GLIMMERBLADE

by

Kevin Hardman

 

 

***Author’s Note:  Glimmerblade is a trunk novel (dark fantasy) that I began converting to episodic/serial format and publishing on Kindle Vella a couple of years ago. After Vella imploded, I decided to post it on my website (and have finally gotten around to doing so). The synopsis and story begin below; the intent is to post a new chapter every week. If you are new to my work and find that you like it, please check out my published titles on Amazon, which include the Kid Sensation novels (superheroes), the Warden books (fantasy/dark fantasy), and the Fringe Worlds series (sci-fi).

 

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After centuries of imprisonment and torture, Krieth Glimmerblade – the physical embodiment of the sun deity Shar – is now free. Free to seek vengeance on those who betrayed him. But the world he now finds himself in is grim, dark and corrupt, and so foul that even the avatar of a Light Deity might lose his way… 

 

Chapter 1

In the two-hundredth-forty-seventh year of his imprisonment, Krieth Glimmerblade, chosen Avatar of the sun god Shar, contrived an escape from the prison of Bleakblood – better known as the House of Pain – the first to do so in ten millennia. The word “contrived”, however, can only be loosely applied since his freedom was more the result of serendipity than actual planning. Still, he had had centuries in which to prepare for the moment, which he knew would come – if only he lived long enough.

The day began like most others:  Krieth awoke with the rising sun and made obeisance. Not that he was actually able to see Shar rise; his cell being in the center of Bleakblood and well below ground, Krieth had seen precious little of anything during his time there. Being who and what he was, his jailers had always kept him in permanent darkness, sometimes by natural means but more often by methods unnatural. During the early part of his imprisonment, he had frequently been taken from his cell for purposes of torture and execution, the former of which his captors found difficult to inflict – the latter, impossible. For no matter how grievous the wound inflicted, Krieth began to recover almost immediately.

Their efforts at taking his life being unfruitful, they simply sealed him away in his cell; no longer was there a door, but four steel walls and a slot for food (which, in the later years, the guards seldom seemed to utilize). And, as always, the deep magics of the Dark Ones encircled him, binding his strength and – most importantly – keeping him hidden from Shar. For, although the sun god could feel Krieth’s presence, he was unable to find him. For his part, Krieth was able to feel Shar (as any Avatar should feel his patron deity) but was unable to connect with him.

Thus it was on the day that he went free, Krieth knew precisely when the sun would rise and when it would set, as well as how much time had passed during his imprisonment. On that fateful morn, Krieth sat in total darkness focusing all his energy on the ka-Shar – the bonding with his god. As usual, he could sense Shar, but could not interact with him. He sat in the dark totally nude, his clothes having long ago worn away. His cell was spartan by any standard, having never been furnished with so much as a blanket, let alone a bed. The dish that occasionally provided his food also served to take away his bodily wastes. (He had ceased to notice the smell years earlier.)  After ending the ka-Shar, he mentally went over the list of those who had betrayed him and put him here, vowing as he did each day to visit vengeance upon them all.

It was late afternoon when, suddenly and without preamble, the ground shook with unprecedented force. There was a noise like a thunderclap, accompanied by the sounds of dense metal being torn apart and great stones tumbling down. As his cell lurched suddenly to one side, Krieth was taken aback. Bleakblood was more than just a prison or a house of torture; it was a holy temple to the Dark Ones and their servants, a place where unspeakable evils were committed. As such, it was protected by deep and powerful magics, to such an extent that it could not be affected by the forces of nature, man or – some said – the gods. Inside its walls metal did not rust, stone did not crumble. Moreover, otherworldly creatures of malevolent demeanor wandered the halls, doing the bidding of whatever evil they called master. All in all, the House of Pain was protected on natural, unnatural and preternatural levels. To have been affected at all, let alone to the degree Krieth observed, took power reserved only to the highest of the gods.

The quake only lasted a few minutes, and Krieth – although bandied about – was grateful to find himself uninjured when it ceased. Unknown to his captors, the strength he had shown in the early years, strength which had made it impossible to kill him, had (as he knew it would) largely evaporated over the course of his imprisonment. Being removed from Shar’s benevolent gaze for so long, his powers had greatly diminished over the years until little of his former vitality remained. Had his captors continued their torment of him they would have discovered this, but he had not left his cell in nigh two hundred years.

Coming to his feet, Krieth suddenly found himself surprised for the second time that morning. As an Avatar, he was highly attuned to the forces on several planes:  both the lesser and greater magics, the light and dark arts, and power of all types, whether natural, unnatural, preternatural or supernatural. Thus he knew without question that the magics binding his cell, while not shattered, had weakened considerably.  In fact, the power of the Dark Ones in effect at Bleakblood had been disrupted on numerous levels. Overjoyed at this long-awaited opportunity, Krieth moved toward the walls of his cell, determined to find a way out.

 

Chapter 2

Krieth’s joy, however, was short-lived. After spending several minutes testing the first three walls of his prison, his frantic probing had discovered no means of egress. He moved on to the fourth and final wall.

However, no sooner had his hand touched the wall than it was greeted by the screech of tearing metal. The walls of his cell were being ripped apart. He backed away, listening intently since nothing was visible to him. The screeching stopped, and for a second he heard the labored breath of someone – no, something – before, with a grunt of effort, the tearing of metal resumed. Clearly, this thing coming through the wall was not human. Whatever it was, the metal of his cell was proving no obstacle. He instinctively backed into a corner, wishing for anything to use as a weapon. The creature, whatever it was, growled fiercely, spewing hot breath and saliva in Krieth’s direction.

“Back, darkling,” came a stern and commanding voice.

The creature growled once more and, by Krieth’s estimation, continued trying to get into the cell.

“I said, back!”  Suddenly the air was electric and a crack like thunder filled Krieth’s cell. The darkling howled and the pungent odor of singed flesh assaulted Krieth’s nose.

A warlock, he thought.

He stood absolutely still. In the fullness of his strength a warlock would have been little more than a nuisance, but in his weakened state he could take no chances.

“Take him,” the warlock said, at which point Krieth heard the shuffling of feet coming near him.

Guards, he presumed.

There came the hiss of a weapon leaving its sheath and then the prick of a swordtip at his throat. No one had to tell him not to move; it was plainly understood what the end result would be if he attempted something foolish or rash. Moreover, he still could not see anything. Krieth assumed some charm to be in place which allowed the guards to see in the dark.

“By the Ten!” came a new voice at Krieth’s right. “What was his crime, stinking up a room to the heavens?”  Krieth had a mental image of the guard covering his nose.

“I do not know his crime,” said the warlock. “I was not even aware that this part of Bleakblood even housed anything living, but great charms and wards were imposed upon this chamber. He cannot remain here while they are undone, lest he work some mischief. Bind him and take him to the Room of Howls.”

“But he smells like maggoty meat!  I’m not touching-”

The guard stopped in midsentence as the air again became electric with the warlock’s anger. The hair on Krieth’s neck began to rise and did not settle again until, seconds later, his hands were forcibly thrust behind him and stout cord wrapped around his wrists. Only then was the sword removed from his throat, only to be used to prod him in the back.

“Move along,” said a gruff voice.

“How strange,” said the warlock, seemingly to himself. “Something about this tickles at the back of my mind, like an itch I cannot scratch.”  Suddenly he turned his attention back to his prisoner. “Remember, straight to the Room of Howls, and see that you don’t use him for any of your sport along the way. Strange events are afoot, and Lord Darkchilde will want to speak with him, I’m sure. I would hate for him to find his “guest” in no condition to communicate when that time comes.”

One of the guards gulped audibly as they led Krieth away, one on either side of him, but slightly to the rear. Krieth merely stayed silent and plodded along.

Krieth had previously spent time in the Room of Howls and had past familiarity with quite a number of the devices there. It was a room aptly named, but fortunately not particularly close to his cell. The House of Pain was gigantic, and the Room of Howls was on a higher level; it would be a lengthy walk.

Or so he had assumed. However, they hadn’t gone very far when Krieth unexpectedly felt magic around him. At the same time, he suddenly sensed a radical shift in Shar’s position relative to his own.

It only took him a second to realize what had happened: they were still in Bleakblood, but had gone through a portal of some sort. Apparently his guards, not wanting to trudge up myriad sets of stairs, had employed a more practical (and probably unauthorized) method to get to a higher floor. Upon arrival, they immediately resumed their trek to the Room of Howls.

As they marched, Krieth heard frenzied activity all around him and found himself jostled regularly.

Guards and dark servants, he thought. Mobilizing before any of Darkchilde’s “guests” use this quake to escape.

“Bale,” said the guard on Krieth’s right, “what’s going on?”

“The quake, Halla” Bale replied. “Are you a complete moron?”

“What about it?” Halla asked, ignoring the insult.

“Don’t know,” Bale replied, “but weren’t natural, I can tell you that.”

“Because of the dark magics?”

“Exactly. The dark magics imbue the House of Pain. I’ve never heard of anything, or heard anyone tell of anything, that could affect this place. Plus, it’s protected by the Elders – dark gods, older even than the Ten. And more powerful, if the stories are true.”

“You wouldn’t know it to look at this place. Cells torn open, holes in the ceiling…”

Holes!  Krieth could barely believe his ears. Instinctively, he knew that sunset was not far off, and he preferred to escape into the light of day if he could. If he could just get to one of those holes…

“But that’s on the other side, mostly, although there’s one close by – near the Pool of Glass. Be thankful we’re not in that section, or we’d be hard at work making repairs rather than simple escort duty.”

“The way I hear it, there’s not much damage anyway.”

“We’ll give them a wide berth just the same.”

No!  Krieth thought. His one chance gone. He quickly considered and dismissed running for it. Bleakblood was humungous in size, and while he thought he could remember his way to the Pool of Glass (another area which he previously frequented), he was still bound, unable to see, and at far less than full strength. He had little illusions about his odds of surviving the hospitality of the House of Pain at this juncture. He did not feel fear, only frustration that he would not be able to achieve any of his aims.

“Move along.”  Krieth felt the sword poke his back. While deliberating he had unintentionally slowed his pace and caused the guards to focus their attention on him.

Not far from where Krieth resignedly marched to his doom, the Pool of Glass shimmered and rippled much like an actual pool of water, which it cast the illusion of being. In this place, glass was used to provide the most exquisite torture to those in the House of Pain. Slivers of glass were pushed under fingernails, into eyelids and into every bodily orifice imaginable. Lastly, it was the Pool itself which inflicted the most punishment.

The longstanding rule was that anyone who could swim from one side of the pool to the other would be set free. An unsuspecting captive, looking upon the pool, would think it merely water. Upon diving in, he would discover this to me a most grievous error, and – in his efforts to get out – his own flailing would slice him to ribbons on the razor-sharp glass that comprised the pool.

Into this chamber of horror the quake had sent tumbling a great block of stone from Bleakblood’s roof. It had landed in the pool with savage impact, sending wicked shards of glass in all directions. A torturer in the room at the time was immediately sliced apart, as was the prisoner he was familiarizing himself with.

A guard who was present had time turn away and move towards the exit before being savagely skewered by large fragments from the pool. He collapsed across the threshold of the door, dead before his body hit the floor.

As twilight approached, Shar’s fading light came through the hole in the roof and, with the setting of the sun, moved at an angle across the floor until it hit the dead guard. The glass in the guard’s back reflected the light in a brilliant cascade of colors that flew in all directions.

One of these radiant beams of light shot down a darkened hallway, to be reflected off the metal chrome of a lamp in a chamber at the far end. From there, it zipped across the room to where a ring of keys dangled from the inside lock of a half-open hallway door.

The beam, almost bereft of vitality at this point, was sent down this second hallway, at the end of which a prisoner and two guards were just walking by. One of the guards was urging the prisoner onward by poking his sword in his back. The little beam of light hit the sword, and its last remnant was reflected from the sword onto the very tip of the little finger of the prisoner’s left hand.

Krieth felt the touch of Shar. It was weak and greatly diminished in strength, but Shar nonetheless. Instantly the god-glow was upon him. Although he felt its presence he could not see it, much as for all those years he could feel Shar but not reach him.

No matter, he thought. What was important was that Shar’s touch had rejuvenated him – renewed a portion of his strength. He flexed, and the cords on his arms parted like wet noodles.

“Gods!” roared Bale. “Get him!”

Krieth heard movement and felt the guards grab him, one on each side. Odd that he still could not see them, but no matter. He shrugged, and the two men went flying. There was an audible crack when Halla hit the wall, followed by a scream. People formerly walking by now stopped to look, but Krieth was already in motion.

He still could not see anything, but he didn’t need to. As the sun god’s Avatar, he could sense Shar’s touch wherever it lay. He backtracked the path of the beam of light unerringly to the keyring, still hanging from the door. He slammed the door excessively hard, wedging it into the frame. From there to the lamp, then down the hallway towards the dead guard. At that point, a horn sounded.

Alarm, he said to himself.

Although the angle of the sun was now such that no light came into the Pool of Glass chamber, Krieth could sense Shar’s touch in the room ahead. Warmth on the glass in the room told him how recently his patron had passed. Its location and intensity told him where the hole in the roof must be. He moved to step in – and was greeted by a sledgehammer blow to the chest.

Krieth flew backwards, then skidded across the floor. There was some unseen creature present. As with everything else in Bleakblood, he could not see it. He could, however, sense it. Moreover, he knew it to be otherworldly; the creature had literally come out of nowhere.

Knifelike claws raked across his bare chest. He caught the wrist and bent it hard with all his might. Rather than break, the limb twisted at an awkward angle. The thing, whatever it might be, was built differently than human beings, jointed in an unfamiliar way. Without being able to see it or knowing what it was, he would have difficulty figuring out how to hurt or kill it. Unless…

Twisting unexpectedly, Krieth shifted his weight and threw his assailant over his shoulder and to the ground as hard as he could. An awful squishing sound followed, accompanied by an inhuman scream. Krieth did not need eyes to know that the thing was badly hurt.

Muffled sounds at the door behind him drew his attention. Guards, trying to get in. It wouldn’t take them long to get the door open.

All of a sudden, a tail or tentacle of some sort wrapped itself around his neck and constricted. Ten minutes earlier his neck would have snapped under the pressure. Now though, while uncomfortable, it was in no way likely to kill him. He kicked at the creature, hoping it would loosen its grip. It continued holding him tightly so he kicked harder, with no better results. At the same time, he thought he heard the wedged door begin to slide open.

Suddenly he understood. The creature was not really trying to subdue him, only stall him long enough for reinforcements. The wedged door was going to give way in a moment.

At his full strength, he would have little cause for worry with even a score of men. As it was, he was nowhere near that point. Moreover, he was far from ready to fight the human guards who might be coming, let alone any otherworldly beings that might accompany them.

With a strength born of desperation he ripped off the tentacle and raced into the chamber of the Pool of Glass. Following Shar’s warmth, he jumped onto the stone block that had fallen into the pool. From there he leaped up, catching the very edge of the hole in the ceiling.

As he pulled himself up, a barrage of weapons flew at him from below. Daggers nicked his leg; an axe lodged itself in his thigh. Something leaped up and grabbed him by the legs and began pulling him down. Its claws dug into his calves. He struggled to get one leg free, then kicked back hard, once, twice, then – judging where the thing’s face might be, a third time. Something crunched and the thing let go with a yelp before falling with a sickening thud into the Pool, where it was cut apart.

Krieth pulled himself onto the roof and quickly turned to where he knew Shar would at that very moment be setting. The sun god’s last ray of light was somewhat above Krieth’s head. Knowing it was there, he reached up for it. However, before he touched it, an ensorcelled arrow pierced his hand from back to front. With a grunt of pain, he turned towards where the arrow had come from but could see nothing. However, he could hear movement – presumably those who had just shot him. Another arrow whisked by his head.

Desperate, he ran towards Shar and leaped off the edge of the building, arm stretched high towards the last light of the setting sun…and then fell two hundred feet to the ground.

 

Chapter 3

Nightwing smiled at the assemblage around him, the most powerful of Bleakblood’s adepts. His stunningly handsome countenance effectively masked his emotions, but those who knew him realized that Lord Darkchilde’s chief lieutenant was a body of contrasts. He spoke softly when angry, moved slowly when provoked. And smiled when furious. Folded at his back were his magnificent black wings – from whence his name was derived, and a clear indicator of his mixed heritage.

He stared at those gathered. Despite the power they wielded, individually and collectively, they were clearly nervous and rightly so. Something unprecedented – no, impossible – had happened, and it undermined everything that Bleakblood represented, everything the House of Pain stood for. Punishment had been doled out, but there was a very real possibility that more heads would roll before all was said and done.

“Lord Nightwing,” said an elder graybeard, getting his attention. “The two guards have been dealt with.”

“Naturally,” Nightwing replied in a tone full of menace. “Failure at Bleakblood will not be tolerated – particularly when it results in escape. The escape of a prisoner is the defying of Lord Darkchilde’s authority. Allowing even a single soul to defy that authority is a sign of weakness. The Master does not like to appear weak.”

This last statement brought an uncomfortable shuffling of feet amongst those present. Lord Darkchilde had no qualms about making an example of those who offended him even slightly. No one wanted to contemplate what he might do under the current circumstances.

“The prisoner?”  Darkwing inquired.

“He fell off the cliffside of Bleakblood, toward the boiling sea.”  This particular mage, middle-aged with a glowing staff, bowed his head before continuing. “Elementals were dispatched, but – despite an extensive search – the body was not recovered.”

Nightwing’s brow crinkled as he considered what he had just heard. Death was often quite a pleasant alternative to residence in the House of Pain. Thus, it was of little surprise to him that a prisoner would willingly fling himself from the cliffside ramparts. However, two things disturbed him greatly about the entire situation.

First and foremost, elementals were creatures of a higher plane, able to sense and see in ways mortal beings could not. Ergo, they should have found some evidence of the prisoner – some sign of his presence or passing – if he was simply a man. The fact that they had found nothing was both perplexing and worrisome.

Second was the fact that monumental forces and dark magics of an extreme degree had been employed to hold this individual. Nightwing had visited the site of the man’s cell and had been taken aback, to say the least, by the extent and potency of the spells at work in the area. Clearly, the prisoner had not been a normal man – far from it. Therefore, normal means could not be relied upon regarding him.

“Send out our forces,” Nightwing ordered. “As many as can be spared; mortal and immortal, devil and demon, living and dead. I want this man found and returned to his rightful place in Bleakblood.”

The assembled sorcerers bowed their heads in unison, with several even breathing a sigh of relief. However, none were confused about what had just happened. They had merely been granted a reprieve, nothing more.

Nodding, Darkwing pull a small blue marble from a pouch at his belt. He gripped it tightly, and a dense azure light encircled his body.

“I go now to report to the Master,” he stated. “I assume I need not tell you the price of a second failure.”

Before anyone could respond, the light faded, and he was gone.

 

Chapter 4

Krieth stretched, reaching up to grip another stone crag. He looked up to gauge his distance to the top of the cliffs. Not far now. As he continued climbing, he reflected on the events of the last day.

His leap from the ramparts of Bleakblood had elevated him enough for his hand to be enveloped in the last light of the day. It in no way returned his full strength, but allowed him to survive the fall to the crags below. Still, the impact had stunned him, and before he could recover he was swept out to sea.

The thought of being stranded – in the middle of the ocean in the darkness of night – had caused him to fight his way out of his stupor. He had struggled momentarily to move his arms and legs, but they soon obeyed. Then hands grabbed at him. Hands from the sea. Hands that pulled him beneath the waves.

He had not escaped Bleakblood only to be drowned. He struck at the foes attempting to detain him, but could not see them. The strength he would normally have had, the power granted an Avatar, was diminished by the water around him. Thus, his punches lacked force. But before he could attempt to throw more than a few blows, a voice sounded – not in his ears, but behind his eyes. In his mind.

Stay your hand, mighty one. We are friends.

Krieth looked around, but saw nothing. “Show yourself!” he shouted in his mind.

We are before you, warrior. The children of Lrfa rarely resort to deception.

Lrfa?  Goddess of the ocean?  Lrfa was a sister to Shar, and allegedly an ally.

Correct, Avatar. Krieth frowned at this. Yes, the voice – obviously feminine – continued. We know who you are. The light of your patron is like a beacon to truthsayers.

Then why are you taking me prisoner?

Prisoner? Amusement in the voice. Nay, Glimmerblade. The Lords in the House of Pain send elementals to retrieve you. We merely shield you from their presence. Though the elementals are indeed formidable, beneath the waves, our powers are absolute.

And why can I not see you?

The voice was silent for a moment. Because you are blind.

The truth had suddenly dawned on Krieth. Two hundred years in absolute darkness had robbed him of his vision. Perhaps those most malevolent magics which surrounded him during that time had also contributed. This disturbed him more than a little. Although being able to sense Shar would compensate in many ways for the lack of sight, he would still prefer to observe the world through his own two eyes.

Shortly before dawn the next morning, the Lrfan (as they called themselves) had returned Krieth to the base of the cliff from which he had fallen. At his direction, they had actually placed him near a cluster of jagged rocks, where the cliff’s slopes slid sharply down and gave way to a white, sandy beach. Stepping out of the shadow of the low rocks placed him in direct sunlight. He immediately began performing the ka-Shar.

The instant Krieth stepped into the sunlight, he was flooded by a great jumble of emotions. Love, relief, comfort, warmth…all the feelings between loved ones who have long been parted. Two hundred years of thoughts, musings, longings, fears and desire were conveyed in mere seconds as Shar and his Avatar became one.

An itching had begun in Krieth’s eyes. He attributed it to the tears which were falling. The itch had become a burning, at first irritating, but then painful. He put his hands to his face and blinked, blinked again. Hard.

Tears continued falling, but now there was something different. His eyes, which before had seen nothing but darkness, now saw light. The light quickly became the blurry outlines of things around him:  sand on the beach, the ocean, the cliffs. Then, without warning, everything suddenly came into focus. Krieth felt Shar smiling.

Of course: Shar had healed him. Restored his eyes or removed the curse on them. Not that it mattered. Krieth looked at his body, found himself whole. The god-glow – the sign of Shar’s chosen – was a soft, golden light emanating from his body. Hardly noticeably during the day, it would be a beacon when night came. Fortunately, he was gifted with the ability to cease his bioluminescence at will. Krieth had then turned to the cliff and immediately begun climbing.

Now, hours later, he was almost at the end of his climb. Grabbing the edge of the cliff, he hoisted himself up and found himself on a ledge of Bleakblood. Behind and below him were the crags and ocean where he had taken his fall the night before. Near him, a large outcropping of rock facing out over the water had been carved into the image of one he knew well:  Lord Darkchilde. In fact, the hateful countenance was carved in stone at evenly-spaced intervals all along this level.

He knew instinctively how much time remained to him for the task at hand. He had not been in the service of his patron for quite some time, and much was amiss that needed to be righted. Nevertheless, Shar had granted him a single day to take what vengeance he must at Bleakblood – with the promise of more later – and he had already spent hours on the climb.

Krieth looked down at his right hand, focused, then frowned in concentration. Almost immediately, a blade of pure light appeared in his hand. His glimmerblade, a gift from his patron deity and the source of his surname. Casually, without much force or effort, he swung the blade of light at Darkchilde’s image. Stone parted like water, and half of the monolithic face slid to the ground with barely a whisper. Krieth gripped the glimmerblade and smiled in the direction of Bleakblood.

“Now,” he said to no one in particular, “now, there comes a reckoning…”

 

Chapter 5

For once in his life, Nightwing’s expression truly reflected his inner thoughts and sentiments, which in this case was complete and utter disbelief.

He had been gone merely a day, but had returned to find Bleakblood in shambles – practically razed to the ground. Where once the House of Pain had stood in magnificent glory, there was now a massive mound of smoldering rubble. Its noble towers had been toppled; its parapets, smashed.

He glared at Bleakblood’s adepts – what remained of them, anyway. Many had seemingly perished when the House of Pain fell. Even those that survived did not escape unscathed, as almost all of them bore injuries of some sort (up to and including being maimed). But all were aware that escaping the fall of Bleakblood did not equate to survival. At the moment, they were in more danger than ever.

“And you say this was the work of one man?” Nightwing asked of no one in particular. There was silence, with everyone plainly afraid to draw attention to themselves by answering.

Growing impatient, Nightwing added, “Someone speak before I slaughter you all: was this the work of one man?”

“In appearance, yes,” replied a warlock known as Dulan. “But he seemed more monster than man. He attacked with a strength and ferocity that defied explanation.”

“You are adepts of the highest order,” Nightwing reminded them. “You have the power to flatten mountains and drain the seas. You have an army of soldiers at your command, both living and dead, as well as legions from the netherworlds. With all that Lord Darkchilde has put at your disposal, how is it that one man – no matter how powerful – manages to destroy in a day what has stood for millennia?”

“He had a weapon, the like of which we’ve never seen,” added an elderly sorcerer called Isham. “A blade of pure light. It sliced through every element and substance with ease. Flesh, stone, steel… It parted them all as if they were no more than air.”

“And you have mystical weapons of your own,” Nightwing stated with irritation.

“Indeed we do,” Isham agreed. “But in truth, there was no comparison. His blade was an order of magnitude greater than anything we possessed. It was like trying to best an expert swordsman with a sewing needle.”

“You also have dark servants you could call upon,” Nightwing noted. “Those were regularly utilized at Bleakblood.”

“And we did not hesitate to use them,” chimed in a witch named Bal. “But they offered little challenge.”

Others murmured in agreement with this, with one adding, “I had three fire imps charge at him in unison. He dispatched them with little effort.”

“And your magic?” Nightwing inquired. “Did you not utilize it?”

“In all honesty, it was difficult to employ,” Dulan admitted. “Our attacker seemed generally proficient in spellcraft and had defenses against many enchantments. However, this was not immediately understood. Ergo, many of our fellows lost their lives when their attempts to magically enthrall him failed.”

Nightwing glared at them. “Your incompetence is completely and utterly mindboggling. Despite magic, mystical weapons, an army, and powerful creatures from the nether realms at your beck and call, you still fail to stop one man. But that still does not answer the most important question of all: How did Bleakblood fall?”

No one answered immediately, although all present understood the question well enough. In essence, the House of Pain was protected by much in the way of dark magic and foul sorcery. The structure itself should have remained standing until the end of time. The fact that it had not meant that something unprecedented had happened.

“He targeted Bleakblood’s magic,” Isham finally stated. “The forces that shielded the House of Pain from physical attack, as well as the ravages of time.”

“Magic has been leveled at BleakBlood for ages,” Nightwing stated. “There have always been those who wish to topple the House of Pain. How is it that this man found success?”

“Those other attacks were always from without,” offered Dulan. “This assault was from within Bleakblood’s own walls, where the House of Pain was most vulnerable.”

“But the spells protecting this place were without peer,” Nightwing argued. “They were powerful and cogent…unassailable.”

“Not all of them, Lord Nightwing,” countered Bal. “Not every enchantment was potent or robust. Some of them were of a lesser nature, and it was those that our assailant initially targeted.”

Nightwing frowned. “And how does that accomplish the fall of Bleakblood?”

“Think of it like a thick blanket with a single loose thread,” advised Dulan. “If you pull on the thread hard and long enough, you will unravel the entire tapestry.”

“And that’s what happened to the House of Pain,” Nightwing surmised. “He started with the lesser spells, and used those to undo the greater.”

“Correct,” Dulan stated with a nod. “Without the preservative effects of magic, age caught up with Bleakblood to a large extent, with many parts of the structure becoming immediately timeworn and collapsing, or simply crumbling to dust.”

“But it wasn’t just the spells protecting Bleakblood that this man destroyed,” Isham added. “He also destroyed the magical objects that offered auxiliary support – the runes, talismans, wards… He destroyed them all, using our own portals to flit through the edifice and accomplish his foul deeds. And finally, he freed many of Lord Darkchilde’s guests in the process, which added to the pandemonium.”

Nightwing seemed to ruminate on this for a moment, then stated, “Lord Darkchilde will be expecting my report. In all honesty, this humiliates him, and he finds humiliation infuriating. Thus, no one even remotely involved in this is likely to emerge unscathed – including me. But I do have one final question: this man who attacked – was he the same prisoner who previously escaped?”

 

Chapter 6

Krieth traveled swiftly, continually putting distance between himself and the shattered remains of Bleakblood. He made good time, despite the fact that he carried a captive – a young girl he had taken from the House of Pain. She had been in the company of two adepts when he first encountered her – wizards who called forth undead soldiers in response to his assault on their dark fortress.

Using his glimmerblade, Krieth had made short work of the reanimated warriors, swiftly lopping off their heads before doing the same to the wizards. The girl came close to suffering the same fate, but – recoiling in horror at the decapitation of her compatriots – she began backpedalling in an effort to get away from Krieth. However, she hadn’t taken more than a few steps before she tripped over her own feet and went over backwards, knocking herself unconscious when her head hit the stone floor.

Krieth had momentarily debated leaving her. Up until that moment he had been merciless in his treatment of Bleakblood’s custodians and overseers, putting them all to the sword as he put their stronghold to the torch. At that juncture, however, his work was essentially complete. He had undone most of the diabolism that sustained the the place; Bleakblood was already coming apart and would soon collapse utterly.

With that in mind, he made a conscious decision to spare the girl because of her obvious youth – and the fact that he had a use for her. Ergo, he had then trussed her up, tossed her onto his shoulder, and carried her with him.

He barely noticed her weight, and it slowed him down not at all. What he did notice, however, was that they were being followed. He hadn’t seen anything, but his all of senses told him that they were being pursued.

They were traveling through a forest at that juncture. In his youth, Krieth had enjoyed spending time in the woods – hunting, fishing and reveling in the beauty of nature. However, Bleakblood had been situated deep within Caldornoc, a fetid realm ruled by the Darkchilde and home to all manner of corruption. That being the case, a Caldornocen forest was not just the abode of typical woodland creatures, but was also home to monstrous perversions of nature.

As if in proof of this, Krieth and his unconscious captive had passed the mangled, mutilated corpse of a massive grizzly just a few hours earlier. It had essentially been butchered by something larger, fiercer, and more dangerous. He hadn’t been able to ascertain what type of creature had killed the bear, but it was entirely possible that they had wandered onto the hunting grounds of a ferociously territorial monster. More to the point, the thing that slaughtered the grizzly might also be what was tracking them.

That said, Krieth eventually found himself growing weary of being chased. Being some creature’s quarry had little appeal to him. In addition, all of his instincts told him that their pursuer was gaining on them. That meant confrontation would soon be unavoidable, but Krieth decided that he would select the battlefield. Thus, he waited until they reached a clearing, then set his captive down by a nearby fallen tree.

She still appeared to be unconscious, which suggested that she had hit her head much harder than he had initially assumed. However, he’d have to worry about that later. Thus, after taking a moment to check her bonds and make sure her arms and legs were still properly restrained, he turned towards the area they had come from.

He didn’t have long to wait, as a short time later the forest around them suddenly grew still. Birds in the branches of nearby trees stopped singing, while insects ceased buzzing. At the same time, Krieth heard the distinct cadence of a large animal moving swiftly, its feet striking the ground in rapid succession and accompanied by a fierce growl. A moment later it burst into the clearing, roaring in anger, and Krieth found himself staring at it in surprise.

The thing pursuing them was the mutilated corpse of the bear, reanimated and somehow brought back to life.

 

Chapter 7

Resurrected, the beast seemed larger that Krieth remembered, with claws and teeth that struck him as being longer and sharper than nature had intended. In addition, its marred and shredded frame appeared even more damaged than he had noticed at first blush, with great gaping wounds from head to tail. Finally, much of its flesh had begun to rot, and was crawling with maggots.

All in all, the thing was a fearsome spectacle, and it let out an earsplitting roar as it charged at Krieth, who stepped forward to meet it. However, their affray was not of great duration.

Despite its unnatural appearance, Krieth made short work of the bear, using his glimmerblade to swiftly dismember the creature. Being undead, however, it remained animated. In fact, it continued to roar and growl, snapping viciously in his direction, completely unfazed by the fact that its limbs had been cut off.

He then separated its head from its neck – an act that could usually be counted on to dispatch even the undead. The bear’s head rolled a few feet away from its body – but when it came to a rest, Krieth noted that the thing still snarled viciously at him.

He stared it for a moment, plainly surprised that some spark still kept it “alive,” so to speak. However, for all intents and purposes, the battle was over and the bear was no longer a combatant. Ergo, Krieth allowed his weapon to fade from sight and went back to his captive.

“You can stop pretending,” he said to her. “I know you’re awake.”

His detainee, however, didn’t move and her eyes stayed firmly shut.

“Come on, girl,” he added, nudging her with his foot. “Further pretense is unnecessary and unwarranted.”

The girl still did not respond in any way.

“Alright,” Krieth groused. “Let’s see if we can find some means to rouse you from your slumber.”

With that, he walked back to the decapitated bear. It growled and tried to bite him as he leaned down and picked up its head, which he then took back towards his captive.

“I have a friend here I think you’d like to meet,” Krieth said to the girl. “And he may be better capable of waking you than I.”

As he spoke, he slowly brought the bear’s head closer to his captive’s face. At first there was no reaction; the girl remained still and unmoving. But as the ursine’s jaws – growling, snapping and biting – drew near her visage, her eyes suddenly snapped open. Plainly frightened, she rolled in an effort to get away.

“So you are awake,” Krieth remarked.

His detainee merely glared at him without responding, hate evident in her eyes as she sat up with her legs under her.

“What’s your name, girl?” Krieth asked. Rather than respond, she spat in his direction to show her regard for him and his query.

Ignoring her action, Krieth stated, “Well, if you won’t talk to me, we can always try our friend, again.” He held up the bear head, which still seemed eager to clamp its jaws on something. “He seems to be very good at getting a response out of you.”

The girl appeared to contemplate for a moment, then said, “Neri. I’m called Neri.”

“Well, Neri,” Krieth said, “I take it this is your handiwork?”

As he spoke, he held up the bear’s head again.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied.

Krieth tossed the bear’s head away, then wiped his hand on a patch of grass. Following this, he stepped swiftly towards Neri and dropped to his haunches. Before she could react, he reached towards her, pulling the neck of the robe she wore down slightly.

Terrified at what her captor’s intentions might be, Neri let out a frightened squeal and tried to shrink away from him. Sadly, tied up as she was, there was nowhere for her to go. No way to avoid what she feared was coming.

However, Krieth merely pulled free a necklace that had been hidden beneath her garb. It appeared to be made of silver, and had an odd medallion attached to it, which he took in his hand.

“Your pendant is stamped with the sigil of Suutmor-alum,” he stated. “The Guild of Necromancers. And you wear the robe of a Guild acolyte.”

“What of it?” the girl demanded.

“You necromancers deal with the dead…and undead,” Krieth said, letting go of the medallion and taking a seat on the grass. “Do you still deny that the bear was your doing?”

Neri looked as though she were about to continue refuting that fact, but then she whispered something under her breath that Krieth didn’t quite catch. However, the bear – or rather its head – suddenly grew quiet. Once again, it was nothing more than a dead animal, albeit in more pieces than previously.

Krieth was about to ask her why she hadn’t done that earlier – specifically, when he had brought the bear’s snapping jaws near her – and then he realized that it hadn’t truly been an option for her. Removing her foul enchantment from the bear would have been tantamount to admitting that she had reanimated the creature to kill him. Of course, once he revealed that he knew she was a necromancer, there was no need to engage in further subterfuge.

Krieth looked at Neri, realizing now that she was older than he previously thought. He had initially assumed her to be around thirteen years in age, but she was probably closer to sixteen. On her part she simply stared back at him, trying to look defiant.

“What are you going to do with me?” she demanded.

“That depends on how cooperative you are,” he answered.

“Cooperative?” she repeated, looking nonplussed.

“Yes,” Krieth said with a smile. “I’d like to make a deal with you.”

 

Chapter 8

Neri merely stared at him for a moment, then hissed, “I’ll make no pact with you! I’ll kill you first!”

“You’ve already attempted that with the bear,” he reminded her. “Do you make a habit of trying to slay those who save your life?”

“Saved my life?” she said incredulously. “You kidnapped me – took me from home and hearth for some evil purpose.”

Krieth chuckled. “How ironic to hear a Bleakblood retainer describe someone else’s actions as evil. A better joke I’ve not heard in ages.”

“You won’t be laughing when the Grim Wardens catch you,” Neri declared. “The sacrilege you committed at Bleakblood won’t go unpunished. They’ll drag you back screaming, and then you’ll truly learn why they call it the House of Pain.”

“I think what you mean to say is that they called it the House of Pain,” Krieth stressed. Seeing a look of incomprehension on the girl’s face, he explained. “Bleakblood stands no more.”

“You lie!” Neri spat out.

“I’ve no need to,” Krieth insisted. “A day of reckoning arrived, with judgment swift and absolute. As a result, the festering monument of corruption that you call home is now rubble. Had I left you there, you’d have been crushed when the walls came down, or burned alive from one of the many fires I set. So yes – I saved your life.”

“More falsehoods,” she insisted.

“Ask your fellows from Bleakblood if you don’t believe me. Of course, you’ll have to use necromancy to do it.”

He smiled as he finished speaking, which made Neri visibly seethe.

“I wonder if you’ll jest quite as much when the Wardens cut your tongue out,” she sneered. “Or look quite as smug with no ears, nose, or lips.”

“So you still don’t believe me.”

“No,” Neri stated, “because I–”

“Shhh,” Krieth ordered, cutting her off as he placed a finger to his lips. “Do you hear that?”

Frowning, Neri tilted her head to the side, listening intently, but no sound out of the ordinary reached her.

“Hear what?” she asked after a few seconds.

“Exactly,” Krieth replied. “There’s no thunder of hooves from mounted beast-cavalry in close pursuit. No demon hordes from the nether realms nipping at my heels. No Opaque Assassins trying to slit my throat every time I step into shadow or shade.”

For a moment, as his words sank in Neri looked unsure of herself. Then her countenance became stern and she told him, “It is only true that none of those things have happened yet. But you can rest assured that devil-dogs are probably sniffing out your trail even as we speak. And even if they aren’t, elementals are surely soaring through the skies, scouring the land far and wide.”

“Even if that were true, I would posit that they don’t know who they’re looking for. I liberated many of the Darkchilde’s ‘guests’ from Bleakblood before its destruction, and they scattered to the winds. Your hounds and elementals will have quite the task tracking them all down and trying to identify which, if any, is the perpetrator of the sacrilege you mentioned earlier.”

“Moreover,” he continued, “they’ll be looking for a single man – not a man and girl traveling together.”

“You seek to use me?” Neri muttered. “I won’t have it. I refuse to be part of your ruse.”

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Krieth stated, “I tire of this. If you refuse to assist, then you are of no use to me.”

With that, he pulled out a wicked-looking knife – a weapon taken from one of Bleakblood’s late guards. Upon seeing the blade, Neri went wide-eyed with terror, just as Krieth leaned forward and grabbed her with his free hand.

 

Chapter 9

Krieth pushed Neri forward onto the ground, then planted a knee on her back. Grunting with effort, she squirmed wildly, trying to throw him off and perhaps roll away. Her struggles were in vain, however; her captor was simply too strong.

Turning her head to the side, she tried her best to watch Krieth out of the corner of her eye. She had a poor view of him, but she did spy his hand – more specifically, the knife he held. She screamed as she watched the blade being lowered towards her unprotected back.

However, rather than the lancing pain of the knife piercing her flesh, she felt a slight tugging near her hands, accompanied by a soft grating sound. A moment later, she realized that her hands were free. Her bonds had been cut.

Krieth removed his knee from her back; she swiftly rolled over and crabwalked backwards away from him (or as best she could with stout cord around her ankles.)

“Your feet?” Krieth said, gesturing with the knife towards the remaining restraints. But as he moved towards her, she backed farther away.

“Come now, girl,” he admonished. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have freed your hands.”

She didn’t respond, but when he tried approaching her again, she didn’t move. Moments later, her feet were free as well.

Still keeping a wary eye on Krieth, Neri swiftly removed the remnants of cord from her wrists and ankles. Following this, she stood up and spent a few seconds massaging her wrists to get circulation going again.

“Why are you freeing me?” she finally asked.

“Were you not listening?” Krieth chided. “If you refuse to help me, then I have no use for you. That being the case, you’re free to go.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes, girl – just like that.”

“You jest,” she declared, plainly not believing him. “You plan to use me for sport in some way – maybe hunt me like an animal.”

“That is a pastime favored by the Darkchilde. Personally, I find little amusement in hunting children.”

“I’m not a child!” she stressed. “I’m a woman, nineteen.”

Krieth raised an eyebrow in surprise. Assuming she was being truthful, she was older still than he had assumed, although not by much.

“Woman or girl,” he said after a few seconds, “you are still free to leave.”

“Then I will,” she announced haughtily. “But rest assured that we’ll meet again. I plan to be present when they boil your eyeballs into a soup and make you eat it.”

With that she turned and began walking back towards the trees. However, she had gone no more than a few steps before she stopped. She stared at the woods before her, then up at the sky. She then turned in a slow circle, looking all around with a befuddled expression on her face. After a moment, she let her gaze fall on Krieth. She appeared to be on the cusp on speaking, but instead just stood there silently.

On his part, Krieth merely chuckled softly, plainly discerning her problem. After a few seconds, however, he pointed, saying, “That way. The ashes of Bleakblood lie in that direction.”

For a moment, it looked as if Neri was tempted to thank him, then thought better of it. Thus, she merely turned in the direction he had indicated and began walking. However, she had taken no more than a few steps before Krieth called out to her.

“Hey,” he said, his voice causing her to halt and pivot back towards him. “Take this. You’ll need it.”

As he finished speaking, he tossed the knife in her direction. It landed on its side and slid for a brief moment across the grass before coming to a stop a few feet from her. She stepped forward and retrieved it.

“I know you have your necromancy,” Krieth continued, “but it may not be enough.”

“It should suffice,” Neri argued. “The only thing I’m likely to need a blade for is you.”

“Ha!” Krieth barked acerbically. “Clearly, you’ve spent little time outside of Bleakblood. Otherwise you’d be asking if I had more weapons I could spare.”

“I’ve been outside the House of Pain,” she insisted.

“But always in the presence of armed guards, correct?” Krieth posited, raising an eyebrow. Neri didn’t verbally respond, but her expression told him that his assertion was true.

“In that case, please allow me to enlighten you,” he continued. “We are in the land of Caldornoc – the domain of the Darkchilde – and, he has made this realm a haven for all manner of fell beasts and foul fiends. Every creature that nature found vile and abhorrent, your master welcomed with open arms. The pain and suffering they inflict – the terror they inspire – are pleasing to the ancient evils the Darkchilde serves. Ergo, these monstrosities are free to roam far and wide, leaving unimaginable horror, and countless corpses, in their wake.”

Neri appeared to ruminate for a moment, then demanded, “And how are you any better?”

“For one thing, I’m unlikely to kill and eat you. The creatures of this land are less discriminating. And if I failed to mention it before, many are immune to magic and have skin that can’t be pierced by sword or lance.”

Neri appeared on the verge of further argument, but suddenly a roar like thunder echoed through the nearby trees.

“You should get moving,” Krieth advised. “Whatever that was, it sounded hungry, and I’ve got better places to be than a monster’s gullet.”

With that, he turned and began walking away. However, he’d taken no more than two paces before he heard Neri shouting.

“Wait!” she yelled, running towards him.

“Yes?” Krieth responded inquisitively.

Looking a bit unsure of herself, Neri said, “You mentioned something about a bargain earlier – that you needed my help.”

“I recall,” Krieth noted casually.

“If I help you, can you escort me somewhere safe?”

“As long as the place you deem as safe is safe for me as well,” he stressed. “In essence, I’ll not promise to take you to some fortress that’s the second coming of Bleakblood, or anything of that nature.”

“Fair enough,” she said as the roar came again, sounding closer. “What is it that you require of me?”

“Nothing of consequence,” Krieth assured her. “I simply need to speak to a dead man.”

 

Chapter 10

When Nightwing next appeared before the remaining adepts of Bleakblood, he was not alone. He was accompanied by two creatures that could only be described as grotesques.

One consisted on an eyeless wolf’s head on a body that resembled an eight-foot grub, with a multitude of long, supple limbs that were covered with barbs. The other was something akin to a bipedal crab that was as big as a horse, with three mouths full of razor-sharp teeth and a trio of arms which terminated in colossal pincers that opened and closed spasmodically.

At the time, the adepts – along with what was left of Bleakblood’s adherents – were camped near the ruins of the House of Pain. Their numbers had noticeably decreased of late, as many had opted to desert their posts rather than face what was coming. Nightwing understood this at a glance, but also knew that the recreants who had fled would eventually be dealt with. At the moment, however, he had pressing business.

Glancing around, he quickly spied who he was looking for: Dulan, Isham and Bal – the three adepts who had previously spoken to him.

“You, you and you,” he blurted out, indicating the trio. “Step forward.”

Looking collectively nervous, the three named adepts complied and approached. Stopping a few feet from Nightwing, they lowered their heads in an almost synchronized fashion.

Turning to the creatures with him, Nightwing said, “Any but these three.”

Taking that as their cue, the monstrosities bellowed loudly and then charged at the remnants of Bleakblood’s retainers.

 

******************************************************

 

The carnage only lasted until Nightwing could mentally count to ten. However, in that time, the creatures managed to butcher at least a dozen people, and wounded or maimed at least a score of others.

“Halt,” Nightwing said, and the monsters immediately ceased their onslaught – one as it was in the midst of tearing an acolyte’s face off.

Covered in blood and gore, they looked as though they could easily (and happily) have continued the massacre until doomsday. However, Nightwing waved a hand and they vanished. But what did not disappear were the screams of pain and horror by those who had survived the attack.

Tuning them out, Nightwing turned his attention to Dulan, Isham and Bal. “As you might have guessed, the fall of Bleakblood stoked Lord Darkchilde’s ire. You should pray that recent events” – he gestured towards where the monsters had massacred so many – “sate his bloodlust and anger.”

“We will do so,” Dulan asserted. “And rest assured that we are grateful for the master’s mercy.”

Nightwing simply stared at him for a moment, then asked of no one in particular, “Do you know why you were spared?”

There was silence amongst the trio, who exchanged glances. The question seemed straight-forward, and likewise the answer. Frankly speaking, they had no clue as to why they were singled out for leniency.

“Do you know why you were spared?” Nightwing repeated impatiently, making it clear from his tone that he expected a response of some sort.

After a moment, Bal stated, “We weren’t.”

Nightwing nodded. “At least one of you understands. You were not granted clemency, and you may still face Lord Darkchilde’s wrath. But his fury was not visited upon you because, when we last spoke, you three seemed to possess some level of knowledge that might prove useful.”

“We live to serve,” insisted Dulan.

“Indeed,” added Isham. “We are at the Master’s disposal.”

“That is pleasing to hear,” Nightwing announced. “And you may be pleased as well to hear that the Master may know the identity of the man who razed Bleakblood, but he needs confirmation.”

“How may we help?” asked Bal. “Whatever the Master requires, we shall do.”

Nightwing smiled. “What he requires is that you speak with a dead man.”

 

Chapter 11

For the next few days, Neri simply followed where Krieth led. She paid little attention to the direction they were going and did not really question their ultimate destination. Truth be told, she spent most of her time trying to ascertain where she would have Krieth escort her after she fulfilled her part of their bargain.

At some point, they ended up near a small ravine, prompting Neri to finally pose a question.

“What are we doing here?” she asked. “Is that where you want to contact the dead man you spoke of?”

“No,” Krieth replied. “And if you don’t want to end up dead yourself, I’d advise that you keep well back.”

Without giving her a chance to reply, Krieth then went to the edge of the ravine and began shouting and stomping. Neri – who did as advised and stayed back – assumed he was having some sort of fit; thus she was surprised when, just a few minutes later, a massive monster came crawling up out of the ravine.

In appearance, it struck her as something like a gigantic scorpion made of rock. It was at least twenty feet in length, with claws that appeared capable of cutting a man in two and a vicious stinger that looked like it could impale an ogre. In truth, it was not nearly as horrible as some of the monstrosities that had roamed the halls of Bleakblood, but recognizing the personal danger to herself in this instance, Neri felt somewhat afraid – especially after the thing let out an ear-splitting roar and charged at Krieth. And at that point, battle commenced between her companion and the creature.

Frankly speaking, Neri had not expected the engagement to last long. The rock beast was far larger that its adversary and gave the impression of being much more powerful. However, she knew of Krieth’s unique weapon – the light-blade. She had seen him employ it at Bleakblood, and again when fighting the bear she had resurrected (while pretending to be unconscious). In essence, she felt that Krieth had the advantage.

Unfortunately, that turned out not to be so. For some reason, Krieth’s weapon-of-light was ineffectual against the creature. It could be used to parry blows from the monster, but seemed incapable of inflicting damage. Even the thing’s eyes – typically a vulnerable spot on any opponent – were not susceptible to harm from the light-blade. Thus, Krieth spent much of his time on the defensive.

In the end, however, he dispatched the monster with an unusual battle tactic. The fiend had tried using its stinger to impale its adversary several times. Surprisingly, despite its enormous bulk, the stinger moved with a speed that was almost uncanny. Miraculously, however, Krieth managed to avoid getting stung initially. He managed to duck, dodge, and evade for far longer than Neri would have thought possible. But at some juncture he apparently became overwhelmed, and while attempting to parry an attack from the creature’s claws, the stinger seemingly caught him unaware, sinking deep into his chest.

Neri let out a small gasp when it happened. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized that she was actually rooting for Krieth to win. Now, however, it looked like he was going to die.

Much to her surprise however, Krieth remained on his feet. More to the point, his weapon vanished and he gripped the stinger with both hands, pulling it out of his chest but refusing to allow the monster withdraw it any farther. Then he twisted the stinger – hard. So hard in fact that it broke off.

The creature roared in pain, with green-black ichor spewing from its maimed tail. Then, while the thing was still in agony, Krieth rushed forward and viciously stabbed it in the eye with its own stinger.

The monster howled again, having been wounded for a second time in quick succession – this time fatally. In fact, Neri watched in fascination as the thing went into its death throes, violently churning up the earth with its legs and claws and wailing in distress the entire time before ultimately dropping to the ground and lying still.

At that point, Krieth went towards it and retrieved the stinger, which was about six inches in length, from its eye. He wiped it on the ground, removing all traces of blood and gore, and then placed it into a pouch he carried at his waist.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned and saw Neri standing nearby. For a moment, he worried that she might try to reanimate the monster, but found that her attention was drawn to his chest, which was already practically healed.

“Are you ready?” he asked nonchalantly. “We still have a long way to go.”

 

Chapter 12

Neri was exhausted, more weary than she’d ever been in her life – which was ironic given that, at the moment she was being carried. More specifically, she was slung across the shoulder of Krieth, who was currently running at a blistering pace. However, a bestial bellow from nearby – the howl of an amarok – made her realize that their pursuers were moving even faster. Recognizing that she might die very soon, she found herself mentally cursing the moment she had made a bargain with Krieth, because it was his actions that had put them in their current predicament.

After Krieth’s battle with the scorpion monster, they had essentially backtracked – retraced their steps for about half a day. Going back over the same ground had made Neri wonder if her companion was lost, and had also caused her, for the first time, to really give some thought to where they might be headed. But at that juncture they changed direction, with Krieth seemingly confident about their route.

Overconfident is more like it, Neri thought as she bounced along. Basically, that fool Krieth had chosen a course that led directly through the hunting grounds of a pack of amarok. It wasn’t long before the oversized wolves picked up their scent, and they had been running through the woods nonstop ever since.

A howl up ahead of them interrupted Neri’s thoughts. At the same time, Krieth came to an abrupt halt.

“They’re cutting us off,” he noted in frustration. “Again.”

Neri didn’t have to ask what he meant. The creatures seemed to regularly get in front of them – or close in on one side or the other – forcing them to change course.

“Put me down,” Neri said. “I need a moment.”

“No time,” Krieth told her as he started moving again.

“I feel ill,” she announced.

“What?” Krieth blurted out, stopping in his tracks.

“Bouncing up and down on your shoulder has made me queasy, so unless you want me getting sick–”

“Alright, alright,” he interjected, then lowered her to the ground.

“I just need a moment.”

“Make it quick,” Krieth ordered. “It’ll be dark soon, and they already have our scent.”

“How many do you think there are?” she asked, stretching her arms above her head.

“Based on their howling, I’d say it’s a pack of at least five, but possible ten or more.”

“Why can’t we just climb a tree? We are in the forest, after all.”

Krieth gave her an intense look. “I take it you’ve not seen an amarok before.”

“I’ve seen drawings.”

“Well, I can assure you that any likeness you saw didn’t do the creature justice. They’re similar to wolves, but larger and more ferocious. On average they reach about four feet in height, but some are taller than a grown man at the shoulder. They have teeth like daggers, and claws that can slice through the bark of a tree cleaner and swifter than an axe. So no, climbing a tree is not an option.”

“And outrunning them is?”

“We don’t necessarily need to outrun them. We just need them to lose our scent. Or find a spot that can serve as a defensible position.”

“Is either likely?”

“I’d say the odds are slim in regards to both. But we’ve dawdled long enough.”

With that, he once again picked Neri up and tossed her across his shoulder. Much to her relief, however, he appeared to make a concerted effort to keep the jostling to a minimum, although he still moved at a brisk pace.

The baying of their pursuers suddenly sounded off to the right.

Although she found it awkward to speak while being carried like a sack of wheat, Neri said, “Tell me truthfully: are we likely to end as an Amarok’s meal?”

“We?” Krieth repeated, chuckling. “You obviously haven’t fully assessed the situation. They don’t want us. They want you.”

 

Chapter 13

Had she been standing, Neri’s mouth probably would have fallen open. As it was, she simply found herself struggling to gather her thoughts (and being slung over Krieth’s shoulder as he ran didn’t help).

“Explain yourself!” she finally demanded. “What do you mean, they’re after me?”

“The amarok are pack hunters,” he explained. “When they locate prey in a herd or group, their objective is to focus on the most vulnerable – usually the very young or the very old. Those who are weak or feeble. The ones who will offer the least resistance.”

“And between the two of us, that’s me,” she concluded.

“Yes,” Krieth confirmed solemnly.

“Can’t you fight them? Or does your light sword not work against amarok either?”

“I would wager that the glimmerblade could dispatch amarok easily,” he replied, ignoring her reference to the weapon’s prior ineffectiveness. “The problem is that I’d be opposing an entire pack, and even I cannot face all directions at once. Basically, they could surround us, and while some of them kept me engaged, any of the others could rip your throat out and carry you off.”

“So what are we to do?”

“As I mentioned before, if we can find a defensible position, we could make a stand – maybe a place with a wall behind us so they can’t sneak up on us.”

The cry of an amarok, sounding very close, cut off the response Neri was about to make and caused Krieth to change the direction they traveled. The noise also coincided with twilight, as the sun had just dipped below the horizon.

“We’ll lose the light soon,” Neri noted.

Krieth merely grunted in response. He, of course, knew exactly when the sun would set. (He was the sun god’s Avatar, after all.) And as to light, he had the god-glow, but it would be like a beacon if employed in the dark. And then he saw something that made him come to an immediate halt.

“By Shar’s light,” he muttered.

“What?” inquired Neri. Slung over his shoulder, she faced the opposite direction and couldn’t see what had drawn his attention. “What is it?”

Rather than answer, Krieth lifted her from his shoulder and set her on the ground. Looking around, she noted that they were at the crest of a small hill. Down below them she saw a hamlet, consisting of maybe a half-dozen structures, including several cottages and a barn.

A sudden howl to their rear reminded them that they were still being hunted.

“We should make haste,” Krieth said, “and with any luck the locals will offer hospitality to a couple of strangers.”

Neri merely nodded, and a moment later they were dashing down the hill. It took them mere minutes to reach the bottom, but it was already starting to get dark. They hurried to a nearby cottage, which was actually larger than they had initially assumed. The drapes were drawn, but there appeared to be light inside – presumably from lanterns or candles.

“Open!” Kreith shouted, banging loudly on the door and making it rattle in its frame. “Open, please! We are two who seek shelter from the night!”

He ceased pounding on the door for a moment, and Neri put her ear to the door, listening.

“I think I hear someone,” she said.

Viewing that as an encouraging sign, Krieth was about to start knocking again when another sound caught his attention.

“Psst!” someone hissed.

Looking in the direction of the speaker, he saw a youth holding a lantern, standing at the door of what he took to be a barn. Seeing Krieth’s hand raised in preparation to knock, the young man vigorously shook his head from side to side.

Curious, Krieth was about to call out to him when he suddenly heard a loud baying coming from the top of the hill. His night vision was generally pretty good, and looking in that direction, he saw an amarok. Then another. And another. In short order, the entire pack – numbering about a dozen – was on the hill looking down at them. One of them let out a thunderous howl, and was soon joined by the others.

And then, almost in unison, they came racing down the hill, heading straight for Krieth and Neri.

 

Chapter 14

Krieth positioned himself in front of Neri, with the cottage to their backs. The front of the structure was not as broad as he’d have liked for defensive purposes, but it would have to serve.

The amarok pack was swift, and they quickly closed the distance between themselves and their quarry. Krieth didn’t immediately call forth the glimmerblade; instead, he delayed manifesting the weapon, hoping that in doing so he might take some of the beasts by surprise.

The pack was maybe fifty feet away when the door to the cottage suddenly opened.

“Quickly – inside!” said a masculine voice.

Without hesitation, Krieth and Neri did as advised and dashed into the cottage. Almost immediately, the door was shut behind them. Safe for the nonce, they spent a moment taking in their new environs.

As they had surmised, several lanterns were lit inside the cottage, clearly illuminating the interior. Thus, they could see that they were in a fair-sized room, the most prominent feature of which was a large dining table, seated around which were maybe a dozen men and women. Obviously, they had interrupted a family at dinner.

Looking towards the door, Krieth took note of the man who had let them in. He was a wiry fellow of middle age, with a bald pate and a thick graying beard.

“Our thanks for kindly opening your door,” Krieth said to the man. “To whom do we owe our gratitude?”

“My name is Ogden,” the man replied, walking towards the table. “Welcome to my home. Those seated here are my family: my son Arun and his wife, Signe; my son Ranji…”

Ogden thus went around the table, introducing everyone, all of whom were his relatives in one form or another: son, daughter, daughter-by-law, and so on.

“Greetings to you all,” Krieth said when Ogden was done. “I am Krieth, and this is Neri.”

“His sister,” Neri quickly added, to which Krieth thankfully reacted by giving her no more than a momentary glance.

Truth be told, Ogden and his family gave Neri an odd feeling – in particular, one of his younger sons named Worel, who openly leered at her. However, if she felt his attention might be blunted by the presence of her “brother,” she was to be disappointed.

In addition, their home smelled of death. To be clear, Bleakblood had smelled of death as well – reeked of it, in fact – but this was different, in some manner she couldn’t quite discern.

“We don’t get many visitors,” Ogden remarked, interrupting Neri’s thoughts. “What brings you this way?”

“In truth, we were not in this area at all,” Krieth answered. “We happened upon your hamlet while fleeing an amarok pack. It would appear that we somehow stumbled onto their hunting grounds.”

At the mention of the amarok, Neri noticed an exchange of glances between several of their hosts.

“We know of the pack of which you speak,” Ogden stated with a sagacious nod. “They are quite likely the reason that so few come this way.”

“Are you not troubled by them?” Krieth inquired. “You would seem to reside within the bounds of their territory.”

“Over the years we’ve managed to establish an understanding with the beasts,” Ogden said. “They respect our homestead and don’t hunt here, although they will occasionally pursue prey onto our lands.”

“Clearly that is what happened with us,” Krieth noted.

“Clearly,” Ogden agreed. “You are fortunate to have made it to our doorstep. There is safety here, as none of the beasts have ever broken into our home. But tell me, were there others in your party? Folk we should look for to make sure they are safe as well?”

“No,” Krieth replied. “We are a party of two.”

“And do you have all your belongings?” Ogden asked. “In the past, travelers have dropped their possessions in order to run faster after encountering the amarok. If that is the case in this instance, we can help you find any personal effects on the morrow.”

“The offer is generous, but unnecessary,” Krieth assured him. “All that we possess is on our persons.”

Ogden gave him an intense look. “Are you certain?”

“Completely,” Krieth stated.

Ogden stroked his beard seemingly in thought. “So only the two of you and no other possessions. Pity.”

Ogden then pursed his lips and let out a shrill whistle. Before Krieth could ask what was going on, he heard a sniffing and scratching at the door.

“The amarok,” he noted. “You should make sure the door is barred.”

“Certainly,” Ogden told him with a smile that Neri found unnerving.

Ogden then walked swiftly to the door…and opened it.

Outside was an amarok that was as tall as a man. Krieth instinctively put Neri behind him as the creature wandered in. It looked at them and growled fiercely as it bared its teeth, like it wanted to tear them apart.

 

Chapter 15

With Neri behind him, Krieth slowly backed away, but was only able to take a few steps before they bumped up against a wall. Looking around, he noticed a set of stairs nearby that he had given little attention to previously; he also saw a darkened hallway near the dinner table that presumably led to the kitchen. All the while, the amarok continued growling menacingly at them.

“Good boy,” Ogden told the beast, reaching up to scratch it behind the ear. “You and the pack did a fine job running the prey to ground today. You’re such a good boy.”

Ogden continued heaping praise on the amarok, while the rest of his relatives looked on, smiling. Through the open door beyond the beast, Krieth saw a number of large bodies moving back and forth in the gloom – the rest of the pack. At that moment, a sudden suspicion arose in his mind.

“What’s going on?” Neri whispered. “Why is he letting that monster in?”

“Because he’s its master,” Krieth noted. “It does his bidding.”

Neri gulped, considering the implications of what she’d just heard. His own thoughts racing, Krieth quickly glanced around, trying to determine the best place to make a stand – a spot that would expose Neri to the least amount of danger. The stairs were the obvious choice. It gave them the high ground and would limit the possibility of someone sneaking up on them (provided there was no one upstairs at present). However, when he tried to glide inconspicuously in that direction, the amarok snarled louder and took a menacing step forward.

Turning towards them, Ogden said, “I’d stay still if I were you, my friend. Sudden movement by prey tends to excite my little pet. And make no mistake, he’ll reach you well before you get to those stairs and rip you to pieces.”

As if in support of this statement, the amarok snarled again.

“And even if I held the animal back,” Ogden continued, “you’d still have the rest of us to contend with. And from what I can see, you’re unarmed.”

“We’re not unarmed!” Neri yelled defiantly, at the same time whipping out the knife Krieth had given her.

Ogden laughed, as did most of his relatives. In fact, they rose from the table almost in unison, brandishing knives, dirks and other weapons. As they did, Krieth got a good look at the meal they had been eating, and everything became crystal clear.

“You’re outnumbered, girl,” Ogden noted. “Both in men and arms. Throw down the blade and we’ll go easy on the two of you.”

Neri shook her head, clearly intent on being defiant – until Krieth spoke.

“Do it,” he told her. “Drop the knife.”

Neri hesitated, thinking. Considering what she had seen him do at Bleakblood, her companion could surely handle those present with ease. However, he was choosing not to fight. When he had done so earlier – when they were being pursued through the woods – it had been because of the danger to her. Likewise, there was perhaps some additional threat to her here that she had not yet perceived.

“Drop it,” Krieth repeated, and this time she obeyed.

“Smart man,” Ogden said, giving Krieth a wink. “At least one of you can determine which way the wind blows.”

“I’ve also divined something else,” Krieth declared “We were never being hunted today. We were being herded. Here.”

“Very good,” Ogden noted. “You understand even more than I thought.”

“But why?” Neri asked with a frown.

“Because that’s what it – the entire pack – has been trained to do,” Krieth told her. “They shepherd travelers to this place for Ogden and his family.”

“For what purpose?”

“To sate their appetites,” Krieth told her. “They’re cannibals.”

 

Chapter 16

Krieth’s words hit Neri like a hammer-blow, and she found herself struggling for a moment with what he was suggesting. However, one look at the table where Ogden’s family had been seated for dinner, and she was compelled to give credence to his statement. For there, on a plate – which had previously been obscured when everyone was at the dining table – was a human hand. Suddenly, it made sense to her why the cottage smelled of death.

At that point, Ogden gave Krieth a hurtful look.

“Cannibals?” he said as he continued petting the amarok. “You label us with a perverse term.”

“A perverse term for a perverse practice,” Krieth replied.

“It is not a practice,” Ogden argued. “It is a religion. We are followers and adherents of Benna-kun.”

“Benna-kun?” Neri repeated from her place behind Krieth, plainly confused.

“An ancient and corrupt divinity from the Elder Epoch,” Krieth explained, speaking over his shoulder. “So depraved that even the Dark Ones shunned him.”

“Your words are blasphemous,” Ogden countered. “Benna-kun’s path is one of enlightenment, for his teachings show us the power that resides in the blood and flesh of man…and in their consumption.”

“So you’re going to kill and eat us,” Neri concluded.

“Kill you? Absolutely not,” Ogden uttered. “At least, not right away.” He then added in a conspiratorial tone, “Dead flesh tends to go bad in rapid fashion.”

This was followed by a round of laughter from his family. His meaning, however, was not lost on his visitors: they were to be consumed piecemeal.

“But we’re not savages,” Ogden stressed. “We’ll give you a choice of what to make as an initial offering – arm or leg.”

“Father,” said the younger son who had stared at Neri earlier – Worel. Upon getting Ogden’s attention, he then tilted his head at her, saying, “The girl.”

“Hmmm,” Ogden mused, narrowing his eyes as he looked at Neri. “Well lass, it would appear to be your lucky day, as you’ve a chance to avoid the fate I had assumed you were destined for. It seems my son Worel has taken a fancy to you, and he’s without a wife at the moment. Truth be told, he’s widowed. His last wife didn’t quite work out, although – in the end – she did manage to meat expectations.”

This elicited more laughter from his family, until Neri – still behind Krieth – angrily hissed, “I’d rather die.”

Worel made an odd whimpering sound at her outburst but Ogden told him, “Never fear, son. She’ll change her mind when she sees what happens to this one.” As he finished speaking, he pointed with his chin towards Krieth. Then, to no one in particular, he said, “Take his arm.”

As Ogden’s family began to converge on him, Krieth blurted out, “I thought I was to be given a choice.”

Those closing on him froze, glancing at their patriarch for direction.

On his part, Ogden seemed to consider Krieth’s statement for a moment, then declared, “So be it. Which limb do you select?”

“Arm,” Krieth said in a tone of conviction. “But don’t be a coward. Take it yourself.”

As he finished speaking, he extended his left arm.

Ogden frowned. This was not the normal behavior of those who found themselves at his mercy. Typically, there was pleading and wailing, as well as entreaties and prayers to the gods. Violent attempts to escape were also common. But seldom – if ever – had anyone willingly sacrificed a limb.

Although suspicious, Ogden finally nodded, saying, “Very well.”

He then came forward, taking a short-handled axe from one of his sons as he approached Krieth. Behind him came the amarok, growling ominously.

Stopping a few feet from his visitor, Ogden said, “We’ll do this at the table. I’ve years of experience, so it will be swift and clean – one stroke.”

“Sounds fair,” Krieth stated.

“But let me warn you,” Ogden continued. “No tricks. Any chicanery, and Lucien” – he tilted his head towards the amarok – “will rip your throat out.”

As if in support of this, the amarok snarled, revealing its teeth as it put its face close to Krieth’s own.

“No tricks,” Krieth promised. “I prefer to be forthright in my actions.”

Then, faster than seemed possible, he reached up and grabbed the amarok’s lower jaw in one hand…and ripped it clean off. At the same time, he called forth the glimmerblade. It appeared immediately in his free hand, and he swung it at Ogden, who seemed to be stunned by what had happened to his pet. A moment later Ogden’s head, now free of his neck, went tumbling to the floor.

 

Chapter 17

What followed was nothing less than pure pandemonium.

The amarok, grievously wounded, wailed in agony (or as best it could with no lower jaw) and struck out blindly in pain and rage at anything within reach. In such frame of mind, it clawed the face off one of Ogden’s sons and shredded the arm of a nearby woman, all the while spewing blood from its maimed muzzle.

In general, Krieth’s mutilation of the amarok and nigh-simultaneous beheading of their patriarch had seemingly shocked Ogden’s family. Taking advantage of their dumbfounded astonishment, Krieth flung the creature’s lower jawbone away, then turned towards Neri. Grabbing a fistful of her robe near her neck, he lifted her up and tossed her bodily towards the stairs.

She cleared the railing, but landed on the steps hard enough to bang her head and crack her elbow.

“Stay there!” Krieth yelled.

By that time, the raging amarok in their midst had brought Ogden’s family out of their collective stupor. At that juncture, however, they found themselves facing two adversaries as Krieth entered the fray.

From that point on, in Neri’s eyes, it was a skirmish in name only. Unarmed, Krieth was formidable, but with the glimmerblade in hand he was no less than a force of nature:  powerful, implacable, and unrelenting. In short, he cut down his adversaries with abandon, lopping off heads and limbs with grim efficiency, and a callousness that was almost frightening to behold.

There was only one instance when he seemed to encounter anything that might be described as difficulty. It was early in the conflict, right after Krieth had sliced open the head of one of Ogden’s daughters-by-law. That was when a lengthy rod of steel suddenly shot up from the wooden floor beneath him, impaling his foot and immobilizing him momentarily.

Neri yelped involuntarily when it happened, as the metal bar – which was really a spear – had not just pierced the extremity, but gone clean through. In fact, it had been thrust with such force that a good portion of the weapon extended above the appendage it had struck.

Neri understood then what had happened. In essence, not all of Ogden’s family had been at the dinner table when they entered. Someone had been armed and secretly posted in a room under them – presumably a basement – which probably explained why it took them so long to open the door. Thus, the cannibals would have someone in place to help ambush any troublesome visitors.

Any hope that these tactics would work with Krieth, however, were soon replaced with disappointment. He quickly grabbed the spear just below the tip with his free hand; swinging the glimmerblade with the other, he sliced it in two, cutting it just above the point where it met the flesh. Now holding a good portion of the weapon, he flung it down forcefully towards a spot near his impaled foot.

With an audible crack, the floorboards splintered where it struck as if hewn with an axe, sending slivers of wood flying through the air. The spearhead itself went through the floor and presumably struck someone, as a painful cry sounded almost immediately from the room below.

All of this happened within seconds, such that the remnants of Ogden’s family had almost no time to utilize any advantage that may have resulted from Krieth’s impaled foot. More to the point, after dealing with the ambusher in the basement, Krieth resumed fighting as if nothing had happened.

Neri, on the other hand, almost managed to escape the melee altogether. However, the sneak attack on Krieth made her cognizant of the fact that someone could easily be hiding upstairs with a similar agenda. Thus, she glanced behind her, and was relieved to find that did not appear to be the case. But when she faced forward again, she found Worel standing at the bottom of the staircase. Smiling and holding a cleaver, he then came up the stairs after her.

However, if he thought Neri would run or cower in fear, he was mistaken. Without warning, she placed her hands on the railing on either side of the stairs, then jumped up and kicked him in the face when he got close.

Worel’s head snapped back, but he didn’t go tumbling down the stairs as Neri had hoped. Instead, he merely shook his head for a moment as if to clear his thoughts, while blood began to run down from what was obviously a broken nose. Then, with a demented grin, he came back at her, while Neri retreated further up the stairs.

However, Worel had gone up no more than a step or two when something struck him in the temple, making his head jerk to the side. Looking closely, Neri saw that it was the knife that Krieth had given her – the one she had dropped on the floor earlier.

For a moment, Worel looked as though he didn’t know where he was. His gaze rapidly shifted from left to right as if searching for something, as well as up and down – then his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell over backwards. And this time, he did go tumbling down the stairs.

Glancing around, Neri now saw only one other person standing: it was Krieth, of course. Unsurprisingly, he was near the spot where she had dropped the knife. All of the cannibals appeared to be dead. Likewise, the amarok had expired, quite likely from the injury Krieth had inflicted on it, but it also bore dozens of heinous wounds that it had received from Ogden’s family when it was running amok.

“Are you injured?” Krieth asked.

“I’m unharmed,” she told him. “You?”

“I was caught flatfooted,” he joked, “but it will heal.” Glancing at his foot, he then added, “Correction, it has healed.”

Neri merely nodded, but the thought of his foot brought something to mind.

“The basement,” she said. “You knew someone was down there.” It wasn’t a question.

“I heard them laugh at one of Ogden’s morbid jokes,” he replied. “It wasn’t hard to figure out why they were there, and I assumed that they had a weapon. However, there was no way to tell who they’d use their weapon on during a skirmish.”

As he finished speaking, Neri suddenly realized why Krieth had tossed her onto the stairs, as well as why he had insisted she drop the knife earlier. Holding the weapon had probably brought her close to getting skewered by the person in the basement. She was about to comment to that effect when an unexpected sound reached her ears.

It was a low, animalistic growling, accompanied by a distinct scratching noise, like a pet trying to get inside a home. And it was coming from the cottage door.

“The rest of the amarok pack,” Krieth said, stating what she already knew. “They’re right outside.”

 

Chapter 18

The pack continued sniffing and scratching around the door.

“Can they get in?” Neri asked in concern.

Krieth shrugged. “Depends on how determined they are. The door seems solid, but there’s always the window.”

“Can you fight them off if they gain entry?”

“Fighting them off was never the issue. It’s my ability to fight them while keeping you safe.”

Following that statement, he began scanning the cottage, trying to determine the best defensive position, if it should come to that. At the moment, there were bodies – and body parts – everywhere on the first floor, as well as blood.

He himself had more than just a little blood on him, but it was something he could deal with later. Surprisingly it hadn’t seem to shock Neri to see him that way, then he remembered: she had served at Bleakblood. Observing people covered in blood was probably a common sight to her.

“They’re not doing anything,” Neri noted, bringing Krieth back to himself.

He quickly realized that she was right. The pack was right outside – he spied an amarok at the window as well as the door – but seemed to make no effort to gain entry. Then the truth hit him, and he almost laughed.

“They aren’t going to come inside,” he declared.

Neri looked at him with a curious expression. “How can you know that?”

“Because they’ve been trained not to,” he replied. “Remember when Ogden said none of the pack had ever broken into his home? He was being truthful, but the reason why is because, as their master, he didn’t allow it.”

“Well, that one came in,” Neri countered, pointing to the body of the beast whose jaw Krieth had ripped off.

“I’m guessing that was the alpha,” he explained, “and as such it got a special dispensation. Obviously, however, the rest of the pack somehow senses something is wrong.”

“So what now?”

“Now I go out and kill them,” Krieth stated, then began moving towards the door.

“Wait!” Neri uttered anxiously. “You’re just going to leave me in here?”

“You’ll be far safer in here than outside with me fighting a pack of fiends.”

“But what if there are more of them inside – Ogden’s family – hiding in the walls or upstairs?”

“I’d wager the walls are too constricted to provide cover, and anyone upstairs would have joined in the earlier melee. Still, if it will put your mind at ease…”

As he trailed off, Krieth headed up the stairs, passing Neri along the way. Performing a quick inspection, he soon discovered that the second floor contained a trio of small bedrooms, but none were occupied. Coming back downstairs, he quickly searched the first floor before going to the spot where his foot had been impaled. He then ripped up the floorboards to expand the hole that had been made when he flung the spearhead down into the basement. When it was wide enough, he jumped into it.

Neri listened closely, but didn’t hear any sounds coming from below, although she did notice a soft, golden light that presumably came from her companion’s glimmerblade. Moments later, Krieth emerged not via the hole in the floor, but through what appeared to be a hidden door set in the floor near a corner. He had to shove the body of one of Ogden’s daughters off to open it, but then then quickly exited via a ladder before closing the door.

“The one in the basement – presumably another son of Ogden – is dead,” Krieth declared. “The spearhead I threw struck him at the joint of neck and shoulder.”

“And there’s no other danger?” asked Neri.

“No,” he confirmed. “But I would advise against going down there except under dire circumstances, because it isn’t just a basement. It’s also a larder.”

Neri merely gulped at this and gave a curt nod. On his part, Krieth went to the door and then, with the glimmerblade in hand, went outside and closed the door behind him.

 

**********************************************************

 

It didn’t take long for Krieth to dispatch the rest of the pack. Upon his exit, Neri heard him being met with fierce snarls and menacing growls, but these were soon replaced with painful yelps and acute whimpering. Shortly thereafter, he came back into the cottage.

“It’s done,” he declared. “I need to wash up, so I’m going to see if they have a well on the premises.”

Following this, he grabbed a lantern and exited once again. This time, however, he was accompanied by Neri, who didn’t want to remain alone in the cottage any longer than she had to.

As Krieth had suspected, Ogden did indeed have a well, and it didn’t take them long to find it. He then spent the next few minutes drawing up numerous buckets of water, several of which he used to cleanse his arms and legs, while others he simply dumped over his head in order to rinse off as much blood as possible. (By contrast, Neri had seemingly managed to avoid getting any blood on herself whatsoever.)

When he was done, he told Neri, “Close your eyes.”

She did as he asked, but through her closed lids she suddenly got the impression of a bright light directly in front of her. Letting curiosity get the better of her, she cracked open an eyelid. To her amazement, Krieth was surrounded by a golden light so intense that it was almost painful. That being the case, she quickly shut the eye in question.

After a few seconds, the light diminished and Krieth told her she could open her eyes again. When she did, she was surprised to see that he was completely dry. Or rather his skin was; his clothes still appeared damp to some degree.

He pointed with his chin towards the cottage. “It’s a charnel house, but I’m going to see if they have anything we can use.”

“Be careful,” Neri advised, looking warily at Ogden’s home.

Krieth had to fight the impulse to laugh. “There’s little to be careful of. They’re all dead.”

Neri frowned and bit her lip. “They don’t feel dead.”

Krieth abruptly became somber. For him, it was worth keeping in mind that his companion was a necromancer, and – despite her age – a skilled one at that. Simply put, she knew the dead, and if she felt something was amiss in that regard, it probably was.

Bearing that in mind, Krieth went quickly back to the cottage, with Neri right on his heels. Barging inside, he scanned the interior for anything that seemed out of the ordinary. From everything he could see, all was as it was when they had gone searching for the well. In short, Ogden and his kin were still dead.

He glanced back at Neri. The girl had an expression of horror on her face, and her eyes darted back and forth, as if following the antics of an invisible rabbit dashing about.

Understanding that she was being affected by something, Krieth spent a few seconds eyeing the room, then his eyes settled on an object that caught his attention. Stepping forward a few paces, he bent down and retrieved the item he’d seen: Ogden’s head.

As he picked it up, he noticed that the man’s skin still felt warm. However, Ogden had not been long decapitated, so the coolness of death may not have settled in on his flesh yet.

Krieth lifted the head up to eye level and looked it over. The glimmerblade had done its work well, neatly and cleanly slicing through the man’s neck.

“From all appearances, this one died quickly,” he stated. “In all honesty, however, it was probably a far better death than he deserved.”

That’s when Ogden grunted angrily and spat in his face.

 

Chapter 19

His amazement at finding Ogden alive surely showed on Krieth’s face, and sent Ogden into a bout of laughter. But the discovery also prompted Krieth to make a second round of the premises, inspecting the man’s relatives. Much to his surprise, they were all – like Ogden himself – still alive somehow. It seemed that his initial efforts to dispatch the cannibals had been less than successful; despite receiving what would ordinarily have been mortal wounds from either Krieth or the amarok, Ogden and his ilk had seemingly only been stunned temporarily…and were now coming to.

Deciding to make it a family affair, Krieth quickly decapitated them all – just in case losing their heads might bring about death for some of them. It did not. (However, he did note that none of them bled this time.) In fact, they all joined their patriarch in laughing at Krieth.

“Now you see the power of Benna-kun,” Ogden admonished. “This is the gift to those who follow his path: eternal life.”

“For you, eternity ends tonight,” Krieth asserted.

He then set about trying to make that statement reality. It turned out to be far more difficult than he imagined.

First, he took a knife and stabbed Ogden and all the others in the forehead, making sure he pierced the brain. Again, they laughed at his efforts, with a couple of them saying that it tickled. Moreover, after removing the knife, their wounds began to heal (and the same result occurred when he used his glimmerblade).

Next, he went outside and built a roaring fire, at which point he tossed all of the heads into it. Ogden and his family responded by singing bawdy limericks and macabre songs as the flames lapped at them. Ultimately, Krieth gave up and rolled the heads out of the blaze, at which point their skin – although greatly charred in places – began to heal.

Following this, he abandoned his efforts with the heads and turned to the bodies. In essence, Krieth hoped that the rest of their physical forms would have some weakness he could exploit. To his shock and dismay, he saw that the bodies – like the heads – were healing from their injuries. Gaping wounds had closed, and severed limbs had reattached themselves. Given what was happening with the heads, Krieth should have suspected as much but had been preoccupied.

Upon seeing the bodies mending themselves, Krieth made a crucial decision, then went about the gruesome task of quartering them all – chopping off the limbs of each. As with the heads, it was bloodless work, and at the end of that time the cottage had a pile of arms and legs in one corner and limbless trunks in another.

From what he could tell, dismemberment had absolutely no effect on the cannibals. Thus, Krieth next took the torsos outside, where he initially stabbed each of them in the heart. This elicited no reaction other than taunts from the nearby passel of heads.

Growing frustrated, he grabbed a male torso and swiftly cut out its heart, which he then tossed into the still-blazing fire. From what he could observe, the heart was immediately consumed by the flames, vanishing in a wisp of smoke. Frowning, Krieth turned his attention back to the body the organ had come from.

The wound he had made to get to the heart was already healed. Slicing the chest open again, he saw what he suspected: the heart back in the body.

“Now do you understand?” asked the decapitated Ogden. “It is not within your power to slay us. Sever our limbs, and they will rejoin. Cut out our hearts, and they will regrow. Burn us, and we will recover. This is the gift of Benna-kun…the power he bestows upon us for consuming – devouring – the flesh of men. The blood of men. The lives of men. At some juncture, we will be whole again…and it would behoove you to be far from here then.”

Krieth didn’t immediately respond to this. Instead, he simply pondered for a moment.

Prior to his time at Bleakblood, he had encountered adversaries that were difficult to kill. However, every one of them had a weakness – usually, the head or the heart. Basically, decapitating an enemy or stabbing them in the heart was typically enough to slay them (although in one instance he faced an opponent whose weakness – his heart – was not in his body). Needless to say, his prior methods were proving ineffective in dealing with Ogden and his family.

At his wit’s end, he then went to Neri, who had never been far from him while he attempted to dispatch the cannibals. At one point, he had thought to tell her to at least look away while he went about his grisly tasks, but then he recalled that she had been at Bleakblood. It would be shocking if she had not seen far worse at the House of Pain.

“I could use your counsel,” he said after pulling her out of earshot of Ogden and the others. “As a necromancer, have you any insight as to how to kill these savages?”

“My skills are of use and apropos in those instances where death has actually occurred,” she replied. “How to bring about death is generally not problematic, so no special techniques are generally taught in that regard. Moreover, from what I’ve observed, you have attempted to kill them in ways that are most commonly successful. Your failure to do so suggests that perhaps Ogden is right – maybe they can’t be killed.”

Krieth shook his head. “Everything has a weakness.”

“Perhaps, but how much time do wish to devote to ferreting theirs out?”

Krieth pondered on that for a moment, then asked, “So what do you suggest?”

“I suspect they can do little without their heads. I say we take those and fling them into a ravine. Or bury them. Or leave them for the creatures of the wild to consume.”

“The thought is not without merit,” Krieth told her. “But my instinct is that, eventually, head and body would be reunited for Ogden and all the others, after which they would resume the practice of their foul religion.”

As if in support of this, an odd scratching and clawing noise, as well as occasional thumps, could now be heard coming from the door of the cottage. Krieth instinctively knew what was: the limbs he had left inside, trying to get to their bodies. He had closed the door, but didn’t know how effective it would be, or for how long.

Neri listened for a moment, then said, “Depending on how we dispose of the heads, it could be quite some time before Ogden and his family are whole again. We would be long gone by then.”

Krieth looked her in the eye. “I spent an eternity enjoying the tender mercies of Bleakblood. It is an experience I would wish on few others. In similar fashion, it nauseates me to think of these cannibals continuing their perverse practices. I cannot leave until they are dealt with.”

Neri looked as if she wanted to offer further argument, but – upon seeing his determination – merely gave a curt nod.

Krieth’s brow creased as he considered how to proceed. As he had told Neri, he was confident that the cannibals had a weakness. The trick was figuring out what it was.

Obviously, their worship of the corrupt Benna-kun had resulted in this ability to cheat death. The perverse deity had seemingly gifted them with unnatural life for eating their fellow man. For consuming them. For devouring them.

Hmmm, Krieth thought. Eat… Consume… Devour…

He went back to the torso that he had cut the heart out of earlier. He spent a moment staring at it, then brought forth his glimmerblade.

“Making ready for another attempt?” Ogden jibed. “Mayhap if you eat the heart this time, instead of just cooking it, you might advance your cause. Of course, that would also endear you to Benna-kun.”

This was followed by laughter from the rest of his family. While they were chortling, Krieth slashed down with the glimmerblade – not at the chest of the torso before him, but at its stomach.

At that moment, the chuckling of Ogden’s family came to an immediate halt as one of the heads suddenly let out a cry of agony.

Krieth smiled.

 

Chapter 20

Nightwing walked swiftly through the halls of the palace, heading towards Lord Darkchilde’s solar. As always, the interior of the Caldornocen royal residence was dim and gloomy – despite the presence of numerous lanterns and candles. In its own way, the place was more grim and dreary than Bleakblood.

En route, he passed numerous servants scampering about, doing various chores. In each instance, they bowed their heads as he passed, showing deference to him as the Master’s chief adjutant.

As he drew near the solar, Nightwing noted two guards posted at the entrance. Their presence was almost laughable – more a nod to aesthetics and tradition than actual necessity. Frankly speaking, Nightwing could think of no one less in need of protection that Lord Darkchilde, and anyone seeking to do him harm would quickly find out that they had bitten off far more than they could chew.

Catching sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, Nightwing instinctively reached for a weapon – in this instance, a short sword currently in a scabbard at his waist. Much like the House of Pain, strange creatures and odd beings were occasionally known to roam the palace, and it behooved one to remain vigilant.

In this instance, after casting a glance in the appropriate direction, he relaxed slightly. The motion he had observed was actually a person: Avmon, Lord Darkchilde’s steward.

Tall and thin, Avmon had a hawkish appearance exemplified by intense, beady eyes and a sharp nose. His face was not wrinkled per se, but clearly had age lines. However, when viewed in conjunction with his hair (which was thick and dark), it made his years difficult to guess.

Although technically Avmon only managed the Master’s household, the extent of his power was actually far greater. In fact, the steward was probably second only to Nightwing in terms of authority – after Lord Darkchilde himself, of course. He had held the post for five years, which was probably a record. In essence, the Master had a tendency to lash out when angry (and almost anything was capable of drawing his ire), so his stewards – who were often close at hand – were not known to have long tenures.

Avmon, however, had seemingly mastered the subtleties of his position. He had a talent for being elsewhere when Lord Darkchilde was wroth, and apparently had a gift for delivering bad news in a manner that did not elicit the Master’s usual inclination to kill the messenger.

On this particular occasion, as Avmon stepped near him, Nightwing merely waited. The steward had developed a habit of only speaking when it was required of him, and on this occasion he apparently felt no need to use his voice. Instead, he merely held out his hand to Nightwing, holding in it a large cloak. Nightwing stared at it for a moment, noting that it indicated two things.

First and foremost, the cloak was presumably indicative of Lord Darkchilde’s current mood. The Master was seldom in good spirits, even at the best of times, and when he was in a foul temper things that agitated him tended to invite dire consequences. More to the point, his chief lieutenant’s namesake – his wings – always ruffled him.

Simply put, the Master was not a person of liberal temperament, and it vexed him that an underling – even one as devoted as Nightwing – should have a gift that he himself did not possess. Ergo, his deputy’s wings (and consequently, his ability to fly) were a source of aggravation to him. It was why, unless there were a very good reason, Nightwing typically shunned taking to the sky anywhere in Caldornoc.

The cloak, of course, was meant to cover his wings. The fact that the steward felt he might need it suggested that Lord Darkchilde’s current mood was more irate than normal. However, this brought to mind the second thing that the cloak represented.

Nightwing did not think the garment was ensorcelled (although that was certainly possible), but accepting it might put him in Avmon’s debt. It was a position he had no desire to be in. Frankly speaking, while Nightwing was not aware of the steward doing anything to undermine him in any way, he had always sensed that the man was incredibly ambitious. But outside of taking the Master’s place, there was only one rung left on the ladder to which he could climb. That being the case, Nightwing was always wary in Avmon’s presence.

All of this flitted through Nightwing’s mind in a second, and it took even less time for him to make a decision.

“My thanks, but no,” he said, eschewing the steward’s offer of the cloak.

Avmon, seemingly unsurprised by this, merely responded with a curt nod. Nightwing then continued towards the solar. The guards, seeing him approach, opened the double doors to allow him entry.

In other realms, anyone wishing to enter the regent’s quarters might have been questioned about their business or required to disarm. Here, such practices were vacuous and pointless. Only a fool entered Lord Darkchilde’s chambers uninvited, unexpected, or bent on ill will.

Once inside, the doors closed behind him, and Nightwing found himself in an expansive suite of rooms. Like the rest of the palace, the dimly-lit solar felt gloomy and dismal. That said, the current area was spacious and contained, among other things, a large fireplace, a sitting area, and a cozy dining space that, at present, was covered with food. However, the most dominant feature of the room was an enormous, square table that currently occupied the center of the chamber. On it was a map showing Caldornoc and all surrounding lands.

Unexpectedly, someone walked into the room. It was a woman, dressed only in a robe, and she had come from the direction of the Master’s bedchamber. Unsurprisingly, she was young and beautiful.

Initially, she did not appear to notice Nightwing. Walking with single-minded purpose, she went to the dining area, where she plucked a few grapes from a bowl of fresh fruit. It was only then, upon preparing to return to the bedchamber, that she realized she was not alone. Suddenly seeing Nightwing, she let out a small gasp, but quickly recovered.

She looked him up and down for a moment, then haughtily declared, “It’s appropriate to announce oneself when entering someone’s private quarters.”

“And should I ever enter yours, I shall certainly do so,” Nightwing replied. “Is Lord Darkchilde about?”

Rather than respond directly, the woman’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “You would be Nightwing, I take it.”

“So I am known,” he admitted. Following this, he again, inquired, “The Master?”

“Still abed. Resting from his exertions…”

The woman smiled slyly as she finished speaking.

Ignoring her insinuation, Nightwing stated, “He must be roused. I have news he will want to hear.”

With that, he began walking towards the bedchamber. However, the woman quickly stepped in front of him.

“As I said, he’s sleeping and does not wish to be disturbed,” she insisted. “You may give your message to me, and I will relay it.”

Nightwing felt himself getting irritated. The woman apparently had an inflated notion of her own self-worth. The Master had presumably shown her momentary favor, and she had interpreted that to mean that she had some degree of status. She was not the first to make that mistake, and would undoubtedly be far from the last. However, she was more perceptive than most in that she seemingly understood that whatever information Nightwing had was probably valuable, and could possibly be used to her benefit in some way. Under other circumstances, he might have admired her guile, but at the moment he was in no mood to deal with it.

“What I have to say is not for the ears of elevated chamber maids,” he stated.

The woman suddenly glared at him, her fury evident. She opened her mouth, obviously preparing to give an angry retort – and then her face unexpectedly went slack. A moment later her eyes began to emit a crimson glow and a deep, gravelly voice emanated from her mouth.

“Speak,” the voice demanded.

Nightwing immediately knew what was happening: Lord Darkchilde had possessed the woman, using her as a proxy.

“We did as commanded,” Nightwing replied. “Necromancy was employed by the remaining adepts to evoke the specter of Barsa, the former Over-Warden of Bleakblood. It took time, but eventually he was located and our questions put to him.”

“And?”

“He initially denied it, but after application of several excruciations, he confirmed your suspicions.”

“So, Barsa lied.”

“Yes, Master. He found it impossible to comply with his orders – he was unable to kill the prisoner put into his care. Ergo, fearful of your wrath, he had the man placed in the deepest and darkest of cells, which was then sealed with the most powerful of spells and incantations, such that escape should have been impossible. Then he reported that the prisoner had been dispatched.”

“But secretly, he was alive.”

Nightwing nodded. “And it was a secret that Barsa took to his grave.”

“And in the two centuries since, no other Warden has discovered this treachery?”

“Barsa left instructions in your name regarding the prisoner’s care, namely that no one was to go near him or talk to him. Occasionally he was provided with food, but that was generally the limit of any interaction, and to a large extent he was forgotten.”

An irritable groan escaped the woman’s throat. “I assume that Barsa’s shade is being suitably punished for his deceptions?”

“The excruciations are ongoing,” Nightwing assured him. “How long do you wish them to continue?”

“For eternity,” came the response. Given Lord Darkchilde’s nature, it was not a surprising answer. “Let all realize that even death is not an escape from my wrath.”

“Understood.”

“Excellent. Now you will need to visit our compatriots and apprise them of recent events.”

“And the escaped prisoner?”

There was silence for a moment. “Send Talyn.”

“Talyn?” Darkwing repeated, frowning.

“Yes. Was I not clear?”

“You were, Master,” Nightwing stated. “However, I don’t think–”

He stopped midsentence as the woman’s eyes suddenly began glowing with a greater intensity, and something akin to a low, rumbling growl began issuing from her throat.

“It shall be done,” Nightwing said.

With that, he swiftly departed the solar. As he left, the glow faded from the woman’s eyes. She blinked several times, then looked around in confusion, as if surprised to suddenly find herself alone. A moment later she shrugged, then headed back to the bedchamber.

 

Chapter 21

It didn’t take Krieth long to dispatch the cannibals. Although stabbing them in the stomach seemed to injure them, it took a little experimentation to figure out how to truly dispose of them. In essence, he had to cut out the stomach and toss it into the fire he had built. At that juncture, both the stomach and the corresponding body – head, trunk, and limbs (which he observed through the cottage window) – would burst into flames and quickly turn to ash.

In this manner, he quickly gave the members of Ogden’s family a final death, ignoring their screams of anguish as they burned. He saved Ogden himself for last, and this time it was the cannibal patriarch who begged for his life, promising everything from vast riches to immortality if Krieth would only spare him.

“Save your pleas for Benna-kun,” Krieth told him. “Perhaps he’ll save you in reward for your faithful service.”

He then gave Ogden the same fiery end that had greeted the rest of his family. Afterwards, he returned to the well, and once again drew up water to wash himself. As before, there had been no blood; however, detritus and offal had been present, which had made ablution necessary.

It was only when he once more felt clean that he turned his attention to Neri and realized that she was utterly exhausted. She had stayed close throughout his efforts to dispose of the cannibals, but she obviously didn’t have anywhere near his stamina.

“Now that the danger is past,” Krieth said, “we should find a place to sleep.”

As he finished speaking, he looked towards the cottage, remembering that it contained empty bedrooms.

“Not there,” Neri stressed, as if reading his mind. “I won’t sleep in that charnel house.”

Krieth found himself surprised by her prudishness. After serving at Bleakblood (not to mention being an acolyte of necromancy), there should be little in the way of death that should make her squeamish. Still, he could understand her reluctance, as the practices of Ogden and his family were presumably beyond even the depravity of the House of Pain.

“Alright,” he acquiesced.

At that moment, he seemed to take note of the other structures nearby. In his efforts to deal with the cannibal family, he had practically ignored everything else in the hamlet. More to the point, he also remembered that there had been someone in one of them – the barn – when they first arrived. Reflecting back on the incident, much of what had happened then now made sense to Krieth.

“Come on,” he told Neri as he began walking towards the barn.

He still had the lantern, but in truth, the bonfire he had built earlier cast adequate illumination on the surrounding area. When they reached the barn door, they found it unbarred. Krieth swung it opened, then stepped inside, with Neri right behind him.

The barn appeared to be windowless, and the interior was therefore dark. Hearing movement around them, Krieth held up the lantern, attempting to position it so that as much light as possible filled the place.

There was more movement, but also a different sound – something akin to soft moaning. It took him a moment to place it, but then he realized what he was hearing: terrified whimpering and gasps of fear.

At the same time, he began to more clearly see the space around them. The area in the center of the barn appeared to be clear but all along the walls he saw what seemed to be beds of straw, blankets…and people.

They appeared to be of all age ranges, from small children to the elderly. However, most were filthy – covered in dirt, with unkempt hair, and dressed in rags.

“Who are they?” asked Neri, stepping to his side.

“Slaves,” he muttered under his breath. “And worse,” he added, noting that almost all of the adults were missing limbs.

Neri looked as though she were about to say more, but at that moment they heard an animalistic growl coming from somewhere in front of them.

A moment later, something large and furry came racing towards them from the far side of the barn. Snarling menacingly and showing a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth, it leaped for Neri’s throat.

 

Chapter 22

Neri screamed as the thing came at her. However, before it made contact, Krieth swiftly stepped towards it and rammed it with his shoulder. The creature let out a painful yelp as it went flying to side, where it struck a wooden column before dropping to the ground.

As it lay there, whimpering dolefully, Krieth walked towards it. By the light of the lantern, Neri was then able to see what had tried to attack her: an amarok. However, it was notably smaller than those in the pack they had encountered – about the size of a large dog.

“Hmmm,” Krieth droned. “Apparently I missed one. But it’s an error easily corrected…”

As he trailed off, he manifested the glimmerblade, then raised it in preparation to strike.

“No!” someone screamed.

Surprised, Krieth looked in the direction the voice had come from and saw someone dashing forward. It was the youth they had seen earlier at the barn door.

“Don’t!” screamed the young man, flinging himself between Krieth and the amarok, shielding it with his own body. “He doesn’t know you, so he was just being protective.”

“Protective?” Neri repeated.

“Yes,” the youth replied with a nod. “He’s just a puppy. He doesn’t know any better.”

Krieth looked at the animal. Judging from its size – in comparison to the pack members he had slain earlier – he didn’t doubt that it was young. He glanced at Neri, who didn’t currently look as though she felt threatened.

“Alright,” Krieth said, dismissing the glimmerblade. “What’s your name?”

The young man hesitated for a moment, then said, “Corrin.” He then turned his attention to the amarok pup, dropping down beside it and looking it over.

“I think we saw you earlier,” Neri chimed in. “At the barn door.”

Corrin simply nodded, continuing to focus his attention on what was presumably his pet. All around them, Krieth felt the other residents of the barn watching and listening, although none approached or made comment.

“You tried to warn us,” he said, remembering how Corrin had shaken his head as Krieth prepared to knock on the cottage door. “You knew what Ogden would do.”

“Yes,” Corrin said. As he spoke, he rose and turned to face the two visitors, having apparently satisfied himself regarding the amarok’s condition. “I assume that he forced you in here with the rest of us, although you’re fortunate in that he didn’t take a limb. That’s his usual pattern with new arrivals, and if he didn’t do it tonight he’s bound to do so in the morning.”

“Ogden’s not in position to do much of anything,” Krieth retorted. Noting a strange look in Corrin’s eyes, he added, “He and his cannibal clan are dead.”

His statement was met with silence for a moment, then a voice declared, “It’s not possible.”

Looking to where the voice had originated, Krieth saw a form near the wall struggling to stand – a woman, from what he could tell. Two others came to her aid, one on each side, and helped her forward. It was then that Krieth noted that she only had one arm and one leg. Moreover, she only had one eye and one ear as well.

“They don’t die,” the woman stated. “Ogden and his kin always come back. I should know, as I’ve made more attempts than most to kill him. Last time I stabbed him in the eye with a stake. His response was to pluck out my eye and eat it like a grape in front of me.”

“Well, you’ve no fear of him repeating the act,” Krieth assured her. “He and the others have met their full and final demise.”

“No,” the woman insisted, shaking her head. “It’s simply not possible.”

“Difficult, yes,” Krieth plainly confirmed. “But impossible? No…”

“But we heard them singing earlier,” someone else offered. “One of those disgusting ballads they’re so fond of.”

“Sing they did,” Neri agreed, “but for the last time. You’re free to confirm it for yourselves.”

The woman and several others in the barn exchanged wordless glances.

“We don’t go out at night,” the woman finally announced. “It’s not safe for us.”

Neri was about to ask what she meant, but then the answer came to her: the amarok pack. The monsters wouldn’t enter any structures in the hamlet, but anyone caught outside was probably fair game. And with that knowledge came understanding of something else.

Krieth had referred to the people in the barn as slaves; Neri suspected that to be true, but it had seemed odd that such thralls would be kept unfettered and unsecured. However, it now made sense. Ogden hadn’t needed to lock them in the barn or chain them up. With the amaroks under his command, it was unnecessary. Anyone caught outside when they shouldn’t be could expect to be herded back.

Or torn apart, she thought. Even those who were sound of body and fleet of foot would have been unable to outrun the amaroks. Ergo, escape was impossible.

“There’s no danger,” Neri announced. “The amarok pack has been dispatched as well.”

The one-eyed woman simply stared at them for a moment, then said, “You’ll forgive us if we don’t take your word for it. Ogden has a mordant sense of humor, and using you to jest with us would not be beyond him.”

“I believe them, Valma,” Corrin blurted out unexpectedly.

“No,” replied the one-eyed woman – Valma – while sadly shaking her head. “You want to believe them.”

Corrin looked as though he was about to respond, but at that moment his pet let out a small groan – thereby getting his attention – and then rose to its feet.

“How is he?” Krieth asked, pointing with his chin towards the animal.

“A bit rattled, but okay,” Corrin answered. He then gave Krieth a stern look. “Is it really true? Are Ogden and the others dead?”

“Yes,” Krieth told him. “But you won’t find their bodies. They were reduced to ash.”

Corrin appeared to consider for a moment, then announced, “I’m going to take a look.” Turning to the amarok, he then said, “Come, Juro,” and began walking towards the barn door. His pet quickly joined him.

“Corrin!” hissed Valma as the youth reached the door and cracked it open. “Don’t!”

Corrin didn’t answer her. Instead, he simply stood there a moment, apparently scanning the area for danger. Juro, on the other hand, quickly slipped out the door and out of sight.

After a few seconds, Corrin announced, “I’ll be right back.”

“You’ll get yourself killed!” Valma stressed heatedly.

“Juro says it’s safe,” Corrin countered, and then he stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

Valma tuned angrily to Krieth and Neri. “I hope you’re proud of yourselves. You’ve sent him to his death.”

“If he meets his end out there,” Krieth countered, “it won’t be because of Ogden or his devilry.”

Valma drew in a deep breath, apparently in expectation of launching a verbal assault, but Neri cut her off.

“Please, believe us,” Neri implored. “We’ve no reason, to lie to you.”

“Yes, you do,” Valma countered. “If Ogden promised you mercy or benevolence of some sort, you have every reason to lie. But if he did, you can rest assured that it is no more than what I previously said: a ghoulish joke on his part.”

“He’s in no position to jest,” Neri insisted. “As we told you, he and his family are all dead.”

Valma clearly had more to say on the subject, but at that moment the barn door opened. Valma looked towards it nervously, then let out a sigh of relief when Corrin and Juro came back inside.

“What did you see?” someone asked Corrin before he could even get the door fully closed.

“I only took a quick look around,” Corrin replied. “I ran to the cottage and took a peek inside the window, and also scanned the grounds on my way there and back. I neither saw nor heard anything of Ogden or his family.” He then looked at Neri and Krieth, adding, “I believe them. Ogden and his filthy brood are dead.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Valma told him. “You just admitted that you didn’t see them. They could simply be hiding.”

“True – I didn’t see them,” Corrin confirmed. “But I did see something else.”

Giving him a curious look, Valma asked, “What?”

“The amarok,” Corrin said. “The entire pack…they’re all dead.”

 

Chapter 23

Following Corrin’s report, several of his confederates within the barn grew bold enough to venture outside, albeit only for short stints. They confirmed his statements: there was no sign of the cannibals, but the corpses of the amarok pack were plain and evident.

At that juncture, Valma appeared to take charge. She sent a small contingent to search the cottage for anything that could be used as weapons. Afterwards – somewhat armed – she posted guards strategically around the hamlet, presumably to secure the premises should Ogden and his depraved kin make an appearance. Oddly enough, no one seemed to question her authority, despite her infirmities. Truth be told, however, there were few among them who were not disabled to some extent.

On his part, Krieth merely watched the proceedings from a corner of the barn where he had retreated with Neri. After Corrin relayed what he had seen outside, Krieth had asked where he and Neri might settle for the night, upon which a spot had been cleared at their current location. Neri had dropped to the floor and fallen asleep almost immediately. Krieth, however, decided to remain awake. While he and the thralls in the barn clearly had a common enemy in the now-deceased cannibals, that didn’t necessarily make them allies. (And it was entirely possible that they had picked up some less-than-desirable habits from their former masters.)

Thankfully, no one appeared inclined to molest them. In fact, they were treated with a degree of deference, with Valma instructing that the two new arrivals be provided with blankets and extra straw (although Neri seemed to sleep soundly without either).

Valma also took the opportunity to press Krieth for more information about the death of Ogden and his family. He answered her questions candidly, but with as much brevity as possible. Glossing over the more macabre details, he essentially stated that he was able to discover their weakness and thereby slay them.

“And the weapon you wielded earlier,” Valma said when he was done. “The bright blade. It was essential to your task?”

“If by ‘task’ you mean killing the cannibals, the answer is ‘No,’” Krieth told her, shaking his head. “Any blade would have sufficed.”

“Hmmm,” she droned, pondering. “That knowledge may prove beneficial should it turn out that any of Ogden’s family still live.”

“None do,” Krieth assured her.

“That is everyone’s hope,” Valma replied. “But I should let you get some rest. Given all that you’ve been through, you must be tired. Please, get some sleep. Corrin will make sure no one disturbs you.”

At this, Corrin – who hadn’t left the barn since his sojourn outside – stepped forward.

“Thank you,” Krieth said to Valma

She responded with a nod of acknowledgment, then was guided towards the barn door by the two individuals who had initially helped her up when she first spoke (and had never left her side). Krieth merely watched them for a moment, then turned to Corrin.

The youth, with the amarok pup still by his side, was obviously there to keep an eye on the newcomers. Krieth was not bothered by this, as it was a sensible precaution, and what he himself might have done in Valma’s place. However, he had no intention of going to sleep in the midst of these strangers, no matter how congenial they seemed.

“It was brave of you to go out earlier,” Krieth noted. “As Valma stated, it could have been a ruse of some sort.”

“Juro said it was safe,” Corrin replied. “Not in words, of course, but he has ways of expressing himself to me.”

“That’s not uncommon with pets,” Krieth stated. “But tell me, how did he come to be in be in your possession?”

Corrin appeared to consider for a moment. “The amaroks that Ogden controlled occasionally produced a litter. They would be raised here under his hand, and whenever they came of age he made them fight for a place in the pack. Losers were either killed or driven off.”

He paused for a moment to look at the animal next to him. “Juro was the runt of the most recent litter – born undersized and weak. Ogden wished to kill him rather than waste food and water trying to raise an animal he was sure would be worthless. He assigned the task to me, but instead of taking his life, I hid him – fed him from my own rations and what I could steal from the rest of the litter.”

“Surely Ogden must have found out,” Krieth said. “Pups whimper, bark, yelp… They do all sorts of things that draw notice.”

Corrin nodded. “True, and I didn’t manage to keep him secret for long. Surprisingly, Ogden wasn’t angry. He said he respected what I had done and allowed me to keep him. But he stressed that Juro would fight along with the rest of the litter for a place in the pack when the time came.”

“That’s interesting,” Krieth noted, “because I saw no pups among the amarok I slew. Where is this litter you spoke of?”

“Dead,” Corrin declared flatly. “Two months back, something bored into the kennel where they were housed and slaughtered them in the night. Slaughtered, and devoured… Juro survived only because he stays here with me.”

“No one saw what it was?”

“No. Ogden ordered that the hole it had dug be filled, but no one in the hamlet slept soundly for weeks. Thankfully, whatever it was, it seemingly ate its fill and moved on. But in truth, it would probably have been a kinder death than the fate many met here.”

“That brings up another question,” Krieth said. “How is it that you are whole when so many of your fellows have clearly been under the blade?”

“Ogden would joke that he was saving me for a lean winter,” Corrin replied. “In truth, I was good with animals – in particular, training amarok. Any debilitating injury would have made it difficult for me to continue my work.”

“You helped them?” Krieth uttered in surprise. “Trained those monsters to hunt people?”

Corrin lowered his eyes for a moment, then looked up again. “There’s a milk cow here – kept in one of the other structures. Ogden and his family took from her daily. However, I would find it difficult to call her corrupt simply because her milk gave sustenance to evil people. Moreover, had her milk ever dried up, had she ever ceased to provide what Ogden needed, her value would have immediately diminished and there would have been no need to keep her alive.”

“My apologies,” Krieth said, nodding in understanding. “I did not mean to sound judgmental.”

“It’s okay,” Corrin told him. “You could not have known of the way things are – were – in this place…what was necessary to survive.”

“Looking at Valma and some of the others, I have no doubt it was difficult in all respects.”

“Valma is a special case,” Corrin said. “You’ve heard how she lost her eye. Her arm was taken after an earlier assault on one of Ogden’s sons, her leg for food, and her ear because Ogden said she didn’t listen very well. He was also going to take her tongue after she incited several others to attack our overlords.”

“She clearly still has that,” Krieth observed. “So what happened?”

“Ogden wanted to make an example of her, so he planned to perform his foul deed in front of the entire hamlet: his family, as well as all of us enslaved here. Valma dared him to do it. She said it would show everyone that, despite his claims of immortality, he was deathly afraid of a half-woman – a one-eyed, one-armed, one-legged thrall who could barely stand on her own.”

“I’m sure Ogden took that well.”

“Her words definitely had an effect, as he suddenly reversed course. He said he didn’t need to take her tongue – that in her current condition she could serve as the perfect example: a dual reminder of both his wrath and his mercy.”

Krieth snorted in derision. “There was no mercy in that man.”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” said Corrin.

 

Chapter 24

Krieth and Corrin continued talking for about another quarter-hour, mostly about how Corrin had come to be in the hamlet. His story – and presumably that of the other thralls – mirrored Krieth and Neri’s experience. In short, Corrin had been traveling with his family when they had been herded to Ogden’s homestead by the amarok pack. Sadly, his parents had been killed shortly thereafter by the cannibals.

The conversation essentially came to a close when Corrin began to doze. Krieth decided to let him sleep, although he worried that the boy might be punished for dereliction of duty if anyone saw him. However, it turned out to be a baseless concern, for Valma – coming back into the barn at one point – saw the youth practically asleep on his feet. Her only reaction was to tell him to lie down, and then she had someone toss a blanket over him. Corrin slept peacefully for the rest of the night, with Juro next to him.

The next morning saw Neri awaken shortly after sunrise. She looked around in confusion for a moment, as if she didn’t know where she was, then appeared to get her bearings.

“How are you feeling?” asked Krieth.

“I’m fine,” Neri answered. “Much better than last night.”

“Good,” Krieth said, noting that she did indeed look refreshed. “Are you hungry?”

“I don’t think I could eat anything here,” she confessed. “This place robs me of my appetite.”

“Understood,” Krieth stated with a nod.

At that point, Corrin groggily came awake, apparently having been roused by their conversation.

Krieth greeted him with a solemn, “Good morn,” which the youth returned. Then, facing Neri again, he said, “I was hoping to resume our journey today. Do you have any objection?”

“None,” Neri declared. “I feel like we’ve been here forever.”

Krieth laughed. “My sentiment as well.”

“How soon can we leave?”

“We can depart as soon as you’re ready,” he told her.

“I’m ready now,” she insisted. “The sooner we put distance between us and this place, the better.”

“Before you decamp,” Corrin chimed in, “I’m sure Valma will want to speak with you.”

“Very well,” said Krieth.

 

******************************************

 

They located Valma in Ogden’s cottage, sitting at the table and issuing orders.

After greeting her, Krieth observed, “You seem to have gotten comfortable here rather quickly.”

“Comfortable is probably not the word I’d use,” she countered, “but it’s the most secure structure with respect to both attack and the elements. Plus, there are beds here, so I had our sick and injured brought here to be housed.”

“So you plan to stay here?” Krieth inquired.

“Some of us,” she replied. “Primarily those who are convalescing, but hopefully we can build proper homes for everyone soon. And then–”

She stopped abruptly midsentence, then looked down for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It was you who slew the cannibals, so by rights this place is yours. Please forgive my impertinence.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Krieth assured her. “I place no claim on anything here – especially not this cottage. In fact, I had planned to burn it to the ground.”

As he finished speaking, Krieth reflected on how he had indeed planned to put Ogden’s home to the torch. The only reason he hadn’t done so the night before was because he had still wanted to search it for anything useful. Now, however – considering how much they had suffered – he was happy to leave anything of utility to Valma and the others.

With that in mind he continued. “But I’ve no wish to destroy this place if it can be of benefit to you. Ergo, if you have no qualms about staying here, feel free to do so.”

“Thank you,” Valma told him, plainly relieved.

“Just be aware,” Krieth added, “in the basement, there’s–”

“We know,” Valma interjected, “and we have buried the remains.”

“That’s good to hear,” Krieth said. “But if I understood you correctly, it sounds as though you intend to remain in this hamlet permanently.”

“We do,” she confirmed. “Most of us were forced here by the amarok pack Ogden controlled, and almost all were subjected to his ministrations at some point. As a result, there are few able-bodied among us, and none are likely to survive an attempted journey to our original homes. But we’ve worked this land and can make a life here now that the cannibals are gone.”

“Then I wish you luck,” Krieth told her.

Valma gave him an inquisitive look. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes,” Krieth answered. “Neri and I must continue on our way.”

“Then I wish you luck as well,” Valma told him. “Safe travels, and know that you will always be welcome here.”

“Thank you,” Krieth told her, as did Neri (who had stayed silent during the conversation with Valma).

The two then swiftly departed.

 

Chapter 25

Nightwing soared through the sky, reveling in the majesty of flight. It felt wonderful to stretch his wings, to fully enjoy a pastime he seldom engaged in while in Caldornoc – especially given the master’s disposition on the subject.

At present, however, he was outside Lord Darkchilde’s realm. That being the case, he felt free to indulge himself. It was a marvelous sensation, and he relished every moment of it.

However, his destination soon came into view: a citadel situated on a hilltop – specifically, the castle that served as its centerpiece. Nightwing sighed wistfully as he looked at it, knowing that its proximity meant that his sojourn in the air was over.

He could, of course, simply fly to the castle and alight there. That said, a winged man presented too tempting a target, and some fool was sure to loose an arrow or throw a spear at him while he was en route. Then he’d be obliged to descend and put the miscreant to the sword – an inauspicious way to begin a visit to the home of a presumed ally.

With that in mind, he came to ground several miles outside the citadel. Once on foot, he donned a cloak – similar to the one previously offered by the Master’s steward Avmon – in order to hide his wings. It resulted in a curious and misshapen bodily appearance, but was unlikely to draw excessive attention. His exposed wings, on the other hand, would have been an absolute spectacle.

Despite being on foot, he traveled swiftly and reached the city gates in about an hour. Along the way, he passed numerous folk on the road, heading both to and from the citadel. Quite a few appeared to be farmers, who presumably sold produce at the local market. However, he also spied others who appeared to be tradesmen, merchants, and more. He even found himself walking next to a small contingent of soldiers at one point.

Upon reaching the gates, he entered the city without issue. Although there were guards stationed there, they allowed unopposed ingress and egress to everyone. In Nightwing’s opinion, they were not in place for defensive purposes, but mostly to make sure traffic kept moving.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said of the sentries at the castle. Although Nightwing had no trouble reaching the palace, the guards on duty there were restricting access to those who had official business inside. Ergo, as Nightwing approached the entrance, he found his way swiftly barred by a pair of fierce-looking soldiers.

Nightwing was on the verge of telling them to step aside when a third guard – seemingly the leader – stepped towards him saying, “State your business.”

“I have urgent matters to discuss with Lord Zagol,” Nightwing replied.

“Every vagabond and vagrant in this city has an urgent matter to discuss with his lordship,” the guard captain replied. “That alone seldom earns them an audience.”

“Then you should know that I am an official envoy from a nearby realm,” Nightwing told him, “here to converse with your lord on an issue of great import.”

“An envoy, you say?” asked the sentry, looking askance at Nightwing. “Were you accosted on the road?”

Nightwing frowned. “I’m sorry, but your question baffles me.”

“Well, you claim to be an envoy, but I see no retinue,” the guard captain explained. “Most delegates who arrive here have an entourage: guards, a baggage train, servants… I see none of those accompanying you, so I asked if you were accosted en route – perhaps waylaid by bandits who robbed you of all your possessions.”

“Such is not the case,” Nightwing answered. “I simply prefer to travel incognito.”

“And we should simply take your word for that and assume that Lord Zagol will grant you an audience?”

“Give him this,” Nightwing said, producing a silver ring with odd markings on it. He handed it to the guard captain saying, “That should secure me a meeting with his lordship. And if it does not, simply tell him what I look like.”

As he finished speaking, he pulled off the cloak and spread his wings out in spectacular fashion.

 

Chapter 26

As expected, his antics at the palace gates brought about the response Nightwing had hoped for. The guard captain he had given his ring to had swiftly walked away, only to return a short time later accompanied by a tall bearded man who – based on his bearing and dress – seemed to have some degree of authority.

“I am Hallan, High Chamberlain to Lord Zagol,” the bearded man stated, at the same time returning Nightwing’s ring. “Please come with me.”

Hallan then turned and began walking away; Nightwing quickly fell into step beside him.

“Allow me to extend my apologies,” Hallan said as they headed into the castle. “We were not apprised of your coming, and thus did not have a host waiting to greet you properly.”

“As I informed your guard,” Nightwing explained, “I was traveling incognito.”

“Of course,” Hallan uttered with a nod, although he cast a skeptical glance at the feathered appendages at his guest’s back, which Nightwing had not bothered to cover again with the cloak.

Following this exchange, they continued walking in silence. Nightwing had to give the High Chamberlain credit: not only had the man presumably recognized the ring the guard had brought him – a badge of Nightwing’s authority – but he was also astute enough not to inquire as to the nature of his visit.

With no conversation, Nightwing took the opportunity to examine his surroundings. Lord Zagol’s palace was immense, but nowhere near the size of the Master’s. That said, it possessed an aura that was far less oppressive than that of the Caldornocen royal residence. In short, there wasn’t the same atmosphere of foreboding and gloom within these walls, and the various individuals they passed as the traversed the palace halls – primarily servants – did not exude the same degree of fear and dread as those who labored in the home of Lord Darkchilde.

However, despite appearances, Nightwing did not allow himself to think that his current environs lacked all morbidity. If the stories he’d heard were true, then – in his own way – Lord Zagol was as cold and harsh as the Master.

At that point, his sojourn with Hallan came to a sudden end, terminating in a large conference chamber that was predominantly occupied by a broad council table.

“Please wait here,” Hallan instructed, “while I inform his lordship of your presence.”

“Certainly,” Nightwing responded.

“Can I offer you any refreshments while you wait?”

“No, but thank you.”

“Very well,” the High Chamberlain noted. “Should you change your mind, a servant will be stationed just outside the chamber door.”

“Understood.”

“In addition, since you arrived without an escort, I will have a pair of sentries posted outside the room as well, with instructions to accompany you at all times within the palace – solely for your protection, of course.”

“Of course,” Nightwing agreed. “That’s very kind of you.” Needless to say, he understood the intended message: in essence, that he was under house arrest until further notice.

“In the meantime,” Hallan continued, “please make yourself comfortable and Lord Zagol will be with you shortly.”

With that, Hallan exited, closing the door to the chamber behind him. Suddenly suspicious, Nightwing strode quickly to the door and tried the knob. It was unlocked.

Opening it, he immediately noticed two guards standing outside, facing his doorway. The air suddenly became tense as the duo facing him, almost in synchronized fashion, placed their hands on their respective swords. For a moment, Nightwing marveled at how quickly they had gotten into position, as the High Chamberlain had left mere moments before. Then the truth dawned on him: as they had walked through the palace, Hallan had apparently signaled surreptitiously to others in the castle, making his desires known.

While this flitted through Nightwing’s mind, the two sentries – obviously thinking their “guest” was going to be trouble – suddenly drew their blades. Instinct suddenly took over, and Nightwing reached for his own sword. However, it was done as a reflex rather than the result of conscious thought, and on some level Nightwing recognized that his actions were creating a conflict where, in truth, none should exist.

Thankfully, before he could draw his blade from its scabbard, a soft feminine voice suddenly asked, “Do you require something, milord?”

Looking at where the sound had emanated, Nightwing suddenly noticed a young serving girl – maybe fifteen years of age – standing just behind the two sentries. He had been so focused on the guards that he had not even noticed her until she spoke. This was obviously the servant Hallan had mentioned.

“Milord,” she repeated, plainly ignoring the swordplay that had been about to ensue as she stepped forward between the sentries, “is there anything you need?”

“Uh, no,” Nightwing answered, almost at a loss for words. “The room felt stuffy for a moment, so I merely stepped out for a quick breath of air.”

As he finished speaking, he removed his hand from his sword, and the tension in the atmosphere suddenly began to dissipate. The two sentries visibly relaxed, but kept their own blades in hand.

“If you are unwell,” the girl noted, “I can call for a–”

“No,” Nightwing declared, cutting her off. “I’m fine now.”

“Very well,” said the serving girl. “But I’ll be right here should you change your mind, so please let me know if I may be of service.”

“I will,” Nightwing assured her before swiftly closing the door.

 

Chapter 27

Brow furrowed, Nightwing paced the floor of the chamber in smoldering anger. It had been well more than an hour since Hallan had left him there, and – not accustomed to waiting – patience was not a virtue he was well-acquainted with (and what little he had was starting to wear thin).

After the incident with the serving girl and the guards at the door, he had spent a few minutes simply standing idle, thinking that Lord Zagol would arrive in short order. When that didn’t happen, he busied himself studying the room.

The chamber was uninteresting for the most part, containing little other than the council table, which was rectangular in shape. There were four stout, baroque chairs on each side, but the chair at the head of the table was noticeably different. Rather than being made of wood like its fellows, it appeared to be constructed of steel. In fact, that entire end of the table was metalized – covered in a thick sheet of what seemed to be a dense and heavy alloy. Seeing it, Nightwing began to reflect on what he knew of Lord Zagol…

Unfortunately, dwelling on such thoughts only managed to occupy him for a short period of time. Ergo, it wasn’t long before Nightwing was wondering what was delaying his host. It was then that he began pacing the floor and growing bitter at how he was being kept waiting. Unsurprisingly, not long after that, the little patience he had was quickly exhausted.

Going to the chamber door, Nightwing grabbed the knob and yanked it open. As expected, the two sentries were still there. This time, however, the serving girl – either sensing that something was amiss or simply wanting to avoid any potential misunderstandings – quickly stepped to the fore.

“How may I serve you, milord?” she asked.

“I was promised an audience with Lord Zagol,” Nightwing grumbled. “I’ve waited patiently but have received no word as to when he will make an appearance.”

“Apologies, milord,” the girl said, bowing her head, “but I’m sure his lordship will arrive anon. In the meantime, if there’s anything I can do–”

“There is,” he interjected heatedly. “Find Hallan. Tell him that I will wait another quarter-hour, and then I leave.”

Following this declaration he abruptly closed the door without waiting for any type of acknowledgement. However, the serving girl clearly took his message to heart, because a few minutes later the High Chamberlain entered the room.

“My apologies,” Hallan said. “His lordship has been detained longer than anticipated and begs your indulgence for just a bit longer.”

“So he will be joining me soon?” Nightwing inquired in a flippant tone. “I’ve long desired to meet the Seared Sovereign.”

Hallan frowned. “That is not a term that we use within these walls.”

“The Singed Sire, then,” Nightwing retorted acerbically, which also elicited a look of distaste from the High Chamberlain. “The Charred Overlord?”

From the expression on his face, Hallan clearly didn’t care for his guest’s tone or choice of words. He took a deep breath, then stepped close to Nightwing, who stood his ground.

“Bearing in mind the statements you’ve made, I feel it necessary to clarify a few things,” the High Chamberlain declared. “First and foremost, Lord Zagol is not a sovereign, a king, or even a royal. However, the rulers of our fair land have graciously granted him honors and titles, so he does have position and status.”

“Next,” Hallan continued, “his lordship suffers from an atypical affliction, and the sobriquets you have used make light his torment and suffering. Although you are a guest here, there are limits to hospitality, and – in this instance – making sport of your host as you have done puts you in danger of going outside those boundaries. Moreover, you show up unheralded, unexpected and unannounced, then act as though it is an affront to your dignity to wait while other schedules and appointments are shifted to accommodate your presence.”

“Finally,” he added, “a word to the wise: Lord Zagol is not a man to jest with at the best of times, and never in regards to his malady. Ergo, you would be best served by keeping a civil tongue in your head when you meet.”

With that, the High Chamberlain turned and exited the room, his displeasure still evident on his face. Still in a foul mood himself, Nightwing merely watched him leave. However, Hallan had been gone for only a minute or so when the door to the chamber opened again. Nightwing assumed it was the High Chamberlain returning for some reason, so he found himself surprised by who walked into the room:

A man completely engulfed in flames.

 

Chapter 28

It was far from the most bizarre sight Nightwing had ever beheld. Years of service to Lord Darkchilde had seen him bear witness to much that was freakish, fantastic, and grotesque. That said, the immolated individual standing before him was singularly aberrant, and not something he had encountered before.

First and foremost, fire completely covered the man, such that no part of his body could be seen. Although they did not give off excessive heat, the flames appeared to burn with wicked intensity. Their flickering was accompanied by the sizzle and hiss of burning flesh, and Nightwing thought he detected the slight aroma of singed meat. Finally, when the man walked, his movements coincided with an odd clinking sound, reminiscent of shackles on a prisoner.

This, then, was Lord Zagol. The Seared Sovereign. The Singed Sire. The Charred Overlord. Those and a score of other epithets… And although the stories he had heard had prepared Nightwing in terms of what to expect, they did not do justice to the spectacle before him.

“Lord Zagol,” Nightwing began. “I am–”

“A moment,” the burning man interjected, raising a fiery hand. Heard through the conflagration consuming him, his voice had an odd, wavering quality.

At that juncture, three guards entered the room, bringing with them a wild-eyed man in threadbare clothing who actually was outfitted with shackles. One of the guards shoved the prisoner forward towards Lord Zagol, then the three guards swiftly departed, closing the door behind them.

The shackled man looked at Lord Zagol in complete and abject terror, then wailed, “Mercy! Mercy, milord!”

“You have been tried and adjudged,” Zagol announced, ignoring the man’s pleas. “For your crimes, you have been sentenced to death.”

Zagol took a step towards the prisoner, who shambled backwards, retreating as he continued to beg for his life.

“P-p-please, milord!” the man – plainly a convict – stammered, as Lord Zagol moved towards him. “I pray you, please spare me!”

“Reserve your prayers for the gods,” Zagol replied. “If any will hear them.”

He continued advancing on the prisoner, who – blubbering and begging for clemency – backed himself into a corner. At that point, with nowhere left to run, the man dropped to his knees.

“Please, show mercy!” the prisoner pleaded. “Mercy! Mercy!”

“There is none to be had for you in this world,” Zagol told him. “You must seek it in the afterlife.”

With that, he reached out and laid a flaming hand upon the prisoner’s head. The man shrieked in agony as his hair – unruly and unkempt – suddenly caught fire, blazing like a torch. Then, as Nightwing watched, the conflagration swiftly spread to the rest of his body, moving down from his scalp to his feet in mere seconds.

More surprising, however, was the fact that – as the prisoner morphed into a human bonfire – the flames covering Lord Zagol seemed to die out. In truth, it appeared as if they simply flowed from Zagol to the prisoner, like water being poured from one receptacle to another. After a moment, Nightwing realized that was essentially what had happened: Lord Zagol had somehow passed his affliction on to the convict.

And all the while the man continued to scream.

As to Lord Zagol himself, with the flames now extinguished, Nightwing finally got a good look at him and realized a few things immediately. First and foremost, his host was almost completely outfitted in chainmail (which explained the clinking sound Nightwing had heard). Aside from armored boots, it covered him from head to foot, with nothing of his body showing except his face and hands. As to why he was dressed in this fashion, the answer was obvious: ordinary clothes would be destroyed by the flames that had engulfed him moments earlier.

Taking a look at Zagol’s features, Nightwing saw what he expected: a charred, blackened visage that had been marred and disfigured by fire. The flames had been as merciless with Zagol as he had been with the prisoner, leaving him with a countenance that was skeletal in appearance, punctuated by lidless eyes, exposed cheekbones, and a mouth devoid of lips. Likewise, his hands were withered and burned, and Nightwing assumed that much of his body under the chainmail was of similar appearance.

Needless to say, it was not the first time Nightwing had observed the ravaging effects of fire on flesh. He had seen that and worse – much, much worse – regularly at Bleakblood. But what he saw next was something that surprised even him: Lord Zagol’s wounds began to heal.

Before his very eyes, the man’s injuries vanished: singed hair regrew; burned flesh became whole; damaged skin became unblemished. Thus in less than a minute, Lord Zagol’s cadaverous appearance was replaced by one that was handsome, hale and hearty.

“I’ve been given a short reprieve,” Lord Zagol announced. “Now, let us attend to business.”

 

Chapter 29

“Your presence here is problematic,” Zagol stated without preamble as he sat down at the head of the table. At the same time, he gestured towards a chair diagonal to his own.

“How so?” inquired Nightwing, taking the proffered seat.

“The Darkchilde is an enemy to this realm. Having his second-in-command make an appearance here will raise questions.”

“So you know who I am.”

“Of course. There are few who have not heard of the Darkchilde’s ebon-winged lieutenant.”

“That’s merely a physical feature, not proof of identity,” Nightwing argued. “I could be any of the Alar.”

Zagol shook his head. “The winged folk seldom leave their aerie in the far mountains. Moreover, the Alar have a more reserved bearing.”

“Regardless, I’m certain you’re capable of handling any inquiries that arise.”

“True, but there are protocols that govern a meeting with your master’s representatives. Your predecessors realized this – even without being told – and were less…” Zagol spent a moment searching for the right word. “…conspicuous when seeking an audience.”

“Had I not taken the steps I did, I would still be getting derided by the guard at your palace gates.”

“The sentry displayed proper judgment. I know not how it is viewed in Caldornoc, but here such a thing is not a crime.”

Lord Zagol’s words brought to mind the convict who had previously been ushered into the room, prompting Nightwing to look in the man’s direction. By that time, the prisoner – now a lump of burned flesh on the floor – had ceased screaming, although the flames still licked at his body.

“What was his crime?” Nightwing asked boldly.

“Murder, of course,” Lord Zagol informed him. “We do not casually pass a sentence of death for petty offenses.”

“I had heard differently,” Nightwing shot back.

Zagol grew pensive for a moment, plainly contemplating, then spoke. “When the affliction first came upon me, the pain was beyond insufferable. Not only was my flesh devoured by fire, but my body was always healing, constantly providing fresh fodder for the flames. The agony was maddening, as was the knowledge that it would never end. And then I found a remedy of sorts: the ability to pass my affliction to others.”

“It was not a cure,” he continued. “In fact, it only provided limited abatement. But at that juncture I was willing to take relief in whatever form I could find it.”

“And so death by your hand became the punishment for most crimes,” Nightwing surmised.

“Not per se,” Zagol insisted. “Depending on the offense, one might only have to suffer the flames for a limited time. Perhaps a minute or two for a minor infraction…longer as the magnitude of the transgression increased. However, as time went on, I learned to endure the pain, and my flames became reserved for only the most egregious of crimes.”

“I’m sure your people are relieved.”

Lord Zagol gave him a hard look. “While your input is appreciated, I’m sure your master did not send you here to gauge the happiness of the populace. So what is the purpose of your visit?”

Nightwing reflected for a few seconds, then said, “You have, no doubt, heard stories by now about recent events at the House of Pain – perhaps that it has been razed or fallen.”

Zagol nodded. “A rumor to that effect has reached my ears.”

“It is no rumor, but fact. Bleakblood stands no more.”

“Your master must be furious. That bastille was a testament to his wickedness and tyranny.”

“Harsh words to be spoken by one of Lord Darkchilde’s allies,” Nightwing chided.

“We are not allies,” Zagol corrected. “We merely collaborated once to achieve a mutual goal.”

“And yet, here we are.”

Zagol merely stared at him. “Your point?” he finally muttered after a few seconds.

“As you noted, Bleakblood’s decimation has the Master’s blood boiling. He wants the one responsible punished.”

“The one?” Lord Zagol repeated, frowning. “Bleakblood fell at the hands of a single man?”

“Yes – an old acquaintance of yours,” Nightwing replied. “The Glimmerblade.”

“Krieth?” Zagol muttered incredulously, his eyes going wide.

“So you remember him.”

Zagol didn’t immediately respond, but his face suddenly took on an expression of absolute rage.

“You told me he was dead!” he bellowed, at the same time pounding the table so hard with his fist that it shook.

 

Chapter 30

Lord Zagol glowered at Nightwing, looking as though he wanted to throttle his guest, who appeared unperturbed.

“First of all,” Nightwing said calmly, “I personally told you nothing of the sort. I wasn’t even born when the events you speak of transpired.”

“The servant speaks with the master’s voice,” Zagol countered. “You are the representative of the Darkchilde, so his transgressions are yours.”

“That is a tapered view of the facts. However, I do not dispute that you were given false information, and it grieves the Master.”

“It grieves him?” Zagol growled mockingly. “I weep for his sorrow.”

Nightwing pursed his lips momentarily. “The validity of your complaints has been acknowledged. Therefore, rather than engage in further criticism of the Master, perhaps our time would be best spent addressing how to deal with our common concern: the Glimmerblade.”

“You suggest he represents a problem for me?”

“Consider his actions,” Nightwing offered. “Few have ever managed to escape from the House of Pain. Those who have fled as far and as fast as their legs could carry them. But Krieth Glimmerblade did no such thing. Instead, he returned…came back and razed Bleakblood to the ground.”

“Retribution,” Zagol surmised.

“That would seem to be the case,” Nightwing concurred. “But I wouldn’t be so bold as to assume his desire for vengeance was sated by demolishing a lifeless stone edifice. I am quite certain there are beings of flesh and blood with whom he would seek redress.”

“You tell me little that I could not deduce on my own,” Zagol stated. “I assume there is more.”

Nightwing nodded. “Of course,”

“Then you have my full attention,” Lord Zagol assured him.

 

Chapter 31

Nightwing spent a brief moment apprising Lord Zagol of the particulars regarding Krieth’s imprisonment and escape, including the false report that he was dead.

“So,” Zagol droned when his visitor was done, “you failed at every level, from execution to incarceration.”

“It’s my understanding that the Glimmerblade was in residence at the House of Pain for more than two centuries,” Nightwing countered. “That well exceeds the lifespan of most mortal beings, so calling our efforts a failure strikes me as somewhat uncharitable.”

“Krieth is an avatar, so normal standards aren’t applicable.”

“Then I should add that, during most of that time, powerful magics were used to maintain his imprisonment. In addition, even if his execution could not be accomplished, by all accounts he should have weakened over time.”

Zagol reflected for a moment, then admitted, “Such is quite likely”

“In that case, considering his ability to totally obliterate Bleakblood,” Nightwing continued, “it seems that the Glimmerblade has regained much – if not all – of his former vitality.”

“That suggests communion with Shar, which quite likely aided in his escape,” Zagol surmised. “In truth, I’m somewhat surprised, as I’ve been told sunlight is – rather, was – banned at Bleakblood.”

“‘Banned’ would be an imprecise term, but I concede your point: sunlight would never have been allowed to penetrate the level on which the Glimmerblade was housed.”

“And yet, somehow it happened.”

Nightwing appeared to contemplate for a moment before speaking. “That is of less importance than returning this man to the Master’s care.”

“Easier said than done. Again, Krieth is an avatar.”

“But it was accomplished before.”

“Only through the confluence of singular events not likely to be repeated for ages, along with slight carelessness on Krieth’s part. But even then, it cost many lives to subdue him.”

“But a good number survived, correct?”

“Yes,” Zagol conceded, “but this was over two hundred years ago. And as you just stated, that’s beyond the typical lifespan. Ergo, most who were involved are dead.”

“So there are few among the living the Glimmerblade can seek vengeance on,” Nightwing concluded. “That will make trapping him easier.”

 

Chapter 32

Reflecting on his visitor’s words, Zagol shook his head in disdain.

“You seem to have confused laying a trap with successfully capturing prey,” he commented. “The former does not unfailingly result in the latter under any circumstance, let alone when you’re speaking of an avatar.”

“True, and the Glimmerblade is obviously formidable,” Nightwing acknowledged. “But he has met his match before.”

“As previously stated, there were unique circumstances, and those cannot simply be recreated. But it sounds as though the Darkchilde may not have fully explained how Krieth was actually taken.”

“I received an overview, and even if the exact circumstances of the Glimmerblade’s prior apprehension cannot be duplicated, certain aspects of it can.”

“Such as?” Lord Zagol inquired, giving him a curious look.

“Strength in numbers.”

“I see,” Zagol muttered, drumming his fingers on the table. “You propose joining forces.”

“You yourself admitted to a previous collaboration,” Nightwing reminded him. “This would be a similar joint effort.”

“I would argue that your master received the better part of the earlier bargain, while I…”

Zagol trailed off, his attention drawn to a small tongue of flame that suddenly sprouted on the back of his hand.

“And so, it begins again,” he declared flatly, almost to himself.

Understanding what was about to happen to his host (and that his audience was likely to end soon), Nightwing decided to bring conversation to a definitive conclusion.

“So what say you?” he inquired. “What shall I tell my Master your response is?”

Coming back to himself, Zagol said, “Tell the Darchilde I will consider his proposal and provide an answer in due course.”

Zagol then rose to his feet as flames began spreading from his hand up his arm, then added, “And with respect to any future meetings, I expect the protocols to be followed.”

He then turned and stalked from the room.

 

Chapter 33

Krieth had expected their sojourn in Ogden’s hamlet to have put Neri on edge to some degree. It had been quite a while since he had spent time in the presence of a young woman, but he was confident that for most girls her age what they experienced would have been the stuff of nightmares. Such was not the case with Neri. Apparently her time at Bleakblood had inured her to horror to a large extent, as the incident seemed to cause her little distress. In light of what lay ahead of them, he considered that a good thing.

On her part, much as she had before their encounter with the cannibals, Neri simply followed where her companion led. She wasn’t sure of their direction, but several encounters with hideous beasts over the next few days left little doubt that they were still well within Caldornoc. Thankfully, Krieth’s ability to deal with monsters meant that she was generally safe.

Around the fourth day, they came to a large lake. In the middle of the forest and with distant mountains in the background, the gentle, unbroken surface of the water seemed calm and inviting. In fact, Neri found the entire area incredibly soothing and picturesque. (It also didn’t hurt that, for what felt the first time in forever, she couldn’t hear the howls and roars of fiendish creatures nearby.)

Noting that they were seemingly coming to a halt, Neri asked, “Why are we stopping? Will we be camping here?”

“Possibly,” Krieth responded. “Stay here for a moment, though.” He then began wandering down to the water’s edge.

“Well, the water looks amazing,” Neri noted. “I’d love to take a swim.”

Her companion shook his head. “I wouldn’t advise it.”

She gave him a curious look. “Why not?”

Before Krieth could respond, something erupted explosively from the lake, roaring sonorously, and snatched him up in its jaws.

 

Chapter 34

With water cascading down, Neri had trouble making out what she was seeing for a moment. She got the impression of a large animal – far larger than a man – moving along the lakeshore. And then the torrent ended, allowing her to see more clearly what had come out of the water.

It was a creature unlike any she had seen before. As big as a house, it resembled a two-legged slug that was covered with scales like a fish. It also had a head that looked as though it was better suited for a crocodile, as it seemed to consist almost entirely of a vicious mouth filled with teeth like daggers. And it currently held Krieth in its maw.

Neri knew her companion to have a hardy constitution. However, gripped as he was in a monster’s jaws, she didn’t think it would prevent him from being devoured – and the thing looked like it could swallow him in a single gulp. That said, her companion clearly had no intention of ending his days as a meal for some fiend.

Hanging half in and half out of the monster’s mouth, Krieth struck one of the creature’s fangs with a hammerfist. The impact reverberated like a pickaxe striking stone, and the slug-beast bellowed in pain. It also seemingly lost the grip it had on its prey because Krieth, twisting wildly, managed to free himself from the thing’s mouth. He hit the ground and rolled, quickly coming up on his feet. Although he was bleeding from several wounds inflicted by his opponent’s teeth, the injuries did not seem to affect him for the most part.

With eyes atop two elongated stalks, it was difficult to read the thing’s expression. Nevertheless, Neri felt it glared at Krieth, at which point she noted that one of its eyes, huge and globular, seemed to shine with a near-metallic luster. But regardless of its expression, there was no mistaking what was meant by the deafening roar it released as it attacked Krieth once more.

The creature may have resembled a slug, but in no way did it move like one. The thing was fast, and alternated snapping its jaws at Krieth with slicing at him with one of its clawed feet. On his part, Krieth mostly adopted a defensive strategy that primarily consisted of dodging and other evasive maneuvers. Although he manifested his light-blade, it was – much as with his skirmish with the rock-scorpion – generally ineffective.

Neri watched the battle (such as it was), for a minute or so. From her perspective, it looked like a stalemate of sorts. While the monster was indeed fast, Krieth seemed nimble enough to evade its attacks. However, with his namesake weapon unable to provide an advantage, it seem as if evasion would be all he could do. In short, neither combatant seemed capable of gaining an advantage. And then everything changed.

Krieth had just rolled away from a swipe of the monster’s claw and was coming to his feet when Neri saw something like a flash of light. Then she realized it was more like a bright ray of sunshine, emanating from the creature’s eye that she had construed as metallic before. The light shined directly on Krieth’s face, and the second it hit him he became completely still, as if frozen.

No, not frozen, Neri thought. In a trance.

Somehow, the creature had hypnotized her companion. And standing stock still made him incredibly easy prey – especially when his glimmerblade vanished.

Before she knew it, Neri found herself running towards him.

“Krieth!” she screamed, hoping to snap him out of his trance. But neither he nor the monster paid any attention to her. In fact, the fiend opened its jaws, apparently preparing to finish the job it had started earlier. And aside from calling Krieth’s name and continuing to run, Neri could do nothing but watch in horror and dread.

Suddenly, without warning, Krieth sprang into the air, sailing over the slug-fiend’s open maw. Hands outstretched, his leap brought him straight towards one of his adversary’s eyestalks – specifically, the one that had created the ray of light. He managed to grab it, and as his momentum caused the eyestalk to bend towards the ground, he twisted his hands in opposite directions.

The stalk was thick as rope, but it parted. Neri, who had stopped in her tracks when Krieth jumped into the air, now watched as he landed lithely on the ground and then scrambled towards her. The slug-fiend was stomping insanely and wailing now, obviously in agony, with the sundered eyestalk flailing wildly and spraying blood all around.

As with most creatures, getting maimed had seemingly taken all the fight out of the monster, as evidenced by the fact that it turned and went barreling back towards the lake, still howling in pain. Surprisingly, Krieth still gripped the upper portion of the eyestalk – the part that contained the actual eye of the monster. As he approached Neri, he plucked the eye out, discarding the rest of the tendril that had held it.

“As I was saying,” he told her, “you might want to avoid the water here, but I’m sure we can find a pond or something nearby.”

 

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***Thanks for perusing my story Glimmerblade. Again, new chapters are posted every week, and if you are new to my work and find that you like it, please check out my published titles on Amazon, which include the Kid Sensation novels (superheroes), the Warden books (fantasy/dark fantasy), and the Fringe Worlds series (sci-fi).