Date: 2019-01-18 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: Malem has joined the forces of good and wages war against the vast host of Vorgon, the Balor who has come to destroy the world. Malem has four beautiful women fighting at his side, one of them a former general of Vorgon's army--a night elf tamed by his unique skill. He also has a few hill giants and other monsters ready to follow him to the gates of hell itself. But it's not enough. The army of Vorgon stands poised to defeat the defenders. Despite Malem's powers, and the unique magic and abilities his lovely companions bring to the table, the enemy has the advantage when it comes to sheer numb

CONQUEROR

MONSTER TAMER BOOK 2

Isaac Hooke

For my Mother

My greatest, most devoted fan.

1938 - 2018

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

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Afterword

About the Author

Acknowledgments

In Closing

1

Malem led his army into battle on the back of a huge hill giant.

Around him lay the no man’s land that separated the two warring sides: charred, broken tree trunks; muddy, packed earth; blast craters and sinkholes; monster corpses in various states of decay.

That ruined land stretched from Alcaania in the south to Malstasia in the north. Its width varied from a furlong in places to as much as three miles across; here was one of the more average separations between the opposing armies, with the no man’s land region coming in at a little over one mile and two hundred yards across.

The magic of opposing battle mages swirled in front of Malem, striking the hill giant. Deadly works of fire, ice, earth and darkness came upon him. But the Buff Mages of the Alliance had granted the hill giant temporary immunity against all magic. Sixty seconds they promised him. Sixty seconds as counted by the hands of the Clock of the Magi. If he could run a mile in roughly ten minutes, surely a hill giant could do it in under sixty seconds.

Behind Malem, the seven oraks joining the rush didn’t fare quite so well. Fire ignited them. Ice tore off limbs. Darkness sent black veins crawling across their flesh. But they were a token force—beasts he had Broken well before the battle began. He crushed their wills in his own, killing them, draining them of all their stamina before they could succumb to the enemy magic.

As he got closer, night elves launched arrows from the northwest, and dwarves threw spears from directly ahead, to the west. Malem raised his dragon scale shield as that deadly rain arced down, and the buckler became porcupined with arrows, which spoke to the power behind the bows that launched them: arrows launched by ordinary bows wouldn’t have penetrated.

Perched beside him in the large basket tied to the giant’s back, Ziatrice laughed hideously as the arrows from her people sloughed away from the invisible shield that protected her. Earlier the blue-skinned half elf had offered to extend that protection around him the whole time they crossed that no man’s land, but when he learned what the cost to her stamina would be, he declined, telling her to do so only as needed.

The hill giant, which Malem had named Gant, had a shield it used to absorb those projectile attacks as well—essentially the wooden wall of a watermill Malem had the giant disassemble outside Midweald forest. Unfortunately, because of the contrasting angles the two attacks came from, with the arrows raining down from above and the spears from directly ahead, the giant had to choose between protecting its head from the former or leaving its thighs exposed to the latter. The creature kept alternating between the two choices, depending on whichever proved the most painful at the moment, exposing Malem and Ziatrice at intervals to the elven arrows.

Gant momentarily fought against his control: despite its menacing aspect, the hill giant was frightened, and wanted to turn around and flee more than anything. But Malem clamped down on its will and impelled the hill giant onward. He felt anger and resentment course through the creature’s energy bundle in his head, and then he felt an outward blow against his mind clamp that was so strong, for a moment he thought he might lose the hill giant.

But then Gant tripped on a large blast hole, distracting its mind. Malem instantly secured his mental grip as Gant nearly fell; when the hill giant recovered, it sprinted on with renewed vigor, its anger at Malem redirected toward the creatures harming it up ahead.

The dwarves entrenched behind the earthen barricades directly in front continued that onslaught of spears, launching them from special one-armed slings. Gant was forced to adjust the wooden shield to keep its body covered, because at that close range, some of the spears were powerful enough to tear large holes in the wood.

Those spear-slinging dwarves belonged to Vorgon’s Eighth Regiment, known as the Ax Bangers, led by the Dwarf King Barrowfore himself—one of Vorgon’s “Black Swords.” And Malem’s target.

Arrows also continued to come down from above, thanks to the elven archers to the northwest. The giant carried an enormous spiked club in the hand opposite the wooden wall it used as shield; Gant had learned to hold that club over its head to protect itself from those arrows.

The intensity of the forward onslaught increased as the hill giant got closer to the enemy lines; it seemed all of the dwarves in range were concentrating on that wooden shield. The protective mass began to break apart, and spears struck the hill giant’s legs. Gant screamed, running on through tears of pain. Malem felt it all through his link to the creature, and he willed the hill giant to run faster.

But then, thankfully, relief came. Metal Dragons rained havoc down from above, igniting large swaths of dwarves with their liquid fire. The flames burned persistently from that liquid so that the screaming dwarves basted in their armor. Other Metals swooped in upon the more northwesterly troops, in a coordinated attack against the night elves and their archers.

Took you long enough, Malem sent Abigail, a silver dragon flying with the Metals above.

Sorry, she replied. I was arguing with the Alliance commander about the timing. Finally I just told him to piss off and launched my platoon. The plan won’t succeed if you don’t even make it to the front lines.

No, it won’t, he agreed.

Black dragons came in now on the side of the enemy to intercept the Metals. The blacks under Ziatrice’s control had infiltrated their ranks, and turned upon them before the attack even began. The Metals used that to their advantage, attacking the distracted blacks from behind.

Ziatrice had wanted to infiltrate the ranks of the night elves to sow discord as well, mostly because she was pissed that Vorgon had raised another elf to the position of Black Sword to take her place, but Malem had deemed it too risky. And it was beyond their current objective.

The hill giant finally reached the earthen barricades the dwarves had raised and broke through. It began smashing the dwarven troops within the trenches beyond; they seemed like ants compared to that giant, but to their credit, none of the dwarves fled the terrifying creature that towered before them. To a man, they stayed and fought. Gant used the spiked club to deadly effect—especially considering the weapon was barbed with even more spikes than ever before, thanks to the intercepted elven arrows. Dwarves were bashed aside in groups of twos and threes, like playthings, usually dead before they hit the ground.

Malem had Gant concentrate on any obvious mages in their midst. Those mages were once visible by dyed beards, which indicated their respective disciplines—red for fire, blue for ice, and so forth. Though recently the dwarves had begun to dye their beards the same color as infantry so that they didn’t stand out, just like the orak mages had stopped wearing robes, copying a tactic first started by the Alliance, whose mages and officers dressed the same as ordinary soldiers. Malem could still sense the stronger-willed magic users among the dwarves with his mind, and he directed Gant accordingly.

Malem reached out experimentally, but found he was unable to Break any dwarven minds, from infantry to mage, at least when they were uninjured. The race was too strong willed. He sensed one particular dwarf near death, and wrapped his will around that one and squeezed. He was able to Break it. The dwarf, an ax slinger, used up three slots, rather than the two an orak would have taken. Interesting.

He crushed the dwarf’s will before it expired; taking its stamina to make up for what he’d lost Breaking the thing in the first place.

Two large Metal dragons, a silver and a gold—Abigail and her brother Jayden—swooped down and set several more dwarves aflame with their liquid fire. They also created fire elementals to dance among the dwarves and wreak havoc among their ranks. But then two large black dragons collided with each of them and wrestled the pair away.

Dwarven mages summoned rock elementals in turn to deal with the entities of fire. They also conjured demonic little sprites: small, insect-sized fairies with razor sharp teeth. When those things swarmed, you better make sure you had some defenses.

Gant’s magic resistance hadn’t yet run out, so none of the sprites could touch him. But Malem on the other hand wasn’t so safe.

Stupid mages should’ve granted me magic immunity, too.

Except they couldn’t. They’d exhausted everything on the giant.

Ziatrice spun toward him on the giant’s back and wrapped her arms around him, temporarily extending her invisible shield around his body.

Her shoulders were bare, thanks to the green and purple corset she wore, and he rested his gauntleted arms across them. He felt the press of her breasts against his armor and her hot breath on his cheek, and he scolded himself for feeling arousal at a time like this.

“Well hello,” she said softly into his ear as the sprites swarmed, unable to penetrate her force field. He felt her stamina rapidly draining however, from the effort of maintaining that shield, and she slumped, pulling slightly against him.

He borrowed liberally from Gwen and Abigail, the other two half monsters linked to him. He’d take shit from them later for it, but what else could he do?

Ziatrice straightened and pushed back to gaze into his face. She wore a thankful expression.

Around them the wave of sprites subsided, vanishing to the realm they came from by winking out in rapid succession.

Meanwhile Ziatrice still had her arms wrapped around him; her eyes glinted with mischief, and she kissed him squarely on the lips. Before he could react she pulled away.

Ax-wielding dwarves rallied and rushed the hill giant; they swerved around the remnants of the shield before Gant could counter them. The lumbering giant attempted to stomp them and succeeded in getting a few, but others struck at its Achilles tendons with their axes. Gant screamed and collapsed.

Malem and Ziatrice leaped free from the basket that held them and landed in a spot free of dwarves. Behind them, the angry attackers began hacking the hill giant to death.

Gant fought valiantly, killing many dwarves in the process, but the hill giant was already riddled with arrows and spears from the previous attacks, and wouldn’t last much longer. Before it died, Malem crushed the hill giant’s mind; taking what stamina he could from the monster.

Sorry about that, Gant.

“Well, this is going to be fun,” Ziatrice said.

Malem drew Balethorn. Beside him, Ziatrice wielded her terrible magic halberd, Wither. It cut through the air audibly as she moved through her death forms; the black blades composing her skirt whirled about, whistling in counterpoint.

He fended off those that came at her from behind, and soon positioned himself to fight back to back with her as the dwarves surrounded the pair. The two of them weren’t quite touching—the range of motion they needed to freely wield their weapons prevented that, but he could sense her behind him at all times, just as she could sense him, ensuring they didn’t stray far from one another. The black blades of her skirt occasionally struck his leg assemblies, but the thick dragon scales protected him from any injury.

To the east a roar came up as a portion of King Goldenthall’s army sprinted onto the field, its ranks bolstered by troops from other Alliance members. Many of the oraks that served Ziatrice deployed as well, running across the no man’s land alongside the soldiers of men.

“Who came up with this strategy again?” Ziatrice asked as she hewed down two dwarves with a single slice of that one-handed halberd. The tip glowed a bright purple, and it left a trail of similarly colored mist in its wake.

“Wasn’t me,” Malem commented. He stabbed through the thick chest armor of a dwarf with Balethorn, but he received no boost in vitality from the kill because although the magic weapon was a Drainer, it preferred dragons.

General Rashan, the leader of Goldenthall’s army, had the brilliant idea of sending in a hill giant to “distract” the dwarven and elven ranks ahead of the Metal Dragons, who in turn would clear the way for the Mulhadden troops to cross the no man’s land unhindered. Humans could only accept one type of magic resistance at a time, whereas a large unit like a hill giant could accept multiple. And because adding magic resistance to a unit cost a Buff Mage the same amount of vitality no matter the size of that unit, Rashan’s thinking was: why waste the resistance on smaller individual troops when he could send in a hill giant to get the job done?

Malem decided he would have to ride the hill giant into battle, because it would be obvious even to Gant that it was marching to its death, despite its size difference. And since range seemed to have some influence on how well Malem was able to maintain control of his beasts during times of extreme stress, riding in on its back seemed the best option.

Ziatrice had announced she was going with him, no matter what. Xaxia and Gwen wanted to go, too, but Malem had lied to them, telling them the hill giant could only handle himself and the night elf. The other two women would be coming in with the main army, unfortunately, but there was nothing he could do about that. The pair were as strong willed as the best of them.

All of those thoughts flashed vaguely through his mind in the time it took to parry a dwarven blow and swing his sword in deadly riposte. Blood gushed from the wound he caused, splashing his dragon scale armor. Another dwarf came, this one extremely well built. Rapid, heavy blows slammed into Malem’s shield, forcing him to give ground and shove against Ziatrice behind him.

“Hey, fuck!” Ziatrice said, slamming her back against him.

He probably shouldn’t have done that.

The dwarf was too eager, and his ax-blade momentarily got stuck in Malem’s shield. He used the moment to cut off the dwarf’s arm, and followed up with a neck slice, before kicking the gurgling foe away.

He sensed what must have been two dwarven mages out there, judging from their superior mental resistance. He overlaid the locations in his mind with Ziatrice’s vision so that she would be able to pick them out.

“What’s this?” Ziatrice asked over her shoulder.

“Mages,” he said.

Ziatrice promptly used her free hand to conjure chains of black mist, wrapping them around the first dwarven mage, who dressed the same as its companions. The night elf brutally yanked the mage to her and hewed it down with her monstrous halberd. She did the same with the second mage, and when the dwarf’s head bounced on the ground, its fake beard fell away, and long hair spilled free.

“Hm!” Ziatrice said. “I always thought their females had beards, too!” Dark mist was coursing from her eyes at that point.

Oraks and Alliance soldiers swept past then, cutting into the enemy ranks and offering the pair respite. He turned to watch the press, pausing to catch his breath.

Deeper within the enemy troops he detected another dwarf mage joining the fray. Before he could broadcast its position to Ziatrice, the mage launched more of those demonic sprites.

The tiny creatures formed a deadly swarm that tore through her oraks and the soldiers of the Alliance, treating them like fodder.

Once more Ziatrice spun about and wrapped her arms around him, letting Wither hang out to the side, and her personal shield protected them both from the deadly attack.

“Hello again,” Ziatrice said.

The small, puckered mouths cast their blades all along the surface of the hidden force field, and as they surrounded it, the creatures blotted out the view of the battlefield entirely.

The night elf staggered from the effort of maintaining that force field, so as usual, he transferred stamina from Gwen and Abigail to her.

She stood straighter; just like the last time he’d done this, she had a mischievous look to her eyes. He wondered what she was going to do now.

“How about a quick fuck in the middle of battle?” she said.

The sprites dissipated and in answer to her question he promptly pushed away. He broadcast the position of the mage to her.

“No?” She pouted. “Maybe next time.”

She flung out her left hand, and those chains of mist parted the ranks of men between her and her target. They latched onto the surprised mage, and she hauled it to her. The dwarf landed on its knees before her, and she swept Wither in a backhand stroke to perform the unceremonious beheading.

Her black dragons dove from the sky in spiraling patterns and launched burning acid that cut through the dwarves in swaths. Hastor was among them. The black was no longer linked to him—he had transferred the dragon’s allegiance to Ziatrice by making it drink her blood in part of a magic subservience ritual, the same ceremony she had used to bind the orak troops and other black dragons to her via dark magic, ensuring their loyalty was to her and not Vorgon.

When Balethorn saw the blacks it began humming, and Malem had to suppress the urge to slay the great beasts. That was one reason he had waited so long before drawing the sword: he hated its damn nagging.

With Ziatrice at his side he waded his way forward, swinging his blade. The ranks had devolved into chaos: there was no semblance of order here. It was every man and dwarf for himself. Oraks fought at the side of the defending dwarves now, Malem noted. That meant reinforcements from the rest of Vorgon’s army had begun to arrive.

Xaxia joined him on his left. The bandit was dressed in her usual leather corset and leggings. She had refused the dragon scale armor, claiming it would only “encumber” her movements, though she was wearing a protective helm today, mostly to tuck in her hair—again, her words. She wielded Biter in hand, a Drainer like Balethorn, though its preference was oraks rather than dragons. It glowed brightly as she hewed down the oraks in front of them, but not so much when she targeted dwarves.

Gwen stood beyond her. The half gobling wore dragon scale armor that wrapped her body from head to toe, like Malem, leaving only her green face exposed. She had chosen not to wear a helm, and wore her dark hair in a tight ponytail that hung to the small of her back. She expertly shot arrows with Wasp, her magic bow; at her hip she carried the Infitas quiver, which gave the impression that she only had one arrow left, but every time she took that seemingly last arrow, another appeared, ad infinitum. Like his, her armor and weapons were gifts of the Metal Dragons.

A commotion ahead drew his attention. Alliance and orak troops were knocked backward, sometimes arcing into the air first. Their chest armor was invariably caved, and when they landed, they often coughed blood before dying.

“I think we’ve found Barrowfore,” Ziatrice said.

Malem sought ahead with his mind while he fought, and indeed sensed a powerful creature waiting beyond those troops. He tried to wrap his will around the entity but the tendrils of his mind evaporated upon contact.

He alternately hewed down dwarves and shoved his way past Alliance troops until he was standing at the heart of the commotion. This was indeed Barrowfore, based on the description Ziatrice had given him. Barrowfore wore a horned helm, with a beard that hung in multiple braids down to the middle of his chest. It was colored a deep red—he was unafraid of standing out from the other dwarves. He did that already with his sheer bulk, standing almost as tall as a man. Rumor had it that the beard was actually naturally white, but Barrowfore never washed out the blood of his opponents, which gave the beard its unique wine coloration.

The uniqueness of his weapon also made him conspicuous—the dwarf king wielded a giant dual-headed hammer, rather than an ax, which explained why his opponents were knocked backward with their chest’s caved. He wore the same black chainmail as the other dwarves, but around his throat hung several necklaces, the source of much of his magic, according to Ziatrice. Some were thick chains of diamonds and expensive gems, while others were thin bands of more modest gold or silver.

“Get back!” Malem shouted.

The surrounding troops cleared away from Barrowfore, and instead concentrated on keeping the other dwarves and enemy oraks at bay. Gwen launched arrows in rapid succession, but they wouldn’t penetrate the Black Sword’s armor. She tried targeting the king’s face, but the arrows bounced away, their points blunted.

Barrowfore laughed heartily. “That all you got, Green Bitch?”

Two Metals swooped low and breathed flames at the Black Sword. The liquid fire didn’t take on his skin, and instead sloughed to the ground harmlessly.

An Alliance ice mage dressed in armor stepped forward and unleashed a barrage of sharp icicles. They all struck the dwarf king, but again did no harm.

A black dragon came in for a pass and unleashed acid. Like the fire, the caustic liquid flowed harmlessly to the ground, touching neither the king’s skin nor his armor.

Another black launched tendrils of deadly black magic, but the ghostly substance refused to wrap around Barrowfore, instead dissipating.

A third black dragon came in, swooping down in an attempt to physically snatch the king in its jaws, but Barrowfore struck it in the side of the head with his big hammer before it could do so, flinging the dragon’s entire head and neck to the side. The stunned dragon crashed-landed drunkenly nearby, crushing a whole troop of enemy units.

A dwarf mage embedded within the milling mass behind the king launched more sprites, and the tiny creatures swarmed past the king. As Alliance troops screamed, Malem instinctively raised his buckler, and Ziatrice turned toward him and the other two women, ready to extend her magic force field around them, and likely exhaust herself to the bone in the process.

But Ziatrice was spared from doing so when an Alliance fire mage countered the sprites by creating a wall of flame; the fire mage sent that wall hurtling forward, burning everything in its path, sprites and dwarves alike, including the magic user who originally launched them.

Malem glanced at Xaxia and Gwen. “Stay back.”

2

He and Ziatrice stepped forward to engage Vorgon’s servant.

“Hello Barrowfore,” Ziatrice taunted. “Miss me?”

“Like I missed the trimmings of my beard!” Barrowfore roared, swinging that hammer.

Malem and Ziatrice were forced to dodge.

“I was wondering why black dragons were attacking me!” Barrowfore continued.

“Did you know that a barrow means ‘burial mound’ in the human tongue?” Ziatrice asked, her voice sugary sweet. “I intend to deliver you unto your namesake today.”

“You can certainly try, lass!” Barrowfore said. He drew the hammer back and paused, holding that attack poise, waiting for them to strike. The hammer began to shake violently, as if the dwarf king were charging the weapon in some manner. It also glowed red slightly.

Malem feinted with his magic blade, causing Barrowfore to swing; the dwarf’s speed was incredible, as of a compressed spring suddenly released, and the hammer moved in a blur that was barely visible to the naked eye. If that had been a real attack on Malem’s part rather than a feint, that blow would have struck him—there was no way he could have dodged it. It probably would have killed him, too, even with the armor of dragon scales he wore.

But striking and missing like that left the dwarf king momentarily vulnerable, as momentum carried Barrowfore’s arms around and twisted his torso. So, while the Black Sword recovered from the missed blow, Malem plunged Balethorn into the dwarf’s exposed neck.

It was like trying to strike iron: the magic weapon didn’t even scratch the skin. Malem felt the reverberations pass painfully into his arm.

“You’re lucky that blade is magic!” Barrowfore said, stepping backward as he reversed the swing of his hammer. “Ordinary swords shatter when you try that, lad.”

Malem retreated, dodging the backhand blow. The hammer swung more slowly this time, because the king neglected to charge it. The hammer’s swoosh as it arced through the air was still formidable, and even louder than the noise Wither made. The hammer still retained a slight red glow from its previous charge.

While Barrowfore was still recovering from the latest miss, Ziatrice sliced her purple-edged halberd at the necklaces around the dwarf king’s neck. Her blade didn’t sever a single one of them, instead bouncing away harmlessly.

“Trying to take the necklaces, are ye?” Barrowfore said. “Good luck, Blue Bitch!” His eyes suddenly widened, before narrowing greedily. He turned his attention on Malem. “A blue bitch and a green bitch! You’re the one the master wants! Fitting that I should be the hero to capture ye. Dwarves, rally to me!”

The other dwarves began smashing through the surrounding defenders. Xaxia and Gwen quickly assumed defensive positions behind Malem and Ziatrice to protect their backs.

Abigail landed nearby, crushing dwarves and oraks with her hulking silver body. She reared her head and sprayed liquid fire on the enemy with her massive jaws. She chomped down on a few obvious magic users who deflected the magic with either shields of ice or ramparts of earth, then she turned toward Malem and the dwarf king and summoned a fire elemental. The ghostly creature wrapped arms of flame around Barrowfore and squeezed, restraining the king’s arms to his sides. The elemental otherwise caused no damage to the invincible dwarf.

“Let me… the fuck… go… fiery bitch!” The king broke free and when he kicked the fire elemental, his boots made contact, incredibly, and shoved the flames back.

“Never seen anyone kick a fire before,” Gwen commented as she notched and released another arrow at her latest foe.

Barrowfore dissipated the creature with a single swing of his hammer.

“He has almost the same magic you did,” Xaxia told Ziatrice. The bandit impaled a dwarf with Biter, spattering her blood-soaked corset with yet more dark fluid.

“He is a Black Sword,” Ziatrice said, hewing down an enemy orak. “As I was.”

“Yes,” Barrowfore said. “And I’m trying to get my name changed to Black Hammer… it’s far more appropriate, don’t ye think?”

“Then I should’ve been the Black Halberd,” Ziatrice told the king.

“And so ye should have,” the dwarf said. “But it’s a wee bit too late for that now, isn’t it lassy?”

“Don’t call me lassy,” Ziatrice said.

“Blue bitch then, if you prefer,” Barrowfore taunted.

With a growl, Ziatrice hewed down her latest foe and moved in, halberd swinging. She struck Barrowfore several times in rapid succession, forcing the king back. He deflected some of Wither’s blows with the hammer, but those that got through merely bounced from his chest.

“Ye never learn, do ye?” Barrowfore said. He hit her with his hammer while she was in the middle of her halberd barrage, and she was sent reeling backward. As far as Malem could tell, the hammer hadn’t actually hit her body, but instead struck the energy field that surrounded her. That was still enough to throw her back, apparently, though Malem had never seen any weapons, magic or otherwise, do that before.

An energy beam of some kind launched from the hammer. It extended in three directions: forward, to the left and to the right. The Alliance soldiers in the path of that multi-pronged beam were killed instantly, in a line extending five men deep on either side: the energy beam drilled holes cleanly through their torsos, eating away armor and skin both.

The forward beam hit Ziatrice, too, but thankfully couldn’t penetrate her shield.

The expulsion of energy lasted only a moment, and when it faded, so did the glow from the hammer.

The night elf sent Malem a telepathic message when she landed facedown on the ground. My shield is gone. Don’t have the vitality to maintain it.

Malem could feel her weakness through their link, so he transferred stamina her way, drawing liberally from Abigail and Gwen. The silver dragon, breathing fire at dwarves nearby, slumped slightly, as did Gwen, who continued to shoot arrows from Wasp like there was no tomorrow.

Which there probably wasn’t.

Thanks, Ziatrice said, sitting up. But that won’t cut it.

At least you can fight again, Malem told her.

She stood completely, and swung her halberd at a dwarf that rushed her, splitting the attacker in half. And so I can.

“Come then, surface dweller, surrender to Vorgon,” Barrowfore said. “Let’s do this the easy way.” The king swung his hammer backward, and into the charging position, where he held it.

“I don’t think so,” Malem said. “Instead, I’m offering you the chance to surrender.”

“Me?” Barrowfore said with a toothy grin. “The lad has a sense of humor! I love it! You’re outmatched, in case you failed to notice. You can’t touch me. I’m invincible, you stupid shit! Go on. Attack. Come on. Try.” He waited, and when Malem didn’t oblige him, he added: “Doesn’t matter. Even if you just stand there doing nothing, your tiny regiment is surrounded, and quickly succumbing to my own. Vorgon’s reinforcements have already arrived. Surrender, and perhaps I’ll spare the lovely women who fight for you, and whatever members of your foolish Alliance who don’t flee to the safety of their own lines. Do not, then I’ll kill them all, along with your precious dragons—”

As if to emphasize that latter point, a beautiful Metal fell from the sky and smashed into the ground some distance behind Barrowfore. Three blacks landed on top of the dragon and proceeded to rip the poor creature to shreds.

Abigail turned from the fighting to chase them off, but she was too late. A black dragon fell upon her from the sky a moment later, forcing her to grapple for her life herself.

“Soon thereafter you’ll be the last one standing,” Barrowfore continued. The hammer was shaking visibly in his arms, and glowed a moderate red from its increasing charge. “You’ll find yourself beaten to a bloody pulp on the field of battle, with no recollection of who you are, or why you’re here. I’ll bind and gag you, then drag you to Vorgon for my reward. What he does to you will not be very pleasant. Not at all.”

“Well, at least you stopped using the word ‘ye.’” Malem faked a leap forward, and once more Barrowfore swung. The king moved even faster than the last time he charged like that, a barely visible blur. The sound was like thunder cracking, and the air from the passage of that hammer physically shoved him back, coming as a great rush of wind.

“Damn it!” the dwarf king exclaimed while his torso twisted in the opposite direction.

Malem launched himself at Barrowfore while the king still recovered from the swing. But instead of striking with Balethorn, Malem grabbed at the necklaces. He attempted to wrap his gloved fingers around a group of them, either to break them free or lift them off the dwarf’s head, but he didn’t get very far.

“Oh ho, ye are a feisty one!” Barrowfore said, head-butting him.

Malem stumbled backward—he wore a helm, but the blow from that horned helmet had dented it, causing the metal to dig into his skull. Wasn’t pleasant.

A moment later he took a debilitating hit in the side from the big hammer. It sent him flying, and he landed amid the press of Alliance soldiers face-first on ground that had been churned to mud, thanks to all the blood spilling into the dirt, and the booted feet pounding it.

The hammer blow hurt incredibly, despite his dragon scale armor, and he wondered if he’d broken some ribs. Bruised a few, definitely. He was lucky that hammer impact hadn’t been a charged attack. Then again, he was starting to believe the armor would save him from a charged hammer strike, too, given that Barrowfore claimed he intended to capture Malem, and had already tried to hit him twice with the weapon while it was charged. Not that Malem planned to test out that theory.

He scrambled to his feet. Ziatrice wasn’t using her chains of mist anymore, and she relied solely on her halberd. She began to take cuts and bruises now that she was too weak to maintain her shield. Xaxia and Gwen fought at her side, and protected her and each other from enemy blows as well as they could.

The ranks of Alliance soldiers, and Ziatrice’s own oraks, began to thin around them. Mage attacks had lessoned on both sides—the magic users were growing exhausted. Although as more enemy reinforcements arrived, Malem expected sprite attacks to increase. He wasn’t sure how he would survive another sprite assault without Ziatrice to shield him. Then again, now that Barrowfore knew who he was, maybe none of those attacks would be sent his way.

He wondered if the Alliance losses were restricted to the area immediately surrounding the dwarf king, or if the fighting fared just as poorly across the battlefront. Probably not: with the help of the expired hill giant, these brave men and women had driven a wedge deep into the enemy ranks, and they were now paying the price. Malem momentarily tapped into Abigail’s vision, hoping to get a better perspective on the battle space, but he perceived only snatches of the sky as she grappled with her current dragon foe a ways to the northwest. Not quite what he was looking for.

He was forced to utilize his own vision when a dwarf jumped him, and he wearily beat back the attacker. Thankfully his foe was just as tired as he was, and Malem shortly ran the enemy through with his sword. Just in time to spot Barrowfore bearing down on him.

Send in one of your oraks from behind, Malem ordered Ziatrice. See if you can steal away some of those necklaces while I distract the king.

What if it’s not the necklaces granting him his power? Ziatrice said. What if it’s the hammer?

But you said it was the necklaces!

Yes, she agreed. That’s what I was told. But it may have been misinformation, meant to mislead me.

Try the necklaces for now, he sent. Because getting him to part with his weapon will be a whole lot harder.

Malem dodged a blow from the dwarf king and leaped against an Alliance soldier, and accidentally shoved him into a dwarf’s ax in the process.

“Sorry,” he told the man. “Healer!”

Malem was forced to leap again, and this time the dwarf’s big hammer struck the injured soldier, sending the man flying away to the side, and caving his rib cage in the process.

Shit.

One of Ziatrice’s oraks leaped onto Barrowfore from behind and wrapped its legs around the dwarf’s hips. Its fingers grabbed onto three necklaces and heaved upward. The orak was able to lift the front portion of the magical chains, which also lifted the king’s braided beard, but the rear sections remained glued to the back of Barrowfore’s neck, and the orak was unable to slide them free.

“Who’s playing with my beard?” Barrowfore leaped backward in anger, throwing himself onto the ground, and landing back first. He crushed the orak beneath him and swung his head back and forth, ramming his horned helmet repeatedly into the orak’s head. Blood spurted to either side as Barrowfore cracked open the creature’s skull.

He broke free of the dead orak’s grip and climbed to his feet. “Filthy scum!” He kicked the carcass. “Only my fingers can remove these, fools!”

“Told you we should have waited until your Darkness was about to return,” Gwen called to Malem from several paces away. “How the hell are we supposed to beat him?” She was still unleashing arrows as fast as she could; Xaxia worked in tandem beside her, cutting down any oraks or dwarves that got too close, or that came at the half gobling from the back or sides.

Do you think Vorgon has revealed my abilities to him? Malem asked Ziatrice.

Doubt it, the night elf said. Though it’s possible.

All right. I suppose we’ll find out shortly. Weaken a dwarf for me, please.

As Barrowfore stalked toward Malem again, Ziatrice pointed her free hand at a dwarf behind the king and launched deadly darts of dark magic.

The target tried to strike the ghostly darts, but its ax passed harmlessly through them and they struck a moment later. Black veins began to crawl up its armor and the exposed skin of the impact sites, and the dwarf screamed in pain. But Ziatrice had held back: there weren’t enough veins to kill. Just torture.

Malem backed away from Barrowfore and wrapped his mind around the lesser dwarf behind the king as the damage weakened its will. He squeezed, taking control.

He had the underling run at Barrowfore and swipe at his hamstrings. The dwarf’s ax glanced off the king’s invincible body of course, but it had the intended effect of drawing Barrowfore’s attention.

The dwarf ran in front of the king and said, at Malem’s bidding: “Vorgon is displeased, Barrowfore. You are not worthy of the title Black Sword. You are to drop your hammer, and give up your necklaces to me, immediately! Vorgon has chosen me to be the new king of the mountain dwarves.”

Barrowfore stared at the lesser dwarf in astonishment. Then his expression filled with rage. “Fool!”

The king swatted the dwarf aside with a quick swipe of the hammer. The dwarf went flying into the air, its ribcage crushed; it struck another dwarf nearby before rolling to the ground.

Before it died, Malem crushed its mind, taking all of its remaining stamina. The boost he received was minor, given the dwarf’s state.

The king turned toward Malem. “Vorgon is displeased? Bullshit! The master is in my head at this very moment! He tells me I’ve never been higher in his favor!”

“Vorgon is deceiving you,” Ziatrice said, playing along with Malem’s game. She hewed down two lesser dwarves with a single swipe of her magic halberd. “Just as he deceived me. He whispers his love for you in your head while at the same time ordering your own troops to attack you. Why do you think I broke away from him?”

“Bullshit!” Barrowfore ran at Malem, who was forced to dodge several heavy hammer blows in a row.

Malem was going to ask Ziatrice to debilitate another dwarf for him, but he realized there were already injured dwarves nearby, their minds weakened by their wounds, who would suit his purposes perfectly.

So while dodging Barrowfore, Malem seized another one of the injured with his mind and sent it limping forward. The dwarf leaped on the king’s back and tried to wrap its fingers around his necklaces.

“What?” Barrowfore roared. He elbowed the dwarf off of his back, and smashed his hammer into its head, crushing the skull like a melon.

Malem kept sending in injured dwarves, which lay in profusion across the battlefield around him. Sometimes he had to lend them stamina from himself and the women. At other times, they were able to ignore their pain and reach the king on their own. Before Barrowfore killed each one, Malem drained them of their vitality with his mind, to recoup some of the costs of Breaking them in the first place. Each draining gave him less and less vitality, but that’s how it ordinarily worked when he crushed too many in a row with his will. He was steadily weakening.

I’ll have to find a dragon to kill with Balethorn at this rate…

Since each dwarf took up three mental slots, Malem was able to control up to six dwarves at once—he had twenty total slots. He sent six at once to surround the king.

“Vorgon demands you give up your hammer!” he had them all shout at the same time. “You are no longer in his favor!”

“Fuck!” The king had charged his hammer so that it glowed red, and he smashed the big weapon directly down into the ground in front of him, creating a red shockwave of energy that sent all six attackers flying backwards. The hammer stopped glowing after the impact, evidently having expended its charge.

“You’re all fools!” Barrowfore said. “I’ll teach the cursed Balor to betray me!”

Barrowfore lost all interest in Malem and began attacking his own men, even though they all had their backs to him and were currently occupied by soldiers of the Alliance.

You got him to turn on his men, even though he’s still firmly in Vorgon’s control, Ziatrice said. Impressive.

Thank you. Now have one of your black dragons repeat after me.

He dictated his next sentence into her mind, and he heard the words carry across the battlefield as one of her nearby dragons spoke them with its booming voice.

“King Barrowfore has gone mad,” the dragon thundered. “Vorgon has decreed that the first dwarf to slay him will be granted the title of king, and will become the new Black Sword of the mountain dwarves in his place.”

Malem suspected that Vorgon only had direct ties to his Black Swords, and not to the minds of all those who served them, and he was proven right when nearby dwarves began turning away from the Alliance soldiers to concentrate on the king. It helped of course that when those dwarves looked, they saw their king attacking their fellows from behind.

Just like that the tide of battle shifted: the Alliance soldiers were free to focus their efforts on the oraks bolstering the enemy ranks instead. They also struck dwarves in the back as the smaller troops turned to face their king. Malem doubted the news had the same effect across the entire battlefront; those who fought well away from the king wouldn’t be abandoning their positions so readily. Still, the words would at least distract them.

Another black dragon was saying something nearby. It was probably a servant of Vorgon, and no doubt refuted the claims of the previous dragon, but Malem couldn’t hear the words above the relentless thud of hammer strikes from Barrowfore.

Sprites came at the king, trying to chew him up, but Barrowfore laughed, and cut his way to the mage who had launched them and proceeded to pound the hapless individual into the earth.

Malem had the tendrils of his mind poised above the king’s will. He kept testing Barrowfore’s mental strength, but always his touch evaporated.

And then the king suddenly grew tired: Vorgon had stopped providing him with an endless supply of vitality, at least for the moment, perhaps in an effort to rein in the Black Sword. Or maybe Vorgon was inviting Malem to touch the king’s mind so that the Balor could attempt to trap him, as he had tried to do when Malem Broke Ziatrice.

Malem wrapped his mental fingers around Barrowfore’s mind and squeezed.

The king flailed about violently in his head. Physically, the king halted, allowing the press of dwarves around him to strike continuously at his body, even though they caused no damage. His expression filled with concentration, and he turned around to look Malem in the eye.

“Get out… of my… head!” Barrowfore said.

Malem was forced to concentrate all of his attention on the king.

Gwen, Ziatrice, to me!

The two of them hurried to his side, along with Xaxia, and protected him from the blows of enemy oraks, as well as the few dwarves that seemed to realize he was the greatest threat here, not their king.

Barrowfore broke free of the mental grip but Malem simply reapplied the pressure and caught him in a vice all over again. It was hard to contain the king’s will, considering Malem was rapidly weakening. He wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer. Physically, he was already flagging. If the women weren’t there to protect him, he probably would have been hewed down already.

And then all at once Barrowfore stopped fighting him.

As he squeezed tighter, allowing the tendrils of his mind to embed within the king’s will, he sensed the sinister presence of Vorgon and pulled back. Malem didn’t want to wrap his mind too deeply inside, lest he give Vorgon the chance to trap him. The last time, Banvil, the Balor who had cursed Malem, had saved him, but Malem didn’t want to make a habit of relying upon Banvil’s help.

Break him! Ziatrice sent suddenly. She would be able to sense that he hadn’t yet broken the king’s mind. What are you waiting for? Take his army! Then we will lead the dwarves against Vorgon!

Malem was tempted to do just that. Except he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Assuming Vorgon didn’t trap and Break him instead, it was doubtful Malem could take the king’s army just like that. He’d Broken Ziatrice, after all, and her night elves didn’t follow him. No, once Barrowfore was gone, Vorgon would simply assign some other dwarf to serve as his Black Sword. But the loss of Barrowfore would still be a blow.

Break him!

Malem shoved her thoughts away, dismissing them to the far corners of his mind.

He explored the sinister presence he felt in Barrowfore’s mind; it gave easily beneath him, almost inviting him to shove it aside. He remembered very well what happened the last time he did that: Vorgon had wrapped his mind around Malem’s instead.

So instead of doing that, he pulled back, and attempted to envelop his will around both the sinister presence he felt and Barrowfore’s mind. He couldn’t quite squeeze around them entirely, not enough to bring the king into the fold. But perhaps he didn’t have to…

“Xaxia, see if you can knock the hammer out of his hands,” Malem ordered.

Xaxia fought through the dwarves that surrounded the king, some of which were still trying to attack him, and then slammed Biter down on the haft.

Barrowfore, in his distracted state, had left his grip on the hammer quite loose, and Xaxia’s blow managed to pry it free. The hammer dropped to the ground with a heavy thud.

Xaxia knelt to pick it up, but the weapon was too heavy, so she quickly retreated as nearby dwarves forced her back. Some of them tried to grab the hammer as well, but failed just as she did.

“Ziatrice, the necklaces,” he ordered.

Ziatrice fought her way forward to the king next. Dwarves and oraks gave readily before her, most not wanting to face that halberd of hers.

She reached the king, and reached toward his neck…

But since Malem’s will wasn’t wrapped entirely around Barrowfore, the king was able to break free in that moment, and he punched the night elf in the jaw.

3

What happened next was enough to ruin Malem’s day, to say the least.

Ziatrice responded with an apparently instinctive swipe of her halberd. The blade struck Barrowfore in the waist, just below the rib cage, and physically cut him into two halves.

The king gave Ziatrice a look that was part shocked and part hurtful, as the upper part of his body slid away from the lower. The two pieces landed on the ground in disturbing fashion, with blood launching in spurts from the upper half, and the bottom half slowly bleeding out in turn.

And thus the king of the mountain dwarves lay dead before the queen of the night elves.

Malem’s mental fist had instantly tightened when the king’s will vanished. The sinister presence had gone, too. There was simply nothing left for him to grasp. Thankfully there hadn’t been a rebound effect upon the king’s death, either: Malem hadn’t actually formed a link with Barrowfore’s mind.

The surrounding dwarves paused, staring in horror at what had just transpired.

“Run for your lives!” one of the dwarves shouted. “The king is down. The king is down!”

All it took was that one dwarf to run, and then the rest of them fled en masse across the churned ground, leaving behind only the oraks and black dragons who had come to reinforce them. The Alliance soldiers beat back the former on the battlefield, while the Metals fended off the latter in the air.

Malem and the others had a moment of respite as the immediate area cleared.

“You weren’t supposed to kill him,” Malem scolded the night elf.

“Whoops,” Ziatrice said. “Maybe next time he’ll learn that you never hit a lady.”

“Except there won’t be a next time!” Malem said.

She shrugged. “So. Moving on: I guess it was the hammer that granted him invincibility after all. Anyone want it?”

“Why don’t you take it?” Xaxia said. “You killed him, after all.”

“Hammer’s aren’t my style,” the night elf said.

Gwen came forward. “I’ll take it.”

She slid her bow, Wasp, around her shoulder, using the bowstring as a strap, and then wrapped her hands around the haft.

She pulled.

The hammer didn’t budge. “Can’t… do it.”

Panting, she released the haft.

“Let me try,” Ziatrice said. She slid the halberd over her shoulder, and grabbed the haft with one hand, all confident-like. Then she frowned. She lowered the halberd and tried with both hands. “Hm.” She retrieved Wither, and backed away. “Oh well.”

“I can’t believe none of you care that the dwarf king is gone,” Malem said.

“Oh, we care,” Xaxia said, approaching the hammer. “But what can we do about it? Besides, we came here to capture or kill the king. We failed at the capture part, but succeeded at the kill part, so as far as I’m concerned we completed the mission. And we all survived, to boot. That’s something to be thankful for.”

He sighed. She was right, at that. Still, he had hoped to control the dwarven army through the king. No point moping about that now, though.

Xaxia grabbed the hammer and tried to pull it free as well. No good.

He looked at Gwen. “Okay, see if you can grab the necklaces at least.”

Gwen knelt. She reached out with her bare hands—she wasn’t wearing the gloves that came with her dragon scale armor, because they interfered with the firing of her bow, and so she made a disgusted face, as if repulsed at the thought of touching the dead body.

She finally wrapped her fingers around the different necklaces and tried to yank them off. The front portion got caught in the braided beard, so, wrinkling her nose, she shoved the beard through and tried again.

She was able to lift the necklaces to the dead king’s chin, but they remained firmly attached at the back of his neck. She tried lifting his upper body off the ground slightly with one hand, but it didn’t help.

She dropped him. “They don’t come off.” She wiped her hands in disgust on her armored thighs.

“It’s too bad we can’t get that hammer,” Xaxia said.

Abigail, we have a hammer we need you to carry.

The silver dragon landed nearby, next to the press of soldiers, and Malem and the others stepped back as she approached.

When she arrived, she attempted to pick up the weapon in her huge mouth by wrapping her teeth around the haft. She was able to lift that haft, yes, but the hammerhead itself remained firmly attached to the ground.

“I can’t,” Abigail said after a moment. “It’s too heavy.”

“It’s probably cursed,” Ziatrice said. An orak broke through the Alliance soldiers, and she was forced to swipe at it. “Only Barrowfore can wield it. Or the next Black Sword the Balor assigns. Now that we’ve completed our task, we should return to the safety of our own lines. Vorgon’s reinforcements will soon become too great to defend against.”

More oraks began to break through as the nearby ranks of the Alliance faltered. Ziatrice was right.

Worse, he could actually feel Vorgon out there. The Balor seemed to be reaching out with its mind, trying to influence him.

They had tarried too long.

“Do you feel that?” Abigail said. She raised her voice so that it would carry across the field of battle. “Vorgon is close! Retreat!”

The Alliance members turned tail and ran, as did the surviving members of Ziatrice’s forces. The enemy oraks harried them from behind, stabbing them with their pikes, impaling them with arrows, and hitting them with dark magic.

Streams of oraks leaped over those that fell, and chased after the remaining soldiers. Malem Broke three of the weaker oraks among them and had them turn upon their comrades to sow confusion. He felt each of them take mortal hits in rapid succession, and drained them of all their remaining stamina before they died.

Abigail and other metals made flybys, encasing the enemy ranks in fire, but were soon driven off by black dragons.

Malem led the retreat with Ziatrice, Xaxia, and Gwen at his side.

Why didn’t you Break him? Ziatrice asked on the run back. You didn’t want his power?

Not at the cost of my freedom.

He kept his eye on the ground, knowing that if he tripped on anything here, that very likely meant the end of him. The oraks were too close behind for tarrying of any kind.

He soon came close enough to his own lines for the rest of the Alliance to help. Arrows rained down from the sky, cutting through swaths of their pursuers. Magic of different kinds tore through the ranks, pulverizing any enemies in its path. More Metals joined the fight in the sky, driving off the black dragons.

Then he reached the front lines. The soldiers had left spaces between their ranks for their comrades to dash through, and he steered through one of them with Gwen close behind.

Ziatrice’s oraks wouldn’t be entering here—even though they wore different sigils on their breasts to differentiate them from enemy oraks, as per General Rashan’s orders they would be heading for a special section set aside further south, where the front lines were manned exclusively by her units.

Malem kept running, even when all the Alliance soldiers had returned behind him and the lines had closed up. He was climbing the gentle rise the troops had deployed upon, until he crested it and left the armies behind for the main camp. Tents strewed the field below, covering the land outside the eaves of the western Midweald. A few of the injured wandered between the tents, alongside the camp custodians and guards. Beyond the tents resided the camp followers, deployed in a small city of wagons just outside the forest.

Ziatrice hadn’t joined her troops, instead electing to run with him. Xaxia and Gwen remained with Malem as well. Abigail landed beside them, also taking a break from the fighting. She crushed a few tents in the process: no one was inside, luckily. Then again, maybe there had been someone—he couldn’t tell, not with the way those canopies were trampled almost completely flat. Balethorn hummed hungrily in his grip when the blade sensed the silver dragon, so Malem promptly sheathed the sword.

He finally stopped running when the tents surrounded him on all sides, providing the illusion of security, though in reality he was no safer than the boy who hid from the creatures of the night beneath his blankets.

Now that he had halted, he felt the earth shake in regular, well-spaced intervals beneath him. He could hear a powerful thud sourced somewhere in the distance.

“What’s that?” Gwen asked, her voice tinged with fright.

“It sounds like the footfalls of some approaching hill giant,” Xaxia said.

The next vibration was so strong it caused even the surrounding tents to shake.

“A very big hill giant,” Xaxia added.

Ziatrice turned toward the front line to the west. “It’s Vorgon. He approaches.”

“He’s never come this close to the front lines before…” Gwen said.

Ziatrice smiled grimly at that. Her blue face seemed unusually pale beneath the midday sun, so much so that Malem checked her energy bundle in his mind for signs of injury, but she seemed fine. Well, except for the raw fear that gripped her.

“He never had a reason to,” the night elf continued. “He was content to let his armies do the fighting while he pulled the strings from afar. But the slaying of King Barrowfore, one of his elite generals, has royally pissed him off, it seems.”

“He miscalculated,” Malem agreed. “He cut off his supply of vitality to Barrowfore, no doubt hoping I would wrap my will around the king’s mind so that he could attempt to trap me like he did when I Broke you. But he didn’t expect us to kill the Black Sword instead.”

“So, that’s why you didn’t want to Break him,” Ziatrice said.

The earth shook again.

He gazed toward the west, where the slight rise hid the armies of the Alliance deployed on the opposite slopes. He caught a glimpse of these massive wings of shadow, momentarily unfolding before retracting again. He saw the upper half of a huge, fiery ax as it swung skyward, only to vanish from view as it plunged downward.

He heard a thud even louder than before, and the earth shook even stronger, no doubt thanks to the impact of the ax. Beyond the rise, molten sparks momentarily geysered skyward like a volcano coughing magma.

“Uh, am I the only one who’s glad we’re not on the front lines right now?” Gwen asked.

“We should be there,” Malem said softly.

“No,” Ziatrice said.

He glanced at her in surprise. “Really? You’re not spurring me on, for once? What’s gotten into you? Where’s the Queen Ziatrice I know?”

The night elf ignored the rhetorical question. “You’re not ready to face Vorgon. Someday, perhaps. But not yet. If you had Broken Barrowfore…”

“Yeah, except you were the one who killed him before I could.”

She gave him a smarmy grin. “Sorry.”

Abigail had leaped to the top of the rise, and she raised her long, silvery neck beyond the crest so that she had a view of the battle beyond. Malem tapped into her vision, and shared it with Gwen and Ziatrice.

“Thanks,” Gwen said.

Vorgon stood there, before the front lines, a towering demon formed of darkness blacker than any night, and limned by blue flames. A pair of terrible horns curved from its head, folded wings protruded from its powerful back, thick arms hung to either side, and the knees of its huge legs bent backward like the hocks of a horse or goat. Thrusting malevolently from the base of its back, a long tail swung back and forth, striking down soldiers with great effect. The demon swung that ax with equal death-dealing ferocity.

From its chest, black threads suddenly launched en masse, lethal darts of mist that threaded through multiple soldiers at once, causing dark veins to spread rapidly across armor that was coated with Duramite to resist dragon breath. It also marred any exposed flesh so that the entire bodies of the stricken became black in moments, only to dissolve upon the wind like the ashes of a spent campfire. It was similar in effect to the Darkness that chased Malem every week to ten days, except perhaps magnified, at least in terms of delivery speed.

Malem could also feel the creature searching with its mind, trying to reach into him. He felt its tendrils wrap around his will, but he quickly slid free before they could close.

“Is this how it feels when Malem tries to Break you?” Xaxia asked.

“Exactly like this,” Gwen told her.

The Balor’s tendrils came back to try again, but Malem found he was able to shove back. He pushed hard, and when the tentacles went away, he instinctively folded the ghostly appendages of his will around his own mind, forming a protective shield.

Those tendrils came for him again, but this time passed right over him. He had effectively slammed the mental door shut on Vorgon. That had to be the same way Abigail and Gwen had shut out Malem when he’d first met each of them, what seemed so long ago. Something that full beasts and monsters couldn’t do when he touched them.

The human element, that’s the key with those two. And Ziatrice.

He returned his attention to the battle. The Alliance mages and the Metal dragons launched a constant barrage of magical attacks against the demonic creature that was Vorgon. Fire elementals attacked it at varying heights. Earth and rock elementals struck its feet. Magics wrought of ice, flame, and earth pummeled the length of its body.

Though the attacks seemed to have no external physical effect, they must have weakened the Balor, because to Malem’s relief, Vorgon finally turned back and began a slow retreat. When all the magical fire and fury of an entire army was focused against you, it was only a matter of time before you buckled, even if you were a Balor. Vorgon drew his strength from the underworld, and some suspected he could only store so much black power inside of himself at any given time before he had to go away and recuperate. Releasing all of those dark threads of magic couldn’t be easy on his reserves, either.

The Armies of the alliance followed him into no man’s land, refusing to let up, harrying him the whole way.

At least until a wave of Troglodons broke through the enemy lines to cover Vorgon’s retreat.

The grotesque, one-eyed creatures of the underworld launched ectoplasm at the Alliance troops, gluing in place any who were struck. The Troglodons were relatively shapeless, looking like big blobs surrounding an eye the size of a human head, and had to be killed by magical means—if attacked by sword, they merely split in two, doubling. The foot soldiers had to be careful not to allow the formless bodies to engulf them, because they wouldn’t be able to escape on their own if that happened, and they’d dissolve fairly rapidly while trapped within. Usually when Troglodons showed up to a battle, the field would be scattered with the gleaming white skeletons of men whose flesh had dissolved before the fighting was done.

The ranks of the Troglodons were bolstered by dire wolves howling madly as they raced into battle, and oraks riding pale horses at a gallop. Black and red dragons also joined the fray, tearing into the airborne Metals. The armies of the Alliance were successfully stayed, and Vorgon made good its escape.

The demon descended below a distant hollow well beyond enemy lines and vanished from view. Malem couldn’t help an involuntary exhale when that malignant blight upon this world vanished from his sight.

“Told you that would be fun,” Ziatrice said.

Abigail retreated from the top of the rise to join them. She remained a dragon, probably because she was a bit shy about her body in human form, especially considering she’d be naked immediately after transforming.

Xaxia glanced at him. “You were sharing the dragon’s vision with the other two again, weren’t you?”

“Aw, feel left out?” Gwen told the bandit. “Maybe you should let him Break you.”

“Not for me, thanks,” Xaxia said. “Besides, I’m pure human, remember? He can’t Break me.”

“Not yet…” Ziatrice purred.

“I didn’t quite like the sound of her voice, there,” Xaxia said.

“Neither did I,” Malem commented.

“So that’s one less Black Sword marring the world, at least…” Abigail said.

“Vorgon will elevate another to take Barrowfore’s place, rest assured,” Ziatrice told her.

The silver dragon brought her head down to the night elf’s level. If Abigail wanted to, she could bite down on Ziatrice and swallow her whole. Especially considering the night elf was too weak to maintain her shield at the moment.

But Abigail wouldn’t do that, of course. Not while Ziatrice and her fought on the same team, at least.

“So this was all for nothing, you’re saying?” Abigail told her.

“No thanks to her.” Xaxia nodded at the night elf. “We came here to Break Barrowfore, and she went ahead and killed him so that Vorgon could just elevate another. If you ask me, she’s still in league with the enemy and just pretending to be on our side.”

Ziatrice gave her a withering look.

“She’s not in league with Vorgon,” Malem said. “If she was, I’d know it. Our minds are linked, remember. I can sense her deepest, darkest thoughts.”

“And my deepest, darkest inner desires,” the night elf queen said, her eyes momentarily darting to his crotch.

Malem pretended not to notice.

Other members of the Alliance who had been involved in the dwarf raid began to crest the rise, and they fanned out, heading toward their various tents to catch a moment’s rest.

“I am a bit surprised dwarves would dirty themselves to the level of fighting for a Balor,” Xaxia said. “Even if their king demanded it. Vorgon controls only the Black Sword, and not the individual dwarves, right?”

“That’s what I believe anyway,” Malem said.

“Yeah, so like I said, it strikes me as a bit odd,” the bandit continued.

“Unless the dwarves have sworn undying fealty to whoever is king,” Gwen said.

“There’s that, I suppose,” Xaxia agreed. She glanced at Ziatrice. “Then again, your night elves are doing it, too, so maybe it’s a thing among the lesser races.”

“Lesser?” Ziatrice said. “Night elves are superior to humans in all ways.” She glanced at Malem and her voice became that seductive purr once more. “Especially in bed.”

“That’s right, your whoreness, show him what you’re made of,” Xaxia said.

“She’s not a whore,” Gwen said.

Xaxia shrugged. “You should know, I suppose. Considering you share him with the dragon.”

Gwen shrugged. “I’d rather her than you.”

Xaxia pointed at the night elf. “And you’d prefer he slept with that creature to me, as well?”

Those words must have triggered something inside Ziatrice, because she unexpectedly swung her halberd far back.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Malem sent her. Calm down. You can take a little verbal sparring, can’t you?

“I should strike you down where you stand,” Ziatrice told the bandit. “But I won’t. Because it would displease Malem.”

“That’s right, bow to your master’s whims,” Xaxia taunted her.

“All right, that’s enough you two,” Malem said. “We all need healing, a meal, and then a long rest. Not necessarily in that order. I don’t know where you get the energy to bicker among yourselves. Maybe I should take some vitality from all of you?”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned toward the center of camp and began walking. He was at the point where he didn’t care if they continued to spar behind him. He just hoped they didn’t kill each other. At least by removing himself from the equation, they wouldn’t try to show off. Or so went his thinking.

Luckily, they stopped their petty fighting and followed. He could sense the lot of them just behind. He didn’t detect Xaxia, of course, since she was completely human, but he heard her talking to Abigail in hushed tones, so she was there, too. From the way the Metal’s bundle of energy seemed suddenly reduced, he realized Abigail had returned to human form.

“What am I supposed to wear, I feel so exposed?” Abigail was saying.

“There are lots of tents around us,” Xaxia said. “Grab one of them and use it as a makeshift robe.”

He glanced over his shoulder in time to see the princess doing just that.

“Don’t look at me!” Abigail shouted at him.

He shook his head, unable to hold back a chortle, and continued walking.

He went to the series of white tents that had been raised near the center of the camp. He walked inside the largest, and took his place in one of the many lines. The women took different queues beside him.

When his turn finally came, he was led to a small alcove in the back, where an older woman in a white robe waited on a chair. She beckoned for Malem to take a seat in front of her, and he described his injuries, removing his caved helmet to reveal the bloody gash he’d taken from Barrowfore’s head-butt. He also mentioned the hammer blow to the ribs he’d endured.

The woman nodded compassionately. “You’ve been Healed before, yes?”

“I have,” he said.

“Good,” she said. “Ready yourself.”

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was coming.

She released ghostly threads of white light that wrapped around the wounds in his temple, and his ribs. He felt the sharp pain as those wounds were knitted by the light, and he gritted his teeth. Other healers had offered him sticks to chomp down on in the past, but he usually bit a little too hard, and had even lost a tooth that way, so it was probably for the best that this particular healer hadn’t given him one.

And then it was over. Malem slumped forward. If he had felt tired before, now he felt downright bone-weary.

The woman was what was known as a Camp Healer. There were others who fought with the troops on the front lines, known as Battle Healers. Magically mending wounds in battle wasn’t without risks: it drained not only the mage, but the target, too, and momentarily incapacitated both while the magic was in progress. There weren’t enough Battle Healers out there to help everyone, hence the need for the Camp Healers—usually older mages who were too frail for the front lines.

He chewed the endurance herbs the woman offered, a mixture of coca leaves and other stimulants that were illegal in peacetime, but the herbs did nothing to alleviate the sudden heaviness he felt.

“Get yourself some food, and some rest,” the woman ordered. She had shoved a substantial serving of endurance herbs into her mouth herself, he noticed.

He forced himself to his feet, thanked the woman, and made his way out.

He spat out the bolus of herbs into the provided barrel when he exited. Gwen, Abigail and Ziatrice had already finished their own healing sessions and waited nearby.

“Xaxia?” he asked.

“Still inside,” Gwen said.

He nodded, and then swept past the three of them, heading toward his tent.

“You’re not coming to eat?" Gwen called after him.

“In a little bit,” he said. “Start without me. I’m taking a nap first.”

He heard hurried footsteps.

“Mind if I join you?” Ziatrice said, coming alongside.

“That’s all right,” Malem said. “I need to rest. That healing really drained me. Sorry.”

Ziatrice pouted. “Another time, then.”

She left him, making her way toward the cook fires.

What about me? Gwen sent hopefully.

Later, he replied over their mental link.

He fielded a similar request from Abigail, and also respectfully denied her.

He reached his tent and went inside. He sealed the flap and lay down, planning to rest for only a moment. He thought he was too tired even to nap, but when he closed his eyes, he fell asleep almost immediately.

His last thought before he went under was: Wait. I can’t sleep. I didn’t even eat.

But his body ignored him.

4

Malem awoke to a strange sensation between his thighs. Pleasure filled him, of a kind he hadn’t experienced since the days of his youth, when the Darkness let him be for six months, and he spent his days romancing the beautiful harlots of Redbridge.

He glanced down to see Ziatrice’s blue head between his legs. She was working him with her mouth, her eyes filled with lascivious desire. Women had pleasured him like this quite a few times in the past, of course, but what she was doing was unlike anything he’d felt before. He wasn’t sure how she was doing it, but it felt incredible.

He grabbed onto her locks and yanked tightly, enough to cause her pain. She grimaced, and her expression became confused for a moment, as if she thought he was going to punish her. Then he slammed her into him and used his grip on her hair to guide her rhythms. She surrendered eagerly.

When he felt himself close to release, he pulled her off and threw her onto the floor of the tent. She had removed his boots, and the leggings of his dragon scale armor. She’d similarly doffed her skirt of black blades, which rested on a pile next to the entrance, leaving only her panties and the green and purple corset.

Thoughtful of her.

He entered her hard, and she moaned enthusiastically, wrapping her hands around his buttocks to pull him tight against her. He began to pound.

Everything was forgotten. The pain and suffering of the battle he had only just fought. The near defeat at the hands of Barrowfore. The approach and then retreat of Vorgon. All gone in this one moment of sheer bliss.

It was a release not just from the tension of battle, but from the sexual tension that had been building between them ever since he’d captured her during the siege of Fallow Gate.

He could sense the pleasure emanating from her bundle of energy, and that in turn gave him bliss, thanks to their unique link. She could sense his own pleasure in turn so that their gratification centers were essentially combined and feeding off one another: stimulating one aroused the other, and vice versa. Back and forth the reverberations of bliss traveled, growing in intensity each time, a veritable sexual feedback loop.

Gwen and Abigail’s energy bundles also partook in that loop, accepting and amplifying the feeling beyond anything he’d ever experienced. It surpassed all other sensations. He couldn’t even see; his eyes were rolled so far back into his head. He knew only the urgent need inside of him to find release, and the ultimate bliss that awaited with it.

When he came, the raw explosion of pleasure was almost too much for him to bear, and he simply collapsed on top of Ziatrice, his body convulsing of its own accord.

It was over all too soon, and he simply remained there, motionless on top of her, utterly spent. He closed his eyes, panting, and he would have slept if she hadn’t spoken.

“You’re crushing me,” she gasped.

Her voice snapped him out of his weariness. “Huh? Oh.”

He rolled off of her, and stared, still winded, at the angled ceiling of the tent.

“Told you we night elves are superior to humans in bed,” she cooed.

“Uh huh,” he said, too spent to argue with her. He glanced at her, and she smiled coyly, revealing those pointed teeth of hers. He’d forgotten about those teeth entirely. No wonder when she worked him with her mouth it had felt so uniquely pleasurable. Still, he didn’t like thinking about the damage she could have caused if she’d wanted to, and he wasn’t sure he was going to engage in oral with her ever again.

Hell, who was he kidding? It felt too good not to try again at some point.

In a minute he had his breath under control, and once more he found himself falling asleep.

But then Abigail’s voice came in his head.

I suppose it was inevitable, she sent. That you’d mate with her, too. The link we have compels us. The promise of incredible pleasure is too great to refuse.

Malem looped Gwen into the mental conversation, and Ziatrice, too, before he answered. You felt that, did you?

Gwen answered. It was even more powerful than when you did it with Abigail alone. If our shared orgasms are going to be like this every time you have sex with one of us, then I don’t really care who you’re doing it with. Just as long as you’re doing it long, and often.

Maybe all four of us should try sharing the same bed sometime, the night elf suggested.

Uh, I’ll have to pass on that, Abigail sent.

Me too, Gwen added. First of all I’m not sure of the mechanics of it, second of all I’m kind of turned off by female parts, if you catch my drift.

I can teach you the mechanics, Ziatrice told her. I can also teach you to be aroused by female parts.

Again, that’s a pass from me, Gwen sent.

Malem couldn’t help but smile.

And wipe that grin off your face, Breaker! Gwen added.

What, who me? He closed the mental conversation with that, and then shut his eyes to sleep.

Ziatrice snuggled against him and said, softly: “We’re going to conquer the world together, you and I.”

“Just the two of us?” he said. “What about Gwen and Abigail? Or Xaxia?”

“They can come along for the ride,” Ziatrice said.

He chuckled, and looked away.

“I’m serious about this,” the night elf pressed.

“I know you are,” he told her. “Why do you think I’m laughing?”

That got him a punch in the arm.

He only laughed harder, and then closed his eyes. “What am I going to do with you?”

He certainly had his hands full.

But that was the way he liked it.

* * *

Malem slept with Ziatrice at his side. She woke him up and tried to have sex with him a few hours later, but he was unable to perform. He was just too winded from the combined effects of battle and their previous lovemaking. She pouted but accepted his excuse, promptly vacating the tent to find some food.

Meanwhile he went back to sleep.

When he awoke, it was pitch black outside. All the cooking fires of the main camp were out, but some fires were still burning in the area set aside to the camp followers, and he made his way there and purchased a roast chicken from an enterprising merchant who ran a late-night rotisserie.

Malem sat down on a small stump next to the fire to eat his chicken. He tore into the breast and came away with a big chunk. He chewed hungrily, feeling the juices flowing down his chin. He wiped them away and took another ravenous bite.

He flat-out devoured most of that chicken, but started to feel full when there was about a quarter left. He began to slow down.

It was then that he sensed Abigail approaching in the night.

“I felt you get up,” she said when she appeared within the pool of light produced by the rotisserie flame. She wore her usual figure-hugging red dress with the gold-laced bodice. This particular dress was a little frayed around the edges. She only had a limited supply of the dresses, after all, considering how far away from home she was. And the seamstresses among the camp followers were likely too busy mending the different leather armors among the Alliance members to offer her any repairs on something as frivolous as a dress.

He beckoned toward the empty stump beside him, and she took the seat. He was careful to keep his arms well away from the hilt at his waist: even brushing Balethorn in her presence could cause the sword to begin singing for her blood.

He tore away a leg from the remaining quarter of the chicken and offered it to her.

She shook her head.

He shrugged, and bit into it.

“We’re losing, aren’t we?” he said after a time.

She didn’t answer. At least not immediately. “I wouldn’t say we’re losing. But we aren’t gaining any traction, either. We’re essentially locked in a stalemate. The Metal dragons have nullified the air superiority the Night dragons granted Vorgon’s armies, and for all intents and purposes both sides are effectively equal. It’s become a war of attrition.”

“Is that the official line?” her asked.

“No,” she said. “Only mine.”

He bit into the last of the chicken, and tossed the picked-clean carcass into the flames. “I’d have to disagree. Stalemate? No, this isn’t a stalemate. We’re not equal. The last sortie we just did beyond enemy lines demonstrates my point. We killed a Black Sword. That should be a big deal. Losing one’s top general? The commander of one of the strongest armies in his host? In any other army, it would be a devastating blow. But not for Vorgon. No, he’ll merely replace Barrowfore with another. The king was just another cog in the great wheel of Vorgon’s war machine.

“The same is true of the Balor’s entire army. We keep killing his oraks, but he simply produces more of them. No matter how many we fell, always there are more for us to fight the next day. Their vast host never diminishes. Whereas the Alliance members—humans and Metal dragons alike—have limited numbers. That’s not a stalemate in my book.”

“I think your wrong about that,” she said. “The oraks are diminishing. They have to be.”

“I’ve heard differently from my talks among the men, and my own observations on the field of the battle,” he said. “No matter how many we hew down, the oraks always come back stronger than ever. They’re even worse than Troglodons. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise me if Vorgon had found a way to make oraks reproduce just as easily as Troglodons do.”

She studied him for a moment in the firelight. “What about the night elves, dwarves, and other races Vorgon has conquered? They have limited numbers. As do the dragons that fight for him.”

Malem nodded. “That’s true. And if those were the only foes we faced, then I’d agree with you that this was a war of attrition. But they’re not. Vorgon seems able to tap into an infinite supply of troops from the underworld. There are rumors among the men that he opens a portal to his home realm nightly to retrieve fresh units.”

Abigail sat quietly in the dark. “Why haven’t I heard any of this from the members of the war council?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe they just don’t want you to know. They could be worried you Metals will abandon them. If it were known that all of this was futile, with our numbers diminishing by the day, while Vorgon’s only grew, the Metals would be hard-pressed to justify continuing this war. As would the other members of the Alliance.”

“So you think they’re afraid of breaking the Alliance?” she pressed.

“Again, I don’t know what’s going on in the minds of the other council members,” he said. “But if I were a king struggling to hold together a fragile alliance against a superior foe, and I learned of this, I’d certainly tell my generals to keep the news quiet.”

“How come you’ve never brought this up at the meetings?” she asked.

He laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t want to be the one who breaks the Alliance.”

“But you’ve told me, just now,” she said.

“I have,” he agreed. “I leave the choice up to you, whether you want to reveal this to Prince Jayden and your father and risk breaking the Alliance, or keep it to yourself.”

“Great, wonderful,” she said.

He shrugged. “You’re closer to them than I ever will be. The choice is better in your hands. The lives of your people are at stake.”

“And yet the humans are your people, and they’re at stake as well,” she said.

He smiled, staring out to gaze into the night. “You know I’ve never considered myself one of them.”

“Oh, that’s right, you’re better than them,” Abigail spat.

“No,” he said. “Not better, but not worse, either. Just not… part of them. I’m too different to belong. I’ve been touched by a Balor. I can Break monsters.”

He smiled sadly and returned his attention to the flames.

He hadn’t been entirely truthful to her, because she was right: he did feel he was better than other people; he just didn’t want to admit it aloud. He tried telling himself his abilities didn’t make him superior to anyone, but that was a lie, and every iota of his being knew it. He told himself that ordinary people didn’t have to deal with the curse that came with those abilities, the Darkness, and that’s what balanced them out. Yet even with that festering, always pursuing Darkness, he couldn’t deny he had powers that normal humans could only dream of.

Those abilities were part of the terrible temptation he felt: binding the three women had awakened a thirst for power inside of him unlike anything he’d experienced in his life. He wanted more of that power, which meant Breaking more half monsters. So far he’d successfully denied the thirst, but he often gazed toward the camp of the Metals and imagined sneaking into the tents of pretty half dragons late at night and Breaking them during sex.

Abigail had told her father, the king, of his gifts, though she hadn’t yet revealed that Malem had Broken her as well. The king in turn had warned the Metals about him, and forbidden them from coming into contact with him, so seducing any more dragons would be a daunting proposition. Yet Malem loved a challenge, and he felt he could find at least a few willing subjects to whom the promise of limitless pleasure would supersede their loyalty to their king.

Yes, if he stayed here any longer, he might just give in to that temptation. He hoped the Darkness came soon, forcing him to get away for a while.

Then again, maybe giving in to temptation wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

But if he thought he had a hard time juggling all the women now, he could only imagine what things would be like if he started bringing a whole lot more of them into the fold.

I don’t want any more women. Three is enough.

And yet, he did want more.

Hell, a part of him wanted to seduce all the half monsters in the world.

A small part, of course.

A figure suddenly came dashing into the clearing, rousing Malem from his tempestuous thoughts. The flames illuminated a noble face too handsome to belong to an ordinary man; the sigil of a fiery talon engraved into his tunic gave away his half dragon status.

“There you are, my lady,” the man said breathlessly, offering a low bow. “Reyna told me she spotted you coming this way.”

“What is it?” Abigail asked.

“Your presence has been requested at the war council,” he replied.

“A war council, at this hour?” Abigail said.

“That is correct,” the half dragon told her.

Abigail exchanged a worried glance with Malem.

5

Malem entered the main tent and took his customary seat at the war council. He was considered the official liaison between Ziatrice and the orak army. Ziatrice herself wasn’t allowed at the meetings—too many among the council had faced her on the field of battle when she fought at the head of the night elf army, back in her Black Sword days, and the memories weren’t exactly fond. Most still didn’t fully trust her. Nor Malem himself, for that matter.

That said, he always shared his vision and hearing with her while participating in a council session, so even though she remained inside her tent on the outskirts of the camp, it was essentially the same as if she sat in the war tent herself. Malem was careful not to reveal that tidbit to anyone, of course.

General Rashan stood up when everyone was present. The leader of Goldenthall’s army possessed a battle-hardened mien, with skin so weathered one would be forgiven for believing it was made of tanned leather. His face was otherwise gaunt, with cheeks poking out at hard angles and stretching the surrounding skin too tight. A scar above his right brow cut across his temple and into his receding hairline. Below it, his haunted eyes were sunken, with heavy bags underneath as if he hadn’t slept in days. Which he probably hadn’t—Rashan was known for staying up to direct the different shifts of his army over several rotations. Some thought he never slept, and instead subsisted entirely on endurance herbs. Probably wasn’t true—Malem doubted the man would still be alive if it was. Not just from lack of sleep, but from the mistakes such terrible weariness could cause.

Barely visible within his grizzled beard, his lips were chapped, despite the fact they glistened beneath the candlelight with freshly smeared moisturizing ointment. Below that, he wore a simple uniform of chain mail like a common soldier, not surprising, considering he was instrumental in laying down the rule that senior officers were to dress no differently than the men beneath them.

“We just received word from Mulhadden,” the general said without preamble. “Tartan’s Vale has been surrounded by the Eldritch army of Queen Mauritania.” Tartan was the capital city of Mulhadden, and Tartan’s Vale was the valley it resided in.

“Impossible,” General Fields said. He led the combined armies of Redbridge and the other cities of the eastern Midweald. He had the bronze complexion associated with most people hailing from the forest cities, and while he was close to his middle years, he looked like a youth compared to Rashan. As did most of the other generals and advisers at the table, save for the mages, which explained why Rashan’s words held such weight. The most distinguishing characteristic of Fields was his mustache, which hung in long whiskers down either side of his mouth.

“We would have received word weeks ago if the Eldritch broke ranks,” Fields continued. “The latest from our scouts is that they remain dug in to the north, well behind enemy lines, and close to Vorgon’s command center.”

“The Metals have confirmed this,” Abigail said. “The Eldritch have not moved.”

“Even so, Queen Mauritania’s armies can’t be in two places at once,” Rashan said. “I believe Vorgon has somehow managed to conceal their passage away from the front lines, and through our lands. What you have seen is a deception.”

A white-bearded mage in attendance nodded slowly. His name was Eralas. Malem had been told this one’s beard once trailed almost to his feet, but he had shaved it down to more closely match the facial hair of other soldiers. “Not much is known about Eldritch magic, save for its deadliness. Though hiding an army of that size would be a feat even for them, bordering on the impossible.”

“And yet Ziatrice sneaked around our ranks as well, and across the surrounding countryside, to attack Fallow Gate,” Fields said.

“Yes, but Ziatrice followed an unconventional path to the north,” another general said. Malem forgot the man’s name, but he was dark-skinned, and a ferocious fighter.

The mage, Eralas, tapped his chin in thought. “Ziatrice left behind her night elves, taking oraks with her so we wouldn’t realize she had gone. Mauritania has obviously done the same.”

“No, the message I received explicitly states that her entire army of Eldritch are with her, not oraks,” Rashan said. “There are no black or red dragons accompanying her, either.”

“You’re certain you can trust the messenger?” Fields asked.

Rashan nodded. “Positive. He’s the cousin of the King Goldenthall himself. I know the man well. He got out through the tunnels before the vale was completely surrounded.”

“You’re telling us this because you’re going to pull back your army to Mulhadden, aren’t you?” the dark-skinned general said. Nefeyus. That was his name.

Before Rashan could answer, Fields spoke up. “It’s obvious Vorgon is attempting to shift the balance of power in his favor by causing the Alliance to crumble. If even one member departs now, at this critical juncture, rushing away to defend their homeland, the others will flee, too. Remember, it only takes one to cause a rout. We’ll essentially have to flee, considering the troops of Mulhadden compose the bulk of our forces at this point, and Vorgon will easily crush those who remain behind. With nothing to hold back the dark tide of his forces, the Balor will eventually come knocking at our doors individually, crushing our kingdoms one by one. Blood will flow freely across plains that haven’t seen war in over two hundred years.”

“You always did have a flair for the melodramatic,” Rashan commented dryly.

“I have been known for flowery speeches,” Fields admitted.

Rashan sighed. “I haven’t yet decided whether I will withdraw.”

“The king has ordered you to, hasn’t he?” Malem said.

All eyes turned toward him. Many regarded him with open contempt. Some even scowled. He was the upstart who stood high in the favor of the Metals, after all, a man who had subdued one of their greatest foes and impelled her dark army to fight at their side. A man who could break monsters from the Midweald and send them forth to battle the enemy at will. He wasn’t surprised these individuals didn’t trust him, or even like him.

Rashan inclined his head. “Very astute, Breaker. Goldenthall has in fact ordered me to return with the entire Mulhadden army. But as I said, I haven’t decided whether I’m going to obey that order or not.”

“Maybe you don’t have to,” Fields said, leaning back to stroke his mustache. “What if we sent in a surgical strike force to Tartan?”

Rashan raised an eyebrow. “A surgical strike force?”

“Yes,” Fields said. “A force tasked with taking out the head of the Eldritch army. Queen Mauritania herself. It would have to be a small group, one that could infiltrate her ranks unnoticed.”

Rashan rubbed his lips. “Who would lead such a strike force?”

Fields glanced at Malem. “The Breaker can claim the minds of monsters… this time, if he actually succeeds in conquering the will of the Black Sword, her entire army would be his. He could turn it away from Tartan, and march it back to the front lines to fight on our side. Who knows, it might even be enough to turn the tide in this war.”

“You said that about the Metals,” Nefeyus spat. “And about the oraks and dragons the other fallen Black Sword brought us. But the tide hasn’t changed. Their presence has only allowed us to claw our way back to the precipice above the abyss and hang by our fingernails just a little longer.” He glanced at Abigail. “Not that I’m disrespecting the Metals. You are powerful dragons. It’s just not enough. The tide, unfortunately, is still stacked very much against us.”

“Even so, anything that will help maintain our fragile alliance is a chance worth taking.” Rashan looked at Malem. “Would you accept such a mission?”

“Of course he will,” Eralas interrupted. “He accepted the hill giant task, didn’t he?”

Malem gave the mage an irritated look.

“Careful, Eralas,” Nefeyus said. “I have a feeling the Breaker’s loyalty to us hangs by a thread. Offend him, and he might not come back.”

Malem inclined his head in appreciation at the man’s words. He wouldn’t be forgetting his name again. Anyone who would support, or at least respect him on this council, was worth remembering. Here, he needed all the allies he could get.

He leaned back and scratched his chin. “If I were to do this, I’d have to have full say over who was coming with me. I don’t want any Alliance soldiers along, for example.”

Rashan raised an eyebrow. “But an Alliance soldier, particularly one hailing from Tartan, could offer you tactical advice once you reached the vale.”

“I know the vale well enough,” Abigail said. “I’ve served as advisor to King Goldenthall since well before you were confirmed as general.” She glanced at Malem. “Assuming you’d want me to come with you.”

“You’re my top pick,” Malem said.

“All right, I agree.” Rashan waved a dismissive hand. “You can take whoever you wish, as far as I’m concerned.”

The council held a vote on the mission, and they all agreed that Malem was the best fit for the job. They also consented to his terms.

“Send news of your success, or lack thereof, within a fortnight,” Rashan said before he left. “If I don’t hear from you by then, I’ll have to assume you failed.” The admiral ran his gaze across his fellow council members. “If he fails, most likely I’ll withdraw the Mulhadden army to fight for Tartan.”

“You have two weeks,” Eralas told Malem. “Don’t fail.”

“I don’t intend to,” Malem said.

“No one ever intends to fail,” Eralas said. “But in your case, the fate of the entire world rests upon your shoulders. So I say again, do not fail.”

“His mission is important, but not that important,” Fields said. “Try not to inflate his sense of self worth.”

“No, you’re wrong,” Eralas told Fields. “If this Alliance falls apart, there is no one else who will protect the lands beyond.” His eyes drilled into Malem, and he shook his head. “What has the world come to, when we must rely upon a Breaker to save it?”

Fields nodded in agreement. “What we really need right now is another hero like the legendary Nailcrom, the lone ice mage who stood against Banvil twenty years ago and banished the Balor back to its realm. If only there were another like him to stand before Vorgon.”

“Many have tried,” Eralas said. “But Vorgon is ten times more powerful than Banvil ever was.”

“Maybe you should try, Mage,” Nefeyus said.

“Ha,” Eralas said. “You would be rid of me so soon, Warrior General?”

I wonder what they would say if they knew Nailcrom’s very son resided in their midst, Abigail sent. And it was he they had chosen to lead this mission.

It’s probably better they don’t know, Malem replied. They already expect too much of me. I’m but one man.

More than a man… she insisted.

She was right. He was more. And yet it was that very thinking which might lead to his downfall. It would only fuel his thirst for power.

He sensed the eyes of Eralas upon him. “Well then, what are you waiting for, Breaker? Time’s a-wasting. Go and prepare your team. You leave with the dawn.”

6

At dawn Malem stood impatiently next to Abigail and Prince Jayden on the outskirts of camp. Behind him waited Gwen, Xaxia, Ziatrice, and Rathamias, a powerful orak mage from the night elf’s ranks. Ordinarily, Rathamias would have worn a black robe to denote his discipline as that of dark practitioner, but the orak was adhering to the rule of hiding one’s rank and stature behind the garb of a normal soldier, and thus he wore bronze mail, and held a long pike in one hand.

“So where are they?” Malem asked Abigail.

In addition to herself and the four standing behind him, Abigail had convinced him to bring along another two Metals. The first, a female, had a particular bent for ice magic, with some healing ability to boot. The second, a male, had strong earth magic. Abigail told him it was in their best interest to diversify the types of magic the team was capable of. Malem had agreed, not because of the magic, but because extra mounts were always welcome—the others couldn’t all fit on Abigail’s back, after all…

Before she could answer, he saw the pair in question striding between the white tents. They stood out readily from the humans around them: they were taller and far more beautiful than any human could ever be. The woman especially drew Malem’s eye, for her tanned skin, eyes bluer than the ocean, and long, flowing dark hair. Her face was so flawless it could have belonged to a goddess.

She wore a white dress whose skirt reached to her ankles. The top only teased a small amount of bosom. She wore a loose shawl underneath her hair and over her shoulders, its long ends swaying as she walked. Like her hips. It was hard to find a woman who was both beautiful and yet oozed sheer sexuality in the same package. Most women possessed only one or the other. But not this one.

She spotted a small robin perched incongruously on a tent nearby, and paused to look at it, turning her back on Malem. The rear portion of her dress ended just above the buttocks—her long hair covered the exposed areas of her back just enough to tantalize. When the bird took flight, she turned away with a sigh and rejoined the waiting male.

“I’m Weyanna, Abigail’s cousin,” the young woman said when she reached Malem. Even her voice exuded sexiness. When she smiled, her teeth seemed the purest white he’d ever seen against that tanned skin.

Malem pretended he was unimpressed by everything about her as he took her hand and squeezed. Meanwhile, he couldn’t help the sudden spike in his heart rate.

Someone’s excited, Ziatrice commented in his head. I can feel the throbbing of his pulse from here.

That’s not his pulse, Gwen quipped.

Malem released her hand a bit too fast; Weyanna seemed offended, and also slightly puzzled, as if she couldn’t fathom why he wouldn’t be attracted to her. But then her expression set in a grim, determined smile that was almost smug, as if she planned to remedy that later.

The male half dragon stepped forward. He was dressed in a white vest and leggings; the former was open down the middle, leaving his tanned, muscular chest completely bare.

Xaxia whistled. “Well hello.”

“I’m Thrawn, of the Chrysalis clan,” the half dragon said.

Malem shook Thrawn’s hand. The grip was firm, unyielding. There was also a steely glint to his eyes, as if Thrawn was angry he had to leave his people for what to him must have seemed a meaningless side quest. But that was all speculation on Malem’s part, of course.

He tried to release him, but the half dragon refused to let go, so Malem squeezed harder. When they were still engaged in the handshake ten seconds later, the chatter resumed in his head.

Maybe it’s the man who’s got our Breaker excited, Abigail joked.

Wouldn’t surprise me, Ziatrice sent.

Finally Thrawn released him and took his place next to the other women, as did Weyanna. They all kept a good distance away from Rathamias. Gwen was the farthest. He could tell from her energy bundle that she wasn’t all that happy to have an orak coming with them, but she held her tongue.

Ziatrice, meanwhile, was the closest to the orak, but even her nose wrinkled slightly whenever she glanced toward the black mage.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to come with you, Sister?” Jayden asked Abigail.

“We can do this on our own,” Abigail said. “The Alliance needs you. Without you to act as liaison between the humans and my father, calming the burning embers of his rage, the Metals would be long gone.”

“I suppose they would, at that,” Jayden said.

“Any problems with Gran?” Ziatrice asked.

“None,” the prince replied.

The night elf had left her dark army under the command of Prince Jayden. She wasn’t able to transfer her mental link, but the oraks and dragons—including Hastor—had sworn to obey whatever verbal commands the prince might give them. A big orak named Gran acted as Jayden’s liaison.

“So I guess this is farewell,” Jayden told his sister.

Abigail stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the forehead in a gesture Malem found strangely touching.

“I better see you soon,” Jayden said when she pulled away.

“And I better see you as well,” she said, accusingly. Her voice was breaking.

He nodded, blinking rapidly, and then turned away to retreat through the tents.

“Farewell, my brother,” Abigail said softly when he vanished from view. She wiped away a tear and glanced at Malem. “That was a hard goodbye.”

Malem didn’t know what to say. It was possible she wouldn’t see her brother again, or he her. He knew no words that could bring comfort at a time like this, and if he spoke, he risked sounding like a charlatan.

But then Abigail turned east, toward the forest, and her eyes filled with purpose. “All right, it’s time to transform.”

She became a silver dragon immediately, while Thrawn changed into a big bronze.

Weyanna, however, remained in human form. She began to slowly undress, removing first the shawl, and then lowering the shoulder straps of her dress one by one.

“What are you doing?” Xaxia asked her.

Weyanna shrugged. “Didn’t you see what happened to their clothes?” She nodded at the tattered fabrics on the ground. “Why waste a perfectly good dress on a transformation? I paid good coin for this in Craternia. I won’t see it go to waste.” She turned toward Malem. “You will carry it for me.”

He shrugged. “Pack’s full. The orak has room, I believe.”

She glanced at Rathamias, who flashed a toothy grin, and her nose wrinkled.

She returned her gaze to Malem, and smiled slyly. She lifted her arms above her head and reached behind her back to grab the loose straps, and then she tugged upward, lifting the dress over her head. She moved luridly, well aware of her captive audience.

He looked away, glancing instead at the other male members of the party to gauge their reactions. He noticed that Thrawn was completely entranced; the half dragon even licked his lips. Rathamias, meanwhile, seemed more amused than anything else.

“It’s looks like you found a whore even sluttier than these two,” Xaxia commented with a nod at Gwen and Ziatrice. She turned toward Abigail: “Why’d you have to pick someone so brazenly wanton?”

The princess shrugged. “Most dragon women like to tease: we know our beauty ranks far above that of ordinary human women, so I can’t fault her that. But she won’t touch him, rest assured. She won’t dare disobey the king’s direct command.” The latter seemed spoken more as a warning to Weyanna than anything else.

We’ll see about that, Malem thought gleefully.

Weyanna finished removing her dress, along with the bra and panties underneath, and walked stark naked toward the orak.

Malem pretended to sip from his canteen, but instead was mostly using its bulk to hide his face, which allowed him to surreptitiously observe Weyanna.

She swayed her hips with each step, somehow managing to look both sexual and imperious at the same time.

“You’re a fine specimen,” Rathamias commented as she grew near.

An ice shard materialized from nowhere and slammed into his boot, pinning the orak to the ground. He yowled in pain.

“Give me your pack,” she commanded.

Rathamias scowled at her before glancing at Ziatrice. “Permission to cut her down?” he hissed.

But the night elf was doubled over in laughter.

Rathamias, flinching in agony, reached behind his back and retrieved his pack.

Weyanna casually folded her dress inside.

Still pretending to drink, Malem continued to furtively glance her way; his eyes couldn’t help but follow the pleasant bounce of her breasts as she pressed the dress into the rucksack.

“You’re sure taking a good long sip there,” Gwen commented. “Thirsty?”

When he met the half gobling’s gaze, she raised her eyebrows mockingly. He lowered the canteen, feeling chastened, but his eyes couldn’t help drifting toward Weyanna’s naked form again. His eyes lingered between her legs…

The naked half dragon suddenly glanced toward him.

He dropped his gaze.

Shit! Caught in the act.

He risked another glance at her and saw she was smiling widely.

He turned around completely.

He heard rapid footfalls, as of someone dashing away across the grass.

A shadow blotted out the sun behind him, and when he glanced over his shoulder again, a majestic white dragon towered above him.

“You’re not a Metal,” he said in shock.

“My dad was a Metal, my mom a Khroma,” she said. Though her voice was mostly the same, except louder, all seductiveness had left her tone. “So I guess that makes me only a quarter Metal.”

Malem had learned a lot about dragons from hanging out with Abigail. Khromas were the colored variants: the blues, reds, grays, whites, blacks, and so forth. They were also true dragons, in that they couldn’t shift into human form. Most were Night Dragons because the majority had affinities to dark magic. The whites and blues were considered Day Dragons, like the Metals, since they often wielded other magics, with healing being a specialty of the whites and ice magic innate to the blues. Weyanna was apparently an aberration of sorts among the whites, given her propensity toward ice magic. It probably came from her mixed breeding.

He glanced at Rathamias, who was still pinned to the ground by the ice stake. “Would you mind releasing him?”

The ice melted instantly and Rathamias was freed. The orak limped about, leaving a trail of blood on the grass.

Tendrils of white light emerged from Weyanna and enveloped the orak’s injured foot, flowing into the hole the ice had formed. The bleeding promptly stopped, but the gaps remained in the boot.

“You healed my foot, but who’s going to mend my boot?” Rathamias said in outrage.

The white dragon shrugged. “Buy a sewing kit?” She swirled her large neck around so that she was no longer regarding the orak.

Xaxia snickered. “You know, I kind of like her.”

Malem approached Abigail. “Who rides with me?”

“I do,” Gwen said.

“No, I,” Ziatrice insisted.

“I already called dibs,” Xaxia said.

He thought it cute, yet flattering, that they were fighting over the chance to ride with him.

“You’re going to have to draw lots,” he told them.

“Wipe that smile off your face, Breaker,” Xaxia said. “It’s Abigail we’re hoping to ride with, not you.” She shrugged, glancing at the bronze dragon beside her. “In fact, I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll fly with Thrawn. Hey, you big bad boy you.” She approached the dragon, but then paused to peer between the dragon’s legs. “My, my, it’s bigger than I ever imagined. You put stallions to shame!”

“Hello!” Rathamias said, stepping onto Thrawn’s back and waving at Xaxia. The orak mage had apparently been climbing the opposite wing all this time, and had only just reached the top.

Xaxia pouted, and headed for Weyanna instead.

While Gwen and Ziatrice bickered among themselves over who got to ride the silver, Malem climbed the wing Abigail offered. The membranous surface bounced like a trampoline beneath him until he reached the more solid body. He pulled himself onto her back, her silvery scales shining iridescent beneath the rays of the morning sun, and sat between where her two wings became stalks joined to her back. He hooked his armored legs underneath the jagged cross-guards that protruded a thigh-width from the base of each stalk, and further secured himself with small ropes wrapped around either leg.

Ziatrice joined him. Apparently she had won the chance to ride with him.

She sat behind him, sliding the haft of her long halberd in front of his belly, and then gripping it on either side of his hips, forming a handhold. She suddenly tightened Wither hard against his waist, pulling him close.

“Now I’ve got you pinned,” the night elf commented in his ear. He felt her hot breath on his cheek.

“Now, now,” Malem said over his shoulder. “Behave.”

Abigail swiveled her long, silvery neck around to eye them. “What mischief are you two up to?”

Ziatrice loosened her hold on Wither’s haft. “Oh, nothing,” she said, acting all innocent.

Gwen joined Xaxia aback Weyanna, while the orak mage remained perched atop Thrawn. When they were secured, the three dragons, one silver, one bronze, and one white, took to the air. They flew eastward, staying low over the Midweald forest. The wind of their passage made it impossible to talk. Of course, he could easily converse with those he had Broken.

Abigail’s voice came in his head. I told my father your suspicions regarding the orak numbers.

And?

He agrees with what you said. The orak numbers never seem to diminish, while the ranks of the other races allied to Vorgon become fewer with each passing day. He has decided to keep the Metals involved in the war effort for now, but he’ll keep a wary eye on the orak numbers in the days to come. If they become too many, he’ll reassess his decision.

Your father isn’t going to bring this up at the next war council session? Malem asked.

No, Abigail replied. He doesn’t want to risk breaking the Alliance, as was your fear. Then again, maybe every general and mage seated on that council already knows.

You say he’ll reassess his decision if the oraks become too many, Malem said. But depending on how the fighting goes over the next few days, that reassessment could come well before the week is out.

Yes, Abigail agreed. The Alliance might be no more in a fortnight. Even if we succeed, we might come back to find the countryside overrun with oraks, or worse creatures of the dark. But I pray it doesn’t come to that.

All the more reason to do this quickly, Malem sent.

7

Malem and the others flew over the city of Craternia and its surrounding farms on the western edge of the Midweald. They soon left behind the populated outer regions for the untamed wilderness of the center, where monsters roamed unhindered. Malem recognized the region immediately, because of the way the greenery thinned below—the spiders that claimed these parts as their hunting grounds had cleared away the underbrush between the trunks to make trapping prey easier. It was kind of counterintuitive, because one might expect the spiders would like a lot of foliage to snag their foes, since these particular varieties didn’t construct webs, but the spiders were the ones who were snagged more often than not by any undergrowth, thanks to the hooks covering their legs.

But spiders weren’t the only denizens, of course. Gryphons. Wyrms. Satyrs. Hill giants. Ettins. Ogres. Trolls. Goblings. Kildebeests. These and more claimed the central Midweald as their domain.

The first monsters appeared here over two hundred years ago, before spreading to other, darker parts of the realm. Legend placed the blame for these monsters squarely on the shoulders of Banvil, who, as part of the Balor’s experiments to break through to our world, was rumored to have created several temporary portals to these woods, allowing lesser monsters to flow freely from the underworld until they were sealed. It took Banvil two hundred years to perfect its design and create a portal large enough for the Balor itself to break through.

So, what do you think of Weyanna? Abigail asked in a casual tone in his mind, interrupting his thoughts.

She’s pretty, he answered cautiously.

Pretty! Ha! She’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid eyes upon, isn’t she?

No, he told her. That would be you.

You’re such a liar, she sent. But I do love the flattery! Listen, you should know, if anyone is deserving of the title whore, it’s she. Xaxia is completely right in this case.

Malem flexed slightly against the cross-guards of the wing stalks that held him in place. Just because she was teasing me by undressing? You were the one who warned me all dragons like to tease humans. That hardly makes her a whore.

You do like her. Already sticking up for her, and you don’t even know her.

Malem didn’t have a comeback for that. His cheeks felt slightly warmer.

Trust me, this one is more than a tease, Abigail continued. She actually follows through. You see, she has developed a particular liking for real humans, not the half dragon variety. She fucks a new Alliance boy toy every night.

Nice. That’ll certainly improve Alliance moral. At least for those who get to claim the honor of boy toy.

Oh no. Not at all. You see, there’s a catch: she eats her toys after.

No. He regarded the majestic white dragon flying beside him in a new light. I mean, she looks so… benevolent. Not exactly the kind of dragon you’d expect to do something like that.

Her tent is near mine, so I hear it nightly. First there’s the panting and heaving as her toy releases himself into her, then the sound of a canopy zipping open, and the soft padding of a soldier sneaking away into the night. But it always ends in a gurgled scream that’s quickly cut short. I once caught her licking the fresh blood off her lips. I’m not really sure why she does it. Maybe she likes the taste of man flesh. Maybe she doesn’t want rumors spreading about her licentious nature. Or maybe she just does it, because, well, she can.

Malem shook his head. Well that certainly brings new meaning to the phrase “man-eater.” I can see now why the human kings forced you Metals to sign a peace treaty requiring transformation-limiting collars all those years ago.

We’re not all like her…

True enough. Though I suspect there are other Metals with her particular proclivities, Metals to whom humans are little more than playthings to be discarded. It’s they who are going to make the human kings regret ever repealing that treaty. He sat back slightly. So this is just another warning on your part for me not to touch her?

Basically, Abigail said. Though she might be the one doing the touching.

But you already said she wouldn’t dare disobey your father’s ruling about me…

She doesn’t really consider herself a true Metal, so she probably thinks the ruling doesn’t apply to her.

Hmm, Malem sent. Maybe she wouldn’t kill me afterward.

Oh?

If I can sleep with her, and Break her, she won’t be able to eat me. Not once I’ve taken control.

You’re assuming she won’t try to eat you the instant she detects what you’re doing.

She’ll want the pleasure. They always do. You did, after all. As did Gwen, and Ziatrice. It’s too great of a temptation to resist.

Abigail didn’t reply for several moments. Then: My recommendation to you: don’t attempt it.

He glanced at Weyanna, and realized she was watching him hungrily with one eye while she flew. He decided then that he’d probably heed Abigail’s advice. Last thing he needed was to find himself dead inside the belly of a horny dragon.

Without warning, emerald-colored streams of magic erupted from the forest below. The ghostly darts struck the underbellies of Abigail, Weyanna and Thrawn.

Abigail exhaled in pain, and her bundle of energy in his head throbbed with agony. She no longer flapped her wings, and was simply gliding, doing her best to stay aloft through the hurt. Weyanna and Thrawn weren’t doing any better. In fact, Thrawn had tucked in his wings, and was plummeting. A stream of blood spiraled through the air above him.

As Abigail and Weyanna bled altitude, they began to skim the treetops below, tearing away the upper branches with their undersides. The pain sensation he felt from her flared.

“Hang on,” Abigail said. Her voice had lost its booming quality, and barely carried above the wind.

She tucked in her wings, as did Weyanna beside her, and they dropped between the trunks of two dense pine trees, ripping away more branches as they plunged to the ground.

Abigail landed heavily and promptly collapsed.

Weyanna hit the earth not too far from her—he could see the white dragon through the trees, with Gwen and Xaxia still secured to her back.

Malem quickly loosened the ropes tying him to Abigail’s wing stalks, and slid free. Ziatrice removed her halberd, releasing her hold on him, but before the pair could climb off the silver dragon’s back, Abigail was transforming. In moments Malem and the night elf stood on empty air: they fell to the ground.

He hit, rolling to break his fall. He rose to one knee.

Abigail lay naked, in human form, beside him.

“Too weak… to remain… dragon,” she said.

For once the sight of her nakedness did nothing to arouse him, and instead elicited only deep concern: she had four terrible wounds in her chest. The injuries glowed green in the centers, indicating where the magical darts remained embedded; around each the skin was torn open, forming jagged messes exposing raw muscles and bones below. Blood pulsed free in waves.

He carefully probed her wound and tried grabbing one of the glowing darts to pull it free, but it burned his fingers and he snatched them away. The skin was charred. “Damn it.”

He wrapped a cloth around his fingers and tried again. This time he was able to find purchase, but the dart wouldn’t budge. Abigail moaned, and the agony emanating from her energy bundle quadrupled. He stopped; worried he was going to kill her.

He lowered his pack and reached inside, retrieving the red dress she had given him for safekeeping; he considered fetching her undergarments as well, but decided she didn’t need them at the moment. He also grabbed the bandages. Ziatrice laid her big halberd against a nearby tree, and with her help, he bound Abigail’s wounds. When that was done, they pulled the dress over her naked body. Abigail was able to help them by shifting as necessary so that the fabric didn’t catch on the ground.

After finishing, the night elf pressed her finger into the bulge of one of the bandages visible through the dress and exhaled with a hiss.

Ziatrice gave him an urgent glance. “It’s moist. She’s still bleeding. Badly.”

“Weyanna needs to heal her,” Malem said. “I’ll check what condition the white is in.”

“In the meantime I’ll see what I can do,” Ziatrice said. “Dark magic can heal, when the wounds are caused by related magics.”

He nodded, then headed through the trees. He was a little hesitant about leaving the injured half dragon alone with the night elf, but he reminded himself Ziatrice was bound to him. As was Abigail. If she tried anything, he’d be the first to know, and he’d clamp down his will upon hers. Besides, they’d be in sight through the trees at all times.

When he reached Weyanna, he found that Gwen and Xaxia had similarly cared for her. He could see the bulge of bandages beneath the half dragon’s clothing where they had dressed the wounds. They’d given her some of their own clothes, since hers was in Rathamias’ pack.

“Can you walk?” Malem asked Weyanna.

“If they help me to my feet, I think so,” the half dragon said. Her voice was strained, lacking all of its former sensuality. Not surprising.

“I need you to heal Abigail,” he told her.

Weyanna smiled weakly. “I can’t even heal myself.”

“Well you’re going to try,” he said. “Gwen.”

He held an arm under her shoulder, and waited for Gwen to do the same on her opposite side, and then they lifted her. They helped Weyanna through the forest, acting as her crutches.

When they neared Abigail, Weyanna said: “Let me go. I can walk on my own, I think.”

They tentatively released her, and Weyanna moved forward slowly. She almost lost her balance once, and Malem offered a hand but she waved him off. She continued until she reached Abigail, and then sat down heavily beside her.

“I treated her with my dark magic,” Ziatrice announced. “I was able to stop the bleeding, but that’s it. My magic couldn’t penetrate the green substance inside.”

“I might need some of that dark healing,” Weyanna said. “But first…”

She turned toward Abigail and held out a hand over her chest. Weyanna took a deep breath, and then ghostly threads of energy emerged from her fingers. They were the weakest healing tendrils he’d ever seen; so faint they barely showed against the backdrop of the forest.

The threads wrapped around the locations of the various bandages visible beneath the red dress, and began to seep inside, but then retreated as if stung. The magic promptly dissipated.

Weyanna slumped, lying down. “My healing magic won’t take. As soon as it touches the wounds, it recoils. The same happens when I try the magic on myself. Nor am I healing naturally.”

“What about you?” Malem asked Abigail.

“I don’t seem to be getting any better, so no,” Abigail said.

“Ziatrice, help Weyanna if you can,” he ordered. “Xaxia, stay here. Gwen, let’s go check on Thrawn and Rathamias.”

He didn’t want to tell them, but he could no longer sense Thrawn. Rathamias he felt, though the sense was weak at this distance. He suspected the orak was beyond the night elf’s telepathic link, because she didn’t update him on the creature’s status, and simply nodded absently.

As they closed, his sense of the orak became stronger, but Thrawn remained blank. He wondered if the dragon had perhaps retreated.

But he was crestfallen when he saw Thrawn, still in dragon form, sprawled before him between the trampled trees. The big creature lay motionless, with blood seeping from his open mouth. Sanguine fluid also poured from his other orifices: eyes, nostrils, ears, staining those bronze scales.

“No!” Gwen rushed to the dragon. She wrapped her arms around his head and sobbed. “He was so beautiful.”

Malem heard the rustling of foliage, and instinctively wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword. Balethorn didn’t scream for the dragon’s blood, for once—Thrawn was already dead.

He released the hilt as soon as he touched it, because his beast sense told him the rustling was Rathamias.

Sure enough, the orak mage appeared, rounding the dead dragon.

“You did this!” Gwen roared, jumping on Rathamias.

“No!” Malem said.

But she had already tackled the mage. She got in two quick punches before her body froze.

The orak slid her off, an expression of distaste on its twisted face. It stood up, brushed off its bronze armor, and retrieved its pike from the ground, which it used as a walking stick.

“The bronze was dead before hitting the ground,” Rathamias said. “I could do nothing. I’m fine by the way, thanks for asking. That big body took the brunt of the impact, cushioning my fall. I wasn’t able to sense Ziatrice, so I wasn’t sure whether you’d abandoned me. I took shelter in the stump of a small tree nearby. I’m relieved—”

“Release her,” Malem interrupted.

Rathamias shrugged, then glanced at the half gobling and tapped the end of the pike down hard.

Gwen’s stiff limbs loosened and she collapsed. She moaned as she pulled herself to her feet.

“Don’t do that again, fucker,” she told the orak.

Rathamias shrugged. “Don’t jump me again.”

“She doesn’t like oraks,” Malem explained.

“I can tell,” Rathamias said.

“Or mages,” Gwen said.

Rathamias merely smiled in defeat.

He had the orak walk ahead of himself and Gwen—he didn’t like to turn his back on any beast he didn’t have under his full control.

When he reached the others, Abigail looked up from where she and Weyanna sat propped against a tree.

“Thrawn?” she asked.

Malem shook his head.

Abigail closed her eyes, as did Weyanna beside her. The latter woman wept quietly. For someone who ate humans for lunch, she certainly cared about her fellow dragons.

Rathamias dutifully assumed its place next to Ziatrice.

“I’ve stopped Weyanna’s bleeding,” the night elf announced. “But like the silver dragon, I couldn’t touch the green matter embedded deep in her flesh.”

“We tried to cut one of darts out earlier,” Gwen said. “Before wrapping the wounds. The dagger couldn’t pry it free, and all we did was cause her pain.”

Ziatrice nodded. “I’ve heard rumors of wounds like this. I believe it is Eldritch magic.”

“You fought side by side with the Eldritch, and you don’t know?” Xaxia said.

“We may have fought in the same army, but never side by side,” Ziatrice said. “Vorgon always kept the Eldritch near him, almost like his personal guard. So I’ve never really seen what their magic can do, except from afar. Those emerald streams we saw emerging from the forest are similar to Eldritch attacks I’ve seen.”

Abigail nodded. “It has to be the Eldritch. Likely servants of Mauritania herself. She must have hidden mages in the forest to watch the skies, knowing at the very least we’d dispatch some dragons to investigate. It was a mistake to pass this way, over the Midweald.”

“This Mauritania could have hidden servants in copses and hollows outside the forest as well,” Malem said. “In fact, taking that a step further, her scouts could even be scattered throughout the region. It all depends on the resources available to her. My point is, it’s possible it wouldn’t have mattered which route we took. So don’t blame yourself.”

“It’s also possible she only scattered a few throughout the Midweald,” Xaxia said. “And those servants of hers back there just got lucky.”

“That’s more likely the case, I’m thinking,” Ziatrice said. “Mauritania didn’t have any more troops than the other member races of Vorgon’s army. Certainly not enough to haphazardly scatter mages throughout the region while still being able to lay siege to Tartan.” She paused, then: “Is it worth it to hunt them down? These Eldritch mages?”

Malem shook his head. “Better to press on, I think.”

The night elf picked up her halberd from where it lay against a tree and tossed its haft from hand to hand. “You’re afraid our landing awakened something? We are in the heart of monster territory, I suppose.”

“If we have disturbed the daytime rest of some beast, most likely it has already fallen back to sleep,” Malem said. “My bigger concern is time. Now that we’ve lost our rides, we can’t afford to delay. Not if we want to make it to Tartan before Rashan decides to withdraw his army. Also, it could take hours, if not days, to hunt down these Eldritch mages of yours. And very likely, they’ll be the ones to ambush us, rather than the other way around.”

“You didn’t pick up anything with your beast sense?” Gwen asked.

“No,” Malem told her. “Which is exactly why I’m worried.”

“Maybe you were too far from them,” Ziatrice suggested.

“It’s possible,” he said. “Though based on where the magic seemed to come from in the forest, I should have at least detected a faint imprint. No, I’m afraid if we were to hunt them down, it would have to be with ranger skills alone.” He glanced at Abigail and Weyanna. “Also, I’m not liking the hurt they inflicted on our Metals. If that magic had struck any of us non-dragons, I doubt we would have survived.”

“Thrawn was a dragon, and he didn’t survive either,” Xaxia said quietly.

“My point exactly,” Malem said.

“I would survive,” Ziatrice said haughtily.

Gwen ignored her, adding: “Doesn’t inspire confidence as to what we’ll face when we encounter Mauritania herself… not to mention the rest of her army.”

“Would it be better to turn back?” Xaxia asked.

“No,” Abigail said. “I’m not giving up.”

The bandit shook her head: “I mean so that we can heal you and Weyanna, and procure fresh rides. Of course I don’t want to give up.”

“By my reckoning, we’re halfway to Tartan’s Vale,” Malem said. “It’ll take us just as long to return to the front lines as to press forward. Once we leave behind monster territory, if we’re lucky, we should be able to find a healer in one of the towns along the way, either inside the Midweald our outside. If not a mage, then a herbalist at the very least.”

“I doubt a herbalist can heal this,” Abigail said, trying to pull herself to her feet.

He went to her and offered a hand. When the half dragon was on her feet, she took a tentative step while Malem held on to her. Then another. She flicked his hand away, and continued walking, her stride growing stronger with each step.

“I can do this,” she said.

“Good,” Malem said. “I’d hate to have to carry you.”

“Ha, I’d probably have to do it,” Gwen said.

“And I,” Ziatrice said.

The two half monsters were admittedly much stronger than him.

He slid down his pack and retrieved a small pouch of endurance herbs. He offered some to Abigail, and Weyanna as well, who was also now on her feet. They chewed the coca-laced plants, and instantly stood straighter.

“Well, that certainly helps,” Abigail said. “While I still can’t transform, at least I feel somewhat stronger. Well enough to use a little magic, I think.”

“I, as well,” Weyanna said. “Though it sucks we can’t transform. It’s like wearing a collar all over again.”

Malem had Rathamias lead the way into the forest. He drew Balethorn and followed close behind. He wanted to be ready in case his beast sense let him down and monsters surprised them. Wouldn’t be the first time.

The sword thankfully kept quiet—two Metals in human form didn’t interest it.

He instructed Abigail and Weyanna to follow, with Ziatrice behind them, and Gwen and Xaxia bringing up the rear.

“Why do I have to be the one on point?” Rathamias complained. “The first target for any monsters we might ambush…”

“Being on point is an honor,” Xaxia said.

“Ha,” Rathamias said. “I don’t think so. I feel like monster fodder.”

“Use your magic to protect yourself,” Gwen said. “Unless of course, your power is too weak.”

Rathamias glanced over his shoulder at her and narrowed his eyes. “You’ve already seen how ‘weak’ my power is.”

Gwen shrugged. “Next time I won’t bother to jump you. I’ll just shoot an arrow at you and be done with it.”

Rathamias smirked. “Good luck.”

The party continued in quiet for some time.

Abigail moaned suddenly, pressing a hand to her chest.

“You all right?” Malem asked.

“Fine,” she said. The spike of pain he felt from her energy bundle subsided.

He nodded at Abigail as he asked Ziatrice: “Is it the Eldritch magic that’s preventing them from transforming? The magic still embedded inside?”

“Most likely,” Ziatrice said.

He reached out, searching for birds or other animals he could use as scouts, but strangely this particular area of the forest seemed to lack such creatures.

“Do you hear that?” Gwen said. “There are no birds.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Malem said. “Nor other animals. This place is completely dead.”

“I don’t like it,” Weyanna said.

“Welcome to monster territory,” Ziatrice said.

“We’ve been in monster territory before,” Malem said. “There were small birds and squirrels about, at least. Not like here.”

“It depends on what monsters claim this place as their hunting ground,” the night elf told him. “If birds and small squirrels make up the majority of their diet, then what you see here isn’t entirely unexpected. Myself, I actually prefer it this way. For the peace and quiet. Birds are such… irritating things.”

They had hiked for about half an hour, judging by the glimpses of the sun Malem caught through the forest canopy, and covered maybe two miles.

And then the attack came.

8

Malem sensed them only a few moments before they attacked.

“Beasts!” he hissed. “Incoming!”

Long tentacles launched from the branches of a pine ahead, and wrapped around Rathamias.

Abigail and Weyanna dropped behind the trunks of nearby trees.

A tentacle shot out from another pine overhead, directed at him. Malem sidestepped and struck it with his sword, severing the appendage. It simply withdrew, dripping green blood—there was no scream or other indication of pain.

Rathamias was dragged upward, but the tentacles that bound the mage suddenly blackened and grew flaccid. They unfurled heavily to the ground, dropping the orak.

The mage released darts of black mist into the branches and retreated behind a nearby tree to take cover.

A huge, octopus-like creature dropped from the tree. Ten tentacles connected to a saclike body, with a long, bony beak near the bottom. Its green skin had blackened where Rathamias’ dark magic struck, but otherwise no veins spidered outward from the impact sites, defying the magic’s usual effects. That meant these creatures had some magic resistance. To get the tentacles to blacken as much as they did to release Rathamias, the black mage must have spent quite a lot of vitality. Which explained why the orak wasn’t releasing any more ghostly darts for the time being. Nor paralyzing the enemy.

Three more of the creatures dropped down from adjacent trees, blocking all access forward.

“I thought you said any nearby monsters that heard our landing would have already fallen asleep!” Gwen shouted accusingly.

“Guess I was wrong!” Malem told her.

He reached out, probing, trying to see if he could Break the creatures, but his will evaporated on touching their minds.

“Are these Eldritch?” Gwen asked.

“No!” Ziatrice replied. “Ghrips! Watch out for their poisonous ink!”

On cue, the ghrips lifted their tentacles and a greenish black mist erupted from the suckers. It flooded the immediate area, forcing Abigail and Weyanna to retreat from their covers, along with Rathamias. The ghrips struck out with their tentacles at the prey they’d flushed out.

Weyanna launched small shards of ice as she retreated. Abigail released weak fireballs. Their combined attacks were enough to ward off the tentacles that sought them.

Gwen meanwhile released her arrows, porcupining the tentacles, and the bodies of the creatures that released them.

Xaxia stepped forward to stand beside Malem as Weyanna, Abigail and Rathamias rushed behind him. The bandit swung Biter at the incoming tentacles. Ziatrice wielded Wither. And he, Balethorn. Together, they taught the ghrips that if they wanted to keep their tentacles intact, it was best not to steer them too close to the three figures wielding the very sharp pieces of metal.

“Now you know why there are no birds,” Ziatrice said. “Birds are their favorite food.”

“Could have fooled me!” Gwen said, nocking and releasing another arrow. “I thought their favorite food was human!”

Now that he had weakened them a bit, he tried Breaking one of them again. He was able to wrap his will around its mind, but the creature proved too slippery still, and he couldn’t get a firm hold.

Malem detected another ghrip, directly overhead.

“Above us!” he shouted, backing away as he glanced up.

But it was too late.

Tentacles were already falling toward them. He cut one of the longer ones aside, but more were beside it, as was the massive body that sourced them; there was no time to hew them all down, or to dodge the crushing mass that followed.

Dark chains erupted from Ziatrice, shoving aside those tentacles, and wrapping around the huge body of the ghrip before it could flatten them. She swung those ghostly chains to the right, smashing the ghrip against a tree, and its amorphous body momentarily compressed before rebounding. She released the chains and the creature dropped to the earth.

Meanwhile, Ziatrice slumped in exhaustion. Dark mist bled from her eyes. “Could use some vitality.”

He shared some of his and Gwen’s with her. He was careful not to touch Abigail, not in her current state.

A loud crunching emanating from behind: the sound of breaking wood. When he turned around, he realized that the trees were splintering and tearing apart. Huge tentacles thrust forth, connected to a ghrip that was four times as big as the others.

“That would be the bull,” Ziatrice said.

“All right, it’s time to make a tactical retrograde,” Malem said. He’d picked up some new terminology since joining the army. A tactical retrograde was a euphemism for “getting the fuck out.”

He ran to Abigail and scooped her up before she could protest. Meanwhile, Gwen carried Weyanna. The two might be able to walk on their own, but there was no way they’d be able to run, not for any length of time. Ziatrice and Rathamias followed just behind him, with Xaxia bringing up the rear.

Abigail shot weak fireballs over his shoulders as he ran, while Weyanna turned the grass to ice. Neither attacks had any real effect on the huge creature. The fireballs scorched its skin in places, true, and the icy surface caused a few of its suckers to slip up, but otherwise it continued to approach unhindered.

The smaller ghrips followed alongside the bigger. One got too close to the bull and it promptly scooped the smaller up in a tentacle and smashed it against a tree before continuing.

Malem and the others were the faster, however, as they could weave between the closer-spaced trees with ease, whereas the ghrips had to swerve around them. Plus, tentacle-based locomotion seemed far less efficient than two legs; it didn’t help that the ghrips apparently had to struggle to release their suckers from a surface after attaching to it. So even though the creatures were larger, the smaller humans could outrun them.

And so they did.

In moments, the ghrips were well behind them. The sounds of breaking wood had faded to a gentle murmur, marking the position of the bull. He could no longer sense the creatures at all.

Malem swerved to the north, hoping that the ghrips would lose the trail, and then slowed down, lowering Abigail to the ground so she could walk on her own.

“So what happened back there?” Abigail said. She moved a bit stiffly at first, but soon was walking at her previous pace, as was Weyanna. “You didn’t detect those things?”

“Not until they were almost on us. Told you my beast sense doesn’t always work.”

“Sometimes you can’t detect when the Darkness is coming, and sometimes you can’t detect monsters,” Abigail said. “Our lives depend on your abilities, and yet they’re more fickle than Weyanna’s choice in mates!”

“I’m not sure if that was meant to be an insult or a compliment,” Weyanna said.

“In your case, both,” Abigail said.

Weyanna snorted. “Bitch.” Then she promptly bowed her head. “Sorry, highness. Sometimes I forget my place.”

“What are you doing, Wey?” Abigail said. “You’re my cousin. Call me a bitch if you want.”

Weyanna looked up. She smiled sadly. “No.” She pressed against one of the bandages in her sides. “I guess I don’t really feel like your cousin, not like this. Dressed in clothes that aren’t my own, unable to transform, running away from lesser monsters in the woods. And injured unlike any Metals are supposed to be injured.”

“I hear you,” Abigail said. He felt her energy bundle flare-up with agony as she was reminded of her own pain.

Malem cocked his head. “We got two more creatures incoming. They’re big. Time for another strategic change of direction.”

He turned toward his best guess at west, as estimated by the current position of the sun above the trees.

“Two?” Gwen asked as she ran alongside him.

“They’re coming from different directions,” he said. “I don’t think they’re allied.”

He took cover behind the bole of an ancient oak, along with the rest of the party, and peered past the edge. He watched as a large ogre walked past in the distance.

It appeared similar to a hill giant, except its features were more distorted: its long nose was more a beak than anything else, and its two eyes were so close together he wondered how it could see. It was bald, had pointy ears like an elf, and had an immensely fat belly. It was completely naked, but a thick region of hair hid its privates. Purple splotches marred its pale skin in places, and big warts grew everywhere, with a particularly nasty one inside its nose, pushing out the nostril to make it appear bigger than the other.

It carried a club that had once been a tree. Most of the upper branches had been stripped away save for one, which the ogre used as the grip; the bole expanded outward toward the tip, where the root system had been broken away, leaving a series of sharp spikes that amplified the damage caused by the bludgeoning portion of the weapon.

Malem reached out to its mind, and when his will wrapped around it without evaporating, he almost giggled with glee: it was weak-minded, as he had hoped.

He squeezed his mental tendrils around its will, and the surprised creature physically stiffened. Its mind thrashed about but couldn’t break free, and he allowed his will to seep deep inside. He Broke it as easily as if it were a horse, no doubt thanks to the boost provided by the most recent addition to his coterie: Ziatrice.

As he took control, the creature’s mental presence expanded to fill his own, and took up five slots within his mind.

“All right, this one is mine,” Malem said. “I’m calling it Frank.”

Gwen erupted in a laugh. “Frank? It doesn’t look like a Frank. A Boffin, maybe.”

It was Xaxia’s turn to snicker. “Boffin kind of suits it.”

Malem directed the ogre slightly toward the group, moving it as quietly as possible. “I’m sending Frank behind a tree. I plan to ambush the other monster that’s coming.”

The ogre took up a position behind another thick tree nearby, one that was directly in the path of the second creature he sensed closing.

“You Broke that?” Rathamias said in awe. He glanced at Ziatrice. “I always thought a Breaker had to physically subdue or injure higher level monsters first.”

“Where were you when he broke the hill giant?” Gwen asked the orak.

Before Rathamias could answer the rhetorical question, Ziatrice commanded: “Silence, slave.”

The black mage immediately lowered its gaze.

“Is it just me, or is she just taking out her own anger at being a slave on her servants?” Xaxia commented.

The night elf glared at the bandit.

“She’s not a slave,” Malem said. “No more than you are.”

“Really?” Xaxia said. “But if I misbehave, you can’t drain my stamina.”

He ignored the comment. But it did hit close to home. In the first few days after he’d Broken her, Ziatrice often tried to fight his hold on her. He’d responded by draining her stamina so severely she could barely walk.

He heard the distant thud of heavy footfalls then, slowly growing in volume. Another creature lumbered into view.

This one was a little bigger than Frank. It was humanoid in shape, but had two heads, each with one large eye. It was leaner than the ogre, and wore an apron-like garment that covered its chest and waist, revealing muscular arms and legs thick as tree trunks. It didn’t carry any obvious weapons.

An ettin.

Malem reached out, but this monster was stronger willed, unfortunately, and the tendrils of his mind fell away upon contact. Though it had two heads, he was only detecting one overall mind. Perhaps it really did have two, but his beast sense interpreted them as a single will; that would explain why the creature seemed harder to Break, since overcoming two minds at once was definitely harder than one.

Frank, wait until the ettin passes by, then step behind it and hit it in the back of the head.

The ogre responded eagerly. Yes, Frank kill!

Noooo, Malem sent. Frank no kill. Frank stun.

Frank kill!

Malem sighed. No, Frank stun.

The ogre didn’t answer for a long moment. Then: Okay. Frank hit gently. Frank stun.

The huge ettin passed in front of the tree where Frank was hiding and then paused to sniff at the air.

One of the heads spoke in a booming voice that was eerily similar to Frank’s. “Smells like… ogre!”

As the last word left its lips, the ettin rounded the tree and swung its arm in a punch at Frank. The ogre, which had been waiting for the ettin to pass by the tree entirely, was taken off guard, but narrowly managed to sidestep.

Frank took only a glancing blow to the cheek, and lifted his club to make a strike in rejoinder. But the ettin was too close, and easily grabbed the bludgeoning instrument before it moved very far, and proceeded to head-butt the ogre with both of its heads.

Frank dropped the club and stepped backward drunkenly.

“Hm, your ogre isn’t doing so well,” Ziatrice commented. Like the others, she was peering past the ancient oak to watch the fight. “Need some help?”

“Not yet,” Malem said.

The ettin scooped up the dropped tree near the tapered base, and stepped forward hungrily. As it approached Frank, it flung its arm far back, poised to make a devastating strike.

“Okay, intervene,” he said. “Don’t let that club make contact.”

Ziatrice grinned. A fresh outflow of dark mist malevolently poured from her eyes.

She shot out her arm and ghostly black chains erupted from her hand. They struck the upper portion of the tree just as the ettin had started to swing it and wrapped around the bark.

The ettin tugged at the club a few times before realizing it had snagged on something, and then glanced at the tree to figure out just what that something was.

In that moment Ziatrice pulled her arm down, yanking the tree to the ground. The ettin jumped in surprise as the club jerked out of its hands.

Frank used the distraction to leap onto the ettin and toppled the monster to the ground. The ogre fell on top and used its weight to pin the bigger creature. Then it began unleashing a flurry of punches, each fist hitting a different head.

The ettin swung left and right, hitting the ogre in the ribs—agony flowed in spurts from the energy bundle representing Frank in Malem’s head, and he thought that the ogre’s ribs were breaking, or at least cracking—but Frank ignored the pain and simply continued punching. The ogre was busting up the heads quite nicely. One had so many bruises it started to turn pulpy.

Malem wrapped his will around the ettin and was pleased to see that he could now touch the weakened monster’s mind.

That’s enough, Frank.

The ogre continued to punch.

Enough!

Finally the ogre stopped. Frank gave one of the heads another punch for good measure, and then stood up. The ogre also gave the ettin a kick to the ribs, and Malem was about to issue another stern rebuke when Frank promptly turned away to retrieve its bludgeoning weapon.

“Steal Frank’s club, will you?” the ogre muttered. “That’s what you get!”

Malem was ready to drain Frank’s stamina if the ogre tried to hit the ettin with that club, but Frank seemed to have lost interest and began meandering through the woods.

Malem wrapped his will around the ettin’s mind and the monster offered little resistance. In seconds he had secured the ettin into five mind slots, right next to the ogre.

He granted the creature stamina, taking it from Frank, and the ettin stood up.

“Weyanna, see if you can help Eddy there with his head injuries,” Malem said.

“Eddy?” Xaxia said. “Your names get worse all the time.”

“I’m not really in any condition to attempt healing, but I’ll try.” Weyanna struggled to her feet, and then made her way toward the ettin.

Gwen offered her a shoulder as a crutch, but the half dragon turned it down.

Weyanna’s form-fitting white dress was starting to show signs of wear: dirty splotches covered the butt region, and there were fresh tears in the hem.

“See?” Xaxia commented. “This is why I don’t wear white.”

The bandages underneath the torso area also gave Weyanna’s dress a lumpy and malformed appearance. Still, somehow she made it look good.

Weyanna reached the ettin. “Lie down, please.”

Eddy, lie down.

The ettin complied. Weyanna held out a hand, and barely visible streams of white mist flowed from her fingers and onto the ettin’s two heads. That mist knit the different wounds, closing up the gashes caused by the ogre, and in moments the bleeding stopped. When the mist receded, the blood was still there, sitting on the surface of the skin, but the wounds were healed, as far as Malem could tell.

Weyanna sagged.

He promptly drained stamina from himself, Gwen, and Frank, intending to give it to Weyanna, but realized too late that he hadn’t broken her.

Whoops.

He restored the stamina.

Gwen glanced at him. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” He turned toward the southeast. “Now, let’s see if we can find those ghrips.”

“You’re not thinking…” Gwen said.

He bared his teeth in a grin. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

9

Malem had Eddy tear away a suitable tree so that the ettin had a suitable club like Frank, and then he had the pair take the lead. The party headed southeast again, and followed the trail of broken trees until they came upon the ghrips, which were resting in a nest surrounded by the skeletons of animals and monsters. They had freshly gorged themselves on spiders, from the looks of all the hairy, spindly legs lying about. There were five in total, including the bull.

He sent Eddy and Frank in to pummel the bull. The big creature was caught by surprise, and was unable to mount a defense other than a weak emission of that poisonous ink before it was knocked senseless. He had Eddy and Frank retreat as the smaller ghrips closed to protect the bull, and the two monsters escaped the poisonous gas.

The closest ghrip pursued the monsters; it launched its tentacles, but Rathamias managed to paralyze the creature with dark magic before the appendages struck.

Malem was able to wrap his will around the bull and squeezed tightly. The creature writhed in his grasp with surprising energy, however. He wasn’t able to fully secure it—the creature wasn’t as stunned as he thought. The monsters would need to do more damage.

Throw your trees at the bull, he ordered Eddy and Frank. Like spears.

The two monsters complied, and a moment later the trees bounced away from the big octopus-shaped creature, leaving behind two gaping wounds.

That did it. He tightened his will around the creature and secured it to six slots in his mind. He gave the bull stamina from himself, the ogre and the ettin, and instructed the creature to attack its brethren.

The bull wrapped its tentacles around two of the smaller ghrips that were heading toward Eddy and Frank, and promptly crushed them to death. It bashed a third into a tree, and leaped onto the fourth, pressing its beak into the soft saclike body, tearing it open down the middle.

Malem wrapped his mind around the smaller ghrip that just struck a tree, and was able to secure the weakened creature’s will, which took up three slots. He promptly instructed the bull to stand down.

With these two firmly under this belt, he now only had one slot free. Enough to secure a low-level animal at some point, if he needed to.

“Nicely done,” Xaxia said. “We’re well on our way to building our monster army.”

The night elf laughed. “An ettin, an ogre, and two ghrips. I’d hardly call that an army.”

“But it is a good start, you have you admit.”

Ziatrice pursed her lips. “True.”

“Do you want to hear the names I’ve come up with for the latest additions to our team?” Malem asked.

“Probably not,” the bandit told him.

“Tweedle dee and tweedle dum?” Ziatrice said.

“What?” Gwen turned toward her. “A joke. You told an actual joke. That’s… surprising. We’re rubbing off on you, night elf.”

“I was always the funny one among my people,” Ziatrice said.

“I’ll bet!” Xaxia quipped.

Abigail was leaning against a tree, holding her side. Pain flared from her energy bundle. He went to her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“The pain comes and goes,” she said. “I just need a moment.”

He sensed the agony leaving her, and on cue she straightened. “Okay. I’m good.”

“All right, we continue to the east,” Malem announced. He checked the sky, and noted the latest position of the sun as compared to when he had checked a few minutes ago. With that to determine his direction, he turned east.

He beckoned toward the bull and the smaller ghrip. “Oh and, everyone, meet Hansel and Gretel.”

Xaxia moaned.

“I believe I’m missing the joke…” Ziatrice said.

“They’re a pair of traveling jesters,” Xaxia said. “They move from kingdom to kingdom, performing for whoever will pay.”

“Which one is Hansel and which one is Gretel?” Gwen asked.

“The bull is Hansel, and the smaller one is Gretel,” Malem replied.

“Figures that you’d give the larger one a man’s name,” Xaxia said. “You keep calling it a bull, but for all you know it could be the female, and the male the smaller one. You know that female black widow’s are ten times as big as the males, right?”

“Sort of like me?” Weyanna asked.

“If ever there was an insect to describe you, it would be the black widow,” Abigail agreed.

“Thanks,” Weyanna said.

“Actually, you’re both wrong,” Ziatrice said. “Ghrips are sexless. They reproduce by budding.”

Malem reached out with his senses as they continued eastward. Eventually he sensed birds again, indicating that they’d left behind ghrip territory, and he broke an eagle to act as his scout.

He sent the bird of prey ranging high into the sky and got a good estimate of how long the journey would be, based on the distance that the ocean of green carpeted the land below him.

“It should take us two days to leave monster territory and reach the eastern outskirts of the Midweald,” he said. “The closest settlement is Greentree, by my reckoning. About forty miles south of Redbridge.”

They continued in silence, with the monsters in the lead. The ghrips followed Eddy and Frank, with Rathamias trailing behind them. The bull made an effort to avoid the trees, but it was still too big not to break most of the upper branches, and as such the continual sound of cracking wood accompanied its advance, and echoed throughout the forest.

“You think that racket is going to draw monsters?” Abigail asked him.

“Maybe,” he said. “But it could also scare them away. Especially if they’ve ever heard it before, and know what produces it. Either way, we’ll stop when it gets dark, just to be on the safe side.” Night was when the monsters of the Midweald were the most active: their prime hunting hours.

Rathamias slowed down slightly. “What a merry band we make. A princess, a queen, a Breaker, a bandit, a gobling, a white dragon, and an orak. And I’m not even counting the bigger monsters.”

Ziatrice gave the orak mage a warning look, and Rathamias promptly increased its pace to return to its former distance ahead of them.

“Let it talk,” Xaxia said. “I’m curious what the creature has to say.”

“I’m not,” Gwen said. “It’s all I can do to prevent myself from riddling its body with arrows.”

“Why do you hate oraks so much?” Ziatrice asked her.

“Oraks murdered the villagers who adopted me,” Gwen told her. “They murdered my family.”

The night elf nodded slowly. “Oraks murdered my family, too, but I welcomed their arrival.”

“What?” Gwen said. “How could anyone welcome that?”

“Oh, I had the oraks slain, of course,” Ziatrice said. “But you see, they helped clear my path to the throne. So when they came, I made sure the palace gates were wide open to them.”

“Ah, I should have figured as much, from you,” Gwen told her.

The night elf shrugged. “I’d rather the oraks did it, than me. I’m not a big fan of poison or daggers in the dark. Of course, I used both to eliminate any other competition that arose along the way.”

“Why is power so important to you?” Abigail asked. “I’m happy in my current place. I’ll never rule my people. When my father abdicates, Jayden will take his place. I’m content to remain on the sidelines.”

“That’s because you lack the ambition,” Ziatrice said. “The throne is not for everyone, certainly.” She glanced at Malem. “But some people are certainly more suited to it than others.”

Abigail noticed the glance. “Why did you look at him when you said that?”

“No reason,” Ziatrice said with a shrug.

Abigail gave her—and Malem—one last suspicious look, then turned away.

She could be a problem, going forward, Ziatrice sent.

How so?

Ziatrice gave him a firm look. She could get in the way of our taking power.

He was unable to hold back a laugh; both Abigail and Gwen looked at him.

“What’s so funny?” Gwen said.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just thinking about our situation.”

“Nothing funny about that…” Abigail commented.

I have no desire to take power, he sent Ziatrice. If Vorgon ever falls, I won’t take his place.

We’ll see, she told him. Think about it, if we’re successful in this mission, and you Break Mauritania, you will have the power of a Balor itself. Perhaps you’ll even be able to Break Vorgon. Can you imagine that, having the Balor at your beck and call? There’s no reason why you couldn’t take the world after that. All the monsters of the underworld would be yours. Kings would tremble before your advance. They would throw their kingdoms beneath your feet without even a fight.

All of that was indeed strangely tempting. But he quickly banished the idea.

That goes against everything I believe in, he told her.

Does it? She smirked. I don’t think so. Look deep inside yourself. You know you want this. I can feel the power lust inside of you whenever I broach the topic. You want this.

He purposely cleared his mind, not wanting to give Ziatrice any more ideas. He was ready to block any further words she might speak into his mind, but thankfully she decided to keep her thoughts to herself for the moment.

Weyanna quickly grew weary. Healing the ettin had been more of a drain on her than he had thought. Then again, Abigail, too, was flagging. Their Eldritch wounds were acting up.

He granted Abigail some stamina, and that helped, but he couldn’t do the same for Weyanna. So instead, he had her ride Frank’s shoulders. He decided that Abigail should ride Eddy, meanwhile.

Both were too tired to protest, and seemed relieved when they no longer had to walk. Weyanna leaned against Frank’s neck, while Abigail, perched on Eddy’s shoulder, wrapped her arms around the closest head.

“Pretty lady,” Frank told Weyanna softly after she had taken her place, which elicited a weak grin from the woman.

No other attacks came for the rest of that day, and Malem had the group make camp when the sun began to set. Weyanna and Abigail slid off the backs of their rides, and he ordered the monsters to form a defensive perimeter around the camp. They would sleep in shifts of two, with Eddy and Frank handling the first part of the night, Hansel and Gretel the latter.

“I don’t trust monsters alone on watch,” Xaxia said. “I’ll have to join the first watch, I’m afraid.”

“And I’ll relieve you when the ghrips take over,” Gwen said.

Malem nodded. “Probably safest that way. If either of you find yourselves growing too weary, wake either myself or Ziatrice, and we’ll take over.”

“Don’t think I want to wake the night elf,” Xaxia said. “I don’t trust her not to slit me open in the night with that halberd of hers.”

Ziatrice grinned, baring those sharp teeth of hers. “Oh, I wouldn’t slit you open, my dear. If I wanted you dead, I’d simply tear out your throat.”

“See?” the bandit told him.

“Now, now, Ziatrice, be nice,” he said.

Ziatrice shrugged. “I am playing nice. She’s the one who provoked me.”

Malem slid down his pack to retrieve the rations he carried. He’d packed them in the odd chance the journey took longer than a few hours. Good thing, too; though in truth he’d expected the delay to come when they reached Tartan’s vale, not here, somewhere inside the Midweald, so far from their destination.

He ate the salted hare standing up, and Xaxia joined him, chewing on a similar piece of cured meat.

“They’re a bit different than the pets you had with you last time we were here,” Xaxia commented, nodding toward the ghrips.

“Just a bit,” he agreed.

“Do you know what happened to them?” the bandit pressed.

He glanced at her. “Who, Felipe and Bounder?” When she nodded, he told her: “They’re doing well. Back on the front lines, one of the Metal couriers always gave me an update whenever he arrived from the dragon city. They’ve been behaving well, for the most part, though they still occasionally sneak out of their stalls. Felipe does it to eat the sugar cube treats meant for the horses, while Bounder breaks out after dark to take care of the keep’s spider infestation.”

“Nice,” Xaxia said. “They take after their master.”

“They certainly do,” he agreed.

“I’m cold,” Weyanna said. She huddled against a tree with Abigail.

“We both are,” Abigail said, shivering.

“Well, we can’t light a fire,” Malem said. “That will attract the monsters. Here.”

He finished his meat and reached into his pack to retrieve the spare outfits he’d brought along. There were some extra dresses for Abigail, along with his own spare clothes. He laid the dresses over the two of them like blankets, and piled his clothes on top.

“That’s a little better,” Weyanna said.

“Are you two well enough to sleep?” he asked.

“He means are you going to last the night,” Ziatrice answered for them, rather coldly.

Weyanna swallowed nervously.

“I think so,” Abigail said. She glanced at her cousin. “You?”

Weyanna nodded.

“I’m going to sleep next to you both,” he said, sitting down on the ground in front of them. He hadn’t packed a sleeping bag, firstly because he was used to sleeping on the hard ground, and secondly because the journey to Tartan’s vale wasn’t supposed to take more than half a day.

Gwen, Xaxia, and Ziatrice alike seemed disappointed in his choice of sleeping location—he had the impression they didn’t approve of his proximity to the half dragons—but none of them commented. They found spots for themselves, produced their sleeping bags, and settled in.

Rathamias sat down next to the two ghrips to keep watch, at least for a while.

Malem ordered his eagle to roost for the night, and the bird perched on a nearby branch before falling asleep.

Weyanna exhaled heavily. She glanced at Abigail, and said, softly enough for her ears and Malem’s alone: “We’re going to die out here, aren’t we?”

“No,” Abigail said. “We’ll make it to the healers.”

“What if the healers can’t heal this?” the white dragon said. “What if… what if this is it?”

Abigail shook her head. “I refuse to believe that. We can’t have come all this way, lived all these years, only to die here in this forest. Such an ignoble end. Alone. Surrounded by monsters.”

“But maybe suiting,” Weyanna said. “Perhaps I deserve as much, for how I’ve treated the humans.”

“You seek redemption?” Abigail said. “Is that why you volunteered?”

Volunteered? Malem hadn’t known that.

“Maybe,” Weyanna said.

“And here I thought you did it because you wanted a chance to get with the Breaker,” Abigail said.

Weyanna laughed softly. “Actually, I kind of did.”

“Shh, he’s listening you know,” Abigail said, laughing softly.

Weyanna shrugged. “Let him listen. When I first saw the two of you together, it was obvious to me he was your man. Though you share him, apparently.” Abigail opened her mouth to interject something in response, but Weyanna talked over her. “I thought: I want what she has. I want him to be my man. And I won’t share him. The whole time we were flying here, before we were shot down, I was trying to figure out a way to take him from you and the others. I figured I’d probably have to eat them, and maybe you, too.”

“You’re joking?” Abigail said.

Weyanna laughed. “Yeah. I didn’t plan on eating any of you. Okay, maybe the night elf, but that’s it.”

Abigail shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

Weyanna suddenly became serious, and sighed. “When the king asked which of us wanted to go with you, of course I was going to shoot up my hand. I’ve always wanted to be you. And now, to have the chance to travel with you? I had to volunteer. Even if I couldn’t get your man, the experience alone, traveling at your side, would be worth it.”

“You wanted to be me?” Abigail said, sounding astonished. “Whatever for?”

“You don’t understand what it was like growing up in the keep,” Weyanna said. “Not for a distant member of the royal family. You had a privileged upbringing. Mine was… ordinary. Worse, I had the curse of being born in the same month and year as you.”

“But why is that a curse?” Abigail said.

Weyanna chuckled sadly. “Because I felt like I was in your shadow my whole life. You were the princess, and I the distant cousin. You got all the attention I wanted so badly. You got all the most expensive jewelry and clothes, whereas I had to settle for imitations and hand-me-downs. All the young boys fawned over you, but me, they never paid me any attention. To them, I was always ugly, at least compared to you. Princess Abigail. That’s all the other boys could talk about. And not just the boys, but the girls, too. The girls… they were the worst. Always wondering what exquisite clothing you’d wear in class. Wondering which of the cutest boys you had a crush on. It was all about you. It’s why I stopped socializing with my age group entirely, and sought solace in my own company.”

Malem suddenly understood why she sought out men to toy with: for the validation and attention she never received as a child. That didn’t justify eating them after, of course, but it did explain things, a little bit.

“As soon as I was of age,” Weyanna continued. “I went seeking in the mountains around Ademan, looking to make my fortune. I hoped to find some long lost treasure hoard.” She glanced at Malem, acknowledging for the first time that he was listening. “You see, two hundred years ago, the war against The Elk King forced the Metals to abandon their dens for the safety of the keep that would become our great city, Khaledonius.

“Because there wasn’t time to haul all of their treasures to the keep, nor any assurances that the mountain, and thus their belongings, wouldn’t fall into the hands of The Elk King, many Metals elected to bury the openings to their caves. They intended to return for their treasures when the war ended of course, but some died in the fighting, taking the location of their hoards with them to the grave.

“I found nothing when I searched those mountains. I spent almost a year out there, living on mountain goats, but discovered not a single cave. So I gave up, and flew to the boundaries of our territory, where holding my dragon form proved impossible, and then spent many years among men.

“I found out I wasn’t as ugly as I thought. I used my beauty and cunning to part many men from their wealth, and I returned to our realm a rich woman. It was while traveling among the humans that I developed my current attitudes toward them. Especially the male members of the species. Let’s just say, I feel no regret whatsoever when I eat them.

“So, as I was saying, I returned to Khaledonius a rich woman. But I still wasn’t happy. All the coins, jewelry, and beautiful clothes I had acquired paled in comparison to everything you had, Princess. The loving family. The seemingly limitless treasure hoard.” She shook her head. “I knew I could never be you. I was… I felt I had wasted my entire life. Here was I, wreathed in wealth, perhaps ill-gotten, but wealth nonetheless. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. The boys and girls that fawned over you as children had grown into men and women, and they still fawned over you. I hated you for the longest time.

“When your father sent you away to serve as advisor to King Goldenthall, I thought my turn to shine had finally come. But the court still talked about you. Despite all my wealth, despite the fact you weren’t even here, I was still in your shadow!

“So I decided the only solution was to do away with you. I made my way to Tartan, and found employment as an intern under the castle cook. Once more using my womanly wiles, I discovered where you and your protector, Sir Matthew, slept. I drugged Sir Matthew, slipping a certain concoction into the drink he ordered nightly from the kitchens, and he was sound asleep when I broke into your quarters. I snuck past him to your room, dagger in hand, but I paused at your door when I heard something unexpected. Crying. The great princess Abigail was weeping in the dark of her quarters.

“That’s when I stopped hating you. I realized you were a victim of circumstance just like me. That your perfect life was merely a facade, that inside you were hurting, maybe even more so than I was. So I left Tartan and Malhadden behind and did my best to forget about you. For a time, I even found some happiness. If only fleeting.”

“So that’s who broke into my quarters that night and drugged Sir Matthew,” Abigail said. “I always wondered…”

“Yes,” Weyanna said. “I figured, since we’re both dying, now’s as good a time as any for a confession, right? Neither of us might be here tomorrow.”

Abigail laid a reassuring hand on Weyanna’s knee. “We’ll be here. I know we will.”

“I hope so,” Weyanna said. “I’ve never been so frightened as I am now. I always thought we dragons were immortal. But we’re not, are we? We can die in battle. Or we can die from poisons, like this Eldritch magic.”

“You know how I know you won’t die?” Abigail asked.

Weyanna tilted her head uncertainly. “How?”

The princess smiled. “Because, you haven’t had a chance at redemption.”

Weyanna sighed, her eyes sparkling with moisture in the dim light. “If only the world worked that way. Life, and death, wait for no one. There’s no escape. If tonight is my time, it won’t matter if I haven’t been redeemed. But let’s say that was true. That death would wait for me to find this fabled redemption. What’s stopping death from taking you, then?”

Abigail didn’t have anything to say to that.

Quietude settled on the camp, and as the darkness came, Malem found troubled sleep.

10

Malem stood on a chewed up cobblestone street, surrounded by houses that had collapsed. Fires raged around him, casting everything in a surreal orange hue, and the night sky was starless, consumed by black smoke.

There was a commotion of some sort outside the city walls beyond those buildings. Flames fanned into the air, and huge shards of ice rained down from the sky, striking something he couldn’t see from this angle. But whatever they were impacting, it was certainly sending up quite the plume of smoke.

Malem approached.

He reached the wall, and stepped through a ragged crater that had been blasted into the stone.

A mage in a rippling blue and white robe stood before him, wielding a staff of pure ice. In the night beyond towered the dark, terrifying form of a Balor, its black silhouette outlined by blue flames. The demon carried a giant, fiery sword.

The mage swung his ice staff to the left, and the rain of shards changed angles, coming at the Balor from the side. The small fragments struck the creature but bounced away, their tips blunted and melted; they gathered into profuse piles on the ground surrounding the Balor.

The mage lowered his staff, and the ice rain ceased.

“Is that the best you can offer?” the Balor said.

The beast swung its fiery sword.

The instant before it struck the mage, a half-dome of ice enveloped him; the dome shattered when the sword impacted, but the deadly blade was repelled.

“Go back to the Black Realm!” the mage shouted.

He lifted his staff once more. The shards of ice piled around the Balor began to swirl, rising from the earth to form a maelstrom. The mage thrust the staff forward, sending the swirling mass grinding against the target.

But upon impact with the demon, all of the ice particles shattered like glass. Most of the pieces melted before hitting the ground.

The Balor laughed. It was a hideous, terrible screech of a laugh, deep-throated and booming. “You fool! I can never return. This is my realm now. I shall recast this land into a world of my making. Humanity, a blight upon the earth, will be no more.”

Ghostly hands of darkness, much like those that had chased Malem his entire life, emerged from the core of the Balor, and billowed toward the mage at a terrifying speed. A concave shield of ice formed in front of him, and the blackness struck it—the ice turned black and melted away. But the Darkness had been stopped. The dark drops of liquid seeped away into the ground.

“You would replace us with oraks, and other beasts from the underworld?” Those words were meant to distract, Malem thought, because the mage was drawing a strange symbol on the ground with his staff as he spoke.

But apparently the demon was sick of talk, because it slammed its fiery sword down once again.

The mage was forced to interrupt the pattern he was creating on the ground, and raised his staff to create another dome of ice. It shattered once again when the sword struck.

This time the Balor brought the sword down again immediately on the rebound, but the mage created another ice dome. The demon struck again, and again, but always the mage countered.

Finally the Balor ceased the attack. “You will grow weary.”

“So will you,” the mage said between gritted teeth.

“Play with my minions for a while.”

Several eddies of black mist emerged from the Balor and twisted together to form a dark portal beside it. Wind gusted from the opening, howling madly.

But apparently the mage was waiting for this moment, because he shifted, bending his legs to put more weight on his front foot so that he wasn’t bowled over by the intensity of it and then rapidly finished drawing the pattern into the earth. He slammed the staff into its center.

All of a sudden the wind emanating from the portal shifted directions, becoming a powerful suction. Once again the mage shifted positions, this time emphasizing the back foot.

The Balor, closer to the portal, couldn’t resist the pull. Its body began to distort, with one side compressing and stretching toward the opening to the Black Realm.

Suddenly the demon began to laugh.

The Darkness thrust out from the Balor once more. The mage thought it was meant for him, so he raised that concave shield of ice once more.

But the Darkness weaved past him and headed into the broken city behind him instead. Meanwhile, the Balor continued to be sucked into the portal. Its body was about half its former size, and continuing to distort.

“What are you doing?” the mage said. He glanced over his shoulder in fright, perhaps worried the Darkness would turn back and strike him from behind. But instead, it formed a long, dark thread connecting the demon to some hidden target inside the city walls.

“You have banished me to my realm,” the Balor said. “But I have won. You thought your mental defenses were perfect, but I found a backdoor. I’ve been sifting through your mind all this time, you see, and I’ve found your infant son. Yes, I see the sudden terror filling your face. You are right to feel this way, because I’m touching your only child as we speak. Marking him with the last of my power.”

“No!” The mage swung his staff down at that cord of ghostly Darkness, but its constituent parts simply swerved around it. He created a sphere next, and again the Darkness circumnavigated it. Finally, the mage threw himself bodily into that cord, attempting to cut it with his own physical presence. “Take me!”

“Oh I shall,” the Balor said. “But your son is still doomed.”

The Darkness flowed around his body as it did with the previous interruptions, and became a single uninterrupted cord behind him. But where the evil touched the mage, the blue and white robe blackened; black veins emanated outward from the blackness, crawling up the surface of those robes. And judging from the agony twisting the man’s face, those veins were also penetrating his body.

“One day when my strength has returned,” the Balor continued. “I will reach out from the Black Realm and retrieve my prize, bringing your son down to the dark depths. Until that day, he will live a painful, meager existence, scraping by without a father.”

The mage stepped out of the Darkness and clutched at the black smear on his chest before dropping to one knee. The ice staff fell from his hands.

The pull from the portal began to weaken. The Balor suddenly cackled once more, so loud that the surrounding walls shook. Its body began to physically reform as it stepped back into this realm.

“And so I win in the end anyway,” the Balor said. “Maybe I’ll take your son now, instead of waiting.”

That caused something to flip inside of the mage. When he looked up, his eyes were filled with raw anger and hatred. He clenched his fists, and swept both hands forward, causing a roaring snowstorm to materialize before him. That snowstorm enveloped the still weak Balor, and shoved the demon toward the portal once more.

“No one… threatens… my son,” the mage said.

The Balor shrunk rapidly as it touched the portal, and in moments its body was no more. The black portal closed, and mage lowered his arms and the snowstorm ended. The flakes dropped to the ground, forming a small white pile where the portal had been.

The mage collapsed. The dark veins were still spreading across his robes, and had reached his neck. They spidered across his bare skin and toward his face.

A man emerged from the shadows of the city wall and rushed forward. Malem recognized him as his uncle.

His uncle ran to the collapsed mage and held him in his arms.

“Nailcrom!” his uncle said. Tears streamed down his face.

“Peter,” the mage said weakly. The black veins had reached his lips. “My brother. Protect my son. Protect him from… the coming Darkness.”

“I will,” his uncle said. “I swear it.”

“Thank you.” Nailcrom smiled in relief, through the black veins that covered his lips.

The dark taint reached his eyes, and Nailcrom, the legendary ice mage who defeated Banvil, breathed no more.

* * *

Malem blinked, staring into the dark canopy of the forest above him. He was steeped in sweat, thanks to the nightmare.

Darkness. Always the Darkness awaits me.

Abigail’s voice came in his head. Are you all right?

He was relieved to sense her. Her energy bundle didn’t seem any worse than when he had gone to sleep. That was good.

He smiled in the dark. It’s nice to hear your mental voice. How’s Weyanna?

She’s still breathing. No worse than earlier. So there’s that.

Ziatrice and Gwen were both pressing into his thoughts, trying to conference in. He allowed them.

Did you have a nightmare or something? Gwen asked.

Yes, Ziatrice chimed in. I could sense the rising terror in you. It woke me up. I thought we might be under attack at first.

He sighed. Can’t hide anything from you three, can I? I dreamt of my father, when he took a stand against Banvil, outside Magenta. It’s not something I’ve ever witnessed, so I’m sure my mind made it up, based on the bits and pieces I learned about the incident in later years, and from what my uncle revealed. But still, it was one of the most vivid things… it literally felt like I was there, watching him die. I’m still in a bit of a daze…

Aww, you poor thing, Ziatrice broadcast. You just need to calm down, and forget. Nothing a quick roll in the hay can’t fix.

You would offer yourself to him like that, Abigail sent.

I’m kidding, Ziatrice told her. Or am I?

I could use a dose of pleasure right about now, given the negative vibes he’s sending out, Gwen commented.

Malem did his best to send out positive vibes. Better?

Somewhat, Gwen told him.

So how about it? Ziatrice said. Which of us do you want to get with?

I’m out, Abigail sent. That said, if either of you want to ‘roll in the hay,’ as it were, I wouldn’t complain.

Not tonight, Malem said. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. We all need to rest. No distractions. Besides, if we have sex here in the forest, your screams of rapture will attract monsters from miles around.

I’ll be very quiet, Ziatrice said.

Thanks, but no, he sent. Get some rest.

He could feel the night elf pouting via her energy bundle.

Well, I’m on watch soon, g’night y’all, Gwen said.

Malem disconnected the three of them so that he could have some quietude, and then shut his eyes. Sleep was a long time coming. But when it finally arrived, at least no further nightmares came with it.

11

Malem woke up refreshed with the dawn. Monsters hadn’t attacked. Gwen reported that she heard something roaming near the perimeter, but otherwise no assaults came.

She brought him to where she heard the sounds. “There’s some broken branches, but otherwise nothing else to indicate what it was. Could have been a bear, for all I know.”

“Maybe,” Malem agreed. “Or perhaps it was a scout.”

“A scout?”

“Many monsters hunt in packs,” he said. “Sometimes when the pickings are slim, they’ll send out scouts to search the surrounding forest. Oftentimes those scouts will travel many miles before they find any suitable prey, and when they do, they usually return for the rest of the pack, especially if they know they won’t be able to handle the prey in question on their own.”

“How do you know so much about monsters?” Gwen asked him. “I thought you could only Break animals until you met me.”

“Yes.” He glanced at the others nearby and lowered his voice for Gwen alone. “But a long time ago I came here to these monster-infested woods to die. The Darkness brought me to the brink, and I could endure it no further. So I decided rather than giving myself to the Balor, I would make a noble end of myself here, fighting his minions to the death. I came in the night and lit a fire to act as a beacon, summoning monsters from miles around.

“As I watched those flames burning, with sword in hand, waiting for the death I thought would certainly come, I imagined what it would be like to be inside those flames, and to feel my own flesh burning. Everything that I was, my vigorous flesh and bones, my strong heart and lungs, all otherwise perfectly healthy, seared away in a few minutes of agony—though it would seem an eternity to me, no doubt—until I could feel no more, nor see, nor hear, and I was left to my own thoughts, until they too subsided as my mind inevitably basted inside the kiln of my skull.

“I realized that throwing myself into those flames was little different from what I was doing by summoning those monsters. It was not noble, not in any way. I had made a grave mistake. So when the crunch of footsteps filled the air, and the forest came alive with hoots and howls, I hid rather than face them. I spent that entire night, and the following day, running from them. Evading. Just as I had always run from the Darkness. Running, ever running. What I was good at. I learned quite a bit about the monsters of this place then. And that is how I know many of them hunt in packs.” He couldn’t help the accusatory tone that slipped into his voice next; “It would have been better if you had killed whatever it was you heard prowling along the perimeter last night.”

“I’m sorry,” Gwen said. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course, you couldn’t have,” he said, immediately regretting his tone. “It probably wasn’t a scout. We’ll probably be fine.”

“And if not?” she asked.

He smiled gloomily and gestured toward the other women and monsters. “We have a small army to protect us.”

They broke fast on the rations he had packed. He missed having Felipe and Bounder with him to hunt for fresh food, but Gwen and her magic bow, Wasp, were probably just as good. Unfortunately, they didn’t have time to dally for food, not while they were in the heart of monster territory, where they were just as likely to serve as the food themselves. No, salted meat would have to do.

The small portions weren’t enough for the monsters, so he took them and Rathamias out for a short walk into the woods. He reached out with his beast sense, and shortly picked up a nest of bog spiders. He instructed the four creatures to invade that nest, and went back to camp to wait for them. He was surprised when Rathamias joined them—apparently the orak mage had a particular liking for spider meat.

The monsters returned with spider hairs lodged between their teeth, or in the case of the ghrips, beaks. The bull, Hansel, wasn’t sated in the least, and its stomach growled audibly, but Malem planned to send the creature out to attack any more beasts or smaller monsters he detected along the way. That was also a plus side to any attack: he’d keep the monsters well fed.

The party set out shortly thereafter. Malem had Abigail and Weyanna ride Eddy and Frank as before, with the ghrips leading the way, leaving a trail of trampled branches in their wake. Hansel knocked over a tree one time, and Malem cringed as the loud sound of cracking wood echoed throughout the woods.

Can you try to avoid the trees? he sent the creature.

Grupppuurran.

Despite the fact the creature had a strong will, that didn’t mean it was very intelligent. Then again, some creatures of the animal kingdom had to be guided by images, rather than words. The same might be true of these entities.

So he concentrated, creating an image of the forest in his mind, and tried to represent it from the point of view of the ghrip. Then he had the forest advance, as if the bull were walking, and had the trees swerve around it, hoping Hansel would understand what he was trying to convey.

Sure enough, the bull steered around all trees in its paths going forward.

Maybe not so dumb, then.

There was enough room between the trees for the eagle to fly. He named it Garibaldi, and it weaved between the trees, staying underneath the branches as it scouted ahead. Malem kept an eye on the surrounding trees as he walked, wary of potential ambush, not trusting his beast sense to warn him in time. He also occasionally glanced at the branches above, remembering that the smaller ghrips liked to lurk in the boughs.

Malem picked up a bear and moose about an hour in, and sent the monsters for another meal. He had to release the smaller ghrip, Gretel, and Break the two animals so that they wouldn’t flee. Before doing so he ordered Gretel well away from the main party, as well as the other monsters—Abigail and Weyanna still rode atop the ettin and ogre. He re-Broke the ghrip immediately after the animals went down, and set it to dine on whatever was left.

The monsters rejoined them with fresh blood on their mouths and beaks.

“Please, next time let us dismount, first,” Abigail said. “That was disgusting. They tore the animals apart among themselves, spraying blood everywhere.”

Ziatrice shrugged. “It’s no different than how you dragons feed.”

“Oh, please,” Abigail said. “At least we cook our food.”

They had traveled for maybe another hour east when Malem picked up creatures on his beast sense, fast closing ahead.

“Stop, everyone,” he said, raising a hand. He instructed his monsters to halt as well. “I’m picking up a pack of monsters, due east. They’re mostly smaller variants… maybe oraks. But there’s also something bigger and more powerful in their midst. I can’t tell what it is, but it’s a higher level creature for sure.”

“A random occurrence?” Xaxia said. “Or are they hunting us?”

“The latter, I’m thinking,” Ziatrice said.

“I’d tend to agree.” Malem glanced at the half gobling. “Gwen heard something prowling the perimeters of our camp last night. It could have been a scout from this group.”

“They’re coming straight for us?” Abigail asked. “On an intercept course?”

“They are,” he said.

Abigail rubbed her chin in thought. “The scout wouldn’t have had any problems figuring out our direction, thanks to the trail of broken branches left by the ghrips.”

“I’m starting to wonder if it was a mistake to Break them,” he said. “Then again, there are monsters with tracking abilities that would put most rangers to shame.” He glanced at the ettin and the ogre. “Eddy, Frank, kneel. Let the women off.”

The two obeyed, and Abigail and Weyanna lowered themselves. Weyanna was a bit wobbly on her feet and nearly collapsed when she touched the ground; Malem caught her.

“Thanks,” Weyanna said, straightening. Her face was almost directly in front of his. Close enough to kiss. She stared with longing into his eyes. For a brief moment he forgot about everything else. The forest fell away, and only he and this beautiful woman existed in that microcosm of time.

But it was gone, all too soon.

“Nice feint,” Ziatrice said. “Pretending you’re weak so you can get him to hold you. You’re so transparent, we can see right through you.”

Weyanna quickly looked away, as did Malem. He considered defending the half dragon, but the way he saw it, that would only piss off Ziatrice further.

He instructed Garibaldi to alight upon an upper branch of a tree in the path of the incoming beasts. “We’re going to march out of the way and hunker down. It’s time to see who’s hunting us.”

He led the party three hundred yards to the south, and then the humans took cover behind the different trees. Rathamias obediently crouched near Ziatrice, while Malem kept close to Abigail and Weyanna.

Eddy and Frank were too big to hide behind the trees, so they simply lay flat on the ground behind different trunks, doing their best to imitate natural features of the landscape.

Hansel was also able to blend in relatively well just by crouching in place. The bull looked like a mossy mound when it folded up all its tentacles, directed its beak downward, and closed its eyes.

Gretel meanwhile scampered up one of the trees and hid in the upper branches. It positioned its green body next to the trunk so that it appeared to be just another bough, albeit one covered in green lichen, and flung out its tentacles at different angles in mimicry of branches. He understood now why the smaller ghrips were able to avoid detection by the naked eye so easily.

He shared the viewpoint of Garibaldi with Abigail, Gwen, and Ziatrice. He considered sending it to the monsters, too, but that would only confuse them.

In moments he saw small humanoids marching into the eagle’s view. They were green like Gwen, but about two heads shorter than an ordinary human being, at least in relation to the surrounding trees, whose trunks he was able to use as a guide. They wore leather armor wrapped around their torsos, and leather leggings, black boots and gloves. Some of them had metal helmets, but most of their heads were free of armor. They were bald, and had long, thin ears that thrust upward from either side. Their eyes were small and beady, their noses long and beaklike, similar to ogres, and their mouths thin lines that when cracked open revealed razor sharp teeth.

“Goblings,” Malem said. “Distant relatives of oraks. They hunt in packs.”

They walked spread out in a long line, as members of a hunting party did when searching for prey. They carried small wooden bucklers in their left hands and either a short sword or a one-handed crossbow in their right, though occasionally the weapon hand was reversed. The number of those wielding a sword outnumbered those with a crossbow, but otherwise they were all armed. Wait… scratch that, not all: he spotted two weaponless goblings. They held their hands calmly folded together in front of their leather armor.

Malem guessed the latter two were mages, judging from the intelligence he felt when he hovered his beast sense over them. They weren’t wearing robes, which seemed strange for units that hadn’t been to the front lines. At least, he’d never seen goblings on the battlefront, but he hadn’t actually traveled along the entire length of it. Or maybe it was just some freak synchronicity, with the goblings in the forest deciding that it was a good idea to hide their mages at the same time the oraks on the front lines had independently made the same choice.

Some had ferak dogs with them: hunting animals that sported a rim of red fur around the base of their black necks, thick collars that broadcast their deadly bite to anyone that sought to run from them: those jaws could exert a thousand pounds of pressure.

“Well, at least we know what was scouting our perimeter last night,” Malem said.

Ziatrice shot Gwen a suspicious glance. “Funny how she just happened to be on watch when the gobling scout visited out camp. Coincidence or collusion?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Gwen said. “When have I ever had a chance to communicate with goblings?”

“Uh, last night?” Ziatrice said. “When we were all asleep.”

“I wouldn’t do that!” Gwen said. “I have no reason to.”

“She’s not lying,” Malem said, trying to sooth tensions. Ziatrice knew he could see into Gwen’s heart, thanks to their link.

“Then why did she let it go?” Ziatrice pressed.

“I fired into the dark with Wasp,” Gwen said. “I’m what scared the scout away.”

Ziatrice snorted. “More likely you gave away our position. And if that wasn’t on purpose, then it was certainly stupid.”

“It would’ve known we were there anyway!” Gwen said. “No thanks to your loud snoring!”

“Okay, play nice ladies,” Malem said. “We’re all on the same side here. Gwen isn’t going to side with goblings.”

“But they are her kin,” Ziatrice insisted.

“She sounds like me when I first met you,” Xaxia quipped.

Gwen ignored her and told the night elf. “Not my kin. I’m a half gobling. They don’t even look anything like me. You have access to his vision. You see how ugly they are compared to me…”

“She’s telling the truth,” Malem said. “She has no reason to side with the goblings. I can see into her heart.” He decided to state the latter outright, in case the night elf had forgotten.

Ziatrice’s eyes lingered skeptically on Gwen a moment longer, then finally she nodded and looked away.

He watched the advance in silence for a moment, and considered his options.

“I can’t imagine a human ever mating with one of these,” Abigail said into the silence. Her voice was thick with disgust.

“No, it would have been forced,” Weyanna agreed. “I’ve seen the aftermath of gobling raids upon border villages. They rape and pillage. It’s not pretty.”

“I suddenly hate all goblings,” Xaxia said, stroking her hilt. She glanced at Gwen. “Except you of course.”

“If it’s any consolation, I hate them too,” Gwen said. “But not as much as oraks.” She didn’t bother to look at Rathamias.

But the orak mage didn’t miss its cue.

“Goblings,” Rathamias said. “Wretched, smelly things.”

Gwen laughed. There was a dangerous edge to it. “If you weren’t under the Breaker’s protection, I’d personally gut you and get it over with.”

Rathamias flashed a toothy smile, which made that twisted face seem even more distorted. “As would I, you.”

“Let’s have some quiet,” Malem said. “Goblings have sensitive ears…”

Though it was impossible for the goblings to hear them from that far away, he wanted the bickering to end. Thankfully, everyone remained quiet after that.

Eddy, I’m going to set you free, he told the ettin.

What? Eddy sent. Thank you master!

You are to remain where you are, Malem sent.

No master, when I am free, I run!

Then I’ll drain your stamina to the bone, Malem sent. Would you like me to do that? You remember how it felt when I gave you vitality, yes? And healed your wounds? Well, Weyanna had done the healing, but he figured the ettin was probably too dumb to figure that out. Can you imagine what it would be like if I took it away?

Not like… Eddy sent. I stay.

Malem tentatively released the ettin. Perhaps not surprisingly, Eddy tried to get up immediately, despite promising to stay.

Malem Broke Eddy again, and drained its stamina to restore the vitality he spent to reassert himself. I warned you, Eddy…

Sorry, Master, the ettin sent. No run this time.

Good.

He released Eddy once more, and this time the ettin stayed put.

Malem began Breaking the ferak dogs immediately. They were animals, and thus were easy to Break, even at this distance. They also only required one slot each. The Breaking still weakened him, however, so Malem only took control of half of them—five. He considered turning them upon one another to get rid of the dogs entirely, but thought of a better purpose.

He directed four of the dogs to emit rapid barks, and then break into the characteristic run when they scented something. They tore free of the grips of their owners, leashes trailing along the ground. The remaining dogs pulled at their leashes as well, wanting to follow the others when they realized what was happening, but the goblings held on fast this time. They let the dogs lead them north, however. The remaining goblings turned north as well.

Malem grinned.

But one of the gobling mages raised a hand and shouted something before the line of monsters could reorient entirely. The words that reached Garibaldi’s ears were harsh, unintelligible.

Only a small portion of the gobling search party pursued the dogs, while the remainder continued west, spread out in their long line.

“Well, it was a good attempt,” Ziatrice said. Kneeling beside him, she rubbed his thigh in a consoling fashion.

When the rubbing didn’t stop, and instead switched from consoling to arousing, he gave her a warning look.

She promptly removed her hand. “I know, later.”

Malem instructed the dogs to continue running north, and as far as he could tell they were going to obey even after he released them. So, he set them free and then Broke the ettin again, returning Eddy to the five freed slots in his mind.

He took some stamina from the other monsters to compensate for the slight weakness he felt, and straightened as it flowed inside.

Next, he reached out toward the bigger presence he felt, which was still beyond Garibaldi’s sight. He tried to conquer that presence before he even knew what it was, but his will evaporated from it upon touch, unsurprisingly.

In the meantime, he tried to Break the two gobling mages. Unsurprisingly, their wills were just as intractable as the larger creature’s.

He wrapped his will experimentally around the lesser goblings, searching for the weaker-minded among them. There were surprisingly few compared to the typical number he’d find in a similar population of oraks. There was no point in Breaking any of them, considering that each gobling would need at minimum two slots, and he had none left at the moment.

He sensed the bigger, powerful creature closing with the eagle’s position. In a few more seconds he’d know what it was.

Suddenly he lost his connection to Garibaldi and the view went black. He felt that mental boomerang that came with a severed connection, along with the stamina drain. Though the vitality loss was minor compared to losing a bigger animal such as a hill giant, he still gasped from the unexpectedness of it.

“What happened?” Ziatrice said.

“A gobling must have struck my eagle with a crossbow bolt,” he said.

He reached out, searching for more potential animals to serve as his eyes and ears. There… a songbird. He ordered it into position. He flew it over the long line of approaching goblings, but once again, just before reaching the spot where Malem thought the powerful creature resided, the connection blanked and stamina drained away.

“Damn it,” he said. “Those goblings really don’t want anything getting close to their prize.”

He drained some stamina from Hansel just to keep his levels topped up, and decided to take a rest from Breaking for a while.

“Did you see it yet?” Xaxia asked. “The bigger monster?”

“Nope.”

“Maybe it’s a dragon,” Gwen said. “Then again, a dragon would probably be flying.”

Abigail glanced at her. “There are wingless dragons…”

In a short time, he spotted the outer edge of the goblings as their search line roamed this way. Their movements were slow, precise, and designed to make as little noise as possible.

“If there’s a dragon with them, it’s sure padding softly,” Gwen commented in a hushed voice.

The goblings scanned the forest around them intently as they walked. It was no wonder they shot down the birds so easily: anything out in the open would be readily spotted. Which made him worry his bigger monsters weren’t camouflaged enough, especially considering the closest gobling would pass within ten yards of Frank. Gretel was the second closest, perched in the tree next to the ogre.

And then he lost his connection to Frank.

Malem slumped over, feeling the stamina drain from the boomerang effect greatly.

“Is it just me, or does Frank look grayer than usual?” Xaxia asked; she was peering around the opposite side of the tree.

Malem glanced up and leaned past the trunk to gaze toward where Frank had been hiding. The ogre remained exactly where Malem had left the monster. It lay motionless, and indeed looked grayer. In fact, its entire body, the loincloth included, had become the color of slate.

Gwen launched an experimental arrow. It struck the ogre in the back, and bounced away with the tip blunted.

Frank had turned to stone.

A high-pitched screeching came from somewhere amidst the gobling line. It sounded almost like a boiling kettle mixed with a dragon’s roar.

The goblings perked up as one, and then swarmed south, toward where Malem and the others were hiding. They were headed toward Frank, actually. But they’d find Malem and the other monsters soon enough.

The goblings began to hoot and howl with excitement as they approached. Malem was reminded of the night he had come to this forest to die: it was mostly goblings who had answered his call, then; goblings who had chased and harried him until he had narrowly escaped with his life.

But I’m slightly more powerful than I was then.

He ordered Gretel to launch its tentacles as the goblings neared. The ghrip unfurled its long appendages on cue and wrapped them around different goblings, pulling them toward its open beak…

But then Gretel turned to stone as well.

12

“What the hell?” Malem said, staggering as three more slots freed up in his head.

The roaring screech came again. Closer.

“I recognize that sound…” Ziatrice said. “It’s a basilisk! Its gaze will turn you to stone. And if not its gaze, then a single inhale of the noxious miasma that surrounds it! We can’t fight this. Run!”

He decided to listen to the night elf, considering that she had once been a Black Sword, one of Vorgon’s top generals, and was essentially the most powerful among his little group. Other than himself.

“We run!” he shouted.

He and the others turned tail and ran. He ordered the monsters to follow, giving them specific orders not to look in the direction where the goblings were coming from.

Hansel and Eddy arose, turning away from the incoming attackers. The ettin scooped up Abigail in one hand and Weyanna the other and set them down safely on opposing shoulders. Then the monster ran.

Meanwhile Hansel smashed through any trees in its path, and flung its tentacles at any goblings that tried to run past it.

Malem broke four of the weaker goblings as he fled, and as he had guessed, they used two slots each. He had them hew down their companions and sow confusion. When he sensed injuries among them, he crushed their minds, killing them himself before they were slain, and took their stamina back. As usual, each successive kill gave him less of a vitality boost.

He shared his beast sense with Abigail and Ziatrice, in case they wanted to target the pursuers with their magic. But they did not attack. Probably a wise course of action, considering that targeting via sense alone was a difficult task; in the past, they used the sense along with their vision to pinpoint enemies they wanted to attack. So he didn’t blame them for not trying.

Xaxia was running next to him on the right. “How are the goblings with it not turning to stone?”

“Either they’re not looking at it, and they’re far enough away from its miasma, or it’s able to exclude them somehow from the deadly transformation,” Malem told her.

“How is this different than black dragons we’ve fought?” Gwen said from his left.

Ziatrice, running beside her, answered. “It’s worse than meeting the eye of a black dragon, because in that case you’re only paralyzed, and it can be reversed. But when you meet the eye of a basilisk, you turn to stone. You’re dead. Instantly. There’s no coming back.”

“What does a basilisk actually look like?” Xaxia asked. “Assuming you’ve actually seen one?”

“Only from afar,” Ziatrice replied. “And always from behind. But if memory serves, they’re essentially wingless dragons capable of standing on their hind legs, but prefer walking on all four. Oh, and they have the head of a hawk.”

“A hawk?” Malem asked.

“That’s right,” she said. “Complete with razor sharp beak. Oh, and it’s huge. About the same size as your princess here in dragon form.”

He decided to take a look for himself, so he Broke more of the weaker goblings as he retreated and turned them back to confront this basilisk of theirs. He was a bit worried that even remotely viewing the monster would turn him to stone. So it was with more than some trepidation that he overlaid the viewpoint of one of the goblings across the upper half of his vision, leaving the lower half free so that he could see well enough not to trip on anything while on the run, and finally he saw the fabled creature.

He was relieved when he didn’t turn to stone.

Ziatrice had been right when she said it looked like a wingless dragon. Its upper body was covered in brown feathers, while its four legs shimmered with dark green scales. It had a long, feathery tail. Its neck was short, and basically non-existent. Instead, topping the front of its body was a head that was definitely avian-like. He wouldn’t say it resembled a hawk… it was closer to a chicken than anything else. An angry chicken.

The basilisk ran on all four legs. It’s webbed feet probably made great padding, which would partially explain why he couldn’t hear its heavy footfalls. It was surrounded by a green mist that quickly dissipated the further one got from its hide.

When the four goblings under his control didn’t turn to stone, he realized that yes, the basilisk could exclude certain targets. At least from its deadly gaze.

He promptly ordered them to attack the basilisk. He didn’t know what weaknesses such a creature might have, but if it was anything like a dragon, even its underbelly would be covered in thick hide that was impenetrable to most weapons, especially those measly short swords the gobling’s possessed. Still, he had to try.

He kept switching his attention between the gobling’s vision and his own, to make sure he didn’t run into a tree or trip on something like an exposed root. And by doing so, he was able to watch as the four under his command slowed their paces to run alongside the basilisk: they were trying not to make it too obvious they planned to attack.

And then the four leaped at the creature with swords bared. One of them fired its crossbow, targeting its eyes.

The connections severed one by one as the sword-wielding goblings struck the miasma that coated the basilisk in rapid succession. As for the crossbow user, the basilisk casually swiveled its head toward the gobling, as if regarding an ant. The final link snapped as the basilisk canceled whatever gaze exclusion it had laid upon the gobling, obviously turning it to stone.

Malem lurched from the loss of vitality as he ran, but managed not to flag too badly. He leached stamina from Hansel and Eddy to make up for the loss.

And then barriers of rock thrust from the ground between the trees, blocking their path.

“The hell?” Gwen said. “Is that the basilisk?”

“No,” Ziatrice said. “The mages.”

They were forced to circumnavigate the stone walls—the barriers were too tall to leap over, and would take too long to climb, not with the goblings fast on their tails.

Once they were past, Malem allowed Hansel to take the lead so that the ghrip could smash any more walls that might form. But the enemy mages simply formed the next walls behind the ghrip. Malem sent Eddy forward, and the ettin barreled through, forming a path.

“We don’t have to worry about them hurling rocks our way?” Malem asked Ziatrice. He was beginning to pant from the exertion.

“They can cause rocks to rise from the ground, like this,” the night elf replied. “But they can’t actually hurl them as far as I know. I could be wrong.”

His beast sense told him the basilisk was staying back. The big creature could have easily rushed the team, but it seemed content to allow the goblings to harry them, first. Perhaps Mauritania had instructed the goblings to capture him alive. That seemed doubtful, given the presence of the basilisk: if she wanted him alive, she would’ve prohibited the goblings from taking the powerful creature with them.

As he became further winded, Malem decided it was high time to hitch a ride on Hansel. He didn’t have the monster stamina of Gwen after all, and he didn’t want to keep draining stamina from those who served him. So instead he had the bull slow, and then as he and the others ran alongside, he instructed Hansel to scoop them up.

“Hang tight, we’re hitching a ride!” he told the others.

Hansel flung out its side tentacles and grabbed him, Gwen, Rathamias, Xaxia and Ziatrice. It continued fleeing the whole time. As it lifted them into the air, the creature did its best to shield him and the others from the different branches its passage broke away around them.

“It’s like riding in an air balloon!” Rathamias exclaimed.

“Like you’d know, orak!” Gwen said.

“We invented air balloons, gobling!” Rathamias told her.

He told Eddy and Hansel to switch to their maximum speeds, and the pair quickly began pulling ahead of the pursuers. So far, the basilisk still hung back, as if content to allow them to get away.

But then both the ghrip and the ettin slowed.

“What the—” he began.

“Their feet!” Xaxia proclaimed.

Looking down, he realized most of the ghrip’s lower tentacles were now tipped in heavy cement, greatly hampering its retreat. The ettin’s two feet had also become enclosed in cement blocks. The two monsters tried breaking away the blocks by smashing them against the ground and nearby trees as they ran, but couldn’t do it.

It’s the mages, Ziatrice sent. We can cut away the stone blocks with our magic weapons, but the mages will just create more until we deal with them.

Why didn’t they use the blocks earlier? he asked. And encase us in stone? Or why not do that to us now? If the mages have the range to create such blocks, we humans would be the obvious choice to encase, since we’re the ones in control of these monsters…

Some stone spells work only against monsters, she explained. I’m not sure why. As to the reason they didn’t do it earlier, there was no need, since we weren’t outrunning them until you sped up the creatures…

You certainly know a lot about stone mages, he told her.

I used to have one as a boy toy… and yes, it was a gobling.

Too much information.

You asked…

Malem quickly reached out behind him with his beast sense. There weren’t very many weak goblings left at that point. He kept jumping his mind between them until he finally Broke another four. That was probably the last of them. The rest would have to be injured in some way first, before he could take them.

He had the four goblings fall back. They all carried swords, so there would be no ranged attacks. He instructed two each to position themselves close to the mages. He sent one forward, and it tried to run the mage through, but while the blade was able to pass the leather armor, it was stopped cold by the flesh underneath, which had hardened to the consistency of stone.

The mage swiveled toward the surprised gobling, and then Malem’s connection to that creature severed. He switched to the perspective of the next closest Broken gobling and saw that the other had collapsed to the ground, frozen in the pose of running—it had become stone.

The ghrip was holding Ziatrice a little far from him, and he didn’t feel like shouting, so he sent her: Stone mages can harden their skin, too?

Yes, she replied. The magic is in their repertoire.

And turn enemies to stone as well?

If they’re close enough, yes, she sent.

Great. He couldn’t help the sarcasm that seeped into the thought.

Ziatrice shot him a glance. I did say they were stone mages.

Any idea on how to injure them?

She pursed her lips. A magic blade works well.

He drew Balethorn and dropped the blade, aiming for the base of a big pine tree the bull had knocked down. It landed inside a small shrub overlooked by the spiders of this place.

Abigail pressed into his thoughts. You would abandon a weapon of infinite value?

I’ll retrieve it later, he sent.

When the pursuing goblings passed that position, he sent one of the Broken ones to fetch the sword. George, he named that one. He called the other two Terry and Barry.

Though George stood out with that big blade, so far no one had noticed. He sent George to take another run at the mage. This time, the sword penetrated easily, and the mage fell. A lucky blow, unfortunately: George killed it.

A nearby gobling screamed in outrage, but Malem had Terry attack that one. He also sent Barry to attack another gobling that was turning around to see what the commotion was about.

Meanwhile, George carried the magic blade toward the remaining mage. Two goblings near it noticed what was happening, and rushed George, but Balethorn easily bested the range on their smaller weapons, and George was able to hew them down. A crossbow bolt struck George in the chest, but the gobling ignored it and reached the mage, who was turning to face the creature.

The gobling sliced the magic blade at the stone mage’s chest, but Malem lost his connection to George before he could see the impact. He drained some stamina from Hansel to compensate for the sudden drop and leaped to the viewpoint of Barry instead.

His minion was busy dodging the attacks of a small group of goblings that had turned back to corner Barry and Terry. He had Barry glance past them toward the mage, and saw George lying on the ground, turned to rock. The gobling still held Balethorn in hand—the magic blade remained metal, but its haft was locked in the stony grip of the dead monster.

The stone mage meanwhile was on its knees next to the body, clutching a gaping wound in its chest.

Malem immediately reached out; he was able to squeeze his will around its mind. He crushed that will into a vise, but before he could Break the mage, other goblings rushed in, hooting and howling, and ran the creature through with their short swords.

The mental fist he had wrapped around the mage’s mind collapsed just as if he were crushing empty air.

He could only conclude that Mauritania had given the goblings orders to kill any mages that became injured. Vorgon would have warned her he could Break them in such a state, after all, especially after what he did to Ziatrice.

Well, even if he hadn’t broken it, at least there were no more mages back there, so that was one positive. Still, the hoots and howls didn’t let up behind him. He had lost his connection to Barry and Terry, and there were no other weak-minded goblings that he could sense back there.

With the stone blocks on their feet, Hansel and Eddy were continuing to slow, and the goblings were catching up. Malem considered trying to hack away those blocks while the monsters were on the move, but that wouldn’t be an easy task. It was certainly possible, but it would take a lot of time, and he’d have to keep feeding the monsters stamina to counter the drain the heavy weights were having on them. The most sensible solution was to stop first, and then hack away the blocks. But then the goblings—and the basilisk—would quickly be upon them.

A potential plan formed in his mind. He immediately shared it with Abigail, Gwen and Ziatrice via their mental connection.

It’s not going to work, Gwen sent.

It will, he told her. It has to.

He instructed the monsters to begin doubling back, leading the pursuers in a wide circle until Eddy and Hansel were running directly over terrain they had covered previously.

As they came upon the site where the mages had died, he instructed the bull to hold a tentacle close to the ground: Hansel retrieved Balethorn from George’s stone grip as it passed, breaking away the hand that held it entirely.

Hansel lifted the hand and blade toward him, and Malem pried the hilt out of the rock fingers, breaking them away one by one while he cradled the blade with his other hand.

When he had it loose, he wrapped his fingers around the hilt and the blade remained silent. It thirsted only for dragons. He promptly sheathed it.

According to his beast sense, the basilisk had increased its pace, and was racing past the goblings toward him and the others. It must have sensed that something was amiss. Either that, or it was sick of toying with its prey and had decided it was time to fight.

Malem couldn’t help the malevolent grin that formed on his lips.

Good. Let us fight, basilisk.

13

Malem instructed Hansel to come to a halt. He had Eddy assume a position beside him, and had the monsters lower them to the ground.

“Weyanna, Abigail, you’re the weakest among us at the moment,” he said. “Hide behind that tree and close your eyes.”

They obeyed, moving behind the tree in question.

“Xaxia, give Gwen your blade,” he ordered.

Xaxia reluctantly gave Biter to Gwen, who had slung her bow, Wasp, around her shoulder by the bowstring. Xaxia replaced the weapon with a small dagger she drew from her leggings.

“Remember, it’s only temporary,” the bandit told Gwen.

The half gobling nodded. “I prefer the bow anyway.”

“Close your eyes, everyone,” he commanded. “And turn around.”

He envisioned the necessary mental images required for the bull to obey him, and then he too closed his eyes and turned around. He drew Balethorn once more. It still remained silent.

According to his beast sense, the basilisk had pulled away from the goblings and was rushing his position. He had about fifteen seconds until it reached them, he guessed.

He listened, but didn’t hear the beast coming. What if he was wrong? What if it was closer than he guessed, or farther? His beast sense had never betrayed him in that manner before, but anything was certainly possible…

And then that familiar roar-screech came again, with a volume level that seemed appropriate for the distance away his beast sense told him the creature was.

He instructed Hansel to race forward to meet the creature. The bull was to wrap its tentacles around the basilisk and keep the beast pinned to the ground. Hansel was also supposed to hold its breath the whole time. He just hoped the ghrip understood his mental imagery.

Hansel broke away from the group, crashing through the trees, and intercepted the basilisk. Two great thuds filled the air; the first when the two creatures impacted, and the second when they hit the ground together. He heard the sound of breaking branches as the two struggled and rolled around. And then sounds of struggle ceased, with only the hoots and howls of the incoming goblings remaining.

“Now!” he yelled. “Hold your breath, and attack!”

He held his breath and dashed forward with Gwen and Ziatrice. Malem shared his beast sense with the pair, allowing them to feel the positions of the dueling beasts even with their eyes closed. Then he dashed forward with one hand in front of him until he felt something leathery. That would be one of Hansel’s tentacles.

He patted his hand along its boundaries until he touched a large feather, or feathers. The basilisk.

There was a new sensation accompanying the discovery of those feathers… it felt as if the exposed flesh of his hands and face had suddenly been dipped in some sort of oily grime. It had to be the noxious fumes emanating from the basilisk, fumes that would turn him to stone if he breathed them.

Leaving his hand there to mark the feathery surface, he placed the tip of Balethorn close to his thumb, and then drove the blade inward, hard. Through the hilt, he felt the vibrations as the magic sword ripped through feathers and muscle.

The sickening whispers of metal plunging through flesh came from either side of him, where Xaxia and Ziatrice were also plunging their magic blades into the basilisk.

The creature screamed.

He withdrew Balethorn and stabbed again, choosing an adjacent spot. Again.

The sword gave him no vitality with each strike, nor did it hum. It simply stabbed, like a sword should. The grimy feeling he experienced on his exposed skin only worsened with each strike, and he had to constantly remind himself not to inhale.

He could feel the beast squirming underneath him, but so far, Hansel kept it pinned. Beside him, he heard Gwen repeatedly stabbing it with Biter, while Ziatrice hacked into its flesh with Wither. Both occasionally grunted as they performed their grim task, and he sometimes felt the spray of blood—the hot droplets dripped down his face.

He reached out with his mind, but when he touched the basilisk’s will his mental tendrils still evaporated.

The howls of goblings were rapidly growing in volume. They would soon be upon them.

He instructed Eddy to circle around the pair of dueling monsters to intercept the goblings. He shared his beast sense with the ettin, which would allow Eddy to roughly target their positions. He heard the repeated clunk of heavy stone on earth as the ettin moved into position, followed by the sickening thumps and the screams of the surrounding goblings as Eddy used the stone blocks coating its feet to deadly effect.

Malem stabbed the feathery surface beneath him a few more times. He was running out of air… holding one’s breath was one thing, but exerting oneself at the same time was another thing entirely.

He could sense Hansel rapidly weakening beneath him. It was doubtful the bull would be keeping the basilisk pinned for much longer. Not with how much the creature was physically flailing about.

He attempted to wrap his will around the basilisk again. Finally he was able to take hold. The loss of blood from the stabbings, combined with Hansel’s tentacles slowly crushing the life out of the creature, had finally weakened the basilisk enough for him to attempt a Breaking.

But the creature resisted him. On the plus side, it had ceased struggling beneath Hansel, and was now concentrating all of its efforts on breaking free of the mental vise Malem was applying.

He sensed a gobling rushing him from behind—it had sneaked past Eddy and rounded the dueling monsters. Malem was forced to temporarily pull away from the basilisk to defend himself. He kept his mental hold on the creature even as he turned his back on it, and risked opening his eyes to face the gobling. He was relieved to find that the basilisk was nowhere in sight: behind the gobling only awaited more forest. He still held his breath, however, just to be on the safe side.

He easily parried the blow the gobling threw at him, and stabbed the beast through the neck on the riposte. He tightened his hold on the basilisk at the same time the gobling fell, but still was unable to squeeze his will through entirely.

Keep aggravating it! he instructed Gwen and Ziatrice. I want the basilisk to bleed!

Can’t… hold… my breath for much longer! Ziatrice sent.

Get back and take a break if you need to, he sent.

He felt her moving away; closing his eyes, he returned to the basilisk to take her place. He kept up his pressure on the creature’s mind the whole time.

When he reached the monster, that oily miasma surrounded him once more; he felt around Hansel’s tentacles until he found the basilisk once more; the feathers were sticky with blood. He plunged his sword in to the hilt.

The creature screamed.

And just like that, Malem crushed its will. The basilisk’s mental presence expanded into his mind, taking up seven slots.

He sent the creature a mental message immediately.

You are to mark my whole team as “do not turn to stone.” Do you understand?

In return he received the usual positive vibe that indicated the creature had understood and obeyed.

Get back! he sent Gwen. The basilisk is mine!

He raced away from the basilisk, and instructed Hansel to release the creature and put some distance between itself and its former prey.

He opened his eyes as he ran away. Just in time to meet the next two goblings that had circumnavigated Eddy and the dueling monsters.

He risked an inhale—he had to, he was nearly dying—and rasped for breath as he deflected the two blows. A large halberd swung into them from the side as Ziatrice cut open both of their leather-encased chest pieces with a single blow.

Malem continued running until he was behind the tree where Abigail and Weyanna hid.

As if that thick trunk was going to protect him from what he was about to do.

He could feel Abigail in his head. She seemed to be doing okay. But he had no sense of Weyanna of course. A quick glanced told him she was all right, if a little pale.

“You made it,” Abigail said.

He nodded distractedly. He felt terrible, not just because he had been holding his breath, but because of the drain to his stamina caused by Breaking the powerful creature.

Ziatrice and Gwen joined him behind the tree a moment later. He borrowed vitality liberally from both of them and felt better immediately.

Ziatrice gasped at the sudden drain, dropping her halberd and folding her arms as if suddenly cold. She leaned against the tree, shivering. Gwen fared little better. She trembled visibly, and her legs gave out underneath her.

Whoops. Too much. He put some back. He borrowed from Hansel, Eddy, and the basilisk to replenish them.

“Asshole,” Ziatrice said, standing.

Gwen was back on her feet as well. “So?”

He took a deep breath, and then peered past the edge, toward the basilisk.

It was looking right at him.

He didn’t turn to stone.

Feeling more confident, he stepped out entirely. “It’s safe.”

The women joined him.

Xaxia held out a hand to Gwen. “Can I have what’s mine?” She kept her eyes upon the basilisk the whole time.

Gwen returned the magic sword to Xaxia.

“Do you understand me when I speak aloud?” Malem asked the creature.

It smirked. “I speak the Common tongue, yes.” Its voice was deep, foreboding. Evil.

“Good,” Malem said. “Turn your gaze upon the goblings assaulting my ettin.”

The basilisk bowed its great avian head. “As you wish, my master.”

The poor ettin was surrounded by the smaller creatures, and was quickly tiring as it tried to stomp them all. Goblings were climbing up its legs and stabbing their short swords into the exposed skin above the cement blocks; they’d leap away onto another hilt embedded in its flesh before Eddy could swat them away. The ettin’s calves were slick with blood because of that.

The basilisk had obeyed him, but since none of the goblings were looking at it, none of them succumbed.

Malem promptly whistled, causing many of the goblings to look his way. The basilisk was almost directly in front of them, so of course they couldn’t help but meet the deadly creature’s gaze. All of those goblings that glanced up promptly turned to stone. Nearly all of the monsters that hung from Eddy’s legs dropped to the ground, having become stone statues.

More looked toward the basilisk, they couldn’t help it, so that almost all of them, even those still on the ground, became stone. The rest retreated without looking back—they understood their basilisk had turned on them.

“Basilisk, exclude the goblings from your deadly gaze,” he said. “I don’t want any of them to turn to stone for what I have planned next.”

“It is done, my master,” the basilisk said.

Malem sent Hansel forward, and instructed the ghrip to latch onto the closest gobling.

The bull dashed toward the fleeing creatures, its concrete-encased tentacles thudding loudly on the earth, and thrust one of its free upper tentacles toward a gobling. It drew the creature toward its beak, and held it there, helpless above the maw.

Malem broke the terrified creature easily—he hadn’t been sure if he’d have to injure the gobling first, but apparently not. He had two slots left, and shoved its mental presence firmly into them.

He instructed Hansel to release the creature, and it dropped to the ground. Its crotch was wet where it had pissed itself.

He drained half its stamina, and the creature slumped.

“Thanks, by the way,” Malem told the basilisk when the gobling remained flesh and blood.

The basilisk inclined its head in appreciation.

“Do you have a name?” he asked the powerful creature.

“Khaan,” the basilisk responded.

“Khaan,” he said. “Seems fitting, somehow.” He nodded toward the wounds he, Ziatrice and Gwen and caused. “Will those heal up?”

“Given time,” the basilisk said. “I will be weak for the next several hours, however.”

Malem turned his attention on the gobling next. “Approach,” he commanded.

The smaller creature moved forward weakly, cowering before him and the others. And the basilisk.

The gobling looked like a typical specimen of its kind, though its nose was a little longer, if possible, and its belly a little plumper. It also had a wart near its right nostril that reminded him of Frank.

The gobling kept its gaze mostly to the ground, but glanced up occasionally to look at each of its captors in turn. When the gobling spotted Gwen, it did a double take, and its expression momentarily brightened as if hopeful her green skin meant the creature had a friend among them. But it lowered its gaze in disappointment a moment later. No doubt the expression Gwen wore was none too friendly. From the anger he detected from her energy bundle, he thought he knew why.

She doesn’t like the gobling part of herself.

That wouldn’t do. He made a mental note to sit down with her about that later.

“What is your name?” Malem asked the gobling in the most imperial tone he could muster.

14

Malem waited, but the gobling didn’t answer. He was about to ask again when finally it spoke.

“I am Sark,” the creature said.

Rathamias stepped forward to scowl at the gobling. “Wretched creature.” The orak wrinkled its nose.

Sark recoiled before the black mage.

Ziatrice didn’t scold the orak, instead allowing it to have its fun with the gobling.

“Tell me, Sark, why do you hunt us?” Malem said.

The gobling kept its gaze down. “Queen told us to watch for you.”

“Queen?” Malem said. “What queen?”

“Eldritch Queen,” the gobling replied.

“Mauritania?”

Sark looked up, momentarily meeting his gaze to nod before dropping its eyes to the ground once more. “She’s the one. Told us to search for you, she did. Told us hunters would be coming. Promised a great reward for your heads.”

“She was actually here?” Ziatrice asked.

The gobling’s eyes darted up at her, then dropped in fright. “No, Mistress. Her messenger was.” Sark ran a green hand across its bald head, wiping away the growing perspiration.

“That explains why the gobling mages weren’t wearing the robes of their profession,” Xaxia said. “Mauritania’s messenger would have instructed them not to.”

“I thought I was the only one who noticed,” Ziatrice commented.

“How many of you are looking for us?” Malem asked.

“Our whole tribe,” Sark replied. “And other gobling tribes, too. Maybe all. Messenger told us he couldn’t stay long. Had other tribes to meet.”

“That means we’re going to encounter more of them before this day is done,” Malem said. “Considering that some estimates put the number of gobling tribes in these woods at close to a hundred, with a total population a thousand times that.”

“That’s a lot of monsters,” Gwen said.

“It certainly is,” he agreed.

“Yes,” Sark said, looking up as if gaining confidence that its new master wasn’t going to kill it, at least not immediately. “Master only encountered a tiny portion of our tribe. The others are spread throughout this region, hunting for you in small parties. When you were spotted, we dispatched couriers to inform the others. They’ll be coming, soon.”

“All the more reason to keep moving,” Malem said. “I’ve heard enough, we head east as soon as we free Hansel and Eddy!”

Xaxia and Ziatrice joined him in breaking through the cement blocks that hindered the tentacles of the ghrip, and the big feet of the ettin. Balethorn easily shattered the material, as did the magic weapons the women wielded.

When it was done, he had Eddy kneel, and Abigail and Weyanna took their places on its shoulders.

He sensed Abigail flagging from the lingering Eldritch magic, and gave her some endurance: she perked up immediately. Weyanna meanwhile simply lay her head on the creature’s neck, too tired for anything else. He was starting to wish he could give her endurance, too.

He reached out experimentally, wondering if he could Break her, and found he could wrap his will around her mind. He squeezed gently, and she struggled within his grip. She glanced down at him accusingly from her perch on Eddy.

“Sorry,” he said.

Weyanna looked away, saying nothing.

“Do the other gobling parties from your tribe have basilisks with them?” Xaxia asked the gobling as they set out.

“Only us,” Sark said. “But some parties possess worse creatures. Have you ever heard of scallions?”

“You mean the onions?” Gwen said. “I eat them all the time.”

“No wonder your breath is so bad,” Xaxia commented.

“Not onions,” the gobling said. “They are a type of lion. Their bodies are covered in scales instead of fur, and with their long canines they drain the lifeblood of victims. They’re capable of absorbing both magical and physical attacks. And they’re immune to basilisks.”

“Sounds like my kind of creature,” Ziatrice said. “I do like a challenge when it’s time to dance swords.”

“But you have a halberd,” Gwen said. “Not a sword.”

“I meant it figuratively,” the night elf told her. She sighed. “Never mind.”

As they advanced, Malem noted that the basilisk moved with an amazing silence for its size, its wide feet padding almost inaudibly upon the ground.

That would explain why I didn’t hear it when it was running directly for me. Well, at least until Khaan decided to announce its presence with that shrill shriek.

He heard wild barking coming from the north, then.

“That would be the small group of goblings with their ferak dogs you chased away,” Ziatrice said.

“That would be them,” he agreed. “Khaan?”

The basilisk positioned itself on the northern perimeter of the party. The barking grew in volume with each passing moment, until it abruptly cut off.

Malem strode past the basilisk until he could see the statues of several dogs and the goblings that held their leashes.

“Nicely done,” he said.

“You know,” Xaxia said when they were on the move again. “Other monsters are going to be wondering what’s up with the highly detailed gobling statues we’ve been leaving in the area.”

“They’ll know that whatever caused it isn’t something good,” Ziatrice said. “In the wild, basilisks usually surround their territories with the statues of those it hasn’t eaten. As a warning sign.”

“Very good,” Khaan told her in that booming voice. “We also sometimes use the statues we create to practice when our mates are gone.”

“Practice, what do you mean?” Xaxia asked.

“Practice mating,” Khaan clarified.

“Eww, thanks for that image,” Gwen said.

Sark came alongside her. “Hello.”

“Go away,” Gwen said.

“Okay,” the gobling told her. It paused. “Why do you follow him? Is the Tall One your master, too?”

“I am no one’s slave,” Gwen said angrily. “And I follow him because it pleases me. Why are you still talking to me?”

The gobling looked down dejectedly, and increased its pace to walk beside Rathamias.

“Git!” the orak mage said.

Sark walked even faster, taking up a position next to Eddy ahead.

Now was probably a good time to have that discussion with Gwen.

Why do you treat the creature like that? he sent her. It’s not an orak. And it’s intelligent. It has feelings.

I don’t care what it has, Gwen said. It represents everything I hate about myself. My monster half.

But your monster half is your source of power, he said.

You mean it’s the source of your power, don’t you? If I wasn’t half monster, you wouldn’t have been able to Break me.

While that’s true, you can’t discount the power your monster side gives you, he told her. Your strength. Your endurance. He paused. Your sexual prowess.

She gave him a piqued look. You really mean the latter?

Of course I do. Normal women are a bore compared to the untamed sexual beast you become in bed.

Her nostrils dilated with sudden arousal, and when she spoke, her voice sounded raspy even though it was inside his head. I’ll remind you of that later, when it’s time to make camp.

Whoops.

He wasn’t sure if his little talk had made a difference, but hopefully she didn’t hate her monster half quite as much anymore.

You know, she said without prompting. When I was a little girl, growing up in the village, my differences were so obvious, even then. Well, of course there was the skin color. But I was also bigger, and more muscular than the other children at that age, especially for a girl. The older villagers didn’t care… they treated me like their own daughter, let me stay in their houses and showered me with love. But the other children…

She shook her head, and took a moment before continuing.

Children can be so cruel. No child should have to go through what I went through with them. The teasing, the practical jokes… for a while, I’d have my clothes ruined at least once a week. Sometimes they’d just be stolen while I bathed, and I’d have to run naked to a neighbor’s house. Other times, the jokes were nastier. A favorite was a tar bucket strategically placed over a door, and when I triggered it and dumped the contents over my head and upper body, giggling children would rush in with buckets of feathers to further humiliate me. I became very wary of doors for a time…

I always kept my monster side suppressed during all of it. But one time I couldn’t hold it back, and my monster side reared its ugly head. A boy I used to know, Darren, was hiding in an alley with a pie. When I passed, he stepped out and smashed it in my face.

I just exploded. I didn’t know what happened, but before I realized what I’d done, he was on the ground, his head a bloody pulp beneath me, and my knuckles covered in his blood. I ran away, crying, thinking I’d be kicked out of the village for sure. But Darren never told on me. He said big kids from another village had come by and roughed him up.

The other children never bothered me again after that. For a while I bared my teeth in a feral grin whenever I saw any of them, to remind them of what I was capable of. But I stopped when I realized I had to make a choice: I could live my life as a bully and gain respect through fear, or I could live it as a normal person and gain respect through hard work, and by treating others like I wanted to be treated.

I’ve always tried my best to live my life the latter way. But my monster side is always there, tempting me to bully my way through life. Tempting me toward the violent way out. The easy way. And I take that road sometimes, I admit. I explode, and my monster side breaks free. These days, that happens mostly when I see an orak. The front lines were a sort of purge for me, in that regard. I let my monster run loose.

Here, I hold it back on a thinly stretched leash. I still smolder whenever I look at that orak mage. You’re the only thing keeping Rathamias alive. If you weren’t here to restrain me, that creature would have been dead the moment I laid eyes upon it.

Knowing all of this, you can now understand why I don’t like my monster side all that much. To me it’s always represented the worst in me. The side that bullies. The side that kills. The side that fights. You can understand why I want to put it away in the far recesses of my mind and never let it out.

Malem studied her. I can’t let you put your monster away just yet. I need it for the battles that come. We all do.

She nodded. Then I will keep it out for a while longer. For you.

He smiled sadly. It can’t be for me. At least, not just for me. I hope one day you’ll be able to accept that your monster is an integral part of you. Not something that you can just lock away deep in your mind and then toss the key. Without your monster, you would have never made it to where you are today, trust me. Because, you see, I, too have a monster inside. It’s the only thing that has pulled me through in the times of darkness. When things get tough, it refuses to give up and die. Accept your monster, Gwen. Let it free when it needs to be free, and keep it inside you when it needs to be inside.

She stared at him for several seconds. You’re sexy as hell when you wax philosophical like that, you know. If we weren’t on the march, I’d jump your bones.

He glanced at her shoulder, where the dragon scale armor had been torn away to reveal her bare skin underneath. He wasn’t sure where she got the damage from, but she seemed otherwise uninjured, and he felt no pain from her energy bundle. As he stared at the skin, he couldn’t help the slight arousal he felt.

And I’d jump yours, believe me.

She grinned mischievously. Maybe we should call a halt? We could say the basilisk has to use the washroom.

He held back a laugh. I think we’d need longer than that. You would insult my stamina?

Her eyes glinted. Oh no, I wouldn’t dare.

“What are you two up to?” Xaxia interrupted. “You’ve been exchanging coy glances and smiles for the past minute or two.”

“Yes, what?” Ziatrice said.

Malem felt his cheeks growing hot. Gwen’s own face turned a nice shade of crimson.

Suddenly he straightened, and called a halt.

“We’ve got more monsters incoming,” he announced. He hated to admit it, but he was actually glad monsters were coming. Anything to distract the women from the embarrassment he felt. Then again, what he sensed out there didn’t seem all that good. “It seems to be a search party of goblings, spread out in a long line. But there are two energy signatures I’ve never felt before. I’m not sure what kind of monsters they are.”

“Those would be the scallions,” Sark said, returning from his position near point. “They always travel in pairs. They share their fatigue, and damage.”

“What exactly do you mean, they share their fatigue and damage?” Xaxia asked.

“One tires, they both tire,” Sark said. “Hit one, you hit the other. It’s a side effect of the innate magic that links them, and gives them their immunities. They’re always born as twins.”

“You said they can absorb magical and physical attacks?” Malem asked.

“To a degree, yes,” Sark said.

“And the basilisk won’t turn them to stone?”

“That’s right,” Sark said.

“Then we could be in trouble,” Malem said.

15

Malem veered the group sharply to the north and after two hundred yards, paused near a tight thicket of trees enclosed by rich, silky spider webs. The desiccated carcasses of squirrels and various species of birds lay scattered throughout that web. There was even what looked like a small deer caught in the silky mesh. Its rotting hide was completely flattened around the bones within, and its eyes and mouth were dark pits.

“A colony of dhaarkan spiders,” Ziatrice commented. “The gobling search party won’t look here.”

Normal spiders of the monster variety made their nests inside of trees, killing them off in the process. But not so with dhaarkan spiders, who nested underneath the trees. They actually helped nourish the root system once they were established, and thus were beneficial to the trees. That explained why the canopy was so luxuriously thick above them, and why so many trees grew here. Dhaarkan spiders usually lived in colonies, with multiple spider families residing underneath each tree that was part of the colony.

“Then we hide here,” Malem said. He drew Balethorn and cut an opening through the outer shell of web. As usual, the blade remained completely quiet. He was actually enjoying its silence: on the front lines he had to listen to that hungry pleading for dragon blood almost constantly, but there were no dragons here—discounting Abigail and Weyanna, who wouldn’t attract the sword’s attention while they remained in human form.

Blade in hand, he peered through the dark opening he’d created. The two halves of the web he’d slit wavered in the breeze like ghostly drapes. Beyond, the area was dim with the artificial twilight induced by the seamless canopy of the thicket.

He stepped back and gestured for Khaan to enter first.

The big basilisk imperiously strode inside.

“Wait,” Sark said. “You don’t really want to go in there, do you?”

“I’m not big on hiding in a colony of spiders myself,” Gwen commented.

“The spiders will stay hidden, I assure you,” Ziatrice said. “As soon as they smelled the basilisk, along with the ettin and ghrip, they would have burrowed deep inside their dens. They won’t be coming out.”

“She’s right,” Malem said. “I can sense them cowering underneath the different roots within. I somehow doubt they’ll make an appearance while we have Khaan, Hansel and Eddy with us, considering that all three monsters started chomping at the bit as soon as the colony was in sight, wanting me to release them so they could feed on the juicy treats within.”

Gwen glanced at Ziatrice. “How did you know?”

“I used to play with dhaarkan spiders as a kid,” the night elf explained.

Xaxia snickered, and shook her head. “Allowing oraks to murder your family so you could secure the throne. Playing with dhaarkan spiders. You really were an odd child, weren’t you?”

“The oddest,” Ziatrice agreed. “It takes more than a liberal serving of ambition to make a queen. Extreme eccentricity helps.”

“Apparently…” Xaxia quipped.

Khaan confirmed what Malem’s beast sense told him: the colony appeared deserted inside, with all the spiders hidden in their dens. He instructed Khaan to bury the openings to their nests at the bottom of the trunks as best as he could, and then had Eddy carry Abigail and Weyanna inside.

He followed, along with the rest of the humans and smaller monsters. He instructed Hansel to wait about two hundred yards away to the north, outside the thicket, as the trees were too close together, and the big ghrip would only end up knocking them down to carve a path inside, making it obvious something had invaded the colony. He also told the bull to make itself inconspicuous, in case the couriers from the previous gobling party had shared the news that a large ghrip was part of Malem’s team.

There were more carcasses of small animals inside. Or rather, skeletons of the disposed meals. Malem picked his way forward, trying to stick to the paths cleared by the heavy feet of the monsters that went before him.

He hunkered down with the others inside, and they waited quietly while the gobling search line marched past. He sensed them the entire way; the closest gobling passed within fifty yards of the colony. He felt the creature pause as it walked by, but it must have noticed the colony then, because it immediately quickened its pace, not wanting to become spider food.

The two bigger creatures he felt were near the middle of the search party, well away from the colony. Those would be the scallions. The creatures didn’t swerve from their course whatsoever. No doubt they had a strong sense of smell, but any scent produced by the monsters with him would be masked by the proximity of the spiders.

As he waited there in the twilight induced by the thick canopy, he wondered vaguely what those scallions looked like. He considered releasing one of the monsters to Break a closer gobling to take a peek. Hansel, who was the furthest monster away and thus the least likely to cause any harm to Malem and the others, was the obvious candidate for release. However, he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble—and stamina drain—that would be needed to re-Break the ghrip after. He could also send out Sark, but again, not worth the risk. He wasn’t going to put everyone in danger just to satisfy his own curiosity. He knew essentially what the scallions looked like already anyway, at least from Sark’s description.

When the search party was well past them, Malem slumped in relief.

Yet he knew that while they might have dodged this particular search party, there were more out there. It was still a long way through monster territory, after all, and he and the others might not be so lucky the next time two scallions were passing by. His beast sense might let him down. Or there might be no suitable hiding places. Or the scallions might catch their scent, and lead the goblings directly to them. It wasn’t a fight he was looking forward to, not against creatures resistant to magic and physical attacks.

He had the humans and smaller monsters of the group abandon the thicket soon after the search party vanished from his beast sense. The moment he stepped out from under the artificial twilight and into the main forest, he commanded Eddy to lower Abigail and Weyanna, and then allowed the three monsters to tear down the trees and eat the spiders hiding underneath the roots.

The dog-sized arachnids spilled out from the copse in waves, tearing through the surrounding shell of webbing and fleeing; they ignored Malem and the others entirely in their frantic flight to get away. Gurgling screeches and shrieks emerged from within as the bigger monsters dined upon the laggards.

A few minutes later, the three monsters emerged content and well fed.

“You’re such a good master,” Eddy told him.

Malem smiled and inclined his head politely.

The ettin allowed Abigail and Weyanna onto its shoulders once more, and the mixed human-monster party set out soon thereafter and continued eastward, using the sun as their guide.

Throughout the rest of that day, whenever Malem sensed an approaching gobling search party, he ordered the team to take cover some distance away from the periphery of the sensed enemy. The goblings always passed them by without noticing their hiding places.

“That beast sense of yours would have saved me years of watching my back in the royal palace,” Ziatrice commented. “Imagine, being able to sense where your enemies were hiding in the dark, and strike them down before they could attack you, or hide from them while they searched futilely… I would have been ten steps ahead of my enemies, instead of only one.”

“Yes, it can be useful,” he agreed warily. “So far it hasn’t failed me today. But that may yet change.”

“Yeah,” Gwen said. “So don’t jinx him, Night Elf.”

Ziatrice glared at her. “If anything, I’ve blessed him, Archer.”

Gwen actually giggled, and quickly looked away.

“What?” Ziatrice said.

But Gwen didn’t answer.

He was curious too, but he wasn’t going to say anything to goad either of them.

At least she didn’t call me Gobling, Gwen explained in his mind. But instead, Archer. She doesn’t realize it, but to me, that’s not an insult, but a great compliment!

Maybe you should tell her, he suggested.

Oh no, I’d never do that. I don’t want her to stop!

Evening finally came without incident. The party passed by another dense thicket enclosed by the webs of dhaarkan spiders, and he called a halt.

“We might as well camp here,” Malem said. “It will be dark in half an hour anyway.”

“Amid dhaarkan spiders?” Sark said fearfully.

Ziatrice glanced at Sark distastefully. “As before, they won’t even come out of their nests, thanks to our monster friends. But if they do, never fear, you’ll be the first they devour. It will be over quickly. Their favorite food is gobling, after all.”

Sark whimpered.

“How’s that supposed to make me feel?” Gwen asked.

Ziatrice shrugged. “You have a big bow.”

“Yeah, except it’s going to get kind of dark in here,” Gwen said. “I’m a half-breed… my night vision is weak.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” the night elf said.

He cut a path though the carcass-infested outer shell of web with Balethorn, and had Khaan and Eddy lead the way inside. As before, he instructed Hansel to keep watch just outside the thicket for an added layer of security. There were few monsters that would readily attack a ghrip as big as that one. They’d have to be extremely powerful. Or extremely hungry.

Inside, the thick canopy made it seem like the sun had already set, and they entered a deeper twilight. Eddy and Khaan squeezed in between the trees on the left and right side of the copse, where they hunkered down for the night. The rest of the group huddled near the center of the thicket, where the trees were mostly clear, and well away from any of the buried nest openings.

He activated his night vision and shared it with Gwen and Abigail. Ziatrice didn’t need it, since the night elf could readily see in the dark on her own.

“That’s better,” Gwen said.

Xaxia lifted a hand in front of her face. “Not for me. I can barely see my hand.”

“Well, I’d light a fire globe, but then the dim glow from the copse would be visible for miles around,” Abigail said.

Malem nodded. “We’d attract monsters like moths to a flame.”

“I can see perfectly,” Rathamias.

“As can I,” Sark said.

“Silence, gobling,” Rathamias said.

Gwen interjected: “What about you, orak? No one gave you permission to speak.”

“My queen did,” the black mage insisted.

“Oh really?” Gwen glanced at Ziatrice, who merely shrugged. Gwen’s bow was suddenly in her hand, with an arrow notched and pointed at the orak. “Still feel like talking?”

Rathamias smiled brightly. “Go ahead. Release your arrow. Gobling Bitch.”

He felt the anger spike in Gwen, and he knew the mage had just signed its death sentence. This was going to be one of those times when the human side of Gwen lost, and the monster won.

But then the anger switched to outrage, and then desperation.

He’s paralyzed me! Gwen sent.

“All right, set her free, orak,” Malem told Rathamias.

“As long as she swears never to harm or threaten me going forward,” the orak said.

I will do no such thing! Gwen sent him.

“She promises,” Malem said.

Rathamias gave her a suspicious look, then stood up and took another seat so that the orak was no longer in the line of fire of that arrow.

It must have released her then, because the arrow promptly launched, hitting the trunk of a tree behind where Rathamias had been sitting.

Gwen drew another arrow and immediately pointed it at Rathamias.

She became paralyzed again, judging from the helplessness he felt from her energy bundle.

You need to get a hold on your inner monster, he sent her.

I’m trying, she replied. This arrogant bastard is just really good at pissing me off.

Rathamias moved out of the way of the arrow again with a sigh.

Once more Gwen launched the arrow when she was freed, but this time she lowered the bow.

Malem sensed a wild boar and a hare on the periphery of his beast sense, but he was too weary to hunt. Once again he found himself missing Felipe and the eggs the little monkey would steal for him when he slept in the forest.

Malem lowered his pack and dined upon his stored rations instead. He shared food with those who didn’t have any of their own. Around him, the copse continued to grow dimmer as the sun set so that eventually, even with his night vision, it was somewhat difficult to see. It was like a night with only a crescent moon lighting the sky.

Sark was chewing upon a piece of salted meat Malem had given the gobling. He suddenly spoke up: “I was the son of a chieftain. A chieftain! Destined to rule my tribe. But then my father’s guards rose against him and slew him, along with all of my older brothers. They left me alive because I was only five years old. They called me Runt.” He bit into the salted meat angrily. “Runt!” He looked down. “I could have been great. Instead, I’m now the slave of some human. Surrounded by creatures that hate me.”

“Aw,” Xaxia said sarcastically. “Poor little gobling. Would you like a spider leg to make it better?”

“That would be nice,” Sark said. “Compared to this chafar!”

“What’s a chafar?” Malem asked the monster.

Gwen was the one who replied. “You don’t want to know.”

He looked at her and cocked his head. “I didn’t know you spoke gobling.”

“Just the swears,” Gwen said. “I picked them up in my teens, when we captured a gobling while on a hunting expedition. The creature spoke Common, and called us every bad word in the book. It made sure we understood the meaning of each word, too.”

“So your parents didn’t teach you?” Xaxia asked.

Gwen shook her head. “I don’t remember them. I’m not even really sure what happened to them. I heard hints though, and put together a history based on what people told me and what they didn’t. As far as I can tell, my mother was from a neighboring village that had been attacked by goblings. She stumbled into ours, bruised and bloodied, and the good people took her in. They fed and clothed her, and nursed her back to health. It was then that they realized she was pregnant.

“She died giving birth to me, I think. What a terrible sacrifice for any woman to have to make. A life for a life. Never getting to see the fruits of her labor, literally. I guess giving birth to a half monster is hard on the body. I wish so badly that I’d known her. So badly. But then, I also worry that she might have hated me, when she saw what I was. When she saw that she’d given birth to a monster.”

“She wouldn’t have hated you,” Ziatrice said gently, but didn’t elaborate.

Into the quietude that followed Sark spoke again. Or rather, muttered: “Could have been a chieftain. A great, respected warrior. Now, a slave.”

“A chieftain?” Khaan said, the basilisk’s voice carrying from where it rested on the far side of the perimeter. “I have eaten more chieftains than I have fingers.”

“Well, you have no fingers so that can’t be very many…” Sark said.

“Careful,” Malem said. “I wouldn’t suggest pissing off a basilisk.”

“I once had a basilisk as a pet,” Rathamias announced.

Malem turned his gaze on the black mage. “The same applies to you. Insult Khaan at your peril.”

Rathamias raised its hands defensively and turned its head toward the basilisk’s location. “I meant no disrespect. You see, I was once part of an orak party that slew a merchant train. Nasty humans. One of the merchants had a basilisk egg that the human obviously intended to sell. Well, I kept it, and when it hatched, I raised the basilisk as my own. I had to get rid of it when it started turning all my friends to stone, however. I’m lucky it didn’t turn me to stone.”

“Get rid of it?” Khaan asked. There was a dangerous edge to the basilisk’s tone.

“Err, it died quickly,” Rathamias said.

Khaan didn’t say anything. But from the energy bundle, Malem could tell the basilisk was pissed.

Permission to devour this one whole, Khaan asked him over their mental link.

I might need him in the battles to come, Malem replied. Sorry.

He was ready for the basilisk to fight him, but thankfully the monster let the matter go.

“How’s Weyanna?” Malem asked Abigail. The white dragon was lying on the ground beside the princess. She hadn’t eaten, and instead had gone to sleep as soon as Eddy had lowered her to the ground.

“Not good,” Abigail said weakly. Her voice came in his mind, next: We need to talk about her.

Okay. After we’re done eating.

“Will she last the night?” Xaxia asked.

Abigail bit her lower lip, then lowered her head. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

Gwen nodded. “We’ll check on her throughout the night. Make sure she’s all right.”

“Who gets to keep first watch?” Xaxia asked.

“I’ll do it,” Gwen said. “I don’t like sleeping among spiders all that much.”

“Keep an eye on the base of the trunks,” Sark said. “Make sure they don’t emerge from their nests.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Gwen said. “I’ll be patrolling the grounds constantly, and if any spider dares show its ugly head, it will have a private conversation with Wasp.”

“You’re assuming the ettin won’t eat it, first,” Ziatrice said.

“That’s right,” Malem agreed. “Eddy is also on first watch. And Khaan will take over after midnight. And Sark a few hours after that. They all feed on spiders.” He glanced at Sark. “At least, I assume you do.”

“Spiders are tasty treats!” Sark exclaimed.

“There you go.” Malem retuned his attention to Gwen. “Hansel will also keep watch for part of the night… from the imagery the ghrip sent me, my understanding is it usually spends a few hours feeding after midnight, so it will rove the surrounding area.”

“I’ll join Khaan for second watch,” Ziatrice said.

“And I Sark for third watch,” Xaxia said.

Malem nodded, satisfied with the watch order.

“Notice how he never volunteers to keep watch,” Xaxia commented.

Malem shrugged. “I need my beauty sleep.”

He finished his salted meat, and then lay down, closing his eyes.

We have to talk, Abigail sent.

16

Malem sighed. Yes. Sorry. Weyanna.

You need to sleep with her, Abigail sent.

Well, that’s a change from her previous attitude.

You were the one who warned me not to, he told her.

That was before her health took a turn for the worst. She isn’t going to last much longer like this. You have to Break her. She needs the strength and endurance you can grant her through the link. You’ve been keeping me alive, feeding me vitality. But look at how poorly she fares now, as compared to me.

He glanced at Weyanna’s prostate form in the dim light of his night vision. Her eyes were closed, and her skin was very pale, so much so that she no longer seemed tanned—but that could have been a side effect of the night vision. She was still asleep, though her breathing seemed troublingly slow. Her forehead was covered in a thin layer of perspiration, despite the fact the night air was cool. She was the only one sweating.

Besides, Abigail continued, you’ll need the added power to defeat Mauritania. So I say again: Break her.

Don’t tempt me like this, Malem sent. If I start Breaking more half dragons, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop when we return to the Metals. I already thirst for the power they grant me. I’m barely hanging on as it is.

Oh, I’ll make sure you stop after her, Abigail told him rather sternly.

He raised an eyebrow when he looked at her. Oh, really?

She nodded, and bore her teeth in a fierce smile. Her teeth almost seemed to glow in the dim light. Malevolently. I’ll eat you, if I have to.

Ah. The jealous kind, are you?

Let’s just say I can tolerate sharing to a degree, Abigail sent. But once you start bedding over four other women at the same time, that’s when my patience begins to diminish, no matter how great it feels when you have sex with them.

He steepled his fingers. Then he made up his mind.

“I’ll have to discuss this with Ziatrice and Gwen, first,” Malem said aloud. “Since adding her to our shared connection will affect them, too. You can all feel each other, remember. And perhaps exert a subtle influence upon one another. For example, since adding Ziatrice, you and Gwen have become a little… grimmer, of mindset.”

“But when you took Ziatrice, you didn’t discuss that with me or Gwen,” Abigail said crossly.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “It was the middle of battle. I didn’t have time. And I didn’t know at the time that you could influence one another.”

“So what’s this about discussing something with Ziatrice and I?” Gwen said, coming in from where she had been standing watch close to the outskirts of the thicket.

“Abigail thinks I should Break Weyanna.”

“Have sex with her, you mean,” Gwen spat.

“Not necessarily,” Ziatrice said. “He Broke me without sex.”

“Very true,” Gwen said. “If you have to Break her, do it the same way. She’s weak enough now, isn’t she?”

“Might be,” Malem agreed.

Gwen nodded toward the white half dragon. “Well she’s hardly in any condition for sex. She might shift a little bit here or there when you mount her, but otherwise you’ll essentially be masturbating into her, given the response you’ll probably get.”

“What a crude image,” Ziatrice commented.

“So you want to Break her so you can boost her vitality, is that it?” Xaxia asked.

“I always said you were good at putting two and two together,” Malem said, the sarcasm thick in his voice.

“Damn it,” Gwen said. “You were supposed to have sex with me tonight, remember?”

“Actually, I don’t…” he admitted.

“Uh, yeah?” the half gobling told him. “Your earlier comment about how I’m a sexual beast in bed compared to normal women? Or do you say that to all of us…”

He sighed. “No, just you.” He was a little embarrassed she’d broadcasted it in front of all the others like that, but he quickly stumbled on, hoping to distract the other women. “I don’t see what the big deal is. Having sex with her is the same as having sex with you. Especially after I Break her… you’ll feel every moment, amplified tenfold.”

“Actually that’s not quite true,” Gwen said. “Because I’ll know, deep down, that you’re having sex with someone else. You might fool my mind, but not my body.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve made up my mind,” He said. “If Breaking her is the only way to save her, then it has to be done. And if I have to have sex with her to do it, I will.” His gaze once again shifted to Weyanna, and he watched her toss restlessly in her sleep.

He went to Weyanna and woke her.

She opened her eyes. They seemed distant, as if her mind was still far off.

“I’m sorry, father,” Weyanna said. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“It’s me, Malem,” he said. “We’re in the Midweald.”

Her eyes focused upon him. “Malem…” She sat up weakly. “What is it? Are we under attack?”

He gently shoved her back down. “No. I’m going to try Breaking you. It’s probably the only way to save your life. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “You’ve been giving Abigail stamina, because of your link.”

“That’s right,” he said. “And I’ll do the same for you.”

“But I’ll become your vassal,” she protested. “Permanently.”

“That’s the price, yes,” he said. “I promise not to abuse my power over you, if it’s any consolation.”

She bowed her head, and said, softly: “Some would choose death over such bondage.” She sighed, then met his eyes defiantly. “But not me. Do your worst, Breaker.”

“Just relax, and try to surrender to me,” he told her.

He reached into her mind. He found that while he could wrap his will around her, whenever he tried to squeeze, she always fought him.

“Weyanna,” he said gently. “You keep fighting. You have to surrender.”

“I’m trying,” she said.

He extended the tendrils of his will around her mind once again, but still she fought him, and wouldn’t let him take control.

Malem sat back. “Even though she’s obviously very weak, she still resists. It could be because she’s not close enough to death. Not like Ziatrice was.” He had impaled the night elf through the abdomen with Balethorn, after all, before he was finally able to Break her with his will alone.

“I don’t think stabbing Weyanna in the belly is the best idea right about now…” Abigail said. “Especially considering we have no one to heal her, and I doubt she’ll be able to do it to herself. I also don’t think it would be wise to wait until she’s ‘closer to death,’ as you call it.”

“No, neither are very good ideas,” Malem agreed. “I’m going to have to…” He sighed, and glanced at Gwen. “Sleep with her.”

Gwen didn’t sound too happy when she spoke: “That’s right, Breaker, try to pretend it’s such a heavy burden. Wait, I just realized something, you could have been having sex with all these higher-level monsters all this time! Why bother to physically injure them, first? Just have them turn around and bend over!”

He pressed his lips together, and turned back toward Weyanna. She was already falling asleep again. “We’ll try the mental route one more time.”

But it was no use. He couldn’t reach into her mind.

The latest attempt woke up Weyanna completely. She blinked several times and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I want to give in. But I can’t. Something won’t let me. There’s a part of me that will always resist any man, I think. I’m afraid of letting go, and truly surrendering. Afraid that if I give up control, I won’t ever get it back.”

He nodded. “It’s a feeling a lot of people have. Abigail was the same. There’s something about you Metal dragons… you just refuse to quit.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. He didn’t actually see it in the dim light, but felt it through the bond they shared. “Yeah, yeah, she just wants to fuck you. And you likewise.”

“Such a classy woman,” Ziatrice commented.

“All right, well, let’s get you up,” he told Weyanna. He held out a hand and helped her stand. She was wobbly on her feet.

“You’re actually going to go through with this?” Xaxia asked Weyanna.

“What choice do I have?” Weyanna replied. “I need the stamina his Breaking can give me.”

“But you can barely stand…” the bandit said.

Weyanna didn’t answer, and Malem helped her away from the others. She moved unsteadily on her feet.

“Are all human so… promiscuous?” Rathamias said behind him. “Your sexual habits remind me of goblings.”

“Hey!” Gwen said.

They continued to talk softly behind him. Beside him, Weyanna stumbled twice, but he held her up.

He navigated between the trees with his night vision. At the base of each trunk he could see the small piles of dirt where Khaan and Eddy had buried the entrances to the spider nests shortly after entering the thicket.

When he could barely hear the voices of the others, he laid Weyanna down behind a thick trunk. He chose the side opposite the buried opening to the nest below.

“Do we have to worry about the spiders attacking?” she asked nervously.

“No,” he said. “The scent of basilisk and ettin is too strong.”

“But how can they smell them, if their nest openings are buried?” she asked.

“The seal isn’t complete,” Malem explained. “There are still small holes where the dirt fell through into the roots below. Otherwise, the spiders wouldn’t be able to breathe, and they definitely would’ve emerged by now if that was the case.” He paused. “Trust me, they know the monsters are camped out in their colony, waiting to devour any of them that emerge. My beast sense tells me they’re hidden well below the root systems. If that changes, I’ll know.”

“But will you even notice?” Weyanna said. “The princess has been telling me about the sex we’ll experience. How… distracting… it can be.”

“Ah,” he said. “Yeah, there will be a short interval where I probably won’t notice if any spiders are sneaking up on me, that’s true. But it doesn’t last long.”

“Too bad,” Weyanna said. Her voice was beginning to assume the sexual quality it had when they had first met. Her old instincts were coming out, despite her injuries.

“How tender are your wounds?” he asked.

“Fairly tender,” she said. “I’m going to have to ride on top.”

“Probably suits you, considering you like to be in control,” he said.

“Oh yes,” she said.

When he heard the hunger in her voice, a hunger that seemed somehow more than sexual, he reminded himself that she ate men like him for a living.

Except she can’t even become a dragon. So I don’t have to worry about that.

She unexpectedly reached out and massaged the area between his legs. He couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped his lips.

He opened his pants and let her work him for a few moments. His toes curled as he came close to the edge, but he had the presence of mind to stop himself from going any further, and he slid away. “Careful. I might climax before I can Break you.”

“That might be fun,” she said ravenously.

“Damn, everything about you is hot.” He lowered his pants to his knees, then laid down beside her. He helped her assume a position on top of him, and she hiked up her dress and slid onto him.

“I’m going to ravage you,” she promised.

And ravage him she did.

She rocked against him, and he thrusted in turn, matching her rhythm. He tried to increase the pace by thrusting faster, but she wouldn’t have it, and forced him to match her pace. She really did like being in control. It pissed him off, but the anger quickly faded with the pleasure he felt. She bent her hips slightly at the bottom every time she slid onto him, and that sparked a surge of pleasure in his member with each thrust. She certainly knew what she was doing.

And that she was able to please him like this, despite the evil magic embedded inside of her, was a testament to how powerful arousal could be. It gave strength even to the grievously wounded.

Even so, a distant part of his mind noted, he’d probably have to bestow a lot of vitality to her when he finally Broke her.

Broke her. He’d almost forgotten, thanks to the pleasure she’d provided him with thus far. He was getting close to release… he’d have to work quickly.

But then she suddenly stopped, as if sensing how close he was, and wanting to draw out his agony even longer.

“Don’t stop!” he said.

“Beg,” she told him.

Definitely knew what she was doing.

He wrapped the tentacles of his will around her mind and squeezed. “No. You beg.”

She thrashed about once again as he squeezed his mental fist, and refused to surrender to him.

He used his strength to lift her off of him, and began thrusting against her, rapidly, ignoring the fact that she wasn’t rocking into him in turn. He increased his pace, working even harder.

He tightened his will around her mind again. She was weakening, but still she refused to let him in. He knew he’d have her eventually… he just needed a bit longer.

Too bad he was close to release. He had to get her. Now.

He crushed the fist of his will with all of his mental energy and it sank into her mind as she finally surrendered to the pleasure. Their minds intertwined, and she took her place in the special spot he had reserved for her next to the other women in his mind.

The pleasure instantly skyrocketed as it reverberated between Gwen, Abigail, Ziatrice, Weyanna, and himself. He found himself exploding involuntarily inside of her, and he bit down on his lips to prevent himself from moaning too loudly into the night.

Weyanna started to cry out, but slammed a hand into her mouth and bit down on it instead. Her muted screams of pleasure drifted through the trees.

Finally she slumped onto him, clearly exhausted. He could feel her in his mind now that the pleasure had faded, and the five of them were no longer mentally intertwined. The bond was the same as the other women. Permanent.

“That was everything Abigail promised, and more,” Weyanna said. She wore a lascivious grin.

He helped her roll off of him and she closed her eyes. Her breathing was ragged, and not just from the sex.

Malem fed her stamina, worried she was going to die on him, and her breathing promptly improved. She opened her eyes again and sat up.

“So this is what it feels like,” she said. “I have energy again.”

Judging from the mental headroom, he thought he had five new slots, maybe six.

He reached out experimentally and was able to immediately break three spiders in the nest below him. They fit snugly into the new compartments Weyanna had opened up in his mind, but when he tried adding a fourth, he couldn’t do it.

He had six new slots, then, considering spiders needed two.

The Breaking tired him, so he stole vitality from Hansel and Eddy. After that, he instructed the three spiders to emerge from their nest and climb the tree to act as scouts against other dhaarkan, ready to raise the alarm and wake him if any tried to emerge. He informed the other monsters of the new friends he’d bound; hopefully, they wouldn’t eat them.

“Come on, let’s get back to the others,” he told Weyanna. “Unless you want to spend the night here, close to all these spider nest openings.”

“No thanks.” She lowered her dress.

Malem hiked up his own pants and then helped her to her feet.

He rounded the trunk to lead her back to the center of the copse. He glanced at the base of the tree, and saw one of the spiders under his command was digging its way out.

Weyanna leaped in fright when she saw it, and let out a muted yelp before hiding behind him.

“Relax, it’s mine,” he told her.

As they walked toward the central part of the thicket, he noted that she didn’t need to lean on him anymore. Plus, she had the energy to be afraid of the spiders. All good signs.

“That’s right,” Xaxia said as he approached the others. “You’re going to work your way through all the dragons, like I knew you would. You make me proud.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Not really.”

Ziatrice, Gwen, and Abigail were lying on the grass, gazing at the dark canopy overhead. They were panting, to a woman.

“Holy shit,” Abigail said. “I might have to take back what I said about limiting you to only four of us. That was incredible.”

“How many more slots did you get?” Xaxia asked.

“Six,” he replied. “Which makes sense, given that’s how many I got when I Broke Abigail.”

“What’s the running total now?” Xaxia pressed.

“Twenty-six,” he said, sitting down. “Though keep in mind that monsters require different numbers of slots.”

“Ah, I feel refreshed,” Weyanna said, laying down beside him and putting her hands behind her head. “Who would have thought being conquered by a man could be so pleasant. But next time, I plan to do the conquering.”

“We’ll see,” Malem said.

“Just be glad she didn’t eat you,” Abigail commented.

“Well,” Gwen said, getting up. “I guess it’s time for me to take my place on watch, like I promised. Night.”

Malem lay down and went to sleep.

Though he was in the heart of monster territory, the dreams were pleasant, for once.

17

At some point in the night Malem awakened to distant hoots and howls. It sounded like a gobling search party had camped nearby, just beyond the range of his beast sense, and they’d just been ambushed by a group of other monsters. Malem remembered waking to a similar ambush in this forest, when spiders had attacked in the night, attracting the attention of a hill giant. Wasn’t all that fun.

He listened until the howls died down, and thought about how typical such attacks were here in monster territory: it was always a fight for survival, no matter if you were human or monster.

On that note he fell asleep again, only to wake with the morning light. The rays of the sun were muted due to the thick canopy overhead, but he welcomed the morning light nonetheless. Any respite from the dark was always a good thing.

The Darkness. It hadn’t come for him in a few weeks now. It was overdue, in fact. He wasn’t sure if Banvil was pissed off about what Malem had done the last time: using the Darkness to help take down a Black Sword. Malem was under the impression Banvil and Vorgon were nemeses, so he would have expected the Balor to be happy about what happened. Then again, Banvil probably didn’t want to be helping Malem in any way. The next time the Darkness came, it’s arrival would probably be unexpected, and at the worst of times.

Yet another thing I have to worry about.

As if he didn’t have enough problems.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. A quick glance at the bases of the surrounding trees told him none of the spiders had attempted to escape their dens, instead electing to remain deep beneath the roots of the trees. And no monsters had attacked in the night. Always a good thing.

He suspected having a ghrip, a basilisk, and an ettin embedded with his group, not to mention a whole lot of spiders around them, had probably made the difference.

He considered releasing the spiders and then Breaking nearby hares and squirrels to summon to the camp for eating purposes, but the scent from the required cooking fires would carry for miles on the wind. He decided it wasn’t worth the risk, even if he felt relatively safe in his monster-protected thicket.

So instead he broke his fast on his rations, and doled out the last of his salted meat to those who didn’t have any of their own.

Weyanna shook her head as she finished the meat. “No more, right?” When he shook his head, she continued: “I’m at the lightest weight I’ve ever been, thanks to this mission.”

Abigail nodded. “Even after living among the humans for so long, you never get used to their light repasts.”

“You usually eat a whole cow for breakfast huh?” Xaxia said.

“As dragons, perhaps,” Abigail said. “But we require about the same amount of food as normal humans in this form. Starvation diets are still hard on our bodies, though.”

“I was being sarcastic,” Xaxia explained.

Malem stared at her for a moment. He still didn’t feel her with his beast sense. She was human, after all. Still, now that he had increased his power by Breaking Weyanna, he thought he should be able to at least influence normal humans in some small way.

He reached out experimentally, searching for her… nothing. He took a guess at where her mind should have resided, based on her position in physical space, and attempted to wrap his will around that spot, but he grasped only empty air.

Oh well. It was a nice dream.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Xaxia said.

“Like what?” he asked innocently.

“Like you’re taking a shit or something,” she replied.

He laughed. “When I look at you, you make me want to take a dump.”

She gave him a sarcastic grin. “You’re so sweet.”

After the humans finished eating, the party evacuated the thicket and Malem allowed the monsters to ravage the dhaarkan nests. Spiders burst through the webs that enclosed the copse and flowed outside in waves, running away terrified into the forest. This particular nest had more spiders than the last, and a few came a bit too close to him and the others for comfort—he whacked those with Balethorn.

After the monsters had had their fill of spiders, the party set out due east. Malem dispatched the three spiders to act as scouts far ahead of the party. It was just as good as having an eagle. Probably better, given the limited confines.

Eddy and Khaan followed a ways behind the spiders, with Malem and the others after them, and Hansel bringing up the rear.

Eddy had offered to give a ride to Weyanna and Abigail, but the pair had insisted on walking, at least for the first part of the morning. While he applauded their show of strength, he could sense the Eldritch magic inside them, slowly eating away. He doubted they’d be on foot for very long. Not without a lot of vitality transfers on his part.

Shortly after setting out, he sensed another gobling party approaching rapidly from behind.

“I’ve got a search party,” Malem said. “Goblings, and two scallions, judging from the powerful energy signatures. I think it’s the same party that passed us yesterday.”

“The searchers obviously followed the path of trampled branches left in the wake of your pets,” Ziatrice said accusingly.

“Would you rather we traveled through the heart of monster territory without any creatures to protect us at all?”

The night elf frowned. “No. But perhaps Breaking monsters that made less of a mess would be in order.”

Malem cocked his head, concentrating on his beast sense. “They’re moving fast… the two scallions are breaking away from the others, and fast closing. My guess is they picked up our scent.”

He tried to wrap his will around the scallions. He was hopeful that adding Weyanna to his mental coterie would have enabled him to more easily Break higher level monsters, but his will still evaporated upon touching the minds of these creatures.

Nothing’s ever easy, no matter how powerful you get.

He ordered Eddy, Khaan and Hansel to assume defensive positions at the rear of the party. He also recalled the spiders, which turned back from their scout positions far ahead.

“Maybe the rest of us should climb the trees?” Gwen asked.

“Lions can climb trees,” Malem reminded her.

“Oh, yeah.”

Malem drew Balethorn. The sword remained silent in his grip. The others similarly prepared themselves.

The spiders arrived just as the scallions appeared through the trees ahead.

As Sark had promised, they looked like lions, except their bodies were covered in green scales, and two long canines hung down from the tops of their maws; each tooth curved slightly, like a saber.

He could feel frustration emanating from Khaan’s energy bundle: the basilisk was trying to turn them to stone, but the scallions were resisting its evil magic.

The nimble lions approached rapidly, and weaved between the bigger monsters, dodging their various swipes, and instead headed straight for the smaller party of humanoids within.

Rathamias launched dark mists at both scallions, but it had no effect.

Ziatrice launched her dark chains. They fell away upon contacting the creatures.

Weyanna released small shards of ice. Abigail launched weak fireballs. Gwen released arrows in rapid succession. No good.

The three spiders leaped on the creatures. The first two targeted the scallion on the left, the third the scallion on the right.

While the spiders occupied their foes, Malem attacked the one on the left. Ziatrice joined him, while Xaxia and Sark took a run at the beast on the right.

A spider was wrapped around the face of the leftmost lion, keeping its limbs wrapped around its muzzle and preventing the creature from opening its jaws. The scallion moved backward, shaking its head in an effort to fling the spider off. The second spider meanwhile was wrapped around its torso, and trying to chew through those scales.

Malem reached that one and stabbed his sword into its side. The blade bounced off the scales.

Ziatrice slammed her halberd down, aiming for the bare neck between the two spiders. Wither also bounced away.

The scallion rolled to the ground and slid both paws along either side of its face and managed to maneuver one of the spider’s legs into its mouth. It promptly bit down. The spider’s remaining grip relaxed, and the scallion chomped down rapidly, chewing up those legs, and the abdomen. Then it spat out the dead spider, stood up, and roared.

Eddy’s foot promptly smashed down into the scallion from above. The spider was squashed to a pulp on the creature’s back, but the scallion itself otherwise seemed unharmed. Again and again Eddy smashed down its foot.

“Die, little lion!” the ettin said.

Khaan was doing something similar to the scallion on the right.

Finally Eddy stepped back, and the scallion rose on wobbly feet. Malem rushed forward, and tried to slide his blade into its eye—no good. Ziatrice meanwhile sliced her halberd into its mouth, but also couldn’t draw any blood. He wrapped his mind around the creature’s will, but once more his mental tendrils evaporated on touch.

He stepped back, allowing Hansel to wrap the scallion up in one of its long tentacles.

“Khaan,” Malem said.

The basilisk ceased pouncing on the second scallion, and stepped back. The creature walked away drunkenly, the remnants of the smashed spider visible on its back. Hansel shot out an appendage and bound that one fast, too. The ghrip tried to crush them, wrapping multiple tentacles around the creatures and squeezing so hard that its whole body shifted, but had little success. He had to instruct the bull to simply hang onto them for now.

“That wasn’t so bad after all,” Gwen said.

“No,” Malem said. “We just lost a few spiders.”

The goblings from the rest of the search party began to arrive in small groups. Khaan turned them all to stone in succession. When Malem sensed that was the last of them, he gave the order to continue east once more.

“What are we going to do about them?” Abigail asked, nodding at the scallions that remained bound in Hansel’s tentacles. They occasionally struggled, but couldn’t break free of the ghrip’s superior strength. They were little more than bugs trapped in a spider’s web.

“We’ll hold on to them, at least for now,” he said. “Until we can find somewhere to dispose of them.”

They continued east. Malem bound three more spiders along the way, and had them scout ahead in a wide line.

Eventually the rightmost spider discovered a tar pit, and Malem had the party swerve that way. When they arrived, he had Hansel toss the scallions inside, and then they proceeded on their way. He hated having to kill the creatures like that—it seemed like such a waste. But what else could he do? If he let them go, they would return to another search party, and then the goblings would send them out once more. The party would have to fight them all over again.

They met two more parties of goblings as they continued east. Neither search party had scallions or other powerful creatures, and the team made short work of them.

They encountered one last gobling search party—this one had a basilisk with them. Malem instructed Khaan to dash in, turn the goblings to stone, and then kill the basilisk. In that order.

“Think you can handle that?” he asked.

“Easily,” Khaan said, dashing ahead.

Malem took a roundabout route around the gobling party, and continued east. He heard the occasionally loud thud coming from the forest behind him, along with the screeching of basilisks engaged in a deadly duel.

“Should we lend a hand?” Gwen asked.

Malem shook his head. “Let the basilisk work. If it loses, I’ll Break the other one. Actually…”

He expired the three spiders that acted as scouts, draining them completely of their stamina. He released Sark as well, but didn’t extinguish the gobling.

“Go,” Malem ordered the monster. “Run back to your tribesmen. Tell them what you’ve seen. Tell them if they send any more basilisks my way, I’ll return with those same basilisks, and turn every last gobling in this forest to stone.”

Wide-eyed, Sark fled.

“My, my, but you’re sexy when you threaten,” Ziatrice told him.

Ignoring her, Malem wrapped his will around the enemy basilisk. Khaan had weakened it severely, so much so that Malem was able to Break the creature almost instantly, filling up seven of the slots he’d cleared, leaving him with only one.

Trading up.

He called off Khaan and ordered the creature to return with its new friend. He promptly drained stamina from Eddy and Hansel to replace that which he’d lost in the Breaking, funneling some of the vitality to Khaan and the new basilisk.

Master, I displease you? Eddy asked over the mental link.

No, Malem said. I needed to borrow some of your strength. Go with Hansel and find something to eat. We’ll wait.

Thank you! Eddy sent.

He reached out to the new basilisk before it arrived. Basilisk.

You are in my head, too? the creature replied in a female voice. You have broken my will, and that is not enough?

He smiled greedily. It’s never enough. I want you to ensure your gaze doesn’t harm me or my companions.

It will be done. But who are you? Vorgon? Or one of his dark servants?

Neither, Malem said. I am a man.

A man did this? Impossible! The basilisk struggled frantically against his will. I refuse to serve a mere man!

He tightened his grip and drained stamina from the creature. You will call me Master.

At last the thrashing ceased.

You will enjoy serving me, Malem sent.

The monster didn’t answer.

You will enjoy serving me, Malem repeated.

Finally the monster replied. I will enjoy serving you.

The pair of basilisks returned, limping, covered in blood. Malem couldn’t tell them apart visually, but he knew which one was Khaan because of his beast sense—the energy bundles were slightly different between the two of them. And unique.

“So now we have two basilisks,” Gwen said.

He nodded. “Uh huh.”

“What are you going to call the second?” Xaxia asked.

“I’m sure it has its own name already,” he replied. “Basilisk, what is your name?”

“I am Ophid, Master,” the second basilisk said.

“There you go,” he told Xaxia.

“They’re in pretty bad shape,” Abigail said.

Ziatrice glanced at Weyanna. “Maybe we should get the white dragon woman to use her healing magic.”

Weyanna pursed her luscious lips for a moment. For some reason when he saw that, all he could think of was her head between his thighs as she worked him with that sexy little mouth of hers.

“I might be able to accelerate their healing a little bit, it’s true,” Weyanna said, her words returning his distracted mind to the present. “If you grant me some stamina, that is.”

He forced himself to regard the basilisks. The sight of their battered and bloodied bodies helped get his mind out of the gutter. “They look pretty bad, don’t they? But I can already sense them growing stronger with each passing moment. No, I say we let them heal naturally. You need to conserve your strength as much as possible.”

So that we can fuck, later? she sent into his head.

He swallowed in sudden arousal. He forced the feeling down, and instead scolded her: We’re not having sex again until the Eldritch magic is out of your system. I won’t risk taxing you any more than necessary.

She shrugged. Your loss.

He recalled Eddy and Hansel from their hunting session—they’d only snagged an elk and had shared it between them. It would keep them sated for the time being.

When the monsters arrived, he forced Abigail and Weyanna to ride atop the ettin, and then headed east once more.

He Broke an eagle and slid it into his last free slot. He named the eagle Garibaldi in honor of the last one, and had it fly over the treetops to gauge the distance to civilization. “Looks like we’re almost out of monster territory. Greentree isn’t far ahead.”

By evening they had left behind the monster territory. Malem knew immediately, because the density of the undergrowth kicked up. With Eddy and the basilisks leading the way, much of that undergrowth was trampled, making passage for the rest of the party much easier.

“It’s actually a relief to be out of there,” Gwen said. “And yet, traveling through that forest didn’t seem as bad as the first time we did it, when I was the only half monster you had Broken.”

“Yes,” Malem said. “Having four women bound to me, along with a team of monsters, certainly makes a hell of a difference.”

When Garibaldi sighted the road that wound through the forest, Malem ended the eastward march and instead had the team mirror the route. They stayed within the trees, about a mile to the west so that the sound of the monsters trampling the undergrowth wouldn’t be heard by any travelers on the road.

At one point, a patrol of twenty human soldiers—no doubt hailing from Greentree—broke away from the road to approach through the trees. As with Xaxia, he couldn’t feel them with his beast sense, and if it weren’t for Garibaldi he wouldn’t have even known they were coming.

Malem had all the monsters hide in the undergrowth. He told the basilisks not to look at the soldiers.

It was an odd feeling, knowing he had the power to turn all twenty of the intruders to stone with but a single command. It was like they were all string puppets, and he had a pair of long hedge trimmers in place, ready to sever the thin threads of their existence at the same time, as per his whim.

Don’t get too high on your own power or anything.

The soldiers on horseback approached slowly, hacking through the thick foliage with their swords. They were set to pass the hidden group right by.

And then Gwen sneezed beside him.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“You there!” one of the soldiers said.

Gwen cringed at the words.

“Come out of the trees,” the soldier continued.

Malem glanced at Xaxia, and gestured for her to join him. She seemed the safest choice, considering she looked as human as he did. Gwen or Weyanna would have also worked.

He brushed aside a particularly large fern, and walked into view of the soldiers on horseback. Xaxia reached out to hold his hand. He glanced at her, and he saw that she was pretending to be scared, acting like they were some couple ambushed while camping in the woods or something.

“Oh, hello,” Malem told the soldiers.

“What are you doing here?” the lead soldier demanded from his saddle.

Malem was feeling cocky. “The same could be asked of you.”

The soldier raised an amused eyebrow. “We’re investigating strange noises passersby reported hearing in the region. Given that goblings have been sighted in this area over the past few days, we figured it warranted an immediate follow-up. When we arrived, as soon as we pulled up our horses we heard it too: the sound of a big group of monsters traveling past. It ended only a few moments ago.”

Whoops. He’d been too close to the road after all.

“Look at their armor,” another soldier said. “Have you ever seen anything like that?”

The leader frowned. “Who are you?”

Malem decided to tell the truth. Or a variant of it. “We’re from the front lines. We’re on an important mission for King Goldenthall.”

“Goldenthall, huh?”

In answer Malem merely nodded his head.

“And you’re not allowed to divulge the details of this mission, I suppose?” the soldier asked.

“That would be a correct supposition,” Malem said. “You haven’t yet said who you are…”

“I am Robert Havansk, of the Greentree Second Militia,” the man replied.

“A civilian military force?” Xaxia said. “That would explain the amateur behavior.” She glanced at Malem. “This is what happens when you send most of your army off to war.”

“That one has the looks of a bandit,” another soldier commented. It was obvious he was talking about Xaxia.

“Maybe we should tie her up and bring her back to the city, just to be sure?” another interjected, eliciting laugher from his companions.

Xaxia rested a hand on her hilt and bared her teeth in a malevolent grin. “You’re certainly welcome to try.”

Robert straightened, as if affronted. But he wisely made no further comment to disparage her. Instead, he seemed to get a hold of his emotions, and searched the trees around him, as if worried Malem and Xaxia were trying to distract him from some sort of impending ambush.

“Did you see monsters here?” Robert asked.

“No,” Malem replied. “But we did hear the commotion you mentioned. I think it was a party of traveling goblings. We hid in the trees, and when your soldiers turned up, the noises quickly faded, as if the goblings were high-tailing it away to the west. If you want to catch them, they’re probably long gone by now.”

“I see,” Robert said.

“But you’re welcome to check it out.” He gestured through the trees, pointing to the west, well away from where the rest of his party, and the monsters, were hiding.

“Do you smell that?” another soldier behind the leader said. He rubbed at his nose. “Smells like something died here.”

That was probably Eddy. The monster gave off a rotten scent that even Malem could smell from ten yards away.

Robert gave Malem one last look, and then turned back toward the east. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll rejoin the road. It’s not wise to stay in these woods.”

“As I said, we’re on a mission,” Malem told him. “But don’t worry, we can take care of ourselves.”

With that, they rode back through the trees.

He slumped slightly, relieved. The soldiers had no idea how close to death they had come.

Then again, Malem doubted he would have killed them. But he would have certainly given them a good scare.

He had his party move another mile away from the road to avoid a repeat of the encounter.

Not long thereafter the party reached Greentree.

18

Malem entered Greentree without issue. It helped that he took with him only Weyanna, Abigail, Xaxia, and Gwen. He left Ziatrice behind with the others—blue skin wasn’t well known in the area, and would draw unnecessary attention. Then again, with four beautiful women at his side, two of them garbed in exotic armor like himself, and the other two clad in what had once been obviously expensive dresses, his small party was drawing more than a few eyes.

He wasn’t worried so much about Gwen’s green skin tone: half goblings were a relatively common sight in the forest cities that bordered monster territory, unfortunately.

He stopped at the first available tailor and purchased long, flowing robes for the five of them using the drachmae Rashan had given him for the mission. They donned their new garments immediately, placing any backpacks on top, and raised the hoods to hide their faces. Malem also bought two extra robes, and two pairs of thick gloves, stowing them in his pack for later distribution.

Before leaving, he asked the tailor for directions to the closest magical healer.

“A magical healer?” the tailor asked. “Not many are open at this hour. Those that are, well, they charge a premium!”

“We’ll pay the price,” Malem said.

The tailor nodded, and gave him directions to a healer that was open late.

Malem thanked him and the party proceeded on its way.

He could still sense Ziatrice out there, along with the other monsters in his control, camped out in the forest next to one of the farms that populated the land along the outskirts of Greentree.

He hadn’t noticed it at first, but the range of his beast sense had increased with each half monster he Broke. By his estimation, he was roughly two miles away from those monsters at the moment; he felt he could go up to at least three miles if he really wanted to, but that wouldn’t be necessary, not with the directions the merchant had given him—the healer was only a few streets away.

At least no one was paying them much attention anymore. Well, his company still stood out somewhat with their robes, but curious eyes usually looked away shortly after a quick glance. No one cared much for traveling monks, after all.

The buildings on either side were all roughly the same, made of mud brick covered in white plaster, and topped by red tiles. There were no rich or poor quarters in this town: the population was too low for that. It was big enough to escape the title of village, but still small enough to avoid being classed a true city. A while ago, he’d had a brief tryst with the daughter of the Greentree mayor; Malem had rifled through the ledger in his office at one point, and learned the median income at the time was about fifty drachmae a month, placing most of the residents squarely in the middle class.

That wasn’t to say there weren’t still people below the poverty line, of course. In fact, a new set of beggars accosted the “traveling monks” for coin every intersection.

As he walked, he found himself missing Felipe and Bounder. Especially when he passed caged beasts that some vendor or another was trying to sell. In the past, he had always sent Felipe out to secretly open those cages, setting the animals free. Without the monkey, that was essentially impossible. Maybe Garibaldi might be able to open some of these doors, but most likely not. Eagles just weren’t that great with their talons, and there weren’t any other nearby animals he could Break who were better suited to the task.

When they turned onto the final street before the healer, his small group walked past a dog vendor. Inside the different cages he spotted a sight that broke his heart: the dogs were so malnourished that some had the rungs of their ribs showing, while others had big patches of fur missing from their hides.

He turned angrily on the merchant: a fat, oily specimen of a man.

“How much for all the dogs?” Malem said, his voice almost a growl.

The man was busy whittling a small piece of wood with a pocket-knife and didn’t even bother to look up at him. “A hundred drachmae each. All twenty dogs? Two thousand drachmae.”

Xaxia whistled. “That’s enough to buy a house in this city.”

Hearing the woman’s voice, the man finally glanced up. “Monks eh? Tell you what, I can sell you this one for seventy-five. It’s a good little mutt. Give you all the loyal and loving care you monks need.” He was pointing at a particularly ragged Dalmatian in the first cage.

When the dog growled and snapped at his finger from behind the metal grill, the man slammed the piece of wood into the cage. “Hey! Mind your manners, Mutt!” He struck the cage a few more times for good measure, rattling the dog inside.

The poor animal retreated, whining softly, cowering in the far corner of the cage.

The merchant shook his head. “Dirty mongrels.” He turned his attention back to the potential clients. “Look, I’m closing soon, bud. You want to buy a dog or what?”

But Malem hardly heard for the rage that was boiling in his head.

He drew Balethorn.

Strangely, the sword was singing wildly in his grasp. It hungered for this man, though he was nowhere close to being a dragon. Perhaps the sword sensed an evil in this man that was not unlike that of a black dragon, and it triggered the same thirst in the blade. Whatever the case, it was all Malem could do not to cut him down and satisfy the sword.

The dog vendor raised his hands in alarm.

“Open the cages,” Malem hissed.

The merchant quickly complied. The dogs, seeming confused, didn’t know what to do, so they simply stayed in their cages. That was the only home they had ever known.

“Go then,” the vendor said. “Git!” He kicked the back of the cages. “Go you little bastards!”

The dogs leaped outside, barking victoriously as they ran away to freedom.

“They’ll just be recaptured over the next few days,” Xaxia muttered.

“Maybe,” Malem said, turning away. He glanced over his shoulder at the man. “If I see you selling dogs ever again, I won’t be so lenient. Next time I’ll let my sword have a taste of your blood.” He walked away, and slammed the blade back into its sheath.

“I’m going to report this to the city guard!” the vendor shouted from behind.

“Go ahead,” Malem yelled back.

He quickened his pace; there were too many eyes upon them.

“So much for not drawing any attention to ourselves, huh?” Abigail said.

“Everything was going well,” Xaxia said. “Until we had to pass by the merchant who mistreats his dogs. Oh well, you did the right thing, as far as I’m concerned. I wanted to gut him just as much as you did. The only reason I held back is because I don’t want you to have to ravage the city with your monsters so that we can avoid arrest.”

“I somehow expect we won’t have to call in reinforcements, given our present company,” he said, nodding at the two half dragons, and Gwen.

He reached the crossroads the robe merchant had described. The healer’s residence was on the corner of the intersection on the opposite side of the street: a quaint little white-walled home topped by a tile roof, and almost indistinguishable from the other houses beside it, the word “Healer” was painted in stark relief atop the door.

He crossed the street, narrowly avoiding getting run down by a horse-and-rider, and then went inside.

Seats distributed in the foyer were filled with people. They all looked at him as he walked in.

“Busy, given the hour,” Xaxia commented.

“It’s always busy!” an elderly woman said from one of the seats. “Kathor is the best healer in town! We’re just lucky he loves his work enough to stay open late.”

The old man beside her, who seemed to be her husband, shook his head at that. “No, no, no, he doesn’t love his work. He only stays open late to charge his customers an arm and a leg!”

Malem approached the counter with his companions. A receptionist clad in bright white sat behind it.

“These women have been affected by some sort of magic,” he said. “They need healing immediately.”

“Name?” the woman said without looking up.

“Malem,” he said.

“Can I see your health card?” she said.

“I don’t have one,” he said.

She finally looked up. “Do you have coin?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I’ll need a twenty drachmae deposit,” she told him.

He retrieved a coin pouch from his pack, emptied fifty drachmae onto the counter and shoved it her way.

He tossed the pouch back into his backpack and started heading toward the back rooms.

“Wait, take a seat!” the woman said. “I’ll call you when the healer is ready to see you!”

“We don’t have time for this,” Malem muttered.

He ignored the woman’s cries and proceeded to barge into the first door he saw. There was a woman inside, seated alone, obviously waiting for the healer to arrive.

“Sorry,” he told her sheepishly, shutting the door.

The receptionist pushed herself in front of him. “You can’t just go in back and start disturbing the patients!”

He shoved past her and went to the next door. He forced it open.

A white-bearded man in a blue robe sat before a middle-aged woman who was obviously the patient, judging from the bandage wrapped around her arm. Both looked up in surprise when Malem entered.

“Kathor, I’m sorry—” the receptionist started from behind him.

“Get out,” Malem told the seated woman in no uncertain terms. “Now.”

The patient glanced first at the healer, then at him, and apparently decided that she didn’t need healing today. She promptly got up and left the room.

“You can’t—” the receptionist began.

This time Xaxia was the one who shoved her out of view. “I’ll handle her,” the bandit said.

Malem waited for Abigail and Weyanna to enter and then shut the door while Gwen waited outside with Xaxia.

He turned toward the old man and lowered his hood to reveal his face. But before he could speak, he was interrupted.

Would it have hurt to wait our turn? Abigail asked in his head. We’ve already spent two days traveling here. What’s another half hour?

It would have been more than half an hour, he replied.

I don’t remember you ever being this assertive, Abigail commented. Jumping queues, tossing out patients before they can get healed…

Yes, well, that’s what happens when you’re being hunted by a rogue queen while trying to stop an alliance from falling apart. The pressure gets to you, after a while.

Suppose so, she sent. But are you sure you’re not acting this way because of your growing power? You do seem to be becoming… more arrogant. Not to mention distant. Like you’re flying on a plane high above the rest of us mortals.

He sighed. That could be a contributing factor, yes.

Well, at least you’re honest enough with yourself to admit it. I just hope the softer, gentler Breaker I used to know is still in there, somewhere.

He gave her a smile. He’s here.

“So are you just going to stand there smiling at one another, or are you going to tell me why you barged into my practice to bother me today?” the elderly healer said.

“She needs healing,” Malem nodded toward Weyanna, who had taken the former patient’s seat across from the healer.

“Ha!” Kathor said. “I don’t heal rude mendicants such as yourself. Barging in and expecting to be healed forthwith! Bah! Begone, miscreants, before I call the guards!”

Malem lowered his pack and from within grabbed one of the coin bags Rashan had given him. He dropped it in the man’s lap with a pronounced jingle of drachmae.

Malem returned the pack to his back and waited for the healer to look inside the bag.

Kathor’s eyes widened when he opened the drawstring.

“But I suppose I can make an exception for her.” The healer quickly vanished the coin bag inside his robes as if to forestall any attempt by Malem to take it back. When he turned his attention to Weyanna, his manner shifted entirely, becoming all pleasant-like. “Thank you for visiting, my lady. So tell me, what ails you today?”

His voice seemed so unctuous and fake now. Malem preferred the healer’s former surly disposition. At least it was honest.

“She’s a half dragon,” Abigail interjected. “If that makes a different.”

“Oh?” The healer gave Weyanna an appraising look. “It certainly does.”

“A white,” Abigail clarified.

“Interesting,” Kathor said. “And half Metal, I assume?”

“That’s right,” Abigail said.

He paused, narrowing his eyes as if trying to peer into her hood—both Abigail and Weyanna had kept theirs raised.

“Where are your collars?” the healer asked.

“Haven’t you heard?” Abigail said. “The treaty has been amended. The Metals fight side by side with humanity, in exchange for freedom from the collars.”

Kathor shook his head. “The world changes faster than this old man can keep up. Then again, news travels slowly in times of war.” He scratched his beard. “I’m not sure what help I can give to a Metal. Ordinarily, I’d say you’d have to find a healer of your own kind.”

“Well, yes, but she’s the healer in our party,” Abigail said. “And she isn’t strong enough to heal herself. Nor me.”

“So you’re both infected with something?” Kathor asked.

Abigail nodded toward Weyanna, who doffed her robe, removed the straps of the dress underneath, and lowered her top so that her entire upper body was bare. At least she was wearing a bra.

“Oh my,” the healer said. Malem wasn’t sure the comment was an involuntary response to the sight of Weyanna’s ample bosom, or the green wounds that mottled the flesh of her belly below them. He convinced himself it was the latter. That way he wouldn’t strike off the man’s head.

Like Abigail’s, the wounds glowed a sickening green, and the surrounding skin was torn open, revealing red muscle tissue. That tissue was streaked with glowing green veins, which traveled underneath the skin, and crept toward her heart.

Malem was shocked by the sight of those veins. He suspected those hadn’t been present earlier. Abigail probably had them, too. The magic was spreading.

“Dear me, dear me,” the healer said. “I can’t treat this.”

“You have to try,” Malem said. “What happens if those veins reach her heart?”

“I don’t know,” Kathor said. “But I suspect… I suspect she would die. What magic caused this, might I ask?”

“Eldritch,” Weyanna said.

“I’ve never encountered Eldritch magic before,” the healer said. “I have no idea where to begin.”

“Use your Delving,” Weyanna said. “Explore the wound. Do what you can.”

Kathor nodded. “I’ll try.”

Staying seated, he reached across to a nearby cupboard and retrieved a small amount of endurance herb. He shoved it into his mouth and began chewing.

Kathor leaned toward Weyanna and rested a hand above the wound nearest Weyanna’s heart. It was a little close to her breasts for Malem’s liking, but there was nothing he could do about that.

Ghostly white tendrils emanated from the man’s hands and seeped into the surrounding tissue. For long moments nothing happened, and then the white mist began to emerge from the skin, from the tips of the green veins underneath. That mist plumed upward, quickly dissipating.

For the next three minutes, the man remained hunched over her, with the mist flowing ever outward. And then at the four-minute mark Weyanna straightened.

The white mist coming from the tips of the veins became tinged green, and the glowing streaks underneath the skin of the immediate area began to retract. The veins faded inward, the plumes of whitish-green mist following them. Malem was reminded of a heated dagger burning a brand into a cow’s hide—played back in reverse.

And then the tips of Kathor’s fingers began to blacken. “Ah!” He retrieved his hand as if burned. “Well, that was interesting.”

“What happened?” Malem asked.

“Some kind of feedback wave,” Kathor said. “The Eldritch magic adapted. It didn’t like what I was doing. I’m afraid that’s all the help I can offer her at the moment.”

Weyanna looked down at her chest. The veins had only been reduced around the wounds near her heart. “Nicely done. That was more than I could ever do. You’ve reduced the size of the veins by half.”

“Yes,” Kathor said.

She glanced at Malem. “I’m still too weak to transform.”

“That’s probably a good thing, considering the mess transforming here would bring,” Kathor continued. “As I told you, it would be best if you sought a healer from among your own people. I’m certain they could do more. Or even better, seek out whoever did this to you, and get them to reverse it, if possible.”

“We’re actually on the way to do just that,” Malem said.

The healer gave him a worried look. “There is an Eldritch here, in this city?”

“No,” Malem said. “But outside the Midweald.”

“Oh,” Kathor said, seeming relieved.

Weyanna slid up her dress, giving Malem a coy look as she did so, and then donned the flowing robe overtop.

Abigail removed her robe in turn and took the empty seat. She, too, lowered her straps and bared her upper body. She wasn’t actually wearing a bra—she’d never retrieved the undergarments Malem carried in his pack. Kathor seemed unconcerned with her nakedness, making no comment this time when she revealed herself.

Malem hardly noticed himself. How could he, with those four green wounds marring her beautiful torso? The veins underneath the skin had expanded outward, just like Weyanna’s, with the topmost trending dangerously close to her heart.

Kathor lifted his opposite hand toward her, the one that hadn’t been burned in the previous healing. As his shaking fingers approached her torso, he seemed to notice how much he was trembling. He paused to reach into the cupboard and grab another handful of endurance herbs. He shoved them into his mouth and the trembling subsided. He reached out once more and rested his hand on the wound closest to Abigail’s heart.

This time, when the ghostly tendrils hooked inside of her, and looped out from the tips of the veins, it didn’t take as long for the mist to assume a greenish-white quality. Kathor didn’t need to “Delve” as long to ascertain what he was up against.

The veins receded, but when they were about half the length they had started out as, once again Kathor’s fingertips blackened. He removed his hand with a hiss.

Abigail looked down to examine the wound. Like Weyanna, the glowing veins had only receded around the one wound Kathor had touched with his healing magic. “Thank you. I feel better already.”

She lifted the straps of her dress and hid her nakedness, then stood to don the robe overtop. “We should go.”

Malem turned toward Kathor. “Can you tell me how long she has?”

The healer shook his head. “Depends on how fast those veins are growing. I don’t think I’ve changed the expansion rate. How long has it been since this Eldritch magic touched them?”

“About two days,” he said.

Kathor nodded. “Then they have perhaps a day before it reaches their hearts. This one”—he indicated Abigail—“a little less.”

Malem opened the door. Gwen and Xaxia were waiting next to the receptionist, who seemed relieved to see the healer. But then she gasped.

“Your hands!” the woman exclaimed.

“Everything’s all right, Mary,” Kathor said. “They’ve paid me handsomely for this damage to my hands. Now get back to the front and man the reception desk.”

She scurried to obey.

“Get these women attended to, you hear?” the healer told Malem.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said. “Thanks for your help.”

With that, they made their way to the foyer. He paused at the exit to raise his hood, hiding his face. The other women with him did the same.

“The rich always get to skip the line,” the same old woman from before muttered.

“They’re just monks,” her husband told her. “How could they be rich?”

“Monks with pretty faces like that?” the old woman said. “I don’t think so.”

“And here I was thinking I should become a monk,” her husband said. “If that was the kind of company I could expect.”

The woman thunked her husband in the head with a thick purse.

With that, Malem exited.

Just in time to see Robert and a bunch of other soldiers on horseback riding up. Malem recognized most of the men from the forest. Behind Robert, the despicable dog merchant sat in the saddle.

“That’s them,” the merchant said, pointing an accusing finger his way.

Malem sighed.

19

“We just want to be on our way,” Malem said. “We’ve done what we came here to do. Well, almost. We just want to buy some horses, and maybe some provisions, and then we’ll leave this town forever.”

Robert stared at him with obvious contempt. “Did you threaten this merchant, and release all of the dogs he had for sale?”

“I might have,” Malem admitted.

“See!” the merchant said. “I spent years collecting and training those animals, and all that hard work was lost in a matter of seconds thanks to a few mongrels pretending to be monks!”

Malem lowered his hood, revealing his face.

“You again,” Robert said. He seemed unsurprised.

“This man was mistreating the dogs,” Malem said. “They were malnourished. You could see the slats of their ribs. Their fur was falling off in patches, exposing their hides. As I watched, he slammed one of the cages repeatedly to discipline a dog that had merely yipped at him for a second.”

“It’s not your business how this man treats his property,” Robert said.

“Actually, it is,” Malem said. “Especially when that ‘property’ as you call it is a living thing. No one can really ever own an animal.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true, in Malem’s case. But that was beside the point. “Animals hold a special place in my heart.”

“The laws of man place our rights above those of animals,” Robert said. “In fact, as far as I know, animals don’t even have any rights in this town.”

“The laws of man,” Malem said. “I never really did respect those laws.”

Robert nodded gravely. “You have admitted your guilt twice over then. You don’t respect our laws. And you released the property of this man, and threatened him with your sword. Lift your hands away from your weapons, please. I’m going to have to take you in, charge you with public mischief.”

“No you won’t,” Malem said, making no move to comply. “We don’t have time to be arrested. I told you before we were on a sensitive mission for King Goldenthall.”

“Who has no authority here,” Robert said. “This is the Midweald. We have a different king.”

“While that may be true, we’re not going to jail,” Malem said. “If we have to cut a path all the way to the city gates, we will.”

To emphasize his point, he rested his hand on his hilt.

The moment he did that, the militiamen drew their swords, to a man. Meanwhile the dog merchant, still seated behind Robert, had grown very pale, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else but there.

Gwen laughed suddenly. It was more a hearty cackle, and it carried sharply across the thick tension that had formed between the two parties. She struggled to fight if off for several moments, finally getting herself under control.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Gwen said. “But just look at them. They don’t realize how pathetic they are. They’re all terribly out of shape. The armor barely fits. I’m willing to bet most of them don’t even know how to use those blades.”

“Yes, it’s time to see how serious this so-called militia is,” Xaxia said, gazing at the different men in turn. “How many of you are truly willing to die for your city? In an attempt to jail a few travelers, whose only crime is saving some dogs? If you back down now, the only thing you’ll lose is your pride. Think about that. Is pride really worth more than your lives?”

To their credit, none of them moved. Robert opened his mouth to speak but Malem forestalled him.

“Abigail, Weyanna, perhaps a little demonstration is in order?” he said.

Abigail rolled up the sleeves of her robes and her arms ignited.

Some of the soldiers gasped.

Weyanna in turn raised her hands, and from the tips of her curled fingers, icicles expanded into deadly-looking claws.

“We can’t fight this!” one of the soldiers said. “Not mages!”

“As I said, our mission is of utmost importance,” Malem said. “I have mages in my employ, and more.”

Gwen lowered her hood. “I’m a monster, for example.” She bore her teeth in a feral grin.

I’m really wishing I had Ziatrice’s pointed teeth right about now, she sent him.

Robert seemed unfazed by it all. “Party tricks don’t scare me.”

Malem drew Balethorn, and that triggered Xaxia to unsheathe Biter, and Gwen to slide Wasp down from her shoulder and nock an arrow.

Malem pointed the magic blade at the dog merchant and Balethorn hummed to life, as before. The man whimpered, covering his eyes.

“Boss, maybe this isn’t—” one of the soldiers beside him began.

“Quiet!” Robert said. He glanced at the dog merchant behind him. “Do you wish to proceed with the charges?”

The dog merchant quickly shook his head, and his jowls shook somewhat comically.

Smart move on the part of the commanding officer, Abigail sent. He found a way to back down and still save face with his men.

It’s gotta be tough, leading civilians, Malem agreed.

Her energy bundle emanated amusement. Isn’t that what we are, for the most part?

Good point.

Robert nodded. “As you wish. Swords away!” He slid his blade into its scabbard, as did the others, and then returned his attention to Malem. “I’ll grant you lenience this one last time. But if I catch you causing mischief again, you’re going to jail. You are to leave this city immediately. We’ll escort you to the city gates.”

Malem sheathed his blade, signaling Xaxia and Gwen to put away their weapons. “We must purchase horses, first. And procure supplies.”

“Fine,” Robert said. He gestured in front of him. “Let’s go.” He glanced at the dog merchant. “Please, get down.”

The merchant swiveled down from the saddle in relief, nearly getting his leg caught in the stirrup. When he landed, he promptly jogged across the street, looking back over his shoulder only once to ensure Malem didn’t pursue.

“Where can I find a stable with good horses?” Malem asked Robert.

“Bathias, lead the way,” Robert said. “The rest of us will follow behind them.”

And so one of the soldiers led them through the street.

Malem wanted horses because the basilisks and the ghrip were too hard to ride, and there wasn’t enough room for everyone on the ettin. With proper mounts, they would make good time to Tartan’s Vale. Assuming the monsters could keep pace. Malem didn’t plan to press the horses too hard, so he doubted that would be a problem.

The stables were closed at that hour, but Robert sent an envoy to wake the owners—the soldier apparently didn’t want to risk Malem and company lingering any longer than necessary in his precious city, let alone staying the night.

When the stable keeper arrived, they bought horses under Gwen’s expert eye.

“Where did you learn so much about horseflesh?” Weyanna asked her.

“You can’t fool a farmer with a foal!” Gwen said.

Weyanna gave Abigail a confused look.

“It’s her favorite expression,” Abigail said. “It means she knows her horses.”

Malem could have Broken the animals and stolen them, but that would have meant giving up the powerful monsters he had in tow, something he was reluctant to do at that point. Besides, he had enough money on his person courtesy of General Rashan to buy the best horses in town, and then some. So he did.

He purchased two extra for Ziatrice and Rathamias, complete with saddles, and had Gwen lead the animals by the reins.

They mounted their new steeds, and then Robert led him to a late night supply shop. There Malem purchased fresh rations for the party.

“Do you have spider legs?” Gwen said.

“Eww,” Xaxia said.

“Actually, they’re quite good,” Weyanna said.

Xaxia shook her head and muttered to herself: “This is what happens when you travel with half monsters.”

“Sorry, no spider legs,” the bleary-eyed shopkeeper said from behind the counter.

“Too bad,” Gwen said.

He purchased salted meat and a variety of endurance herbs, had their canteens refilled, and spread the goods out between his, Gwen’s and Xaxia’s packs. Even if Abigail and Weyanna had packs, he probably wouldn’t have shared the load with them because of their injuries.

After that, Robert escorted the party to the city gates. Malem gave a mocking farewell to the soldiers, and then left the city behind.

As soon as the gates were hidden from view by the forest behind him, he lowered his hood, as did the women beside him.

“These robes are hot,” Gwen complained. “And I don’t mean in the fashion sense.”

“I know, but we can’t remove them,” he said. “Mauritania might have sentries watching the road. You need to keep your face hidden in case I don’t sense them before it’s too late.”

“My green skin kind of gives me away, doesn’t it?” Gwen said.

“Yes,” he agreed. “As does your dragon scale armor: only those in the employ of the Metals would wear them. As for you two.” He glanced at Abigail and Weyanna. “Spies might have shared your descriptions, too. I’d recommend wearing the robes, if only to fit in with the rest of us.”

Abigail raised her hood, cloaking her face in shadow. “Better?”

Weyanna did the same. He glanced at Xaxia, who shrugged.

“I’ll keep the robe, but my hood stays down,” Xaxia said. “At least until you raise yours.” She smiled sweetly.

He promptly raised his hood, and she did the same.

Weyanna glanced his way. “Tell me again why you can’t sense these sentries when you can feel other beasts and monsters around us?”

“Maybe you missed it, but his beast sense doesn’t work all the time,” Xaxia explained. “He didn’t sense the Eldritch that shot you down, for example. In the past, he’s missed black mages and the like. And he can’t detect humans at all.”

“There’s an interesting idea,” Gwen said. “What if Mauritania has humans watching the forest?”

“I somehow doubt humans can use Eldritch magic,” Malem said.

He spurred his steed onward. Capilet, he’d named the horse.

Ziatrice, we’ll meet you at the rendezvous point.

A few minutes later he called a halt and waited next to the forest that gird the route on either side.

The night elf burst through the trees with Rathamias. Malem wasn’t startled—he sensed Ziatrice’s approach the whole time.

But Xaxia leaped in the saddle and reached inside her robe as if to draw her blade. “Shit!” she said when she saw it was the night elf, and angrily pulled her empty hand from the garment.

Malem summarily tossed the two extra robes to Ziatrice and the orak, and the pair donned them before mounting the spare horses. He also gave them the gloves he’d bought from the tailor. With their hoods pulled low, and those gloves on their hands, it was impossible to tell Ziatrice was a night elf and Rathamias an orak.

They continued riding southeast. The beasts under his command followed alongside in the forest, staying roughly two miles away from the road at all times. He heard no sounds coming from them at this distance. The ghrip, ettin and basilisks could travel surprisingly fast, and when Malem had the animals move at a medium trot, the monsters were able to keep pace with the horses without tiring.

Garibaldi of course flew overhead, surveying the landscape from above. Its night vision wasn’t the greatest, however, and as the sun set and the forest below darkened, the eagle’s usefulness rapidly diminished.

Since he didn’t have to worry about waking up surrounding monsters anymore, Malem had the team ride on through the night. His night vision allowed him to navigate well enough; the half monster women had similar vision, as did the bigger creatures in the forest. Xaxia was the only one among them who couldn’t see, and for her benefit Abigail created a dim globe of fire that she kept hovering above the party.

They occasionally passed merchant caravans in the dark, protected by mercenaries who wielded torches, and Abigail always doused the light so as not to arouse any suspicion. The mercenaries gave them dark looks at they passed—but they were paid to look intimidating, so Malem didn’t let that bother him.

Besides, he had learned long ago that the forest isn’t a friendly place for the traveler. You couldn’t expect a smile from the people you passed, not out here. Especially at night.

The road branched off now and then, leading to villages and bigger cities along the way, but he kept to the main route. The members of his party had no use, nor time, for the diversions civilization offered at the moment.

The night felt long, and passed slowly. He ate the occasional ration to keep his hunger at bay, and chewed endurance herbs so that he wouldn’t steer Capilet into a tree out of weariness.

Abigail and Weyanna fared the worst among them. They continued to weaken over the night, so he kept feeding them stamina, further draining himself and the others. But there was nothing he could do about that. He was going to keep them alive, no matter the cost.

“Maybe you should just let me and Abigail go,” Weyanna said quietly at one point. “Cut us loose, so we don’t burden you any longer. It’s obvious we’re not going to survive this.”

“You are going to survive,” he told her. “You’re not going to give up after traveling all this way, do you hear me? You’re not.”

“I don’t intend to,” she said. “I just meant, I don’t want you imperiling the mission just to save us.”

“I won’t,” he lied. But the truth was, these women were the world to him. He didn’t care if the Alliance crumbled, didn’t care if Vorgon walked freely across the land, as long as these five lived. It was selfish, perhaps even cruel, but he couldn’t change the way he felt. They were the Light to his Darkness. Without them, his world wouldn’t exist anyway, so what did it matter if Vorgon was defeated at the cost of their lives?

Finally morning came, and as the light levels increased, so did the road traffic. Well, to a degree: the party still mostly passed merchant trains and farmers, maybe one in ten minutes instead of every two hours. There were few tourists on the road: not many wanted to risk travel in these dark times.

Monster territory was relatively far away from this particular part of the forest, so most of those on the road probably thought themselves safe from any beast attacks. He could only imagine their surprise and dismay if they were to discover that four of the most powerful monsters in the entire forest followed alongside his party only two miles away.

The group continued passing the occasional city, but soon such places became few and far between. The road traffic also began to die down the closer the party came to the southeastern edge of the forest, until it ceased entirely.

“Why are the roads so empty?” Gwen asked. She gazed at the trees that enveloped either side of the trail, as if she expected an ambush at any moment.

“Mauritania is probably blockading the supply lines to Tartan’s Vale,” Ziatrice said. “To starve out the citizens during the siege. It’s what I would do.”

“So the roads are blocked ahead of us, somewhere,” Gwen said.

Malem nodded. “I’ll know well ahead of time, thanks to Garibaldi. And we can make the appropriate detour.”

When the party finally reached the eaves of the southeastern Midweald, he called a halt. The plains lay spread out before him.

“So empty,” Weyanna said. “So lifeless. The last time I was here, this road teemed with life. Hawkers had set up kiosks along either side, forming an impromptu rest area to offer food and drink to weary travelers. But now…”

Malem nodded. “I remember a similar sight. Though in my case, what stands out were the whores with the painted faces. They stood next to wagons, offering carnal delights to allay the burdens of the weary traveler.”

“You would remember that…” Gwen said.

“Did you actually sleep with these whores?” Xaxia asked.

He shrugged. “I might have availed myself to the services of a few. Though I didn’t pay, mind you.”

“Oh, of course, I forgot, you never pay for it,” Xaxia said.

“That’s right,” he said.

He felt the disapproving eyes of Abigail upon him, and decided it was best to change the subject. And quickly.

“We can either camp here and wait until nightfall, and then head out under the cover of darkness, ensuring the monsters don’t draw any unnecessary attention,” Malem said, pondering his options aloud. “Or we can continue onto the plains right now, in broad daylight. If the monsters are sighted, they risk bringing down local militia upon them. Not that I’m worried about the monsters chances, mind you.”

“They might also draw the attention of any scouts Mauritania has hidden in the area,” Rathamias said.

“There is that, too,” Malem agreed.

Ziatrice was allowing the orak black mage more leniency to speak these days, Malem noted. He supposed she was beginning to respect the creature more, now that it had survived a few battles, even if those battles were mostly one-sided, with the orak doing little to change the outcome. Still, surviving a battle, especially more than one, was an achievement no matter how one looked at it.

“I think we can’t afford to delay,” Abigail said. “Already we’ve spent far too long crossing the forest.”

“If you keep the monsters well away from the road, there shouldn’t be any problems,” Ziatrice said. “Given how quiet it looks out there.”

Malem made up his mind. “We’ll press on. But first we’ll take a two-hour break. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m bone-weary.”

He led the way off the road and into the nearby forest, forming a camp amid the undergrowth. He forced himself to eat another serving of rations and gulped it down with a swig from his canteen, and then lay down, forming a makeshift pillow with his pack. He invited the monsters to dine on whatever forest animals they could scrounge, and instructed Garibaldi to find a rabbit for itself. Then they were welcome to sleep, if they could.

When that was done, he closed his eyes.

I don’t suppose you’re going to have that promised sex with me? Gwen asked hopefully over their mental link.

Not now, he pleaded.

He received similar requests from Ziatrice, Weyanna and Abigail. The requests were so close together that their words overlapped in his mind and he could barely understand them. The requests from Abigail and Weyanna seemed borne more out of desperation than anything else, as if they thought this might be their last chance to feel what it was like to have sex, before the Eldritch magic took them.

I need my sleep! He broadcast to all four at once. It might have been cruel to treat them that way, especially Abigail and Weyanna, but it was true. He couldn’t function if he didn’t sleep, and sex wasn’t going to help. I knew it was a mistake to bind so many of you!

That shut them up, and he was able to close his eyes and find respite from the world.

Two hours later he awakened feeling worse. His muscles were stiff all over, and he felt immensely groggy.

“Who thought it was a good idea to rest again?” Xaxia asked. “Shit, my feet have swollen so much I can’t even slide my boots on!”

Weyanna went to her and held a palm to her distended feet. Small white mist emerged from her fingers and the swelling receded somewhat.

“Thank you,” Xaxia said, finally able to slide on her boots—with difficulty.

Malem transferred stamina from Hansel to Weyanna, because even that small amount of healing had drained her greatly.

Then the lot of them donned their packs, mounted their horses, and returned to the road. They left behind the forest and pressed on into the plains. To the west, the monsters followed alongside, just out of view beyond the horizon, but well within his beast sense.

The road traffic continued to be non-existent.

“You know,” Gwen said. “If the road continues to be empty like this, we could probably have your monsters travel with us.”

“Not yet,” Malem said. “We don’t need to alert any spies Mauritania has out there that a man who can control monsters has come.”

There were farms and estates up ahead, in the distance, judging from the outlines of the well-spaced buildings Garibaldi spotted on the horizon. Malem instructed the four monsters to give any country houses and ranches in their paths a wide berth. Turned out he needn’t have bothered.

Gwen was sniffing loudly beside him on her mount.

“Do you smell that?” the half gobling said.

He tilted his head back to get in a good inhale. “Yes. Charred wood.”

He sent Garibaldi forward to get a better view of the buildings in the distance. “It’s the farms. All the crops have been burned. Cattle lie slain and rotting in the fields, surrounded by flies. The house and other outbuildings are blackened, burned out husks.”

“Looks like we didn’t have to worry about your monsters causing a ruckus after all,” Xaxia commented. “Maybe we should bring them in closer?”

“No,” he said. “We’ll leave them afield, for the same reasons I told Gwen: I don’t want Eldritch spies to know a Monster Breaker has come. Besides, it’d spook the horses.”

“That’s true,” Xaxia said.

He considered for a moment. “And another thing. If anyone ambushes us, when the monsters arrive for a flanking attack, I want it to be a surprise.”

“I can just imagine the faces of our ambushers when that happens…” Gwen said with a cruel grin.

“Our cooking pots will be full tonight!” Rathamias agreed heartily. When the orak realized the other members of the party were giving it disturbed looks, the black mage added: “Oh.”

“This is why I normally don’t let you speak,” Ziatrice commented.

Abigail turned toward Malem. “The question is, given that any spies are most likely to be lurking within sight of the road ahead, do we follow that road, and deal with potential ambushes, or do we get as far away from it as possible and instead make our way through the countryside to Tartan’s Vale?”

“We’re going to have to follow the road, I think,” Malem replied. “Unless any of you are familiar enough with the territory to lead us to Tartan’s Vale from memory?” When no one answered, he added: “I thought not.”

“We’re not actually going to stay on the road, though, are we?” Ziatrice asked.

“No,” Malem said. “We’ll follow along from afar, and mirror the route. With Garibaldi in the air, I can still see the road up to five miles away.”

And so he led the group west by five miles, instructing the monsters to move an equivalent distance west so as to maintain their two-mile gap from the main party.

As the party continued its southeasterly course, every other country house, farm, and village Garibaldi spotted below was also burned down. Apparently Mauritania had ravaged the countryside all along the outskirts of the Midweald during her march to Tartan’s Vale. And why not? After she had sneaked her troops around the front lines, there were no other appreciable armies left in the territory to oppose her.

Her sentries probably hid within the ruins of different villages and other buildings along the way, watching the sky, and the road. Occasionally estates appeared along his chosen path five miles from the road, and he simply led the party well around them.

They made good progress, and in half a day, the burned-out farms and countryside estates around them began to increase. Malem knew they were getting close to Tartan’s Vale, because of that. As they passed beyond the outskirts of an abandoned farm, he was just thinking he’d probably have to start sending Garibaldi ahead to scout the different estates, because soon there would be so many, they’d have to start cutting through them.

Yes, he was thinking that when the attack he had been dreading came.

Malem had expected the Eldritch to be waiting in ambush inside a village, or perhaps one of the abandoned farms. But the attack subverted all expectations, coming from a time and place he least anticipated.

The very air above the grass ahead came alive, and streams of green magic tore toward the party.

20

Before those green streaks of magic could touch him, Malem was knocked out of the saddle.

Gwen landed on top of him.

She’d saved him.

“You all right?” he asked.

“They didn’t hit me,” she replied.

Weyanna lay on the ground next to them. Her horse was rearing, and as he watched, its underbelly dissolved as green veins spread across its hide. Without skin and muscle to support them, the horse’s insides spilled out onto the ground below, and the animal promptly collapsed.

Capilet fled, as did Gwen’s mount.

Ziatrice had positioned her steed in front of the three of them; she sat unharmed as the deadly streaks repeatedly struck her energy shield. Abigail, Xaxia, and Rathamias quickly steered their mounts in behind Malem, also seeking the protection of that shield. But it wasn’t wide enough to protect them all.

Malem quickly boosted the night elf’s vitality, transferring big bursts from the monsters.

Make the shield bigger! he told her.

She did, extending it in a wide elliptical pattern around herself so that everyone was protected behind her.

He urgently recalled the four monsters and had Garibaldi fly rotations overhead. The eagle helped him pinpoint the source of the attacks—a region of empty air.

At first he thought it had to be some magical trap the team had triggered, but when the attacks didn’t let up, he began to suspect there was an actual assailant out there. From what he knew about magical traps, they quickly used up whatever magical essence the caster had imbued them with and ceased operating. This one, on the other hand, was maintaining its attack for far too long.

A moment later he felt the creature responsible for the lethal magic with his beast sense, confirming his suspicion. The beast had a strong mind—the tendrils of his will couldn’t touch it.

He peered past the legs of Ziatrice’s mount in front of him, toward the source of those attacks; he hadn’t noticed it before, but he could just make out a silhouette of green that seemed to delineate a vaguely humanoid shape set amidst the empty air. The outline grew stronger with each passing moment, as if the invisible monster was vying against the rules of reality to keep itself hidden, and was slowly losing.

Dark mist flowed from Ziatrice’s eyes, and she flung out an angry arm. Ghostly chains of mist flung from her hand and pummeled toward the source of the green magic, wrapping around the invisible attacker there. She yanked on those chains, pulling whatever it was that sourced the attack toward her. The green magic instantly stopped coming at her; a depression appeared in the ground in front of her where her attacker had landed in the dirt, and she chopped down with Wither. When she lifted the blade, it was thick with glowing green blood.

A lifeless creature faded into view, lying sprawled and bloodied on the ground before her.

It was humanoid in shape, though it looked a little like a Balor: its legs were goat-like, with cloven feet, and it had horns on its head. It didn’t have wings, however, though judging from the leather membranes joining its elbows to its rib cages, it could probably glide if it leaped off a cliff, perhaps similar to a flying squirrel. Its face was disturbingly childlike, reminding Malem of a young boy. The creature was much taller than a human, and paler, almost completely white—well, not counting the green, gaping wound in its chest.

“This is an Eldritch,” Ziatrice confirmed. “I’d recognize the too-young face, and that twisted body, anywhere.”

Malem realized he could sense the creature. “It’s not dead.” He released Hansel and reached out and Broke this one instead. He commanded it to awaken.

The Eldritch stirred, and coughed green blood. It was quickly weakening. He gave it stamina, but that didn’t help.

“It’s close to death,” Malem said. “Which is too bad. I was hoping to interrogate the thing.”

Malem quickly drained it of its stamina, giving it a merciful end. Then he re-Broke Hansel.

Ziatrice dismounted, and approached. She knelt, then began lapping up some of the blood that was dripping from underneath the dead creature.

“Eww,” Gwen said. “What are you doing? You’re disgusting.”

Ziatrice glanced up, her lips stained green. “I heard if you drink their blood, their invisibility won’t work on you. For a few hours, anyway.”

Movement drew his attention to a nearby copse. Three more Eldritch were dashing away on those cloven feet. As soon as he saw them, they suddenly registered on his beast sense. He tried to Break them in turn but couldn’t wrap his will around any of them.

Rathamias launched streaks of black magic their way, but the Eldritch easily outran the ghostly projectiles, moving as fast as horses at a gallop. Their bodies flared a bright green as they fled, and they became invisible a moment later.

“So, can you still see them?” Gwen taunted Ziatrice.

Ziatrice narrowed her eyes, gazing into the distance. “I can.”

“You’re joking?” Gwen said.

“Nope,” she told her.

Malem went to the carcass, grimaced, and then held his head underneath the stinking body. He hesitated, hoping the fluid didn’t kill him: it was possible Ziatrice had some natural immunity to whatever toxins it contained courtesy of her monster side, after all.

Dismissing the thoughts, he quickly licked some of the dripping green blood. He cringed when the flavor hit his tongue—it reminded him vaguely of iron mixed with plant material—and forced himself to swallow. He thought he was going to gag, but somehow managed to keep it down.

He sat up, and looked toward where his beast sense told him the Eldritch were fleeing. Sure enough, he could see the green outlines of the three Eldritch and watched their rapid retreat.

“I see them,” he said. “Ziatrice is right.”

He wondered why the enemy didn’t bother to launch green magic at him, and realized they probably weren’t mages like the dead one. But if they could make themselves invisible, that meant the ability was inherent to most, if not all, Eldritch. Then again, maybe they were mages, and just wanted to get away as quickly as possible. It wouldn’t do to be slain before they could make a report to their queen.

“Should we follow?” Gwen asked. “I mean, you’ll lead. I’m not drinking that blood…”

He shook his head. “No, we’ll just run our horses into the ground if we do. Besides, they could be leading us into a trap.”

“Whatever the case, more will be coming, soon,” Ziatrice said. She remounted her horse, and it began to dance uneasily beneath her. “I suggest relocating. Preferably even farther away from the road.”

“Probably a good idea,” he told her. “Five miles wasn’t good enough, apparently. We’ll just have to navigate the rest of the way to Tartan as best we can by the sun.” He glanced at Ziatrice. “So you knew the Eldritch could become invisible? Is there anything else we should know about them that you’re not telling us?”

“I apologize for not mentioning that. It was something I’d only heard vague rumors about, rumors I wasn’t quite sure I believed. Just like I wasn’t certain I believed the blood part. But I do like to consume the blood of my enemies now and again, so I wasn’t averse to trying it.” Ziatrice squeezed her knees slightly to control her dancing horse. “But otherwise, as I mentioned, I never really interacted with any of them.” She reached out with Wither, and wiped the glowing blood from the tip of her halberd onto the grass. “Until now.”

The footfalls of his approaching monsters slowly rose in volume, and he suddenly understood why the horses were beginning to dance; he promptly ordered the monsters away so as not to spook the mounts. He also instructed the creatures to remain within one mile out this time, rather than two, so that they could get to him faster in an emergency.

Malem scrambled to his feet and stared at the corpse of the Eldritch. “At least we know we can beat them.”

“One of them,” Ziatrice clarified.

He nodded grimly, then retrieved his canteen and knelt to collect the glowing green blood.

“You’re mixing it with your water?” Gwen asked.

He nodded. “Hopefully that will make it last longer. Plus, it can only make it more palatable.”

When the container overflowed, he capped it, wiped the excess blood on the grass, and started to store the canteen in his pack.

“Here.” Rathamias rode over, and held out a hand. Dark magic flowed from its fingers and into the container.

“What are you doing?” Malem said, rather angrily. He didn’t want to jerk the canteen away, because he was worried the dark magic would swerve and strike him instead.

“This will help preserve it,” Rathamias said as the dark streams faded. “You’ll still want to shake it vigorously before you drink.”

“Who knew?” Xaxia commented. “Dark magic can preserve blood.”

Rathamias nodded. “It’s a work we use sometimes to make our enemies bleed.”

Malem had everyone else with a canteen collect the Eldritch blood, even Gwen.

The half gobling grumbled as she knelt. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“It could save your life someday,” he told her.

She sighed, then filled her canteen until the blood overflowed the lip. Then she quickly tightened it, grimacing, and wiped her hands repeatedly on the grass until there was no trace of the green substance left. She tossed the canteen in her pack as if it was contaminated.

When that was done, he turned to regard the gutted carcass of Weyanna’s horse. “I can understand now why that magic can take down dragons.”

“Yes, it’s not pretty,” Gwen said.

He swiveled toward Weyanna. “I’m sorry about your animal.”

“It’s all right,” Weyanna told him. “I didn’t get attached. I purposely didn’t give him a name for that very reason.”

“You’re cold-hearted,” Xaxia said.

The other two horses had bolted, and Malem reached out with his beast sense.

“The steeds of Gwen and myself are nearby,” he said.

Ziatrice offered him a hand and pulled him into the saddle behind her.

Weyanna doubled up with Abigail, while Gwen temporarily rode with Xaxia.

They headed due south, and after topping a small rise, he found the two animals foraging in a heath beyond.

“Figures they’d be eating at a time like this,” Xaxia commented. “After what, for them, must have been the scare of a lifetime.”

“The resiliency of animals knows no bounds,” Malem said. “We humans would do well to take after them.”

“Well, at least they’re not mating,” Gwen commented. She glanced at him and added with a mental wink: Something we should be doing.

He smiled, shaking his head. No, now is definitely not the time.

He mounted Capilet, while Gwen took to her own steed. Weyanna remained paired with Abigail.

“We can probably change out of our monk robes?” Gwen said.

“Not yet,” he said. “Just in case they don’t entirely know who we are.”

Abigail frowned. “Oh, I’m sure they know.”

“They have their suspicions, yes, but they’re not quite sure,” Malem told her. “For all they know, we could be monks possessing dark magic, no more. Let’s keep them guessing to the very end.”

He continued south for a ways before turning east once more. Garibaldi scouted the skies above, helping guide him from a bird’s eye perspective. Intuition told him to stay close to where the farms clustered, because Tartan’s Vale couldn’t be far beyond: capital cities needed a lot of food to feed the hungry populations gathered inside their walls.

He didn’t spot any signs of pursuit. At least not yet. Eldritch reinforcements had probably already returned to the attack site, however, and were no doubt hunting them at this very moment.

Soon the charred farms and estates ahead became too frequent to avoid.

“We’re going to have to start crossing these estates,” Malem said as he studied the view Garibaldi sent him. “But I won’t be caught off guard by waiting Eldritch. I’m sending Garibaldi in to explore each farm, first. It’ll slow down our progress, but hopefully we won’t have to deal with any further unpleasantness.”

“Except from behind,” Rathamias said.

“I’ve positioned the monsters a mile behind us,” Malem said. “If any incoming Eldritch avoid the eagle’s detection, Hansel and the others will give us ample warning. In fact, I’m confident they’ll take care of any Eldritch interlopers for us.” He paused. “Actually, it makes more sense to send the monsters ahead of us. Or some of them.”

Ophid?

Yes? the basilisk replied.

We need you on point.

In a few minutes, Ophid arrived. The basilisk gave the party a wide berth so as not to scare the horses, and then went to the outskirts of the first farm ahead, where it waited for Garibaldi to finish scouting.

“Can the basilisk turn these Eldritch to stone if it can’t see them?” Xaxia asked.

“That’s a good question,” Malem replied. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Garibaldi finished its search of the farm, and then Ophid marched through without issue. Malem and the others followed without encountering anything, and the remaining monsters pursued on drag a mile behind.

And so the eagle moved from estate to estate, searching meticulously for the telltale green seams in reality that gave away the positions of any invisible Eldritch. There weren’t any such seams—it seemed going invisible was something the Eldritch did only when they attacked, or when running, because those Eldritch the eagle actually did spot were all in visible form.

That made him wonder about the Eldritch who had attacked him. When the three fled, before they became invisible, their bodies emitted flashes of green light, but he observed nothing of the sort from the main attacker, who must have been invisible for a relatively long time. Or perhaps that Eldritch had transformed behind a tree in the nearby copse before approaching the party, and thus hid the glow of its transformation that way. But why not fire from afar, like the other Eldritch sentries had done in the forest against the airborne dragons? He suspected the attacker here had probably wanted to get a better look at them, first.

Whenever the eagle discovered visible Eldritch, usually lurking on the rooftop of a farmhouse, and sometimes inside an outbuilding such as a barn, Malem promptly directed the bird to a different area until Garibaldi found an estate that was empty.

In that manner Malem was able to find the holes in the Eldritch defenses, and lead his party, along with four of the most powerful monsters the world had ever seen, deep behind enemy lines. Okay, maybe they weren’t as powerful as dragons, but still, the ability to turn an opponent to stone with but a look had to count for something.

As they crossed the outlying estates, he had the monsters move slowly, instructing them to make as little noise as possible; he also had them keep their bodies crouched close to the ground so that burned down houses and trees could help hide their profiles.

Occasionally an Eldritch patrol came past. He usually didn’t sense them unless they were passing close to his position, which was why he always had the eagle circle overhead when it was done clearing a given estate. Thus, thanks to Garibaldi, he usually had ample warning of any patrols, and the team was able to hide. They dove behind the trees of a copse, the wall of an outbuilding, or the hollow of a stream—whatever features of the landscape availed themselves.

The monsters, on the other hand, were too big to really hide, so they dropped where they stood, usually, hoping to blend in to the surrounding landscape.

One time an Eldritch party came upon Ophid while the basilisk played dead. When they started poking and prodding the monster, he instructed Ophid to turn them all to stone. Ophid was able to solidify eight Eldritch with its first gaze, but two were resistant: mages, Malem guessed. Luckily Ophid caught those two by surprise: when they didn’t turn to stone, the basilisk swatted one with the talons of its great paw, and crunched down on the other. After swallowing the latter, it hurried across the grass to finish off the other mage, downing it in two bites.

Well that was a nice snack, Ophid commented.

“This is encouraging,” Malem said when he revealed what had just happened. “I’m hopeful that the rest of this mission will proceed as smoothly.”

Ziatrice laughed. “Somehow, I doubt it. Nothing’s ever as easy as it seems. Especially considering Mauritania will be surrounded by her most elite units. Think back on the effort required to beat me, or even the Dwarf King Barrowfore, and you’ll get an idea of what to expect from Mauritania.”

“Should be fun!” Xaxia commented.

“Oh, I can’t wait,” Gwen said, her voice thick with sarcasm.

Garibaldi sighted a ridge ahead, beyond the farms, and when Malem shared the view with the others, Weyanna commented: “I recognize that ridge. That’s Tarvan’s Vale. We’ll find Tartan nestled in the base of the valley beyond.”

“So we’re almost there,” Rathamias said. “We’ve come all this way to die.”

“Only you have, orak,” Gwen said. “The rest of us plan to live. We won’t sell our lives for cheap.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Gobling, I will fight,” Rathamias said. “My life won’t come cheap, either. I only wish my end would have come under better circumstances.”

“Better circumstances?” Xaxia said. “You get to die in battle, if death comes. I thought all oraks hoped for such a noble demise?”

“Oh, we do,” Rathamias said. “And such a death is honorable, yes, but I would prefer to die at the side of my brothers. You… women, are a poor substitute. No offense.”

“None taken,” Gwen said. “In fact, I’d be more offended if you told me I was like your fellow oraks and that you were happy to die at my side.”

“Oh, in that case,” Rathamias said. “I’m thrilled to fight with you, Gobling. You remind me of my brood brothers. You are a true orak at heart! Let us die together today!”

“Asshole,” Gwen said.

21

As Malem and the others got closer to the vale, Garibaldi spotted the road once more, and the blockade the Eldritch had erected. It consisted of wagons the army had captured, piled into large structures. It was manned by a small group of Eldritch armed with strange trident-like weapons in one hand and nets that they dragged on the ground in the other. Like the others he had seen, they weren’t clothed in any way.

“Is it just me, or do these Eldritch have no genitals?” Gwen commented when he shared the eagle’s vision.

“If they do have them, they’re very small,” Malem replied.

“I blame it on the pubic hair,” Abigail said in a rare moment of good humor since acquiring her magical wounds.

“I bet you wish you could see what we do, huh Bandit?” Gwen taunted Xaxia.

“Actually, no,” Xaxia said.

Soon there was only one ravaged farm between the group and the ridge. However, that estate proved occupied by Eldritch, as was the adjacent. Before having Garibaldi explore further along the ridge, Malem decided to send the eagle ahead to scout: he needed to confirm they were in the right place, after all. And in truth, he wanted to get an idea of what awaited in the valley beyond.

He fed the eagle’s vision to the women bound to him as the majestic bird crossed silently over the ridge.

Below, he saw a city nestled in the heart of the valley. Tartan, the once mighty capital of Mulhadden. Ruled by King Goldenthall.

The dark shapes encamped outside the city walls drew his attention immediately. The Eldritch with their trident weapons and nets. Big rhinoceros-like creatures of yellow and gold he’d never seen before. Other machines of war: trebuchets, siege towers, and battering rams. The profusion of tents and cooking fires between them, and the sigil flags marking the different army divisions.

The walls themselves, once white and clean, were now marred by black blast craters. So far, it looked like the enemy hadn’t yet broken through.

“The army is strangely quiet,” Weyanna commented. “It’s almost as if some sort of ceasefire has been enacted.”

“If that’s true, then why are the walkways atop the walls empty?” Abigail asked. “Even in a ceasefire, defenders are going to keep their gaze upon the enemy.”

“Unless the city has already fallen,” Ziatrice said. “And Mauritania sits upon the Tartan throne.”

“Look, the main gate!” Gwen gasped.

Garibaldi was just passing over the main entrance to the city. The gates were wide open.

“So we’re too late,” Abigail said sadly. “Goldenthall was a great and noble man. He deserved better than this. He fought hard for his people.”

“The same fate awaits all the allied kingdoms,” Ziatrice said. “Unless we stop Vorgon.” When she spoke again, it was for his mind alone. And once we have stopped him, we will rule this world in his place.

He resisted an eye roll. Yeah. And we’ll destroy all the cities in Vorgon’s place, right?

Now you’re catching on.

No thanks, he sent.

The world could be yours, she pressed. If you’d only embrace your destiny.

He decided not to encourage her, and kept his thoughts to himself.

Garibaldi continued flying deeper across the city. It was relatively dead down there. Several of the buildings had taken damage, harboring caved roofs and walls; some of the structures were demolished entirely, their bricks fanning out across the cobblestone streets. No one peered from any of the windows. No citizens walked the streets. The only living things he saw were the patrols of Eldritch soldiers in the different avenues.

The castle at the center of town was a marvel to behold, all white towers and crenellations, and similarly gird by its own inner wall, as well as a moat. The drawbridge was lowered, and the gates to the castle were wide open.

“The wall shows no signs of damage,” Malem commented. “Nor do any parts of the castle itself.”

“It seems the great and noble Goldenthall surrendered without a fight,” Ziatrice agreed. “He had no army. What little militiamen he possessed obviously offered only token resistance in the streets. As soon as the enemy got too close to the castle walls, he backed down and surrendered the keys to his city, and the entire kingdom.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Abigail said. “I refuse to believe it! He would fight.”

“The evidence speaks for itself,” Ziatrice said. “There isn’t a scratch on the castle, or its walls.”

“I—” But Abigail couldn’t finish. She must have known Ziatrice was right. The evidence pointed to a quick surrender on the part of the king. And in all honesty, if Malem had been the ruler of Tartan, he might have made the same decision, especially if he didn’t have an army.

“It would have been useless for Rashan to come here with his troops,” Weyanna said softly. “He would have returned to find the city already conquered. The Alliance broken, for nothing.”

Garibaldi passed above the inner courtyard, where a series of tents had been raised. They were of similar design to the tents outside the city, looking like big puffy marshmallows.

“There,” Malem said. “Those tents look like some sort of mobile command center.”

A steady stream of Eldritch traveled back and forth between the tents and the castle. At first Malem didn’t know what they were doing, until he saw the goblets, candlesticks and other valuables the creatures were carrying from the castle.

“There goes all my loot,” Xaxia said rather dourly.

“See that one tent, bigger than all the others?” Malem said. “That has to be Mauritania’s.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Ziatrice said. “When I set up camp with my army, I’d often place a decoy tent next to my own. It was always bigger, and statelier. But in truth, at this point, considering the city is hers, she’s much more likely to be staying in the castle. I would.”

He nodded, and rubbed his chin. “Does this queen have any identifying markers? A staff she holds? A crown she wears? Maybe a birthmark of some kind?”

“She wears a crown, yes,” Ziatrice told him. “And carries a scepter. But that’s not the only way she stands out from her army: you’ll know her immediately, because she looks more human than the rest of them. Her legs are ordinary, for example, and don’t bend backward like a goat’s, and her feet aren’t cloven. I’m uncertain if such sexual dimorphism is prevalent among all Eldritch females, or only her, considering I’ve never seen another female among them: her entire army is composed of males”

He nodded slowly. “When we’re closer, I’ll Break one of the castle’s local animals for some paws-on-the-ground scouting. Then we’ll go from there. If…”

His voice trailed off as Garibaldi continued forward, because he saw a huge blue dragon perched high up on one of the castle’s rooftops. It seemed to be sleeping.

“The scale seems wrong on that one,” he said. “Based on the size of the tents and surrounding trees, it looks at least three times as big as you, Abigail, in your dragon form. That can’t be right.”

“No, it’s right,” Abigail said. “Mauritania has Nemertes with her.”

“Who?”

“The great Blue Dragon,” Weyanna said. “Ancient as she is terrible. Extremely powerful, and extremely evil. She sleeps in the day, and is active only at night. Some say Nemertes is the oldest dragon in existence. Whatever the case, that creature has powers of magic unlike any other dragon this world has ever seen. While most dragons grow weaker in power and magic as they age, Nemertes has only grown stronger with each passing century.”

“What kind of magic are we talking about?” Malem said. “Dark?”

“No,” Weyanna said. “Her magic was once based solely upon ice, like most blues, but as she aged, she developed new, more lethal magics, these based upon light.”

“But light magic is associated with all that is good in the world,” Malem said. “Healing. Buffs for protection, to enhance speed and strength, etc.”

“Yes, but she perverts that energy to her own ends,” Weyanna said. “Any good in her died long ago, when the humans slew her mate Metiacus. She uses her healing powers to kill now. And she strikes with debuffs to weaken her enemies.”

“How can healing kill?” Xaxia asked.

“By healing wounds that don’t exist,” Weyanna told her. “When done with enough power, the affected area will collapse in upon itself. Nemertes uses it to cause her enemies to implode. Your dragon scale armor will protect you from most of her attacks, as long as you don’t let them hit your exposed faces. Also, beware: some dragons begin to exude the characteristics of their prey if they feed upon them enough. Her favorite food is dhaarkan spiders. Her body has changed subtly over the centuries to match that prey, developing spinnerets in the tip of her tail, and two fangs that protrude from her jaws, allowing her to spit venom in addition to breathing ice.”

“That dragon is going to make things difficult,” Malem said.

“Maybe you should have sex with it,” Gwen commented.

“Funny,” he told her.

She shrugged. “Why not? You have sex with everything else.”

He decided to ignore the comment.

“So what do we do then?” Gwen asked. “Turn back?”

“No,” Malem said. “We do what we came here to do.”

“But if the city has already fallen, what’s the point of continuing?” Gwen said. “Facing an army, and a dragon like that… General Rashan won’t come back here, not now. He has no reason to.”

“You forget, our mission is to subjugate Mauritania,” Malem said. “And to take control of her army, preventing it from razing other cities in these lands, so that the armies of the Alliance remain upon the front lines.”

He wasn’t doing it for selfless reasons, of course. He was looking forward to the increase in power that would come with Breaking another Black Sword.

Ziatrice glanced at him, perhaps sensing the thirst for glory emanating from his energy bundle, because she sent him: Yes. Take Mauritania, and then you will become the ruler of Tartan, and all Mulhadden. The populace will bow before us.

Except we don’t even know if there is a populace anymore, Malem told her. Mauritania may have summarily executed them all.

I don’t think so, the night elf sent. Where’s the fun in being a ruler if you have no one to rule?

Not everyone thinks the same way as you do, Ziatrice.

Even if no one lives in the city, it doesn’t matter, the night elf pressed. Once you’ve Broken her, take her army and march east. Conquer other vulnerable cities, amassing more kingdoms. Institute a draft, and use the treasuries under your control to hire mercenaries to supplement and train your soldiers. Meanwhile, let Vorgon and the Alliance weaken each other. When we’ve grown strong enough, we’ll turn back and obliterate whoever remains, be it Vorgon or General Rashan. And then the world will be ours.

He didn’t answer her.

He recalled Garibaldi, and the eagle returned to the ridge outside Tartan’s Vale, circling above the farm that was just in front of Malem. He had the bird head east, to continue searching along the edges of that ridge for empty estates, and Garibaldi finally found one—four farms to his right.

The eagle proceeded inward to check the adjacent farms, working its way backward until it had a string of empty estates that led to the ridge from Malem’s current position. The path the eagle found required Malem and the others to backtrack a few farms, and as usual he sent Ophid in first to confirm the estates where indeed clear.

When they finally reached the farm next to the ridge, they sheltered their horses inside the ruins of a barn, while the monsters ducked behind other buildings further along the perimeter. There was a pair of grain silos on the eastern edge, and that was the perfect spot for Hansel and Eddy to take cover. The two basilisks meanwhile deployed separately along the western and southern edges of the estate, where a guesthouse and a toolshed provided cover.

“I don’t suppose we can hold off doing anything until that Darkness of yours comes again?” Xaxia said inside the barn. “Use it to give us an unfair advantage?”

“I don’t sense its coming,” Malem said. “We could wait, yes, but every hour we spend lurking here is another hour we might be discovered. And that’s another hour Abigail and Weyanna come closer to death from their grievous wounds. We have to attack.”

“You’re assuming Mauritania can save them…” Xaxia said.

“I am,” he agreed.

“You’re also assuming you’ll be able to Break her,” the Bandit told him.

“I—” he bowed his head. “Even if I can’t, even if we have to kill her, we’ll find a way to get back to the front line in time to save them. We’ll find a way to get them to a Metal healer.”

“I hope you’re right,” Xaxia said. “I’ve grown rather fond of those dragons. And I’d hate to lose them.”

He studied her for a moment, and then turned to face the others. “All right, here’s what we’re going to do.” And he revealed his plan.

When he finished, he looked at Abigail and Weyanna. They both had their arms folded across their chests.

“I noticed you didn’t mention either of us,” Abigail said. “We don’t have a part to play in this, then? You’ll never get inside the castle without me.”

“In your condition, I think it’s better if you stay here with the monsters,” he told her gently. “You’ll draw a map for us, and—”

“No,” Abigail said. “No maps. I’m going in person. I’ve come this far, I won’t back down now.”

“Nor will I,” Weyanna said. “You’ve Broken us. You’re taking our strength. We deserve to participate just as much as everyone else.”

He decided not to explain to her that he was mostly giving her strength at this point, rather than vice versa.

“I need everyone to be at the top of their game out there,” Malem said. “If we need to run, I can’t worry about the two of you lagging behind.”

“Then give us endurance herbs,” Abigail said. “Or transfer over stamina from your monsters. But don’t deny us this final part of the journey. We want to see this through. We want to play our parts. You need me to get you inside the castle. And a map won’t cut it. Why would you want a map, when I could physically guide you? Besides, I need to be down there in the streets to get my bearings. I can’t just draw a map from memory.”

He sighed, and against his better judgment, he agreed. “All right, you can come. But I swear, if you fall behind at any point…”

“We won’t fall behind,” Weyanna said quickly.

He folded his fingers together and rested his entwined palms on his chest.

“So, in regards to the plan…” Gwen said into the ensuing silence. “A nighttime excursion, huh? I’d almost prefer to infiltrate the city during the day, if only to avoid the dragon. Seeing as how it’s supposed to be active at night and all…”

“If all goes well, we’ll never even encounter the dragon,” Malem told her.

“There’s still a chance the dragon could awaken in the day,” Ziatrice said. “If Mauritania’s call is urgent enough. And there’s also a possibility it will sleep through the night, regardless of our presence.”

Abigail nodded. “Nemertes has been known to sleep for weeks at a time.”

“Oh,” Gwen said. “In that case, okay, I guess it doesn’t matter.” She glanced at Xaxia. “Except for the fact not all of us can see so well at night… I’m looking at you, Bandit.”

Xaxia smirked. “I think I’ll be able to find my way around in the dark, thank you very much. I am a bandit, after all.”

“And an assassin,” Abigail commented in disdain.

Ziatrice’s eyes lit up at that. “Sister!”

Xaxia nodded in appreciation.

Malem shook his head. “Whatever the case, there are too many troops down there for us to sneak inside during the day. It has to be at night.”

“What if the Eldritch have night vision?” Gwen asked. “Kind of negates the purpose of sneaking inside at night, doesn’t it?”

“It won’t matter,” he told her. “Even with night vision, they’ll still need a little bit of light to see by. All of us will. But there’s no moon tonight, so the only light they’ll have is that of the stars—if the night isn’t overcast—and their torches.”

“You forgot their cooking fires,” Xaxia told him.

He nodded grimly at the reminder of where they’d all end up if they failed that night.

22

Malem made his way through the darkness toward the city walls. He had swapped out Garibaldi for an owl, which he named Snowy. He chose the owl for its better night vision, and the bird had mapped out a course on the northeast side of the vale where the tents were fewest. It was that route he took now.

The four monsters lingered on the farm adjoining the ridge, where they waited for his signal. Abigail, Weyanna, Gwen, Ziatrice, Rathamias, and Xaxia followed behind him. Their horses remained at the farm as well, hitched inside the ruined barn. All of those accompanying him had night vision, save for Xaxia, who could see well enough in the dim light of the cooking fires that burned low around them. There was no light from the stars—the sky was overcast.

The team moved at a crouch, using the rocky features of the landscape around them as cover: the valley floor outside the walls of Tartan had little plant life, save for the occasional twisted tree or bramble, and consisted mostly of rocky paths and outcrops. There was usually a hollow they could slip inside, or a boulder they could dodge behind. That said, they still needed to drop to a crawl occasionally when the natural cover between certain tents proved sparse.

Malem was able to sense most of the Eldritch around him, and he concluded they had to be normal troops. There were a few mages that he missed until almost upon them: one such mage had been outside, contemplating the sky, when Malem rounded a boulder almost directly in its line of sight. Malem ducked behind that boulder, and when he heard footsteps, he and the others quietly retreated. They ducked beneath a hollow and Malem silently drew Balethorn. The mage peered around the boulder, but turned around and left when it discovered no one present.

Malem and most of the others had sipped from the blood-laced canteens before leaving, hoping to negate the Eldritch invisibility. Everyone except Gwen had done it: she said she’d only drink when the time came to fight. Malem decided that would be good enough. For now.

The small party soon made it unnoticed to the city wall. This particular spot proved unpatrolled, at least for the moment.

Ziatrice threw her ghostly chains of magic into the surface and heaved, drawing out one of the large stone blocks composing it. Gwen and Rathamias caught the long, thick block, and quietly lowered it to the ground. The night elf removed several more such blocks in succession, and the other two continued to pile them silently on the ground.

When the three of them had cleared enough rock for one person to fit through the wall, Malem stepped forward, bent over, and crawled through the thin opening. He had left his pack at the farm, and his thinner profile allowed him to slide through with relative ease. He also didn’t have a robe—there was no point in concealing his dragon scale armor now. If he was caught here, it wouldn’t matter if he wore a robe or armor: the Eldritch would still attack on sight.

When everyone was through, he made his way along the narrow alley formed between the wall and the buildings just inside it. Little light made its way here, and he had to advance mostly by touch.

Eventually the buildings fell away, revealing a square of sorts abutting the wall. A lamp still burned in that square, though the flames were low, sputtering—they would extinguish soon. Likely they had been burning since the attack began. No doubt the employee responsible for dousing the city’s lamps in the morning and reigniting them in the evening hadn’t been making the rounds. Understandable, given the circumstances.

The dim light from that lamp illuminated huge piles of what looked like soot stacked against the wall. As he got closer, the distinct smell of char filled the air.

“What is this?” Gwen asked softly.

Ziatrice kneeled, and in the dim light, fished out a skull from the powdery gray mass. “Well, I guess that answers the question about what happened to the citizens.” She threw away the skull in disgust, and wiped her hands on her bodice.

Someone wept softly behind him. He didn’t have to look to know it was Abigail: the grief emanating from her energy bundle was profound. She had lived here for a long time after all, interacting daily with the people of Tartan. And now some of them, at least, were gone.

The grief suddenly fell away, replaced by what Malem could best describe as anger.

She wanted revenge.

Can we hurry up? Abigail sent. Or are we going to stand here with open mouths all day?

This isn’t the whole population, Malem told her. It can’t be.

You don’t know that for sure, she replied. Fire can be very destructive to human flesh.

Yes, I don’t know for sure, he sent. Just as you don’t. I need you to get a grip on your emotions. Don’t let them blind you, because if you do, you might make a mistake that will bring us all down. You have to be on the ball, if you’re going to lead us in. You—

I won’t make a fucking mistake.

He was stunned by her choice of words. She never talked like that. She was a princess, and… well, he supposed she had reason to.

He switched to the spoken word now, for the benefit of Xaxia and Rathamias. “You know where we are?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I recognize this square. World’s End, it was called, because the road leading here terminates at the city wall, and there was no other way to go. Twice a week vendors packed the square, forming a market big enough to attract citizens not just from all over the city, but the surrounding countryside. They sold everything from purses to parsley. Some of us locals called it Thieves’ Corner, because of the pickpockets that were known to frequent the place on market days, robbing vendors and patrons alike.” Her voice was the epitome of self-control. No sobs. No rage. Good. Hopefully she’d gotten out most of her frustrations on him while in his head. “So yes, I know where we are. And I can lead us the rest of the way.”

He nodded and let her take the lead.

It was at that point he realized Gwen, too, was crying. Given the tense exchange that had just occurred between him and Abigail, he decided it was best to leave Gwen alone.

I’m terrible at consoling.

The site of those charred bones had obviously gotten to her. Something similar had happened to her hometown of Durnwald: the villagers had been slain to a man by oraks Ziatrice had sent to hunt him.

Strangely, Gwen didn’t seem to hate the night elf for that; no, her ire was reserved for the oraks alone. Maybe Gwen had decided that those who had performed the actual deed were more responsible than the one who had given the order. Because like Malem, perhaps Gwen couldn’t imagine Ziatrice ever giving an order like that. Or maybe Gwen simply told herself, as he did, that the oraks had interpreted the night elf’s commands too broadly, or that even if they hadn’t, Ziatrice had been under the influence of Vorgon anyway, so that absolved her of responsibility.

But Malem knew Ziatrice well enough by now to realize she was more than capable of giving an order like that. Constantly exhorting him to grab the reins of power at every opportunity, no matter the cost, was the biggest giveaway. But like Gwen, he liked to pretend it was the oraks and other monsters that were the truly evil ones. Not his friends and lovers.

But from the point of view of the monsters, it’s we who are the evil ones. We kill them on sight, hunting them down to keep them away from our cities, and putting bounties on their heads. We’re all oraks to them.

It was a sobering thought.

It was a little odd that a random notion like this would pop into his head now, considering the circumstances: sneaking into an enemy city, surrounded by Eldritch that wanted to kill him, on a mission to infiltrate their headquarters and capture their queen. The aberrant thoughts were perhaps his mind’s way of coping with the stress.

Gwen’s soft weeping soon went silent, and he sensed she’d gotten her melancholy under control. From the well-honed edge to her current emotions, he knew she was ready to kill.

Best to put myself in the same mindset.

He cleared his mind of all thought and concentrated on the present moment.

The streets were mostly empty within the fallen city of Tartan. Given the profusion of smashed windows and broken doors, the enemy army had already looted all the outlying homes and shops. That the Eldritch were still looting the castle the last time Malem had checked spoke of the great wealth amassed within its walls.

The ways were full of shadows, as only a few lamps still burned throughout the city, with the vast majority having long since gone out. That gave ample darkness for Malem and the others to hide in.

The marching thuds of booted feet drew his attention up ahead, where torchlight, growing in brightness, flickered from around the bend.

He quickly dove into a broken home with the others, and they ducked in the common room while waiting for the patrol to pass. Malem peered passed the window ledge, and watched the group of Eldritch soldiers march by. Two of them held torches, and the rest carried those familiar trident and net weapons. He finally understood what those nets were for: gathering refugees that had escaped the initial onslaught.

He was a bit worried the Eldritch would smell them, but apparently the creatures didn’t have that keen of a sense of smell, because they marched right by the building without stopping.

“They had torches…” Xaxia said when they were gone. “Maybe their night vision isn’t as great as we thought.”

“Or it’s exactly like I already told you,” Malem replied. “Remember, night vision needs light in order to work properly. If I were searching a city for stowaways under a moonless sky, I’d bring a torch, too, to illuminate the shadows my eyes couldn’t penetrate.”

He got up and made his way to the entrance. He paused at the opening; light from a low-burning lamp nearby illuminated the broken door, and the blood staining the floor just inside. A struggle had taken place there. Malem imagined a valiant father or mother trying to protect his or her family before being chopped down by the swords of the conquering army.

Abigail sobbed slightly when she noticed what he was looking at; he was about to ask her if she needed a moment, but she straightened almost instantly, the grief from her energy bundle quickly replaced by defiance and determination. Before he could react, she shoved her way past him and onto the street outside.

Abigail led the way, steadfastly winding through the city, diving into side streets, alleys, or homes whenever she caught the merest whiff of a patrol. She had promised it would take only half an hour to reach their destination, but it felt like that amount of time had already passed. It might have been partly an illusion caused by the nerve-racking nature of their situation, but more likely a consequence of the frequent pauses and diversions to avoid Eldritch patrols. Perhaps she had even lost her way a few times: navigating a city under the light of failing lamps wasn’t the easiest even for a long-time resident. She paused unnervingly at times, usually when they reached a particularly dark intersection, which did little to boost his confidence levels.

Malem felt a growing impatience emanating from the energy bundles of the women as well.

“Are you sure she knows where she’s going?” Gwen asked after a time. “Feels like we’re traveling in circles.”

“I second the sentiment,” Rathamias said.

“See, even the orak agrees with me,” Gwen added.

Abigail ignored them. A moment later she pointed out a large manhole next to an unlit lamp. “There.”

They approached.

The subtle stench of sewage reached his nostrils. Malem ignored it and knelt, drawing his sword to pry the lid up. Gwen helped him remove the sewer cover.

With the manhole open, the smell of feces and other excrement hit him in full force. Malem held his nose, nearly gagging. He wanted to turn back, find another way. But he knew there was only this way forward. Nothing he could do but suck it up. Literally.

He stared into the black tunnel that awaited. He could barely see the rungs of a bronze ladder in the dim light.

“Looks like the dark pit to hell itself,” Ziatrice commented. “And smells like it, too.”

“I mean, I always knew we planned to enter the sewer,” Gwen said. “But now that we’re actually doing it, I’m kind of, well… reluctant. That’s probably the least offensive word to describe my feelings on the matter.”

“Then go back,” Malem said, rather mercilessly.

Abigail was already climbing down the rungs.

Malem waited a moment, letting her move further down the ladder. Gwen didn’t answer his last remark, but she didn’t have to. Her continued presence was answer enough. As was the resolve he sensed from her energy bundle.

He sat down on the edge of the opening and let his feet dangle inside. He had hoped the smell would have lessened by then as his mind adapted to the constant assault upon his nostrils, but it didn’t.

Swallowing nervously, he lowered his feet onto the rungs, turned around, and descended into the all-consuming darkness.

23

Malem glanced down, into the dark, toward where he thought he’d heard Abigail’s boots scuffing against stone, but he couldn’t see a thing.

“You’re sure it’s safe to create a globe of fire down here?” he asked. When they had discussed this part of the plan earlier, she had insisted her flames were safe.

Sure enough, when the sphere of fire appeared, nothing happened—other than the sewage tunnel lighting up.

“You really expected it to cause an explosion?” Abigail asked.

“A little,” he admitted sheepishly. “Given what I’ve seen before, fire and sewers don’t mix. Something about the stench.”

“Flames meant for illumination don’t work that way,” Abigail explained. “They don’t burn oxygen, or produce heat. If I created an actual offensive flame, however, who knows? Maybe it would trigger an explosion. I don’t plan on trying it.”

“Probably a good idea.” When he reached the bottom, he stepped onto a narrow walkway that was elevated above the brown effluence responsible for the stench, and then quickly moved out of the way so that Xaxia could follow after him.

“I’ve heard of people who died in the sewers,” Xaxia said, alighting from the ladder to stand beside him. “If you go too deep, there are places where the air is forced out by the stench.”

“I’ve taken this route twice before,” Abigail said. “And I still live and breathe.”

“Yeah, but you’re a dragon,” Xaxia told her.

“You will live,” Abigail insisted.

Malem and the two women slid forward to make room for the remaining members of their party. While he waited for the others to enter he studied the narrow tunnel. The corridor proceeded well into the distance, with brown sludge flowing a few inches below the level of the walkway. That was a little close for his liking.

“Did you know some cities divert water from their storm drains into the sewage system?” Xaxia commented. “If Tartan does that, and it rains while we’re down here, the shit will quickly overwhelm the walkway. You saw how the sky was overcast, right?”

“Rain would be bad,” Malem agreed.

“You certainly know a lot about the inner workings of sewer systems,” Ziatrice commented.

“I’m a bandit,” Xaxia said. “I’ve fled through my fair share of them.”

Gwen was the last one to enter; she used her strength to replace the sewage grill above her before descending. “Gah. Heavier than it looks!”

When Gwen landed on the walkway, Malem heard a soft pitter-patter. The party members glanced around, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise.

It seemed to be coming from Gwen.

She glanced up, and blinked. Droplets were falling onto her from the grill above. “It’s starting to rain.”

“Wonderful,” Xaxia said.

The intensity of those droplets increased, and Gwen shoved against Rathamias, moving out of the way so she wouldn’t get too wet.

“Let’s hurry up, Abigail,” Malem said.

The silver half dragon led the way forward, her globe of fire still lighting the way. The tunnel occasionally branched, and sometimes two corridors overlapped in a crossroads. In the latter case, narrow grille bridges provided a means to cross to the other side without touching the effluence.

Abigail led the way without pause. Her confidence seemed unwavering, which was at odds to the earlier uncertainty she exhibited during the trek through the darkened streets. The light sphere probably helped.

“You say you’ve only taken this route twice?” Ziatrice called from behind. “How is it that you remember the twists and turns so well?”

“Most dragons have extremely good memories,” Abigail said. “I, on the other hand, have an exceptional one.”

After a time, Malem noted the sewage level was slowly rising, no doubt thanks to the rain.

“Oh no!” Gwen said. “You see that? Faster!”

“See what?” Weyanna asked.

“The shit!” Gwen said. “It’s going up!”

Abigail picked up the pace.

But it was no use. Soon the rising sewer water overwhelmed the walkway, and the party members were splashing through the effluence. Malem quickly switched to shuffling his feet forward so as not to spray his legs with the disgusting fluid. The others did the same.

In a few moments the sewage reached to their ankles. They continued to slide their feet. So far, his long boots protected him from the worst of it, but that wouldn’t last long. Weyanna and Abigail, wearing sandals, already had the stuff touching their skin.

Sure enough, after taking a few branches, they were forced to wade, knee-deep, through the brown sludge. It overtopped his boots by then, flowing inside, and he felt the fluid squishing between his toes with each step.

The disgust was obvious on the faces of the women around him: their mouths were curled down, their noses wrinkled in repulsion. He doubted his expression was any better.

“You know, if this keeps up, soon we’ll be swimming in this shit,” Xaxia said.

“A pleasant thought,” Weyanna commented.

Ziatrice stumbled, nearly falling off the walkway, but Xaxia caught her.

“To think, I was once a queen,” Ziatrice said. “A queen! And look at me now. How low I’ve fallen. Traipsing across the great stinking underbelly of a city, knee deep in shit. The things I do for you, Breaker!”

“The things we all do!” Gwen said. She paused. “But you know, in all honesty, I expected the smell to be a lot worse down here, but it’s pretty much been consistent with what it was when we first opened up the manhole.”

“Well, sure,” Xaxia said. “You’re right. But that doesn’t make the stench any better.”

“I suppose not,” Gwen said.

He sensed Abigail and Weyanna weaken from the effort of all that wading, so he transferred vitality from the distant monsters and the pair perked up.

Abigail soon led them underneath a portion of tunnel whose ceiling was covered in red and purple lichen. The plants dripped moisture onto the group.

Xaxia rubbed some of if off her shoulder. “More sewage, or rain water?”

“Neither,” Abigail said. “We’re passing underneath the moat.”

The effluent had reached their waists by the time the tunnel opened into a wide drain basin.

“We’re underneath the castle.” Abigail spoke in a hushed voice, as if worried listeners might be nearby.

She waded forward slowly, directly across the concave basin, obviously trying to make as little noise as possible. The others followed her example.

The sewage levels quickly dropped as they ascended the gentle slope so that by the time they stood next to the far wall of stone, the black liquid reached only to their ankles. Beside Abigail there were a series of rungs leading to a small grill in the ceiling.

Malem reached out, searching for any nearby beasts. He sensed a few rats at different locations in the castle above. The closest Eldritch was well away, however. He doubted there were any Eldritch mages, or any humans in the room immediately overhead, considering it was accessible only by secret passage, at least according to Abigail. He supposed he could have Broken one of the nearby rats and sent it toward this location, but as far as he could tell, the rodents were well beyond the confines of the secret passage Abigail had described to him. And since a rat couldn’t open the doorway that led to that passage, trying to explore it at this point was mostly an exercise in futility.

Abigail pointed wordlessly at the grill.

Gwen, do your thing, Malem sent her.

The half gobling came forward, scaled the metal rungs in the wall, and peered through the grill. She looked down, and sent, softly: Seems clear. Though there are a lot of shadows.

Malem nodded. Move the grill.

Gwen shoved the blockage upward and out of the way with some effort. Malem cringed at the sound of stone against steel, still worried that there might be someone nearby he couldn’t detect, someone who might hear.

When the grill was out of the way, Gwen lifted her head into the opening and, while still balancing on the rungs, swiveled to scope out her surroundings. He accessed her vision, and was satisfied no one was present.

Gwen pulled herself up.

The others followed in turn. Abigail’s illumination globe joined them in the chamber. The place was relatively roomy, and as such, Malem guessed it was one of those architectural mistakes that builders often bricked over. Then again, maybe whoever designed the castle purposely built the secret chamber with the king and his entire guard retinue in mind, and set aside enough room to hold them.

“Should I replace the grill?” Gwen asked softly.

Malem shook his head. “Leave it, in case we need to make a hasty retreat back the way we came.”

There was a small hand-operated pump in the far wall, along with an empty bucket.

Abigail went to it and began pumping.

“How sanitary can well water be this close to a sewer?” Weyanna asked.

“I wouldn’t recommend drinking it,” Abigail said. When the bucket was full, she went to the opening next to the grill and poured the water over her sludge-covered legs, washing the sewage down the drain.

The others followed her lead, filling the bucket in turn and cleaning themselves. Additionally, Malem removed his boots and washed the insides, along with his feet. The other members of the party who wore boots did likewise.

When he slid his feet back inside, the inner sole of his boots still felt squishy, and he imagined every step was probably only squeezing out more effluence that had been absorbed into the fabric, like crushing a wet sponge, coating his feet in the disgusting liquid all over again.

Nothing he could do about that.

“Oh, I’m going to have a few ringworms after this,” Xaxia commented after she had replaced her boots; no doubt she was experiencing the same mushy insoles.

Abigail led them out of the room, into a stone-walled corridor so tight that they had to move in single file. She soon reached a dead end.

Abigail felt along the edges of the rock, until she found small handles, and then shoved. The stone wall gave, allowing her to slide it. She pushed it open a crack, and peered into the gap. Then she slid it further, enough to stick her head through entirely.

Malem observed from her viewpoint: the stone passageway beyond was wider, and carpeted with a thin, checkered rug that ran the length of the corridor. Light glowed from magical brackets placed at regular intervals in the walls. There were no men, women, or Eldritch present.

Abigail turned back toward him, and said, very quietly: “Seems safe.”

I’ll be the judge of that, he sent.

He still didn’t sense anyone nearby, but he knew better than to rely upon his beast sense by now. He released Snowy, and instead bound one of the nearby rats. Now that he had a better idea of where he was, he was able to guide the rat to his location. He shared its vision with the women he’d Broken so they had at least some idea of what was taking place, and then had the rat explore the nearby rooms—those that didn’t have closed doors, at least. It found mostly crates packed away in storage; all of them cracked open, and empty. Broken wine and beer casks lay scattered about, their contents spilled and evaporated. Apparently the Eldritch didn’t care much for human spirits.

When he was satisfied the level was empty, save for other rats, he sent the rodent forward to the unexplored section of the hall, where a staircase led up to the next level. He instructed the rat to climb the flight, and it proceeded to do so.

He was always amazed at the proficiency with which rodents could surmount stairs: the little guy propelled itself upward with a leap, grabbing onto the horizontal outer edge of the next step while at the same time scrabbling at the vertical segment of the previous with the claws of its hind legs until it pulled itself up, swinging its tail for added momentum. And then on to the next step to repeat the process.

In short order the rat reached the next level. This seemed to be the main floor of the castle, as the rat now resided in a grand hall. Smaller rooms opened off from that hall.

Malem sent the rat forward to begin exploring. The rat kept close to the walls of the hall, ducking behind different furniture along the way so that it remained out of sight as much as possible.

The looting seemed to have paused for the night—there were no Eldritch in most of the rooms. That said, there wasn’t much left to loot—the walls were mostly stripped bare, and only the plainest furniture remained. A few occasional pieces of value remained—a painting and a silk tablecloth here, a statue and a silver candelabra there—and those would no doubt be cleaned out when the looters made yet another pass in the morning. Perhaps that would even be the final pass before the army withdrew.

Although there were no looters at this hour, Eldritch soldiers still patrolled the halls. Malem only sensed them about half the time, which told him some of those patrols were peopled entirely by mages. After some further exploration of the halls and rooms with his rat, he had a good sense of the schedules and routes of the patrols.

Eventually he found a throne room, but it was completely empty. He knew that there had been a throne present, probably an elaborate one, because of the four equally-spaced indentations that marred the cherry wood dais at the front of the room—the marks of a heavy chair that had rested in the same place for a very long time.

When the rat finished exploring that level, he sent it up to the next, which proved a slightly smaller version of the previous floor, replete with hall and side rooms, but minus the throne room.

Meanwhile the women and the orak with him had slid down to the floor of the secret passageway, their backs propped up against the narrow walls. Abigail had snuffed out her fiery sphere, since light from the magical brackets beyond gave enough illumination to see by. He sensed mostly patience from their energy bundles, though Ziatrice was thrumming her fingers on the stone beside her, while Xaxia’s leg bobbed up and down restlessly.

He took a seat on the hard floor next to them and continued his remote explorations.

The next level had a large bath, plus several bedchambers. Malem hoped he was getting close. However, as he sent the rat into each bedchamber, they proved just as empty as the rest of the castle—the beds were stripped of sheets, leaving only bare mattresses, and the windows were curtain-less. As each bedchamber proved the same as the last, he began to wonder if perhaps Ziatrice was wrong, and Mauritania had elected to sleep in a tent outside after all.

That was fine… he sensed a particular bundle of energy on the surface above, belonging to what could only be a small ferret. He could Break it and have it explore the different tents of the inner courtyard. If Mauritania wasn’t here, then that was the next most likely location.

But then the rat rounded one last bend it hadn’t yet explored. And a hall led to a final door.

The walls on either side were lined with Eldritch guards that faced one another. None of them gripped the tridents or nets of the common soldier, but rather stood empty-handed.

All mages, then.

“That would be her chambers,” Gwen said.

24

Malem had the rat sneak through the twin line of guards. The tiny creature stayed as close to the leftmost wall as possible, of course, slowly weaseling its way forward along the join where the stones met the floor, dashing from one large boot to the next.

When the rat reached the boot of the final guard, it peered past, glancing upward at the sentry standing across from this one, and, as per Malem’s orders, confirmed that the Eldritch wasn’t looking down at the rat.

He ordered the rat to the door, and the creature began to squeeze underneath the door. The flattening abilities of rodents never ceased to impress him. Then again, perhaps he had Broken a smaller mouse rather than a rat—Malem had trouble differentiating between the two at that scale.

However, the rodent got caught by the base of the door after only squeezing halfway through, and it scrabbled its hind legs on the stone floor in an attempt to propel itself through. Meanwhile, its head was pointed at the ceiling as it pulled frantically with its fore legs.

The clicking sounds made by its tiny claws seemed rather loud to Malem, but that was because he was viewing and listening to the world from the rat’s perspective. Still, he worried the scraping would attract the attention of the guards; either that, or the rat’s presence would trigger some kind of magical motion alarm.

A moment later the rat pushed through and entered the room beyond, unscathed, and seemingly without raising any alarms.

He immediately had the rodent move to the side, away from the door: if the guards decided to enter and investigate, it wouldn’t do for the rat to be standing there in plain sight.

Once the creature was out of the way, he propped it against the wall to survey the room.

The place was full of furnishings: nothing had been looted, as far as he could tell. The ornate dresser embellished with carvings of small dryads, the nightstand hewn out of cherry wood and inlaid with gold nymphs, the closet fashioned into the shape of a big blooming flower, its two stamen forming the handles.

In the center of the room, blue drapes hung from the ceiling. They were festooned with sequins in a pattern that he thought was meant to imitate stars. Those drapes were also translucent, giving him a hint of the lavish bed of red and white silks enveloped beyond.

He had the rat advance toward the bed. Hoping for a better vantage, he instructed it to scale those drapes, and the creature rushed forward to obey, throwing itself onto the hanging fabric. He was a little worried the fabric would rip, waking the occupant, but he figured the rat was expendable anyway, so even if the rodent was discovered, it would be worth it to find out whoever lay there.

The fabric did indeed rip, though only slightly, and the rat was able to grab onto an intact section and proceed without issue. The sleeper remained under, and slowly came into view beyond the translucent curtain as the rat climbed.

She lay on her side, wearing a nightgown of loose green satin. Her legs were bent, and the gown had fallen away from her calves and thighs there, allowing him a fine view of the creamy white skin beneath. She was far taller than the previous occupant of the bed, and had to curl her body to fit, almost assuming the fetal position.

As more of her was revealed, he noticed a scepter lying on the bed beside her, within easy reach. Her waist formed a tight hourglass beside it, and the bodice of her gown was cut low, allowing him take in the luscious curves of her breasts.

The rat continued its arduous climb, until finally her face was visible.

Her beauty made his breath catch in his throat.

“Is that Mauritania?” he asked Ziatrice.

The night elf paused to consider the question. “I’ve never seen her this close, but based on sightings from afar, I would say yes, that is Mauritania. And the fact she is the most human-seeming Eldritch we’ve encountered yet is another giveaway.”

“Yes, you weren’t kidding when you said the females are sexually dimorphic to the males,” he breathed. “She looks completely human. Except for those small, blunt horns on her head. And her slight giantism.”

“Listen to his voice,” Xaxia said. “Someone’s turned on.”

“Typical man,” Gwen commented. “Sees a few breasts and gets all excited.”

“Breasts would do it,” he admitted. “Especially large ones.”

He felt a punch in his side. Thanks, Abigail.

Don’t mention it.

From the rat’s higher vantage, he could also see a gold crown inlaid with precious gems resting on the nightstand. Even without Ziatrice’s confirmation, that crown alone would have been confirmation enough that this was indeed who they sought: the Black Sword, leader of the Eldritch army, a woman who stood high among Vorgon’s generals.

He felt suddenly very stupid for having commented on her breasts. This wasn’t some whore from Redbridge’s red light district who cheated men out of their money, but a powerful woman who destroyed entire cities and their populace for a living. Yes, not a woman to be treated lightly. Not at all.

“You know, this might not just be sexual dimorphism we’re looking at here,” Ziatrice said. “There are some who say Mauritania is half human. You know what that means, don’t you?”

Malem didn’t answer.

Imagine the power you’ll possess once you Break her, if true, the half elf continued, switching to mental communication.

He tried to ignore the comment, but couldn’t help the sudden power lust he felt.

Yes, Ziatrice sent. Embrace the side of yourself that yearns for this power. Together, we can use it to save this realm. We’ll defeat Vorgon, and become the new defenders of the world.

He shook his head slightly. Its conquerors, you mean.

We have to conquer it first to save it, she agreed.

All conquerors disguise themselves as saviors at first, he said. And some even believe they are.

Give yourself whatever excuses you need, Ziatrice said. When you’re ready, I’ll be there for you, at your side, to hold you up.

He instructed the rat to return to the floor and it promptly released the drapes. The rodent fell fast and reached out frantically to slow its fall. It finally found purchase, digging in its claws into the fabric, but its momentum carried it downward and it cut a long line into the curtain.

Malem cringed, expecting the Black Sword to wake up at any moment, and so he had the rat wait at the base of the bed, ready to dive into the gap between the lower mattress and the floor at the first sign of trouble.

However, nothing happened.

Mauritania was a sound sleeper, apparently. With sentries guarding her at all hours of the night, of course she would be.

He sent the rat back to the door; when it squeezed through, he directed it past the guarded hallway, and it moved from boot to boot alongside the wall again. The rodent soon left the guards behind and rounded the bend. When the soldiers were out of view, Malem ordered the animal to shelter in the adjacent bedchambers and await further instructions.

Before dismissing its perspective, he watched the rat enter the room, and then studied the far wall, which he guessed bordered the queen’s bedchamber.

He turned toward Abigail. “I wonder, how thick are these walls?”

“Not very,” Abigail said. “Mauritania resides within the king’s bedchamber. Your rat is currently in his eldest daughter’s. Or what once was her quarters. Ordinarily, Goldenthall had guards watching her door, too, not just for his daughter’s safety, but because by breaching her chamber one could easily enter his own by simply breaking through the adjoining wall. Or at least, that was his fear.”

Malem nodded. “So we enter the eldest daughter’s room, break down the wall without waking Mauritania, and then she’s ours.”

“Probably won’t be that simple, but that sounds about right, yes,” Abigail said.

“It doesn’t matter if we wake Mauritania,” Ziatrice insisted. “Not if we’re quick enough. Break down the walls as loudly as you want, and I’ll still throw my chains upon her while she’s halfway between the waking world and the dreaming. Before she can raise any defenses, I’ll have squeezed the life out of her. Meanwhile, you’ll Break her.”

He studied Ziatrice uncertainly. “As long as you can promise me you won’t kill her this time, like you did with Barrowfore. You have to control yourself.”

The night elf returned his gaze defiantly for a moment, as if insulted at the notion, but then nodded. “I will control myself.”

“Good.”

Now that he had a route to the bedchamber, he released the rat and broke another that was closer, and had it take up a watch position at the top of the stairs to the next level.

“This time, everyone drinks,” Malem said, eying Gwen, who had held back before the mission.

He retrieved his canteen, shook it vigorously, and drank. He grimaced at the flavor, and after a few gulps, shared the canteen with Abigail and Weyanna, who didn’t carry water containers.

Gwen hesitated as she held hers to her lips. The disgust was obvious from her wrinkled nose.

“Fuck it,” she said, and slammed the mouth of the canteen to her lips. She drank, holding her nose with the fingers of her free hand, and then wiped her lips. “That wasn’t so bad.”

She dry-heaved suddenly, holding a hand to her mouth. Again. She clamped down her jaws, managing to keep the liquid down.

“Okay, it was bad,” she said. “But I’m over it.” She put the canteen away.

With the Eldritch blood topped up to what Malem hoped were sufficient levels in their bellies, he and the others left the hidden passage for the basement hall.

When everyone was through, Abigail slid the secret door back into place.

“If we need to make a hasty retreat,” she explained softly, “opening this door won’t take much work. I’d rather leave it closed, than have some wandering Eldritch notice.”

He nodded. “Fine.” It was possible some of the Eldritch guards would make their rounds down here; just because none of them had come down yet, didn’t mean that would remain the case.

The party made their way through the basement corridor and waited at the bottom of the stairs.

Meanwhile, he observed the passing guards from the point of view of his new rat, and confirmed the Eldritch were sticking to the previously established patrol schedule.

So, when the latest group of two Eldritch walked past, he dispatched the rat to the far side of the main hall, beside the stairs to the next level, and had it wait there.

Meanwhile he and the others hurried up the steps from the basement. At the entrance to the main hall, he paused and peered past. He caught sight of the patrol that had just walked past, and they vanished around the far bend in that hall.

He hurried toward the stairs.

The rat confirmed that the next two guards were just starting down those very steps.

Halfway across the hall, he and the others dove into a nearby room, just as the guards appeared at the base of the steps. They hid next to the entryway, flattening themselves against the wall on either side of the doorframe. Meanwhile, the rat cowered behind one of the banisters, out of view.

He heard the footfalls of the guards as they slowly approached, growing in volume. And then the footsteps were right outside… and promptly began to retreat. He slumped in relief.

He had the rat return to the base of the stairs. No further guards were coming down. He instructed the rodent to climb to the next floor.

As those booted footsteps continued to recede, he approached the entrance and peered outside. He was able to sense the pair, which meant they weren’t mages. As soon as they rounded the bend and vanished from view, he waved the others on.

They hurried from the room and toward the staircase, taking them two at a time. The rat confirmed the coast was clear on the next floor, and so they burst into the hallway there and took cover in a nearby room.

The party continued in that manner, playing hide and seek with the guards. He used his beast sense, and the rat, to confirm the position of the different patrols, and they slowly made their way to the next floor.

The rat reported two guards posted at the base of the stairs to the next level. That was a surprise.

They discussed the situation in a room around the bend from those stairs.

“They must have been in the middle of a shift change the last time I sent my eyes and ears this way,” Malem said.

“Why do you keep calling it your eyes and ears?” Gwen asked. “Let’s be honest here. It’s a dirty rat.”

He flashed a fake smile at her, then returned his attention to the others.

“We could wait until the next shift change?” Weyanna suggested.

“No,” Xaxia said. “That could be hours.”

“I agree,” Malem said. “The longer we stay up here, the greater our risk of discovery. No, here’s what we’re going to do.”

After explaining the plan, Gwen, Rathamias, and Ziatrice left the room. The trio walked around the bend, in full view of the guards. Malem watched what went down from Gwen’s viewpoint.

The two men were just turning their way when she fired several arrows in rapid succession. Those arrows hit multiple targets: throats, eyes, heart. Definitely overkill, but it was better to err on the side of caution, considering the pair hadn’t shown up on his beast sense, and he figured they were mages. He was a little worried they might raise some sort of defensive shields like Ziatrice was capable of doing, but they dropped like rag dolls.

Ziatrice shot out her ghostly chains before the pair hit the floor and scooped them up in her dark magic, drawing them soundlessly through the air toward her. Gwen had slid her bow over her shoulder and caught one of the dead Eldritch, while Rathamias snatched the other out of the air. They dragged the bodies back into the room.

Meanwhile, Malem sent the rat scurrying up the stairs to the next level.

It was clear, so he and the team made a final dash to the next floor. They ran inside the first open room that presented itself, and hid while another patrol went by.

They stealthily worked their way from room to room until they reached the bedchambers of Goldenthall’s eldest daughter. The door was broken off its hinges, courtesy of the Eldritch looters, facilitating an easy entrance. They all moved as quietly as possible, well aware of the large group of guards waiting just beyond the bend beside the room.

Abigail led the party to the far wall. She’s behind here, she sent.

Malem gestured toward Rathamias.

The dark mage approached the wall with Ziatrice. The orak held out its arms, and dark magic erupted from its body in waves. The magic struck the wall, and dark veins spread across the stone, soundlessly dissolving it. In moments, a large gaping wound had appeared in the surface. Malem could see the bedchamber beyond, and the evil queen yet lying in repose upon the bed.

Dark mist flowed from the eyes of Ziatrice as she shot out her ghostly chains, and wrapped them around the woman in the bed, who was only just beginning to stir. She tightened them, hard.

Malem wrapped his will around the mind of his foe.

It was time to Break another Black Sword.

25

Malem squeezed tightly. Mauritania resisted—but Ziatrice must have already brought her close to death, because that resistance seemed almost token. She thrashed about weakly, and Malem was certain he was about to crush her will.

Loosen your chains! he ordered the night elf.

But I’m only just getting started, Ziatrice complained.

Now.

She complied, and he felt the energy bundle strengthen beneath him, and she flailed more violently in his grasp. He squeezed tighter, but still felt he could Break her if he truly wanted. But he resisted that Breaking, suddenly worried that this was some mind trap Vorgon had planned. The Balor might have been waiting somewhere in her mind, luring him in with the promise of easy domination, only to pounce once he’d fully wrapped his will around hers.

Yes, something seemed off about the whole situation. It seemed too easy. Mauritania should have been fighting back with everything she was worth. Sure, Ziatrice had caught her while she was still asleep, waking her to find herself locked in the grip of dark magic, but at the very least he expected her to fight back with a few magic attacks. But instead, she seemed on the verge of surrender, both physically, and mentally.

He performed one last quick scan of her mental space, but found nothing. He decided to risk Breaking her.

He kept his guard up as he crushed her mind with his will. She began to expand into his mental space, but he had no room for her. She required slots, then, and wasn’t half human. Too bad. He had hoped that by Breaking her, he’d gain a boost in power similar to what Ziatrice and the others granted.

He released the rat and Eddy, expecting her to take a few mental slots, but was surprised when she required only two. That seemed a rather small amount for someone purportedly as powerful as she was: a Black Sword, once fueled by the vitality of Vorgon. Speaking of which, he still hadn’t sensed the Balor’s dark presence in or around her mind. Perhaps the Balor had abandoned her. That was the only thing that made sense at the moment. That, or—

“Something’s very wrong,” Malem said.

Before he could stop her, the Eldritch woman began cackling madly where she was bound by the chains on the bed.

Malem clenched his will tightly upon her mind, cutting her off.

“Do you have her?” Ziatrice asked.

“Yes,” he said.

The chains fell away, and the mists cleared from the night elf’s eyes.

Mauritania struggled on the bed, as if she wanted to speak. He allowed her into his mind instead, and invited the other women into the mental conversation.

You idiots. I’m not Mauritania. I’m her decoy! She cackled madly in his head.

In anger, Malem stole stamina from her, treating her like some orak on the battlefield, and drained her to the bone. He stopped himself before killing her, releasing her within an inch of her life, unable to bring himself to slay a woman of such beauty, despite the vile rottenness at her core. She dropped onto the bed, unconscious.

Not Mauritania. Fuck.

He re-Broke the distant ettin before it could cause trouble on the farm outside Tartan, and that weakened him because of the distance involved, but because he had previously Broken the creature, the drain wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Still, he had Broken two entities in a relatively short period of time, and that was enough of a hit on his stamina that he felt the need to borrow vitality from the other monsters.

As he was doing that, Abigail began backing away from the opening in the wall.

“You know, the guards outside would have heard her cackling…” Abigail warned.

Sure enough, the door in the room next door exploded. Shards of wood spread across the adjacent bedroom; Rathamias was impaled by a piece of shrapnel, striking him just above the knee. Gwen also took a hit, but it bounced off her dragon scale armor.

“What’s going on?” Xaxia asked.

“It’s not Mauritania!” Gwen replied.

Three Eldritch mages rushed inside the former king’s bedchamber. They spotted the hole in the wall immediately.

But Ziatrice was ready. Dark mist flowed malevolently from her eyes and she thrust out her arms, striking all three with her ghostly chains. She dragged them toward her while Gwen riddled their bodies with arrows. When the trio traveled through the gap in the wall, the night elf swung Wither in a wide arc that sprayed the wall with their blood. She released the chains and momentum carried the three mages past her—or rather, what was left of them. Their severed carcasses hit the floor with sickening thuds, those child-like faces twisted in grimaces of pain.

“You dare attack the queen of the night?” Ziatrice shouted.

Gwen fired arrows through the gap at the next three mages that attempted to enter that room. They appeared only as green outlines—no doubt having invoked their invisibility—and must have been surprised when they realized Malem and the others could still see and target them.

One mage went down instantly, but the two behind it survived the hits, and launched green spirals of Eldritch magic in return.

Ziatrice stepped in front of Malem and the others, placing herself between them and the hole in the wall. The Eldritch spirals struck her invisible energy shield, causing it to flash into existence from multiple blows. He felt her stamina flagging from the effort of maintaining that shield, and he transferred stamina to her from Ophid. She threw out her arm, and sent more chains slamming into the room, but the mages dodged.

Rathamias launched threads of dark magic, hitting one of the mages, and the creature fell with dark veins spreading across its face.

Biter in hand, Xaxia rushed to the entrance of the current bedchamber. She crouched there, peering past the broken door, ready to protect their flank.

Two more mages—also in the form of green outlines—came into the adjacent room and released Eldritch energy. Ziatrice absorbed the impacts once again, forcing him to give her more stamina to maintain her shield.

Malem drained stamina from Hansel and Eddy and funneled it to Weyanna and Abigail. The two women had been staying back, their festering wounds making them too weak to participate in the battle, but they straightened suddenly with newfound energy.

Spears of ice materialized inside the adjacent room and impaled the three mages, killing them.

Abigail stepped in front of Ziatrice and released a wall of flame that swept across the bedchamber and into the hallway beyond it, causing screams to erupt from the guards still lurking there.

Malem reached out, looking for minds to Break, but those that he found quickly succumbed to their wounds, dying before he could take control. Not that he had the mental space in his mind for them, anyway.

Two mages suddenly emerged from the conflagration in that doorway, stepping into the room, unharmed. They released green smears of magic at Abigail.

Ziatrice shoved her aside and leaped into the room, taking the impacts. She swung Wither at the mages and hewed them in half.

The clang of blades drew his attention behind him: Xaxia was locked in combat with an Eldritch wielding a trident at the entrance. The creature’s entire body appeared as a green outline, as did its blade. One of the passing patrols had noticed the commotion then, and had come to intercept them. That there was only one Eldritch meant the other had departed, likely to raise the alarm. It was troubling that Malem hadn’t detected this one with his beast sense, considering it was only an ordinary soldier. Then again, he had learned not to rely upon that sense.

The monster towered over her, and she was mostly on the defensive because her reach was so much shorter against the bigger foe.

That Eldritch was joined momentarily by two more enemy mages, no doubt from the adjacent hallway—portions of their pale skin were bright red and sometimes blackened, courtesy of Abigail’s wall of flames. They hadn’t bothered to make themselves invisible.

Malem rushed the entrance. He held Balethorn in hand, though he didn’t remember drawing the weapon. Arrows struck the mages in rapid succession, thanks to Gwen.

The two Eldritch mages managed to lift their hands, pointing them at him and Xaxia…

Malem slid to the floor, tripping Xaxia. Deadly ribbons of green ripped past overhead, missing the two of them. The magic struck the wall and large green welts appeared, dissolving the edges and causing chunks of stone to fall away.

The soldier swung its trident down like a hammer, and Malem and Xaxia were forced to roll aside.

Multiple fireballs struck the mages and the soldier, forcing them back. More of Gwen’s arrows porcupined the lot of them, and the trio fell to the floor, where their bodies continued to burn.

The outlines of three mages and two soldiers appeared at the entrance—Malem knew the latter were soldiers because of the tridents silhouetted in their arms.

Stalagmites of ice erupted from the floor, their tips sharpened to finely-honed points. A mage and a soldier were impaled in the crotch at the same time, and both screamed terribly. The other three foes danced around the forming ice crystals, only to be met by dark smears of magic launched by Rathamias. They screamed in agony as black veins spiderwebbed across their faces.

Malem and Xaxia scrambled to their feet and mercifully ended them, along with the two impaled by ice.

Four more Eldritch crowded into the room, shoving past the bodies of the dead. Two soldiers, with two mages behind them. They hadn’t bothered to make themselves invisible. Word was apparently spreading that Malem and the other intruders could see through their guise.

The two in front suddenly became immobile, their eyes unfocused, dreamy. He realized that Rathamias had paralyzed them with his dark magic. He doubted it had worked on the mages, though.

Sure enough, green ribbons curled toward him and Xaxia; but he was already leaping to the ground. The magic continued toward the other members of the party…

Ziatrice vaulted in from the other bedchamber, via the hole in the wall, and took the impacts with her shield. Malem granted her vitality from the monsters as she dashed forward and leaped between the paralyzed Eldritch to cut down the mages. Then she spun and chopped off the heads of the immobile soldiers in one smooth motion.

He waited for the next attack, as did the others, but no more Eldritch came at them. Just like that it was over: the fighting had ended.

The sudden silence seemed strange: he had only just become accustomed to the cacophony of battle, and now it was gone. Not that he minded. He paused for a moment to catch his breath, listening to his own ragged breathing, and that of his comrades.

Malem reached out; he sensed other enemy soldiers rallying throughout the castle.

“One of the Eldritch raised an alarm,” Malem said. “I have multiple enemies incoming, making their way here from all over the building. I can’t sense them all… there might be more, closer nearby.” Sword in hand, he carefully peered out the doorway, in both directions. “Seems clear. Gwen, enter her bedchamber, and check the other hallway.”

The half gobling stepped through the gaping hole to the adjacent bedchamber and made her way to the opening.

Clear here, she sent. None of the Eldritch guards survived our attack.

Thank you. Get back here.

She returned a moment later.

“So what do we do?” Xaxia asked.

“The mission is a scrub,” Malem told her. “We have to retreat.”

“Well I know that,” Xaxia said. “I meant, how are we going to retreat? Considering it’ll be kind of hard to get to the basement now. They’ll be gathering reinforcements from the entire city to stop us.”

“If we can get to the rooftop,” Abigail said. “I know of another way out. There’s a small tower nearby… it’s an independent outbuilding, not connected to the castle. We leap across, climb down the spiral staircase, and cut across the courtyard to the guesthouse. In its basement, there’s another secret passage leading to the sewers.”

“Cut across the courtyard?” Gwen asked. “How far are we talking?”

“Not far,” Abigail said. “About twenty yards.”

“Still, we might meet resistance along the way,” Gwen said. “At any point along that route.”

“But certainly not as much as we would if we stayed in the main castle…” Abigail said.

Malem nodded. “If it gets too hectic, I’ll call in the monsters.”

“What about Nemertes?” Xaxia said.

Malem reached out, Breaking a nightbird that lounged on a roof nearby. He had the bird fly toward the castle.

“The dragon still sleeps,” Malem announced a moment later.

Abigail nodded. “As I told you, Nemertes can sleep for weeks.”

“It’s only a short distance to the adjoining tower,” Abigail said. “I doubt the dragon will wake up before we’re across.”

“Unless we meet resistance on the roof,” Weyanna said.

“Seems clear, for now,” he told her. “I’ll let you know if that changes.” He had the nightbird perch on a tower nearby—probably the same tower Abigail intended to guide them to.

“What do we do about her?” Weyanna asked.

Malem followed her gaze to the woman in the adjacent room who remained unconscious on the bed.

“We leave her,” he said.

“I’m surprised you don’t want to fuck her,” Gwen said under breath.

Malem shook his head, but ignored the comment. “Abigail, to the rooftop!”

26

Malem allowed Abigail to take the lead, and she led them down the hallway away from the bedchambers. The others followed close behind her, weapons in hand, minds ready to unleash magic.

“I should go first,” Ziatrice told Abigail. “You can guide me.”

Abigail nodded in acquiesce, and let the night elf take point.

The group rounded the bend ahead, bumping directly into two mages.

Ziatrice swung Wither and hewed them down; her shield took magical hits in turn. He boosted her with vitality from himself and the monsters.

Is that all you can give? Ziatrice asked in his head.

For now, he replied.

But that wasn’t enough to restore my shield.

He reluctantly fed her more energy. Eddy was going to revolt soon, at this rate. Maybe the basilisks, too.

Abigail guided Ziatrice past the steps leading down to the second floor, to the hallway that crossed in front of the extensive baths. He couldn’t actually see those baths, as the main doors were shut, but he remembered what they looked like when the rat had squeezed inside: pools of water, with towels and other amenities on shelves nearby. He didn’t sense any beasts inside.

Beyond the baths, stairs led upward to the next floor.

They continued to encounter minimal resistance along the way, and slew any Eldritch in their path; his beast sense told him the creatures were fast approaching from the floors below, however. Sometimes, in the lower hallways, the party even encountered the vanguards of those reinforcements, and had to dodge magical bursts. In such situations, Ziatrice swapped positions, moving to the rear to fling out her chains and draw in the enemies, allowing the party to rapidly finish them. However, eventually those vanguards became too profuse, as the main body caught up with them, and the Eldritch kept coming, forcing the party to flee.

They raced toward the final stairs that led to the rooftop.

“Still clear up there,” Malem said. He had the nightbird’s vision overlaid upon his own. “Nemertes is fast asleep.”

They took the stairs two at a time, and burst onto the roof. It was essentially a wide battlement, enclosed by parapets that allowed defenders to fire down on attackers in the courtyard.

It had stopped raining, but the stones below were still slick; he didn’t have to worry about slipping, however, thanks to the ample grips on his boots. Remembering the dragon, he quickly sheathed his blade, not wanting the sword to disturb its rest.

He glanced at the tower to the west, where Nemertes resided. The dark form of the huge dragon was draped across the entire roof, its chest rising and falling in calm repose.

Still asleep.

This close, he had a better sense of its scale. The dragon was definitely bigger than Abigail in dragon form. His earlier estimate of three times as large was spot on. It was so enormous that it barely fit the roof, and its tail and hind legs drooped over the edges.

He didn’t sense it with his beast abilities, not in the least, but Balethorn did. Oh did it ever.

Though he wasn’t touching the blade, it called out to him, humming loudly from the scabbard. It wanted to drink the blood of the most powerful dragon alive. It was so loud in fact, he worried it might wake Nemertes.

Be silent! he ordered the sword. You’ll wake the dragon!

The sword hummed even louder. LET IT WAKE.

The dragon stirred slightly, shifting its head, sliding its foreleg further underneath its huge neck. But then the formidable beast became motionless once more.

Shut up your sword! Gwen said.

Can’t!

Abigail quickly headed in the opposite direction from the dragon, toward the tower where he had perched his nightbird. The sword’s humming died down as they put some distance between themselves and that dragon, and eventually became a disappointed drone.

Malem kept glancing in the direction of Nemertes however; he had the uncanny feeling the creature was watching them. In fact, one time when he spun around to look, he could have sworn he’d caught its lid closing, as if the dragon had in fact been observing them the whole time.

It was creepy as hell. But probably a trick of the dark.

He hoped.

They continued racing toward the far tower where the nightbird perched, essentially confirming that was the way Abigail intended to take. There was an open casement in the side that was at roughly the same level as the rooftop, and that opening was no doubt where the party members would be leaping across to when they reached the edge of the roof.

He had the bird look down to gauge the distance between the two buildings: the jump was only about a meter and half. Should be easily doable for all of them, considering that most of them had the strength of monsters.

But then streams of green magic rushed toward the party from that very casement.

“Trap!” Weyanna shouted.

Ziatrice took the impacts with her shield, and threw her ghostly chains into the darkness of the casement. She yanked, and pulled out an Eldritch mage, slamming it into the edge of the parapets of the current roof and letting the creature drop away.

But more Eldritch magic emerged, aimed past her, forcing the other team members to drop.

Behind him, the green outlines of Eldritch soldiers emerged from the stairs leading down.

They threw weighted nets. Malem, still prostrate, rolled out of the way. He scrambled to his feet as the net clattered harmlessly on the stone beside him, and drew his sword. It hummed anew, thirsting for the nearby dragon’s blood.

Quiet! he told it. You’ll kill us all!

FEED ME.

Another net came at him but he sliced it in half with Balethorn.

More ribbons of deadly Eldritch magic came in. He realized none of them were aimed at him, but his companions. They wanted him alive.

Of course. For Vorgon.

The team members dodged continually, positioning themselves behind the night elf for protection when they could. He had to keep seeping strength from the monsters to feed that shield. If he kept that up, he’d render the monsters useless.

So far, the blue dragon remained asleep. But for how much longer? Especially with his sword whining loudly like that. Not to mention the din of the battle.

The foot soldiers rushed them from the staircase. More emerged, and their bodies flared a bright green before they charged, becoming outlines; like the other soldiers, apparently they hadn’t heard the news that Malem and the others could still see them when they became invisible.

Abigail released weak fireballs. Weyanna small shards of ice. They were quickly tiring, the early stamina boost all but spent. Even Rathamias only unleashed token smears of dark magic by this point. Ziatrice was slowing, too, putting all of her efforts into maintaining that shield. She no longer launched her chains. Gwen was firing arrows at maybe a quarter of her fastest speed.

Soldiers went down from the magic attacks launched by the defenders, as well as Gwen’s arrows, but not enough. Malem and Xaxia were forced to fight as some of the Eldritch reached them. Magic attacks continued to erupt from the casement in front of them, blocking retreat via that route.

“I don’t suppose that shield of yours can cushion a fall?” Malem shouted at Ziatrice as he parried a blow from one of those big tridents.

“From short heights,” she said. “But not this high. And definitely not with passengers.”

“This way!” he said. He led the team to a corner of the rooftop, where they had at least some cover from the magic attacks from the casement.

“Make a defensive wall,” he ordered Ziatrice. He fed her stamina, and she thrust her ghostly chains into the stones of the surrounding parapets, and ripped the rocks free, piling them up in front of the party. She quickly formed a defensive bulwark, and the team crouched behind it, shielded from the enemy. For now, at least: green streaks of magic struck, slowly eating away the stones.

Gwen launched arrows from her cover, while Abigail and Weyanna continued to valiantly strike with their own magic, weak as they were. Rathamias participated, too, though he took long rests between attacks. Ziatrice remained down, trying to recover her strength. Xaxia and Malem were useless at the moment, given their short-range weapons.

He reached out experimentally, searching among the Eldritch, prepared to release the monsters under his control in order to free up slots. He found injured mages and soldiers alike, weak enough to Break, but before he could take them, their minds vanished entirely from his senses.

“They’re slaying their injured,” Gwen announced.

“Damn it,” Malem said. “So that’s how they want to play, is it? I’m calling in the monsters.”

“Finally,” Ziatrice breathed.

“Watch my back.” He sheathed his sword, muting its droning, and sat down cross-legged. He propped his back against the parapet behind him and closed his eyes: he planned to personally guide them in.

He reached out, hoping the monsters weren’t too pissed at him for leaving them behind and treating them as little more than fuel sources.

He switched to Khaan’s viewpoint and clamped down, taking control. It felt essentially as if he were the basilisk, and instinctively knew how to use all its powers, including how to exclude certain targets from its deadly gaze. Once he relinquished control and returned to his own viewpoint, that knowledge would fade, but he wouldn’t need it at that point anyway.

Breaking through the ranks of the army would be tricky. The army was likely being roused at this very moment in response to the disturbance at the castle, and they would be rushing toward the city gate. That meant the element of surprise would be on the side of the monsters, but it would quickly fade when the attack commenced. He’d need a way to protect the monsters from the deadly Eldritch magic.

He gave Eddy a mental command to unearth a huge tree to use as a shield. The ettin wrapped its arms around the trunk and heaved, ripping it from the earth. Then Eddy led the way, cresting the ridge that overlooked Tartan’s Vale, and then hurrying down into the valley beyond, moving as briskly, and as silently, as possible.

Khaan, Ophid and Hansel followed. As Malem had suspected, the camp below was a flurry of activity. He was reminded of a disturbed anthill as the Eldritch troops mobilized. Actually, scratch that. An anthill was complete chaos. What was happening below was controlled. Chaotic, perhaps, but organized. In fact, some platoons were already sprinting through the city gates and toward the castle.

At the bottom of the valley, he ordered Hansel and Ophid to separate. The ghrip was to head west, the basilisk east. They were to follow along the outskirts of the valley, circumnavigating the enemy army, so that they could come in from the sides when he gave the signal. He instructed the monsters to quietly eat one or two Eldritch along the way, which would hopefully negate the invisibility attempts made by any other soldiers and mages along the way.

Meanwhile, he sent Eddy forward, and followed just behind as Khaan.

They moved stealthily at first, pausing along the outskirts of the enemy army to devour some Eldritch as he had ordered the other monsters to do. They caught the Eldritch by surprise, and killed them quickly, devouring them a moment later.

With the Eldritch blood flowing through his monster veins, he ordered Eddy forward at a trot, and followed close behind.

As the pair trampled onto the field, enemy troops quickly noticed them. The ettin flung that massive trunk back and forth like a giant club, and batted the Eldritch and their tents aside like so much refuse, clearing a path.

As Khaan, Malem cast his deadly gaze about, turning Eldritch to stone in waves on either side of Eddy. All around them Eldritch tried to become invisible, and failed—Malem could readily see their green outlines, and from the success of Eddy’s bash attacks, he knew the ettin could, too. Many of the outlines quickly became solid again as the Eldritch within them turned into statues.

Some enemies targeted with Khaan’s gaze didn’t turn to stone, and Malem assumed those were the stronger mages. He directed Eddy toward their outlines. Usually the survivors of the gaze attack managed to unleash magical strikes, proving his mage theory. Sometimes those strikes were quite powerful, judging from the profusion of green swirls, but Eddy merely held the tree in front of itself and the evil magic carved blast holes in the wood, leaving the monster untouched. Sometimes the damage inflicted to the tree was extensive, certainly, but not enough to penetrate the trunk entirely. At least not yet.

Per Malem’s orders, Eddy didn’t bother to swing the tree like a club when facing such enemies—the ettin would risk exposing itself. Instead, when Eddy got close enough to the target in question, the monster simply continued forward, allowing the tree to impale the Eldritch. If the mage tried to dodge, Eddy would simply trample him. Sometimes Malem had to do the honors, pouncing on mages that managed to evade the ettin.

In that manner the pair quickly drove a wedge through the thick enemy, and made good progress toward the city walls. He didn’t think he was close enough to leap onto the top of the outer wall, but soon.

He was still able to hear the occasional shout from the rooftop, but he ignored most of it, concentrating on the battle at hand. He would give the women his attention if they addressed him, but until then, he had a fight to win.

As he continued driving deeper into the enemy, turning wave upon wave to stone, while literally crushing any mages that resisted, he felt full of his power. Invincible, even.

This is what we should have done in the first place!

Yet it was also a reckless attack, one that relied entirely upon the element of surprise. It was an assault in which momentum was also important. Instinctually he felt he had to keep pressing forward, or that momentum would ebb and turn against them.

But as the enemy continued to fall before the pair without any help from Hansel and Ophid, he began to experience that particular thirst inside himself he feared… that lust for power Ziatrice tried so hard to stoke. And for a moment he was worried the hunger would consume him entirely, and that he wouldn’t be able to stop conquering and killing when the time came. That he’d want to continue ravaging the land until all the world was trampled to dust beneath his reptilian feet.

The sting of pain brought him back to the present moment. Even though it was a glancing blow, that attack would have probably killed him in his native form, considering that now a chunk about the size of a human head was missing from his shoulder. But to a basilisk, that was only a small part of its shoulder region.

He pounced on the mage responsible for the attack, a monster Eddy had missed.

As he continued transforming the enemy ranks to stone, more and more mages survived, and were left standing, their green outlines revealing their positions. Either there were more of them, or they were strong here in this part of the army. With multiple mages in front of them, they could no longer charge the enemies in a single-file line.

Zig zag! Malem sent the ettin. Don’t stay in one place! The tree won’t protect your flanks. Make them work to target you!

Following his own advice, Malem broke away from Eddy and approached the targets in a zigzag pattern, pouncing left then right, until he was close enough to either leap upon an enemy and crush him, or snatch him up in his jaws. He moved among the mages like that, but more and more began to appear from the retreating lines of the army in front of them so that an incredible number of green swirls were homing in on them. Too many to dodge.

Retreat to me! he told the ettin.

Eddy joined him, using that magic-damaged tree as a shield, and they backed away from the onslaught.

So much for being invincible, and driving a wedge all the way to the city walls…

The edges of the tree were rapidly dissolving away. He wasn’t sure how much longer the tree would last.

Hansel, Ophid, attack!

Hansel had positioned itself on the leftmost flank of the army, and came charging in at them. Tentacles flung out in rapid succession, wrapping around the distracted mages and crushing their torsos into a green mist seconds after lifting them off the ground.

Ophid, meanwhile, struck from the opposite flank. The basilisk raced forward, tearing through the ranks and tents, turning soldiers to stone, ripping into any mages that withstood its gaze.

Forward, Eddy!

Once more the ettin drove forward, and all four monsters joined together and wreaked havoc upon their foes. The mages were nothing before them. The soldiers, less than motes.

And then Eddy went down.

Four mages had hidden behind the statues of their transformed comrades, and when the ettin had passed, they attacked it with a series of magical missiles that tore a hole through the rib cage and right through to its lungs. There was nothing Malem could do when the creature went down.

Sorry… Master. Failed you.

No, Malem said, holding back tears. You never failed me. You were my greatest asset.

Why did he feel such sadness for the ettin? It was just a monster.

No, Eddy was more than that. Much more.

He was his friend.

He pounced on the four Eldritch with Ophid and Hansel and tore them apart. But then a long line of mages appeared in front of them, emerging from the army ranks ahead. They sent a whirlwind of green at the monsters.

Malem ducked behind the large trunk Eddy had dropped. Ophid joined him. He ordered Hansel to retreat, as the ghrip was too big to hide behind the tree, especially considering how much damage said tree had taken.

Here, Master. Last gift. With effort, Eddy hauled itself to its feet.

Wait! Malem sent.

The ettin ignored him. Holding in part of its lungs with one hand, Eddy dragged itself over the log and struggled toward the mages, who were unleashing hell at the poor monster.

Run to the wall, Master! Eddy sent.

Malem and Ophid separated and made a mad dash around the mages toward the wall. He kept glancing at Eddy—most of the mages were distracted by the monster, but a few launched magic Malem’s way, which he easily dodged.

Chunks of Eddy’s body fell away or dissolved as the monster took more and more hits. Finally the sinews of his legs had taken too much damage to hold up his weight, and he collapsed. The attacks didn’t abate.

Malem released the monster, partly because he didn’t want to feel the boomerang effect as their connection was forcibly severed by death, but also because he wanted his friend to die free.

Eddy let out one last moan from its two heads and then closed its eyes forevermore.

And so ended the bravest, most loyal monster Malem had ever known. He just wished he had treated the ettin with more respect in life. He had taken Eddy for granted, risked its life carelessly. He hadn’t realized how powerful of a bond could be formed with a monster when held for such a long period of time, a bond just as strong as that developed with an animal.

The mages began to turn their attention on Ophid and himself.

Malem was close enough to leap onto the wall that surrounded Tartan then, and he did so. He landed on the walkway, and then pounced down onto a group of Eldritch on the other side. As they looked up to see what had assailed them, they turned to stone.

Weaklings.

He leaped onto a rooftop and made his way forward quietly, moving from rooftop to rooftop. Ophid mirrored his advance a few rooftops away, a pair of snakes infiltrating the chicken coop. Most of the buildings were able to support his weight, but occasionally a few partially crumbled, and he lost his step before recovering.

“All right, Khaan and Ophid are on the way,” he announced for the benefit of the women on the rooftop. “How’s it going up there?”

“We’re holding out,” Ziatrice said. Though he couldn’t see her at the moment, her voice sounded strained. “Barely.”

“The Eldritch keep throwing their disintegrating magic our way, drilling through our makeshift bulwark,” Xaxia said. “Ziatrice has to keep adding stones to it to compensate. She could probably use a vitality boost. And Abigail and Weyanna look half dead themselves.”

He could definitely sense the weariness in their energy bundles, so he gave the three of them a stamina boost from Hansel. He felt Gwen flagging as well, so he also transferred some vitality to her. The bull, none too pleased at the sudden drain, gave a token thrash of outrage in his head.

“By the way, how do you plan to get us down?” Xaxia asked. “Or have the basilisks suddenly develop the ability to fly?”

“They can carry us down one at a time in their mouths,” Malem replied.

“I’m supposed to put myself in the mouth of a basilisk and hope it’s not going to eat me?” Gwen pressed.

“Uh huh,” he told her.

He could sense a certain baseline level of fear emanating from the four women bound to him, which was to be expected under such a tense combat situation, but in that moment the fear suddenly spiked. It couldn’t be because of what he had just said, unless it was a delayed response to his words… which was possible. Being carried in the mouth of a basilisk certainly wouldn’t be the most pleasant experience, after all.

But then Xaxia spoke, shooting down that theory: “Breaker, you better get back inside your body. We have a problem.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nemertes has awakened,” Xaxia replied.

27

Malem quickly instructed Khaan and Ophid to continue toward the castle as stealthily as possible, then switched his consciousness back inside his own body on the rooftop.

He glanced at Xaxia, and was about to ask her to repeat what she said, when he realized her gaze was locked skyward. As were the eyes of the other women crouched behind the makeshift bulwark with him.

He looked up to see the silhouette of a huge dragon rapidly bearing down on his position.

Gwen unleashed arrows frantically. Rathamias launched curling smears of dark magic. Ziatrice threw her ghostly chains. Abigail dispatched fireballs. Weyanna hurled spears of ice.

Yes, they all fired at it, but the impacts simply bounced off the big dragon’s underbelly.

He attempted to wrap his will around the dragon’s, but it was like trying to touch a hot kettle.

As the dragon continued to descend, he realized it was set to land right on top of them.

That would be bad.

“Retreat!” Malem tried to scramble to his feet, but his boots skidded on the surface of the rooftop, which had become suddenly slippery, and he fell flat. He tried again and again but kept falling. He couldn’t find purchase. The others with him were having similar problems.

The monster still swooped directly toward them, and he thought his doom was imminent, but at the last moment it swerved aside and instead landed on the rooftop next to them. Though Malem couldn’t see them past the temporary stone barrier, from the sickening screams he thought the dragon must have crushed several Eldritch during that landing: this rooftop was larger than the other, but there still wasn’t all that much room to hold the creature.

The upper part of the dragon was visible beyond the lip of the stones that sheltered him, and he readily saw those huge leathery wings, and that long neck topped by the baleful reptilian head.

Suddenly the bulwark broke away, and he realized the dragon had swiped a claw at the wall. The broken stones scattered across the rooftop beside them, revealing the dragon in its full glory. It towered over them like a Balor, a presence of pure destruction, emanating raw evil.

Gwen launched her arrows frantically while lying down, but the other women, and the orak mage, seemed unable to issue any further magical attacks. He sensed frustration from their energy bundles, mixed in with the terror.

The dragon glanced at Gwen in annoyance as she continued to pepper it with arrows, and then swatted at her bow, tearing it from her grasp and sending the magical thing clattering across the rooftop.

Malem tried to get up again, but now even trying to put any weight on his hands caused them to slip, too. It was like he was standing on the slipperiest, most frictionless ice that ever existed. In fact, now that he thought about it, the surface underneath him was covered in a thin gleam in the dim light from the city below.

Of course. It’s a blue dragon. Ice is its innate magic.

He saw no hints of the spinnerets on its tail that Weyanna had mentioned, but he did spot the two fangs protruding from either side of its jaw, which could shoot venom according to her.

He waited for death to come. For the dragon to do something. Anything. Perhaps use that terrible light magic Weyanna had told him the ancient dragon had developed, and make all of their bodies implode.

But Nemertes simply stood in place, towering over them, as if standing guard.

He tried touching its mind again, but like the last time, the act only burned the tendrils of his will.

He reached out to Khaan and Ophid, who were close to the castle, and told them to stay back for now. There was no point summoning them at the moment. This dragon was far too powerful for either of the basilisks. He’d be bringing them only to their deaths.

A figure emerged from the staircase on the far side of the rooftop. A globe of light suddenly appeared above that figure. It was blinding at first to Malem, as he still had his night vision active, and he raised a hand to cover his squinting eyes. That light had a different quality than the fiery spheres Abigail could produce. The light was whiter, more like that of the sun, and far brighter. It had to be light magic. The dragon’s? Or the newcomers?

He blinked rapidly, and his eyes adjusted enough for him to gaze at the figure who approached. It was a woman. Slender, but too tall and too pale, to be entirely human. Blunted horns on her brow held up a tiara of gold and silver, inlaid with emeralds all along the rim. Black locks fell to her thighs, and framed a chiseled, perfectly symmetrical face. High cheekbones supported emerald eyes possessed of a green tint too deep to be natural. Those eyes drew him in, their lashes full, the perfectly plucked eyebrows above them only further amplifying their allure. He lowered his gaze to her thin nose, and those succulent lips. It was a face artists would have begged to paint, and sculptors would have given anything to chisel.

She wore a long dress of black satin with swathes of blue silk along the ribs and shoulders, and beneath the bosom, which highlighted her cleavage. That dress framed her hourglass figure, and the skirt portion was cut open on one side, revealing her left thigh and calf as she walked. On her feet were high heels encrusted with diamonds, the straps ornamented with green and onyx gems.

She carried a golden scepter in her right hand, which was topped by a large emerald. All of the jewels on her person sparkled beneath the artificial light as she approached. It was a carefully crafted appearance, one meant to intimidate and attract at the same time.

Motion drew his gaze to a small man he hadn’t noticed at first, who walked beside her. He realized the man only seemed small in comparison to her because she was so unnaturally tall. The man wore what must have once been regal clothes, but the thick silks of his tunic were now bedraggled and covered in grime. His thick brown beard was tangled and frayed, and his hair matted. His features were haggard, his eyes crazed. A circlet of thinning hair flowed around the sides of his head, aligned with his brow line as if to mark where the brim of a hat had once sat for most of his life. Or a crown.

Someone gasped beside him.

That’s King Goldenthall with her! Abigail sent.

Malem nodded grimly. He sensed the woman with his beast sense. It could only be Mauritania.

He reached out, attempting to vise her will, but the tentacles of his mind steamed away upon touch. Yes, definitely Mauritania. It didn’t hurt as much as trying to touch the dragon, but the sting was still palpable. He’d never experienced pain when trying to Break animals or monsters before. There was a first time for everything, he supposed.

An Eldritch mage who had survived the dragon’s landing approached her.

“My queen.” The Eldritch bowed before her. “These—”

A flicker of annoyance momentarily registered on her face; her emerald eyes flared brightly, and she waved a hand. Green magic shot from her fingers, wrapping around the mage before he could finish, and he rapidly disintegrated.

She continued imperiously toward Malem. No other Eldritch dared interrupt her.

She paused in front of one of the dragon’s paws, which blocked her path, as if expecting Nemertes to remove that paw so she could pass. When it didn’t, she frowned, but then smoothed her face and sidestepped the paw as if unperturbed. Goldenthall stayed close to her side, like a lapdog.

When she stood in front of Malem and the others, she beckoned toward the former king, and Goldenthall dropped to his hands and knees, parallel to Malem. She sat on the bench formed by his back, and folded one leg over the other. She tapped the diamond-studded toe of her high-heel in the empty air.

“So you are the great Breaker?” Mauritania said after a moment. “The one the master seeks. You’re not so impressive. For some reason, I thought you’d be taller. Then again, I suppose it’s hard to tell with you cowering before me like this. I definitely thought you’d put up more of a fight. Pity. The Breaker has been Broken already. Defeated by a little dragon.”

There had to be a way to get out of this. Khaan and Ophid were waiting below. But they couldn’t strike, not while that dragon was present. There had to be a way to draw the creature away…

Hansel had remained in hiding next to the perimeter of the valley. On a whim, he instructed the ghrip to assault the southernmost wall of the city. The bull was to retreat if the resistance from the mages became too great but was otherwise to cause as much confusion and terror among their ranks as possible.

Would the attack be enough to attract the attention of the dragon? He doubted it. But he had to try.

“What’s the matter?” Mauritania asked. “You have nothing to say? Like most men, I suppose.”

“Let me go, and I’ll spare you,” he said.

She stared at him in astonishment, then erupted in a laugh. She slapped a bare knee jovially.

She turned her attention to Ziatrice. “Ah, Night Elf, I can see why you’ve aligned yourself with this one. He has a far better sense of humor than the master.”

Ziatrice smirked, saying nothing.

Mauritania leaned in close to the night elf. “Come on, strike at me. I dare you.”

But Ziatrice did nothing.

Mauritania shrugged, stood to her full height once more. “How far you have fallen. I used to respect you, Night Elf, though I only heard of your exploits from afar. I thought you were someone to aspire to. You had power. An army that would die for you. But then you let this one Break you.” She shook her head, then turned her attention back to Malem. “Which one of them should I kill first?”

“Me,” Malem said.

She laughed again. “So funny. Ah, maybe I’ll keep them alive for a while longer. Who knows, maybe they’ll offer some quality entertainment. It’s such a bore to be surrounded by so many men. I could use a little night out with the girls.” She paused, maybe expecting some sort of response from him, but when he didn’t give one, she stood. “Well, it’s been fun.”

She approached the nearest Eldritch mage; the former king quickly arose and followed close to her side.

The Eldritch in question cringed as she grew near and bowed deeply.

“Tie them up,” she ordered. “And prepare the broken boy for transport. Nemertes will deliver him to the master this very night.”

“You haven’t Broken me,” Malem said softly.

Mauritania cocked her head, and glanced askance at him. “Say again?”

“You haven’t Broken me.” Louder.

She turned around fully. “Oh?”

Green tendrils arose from the icy surface around him, propping him up so that he was standing.

A green blur appeared in front of her body, rapidly smearing towards him. The blur halted in front of him, and she instantly materialized there, inches from his face. “The master wants you alive. He didn’t say in what condition, however.”

She gave him a kiss. He would have almost thought it passionate, and yet her eyes betrayed coldness. There was no passion there. This was perfunctory, meant to tease.

And then she bit down, hard, on his lower lip, drawing blood as she tore away from him. That blood oozed down her chin, and she licked it.

She sighed. “I would have enjoyed Breaking you. Unfortunately, I can’t trust myself not to kill you in the process. As I almost did this one.” She gestured toward King Goldenthall, who had already come to her side. Then she spun and stalked away.

The green tendrils yet held him aloft.

“You can’t Break me, Bitch,” Malem said, ignoring the throbbing pain in his lips.

Mauritania came to a halt.

“What are you doing?” Gwen hissed from where she lay below him.

The Eldritch Queen glanced askance. “What did you say?”

“Don’t—” Xaxia murmured.

“I said, you can’t Break me, Bitch,” Malem repeated. He let amusement fill his voice, as if he was mocking her and her power. Which he was.

Once more she teleported in front of him. He felt a sharp pain in his gut, and glancing down, he realized she’d stabbed him in the belly with a dagger.

“Would you like me to twist it?” she said sweetly.

He bit down on the pain, and part of his mind told him to shut up, shouted at him to do so, but he ignored it. His pride wouldn’t let him.

So he said between gritted teeth: “Go ahead. I dare you.”

And she twisted it. The excruciating pain that followed was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Mercifully, he blacked out.

When he awoke, he was lying on the rooftop. The tendrils had finally released him.

An Eldritch lurked above him, greenish-white bands of magic flowing from its hand. Malem glanced at his belly, and realized the creature was healing him. Some of those tendrils also went to his lips, relieving the pain where Mauritania had bitten him.

To his left, the Black Sword was fast making her way toward the stairs.

Nemertes remained perched atop the rooftop, watching idly, seeming bored.

He focused on Hansel. The ghrip was attacking the outer wall of the city, as ordered, and he sensed that the monster was slightly injured, but still in the game. He felt a rising determination from the bull, as if Hansel wanted to please him, or do whatever it could to save him, its master.

He reached out to the other two monsters yet bound to him, and confirmed Khaan and Ophid had dutifully remained close to the castle walls. When he’d issued his final orders, they’d killed the closest foes and hid in a series of particularly wide alleyways next to the castle walls, where they waited for further orders.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t summon them, not while Nemertes was present.

Then the break he was looking for finally came.

“It seems there is a disturbance on the city wall, my queen,” the dragon said in a distinctly female voice that sounded old as time itself. Its gaze was directed south, toward the aforementioned wall.

Mauritania waved a dismissive hand. “Leave it to the troops.”

Nemertes continued staring into the distance; the dragon leaned forward slightly, squinting. “They appear to be having some difficulty.”

“Make it quick, then,” Mauritania said. “You are to carry the prize to Vorgon within the hour.”

“Understood,” the dragon said.

Nemertes bent its legs in a deep squat and then shoved its heavy body from the wall. Those massive wings expanded, flapping loudly as the dragon plunged from view. Meanwhile Mauritania turned toward the stairs and continued on her way.

The Eldritch mage finished healing Malem and then hauled him to his feet. The rooftop surface was no longer slippery, Malem noted.

He couldn’t help a sudden grin.

“What are you smiling at?” the Eldritch asked roughly.

28

Malem ordered Khaan and Ophid to infiltrate the castle, instructing them to climb the walls of this very building.

“Hey Mauritania, you forgot something,” Malem taunted as the Eldritch mage bound him with a thick rope. He realized the others in his party had been similarly bound, probably while he was unconsciousness.

But she continued walking away with Goldenthall.

He had to stop her before she went inside. He had to keep her here, where she was vulnerable.

He heard a commotion from the courtyard below. The basilisks were encountering resistance.

Some of the Eldritch on the rooftop went to the edge and peered over the parapet. Mauritania ignored the din and continued on her way.

Malem looped his four women into the same mental conversation. Can any of you use your magic now that the dragon is gone?

No, Weyanna said. Nemertes applied some kind of debuff.

And Rathamias, too?

Yes, Ziatrice replied. We’ve all been hit with the debuff. I’m not sure how long it will last.

I warned you about the dragon… Weyanna told him.

I can’t let her leave this rooftop, Malem told them.

“Hey Mauritania,” Malem shouted as the Eldritch mage finished binding him. “I heard you were sleeping with Vorgon. How’s it feel to have your insides stretched to the breaking by a Balor? I mean, I’d heard you were a whore, but I didn’t think you’d ever lower yourself to that level. You’re the slut of the century, the—”

Before he could finish, she spun around, and that familiar green blur of teleportation spread before her, traveling across the rooftop and all the way to his position, where she materialized in front of him.

“How dare you!” Her voice was deeper, malevolent. There was nothing a woman hated more than being slut shamed in front of other women. Not even a queen was safe from such feelings. Especially a queen.

All eyes on the rooftop turned to watch.

“How dare?” Malem said, feeling emboldened now that he had an even bigger audience. “Everyone knows you’re a loose woman. I can see the stretch marks on your pussy from a mile away. Some of them are from Goldenthall and your boy toys among the Eldritch. But the biggest and widest? Vorgon all the way. Hell, you’re so loose, I could probably stuff a watermelon up there.”

As he spoke, green swirls of magic swirled from Mauritania’s eyes, and her face suddenly became demonic. Those blunt horns on her head? They grew into a sharp, fully-formed set that would have put a bull to shame.

Malem realized he might have just made a very big mistake. One that would cost him his life.

“You will die for that.” Her voice was so deep, he couldn’t even recognize it as female any more. Nor male.

Green magic gathered before her in a maelstrom no doubt meant to rip him apart.

The nearby Eldritch looked up suddenly—

And the ordinary soldiers among them turned to stone.

Mauritania had enough presence of mind to notice. She spun. “What?”

Khaan was already leaping at her.

The Eldritch Queen instinctively teleported away. But the long green blur that extended in front of her body betrayed her destination—Malem had Ophid leap down from the other side to intercept her.

Ophid plunged the claws of its forelimb into that blur just as she appeared, so that Mauritania was impaled in the chest. She gasped in shock, and looked down, unable to fathom what had just happened. Blood poured from her mouth. She dropped the scepter. The globe of light hovering overhead flickered, and threatened to go out.

Khaan was next to him, and with a single swipe, cut through the rope that bound him. Then the basilisk leaped at a nearby mage.

Mauritania staggered slightly, but Ophid held her up with its paw. Before Malem could do anything, she straightened, her expression becoming full of hatred. The light globe shone brighter than ever.

Stronger than I thought.

She raised her arms over her head and slammed her palms together, unleashing a powerful green shockwave. The translucent sphere expanded outward rapidly, and everything in its path—the basilisks, other Eldritch, Malem—were sent hurtling backward from the sheer force of it.

Malem managed to grab onto the edge of the parapet as he flew over it; the other Eldritch and the two basilisks weren’t as lucky, and shot right off the rooftop, their limbs flailing as they plunged to their dooms.

He pulled himself over the parapet and glanced at his companions: by virtue of their seated positions, which kept them close to the rooftop surface, they had simply been pushed into the wall, and not over it. Of the enemies, only Mauritania remained. And Goldenthall, lying prostrate near the stairs. Or rather, where they used to be: Mauritania’s shockwave attack had collapsed the entrance to the stairwell, temporarily blocking access to any reinforcements.

He felt spikes of pain emanate from Khaan and Ophid—they’d just struck the ground. Their energy bundles were extremely weak: they were barely alive. He transferred some stamina from Hansel to them, but it wasn’t enough: he could expect no more help from that quarter. They needed time to heal.

Mauritania strode toward him imperially, holding her bleeding chest with one hand. Blood marred the blue sections of her dress and trickled down her bare thigh. Her mouth was set in a rictus of hate above the congealing blood on her chin.

Her emerald eyes flared with a sudden brightness.

He wrapped his will around her mind. Her injuries were enough that he was no longer stung by the touch, and was able to fully grip her. He clamped down.

She gasped and stopped her advance, the green glow in her eyes diminishing. She seemed confused, and glanced around herself uncertainly. Then her eyes focused on him once more, and hardened. The glow from them increased once more, and a green swirl of evil magic rotated into existence in front of her.

Definitely stronger than I thought.

He squeezed tighter, with almost everything he had, and the maelstrom dissipated as she was forced to abandon the magic and concentrate on fending off his mental attack. She released her chest and drew a pair of daggers from sheathes hidden inside her dress. He still had Balethorn strapped to his side, so he drew the weapon.

“Cut us free!” Ziatrice urged.

But Mauritania was upon him before he could do anything else. Those daggers were roughly equivalent to short swords, given her size relative to him, and he was forced on the defensive, parrying as he retreated before the flurry of blows.

“Get out— of my— head!” she said between swings.

It was difficult squeezing her will mentally and repelling her physical attack at the same time. One or the other was going to flag, eventually. And when that happened, his end would follow shortly.

And then the Darkness came for him. He knew because of the sudden buzzing in the back of his mind. Raw. Hungry. Like a nest of irate bees. And loud. Oh so loud.

Breaker! Ziatrice sent. Behind you!

He sidestepped Mauritania’s latest attack and dashed past her. He took a glancing blow in his upper arm from her blades and he felt the hot pain in his bicep where the weapon had penetrated his dragon scale armor. The blades must have been magical, then, to pierce that armor so easily.

He continued running; glancing over his shoulders, he saw the tentacles of Darkness reaching from the portal. They ignored Mauritania completely, making straight for him.

The arrival of the Darkness was completely unexpected, and had come at the worst of times, just as Malem had predicted it would.

He cut to the left, forcing the long smears from the portal to travel toward Mauritania, but the Darkness purposely avoided her. From the way the individual strands meticulously flowed over and around her, he could almost believe the portal was Vorgon’s creation. But that couldn’t be the case: she stood there watching the smears part around her, and seemed just as confused as he did.

Banvil didn’t want her. The Balor had decided today was the day it would take Malem. It wasn’t going to risk his power growing any stronger.

More dark hands shot out from the side of the portal, coming around from the opposite flank, and Malem was forced to flee anew.

His hold on Mauritania’s mind momentarily weakened, and the Eldritch Queen used the opportunity to teleport in front of him. She used the Darkness to her advantage and pressed the attack, trying to herd him into those hands of hell-black mist behind him.

But desperation drove him now, and gave him focus he might not have otherwise had. He forced himself forward, knowing that to delay meant death. He parried both of her blades in rapid succession, and hit her in the side with a riposte.

She gasped in pain but struck again, towering over him. He sidestepped as he parried the next two blows, and she managed to block his riposte this time, but that was only part of his intent: he kicked her in the side of the leg, extremely hard, causing her to lose her balance. He leaped behind her, and jabbed his elbow into her back, shoving her into the waiting tendrils of Darkness.

He watched with some satisfaction as black veins hungrily began to climb her flesh where the evil touched her, but then, just like that, the Darkness released her. The smears of death sped past her instead, confirming Banvil didn’t want her. She was its ally today.

Mauritania grinned and attacked anew.

He backed away before her onslaught, toward the parapet behind him. The tentacles of the Darkness matched her advance and flailed from either side of her body as if part of her, and she had become some multi-armed monster. He was forced to intermittently swat away the black appendages with Balethorn, which allowed Mauritania to break through his guard. Soon he had a series of nicks from the glancing blows he’d taken in his chest armor.

He continued retreating. If she and the Darkness pinned him against that wall, that would be his doom. So he tried to angle away, but she hammered him from the flank, forcing him back onto his previous path. She wasn’t going to let him go so easily.

The Dark’s touch had weakened her, he noted, allowing him to tighten his will into hers. But it still wasn’t enough.

He feinted to the right, and she left a momentary opening in her lower ribs. He took it, stabbing his blade home, letting the Dark tendrils around her brush his arms. Balethorn plunged deep, enough to pierce her lung. He withdrew it, bringing with it a fresh spray of gore, and pulled his arm from the Darkness. Dark veins on the affected areas expanded into his armor, painfully burning away the flesh underneath before dissipating.

He backed up, touching the wall behind him as Mauritania staggered and dropped one of the blades to hold her side.

That did it. Like most duels, the deciding blow often came quickly, and unexpectedly, ending the fight in one fell swoop.

He hadn’t let up the pressure he applied with his will the whole time, and it tightened around her suddenly weakened mind, penetrating through its lobes. As with Ziatrice, he suddenly sensed a sinister presence there already in her mind. Vorgon.

He summarily shoved that presence aside. As before, Vorgon yielded instantly. Likely planning to return once Malem took control, and then crush them both to its will.

But Malem wasn’t going to fall for that trick again. He’d learned from his encounters with Ziatrice and Barrowfore after her. Instead of going for the Break like he had with Ziatrice, or attempting to wrap his will around both the sinister presence and Mauritania at the same time, as he had attempted with Barrowfore, he tried something new.

Before Vorgon could worm into the mental crevices of her mind, he latched onto the Balor. With the extra strength granted him by his connection to Weyanna he was able to pull the creature free, and he flung it toward the Darkness behind him. The tendrils that sought Malem momentarily paused, sensing Vorgon’s sinister presence. But then all trace of the other Balor vanished and the Dark came for him once more.

Malem let his mind intertwine with Mauritania’s. He kept a mental watch out for Vorgon, should the Balor return. It didn’t.

He was prepared to release one of the monsters bound to him, in case Mauritania required more slots than his mental capacity was capable of, but he suddenly realized she didn’t require slots. He was able to compartmentalize her mind within his own, next to the other four women: their bond was permanent, the threads connecting them solid, rather than translucent.

That meant she was half human after all. Good. He had hoped that would be the case.

He felt his mental capacity expand. He wasn’t sure by how much, but given she was at least as powerful as Ziatrice, that meant he had no less than eight more slots, maybe ten. If the latter, that meant he had a total of thirty-six.

He sensed the pain emanating from Mauritania’s energy bundle, and felt her growing weakness keenly. She would soon bleed out. But that wasn’t what concerned him at the moment: the Darkness was swarming past her toward him, making one final rush to take him.

Some of the nightmarish extremities had already wrapped around his armor, but he darted to the side, pulling free. He sprinted along the rim of the parapet, escaping the pursuing tendrils, moving well ahead of them.

He felt momentary pain in those places where the tendrils had touched his armor, as the black veins they caused spread to the flesh underneath and disintegrated some of the surrounding tissues before vanishing.

The buzzing in his head was fading. It changed pitch slightly, sounding disappointed. He continued to run, staying close to the wide rim of the rooftop. Soon, he knew, the Darkness would retreat entirely, having lost once again, and the portal to the Black Realm would vanish until the next time Banvil decided to make an attempt.

He felt a sudden spike in pain from Mauritania. Glancing her way, he realized she had collapsed. A pool of blood expanded outward from underneath her. Overhead, the light globe formed by her magic went out.

Malem transferred stamina to her from Ziatrice and Gwen, hoping to stabilize her. Her energy bundle glowed brighter in his mind. A good sign.

Ziatrice entered his head then. You have her. I sense it. Use her army. March against the Alliance. We will crush them, and then defeat Vorgon.

But he hardly heard the words. There was someone else he wanted to defeat. Someone who had tormented him his entire life.

He glanced over his shoulder at the Darkness as he ran. The dark portal yet floated there at its heart, slowly growing smaller. Its tendrils continued to reach for him, wanting him so badly. He could sense the sheer yearning.

He wasn’t sure he was ready to face Banvil, but he had already decided he wasn’t going to wait around for the Darkness to strike again at some other inopportune time in the future. If Malem was going to do this, it would be on his terms.

By Breaking a second Black Sword, he now had the mental capacity to bind around thirty-six lesser creatures to his will. He could keep adding to his mental capacity, spending the next weeks, months or even years building himself up, but if thirty-six slots wasn’t enough to take on Banvil, somehow he doubted that seventy-two would make it any easier, or one hundred and forty-four for that matter.

No, if he wanted to do this, now was as good a time as any. Now, when at least he had the mental resolve to do it.

I won’t run. Not anymore.

He came to a stop and focused on the portal. Wanting it to take him, he willed it to enlarge. To his surprise, it actually seemed to grow bigger.

Good.

“You want me, Banvil?” Malem shouted. He thrust out his arms. “Then take me!”

What are you doing? Ziatrice sent, terrified.

The tendrils of the Dark reached him and eagerly wrapped themselves around his flesh.

No!

But Ziatrice’s voice was lost in the buzzing that consumed everything.

29

Malem felt the dark veins burning his skin as they spread across his body. Searing, disintegrating the outer layers of his armor, and the flesh just below. Those hellish tentacles lifted him into the air, and conveyed him toward the portal of night.

He thought the women bound to him were trying to tell him something. But he couldn’t hear. The buzzing, it was too loud.

The Darkness consumed everything around him, blocking all vision. The pain, it was so intense. It felt as if all of his skin had been flayed away, and all that was left was the muscle, raw and exposed, for the Darkness to devour next.

I’ve made a terrible mistake.

He could sense the triumph emanating from the malevolent entity as it hauled him into the portal. Banvil had finally fulfilled the oath sworn so long ago, when Malem was still an infant. The oath to drag him, the only child of Nailcrom, down to the Black Realm. No doubt a multitude of tortures awaited him there. Tortures that would last throughout eternity.

And then, just like that, the buzzing in his head abruptly ceased. As did the pain.

He felt a solid surface beneath his feet once more. There was sand beneath his toes—his boots were no more. He couldn’t yet see—the Darkness still enveloped him, blocking his vision. He heard a scraping sound, as of a blade being drawn, or sheathed.

He still felt the five women bound to him in his head. The monsters were there, too, but they seemed even less substantial. All of them, women and monsters alike, were distant, but even so their presence was somehow reassuring, and reminded him that he wasn’t truly alone. More importantly, their presence meant he still had the boost in his abilities that their Breaking provided him with.

Abigail? Gwen?

They didn’t answer, unsurprisingly.

He tried to move, but the Darkness still bound him. But why wasn’t it harming him anymore?

He was most likely in the underworld at the moment. He theorized that perhaps the tendrils of the night had been disintegrating his body, bringing it here piece by piece in a process that would have killed him had he allowed it to continue to fruition. But now that he had arrived fully, surrendering to the Dark, there was nowhere to disintegrate his individual parts to, so instead the black veins dissipated harmlessly upon touching his flesh.

Suddenly, the Darkness pulled away from him, revealing a land he had seen only once before, when Vorgon had attempted to seize control of him after he’d Broken Ziatrice. He stood amidst a desert of black dunes. The sky was starless above, and completely black, though twilight lit the land.

He was completely naked, his armor eaten away by the Darkness. His sword was the only thing that had survived the traversal—Balethorn lay partially embedded, blade-first in the sand beside him. So that was the sheathing sound he’d heard upon arrival.

The tendrils of Darkness floated beside him, trailing away into the night. He followed them with his eyes to their source, where a colossal form loomed nearby. It was a Balor, a being of shadow, roughly humanoid in shape, its body outlined by the red flames that burned along its peripheries. It stood on two backward-bending legs, and had a barrel-shaped torso with two muscular arms. Wings jutted from its back, flexed, and partially unfurled. Its head reminded him of a bull, complete with a pair of large curving horns. A long tail undulated back and forth eagerly behind the demon.

Banvil.

The Balor wielded a fiery sword in one hand, and held the ribbon of Darkness in the other. It flung that Darkness toward him, as if striking with a big whip.

Malem reached out defensively, and discovered he could sense not only the Balor, but the whip of Darkness itself, as if both were separate, individual entities. He tried to grab onto the latter with his mind, wrapping his will around it, and was surprised when it Broke beneath him. He felt its alien consciousness expand into his mind, filling up four empty slots.

Well, that’s new.

“The Darkness is mine, now,” he said quietly.

He twisted the Dark before it could strike him, and turned it back upon itself. Then he thrust it toward Banvil.

The Balor stepped back in surprise, but was too slow, and the Darkness struck; the creature roared in pain. Malem tore it free of the demon’s grasp and wound the Dark around Banvil’s neck like a noose, and tightened it.

More streams of Darkness emerged from its chest, heading toward him.

I control the Darkness.

Malem batted the streams aside with the sheer force of his will. In his mind, they were considered part of the same Dark entity he had already Broken, so he was able to take control of them all, and he combined them into the original Darkness, thickening the noose. The Balor quickly learned its lesson, and no longer launched any further ribbons of night his way.

Malem attempted to wrap his will around the Balor at the same time he tightened that noose. Incredibly, his touch didn’t evaporate, and he was able to take hold of the creature’s mind. He suspected it had something to do with the link he shared with the creature. That, and the newfound power granted to him after Breaking Mauritania, because he doubted the noose had done enough damage yet.

“You dare touch me?” the Balor rumbled, seeming unaffected by the Dark noose around its neck.

The sword came swinging down. Malem scooped up Balethorn and dodged to the side, naked, as the large, fiery edge plunged into the sand beside him.

Malem squeezed his will, tightly, but the Balor writhed beneath him, wrapping its own will around his like a python entwining the hand of the fool that decided to pick it up. He felt the wicked presence enter his head, and attempt to crush his will. He fought against it, squeezing tighter with his own will.

That sword came slicing down again, distracting him. He leaped away, and nearly lost the duel of wills when the fist around his mind tightened unexpectedly. He barely managed to squeeze free. If he hadn’t recently Broken Mauritania, he doubted he would have had the strength for it.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to engage Banvil so soon. He had been so confident after Breaking the latest Black Sword, so sure of himself. But now all that surety was fast fading. He should have waited until he had Broken more half monsters. It had been foolish, perhaps even reckless to leap into the portal when he had. A moment of impatience had ruined a lifetime of self-restraint. Yes, he had waited his whole life for this. Surely he could have waited a few months or years more?

Too late now.

The whip of Darkness still enclosed the Balor’s neck like some deadly scarf, and Malem unwound it then. Instead, he swirled it around the sword, just above the hilt, and yanked, tearing the weapon free of the demon’s hold. But the Darkness was too weak to lift the heavy blade and use it as an actual weapon, and could only let the blade droop downward.

Banvil lurched forward, attempting to snatch the weapon free, but Malem pulled it away with his mind. The demon turned toward him, next, and strove to trample him.

Malem leaped to the right, then the left, then the right again, those big feet thudding down into the sand beside him. He attempted to strike at one of the black heels with Balethorn, but the magic weapon simply bounced away.

A clawed hand reached down and attempted to scoop him up.

He leaped, landing on the downward slope of the dune, and descended in big, bounding steps. Each time his feet hit the loose sand, he slid down across the dune for several paces before he could find enough purchase to take another step.

Banvil followed close behind him.

Malem continued fighting the evil presence in his mind, and strove to dominate that entity in turn.

He sent the Darkness, and the sword it carried, spiraling upward, away from the battlefield. He positioned it between himself and the pursuing Balor. When Banvil, intent on pursuit, raced beneath the blade, Malem had the Darkness release it like a guillotine, and the sword plunged into the demon from above.

Banvil howled as the fiery weapon penetrated its back, passing deep into its torso and partially severing a wing in the process.

Malem’s hold on the Darkness and distant monsters wavered, as did his permanent connections to the women he had Broken. So much so, that for a moment he thought he was going to lose his powers. Had he delivered too severe a blow to the Balor? A killing blow?

But then his connection to the women strengthened anew, as did his grip on the Darkness.

Instantly, the ethereal fingers composing the fist of his will crushed together, and Banvil was his.

As the creature’s presence expanded into his mind, Malem quickly released the three monsters under his control. He also had to release the Darkness. For a moment, he thought that even thirty-six slots wouldn’t be enough to hold the Balor’s consciousness, but then finally the mental expansion ceased. He had maybe one or two slots to spare, he thought.

So, Breaking and holding Banvil required almost all of his current mental capacity. He tried re-Breaking the Darkness to add to his mental repertoire, but he didn’t have enough room, so he released it, and the Dark slowly dissipated.

It was a mistake to try conquering the Darkness again, because he hadn’t realized how much Breaking the Balor had taken out of him. Winded, he had to sit down in the sand. He felt extremely faint.

Beside him, Banvil remained motionless for several moments, slumped upon the dunes. Pain erupted from its energy bundle in terrible waves. Black blood poured from the wound in its back, down its skin, and trickled onto the sand below, which it dissolved like acid, sending up tiny plumes of smoke.

After a moment, Malem began to feel a little better, but then Banvil abruptly shifted: the creature reached behind its back, wrapping its hands around the hilt of the protruding blade, and tore it free with a roar of pain.

The flames were muted on the sword where the metal had plunged into the demon’s torso, thanks to the blood soaking the steel; but that sanguine fluid quickly boiled away and the fires sprouted anew.

When that happened, the Balor turned the weapon on Malem.

But it could not strike. Its hands shook as it tried to subvert his will. Its mind struggled within his grasp, lurching back and forth, laboring to break free. Malem had trouble hanging on, considering he was already drained from the Breaking, and maintaining his hold on the Balor only taxed him even further.

There was no one else to take stamina from, no one except the Balor itself.

He grinned maliciously. “Let’s see how much fight you have left when all your strength is gone.”

He tried to leech vitality from Banvil, but to his surprise, it didn’t work.

His smile quickly faded.

He strove again for that vitality he could sense inside the demon, but still couldn’t access it. He couldn’t understand it. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact his power was intrinsically linked to the demon.

The creature continued to thrash about in his mind, draining him. In a few moments, when his strength failed, he would release Banvil whether he wanted to or not.

“Stop fighting me, I command you,” he sent.

Banvil ignored him. That sword shook even more violently above him.

Stop!

But Banvil refused to obey.

Malem reached the limits of his strength, and was about to release the demon, when all at once it ceased its struggles, and slumped, sitting heavily on the sand and letting the sword fall from its grasp. He realized that fighting him had been just as draining on the Balor as it had been to Malem.

He had won the duel of wills. For the moment. He sensed the pain slowly ebbing within the Balor’s energy bundle, and realized Banvil was gradually healing. When its wound was fully mended, Malem doubted he would be able to restrain the creature any longer.

“You have won,” Banvil said, its terrible voice full of defeat.

“And I will beat Vorgon the same way,” Malem declared.

“You cannot,” the Balor told him. "We are intricately linked, you and I. You have a part of my dark power inside you. You can touch my mind without preamble, as I can touch yours. Vorgon has no such bane. You will never touch his mind. It’s simply not possible. And when his Darkness comes for you, there will be no escape. You won’t be able to wrest control as you did with mine. His Darkness will simply dissolve you, allowing him to disintegrate your will, and mold you into one of his generals.”

“Then you will fight him for me,” Malem said simply.

“Me?” Banvil scoffed. “Why should I?”

“Because you are mine now, and I wish it,” Malem said. “I’ve bound you…”

“Do you truly believe you can retain that hold on me?” Banvil said.

As if to show him how weak his grasp was, the Balor’s will bucked against his own, and Malem nearly lost the creature.

“You are rivals, are you not?” Malem asked. “Vorgon and yourself?” When Banvil didn’t answer, he pressed: “I know you are. You protected me from his mental attack.”

Still Banvil refused to speak, so Malem tightened his will, compelling the creature to comply.

The demon stiffened slightly, and for a moment he worried it would attempt to break free again, but then it obeyed, apparently too weary to make another go at escape. “I protected you because if Vorgon Broke you, I would be his, too. Owing to your link to me, I would become his tool in the Black Realm, ready to obey his every command.”

Malem studied the fire-silhouetted creature. “You opened the way for him to enter my realm?”

“He stole from me the ability to enter your realm, yes,” Banvil said. “When I returned after Nailcrom’s banishing, I was weak, recovering my strength. Vorgon took advantage of my condition to attack. I barely survived the ensuing battle. When I finally recovered my strength fully, I found I only had the power to reach your world sporadically. I could not enter fully, either, as you know. Or you would have faced me long ago.”

“So fight Vorgon, then,” Malem said. “Take back this power the beast stole.”

Banvil shook its massive head. “Even if I defeat Vorgon, the power will not be mine. Once lost, it cannot be returned. At least, I know of no way.”

“Then defeat Vorgon to show the other Balors you are not one to be crossed,” Malem said.

Banvil surprised him then, and lifted its head to emit a wild cackle. When it had recovered, the demon said: “I don’t care what the other Balors think about me. We haven’t interacted in years. And likely won’t for many to come. We have our own sub-realms here in the Black Realm.”

“You say you don’t have the power to enter my world?” Malem said. “What if I could bring you?”

The Balor narrowed its night-black eyes. “How?”

“Create a portal to my realm,” Malem said.

Banvil cocked its head in amusement, then apparently decide to indulge him, because a swirling pool of infinite darkness appeared beside him. Malem could feel the significant drain on the creature’s energy bundle the opening caused, and that only allowed him to tighten his grip on the Balor even further.

“So, are you going to show me?” the demon asked impatiently. “Or did you say that simply to drain me?”

Malem focused on the portal, just like before, and willed it to enlarge. As he did so, the dark doorway grew. And grew. Malem stopped before it got too big, not wanting to let the Balor pass at the moment.

Banvil stared at it in surprise, then erupted in a cackle once more. “Finally I find a path, but I have to rely on a puny human to open the way. The irony. The offensive irony.” Its expression became suddenly pensive. “You’ve Broken two of Vorgon’s Black Swords, two Metal Dragons, and a half gobling. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at your growing power.”

“Is that why you came for me when I was fighting Mauritania?” he asked. “You were afraid I’d grow strong enough to beat you?”

“I sensed that if you Broke her, you might become a force to contend with, yes,” Banvil replied. “I have watched all of your conquests. Relished in the pleasure it brought you.”

It made sense the Balor would feel the same incredible pleasure Malem did when he Broke the half women and had sex with them thereafter, considering Banvil was the source of his power, but it also kind of creeped him out. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to have sex with anyone going forward, not while knowing Banvil was there, spying on him, sharing his pleasure.

“Why did you bind me to you in the first place?” Malem asked. “If you were afraid of what I’d eventually become?”

“It wasn’t intentional,” Banvil replied. “When I was drawing you into my realm all those years ago, I made the mistake of beginning to devour your mind before you had fully arrived, and so when Nailcrom’s brother intervened and set you free, a part of me remained inside of you. I’ve been trying to get back that part ever since.”

“And what if I don’t want to give it to you?” Malem asked.

The Balor cocked its head. “There we have the problem.”

“I want you to stop seeking me with your dark hands,” Malem said. “You’ve seen what I can do to you if you bring me here against my will.”

Banvil inclined its grotesque head. “Being Broken is not a pleasant experience…”

”I’m glad you agree,” Malem said. “Because if you bring me here again, I will Break you again. Now, in a few moments I’m going to ask you to create that portal again, to pave the way for my return. I’ll release you once I’ve passed through. But know that I plan to summon you when I return to the front lines. You’re going to battle Vorgon for me.”

“Will I, now?” Banvil asked.

“Yes,” Malem replied.

“Why do you care what Vorgon does in your realm in any case?” the demon said. “You never cared about humanity before…”

“That was before I broke five women,” he said. “They’re my family, now. And I plan to protect that family. Vorgon and his ilk aren’t welcome in any realm my family calls home.”

“So the son of Nailcrom finally cares, how touching,” Banvil said.

“Yes,” Malem said. “So then, you’ll beat Vorgon, and once that’s done, I’ll banish you back to this realm. That will be the last time I ever call upon you. Going forward, we shall leave each other alone in this life. Agreed?”

The Balor didn’t respond.

“Agreed?” Malem pressed.

Still no answer.

“I know you want vengeance for what the creature did to you…” Malem said. “Attacking you when you were at your weakest.”

“And yet you would have me attack Vorgon at his strongest.” Banvil sighed, then added, grudgingly: “I will fight Vorgon for you. And when the Balor is defeated, I will leave you alone to live out your days, free of Darkness.”

Malem smiled coldly. “Good.” He sensed no deceit from the creature’s energy bundle. “So, is there a way to summon you? I’d prefer that, than having you spying on me and opening a portal when you think the time is right.”

“We have a permanent link, you and I,” Banvil said. “Concentrate on the Darkness inside of you… you will find it. And when you do, speak to it, and I will hear. Tell me to open a portal, and I will. But be warned… you might have me under your control now, thanks to my injuries, but know that you may lose the battle of wills next time, when I arrive fully healed.”

“You might be fully healed to start with,” Malem said. “But when you’re done with Vorgon, I suspect I won’t have too difficult of a time asserting my will. Now, the portal, please?”

Banvil sighed, which sounded like a great gust of wind, and then paused, as if hesitant to expend the necessary vitality required to open the portal for yet a third time.

Then the dark doorway appeared beside Malem. He felt the significant drain on the Balor’s energy bundle, and knew it would be a while before Banvil recovered enough strength to battle Vorgon. It would need all of its remaining vitality just to heal, at this point.

Malem was tempted to enlarge the portal and bring the Balor through with him right then, but decided the effort required to control it until the encounter with Vorgon would be too great, especially once it healed and recovered its strength.

“Thank you,” he told the demon, and then stepped through.

30

Malem appeared on the dimly lit rooftop once more. He released Banvil, freeing up all of his spare slots, and the portal winked out behind him.

“That was quick,” Xaxia commented from where she was still tied up against the parapet nearby. She was working the binds at her wrists with her teeth. “Nice bod, by the way.”

He glanced down, suddenly aware of his nakedness. “How much time passed?”

“Maybe a few seconds,” Xaxia said. “You were pulled into that portal, it vanished, reappeared, vanished again, only to materialize a final time, and here you are.”

“Interesting,” he said. He went to his companions, and with his sword, began cutting their binds.

“What happened?” Abigail asked. “Did you meet Banvil?”

“Yes,” he said. “I Broke the Balor. I Broke Banvil.”

He struck the cords from Abigail’s wrists and ankles.

“You Broke a Balor?” Gwen said in awe.

He nodded. “Barely. And he’s promised to come fight for us, against Vorgon.”

“You can’t trust the promise of a Balor,” Xaxia said when he set her free.

“This time, I think I can,” he said. “I had the being bound to me when it swore this oath. I detected no deceit.”

“You forget, the Balor is the one responsible for your beast sense in the first place,” Abigail said. “It’s possible, even likely, that Banvil is able to manipulate this sense, using it against you. In fact, it may have merely been pretending to be Broken.”

“Oh no,” he told her. “There was no pretend in what happened, believe me.” He smiled maliciously as he remembered that giant blade chopping down into the Balor’s back. “I Broke him.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll see when you call the demon to fight for you,” Abigail said. “If Banvil sides with Vorgon, and together they ally to destroy the world, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

That was certainly a good point.

He realized Rathamias was staring between Malem’s legs.

“Interesting,” the black mage said. “We oraks are longer.”

“That’s nice,” Malem said as he cut the orak free.

Xaxia retrieved a spare robe from her pack and tossed it his way. He flung it over his back. She didn’t have a spare scabbard, so he plunged Balethorn into the cloth close to his hips, forming a small slit; he lowered the weapon gently inside until the guard caught on the fabric, and that served as his makeshift sheath.

Malem walked toward Mauritania. He glanced at the stairwell along the way: the entrance remained blocked, still preventing Eldritch reinforcements from rushing the rooftop for the time being.

He reached Mauritania. She lay on her back, staring up at the night sky. The sucking chest wound in her side gurgled terribly with each breath. Her inhales and exhales were ragged, shaky. She looked so very pale and was covered in a sheen of sweat.

He granted her more vitality, taking from Gwen and Ziatrice. He expected some complaint from the half gobling or night elf, but he sensed only resignation from their energy bundles.

Mauritania seemed to breathe easier, thanks to the stamina gift. When she noticed him, her face darkened slightly.

“You freed me from the Balor,” she said weakly. “Only to replace that freedom with yet another form of servitude.”

He shook his head. “I won’t keep you bound. Not for all eternity, as he would have. I ask only that you journey to the front lines with me, and fight at the side of the Alliance. I plan to slay Vorgon.”

“Slay Vorgon?” she said. “Why didn’t you say so?” She tried to sit up, but grimaced in pain and lowered herself once more. “I’ll gladly take vengeance against my former captor.”

An explosion rocked the rooftop, and fragments of debris erupted from the stairwell as the blockage was breached.

Eldritch soldiers and mages rushed onto the rooftop. They ignored Goldenthall, who lingered next to the opening on his knees, a bloody wound on his forehead. A globe of light accompanied one of the mages, casting light into the shadows.

“Call off your soldiers,” Malem commanded her.

“Stop,” she said weakly.

A soldier came running up to him, trident extended to strike him.

“Your queen has ordered you to stand down!” Malem said. “Or do you wish to suffer her wrath?”

The soldier hesitated, then lowered the trident, and took a step back.

“Is there no healer among you?” he asked in the voice he used for command.

An older mage came forward and knelt beside her. “My queen.”

“Jacob,” she said. “I missed your hoary face.”

He broke into a grin. “You’re back! Have you finally broken free of him, then?”

“I’m free of Vorgon, yes,” she said. “Now heal me, old fool.” Those last words were spoken with the amusement of familiarity.

While the Eldritch did his work, Malem reached out and rebound Hansel, Khaan, and Ophid. It wouldn’t do to have two basilisks and a ghrip roaming free this far east of the Midweald. He sensed great distress coming from Hansel.

“Are you able to call off the dragon?” he asked her.

She looked up. Some color had returned to her cheeks. “Gregor? Are you here?” Her voice was stronger.

An older soldier rushed forward on goat feet. “I am.”

“Blow the summoning horn,” she said. “Recall Nemertes.”

Gregor turned to shout at another Eldritch. “Blow the summoning horn!”

“And spread the word!” Malem called after him. “The ghrip and the two basilisks are to be left alone!”

The Eldritch dashed down the stairs to relay the message.

Malem gave Hansel the order to retreat. He just hoped the dragon eased off in time.

He sensed rising levels of stress and pain emanating from Hansel, and realized Nemertes was harrying the ghrip all the way across the valley.

A few moments later an alpenhorn reverberated loudly across the castle grounds. Three times.

The distress issuing from the ghrip began to fade. It was still frantically trying to flee, but at least the pain had stopped.

“It’s done,” Jacob announced, slumping.

Malem examined her chest wound. It no longer gurgled, and her breathing was strong, steady. The tear in her dress was still present, as was the blood, but there was no sign of injury. He sensed no pain from her energy bundle, either, but she did seem just as weak, if not weaker, than before. No doubt the healing had taken a lot out of her.

“Help me stand,” she told him.

He gave her a hand and attempted to help her rise, but she couldn’t get up. Though she didn’t look it, she was extremely heavy. He supposed that wasn’t entirely unexpected, given her size.

“You must rest!” Jacob said. “Healing takes a heavy toll on the body!”

“I’m stronger than this!” Mauritania muttered.

Malem decided to help her. Ophid and Khaan were still lying somewhere in the city below, healing, and they seemed stable. He decided to borrow some of their stamina.

We’re laying here, dying, and you drain us, Ophid complained.

You’ll be fine. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think otherwise.

Ophid issued a mental sniff.

With the added vitality, finally Mauritania was able to stand. When she did so, she towered over him imperiously. But Malem wasn’t cowed.

She’s mine.

“Have your healer mend my Metals,” Malem said, beckoning at Weyanna and Abigail. “And any other of my companions that require healing. But the dragons first. They were infected with a particular nasty form of Eldritch magic, one that festers, and refuses to heal naturally.”

Mauritania smiled. “Ah yes, the Green Rot. I’m the one who developed that work. It’s quite effective against the larger monsters, such as dragons. I’ve used it on Nemertes with great success, to teach the dragon discipline.”

“You have an odd notion of discipline,” Malem said. “Pain is best reserved for children. In adults, it will only lead to resentment in the long run.”

“You’ve never been in the military, have you?” Mauritania said with a wicked grin.

“Oh, I’ve had a taste,” Malem said. “Trust me, I’ve met more than my fair share of resentful soldiers. But also good ones, who were disciplined properly.”

“I’m sure we’ll have many discussions over this,” Mauritania said. She kept her voice extremely calm, no doubt to show her men that she was unfazed by him, despite the fact he was giving her orders. Most of the Eldritch appeared confused, as if they were trying to figure out the new power structure. Some obviously had no idea what was going on.

“I’m sure we will,” Malem agreed.

Jacob, the old healer, went to Abigail and Weyanna next, and cured them in turn of the Eldritch magic that infected them. Malem had to give both of the women stamina borrowed from himself, Gwen, and Ziatrice, since the healing was so draining. Jacob was exhausted from the act, and couldn’t help the others, whose wounds were minor in comparison in any case.

Though weak, Weyanna was able to assume healing duties, and mended the injuries the other party members had acquired during the battle.

Abigail approached.

“What about Goldenthall?” she asked Mauritania. Abigail glanced at the former king of Tartan, who had left the stairwell behind to stand listlessly next to the parapet. He was gazing down at the ruins of his city. His lips moved, as if he were talking to himself. His forehead still bled.

“His mind is lost,” Mauritania said. “There’s nothing you can do for him. Leave him to his misery.”

Her face writhen with grief, Abigail went to him, bringing Weyanna. Malem observed from Abigail’s viewpoint as she reached him.

The former king didn’t look at her. “My people,” he muttered. “Must save my people.”

“King Goldenthall. It’s me. Abigail.”

He ignored her, continuing to murmur.

“Weyanna?” Abigail said.

The half white dragon released a small band of healing magic and wrapped it around the shrapnel wound in Goldenthall’s temple. The lesion healed up, but the congealing blood that had flowed onto the surrounding skin remained.

Goldenthall paused in his mutterings, and reached up to touch a finger to his forehead. When he realized the wound had healed, he finally turned to gaze at Abigail and Weyanna. However, his expression was blank.

“My king,” Abigail said.

“Must save my people,” he replied.

“They’re gone,” Abigail said gently. “All dead. Tartan has fallen.”

He spun away from her to gaze upon the city once more. “My people. Must save my people.”

Abigail sagged, and rested an arm upon the parapet. For a moment he thought she would collapse, but then she straightened and returned to Malem and the others with Weyanna.

“What did you do to him?” Abigail asked Mauritania, her voice full of venom.

The Eldritch Queen shrugged. “Nothing, really. Seeing his city razed to the ground, and the population burned in front of his eyes was enough. Every person has a different breaking point.”

“You promised to spare the city, didn’t you?” Abigail said. “There was no other way he would have surrendered and opened the gates to you.”

“He sent envoys at one point, yes,” Mauritania said. “Through them, he offered himself up in exchange for his city. He wanted to give his life for the lives of his people. I agreed. But when the envoys returned through the city gates, I had an advance guard follow them through, and killed those who manned the gates, leaving the city wide open for the rest of us. I summoned Nemertes, and the true fun began.”

“You’re an evil bitch,” Abigail said.

Mauritania smirked. “Well that’s certainly a matter of perspective, isn’t it?”

Abigail slapped her in the face, leaving a red handprint on her pale cheek. She had to reach fairly high to do it, because Mauritania was so much taller than her.

Mauritania lowered her voice and spoke in a near hiss. “How dare you slap me in front of my men!”

Streams of green mist shot out, and hoisted Abigail into the air.

That’s enough you two, Malem sent, bringing them both in on the mental conversation.

I have to make an example of her! Mauritania said. Or I will lose control of my men. They’ll think I’m weak.

Go ahead and try, Abigail sent back. Did the Breaker mention I was a Metal dragon? And your healer just mended my wounds? I’ll transform and eat you if you try to make an example of me, Bitch.

Please, Malem told them. We’re on the same side. Stand down, Mauritania. You have to learn to lead your men without using fear as a tool. Get them to respect you.

Maybe, but it’s something I have to work into. I can’t just stop being who I am. You don’t understand what it’s like to lead a group of Eldritch men. If I show them weakness here, they’ll slay me in the night, I promise you. I’ve done too many bad things. They need to see me, their great leader, dominate a Metal dragon. They need to know I’m still in command, despite what they may have seen.

He sighed. Okay fine. Abigail, can you just scream in pain and pretend Mauritania is torturing you? So she can save face? And Mauritania, you can cackle evilly or something.

Abigail glared at him, then she turned her head skyward and let out a heart-wrenching scream. Another. She jerked her body, which was still in the grip of those green mists, as if in absolute agony.

Malem felt no pain emanating from her energy bundle, so he knew it was fake.

Mauritania, seeming surprised at first, began to cackle madly, playing along.

This sucks, Mauritania sent. But she continued to cackle.

Aren’t you going to do something? Weyanna asked. You can’t let her torture the princess.

He joined all the women to the mental conversation then.

It’s for show, he told them. You can sense Abigail, if you concentrate. She’s in no real pain.

Xaxia, who wasn’t in on the conversation, merely shrugged. She apparently didn’t care either way.

Mauritania finally set Abigail down, and the latter made a show of walking weakly back to the others, and collapsing in Weyanna’s arms. The soldiers around her seemed sufficiently cowed, because when she looked at them, the nearest of them cringed.

“What are you all looking at?” Mauritania said. “Get back to your posts! We march in the morning.” As the rooftop cleared, she glanced at Malem. “At least, I assume we march.”

He nodded. “We do. But you and Weyanna won’t be coming with us. At least not at first.”

“Oh?” Mauritania said. “Which one of these pleasant women is Weyanna, by the way?”

“That would be me,” Weyanna said, coming forward.

“You’ll travel on her back,” Malem told Mauritania. “And return to the front, informing the Alliance of everything that has transpired.” He glanced at Weyanna. “You will give them hope that the war will soon end. Tell them a fresh army is coming to reinforce their ranks. An army of the Eldritch. Tell them Vorgon will soon fall.”

Mauritania grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him so that he was physically facing her once more. “But you can’t send me.”

“I have to,” he told her. “Especially with those scouts of yours scattered throughout the Midweald, ready to shoot down any passing dragons.”

“I’ll send out couriers instructing my scouts to stand down,” Mauritania said.

He shook his head. “It will take too long for the message to propagate, especially if you plan to send those couriers on foot. Do you?”

She nodded.

“There you go,” he said. “We have to send word immediately, or there’s a good chance the Alliance will crumble. This is why you’re going with Weyanna. You’ll ride on her back and defend her against any Eldritch magic your scouts launch along the way. Besides, it’ll be a good bonding session for the two of you.”

“Assuming they don’t kill each other along the way,” Abigail commented. “Considering how well the queen and myself get along. By the way, why not just go with them? You plan to summon Banvil to fight Vorgon, don’t you? Why not get it over with?”

“Yes,” he said. “But I have a feeling we’ll need Mauritania’s Eldritch before this is through. I want them there, as support, when the time comes. I doubt Banvil will be able to defeat Vorgon alone—the latter has grown too powerful. We’ll need the evil magic of the Eldritch to give Banvil the advantage it needs.”

But now it was Mauritania’s turn to shake her head. “You don’t understand. If you send me, my army will revolt in my absence, I guarantee you. They’ll slay you and the other women in the night, and march back to our homeland with your head as a trophy.”

“I wasn’t aware how tenuous a hold you had on them,” he said. “Though I guess I should have suspected, considering how you treat them.”

She smiled indignantly. “You couldn’t resist putting in that little gibe, could you?”

He returned his attention to Abigail. “Does Goldenthall have any carrier pigeons?”

“He used to,” Abigail said. “Though who knows what happened to them after Queen Bitch here sacked the castle.”

“The men roasted the pigeons and ate them,” Mauritania explained.

“I figured as much,” Abigail said.

“What about Nemertes?” Weyanna said. “Can we send the ancient blue? The Queen’s scouts won’t shoot it down, right?”

“I’d rather not,” Malem said. “It’s too important of a task to entrust the strange dragon. You two are a known quantity. But Nemertes, not so much.”

Mauritania gave him a pensive look. “I can send one of my strongest mages to accompany this one, if it pleases you.”

“Like Nemertes, I just don’t trust your mages,” he said. “You I’ve Broken. But some random mage? He might hurl deadly magic into her the moment the pair cross the horizon.”

“Then Break him, too, if it makes you comfortable,” Mauritania said.

“While having the five of you occupying a place in my mind has increased my abilities,” he told her. “I still have limitations. I won’t have very much control when the mage is half a continent away, for example.”

Mauritania flashed him a grim smile. “Then I will simply tell the chosen mage that if any harm comes to her, he shall be executed immediately upon his return.”

He stared at Mauritania for a moment, then glanced at Weyanna. “That works for me.”

The half white dragon nodded. “I suppose it works for me as well. Someone has to do this.”

“I should go, too,” Abigail said.

“That means we’d have to send another mage to protect you,” Malem said. “No, one is enough. Weyanna will go alone.”

31

Malem and his companions rode on horseback, while Mauritania’s troops marched on foot. It took a while for Capilet and the other horses to grow accustomed to the Eldritch, but they were able to trot alongside the different units with ease now.

Malem and his companions spent the week riding west with that army. He kept Hansel, Khaan and Ophid bound to him, and the monsters accompanied them at a distance. He had also Broken a new hawk to act as his eyes in the sky alongside Nemertes, who accompanied the army overhead. He confirmed early on that he had thirty-six total slots by Breaking different animals en route until he maxed out.

Mauritania’s second in command, the Eldritch named Jacob, acted as her liaison with the army, and ensured the troops remained on course, and on schedule. She rarely interacted with the officers below him directly, and when she did, their words were mostly perfunctory.

The monsters gave them little trouble in the forest. Most fled when they sensed the rumbling of five thousand marching feet. But the bigger, braver monsters that attacked were promptly subdued by the Eldritch mages.

Weyanna and the Eldritch mage returned after only a couple of days into the march.

“The Alliance remains intact,” Weyanna said. “They await your arrival. And Vorgon’s fall.”

Weyanna brought with her a new suit of dragon scale armor, and he promptly used it to replace the basic robe he was wearing.

During the journey, he thought often of what had taken place between himself and Banvil in the Black Realm. It was an interesting feeling, knowing that he was finally free of the Darkness. Assuming the Balor lived up to its end of the bargain. Then again, it seemed Malem could actually control Banvil’s Darkness now. That essentially ruled out the Balor ever snatching him again. Unless the demon did so while he slept, or otherwise caught him by surprise.

Malem had his own tent, borrowed from the Eldritch. It was rather spacious, seeing as it was designed for their bigger bodies. In that tent he shared his bed with a different one of his companions each night, but because of their link, they all got to partake in the magnified pleasure, except for Xaxia. Even Mauritania took a turn, and she was particularly naughty in the sheets. She liked to explore with her hands, touching every part of his anatomy in a way that was truly intimate, from his underarms to his butt crack. Because of her size, she couldn’t really ride on top, and when he took her in the missionary position, his face was level with her breasts, which was just about perfect as far as he was concerned, providing a soft cushion to rest his cheeks should he find the need, and a great view to boot.

Because she was so large compared to the average woman, oversized in every way, he was a little worried he wouldn’t be able to satisfy her at first, but she was surprisingly tight where it counted.

During the afterglow of their first coupling, she turned to him and murmured: “I’ve slept with the man who could save us, or Break us all. The fate of the world is in your hands.”

“That’s not all that’s in my hands,” he commented, lifting one of her humongous breasts. Honestly, he’d dreamed of being with someone so well-equipped in that department, and she definitely had the largest cup size he’d ever seen. He just wanted to roll around in those sexy balloons of flesh all day and forget about this huge burden on his shoulders.

She pulled away from him. “I was being serious. Silly.”

“Sorry.”

She sighed, twirling a finger idly in his hair. She singled out a tiny strand, and stretched it outward, away from the others. “How does it feel, knowing that the world hangs by a thread, and all it will take is one mistake on your part, and…” She plucked the hair, and he flinched at the sting.

“I never asked for this,” he told her. “Never wanted it. Fighting for humanity… that’s the last thing I ever envisioned for myself, growing up. I was always the loner. I never fit in, or had friends. I couldn’t. Oh sure, I got really good at picking up women. That’s what happens when you find yourself unable to make lasting friendships, because of something that hunts you. But actual relationships? Never. Who knows what I would have become if a Balor hadn’t chased me my entire life? Maybe I would have devoted myself to the sciences, and discovered how to bring man to the stars. Maybe I would have developed— ah, who am I kidding? I probably would have still pursued pleasure.” He buried his face in her breasts.

She pushed him away gently. “You don’t know that. You can’t know. You had your life ripped from you by a Balor. You were cheated. And yet, you were also gifted, because if it wasn’t for these powers you possess, the world, right now, would most likely be doomed.”

“You say that as if you regret the part you played in the dooming,” he told her.

“Oh, I do,” Mauritania said. “The Eldritch, we are a people of war, yes. But by tradition, we never warred with others, only among ourselves. We were only the ones ever worthy of war. But Vorgon changed that. He made war against us, where no others dared. He proved himself worthy, and then when he Broke me, he dishonored our traditions by sparing me, and forcing me to lead my armies. He shamed me. He should have taken control personally, and killed me. Instead he made me, the defeated, continue to lead my men. Now you understand why I have to be so hard on them. They will never forget this great dishonor I’ve brought to my people. A dishonor that has come twice-over now, with my Breaking by you.”

“How can they blame you, when it was their own failings that allowed Vorgon to win?” he said.

“Yes, but I was their leader, so I hold the blame,” she explained. “Now you understand why I must always be on my guard, and never dare show weakness. Unless of course I want to be challenged hourly. Already, during this march, I’ve had to fend off two challengers to my supremacy.”

“Is that what that earlier scuffle was about?” he asked. This morning, when he’d awakened, he’d found a score of half-dissolved Eldritch bodies scattered around her tent.

She nodded. “A waste of troops, that. They came, intending to assassinate me. They had to be slain to the last man as an example to others who would usurp my authority.”

“You have to start interacting more with your men,” Malem told her. “Especially the senior officers. It will be harder for them to revolt against you if they consider you a friend.”

“But it will also be easier in some ways,” Mauritania said. “Considering they’ll have better access if they want to assassinate me. No, let me run my army. You don’t understand the differences between human and Eldritch culture. There is a wide gap. I don’t tell you how to behave around the other women, do I?”

“No, I suppose not.” He paused for a moment, considering all that they had said. Then he pulled away slightly to look up into her eyes. “The other women… when I journeyed to the front to join the Alliance, I surprised myself. Here I was, fighting for humanity, something I’d said I’d never do. Except, it wasn’t really for humanity. It was for the women in my life, like you. That’s why I fight. For you. And I suppose… you’ve all changed me. Made me care a little more for humanity, and the potential future we might have among them. Even though all of you are only half human yourselves.”

“We’re more human than you know,” she said, cuddling him like a little girl might a teddy bear. Okay, their size difference wasn’t that great. But he still occasionally felt like some doll in her large arms.

“You’ve taught me not to be so selfish,” he continued when she released him. “To use my abilities for the good of all, rather than the good of myself.”

Mauritania pursed her lips in consideration. “That’s a lesson we could all use, I suppose. Perhaps even I.”

“Especially you,” he said. “Queen of the Eldritch.”

She shrugged. “I was never known for my humility.”

“Never too late to start,” he said.

The days continued to pass in relatively monotony, the nights in brief spurts of pleasure before a sleep racked with nightmares. He dreamt of Banvil raging across the land, the large Balor tearing away buildings with its claws, crushing running citizens beneath its feet, and cutting through armies with its fell blade. But at the end of the dream, he always discovered that it wasn’t Banvil razing the world, but Malem himself. They were one and the same. In the dream.

He had considered using the Black Realm to transport the army to the front lines, because given the time distortion, weeks spent there would only be days or hours in the real world. But when he thought of how precarious his hold over Banvil would be the entire time, he decided against it. He might wake up to find himself cut in half by that fiery sword. Or worse: maybe Banvil would Break him, like in the dream. Or at least, that was one way to interpret the nightmares.

So he stayed in this realm. And when the week passed, Malem returned victoriously to the front lines of the war against Vorgon, bringing an army of Eldritch to fight side by side with the Alliance. He had sent an advance unit composed of Weyanna and Xaxia to give ample warning of their arrival, and when the Eldritch troops made camp just south of the main tents, every Alliance soldier present turned out to watch, forming a long line along the outskirts.

The war council held a hasty session, and Malem discovered he had arrived essentially just in time: the armies of good were close to breaking. It might have been better to risk traversing the Black Realm to arrive sooner, given how depleted the Alliance troops were, not just in numbers, but morale. Malem’s arrival had bolstered both attributes, but whether or not it would be enough, he’d soon find out. Ziatrice’s orak troops were particularly devastated: the Alliance had used them as fodder in her absence, and their numbers had dwindled to less than fifty, with only four black dragons remaining among them. Needless to say, the night elf was pissed.

Malem couldn’t just summon Banvil and wait for Vorgon to arrive. He doubted he would be able to take control, not when the Balor was at its full strength, but even if he did, he was uncertain how long he would be able to maintain that hold. No, it was better for Vorgon to arrive first, so that when Banvil appeared, the Balor had something to fight immediately.

Thus he presented the plan to draw out Vorgon he had developed with Mauritania, Ziatrice, and Abigail during the long march here. The councilors accepted it readily, as they had no other viable options.

Then the different armies took to the field, joined by their generals. Normally those generals would have stayed back, safe in their tents, but they knew there was no point, not anymore. If this fight was lost, so was the war. The enemy ranks would sweep over their tents in victory, slaying any who remained.

And so, only an hour later, Malem found himself crouched behind the central trench on the front lines, where he waited anxiously beside General Rashan and Abigail.

“The armies are in place,” General Rashan announced.

Malem nodded. He remained in place, crouching, willing himself to stand, but couldn’t do it.

“Breaker?” Rashan asked.

Malem closed his eyes, bowed his head, and then looked up again. “A hundred years from now, when this moment has been relegated to the annals of history, no one will remember the players involved. Those who died. Those who lived. The triumphs. The setbacks. The heartache. It will all be forgotten.”

“Perhaps,” Rashan said. “But they will remember you, Breaker. For a thousand years and more.”

“And yet I am perhaps the least deserving of us all,” he said. “Because without you, I couldn’t do this. Without your armies, I could never get close to Vorgon. Without these brave women whom I’ve Broken, I would have never developed the power to Break Banvil. You all are just as deserving of remembrance, if not more-so.”

“History never remembers the bit players,” Rashan said. “I’m fine with that. I don’t think I’ll really care when I’m dead anyway!”

He felt malicious glee from Ziatrice’s energy bundle. The night elf was crouched next to Abigail beside him. She spoke in his head: That’s good, keep buttering him up. Say more, so that when we turn on the Alliance, they won’t see it coming!

He used that as his cue to act, and he pulled himself up from the trench. He stepped forward, leaving it behind him. After striding a few paces into that barren, muddy no man’s land, he halted. He stared across at the opposite trenches. So far, everything was quiet. The calm before the storm.

“Vorgon!” he shouted. “I challenge you!”

In answer, arrows arced across the field from the night elves. He held up the dragon scale shield Agantas, king of the Metals, had given him. Streams of darkness also came his way, sent across by the black mages of the opposing side, and he quickly leaped back into the trench. The deadly magic darted past overhead, missing him.

He glanced at General Rashan. “Guess we’re going to have to do this the hard way.”

32

Malem sent forward the three hill giants he’d bound from the forest. They carried thick oaks in front of them as shields. Behind them were Khaan and Ophid, with Hansel bringing up the rear in a wedge formation.

As those monsters took to the field, different horns blew across the Alliance ranks. Infantrymen flowed onto the field, forming a column behind the monsters. Meanwhile Alliance archers remained on the front, and sent arrows arcing down into the enemy trenches.

Black smears of magic erupted from the trenches ahead, and smashed into the trees the hill giants held as shields. Pieces along the edges broke away upon impact, whereas those that hit the center parts sent black veins traveling outward. Those veins left a path of disintegrated bark in their wake, but the oaks were otherwise too thick to allow any harm to come to the hill giants at the moment.

The Metal Dragons joined the attack, raining death down from above. Abigail and Weyanna were with them. Black streaks of magic launched upward at the new threat, and the dragons dodged in between releasing deadly streams of liquid flame. Below, oraks set aflame screamed as they scrambled out of the trenches and attempted to run while their burning armor baked their bodies.

Malem took to the field, along with Xaxia, Gwen, and a contingent of human mages. They raced forward amidst the infantry, surrounded by armored men on all sides.

The hill giants crossed the no man’s land and reached the trenches ahead, which were manned by oraks. The smaller monsters attempted to flee, but were usually trampled or struck by the trees, which the hill giants used as clubs. One of the giants scraped its oak into the furrow formed by the closest trench, causing the occupants to emerge en masse. Just in time for the basilisks to turn them to stone. The few that didn’t transform into rock were the stronger orak mages, dressed as ordinary infantry, and those were promptly snatched up by Hansel’s tentacles and crushed.

There were more trenches furrowed into the ground beyond, and the Metal dragons lit up the occupants in waves. Enemy mages in those trenches managed to launch streams of dark magic at the incoming attackers; the hill giants, who had ceased using their oaks as shields and instead wielded them mostly as clubs, screamed as the black veins crawled up their flesh. But the impacts, while painful, weren’t enough to kill the big creatures, and only enraged them further.

A few of the enemy mages created earth elementals and sent the lumbering forms toward the hill giants. But the Metals created fire elementals to intercept them. The earth beings were unable to harm those flaming entities, whereas the latter were hot enough to melt away parts of the earth elementals, and successfully staved them off. Enough time for dragons to swoop in and hoist those elementals into the air with their talons, and crumple them.

The basilisks continued to turn most of the weaker minded foes to stone, whole units of them, so that soon the field was littered with the statues of the enemy, both in and out of the trenches.

Malem had reached the enemy line by then. The trenches were profuse here, and he leaped over their furrows to fight on the narrow aisles between them. He weaved between the statues of oraks, sometimes shoving one or another into a trench to get at an enemy. Balethorn hummed thirstily, hungering for the dragons in the sky, but he ignored its pleas and focused on hewing orak flesh. There was no need to expend energy needlessly Breaking these weak monsters, not when the sword would suffice. Xaxia fought nearby with Biter, while Gwen had taken up a perch on a high point in the aisle between two trenches, where she used Wasp to deadly effect, flinging arrows like a demonic Valkyrie.

He reached out as he fought, searching for Vorgon, wanting to taunt the Balor if he could, or at least announce his presence so as to draw the malevolent creature. But he still couldn’t sense Vorgon at all. Either the Balor masked its mind from him, or it was far away still. Vorgon changed the location of its camp nightly, and cloaked the area in illusion, so that even though the Metals sent scouts to search for the Balor, they could never find it. Only when Vorgon moved, or attacked, was the evil Balor revealed.

The mountain dwarves began to flood the battlefield from the south, and the night elves the north, in a flanking maneuver. Black dragons from the enemy ranks also took to the skies and attacked the Metals in force.

But then Ziatrice’s dark troops joined the fray. Her orak soldiers and mages cut into the dwarves on the ground, while her four black dragons breathed acid into their ranks from above. Ziatrice herself fought at their head in all her dark majesty, black mist flowing from her eyes, her halberd, Wither, swinging constantly and sending up sprays of blood, her dark chains pulling any dwarven mages she spotted to their dooms. The blades of her skirt whirled as she spun and dealt death to all around her.

Mauritania’s army also joined the fray to the north, driving into the night elves. She was at their head, wielding those two daggers of hers, which were equivalent to short swords given her size. She had told him the names of those daggers: Helter and Skelter. They were endowed with an arcane magic that allowed them to pierce any armor, even Duramite, and when wielded together, they granted their possessor an increase in speed and stamina, and boosted any innate magical abilities.

Mauritania’s eyes glowed a bright emerald as she fought, and she occasionally launched green streams of magic at her foes, disintegrating them in waves. She teleported, too, evading blows, or surprising opponents. She used the ability sparingly, along with her other magic, because it was extremely draining.

The Eldritch around her winked out in turn, using their invisibility to dodge foes and slay them at unawares. There were whole lines of night elves that fell to unseen blades. The Eldritch couldn’t maintain their invisibility for long, unfortunately: they began to appear, at first as green silhouettes, their outlines becoming brighter with every second until the monsters were fully visible. Soon all of them fought in full view of the enemy.

Incidentally, Mauritania couldn’t turn invisible. She never explained why. It probably had something to do with her half Eldritch designation, or maybe the ability was limited to the males of the species.

Malem shared stamina with the women bound to him as needed. Abigail and Weyanna seemed to be flagging slightly, so he transferred some from the hill giants, for example.

He parried a blow from a large orak that unexpectedly came at him, and killed it on the rebound, but was suddenly hit in the side. The impact shoved him off balance, and he fell into the trench beside him. Something heavy landed on his hips, and he spun about to wrestle his foe: another orak. He tried to Break it, but it was one of the stronger-willed. Such oraks were a rarity among the soldier class, given Malem’s current mental prowess, but bad luck happened to the best of us.

The orak slid its grimy fingers just above the dragon scale gorget that covered his neck, wrapping them around his bare skin, and squeezed. Malem flung out an arm, searching desperately for his sword, which he’d dropped in the mud somewhere after landing in the trench.

The orak smiled. “Kill you.”

Stars began to spangle his vision. He reached up, wrapped his hands around the orak’s head, and shoved his thumbs into its eyes. The orak grimaced, squeezing its eyelids shut, and tightened its own grip around his throat.

The orak jerked suddenly, and black veins began to snake up its face.

Malem released the creature, which had gone limp above him, and rolled the body off of him.

Rathamias gazed down from the aisle next to the trench above. “You’re welcome.” The orak mage stalked away. Over its chest armor it wore a tunic in the purple and red of Ziatrice’s army, so that none among the Alliance would attack it. In theory.

Malem scooped up Balethorn and clambered out of the trench. The oraks around him were all stone statues. Khaan was nearby. The basilisk, too, had apparently sensed his distress and had attempted to come to the rescue, but Rathamias had beaten Khaan to him.

Malem sensed the fall of one of his hill giants then, and he drained the monster, killing it before the connection could sever and boomerang back on him. Since he had extra slots freed up, he reached out and found three weak-minded oraks huddling in the trenches nearby. He Broke them and summoned them to his side, where they fought for him and guarded his back.

He glanced toward where the hill giant had fallen. It was amid the thick ranks of oraks ahead, where the fighting was at its most intense. Troglodons had joined the ranks there, as had a few night elves and dwarves. The enemy units were purposely attacking their own Troglodons, splitting the ectoplasmic creatures in two, and rapidly multiplying them. The Alliance mages took down as many Troglodons as they could with their magic attacks—magic was the only way to kill a Troglodon—but they had difficulty keeping up with the almost exponential rate of growth. Meanwhile, the Troglodons spread out, engulfing the defenders—soldiers and mages alike—excreting gleaming white skeletons after digesting them.

Some of them broke away toward Malem. Though they had one big eye mounted at the top of their otherwise shapeless bodies, most were immune to the basilisk’s gaze. Some turned to stone, thanks to Khaan, but the remainder approached. Beneath their translucent skin he could see the bodies of Eldritch and humans in various states of digestion.

And then all of them imploded.

Nemertes landed among their splattered remains, its huge body stretching across the field of battle. The ancient blue unleashed its terrible light magic, causing large swaths of the enemy to implode where they stood. Ghostly tendrils of yellow light unfolded from the dragon in all directions, stringing between oraks, night elves, dwarves, and Troglodons. The instant that light touched an enemy, the stricken foe collapsed in upon itself like crumpled paper.

Nemertes stepped forward, driving a wedge deep into the ranks ahead where the fighting was the most extreme. Not even powerful mages could resist its attack. The enemy fell in great sweeping rows. And Nemertes laughed.

But then a humongous flaming ax plunged into the ancient blue dragon from above as Vorgon took the field. Nemertes’ entire right side was split open, and its right wing severed. The dragon screamed, and unleashed blinding waves of white light at Vorgon, but the Balor was unaffected.

Vorgon stepped forward, intending to crush Nemertes; the injured dragon tried to flee, but was too slow, and Vorgon planted its huge foot on the blue’s back and pinned it, like a cruel man might restrain a wounded dog with his boot. While holding down the dragon like that, the Balor struck down with its ax again, cutting deep into the neck of its foe, and Nemertes, oldest dragon in the world, died.

Stunned silence ensued across the field of battle—the combatants on both sides had paused to watch. But that silence lasted only a heartbeat, and both sides took up their fighting anew. The enemy fought stronger than ever, thanks to the presence of Vorgon. Their morale was no doubt boosted, but he also had the sense the individual units were trying to impress their master.

To the Alliance’s credit, none of the human soldiers fled. And Mauritania’s soldiers also held fast to the field of battle, as did the survivors of Ziatrice’s dark army. They were counting on Malem to see this through.

He still didn’t sense Vorgon, even though the Balor was clearly visible—the creature was masking its mind from him after all, then.

Vorgon stepped forward balefully, swinging its flaming ax down upon the defenders with each step, killing tens at a time just as easily as a farmer scythes wheat.

“Where are you, Breaker?” Vorgon boomed. Its voice, though extremely loud, sounded almost musical. “I’ve come for you.”

Malem sought the Darkness inside of him as Banvil had taught; he had had much time to practice that seeking during the journey to the front lines.

When he found it, he sent a message.

Open the portal, Banvil. It’s time to fight.

He waited, watching as Vorgon slowly approached, but Banvil didn’t obey.

Men and Eldritch fell in waves.

Banvil!

Nothing.

Shit.

The Alliance mages and the Metal dragons launched a barrage of attacks against the demonic creature. Fire, earth and rock elementals joined the fray, and pummeled it alongside the magic and flames. But the enemy units rallied, and swept back those mages, and the dragons; there were simply too many oraks and Troglodons, and too few Alliance mages and dragons. Rashan hadn’t been joking when he had said the ranks of good had been close to breaking, because Malem was watching that breaking right now.

Vorgon hadn’t yet released any of the black magic from the underworld, relying instead on its ax, and its size, to kill. It was conserving its strength. Wanting to stay on the field of battle for as long as possible. It was clear that Vorgon hoped to finally crush the defenders that day.

The defenders were forced to retreat before that terrible blade. They raced across the no man’s land toward the safety of their front lines and the magical traps the mages had lain to further protect them from Vorgon.

Malem joined them in their flight, running alongside Eldritch and humans alike.

Halfway across the no man’s land, a portal of infinite darkness appeared directly in front of him. He swerved aside at the last moment, almost tumbling through it. He tripped on a dead body and landed on the ground next to the black tear in reality.

He scrambled to his feet and focused on that portal, backing away as he did so. Men dashed by on either side of him, shoving him as they ran, sometimes roughly, but he ignored them, concentrating on that portal. His oraks stood guard around him, joined by Gwen and Xaxia.

Slowly, the doorway to the Black Realm expanded. As it grew in size, the fleeing defenders were forced to race around it, and a great wind kicked up, gusting across the field of battle. Malem was forced to plant his feet in place to prevent himself from being bowled over by it.

And then finally, when that portal towered over the land, Banvil appeared, wreathed in red flame in counterpoint to Vorgon’s blue. The Balor stepped through the portal at a crouch and then stood to its full height, moving quickly and with purpose, trampling the enemy ranks, and striking them down with its great sword. It headed directly for its nemesis.

Red flames met blue, burning sword met blazing ax, and the battle of the century ensued.

33

Malem wasn’t sure quite what to expect. The two seemed equally matched at first. Banvil was fresh and rested, whereas Vorgon, though bigger, seemed wearier.

Banvil parried a blow from that fiery blue ax, shoving aside the weapon and scoring a blow with its sword on the riposte. Vorgon staggered as a dark wound opened in its thigh. That gash seemed to stir something inside of Vorgon, because the Balor roared and struck back with renewed vigor.

And so the two great blades clanged back and forth as the demons vied with one another. The stakes were the world.

Malem shrunk the portal as they fought, and blocked Banvil’s retreat. The dark gateway soon winked out. Either the Balor won this or died. There was no running, not anymore.

Let Banvil have a taste of what I experienced when I traveled to the Black Realm to greet it.

He hoped that by closing the gateway and cutting off all retreat, the Balor would be driven to fight all the harder. There was nothing more vicious than a cornered wolf.

As the giant pair moved about in their deadly dance, they trampled any bystanders from both sides that were foolish enough to remain close.

Streaks of dark magic erupted from Banvil, traveling into Vorgon’s chest, causing welts to appear. Vorgon returned the favor, sending dark blurs in answer, inflicting similar welts in its foe.

As they fought back and forth like that, Banvil began to flag. Vorgon scored blows on Banvil’s upper arms and chest, and even cut open the Balor’s cheek.

“Fool!” Vorgon roared. “You should have remained in the Black Realm where I left you.”

Troglodons raced from enemy lines to join the fray, alongside dire wolves and tigers, and scallions, too. They harried Banvil’s feet, while black dragons swooped in, breathing acid in the Balor’s face.

The distraction allowed Vorgon to score a major hit, this time deep in Banvil’s side, and for a moment Malem’s hold on the three oraks next to him wavered. As it did with all the monsters he gripped. He couldn’t sense the women, either.

Banvil had fallen to its knees, but managed to raise its sword, deflecting the next blow, and scrambling to its feet. As the Balor arose, once more Malem could sense the women, and his grip tightened on the monsters.

Malem was well aware that if Banvil died, he would lose all of his power. The Balor’s most recent brush with death, and the effects on his ability, had simply served as a reminder: it was in Malem’s best interests to keep the Balor alive. Not to mention it was also in the world’s best interest.

He reached out to the women bound to him.

Abigail, Weyanna, we have to stop those dragons! Mauritania, your Eldritch can make a difference here. Ziatrice, if you have any dragons left, now’s the time to use them! Come to Banvil’s aid!

Never thought, in all my years, that I’d be helping a Balor! Abigail sent.

He sent Hansel forward, along with the basilisks and his two remaining hill giants.

Abigail and Weyanna came in with two other Metals and succeeded in driving away the black dragons. Abigail turned back and swooped down on Vorgon; she created fire elementals to harry its face and block its vision. Meanwhile she landed on the Balor’s head and bit into its horns, worrying them with her sharp teeth. Vorgon reached up with one hand to tear her away, but she leaped off, only to circle back again and torment him all over again.

The basilisks arrived and pounced on the Troglodons; they turned some of them to stone in the process. All the nearby dire wolves and tigers transformed into statues.

Hansel arrived as the scallions turned away from Banvil to attack the basilisks; the ghrip wrapped its tentacles around them in turn and pulled the resistant scallions away, tossing them to the hill giants to sit on.

Mauritania’s Eldritch drove forward, the soldiers leaping onto Vorgon’s legs and stabbing with their tridents. The mages among them unleashed the Green Rot. Vorgon launched dark streams from its chest against some of them, but doing so weakened the creature, and it fell back before Banvil’s assault. It was forced to cease the dark attack, and gave everything it had to defending against that giant sword.

More oraks rushed the field to defend their master, but Ziatrice intercepted with her remaining troops. She led them, swinging her dark halberd above her head in great back and forth arcs. She employed her ghostly chains to push away any oraks that got too close. Her black dragons circled Banvil, and guarded the Balor from any further airborne strikes.

Banvil continued to press its attack. It swung its sword at the distracted enemy in wide, powerful blows; Vorgon blocked each strike, catching the final with the notch between its ax blades, and twisted, attempting to pull the sword free.

Banvil wouldn’t have it. The Balor moved inward, physically slamming into its nemesis, and Vorgon stumbled backward. Banvil tore its fiery blade free and struck at its enemy’s thigh, and Vorgon narrowly deflected. Banvil kept swinging, building on its momentum, while Malem’s troops continued to molest Vorgon.

And then Banvil found a hole in Vorgon’s defenses: the blade plunged home, striking the opposing Balor in the chest. The huge blade sunk all the way to the hilt so that its tip protruded from the enemy’s back.

Vorgon inhaled with a sudden, ragged hiss.

Banvil withdrew its blade, sending forth a long spume of black blood, and Vorgon crumpled. The great Balor fell like the collapse of some towering building, and when its body hit the earth, it sent up a huge wave of dust. Malem could feel the ground rumbling even from here.

Banvil stabbed its sword down again, this time aiming for Vorgon’s head. Abigail had vacated the area, leaving the blade free to strike between the two horns, where it penetrated the skull, sinking deep.

Banvil released the sword and collapsed, exhausted, beside its foe. It had cuts all over its body.

Vorgon, meanwhile, slowly crumbled, its body dissolving into dust. The remnants of its form were carried away on the breeze.

The dark armies were routed, and fled the battlefield in complete and utter disarray. Troglodons, night elves, oraks, mountain dwarves, dire wolves, scallions. The Eldritch harried them from behind, killing many, ensuring the enemy didn’t stop to catch their breath. Some among that enemy simply collapsed from exhaustion, only to be run through by the tridents of the Eldritch.

The armies of the Alliance emerged tentatively from their trenches, and some began to cheer.

None of the hill giants had survived that final assault, but the two basilisks and the ghrip lived, as did the three oraks. He crushed the wills of the latter and added their stamina to his own, and the oraks dropped dead. Meanwhile, he instructed Hansel, Khaan and Ophid to race away from the front lines, toward the forest.

He watched the monsters race off, and when he felt they were a sufficient distance away, he released them. He waited a few moments to confirm they were still fleeing toward the Midweald—they had no reason to turn back, after all, not unless they wanted to be re-Broken, which was certainly possible, given the affection he had developed for them, an affection he believed was returned by the monsters, just as it was by Bounder and Felipe. When he was satisfied that they would obey him, he turned his attention to Banvil, and reached his will into the creature’s mind.

The Balor didn’t resist him.

“You have won,” Banvil said, its voice carrying across the field of battle. The cheering members of the alliance immediately fell silent.

Malem stepped forward to approach the Balor. The others in his path—Mauritania, Ziatrice, and those troops yet with them—cleared out of his way.

“Create the portal,” Malem told the demon.

No, Ziatrice sent him. Now’s our chance! Enslave the Balor. Take over the world!

He smiled. But Ziatrice, you don’t understand. You, and the women, are my world. I already have everything I’ll ever want.

He heard a shout of outrage from behind him, and turned in time to see Ziatrice rapidly bearing down on him. She swung the halberd and he leaped out of the way, then he tightened his will, draining her of stamina.

She flopped down.

He walked toward her. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” she said, grinning weakly. “I deserved that, I suppose. Let my emotions get the better of me. Power. I’ve always wanted more. I could never see when I had enough. It’s cost me so many things in this life. And now I’ve lost you, too. Go ahead, then. Take my head with that sword of yours.”

“Silly woman, you haven’t lost me,” he said, letting forgiveness float through their bond.

She broke into a smile, and tears suddenly flowed from her eyes. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She sniffed, and rubbed underneath her nose. “Go then. Finish this.”

He turned around and walked toward Banvil.

“I love you,” she said quietly.

He smiled, saying nothing. What could he say? The others were listening in. Everyone was. To declare love for her then would only piss off the others. In truth, he loved them all.

Ahead of him, Banvil had created the night black portal, as requested. Malem began to enlarge it.

“I can’t promise I won’t attempt to return one day,” Banvil said. When Malem didn’t answer, the Balor continued. “The only way you’ll truly be rid of me is to kill me.”

“I know,” Malem said. “I actually thought I would do that, when this was done. I’d be rid of you, and these powers inside of me that I never asked for, forever. But I realize I don’t want to be rid of them, nor you. It’s you who have made me who I am, and despite everything, I feel strangely indebted to you for that. And I suspect I’ll have need of these powers inside of me again. Perhaps not today, nor tomorrow, nor even a year from now, but someday.”

The portal had enlarged enough to barely fit Banvil. Malem beckoned toward it. “Now, if you don’t mind?”

Banvil heaved its massive form off the dirt and crawled on hands and knees toward the darkness. It slid its fiery sword along the ground in front of it.

He felt resignation emanating from the Balor’s energy bundle. And shame. The great Banvil, reduced to crawling away like a worm in front of all the humans it had sought to conquer twenty years ago. The Balor didn’t like that, not at all.

“Begone back into the Darkness from whence you came,” Malem intoned, partly for dramatic effect, and partly to increase the Balor’s humiliation. He regretted the words the instant they left his lips.

Banvil shot him a bitter look. “You may be the victor now, Breaker. But when I come again one day, you will regret treating me this way.”

Malem decided it was best not to say anything to further antagonize the demon.

Shortly thereafter, the Balor passed through the doorway and was gone.

Malem began shrinking the portal, but it dissipated outright before he got very far.

He sheathed his sword, and slumped.

Abigail and Weyanna landed nearby. As did Prince Jayden in dragon form.

Balethorn hummed in his scabbard, wanting their blood, but he ignored it and the blade soon fell silent.

Xaxia came to his side, looping a hand through his left arm. Gwen did the same on his right.

“What a day,” he said.

Mauritania and Ziatrice joined him.

“So, what now?” Gwen said.

He glanced at Ziatrice. “Well, we’ll have to journey to the land of the night elves so that Ziatrice can get her crown back from the usurper.”

Ziatrice gave him an approving smile and nod at that.

He looked at Mauritania next. “And then we’ll have to visit the Eldritch so that Mauritania can return to ruling her kingdom in peacetime. Isn’t the land of the night elves close to that of the Eldritch?”

“We’re neighbors,” Mauritania agreed.

“That’s perfect,” Malem said. “I’ll have to start my own kingdom between the two realms then. I’ll settle down there for a bit. Have some children maybe. Try to live some semblance of a normal life.”

Prince Jayden laughed heartily next to Abigail. “Good luck to you, Breaker. And I wish you even better luck maintaining the peace in your planned household.” That massive head tilted from side to side in disapproval. “Six women. Five of them permanent fixtures in your mind. I’d never wish such a curse upon any man. Not even you.” He chuckled a final time, and then took to the air to rejoin the circling Metals.

Malem started back toward the front lines, where Rashan and the other members of the Alliance waited with their troops, no doubt planning to congratulate him. He could do without all the hurrahs: he just wanted to be done with this so he could make good on his plans. He would head west, through the conquered lands, to their homes, so that they could try to set things back the way they were before Vorgon came. And then he’d start his own kingdom.

The women followed him across the remainder of the no man’s land. There were no bodies here, as the fighting had taken place mostly behind them. The loud thuds to his left told him that Abigail and Weyanna still accompanied him. They remained in dragon form, probably out of human modesty: without spare clothes, their naked bodies would be visible for all the soldiers to ogle. But no soldiers would ogle a dragon.

He wondered when Abigail would tell her father she wasn’t going home with him. The Metal king wouldn’t be very happy when he heard the news.

Gwen had kept her arm hooked through his, but pulled away from him then to give him an amused look. “You were joking about the children, right?”

“Not at all,” he told her.

“But you hardly strike me as the fatherly sort.” She paused, pursing her lips almost in a pout. “Then again, it might be fun to see a few green-skinned little kids running around.”

“Green-skinned?” Mauritania said. “They’re going to be white-skinned, and horned.”

“No,” Ziatrice said. “They’ll have blue skin.”

“They’ll be half dragons,” Abigail said.

“You’re all wrong,” Xaxia said. “They’ll be bandits.”

Malem rubbed his temples. “The prince was right. And here I thought defeating a Balor was tough…”

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Afterword

Please help spread the word about Conqueror - Monster Tamer 2 by leaving a one or two sentence review. The number of reviews an ebook receives has a big impact on how well it does, so if you liked this story I'd REALLY appreciate it if you left a quick review. Anything will do, even one or two lines.

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About the Author

USA Today bestselling author Isaac Hooke holds a degree in engineering physics, though his more unusual inventions remain fictive at this time. He is an avid hiker, cyclist, and photographer who sometimes resides in Edmonton, Alberta.

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Acknowledgments

I’d also like to thank my knowledgeable beta readers and advanced reviewers who helped smooth out the rough edges of the prerelease manuscript: Nicole P., Lisa G., Karen J, Jeremy G., Doug B., Jenny O., Amy B., Bryan O., Gary F., Lezza, Noel, Anton, Spencer, Norman, Chris, Bryant, and Trudi.

Without you all, this novel would have typos, continuity errors, and excessive lapses in realism. Thank you for helping me make this the best novel possible, and thank you for leaving the early reviews that help new readers find my books.

And of course I’d be remiss if I didn't thank my dear mother, father, and brothers, whose guidance has taught me how to control the Darkness.

— Isaac Hooke

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