Refuge: Kurt's Quest
Date: 2014-12-24 23:00:00+00:00

Refuge:

Book 4:

Kurt’s Quest
by

Doug Dandridge

Dedication

This collection is dedicated to Kim Code, one of my biggest Refuge fans.  Kim was of immense help in proofing the first two books of this series.  Not a science fiction fan, she had proven a loyal follower of this fantasy series.

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Copyright © 2014 Doug Dandridge

All rights reserved.

Please respect the hard work of this author.  If you found this book for free on a pirate site, please visit Amazon and buy a copy of your own.  I feel that I charge a reasonable price for this work.

For more information on the Exodus Universe, visit http://dougdandridge.net for maps, sketches and other details of this work.

Acknowledgements:  I would like to thank all of my fans, especially those who sent emails or commented on blogs about how much they have enjoyed this series.  Your kind words gave me the impetus to continue through the not so kind words left in some reviews.  Refuge will continue into at least the near future, though how far, I cannot say at this time.

Prologue

The Half Lich Emperor Ellandra Mashara stared at the map of his Empire.  It covered most of the K’Ellysius subcontinent, the large piece of land that linked two large continents to each other.  His was an impressive Empire, if not the largest in the world.  It may have been the most powerful, and he had been hopeful that it might spread much further than it had already.

Until the damned Germans came, he thought, glaring at the red sections of the map that represented territory he no longer controlled.  And their damned American allies.  And the French, and the Poles.  He looked to the Western part of his Empire, where more splotches of red showed.  And the damned English, and the Russians, and whomever else they brought with them from their Gods forsaken world.

And from what he had learned, it was a world forsaken by the Gods, at least the ones he was familiar with.  A world they had all but destroyed with the God weapons they had brought with them.  There war machines were fearsome.  The gutting of three armies and the all but destruction of his Dragon Corps proved that.  But they also had a limited life span on this world, and that time period had passed.

And then I thought we could finally destroy them, since they were not as competent with our weapons as my Ellala warriors. Not even as competent as my Grogatha spear fodder.  But then the humans had pulled yet another trick on him, coming at him in a formation unseen on his world.  And with allies that lent weight to their army.  Other Ellala, the Conyastaya, the Elves of the Forest, and all the types of Dwarves, the Gimikran and Dimikran.  And they were rolling over his armies as if they were made up of crippled children.

Armies are not going to stop them, he thought, glaring at those red areas on the map.  Only magic will do the job, and only the magic of the Gods will be powerful enough.

*     *     *

Brigadier General Ismael Levine looked at the map on the table, taking in how much territory they had already taken.  And how much remained for them to take.  There was a multitude of river crossings and fortresses between the Army of the Alliance and the capital city of the Empire of Ellala’lysana. And while the Army he served with could take any number of Ellala and Grogatha out in the open, fortifications were another thing entirely.  They could still take them. The Dwarven engineers had proven that much.  But the loss ratio was less in their favor in such fights, and they could not afford to let this army bleed to death on this campaign.

Levine was not the leader of this army, though many thought he should be. He was the oldest of the human Immortals, having been born in Roman Palestine in the year 43 Before Christ.  The American general who commanded the alliance did not entirely trust the Immortals, who the locals saw as the fulfillment of their ancient prophecy.  Especially Kurt von Mannerheim, himself a Brigadier General in this army, and a veteran of the bloody fight on the Eastern Front during the Second World War.

The American General, Lieutenant General Zachary Taylor, was not a bad man, not one who wished any of the people under him ill.  But he was a man who was feeling the pressure of fighting a war he had never been trained for, and sometimes his decisions were not in keeping with using his resources to their greatest advantage.  Major General Walther Wittman, Commanding General Second Legion, and acting Corps and Field Army Commander, was a different proposition.  He believed wholeheartedly in his native allies, and their prophecy, and would have had no trouble serving under Kurt or Levine.  Unfortunately, he deferred to the ranking NATO commander on the planet, which meant he deferred to Taylor’s judgment.

But none of this will matter if Kurt does not succeed in his quest, thought the oldest human who had ever lived.  His eyes looked to the north on the map, to the grasslands where nomads rode and the Poles fought for supremacy, to the Northern Sea, and the huge peninsula across it, where the fabled Crown of the Lost Gods was said to be hidden.  A head piece that allowed the wearer to control the minds of millions of beings at once.  The alliance did not want the crown, but they were determined that the enemy not get their hands on it as well.  If that happened, the war was lost.  And our success depends on the efforts of one German Immortal, who the native peoples believe came to save them.  If he fails, the prophecy was a lie, and we will be lucky if any of us escape this region with our lives.

Chapter One

Kurt looked into the mesmerizing glow of the small fire, fascinating as always to the mind of most humans.  The fire was not large, something that Fenris had insisted upon.  Actually, he had not wanted a fire at all, thought the big Immortal.  But the night is cold, and we needed some kind of warmth.

“Food’s ready, I think,” said Garios na Gonron, turning the rabbits over the spit.  The Dwarf looked over at the German and smiled.  “It’s almost unfair to hunt the way we did.”

“My stomach tells me that I’m not going to complain,” said Jackie.  She licked her lips as she handled the army mess tin that she had waiting.  “I mean, it’s all well and good to go stalking the rabbits, but so much easier to let the little rodents come up to you.”

Kurt nodded his head, agreeing with the woman that he knew he was falling in love with, and sure that he would agree with most things she said just to make a good impression.  But she knows what she’s talking about here.  The wolf calling the food allowed us to travel further this day without having to waste time hunting.  Is it really unfair taking advantage of an asset?

Jackie was staring into the fire, and Kurt noticed a tear rolling down her cheek.

“What is wrong, Fraulein?” he asked, putting his hand on her shoulder.

“I was just thinking about my folks,” she said, turning her ice blue eyes his way.  “Daddy used to go hunting all the time.  We were always eating rabbit, or better yet deer or pig.”  The woman looked away and sighed.  “I just wonder what has happened to them.”

“It was bad on your world, yes?” asked Fenris Hallanta, The Ellala High Commander of the elite border cavalry of the Kingdom of Lianardas.  “Before you came here?”

“It was bad, yes,” said Kurt, looking over at Jackie and seeing her nod in agreement.  “Two billion dead, more.  Maybe as many as six billion.  The world may become an irradiated wasteland, incapable of supporting any life beyond plants and insects.”

“Six billion?” said a wide eyed Garios.  “There were that many people on your world?  That crowded?”

“That crowded,” said Kurt, nodding.  “Probably closer to eight and a half.  We had out of control population, and not enough resources for everything.  So things were already headed for the crapper before the Russians started acting like madmen.”

“And the Arabs, and the Koreans, and the, you name it,” said Jackie, kicking at a root on the ground.  “We were such idiots.”

“But some of you made it to here,” said Fenris, a smile on his face.  “Where you are safe.  Or as safe as can be.”

“And how did you make war on each other?” asked Garios, his eyes narrowing.  “With these God weapons you brought with you?”

“Much worse,” said James Drake, staring at the fire, moving the fingers of his right hand and making tendrils of flame move along with them.  “Those weapons were toys compared to what we used against ourselves.  In our wisdom we sent warheads a thousand times more powerful into the hearts of our largest cities.  Cities of ten million or more, vaporized in an instant in the fires of hell.”

The Elf and the Dwarf looked at the young mage with expressions of shocked disbelief.

“He knows what he’s talking about,” said Kurt, pointing at James.  “His discipline was the physical world and its laws.”

“So, you made those things?” asked Fenris, a frown on his face.

“Not a chance, dude,” said James, shaking his head.  “I was working on looking into the elementary particles of the Universe.  Not making weapons that could murder billions.”

“But your research could have eventually led to bigger and better weapons,” said Jackie, glaring over at the young man.  “That’s the problem with you scientists.  You do something because you can do it, not because it should be done.”

James glared back at Jackie, and the fire flared for a moment, sending flame eight meters into the sky.

Shit, thought Kurt, looking over at Jackie and shaking his head.  [Don’t antagonize him, dear.  He’s as dangerous as a dragon, you know.]

[And I thought he was on our side,] said Jackie.  [I refuse to walk on eggshells around anyone.]

“I am truly sorry, Jackie,” said James, bowing his head.  “I have to learn to watch my temper.  But I truly believe that information and knowledge are not bad.  What we do with them can be.”

“And why did you come along on this quest, Master James?” asked Garios.  “I know that you would have preferred to stay at the Refuge, or maybe with the army.  You could have refused.”

And not added yourself to the list of people who might not come back, thought Kurt, remembering his own dream conversation with the Goddess, Arathonia.  All had been picked by the Goddess, with the warning that at least one of them would not come back.  But all of them had been capable of refusing.

“And let that asshole who wants to kill us all have this world’s equivalent of the hydrogen bomb,” growled James, glaring at the fire and making it flare again.  “I will destroy that artifact before I let it out into this world.”

“It is a God artifact,” said Garios, shaking his head in the human manner.  “It cannot be destroyed.”

“We will see,” said James in a quiet voice, making the fire flare again.

“I wish you would stop doing that, young man,” said Fenris, glancing out into the darkness, then back at the mage.  “We chose this position for the concealment it offered, but shooting flames into the sky is destroying that concealment.”

“Christ,” said James, giving the Elf a look of disbelief.  “There’s nothing out there.  And if there were, the wolf would sense them before they ever got close enough to do anything.  So why don’t you just relax a bit.  Take off that damned armor, like me and the other Earthers have.”

“That is not a good idea,” said Garios, running his hand down his thick chest, covered by a sir coat over Dwarven scale mail.  “When in the wilderness, like we are now, it is best to be ready for a fight.  As I told the two Immortals.  It is best to give up a bit of comfort to be ready for the worst.”

“What a bunch of crap,” said James, sneering at the Dwarf.  “Like I said, the wolf is out there keeping watch.  And this is about as out in the middle of nowhere as we can get.  There can’t be too much going on out on this grassland.  I bet…”

[Horsemen are coming this way.] came the powerful broadcast from the wolf.

[How many?] sent back Kurt, jumping to his feet and grabbing the chain hauberk he had been wearing while his plate rode on the packhorse.  Jackie was also on her feet, running over to where she had left her own armor and grabbing at her hauberk.

[More than many hands and feet of digits,] beamed the animal.  [They will be at your camp in minutes.]

Which could mean any second, thought the Immortal, pulling the hauberk over his head.  And could be anything from a score to a hundred riders.  The wolves were very bright animals, about chimpanzee smart.  And they got even smarter in numbers.  But a single wolf was not very good with numbers.

[Stay out of sight, and be prepared to act on my order,] sent Kurt, settling the chainmail onto his shoulders and starting to work at the ties.  The wolf sent acknowledgement as Kurt looked over at Jackie, who had also pulled her upper body armor on and was reaching for the straps that held her twin blades.  There was not enough time for the woman to put on her chain pants or other armor.

“My apologies, gentlemen,” said Kurt, looking over at the Elf and Dwarf, who were already dressed for combat with the addition of the helmets they were strapping to their heads.  “You were right.  And what can we expect to see coming at us?”

“It could be Orcs,” said Fenris, who was most knowledgeable about the grasslands, as they bordered the northern part of his kingdom.  “But I would bet on Mingalans, the local nomads.”

“Could they be Poles?” asked Jackie hopefully.  “They were moving into this area, weren’t they?”

“I would think not,” said Fenris, buckling the strap holding his quiver  into place, then reaching for his bow.  “The Poles are still concentrated to the east of here, except for the ones marching to join your army.  And they should be quite a bit south of here.”

James stood staring into the night, his eyes glowing with mage sight.  Fenris’ ears perked up, and a moment later he could hear the sounds of riders approaching, the jingle and creaking of their harness and the whinnying of their horses.  It sounded like a large party to him, and he was beginning to think that two or three score could be correct.  Their own well trained mounts were completely silent on the other side of the fire, the Elf bred horses having little in common with the normal mounts the nomads would use.

“Here they come,” yelled Fenris, as the heads, then the bodies of the horsemen appeared above the lip of the small depression they had set the camp in.

Firelight glinted on the heads of lances, on the helms that some of the riders wore.  Some of the riders had bows in hand, arrows pointed at the people in the camp.  Still others had no weapons out, but gripped the hilts of blades sheathed by their sides.  All of the riders had leather armor over their upper bodies, and leggings made up of some kind of fur.  All looked down with cruel, yellow skinned faces, not like the skin tone of Asians on Earth, but of a deep yellowish bronze.

“We wish no trouble,” yelled out Fenris in a tongue that must have been that of the riders, coarse and guttural.  Kurt was surprised that he understood it at first, and then realized that Fenris was sending the translation into his mind through thought transmission.

More riders gathered around, until there were two score surrounding them, with the sounds of others moving out beyond the light of the fire.  Kurt noticed that there were a few that carried staffs that emitted a slight glow.  Magic users, thought Kurt, glancing over at James and hoping the mage saw them as well.  The glint of the mage’s eyes as he looked at what had to be shamans let Kurt know that he had.

“You are on our lands, without our permission,” said an older looking man who had to be the leader of this group.

“We are willing to pay for passage across your lands,” said Fenris, bowing low to the headman.  He looked back up.  “As I said before, we are not looking for trouble.”

The headman smiled, and the other nomads laughed.  The headman held up a hand and glared at the Elf.  “Trouble has found you, looking for it or not.”  Fenris started to open his mouth to speak, and the headman raised his hand to cut him off.  “I know, you can pay.  And so you shall.  With everything you have, and your heads will decorate spikes in the morning to warn others of your kind not to venture into areas where they are not welcome.”

“You’re making a mistake,” said Fenris.  “A really big one.”

The headman reared his head back and laughed at the sky.  When he looked back at them there was no humor in his expression.  “Keep the woman alive, so that we might use her later.  Kill the rest.”

Kurt went into speed at the moment the word kill left the headman’s lips.  His sword swished from its sheath, its glow lighting the night.  Jackie’s swords came from her twin sheaths in a blur, one glowing red, the other blue.  And James started to raise his staff into the air, a word on his lips.

Fifteen bowmen loosed within a second.  Eight of the arrows headed for the mage, two each toward the Dwarf and the Elf, three for Kurt.  Fenris loosed, reloaded and loosed again before the nomad arrows had left their bows.  He then ducked in a fluid motion under the shafts that were headed his way.  Garios raised his shield and took the two arrows coming at him on its face, bouncing them into the night.  Jackie stepped in a rush toward James, her flame blade taking out one of the arrows heading for Kurt, then reaching to take out one of the arrows heading for James.

The word left James’ mouth, and a blast of hot air spread out to his front, knocking the arrows from their courses.  “The mage,” yelled the headman, pointing at James, and all of the archers turned toward him and loosed.  All but the two who were falling from their horses, Fenris’ shafts in their chests.

Thirteen arrows streaked toward James, who yelled at Jackie to duck while he dropped his staff to the ground and pointed his hands toward the archers, thumbs touching.  Jackie fell to the ground in a roll that brought her back to her feet behind James, her twin blades striking out and slicing through the four arrows coming in from the archers on that side of the mage.  The fire left James’ hands in a fan of flame, and the arrowheads fell to the ground as their shafts and fletchings turned to ash.  The flame continued on to immolate a trio of bowmen, their smoking bodies falling from their rearing, panicked horses.  The other bowmen and some of the lancers raised their hands over their faces, dropping their weapons to the ground.

[Now,] sent Kurt to the wolf, running toward the headman while sweeping his blade back.

All of the enemy’s horses now began to rear and buck as images of slavering fangs and the smell of blood entered their minds.  The nomads tried to fight their mounts under control, without success in most cases, and over a score of men hit the ground while their horses ran off into the night.

The headman was able to keep his horse under control, barely.  That gave him a good perch to see death coming his way, as the Paladin blade swept in and sliced through his left arm and into his body, hurling him from the horse as his severed arm fell to the ground.  “I guess you really did make a big mistake,” said Kurt as he stepped over the man and headed toward the nearest still mounted nomad.  “I guess if it’s your last, it should be a big one.”

*     *     *

To Jackie the arrows seemed to be traveling at the speed of thrown sticks.  She sliced her blades out at the two nearest, watching one flare into ash while the other shattered into shards of ice.  Fire and Ice she had named her blades.  Not the most original name, she knew, but ones that fit their powers.  She reversed her swings and took out the other two arrows, protecting the back of the mage who didn’t even know they were there.  She didn’t worry about the shafts heading toward him from the front.  Having seen him in action before, she was sure those arrows would not exist for long.

The archers tried to get another shaft to their bows.  Jackie launched herself into the air, straight at one of the horsemen, taking herself out of the aim of the others.  She did not want to harm the horses, if possible.  They were dumb beasts who really didn’t want anything to do with the current situation.  Their riders were another thing altogether.  That first rider tried to move his bow, then reach for another weapon, not doing either very well.  His last sight was the red glowing blade heading toward his forehead.  As it sliced and burned into his brain, reducing that organ to ash, he knew no more.  Ice sliced into the rider next to her primary target, its super sharp edge cutting through leather and chain while freezing both onto the arm of the rider.  The man screamed in agony as the blade went through the arm and into the thoracic cavity, freezing all the tissue around the cut.

Then Jackie was over the two men and somersaulting in the air, landing lightly on her feet and turning swiftly, her blades intercepting the two arrows that the surviving archers had sent her way.  Both men were yelling in a language she couldn’t understand.  But it was easy enough to get the point.  The men wanted to kill her, but weren’t sure how to do that.  She smiled and took a couple of running steps toward them, going up between them, her blades striking out.  One bow burned, the other shattered, and though the effects were different on each man the result was the same, death.

“Oh crap,” she said under her breath as she landed and turned to the sound of hooves beating the earth.  And the sight of a half dozen men coming out of the night, yelling as they leveled their lance heads at her.

*     *     *

Garios na Gonron was no coward.  No one could rise to be a senior Warpriest of Grimmoire, the primary god of his people, without a great measure of courage.  He still did not like the idea of fighting almost eighty mounted humans with only four companions, no matter how powerful they were.  Things happened, and on this world numbers counted, a lot.  But they didn’t bring the fight to this enemy.  No, the enemy had brought the fight to them, and now there was no avoiding them.

And I’m the shortest and least maneuverable one here, thought the Dwarf as he brought his shield up and readied his hammer, looking for the most appropriate target.  There was nothing for it but to attack the nearest nomad to him, who was sitting atop a large horse.  Garios didn’t like the idea of hurting the poor beasts either, but he was willing to do what it took to take out an enemy.  He ran toward the man as fast as his short legs would carry him, catching the man’s lance head on the shield and pushing it up and away.  The heavy hammer came around and smacked the horse in its right foreleg, shattering the bone.  The horse screamed in pain and reared up, throwing the rider.  It came back down and fell as the foreleg would no longer support it.  Garios ignored its cries with a twinge of guilt as he ran at the rider and raised his hammer.  The man had time for one quick scream before the magic weapon smashed his helmet and head with one blow.

The Dwarf heard the chanting and looked over at the source.  A trio of Shamans were raising their staffs and pointing them at the Mage.  Garios was sure they would not be sending fire from those staffs.  Even the Shamans had to note that everything James was throwing was fire based.  At the moment the young man was burning a horseman from his saddle, then turning to slash a pair of arrows from the air.

Garios raised his hammer and chanted the words to his own spell.  Not a moment too soon a shimmering wall of force sprang into being between the nomad magic users and the Mage.  A trio of lightning bolts sprang from the staffs, heading for the Mage.  They hit the shield of force and bounced into the sky, spent harmlessly.  James turned their way and raised his hands, sending an arc of fire at the shamans.  One caught the brunt of the force, and his smoking body fell off the back of his panicked horse, which bolted away with its blanket on fire.  The others caught the edge of the cone, and beat at their flaming garments while their own beasts carried them into the night.

James looked over at Garios and nodded, then raised a hand and sent a bolt of fire toward the Dwarf.  Garios’ eyes went wide, he wondered if the young man had gone mad, and he started to drop.  The bolt went well wide of him and hit the lancer who was coming up on the blind side of the Priest, blasting him from his horse.  The Dwarf turned and raised his shield, bracing his feet and taking the lance of the next rider on the face of his protective implement.  He pushed the lance overhead and struck out with his hammer, hitting the rider in the leg to the satisfying crunch of breaking bone.  And then there was no time for thought as more riders came out of the night.

*     *     *

Kurt swung his sword again, taking off the head of a lance, then swinging back to take the rider in the ribs, knocking him from his mount in the process.  The next rider, this one without a lance, spurred his horse straight for Kurt.  The big man lowered his shoulder and stepped into the horse.  The impact staggered the Immortal.  It staggered the horse even more, and Kurt squatted, grabbed at the legs of the horse, and thrust upward, lifting the beast up and over.  It fell to the ground on top of its rider.  Kurt stepped around the horse while it struggled to rise and thrust his sword into the nomad.  He was in no mood for mercy at this time.

Another horseman reigned in and raised his bow, taking careful aim at Kurt.  The shaft sped in, looking to the eyes of the Immortal like it was traveling in slow motion.  He swatted the shaft away with his free hand, then ran at the archer, leading with his sword.  In a moment that man was falling to the ground with an awful wound in his chest, and Kurt was looking for his next target.

*     *     *

Watching his partners in action, Fenris wondered why he had been so concerned about taking on three or so score of nomads.  The Immortals were slicing through them like they were helpless children, while the magic users, the Dwarf and the Human, were throwing spells to stagger the imagination.  And, he thought to himself, I’m no slouch with a bow.  But now he was out of arrows, and he pulled his long sword from its sheath and headed for a pair of nomads who were scrambling to their feet and staring in confusion at the carnage around them.

One continued to stare until Fenris had put the blade of his sword through the man’s guts.  That seemed to galvanize his partner, who swung a hard blow at the Elf.  Fenris stepped out of the way, then took the next swing on his blade with a clang of metal.  The nomad was not a bad swordsman, but Fenris was a master, and had been a fighting man for over a thousand years.  Seven blows and the nomad’s sword was out of his hands, spinning through the air.  Fenris swung his blade in and took the man in the neck.  With spurting blood the man fell lifelessly to the ground, and Fenris brought his sword up into a defensive posture and looked around.  He saw the Immortals off a short distance, killing like machines of death, and the human Mage throwing blasts of fire right and left.  A bolt of lightning came out of the night and struck the Mage, and Fenris cried out, expecting to see a smoking body hit the ground.  Instead the young man fell twitching, and seemed to recover faster than possible after absorbing so much electricity.  The Shaman who had fired the bolt rode out of the night, his staff pointed at the human.  Fenris yelled again and started to run toward the Shaman, knowing that he would not beat the spell.

*     *     *

Jackie leapt into the air, over the heads of the lances.  She had joked about being a superhero, and at times like this she felt like one.  Now she vaulted five meters into the air, turning into a forward flip, her swords questing for targets and taking two of the nomads from their saddles.  She landed lightly on her feet beyond them, then spun around as the other two men tried to pull their horses around.  Another leap, another swing, and there was only one rider left to turn toward her.  The man looked at her with frightened eyes, plainly terrified.  Still, he spurred his horse toward her, and Jackie had to respect his courage.  That didn’t keep her from plunging both of her blades into his chest, searing one lung while freezing his heart and the other lung.

Jackie spun in place, looking for more targets.  She saw the Mage go down under the lightning bolt, and the Shaman ride toward him.  She started to run his way as the staff pointed at the young man again.  Despite her speed she knew that she would not make it.

*     *     *

James grunted in pain as the bolt of lightning took him in the chest.  His teeth clashed together and he bit off a small portion of the tip of his tongue as he fell to the ground.  He knew that the power of the bolt was enough to have killed him if not for his own power, which gave him some resistance to all the elemental powers.  More to fire than the others.  Fire could not hurt him, while the others could.

He looked up to see the Shaman sitting his horse, looking down at him with hate filled eyes, raising his staff to point at the young Mage.  And this time he knew the power of the lightning would kill him, despite his own resistance.

The Shaman screamed and dropped his staff, bringing both hands to his head.  Something covered in gray fur came flying out of the night, hitting the Shaman and taking him from his horse.  The man hit the ground with ninety kilos of wolf on top.  He had time for one more scream before the animal took out his throat.

James picked himself up off the ground, looking around to see from where the next threat was coming.  The night was quiet, with no more nomads moving about.  James sighed in relief as he saw all of his own party coming out of the night.  We didn’t lose anyone, he thought, thanking the Gods of this world for small favors.  Then the Elf walked up to him and looked at him with angry eyes.

“Now you know why it’s not a good idea to play with the fire at night,” said the Elf, spitting out the words.  “None of this was necessary.  When we tell you something, those of us who know what is going on, it is best to listen.  We are very fortunate to have escaped without harm.”

James bowed his head, knowing that the man was correct.  Next he found himself looking at the Dwarf.

“You are very powerful, young Master,” said the Priest, nodding his head.  “You have a natural power, unlike most mages.  And such power comes without the wisdom that is necessary to develop the scholarly powers.  You must develop such wisdom through experience, or die from the consequences of your own willfulness and arrogance.”

“I understand,” said James, looking over at the Shaman who had almost taken his life.  I needed that.  I need some humility in my life before I get us all killed.

“We need to leave this place, now,” said Fenris, moving to his bedroll and starting to put together his pack.

“Why?” asked Jackie, looking around.  “We killed them all.”

“Maybe we did,” said Fenris with a grimace.  “And maybe we didn’t.  Either way, they will be missed at their encampment, and more will come.  Maybe more than we can handle.”

“They are correct, Fraulein,” said Kurt, walking over to his own gear.  “I learned the hard way that it is not good to be where an enemy can find you.”

Minutes later they were mounted on the Elfin horses and riding through the night.  The young Mage looked back at the darkened campsite as he rode, happy to be away from the scene of so much death.

Chapter Two

The forest country was a nice break from the grasslands they had been riding for so many days.  Their horses had outdistanced any possible pursuit, but they knew it was there.  As soon as they entered the forest of the Nord Peninsula Fenris and Garios visibly relaxed.

“The nomads do not like the presence of so many trees around them,” said Fenris, his eyes constantly moving.  “Unfortunately, there is good reason for that, as enemies can hide in the forest.  Still, my people are more at home in the forest, something ancestral, I am sure.”

“They also want nothing to do with the Nords,” said Garios.  “My people have traded with the white humans for ages, and I can communicate with them.”

“White humans?” asked Jackie in a curious voice.  “Like the Germans?”

“Not like the Germans,” said the Dwarf, shaking his head.  “Not like any of your people.”

“Are they good or bad?” asked Kurt, his own eyes searching the forest, even though he knew his own scout, out there in the woods, was better than anything that might be trying to surprise them.

“They are like most humans,” said the Dwarf with a smile.  “Some are good, some evil.  Most are somewhere in between, and want nothing more than to be left alone to live their lives.”

[Riders approach] came the transmission from White Paw.  [Many riders.]

[Like the riders from the plains,] sent Kurt in reply.

[No,] said the wolf.  [They are heavy with the steel you humans wear, on big horses.]

[Keep a close watch, and be prepared to use your mind when I call.}

Fenris’ ears perked up, and Kurt knew that the Elf could now hear them.  It took a few moments for his own ears to pick them up, and he was sure a normal human would still be unaware of the presence of the men.  They had stopped by a bend in the road, where they could see a hundred meters of straight path, and allow the others to see them as well.  Fenris had thought it a good idea to let the riders see them, as surprise could turn into a disaster quickly.

The first riders to come into sight stopped as soon as they saw the adventurers.  They were clad in chain from head to foot, with conical helmets on their heads, and long swords at their side.  Their sircoats were worked with a brown bear.  They were big men, strongly built, on big horses.  They had broad faces and big noses, features that reminded Kurt of Africans on Earth.  And they looked like they had painted their faces with flour, or some kind of solid white makeup.

One of the riders turned and shouted something, then both men drew their blades and started their horses toward the party at a walk.  When they had covered about a third of the distance more riders came around the curve of the road in a column of twos.  All were armed and armored much as the first two, except for what looked like a pair of magic users among them.  The riders kept coming around the curve, until Kurt counted thirty of them.

The leading pair stopped ten meters from Kurt and Fenris, the leading riders of their group.  They looked over the human and Elf, swords still gripped tightly in their hands.  “What manner of men are you?” asked the older of the soldiers.  Kurt heard the words as if they were German, translated by the Dwarf, who rode his own horse to the front where he could communicate with the Nords.

“We are friends,” said Garios, holding up an open hand.  “We are merely passing through.”

Another knight, this one with an aristocratic cast to his features, rode through the others.  A man with a lance and flapping pennant rode beside him, and a woman in leather armor followed.  That’s a magic user, thought Kurt, his eyes following the small group.  They reined to a halt in front of the party and the two scouts moved their horses back.

“An Elf and a Dwarf,” said the leader, bowing his head to the pair.  “But the three of you?  Are you Danes?  Those who have so troubled the king?”

[So, the Danish people came in to these lands,] sent Jackie to Kurt.  [I think we’re going to find all the Earth’s people in this place, eventually.]

Kurt sent back his acknowledgement, paying attention to the exchange that would determine whether they had another fight on their hands.

“They are not Danes, whoever that might be,” answered Garios, half turning and nodding toward his friends.  “These people are of the Germans, Americans and Brits, though of the same world.”

“Peoples of whom I have not heard,” said the knight, bowing his head toward the humans.

“How have the Danes troubled your king?” asked Kurt, waiting a moment while Garios translated.

“Because the king is a damned fool who would sell his soul to that Ellala Emperor,” said the standard bearer.  The leader immediately raised a hand to stop the man from talking while shooting him a warning glance.

[There is trouble in this land,] sent Fenris to the humans.  [More than that caused by the newcomers.]

Kurt nodded his head.  He had already figured as much from the statement of the standard bearer.  The king was dealing with his enemies, and not everyone in this kingdom thought that a good idea.

The leader looked over at the magic user.  She closed her eyes for a moment, and when they opened, they opened wide.  “There is great power in all of these humans,” she said in a quiet voice.  “That one,” she said, pointing at James, “is a Mage of tremendous ability.  A natural magic user.”  She looked over at Jackie and her eyes grew even wider.  “This one is Immortal.  I see no end to her life.”  And then she looked at Kurt with black eyes that seemed to look right through him.  “And this one is he who was prophesized.”

The knight’s eyes went wide and he stared at Kurt.  He shook his head, blinked his eyes, and looked at the three humans again with a smile.  “I forget my manners, my Lords and Lady.  I am Sir Gromli, in the service of the Duke of Nautersham.  I am certain the Duke would wish to dine with you tonight, that he may satisfy his curiosity.”

[I sense no deception in this one, friend Kurt,] sent White Paws.

[I want you to stay hidden while we are in the castle,] sent Kurt.  [Can you take care of yourself through the night?]

[This one will have no trouble finding food and drink in these woods,] replied the wolf.  [I shall wait for you outside the castle.]

“We will be pleased to meet with your Duke, Sir Gromli,” said Kurt, bowing his head.  “Please, lead on.”

It was a two hour ride to the castle and its surrounding town, during which time the Dwarf taught the humans as much of the local language as he could over the mind link.

*     *     *

The town reminded Kurt of Medieval towns he had seen in Germany, or the walled town that had still existed in France in his time.  The houses were close together, as space was at a premium behind the walls.  Carts of produce came through the gate from the surrounding farms.  The town smelled of unwashed bodies and raw sewage, and the German was unsurprised to see people tossing chamber pots from their windows onto the streets below.  That is something we will not tolerate in our new order, he thought, looking over and seeing that Jackie and James were both wrinkling their noses in disgust.  And Fenris looked like he was about to puke, though the Dwarf held up well enough.

The people of the town seemed a cheerful folk, going about their business with smiles, chatting with friends and neighbors as they went about their tasks.  There were many Halflings among the humans, and when Kurt mentioned that to the knight the man replied with a smile.  “The little people make good subjects,” said the Knight, waving at a guardsman who was patrolling the market.  “They have a way with plants that humans cannot duplicate.”

“They also have other skills that are not so much in demand,” said one of the men at arms.  “Thieving little bastards.”

“They do indeed make good thieves, spies and assassins,” agreed Sir Gromli.  “When they are on your side that is a good thing.  When not, well…”  The man pointed at a hanging cage over the marketplace, where small bones bleached in the late afternoon sun.

The little people seemed even more cheerful than the humans, and Kurt wondered about that dynamic.  Were they just that more cheerful as a race?  Or were they able to distance themselves from the troubles of the world better than the humans?

They passed through the portcullis, past the heavily armored guards, and into the large courtyard of the castle.  They dismounted and let the grooms take their mounts to the stables, then followed the knight into the keep.  The Major Domo of the Duke’s palace led them up some stairs to rooms that were being readied for them, chambers much better than they would have found in any local inn.  And then they were led in to meet the Duke.

Duke Haraald was a man in the early stages of old age, still vigorous enough, though at first glance not really fit for campaigning.  He sat the high seat in his hall as the party was brought before him, watching them through his black eyes as they walked forward.  A woman in the robes of a mage stood beside him, her eyes darting from person to person as she leaned in and whispered into his ear.

“You are those prophesized to come and take us from our bondage?” asked the Duke, standing from his chair.  He looked over at the guards who were lined up against the wall and gestured with his hands.  They started to file out of the room, their captain looking none too happy.  “You stay, Sir Gromli.”

[More about this damned prophecy,] sent Kurt to Jackie, keeping his face devoid of the emotion he felt.  I really didn’t ask for any of this, he thought.

[You might as well get used to it,] said Jackie.  [It’s not about to just go away.]

“We are on a quest, your Grace,” said Garios, bowing.  [Be careful of your words,] he sent to the others.  [Until we know where this one stands.  I sense no evil on the man, but remember, good can serve evil, just as evil can serve good.]  “We are on the business of the Goddess.”

The Duke bowed his head and made the sign of Arathonia with his hand.  [He serves the Goddess,] sent Garios.  [Or at least as much as he can.]

“Ask him about the kingdom as a whole,” said Kurt, looking over at the Dwarf.  “I would know what we face, and where we might be able to get a ship to our destination.”

Garios nodded and started to speak, again translating through the telepathic link they all shared.  “My Lord General Kurt would know where this kingdom stands in the war between the forces of life and death?”

The Duke looked down at the floor and spat.  “I stand with life,” he said in an angry tone.  “As to where that coward of a king stands, it depends on who is pressuring him at the moment.  I wouldn’t put myself in his hands if I were you.  You might be honored guests, or prisoners, to be turned over to the evil Ellala to the south.”

“And where can we get a ship?”

“I would give you one, if I could,” said the Duke after a short laugh.  “But, as my Duchy is land locked, I see no way to bring one to my castle.  The only place where ships are allowed to dock is the capital.”

“Perhaps we could sneak in,” said Jackie, her words translated by Garios.

The Duke laughed again, then shook his head.  “I could as soon smuggle five caged tigers into the city.  The Dwarf and the Elf might pass.  Might, I say.  But the three of you, especially the woman, would never pass.  And there are mages at all the gates checking for enchantments.  As soon as you entered the city the king would know.  I would suggest that you go to the port cities of the bend, the coastline of free trading cities to the east.”

“That would add four or five days to our journey,” said Garios, looking back at Kurt.

“I’m not sure we have that much time,” said the German,.

“What is this quest that you are on?” asked the Duke, frowning.

“We can trust him,” said Garios.  “He is a true servant of life.”  The Dwarf turned back to the Nord.  “We are on a quest to retrieve the Crown of the Lost Gods.”

The Duke staggered for a moment, then sat back in his seat.  “Why would anyone seek such an abomination?”

“To keep it from the hands of the evil Ellala Emperor,” said Garios.  “He has already sent a party to find it.”

“And what will you do if you get your hands on this, thing?”

“Make sure that it is never used,” said Fenris.

“Throw the damned thing into the deepest part of the sea,” said Kurt, raising his voice.  “I have no use for artifacts that enslave the minds of other men.”

“Your Majesty,” said the Duke, rising again from his seat and bowing.  “I will help you as I can.  But I must know that you can help my people as well.  The mothers and children often go hungry from the taxes the king levies, money that he sends in tribute to the evil Ellala.”  The Duke looked over at Fenris and nodded.  “Not meaning your people, my Lord.  I recognize the markings on your sir coat, and there is no truer friend to the humans than Lianardis.”

“No need to apologize, your Grace,” said the Elf, returning the bow.  “I knew of whom you spoke.”

“We will do as much as we can,” said Kurt, shrugging his shoulders.  “Though we have enough of a war to the south, probably as much as we can handle.  This I will promise you though,” said Kurt, before the Duke could protest.  “My people do not fight wars that end in settlements, and the trading of tracts of land and people.  We learned from the Americans here,” he pointed a thumb at Jackie, “that the only end to war is when your enemies are defeated, utterly.  And we will wage war against that bastard of an Emperor until his armies are crushed and he is deposed.  That I can promise you.”

“That will be good enough, my Lord,” said the Duke, dropping to a knee.  “And in return, I pledge my life and my Duchy to your cause.”

The Duke gestured for the Major Domo to come forward.  “We will have a feast tonight.  Let our guests refresh themselves.”

“Is it a good idea to bring attention to our visitors, your Grace?” asked Sir Gromli.

“The whole damned village saw them ride in,” said the Duke.  “It would appear more suspicious if we try to keep them secret at this point.”  He looked over at the people he had just thrown his fortunes in with.  “Just do not say anything about your quest, or the war with the evil Emperor.  Maybe everyone will assume they are Danes, and that I am forging a treaty with them.”

Gromli nodded his head, then turned away, while the Duke again gestured to the Major Domo.

“Baths are being drawn, my Lords and Lady,” said the old man who was in charge of the amenities of the castle.  “Clothes will be out in your rooms when you are finished.”

Kurt did not realize how much he had missed a hot bath until he soaked himself in the waters of the large pool the castle kept for this purpose.  The Nords seemed to have no nudity prohibitions, and the men were expected to bathe with the woman.  Jackie didn’t seem to have a problem, lowering her flat muscled body into the hot water with a sigh.  Kurt tried not to stare, but found himself looking at her out of the corner of his eye.  Her muscles moved beneath her taut flawless skin like those of a hunting cat.  Her disconcerting blue eyes looked at him with interest.  She was of lighter skin than most of the black Americans he had seen, though her skin tone was not uncommon.  Biracial, I think they call it, thought the man, though he knew the woman had said that both of her parents were full blooded Negroes.  Her short hair was straight, with a touch of gold highlights to its raven wings coloring.  Kurt felt himself blush under her gaze, his face reddening as she lightly licked her full lips.

“Get in the water, Dwarf,” said Fenris, sitting up to his chest in the hot water.  “No one cares if you look like a smallish bear.”

“Humph,” said the Priest, keeping himself covered with both hands.  “At least I am not as hairless as a girl, you effeminate Elf.”

Fenris laughed, taking the banter as it was intended.  Garios stood on the steps, the water around his ankles, hands still covering his groin.  When he took the last step he became unbalanced and his arms flapped in the air, trying to keep him upright.  Kurt’s eyes widened as he saw that the Dwarf was endowed like a horse.  Then the short priest fell into the water and submerged, to come spluttering up with a red face.

“We Dwarves do not take to swimming,” said the Priest as he worked his way to the sitting steps.  “Too much muscle.”

“Too much bone and rocks in the head,” said Fenris with a laugh.  And so it went, with the two trading jibes, while James lay back and relaxed in the hot water, and Kurt tried not to seem to be looking at Jackie, when she was all he had eyes for.

*     *     *

Jackie was slightly embarrassed to appear naked in front of the men of the party.  She knew it was a silly way to feel.  Her body, while slender, was nothing to be ashamed of.  All seemed to be interested in what she looked like, except maybe the Dwarf, who gave her one glance and nothing more.  The German Immortal couldn’t take his eyes off of her, though he tried to pretend that he wasn’t looking.  She looked on him with interest.  No, she had to admit, lust.  She had not had a man in quite a long time.  It was hard to remember when.  A boy back at the Academy?  Was it that long?

She looked on him as he sat in the water, running a loofa over his skin.  That skin was fair, with a scattering of freckles, where it was not sun bronzed at face, neck and hands.  Great muscles moved under that skin as he washed.  She had dated a boy in high school who went on to play defensive end at LSU.  Kurt’s body reminded her of that of her ex-lover.  Hard and supple at the same time.  Strong and fast and agile, a true athlete.  And he would remain that way for thousands of years.  That’s not true, she thought.  The Jewish man said we would get better with age.  Faster and stronger, more agile.  She almost couldn’t imagine being better than she was now.  And living for thousands of years.

Then her mind was back on the German, who was again giving her a shy, sidelong glance.  His eyes were also blue, the same blue as hers, like the blue-gray of water over Arctic ice.  She had wondered about that as well.  All the Immortals she had met so far had the same color of eyes, like that was a gene linked to their longevity.  Kurt, Ismael, Paul, even the two newcomers, the middle aged Russian and the five centuries old Polish Woman.  Not all had the same hair or skin color though.  Paul had hair of red, while Ismael had dark blond, and the Polish woman that of pure white.  And Kurt had yellow blond hair, though it also picked up golden tints in the light, much as hers did.

“I am so happy that we found this place, Brigadier,” she said to the Immortal, deciding to take matters into her own hands.  “The dirt of the road was getting tiresome.”

“Your beauty could never…”  The man stopped talking, then looked away, then back.  “I meant to say, I too am glad, Colonel.”

He then looked away again, and Jackie realized that if any movement was going to be made here, she would be the one who would have to do it.  She smiled at that thought, as serving women came in with large towels to dry them so they could dress for the feast in their honor.

*     *     *

The feasting hall was about what Kurt had expected.  Hard looking men and their ladies, who for the most part were also hard looking, products of a hard society.  Serving men and women brought food and drink to the tables.  He noticed that they were deferential to those who sat at the tables, though the nobles, knights and ladies seemed to treat them with respect in return.  I wonder if that is how this society works, thought Kurt, or if it has something to do with this particular noble.

The food was wonderful, good enough to have been served in the best restaurants of Berlin or Paris.  Pork, beef, capons, fresh vegetables and a fish and mushroom soup to die for.  Served with a fine vintage of wine and foaming mugs of a very good beer.  Except for the people throwing bones on the floor for the dogs to fight over, he could almost think he was back in Munich.  He said as much to his host, sitting to his left at the high table, the head.

“Not all of my people are so disposed to what they call the lesser people as I am,” said the Duke, wiping his lower face with a scented scarf placed on the table in water for that purpose.  “In fact, in many areas of my country you will find the lords positively mistreating the people.  I am ashamed to say.”

“And why are you different, your Grace?” Asked Jackie, sitting on the other side of Kurt.

“Because I made a vow to the Goddess, when I lay dying on a field of battle, and the bastards from the Ellala Empire combed the field looking for survivors to sacrifice.  I promised her that if she would save me, I would devote my life to helping her people, all of her people.  And the Elves passed me by, though I was sure they would have to see me.”

“And your King?” asked Fenris, holding up his wine glass for a serving girl to fill.

The woman was smiling as she poured the glass, obviously not a down trodden peasant.  And Kurt remembered the people in the village, laughing and waving at the knight and his men as they rode through the streets.

“My King is a snake,” said the Duke, and most of the nearby conversations stopped.  “He gets his power from the Elves, and would sell his own children to that evil bastard to retain his throne.”

“Is it wise to say such in public, my Lord,” said Sir Gromli.  “I know it is your hall, and most here are to be trusted.  But maybe not all.”  The Knight looked at one of the low tables as he spoke, and Kurt glanced that way to see what looked like a villainous group of sellswords.  Most were still drinking and laughing, but one in particular was staring at the high table.

“We will need to move soon, anyway,” said the Duke, shaking his head.  “We have these people here, and now.  What better time to take the throne away from that madman.”

“And sit on it yourself?” said the Knight, in a tone that said he would like nothing better.

“That remains to be seen,” said the Duke.  “I would leave it to my Lord Kurt to choose our king, since he is the one prophesized to save us.”

“We really don’t have the time to get involved in a revolution, your Grace,” said Fenris, holding up a hand.  “We have a mission, and a vital mission it is.”

The Duke looked crestfallen, like his last hope had been pulled from beneath his feet.  “Then I am doomed.  We are doomed.”

“We will be back to liberate this country when we can,” said Jackie, smiling at the Duke.  “I am sure we can do that for you.”

“She is correct,” said Kurt, holding out his mug for more beer.  “In time we will be able to come to your aid.”

“I am afraid it is time I do not have,” said the Duke, looking down at the floor.

“You’re not that old,” said Jackie, looking from face to face.  “And I’m sure we can be of aid in the next year.”

“That’s not what he means,” said Garios, a frown on his face.

“The Dwarf is correct,” said Sir Gromli, shaking his head.  “The King is said to be on the verge of signing arrest warrants for all of us.  It seems the rumors that we might be in opposition to him have been spreading.  I am afraid that within the week we will have an army outside our gates.  And I would spare my people the horrors of a siege.”

Kurt sat there for a moment, wondering what they would have to do to resolve this situation.  Their mission was very important, if truth be told, of absolute importance.  But they needed a ship to go to this northern peninsula where the hidden temple was said to be found.  Ships could be found and hired in the capital of this nation, though they might be available in other locations as well.  And here was a potential ally in their fight.  Could he turn his back on such in his hour of need.  I will have to ask the Goddess to guide me, he thought.  And perhaps Garios can also be of help.

“I’ll tell you what, Duke Haraald,” said Kurt, choosing his words with care.  “I would be a poor friend if I didn’t repay your loyalty.  So we will think of something, and confer with you in the morning.”

“Very well, your Majesty,” said the Duke, bowing his head.  He looked over at Sir Gromli and nodded.

“We have a gift for you, your Majesty,” said the Knight.  “Something that might aid you on your quest.”

“I’m not sure we deserve a gift, Sir Gromli,” said Kurt, still feeling uncomfortable at what to do about the Duke’s predicament.

“Oh, we think you will deserve this one, your Majesty,” said the Knight with a laugh.  “And you will do us a great favor by taking him off our hands.”

The dungeons of the castle were not extensive, and while not the filthy holes he would have expected in such Medieval surroundings, they were still dark and damp.  And for the most part empty.  Sir Gromli stopped in front of one and a shadow stirred inside.  Garios said a word of power and the dark corridor and the cell were flooded with light, revealing a small humanoid in dirty clothing, his arm shooting to his face to shield it from the light.

“A Halfling?” said Garios in a confused voice.  “And what use would we have for such a creature?”

“Scan the bars,” said the Knight, pointing from the grillwork door to the windows.  “Tell me what you see.”

Garios stared for a moment, then whistled.  “As heavy a set of wards as I have ever seen.  Why?”

“This one is a master thief,” said the Knight with a chuckle.  “If those bars weren’t warded, such he would be gone.”

“Then how did you catch him in the first place?” asked Kurt.

“They wouldn’t have,” said the diminutive man, blinking as he looked around his shielding arm.  “If I hadn’t have been drunk at the time.”

“Master Halfling here made a bet in an inn that he could steal the Duke’s magic amulet,” said the Knight.  “Might have got away with it too, if he hadn’t been falling down drunk.”

“I wasn’t that drunk,” objected the small man.

“Then I guess you weren’t that good,” responded the Knight.  “It’s got to be one or the other.”

“Then I guess I was that drunk,” said the Halfling with a smile.

“And I introduce to Master Thief Xenonodes,” said Gromli, gesturing to the Halfling.  “Not his real name, I am sure.”

“Real names have power,” said the Halfling, looking intently through the bars at the others.  “Why would I want to give that power to anyone?”

“I come with an offer of freedom, from the Duke,” said Gromli.  “But only if you leave the kingdom.”

“And I’m guessing that you want me to accompany these people, wherever they are going.”

“That is correct.  And maybe you can accomplish something good along the way.”

“And what’s your story?” asked the Halfling, looking up at Kurt.

And so Kurt told him their story, or at least as much as he could tell in an hour.  The Halfling’s eyes widened at some points, he smiled or shook his head at others, as if he didn’t really believe what he was being told.  “And it will be very dangerous,” finished the German Immortal.

“You don’t get the bards to sing about your life by being cautious,” said the Halfling.  “And though I care less about saving the world, I do care about getting rich, though money never seems to last.”

“Then you will do it?”

“I will,” said the Halfling with a shrug.  “Though I think the bunch of you are delusional.  Prophecy?  Savior of the world?  But as long as you get me to where the treasure is, I’m the man you want to get it for you.  So, when do I get out of this cell?”

“Tomorrow,” said the Knight with a smile.  “And we will remove your chains when you are on the road.  No use taking a risk that you might find something better to do while still in the Duchy.”

“And I think he could do with a bath and some clean clothes,” said Jackie, wrinkling her nose.

Kurt prayed to the Goddess before he went to sleep, but there was no return communication from the being.  Maybe a dream, he thought, closing his eyes.  A presence in his room woke him from his slumber, and he started to jump up from bed and lunge for his sword.  I shot the bolt, he thought.  So how did they get in here.

“I’m sorry if I alarmed you, General,” said a woman’s voice as a shadow left the deeper shadows near the door.

Kurt recognized that voice, and grabbed his lighter from the bedside table and flicked it open, illuminating the room in a wan flickering light.  His breath caught in his throat as he saw Jackie in the flame, the light and shadows accenting her small breasts.

“What can I do for you, Fraulein?” asked Kurt, suspicious that he already knew her purpose.

“I think you know,” said Jackie, moving gracefully across the room and grabbing the edge of his blanket.  She slid her naked body in next to his and put her arms around him, then put her mouth to his in a passionate kiss.  Kurt returned the kiss, his hands rubbing across the smooth skin of her back.

“This is so wrong, Jackie,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and trying to push her gently away.  She resisted with furious strength, and Kurt was loath to push harder.

“And what is so wrong with it, you big oaf?” she said, reaching a hand down to his groin.  “It seems like not all of you agrees,” she said with a smile.

“You are my subordinate,” gasped Kurt, closing his eyes in pleasure.

“Oh, fuck that military shit,” said the woman, rubbing her hand on his member.  “I know you want me.  I just figured that I might not live long enough to see anything happen if I waited on you.”

“But, you are immortal, like myself,” Kurt gasped, then sucked in a breath.  It has been so long.  Far too long.

“And I would be waiting till the end of time if I waited for you, you big lug,” said Jackie in a whisper, nuzzling at his neck.

Kurt let himself go with the moment, part of him still telling him that this was wrong, but not offering enough of an argument to help him to resist.

The dream came in the early morning.  Kurt again found himself in the beautiful castle in the clouds, its Eldritch loveliness taking his breath away.  But nothing compared to the Elfin beauty who sat the golden throne.

“I am so happy for you,” said the Goddess, her eyes glowing.  “You have found your queen.”

Kurt detected a bittersweet quality to her expression, and he wondered what was going on behind those luminous eyes.

“What should I do about these people here?” he asked, knowing that he would not have much time in this dream world.

“What does your heart tell you to do?”

“I think I should help them,” said Kurt, shrugging his shoulders.  “But do we have the time to stray from our mission?”

“You must go to their capital anyway, in order to get a ship.  Going to another port would unduly delay you.   And the king of this land will try and stop you from leaving once he has you within his capital, which you must not allow.  Plus, it is in your heart to help these people.”

“So that is my answer?”

“That is your answer.  Trust yourself, Kurt.  You are a good man, though you worry inordinately that you might become like those you used to serve.  There is no danger in that.  Follow your heart, temper it with thought, and all will be well.  And enjoy your new love.  There are great things ahead for both of you.”

And with that the dream world faded, and he came awake in his bed.  He opened his eyes to see himself looking into the ice blue orbs of Jackie, as the dawn light came through the windows to illuminate the room.

“I had a dream,” she said, a smile on her face.  “The Goddess.  And she told me you would know what to do, and to follow you, and stay by your side, no matter what.”

Kurt kissed her on the nose, then lay back.  “She did tell me what to do.  Or should I say she didn’t tell me what to do.  She said to follow my heart and all would be well.”

“And does that include me?”

“Of course,” said Kurt, pulling her into an embrace.  “Always.”  And he made love for the second time in over forty years, and the second time that night.

Chapter Three

The next morning they were on the move.  The Duke had called in all his levies, his men and those of his counts and barons.  Altogether there were three hundred cavalry on the road, and four hundred infantrymen mounted on horses or riding in wagons.  Kurt looked over the small host and felt his heart sink.  Too few, he thought, seeing the mailed cavalry.

“Seems like a bloody lot of the buggers,” said James Drake, riding up beside Kurt, Jackie along with him.  Jackie shook her head.

And he has no idea about warfare, except what he has picked up in his short time here.

[Can we take a kingdom with this group?] sent Jackie over a private channel.

[I just don’t know] he replied, trying to sound like he had some confidence, and failing.  [Maybe they have more that will meet them along the way.]

“Hail, Kurt,” said the Duke, riding up to them, his personal guard in tow.  “Are you ready to ride?”

“That we are, my Lord,” said Kurt, looking at the lightly armored mages and priests that rode behind the Duke.  [And probably less than the king has as well,] he sent to Jackie.

“And where is this marvelous beast we have heard so much about?” asked the noble, craning his neck as he looked at the forest around the town.

“White Paw was up before the dawn and scouting ahead,” said Kurt, forcing a smile on his face.  “Perhaps tonight, when we have made camp.”

“Then let us to it,” said the Duke, waving to his standard bearer.  That worthy raised and lowered the standard several times, and several dozen armored men started riding quickly down the road, the advanced scouts.  The Duke rode toward the head of the column, his bodyguard in tow, and Kurt and his companions followed, sure that they were expected to ride with his Grace.  As they reached the front they continued on, and the rest of the small army started off behind them.  The higher ranking nobles had the position of privilege, out of the dust, while those of lesser stature would eat it.

[Everyone in charge is up here with us,] sent Jackie, looking back at the column.  [If the head is struck, the body will be without leadership.]

[They are a medieval force,] replied Kurt in agreement.  [No discipline on the move, probably none in the battle.]

Altogether it was a pleasant day, for those who weren’t riding through a cloud of choking dust raised by the horses.  Birds were singing in the trees.  No other animals were visible, and it would have been remarkable if they had been, with over a thousand horses on the move.  By evening they were at a crossroads, and continued straight.  Two kilometers further there were some road markers, and the scouts were waiting at this landmark, facing off against several hundred horsemen under a different banner.  The Duke called a halt to the column, and rode toward the markers with his bodyguard.

Kurt looked over at Jackie and Fenris, then spurred his own beast forward, wondering who these people were.  When he had gotten within earshot, he saw that the Duke was smiling and talking with another man in ornate armor.

“Ah, this is the man we have been waiting for,” said the Duke, turning and waving Kurt forward.  “This is the Count Kurt von Mannerheim, who has been prophesized to deliver us from the evil one.”

Kurt felt a blush come across his face as the description was offered, still not comfortable being called anyone’s savior.

“My Lord, this is the Duke Jeorlson, my neighbor, who has decided to throw his lot in with us.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” said Kurt to the man, bowing his head.

“Duke Jeorlson has prepared a campsite for us five kilometers ahead,” said the Duke.

Kurt frowned for a moment, thinking that they could make at least another fifteen before they had to stop for the night.  But these people have different priorities than do we.  And it’s no use arguing with our allies.

That night found them camped at a comfortable site, with nearby flowing water.  Fires were lit, and tents erected.  Kurt was surprised to find that several large tents had been packed for him and his party.  Camp food was good, cooks having been brought along with wagons to prepare bread and vegetables, while many wild game animals roasted over the fires.

White Paw made an appearance that night, walking in with Kurt himself so that nothing would happen to the large beast.  He let the Dukes and their principles see the wolf, and several gathered the courage to pet the beast while White Paw set to eating thirty pounds of meat and offal.

“He is truly a marvelous beast,” said the Duke, looking nervously at the seventy kilo wolf.

[White Paw thanks you,] sent the wolf on broadband, and all present who possessed telepathy oohed and awed at the power of the creature’s transmission.

Later, in the Duke’s tent, they went over a map of the proposed march to the capital, their own force, along with the nine hundred men Duke Jeorlson was contributing to the cause.

“And you’re sure Hrussar will come over to our cause?” asked the Duke of another noble whose lands they had to cross on the third day of the march.

“He will,” said Jeorlson with a nod.  “I am not so sure about Larrlson,” he continued, pointing at the next Duchy on the map.  “He may not allow us to cross his lands.”

“Then we will fight,” declared Haraald with a look of grim determination.

“We cannot afford to lose men, my Lord,” said Kurt, looking at the two Dukes.  “Does not this Larrlson have a champion we can engage in single combat?”

“He has a champion,” said Jeorlson with a scowl.  “A great brute of a man who has never lost a fight.”

“Then it is time for him to lose one,” said Kurt, looking over at Jackie.  “Are you up to it?”

“I would love to get into a good fight,” said the woman with a wide smile.

“You would have a woman fight his champion?” asked Jeorlson with a disbelieving look.  “She would be slaughtered like a lamb led to the yard.”

“She is as I am,” said Kurt, reaching for his mug of beer.  “I think you will be surprised.  And we really don’t need to get into a pitched battle with another force before we get to the capital.”

As the meeting broke up Kurt saw their new party member sitting by himself around a fire.  He walked up to the diminutive Halfling and took a seat on the log.  “You have no interest in the fight we might be in tomorrow, Master Xenonodes?”

“I’m not a fighter, not like you big people,” said the Halfling.  “I’m a thief.  You just get me to where I can work, and I’ll steal what you want.  As long as I get my share.”

“You have no interest in the cause we fight for?”

“I’m only interested in what I can get out of it,” said the Halfling with a sneer.  “If it gets you what you want, wonderful.”

Kurt shook his head and left, going back to his tent and getting ready for bed.  After the other night there was no question as to how the tents would be shared.  Jackie was already in the tent, asleep on the furs on the floor.  Or seemingly asleep.  As Kurt lay down beside her, she turned over with a smile.  Kurt returned the smile, and his next thought was about how much he had missed lovemaking.

*     *     *

They reached the lands of Duke Larrlson midmorning of the next day.  The force they confronted at the border was smaller than their own, but had the advantage of the ground.  The force was heavier in infantry than the allied army approaching, as befitted a force on its own territory.

Haraald rode forward with Kurt, Jackie and a knight holding a standard of peace, the sign that he wanted a parley.  A man rode away from the other force, three men at his back.  The other horsemen stopped at a point directly between the forces, and Haraald reined up and held up a hand to stop his own people.

“So, you have finally turned traitor, Haraald,” said the younger man after he raised his visor.  “I always knew the day would come, oathbreaker.”

“I do no more than our monarch,” said Haraald.  “He swore an oath to defend our people.”

“And what would you wish of him?” asked the other Duke in an angry tone.  “The Ellala give him no choice in the matter.”

“Gunson was a good man at one point,” said Haraald, shaking his head.  “But he has treated with evil so long, he has become as a shadow to the Ellala Emperor.”

“I will not allow you to pass my lands,” said Larrlson, looking back at his army.

“Have you informed the King?”

“Not yet. I had hoped to talk sense to you before sending word that would cause your destruction.”

“We’re going through your lands, whether you approve or not,” said Kurt, reining his horse forward.

“And who is this?” asked Larrlson, glaring at Kurt.  “He has the look of the newcomers.”

“He is no Dane,” said Haraald.  “He is of the German people who fight the Ellala.  He is the one prophesized.”

“A fairy tale,” said the other Duke with a sneer.  “A pretender who will lead you to your doom.”

“I propose single combat,” rumbled Kurt, pointing a finger at the Duke.

“You, against my champion?” said Larrlson, staring at Kurt in disbelief.  “He will kill you in an instant.”

“Not me,” said Kurt, pointing with his chin back at Jackie.  “Her.”

“A woman?” asked Larrslon, his eyes narrowing.  “I would not insult my champion so.”

“So, your champion is a coward,” said Jackie, sneering at the man.  “Or is it his Lord is a coward.”

“You dare to speak to your betters in such a manner, wench?”

“I am no wench, and you certainly are not my better.  If you want to prove you are, then lets you and me have it out here.”

“I would call your champion,” said Kurt, looking past the Duke to his gathered force.  “She’s quite the feisty one when it comes to combat.”

“M’tasarl,” called the Duke over his shoulder.

A large man on a large horse separated himself from the army of Duke Larrlson and rode forward.  They really didn’t appreciate how large until he had drawn closer.  The horse was the largest destrier that Kurt had ever seen, and the man made it look like a pony.

“I want you to kill her,” he said to the large man, pointing a finger at Jackie.

“A woman?” asked M’tasarl, frowning.

“So, you’re as much of a coward as your Lord,” said Jackie.  She spit on the ground.

M’tasarl growled and reached for his sword.

“Single combat,” cautioned Kurt, raising a hand.  “On the ground.”

“You swear to try no tricks while the combat occurs?” asked Larrlson of Haraald.

“No tricks,” said the older Duke.  “And you agree to let us pass if my fighter wins.”

“Agreed,” said Larrlson, nodding.  “But I see nothing but death here.”

For your champion, thought Kurt, watching as the large man got down from a horse that looked relieved to get the warriors weight off its back.  Kurt wondered for a moment about the wisdom of trusting a man the other Duke had just called an oathbreaker.  He shook his head at that thought, knowing that he didn’t consider Haraald any such.

The man was now on foot, and he towered over two hundred and twenty centimeters and had to weigh in at two hundred kilos, and the way he moved there was very little fat on that armored body.  He looked at Jackie as she hopped off of her mount and pulled her blades from their sheaths.

“No,” shouted Larrlson, pointing at the blades.  “Those are forbidden for a champion’s fight.  It is fighter against fighter.  Not the best magical weapon wins.”

“He is correct,” said Haraald, frowning.  He looked down at Jackie.  “We will get you two mundane long blades to take their place for this fight.”

Jackie nodded, then sheathed her blades.  She unbuckled the straps that held them in place and handed them to Kurt.

“You sure you want to do this?” asked Kurt, looking down at the woman.

“I have two blades here,” yelled one of Haraald’s men, running up with two sheathed long swords, different from the blades that Jackie used.

“Don’t worry,” said Jackie, looking up at Kurt.

He could see the concern on her face, but from the set of her lip could sense her determination.  The men of the two forces started to gather around.  Kurt thought a moment about attacking while the potential enemy was unprepared.  But he knew his allies would see that as dishonorable, though he could only think of it as smart.

A large circle was formed about the combatants, people from both sides screaming for their champion.  Kurt could tell from some of the calls from his side that many thought it a mistake to pit a woman against such a champion as M’tasarl.  He knew it was no mistake, though of course anything could happen in a fair fight.  One thing he was sure wouldn’t happen was that Jackie would take a death wound.  He would interfere if that looked to be coming.

The huge man stalked into the center of the circle, holding a great sword in a one handed grip.  He swung the blade through the air, it swishing with speed, and Kurt wondered if maybe it had been a mistake for Jackie to face the man.  I should have been the one to challenge him.  But all had agreed that it would be more demoralizing to their foe for a mere woman to beat him.

Jackie stood twenty meters away, holding both blades in front of her, not making a move.  The big man moved from side to side, glaring at her.

“Come, attack me woman,” called the big man.  “Or are you just another whore playing a man’s game?”

“I think you are the one that is afraid,” said Jackie, motioning at the man with a sword.

M’tasarl roared his displeasure and charged forward, his sword going up over his head.  Jackie didn’t move, and Kurt cursed under his breath at the woman who was playing with an opponent that didn’t need to be played with.  The man slid to a stop and brought the blade down on the unmoving woman.  Everyone sucked in their breaths, and Kurt knew they were sure that Jackie would drop dead in the next second, her helm split, her head cleaved down to her teeth.

Jackie moved in a blur, shifting her body to the right while her right hand sword came up, pointed into the down coming sword arm.  The tip penetrated the man’s armor for a couple of centimeters.  She pulled free and moved away, while the warrior roared out his pain and anger and brought his sword into a backswing.  He turned toward her and the heavy blade followed, while blood splattered from his wound.

Jackie ducked under the blade and poked her left hand sword into the man’s stomach, followed by her right hand blade to the joint in his thigh.  Both blades penetrated through the chain mail that covered those areas.  Not deep, just enough to draw blood.  Jackie spun away, then dropped into a crouch, waiting for the man to come at her again.   She didn’t have to wait long, as the warrior came at her with another roar.  He swung the blade in from the side and she jumped over it, rolling in the air to his left flank and pushing her blade into the man’s neck beneath his chain cowling.

Again it was a flesh wound, but as the man turned toward Jackie, Kurt could see the anxiety in his eyes.  He came at Jackie again, then shifted his blade, trying to catch the woman in a dodge. Instead she stood her ground, brought a booted foot off the ground, and kicked him in the stomach.  M’tasarl staggered back, and Jackie followed, her blades blurring into a series of strikes that had blood splashing in the air.

M’tasarl stood there panting, his eyes darting back and forth as if looking for an escape.  Jackie smiled and walked toward him, both of her blades trailing.  He swung at her again, wildly, and she brought both blades up into an X block, widening her stance and pushing the man back.  With a kick of her left foot she knocked the man’s feet out from under him.

The huge warrior landed on his back, and Jackie jumped onto his chest and put both blades on his neck, forming another X.  Everyone knew that when she moved those blades the warrior’s throat would be cut.

“Do you yield?” asked Jackie, leaning down to look in the man’s eyes.

“Oh, yield, M’tasarl,” said Duke Larrlson, “before she takes your damn ugly head off.”

The warrior nodded his head and Jackie jumped off his chest, then walked away.

“So, can we pass through your lands?” asked Duke Haraald.

“This man is as she is?” asked the wide eyed Duke.

Haraald nodded, and Larrlson produced a wide smile.

“Then I will join you.  For surely these are the ones who were prophesized.”

Chapter Four

The party looked down on the walled city of Hrasstad from the hills to the west of the capital.  It was a large cluster of brick and stone buildings, none above two stories, with some wooden structures scattered among them.  Kurt guesstimated that a hundred thousand people called it home.  There was a large arena to the south side of the town, and what had to be a palace in the center.  What interested him most were the docks along the bay the city was built around.  There were a number of cogs, single sail ships like those used in Medieval times, at the docks.  One as making way out of the harbor.  There were also a couple of war galleys, which could overtake the cog in the short run.

“The only way we can go in is through the front gate,” said Fernis, pointing to the wall, which had towers every fifty meters around its perimeter.  The wall ran around the peninsulas that enclosed the harbor, and there were a couple of large towers with a boom out at the mouth.

“Well, then that’s what we’ll have to do,” said Kurt.  “We’ll just have to blend in as best we can.  Now, what about White Paw?”

“Bring the wolf through in a wagon,” said Duke Haraald, looking down on the city beside them.  “As long as they don’t look in the wagon we are fine.”

“And if they do look in the wagon?”

“Then we start talking, really fast,” said the grimacing noble.  “I still think it is our best chance.”

“Very well,” said Kurt, remembering that the man really wanted a confrontation, maybe not at the gate, but somewhere within the city.  “Let’s do it.”

Minutes later a column of a hundred soldiers was wending its way out of the hills on the road, a half dozen wagons moving in the center.  As they approached the gate Kurt, Jackie, James, Fenris and Garios stayed near the center of the formation, trying to look inconspicuous.  To Kurt it seemed like they were trying to pull off a Monty Python routine, and he gave it little chance of success.

The guards at the gate halted the group, and Duke Haraald sat his horse and talked with the man.  Kurt couldn’t hear what was being said, but the Duke became more agitated, and it was obvious he was not winning his argument.  Kurt thought it must be because of the number of men the Duke was trying to bring into the city.  He wasn’t sure he would have allowed a hundred armed men into his city if he had been an unpopular ruler.

“He says we can bring in fifty,” said the Duke, riding back, then waving the tail of the column away.  “The King will allow no more.”

The guards started to wave them forward.  Kurt felt like cringing as he passed the guards.  He could feel their eyes on him, and even though he wore a helmet that covered most of his face, he was sure they could tell he was different.

The wagons rolled through, the guards checking half of them, but there were no outcries, so he was pretty sure the wolf had not been found.  When the last of the men was through, the gate closed behind them.

[I don’t like that] sent Kurt to his party members.  [The gate was up when we approached, and it’s still morning.  So why in the hell are they lowering it now?]

Nothing happened on the way through the town, until they reached the center, where they were waved onto the road toward the castle.  That had not really been the plan.  They had hoped to get lodging in the town, and then try to make contact with the underground there, learning the lay of the land and trying to figure out how to stage a successful coup.  It seemed that their plan had been changed without their approval, and they were going to be met at the castle whether they wanted to be or not.

It seemed that the further they rode into the city, the more soldiers were apparent.  Some were hanging around on street corners, or at the entrances to taverns that were yet to open.  Others were mounted, and rode by as if on their way to someplace else.  But Kurt noticed the same faces, and surmised that some of these men were riding around in circles, making sure that a large number of mounted, armored troops were nearby at all times.  He sent as much to his people, letting them know his suspicions.

[Perhaps we need to attack them,] sent Garios, looking decided uncomfortable about the thought of fighting from horseback.

[I don’t think so, friend dwarf,] sent Kurt, taking stock of their surroundings.  All of the high ground, in this case the tops of the buildings, were under the control of the enemy.  [I’m beginning to regret coming into this place at all.  But we must find a place to make a stand.]

Kurt looked over at the Duke, who also had strong mind speech.  [Duke Haraald.  I have  a bad feeling about this place.  I think we are being led into a trap.]

[In that you are correct, my Lord Kurt,] sent back the nobleman, looking straight ahead, giving no physical sign that he was paying any attention to his guest.  [I was afraid of this, but thought it worth a try to get close to the king, where we might be able to win the fight with a single stroke.  Since that is not going to happen, I have signaled to our army to look into attacking the gate.]

[Can they take it in time?]

[Of that I am not sure,] sent Haraald.  [Perhaps your wolf can help.  Though I still wish we had someone of yours, or the young lady’s, abilities to help take the gate.]

Kurt nodded, his eyes constantly on the move, looking for a place they could hold until the army outside the gates could get to them.  He ordered White Paw out of their wagon as they moved through a crowded market area.  There were a few cries of alarm as the large animal ran through the people out to market, before the wolf was into an alley and disappearing from sight.  Kurt linked with the wolf, looking out through its eyes, smiling as it ran down the alley, its vision taking in its surroundings in the strange color pallet of the animal’s sight.

White Paw ran through the alley, taking a turn and moving much faster than even the swiftest horse.  Cats howled and got out of the way, distracted from their task of catching vermin. The vermin ran as well, frightened by the sight of a predator they were not used to seeing.  Stray dogs backed away with whimpers, or tried to bravely confront the wolf, until a burst of psychic energy chased them away.

[There,] sent Kurt to everyone in the party capable of telepathy, showing them the entrance to the alley that the wolf was looking at.  There were soldiers in that alley, hidden in the shadows, anxiously gripping their spears and crossbows.  The wolf was sampling the thoughts of the telepaths among them, and reading their readiness to attack.  [We’ll wheel into that alley and take out those soldiers, then hold it against the rest of them.]

The Duke looked thoughtful for a moment, as if weighing the plan.  Finally he nodded yes, and sent out his own acceptance of the plan, while the telepaths whispered to those not gifted as they what the plan was.

“Now,” shouted Kurt in German, sending out the same signal through his mind.  The riders opposite the alley mouth pulled their horses hard by the reins and charged into the alley, while Kurt and Jackie rode forward, blades swishing from their sheaths and aiming their mounts toward a pair of the mounted warriors.

Ten of Haraald’s men were in the alley in an instant, riding toward the King’s men with drawn blades.  Fenri followed them, his bow strung, eyes searching the rooftops for archers.  As soon as he saw one he pulled and released, and a screaming man fell from the two story building with a shaft sticking from his chest.  A bolt came flying from the end of the alley, then another, neither on target, and Kurt picked up the laughter of the wolf as he sent images of terror into the minds of the crossbowmen.

Then he had no time for other thoughts as his horse slammed into the chest of a lesser mount, and he had something more immediate to take his attention.  The other horse went back, its hooves sliding out from under it in its failed attempt to remain on its feet.  Horse and rider crashed to the ground, and Kurt’s warhorse struck out with a front hoof that connected with the head of the warrior.

Kurt brought his blade around to parry the long sword of another warrior.  Lenoris was not glowing with power in this battle against mundane foes.  Still, it was a lighter than normal, sharper than seemingly possible, two handed sword in the grip of a man stronger than any the Nordican soldiers had ever before faced.  The sword batted aside that of the enemy soldier, then reversed easily into a swing, propelled by Kurt’s massive strength, to cut through the pauldron of the other man and knock him from his horse with a gushing wound.  Kurt pulled the blade away and into a backhand that took down another horseman.

Jackie’s blades did not need the catalyst of an evil creature to work.  Her right hand sword, a katana, glowed with the red of heat, while the left hand sword shone an icy blue of super cold.  She swung both blades in perfect rhythm, taking two men from their horses.  One fell with his skin on fire under the hole in his armor, the other with a look of fear on his frozen face, which shattered as he hit the cobblestones of the street.

Crossbow bolts flew in, the Nordican soldiers trying to down the two, to them, demons that were killing their close in fighters with ease.  Jackie took two bolts out of the air with her swords, moving in blurs of motion, one a streak of red, the other of blue.  One bolt fell from the air melted in the center, the other shattered as it hit the stones.  Two bolts flew at Kurt, bouncing from his tough enchanted armor in showers of sparks.

Kurt rode hard toward the pair of crossbowmen who had taken him under fire, his two handed sword pointed outward in one hand like a spear.  It sliced through the studded leather of the bowman like thin cloth, skewering the man.  Kurt raised the squirming, dying man into the air and flung him from the sword, then swung the freed blade into the other bowman’s neck, decapitating the man.  By the time he turned toward Jackie to see how she was doing, she had killed both of the men foolish enough to shoot at her.

[We need to get to where the rest of our people are,] he sent her way, turning his head to see a wagon now set up to block the entrance to the alley.  The mules that had been pulling it had been unhitched and driven off, along with many of the Duke’s men’s horses.

[What about our horses,] sent Jackie as she took another arrow out of the air, this one from a longbow.

[Jump over the wagon, and let the horse go,] sent Kurt, pulling the reigns and kicking his mount into motion.  [Once you’re away from the beast the enemy won’t target it, and it will run off.  If we win, we can get them back later.]  He didn’t bother sending what would happen to the horses if they lost, since it would not be their concern at that time.

Garios stood atop the wagon, his shield covering himself as he swung his ax into the shield of a horseman who was leaning over his saddle to engage the dwarf.  Kurt took the man’s head off just before vaulting out of his saddle and onto the top of the wagon, almost losing his balance on the tarp covered boxes and barrels.  He kept his footing, and turning around to strike the head off a lance, then swung his blade to take the right hand of the lancer off at the wrist.

Jackie landed beside him, keeping her footing with perfect balance in a display of agility that made Kurt feel like a clumsy buffoon.  She spun in place, taking another pair of arrows from the air, then jumping backwards into the alley behind the wagon.  Garios caught another arrow on his shield, while Kurt jumped down to the ground beside Jackie.

*     *     *

“We have mages coming,” shouted the Dwarven Priest, looking nervously at the approaching men in robes.  The street was now crowded with men in armor, bowmen in leather, swordsmen and spearmen in chain, and full armored knights in plate and mail.  And pushing their way through them were a half dozen men in robes, long staffs in their hands, murder in their eyes.

Drake climbed up beside the priest, his own staff in hand, his eyes flashing the red of fire. Fire was his element, his power, his to do with as he pleased.  He straightened up and pointed the staff at the other Mages, who were mumbling words and erecting shields against the power of one they recognized as a master, despite his young age.

A gout of fire flew from the staff, striking the barrier and splashing off like water.  Unlike water, it still contained dangerous heat, and many of the soldiers not covered by the barrier shrieked and beat at themselves as fire sprouted on their exposed clothing and scorched their flesh.

James cried out, and the spout of flames grew both wider and brighter.  Garios started the words of a protective spell, his eyes wide as he watched the unbelievable power coming from their Mage.  The flame went from red, to white to blue tinted in an instant, something that the Dwarf, having been around wizards all of his life, had never seen anything like it.  The Mages who were trying to deflect the fire were all at least of the master level, and no Mage, no matter how powerful, should have been a match for so many other wizards.  With scrunched up faces, they mumbled words and continued pouring power into the only thing keeping them alive.

Garios could feel the heat of the battle against his face, the only thing keeping him from bursting into flame the Divine protection he had invoked.  The canvas covering of the wagon began to smoke, even though there was little flow through from the power going out in a lance of fire.  Most of the flame continued to bounce from the barrier, but some started to get through, and one of the mages, the youngest, yelled out as his sleeves caught aflame.  He waved his arms, trying to douse the fire and only fanning the flames.  And the barrier weakened, and more flame penetrated, and, like water finding a hole in the dyke, it was the end.  In moments all of the enemy mages were on fire.  An instant later they were all reduced to ash, an object lesson for anyone wanting to challenge this young Archmage.

An arrow struck James in the shoulder.  The young man looked down on the shaft with fire sparking in his eyes.  The shaft withered away into ash, and the wound, sparking flames, healed.  And Drake looked with rage out on the soldiers who had injured him.  The men started to push back, away from the wagon and the alley.  Some more arrows flew in, some bowmen who thought maybe they could kill the Mage before he could unleash his fury on them.  Too late.  The arrows converted to ash in flight, the molten heads falling to the ground, while a wave of flame washed over the soldiers who had nowhere to escape to.  Scores fell to the ground, burned to death, while many more were injured by the flames.  Drake’s eyes rolled up in his head in weakness at the release of power, and he fell to the canvas of the wagon, the dwarf kneeling beside him, covering the young man with his shield and checking him for injuries.  The Priest could tell that the young man was still breathing.  He looked up to see many of the King’s men lying on the ground who were not.

*     *     *

“You ready?” asked Kurt, looking at Jackie as she sheathed her blades.

Jackie looked up at the roofline of the two story building.  Almost all of the buildings of the town were of similar height, and from here it looked like an easy run along the rooftops back to the gate.  Or at least easy to someone with the strength and agility of a superhero.

“I guess so,” she said without much enthusiasm.  She started to flinch as another bowman appeared over the edge, drawing back an arrow, before another shaft struck him in the chest and flung him back from the edge.  She glanced over to see Fenris, already notching another arrow to his enchanted bow and looking for a target.  A half dozen of the Duke’s men were also archers, and three of them were also scanning the nearby roofline for targets.

“Let’s get this over with,” she told Kurt.

He gave her a quick kiss, then offered his linked hands for her to step into.

Jackie put her right foot into the hands, and was instantly propelled upwards by the massive strength of the big German.  She pushed off with her own leg as she reached to top of the assist, and rocketed into the air, rising up above the roofline and tumbling forward into a flip.  She landed feet first on the shingles, slipping backward a bit before reaching down with her hand and steadying herself.

She looked up just in time to see an arrow heading her way, and in no position to do anything about it.

*     *     *

“We need to get in there,” yelled one of the noblemen who waited with the army outside the gate.

And what the hell do you want me to do about it, thought Sir Gromli, looking at the gate that was closed against them.  It was a stout gate, heavy oak with iron strapping.  To batter it down would take hours, with archers picking them off from above.

“What are we waiting for,” yelled another noble, this one a Count.  “The Duke is being assailed in there, and here we sit, doing nothing.”

Gromli had been left in charge by the Duke, despite being the social inferior to so many of the leaders of the force.  But the Duke trusted him above those other people, and so he had been given the charge.  With the Duke not here, and everyone wanting to act, he was not sure how much longer he would retain that command.

[I am sending someone to the gate,] came a powerful voice into the Knight’s mind.  A column of black smoke was rising from the center of the city, the sign that fire was being used, natural or magical, against someone.  [She should be there in a couple of minutes.  Be ready to storm the gates.]

She? thought the Knight, knowing it could only be the dark skinned warrior woman who traveled with Kurt.  Normally, Gromli would not trust a woman to take the gate house.  But the woman was not a normal female.

“Everyone,” he yelled out, looking around at the gathered men, all armored up, dismounted.  “Get your shields ready.  We are going to storm the gate.”

“And how are we going to do that?” asked one of the barons.  “We need a ram to take down that gate.”

“The gate will be opened for us,” said Gromli, staring across that distance they had to cross, that would be covered by archers, taking them under fire as soon as they left the tree line.  “That is what I have been told by Kurt, and I will believe him.  Now, everyone with a shield, we must form a wall and make our way to the gate.

They were not really a disciplined force, and it took longer than he wanted to get them ready.  Those with tower shields and the best armor were in the front rank.  What wizards and priests they had were in the second rank, where they could be protected by the shields, but still use their spells to aid the attack.  The rest of the second and the third ranks would hold their shields overhead, protecting those in the front rank and the magic users, as well as themselves.  While the crossbowmen and archers took up the last rank, ready to provide return fire at the archers who would line the wall.

As they moved out of the tree line it was apparent that they had been seen from the walls and towers.  There was gesturing and moving about, people pointing at the advancing men, of which there were almost a thousand between the Duke’s and his brother nobles’ men.  They had a hundred meters to walk before they came into arrow range, at least from common longbows.  They were already in engine range when they started out, but none seemed to be ready at the moment.

Gromli yelled at the top of his lungs, trying to keep his people in line.  Some ignored him, and a few knights got out in front of the line, trying to prove their courage, or their stupidity.

The first flight of arrows came in, and half the score of men who had left the ranks went down.  Those in the ranks weathered the storm, taking the shafts on their shields.

“Keep moving,” yelled Gromli at some men who tried to stop and care for the men who had been shot down.  He looked down at a knight who was laying on the ground, struggling to take in a breath while he bled around the arrow sticking from the mail coif around his neck.  “Our liege lord is waiting for us.”

They kept walking forward, their pace the best they could maintain with the weight of their armor.  Arrows, and later, bolts, were coming down, most striking the shields, some bouncing from armor, a few penetrating through to flesh.  A couple of fireballs left the wall, the sound of rushing flames almost as frightening as the sight.  Men started to cringe back, and the shield wall lost some of its cohesion.  The mages in the group shouted their spells and raised their hands, splashing their fireballs against quickly erected barriers.

At two hundred meters the soldiers on the wall got their engines working.  A pair of tower mounted catapults sent heavy rocks arcing through the air.  The Mages got one, knocking it to the ground before it reached the ranks.  The other hit the ground just in front of the men, and rolled through the line with unstoppable inertia that left five men crushed to death.  Moments later a scorpion put a spear through a shield and the three men behind it.

The line continued to move forward, absorbing casualties.  Their own bowmen were able to pick off a few of the enemy archers, and killed one of the catapult crewmen, but otherwise were ineffectual in keeping down the enemy fire.

They finally reached the wall and the gate, losing over seventy men on the way.  And found themselves in a much worse situation, with people above them not only firing arrows, but now throwing rocks and spears down as well.

I damn sure hope she gets that gate open soon, thought the knight, a heavy stone bouncing from his shield and almost knocking him from his feet.  Otherwise, there may not be enough of us left to take this city.

Chapter Five

“Can you get him back to consciousness?” asked Haraald, looking down on the human Mage who was lying on the ground in a curled up fetal ball.

“I don’t know when he will come back to us,” said Garios, looking at Drake with a concerned look.  “He channeled more power through his body than I thought possible.”

“I heard he was a mighty Mage,” said Haraald, crouching down as arrows flew over the wagon they were sheltering behind.  A dozen arrows and bolts flew back in return, as both sides tried to use missile fire to weaken the other.

“And he’s getting stronger,” said the Dwarf, putting a hand on the young man’s head and saying a healing word.  “He may get to the point where a mortal body cannot take the strain.”

Someone screamed out on their side, and Garios was on his feet in an instant.  “Watch over him,” he yelled at one of the Duke’s men, pointing at Drake, then ran off to see to the man he knew had to be seriously injured.  An arrow came over the wagon and struck Garios in the helm, bouncing off of the tough Mithral it was made of.  He cursed and ran on, sliding down next to a warrior with an arrow through his arm.  Not as serious as I thought, he surmised as he reached for the arrow to break it off for removal.  But he still needs healing, and we need the sword arm.

*     *     *

Their people were not winning the exchange of missiles, and Kurt realized he needed to do something about it.  The big man took a running start toward the wagon and rocketed into the air, his feet clearing the two meter height of the top.  People on both sides of the fight stared in amazement at someone in full plate doing what he was, his feet hitting the top of the wagon and propelling him into another jump.  He landed lightly on his feet, his sword already in motion to kill the closest spearman, who was trying to spit the Immortal on his weapon.

Kurt went into a whirlwind of an attack, his almost two meter long blade striking out to kill, then kill again.  A bolt bounced from his armor, then another.  He backhanded one of the last spearmen between himself and the archers, then ran six quick steps into the midst of the lightly armored crossbowmen and archers.  He whirled his blade in a great circle, slicing into five of the missile men, killing four and sending one man back holding the stump of a forearm.  Kurt took a step forward and swung the blade again, killing another trio of the soldiers.

A sharp pain took him out of his killing frenzy.  He turned in time to see a spearmen withdrawing his long weapon, and blood spurting from his left forearm, where the head of the weapon had found a gap in his armor. From the spurt of blood and its color, it was obvious an artery was severed.  In a normal man that might be a crippling wound.  For an Immortal it was an inconvenience, and after two more spurts the bleeding stopped completely and the wound healed.

The spearman’s reward for his attack was a severed head, then Kurt turned in a fast spin to take out more of the archers, catching an arrow through the side of his face for his trouble.  Shit, he thought, reaching up a hand and breaking the arrow that protruded through both cheeks and his mouth.  His face was bleeding heavily, something he really didn’t have time to deal with, and a wound that would heal just as fast as the last one.

Kurt became aware of a pair of heavily armed swordsmen moving his way, backed up by more spearmen, who were trying to form a circle around the Immortal.  He was having nothing of that, aware that the hounds could pull down the tiger if enough of them overwhelmed him.  He jumped back, then took a couple of quick steps, putting his back against the wagon.

The first swordsman ran forward, really more of a shuffle in his heavy armor, while two spearmen thrust in at the same time.  Kurt took one spear on his forearm armor, while the other glanced from his pauldron, and his sword flicked out in one hand to take the swordsman in the throat.  That man fell back, his sword dropping from his hands so both could reach for his throat in a hopeless attempt to staunch the life that was pouring out of him.

Kurt raised his sword and brought it down on the helm of the spearman to his left, crushing the man’s skull and dropping his lifeless body to the ground.  He brought the blade back into the air and repeated the performance on the spearman to his right, in a motion so fast the man had no time to react.  Then he was back on his guard as more of the enemy closed in.

Something dropped beside him, and Kurt stopped himself at the last moment from attacking the Dwarven Priest who now stood to his left with ax and shield.  More men jumped down from the wagon, until there were over a dozen armored knights standing with him, while a half dozen more stood on the wagon holding spears, and the same number of archers, including Fenri, stood with them, sending shafts into the enemy archers.

The fight went on for some minutes, Kurt’s side killing scores of the enemy, while losing three of their own.  He thought they might have a chance at breaking them, when the enemy commander, who must have thought the same thing, decided to change the equation.

“Back away,” yelled a voice, and all the men, swordsmen, spearmen and archers alike, stepped back, then to the side.  Revealing a line of horsemen, a compact mass three or four ranks deep, sitting their warhorses with couched lances.  And as soon as the footmen were out of the way they charged behind lowered lances.

*     *     *

Jackie pushed off with her hands and rolled in the air, the arrow passing within inches of her face.  She completed the roll and was back on her feet in an instant, Ice swishing out of its sheath as she ran toward the bowman.  The man was trying frantically to get another arrow notched, his shaking hands fumbling the task.  He just got it seated, looking up in time to see the bright blue blade coming in, hitting his bow hand, slicing through while turning the rest of his arm into solid ice and snapping the bow.  The man screamed and tried to jerk his arm back, shattering it into a splash of red crystals.  Jackie continued her charge and knocked the shocked man from the roof, to fall without a sound until he hit the hard cobblestones below.

Jackie kept running, to the end of the roof, launching herself just before she reached the edge and vaulting across the space between buildings.  She landed in a roll on the other rooftop and came to her feet, moving quickly to the next jump.  Two more arrows shot by, the bowmen either over or underestimating her speed.  She rocketed into the air at the next street, then worked her way from roof to roof, heading for the outer wall and the gate she needed to take.  After another jump there were no more arrows, she having outdistanced the bowmen the enemy king had stationed on the rooftops.

The gate towers came into view, each about four stories tall.  Both tower tops were crowded with men, the one on the left leaning over and firing bows down at something on the other side of the wall.  The other tower had men heating oil on a hot fire, and when they were finished it would be bad news for the men on the far side of the wall.

I’ve got to be fucking crazy, thought the former American Army officer, running up, jumping onto a chimney to get some more height, then leaping into the air.  I’m not going to make it, was her first thought as she looked at the tower wall ahead.  But she rose quickly into the air, until she cleared the crenellations by a half meter.  She pulled Fire from its sheath to join the cold blade, landed on the roof in another roll, and came to her feet with both swords swinging.

Five of the soldiers moved to engage her, leaving their bowmen to continue firing down on her friends below.  All were well armored in mail, with helms and shields.  They were soldiers, but not knights or men at arms.  They would be a match against most people armed and armored like Jackie.  Especially since she was a woman.  But not against someone with her speed, strength and agility, with the heavily enchanted armor sheathing her body, with blades of almost supreme power.

She moved into them, both swords taking a life in a couple of seconds.  She then dodged and parried, foiling the attacks of the two men who moved forward to take over from the men she had just killed.  Two more strikes and there was only one man left, who started backing away while shouting for his fellows to stop shooting at people below and engage this much more dangerous target.

Jackie crossed her blades through the soldier’s chest, the combination great heat and savage cold exploding his body, taking out his thorax.  The man fell dead to the roof stones with a blank horrific expression on his face.  Jackie herself thought for a moment about the terrible ways her blades dealt death, then dismissed that thought as something she didn’t need to deal with at the moment.  If she didn’t kill these men, and get her own people into the tower, her friends in the city would be overwhelmed.  And that was more important to the soldier that she was than in how she eliminated these enemies.

Two bowmen turned toward her, raising arrows to aim at her.  She leapt the distance from where she was standing to them, her swords swinging in to take their heads off in flashes of cold and heat.  The smell of sizzling meat and the sight of ice crystals filled the air to her front.  She moved to the left, taking out the two archers that were still raining arrows down below, then spun to her right and charged the remaining two bowmen.

Arrows started coming at her from the other tower, as well as from along the wall between the tower she was on and the next emplacement as well.  She ducked down behind the crenellations to plan her next move.  I need to keep people from coming up that hatch, she thought, moving into a crawl and dragging a body with her, until she had it over the heavy wooden doorway set into the roof.  She did this three more times, until she had four armored bodies lying directly over the hatch.  As soon as she had the last body over the hatch something or someone underneath tried to push it open, and wasn’t able to due to the weight.

Now to get some people up here, she thought, grabbing a coil of rope that was sitting by the catapult.  She crouched to the crenellation, looping it over one of the projections, then tossing the rest of the rope over.  She did the same with another length of rope, then looked over to see a couple of her allies trying to ascend.  It was a difficult task in armor, but without armor they would not have lasted a moment.  As it was, only one made it up and through the opening, while the other was knocked from the rope by a pair of arrows, one of which found the gap in his armor.

“Help me pull the next up,” she told the man, whom she didn’t recognize.  He looked like a lean and strong warrior, though, and he grabbed a rope and started working it through his hands.  Again only one man made it up, the one that Jackie pulled quickly with her superior strength.  The man climbed through the gap in the crenellation, then helped the other fellow pull up another man.  It took some minutes, but when they had a dozen men on the tower they were able to fire arrows back at the enemy, while men with shields defended them.

“Sir Gromli,” she said to the Knight when he made his way up.  “I’m going to do something about those bastards over on the other tower.”  Those men had poured several vats of steaming oil on the soldiers below, and were busy heating some more to repeat their performance.

“Are you sure you want to go it alone, milady?” asked the Knight, craning his head to look over at the other tower.

“Do you have anyone who can leap over there with me?”

“No.  But when we get some more men up here, we can take the next level down, then assault the wall between the towers.  Then, possibly, break through that door and into their third level room.”

“Then get a move on and get men up here,” said Jackie, flashing him a smile.  “In the meantime, I’m going to jump on over and stop them from pouring that evil stuff on the heads of our men.  And take out that bastard,” she finished, looking at a man in robes who was releasing lightning to strike the troops at the bottom of the wall.

Jackie moved to the far side of the tower, looked at her target area once again, then took off in a short sprint, dropping into a crouch at the last moment and springing up and out.  Several arrows flew at her, barely missing as the archers underestimated her speed of motion.  And then the wizard turned toward her, wand in hand, and sent a black ball of energy directly into her.

*     *     *

The men tried to scramble back over the top of the wagon, while Garios, due to his lower height, went under.  Fenris starting cycling arrows from his bow, one every three seconds, each a hit.  Still, it did not look like everyone was going to make it in time.

Kurt had been a strong man on Earth.  Standing over just under two meters, with a heavily muscled body of one hundred and eighteen kilos, he had always possessed greater strength than anyone he had known.  Since coming to Refuge his strength had increased to fantastic levels.  He didn’t know how much stronger he was.  He estimated four times stronger, maybe more.  And now he used that strength to snatch up an armored body from the ground and throw it at one of the charging horses with every muscle in his body cracking.  The hundred kilos of body and armor smacked into the horse with the clang of metal, and the horse fell back and to the side, interupting the charge of two other mounts.

With another quick grab and swivel he had another body on its way, then jumped up and back, spinning around on the way until he landed on the top of the wagon.  He turned just in time to swat a lance head away from Fenris, while taking another in a glancing blow from his breastplate.  Fenri backed away while fitting an arrow, then releasing a point blank range at one of the horsemen.  Kurt brought his blade overhead in one hand, then immediately brought it down on the head of the nearest enemy knight.  The blade crushed helmet and skull, and broke the man’s neck in an instant, and he fell off of his horse, knocking another man from his own.

Three more lance heads thrust in, two bouncing again from his breastplate.  One sought the gap between his pauldron and upper arm armor on the inside of his again raised arm, pushing through the chain and into the muscle below.  Kurt grunted in pain, forcing himself to concentrate on keeping a grip on the sword that his hand wanted to release.  More lances thrust in at the only target they could reach, and he backhanded them with his other arm, then dropped back from the wagon to the ground.

The horsemen were milling about on the other side of the wagon, having no way to get through.  A horn sounded, and the horsemen, after a moment’s hesitation, turned their mounts around and trotted away.

“What the hell is going on?” yelled Fenris, staring at the wagon, then over at Kurt.

Kurt was about to answer that he didn’t know, when the wagon started to move.  “Shit.  They’ve gotten footmen to the wagon.  They’re moving it.”

He took a step forward, getting ready to jump back onto the wagon, when, with a clatter of wheels, it started to roll forward, away from the alleyway entrance.

“Form up,” yelled the Duke from behind him.  The men started moving into a shield wall, spears and lances pointed out, archers and crossbowmen behind them.  Kurt tested his arm, still surprised at how fast he healed.  The arm was fine, and he reached down to pick up a shield that had been dropped by one of the dead among their soldiers.

“I’ll take the middle,” he told the Nords who were in that position.  They moved aside and he stepped into the gap, hefting the kite shield on his left arm, then moving his hand up to lower his visor.  He would not need peripheral vision for this as much as protection from arrows.  The wagon was jerked out of the way, and the Duke’s men let loose with the arrows and bolts they had ready.  Half a dozen enemy went down, not enough, as what looked like over a hundred came running into the alley, gripping spears, swords and axes.

Kurt took the first spear point on his shield, returning a sword strike that cut the spear in half.  A strike by his shield pushed the man back, and a sword thrust took out the man to that one’s left.  Another spear thrust in, and that man screamed out and fell straight down.  Kurt glanced over to see Garios pulling back his ax, the edge covered in the blood of the man whose knees he had just cut through.

After that it was a sea of snarling faces, one pale one after another.  Kurt lost count of the men he killed.  He was aware of men on his own side going down, and the ranks shrinking and reforming, until there was only the one thin line which looked to break any moment.

No, thought Kurt, pushing himself to the limit, speeding up into a whirlwind of destruction.  His blade seemed to be everywhere, his shield moving to where the sword was not.  Blood was everywhere, and the pink matter of brains, as the magical sword cut through armor like paper under the strength of his arm.  Several weapons struck his helmet, leaving a ringing in his ears.  He was stung several times by cuts and pokes, and the sweat was rolling off his face from his metabolism running in hyper.  In the back of his mind was the warning from Levine, and he wondered what would be missing from his memory after this battle.  But for there to be an after this battle, he needed to snatch a victory from this defeat.

And then there were no more enemies near him, at least living ones.  He panted from the heat overload, and his muscles ached from the acid buildup.  But he had broken the enemy attack.

“Are you well, my friend?” asked Haraald, putting a hand on Kurt’s big shoulder,

“Not so much,” he told the noble.  “I am in danger of overheating, one of the weaknesses of my kind.”

“Then get behind us and rest, for the enemy is regrouping.”

Kurt looked up to see what the Duke was talking about.  The footmen were still milling about, many of them looking nervously at the big man who had just shattered their attack.  Sergeants and knights were in among them, rallying them, while other knights and men at arms began to form up with them.  And beyond those on foot were the men on horse, lances pointing to the sky.

“I hope your friend is successful at the gate,” said the Duke.

[Jackie, can you hear me,] he sent over the telepathic link.   And recoiled as a scream came back at him.

*     *     *

The black ball of energy soared straight at Jackie.  She wasn’t sure what it was, or what its effect would be when it hit her, but it had an evil look to it, and crackled with dark energy.  It looked like something out of a science fiction movie, and she knew what happened when things like that hit people.

And then it was on her, and she screamed with panic as she felt the energy of the thing.  It had the feel of death, and she knew that any normal person would be falling to the ground as a shriveled shell of what they were.  She could feel a stinging as it moved through her, not at all what she had been expecting.  And then it was through, crackling into the air on a trajectory that took it away from anyone else.

Jackie was screaming in her mind, aware that someone else was in there with her for a moment.  [I’m OK,] she sent to Kurt with the speed of thought speech, ten times faster than verbalizations.  [Some mage just sent something that scared the hell out of me.]

[We need you to get those other men in here,] returned Kurt.  [We’re about to get overrun.]

She landed on the tower, immediately striking the head off of a spear with Fire, then the head of the wielder with Ice.  A sword came at her, and she ducked down, still in motion from her jump, then sprung into the air while both of her blades hit that soldier in the neck from opposite sides.  His entire neck and lower face exploded from the combination of heat and cold, and she spun in the air over the body.

The Mage threw a lightning bolt her way, which passed through her with another slight tingle.  She ran a few steps toward him, a blur with swords trailing red and blue light.  The Mage stared at her with panic in his eyes, mouthing the words to another spell, one he must have thought would save him.  That hope died as her blades both thrust through his chest, and his thorax blew apart from superheat and supercold combining.

Jackie looked around the tower top, at the eleven other soldiers who were eying her nervously, holding their weapons tight.  Might as well get this over with, she thought.  She didn’t think they would surrender, and she didn’t have time to try to talk them into lowering their weapons.  So with a yell and a sprint she ran right at them, her swords spinning in the air.

She was wounded a couple of times, slight superficial cuts on her hands, one to her cheek.  Her chain was as good as any made on this world, and the hits on it did nothing to penetrate, while her gambeson beneath took up most of the impact.  There would still be bruises, but nothing that wouldn’t heal in moments.

When she slowed down she controlled the tower top, as there was no one there to contest it.  Looking over at the other top, she saw that it was full of the Duke’s soldiers, almost thirty of them.  But still not enough to take the city.  To get the rest in they needed to open the gate.

[Can you take the next room down, Sir Gromli?] she sent to the knight.

[We can only try,] returned the knight.  [It will be difficult to get down that hatch in the face of opposition, especially if they have a mage down there.]

[Hold tight for a moment,] she sent back as she grabbed the catapult with both of her hands and started to pull it over the hatch to her tower.  She grunted with the exertion, reveling in her strength.  She had always been a strong woman, able to keep up with even the elite male athletes at the Academy.  And now she was stronger than the strongest man on her home world.  Still, the light catapult was only so in name, and she was finding it hard to move.  With another grunt and the scrapping of wood on rock she got it moving faster, until enough of it was over the hatch to prevent it from opening.

Here goes nothing, she thought, looking down at the wall top between the towers, and the quartet of enemy that controlled it.  There were doors on each side of the walkway leading into the first level of the towers.  Jackie threw herself from the tower top through the opening between crenellations, landing before a pair of the stunned enemy, who barely had time to drop their bows and reach for swords before she had taken their lives.  The other pair were able to get their swords out, not that it prolonged their lives by much.

Jackie ran to the door that led to the room below Gromli’s men, hitting it in full stride with her shoulder, and bouncing off with a cry of pain.  Shit.  That door’s just too damned strong.  Kurt or Paul might be able to break it down, but I don’t have the mass.  She looked at the door, growled in anger for a moment, then shoved Ice through the hard wood.  She held the sword in place, letting its super cold work into the wood, turning it into a frozen thickness of oak.  Holding the blade in place, she shoved Fire in next to it and willed the sword to flare into its maximum heat.  The wood shattered, blasting mostly inward, though some fragments flew out to hit her armored body.  There was now a gap in the door over a meter high by half a meter wide, still not large enough to get through in the face of opposition.

There it is, she thought, looking at the bar that held the door in place, now visible through the hole.  It was iron braced oak, and looked too stout to succumb to mere blades.  But there was nothing mere about Fire or Ice, and a swift stroke downward cut halfway through the bar.  Drawing the blades out cut through part of the rest and the edges sawed at the wood.  And a swift kick shattered what was left of the bar and crashed the door inward.

A pair of bolts came flying out, one a clean miss, the other hitting Jackie’s helm and bouncing into the air.  [Open the hatch and get down here,] she sent to the men above as she moved into the room with swords swinging.  She had caught one of the enemy in the shoulder, then shoved her blade through another, when yet another bolt came flying in and hit her.  But this one was different, with a glowing blue point, a magical penetrator that punched through her armor and into her left lung.

Crap, but that hurts, she thought as she stifled a scream, then realized that she wasn’t capable of doing more than gurgling as blood rushed out of her mouth in a gout.   She ignored the pain for a moment, cutting down another enemy, while the hatch above rose to let in more light, as well as three arrows, followed by two bolts and a spear, all hitting a target in the crowded room.

Jackie batted aside another blade as she returned Ice to its sheath.  She gripped the bolt with her left hand and tore it out, this time screaming as it ripped back through her flesh.  Her voice died in mid-scream as more blood poured from her mouth, but she had the bolt out and dropped to the floor.  The Immortal backed into a wall, using Fire to parry, not able to attack at the moment.  The pain in her chest began to subside, the blood stopped flowing up her throat, and she knew that the healing was taking place.

More projectiles came from above, taking out more of the enemy, until the first man dropped from above to join the fight.  It took some minutes to fight the enemy back to the stairs leading down, where some more of them were trying to battle their way up.

“You keep fighting your way down, Sir Gromli,”she told the knight as he came down the ladder.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Get that damned gate open,” she said, looking back at the door that led to the wall between the towers.  “We don’t have time to dick around here.”

“You’re not going to try and take it by yourself?  That’s suicide.”

“I’ve done pretty well so far.  But if you want to help me, get as many of your archers and spear throwers on the tower and the walls as you can.  Your support from above would be appreciated.”

And with that she was heading back out the door, to step up on the wall that blocked off the inner part of the walkway.  “Geronimo,” she shouted, a call back to her old days in airborne training, and jumped from the wall, the six meters below looking a whole lot farther than before she took the step.  Men below where trying to crowd into the tower Gromli and his men were fighting their way down.  Some looked up to see her, and started running toward her landing zone.

*     *     *

The enemy soldiers surged forward, once again in a compact shield wall.  Not anything like the formation that Kurt’s own people were now using, based on the tactics of the Roman Legions.  It was more of a formation that warriors from Europe’s Dark Age would have recognized.  That used by the Vikings and the Germans of antiquity.  Not as effective as the Roman method, but not any less dangerous due to that.

Kurt took a deep breath, blowing out the air as fast as he could, attempting to cool his big body, which was probably still burning at a level that would kill most living creatures.  His vision was still blurred, his ears ringing.  He needed a rest, but was not going to get it with an enemy advancing to kill him and his friends.

The Duke’s men, the dozen who were still on their feet, formed up, their heads bowed with fatigue.  It was obvious to all that they would not survive this attack.

The enemy soldiers roared their rage and bloodlust and started running at Kurt and his friends.  He gripped his hilt tightly and prepared to deal death while he could.

A ball of fire erupted directly in front of the enemy, burning a dozen of them in its hellish flames while the rest recoiled.  James Drake stepped forward, his staff held up in one hand while the other waved in the air.  The tip of the staff glowed with reddish power, while flames engulfed the free hand.

Drake waved his hand in a throwing motion, and a gout of fire flowed from his arm into the left front of the enemy, ripping into a score of men with a roar of flame.  There was some scattered screaming, not lasting long, as the men burned to death.  Behind them came the longer lasting cries of soldiers burned to pain, frantically knocking at the fire on their clothing.

The fire having left his hand, he next pushed the staff forward, this time to the right front, burning down more of the enemy, until the entire mass started to move back, slowly at first, then with greater speed.  Kurt could not blame the men.  Fire was terrifying, burning to death a horrible end, a courage breaker.  In moments brave men were throwing their weapons to the ground and running off like children.  And Drake, not completely satisfied with the punishment he had levied against them for killing his friends, sent ball after ball of fire after them, hitting the horsemen as well, whose panicked horses tossed them to the ground and ran off into the city.

Kurt shook his head, still in disbelief at the power of the young man.  He was glad that James was his friend, since he controlled a power that could kill him and those like him if used in the proper way.

“James,” yelled Fenris, running up and putting his hand on the young Mage’s shoulder.  “Stop it.”

Drake looked at the Elf with wild eyes, flames still crackling on his hand and staff.  He looked back out over the city, and Kurt was sure he was going to start throwing his flaming weapons into the helpless town, which with its Dark Ages technology was a tinderbox just waiting to flare with killing flames.

“Stop it,” yelled Fenris, and Kurt gripped his hilt tighter and started that way, knowing that he couldn’t allow the young man to destroy the city just because its king was a criminal ass.

James shook his head, his eyes clearing.  The flames retreated, back into his body and staff.  His eyes then rolled up into his head and he started to fall to the cobblestones.  Fenris dropped his bow and grabbed the Mage under the arms. Kurt was there in an instant, helping to lower Drake gently to the street.

“I fear him,” said the Elf, looking into Kurt’s eyes.  “And I fear for him.”

“Me too,” said Kurt, looking at the now slumbering young man.  He had been mentally ill on Earth.  Now he is supposed to be healthy, as well as powerful in the ways of magic.  But is he really?  Or has his illness just been pushed in a different direction.   One thing Kurt knew.  As dangerous as the young man was to them, he was more dangerous to their enemies.  And without him their quest was going to be much more difficult, if not impossible.

Chapter Six

Jackie came down on top of one of the King’s soldiers, her knee slamming into the back of his neck and pushing him downward.  She leapt from his body, both of her swords coming free from their sheaths.  As she landed she brought both blades up in a cross, blocking a sword that was coming down at her in the hands of a very large man.  She pushed back, moving the other blade away and the man was bent away from her.  In an instant she pulled both blades out of the block, stepped to the side, and stabbed both of them forward into the warrior as he fell forward, off balance from the sudden cessation of her resistance to him.

Catching something out of the corner of her eye, she ducked and twisted just in time to avoid a heavy spear that passed by, its head glowing with power.  The weapon smacked into the heavy iron shod gate, the shaft quivering after the head passed into and through the wood.

The Major swung both of her blades at one of the u shaped structures that held the heavy bar in place.  The blades sliced partially through the metal, not as far as she wanted.  Several arrows came flying in at her, two striking and bouncing from helm and chain.  Her attention was distracted from trying to get the gate open, and she turned to go on guard against a half score of men who were heading for her.

I don’t have time for this, she thought, boosting her metabolism into high speed.  In that state she turned back to the bar, grasped it, and jerked it upwards.  It took three strong men to raise and lower that bar, and with cracking muscles and braced feet she pulled it up out of the four brackets, then tossed the wooden timber over her head.

She turned back, waiting to be hit by many weapons, to be greeted by the sight of four of the enemy falling to the ground with arrows or spears protruding from their bodies.  And Gromli standing at the door to the lowest level of the tower, two other knights by his side, battling their way into the area in front of the gate.

The gate behind her shook, then one side started to push in.  The enemy men yelled out, more of them heading for the gate.  Gromli and his men struck some of them down from behind, then moved out to make room for more of their people.  Jackie stood her ground, striking down the men who tried to get through her to the gate.

One valve of the gate was pushed open three quarters of the way, and the first of the men on the other side came running in, crying out in their rage, ready to finally come to grips with the people who had been galling them.  Jackie waited for them to get up to her and joined them in their charge.  Soon the King’s men were the ones outnumbered, fighting on the defensive.  And soon after that the fight was over, with those who did not think the king they served worth dying for dropping their weapons and throwing themselves on the mercy of the invaders.

*     *      *

“You have to do something,” sent the King of the Nords over the scrying ball.

“And what do you expect me to do, King Gotrik?” asked the Ellala Emperor from his chambers in A’atapona.  “I have no men near to you.”  Because I have need of them to fight these damned Germans and Americans.  And the traitors who stand with them.  He had thought it would be an easy task to destroy the newcomers, who now battled without their fearsome war machines.  He had been proven wrong, and they had revealed a method of fighting unknown upon this world.  A method that had already cost him an army.

“Can you not send some dragons?” asked the far monarch.

The Emperor looked into the frightened eyes of the King through the ball.  And we’re short on those as well.  Maybe after the newcomers up there are separated into a smaller group, I might be able to send a couple up there.  “I will see what I can do, Gotrik,” he told his vassal, a lie, and one the other man might see through as well.  But he will soon be dead, and no longer a concern.

“Hurry,” said the human, his nervous expression looking out of the globe, the sweat visible on his dripping forehead.

The Emperor waved his hand, and the scrying ball went blank.  No use worrying about a man who is already dead, and a human besides, thought the Half Litch, walking from the room.  The next room over had a map of the north, including the Kingdom of the Nords, the North Sea, and the Northern Peninsula that was the target of his search.  A wild land of barbarians, both human and others.  And land of the lost, of legends of Northern Empires that had faded into the mists of the past.  And a land of lost secrets, such as the one I seek.

*     *     *

“So, how do you expect to take that castle?” asked Kurt, standing beside Duke Haraald.

“I don’t,” said the old man, staring at one of the gate towers, one that had a number of armored men standing atop it.  He pointed at the tower, at the man standing in the center of the warriors.  “I’m not going to lose more men taking out that bastard.  We will trap him in the castle and let them starve.”

“Aren’t you afraid his partisans might try to relieve him,” said Jackie, her eyes narrowing as she brought the king into focus.  He’s not a bad looking man, she thought, her eyes focusing on the middle aged warrior who still looked trim and fit under his armor.  Then she zoomed in on the face, to see the visage of a degenerate.

“If we had some hawks, or even a single dragon,” said Fenris, staring up at the men as well with his own sharp elfin eyes.  “I hate the idea of leaving such people behind us when we move on.”  He looked over at the Duke.  “And have you decided who will take the place of the king?”

“As long as it’s not myself,” said the Duke with a smile.  “I just want to go back to my Duchy and live a quiet life.”

[And that is why he is the person we need on the throne,] sent Kurt to Jackie.  [He is a good man, and one who will not abuse his power.]

[Isn’t it cruel to put the job on his shoulders when he doesn’t want it?] asked Jackie.

“But this is all moot when he is in the castle and we aren’t,” said Haraald, looking back at the tower.  “While he is still alive, he is king, even if we are in rebellion against him.”

“That’s easy enough to take care of,” said James Drake, his eyes glinting with fire as he stared at the tower.

“James,” yelled Kurt, reaching for the Mage, and pulling his hand back when he realized it was too late.

A fireball exploded outward from him to where the king was standing, obliterating the man and throwing those who had been standing around him off the sides of the tower.

“Problem solved,” said James, shrugging his shoulders and walking away with a smile.

“You will have problems with that one,” said Haraald, watching the Mage walk away.

“Might be,” said Jackie, looking up at the tower, which was pouring black smoke from its top.  “But I think he’s going to cause more problems for the people who are against us.”

[But the Duke is correct as well,] she sent Kurt.  [That young man is the most dangerous of us in some ways.  And he could destroy everyone else in the party with a thought.]

[Then we need to get him near to our enemies and point him at them,] thought Kurt, watching as the gates to the castle began to open, the men of a dead king no longer willing to defend his legacy.  [Now, let us see to getting some transportation to where we need to be.  This was a useful adventure, but it is not the fight we needed to engage in.]

*     *      *

The cog rocked in the waves of the Northern Sea, rolling in over the starboard bow with the dominant current coming out of the north.  The captain of the ship, a singular Nord know as Alred the Red, a fitting name with his unusual, for a Nord, red hair and beard, kept watch on the sea, his hand straying continually to the hilt of the long sword strapped to his side.

“He looks like a pirate to me,” said Jackie, looking back at the captain for a moment, then back out to the sea.

“The Nords are known to be sometime reavers,” said Fenris with a smile, glancing back at the man.  “I wouldn’t be surprised to find our good captain has captured his share of booty in the past.”

“I would rather have him than some merchantman who didn’t know which end of the blade to hold,” said James Drake, staring at the waves.

The young man, who had seemed to be losing it in the city, had now returned to normal, or as normal as could be for someone with the power he had coursing through him.  A smile was again on his face, most of the time, when the troubled look wasn’t in his eyes.

Jackie nodded her head in agreement.  The five of them, six if counting the Halfling, and the wolf, while powerful, were still only a small party going into an extremely dangerous situation.  And our Dwarven Priest is really not of much use right now, she thought, looking over at the small humanoid as he lay over the rail, his pale face staring at the waves that were causing him such gastronomic agony.

“A good morning to you, my friends,” said a familiar voice.

Jackie turned from the rail to see Sir Gromli walking from the hatch to the crowded cabins under the poop deck, two of his seven men on his heels.

“Good morning to you, Sir Gromli,” said Kurt, giving the man a short salute.

“It seems that our good Dwarf is not enjoying this trip,” said the smiling Nord.

“And only idiots would choose this way of transport when any other was available,” croaked the Priest.

“I enjoy the sea,” said the Nord, taking in a breath and expanding his chest.  “It has been many years since I have been at sea.”

“It was good of you to come with us, Sir Knight,” said Kurt.

“My King ordered me to come,” said the Nord, his smile growing.  “And, since he didn’t seem all that happy with his new position, and I craved more of the adventure you people brought to our land, it was a, how do you say, a no brainer.”

The Knight turned  to James, a nervous expression now warring on his face with his morning cheerfulness.  “And how are you this morning, Master Drake?” asked the man, forcing the smile to win.

“If you mean, am I still bat shit crazy,” said the Mage, looking back at the Nord.  “Better than most days, though the Gods only know how I will react to the rest of this one.”

The Nord looked away for a moment, his eyes roaming over the waves, then back at Kurt. “And what do you think of our ships, my Lord?” he asked the leader of the party.

“Quaint,” said Kurt with a smile, looking over at Jackie.  “And what do you think, my dear.”

“I can’t wait for us to introduce three masted schooners, or even men of war,” she said, remembering the ships she had seen on Earth during the parade of tall ships.

“My uncle owned a tall ship that he sailed in the Caribbean,” said James, a small smile creeping across his face.  “It was actually a clipper ship, fast as hell.  He rented it out to the well to do who wanted to experience sailing without too many of the discomforts.”

“And, what are these ships?” asked Gromli, looking from face to face.

“Sailing vessels on our world, from ages past, but still much more advanced that the ones you are using now,” said Jackie, looking at the single mast of the cog that was barely propelling them through the water.  And the best that the Nords had to offer, except for the longships that their reavers used, none of which had been available in the harbor when they had need of a ship.  “Something we can introduce to your world.”

“I thought your technology was failing on this world,” said Gromli, a confused expression on his face.

“It is true,” said Drake, nodding his head.  “But only for high tech electronics and fuel fed engines.  We have a history with so much more, things developed before high tech was even a thought of.  Windmills running pumps, fast sailing ships, canals with locks, printing presses.”

“Which we already have operating in the Refuge valley,” said Jackie, thinking of the print shops that the German engineers had established to put out flyers to drop over the enemy positions.

“And once we figure out what we can get away with as far as tech is concerned,” said Kurt, grinning, “there will be much more.  There are wonderful times ahead for you and your people, Sir Gromli.  For all the peoples of this world, once we can get them to stop slaughtering each other.”

“Good luck with that,” said the Knight, shaking his head.  “There are too many old hatreds, old wrongs to right.  I think you people can do miracles.  But whether they can do that one, I’m just not sure.”

The man at the top of the mast, sitting in the crow’s nest, started yelling and gesturing.  The Captain looked up, yelled something back, then started moving and giving orders to his men.

“What’s going on?” asked Kurt, looking back and trying to see what was behind them.

Jackie also looked, focusing her eyes and only coming up with the sight of more waves.

“The lookout has spotted the top of a mast behind us,” said Gromli, staring up at the crow’s nest.

“Do they know who it is?” asked Jackie.

“Not one of ours,” said the Knight.  “From there, your guess is as good as mine.”

Jackie looked over to Kurt, and from the expression on his face, knew he had reached the same conclusion that she had.

Kurt took a good long look at the scorpion that was sitting on the forward deck, in front of the mast, a quarter of stout spears lying on the deck nearby.

“How does that thing work against dragons?” asked the big man.

Jackie shuddered at the thought of one of the big, scaly beasts coming after them while they were trapped on a boat.  But like Kurt, she figured the enemy would eventually vector one onto their position if they had a spotting ship behind them.

“If it hits, it can really hurt one,” said the Knight, his own eyes locked onto the engine.  “The problem comes in hitting one.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Kurt.  “We might need some way to send multiple spears at one at the same time.  So it doesn’t have room to dodge.”

“But we only have the one engine,” said the confused Knight.  “And it takes time to load.”

Kurt smiled and nodded, his eyes never leaving the spears, and Jackie knew exactly what he was thinking.  Whether it would work or not was another story entirely.

*     *     *

“We have them, your Imperial Majesty,” said the Ellala commander over the scrying ball.

The Half Lich Emperor Ellandra Mashara nodded as he looked at the map of the Northern Sea painted on the wall.  The ship he was in contact with was just off the coast of the Kingdom of the Nord, about a day’s sail.  There were three other ships within a day’s sail of that point, though the enemy would, of course, not be at that point by the time they got there.  But one of them could reach an interception point about the same the time the trailing ship caught them, in about four days.  And if I could get a dragon to that point, to strike at the same time, I could assure that they go to the bottom.

Normally a dragon by itself would be enough to guarantee the destruction of a single merchant ship.  But with this group, he was not willing to take the chance that a dragon by itself would be enough.  No, I want both ships and the dragon to get to them at the same time.

“Here are your orders, Commander,” he told the ship’s captain.  “Keep them in sight.  And when the other ship I am sending your way gets to you, continue to keep contact.  I’ll let you know when to move into the attack.”

“So other aid will be coming, your Imperial Majesty?”

“Yes, Commander.  Hopefully more than they can handle.”  And we can use a victory, he thought, looking over at another wall which had the map of his own Empire painted upon it.  And markers that showed how close the enemy, the Germans and Americans, were getting to the heart of his Empire.  And when I send those humans and their allies to the bottom of the Sea, especially the one they call the Promised One, he of the prophecy, we will turn the tide of this war.

Chapter Seven

Kurt stood on the poop, near to the helmsman holding his wheel, and looked back at the two sails that followed them.  The second ship had come up the night before, and had fallen in beside the other as they maintained a five kilometer distance from the cog.  They were not five kilometers now.  More like three, and the oars were quickly pulling them closer.

“I think they’re closing for the attack,” said Jackie, walking up beside him and staring at the ships.

“I noticed that you didn’t sleep well either,” he told the woman, who had been sharing his bed since their night back at the Duke’s castle.

“You don’t sleep well, I don’t sleep well,” she said with a frown.  “I was catching glimpses of your dreams all night.  Damned telepathy isn’t totally positive, is it?”

Unless we’re feeling each other’s thoughts, desires and sensations while making love, thought the man, looking at the dusky skinned, blue eyed woman, whose eye color seemed to match that of all Immortals.  Then, it’s a wonder.  The memory of the early part of the night returned, with him thrusting inside her, and feeling both sides of that thrusting.  Any ordinary sex would now seem just too mundane.

He looked up at the sky, trying to spot the dot he was sure would be there, if not now, then in the near future.  “I want you to keep your eyes to the sky,” he told Jackie, looking back down at her and noting with approval that she was fully armed and armored, just as he was.  “We have the sharpest eyesight, even better than the Elf.  So I trust you’ll spot it before anyone else does.”

Jackie nodded before she started scanning the sky, and Kurt knew she had understood exactly what he was talking about.  Meanwhile, he walked over to the warning bell and started to bang his gauntleted fist against it.

“What in the hells is going on,” yelled Alred, running out of his cabin, sword in hand.  He was bare-chested, probably just out of bed and ready for breakfast.

“The enemy ships are moving to attack,” said Kurt, pointing a finger at the two galleys that were now up to their maximum speed.

“Everyone to their action stations,” yelled the Captain, running up to the railing to take in the two ships, either of which was probably a match for his own.

Maybe not with us aboard, thought Kurt, staring at the enemy vessels.  The rowers aboard those things are slaves, not willing warriors ready to drop the oars and fight.  As long as they don’t hole and sink us, we should be able to beat them.

“What is it, my Lord Kurt?” said Fenris, running up the ladder and onto the poop deck on light feet, his bow clutched in his hand, unlaced armor thrown over his shoulder.

“We may have need of your bow, and soon, Lord Fenris,” said Kurt, turning toward the Ellala warrior.  “Do you think you could pick off some of the men on the decks.”

“Not until they get closer,” said the Elf officer, giving a very human head shake.  “And by then, we’ll be in their range as well.  Plus, they have a catapult each on the bow decks as well, which will out range anything we have.”  He turned for a moment to look back at the ladder leading up to the poop, and the young man who was coming up it.  “Perhaps our young mage can be of help.”

“I don’t think so,” said James Drake, coming up onto the deck, one hand wiping the sleep from his eyes.  “Oh, I can still throw some spells, but they aren’t going to be any stronger than what the mages they have aboard that ship can deal out.”

“What about your fire magic?” asked Kurt, his eyes narrowing.  If he can’t perform here and now, then we are in real trouble.

“Look at where we are, man,” said James, gesturing around the ship.  “We’re surrounded by water.  Even the earth, the place where I draw most of my power, is almost four hundred meters under this water.  I don’t have a hope of pulling any power from it.”

“And the sun?” asked Jackie, looking upward, then stifling a scream, pointing up to the sky.

Kurt followed her finger, immediately knowing that James was not going to get the time to draw the heat energy out of the sunlight.  Because before he could, the large red dragon diving at them would have already torched the ship.

“Get the scorpion ready,” yelled the Captain, waving to some of the crew who were already on deck in leather armor, weapons belted to their sides.  “Engage that damned thing, before it puts us on the bottom.”

*     *     *

The commander of the Imperial Ship Colossus cursed as he caught sight of the dragon dropping from the sky with folded wings.  The damned rider was supposed to wait until we were within engagement range before he showed himself, he thought, toying with the idea of warning the pilot off.  But it was too late now.  The dragon would not be able to recover from its dive before coming within engine range of the ship.  And if they had a mage aboard, which he knew they did, the dragon would be within striking distance of his magic.

“Drive the slaves to row faster,” he yelled down to the waist, where the drummers were drumming the rhythm and the master walked from bench to bench plying his whip.  The same thing was going on below decks, with the other rowers.  The males at the oars grunted, groaned and sometimes cried out  as the lashes stripped flesh from their backs.

“They are pulling as hard as they can,” called back the rowing master, stopping for a moment to lash the back of a muscular Grogatha.  The Orc yelled out, but did nothing more to pull harder, lending verisimilitude to the pronouncement of the master.  The men, a combination of Ellala, humans and Grogatha, with an occasional Dwarf in the mix, were obviously already pulling as hard as they could.

With a roar the dragon let out a ball of fire before spreading its wings and braking.  The fireball hit the deck, setting a mass of wood afire, engulfing one robed man on the poop, while everyone else scattered, some into the water.

Unless I’m mistaken, that’s the end of their mage, thought the Commander, waving at the commander of his other ship.  The second galley started to veer away, sticking with the plan to come up on the enemy ship from different sides.  The dragon skimmed the waves, flapping its wings and again gaining altitude, turning into a bank that would bring it back to the cog.

As it maneuvered back to the ship the scorpion mounted on the front let loose with a long spear that barely missed the wing of the dragon.  The Commander was thinking that they shot their best bolt, when a large man in armor reared back and threw one of the long spears at the flying beast.  An impossible throw that took the rider through the chest at far arrow range.  The rider went limp immediately and fell slack into the webbing that held him to the saddle.

The dragon roared again, this time in anger that his rider had been killed, and released another gout of flames, hitting the sail and turning it to ash in an instant.  It banked again, turning back to the ship, obviously with nothing in mind but the total destruction of the cog.  Which it looked ready to achieve, its mouth open, flames licking at the sides of its gums, ready to kill the ship.  Until something even more powerful rose from that vessel to hit the dragon.

*     *     *

The fireball came down from the dragon to the deck, exploding with flame and starting a roaring blaze on the deck.  The helmsman and Captain jumped away, the helmsman over the side, while James was engulfed in a ball that should have taken the flesh from his bones.  Jackie yelled and tried to get to him, but was repulsed by the awful heat of the natural flames.

James started to cry out as well, sure that he was about to be in terrible agony as the flesh was burned from his bones.  He opened his mouth to scream, then realized that he felt no pain.  In fact, he felt really good, surrounded by a sense of warmth that went through to his soul.  And a sense of power.  He turned in the flames, looking out at the other people running about their duties to try and fight the ship.  There were some heading his way with buckets of water.  Not enough of them, as it was also vital to fight off the dragon, or staunching one blaze would mean nothing.

The scorpion fired, launching its three meter long missile into the air, to miss the dragon.  Kurt grabbed one of the spears, reared back, and launched it through the air with a hum of speed, his great muscles sending it like a god of legend at the dragon.  It missed the monster, going high, and speared through the rider, killing him in an instant, and driving the dragon into a frenzy.

The dragon released another gout of flame, this time hitting the mast and ashing the sail.  It flapped for altitude, then banked again and headed back for the ship, its mouth open, waves of heat coming off of it into the surrounding air.

Drake pulled as much of the fire as he could into his body, to the point where the warm feeling started to head into the region of pain.  With a shout, he pointed his right finger at the dragon, sending a stream of white hot fire into the beast.

Red dragons were resistant to fire, more so than any of the other elemental attacks used by dragons.  Resistant did not mean proof, and the fire burned a hole in the red’s hard scales and into the less resistant flesh underneath.  The dragon roared as it released its next blast of flames, into the water to the port side of the ship.

“Eat this,” yelled James, taking the last of the flame energy on the deck, extinguishing the fire, then throwing a roaring ball that sped unerringly to strike the head of the dragon.  The ball exploded in fury, the monster was flung backwards, and when it cleared the flame it had no head, only the smoking end of a neck.  The monster’s body was limp and it fell heavily into the sea.  In moments it was gone, the water bubbling as the still hot creature sunk beneath the waves.

“Are you alright, James?” asked Jackie, running up to him and putting his arm around her shoulder.

James leaned his weight into the woman who had several times his physical strength.  “That exhausted me,” he said, looking at the bubbling water where the dragon had gone under.  “I’m afraid the rest of you are going to have to take it from here.  Unless we set the ship on fire again.”

“I don’t think that would be wise,” said Kurt, coming up beside the young man, holding one of the three meter long spears in his hand.  “The ship can only handle so much burning before we’re incapable of sailing.  I understand you don’t have the power to do what you just did to the dragon to those ships.  But any magic you can muster will be appreciated.”

*     *     *

“What are we to do, my Lord?” asked the Officer of Marines, staring at the spot where the dragon had gone into the water.

“What do you think, fool?” said the Commander, glaring at the officer.  “We have orders to take that ship and the people aboard it.  And that is what we are going to do.”

“But, their mage killed that dragon.”

“And they have not faced our mages,” growled the Commander, nodding to the two men standing in the bow of the ship.  One of the wizards looked back and raised his staff into the air. The Commander raised his hand into the air and motioned at the enemy cog.

The Mage gave a slight head nod, then turned back and raised his staff again into the air, while calling out some power words.  The winds coming down from the north increased in strength, and the Mage lowered his staff to point at the water near to the cog.  He shouted out more words of power, and a blue light sprung from the staff to the spot where the rod was pointed.  The liquid flared with light, and solidified, turned to ice by the power of the water mage.

All of the mages aboard the galleys could throw fireballs, to a degree, but all specialized in the magic of wind or water, thought to be more useful at sea.  The other three mages performed the same spell, and the cog lurched to a halt, surrounded by the ice that captured entire waves in its embrace as it instantaneously crystallized.

“Let loose the catapults,” yelled the Commander, and both ships released the forward mounted arms of their weapons, sending balls of fiery pitch toward the cog.  One missed far to the port, landing on the ice to burn harmlessly.

The other struck the stern of the ship, the ball sliding to the ice, but enough pitch being rubbed off to start the wood on fire.

“Reload and loose again,” yelled the Commander.  “And all archers, shoot burning arrows into that vessel.  I will see them burn to the waterline before we are through.”

The archers on each vessel, half of the fifty marines that both carried, ignited the heads of their arrows and set them to string, then sent them in arcing paths over to the enemy ship.  Soon the cog was burning by the stern, and there seemed no way this enemy would be victorious this day.

“Soften the ice up to them,” yelled the Captain to his mages.  “I want us to capture who we can.”  He looked back at the steersman.  “Do not come to close.  We don’t want to catch ourselves afire.”

The archers had now switched to regular arrows, which gave them quite a bit more accuracy.  And they had taken out the helmsman on the poop, and forced everyone else to cover.  I will bring the Emperor the people he seeks, and he will reward me greatly.  And that was all the Commander could think of while his ship rowed through the gap in the ice that the mages had opened.  That he had this enemy, and there was nothing they could do about it.

*     *     *

“I would call that a tactical error,” said Kurt, crouched down and holding a shield over Fenris and the Captain.

Jackie crouched near him, holding her own shield in place, while Garios stood beside her sheltering under his own Mithral device.  James was the only one not crouching down, standing out in the open in the midst of the flames and the smoke, again absorbing the fire and heat.  Arrows were dropping around him as well, their shafts converting to ash and semi-molten heads falling off balance to the deck.

“What do you want me to do?” yelled the young mage in a voice that sounded like the roar of flames.

“Wait until the approaching ship is within thirty meters,” yelled Kurt over the cacophony of sound.  “Then kill everyone on the deck of the far vessel.  Try not to harm the rowers if you can.”

“And the near one?”

“I have plans for it,” said the leader, as another ball of pitch flew over and struck the mid-deck of the cog.  He watched with concerned eyes as the flames ran up the mast.  “The rest of you, act when I do, and we might not be swimming for it after all.”

*     *     *

“Archers,” yelled out the Commander, raising his right hand in the air, then dropping it.  “Sweep the decks.  The rest of you men,” he called, looking over at the twenty-eight armored men with swords and spears in hand.  “Prepare to board and take that ship.”

“They’re going sink soon, anyway, sir,” said the First Officer.  “Why risk our men?”

“Because the Emperor would like to have one of their, Immortals, as prisoner, so that he might find out what makes them tick,” said the Captain, angry that he had to explain himself to a subordinate.  “And there are two of them aboard that ship.  I would capture at least one of them, if either is still alive.”

The other officer gave a head nod of grudging agreement.  He doesn’t have to like it.  He just has to obey, if he wants to live.

The archers fired a couple of volleys at the deck of the cog, while the galley drew closer.  There was no return fire.  In fact, there was no movement on the deck, other than the pillar of fire that was swirling on the poop.  And the mages at the bow of the galley were keeping a close eye on that, ready to intervene.

Not ready enough, obviously, as the gout of flame flew from the pillar in an instant.  It hit the other galley in a perfect sheet that swept the deck without harming any of the rowers.  The mages, crew and marines were not so lucky, as the flame torched them, then blasted their dead and dying bodies off the deck and into the water.

*     *     *

“Now,” yelled out Kurt, coming up from his crouch, revealing himself over the rail of the cog.

Drake fired off the energy he had absorbed from the burning ship, sending a relatively narrow flare of fire across the two hundred meters separating them from the far galley.  Kurt couldn’t tell what the effect was on the people below deck, but everyone on deck was burned severely and tossed from the ship, just as the big German had wanted.

Kurt turned, drew his arm back, and threw the large spear at the enemy ship.  The shaft hissed through the air, hitting one of the mages on the bow in the chest, punching through and into a marine standing behind him.  Both men were lifted into the air by the force of the spear, falling to ground by mid-deck.  Jackie threw her spear just a moment later, hitting the second mage in the neck, taking his head off in a spray of blood.

Fenris was on his feet just behind them, sending off an arrow that took out one of the enemy archers.  He had another on the string before the first hit, and sent it on its way as well.  Garios was at his side, casting a spell of protection that dropped a half dozen of the foe’s arrows from the air.

“Let’s go,” yelled Kurt, taking some quick steps back, then running at the railing.  At two meters he jumped into the air, his feet hitting the railing as he moved forward, bringing his body down into a crouch and springing forward.  It was thirty meters to the ship, too great a distance for a normal human to jump, even without wearing full plate.  Kurt was over four times stronger than a normal human, and his plate weighed about as much as heavy leather armor.  He flew the distance to hit with his heels on the bow decking of the galley.  As soon as he hit the deck his sword was out of the sheath, and he was swinging at the closest marine.

That marine tried to get his short sword in the way with the reflexes of an Ellala.  Unfortunately, Kurt, for all his bulk, was even faster, and his big blade made it past the guard of the Ellala and through the man’s light chain.  Two more tried to mob him before he could get his blade out of the dying Ellala.  The one to the left screamed out as a red glowing blade thrust through his chest, flames shooting from his mouth.

“About time you got here,” he told Jackie with a smile.  He pulled his sword free and overhead, slicing in at the next marine and crushing his helmet and skull.  Jackie took off the arm of the Ellala in front of her with Ice, then kicked the screaming man out of the way.

The fight seemed to go on for hours in slow motion, as the two Immortals went into overdrive, striking down man after man.  There were no reinforcements coming to their aid, though Fenris did take out an Ellala every once and awhile with his bow.

“Surrender,” said Kurt to the remaining five Ellala, who had backed up to the stern of the ship.  The ship was dead in the water, no one manning the steering oar.  Two of the men facing them had the look of officers, while the other three were obviously just common soldiers.

“Kill them,” ordered the more senior of the officers to his men.  They looked at each other, stepped forward, and dropped their swords to the deck.

“Traitors,” yelled the officer, stepping forward and plunging his own sword through the back of one of the soldiers.

Jackie grabbed one of the other soldiers and pulled him out of the way, while Kurt jumped forward and slammed a fist into the officer’s face, knocking him down and out.

“These people are fucking crazy,” growled Jackie, looking down at the dead soldier, killed by his own commander.

“Maybe we can get some information from him, anyway,” said Kurt, kneeling down and checking the life signs of the Ellala officer, then wrapping a leather cord around the man’s wrists.  He looked up at the other, younger officer.  “I need you to translate for me to the slaves.”

“Why would you want to talk to them?” asked the confused officer.  “They do nothing but obey.”

“Because they are no longer slaves, and I need those who would volunteer to help us.  The rest can take the other ship and go free.”

“If we can get enough of them,” said Jackie, looking down into the waist of the ship, seeing the emaciated beings sitting there, looking up at the people standing over them, question marks on every face as they wondered what their fate would be.

*     *     *

Marshal Ellisandra stood on the pitching deck of the two masted carrack, looking back at the other two ships in their squadron.  All three were eight hundred ton vessels, with crews of over a hundred sailing men, and another two hundred warriors aboard each.  He would have preferred war galleys, but there would not have been much room for land warriors, after subtracting all of the crew, and especially the rowing slaves, that took up so much of their space.

“The Captain tells me we should see the Northern Peninsula in about five days,” said Glassini Ellishanana, her blue eyes sending a chill up his spine as she walked up the ladder onto the poop.

Of all of us aboard this ship, even the damned Ogre champion, she is the one I fear the most, he thought, watching the lithe movements of the master assassin as she walked up to the railing beside him.  Even with her look of total relaxation, he knew she was ready to deal death.  And he knew she had been set upon this quest to keep an eye on himself, to make sure he did not betray mission or Emperor.

“That is what Master Janaikos says as well,” he replied, referencing the Archmage that was in charge of their contingent of arcane magic users.  “And then our real journey begins.”

“Savage lands and savage peoples,” said the adventure loving Ellala assassin with a smile.

“More than you can handle?” asked the Marshal with raised eyebrow.

“I would think not.  And if something is, that mass of muscle Krug will surely be able to handle them.”

The Marshal gave a head gesture of agreement.  After all, they had six hundred imperial soldiers with them, almost all Ellala, except for the small contingent of loyal Conyastaya archers.  They were heavily armored, and all master swordsmen.  Along with them were over a score of mages, and almost as many priests, a formidable contingent of magic users.

And we’ll be facing what?  Large tribes of Nords and Grogatha, possibly Trolls and Ogres, shamans.  Just to get to the temple, of which we’re not even sure of the location.  And then through its traps and trials.  That was another reason the Assassin was along, she and her group of stealthy thieves and spies.  They would be depended on to find the way through the more mundane traps, the ones that would evade the senses of the magic users.

Do we have enough? he thought, looking forward, trying to pierce the distance with his eyes, though he knew it was useless.  There are tales of armies of legend seeking these prizes, and only a few feverish and dying men returning.

“When we have real food?” demanded the huge Ogre, climbing up the creaking ladder and then stomping across the wooden deck.  “Krug tired of this hard food, not enough to feed a skinny Ellala.”

At least this one fears nothing.  All we have to do it point him at something we want killed, and he will try his hardest.  Even if he doesn’t succeed, he may distract them long enough for the rest of us to get away.  And then what? he thought, looking back at the rolling waves.  Go back to the Empire, and face that demon who rules us.  I might as well throw myself into the pits of hell right then and there, and avoid the trip.  He looked back at the Assassin, aware of the faint smile on her lips as she returned his gaze.  And knowing that he would not have to throw himself into the pit were he to fail.  This one would do it for him.

Chapter Eight

The galley moved through the water, its sharp prow bursting through waves with splashes of liquid that misted over the vessel.  The rowers, now free men, pulled at the oars, a steady pull that moved the ship closer to its destination with every repetition.  The men were actually laughing and joking with each other.  They had eaten regular meals for the first time in months, and while that had not led to total recovery, they were still stronger than they had been.

Kurt breathed in the sea air as he watched the horizon.  The ships they were chasing had to be days ahead, if they hadn’t already reached their destination.

“Too bad we couldn’t take both ships,” said Captain Alred, who had been given the galley in place of his lost cog.

Kurt grunted in agreement.  They had given the galley slaves their freedom, and almost three quarters had volunteered to man the oars on their mission.  Which left a quarter that had not.  They had given one ship to those who opted out, and enough other men to fully man that ship, then had taken the slightly over manned vessel as their own.  And the men will be in much better shape by the time we reach the Northern Peninsula.  Strong enough to guard the ship while we are away?  Maybe even augment the force we send into the interior?  We can only hope.

“How many days to the Peninsula, Captain?” Kurt asked the Nord.

“I think about four days, at our current rate,” said Alred, holding up a finger to test the wind that was also adding to their motive power.  At night it would be the only thing providing power, as the rowers would sleep through the night to regain their strength for the next day.

“What can you tell us about the Peninsula?” Kurt asked the Captain, who, with some of his crew, were the only ones aboard who had actually seen it.

“Cold as hell,” said Alred, looking out over the water.  “Snow never melts on the mountains, and even the upper valleys are frigid year round.  Until you get near the smoking mountains.  You can see them from the fjords, throwing smoke and ash into the air.”

“Volcanos,” said James with a smile.  “Sounds like my kind of place.  Unlimited power.”

“As long as you keep it under control, young Mage,” said Fenris, receiving a hard glare in return.

Later, when most of the crew had gone to bed, sleeping anywhere they could stretch out, another unused to luxury for men who had slept chained to the bench, while the ship continued forward under sail alone, Kurt stood in the bow, his mind too active to sleep.  He turned as he heard someone approach, picking their way through the sleeping bodies on the deck.

“You could not sleep either, my friend,” he said to the Ellala, whose night vision gave him an advantage on the night cloaked deck.  Kurt could see him just as well, his vision, of a different class, able to penetrate the night with light augmentation instead of the infrared of the Elf.

“None of my people sleep more than three or four hours a night,” said the Commander, leaning against the opposite rail.  “It has something to do with our metabolism, the same thing that causes us hunger every four hours or so.”  The Elf looked out over the water, the only interesting sight at this time.  He sighed and looked back at the Immortal.

“Is something on your mind, my friend?” asked Kurt, gazing at the face of the man he had come to regard as one of his closest friends on this world.

“I was just wishing that we had another mage with us,” said the Ellala.

“You do not trust James?”

“I don’t trust his training,” said the Elf, giving a very human head shake.  “It’s not that he lacks talent.  He already controls more power than any other wizard I have ever seen.  More than an archmage.  And all natural ability.”

“And you think he would be more useful with training?”

“Of course.  Right now all he knows how to do is throw around fire.  Oh, and maybe a few minor spells that any novice could do, if not with as much power behind it.  But he lacks many of the spells any master mage could cast.  Divination, scrying, spells of protection.  Things we could really count on.”

“Well,” said Kurt, nodding at the Elf.  “He’s what the Goddess wanted us to have with us, and he is what we have.  So there must be a reason.”

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t have him as well,” said Fenris.  “I just wish we had other mages to take up the other duties of a magic user.  Garios can cover some of the spells, especially protection, but he can’t do it all.”

“If we find one along the way, I will try to hire him, or her,” said Kurt, rubbing his forehead.  “There is really nothing else I can do.  Now, excuse me, Master Fenris.  I believe I will try to get some sleep while there is still time.”

Fenris looked back at the two men who were on watch, standing by opposite side railings.  “I will stay up for a little while.  And probably get something to eat.”

“Do not worry so much, my friend,” said Kurt as he made his way through the path between the slumbering bodies.  “Your Goddess sent us on this mission, and I’m sure she did not mean for us to fail.”  But even the Gods of this world don’t always get what they want.  I pray this is not one of those situations.

*     *     *

The Emperor looked into his scrying ball and said the words that would establish contact.   The ball was obscured by mist, then cleared, and he found himself looking into the face of Grand Marshal Ellessa Ellisandra.  He could make out the hulking form of Krug in the background, the massive Ogre warrior glaring at the ball whose magic he probably didn’t understand.  High Priest of Bothar Jakisanda Millistara was also in the room, which had to be the guest cabin on the Imperial Cog they were riding.  There would not be room for any more of the team in the cabin, but the Emperor knew that they were aboard the ship.

“We should make landfall in another day, my Lord,” said the former Field Army Commander.  “From there it will take from five to ten days to reach the temple.”

“Try to make it five,” said the Emperor, glaring into the ball.  “These humans are getting dangerously close to the heart of the Empire.”

The face of the Marshal took on a striken look.  “There is a lot of mountainous terrain in between the coast and the temple, territory teeming with hostile Nords and Orcs.  And it  is hidden as well.  We know the general location, and have some clues, but no one has been there in thousands of years.  Or at least no one we know of.”

“Take whatever forces you need to get through those hostile tribes,” growled the Emperor.  “Take the crews of all three ships if you need them.  I don’t care about the ships, or their crews.  All I care about are those artifacts.  And I care little for the armor or the sword, as long as I have that crown.”

“Yes, Majesty,” said the Marshal, bowing his head.  “It will be as you say.”  The Marshal looked up, and the Emperor could see the anger in his eyes that he tried to hide, to no avail.  “Any word on our followers?”

“They have left the port of the Nordican capital in a cog,” said the Emperor, thinking back on the report from his spy master.  “The navy tried to intercept them at sea, with two war galleys and a dragon.”

“By try, I take it they weren’t successful in the intercept,” said the Marshal.  “Are they still in pursuit of the enemy.”

“They intercepted the cog the humans were using,” said the Emperor, scowling.  “But we think the humans destroyed one of the galleys, captured the other, and killed the dragon.  Since then, we have lost them.”

“We will get to the temple before they do, your Majesty,” declared the Marshal.  “On that I will stake my life.”

“You already have, Marshal Ellisandra,” said the Emperor, waving a hand the sever the connection.  “You already have.”

*     *     *

Son of a whore, thought Ellessa as the connection faded.  I do my best for him, and still he threatens my life.  When none of his other generals have accomplished much against them.  He looked at the hulking Ogre, who he knew was as much there to make sure the Marshal did as he was told as to provide muscle for the lesser artifacts.  And when the crown is on my brow, we will see who you obey, you brainless oaf.  And we will see who will rule on that day.

The Marshal dismissed the Ogre and the Death Mage from his cabin, then sat down at the small desk that had been provided for him.  He looked at the map of the Northern Peninsula, several million square kilometers of mountains, valleys and deep fjords slicing in from the sea.  There was one fjord in particular, stretching sixty kilometers into the peninsula, a flooded valley.  And at its end was several thousand square miles of high mountains and valleys, in which the lost temple resided.  There was one valley marked on the map, where the scholars in A’atapona thought the temple might be located.  But that was only an educated guess.  If that valley even truly existed, and was not just a figment of some ancient traveler’s imagination.

And I have the Ogre, almost a score each of high level mages and priests, a quartet of assassins, and six hundred soldiers, including the seamen I can press into service. That is, if I want to leave the ships unguarded, easy prey for the first reavers in longships who come upon them.  So, maybe take two hundred soldiers with me, and leave the sailors to secure the ships.

That thought in mind, he repaired to the deck, to take in the salt air and fresh breeze that was pushing them toward their destination.  He looked up at the two square sails on both of the masts, remembering traveling on similar ships when he was young, several thousand years before.  And here we are, just as slow, just as dangerous.  The only things the ship had going for it was it was safer in deep water than the faster galleys, and could carry more cargo and troops with its wider beam.

I wonder what kind of ships the humans will introduce, he thought, moving to the rail and looking out over the choppy water.  A dolphin jumped from the waves and splashed back, followed by another.  Their ships were probably like their war machines, able to move under their own power, able to move more quickly than any vessel we can imagine.  But they had to have other forms between what they had just before they came here, and what we have.  Better sailing vessels?  Probably.  And why are they so innovative?  We are as intelligent as they, in most cases more so, though they have the occasional genius that leaves our smartest minds in the dust.  Could it be because they don’t live as long, and have a desire to progress before they go into the ground?

All good questions.  And all unanswerable at this time.  Right now he had to worry about getting to his target and getting the artifacts, before the humans and their allies found it.  He looked up at the sun, then at the poop deck where the captain, and senior naval officer of the small squadron, walked.  He headed that way, formulating some questions that the man might be able to answer.

*     *     *

James at in the front of the galley, keeping to himself while he worked on his magic, using the book one of the Conyastaya mages who had been teaching the newcomers had given him.  The book was in a language he couldn’t read on his own, but an easy spell muttered before his study made it intelligible to his eyes.

Invisibility, he thought, already thinking of ways he could use this spell.  He said the words, made the gestures with his hands, then pointed to himself.  He watched as his hands faded away, and the effect spread up his arms.  Yes, he thought, imagining himself sneaking up on enemies before torching them with his fire.  And then the effect stopped, just above his elbows.  “No,” he spat, realizing that though he had the power, he hadn’t been able to channel it properly.  He said the counterword, and his hands became visible once more.

One more time, he thought, saying the words once again, trying to make the pronunciation as perfect as possible.  He made the gestures once more, concentrating on doing them as he had seen the Master Mage perform.  Again his hands faded away, and this time the effect spread up his arms to his shoulders.  But a glance down told him that the rest of his body was still visible.

“Dammit,” he cursed, throwing the book to the deck.  “Why the hell can’t I get this right?”

“Because you need someone to watch you make the motions,” said Fenris, walking up to the young man.  “Someone to hear you say the words.  Until you have them down to perfection.”

“And they can only be said that way?”

“Of course not,” said Fenris, leaning against the rail across from Drake.  “There are different spells in different languages that accomplish the same thing.  The most important part of a spell is belief.  That is how new spells are formed.  It is how your infantrymen are being trained to put a magical barrier around their unit.”

“Well, I still have some problems with belief,” said James, glaring at the Elf.  “I was a scientist, after all.  The natural world was the basis of my belief.”

“And the natural world here is magic,” said Fenris.  “I heard what your, scientists, said, back at the Refuge valley.  About how you needed to turn your scientific method to the study of magic.  Perhaps that is what you must do, to make the magic your own.”

“Easier said than done,” said James, throwing a small spark into the air with his fingers. “Unless it’s fire.  And there are no mages here to teach me.”

“Then perhaps I can teach you,” said Fenris with a smile.  “Oh, not in the  manner of a master.  But I was the leader of border scouts, and as such had to have a good basic understanding of magic.  Like.”  Fenris muttered some almost unintelligible words, and faded from sight.  A second later he was back.  “Or this,” and water flew from his hand.

“And you could teach me these?”

“I think so.  And with your connection to elemental power, you will be able to do much more powerful versions of them.”

“Then let’s get started,” said James, almost salivating at the thought of doing things other than lighting objects on fire.  “I think I’m going to need them before this is through.”

Chapter Nine

“I want us to move on the village before sunup,” ordered Marshal Ellisandra, standing in the bow and staring at the lights ashore, up the body of the fjord a bit.  It was a Nord village, a different group of those people than formed the Nord kingdom of the K’Elysius continent.  These were much more primitive, and violent, farmers of a harsh land who turned into sea pirates when the conditions were hard.  The fires and torches of the village shone across the water.  His own ships were sitting a kilometer from the entrance of the fjord, the narrow channel of water that ran inland up the low valleys of the coastal mountain range.

His men were gathering their gear, clanking along in the heavy armor they would normally not wear on the water.  Longboats were lowered into the water.  He hoped to catch the villagers unprepared, and his mages had cast spells of concealment, visual and audial, on his ships prior to them reaching this point in the darkness.

“I think we should enlist the aid of these people,” said Gellusus Janakaris, one of his officers of archers.  “Why start off our landing by creating an enemy?”

“You will do as you are told,” said the Marshal, glaring at his subordinate.  “I will not have a potential enemy behind my back.”  He looked over at a figure dressed all in black, several similar figures standing behind her.  “Are you ready for a swim?”

“I am not looking forward to it, no,” said Glassini Ellishanana.  The master assassin and chief of the others of her ilk who were to accompany her glaring at the leader.  “That water promises to be colder than the ninth level of the hells of chaos.”

All of the assassins were dressed in form fitting black clothing that was magically enhanced to help them stay warm.  But the waters this far north were frigid indeed, enough to sap the life of any living creature that wasn’t made for them.

“Just get ashore quickly, and make sure that no one sees us coming.  Then you and your people can stand around a roaring fire as long as you wish.”  The Marshal didn’t have to say where the fire would come from.  The village would provide it.

The Assassin gave a head nod of agreement in the Ellala manner, then motioned for her people to go over the side.  She followed the last one, and the Marshal was amazed at how they all entered the water and started for the shore without a sound.

“Start the men into the longboats,” he ordered after the black clad Ellala disappeared from his night vision in the dark waters.

The officers started to round up their teams, one leader and fourteen men to a boat.  Each ship was deploying three of the longboats, for a total assault force of one hundred and thirty-five men, including a half dozen magic users, mages and priests.  It was probably overkill, but the Marshal wanted to take the village with as few casualties as possible.  He would need every man he had when they moved inland.

Minutes later the boats were moving off under the oars of the soldiers.  Two hundred meters from the shore they would ship most of the oars and continue in under four each, staying as silent as possible.

“I should go,” said Krug, stomping up in his armor, great hammer in his right hand.

“You are too large for the longboats,” said Ellisandra in a growl.  He had been arguing with the Ogre for hours now.  The huge warrior wanted to battle, and he was lapsing into an angry frustration.  “You would take up too much space, and they require stealth.”

“Krug could be stealth,” said the huge creature, waving his hammer in the air.

A damned fully armored war mammoth could move with more stealth than you, you clumsy fool, thought the Marshal.  “You will get your chance to fight soon enough, my large friend.  When we start moving inland, there will be humans, Grogatha and Trolls to fight.”  He did not mention the other Ogre tribes, not knowing how the Gladiator would respond.

“Trolls,” said the huge warrior with a tusk revealing grin.  “Krug like killing Trolls.  Trolls think they strong and tough.  But they not as tough as Krug.”

Then I hope you get to fight your fill of them on the way, thought the Marshal, remembering that he needed this warrior for when they finally reached the sword and armor, which would be required to be worn by a mighty warrior in order to get the Crown.  And Krug, stupid as he was, was the mightiest warrior in their party.  He looked once more to shore, and the longboats that were heading for the beach to the south of the fjord mouth, where they would unload their soldiers.

“Patience, Krug,” he said to the Ogre as he heard the massive creature stomp away.  “Patience.”

*     *     *

Glassini waded ashore about fifty meters from the village up the fjord, near to the four long ships that were pulled up onto the sands of the beach.  She shivered a moment from the cold, then said the words of a warming spell that sent waves of warmth through her half frozen limbs.  Around her the rest of her people came ashore with only the slight noise of dripping water, two women and a man.  Most assassins were women, as they were smaller and more agile than the males of the species.  And small size and agility were much more important that strength in their profession.

Glassini flashed her fingers in sign as the other assassins said the spells that brought warmth back to their limbs.  The two women nodded, then ran inland like hunting cats, swift and silent.  Glassini turned toward the village and moved in a lope that allowed her to stay in the shadows, the smaller than average male at her heels.

All of the assassins were good at their trade.  She wouldn’t have had them along otherwise.  But the Master took pride that she moved better than the rest, and was sure that she would kill much more efficiently as well.  She was acknowledged as the greatest of her generation, at least on the K’Elisius subcontinent, if not the world.

So she was the first to pick up the sentry that walked between the village and the long ships, trying to handle both jobs at once, and doing poorly.  Glassini waited till the man had turned around, then padded up to him without his notice and planted a sharp dagger into the base of his skull, a quick in and out that killed instantly.  The male with her grabbed the body and lowered it to the ground, while she stepped forward and scanned the darkness with her night vision.

There was another sentry lined up against the dying flames of the village’s central fire pit.  A shadow rose up, and the man was gone, never to be seen alive again.  She nodded to her companion, and they continued on into the village.

A door to a small hut swung open, and the two assassins froze in place.  A large Nord came staggering out into the night, his hands working at the laces of his pants.  He walked a short way away and started to urinate on the ground.  A couple of dogs barked in the background, and the man looked that way.  The barking stopped, and Glassini knew that they had been silenced forever by the other team.  With that thought she crept up behind the pissing man and killed him in the same way as the first.

They should be getting to the beach by now, she thought, working her way through the village and onto the fjord’s shoreline leading down to the ocean.  There was a small fort there, with a fire going in the center, and a pair of men walking the ramparts.  This was the direction the Nords expected an attack if it came, and they had warriors ready.  The two visible, and probably some more inside.

The Master made another motion, and the male ran toward the other side of the fortress.  At a return signal from him she started up the wall, using the climbing hooks she had attached to her hands and feet while the other assassin was moving into position.  Just before she reached the top one of the Nords stopped right above her and looked over.

Glassini stifled a curse so she could say the words to the common Ellala sleep spell, pointing one hand at the Nord.  The man opened his mouth to scream a warning, then slumped forward in a deep sleep.  The Master reached up and grabbed him by the throat, pulling him over the wall with her exceptional strength, punching the claws on her gloves into his arteries as she pulled.  She let the body fall below, then vaulted over the wall onto the walkway.

The other Nord turned in alarm at the slight sound she had made.  A poison dart in his throat ended his life as a twitching heap on the walkway, and the Master jumped on light feet to the floor of the fortress.

There were two small buildings inside, and she made her way first to the largest one, which turned out to be the barracks.  Three men were sleeping inside, and she had no trouble moving from man to man and ending their lives in silence.  The second building appeared to be a small office and eating room, deserted for the moment.

Back outside, the Ellala made her way back to the walkway, in time to see the soldiers they had landed walking up to the fort.  She flashed a signal at the lead mage, who had overall control of the force, then waited for them to head past, walking toward the village, ready for battle.  From the number of long ships she knew there had to be at least two hundred warriors here, probably three hundred, as all the males of this variety of Nords were warriors.  Surprise would be on their side, but the Nords would still outnumber them.

When the soldiers were about fifty meters from the edge of the village, she shot a witchlight into the air, the minor cantrip sending a shining star from her fingertip into the night sky.  A moment later a pair of long houses in the village flared with fire, which soon engulfed the entire front of both buildings.  A few seconds later the same happened to another pair of the long halls, and Glassini jumped from the wall and raced around her own soldiers to the landward side, looking for a way to add her own talents to the fight that would develop in any moment.

It didn’t take long for Nords to come boiling out of their long houses.  All were either still heavy with sleep, or alcohol.  None were in the typical armor of their people, though some were trying to shrug into scale mail, or buckle helmets to their heads.  Most were failing, and the majority had a hard enough time just handling their weapons.

A flurry of arrows and bolts slammed into the Nords, dropping a score of them to the ground to clutch at protruding shafts.  The archers fired again in an instant, while crossbowmen worked at reloading their slower weapons.

The foot soldiers ran in, fully armored and alert, swinging their weapons to cut down the unarmored Nords.  Here and there the Nords fought back with skill and courage, but on the whole it was the slaughter of half drunken fools against skilled warriors.

Glassini ran up behind one of the Nords that seemed to have his wits about him, stringing an arrow to his bow.  The assassin ran in and with flashing blades sliced through the throat of the bowman, then reversed blades and stabbed another warrior in the chest.

Jakisanda Millistara, the Priest of Bothar, stepped in front of a group of Nords that had found shields and started to form a wall.  He raised his staff into the air, then pointed it at the Nords as he called out words of power that reverberated like thunder through the night.  A wave of darkness left the staff and washed over the shield wall of Nords.  It rolled like oil up and over the shields, into the faces of the Nords.  Those men screamed in terror, then in silent open mouthed agony as the death magic stole their life force and channeled it back into the Priest, and through him to his God.  Faces shriveled until they were nothing but desiccated skin stretched over bone, then their mummified bodies fell to the ground.

A Priest of Life might have been able to counteract the magic.  The only one the Nords had was already lying dead on the cold ground with a half severed head, while the surviving Chaos Priests had no power to counteract death magic.  Two other groups of Nords were starting to form up, but their courage left them at the sight of the death magic that not only took their lives, but their souls as well.

An hour later the Marshal came ashore, stepping from the long boat as soon as its bow had grounded on the beach.  He walked into the camp with an escort, spotting Glassini and heading her way.

“What kind of village is this?” he asked, looking at the heaps of warriors laying around.

He notices that there are too many warriors for such a place, noted the Assassin with approval.  Our leader is no fool.  I really hope I do not have to end his life.  “It is not a village,” she answered.  “It’s a reaver’s camp, and these men were gathered here prior to going to sea to raid.  There were only a few women, slaves.  And no children.”

“And where did they come from?”

“Most from the villages at the head of this fjord,” she answered, remembering how the Death Priest had extracted the information from a survivor, before he drained the human of his life and soul.  A foul way to die.  Better that I had taken his life with my blade.   “From what we gathered, the village is on some flat valley land that branches from the water about thirty or forty kilometers up.”

“And we captured their long ships intact,” said the Marshal, hands on his hips as he surveyed the boats in the light of the rising sun.

“I think we can cram maybe eighty men into each,” agreed the Master Assassin, looking over the ships, which, unlike the ships that had brought the mostly Ellala force here, were made to sail in many conditions, including the narrow waters of a fjord.  “Ferry them back down with twenty men each, then back up with a full load, and we’ll have everyone where we need them.”

The Marshal looked up to the lightening sky with an expression of concentration.  Crunching the numbers which the Assassin had already gone over.  They had nine hundred and sixty men and women on the expedition, three hundred and twenty to a ship.   They had lost twelve men assaulting the camp, minor losses considering the disparity of numbers, made possible by the complete surprise they had achieved.  When they finished the ferrying, they would have five hundred and sixty of their people at the head of the fjord, leaving three hundred and eighty eight to watch the ships.

“I wish we could take more,” said the Marshal, a scowl on his face. “But we haven’t the time.”

“We will need the ships to return home,” said Glassini, looking back out to sea, where the three ships rocked at anchor a couple of hundred meters offshore.  “It would not do to not leave sufficient people here to protect them.”

“That is true,” said the Marshal.  He turned and started to shout at the rest of the people, while the long boats rowed back out to the ships to pick up more soldiers.  “Get those long ships ready.  We move out in an hour, as soon as we get them fully loaded.”

He turned back to the Assassin.  “You will accompany me in the first ship, along with the rest of your people.  You may be needed as soon as we get there.”

Glassini gave a head nod, dreading the job that might be ahead of her.  Killing adults was one thing.  But children?  Even a cold blooded killer like herself blanched at that thought.

*     *     *

The sea eagle flew over the camp, its sharp eyes taking in every detail.  Some of the men below, those still occupying the burned out spot, their pitched tents taking the place of the almost totally destroyed long houses, looked up at the bird.  There were more men in the ships sitting a couple of hundred meters off the opening to the fjord.

If there had been magic users below, they might have been able to divine the true purpose of the raptor.  All of them were gone, and there was no sign of any magic from the camp, and very little from the ships.

“They’ve taken a reaver camp,” said Garios, sitting on the stern deck of the ship with his eyes closed.  He saw what the bird saw, having used a spell he knew, one of the few from the Pantheon of Life, to possess the bird.  “There are men on the shore, some more on the ships, but it feels like many are missing.”

“Any idea where they went?” asked Kurt, sitting next to the Dwarf.

“The long ships are gone,” said Garios, willing the bird to fly higher, almost to the limit of its upward reach.  He spotted movement on the water, about twelve kilometers up the fjord.  “I’ve spotted them.  They’re using the long ships to move up the fjord, probably to the end.”

“So I guess that takes that approach from us,” said Jackie.  “There’s no way we’re going to fight our way past those three ships to gain access to the fjord.”

“So we need to find another way,” said Kurt in a growl.  “Overland, to where we can pick up their trail.”

“Do we have to follow them?” asked Drake.  “We’re not sure they know where the place where this, crown, is either.”

“They have a better idea than we do,” said Kurt.  “So I think following them, while casting about a little on our own, is the best bet.”

“We have something they don’t have,” said Fenris.  “White Paw.  He can sniff out things they can’t.”

The three argued the point while Garios flew the bird inland to the south.  He found a long valley over the ridge line that bordered that shore of the fjord.  It curved further south, about ten kilometers away from the fjord at its mouth, until it ran to the sea, to a small cove that looked perfect for harboring the galley.  He flew the bird back to the east, looking over the ground, seeing where the valley curved back to the north, until it reach the fjord near a flat area of farms and houses, to a small village on the waterfront.

“I think I’ve found our way,” he said, flying the bird at its maximum speed toward that open area.  “There’s a cove ten kilometers south of the fjord, with a valley coming down to it that will lead up to where the enemy is right now.”

“And where is the enemy?” asked Kurt.

“From what I can see, they are many more people in that village than it can accommodate,” said Garios, as the bird flew to within ten kilometers of the village, its sharp eyes picking up details that would escape even an Ellala.

The Dwarf could hear the Captain in the background, calling out new orders to the steersman to put them on a heading for the cove the Dwarf had found.  They were still a day out, and would probably reach that spot sometime this night.  Which would give the forces of the Empire much more than a day’s head start.  He concentrated on his bird, which was starting to stray from its flight plan, exerting some of its own will once again.

An hour of struggle later and he was almost over the village, and what he saw through the bird’s eyes was not conducive to hope.  There were hundreds of Ellala down there, and an armored Ogre who looked like he meant business.  And a lot of bodies, some stacked up, others being burned in fires.  Some of the bodies looked too small, and it was with shock that he realized that they were the forms of children, some being lifted into the fires while he watched.

“May the Gods damn them,” he cursed under his breath.

Someone looked up at the bird, someone who could see it in the distance for what it was.  Garios felt death energy hit him through the bird, which screeched and struggled.  Garios found himself kicked out of his ride, with the last impression that the bird had twisted in the air and was diving away, evading the magic.

“What happen?” asked Kurt.

“They have a powerful death mage, and he discovered I was possessing the bird.”

“What did you see before that happened?”

“Terrible things.  Our enemy is there.  And we must destroy them.  Find the crown or not, these Ellala and their servants must die.”

*     *     *

“What was it?” asked Marshal Ellisandra of his Death Priest, Jakisanda Millistara.

“Something was in possession of a raptor.  I’m not sure what, probably some tribal shaman hereabouts.  But it was spying on us, until I attacked.”

“Did you get the bird?”

“No,” said the Ellala in an ominous voice.  “The damned thing got away.  But I don’t feel the presence of the other priest either.”

“We are ready to move out, my Lord,” said one of the officers, riding up on one of the horses they had appropriated from the villagers, who had no worldly use for them.  They had thirty-four cavalry, that being the number of serviceable mounts they had found.  His scouts.

“Look ahead through all the valleys then,” he told the officer.  “But ware the local tribes.  From what the Nords said, these mountains are full of Goblins and Grogatha.  If you find any in numbers refuse combat, and bring the news back to the army.  I would have some prisoners, but not at the cost of my people.  If you can capture a Goblin or two, do so.  We can get a lot more information was a tortured prisoner than a corpse.”

The man saluted and rode off.  The Marshal turned back to his Priest.  “I want you and the magic users spread out through the column.  But I want you close, where I can direct your actions as needed.”

The Death Priest did not look happy at the final phrase.  Well, too damned bad, thought the Marshal.  He was the leader of this expedition, and the Priest would follow orders.

A couple of hours later they were at the edge of the Nord village lands.  There were a few farms that his soldiers made sure were clear, then a couple of empty wooden forts that guarded the high pass that led through the ridgeline to the next valley over.  The forts had been hastily abandoned by the few fighting men the Nord had left behind when the bulk of their warriors had gone to the reaver camp.

I wonder how many other villages lost most of their men when we destroyed that camp, thought the Marshal abstractly as they marched through the high pass.  He stopped for a moment to look down on the fjord, his sharp eyes taking in details for kilometers up and down.  There was another village all the way at the head, one they had ignored, since it must have sent most of its warriors to the camp as well.  If there were any other villages nearby, they were hidden by the mountains.  It’s beautiful, he thought, looking at the snowcapped peaks towering over wooded lowlands.

As was normal, the trek down the pass was much easier than the march up.  Soon his entire force was gathered in a kilometers wide valley that ran parallel to the coast.  Scrying spells had shown that this valley ran for scores of kilometers, but another valley ran into it about ten kilometers to the south.  And that was his target.

[We are almost to the branch inland,] came a mind transmission from his officer of scouts.

[Any sign of hostile indigenes?]

[We passed signs of a camp,] came back the transmission.  [Looks like Goblins.  Twenty or thirty of them.]

[How long since they used that camp?] asked the Marshal, knowing that the officer and several of his men were skilled scouts.

[Two, three days.  I’m willing to bet, my Lord, that they were scouting out the pass to the Nord village.  They probably got word of the men leaving to go to the reavers’ camp.]

The Marshal thought that over as he rode his own horse at a walk, moving at the same pace as the infantry surrounding him.  He had thought of turning this mount over to the scouts as well, but has been of the opinion that one more scout really didn’t mean that much, while maintaining his dignity as commander of the expedition mattered more.

[My forward scouts are reporting movement ahead of them,] came the transmission of the scout commander.  [Do you want us to move forward?]

We can’t afford casualties, thought the Marshal, knowing that he had a lot of territory to search with limited resources.  A couple of men here and there might not mean much in the short run, but those could be the men that would have found what he was looking for, but weren’t around to do so.

[Stay where you are.  Send the assassins forward to see what you face, and eliminate it if it isn’t too strong.]

[Yes, my Lord.]

If I have assassins with me, I might as well use them, as long as there are some left when we find the temple.  And maybe I can get rid of Glassini before she tries to follow her orders from the Emperor, and tries to take me out of the picture.  The Marshal had no illusions as to how a confrontation between himself and the Master Assassin would turn out.  Even if he had a full retinue of guards, he was sure she would only be slightly inconvenienced by their efforts to protect him.

*     *     *

Glassini Ellishanana moved silently through the shadows at the edge of the valley, keeping to the wall of the mountain where there were some thicker woods, if not very high.  Toward the center of the valley was scrublands, short trees such as grew in this climate near to the arctic, interspersed with low brush.  She could smell the stench of Goblins, the small humanoids who seemed to plague so many of the wild lands of the world.  They were not a match for any of the greater races, not even the Grogatha.  But they reproduced like rats, and overran whole regions like the vermin they were.

Something moved ahead of her, and she crouched low, letting her senses tell her what was ahead before she moved.  She could hear low, grunting speech, an indication that there was more than one of the creatures out here.  The sound of a stream of water hitting the brush told her that one of the Goblins was urinating, which meant one wasn’t paying attention at the moment.

The Assassin had both of her short blades out, the curved long blade still in its sheath over her back.  She hoped that the short blades would be all she needed.  If she had to draw the sword, she might be in more trouble than she could handle.

The mental link transmission came through from her other three assassins, and she processed the information and sent it on to the scout commander, who was readying his men to come to her aid if needed.  That done, she moved ahead, brushing through the bush without a noticeable sound.

She saw the goblins well before they saw her.  These were supposed to be sentries, but if they had been Ellala, they would be facing execution for their lack of attention.  She actually took three quick steps before any of the Goblins reacted.  One started to turn, and was halfway around before the two blades both drove into his space at the neck and his lifeless body dropped to the ground.  The second started to yell when one blade took him in the mouth, the other to slash across his throat.

The third goblin tried to fumble at his pants with one hand, draw a sword with the other, and scream an alert.  He failed at the first two, but was able to get out a yell before his own windpipe was flooded with his lifeblood.

“Crap,” she mumbled, sheathing one of her short blades in an instant and drawing her sword, sure that she would need it.  Grunting speech let her know that she was correct, and the sound of clumsy footfalls rushing through the brush told her there were many of them.  A couple of steps and she was away from the scene of death, hidden again in the brush.

A half dozen goblins ran into the battleground, staring at the bodies on the ground with an explosion of their barbaric speech.  She could hear others moving through the brush.  She stayed in a low crouch, balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to strike in any direction.

A goblin came out of the brush and into her view.  She sliced out with her sword and that goblin fell to the ground minus a head.  She stepped to the side and disappeared again, then came up behind another, finishing this one with her dagger.  The Assassin faded back again, her ears queuing her in on where the enemy was.  A report came through from one of her other assassins, then another, and she saw that they were also bleeding the enemy.  Now, if only the scouts would come up and hammer them before she lost someone.

Grunting speech erupted from several places, where she had left the bodies.  She could smell the fear on the creatures, and hear the quiver in their monstrous voices.  She smiled, knowing that she now had them.

Another two kills and she stumbled into the situation she was hoping to avoid.   She moved on another lone goblin, and had just pushed her blade through him, when three more came bursting from the brush and ran at her.  She knew this was not good the moment they appeared.  All had leather armor that would not do much to stop her enchanted weapons.  But they did have wooden shields with metal strapping, and barbed swords.  And she could hear more coming her way.

The Assassin decided to do what they didn’t expect, and ran toward the goblins, taking four short quick steps while her sword licked over the shield of the middle goblin and plunged into his throat.  A barbed sword was swung at her shoulder, and she had to twist furiously to make it miss.  She continued the twist, her blade slashing across the face of the third goblin.  She continued the motion and leapt into the air, flying back five meters, recovering facing the two goblins, one coming at her, the other holding a hand over eyes, the blood flowing from between his fingers an indication that his vision was gone.

Two more goblins appeared, these with spears, pointed at her as they moved ahead, jabbing with their weapons.  The hells with this, she thought, taking two steps back and turning in a spin, stepping into a run as soon as she faced the right direction.  One spear came flying over her shoulder, the head slicing through her clothing and scratching her flesh.

Shouting and the clash of arms sounded from behind, and she knew the Ellala scouts had finally entered the action, taking advantage of the distraction the assassins had provided.  She turned, waiting for her pursuit to catch up.  After some moments she realized there was none coming, and she started walking back the way she had come.

“Down with that bow,” she told the Ellala scout who was pointing a crossbow at her.

The soldier gave her a suspicious look for a moment before he lower the bow and the bolt was no longer pointed at her.

“My Lady,” said the officer in charge of the scouts.  “We didn’t lose a man, thanks to your people.”

“You took your time,” she said in an angry tone to the officer.  “Don’t allow so much time to pass before you come to our aid.  Not if you want to survive this mission.”

She turned her back on the dumbfounded officer and walked away, feeling the sting of her shoulder as she moved.  It was not a major wound, but it was still uncomfortable.  And any injury was to her a slight to her prowess.  To allow such as these lowly creatures to injure her.  And she laid part of the blame on the sluggards who didn’t come to her aid in time.  Glassini was not a forgiving sort, and she was already thinking about her revenge.

*     *     *

“The prisoners say they have no knowledge of such a place,” said the Death Priest to the Marshal.

He was about to ask the Priest if he were sure, then thought better of it.  Of course a lowly creature like a goblin couldn’t resist the will of such a powerful Priest of Bothar.

“Then we will move on, and hope we can catch others who have a better idea.”

“And these?” asked the Priest, looking down at the trio of cowering goblins.

“Take their life force, or behead them, or burn them alive,” he told the Priest.  “I don’t care which, but just get rid of them.”

The Priest smiled and started toward the goblins with his staff in the air.  The goblins started squealing in terror.  The Marshal turned away, not interested in watching the gruesome deaths of the creatures.  He knew that the Death Priest was enjoying himself, and that too, made him sick.

I know I’m not a good man, thought the Marshal, climbing into the saddle of his horse.  I serve dark people, and the dark Gods they serve.  But even I am not that dark.  He wondered if that would mean anything when he died, and his soul was consigned to the hells of the Death Gods.

Chapter Ten

The sun was high in the sky by the time they got their party ready to move.  White Paw was scouting ahead, a better point than any Kurt had ever seen.  Not only was the neowolf blessed with sight as good as any Ellala or Conyataya, but his ears and nose were an order of magnitude more sensitive.  There was nothing the wolf would miss.

Listening to the men moving with them along the path he was happy to have the wolf ahead.  There were sixty-two former rowers and seamen along with them, as well as the twenty-one Nord knights and the companions Kurt had brought along.  The knights moved well enough in their chain armor, their plate left behind as unsuitable for movement cross country on foot.  But the seamen and rowers were not very good marchers.  They made too much noise, even in light armor, cursing every step of the way and calling for frequent breaks.

“I don’t know if it was a good idea bringing these men with us,” said Fenris, walking next of the Immortal.  “We will never get them to this temple, or whatever it is.”

“I would rather have the fighting men along until we get to a point where they can’t go,” said Kurt.  “We don’t know what lies ahead.”

“But, we may be leading them to their deaths.”

And I know that’s a shit thing to do to these men, thought Kurt, looking away from the Ellala warrior.  I have done it before in a bad cause, leading men for that ass Hitler.  And I will do it now, in a good cause.  And I will have nightmares about it, and see the faces of these men in my dreams, just like the men I led in Russia.

“We need them, my friend,” he told the Elf, looking back.  “And I will do penance in whatever manner the Gods demand.”

Fenris did not look happy with the answer, but he gave a human head nod of acceptance.

He’s led men into danger as well, thought the Immortal.  He understands, even if he doesn’t like the consequences.

“And just how do we find this thing?” asked Jackie, striding easily in her chain armor just behind the pair.

“We depend on our thief,” said Kurt with a smile, looking at the Halfling who was walking with quick steps to keep up with the longer legged companions.

“And how will he find out?” asked Jackie, raising an eyebrow.

Xenonodes looked back at the humans and Elf with a smile in his eyes.  “Finding it just means finding someone who knows where it is.  Once we know that, we’ll ask him”

“You’ll just ask, whoever his person is, wherever he is?” asked a disbelieving Jackie.

“Why, yes,” said the Thief.  “When we find them, I will ask them, and then we will know.”

Jackie shook her head in disbelief.  Kurt smiled at the irrepressible Halfling, who seemed so sure of himself.  Does he have reason to be so confident?  The Goddess would not have put him in our path if he couldn’t deliver, would she.

[Friend Kurt.  I have people ahead,] came the mind link from White Paw.

[What kind of people?]

[Humans, my friend.  The same kind as many of those who accompany you.  Including females and cubs.]

[Keep them under your eye, my friend.  But do not let them harm you.  When we approach, send thoughts of calm and friendship their way, so at least their mind speakers won’t react with haste.]

“Hold up,” he yelled  out to his men.  “White Paw says there are Nords ahead.  Obviously natives to this region, and most likely survivors fled from our enemies.  And we may find allies.”

The seamen and the knights all stopped in place, and the noise of walking died to an occasional rattle of equipment, though the sound of conversation increased.

“Jackie, Fenris, Master Xeonodes, if you would please follow me.  Let’s go meet our hopefully new friends.”

“Told you,” said the Thief to Jackie, winking.  “It always happens when you are looking for something.  They just seem to come from nowhere.”

“I need to come with you,” said Sir Gromli, running up in his ringing chain mail to catch them.

“I’m not sure if approaching them with too many people would be a good idea,” said Kurt, looking into the face of the Knight.

“I speak their language,” said the Knight, standing firm.  “You have no guarantee that they speak any that you know.”

“I don’t converse in the dialect of Nord they speak in this Gods forsaken land,” said Xeonodes, looking up at Kurt.  “We better bring him along.  I’m sure we can keep him under control long enough to talk with the barbarians.”

Gromli shot the Halfling a killing look, which the Thief returned with an expression of nonchalance.

“Come along, then.  But this is it for the contact party.”  Kurt turned and walked to where he knew White Paw was located, the others following close behind.

“We come in peace and respect,” called out Gromli to the hidden Nords, then turned and told Kurt what he had yelled.

Someone yelled something back, and Gromli called out in the same language.

[Open your mind to us, Gromli, so we can follow the conversation,] sent Kurt.  The Nord nodded and everything came through as a translation from then on.

“How do we know you are not with those who slaughtered our people?” had been that last call from whatever Nord was the spokesman for the group.

“There are only a few of us here, to talk with you,” called out Gromli.  “If we wanted to harm you, we have an army behind us.  It would do you well to talk with me, and see that we are not like those who attacked you.”

“Very well,” said the man, and stepped out of the brush to confront the newcomers.  He was a well-made man, tall and strong, white hair and beard against white skin, wearing scale mail armor and a helm.  On his left arm he carried a wooden shield painted in a design like a dragon, while his right hand gripped the haft of an ax.

“I speak the language of the pointed ear ones from across the sea,” said the man, pointing his ax at Fenris.  “As a younger man I learned to speak with the captives we took at sea.”  He hit the hand holding the ax against his chest.  “I am H’rrut, headman of the village the invaders attacked.  I was on my farm with my sons when the Ellala cowards came with their magicians and evil priests and overwhelmed what were left of my warriors.”

“And you did not stay to fight?” said Kurt, noting that the man was old, something he had not noticed at first look.

“I thought it would serve no purpose to die when I had family to protect, and other villagers that had come to me for protection.  So we fled the village.  And what are you here for?”

“We pursue those who have destroyed your village,” said Kurt, stepping forward with his hands held up.  “We do not worship their Gods, and we do not desire your lives.  But they are on the quest for evil artifacts that could tilt the balance in their favor in a war we fight on another continent.  If they win, they will also come here, in force, and it will be the end of your freedom, if not your lives.”

“And what will you do if you find these artifacts before them?”

“We will destroy them.  Or, if that is not possible, we will take them back with us and seal them up in the darkest pit we can find.”

“I am not sure I believe you,” said H’rrut, staring at Kurt for a moment.  “By the Gods, what kind of a man are you?  You appear human, but I have never seen one with yellow hair and beard over brown skin.”  He looked at Jackie and the frown deepened.  “Or one like your woman.”

“We come from another world to this one, with many of our people.”

“He is the one from the prophecy,” called out Gromli.  “The noble from another world who will come to free us from the Emperor of Evil, the men those who destroyed your village, and killed your raiders, serve.”

“I would like to believe that,” said the big Nord, giving Kurt a sideways glance.  “But how do I know you speak the truth.”

[Do you mind speak,] sent Kurt, not sure if he would get a response or not.  Most of his own people had turned out to be telepathic on this world, to a much higher proportion than all the native races.

[Aye,] came back the transmission.  [I am one of the few in my village who could.  And I have never encountered one as strong as you.]

White Paw stepped from the brush and sent a signal of his own to the dumbfounded man.  He turned and stared at the big wolf, who returned his gaze levelly.  [These beasts also came with us to this world.  I am sure you will agree he is unlike anything you have ever heard tell of.]

The man stood there for a moment, and Kurt could detect the confusion in his thoughts, then a surge of sureness.  He opened up his thoughts to the man, and showed him parts of his life on Earth.  Images of war and peace, life and death, on a world so foreign to the sensibilities of the native that he had no words to describe much of what he saw.

“I believe you, King Kurt,” said the Nord.  “We too worship Life, even if our harsh land forces us to take it from others to preserve our own.  But we do not take it indiscriminately.  Will you protect my people?”

“There are a hundred men we freed from the lives of galley slaves, under the command of a Nord sea captain,” said Kurt.  “Your people will be safe with them, while we pursue those who attacked you.”

“Do you know where the temple of the artifacts is?” asked Xeonodes in Ellala.  “A place of great evil, not trod by the foot of mortals for many ages.”

“Aye, little man,” said the Nord, looking down on the Halfling.  “I know of this place.  Keep my people safe, and I and my sons will lead you to it.”

People started coming out of the brush.  At first it was young men, mostly still boys, gripping axes and bows.  They were followed by almost a hundred others, women and children, young girls, babes in arms.  Two of the young men, looking to be just out of adolescence, walked to stand by the side of the leader.  “These are Srong and Linder, my two youngest sons.  Their brothers were to go raiding this year, and I am sure they met their fate in the camp.  They also know where the ruin lies, as they have seen it on long hunts into the territories of the Grogatha.  If something happens to me, they will show you the way.”

“Told you,” said Xeonodes, looking at the taller people around him.  “I seem to be blessed by the Gods to find what I need.”

“A thief,” said Garios in a scandalized voice.  “And you think the Gods would aid such as you.”

“Us thieves have gods, Priest, same as the assassins, though ours are much less interested in blood.  Remember that next time someone breaks into one of your warded temples and takes some of your treasure.  In some circumstances, my God is more powerful than yours.”

And with that the Halfling walked off, leaving the incredulous dwarf to stare after him.

“I’ll take any God we can get,” said Fenris, his eyes following the dwarf.  “To me, the most important god is the one who is helping me at the time.”

*     *     *

“We make camp here for the night,” said Marshal Ellisandra, looking at the flat area in the middle of the valley they had been marching up, heading west.  “Have your men set up a perimeter around the tents and set your watches.”

“Aye, my Lord,” said the officer in charge of his infantry, rendering a salute and running off to get his men working.

“They are tired from walking all day,” said the Death Priest, Jakisanda Millistara, looking at a group of infantrymen putting up their tents.  “They did not have enough to eat either.”

“We must ration our food until we can assure ourselves of another source,” said the Marshal.  “Our hunters will scour the area for game.  Until then, they will eat what I give them and continue on.  They’re soldiers, and they will do what is asked of them.”  And a priest of life would serve us much better at this time than your ilk, he thought, looking at the Ellala in his dark robes.  But no life priest would serve us, especially on a quest like ours.  They would rather die, and go to their Gods, than serve evil like ours.

“What do you want of mine?” asked the Master Assassin, looking as fresh as she had before the fight against the goblins this morning.

“One of yours will be on patrol throughout the night, outside our perimeter,” he told Glassini.  “I expect that nothing will get past those with your training without us getting us warning.  The rest of you can get some sleep.  I leave it up to you to set your own schedule.”  He knew that the Master would take the most odious watch.  It was just her way, and a caring for her own, something he had trouble reconciling with her profession.  But I guess the rumors are true about her guild, harsh rules, but also family to their members.  She treats her assassins like children, while she is the disciplinarian mother.

The hunters brought in a trio of deer and a pair of wild pigs that evening.  Later that night all of the party had eaten their fill, and those lucky enough to not be on watch were soon asleep with full bellies.  Unfortunately, Ellala, like all other elves, had small stomachs, low body fat and high metabolisms, and they would be hungry again by morning.  And then they would again be on short rations.

[We have movement to the east, heading our way,] sent Glassini.  [A lot of movement, according to my sister.]

The Marshal was out of his sleeping nest in a moment, reaching for his armor and weapons.  “Get all of the men up,” he yelled out to his people.  “Arm yourselves.”

The Ellala may not have been the physically strongest of races, but they needed much less sleep than most, and went from slumber to alertness in an instant.  Moments after the words left his mouth the camp was like a kicked over ant’s nest, Ellala running from their small tents, jerking on their armor.

“Krug,” yelled the Marshal, walking toward the big Ogre, who had slept out in the open, and was still struggling to waken.  “Get your damned armor on, unless you want to fight a mass of Grogatha with only your naked flesh to protect you.”

The Ogre grunted as he started to strap on his heavy plate.  The Marshal cursed as he walked away, wondering if the big creature would be of any use in this fight, or if it would be over before the oaf was ready.

The Ellala were prepared when the horde of screaming Grogatha came running out of the night, weapons brandished and blood in their eyes, ready to kill the invader of their territory.  The first to come into the night vision range of the Ellala were met by a storm of arrows, as the fifty archers in the party fired, put arrow to string, and fired again.  The rest of the men were gathered up in a shield wall, spears ready.

The Grogatha were not as much of a threat without the element of surprise they had counted on.  Those who made it through the arrow storm were met by a better armored, armed and skilled foe.  Some Ellala were taken down by the cruel barbed arrows of the Orcs.  Others died on the barbed swords of snarling creatures.  But they beat back the attack.

The next group to come out of the night, right behind the first wave of Grogatha, were a score of huge Ogres with war hammers and maces.  They took the fire from the archers, taking most of the arrows on a thick leather armor that looked to be made of mammoth skins.  Some shafts made it to flesh, and did nothing to slow the huge creatures down.  The Ogres slammed into the shield wall, swinging their massive blunt weapons into the mass of Ellala and tossing them right and left.

“Where are my magic users?” shouted the Marshal, turning to see what had occupied the most powerful of his people.  They were fighting off another wave of Orcs coming from the west, part of what now looked like a pincer movement.  They had been met by fireballs, lightning bolts and waves of cold, the lucky ones.  Those horribly unlucky were having their souls sucked from their bodies by death magic.  But while they were dealing with that second attack, the Ogres were tearing through his Ellala soldiers.

A roar sounded that drowned that of the other Ogres, and Krug came running into battle. His armor clanked with each step, his arms swung a pair of great swords that looked like regular sword blades in his great hands.  As he closed on the others of his kind, the Marshal could see that the semi-civilized gladiator was much larger than his barbaric cousins, probably a result of his better eating and training for the arena.

Krug killed two Ogres with his first strike, blades slashing in from both sides into a pair of the leather clad enemies and into their flesh.  They fell to the ground with loud grunts, their heads near separated from their bodies.  The next nearest Ogre slammed a mace into Krug’s back, a heavy hit that would have killed an Ellala with its force, even if it didn’t penetrate the armor.  Krug pivoted on his feet with an agility the other Ogres couldn’t match, plunging his right hand blade through the creature’s chest, the tip of the blade actually poking out of his victim’s back.

Krug spun and killed another, just a moment before a pair of fireballs hit seven of the remaining Ogres and dropped them in burning heaps.  That was enough for all of the rest of the enemy, Orc and Ogre, and they fled as fast as their misshapen legs could propel them, into the night.

“Cowards,” yelled Krug, brandishing his two dripping blades into the air.  “Krug kill you, and ravage your women, after killing your children before their eyes.”

That was the most eloquent the Marshal had ever seen the Ogre, and the most savage as well.  He looked over the field with his night vision, seeing a number of cooling bodies on the ground.  Most were Grogatha, though there were enough of his own men to make him wince.  We had to have lost over a score of men, and another score injured.  If not for Krug, it would have been much worse.

“Thank you, Krug,” he told the big creature as he walked back into the camp, breathing heavy, his fierce eyes looking back and forth.

“Cowards run when fight getting good,” growled the Gladiator.  “Wish they didn’t run like that.”

“I’m sure you’ll get your fill of fighting before this is done,” the Marshal told the big Gladiator.

The Ogre smiled for a second, then the frown returned.  “Krug hope so, or he not be happy.”  With that the big creature stomped back to his sleeping area, already starting to take his armor off.

He can’t be bothered with cleaning up, thought the Marshal with a scowl.  But, with his prowess, I’m willing to treat him like the thoroughbred he is.  We will need that power.  Magic is all well and good, and stealth, and agility.  He pictured the Death Priest, the Master Assassin, and one of his soldiers in his mind.  But sometimes sheer brute strength is needed, and Krug has that in excess.  Probably even more than those damned Immortal humans that are following us.  He pictured his Ogre champion fighting one of the exceptional humans and smiled.  That would be a fight to be seen in the Arena in A’ataponia, and one he would be excited to bet on.

*     *      *

[The thin warriors were attacked by the ugly ones,] sent White Paw over the mental link.

“As long as they’re not attacking us,” said Garios, a wide smile on his face. “Let the elves and Grogatha slaughter each other all they want.  It will clear the way for us.”

“And they will raise every tribe in the area in their passage,” said H’rrut, shaking his head.  His eyes took on a faraway look, as if he were looking into the past.  “This land is full of savage tribes of Orcs and Goblins, and Ogres too.  My people occupy the coasts and fjords, and leave them these mountain valleys.  Normally they war on each other.  But many generations ago, when my own people tried to gain dominion over the interior, they united into a horde such as we had never seen.  We lost over half our warriors before we retreated back to our own lands.”

The Nord look into the fire for a moment.  “My grandfather was a young warrior, just old enough to be called a man.  And he never again went into the wild lands.”

“But if they are attacking our enemies, isn’t that a good thing?” asked Garios, scratching his head.

“Not if every savage in this area is on the warpath,” said Fenris, looking over at the Nord, then back at the dwarf.  “With them all stirred up, there is are sure to be groups wandering about everywhere.  And with so many random comings and goings, we are bound to make contact.  If it develops into a battle, we are likely to be overrun.”

“What is our path to the ruins?” asked Kurt, looking at H’rrut.

“We must follow them up the valley, then take a small branch to the south that leads up into the high mountains,” said the Nord.  “After that, we will be taking a high road until we come to its valley.”

“Is that the only way in?” asked Jackie, who looked uncomfortable at the whole idea of cold high mountain paths.

“There’s another way,” said the Nord with a smile.  “We follow these enemies of ours along their path, hoping that they don’t turn onto the lowland path much further on, and that we don’t run into hordes of Orcs and Goblins.  Would that way suit you better, my Lady?”

“I guess I can stand the cold, for a short while.  This is a short while you’re talking about.”

“Three days, tops,” said the Nord with a smile.  “And we’ll be above the tree line, so fires will be a problem.  We will just have to use body heat and furs to stay warm.”

As the man said those words, his eyes locked on Jackie, and Kurt knew what was going through the man’s mind.  Better that you tried to force yourself on Troll than her, my friend.  She can rip you apart with her bare hands before you even know what is happening.

“Then we will take this high road when we come to it,” said Kurt, making the decision, as was his right as leader of the expedition.  This is not a democracy, and I have the final decision.  Just like in Russia, when higher headquarters couldn’t interfere.

“So, everyone get some sleep,” he said, knowing that the guard schedule was already set, while White Paw would sleep well outside the camp, where his superior senses would detect anything trying to sneak up on them.  “We move at first light.”

*     *     *

James sat on the log and said the words.  He could feel the power of the ground through his feet.  There was always heat energy where there was ground.  At least that was what he had found, though he had to wonder if that would be true up in the mountains, where it was constantly cold, with snow and ice everywhere.

He made the gestures, feeling the energy run through his body.  His hands faded away, as did his arms.  He looked at his legs, or through where they were supposed to be to the log underneath.

“Very good,” said Fenris, his instructor.  “The spell has turned you completely invisible.  I see absolutely no flaw to the spell.”

“Then let’s try a shielding spell,” the Mage told his teacher.

Fenris nodded, and picked up some small rocks and a couple of sticks.  James said the words to another spell, just a short phrase, what one would use in a combat situation.  He made the hand gestures, not able to see his own motions, but feeling as if they were correct.  He felt the surge of energy flow through his body and into the air around him.

“Try it,” he said to the Ellala.

Fenris tossed a stick in the direction of the voice, smiling as it bounced from an invisible wall in the air, then frowning.  “I assume that hit your shield, and not you.”

“It hit the shield, alright,” said Drake.  “I’ll let you know if it hits me.”

Fenris threw another stick, then a rock.  He followed with yet another rock at a higher velocity, which also bounced from the shield.  “Let us see if you can stop this one,” said the Ellala, rearing back and whipping the last rock.

“Ow,” complained James as the rock came through the shield and hit him in the chest.  He lost concentration and the invisibility spell faded.  “Shit,” were the next words out of his mouth.

“Not to worry,” said Fenris, walking over and patting the young human on the shoulder.  “The shield was stronger than it was yesterday, which was stronger than the day before.  You’re improving.”

“But not fast enough,” said Drake, glaring at the Ellala.  “I might need to use this magic in the near future, and I’m still too weak.”

“Then just burn them with a fireball, and you won’t have to worry about it,” said the Ellala with a laugh.

“One more, then I’ll call it a night,” said the Mage, closing his eyes and feeling the power flowing through him yet again.  He made the proper gestures under the watchful eyes of the Ellala, said the words, and felt his feet leave the ground.

“Very good,” said Fenris.  “Now levitate higher into the air.”

James nodded, then waved one hand and felt himself move higher.  He continued to rise until he was five meters in the air.

“Don’t go too high,” said Fenris in a cautioning voice.  “That’s a long distance to fall.”

“Don’t worry,” said Drake, smiling.  “I’ve got this.”

As soon as those words left his mouth he felt the spell failing, and he jerked downward a couple of meters, caught himself, then fell another before he gained control of the spell once again.  He smiled past his panic, until it failed completely, and he fell the two meters to the ground.

“Are you alright?” yelled Fenris, running up and kneeling down beside the young human, who was holding an ankle.

“I’m fine.  But I don’t think my ankle is.”

“I told you not to go so high,” scolded Fenris.  “At least until you are sure of your control.”

The Ellala pulled Drake’s boot off so he could get a look at the ankle.  Drake whimpered just a bit and closed his eyes as the boot was removed, then cringed again as Fernis ran his fingers gently over the ankle.  “I don’t think it’s broken.  Just a severe sprain.”  The Ellala reached into a pouch and pulled out a small jar of some slightly glowing salve.  He opened it, took some out with his fingers, and rubbed it into the skin of the ankle.

“That, feels wonderful,” gasped James as he felt the soothing warmth of the ungent.

“By morning you will be good as new,” said Fenris, slapping James on the shoulder.  “And don’t give up.  You’re getting better at this every day.  In fact, I would have to say that you are progressing faster than any of my people ever do.”

“How did you learn so much about magic?” asked James.  “I mean, being a warrior and all.”

“That is a long story,” said the Ellala, looking off into the distance.  “I was once studying to be a mage.  I met the Princess at the Academy, where she was studying under the Priests of Arathonia.  She found her calling, and I was found wanting.”

“But you know spells.”

“Simple ones, and that’s all,” said Fenris with a human head shake.  “I couldn’t wrap my mind around the more complicated ones.  And the Academy only allowed those to continue who could perform the higher forms of magic.”

“Then they wouldn’t like me.  At least not now.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t like you,” said Fenris with a laugh.  “And they really wouldn’t like the idea of a young human mage shredding their best defensive spells with his fire based attacks.  No, they wouldn’t like that at all.”

“Thank you for helping me,” said Drake, a smile stretching his own face.

“I help you to help all of us, young Master.  The more powerful you are, the stronger we are as a group.  You are our only mage, and we may live or die on this quest depending on how well you do.”

And no pressure, thought James with a smile.  When we’re down to three minutes and a goal behind, I’m the striker.  So no pressure, indeed.

Chapter Eleven

“We need to know where in the hells we are going,’” said the Marshal, looking at his scout commander.  “I don’t just need to know where the creatures are that might be a danger to us.  I need intelligence on where this temple, or ruins, or whatever it is might be.”  I don’t even know what it is, much less where it is.

“I am not sure how much we will get from these animals,” said the officer, his eyes narrowing.

“Just bring some back for interrogation.  Our Priests will figure out how to get it out of them, if they have it.  If not, they shall still die horribly as an example to others.”

The scout commander gave a head motion of grudging acceptance, turned his horse, and rode away.  The Marshal looked up at the surrounding mountains, high and jagged, and seemingly unclimbable at this juncture.  And what do we do if it happens to be on the top of one of these mountains?  He shook his head, dismissing the thought.  We will deal with that when we come to it.

Moments later the first of the infantry stepped off.  They had fed well the night before, and had gotten sufficient sleep.  But, as feared, breakfast was cold rations, not enough to even fill the bellies of the Ellala.  In that way, it would have been better to have brought humans, or even Grogatha, along, as they could hold up without food for a much longer time than the Elves.

Hopefully we will eat well tonight, if the hunters can find game.  He looked over to see the men who were carrying litters with wounded on them.  Ten men who would be useless for the next couple of days.  The others had either died in the night, or had been put down as the sun rose and it was apparent they would not survive being moved.  As there was no way they could be left behind without falling prey to the natives, who would delight in making their passage to the afterlife as horrible as possible.  The Marshal had refused the offer of Jakisanda Millistara to put them down.  He knew how the Death Priest would do it, and that was no more merciful than what the Grogatha would do.  Worse, even, since death by torture would still leave the souls of the men to find their own reward or damnation as they deserved, while an ending at the hands of the Priest would consign them to the worst of the hells of Bothar, something most did not deserve.

Though I’m sure my soul would end up in that hell without his aid, considering the crimes I have committed in my life.  Ellisandra sat his horse for a moment, contemplating his life.  He had been a willing accomplice to the crimes of the Emperor Ellandra Mashara.  He had seen the evil in the man, and still he had supported him. Which made him guilty of still more crimes, those committed by the Emperor, while he had stood by and watched.

The Marshal watched as Millistara and a couple of his assistants walked by, the tall Death Priest staring at him with cold eyes.  Probably still mad I didn’t let him send the life force of brave men to his Demon God.  Just as he will to mine if I fail.  If that happens, I had better make sure he is distant, and Glassini and Krug are near.  At least those two would give me a clean death, and maybe I would only suffer in one of the upper hells for some millennia before rebirth.

They marched through the morning and afternoon, the sun rising high over the valley, which by its orientation allowed the light to fall upon them throughout the long northern day.   About mid-afternoon the scouts relayed a disturbing find, and the Marshal hurried forward with an escort of horsemen that had come back for him.

It was not a large village in any respect, maybe thirty huts.  Some had been crushed under a great weight, and the claws of large beasts were apparent on the ground around those huts.  There were dead bodies all over the village, many of them half eaten.  That in and of itself was not disturbing.  There were a great many predators in a land like this, some very large, though the claws of these were larger than normal.

No, what was disturbing was the fact that many of the bodies were still upright, frozen in place, as were most of those lying on the ground.  There was only one explanation for such a thing.

“Dragons,” said the scout officer, who had served on Arctic expeditions prior to this, one of the reasons he had been selected for this one.

“But freezing?”

“White dragons,” said the man.  “Just as cruel and vicious as the ones we are used to seeing in the south.  But cold, oh so cold.  The very touch of one can freeze a seal.  And they have a singular breath weapon.”

“When did this happen?” asked the now nervous Marshal, his eyes scanning the sky.

“From the still frozen state of the bodies, no earlier than this morning, possibly in the night.  Otherwise, they would be partially melted by now, and these Grogatha are still solid.”

So now we don’t only have to worry about the threat of savage tribes, but also an even greater danger from the sky.  “We will march under the cover of the trees from now on,” he told the scout commander.  “Such as they are.  I do not want to have these dragons come on us without warning.”

The Death Priest and some of his men walked into the village at that time, coming through the ranks of infantry that were now standing in place, waiting for the column to move.  Millistara moved to one of the Grogatha, a partial body missing from the waist up, putting a finger on the frozen flesh.

“Can you take care of these dragons if they come at us?” asked the Marshal of his chief magic user.

“I would prefer not to,” said the Priest, his own eyes nervously darting around, looking anxiously at the sky.  “My type of magic is not really useful against such beasts.”

“I thought your power came directly from Bothar?” asked the Marshal with a sneer.

“And these dragons are creatures of Bothar.  I am not even sure I could contain the life energy of one of these without bursting into flames.  The Wizards would do better against these, and I would only pit them against one at a time.”

“There were many here, Lord Millistara,” said the scout commander.

“Then we had best avoid them, unless you want your entire command to be frozen here, dead.”

The Death Priest turned and walked away, his eyes still scanning the heavens.  The Marshal looked at his scout commander.  “Continue on ahead, but keep a close eye on the sky.  I will order half of our men to do the same.  We might be more vulnerable to the barbarians on the ground, but I would rather deal with a sneak attack from them than an assault by dragons.”

The rest of the day’s march continued uneventfully, the kilometers passing by, even though now the men marched off the path.  The scrub brush was thick enough to hide them from the air, without being so thick as to impede progress.  That night they again camped, and hunters went out and once more brought in game.  The land seemed to teem with it, despite all of the hunter gatherer tribes that lived here.  The Marshal pulled out the map he had of this land, woefully incomplete, with huge areas inland of the coast marked as, nothing.  Just white space, and he was right on the edge of that terra incognita.

His was one of the only three full sized tents in the camp, and he had an actual folding table that he could use for laying out maps.  And to place the scying ball the Emperor had given him.  As he was studying the map, the ball began to glow, a sign that the person at the other side was trying to connect to him.  He stared into the ball, and the face of the Emperor appeared.

The scrying ball only showed truth, and the Emperor appeared as he really was, a half dead creature, his parchment like skin stretched over the bone of his skull, glowing eyes staring out of deep sockets.  It reminded Ellessa of the evil he served, and the damnation he faced.

“Have you made any progress, Marshal?” came the thin voice of the Emperor over the link.

“We are deep into the land, my Lord,” said the anxious leader.  “But I know not where we are going.”

“That is not satisfactory, Marshal,” said the thing on the other end of the link.  “The Germans and Americans get closer to my capital day by day.  They have taken several of my river forts, and the bridges they protected.  I cannot defeat them in battle, and need that artifact to save my Empire.”

And maybe the best course for the world would be for you to lose your Empire, thought the Marshal, concentrating so that those damning thoughts would not be transmitted through the link.  “This land is vast, your Majesty.  I do not even know if I landed in the right place.  And ahead of me stretches uncharted lands.  Perhaps Bothar might help.”

“The location of the artifact is hidden from his eyes, Marshal, as it is from the eyes of all the extant Gods.  The Ancient Gods hid it well, knowing of its power, and the destruction it might cause.”  The face drew closer to the ball, the teeth snarling in anger.  “I need that crown, Marshal.  I give you one week to find it, or your soul shall be screaming in the Halls of Bothar for an eternity.  Of that you have my word.”

The image faded, leaving the Marshal to stare into emptiness as the sweat of fear dripped down his forehead.  I must find that artifact, he thought.  No matter what I have to do, or who I have to do it to.  He was almost tempted to rouse the camp and continue on into the night, but dismissed that thought as soon as it came.  He didn’t know where he was going, and forcing his men to march into the unknown with no destination, especially at night, was a recipe for disaster.  The morning would come soon enough through the shortened night.  And then he would redouble his efforts at procuring prisoners.  For surely someone around here knew where the damned place was.

*     *     *

[Many of the big uglies come your way,] sent White Paw.  [And they have a band of the larger uglies with them.]

The wolf had spotted signs of the Orcs a couple of hours earlier.  It had not indicated that any of them had gotten within visual range of the party, but, then again, it was only a lone scout, unable to cover all approaches to the group.  Obviously some had crept in and saw them, then reported back to their village that an enemy was on their land.  And if they had missed us until tomorrow, we would be on H’rrut’s high road, and they probably wouldn’t have even known we were ever here.  And if wishes were horses, we would have gotten much further along on our mounts.

[Thick larger uglies, or the even bigger ones,] sent Kurt, asking the wolf to tell him if they were Ogres or Trolls.  Ogres were bad news, big strong and tough.  But Trolls were a disaster on two feet.  Even stronger and tougher, and able to regenerate almost any injury.

[Not the bigger ones,] sent back the wolf, who was well aware of both species of giant humanoid.

“We have trouble coming,” yelled Kurt to his people.  He looked around and spotted the entrance to a small canyon, only forty meters or so wide.  “Everyone, to that canyon, and form a shield wall.”

“I’ll stay out here,” said Jackie, moving toward the covering brush.  “Where I can use my agility against them.”

Kurt nodded, not really liking the idea of leaving her out here, but knowing that she would do as she thought best.  And she would come as a complete surprise to this enemy when she hit their flanks.

They had just formed the shield wall when the grunting speech of the Grogatha and their allies came through the brush.  Kurt looked over his small army.  He only had a score of archers, including the two sons of H’rrut and some sailors.  Maybe the former galley slaves had some skilled with the bow among them.  But what they didn’t have were the weapons, or in some cases, the strength to pull a bow.

He looked over at James, knowing that he was their ace in the hole.  He was something that these tribes were sure to have never seen.

With a cry the Grogatha came rushing into the open, looking around for a moment, then charging at the shield wall.  They had almost reached it when Drake unleashed the first of his fireballs, the small sphere of crackling fire expanding as it arced over the heads of the men and into the center of the mass of Grogatha.

The Orcs saw it coming, and many pulled up in their tracks and tried to reverse course.  Others screamed and pointed.  Both responses had the same effect, nothing, as the ball burst into a roaring maelstrom that sent waves of flame in all directions, dying out only after they had traversed twenty-five meters in all directions.

Every creature within the half globe was killed, those nearest the center completely incinerated.  Many Grogatha on the periphery beat at the flames that had ignited on their greasy furs and leathers.  Before they could react, James sent another ball to the right, then one to the left, and over half of the attacking Orcs were cut down.

The Ogres took that time to run out into the open, all of them stopping and blinking as they saw what had happened to their allies.  What Grogatha were left pushed by them in their haste to retreat.

“Everyone stay in place, in case a second wave comes back,” yelled Kurt as he stepped out of the ranks.  Everyone knew that the Grogatha they had just scattered would not be coming back.  They had faced the power of an Archmage, and had been almost destroyed as a tribe.  Whatever shamans they had in their group had been near the center, and were the first to die.  And on this world, when your magic users were destroyed with such ease, there was no choice but to flee.

The Immortal had wanted to save his men from the savagery of the big Ogres, and prevent James from wasting energy they might need later, when they were up on the cold high path.  He ran at the first Ogre, the largest of the brutes, the hilt of his two handed sword gripped tight.  These were evil creatures, even if they were natural, and the blade shone bright with searing white light as he prepared to hit the first one.

The Ogre brought up a club the size of a small tree to try and swat the human away.  Before he could complete the motion, Kurt’s sword had sliced into flesh and bone, and the arm holding the club fell to the ground.  The Ogre screamed, and his yell was echoed by another, who was trying to turn around with two katanas shoved through his back.  The three remaining Ogres saw that as a good time to leave, and they lumbered away, while Kurt took off the head of his victim, and Jackie cut through the spine of hers.

“They will be back,” said H’rrut as Kurt and Jackie returned to their men.  “Oh, maybe not those particular Grogatha.  But word will spread to other villages, then to other tribes, until this area will be swarming with them.”

“How long before we come to this high road of yours?” asked Jackie, nervously eying the brush around them.

“We should be there by this evening.  But I wouldn’t recommend trying to climb the first stage in the dark.  And there will be no place to rest until we get up to the clouds.”

“Then we need to find a place to camp that we can fort up in,” said Kurt, looking at the canyon.  “Are there any other places like this closer to the start of the road?”

“Many,” said the Nord, looking to the east, and the way they must march.

“Then we will find one within an hour’s march of the road, and build a palisade at the entrance.”

“You will do what?” asked the Nord, a look of incomprehension on his face.

“You’ll see,” said Kurt with a smile, remembering how primitive was the tactical theory and application concepts of these people.

They moved for the rest of the hours of the day, coming to what the Nord thought was the final canyon prior to reaching the beginning of the high road.   The men grumbled after they were told to dig a ditch and pack the dirt into a wall, while others were instructed to sharpen stakes.  It took several hours, but when they went to bed that night they were protected by an impromptu fort.  Everyone slept better that night, with White Paw outside the fort scanning the night with his always alert senses while he slumbered.  A trio of guards on the wall were enough to keep watch, so everyone only had to stay up for fifteen minutes or so.

The sun came up over the mountains to the sight of the party already preparing the breakfast that White Paw had rounded up during the night, the deer falling under the control of his powerful mind.  The animals just stood there, quivering in fear as the men cut their throats, then field stripped them and prepared the meat for transport.  They quickly cooked enough to give everyone a good bite before moving out.

“That seems really unfair,” said Jackie as they started off.  “Those poor deer, I mean.  They didn’t have a chance.”

“And now we have more of one,” said Garios, hauling a large haunch of meat wrapped in deerskin.

“Garios is correct, Fraulein,” said Kurt.  “I have spent enough time on a front, freezing and without proper food.  We need the food, and the deer would have become our prey either way, though it would have taken much longer to have harvested them.  This way, we have food and nothing is wasted.  Even the offal we left behind will be food for something.”

He could tell that the young woman still didn’t like the idea of grabbing control of the animals and making them do what was counter to their survival instincts.  And if we don’t achieve the aims of our quest, then millions of intelligent creatures will become living zombies, slaves to whomever wears that crown.  So it’s some dumb animals, or us.  And I prefer us.

An hour into the march they came upon the first steps upward of the high road.  It was yet another nondescript canyon, leading into the mountains with sheer walls on each side.  A small stream ran down the center of the thirty meter wide rift, fed by small falls tinkling down the walls.  About a kilometer in the canyon floor started to tilt up, not a hard walk, but very noticeable.  After another kilometer it started to curve to the east.  Soon they were high on the side of the ridgeline, looking down over the tree filled valley below.

At one point they could pick out a pair of substantial villages, smoke rising from the cooking fires, figures the size of insects moving from hut to hut.  The temperature was starting to drop with altitude, while a brisk wind blew along the side of the mountain, directly along the path.  The path was still wide enough for three people, but most walked either singly or in pairs, not wanting to crowd each other when a misstep could result in a very long fall.

By early afternoon they were just below the clouds that had now settled over the mountains.  The sky was starting to darken, and the temperature had dropped to just below freezing.  Kurt began to worry about whether they had enough warm clothing for everyone.  Fires were started with the wood they had carried with them.  Not enough to last through the night, but enough to cook most of the deer meat they had carried up with them.

The party settled in for the night clustered together as much as possible on the narrow track.  Kurt held Jackie as they shivered under the cover of their fur jackets, taken off and used as both ground cloth and blanket.  Complaints ran up and down the line, and intensified when toward midnight the snow began to fall.

“The hell with this,” said Drake, climbing out of his furs and standing naked on the pathway.  Kurt started to say something when the young man started to glow with power, the ground beneath him channeling its temperature differential into his body.

“What is he doing?” asked Jackie, poking her head from under the furs.  She was shivering as she spoke, and Kurt remembered she was from the Southern part of the United States, and probably didn’t like cold, despite her immortal constitution.

“I think he’s trying to warm us up,” said Kurt, watching as the young man glowed even brighter.  “But I don’t know if he’s going to be able to help all of us.”

Drake pointed a hand at the rock wall and a jet of flame shot out.  It played over the rock for almost a minute, then moved on as the young Mage moved his aim.  The rock he had hit glowed red, and the area thirty meters to each side became toasty.  Drake moved the flame over the wall, creating a hot spot over twenty meters long.  He stopped for a moment, then recommenced his heating of the rock, forming another hot bar twenty meters from the first.  After he completed his third bar, he turned back to his furs and crawled back in without another word.

“A handy man to have around,” said Jackie with a smile.

Indeed, thought Kurt, pushing off some of the jacket as the temperature now seemed quite warm to him.

The next morning the clouds were still in place, and the snow was still falling.  The path narrowed and became slick with ice, and falling off the walkway into the depths below became a very real threat.  White Paw scouted ahead, the big wolf having no problem with the path.  Fifteen of the men, including a trio of Gromli’s knights, walked ahead of the Immortals and their friends.  All were sure that the path was clear.  After all, the wolf had trod this path, and nothing could get past its senses.  Or so they thought.  Until the great white and gray bulk of a ten meter long worm came bursting through an ice wall that lay hidden among the rock.

It wasn’t really a worm, despite having a segmented body.  A quartet of pincers were arrayed around a mouth that was filled with a circle of sharp teeth, and the body moved on twenty or so insectoid legs that held it above the ground.

“What the hell is that thing?” yelled Kurt, trying to make his way past the men who were to his front and standing before the creature.

“Ice worm,” yelled H’rrut.  “It’s very deadly, and we need to kill it quickly.  Or get away from it.”

That last option did not seem possible.  Over a hundred people were strung out along a narrow path that only allowed two of them to stand abreast, and there was no way forward because of the creature.  The men far back really didn’t know what was going on, and didn’t understand why they must back up, and so were only doing so slowly, and without much enthusiasm.  There was a scream from further back, and one of the former galley slaves fell from the path to bounce from the wall and continue down into the depths of the valley, doomed.

The worm opened its mouth and breathed, and a white mist flew out and engulfed the first four men on the path, spraying past to touch the skins of the men behind.  The men who had been covered in the mist froze into place, one toppling off the cliff to fall below.  As soon as the body struck the rock of the cliff wall it shattered into numerous shards that sparkled as they continued their fall.  The men behind the first group screamed out, clapping hands to the parts of their bodies that had received the touch of the freezing mist.  The arm of one man broke off and shattered as it hit the path.  The man screamed in madness, staggering toward the edge and falling over.

“Kill it,” yelled Kurt, pushing past another pair of men, his hand reaching out to steady the one nearest the edge.

Bows twanged and a quartet of arrows hit the creature.  Three bounced from its hard skin, one penetrated to a superficial depth, and the creature sucked in another breath to unleash its deadly weapon once again.  A spear flew in the creature, then another, both barely scratching the skin.

Something flew overhead, and the men cried out as they recognized the young mage, who levitated over and lowered himself between the party and the worm.  The worm blasted out a breath of super cold, which was met by a gout of fire unleashed from the hands of the mage.

Heat hit cold, and steam rose into the air in a suffocating cloud.  The mage poured every bit of power he had, but it was obvious that he was not winning this fight.  Whether because of the power he had used the night before, or because he was still in the air and not in contact with the ground, no one could tell.

The cojoining elements exploded, pushing the worm back several meters, and ejecting the mage from the path and over the cliff.

“Drake,” yelled Kurt.

“James,” screamed Jackie, as the young man fell through the low clouds that were gathered hundreds of meters below the path.  The Mage disappeared, and shouts of anger and dismay sounded across the path.

Kurt jerked a spear from the hands of one of the men, whirled it overhead, and flung it with all his great strength at the worm.  The tip of the spear hit the creature just behind the head and sank in deep.  The creature let out a loud hissing roar and backed up on its insectoid legs.  In a moment it scampered forward.

Jackie tumbled over the heads of the men in front of her in a tumble, both swords drawn.  Kurt started to yell out, to order her back, knowing that the cold mist might be enough to kill an Immortal, especially if she were to shatter after freezing.  He also knew she had the best chance of any of them to kill the creature.  She landed on the back of the beast and plunged both of her blades into its body.

Ice bounced from the creature, doing no harm, while Fire slid in all the way the hilt, generating a wave of steam as its magical heat fought with the mystic cold of the monster.  Jackie ran along the length of the creature, pulling Ice back while slicing with Fire.  The creature reared up on its multitude of legs, roaring out its pain and anger.

Kurt pushed past the last obstacle, two of the frozen men, shattering them both with his passage, hoping that they were truly beyond aid.  His sword was held in both hands, and he thrust it like a spear under the chin of the creature.  The sword met great resistance at first, then, glowing with power, it slid easily through the flesh of the creature.  The blade went through the mouth cavity of the worm, then through the bone and into the brain.  Kurt rotated the blade as soon as the hilt hit the cold flesh, and the creature shuddered and started to fall over.

“Get off of it, Jackie,” he yelled as he pushed up on his sword, lifting the front of the creature, twisting it away so that the body fell from the cliff.  He braced his feet, letting his blade full free from the monster, hoping that Jackie had thrown herself clear.

His eyes followed the monster as it tumbled into a fall, then looked up quickly to see Jackie standing on the path to his front.

“Thank the Gods you jumped free,” he said to the woman he loved, running up and wrapping his arms around her.

“But, James.”

“I’m afraid he fell to his death, my love.”

“What are we going to do without his power behind us?” she asked, looking up into his eyes with tears in hers.

The best we can, he thought, shaking his head.  It’s not like I haven’t had to continue a mission without a prime asset before.  But he was our heavy hitter, and he’s gone.

There was nothing to do but forge on.  Those who could be healed of the injured were treated by Garios, while the one man who had lost half his face to frost was carried along, in the hope that something might eventually be done for him.  And the dejected party continued on, reaching the top of the ridgeline and the next campsite just before nightfall.

Chapter Twelve

“Dragons,” yelled out one of the Ellala soldiers, pointing to the sky.

The Marshal thought they were well enough hidden when he had ordered camp.  Now, he wasn’t sure.  He looked up through a break in the trees to see the singular forms of dragons wheeling high above.  He couldn’t tell from the distance what type they were.  From how far north they were, and the evidence of villagers frozen to death they had found days before, it didn’t take a genius to guess that they were white dragons.

One of the monsters swept lower, banking in the sky, and Ellessa thought he could see the form of a rider on the back of the dragon.  And if they have riders, controllers, perhaps we can come to an understanding.  That was something they wouldn’t have achieved with the beasts themselves.  They would have only cared about food, and would have seen his party as several full bellies.

“Can you contact those riders?” asked the Marshal of Millistara, who he knew had the strongest mindspeak of the party.

“I can try.  But why do you want to attract their attention?”

“Because, my dear Jakisanda, they know this area.  And are much more likely to know where these ruins, temple, fortress or whatever it is happens to be located.  Especially since they must cover much more area from the air than these land bound tribes.  So contact them, but don’t let them know where we are until you feel comfortable that they can be treated with.”

The Death Priest nodded his head and closed his eyes, his brow furrowing in concentration.  In a couple of minutes he gave a head nod of acceptance and opened his eyes. “They’re Elves,” he said with a smile.  “And they seem willing to help us.”

“What kind of Elves?” asked Ellisandra, looking back up from the shadows at the dragons that were wheeling overhead.  “Ellala or Conyastaya.”  He couldn’t imagine them being Dark Elves, not out in the sky in bright daylight.  At least we’re not the center of their circle, so they must not know our exact location.

“No kind of Elf we’ve ever heard of,” said the Priest, sending an image that the dragon riders had shared with him during their short conversation.

White skinned and white haired, with red eyes, wearing an armor that was coated in frost, they were unlike anything he had ever seen.

“They call themselves D’alla, and say they live in the high mountains and the plains of the Arctic.  I guess we could call them Snow Elves.”

Another creature of legend, thought the Marshal.  They were hinted of in the sacred texts of the Chaos Gods.  But no man living on the K’elysium Continent had ever seen one.

“Tell them we will meet with them in that clearing a kilometer back.  That will give them room to land a couple of their beasts, while not giving away the position of our camp.”

The Death Priest closed his eyes again, then opened them a moment later.  “They ask how many we are.”

“Tell them, but exaggerate upwards.  No harm in letting them think we’re stronger than we are, in case they plan betrayal and deception.”

“I don’t sense that about them.  They’re evil bastards, but straightforward.”

I guess when you’re dragon riders in a land of small tribes, there’s no need for anything but straightforwardness, since they are the most powerful force around.  He had counted eleven of the beasts circling overhead, which might or might not be all of them.  His group could fight them with the proper terrain, but they would be hard pressed to win, and would take heavy casualties, victorious or not.

“They say they will meet us there in twenty minutes, and will come bearing gifts.”

What the hell does that mean, thought the Marshal as he, the Death Priest, and four Mages, along with a strong escort of infantry, made their way to the meeting place.  It was a ten minute wait after they got there, but right on time the first dragon flew over and dropped a large object in the clearing.  The next came over and dropped yet another elk.  The third dropped a brown bear, almost a thousand pounds of fat and meat.  When they had finished there was enough to feed his party for many days.

“Go back and get more men,” he told off a pair of his soldiers.  “We need to prepare and cook this food.”

As soon as the men ran off, the largest of the dragons came flying over the clearing.  A moment later a slightly smaller version flapped in and landed.  Its rider sat its back and scanned the trees around the clearing, almost ignoring the Ellala that stood at the edge of the woods.  The Snow Elf closed his eyes for a moment, and the monster that had to belong to the leader flapped in, his wings lifting great hunks of earth and leaves into the air.   The Elf on the dragon also took some time looking around, then, obviously satisfied, he undid the buckles of his safety harness, dropped a small rope ladder from the saddle, and climbed down.

The Elf turned and bowed as soon as his feet hit the ground.  Ellisandra returned the bow, then walked out from under the trees, aware of the stares of the two dragons on him the entire time.  I hope this doesn’t turn into something I wouldn’t like, he thought, keeping his attention on the Elf and not the dragons.  If either of the dragons decided to strike, he was dead.  His men might avenge him, but he would not care.

“What is your purpose in our land?” asked the strangely colored Elf, his ice blue eyes staring into the green ones of the Marshal.  “Have you come to take lands?”

“We have no interest in your lands,” said the Marshal truthfully.  “We do not come here for conquest, but to find a temple that houses some items we could find useful in our war against humans.”

“You cannot defeat humans without aid?  What kind of weaklings are you?”

Ellisandra felt his temper rising as the other Elf asked his questions.  “These humans are not weaklings like those you prey upon here, but a mighty warrior people with fearsome machines.  When they first arrived, they had flying machines that could kill multiple dragons.  They were faster than our best red, and could kill at ten times the distance of a breath weapon.”

“I’m not sure I believe that,” said the Snow Elf, hands on his hips.

[Then look into my mind and see for yourself,] he sent to the other Elf, opening his thoughts for the leader of the Elves to peruse.  There was no way to be deceptive in this kind of speech, and he let the thoughts and images of the Germans and Americans come to the fore.

[By the Chaos Gods,] replied the Snow Elf as he looked into the mind of the Ellala in front of him.  [How did you survive?]

“Fortunately, they only had the weapons they brought with them, and they had limited, uhh, they called, ammunition and fuel, for them.  When those substances ran out, the machines stopped working.”

“And then you destroyed them?” asked the Snow Elf.  “No, of course not, or you wouldn’t need magical artifacts to defeat them.”

“Unfortunately, they had other means of fighting back, and had developed some mighty magic of their own.”

“And you need the magical artifacts to defeat them,” said the Snow Elf, his eyes narrowing as he tilted his head.   “But what is in it for my people?”

“If you can help us find this thing, this temple, ruin or whatever it is, we will share the rewards with you.”

“If we can find it?”

“I figure you have a better chance than we do, with your control of the sky.”

“We know where the things are you seek,” said the other Elf with a smile.  “We have never felt the need to put our lives and souls at risk by trying to breech that place.”

“Are you sure it’s the place we are looking for?”

“I know of nothing else on this peninsula with such an aura of evil about it.  It is what you seek.”

“And you can lead us to it?”

“We can lead you to it.  But do not expect us to join you in entering that place.  We will wait outside, and let you bring our share of the loot to us.”

“You have a deal,” said Ellisandra, crossing his wrists and bowing in the manner of his people.  The Snow Elf smiled and repeated the gesture.  And it’s a good thing you weren’t looking into my mind right now, my friend, thought the Marshal, already working on how he was going to betray the dragon riding Snow Elves.

*     *     *

The camp was quiet that night, a feeling of doom having descended after the loss of their Mage, the only arcane magic user in the party, with the exception of Fenris.  And the Ellala was the first to admit that he was nowhere near the power level of the young human.  He could pull some tricks, but Drake was able to turn the tide of battle.

Everyone had eaten despite the mood.  At this altitude and temperature, and with the effort of walking through the day, calories were needed.  Everyone had an appetite, and they polished off the last of the food they had brought up to the high road.  Now everyone lay huddled together in their furs, trying unsuccessfully to stay warm.  And they didn’t have their fire mage there to heat them up, another great loss.

Fenris had dreams that night.  Disturbing images going through his mind.  He saw the young man, tied to a stake with Grogatha dancing around him.  Drake was grimacing in pain, multiple cuts upon his bare chest.  A shaman was standing in front of him, barking out some words in a barbaric dialect of Grogatha, his tusks flashing in the firelight.

The shaman pointed his staff at the faggots stacked below the stake and they flashed on fire. The flames rose up high, obscuring his view of the young mage.  He came awake at that moment, confused, wondering if what he had seen was real, or just his wishful thinking that the young man was still alive.  Some wishful thinking, was his next thought.  Wishful thinking would be seeing the young man alive, well and free.  Instead of seeing him tied to a stake and facing a horrible death.  Or is he? thought the Ellala warrior, recalling Drake’s affinity to fire.  Or again, just wishful thinking.

*     *     *

James Drake thought it was all over when he was blasted over the cliff.  He still wasn’t very good at the levitation spell, and his energy reserves were almost gone fighting the ice worm.  When the blast that resulted from the combination of elemental fire and ice hit him, enough of the cold came through to burn his face, the pain interfering with his concentration.  And then he was in the air and taking the long plunge to the valley below.

But first there was some rock to hit on the way.  As he came out of the clouds, James saw the first outcrop coming and waved his hands at it, pushing himself further out, just enough to clear.  A couple of hundred meters further was another, and he was able to miss it as well, by a bare meter.  After that it was a clear fall over two thousand meters to the valley floor.

I’m dead, thought James with unreal calm.  There was no way he could survive that impact.  He looked at the ground through vision that was distorted by the rushing air, and tried to imagine what it would be like to no longer be.

The hell with that, was his next thought, and he pulled the energy from deep inside and reactivated the levitation spell.  Immediately he started to slow, and started to think he might actually touch down softly.  The ground still came up too fast, and he hit hard enough to lose his breath as he rolled onto the ground.  He looked up, wondering if he had survived, when a sense of extreme lethargy hit, and he rolled back with his eyes closed to pass out.

He woke to the sound of guttural voices, knowing that that wasn’t a good thing.  He pulled at his hands  and found them bound, the same as his feet.  He was afraid to open his eyes, sure that there wasn’t anything he wanted to see beyond his eyelids.  Something poked him in the side, and when he didn’t move, poked him harder.  Drake moaned slightly, and a hard foot kicked him.

“OK,” he said, opening his eyes and looking up at the savage faces of a group of barbaric Grogatha.  All were grinning as they looked down on him, and he was sure it wasn’t a sign of greeting.

An Orc that looked like a shaman came into view, shouting something that sounded like Orcish into his face.  When he didn’t answer the language changed, and Drake was sure the Shaman was speaking in Nord, another language he could not speak.  When he didn’t answer, the Shaman slapped him hard across the face, then said some words that caused two of the Grogatha to jerk him to his feet.  They carried him across a clearing crowded with the creatures, to an upright stake set in the center of what appeared to be their village.

After his restraints were untied rough hands pulled his arms behind the stake, then the ropes were roughly retied.  James was still trying to figure out what they were going to do with him, his mind tending toward such things as throwing hard objects at him to sticking his body with pointed things, when the Grogatha started laying faggots around the stack.  Welcome to the briar patch, brer fox, thought the Mage, forcing himself to keep the smile from his face, lest he give away the game.

The Shaman walked up to the stake, yelled some more unintelligible words at the human, then thrust his staff into the bundles of sticks.  The staff flared with magic, and the sticks quickly flamed into a blaze, the fire licking up James’ legs in what should have been agonizing burns.

James didn’t really understand his affinity to fire.  As a physicist, he understood how the magic of this world required energy, and a lot of it.  He understood how his brain was wired differently on this world, his schizophrenia actually of benefit in contacting the energy sources necessary for magic.  What he didn’t understand was why he was not harmed by fire, and in fact derived his greatest energy from it.  Just as Katherine Hiedel derived great power from the wind, and was immune to electricity.  Whatever the reason, he was not about to question it now.  Not when his captors had supplied so much free energy for his body to drink in.

Drake’s clothing flared and fell into ash, leaving his naked body tied to the stake.  At a thought the ropes holding his wrists to the stake ashed as well, and he was free.  He was tempted to step out of the fire, but decided against it until he had drunk in every erg of heat.

The Grogatha started yelling and gesturing, and one threw a spear that should have gone through James’ naked breast.  The spear flew apart in a burst of flame, unbalanced, falling away from its target.  Arrows flew in to meet the same fate, and the Orcs closest to the stake backed away in panic as their clothing began to smolder, until a couple were beating out the flames on their greasy leathers.

The Shaman shouted a word and gestured with his staff at Drake.  A ball of cold flew at the Mage, turning into superheated steam meters from him.  James raised a hand and gestured back, and the Shaman burst into flame, a horrid cry erupting from his wide open mouth as the flesh melted from his bones.  James clapped both hands together, and a wave of fire swept out from him to wash over the Orcs, torching scores of them, and inflicting severe burns on many more.

That was enough for the Grogatha.  Faced with a power they couldn’t understand, they turned and ran from their own village as fast as feet could take them, their woman and young at their heels.  James looked up at the dark sky above and laughed, his head back, his magic amplifying the sound to almost demonic proportions.  He could understand why Katherine had gone mad with power back in the Refuge valley, when her own powers had risen to godlike heights.

You are not a god, he reminded himself as he ramped down the heat he was generating.  You have powers, but you can still be killed.  Remember that.

James spent the next half hour going through the village and finding things he might need among the loot the tribe had taken from neighbors, some of them human.  At the end of that time he was clad in comfortable boots, Nord fur pants and jacket, with a fine short blade attached to his waist.  He headed out into the wilderness feeling good about his chances of finding his party once more.  The Grogatha of this village were no longer a threat to him, and he would make sure any others got the message as soon as they crossed his path.

*     *     *

“There it is,” said H’rrut, pointing into a high valley that was a mere eight hundred meters below their position on the ridgeline.

Kurt focused his vision, zooming in on the part of the mountain the Nord was pointing to.  At first he saw little but scrubby brush, then he picked out a column, then another, framing what looked like a tunnel into the mountain.

“How close have you gotten to it?” he asked the Nord.

“Not much closer than this, Lord Kurt,” said the Nord, a frown on his face.  “I have known people who have gone closer.”  The Nord shook his head.  “They never came back.”

“Are those statues out on the slope?” asked Jackie, her own sharp eyes picking up the shapes that looked like humanoids and animals.  Some were intact, while many more were broken.

“That’s what they are now,” said H’rrut, again shaking his head.   “They were once living creatures, until they ran into the guardian of that tunnel.”

“And what is this guardian?” asked Garios, his eyes not able to see the distance to the statues.

“I do not know, Priest,” said the Nord, crossing his arms.  “I am a brave man, considered a great leader among my people.  And I was not foolish enough to go down there and find out what had killed so many.  But I have lain on this mountainside and observed in the past, and seen what looked like trolls coming from that entrance.  I don’t think they’re what’s turning creatures to stone, but they seem to be working in concert with it.”

“What do you know of that could do such a thing, Garios?” asked Jackie, a shiver running through her body that was visible to all.

And I don’t blame her, thought Kurt, waiting for the dwarf to reply.  Can we resist it, or would we be turned into statues as well, to stand eternal in the elements until we are revived, if that is even possible, or broken.

“There are several creatures with that ability,” said the Dwarf, suddenly the lecturer.  “There is the woman with snakes as hair.”

“We call that a Medusa on my world,” said Kurt.

“You have them on your world?” asked Fenris with an incredulous expression.

“We have tales of them.  A woman with snakes for hair, whose look can turn a man to stone.”

“Well,” continued Garios.  “And there are several animals that can do the same, and several with a poison breath that will also accomplish petrification.”

“And is there any way to prevent it?  Or to cure it?”

“Not that I know of, Lord Kurt,” said the Dwarf, “as far as prevention goes.  Some of the Gods can cure it, if they are petitioned, and if they are receptive, never a guarantee.  Otherwise, once one if petrified, that is the end.  And the most horrible part.”

“Is?”

“It is said that those who are petrified continue to exist as trapped consciousness’ in their bodies for all time.  Unless they are destroyed, such as some of those statues are.  If that is true, I would hope that one of you would go ahead and smash my form if I end up as such.”

“We are going to try and prevent that, Garios,” said Kurt, slapping the small, stout man on the back.  He looked over at the Nord.  “I want us all down in that valley, but nowhere near that entrance.  I want our men to be camped in a secure place with food and water, while myself, the Lady Jackie, Fenris, Garios and Xeonodes see if we can penetrate that entrance.”

“I don’t know if I care for that idea,” said the Halfling, his eyes wide.

“This is why you were brought along,” said Sir Gromli, glaring at the Halfling.  “If you disobey the Lord Kurt, I will consider it a violation of your parole, meaning you will be remanded back into punishment.”

“Then sail me back to your Duchy, Nord,” said the Halfling, crossing his hands over his chest.

“Punishment will consist of beheading,” said the Nord knight with a cruel smile.  “So you had best obey the Lord Kurt.  Unless you want to become even shorter than you now are.”

“Can you find us such a spot?” asked Kurt of the Nord, ignoring the byplay of Knight and Thief.

“I believe I can,” said H’rrut, looking down into the valley.  “All of these valleys have streams, and normally lots of game.  This valley is not hunted, and so animal life should be plentiful.  Unless.”

“Unless?”

“The Trolls and others hunt here.  But Trolls are normally not very good hunters.”

“Then let’s find a secure camp below, and myself and Jackie will scout out that entrance, before we make a try in the morning.”

*     *     *

“There is the entrance,” said the leader of the Snow Elves, pointing down at a valley below.

Ellisandra sat in the saddle behind the other Elf.  Dragon flight was nothing new to him, even if these were different dragons.  The place where the Snow Elf was pointing was a large domed structure set against the side of the mountain.  It must have been magnificent in its day, though now it was in an obvious state of disrepair.  The dome was holed in several places, and looked about to collapse.  There were fallen pillars at the entrance.  And even more disconcerting, the burned bones of numerous creatures.

“What guards the entrance?”

“A monstrous red, a Great Wyrm.  Mostly it sleeps, but if anything approaches the entrance, it awakes.  And at times it hunts, which is why we do not like to fly this close to its lair.  It could kill all of my dragons without much effort, and it hates white dragons with a passion.”

“I need to get my men down there,” said the Marshal, staring at the surrounding terrain.  His own party was a valley over, working their way through a high pass that was supposed to lead here.

“And what are you going to do about the dragon?” asked the Elf with a sneer on his face.  “Because whatever it is, it had better be good, unless you want to join the bones down there.”

“I’m hoping maybe we can come to an accommodation,” said Ellisandra.  “After all, reds are Chaos beasts, who revel in destruction.  If we can promise him more than he can imagine if he lets us in that place, he might be willing.”

The Snow Elf grunted, as if he really didn’t believe what the Ellala was saying.  He doesn’t have to believe it, since he won’t be the one facing the dragon.  That would be me, and I really don’t relish the idea of being quick roasted and swallowed whole.

It took the rest of the day for his men to make it into the valley.  The high pass did lead into the valley, but only after it had passed through a large goblin village.  The goblins would not listen to reason, even after they tossed the heads of several of the more aggressive of the creatures into the center of the village.  All that did was stir them up more, and it had taken an hour battle to take the village that they didn’t want, just so they could pass through.

The way down into the valley was much easier than the way up, at least physically.  Psychically there was something about the valley that seemed to beat down on them more and more with each step forward.  If not for the presence of the Death Priest, of whom they were more frightened of than anything, some would have fled.  Instead, they continued forward, their lips clenched as they tried to overcome their fears.

Even the Marshal felt the force beating down on his spirit.  He tried praying, but the Gods of Death and Chaos, those he followed, sent no relief his way, even though he could feel the stink of evil on the force they were dealing with.  Finally they reached the valley floor, and though the psychic assault did not abate, the men at least were able to build a fortified position that made them feel somewhat better.

“We will scout out the entrance in the morning,” said the Marshal to his gathered priests and mages.  All of them, with the exception of Jakisanda Millistara, looked like they would rather throw themselves from a cliff than go to the temple entrance the next morning.  Millistara looked as he always did, calm and controlled.  The Ellala knew where he was going when he died.  Not to a hell to suffer.  But to a perdition that he would help rule.  Glassini Ellishanana did not look enthused at the prospect of facing a Great Red Wyrm, nor did her three companions.

“And if the Red comes out to challenge us?” asked one of the mages.

“We will deal with that if it comes,” said the Marshal, glaring into the man’s eyes.  He looked from face to face, making many of the Ellala to look away.  “There is no use in imagining things that might or might not happen.  So everyone get what sleep you can, and we’ll deal with tomorrow when it comes.”

There was some mumbling and murmuring as the men and women left the meeting and went to their tents.  There was food available, brought to them by the white dragon riders.  The Ellala should have been exhausted enough to sleep well, but the psychic energy disturbed their sleep, and, for those who could sleep, their dreams.

Ellisandra himself went from dream to disturbing dream all through the night.  Demons and undead haunted him, many with the faces of people he had personally slain.  He had a feeling that the spirits of the dead were waiting for him, to welcome him with open rotting arms.  A feeling of doom pursued him through the night, and he woke as the sun was rising, his body and mind as tired as when he had tried to close his eyes.

“I want the entire area patrolled,” he told the Snow Elf leader before he gathered his people up for their excursion to the dragon’s lair.  “Our enemies are out there as well, and will be trying to get to the artifacts before we do.”

“We will fly over the back entrance periodically,” said the Elf with a smile.  “But that entrance is guarded by something more terrifying than a mere dragon.”

The Marshal could not imagine what that could be, and did not want to know.  What he faced was bad enough.  If his opponents faced something worse, so much the better for his side.

*     *      *

The march into the valley was a complete nightmare.  As soon as they started on the path down the psychic assault started.  To Kurt it felt like he was surrounded by the spirits of vampire bats that flitted around his head, reaching their wings into his mind.  He looked around and could see that all of the others were also affected.  He didn’t know where the assault was coming from, only that it was evil, and relentless.

Garios started to pray, his voice rising in the language of his people, calling on the Gods of Law to protect them.  Minutes into his prayer the shadows seemed to lift, a bit.  They didn’t go away, but they definitely were of a reduced presence.  Smiles didn’t appear, but the troubled looks were smoothed away.

The men started to pray as well, following the example of their priest, and a glow started to form around all of the party.  The Goddess was with them, and the members of her Pantheon, feeding them her strength in this evil place.  In this place even Arathonia couldn’t bring total relief, but the people were able to forge ahead, putting one foot in front of the other.

One man started to sing, but the others around him whispered him to silence.  While song might have aided them even more, the noise could bring other enemies to them, those who would not be deterred by prayer and singing.

As they stepped from the path onto the lowlands of the valley, the psychic assault strengthened, threatening to send the sailors running back the way they came.  Kurt’s party and the knights were made of sterner stuff, though even they were tempted to retreat from where they stood.  Garios lifted his hammer into the air and his voice rose in prayer.  He bowed to the north, his prayer changing into the words of a spell.  He turned to the west and bowed, then to the south, then the east.  The entire area flared with light for a moment.  When the light faded, so did the feeling of evil that had been beating down on them.

“We are safe for the night,” said the Dwarf, a smile on his weary face.

“I would like to scout that back door while it is still dark,” said Jackie, ever the professional soldier.

“It is not safe, my dear,” said Garios.  “There are things walking the forest that are stronger in the dark.”  Jackie started to open her mouth when the Dwarf continued.  “You could probably beat them, knowing your prowess.  By why risk it, when the daylight will make them so much weaker.”

“Are there many evil creatures out there, friend Garios?” asked Kurt.

“They are legion.  I suggest we all get a good night’s sleep, and forge on in the morning.”

White Paw stood there with his hackles up, a low growl in his throat.

“The wolf should stay in camp tonight.  It would be dangerous for him as well, as the things out there would ignore his mental might.  We are safe enough with a few sentries to watch over the camp.”

Kurt nodded and took Jackie by the hand, leading her to an area where they could lie down.  Morning would come soon enough, and they would need all of their faculties to face the unknowns tomorrow.

*     *     *

[Oh great and powerful dragon,] sent the Death Priest Jakisanda Millistara.  [We wish to talk with your mightiness.]

Most dragons were only as smart as very intelligent animals.  When young they possessed the intellect of a parrot or a wolf.  As they grew older and larger they attained the intelligence of a very smart monkey or ape.  Very few got beyond that point, though all were capable of communicating.

[And why would I want to talk with such as you, when I can instead kill and eat you.]

The Marshal was listening in on the cast, which was not on a private circuit, as the Priest had broadcast out to hopefully catch the dragon’s attention. He was surprised by the power and intelligence behind the return cast.  This creature possesses Elfin intelligence.  Possibly even greater.

[We can help you,] sent Jakisanda, his mindcast indicating his surprise at having contacted such an intelligence.

[I do not see how,] sent back the Red.  [But I will listen.  You will taste just as good ten minutes from now as you will at this moment.]

[I don’t like this,] sent the Marshal over a private circuit, or at least he thought it was such until the dragon’s next transmission.

[I would not like it either if it were me,] sent the dragon, raising the hackles on both men’s necks.

How in the hells did he listen in on us?  That’s impossible, isn’t it?

“This is not an ordinary dragon,” whispered the Death Priest, his eyes wide.  “This may be one of the children of the Dragon God.”  [What is your name, mighty Wyrm?] he sent back at the dragon.

[Names are power,] said the dragon, [and I’m not sure I wish you to have such over me.]

The Priest was silent for a moment, not sure what to do.

[You can call me Keristratinix,] sent the Red.

“This is a son of the Dragon God,” said Jakisanda.  “Ten thousand years or older.  I know what to offer him now.”

[Oh mighty Keristratinix.  How awful must be your exile to this place.]

[Of what exile do you speak, tiny creature?] roared the dragon in a mental blast that had everyone in the area holding their heads in pain.

[You were placed here by your father, the Elder God Draconostrix.  Far from the lands you used to roam, to guard the artifacts placed within the temple.  What would you do if we could set you free?]

The ground rumbled under foot, knocking several of the Ellala off their feet.  A deep roar sounded from inside the opening, what was once a doorway before something ripped it open in passage.  A heavy thump sounded, then another, as something massive walked.

The Ellala cowered, waiting for their doom to come, gripping weapons tight that would be of no more use against a Great Wyrm than a small stick plucked from the ground.  A head thrust through the opening, a head such as no one alive had ever seen.  Its horns were the length of three tall men, its teeth like great swords.  The neck followed the head, which reached up to the heavens until it towered thirty meters over the ground.  And the great body followed, huge clawed feet supporting a body that had to weigh three hundred tons.  As soon as that body was out in the open the wings swung open with a sound like a hundred sails exploded into fullness by the wind.

[What can you puny mortals do for me that I cannot do for myself?] sent the dragon, while his mouth opened and sent a huge cone of flame into the air.  [I could burn you to ash in a moment, or better yet, cook you, and then consume you.]  The flames stopped, though wisps of smoke continued to roll from his nostrils.  The head lowered to near the ground, the huge eyes glaring at the Ellala with hate and anger.

Ellisandra had felt the temperature rising around him as the dragon shot flame into the air.  The heat of the flame was almost unbelievable, an order of magnitude greater than that of a normal red.

[How far can you fly from this place?] asked the Death Priest, keeping his eyes locked on the Great Wyrm.  [What are your limits?]

[I can fly five minutes from where I stand,] sent the giant creature with sorrow.  [No more.]

[And if you had a lair of your own?]

[I would own all that I could see, and control an area as far as I could fly in a day’s time.]

[Why don’t you leave here then?]

[I cannot,] sent the dragon in a roar, his head shooting back into the sky to stare down on the Ellala.  [As long as the artifacts I was set here to guard are below, I am chained to this damnable place.]

[And if you could get the artifacts, remove them from the temple?]

[I cannot fit through the tunnels.]

[And if we were to remove those artifacts?  What then?]

[I don’t know.  They are the whole reason for my being confined to this area.]

[Perhaps you would be free.  And we would have the means to crush our enemies, worshippers of the weakling Life Gods.  A mutually beneficial outcome, wouldn’t you say?]

The dragon stared at them for some minutes, not making a sound or sending a transmission.  The Marshal felt the sweat rolling down his skin under his armor, and wondered if the next thing he would see might be the dragon’s head being thrust his way ahead of a torrent of fire.

[What you say makes sense,] said the dragon.  [I am so tired of sitting here like some mere guard animal for century after century.]

[So you will let us pass?]

[I don’t see why not.  It’s not like you are likely to do any harm, since the guardians further in will probably kill you anyway.  So be my guest, and maybe you might actually succeed, and the peoples of the north will be privileged to look to the sky and see death on the wing.]

“Ask him if he will do one more thing for us, while he’s in such a giving mood,” said the Marshal to the Death Priest.  And won’t our foe be surprised when this one starts hunting them.

*     *     *

“There are undead in the woods,” said Garios to his companions as they moved as quietly as possible along the path.

“I thought it was safe during the day?” asked Kurt, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at the Priest.

“Not safe, no,” said the Priest, shaking his head.  “Not as dangerous, yes.  These are only lesser undead that now roam these woods.  The great hibernate with the rising of the sun.”

“I can smell them,” said Fenris.  “The rot on them.”

[There are many undead ahead on this path,] sent White Paw.  [The shambling walkers.]

“Zombies,” whispered Jackie, drawing both of her blades, a disgusted look on her face.

Probably the weakest of the undead, they were also among the most grotesque.  And they were well hated among all civilized and most uncivilized peoples alike.

“Why don’t they get turned to stone when they get near the entrance?” asked Kurt.  The party was only about a kilometer from that place of petrified people.

“They lack life force,” said Garios, holding his own nose against the stench.  “They are creatures of negative energy, and cannot be petrified like living beings.”

“We should be able to defeat them soon enough,” said Sir Gromli, coughing a bit from the stench.

“It’s not defeating them that worries me,” said Kurt, seeing the first movement from ahead.  “It’s the noise we will make in defeating them, and the warning it will give whatever lives in that entry.  It will be alerted to our coming, and ready for us.”

“We could retreat and try again tomorrow, if you are concerned about us being spotted,” said Fenris, moving with the quiet stealth that only an Elf Ranger could carry off.

“We don’t have the time,” said Kurt, drawing his blade, which glowed with light at the proximity of undead.  “Have at them.”

The undead came shambling out of the woods, hundreds of rotting creatures dressed in all manner of rusty barbaric armor and shredded clothing.  Most were Grogotha, the Orcs of this land.  An Ogre or two were moving with them, as well as some humans, Nords who had wandered into this valley to die and be resurrected as monsters.

Kurt was the first to attack, right into the center of the horde.  Lenoris, the Paladin Blade of Arathonia, sang in Kurt’s mind as it tore through the zombies.  On each strike one or more of the monsters burst into flame for an instant and fell as ash to the ground.  This was what the blade was made for, and in a minute it had destroyed scores of the monsters.  The rest started moving out of Kurt’s way, their primitive minds sensing the danger that the blade presented.

Jackie whipped through the zombies to Kurt’s right, her twin blades working to place a whirling barrier between herself and the rotting creatures.  Ice simply sliced through them, taking heads and arms off with each strike.  Those zombies were still animated, but without their sensory organs they wandered without targets.  While those without an arm were reduced to futilely clawing with one hand.  Those struck by Fire suffered a different fate, bursting into flame and burning like greasy rags until their charred bones hit the ground.  While not as spectacular as the burning of Kurt’s blade, it still did the job.

Garios’ hammer also glowed with holy light, and did much the same as Kurt’s weapon, if not at the same speed.  The hammer landed with thunderclaps of sound, and each zombie flew into ash after that moment’s hesitation.  Kurt cringed at each thunderclap, knowing that whatever waited for them at the entrance to the ruins could also hear.

Fenris and the knights guarded the flanks, cutting down zombies before they could get behind the party.  All possessed enchanted weapons, if not of the same quality as the two Immortals and the Priest, and all did more than normal damage to the creatures.  Unfortunately, they did not possess the natural immunity of the Immortals, or the holy resistance of the Priest.

One of the knights cried out as a zombie scratched him on the face.  Almost immediately the rot took hold, and the man fell to his knees screaming as his face started to fall apart.  It would still take some time to die, probably weeks, but death was assured without holy healing.

Then it was over, hundreds of undead destroyed, even those who had not been incinerated hacked apart to the point where they were no longer mobile.  Garios saw to the knight who had been struck, summoning the healing power of his God to treat the man of the rot.  It started reversing immediately, though it would take some hours to be totally reversed.  The man was sent back to the camp, while the rest of the party forged ahead.

[Scout ahead of us, Jackie,] sent Kurt over the private circuit, knowing that the Immortal woman had the better chance of getting them intelligence without losing her life.  [Be careful with the whatever, though.  We have no way of knowing how it will affect us.]

Jackie sent her acknowledgement as she sheathed her blades so they wouldn’t give her away with their emanations, then slid gracefully with no sound into the brush.  Kurt followed through her own eyes, watching as she got near to the entrance, only separated by a thin line of brush.  Something came through the brush from the side, and Jackie turned, a spike of fear shooting through her mind, to look on the horror that was revealed.

*     *     *

Jackie understood why it had to be her to scout.  She was the most stealthy of the party, except for Fenris and Xeonodes, both of whom could put her to shame.  She had better senses than both the Ranger and the Thief.  And she was the much better fighter.  But, most important of all was her resistance to magic.  They weren’t sure what was causing the petrification of the people outside of the entrance to the ruins, temple, whatever.  But they were pretty sure it was caused by some kind of magical force.

She moved ahead, aware that Kurt was looking through her eyes.  This kind of connection was very personal, intimate, something she was not really sure she would want to share with another.  She could also see through his eyes, hear through his ears, feel his thoughts.  His feelings came through, worry for her, determination to get his quest over with so he could return them all to their people.  Love for her.  That last part made her heart soar, and she knew he was feeling the same thing coming from her.

Something moved to her right, and she cursed herself for a fool for letting her feelings get in the way of the mission.  She turned, thinking she was ready for everything.  But the hideous face, surrounded by a dozen hissing snake heads, eyes glowing, proved her wrong.  It’s a damned Gorgon, she thought, stifling a scream and reaching for the hilt of her right handed sword, Fire.

Her hand closed around the hilt as her heart seemed to freeze in fear, and her muscles locked in place.  I’m dead, she thought, as she felt her skin begin to harden, her dark tan complexion turning to the color of stone.  Her last voluntary action was the scream she released.

*     *     *

“She’s in trouble,” yelled Fenris, running forward with his blade in hand.

“Wait,” cried Garios, trying to grab onto the quick moving Elf and missing.  “He will die,” said the Dwarf, looking over at Kurt, who was himself starting to move forward.

“Then what do you recommend?” asked the big Immortal, waiting one second for an answer, then shaking his head and starting forward again.  What the hell does the Priest expect me to do.  Let my lover and my friend both die because I’m too cautious to do anything.

Kurt ran out into the open, trying to locate his foe.  He had no trouble with that part, as the snake headed woman turned away from her latest victims and speared Kurt with her deadly stare.  He tried to look away, but his eyes were locked as soon as he met her gaze.  He could feel himself begin to stiffen as his muscles froze and his skin began to harden.  He saw his two friends, both now statues.

No, he screamed mentally, forcing his muscles to move his limbs.  They resisted a moment, then swung into motion, slower than normal, but still mobile.  The creature’s eyes increased their intensity, glowing brighter, and Kurt felt himself begin to freeze yet again.  He felt no fear at his pending petrification, only a rage that he couldn’t get at his enemy and kill her for what she had done to his friends.  With the growing rage he fought off the petrification, drawing his sword back for a strike.

The snake heads struck first, a trio of them shooting forward and sinking their fangs into his neck.  The venom they injected burned like liquid hellfire, and he shouted in agony as it rushed through his veins.  He wanted to reach for the heads and pull them free, but realized that such an action would accomplish nothing.  So he gritted his teeth and tried to bring is sword forward.

Before he could complete the move a blade of glowing flame sliced into the neck of the Gorgon, cutting through.  The head flew into the air, the glow in the eyes dying, the mouth slackening open, the snake heads gasping as they rattled.  The Gorgon fell dead, its blood spraying out, some striking Kurt on the cheek, where it burned as harshly as the venom that the snake heads had injected.

“I thought you were dead,” he said to the woman who stood behind the fallen body of the Gorgon.  He pushed the tip of his sword into the ground and opened his arms, feeling slightly light headed from the venom, but still alive.  Jackie flew into his grasp.  “You were turned into a statue.  I saw it.”

Jackie buried her face into his armored shoulder.  “I felt myself turning, and didn’t think anything could stop it.  Until it turned its attention on you, and its spell seemed to break.”

“And what of Fenris?” asked Kurt, keeping his arms around her and looking over at the place where he had seen the Ellala.  His mouth opened in surprise when he saw the man starting to move, the grayish cast of the stone on his skin.  It took a few moments, but Fenris started breathing as his skin returned to its normal golden tan.

“Her spell was broken when you killed her, Friend Kurt,” said Garios, stepping out of the brush.  “Fenris had not completed petrification either, and so he comes back to us, unlike these others who have been here so long.”  The Priest gestured at the numerous other statues around the dark entrance leading into the mountain.

Kurt released Jackie and stepped back, getting a good look at the petrified beings for the first time.  The greatest number of them were Grogatha, dressed in the leather armor of their warriors that now looked like it had also been carved of stone.  There were a few Ogres, and a dozen humans with the features of Nords.  And there were some others that looked like they had not come from this region.  Men in full armor, holding long swords of a strange design.

“It looks like other adventurers have come here over the centuries,” said Sir Gromli, walking up to one of the statues.

“The more successful ones,” agreed Garios, looking at another of the statues of a warrior.  “The ones who made it through the Grogotha.”

“Just so they could die here,” said the Dwarf.  “Not much of a success, if you ask me.”

“Well, we ended her rein, sure enough,” said Jackie, watching as Fenris started shoving some of his arrows into the bleeding neck stump of the Gorgon.  “What are you doing?” she asked, as the Elalla carefully placed the arrows into a quiver he carried that was made of bronze.

“Her blood is one of the deadliest substances known,” said the Ellala in a still weak voice.  “They may come in handy inside that dungeon we are about to enter.”

“And how do you feel, Friend Kurt?” asked the Priest, looking up at the much taller man.  “The venom from those snakes was at least as deadly as her blood.”

“I’m feeling better,” said Kurt, his body recovering quickly from a poison that would have killed almost anyone else.

“Your remarkable constitution has served you well again,” said the Priest, shaking his head.  “Pray that it continues to do so in the future.”

[If there is a future for you weak creatures,] boomed a voice in the heads of all the telepaths.  [Which I seriously doubt.]

Something cracked in the sky, the sound like sails booming in the wind.  Kurt looked up to the sky to see an enormous red dragon dropping out of the sky on them, its huge mouth wide open as it started to spray flame at them.

Chapter Thirteen

The roar of the great red sounded through the mountains, echoing off the walls of rock and sending most of the creatures within earshot running.  Marshal Ellessa Ellisandra smiled as he heard that sound.  So, our pursuers have run into our new friend.  May they burn in agony in this world before they go to whatever hell they are destined for.

[The way is clear,] sent the Master Assassin, Glassini Ellishanana, who was scouting ahead with her three compatriots.

[We’re coming in,] sent the Marshal back, waving a hand in the air and pointing at the entrance of the ruins.  It looked like at one time this had been a marble wall, but it had been torn and melted by the dragon, allowing the Great Wyrm to enter and use the interior for his lair.  The first score of warriors marched through, their eyes constantly on the move as they entered a place that stunk of dragon.

This is not the area that worries me, thought the Marshal.  The cavern he saw as he walked in had been the lair of a creature that no other would think of intruding upon.  It was when they went through an opening that the dragon couldn’t get through that things would again become dangerous.  And his assassins would be the first to contact those dangers.  What they’re here for, he thought.  He preferred that at least one of them made it to their objective alive.  They might need an assassin’s skill as a thief to get through a final barrier.  But if some of them died before they got to that objective, he would not cry.  Especially if it was the Master, who he was sure had orders to get rid of him when the time was right.

“Come on, Krug.  Jakisanda,” he ordered the Ogre and the Death Priest.  They were his heavy hitters, and he was determined to keep them close in case something came out of the dark that he couldn’t handle on his own.  The rest of the priests and mages followed his group, then another score of warriors.  All he wanted to bring into the ruins at this time.  There were over a hundred men he would leave behind, though another score of them would follow when Ellisandra and his people got deep into the ruins, and act as a ready reserve.

The roar of the dragon came to his ears once again, and the Marshal smiled.  Perhaps he can kill them, and they can return the favor, so we won’t have to deal with the Wyrm again.

*     *     *

The Great Wyrm swept lower, its wings booming as it reduced its dive to something that would keep it over its target, putting out torrents of flame to incinerate its victims.  It could sense some powerful weapons on the intruders, gear that would join its treasure horde after it killed the carriers.  It opened its mouth and shot out the superhot flames that were greater than the heat of the greatest forge.

Something hit Keristratinix in the head, a flame so hot and powerful that it actually dazed the dragon.  The Great Wyrm shook its head, then looked around to see if it could find the foe.  Its wings boomed again, lifting it into the air as it quested for the creature that had attacked it.

There, it thought, as it picked up the smaller humanoid that was dropping to the ground.  Not possible.  The Wyrm had fought humans and Elves in the past, even great wizards.  And never had it felt such power from a magic user before.  Maybe it’s an angel, or even a god.  The dragon dismissed that thought as it looked down on the small figure.  While it radiated power, it was not the power of the divine.  So he’s a magic user.  And wizards I can kill.

The Wyrm dove at the man, opening his mouth and sending a stream of superheated flame into the wizard’s body.  The bushes around the man flared into ash, the ground beneath his feet turned to flowing glass, and the dragon expected the human to fall into a pile of burned bone chips any moment.  Instead, the man looked up at the dragon with glowing eyes and raised a hand.  A ball of white fire rose from the extended arm and streaked toward the dragon, exploding on its chest.

Keristratinix roared in agony as the flame burned into his scales to the muscle underneath.  The dragon flapped his wings to gain altitude and get away from its tormentor.  This is impossible, thought the dragon.  Like all of his kind, fire was his element.  Fire was something he had total resistance to.  He could lay in magma flowing from the earth with little discomfort.  There was nothing that a mortal mage could do to him with fire that would affect him.  But now he was being hit with something outside of his understanding.

I will see if he can handle being pierced by my spear like teeth, he thought, stopping his fire and diving at the man, his mouth gaping open.  Die, insect, thought the dragon as he moved to snatch the human from the ground.

The explosion of fire struck the open mouth of the Great Wyrm and blasted outward.  Keristratinix had a moment to feel his jaw bones break into pieces, the flesh burning into smoking meat, his lower head blow in small bits out into the air.  The dragon fell over on his back, aware of his agony for just another moment before the fire burned into his brain and he knew no more.

It wasn’t the way he had planned, but the Great Wyrm was finally freed of his imprisonment.  His spirit went to join that of the Dragon God, where he would rule at the side of the deity for millennia.

*     *      *

“James,” yelled Jackie, as the young Mage turned to face them, the fire that had enveloped his body fading away.

“How?” asked Kurt, dumbstruck.  “We saw you fall to your death.”

“You saw me fall,” agreed the young man.  “But the levitation spell that Fenris taught me worked beyond my wildest dreams when I was in trouble.”

“And you came back to us,” said Jackie, running up and enfolding the human in a hug.

“I had a bit of trouble with some Grogatha and their shamans at first,” said James, patting the woman on the back, then grunting.  “Don’t break my ribs, my Lady.   I may control magic, but my body is still that of a frail human.”

“And how did you kill the dragon?” asked Fenris, his expression alternating between delighted and confused.  “Fire is the element the reds are most resistant to.”

“He fed me dragon fire,” said James, holding up a hand and sending a flame out from his finger.  The heat was tremendous, more so than any ordinary fire.  “I have his power within me now.  I’m not sure how long I will have it, but as long as I do, it’s at my beck and call.”

“So the dragon could not handle his own poison?” asked Sir Gromli.

“Nope, and he had no way of knowing that fire cannot hurt me, no matter how hot,” said James.

“You still took an awful risk,” said Kurt, looking over the young man to make sure there wasn’t an injury they were missing.  After a couple of glances he was satisfied.  “Are you ready to go with us into these ruins, or do you need rest?”

“I’m ready to get this over with,” said James with a head nod.  “The sooner we are back to civilization, or what passes for it on this world, the better.”

Kurt nodded, then motioned for Jackie to lead the way.  He hated sending her in at point all the time, but she was the best suited for it, with her combination strength, speed and heightened senses.  He made a point of following close enough behind that he could support her in seconds. Unless some damned trap springs that cuts her off from us.  But it’s better for the party if she moves quietly ahead, and picks up any enemy before they hear us.

“Do you really miss your own world so much, Kurt?” asked Garios, walking beside the tall man, taking two steps for every one the human took.  “From what I have heard from others of your people, there were many problems there, and you were cut off from nature.”

“How would you feel if you were ripped from your underground cities and dropped in a world where none of your magic worked, Garios?  Would you not feel out of place?”

The Dwarf gave a human head nod, looking up at the tall man.

“Then, that is how we feel.  Many of the things we took for granted are no longer with us.”

“Like your war machines?”

“Most people did not have regular contact with our tanks and helicopters,” said Kurt, shaking his head.  “They were useful, if terrible as well.  But we had so much more.  Transport through the air faster than your fastest dragon.  Motor vehicles for ground and water.  Ships that could sail around the world at ten times the speed of that galley that brought us here.  Devices to show us images from around the world, and many years in the past.  Machines that could probe the human body and diagnose diseases.”  Kurt thought for a moment, then smiled down at the short Priest.  “Of course, you with your magic can do better than us in the medical department, but we still had some things to be proud of there.”  He looked up at the sky for a moment, before the ruins took that away from him.  “And we sent vehicles to other worlds.  Men to our moon, robots to the other planets in our solar system.  There were even plans to send men, before we destroyed our cities with what you call God weapons, but which were nothing but devices out of hell.”

“Like the weapons you used against the Empire?” asked the Priest.  “The ones that sent huge clouds of dust into the air.”

“Like those, yes.  But some were a hundred times more powerful, capable of destroying a city of ten million in an instant.  We were proud of that science too, before it destroyed us.”

Kurt ducked a bit to fit through the entrance, something no one else in his party need do.  The entrance went in about ten meters, then entered a room that boasted a ceiling twenty meters above the floor and was at least forty meters wide.  It extended off into the distance before ending in a wall.  Glowing gems set in the wall illuminated the room.  A number of large statues stood on pedestals about the floor, each a warrior with weapons in hand.

“More victims of the Gorgon?” asked Kurt, walking up to one of the statues.

“I don’t think so,” said Garios, tapping the base of one of the pedestals with his hammer.  “I think these were works of art, placed here ages ago.  I sense some magic within them, faint, and of a type I don’t recognize.  But nothing to do with the petrification magic of that foul creature.”

“I’ve found something over here,” said Xeonodes, waving to the others.

“Whatever it is, it really stinks,” said Fenris, the first to reach the small alcove in the larger cavern.

There were bones scattered across the floor, and the feces of some predator.  And some other objects, among them a jeweled dagger and some pieces of armor.

“I think this was the Gorgon’s lair,” said Garios, poking around the five by eight meter room.  “She was a predatory creature.”

“I thought she turned all flesh to stone,” said Gromli, poking at some shredded clothing.

“And she could turn it back to flesh so she could eat,” said the Priest.

“I found something over here,” said the Halfling, checking out an already opened and half rotted chest.  Some large oblong objects sat in the chest.

“Her eggs,” said Garios, making the sign of his God.  “Now that she is dead, one or more of them will hatch, and we will have new Gorgons here.”

“Not if I can help it,” said James, stepping forward.  “Everyone back, while I incinerate these things.”

“Hold one moment, Mage,” said Xeonodes, reaching for the jeweled dagger and its sheath.  “This is magical, and I would not want you melting it before I can put it to good use.”  The Thief stepped back, leaving the chamber empty.

James called up the fire into his hands and sent it into the room, setting everything flammable aflame, melting other objects, including the stone of the walls.  The eggs flared and exploded with the heat, sending small versions of their mother into the air where they flashed to ash.

“That takes care of that threat,” said James, looking back at his companions with a smile.

Kurt was about to say something when he heard a sound like stone grating on stone.  He turned, along with the others, to see one of the stone statues turning its head to look at them.  Even though the eyes were of unblinking stone, he could feel them looking at him with a fierce hate.  The hands with sword and shield moved, and it started to step from the pedestal.  The other three statutes were also moving, stepping onto the floor and striding forward in fighting crouches.

“Golems,” said Garios, a term Kurt remembered from tales of the Jewish ghettoes on Prague.  And if these things were half as tough as that monster was said to be, they were in real trouble.

*     *     *

“Wait,” said Glassini, holding up a hand and stopping the party before they had taken more than a few steps into the room.

The Ellala all went into a kneel, looking at the room they had stopped before.  Four statues stood on pedestals within the room, totally immobile.

“What’s the hold up,” called out Ellisandra, walking toward the Assassin with the Death Priest and the Ogre by his side.

“There is death in this room,” said the Assassin.  “I can feel it.”

The Marshal looked at the statues, not really sure what he was looking at.  The first room they had entered had been the dragon’s hoard, not really what one would expect for a Great Wyrm.  Then again, he had been stuck in a limited area on a barbaric peninsula, so there was not all that much treasure to be had.  Still, it was enough to make every Elf in their party rich for a good part of their very long lifespans.  They had taken some choice objects, not wanting to weight themselves down this early in this ruin crawl.

“Can you tell what it is?” he asked the Assassin.

“No, but I have suspicions.”

“If your suspicions tend toward Stone Golems, you are correct,” said the Death Priest, Jakisanda Millistara.  “They are set here as a ward, to catch anyone who gets past the dragon.”

And I wonder what happened to our ally, the Great Wyrm.  They had heard nothing from the giant beast since it went into the attack.  We should have at least gotten a mental communication back from it, if it had survived the attack.  It seemed inconceivable that the giant creature could have lost to mere mortals.  Then he reminded himself that two of those chasing him were not mortals, and that they had caused much trouble for his people and his Empire since coming to this world.

“Can you get us past the ward?” he asked the Priest, not wanting to fight creatures like these.  That they could defeat them, he had no doubt.  He also had no doubt that he would take casualties, and he only had so many bodies.  He would prefer to keep as many fighting men as possible alive for what they would face further in, when the threats were sure to become more and more powerful.

“I think I can,” said the Priest, closing his eyes, his brow furrowing in concentration.  He opened his eyes and said some words, waving his right hand.

The Marshal could now feel a presence in the statues, as if they were looking at him, or even into his soul.  It was not the kind of feeling that made him want to trust his soul to the room.  Then the feeling left him, and the room seemed to be empty.

“The way should be clear,” said the Death Priest, looking over at the leader.

Ellisandra did not like that word, should.  That meant there was the possibility that the Priest had not accomplished the task given him.  Which meant the first people into the room might be dead the moment they set foot on that floor.

The Marshal waved some nervous looking infantry forward.  The men stared at him wide eyed, then at each other, before they walked out into the cavern.  Both were obviously terrified, and both were well aware of the penalty for disobedience, which would result in a much more painful death than the statues would mete out.

The quartet walked forward in a crouch, weapons and shields gripped tightly in their hands.  A trio of bowmen covered them, shafts notched and pulled halfway back.  The arrows probably wouldn’t do much against the statues if they became mobile, except provide a distraction.  The archers did not look very enthusiastic about that prospect either, as distracting the golems would just attract them to the bowmen.

The Marshal held his own breath as the swordsmen walked across the floor, letting it out a bit as the men passed the pedestals.  The men relaxed just a little as well, though not as much as their leader.  After all, they were still in the danger zone.  They finally relaxed as they reached the end of the floor and stepped into the entrance of the passage.

“Be alert,” yelled the Marshal to his men, feeling a flash of anger as the soldiers seemed to be unaware that they were still in a hazard zone.  The statues might not be dangerous.  But what waited beyond could still kill them, and they didn’t know how far beyond.  “We can cross now,” he told the rest of his people, then made sure that some others went across first, just in case the golems were playing some kind of game with them.

“Have your assassins lead the way,” he told Glassini when they reached the other side.

The woman nodded, again not thrilled with the idea that the people she felt closest to would lead, but recognizing that if it was what the Marshal ordered, that was the way it would be.  She motioned to two of her assassins, a man and a woman, to lead the way.  They motioned back without any show of emotion and headed further into the tunnel.

At least they are both competent and confident, thought the Marshal as he saw them disappear down the tunnel.  With both of those attributes, they would find and deal with any dangers, even if only to alert the main party of the threat.  It was looking good so far, and he had yet to lose a man.  They walked for almost twenty minutes before that changed.

*     *     *

The Stone Golems towered over the humans, Elf, and especially the Dwarf and Halfling.  Each took a step forward, their feet striking the ground with a weight that shook the floor.  Kurt realized that a stomp of that foot would crush him even within his armor.   He wasn’t sure that even his peculiar metabolism would survive being smashed like a bug.

The monsters took another step forward, staying in line, like they were going to herd the humanoid creatures in front of them.  Their eyes might have just been stone circles in their faces, but they seemed to glare with an inhuman hatred that was almost a physical force.

“Let me take care of them,” called out James, moving forward and raising his hands.  Flames sprang from his fingertips to hit one of the creatures, surrounding it in superhot fire.  The golem continued forward, not slowed by the flames in the least.  James’ expression narrowed in concentration and he poured more fire into the creature, to no effect.  As soon as he gave up his assault the stone creature stood there, untouched.

“Maybe dragon fire,” he said, looking down at his hands, then back up at the creatures.  He raised his hands, and the golem he had attacked swung a hand at him that came nowhere near to hitting.  But a small piece of the golem flew off during the swing and clipped James near the temple.  The man cried out and fell to the floor, unconscious.

“Get him out of here,” yelled Kurt, pointing at the body, then charging forward with his sword drawn.  He caught sight of a pair of knights out of the corner of his vision, picking the Mage up and carrying him to safety.  Jackie was moving to try and flank the golems, while one started turning to make sure it was always facing her.  Fenris readied his bow, while Garios stood slightly to the rear, his lips moving in prayer.  So the center is all mine, thought Kurt with a slight smile.  Not sure if I can handle it, but it’s there nonetheless.

Without another thought the Immortal jumped forward, bringing his blade around in a side swipe into the golem’s arm.  The creature brought its own sword up and down.  Kurt twisted aside as his blade struck into the stone skin and bounced off with a small shower of rock dust.

[I am not the best weapon against these creatures, Kurt,] said the God blade in his mind.  [They are not creatures of evil, and living stone is not something I can do much more damage to than a standard blade.]

Kurt moved out of the way of another blow, one that smashed into the floor and sent tremors through the flagstones.  The creatures were incredibly strong and tough, but speed was not their strong suit.  Kurt struck the creature again, putting all of his strength into it.  A small crack appeared in the shield arm, and the Immortal felt some hope that he might hurt this creature.  The crack healed almost instantly, before Kurt could land another blow.

Jackie yelled out, and Kurt, moving out of the way of the sword, aware that another of the golems was coming in behind him, looked her way for a moment.  The woman was flying through the air, her eyes closed, an obvious victim of the golem’s sword.  She hit back first on the wall and slid down, her eyes still scrunched closed in pain.

He ducked just in time to avoid the sword of the second golem that was starting its attack on him, then dodged the stone blade of the first one.   Thinking of Jackie’s over his own safety, he took off in a charge and ran into the golem that was stalking her.  With an oof he bounced off the solid stone creature and landed on his buttocks on the floor.  He did accomplish part of what he intended, though, as the golem turned toward him and started his way, leaving only one of the creatures that was not concentrating on him.

That golem was occupied with Sir Gromli and his knights.  They were gamely battling the monster, and doing little other than occupying its attention.  One of the knights lay on the floor, face down, blood pouring from his helmet.  Kurt did not think that man was alive, and the golem was going about trying to kill another human.

Kurt went into overdrive, every other mobile creature, human, elf and golem, appearing to be moving in slow motion.  Two golems swung at Kurt with strikes he could have walked away from.  Don’t get cocky, Kurt, thought the Immortal, swinging his sword in and hitting a golem in the head.  The creature shook his head and opened his stone mouth for a silent roar.

“Kurt,” yelled out Garios, holding up his now glowing hammer.  “Catch.”  The dwarf threw the hammer end over end toward the Immortal, who dropped his sword to the floor and caught the hammer.  “Hit them with it, with all of your strength.  Don’t hold anything back.”

Kurt glanced at the hammer, then ducked under yet another swing.  I’m getting tired of this, thought the Immortal, drawing the hammer back, then swinging it into the right knee of the golem, letting out a loud roar as he put all of his strength into it.

The hammer struck with a crack like thunder, a crack that continued as the knee shattered and fell in stones to the floor.  The intact calf fell over, and the unbalanced creature tried desperately to keep its balance.  Kurt brought the hammer back, this time low, and swung up at the head of the creature as it dropped lower.  The hammer hit again with a thunderous sound, and the face shattered as the head flew off of the crumbling neck.  The golem swayed for a moment, then fell forward, its limbs unmoving, to shatter on the floor.

Kurt ducked under a thrust, then swung the hammer at the sword, breaking it off at the midpoint and shivering the stone up to the hilt and into the golem’s hand, which crumbled to the ground.  The creature got its shield up in time to catch the next blow, losing the protection and its left arm for its trouble.  Kurt swung the hammer into the chest of the golem, which appeared confused on how to react to this assault.  The confusion left it with its life as its torso broke apart and head, arms and lower body fell in separate pieces to the floor.

The remaining two creatures charged at Kurt.  They were not truly alive, and did not feel fear.  They had been programed by their animating spell to attack anything that entered their area, without consideration for themselves.  Both moved at the Immortal as fast as their legs could carry them, about the speed of a slow snake.  Kurt dodged to the side and swung his hammer into the back of one of the golems.  Again the thunder sounded, not as deep as before, and large cracks appeared in the creature’s rib and outer back area.

The hammer’s losing its power, thought the Immortal, swinging in again and sending more cracks through the golem.  He struck two more times, finally knocking its left arm and the side of its face loose.  The golem tried to impale him on its sword, but another pair of strikes took off its head, and took the remainder of the divine magic out of the hammer.

Leaving Kurt to face the last of the stone creatures with just a hammer.  Still an enchanted weapon, capable of hitting hard without damage to itself, but possessing none of the magical ability against stone that Garios had imbued it with.  And still the best weapon he had.  Turning to face the last golem, which was watching him closely, hesitant to move within range of what it must have thought was still a weapon particularly deadly to its kind.  Finally, it must have made up what mind it had, and stepped forward, its blank face aligned with its chosen victim.  It kept its shield up before it, sword raised overhead for a downward strike.

Kurt roared a war cry and charged forward.  Sweat was pouring down his face, his breath was hot and ragged, he could feel his body overheating.  He wondered for a moment in his overdrive sped thinking what was being burned out of his brain at this time.  It would be nice if it was the memory of burning alive on the Russian front.  Unfortunately, that memory came back regularly in his dreams, and was unlikely to be burned out of his gray matter.  No, the pleasant memories would go first, those of interacting with people he loved, the bittersweet recollections of friends and neighbors.  With that thought came greater anger, and the fueling of his muscles with adrenaline, the levels of which would kill a normal human.

Kurt dodged the sword, then swung the hammer into the stone blade in a two handed strike.  The sword cracked, then shattered under the force of the golem’s blow.  The golem stared at the broken sword for a moment, then staggered back as Kurt brought the hammer around and hit it in the chest.  A few stone chips flew off, not like what had happened when it had held the spell the Dwarf had put on it.  The golem staggered back, and Kurt slid his feet forward, braced his body, and swung a trio of blows into the same spot on the chest.  The golem staggered again, looking for a moment like it was going to fall on its back, but caught itself at the last moment.

The big Immortal moved in again, swinging two more blows to the chest, trying to work on the one area to see what would happen.  The stone statue again staggered back, then swung its shield with all its considerable mass behind it to strike Kurt in the face.  The Immortal flew back through the air, his vision blurring, reaching into momentary blackness.  He landed on his back twenty meters away from the golem, shook off his injury, and sprang back to his feet.

The first sight to meet his eyes was Jackie attacking the golem from the back, her twin blades striking off sparks and bits of stone.  The creature started to turn, and Kurt ran up on it and swung the hammer into the back of its right knee.  With a flurry of blows he started the limb cracking around the joint.  The golem fell to one knee, a hand lowered to hold it off the floor.  Kurt took a couple of quick steps and brought the hammer into the creature’s elbow.  At the third strike the elbow shattered, and the golem tumbled hard to the floor in an Earth shaking fall.  Kurt brought the hammer up, then down on the neck of the golem, cracking the stone.  He hit it again, and again, finally, on the fourth strike, the head came off.  It rolled across the floor for a couple of meters, as the body went rigid in its semi-prone position, once more nothing other than a statue.

Kurt staggered back, sucking in air as his body overheated.  He started to turn, so he could walk to the wall and sit with his back to some support.  Halfway through that turn everything went black, and he fell hard to the ground, unconscious.

Chapter Fourteen

“What in the hells is that?” asked one of the Ellala warriors, looking up, his ears rotating slightly.

The Marshal stopped for a moment and held his hand up.  A sound like thunder reverberated through the tunnels and caverns that made up this underground world beneath the mountain.  A moment later came another crack, again sounding much like distant thunder.

“That is divine magic,” said Millistara, tilting his head and listening intently.  “The magic of a Dwarven priest, called up to combat creatures of stone.”

“More stone golems?”

“That would be my guess,” said the Priest, giving a head shake of acknowledgement.  “I would say that our friends made it into the ruins.  They are still quite a distance away, but we may find ourselves adjacent to them in the near future.”

“So the Great Wyrm didn’t get them,” said the troubled leader.

“Nor the Gorgon the dragon hinted at,” agreed the Priest.  “They are a mighty party.”

Stronger than us? thought Ellisandra, looking in the direction of another thunderclap, and realizing that his party, for all their power, would have had a difficult time taking on and defeating a huge dragon like the one they had found guarding the entrance.  It didn’t prove that the foe had beaten the dragon.  They could, of course, have merely escaped and hidden from the beast.  But the Marshal had a feeling that this was not the answer.  We have not had contact with the Wyrm since he flew off to confront the humans and their allies.

“What do you think happened to the great Red?” he asked the Priest.

“I think he is dead,” said the Priest.  “From what we have been told about these, Immortals, and the natural mages they brought with them, the dragon, arrogant as all of his kind, probably underestimated them, and paid the price.”

“And will the golems stop them?” asked Ellisandra, not really expecting a hopeful answer.

“Who knows,” said the Priest.  “While I doubt it, I couldn’t say for sure.  Any more than I can say that we will make it.”

“But,” said the leader, before the sound of a loud roar echoed through the caverns.

“They are having a fight of it,” said the Death Priest with a smile.  “Perhaps we will be lucky, and they will not be.”

“We need to keep moving,” said the Marshal, waving the men to keep moving.  They passed through another opening, into another large cavern with a winding path through the middle.

The sounds stopped as they entered this cavern, though, based on their having moved, that could have just been the vagaries of sound transmitting or not through other passages.  May you be crushed into the stone, thought the Marshal of his enemies.  If he could get to the artifacts before the humans, he was sure he would win.  Krug, equipped with the sword and armor, would be unstoppable.  And anyone with the crown would be able to call up an army of allies.  If the enemy reached them first, there was little doubt they would not use them, but, powerful as they were, they might not need them to win.  Only keep his people from getting them.

Screaming broke out behind, followed by angry shouts.  The Marshal turned around to see one of his infantry groups standing, looking down a side tunnel, spears and swords at the ready.  There was a lot of gesturing going on, and one word repeated.  Tentacle.

“What’s going on?” asked Ellisandra, walking back to the men with swift steps, his own sword out, just in case.

“A tentacle came out of that tunnel and grabbed Klesini, my Lord” said one of the men, poking with his spear at the dark opening for emphasis.  “One moment he was here, the next gone.  We’re about to go in pursuit, if it please the Marshal.”

“It does not please me,” said Ellisandra, glaring at the Ellala.  “We don’t have time for a pursuit down endless tunnels.”

“But, Klesini,” stammered the Ellala who had been talking.  The rest of the men gave their leader sullen looks.

The Marshal knew what they were thinking.  They had been conditioned to be obedient to their superiors, no matter what.  They had also been conditioned by their circumstances to be loyal to their fellows, to depend on the other men in their unit to come to their aid, just as they would for them, no matter what.  But if we go traipsing down tunnels leading the Gods know where, we could add hours to our quest, if not days, and that I cannot afford.

“Keep a careful watch at any other dark openings,” he told the men.  “Let this be a warning to you that we are in dangerous territory.  Klesini is most likely dead already, and going after his corpse would lead to more loss of life.  Now, we forge on.”

The men said nothing.  Their looks told the story better than any words they could voice.  Some muttered, but all fell into line and followed their leader.  And all kept close watch on any walls they were near.

Ten minutes later another Ellala was snatched from their line, this time from a tentacle that arose from a hole in the floor.  The Marshal knew then that whether he wanted it or not, he was locked into a death struggle with one or more creatures in this underworld.

*     *     *

“My Lord Kurt.  Can you hear me?  Are you well?”

Kurt opened his eyes, closing them almost immediately as the ambient light evoke pain from his optic nerves.

“He’s coming around,” said the familiar voice.

“I hope there’s no permanent damage.” said a woman’s voice.  Jackie? he thought through a cloudy mind.  And the other voice is the Dwarf, Garios.  Kurt took a deep breath, attempting to clear his head.  I’ve never gotten so overheated before.  I have to watch that in the future.  He dismissed that thought as soon as it came.  He would do what it took to save his companions, no matter the risk to himself.  He was a soldier, and that had always been the way of the army he had served in.

“I’m, OK,” he said, opening his eyes and looking into the face of the Dwarf, catching Jackie’s concerned visage past him.  He smiled at the Dwarf, then gave the woman an even brighter smile.  “I’ll survive, I think.”

“Any wounds you might have received fighting the golems are gone,” said the Dwarf, tilting his head and looking at the right side of Kurt’s face.  “It’s really remarkable the way you heal so quickly.  There can’t be many things that can kill one like yourself, or the Lady Jackie.”

“There are some,” said Kurt, remembering his conversation with Levine.  At least those memories survived, and I know why we’re here, so those are also fine.  He knew that when he needed a memory, one he knew he had, and it didn’t materialize, he would realize how much he had lost.

“Help me to my feet,” he told the Dwarf.

Jackie pushed past the Priest and grabbed Kurt by the arm, using her strength to help lever him to his feet.  Kurt smiled at her again, knowing that she was one he would give his life for, just as he was sure she would do the same for him.  Hopefully, it will not come to that.  I want both of us to live for a long, long time, and to grow closer through that time.  That in itself was a wonderful thought.  He had spent many decades divorced from the rest of humanity, afraid that whomever he became close to would age, while he stayed the same.  Now there were others just like him, who would live as long as he did.

“White Paw is scouting ahead,” said Jackie as she let go of his arm and let him see if he could walk steady on his own feet.  “So far he’s found nothing.”

“I’d forgotten about him,” said Kurt, remembering that the loyal wolf had held back, trying to bombard the golems with his mental waves, and failing to accomplish anything against the animated statues.  It was really good that the wolf had more than animal intelligence.  If it had tried to attack one of the golems, it would have just injured itself while accomplishing nothing, except put itself in the danger zone of a counter attack.

One of the knights had not survived the conflict, and the Immortal looked over at the man being propped up against the wall in a sitting position as their leader said some words from his faith over him.  This world knew resurrection magic, and Garios did not have that at his disposal.

James Drake came limping up, holding his head.  One eye was blackened, but the other was clear and focused.

“Will you be alright?” asked Kurt, concerned for his young friend, who was also one of their most powerful party members.

“My head may hurt for a while,” said the Mage, starting a shake of said member, then stopping and grabbing his forehead with both hands.  “And I guess it’s going to hurt for a while.”

“I used healing magic on the Mage,” said Garios, frowning.  “He was at risk from the stone that struck his head.  Possibly life threatening.  Now he will survive, but I was not able to take away all of his injuries, or his pain.”

“We will move at a pace you can handle,” said Kurt after a moment’s thought.  “I would not have you wandering this place alone.”  And I want to keep our heavy artillery close.  If not for the misfortune of being hit by that golem, he probably would have generated enough dragon’s fire to melt them.

Drake looked grateful, though he had to know the concern was not just because he was such a great human being.  There were dangers ahead, which no one in the party could really imagine.  And he might be the power they needed to push through those dangers.

The party moved out in the same tactical formation they had assumed before running into the room of statues.  Jackie took the point, Fenris by her side, though she was still a good hundred meters behind the wolf.  Gromli and one of his men followed behind the female Immortal.  Kurt, Garios and Drake formed a trio twenty meters back from knightly pair, with the two Nords, H’rrut and his son, walking just behind them.  Four other knights followed, forming both the reserve and the rear guard.

Kurt was now linked with White Paw, as well as Jackie, who was also in link with the wolf.  All were looking through their own eyes, and the eyes of the other two.  Jackie’s vision looked normal to Kurt, with maybe a little better dark vision than any regular human, same as his.  White Paw’s vision was missing some of the color enhancement that he enjoyed with his own, and the depth perception seemed just a little off.  But the night was very clear, and the hearing of the beast as much better than even his enhanced sense.  As far as smell went, even his enhanced Immortal olfactory sense was just plain pitiful compared to the wolf’s, which was an order of magnitude more sensitive than his wild, not genetically enhanced, cousins.

[I’m picking up the odor of rotting flesh,] came a call back from the canine.

[How long have they been dead,] sent Kurt, holding up a hand to stop the rest of the party.

[A very long time.  And they are moving.  I can hear the rattle of dried tendons and muscles.]

[Zombies?]

[Not like any I’ve encountered before.  These are some kind of greater undead, but not the night stalkers.]

Kurt told Garios what the wolf had sent, and the Dwarf stood for a moment scratching his beard.  “I don’t like the sound of this.  Those could be mummies, or skeletal lords.  Either would be bad news.  The question is, what are they doing down here, when their natural inclination is to search out the living, and make them dead as well.  And, if they were in hibernation, what woke them?”

“Our passage?”

“We have not gotten to them yet,” said the Priest, shaking his head.  “The only one close enough to possibly trigger a wakeup is the wolf, and they normally wouldn’t react to the presence of an animal.  I wonder.”

“Wonder what?” asked Kurt, looking at the tunnel ahead, where Jackie and Fenris were stationed, out of his sight.

“It could be a litch, an evil Mage who traded his soul for an Immortal pseudo-life.  He could have magical trigger spells all over the place, letting him know when the living are about to invade his lair.”

[Isn’t a litch what the Ellala Emperor is trying to become?] sent Jackie through the mind speak link.

[Trying is the catchword,] replied the Dwarf.  [If he ever achieves that ambition, he will become almost impossible to kill.  As would be this litch, if such is in our path.]

[This is all conjecture,] said Kurt in a mental growl.  [We have no way of knowing what lies ahead, only that it might be this, or might be that.]

[Should we try to go around?] sent Jackie, and Kurt could feel that the woman really didn’t want to delay.  She wanted to attack and crush this enemy, just like all the others they had faced.

[We don’t have time,] sent the Immortal leader.  [Every second we waste means the enemy gets closer to the objective.]

[It will risk much if there is a litch, and some greater mummies or skeletal lords with him,] said the Priest in caution.

[And it will risk much if the others get to the artifacts before we do.  No, we must forge ahead, and blast through this threat as well.]

Kurt thought a moment about how he wanted to approach this unknown threat.  He drew upon his experience as a Panzer Grenadier officer in one of the deadliest conflicts his people had ever engaged in.  Until we started dropping nukes on each other, he thought, shaking his head.  But we need intelligence on this opponent before we go sticking our head in a trap.  And the best way to get intelligence is to fight for it.  He recalled how the armored recon troops had done just that on every front, and had done such a good job of it that the Americans had copied the technique for their armored formations in the latter half of the war.  And well beyond it, with their Armored Cavalry Regiments.

[Jackie.  Wait where you are.  I will join you with Garios, and you and I will prepare a recon in force, so that the others will know how to approach, and how to fight.]

He looked over at the Dwarf.  “Do you have some spells that will help us in a fight against greater undead?”

“Yes, but…”

“Then get them ready.  I know it won’t help Jackie or myself, and our weapons are already as powerful as they can be.”  Especially my sword, he thought, catching an answering thought from the blade that told him it would be ready to fight these, its primary enemies on any plane.  “You can use your magic to get the others ready for battle, and yourself.  Because when we send the signal to advance, we will need all of you to come and meet up with us as we retreat, lest we are overwhelmed and overrun.”

The Priest nodded, still not looking happy at the prospect of battling what to him were the most frightful forms of undead.

Possibly the most frightful forms, thought Kurt with a shrug.   They could just turn out to be a bunch of zombies, and the only thing we have to worry about is not gagging on the stench as we chop them to grotesque bits.  He looked ahead, then through the senses of the wolf, who had gone to ground and was observing through his nose and ears.  Of course, the smart money would be to not bet against the Priest.

*     *     *

It seemed as if they had fought through kilometers of tunnels, the tentacles striking from the darkness every step of the way.  He had lost ten more men, including a mage and a priest, though his force had severely damaged at least six of the tentacles.  But we don’t know if each is a separate creature, or part of one big one.  Or maybe something in between.  Just as they didn’t know if all of the tentacles that attacked were new appendages.  In fact, judging by the hack marks and a bolt in one the things, he bet it had been one they had injured just a half kilometers back.

“Any idea what it is yet?” he asked Millistara, who had more knowledge of the monstrous than the rest of the party combined.

“Not a clue,” said the Priest, his own eyes in constant motion.  “It’s like nothing out of any bestiary I have ever seen.  The closest I can think of is a kraken.  But we are too far from the water.  Or are we?”  He glanced over his shoulder nervously as he spoke the last words.

And it bothers our redoubtable Priest as much as any of us, thought the Marshal.  And why not, since a heavy squeeze of that tentacle could kill the powerful Priest just as easily as any other in their party.

Yelling erupted from behind them, and the Marshal turned to see three men, two with spears, one with only a sword, squaring off against another tentacle.  The tip was only a couple of centimeters in width, but by five meters back it had expanded to almost a half meter across.  That was about all they had ever seen of the creature(s), and there was no telling how far the appendage extended before it his body, if there was one.

“Out of way,” roared Krug, moving swiftly to the action in a motion that seemed graceful for an Ogre.  But he had been trained to fight in the Arena by some of the greatest Ellala masters, in order to increase his entertainment value and worth.

The Ogre shouldered aside the swordsman, then swung the bastard sword in his left hand into the tentacle about a half meter back. The blade cut through the rubbery flesh and sent the still wriggling tip flying out into the tunnel.  As soon as he completed the blow, the Gladiator took two steps forward and attacked a thicker part of the appendage, slicing completely through it as well with his right hand sword.  He took two more long steps and attacked again, severing more of the tentacle from its base.  A blackish ichor spurted from the remainder and the tentacle withdrew into the tunnel at a rapid pace.  Krug opened his mouth to shout at it when another tentacle shot out of the tunnel and past the Ogre, obviously going for a grab.

Krug spun on his feet and brought both swords down in an overhand strike onto the almost meter thick appendage.  The blades sliced through, and ten meters of tentacle fell flopping to the cavern floor.  There was a loud roar, and the ground shook underneath, while the tentacle, or what remained of it, flew back into the tunnel.

“I would say that is one very large creature,” said the Death Priest.  “And our Gladiator has made it very angry.”

“And I mean to find it and kill it,” said the Marshal, motioning for his mages to come to him.  “Let’s see it eat some fireballs.”  He closed his eyes for a moment and contacted his Master Assassin.  [Have you found anything yet?]

[Not sure, but we have entered a large cavern than has water at the bottom,] sent Glassini, projecting the image of the space back over the link.  [A lot of very deep water, from what it looks like.  It…]

The last image the Marshal saw was an enormous bloated body coming up from that water, along with a score of waving tentacles.  And then the mind link went dead.  He hoped his assassins hadn’t been killed by the thing, and doubted that it would get all of them, given their skill set.

“Forward,” he yelled to the rest of his party.  “Spearmen lead.  Bowmen behind them.  Mages, with me, and prepare your most powerful fire based spells.  Priests, right behind the mages, in case we need some defensive spells.”

A score of Ellala with spears obediently lined up and ran in formation down the tunnel toward the cavern that the Marshal had seen through the eyes of the assassins.  Krug ran with them, his longer strides allowing him to keep up with the faster running Ellala.

The Marshal almost called the Ogre back.  His plan was for the spearmen to keep the tentacles at bay, while the archers fired their shafts into the body of the beast.  Krug might disrupt the execution.  But, then again, the Ogre had proven very adept at fighting the appendages of this monster, so he let the Ogre run on.

He heard the cavern well before he saw it.  Roars that sounded like they came from several creatures of different types, shouts, even a scream or two.  He knew there was a fight going on, but his eyes were not prepared for the sight.

The cavern was the first thing he noticed, a large space, at least a hundred meters across, a raised pathway running around the right to a tunnel on the opposite side.  The wide ledge ahead fell at a cliff that led thirty meters down to what looked like a cold, deep pool.  The Ellala spearmen were trying to keep over a score of tentacles at bay, and beyond them a huge, bulbous head that looked like nothing he had ever seen, or ever heard of.  It was reminiscent of a Kraken, but not the same.  Two score eyes looked down from the top of the head, while two larger orbs stared to the side of the creature, and, instead of the parrot like beak of a Kraken, it had a wide, round mouth filled with outward pointing, grasping teeth.  There was the hint of more dentition within that mouth, much more.  One tentacle was lifting an Ellala toward that mouth, one that was dressed in the black garb of an assassin, though he could not tell which one.  The Ellala was struggling and screaming, a high pitched sound that cut above all the other noise.

“Can you save him?” yelled a female voice to his right, followed moments later by the Master Assassin herself.

The Marshal stared at her for a moment before his gaze went back to the creature.  “I don’t see how,” he said, just before the creature popped the assassin into its mouth and the outward pointed teeth pierced the man’s body in multiple places.

Glassini stiffened as the man who was her subordinate was eaten alive.  “Kabril was my lover,” she said, turning tear streaked eyes toward the Marshal that radiated her hate and anger.

And now you have another reason to kill me? thought the Marshal, knowing that there was nothing he could have done to stop the man’s death.  Even killing the creature with fire would not have saved the elf.

“Not your fault,” said the Master Assassin in a hissing voice.  “Not my fault either.”

Ellisandra turned his attention back to the monster, which had grabbed another Ellala, this one a Priest, and was looking to supplement its diet once again.  How in the hells does it get enough food down here?  It must need a great deal, unless it hibernates most of the time.

Krug roared again, the sound he had thought was another monster back in the tunnel.  He swung his left hand blade and cut completely through the tentacle that was holding the Ellala Priest, dropping man and appendage the distance to the water, where they both sank out of sight.  With a turn he swung with the right, and cut through another tentacle.  Three more came at him, and with rapid strikes he damaged every one of the trio.  The rest of the tentacles, coming in on the attack, avoided him like the threshing machine he was.

“We’re ready, my Lord,” said the Chief Mage, coming up to his side with his four masters slightly behind, six of the journeymen to their right.

“Then hit it with fire, you fools,” yelled the Marshal, glaring at the man, grabbing him by the robe and pulling him close.  “While you stand there doing nothing, it can kill more of my men.”

The Chief gave a head nod of agreement, his eyes flashing both anger and fear.  He straightened his robe on his body and looked to his fellows, then raised his hands in the air and started the chant that would unleash hell on the monster.  The other mages followed suit, and soon the air around their hands was rippling with heat.

At that moment a tentacle struck at them, shying away from the heat being generated by the masters and sweeping into the half dozen lesser mages, pulling them all from the cliff in a chorus of screams.  A second tentacle came down and crushed a trio of priests, and just like that the Marshal had lost almost half his magic users, and the power that went with them.

The Marshal moved nervously back, sweat rolling down his face.  Small red balls appeared between the five sets of hands.  With a shout the mages all threw their right hands forward, pointed at the huge head of the creature.  The bright red balls shot forward, growing as they went, until five meter wide spheres of energy struck the creature.

The fireball thrown by the Chief may have been a bit more powerful than the others.  But all exploded with what seemed to be equal fury, sending a blast of flame over the head (body?) of the creature.

The Marshal held his breath as he waited for the flame to subside and show him their effect.  It took several seconds, and it was obvious that the creature was sorely hurt.  All of its eyes, what were left of them, were whitened from burns.  The larger peripheral eyes were also blinded.  The creature’s mouth was open in a soundless cry of agony.  At that moment the limbs went into a frenzy of activity, lashing every which way.  There was no sight to direct them, but then they hadn’t needed sight to find their victims in the tunnels.

One tentacle swept into the spearmen, ignoring the pinpricks of their weapons.  Two of the men were knocked from the ledge to fall to the water below.  Another tentacle came down heavily on one of the mages, a master, crushing the Ellala to the rock of the ledge, killing him instantly.  Another of the mages pointed a finger at the tentacle and a bright blue bolt jumped from his arm to the creature's appendage.  The smell of burning flesh was strong from the limb, and it jerked back in spasming agony.

A second tentacle came in, aiming for the Marshal, who prepared his blade to attack it before it could sweep him away.  As the tentacle swept in, the Death Priest pointed his right hand at it and shouted a thundering word.  Black energy flew from his hand into the tentacle, then reversed course and returned to the Priest.  The tentacle shriveled and fell as a dead appendage to the floor, then slid over and down.

“Hit it again,” yelled the Chief Mage.  He and the three remaining mages raised their hands in the air again and repeated their spells, throwing four more balls of flaming energy into the body of the beast.  Again the creature was covered in flames for a few seconds.  The flames cleared, and this time the damage to the skin of the creature was even more apparent.  Smoke was rising from the body, which was covered in lesions that in some cases reached deep into the skin to the muscle underneath.

The creature waved its tentacles weakly for a moment, before they all dropped limply into the water.  The body of the creature followed, sinking into the deep water.  A monster that had been around for no one knew how long was dead.  But the Marshal had lost an assassin, seven mages, four priests, and, from the start of the engagement with the creature, eleven warriors.

I should have brought all my magic users with me, and not left any in reserve, thought the Marshal.  But he hadn’t expected such disproportionate losses among such powerful Ellala.

“I hope we don’t have any more surprises like this ahead,” he said, looking over at the Priest.

“We won’t know until we come upon them,” said Millistara, giving a head nod.  “That is why they’re called surprises.”

The Marshal had to admit the other Ellala was correct, much as he hated that admission.  He looked over at Krug, who was standing at the edge of the ledge and staring with glassy eyes toward the tunnel across the way.

“What is it, Krug?” he asked the giant warrior.

“They are calling to me.”

“What’s calling?” asked the Priest, his eyes looking intently at the Ogre.

“The blade,” said the giant warrior.  “And the armor.  They call to me.  They wish for me to wield them.”

“Most probable,” said the Priest.  “They sense a great warrior of evil intent, and are ready to leave this place and venture into the world above, so they can again work their dark magic..”

“And the crown?”

“The crown would not contact one such as Krug.  He doesn’t possess the mental ability to be of use to it, and there are many of us here who could employ it.”

“Will it be where the blade and armor are?” asked the Marshal, hoping that it would be an easy grab when they found one of the artifacts.

“I don’t know, but I seriously doubt it.  The crown will be even deeper into this place, and may not be able to seek a user.  The Gods themselves may have used their powers to conceal it.”

“But not the blade and armor?”

“No,” said the Priest, glancing over at the Ogre.  “This place was not built to protect them.  They just happened to be placed here by those who also wanted them removed from the world.  So they can still reach out to whomever they sense nearby.”

“Then we will go get them, immediately,” said Ellisandra, waving some of his men to the pathway leading around the deep cavern pool.  “As soon as Krug has them equipped, he will be much more formidable, and so we will be a more powerful force.”

“We must take care, though,” said the Priest, watching the Ogre walking quickly in the trail of the Ellala warriors, obviously eager to get to the objects.  “With his weak mind, he may be controlled by the artifacts, especially the blade.  They may direct his actions, and we may have little choice in what those actions are.”

“What do you suggest?  That we keep him from the artifacts?”

“No,” said the Priest, shaking his head.  “But I would make sure that no one important is standing close to the Ogre when he draws that blade.  It has not fed for many centuries, possibly millennia.  And any life nearby may be seen as sustenance for such as it.”

So maybe I can have the Assassin near him, which would take care of one problem, thought the Marshal, looking over at the back of the Ogre, then at the Priest.  Now, I just need to think of a way to get rid of you.  But not before we get that crown, and I can use your skill while it’s still an unknown waiting for us.

“Follow them,” he ordered the rest of his people, then stepped onto the narrow path, wanting to leave this place of death and get the mission over with.  And if I can learn to use the crown, there may be many more surprises for many, including the Emperor.

Chapter Fifteen

Kurt felt a little out of place trying to sneak in full plate armor.  It was like nothing he had imagined when he had been a soldier on Earth, going on patrols when he had been a mere Oberleutnant during the Polish campaign, before his infantry division had been converted to a Panzer Division, and his regiment to Panzergrenadiers.  Then he went forward sans even a helmet, trying to make as little noise as possible while getting his own eyes on the enemy position.  Now he was encased in armor from head to foot.

Only this armor was almost weightless, even to someone with normal strength.  To someone like himself, it was like carrying a normal field jacket on his body.  The amazing part, though, was how quiet the armor was.  He would have expected it to creak and clank with every step.  Instead, it acted on itself almost as if it were made of cloth, with no metallic sound.  But, unlike cloth, it was many times harder and tougher than normal steel armor.  Even magical penetrators would bounce from its facings if not of high power, and driven in at the perfect angle.

Jackie moved along beside him, sheathed from ankle to head in magical chain that, while not quite as tough as his plate, let her move just as quietly.  Even more so with her natural agility and her leather boots.

[We’re close,] she sent over their mind link.

Kurt nodded, also in on the take from White Paw, who had settled into some deep shadows in an opening that seemed made for him.  The wolf was seeing movement in other shadows, shambling creatures that were moving into hides and waiting.  [They have the reception committee ready,] he sent, his own ears picking up the shuffle of feet on a stone floor.

[There is also something moving to a spot directly to your front,] sent the wolf.  [Something, wrong.]

Kurt could feel the terror the loyal beast was feeling.  Only that loyalty kept it in place, and he felt a shiver run up his own spine at the thought of what must be causing that fear.  [Stay hidden.  We will not need you to engage this enemy.]  Any more than the golems.  Garios is pretty sure these things will not be affected by mental attacks.

The Immortal glanced to the rear, to where the Priest was following close behind.  Garios was not as quiet as the Immortal pair, his armor not as soundless, his step not as agile.  He gripped his shield tightly on his left arm, his hammer on his right.  His eyes were in constant motion, his lips moving in prayer, readying himself for the confrontation.  [I can feel it, friend Kurt,] came his mental transmission.  [The being ahead of us is a powerful magic user, and evil to the core.]

Kurt kept moving forward, connecting to Fenris and Drake to see how their parties were doing.  Fenris was leading half the knights on a looping path to the right, while the Mage was coming directly behind with the rest of the knights and the two Nords.  Kurt wished he had more men, though he had led companies in the latter stages of his war with as few men.

Something stepped out of the shadows ahead, a figure that was difficult to discern, as its head was wreathed in flames.  It left the impression of something skeletally thin, wearing what had once been fine robes, now falling apart with age.

The creature brought its hand back, then whipped it forward, throwing a bright ball of energy at the Immortals.  “Get back,” yelled Kurt at the Dwarf, waving a hand, then waiting for the fireball to strike.  Strike it did, right onto his chest, exploding into a huge roaring flame, engulfing himself and Jackie.

Kurt stood in the magical fire, feeling a slight warmth from the flames which otherwise didn’t affect him.  Jackie had cringed for a moment, then straightened as she realized that this was magical flame, something which did not affect either of them.  They stood there as the flames roared, a powerful enough ball that both would have been reduced to ash and bone chips if not for their immunity.  And won’t it be surprised in a moment, thought the Immortal with a smile creeping across his face.

The fire burned bright for about fifteen seconds.  There was nothing within its range to catch afire.  The flesh of the Immortals was immune, and the clothing they wore seemed to benefit from that immunity, while their armor couldn’t be harmed by anything but the heat of a mighty forge.  The flames burned high, then died to nothing in an instant.

The skeletal creature was surprised, as evidence by its jaw dropping open.  The flames on its head died down, and bright pinpoints appeared in the eye sockets.  It stood there for a moment, unmoving, then shot a finger forward.  A bolt of electrical power erupted from the digit.  The bolt hit Kurt, then arced over to hit Jackie, moving from her to the wall of the cavern, where it bounced away at random.

“You’ll have to do better than that, my friend,” shouted Kurt.

The skeletal creature clashed its teeth, its eyes burning even brighter.  Again the hand went forward, and this time a ball of blue fire came at them.  Kurt could feel the cold from the ball as it approached, a slight chill like stepping into an air conditioned room.  He was sure that to someone without his immunity, it would be like the cold from the glaciers that froze mammoths in seconds during the ice ages.  Again, if not for his immunity, he was sure he would freeze solid, probably to shatter as he hit the ground.  The ball struck the floor at his feet and erupted into a blizzard like flurry of snow and ice.  The floor, ceiling and walls all grew instant crystals, and one stalagmite broke off from the cold.

The creature glared at them again, its eyes radiating hate.  “I think we’ve pissed him off,” said Jackie in a whisper, staring with some trepidation at the litch.

“Good,” said Kurt, nodding.  “Now maybe it will call the ambush, and we can get on with this.”

The litch opened it mouth and a strange, undulating call came out of an orifice that should have been incapable of making that sound, what with the lack of working lungs and such.  It was a sound that chilled the nerves.  Kurt could feel the goose pimples rising on his flesh, and his muscles shivered for a moment.  He knew it wasn’t a magical effect, but more psychological, from the atavistic fears most Earth people had developed reading fiction and watching movies.  This is no movie, but this creature is not as powerful as the fantasies of the films.  He revised that thought in a moment.  Maybe the litch was not as big a threat to himself and Jackie on this world, but he was probably more of a threat to most than any movie monster.

[They are coming at you from all sides,] sent White Paw over the mind link.

[How many?]

[Many,] said the wolf, who for all his intelligence was not good at numbers as a single unit.

“Look out,” yelled Garios, stepping back forward, raising his hammer and shouting the power words of a quick prayer.

From their left side stepped a score of creatures wrapped in rotting bandages, moving with shuffling steps.  Mummies, greater undead of incredible strength, capable of causing a rotting disease in any mortal they touched, which didn’t include the Immortals.  Most were unarmed, though some carried clubs of various types, wood and metal.

Even more creatures stepped out from the right.  Grinning skeletons with glowing eye sockets, all wearing a panoply of ancient armor, carrying large swords or axes in their hands.  Skeletal lords, undead warriors incapable of really being killed, since they were already dead, and retaining all the skills they had practiced in life.  They didn’t run, but they walked at a much faster pace than the mummies.

Behind the creatures on both sides came more of their kind, until it looked as if the trio would be facing a hundred greater undead.  Maybe the Immortals were immune to magic, but not to physical damage.  They were hard to kill, but death would come to them if they were injured enough, too much for their regenerative powers to counter.

“Between us Priest,” said Kurt, drawing his sword and standing in a defensive crouch, Jackie at his back facing the other way.  He would take on the Skeletal lords, while Jackie would handle the mummies, who might be more susceptible to her sword fire.  Garios would use his priestly powers to aid them and discomfit the enemy during the fight.

[Get ready,] Kurt sent to his other teams, giving them an estimated count of when he wanted them in the action.

[We will destroy many of these abominations,] sent his sword with a feeling of glee.  [We will send them to the hells which should have claimed them ages ago.]

Kurt had to smile at the enthusiasm of the blade.  It really didn’t matter to the sword how many enemies they were facing, the more the merrier.  It might be saddened if its wielder went down, but would consider that loss acceptable if it rid the world of multitudes of undead.  [But I don’t expect you to die,] sent Lenoris.  [You are the mightiest being to ever wield me, and, as such, I expect you to win.]

The first Skeletal lord moved within striking range, drawing back its two handed sword and starting its forward lean, when it would bring the blade in with all its strength.  Kurt struck first, the Paladin’s blade glowing bright and slicing into the shoulder of the undead creature.  The blade cut through the shoulder armor and into the bone beneath.  With a flash the skeleton flared into dust, while the now unoccupied armor fell clattering to the ground.

Another skeleton struck, and this time Kurt caught the blade on his, then pushed back.  The skeleton fell back, and Kurt swung into the spine and sent another set of empty armor to the ground.  Two more came in, the Immortal blocking one blade and taking the next one on his left  pauldron.  The sword hit hard, and Kurt staggered back just a bit before he came off the block to slide his blade into the side of the skeleton that had scored the hit.

The sword started singing in his mind as he worked, driving all fear and doubt from the Immortal’s mind.  He felt like a demigod, Hercules reborn.  He was much stronger than these creatures, that were each stronger than a mortal man.  But they were starting to swarm now, and soon he would have more than he could realistically handle.  His armor would protect him better than most, and wounds that would incapacitate a mortal would only inconvenience him.  Enough of that inconvenience and he might go down, and he might not get back up if these things piled on him.

The hammer of the Dwarf, glowing with power, came slicing into the Skeletal lords at waist level, crunching through armor and bone, and dropping a trio of the creatures to the ground as flaming bone chips.  Then the dwarf was elsewhere, aiding Jackie in her defense, leaving Kurt to again deal with the Skeletal lords on his own.

[Come now,] he sent to his other people.  [We’ve gauged their strength, and have them all engaged.  So come, attack, and let’s end this thing.]

*     *     *

Jackie did not like fighting undead.  Even though she was more than a match for any of them, at least singly, they still scared the hell out of her.  Growing up in Alabama, where many of the backwoods folk were still superstitious, and modern media, with vampires, witches and especially zombies, programed people to be afraid of things that went bump in the night.  And these bandage wrapped monstrosities didn’t just go bump.  They went stomp and crush.

The Immortal ducked under one slashing hand, then hit the arm with Fire, holding the sword to the bandages for a moment to let them flare and catch aflame.  The mummy tried to recovered, waving the arm, but Jackie sent a hard kick into its side and sent it stumbling to the ground, where it lay on fire, limbs moving quickly if uncoordinatedly, and accomplishing nothing as it burned out its existence.

The next one tried to grab her, and she plunged Ice into its body, then slashed down.  It didn’t have the same effect as Fire, though it did freeze the left upper leg and part of the midsection.  Another kick, and this one was falling over with a missing leg.  The next one gave her a fierce hit to the shoulder, a blow that would have dropped most large warriors to the ground.  She braced her legs and brought her sword up to cross at the mummy’s head, slicing through and sending the bandage wrapped skull to roll across the cavern floor, while the body turned and wandered off in a random direction.

But then there was another one, and another, in a seemingly endless succession of undead.  Jackie was stronger than the creatures, and much faster.  But they were attacking four at a time, and she couldn’t fend off all the attacks.  Another struck her in the head, a blow that set her ears to ringing as it bounced her helmet almost off of her crown.  She swung Fire into that mummy, slicing through the shoulder and holding the blade in place for a moment to set it aflame.  That was almost her undoing, as the next mummy over hit her arm and knocked her hand away from her most effective weapon.

Jackie hit that mummy with her right hand balled into a gloved fist, sending the undead creature staggering away.  She grabbed at Fire while the mummy, the blade still stuck in its shoulder, staggered away, waving its arms and trying to put out the flame.  A mummy grabbed her by the shoulder, and she shrugged hard to try and get its hand off her.  Her right hand grabbed the hilt of the blade, as the pain of the natural fire that was now engulfing the mummy burned into her flesh.

“Shit,” she yelled, overriding her reaction that wanted her to pull her hand back.  She needed that sword, and not grabbing it now meant it would walk out of reach.  And the mummy with a grip on her shoulder was not letting go, despite her efforts at shrugging it off.

She pulled Fire from its victim and brought the sword back, hoping to strike the mummy that had her shoulder.  The flaming mummy staggered into another that was advancing, and set the other creature on fire.  Jackie was distracted at the sight of one taking out the other, and didn’t see the mummy that grabbed at her right arm with both hands.  She turned and started to jerk her arm back, sure that she could free herself, when the next mummy in the front grabbed at the same arm, and suddenly she found her limb trapped.

“Help,” she yelled out, turning her head to see where Kurt was.  He was busy fighting a half dozen Skeletal lords at the same time, holding them off, but barely.

“Hold on,” yelled Garios, aiming his hammer her way and sending a beam of holy light from it into the mummies.  The creatures all cried out, a strange sound made by desiccated lungs, and threw their hands over their eyes.  The Dwarf was also obviously weakening, and his powers were not enough to destroy the undead, not any more.

[What’s the hold up?] sent Kurt over mind speak.

[We’ve run into more of these things,] sent back Sir Gromli, one of the few of the Nord knights who could communicate in this manner.  [We’re cutting through, but it could take us longer than expected.]

Longer than expected and we might be overwhelmed, thought Jackie, cutting down a pair of mummies in rapid motion, then going after a third while they were still blinded.  There were only a dozen mummies left to her front, and she was beginning to think that she and the big German might just win this fight on their own, when another score of the skeletal warriors stepped out of the shadows to join the undead assaulting her.

*     *     *

Normally, doctrine called for either holding the line and waiting for reinforcements when the recon ran into more than it could handle, or retreating and drawing the enemy into an ambush.  Unfortunately, in this case the reinforcements were cut off, and, for the same reason, there was no way to retreat.  All he and Jackie could do was stand and fight.  And the odds were bad and getting worse by the moment.  He had killed thirteen of the very strong and competent creatures, and there were twice as many of them attacking him as they had initially deployed.

The sword was still singing in his mind.  By its way of thinking, this was the best possible situation.  Plenty of enemies to kill, and the most powerful wielder possible.  It never seemed to enter its mind that its wielder might be killed.  Its mind didn’t work that way.  Fortunately, it didn’t seem to be losing any of its abilities to destroy the undead.  Every creature he struck down fell to the ground as ashes.  Unfortunately, their armor, which was not being destroyed, was starting to pile up underfoot, and the Immortal found himself close to losing his footing on several occasions.

The big Immortal kicked some of that armor out of the way, then moved just in time to avoid a blow that stood a good chance of hitting above his pauldron, into his flesh.  His own sword swept down and beat down the blade of a skeletal lord that was dressed in exceptionally fine armor.  Kurt brought his sword back up and down in a blur, slicing through the armored shoulder of the skeletal lord and sending its ashes to the floor.

Another skeletal warrior thrust its blade into the German, taking him in a gap in his side armor that was only protected by chain.  It was good quality magical chain, and he was surprised that the blade made it through, until he saw the glow on the metal and realized that it was magically enchanted, probably for the very purpose of cutting through very tough armor.  He grunted as the warrior twisted the blade and started to push it deeper.  A left backhand sent the skeleton flying, the blade still in Kurt’s side.  He reached down and grabbed the hilt of the sword, pulling it out with a gasp of pain.  Blood flowed freely from the wound as he threw the sword from him.  He had no doubt the wound would heal quickly, and also that he would be weakened by blood loss for several minutes at least.

It seems this was a very bad idea, thought the Immortal, shaking his head as his vision blurred for a moment.  Two more swords struck his armor, and it was all he could do to knock the blades aside, then move out of the way of another attack.

Garios grunted, and Kurt glanced back to see the Dwarf knocking back a mummy with his shield, while trying to staunch the blood flow from his upper thigh where some weapon had sliced him.  Kurt completed his turn and sliced into the mummy, turning the creature, bandages and all, into a cloud of dust.  As soon as he struck, he felt the nick of another blade on the side of his neck, and swiveled just in time to knock it away before it did more than superficial damage.

These things are not only smart and great fighters, they have no fear.  This was not what I was expecting.  But it was what he had gotten.

*     *     *

James raised his arms and pointed his fingers at the mummies that were shuffling forward.  Hot flame shot out and struck the front of the horde, setting them on fire.  A few continued to stagger forward, while many more moved in random directions, running into others of their kind and spreading the flames.

“We have to get through these things,” yelled Sir Gromli, trading blows with a skeleton that was dressed in plate and chain.

These things were not what I expected, thought the Mage, turning his hands and sweeping the skeletons with flames, much like using a flame thrower.  Several of the skeletons caught on fire, though they were not as flammable as the mummies.  He watched as some of the skeletons, their eyes glowing a fierce red, beat out the few flames that had caught on the ragged clothing they wore along with their armor.

“Look out,” yelled one of the knights, his shout turning into a scream.

James turned to see the man beating at the flames his own sircoat and underclothes had become, and losing the battle as he went from human to human torch in an instant.  James cast a spell he was not well practiced at, almost surprised when it worked and a spray of water hit the man and put out the fire.

Drake became aware that something was watching him.  Not just watching, but studying him with deadly intent.  He looked into the shadows, seeing two pinpoints of fierce red light that stared back at him, seeming to look directly into his soul.

[So powerful, for such a youngling,] came a thought into his mind.  [How did you come by such power?]

[What are you?] sent James, saying the words of a spell that enhanced his vision.  The shadows seemed to disappear, revealing another skeleton.  This one was without armor, instead dressed in what had once been fine robes, before the ravages of time had worked their destructive processes on them.  The eyes, though glowing red like those of the skeletal warriors, were different as well.  More intelligent, fiercer, the orbs of a creature that was a threat to all life.

[I once was a mage, much like yourself,] sent the creature.  [I was Ellala, and so much longer lived than a human such as you.  And I became old, and did not want to die.  So I became like I am.]

A litch, thought the young man, his limbs shaking at the thought of what this thing had done to itself to stave off death.  I’ll take the afterlife, thought Drake, shaking his head.  Or even oblivion, after they lay my body in the ground.

[You know not what you will choose, until the time comes when you face death,] sent the Litch.  [Not that you will live long enough to have a choice, as I will destroy you this day, despite your power.]

Without warning a bolt of fire came in and struck the human.  He felt the heat of it on his skin, though to him it was a gentle warmth.  Fire was his element, and since he had come to this world, fire had been unable to harm him.

[Are you like those I fought earlier,] sent the Litch, disbelief riding under its surface thoughts.  [No, you are not such as they.  You are different, and fire is your strength.]

A bolt of lightning followed that thought, streaking almost instantaneously toward the young mage.  But he had been prepared, saying the words to the counter spell as soon as the Litch had mentioned fire being his strength.  A shield sprung into existence before him, absorbing the lightning, bouncing it off at all angles away from him.

Let’s see how you do with fire, thought Drake, pulling his hand back, then throwing it forward, a ball of energy flying from it toward the Litch.

The ancient being was just as ready, and its shield sprang up just as quickly, deflecting the fury of the fireball.

“No you don’t,” yelled Drake, pointing his hands at the Litch and sending a spout of dragon fire at the evil creature.  The torrents of flame washed around the creature’s shield, as it kept up a continuous shout of spells to reinforce its protection.  If it had still been made of flesh James was sure that sweat would be pouring off of its face.  It gave the impression of intense concentration.  It can’t keep this up for long, can it?

The Litch dropped its hands for a moment, then started with a different gesture.  The shield fell, the dragon fire flew in to engulf the Litch, and it was gone.  James stopped the spell, and the dragon fire was gone in an instant.  Most mages would be weakened by now, almost devoid of the energy that powered their fire magic.  James could feel the almost unlimited power in the earth below, sensing a magma pocket only a couple of kilometers down.

Something touched Drake on the back of the neck, and he felt his muscles freeze, losing total control of his skeletal muscles, going rigid as a statue.  What the hell, he thought, panicking.  The skeletal creature stepped around into Drake’s sight, its boney grin a boast of triumph.  The red eyes burned into his own, looking into his soul and sapping his will.

[You are the most powerful of your party, and the greatest threat to me,] sent the Litch, reaching out and touching the robe of the human.  [Your control of fire magic is almost beyond belief.  But your other knowledge appears to be lacking.  A simple teleport spell, and I was no longer in the line of fire.  A common paralysis touch, and you are helpless.]

[Why is a creature of your power acting as a guard dog?] sent James, trying to buy time, knowing this thing could kill him in an instant.  [Shouldn’t you have a lair of your own, making your own plans?]

[I came to this place to find the artifact that you seek,] it sent, starting to pace in front of Drake as if nothing else existed around them.  [I thought I could challenge the Gods, but I was mistaken.  They trapped me here, under a compulsion to serve.  I cannot even destroy myself, and so escape back to my Phylactery, there to resurrect.]

The Phylactery, where a creature like this keeps his soul.  And when this body is destroyed, he will retreat there to begin the process of resurrection.  We can’t really kill him, but if we banish him from this place, it will serve the same purpose.

The only trouble was that he couldn’t say the words to the spell he needed to get free.  Right now he was as helpless as he had been since coming to this world and discovering the extent of his new found powers.  There has to be a way out of this.  There has to be.

[It is time to end this conversation, and to end you, my young mage.  My compulsion drives me to destroy your other party members, so I must be about it.  Don’t worry, I will make it painless.]

Fuck that, thought the Mage, doing the only thing he could do in his present state, draw in power.  With his powerful mind he reached down to the source of almost unlimited fire magic, the magma pocket kilometers under his feet.  In an instant he could feel the power begin to trickle into his body, followed by a powerful stream, then a torrent.  There was nowhere for the power to go as it built up in his body.  His clothing started to smolder, then smoke.

The Litch released his own spell, one based on cold that would have frozen the Mage solid, killing him instantly.  Cold met the heat coming off his body and the area filled with steam.  Drake willed his body to release the energy, and a wave of fire spread from his form to a dozen meters in every direction.  The Litch was in that wave, and the fire hit hard, burning robes, then down to the bones.  The creature tried to teleport away, at the same time sending a blast of mental energy at Drake.  Drake fended off the mental attack with his abundance of power, reading the mind of the Litch at the same time and getting the teleport spell burned into his own memory.

He felt his body free itself from the paralysis, raising a hand and sending a stream of fire into the Litch before it could complete its spell.  With a mental scream it dissolved away into ash and bone chips, its body totally destroyed.  James could still feel the presence of its mind, filled with hate, anger, and a healthy measure of gratitude as its spirit faded from the area, headed across the thousands of kilometers to where it Phylactery was located.

James stood for a moment, aware that he was naked, his clothing turned to ash.  He felt a bit of embarrassment, something he didn’t have time for.  Right now his party needed him, and he sent out a questing mental tendril to see what was going on in the rest of the battle.  Oh shit, he thought, as he located Kurt, Jackie and Garios, fighting for their lives, about to be overwhelmed by the hordes of the undead.  He had hoped maybe they would go away with the destruction of the litch, but that hadn’t happened.

[I’m coming,] he sent to the trio, mouthing the teleportation spell at the same time.  With a shimmer he disappeared from where he was standing, aiming for the people he needed to save.

*     *     *

Kurt had done all he could to shield the severely injured Dwarf, who had been wounded in both thighs and a calf.  What he had done had not been enough, and Garios was on one knee, a hand holding his neck where dark arterial blood pumped between his fingers.  The Priest was saying the words to a spell, and a golden glow suffused his fingers and neck.  Kurt tried to keep the skeletal lords from breaking the Priest’s concentration while he was trying to save his own life.

A mace hit him on the back, knocking him forward, while a large battle ax struck his shoulder.  He could hear Jackie swearing as she fought on, a sign that she was still in this thing.  But how much longer? he thought, swinging his sword in an arc that took one of the undead warriors through the ribs.

His blade was still dispensing holy justice to the evil undead.  There seemed no limit to its power in that arena.  It was a God blade, one imbued with the power of Arathonia herself, and it could draw upon the energy of the Goddess when it was involved in fighting the enemies of the Queen of Life.  As he understood it, the blade was also able to send healing energy into its wielder, but only its wielder.  Unfortunately, he was immune to that magic, as to all mystical energies, and its healing energies did him no good whatsoever.  He was tempted to give the blade to Garios, but the sword was very particular in who it allowed to touch it, much less use it, and he was afraid that it would cause more harm than good to give the Priest the blade.

Another pair of swords came at him, seeming to move in slow motion, as he was boosted into overdrive.  He knocked one aside, then the other, finishing with a plunging of the blade into the chest of the first warrior, destroying him utterly.  He glanced once again at Garios, and thought that the Dwarf was not long for this world.  He was coughing up blood, though the flow from his fingers had reduced to a trickle.  A Skeletal lord had a blade raised over the Priest, and its target was obvious.  The blade would come down and take the head from the Dwarf, and fast as Kurt was, there was nothing he could do to stop it.

With a flash of light, the naked form of James Drake, clothed only in a sheath of fire, appeared over the Dwarf.  The young man reached out with his left hand and the skeleton flared into flame, falling as ash and armor to the ground.

“Don’t resist me, Garios,” shouted Drake, touching the Dwarf on the shoulder with his right hand.  He mumbled some words and the pair disappeared.

At least he got the Priest out of danger, thought the Immortal, already feeling remorse at getting the Dwarf into this situation.  He felt bad about getting Jackie trapped as well, but she was much more capable of taking care of herself in battle, and she had the same powers of rapid healing that he possessed.  And, unless James comes for us, we may not make it out either.

[Don’t freak,] sent the Mage in question.  [But I’m going to drop some fireballs right on top of you.]

Kurt found himself cringing at that thought, while he battled on against the undead.  It only took a quick moment for his supercharged mind to see the wisdom in the tactic.  The fireballs would not hurt him or Jackie, but would be total destruction to the creatures they fought.  He had time for that one thought before the first ball of superheated flame exploded right on top of him.

The ball arrived about a half meter in diameter, right into the upper back of the immortal.  On impact it exploded outward in a rush of flame, the thunderous boom knocking many of the undead off of their feet.  It roared in Kurt’s ears and his vision was obscured by flame.  The undead closest to him flared and crumbled into ash and bone chips, in places their armor melting, dripping molten metal to the ground before falling into their self-made puddles.

The second fireball arrived a couple of seconds after the first, the third a few moments after.  The entire area was covered with a fire that killed everything within its radius, save the two Immortals standing in its center.  A fourth fireball arrived, cleaning up what was left of the undead, allowing none of them to escape.

To the Immortals the magical flame was nothing more than a gentle warmth.  But the burning mummies and skeletons were also producing fire, and smoke, great choking clouds that seared their lungs.  Kurt yelled out as the flames from one of the mummy’s burned his hand.  He grabbed Jackie, who seemed to be much more discomfited and confused by the inferno, and pulled her with him as he ran out of ground zero.  He knew he had acted just in time as they ran out of the flames, which were losing their magical properties and turning into a common fire, one which could harm the Immortals.

The Nord knights were still fighting the forces that were keeping them in check.  James was flinging spouts of fire and burning them down right and left.  Kurt ran up behind a mass of Skeletal lords and took an arcing swipe with his sword, cutting into a half dozen of them and sending all to the ground as ash.  The others turned, and he and Jackie hit them in their new front, while the Nords took them from behind.  In moments it was over, and there were no moving undead left in the chambers.

“Where is the Priest?” asked Kurt, worried that Garios might have succumbed to his wounds.

“He is over here, treating the young Nord,” said Gromli, gesturing to a wall where the youth was sitting against the stone, his face paler than usual, his leather armor ripped open over his left ribcage.  A bone protruded from his flesh, dripping blood.

‘Can he save him?” asked Jackie, taking a step in that direction and stopping at the insistence  of Gromli.

“Only if he is left alone to concentrate,” said the Knight, looking over at H’rrut, who was watching with a stricken look on his face.

He’s lost his village, and most of the people in it.  Now he might lose his son.

Garios raised a hand in the air, cried out some words in ancient Dwarven, and brought the hand to the wound.  A golden light glowed, obscuring the wound.  In a moment the glow was gone, and the rib was no longer sticking from the skin, which had smoothed over, healed without a trace.

“How did you do that?” asked Jackie, moving over to look down on the young Nord, who was now breathing regularly, his eyes closed in a deep slumber.  “Why couldn’t you do that for yourself?”

Garios looked up, his eyes fatigued.  There was a scar on his neck, looking like a serious wound that had healed over a week’s time.  Some blood was still seeping from one of the slashes to his left upper thigh.

“Healing the young Nord was a selfless act,” said the Priest in a tired voice.  “As such, it is rewarded by the Gods, and I was blessed with much power.  Healing myself is the opposite.  Though necessary, and something the Gods would not begrudge me, it is a selfish act.  So, I can heal myself, and others, but the others always come first.”

The Dwarf attempted to stand, then fell back to his knees and started to fall over.  Jackie was at his side in an instant, still capable of moving very fast despite being overheated.  She caught him before he could fall, then lowered him gently to the floor.

“We will rest for a half hour,” said Kurt, looking around to the other men.  Jackie and I could do with a little bit of a cool down.  “How many did we lose?” he asked Gromli.

“I lost one man,” said the knight, nodding toward a naked body the other Nords had pulled from beneath the fallen armor of the destroyed undead warriors.  “Several others had injuries.”  He looked over at Drake, who was busy wrapping the clothes from the dead man around his naked figure.  “If not for the young mage, I am afraid there would not be very many of us here to celebrate a victory.”

“Thank you, James,” said Kurt, nodding at the young man he thought of as his artillery.  “That as some quick thinking back there, getting Garios out, then bringing hell down on top of us.”

“It wouldn’t have worked with anyone else other than yourself and the lady,” said Drake, a smile on his face that did not reach up to his tired eyes.  “And that damned litch was almost my undoing as well.”

“And what happened to our undead friend?”

“I destroyed his body, and sent him back to his lair to regenerate.”

“Then he will be coming back?” asked Jackie, her eyes darting to the shadows as if she expected the creature to appear at any moment.

“He said his lair was thousands of kilometers from here,” said Drake, shaking his head.  “He came here seeking the artifacts for himself, and was trapped by the spirits of this place, becoming a guardian.  He was almost grateful that I sent him on his way.”

“And if he sees you again?” asked Kurt, not sure he would want such an enemy stalking him, immunity to magic or not.

“Then we fight again,” said Drake, this time the smile reaching his eyes.  “Though I doubt such a cowardly creature would try to seek me out for battle.”

“And you call him cowardly, why?” asked Jackie, shaking for a moment.

He was pretty terrifying, thought Kurt, recalling the image of the litch as he had first seen him.  Even if his powers proved ineffective against us.

“He became that way because he was afraid of death,” said James, shaking his head.  “Imagine, a being who had lived four thousand years afraid of dying, so afraid that he allowed himself to become that creature.”

“And the Emperor is such as he,” said Fenris, walking up to join the conversation.  “He is so attached to life, he would rather be an abomination than to go to his reward in the afterlife.  Of course, seeing his actions in life, it might be easy to imagine why he would rather stay in this world.”

Kurt looked at the Ellala for a moment, trying to determine if the Ranger was joking.  No, he’s serious.  No matter what we believed about our world, on this world the afterlife is real, and people really go to punishment or reward.  Though it is much more complicated here than on Earth.  Here, a total villain might achieve paradise through serving his evil God, while a good man or woman can still be sucked into a lengthy stay in hell.  Unless you follow the God or Gods or our own world, and even we Immortals are denied that peace.

Kurt shook his head at the unfairness of that proposition.  He wasn’t sure what it meant.  Was the price of having an almost eternal natural lifespan the absence of a soul?  Or did they have a soul, of sorts, only it reacted unlike anything that the normal races had.  The big German moved to a wall and sat down, closing his eyes for a few moments as he took deep breaths to cool himself.  As far as I know, I only have this life, as limitless as it seems.  And the best thing I can do with that life is to serve my people, and those who would aid them.

The half hour went by faster than he wanted, time passing as it does, no matter the wishes of those experiencing them.  “Let’s move out,” said the former Wehrmacht Colonel, getting to his feet and waving the way forward.  “Destiny awaits, and it does us no good to keep it waiting.”

Chapter Sixteen

“Where are you going, Krug?” asked Ellisandra, watching the broad back of the Ogre as he turned down a tunnel.

“The blade calls to me,” said Krug without looking back.  “So I go to retrieve it.”

“Follow him,” said the Marshal to the men around him.  “But give him a wide berth.”

[Do you want us to double back?] sent Glassini, with her two remaining assassins again forming the point of the formation.

[Stay where you are,] said the Marshal, walking after the Ogre, who strode off down the tunnel as if he knew what awaited.  Maybe he does, but he isn’t telling us.

The tunnel ran straight for a couple of hundred meters, then slanted down at enough of an angle to drop twenty meters for every hundred.  Statues of ancient warriors lined the wall, and Ellisandra looked over at Millistara.

“They are just statues, as far as I can tell,” said the Priest.

And I can only hope that as far as you can tell is telling enough, thought the Marshal, making sure that at least a half dozen other Ellala were between himself and the Ogre.

The tunnel flattened out again, then led into a large square chamber, almost a hundred meters on a side.  There were more statues here, as well as a number of desiccated bodies in rusty armor laying toward the edges of the room.  Straight ahead was a pair of bronze portals, carved with demonic images, creatures of nightmare.  A figure stood on each side of the doorway, unmoving, but in some manner more lifelike than the statues on the path here.

Krug walked up to the figures, stopping to their front and staring up them.  And one of the figures moved, pointing its blade at the Ogre, followed a moment later by the second.

The Marshal was about to order his men forward when the Death Priest put his hand on his arm.  “Don’t,” hissed the Priest.  “This is something he must do.”

The Marshal nodded as he stared at the giant Ogre, drawing his weapons and dropping into a defensive stance.

*     *     *

Krug was bright for an Ogre, which would put him on the same level as an intelligent Orc, though not one of the brightest.  He was not much of a thinker, except where it concerned making decisions in combat.  There he was well above average.  He wasn’t sure why the artifacts wanted him, but from the messages they were placing in his brain, they wanted him, bad.  It was all he could do to keep from running full speed to where they were located.  His pride, his resistance to that which tried to enslave him, kept him moving at a slightly above normal pace.

The closer he came to the artifacts, especially the blade, the more strident the call, and the greater his excitement.  He was almost beside himself when he entered the final chamber before the portal.  He wanted to rush up to the door and push his way in.  But his practiced eye picked out the dead along the side walls, his practical knowledge guessed that they had died before they could get into the chamber beyond.  And he knew that the same awaited him if he were not careful.

[Very good,] said the voice in his mind.  [You show control, more than I expected from one such as you.  But then, you’re trained in a manner very different from most of your savage people.]

“What now?” asked Krug under his breath.

[Now we see if you are a worthy fighter,] sent the blade.

Krug looked at the two figures on their pedestals.  Both were larger than normal humanoids, appearing to be huge humans, wearing what appeared to be fine plate, two handed swords in their hands.  Both were unmoving, as if frozen, or paralyzed, until first one moved, turning burning eyes on the Ogre, then the other.  Krug felt shaken in his surprise, not sure what was going on.

One of the warriors jumped down from his pedestal and moved forward in a crouch, sword gripped in both hands.  The other stayed in place, his eyes riveted to the Ogre, obviously waiting to make his move based on what the first accomplished.

Krug drew both his blades and held them ready, his eyes locked on the warrior on the ground, while continually checking out the other one with his peripheral vision.  He was sure they were going to attack as a pair, using teamwork to overwhelm their opponent.  So he was surprised when the first stopped a couple of meters away and stared at him, making no move to attack.

The second was the attacker, leaping into the air and swinging his sword at Krug’s head.  Krug moved his left handed sword into a blocking position and began a thrust with the right blade.  That was when the first warrior started to slide forward with his sword pulled back to the right side.

Krug blocked the first sword coming in and shoved back with all his strength, pushing the warrior off balance before he could finish his attack.  He brought his right hand blade over and down, knocking the second warrior’s sword down.  The first made another move in, and the Ogre knocked the sword aside, then spun on the balls of his feet to defeat the attack of the second.

The first warrior moved in and snuck a jab into Krug’s arm, drawing first blood. The Ogre roared his anger and swung both blades, one after the other at the warrior, barely missing the second blow.  The second warrior pricked the Ogre on the left hind leg, where the plate armor didn’t cover his flesh, and the chain had bunched.

“Stand still so I can crush you,” yelled Krug, backing up and making them follow him.  “Damned ants.”

The first rushed in, then stopped and swung his blade, the second starting his rush at the same time.  Krug accepted the hit of the first warrior on his shoulder, grunting from the force of the blow, which did not penetrate his armor.  All of his concentration was on the second warrior, who was using the attack of the first as his cover.  Only Krug did not bite, and he thrust his right hand blade into the midsection of the warrior before the man could change direction.  The Ogre pushed his blade through the flesh of the man, picking him up on the blade, then flinging him off toward the other warrior.

Second warrior hit the first in the head and shoulders, knocking him back and down, leaving him without weapons.  Krug jumped forward and stomped on the warrior he had flung off of his sword.  The warrior opened his mouth in a silent scream, and Krug lifted his foot and stomped down again.  He turned as the first warrior leapt in, and he smacked the man with an armored fist, then turned back and thrust his blade into the mouth of the man lying on the ground.  The sword thunked in and Krug leaned his weight into it, severing the man’s spine and leaving him lifeless on the ground.

The other warrior moved in, a silent scream on his lips.  Krug hadn’t been sure if these were living creatures, but the one he had just stabbed through the head had released a gratifying amount of red liquid.  He hit the remaining warrior’s sword with his left hand blade, then struck him across his undefended neck with his other weapon.  The sword sliced in, cutting halfway through the neck.  Krug pulled his sword out and let the dead man fall to the ground.

[Very good,] sent the Black Blade, a combination of humor and hunger in its tone.  [Now, come and, receive your reward my master.]  Krug was not smart enough to read the irony in the statement, and walked toward the bronze portals that were opening before him.

Krug’s heavy boots sounded on the stones of the floor, echoing from the walls.  The superstitious creature did not like that sound, which reminded him of other things moving in the shadows.  He shrugged his shoulders and continued forward, knowing that if the Black Blade had wanted him dead, he would already be a corpse.

The chamber he walked into was spotless, as clean as could be despite the feeling of age old abandonment.  The floor, ceiling and walls glistened with a strange kind of light.  No, not really light, but darkness, a lack of light that acted like illumination in and of itself.  The chamber was about twenty meters wide, by fifty deep, and at the other end stood what looked like an altar.  And on the altar was solid black plate armor, glistening in the evil darkness/light.

A compulsion made the Ogre take off his own armor, unbuckling the plate, then lifting off the chain, until he stood there in only a loincloth.  He had already dropped his swords to the floor, feeling that he would no longer need them.

[Put on the armor,] said the voice in his head.

Krug looked down on the plate, and could tell right off that it was not going to fit his massive frame.  It looked like armor made for a humanoid of human or Ellala proportions.

[Put on the armor,] said the voice inside his head again, this time with more insistence.  [It will fit one even as large as you.]

Krug shrugged his great shoulders once again, then picked up the hinged breast and back plate.  As soon as he had lifted it from the altar, it had expanded to a size that would fit his physique.  He pulled it on, fitting the breastplate, then moving so that the back plate swung in.  He tried to find the catches with his fingers, but the armor became a solid piece as soon as the two free ends connected.

Krug felt a bit of energy leave his body as the armor settled into place.  Not much, but enough to notice, and he realized that the armor was hungry.  [It will not feed on you,] said the voice with a chuckle.  [But some of the lives you take will be funneled into the armor, increasing its power.]

Krug spent some minutes putting on the rest of the armor.  From boots to gauntlets.  The helm went on last, and the Ogre felt more of his strength leave him.

[Now you are ready to wield me,] said the voice, its connection to the Ogre now much stronger.  [The armor will protect you from my power, as well as strengthening our connection.]

The top of the altar rose into the air, pivoting on a set of hinges set on the back.  The fit was so perfect it rose without a sound.  And underneath was the blade of legend, the Black Blade of Bothar.  Almost two meters of polished black steel, glowing with the same dark light as the interior of the chamber.  The hilt was a half meter of golden leather, and a pommel of jet colored diamond occupied the end.  A sheath of black leather embossed with metal sat next to the blade.

[Pick me up, and become invincible.]

Krug hesitated for just a moment, then gripped the hilt with his right hand and raised the sword into the air.  A feeling of power swept through his body like none he had ever felt before.  Followed by an enervating weakness that almost knocked him from his feet.

[I must feed,] shouted the blade in his mind.  [I am hungry, and I must have life, now.]

Krug grabbed the sheath and threw it over his shoulder, letting the strap hold it in place for the moment.  Later he would cross strap it more securely.  But now he had a mission, one he could not delay.

Krug saw his first victim as soon as he had left the chamber, one of the Ellala warriors standing twenty meters away, nervously watching the entrance.  “He comes out, my Lord,” shouted the warrior.  “He has on the black armor, and is carrying the blade.”

Krug smiled as he advanced on the man, his sword in hand.  The Ellala looked at him with almost panicked eyes, then tried to back up at the last moment.  Too late, as the Black Blade ripped through his chest armor like it was paper, coming out the other side.  Krug lifted the Ellala into the air on the blade, feeling the sweet energy of the man’s life force flowing into his body.  Most of it stayed in the blade, and some flowed through him into the armor, but he still caught enough to replenish his reserves.

[More,] yelled the blade.  [More.]

“No more,” cried the Death Priest, Jakisanda Millistara, stepping into sight, waving the other Ellala warriors back.  “The blade would feed until there was nothing but death here.  There will be other things to kill as we go forward, but we are not among them.”

Krug flung the body from the blade, then took a step forward, compelled by the sword to take another life.  The Death Priest stared into his eyes, forcing another compulsion on the Ogre.  Krug felt torn by the two commands, but decided that he would obey the one that made the most sense.  He pulled the sheath off of his back, then sheathed the blade, cutting off most of its compulsion in that instant.  It was still making demands, but they were much weaker versions of its strident call.  He attached the sheath to his back again, this time cross belting it with the hilt jutting over his right shoulder.

“You must only draw that blade when you intend to kill,” said the Priest, walking up and running a hand over the armor.  “When it leaves the sheath, it will make you kill, whether you want to or not.  And it will not return to it until it has taken that life.  Understand?”

Krug nodded, girding his will.  He enjoyed killing, but only what he wanted to kill.  He realized the sword would want to make him its slave, while promising that he was the master.  I was a slave, once, in the arena, he thought, scowling.  Never again.  You are mine to control, not the other way around.

He walked away from the chamber and toward his comrades.  But the subtle laughter in the back of his mind made him wonder if he was just fooling himself.

*     *     *

[There is something ahead, friend Kurt,] came the transmission from White Paw.

[Danger?]

[I don’t think so,] sent the wolf, showing the pair of bronze doors that appeared on a wall.  The doors shone with a bright light, and the symbols of suns and trees were pictures in relief on the metal.

“That’s the entrance to a shrine,” said Garios, looking at the mental picture.  “It might behoove us to visit it before we pass on.  There might be aid for us in there.”

“Then let’s go visit it,” said Kurt, waving everyone forward, watching the path that the wolf had taken away from the main route.  “We could use some down time in a safe place.”  He had hoped that the half hour they had taken would have led to partial recovery, and while he and Jackie were both up to full strength, the same could not be said for the others.  Drake was in good health, but fatigue lived in his eyes.  Fatigue so deep that he looked as if he would pass out with every step.  At least he’s got some clothes on, even if they don’t quite fit him.  The clothes had been made to fit a large, muscular Nord, not a much smaller English Physicist.

Garios looked even worse.  He was still dripping blood from a leg wound that had soaked through his bandage.  Only the innate toughness of his species was keeping him on his feet.  We need to get there in a hurry.  But we accomplish nothing if we confront them in no shape to fight.

It was a short walk to the shrine.  The doors were even more beautiful up close than as seen through the eyes of the wolf.  They appeared to be made of gold, but what gold.  They glowed with power, the energy radiating off the metal, but there was no feeling of threat from that force.

“It’s solid Mithral,” cried Garios in glee.  “A fortune in the metal.  Enough to equip an army with fine armor and weapons.”

“And why does it glow?” asked Jackie.  “Does it give off energy as one of its properties?”

“No,” said the Dwarf, shaking his head.  “Though it does hold magical energy like few other substances.  That is the power of the Gods, infused into the metal.  It repels those which should not be here.”

“So all of us should be able to go through,” said Kurt, glancing at Xeonides, the Halfling.

“The Thief should have no problem,” said the Dwarf, laughing, despite the glare the Halfling sent his way.  “He’s chaotic in nature, and lawless, but not really evil, and definitely not a worshiper of death.”

“And that I am not,” said Xeonides, crossing his arms over his chest.  “I love life.  Good food, good drink, and pretty wenches to share it with.”

“Even if the means to gain those luxuries come from uncooperative others?” asked Kurt with a chuckle.

“Most of the people I get, donations from, already have much more than they need,” said the Halfling, who had proven his intelligence in the past fights by staying out of them.

“Let’s see if you can walk through the doors without being vaporized by the holy power,” said Garios, gesturing toward the doors.

The Halfling swallowed hard, not looking comfortable at the prospect of risking destruction, despite his protests.

Garios laughed and walked toward the doors, which brightened as he approached.  Kurt was about to order the Dwarf back, wondering if the Priest had misinterpreted the power in the doors.  But at ten meters the door began to swing open, and Garios looked back with a smile before striding forward into the room.

Kurt was next through the door, shielding his sensitive eyes from the bright glow until they adjusted.  He noted that Garios was walking without a limp now, his shoulders straight, obviously getting some benefit from the energy around him.  Kurt felt nothing, and cursed that part of his gift.  It was all well and good to not feel the effects of magic aimed at harming him, but it would have been nice to feel the effects of beneficial spells.  Remembering the fireballs he and Jackie had withstood less than an hour before, he knew he was whining about something that was of overall benefit to himself and his fellow Immortals.

The rest of the party crowded into the twenty meter square chamber, White Paw coming in last, his nose sniffing furiously, before he started dancing around the chamber like a puppy.

“It is a shrine of the Gods of Life,” said Garios, looking at the simple altar that sat against the wall opposite the doors.  There was a statue of a beautiful Ellala woman in relief on the wall above the altar.

“Arathonia,” said Kurt, recognizing the woman immediately.  He had seen her in dreams many times.  “She is not of your pantheon, is she, Priest?”

“No,” said Garios, shaking his head.  “I serve the Gods of Law.  But Law and Life are most often allied in the battles of the Deities.  Just as Death and Chaos are often allies.  Most times I can access the energies of life, as I do when I cast healing spells.”

“So you would be able to work healing magic in here?”

“What need is there?” asked the Dwarf, looking at the Immortal with an expression of confusion.  “Can you not feel it?  This place will heal everything that bothers us, just because we are here.”

Kurt shook his head.  He could feel nothing.  Garios looked at him with dawning recognition.

“You do not feel it, at all.  I am so sorry, my friend.”

“It’s a good trade,” said Kurt.  “Since I can heal almost any injury as instantly as makes no difference.  Just as long as the rest of you heal.”  He looked around the shrine, confused as to why it was here.  “What is it here for?  This shrine, I mean.  There’s nothing here to warrant it.  No worshippers.”

“But there are evil artifacts here,” said the Dwarf, reaching up and running a hand over the altar.  “And they were put here by the Gods that did not want them to see the light of day.  If Death or Chaos ruled this place, the path would be open all the way.”

“But all the evil creatures?” asked Jackie, looking at the statue of the Goddess.

“The Gods of Life can still bind them to a place and time,” said Garios.  “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if we encounter some creatures of good before we find what we’re looking for.”

“Hopefully our enemies will encounter them first, and either be stopped, or at least weakened.”  Kurt wasn’t sure what a creature of good would manifest as.  He remembered the unicorns the Ellala of Fenris’s kingdom had ridden, and the Griffons of the Mo’oricans.  And the Gold and Silver dragons.  The Neo Wolves would be considered creatures of good, or at least of law.  That there were more powerful beings he was certain, but could not figure out what they might be.

“There might be angels down here,” said Garios, as if reading his thoughts.  “Creatures of heaven, just below the Gods in power, or lesser breeds that are still strong.”

“And what will they do if we approach them?” asked Jackie, running a finger over the wall by the statue.

“Most probably attack us,” said Garios with a shrug.  “They are here to prevent that which is buried here from leaving, and we would be considered intruders that might accomplish such, if not stopped.  Not fair, but there it is.”

Jackie’s fingers stopped, and she appeared to play with something on the wall.  Without warning the altar slid the other way, revealing a space below that contained some objects that glowed with the same kind of energy as the chamber.

“By the Gods,” said Garios, looking into the treasure trove.  “These may help us immensely, both here and beyond.”

The Priest held up a recurve bow of glowing wood, with what appeared to be ivory inlays.  The Priest held it with both hands and mumbled the words of a prayer.  He opened his eyes with a smile on his face.   “Fenris.  You might want to carry this.  It’s a bow of the God Fiorin.  I think it fires arrows of lightning.”

The Ellala was there in an instant, grasping the bow in one hand while rubbing the other lovingly across the wood.  Fiorin was the patron God of woodsmen and hunters, though this bow was never made as a hunting implement.

“I thank you, my good Dwarf,” said the Ellala, a wide smile on his face.  He pulled back on the string, and a glowing blue arrow appeared out of nowhere, strung and ready to fire.  He slowly relaxed the string, and the arrow disappeared, much to the relief of everyone present.

Garios next lifted a robe of red and blue, with stylized planets and stars worked cleverly into the fabric.  Another prayer, and another smile.  He looked over at Drake and motioned for him to come closer, then tossed him the robe.  “It’s a Robe of Mithras, the Life Goddess of wind and rain.  Who is, by the way, the Patron of mages and mathematicians.  So it should be right up your ally.”

“What does it do?” asked Drake, holding the robe in one hand as if he were afraid of it.

“That is for you to find out,” said the Priest.  “But be not concerned.  It will be only beneficial to you.  She is a good Goddess, and not a trickster.”

James grunted and pulled the robe over his head, making sure that it sat as it should on his body.  “Damn,” he said with a smile.  “I feel, connected,” he said, nodding his head.  “It’s like my mage sight has been enhanced many times.  I can see energy everywhere.”

“Then you shouldn’t have any trouble gaining enough power for your spells,” said Garios with a smile, turning to reach back into the cubby for the last object, a longsword in a jeweled sheath.

“I don’t use a sword, and everyone else has a weapon suited to them,” said Garios after saying his spell over the sheathed weapon.  “This blade is sacred to Stephana herself, a Goddess of my Pantheon.”

“That would be a blade of great worth to a warrior,” said Gromli, looking expectantly at the sword.

“Who is Stephana?” asked Jackie, getting looks of incomprehension from all of the natives.

“Of course you don’t know all of our deities,” said Gromli, glancing over at her, then back at the weapon.  “She is the Lawful Goddess of War, she who succors the warriors who defend the weak.”

“Then it is a blade you should have, Sir Gromli,” said the Immortal, pointing from the blade to the Nord.

“I agree,” said Garios, standing up and carrying the sword to the Nord knight.  “May it serve you well, as you serve your king and his people.”

“Nothing for me,” said the Halfling Thief, walking up to the cubby and looking down.  “Dammit.  So far I have gotten nothing from this adventure.”

“Nothing but your freedom, Thief,” growled Gromli, looking away from his shimmering new blade to glare at the Halfling.

“There are no Chaos artifacts here, Xeonides,” said Garios, turning his own baleful glare on the small humanoid.  “Why do you think such as they would reside in such a place?”

“Just wishful thinking,” said the Thief, looking away.

“Tell them what God you worship. Thief,” growled Garios.  “Tell them,” he shouted when the Halfling refused to speak.

“I worship Biliadus,” said Xeonides in a half whisper.

“Louder.”

“Biliadus, the honorable Goddess of Thieves.”

“The honorable Goddess,” spat Garios.  “She who aids those who take the property of others in the night.  Who takes the food out of the mouths of children, and coppers out of the pockets of the poor.”

“I have never taken coppers out of the pockets of the poor,” screamed the Thief, rounding on the Dwarf.  “I have never stooped so low as to steal from those who would miss it.  I only steal from the wealthy.”

“And give to the poor,” said Kurt with a laugh.

“Hells no.  Their wealth went into my own pockets, then back into the pockets of the community when I spent it on food, drink and wenches.  I have, revitalized, many a community that some scummy noble was driving to ruin.”

“You are still chaos incarnate, and the enemy of my God,” said Garios, turning his back on the Thief.

“As long as he uses that chaos against our foes, I have no problem with who or what he worships,” said Kurt, holding his hand up to kill any more argument.  “The Goddess wanted him with us, for whatever reasons she had.  She wanted all of us here, for whatever reason.  I am sure that somewhere ahead he will prove his worth.”  Kurt walked up and laid a hand on the Halfling’s shoulder.  “And I’m sure a just reward is waiting for you.  If not, I’ll pitch in a hundred gold pieces to your reward.”

“Bah,” said the Halfling, a smile on his face.  “A thousand might cover it.”

“Does everyone feel rested?” asked the Immortal, feeling well himself, if a little hungry.

“One moment,” said Garios, pushing the stud on the altar and allowing it to roll back into place.  “This type of altar has another function for weary travelers.  One I had almost forgotten.”  The Dwarf stared at the altar top and said the words of a prayer under his breath.  The top of the altar shimmered for a moment, then was filled with bowls of food, fruits, breads, roasted meats, and pitchers of liquids, cold drops of water rolling down their sides.

“We could all do with food,” said the Dwarf, looking at Kurt and Jackie.  “And with those metabolisms, I’m sure you two are almost starving.”

Kurt nodded as he walked forward.  His stomach had been grumbling for some time now, but he had been avoiding their limited supply of iron rations, not knowing how long they would be down here.  He grabbed a joint of roasted meat off a platter, then turned to see White Paw looking at him with the begging stare of a canine.  Kurt laughed and tossed the wolf the joint, then grabbed a leg of some large bird and a loaf of bread.

When the party left the chamber, all were well fed and rested, their packs were stuffed with food, and their spirits were as high as they had been since entering the labyrinth.  That made Kurt wonder what would be the next hurdle, and what price they might pay for getting past it.

*     *     *

“You should not have entered here, mortals,” yelled the large red creature standing in the center of the cavern.

“We do not fear you, demon,” said the Death Priest, Jakisanda Millistara.  “I know you cannot leave this chamber, and we will just go around you.”

The large creature showed a toothy grin of sharp incisors, obviously made for rending flesh.  Its ten meter wing span was on display as it spread the bat like appendages.  Its horns reached near to the ceiling five meters above the floor.  “There is no way around me, Priest.  You must come through me.  That is why I was placed here.  Unless you would leave this place without that for which you came.”

“Can you destroy him?” asked Ellisandra, looking at his Death Priest.

“I, don’t know,” said Millistara, doubt in his eyes.  “This is a very powerful demon, an Archdemon if I have ever seen one.  I am not sure that any priest or mage is his equal.”

“I will kill it,” said Krug, stepping forward before anyone could stop him, putting a large foot into the chamber.

“Ah, someone with enough courage to face me,” said the Demon.  “I will enjoy feasting on the soul of someone so brave.”

“Stop, you fool,” yelled the Marshal, trying to grab at the Ogre and failing as the warrior took another step forward.

“Don’t,” said the Death Priest, grabbing the Marshal’s shoulder and holding him back.  “This may work.”

“Is that the Black Armor that I see?” asked the Demon, a hint of doubt in his voice.  “How did a slug like you get something like that.”

Krug laughed, not bothering to answer, taking another couple of steps forward.

“It will protect you a little longer, mortal.  But that is all.  I will still eat your soul, and there is nothing you can do to stop it.”

“No,” shouted Krug, his voice amplified to almost godlike proportions.  His right hand reached back and grabbed the hilt of the blade over his back.  With a quick pull the Black Blade was out in the open, glowing with black light and moaning like a banshee.  “Maybe this will change your mind.”

The demon stepped back with a shocked expression, its eyes wide as it stared at the artifact that even it had no control over.  It raised a hand and motioned for the Ogre to stop.  “I did not know you possessed the Blade of Bothar, warrior.  Of course you may pass.  And all those with you.”

“Too late to change your mind now, Demon,” said Krug, his voice booming through the cavern.  “The blade is drawn, and it will not return to its sheath until it has taken a life, and fed on a soul.”

“Then take one of the lesser warriors of your party, Warrior.  Surely you will not miss one of them, and I can help you through the rest of this labyrinth.”

“Do not listen to the Demon, Krug,” said the Marshal, afraid that the weak minded Ogre might just become beguiled by the demon.  “He is not to be trusted.”

“The Blade wants more than the energy of an Ellala warrior,” said the Ogre, looking back at the Marshal with a grin, then back at the Demon.  “It wants what you have.”

“If you kill me, I will just be banished for a time, and then will return.  And when I return, I will come looking for you.”

Krug rocked his head back and roared with laughter.  He looked again at the Demon, all humor gone from his face.  “The Blade sees through you, Demon.  It tells me that most means of slaying your kind would result in what you say.  And it tells me that it will obliterate you completely.  So that is what I choose.”

“Then you will die here,” screamed the Demon, flapping his wings and rising a half meter from the ground.  “You will die, and the blade will be mine.”

Krug stepped forward, the Black Blade raised and pointed at the Demon.  “What is your name, Demon, so I will know whose soul my blade is devouring.”

The Demon bared his fangs and shot forward, his hand reaching out with sharp claws.  Krug swung the blade, catching the Demon on the wrist and slicing through, taking off the hand.  The Demon screeched again, this time in agony, and its other hand swung around before Krug could shift the blade.  Two of the claws hit the Ogre on his throat, just above the gorget and below the chin, the perfect target.  The Ogre’s tough skin was shredded as the claws cut through his throat, splashing his blood into the air.

Krug tried to roar, but all that came out was a gurgle.  The Black Blade pulled some of the life energy from the Demon from its wound, and the gorget of the Black Armor glowed with dark energy.  In an instant the throat of the Ogre was knit whole, and Krug released the roar he had been denied a moment earlier.

The Demon flapped his heavy wings again and tried to climb away, but the Ogre thrust the sword into the thick thigh muscles of the creature.  As the Blade penetrated the muscle it locked the Demon in place and pulled more of its life energy in.  Krug seemed to grow in size, an illusion caused by the increase in life, the portion that the Blade was feeding to the armor, and the armor to its wearer.

The Demon raised its claw and tried to strike again.  The Ogre pulled the Black Blade free and aimed it upwards, thrusting the tip into the abdomen of the large creature, up into the chest region of the Demon.  The Demon froze in place, its mouth open in a silent scream as bright energy flowed up the long blade and the black runes on its length glowed a brighter black.

“No,” yelled the Demon at the top of its lungs.  “No,” it yelled again, this time not nearly as loud.  It opened its mouth again and only a hiss came out.  The energy coming from it brightened yet again, then started to fade, as the body of the Demon first wavered, then dissolved in the air.

Krug raised the blade into the air and roared again, an ear splitting sound that deafened those listening.  He turned toward the Ellala and shoved the blade back into its sheath.  “The way is clear,” growled the Ogre.

“He’s unstoppable,” said the Death Priest, his wide eyes staring at the Ogre.  “I don’t think a dragon would be capable of stopping him.”

The Marshal gave a head motion of agreement, wondering if that were a good or bad thing.  As long as the Ogre was on their side, it was good.  But if anything turned him against them, there was nothing they could do to stop him.  I may need to talk with our Assassin about this, see if there’s anything she might be able to do.  To catch him off guard.  As long as he doesn’t go crazy when we’re not ready for it, and we’re caught off guard.

*    *     *

[Friend Kurt.  I am sensing something evil.]

[There are a lot of evil things here, White Paw,] sent the Immortal.  [What’s different about this?]

[I fear it, Friend Kurt.  I fear it, not just for my life, but for all that I am.]

“What do you think, Garios?” asked Kurt, looking over at the Priest, who was also receiving the link.

“I think our friends have found the Death Blade of Bothar,” said Garios.  “One of the artifacts we were to prevent them from getting, if not the most important one.”

“Tell us about it, Priest,” said Fenris, a troubled expression on his face.  “I remember hearing something of it, but it was a long time ago.”

“It is an awful weapon,” said the Dwarf, grimacing.  “It feeds on the life energy of its victims, giving some of it to its wielder.”

“Damn,” said Kurt, eyes widening.  “I remember reading about something like that in a book on Earth.   A work of fiction.”

“It seems that many of the ideas that we call fiction, or myth, come from things that really exist here,” said Drake, looking from face to face.

“I wish that wasn’t one of them,” said Kurt, shaking his head.  “Just the thought of that demon sword terrified me as a grown man.”

“It should terrify you,” said the Priest.  “It rips the very soul from your body and feeds it to the blade.  If the wielder is wearing the matching armor, the blade will also feed some of that energy into the plate, which will feed some of it to the swordsman.”

“And what happens to the soul?” asked Jackie, her own face turning a paler shade.

“No one really knows,” said the Priest.  “What we can say is that no recognizable soul has ever been identified from one who has fed the blade.  I would be careful, Lord Kurt.  I do not know what it would do to your kind, but I would not chance it.”

“And the armor?  What does it do, besides feeding some power to the user?”

“The armor is invulnerable to damage from normal weapons, and very resistant to magical weapons,” said Garios.  “And if it is damaged, it can heal itself.”

[It is the armor I was made to fight,] sent Kurt’s blade into his mind.  [The blade and the armor are my natural foes.  I will not let you down, my master.  If you face those weapons, we will win, and not just because of my abilities, but also because of yours.]

“If we come upon them, let me take on the one with the blade,” Kurt told the others.  “My sword thinks its destiny is to face that weapon, and the strength and will of the wielder will count for something.”

“He’s all yours, friend Kurt,” agreed Garios with a smile.  “I’m sure there will be enough of the enemy to keep the rest of us busy.”

“We need to get moving,” said Xenonodes, looking carefully into the tunnel ahead.  “We need to get to the crown before they do.”

[White Paw,] sent Kurt over his mental link.  [Scout ahead.]

“Stop the wolf,” shouted the Halfling, turning toward Kurt.

“White Paw,” yelled the Immortal.  “Stop.  Come back here.”  He turned to the Halfling with a questioning look on his face.

“That tunnel is sure to be trapped.  Even the senses of the animal will not be able to pick up the scent of something that emplaced them hundreds or more years ago.”

“Then how do you know it is trapped?” asked Garios, glancing down the tunnel.

“Do you smell that,” said the Halfling, looking at the Dwarf.  “There is something dead in that tunnel.  Something of considerable size that has been rotting for quite some time.”

“And?”

“And don’t you wonder why nothing has come along and taken that carrion, in a place like this, with too many predators and not enough prey.  Something is keeping the local life out of the tunnel.”

“So, what do we do about it?” asked Kurt.  “Find another way, and lose more time.”

“That’s why you have me along,” said Xenonodes with a smile.  “Give me a couple of minutes,” he said, pulling the tools out of his new kit and heading for the tunnel.

Chapter Seventeen

Xenonodes walked into the tunnel on cat’s feet, careful to not make a sound, a vibration, anything that could set off a trap that might use such a trigger.  His eyes were in constant motion, looking for anything out of place, anything that didn’t fit the motif of a deserted tunnel in an ancient dungeon.  He mumbled the words of a thief’s spell, one that was both common, and difficult to cast at the level he was attempting.  As soon as the last word left his mouth his vision changed, becoming sharper and clearer, while at the same time all of the shadows were banished.

Now he saw the body that was making the gagging odor that filled the tunnel.  It was thirty meters ahead, sprawled on the floor.  And he looked closely to see what it was that had felled the creature.  He saw several things at a distance that might have been the culprit.  He zoomed in his vision, and dismissed one immediately, as he saw a spider crawl into and out of the hole.  The other was still a possibility.

Is the tunnel safe up to that point? thought the thief, looking down at the floor before sliding one foot forward.  He knew the smart way to bet was that there were traps before that point, but that the creature had avoided them through skill, or simply dumb luck.  He fought the urge to hurry, his fear of setting something off warring with his anxiety at not getting through this obstacle in time to get his party where they were going before their opponent.

The Halfling again said another spell, this one a priest spell that would show common traps around him.  This one was not something many thieves could cast.  Only someone who had actually studied for the priesthood of one of the Gods, major or minor.  Which the Halfling had done in his younger years, before he went astray.

One of the stones to his front glowed blue, and he squatted down and marked the stone with a piece of cloth.  There was nothing else between him and the body, and he reached it and again squatted down to look it over.  It was badly burned, at least the clothing that was hanging in pieces on its body.  Most of the flesh had rotted away, but from the bone structure of the skull he thought it must have been a Grogatha.  He moved past the body and saw another trigger, this one on the wall, and he approached cautiously, still sliding his feet, not taking chances that there might be another trigger that the spell did not reveal.

He felt the click more than heard it, and threw himself to the floor as a quartet of darts flew through the space he had just occupied.  They hit the far wall with enough force to actually sink into the stone, and the Halfling rolled over, taking in a breath as he thought of what almost had happened to him.

He worked his way through the rest of the tunnel, finding one more trigger, marking it, and heading back for the others.  “I’ve cleared a path,” he told the party as soon as he was out of the tunnel.  “Follow me, walk in my path, and avoid the cloth marked stones.”

“Was it difficult?” asked Jackie as she followed directly behind the Thief.

“Not at all,” he told her with a smile, still feeling his heart beating harder from the stress.

*     *     *

“The Crown,” whispered Marshal Ellessa Ellisandra, looking at what had to be the treasure they had come for.  He glanced over at his companions, who all had the same look of greed on their faces.  I won’t let them have it, he thought, starting forward.

[Stop,] yelled something in their heads, and everyone jerked to a halt.  [You have not proven your worth, and only the worthy may possess me.]

“How do we prove ourselves?” asked the Death Priest, his own eyes wide as he looked at his companions as if they had been lifelong enemies.

[Others come.  You must defeat them to prove your worth.  Or they will prove theirs by defeating you.]

“Everyone,” called out the Marshal, his own attention now totally on the fight that was coming to them.  “Prepare yourselves.  We must win this fight at all costs.”

There were nods and murmurs of agreement, then everyone started separating out into their groups and heading for the best hiding places they could find.  And perhaps my enemies can kill off some of my friends, thought the Marshal as he led a group of soldiers into a side chamber.  Then I will have fewer of my friends to fight when we prove worthy of the crown.

*     *     *

The tunnel opened up onto a long natural bridge of rock, the opening through the rock wall to another chamber showing at the other end.  Far below bubbled bright lava, the heat rising and making the top of the bridge an oven.  Everyone was sweating as soon as they stepped onto the bridge with the exception of Drake, who actually seemed revitalized by the heat.

“Look there, friend Kurt,” said Garios, pointing down below to a section of rock that formed a beach on the lake of lava.  “A forge.”

Kurt followed the pointing finger of the Dwarf to see what looked like a heavy iron anvil, carved with writhing runes, a large hammer leaning against it.

“A forge of the Gods,” said the Priest.  “Artifacts were made there, in long ages past.”

“To what Gods?” asked the Immortal.

“To fell Gods,” said the Dwarf, making a holy sign across his chest.  “Only evil Gods could work in a place like this.”

“We need to move on,” said Kurt, motioning toward the other entrance, where White Paw was almost ready to go through the short tunnel and into the next chamber.  “It does us no good to sightsee in this evil place.”

Chapter Eighteen

“I can’t believe we actually got here before them,” said Garios, staring at the glowing crown sitting on the pedestal across the large chamber.

[We did not get here before them,] sent White Paw, observing from a high pathway he had run up to on the wall of the chamber.  [They are here, waiting for us.]

[Your animal is correct,] came another voice through mindspeak.  [Or is it more than an animal?]

“Come out where we can see you,” yelled Kurt, his voice echoing through the chamber.  He did not like this playing hide and seek, and wanted to come to grips with the enemy, especially since that enemy already knew where they were.

“Why did you not take the crown?” yelled Garios, his eyes searching all of the chamber, their glow bespeaking the spell he had cast to allow him to see in total darkness.

“The Crown decides who takes it,” said the voice that they all recognized now as the leader of their enemies.  “It does not answer to any of our Gods, as its maker faded from existence long ago, and it recognizes no other master.”

A dozen figures stepped into sight from some shadows that had an unnatural look to them.  One, an Ellala, wore the ornate armor of a high ranking officer.  One wore dark robes, and had a look that sent shivers down the spines of whomever caught his gaze.  There were several others in the robes of mages, all with their gazes locked upon James Drake and a pair of priests, both looking somewhat ill and weakened.  The one that caught Kurt’s attention was the huge Ogre in black armor that seemed to glow, the hilt and pommel of a large blade jutting over his right shoulder.

“I am Marshal Ellessa Ellisandra, once commander of the Empire’s Armies in the East, until your people defeated me with those damnable tactics of yours.”

“Only a fool fights fair,” said Kurt with a laugh. “If you wish to beat my people, you must out think them.  And so far your Empire has not proven capable of such.”

The Marshal returned a glare that might have scorched the flesh from the Immortal’s bones if he had magical powers, and Kurt wasn’t immune to most magic.  “You are arrogant, human.  We will see how arrogant you remain after we kill your people, and capture you for my Emporer.”

“So you waited on us so you could get revenge, said Fenris, looking at the Marshal with a sneer.  “You would have been better served to have grabbed the crown and run.”

“As I was saying, whelp of a degenerate Ellala kingdom, the crown chooses who it will go with.  And it has decided that we will fight, with the winner taking the prize.”

“And how do you want to settle this?” asked Garios, tightening his grip on his hammer.

By answer the enemy charged forward without warning, several of their warriors releasing arrows while their mages threw spells.  It became apparent in an instant that they had already formed a strategy, as particular people on the enemy force headed for particular targets.  Kurt almost smiled when he saw the huge Ogre heading his way, knowing as he did the lack of speed and agility of such creatures.

So he was shocked when the Ogre broke into a swift run and pulled the blade free from his back sheath to spin it through the air with consummate agility.  “I am Krug, wielder of the holy blade.  And I am your death,” roared the Ogre.

The Black Blade swished from its sheath, glowing with dark power, and the Ogre seemed to grow even larger as the glow spread to his armor.

“Shit,” yelled Kurt, taken off guard, trying to get his blade out in time to block the killer that was now in striking position.  Lenoris seemed to leap into his hand, faster than he could have drawn it on his own.  It sang a clear angelic song as Kurt brought it up to strike the Black Blade, which howled in anger when coming into contact with its opposite.  Sparks, bright as starfire and dark as hell, sprang out from the contact.  Kurt felt a shiver run up his arms, and as he tried to push the Ogre back, he found he could not move the creature.

“Shit again,” cursed Kurt as he disengaged, dropping down and avoiding the sword of the Ogre that the warrior was still pushing down at him.  Kurt back pedaled away, keeping his sword in front of him.

[I thought you were made to fight that thing,] he sent to his sword.

[I am.  But it is also made to fight me.  You need to be careful, Kurt.  I am not sure what that blade will do to you if it penetrates into your body.]

[What do you mean?] asked the Immortal, as he ducked under a swing and swung Leonoris into the exposed side of the Ogre.  The Paladin Blade of Arathonia, the most powerful weapon of her pantheon, hit an equally powerful artifact and bounced away without a scratch.  Kurt turned and ran as the Ogre tried to get into position for another attack.

[You are immune to magic, at least the kind used by mortals.  But that blade is imbued by the God of Death to steal life.  I am not sure your immunity will work against that.]

Wonderful, thought the Immortal, spinning in place and blocking the Black Blade yet again, then pulling his sword back and striking at the head of the Ogre, only to see the Black Blade seem to twist into the way.

The Ogre swung again, this time speeding through Kurt’s guard and hitting him on the shoulder.  The enchanted armor bounced the Black Blade away.  The weapon screeched like a banshee, then came back in and hummed as it cut through Kurt’s armor and bit into his flesh.  Kurt felt the bite of that blade as something more than physical.  With a surge of strength he swung a gauntleted fist  into the chest of the Ogre and knocked him back, then dodged to the side as the ugly creature recovered much too swiftly.

I’m not going to brute force a victory over this thing and his weapon, thought the Immortal as he twisted away from another thrust and knocked the Black Blade down with a chop of his own sword.  I have to out think him.  And as he was trying to do that the Ogre scored another hit that cut armor and flesh, and Kurt felt some of his life energy leave his body.

He had faced vampires, werewolves, trolls, even dragons since coming to this world.  And now he found himself facing an enemy he might not be able to defeat.

*    *     *

Xenonodes saw the enemy charging at them, and noted that none of them were actually attacking him.  That’s good, thought the Halfling, his eyes seeking some nearby shadows that looked promising.  With a quick step he was within those shadows, wearing them like a cloak, hidden from friend and foe.  I’ll just stay here and watch, and decide what I need to do when I have to.

*     *     *

“You are mine, Dwarf,” yelled the black robed Death Priest, waving a hand at Garios.  Dark energy flew from that hand and struck the shield the Dwarf had just erected.

Garios could feel the threat of that energy, the power of the dark priest attempting to suck the life from his body.  A life priest would be the best match in opposition to this kind of foe.  He was a priest of Law, though he controlled some life magic.  But his most powerful powers were in the realm of Law.

Then it’s time I use some of that magic, thought the Priest, saying the words under his breath that caused his hammer to glow with power.  He raised the hammer overhead, just as the barrier between him and the death magic began to fail.  He felt the sharp bite of that magic as he brought his hammer down on the floor.  With a thunderclap of sound the power went into the stone, which cracked all around the strike.  The Death Priest fell from his feet, landing hard on the floor, then being thrown back into the air away to land hard again.

Garios ran toward the other Priest on his short legs, desperate to get in a killing or disabling blow before the Ellala could recover.  He raised his hammer in the air, depending on its natural enchantment to get through any defenses the man might have.  He was bringing it down, aiming for the unprotected head of the man, when the Ellala looked up and moved like a striking snake.

Garios felt the shock run through his body as all of his muscles spasmed, and he fell back with a cry.  His tough body threw off the effects of the spell quickly, much faster than any Ellala or human.  Still, when he looked up he still felt some of the daze of the electrical shock, and the Death Priest was getting to his feet with murder in his eyes.

And far behind him his two lesser priests chanted the words of spells, feeding more energy into the master.

*     *     *

Fenris drew back his bow and sent a crackling arrow streaking into the breast of one of the enemy archers.  The man released his own arrow, which flew harmlessly into the air, while the Ranger drew, aimed and loosed on another.  Not having to draw arrows sped up his rate of fire, and he had a third arrow off, and another kill, before any of the enemy archers could draw again.

“Face me,” yelled the Marshal, running toward Fenris with drawn blade, his eyes filled with murderous hate.

Fenris dropped his bow and drew his sword in one smooth motion, catching the blade of the Marshal on his own just before it could strike his flesh.  Fenris twisted his wrist, pushing the enemy blade away, then slashed at the face of the other Ellala.  His blade mostly missed, leaving a slight scratch on the Marshal’s left cheek.

“You cannot win this fight, Marshal,” said Fenris, swishing his blade through the air with a flourish.  “You may be a general, and a leader, but it has been centuries since you were a proficient warrior.”

“But I don’t have to be a better fighter than you,” said the Marshal, laughing as three of his men ran up, blades at the ready.  “Only a leader of warriors against a single fool.”

*     *     *

Another fireball came in and struck the ground at Drake’s feet, exploding and adding to the firestorm that already engulfed him.  He knew why the enemy mages were using fire.  Fire spells were actually some of the easiest to throw, and even a low level mage could generate forces that made them feel almost godlike.  And they were very powerful spells, capable of destroying a number of enemies with one strike.

Unfortunately for them, they didn’t know much about Drake and his abilities.  He was not completely immune to fire.  Just extremely resistant.  But when he was working magic, fire became not a threat, but a source of energy.  The robe he had acquired at the shrine also proved immune to flame, and it was channeling energy into him even faster than he could normally absorb it.

James drew the fire into him, shaped it, and sent it in a wave at the enemy mages, intending to obliterate them in one action.  A powerful shield caught his fire and bent it around the mages, and he recognized that there was at least one archmage in that group, if not more.  He sent another wave of flame into the group, his intention to overwhelm their defenses.  Even an archmage couldn’t stand against him when he was feeding his power with flames like the ones surrounding him.

A bolt of lightning and a beam of cold struck him at the same instant, both powerful enough to have come from masters.  He was not prepared for those attacks, and had no natural resistance to them.  His body went into shock and the flames around him died down.  Then he felt himself almost wilting under the gazes of the other four magic users, all calling up their spells and preparing to blast him from existence.

*     *     *

Jackie decided from the start that superior strategy would help win the day more than just rushing into the attack.  So at the moment the enemy revealed themselves through speech, she had faded back into the shadows and started making her way in a flanking maneuver.  The enemy attacked while she was still in the movement phase.  She stopped in place and looked over the attack, making her decision on who to help first.

“I was hoping I would be able to test myself against you,” said the voice of a female Ellala, followed by the appearance of the speaker from the shadows.  Even though she was now in the light, it was as if the shadows had followed her and were wrapping themselves around her in a protective cloak.  “They say you are faster than anyone alive,” continued the female, drawing a pair of short blades from her back sheaths.  “More agile than the most graceful Ellala.  This I wish to see for myself, see if you are the match for a Master Assassin.”

“And what is your name?” asked Jackie, watching the woman closely, noting the smooth and graceful movements of the Ellala.  “Oh, come on.  You know who I am.  You can at least give me the courtesy of your name.  If you know about me, you know I cannot use magic.  So what harm in giving me your name?”  And thanks for buying into my delaying tactic, while I track your two friends with my ears.  They’re quiet, alright, but not to someone with ears like my kind have.

“My name is Glassini Ellishanana,” said the Ellala with a cold smile.  “I am the greatest Master of Assassins this world has ever seen, and I will be your death.”

Jackie grasped the hilts of her swords, one hand over each shoulder, and drew them quickly, stopping her draw in a guard position.  Fire shone with red light along its length, while Ice’s blade glittered with blue.

“Very pretty,” said the Assassin, taking a short step forward.  “I will use them well when you are no longer around to wield them.”

Jackie heard the flutter of soft steps on the stone to left and right, and knew the other assassins were springing into the attack.  She rotated a blade each way, quickly stepping back at the same time, just before the Assassin to her front threw her blades into the air and launched a series of throwing knives at the Immortal.

*     *     *

White Paw settled into a crouch as his ears picked up the sound of feet on the stone of the raised path.  It wasn’t even the soft tread of the assassins he had been tracking earlier, but only the moderately stealthy steps of city bred Ellala warriors.  White Paw and his kin were not the same level of intelligence as a human, Elf or Dwarf.  They were about equal in intellectual level as a Chimpanzee, at least as single units.  In a pack, their abilities went up.  No one really knew what the limit was, though when a score of them were resonated mentally they were at least as smart as an average human.  There were no others of his kind within range.  He could communicate with the others of his kind, barely, but he couldn’t tap into their mental strength.

He had been trying to decide who to aid with his psionic powers.  All seemed to be in need, but he could only help one at a time, and his decision might decide whether that person lived or died.  But it seemed he was not going to get that chance, as the Ellala he heard appeared to be coming his way.

Two of the Ellala stepped into the light, still looking for the wolf.  Both had arrows notched to their bows, halfway drawn.  And both were only seconds away from spotting the wolf.

White Paw picked his target and sent out an amplified blast of psychic energy.  One of the Ellala screamed in agony and dropped his arrow to the ground, bringing that hand to his head, as if he could provide relief with it.  He couldn’t, and the scream turned into a gurgle as he lost control of his body and fell to the stone.

The other Ellala picked up the wolf at that moment, drawing his notch hand back to his ear and shifting his aim.  With a thought White Paw threw another psychic bolt at the second Elf.  The bolt was not nearly as powerful as the first, but it was enough to make the Elf lose his aim.  The arrow came close, and bounced from the stone an eighth meter to the side of the animal.  As the arrow clattered away White Paw sprang to his feet and charged at the Ellala he had just struck with his mental bolt.  In less than two seconds his paws were striking the chest of the Ellala and sending him in a backward fall, while his teeth reached for the throat of the warrior.  The Ellala weighed about sixty-three kilos, the wolf a staggering one hundred, and the Elf didn’t have a chance of stopping the beast.  The teeth met in the throat of the Ellala, and a jerk of the powerful neck ripped the windpipe open.

At the last second he caught sight of the first Ellala, dropping his bow to the ground and pulling his short sword from its sheath.  He turned back to that Ellala, preparing another mental bolt, when he caught another movement out of the corner of his eye, and realized there was a third Ellala, taking aim, and the wolf could only blast one of the two threatening him.

*     *     *

“Shield wall,” yelled Sir Gromli as the Ellala warriors charged his men.  He stepped forward, holding his tower shield to his front, bracing his legs.  Two men stepped up to either side of him, linking their shields, the outer pair curving back a bit to provide some flank security.

Ten Ellala, all wearing a lighter grade of armor than his men, all less massive of bone and muscle, slammed into the shield wall.  Their momentum forced it back a half meter while they tried to get their swords into action.  Their long blades were unwieldy in such close quarters, as were the long swords of the Nords.  Several of the Ellala stepped back and sheathed their long blades, then drew shorter swords that could be used to stab.

Shit, thought Gromli as he watched the Ellala come back with swords thrust forward.  He was able to get one with his own blade while the Ellala was still out of reach with the short sword.  The Knight’s blade, glowing with enchantment, punched through the throat of the slender Elf and out the back of his neck, severing his spine and dropping him lifeless to the ground.  The knight to his right swung his blade down and into the helmet of the Ellala facing him.  The blade didn’t penetrate the fine quality helmet, but the Ellala’s neck could not stand up to the force of the blow, and snapped.

The battle became a shoving match, shield pushing shield, blades trying to find any opening.  After several minutes the Ellala fell back, leaving six of their number either dead or bleeding out on the floor, three of them victims of Gromli’s blade, while one knight tried to staunch the blood of a massive wound to his side and fell to his knees, dying.

“Ware the arrows,” shouted Gromli, and he and his three knights covered as much of themselves with their shields as possible as a sleet of a dozen arrows came flying in.  Eleven struck shields and stuck quivering in the tough wood.  One hit a knight in the shoulder and penetrated the heavy chain, sinking deep into muscle.

“Here they come,” yelled another knight as Gromli started to move to help his wounded man.  He looked up to see the Ellala come rushing in again, and knew that the man would just have to endure the wound.  They would treat him after the fight, if any of them were left alive.

Chapter Nineteen

Krug smiled as he swung the Black Blade once again.  He had never faced an opponent with such a combination of strength and speed.  Still, he was the stronger, and his blade was giving him even more strength.

[Do not become arrogant, my Master,] said his blade as it struck the bright sword of the human.  [His sword is powerful, and with his speed, you are not invulnerable.]

[But I have the Black Armor,] said the Ogre, blocking the next swing of the human with his armored left forearm, proving the worth of his plate.

[You must take enough of his energy to feed us,] argued the Blade.  [Otherwise, he may outlast you.]

Krug barked out a laugh at the thought that anything could outlast him in combat.  He swung his blade in again, moving much faster than even his gladiator’s body was used to, knowing it was the sword that was giving him this heightened ability.  Still, the human got his sword in the way.  Krug tried to push through, smiling into the grimacing face of the human.  He moved the man’s arms, then grunted as the large man locked his own limbs in place and pushed back.

“Impossible,” yelled Krug at the top of his lungs, taking a step back and bringing the sword into a guard position.  He had never met a challenger his size or smaller with that much strength.  [This is not a normal man, fool,] sent the sword into his mind.  [You must steal his strength, or he will defeat you.]

Krug growled deep in his throat at the Blade.  I am no one’s fool, he thought, stepping forward and swinging the sword overhead, ready to bring it down on the head of his opponent and split his skull.  He swung down, knowing that he was on target.  Until the man moved out faster than he could have imagined, and the Black Blade struck the stone instead, itself letting out a howl of fury.

The bright Paladin’s blade came back in from the side and struck the Ogre on the shoulder, rocking him to the side.  The Black Armor kept the holy sword from penetrating, barely, and Krug knew he had to gather some energy to feed into the armor and the blade, or he would soon be completely outmatched.

He started his move, planning ahead this time, using a maneuver that had served him well in the arena.  The Ogre swung his blade over his right shoulder, then down in a cross cut that would have sliced into the human’s shoulder if he had stayed where he was.   Instead, he moved away in a blur and the swing missed.  Krug stumbled forward a bit, and the human did what he expected, charging back in with his own sword raised.

And Krug recovered from his fake stumble, his blade pointed low into the charging human.  The tip of the sword hit the tough enchanted armor and bounced away, then recovered on its own with a shrill scream and puncture through the very spot it had bounced from.

Krug laughed as he felt the energy coming up the blade, as much as he had taken from the demon and more.  The man was dead, even if he didn’t know it.  Once the Black Blade locked into place it was like a leech, impossible to dislodge.  It would continue to suck the life force until there was nothing left.  Already the Gladiator could feel his strength growing, while the Blade and the Armor glowed with power.  How much life force does this human have? he thought, savoring the flood of power, contemplating how he was going to crush the man’s companions.

The man then did the impossible.  He swung his sword down and struck the Black Blade, knocking it free of the wound it had made.  Krug hissed in disbelief.  The man should be dying on his feet after the level of energy he had lost.  Instead, he seemed as strong as ever, though he was backpedaling with a wary look on his face.

Krug, almost lost in the surge of energy flowing through his body, followed, sure that he would kill the man with his next strike.

*     *     *

Jakisanda swore again in what was almost a prayer to his God, Bothar.  He was the mightier priest, of that he was sure.  And he was also sure that the Dwarf was the better fighter.  And that damned hammer, thought the Death Priest.

The hammer was not a God Weapon, like the sword the big human carried.  Of that he was positive.  God weapons had a look and feel to them.  This did not have that look or feel, but it was still powerful.  If forged by a mortal, it had been a master craftsman who had spent considerable time on it.  Its built in enchantment was powerful, but when the priest added a spell to it, it was power incarnate.

Jakisanda mouthed the words of another offensive spell and tried to touch the Dwarf.  While not a life priest, the Dwarf had many defensive spells linked to the Law Gods, and so far everything the Death Priest had thrown at him had been deflected.  Jakisanda was pretty sure that a touch spell would work, hopefully paralyzing the other Priest.  The problem was touching the canny Dwarf, who was constantly moving and keeping his shield up.

The Black Hand of Death came within centimeters of touching the Dwarf, before his heavy shield knocked the hand away.  Jakisanda stifled a scream as the edge of the embossed shield hit his wrist.  If his hand had not been enveloped in the death energy he was sure it would have been broken.  As it was, it hurt like a bitch, and he lost the feeling in his fingers for a moment.

Now the Dwarf came on the offensive, looking over his raised shield with his hammer drawn up by the side of his head, ready to strike like a snake when he came within range.  The Death Priest drew his dagger, his only weapon, and held it to his front.  The Dwarf smiled as he advanced, and Jakisanda saw his own death in the eyes of the Priest of Law.

A crossbow bolt came out of seeming nowhere, striking the helmet of the Dwarf.  The almost pure Mithral deflected the bolt, but the Dwarf flinched and looked away for a moment.  In that moment the Death Priest shouted a word of power, and his dagger telescoped into a long, thin blade, black as night and reeking of death.  With a lunge he went over the shield and sliced into the left side of Garios’ neck.  The Dwarf staggered back with a strangled cry, the poison working quickly into his system.  The Death Priest yelled in triumph and charged in, his victim almost helpless and sure to get weaker by the moment.  Bothar will feast on a new soul this day, he thought as he aimed his blade toward the throat of the shorter Priest.  And the God of Death was always appreciative of the soul of an enemy to torment.

*     *     *

Marshal Ellessa Ellisandra thrust at the other Ellala once again, and once again the Ranger both moved out of the way and struck his sword aside.  The blade followed the deflection with its own thrust, and Ellisandra barely got his body out of the way.  He was sure Fenris was going to run him through, his seemingly living blade finding an opening in the Marshal’s armor, when his two men came in from either side and forced the Ranger back.

The two Ellala warriors continued their attack, trying to use their numbers to defeat a superior swordsman.  Unfortunately for them, Fenris could be very economical in his motions, and he did not have to move as far in the defense as the offense.  He knocked both blades aside, one after the other, then again.  He followed the last block with a thrust, and one of the warriors staggered back, left hand to bleeding shoulder.

The other warrior tried to take advantage of the Ranger’s interest in the one he had just wounded with a swift attack, only to run into the flashing blade that defeated all of his moves.

“I thought you brought your best with you, Marshal,” said Fenris with a smile.  “I’m disappointed.  If this is the best that you have, we should have invaded you years ago.”

But not all of your people are as good as you, or you could have, thought the Marshal, coming in beside his man and joining in the attack.  The Marshal knew he was outclassed, how all of his people were in this particular fight.  He was no coward, and was not willing to give up the fight just because he might not survive it.  If Fenris were free to join any of the other battles, they would swing against his side in an instant, and they would roll up his force before he could rally them.

Two more Ellala came up to join the fight, and Fenris was forced back, barely keeping the blades from his blood.  [Back him into the corner,] sent the Marshal to his three men, glancing back to see the fourth getting his wound under control, soon to rejoin the fight.  We’re going to kill this fool, then attack one of the others from behind and take them.  There was no panic on Fenris’ face as he was forced back, though he had to realize that getting trapped, getting his mobility taken from him, would mean his end.

Would that I had more men as courageous as he, thought the Marshal as he stepped back and let his now quartet of men force the enemy Ellala back.  And where are the rest of my people?

*     *     *

How in the hells does someone so big move so fast, thought Glassini as she dodged the cold sword once again.  One of her assassins had not been able to dodge the same blade, and now crouch by the wall holding her left forearm, the hand of which had shattered into ice crystals and lay scattered over the floor.  The other was still on her feet, looking for an opening which never seemed to appear.

Glassini backpedaled, the human following her with long strides, both blades swishing through the air in a whirlwind.   She still didn’t understand how someone who was much more massive than her, or her people, taller, more muscular, and a human to boot, could move with such grace and speed.  She barely got her blades up in time to block the two magical weapons, feeling the heat and cold coming through the hilts of her own swords.  Her wrists shivered from the force of the blows, and she was not sure how much longer it would be before one was knocked from her grasp.

The dark face of the human contrasted the white teeth of her smile as she drove in, and the Master Assassin felt fear run through her.  It was a feeling she was not used to.  People feared her, not the other way around.  The flame sword came in, fast, faster than she could react, and she was sure she was dead.

The other assassin came in from the side with a thrust, and the flame blade moved that direction, faster than anything should have been able to reverse direction.  The blade knocked aside one of the swords of the assassin, then touch her forearm with the flat.  The black clothing of the assassin burst into flame, and the woman leapt back, waving her arm, which had to be receiving bad burns.

The human went for the kill, running after the woman with her blades poised.  Glassini almost followed her, then considered that the human, with her better than Ellala hearing, would take note of the pursuit and turn on her.  Either killing Glassini, or forcing her back with nothing accomplished.  Not that saving her fellow assassin would be nothing, but the dying part bothered her, a lot.

Instead, she sheathed her blades in one fast motion and sent two darts after the human with a flick of her wrist.  One of the darts struck the chain and bounced away.  The other hit her in the side of the neck as she started to turn.  With a gasp the human dropped the ice blade and raised a hand to her wound.  She staggered in her step as the most powerful fast acting poison known on the planet sped through her arteries to heart and brain.  She gasped again, this time a much weaker sound, dropped her flame blade, and fell to her knees, her hands catching her before she continued the fall.

She should already be dead, thought the Master Assassin, looking at the impossible human and shaking her head.  She grasped her right hand blade tightly and walked forward, her other hand reaching for the woman’s helmet.  Let’s see how you survive after I take your head.

*     *     *

Kralisis Lasidera had been a mage for most of his twenty-five hundred odd years of life.  He had achieved Master’s rank on his thousandth year as a practitioner, well ahead of the curve for his people, who, with their long lives, didn’t burn as brightly as those of the shorter lived races.  But, because of that life span, they learned to control much greater powers than any human or Dwarven magic user.  Yet here he, stood, an Archmage of his people, facing one who had only been practicing magic for a little over a year.  Before that, he had been from a world where they didn’t even believe in magic.  Yet the human controlled energy that the Archmage couldn’t even begin to imagine.

And fire seems to be his friend, thought the Archmage, watching as one of his other Masters, one specializing in lightning, fired a bolt into the human that should have electrocuted a platoon.  The human shook for a moment, his hair standing on end, but otherwise shrugged off the bolt as the fire around him burned brighter for a moment.

He uses the flames to fortify and heal his body, thought the Ellala with amazement.  Fire was a destructive force, and most mages were only able to use it for that purpose.  Some wizards of legend were said to be able to use it for healing, but no one in the memory of living Elf.  Yet here is one that can do it, at least with himself.  And the only way to stop him is to hit him with the opposite of his power.

Kralisis was a specialist in the opposite of fire, water.  He controlled the seas, the lakes and the rivers, and the cold that was associated with water.  He felt the power of an underground river flowing near, and tapped into the energy of its flow.  When he had gathered all the power he could hold, he threw a blast of sub-freezing cold at the human.  The blast hit with some effect, but not enough, and the human continued to pull fire from the floor of the cavern and weave it around himself in a protective shield.

[Everyone hit him with cold,] the Archmage mentally shouted to his followers.  [Lonoris,] he sent to the lightning mage, who he knew could serve better dealing out his elemental specialty.  [Continue to hit him with lightning.]

The other four mages sent back their acknowledgments, and three started to send massed cold based spells into the flaming shield of the human.  The flames increased in intensity for a moment, but the Ellala kept pouring it on, until they noticeably weakened.  He could see the human mage through the flames now, and he was staggering with every hit by cold or water that came at him.

[We’ve got him,] sent the Archmage, drawing as much power as he could into his body, grimacing as he went over his limit, then sending the ball of cold out with a scream of rage and pain.  The ball hit the human mage, slicing through the weakening flames and washing over the human.

In an instant the moving, powerful human who had been standing in the flames was turned into a statue of ice, one hand raised as if to throw a spell, his mouth open.  Kralisis shouted in triumph.  We killed him, he thought, walking forward to look at his vanquished foe.  No one could survive that.

Knowing there was not time to waste, the Archmage started giving orders to his other men, sending them off to help the other fights.  With their help his side could not lose, and the crown would be theirs.  And perhaps I can wear it, he thought, thinking of no one better suited to control that must power.

Chapter Twenty

Kurt backed with speed away from the Ogre, not wanting that blade to again make contact with his flesh.  He had felt the life energy flowing from his body as the blade was stuck into his thigh.  It was a horrifying feeling, beyond a simple injury that might lead to death.  He had the feeling that his soul would be sucked from his body along with his life force, and he wasn’t sure where it would end up.  Not anyplace good, he thought.  He was not a worshipper of the Earth deities, and was not protected from the Hells of this world as those people were.

Shouldn’t I feel weaker, was his next thought, his mind running in overdrive along with his body.  How much of my life did he take?  And how much do I have left.

[There is no limit on your life energy, Kurt,] spoke Lenoris into his mind.

[How can that be?] thought the Immortal back to his sword, swinging it into the Black Blade as he looked for the next opening.  [Everything has a limit.]

[You are correct,] said the sword as it sparked bright light against the dark energy of the other sword.  [But even the Goddess cannot see yours.]

Kurt continued to work on that thought as he moved to the side and swung his sword into the side of the Ogre, putting all of his strength into the blow.  He didn’t expect his blade to cut through the tough God armor.  He did expect the blow to rock the Ogre on his feet, which it did.  Kurt followed the blow with a hard shoulder into the side of the Ogre, knocking him off his feet.

Yes, thought the Immortal, pulling his blade up and aiming the point down, looking for the perfect place to strike.  The Black Armor covered ninety-five percent of the Ogre’s body, but there were some openings, on the inner joints of the elbows, behind the knees, even one small area between gorget and helmet.  Kurt went for the one he was sure would cause the most damage, the point of his sword streaking down to punch through the chain that protected that spot.  Though part of the God Armor itself, and capable of defending against most weapons, it was not strong enough to keep the Paladin’s Blade from punching through, at least partially.

The Ogre gasped as the point separated several links and pushed into his neck, partially severing his windpipe.  Kurt pushed down on the sword, hoping to do more damage, until the Ogre kicked him with an armored foot and the Immortal was pushed away, his sword coming free from the wound.

I need to finish him while I can, thought Kurt, starting back toward the Ogre as the big creature forced himself to his feet, coughing up the same kind of blood that flowed from beneath the helmet.  Kurt led with his blade, aiming for the same spot, and the Black Blade seemed to move of its own volition to block Lenoris.  The Ogre coughed again, and the rent in the armor on his neck knitted itself back together as the plate glowed.

“I will kill you now,” said the Ogre, his voice showing none of the damage that Kurt must have done.

That damned armor heals him and itself, he thought, taking a defensive position as the Ogre advanced.  [Show me some of your God endowed powers, blade,] he sent to Lenoris, hoping that the blade had something up its sleeve.

[I have shown you all I have,] said the sword.  [I am powerful against creatures of evil, the undead, demons and such.  And I am equal to that blade in combat ability.  Unfortunately, you don’t have armor to match his.]

[Is there such armor?] asked the Immortal, dodging the strike of the Black Blade, Lenoris intervening at the last moment as the other sword twisted to follow Kurt despite is dodge.

[There is, but it is not available at this time.]

Crap, thought the Immortal, swinging Lenoris in once again, only to be blocked again.  There has to be a way to defeat a mass of muscle encased in invulnerable armor and wielding an intelligent sword.  He laughed at that thought.  There might not be a way to defeat such a warrior, short of pushing him into deep water and hoping that he drowned.  And there was no water like that nearby, as far as he knew.

Bright light flashed at that moment, a bolt of power that flowed through his body with minimal effect.  But the light itself blinded him for a moment, and that was all the time the Ogre needed to strike.  He felt the Black Blade strike his armor to rebound once again, then it struck it once more, and this time it ripped through.  He could feel the cold of the sword piercing his flesh, striking through his abdominals and into his vitals.  Where it locked into place and started to pull the life energy from his body.

*     *     *

White Paw didn’t have time to dodge out of the way of the incoming arrow.  He could send a mental bolt at the Ellala who had fired it, but, while that would cause damage to the bowman, it would do nothing to stop the arrow.  So, in desperation, the wolf sent the mental bolt into the arrow itself, while he tried to twist his body out of the way.

The power of his mind struck the bolt, and pushed it partially out, just enough to make it miss his twisting body.  Telekinesis it was, a different power than the telepathy the wolf had been using, translating his mental power into physical force.  The arrow streaked by, barely cutting through his fur and slicing a furrow in the skin underneath.  White paw continued the roll, coming back to his feet and facing the Ellala bowman, who was notching another arrow to his bow.

[Die,] sent the wolf with his most powerful mental blast.

The Ellala’s eyes rolled up in his head, the bow fell from his hand, and his body soon followed it to hit hard on the stone.  The wolf contacted the mind, and found the man was still alive.  But he would not be active again for quite some time, and White Paw could get on with targeting others of the enemy.  He turned back to the Ellala he had been attacking when the bowman struck.  The man was trying to get back to his feet.  Another bolt, and the man fell back to the floor, unconscious.

White Paw moved to the edge of the path, giving him a view of the cavern below, and the battles going on.  It was not going well for his friends.  Most were holding their own, barely, some were in serious trouble, and it looked like one had been overwhelmed, while he had been kept busy by the attacks of the three warriors on himself.  Time to change this, thought the wolf, finding a priority target and launching a mental bolt.

*     *     *

Garios staggered back after the sword had nicked him in the neck.  He knew that it was not an ordinary blade as soon as it touched his skin.  It sliced his flesh unlike an ordinary blade, like it was made of something unnatural.  As soon as his muscles locked up, he knew that the blade had attacked his system in an unnatural manner.  Like it was poisoned, but not with any material.  No, it was Death magic, plain and simple, and it ran through his veins, running straight to his heart.

No, thought the Dwarf, trying to fight the poison while he attempted to bring up a life spell that would free him of the effects.  He knew some spells that might suffice, but, unlike the Law magic that was ingrained in him, these required thought.  And the Death Priest was not about to give him that time.  The man was moving in again, shuffling his feet and leading with his blade.  I’m sorry, my friends, was what he was sure would be his last thought.  I’ve failed you.

The Death Priest cried out in pain, the blade dropping from his hand to hit the floor, turning from a long rapier back into the dagger it had started off as.  The other Priest grabbed his head in his hands, his eyes wide with pain.

[I have given you time, friend Garios,] came the mind speech of the neo-wolf.  [That is all I can do to the Priest.]

[Thank you, White Paw,] sent the Dwarf, then concentrated on the problem at hand.  His heart was starting to seize up, his muscles quivering as sweat poured down his face.  He frantically grasped at memories, until he found what he was looking for, he hoped.

Garios whispered the words to the spell as he felt his heart slowing to a stop.  As soon as he said the last word he felt the energy flow through his body.  A moment later his body warmed, his limbs strengthened, and he felt the fingers of death release him.

“Thank you, Goddess,” he prayed for a moment.  “Though I do not serve you, I am grateful for the aid.”

[You do serve me, good Priest,] came the voice of Arathonia in his mind.  [You protect those who do my will, as well as those who fight in my name, even if they don’t give their will to me.]

Garios smiled as he thought of Kurt and Jackie.  They were servants of the Goddess, but they would never admit to such.

Garios was about to answer when he saw that the Death Priest was no longer incapacitated.  In fact, the man was glaring at him and repeating the words of a spell.  The Dwarf glanced up a moment, seeing the fire gathering above him.  He immediately turned and ran, just before the pillar of flame struck the ground where he had been standing.

“Good try, Priest,” yelled Garios, gripping the haft of his hammer.  “Now try this.”

The Priest pulled the hammer back and moved his arm forward with all of his strength, releasing it at the end of the arc.  The hammer flew straight toward the target, the Death Priest.  The Ellala stopped the spell he was saying in mid-sentence and flung both hands up, forming a barrier that bounced the hammer away.  The hammer flew up into the air, reoriented itself, and flew back into Garios’ hand.  As soon as it made contact with his palm he drew his hand back and threw it again.  The hammer bounced away again, this time coming slightly closer to its target.

It returned again, and Garios picked new targets with this cast, the two lesser priests who were still praying to aid their master.  The hammer sped out, hit one man in the head with the sound of a crushed melon, then bounced before righting itself and heading into the forehead of the other.  The prayers died in mid-word as the two bodies fell to the floor, and the power they were sending to the High Priest was cut off.

The Death Priest looked discomfited as he lost that connection the other priests were giving him.  He looked unsure of himself as he poured more power into the barrier he had put up.  Garios smiled as he threw the hammer again.  He had the other Priest on the defensive, and he didn’t intend to let him gain the initiative again.  He made ready to throw again, prepared to put everything into it.  He had just started his forward motion when the energy balls slammed into him, raising his hair from where it cascaded from under his helmet.  With a croak Garios tried to fight the pain that was coursing through his body.  He turned a bit to his left and saw the source of the newest attack, an Ellala mage, who was waving his hands and mouthing words, preparing another spell to hit the Dwarf.

*     *     *

Fenris did not want to let himself be backed into a corner, even though it wasn’t really a corner.  But it was a trap, plain and simple, but he was sure that if he let them put his back against the wall, he would never leave this place.

The Marshal stood behind four of his men, shouting orders to the warriors who had backed the Ranger up.  Mostly he was telling them to kill the Ranger, something they were trying to do anyway.  Mostly he was confusing his own people, yelling for them to do things different from what they were already doing.  One man started coming in, going for an opening, then retreated as the Marshal yelled for him to flank the Ranger.  He got in the way of the man who was already in that position, leaving Fenris to only worry about the two on his right for the moment.

The Ranger took a step that way, feinting with his sword, then shouting the trigger word of a simple spell he had held in reserve.  Both of the Ellala yelled and covered their eyes as a bright light sparked in the air in front of their faces.

Fenris stepped and lunged with his sword, punching through the throat of the rightmost warrior.  He withdrew the blade in an instant, hoping to get in a killing stroke against the other man.  He caught the movement of the two to the left out of the corner of his eye and turned that way instead, swinging his sword in to block the thrust of one of those warriors.  And he stepped back again, doing what the enemy wanted so he could live just a little longer.

“Move out of the way, idiots,” yelled the Marshal, and the three warriors fell back, letting the mage that had just appeared step forward.

Shit, thought the Ranger, knowing he didn’t have a chance against a battle mage that was throwing spells from point blank range.  He prepared himself to rush forward, right at the mage, sure that the warriors would strike his flanks while he was doing so.  But the only choice he had was to go for the mage, or get burned to ash where he stood.

*     *      *

Jackie coughed deeply as the poison continued into her system.  She could tell that it was a powerful agent, and that she should have already fallen over dead.  But her body was fighting back, defeating the poison.  That was good.  What was bad was that the effects weren’t going away fast enough, and she could hear the female assassin moving toward her, talking about taking her head.

Jackie heard the Assassin stop, then the swish of a blade coming down.  Move, dammit, she thought, forcing her body to react.  Even if it wasn’t at her normal speed and grace, it was still better than a normal person was capable of.  Jackie spun to the left, crossing her arms and catching the descending blade on the chain mail.  She allowed herself to be pushed back a moment, then uncoiled like a spring and shoved the woman away.

The Immortal could already feel her body recovering.  Her senses were coming back online, her reflexes were almost up to snuff, and she could feel the strength flowing again through her muscles.  With a quick motion she slid into a side kick and launched the female Assassin through the air, then stooped and grabbed Ice, straightening in time to block the slash from the remaining journeyman  assassin.  She drove her back with a return slash, then stooped and grabbed Fire.

Footsteps came up behind her, and she turned, raising her right leg into the air and meeting the Master Assassin with another side kick, this one blurring in and catching her enemy in the stomach.  The female oofed out her air, her motion reversing as she was again thrown through the air.  Jackie continued the motion, coming back around in time to block the sword from the other, following the defensive move with a thrust of Fire into the chest of the assassin.  Clothing burst into flame, and the woman let out a scream of agony as the burning blade pushed into her lung and broiled the organs in her thorax.

The assassin fell back, sliding off the blade, going down to one knee.  She looked up with agony in her eyes, and Jackie swung both blades in, meeting through her neck and severing her head from his body.  The Ellala fell bonelessly to the floor, her head rolling away, not a drop of blood flowing from body or head due to the freezing or cauterization of the blades.

“How did you survive the poison?” asked the Master, standing her ground ten meters away.

“Because I’m different,” said the Immortal with a smile.  “Because God has blessed me.  Or evolution has made me physically superior to most.  I don’t know.  What I do know is I’m going to kill you, right here and now.”

“Then come for me,” said the Master Assassin, straightening to her full height.  “I am still the best of my profession, and will not go easily.”

You’re a damned killer for hire, thought Jackie, taking a moment to study her opponent, looking for a weakness or injury she might have incurred.  She didn’t see any indication of injury, which meant the Elf would be just as fast and fluid as before.  She knew she was faster.  She was also sure that the Ellala was the more experienced, though experience didn’t always count for enough.  As she was thinking, the Assassin must have misjudged her hesitancy for indecision, and jumped into an attack that almost took the Immortal off guard.

Almost was the operant word.  The speed and ferocity of the attack did surprise her, but her faster than human reflexes, which were also much speedier than those of any Ellala, sprang into action.

The blades of the Assassin flashed in, a complicated attack that was meant to confound and confuse, eventually to make an opening in the defense.  Jackie was pushed to the limits of her defensive abilities, blocking the Assassin’s blades at the last moment as they flashed in.  She looked for a pattern that she could use against the Ellala, but the attack didn’t repeat.  A blade sliced into the side of her face, and the Immortal cried out in pain as blood splashed in front of her eyes.

That’s it, she thought as her anger rose.  Her body went into overdrive, and her speed increasing, until the flashing blades of the Assassin looked like those of a clumsy child.  She slapped them aside with no difficulty, her own swords moving in blurs that even her own sped up senses had trouble following.  Now, she thought as an opening presented itself.

The Assassin screamed as Ice penetrated her chest, the flesh around the wound freezing solid.  Her eyes stared at Jackie as her arms fell to her side, her blades falling to the ground.

“I can’t die,” croaked the Assassin as the ice spread and her thorax froze solid.

“Have fun in whatever hell you’re going to, bitch,” said Jackie, pulling her blade free and snapping a kick into the woman’s chest.  Her torso cracked as she fell away.  As she hit the floor her torso shattered into chunks of quick frozen flesh, her head and shoulders sliding away.

I need to see who needs help, she thought, looking around and seeing nothing, but hearing the sounds of battle coming from several locations.  She picked one and headed toward it, ready to sink her blades into some more people trying to harm herself and her friends.

*     *     *

Gromli was trying his best to keep his remaining men in some kind of a formation to counter the attack of a superior force of Ellala.  He had three men still on their feet, not enough to hold the line against over a dozen Ellala.  And even worse, from his viewpoint, was the Ellala in the mage robes who was walking toward them, his hands raised in the air while he shouted words of power.  So we need to keep close to these Ellala, thought the Knight as he took several sword strokes on his shield and gave one back that also bounced from the enemy warrior’s protection, though his blade did cut into the edge of the shield a bit.

The Ellala started to fall back, looking as if they were willing to let the mage break their enemies for them.  And with no magic user on their side, it looked like the Nords were about to be burned in place.  The magic user raised a hand and pointed it at the Nords, and Gromli felt his skin crawl as he thought about what was coming their way.

The mage made the last pass and thrust his hand forward, just in time for an arrow to penetrate the palm to the feathers.  Gromli turned to see H’rrut’s son notching another arrow and taking aim at the injured mage.  And then his attention was captured by a chilling war cry to the front, and turned in time to see H’rrut pushing into the flank of the Ellala, his shield bashing one Elf, sending the man flying through the air to knock over one of his fellows, while his great ax came down into the shoulder of another.  The common ax could not penetrate the high quality mail, but the cry of the Ellala, combined with the look on his face and his dropping his blade from nerveless fingers, showed the effect of the blow.  The Ellala warrior tried to get away, his right arm dead at his side, his features scrunched up agony, and Gromli was sure the man had a broken collar bone.  He also could get away fast enough to avoid the next strike of the ax, which sliced into his neck above the chain and cut halfway through to his spine.

H’rrut pulled the blade away, his barbarian muscles bulging, swinging the ax into another strike, this one a backhand that took another Ellala in the chest.  Again the common blade could not penetrate the fine chain the Ellala was wearing.  And again the force of the blow damaged the thinner Ellala despite not penetrating the armor.  The Ellala was thrown back, his shield and blade dropping to the floor, his breath huffing out in a rush of air.  The Ellala fell to his back and lay there, unmoving.

A blade licked in and penetrated the Nord’s scale and leather armor.  H’rrut yelled in anger and struck at the man with his ax, ignoring his own wound.  The ax came down on the Ellala’s helmet and snapped the man’s neck, and he fell, his body going completely limp.  The big barbarian bashed another Ellala with his shield, while he raised his ax for another strike, constantly roaring his rage at the warriors who had slaughtered his people.

Gromli looked back at the mage, who was now knocking arrows down with the wave of his good hand, his rage filled eyes glaring at the young Nord who was sending shaft after shaft his way.  Gromli was sure that the boy would be dead once the mage got his wits about him and could launch an offensive spell.  Then he had no time for other thoughts as he had to deal with the Ellala in front of him, the first of the warriors coming back at them now that their mage seemed to no longer be the threat he had presented as.

Gromli blocked the Ellala’s sword on his shield and struck back, his own attacked blocked. He was stronger than the Ellala, who was the quicker fighter.  They traded blows back and forth, each trying to use their own advantage to win the day.

A scream behind caught his awareness, and he shoved the Ellala back to give himself a chance to glance back.  H’rrut’s son had dropped his bow as he shook in place, his hair standing on end.  Gromli blocked another blow, returning an almost automatic counter, his eyes looking at the mage, who was holding his good hand in a fist with his eyes closed.  It was obvious that the mage was hitting the young man with a spell.  Just as it was obvious that if something wasn’t done fast the young Nord was dead.  H’rrut was busy, not even aware that his son was in danger.  Gromli had his own fight, as did his surviving men.  There was no one to attack the mage, who, as soon as he was through with the boy, would probably start attacking the other Nords.

The mage cried out, his eyes opening wide, and Gromli wondered what new deviltry the wizard was planning.   Then the mage’s hand, good and crippled, went to his head, and the Elf fell to his knees, then forward like a felled tree to land face first on the stone floor.

What the hell just happened, thought Gromli, barely blocking the next blow.  Whatever it was, it gave he and his men more of a chance against the Ellala, who had already lost half their force, and were starting to give in to doubt.

*     *     *

The statue of ice that was James Drake was not dead, at least not in the conventional meaning of the term.  Every cell in his body was frozen solid, all of the cells burst from the pressure of the expanding crystallized water.  Except for his brain, which was still intact and, more importantly, warm.  From everything the young mage knew he should still be dead, his brain cut off from the blood that would be carrying oxygen and nutrients.  But his brain was still getting energy, and he could only attribute it to the fire magic he had trapped deep inside his body prior to being frozen.

I need to heal, he thought, sending tendrils of warmth through his frozen cells.  They thawed quickly, but were of course ruptured, incapable of functioning.  Until the next wave of warmth washed over them and they were restructured by the type of healing magic that only a natural fire mage could control.  Minutes after starting the process James was again whole, though weak and shivering.  It would take more minutes to recover to the point where he was once again an effective combatant.

Chapter Twenty-One

Fenris pushed the last Ellala aside and took off in a sprint toward the mage.  He could feel the eyes of the man boring into him, and his skin crawled as he waited for the bolt of magic, whatever kind it was to be, to strike him.

Fenris said the words for the only counter spell he knew, not sure if it would stop whatever the mage sent at him.  He was through the third word of the spell when he felt the cold kiss of steel in the back of his neck, and realized that the man he had pushed aside had not lost his balance, and had gotten in a strike.  His last thought was that his luck had run out as the darkness closed in around him, and his body below the mid neck went dead.  And he knew he would not be coming back to his Princess.

*     *     *

Garios’ hammer smacked into the head of the Ellala mage before he could launch another spell.  The sound like a melon being hit by a sledgehammer was noticeable even from the thirty meter distance, and blood started flowing from the ears of the Ellala.  The man’s eyes rolled up and his dead body fell to the floor.

The Dwarf saw the Death Priest coming at him out of the corner of his eye.  He ducked the black rapier that was questing for his life, not a difficult task for one already so low to the ground.  His hammer appeared in his hand at just the right moment in the right position, and he swung in to hit the knee of the other Priest.  The hammer hit solid on the kneecap, and the Dwarf could feel the bone shatter under the hard face of the weapon.

The Death Priest screamed his pain, his eyes leaving the Dwarf and focusing on the wound that was threatening to fell him.  Garios said the words of an offensive spell, focusing it into the hammer, and spun to add even more force to the blow.  He swung the hammer into the chest of the other Priest, and lightning sprang from the weapon as it hit.  The enemy Priest flew backwards from the combined force of a physical blow and the lightning bolt of the Lawful God of War.  He struck the far wall and fell lifeless to the floor, the lightning still playing over his chest, the scorched meat odor of burning flesh filling the air.

Garios went to one knee, the fatigue of the battle finally getting to him.  He said a quick prayer to the Gods of Law and Life while he was in that position, then stood up and walked over to the Death Priest.  He was pretty sure the man was dead, but didn’t want to take chances when it came to someone who worshiped the Gods of Death.  They were known to come back as undead, horrific creatures as dangerous in death as they were in life.

Garios said another spell over the hammer, then smashed down on the head of the Priest, flattening the forehead as the skull burst open and brains sprayed out.  “Try coming back from that,” said the Priest, turning and walking away.  He knew the battles were still going on, and rest would have to wait.  His friends needed him, and he was not about to let them down.

*     *     *

Jackie cried out as she saw the position Kurt was in.  The giant Ogre stood to his front, the huge black blade glowing with radiant energy that conflicted with the night dark glow of the sword.  And said sword was sticking through her lover, at stomach level.  Kurt seemed helpless, his gauntleted hands clutching the blade as if he was trying to pull it out, and achieving nothing.

With a battle cry she ran forward, both blades gripped tightly, looking for a weakness in the black armor that was also glowing with power.  It’s the Black Blade and Black Armor, she thought, wondering if there was a weak spot, and realizing that the power they were glowing with was Kurt’s life force.

Jackie struck with Fire, following it up with Ice.  She cried again, this time in dismay, as her blades not only didn’t penetrate the evil armor, but didn’t even come close to touching it.  The armor was surrounded by a field of darkness that extended ten centimeters from the surface of the plate, and it was repelling her best effort.

Jackie went into overdrive, her blades flashing in blurs and bouncing from the field.  She didn’t know what else to do.   She realized the power of the blade and armor, how they converted the life energy they stole into the force that they used for their magical effects.  And they were feeding the Ogre as well, making him more powerful.

“Damn you,” screamed Jackie, swinging both blades in one after the other, multiple strikes per second, none of them doing anything.  And the Ogre and his evil implements were stealing the life of her lover, and, more importantly, the man who was prophesized to be the savior of this world.  “Attack me, dammit.  Attack me.”  She knew that if the Ogre attacked her, she wouldn’t have any better chance of hurting him, but, with her greater speed, she might be able to avoid him, wear him down.  And she was not the savior.  Her life was not as important.  If she had to give it to save Kurt, she would.  But first she had to get the Ogre to turn on her, and he was not cooperating.

Jackie moved to the side and started striking the sword, hoping that it would react if its wielder didn’t.  Again her blades could not touch the Ogre or anything on him.  She screamed her frustration, and continued to strike, feeling her body start to overheat.  But she didn’t dare stop.

*     *     *

White Paw saw the female Immortal attack the Ogre, trying to stop him from doing whatever he was doing to the male Immortal, his master, Kurt.  The wolf only had his mental powers to attack someone in that kind of heavy armor.  He attempted to use telekinesis, first pulling on the Ogre, then on the blade.  There was no budge there.  Next he tried to locate a mind to attack.  He could feel Kurt’s, and Jackie’s, but the mind of the Ogre was blocked by something.  He could tell that it was there, but none of his probes could get through the darkness that surrounded that mind.

[Get away from us,] shouted a mind like nothing he had ever felt before.  [You are not welcome here.]

Along with the voice came a wave of dark pain, and the wolf howled as it attacked his mind.  It’s not alive, he thought as he tried to bring up his own mental shield.  The total malevolence of the mind belonged to the realm of demons.  It was blocking his attempt to erect his shield, and the wolf realized that this thing could kill him.  All thought of aiding Kurt was gone, the only thing of importance was his own survival, the only thing he could do at the moment.  If he survived, he could help his compatriots.  If he didn’t, he would be of no use to those he called friends.

*     *     *

Drake stumbled forward, his legs like rubber, pulling more of the heat of the earth, bubbling under the ground in magma pockets, into his body to complete the rejuvenation process.  Strength started to flood into his body, and he had to clamp down on the feelings of power that threatened to drive him mad.  The same godlike feelings that had turned Katherine Heidle mad in the refuge valley.  His friends needed his power.  They did not need a power wielding megalomaniac walking around burning everything in sight.

He caught sight of Garios first, the Dwarf, obviously fatigued, stumbling forward.  Then he spotted Kurt, his back to him while the Ogre towered over him, doing something he couldn’t see to his big German friend.  That he was doing something by the way they stood was also obvious.  And he caught flashes of Jackie behind the Ogre, moving in a blur and swinging her blades at the huge warrior.  That it was not having an effect was also obvious.

Hearing a sound to his right side, he turned and felt his breath suck in as he saw the chief of the Ellala mages.  The man’s total concentration was fixed on Garios, as he waved his hands in the air and mumbled some words.  No you don’t, you son of a bitch, thought the Fire Mage, drawing more power from his body and sending it toward the other wizard in the same manner he had attacked Katherine in the valley when she had gone mad.

The energy moved through the floor in an instant, downloading its heat into the stone beneath the Ellala mage’s feet.  Rock turned to molten liquid, and the mage looked down with a cry of horror as his feet began to simultaneously sink downward and melt away.  The spell forgotten, he screamed in agony, his eyes darting until they landed on James.  The eyes of the Ellala stared into his with a combination of hate, anger and pleading.  And though he did feel some sympathy for the man, he was determined to end him now, before he harmed James and his friends again.

The Ellala continued to scream, every few seconds trying to get the words out to a spell, and failing.  His robes burst into flames, and moments later he was a human torch, melting away into the liquid rock.  One last scream and he was gone, and James felt a twinge of guilt at killing in such an awful manner.  But just a twinge, as he had more important things to concentrate on.

Have to be careful with this one, he thought, repeating the last trick on the Ogre, making sure his transfer was exact.  While magical fire couldn’t harm the human Immortal, the molten rock that resulted from that energy definitely could.  So the patch of magma was much smaller under the Ogre.  Die, you son of a bitch, he thought at the Ogre as the rock turned red and flowed like liquid.  And the Ogre stood on it like it was still solid, not showing the slightest discomfort.

“Dammit,” cried James, pulling up a different spell, trying something new.  Electricity, cold, paralysis, nothing seemed to get through the armor of the Ogre.  He could see Jackie still furiously attacking, moving more careful now around the patch of molten floor.  Garios casting spells which also had no effect.  And Kurt standing as still as a statue, while the dark power around the armor and blade of the Ogre continued to grow.

Chapter Twenty-Two

[He has no soul,] cried out the Black Blade in Krug’s mind.

[What do you mean?] asked the Ogre, trying to concentrate through the surge of energy that was flowing through his body or mind.  [Everything has a soul.]

At least that was what every religion on the planet taught, and it seemed to hold true for every living creature above a certain level of intelligence.  Priests had proven the existence of the soul for thousands of years.  People came back from the dead all the time, contacting the living, telling them of the rewards and punishments that awaited.  Of course, not all souls made it to the other side.  There were creatures that ate souls, utterly destroying them, and not all came back for rebirth.  New souls were created all the time, as every living, intelligent creature needed one.  But…

[This one does not have one that I can find.  It’s as if he was not made to end like other mortals, like he was made to go on forever.]

[Then he can’t be killed?] sent the Ogre, still feeling the rush of energy coming through the blade, only now it was not so pleasureable.  In fact, it carrried with it a twinge of discomfort, almost like a meal that had been eaten past satisfaction that was now starting to stretch the gut.

[He can be killed,] sent back the blade with certainty.  [And he may have a soul hidden somewhere that I cannot find.  But there is no way I am going to drain this being.]

[What should I do?] screamed the mind of Krug, the discomfort turning to pain.

[Disengage, you idiot,] sent the blade with an almost frantic urgency.  [I am no longer holding myself in him.  Only your arms are doing so.]

Krug grunted and pulled on his blade, then looked down as it didn’t budge, to see the hands of the large human gripping his wrists and holding the sword in place.  Krug pulled harder, but the human clamped down with his grip and locked his arms in place.

“Let go, damn you,” yelled Krug, trying to pull one of his hands off the hilt so he could strike the human, to try and knock him away, anything to get the sword out of the man, and stop the energy flow that was now starting to burn through his body.  But his hands were locked to the hilt as long as the sword was pulling energy, and he was trapped in the energy loop.

[Can’t you stop feeding on him?] sent the frantic Ogre, his head splitting in agony from even trying to communicate mentally with the sword.

[I have no control over feeding,] sent the Black Blade.  [As long as my blade is in contact with a living creature, I must draw energy.  It is my purpose, what I was made for.]

The flow of energy was starting to actually burn through the body of the Ogre, heating his muscles past the point where they could even metabolize.  His muscles locked into place when they could no longer burn ATP and move the fiber arms that were necessary for movement.  [Help me,] he yelled with his mind, no longer able to move his jaws or vocal cords.  His body continued to burn, the temperature going up, until his cells started dying.  Moments later the cells were bursting as the liquid within them boiled and ruptured their walls.  Krug wasn’t aware of this, as his life had already fled his body, his soul absorbed by the sword which could not allow such to go to waste.

*     *     *

Kurt jerked the sword from his body as the Ogre fell to the floor, letting go of the hilt.  Or at least the ashes of the Ogre fell to the floor, billowing from the black armor.  He was about to drop the sword to the floor along with the remains.  And then the Black Blade spoke into his mind.

[You have earned me, Master.  I am yours.  And together we will be unstoppable.]

The big Immortal turned the blade and gripped its hilt in his hand, and the communication grew even stronger.

[I will help you to get everything you want.  Drop that blade of the effeminate Goddess and belt me on, and we will rule the world.]

[Do not listen to him, my Master,] sent Lenoris.  [Drop him, before his evil infects your mind.]

“I have a better idea,” said Kurt, reaching down and grabbing the breast and backplate of the Black Armor, the largest piece he could handle while still holding the sword.

“Kurt,” said Jackie, stepping in front of the man.  “What are you doing?”

“Trust me,” said Kurt, smiling at his lover.  “I know what I’m doing.”

He glanced over at Garios, who gave him a frank look, then nodded his head.

[What are you doing, Master?] sent the Black Blade as Kurt started walking back the way they had come before entering this chamber.  Back to the walkway over the lava pool, the pool that had the forge on its shore that the Dwarf had told him had been used to make magical weapons of great power, if not God artifacts.

[What are you doing?] shouted the Blade in his mind, a scream that blurred his vision and weakened his knees.

[Sending you to Hell,] sent Kurt, holding the Blade over the side of the walkway.  [Have a great trip.]  He opened his hand and let the Blade fall, screaming the entire way until it hit the lava with a splash and sank out of sight.  He tossed the part of the Black Armor he was holding to follow it, then turned to find Jackie carrying the helmet and gauntlets, while Drake carried the remainder of the armor.  They tossed their loads into the pool to follow the rest.

“You know this won’t destroy them,” said Garios, looking down into the lava, squinting against the rising heat.

“I figured as much,” said Kurt, looking down as well.  “But they are in a place where it will be very difficult to recover them.  And I have one more task to finish.”

The Immortal walked back into the cavern where the battle had taken place, to the alcove where the carven table stood upon which the Crown sat.  He moved to that table, looking down at the object they had come for.

[Take me,] sent the crown, a beguiling transmission that would have swayed the minds of most men.  [I am yours.  And when you have me, the world is also yours.]

Kurt kept his mind blank, not allowing any thought to pass his shield that the object might be able to pick up.  He reached out a hand and grabbed the crown, lifting it from the table.  It was beautiful, the light of the glow globes in the cavern shining off the many jewels it was set with.  It added a hypnotic effect to the already strong mental control of the crown.

[You can have the world, and rule it forever,] repeated the crown.  [No one can defeat you.  No one can plot against you without your knowledge.  You want to do good, then take the throne of the world and give it peace.]

The peace of the concentration camp, thought the Immortal, recalling that shameful period of his own nation’s history.  He turned without responding to the crown, and walked with quick steps toward the exit that went over the bridge across the lava.

[I know what you think to do, and I cannot allow that,] sent the crown, and Kurt felt as if his muscles had locked up on him.  He could still move forward, but it took a supreme effort of will to move one foot at a time.

[I am not your slave,] he sent at the crown, forcing himself to move forward again.  The floor seemed to stretch ahead forever, never ending.  He felt a sense of hopelessness fall over him, a dark depression, which threatened to drop him to the floor, crying.

Kurt brought up a memory, the one that lived in his mind most nights, coming back to him in nightmares.  Falling out of his Hanomag half-track, his flesh burning, screaming at the pain, knowing that he was dead whether he died right then and there or not.  He had fought his way through that pain, crawling away from the vehicle, his command track of the panzergrenadier battalion.  Using willpower to overcome the muscles locking up from the heat damage, his lungs sending waves of agony through him as he tried to breath.  Refusing to fall down and die.  Getting away from the track, which blew up behind him, then rolling on the ground to put out the flames on his clothes.  Kurt looked at the floor, concentrating on continuing to put one foot in front of the other as he used this memory to fight the crown.

He looked up and saw that he had reached the exit from the chamber.  The bridge was ahead, and he could feel the heat of the lava rising into the air and coming through the opening.  I’m here, he thought, taking the first step onto the bridge.

[Stop,] yelled the crown into his mind, and he found himself freezing in midstep.  The Immortal forced himself through the command and took the next step, but another shout stopped him as that foot hit the floor.

[I’m getting rid of you,] he yelled back with his mind and forced his hand to move, holding the crown out over the drop.

[No,] yelled the crown, and his hand locked up, refusing to release the artifact.  His arm started to bend, moving the crown toward his head.  And Kurt knew that if that headpiece landed on his head the world was lost.  The world would enter a dark age, with an Immortal body controlled by the evil mentality of the crown.  He would never die, and the crown would not allow his rule to fail.  It would control hundreds of thousands of minds, maybe millions, all of those who might fight the evil rule of the puppet king.

Something hit the crown, some invisible force, and it flew out of Kurt’s hand, flying out over the chasm and starting its fall into the lava pool.  [No,] yelled the crown.  [Catch me.]  But Kurt’s mind was now his own again, no longer in physical contact with the source of that which had tried to control him.

He looked over the bridge to see the crown spinning through the air toward the lava, its mental cries of rage coming through clearly.  It hit the molten rock and sank into the viscous, hot liquid.  A normal metal object would have already started to melt, but this was a God artifact, and nothing known could destroy it.  But if it stays buried in that liquid rock, no one will be using it again, or that damned sword and armor.

Kurt looked over as soon as the crown had disappeared, to see a smiling James Drake looking down at the lava as well.  The young man looked up at Kurt, and the Immortal realized that the young man had thrown a ball of force at the crown.  The magic wouldn’t have effected the Immortal, but it had hit the crown with enough force to knock it out of his hand.

“Thank you, my young friend,” he told the Mage, as the rest of his friends came out onto the bridge.  No, not all of them.  “Where is Fenris?”

“Fenris died in the fight,” said Garios in a hushed voice, looking down at the stone of the bridge.  “He was the only one of us who didn’t make it.”

“Oh, that poor Princess,” said Jackie, her hand going to her mouth.

“The quest required sacrifice,” said Garios, shaking his head.  “One of us had to die, and the fates decided that it would be him.  Though I wish it could have been me.”

And his Princess will wait for him to contact her once we get within the range of her scrying ball.  But the contact will never come, and we will have to tell her of her loss, of how the man she loves is no longer in this world.

“At least we got rid of the damned evil things,” said Sir Gromli, looking down at the molten rock, distorted by the waves of heat rising off it.  “It will be a good long time before they see the light of day again.”

Drake let out an awful shout, as if he had gone mad.  Everyone knew that he had grown close to the Ranger on the trip, while the man was teaching him how to use his magic.  “They must never see the light of day again,” he yelled, looking up at the ceiling, then back at the lava.  Everyone present could feel the power flowing into the Mage, the heat of the lava rising, swirling, sucked into his body.

“Everyone,” said Drake, looking back up at the roof of the cavern.  “Get out of here, and I’ll make them even harder to find.”

Kurt nodded and walked to the end of the walkway, waiting until everyone else had passed him, and stood there as James stood beside him.  The Mage said the almost undecipherable words of a spell and waved his hands, then tossed his right hand toward the roof, a brilliant ball of energy springing into existence and growing as it flew toward the top of the cavern.  It radiated heat like the sun on a very hot day, and looked unlike any fireball the Immortal had ever seen.

“We need to get out of here,” yelled Drake as he ran from the bridge into the cavern.  “I’m not sure how much is going to come down.”

Kurt nodded and ran, waving for the others to run as well.  Behind them sounded a great explosion, then the rumbling of rock, like an earthquake, vibrating through the cavern.  Large stones fell from the rock ceiling, the natural bridge cracked from several hits, then broke up and dropped into the lava below.

“Keep moving,” yelled Kurt, grabbing Garios by the material of his robe and lifting him off the ground, charging ahead at a much faster speed than the Dwarf could with his own short legs.  The chamber they were in was also shaking, and stones were dropping to bounce from the hard floor.  Kurt looked up, his eyes zooming in on the cracks that were appearing through the solid stone.  “Hurry,” he yelled again, pulling the Dwarf, keeping behind the others so he could pull them back to their feet if they fell.

A small stone hit Kurt in the helmet, falling far enough to impact his helmet with considerable force.  His vision blurred, his thoughts slowed, and the only thing he could concentrate on was putting one foot into the next running step.  Another hit his shoulder, and he yelled out in pain, almost losing his grip on the Dwarf.  The tunnel, an artificial construct that cut through the rock, reinforced with well worked granite beams, and promising safety.

The Immortal ran into the tunnel just as the entire ceiling of the huge chamber came plunging down.  Rock dust flew into the tunnel, choking cloying particles, and the members of the party hacked and gagged as they tried to draw in air.

“Move,” hissed Kurt, shoving the people ahead of him with his hands, determined to get out of the tunnel and back into the open before they all suffocated.  Minutes later the entire party came stumbling out into another chamber, one they had never before seen, the plume of rock dust following them out and billowing into a cloud.  But several more steps took them into the more or less clear air, and they were able to cough the dust out of their lungs and start bringing in clean breathable atmosphere.

“I, don’t think anyone is going to get to those evil things soon,” said Garios in a series of coughing words.  “The Blade and the Armor will, of course, find their way back to the light of day.  Or the shadows of night, so to speak.  But it will take ages.”

“That’s, horrible,” said Jackie, knocking rock dust off of her armored shoulders.  “Those damned things need to be buried where they’ll never be found again.”

“Unfortunately, they are God artifacts, and the wills of their creators will bring them back to a place where they can be used,” said Garios.

“And the Crown?” asked Kurt, his brow furrowed.

“It does not have a living God championing it,” said the Dwarven Priest.  “It may still resurface at some time in the far future.  But not in any time scale that we need to worry about.”

Though maybe that will not be true for the Elves, thought Kurt, ruminating on that possibility.  He looked over at Jackie, thinking about his kind.  And we might see it resurface, even if it takes ten thousand years.  “But at least it’s nothing we need concern ourselves with now.

There was general agreement and head nodding, and Garios again looked back at the tunnel that led to the chamber where they had battled the forces of the evil Emperor.  “And it is a burial chamber for Fenris, where his body will be interned forever.  I wish he could be with us to celebrate our triumph.”

“To fallen friends,” said Sir Gromli, raising his sword to the ceiling.

“To fallen friends,” shouted the rest of the party, holding their weapons up in salute.

“Now, let’s get the hell out of here,” said Kurt, looking at his companions.

Epilogue

Ellessa Ellisandra, ex-Marshal of the Empire of Ellala’lysana, looked down from the height of the mountain into the valley below.  Men marched through that valley, the remainder of his command, heading back to the home he could never return to.  He had failed in his mission, and the only thing waiting for him in his homeland as a grisly death, most probably filled with pain.  His men would not have that responsibility.  They had only followed his orders.  He had allowed the crown to fall into enemy hands.  At least they did the smart thing and disposed of it, he thought, watching the last of his men walking around the curve of the valley and out of sight.

Ellessa looked the other way, across the valley, at the sun rising from the East.  His people were all over this world, as far as he knew.  There was surely someplace where an Elalla of his military skills would be welcomed.  The almost Mythical East might be such a place.  As long as I avoid the grasslands, and the human barbarians who roam them.  That would be another slow and grisly death, as none of those tribes had any love for his people.

But these mountains end six hundred kilometers to the east of here, running into thickly forested foothills.  And the forest runs for thousands of kilometers, across the continent, home to many races.  And, with luck, I can make my way through them to a kingdom of civilized Elalla.  He smiled at the thought.  The odds were not good, but were much better than what he faced at home.  Fortunately, I have no family, nothing for him to force me to return.  His wife had died almost a thousand years before, his sons in battle over the years.

The Elalla shouldered his pack and started off on the mountain path to the east.  He should have felt the fear of the unknown.  Instead, he felt the exhilaration of adventure, and the possibility of actually serving someone who deserved his best efforts.

*     *     *

The Half Lich Emperor Ellandra Mashara cursed the Gods once again as he looked into the dead scrying ball that should have connected him to the Death Priest, Jakisanda Millistara.  They have failed, he thought, cursing all the Gods once again.  Those who were supposed to aid him, those who worked to stop him and his plans.  As far as he was concerned, all of them could go inhabit their own hells for the rest of eternity.

“Your Majesty,” said a cowering messenger from outside the door to the chamber.  “A message from the front.”

And I’m sure it’s just more wonderful news, thought the Half Lich.  Last he had heard, the enemy was still in his winter lagers only four hundred kilometers from the capital of A’ataponia.  But the snows were melting, and as soon as the rivers rose, then fell, they would again be on the march.  And he wasn’t sure if his army could stop them short of the city walls.

“The enemy is starting to leave their camps,” said the messenger, keeping his eyes averted.

“And the rivers?”

“They are swelling with snow melt, your Majesty,” said the messenger, his voice strengthening a bit as he delivered what was some good news.  “It will be a month before the fords are passable.”

So I have one month, maybe two, before they can attack into my home territories, thought the Emperor.  Is that enough time?

“Send for my Archmages, and all the chief priests of the Gods,” he told the messenger.  “I will meet with them in my conference chamber.”

His eyes followed the messenger as the man all but ran from the room.  He looked up to the ceiling, then down to the floor, not really sure where his Gods resided.  “If you want to win on this world, you had better start sending me some aid,” he said to those deities.  “If you want the damned Gods of life to win, keep on doing nothing.”

The Emperor felt something come back, a connection.  At first it was pure hate and anger, enough to leave him shaking in the middle of the room.  And then came the information, the mind of Bothar interacting with his brain, opening up the possibilities for the future.

A half hour later the Emperor walked from the room, heading for his conference chamber.  He felt confident, his mind awash in the possibilities that had been transmitted to him.  He couldn’t wait to explore some of those possibilities, and to see the expressions on the faces of his enemies when he brought death to their army.

The End

About the Author

Doug Dandridge is the author of over twenty self-published books on Amazon, including the very successful, Exodus: Empires at War series, the Refuge techno-fantasy series, The Deep Dark Well Trilogy, as well as numerous standalone science fiction and fantasy novels.  In a two year period as a self-published author, Doug has sold over one hundred thousand ebooks, plus numerous copies of paperback and audio books.  He has amassed over 1,500 reviews across his books on Amazon, with a 4.5 star average. He served in the US Army as an infantryman, as well as several years in the Florida National Guard in the same MOS.  Doug, who holds degrees from Florida State University and the University of Alabama, lives with his five cats in Tallahassee Florida.  He is a sports enthusiast and an amateur historian.

Books by Doug Dandridge

Science Fiction

The Deep Dark Well Trilogy

The Deep Dark Well:  An Adventure 40,000 years in the making.  Pandora Latham was a Kuiper Belt Miner from Alabama.  She’s used to landing on her feet, even when the next surface is through a wormhole, halfway across the Galaxy and 46,000 years in the Future.  Pandora must discover the secret behind the end of civilization, and the enigma of the Immortal Watcher, the last survivor of the Empire that once ruled the stars.  Her decisions will set the path for Galactic recovery, or a continuation down the roads of Barbarism.

To Well and Back:  Pandora Latham is back, working Watcher’s plan to restore Galactic Civilization.  But first she has to deal with the Xenophobes of the Nation of Humanity, back in the Supersystem with their sights set on making the Galaxy their own.  Pandora is angry at the hyper religious Nation, and you don’t want to make a woman from Alabama angry.

Deeper and Darker:  Pandora Latham is on the warpath.  Watcher, her lover, and the only man who can once again unite the Galaxy, is a prisoner of the Totalitarian government of the New Galactic Empire.  The Empire thinks they have the upper hand, but they have never faced someone like Pandi, and the peoples of the Galaxy that she has rallied to her cause.

The Exodus Series

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 1:  The introduction to the Exodus Universe.  Two thousand years prior mankind fled from the Predatory Ca’cadasans, traveling a thousand years and ten thousand light years to a new home.  Now the greatest power of their sector of space, things seem to be going well for the New Terran Empire.  Until the enemy appears once again at the gates.  And the years have not softened the aliens’ stance toward Humanity.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2:  The saga continues.  The Ca’cadasans attack at the moment when the government of the Empire is at its most chaotic.  There are other enemies as well, waiting for their chance to fall on the overwhelmed humans.  And a young man with no ambition for power finds himself in the position he most dreads.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 3:  Sean is rescued, but he is not about to go back to the safety of the capital without striking back at the Ca’cadasans who have invaded his Empire.  But will his decision put the lives of thousands at risk, as well as risking the safety of his own Empire, by depriving it of its leader.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 4:  Sean is crowned Emperor, and attempts to organize the Empire for war against the Ca’cadasans.  But he finds that planning battles and winning battles are two different things. Defeat follows defeat.  Can anyone snatch victory from the jaws of defeat?  Or will the new Emperor fail before his reign even really begins.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 5: Ranger:  Cornelius Walbroski enters the rigors of Ranger training, becoming one of the augmented warriors of the Empire.  But his first assignment, Azure, is one of the most deadly planets in the Galaxy, even prior to the coming of the Cacas.  Can Cornelius survive his first mission?  Or will  promising career end before it really begins.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 6: The Day of Battle:  Sean and the Empire need a victory before human morale goes completely into the black hole.  He develops a plan to bring the Ca’cadasans into battle in space of his choosing.  But the Cacas are not an easy opponent, and they have plans of their own, for the Donut.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike:  The Empire has weathered the Ca’cadasan onslaught, and now it’s the time to strike back with an offensive of their own.  A victory could win the war.  But will it?

Exodus: Tales of the Empire: Exploration Command.  Three novelettes concerning another part of the Empire, and the organization responsible for pushing back the frontiers of knowledge.  Come join Exploration Command as they go where no human has gone before.

Other Scifi

Diamonds in the Sand:  When a perfectly healthy scientist falls dead of an apparent heart attack, it is up to Sarasota Police Detective Lieutenant Gary Lariviere to find out what really happened.  The scientist was working on Nanotechnology, a secret desired by everyone from the Government to the Mob.  There are too many suspects, including the woman that Gary comes to love.  The Army had made Gary better than human, but had they prepared him for the terrors that had been unleashed by the new technology?

The Scorpion:  The Scorpion had been the world’s deadliest living terrorist.  Kestral McMann had been in on the kill.  Now The Scorpion is back as a mind upload, using clones to penetrate the tight security of an isolationist United States.  McMann is the only man who can stop him.  But can McMann survive the threat of his own side, and the insane President who leads the Nation, in time to stop The Scorpion from plunging the Great Satan back into the Stone Age.

The Shadows of the Multiverse:  Something has been periodically wiping intelligence from our Universe through the ages.  It’s back, and it’s up to three unlikely heroes, the Captain of a Battle Cruiser, a Physicist turned Archeologist, and a Child, to save the intelligence of the Universe from Monsters from another Dimension.  Can they learn to use the powers of their unusual Quantum Minds to defeat creatures that have been playing the game for billions of years?

Afterlife:  What if you didn’t believe in the afterlife of the World’s Religions?  And what if science offered you the alternative, survival within the Virtual World of a computer, where your mental abilities are magnified and you can do anything you want?  And what if the World decided that your way was wrong, and declared war on you, meaning to destroy your reality?  What would you do?  Afterlife, a tale of survival at all costs.

We Are Death, Come For You:  When aliens strike the Tau Ceti colony, humankind knows that something bad is on the way.  They prepare as best they can, but will it be enough against superior technology?  The aliens are death worshippers, and only the extinction of the human race will satisfy their evil intent.  There are wonders of tech on the horizon, but can they be deployed in time?  Or will humankind have to depend on the smallest of their techs to save them?

Fantasy

The Refuge Series

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 1:  A nuclear war in Central Europe opens the gates between dimensions, sending millions of Earth Humans into a land of myth, archetypes and fantasy.  The Evil Emperor of the Ellala Elves sees the humans as energy to fuel his transformation to immortality.  But the humans have brought their own weapons with them, as well as a race of Demigods who will battle the fantastic armies of Refuge.  The war is on, and only one side will ultimately survive.

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2:  The Ellala have a plan to destroy the human military and capture the civilians.  And the humans find that their weapons will soon cease to function.  So it’s use it or lose it for the Earth Humans, and they use it with a vengeance.  Tanks against Mages, Attack Helicopters against Dragons, and Nuclear Weapons against Death Gods.  And the other peoples of the planet come forth as allies to the humans that they see as the fulfillment an Ancient Prophecy.  But will it be enough?

Refuge: Book 3: The Legions:  The human invaders are now without their technologies, at least those using explosives and internal combustion engines.  But they still have knowledge of many other techs, especially the arts of warfare as practiced by the greatest infantry of the ancient world.  Will it be enough to stand up to the half lich Emperor and his magical forces.

Refuge: Doppelganger: Set thousands of years after the arrival, Kurt von Mannerheim, the Immortal Emperor of the Imperium of Free Nations, must give up everything to save his Empress, the Elfin Princess Gwenara Elysius von Mannerheim.  The world is at a crisis point as the Evil Tarakesh Empire, under its Immortal Emperor Heinrich Stuppleheim, prepares to overrun the world with its Nazi Ideology.  And Kurt must face a creature of legend that may prove too much for even his physical and mental abilities.

Other Fantasy

The Hunger:  Abused wife, drug addict, prostitute; Lucinda Taylor had been victimized by men all her adult life.  Left for dead by her pimp, Lucinda was turned by a passing vampire.  When he is destroyed she becomes a free agent, slaking her hunger for blood on the bottom dwellers of society, the type of men who once victimized her.  The crime boss of Tampa is her next target, and the City by the Bay is about to become a bloodbath.  But can Lucinda avoid those who are hunting for her; the Priest, the FBI man, and a pair of Vampires who would like nothing better than to send one Avenging Vampire forever into the dark?

Daemon:  A Steampunk Fantasy.  The world is dying, the victim of the magic used by society for the last three hundred years.  Daemon Corporation thinks they have the answer, stealing the life from other worlds, bringing from other dimensions the intelligences that inhabit them for sacrifice on Earth.  But something has come with them, a force that is killing the employees of Daemon Corp.  It is up to Forensic Mage Detective Jude Parkinson to find a way to stop the unstoppable, while keeping the head of Daemon Corp from silencing him to keep the dark secrets of the company out of the public eye.

Aura:  Triplets are born on a world where the magical Aura decides the fate of its owner.  Ariel is a girl with more than double the normal Aura, destined to become a mighty Priest or Mage.  Aiden has a less than normal Aura, and is destined to be a soldier or laborer.  While Arlen has no Aura at all, and is seen as an abomination in the eyes of the Church of Baalra the Dragon God, which has no power over those with Negative Auras.  Fate will rip the siblings apart, then bring them back together as they battle to defeat the Dragon God and leave the Evil Empire, before Ariel is taken as the Avatar of Baalra, his mortal vessel on Earth.

Books with other Authors:

Five By Five 3: Target Zone:  Novellas by New York Times Bestsellers Kevin J. Anderson and Michael A. Stackpole, along with Prometheus Award Winner Dani and Eytan Kollin, Baen Author Sarah A. Hoyt, and Exodus Empires at War Author Doug Dandridge, make this a must have book for the military science fiction aficionado.

New Imagination Unlimited Newsletter

Sign up for my free Newsletter at Mailchimp, for insights into my writing, future projects, promotions and new releases.  The Newsletter will come out at least twice a month, and will always contain something new.

Table of Contents

- Dedication
- PrologueThe
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Epilogue
- About the Author

- Books by Doug DandridgeScience FictionThe Deep Dark Well TrilogyThe Deep Dark Well