asked.

Raettonus shook his head. “No,” he said. “I woke up. It hadn’t happened, and my master wasn’t alive.”

“That’s kinda like my dream,” Brecan said. “When I woke up and there were no cherry tarts. But yours is worse. I’m sorry, Raet. You don’t talk about him much, but I know you really miss your master. What was his name—Slate?”

“Slade,” Raettonus answered, leaning forward as Brecan climbed a hill. “Sir Slade.”

“That’s a funny name. Sir. Oh, hey! Rhodes is a Sir, too.”

“It’s a title,” Raettonus said. “Master Slade and Rhodes were both knights. They squired together. I’ve explained knights to you before. You’d remember if you didn’t spend all your time thinking about food.”

“Oh, right, right,” said Brecan. “I remember that now. Knights. We don’t have them here, so sometimes I forget.”

“You forget because you’re stupid,” Raettonus said.

“Why did Kimohr Raulinn want to make Sir Slade live again?” asked Brecan.

Raettonus frowned. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “He just did.”

“Well, that was nice of him,” chirped Brecan. They reached a place where the cliff had crumbled and fallen away, destroying the path, and Brecan paused for a moment. “Should I fly over it, or do you think we should turn back?”

Raettonus turned his face west to where the sun was fast disappearing beyond the mountaintops. “Let’s go back,” he said. “I imagine you’ll want to get to Kaebha before your dinner gets cold.”

“I like dinner,” said Brecan with a nod, as he turned around.

The unicorn began to canter back along the path. From his back, Raettonus surveyed the cliffs and crags all around them. In the distance, he saw a band of goblins holding spears and hide shields, watching him and leaning in close to whisper to one another. Raettonus assumed them to be Kariss, though there was little overlap between how they were dressed and how Deggho dressed. As he thought of Deggho, he remembered the way Deggho had told him he was imagined in the Kariss’ tales. Raettonus couldn’t help but wonder if this group of goblins here, watching him so intently, knew who it was they were spying on now. In case they didn’t, he lifted one hand and bid fire fill it. This seemed to startle a couple younger goblins, and they turned and fled. The older ones watched him for a moment more before going after them.

The air was orange, tainted by twilight. It reminded Raettonus of an evening a long time ago when he had watched Slade betrayed by a friend; it reminded him of an evening not long after that when that friend paid a painful price for his betrayal. As Brecan rounded a narrow path that ran along a cliff’s edge, Raettonus noticed a form resting upon a mountaintop—a great cliff dragon, sitting with its face toward the west. Unlike other cliff dragons, it had enormous, feathered wings which were a dark stone gray in color. “It looks like we’ve found Guardian Nekkdan,” Raettonus observed.

Brecan followed the magician’s gaze to where he was looking, and his ears perked forward. “Oh, hey!” he exclaimed. “That is him, isn’t it? Hi, Guardian Nekkdan!” Brecan’s voice rang across the rocks, startling the birds in the valley below. The dragon turned his face toward them to see who had called him but expressed no particular interest in the pair beyond that. Brecan continued on his way, mumbling to Raettonus, “He sure is big, isn’t he?”

“He’s a dragon,” Raettonus said with a sigh. “You were expecting a poodle?”

“Poodle?” Brecan asked, flattening his ears. “What’s that? Is it food? Could I eat it?”

“No, it’s not food,” he answered. “But, yes, you could—and probably would.”

“I’m hungry,” Brecan complained. “Raet, can I just fly the rest of the way back? Do we have to keep walking?”

It didn’t matter to Raettonus either way, but he said, “Yes, you have to walk.”

“Oh,” Brecan said, his tail dragging on the ground. “All right, Raet.”

* * *

Returning to the citadel, they were greeted by Daeblau and a couple of soldiers who came to trot beside them. “Brecan, Magician!” said Daeblau warmly, lifting the visor on his helm. “We were just about to head to the dining hall. Will you be joining us?”

“Sure!” exclaimed Brecan as the posted guards opened the door for them.

“I’ll pass,” said Raettonus, dismounting from Brecan. He stretched and rubbed the backs of his thighs.

“Aw, but Raet,” said Brecan. “It’ll be fun!”

“Yes, Magician,” said Daeblau. “We’d be absolutely honored by your presence.”

Raettonus raised one eyebrow. “Yes, I’m sure you would,” he said dryly. “All the same, I’m afraid I must decline. I have reading I need to do.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Daeblau curtly. He turned and led the others away toward the dining hall. Glancing back at Raettonus, Brecan followed. Raettonus made his way to his room, mentally putting in order what he needed to do when he got there. He had to sort through the herbs he had brought with him to find the ones he wanted to bring to his lesson the next day and look through his books for a couple of spells he wanted to teach the boys…

He opened the door and stepped into his dark room. He made his way carefully through the darkness to his brazier and lit a fire within it. For a moment, he watched the flames flicker and swirl before he turned around to go to his bookshelf. The sight of Kimohr Raulinn sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him, made him jump and nearly stopped his heart. “Well, hello, Magician,” Kimohr Raulinn said as casually as if they had met each other on the street one day.

“What’re you doing here?” Raettonus asked, clutching his chest as he waited for his heartbeat to slow. “How did you get in here?”

“I’m just here to collect my tiny, inconsequential payment,” said the god with a shrug. “And also to get Sir Slade the Black and Red’s body, wherever it is. I’m going to need it to revive him, you see. Where is it?”

Raettonus rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought I’d dreamed that,” he muttered.

Beneath his mask, Kimohr Raulinn frowned. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” he asked.

“If you can still bring Master Slade back to life, then I haven’t,” Raettonus replied, leaning against his desk. He picked up the unicorn statuette and tossed it to Kimohr Raulinn. “There. Take that with you. I don’t want it.”

Kimohr Raulinn tucked it into a breast pocket on the inside of his robe. “Perhaps I’ll give it to Sir Rhodes when I’m done here,” he said. “I’m certain he’d appreciate my craftsmanship. Now, about my payment…”

Raettonus sighed. “What is it you want?” he asked the god.

Kimohr Raulinn leaned against one of the bedposts. “Did you know, Raettonus, that every god draws his powers from both his godly domain and a secondary source?” he asked. “The secondary source allows us to interact with our domain. It’s the true origin of our magic, you see. Without it, we cannot manipulate our domain. My secondary source is the emotional turmoil of mortals. I don’t gain much from that turmoil, however, unless I collect it.”

“And how do you do that?” asked Raettonus wearily.

“Two ways, chiefly,” said Kimohr Raulinn. “One of them is to kill the mortal or for them to be sacrificed in my name. The second—which I much prefer, since I am not, by any means, a violent or blood-loving man—is to bed them.”

“You have to be kidding me,” muttered Raettonus.

“I assure you, I am not,” Kimohr Raulinn said. “Those are the ways I can collect emotional chaos from mortals. I can see your emotional turmoil, Raettonus—it’s irresistible, really. You’ve lived such a long, miserable life enduring all kinds of failures and horrors. Why, is there any endeavor you’ve ever embarked on that you didn’t fail? The pain of it’s all around you. Your emotional chaos alone would give me enough energy to access the vast powers of my domain for years. You don’t much like me, I know, or trust me. Yes, I suppose I don’t deserve to be trusted. Still, I’m sure you’ll understand why this has to be the payment. After all, reversing death is not a small thing; all the energy I gain from your turmoil—which, mind you, would normally grant me power for years—will probably be spent by the time the process is through.”

Raettonus cocked his eyebrow. “Then why do it at all?” he asked. “If any power you might gain from fucking me will only be spent immediately in reviving Master Slade, why would you even want to bother with resurrecting him?”

Kimohr Raulinn chuckled. “I have my reasons,” he said softly. “They’re good reasons too. I cannot discuss them however. If my price makes you uncomfortable then I’ll leave, and we can forget we ever spoke, and Sir Slade can stay dea—”

“No,” said Raettonus quickly. “No, I’ll pay your price. It’s inconsequential, and I don’t mind. I’ll pay it.”

“There’s a good boy,” cooed Kimohr Raulinn. “I believe this is the first time in your entire adult life you haven’t been difficult and disagreeable. Here, I won’t bite. Not if you don’t want me to.”

Raettonus approached him cautiously, unbuckling his belt. “Fine,” he said. “But no kissing.”

“Oh, Magician,” said Kimohr Raulinn, taking him by the hand and pulling him toward the bed. “You know just how to wound me.”

Raettonus shrugged. “I know how to wound everyone,” he said indifferently. “I specialize in wounding people, really.”

“Mm, do you now?” asked Kimohr Raulinn as he pulled Raettonus down on top of him. He grabbed hold of Raettonus’ tunic and tugged it up over his head, revealing the magician’s firmly toned torso and all the little burn marks which dotted it. Tossing the dingy black tunic to the floor, Kimohr Raulinn leaned up and kissed Raettonus softly on the lips, mask pressing hard against his and chin.

“Hey, now,” Raettonus said as they broke apart. “What did I just tell you about that?”

“Mm, my apologies, Raettonus,” purred Kimohr Raulinn, resting one hand on Raettonus’ thigh. “I really just can’t help myself, I’m afraid.”

“Understandable, I suppose. I am notoriously irresistible,” Raettonus said. “I suppose I can forgive you just this one—”

The words died away as Kimohr Raulinn pressed his mouth to Raettonus’ once again, this time threading the fingers of one hand through Raettonus’ long hair. With his other hand, the god began to roll down Raettonus’ tights over his thin hips. Raettonus pulled his lips slowly away from Kimohr Raulinn’s.

“Like I was saying—I’ll forgive you this once,” he said. “But, really, stop kissing me. I can’t help but feel you’re not treating this like the business transaction it is. No more with the kissing.”

Kimohr Raulinn sighed and propped himself up on his elbows. “Fine,” he said. “If you insist.” He untied the belt on his robes and pulled himself free of them. His body was pale and soft, and the skin was completely unmarred by scars or freckles or blemishes of any sort. With a sudden burst of aggressiveness that caught Raettonus off-guard, the god rolled him over onto his back and straddled his hips. “Well, I suppose, then, we should just get down to business, hm?”

“I suppose we should, yes,” answered Raettonus, his heartbeat quickening. With the god’s bare body atop him, he could feel his loins beginning to stir. Kimohr Raulinn chuckled softly and leaned down. Again he kissed Raettonus, but this time the man did not protest when they broke apart.

* * *

When they were finished with their tryst, Raettonus got dressed in awkward silence as Kimohr Raulinn wandered over to his bookshelf and began looking at his books. “Oh, I see,” he murmured, touching the ancient book Raettonus had used to cast his hiding spell. “This one is quite old. Kurok destroyed a lot of these a few thousand years ago because there was a spell in them that mortals were using to enchant weapons. Gods can only be killed by enchanted weapons, you know.”

“Was there something else you needed?” Raettonus asked evenly, cinching up his belt.

“Slade’s body. If you could tell me where he was buried, I can revive him a lot quicker. It’s hard for me to look into the world you came from, so I couldn’t look for his grave,” Kimohr Raulinn said, pulling out a book from the bookshelf. He began to thumb through it. “What is this? Is this from your world?”

“Yeah,” said Raettonus. “Even if it weren’t hard for you to look for it, you’d never find his grave. I never buried Master Slade. Give me a moment; I’ll get his body for you.”

Raettonus went to the bed and knelt on it. Taking a deep breath, he reached his hands out and focused on reaching into that holding space between worlds. His fingers brushed against a pitcher and a book with a soft leather cover. He kept probing the area until he felt cloth beneath his fingers. Beneath the cloth was flesh—stiff and cold and dead. He grabbed hold of the corpse and pulled it out of that space, onto the bed.

Sir Slade looked just the same as he had the day Raettonus had put him into that timeless world between worlds. His eyes and cheeks were sunken, but he hadn’t decayed. He was dressed in his best clothing, all in black and red with rampant gryphons embroidered across his chest. Raettonus remembered how he had washed and bandaged the wound that had killed him; between the fresh clothes and the red of his doublet, you couldn’t even tell there had been a wound. Slade’s empty blue eyes, clouded with death and illness, stared upwards.

Kimohr Raulinn closed the book he’d been looking at and walked to the bedside. “You kept his corpse?” asked the god. “Well. That’s not creepy. Not at all. Can I have this book?”

“No,” said Raettonus, taking it from him.

“All right,” said Kimohr Raulinn. “I was only asking. There’s no need to snap.” He took Slade’s limp wrist. “It’s going to take a while, but I’ll make him live again. In the meanwhile, make sure you take care of yourself. I’m sure you don’t have anything to worry about, but you never know what might be sailing your way. Until we meet again, my sweet Raettonus.”

And then he was gone, along with the body of Sir Slade. Raettonus stared at the place where the corpse had been for a full minute before he went to place his old tome back in the bookcase. He was sore all over, and he felt unclean. Deciding a bath might do him good, he snuffed out the fire in the brazier and left his room.

As he thought of what had just transpired, he couldn’t help but feel like a fool to let Kimohr Raulinn have his way with him so easily and then go off with Slade’s body, just like that. The god claimed he could resurrect him, but Raettonus didn’t have any proof he really could. He’d been far too trusting, he realized as he made his way toward the Kaebha Citadel’s bathing facilities. He’d allowed himself to believe Kimohr Raulinn could fix everything, and he’d been used.

As he opened the door to the bathing room, a cloud of steam rushed to meet Raettonus. The chamber within was large and cavernous, with several large pools carved into the stone floors. Centaurs were milling about, both in the water and beside it, as Raettonus stripped and made his way down into one of the pools. The side of the bath gently sloped to a flat bottom to make it easy for centaurs to get in and out, and the water was hot, but not hot enough to bother Raettonus in any way. He closed his eyes and sank beneath the water for a minute before resurfacing. His long, blond hair—now untied—spread out around his head and shoulders like blood in the water.

The pool he had chosen was empty but for him. In the bath beside him, however, two soldiers were splashing at each other and shouting in Kaerikyna. It was an awful language, Kaerikyna—it was full of hard sounds and the words were all too long. Centaurs had the most hideous language he’d ever heard. He much preferred what they called Common Zylekkhan—a hodgepodge language mostly based in Taurkyna, with some Kaerikyna, Zykyna, and Dokk’kyna words. It was far smoother, with a grammatical construction closer to English.

Raettonus leaned against the wall of the bath and relaxed, letting the heat loosen the knots in his muscles. He watched a group of four soldiers—one bay, one black, one roan, and one dun—showing off their scars beside his pool. The roan held up his arm proudly, showing his fellows a hard patch of tissue where something had once impaled his biceps. The dun said something in Kaerikyna and motioned back to his withers, where a chunk of flesh was missing and scarred over. Raettonus grew tired of watching them and, inclining his head, closed his eyes.

After a bit, he heard some of the centaurs shout and opened his eyes again. Beyond the steam, he saw a couple of soldiers teasing a human woman at the entrance to the bathhouse. Ebha. She ducked her head, mumbled something, and shuffled past them. Raettonus whistled and called out to her. She looked at him wide-eyed, and for a moment she looked as though she were about to flee. “Come on over here. There’s plenty of room in this one,” said Raettonus, waving her toward him. She glanced about, and then obeyed, stripping down and entering his pool.

Ebha moved quietly to the other side of the bath, staring glassy-eyed at the door. “H-hello, Magician,” she greeted quietly after a moment or two. “It’s…a nice night.”

“I disagree. I think it’s an awful night,” said Raettonus.

“Oh,” she said, lowering her gaze to stare into the water. “I’m sorry. I suppose I misspoke.”

“Yes, you certainly did. Don’t let it happen again,” Raettonus said with a smirk.

“I won’t,” said Ebha.

The smirk disappeared from Raettonus’ face. “I was joking, just now.”

“Oh,” said the woman. “I’m sorry, Magician. It was a good joke, Magician.”

Raettonus sighed and closed his eyes. “Never mind, then,” he muttered. “I suppose that’s as good a conversation as I’ll get out of you, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, Magician,” she said again.

“This is a record for the longest conversation you and I have ever had, I must say. What is this, the second time we’ve spoken? Although, when I think of it… The other day, some time back, you seemed rather interested when you thought I could resurrect people,” Raettonus noted. “Is there any particular reason for that?”

She was silent for a moment, hesitant. “No, Magician,” she finally said, weakly.

“You shouldn’t lie,” Raettonus said. “Isn’t that the sort of thing a pet like you gets beaten for?”

Ebha stared down at the water. “Y-yes, it is,” she said. “I’m sorry, Magician.”

“So,” Raettonus asked. “Who was it that died?”

“My daughter,” she said. “It was a long time ago though…”

There was a shout outside the door, and two soldiers in scale mail rode in, panting hard. “Quick—to your arms!” shouted one of them. “Ships have been spotted—warships from Tahlehsohr. To the battlements, quickly!”

Soldiers splashed up out of the baths, picking up their mail and weapons and helping each other strap them on. Ebha climbed out of the pool to help the nearest soldier suit up in his armor. Raettonus watched the commotion around him as centaurs scurried to and fro, gathering their armor and weapons and suiting each other up. There was a lot of confusion and excited shouts and concerned whispers. The soldiers who had managed to get their armor on galloped out of the bathhouse. Raettonus climbed out of the pool and got dressed before making his way out of the room, careful not to get trampled by the exiting soldiers. Out in the hall, the soldiers were clamoring about, the frantic sounds of hoofbeats echoing through the building as they ran to the barracks to wake their brothers. War horns were blowing wildly all over.

The giant, heavy doors on the face of the citadel were closed and braced, and the portcullis had been lowered. All the soldiers were galloping up toward the roof in neat rows, shouting and chattering, carrying swords, shields, bows, spears, and halberds. Raettonus stopped one of the soldiers as he was coming out of the bathhouse—the roan centaur he had seen earlier. “If I could get a ride to the battlements, please,” he said, in a tone that did not allow any declining.

“Certainly, Magician,” said the soldier. “But we must go quickly; my bow is needed.”

Raettonus effortlessly mounted the centaur and seated himself uncomfortably on the plate mail that ran along his back. He gripped the strap of the soldier’s quiver as he cantered into line with the others and began to ascend the stairs up to the citadel’s top. On their way up, Brecan managed to find him and squeeze into the column at his side. “What’s going on?” Brecan asked. “Everyone was shouting…”

“Tahlehson warships are apparently coming toward us,” Raettonus said.

Brecan sucked his breath in through his teeth. “That’s not good,” he said. “How many?”

“Don’t know. No one said,” Raettonus told him. “But from the fervor around here, I’d guess it’s enough to be a threat.”

The unicorn flattened his ears and cocked his head to the side. “What do you suppose Tahlehson warships would want with us, Raet?”

“War, I’d imagine.”

Because of the crowded, chaotic conditions of the citadel, it was quite a few minutes before they reached the roof. Just as soon as there was room for him to do so, Raettonus hopped off the roan centaur’s back. Archers were already taking the walls all around, setting up to either side of the iron spikes that made a cage over the Kaebha Citadel. Raettonus walked beside Brecan for a ways before mounting him so he could look over the archers lining the battlements. Sitting down, however, he couldn’t see over the heads of the massive man-horses. With a frustrated grunt, Raettonus grabbed hold of Brecan’s horn and used it to brace himself as he moved into a standing position on the unicorn’s back.

“Do you see the ships?” Brecan asked him, wincing a little as Raettonus rested some of his weight on his smooth, glassy horn.

“Oh, yeah,” said Raettonus, frowning. “I see them.”

“How many?” asked Brecan as the soldiers moved the catapults into position and began to load them.

“A line of them,” Raettonus said, squinting at the moonlit ocean, his focus on the dark shapes of the Tahlehson warships. “All along the horizon, in either direction for as far as I can see.”

Brecan flattened his ears and his tail drooping. “That many?” he said. “Maybe…do you think maybe they’re not hostile?”

Just as Raettonus was about to respond, a fair-sized rock struck the citadel, clanging against the cage on top of it. This was followed by another, which struck low on the stone of the fort and caused the building to shake a bit. Raettonus lost his balance and almost fell, but Brecan caught him with his wings. Frowning, Raettonus reseated himself as the catapults aboard the warships fired more rocks, most of which simply slammed harmlessly against the cliff side.

“No,” Raettonus said. “No, I’d definitely say they’re hostile.”

Chapter Six

Though the centaurs fired their arrows and catapults, and took down a couple ships and dozens of Tahlehson soldiers in the process, they couldn’t stop the invaders from landing. Most of the ships sailed on around the bend of the coast to land somewhere out of sight. There were enough Tahlehson ships left behind at Kaebha, however, to make the prospects of overpowering them seem bleak. When Raettonus went to sleep, the archers were still at it, trying to whittle down the foreign force before they could mount their attack.

When dawn broke, the Tahlehsons had made it part way up the mountain and were out of range of the Zylekkhans’ weapons. “They’re setting up for a siege,” General Tykkleht told Raettonus when he asked the magician to attend him in the citadel’s shrine the following day. Raettonus noticed that there were many, many more candles burning at the base of Cykkus’ statue today than he had seen previously, and even more were at the statues of Kurok, Harkkan, and Virkki.

“Do you have the provisions here to hold off a siege?” Raettonus asked as he knelt with the general beside the statue of Kurok. The shrine was packed with soldiers stopping in between shifts.

“For a time,” Tykkleht said. “But at some point we’re going to have to engage them, I fear. I’m certain they didn’t sail all the way from Tahlehsohr to sit around a few months, get bored, and leave.”

“No, probably not,” Raettonus said. He could tell Tykkleht was hoping he’d offer his sword to defend the citadel. He had more than enough power as a pyromancer to raze the whole Tahlehson fleet and every single soldier they’d brought. But Raettonus didn’t offer; it wasn’t his fight.

When Tykkleht was done with his prayers, they walked together to Dohrleht and Maeleht’s room. “It’s such a large force,” said the general. “I hope the other citadels are holding up. I’d send a messenger out to them, but—regrettably—there aren’t any ‘gryphs here. We’re supposed to keep some as messengers, but they’ve all left on errands. All we have here now in terms of flyers is your friend, Brecan. I’m wondering if perhaps—”

Raettonus shot him a glare. “I will not let you send Brecan out as a messenger,” he said sharply. “He is not part of your army and will not be shot down because you were curious about how the other fortresses were holding up. Focus on holding your fort, General, and then see if there’s still a Zylekkha to hold it for.”

“I think there’s a substantial flaw in your plan, Magician,” said Tykkleht. He sighed and rubbed at his sagging chin. “I’ll take it under consideration, however. What else can I do?”

“I don’t really care what you do, just so long as you don’t put Brecan in danger’s way to do it,” he said. “Any messenger you send out is surely going to get a hundred arrows through their wings, and that’s if they’re lucky.”

“I’ve seen the unicorn fly,” Tykkleht said. “He’s a quick one. I think if there were ever a flyer who had a chance getting past a host that size—”

“I’m not going to discuss this,” Raettonus told him bluntly. “Brecan is not part of your army, and he is not going to become part of your army. Find a different god damn messenger, do you understand me, General?”

Tykkleht furrowed his brow and looked down at Raettonus coldly. “Yes, I understand you, Magician,” he said, his voice tightly restrained.

“Good,” said Raettonus. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a job you’ve paid me to do. Good day to you, General, and good luck with your war.”

He left the general at the door to the young centaurs’ room and went inside. Dohrleht had a sword sheathed at his waist, and Maeleht looked positively terrified. Looking around, Raettonus noticed Ebha wasn’t there. “Where’s your woman?” Raettonus asked, setting down a book and some dried herbs on the table.

“She’s helping in the infirmary, getting it ready to handle the load when the fighting starts. Also, I guess some of the men got injured last night, so she’s probably looking after them,” Dohrleht said. “Did you see the invaders? Dad won’t let us up on the roof to look.”

“I don’t want to look,” said Maeleht. “It sounds dangerous.”

Dohrleht punched him in the arm. “Stop being such a coward,” he said. “You talk like an elf.”

“I do not!” objected Maeleht. “I just think that it sounds dangerous, that’s all!”

“Elf!”

“Shut up! I’m not an elf!”

“Boys,” said Raettonus. “We have a lesson to get to, if you please.”

“Yes, Raettonus,” they said in unison, scooting away from one another.

“Raettonus,” said Maeleht, after a moment. “Do you think…do you think it’s going to come to fighting? I mean, actual fighting, not just our archers loosing arrows down from the parapets?”

“I don’t know much about military matters, so I couldn’t say. That’s a question you’d be better off asking your father,” Raettonus said, arranging herbs on the table.

“Our father wouldn’t tell us,” said Dohrleht sourly. “He thinks he’s protecting us by lying and saying that it’s all going to be okay. When I asked him whether the Tahlehsons might get through the doors, he just said that Kaebha is the strongest fort in all of Zylekkha. I don’t even know if that’s true.”

“Ask Daeblau, then,” Raettonus said. “He’s the second in command here, isn’t he? Maybe he’d know, and maybe he wouldn’t lie to you.”

“But he might,” Dohrleht said. “He wouldn’t want us to be scared either.”

“You wouldn’t lie to us, though—right, Raettonus?” asked Maeleht.

“Probably not,” Raettonus said with a shrug. “But as I told you before, I don’t know anything about it. Now let’s get down to our lessons. What’s this herb called?”

“Larkspur,” said Maeleht.

“Good,” Raettonus said. “What’s it used for?”

Maeleht frowned uncertainly. “To see ghosts?” he asked.

Dohrleht punched him in the arm. “No, stupid—that’s Elf Leaf,” he said. “Larkspur keeps ghosts away.”

“Dohrleht’s right,” Raettonus said. “Larkspur keeps ghosts away, and Elf Leaf is for seeing them. Now, if you’d care to point out which of these is Elf Leaf, Dohrleht?”

Dohrleht looked around at the selection of herbs and bit his lower lip. “Um…I guess it’s…this one?”

“That’s Sorcerer’s Violet,” Maeleht said.

“Indeed it is,” said Raettonus with a nod. “Maeleht, hit your brother for getting it wrong.”

With a grin, Maeleht punched Dohrleht in the arm. “Hey—ouch,” said Dohrleht, rubbing the spot where he had been struck.

* * *

After their lessons were done for the day, Raettonus called on Deggho dek’Kariss, who was very relieved by the visit. Deggho rambled on about how lonely he had been, leading Raettonus by the arm to his art room to continue painting him. Raettonus settled into his seat on the couch as Deggho took his place behind the canvas and began mixing up his paints. “So,” said Raettonus as the goblin began to work. “We’re under siege.”

“Siege? From who? Is it the Kariss?” asked Deggho hopefully.

“The Tahlehson army,” Raettonus answered, shaking his head.

Deggho’s large, jagged ears lowered. “Oh, I see,” he said. He rubbed his brush in some paint. “That’s…unfortunate. Is it a big host?”

“Fairly large,” Raettonus said. “Only a portion of them stayed here. The rest sailed on to God knows where.”

“I suppose they’d have gone north, toward Bribarrah,” Deggho suggested. “If they’re smart though, I suspect they won’t attack Bribarrah. Its wall is said to be the strongest in the entire realm. It’d be a waste of time.”

Raettonus nodded. “I suppose that in their place,” he said after a moment, “I would probably land on the western coast and march inland. Sae Noklu has most of the farmland, and there’s no wall around any of it. Razing it would cripple Bribarrah and all the fortresses on the southern coast.”

“If they manage to break into Kaebha, do you think they’ll keep me as a hostage?” Deggho wondered. “The Kariss hate the Zylekkhan centaurs, but we don’t have a reason to hate the Tahlehsons. Maybe they’ll release me in hopes of gaining an alliance.”

“I somehow doubt it,” said Raettonus. “After all, what could the Kariss possibly offer them? They’re an extensive, trained army. The Kariss weren’t able to take down Kaebha, where—if that comes to pass—the Tahlehson were.”

Deggho frowned. “You say that like the Kariss are completely useless,” he said. “My people are powerful warriors. We kill dragons.”

“How awe inspiring,” said Raettonus dryly. “Honestly though, that’s not enough to make the Kariss an ally of any interest to actual soldiers.”

Deggho mumbled something to himself in his native tongue, but dropped the argument. They sat in a silence broken only by the softly crackling torches on the walls and the faint sound of Deggho’s brush on the canvas. After a while, the goblin leaned back in his chair. “I’m finished,” he announced, a look of pride swelling on his face. “If I may say, I think this might be one of the best portraits I’ve ever done.”

He turned the easel so Raettonus could see the picture. There was no denying it was a handsome image, nearly flawless in its likeness of the magician. It showed him from head to chest, gazing at something far distant with half-closed eyes and a tight expression of disgust. Behind him, embers swirled in the darkness, and stray strands of his hair blew in the same strange wind. All in all, it was a very masterfully done piece of art, and Raettonus found it rather impressive, to say the least.

Deggho looked eagerly at Raettonus while he studied the painting, plainly waiting on his approval. How much would it crush him, Raettonus wondered, if I were to tell him I hated it?

“Oh,” said Raettonus blandly. “It’s… Well, thank you anyway.”

One of Deggho’s eyes twitched as he gripped tightly to the easel. “What?” he asked frantically. “What’s wrong? You don’t like it? What did I do wrong?”

“No, nothing,” said Raettonus with a shrug. “Certainly I like it.”

“You don’t sound like you do,” mumbled Deggho. “If you don’t like it, please, tell me how I can—”

“No, no,” said Raettonus, barely containing a smirk at the goblin’s dismay. “I do like it. It’s…nice. No, really. It’s very…nice.”

The goblin seemed close to tears. “Oh,” he said. “I…I could repaint it, if you want.”

“No, no, it’s all right,” Raettonus said, waving his hand dismissively. “I should be going, then.”

“Wait, don’t go,” said Deggho, grabbing Raettonus’ hand and squeezing it tightly. His flesh was clammy and unpleasant. “You only just got down here. I…I don’t want to be left alone.”

“I have other places to be,” Raettonus said coldly, pulling himself out of Deggho dek’Kariss’ grip.

“But—you’ll be back tomorrow, right?” asked Deggho. He was beginning to grow somewhat panicked. “Please—you’ve got to come back tomorrow. If you don’t, I won’t know what to do with myself. I hate it down here, Raettonus. There’s a room filled with weapons in this wing, and sometimes I go into there and I sit and I look at all those old swords and I think ‘what would it be like, if I just jammed this into my stomach?’ I don’t know that I’d have enough strength to do it, but every day I spend down here, I start believing a little more that yes, I might. If you don’t come back, I’m afraid, Raettonus—I’m afraid I’m going to hurt myself.” Raettonus didn’t answer. For a long while, Deggho stared at him pleadingly.

“We’ll see,” said Raettonus, untouched.

“Please come back,” Deggho said in a tiny, scared voice. “When I’m all alone, I start to wonder if I even exist at all. It’s a nightmare, Raettonus. I start to wonder if I exist, and I start to wonder if it’d be better to die, that way I’ll know for sure if I was ever even alive. You’ll come back, won’t you?”

“We’ll see,” Raettonus said again, and he left the goblin behind to retire to his chamber.

* * *

All night, the citadel rang with the sound of sword practice in the courtyard and of soldiers tramping through the halls. Somewhere in the hall outside Raettonus’ room a clock ticked solemnly on. Between the constant sounds and his strange nightmares, Raettonus couldn’t manage to get any quality sleep. When he groggily awoke the next morning, the sounds were still going strong as Kaebha Citadel buzzed with war.

Raettonus had dreamed a strange dream. He could only remember it in pieces—just the barest bones of what had occurred—and for a long time he lay still on his bed trying to pull the fragmented images into something coherent.

It had been gray. Everything had been desolate and cold and gray. There had been rocks—it had been outside somewhere—but there were no trees, no sun, no moon, no wind, no sky. Just a rocky void, all in gray. Gray save for a single figure clad in white, crossing the expanse all alone.

Rocks. There had been enormous, massive, monstrous rocks. Gray stone monoliths that towered tens of feet above the ground. They jutted up from the earth like arrows jutting out of cooling flesh.

Something was important about these rocks. Raettonus closed his eyes and tried very hard to remember…

There were men. There were men chained to the rocks. Chained like Prometheus, arms stretched wide. They screamed. They wouldn’t stop screaming. The figure in white paid them no mind. They weren’t the ones he wanted. The dozens of Prometheuses screamed and screamed and were ignored.

Was there more to it? He felt as though he was missing something, but hard as he tried, he couldn’t dredge up any more of the dream. With a frustrated sigh, Raettonus opened his eyes and scowled at the ceiling.

Getting out of bed, he stepped on something cold and hard. With a hiss, he withdrew his foot and looked down to find the carved unicorn lying on the floor. He picked it up, figuring it must’ve slipped out of Kimohr Raulinn’s robe when he’d undressed. “Just as well,” murmured Raettonus, setting it on his desk. “I can give it back to Rhodes when we return to Ti Tunfa. Maybe as a lark, I’ll show it to him and then smash it into a thousand pieces. That’d be a good way to liven up a slow afternoon.”

He smirked to himself and got dressed.

* * *

For months afterward, tension filled the citadel. Day and night, the soldiers practiced and walked the walls. The Tahlehson host huddled at a safe distance, shielded by the natural curves of the mountain, as they painstakingly worked to harvest timber in order to prepare a covered ram and some catapults. It was a tedious, long process, however, since the only trees were miles away and had to be hauled along the treacherous roads to their campsite.

Raettonus went on teaching his lessons as though nothing were happening. Indeed, to him it was just as though nothing were. By the time a year had passed, his students had gotten measurably better at summoning elements. Maeleht had his best luck summoning stone, while Dohrleht’s talent seemed to be in wind. Neither one was a natural at magic, to Raettonus’ disappointment; that meant he had to work that much harder with them. Being a natural at pyromancy, it was difficult for him to deal with the problems they had most times. However, they were getting better, even if Raettonus often found them frustrating to teach. Dohrleht was becoming particularly skilled, while Maeleht was still so troubled by his coughing fits and fainting spells that it was impossible for him to get any decent amount of practice in all at once.

It was a cold winter afternoon when Raettonus decided to teach them more about necromancy.

“Now, it’s important to understand,” he said to them very seriously. “This is going to open up a gate for you that cannot be shut. Once you learn to see ghosts, you cannot un-see them. They will be everywhere. They will look at you and try to beg you to help them, and there will be nothing you can do for them. Every single day for the rest of your lives, you will know where people have died painful, soul-splitting deaths. If you don’t want to learn this, I won’t teach it to you, and we’ll skip straight to the quick resurrections. You don’t have to see ghosts for quick resurrections.”

“What do ghosts look like?” Maeleht asked, leaning forward over the table. Though a year had passed, he had barely grown at all; he was still a pale wisp of a child.

Raettonus shrugged. “Nothing exciting. They just look like people,” he said. “Except they’re translucent, as though all the color were taken out of them. They’ve got a sort of look to their face, as well—a look of complete and utter despondence.”

Maeleht bit his lower lip contemplatively. “Can ghosts hurt you?” he asked. “I mean, I remember you saying before that if you’re holding them they can. But if you don’t do that, don’t grab them with your energy…”

“No, they can’t. Not if you don’t make contact with them first,” Raettonus said. “But there are other, mostly-ethereal things that can.”

“Like the specters in the Center of Souls?” Dohrleht asked. Unlike Maeleht, Dohrleht had done a fair amount of growing in the time Raettonus had been tutoring them. His gimp leg, however, had seemed to shrivel down a bit.

“Yes, like them,” Raettonus said with a nod. “But as far as specters go, they’re scared off by powerful magic. That’s why shamans and mages can walk alone through the Center of Souls and come out the other side unharmed.”

“Unless they meet Guardian Bregdan there,” said Maeleht. “He doesn’t like trespassers. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway. He gores trespassers on his horn, and then he eats them.”

“Raettonus, have you ever met Guardian Bregdan?” asked Dohrleht.

“Yes, I have,” Raettonus answered. “He’s a sour beast, Bregdan. I traveled with him for a while.”

“Really?” asked Maeleht. “You traveled with a guardian? What was it like?”

“Unpleasant. Can we get back to the business at hand, boys?” he responded dryly. “Would you like to be taught to see ghosts?”

A silence pressed down on them as the brothers mulled it over. Raettonus was certain that Dohrleht would give the first answer, and was surprised when Maeleht spoke instead. “Teach me,” said the younger brother. “I want to see them.”

“Me, too,” Dohrleht said, sounding hesitant, as though he were only asking to be taught so that he wouldn’t seem afraid to his brother.

“Well, then,” Raettonus said, rising. “Let’s go find some ghosts. Is there some kind of tomb around here?”

“The first general who served at this citadel is interred on one of the lower floors,” said Dohrleht. “I’m not really sure quite where though.”

“Well, we’ll figure it out,” said Raettonus. “Come on, then. On your feet, both of you.”

Dohrleht got up with the usual amount of trouble his bad leg gave him, while Ebha helped Maeleht to stand. They left the room, with Raettonus walking beside Maeleht and Ebha walking with Dohrleht as he limped along, aided by a crutch. The group made its way downward, down flights of stairs and through long corridors. They stopped often so the centaurs could rest. On one stairwell Maeleht fainted, and Raettonus and Dohrleht had to catch him. He came around fairly quickly and profusely apologized for the trouble he had caused.

At length, they reached the lowest level of the citadel—a dusty, disused floor filled with spider webs and the faint sounds of what Raettonus was certain were rats, though he tried very hard to dissuade himself of that idea. The air down there was cool but stale, and it seemed the level was mostly used for storage. Livestock were kept on the floor above, but after they were butchered, the meat that wasn’t cooked was preserved down on that lowest subterranean floor. There were barrels of alcohol and crates full of vegetables down there too, along with a small armory mostly full of chain mail suits and simple helms with a nose guard and closed-in cheeks.

“No one uses this armory anymore,” Dohrleht said as they walked through it. “The ones upstairs are better stocked, and we don’t have nearly enough soldiers here anyway to make it necessary.”

Tarnished brass relief sculptures were set into most of the walls, almost all of them depicting Harkkan, the goblin god of war, and Kurok, the elven god of warriors. A few showed Kaeriaht, the centaur fire god, or Cykkus, the black-winged death god. Most of the sconces in the walls were without torches, and some had fallen down. Raettonus lit their way with a flame he summoned in one outstretched palm.

They came upon an ornate vault door Dohrleht thought might’ve been the tomb. Raettonus tried the door only to find it locked. “I don’t suppose either of you have a key?” he asked. The boys shook their heads. “Well, I guess I’m going to have to break the lock then. Hm.”

“I can open it,” Ebha said quietly. Raettonus looked her way, and she quickly turned her gaze down.

Raettonus stepped back from the door. “Be my guest,” he said.

She stepped up to the vault door, fishing a pin out of her bodice. Hunching over the lock, she stuck the pin in and maneuvered it around a little. With a hideous creak, the door swung lethargically inward, and Ebha stepped back away from it. “I suppose I should probably ask where you learned to pick locks?” Raettonus said to her, smirking a little. “I should think this is the sort of thing the general might want to know, hm?”

“My previous master taught me, Magician,” Ebha replied in barely a whisper.

Raettonus shoved open the door the rest of the way, and it protested with the rusty screeching of its hinges. A burst of hot, rancid air rushed to meet them, sending Maeleht into a minor coughing fit. Once his attack had been soothed, the party plunged into the dark chamber beyond.

It was a square room of no great size. At the far end, a sarcophagus sat beside the wall. On either side of the sarcophagus, corridors led into another room whose details were obscured by the intense darkness beyond the light of Raettonus’ flame. By the sarcophagus, something was moving back and forth, muttering to itself. It was hard to see the ghost in the flickering firelight, but as they drew closer, Raettonus could see that it was an enormous, broad-chested centaur, with arrows sticking out of his neck and back. “Gods protect us! Someone bring me my sword!” the ghost shouted, noticing them. “My sword! The goblins are all around us! Gods, be quick about it and bring me my sword!”

Maeleht watched Raettonus stare into what must have been only empty air for him before leaning forward. “Raettonus?” he asked timidly. “Is there a ghost here?”

Raettonus nodded. “Indeed there is,” he said.

“Gods, why are you just standing there?” yelled the ghost, rearing up. “The goblins will be on us at any moment! My sword! Bring me my sword! Bring me any sword! Gods above—why won’t anyone bring me a sword?”

“This is probably going to take a while,” Raettonus said. “You should probably sit, the both of you.”

Maeleht and Dohrleht sat on the ground uncertainly, and Raettonus sat cross-legged between them, facing the sarcophagus. The ghost watched them fearfully and begged for a sword but, seeing they wouldn’t answer him, finally gave it up for lost and began to pace back and forth, murmuring about goblins and asking where his sword could be. Ebha stood behind them in the doorway, watching without interest. Raettonus set his hands in his lap, cradling there the flame that was their only light.

“Look straight ahead,” he told the brothers. “And relax yourself. Relax your eyes until every thing goes blurry…”

He set about teaching them to see ghosts the same way Sir Slade had, so many centuries ago, taught him to see ghosts. It was difficult at first, but once you learned how there was no way to become blind to them. After a few hours of instruction and correction and yet more instruction, Maeleht was able to see vague spots of light whenever the ghost moved, and Dohrleht was beginning to be distinctly aware of where the ghost was in the room.

“My eyes are starting to hurt,” complained Maeleht.

Raettonus sighed and stood. “Then I suppose we’ll pick up again tomorrow with this,” he said. The centaurs slowly got up, which caused the ghost to stir again and look in their direction.

“Gods above,” said the ghost. “Won’t someone hand me my sword?” They made their way to the door as the ghost frantically circled in front of his sarcophagus. “Where are you going? Gods, don’t leave me here! The goblins—gods! Sword, give me my sword!”

Chapter Seven

Raettonus parted from the centaurs and Ebha on the third floor, telling them to meet him in the tomb the next day. From there he made his way to the abandoned wing of that same floor where Deggho dek’Kariss had free run. The chamber he entered through was filled with Deggho’s most recent paintings, many of which were of Raettonus himself. A few of the paintings, however, featured beautifully rendered landscapes from all over Zylekkha. Raettonus made his way through the room, toward Deggho’s bedchambers, hoping to find the goblin within. The room was empty, but the sheets were messed up as though Deggho had been sleeping there. Frowning, Raettonus ventured on toward the goblin’s study, hoping to catch him at his painting.

Deggho was working at a large canvas when Raettonus came in. “Magician!” said Deggho, getting to his feet. Raettonus motioned for him to sit as he unceremoniously plopped himself onto Deggho’s couch. Deggho reseated himself. “You haven’t called on me in five weeks. I was beginning to worry. Y-you shouldn’t do that. You know I get lonely down here, and that I worry. You shouldn’t leave me down here, not knowing what happened to you.”

Raettonus nodded toward the easel. “What’re you working on?”

“I’m almost finished with it,” said Deggho, turning the painting around toward Raettonus. “I call it ‘The Tragedy of Guardian Dokkdan’.”

The painting showed the unicorn guardian, Bregdan, running his long, golden horn through the breast of an elven woman while Dokkdan stood idly by. “Yes,” said Raettonus. “It’s tragic, all right. Dokkdan doesn’t quite look that way though. I met him once.”

Deggho bit his lower lip and turned the painting back around. “Doesn’t look right? Oh. Damn,” he muttered. “I’ll fix it, then, I guess… What did I do wrong?”

“The nose—it’s not as long as that. And his cheeks aren’t sunken in like that, either.”

“Oh. I see,” said Deggho, going back to his painting. “How have you been, Magician? You haven’t visited me in five weeks. That was…mean of you.”

Raettonus shrugged. “I’m visiting you now, so what’s the difference?” he said. “Would you rather I not come here at all?”

“No,” Deggho said quickly. “No, never mind. Please, don’t stop coming down here.”

“Well, all right, then,” said Raettonus. “That’s the proper attitude.” He stretched his legs out on the couch and smoothed the bottom of his tunic over his thighs. “Today I was teaching Tykkleht’s boys how to see ghosts, and I happened to be on this floor afterward, so I thought I’d come by.”

“Teaching them to see ghosts?” asked Deggho, furrowing his brow. “That’s something that can be taught?”

Raettonus nodded. “Certainly,” he said. “I mean, some people are born with it, but it’s easy enough to teach.”

“But, wouldn’t you need ghosts for that?” wondered Deggho. He straightened, and his eyes widened. “Does that mean there are ghosts here?”

“Well, not in this room,” said Raettonus. “We were in a tomb deep beneath the fortress.”

“There are tombs down there?” said Deggho, looking panicked. “Tombs? With corpses in them?”

“One would imagine, yes. I mean, they usually don’t fill tombs with goose down pillows.”

“R-right, of course not,” said Deggho. “That’d be silly…but soft. Very soft.” He paused. “So whose tomb is it? I didn’t think anyone was interred here; centaurs usually burn their dead.”

“It was some soldier,” Raettonus said. “Ah—the first general to serve here, I think. He kept rambling about goblins and asking for his sword.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Deggho. “I have a painting of him! I mean, I did a painting of him. Vormekk, that was his name—General Vormekk. The legends say he was a valiant man, but he had a soul made of iron. He rode his men too hard, and when goblins overran the only partially completed citadel he rushed to defend it, only to find he was without his sword. His mutinous soldiers barred the gates on him and watched from the battlements as a hundred Kariss—it had to have been Kariss—tore him to pieces. Afterward, the men were all tried and hanged for treason in Kinok Oron, and Vormekk was heralded as a great folk hero to the centaurs. His story has kind of fallen into obscurity, but I make it my business to know these things. Centaurs like paintings of centaur stories, so I learned a lot of centaur stories.”

“A hundred goblins? Unlikely,” said Raettonus raising one thin eyebrow. “It must’ve been twenty at the most. There’s no other way he could’ve protected the citadel. I mean, unless it was built up enough by that point that he didn’t need to dash out there, in which case he’s an idiot and really deserved to die…hm. This explains why he wouldn’t shut up about that damned sword of his though.”

“It’s rather sad,” said Deggho, mostly ignoring Raettonus’ comments on the story. “He’s been dead for a thousand years, and he’s still here. How does one become a ghost, Magician? Is there some other fate—a better fate—that might await me when I die? Or am I going to become a ghost, haunting this little study?”

“God knows,” said Raettonus. “I don’t know any more about death than anyone. Where I’m from, we believe ghosts are people who died violent deaths, or else people who have such a strong desire to accomplish something that they cannot depart from the plane of the living. But who knows? I had a servant who was dead—I left him in Ti Tunfa when I came here—but he was killed and revived in quick succession, so he never got a peek beyond the veil of death. No one who has seen what Heaven and Hell are like has ever come back to tell us. Not that I’ve ever heard of, at any rate—but I suppose if I haven’t heard of it in all these centuries, it’s safe to say that there simply isn’t anyone who’s truly died and then come back.”

“What do you think hell is like?” asked Deggho wistfully as he looked upward at the ceiling. “I think hell is this room, myself.”

The magician mulled the question. At length he answered, “I guess I don’t really believe there is a hell. I think, perhaps, when you die you just…” His stomach lurched at the thought of Sir Slade’s soul just blinking out of existence after his death. “I don’t know what I believe about hell,” he amended quickly. “I never really thought about it.”

Deggho set down his brush and leaned back in his chair. “You never thought about it? Aren’t you a necromancer?”

“I raise the dead; I’m not required to know or guess about anything beyond getting them to stand up and stop rotting on my rug.”

The goblin looked morosely at the floor. “I don’t even have rugs,” he said. “These stone floors make my feet cold in the morning.”

“Pity, that.” Raettonus yawned and stood up.

“You’re not going already, are you?” asked Deggho, nearly knocking over his easel as he shot to his feet. “You only just got here!”

Raettonus waved to him lazily and walked out the door, leaving the goblin frowning after him.

* * *

Raettonus was dreaming.

It was definitely a dream, because he didn’t seem to have a body, which was something he’d certainly had when he went to sleep.

He was looking down on a desolate, colorless wasteland as an elf with long, white hair crossed it toward an enormous wall made of iron and bone. He carried a bag over his shoulder, and his once beautiful robes were dirtied and torn. The elf paused and turned in Raettonus’ direction, his yellow eyes glinting through the eyeholes of his ancient wooden mask, but Raettonus didn’t think that he’d actually been seen. He didn’t have a body, after all.

After a moment, Kimohr Raulinn turned back toward the gate and resumed his trek. From the top of the iron wall a number of ghastly, gray creatures watched his progress with soulless black eyes. They had no lips, and their sharp teeth were visible, glinting metallically in the colorless twilight. The creatures were something awful, with flat, cruel faces like to those of goblins. Above the gate, clad all in black plate armor, stood Cykkus, his eyes glowing red within his helm as he half-spread his enormous, leathery black wings. He called down in Zykyna, but Raettonus found himself understanding all of it. “Kimohr Raulinn!” cried black-winged Cykkus. “You cannot pass these gates—not with that.”

“I don’t see that you could keep me here,” Kimohr Raulinn called back, readjusting the bag slung over his shoulder. “Open your gates, Cykkus.”

The death god leaned forward, gripping an iron spike that jutted up from the wall. “You can leave if you leave without that bag,” Cykkus said. “But you know that if you try to get through here with that, I have no choice but to stop you.”

“Come now, Cykkus,” said Kimohr Raulinn. “You can’t stop me. Open your gates.”

“If you insist on going down this route, I cannot guarantee that you’ll ever leave here,” Cykkus said. “I don’t want to hurt you, but—”

“If I have to ask a third time for you to open your gates,” called Kimohr Raulinn, “then things are going to get violent.”

Cykkus motioned with one large, gauntleted hand, and the creatures on the walls held up their arms as though they were aiming bows. They drew back their hands as if pulling back bowstrings. “One last time, I implore you,” said Cykkus. “Please—if Zylx means anything to you, or ever meant anything to you, just drop the bag, and we’ll open the gate for you. I really wish no harm on you, Kimohr Raulinn, but I must fight you if you pursue this foolish course of action. Please, in the name of whatever love you ever bore anyone, drop that bag.”

Kimohr Raulinn smiled. “No,” he said. He took a step forward.

Cykkus’ shoulders slumped, and his glowing red eyes seemed to dim a bit into the shadows of his helm. “Loose!” shouted the death god. All at once, there was the sound of bowstrings being let go, and thousands of black arrows, each surrounded by a nebulous aura, sailed through the air toward Kimohr Raulinn.

Raettonus woke with a start.

It was still nighttime, but his stomach ached, and he didn’t think he was going to be able to get back to sleep. With a groan, he sat up and rubbed at his stomach, the dream escaping him like sand through outspread fingers. Deciding a walk might do him good, Raettonus stood and pulled on his tunic. Buckling his belt around his waist, he left his dark, cold room.

The hall outside was dim, with the only lit torches few and far between. Raettonus wandered along the shadowy passage, his skin glowing faintly. At the hall’s end, there were arrow slits, and Raettonus paused to look out them. Farther down the mountain, he saw the Tahlehsons’ campfires burning as they worked on their towers and battering rams. Kaebha Citadel had been getting supplies from ships that had been sailing out of the werewolf city of Myrashekk until a few months before when the Tahlehson host realized this and sank one of the ships. Since then, none dared to come near the citadel. It hadn’t put Tykkleht’s men in a tight spot thus far, but their food supply was getting lower and lower with each passing day. Raettonus suspected the walls would be breached by the time food shortages were a problem, however; the Tahlehsons were camped too far away for the citadel’s defenders to shoot from the walls and were too big an army to assault directly.

Turning away from the arrow slit, Raettonus started down the hall. His boots were soft and barely made a sound on the hard, stone floors, but somewhere nearby he could hear the echo of slow hoof beats as someone—a soldier, Raettonus imagined—made their way leisurely through the citadel. He turned a corner and came upon a balcony that overlooked the floor below, from which the hoof beats were coming. Raettonus paused to see who was about and spotted two centaurs walking side by side beneath him. Hands linked together, they drew near to a sconce, and the light revealed them to be Dohrleht and Daeblau. They were speaking in low voices, but Raettonus didn’t much care what they were saying and moved on.

It was seldom that Raettonus found himself sleeping through a whole night anymore. Suddenly, Raettonus missed Ti Tunfa very much. It had never felt like home to him, that little shack on the Ti Tunfan plains, but at least there he wasn’t molested by gods and constantly having nightmares. No, in Ti Tunfa he had dreamed more in memories—though, when he thought about it, most of his memories weren’t quite a step up from nightmares.

Sometimes—though not lately—he dreamed a scene that was part memory, part blind wish. In those dreams, he braved that strange land of Zylekkha for the first time and made his way into the Center of Souls, which sat where the dense northern forest met the plains. It was a horrible, stony place, filled with ethereal specters that fed on blood and flesh. The whole region sloped inward, so that he stumbled upon the rocky, slanted path. The trees were all withered and dead, and boulders jutted up like fangs from the earth. As he made his way downward, toward the ten pillars nestled in the bottommost point of the Center, Brecan walked beside him, shivering and begging Raettonus to turn back.

He should’ve listened.

Instead, he chided the unicorn and pressed on. When they reached the ring of pillars with the pentagram mosaic at its center, he set up for his spell and bid Brecan stand in the middle of the star with him. That was where the blind wish took over.

In his dreams, the spell went right.

In his dreams, the black cloud of death lifted from his homeland.

In his dreams, he was a hero.

* * *

Somehow, he found himself on the citadel’s deepest floor. He couldn’t remember deciding to go there or the way he had passed to get there. But there he was.

For a moment, Raettonus thought about turning back. His stomach no longer ached, and he thought that he’d probably be able to get back to sleep. The problem was, he wasn’t really sure he wanted to go back to sleep.

The door to Vormekk’s tomb was slightly ajar as Raettonus approached it. He slipped inside, where the air was thick and musty. The ghost was still pacing, begging tearfully for his sword, when Raettonus went to him. He noticed Raettonus watching him and turned sadly. “Gods—can’t you hear me?” cried Vormekk. “Bring me my sword! They’re almost upon me! Please, for the sake of whatever love we ever shared—my sword! I hear them coming!” His eyes grew wide, and he looked fretfully around. “We were brothers in arms! Throw me my sword, at the very least!”

“No one’s going to give you a sword,” Raettonus told him. “You’re already dead.”

“They’re so close,” said the ghost, not hearing Raettonus. “I can hear them. They’re chanting in that demon’s tongue of theirs! Gods protect me—why won’t someone give me a sword? Place it in my hand! Better yet, place it through my throat! A sword—gods protect me—a sword! They’ll tear me apart!”

“They already have, you stupid fool,” Raettonus said. There was pity in his voice, beneath the hard and cynical tones—genuine pity, without any barbs.

Vormekk reached out one colorless, translucent hand toward Raettonus’ shoulder. “Gods protect me—please, I beg you as a humble man,” he said, his face wet with tears. “I am a servant of the king and no more. Please, give me your sword. I could protect us both and the citadel too, if I only had a sword!”

Raettonus gave the apparition no answer, but only went and sat with his back to the wall, watching the ghost fret. The long-dead General Vormekk continued to cry for his sword and, eventually, Raettonus drifted off to sleep, his muddled dreams colored by the centaur’s pleas.

He was awoken quite a time a later by the sound of hooves as Dohrleht and Maeleht entered the room with Ebha walking quietly behind them. Raettonus rose to meet them in the center of the room. The young centaurs greeted Raettonus, and they walked together toward the sarcophagus and sat down before it. With little pomp, Raettonus got down to their lesson.

Raettonus knew well how things would go for them. The first time he had reached the point where he was able to see ghosts was still so vivid to him that it might as well have been no more than a day ago, much less centuries and centuries. It wasn’t the sort of thing which one easily forgot.

They would be able to hear the ghost before they could really see him. It started out as a dim murmuring, impossible to make out. As Raettonus instructed and corrected them, the words would become clearer and seem less to come from all around them. After several hours, Maeleht was the first of the brothers to be able to make out the ghost’s form, with Dohrleht following soon after. The ghost noticed them watching him and wheeled on them. “A sword! Please—my sword!” he cried.

Maeleht shuddered and inched himself back, gripping the tattered sleeve of Raettonus’ tunic with one frail hand. “He can’t hurt you,” Raettonus assured him.

“Please,” said Vormekk. “Please, give me my sword!”

“Isn’t there anything we can do to help him?” asked Dohrleht. “He’s so frightened.”

Raettonus let out a sigh and stood, putting his hand on the hilt of his rapier. “I suppose you ought to understand, boys, that the cure is usually worse than the disease,” he said as he walked toward the ghost. He drew his blade and offered it to Vormekk’s ghost, hilt-first. The ghost looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes before reaching out toward it.

“May the gods protect you, sir!” he said, closing his incorporeal fingers around the hilt. He pulled his hand away, and with it came a ghostly broadsword. Raettonus slid his own blade back into his belt and stepped back.

Vormekk turned away from them and raised his spectral blade, taking a stance which planted his hooves. A pounding sound filled the chamber. “Don’t look away,” Raettonus told his students. “This is important for you to see.”

The ghost screamed out in pain, and his sword shattered and turned to smoke. Gashes began to appear all over Vormekk, welling up with black blood that dripped upon the stone ground. The ghost cried out as more and more wounds appeared and swung his arms at foes only he could see. Raettonus heard Dohrleht gasp, and Maeleht begin to cry and cough. Blood leaked from all over the ghostly general, falling in great, dark puddles on the cold, stone floor. For almost half an hour Vormekk screamed and wrenched his body about as more and more wounds appeared across his form. Finally, he collapsed to his knees and dissolved into smoke. The young centaurs stared forward in horror.

“That’s what it’s like, when you help them,” Raettonus said. “I don’t know where they go, but I know what happens to them before they go there. You’re going to see them for the rest of your life. They’ll beg your help. Most times, there won’t be anything you can do for them. On the occasions you can do something for them, however, this is how it ends.”

Maeleht began to sob, his chest rattling. He grabbed a hold of Raettonus’ tunic and buried his face in it. Hesitantly, Raettonus put his arm around the boy’s shoulders, but he didn’t know what to say to comfort him. The first time Raettonus had seen a ghost depart like that, he had been a child in Sir Slade’s care, and it had terrified him awfully. Slade had pulled him up onto his lap and brushed his hair back behind his ear.

“It’s all right, Raettonus,” Sir Slade had told him and kissed his forehead. “The ghost is all right. It looked painful—it might’ve been very painful—but he’s in a better place now. He’s in heaven, Raettonus. It’s a good, beautiful place. He’s not in pain anymore. He’s in heaven.”

But Raettonus couldn’t lie to the child and claim there was a heaven when he was certain there was not.

Chapter Eight

It was a year and two months into the siege.

Food was running out. They’d begun to hunt the mice and rats living in the walls. Raettonus would eat the mice but not the rats, he told them.

There was still some grain and pickled vegetables, but they weren’t going to last. Not very long.

General Tykkleht had suddenly taken ill and was confined to his bed. When Raettonus went to his room to see him—at the general’s request—he found him a sad, saggy shell of the man he’d been. His face was pale and covered in sweat, and his bulging eyes were cloudy with illness. His skin sagged, and dark veins showed against his colorless flesh. He would die soon, Raettonus was certain.

“Ah, Magician,” said Tykkleht weakly as he entered. “Excuse me for not getting up. Here, come closer. I can barely see you.”

Raettonus walked to his bedside. “You don’t look well, General,” he remarked.

“I don’t feel well, Magician,” answered Tykkleht. His breathing was ragged as he lay on his side, his upper body twisted upward to look at Raettonus. Flies were gathering on his hindquarters, and he didn’t seem to notice. “We’re in a bad way, Magician. A very, very bad way. The Tahlehsons are wearing us down, and we’re going to have to fight them sooner or later.”

“Yes, I imagine so.”

“They outnumber us at least fifty to one,” continued the general, his breathing becoming more and more labored. “When they attack…it’s going to be a bloodbath.”

“Men are born to die,” Raettonus told him evenly.

“Even so, I’d rather my men die years and years from now, safe and warm in their homes,” Tykkleht told him. “You’re not interested in our plight. I can see that clearly. But please—you have a heart, don’t you, Magician? If you love Zylekkha, even a little, fight for us. You’re a powerful mage—everyone says so. You could easily turn their army away. We wouldn’t need to spill any of our blood here.”

“It’s your fortress to defend, Tykkleht,” Raettonus said, “not mine.”

He started away, but Tykkleht caught his arm with one clammy hand. His grip was not as tight as it once might’ve been. “Why are you so callous?” asked Tykkleht. His chest wheezed sadly as the words tumbled up from his coarse throat. “Every man in here will die when we fight that army if you don’t help us. My sons will die! Gods above, man—are you so cruel as to just let the Tahlehsons take us, and Zylekkha, when you could prevent it?”

“I can live in an annex of Tahlehsohr just as easily as I can live in Zylekkha,” Raettonus told him. “Besides, the way I see it, either the Tahlehsons have already crippled your precious kingdom or else they haven’t, and you’ll be seeing reinforcements soon.”

“I doubt we’ll see them soon enough,” Tykkleht said, and he began to cough. There was a knock at the door just as Tykkleht’s coughing fit died down. “Enter!”

The door opened and a young soldier stepped in, covered in sweat and breathing hard, his equine portions all in a lather. “General,” he said. “An unarmed elf has approached from the Tahlehson host under a peace banner. He wants to talk to you.”

Tykkleht said, “I’ll see him. But first bring Captain Daeblau to me and send in Byrekk to help me get into my armor. Show the Tahlehson to my study.”

“Yes, General,” said the soldier with a bow, before retreating.

“I suppose I’ll leave you to your meeting,” said Raettonus, as he started toward the door.

“No—stay,” said Tykkleht. “Even if you refuse to defend us, at the very least they don’t have to know that. I’d rather they, instead, see that we have a powerful magician within our walls. They don’t need to know you don’t have any loyalty. So, stay and attend the meeting with us.”

Raettonus sighed and crossed his arms. “As you wish, General.”

An older soldier entered and helped Tykkleht up from his bed before buckling on his armor—elegant full plate armor that had been carefully polished, with gold inlays in various designs running across its gleaming surface. At some point while Tykkleht was being helped into his armor, Daeblau entered and came to stand beside Raettonus. “How’s he doing?” the centaur asked the magician in a quiet voice, nodding toward Tykkleht.

“Not well,” Raettonus told him. “But I suppose you already knew that?”

Daeblau smiled slightly and turned away as Tykkleht walked uncertainly toward them. When the younger centaur offered his arm to steady the general, he was waved away. “I can walk on my own four hooves,” Tykkleht said. “I’m just a little out of practice, that’s all. But never mind. My study’s not far. Magician, if you’d please, this way.”

The Tahlehson was already seated in the study when they entered and stood to greet them. The soldier had called him an elf, but it was obvious that had only been half right. He had the large, teardrop ears of an elf, but also the tall build and brown hair of a werewolf. His eyes were a light blue, and he had a genial face, though there was an arrogance about his expression. He was a handsome man with a strong chin and jaw and a straight nose. The Tahlehson soldier was clad in bronze scale mail with the coat of arms of his king enameled on his silver breastplate—a green lion striking with both paws on a field of yellow and blue. About his shoulders hung a well-groomed wolf pelt, worn in the fashion of a cape. “Ah, General Tykkleht,” he said in common Zylekkhan with only the hint of an accent. He offered his hand to the general. “Well met. My name is General Diahsis of Fybuk, Councilor of Shadows to King Saemohr of Tahlehsohr.”

Tykkleht took his hand and gripped it as hard as he could manage so as not to appear weak. “Well met, indeed,” said Tykkleht. “This is my Captain of the Garrison, Daeblau of Bribarrah. And this is Magician Raettonus—who, I am sure, you’ve heard of?”

“I have,” affirmed Diahsis, turning his light blue eyes on Raettonus and looking him up and down. His eyes were the same color as Sir Slade’s, though they held none of the melancholy. As he examined Raettonus, he cocked one eyebrow and smiled crookedly. “It’s an honor to meet you, Magician. And you as well, Captain.”

“Shall we sit?” suggested Tykkleht, motioning to some sofas crafted in the fashion of most centaurian furniture—large and low to the ground.

Diahsis nodded and they took their seats, with Tykkleht and Daeblau each taking up one of the sofas and Raettonus and Diahsis side-by-side on the third. Diahsis smiled kindly at Raettonus as they sat down and did not seem at all dismayed to receive only an icy scowl in return. “Well, gentlemen,” he said when the centaurs had settled into their sofas. “I’m sure you’ve noticed my army camped a few miles down your mountain?”

“We have,” said Tykkleht.

“We intend to have this fort,” Diahsis told him. “I’m not a hard man, General. I’d be more than happy to let you surrender.”

“Zylekkhans do not surrender,” said Tykkleht calmly.

“But if you don’t want to give in,” Diahsis continued, as though the old general had not said a word, “we are more than ready to breach you. You don’t have the numbers to stand up to us or else you would have already tried. I know why you’re hiding behind your walls, General Tykkleht. Your walls cannot protect you.”

“My walls are solid stone,” Tykkleht told him.

“Even stone can be worn away, supposing one has the patience—and I am nothing if not patient, General,” replied the half-elf Tahlehson. He continued to smile pleasantly, as if this conversation were something of little consequence. “If, however, you should choose to surrender, we will not harm any of your soldiers and even offer them a place in Tahlehsohr’s army. Those who do not want to pledge their allegiance to our king will be confined, but no further harm will come to them.”

“We will not budge on this,” said Tykkleht firmly. “If you attempt to invade this citadel, blood will be shed.”

“And it will all be yours,” said Diahsis. He crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap. “Please, think of your men and not of your pride, hm? I mean, what good will your pride do you if you force me to breach your walls? Can you use your pride to staunch your men’s wounds, General Tykkleht? Can your pride raise the dead?”

“It is not pride that rejects your terms, but loyalty,” Tykkleht told him flatly. “I serve Zylekkha until the day I die.”

Diahsis chuckled softly, his gaze locked onto the older general’s pale face and the fever sweat glistening there on his nose and beneath his eyes. “That doesn’t look very far away,” he said. “Seriously, though, you should at least consider my generous, merciful offer instead of condemning your men to death from the get-go, shouldn’t you?”

“There is nothing to consider,” replied Tykkleht. “Tell me, General Diahsis, if our situations were reversed, would you surrender? Would you abandon Tahlehsohr just like that?”

Diahsis continued to smile. “Our situations wouldn’t be reversed,” he said. “I make it a point never to let surrender be my only option.”

“And what makes you certain it’s my only option?”

Again, Diahsis chuckled. “I know what you see when you look at me. You see an elf. ‘This is only an elf,’ you must think to yourself, looking at me,” he said. “You must think of me that, ‘this is an elf, and he is not as clever as a centaur.’ But that would be wrong. I am every bit as clever as a centaur. More clever than many of them, really, I’d be willing to bet.”

He leaned forward, all the humor gone from his expression though he was still smiling. “I’ve been observing your fortress for the year I’ve been camped beneath it,” he said. “I’ve watched your patrols on the walls, and I’ve sent scouts around to count them—yes, scouts, and you never caught them, did you? I’ve trained my men exceptionally well. It’s obvious what kind of force you have here, General. That is, what kind of force you don’t have here. Of course surrender’s not your only option—but your other option amounts to suicide. Certainly, if you’d rather die than surrender, that’s one thing—but what about your men? Would you kill every man here when I have already offered to absorb them into my army, or to simply hold them prisoner until the war is over?”

“Zylekkhans do not surrender,” Tykkleht said again. “Your assessment of the danger your attack may pose to my men is completely wrong-headed. Here in my employ is the Magician Raettonus—why should I fear you?”

“Ah, yes, the Magician Raettonus,” said Diahsis. He grinned and turned to look at Raettonus. “Even in Tahlehsohr they tell stories about you. I must admit you are…shorter than I expected. More handsome, as well. Tell me, Magician, how much does Zylekkha mean to you?”

Tykkleht gave Raettonus a desperate look. With his eyes, he begged the man to tell a lie. Raettonus look from him back to General Diahsis’ smiling face. “Not much,” he said coolly.

“So I expected,” said Diahsis. He looked back to Tykkleht. “Well, there you have it, General. Those are my terms—you need only surrender, and no harm comes to you or your men. I won’t hurt a hair on their flanks, so long as you surrender Kaeba to me.”

Pulling himself up as straight and tall as he could, Tykkleht repeated his same mantra of decline. “Zylekkhans do not surrender.”

“Well, then, I hope that Zylekkhans are happy to abide by that when they have death in their mouths,” said Diahsis with a gentle shrug. He rose from the low sofa and smoothed the wrinkles from his silken kilt. “I’m sorry to find you so set about this. It’s a shame. I’d heard from my contacts that you really were a bright military mind once. Perhaps age has softened your head? Though, you’d be the first man I ever met who got more idealistic with age. Good day, General, and believe me when I say that I really am sorry we could not see eye to eye on this. I apologize for the briefness of my visit, but I wanted to be certain you would not budge. I really am disappointed, and you have my condolences on the losses you’ll receive.”

“Good day,” Tykkleht said. His voice was stony.

“I’ll show you to the door, if you’d please, General Diahsis,” said Daeblau. He stood and offered his arm to the foreigner. Diahsis thanked him and took it and, with one last glance at Raettonus and a roguish smile, allowed himself to be led away.

Once Diahsis and Daeblau had left, Tykkleht let out a long sigh. “Just who does that elven cur think he is? Telling us to surrender,” muttered the general. “He was so blunt about it all, as if it were an absolute certainty that this fort could not withstand him.”

“You probably should’ve taken him up on the offer,” Raettonus said. “For your sons’ sakes.”

Tykkleht looked at Raettonus and then looked away. “I love my sons very much, Magician, you must understand that,” he said. “But I swore to serve the Zylekkhan crown. I have to do what’s best for the kingdom, not what’s best for me. I’d love to see Dohry and Mae safe and happy. I’d love to see that more than anything… But when it comes at the cost of betraying the crown, it’s something I cannot do. I… It’s the hardest thing in the world, but there it is. I cannot betray Zylekkha. Not even for their sake.”

Raettonus had to help Tykkleht to his feet and back into his room, where he was quickly received by a soldier who undressed him. Excusing himself, Raettonus left the ill general.

He hadn’t gone very far down the hall before he met Dohrleht. “Raettonus!” called Dohrleht, waving to him and limping over on his crutch. “I just saw Daeblau talking to an elf. Is that the Tahlehson everyone was talking about?”

“It was,” Raettonus said, not easing his pace. Dohrleht limped after him.

“What did he talk about?”

“Surrender.”

“His?”

“Ours.”

“We’re not surrendering, though, are we?” asked Dohrleht, looking scandalized. “Zylekkhans don’t surrender.”

“So your father said, when asked,” Raettonus said curtly. That seemed to please Dohrleht, and he increased his pace to keep up with the magician.

“I’m worried about Maeleht,” said Dohrleht, after he had closed the gap between himself and Raettonus. “He found a ghost on the battlements, and now he spends so much time up there… He misses meals. It’s not good for him. He’s frail enough without missing his meals because he was talking to a ghost.”

“He hasn’t been missing lessons,” Raettonus said.

“Well, no, but—”

“If he hasn’t been missing lessons, I don’t have a reason to care what Maeleht does in his spare time,” said Raettonus. “I’m not his mother. I suppose the person you might want to tell about any habits of his that might worry you is your father.”

Dohrleht dropped his gaze to the floor. “There’s no reason to bother him with it. It’ll only cause him anxiety,” he said quietly. “Our father’s not in good health.”

“I noticed,” answered Raettonus. “I don’t suppose you know anything about that? Aside from being old and flabby he seemed as healthy as, well, a horse, not so long ago…”

The young centaur’s eyes widened slightly. “I’m not following you,” he said, his voice sounding slightly choked.

“Of course you aren’t,” Raettonus said with a shrug. “I honestly don’t care either way. However, I’m going to need that vial you took from my room back. It was dreadfully expensive.”

“Y-yes, Raettonus,” said Dohrleht, bowing his head and turning down a smaller hallway that branched off from the main passage. Raettonus continued on his way without any sign he’d noticed his student’s departure.

* * *

That night, when Raettonus dreamed, he dreamed of Kimohr Raulinn in his lush temple overlooking the weedy plateaus and fissures in Kyshem’mur. As before, he was without a body, observing the god from the air. Kimohr Raulinn walked slowly and unevenly through his lavishly decorated temple to his intricately carved throne of black jade. Unslinging his bag, he set it on the throne. He slipped out of his tattered, dirty robe, letting it puddle about his feet. The moonlight shone on his handsome body, nude but for all the strings of beads hanging around his neck and arms and thighs. Black bite marks festered on his buttocks and shoulders, where the flesh once was pristine. The god walked with a slight limp, and Raettonus saw that there was a wound, dripping dark ichor, on his thigh. A deep gouge had been taken out of his ankle, as well, and the bones could be seen working beneath the bloody tissue with each step he took.

Kimohr Raulinn recovered his bag from the throne and limped on through an arched doorway. With every step, blood gushed from his wounds and ran in thick, fetid streams down his soft body, contrasting drastically with his pale flesh. Once he stumbled against a wall and cried out in pain. For a moment, he could only pant against a pillar set into the wall, and Raettonus wasn’t sure he was going to be able to muster up the strength to keep moving. In the end, however, Kimohr Raulinn pushed himself off the wall and kept on, dragging his battered leg as ichor trailed behind him. Tears welled in his eyes, visible behind his devil-faced mask, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain.

He hobbled into a large room with a table at its center. Atop the table a still form lay, dressed in black and red. Kimohr Raulinn made it to the table and collapsed across the corpse’s chest. For a moment, the god just leaned against the body of Sir Slade for support, panting and groaning, his beads clacking together with each breath. Finally, he straightened and lowered the bag from his shoulder, setting it on the table beside Slade’s head. Slade stared placidly upward, gazing toward something far beyond the sight of the living. Hands trembling, Kimohr Raulinn loosened the strings on the bag and reached inside. From within, he drew out a large, pale orb wreathed in curling smoke. The colors of the orb turned and swirled as the smoke around it coalesced.

Kimohr Raulinn stroked Slade’s cheek with his free hand and whispered something into his ear. The smoke from the orb began to reach out toward Slade, filling his nose and caressing his blankly staring eyes. As more and more of it went inside of him, the orb began to dim and fade away. It disappeared completely from Kimohr Raulinn’s hand after a short time. And then Slade sat straight upright and began to scream in agony.

The whole world shook.

Raettonus moaned and rubbed his head. It took him a moment to realize that he was no longer dreaming and that the whole citadel was shaking wildly. He leapt to his feet and grabbed his belt and rapier, not bothering with his tunic. The soldiers were rushing about outside his door, sounding their alarms. He threw open his door and stopped one of the centaurs as he was passing by. “What’s going on?” Raettonus asked.

“Part of Kaebha just collapsed!” said the soldier, panting.

“An earthquake?” wondered Raettonus, raising his eyebrows.

“We don’t know,” said the soldier. He broke away from Raettonus. “Excuse me, I have to defend the citadel.”

Raettonus watched him gallop away before following at a slower pace.

When Raettonus arrived at the area in question where the ground had buckled, spilling stone and wood and glass into a great chasm, he found the Tahlehsons swarming over the mound of rubble that had once been Kaebha’s sturdy wall. Their hooves pounded the shattered stone, sending clouds of gritty dust up around them as they surged through the opening with their swords drawn. The wall had fallen away from the bottom-most basement floor all the way up to the fifth, and outside Raettonus could see a line of earth caved in, leading toward the Tahlehson camp. Amid the churned sand and rock, Raettonus could see the smoking, black remains of some wooden structure.

He couldn’t help but respect Diahsis’ cleverness. The rams they’d built had been a bluff. They’d harvested the trees mainly for use in bracing an underground shaft for undermining. When the wooden braces were burned, the ground collapsed, and so did the wall built upon it. They had bided their time for so long only because they were digging out an extensive tunnel. Since the Zylekkhans could see them building siege towers, however, they had assumed that was the way the attack would come and did not bother investigating any other routes. It was a crafty trick.

Arrows were raining down outside on the attacking army, but more and more of the foreign soldiers were forcing their way through the fissure, out of harm’s way. Metal clanged against metal as the ground level floor filled with centaurian soldiers from both sides. Raettonus withdrew from the fighting to find Brecan. The sound of swords and shields clashing with one another followed him down the halls. He could hear screams and shouts in many different languages, but eventually he got so far away that the noise became muffled.

He wasn’t sure why he headed for the roof, but once he got there, he found Brecan cowering beside the battlements on the ocean-facing side of the citadel.

“We’re being invaded, Raet!” he exclaimed.

“It’ll pass,” Raettonus told him, looking out at the rolling water far below.

Brecan sidled up to him and nudged him with his nose. “Are we going to be all right, Raet?” asked the unicorn.

“Of course,” said Raettonus. “What a stupid question to ask.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I guess it was,” said Brecan, flattening his ears. “I’m sorry, Raet. I shouldn’t be so stupid.”

Raettonus glanced around. “Shit,” he muttered. “I need to go back down there. Maeleht and Dohrleht might be hurt.”

“You’re going to protect them, Raet?” asked Brecan, perking up. “You care a lot about them, huh?”

Raettonus scowled. “They’re the only things here that fall in the realm of ‘my responsibility,’ and I’ll not have it ever said about me—whatever else they might claim—that I shirked a responsibility,” he said, heading for the stairs. His fear forgotten, Brecan followed him giddily.

They made their way directly to the boys’ rooms, only to find them empty. Raettonus rushed to one of the balconies overlooking the floor where the fighting was still going strong. “They wouldn’t be down there, Raet,” Brecan said. “They’re cripples. That’s a lot of stairs from where their rooms are. They couldn’t be down there. Not with how crippled they are…”

“Good point,” Raettonus said. He started away from the balcony, unsure of where to check. He suspected Maeleht would go to hide somewhere, but Dohrleht was the type to throw himself into the melee, busted foreleg or not.

A horn blared above the fighting and was answered by a second, distinctly different horn. Raettonus didn’t understand them, but was certain they had some meaning to the armies, because the sound of fighting died away and the soldiers milled about in confusion. Brecan glanced around. “Oh, they made up!” he said, swishing his tail. “That’s nice!”

Daeblau appeared on a balcony on the level beneath them, on the opposite wall, with Dohrleht limping along at his side. “I regret to inform you all, but General Tykkleht has passed away,” he announced in a voice which echoed in the eerie silence of the citadel-turned-battlefield. “Command has passed to me, and I would like to submit our surrender.”

There was a muttering among the soldiers, but not a very loud one, and no one protested openly.

Diahsis stepped forward from among his men. He was wearing the same beautiful, ornamental armor he had worn to meet with Tykkleht, but it was splashed with blood. “I accept your surrender,” he said. “If any of your soldiers would wish to join my army, you may do so. If you would not, you’ll have to be confined. However, we will not treat you harshly, and when our war is done, you’ll be released.”

A muddled confusion followed, in which the Zylekkhan loyalists were sorted out from the turncoats. Raettonus watched for a while before glancing back toward the balcony Daeblau had spoken from, only to find him absent.

“Magician, I thought I saw you up here,” came Daeblau’s voice from behind him.

“Captain,” Raettonus said coolly, without turning to look at him.

“You have a good knowledge of the dead, I am correct in assuming?” asked Daeblau.

“I do,” said Raettonus.

“Could you prepare the body of General Tykkleht for his funeral?” asked Daeblau.

Raettonus turned to face him. “Isn’t there someone else here who’s qualified for that?” he asked.

“Not more qualified than you,” Daeblau answered. Dohrleht was still beside him, and Raettonus could see deep numbness in the boy’s eyes, as if his mind were somewhere far away from the citadel’s dust and blood. “Please—I know the late general wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Raettonus sighed. “Fine.”

“You’re familiar with the proper customs?”

“I am.”

“Be sure to put him in his best armor,” Dohrleht put in quietly. “He…he loved that armor.”

Raettonus nodded and went to take care of the body before it started to rot. He hated when they began to rot. The smell was unimaginable.

He reached the general’s bedchambers, where he’d expired, after a short delay to get his tools and his tunic. When he approached the bed, he noticed the sheets were covered with blood. Pulling the blanket away, he saw that Tykkleht had been stabbed twice—one time in each heart. The general’s ghost wandered back and forth beside the bed, hands trembling. Ignoring the spirit, Raettonus set about his work.

Centaurs were the worst for funeral preparations. The organs had to be removed so their bodies could be stuffed with straw. Centaurs had a lot of organs. Elbow-deep in Tykkleht’s belly had not been Raettonus’ ideal way to spend the night, but there he was, hands full of centaurian intestines, trying not to gag on the smell of it all.

He removed the general’s organs and burned them in a bowl marked with the star of Kurok, one by one—four lungs, two hearts, an overlarge liver, a massive stomach, yards and yards of intestines.

After that, he filled the chest and stomach cavities full of straw. He sewed shut Tykkleht’s eyes and put a chip of amber in his mouth according to Zylekkhan customs to pay the creatures that lived between realms for his safe passage. He hung beads around his neck—purple for Kurok, red for Kaeriaht, blue for Virkki, yellow for Harkkan, black for Cykkus. He cleaned his body with a rag and brushed out his tail. Then he dressed him in his shining armor with all its gold inlays. Armor to hide the stab wounds.

By the time he had finished, morning was well upon him. The dirty sheets had been taken away, and Raettonus laid the body on the clean bed. He started to leave, but Tykkleht’s ghost called out, attracting his attention.

“Gods above! Treason! Murder! Gods above!” shouted the ghost. “Betrayed by my own son! My own son!”

Raettonus thought for a moment about helping the ghost leave the mortal plane of existence so that Maeleht might not stumble upon him. Finally, however, he decided that he preferred the thought of Dohrleht having to come back in there on occasion, forced to face the ghost of his murdered father. Raettonus had long-since decided he shouldn’t be the only one whose demons never left him.

Chapter Nine

General Tykkleht’s body was burned that night in the courtyard, while the bodies of the dead soldiers, Zylekkhan and Tahlehson alike, were burned in front of the citadel. The Zylekkhans who hadn’t been confined in the fortress’ cells gathered in the courtyard to pay their respects to their dead leader. None of them suspected anything more than that he had died of his illness. Raettonus said nothing as he watched the flames grow higher.

Diahsis came to stand beside him. “You did a beautiful job on the body, Magician,” the half-elf, half-werewolf general told him, resting one hand on the small of Raettonus’ back. “He looked very peaceful.”

“I don’t agree,” Raettonus said stiffly.

Diahsis smiled. “That’s too bad,” he said. He was standing uncomfortably close to Raettonus, and the height difference between them was making Raettonus feel very small. “So, Magician—what will you do now?”

“I’m here to instruct General Tykkleht’s sons,” Raettonus said, straightening up in an effort to make himself look taller. “I was paid in advance, and so far as I’m concerned my job has not been changed or cancelled.”

“I’ll allow you to carry on with that, then,” said Diahsis, looking down at him. He was still smiling—a smug, self-satisfied smile that Raettonus didn’t like at all.

“Awfully presumptuous of you to think you can allow me to do anything,” Raettonus told him, scowling. He locked his gaze on Diahsis’ and was pleased to see the general’s smile falter for a moment. “Never forget that you can burn just as easily as anyone, General Diahsis.”

The general’s easy smile returned, and he was about to reply, but a soldier approached with Deggho, attracting his attention. “We found him on our sweep through the citadel, General,” the soldier said.

“And who would you be?” Diahsis asked the goblin.

Deggho was looking upward at the starry sky. “I haven’t seen the moon in so long,” he murmured. “G-gods, it…it feels so good. Um—ah! S-sorry. I’m a little bit…a little bit shaken. Um, I’m Deggho dek’Kariss. Or, in common Zylekkhan, Deggho who leads the Kariss.”

“The Kariss?” asked Diahsis. “Who are they?”

“The goblin tribe that lives on this mountain,” Deggho said. “I’m the youngest son of their chief…was the youngest son. I don’t know now…”

Diahsis nodded. “So,” he said. “You must be a hostage, is that right?”

“Y-yes, that’s right,” Deggho said with a nod. “For…oh, for years now.”

Diahsis took him gently by the arm. “That must’ve been very hard for you, Deggho dek’Kariss,” he said. “Being away from your people all that time.”

“Y-yes, it was…it was hell, being trapped down there,” Deggho said, his ears drooping. “I didn’t have any windows, you see. They only gave me a few torches, too. It was so dark…”

“I imagine it was,” said Diahsis. “Deggho, could you do me a favor?”

“O-of course. What, uh, what would you like, General?”

“Could you kneel for me?” asked Diahsis.

“Kneel? Um, yes, I can do that,” Deggho said uncertainly. Slowly he got down. “Like this?”

“Almost,” said Diahsis. “But could you bend forward a little more? Double over?”

“Like this?”

“Yes. Exactly so,” said Diahsis. In one fluid movement, he drew his gladius and swung it downward. Its blade passed through Deggho’s thin neck with ease, sending his head rolling away. His body fell to the dirt, a dark spurt of blood spraying out where neck had once met skull. Diahsis motioned and the soldier recovered the goblin’s head. “Take that to the Kariss. The body too. Tell them the Zylekkhans killed him before we stormed the fort. Try to get them to join our cause against the Zylekkhans. If they don’t want to join us, slaughter them. Fifteen men should be enough; pick whomever you want to go with you. Ah, but try not to pick anyone who lost a good friend or a lover storming Kaebha. Those ones should be left to grieve.”

“Yes, General,” said the centaurian soldier. He scooped up Deggho’s frail body and hefted it over his back before loping away.

Wiping the blood from his sword, Diahsis turned back to Raettonus. “Sorry for the interruption,” he said. “Now, what were we talking about?”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Raettonus said. “The Kariss would’ve been just as grateful to you for freeing Deggho as they would be angry at the Zylekkhans for executing him.”

Diahsis smiled and slid his gladius back into its scabbard. “Anger is a far better motivator than gratitude, Magician,” he said. “How about you leave the military tactics to me, hm? I don’t tell you how to do…whatever it is you do.”

“Magic, General—I do magic.”

“Really? I don’t believe I’ve seen any evidence of that,” said Diahsis with a shrug. “I would think if you did magic, maybe you would’ve kept that wall up.”

“I don’t do that kind of magic.”

“That’s a pity.”

“Yes, it is,” responded Raettonus turning away. “Excuse me. I’m needed elsewhere.”

“Yes, of course. Another time, then, Magician,” said Diahsis, frowning.

Raettonus shrugged noncommittally and skulked away across the yard, past a group of Zylekkhan soldiers who were reciting a prayer led by the citadel’s priest. In one dark corner of the courtyard, Maeleht was alone, leaning against the wall. His face was red with tears, and he was shaking. Noticing Raettonus’ approach, he quickly turned away to hide the fact that he’d been crying. “H-hello, Raettonus,” he said in a strained voice as he faced the wall.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Raettonus told him uncomfortably.

“Th-thanks,” said Maeleht. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned to look at the magician. “He…he didn’t deserve to die like that. He should’ve died in battle. That’s how he w-would have wanted to go. He should have… He—he would’ve, if…”

“If what?” asked Raettonus. Some of the branches in the pyre broke, and the whole thing shifted, sending sparks high into the air.

“If Dohrleht hadn’t poisoned him,” Maeleht said in a tiny, scared voice.

Raettonus raised his eyebrows. “You knew about that?” he asked, only half interested.

“I suspected,” said the young centaur. “Father got sick so suddenly. You taught us about some poisons, don’t you remember? You showed us all those vials… So when he got sick, I thought… It’s true, isn’t it?”

“I think so,” Raettonus said.

Maeleht’s lower lip trembled, and he slid along the wall into a sitting position. “I really hoped I was wrong,” he said as Raettonus took a seat beside him. “I—Dohrleht loved our father just as much as I did. For the past few months though, he’s been spending practically all his time with Daeblau… Do… Raettonus, do you think Daeblau might’ve put him up to it? Poisoning Dad?”

“I couldn’t say,” said Raettonus with a shrug. Though, he was certain Daeblau had at least put him up to stabbing Tykkleht while everyone else was distracted with the invasion. That wasn’t something Maeleht needed to know about, however.

“I never liked him, Daeblau,” Maeleht confided. “He’s nice to everyone, but he scares me a little. It’s…something about the way he’s never really happy, even when he’s smiling.”

“So,” said Raettonus, looking up toward the sky. Above them there were hundreds of thousands of stars strewn about in the unfathomable darkness, giving warmth and light to places he’d never see. “What are you going to do now?”

“Nothing, I guess,” said Maeleht glumly. “What can I do, anyway? It’s not as if I have any proof, and even if I did… Well, Dohrleht’s my brother. No matter what, he’s my brother.”

They were quiet for a bit, listening to the nearby priest leading the soldiers in a slow, mournful song in Kaerikyna whose words Raettonus didn’t understand, but whose tune he vaguely recognized as “Carry Him from the Battlefield.” As they sang the dirge, they stomped their hooves, creating a solemn beat beneath the singing. After the song had ended and the mourning soldiers began a new one, Raettonus turned to Maeleht. “I want to teach you something,” he said. “Reach your hands out, palms up—no, together, like this. There. Now, close your eyes.”

Maeleht closed his eyes, leaning his head back slightly. “What are we going to do?” asked the child.

“Summon a rock for me. A large rock, big enough to fill both your hands—can you do that?” asked Raettonus.

“I’ll try,” said Maeleht, squeezing his eyes tight as he concentrated. “But you’ve already taught me this…”

“This is something different,” Raettonus assured him. “Think to yourself about something. Some object—doesn’t matter what it is, just an object. Picture it in your mind’s eye. Picture all its curves and angles. Try to summon up a stone while imagining you’re running your fingers across every surface of that object.”

Maeleht’s fingers twitched slightly. “What should I think of?”

“It doesn’t matter; anything you like,” said Raettonus. “Something familiar to you. Something so familiar that you can see it from every side and angle.”

The boy bit his lip and scrunched up his nose. Dust began to appear above his cupped palms, suspended in the air. The dust swirled and stuck together, forming pebbles, which clung together to form rocks. Slowly, the rocks began to form into the likeness of a butterfly. It was a rough likeness, with lots of cracks and uneven areas, but it was recognizable. “Good,” said Raettonus. “Open your eyes.”

Maeleht inhaled sharply when he saw the stone butterfly floating over his hands. He looked at Raettonus with wide-eyed wonder. “I did that?” he asked.

“You did,” confirmed Raettonus with a nod. “It’s a little rough, but… You did well.”

“I did?” asked Maeleht again. He looked down at the stone butterfly, and it fell into his hands. A smile spread across his freckled face. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I did, didn’t I?”

“With a little work, you can make it perfect,” said Raettonus.

Maeleht smiled and cradled the stone butterfly close to his chest, admiring his work. “Thank you for teaching me this, Raettonus,” he said quietly.

Raettonus shrugged one shoulder and mumbled, “You’re welcome.”

The soldiers and the priest had begun to sing “Carry Him from the Battlefield” again, this time in common Zylekkhan. Raettonus didn’t know the words to it, but beside him, Maeleht joined in quietly.

“From fire we come,

To fire returned.

Carry him from the battlefield.

His heart is broken,

His face is burned.

Carry him from the battlefield.

His sword is shattered,

His fight is lost.

Carry him from the battlefield.

His brothers fight on,

No matter the cost.

Carry him from the battlefield.

Place him on wood,

Give him a light.

Carry him from the battlefield.

Our good soldier

Dines with gods tonight.

Carry him from the battlefield.”

Through the fire, Tykkleht’s body was barely visible. When the flames were finished, all that would remain would be his armor. Perhaps they’d hang up his breastplate somewhere, in his memory. Or maybe they’d send it to his wife in Sae Noklu, on the plains. Raettonus couldn’t shake the feeling, however, that it’d simply be thrown out or put away and forgotten. In his experience, the dead were usually put away and forgotten.

* * *

Even with the sizable Tahlehson army serving beneath General Diahsis occupying the fort, the Kaebha Citadel was still quite empty. Most of the soldiers were stationed on the lower levels, guarding the loyalist Zylekkhans. For his part, Diahsis had taken control of one of the uppermost floors, posting guards at all the stairwells. Raettonus wasn’t certain what the young general needed with an entire floor, but he heard from Dohrleht—who often attended Diahsis with Daeblau—that the whole floor had been redecorated to suit his tastes, which were a lot more elegant than the Zylekkhan commanders who had previously had run of that level.

Those soldiers who weren’t put to work guarding the loyalists or keeping Diahsis’ level secure were mostly employed in rebuilding the wall their undermining had unsteadied. It was backbreaking work, and Raettonus did not envy them, but they were centaurs, and centaurs were strong, with powerful horse bodies to pull and powerful human hands to lift. Raettonus watched them working from the battlements as he sat up there with Brecan. The unicorn was skulking about the roof, catching sparrows and bringing them to Raettonus.

“Do you think they’ll be done with that any time soon?” asked Brecan after he had brought Raettonus another dead sparrow.

“They only just started,” Raettonus responded, tying the bird’s feet together and stringing it up with the others Brecan had caught for him. He hadn’t been counting, but was certain he had at least a dozen birds now. “I’m not sure they’ll fix the wall for at least a year.”

“There’s so many of them working on it though,” Brecan said, flattening his ears. “I think it’ll be done soon.”

“You can think that, but you’re still wrong.”

Brecan twitched his tail and sat back on his lion-like haunches. “I’m not wrong, am I?” he mumbled. After a moment, he stopped sulking. “Hey, Raet—is that enough sparrows or do you need more? Can I eat one?”

“You can eat one when I’m done with them,” said Raettonus, holding the sparrows up by the string and counting them. “I could use two more. This won’t be enough feathers.”

“Two more?” said Brecan, a little dismayed. He glanced around and, spotting a bird perched at the other side of the roof, bounded off after it, nearly bowling over a patrolling Tahlehson soldier who got in his way.

Raettonus turned away to watch the soldiers down below pulling blocks around and calling to one another in Tahlkyna, the soft-sounding language of their homeland. After a while, a shadow fell over Raettonus. Assuming it to be Brecan with another sparrow, he lazily put one hand out to receive it. “They’re not going to finish any time soon,” Raettonus said, still watching the construction. “Too many blocks broke. They’re going to have to carve more of them.”

“Yes, Magician, they will,” said the gruff voice of a soldier. Raettonus looked up and saw an older centaur standing over him. He had the accent of a Tahlehson. “General Diahsis has requested your presence.”

Raettonus pursed his lips and stood, slinging the dead sparrows over one of his shoulders. Brushing the dust off the back of his tunic, he said, “Fine. Lead the way, sir.”

The soldier nodded and took him down the stairs a couple flights to Diahsis’ floor. A number of tapestries had been hung on the walls, along with paintings Raettonus recognized as Deggho’s handiwork. The soldier led Raettonus to the general’s room, which was large and spacious with cushioned chairs and proper windows overlooking the ocean. Diahsis was lounging on a divan beneath a window as Raettonus entered. Dismissing the soldier, the general motioned for Raettonus to take a seat, which he did.

“It’s come to my attention,” said Diahsis, smoothing out the wrinkles in his lavish clothes, “that the goblin I executed was a friend of yours. You have my apologies.”

“That’s not necessary,” said Raettonus. “We weren’t friends.”

“He had a lot of paintings of you,” said Diahsis. He gave the birds slung over Raettonus’ shoulder a look of distaste as they leaked blood onto the divan Raettonus had seated himself on, but didn’t comment on them. “Surely he thought you were friends?”

“I don’t see that it matters what he thought—you killed him,” Raettonus said dryly. “He’s dead now, so let’s not discuss it, hm?”

“If you’d rather we didn’t talk about him, I won’t press the subject,” said Diahsis. He smiled again. “You know, Magician, I’ve been thinking quite a bit…”

“What about?” asked Raettonus, though he certainly knew.

“About you, Magician,” said Diahsis. “Why didn’t you defend the citadel if you were in General Tykkleht’s employ here? You’re certainly capable of it, if the stories are true. Has everything I’ve been told about you been a lie?”

“That’s not what I was employed for. I had no reason to defend it,” Raettonus said. “This is not my fortress, and it wasn’t my fight.”

“Awfully selfish of you.”

“That’s the wrong word. You want ‘self-interested,’” Raettonus said. “I acted out of self-interest.”

“Ah. My mistake,” said Diahsis, nodding. “This is not my first language, forgive me.” He cleared his throat and crossed his legs. “So, then, it was…self-interest that made you watch as we stormed the walls?”

“I have no personal stake in who controls this fort,” Raettonus said as he shrugged his shoulders. “Like I told you before, I’m only here to teach Dohrleht and Maeleht.”

“I wonder—what would it cost to get you to join our cause?” asked Diahsis.

“This isn’t my war,” Raettonus said. “I don’t plan to take part.”

“What price will make it your war?”

“None,” Raettonus answered.

“None? Magician, you disappoint me,” said Diahsis. “I was under the impression you’d do anything if the price was right for you. If it’s a matter of you not believing I have the gold to back it up—”

“I don’t doubt you do,” said Raettonus. “Unfortunately, there’s only so much gold one can have before it’s no longer of interest. I’ve reached that threshold. No amount of gold can pay the cost, since being a soldier is of no interest to me. It’d be unwelcome tedium.”

“Something else, then,” said Diahsis. “Land? A title? A woman? A man? Just say the word and it’s yours. Hell, all of them, if you want. I can deliver.”

“I’m not interested in any of those things,” Raettonus said evenly.

“You could have your own army, serving beneath you.”

“I don’t want my own army.”

“How about your own kingdom, then?” Diahsis offered. “Once Zylekkha belongs to King Saemohr, he’ll need to install a puppet government here to run it. You could be Zylekkha’s new king.”

“King Puppet? I think I’ll pass,” said Raettonus, arching one eyebrow. “Besides, you seem to believe very badly that you need my help to conquer Zylekkha. You do, as a matter of fact, because even if you’ve got a big army at your back, so do the Zylekkhans. And they know the lay of the land. See, if I wanted Zylekkha, I wouldn’t need your army to get it. I could take it all on my own. But I don’t want it. You can have it.”

“Help us get it,” said Diahsis, leaning forward. “Please, Magician. I can get you anything your heart desires, if you’ll only help us take Zylekkha.”

Raettonus smirked. “Are you begging, General?” he asked.

The general straightened up, smoothing his wolf skin cape. “I would never beg,” he said sternly.

“Too bad,” Raettonus said. “I’m partial to men of power groveling at my feet.”

“Would that be your price?” asked Diahsis as he furrowed his brow.

“Would you do it if it were?”

The Tahlehson general hesitated. “Of course,” he said finally.

“You lie,” Raettonus said. “And not very well.” He leaned back in his cushioned seat and looked out the window over Diahsis’ shoulder. Over the mountaintops he could see the ocean where it met the coastline and disappeared into the horizon. “I get the distinct impression you’ve got more of a stake in my joining you than just your duty.”

“How’s that?” asked Diahsis.

“You must believe that recruiting a famous magician such as myself to your cause will win you points with your king,” Raettonus said. “I think you’re hoping to be put in charge of Zylekkha if you manage to defeat it.”

Diahsis smiled, an expression that sat handsomely on his face. “Guilty,” he said. “Magician, understand—I am but a humble elf. We need to take our advantages where we can find them, because no one hands us anything in a place like Tahlehsohr. Do you think I got to be the sole elf in an army of hundreds of thousands—leading that army, no less—by merely being a good strategist? Hardly. I clawed my way to the top through blood and fire, and I have to keep clawing to stay on top. I intend to sit the throne of Zylekkha in the name of my king, even if it means I have to sit a throne of skulls first. Every misstep sets me back five steps, Raettonus. It’s a horrible struggle for an elf, trying to keep up with centaurs. I cannot be soft, as a general—not like your Tykkleht was.”

“He was not mine,” Raettonus said. “I am not Zylekkhan.”

“Forgive me. Not yours,” said Diahsis. “All the same, centaurian generals are permitted to be soft and occasionally lose battles once they’ve become generals. Do you know what would happen if I lost a battle? I’d be hanged. Just like that, everything I ever did would be forgotten, and I would be hanged. They probably wouldn’t even bother to build a gallows for me—just string me up from the nearest tree. I’m not as strong or fast as a centaur, so I have to be ten times as crafty and a thousand times more ruthless. But when I sit my own throne… Well. That’s not something I should speak of.”

“You sound very proud,” Raettonus noted.

“Proud?” said Diahsis. “Yes. You could say I’m proud. I’m proud of where I’ve gotten and the work I’ve put in to get there.”

“Too proud to beg?”

There was an urgent knock at the door behind them. Diahsis looked to the door with an annoyed expression. “Come in!”

A soldier entered, his equine lower body foamy with sweat. His face was pale and his pupils were enormous, lending his eyes and face a crazed look. “General,” he said breathlessly. “I went to bring the goblin’s body, as you ordered, to the Kariss—”

“Were you attacked?” asked Diahsis cutting him short. “I’ll send three dozen swords immediately to make them rue that action.”

“No, General, not attacked,” said the soldier, faltering. He wrung his hands, as though he weren’t sure what he should say. “In fact, we, um, we never even reached the Kariss.”

“Well, what then?” Diahsis asked, visibly agitated. “Why’d you come back? Could you not find them?”

“N-no, sir,” the soldier said. “I mean—well, no, we didn’t find them. But, I don’t mean to say we couldn’t. We—we had intelligence as to where they were camped, we just hadn’t made it there—”

“What happened?” asked Diahsis. “Spit it out, soldier!”

The soldier swallowed hard and opened his mouth before closing it uncertainly. He was trembling, and he looked as though he might faint at any moment. Finally, he seemed to gather up his thoughts—or maybe his courage—and he began to fumble about with the words.

“The—the goblin’s body… That is to say, the goblin, he… He came back to life, General.”

Chapter Ten

“Kurok protect us,” said Diahsis, when Deggho dek’Kariss was shown in. “I think I’m about to be ill.”

The goblin carried his severed head cradled in his arms. There was a stench about him too—the smell of organs beginning to break down mingled with stale blood. However, aside from those things, he seemed perfectly alive. He didn’t move with the shuffling, uncoordinated steps of the reanimated, Raettonus noted, and his facial expressions were just as vivid as they had been when he was alive. “It was awfully mean of you to kill me without even giving me a head’s up about it,” said Deggho sullenly.

“A head’s up, huh?” remarked Raettonus with a smirk.

“I didn’t mean to make a pun,” said the goblin, pointing his head toward Raettonus. “Do you think I’m in the mood for joking, Raettonus? I’m holding my head. I’m holding my head and it’s not attached to anything.”

“Could you vivisect it?” Diahsis asked Raettonus, waving one hand vaguely in Deggho’s direction.

“Certainly, though I’m not sure what good it’d do.”

“I was beheaded and now you want to vivisect me?” asked Deggho, eyes widening. “Gods above, this really has been the worst sort of day! …er, two days, I guess. Or was it three? What day is it now?”

Raettonus stood up. “Come on, Deggho,” he said. “It may not hurt.”

“It is going to hurt though, isn’t it?” said the goblin with a sigh that came out of the neck hole his head once sat upon. He turned his eyes toward one of the paintings on the wall. “Hey—that’s mine! I did that! I did that in the hopes I wouldn’t be killed. I—oh… Oh, well…the best laid plans, and all that…”

Sullenly, the beheaded goblin followed Raettonus out of the room. The soldiers watched them with wide, fearful eyes as they passed, and Raettonus saw one fall to his equine knees and retch. The pair went downward to the seventh floor where Raettonus found a vacant kitchen with wide tables, sharp knives, and sinks with faucets that could be pumped for water. Raettonus set Deggho’s head down on a counter and helped his body up onto a table.

“So, what was Hell like?” asked Raettonus as he undressed the body.

“I don’t know,” said Deggho. “I…can’t remember. I’ve got a big, blank place in my memory between being beheaded and waking up out in the mountains with a bunch of soldiers. Oh, but there was sunlight! Out in the mountains, I mean, it was all sunny. I’d missed the sun. I’d missed it so much.”

“Does this hurt?” Raettonus asked him, pushing the tip of a knife slowly into his stomach.

“Hurt? No, not really,” said Deggho. “I…I feel the pressure, and I feel the cold of the steel, but…but there’s no pain.”

“None at all?”

“Not at all,” said Deggho. He frowned. “I’m…I’m really dead, aren’t I? It doesn’t feel like it but—but I am, aren’t I?”

“Your disembodied head is sitting on a counter watching your body get cut open on a table three feet away,” Raettonus told him dryly. “Of course you’re really dead.”

“I don’t want to be dead,” said the goblin quietly. Tears were beginning to well up in his eyes and slide down his sunken cheeks, onto the counter beneath him. “I never got to see my mother and father again. I never got to fall in love, or have kids, or…or a thousand things. I don’t want to be d-dead.”

Raettonus ran his knife down Deggho’s chest and stomach, all the way to his navel. Malnutrition had made Deggho’s body brittle, and it was no hard task for Raettonus to cut his ribs along the sternum. The goblin winced at the cracking sounds as the knife slid through his chest. “Do I really have to be in here while you do this?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said Raettonus, pulling back Deggho’s ribs with more cracks and snaps. “Maybe if your head gets too far away from your body, you’ll stop possessing one of them.”

“Possessing my own body and head?” said Deggho. “I’m not one of your necromancy projects. I’m not possessing my own body.”

“Look, do you want to die again?” snapped Raettonus. “Shut up so I can work.”

Deggho bit his lower lip. “A-all right,” he whimpered. “Could you at least turn me so I’m not facing this? It’s…it’s really weird and I’m feeling uncomfortable.”

“No. Shut up.”

The goblin whimpered again slightly, but made no further protest as Raettonus finished opening his body cavities and pinning back the flesh and muscle. Small amounts of visceral fat clung to the shrunken organs within. Nothing moved. The heart and lungs did not pulse rhythmically; the stomach and intestines were empty, collapsed into themselves. Raettonus ran one of his fingers along Deggho’s bowel, prompting the goblin to yelp. “Don’t do that!” said Deggho. “That feels so—augh! Please, never do that again.”

Raettonus arched one eyebrow. When Deggho spoke, his organs continued to stay still. “Can you sigh for me?” asked Raettonus.

“Only if you promise not to touch any more of my organs.”

“I promise nothing. Sigh for me.”

“All right,” said Deggho, lowering his ragged ears. He heaved a heavy sigh, and Raettonus could hear the breath moving through his body, but his lungs stayed still.

“Interesting,” said Raettonus. He spread his hand above the body, trying to suss out where Deggho’s soul was connected to it, but he couldn’t feel anything. It was like trying to find the soul of a living body; it was so well integrated with the physical form that it might as well have not existed at all. He placed his hand over Deggho’s heart.

“You’re not going to touch that, are you?” asked the goblin weakly. “I’d really rather you didn’t. Magician, can you hear me? Are you listening? I said I’d really rather you not touch my heart. Please, don’t touch that. I’m being quite serious.”

Ignoring him, Raettonus placed his hand on the quiet heart and Deggho yelped. Though he wasn’t nearly as skilled at necromancy as his master had been, Raettonus was beyond good enough at it that he could reanimate bodies using his own energy, if only for a short time. He wasn’t sure what to expect on Deggho’s body, but he tried it anyway, letting his magical energy flow through his hand into the heart. Beat, he thought, and the heart obeyed.

“Gods!” exclaimed Deggho as Raettonus pulled his hand away from the now beating heart. “St-stop it! That’s too weird. I don’t like it! Stop!”

Blood began to ooze from all the body’s broken blood vessels, black and thick. Raettonus watched the blood puddle around the goblin’s neck for a while before withdrawing his energy from the heart. “How are you alive?” he wondered quietly. “This doesn’t make sense. Clearly you’re dead. I can’t necromance the living, after all. Nothing in your body’s alive, individually, but for some reason… Not to mention your head not being attached to your body. I have a servant who is a walking corpse with his soul reattached, but this isn’t the same thing. I can’t find your soul.”

“I don’t have a soul?” asked Deggho, furrowing his brow. “Is that why I came back to life? Because I don’t have a soul? Am I like you?”

Raettonus glared at him. “Not what I meant,” he said. “I mean to say, your soul’s still part of your body, as though you hadn’t died to begin with.”

“Does that make me immortal?”

“It makes you more interesting,” said Raettonus. He put some of his magic into Deggho’s arm and lifted it.

“Stop that!” protested the goblin. He grabbed the possessed arm with his free one. “What’re you doing? This is—it’s creepy! Stop!”

“Fine.” Raettonus withdrew his energy and started away.

“Hey, wait!” said Deggho, hopping off the table and grabbing his head. He rushed after Raettonus. “You haven’t closed me up! My organs are cold and all exposed!”

“Close it up yourself,” Raettonus said.

“Wait! You cut me open,” said Deggho, following after him.

“So?”

“So, maybe you should close me up. I—I wouldn’t know how, anyway,” Deggho said. “I mean, you let me get killed, so the least you can do is sew me closed after you’ve opened me all up like this.”

Raettonus turned to look at him. “I didn’t let you get killed,” he said. “It just happened. But fine. I’ll close you up. Hop on the table. But you’re going to have to clean all your blood off it.”

“That was your fault,” said Deggho with a sigh.

“Yeah, well it was your blood,” Raettonus responded, taking the goblin’s head and setting it in a sink before helping his body get up on the table. He sewed him up, neat and tidy, then left him to clean up the mess.

Raettonus’ thoughts were racing as he made his way back to his room. He closed and barred his door and went to his bookshelf, gathering every book he had about necromancy, death, and healing. Laying them in a heap on his desk beside the three stone heraldry animals, he set about reading them, looking for anything that would shed some light on what had happened to Deggho dek’Kariss. He searched the texts until it was dark and he had to light his brazier to keep reading, checking them from cover to cover—annotations, footnotes, indexes. He found stories of powerful necromancers turning themselves into liches, but Deggho was not a powerful necromancer. He found stories of gods granting immortality to heroes, but Deggho was not a hero. Nowhere did he find any tales of ordinary men being killed by grievous bodily injuries, only to wake up after a day or so and continue to live while being dead. It was baffling to Raettonus to say the least; to say the most, it was frightening.

He pushed his chair violently away from the desk and hurled the book he had been reading into the wall. It hit the stone with a thud and fell into the brazier. For a while, he watched the fire lick at the leather of its cover, curling and charring it. The book had turned full into ash and embers before Raettonus turned his gaze away. With a sigh, Raettonus walked to his bed and threw himself facedown upon it. “I hate necromancy,” he muttered into his pillow.

Suddenly he felt a weight on his back. Flipping himself over, he found Kimohr Raulinn sitting on top of him, wearing a beautiful robe of crimson silk with billowing sleeves that covered his hands and an unusually high neckline. He looked paler than usual, and the smile on his lips was a tired one. “Did you know—I was dead once,” Kimohr Raulinn said, his voice a purr as he sat on Raettonus’ legs.

“You don’t say. Get off me,” Raettonus told him.

The god ignored him. “It was a long, long time ago,” he said, leaning forward so his chin rested on Raettonus’ chest. He winced slightly when he moved, but did his best to cover the pained expression. The magician sighed and let him lay there. “It was so long ago, in fact, that you’d think I’d forget it ever happened. Thousands of years ago, in fact. That’s a long time even to you, isn’t it? I was little more than a child back then, and it had been discovered that my godly domain would be chaos. I was shunned by the other gods. Even my own mother did not want me. You know what that feels like, don’t you? To have a parent cast you out into the pouring rain?”

Raettonus frowned. “How much do you know about me?” he wondered in a quiet voice.

“Only what you tell me,” Kimohr Raulinn replied, a smile in his yellow eyes. He kissed the tip of Raettonus’ nose. “I had a lover who I cared very much for, but when my domain was revealed, he turned his back on me. From that moment onward, I was to be evil. That is how they wanted me to be. That is what a chaos god meant to them—someone to hate. Evil. As if that word even means anything. I ran away from the Gods’ Spring, where they live. I ran away, through the forests, and over the plains and through the mountains. I kept right on running until I ran right off a cliff. It was raining and there was a storm and I drowned. The water came in my nose and my mouth and down my throat and into my lungs. And I drowned. You’ve seen drowned men, haven’t you?”

“Many times,” Raettonus said. There was a river which had run beside Sir Slade’s home, and drowned yeomen would wash up there sometimes. He had helped Slade bury them and had examined their bloated bellies and discolored flesh with horrified fascination. Sometimes when Sir Slade would take them in his arms to place them in the grave they would begin to twitch as if they were alive, and Raettonus would be startled, but Slade would take a deep breath and close his eyes and they’d stop twitching.

Of all the ways to die, Raettonus had always thought drowning was the worst.

“But drowning, dear Raettonus, cannot kill a god,” Kimohr Raulinn said. “Not for long. Enchanted weapons—only enchanted weapons can send us to Hell for good. Only the Fates could say how long I spent underwater, all filled up with brine, my eyes rolled back inside my head. When you die, you don’t dream; I found that out. The ocean carried me far away to Kyshem’mur, where I washed up on the beach. A young woman found me there and pressed the water out of my lungs. I still remember her face—soft, round cheeks with brown eyes and a mole right on the tip of her nose. She took me into her house, and she gave me new clothes and washed the salt from my hair. She fell in love with me, and I used her to forget about other gods for a while. We made love and I grew stronger—but barely. It then occurred to me that she was not hurt enough on the inside to give me proper strength. So I made her hurt. I did all that was in my power to cut her soul to pieces and then sew it up, just to dash it again. Oh, yes—I tore her apart from the inside out, and it gave me more than enough power. Even though I was now strong, I kept right on abusing her until she killed herself. I enjoyed having her wrapped around my finger. I used to be ashamed of that, but that was thousands of years ago. Shame dies.”

“What do you want from me this time?” asked Raettonus, glaring at him. “You here to try to trick me into bed with you again? Or did you just come to charm me with stories about how much of a monster you are?”

“Oh, Raettonus,” said Kimohr Raulinn lovingly. “I hope you never lose that fire of yours in your soul…or your absence of a soul, as it were. Ah, but the answer to your question is neither. Charming you with stories about how much of a monster I am is just an added bonus. It was a good story, wasn’t it? It really happened, you know. Gods don’t lie.”

“Like I’d believe that.”

“Okay, they do,” admitted Kimohr Raulinn. “But this god doesn’t.”

“Are you going to get off me any time soon?” Raettonus asked, scowling.

“I wasn’t planning on it, no,” said Kimohr Raulinn.

“You have five seconds to get off me before I burn you.”

“All right, all right,” said Kimohr Raulinn, rolling off Raettonus and sitting up. “That’s really no way to treat a god.” He sat cross-legged on the bed as Raettonus slid himself up against the headboard into a sitting position. Kimohr Raulinn’s robe had pulled up slightly, and Raettonus could see a bandage on his ankle, soaked through with blood.

“What happened there?” asked Raettonus, nodding toward Kimohr Raulinn’s bandaged ankle.

Kimohr Raulinn pulled the hem of his robe down over the wound. “Oh, nothing to be concerned about,” he said. “An accident, only.” Raettonus frowned at him. “Has anyone ever told you just how silly you look when you pout?”

“I wasn’t pouting,” Raettonus said. “What do you want?”

The god grinned broadly through the fanged mouth of his mask. “Oh, I don’t want anything,” he said. “I’m not here for myself. I’m here for you, really. For what you want.”

“Can’t you ever speak plainly?” complained Raettonus.

“That’d take all the fun out of speaking,” said Kimohr Raulinn. “I might as well go the full way and start dressing plainly and eating plainly and acting plainly. Then I could be just as boring as everyone else, hm?”

Raettonus sighed and rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands. “What on Earth did I do so wrongly to be cursed with having to talk to you?”

“I think we both know the answer to that, Magician Raettonus,” Kimohr Raulinn said with a chuckle. Raettonus scowled and turned away. “Well, if it’s any consolation, you’ve done horrible things but I still like you.”

“It isn’t,” said Raettonus. “Not at all.”

“I’ve been speaking to Sir Slade,” Kimohr Raulinn said. “We’ve become fast friends, he and I.”

Raettonus turned back toward him. “Master Slade?” he asked. “This is a lie, isn’t it? You’re just trying to get a rise out of me.”

“Not at all,” Kimohr Raulinn said. “I revived him, just as I said I would. Why, he’s just the same as if he’d never died at all. He’s not like one of your walking corpses, you know—nor like Deggho dek’Kariss. Oh, yes, I know about Deggho…ah, but Sir Slade the Gryphon is alive again—truly alive. I came to bring him to you, in fact.”

“Then where is he?”

“He’s still in my temple in Kyshem’mur,” Kimohr Raulinn said. “I left him there while I went to check if you were in a mood to see him.”

“Of course I’m in a mood to see him!” exclaimed Raettonus. He scowled. “That is, if you have him at all. I have my doubts.”

“Oh, Magician—you really should learn to trust a little more,” Kimohr Raulinn said, pinching the blond man’s cheek. “Trust others. Trust yourself. I could feel you watching me in your dreams. What would make you think those experiences were merely fantasy when you already knew your dreams can transcend that?” He sighed and disappeared, fading away in the span of a few seconds.

“Hey, wait!” called Raettonus. “Get back here—where’s Master Slade?”

The room was quiet, save for the fire crackling in the brazier. Frustrated, Raettonus spun and kicked the bronze brazier, sending it rolling across the floor, spilling out embers and hot coals. They sizzled on the grimy stone, and one or two landed on discarded sheets of paper and began small fires. With a defeated sigh, Raettonus righted the brazier and got down on his knees to collect the still-burning coals. He picked up a couple of red-hot embers that had rolled under the bed, grumbling to himself, and tossed them into the brazier. He turned and saw a fire had started on one of the tapestries hanging on the wall. “Christ!” he shouted. “That—I’m going to get blamed for that.”

He closed his eyes and reached out his hand, concentrating on that place between places. He fumbled his fingers across a book and a necklace before he found the pitcher and withdrew it quickly, the contents sloshing over the brim. It splashed down his tunic, leaving little behind to throw at the fire, and when he did fling the water, he mostly missed. The fire hissed slightly, but continued to burn. Raettonus cradled the empty pitcher on his lap and sighed.

Suddenly, a thin stream of water arched over Raettonus’ head onto the fire, extinguishing it.

Raettonus turned quickly, and in the dimness of his chamber he saw a tall, broad-shouldered figure standing, watching him with glowing blue eyes. Raettonus lifted one hand toward the brazier and bid the fire grow. His heart was in his throat as light filled the room; he was afraid he would not see what he hoped so violently for. But when he could see clearly, it was Sir Slade that he saw, watching him with a smile on his face. There were tears on his cheeks.

Raettonus couldn’t remember getting up, but the next moment found him hugging Slade tightly, burying his face in Slade’s chest, and crying like a little child. Slade didn’t say a word; he just held him gently and let him cry. Raettonus clung to him firmly, shaking with sobs, as Sir Slade rubbed his back soothingly. The blood rushed out of his knuckles, leaving them blanched, as he grabbed hard to Slade’s tunic as though he were afraid that his master would disappear forever if he should let go or ease his grip even a little.

“It’s all right, Raettonus,” said Sir Slade softly after several minutes had passed. “It’s all all right. Here, sit down.”

He helped Raettonus onto the edge of the bed, where Raettonus sat, still crying, gripping Sir Slade’s wrist tightly. Every time he tried to speak, another sob shook him, so Raettonus said nothing. For half an hour, they sat in silence while Raettonus tried to calm down enough to speak. There were a thousand things he wanted to say to Sir Slade, but most of all he wanted to say, I’ve missed you. Instead, when he could talk, he asked, “What happened to your eyes, Master?”

Sir Slade’s eyes were glowing faintly in the firelight, and the color within them seemed to swirl about his pupils. He smiled. “I was going to ask you the same thing,” he said, taking Raettonus’ chin gently in one large hand and turning the blond man’s face toward himself. “They used to be green. What happened?”

Raettonus looked away. “I screwed up a spell—a big one,” he said. “I…I didn’t think. It was stupid.” He stared at the floor. “They took away my soul for it, Master; I don’t know who they were, but they took away my soul. That was well over seven centuries ago.”

“Seven centuries?” asked Slade, raising his eyebrows. “Mercy. That’s…that’s a long time.” He looked at the tapestry of Daebrish, which lay proud and unburnt upon the wall. “Kimohr Raulinn—am I saying his name right?—he told me this world is called Zylx, and this kingdom, Zylekkha, it’s a lot different from our home. He said you’d been here for a long time, but I never imagined it was that long. What’s home like after all these years?”

“I don’t know,” Raettonus said. “I never went back. After you died… After you died, I spent all my energy trying to get out of our world, and once I succeeded, I didn’t want to go back. I’m a stranger there, anyway. When you died, I…I had no one left.”

“I’m sorry,” said Slade.

He shrugged. “Master, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Raettonus assured Slade. “It’s not as though you meant to die. You didn’t get the plague on purpose.”

“Well, no,” said Slade, looking down. “But…I was out of my mind with fever toward the end. I want you to know that if I weren’t, I never would’ve asked you to—ah… Kimohr Raulinn told me you still have nightmares about it. About…killing me. I’m…I’m so sorry, Rae.”

“All this time,” Raettonus told him in a whisper. “I’ve spent it studying so that some day I could bring you back to life… It’s all I’ve wanted since you died.”

Slade smiled and put his hand on Raettonus’ cheek. With his thumb, he brushed the tears out from under his eye. “Well, I’m alive now,” he said. “It’s going to be all right.”

Raettonus smiled and nodded, even though he knew it wasn’t going to be all right. After all, he was still immortal and Slade was not. Sir Slade was going to age and grow old and die again in Raettonus’ arms. Even if he didn’t get sick again, Sir Slade would die all too quickly. He was going to leave Raettonus behind just like he had seven centuries before.

He tried to smile as his joy turned to acid in his mouth.

Chapter Eleven

“Who’s this? How’d you get him in here?” asked Diahsis when Raettonus came to him with Sir Slade to get Slade a room in the citadel.

“Look at his ears!” said Slade softly, clasping his hands tightly as though fighting the urge to reach out and touch one of them. “He’s an elf!”

“You’ve put an enormous hole in the side of the citadel,” Raettonus said to Diahsis. “And you’re concerned how I got someone in?”

“Who are you?” Diahsis asked, turning to Slade.

Slade smiled politely, not understanding common Zylekkhan and therefore having no idea what was being asked of him. After a moment, a thought seemed to strike him. “Would you mind terribly if I sketched you? It’d be a wonderful addition to my notes.”

“What’s he saying? What language is that? Are you a Zylekkhan spy?” Diahsis demanded.

“Does he look Zylekkhan to you?” Raettonus said. “It’s English he’s speaking, from my world.”

Slade looked to Daeblau, who was standing guard behind Diahsis with Dohrleht at his side. “How about you?” he said. “I’ve never seen a centaur before today, either. Could I draw you?” He’d been upset when Raettonus had gone to see Brecan off without him, having wanted to see the unicorn before Raettonus sent him north for some of Slade’s clothes. However, as soon as they’d stepped out of Raettonus’ chamber into the citadel’s vast halls, where centaurian soldiers busily patrolled, Slade had forgotten all about it.

Daeblau smiled weakly. “What’s he on about?” he asked.

“He wants to sketch you,” Dohrleht told him.

“From your world, eh?” said Diahsis to Raettonus, crossing his arms. He pondered this for a moment, examining Slade. “So does that mean he’s a magician too?”

“We’re not all magicians in the world I came from,” Raettonus said with a sigh. “But, yes, he is.”

“I could tell by his eyes,” said Diahsis, smiling proudly and leaning back in his seat. “They’re blue and glowing. That’s not something normal.”

“How do you know? It could be perfectly normal for my world.”

“Is it?” asked Diahsis, raising his eyebrows.

“No, of course not,” Raettonus said. “Don’t be dense.”

“Can I touch his ears?” Slade asked Raettonus.

“Master, I don’t think he’d appreciate that much,” Raettonus said.

“I only want to touch them,” he replied. “They’re pointy. He’s a real live elf.”

“What’s he saying?” asked Diahsis. “Tell him to speak in common Zylekkhan or not at all.”

“He doesn’t speak Zylekkhan,” Raettonus snapped. “He speaks English, French, Greek, and Latin.”

“Well I’ve never heard of any of those languages,” Diahsis said with a shrug. Slade reached out and softly took the general’s ear between two fingers. Diahsis’ eyes widened, and he clenched his teeth together. “Excuse me, why is he doing that?”

“He’s never met an elf before,” said Raettonus turning to Slade. “Master, he’s not too happy about that.”

“Oh—sorry,” said Sir Slade, withdrawing his hand quickly.

Diahsis sighed and rubbed his ear where Slade had touched it. “Look, fine. Whatever you like, Magician,” he said. “The room next to yours should be empty; he can have it. Just—just teach him some Zylekkhan. Actually, I don’t care what language you teach him, just not that awful language from your homeland. It’s hideous.”

“I’ll take that into consideration, General,” said Raettonus. He turned to Slade and motioned that it was time to leave. Reluctantly, Sir Slade followed him out of the room.

“This is amazing,” Slade said as they walked down the halls. “All these centaurs everywhere… I didn’t think anything like this existed!”

Raettonus frowned. “It’s not all that breathtaking, Master,” he said. “There are far more things out there than centaurs.”

“What else is there?”

“Well, there’re dragons—”

“Dragons?” said Slade. “Mary—real flesh and blood dragons? Could we go see some?”

“Well, there are dragons in the mountains,” said Raettonus. “But I sent Brecan off, so we don’t have a mount to ride. We could walk, I suppose, but it’s a very difficult path…”

“I don’t mind,” said Slade. “I’d like to walk, actually. It’ll be good for me. My muscles feel all tight like they haven’t been stretched in ages.” He smiled softly. “I suppose they haven’t been.”

“All right, then,” said Raettonus. He didn’t think it was the best idea, but at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse Sir Slade anything. So they started for the door to the citadel.

* * *

The sun was shining bright on the Dragon’s Teeth Mountain Range, and the air was cool and fresh. Centaurs toiled beneath the Kaebha Citadel’s walls, dragging blocks and placing them in the wall. Slade watched them as he and Raettonus made their way along the path. “So,” he said, once the centaurs were out of sight. “Tell me—how did you end up here?”

“Well,” Raettonus said. “Some time after your death, I was trying to clean some of the clutter in your castle. I was mostly trying to find books about necromancy, but I couldn’t help but get distracted by some of the things you had in there… One of the things that particularly caught my eye was an enormous crystal—it was almost the size of a full-grown man.”

Slade nodded. “Lord Brigham the Blue and Gray gave that to me,” he said. “He was a good magician, Lord Brigham. One day he gave that crystal to me—he said he didn’t want it anymore. He seemed so sad…”

“It took a long time for me to figure it out, and even then it was only by accident,” Raettonus continued as they picked their way down a rocky slope. “I’d been studying it by firelight, but it only works by sun or moonlight. When I stumbled upon this fact, I found that in natural light it produces rainbows that shift and change independent of their light source. These rainbows are doors to other worlds. Later along, I found out it’s called The Junction of Realms, and there’s a similar crystal in every world. Not all of them connect directly; sometimes you have to go through thousands of worlds before you’ll find a Junction crystal that opens up to the world and the time period you’re looking for.”

“Time period?” said Slade. “You can go to different times in the same world?”

Raettonus nodded. “It’s a whole mess to try though,” he said, frowning. “There are charts beneath most Junctions, but they aren’t readable in any language I’ve ever seen. I’ve been trying to map out the realms, but there are millions. They go on and on forever, and some of them are so similar you wouldn’t know they were different from one another unless you looked very carefully. I met a man once, here in Zylekkha, named Pike Desoto, who came from an Earth with all the same names as our own. I thought he was from a future version of our world, but Kimohr Raulinn said something to me that leads me to believe he was from a different, similar Earth. Indeed, I’ve been there often and didn’t know it from ours. At least, I suppose I wouldn’t know it from ours. The passage of time in a realm does strange things, after all, and that muddles up the prospects of separating them out from one another.”

A swift wind kicked up, flapping Sir Slade’s cloak about his muscular body. “Raettonus,” he asked. “What’s your earliest memory of me?”

“My earliest…? I suppose it’d be when you first brought me to your castle,” Raettonus said. “It was pouring rain and I was terrified. We rode through the graveyard, and all the corpses were stirring beneath the dirt. I thought… I don’t know what I thought, but I was scared.”

Slade smiled his sad smile. “My first memory of you is seeing you when you were a grown man, just outside Lord Brigham’s estate,” Slade said. “I was talking with Sir Rhodes and he noted you wandering around. I could feel you watching me, but every time I looked, you looked away. Years later, I got a message from Sir Rolf the Phoenix, requesting that I take his son on as a ward. There just aren’t words for how surprised I was at how familiar you were. My heart nearly stopped when I saw you. At first, I was certain I was mistaken. I thought I must have seen a relative of yours that day. But as you became a teenager, I knew I had it right—that Sir Rolf’s son was the same man I had seen watching me.”

“I…I didn’t mean to run into you that day,” Raettonus said. “I mean…I thought maybe I might, but…”

“Why did you turn away every time I looked at you?” Slade asked. “I always wondered that.”

“So you wouldn’t see my eyes,” Raettonus mumbled. “When people see my eyes they know. Even if they don’t specifically know that pale red eyes are the sign of someone whose soul has been taken away from them, they know something’s not right. People flinch away from me when they see my eyes and I…I didn’t want to watch you flinch away from me.”

Slade stopped on the road and grabbed Raettonus’ wrist. “Raettonus,” he said sternly. “I would never flinch away from you. I love you like a son. You know that.”

Raettonus looked into Slade’s swirling blue eyes, and Slade didn’t look away. “Yes, Master,” said Raettonus with a thin smile. “I know that. I…I was only afraid to startle you. And Sir Rhodes…”

They resumed their trek down the mountain. “It’s too bad you never spoke to me back then,” said Sir Slade. “I spent a long while after that wondering who you were and what you were doing at Lord Brigham’s, and what it was about me that had caught your interest. I—I could tell you now, I believe, that I had quite an obsession with you between that day I saw you as an adult and the day I showed up at Sir Rolf’s home and found you there again, only a child.” A rocky outcropping above them cast them in shade for a moment as they passed beneath it.

“So,” Raettonus said quietly. “My father was a knight, huh? Sir Rolf? Did you know him?”

“No, I didn’t,” said Sir Slade. “Not well, anyway. He was quite a bit older than me. I met him a few times when I was a squire. Not more than two or three words had ever passed between us though. Imagine my surprise the day he sent me that letter about you.”

Raettonus frowned and tapped his fingers on the hilt of his rapier as he contemplated asking a question for a moment. Finally, he inquired, “Why did my father send me away? You never told me. I lived with you for thirteen years, and you never told me.”

“I…I really couldn’t think of a good way to bring it up,” said Slade with a sad smile.

“I asked you and you wouldn’t say,” Raettonus said. “When I was a child, you said I’d see him again someday—that he’d come for me. But that wasn’t ever true, was it?”

“N-no, it wasn’t…”

“I don’t really care that I never got to know him,” Raettonus said. He balled his hands up into fists, and little flames began to appear along his shoulders. “I just want to know who just sends a four-year-old kid off like that? His own son, and he just throws me out and never looks back…”

“It’s not as clear-cut as that, Rae,” said Slade, taking Raettonus’ hand in his own and rubbing it to try to calm him. “Sir Rolf was a superstitious man—you have to understand that he didn’t comprehend what you were, and it scared him. Between those slight points on your ears and the pyromancy, he thought you were a changeling.”

“A changeling?” spat Raettonus.

“His wife—your mother—she got sick a short time after giving birth to you, and she passed away,” said Sir Slade. “He told me that’s when he suspected you weren’t human. He wrote a letter to me, urging me to take you away after you started a big fire that killed one of his horses and seriously burned a couple of your siblings. I tried to convince him that you weren’t a changeling or any such creature—that you just needed some instruction. Sir Rolf refused to believe that. He said he wouldn’t have you in his house, and either I would take you away or he’d leave you deep in the woods and all alone.” Slade sighed deeply. “I know what it sounds like, but I’m certain your father wasn’t a bad man. He was just short-sighted and full of grief and misplaced anger.”

They went on in silence for some time, with Slade still holding Raettonus’ hand in that gentle way he had, as if he were holding the hand of a small child. Raettonus began to regret asking about his father at all. It hadn’t been important, anyway. If his father hadn’t feared him and thrown him away, Raettonus never would’ve met Master Slade. His life had been cruel and painful, but so long as Slade was in it, Raettonus wouldn’t have traded any of it.

“So, is the whole country like this?” Slade asked after a while. “Mountains?”

“No, not even close,” said Raettonus. “Up north there are plains, and farther north than that there are forests that go on and on… To the east there are desert wastelands too, but they’re not nearly so nice.”

“I’d really like to explore this world of yours,” Slade said. “Once you’re done with your engagement here, I think we should travel it. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Yes, Master, it would.”

They continued down the twisting mountain path, along cliffs and across bridges, past little trickling streams and rivers that cascaded over the stone as waterfalls. Raettonus noticed goblins watching them from the cliffs below every now and then and pointed them out to Slade. “Poor things,” Sir Slade said, peering down at them. “They’re so ugly with those flat faces.”

“That reminds me,” said Raettonus. “There’s a goblin whose body I’d like you to examine.”

“A goblin’s body?” asked Slade. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about goblins, so I’m not sure how much help I could be, but certainly I’ll look at it if you want me to.”

A shadow passed above them, and Raettonus looked up to see Guardian Nekkdan gliding along on his great, feathery wings. He tugged at Sir Slade’s cloak gently and pointed skywards. “Magnificent!” exclaimed Slade breathlessly. “A real dragon!”

“We can talk to him if you’d like,” Raettonus said. “He shouldn’t be dangerous.”

“It can talk?”

“Guardian!” shouted Raettonus in Taurkyna, waving the enormous beast toward himself.

Nekkdan craned his neck in the direction of Raettonus and Slade, and after a moment turned himself around toward them. He landed on the path before them, where it broadened out enough to accommodate his bulk. “Magician Raettonus, isn’t it?” asked Nekkdan. “I’d seen you here not long ago.”

“I’m spending time at the Kaebha Citadel,” said Raettonus, approaching him.

The dragon folded his enormous wings tight against his body. He was a fierce-looking creature with a lengthy neck, a long body, and a powerful tail. His scales were wide and flat and bright red in color, and he had a short snout filled with fangs and horns that stuck straight up out of his skull. Raettonus stood completely in his shadow as Slade hesitated farther up the path. Nekkdan lowered his head and turned one eye toward Raettonus to see him better. “I saw the crack in that fort,” said the dragon. His voice was like stone sliding against stone. “It’s fallen to the Tahlehsons, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” said Raettonus. “A half-werewolf general named Diahsis has taken control there. Is that the sort of things Guardians are concerned with?”

“No. No, it doesn’t matter much to Lord Kurok,” admitted Nekkdan. “I was only curious. I’ve seen a few forts here in the mountains taken over. However, there are still others that have endured or even pushed back Tahlehsohr’s invasion force.”

“Do you know if they went north?” asked Raettonus. “The bulk of their army? Did they march on Bribarrah? Or on Sae Noklu?”

“Some of them went north,” said Nekkdan, wrapping his long tail around his legs. “I couldn’t say where they went though. I saw the ships go north, however. Around a hundred of them, I believe, but I wasn’t counting. Are you concerned?”

Raettonus shrugged. “It’s not my kingdom,” he said evenly. “But I left a portion of my belongings in Ti Tunfa, and I’m wondering if there might be fighting there. It’d be inconvenient for Ti Tunfa to be razed and all my stuff along with it.”

“It’s too bad you’re not from Zylekkha originally,” Nekkdan said. “With that detached attitude of yours, I’m sure Lord Kurok would have thought you the perfect Guardian. Maybe you could’ve been Guardian of the Fire Pillar instead of Bidan.”

“That was the Wolf Guardian, wasn’t it?” asked Raettonus, raising an eyebrow. “I met him before, in the wastelands. He was a colossal prick.”

Nekkdan nodded. “He was a bit abrasive,” said the dragon. “His corruption was, in retrospect, not unexpected. Still, it was a tragic thing to see a Guardian fall so far as he did.” He looked at Sir Slade, watching them from afar. “Who is this with you? He’s not very sociable.”

“He’s intimidated, I think,” said Raettonus, resting his hands on his waist. He called out to Slade. “Master, it’s all right—come a little closer.” To Nekkdan he added, “He doesn’t speak any Zylekkhan, I’m afraid.”

“Ah. Yes, I was thinking he didn’t look Zylekkhan either, but you handed-type creatures are much the same to me from one to another—elves, humans, werewolves. Not that I see enough of any of those to bother trying to keep them sorted out, anyway.”

Slade approached them cautiously. “He’s so enormous,” he said quietly. “I didn’t think it was possible for a living creature to be this big.”

As he came closer, Nekkdan tensed and drew back slightly. “Something wrong?” asked Raettonus looking up at the Guardian.

“He’s not right,” said Nekkdan, half spreading his wings and taking a step backwards. “Kurok guard me—he’s all covered in death.”

Slade paused. “He seems startled,” he said, looking to Raettonus. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Gods above,” said Nekkdan. “He’s…he’s all wrong. Living things shouldn’t…they just shouldn’t…”

“God, man, what is it?” asked Raettonus. “He’s perfectly fine.”

The dragon turned one great, yellow eye on Raettonus. “He’s not fine,” hissed Nekkdan. “You can’t smell that? He smells of Hell. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t…” Nekkdan turned and, spreading his wings, dove off the cliff. “I have to check the gate. This isn’t right!”

“What’s wrong?” asked Slade, as the dragon wheeled and flew away. “Where’s he going?”

Raettonus watched the dragon disappear behind another mountain. “Oh, he just had some other duties to take care of,” he lied. “We caught him at a bad time. Maybe another day.”

* * *

It was late at night when Slade parted from Raettonus. After he had gone, Raettonus’ room seemed colder and emptier than it ever had before. He snuffed out his fire and, in the dark, lay down on his bed with his knees pulled up to his chest. For a while, he stared at the wall where he knew the burned tapestry was, though he couldn’t see it. When he did close his eyes, he was almost instantly in a dream.

He found himself by the familiar pool beside Kimohr Raulinn’s temple in Kyshem’mur. Raettonus looked into the water at his own reflection for what seemed to him to be a long while, studying his own face. Sometimes he found his own face familiar, but most times, it was like looking at a stranger even though it never changed. Those cold, sorrowful red eyes, those thin, cruel lips that could only smirk or frown but never smile, those high cheekbones with the flesh stretched tight across them, which looked like the cheekbones of a skeleton. He looked at his face—the face of a twenty-six-year-old. Always twenty-six…

Raettonus couldn’t help but wonder what he might’ve looked like at thirty, or thirty-five, or fifty. He wondered whether his face would’ve looked more familiar to him if he could see it as the face of an old man.

With a resigned sigh, he turned away from the water and made his way up the steps to the shrine. His footsteps sounded out faintly in the long, extravagantly decorated hall as he made his way toward Kimohr Raulinn’s throne room, wondering what the god could possibly want from him now. However, when he reached the throne room he found it vacant. With a scowl, he struck down a hallway and began to wander aimlessly through the rest of the temple, peering into doorways and checking whatever rooms he found.

It was by luck that he came upon Kimohr Raulinn’s chamber—a large room, garishly decorated with painted marble statues and bright silk hangings. A large, canopied bed occupied the far end of the room, among whose twisted blue sheets Kimohr Raulinn lay panting with his eyes closed. There was a stench of sickness in the room, overpowering the smell of perfumes which had been sprayed to try and hide it. Raettonus made his way toward Kimohr Raulinn’s bed.

Hearing him, Kimohr Raulinn opened his eyes. “You couldn’t imagine how glad I am to see you, Raettonus,” he said. “I’m in very, very bad shape.”

As the magician drew close, he saw that the bed sheets were stained dark. He sat carefully on the bed and pulled back the covers from Kimohr Raulinn’s frail body. A cascade of black ichor covered his stomach so that it was hard to see where it was coming from. “I don’t have the strength to access my powers,” said Kimohr Raulinn. “However, if you’re visiting me, here in this kind of dream, all you need to do is wake up and you’ll be here. Then you can treat my wounds.”

“Every other time I woke up, I woke up in the citadel,” said Raettonus, raising one thin eyebrow.

“Only because I used my powers to keep you out of my temple,” Kimohr Raulinn said. “Not this time, though. Please, Raettonus—I’m in a lot of pain. I could die.”

“You said you’ve already died. Does it still scare you?”

“But I could really die,” Kimohr Raulinn said, clutching Raettonus’ arm weakly. “I’ve been wounded by Death himself, and the wounds are festering. Please save me.” He looked up at Raettonus with fevered yellow eyes. “I’m begging you, Raettonus—you like being begged, don’t you? And remember, I am one of the few people who sincerely like you.”

Raettonus let out a little sigh. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll treat you.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Kimohr Raulinn, closing his eyes. “I’d kiss you, but I don’t quite have the strength. Give it a while though.”

“How do I wake up?”

“How?” repeated Kimohr Raulinn. “Why, Magician—you’ve done it a hundred thousand times before. You ought to know by now.”

“Already I’m regretting saving you,” remarked Raettonus. He took a deep breath and concentrated on waking up. Suddenly, he found himself lying in the bed beside Kimohr Raulinn, and everything around him became far more solid and—counterintuitively—less vivid.

He sat up quickly and turned to Kimohr Raulinn, who was still asleep. This time when he pulled back the bed sheets he found that though the god’s wounds were festering, they were not as bad as they had been in the dream. They were clearly bite marks of some kind, which had become deeply infected. The flesh surrounding the injuries was veined with dark blue, like some strange bruise, and a steady trickle of black blood was dripping out of each bite. Raettonus gingerly touched one of the wounds, eliciting a resisting groan from Kimohr Raulinn. The blood was cold to the touch, but the flesh around it was burning hot.

It had been some time since Raettonus had tried to heal anyone without the use of herbs. He had learned magical healing, certainly, but it had been a long time since he’d actually put any of what he’d learned in that field into practice. What he needed for the process was easy enough to gather. He found a carved jade bowl and filled it with water from the reflective pool outside, before tearing the sleeve off one of Kimohr Raulinn’s robes to use as a washcloth. That was all he required.

The wound bleeding the most was on Kimohr Raulinn’s inner thigh, so Raettonus started there first. Raettonus dipped his improvised washcloth into the bowl of water and began to clean the injury. The flesh was severely mangled, and a chunk of it seemed to have been torn off. Once the area was sufficiently wet, Raettonus laid the cloth into the bowl and held up his hand. A flame sprang to life in the air above his fingertips. “Healing flame; not destroying flame,” Raettonus muttered to himself. “Remember, this is a healing flame, not a destroying flame.”

Concentrating hard on the idea of healing flames, he touched the fire to Kimohr Raulinn’s thigh. Slowly, the fire began to change color from orange to a venomous black, and it grew hotter and hotter until it began to burn even Raettonus’ normally heat-resistant fingers. He closed his fist, snuffing out the flames with a puff of dark smoke, and examined his work. The flesh of Kimohr Raulinn’s thigh was pristine and unmarred once more, and when he touched it, it felt just as warm as healthy flesh ought to feel. He repeated the process on all of Kimohr Raulinn’s wounds, cleaning and wetting them before applying the magical flame. Each injury he healed made Raettonus feel more and more ragged. It was as if someone were drawing the blood out of his body pint by pint and making him run a mile in between. By the time he was finished, it was all Raettonus could do not to collapse right there in the elven god’s bed. Instead, he ran the flames over Kimohr Raulinn’s heart to make sure that he’d gotten all the infection.

His energy completely sapped, the magician laid the bowl in his lap and leaned against one of the bedposts, watching as Kimohr Raulinn continued to sleep. After a while spent watching him from the foot of the bed, Raettonus set the jade bowl, its water now filthy with god-blood, on the floor and crawled across the mattress, until his own head was beside Kimohr Raulinn’s. He’d never seen him without that wide-mouthed demon mask—even when they’d gone to bed together Kimohr Raulinn had not removed it. Raettonus wondered that he’d never felt curious about the god’s face behind the mask until now. Gingerly, he took the mask in his fingers and began to pull it up.

“Kurok?” muttered Kimohr Raulinn sleepily when Raettonus got the mask halfway up. “It’s so cold…” But he didn’t wake.

Raettonus finished pushing Kimohr Raulinn’s mask up, and turned him over to get a good look at his face. Aside from his lips and a mark beneath his left eye, Kimohr Raulinn’s features were ever shifting. His nose changed size and shape every time Raettonus took his focus away from it—freckles and moles appeared and disappeared, and his cheeks were high and prominent this moment, the next moment full and round. Beneath his left eye, just where the mask covered it when it was pulled down, three characters of Zykyna were written vertically. He knew the word they wrote was said, “vaen” but not what it might mean. Raettonus slid the god’s wooden mask back into place and, with a tired sigh, lay down on the other side of the bed and dozed off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

* * *

It wasn’t until much, much later that Kimohr Raulinn woke him. “Good morning, Magician,” said the god, laying his head on Raettonus’ chest. “Well, it’s afternoon now and morning’s long gone—but all the same, good morning.”

Raettonus groaned and turned over. “Leave me alone,” he mumbled groggily. “I’m tired…”

“I wanted to thank you for healing me last night,” Kimohr Raulinn said.

“Thank me by letting me sleep,” said Raettonus, covering his eyes with his arm.

“But I also wanted to chastise you for peeking under my mask while I was asleep,” Kimohr Raulinn said. Raettonus could feel his smirk. “That was very unkind of you. What were you looking for anyway?”

Raettonus dropped his arm to his side and looked at Kimohr Raulinn. “You knew I looked?” he asked. “Why didn’t you stop me at the time?”

“I wasn’t aware of it until I woke up,” Kimohr Raulinn said, sitting cross-legged atop the bed. He was wearing a black and white toga with Zykyna characters embroidered along its hem in gold thread. “You did a wonderful job, by the way. Every inch of my beautiful body is just as it should be. And my fever has gone!”

Raettonus sat up slowly. “Well, I’m glad you feel well, because I feel like shit now,” he said with a scowl.

“You shouldn’t frown like that, Raettonus, you’ll get wrinkles,” Kimohr Raulinn told him. He smiled and leaned close. “I really do want to thank you though. I’m being entirely sincere when I say that I’m grateful to you for coming here and helping me. That fever took all my strength, and in just a little while longer it would’ve taken my life as well.”

“Why do I feel I’ve just done a huge disservice to the world?” wondered Raettonus, cocking one eyebrow. “You told me only enchanted weapons kill gods, and that you don’t lie. What happened to that, hm?”

The god ignored him. “I tried to use the last of my energy to cry out in all directions,” Kimohr Raulinn said. For once, his expression was completely mirthless; even his gaze was somber. “I cried out to all the other gods, and to all the mortals I’ve contacted who could possibly do something to aid me. You were the only one who answered. I would be dead without you, Raettonus. I know you don’t hold any particular love for me, so it means a lot to me that you would help me anyway.”

“Forget about it,” mumbled Raettonus uncomfortably. “Consider it a thank you for bringing Master Slade back to life for me.” He tugged the leather tie out of his hair. Pushing back his long, blond locks to tie them again into a ponytail, he added, “What were those bite marks from? They were the strangest wounds I’ve ever seen.”

“I was bitten by Cykkus’ abassy in Hell,” Kimohr Raulinn said. “The abassy are his personal army—an army of great warriors whose souls Cykkus has specifically collected. They’ve got teeth made of iron, and for a mortal their poisonous bite would mean death within a few short hours. He set them on me in hopes of running me off, but it didn’t work. They bit me and shot their arrows, but I still managed to break down Hell’s gates.” He smiled widely. “I busted the afterlife wide open, Raettonus. There’s nothing keeping the dead in anymore. If they’ve got bodies to go back to, they can.”

Chapter Twelve

Raettonus spent what remained of the day with Kimohr Raulinn, mostly soaking in his bathhouse. The god didn’t have the energy to access his domain and send Raettonus back to Kaebha, and since Raettonus could barely stand without feeling faint, he couldn’t lend him any emotional turmoil.

“It’s fine,” said Kimohr Raulinn with a sigh. “I should get enough magical energy, eventually.”

“How eventually?” asked Raettonus as he floated in the warm water of the bathing pool.

Kimohr Raulinn shrugged as he stripped off his robe and slipped in to join the magician. “Who can say?”

“I get the feeling that you could probably say, if you were so inclined.”

But Kimohr Raulinn only grinned and splashed Raettonus playfully.

* * *

It was a restful, pleasant afternoon. When Raettonus wasn’t napping or bathing, Kimohr Raulinn took him through the temple and showed him the rooms upon rooms full of exquisite art and riches. There was a room as large as the throne room where Kimohr Raulinn stored piles of gold, silver, bronze, and amber. There were suits of gilded armor within the room, painted vases the size of men, serving plates made of platinum, and jade statues of lions and dragons and centaurs. There were drums with heads of unicorn skin, chess sets made of mahogany and bone, pewter cups adorned with ivory and jewels, robes of silk and fur, and a thousand other things that were extravagant beyond all need, but beautiful all the same.

“I love mortals a lot,” Kimohr Raulinn said as he and Raettonus made their way through the treasury past the glimmering piles of trinkets and trophies. “But I love their gifts even more.”

“What do you even need with any of this?” asked Raettonus.

Kimohr Raulinn raised his palms upwards and said, “Why, there’s a need for everything, Magician. I might not know what I’ll need any given item for right now, but some day its use will make itself apparent.”

Raettonus spotted a rapier lying in a pile of treasures atop a fur cloak and a meticulously painted marionette. He picked it up gingerly, admiring the careful engraving on the wonderfully elaborate cross guard. The weight of it was good in his hand. “Can I have this?” he asked Kimohr Raulinn.

“Well, now, I remember asking you a very similar question about a certain book,” said Kimohr Raulinn, tapping his fingers against the chin of his mask. “You told me ‘no.’ I was heartbroken.”

“I wasn’t in a good mood at that moment.”

“You should’ve been though. I mean, surely it wasn’t all that bad? I won’t hold it against you though, because when are you ever in a good mood, Magician?” asked Kimohr Raulinn with a glint in his eyes. “But, yes—certainly you can have it. I haven’t got a use for it. I prefer to love rather than kill.”

“Yeah, I know you do,” said Raettonus, sliding the rapier into his belt.

Kimohr Raulinn’s ears twitched and he closed his eyes. “Speaking of killing,” he said slowly. “Someone’s just made a sacrifice to me. Mm… It’s nice, feeling the strength flow into me all at once like that.” He took a deep breath and opened his eyes halfway. “I could send you back to Kaebha now, if you’d like.”

“I think that’d be best,” said Raettonus.

Kimohr Raulinn placed one hand on Raettonus’ shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you again for your help,” he said. “And I want you to know, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t mention it,” Raettonus told him. “This hasn’t been all that much trouble.”

“Oh, I’m not apologizing for this,” said Kimohr Raulinn with an amused smile.

Raettonus furrowed his brow. “Then what are you apologizing for?”

“That’ll become apparent. Just give it a little time,” said Kimohr Raulinn. His eyes glowed softly in the dying daylight filtering through the windows. “Take care of yourself, Raettonus.”

Within the time it took for Raettonus to blink, he found himself in his chambers in the Kaebha Citadel, all alone. With a heavy sigh, he threw himself upon the bed. He was still so tired from the healing. Lazily, Raettonus lifted his hand up over his head, toward the ceiling. A few small flames danced across his knuckles at his will, but fire came naturally to him, and he doubted that he’d be able to perform any magic beyond that for at least a week.

It took a lot of effort, but he managed to pull himself up from the bed to go in search of Sir Slade. It only just occurred to him as he headed out the door that he’d been gone nearly an entire day, and that Sir Slade couldn’t communicate with anyone in the citadel. When Raettonus opened the door to Slade’s room, however, he found it vacant. Frowning, he closed the door carefully and began aimlessly down the hall, wondering where Slade might’ve gone.

He came upon a soldier on patrol and asked after Slade. The soldier took a minute to think about it before telling him that he’d seen Slade in the company of Maeleht, but didn’t know where they’d gone. Raettonus thanked him curtly and began away.

Almost immediately after that, Raettonus met Brecan coming down a hallway with Sir Rhodes in tow. Raettonus looked at the walking corpse, all covered in rot, half the flesh torn from his skull. Rhodes stared back at him with one cloudy eye and one sad, mud-colored eye. Distastefully, Raettonus said, “Why’d you bring Rhodes?”

“He wanted to come when he heard Sir Slade was here,” said Brecan.

Raettonus grabbed Brecan by the horn, causing the unicorn to yelp. “You shouldn’t have told him,” said Raettonus, jerking his head around. “Rhodes goes back to Ti Tunfa. Right now.”

“Ow! I’m sorry, Raet,” said Brecan as Raettonus released him. “But—but I can’t take him back to Ti Tunfa. Not right now, anyway. There’s a big war going on. I almost didn’t make it out of Ti Tunfa to begin with.”

Raettonus scowled and grunted. “Fine,” he said. “Fine, Rhodes can stay—but I don’t want to see you anywhere near Master Slade, do you understand me?”

Rhodes nodded. “Yesh, Mashter,” he said, his words slurred by his half-decayed tongue.

“Good,” Raettonus said, turning back toward Brecan. “Master Slade’s room is the one right beside mine. Go put his things in there.”

“You’ve got it, Raet,” said Brecan, swishing his long, barbed tail. “Can Rhodes help?”

Raettonus sighed. “Were you not just listening when I told him to stay away from Master Slade?” he asked. “What makes you think that means he should be in Master Slade’s room?”

“Oh. I guess I didn’t think,” said Brecan. “Oh, but, Raet—I’m gonna need someone to help unpack things. I don’t have hands…”

Sighing again, Raettonus said. “Well, fine, then. Master Slade’s not in there right now, anyway, I guess,” he said. “He can go help you. Be quick about it though—I don’t know when he might get back.”

“Okay,” said Brecan, trotting down the hall. “Come on, Rhodes.”

Sullenly, the walking corpse that was once Sir Rhodes the Blue and Gray followed after the unicorn. He moved sluggishly, dragging one leg behind the other and teetering from side to side with every slow step. Raettonus watched the pair until they’d disappeared around a corner before continuing his search.

He found Slade, as he suspected he would, in the citadel’s courtyard. In a grassy corner of the yard, Slade sat with Dohrleht and Maeleht, showing them some hydromancy. Raettonus approached quietly, watching as Slade shaped some water into a little dragon for them and animated its wings with two fingers. Maeleht was the first one to spot Raettonus, and he exclaimed, “Raettonus! We were worried about you!”

“Why’s that?” asked Raettonus as he drew close.

“Well no one knew where you’d gone,” Dohrleht said. “You never showed up for our lesson today.”

“I checked inside your room this morning, and you weren’t there,” said Slade. “I found your students looking for you and decided to show them some magic. They speak wonderful English, by the way. You taught them very well.”

“Thank you, Master,” said Raettonus. He looked up at the darkening sky beyond the metal spikes that enclosed the top of the citadel. “I’d like to show you something.”

“Certainly,” said Slade, standing. He turned to the young centaurs. “You two should go practice. It was very nice meeting the both of you.”

Raettonus led Slade across the shaded courtyard, through a doorway, and back into the citadel. “Your students are very bright boys,” said Slade as they walked. “The younger one told me you showed him how to magically sculpt stone.”

Raettonus nodded. “His father died just recently,” he said. “I was trying to take his mind off it.”

As they made their way through the winding, twisted hallways, they came upon a group of soldiers jostling each other at the arrow slits to get a better view outside. “Wonder what they’re looking at,” Slade said, pausing.

Raettonus shrugged and tapped the nearest soldier on the flank. “What’s going on?” he asked.

The soldier—a Zylekkhan by his lack of an accent—replied, “The general killed a cliff dragon. They’re trying to carry it in, but it’s too big to fit through the doors.”

After Raettonus relayed the message to Sir Slade, the dark-haired man clapped his hands together excitedly. “I want to see,” he said. “Can we go down and look at it?”

“If you want,” said Raettonus as they changed direction and headed the opposite way down the hall.

When they reached the front gate, they found Diahsis on the back of a ruffled-looking gryphon, directing the movement of a five-ton dragon lying sprawled across the road to the citadel. The dragon’s tongue lolled limply out of its open mouth between its fangs, and blood oozed lethargically out of holes in its throat and belly. Twenty soldiers were gathered around it, holding ropes which had been tied to different parts of it. Cradling his head in his arms, Deggho dek’Kariss stood off to one side, watching.

“You’re not going to fit that through there,” Diahsis’ gryphon mount was saying as Raettonus and Slade came up. “You’re going to need to cut it into pieces.”

“Nonsense,” said Diahsis dismissively. “It’ll fit. We just need to turn it.”

“Turn it what way? It’s not going to fit,” said the gryphon, flattening his feathered ears. He clacked his sharp beak closed violently. “Just cut it up. It’s easiest.”

Diahsis saw Raettonus and Slade and turned to wave at them. “Magician! Other man!” he said cheerily. “We killed a dragon!”

“I see that,” said Raettonus.

“Deggho helped,” said Diahsis, motioning at the goblin. “I’m a little sorry I beheaded him, now. He’s really quite good company. He wrangled a gryphon for me to ride.”

“Hi,” said the gryphon as Slade studied him curiously. “I’m Vuriin.”

Raettonus looked at the massive corpse of the dragon. “There’s no way you’re going to get that through the citadel doors. Not in one piece.”

“Thank you,” said Vuriin. “I’ve been saying that exact same thing, but he won’t listen.” He twisted his head around to look at Diahsis. “You could still keep the head as a trophy if you cut it off. If you want to use the dragon leather, it’s not like cutting it into smaller pieces is going to make it any less usable, the size this thing is. You’re going to have to cut it into smaller pieces, anyway.”

“Fine, fine,” sighed the general, resting his hands on his thighs. “It’ll just be such a shame to take apart such a lovely beast. Fine, though.” He called out to the soldiers milling about. “Cut it down. Make sure you keep the head intact.” Quickly, the soldiers went about carrying out their order as Diahsis turned back toward Raettonus. “You should’ve come with us, Magician! It was a wonderful hunt. Deggho helped me catch a gryphon, and we didn’t have any injuries at all when we took down the dragon. I’m sorry to say that I didn’t land the finishing blow, however—that was Daeblau.” He looked around. “He was out here a minute ago, but he must’ve gone inside. Probably he wanted to tell his little squeeze about it all. He was quite impressive, actually. I’d be boasting too, in his place.”

“Fascinating,” Raettonus said dryly. “May we borrow Deggho for a bit?”

“Go right ahead,” said Diahsis. “Maybe after you’re done with him, you could sew his head back on? It’s been inconveniencing him all day, having to carry it.”

“We’ll see,” said Raettonus, leading Slade away by the hand toward Deggho.

Deggho turned his head toward Raettonus and Slade, smiling an uncertain smile. “See, Magician?” he said as they got close. “I told you that the Tahlehsons would be interested in my ability to hunt dragons.”

Slade looked at Deggho with wide, curious eyes before taking a step toward him and reaching out one hand. The goblin flinched away. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” said Slade breathlessly. “It’s like he’s alive.”

“What is he doing?” asked Deggho, anxiety evident, as Slade grabbed his shoulder gingerly.

“Examining you,” Raettonus said. “Don’t worry, it shouldn’t take long.”

Deggho furrowed his brow and frowned deeply. “I don’t want to be examined,” he muttered.

“That’s too bad,” said Raettonus. “It’s happening anyway.”

Deggho sighed, but gave himself over to Slade for examination. They went inside to get out of the way of the soldiers who were scrambling about arranging where to cut the dragon and how to go about it.

They made their way to an empty room, and Slade began looking Deggho over and asking him questions while Raettonus translated for him. Finally, Slade finished and turned to Raettonus. “He’s like me,” he said. “He’s died, but he’s been perfectly restored to life.”

“Except for the decapitation,” agreed Raettonus with a nod. “I wonder though… Why don’t his eyes glow like yours do?”

Slade didn’t have an answer for that.

“You should’ve gone dragon hunting with us, Raettonus,” said Deggho after Slade was done studying him. “It was fun. General Diahsis is a lot friendlier than you’d think.”

“I’m sure,” said Raettonus dryly.

“We’re going to hunt faeries tomorrow,” said the goblin, shifting his decapitated head around in his hands until he found a comfortable way to hold it. “You should come with us.”

“I’ll pass.”

Deggho frowned. “Oh, I see,” he said, sounding slightly wounded. “Well—how about you come join us for dinner? Diahsis is going to have that dragon cooked and have a big feast in the grand dining hall—you know, that one on the floor where they used to keep me. He’s having it all cleaned up and everything. Will you join us?”

Raettonus arched one thin eyebrow. “You’re going to a feast? Can you even eat?”

“Well, no—of course not,” said Deggho sheepishly. “But…it’s been a long time since I’ve been to any feasts. I never really liked food much, anyway, but I do like the revelry. Will you come?”

“What’s he saying?” asked Slade.

“He’s asking us to come to a feast tonight,” Raettonus told his master.

Slade brightened. “Oh, that sounds like fun!” he exclaimed. “You’re telling him yes, right?”

“If you wish, Master,” said Raettonus, turning back to Deggho. “We’ll go, I guess.”

“Diahsis will be glad to hear that,” said the goblin. “I should go see him—I’m supposed to help him plan the faerie hunt tomorrow. I’ll see you and your friend later, Magician.” With a slight bow of his shoulders, Deggho retreated from the room, leaving Slade and Raettonus alone.

“So, where were you all today?” asked Slade as they headed toward the door.

“I was with Kimohr Raulinn, actually,” Raettonus said.

“Is he really a god?” Slade asked. They entered a long hallway with arrow slits carved into one wall. Orange light filtered in through the slits, illuminating the hall in dusky strips. “It’s hard to believe, but he told me he was. It was like sitting down with Odin, or some such.”

“More like Loki,” grunted Raettonus as they started up a dark staircase. “But, yes, he is a god—here, at least.”

Slade frowned. He seemed on the edge of saying something, but decided against it and instead kept silent for a while. Finally, he said, “One of your students, Maeleht, said he’d teach me to speak their language—Kaerikeena, I think he called it.”

“Kaerikyna,” said Raettonus. “I don’t know that it would be such a good idea. That’s the centaurian language. You should learn common Zylekkhan instead. It’s more widely used. I’d…I’d teach you if you want, Master.”

Slade smiled. “That would be lovely, Rae. I’m sure you’ll be a good teacher,” he said, his eyes glowing a soft blue in the quiet dimness of the stone stairwell.

They stepped out onto the landing and began down a long, arching hallway filled with dusk-colored light and the smell of blood drifting up through the arrow slits. Slade paused at one to look out, and Raettonus paused with him. Down below, the soldiers were hacking through the dragon’s limbs, spilling its stale blood all across the sand. Their shouts were muffled by the distance, but Raettonus could still hear them calling to one another and joking. For a long while, Slade watched the centaurian soldiers, listening to their language, which was so alien to him.

“How did you manage?” he asked quietly, after the sun had set completely. The sky was growing dark, and down below soldiers were coming out with torches. “You must have been so scared when you came here, all alone and not knowing the language…surrounded by all these strange creatures…”

“I suppose I didn’t think of it that way,” mumbled Raettonus. “After you died, I was all alone anyway, so…” He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. The smell of the dragon’s blood was still thick in the air; Raettonus wondered if it wouldn’t attract ‘gryphs and unicorns.

Raettonus couldn’t see the expression, but he was certain Slade was staring off, smiling sadly. He’d seen him look that way a thousand times before. When he was little, he’d always wondered what made Sir Slade so sad. When he was older, he’d understood.

“Of course,” said Slade quietly. “I forgot. You’re never afraid—not you. Do you remember that time—oh, it would’ve been about three years after you came to live with me—when some yeomen came and tried to run me out of my castle?”

“Not really,” muttered Raettonus. There had been many times like that. To Raettonus, they’d all become one contemptuous blur.

“When they came up to our walls, you wanted to fight them,” said Slade. “You grabbed up a short sword and you started carrying it around with you, and you wanted to fight them back. When I went out to talk with them, you wouldn’t stay inside, so I let you come with me. It wasn’t going so well, and their leader was an angry man. He pushed me, and you rushed forward with that little sword of yours, and you took a swing at him. You got halfway through his hand, and then the impact knocked the sword out of your grasp.”

“I remember that, a little,” said Raettonus. “You beat me ragged for that.”

Slade nodded. “Even after that, you said you weren’t sorry that you hurt him,” he said, his smile fading away at the corners of his mouth. Raettonus looked at him, and it was one of the few times he had seen Slade without his insincere smile; his genuine sadness was heavy in every feature. “You did the wrong thing, but you were fearless doing it. I wish that counted for more than it does in the long run, fearlessness.”

The light had all died away and the hallway was dark, save for a faint golden glow about Raettonus, and for Slade’s eyes, which cast his face in blue. “Master,” said Raettonus tentatively. “I—”

“Never mind,” said Slade, straightening and walking away from the window. He put his smile back on, but it was the last expression in the world Raettonus wanted to see. “I suppose we should dress for the feast, right? I’ve never had dragon before. I wonder what it’s like. Come on, let’s not dawdle or we’ll be late.”

“Yes, Master,” said Raettonus reluctantly, and he lit a tiny fire in his hand to give them some light as they made their way back to their chambers.

After a time spent in silence, Raettonus said, “I kept a lot of your clothes, all these years. Um, Brecan returned with them just this afternoon. They should be in your room by now.”

“That’s good. Thank you, Raettonus,” said Slade. “I’m very interested to meet your unicorn friend.”

“Well, you’ll probably get a chance to tonight,” Raettonus said. They reached a landing with torches burning on the walls, and he extinguished the flame in his palm. “Brecan would sooner die than miss a feast.”

Slade chuckled. “He sounds delightful,” he said, running a hand through his dark hair and gazing upwards as they walked, toward the drab ceiling. “When I was a page, I knew a girl who claimed she’d seen unicorns before. She said she’d gone out early one morning to the apple orchard to sit beneath a tree and work on her needlepoint, but that she fell asleep. She woke up, she told me, and saw a unicorn coming toward her through the morning fog. It got frightened and ran off, but that wasn’t the last one she saw in that apple orchard, she said. She swore on a Bible that it was the honest truth, and may God strike her down if she was lying. I always thought she was pulling my leg though. She always told me I was naïve, and it wasn’t going to end well for me if I didn’t wise up some day.” He bit his lower lip. “We were…we were engaged to marry, she and I. Our parents made the betrothal, but I did love her all the same.”

Raising his eyebrows, Raettonus said, “I didn’t know you were engaged once. What happened?”

The dark-haired magician turned his softly glowing eyes on Raettonus and gave him a heart-breaking smile. You already know, his expression seemed to say. It’s the same thing that happened with everyone who knew me before I became a magician. Instead, Slade said, “She broke off the engagement. I couldn’t hold it against her, but it hurt. She was entirely right to though. After the church excommunicated me for necromancy, I had nothing but what land I could hold onto with my own sword. It wouldn’t have been right for her to have to live that kind of life. I think if she hadn’t broken off our engagement, I would have. I…I like to believe I would have.” The thought hung in the air a moment, floating uneasily on a brief silence which passed between them.

“What was her name?” Raettonus asked quietly. He got the feeling he shouldn’t probe any further, but he did always have more curiosity than he had politeness.

With a soft sigh, Slade answered, “Alurea, from the house White and Green.”

They reached the door to Raettonus’ room and opened it. Raettonus entered and set his rapier in the corner and began going through his clothes, looking for something to wear. Slade hesitated in the doorway for a moment before following him in and sitting on his bed. “I shouldn’t have said any of that,” Slade said, looking at his hands. “I feel like you’re upset now.”

Raettonus shrugged. “I’m not,” he said evenly. “I was thinking that was a pretty cruel thing of her to do. I was only thinking…”

“I suppose I’m feeling…a little reminiscent tonight. You’ll have to forgive me,” said Slade, looking up. His gaze fell on the desk, and he stood and walked over to it. He picked up the little gryphon figure and turned it over in his hands. “These are beautiful. Where did you get them?”

Raettonus slipped out of his dirty black tunic. “Kimohr Raulinn gave them to me,” he said, frowning.

Slade picked up the phoenix to examine it. “They’re beautiful,” he said again, and he turned to look at Raettonus. “Oh, you should wear a green tunic. It brings out your eye—oh. Never mind.” He grimaced slightly, and a blush crept up the back of his neck.

Raettonus turned away to hide his unnatural red eyes from Slade. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, staring at the filthy tunic in his hands. He dropped it to the ground and unlatched the trunk at the foot of his bed, searching through it for a clean tunic.

Slade set the phoenix down and turned his attention to the unicorn as Raettonus dressed. “I recognize this one,” he said fondly. He ran his finger along its mane, up to its horn. “This is the animal of Sir Rhodes’ house. Was, I mean.” The corner of his mouth twitched as he fiddled with the carved figure. “His father, Brigham, was a very powerful sorcerer, you know. He told me when I first met him that there are many stranger things in this world than I could ever imagine. I said, ‘I’m not so sure.’ He gave me the most chilling look and he said, ‘Walking bones are mundane compared to the things I’ve seen.’ No one knew about my necromancy back then, so I was awfully frightened by that. I was afraid he was going to tell someone, but he never did.” He let out a sigh and turned to Raettonus. “You look handsome in that. Green does suit you. I wish you would cut your hair, though. It makes you look so severe with it pulled back like that.”

“I’ll cut it, then, if you’d like, Master,” said Raettonus, glancing around. “But, I think I misplaced my dagger.”

“That’s all right. I’ve got a knife in my room,” said Slade. “Here, come with me. You look so much better with shorter hair.”

He took Raettonus by the arm and led him from the room. With a resigned frown, Raettonus let himself be taken next door to Slade’s chamber. However, after opening the door, Slade stopped abruptly at the entrance. “Master? What’s wrong?” asked Raettonus, peering around Slade’s large form into the room.

Rhodes stood within, watching them with his mismatched eyes, his arms tucked up in his rough robes. “Shlade,” he said, his voice cracking within his throat.

Slade stared at him for a moment, dumbstruck, his grip slackening until his arm fell out of Raettonus’ and landed limply against his side. He cocked his head to one side. “Sir Rhodes?” he asked in a barely controlled voice. He took an unsteady step into the room. “What—what happened to you? You’re all rotted…”

“I wash killed,” Rhodes said, his clumsily reanimated tongue slurring his words.

“Killed?” asked Slade as he reached the corpse’s side. “Did—did I kill you? Mary—I didn’t think you’d actually die when I left you out there.”

Rhodes shook his head, the bones in his neck sliding audibly against each other. “No,” he said. “I shurvived that.”

“Then who…?”

Sir Rhodes said nothing, but his gaze flickered over Slade’s shoulder toward Raettonus. Quickly, the corpse looked away, but not before Slade caught the look. He turned on his one-time ward. “You?”

The betrayal in Slade’s voice was too much for Raettonus to bear. Like a child who had broken a vase, he looked down and spoke to his shoes. “He tried to kill you once,” mumbled Raettonus. “I couldn’t forgive that. He came around to your castle after you passed, wanting forgiveness, so I gave him flames.” Raettonus bit his lower lip and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I will not apologize or feel ashamed, either. I made the right decision.”

There was fury in Slade’s eyes, but his expression was carefully blank. “Raettonus,” he said, his voice tight. “To choose to take a life is never the right decision.”

“He tried to kill you, Master,” said Raettonus. “I was there. I watched him turn on you. You were friends, for God’s sake! And he tried to kill you for a little gold!”

“He wanted forgiveness,” Slade said, his voice breaking. “And you killed him?”

“He wanted to expunge his own guilt!” said Raettonus. He could feel his face growing hot with anger. Fire was beginning to flick up out of the skin along his shoulders and neck. “Death was too good for him.”

Slade turned away, toward Rhodes. “So you brought him back as a walking corpse,” he said quietly. “So he could suffer while his body slowly rotted even while he occupied it.”

Raettonus crossed his arms and straightened himself. “Master Slade,” he said. “I would do most anything for you, but I will not apologize for this. You may find it easy to forgive a man who feigned being your friend and tried to kill you, but I can’t do that. I refuse to do that. I killed him. I killed him, and even while I watched him burn to death and he screamed for mercy and begged me to put out the fire, I didn’t feel sorry—not for a moment. And afterward when I grabbed his soul as it was departing and tied it back to his corpse and he began to scream again as the pain rushed into him, I didn’t even pity him. I will not make apologies and say I made a wrong decision, and make myself a liar.”

Looking over his shoulder at Raettonus, Slade narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?” he asked. “You’re not the boy I knew. You’re like something that’s only inhabiting his skin. You’re a demon.”

“You don’t mean that,” said Raettonus, his eyes widening and his resolve breaking. He felt as though the air had been knocked out of him. “You can’t mean that…”

“I no longer feel like going to that feast,” Slade said, turning his back to Raettonus. “Please leave me.”

“Master, I—”

“Leave,” said Slade. His voice was hard.

Raettonus spun and slammed the door as he exited. Furiously, he kicked open the door to his own cell and closed it hard enough to splinter it around the lock. Rage boiling inside him, Raettonus kicked over his brazier and tore the half-burned tapestry on his wall to the ground. Fire danced across his shoulders onto his hands as he felt all his bitterness churn in his stomach. His magical fatigue was suddenly gone, replaced with a powerful, hateful rage.

With a scream, he grabbed hold of the remaining tapestry and burned it to cinders, and when it was nothing but ash he found himself wishing only that ashes could be burned. He grabbed the unicorn figure from his desk and hurled it at the wall, shattering it. The little white pieces of it were like a shower of sparks as they fell onto the coals of the overturned brazier, catching the light and glinting. The gryphon and the phoenix followed close behind their fallen comrade, exploding into a glittering swirl of splinters as they struck the wall.

Teeth clenched, face contorted with rage, he kicked a pile of coals spilt from the brazier, sending them hurtling across the room so they fell like orange hail on the books and clothes and papers on the floor and burned holes in them. He punched at the wall with all his strength, tearing the skin on his knuckles and leaving them bloody. Without really knowing why he was doing it, he knocked all the stacks of books and the little bottles of ink and herbs from his desk. The vials clattered on the stone floor and shattered, and black ink spread out around the glass like blood.

It was only when his rage began to subside that he realized he was crying. He slid down a wall into a crouching position and buried his face in his hands. He was still hot with fury, and his tears were turning to steam in his eyes. He looked around his room, all a mess, and saw his dagger lying beneath his desk, beside the wall, where it must have fallen.

Bitterly, he laughed.

Chapter Thirteen

Diahsis’ feast was the height of revelry, full of bawdy singing and roughhousing and loud conversations all throughout the hall, which had been cleaned and decorated in yellow, blue, and green for the occasion. The general sat at the head of the longest table with Deggho at his right and gave Raettonus a seat at his left. Daeblau stood near them with Dohrleht, but Maeleht wasn’t there—he had become especially faint, his brother said, and Ebha didn’t think it would be a good idea for him to tax himself too much. Brecan joined them just as Raettonus thought he would and took his place right beside the magician.

“Oh, hey, Raet!” exclaimed Brecan as he drew close. “You cut your hair! You haven’t cut your hair in ages.”

Raettonus shrugged. “I like it better short,” he mumbled into his goblet of wine.

“Then why do you keep it long?” asked the unicorn, cocking his head to the side.

“Stop asking questions and let me drink in peace,” said Raettonus, punching Brecan in the nose.

The unicorn winced. “Oh, okay, Raet,” he said, turning to his other side to talk to a cheery, boisterous centaur with a thick, Tahlehson accent. Raettonus turned his attention to Diahsis, who was drinking merrily and laughing with Deggho about something one of them had said.

“I think I’ll make a suit of armor out of its bones,” Diahsis said, holding his goblet to his lips and then pulling it away without taking a sip. “Dragon-bone armor, banded with gold and encrusted with sapphires. From then on, they’ll call me Diahsis Dragon-bone, and armies will flee before me, and opposing soldiers won’t even dare to whisper my name!” He laughed and took a drink.

“It’s too bad you didn’t kill the dragon,” Deggho said. He sat in a high-backed chair with his head carefully balanced on his shoulders. “Then they’d call you Diahsis Dragon Slayer.”

“That’d be something,” said Diahsis, setting down his wine and wiping the corners of his mouth on a napkin. He leaned forward and turned to Daeblau. “I must say, Daeby, you were magnificent when you took the dragon out.”

“Thank you, General,” said Daeblau with a nod.

“Have you fought dragons before?” asked Diahsis, reaching for a basket of rolls set on the table, but falling a little short. He frowned and tried a little harder, stretching across the table, but ended up knocking the basket over.

“A few times,” Daeblau said.

“It’s so dangerous,” said Dohrleht, taking Daeblau’s hand in his own. “I wish you wouldn’t put yourself in harm’s way like that.”

Daeblau smiled gently at his young companion. “You shouldn’t worry,” he said. “Dragon hunts really aren’t that dangerous.”

“I beg to differ,” said Deggho. “I had a friend die on a dragon hunt. I miss him. He used to tell the best riddles.”

“Oh, riddles!” said Diahsis, delighted, as he managed to snag a roll that had fallen from the knocked-over basket onto the table. “I adore riddles! Oh, and I’ve got one. Here it goes: What’s green and long and flies through the air?”

“A green, long, flying thing!” exclaimed Brecan.

“Good guess, but no,” said Diahsis.

Brecan flattened his ears. “But you just said…”

The general laughed and threw his arms out wide. “A sea serpent being carried away by seagulls!” he told them happily. He bit into his roll and tore it in half, still chuckling to himself.

“That riddle didn’t even make sense,” said Raettonus, frowning.

“It sort of did,” said Deggho uncertainly. “Sea serpents are green and long.”

“Exactly!” said Diahsis. He swallowed the rest of his wine and called for more, and a young centaur refilled his goblet. “This is a good time. Oh! Too bad we don’t have any instruments—we could use some music. Do any of you play?”

“I used to be able to play the bek’kur. It’s a type of flute,” said Deggho. “But I don’t think I could anymore.” He motioned with one hand to his severed neck. “Seems like all my air comes out of my, um, neck hole, I guess you’d call it. Anyway, I don’t think I could play a flute that way anymore.”

“The bek’kur, huh?” said Diahsis. “I, too, play a type of flute. A Tahlehson bone flute, to be specific.” His eyes widened and a broad grin took his face. “Well, there’s something! I could make a dragon-bone flute! Then I could play it for you. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“That would be,” said Deggho, nodding slightly and causing his head to topple onto the table with a sharp yelp. Diahsis laughed and picked up his head.

“You know what, Deggho? I barely know you, but you are a lot of fun,” he said, bringing Deggho’s face close to his own. “You are my best friend at this table.” He grinned and brought Deggho’s nose and forehead to his own. “Also, from this close, it looks like you have one eye. That’s fun.”

“Your pinky finger is poking the inside of my throat,” said Deggho with a frown.

“Oh, sorry,” said Diahsis, handing the goblin’s head back to his body. “Let’s tell more riddles! What’s…hm. Okay, I’ve got it this time. What’s gray and spends all its time on the ocean?”

“Oooh, a rain cloud!” said Brecan. Raettonus flicked him hard on the nose. “Ow, why did you—oh, never mind, a rain cloud spends its time in the sky.”

Diahsis began to giggle in a very undistinguished manner. “It’s a wolf on a raft!” he said.

“Your riddles make no sense. I’m beginning to wonder if you actually understand what a riddle is,” Raettonus said. “How much wine have you had?”

Diahsis’ smile dropped away, and he looked at Raettonus very seriously. “Not nearly enough,” he answered somberly and called for his goblet to be filled again. He drank three more cups and told five more nonsensical riddles before the first course arrived.

“Oooh, gryphon,” said Brecan as it was set before him.

Raettonus poked at his meat with his knife. “Didn’t know you caught any gryphons,” he said.

“Well, I only caught one,” said Diahsis. “Deggho helped me catch it.”

“Vuriin,” said Raettonus.

“Yeah, that was his name,” said Diahsis, with a nod. He put a hunk of meat in his mouth. “Oooh, he’s delicious.”

Dohrleht frowned at his plate. “I don’t know how I feel about eating something that has a name,” he said.

“Everything has a name,” said Brecan. “My name’s Brecan. Some people say it Brekkan, but that’s wrong.”

The young centaur screwed up his face. “Then I guess I don’t know how to feel about eating something whose name I know.”

“We’re going to catch more gryphons tomorrow,” said Diahsis. His handsome face was flushed from the wine. He grinned and leaned his elbows on the table. “Lots of gryphons—whole armies of them! Right, Deggho?”

“Well, I don’t know about armies,” muttered the goblin, picking up his head and carefully placing it back on his shoulders, only for it to roll off into his lap. Diahsis laughed heartily and picked up his head by the hair. “Certainly we’ll find a gryphon or two.”

“Wonderful!” said Diahsis, holding Deggho’s head against his chest with one hand and picking up his goblet with the other. “And then we’ll hunt faeries! Oh, Raettonus, will you be joining us?”

“Nope,” said Raettonus, chewing his gryphon meat slowly.

“Suit yourself,” said Diahsis. “It’ll be fun though. You’re missing out. How about you, Daeblau?”

Dohrleht squeezed Daeblau’s hand and looked at him pleadingly. “No,” said Daeblau after a short hesitation. “I think I’ll sit this hunt out.”

“Well, fine,” said Diahsis, his pointed ears lowering. “I guess that Deggho and I will go by ourselves then, spoil-sports.”

“What about the soldiers?” asked Deggho, his voice somewhat muffled by Diahsis’ forearm.

“Them too,” said Diahsis. He set Deggho’s head down on the table and patted it fondly. “But when we bring back delicious faerie meat, you don’t get any, Daeblau, because you wouldn’t come with us.”

Daeblau smiled slightly. “I think I can go on without it, General.”

Diahsis frowned and took a long drink from his goblet. When he set it down again, he said, “How about more riddles?”

“Oh, dear God, no,” said Raettonus, resting his head in his hands. “Those aren’t riddles you’re telling, anyway. No more.”

“All right,” said Diahsis, somewhat deflated. He swirled his goblet around in his hand. “We could tell stories instead.”

“I love stories!” said Brecan.

“So do I!” said Diahsis. “Do you have any?”

The unicorn flattened his ears and cocked his head to the side. “Well, no, I guess I don’t, really,” he said. “One time I fought a chimera. That’s a story.”

“Go on, then,” said Diahsis, waving one hand lethargically toward the unicorn. “Tell it.”

“Okay,” said Brecan. “Well, this one time I was in the forest, and I came across a chimera, and then I fought it. The end!”

“Who won?”

“Huh?”

“You or the chimera?”

Brecan’s ears perked forward. “That’s a good question,” he said. “I guess…we drew. I mean, he went his way, I went mine.”

“It didn’t try to kill you?” asked Diahsis.

“No, we just argued a bit about who had the right to keep walking down a narrow path,” said Brecan. “Then I remembered that I could fly, so I flew. The end!”

Diahsis frowned. “Oh, I see. Very… Erm. Well, I guess, technically, it was a story.” He thought for a moment and said, “I’ll tell a story now, then. I’ll tell a story about how I became a general!”

Beside Brecan, the Tahlehson centaur sighed and edged away to listen to the conversation on the other side of him. Apparently, this was a story he’d heard before.

“I am well known throughout Tahlehsohr for my deeds in the Wolf-Blood Wars, you must know,” Diahsis began, leaning back in his chair and puffing out his chest proudly. “I did many marvelous, brave, and frankly amazing things. It’s really quite surprising it never reached you. I’m a folk hero.”

A couple of the nearest Tahlehsons chuckled to themselves quietly, but Diahsis didn’t seem to notice. “What were the Wolf-Blood Wars?” asked Dohrleht, leaning forward.

“Wars against wolf-bloods,” answered Diahsis, raising his goblet to drink. He found it empty and called for more. Once a young soldier rushed to him to refill it, he continued his story. “I was serving with a battalion of five hundred men, lead by one General Gaema. I was just beneath him, actually. I hated being just beneath him, really; he made me attend him everywhere he went, as though I were some kind of servant. In his day though, Gaema was a great general and a perfect soldier. But his day was long, long past by the time I joined his battalion. By the time I came, only the dregs of the army served beneath him—the worst soldiers or those the higher-ups simply didn’t like. They put me there because of my elven blood, so even though I was the hardest working soldier in all of Tahlehsohr I was serving with green boys, men with a rebellious streak, and cowards. Worst of all was Gaema’s leadership. He’d lost a lot of men at a battle twenty years before, and it never left him. By the time I came to serve beneath him, he was a hopeless, sad, alcoholic mess. They would have discharged him, I’m sure, but his brother was King Saemohr’s trusted Councilor of Wind.”

They brought the next course—a thick, brown stew filled with barley and carrots—and Diahsis paused to thank the young soldier who served them. As he started into his stew, Diahsis said, “Where was I? Did I reach the—oh, no. Never mind. Okay, so, here I was, stationed beneath Gaema, who never stopped drinking and had the smallest battalion in the kingdom. We were in Durahm Lyrii, near the heart of the insurrection—a city in heavily forested mountains that’s not easy to reach for larger armies. It had three enormous walls surrounding it and had been considered unconquerable. The city was originally an outpost to defend Tahlehsohr’s eastern coast, you see. Anyway, Durahm had a very large werewolf population, and they had already killed all the centaurs in the city and taken control of it. All the other groups, led by men who weren’t constantly in the bottle, were trapped miles away, so it was only us—Gaema’s five hundred soldiers, sent to waste the enemy’s arrows on bodies of no value to King Saemohr’s council. We were called the Lion’s Tail Battalion at the time, because like the poof of hair on the end of a lion’s tail, we were a slight disgrace on an otherwise fearsome creature.

“By the time we reached Durahm Lyrii, the werewolves had already found out we were coming, and they were prepared,” Diahsis went on. He spared a disdainful look at the paws of his wolf pelt, draped across his shoulders, as though their presence there were a disgusting surprise to him in that moment. “Because of Gaema’s incompetence, we lost half the battalion that day. The men wanted to retreat; they said we couldn’t possibly win with only two and a half hundred men. Gaema wanted to continue the fight. It was the only thing he was right in during the battle of Durahm Lyrii. The next day we tried again to take the city and lost fifty more men. Gaema was one of them.”

He smiled and set his goblet down before picking up Deggho’s head and cradling it to his chest. “An arrow got Gaema through the eye slit of his helm,” he said, and mimed with his hand an arrow in flight arching toward Deggho’s eyes. The goblin winced and shut them tight, but Diahsis stopped short of him. “He died a warrior’s death, and I got control of the remaining two hundred of the Lion’s Tail. Two hundred men, give or take a few, versus three thousand werewolf soldiers with better position and better discipline—and better weapons, since none of the Lion’s Tail were archers and most of them had broken their spears, lances, and other pole arms in the days before. We had swords and only swords.” He shifted in his seat and pulled at one of Deggho’s ears, ignoring the goblin’s faint protests. “The soldiers wanted to retreat, but I didn’t. One tried to desert and I cut off his legs. The rest were completely compliant after that.”

Dohrleht went pale, and Daeblau squeezed his hand reassuringly—though, if truth be told, he didn’t look all that well himself.

Raettonus raised one eyebrow. “You cut off one of your own soldier’s legs?” he asked.

“So judgmental,” said Diahsis, lifting his stew bowl and drinking some broth out of it. Setting it back down, he wiped his mouth with his napkin, but didn’t quite get all of it off his lips. “He disobeyed orders and tried to desert. He was lucky I didn’t hang him. Anyway, under my leadership, we were able to breach Durahm Lyrii’s walls the same way we breached the walls of this citadel. Simple enough, for the first wall, but the other two were a lot harder since the werewolves knew what we were up to by then. We had to build a structure to cover us. Of course, all of that was the easy part. The real fight began after that when we fought a sea of wolves for control of the city. I remember little of the battle itself except that the blood was thick on the streets—so much blood that everything but the rooftops was red when all was said and done. I was caked in so much blood that the cloth on my uniform broke apart, leaving only the bare mail beneath. I saw friends die around me. I led my men on. That day, we weren’t the tail of the lion—we were its claws, sharp and deadly. When all was said and done, I had lost fifty men. We had killed more than two thousand werewolf insurgents. The rest surrendered. By the time reinforcements arrived, Durahm Lyrii was flying the yellow and blue of King Saemohr once again, taken by the regiment sent on a suicide mission—all under my expert leadership. I was made a general for my brave and crafty efforts.”

“That’s a good story,” said Brecan. “I liked the part where there was a lion.”

Diahsis frowned. “You weren’t really listening, were you?” he asked flatly.

The unicorn flattened his ears. “I got distracted,” he admitted shyly. “You mentioned something about a lion’s tail, then I got distracted thinking about lions and their pretty manes. I’ve got a mane too, but it’s not as pretty as a lion’s.”

The main course was served—roasted dragon with onions and stewed cabbage. Raettonus stared at the great, greasy hunk of meat on his plate, the steam gently rising from it. “This looks disgusting,” he said.

“It tastes great though,” said Brecan.

“Of course you think so,” said Raettonus. “You haven’t got enough brain to tell good from bad.”

“Dragon really is quite good, Magician,” said Deggho. Diahsis had placed the goblin’s head on his own shoulder, cheek to cheek with him—a fact that Deggho dek’Kariss didn’t look too thrilled with, but his body sat politely with his arms folded in his lap.

“It’s stringy and doesn’t look very appetizing,” said Daeblau, chewing a mouthful. “But it’s far better than it looks.”

At the head of the table, General Diahsis frowned. “Why’s everyone insulting the dragon?” he asked. “It’s good dragon.” He took a bite of it. “The grease adds flavor.”

Raettonus pushed his plate away. “I’ve got to say, I no longer feel hungry.”

“Can I have yours?” asked Brecan eagerly, licking at his greasy lips with his long tongue.

“Knock yourself out,” said Raettonus. The unicorn dived for his plate, putting his cloven forehooves up on the table to get at it.

“We’re going to hunt faeries tomorrow,” said Diahsis. “Maybe you’ll like faerie better.”

“I don’t intend to eat any faeries,” said Raettonus, leaning back in his seat lazily. “They’re almost human. It’d be too strange.”

“Faeries? Hardly, Magician,” said Deggho. “They’re vicious monsters. Walking on two feet doesn’t give them any kind of humanity.”

Daeblau yawned and rolled his neck. “I’m feeling rather tired,” he said. “I think I’m going to retire to my chambers, if it’s all right with you, General.”

Diahsis looked him over. “Yes, certainly,” he said. “But I hope you know you’re going to miss the stories and riddles. I’ve got a hundred more. Three hundred more, maybe.”

The Captain of the Garrison smiled politely. “It’ll be a shame,” he said. He kissed Dohrleht on top of the head and started away. The younger centaur made to follow him, but he stopped the boy. “No, it’s all right. Stay here at the feast. After it’s over, if you’d like, you can come to my cell. I’d…like to get a nap.”

Dohrleht nodded obediently. “All right,” he said, turning back to the table. “After.”

With another insincere smile, Daeblau started away once again. Diahsis watched him go and then turned to Dohrleht. “So, do you think he actually loves you?” asked the general in a nonchalant tone, as if he’d asked if Dohrleht thought it might rain.

Dohrleht’s eyes widened. “Of course,” he said. “Why would you say that?”

Diahsis shrugged. “I was just thinking, he had you murder your father so he’d be in charge when I broke the walls and he could surrender to me,” he said. “I’m thinking Daeby’s rather treacherous, wouldn’t you say? I was just wondering if you really believed anything he said to you.”

The young centaur turned his face away. “I think I see a friend at the other end of the table,” he said unevenly. “Excuse me, General.”

“As you will,” said Diahsis, waving him off. He looked to Raettonus. “A nice boy. He’s one of your students, yes?”

“That’s right,” said Raettonus.

“It’s too bad about his leg,” said Diahsis. “You know, in Tahlehsohr a soldier with a crippled leg gets thrown out of the army. They usually get disowned too. Guess it’s a cultural difference, eh?”

“Seems like there’s a lot of those between Zylekkha and Tahlehsohr,” Raettonus noted.

“Like decapitating innocent hostages,” mumbled Deggho.

“Oh, I said I was sorry. Would you forgive me, already?” asked Diahsis. “What’s it going to take for you to drop that already? I didn’t know you’d come back to life.”

“That makes it worse, not better,” said Deggho, his three-pointed ears sagging.

* * *

After the feast was over, Raettonus skulked through the halls of the citadel, lost in thought. He passed soldiers singing drunkenly and holding each other for support as they staggered along the passageway. At length, Raettonus found himself emerging on the roof into the cool night air. Above the dark ocean, the moon was a pale orange sliver shining down on the water, surrounded by dim stars. Raettonus placed one hand on a cold steel spike rising up from the battlements and leaned against it, looking out into the inky night. A ship was sailing silently near the horizon, the lights in its cabin just visible. With a slight, involuntary sigh, Raettonus watched it until it was gone and remained staring at the place it had been for a long time.

He turned away from the ocean to look across the roof. A few turncoat Zylekkhans were patrolling stiffly, and he could see fires lit up on the watchtowers. At the other end of the roof, the shimmer of a ghost caught Raettonus’ eye, and he started toward it lazily. As he drew near, the ghost looked at him with colorless eyes. It was the ghost of an old centaur, dressed all in wolfskin and chain mail, a pike in one hand. The ghost nodded his head. “Evening,” he said cordially, in a dialect that had fallen out of use a few centuries before. For Raettonus it was strangely comforting to hear someone speaking in those old words; it was like coming home as a child when you’d been out all day.

“Who’re you, soldier?” asked Raettonus, sitting down on the parapet.

“Ruhrzyk, of Kinok Oron,” said the ghost. “That’s who I was, I suppose. I’ve been told that Kinok Oron is…is gone now.”

Raettonus nodded and looked out along the shore. “It went to war with Sae Noklu,” he said. “They were killed, to the last child.”

Ruhrzyk made a contemplative noise and turned his spectral face away. “Is it cold out?” he asked.

“A little.” Raettonus shifted around, setting his back to the long metal spike rising behind him.

“Guard duty on the roof used to be my least favorite post,” confided the ghost. “I hated how cold it was at night. They always posted me here at night. ‘Post me here during the day,’ I said to them. They wouldn’t listen. I don’t feel the cold anymore. I don’t really feel anything, since I fell…”

“You died,” said Raettonus.

Ruhrzyk smiled bitterly. “I know,” he said. “I didn’t understand at first. I was so confused, but…but it didn’t take all that long to realize what had happened. The last thing I could remember was someone calling to me down in the courtyard, and I leaned over the edge there to see what they wanted, but I leaned a little too far. Then… Well.”

“A friend of mine comes up here to talk to you,” Raettonus said.

“Little Maeleht,” said Ruhrzyk fondly. A smile flickered across his face and then was replaced with a look of concern. “He’s very sick, isn’t he?” Raettonus nodded. “Sometimes, when he comes to visit me, he starts coughing and can’t stop, or else he faints and he’s out for a long time. When he comes around or stops coughing, he tells me not to worry about it, and he said he wasn’t all that sick.”

“He’s not well,” said Raettonus. “I’d be surprised if he lives another five years.”

The ghostly soldier frowned and turned his face downwards. “That’s unfortunate,” he said. After a moment, he looked at Raettonus. “He told me about you. You’re a necromancer.”

“That’s right, I am.”

“Tell me,” said Ruhrzyk. “Could you…could you send me along? To the afterlife? I asked Maeleht if it could be done, but he only said he wasn’t sure and changed the subject.”

Raettonus raised his eyebrows. “It’s possible,” he said. “I’m not sure about your case, but it’s possible. Maeleht knows that.”

“Oh,” said the ghost. “Why would he lie to me?”

With a shrug, Raettonus answered, “He was probably scared.”

“Scared of me leaving?”

“Scared of how you’d leave him,” said Raettonus. He heard soft, hesitant hoof beats on the stone behind him and turned around.

Brecan hesitated a little ways away, watching him. Raettonus nodded to him slightly. “Who’re you talking to?” Brecan asked, coming closer. “Is it a ghost? Oooh, or maybe an invisible friend? I always wanted invisible friends.”

“It’s a ghost,” said Raettonus, turning away from Ruhrzyk. “Do you need something?”

The unicorn lowered his head and pressed his ears flat. Twitching his tail nervously, he said, “I was just thinking, you were so quiet at dinner. You weren’t even all mean like usual—not as mean, anyway. And, um… Is something wrong, Raet?”

“Not a thing,” said Raettonus.

“You sure?” said Brecan. He sat back on his haunches and looked at Raettonus with his pale blue eyes. “If you’re upset about something, you can tell me. You…you always keep everything all bottled up inside you, Raet, and it makes me worry for you. I mean, it can’t be good, keeping yourself all shut off like that. Part of being friends means sharing with each other, you know? So that you don’t have to keep everything inside. I…I don’t know why you do that, Raet, why you shut down like that. I don’t know—maybe I’m too stupid to understand you. But I try to. If something’s wrong, Raet, you can tell me, and I promise I’ll try to understand. If everything is fine—if you say so—I’ll leave you be, I guess. Just…I want you to know, if you’re upset about something, I’ll listen. I don’t think I could help you any, but…I’ll listen.”

Raettonus took a deep breath and studied the unicorn. Finally, he said, “Master Slade saw Rhodes. He knows that I did that to him and… We got in a fight.”

“I’m sure he’ll forgive you,” Brecan said.

“Yes, he probably will,” said Raettonus. “But even if he does, I’ll still know that he thinks I’m a monster.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t think that. How could he think that?”

Raettonus turned his face back toward the ocean and let out a heavy breath which turned to steam in the cold air. “He called me a demon,” Raettonus muttered. “The way he said it… He meant it. I know when he’s just saying things and when he’s telling the truth, and that was the truth.”

The unicorn edged a little closer. “I’m sorry, Raet,” Brecan said. “But—but it’s not like this is the first time you’ve been called that. You never let it get to you before…”

Pursing his lips, Raettonus glanced sideways at Brecan. “It’s different when it’s someone you’ve spent your whole life trying to save who says it.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it…”

“He did mean it.”

“I’m sure he’s going to forgive you, and he’s not going to be mad anymore…”

“What difference will it make? The damage is already done.”

“He didn’t really mean it. Don’t—Raet, please don’t be sad.”

Raettonus sighed and crossed his arms. “I should never have taken Kimohr Raulinn’s offer,” he said sullenly. “I should never have let him bring Sir Slade back to life.”

Brecan’s eyes widened. “Don’t say something like that,” he said. “Raet, you love Slade; why would you say that?”

“I think it would’ve been better for both of us if he’d stayed dead,” Raettonus mumbled. Clouds were beginning to roll in from the south, blotting out the starlight. “I would rather he know me as a pure, innocent young man, the way I was when he died. It’s too bad that that young man died the day he did.”

“Raet…”

Raettonus turned back to Brecan, but wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I really am a monster now,” he said quietly. “It…it’s physically painful to me that Slade sees this. What’s worse is… Well, I don’t think I even want to change, to be a better person. Not even for him.”

Chapter Fourteen

Raettonus was on his way back down to his cell when he came across General Diahsis drunkenly staggering along a little-used hallway. His face lit up as he caught sight of Raettonus. Leaning against a wall for support he called out, “Magician! Well met! Come over here and talk with me awhile.” His words weren’t at all slurred, but his face was red with drink, and his eyes had an unfocused look about them.

“It’s late,” Raettonus told him. “I’d really rather not.”

“Oh, please, Magician?” he begged. “Come here. Let’s talk. We never talk, you and I, and I should like very much to get to know you. Please?”

Raettonus sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said, crossing his arms. “For a bit. I guess.”

“Oh, good!” said Diahsis with a smile. He pushed himself away from the wall and stumbled sideways a few steps before Raettonus caught him. The general laughed and wrapped one arm around Raettonus’ narrow shoulders. “You’re stronger than you look, aren’t you?”

“A lot stronger,” agreed Raettonus. “You really shouldn’t be walking around. You’re going to fall and crack your head open. Not that that wouldn’t be completely hilarious.”

“Right, then,” said Diahsis, looking around. He pointed toward a door a little up the hallway. “Let’s go have a seat in there and talk a bit then.”

Raising an eyebrow, Raettonus looked toward the door Diahsis had indicated. “And what’s in there?” he asked.

“I don’t know!” exclaimed Diahsis. He laughed again. “We’ll find out when we get there. It’s like an adventure!”

Raettonus sighed and started toward the room, helping Diahsis along. “You are very drunk,” he said. “How many glasses of wine did you have?”

“I don’t know. It’s not as though I were counting. Oh, hold on.”

He broke away from Raettonus and staggered backward a few steps before turning, doubling over, and promptly retching on the floor. Straightening up, he wiped the vomit from his lips with the back of his hand.

“Lovely,” muttered Raettonus.

“I feel much better now,” Diahsis said, walking unevenly back toward Raettonus. He laid his arm again on the magician’s shoulders. “What were we talking about?”

Raettonus shook his head and helped the general to the door. “Nothing at all,” he said, turning the knob and flinging it open. The room was small, containing only a low table. Dust hung heavy on the tabletop and the floor, and the torches sat in their sconces unburnt. Raettonus ran his fingers across the tops of the torches, and flames sprang to life upon them. He eased the general carefully down onto the table and took a seat beside him.

“This is good,” said Diahsis, looking around. “This is a good room. I like it.”

“You like it?” asked Raettonus incredulously. “There’s nothing in here. What could you possibly like about it?”

“It’s a good room,” said Diahsis. “It’s just…good. It’s good.”

“That’s not a reason,” Raettonus said.

With a chuckle and a dashing smile, Diahsis leaned his head against Raettonus’ shoulder and looked up at him. “You’re very handsome, Magician,” he said. “You’re a handsome magician. Could you show me a magic trick?”

“I’m not a trained monkey,” Raettonus replied, scowling. “I don’t do tricks on command.”

“Oh, please, Magician?” he asked. He rested one hand on Raettonus’ thigh. “Pretty please? I’d love to see you do some magic for me.”

Raettonus sighed. “You’re just going to keep asking if I say no again, aren’t you?”

Diahsis nodded. “I’m very persistent, Magician,” he said. “It’s really my best quality. Ha, well, persistence and handsomeness. My two best qualities. My third best quality is being charming. So will you do a trick for me, Magician?”

“Fine,” said Raettonus. “I suppose I’ll show you some magic.”

“Really? Oh, good!” said Diahsis, clasping his hands together against his chest. “Oh, I’m excited! What are you going to do?”

“God, you just chatter like a parakeet, don’t you?” Raettonus muttered. “Just be quiet and watch, could you?”

“Quiet and watch—I can do that. I’m good at watching, do it all the time.”

“That may be, but you are clearly not very good at quiet.” Raettonus let out a frustrated sigh and shook his head. He stretched out one arm and reached into that holding space between worlds. His fingers ran across a little leather journal and he closed them around it. When he withdrew his hand from the space the journal came with him, and he showed it to Diahsis.

“Oh, what’s that?” asked Diahsis, plucking it out of Raettonus’ grasp.

“A journal,” Raettonus answered, reaching for it. Diahsis merely pulled the journal farther away. “The magic trick was making it appear. The journal isn’t important. May I have it back?”

Diahsis flipped through the pages. “Whose is it? I can’t read this writing. You have terrible penmanship.”

Raettonus managed to grab hold of the journal and jerk it away. “You can’t read it because it’s French, you idiot,” he said.

“Ah. Well, here I was thinking I might be drunker than I thought,” said Diahsis with a laugh. “French. That’s good to know. Is it your journal, Magician?”

“No, it isn’t,” Raettonus said, replacing the little leather-bound book in the place between worlds. “It’s Sir Slade’s.”

“Ah! The man with the glowing eyes, right?” said Diahsis. “He’s a handsome fellow, isn’t he?”

“Mm. I suppose so.”

“He has a nose almost just the same as my late lover,” Diahsis said with a sigh. “Rysah—that was my lover’s name. He died.”

“Fascinating,” said Raettonus flatly. “Actually, I don’t really care about your lover or his nose.”

“He was handsome,” Diahsis said, paying Raettonus no mind. “And he was smart too. So smart. He had all these books, and he spoke all these languages… He was enormous, too—just massive. Six and half foot, or maybe a little taller. He’s dead now.”

“So you said.”

“Did I? Oh… Well, he’s dead,” said Diahsis. “I burned his body in Virsah. There’s this big statue of Cykkus at the temple there, and that’s where we did it.”

“Entrancing,” said Raettonus, rolling his eyes. “Really, now, are we done with this?”

Diahsis shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess so. We can talk of something else, I guess. Oh, like dragons! I almost killed a dragon… Almost. Next time, I will kill it. I’ll land the finishing blow. I’ll be magnificent. You should be there, Magician. You should see me.”

“I’m not interested in hunting dragons,” Raettonus told him bluntly.

“But, dragons, Magician!” said Diahsis, leaning his face into Raettonus’ shoulder. The cloth of the magician’s tunic muffled his words. “Dragons. They’re enormous, and they have these claws that just—that crush stone, and they do not feel fear.”

“And what is your point?” Raettonus asked. “Those are bad reasons to hunt dragons. There really aren’t any good reasons, since it’s so much more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Worth? Ha!” Diahsis sighed contently. “Magician, I can’t really tell you the worth of killing a dragon if you don’t already understand it. But… But it’s… Have you faced down a dragon? It gets your whole body going—all the blood and the sweat and the heat, just moving around your body. It’s like being on fire.”

“I’ve been on fire, actually. Pretty regularly in fact. I was on fire earlier today, come to think,” Raettonus said. “I can tell you, you probably couldn’t imagine what being on fire is like. You should go talk to my servant Rhodes. He could tell you.”

Diahsis frowned for a moment. “Rhodes?” he asked. “Ah, never mind it. Tell me, Magician, why won’t you come work for me? Help me take Zylekkha?”

“I’ve already told you,” Raettonus said tiredly. “I have no interest in your war.”

“That’s why we’d pay you—pay you to take an interest in it,” said Diahsis. “Come, now, Magician, be a little reasonable.”

“I’m being perfectly reasonable,” Raettonus told him flatly. “You tell me, General. Just why should I care who rules Zylekkha? I mean, whether it’s the Zylekkhan king sitting the throne here or the Tahlehson king, it has nothing to do with me. King Shalrish, King Saemohr—I’m going to outlive the both of them, you know, and probably their whole goddamn dynasties. Why should I care about this skirmish?”

“It’s more than a skirmish,” scoffed Diahsis. “This is a war bards will sing of for ages to come. They’ll tell stories about it, Magician. Stories. I’m going to be in those stories too. I’m going to be a hero. They’re going to sing about me like they sing about Daebrish. They’re going to paint me and hang my portraits up on walls.”

“Sounds fantastic,” Raettonus replied flatly. “A good thing you’ve got going, certainly. Just a shame that’s not actually going to happen.”

“Of course it’ll happen. I’ll make it happen,” Diahsis said, an easy smile on his full lips. “I’m going to be so absolutely breathtaking that they’ll have to be crazy not to sing my praises. I’m going to make the world shake, Magician. I’m going to make the sky rain blood. I’m going to make myself a god in mortal flesh. Just you wait, Magician. You’re going to see me reborn as a deity. Everywhere they’ll hear my name and—and they’ll put up little shrines for me in their houses so they can worship me every morning and night.”

Raettonus cocked one eyebrow. “You have some pretty powerful delusions.”

With a laugh, Diahsis closed his eyes and resettled his face against Raettonus’ shoulder so his lips brushed against the blond man’s neck. “They aren’t delusions, Magician,” he said softly. “I met a fortune teller once in Nuntah, out on the swamps. She threw salt into a fire and read the flames. She read the flames for me, and the flames told her I was bound for greatness beyond measure. Kaeriaht himself told her I would be great—he told her with the flames. Do you want to doubt those flames, Magician? Doubt Kaeriaht? I’m not going to.”

“Kaeriaht,” scoffed Raettonus. “Honestly, I’m not convinced your fire god exists. I’m not convinced any of your gods exist, really…except Kimohr Raulinn. That one I will concede.”

“Ha, I’m not sure they exist either,” said Diahsis, smiling broadly. “Still, the fire told the fortune teller I was going to be great. Fire doesn’t lie, Magician.”

“Fortune tellers lie,” Raettonus said flatly. “In fact, they pretty much always lie. Hate to be the one to break it to you, General, but she was only telling you what you wanted to hear.”

With a soft laugh and another winning smile, Diahsis said, “Oh, Magician, you’re really very cynical, aren’t you? You don’t think it’s at all that she was telling me the truth? That the truth just happens to also be what I wanted to hear?”

“Is that what you think? Really?”

“Of course,” said Diahsis. He let out a little sigh of contentment. “You’re very warm, Magician. Like a blanket that’s been slept in. Very warm.”

“I’m full of fire.”

“Mm, it’s nice,” said Diahsis. He pressed himself closer against Raettonus and half opened his eyes. “Will you show me more magic?”

“No,” Raettonus said. “You didn’t appreciate the last trick. I’m not doing any more of them.”

“I did! I did appreciate it—I did,” Diahsis insisted. He nudged Raettonus’ ribs softly. “Come on, Magician. Do another trick for me. Oh, please? I never get to meet powerful, handsome magicians like you. Just one more trick? Please?”

Raettonus sighed and looked down at the half-elf general leaned against him. “What is your obsession with magic tricks? I mean, really?” he said. “You know who asks to see magic tricks when they find out I’m a magician? Children. Children do that. Grown men do not.”

“I like magic. What’s wrong with that? It’s so…out of the ordinary,” Diahsis said with a lethargic shrug of one toned shoulder. “Please, Magician? Just show me some magic. Just once more, and I won’t bother you again about it the rest of the night.”

“Or I could just go ahead and leave and not have to hear any more from you or act like it’s my responsibility to be your own personal entertainer. Honestly, leaving is by far the more tempting choice.”

Diahsis frowned and wrapped his arm around Raettonus’. “No, never mind then,” he said quickly. “Don’t leave. I…I’ll be quiet about that. We’ll just go back to talking…”

“I don’t know. Leaving still sounds preferable.”

“No, no—sit, stay some more,” Diahsis said. He held Raettonus’ arm tightly. “Please stay some more. I promise not to ask for any more magic tricks.”

“All right. Fine,” said Raettonus reluctantly. “I guess I’ll stay awhile longer.”

Diahsis smiled. “Wonderful,” he said, loosening his grip on Raettonus’ arm. The general’s hand found its way back down to the magician’s thigh. “That’s good. Good. I…I wouldn’t want you to leave, Magician. I want to talk to you. I…” He frowned and furrowed his brow. “There aren’t really any other people here I can really talk to—not as equals. They’re all below me, you know. Soldiers don’t want to hold a chat with their superiors, you know.”

“Don’t want to talk to you? Couldn’t imagine why,” Raettonus said dryly.

The general ignored the comment, though whether purposefully or merely because he had been too wrapped up in his own thoughts to hear it, Raettonus couldn’t tell. “It’s a lot lonelier than you’d think it’d be, being a general,” said Diahsis. He stared vacantly at one of the torches on the wall. “You’d think it wouldn’t be. A general is a powerful man, after all. Certainly everyone loves a powerful man. People flock to him, certainly. They do flock to him—but it’s just birds flocking to a statue. They don’t come to the statue to admire the art of it. They just want to stand up on its shoulders for a while. People don’t flock to a general except to stand on his shoulders.”

“What did you expect?” asked Raettonus. “That everyone would like you because you’re the top dog? That’s not how hierarchy works. No one at the bottom of the pyramid hangs around the people at the top because they like them. They hang around to look good.”

“I’m so tired of being all alone, Magician,” Diahsis said, and his voice was barely a whisper. “Everyone around me is just waiting to use me up and toss me away. Gods above—I try my best to be amiable to these people, and all they do is plot to use me as a stepping-stone. I just want to make friends. I…” Suddenly, he let out a cold, joyless laugh. “I don’t have any friends, Magician. Isn’t that something? I try my hardest to be likeable, and yet have no friends. Gods, I haven’t had friends since I joined the army, really. Before that, even. Isn’t that something?”

Raettonus frowned at looked down at Diahsis, still nestled against his neck. “What were you expecting?” he asked. “An elf like you joining up with centaurs? You’re a blood traitor. No wonder no one wants to be your friend. The centaurs are always going to look down on you, you know, for being an elf. No matter how high you rise, they’re going to look down their noses at you. Any idiot could see that.”

With a wistful sigh, Diahsis raised his gaze to meet Raettonus’ eyes. “I know it seems very silly of me to even try to earn their respect,” he said. “Still, I can’t help but think… Well, at some point, they’re going to see how amazing I am. They’re going to have to. When this war is done, I fully expect King Saemohr to put me on the Zylekkhan throne, Magician. Unlike all the others, he understands that I am clever and strong and loyal. I am devoted to my king—utterly devoted—and he understands that. He’s going to put me on the throne here. He’s going to see how hard I’ve worked for him, and he’s going to reward me for it.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Raettonus, shaking his head. “God—you just lie to yourself until you believe it, don’t you?”

“I don’t lie to myself,” said Diahsis. “King Saemohr is going to reward me for all the sweat and blood I’ve given him. He will. I’m going to be king in Zylekkha and then…”

“And then what?” asked Raettonus. “What problems do you think it’ll solve, having a crown and a title? That’s all it will be, you know—just a title. So do you think being king is going to be any less lonely for you than being general?”

“I think—”

“It’s not going to be, and you’re a fool if you’re deluding yourself otherwise,” Raettonus said.

Diahsis closed his mouth and was silent for a long time. Finally, he said in a quiet voice that was more like the voice of a scared child than of a soldier, “I really have to try. I need to see. Maybe…maybe if I just get a little higher up, things are going to get better.”

He sighed and pulled himself away from Raettonus, leaning back and resting on his elbows instead. One of the paws of his wolfskin cloak slipped down off his shoulder, but he didn’t bother to pull it back into place. “What about you, Magician?” he asked after a bit. “You’re a powerful man. Are you lonely? It can’t just be me, can it?”

“Lonely,” sneered Raettonus. “Feeling lonely suggests you have a need to have other people around. I have no such need. No, I’m not lonely. I’ve never been lonely and could never be lonely.”

“Oh.” Diahsis sounded deflated.

“You were hoping to hear differently. Hoping I could sympathize with you and we could be buddies, right?” Raettonus said, looking at the general out of the corner of his eye. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Diahsis managed a weak smile. “Oh, it’s fine,” he said. “I just… I mean, I’m glad you’re not lonely. I am. It’s not a good feeling, so I’m glad you’re not lonely.”

With a groan and a roll of his eyes, Raettonus laid back on the table, arms folded behind his head. “Your optimistic spin on everything is downright grating, did you know that?” he said. “God, could you stop trying to be so damn cheery?”

“I’m sorry you don’t like it, Magician,” responded Diahsis. “But a bright disposition is really the key to success. I try to look at things positively. You really should try it, Magician.”

Raettonus rolled his eyes and made no answer. For a few minutes the pair of them sat in silence, the torches crackling softly in the quiet. Somewhere out in the hall, muffled by the stone, they could hear soldiers laughing together as they made their way to the roof or the barracks. Diahsis’ sharp ears bobbed slightly at the sound of the centaurs’ laughter, and he smiled faintly.

After what might have been five minutes or so, Diahsis broke the silence. “Magician,” he said, his voice soft and hesitant. “I’ve been wondering… Did it hurt when you lost your soul?”

“Hurt?” Raettonus raised one eyebrow. “No, it didn’t hurt.”

“How did you lose your soul, anyway?”

The magician let out a long, rattling sigh and scowled. “Everyone always asks me that,” he said. “I never get to have a conversation with anyone without them bringing up my soul. I don’t want to talk about it, all right? If I wanted to talk about it, I’d volunteer it. I don’t.”

Diahsis pursed his lips for a moment. “All right then,” he said quietly. “Sorry I asked, I guess.”

“Yes. Yes, you should be sorry,” said Raettonus. “God, what part of ‘lost my soul’ makes people think I’d want to tell that story? I mean, would you want to tell that story, if it were you?”

For a moment, Diahsis considered the question. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I suppose I would if it were an interesting story. Is it?”

“I told you, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Right, right. My mistake,” said Diahsis. “I was just thinking lately about dying, and… Well, anyway. I’ve been thinking lately about dying. Magician? Supposing you could die, how would you want to go?”

“I don’t know,” mumbled Raettonus as he stared up at the dark ceiling. “All deaths are pretty uniformly awful. I suppose it’d be most fitting if I were to burn to death. Just walk into a fire and burn down to ashes.”

“Like a phoenix!” exclaimed Diahsis with a laugh.

“Christ, I’d hope not,” said Raettonus. “Phoenixes just come back to life. If I’m dying, I want to stay dead. Anyway, fire’d be the most fitting, but I’d hate to burn to death. I’ve seen people burn to death. I’ve seen lots of people burn to death, in fact. It’s not a pretty way to go. They scream and scream until their lungs are too seared for them to scream any more. And the way the fat burns off them first, and the whole thing smells like someone roasting venison on a campfire… Yeah, no thanks.”

“So how would you want to die, then?” asked Diahsis, turning to look down at Raettonus.

Raettonus shrugged and sat up. “I don’t know,” he said. “Like I said before, there’s really no good way to die.”

“I don’t know, I think there is,” Diahsis said.

“Oh, yeah?”

The general nodded. “Sure,” he said. “In battle. That’s a good way to die. That’s how I want to die.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised by that.”

Diahsis laughed and smiled that winning smile of his which sat so handsomely upon his face. He crossed one leg over the other at the knee and the hem of his chiton fell up his thigh a little. He said, “Well, if all deaths are going to be bad, why not die a glorious death? Honestly, I can’t think of any better way to end one’s life. So that’s how I intend to die, Magician—my sword in one hand, my dagger in the other, all dressed in bronze and silver with the lion of Tahlehsohr shining on my chest. It’ll be beautiful. Perfect.”

An amused smile cracked Raettonus’ thin lips as he regarded Diahsis. “Are you serious?”

“Deathly serious. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Raettonus shook his head. “You’re something else, you know that?” he said.

“I’ve been told that, yes,” said Diahsis, his smile only broadening. He shook his foot slowly back and forth, causing his chiton to slip further up his well-toned thigh. Slowly, his grin faded away and his light blue eyes took on a distant look. “My late lover, Rysah, was a scholar, did you know? He was. He was a scholar, and he spent all his time doing research on stars, and birds, and poisons. Do you know how he wanted to die? Poison. I know because he swallowed a cup of hemlock.”

“Sorry to hear that,” muttered Raettonus awkwardly.

“It’s fine,” said Diahsis, his gaze coming to rest again on the torches. His voice was low and tired. “He was dead before that, I think. On the inside, he was already dead. Have you ever been with someone like that, Magician? Someone who’s there physically, but they’re never really there? He doesn’t laugh when you do, or smile back when you smile at him, or do anything that suggests he even hears it when you talk to him. Gods, it’s a lonely state of affairs.”

He sighed and his sharp ears drew back. The distant look vanished from his eyes, and he turned his face again to Raettonus. “The moral of the story is don’t invest too much of yourself into a man who spends all his time working with poisons. Nothing good will come of it,” he said. “So, what about you? Have you ever had a lover die?”

“Insofar as I’ve had lovers, I guess so,” Raettonus responded with a shrug. “Certainly most everyone I’ve bedded, I’ve outlived. I can expect to outlive the ones that haven’t died yet. That whole ‘being immortal’ thing, you know.”

“Ah. Right,” said Diahsis. “Well, that must be sad for you.”

Raettonus shrugged his shoulder. “I don’t know. I get on fine,” he said.

“Oh.” Diahsis sat up and set his hands in his lap. “There was this time a few years back when Rysah kept all these songbirds. Hundreds of them. They were so loud I could hear them in all the hallways of my estate. Birds, just chirping and chirping in his study. So I told him to get rid of them, and he refused to because they were part of his studies. So I waited until he was asleep and I snuck down to his study and I snapped their little necks one by one and fed them all to my hunting hawks. The next morning he came into my room all in a huff and demanded to know what I’d done with them. Rysah never hit me before that or after that, but when I told him how I’d killed those songbirds of his, he punched me so hard it cracked one of my molars and left a big, fist-shaped bruise on my cheek for weeks after. Gods, Rysah was a big, muscular man, and that punch hurt like hell—but all I could do was laugh. I just laughed until he stormed back out.”

“Well. Sounds like living with you must have been a real treat,” Raettonus said. “God, were you surprised when the man killed himself? You shouldn’t have been, really.”

The distant look had come back into Diahsis’ eyes, and he was rubbing gently at his cheek as if he could still feel the bruise there. “No,” he said slowly. “I guess I shouldn’t have been.” Another smile slowly crept onto the general’s lips. “Really, the joke was on me. He’d been testing slow-acting poisons on some of those birds, and I ended up losing a lot of my hawks. I stopped laughing after that. Gods, I was so angry…”

He sighed and rolled his neck. “Ah, but never mind all that,” he said. “It’s such a dreary subject…”

“The time you killed all your dead lover’s birds out of spite is a dreary subject? Who would’ve guessed?” Raettonus rolled his eyes. “If you don’t want to talk about dreary subjects, maybe you shouldn’t bring them up in the first place, huh?”

“Well, I didn’t mean to,” said Diahsis. “I was just thinking out loud, really. Ah, but let’s talk about something more pleasant. Hm… Ah, how are your lessons with the late general’s sons going? Well?”

“Well enough, I guess.”

“You’re teaching them magic.”

“Yes, I am.”

Diahsis leaned in close—so close Raettonus could smell the wine still on his breath and the scent of some sort of perfuming oil on his skin. “So, tell me, Magician,” he asked, light blue eyes focused intently on Raettonus’ dying-ember gaze. “Can you teach anyone magic?”

Raettonus raised one eyebrow and answered coolly, “That depends on the student, not on me.”

“Do you think you could teach me to do magic?” asked Diahsis. “Like how you lit the torches in here just by touching them? I’d like to be able to do that.”

The magician curled his lip and shook his head. “Honestly, you and magic,” he said. “You have a problem, General. You are obsessed.”

“I just like magic, that’s all,” Diahsis responded. He smiled. “I used to be magical, did you know? I could turn into a wolf.”

“So I gathered, you being half werewolf and all.”

“Mm. Yes, I suppose that does make it obvious, doesn’t it?” said Diahsis with a laugh. “Ah, but I can’t turn into a wolf anymore.”

“How’s that?”

Diahsis pursed his lips briefly and shrugged. “I had to give up a piece of my pelt after the Wolf-blood Wars to keep my position,” he said. “As a show of loyalty to King Saemohr, he asked me to give up part of my pelt, and so of course I did. It’s not that much to ask, I suppose. He’d already made me swear an oath to have no children years before that, and certainly asking a man not to find a wife and have children is a much larger request than asking him for a piece of wolfskin.”

“Funny,” said Raettonus. “Most every werewolf I ever met would rather die than give up his skin. To all of them it’d be like losing an eye or a hand.”

Diahsis smiled sadly. With his handsome face and his light blue eyes, the expression made him look somewhat like Sir Slade. “I’m not really a werewolf,” he said. “I’m just an elf who a werewolf happened to give birth to, Magician. That’s the way it’s always seemed to me, anyway. All the real werewolves—yes, they are quite attached to their pelts. Rysah was. Rysah didn’t want to give his up when the king asked him for it. He did give it up though. He had to. He was never right after that though. But for me? Well, it was little more than a fur tunic to me, really. I’m no real werewolf, Magician. I’m just a lowly elf.”

“But you miss turning into a wolf or else you wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, not really,” said Diahsis. “I didn’t do it much, anyway. What should I miss about it? Being a wolf is much the same as being a man, except you can’t hold a sword or open doors. Ah, but to be able to do real magic, the way you do it—I would kill gods for that.”

“There is nothing I could show you to do that wouldn’t take a lot of time for you to learn—supposing you could learn,” Raettonus said. “You’re a busy man, running this citadel and all. I doubt you’d have the time for such lessons, really.”

The wolf-blood general’s sharp ears drooped slightly. “Oh,” he said. “That’s a pity. Ah—but what about just a very small trick? It wouldn’t have to be anything impressive…”

“Even a small trick would take months of intense study,” Raettonus answered. “It’s not like picking up knitting, General. You can’t become a mage over the course of an afternoon.”

“Ah, of course not,” said Diahsis sadly. “I was just hoping… Ah, but nevermind. No, it was a silly thing to ask. I knew the answer before I even asked it.” He smiled again. “So, Magician, are you sure you wouldn’t like to come hunt faeries with Deggho and I?”

“I’m really not interested, no,” Raettonus answered. “I don’t like to hunt. It’s so much traveling and all for next to nothing, really. It’s boring. As a necessity I understand it—but when it’s merely for fun, then what’s the point?”

With a soft laugh, Diahsis rested his hand on Raettonus’ thigh. “It’s the sport of it, Magician,” he said. “Tracking something, cornering it, engaging it in combat—taking its life. There is no better way in the world to prove yourself, Magician, than to cut down something dangerous.”

“Ah. Well, there’s the problem then,” answered Raettonus with a faint sneer. “I already know I can kill things. I don’t need to do it to justify calling myself a man.”

Another chuckle rolled out of Diahsis’ lips. “It’s not about justifying myself as a man, Magician,” he said. “Gods, no. It’s about justifying myself as something which lives and breathes and takes up space. How can you justify existing in a world like this if you can’t best other creatures? Er, not you, I mean—of course the great magician Raettonus is capable of ending any life he wants—but, ah, anyone else. We mere mortals need to kill or die, or else what is the value of us?”

Raettonus pursed his lips and stared at Diahsis for a very long time. “You have the strangest, most foolishly romantic notion of death I’ve ever heard,” he said finally.

Again the general laughed. “Yes,” he said. “I’ve been told that on occasion.”

With a sigh, Raettonus lifted the general’s hand off his thigh and stood. “It’s getting very late, General,” he said. “I’m going to retire.”

Diahsis’ ears fell slightly, and he didn’t hide his disappointment. “Ah, all right then,” he said. “I was hoping… Ah, nevermind, I guess. Good night, Magician. Sleep well.”

“Yeah, you too,” said Raettonus. With a brief wave over his shoulder to the half-elf general, he left Diahsis alone in the dusty, dark little room.

Chapter Fifteen

A storm had crept up on the citadel by the next morning, putting a damper on the centaurs’ construction work and stopping the general’s hunting expedition. For a full three weeks, the storm battered the walls of the citadel like a mad beast. Rainwater rushed in through the fissure in the wall, soaking all the carpets and tapestries in its reach beyond salvage.

At first, Diahsis had complained loudly about the storm ruining his faerie hunting to anyone and everyone—especially to Raettonus. This didn’t last too long, however, before he simply retreated to his chambers with Deggho and a group of his commanders. Raettonus didn’t know what he was doing locked away on his floor with his companions, and Raettonus quite frankly didn’t care.

In the meantime, while the storm raged against the walls of the citadel, Raettonus saw nothing of Sir Slade. In the mornings when he awoke and went out of his cell, he saw the door to Slade’s room was closed. At night when he returned to his cell, Slade’s door was still closed. If the man ever left his room, he went to great lengths to avoid meeting Raettonus in the hallways.

After a few weeks had passed, the storm died down and the weather was good again. Diahsis hastily pulled his hunting party together again, and they left early one Wednesday morning, but not before stopping by Raettonus’ cell and awakening him. Deggho pleaded with him to come with them while Diahsis insisted again and again that it would be fun. Curtly, Raettonus declined and bid them let him sleep. Reluctantly, they did so.

Raettonus was on his way back to his chambers after his lesson that same day when Slade came upon him in a narrow stairway. Raettonus flattened himself against the wall to let him through, but Slade didn’t move. “I was just coming to find you,” he said. “I…I wanted to apologize.”

“It’s all right,” said Raettonus, looking down.

Slade smiled kindly. “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

“If you want,” said Raettonus. Slade turned and went down the stairs, and Raettonus followed him.

They made their way along a corridor bright with afternoon light. For some time, they walked in awkward silence. Finally, Slade ventured hesitantly, “I shouldn’t have said the things I said that night. I was angry. I should’ve kept my temper in check better.”

“It’s not a big deal,” mumbled Raettonus. “Forget about it.”

“I can’t just forget about it,” Slade said. “I said awful, hurtful things to you. I…I really shouldn’t have.” He bit his lower lip and leaned against the wall. “There was a time, when I was very young, that my own father said very similar things to me, and those words burned me inside, and it never stopped hurting. I don’t want you to hate me like I hated my father for that.” Raettonus started to speak, but Slade cut him short. “Even if you think you could never hate me, I’m sure you could. You’d start to resent me, and the resentment would turn to hate, whether you realized it or not. I don’t want that to happen. I just…I want you to know, I was only angry. I meant it when I said you shouldn’t have killed Rhodes, but the rest… The rest was just anger. You understand, right?”

“Yes, Master, I understand.”

The older man frowned, his lightly glowing eyes searching Raettonus’ face. “I’m serious, you know,” he said. “I didn’t mean what I said, and I want you to know that.”

“Of course, Master.”

“Raettonus,” said Slade, his voice almost a sigh. “I can tell by your voice when you’re lying to me, you know. Please—please, I just want for you to forget about the argument. I want you to forget the things I said to you, and I want to be forgiven. If that means you need to get mad right now and snap at me, please do it. I’d rather you be angry with me in this moment than that you should resent me for the rest of your life.”

“Master, really,” Raettonus said, voice carefully measured. “I’m not angry with you. I’m really not. What you said… You were honestly right to say it. What I did to Rhodes was horrible. Reprehensible. You were in the right. You really don’t need to be forgiven by me.”

“But I’d like to be,” said Slade.

Raettonus looked up at Slade, face carefully blank. Sir Slade had a way of making Raettonus always feel like a little child. Maybe it was the sheer size of him—he was a couple inches over six feet, with a chest like a barrel and arms like tree limbs. Or perhaps it was the way he always looked at Raettonus, as if he were looking at something small and helpless. “Of course I forgive you, then,” he said. “I’m perfectly willing to just forget the whole thing, if you want me to, Master.”

Slade forced a smile onto his face and pushed away from the wall. “That’s good,” he said. “I’m glad. I was worried that… Well, never mind. If you’ve forgiven me, it’s all fine. Let’s not dwell on it, shall we?”

They entered the main entrance hall of the citadel. The doors at the end of the hall were open wide, and outside soldiers were standing around or else pulling blocks into place to help reconstruct the wall. They were working extra hard to make up for the lost time the storm had caused them. “If you don’t mind my asking,” said Raettonus tentatively, “what was it your father said to you that made you hate him?”

Slade stared down at the grimy floor. “That’s a very painful memory for me, and I’d rather not linger on it,” he answered. “Suffice to say he did not approve of my necromancy.”

Raettonus frowned. “Something I’ve always sort of wondered—how did you get found out as a necromancer?” asked Raettonus. “You’ve never told me.”

With a weak shrug, Slade said, “It’s pretty much the same as you getting found out as a pyromancer, just that I was much, much older. You know how hard it is to control a magic you’re really in tune with when you’re feeling emotional, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Right, well, just because there need to be corpses around for my necromancy to do anything, I was able to hide it a lot longer than you could hide your pyromancy,” Slade said. “I was pretty lucky, early on. I never got caught before I had any control over my necromancy. But some years after Lord Brigham had taught me to control it, my brother died. He and I were very close, and I was pretty distraught over it. Too distraught, in fact. When I showed up at his funeral, he began to twitch and rise up from under his shroud. Mary, it was awful…”

There was shouting outside, and the pair turned their attention to the open doors where a gryphon was landing with Deggho and Diahsis on it. The goblin shouted for help as Diahsis wobbled and fell off the gryphon’s back. Slade and Raettonus exchanged a look and started quickly toward the doors, where groups of soldiers were already gathering. Raettonus shouldered his way through the crowding centaurs.

“What happened?” he asked Deggho, as the goblin knelt next to a delirious, barely conscious Diahsis. Blood was running thickly out of Diahsis’ thigh where his chain mail had been crunched open and was hanging in tatters.

Deggho pointed his head up toward Raettonus. “Magician! Gods, I’m glad to see you,” he said quickly. “We were attacked by these…these creatures with steel teeth and… Gods protect us, they killed everyone else. We tried to fight them off and they killed everyone. One of them bit Diahsis. Can—can you help him?”

Raettonus knelt down next to him. “Let me have a look at the wound,” he said and turned to Slade. “Master, could you help me clean the blood away so I can get a look at the area.”

Slade nodded and created a sphere of water between his hands. Down beside Raettonus, he knelt and brought the water to Diahsis’ thigh, rubbing the coagulating blood away from it. When he was finished, Raettonus pulled the cloth and twisted metal rings back from the wound and saw what he’d feared he’d see. Veins of dark blue surrounded the bite. “This is the bite of an abassy,” Raettonus said. “Help me get him inside. If he’s not healed quickly, he’s going to die.”

Two centaurian soldiers moved quickly to aid him, picking up the general and carrying him where Raettonus directed.

When Diahsis was placed on a clean bed in an empty room, Raettonus bid everyone leave him. Slade wanted to stay and help, but Raettonus assured him it wouldn’t be necessary and sent him on his way. Raettonus stripped Diahsis down and checked him for other wounds but there were none—only the horrible, dark-veined bite on his thigh. It was one of the places Kimohr Raulinn had been bitten as well, and Raettonus assumed it was because of the artery that ran through the area that the abassy would aim for the thigh specifically. With a bowl of water and a clean cloth, Raettonus set about cleaning the wound.

He wet Diahsis’ discolored thigh and conjured up a fire on his fingertips. “Healing flame,” he mumbled to himself, concentrating on the idea. He touched the fire to the wound, and a sharp pain shot up Raettonus’ arm like lightning. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, his resolve weakening. Diahsis cried out groggily as the flames burned him, and Raettonus quickly withdrew his hand to survey the damage. The flesh was reddened and the hairs around the area were singed, but no real injury had been done.

Raettonus ran the cloth over the wound again, wetting it. Gathering his concentration, he put the fire to the wound. He could feel the poison inside Diahsis’ leg. It stung him as he burned it away. For several minutes, Raettonus held his healing flame to Diahsis’ thigh, but the wound would not leave. Perhaps because it was fresher than the wounds Kimohr Raulinn had had, or perhaps because Raettonus’ magic still had not fully recovered—whatever the case, this wound was proving a lot more resistant than the ones he had healed on the god.

The flames on Raettonus’ fingertips burned hot as he held them to the injury. It was like he’d stuck his hand into a raging inferno or a volcano. The abassy bite was resolute, however, and no matter how much energy Raettonus put into his healing flame it refused to mend. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. With his eyes closed, he could sense the poison of the abassy’s bite; it was like a strong, malevolent presence waiting within the general’s artery. It was waiting there, mocking Raettonus’ attempts to destroy it.

Half an hour went by, and Raettonus began to feel fatigued. A vague fear surfaced in his mind that the wound wouldn’t heal, that since Diahsis was mortal there was no way to heal the abassy’s bite.

Frowning, Raettonus pushed the thought out of his mind and concentrated on keeping the fire on his fingers a healing flame as he pressed them against Diahsis’ thigh. He reached toward the general’s chest with his free hand and placed his palm flat over Diahsis’ heart. He could feel the pulse deep beneath his fingers, running through the thick muscles of his chest and his dark red lungs as the half-elven general’s heart beat feverishly faint. Focusing hard, he reached into Diahsis’ chest with his energy—into his heart, into his blood—forcing the magician’s magical essence to flow through all of Diahsis’ body and then back out again into Raettonus’ other hand. Raettonus took a deep breath as he felt the magical taint of Diahsis’ injury interacting with his own magical energy. It was painful, but it was also somewhat like stretching a sore muscle—a pain that felt necessary. He imagined fire burning inside of Diahsis’ blood, destroying the abassy’s poison without damaging the general’s veins and tissues.

He imagined a tiny fire, so small it could not be seen, moving like a snake through Diahsis’ veins. A little stream of fire twisting and turning and never touching the walls of the blood vessels. He focused hard on the thought of it. Imagined a microscopic fire that burned nothing but the black poison of the abassy bite. This tiny flame was a healing flame, destroying nothing that belonged to the body it was temporarily inhabiting.

Beneath his fingers, Raettonus could feel the flesh of Diahsis’ thigh repairing itself. It went slowly. Kimohr Raulinn’s wounds had been far more numerous, but took less time and energy for Raettonus to heal. But Diahsis didn’t have the benefit of Kimohr Raulinn’s magic residing in every inch of his body. He was only a mortal—a weak construct of flesh, completely devoid of any magic beyond his werewolf blood-right.

The wound was turning hard. When Raettonus pulled his hand away, it was a patch of scar tissue with an indentation where the skin had been torn and mangled by the steel fangs of the abassy. The flesh around it was slightly burned from Raettonus’ earlier slip in concentration, but the dark veins from the poison were gone, and the scar covering the injury—though fresh—looked solid.

He felt Diahsis’ forehead and found him still feverish. Raettonus dipped the washcloth he’d used to clean Diahsis’ wound in his bowl of water and folded it up, setting it across Diahsis’ forehead to cool him.

Raettonus was beginning to feel faint from exertion. Setting down the bowl beside the bed, he headed for the door. Outside, Deggho and a number of soldiers were milling about nervously.

“How is he? Is he all right?” asked Deggho.

“He’s asleep,” said Raettonus. “I need to go lie down. When he gets up, send for me. I’d like to talk to the both of you about the attack. I want to know what happened.”

“I could tell you,” said Deggho.

“Not now,” said Raettonus. “I need to sleep. Later. When Diahsis wakes up.”

“Okay,” the goblin said. He frowned and, readjusting his head, entered the room as Raettonus tiredly made his way past the soldiers still milling around, murmuring amongst themselves.

As Raettonus was making his way down the hall Slade came to meet him. “What happened?” asked Slade. “Is he going to be all right? What was that wound from?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to ask when he comes to,” lied Raettonus. “He’s still got a fever but he should be fine. Could—could you give me your arm, Master? I’m feeling unsteady.”

Slade obligingly helped Raettonus back to his room. As soon as Raettonus was in his bed, he was asleep. He dreamed of dark, colorless places and fire—no memories or conversations. No peaceful temples on broken plains.

* * *

It was midmorning when he awoke, groggy and covered in stale sweat. For a moment, he felt confused and light-headed. As his thoughts ordered themselves, he realized he’d been awoken by a hard-faced Zylekkhan soldier who was standing patiently over his bed watching him. “What’s that?” asked Raettonus, sitting up. He swayed and lay back down.

“General Diahsis woke up. I was told to fetch you,” said the soldier.

“Right, right,” groaned Raettonus, trying again to sit up. He waved the soldier closer and grabbed his arm for support. “Think you’re going to need to carry me, actually. Couldn’t Diahsis come here? Why do I have to go to him?”

The soldier helped him up, and he tried to walk, but found himself growing dizzy. After a little bit of urging, the centaur let Raettonus ride on his back and carried him down to the room where he had left Diahsis the afternoon before. Diahsis was lying in his bed, propped up against the headboard, waiting for Raettonus when he arrived. Deggho, Daeblau, and two soldiers Raettonus had either never seen before or couldn’t remember, were with him. “Magician!” said Diahsis warmly as he entered. “I want to thank you for the bang-up job you did on my leg. You saved my life.”

“Yeah, well,” said Raettonus. “I was just doing what I always do. Which is to say, being amazing.”

“Well, good job,” said the general agreeably. He motioned to the two strangers. “This is Captain Lorum and Captain Uhkeht, by the way.”

Raettonus nodded casually in their direction and leaned against the wall. “Tell me,” he said to Diahsis. “What was the attack like? How many creatures were there? What did they look like?”

“There were seven of them,” said Diahsis. “Horrible creatures with teeth made of iron and these soulless, black eyes…”

Deggho was sitting on the foot of the bed. “They came out of nowhere,” he told Raettonus. “We had twelve soldiers with us, but as soon as those things showed up they didn’t have a chance. We barely made it away…”

“Do you have any idea what they might have been?” Diahsis asked.

Raettonus nodded. “Abassy,” he said. “I’ve seen their bite before. It’s unmistakable.”

“Abassy?” asked Uhkeht. He was an older centaur with long, gray hair and a crooked nose that looked like it had been broken in several places at some point. “Aren’t those the servants of Cykkus?”

Lorum, a much younger centaur with wide brown eyes and a child-like face, asked, “What would make abassy attack us? I mean, is that even possible?”

“Obviously it’s possible,” Raettonus said. “It happened.”

Lorum crossed his arms and muttered something Raettonus couldn’t hear. Deggho’s ears twitched, and he turned his head toward Raettonus. “Wait—you’ve treated abassy bites before? Where? On whom?”

“I’m not at liberty to say. It doesn’t matter, anyhow.”

“I’m going to have to respectfully disagree, Magician,” said Diahsis. He leaned forward in his bed and gave Raettonus a stern look with his light blue eyes. Eyes like Slade’s, back before he died. “I get the feeling you know more about the abassy than you’re saying.”

Raettonus shrugged. Uhkeht took a step toward him. “Whatever it is you know,” he said, “you must tell us. We need to understand, so we can prepare. Where did they come from? Why?”

For a moment, Raettonus was silent as the four men watched him pleadingly. “Yeah, I guess I do have an idea about why they’re here,” he said finally. “And I certainly know where they came from and how they got here.”

“Tell us,” said Diahsis. He pursed his lips and crossed his hands over his lap, his soft blue eyes studying Raettonus’ face hard as he waited for an answer.

“Kimohr Raulinn broke down the walls of Hell,” Raettonus said.

“Why would he do that?” asked Uhkeht. Raettonus shrugged and turned his face away.

“They’re coming to take me to Hell, aren’t they?” asked Deggho, tears beginning to well up in the corners of his eyes. “They know I got out somehow and they’ve come for me, haven’t they?”

“I don’t think so,” said Diahsis. He didn’t take his gaze off Raettonus. “No, I think they’ve come for the Magician’s friend—the man with the glowing eyes.”

Raettonus sighed and looked at the general. “Fine. You’ve got me,” he said. “Sir Slade was brought out of Hell by Kimohr Raulinn. The abassy are here because of it. Hell, that’s probably why Deggho’s here and not rotting in a Kariss grave right now.”

“This isn’t good,” said Uhkeht. “We can’t possibly hold off the forces of a god. We haven’t even finished rebuilding the walls. We’ll be slaughtered in a day when his men arrive here. Certainly they were headed this way when they attacked you and the men, General. They know. If they didn’t before, they must know now.”

“We’re going to have to give up this Sir Slade,” put in Lorum. “We have to hope it’ll be enough to placate Lord Cykkus. It’s the only way to prevent a war we can’t win.”

“You will not be giving Sir Slade up to anyone,” Raettonus snapped. He pushed himself away from the wall and stood as tall as he could manage with his severe height disadvantage.

“You expect us to fight Death for your friend’s sake?” said Lorum. “Gods above, man—I will not die to protect your friend. My first concern is the well-being of my men, and they will not die in this hopeless war.”

Raettonus glowered at him. “Well, then, how’s this for your men? If you try to give up Sir Slade, or tell him anything about this, I will kill you and every single one of your soldiers myself,” he said, placing his hand on the hilt of his rapier. “I’m sure you’re aware I have the power to do so. I could burn this entire fortress to the ground. If you doubt I would, well…” He motioned with his free hand to his pale red eyes. “I didn’t lose my soul by being a good person.”

A pensive silence fell across the group. Finally, Lorum lowered his face and took a step back. Diahsis slid himself out of his bed, standing as steadily as he could. “All right, we’ve got no time to lose then,” he said. “Uhkeht, get that wall up. Lorum, you’re in charge of preparing external defenses. I want a deep chasm around this fort—really deep. And fill it with something painful.”

“Yes, General,” said the two captains, and they started off to their tasks.

When the centaurs were gone, Diahsis turned his attention to Raettonus once again. “I’d tell you the deaths of my men will be on your shoulders,” he said. “But I get the feeling it wouldn’t move you at all.”

“You’re right. It wouldn’t.”

“You’re dismissed, Magician,” said the general. “When Cykkus and his abassy are at our gates, however, I expect to find you on the front lines defending Kaebha. After all, this is your battle. None of us have a stake in it.”

“I have a stake in it,” put in Deggho timidly.

“I will defend Sir Slade to my last breath,” said Raettonus. “If you dare try to give him up, or tell him about this—”

“You need not fear that, Magician,” said Diahsis. “I think this is ill-advised, but I understand. I’ve been in love before, and I know what it is to have someone you love die. If all the people I’ve loved who I’ve lost could come back to me, I’d rather face down Cykkus, as well, than let them die again.” He lifted his wolf skin cape from where it had been folded on the floor and laid its paws over his shoulders. “I think, though, if I can be frank, a man your age shouldn’t have such crippling issues with death. You need to learn to let go, Raettonus.”

Easy enough for you to talk about, Raettonus might have said. Some day, you’ll see the people you’ve lost again, when you die. I don’t have that luxury.

Instead he bid the general a curt farewell, and left the room. Four soldiers were loitering in the hall, talking to each other in hushed voices. As they noticed him, they broke off their conversation. “Good morning, Magician,” one of them ventured timidly. Raettonus nodded to him and wordlessly went on his way.

He thought of going to his lessons with Maeleht and Dohrleht but decided against it. Instead he went back to his room and laid his sore, tired body down on the bed and slept for a long while.

* * *

Most of the soldiers in Kaebha were employed pulling huge stone blocks to the citadel and helping maneuver them into place. Another large portion of the soldiers were busy digging an enormous trench to separate the citadel from the rest of the mountain. When Raettonus asked about it, Diahsis expressed his intention for the trench to be dug so wide and deep that nothing would ever be able to cross it. Raettonus thought that idea impractical and told the general as such, only to be met with a light-hearted laugh. They spoke no further about it to one another.

“The soldiers seem very busy,” Slade remarked to Raettonus, a week or so later. “What are they preparing for?”

“I’m not sure, Master,” Raettonus said.

Slade frowned. “I see you talking to the general an awful lot,” he said. “He didn’t tell you what was going on in a single conversation?”

“He hasn’t told me anything, no,” said Raettonus. Slade gave him a hard look, but dropped the issue.

At night, from the citadel’s roof, Raettonus could see a pulsing light far off in the distance, obscured by the mountain tops and cliffs. The gently shifting light was blue and bright, and it made the mountains appear as if they were breathing in and out in slow, rhythmic patterns. Brecan sat with Raettonus, staring at it.

“What do you suppose that is?” the unicorn asked.

“Hell, I think,” answered Raettonus.

Brecan cocked his head this way, then that. “It’s pretty,” he said. “Raet… Something bad’s about to happen, isn’t it?”

“Something bad’s always about to happen,” Raettonus said.

“Worse than usual, I mean,” said Brecan. He turned his face from the distant light, toward Raettonus, and looked at him with one pale blue eye. “You told me before that it’s impossible to bring someone back from the dead, and even though Sir Slade’s been brought back… It’s still impossible, isn’t it? He doesn’t belong here, and bad things are about to happen because of it.” He waited for Raettonus to respond, but was met only with silence. Looking back toward the light, Brecan went on, “I’m afraid, Raet. How can we fight Death himself? I don’t think we can. I think when everything’s said and done, we’re gonna be in a bad way.”

“You think I should give Master Slade up without a fight,” Raettonus said, his voice dangerously low.

The unicorn readjusted his leathery white wings. “No, I don’t think that at all,” he said. “I just think… Well, I just think that, in the end, things’ll turn out bad. I was thinking that maybe you didn’t realize that, but… No, that was stupid of me. You know it…don’t you?”

Raettonus nodded mutely.

“I just…I wanted to make sure you knew,” said Brecan.

“Don’t tell Slade about any of this,” said Raettonus.

Brecan flattened his ears. “I wasn’t going to,” he said. “I mean, yeah, I think you should tell him what’s going on, and that it’s kinda mean of you to keep it from him, but if you don’t want me to tell him, Raet, I won’t.”

“If he knew that this is happening because of him, he’d try to stop it,” Raettonus said. “I can’t let him do that. How could I just let him do that?”

“In your place I wouldn’t either, I guess,” said Brecan. “I won’t tell him anything about it, Raet.”

Absently, Raettonus reached up and stroked Brecan’s neck. Brecan laid his head in Raettonus’ lap, and they watched the night for a while longer. In the distant blue-lit valleys they began to see things moving along the paths in tight, orderly rows. The black shapes marched closer and closer. It wouldn’t be long before they were at Kaebha’s doors. Raettonus suspected noon would see them making their way up the mountainside. And after that…

The wall still wasn’t completely fixed—not by a long shot. The trench was coming along, but not nearly well enough to be finished by the next day. An infirmary was being set up for the battle to come, but it wasn’t going to be big enough or well staffed enough to help anyone. Raettonus had his pyromancy, but it’d only been a week since he’d healed Diahsis, and that meant he didn’t have as much power as he might’ve had.

“I’m going to need you when the battle starts up,” Raettonus said to Brecan. He could feel the unicorn tense as he slowly rubbed his neck.

“Okay, Raet,” Brecan said, trying to push the fear out his voice. “I know I let you down a lot before, but this time I’m not going to.”

Raettonus slid himself out from under Brecan’s head and stood. “Good night,” he said, starting for the stairs.

“Good night, Raet,” Brecan called after him.

The halls were dark within the citadel, with all the torches having been put out hours before. The only exception was Diahsis’ floor, which Raettonus noticed was brightly lit and full of conversation, with the sweet notes of a flute floating gently out of one of the rooms. Raettonus shook his head as he passed. Irresponsible, he thought. Revelry on a night like this.

He made his way deeper, half lost in thought. As he passed through a shady hall full of solemn paintings he heard soft, uneven hoofbeats near at hand and paused a moment. The sound was coming from a narrow corridor off to his right. Only half-curious, he peered around the corner and saw Dohrleht slowly pacing in the gloom about twenty yards away.

“You’re up late,” Raettonus remarked, entering the corridor.

Dohrleht jumped slightly and turned, wide-eyed, toward Raettonus before relaxing a little. “Uh, y-yeah, guess I am,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at a staircase before turning his attention back to Raettonus. “I heard some of the soldiers talking. We’re going to be in a battle tomorrow, aren’t we?”

“We are.”

He bit his lip. “Will I be fighting?” he asked. “I can, you know. My leg’s all broken, but you taught me magic, and—”

“You don’t know nearly enough magic to be useful in a fight,” said Raettonus dismissively. “You and your brother should help in the infirmary. You’ll be with Master Slade there.”

The young centaur screwed up his face. “I’m not useless,” he said. “I can fight. I want to fight.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have shattered your leg into a thousand unhealable pieces then,” Raettonus said. “This isn’t some jousting game that no one will let you play anymore. This is an actual battle—with the forces of Hell, no less. Your job is in the infirmary, where you can actually do something and won’t just get in the way.”

“But I won’t get in the way on the front lines,” objected Dohrleht.

“Yes, you will,” said Raettonus. “Either your leg’s going to get you in the other men’s way, or you’re going to end up dead and just clutter the battlefield. I’ve been in wars. Trust me on this.”

Dohrleht seemed about to argue, but the sound of hooves on the stairs behind him caught his attention. He turned around and said down the stairs, “Daeblau—I was just talking with Raettonus.”

The hoofbeats stopped. Raettonus peered around Dohrleht into the stairwell, but couldn’t see anything through the shadows. After a long moment, the hoofbeats began again and Daeblau appeared on the stairs, wreathed in darkness. “Good night, Magician,” he said with a thin smile. “I’m surprised to see you still up.”

“I could say the same.” Raettonus nodded toward the stairs. “Have some business down in the basement levels?” he asked.

“I was checking supplies,” Daeblau said, his smile plastered in place. He came to stand beside Dohrleht, taking one of the young centaur’s hands in his own.

“I’ll bet,” said Raettonus. There was a thin, fresh cut on Daeblau’s forearm, alongside a number of red scratches that hadn’t broken the skin. “Looks like the supplies fought back, huh?”

Daeblau followed Raettonus’ gaze to his arm and turned it away. “I tripped,” he said. “It’s rather embarrassing. I suppose I’m just tired and clumsy. I think I’ll head to bed now.” He kissed Dohrleht and turned back down the stairs.

Dohrleht stood awkwardly at the top of the stairs, watching Raettonus after Daeblau disappeared back into the gloom. Raettonus cocked one eyebrow. “You’re not going with him?” he asked.

“Oh, no,” said Dohrleht. “I was planning on staying here a bit longer and, um, looking at the paintings in the hall.”

“In the dark?”

“I’ve got very good night vision,” insisted the centaur.

“Well, then, good luck with that. Try to get some sleep soon though,” said Raettonus.

“I will.”

“Good night,” said Raettonus, and he withdrew from the corridor and continued on his way back to his chambers.

* * *

In his room, Raettonus laid with his face half buried in his pillow and drifted into a fitful sleep. He dreamed of famine and plague and war. He dreamed he was a child again, and Slade was leaving him behind for a place Raettonus couldn’t fathom. He begged and begged not to be left, but Slade couldn’t hear him. He grabbed hold of Slade’s sleeve, and the man turned and looked at him. Smiling kindly, Slade pushed him harshly away. He cried out for Slade to wait, but still he went unheard. Slade was getting farther and farther away, and Raettonus found it impossible to follow him. He tried to call for him again, but he had no voice. Still soundlessly crying out, he watched Slade meet up with a woman dressed all in black. Slade took the woman by the arm, and she laughed at something Raettonus couldn’t hear Slade say, and they walked together into the distance.

“Don’t go with her!” Raettonus tried to tell him, but nothing would come out of his mouth. A wind began to howl as Slade and the woman disappeared on the horizon. It seemed to carry Raettonus away from that place, and he found himself at a feast.

The hall was dark, lit by a single red candle in front of him. A heavy stench hung in the air—the smell of rot. He could hear a great number of flies buzzing around himself and the other guests, and one landed on his cheek. He swatted it away irritably and turned to see who was seated beside him, but the shadows were so heavy he couldn’t see the faces of the guests to his left and right. He could barely make out their outlines in the darkness as they slowly ate, silent but for the sounds of their utensils clattering against their plates. Raettonus turned his face toward his own plate and found it cracked and empty. His wine glass had a tiny hole in it, and red wine was dribbling slowly out of it, staining the tablecloth at its base.

He turned his eyes up and looked beyond the candle to the other side of the table, only to find it—predictably—obscured by gloom. A pair of glowing yellow eyes appeared in the dimness and gazed at him. “Kimohr Raulinn,” he said, recognizing them immediately.

“Hello, Raettonus,” purred Kimohr Raulinn, his eyes half closing. If Raettonus concentrated hard, he could just make out the god’s outline, but the only thing that came close to actually being visible were his glowing eyes.

“Where am I?” asked Raettonus. It didn’t feel like Kimohr Raulinn’s temple, which had always been lit inside and had never smelled so bad. There was none of the familiar scent of flower oils, which had been the main aroma in the temple. Instead, the pungent scent of decay of this place was beginning to sting Raettonus’ eyes.

“In a dream.”

Raettonus could feel Kimohr Raulinn’s smile through the blackness even if he couldn’t see it. His tone seemed to smile. Raettonus looked again to either side, where people continued to slowly and silently eat. It was strange; they’d always been alone before. “Who are they?” asked Raettonus.

“Aren’t you hungry?” asked Kimohr Raulinn, brushing off his question. “Your plate is empty. Your wine glass is leaking.”

A plate of meat was lying near him on the table and he wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before now. Flies were swarming about it in heavy clouds, and the rancid smell seemed to be coming chiefly from it. “It’s spoilt,” Raettonus said. He reached out and took up his wineglass in his hand and brought it to his lips only to find the smell of it was all wrong. “This isn’t wine.”

“Sure it is. Drink it.”

“This is blood.”

“Does that bother you?” asked Kimohr Raulinn. “Go on. Drink it.”

And Raettonus did.

The smell of decay was getting heavier and heavier. Between it and the taste of warm blood in his mouth and running down his throat, Raettonus was beginning to gag. A fly landed on him and he swatted it away. “Where are we?” he asked again.

“In a dream.” The eyes bobbed in the darkness as Kimohr Raulinn leaned forward. The light from the candle reached toward him, but it couldn’t quite close the gap. Instead, it just barely showed his mask, outlined against an abyss of blackness.

Raettonus glanced again toward the person beside him. If the stranger noticed, he gave no sign. “Why is no one speaking?” asked Raettonus.

“You already know the answer to that,” said Kimohr Raulinn.

“Why’s it so dark?”

“You have a candle,” said Kimohr Raulinn. He turned his gaze on the flickering flame. “You could make it brighter.”

“I could,” said Raettonus. The thought hadn’t occurred to him, but it seemed like a solid idea. He reached out toward the dancing fire only to find there were now two candles before him. He reached out toward the second candle, only to find a third lit a little way away from it. As he turned his attention toward this new candle, another one down the table lit, and then another; spontaneously, candles all along the table burst into flame.

By their light, he could see the food on the table, all covered with flies and teeming with maggots. Everything was green and rotting, and all the pitchers were cracked and leaking blood. The tablecloth was stained red and green and gray. Swarms of mice chewed at the festering carcasses laid upon the tarnished dishes. Farther down, Raettonus caught sight of some rats, and his stomach rolled over and filled with dread. Near him—near enough he could brush it with his fingertips if only he reached out his hand—a tray of something sat quivering as if it were alive. The putrid food on the tray burst open, and maggots surged out of it by the thousands and began to march across the tablecloth, a disgusting, ravenous army of devourers.

And there in the seats all around him, corpses with their skin sloughing off in great, wet chunks were silently staring down at empty plates, pantomiming eating or drinking. To either side of Raettonus, the corpses were dried and eyeless, with thin, greasy hair and bare, yellow teeth. He looked across the table at Kimohr Raulinn and found that beneath his mask he too, was a corpse with pale, blue-tinged skin that looked as though he’d been a long time under water. His drowned flesh made Raettonus’ bowels turn over in revulsion.

“What is this?” demanded Raettonus, unable to keep the alarm out of his voice.

“A dream,” said Kimohr Raulinn. When he spoke, his lips moved stiffly and unnaturally. Raettonus felt his stomach clench and turn. “But, happily for you, it’s not that kind of dream.”

A horn was blowing hard somewhere beyond the feast hall. “What’s that?” Raettonus asked, peering upward into the still-thick shade all around them.

“A death sentence,” Kimohr Raulinn told him. “But not yours. Stay awhile longer. You haven’t eaten.”

“I don’t want to eat,” Raettonus said. The horn blew again, and he stood up. “They’re calling me.”

“Stay,” said Kimohr Raulinn, grabbing Raettonus’ hand. His flesh was cold and clammy—not at all as Raettonus had known it. “Everyone’s here. We’ve been waiting for you, Raettonus. Everyone’s been waiting for you. We’ve been waiting so very long…”

“Let me go,” said Raettonus, tugging away, but Kimohr Raulinn held tight. The magician reached up with his free hand to shoot a fireball at the god, but nothing came. “Let go!”

Kimohr Raulinn’s cracked blue lips, once so soft and warm, pulled back into a sneer. “We’ve been waiting for you,” he said.

The horn blew again, louder.

Raettonus’ eyes shot open, and he found himself in his bed, all in darkness aside from the soft glowing of his own flesh. His pillow was wet with sweat, and his cropped blonde hair was matted and sticking to his forehead. His heart thumped so wildly his chest hurt. The details of his dream became hazy as he thought about them, but he didn’t particularly care. Now he was awake, however, he was certain he had dreamed a normal dream—nothing more.

Outside his door hooves were pounding on stone—hundreds of hooves, beating like hearts against the cold stone passages of the citadel. Beyond the sound of that he could have sworn he heard the faint, dying clicks of a lonely clock.

The horn blew again somewhere above him.

War was upon them.

Chapter Sixteen

Dawn was breaking by the time Raettonus got onto the battlements. Centaurs in plate and scale mail were bustling about, maneuvering the catapults and ballistae into place. Diahsis was up on the roof, directing the action and looking very much like he hadn’t slept at all the night before. When he spotted Raettonus, he came jogging over. “Thank the gods you’re here,” he said.

“Thank them? The gods got us into this mess,” Raettonus said.

“There are a lot more of them than we thought,” continued Diahsis without pause. “They’ve got trebuchets, and they keep—”

He was cut off as a large rock slammed into the metal cage atop the citadel, causing the roof to quake and the iron spikes to reverberate as the rock rolled down off it. “Christ,” said Raettonus, covering his ears from the sound.

“Yes, that,” said Diahsis. “Could you get rid of those for us? Those iron rods extend quite a way into the wall, so they’re not in danger of giving out, I think, but it’s making it really hard to concentrate.”

Another rock crashed into the metal, shattering and spewing dust and pebbles all over them. A larger chunk hit a soldier, who cried out and fell to the ground. “You’ve got it,” said Raettonus, running his hand through his hair to get the dirt out. He hurried back inside and met Brecan coming up the stairs.

“They’re here, aren’t they, Raet?” asked Brecan. His body was covered in centaurs’ armor, which left his wings and head unprotected but was, all things considered, better than nothing.

“What do you think?” said Raettonus. The walls shook as another boulder battered them. “We need to go destroy their siege machines.”

“Okay, Raet,” said Brecan. His voice wasn’t steady.

Raettonus mounted the unicorn. There was a leather pad between the metal plates for him to sit on, but it still wasn’t as comfortable as riding bareback. In any case, it was a necessary evil and better than sitting on full plate armor. Drawing his rapier, he urged Brecan down the stairs. As they made their way through the fortress, the walls shook and moaned from the impacting boulders. Beneath Raettonus, Brecan shivered.

“Come on, now,” Raettonus said, giving him a sharp pat on the side of his neck as they drew near the fissure in the outer wall of the building. “I don’t want to see you pussying out on me, do you hear?”

“Y-yes, Raet. Of course I won’t,” Brecan said, flattening his ears. Still, there was a quiver to his voice, and he couldn’t keep from shaking.

They flew out of the still-gaping hole on the side of the citadel, which had been repaired only on the bottom few stories. As they emerged into the early morning light, Raettonus got his first real glimpse at Cykkus’ army. His stomach shriveled inside him, and for a moment he went completely slack.

Beyond the wide trench, which had been dug and filled with pikes by Diahsis’ soldiers, a great, gray mass punctuated by enormous trebuchets sat hunched on the mountainside, spilling over onto the neighboring mountains. Lipless, dead-eyed, goblin-like creatures all in chain mail stood with pikes and axes, their terrible, metal teeth glinting in the dawn light. Some of the gray-skinned abassy were astride armored rats larger than draft horses, which made Raettonus blanch and feel faint. Enormous maggots—at least twenty feet long—were also in attendance, armored and saddled with the supplies, but nothing was more horrible to Raettonus than the rats. A regiment of abassy lifted their empty arms and pantomimed pulling back on bowstrings. They released, and arrows of black miasma shot upward from the air before them, arching up toward Kaebha’s walls.

“There’s so many of them,” said Brecan, gliding along the outskirts of the army. He was noticed by a couple of abassy, and they lifted their hands at him. Ethereal black arrows whizzed up at him, and he had to bank hard to the side in order to avoid being pierced by them.

Seven massive trebuchets were placed on the frontlines of the army. With a loud twang, the arm of one of them shot forward, loosing a boulder on the citadel. It struck against the wall, cracking the stone.

“Over there—quickly,” said Raettonus into Brecan’s ear.

The unicorn darted through the air toward the trebuchets. Raettonus gripped tight to his mane with his free hand. Fire danced across Raettonus’ shoulders onto the blade clenched tightly in his right hand. Brecan rolled out of the way of another barrage of arrows. One of the maggots hissed and reared at them, a stream of liquid squirting from its mouth. Brecan slowed suddenly to avoid the acidic stream, unsteadying Raettonus. He began to slip from the unicorn’s back, and his stomach tightened into a nauseous ball. Throwing his arm around Brecan’s throat, he managed to catch himself. Brecan sped up again as the colossal maggot shot another excretion at them.

Arrows hurtled through the air around them. A few struck the plates of Brecan’s armor, leaving black marks behind as they evaporated on the metal. One of the arrows grazed Raettonus’ arm, leaving behind the most horrible pain he’d ever felt. It was as though every nerve in the entirety of his body was screaming in agony, like his muscles had suddenly shriveled up and were torn away. He could feel poison coursing through the veins of his arm. There would be time to worry about that later though.

Brecan swooped low, near the trebuchets. Blood oozing down his arm, Raettonus swung his sword at one of the devices. A crescent-shaped blast of fire erupted from the blade. It sliced through the trebuchet’s arm, leaving the wood charred and burning in its wake. The blast of fire was far smaller than he might’ve expected had he not wasted so much energy saving Diahsis. Raettonus winced and gritted his teeth as a horrifying pain shot through his bones. Dodging more arrows, Brecan carried him swiftly to the next trebuchet.

He struck it down in the same manner as the first. Blue veins were beginning to appear around his wound. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the cold poison in his blood. The injury began to sizzle and bubble as fire filled his veins—the wonderful, caring touch of fire inside of him.

Raettonus was beginning to feel lightheaded as they spun and dodged through the air. Down below he could see the giant rats watching him with their beady eyes, which only aggravated the feeling. He swung his sword at the third trebuchet as Brecan bucked up to avoid another hail of miasmic arrows. Raettonus’ flames missed and scorched the ground instead. He tried again and managed to hit it, sending the burning arm crashing down atop a rat and its rider.

“Raet, are you okay?” Brecan asked as the man swayed on top of him.

“Fine,” said Raettonus. He dug his knees into Brecan’s armored sides. “The next one. Hurry.”

Brecan leaned forward and, with a powerful flap of his wings, started for the trebuchet. A barrage of arrows passed in front of him. The unicorn spun in the air to avoid them. Everything went blurry for Raettonus, and he lost his grip. He crashed hard into the flaming wreckage of a trebuchet. He stumbled to his feet, abassy closing in on him from all sides. The monsters slowly circled him, their eyes like little black holes sucking the light out of the air. He held his rapier up before him and took a defensive stance. In the morning’s yellow light, the bare teeth of the abassy glinted dangerously. They were watching him with blank, black eyes. They were searching for an opening. They were waiting for him to make the first move.

Could they even be killed?

The moment seemed to hold forever. They watched him cautiously, as though unsure what to make of him. He stared back, unsure how to fight them. The abassy circled as he held his thin blade before himself.

The moment broke.

One of the monsters lunged at him spear first. He parried the weapon sloppily and gave the abassy a kick behind its knees, knocking it down. The others had been emboldened by the first, however, and were swarming toward Raettonus from all sides. He swung his sword, sending a fiery crescent cascading into the abassy soldiers in front of him. The abassy he knocked down was getting to its feet. He drove his rapier into its cheek and then its eye. It stayed down. Several abassy behind him surged forward, grabbing hold of him with their clammy, poisonous hands. Fire burst to life all along Raettonus’ flesh, and the abassy relinquished their hold. They hissed and struck at him with their lances. Raettonus parried a few of their blows and dodged out of the way of quite a few more. Some of the sharp points glanced off him, leaving red, bloody trails across his flesh. A couple struck true and hard, impaling his arms and belly.

Everything went white for a moment as pain shot through him. One of the abassy jerked its weapon to the side, and Raettonus’ arm went with it, twisting in a sick, unnatural way. Raettonus cried out. Tears of agony sprung to his eyes, helping the pain to blind him. With a burst of effort, he intensified the fire on his body. The tears in his eyes turned to steam, and the wooden lances stuck through him turned to charcoal and shattered to dust. He struck out with his rapier in all directions. For a little while, at least, he could ignore the pain.

And then Brecan was there, dropping out of the sky, all fangs and white-hot fury. He bowled over a pair of abassy, their ribs crushing beneath his weight. He lashed out with his long tail. The red arrow at its tip caught an abassy in the face and tore its cheek open to the bone. One of the abassy tried to stab him, but the unicorn dodged nimbly. With a quick strike of his hoof, he broke the spear shaft into splinters. He leapt forward and struck with his other hoof, knocking a hole in the abassy’s skull.

He growled deep in his throat and a few of the abassy skittered back, away from him. “Get on, Raet—we need to get back,” said Brecan, never taking his pale eyes from the abassy. Clumsily, Raettonus mounted. Blood spilled from his wounds, pouring down Brecan’s plate mail.

The unicorn kicked his back legs out at an abassy that tried to sneak up on them. His lion’s paws struck it in the throat, claws tearing through the tissue. Brecan leapt forward, knocking another abassy down. Beneath the unicorn’s bulk, its chest turned to pulp encased in chain mail. With a fierce roar, Brecan took to the air.

“The next trebuchet,” said Raettonus.

Brecan flattened his ears. “No,” he said. “You need to go to the infirmary now. Leave it for later.”

Raettonus tried to argue, but instead he slumped forward and threw up. Between the blood loss, the fight, and the poisoning, he had overexerted himself.

Ducking out of the way of more arrows, Brecan made it back to the citadel. By the time he reached the infirmary however, Raettonus had already passed out.

* * *

The Magician Raettonus came around from a restless sleep sometime during the night and was confused at first as to where he was. With difficulty he cast aside the cold, white sheets and sat up in the bloodstained bed. By the moonlight flitting in through the windows he saw many of the other beds were occupied by bruised, unconscious centaurs. He supposed they’d been struck by debris from the boulders the abassy had been hurling.

“You should lay back down, Magician,” said a timid voice beside him. He looked up to see Ebha standing at his bedside. There were bags under her eyes, and her plump face wore an expression of subdued concern.

He waved her off. “I’m fine,” he said. “Where’s Sir Slade? And the boys?”

“The boys are sleeping before their next shift. Sir Slade is helping the archers on the roof,” she said. He tried to stand, and she put a firm hand on his shoulder. “He said if you woke up to tell you not to worry about him and to get some rest.”

Raettonus lay back down. “How’s the fight going?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t know,” she said. “There haven’t been any hits from those rocks in a few hours. That’s all I know.” The woman poured some tea and held it out to Raettonus. “Here, drink this.”

“What is it?” said Raettonus, taking it. It smelled bitter.

“It’s for the pain, and to help you sleep,” answered Ebha.

“I’m not in any pain and I don’t want to sleep,” Raettonus said. He thrust it back at her. “Bring me my clothes. I’m going up onto the battlements.”

Frowning, Ebha took the tea. “Yes, Magician,” she said, and started away.

His body ached to the bones but had been more than competently patched up. All his wounds had been sewed up and rubbed with medicine and bandaged, and the deeper injuries, such as the impalements of his intestines, had been healed magically—Sir Slade’s doing, he supposed. Even so, he still felt like shit. His bowels felt like they were filled with water, and it seemed to him like each breath was an unnatural labor. After a while, Ebha returned with a clean white tunic and hose. “Those aren’t the clothes I was wearing,” Raettonus said, scowling. “I don’t want those ones.”

“You had to be cut out of your clothes so we could get to your injuries,” she said. “My apologies.”

“Fine, give them here.”

He got dressed as quickly as his still-fresh wounds would allow and then, slipping his rapier into the belt, he started for the roof. Braziers were burning all atop the citadel to give the soldiers light where they knelt behind the parapets, bows in hand. By the pulsing blue light far off in the mountains, their enemy was visible far below, huddled at the edge of the trench they had made. Without a doubt, they were building a means to cross the chasm, far out of the range of Diahsis’ bowmen and catapults.

There was no hope.

“Loose!” shouted a commander. With a loud twang, the centaurs let go their bowstrings, and their arrows wobbled and arched through the sky, landing with a clatter on the shields of the abassy. Among the arrows, something shimmered, and when it hit on a shield, it punched through the wood and metal and exploded in bright light. Raettonus started purposefully toward where he guessed it had originated and found Slade there, crouched behind the parapets with centaurs to either side. Sir Slade was not a small man, but beside the massive centaurs, he looked like a child playing at soldier. Even with his stunning black and red painted armor, Sir Slade looked tiny and out of place beside the brute beasts.

“Master,” said Raettonus as he neared, and Slade turned and lifted the visor of his helm.

“You should be resting,” he said. His face was hard, made all the more severe by the blue light his eyes cast. The light made shadows appear in unfortunate places all over his countenance, and it made him look at least twenty years older.

“I don’t need to rest—I’m perfectly fine,” said Raettonus, and he couldn’t keep the sourness out of his voice. “You really oughtn’t to be up here. You could get injured.”

“This isn’t the first siege I’ve ever been in,” Slade said, lowering his visor. “I defended a much smaller castle when I was just a squire and managed to live through that. Between the skills I’ve picked up since then and my ability to do magic, I think I’ll be just fine. You don’t have to worry about me, Raettonus.”

Raettonus frowned. “It’s easy for you to say that,” Raettonus said. “But I’ve watched you die before. I’m not going to see you die a second time while I can still help it.”

Behind his helm and visor, Slade’s expression was hidden. He turned his face toward the battlefield. “What is this we’re fighting?” he wondered. “I asked Dohrleht and Maeleht, but they said they didn’t know. No one else speaks English…”

Raettonus shrugged half-heartedly. “They’re just monsters,” he said. “There are a lot of those here.”

The centaurs loosed another barrage of arrows, and Slade raised his hands and shot a burst of magic to accompany them. Raettonus heard the clatter of the arrows on the shields below, accompanied by a flash of light from where Slade’s projectile had landed. “We’ve been at this all night,” Sir Slade said. Inside his helmet, his voice sounded distant and rang metallically. “We’re not even wearing them down.”

“That can’t be true,” said Raettonus, coming to stand beside Slade to get a better look. “What happened to the other trebuchets?”

“Lucky shots from our catapults,” said Slade. “They spent all afternoon launching fist-sized chunks of iron down there and managed to break the arms. They ran out of iron a short while after that though.”

Lorum approached them. “Magician,” he said, touching Raettonus’ shoulder lightly. “I’m glad to see you up and about. We could use your help.”

“Certainly,” said Raettonus, turning away from Slade. “What do you need?”

“Fire, and lots of it, that’d be nice,” said the centaur. His helm had an open face aside from the nose guard, as did, Raettonus suddenly noticed, all the helms of the Tahlehson soldiers. Interspersed in the line, he saw soldiers wearing a different sort of helm that closed on the cheeks and left only eye slits; it was the kind he was used to seeing, and he assumed those soldiers to be turncoat Zylekkhans.

“I can do that,” said Raettonus. A thought struck him and he turned back to Slade. “The Captain would like you inside, in the infirmary.”

“Oh, really?” asked Slade, lifting his visor. He looked from Raettonus to Lorum. “Why’s that?”

“He didn’t say. Hold on,” responded Raettonus. He addressed the centaur. “Why aren’t you using fire arrows?”

“We tried that earlier, but it didn’t seem to have much of an effect,” said Lorum. “We decided to conserve our fuel in case we came up with a better idea for it later.”

Raettonus nodded and turned to Slade. “He says he’s concerned about the injured men and just wants to be sure they’re with a skilled healer,” Raettonus told him.

Slade looked again at Lorum and then dropped his visor. “I’ll go then,” he said. With a respectful nod to the centaur, he hurried off. Lorum watched Slade go, but didn’t comment on it.

“What would you have me do?” Raettonus asked him.

“Well, I was thinking you could aid us with some magical fire,” said Lorum.

“Captain!” shouted one of the soldiers. Lorum rotated his upper body toward the young soldier, sucking his lower lip against his teeth as he did so. “They’re getting across the trench!”

Raettonus leaned over the parapets and saw that the abassy had assembled wood and stone tunnels to cover the giant maggots, which had stretched their long bodies across the ditch. Hidden beneath the tunnels, the abassy were slowly wheeling them across the maggots as a shield. “Quickly,” shouted Lorum, rearing up. “Aim for the maggots! Loose at will! Before they finish getting that armor over them!”

A thousand arrows rained on the maggots, stuck in their slick, white flesh, and clattered on top of the armored tunnels. The maggots hissed as green blood welled up around the shafts. Raettonus followed the arrows with a blast of fire. The flames struck one of the creatures, causing it to slip with a roar into the trench and be impaled on the stakes set therein. The armored tunnel and the abassy pushing it across slid forward and crashed inside the trench. Raettonus threw a few more fireballs down at the other maggots, whose heads were unprotected, as arrows thundered down like a dangerous waterfall. And then the first of the armored tunnels was across, and the abassy were beginning to file into them, bringing ladders with them. Lorum cursed quietly and gave the call for the soldiers to start dropping boulders and pitch.

War horns were echoing all across the citadel, in the halls and the courtyard and on the battlements. Arrows and hot oil came rushing out of the arrow slits along the fortress’ face. Raettonus sent a few more fireballs down to light the pitch, which left him feeling lightheaded and drained. Then he turned and retreated inside to find Brecan.

The hallways along the exterior walls were crowded with soldiers, their bows aimed outward. Braziers were set up, heating oil. Raettonus hurried past them wordlessly. Deeper into the fort, messengers galloped with intelligence and commands from higher-ups on different sides of Kaebha, or carried supplies back and forth with great haste. Dohrleht stopped Raettonus outside the doors of the infirmary, now bustling with movement and full of the pained voices of injured men.

“Tell them to let me fight,” said the centaur.

“What, this again? Get out of my way,” said Raettonus, starting around him. Dohrleht caught him by the arm.

“It’s not going to be enough. We’re going to need more soldiers,” said Dohrleht. “If I don’t fight—”

“You’re only one boy—not even a man,” said Raettonus coldly. “You think you’re going to turn the tide of battle when you can’t even run? This isn’t the sort of thing you can discreetly poison your way to victory in. Let go of me. I need to get out there. Unlike you, I’m actually worth something in a war.”

Dohrleht furrowed his brow. “At least I didn’t bring Death’s very own army to our fucking doorstep,” he said, tightening his grip. His hand was partially over a wound, and Raettonus winced and gritted his teeth as the injury reopened. “You said you can’t actually bring someone back from the dead. Is this why? Gods, did you know this would happen, and you brought him back anyway?”

“I don’t have time for this,” Raettonus said. “And I don’t think you have room to act superior. At least I never murdered my own father because some captain made bedroom eyes at me.”

The young centaur glared at Raettonus for a several long minutes. Somewhere beyond the stone walls, barely audible beneath the babble of war, a clock was ticking.

“I did what I did for the good of this fort,” said the young centaur, hissing the words out through his teeth. “I did what I did for the sake of my father’s men. It was one life or a hundred and Kurok strike me dead this instant if I made the wrong choice.”

“So you murdered your own father in cold blood for the greater good, then.” Raettonus sneered. “Bravo. Does it help you sleep at night when you tell yourself that? Or does it help you sleep at night when your beloved, lying, scheming Daeblau is railing you? Does he whisper that greater good line into your ear when he does it?”

Dohrleht narrowed his eyes and looked as though he might punch Raettonus. After a moment, however, he merely let go of the magician and silently skulked back into the infirmary. Without a second thought, Raettonus continued looking for Brecan.

In the courtyard, he found Deggho and Diahsis talking beside a gryphon who had been loaned some armor that didn’t quite fit him. As Diahsis mounted, Deggho begged him not to go fight, but the general wasn’t having any of it. He spotted Raettonus and spurred his gryphon steed across the yard to speak with him. “I suppose this’ll be done by tomorrow, this war,” he said.

“Have you seen Brecan?” asked Raettonus.

Diahsis unsheathed his gladius and a dagger. He was wearing an ornate, gilded breastplate that Raettonus didn’t find particularly suited to the situation, as well as a decorative helm of steel and dragon bone, the visor of which was carved into the fearsome face of a snarling wolf. “When I thought about how I’d die, I never imagined it’d be like this,” he continued as if Raettonus hadn’t spoken at all. “I mean, I always thought it’d be in war, certainly. Even before I was let into the army, I thought to myself, ‘Diah, some day a soldier’s going to kill you.’ Well, that’s just the sort of thing you think when you’re an elf. I didn’t think the soldier would be in the employ of Cykkus himself, however. It’s…it’s kind of an honor in a strange way. Well, hell, it’s a huge honor.”

“So you’re lurking here in the courtyard waiting to be killed?”

The general smiled wearily. “I was only getting ready and saying my farewells,” he said. “I’m going to go out like a hero should—fighting. I’m going to meet Cykkus’ army myself, ahead of the rest of my men. I don’t mind sharing the glory of the last stand with you though, Magician, if you’re headed out there as well. There are worse men to die beside, I think.”

“I beg to differ,” said Raettonus. He caught sight of Brecan across the yard, coming toward them. Raettonus waved him over.

“Oh, I was just coming to see how you were,” said Brecan. “You really shouldn’t be up—”

“I’m going out to fight,” said Raettonus. “Come over here. I’m going to need someone to ride into battle, and of course it’s going to be you.”

There was the slightest hesitation before the unicorn said, “Okay, Raet.” He knelt down for Raettonus to get on.

Once Raettonus was astride the unicorn, they started for the broken wall with Diahsis riding beside them. If his tight-mouthed gryphon was nervous about the fight, he didn’t show it. By the time they reached the fissure in the citadel wall, maggots and rats were climbing up through the break, barely held off by the soldiers there. Raettonus’ heart beat wildly at the sight of the rats as he and Diahsis flew over them through the empty air, and his vision began to blur.

And then they were rising into the sky, high above the squirming army below. “Rats, of all the things it could’ve been,” he mumbled to Brecan.

They banked hard to the side as abassy arrows came flying at them, Diahsis and his gryphon banking with them in perfect coordination. In the firelight and the pulsing blue glow of the mountains, Diahsis’ dragon bone helm flashed queerly. He flew close to Raettonus and said something with a grin, but his voice was lost to wind and battle. Maggots were crawling against the fortress walls, their stunted legs cracking the stones as they dug into them, their spit frothing out of their mouths. Where the noxious secretions touched the wall, the stone bubbled and began to dissolve. Diahsis dug his knees into the gryphon’s sides, and they split from Raettonus and Brecan, heading toward the maggots. Raettonus wheeled Brecan around to follow, drawing his rapier.

They came in low at one of the maggots, magician following general. Diahsis slashed it across the back, drawing its attention. Blood welled up onto its slimy flesh as it turned with a screech toward Diahsis. Raettonus followed after, directing a blast of fire toward it. It screeched again and fell, crushing several abassy on the ground beneath.

Another wave of arrows came at them. The gryphon broke upward while Brecan spun into a dive. He came down close on the abassy soldiers, and they struck upward with spears and lances. With an unrivaled grace, Brecan wheeled and turned in the air and weaved around their attacks. He kicked a couple of them in the head before turning upward. His long tail snapped behind him like a lash, breaking the wooden shafts of a few spears.

Miasmic arrows filled the air all around them, as did the normal arrows from the soldiers in the fortress beside them. Brecan dipped and swung, avoiding them neatly. He was like a dancer whose stage was war.

In the air above them, Diahsis’ steed let out an agonized cry and plummeted, flapping one tattered wing uselessly. It crashed down hard, the general rolling from its back. He was on his feet in a moment, dagger and gladius at the ready. The gryphon twitched and tried to get up, but something was broken in it, and it could only flounder and make a few gargling screeches in a language Raettonus didn’t know as it expired slowly. An abassy rushed at Diahsis, but he parried its lance with his dagger and chopped out its throat with his gladius before wheeling around to catch another one in the joint of its leg so hard the chain mail it wore broke.

“Christ,” said Raettonus as the abassy crowded around Diahsis. “Get me down there. He’s going to be up to his neck in those metal-mouths any second.”

“Got it, Raet,” Brecan chirped, looping through the air to avoid an arrow. Raettonus couldn’t see whether it was one of the abassy’s or the centaurs’, and he didn’t suppose it much mattered.

Brecan roared fiercely as he came at the abassy around Diahsis, diverting their attention for a moment. The general immediately took advantage of the distraction to slit a couple of his enemies’ unprotected throats in quick succession. As soon as Brecan’s cloven hooves touched the ground, Raettonus sprang off his back. Fire danced spontaneously to life across the blade of his rapier as he placed his back against Diahsis’.

“Magician!” said Diahsis in the same tone one might use to greet an old friend they hadn’t expected to see at a pub. “You came down to help me! I’m touched!”

“Yeah, well, it’s not going to do all that much good,” said Raettonus. “We need to get back into the air.”

“I don’t think your unicorn can hold us both.”

“He’s stronger than he looks,” said Raettonus.

An abassy lunged at them, and Raettonus put his sword through its eye. At his back, Diahsis caught another one under the chin with his dagger. Brecan was separated from them by the writhing mass of abassy and was fiercely kicking and biting at the creatures. And then more of the abassy filled in the gap between Raettonus and Brecan, and the magician lost all sight of the unicorn.

The horrible, gray-skinned abominations surged at him. Raettonus slashed with his sword, sending white-hot fire bursting at the abassy swarming around him and Diahsis. He threw the flames at them again and again until he was drenched with sweat and panting with exhaustion.

The abassy hissed and screeched as the flesh melted on their faces and hands, and as the heat of the fire turned their chain mail red and made it sear into their skin. Flames danced in their eye sockets and turned their greasy hair to ash.

Raettonus hurled more and more fire. The air was filling with smoke and the smell of spoiled flesh burning. Pained cries echoed up from behind metal fangs, rising with the black-gray smoke. Raettonus hurled more and more fire.

When Raettonus felt as though one more burst of magic might kill him, he began to stab at them—at their eyes, at their throats, at their groins and thighs and bellies and wherever else he thought he might land a blow. Diahsis was furiously hacking at the exposed parts of the abominations, bumping against Raettonus with every movement.

Blood spurted up out of the wounds of the abassy as they fell lifelessly around them. It was not the blood of a living thing. It was rancid and black, thick like milk that had gone off. The revolting fluid splashed against Raettonus’ pure white tunic and tights, leaving behind dark stains. It splashed on his face and on his lips. He could taste it in his mouth.

He could feel the soft fur of Diahsis’ wolfskin cloak against his back. Warmth radiated out of it. Beneath the fur, he could feel Diahsis turning and twisting as he hacked at the crowding monsters around them. He could hear Diahsis singing a cheerful tune as he fought, about a shepherd’s daughter who ran off with a young lord.

All around them was a solid ring of gray. Gray skin, gray teeth, gray chainmail. The mass of gray swiped with their pikes and snapped with their bear-trap mouths. Raettonus drove his rapier through eyes and throats and nostrils. Limp abassy bodies fell to the ground, their rancid blood dribbling weakly from their wounds as their hearts slowed and stopped. Abassy corpses piled up around the pair. Still more and more came. For every abassy cut down five more seemed to spring up in its place, like some sort of nightmare hydra.

Black blood. Black, soulless eyes. Metal swords clashing on metal teeth.

Raettonus cried out as a spear pierced his shoulder. He struck out and killed the offending abassy and pulled its weapon from his body. Two more abassy were already upon him. One quick jab through the eye of one, a jab through the unprotected chest of the other. The two abassy fell. Dark blood gurgled up out of them, clotted like old milk.

More abassy. Always more. Fierce. Fearless. Hungry for death. They pressed forward, all ceaseless black eyes and teeth made of iron. They hissed and growled and turned toward Raettonus with their flat, mean faces. He killed them. Again and again he killed them. But they were endless.

“Are you keeping count, Magician?” called Diahsis over the din of war surrounding them. His dragon bone visor was down, masking him in the snarling white face of a wolf.

“What?” said Raettonus.

“A kill count,” Diahsis said cheerfully. “Are you keeping a kill count, Magician?”

“No,” replied Raettonus. He jammed his rapier up under an abassy’s chin. With a swift kick to its middle, he dislodged it from the blade. “Little busy here for counting.”

“But, Magician!” exclaimed Diahsis. An abassy lunged at him, and he caught it in the temple with his gladius, cleaving its skull nearly in half. “If you don’t keep a count, how will we know which of us has taken down more monsters?”

“Diahsis, we’re going to die out here,” Raettonus responded, scowling. “Does it really matter which of us killed more abassy if we’re not going to even be around to compare?”

Diahsis laughed. “A fair point,” he said, and hacked the head off another abassy.

The stench of abassy blood was thick in the air. It was the most pungent scent Raettonus could imagine. It was worse than corpses left to ripen in the sun. It was worse than putrid, bursting intestines. He was drenched in the foul, clotted fluid. It clung to his white tunic, spattered his sweaty face, and matted his hair. It was on his lips, and he could taste it in his mouth—a bitter, burning taste like lye and weeds.

It felt as if they’d been fighting forever. Raettonus parried lance after lance, spear after spear. Again and again he plunged his blade deep into abassy flesh and left them twitching on the reeking, muddy ground.

His muscles ached; it was as if someone had filled them full of caltrops. His lungs burned with effort and the heavy scent of abassy blood. His bowels felt as if they might burst, and his stomach felt as if it might come up his throat and out his mouth. Sweat poured down his face, stung his eyes, caked his lips with salt. Flames burst periodically from his skin, but he couldn’t sustain them.

Fatigue was settling in. His arms were getting heavy. His chest ached down to its deepest part. His knees were beginning to shake. Pain shot up his back, along his spine, and out into all his muscles.

Raettonus clenched his teeth hard together and fought on.

Behind him, Diahsis was tunelessly screaming out that same ballad about the shepherd’s daughter at the top of his lungs. The words were all about spring meadows and lovers basking in sunlight, and they juxtaposed surreally with Diahsis’ hoarse voice and the wet sound of his dagger and sword cutting through tongues and faces and throats.

Raettonus stumbled as his foot caught on the dead arm of an abassy. Immediately, a pike caught him in the leg. It tore through the outside of his thigh. Raettonus hissed and wheeled on the abassy who had struck him. He jammed his rapier into its cheek to the hilt. The monster swayed slightly, but didn’t go down. Raettonus pulled his blade free and then forced it into the abassy’s belly, just below where its mail ended. With a hiss and a gurgle, the abassy crumpled to the ground.

There was so much blood on Raettonus’ sword that it dribbled off the crossguard, landing on the ground in thick, black drops. Parry. Jab. Parry. A spear grazed his cheek. He cursed and ended the abassy responsible. Jab. Slash. Parry. Jab. Another horrible, gray monster with gray steel teeth fell to the ground before him. Parry. Jab. He struck out with his sword, and it slid into the nose of an abassy and pierced its brain. He pulled it clear, and it came out with a wave of chunky, fetid blood.

But there were more of them. No matter how many eyes and brains he pierced, there were more yet to pierce. The monsters came forward ceaselessly on their thin, toned limbs, clutching their pikes and their spears, grinning with their scrap-metal mouths. He stabbed into the horde as they came at him from all sides. Here and there, he managed to muster up a few fireballs, which sent the abassy reeling back, smoke coming up from the dark pits of their eyes. But these reprieves were brief. He could barely catch his breath before he was again surrounded, fighting for his life. Fighting for Sir Slade’s life.

And then things grew still.

It spread like a ripple through the army. Never taking their blank, black eyes from Raettonus and Diahsis, the abassy stepped slowly back. Raettonus and Diahsis pressed tighter together, scanning their enemies wearily. The abassy withdrew into a large circle. The line of them that had cut Raettonus off from Brecan moved out of the way, and he could see the unicorn once again. Brecan’s white fur was stained black with abassy blood and his own red blood was gushing from deep cuts on his flank, but he was not really any worse for the wear. Not that Raettonus would ever admit it, but he was glad to see the unicorn still standing.

In the citadel beside them, the war horns still blew and arrows still twanged out the windows. The abassy, however, had stopped moving completely. The ones standing were as still as the ones dead on the ground around them.

Slowly, Raettonus became aware of a heavy, rhythmic thud. At first it was faint—so faint he could barely feel it in the soles of his boots. As it got louder, the abassy backed farther and farther away from them. “What’s going on?” Diahsis asked Raettonus quietly. The shining white visor of his helm was splattered with dark drops of blood.

Raettonus furrowed his brow. “I don’t know,” he said. He didn’t like it, whatever it was.

The abassy were clearing a path as something heavy slowly approached. The trio turned their faces toward the path on instinct. Against his back, Raettonus felt Diahsis go completely slack for a moment. “Gods above,” said the general, his voice little more than a breath caught in the back of his throat.

On the back of what might’ve been a nightmare given flesh, coming leisurely toward them, was Cykkus, the Black Winged Death.

Chapter Seventeen

He rode a black jaguar all armored in bronze with eyes like ice, which must’ve stood eighteen hands tall at the very least. It had two heads and three tails, and everywhere it stepped the earth cracked and turned dark gray as the color itself seemed to wither and die. The golden reins by which Cykkus led the monster still left both its hungry maws free to bite. The jaguar snarled out of both mouths as it neared them.

As fearsome as the beast he rode was, Cykkus was even more chilling to behold.

He was almost eight feet tall from boot to helm, and all in full plate. His armor was black, but not the clumsy, stained black of a mortal’s armor. No, this was the color of sky without stars. The plates were less like metal and more like a hardened void that had eaten even all the light that had touched it. He was wrapped in steel made of nothingness. Flecks of rust, or maybe—probably—blood, were on his boots and gauntlets. Aside from that, his armor had been polished to a glossy sheen that directly contradicted the desolate deepness of its color.

Horns protruded from the forehead of his helm, arching slightly upward, and between them rose a feathery black crest that cascaded down to his back. Like the Zylekkhan helms, Cykkus’ closed in on the cheeks, stopping just beside the nose guard. Shadows obscured his face where it was visible; Raettonus was left with the impression of lips and a mouth, but couldn’t quite make them out. In thick shadows, Cykkus’ eyes shone a searing red through the eye slits. When he turned his gaze on Raettonus, it felt as if something deep inside him were being burned away. In one gauntleted hand, Cykkus held his terrible steed’s reins lightly. In the other hand he carried an axe much the same as an executioner might carry, a pocket watch wound around the shaft by its chain. His enormous black wings were spread out behind him like a cape made of leather. Light seemed to die around him, as if afraid to brush his sleek, steel casing.

“There is something unnatural here,” said Cykkus. He didn’t speak particularly loudly, but his voice echoed across them all the same. “You’re trying to keep it from me, and for that I ought to strike all of you down. If you hand it over to me, however, I’ll leave, and there need be no more casualties.”

Raettonus had always spoken bluntly. He had never feared to say whatever he wanted to any man, no matter how much larger, stronger, or higher-up that man had been. For once, however, words would not come.

He looked at Cykkus, and he was afraid.

Knees shaking, heart racing, bowels tying themselves all in knots.

Raettonus found his throat dry and tried to swallow, but managed only to make a small, choked sound. At some point, Diahsis had moved beside him and was gripping his arm tightly. For all of the general’s talk of going out brave, all his romantically suicidal notions of dying in some grand and glorious battle and being sung about, Raettonus knew that he suddenly wanted to live, as well.

Cykkus watched them with his molten gaze for a stretch of time, which might have been eons but for the fact, the sun didn’t rise and set while they stood there. Then he turned just his face—if it could be called a face—toward Brecan. “Where is it? Bring it to me,” he demanded.

“I—I can’t d-do that,” said Brecan, shrinking away from the god’s look.

“Where will you go when you die, Brecan of the forest, son of Bregdan?” asked Cykkus. “You won’t go to Hell, because, as I can see from those unnatural pale eyes of yours, you haven’t got a soul. When you die, you’ll simply cease to exist, as if you had never been to begin with. Do you want to disappear forever?”

“N-no,” said Brecan.

“Then you should fetch what I’m here for,” Cykkus told him, narrowing his eyes. He moved his axe up ever so slightly to make his point clear, and the pocket watch rattled against his gauntlet and kept on ticking. “You’ve killed many of my abassy. But I am no abassy. The merest brush of my hand will snuff you out immediately, Brecan of the forest. Bring me this unnatural thing or you will die.”

The unicorn hesitated for the barest wisp of a moment before he squared himself up and flattened his ears back against his skull. He bared his yellowed fangs and flicked his arrow-tipped tail. “No,” he said firmly, though there was terror in his eyes.

The death god scoffed—a quiet sound from deep in his throat that rang metallically as it came out of his helm. He turned his fierce red gaze on Diahsis. “How about you, Diahsis of Fybuk, son of Vaeminn Vohrtahl? Your life is precious to you, isn’t it? You enjoy living, after all, don’t you? Food, drink, music, hunting, sports, sex—these things are precious to you, aren’t they? These are things a corpse cannot partake of, Diahsis of Fybuk. Do you wish to die here?”

Weakly, Diahsis smiled and said, “Lord Cykkus, I am dead no matter what I do here. Either you kill me or Raettonus does.” Diahsis glanced down at Raettonus griping his arm. “And honestly, I feel the magician will end me far more painfully. No disrespect, my lord, but I’m with Raettonus to the end.”

“Is that how it is, Diahsis of Fybuk?” asked Cykkus. He narrowed his searing red eyes to little slits. “I am a god. To deny me is blasphemy. Perhaps your death will be less painful at my hands than at his, but what of your afterlife, Diahsis of Fybuk? Will you find relief in an eternity where you are chained to a rock to be tortured by the horrors of Hell?”

Diahsis took a deep breath. “No, I won’t, my lord,” he said. “But I have made my choice, and I will stand by it. I am for Raettonus. Kill me, chain me to a rock in Hell—my mind will not change.”

Cykkus turned back to Raettonus. “Your allies are foolishly loyal,” he said. The god let out a small sigh. “Please, give it up. There need be no more deaths but one. Do not force me to slaughter these soldiers to the last man.”

“I’m not giving Sir Slade up to you,” Raettonus told him. “Go ahead and kill them all. I don’t care. Do I look like I care? They mean nothing to me. Less than nothing, even.”

“They are lives, worth just as much as your Sir Slade,” said Cykkus.

“Not to me they aren’t.”

Cykkus stared him down, and he could feel his resolve weakening. The gaze of the god was a powerful thing. It felt as though he were seeing him not just in that moment, but in every moment of his life, both past and future, all at the same time. Raettonus gripped tight to the hilt of his rapier to keep his hand from shaking.

“Do you think the world must stop for your whims?” Cykkus demanded coolly. “Are you so special that nature itself should make an exception for your fancies?”

“It was not a whim or a fancy,” Raettonus responded, his thin lips drawing tight against his teeth. “Sir Slade was a good man—he was the best man there ever was—and he died before his time. It’s not—it wasn’t fair he should be dead. He didn’t deserve that.”

“Many men do not deserve death, and it always comes before its time,” said Cykkus. He turned his helmed face away toward the citadel, gazing toward the battlements. Beneath him, his terrible mount flicked its long tails and flattened its ears. “Sir Slade is a man like any other, no matter what virtues you see in him or what virtues he might actually possess. One way or another, men must die.”

“Not Sir Slade,” Raettonus said. “God—take anyone else. Take me. Leave Sir Slade.”

“You are not a suitable replacement,” said Cykkus. “There is no suitable replacement. He’s the one who must go with me. I will take as many lives as I need to, but I will not stop until I’ve taken his.”

“Why? He is a good man—”

“I have already told you that is immaterial,” Cykkus said, cutting Raettonus short. “Good or bad, wicked or virtuous—that means nothing at all to me. I am not interested in deeds, Raettonus the Phoenix, son of Sir Rolf. Sir Slade is the one who was brought unnaturally back to the realm of the living. Sir Slade is the one who needs to die. Now I will ask of you only once more: deliver him to me and stop this pointless, doomed protest.”

Raettonus narrowed his eyes and knitted his brow. “I am never going to let Sir Slade die again,” he said through clenched teeth. “God strike me down—he is staying here.”

With a disapproving grunt, Cykkus motioned with one massive hand toward the fortress. “Tear it down,” he said emotionlessly to the abassy. “Leave no one.” He gazed at Raettonus again. “Of course, I don’t know what I was expecting. Mortals have no perspective. No matter how much you might’ve loved someone, they’re never worth bringing back from the dead.”

The maggots and the abassy and the rats swarmed the wall again. As the rats came on, Raettonus felt his chest tighten, and he shrank weak-kneed against Diahsis. The stones began to shatter as Cykkus’ army beat at them with strength previously unknown. Raettonus couldn’t make himself move to stop them as Cykkus and his mount stared him down and the giant rats swarmed about.

“One would think you’d understand the finality of death better than most,” chided the god to Raettonus. “You’ve lived long enough, and you’ve lost enough. You searched for centuries for a way and found none. Why would you take it at face value when Kimohr Raulinn told you it’s possible when you knew by your own damn experiences that it wasn’t?” He shook his head and urged his jaguar forward a few steps. “Every time I think you mortals might not be so daft, you decide to prove me wrong.”

“Those are easy things for a god to say,” Raettonus answered, his voice so unsteady he hardly would’ve recognized it as his. “After all, who have you ever lost?”

“I’ve lost friends who were very close to me. Even gods die,” Cykkus replied nonchalantly. “But like everyone else, I learned to let go. I’m not here now out of malice. I’m here because you gave Kimohr Raulinn the power to rend reality itself. Nature’s out of balance now, and horrible things are going to happen if that abomination stays on this plane.”

“Don’t you dare call him an abomination,” said Raettonus, taking a step forward and lifting his rapier.

The abassy on the ground surrounding him which he had thought dead—certainly they should have been by their injuries—began to rise. He glanced around wildly at the abassy, readying himself for the fight. As the creatures moved, however, he realized there was nothing for him to fear from them. Their movements were jerking and unnatural—the movements of corpses aimlessly reanimated. Indeed, when he focused on it he could feel a familiar, necromantic energy permeating the air around him. He pursed his lips as his heart sank.

“Raettonus,” Slade called from behind him.

He turned. “Master,” he said, fighting to keep his voice controlled. “You should be inside.”

“Dohrleht told me what this is all about. This war,” said Sir Slade. He wore a stern expression. “You lied to me. You were going to get all those soldiers killed on my behalf.”

Raettonus scowled. “So you wouldn’t die,” he countered. “I’m fighting this war for you.”

“I never have and never would ask you to do that,” said Slade as he picked his way toward Raettonus. Noticing the abassy that had risen, he took a deep breath and withdrew his energy from them, causing them to drop, once again lifeless, to the ground. The former knight looked toward Cykkus for a brief moment and shuddered before meeting his gaze with Raettonus’ again. “You shouldn’t have lied to me.”

Without realizing it, Raettonus had begun to cry. He took an unsteady step toward Slade. “What was I supposed to do? Tell you the truth? Just let you go sacrifice yourself after all this?” he asked.

Slade lowered his eyes. “These men shouldn’t die for me,” he said. “I don’t mean anything to them. I shouldn’t even be here. I’ve lived a life and died a death already. That’s all there is to it.”

“That is not all there is to it,” Raettonus snapped. “You know what? You don’t even get a say in this. You’re staying here with me, and that’s that.”

“Raettonus, don’t—”

“No,” said Raettonus, clenching the hilt of his rapier so tight that all the blood rushed out of his knuckles. “You don’t understand. I had to watch you die once, and it’s not happening a second time. I had to watch you die and see the life drain out of your eyes and—and it’s not fair to put me through that again.”

Slade smiled sadly. “This isn’t a matter of what’s fair, Raettonus. You should know that. You do know that.”

“I don’t care,” said Raettonus. “You’re not going to die again. God damn it, Master—I had to watch you die once already. I had to kill you. Every day after that, all I thought was, ‘maybe he would’ve lived. Maybe he would’ve recovered from the plague.’”

Slade’s expression didn’t change. “I have to go, Rae,” he said softly. “Don’t be sad. We’re going to see each other again some day.”

“No, you can’t go,” said Raettonus. He turned to Cykkus. “You can’t take him. Duel me. We’ll have a duel for his life.”

Cykkus regarded him coldly. “You can’t kill me with that,” he said, gesturing slightly with his head toward Raettonus’ sword.

“Yes I can,” said Raettonus. “Kimohr Raulinn gave it to me. It’s enchanted. Enchanted weapons kill gods the same as mortals.”

“Not this god,” said Cykkus. He narrowed his eyes until they were little more than red slits. “I’m Death—the warden of Hell’s gates, the conveyer of souls to the world beyond this one. I am the only true immortal.”

“Fight me anyway,” said Raettonus, stepping forward.

“There’d be no point,” Cykkus said coolly. He turned his mount toward Slade. “Sir Slade the Gryphon, son of Lord Crolleen. I have come to collect you and to bring you back to Hell.”

“I know,” said Slade. “I will go with you without a fight. Please…please don’t hurt any of these men. Don’t hurt them anymore.”

“A fair request, which I will honor,” Cykkus said with a respectful nod. “Come to me, Sir Slade the Gryphon.”

Slade started toward the god and his nightmare mount, but Raettonus grabbed him by the sleeve. “Master,” he said pleadingly.

“I can’t stay here with you,” said Slade, looking down at Raettonus with pity in his eyes. He kissed Raettonus softly. “Be good to Rhodes. And…please—please try to be happy.”

With a half-hearted smile, Sir Slade broke away from Raettonus and went to Cykkus’ side. The god and his hell-beast jaguar towered over the man, casting him all in shadows. Looking at them side by side, Raettonus felt his knees go weak, and he had to kneel. He was trying to object, but the words choked themselves out in his throat like flames on a match that wouldn’t burn. Cykkus held up his empty hand, and the abassy’s assault on Kaebha ceased immediately.

“I’m sorry that this happened,” Slade said to the armored figure looming above him. “I didn’t know…”

“I will not hold it against you then,” said Cykkus. He reached his hand down to Slade. “Your body will come with us as far as the gate. We need to move swiftly—every second we delay more and more souls escape out of Hell’s rent.”

Slade took him by the hand, and suddenly the glow of the necromancer’s blue eyes extinguished itself. Cykkus pulled the knight effortlessly onto the jaguar’s back to sit before him. With a snarl, the two-headed jaguar turned. Slade looked back toward Raettonus, and their eyes met for just a moment before Cykkus’ steed bounded away and disappeared into the army beyond. Raettonus stared after him, feeling as though he’d been hollowed out inside. Brecan came to stand beside him, nuzzled his ear softly, and said something in a comforting tone, but Raettonus didn’t hear the words. Around them the abassy were turning away, picking up their dead, and retreating silently. Horns were blowing inside the citadel and men were cheering. Raettonus could hear Diahsis’ voice speaking boisterously behind him, but there was no sense to be made of it.

There was no sense to be made of any of it.

* * *

Everyone was picking up the pieces. The dead had to be burned, and the injured had to be cared for. And, of course, the breaks in the wall had to be repaired. Diahsis had a feast called for to celebrate what he termed their victory against Hell itself. Raettonus didn’t think it much a victory however, and didn’t attend the feast.

Instead, he went up to the roof to stare out at the mountains. The blue pulse had died, which Raettonus guessed meant Cykkus had returned to Hell with Slade, and it had fixed his gate.

Down in the courtyard, a great pyre was burning all the centaurian dead. Sparks and ash drifted up into the night, as did the dirges being sung by their surviving comrades. Raettonus didn’t know how many had died. He didn’t care. All he knew was that not enough had.

If it were possible, he would’ve burned the whole world down—this and every world. He wanted them to feel the pain he felt. The bitter, festering loss. He’d burn them down to nothing, and maybe in the ashes he’d find something worth keeping…

Brecan came up to join him sometime just after the sun had set, but Raettonus sent him harshly away. The unicorn flattened his ears and his wings sagged. With a feeble, “Okay, Raet, but if you want to talk…” he had turned and left with his tail trailing behind him on the ground.

Alone, Raettonus watched as the moon rose in a dark sky, its orange face half hidden in shadows. Beneath him, the centaurs were singing songs both jubilant and sorrowful, but he was apart from their revelry and their mourning. Alone, he watched the moon and sat on the edge of a memory.

He had been fifteen years old, or near enough, and it had been a clear, unseasonably cold summer night. He had been riding along the riverbank with Slade, listening to his master tell him old folktales about the fair folk. As they made their way down the moonlit stretch of sand, Silvershield jerked beneath Raettonus and let out a surprised whinny. Boy and horse both tumbled onto the bank, crying out in pain.

“Raettonus,” said Slade, reigning up Steorra to a quick stop. “Are you all right?”

Raettonus scrambled to his feet. “Fine, Master,” he said. “I think Silvershield’s hurt though.”

“Let me see.” Slade dismounted and came to the floundering horse’s side, where he knelt. “Can you give me a little light?”

“Yes, Master,” said Raettonus with a nod. He cupped his palms before himself and invited a tiny fire to fill them. By the fire’s light, Raettonus saw the horse’s foreleg was all twisted and bloody.

“He must’ve stepped in a hole,” said Slade. “Poor creature. We should’ve ridden a little more carefully…”

“You can set it though, can’t you?” asked Raettonus. “You can set the bones and they’ll mend? Like that time I broke my arm and you set it and it healed just right?”

Slade shook his head. “I’m afraid not,” he said, standing. The horse was screeching and trying to get to its feet. The dark-haired man sighed and unsheathed his hunting knife. “Horses aren’t like people, Raettonus. There’s no way to get him off his leg for the time it’ll take to set, and if we could get him to stay off it he’d get sick.”

Raettonus looked up at his master and bit his lip. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I’m going to put him out of his misery,” said Slade, kneeling beside the injured horse. He placed his hand on Silvershield’s neck and whispered softly into his ear that it was going to be okay.

“Don’t kill him,” said Raettonus, putting his hand on Slade’s shoulder. “Please, Master…”

With a tired smile, Slade looked up at his ward. “Everything dies, Raettonus,” he said. “You don’t need to be sad about it or afraid of it. Death follows life like rainbows follow rain. This is the kinder way. Silvershield won’t be in pain anymore. Instead of his life petering out painfully, he can go quickly, without more hurt. I know he’s a good horse, and you’ll miss him, but this is the best way.”

Raettonus looked from Slade’s face to the blade of his knife and then to the horse. “Animals don’t go to heaven, do they?” he asked quietly. “You—you told me that, once, when I asked when I was little. You told me animals don’t have souls.”

“That’s right,” said Slade, turning his face away.

“So what happens to him when he dies? I’ll never see him again? Not even in heaven?”

“You’ll still have your memories of him,” Slade said. “I know it doesn’t seem like much, but it really is. Look, why don’t you take Steorra back to the castle? You don’t need to be here for this. I—Ride carefully.”

Raettonus nodded numbly and mounted his master’s horse. The destrier placidly obeyed as Raettonus steered him away, much less concerned by the other horse’s screams than Raettonus was.

It was a few hours before Slade returned. He’d cleaned his knife off carefully, but had neglected to notice some of the blood he’d gotten on his tunic. The sight of it—the knowledge of where it’d come from—made Raettonus queasy, but he said nothing.

It was around three years later that the plague hit Slade, and Raettonus found himself reliving that same conversation all over again.

Slade’s health had deteriorated so rapidly, and Raettonus had no idea how to help him. Only a couple days after the first symptoms appeared—fever, dizziness—Slade was bedridden and covered with festering black abscesses on his thighs and under his arms. His room stank of corruption every time Raettonus brought him food or water, and there was always sweat on Slade’s brow and pain in his eyes.

“Raettonus,” croaked Slade when he came to bring water. He grabbed Raettonus’ arm. “I need you to help me. I’m in so much pain.” The words were so hard for him to say, and they came out between labored breaths that rattled in his thinning chest like a dried bean in a tin.

“What do you need, Master?” asked Raettonus. “I’ve got water. Do you want me to go fetch something to help you sleep?”

Slade swallowed hard. “Please,” he said. “Kill me.”

The pitcher tumbled out of Raettonus’ fingers and shattered on the floor. He didn’t bother to pick it up. “W-what?” said Raettonus, his words trembling as they came off his tongue. “I think I misheard you.”

Slade’s blue eyes were foggy with pain as he gently pulled Raettonus close by the front of his tunic. “I want you to kill me,” he said, every word heavy with the effort of speaking. “This hurts—hurts so bad that I… I can’t make it, Raettonus. I can’t…”

“It’s going to pass, Master,” said Raettonus. Blood rushed in his ears; it sounded like thunder imitating a heartbeat. He was in a nightmare, he thought to himself, and when he awoke the conversation would vanish into the fog, forgotten. “You’re getting much better. Here—let me go get you some more water.”

“I’m dying, Raettonus,” said Slade. His voice rasped, and he half-coughed as he spoke. His skin was waxy and his cheeks hollow. He looked like he had already died. “It’s not going to go away. This pain… Even with hell awaiting me for it, I would kill myself to end this pain.”

“Master, you shouldn’t say things like that.”

“I don’t have the strength to do it myself or else I would,” said Slade. “Please, Rae—if you love me, kill me.”

Slade’s dagger was on the bedside table. Raettonus stared at it for a moment that stretched on and on. Its naked blade gleamed like quicksilver in the dim light. Outside the rain pounded, and a wind pressed gently against the shutters and batted back the thin drapes.

“You’ll get better, Master,” Raettonus insisted weakly. “You…you’re doing so much better.”

“Raettonus,” said Slade again. Raettonus winced to hear his name spoken in that cracking, pained voice. “I’m not getting better. I can feel death coming for me. It aches and it burns and—Mary, mother of God. Raettonus, I just want to die. Please—please.”

He couldn’t look at Slade’s pale, fevered face. It was too much for him to try to meet the man’s gaze. Instead, he stared and stared at the dagger on the bedside table. The gleaming blade of it, so full of menace. The seashell-shaped crossguard. The hilt made of ebony banded with pewter. He could hear Slade’s sad, labored breathing as he looked at the weapon. He could smell Slade’s fetid wounds eating away at his healthy flesh. He could feel the heat of the sickness in the air around him. The dagger sat on the table, promising both relief and horror.

“All right, Master,” said Raettonus quietly. He picked up the dagger gingerly, as if it were something delicate and temperamental.

“Please don’t hate me,” Slade said, taking Raettonus’ free hand. The flesh of his palm was cold and wet with perspiration. “Please don’t hate me for this.”

No matter how hard he tried afterward, Raettonus could never forget the way the dagger felt as he slid it between Slade’s ribs. He had killed many, many times after that, and it always brought back the memory unbidden—the resistance as the blade dug through the tissue, the smell of blood filling his nostrils, the look of pain on Slade’s face followed by tranquility.

He need only close his eyes, and he was once again in that moment. He couldn’t escape from that moment. Far and fast as he might run, that moment was always right behind him. It was inside him, dwelling in every fiber of him. That moment had wrapped itself, serpent-like, around his brainstem, and it refused to let go.

That hot, wet room that smelled of rot. That gleaming dagger pushed up to its ornate crossguard into Sir Slade’s ribcage. The hissing rattle that came up Slade’s throat as his lungs collapsed into themselves. The rain pouring down like little tiny hoofbeats against the castle’s stark stone walls.

Covered in the blood of the person he loved the most, Raettonus collapsed beside Sir Slade on the bed and wept until his eyes ached and his throat was raw and red.

Raettonus was snapped out of his memories suddenly as he became aware of someone standing near him.

He jerked his head toward the figure and found it to be Kimohr Raulinn. Shadows pooled in the eyeholes of the chaos god’s mask, obscuring his eyes. Through the wide-open grin of his wooden mask, Raettonus could see his lips outlined in the firelight. He wasn’t smiling.

“What do you want?” asked Raettonus, glaring at him.

“Nothing at all,” Kimohr Raulinn responded easily. He took a step toward Raettonus cautiously and looked out across the empty stone expanse around them, toward the faint, black outlines of the mountains. “I see Cykkus has fixed Hell’s gates. Pity.”

“You knew he would.”

Kimohr Raulinn shrugged slightly and leaned against one of the iron bars that caged the roof. “I had a feeling,” he said. “You’re only mortals, after all. Who could seriously expect you to best Death himself?”

A wind kicked up and flapped Kimohr Raulinn’s lavish white robes. The beads around his neck clacked against each other softly as they were rustled. “Why would you do it if you expected Cykkus would just fix it anyway?” asked Raettonus as dying sparks from the pyre below floated by on the wind.

The god chuckled softly. “It’s what I do,” he said. “All sources of chaos are only temporary. Entropy is the natural state of things, but if any one specific type of entropy were to become the rule—why, that’d just be a different sort of order, wouldn’t it? Everything I do is fleeting, my dear, sweet Raettonus. Nothing—nothing—in this world is permanent.”

They were silent. It felt to Raettonus as if Kimohr Raulinn was waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t really feel like talking. He stared down at his boots and picked at a tear in his hose. He had changed from those stained, white clothes into a clean, dark red tunic with Sir Slade’s gryphon embroidered over the heart in black thread. If the sight of that proud, rearing beast had made him sad before, now it crushed his heart in his chest and made his throat swell up.

Raettonus smoothed at the hem of his tunic and picked at a loose thread. All the while, he could feel Kimohr Raulinn’s gaze on the back of his neck, making the hairs there stand on end. “So,” Raettonus said, finally giving in. “Did you choose to put me through all this at random? Did I just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

Kimohr Raulinn straightened and walked toward him. He knelt beside Raettonus so that they were at eye-level. “No, it wasn’t random,” he said as Raettonus lifted his eyes. “It had to be you. You’ve lived such a long, bitter life that you had enough emotional turmoil to let me break Hell apart; that’s why it had to be you. Also, I don’t know of anyone else who could convince an entire army to fight a suicide battle on his behalf.” He smiled.

“I see,” said Raettonus. His voice was tight.

“You are something amazing, Raettonus,” purred Kimohr Raulinn. “I’ve watched you for such a long time, you know. When you first stepped foot in this dimension, I noticed you. You had so much…hm, let’s call it ‘promise.’ You were promising.”

“Promise,” repeated Raettonus, narrowing his eyes.

“Yes, promise,” cooed Kimohr Raulinn. “I could feel it inside you—all that chaos bottled up, just waiting to come out of you. Ah, but there are lots of people like that. People who hate the world and want to tear it apart. You only really caught my attention after that silly business in the Center of Souls. You lost your soul there, didn’t you? What was it for? I never could find out…”

“I was trying to cast a spell to stamp out a pestilence in my world,” Raettonus said sourly.

Kimohr Raulinn laughed softly. “And why would you bother to do that?” he asked.

“Because people were dying.”

A thin smile flitted across Kimohr Raulinn’s lips. “As if something so inconsequential ever mattered to you.” He smoothed the embroidered hem of his robe against his thigh. “So that is when you really caught my eye. The day you lost your soul. I kept a very close eye on you after that for as long as you were in Zylx. Sometimes you’d leave and I’d lose track of you. I couldn’t help but worry at first that you might not come back. Oh, but you always come back. Zylx is the closest thing you have to a real home now, isn’t it? You might stay awhile in other worlds, but you don’t belong there. Not like you belong here.”

Raettonus furrowed his brow and looked down into the courtyard. “I don’t belong anywhere,” he said bitterly.

“That’s true enough, I suppose,” said Kimohr Raulinn. “But this place suits you best, I think.”

“So, what—you’ve been watching me for all this time, then? For centuries and centuries?”

“That’s right,” affirmed Kimohr Raulinn with a slow nod.

“Why now?” asked Raettonus. “Why wait all that time and then just suddenly decide to do this?”

Kimohr Raulinn shrugged one slim shoulder. “I felt it was about time,” he said. “Honestly, I’ve been watching you dwell on Sir Slade’s death for all this time. I’ve been watching your wounds fester and turn necrotic. It reached a tipping point, I suppose you might say, where the benefits of putting you through this now were more irresistible than the promise of what might happen if I continued to bide my time.”

“Benefits?” Raettonus spat. “And what, praytell, are the benefits of dangling my master in front of me—the only person I’ve ever really loved, the person I’ve been fighting my whole miserable life to get back—knowing he would just be snatched away from me again? What the fuck kind of benefits are you talking about?”

“Benefits for me, of course, and not for you,” said Kimohr Raulinn. “The amount of chaos that’s been created here…it’s immeasurable. I didn’t do this out of malice toward you, you must know. Believe me, Raettonus, if I could have this chaos and you could have Sir Slade, I would certainly make it so. But that is, unfortunately, beyond my power. Sir Slade had to die a second death. There was never any question about that. He was never going to live more than a few weeks.”

“You could’ve told me that to begin with,” Raettonus said. “You could’ve warned me it was only temporary.”

“Raettonus—dear, sweet Raettonus,” cooed Kimohr Raulinn. “All things are only temporary.”

“You could have told me to begin with.”

“Would it have made a difference?” asked Kimohr Raulinn. “To you, I mean? To me it would have. Your pain was just so much more potent when you thought you’d have Slade for the rest of his life and had him taken from you again. That pain… I’m sorry, Raettonus, but pain like that just calls to me.” He smiled like a cat camped at a mouse hole. “No hard feelings, right?”

Raettonus ground his teeth hard together and narrowed his eyes at the god. Clenching his right hand into a fist and putting as much weight behind it as possible from his position, he threw a hard punch.

His knuckles connected with Kimohr Raulinn’s jaw with a loud, reverberating crack, breaking part of the mask and sending the god toppling sideways onto the ground. Raettonus shook out his hand. He’d cut the skin on his knuckles, and they looked like they’d be bruised for a week, but it was worth it. On the ground, Kimohr Raulinn sputtered and spat out some blood. He sat up shakily and gripped the bottom part of his mask, a chunk of which was missing. Blood dripped out of the uneven edges around the break. “You hit me,” Kimohr Raulinn said, scandalized. His pretty, pink lip was beginning to swell and turn red. “Are you insane? I am a god.”

“Get out of my sight,” said Raettonus. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”

Kimohr Raulinn scrambled to his feet, eyes flashing with rage. “You don’t have the right to speak to me this way.”

Raettonus stood and drew his rapier. “That a fact?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow.

Kimohr Raulinn looked from the blade to Raettonus’ face. Shoulders slumping slightly, he turned his gaze away from the magician. “We might have been friends,” he said sorely. “You would’ve done better to be my friend than to assume I’m your enemy. Fine, though. I’m going. Good night, Magician. Until we meet again, adieu.”

“We won’t be meeting again, you and I,” Raettonus told him coldly.

Kimohr Raulinn let out a stiff chuckle, blood still welling up bright and red from the ruined edges of his mask. He turned away and was gone, just as if he’d never been there to begin with. Raettonus glared into the empty air for a long while before he lowered his sword. A stiff breeze blew at his back, carrying with it the dying sparks of the funeral pyre far below. The little red embers brushed the back of his neck, singeing the hair and skin there, but he could hardly feel them. Overhead the moon was like a grinning mouth, smiling at his failures.

Chapter Eighteen

Kaebha Citadel felt emptier and emptier with each passing day. Aside from the guards on Diahsis’ floor, Raettonus rarely found himself passing soldiers as he made his way through the fort. Most of the ones he did come across were Zylekkhan. Strange, he thought, since he didn’t remember there being nearly so many turncoats. He could hazard a good guess regarding that change in proportions, however.

Dohrleht no longer came to lessons. Raettonus hadn’t spoken to him since the attack on the citadel. Maeleht was severely weakened by his efforts caring for the injured, and so he didn’t come to lessons either. Raettonus passed his days alone, walking the halls, or else in his room asleep. Diahsis often invited him to come up to his room, but Raettonus rarely took him up on the offers, and on the rare occasions he did go he found himself regretting it. At the best, a trip to Diahsis’ quarters was spent listening to the general play his flute or coldly turning down his flirtations. At the worst, Raettonus had to put up with his blowhard tales and his stories about his dead lover.

The only place within the citadel that seemed in any way busy was the shrine. Day and night the fortress’ shrine was crowded with Zylekkhan and Tahlehson soldiers. They laid candles at the base of the statue of Cykkus and begged to be forgiven for their blasphemy in fighting against him. They hadn’t wanted to, they told the statue. They hadn’t known. No one had told them who they were fighting against. When Raettonus skulked the halls in the dead of night, he could see candlelight glaring out of the cracked door of the shrine. He didn’t go in to look, but he imagined it to be the light of thousands of candles burning all at one. Waste of energy, he thought bitterly. He’s not going to forgive you, and either way you’re just going to die.

A few uneventful weeks passed. As the fervor of war died away in the fort it became as though the fight against Cykkus and his abassy had never happened at all. Sometimes Raettonus couldn’t help but wonder if he hadn’t just dreamed the whole thing as he strolled emptily through the silent halls of the citadel.

“You want to go for a walk?” Brecan would come to his room to ask him now and again. Raettonus would always shake his head and roll over so his face was buried in his pillow. Brecan would always hesitate for a moment before quietly withdrawing. The same scene, every two or three days. Always just the same. Brecan would come and then go and leave Raettonus in desolate silence. As Raettonus pressed his face hard into his pillow, he couldn’t help but think that he used to be able to hear a clock from his room. At some point, he was sure, that clock had given up ticking. Now all he heard from his room was cold silence.

It must’ve been two months after the battle. Maeleht still couldn’t come to lessons, and Dohrleht still wouldn’t. Raettonus was lying in his bed letting a fire come to life in his palm and then smothering it in his fingers again and again. The door opened slowly at a timid push from the hall. Assuming it was Brecan or a messenger from Diahsis, he didn’t bother to look up. However, when the intruder spoke it was with Rhodes’ gravelly voice, words all slurred together.

“Mashter Raettonush,” he said. “May I come in?”

Raettonus closed his hand on the little fire, suffocating it. He looked up at Rhodes through the thin curls of smoke rising between his fingers. In the doorway, Rhodes stared back at him with one brown eye surrounded by rotting flesh and one filmy white eye in a skeletal socket, the thin, greasy strands of what remained of his hair falling across his face. He wasn’t able to make facial expressions but Raettonus could tell by his posture that he was nervous. “If you want,” Raettonus said, sitting up. He motioned vaguely toward the desk chair.

Rhodes bowed slightly and entered, leaving the door open. He went slowly to the chair, dragging his left leg uselessly behind him. The reanimation job Raettonus had done on him was a sloppy one, and it had been done before Raettonus knew good ways to preserve flesh, so much of Rhodes’ body had decayed while Raettonus figured it out. Raettonus watched him unblinkingly as he crossed the room and pulled out the chair. With difficulty, Rhodes sat down and laid his decayed hands on his knees.

“Mashter Rattonush, I know you’re upshet right now,” began the corpse after a silent minute. “But Shlade wouldn’t want you to mourn him like thish.”

“That a fact?” said Raettonus. “Seems to me that the man who pretended to be his friend and then tried to kill him shouldn’t be lecturing me about what Slade would want.”

Rhodes sighed raggedly. “Are you going to hold that againsht me forever?” he asked tiredly.

“Yes, I think so. After all, you tried to kill him.”

The rotted tissue on the half of Rhodes’ face that still had any muscle at all twitched, as if he were trying very hard to make some sort of expression. “There were…circumshtancesh,” said Rhodes. “I never wanted to kill him, but…”

“But you were still willing to,” Raettonus said.

Rhodes sighed again. The sound hissed and came out through his ribs and through a hole in his throat, causing the shreds of damaged flesh there to flap weakly. “Yesh, I wash willing to,” he said. “I wash…in a bad way. There were debtsh I needed to pay, and a man approached me with an offer of quite a lot to kill Shlade.” He rubbed at the back of his neck with one bony hand and turned his eyes to the floor. In a small voice, he said, “For what it’sh worth, I refushed at firsht. I threw him out, told him never to come to me again. But…thosh debtsh jusht kept piling up, and… And I’m a weak, weak man, Raettonush.” He lowered his hand from his neck to pick at a loose thread on the hem of his tunic that Raettonus couldn’t see. “I didn’t desherve to shurvive that fight that day in the orchard. I’m a worm. Lower than a worm, even.”

“Yes, you are,” said Raettonus. The gaze he regarded Rhodes with was icy cold.

“Even sho,” continued Rhodes, looking up. “I knew Shlade for many, many yearsh. We grew up together. He wouldn’t want you to do thish to yourshelf. He’d want you to be happy.”

Raettonus looked away. “I’m tired of this place,” he said after a moment. “Pack up Slade’s stuff and take it north. We’re leaving soon.”

Rhodes hesitated slightly before he said, “Ash you wish.” Slowly he stood and left the room, closing the door gently behind himself.

For a while, Raettonus stared silently at the door before standing with a sigh. Sliding his rapier into his belt, he ventured out into the hall to skulk aimlessly about the citadel.

* * *

The corridors were mostly empty, with only a few centaurs loitering about between shifts on the roof and repairing the damage to the outer walls. The main exception to this was the shrine, which was less crowded than it had been but still markedly busy as Raettonus passed it by.

When Raettonus made his way through the courtyard, he found a few soldiers drilling and jousting, but not as many as he had expected. With a slight sense of disappointment, he noted Brecan was not with them. A shadow fell across the yard, and Raettonus looked upward to see a hippogryph circling the steel cage above the citadel. One of the patrolling guards on the roof waved to it, and it glided over to him and landed on the metal bars. He took a rolled up paper out of its beak and gave it something from a pouch at his hip, and the hippogryph took off again into the sky. Raettonus watched it disappear beyond the walls and continued across the yard.

His mind wandered as he meandered along the stark, stone halls of the citadel, lonely footfalls echoing behind him. He didn’t even notice he was in one of the subterranean levels until it became dark enough he needed to light a fire to see by. He continued meanderingly onward along a cobweb-filled passage with a high ceiling. As he made his way down a broad staircase the scent of putrefaction caught in his nose. He stepped off the last stair and coughed slightly as the odor stung his lungs. It was drifting in, he noted, from a side path. Curiously, he turned and followed the smell to its source and shortly found himself entering the citadel’s dungeon level through a little-used stairway entrance covered in dirt and grime.

There were no guards posted on the cell, Raettonus observed as he entered. Beyond the bars, Raettonus saw centaurs lying all across each other, entirely still. He edged closer, letting the firelight illuminate their forms. As he expected, their throats had been cut. Dried blood stained their cloth uniforms or the bare chainmail they were wearing. Flies buzzed about the cell in great black swarms, and Raettonus could see maggots wriggling up out of the decaying bodies near the bottom of the stack. The maggots struck too many chords, which brought to his mind the fight against Cykkus, so he turned his face away from them.

It was difficult to say how long the oldest bodies had been there. The weight of the corpses piled atop them had crushed them down into what was mostly pulp and rot. Raettonus’ best guess came from the smell of all of it. He would’ve ventured that the executions had started just on the heels of the attack by Cykkus’ army.

Across the room, up the well-kept staircase usually used to approach the cells, he heard a couple centaurs coming down. Extinguishing his fire, Raettonus withdrew to the access he had entered by. As he ascended the stairs, he heard the centaurs speaking in Kaerikyna as they unlocked the cell and tossed something heavy in. Quietly, Raettonus left them to their dubious activities.

He decided to return to his room and had almost reached his floor when a soldier in Tahlehson armor came around a corner. “Ah, Magician!” called the soldier in a thick accent. He spoke common Zylekkhan haltingly, as if unsure how to put the words together into a thought. “I am sent by General Diahsis to find you. He is requesting of your company in his chambers. He says that I should to tell you he’ll be, ah, very disappointed if you are to not show up.”

Raettonus gave the soldier a tired look and suppressed a small sigh. “Yes, all right,” he said at last. “You don’t need to show me the way. I know it myself.”

The Tahlehson bowed his head slightly and, passing Raettonus, continued down the hall. Raettonus bit back another sigh and made his way up to Diahsis’ floor.

There was only one guard posted on the staircase when Raettonus reached the level, and he seemed to have been drinking. He moved aside to let Raettonus in, swaying slightly as he did.

Somewhere beyond the halls and empty passages, someone was playing a sorrowful song on a flute. He followed the sound to Diahsis’ airy study, where the general was seated beside Deggho dek’Kariss on a couch, playing a gleaming white flute. Lorum and another centaur were standing behind the couch, listening to the general play while Daeblau stood off beside a window overlooking the courtyard, staring down into the yard. As Raettonus stood in the doorway Deggho waved him in, but the others didn’t seem to notice him at all. Diahsis was playing with his eyes closed, a look of concentration on his face.

At some point after the battle someone had sewn Deggho’s head back onto his shoulders. The stitch work was neat and tidy, so Raettonus guessed it must have been Ebha or maybe Maeleht. Anger boiled up in Raettonus’ belly as he looked at the goblin. Deggho was just as unnatural as Slade, but yet here he still was. No one came to drag him back to Hell. All the other corpses that might have risen when Hell’s wall was breached—were they simply inconsequential? Was it only Slade’s life which had to be ended again? Was it only the life of the one man Raettonus cared about which needed to be taken away?

Apparently so.

Smothering the anger as best he could, Raettonus took a seat in a cushy armchair, throwing up his legs over one of the arms. Diahsis half opened his eyes as he was playing and stopped abruptly. “Magician!” he exclaimed. “You decided to come see us! I’m glad.”

“Well, I was already out and about,” said Raettonus.

Diahsis smiled. “Deggho painted a picture of me,” he said, pointing with his flute toward where the canvas leaned against a wall drying. In the painting, Diahsis stood proudly adorned in his shining dress armor, all bronze and silver and wrapped with yellow and blue silk. “It’s good, isn’t it? It looks just like me!” Diahsis wrapped one arm around Deggho’s shoulders. “You’re amazing, Deggy, you really are.”

“You’re too kind, General,” said Deggho. The goblin might’ve blushed a little if he still had blood circulating in his body to blush with.

Raettonus arched one eyebrow. “You’ve been drinking today, haven’t you?” he asked Diahsis.

Diahsis nodded, still smiling. “Just a little,” he said. “And it was only wine. Ah—would you like some? Vyrah, where did you put that bottle? You had it last, I think.”

The centaur standing beside Lorum—a young man with long, black hair and a scar that ran from his lower lip all the way to his navel—shrugged and said in a voice without an accent, “I think you emptied that one, actually.”

“Did I?” asked Diahsis, looking slightly distressed. He looked back toward Raettonus. “Gods, I’m sorry. I guess I drank that bottle. We could get a fresh one, though, if you want.”

“I’m fine,” Raettonus said. “I’m not in a mood to drink anyway.”

“Are you sure?” said Diahsis. “It’s very good wine. I think we have some brandy too. And—oh, we definitely had some rum.”

“I’m fine, really.”

Diahsis’ smile faltered a little. “Oh, all right,” he said. “Hey, Daeby, come over here and join us. Why don’t you tell us that story you told this morning? Raettonus and Vyrah weren’t here to hear it.”

“Hm?” Daeblau glanced at him quickly before returning his gaze to the yard. “Ah, forgive me, General, I don’t seem to recall what story that was.”

“Oh, you know—the one about that slave fighting ring in Ti Tunfa,” said Diahsis. “You tell it so well. Come over here and join us. What’s so interesting down there anyway?”

For a moment, Daeblau was tense. Suddenly, however, his shoulders relaxed and he turned away from the window. “Nothing,” he said. “Just watching the men at their drills. That’s all.”

“Oh, is that all?” said Diahsis, chuckling slightly. “See anything you like down there, Dae?”

Daeblau shrugged and came to stand beside Lorum. “Like?” he said vaguely. “No, not particularly.”

“So, are you going to tell the story?” asked Diahsis.

“If you wish, General,” said Daeblau with a smile Raettonus could tell was carefully practiced.

“Oh, but start with the maid with one eye,” said Diahsis. “The bit before that drags. Start with the maid.”

Somewhere beyond the room there was a shout and the sound of a scuffle. Diahsis tried to get up, but Vyrah put on hand firmly on his shoulder. “I’m sure it was nothing,” he said. “We were about to hear a story, Daeblau?”

“Are you insane? Something’s going on out there,” said Lorum. He moved to make for the door, but Daeblau caught him by the arm. Outside the room, the sound had died away, and now there was only the clatter of hooves on stone approaching them.

“Stay. We’re in the middle of telling stories,” said Daeblau, smiling. He’d drawn a knife and was holding it to Lorum’s throat. “It’d be rude to go off while I’m in the middle of my story.”

There was a dagger in Vyrah’s hand now, as well, and he was holding it to Diahsis’ temple. The unarmed general stared at Raettonus. “I don’t suppose you’ll help me here, will you, Magician?” he asked, his sharp ears flattening against the sides of his head.

“This doesn’t concern me,” Raettonus answered.

“Hm. That’s pretty much just as I was expecting,” responded Diahsis, voice emotionless, as the doors clattered open. The general let out a small sigh. “Oh, well. I had to ask just for thoroughness’ sake, I suppose.”

Five centaurs in Zylekkhan armor and adorned with red and purple banners bustled into the room, wielding swords and halberds. “Diahsis of Tahlehsohr, my name is General Ahkuriin of the Royal Zylekkhan Army,” said the lead centaur. “We are here to demand your immediate surrender of this fort.”

Diahsis glanced from Ahkuriin to Daeblau. “Well. I suppose it’s all on me that I lost it, isn’t it?” he remarked. “I surrender, of course. There’s a bloody knife to my head, and all I’ve got is a flute. Do you think I’m going to fight?”

Ahkuriin signaled for two of his men to take Diahsis and Lorum into chains and crossed to Daeblau. “The King would like to recognize you for your wits in dealing with this infiltration,” he said, clapping one gauntleted hand down on Daeblau’s shoulder. “You’ve been promoted to general. Congratulations.”

“It’s an honor,” said Daeblau, bowing his head.

“General Ahkuriin, what about this one?” asked one of the soldiers, nodding toward Deggho.

Ahkuriin regarded him distastefully. “A goblin?”

“He was a hostage taken by the late General Tykkleht,” Daeblau informed him.

“Whatever,” said Ahkuriin. “Kill him, release him. I don’t care.”

“Um, I’d rather prefer to be released,” Deggho ventured in a small voice. “I’ve died once before. Didn’t care for it.”

“Fine, fine,” muttered Ahkuriin, obviously not paying much attention. “Bebukh, escort him out.”

The soldier took Deggho by the arm and pulled him to his feet. Silently, he led the goblin out of the room. Deggho cast a worried look backward at Diahsis as he reached the door, but allowed himself to be taken away without any resistance.

Ahkuriin turned his attention to Lorum. “What’s your name and rank?” he asked.

“Lorum of Bhelstra. I’m a captain,” Lorum said reluctantly.

“Well, we can’t sell a captain into slave labor. It wouldn’t be right,” said Ahkuriin. “What hand do you fight with, son?”

“My right,” answered Lorum wearily.

“Remove the top two fingers on his right hand,” said Ahkuriin to his soldiers. “Same with the other captains. Get Nahruk and his division to lead them out to the Koa after dawn tomorrow. You can let them go there.”

“Yes, sir,” said one of the soldiers. He looked at Diahsis. “Do we do the same with him?”

“Him?” said Ahkuriin. “No, he’s a general. You can’t cut off a captured general’s fingers. It’s disrespectful.” He paused a moment, flicking his equine tail. “Hang him.”

Diahsis’ facial expression didn’t change. He stared at Ahkuriin with a controlled look on his face, much the same as if the Zylekkhan general were only an uninvited guest who had loudly interrupted his party. At Ahkuriin’s motion, Diahsis was hauled to his feet and escorted from the room. As Ahkuriin and Daeblau began to converse in Kaerikyna, Raettonus stood and slunk out of the room and made his way toward the stairwell.

Kaebha Citadel was filled with soldiers wearing the Zylekkhan colors. They were shouting and joking to each other as they rounded up the Tahlehson soldiers and chained their arms and legs. No one spoke to Raettonus as he passed, and when the Zylekkhans looked at him they’d quickly look away after catching sight of his pale red eyes. Vaguely, he wondered what kinds of stories they’d heard about him.

On a third floor landing, Brecan found him. “Raet!” exclaimed the unicorn, cantering over to him and nearly bowling over a centaur youth as he did. “Hey, did you know? Zylekkha’s reclaimed Kaebha.”

Raettonus made a point of turning his head to look at all the Zylekkhan soldiers milling about them. “No,” he said flatly. “I had no idea.”

“Oh,” said Brecan, pulling into a stop as he reached Raettonus. “Well, they have! I’m not sure how they managed it, but when the Zylekkhan army reached the mountain there were loyalists on the gates and the rooftops, and they just opened the doors right up for them.”

“I was with Diahsis when they came in,” Raettonus said. He started again down the hall and Brecan followed with prancing steps. “Daeblau engineered it, I think. The Zylekkhan general seemed pleased with him, at any rate, and he seemed to be looking for something out in the courtyard. Probably some sort of signal that the fort was in Zylekkhan hands and it was safe to apprehend Diahsis.”

“Oh, Diahsis! What’s going to happen to him, Raet?” asked Brecan, flattening his ears. “I liked him. He liked to have parties with lots of food. They’re going to hurt him, aren’t they?”

“They’re going to hang him,” Raettonus said.

Brecan’s wings sagged against his back. “Oh,” he said quietly. “That’s…too bad.”

“There are worse things,” said Raettonus with a shrug. “His captains are getting their fingers cut off, and then they’re going to be let go in the desert.”

“In the desert with their fingers cut off?” asked Brecan. “The vampires out there’ll get them in no time.”

“I think that’s probably the idea.”

They entered into a feasting hall where the Zylekkhan soldiers were tearing down the blue and yellow banners adorning the walls and pillars. A couple of them took torches from the sconces on the wall and set fire to the banners while others trampled them with steel-shod hooves. A couple lifted their tails and defecated right on the Tahlehsohr blue and yellow.

“So,” said Brecan quietly as they passed through the hall. “Are you okay? Um, about Slade, I mean? Are you okay about Slade?”

Raettonus glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Trying to keep the emotion out of his voice he answered, “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Brecan swung his long tail side to side as they entered an empty corridor. “Well, because he just died. Again. And—and he left you behind,” said Brecan. “And he meant so much to you, and you had to watch him go off with Cykkus, and I can’t imagine how much that hurts. I mean, you tried so hard to keep him here—and you did good at it, Raet, you really did—but in the end, he just…died again. I—I just can’t imagine… I mean, no one would blame you if you’re sad or angry.”

“I’m not,” said Raettonus. “Really.”

“Well, okay. I mean, if you say so, Raet,” murmured Brecan. “I just…I’m afraid you are angry and sad, and you’re just going to turn all that inward. And that’s…it’s not good for you, Raet. It’s bad, ‘cause you’ll be walking around all full of pain and… I dunno, Raet, I just think that’s a bad thing.”

“I’m fine,” muttered Raettonus, barely holding back the edge on his voice. “Drop it.”

Brecan opened his mouth slightly, but seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say. He closed his mouth, and they walked quietly down the stairs together into another corridor full of rowdy Zylekkhan soldiers. After a while, Brecan spoke again. “I talked to Rhodes,” said the unicorn conversationally. “He was packing stuff up. He said we were going home. Are we going home, Raet? Back to Ti Tunfa?”

“Yeah,” Raettonus said. “Real soon. I’m tired of this place.”

“What about your students?” asked Brecan, his ears perking forward as he cocked his head to one side. “Aren’t you still having lessons with them?”

“Maeleht’s too sick to carry on with lessons,” said Raettonus. “I told him he wouldn’t be able to fully learn magic in a state like his. He really ought to have listened.”

“What about the other one? The older one?”

Raettonus shrugged. “He doesn’t come to the sessions, so the way I see it he must not want to learn,” he said.

They stepped out into the courtyard where wood was being stacked for a pyre, and a gallows was being hastily constructed from stone and wood. “That’s a lot of wood,” said Brecan.

“There’s a stack of bodies down in the holding cells,” Raettonus told him. “I came across them earlier. They must have been quietly killing guards and stashing them there. Guess they’re going to give them a proper burning.”

“A proper burning? Well, that’s nice of them,” said Brecan.

“Oh, yeah, real stand-up guys, all of them,” mumbled Raettonus. He caught sight of Dohrleht standing across the yard with a couple of the soldiers who were chuckling at something he was telling them. Raettonus motioned for Brecan to stay put. “Give me a second. I’ll be right back.”

The unicorn sat back on his haunches. “Oh, okay, Raet.”

The soldiers were leaving Dohrleht just as Raettonus reached him. Dohrleht watched Raettonus approach wearily. “Good afternoon,” he said in a small voice as Raettonus reached him.

“So, I guess you played a big role in Daeblau’s plan to get Kaebha back into Zylekkhan hands,” Raettonus said, hooking his thumbs through his belt. “Good job, or whatever.”

“Thanks,” said Dohrleht. “I…I really didn’t do all that much. I played lookout, mostly, and sent messages off with the hippogryphs that would come around. I…really, most everything that happened here happened because of Daeblau. He’s…he’s the hero. I just…I just helped a tiny bit.”

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. “So,” Raettonus said at last. “I’m leaving. Maybe next week or the week after that. Soon, anyway.”

“You’re leaving?” asked Dohrleht, furrowing his brow. “Why? We haven’t finished learning.”

“Your brother’s far too sick to do any more magic,” said Raettonus. “As for you… Well, if you want to keep learning, you’ll have to do it under someone else. I’m done with this place.”

Dohrleht frowned. “Oh,” he said. “Well…I’ll be sad to see you go, Raettonus. And, uh…I’m sorry. About telling Slade, I’m…I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be,” responded Raettonus. He looked away. “I was being an idiot. If you hadn’t told Slade, I would’ve let everyone in this whole damn fortress die. I was perfectly fine with murdering every one of you for his sake. Honestly? I still am. You slighted me by telling Slade, but it was unquestionably the right thing for you to do.”

He turned and started back toward Brecan. Behind him, Dohrleht made a hesitant move to follow, but was intercepted by a couple of soldiers congratulating him on helping take back the citadel. With one last glance at Raettonus’ back, Dohrleht cheerfully greeted them, and they began a boisterous conversation.

* * *

They hanged Diahsis at sunset.

He stood up on the gallows with his hands tied behind him, stripped naked but for his wolfskin cape, which hung limply off his broad, fit shoulders. His expression was blank as he stared out at the crowd.

“General Diahsis of Fybuk, son of Vaeminn Vohrtahl, One Hundred and Ninth Councilor of Shadows to the King of Tahlehsohr, serving King Saemohr,” said the executioner, reading from a slip of parchment. “On this day, the twenty-fifth day in the season of Kaeriaht, in the five thousandth and ninety-fifth year of the Creator, you have been brought forward to answer for your crimes against the Royal Zylekkhan Crown. Do you know what crimes you are accused of?”

“I do not,” answered Diahsis emotionlessly, still staring forward, his ears drawn back like an angry animal.

“General Diahsis of Fybuk, you have been found guilty of the murder of General Tykkleht of Sae Noklu, you have been found guilty of attempting to overthrow the Royal Zylekkhan Crown, you have been found guilty of blasphemous thoughts and actions against the god Cykkus, you have been found guilty of planning to give aid to goblins, and you have been found guilty of being an elf in possession of a blade which is longer than a knife.”

Diahsis scoffed at that, but said nothing.

“You have been found guilty,” continued the executioner, “of planning the murder of King Shalrish of Bribarrah, you have been found guilty of engaging in combat against the Royal Zylekkhan Army, you have been found guilty of the murders of four hundred and fifteen soldiers of the Royal Zylekkhan army through actions both direct and indirect. For these crimes, you have been sentenced, by General Ahkuriin of Bribarrah and by King Shalrish of Bribarrah whom he represents, to hang.”

Raettonus couldn’t help but note as the noose was placed around Diahsis’ neck that his murder of Deggho dek’Kariss was not amongst the charges brought against him.

“Do you have any final words?” asked the executioner.

Diahsis took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. “What good will words do me now?” he asked. “Just kill me.”

The executioner obliged and pushed him off the platform.

For a moment, Diahsis fell through the air. Then the rope went taut and jerked tight about his throat. Someone hadn’t done the knot quite right, however, so it didn’t break his neck. He thrashed about as the noose strangled the breath out of him slowly. He kicked his feet wildly into the empty air, his face growing dark red. It was a few minutes before he finally grew still and his body relaxed. After all the centaurs had turned their attention to the pyre which was being lit, Raettonus continued to watch Diahsis’ body sway slowly back and forth, the gallows creaking slightly with his weight.

As Raettonus watched, a ghostly shimmer appeared beneath the body on the ground. It coalesced and took on the shape of Diahsis. The ghost paced around the body and touched it with his ethereal hands as if trying to make sense of it. Raettonus approached the ghost and the body, and the soft sound of his boots in the dirt attracted its attention.

“Magician, thank the gods you’re here!” said Diahsis’ ghost. “I seem to be stuck outside my body.”

“You’re a ghost.”

Diahsis looked dismayed. “That doesn’t sound good,” he said. “Shouldn’t I be in Hell? Is this because I fought against the abassy? Am I banned from Hell now?”

Raettonus shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s a possibility.”

Diahsis wrapped his spectral arms around one still leg of his body, looking distressed. “Does that mean I’m stuck here forever?” he wondered. He spun around toward Raettonus. “You’re a necromancer, aren’t you? You can put me back in my body!”

“Well, I could—kind of,” said Raettonus. “But it wouldn’t be at all the same as being alive. I don’t think you’d like it.”

“Let me decide what I will and won’t like,” said Diahsis, wagging a finger at Raettonus. “Just cut me down from there, and put me back in.”

Raettonus looked up at Diahsis’ body, which was still swaying slowly. “As you wish,” he said indifferently. He called to the nearest centaur who looked to be reasonably high-ranking that he was taking the body for research. The centaur nodded for him to go ahead, and Raettonus climbed onto the gallows. He pulled a knife from his boot and wrapped one arm around Diahsis’ chest, under his arms. As he cut the rope and the full weight of the body pulled on him, Raettonus grunted. He managed to keep hold of the body just fine and, readjusting it so the corpse was slung over his shoulder, he climbed down and started away.

“Wait, don’t leave me!” said Diahsis. “Where are you going?”

“To find somewhere private to do this,” Raettonus said. “Come on.”

Diahsis faltered. “I don’t know that I can,” he said. “It’s so dark and murky out there…”

Raettonus sighed and circled back around. He took one of Diahsis’ transparent hands in his own and led him away from the courtyard. Anchored to the material plane by the necromancer’s touch, Diahsis walked without fear or pause.

They went to the same disused kitchen where Raettonus had dissected Deggho, what seemed now like ages ago. Raettonus washed Diahsis’ body and laid it on a table atop the wolfskin cape while the ghost stood uncertainly behind him. Raettonus ran his hand down the body from chest to navel, light gathering around his fingers as he did. “What are you doing?” asked Diahsis.

“I’m casting a spell of light protection on your tissues,” Raettonus said, closing his eyes. “So they won’t rot while you’re walking around in them.”

“Oh,” said Diahsis. “That’s good. Keep doing that.”

A glowing trail began to appear on the cooling flesh where Raettonus ran his fingers. The line he traced in light grew thicker and thicker with each pass. After a time, the light began to spread outwards on its own, and Raettonus turned his attention to the face. With the noose removed, the blood had already fled back out of Diahsis’ cheeks, leaving him looking just as he had in life. Raettonus pressed one palm over the general’s eyes and muttered a short incantation. When he withdrew his hand, the flesh was glowing. As Raettonus continued his work, all of Diahsis’ body slowly but surely became illuminated, even down into the wolf-pelt cape.

Light flared up on Raettonus’ fingertips, and he began to press them against Diahsis’ cooling body, massaging the magic deep into the dead flesh.

Diahsis’ ghost let out a small chuckle as he watched Raettonus work. “Would that you’d have done that while I was still alive,” he said. Raettonus looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. “Ah—sorry. That’s…inappropriate, isn’t it?”

“Kind of, yes,” Raettonus answered.

“Sorry,” said Diahsis as Raettonus rubbed the light into the lower abdomen of his corpse. “I—it’s just been a very long time since I’ve been with a man, and I couldn’t help but think it…”

“Well, looks like you should’ve made that your last request then.”

“I did,” Diahsis said sourly, pursing his lips. “But they told me that lowly elves don’t get last requests.” He sighed and leaned his ethereal form against the sink. “All I wanted was a short tryst with a pretty man with a nice smile. Who denies a dying man something like that?”

Raettonus shrugged and lifted his hands from the corpse. “There, that’s done. Come here,” he said. “I need you to lie on top of the body.”

Diahsis’ ghost walked soundlessly to the table and lay on top of his lifeless body awkwardly. “How does this work?” he asked.

“I’m going to need you to keep very still,” Raettonus said, making certain everything was aligned. “This is going to hurt a lot, and even if everything goes well, you won’t ever have perfect control over your body the way you did when you were alive. But if you move at all—even a tiny bit—you’re going to have terrible control over your body.”

He placed his hand over Diahsis’ chest. A black aura began to gather around Raettonus’ fingertips as he pressed down hard and quick. The ghost cried out in pain as his soul rejoined his heart. To his credit, however, he didn’t squirm or flinch. Raettonus pressed down again on the bend of each of his elbows, and then again on his knees. Slowly the ghost faded away as Raettonus tied him back to his body. He pressed down on his ankles and hands and forehead. Diahsis screamed and howled, and as Raettonus got more and more of his ghost entwined with his body, the body began to work its mouth as if it were screaming as well. He pressed down on each of his fingers and on his shoulders and on his hips. Last of all, Raettonus pressed down on his lips and tongue and throat, and Diahsis’ screams burst forth and filled the room.

For a few minutes, Diahsis writhed and screamed and clutched at his throat. Little by little, however, the pain seemed to recede, and he calmed. For a moment, he lay on the table before he tried to sit up. There was no grace left in his movements, and his expression was blank. The only regions of his face that could still emote were the corners of his mouth and his eyebrows—and that was just barely.

All the same, he smiled slightly and said in slow, halting words, “Thank you, Magician.”

“You’re going to be like that forever,” Raettonus told him. “You won’t be able to hold that dagger of yours very well or fight properly with your sword or play your flute at all.”

“I can still listen to music though,” he said, standing. Raettonus helped him to his feet. “Maybe I can still manage with a two-handed sword, eh? It’s a brute’s weapon, so I don’t really need the dancer’s elegance I needed with my gladius and dagger.”

“So what are you planning to do now?” Raettonus asked as Diahsis took a few testing steps away from him.

The corners of Diahsis’ mouth twitched in as broad a smile as he could manage and he lifted his eyebrows just barely. “Why, I’m planning to get dressed,” he said. “After that… Ah, who cares?”

Raettonus brought him his armor and helped him dress. Some centaur had stomped on the breastplate and cracked the enamel, which caused Diahsis a bit of distress. He was over it quickly enough however, and Raettonus helped him to leave the citadel unnoticed. With a clumsy wave, Diahsis left the magician, walking unevenly away into the mountains.

* * *

The last of Raettonus’ belongings had been moved back to Ti Tunfa. He thought only of how glad he would be to leave Kaeba behind as he passed through the hallways bustling with soldiers. He paused outside a closed door and knocked gently. After a short silence, the door cracked open and Ebha peered out. “Magician,” she said, and stepped back out of the doorway. “We weren’t expecting to see you.”

“Is Maeleht awake?” Raettonus asked.

She nodded and opened the door for him. Raettonus stepped past her into the room. Maeleht was lying on his side in a low, wide bed. “Raettonus,” he said with a weak smile. “I thought you’d left.”

“I was just leaving now, actually,” Raettonus told him, kneeling next to the bed. “I thought I’d see you before I did though. How’re you feeling?”

“Tired, but okay,” said Maeleht He sat up slowly. Ebha objected meekly, but he silenced her with a gesture. “I think I’m getting better.”

“Oh?” Raettonus forced himself to smile; it felt uncomfortably like lying. “That’s good to hear.” He unslung his bag and opened it. “I have something for you and your brother.”

“Really?” asked Maeleht. He leaned forward slightly, and his long, orange hair fell across his eyes. He brushed it back behind a slightly pointed ear. “What is it?”

Raettonus held up a pair of books. “This one’s for Dohrleht,” he said. “A friend of a friend wrote it. It’s about magic, and until he finds a new teacher it should help him become better.” He set it on the bedside table. “This one’s for you. It’s a guide for learning Zykyna.”

Maeleht raised his eyebrows. “Zykyna?” he asked. “Where’d you get something like that?”

“I wrote it,” he said. “It’s not finished, but you’re a smart kid. I’m sure you’ll be able to fill in the gaps I couldn’t.”

The young centaur took the book with wide eyes. “Thank you, Raettonus,” he said in a tiny voice as he ran his fingers over the cover.

“Don’t mention it,” said Raettonus, standing. “It’s the least I can do, leaving so abruptly.”

“Thank you though,” said Maeleht, looking up at him with a smile. “For everything. You…you were a good teacher. I’m glad to have been able to meet you.”

Raettonus cleared his throat and turned away. “Well,” he said, starting for the door. “I need to be going. Take care of yourself, Maeleht.”

Before the centaur could answer, Raettonus was out the door. He met up with Brecan just outside the grand double doors of the citadel’s front entrance and mounted up. “You sure you have everything?” asked Brecan.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Raettonus snapped. “What are you, my mother? Just fly.”

“Right,” said Brecan. With a running leap off the mountainside, he took to the air. Raettonus watched the fortress recede as they spiraled upwards. The ocean grew larger and larger, and the coastline longer. And then the citadel was no more than a tiny speck.

Raettonus entwined his fingers in Brecan’s mane and leaned against his neck. The smell of horseflesh suddenly brought him back into a memory—something buried so far back in his mind that it seemed like forever since he’d thought about it.

In his memory, skeletal fingers with strips of rotting flesh still clinging to them trembled up out of the soil all across a muddy field as the rain pounded down on the knight sitting behind him on the saddle. Raettonus trembled as the man urged his horse on down the path toward a bleak, abandoned castle, breathing in the stench of rotting flesh and looking with horror as bodies pulled themselves from the ground. He was no older than four years—a tiny, malnourished wisp of a child with wide, green eyes flecked with brown, and gently pointed ears. He shook and sobbed and would’ve fallen down under the hooves of the horse, but the knight held tight to him and kept him on the saddle as all around them the unmarked graves stirred.

“Shush, child,” the knight said in a quiet voice to Raettonus as his black destrier splashed through a puddle. “They won’t hurt you. No one’s going to hurt you.” But the boy continued to cry and the rain continued to fall and the corpses continued to drag themselves out of the ground.

It seemed like an eternity before they reached the stark, gray castle that loomed above them on a slight rise. Rain pattered against the hard edges of the structure, and the chains on the portcullis rattled terribly as it lifted. The knight urged his destrier gently under the gate, and it lowered behind them. He dismounted in the yard and lifted Raettonus easily from the horse before leading both the boy and the steed to the stable. As the knight turned his attention to unbridling and removing the horse’s saddle, Raettonus watched him with wide-eyed terror from a corner.

“You have nothing to be afraid of here,” said the knight as he worked. “My name’s Sir Slade the Gryphon, of the house Black and Red. What’s your name?”

“R-raettonus the Phoenix, house Red and White,” muttered Raettonus in a quivering voice.

“Raettonus, eh?” said Slade, as he brushed out his horse’s mane. “That’s a strange name. But a handsome name too, I’d say. Tell me, Raettonus—why are you afraid of me?”

The little child squared his slight shoulders. “I’m not,” he answered. “You’re a demon, b-but I’m not afraid.”

Slade looked out of the corner of his eye at Raettonus and gave him an amused smile. He turned and knelt in the straw beside the boy. “Well, that’s good,” he said. “There’s too much fear in this world, Raettonus, and it turns far too easily into hate. I never, ever want you to be afraid of me, okay?”

Raettonus felt he was supposed to answer somehow, so he nodded.

“I want you to know,” Slade went on, as he stood and ran one large hand through Raettonus’ hair, “so long as I’m alive, I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. We’re going to be happy, you and I.”

On Brecan’s back, Raettonus thought about the way Slade had smiled then. He wondered if it had felt to Slade like a lie.

~ End ~

~ About the Author ~

Ash Stinson was born in the outskirts of a small, rural town in California, called Hilmar, where she spent the first eighteen years of her life. As a child, Ash was a voracious reader, and was encouraged by her parents and grandparents to read anything she could get her hands on. Her especial favorite reading material soon proved to be fantasy books, and she decided when she was ten-years-old that she wanted to write a fantasy novel, too. Ash spent the next ten years learning how to write a story. She now lives one town north of her hometown, in Turlock, California, where she is studying Psychology at CSU Stanislaus.

Find out more about Ash Stinson here:

http://ashstinson.livejournal.com/

http://facebook.com/AshAStinson

Table of Contents

- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- About The Author