Keith Edward English's Blog

     “Oh, that’ll take the piss out of them,” said Elbert from over Gax’s shoulder. The large orc would have turned around with a questioning glance, but relieving himself in his inebriated state felt far too good to pay the human much mind. 

     “Who?” asked Urgric, the dark-skinned orc standing next to Elbert at the mouth of the alley. 

     “Well, I said them, didn’t I?” 

     Gax, thoroughly confused at the laughter that followed and the curses coming from Darsil’eit, opened his mouth to ask what his companions were getting on about. A ratty and stiff burlap sack shifted suddenly, the urine coming from Gax splashing off it and onto his own boots. From beneath the edge of the sack poked a dirty mop of hair and two slanted eyes. Those eyes went from Gax’s and down to his member, still held in one hand and continuing its business. 

     “Uh…” Gax managed to utter as he shifted his aim. “Almost done. Sorry about that.” 

     “You whoreson!” cried the destitute elf whose only cover now smelled of piss, though that wasn’t much worse than its original odor, Gax was sure. “I’ll cut your damn pecker off!” 

     The homeless elf surged to his feet, flinging the cover to the side and misting Gax with his own urine. A rusted kitchen knife was in his dirt-crusted hand. Gax retreated while stuffing his manhood back into his trousers. It would be an easy thing to smash this weak creature’s head in. The guard likely wouldn’t care either, given the status of the man. 

     But Gax couldn’t stomach the idea of killing a man after pissing on him. Such a thing was so far from honorable that Axrom would likely meet him in death and rip him clean in two for eternity. Gax bolted from the alley, one hand holding his trousers up, the other fishing around his coin purse. 

     “Here!” the green orc called, tossing a handful of copper rounds onto the ground. “For the sack.” 

     “And a nice set of clothes,” added Elbert as two more rounds and a silver oval fell from the open purse to clatter on the floor. 

     The destitute elf’s eyes widened and he dropped his knife to grab the coins. Gax began to bend down and retrieve those that had fallen from his pouch but a swift kick in the ass from Dar stopped him. “Payment for being an idiot heathen!” she snapped. “Leave it to him!” 

     Gax glared at her for a moment, but the sound of the homeless man sprinting madly toward the coins at Gax’s feet stole his attention. The elf, seeing Gax near the coins, loosed a cacophony of rabid sounds, spittle flying from his cracked lips. Gax’s eyes popped wide and he leaned away from the psychotic display as though it was contagious, then turned and hustled off down the street, enduring another kick from Dar, though she laughed heartily with the others as well. 

     After stopping at a fountain for Gax to clean himself, they took their galivanting to the Splintered Bow. Gax happened across a friendly acquaintance named Elondruv and Dar met a fair-haired, human lass, the two of them very obviously interested in one another. Elbert and Urgric enjoyed tankards of ale and cards while Gax and Dar went off from the tavern with their partners. The four of them met the next morning before the sun had risen over the horizon, their packs fit to bursting for the trek they’d signed on with. 

     The tall, spired structure of the rogues’ guild rose before them. A team of men and women of all races were preparing a convoy outside. The four companions approached the man who had hired them for the mission, a human with loose, pocked cheeks and grey eyes fixed in a permanent scowl by the name of Vesik. Before any of them could say a word, he tossed them each a coin purse containing half of their silver rounds for their services. At its end, they’d receive as many silvers, and a handful of gold edges each. 

     “Hitch up that team,” he said, his voice a growl. Gax wondered if perhaps he’d smoked too much pipe weed in his time at the coarseness of his voice. As if to prove his point, the man pulled out a long-stemmed pipe and began to clean its bowl. 

     The convoy of five horse-drawn wagons, twenty rogues, and Gax’s group set out from Durthlem that morning. Once before had Gax traveled this way, though he hadn’t actually gone through the long-dead city of Erstov. Of course, he’d left that detail out when applying for the job. Gold edges for a two-day job were unheard of, let alone a handful for each person on top of a surplus of silver, and too good a deal to let a tiny detail ruin. 

     The thing was, Erstov was a dead city for a reason. That reason is why the last convoy he’d accompanied had added two days to their trip, resulting in the death of two horses from leg injuries on the treacherous ground around the mountain the city sat atop. Once home to beings of titanic power and alien ways, Erstov had been a bastion of mysterious magic. That volatile magic, if the histories that survived are to be believed, had become a churning mass of unpredictability that had eventually erupted. 

     Not a single bone remained of the people that had once inhabited Erstov, nor could a tendril of plant-life be found. The city of grey stone, amber clay, and brown brick was so very lifeless, that even setting foot onto its smooth streets sent a cold shock through even the heartiest of warriors. Life had been snuffed from that place, and many believed that the magic responsible still existed, ready to do its work again. 

     Gax had made sure not to advertise that he knew the path through the city when applying for the position, instead stating he had gone into Erstov only to search the place with a team of archeologists and scholars of all schools of magic for a few hours. This relieved him from having to be a guide, but still his word would be relied on for any odd happenings. Which is partly why he’d made sure to enlist Elbert, the wizard, who then enlisted Urgric, his warrior companion. Gax and Dar had journeyed with the duo before and enjoyed their company, though it still chagrined Gax that he was now splitting the coin four ways instead of three. 

     Several hours passed as they journeyed, travelers hailing them and wishing them this or that god’s blessing. It had become quite the event throughout the land, another reason why Gax wanted in on it. Already there were a handful of songs most tavern-goers around these parts knew that included Gax the Great, or Gax the Formidable, or Gax the Blundering. That last one wasn’t so charming, but at least it put his name on the lips of hundreds of folk. 

     The ground began to slant upward, slowing their progress. They endured switchbacks and hills for another two hours. Grey walls loomed in the distance as they crested a hill, the mountain terrain flattening out into a valley of rich soil and plant life. Gax marveled at the scene. It was rumored that the beings of Erstov had carved this valley into the top of the mountain for agricultural use. Being that there wasn’t another phenomenon like it, Gax was convinced it was truth. 

     Clouds skirted the sky just above their heads, feeling close enough that Gax could have leapt up and brushed their pillowy edges. As the caravan thinned out to traverse the hardpacked road that cut through the grove of trees and wound around small ponds and patches of fruit-bearing bushes, Gax moved in close to Elbert’s side. 

     “Remind me again of the things to watch out for,” he whispered. 

     “I told you last night,” Elbert snapped indignantly. 

     Gax shot him a wilting glare and pressed a finger to his pursed lips, blowing out a sharp breath. He cast about to ensure no one was paying them close attention, then glared at Elbert. “I was dr–” 

     “You were drunk,” Elbert echoed, exasperated. “Portals. Glyphs. Wards. Statues.” 

     Gax frowned, his mind whirling. “Portals… Portals?” 

     “Histories say there may well be portals into another place. A place the magic of Erstov created when it erupted. Or had always been there. The ancient people could have used them as a means of travel. Then, when it–” Elbert flailed his arms about in the direction of the grey city, at a loss for words at the moment. 

     “Went boom?” Gax put in. 

     “Aye, that. When it went boom, the portals remained, but shifted their entry points and got all mixed around.” 

     Gax nodded. “And what do portals look like?” 

     “Hells if I know. Best bet is to stay clear of doorways. The more we stay in the open, the better.” 

     In short order, the convoy stopped before the wall of smooth, grey stone. Though it was unadorned and simple, the workmanship that had gone into creating such a perfectly symmetrical and seamless structure gave Gax pause, his mouth falling agape. Rogues turned and looked at Gax expectantly. Dar nudged him in the ribs then nodded toward them. 

     “Me?” Gax asked sheepishly. Before Dar could dig a fingernail into his side, he nodded and marched up the convoy, his companions in tow. 

     Vesik stood before the lead horses, an arm’s length from crossing beneath the impressive archway carved into the wall. Beyond that threshold stood many buildings of earthly colors and smooth material just a short distance from the wall. The ground between the wall and the first structures should have been bursting with life as it did just on the other side of the wall, but it was instead a flat, hard expanse of hard dirt hued red from clay. 

     “Any special rituals to perform first?” Vesik asked in his grave tone. 

     “No,” Gax said, drawing a scowl from Vesik. “Er, not exactly that is. See here.” Gax put his pack down, planning on rifling through it to find something he could toss. The shadow of his battleaxe, poking over his shoulder, stopped him. He unslung the massive, double-bladed weapon from his back, then slowly extended it out until it passed under the archway. 

     A cold burst of dread arced through him as sudden as if a lightning bolt had leapt down from the heavens to land atop his head. Gax’s entire body froze. 

     “Well?” Vesik growled. 

     Gax swallowed and blinked quickly, regaining use of his body as the sensation faded. He turned a fearful gaze on Dar, his eyes pleading. He nearly rounded on Vesik and gave up that he’d never set foot in this dead city, but Dar’s hard gaze would brook no cowardice. She wanted the glory of this mission as much as he did. And she enjoyed gold better than anyone Gax knew. 

     “It’ll be a shock going through, but it’s nothing to worry overly much about,” Gax said as he wiped the fear from his face and nodded to Vesik. “The magic is there, but it’s tired.” 

     “Tired?” Vesik asked. 

     “Dormant,” Elbert put in. “Erstov’s magic is dormant. We just need to make sure not to wake it up. Right Gax?” 

     “Aye. We’ll stay out in the open til we reach the other side. No touching rock people or magic signs… And everyone holds their bladder throughout! Never does any good to piss on something you don’t want mad.” 

     Elbert stared at Gax with utter disappointment. “Statues and glyphs, he means.” 

     “Right!” 

     Vesik frowned further. “We can’t piss the whole time?” 

     “If you had that kind of power and someone pissed on you, don’t you think you’d do something about it?” 

     “The city is sentient?” 

     “In a way,” Elbert put in. “Erstov’s magic is alive, at least partially. It has an archaic way of thinking, if the histories are right.” 

     “In we go, then,” Vesik said. He turned around and gave instructions to one of the rogues standing nearest him. Soon, the entire company, including Gax and his companions had gone off and relieved themselves. 

     Gax went in first, his steps slow and deliberate, his eyes roaming the archway and the city for threats. The bolt of sensation that prickled every inch of his skin came on again, though not as strong. Once through, he turned stiffly around as the feeling subsided and beckoned the others through. Many hesitated, two of them stopping after only a step beneath the archway then backing away and shaking their heads feverishly. 

     Vesik gave them a single chance to enter the city. When they looked to one another uncertainly, he turned his back on them after declaring them no longer guild members. They wisely sprinted through to catch up, hoping their leader would forget their hesitation and not eject them from the guild. 

     A blanket of stillness covered the city. Not a whisper of a breeze could be felt. And, if there was one, there wouldn’t have been any indication from their surroundings. Not a pennant or a sign fixed to chains jutted out from a building. There were no trees whose limbs could sway in the breeze. Not a single living thing, other than the convoy, moved along the smooth, grey road or about the odd homes of earthen hues. 

     “Right on through,” Gax mumbled to Vesik, his eyes still fixed on Erstov. “Might even be able to take this here road to the other side.” 

     Every footfall and whinny rebounded off the walls of the buildings many times over, the only sounds to be heard. Somehow, they seemed diluted. As though Gax had to strain just to hear his own heavy boots marching on the hard road. He turned a questioning glance on Elbert. 

     “The City of Silent Woes,” the wizard said grimly. 

     “What?” 

     “It’s one of the names for Erstov. Something about the architecture or the magic muffles sound. And, well, there haven’t been any reports of travelers entering who didn’t befall some grim fate…” Gax glared at Elbert, his eyes wide. “Other than your previous excursion, that is,” he added smoothly. 

     The structures they passed were blocky and simple, though their corners and edges were rounded, giving the whole city a melted look, like candle wax that had been molded after its wick had been blown out. Occasionally, a side road would appear that wasn’t comprised of the smooth, grey stone, but was instead hard-packed, red clay. Gax realized the road had been one continuous piece since they’d entered Erstov. It wasn’t made up of many stone slabs laid into the ground. How had the alien race that inhabited this place managed such a feat? 

     Thresholds into the tall homes were all a uniform size. Gax, with his seven feet of height, could have walked right on through with his arms raised and perhaps his fingers wouldn’t have even brushed the top of the doorway. His mind raced with imaginations of what the Erstov natives had looked like. Over the top of these homes, far off in the east, spires from a larger structure pierced the dead sky. 

     Unlike the spartan structures they’d passed thus far, this building boasted masterfully crafted spires of copper. Rather than blockish sides, each one was rounded with bands of silver and balconies at each level. Their tips twisted upward, large pennants hanging limply from them to drape over the side of the spires. 

     The middle spire was wide enough to encompass a dozen homes, rising three times the height of the smaller ones at its flanks. Its shape reminded Gax of a dessert he’d tried once before in foreign lands. It had been a delicately crafted thing that was light as a cloud with ridges twisting up its sides to a single point at its top. 

     “Wait,” came Vesik’s voice, drawing Gax’s attention. The orc followed his fixed stare to the road. Red footprints appeared from the side of the road then extended out across it. Gax followed them with his gaze but couldn’t see their end. Steel rung as Vesik pulled his sword from its scabbard and took a dagger in his other hand. A cacophony of familiar sounds echoed as the entire convoy readied blades and bows. 

     “Do we follow it?” Vesik asked, looking to Gax. 

     “There weren’t any footprints last time,” Gax said. “But it looks like that’s the way to go, footprints or no. Just stay on the road.” 

     The convoy continued, each man and woman avoiding the footprints as they went. The bearer of those prints hadn’t been wearing boots and Gax could easily make out six toes splayed wide on each large track. The strides the thing must have taken outdistanced Gax’s normal step by two feet. 

     “How long could prints like this stay on the road?” Gax asked, looking to Dar. 

     “Under normal circumstances, not more than a few days, I’d wager,” she said, looking up toward the cloudy sky. “But I doubt there are any normal circumstances here. Who knows if it even rains on Erstov?” 

     An arch ran the width of the road up ahead, connected to the tops of two structures. The footprints veered off the road and around a pylon that held up a slanted overhang that jutted out from above a doorway to a home before returning to the road and continuing. Gax strained his neck as he peered around the pylon and into the odd home. 

     “What are you doing?” Dar hissed as he followed the footprints. 

     “I’m not going in,” he said indignantly. “Just want to get a closer look inside, like our friend did.” 

     Elbert, at Gax’s side, seemed interested as well, veering off the road with the orc to gaze into the home. 

     Dar relented with a grudging nod, which Gax learned was because she too was curious. The trio stuck close together as they passed under the canopy, Dar’s hand on Gax’s elbow, the side of the house to their right and the pylon to their left, creating a sort of threshold. 

     They didn’t notice the shift at first, so focused on scouring the inside of the home. They found it bereft and uninteresting. A breeze blew past them. The pair shared a startled look, then whirled toward the road. The footprints were gone, and so too was their entire convoy. Elbert had also vanished, though he’d been shoulder to ribs with Gax as they ventured beneath the overhang. 

     “Axrom’s hairy balls!” Gax swore. His voice seemed plenty loud now, the force that had muffled it before gone. Other noises followed. Those of large mechanical engines clicking and grinding, of things screaming and dying, of buildings shattering and rocks colliding. 

     Without another word, the pair backed through the same threshold that had transported them to this other realm only to find themselves in the same place. 

     “Godsdamn you, Gax!” Dar seethed. 

     “You didn’t stop me!” he snapped back. 

     “Then we’re both dumb idiots this time. You more so, but still. Blight and damnation!” 

     Gax would have added his own curses to the tirade, but a flash of movement from the corner of a rooftop stole his attention. Whatever it was had fled too quickly for him to make it out. He was about to ask Dar if she’d seen the thing when there was another burst of movement off to his left. They both whirled toward that to find nothing yet again. 

     A groan sounded from down the road, a hollow and agonized moan that set the hair on Gax’s neck to standing. He and Dar shot each other a worried glance, then crept out toward the road. As they did so, they glimpsed forms darting here and there atop the roofs and along buildings off in the distance, but their attention remained on the road. 

     They came to the archway the convoy was soon to pass through before they had been transported to this place and poked their heads out. A large humanoid figure clad in a full set of black armor riddled with spikes and ridges lumbered along the road. The macabre knight drug a jagged sword on the ground behind it as it marched, its dark and ancient metal the same material as its armor. It ambled toward a building, its side presented to Gax and Dar. 

     Before either of them could gasp in fear, its horned head snapped in their direction, as though it felt their gaze keenly. The hollow moan became a roar of hatred and the thing came on. No longer did it lumber clumsily along. Its fury lent its body poise and agility that rivaled Dar’s. 

     Gax stumbled backward, pulled by Dar as she retreated. “Do we run?” he asked. 

     “Into another one of those or something worse?” she said as she pulled her twin sabers from their sheathes. “No! We kill this one here.” 

     Gax allowed himself to be shoved to the side so they were spread out on the road as the knight closed on them. “Godsdamn this place,” he mumbled as he pulled his battleaxe from his back. The knight readied its sword for a thrust. “Godsdamn me and all the coin in the world.” A familiar sensation flooded his body with heat. He latched onto the rage and directed it at their enemy as it pulled its arms in before delivering the strike. “And godsdamn you!”

To be continued…

    A hurled tankard slammed Gax in the side of the head, splashing warm ale across the green skin of his face and wetting the thin strip of long, dark hair tied in a tight knot at the back of his head. A hush fell over the patrons of the Smashed Helm. Even Darsil’eit, his elf companion, stared at Gax with raised eyebrows and her mouth slightly agape. Gax licked the ale dripping down his wide, flat nose, then rose from the table. 

     Wood groaned and protested as he spun toward the whoreson responsible for his dripping face and the sharp pain about his eye. A drunk man stared dumbly at him, seeming quite sober though Gax knew he’d imbibed heavily, as was usual for Helric. 

     “Gax, gods above, man, I didn’t mean it,” he stammered, clasping his hands together. “Was but an accident, I tell ya. Nothing more, promise. Tell him, Doran. Tell him, dammit!” 

     Helric’s friends seemed to be hard of hearing. They also seemed to no longer fancy that exact spot. By the time Gax reached the trembling man, there wasn’t another person within three strides of the two. The smell of piss accosted Gax’s nostrils, though that could have just been the general smell of the tavern. 

     Gax reached out with one large hand and grabbed Helric under the arm. The formidable muscles of his arm bulged as Helric’s feet came off the floor. Gax used his other hand to dry his face with Helric’s shirt, then put the man down. 

     “Any man takes a full mug to the head deserves to beat the man who’d thrown it, I’d say,” called the man who had been arguing with Helric just moments ago. Helric looked to him wildly, his chin quivering beneath his spotty beard. “Aye that,” came a few replies. Hushed bets were made on whether Helric would faint or be knocked unconscious. 

     “A fair trade, I’d say,” growled Gax. Helric let out a squeak. “Though, I’m a bit tired from smashing up a den of basilisks earlier. Methinks three mugs of ale would be payment enough.” 

     “Cyrius, three mugs please!” Helric all but screamed, flailing one arm in the barkeep’s direction while he rummaged around his pants pockets with another hand until he found his coin purse. 

     “And one for him,” Gax added, nodding a head toward the man Helric had been arguing with. 

     “Aye, of course, Gax!” 

     Gax returned to his seat next to Dar with the three mugs of ale hugged to his chest, another orc and a human sitting across from him. He set them down and Urgric reached for one with a meaty, dark-skinned hand. Gax smacked the orc’s hand then shot Elbert, the human across the table, a wilting glare that stopped him cold even as his shoulder began to lift. 

     “I shared the loot from the basilisk den with the lot of you. Doesn’t mean you get to take my godsdamned ale.” He took a deep pull on one of them after casting glares around, then muttered, “Bastards.” 

     Dar jabbed Gax in the side with her fist then snatched one of the mugs as he batted her hand away. Gax looked at her, dumbfounded and insulted, as she raised one eyebrow and smiled playfully while drinking from the mug. Gax shrugged then turned back to his own mugs. Urgric and Elbert looked from Dar to Gax. “Still no,” he snapped. 

     A minute later, Gax turned and winked to the man Helric had been arguing with, raising one of the mugs in toast. Dar followed his gaze then snapped in Gax’s face. “You set that up?” 

     “Why do you think we moved tables?” he asked with a grin. “Helric’s prone to huffing and puffing over any small thing of late. Tell him to screw a goat and he’ll get good and mad. He’s had a bad habit of throwing tankards lately. Doran figured we could work out a scheme, though we were both supposed to get two mugs out of it.” 

     Elbert shook his head while Urgric laughed mightily and slapped Gax on the shoulder with a thunderous clap. Gax bellowed a laugh too then poured some of his ale in Urgric’s cup. Elbert held out his own cup and Gax’s smile quickly became a glare. “You’re amazing and I wish I was more like you?” Elbert muttered quizzically. 

     Gax nodded in appreciation and offered the man a splash of his ale. 

     An uproar near the entrance of the Smashed Helm turned Gax’s head quickly in its direction. Patrons were scrambling away from the door as though a wolf with fangs dripping blood had just leapt into the tavern. But a familiar name spat from a handful of men told Gax the newest patron was no beast. It was, undoubtedly, worse than a beast. It was a wizard. And one named Salaster. 

     A man dressed in a flowing, maroon robe with a scholar’s tunic and pants beneath barged into the tavern, hugging a large box of wood banded with iron. His twisted mop of grey hair bounced with each labored step he took, and his ruddy face dripped sweat. He ignored the hollering mass and shoved past them to slam his box down on a table. As the box landed, several men and women dove for cover and cried out, their pitch such that Gax would have been certain it had only been women who had screamed had he not seen the lot. 

     “Salaster, you crazy bat, get that godsdamned contraption out of my tavern!” barked Cyrius. 

     The disheveled wizard straightened his robes, or attempted to but failed, then pushed his wild hair down with his hands, though his angle changed with each swipe which only resulted in a mass of curling hair skewed to one side of his head. “Listen, one and all…” he began. 

     “I’ll have none of that!” Cyrius cut in. “I don’t care what it does or how difficult it was to make it. Get it and yourself out!” 

     “Gods, what’d he do?” Elbert asked. 

     Gax nodded when he remembered that Elbert had been hired out of Vahle to assist in the purge of the basilisk nest. He hadn’t heard of the infamous Salaster of Longor. 

     “Blew up half of the Smashed Helm some years ago is what,” Gax said. 

     “Then tried putting it back with another spell and Cyrius was just gone for a week,” Dar added. 

     “Gone where?” Elbert asked, one eyebrow raised. 

     “Not even he could say. One day he just appeared behind the bar. It was a good thing too. The city was getting ready to haul away the wreckage and take the spot for a trade communication building, or some crap.” 

     “It can’t explode, dammit!” Salaster hollered. Before Cyrius could bark another word, the wizard slapped a button on the side of the case and it opened with a loud series of clicks and thuds. With each sound, the patrons flinched, some of them pulling their mates in front of them to use as a shield. 

     Cyrius grabbed a truncheon from behind the bar and came flying around it in the wizard’s direction. Before he could reach Salaster, the man called, “It’s done! Give me a minute then I’ll leave if you want. And put that damn stick down before I blow up the other half of the tavern.” 

     Cyrius stared daggers at Salaster, his mustache twitching in anger. “Have a look,” Salaster continued, stepping back and sweeping his arm toward the open case that had unfolded into a geometric shape resembling a square. Most of the patrons leaned a hair closer, staring at the mechanism. Another click sounded and a final portion of the case snapped down, causing each man and woman to start backward. 

     “Well, now it’s done,” Salaster murmured. 

     “What in the hells am I looking at?” Cyrius asked. “A game?” 

     Gax stood and gazed over the heads of the patrons to behold what looked like a diminutive version of the interior of a castle. He believed it to be a map with added depth. 

     “A game, yes!” Salaster said, hopping from toe to toe. “One built on illusion and magic. You’ve heard of Gadreel’s Gauntlet? Of course, you have! Imagine the Gauntlet, but one that can be moved and attempted at will.” 

     “Haven’t hundreds of people died trying to best Gadreel’s Gauntlet?” Cyrius asked, skeptically. 

     “Oh, yes. But there’s none of that with this contraption. Maybe some cuts and bruises. A lost finger. Who knows? But death? Almost certainly not. Most definitely shouldn’t happen, I’d say. Well, then, who would like to try it?” 

     “Have you tried it?” asked one of the patrons, his voice small. 

     “Gods no!” Salaster snapped. His eyes roamed the crowd tentatively. “I mean, I have to refrain so that I can ensure the safety of whoever goes.” 

     Dar’s fingers suddenly clamped on Gax’s ear. He knew that painful tug was hers without even whirling around to see her irate face. “Don’t you do it, you dumb idiot.” 

     Urgric caught Gax’s eyes, looked to Dar, then hollered, “What’s the winner get?” 

     Salaster spun toward the dark-skinned orc with a wide smile on his face. “Twenty pieces of gold from me! And, knowing what I know about you people, a percentage of whatever the bets amount to for those that bet right, certainly. Maybe free ale for a week from Cyrius?” A scowl from the barkeep answered the wizard. “Perhaps for a day? No, nothing at all? You could employ this contraption in your tavern for great profit I’m sure, you know?” 

     “I’ll do it!” Gax bellowed as he slapped Dar’s hand away and wrenched himself free. Only, Dar was far quicker than he and smacked the back of his hand as it swung past her. “Ow! I’ll give you a few pieces!” 

     Urgric and Elbert turned eager smiles on Gax. “No.” 

     “A quarter of the whole thing,” Dar growled. 

     Before Gax could complain, though he knew it would be in vain, Salaster clapped his hands together and shouted a loud, “Huzzah! Come over, my large, green, formidable friend. Yes, oh, yes, you’ll do splendidly.” 

     Gax snatched his battleaxe from its place leaning against the side of his table. Patrons ducked aside as he hefted it onto his shoulder and strode over to the wizard and his magical contraption. “How do I get in there?” Gax asked. “And what’ll be waiting for me?” 

     “A dweomer built into the box will shrink you down to fit in the gauntlet. Now, don’t worry,” Salaster added when Gax’s eyebrows shot up. “When you finish, the dweomer will reverse and you’ll return to your formidable size. Similar to Gadreel’s Gauntlet, you’ll find obstacles to test your physical endurance, fighting prowess, and mental fortitude.” 

     “Mental what now?” said one of the patrons. A raucous laugh spread throughout the tavern and Gax stood there scratching his head for a moment before he was able to parse the words. 

     “Are you ready?” Salaster asked Gax. 

     “Aye,” Gax said, wringing the haft of his axe. 

     “Don’t die in there,” Dar said. “I could use that gold for a new pair of boots.” 

     Gax winked at Dar. Patrons barked bets at one another, a few of them scribbling notes down on pieces of parchment or on the tabletops. It seemed the general consensus was that Gax would indeed fail, and come out missing one or another limb. “I’m taking a tenth share from the winners after I best the gauntlet.” 

     The patrons jeered and laughed and drank as Gax followed Salaster’s direction to stand right before the contraption. A magical glyph had been inscribed on a square of rock at what seemed to be the entrance to the gauntlet. At Salaster’s insistence, Gax took a deep breath then put his hand over the small rune. 

     Arcane words spilled from Salaster’s lips in a jumble. A final word of power flew from him with a shout and an ethereal blue light exploded from under Gax’s palm, bathing the tiny dungeon in soft luminescence. A great force pulled at Gax. He felt himself being sucked toward a maelstrom. He screamed, though he heard nothing above the din of a whipping gale. His bowels turned to ice as he felt himself falling through eternity. 

     Gax pitched forward and caught himself on a hard stone floor. His battleaxe clattered next to him. He heard the final pitched note of his scream echoing off the stone walls. Then all was silent other than his harsh breathing. He shook the cold and terror from his bones, scooped up his axe, then stood on steady feet. 

     A familiar scene greeted him: that of weathered stone walls, crumbling statues of some god or a dead patron, archaic sigils carved into the floor at the threshold from one chamber to another, and the eerie promise of violence. Fond memories of pilfering an abandoned temple dedicated to a forgotten god and of robbing tombs beset with traps to guard a wealthy dead lord flooded Gax’s mind. A confident smile spread across his face, the thick, gold hoops pierced through his nostril and lip clinking together. 

     Gax found the ceiling to be comprised of the same stone material as the walls. “Hello?” he asked uncertainly. 

     A series of scrabbling and clicking sounds responded. Gax turned toward the sound and found a many-legged, slithering creature bearing down on him. It was a giant insect, with clacking mandibles with serrated edges, bulbous eyes of shimmering green, and whipping antenna bearing a striking resemblance to cave-dwelling critters Gax had smashed underfoot on many occasions. This one, however, would have been eight feet in height had it stood on its back set of pincer-like legs. 

     Gax set his feet as the thing came on, then hopped backward as it made its final lunge. He interposed the head of his axe where his legs had been just a moment ago and the creature’s jaws clamped shut on the sharp edges. Despite the gouges and the blood that leaked from the wounds, the creature held on tightly and began to yank its head back and forth. Its many legs gave it amazing leverage and Gax almost found himself either unarmed or on his back. 

     Gax rode the momentum of one substantial tug, however, and drove his axe in the same direction with as much force as he could muster. The creature resisted, but too late. It flipped over onto its back, though its rear legs still managed to keep themselves planted firmly on the ground. Gax slammed his boot into the creature’s underside but found an exoskeleton as strong as plate mail. 

     The axe that kept the creature’s formidable jaws busy was his only option. Gax stomped on one mandible to pin the creature, then worked his axe back and forth until it popped free. Immediately, he felt the creature righting itself. Gax high-stepped the gnashing jaws then put his foot down as his axe descended. 

     Jaws snapped around his leg, knife-stabs of pain going through his ankle, then the mandibles fell slack. A crunch sounded as the axe cleaved through the creature’s natural armor and split it completely through, just behind its bulging, glowing eyes. Death twitches wracked the thing, causing Gax to wince as the pointed edge of its jaws dug in deeper to his ankle. 

     “Hold that for me,” he growled as he left his axe embedded in the creature and bent down. He grabbed the jaws, one in each hand, and pried them apart just enough to slip his leg free, his calloused hands standing up to the job without taking a gash. 

     Moments later, Gax stood staring at the creature as it twitched and curled in on itself. “Hello?” he asked again, this time a bit quieter. 

     The stone of the ceiling parted as though it had become a patch of fog that the sun had suddenly burned away and a gargantuan nose poked down. He started and readied his axe before he recognized the overly large face of Salaster. “We can see you, Gax. Well done with the crawler, there!” 

     “So even if I can’t see through the ceiling, you all can see me?” 

     “Certainly!” 

     A grin split Gax’s face. “Then to anyone who wagered I’d fail this, go suck eggs!” A distant rumbling of laughter followed, sounding like the boom of thunder. Salaster chuckled, then disappeared, the swirling fog returning then solidifying into definite shape. 

     Arcane sigils awaited Gax at the only exit from this chamber. He stepped onto them and they flared red, then dimmed to a faint glow. He inspected the next room from the threshold to find an array of wooden towers and contraptions all draped in ropes tied to various places. The arcane brightness that lit the room glinted off metal edges, though Gax couldn’t make out exactly what they were, hidden inside the woodwork as they were. 

     Gax stepped from the rune on the floor and into the chamber and a swirl of motion erupted. Pulleys activated, guards clicked open, ropes pulled taut, a blast of fire shot up toward the ceiling. Gax crouched and swiveled back and forth just in time to see a wide machine rumbling toward him. It shook the ground as it closed on him, its large, steel face adorned with wicked spikes. At his back was a solid wall. If he didn’t move soon, he’d find himself riddled with holes. 

     He skipped from his spot and winced as the machine slammed into the stone wall, peppering him with bits of pulverized stone. A maelstrom of movement whirled about him and he found himself unable to focus on any one aspect. A chain suspended from a rod sticking out of the wall swung toward him, and at its end was a cannonball. 

     With so many other deadly pieces of machinery causing mayhem about him, Gax would have been too wary to jump out of the way, even if he had seen the pendulum earlier. He grabbed the chain as it came for him, but the cannonball continued right along. He was sure it had been made for a human contestant, one that would have taken the strike in the gut. He, being an orc and taller than the average human, was struck in the groin. 

     By the grace of the gods, the cannonball was a bit offline and hit his thigh before rebounding into his more sensitive parts. Still, he found himself holding onto the chain just to keep from spilling to the ground in a heap. Thunder boomed from far away. 

     The orc collected himself quickly, looking all about in case another cannonball was aimed at some other part of his body. He found himself tripping forward as the chain in his hand vanished. He sighted it at once, swinging down on its arc with the same terrible force to crush him again. He threw himself against the machine he’d avoided just as it flew past, cursing Salaster and his wizardry. 

     Breathing heavily and ignoring the urge to bend over and grab his groin lest something scramble his brains, Gax took a moment to collect himself. There were all manner of deadly traps activating throughout the room. Many of them involved sharp, steel edges while others dealt in arcane and elemental currency. Gax tried to determine a path through the madness but it was all too chaotic. 

     “Dar,” Gax croaked up at the ceiling. “If I die in here, I expect you to castrate that damned wizard!” 

     Gax sucked in a deep breath, gripped his battleaxe near its head in one hand, and sprang forward just as the cannonball swung by. A metal grate on the floor spat sounds of machinery clicking. Gax lifted the foot planted on the grate just as metal spikes shot up from it, the point of a few touching his boot. 

     The spikes receded and Gax leapt fully onto the grate to avoid a swinging cannonball. He sprawled to the floor immediately after as a wooden column next to him spun in place, wide, curved blades like that of a falchion extending from it. He rolled away as a blade positioned lower on the column streaked toward his face. 

     A click sounded and a sudden pain in his rear pulled a shout from Gax. He looked over his shoulder to see darts sticking out of his backside. Gax stood and found the exit. A stretch of floor adorned by magic sigils warned him from taking a direct route. Reluctantly, he spun away from the exit and worked his way in a loop that would avoid the rune-carved floor. 

     Swinging blades came within a hair of shedding the orc’s blood. Gouts of flame burned blisters into his scalp and neck but failed to immolate him. A steam-powered block of stone cleverly hidden in the wall slammed him in the hip with the force of a ram. An arcane sigil he leapt over while avoiding a fired javelin from a mechanism in the wall caused him to vomit uncontrollably. But, slipping on his vomit and clutching his rolling stomach, he dove out of the trap-ridden chamber. 

     Immediately, the sickness went away as a sigil below him glowed a soft white. Warmth flooded him, assuaging the pain from his battered and burned body. Gax pulled himself up to his feet, the darts in his rear plinking the floor as the wounds they had created closed and pushed them out. He licked his palm, wincing at the harsh taste, then plopped his meaty hand atop his head, extinguishing the fire smoldering in the loose portion of his hair. 

     Gax battled and worked his way through several more chambers. He cleaved a demonic aberration in two after suffering a broken arm that was magically mended once he crawled his way to the next trial. An hour passed as he figured out how to unlock a door in a room by moving patterned tiles around the floor until he’d created an unbroken line using each tile available in the room that one could follow from one threshold to the other. He’d heard many rumbles of thunder that seemed quite derogatory during that hour. 

     After proving his dexterity in a game of striking moving targets with handaxes that magically appeared on a table, he found himself standing before an impressive set of double-doors. He stepped on the magical sigil scribed onto the stone floor and the threshold behind him closed as a stone slab slid up from the floor, grinding and casting off dust. The doors before him reached all the way to the ceiling, some twenty feet up, though each was only a bit wider than Gax’s shoulders. With an earth-quaking rumble, they began to open. 

     Golden light spilled in through the small slit, its intensity strong enough to make Gax squint. The strength of the light lessened as the doors opened wider. A large chamber complete with wide pillars of stone and a circular set of stairs up to a raised dais in the middle slackened Gax’s jaw. He ambled forward and around a crumbled pillar to gape at the podium, nearly lost completely beneath a sea of glittering gold, precious gems, and wondrous items. 

     Gax, a wary adventurer even when drunk or under the influence of wanderer’s moss, nearly flung himself toward the immeasurable wealth. An instinct he had learned to trust over the many years screamed at him to hold his place, however. He inched behind the pillar closest to him, managing to tear his gaze from the treasure and scan the room. 

     Tattered banners hung from the walls, some of them nothing but burned strips of cloth, others gone completely and blackened wall left in their place. No exits presented themselves. Even the doors Gax had come through had swung close with a whisper. At the head of the room was a handful of overturned thrones, gleaming crowns cast about near them. 

     Gax listened intently, attempting to notice the steady rhythm of breathing. His caution proved warranted. Though he didn’t hear the inhalation and exhalation of breath, he was able to pick out a series of quiet but sharp creaks and cracks. He peered up toward the source of the noise and found a pillar obstructing his view. The tip of something at one time white but now yellowed with age caught his attention. It moved, ever so subtly, and reminded him of a wavering spear tip. 

     Eyes trained on that odd thing near the ceiling, Gax crept around the pillar. His feet barely made a sound as they glided over loose stones and rubble. His breath barely escaped his nostrils as he slipped forward to reveal more of what he gawked at. Before he saw the entirety of it, he knew he was staring at a collection of bones, arrayed in a distinct pattern. 

     Two eyes, glowing red and surrounded by nothingness, like the deepest pit in the lowest ring of the hells, glared at Gax. His own eyes widened and he nearly soiled himself and ran into the furthest corner of the chamber to cower. Perched atop a curved stone awning above the downed thrones, was a dragon made up of bones held together by demonic magic. Never had Gax seen a dragon, never mind a living one. To behold an undead creature so magnificent, terrible, and powerful only a bowshot away, with its many twisting horns and full maw of bristling fangs, each the size of a long sword, turned his bowels to ice. 

     “Godsdamned wizard,” he whispered, his voice quaking. 

     The dragon seemed to hear him, as it leaned closer, cocked its head to one side, then threw its head back and screeched. The sound seemed to tear at Gax’s soul. He wondered if his ears were bleeding, if he’d lose consciousness before even getting a chance to beg Salaster to get him out of this damned gauntlet. 

     Neither became a possibility, however, as the abomination stretched toward Gax and a conflagration swirled into existence in its empty ribcage. The flame traveled along its spine then shot from its mouth. Gax bellowed a cry of alarm. His instincts took hold and he was sprinting along the row of stone pillars away from the blast.  

     Extreme heat washed over him as a deafening boom erupted just a dozen steps behind him. A wave of force hit him like a battering ram and he was sent rolling across the ground and into the far wall. The roar of the fire ended and Gax was on his feet, knowing any time wasted would mean a swift and painful death. He scooped up his axe just as the dragon landed atop the dais covered in treasure. Those red eyes stared hatred at Gax.  

     “It’s undead,” Gax whispered. “How do I kill an undead thing this big?” Chopping it to pieces wasn’t likely to work. Hell, the thing would just pull its bones back together with the same magic that held them together currently.  

     The red orbs flashed a cobalt blue. Something in the pile of gold caught Gax’s eye for a moment. A gem secured in a decorative metal affair also flashed with blue light. A phylactery!  

     Before Gax could make a move toward the gem, he found himself paralyzed. A dull blue glow emanated from his body. The dragon’s spell had immobilized him. And what was worse, the undead creature took a long, slow step toward him. If bones could smile, Gax would say the abomination was grinning. 

     Gax raged against the hold of the spell. He threw up mental barricades and managed a meager growl. The lumbering dragon took another step toward him, its maw drifting open. Every muscle in Gax’s body twitched. He felt a tooth crack, but still he couldn’t break the spell’s hold in any substantial way. 

     The stink of rotting flesh accosted Gax as the dragon lumbered over him. He could have taken a swing at one massive forearm of decayed and yellowed bone, if he had the use of his body. Bones creaked as the dragon reared its head up, readying to come down and bite Gax in two. 

     A deep rumble escaped the beast as it struck, but Gax’s own cry drowned it out. His body was free suddenly, and he found himself diving and rolling away just as the dragon’s jaws slammed shut. Fetid air washed over him and the crack of fangs was like the crash of lightning. 

     Gax sprang to his feet and chopped with his axe, a weapon lacking any magical properties, thus useless in destroying a phylactery. The axe struck what looked like brittle bone, but Gax’s arms were numbed by a shock that he would have expected had he struck a mountain of steel. His grip faltered and he dropped his axe, not that he would have use of it anyway, then dashed past the dragon. 

     Bones creaked and clicked as the abomination spun to give chase. Gax bounded up the steps of the podium, managing to keep his feet beneath him even when he slipped on spilling piles of coins. He snatched the hilt of a longsword, raised it above his head, then brought it down on the intricate amulet that housed the soul of the draconic lich. Purple light flared, blinding Gax, but not before he saw the obliteration of the sword. It had been an exquisitely crafted, gem-crusted affair, but one that wasn’t magical, he now knew. 

     Gax broke into a run as gold shuddered from the thundering footsteps behind him. A fire roared to life at his back. He made a sharp turn at the edge of the dais then leapt off it just as a gout of flame shot past, scorching his exposed forearm and setting bits of his clothing aflame. His roll extinguished the flames, then he was up and making for the pillars on the far side of the room. Once behind one, he continued past several until he abruptly stopped, doing everything in his power to quite his laborious breathing. 

     The conflagration ended, then pounding footsteps that loosed dust from the ceiling followed. Gax waited and listened. An explosion startled him as the dragon decimated the first pillar he’d ducked behind with a swipe of its tail, but he kept his position. A large chunk of stone skittered to a stop at his feet. He crouched and snatched it up. The dragon lumbered closer, a deep growl escaping its cavernous chest. 

     Gax waited and counted to five. The beast was just a few steps away from his pillar. He quietly turned, then hurled the stone as far as he could. It sailed through the air then struck the back wall with a bang. The dragon screeched and its pace quickened. Gax waited until he was confident he could slip from cover without being seen, then poked his head around the pillar. 

     Pits of swirling hell fire greeted him. The dragon had discovered his ruse, it seemed, and had tricked Gax into thinking it had worked. Before Gax could even utter a single, stuttering curse, the beast’s head darted forward. Rows of teeth encircled the orc. Even with boots of flying he wouldn’t have been fast enough to dart aside as the great mouth closed on him. Pointed teeth dug into his sides, legs, and arms. He screamed as his insides turned to cold jelly. 

     “Nom, nom, nom, nom, nom.” Gax opened his eyes slowly at the odd sound, still expecting to see his body divided into multiple pieces. His jaw popped opened as a massive, wrinkled hand closed gently around his body and opened repeatedly. A chorus of far-away laughter tore his confused gaze upward where the ceiling had melted away. At the end of the arm of the hand that was still pretending to eat Gax, was the smiling face of Salaster, making ridiculous sounds. 

     Fury lent Gax the power to flush the paralyzing fear from his body and he grabbed onto one of the mad wizard’s fingers then took a bite of it. He tasted blood and Salaster tore his hand away, hissing in pain. Gax glared at the wizard, who glared right back after wiping his finger on his robes. Then the wizard’s smile returned and he clapped. “What a show, Gax! It all worked so well! So very well!” Salaster was bouncing on his toes now, as giddy as a child opening a present. 

     “You cheated!” Gax barked indignantly. 

     “Not at all. My sight was only that of the dragon’s while the illusion was in effect. Ask your friends here, they saw my eyes go white as a blind man’s.” 

     Gax snorted then stomped over to his axe and scooped it up. The glitter of gold caught his attention and he turned a curious eye on the hill of treasure. “It’s an illusion, goodsir,” Salaster said. “If you would now.” Gax followed his pointed finger, the one bearing a tiny set of red teeth marks, to a sigil etched into the floor atop the pedestal that held the overturned thrones. 

     The same sensation of being ripped through time and space accosted Gax as he left the gauntlet and returned to the Smashed Helm. Patrons jerked away from him as he appeared, his axe a finger’s width from poking out one man’s eye. 

     “Godsdamned good show!” bellowed Urgric. “A shame you didn’t best the dragon at the end there.” 

     “Bet I could,” snickered an arrogant adventurer somewhere in the crowd. 

     Salaster turned toward the man. “Do you now?” he asked with a pleased grin. 

     Gax slumped down in his seat next to Dar, and realized she was counting out a good chunk of silver coins. “How’d you get those?” he asked, frowning. 

     “I won the bet.” 

     “Which bet?” 

     “Whether or not you’d succeed in the gauntlet.” 

     “You bet that I would fail?” 

     “I did, and I bet correctly, did I not? Here, these are yours.” 

     “I didn’t claim I’d lose, like you did, you horse’s arse. I’m not entitled to any portion.” 

     “I’m just returning your silver. But I can keep it if you’d like.” 

     Gax felt around his trouser pockets for his coin pouch and found it was missing. Dar produced it and tossed it to him. 

     “You took my coin and bet it against me? Gods, Dar, that’s crossing a line!” 

     “Will you shut up if I give you two extra silver?” 

     Gax’s scowl flew from his face. “Make it three and we’re square.” 

     Dar pushed a handful of coins back to Gax. A quick count revealed that she’d returned what she’d taken and added just two extra silver. “You get two. Now, drink. That idiot Oberin is going to try the gauntlet and I wager he’ll only make it half way.” 

     “So, I did pretty well, then.” 

     Dar tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips. “Eh, I’d have finished it. I mean, who actually thinks throwing a rock is going to distract a dragon, even if it is just an illusory one?” 

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“Some hoard of treasure this is,” Darsil’eit scoffed, smacking Gax in the back of his head.

Gax turned to glower at his elf companion as she strode by, ignoring him to inspect an arrow she had moments ago held against her bowstring. “I’m telling you, I had a vision. There’s weapons and armor, trinkets with gold and jewels in one of these caves.” Gax frowned at the pile of animal feces he had knelt down to inspect, nervously running his fingers along one of the large canines that protruded from his lower jaw.

“You probably saw pixies dancing and screwing in the air when you had your vision with as much wanderer’s moss as you ate. Tiny, stupid orc brain couldn’t tell you when to put the stuff down.”

Gax hefted his battleaxe and stomped after Dar as she walked away. “A tiny, stupid orc brain that didn’t see no pixies, but saw treasure. I’m telling you, Dar, it’s around here somewhere.”

“We should be on a ship, guarding some pompous noble for easy coin, but instead we’re chasing down your drug dreams.”

In short order, the pair found themselves walking along the rocky path that led down from the mountain cave they had just ventured into, the sunrays weakening as the day ended. Patches of yellow grass and bushes and trees sparsely covered with green leaves wavered as a light breeze blew. Gax harrumphed as he marched after Dar, kicking at the dust. A whirlwind of swirling dirt spun up and away from him, drawing his eyes up to the tip of a mountain not far away.

There he saw a flicker of light, of firelight.

“Dar! There!”  he hissed, hustling forward to put one meaty hand on her slender shoulder, the other jabbing a green finger ending in a pointed nail at the spot. “That’s it, I swear it by Axrom’s hairy balls.”

Dar was silent for a moment, scrutinizing the cave Gax indicated. “Axrom’s balls may have it right this time. Come on.”

The duo picked their way along the rocky cliffs and mountain trails, keeping tight to the walls in case a scout patrolled the cave entrance. A cautious approach yielded an unguarded entrance, which worried Gax a little bit. Who wouldn’t at least leave some kind of magical construct to guard a hoard hidden in the side of the Arrow Mountains?

“Careful going in,” he whispered. “Traps or some kind of beastie could be waiting for us.”

Dar nodded as she ascended the final step to the back of the cave entrance. The pair skirted the edge of the cave and peered in to find nothing but weak firelight flickering off the many facets of the rock wall. They inspected the floor and walls, tossed a length of rope out to detect any tripwires hidden from sight, then proceeded into the cave to discover a descending, winding way that had been purposefully worked into the rock.

Gax danced in place as they came across a torch burning in a sconce set in the cave wall. “Oh, Dar, this is it!”

“Hush before someone or something hears you!”

The spiraling tunnel eventually gave way to a dark chamber with a flat floor and low ceiling, so low in fact that Gax had to hunch and nearly walk on his knees. “We split up here,” Dar whispered, indicating the three exit tunnels from the chamber.

“My arse, we split up!” Gax protested, drawing a scowl and hiss from Dar. “I’m just saying, we don’t know what’s down here.”

“Look at the size of this chamber,” Dar said. “It can’t be big enough to worry a big orc like Gax. We meet back here in a half hour.” With that, Dar slid away down one curving tunnel, a small flicker of light from a torch somewhere down that passageway lighting the tunnel wall ever so slightly. Gax took a few shuffling steps in her direction but stopped as he imagined the admonishment he’d receive if he followed his irate companion.

Gax huffed then ambled toward the only other passageway with a bit of torchlight flickering off its walls. He found this tunnel also with a short ceiling and cursed Axrom’s genitals as his battleaxe scraped off the rock above his head, a small shower of dust raining down his back.

Around a sharp bend Gax came upon another torch and stole it from its perch. He found the thing puny in his hand, like a match held in a human’s pathetic grip. No matter, it should last him at least the half hour until he could go back and find Dar, hopefully with a sack of gold and jewels strung over his shoulder, and maybe a head or two of whatever lived down here and put up these torches.

A stone clattered off the rock in the distance, echoing through the tunnel network. Gax paused for a moment, listening for another disturbance. When none came, he pulled his axe off his back, managing to slap and scrape the walls around him more than once, eliciting a wince from him each time. “Dar would’ve stabbed me in the arse for that.”

Gax held his axe tightly to his body, knowing that in this cramped corridor that the weapon would be all but useless. Hopefully when he found whatever moved about the tunnels he’d also find himself in a larger chamber. A methodic padding sounded from somewhere behind him he was sure, but of course he found nothing over his shoulder. A scrape echoed from somewhere else, of wood, perhaps, across stone.

As an orc, Gax didn’t truly need the flame to make his way in absolute darkness, so he silently placed the torch on the ground and continued on, the knuckles of both his hands white as he gripped his axe. His heart beat harder against his chest in anticipation of a fight, though he imagined he’d find himself the cause of a slaughter as he waded through a tribe of knee-height dwarves or some nasty cousin of the like. He stalked onward with a wide grin.

The mouth of the tunnel he traversed was alight with flickering orange. Either a single large fire or multiple torches burned in the room beyond. Gax quietly shuffled to the edge of the tunnel then leaned his head out to look in. He found a larger room than the first open chamber he and Dar had come to, the ceiling almost high enough for him to stand upright without issue. A handful or cots sprawled across the ground here and there in small clusters. Packs, pots, cups, urns, and clothes dotted each small campsite. Some had fires burning low at their middle while a much larger conflagration crackled and popped in the middle of the chamber, heating it to a comfortable degree.

Gax stared at the large fire and squinted, noticing a handful of logs only recently piled atop the flame, still catching across their length and increasing the size of the blaze. Darkness suddenly devoured the light, metal slamming into the rock with a series of deafening bangs. Gax caught glimpses of movement, though of what exactly he wasn’t sure. He saw cauldrons or buckets, perhaps, for a brief moment before they covered the few fires in the chamber.

The sudden plunge into darkness after having peered into the blaze for a while stole his darkvision, a large bluish-white blob floating at the center of his sight no matter where he looked. He ducked back into the tunnel and shut his eyes, ignoring the ghost light that still haunted him and using his keen ears to decipher what was happening. More scrapes and thuds and clatters came from the chamber. Wood and metal across stone. It sounded large and heavy, but what giant could fit down these tunnels?

Gax rubbed at his eyes feverishly, though doing so proved fruitless. A long moment passed in relative silence, the only sound a rushing of air like a bellows, or, perhaps, the intake and exhalation of breath from some large beast. Instinct screamed at him to turn and flee, to find Dar before returning here to face whatever might be beyond the corner. Curiosity and recklessness, however, urged him forward.

A faint wisp of blue still marring his vision, Gax crept forward. His shuffling boots matched the cadence of the creature’s breath, muting their sound. He stuck his head around the corner and peered into the dark chamber. He caught glimpses of movement though he couldn’t pick out whether he looked at a beast that filled the chamber completely or at a army of things.

Metal clanged and light erupted in the chamber, illuminating a squat creature with shining scales, twisting horns, gleaming eyes, and a maw bristling with fangs, each one as long as Gax’s hand. The blaze leapt at Gax, shot from the mouth of the beast like a fireball. Gax yelped, the octave of his voice making him wonder if he had lost a testicle or two. His axe slipped from his grasp as he dove back down the corridor, the menacing visage of the dragon haunting his retreat.

Fire slammed into the wall, blasting Gax with a wave of heat that singed the hair on his face. He choked on smoke and the acrid stench of burnt hair as he pelted back down the corridor. His darkvision still impaired, he failed to notice a bend in the dark tunnel and barely lifted his hands in time to avoid splattering his face on rock. He bounced from the wall, his teeth vibrating from the shock, and staggered away.

“A bloody dragon!” he wheezed. “How in all the hells could it be a dragon?”

Minutes later, he stumbled back into the wide chamber where he and Dar had parted ways. Two steps down the tunnel she’d taken he stopped. A clanking sound, like so much metal armor shifting and crashing together, echoed through the underground chamber. “Dar?” he hissed, again nearly reaching between his legs to ensure he remained fully intact.

The only reply was more rattling and grinding. Was the same beast pursuing him? Perhaps a group of them? But dragons seldom nested together, being the solitary creatures they are. Was an army of squat soldiers coming to investigate the commotion he’d made?

There were far too many variables, and nearly each one had Gax’s gut roiling. He prayed to Axrom that Dar was safe, slapped himself hard in the side of the face for dropping his axe, then turned and fled back up the winding tunnel that led to the surface.

The tunnel vomited Gax out into a cool breeze, washing him in relief. He spun and backed away from the tunnel, praying Dar would appear any moment. All that came from the tunnel was the echoing clank, forcing Gax slowly away.

“Gax!” The orc spun around violently at the call. He rushed toward the edge of the cliff before him, barely skidding to a stop in time to avoid pitching over and tumbling down. Dar stood on a platform fifteen feet below, a burlap sack full to bursting slung over her lithe shoulder.

“Dar,” Gax bellowed, “there’s a dragon in there! A damn dragon!”

Dar’s response was a smirk and a waved hand, beckoning Gax to descend. He didn’t need any more prodding than that. He skipped down the rock face, tripping and crashing on his way down. He landed flat on his face next to his companion, paying the cuts and bruises no mind as he surged to his feet and looked to her incredulously.

“Did you see it? I think there were more than one. We need to run, Dar. Fastlike.”

“Where’s your axe?”  she asked calmly, nodding to his shoulder where the handle should have protruded.

“Dropped the damn thing in the tunnels.” Gax’s eyes went to the bag Dar hoisted over her back and stopped. “What’s that?”

“Shit for you to hold,” she said as she swung the bag forward, to crash to the ground. Metal clinked together, muted by the fabric of the bag. “I’m sure you can manage that along with your axe.”

Gax bent down to untie the strings holding the bag closed. “I told you already I lost the thing. Thrice-damned beast scared it out of me hands. What kind of dragon lives in those small caves anyway?”

The strings came loose and Gax tore the bag open, gawking at the slim chainmail armor within, a thin sword resting in its sheathe, and a few items wrapped in oiled leather. “You found the treasure?” he asked, his tone hushed.

The clatter of metal and rocks sounded overhead and Gax stood, pulling the tiny sword from the bag to hold in his hand. How ridiculous he must look, he thought. The blade would likely serve him better as a toothpick.

A diminutive creature appeared atop the cliff Gax had all but fallen down, staring down at him through bushy eyebrows, a wide smile rimmed by a braided beard full enough to hide a small flock of birds within plastered to its ruddy face. “Shoot it, Dar!” Gax bellowed, cocking his arm to throw the sword he held.

“You toss that blade and I’ll shoot you, you pig-screwing idiot,” she snapped.

Gax stopped cold, his face scrunching up with confusion. The dwarf above rumbled a deep laugh as a few others of his kind moved up to flank him, slapping him on the back as they too laughed.

“Tell yer green friend to come back with good trade next time he has a mind to,” called the first dwarf. “Might be we’ll craft him an axe with a strap so he doesn’t leave it behind next time he’s pissing himself and running like a little girl.” Another round of boisterous laughter erupted from the gathered dwarves, more appearing to stare down at Gax, some with tankards in their hands.

A dwarf hefted Gax’s axe, the weapon taller than the small thing was, with practiced ease and tossed it down the cliff side. Gax dropped the sword atop the bag and scurried to get beneath the axe, worried that such a fall would snap its handle or a chunk off its blade. It stopped a handbreadth from his outstretched hands, however, the blade aimed to slam him right in the nose if he failed to pinch it between his hands.

Gax looked past the weapon to the dwarves to see one of them clad in robes swaying gently, brandishing a glowing shield in two hands, upon which was emblazoned the sigil of their god, a hammer with a spiked top silhouetted by a sunburst. “Go on,” said a dwarf. “Hold yer battleaxe.”

Gax eyed the hairy creature warily before reaching out to grasp the axe-head. It suddenly swayed to the side, avoiding his grip. The dwarves again exploded with laughter. Gax tried disintegrating them with his stare, earning nothing but further smiles and cajoling for it.

“Alright, Dagnor,” Dar admonished through a wide smile. “Enough playing at my dumb friend’s expense.”

“If you say so, lady,” the lead dwarf said. His priest nodded and the axe spun around for Gax to swipe its haft from the air. He began to turn around but his axe jerked suddenly, as though trying to escape his grip. He yanked it back and the enchantment ended, him stumbling to his rear end after losing his balance.

“Go suck rocks!” he bellowed at the collected dwarves, riling them to higher levels of back-slapping and wheezing laughter.

Gax stood and swiped the burlap sack and sword then turned and stomped away, spitting at the ground near Dar’s feet. Dar smiled at Gax, waved to the dwarves above, then turned and followed her irate companion.

“What the hells was all that?” Gax barked when she caught up to him. “Those tiny buggers are your friends, living in the rocks with a pet dragon?” Gax lifted the sack. “Did they trade you these pretties for a nice dance or two?”

Dar smacked Gax in the back of the arm, stinging his flesh. “It wasn’t a dragon, you bumbling idiot.”

“Axrom’s balls it wasn’t. I know what I seen there.”

“You saw a machine. Built by the stoneflinger dwarves of this mountain.”

A chord of memory resonated in Gax, stalling his response. “Stonflinger… Why’s that sound familiar?”

“It’s a good thing I traded your stash of wanderer’s moss,” she said, shaking her head.

“You what?” Gax bellowed, stopping altogether, his mouth agape. “I worked my arse off to gather that much! You remember the eagles, and the scratches?” Gax pointed to a scar below his eye.

“Stuff doesn’t grow up here,” she replied with a shrug. “Too little moisture this high up. Stoneflingers love it, though. Wonderful craftsmen, they are. Best smiths anywhere around.” She patted the sack Gax carried.

Gax wanted to rage at her, but that damn persistent ping of a memory hidden just beneath the surface continued to nag at him.

“Gods, you really are that dense,” Dar said. “Gax, last month we were sitting in the Smashed Helm and a few stoneflingers were there. You couldn’t help but gorge yourself on some wanderer’s moss. They noticed and you four instantly became best friends. Don’t you remember?”

Gax stared back blankly, his mind working double-time to overturn the drug-buried memory.

“Shit, man! You got them so high I thought they’d start floating around. The shit you four were saying, and seeing apparently… They talked about their forges and the treasures they’d made, showing off some trinkets and weapons embedded with rubies and sapphires. Your idiot brain took that night and rolled it into some convoluted vision that ended with us finding a hoard of treasure up here. I couldn’t help but go with it.” She grinned wickedly and all the pieces fell into place, the memories snapping back with clarity.

“I found the stoneflingers the next day, before they left,” Dar continued, “and told them how much fun they could have with you. They really could be cousins of yours. If, that is, you weren’t such a giant oaf.”

Gax let his arms go slack at his side, dropping the sack. “So you’re telling me that those puny creatures set all of that up just to get a laugh?” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “They went through all that trouble for shits and giggles and are about to have a grand time high on moss?”

“That’s the short of it, aye.”

Gax beamed suddenly, thrusting his hand inside his vest and rummaging around inside a deep pocket. “To the hells with this!” He pulled a pouch of leather the size of his fist out and bit a string to untie it. He held out the open pouch to behold a dried, purple substance. Wanderer’s moss. “I’m going back!”

Flopping madly, droplets of water flying about and splashing Gax, the large, disc-shaped fish at the end of the line struggled valiantly to get away from the cudgel in the orc’s hand. Just like he had done to the three before this one, however, Gax gripped the fishing line and let the fish dangle in front of him until it calmed slightly. Then, he smacked it across the eye with his club and it went dormant. He whistled as he removed the hook from its mouth, his meaty, orc fingers, which weren’t amazingly adept at such tasks, fumbled the hook a few times. 

His joyous whistle turned to a growl as the hook pierced the tip of his finger for what must have been the third time today. He instinctually put his finger in his mouth to suck on it and spat it out quickly after, the stink and taste of raw fish lingering. Once he finally removed the hook, he bashed the fish once more then tossed it into a quaint wooden chest lined with burlap, a block of ice purchased from a butcher beneath that. 

Near his foot was another burlap sack along with a small wooden box of hooks, weights, and other various fishing implements. He leaned forward and thrust his hand into the burlap sack, the dingy he owned rocking violently as he shifted his bulky frame. His hand came back with a large, crimson worm wriggling between his fingers. It glittered wetly in the bright light of midday falling over the inlet he fished in. Roughly two hundred yards west sat a small port rarely visited by people of his town. 

The blood worm frantically lurched back and forth, more so even when Gax spit it upon his hook. He cast yet again, satisfied with the distance as the hook and worm plunked down into the water. He placed the butt of his rod in a niche carved in the seat of the dingy, then laid back, his head upon a rolled blanket, and bathed in the warm light and listened to the song of the birds. 

A steady thud woke him from his nap sometime later, the sun still in roughly the same location. He sat up lethargically and rubbed his eyes before calmly grasping the line at the end of his rod. He began to reel in the fish at its end, hand over hand, at a pleasant rate. The struggling of the fish was no match for Gax’s orc strength and in short order he saw the creature stagger into view beneath the steady surf. 

He took up his whistling tune once more as the fish came to the surface. He reached out with his hand to grasp the line near the fish’s mouth, then he screamed and hurled himself backward. 

A creature resembling an eel, albeit large enough to swallow Gax whole, burst from the depths and through the surface. It snapped its massive maw shut on the fish Gax had nearly caught. Its huge body propelled from the water and cast Gax in shadow. Its sparkling eye locked onto his as the dingy he sat in was lifted and tossed over by the creature’s bulk. 

“Shiiiii—” Gax started to holler as he took flight then splashed down into the water. He surfaced quickly, fear lending him speed, and found himself encased by his overturned dingy. He flipped it over, sinking below the surf as he did so. In that moment beneath the waves, he saw the creature’s tail and was mesmerized by its size. “Irduaulin!” he breathed as his head popped above the water again. 

The creature was a myth prattled on about by madmen and idiots in Gax’s town, oftentimes used in outrageous tales of seafaring. It was certainly no myth, though, Gax admitted. 

The orc paddled toward his dingy, his breath coming hard and fast as adrenaline rushed through him. Normally, he was a terrible swimmer, and certainly would have sunk had his axe been on his back or his armor strapped to him. 

Gax reached the dingy and grasped one side then tried to heave his leg over. The dingy immediately flipped over on top of him once again, blanketing him in darkness. “By Krom’s hairy balls!” he swore violently. 

The light of day fell over him once again as he swam out from under the dingy. He didn’t see Irduaulin in his brief time beneath the waves this time, the salt in the water stinging his eyes terribly. He swiped at them as he moved to the front of the boat and started turning it once more. Irduaulin shot from the surface once more, just a handbreadth from his nose. The dingy was shattered by the creature’s jaws, which Gax was afforded a close look at – a cavernous maw bristling with hundreds, maybe thousands, of backward-angled fangs. 

Gax yelped in fear once more and made to spin and head back to the shore. Irduaulin’s bulk slammed into his side as he did so and propelled him into the air and toward the shore. He silently thanked the beast then swam fiercely away. 

Between strokes and cries and ragged breaths, he saw Darsil’eit, his elf companion, appear at the shore, her bow in one hand and Gax’s axe stuck in the sand near her opposite side. “Irduaulin!” he tried to scream as he swam, sucking in mouthfuls of water and managing to only sputter incoherent syllables. He felt the water behind him ripple and cried out, nearly sobbing. Dar fixed him with a disgusted and confused stare. 

After what felt like an hour, his knees strike the shore. He planted his feet on the sand and surged from the surf, staggering toward Dar. “Irduaulin! Irduaulin! The big damn fish! It almost ate me!” Gax hollered as he stumbled. 

He tripped in his haste and planted his face in the sand at Dar’s feet, breathing so heavily he was sure his lungs would spew from his mouth in moments. Dar remained silent while he caught his breath, scanning the water suspiciously. Eventually, Gax struggled to his feet, leaning on Dar as his legs quivered beneath him. “Did you see it?” he panted. 

“See what?” 

“Irduaulin!” 

“Irduaulin’s a myth, Gax.” 

“Damn thing is real!” he insisted vehemently. “Ate Floaty, it did.” He indicated the place where his dingy had been just minutes before and saw a sea that looked perfectly, and unfairly, calm. 

“Sure.” Dar rolled her eyes. “Here.” She handed him his battleaxe and he used it as a staff to lean upon. “I’m betting you were doing a shit job at catching fish and punched a hole in your own boat, you big oaf.” Dar turned and began stalking off toward the woods she had been hunting in. “Good thing I’ve caught us a few rabbits. Otherwise we’d be paying for our meals tonight.” 

“Wait,” Gax implored, his legs still jelly. “Hold my battleaxe, Dar. I can’t. Irduaulin, I swear it.” 

“Sure, and I’m a unicorn with tentacles. Hold your own damn weapon, Gax. And I’m not spending coin on buying you a new boat.” 

“Fine by me,” Gax said, dragging his axe behind him as he wobbled after Dar into the woods. “I’m never setting out over the sea again.” 

“Actually, we set out in three days for the Dagger Isles aboard the Sea Star as guards. A two-day journey overseas.” 

Gax halted and his legs failed him. He staggered to his knees and swore, “Son of a harpy’s pointy tit!” 

Koe lay on his side, atop a hill, dying.

Or so it seemed, moaning and griping as he was.

Fal felt like cutting off one of the man’s fingers to show him what real pain was. He dismissed the idea quickly, though. Mostly because Koe was his good friend and brother, partially because some snake-like bipedal, ugly son of a whore was bearing down on him.

Al caught a thin curved blade on his shield, deflecting the weapon. Before he could close the distance to the red-scaled, female creature controlling the swinging blade, however, she lashed out once more and successfully ensnared his falchion. The tip of the blade bit shallowly into his knuckles and he dropped his weapon, backpedaling.

Fal stood atop the small hill in a meager park a few blocks from the wall he and his troop had started on, Koe writhing behind him. He planted his feet and waited for the enemy, charging with terrible speed, a spear held out before it.

Al’s shield suddenly took flight, spinning through the air on a course with the red-scaled creature. She swayed aside as though her spine was more cartilage than bone. The handcrossbow he fired next, however, flew true. She stumbled backward as a bolt sprouted from her collar, injured, but not out of the fight.

His buckler certainly not sufficient to receive the business end of a spear, Fal waited anxiously, hoping he could somehow outmatch the creature with his speed and close enough to render the polearm ineffective. Al, however, would have none of that. He cast another missile at Fal’s enemy. Only, instead of a bolt, it was the crossbow itself.

The creature, caught by surprise, tried to batter it away, missed, and reeled when the solid hunk of wood and metal struck it square in the forehead. It would have shook the annoyance if Koe hadn’t assisted as well.

“Eat shit and die!” Koe snarled as he cast a fist-sized stone at the creature. The timing was perfect. As it stumbled from Al’s crossbow, Koe’s rock skipped under its foot and sent it careening toward Fal, its spear completely offline. Fal ran it through then slammed his forehead into the creature’s face, where a nose would have existed had the thing had one. It staggered away and fell back, gawking at the hole in its abdomen.

“Right!” Fal hollered. “Can we get the fuck out of here now?”

Fal indicated the female warrior clad in red plate armor, gathering her weapon in shaky hands.

“I got him,” Al relented as he bent down and lifted Koe roughly to his feet. Koe squawked in protest as his foot struck the ground, streamers of blood leaking from the hole that ran through the middle of his boot, the unlucky result of an almost successful parry of a spear.

“Take the weight off, you idiot!” Koe screamed at Al.

“Cover my idiotic ass, Fal. And Koe’s too if you can.”

They began to retreat, Fal staring down the injured female warrior, hoping she wouldn’t press forward. She took a step forward, her thin eyes narrowed to menacing slits. Another snake-like creature put a hole through a soldier then moved to join her. A few dozen more crept forward from between buildings and the wide street that led to the western wall.

“Shit!” Fal exclaimed. “We need a building to hole up in, big guy!”

“Actually,” Al responded mirthfully, “We’ll be just fine right here.”

“I know you think highly of yourself, but now’s not the time to make a godsdamned statement, Al. Move!”

“Get down!” Al thundered, shocking Fal into inaction for a moment.

Fal cocked his head to look over his shoulder as the big man flopped down, pulling a loudly disgruntled Koe with him. At least a score of Deth Uk were charging straight for Fal, arms cocked back, spears and throwing axes in hand. Starlight glimmered from the tips of several weapons as they took flight. Fal threw himself to the ground, an axe tumbling just a handsbreadth from his right ear.

Deth Uk hurdled over him then crashed into the enemy, their brute strength crushing the small army. The melee ended quickly, but half of the enraged barbarians had perished in their bloodlust, heedless of the swift strikes of the snake-like creatures.

Fal and his friends stood warily, even Koe remaining quiet.

After a few breaths, when no new enemies appeared, Fal let out a sigh and leaned heavily on a tree near the base of the small hill he’d been standing on just moments ago. “Think we’ve almost got them beat?”

“Close. But then we might be close too,” Al reasoned.

“What do we do then?”

“Guys, this really hurts,” Koe growled. “I need a medic, or some really strong spirits.” He winced and hissed. “Both actually!” he spat once the wave of pain dimmed.

“It can’t be that bad,” Fal argued, wiggling the stumps of his fingers. “Besides, at most you’ll maybe lose a few toes. We’ll match, kind of.”

“Cut your own fucking toes off if you want another limb to match yours!”

“He has a point,” Al said.

“You think I should cut my toes off? I wasn’t being serious, Al. It was a joke. You get hit too hard in the head?”

“No, you base whoreson. Like you said, ‘we don’t die on this hill’. We’ve done our part. Koe is out of commission. We’re both beat up and tired. Let’s get him help and hunker down.”

“Old,” Fal said as he pushed away from the tree, his groan audible over the din of clashing metal and screams that permeated throughout the city.

“What?”

“What you mean is old. We’re old. This kind of work isn’t what we’re best at anymore. Well, it never was our strongest suit, but that’s beside the point… Am I rambling?”

“Yes, you damn idiot fuck!” Koe sputtered.

“Oh, that wasn’t even good, Koe. I expect better, even with a hole in your foot. There’s a field base a few blocks back. We’ll get Koe’s cut looked at then bluff our way back into the castle.”

“What the hells for!” Koe blurted. “That’s at least two miles away!”

“You said spirits, right? The city is dry, but the king’s storeroom is full. You saw it. Al can carry you. He can use the exercise.” Fal patted his belly to punctuate his point.

Koe’s pained visage melted for a brief moment as he considered the plan then nodded in begrudging agreement. Al threw an obscene gesture at them both and they headed off.

An hour later and the trio found themselves lounging in the darkness of the castle’s storerooms, gorging themselves on wine, brandy, cheese, dried meats, and dried fruits.

“There’s still a battle going on up there,” Al reasoned around a mouthful of cheese, meat, fruit, and nuts, his words barely decipherable.

“Gods, man, the stuff isn’t going to up and run off,” Fal teased.

Koe laughed drunkenly, his head listing to the side. His humor turned into a pained hiss as he shifted.

Al took a large swig of wine, upon swallowing which he too winced as though he’d been stabbed through the foot. Seconds later, when he finally opened his eyes and the mass of food had travelled down his throat, he sighed. His eyes red and watering, he said, “Tastes better when you put it all together like that.”

“I’d wager a steak kills you well before a sword, big man,” Fal said. He paused considering his words, then continued, “Certainly not a bad way to go actually… Anyway, you said something about the battle?”

“Right! Although I enjoy being a degenerate as much as either of you, it’d do well for us not to get too inebriated.”

“Too late!” Koe blurted. He sniffed a block of cheese, his mouth twisting and chin quivering in response, then he sampled a bite anyway.

“Fine for you, Koe. You’re nothing more than a sack of potatoes to be lugged around anyway. Fal, we should head back up top. Tides of a battle can change quickly, no different than those of the sea. I’d rather not be caught down here with a bottle in one hand and my cock in the other if they suddenly shift in an unfavorable direction.”

“I hear ya, big guy. Mind if I hold mine, though?”

“Whatever keeps you satisfied in Sarah’s absence. Koe, get your drunk ass up. And leave that bottle.”

Koe glared at Al, his knuckles white around the neck of the wine bottle he clutched. He raised the bottle to his lips and tipped his head back. Fal darted forward and slapped the bottle from Koe’s hand, however. “Father said no, Koe! Come on, man.”

Koe coughed violently, violet liquid spraying from between his lips with each outburst. Swears and insults hitched from his mouth in spurts once he regained a semblance of control over his throat. Al smiled while he helped the injured man to his foot, the heavily bandaged one held off the floor.

Reaching the ground floor sobered Fal up real quick. A cacophony of shouts and commands bellowed throughout the castle made it seem as though the battle had landed on their heads. And it nearly had.

A handful of the King’s Guard sprinted around a corner, charging toward the trio.

“What’s happening?” Fal shouted.

“A raiding party broke past the east wall! Get your asses to the third floor study!”

“Help me with him,” Al hollered at the guards clad in white plate, indicating the bloody bandage.

They streaked past, the man at the lead barking, “Leave him! You don’t make it up there in time and we lock you out.”

With that, they disappeared through a large, arched threshold and up a slowly curving stairwell. Hisses, screams, and the clangor of metal on metal echoed toward them.

“Shit,” Fal exclaimed. He spun, put himself on Koe’s opposite side, and the trio sprinted for the stairs, Koe assisting with his one good leg.

“Pick your foot up higher, you lazy prick!” Fal barked at Koe as they ascended the stairs.

They’d reached the second floor landing of the stairs when they distinctly heard the creatures enter the stairwell below in pursuit.

“Give him to me,” Al snarled. Midstride, he wrapped his opposite arm about Koe’s waist then hoisted him over his shoulder like a child. Grunting, his face a mask of savagery, Al pounded up the steps. Fal was hard-pressed to keep pace.

They reached the third floor and burst out into the hallway. A handful of soldiers and guards were filing past an open iron door at the far end, a scowling elderly guard urging them in violently. Fal saw the man look at him, then over his shoulder, and the commander’s eyes widened. Fal shot a glance over his shoulder as a half dozen of the creatures crested the top of the stairs within the well.

“Hold!” Fal screamed.

They passed an intersecting hall as several guards were rushing down it. Then they were past it. The commander slipped inside the room and began pulling the door. A chorus of surprised shouts, hisses, and the clamor of steel exploded behind Fal. He looked back once more to see that the guards had run headlong into the intruders and were immediately entangled in a fierce and bloody melee.

He knew it wouldn’t last long, and he was sure the commander did too. But the grizzled man halted for a brief moment, watched the action, then hollered, “Move it!”

Although Fal thought it impossible, Al gained even more speed. Fal moved quicker as well, despite believing himself incapable, terrified of being left without his friends in the hall.

The commander pressed himself flat against the doorjamb as they closed. Al roared incoherently. They flew into the room and the door slammed shut behind them. Fal slammed his feet to slow himself and wound up tumbling across the floor. While he only rolled once over, Al had cleared the door and immediately pitched forward, tossing Koe from his shoulder. They careened through the room and slammed into the stone wall beyond, nearly colliding with King Elbert.

Before Fal could assess his dazed comrades or either of the two kings and the score of soldiers in the room, the enemy slammed into the iron door.

“This won’t hold forever!” the commander shouted. “Arm yourselves!”

While those with weapons lugged furniture before the door, Elbert and his soldiers went to paintings and other hidden locations and procured cleverly hidden crossbows and swords. The hissing and screeching from the other end of the door made Fal think of the demons that had once invaded Baronfall. Though he’d been fortunate – and smart – enough to avoid contact with them during the invasion, the sounds of the creatures prowling through Durthlem had carried throughout the city.

“We hold this until reinforcements show!” the commander bellowed. “Protect the lords with your lives, men!”

Fal didn’t like the prospect of throwing his life away for any man, but at present, there wasn’t anywhere for him to go hide while the battle played out. He adjusted his buckler, tried to shake the stiffness and drunkenness from his bones and mind, then assumed a stance directly in front of the rattling door, his shoulders touching the men to either side of him.

Delve into the end of chapter 4 of Revival of Fire to learn the origins of the gods. Tying Earth to my series was both easily done and a fun twist. I’m sure if you’ve read the first two books this will be an interesting little spin.

***

Prosectero’s thoughts drifted through the labyrinth of his mind, dredging up memories ages past. He found himself recalling a day that still struck fear into him, when he had been called Daniel, before he had adopted a new name. He lay, strapped to a table in his home with one side of a thin wire of copper taped to his temple and the other end hanging from a rubber hook fixed to a nearby contraption, surrounded by many unfamiliar faces, and two that he felt far too fondly of. He was fourteen.

His father glided about the table monotonously, his emotions vanished as he checked straps, mechanical equipment, and ancient artifacts. His mother stood within the gaggle of fascinated men and women, stoic, her piercing eyes stabbing into his soul. He cried out in confusion and terror, but he might as well have been a mute, so unaffected was the crowd and his very own parents by his begging and sobbing.

Arranged around him were many machines and things alien to him that he didn’t understand. He knew his parents were scientists, constantly pressing the boundaries of physics and making groundbreaking discoveries. His curiosity and their fanaticism led him to learn much, but still he couldn’t make out the purpose of this experiment, or why he was the subject.

Just above the table was an oval of copper pipe that loosely followed the edges of the table. Thick copper wires extended out from the pipe and toward the middle just a few inches. The terrified boy knew that copper was used as a conductor of electricity, but also knew the destructive power of that force. His imagination ran wild with the horrendous idea that he’d be blasted to pieces or cooked under an onslaught of lightning.

The hum of the electric lights fixed to the walls and dangling above the table softened, just as the light pouring from them did. His father’s face came into view, the skin greasy and heavily creased. His lips moved beneath his thick mustache. “If something goes wrong, Daniel, it is better that it happens to you rather than to me. I can fix you afterward if need be. I can do so much good for this world, and for myself. I have value. I am important. You’re a smart boy. You understand.”

With that, his father’s looming face floated off and the lights were snuffed, the lightning bolt shaped wires within faintly aglow with an angry orange. The murmurs within the crowd died away and Daniel even quieted as well as he could for fear that breaking the silence would turn the darkness into a monster that would devour him. Above his whispered moans and sniffles there came a clicking noise. It reminded him of the sound a burner emitted as it ignited, only it continued to crack many times. Suddenly, it caught, and the world exploded.

Lightning arced across the gap between the copper wires above the table, sheathing Daniel in a coffin of electricity. He screamed and writhed but to no avail. His vision was stained by the immaculate light and he had to turn his head to save his sight, which slowly returned as the afterimage of crackling blue began to fade.

A jagged stone to his right caught the electricity on one edge and runes in a foreign language exploded into life all across its face. They grew brighter until the very stone began to vibrate. The hook suspending the other end of the copper wire fixed to his temple began to slowly spin. Daniel strained his head as much as the straps would allow to catch glimpses of his father in the flashing light twisting a wooden handle on the other end of the contraption. A final spin and the wire was free. Daniel followed the descending wire with stricken eyes and time slowed, nearly grinding to a halt.

He bit down on the wad of cloth in between his teeth with such strength that the fabric felt as though it was tearing. The wire fell still closer to the odd stone which seemed to levitate from the table to accept the embrace of the wire. He tried to prepare himself for the blast of pain that would come, steeling his mind and body. Nothing he did could have readied him.

Electricity shot through him with paralyzing agony and horror. His body was no longer his, usurped so by the power that flooded his flesh, organs, and bones. His thoughts were eradicated, and he could only exist in the simplest of terms. He forgot that he took up space in the world, or that he breathed and had a mind. He forgot all that he had once known. He was devoured by nothingness, and knew he existed only because he felt. And what he felt was hell.

Suddenly, a voice broke over the din and through the wall of pain. Still lightning rampaged his body, but his mind was soothed by the cooing voice, which spoke no human words, or any words at all for that matter. Still, it was a language, archaic and hiding many secretes, that Daniel heard and understood.

He was reaching out at that very moment with his spirit. And what he touched was the life force of Earth.

Then, he died.

It was some weeks later that he was revived. The force that had spoken to him shook him from his slumber of death, and he drew in breath once more.

Absolute darkness reigned within his coffin, a supernatural cold mixing with the horror he felt to cause him to shiver and tremble violently. His hands struck the wood of his coffin and he screamed out, his voice sounding so small, reaching no further than the wooden shell of his tomb. Tears streamed from his face as he fought to gain understanding. Why had his parents left him in this terrible place? Where was he, and how was he to get out? What had happened to him?

His final memories flooded back into him as a vein of power caressed him, like that of a stray willow branch blowing softly along the wind. He immediately stifled his fear and his cries, organized the amazing power that flowed into him, and channeled it outward from his hands. A blast of light illuminated the inside of the coffin like the lightning that had stolen his life. It tore through the lid of the coffin and blasted dirt.

The cave-in should have left him immobile where he would have suffocated beneath its tremendous weight and died all over again. Instead, he had called upon his power to protect himself, and then again shaped it into strength that allowed him to clamber up from the depths. After several long minutes, his hand broke the surface and streams of light poured in. He pushed up from the earth and was standing atop the uneven surface, staring out across rolling rows of tombstones and sepulchers.

Across the tall wrought iron fence that wrapped this graveyard, sprawled New York City. Daniel glided from the land of the dead, dirt spilling from his suit. His mind remained numb as he traveled and he quickly found himself standing before the doors to his large home. He entered slowly, the locks keeping the door shut opening at his touch of the handle. Ferdinand, their butler, came strolling up to the door in a worried haste at the sound of the door closing, and stopped dead, his mouth slack when he saw Daniel.

The boy paid the butler no mind and continued on. He found his father in the parlor with a glass of brandy in his hand and a cigar in his mouth, conversing with another scholarly gentleman dressed in a suit and unbuttoned pea coat whom he recognized as Joseph, an inventor of scientific equipment, with the same items in his hands. Joseph had been there to watch Daniel die.

“Ferdinand,” called his father, the word muffled through the head of his cigar, “who was that wh—” He turned his head after his draw and the smoke lifting from between his lips did so lazily, almost stunned in place as he was. “Daniel?” he breathed, his glass of brandy slipping from his hand. Joseph had the sense to numbly place his items on the table between the two lounge chairs he and Daniel’s father sat in.

Before Daniel’s father could rise, his mother appeared behind him, calling his name. He spun around as she grasped his shoulders and saw Ferdinand standing far down the hall around a corner, barely able to glimpse him. “It worked, Isaac. Look! He’s changed. I can feel it! We can do the very same operation on ourselves. And you, Joseph.”

“Marian, get all the others on the telephone. Send telegrams if you have to. Contact them immediately! They must be here tomorrow.”

Throughout the ordeal, Daniel was prodded and inspected as though he were merely some curious new device created by Joseph. He responded to their questions numbly. They showed him little affection. He had become a successful experiment to them. He was not a son any longer. He was a prize to flaunt, to learn from, to achieve greater success. He would be their final achievement, however.

The next evening, the same people who had watched him die were assembled yet again. Scientists of New York who gained very little notoriety in the public as they toiled away at things even they barely understood in private. Now, they’d become rulers of men, or so they thought.

Once the machines had been calibrated, Isaac brought the first subject out of the crowd and to the table that Daniel had been killed upon. Splotches of his very own blood stained the wooden slab a deep red in several places. Isaac checked over all the equipment once more, the crowd nodding approvingly at the setup as though it was a perfect replica of that last time. He then moved to the lever that would open a connection between a store of electrical energy and the copper tubing above the table.

Daniel moved through space and was suddenly standing at Isaac’s side. “Father,” he said, making the tall man start, “when this was done to me, there wasn’t enough power. Keep it on for longer. He won’t need to wait weeks to come back with the secrets of the Earth.”

Irritated at his son’s interruption, he snapped, “I’m not changing the process. I cannot alter a thing without knowing exactly how it will affect the outcome. Shut your mouth and stay back, boy. This is my greatest achievement.”

With that, Isaac threw the switch, and lightning erupted in the center of the room. Daniel was not shocked or infuriated by the answer his father had given him. Instead, he grasped the lines of power he had stored and fed the electrical current, increasing its power twofold without anyone being any the wiser. What they didn’t know was that the amount of power that had flooded then killed him was the limit any single person could withstand and survive. Isaac had made Daniel the strongest being on this planet, and that could not be taken from him. Despite the gift, he couldn’t shake the fear or the hatred, and especially not the pain that his parents had bestowed upon him.

They deserved to be punished.

Soon, there was only Isaac left who had yet to be killed atop the table. He lay down on the table then instructed Daniel on how to properly prepare both the experiment and the subject. The copper tubes and the rune-laden piece of earth all smoked from use. Daniel used his unnatural strength to tighten straps to painful levels, eliciting hisses and scornful glares from his father. He endured them stoically, looking deep into Isaac’s eyes.

“Goodbye, father,” he said as he walked to the lever on the wall. He spun and stared at Isaac, the latter straining his head to hold his son’s gaze. He breathed deeply, both excited and fearful. “You won’t be coming back. None of you will be.” Isaac opened his mouth to protest, his face twisted in anger, and the lever slammed down with a thought from Daniel.

Once his father’s corpse was moved atop the pile of the others, he left the underground laboratory and entered his house. In the parlor stood Ferdinand, watching a handful of children as they toiled with small toys and games, each of them younger than him by at least a handful of years. “Leave, Ferdinand. You can take all the money from my parents’ safe upstairs, and you can go. The lock combination is eleven, zero, seven, ninety-one.” Ferdinand’s eyes glazed over as though he was staring off into nothing, and he nodded before spinning and stomping upstairs.

“Everyone else, follow me,” he announced to the children. They left their items as though they’d suddenly ceased to exist and shambled after Daniel. One at a time, he performed the same experiment on these children, successfully. After weeks, they awakened and he had a family again. Together, they could unlock more secrets of the Earth and those of the other planets, and the entire cosmos itself.

Take a peek at a snippet of the 1st draft for the cover of Revival of Fire, the final novel in the Ruination Gods series, and read the prologue and first chapter below.

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Prologue

Heart pounding, Rilaena slipped down the natural path carved through the overgrowth of wavering brush. She ran beneath the witness of the three moons and several distant planets that spun through the cosmos around Expansion, the planet she now called home. Stephan clutched the tips of her fingers as she ran, staggering as she darted down the trails that branched off from the main road. She prayed that not a single person from her guard or entourage–or anyone for that matter–had seen them. Her silent plea fell on deaf ears, it seemed, as several winged figures rose up into the sky behind them, engines whirring, announcing their presence.

“Rilaena, we should just go back!” Stephan pleaded, resisting her pull slightly. She would have none of it, and ran on without response. To his credit, he didn’t voice another concern and simply allowed her to pull him along.

She knew they’d stand out amidst the brush, the fibers within the long, soft stalks reacting to the lack of light from above by glowing a faint blue. The creatures in the air giving chase were biomechanical organisms, grown by her father as much as built by the engineers who served him. Their eyesight was impeccable, durability unmatchable, speed and agility unbeatable, and they were far more clever than any mere machine.

She recalled their details, as she’d often seen them up close. Scaled skin, varying between different shades of yellow and orange, sometimes striped by black or white, covered the creatures. Six thin legs terminating in wicked, three-pronged pincers dangled from beneath them, folding in along their bodies as they flew. Two sets of transparent wings—one wing atop another on each side—has extended from a point directly behind their first set of legs. The shape of their bodies constantly reminded Rilaena of a dog, void of fur, and disgusted her often for taking such an animal and perverting its kind image. A nest of horns grew from the top of each one’s head, laying back against their skulls and along their necks in a mockery of flowing hair. Various pieces of light-steel and smaller components made up of heavier metals clung to each creature, enhancing them in a dozen or more ways.

Her father and the engineers who served him fondly referred to the creatures as the Appointed. She couldn’t bring herself to call them anything other than monsters. Her father’s creativity and power had birthed them and his engineers had shaped them further into what they were now. While they were living beings, they were nothing more than tools with a high status.

Rilaena pulled on Stephan’s hand hard as she turned off the path and ran straight through the glowing brush, trampling it underfoot and creating her own trail. She sprinted to the main road and doubled back down a preexisting trail. Then she cut down another to continue running away from the stronghold and the patrol behind her.

Her target came into view as they turned down another path. A lone tree sitting near the edge of river aglow with pink light feebly poked out from beyond the edge of a copse of trees throwing off a dim green luminescence. The pink tree glowed with far more intensity than anything else in the meadow, a brilliant white in places where the leaves clustered thickly. As always, she thought of it as a fallen star, descended from the heavens to gently plant itself in Expansion’s soil, sharing its splendor with the planet and its inhabitants.

“You’ve seen it! Now, can we go back?” Stephan pleaded once again.

“You know that’s never enough!” she shot back breathlessly.

The sounds of flittering wings and churning engines grew louder, and Rilaena doubled her efforts to flee from the sky patrol. The drones found the trail she had made through the brush, and the direction from which their sounds came shifted suddenly as they buzzed down it.

Rilaena wrenched Stephan from the path and into the copse of green, glowing trees, named verdant willows. The long, thin, drooping branches of the trees slid past their shoulders and cheeks, gently caressing their skin with leaves rimmed by a pleasantly soft fuzz. They hunkered down behind the thick, squat trunks and watched as the Appointed continued down the main path that would meander toward the river and then cut north to the Great Arc Bridge that spanned the Valenfire River and led from the island her home sat on and to the mainland where Ultimate City sprawled, rivaling the very sun with its brightness.

Her gaze alternated from trailing the Appointed and glancing at Stephan. His handsome features were hard and stern, his clean-shaven jaw clenched. He was a large man, with rippling muscles accustomed to swinging a heavy blade with deadly efficiency, but the kind light in his green eyes clashed with his imposing physical appearance. She knew his ire would melt away once they had returned safely to the stronghold.

After a silent minute passed, Rilaena pulled Stephan from beneath the veil of willow branches and leaves. He resisted slightly and the frown upon his face changed into a smile, a familiar light twinkling in his eyes. Now was not the time for passion; they had plenty of opportunity for that back in the stronghold. It was this time, away from it, that she savored most, especially with him by her side. They dashed through the brush, careless of the mark they left in their wake, and were soon standing beneath the tree she sought, known to the people of Expansion as a pink wisp. According to the records, there were only several dozen spread across the planet, and this one was only a half mile from her room.

She often sat on her balcony, admiring it from afar. Even through her spy glasses and scopes with specialized lenses that altered her perception of reality, the wisp was never so beautiful than when she was within reach of it, running her fingers along its smooth, white bark. She’d closed her eyes often as she’d caressed the tree, and each time she’d believed that she truly was stroking polished marble that breathed and squirmed beneath her very touch.

Each leaf burst from the stem in a tri-point design. Rilaena thought of how Stephan had told her they reminded him of a spear with three tips. Pink light blossomed from each one while the flowers that bloomed from the tips of the branches and twigs were a stark white. In the water, just a stone’s throw away, the wisp was reflected as an explosion of light constantly wavering as though disturbed by a perpetual breeze.

Stephan seemed encapsulated by the tree just as Rilaena was, but his silent wonder ran its course far quicker than hers did. “Is this your favorite place to be?” he asked.

“Of course,” she whispered.

“Well, my favorite place to be is with you.”

“No, that’s your favorite place for us to be. Not you. But, this is far more my favorite place when you’re in it as well.” She leaned back into him as she spoke and he wrapped his arms around her. Enraptured, it was a long moment before she could turn from the wisp and looked over her shoulder. He leaned down slightly and their lips locked together in a deep kiss. She stepped forward and his arms relaxed, his lips leaving hers. She stood directly beneath the wisp and looked up, into a sky, a wondrous sprawl of swirling light and beauty.

The smooth surface of the bark reflected the intense glow from the leaves and flowers, turning the trunk and branches into jagged columns of light. The infrequent breaks in the foliage opened holes in the otherwise solid tarp of color and light, furthering its splendor by reminding her that it was not infinite, and thus should be cherished. She reached out and caressed its glassy surface, then ran her fingers along its leaves and its flowers. A petal fell free of its perch, instantly dimming to a dark blotch against the backdrop of luminescence.

Rilaena’s breath caught. Stephan took a step forward warily, obviously searching for whatever had startled her in case he was needed to defend her. “Stephan, the seasons are changing,” she whispered. Each year, when the leaves and flowers of the wisp she admired fell to become nothing more than mulch to be trampled beneath the feet of animals and people alike, Rilaena despaired. She dreaded this change, and thus needed to see the wisp as often as she could manage before its beauty was taken from her.

Stephan brushed back her dark, wavy hair and placed a soft kiss on her chestnut-colored, freckled cheek.

“We should go,” she whispered, her eyes rimmed by a wet sheen. “Before they find us here. I don’t want them to take it away.”

Stephan placed his hand on the small of her back, and she leaned her head on his shoulder in response. “Just another minute. Then we’ll go. I didn’t let you nearly pull my arm off for a few seconds of bliss.”

She smiled and let loose a giggle despite herself.

Beyond the wisp, across the massive Valenfire River flowing calmly before her, sat Ultimate City. An aura of pinkish-white light battled the dark sky valiantly, more victorious than not. From this distance, it seemed like nothing more than a star rising over the horizon. The city was like an ever-churning machine filled with life, continuously breathing and spreading its warmth and light deep into the night and early into the morning where other individuals rose to take up their seat behind the helm that drove Ultimate.

The light from the city, coupled with the many astral bodies above, the glowing greenery, and the massive Valenfire river made night nothing more than a mere shadow poorly draped over the day. Light abounded in many ways, filling corners with ghostly luminescence, glinting sharply off mountaintops and building corners, flooding the very air with the buzz of life. Rilaena experienced darkness only when she was caged inside the stronghold. She’d spend her life outside if she could, waking when the sun began to descend, sleeping only when it was high in the sky.

An angry whir rattled overhead, followed by the hasty beating of wings. A gale struck immediately after, before either of them could even turn their heads, and Rilaena watched as a hundred leaves and dozens of flowers burst from the wisp and at once lost their magnificent light. Her breath left her in a gasp as a pit of cold bloomed in her stomach and she whirled around, reacting without thought.

Stephan glanced into her eyes, saw her fury, and then scrambled away, ensuring he was far from her path. Rilaena thrust her hands outward at the two Appointed buzzing belligerently overhead, and light blazed from her palms.

The flesh of the beasts exploded with wounds as skin split, muscle tore, and bone shattered. Their wings seized up as their bodies convulsed. Over the din of the lithe creatures perishing, Rilaena screamed. The several small motors embedded deeply in their bodies beneath their wings, legs, and jaws, shuddered, then exploded. Small bursts of fire blossomed beneath the creatures’ yellow and orange skin, providing a glimpse at the shattered bones and machinery beneath. Their faces twisted into agonized visage of what they should have been beneath their cracked faceplates. Then, they plummeted and crashed into the brush.

Rilaena stood tall before the creatures as their bodies caught fire and began to smolder, casting flames high up into the sky. The long grass on which they burned, thick with water, resisted the fire. Had it been the drier, hotter months, the entire meadow would have been engulfed in moments.

Her breath came and went as though into and from a bellows, her face twisted in a soundless snarl, her mouth twitching often from her barely controlled rage. A hand brushed her shoulder and it felt as though she had been seared by flame at the touch. She twisted away and dropped into a crouch, snarling at Stephan.

“It’s over, Rilaena,” he cried. “It’s me. Come down from it, love. Come down.”

The mantra cut through her fury and seemed to wash her in cold water, calming her. She looked to the Appointed, saw them for what felt like the first time, and her hand darted to her mouth. She knew she’d been the cause of their destruction, just as she had done many other times before. Stephan, relaxing his raised arms as he realized she had been released from the embrace of her fury stepped forward and wrapped in one of his own.

A dozen more Appointed leapt into the sky from above the black stronghold beyond the rising flames. Despite the lushness of the meadow, the fire would spread unless it was stopped, and it would devour the wisp she had grown to love, the burden of its destruction her doing. With a thought, she reached out the way her father had taught her to the lines of power that swam through the air and formed a net within the Valenfire. She tugged on it and a wavering sphere of water arced over her head and splashed down on the drones, extinguishing them and drenching her feet.

She turned her head, rested it against Stephan’s chest again, and stared at the wisp. Nearly half of its splendor had been wiped away in a heartbeat. She began to cry, for if she tried to bottle her emotions she’d surely explode and begin turning the stronghold she called both her home and prison into a ruin.

1

Felicia lay next to Phalax, morning light streaming from the window above their bed gracing her cheeks and the curve of her body beneath the silk covers like sunlight glinting on the surface of a softly rolling sea. The world seemed oddly quiet, or perhaps Phalax was too intent on drinking in the visage of his gorgeous wife to notice anything else. He dismissed the notion of his dulled senses and let himself drown in absolute happiness. Comfort wrapped him in its caring embrace, whispering to his heart that he had everything he ever needed before him right now.

He reached out and ran his hand across her cheek, rubbing her ear gently between his fingers. Her blue eyes fluttered open, sparkling sapphires that twinkled in the light. Her smile nearly brought him to tears, so loving and perfect. She began to speak, but before she could utter a word, footsteps pounded on the wood floor outside their room.

Phalax rolled over, looking to the door just as it swung open and Holris came barreling in. He leapt and soared through the air to land between his parents. He giggled, happy with his performance, and his laughter increased tenfold as both Phalax and Felicia began tickling him. Phalax slung his arm over both his son and wife, wrapping his entire family, his very reason for existence, in his love.

But then, he was somehow looking upon himself, at the short beard covering his face and his own lively gray-blue eyes and the prominent bridge of his nose. Sleep had propped the front of his hair up, giving it a spiked look where it otherwise lay flat and disheveled.

Trepidation began to suffuse the air. He wondered about how he could view himself this way, as a spectator of his own life on the outside, then the Phalax before him suddenly turned grave, as though remembering something heart-breaking, and the brightness of the room dimmed.

The sun was suddenly snuffed and the darkness that fell stole the smiling faces of his wife and child from him. He lay there for a time, acclimating to the shift, staring at what he eventually realized was hard dirt, broken up by patches of weeds and long grass. A worm inched its way across the dirt, painted blue by the early morning still awaiting the sun’s rays. He watched it until it disappeared behind a short patch of crabgrass, then looked up when he noticed a figure in the distance.

A stone’s throw away, sat his son. The sight of him now, however, was far from comforting. Holris sat on a low-hanging branch at the edge of a copse of trees, blood spilling from his stomach, dripping from the branch and his feet. He was ghostly white, and not even the wan light creeping across Baronfall as the morning brightened changed his pallor. Phalax knew this version of his son was a figment of his imagination, twisted by the effects of the spell known as Uxra’s Tree.

Before returning to Zepzier, his home planet, where his city, Cavia, waited for him to deliver it from the control of a man acting as a god, he along with a handful of others had removed Uxra’s Tree. The spell had nearly destroyed a city on another planet and had prevented them from leaving it. It had also dug into Phalax’s mind, discovered his worst fears, and manifested them. Since then, he had been plagued by visions of his dead child, twisted into grotesque displays.

Although the initial pang of horror and pain was unavoidable, Phalax had grown somewhat accustomed to seeing Holris at random, and the shock passed relatively quickly. Still, in those few moments where he and Holris locked eyes, the son accusing the father of failing in his responsibility to protect him, Phalax couldn’t help but imagine how easy it would be to send a vein of steel, sharper than any razor, right across his own throat, ending it all.

Who then would prevent the same fate from befalling another father?

While there were others with amazing talents and abilities—the fighter name Micale who slept next to him at this very moment being one—Phalax was an imperative cog in the machine needed to end the reign of the fake gods. There were many others, but they had been forced to go after the gods on their own. Each man or woman needed to kill their respective god to prevent the Convergence, a mass transportation of dozens of cities and peoples from across the cosmos. Already these men and women who played as gods commanded unimaginable power, but if they completed the Convergence, their abilities would be limitless. They’d become indestructible, and hundreds of thousands would perish in the process.

Phalax sat up and turned his head away from his son, burying his guilt as he had done so many times before, and found Vesik standing just beyond Daeson’s sleeping form. His initial alarm caused waves of steel to spill out from the disk lodged deep in his chest and cover him a second skin, impenetrable and weightless. Blades sprang from his hands as he stood, but Vesik raised a hand, his hawkish features twisting with concern.

“Phalax, don’t be alarmed,” he said. “It really is me. It’s Vesik.”

Vesik had been a native to Cavia, when he was a human. Not much longer after his twentieth year he had accepted a “gift” of grand power from the gods that allowed him mastery over the arcane. This power, however, had come with a great price. He had been betrayed and slaughtered. His death, however, hadn’t been his end.

Edmund, a man who had originally been no different than the gods, had saved Vesik. He had taken Vesik’s soul and placed it into a golem created in the image of his original form. Together, the two men had worked for years to interfere in the gods’ machinations and would continue until every single one of them was destroyed.

This figure standing before him seemed like the Vesik he had come to know. He was a thin man with hawkish features and brow-length dark hair that fell across his forehead at an angle. His dark, brooding eyes seemed unfocused, lost in his many thoughts or taxed by exhaustion. Both, most likely.

“How do I know that?” Phalax asked, still tense and bathed in steel.

“This,” Vesik said as he pulled on a chain around his neck. A talisman slid from beneath his shirt, one that mirrored the very amulet dangling from Phalax’s neck. Edmund had crafted them, and they kept the fake gods from being able to track the wearers or even target them with their destructive spells.

“And how do I know they didn’t find out about those as well? Vesik, you just sent us here last night. Why would you be back so soon?”

Phalax remembered their departure, trying to glean some important detail that would help him decide whether or not this really was Vesik. Instantly, his thoughts went to Trinika, the cartographer he had confided in, and her daughter. Trinika had reminded him so much of his wife, her fiery attitude and sparkling eyes a mirror image of Felicia’s. He had wanted to explore that spark he felt when he was with her, but the fates wouldn’t allow him that time.

Still, though, he knew she wouldn’t leave his thoughts. Perhaps when this was all said and done, Edmund or Vesik could take him back to her. Perhaps there could be something for him after the tragedy of his life.

Daeson stirred, still half consumed by his slumber, groaning and mumbling about herding pigs. Daeson had been a northerner—a man who wore ice and snow like a second skin—before journeying to Cavia to become a soldier, and had found himself unlucky enough to get snapped up in the struggle between the gods and their champions.

He was no more extraordinary than a spotted cow, unlike the others who fought against the gods. Still though, he was a valiant fighter and wouldn’t be deterred from the task at hand. He had been travelling the world with his brother, Kellum, when the man had been killed in the demon invasions, thus giving him as much reason as anyone to hunt the gods.

Much of Daeson’s face was covered by his now scraggly, sandy beard and bushy eyebrows. High cheekbones made his beard seem to reach ever higher up his face. When not slumbering, the man’s fierce blue eyes showed his battle spirit, and his smashed nose bespoke of his experience with battle.

Micale, lying a few strides away, rolled backward suddenly and snatched a bronze gauntlet from its place near his pack then sprang up to his feet. As he bent his knees, he fastened the scavenged gauntlet to his right hand, claws extending from the knuckles, lending each strike fatal power.

Micale was similar to Phalax; he’d been chosen by a god, and given a gift. His came in the form of being kidnapped from the world then secluded in a desolate place to train and hone his abilities until he was an absolute master of martial prowess. He could do to a crowd of people what Phalax needed a very sharp blade for.

Bald with a simple tattoo of a serpent winding about the side of his head and down his neck and sporting a few golden earrings on each side, the man seemed a constant ball of tension. At times, his intense stares and ever-vigilant awareness dulled and he let loose a joke or enjoyed the company of those around him. But more often than not, like now, he seemed cloaked in solemnity.

“The time was ripe,” Vesik explained. “We sent you all as soon as possible, hoping to ride the same veins they had used to get here. This way, it would be far more difficult to notice then creating our own. It seems to have worked. I then spent the rest of the day preparing this spell of transportation that would get me here unnoticed.”

Silence reigned.

“Listen,” Vesik urged, exasperated. “If I was one of them, I wouldn’t be here chumming it up with you three. I’d be dropping fireballs and other painful shit on your heads.”

“Oh yeah?” Daeson murmured. “Well, you’d be in for a world of surprise and hurt.” He swung his hand out as he spoke. Gripped in his hand was one of his twin hand axes but he stopped the blade just a handspan from cleaving into Vesik’s ankle.

“I knew you were awake, Daeson,” Vesik said.

“Not a chance,” he insisted as he rose.

“Cracking your eye every five seconds to make sure I’m still where you think I am is a really bad tactic when it comes to playing asleep.”

“Well, the other two didn’t know…”

“I did,” Micale offered.

Daeson turned to glare at Micale but Phalax’s frown abruptly stopped him.

“Can we stop this and figure out what’s going on?” Phalax said. “There’s an entire city behind us being controlled by some by kid with a hammer and a temper. And it’s our city… Our city.” Although Micale hadn’t done more than take a stroll through Cavia months ago, Phalax liked to think he considered it his to protect as well. It was, after all, the beacon of civility in Baronfall, its massive castle visible for miles.

“Sure, Phalax,” Micale said, confirming Phalax’s suspicion.

“Now,” Vesik continued, “the reason why I’m here. You recall how Cavia’s castle used to shine? Lit like the very moon had crashed down into the center of the town? Well, that was an intricate enchantment that had been working its magic for decades. It’s been triggered. Everyone who had ever walked into the castle since the spell’s inception is now under the absolute control of Regzenier. Granted, only those still alive. He doesn’t dabble with the dead like some of the others. Regzenier, as I’m sure you already know, is Hakmrid, and a whole hell of a lot of other things.

“There are also a whole bunch of Deth Uk, several tribes, within the city as well. And they all believe Regzenier truly is Hakmrid. If the Convergence commences, the Deth Uk will run the campaign while all of your neighbors act as their slaves, both as soldiers dying on the front lines and subservient workers. If you kill him, however, all the people he’s primed to transfer will be saved. I’m not talking about a handful here, guys. I’m talking several hundred thousand. Anyone under his control are no less than an extension of him, so what they see, he’ll see.

“If he finds out where you’re at, you’ll be dead in moments. You need to find a way to catch him off guard. Get in without being noticed, kill him before the Convergence, and you’ve done more than your fair share.

“There is a large chance that you don’t even run into him, however. He has his hands more than full with all the planets he preparing for the Convergence. He could be here for a few minutes at a time before hopping across the cosmos, or he could stick around for several days. But there are others on those other planets, going after him just like you are. You push forward as if he’s in there. If you hold back at all, there’s no chance you’ll defeat him.” He paused momentarily, fixing each man with his expectant gaze. “Questions?”

Each man shook their head.

“You’re here now,” Phalax said. “Can you stay? Can you help us?”

Phalax was as prepared as the others. Still though, he knew that Regzenier was terribly powerful. What chance did they have at defeating him on their own?

Vesik eventually shook his head, as though he had been contemplating the tempting offer but found himself incapable of accepting it. “You’ll have to go it alone for now. And don’t expect me to just pop up out of thin air, or Edmund for that matter. Although we will do what we can.”

Daeson raised his hand in the air as though he needed permission to speak, then without waiting for anyone to acknowledge said raised hand, said, “I have a question; you got your leg back?”

Vesik smiled then lifted his leg and flexed his foot, showing it off as though it was a prized possession. “Edmund was working on me while I was working on getting myself here. Fits like a charm.”

In the final moments of the struggle to dispel Uxra’s Tree, Vesik had lost his entire leg, torn from him by a massive rock hurled by a nightmarish beast. Thankfully, being that he was a golem, he’d been able to sustain the damage without faltering. He could curb the sensation of physical pain with little effort he had explained to them before.

“So,” Phalax interrupted, “How do you propose we even get past the walls?”

“Creep up, study the people affected by the spell, then copy their mannerisms and walk right on in as though you’re just another group of people under Regzenier’s control. There’ll be herds of people coming from all over. Slip in with them.”

“Like this?” Micale said, brandishing his gauntleted hand and then motioning at the rest of his brutally fashioned armor sitting in a neat array on the ground near his pack.

“Nope. You’ll be a merchant. Here.” Vesik snapped and two large burlap sacks appeared in the air, suspended somehow five feet above the ground. “Throw your armor in those, and ride that on in.”

The three men looked at each other quizzically. Daeson pointed at the two sacks and said, “Ride what? A floating sack?”

Vesik snapped his head to the side as though he’d been stung by a bee and dropped his eyes to the ground, shaking his head and sighing as he looked at the floating sacks. “That happens sometimes. Hold on.” He snapped again, and nothing happened. He did it again, to no avail. He tried twice more before he growled in anger and shut his eyes tight, his brow wrinkling as he focused on whatever it was he was doing. Daeson raised his hand and started saying something when a donkey suddenly appeared, bearing the two sacks on either side of it.

“Sorry,” Vesik said as he opened his eyes and rubbed his temples. “I’m pretty tapped. It’s getting harder and harder to manage things.”

“Was the snapping supposed to take care of that for you?” Daeson asked as he began snapping his fingers at the donkey, obviously hoping he could also make it disappear. Micale slapped his hand, shaking his head and Daeson took visible offense to the slight.

“No, actually. I just like to punctuate my spells sometimes. Helps me focus on the exact moment something should happen. Doesn’t make for my best work sometimes though, so it’s best saved for really easy things… like making an invisible donkey appear.”

Daeson lifted his chin once, his eyes squinting, as though he had just learned a very important lesson about tampering with magic.

“And us?” Phalax asked. His attention was suddenly stolen as Holris came stalking toward them, his fingers ending in wickedly curved claws that dripped blood, his face turned down to the ground and his eyes endless pits of black. Phalax watched as the boy sidled up to Vesik and reached over his shoulder to place the tips of his claws on the wizard’s throat. Then, he raked them across Vesik’s flesh. And nothing happened.

Vesik waited for Phalax’s focus to return, nodded once as though he was offering his sympathies, then said, “There are outfits in there for you three. I don’t much mind who gets what. I’ll leave the arguing to you gentlemen. I’m needed elsewhere. I’ll be seeing you.” Vesik turned slowly, drinking in his surroundings with longing in his eyes, then bent low and ran his hand lovingly across the hard dirt. He rose, looked off to Cavia, standing silently for a long moment, then disappeared.

Daeson darted for the sacks slung across the donkey’s back and untied them quickly. He rifled through the first one, tossing a pair of pants, lacquered, knee high boots, a long-sleeved shirt that seemed too slender a fit for any of them, and a wide-brimmed, stylish hat with raised edges. The fine cloth was a deep red and brown with black stitching. The other two outfits were far more plain, and obviously larger.

“Well, I’m not all that important in this whole thing, so no one’s going to be looking for me. Same with Micale, seeing as how he’s never even been to Cavia.”

“Actually, I have, although briefly. Chaetor took me there to fetch Daria. Gods, that seems far away. Hell saying ‘gods’ doesn’t even make any sense any longer! I agree, though.”

Daeson bent low and scooped the hat and shirt from the ground and held the former up. “That leaves this one to you, Phalax. However,” he said as he withdrew the hat and thrust the shirt out in front of him, “this is a woman’s outfit!” The man’s beaming face poking from around the articles of clothing exposed the joy Daeson found in announcing this to Phalax. Despite Phalax’s urge to wipe the smile from Daeson’s bearded face with his knuckles, he still couldn’t help but crack a smile.

The shirt was cut to fit the shape of a thin, curvy woman, and even sported a low V-neck. The boots were slender, far too much for Phalax’s wide feet. And the pants would cling to his backside, and frontside for that matter, like a second skin. “What was Vesik thinking?” he fumed.

“He’s tired, remember,” Micale explained, lifting a shoulder and tilting his head briefly. “I’m sure it was an innocent mistake.”

“Besides,” Daeson teased, “I’m sure you’ll look lovely in it. Well, only if you shave, of course.”

***

“So many times I’ve told you,” Prosectero chided his daughter, shaking his head tiredly. “Don’t go running off at night. Only leave during scheduled times, cleared by Arlenti and me. Take a dozen armed guards and the Appointed with you. Stop pulling my first general’s youngest son along with you unless he’s a part of the armed escort!”

Prosectero’s brow furrowed in frustration beneath his slicked hair, styled in a sweeping pattern to the side and back. His grey, sharp eyes narrowed further to menacing slits and his nose, characterized by a prominent and pointy bridge, flared. His normally full lips were a firm, hard line. Only the smallest slight separated him from a relative calm and a burst of anger that would end painfully for Rilaena, she knew.

Rilaena sat quietly, staring out a magnificently large window at a sky brimming with stars and sweeping constellations. Stephan stood at attention somewhere behind her, likely bearing the hardened gaze of his father, Arlenti, who stood next to her father in a flowing night robe, dagger strapped to his waist. Great creases lent his scornful gaze a palpable force, like a wizened owl frowning intently at its prey before striking.

Two dozen men, at least eight feet in height and bursting with coiled muscle, were cast about the room at regular intervals. Their bodies seemed to have been blasted from iron then clad in burnished steel. Each gripped a long-shafted axe in hand. A half-dozen servants gallivanted about Prosectero, Arlenti, and the entourage that followed the former like coat tails.

The great poet Hauris, who followed any and all drama he could catch wind of as he kept his nose turned up, lounged on a divan. He was soft-featured and slow to anger, but quick with his mocking wit. The master engineer Enauth, who had likely been roused to discuss how best to improve the Appointed, leaned against a liquor cabinet. The golem Lo, whose sweeping form of smooth silver gleamed with a dozen reflections bright enough to rival the dawn, stood rigidly near Prosectero, its master and creator.

The walls of the grand study they were all comfortably corralled in sported swirling patterns of red amidst a tan backdrop, painted by the recently deceased artist Dotera. Her work was sought after by all when she lived, and further coveted after her passing. Within the walls were flecks of gold, inlaid without pattern, clashing wonderfully with the silver and white trim.

High above were vaulted ceilings that anchored many pennants and flowing carpets of Dotera’s work that draped a full twenty feet, hanging just out of reach above the heads of the massive guards posted along the walls. More artwork decorated the walls, all of it Dotera’s, depicting glorious battles or resplendent fields and lush forests. Couches and divans lay here and there, lending the room a sense of openness and invitation to conversation as they carved a circle in the center.

Rilaena stalled, her father on the verge of lashing out at her, then said, “I’m sorry, father. It was wrong of me. I won’t do it again.”

“I’ve written this drama before,” Hauris scoffed, taking and swirling a glass of brandy proffered to him by a servant.

Rilaena trained her fiery gaze on the thin man. “You have no right to words here, Hauris. Shut your mouth.”

“Me, shut my mouth? The great poet who makes gold out of words? Whose songs have been sung for a decade and will live on far after my passing? I think not, child.”

“Hauris, quiet yourself,” Prosectero murmured half-heartedly.

“Of course, sire.” Hauris drained his brandy then snapped his fingers, one servant snatched the glass from his hand to pour another drink while another handed him a pewter bowl of grapes.

“He has a point, though, Rilaena. Incessantly you spin me the same yarn. I’ve grown sick of your empty promises.” He sighed and his features sagged, apologetically. “Henceforth you will be monitored at all times, and an escort will bring you to your room at nightfall.”

“Father!” she cried.

“You will,” he shouted, cutting off any further protest, “of course, be allowed your privacy when necessary. You and Stephan as well. Lo,” Prosectero addressed the golem without looking at him, “you will be responsible for my daughter’s wellbeing.” Lo tilted his featureless head toward his master as he spoke, nodding slightly at the command. “You’ll ensure she follows the rules I have set forth for her.”

Rilaena looked at the creature with disdain, knowing that it likely couldn’t fathom her derision and that it wouldn’t care one way or the other if it could. Its flowing form was sculpted in a manner that suggested rippling strength, its head nothing but a wide dome atop broad shoulders. Its mirror-like surface reflected the room and people within in twisted proportions.

Rilaena wasn’t sure of its full potential but knew it was powerful. She’d seen it once crush a man’s throat with its three-fingered hand and even toss a dozen resistance fighters a hundred feet into the air with a concussive blast of power. Her father had created many implements to crush any resistance that rose within his people, and Lo was certainly one of them, nothing more.

“I’d like to speak with you alone, Prosectero,” she growled. Rarely did she call her father by his name. When she did, he quickly understood she expected to be heeded. A fire was burning in her as she relived the destruction of her beloved pink wisp. The accusing eyes of those assembled along with her father’s new edict further kindled that blaze, and she feared she’d lash out at them. Surely he saw that as well, else he would have continued his deriding speech without pause to even consider her words.

“Everyone, out for a moment,” he commanded. Each man and woman shuffled from the room quickly and without so much as a murmur of disapproval, although Stephan did cast her a look of worry as he exited. The vast room was now empty but for Rilaena, her father, and Lo. Prosectero plopped down on a lounge chair and held his empty hand out as though waiting for a servant to offer him something. A glass half full of dark wine swirling gently within appeared and he sipped it, shutting his eyes as he savored the first taste. “What is it?” he finally asked around the brim of the glass.

Rilaena sat and stewed for a moment, trying and failing to calm her anger. “It isn’t just me, father,” she finally said. “This whole damn palace, all of Expansion feels like a prison. Like we’re all supposed to sit in our corners and wait for something to happen. For you to do something to us, or for us. Why does it feel like that? Why all the machines and magic?”

“What is this? You’ve railed against my rules concerning you before, but not my reign over the others.”

Rilaena tried to keep her emotions in check. Images of the wisp’s desiccation flooded past her mind’s eye and she failed, however. “They destroyed my wisp, father!” she cried, tears falling from her eyes. “I’ve watched it grow for years and they nearly wiped it away in a moment!”

Prosectero sagged into his seat, his frown melting into a weary expression that conveyed his relief and frustration.

“It’s more than that, though,” she said, her voice firming and the tears drying from her eyes. She would not let him dismiss her like the many times he had done before. “That is just an illustration of the world we live in. The world you and the others created. This place was grand and wondrous and new when we came here. Now, it’s shrouded in darkness and behind every corner lies death, and you’re responsible for that. Why, father? Why is it like this?”

“This is a special place, and you are integral to its well-being.”

“Cryptic. Always you say cryptic things that you think will placate me. No longer, father. I want to know the truth of this place and I want to know it now!”

Prosectero seemed lost in the crimson liquid spinning in his glass. He lifted it and drained the wine in a single gulp, looking upon Dotera’s pieces. Rilaena’s patience had worn thin long ago and yet her father continued to ignore her, obviously believing her qualms were unwarranted. He was on the verge of dismissing her like an annoying fly when her anger spilled over and she lost control of it.

The glass in Prosectero’s hand suddenly erupted, millions of glass shards blasting the room and its occupants. Those that would have struck Prosectero and Rilaena dissipated against a bright aura of orange, shielding them from harm. Lo stood still as the glass chimed across its metal form. Dotera’s work and the furniture in the room lay buffeted by the shards, ripped and torn in a thousand places.

Rilaena sat breathing heavily, her eyes smoldering. Prosectero stared back angrily, and she prepared herself for pain. Instead, he looked away from her and surveyed the damage to his possessions, frowning. With a wave of his hand the room reverted to its previous state, all the damage she had done vanishing. “I can do that to the tree, you know? I can put it back to how it was.”

He looked out the large windows and toward the Valenfire where a small pink speck glittered. “Don’t you dare,” she seethed. “I don’t want it touched by you or your people.”

“You want to know the truth of things, Rilaena? Fine.” He stood and walked around the sofa he had been sitting in, placing his hands on its back. “This world is a key that unlocks new places and far greater power to me and the others. To you even. I gave you your power. I made you like us before you were even born. I raised you with careful hands. And now you’re a woman of twenty-two. All the hard work I’ve put in, the life you’ve created for yourself, there are those that seek to take it all away. That is why I have to keep you, this planet, all of us safe.”

“So all of this,” Rilaena whispered, “is just a play for power. You’re doing this just to get more of it. How is that any way for me to live? What if I don’t want it?”

“What is so terrible about this, Rilaena? You’re looked after. You’re taken care of. Anything you want in this world, you can have. Hells, you have the power to get it for yourself even!”

“Can I have my freedom?”

Prosectero’s breath caught and his mouth fell slack. He shook his head, sighing. “Stop this, Rilaena. I love you. I am your father. I want you to be happy. But I need you. And you owe me this, at the very least you owe me this. Once this is over with, and it will be soon, you will have all the freedom in the universe.”

Rilaena nodded somberly, her brain working. There was still something he wasn’t telling her. She played an integral part in Expansion’s function, and she didn’t know what that yet was. She relented, if only for now, certain that her father was not who she believed he once was. Rarely was he around any longer, and he reacted far more ruthlessly. He wanted his power, and she knew he wouldn’t pale before a harsh decision to get it, regardless of the gruesome consequences.

Something deep within her told her she needed to stop him.

[image error]Saryn slobbered drunkenly as he pounded the table, sending one of his several empty mugs clattering to the floor. The human stared around, his head bobbing, at the men surrounding him, quieting their raucous laughter. Even Gax looked up from his game of cards, the puny parchment things that would certainly win him a few copper rounds clutched in his callused, green fingers. 

“You’re placing all wagers on the bet safe!” Saryn roared, slurring his words heavily. Even he seemed confused by the ordering of his words, his face scrunching up as though it was extremely difficult to understand the things his brain commanded of his body. “I say, we talk to Gax!” 

Gax, knowing the reputation of this tavern-crawling cretin paid him no mind. Soon, Gax was sure, Saryn would flop to the soggy, wooden floor face-first and find himself tossed roughly out into an alley more piss and shit than stone. Saryn listed lazily to the side and Gax cursed himself for not shouting a wager that the drunkard was slipping into unconsciousness even now. 

“Gax! You big pig of a son! Tomorrow, you win the fairest maid contest, I give you a gold hundred!” Saryn raised his full tankard as he belted his final few words, half of the ale inside sloshing out and landing either on his own head or on the table. Then, he promptly dropped his head to the table and passed out. 

A chorus of laughter shook the walls of the Shattered Helm. Gax looked across the room to Darsil’eit, his elf companion, who stared at him menacingly. He understood her glare well enough, but he paid it no mind for he had a damn fine idea. 

Gax surged to his feet, his thighs bumping the table and scattering a few copper rounds and silver ovals. “Any other dog here with balls enough to take that wager?” he boomed. 

A pall of silence fell over the tavern, every eye locked on the large orc and the massive battleaxe strapped to his back. The crowd surely mistook his serious tone as anger and a few of them began backing toward the exits. 

“But, Gax,” a thin human mewled, “Saryn’s drunker than a man soaked in mead. And he ain’t got but a single gold square to his name! Look at the man! He’s even pissed himself.” 

“He does that anyway,” Gax said with a wave of his hand, his tone a bit softer. “I’m speaking straight when I say I’ll take that wager, though. I’ll put up five coppers to every man with the spine to take it.” Dozens of patrons rushed forward at once, ready to pounce on the sure bet. “But,” Gax roared, stopping them dead, “odds are twenty to one.” The wave of inebriated men didn’t need to think twice. They came on again and soon Gax had thirty men who wagered he couldn’t win the contest. 

When he did win it, he’d collect on a ransom big enough to keep him drunk and fed for months. 

He and Dar left the Smashed Helm shortly after, Gax throwing smiles and obscene gestures at the men who whistled and hooted at him as he left. Well, the pair left more by Dar’s doing, her hand clamped over his pointy ear and tugging painfully hard. 

“You big, dumb, idiot!” she seethed once they were a few strides away from the tavern still rocking with boisterous laughter and pounding feet. “We’ll be pulling jobs for weeks just to pay them all off, what with how you go through coin!” 

“Dar,” Gax pleaded, his hands held before him to placate her rage, “I have a plan.” 

“You always have a plan, you ugly oaf. How’s that worked out for us in the past?” She fixed him with a deadly glare, her arms crossed. 

“Edmund,” Gax said simply. 

“What?” 

“Edmund, the wizard. He owes us a favor, don’t he?” 

Dar was silent for a while, staring at Gax impassively. 

“Remember, we saved his chickens from those bandits a month back?” 

“I remember!” she snapped. “Fine, I take back what I said about you being dumb.” She turned and began stalking away angrily. 

“What about the rest?” Gax asked strolling behind her. 

“You’re still plenty big and stupid. Come on.” 

In short order they were at Edmund’s home, pounding on his door. The wizened man could be heard cursing grumpily as he picked his way through his house. He flung the door open, a staff emitting a soft white glow clutched in a gnarled hand. “What!” he barked. “Wake a man up this late like that and he’s likely to blast ye face from yer head!” 

“Good evening to you as well, Edmund,” Dar said. “We need that favor called in.” 

“To the hells with ye and yer favor. Come back in the morning!” He moved to close the door but Gax’s massive booted foot found its way between the door and the jamb. 

“Raw chicken sure sounds tasty right now,” he growled, smacking his lips. 

Edmund glared at him defiantly for a moment before flinging the door open fully again and muttering, “Son of a harpy’s hairy tit.” He waved the two in. “What do ye want?” 

The next day, they arrived back at Edmund’s house and he cast the spell upon Gax. A tingling sensation washed over his body, making him clench his legs together lest he relieve himself. He failed to stifle a giggle and Dar looked at him startled. “What?” he asked gruffily, or so he planned. Rather, his voice came out in a smooth and sensual tone, surprising him so much that he took a step back and tried to look down at his mouth. 

Dar’s eyes had suddenly dropped to his chest. He looked down as well and found nothing different about him. Before he could say anything, Edmund swung open the door to an armoire, a mirror concealed on the inside of the door. Gax nearly fell flat on his backside as he stared at himself. The form he looked upon was not that of an imposing orc clad in spiked armor carrying a massive axe, but rather an enchantingly beautiful female women with glittering blue eyes and sunshine blond hair flowing down his back in an intricate braid. The sky-blue gown he wore was perfectly cut with shimmering jewels embedded throughout and showed off his voluptuous curves, especially those on his chest. 

“Now, we just have to get that axe off your back,” Dar said. 

Gax tore his eyes away from his reflection after noting how ridiculous it looked to have such a dainty and gorgeous thing wearing an axe larger than her body. “Hold my battleaxe, Edmund,” he said, again his voice surprising him. He leaned the weapon against the wall, then the trio left Edmund’s home and walked to the city square. 

Gax ignored the endless stream of whistles and brutish compliments thrown his way as he and his two companions split up to maintain the ruse. He soon found himself pushing through a thin crowd gathering, the men he moved out of his way staring at his stomach in shock as he easily shoved the largest of them aside with far more force than his outward appearance should have allowed. 

In short order, he found himself standing on a shoddily erected wooden platform standing next to a dozen other beautiful human women. The planks beneath his feet groaned in protest of his weight and he made sure to give the other ladier plenty of room as they moved around him. Gax saw the men he had wagered against standing in a huddled mass, casting their glances about for signs of him. He smirked at them, one of them noticing the stare and smiling back hungrily, which turned Gax’s smile to a frown. 

One by one the other ladies were ushered off the stage with a bow and loud applause, the group who had come to see Gax congratulating each other on the easy coin. Then, with a massive applause, Gax won out against the final remaining contestant and was pronounced fairest maiden of Cavia. He tried to curtsy to the crowd, so overjoyed at the coin he’d just won and wound up simply dropping to a knee quickly then popping back up. 

The announcer moved to pin a sparkling broach to his chest, discreetly sliding his hand over where he was sure his breasts likely were. The announcer looked surprised at the firmness as he actually pressed against Gax’s stomach. Gax stifled a cry as the needle poked his skin, but it wasn’t long before he found Edmund and Dar in the crowd and waved at them. 

Suddenly, the illusion vanished. Gax could tell this by the shocked reactions from the crowd. They lurched away as one, crying out in alarm. Gax beamed at the group of men standing in the crowd, ignoring the trickle of blood running down his stomach. 

The announcer suddenly snatched the broach back, a twinge of pain biting his stomach as the needle left his body. “No magic!” he snarled, snatching a flyer from his back pocket and shoving it up toward Gax’s face. In large, plain, block letters at the bottom of the parchment read, “No magic permitted”. 

“You do not win!” the announcer spat. 

Gax looked helplessly at Dar then to Edmund, the latter lifting his shoulders and titling his head with a wry smile. He then looked to the mob of men to whom he now owed a handsome sum too and stammered, “Wasn’t the rules of our wager. I… I still won it. We never said no magic…” But the group broke apart and slid through the crowd toward Gax frowning, ignoring his pleas. 

Gax backed away, cursing his luck, and his idiocy, then turned and bolted down the rickety stairs, shattering two of them and nearly pitching forward. He continued to run on, a mob of drunkards in tow hollering obscenities and threats at him if he didn’t pay up. He would have to, he knew, but they’d have to wait a few weeks or more. Besides, a trip out of town might do him and Dar some good. 

[image error]“We’re between jobs, low on gold, ain’t got shit to eat, or drink for that matter, and you’re going out to dinner,” Darsil’eit growled at Gax. She stood with one hand on her hip and one eyebrow arched. Her olive skin glistened from the humidity of the air in their tight quarters. 

Gax ignored her for a moment, smoothing the wrinkles from his roughspun cotton shirt, which clung tightly to his muscular frame. It was his nicest shirt, well, one of his only shirts actually. He left his torso naked more often than not, save for when the seasons shifted and would have frozen the orc blood in his veins if not for many layers of clothing. “We aren’t that low on coin…” 

“We’re sharing a damn room in the shittiest inn this side of the mountains!” Dar shouted, her eyes wide and alive with fire and fury, her arms splayed wide to encompass the cramped box that barely managed a single cot. 

Gax averted his surprised gaze to the wall then went back to lacing up his boots over his breeches. 

He stood once finished and shambled toward the shoddy door out of their humble dwelling. “We’ve got a job in a few days, haven’t we? We’ll be fine until then.” 

“You’re lucky we do,” she mumbled angrily. “I’d nail you to the wall by your pecker if we didn’t.” She shook her head. “Spending any damn coin at all right now. Ridiculous…” 

Gax swung the door open, frowned when the entire slab of rickety wood came free of the wall, then turned and gently put it back in its place before hustling away from the inn and his furious companion. He emptied out into the brisk night air and turned promptly down the avenue that smelled of horse dung and wood-burning fires, taking care to avoid piles of animal droppings. He straightened his shirt about his neck, fastening the final button beneath his throat, ensured his sleeves were rolled to the same length on both forearms, displaying equal amounts of green flesh, and picked at his nails with a dagger while he walked. Then, he was standing before the Splintered Bow. 

He took a deep breath, sighed, then pushed open the evenly painted and sturdy door. While this was no restaurant for nobles and lords, it was certainly regarded much more highly than the Smashed Helm. Men and women of many races sat in pairs and groups, enjoying private, if a little loud, conversation. Darts didn’t fly through the air haphazardly, nor did tankards and fists slam tables or faces. A few pieces of artwork even hung from the clean walls. 

To say the least, Gax didn’t feel in his element. But this is where Elondruv wanted to meet, and he wouldn’t have denied her even if she had suggested Quartz in the upper district. 

In short order, Gax had found a table and requested a loaf of bread and assorted cheese be brought. He sat angled to the entrance, eyeing it sidelong in an attempt to appear only half interested in whoever may come through the door. Elondruv entered just as their food arrived, and Gax failed at any attempt to seem nonchalant; the girl who dropped off the plate of bread and cheese asked something of Gax, but he was too stupefied to react at all, so transfixed by Elondruv. 

Her green skin was a shade lighter than his, more like puke that consisted mostly of pea soup rather than the tree moss of Gax’s. Her lower tusks jutting out of her mouth a half inch or so were a clean white, one of them decorated by a band of silver inlaid with ruby quartz. She wore a form-fitting leather and cloth outfit of burgundy and light brown, the V-shape of her blouse displaying the tops of her voluptuous breasts. Her hair lay in a thick braid down her back. 

She smirked and sauntered over, pointing to the serving girl as she sat. Gax blinked several times and looked to the impatient human. “What?” he murmured. 

“Ale or wine?” she said curtly. 

Gax motioned toward Elondruv. “Ale,” she said simply. 

“Same” Gax muttered, and the serving girl was off. 

It was slow going, at first. Gax was plenty content to allow Elondruv to do most of the talking, adding small snippets to the exchange on occasion. As time went on and they filled themselves with ale and food, he loosened up quite a bit and they quickly had each other smiling and laughing more often than not. 

“So they took me, just a few years old, and tossed me—” The door swung inward suddenly, proceeded by a boisterous slew of laughter. An immediate quiet descended on the patrons within. The group who had entered, most of whom Gax knew from one tavern or another, seemed to collect themselves. They moved to the polished bar top, ignoring the distasteful looks thrown their way. 

The establishment slowly returned to its previous state, murmurs and good-hearted conversation breathing life back into the room. Gax found himself lost in Elondruv’s tales concerning her upbringing and her time here in Durthlem. 

A great shout of drunken revelry burst from the group. The barker hollered something incomprehensible that quieted them. 

Tension suffused the air. The barkeep abruptly told the rowdy gang of drunkards to leave, and they didn’t take too kindly to that. The bouncer at the door moved toward the group as the barkeep swung around the bar. The group cast back and forth, seemingly itching for a confrontation, their confidence bolstered by the ale they’d consumed thus far. 

One of the men, named Burton, suddenly grabbed the barkeep before the bouncer could reach them, and ran him backward before tossing him away. The barkeep stumbled then slammed into Gax’s table and reeled over it. In the process, the food and drink on the table splattered on Gax and Elondruv. Gax felt mortified as he watched Elondruv wipe ale from her eyes. His embarrassment quickly gave way to anger, and he turned and pushed up from his table. 

“Oh, hey Gax,” Burton said cheerily, as though he hadn’t just ruined Gax’s evening. 

Before Gax could lunge toward the imbecile, a truly wondrous thing happened. Elondruv appeared, charging toward the inebriated idiot. She carried a large turkey leg like a short club and smashed it over the man’s skull, a smile plastered to her face. 

Time slowed in that moment. Gax found himself mesmerized by the sight of this beautiful orc pummeling a man with a roasted leg of meat and bone, reveling in the incidence as much as she obviously was. Burton floundered away from her, the blows failing to cause devastating harm, but certainly smarting his face and arms. 

After a few whacks, Elondruv seemed to tire of humiliating the human. She cast the leg aside, the bone cracked in half, then stepped beyond the man and slammed her arm into his chest. He pitched backward, caught his legs on her own, then crashed down onto his back with a loud thud. His eyes swam as he groaned. 

The rest of the group looked on incredulously as the bouncer ushered them out of the establishment. Their laughter started up as soon as they left, Burton’s name hollered several times. 

“I’m so sorry,” said the barkeep as he stood up, his clothing disheveled and smattered with food and drink. “Please, the food and ale are free.” 

The bouncer returned and roughly grabbed Burton by the back of his coat and drug his limp form to the door then tossed him out to the street. More laughter abounded. 

“It’s fine,” Elondruv responded. “It was fun beating him with a leg of turkey.” 

“It was even more enjoyable watching,” said the barkeep as he began to pick up silverware and food from the floor. 

Elondruv nodded then looked at Gax and must have noticed the admiration twinkling in his eyes. She seemed to suddenly develop a sense of shyness. She snagged a square of cloth from the table and wiped at her neck and arms. 

After a short time, they left The Splintered Bow and were strolling along the streets, busy with night revelers. 

“Where are you staying?” Elondruv asked abruptly after the two had shared a laugh at Burton’s expense. 

“A shithole inn for the time being. Dar and I are between jobs.” 

“It must be odd having an elf companion, no less a woman, to share rooms and adventures with all the time.” 

Gax raised a shoulder and eyebrow simultaneously. “It isn’t so bad. We tend to make a good pair and are good at keeping to ourselves when it’s necessary.” 

“Do you and her, you know?” Elondruv’s eyes widened and she chewed her bottom lip. 

Gax stared at her quizically. 

“Have sex,” she added innocently. 

“Gods no!” Gax shouted. “I couldn’t even imagine…” He shook his head violently. “We’re partners and friends, is all.” 

Elondruv blushed and smiled wide, looking to the ground. 

A silent moment passed where Gax debated whether or not to say what was in his mind. He relented. “Why do you ask?” 

Elondruv looked to Gax with a passion burning in her eyes. “I was kind of hoping you could show me your battleaxe. I wouldn’t mind holding it.” 

Gax nearly choked and tripped over himself. He felt his cheeks burn hotly, but still managed to say, “I’d love for you to hold my battleaxe.” 

Elondruv moved a bit closer and Gax risked putting an arm around her waist, which she allowed graciously, squeezing even closer to him as they made their way back to his small room. Dar would have to wait outside for a bit, he thought. That, or receive a very intimate and up-close show. Gax put his coin on her throwing a fit before going somewhere far away from their room. 

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“Hold my battleaxe, Dar,” Gax requested, handing the massive weapon to the elf before she had a chance to respond. Darsil’eit snatched the axe from Gax’s outstretched hand with both of her arms, her bow now leaning against a nearby tree.

“What are you about?” she asked suspiciously as he strode forward.

Gax slowly shifted his feet through the watery mud beneath him, brushing past low hanging willow branches. The swamp he trudged through sat bathed in the soft glow of dusk, motes of dust and small insects flitting fancifully past the rare shaft of intense orange light that pierced the thick veil from the many trees and tall ferns.

“The traps you set are sound, yeah?” he asked, not breaking stride. “They’ll capture a ergun well?”

“Three if they’re spread out,” she said with a snort of superiority.

“Good. I figure it’s my neck we should stick out here, not yours. Axe will slow me down getting back behind the traps.”

“Well seeing as how we’ve been tasked with capturing creatures dangerous enough to rip either of our faces off thanks to your stupidity, I’d be inclined to agree. Carry on. Long as Obrel gets his ergun, I’ll be happy.”

Gax stopped and swung around, splashing loudly in the muck. “And what if it’s me who ends up with a ripped face, eh?”

Dar lifted a shoulder and pursed her lips, one brow higher than the other.

“Damn you, elf,” he whined a bit too loud.

A high-pitched whistle that devolved into a blubbery croak split the air. Gax raised his hands up midway as though the ground was soon to drop out beneath him, and his eyes darted this way and that. After a few moments of silence, he spun around slowly and continued onward to where he had seen the ergun just moments before.

A large mound that seemed composed mostly of green slime, many different forms and colors of fungi, and fallen trees limbs mangled about large rocks blocked his view from where he was sure he had heard the call. He crept up to the hill, a grotesque pimple rising from decaying and fetid flesh, and peeked around it.

He saw them, roughly a stone’s throw away. All he had to do was make a racket to lure them his way, then they’d capture any careless enough to run afoul of Dar’s traps, and slay the rest, harvesting their precious organs and oddly shaped bones to sell later.

Bulging eyes met his, only an arm’s length away. Green, spotted flesh slick in the wan daylight rimmed the orbs and covered the beast. It croaked in surprise and he hollered right back, stumbling backward. His heel caught a root and he floundered backward where he fell hard onto a pointed rock. “My arse!” he hollered.

“Get your arse up and back here before you lose it completely!” Dar shouted.

Gax surged to his feet covered in mud and dripping stinking water, and tried to sprint back to Dar, but his feet took three steps without moving his body anywhere substantial. He was pumping them so hard that he couldn’t gain any traction. He realized this as a cacophony of croaks sounded from his back. He cast a glance over his shoulder as he planted his feet and began to steadily jog away, successfully this time.

The ergun were closing on him. The first one he had startled had likely been a scout who had returned to the group. Their massively long legs bent nearly in half at the knee, then propelled them terribly far, each hop covering as much ground as four of his strides would. Their arms, similar in nature, splashed into the water with each landing, pushing them into the air with each thrust, muscle rippling across their lithe frames.

They were quite like frogs in many respects, save the massive hooked talons extending from the ends of their feet.

Gax saw the wire spanning the tree boles not more than a few steps away, but he also saw Dar’s expression suddenly twist and her mouth fall open. He wouldn’t make it.

The orc flung himself to the side and spun. An ergun crashed down where he had just been, its clawed foot lashing out dangerously close to his throat. “Unhold me axe, Dar! Unhold it! Throw the damn thing!” he screamed as he clambered to his feet.

Her bewildered expression notwithstanding, she hefted the weapon and hurled it as far as she could, grunting loudly. The axe splashed down into the thin blanket of murky water and would have disappeared if not for the blade sticking into the mud at an angle, the opposite end protruding.

An ergun dove at him, croaking mightily. Gax ambled backward and raised his arms to intercept the clawed foot. An arrow sliced into its chest and went clean through slowing it a bit and distracting it far more. Its strike lacked gumption, and Gax was able to turn it with his bracers while suffering nothing more than a scratch across one elbow.

He dove for his axe then, scooped it up, and set to work on the ergun.

“Gax!” someone far away shouted. “Gax dammit!” the voice commanded, far closer now.

Something smacked him hard in the side of the head and he whirled, growling, his axe raised in one hand and ready to maim or kill. Dar was staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and anger written plainly upon her face. His fury subsided then, and he noticed, for the first time it seemed, the corpses about the murky swamp, the dark water tinted green by the ergun’s blood.

“Did we catch one?” he asked enthusiastically, his arms falling to his side.

Dar simply stared daggers at him in response. Her glare dropped to his offhand, and he lifted the thing he held in it before his face. “Oh,” he murmured as he stared upon the blood-soaked arm from one of the ergun he had apparently torn free from one of the unlucky creatures. He tossed the limb aside with little grace.

Gax looked at the traps, saw that each one remained intact and not triggered, then his gaze swept over the handful of dead creatures.

“Did I kill them all?” he asked sheepishly, barely looking at Dar for more than a moment. Disappointment greeted him when he did. “Right. Well, I think I saw another band west of here. Hold my battleaxe and I’ll be back with a gang in tow before you can say, ‘Gax, you’re a dumb idiot’.”