FLANK HAWK
by Terry W. Ervin II

Gryphonwood Press   545  Rosewood Trail, Grayson, GA 30017-1261
FLANK HAWK. Copyright 2009 by Terry W. Ervin II
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American copyright conventions.
Published by Gryphonwood Press     www.gryphonwoodpress.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons is entirely coincidental.
Cover art by Christine M. Griffin

Dedication
This novel is dedicated to my wonderful wife, Kathy, who tolerated the countless hours I spent on the computer typing away. Without her love and support Flank Hawk would never have been written.

Acknowledgements
      
Maybe there are some writers who complete novels on their own. If they do exist, I am not one of them. With that in mind, first I’d like to thank all of the members of Planet Ink and Elysian Fields, crit groups whose efforts strengthened my writing and helped Flank Hawk become possible.
      I would also like to express my appreciation the following individuals: Jeff Koleno, Sandy Daley, Stephen Hines, Julie Roeth, Joanne Detter, Dora Archer and Bill Weldy. Each took the time to read the manuscript and shared their thoughts, providing vital input as to what was working and what needed a bit of attention.
With respect to the fabulous cover art Christine Griffin created, I am grateful for the chance to have worked with her as she brought the faces of Krish and Lilly to life. In addition, I owe a debt of gratitude to Dr. Silke Aschmann for providing English to German translation, a task far beyond my ability to accomplish. And as far as computer, programming, and technical support, Jeff Koleno and John Burian were on top of it, assisting wherever and whenever an issue, concern, and occasional project cropped up.
Finally, I’d like to thank David Wood and all the staff at Gryphonwood Press for believing enough in my first novel to publish it.
      That leaves you, the reader. You’re the reason I wrote Flank Hawk. Thank you for choosing my novel from the tens of thousands available. I truly hope you enjoy Krish’s adventure, and don’t hesitate to let me know what you think.



Chapter 1

Guzzy signaled for my attention and pointed over the gully’s lip toward the disturbance in the undergrowth. He grinned, showing his yellowing teeth. “It’s coming for you.”
      After listening to the rhythmic rustling for a few breaths, I set aside my spear and drew my broad-bladed short sword. The reeking stench of rotting flesh sent flashes of last night’s desperate battle through my mind. Screams, blood, and death echoed there.
      Still smiling, my cousin scrunched up his nose and donned his rusted steel helmet before lifting his heavy frame to peer over the gully’s lip. “Give it half a moment, Krish.”
I leaned against a rotting oak rising from a bend in our sheltering gully and stared at the nameless stream trickling through its bottom. My stomach tightened as the sun’s light faded. The last few nights of battle gave me reason to fear the dark. The faint stench reminded me of the putrid odor that always preceded the zombies. My militia training on livestock corpses wasn’t enough. Walking dead, with pus-rotted skin teaming with maggots, clubbing and grasping, were far more frightening.
Guzzy nodded while checking his broad-bladed axe. “Some necromancer master ordered them forward again.” His face and cheeks looked pressed into his worn helmet. Even if my cousin was heavy, he was anything but fat. Nobody I’d ever seen could hew limbs from bodies like him.
I climbed around the rotting oak and pinpointed the rustling in the tangled vines. With a sneer set across my face to mask my disgust, I held my breath and chopped into the animated arm. My first swing cut into the hacked-off remnant from last night’s horde. The soft ground absorbed the blow. With aim, my second effort severed the hand at the wrist. Then I pinned the writhing, bloated hand with my boot before shearing away its fingers and thumb.
Guzzy laughed. “Masterful sword work, Krish.”
I kicked away the still wiggling stump and fingers. “Yeah, Guzzy, they’re coming again.” I surveyed the woods, peering into the mixture of oak, hickory and maples. They’d driven us back five miles in the last three days, hardly a fraction of the vast Gray Haunt Forest’s depths. Only one more mile south and they’d drive us out completely. “Didn’t want that thing tripping me up,” I said before returning to the mud-slick gully’s concealment.
I looked back behind our skirmish line. Men with flaming torches and boar spears like mine were moving toward our forward position. Their gray quilted armor, like mine and Guzzy’s, was more effective at warding off the chilly spring nights than enemy attacks. Twenty-three men split up and took positions to either side of me and Guzzy. A lot of new, unsure faces were among them. Unlike the shield slung over Guzzy’s back, the ones they carried were unmarred.
Guzzy said, “Let’s wet and salt our blades while we got the chance.”
I followed him down to the narrow stream. I didn’t recognize the two men who took up position to our right. “Are Vort and Darnard still to our left?” I asked.
Guzzy nodded, lifting his blade from the slow-running water. “Danner and Klano fell last night. That leaves only four of us from Pine Ridge.”
I dipped my sword into the stream, being careful not to get water on the hilt. I reached into my nearly empty pouch and sprinkled finely ground salt along the length of my sword’s blade.
Guzzy dipped my spear tip into the water and held it out for me to salt.
My hand shook a little as I spread the white grains. “Thanks,” I said, trying to steady myself for battle. “I saw you cut down Harvid last night.”
Guzzy shoved my spear back into my hands. “That wasn’t Harvid,” he growled before crawling back up to the gully’s rim. “When we get back to Pine Ridge, don’t say anything of it to his ma.”
Guzzy was only two years older, but far more battle hardened than me. This was my first campaign, my third night of combat. I took a deep breath and looked around. Our lines grew thinner. I wondered if the enemy’s would again be stronger, reinforced by some of our fallen.
      If Harvid’s corpse had attacked me, I wasn’t sure I’d have cut him down like my cousin did. “Guz, this isn’t like the skirmishes most talk about. Remember Old Lowell’s stories about the three years his father fought, driving back the Great Corpse Incursion? This sounds more like that.” I slid on my helmet and watched the other men preparing their weapons. I’d finally got used to the nose guard. “And Old Lowell is at least seventy winters.”
      My cousin gripped my hand as I clutched my spear’s shaft. “You’ve done well sticking and holding them with your boar spear. We’ll get through another night.” Then he nodded and winked. “We’re a team.”
“Guzzy, it takes three to make a true zombie picket team. Harvid fell the first night.”
“And we’ve made it as a pair since then.”
I swallowed hard, summoning the resolve that’d kept me alive and fighting next to my cousin. It wasn’t easy. I was scared through most of the battles, surviving more on luck than skill. I forced a grin across my face. “If last night was a skirmish, Guz—” I started, but stopped when I spotted our new captain approaching, accompanied by a spellcaster.
I recognized the wizard from our first night. His ruddy complexion and red hair emphasized his specialization, fire. The captain looked no more than eighteen summers, same as me.
      “Noble’s son,” Guzzy mumbled as he watched the captain approach, wearing clean, unmarred chain mail armor.
      I didn’t care whose son he was, as long as he could lead.
“Men, I am Captain Plarchett. Your Lord Hingroar has assigned me to lead the Black Mule Company.” He spoke in a steady, matter-of-fact voice. “Reinforcements will be here by morning. We must strive to hold. If we give ground it will only weaken us while strengthening our enemy.” He sent a hawk-like gaze across the line of our company while his voice gained strength and conviction. “Every one of our fallen they take intact, is one more to march later against us.”
“This speech should be given by our sergeant,” Darnard mumbled to Vort.
“They’ve not bothered to assign another sergeant after Mard fell in our first clash,” snorted Vort. “He was our bugler too.”
Captain Plarchett strode to the spot directly across the gully from Vort and pointed at him. “You, soldier! I have just promoted you to corporal. Not quite sergeant. If you survive the night, I may consider it.”
Vort looked around, then back to our new captain. “Why me?”
      Captain Plarchett stared back. “Why me, Captain, sir? Because I just heard you volunteer to recon the enemy position.” He folded his arms. “Go now.”
      Vort gulped. “But, Captain,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “They’re marching this way!”
I knew it was wrong to interrupt our captain, but I didn’t think the infraction severe enough to cost Vort his life.
      Captain Plarchett put his hands on his hips. “Soldier, I gathered it was your opinion that I lacked knowledge of the duties of soldiers under my command. Corporals are responsible for reconnaissance and fixing the enemy position. Correct, Corporal?”
      Out of the closing darkness, a line of two dozen fresh soldiers approached the captain and formed a line to the right of the wizard. I, along with every other man in Black Mule Company, looked about nervously.
The captain relaxed his stance. “I will not order you to your death tonight, Corporal. Remain with the company. Prove your worthiness in battle and you may keep your promotion.” He looked over his shoulder at the new soldiers, a mixture of arms and armor marked them as mercenaries. All looked mean and battle hardened, and each carried five javelins over his shoulder. “Third squad, form with incomplete zombie picket teams and distribute javelins.”
While half the mercenaries climbed down and across the stream before dividing up and joining pairs of soldiers, our captain continued, “We’re to hold this position as long as possible. Reinforcements are on the way. If we must, we will fall back, southwest to the road and to the bridge. The river is up and two companies hold the blockhouses defending the bridge on the far side of the Valduz.”
Captain Plarchett began pacing, and pointed. “We’re defending White Mule’s right flank. Gold Mule is defending the left. Both have received reinforcements.” He looked across the gully into the trees and their darkening depths. “If I should fall, Lesser Wizard Morgan will lead.”
      A tall, lanky mercenary with a pock-marked face and wearing weathered leather armor with metal rings sewn into it took position on my right. He assessed Guzzy and me before saying, “I’m a lefty.” He looked at me and pulled a sword longer and heavier than mine. “You’re the sticker. Just hold’em.” Then he said to Guzzy, “You and me will keep them off with our shields and cut’em down.”
      I didn’t have to look over to see Guzzy getting red in the face. My cousin was the leader of our picket.
Our new mercenary partner continued, “Watch their eyes—”
Guzzy cut him off. “The eyes’ll tell the souled ones. They can think and direct the mindless ones. We know our business. What about you?”
The mercenary peeked over the rim of the gully. “Name’s Road Toad. No offense, you looked like farm boys.”
I peered into the darkness while Guzzy replied. “We are. But we know how to fight.” Guzzy took a deep breath and let it hiss out between his teeth. “We could use some help. This is more than the Necromancer King’s yearly campaign to interfere with crop planting.”
      “The whole Doran Confederacy is rallying to the Lord Council’s call,” said Road Toad. “King Tobias of Keesee has sent Prince Reveron leading troops and wizards.” He stared at us and nodded. “Maybe even serpent cavalry.”
      We’d gotten little news in the last five days. “Is the captain right?” I asked Road Toad, figuring he might have come across information on his way here. “That reinforcements are near?”
Road Toad passed me a javelin. “They’re mustering outside of Pine Ridge. They’ll be organized soon, if not already marching.” He handed Guzzy two javelins. “Blessed by an Algaan priest this past sunrise.”
“Better than salt,” Guzzy said, grinning. “Got any Crusader-blessed weapons?”
“Sure,” said Road Toad in jest. “Got a Crusader saint-blessed sword, but curse my luck, I left it back at the Wicked Candle.” Guzzy and Road Toad drew the attention of nearby soldiers with their muffled laughter.
      Road Toad caught my ear by mentioning the tavern my father called unsavory. I’d walked past it many times, always lacking enough coin to drink. “You were in Pine Ridge, then,” I said. “When? How’s things there?”
      “You’re from there,” assessed Road Toad. “He removed his helmet and rubbed his beard stubble. “No young men. Your tavern there was empty except for old women and even older men.” He slid on his helmet and pointed at the bloated zombie finger I’d hacked from the hand earlier. It wriggled forward, through a patch of weeds and into the flickering torchlight. “They’re organized and moving again. Captain’ll order the advance any minute.”
I took a quick drink from my waterskin and a few bites of stale bread.
Guzzy winked at me. “You’re learning. Never start a fight with a dry throat or empty stomach.”
I reached into my pouch and sprinkled a pinch of salt on the animated finger. It stiffened and remained still.
      Road Toad spread grease from a round tin on his sword’s blade before salting it. Then he smeared some of the yellow grease along the shaft of my spear, just below the cross guard. “Good ash shaft,” he said, tucking away his tin. “Grease’ll foil a zombie’s grip.”
      Captain Plarchett climbed to our side of the gully. “Black Mule Company, we will advance two hundred yards into the woods, four stride intervals between picket teams. Torch bearers remain ten yards to the rear. Fillers, with me. I’ll direct you to plug any breech.” He looked back at a dozen mercenaries with the wizard preparing to light a large bonfire. “We’ll fall back here where Lesser Wizard Morgan can support us.”
Our captain drew his long sword, its blade caught the flickering torchlight. “Black Mule Company, prepare javelins. We will break up their lines on my order.” He pointed his sword toward the darkness beyond the torchlight’s reach. “Advance!”
Road Toad seemed to leap out of the gully while Guzzy and I clambered out. For me the advance order no longer carried the excitement it had three days ago. Our line advanced cautiously. I observed every fallen log and low hanging limb, occasionally chancing a glance over my shoulder to establish a planned line of retreat. Even with the woods and men around me I felt in the open and exposed.
Road Toad observed my efforts. “Wise move. What’s your name?”
“Krish,” I said, before nodding toward my cousin. “Guzzy.”
“I’m honored to be a part of your picket, Krish. I could’ve drawn much worse.”
Guzzy chuckled. “So could’ve we.”
“Make your line,” ordered the captain. “Prepare first javelin volley.”
I caught the sickening stench before I spotted a wall of movement among the trees, just within the edge of what the filtered moonlight and blazing torches managed to illuminate. “That’s got to be an awful lot of them,” I said, hefting my javelin. “Road Toad, you ever seen that many?”
“Can’t say that I have. Not from this angle.” The mercenary licked his teeth and cocked back to throw one of his javelins. “Least it’ll be hard to miss.”
The entire company hurled a javelin volley on the captain’s order. Most hit. No matter where the blessed weapon’s tip struck, the shambling corpse fell like a dropped sack of wheat.
“We don’t have enough javelins,” I said, having loosed my only one.
“The trees’ll break up their numbers,” said Road Toad. “Crouch down, Krish. After you throw your second javelin, Guzzy, do the same.”
“Why?” asked Guzzy. “We ain’t cowards.”
“Second volley...now!” shouted the captain. Another two dozen zombies dropped.
I knelt, while Road Toad squatted, his long legs bent like a frog’s. He yanked on Guzzy’s trousers. “Down now or this won’t work.”
Guzzy grudgingly complied. “What won’t work?”
      Road Toad readied his round shield. In the flickering torchlight I spotted many dents and upon it. Guzzy slipped a forearm through the strap of his shield. I readied my spear.
      “See, Sir Guzzy,” said Road Toad, “if we appear less of a target, fewer will come at us.” He hurried his speech to cut off Guzzy’s reply. “Then we can punch through and take them from behind. Only way we have a chance.”
Salt caused zombies pain but they feared nothing. The only way we could stop this size horde was with blessed weapons and we’d expended all of ours. “There’s too many,” I said, estimating that they outnumbered us ten-to-one, even after the javelins.
Captain Plarchett must have read my mind as the zombie horde closed to twenty yards. “Black Mule Company!” he called. “Fall back to the gully.”
We retreated through the trees in formation at a trot. The zombies increased their shambling gait. “Double-time, with me,” shouted the captain, waving his sword and pointing the way.
      I followed Road Toad as he weaved through the trees, high stepping over fallen logs and brush. Men grunted as they tripped over maple roots or bumped into low hanging branches. Our formation tightened as we retreated.
      There were so many zombies, more than the other nights and fewer of us. Running from them felt like the right thing to do. We’d be ordered to turn and fight soon enough and instinct cried out for me to keep running when that happened.
I wouldn’t flee the battle. I’d stand with Guzzy and face the enemy once again.
“With me, men!” the captain shouted. “Toward the fire.” He pointed with his sword. “Cross the ravine and make our stand.”
The wizard, along with the soldiers who’d stayed behind, had a large fire blazing. Embers swirled around the flames and rose into the hickory branches above. The zombie horde had fallen fifty yards behind, but hadn’t stopped.



Chapter 2

Southwestern United States
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

“Dr. Johnston, are all preparations complete? Do all systems check?”
Dr. Simeon Johnston double checked several screens, and observed the nods of his lab assistants. “They are, Dr. Mindebee. We are ready to proceed.”
“Excellent,” said Dr. Mindebee, struggling not to rub his hands together in anticipation. “Initiate primary sequence.”
Several assistants sprang into action, tapping away at their console keyboards.
Dr. Johnston wandered across the lab, examining screen readouts. “Primary sequence initiated,” he said. “All readings are stable and within normal range. Magnetic containment field approaching full strength.”
Dr. Mindebee double checked the primary and backup recording systems. He smiled. “Warm up the laser. Prepare to bombard the plasma with alpha, beta and gamma rays.” He gave a thumbs-up to the military observer.
The Lt. Colonel acknowledged and, over a secured line, informed the Pentagon, “Operation Alice in Wonderland is a go.”
One of the assistants leaned to his partner. “Draws on three nuke power plants. Wonder if it’ll dim the lights in Las Vegas?”
      
“They stopped chasing us,” I said. Guzzy and Road Toad stood on either side of me and stared across the gully at the mass of undead bodies holding at the outer reaches of the bonfire’s flickering glow.
      Guzzy nodded. “This ain’t good.” He slid up his helmet and wiped a sleeve across his sweating brow. “Mindless zombies shouldn’t have stopped.”
“You’re right,” said Road Toad. “There’s some souled zombies among them. Maybe even a necromancer of some skill.” He nudged Guzzy. “That barrel you stumbled over crossing the stream. There’s a cord wrapped with vines leading from it past us, and toward the wizard.”
“Oil?” I whispered. We stood ready in the center of the line with picket teams spread out to each side. I wondered if the wizard had hidden an oil-filled barrel in front of each picket.
“Been nice if they’d mentioned it to us,” grumbled Guzzy.
“Wish I still had my father’s crossbow,” I said, again watching the enemy.
“I’d rather tangle with that mess of undead than with your ol’ pappy,” said Guzzy. “Won’t matter to him that a zombie tore it from ya.”
Road Toad stared into the darkness across the gully. “That bonfire’s showing us to the enemy too well,” he mumbled, interrupting my thoughts about my father. “Krish, you some sort of marksman?”
“With a crossbow?” I asked, watching the captain send Vort and Darnard to reinforce the scouts on our right flank.
“Best shot around Pine Ridge,” said Guzzy. “Except for Jotey.”
“Got an idea,” Road Toad said. He backed off the line and approached our captain. After exchanging salutes, they conferred and Road Toad sprinted toward the reserve ranks.
“Well,” said Guzzy, “that makes me feel better. Wonder what he’d have done if I told’em you fancied yourself a healer?”
“Hush,” I said between clenched teeth. “They find out and you know where they’ll send me?” I shot my cousin a short, nasty stare. I wanted to look back and see where Road Toad had gone, but I was afraid of turning my back to the enemy.
“Men,” shouted Captain Plarchett, “withdraw from the trench five paces.” When we had, the captain ordered, “Gray Mule Company move forward. Join Black Mule and reinforce the line.”
When fresh militia troops formed up with us, Road Toad appeared among them. “Here, Krish,” he said handing me a crossbow already cocked and fitted with a long bolt. “Our wizard’s going to start some trouble.” He handed Guzzy a fresh javelin. “Sir Guz, help me spot the organizer behind their line. We’ll toss these, along with a few others behind us, and Krish, you be right on him.”
I looked over the crossbow as best I could in the flaring firelight. It felt like oak, same as my father’s, but this one had an iron prod, whereas my father’s had been wooden. “I can’t be accurate first shot,” I said, wondering if Road Toad really expected his plan to succeed.
A basket-sized, flaring ball of fire arced over our heads toward the enemy line, then burst. Seven fist-sized flaming balls dove like ospreys on fish. Seven zombies staggered forward as the flames burned into them.
“There!” said Road Toad. “See?”
A dark-robed man observed the burning zombies and motioned with a wave of his skull-tipped staff, summoning three hulking zombies to him.
Guzzy grunted, “Right,” as I raised my crossbow and took aim, elevating for distance while estimating wind.
As the necromancer strode further away, the three large zombies retreated with him, covering his back. I estimated lead as Guzzy and Road Toad hurled their javelins, along with a number of soldiers behind us. I exhaled and firmly compressed the trigger. The hail of seven javelins fell, taking down two of the three zombies. The third ran on for several steps before dropping.
“Good shooting, Krish,” said Road Toad, patting me on the back.
“I missed the necromancer,” I said, realizing I’d dropped the third zombie.
“True,” laughed Road Toad, “but how often do you get to see a necromancer run? And, Sir Guz, I think you pierced one with your javelin.”
Guzzy grinned from ear to ear. “He won’t be up near the front any time soon.” Then my cousin’s smile disappeared. “Here they come.”
I slung the empty crossbow across my back and gripped my spear. Road Toad urged the fresh zombie picket team to our right to stand firm. Guzzy, to my left adjusted his shield, and warned, “They’ve got some awful big rocks.” About half the horde carried stones the size of watermelons.
“Advance to the trench,” ordered the captain. “Javelin throwers, salt and target stone carriers.”
The zombies had reached a shambling trot, even those hefting stones. The horde now numbered at least three-hundred. Silent, except for the slapping of feet in the damp ground, the horde spread out as it closed. Captain Plarchett ordered javelins thrown an instant before the zombies tossed. One nearby soldier fell, crushed by a hurled stone. With frightening ease the zombies scrambled down and in mass began climbing up the slick gully walls.
I steadied myself for the rotting stench. My first spear thrust caught an animated corpse in the shoulder, knocking it back into three horde members below. Guzzy hacked the arm off one before kicking it in the chest, sending it tumbling back. It, like mine, would come at us again, but crippled with painful, salt-filled wounds.
Road Toad’s sword flashed, severing the head of one foul-smelling corpse, and a second he smashed downward with his shield. Already, they’d dragged one of the picket team members to our right into the gully and began pummeling him to death. I tried to ignore his screams, thankful it wasn’t me and rammed my spear into the chest of a new opponent.
      It fell back in pain, but in less agony than the first. The salt on my spear tip was nearly spent. A fresh javelin wave flew overhead, answered by large stones and logs landing among our ranks.
The sound of combat was all one-sided. The zombies fought in silence, except for the thuds their fists made when they connected with shields, armor, or a soldier’s flesh. The living, on the other hand, yelled warnings, shouted in anger and frustration, or screamed in agonized terror.
      I’d crippled three more zombies while Guzzy chopped down four with his axe and Road Toad managed to dismember six. Few teams fought as well as us. Most struggled to simply keep the enemy at bay, forcing Captain Plarchett to order reserves into the line. Already the horde had dragged a third of Black and Gray Mule Company into its midst.
Just as a second wave of zombies shambled into the gully, the sky flared overhead, and balls of flame darted into the oil-filled barrels. The streambed erupted in flame.
Some smoldering and others in flame, the zombies still strove to reach us. One burning corpse emerged from the fire, and grabbed my spear’s shaft as I drove it back. I yanked it free; the grease had foiled its grip. I silently thanked Road Toad.
      A solid weight slammed into me from the side, knocking me to the ground. Guzzy quickly rolled off of me and away as a four-foot log tumbled past where I just stood. I didn’t give a second thought to the crossbow digging into my back. Road Toad stepped forward and cut down the burning spear grabber.
Shrill death shrieks rose on our left. “Fall back,” called our captain. Guzzy and the other surviving picket leaders repeated the order. I followed Road Toad and Guzzy to rally near the bonfire. A distant glow added to the cries on the left, proclaiming the hordes were overrunning White Mule Company.
      Captain Plarchett waved his sword high. “Companies form up for quick march. Black Mule Company—” called the captain, but halted his command as, to the southwest, a bursting flare of green fire signaled in the sky high above the trees.
“Gold or White Mule’s been overrun,” said Road Toad, “or retreating.”
We reached the bonfire and the remnants of our company formed into paired lines as ordered. I didn’t want to count how few of us remained. Instead I stared toward the gully where the flames had begun to sputter and zombies, some battle damaged and others fully intact, emerged.
Cradling a broken arm, Corporal Vort appeared from the darkened woods to the rear of our line of march. “Ogres!” he yelled, running. “They’re behind me.”
A few of our number broke ranks and fled. Half the militia that remained looked about, considering it. I’d taken a step in retreat but, scared as I was, stopped and faced front. I couldn’t abandon Guzzy, Road Toad or our captain.
      Road Toad and a few other mercenaries turned to face the new menace. The closest I’d ever been to an ogre was an old dust-covered head mounted below the rafters in the cooper’s shop. That ogre head trophy was an undersized runt killed outside of Pine Ridge before I was born. Still, it was big as any bull’s head I’d ever seen.
      The captain called to the lesser wizard, “Do what you can to keep the zombies off of us, then lead the men to the bridge.” He hastily pointed to three mercenaries, including Road Toad. “With me.”
Road Toad looked at Guzzy and me. “Come on, Krish and Guz. I think I see two ogres out there. Captain’ll need you.”
I gulped and looked at Guzzy. We’d been trained to fight zombies, not ogres.
Without hesitation Guzzy said, “Come on. Let’s help’em.” He tugged at my shoulder. “We came to fight.”
Road Toad flashed us a grin. We trotted to catch up with the two mercenaries and Captain Plarchett as they strode the direction Vort had pointed.
Seven soldiers hadn’t fled and stood ready as Lesser Wizard Morgan finished his spell. A thin wall of flames six feet high shot up, between us and the closing zombie horde. As the flame wall extended, the bonfire’s flames weakened. “With me, men,” shouted Morgan. “To the bridge.” They turned and ran. Rather than endure the flames, the zombie mass chased after them.
A deep, guttural bellow shattered what had been a silent enemy assault. Two immense figures emerged from the depths of the trees. The ogres stood at least twelve feet tall, even hunched over. They were built like men but far more twisted and muscular. One wore tattered pelts draped over its body. The other, larger ogre wore thick hide boots, crude iron gauntlets, and a skirt built of rusted iron rings of a size that would fit around my wrist. Each carried a formidable spiked mace. The larger ogre clutched Darnard’s broken body in a rusted gauntlet.
      The captain stopped and yelled, “Goll statch!”
The gauntleted ogre halted twenty feet away, puffed out its chest and grinned, showing jagged yellow teeth. Their color matched the single stubby horn that curled up from the flat, sloped forehead. The ogre smashed its mace against a tree, causing it to shudder. “Gaaff, da grull haw!”
      Road Toad led us in line, ten feet to the left of the captain, and commented, “Captain speaks the foul tongue,” before taking position with shield in hand and sword ready.
One of the mercenaries stood, armed as Road Toad with sword and shield. The other carried a battle axe like Guzzy. I held my spear ready, struggling to keep the tip steady.
“How do we fight these?” asked Guzzy, nervously running his hand along the haft of his axe.
“Cripple them,” said Road Toad. “Then go for the kill. Avoid their attacks. Ogres are quicker than they look.”
I re-examined the behemoths in what remained of the dying firelight. Their skin was mottled, cracked with patches peeling away. It looked tougher than hardened leather. Did Road Toad mean they were quicker than a man? Faster than me?
      Captain Plarchett yelled, “Goll grull haw awhk!”
      Road Toad let out a snorting laugh. “Our fair captain just insulted them.”
With a roar the ogres charged. The one hurled Darnard’s body at the captain, forcing him to leap to the right.
“Spread out,” warned Road Toad, as the smaller one stomped toward us.
I threw my spear, punching through the ogre’s tattered hides and into its right shoulder. The behemoth didn’t even notice. I drew my sword and backpedaled as it charged, yellow eyes intent on me.
Road Toad ducked under its mace as it stomped past him. Guzzy hewed at its thigh and found flesh, but not deep enough. It yanked my spear from its shoulder and flailed wildly at me with its mace.
I dropped to the ground, under the blow and rolled, avoiding its blunt-toed feet as it came to a stop. The ogre roared in frustration and stomped, trying to crush me. I rolled right, and avoided being smashed by inches.
I shot forward and scrambled to my feet behind the ogre. Sword in hand I turned, preparing for it to come at me again. Road Toad caught the ogre across its wrist, carving deep with his sword. The brute bellowed as it lost its grip on its mace, sending the weapon spinning into the darkness. Guzzy struck his axe deep into the ogre’s left calf and spun away. But the ogre guessed right and thrust my spear, skewering Guzzy through the chest. Encouraged by success, it drove the spear up to the crossbars, and pinned Guzzy to the ground.
“Guzzy!” I screamed. My cousin’s plight stabbed an icy shaft into my heart. Cursing myself as much as the monster, I charged back into the fray. Road Toad sidestepped a kick and cut at the monster’s leg, slicing deep just above the heel. The ogre reached back, grasping for Road Toad. It came away with the mercenary’s shield and in roaring frustration, crushed it with its thick-fingered hand.
      The ogre’s right foot gave out when it tried to turn and pursue Road Toad who backed away. The brute stumbled forward to the ground, allowing me to leap onto its back. I stabbed my sword at the base of its skull and missed, grazing its scalp instead. My momentum carried me tumbling over its head and to the ground. Our wounded foe tried to rise but, before it could, Road Toad drove his sword into one of its yellow eyes. The ogre gasped, filling the air with its fetid breath while grasping wildly at the mercenary. With a twisting wrench, Road Toad tore at the ogre’s brain and killed it.
“With me, Krish!” called Road Toad, running to assist the captain.
      I ran to help Guzzy. My cousin lay pinned to the damp earth with a pale, stunned look on his face. He couldn’t be dead, I thought. Not yet. I wouldn’t let him die. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth, but he was still breathing.
I reached into my belt pouch for a handful of finely ground white oak bark. It was the only component to the only healing spell I knew. I sprinkled the grainy bark dust around the wound. I’d have to remove the spear before beginning and then work fast. The magic required would kill me, but it might save Guzzy. In the depths of my heart I knew I’d fail. But I had to try.
I began the only chant I knew, the only one my older sister had taught me, while opening my mind to the maelstrom of energy that raged beyond the reach of normal senses. I edged closer, seeking a sliver of the swirling energy, a strand that I recognized. One that I could direct.
I continued to chant while energies buffeted my mind as I delved deeper, seeking to draw upon a strand broader than I could survive. One that might mend Guzzy’s wound. Not completely, but enough until Road Toad and the captain could get him to a Lain Healer. A true healer.
Someone grasped my hands, attempting to break my hold on the spear. I tightened my grip against the feeble tugs, but the lapse in concentration caused me to lose focus on the energy strands. My mind spun and I backed out before I lost my way in the whorl of energies. I held back my despair, knowing I lacked the strength to try again.
“Krish, no.”
The gurgling whisper tugged at my senses. It was Guzzy! I forced my eyes open to see him with his hands on mine. I leaned close and turned my ear to his bloody lips.
“You can’t...”
“I could’ve saved you.”
He feebly shook his head. “No. Fight,” he gasped. “Don’t let them take me.”
“We won’t,” said Road Toad, standing above us, examining the mortal wound. “What’s—” he stared, but didn’t finish. He looked from Guzzy to me. “We’ve got to move now, Krish.”
I let go of the spear and reached for my discarded sword. “We can’t leave him!”
      The mercenary stepped on my blade before I could lift it. “Zombies are moving beyond the gully,” he said. He scanned the area before removing his foot from my sword and crouching down. “Fire’s almost out. So’s your time, Leader of our Picket.” He reached into a salt pouch. “You know what I have to do?”
      Guzzy nodded.
I looked from Guzzy to the mercenary. “I’ll carry him.”
“One final minute, with him,” Road Toad said. “I must do this before he dies.”
Then I remembered my drill sergeant’s dispassionate voice. “Salt in a death wound will ward off a necromancer’s magic. Either that or maim the body so it can’t walk or fight. Otherwise it’ll become a zombie to march against you.”
      I couldn’t sever the tendons in Guzzy’s legs and arms. I wouldn’t let Road Toad do it either.
      “Krishhh,” whispered Guzzy. “Tell my pappy...” His eyes widened. “We slew an ogre...fight on for me.” His eyes rolled up, showing their whites.
I held my cousin’s hand. His grip weakened. Tears blurred my vision. “I’m here, Guzzy. I will. I promise.”
“Pops Weasel, over here,” said Road Toad in a harsh, restrained whisper. “Pull the spear.”
The old mercenary placed his foot on Guzzy’s chest and tugged the spear out. Guzzy’s body tightened. Blood flowed from the open wound. Road Toad slapped a fistful of salt into the wound and pressed it in with his fingers.
      A few seconds later, Road Toad wiped his leather gauntlets on Guzzy’s padded armor before adjusting my cousin’s body. The mercenary rested Guzzy’s battle axe upon his blood-soaked chest before sliding Guzzy’s sheathed boot dirk into my belt. He placed a hand on my shoulder. “He’s gone.”
      “We should be too,” said Pops Weasel after spitting a stream of leaf juice through his rotting front teeth. “No shame in mourning the loss of a comrade.”
I stood. “He was my cousin.”
“Even more reason to mourn,” the old mercenary said, handing me my spear.
I didn’t want it, and pulled my hand back. “No.”
“Take it,” ordered Road Toad. “You fight best with it.”
“Here,” said Pops Weasel, handing me a quiver with a half dozen crossbow bolts. Then he looked up to Road Toad and patted a fattened satchel. “Rations. Didn’t have to do anything for the captain. Took care of Bendell, and that damnable ogre too.”
I looked to where Pops Weasel had pointed. The ogre lay with gauntlets removed and hands severed. Blood-stained gashes lined his boots at the ankles. Its severed head lay two feet to the side.
The mercenary, Bendell, lay with his battle axe like Guzzy. Captain Plarchett, or what was left of his crushed and mangled body, lay heaped at the feet of the ogre. The sword that lay across the body didn’t catch and reflect the waning firelight as I thought it should. The sword wasn’t his.
I looked around, and noted Road Toad’s hilt. I interrupted his whispering of plans to Pops Weasel. “You took Captain Plarchett’s sword.”
      My accusatory tone brought a surprised glance from Pops Weasel, but not from Road Toad. “He was a brother,” Road Toad said, and raised his leather-gauntleted right hand. “That is all you need to know.”
A design in the shape of a dog, maybe a fox, leaping over a rising sun showed on the worn leather. It appeared recently re-inked. Twice I’d seen that design on soldiers who’d passed through Pine Ridge, but tattooed on their right palm. I wondered if Pops Weasel’s leather gauntlet bore the mark, and if Road Toad bore the mark on his skin.
      Road Toad looked around warily. “We’ll make for the bridge. Try to slip through the enemy lines and cross.” He led the way into the woods, I followed and Pops Weasel trailed behind as we snaked silently through the trees.
We made it to the bridge only to find a host of zombies clustered in two masses eighty yards back, on either side of the road. We might have made a run for it, except for the twenty or so goblins. Their appearance surprised me. Both Road Toad and Pops Weasel frowned, silently meeting each other’s gaze.
      Most of the yellow-skinned creatures hid behind large trunks, spying on activities across the river; watching with their sinister cat eyes and listening with their pointed ears. A few goblins had climbed into the trees. Most carried short bows and long curved daggers or short, stout spears. They were no larger than a boy of eight summers, but appeared far more menacing.
      I began to sweat, wondering what we were going to do with the goblins and zombie hoards between us and the stone bridge that spanned seventy feet across the raging river.
“Goblin’s ain’t much,” whispered Pops Weasel, “but them arrows would get us before we made it across.”
      Road Toad nodded and I agreed. We were hidden forty yards west of the bridge near the river’s edge. The water was high, rushing by just below the bank. Four more feet and it’d reach the bridge’s underside. A twenty-yard area around the bridge had been cleared of trees years ago, and recently of brush.
Across the river, powerful lanterns backed by reflectors lit the bridge. I spotted movement inside the narrow windows of the two-story granite blockhouses that guarded the bridge’s far side. Men moved in the shadows in the woods beyond.
      Bellowing ogres sounded not too far away. Pops Weasel asked, “What’re they saying?”
“Mostly cursing.” Road Toad nodded. “They say, ‘No rock throwers. No cut trees to roll behind. Many puny men.’” He smiled. “I have to agree with them.”
Road Toad led us a few feet further back into the brush and bushes. “We’ll wait until morning.”
We watched for an hour and twice a patrol of goblins walked along the river and past us, only to return ten minutes later. Each time they came close I froze with my heart racing, prepared to run or fight. Between the patrols I thought about Guzzy, and if he’d be dead if I hadn’t thrown my spear. I gave the ogre the weapon used to kill my own blood. When I tried to forget that, I worried that Road Toad knew I was a healer. I wasn’t sure if Pops Weasel knew, but Road Toad did.
Pops Weasel had slid into the darkness after consulting with Road Toad. He’d just returned to report, but refrained as goblin voices approached. Pops Weasel’s wide eyes and anxious movements told me that he’d found more than he’d expected.
A third goblin patrol marched along the river past our position, when a deep growl from our side of the river, sounding like continuous thunder, caught their attention, and ours. As the goblins hurried back to the road we crawled to the edge of the brush.
The rumbling sound increased. Road Toad spotted its cause first and pointed. “There, see that...” He stopped, at a loss for words.
“Some sorta siege engine,” Pops Weasel whispered. “Two more further back on the road.” He nudged Road Toad. “Would you say that looks like a long Crusader cannon?” He pointed. “There sticking out of that slanted box on top of the metal wagon. Look at that row of wheels.” Pops Weasel squinted and looked closer. “They’re metal too.” He rubbed his unshaven chin. “With a belt around them. What it’s for?” He shrugged and scratched his neck. “Saw more zombies back up the road than I could count. And a couple companies of ogres.” He looked from Road Toad to me. “Trained and armored for combat, not the wild type you fought.”
A bugle from across the river sounded, but our attention remained on the siege wagon as it rolled to a halt. The zombies stood, mindless and unimpressed, but goblins bearing torches approached the rumbling wagon in hesitant steps, ready to flee at any second.
“No beasts pushing or pulling it,” said Pops in a low voice. “Must be Crusader.”
I couldn’t believe the Reunited Kingdom would join forces with the Necromancer King. In the added torchlight, I spotted a black cross outlined in white on the side of the siege wagon. The enemy had also painted an unusual black symbol emblazoned in a white circle near the cannon. It reminded me of a cross with the ends bent to the right, almost making it look to be rolling.
“It’s got a cross on it,” I whispered. “Must be Crusader.”
      “No,” disagreed Road Toad, shaking his head. “The Crusader cross stands taller than its cross arms. They’re always white on a green or orange background. Never black.”
      “Maybe a new faction,” said Pops.
Road Toad shook his head again. “Crusaders are sworn enemies of the Necromancer King. Even though they don’t work with magic, this siege weapon is beyond them.”
“Then what is it?” I asked. “Whose is it?”
Road Toad shrugged.
“We’re about to find out,” said Pops Weasel, gazing across the river at the moving soldiers and then back toward the goblins who’d gathered around the metal contraption.
A hatch raised and a zombie stuck its head and shoulders out. It looked about and addressed the goblins as only a souled one could do. A second souled zombie appeared from within the hulking, wheeled weapon and took hold of a swiveling, miniature cannon. The goblins began to chant, slapping their weapons against their shields. “Panzer! Panzer! Panzer!” Their eager, shrill yells rose in strength with each repetition.
I asked Road Toad, “What does ‘panzer’ mean?”
“It’s a new word in the foul tongue.” He stared intensely at the still rumbling metal wagon. “For that weapon out there.”


      
Chapter 3
North Africa
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

Ivan Mugdalla stood patiently while a guard patted him down. He dared not flinch or even roll his eyes. The 9mm Beretta nestled into the base of his skull made sure of that. This was the fourth search since he’d entered the subterranean bunker, not counting the two above ground. At least these fellows were more professional than the bandits wielding AK-47s who’d escorted him through the barren terrain.
       “He’s clean,” said the guard.
The other withdrew the pistol, flipped a switch and spoke through a primitive intercom. “The messenger is clean.”
A buzzer preceded a clacking as the steel door’s locks released. Yet another pair of bearded, burly guards emerged and signaled to Ivan. He followed them down the corridor lined with pictures and tapestries that did little to camouflage the hewn stone walls.
      
A bugle across the river called the defenders to stand ready. A sergeant urged the men on as they responded to the goblin chant with cries and jeers of their own.
      “This is bad,” whispered Road Toad. Pops Weasel nodded in agreement.
“Why?” I asked, slipping a piece of stale bread into my mouth.
“The troops across the river aren’t organized,” said Road Toad. “More a patched-together rabble. Can’t even muster a unified rousing cheer.”
Pops Weasel motioned for my waterskin after I’d had a drink. He took a gulp and said, “They’ll fight.”
“They’ll fight alright.” Road Toad shook his head. “That siege wagon—panzer, and the number of zombies and ogres.” He rested a gauntleted hand on my shoulder. “Your cousin was correct. The Necromancer King intends more than annual crop disruption.”
Both sides continued to yell across the river, taunting each other.
Pops Weasel said, “Lord Hingroar knew more was in the works than stoppin’ planting. He hired us.”
Road Toad wasn’t listening. “They’ll want that bridge.” He began rummaging through his satchel.
“Why don’t they cross elsewhere?” I asked.
When Road Toad didn’t answer, Pops Weasel did. “Zombies don’t drown, but they’d get washed down river and spread out. Too scattered and zombies’re useless. Ogres might make it, but not goblins.” Pops scratched the base of his neck under his helmet. “Neither will we.”
“They need the bridge to get their panzers across.” As Road Toad spoke, a second panzer rumbled up behind the first. The mercenary sliced one of his doeskin pouches. With a bit of ash from his tinder box and a stick he proceeded to scribe words on the skin. The task was difficult with only the moon and torchlight filtering through the leaf-filled branches. “Hand me one of your quarrels,” Road Toad said after finishing.
“What’cha write?” asked Pops Weasel.
“That was Sergeant Hocks shouting there, so some fellow mercenaries are across the river. He took the quarrel and blunted the tip before securing the message with a thin strip of leather. “Wrote, destroy bridge, vast enemy ready to cross.”
“Why will they believe that?” I asked, readying my crossbow. “Even if I can get it across.”
“And they don’t spot us doin’ it,” warned Pops Weasel.
“I signed my name. Someone there might know me.” He gave me a wide, serious gaze. “If the enemy gets over that bridge now, Krish, they’ll run rampant across the countryside. Through Pine Ridge.”
“But you said there’re reinforcements on the way.”
“There are, but I doubt Pops spotted all the enemy massing.” He handed me the quarrel. “Not enough. And, I suspect the Necromancer King is pushing hard more places than the Gray Haunt Forest. Attacking on multiple fronts, or we’d have more reinforcements, and King Tobias of Keesee wouldn’t be sending help.”
I sat back, wondering if this would be as bad as the Great Corpse Incursion. Few elders still lived that had witnessed it, but stories of the three years of relentless attacks and devastation lived on. “The Necromancer King can’t be that strong. What about the Crusader invasion?”
“That was twelve years ago,” said Road Toad.
“And the Necromancer King sent them running,” chuckled Pops Weasel. “In quick order, he did.”
Road Toad leaned close to Pops Weasel. “Maybe they ran into those panzers. We don’t have islands to retreat to.” Pops considered the troubling thought while Road Toad instructed me. “Now, while they’re still occupied. Aim your quarrel to land among a group of men, a little back from the front.”
“With the message tied on, I hope it’ll make it across the river.”
He held his arm at an angle. “Shoot at this elevation.”
I nodded, already knowing the proper angle to maximize distance. I targeted a circle of men beyond the bridge, beside the nearest blockhouse. After depressing the trigger and feeling the quarrel spring away, I lost sight of it arcing into the darkness.
“Didn’t see it land in the river,” whispered Pops Weasel. “Goblins didn’t notice. Think they’ll find it, Road Toad?”
“I hope so. The goblins are returning to positions behind the trees. The zombies are massing forward.” At the risk of revealing our hidden position in the deep brush, Road Toad stood. “I see the ogres. More than you reported, Pops.”
The bugle sounded again, calling the defenders across the river to position for battle. I reset my crossbow.
Road Toad took one of my few remaining quarrels and smeared a thin layer of grease on the tip and rubbed in a pinch of salt. “You never know.” He salted our fallen captain’s sword as well.
“I do,” argued Pops Weasel. “We’re on the wrong side of the river. If they don’t hold the bridge, we’re stuck. If they destroy the bridge, we’re stuck.”
I had to agree with Pops. “You said they can’t hold. Shouldn’t we get away while they’re fighting?”
“Maybe, Krish.” said Road Toad. “But why did you join the militia?”
“To fight the zombies,” I said, surprised by the question.
“Why do that?”
“Because they’d run rampant through the Doran Confederacy.”
“And?” asked Road Toad in leading tone.
“You know,” I said, not playing into his game.
“Right, I do know. Killing everyone and everything in sight. Destroying villages, towns, homes and farms.” He paused. “Why did you come? Why not let someone else fight?”
I recalled Guzzy telling me of the excitement and adventure, and of afternoons we’d spend learning to fight instead of laboring in the fields. But that wasn’t why. “Guzzy, Harvid and I made a good zombie picket team. Lord Hingroar called upon us to defend his lands, and our homes.”
“The rest of your team dead?” asked Pops Weasel.
Road Toad sent a glare at the older mercenary, silencing him. “Krish, we may need to help them hold the bridge, at least until they destroy it.”
Pops Weasel grunted, checked his gear, and mumbled to himself.
“That’s okay, Pops,” said Road Toad. “We’ll catch up with you.”
“You’re thinking during the battle you’ll sneak close and make a run for it, across that bridge. Ain’t gonna happen, Road Toad.”
Road Toad firmly patted Pops on the shoulder. “We run faster than you. We’ll make it.”
Pops Weasel squinted at me. “Good luck, young Krish. Don’t let him get’cha killed. I’d hate having to cut you down as a walkin’ dead.” He nodded to Road Toad, and backed away into the foliage-filled darkness.
With Guzzy around, I’d never considered the possibility of being killed and spelled into a zombie. I felt sick, realizing it might happen to me, this very night.
Road Toad must have seen the revelation cross my face. “Don’t worry, Krish,” he whispered, again focusing on the opposing forces whose calls had begun faltering toward silence. “Most necromancers don’t have the power to create a zombie from a healer.”
I hadn’t known that, but I was barely a neophyte healer. I didn’t want to discuss it, so I whispered back, “Why are you staying? You’ve no family or lands nearby.”
“Because I’m good at fighting.” He winked. “And I intend to earn my pay.” He looked away to the bridge as if instinct directed him. “Be ready.”
I wanted to ask for what, but simply watched and listened. The armored siege wagons could withstand any arrow or spear, but not many goblins or zombies could be packed inside them. Not enough to make a difference when they emerged from the panzers across the river.
The panzers didn’t roll across the bridge like I expected. One took up station five yards from the bridge, and the second twenty yards to its right.
“They’ll target the blockhouses,” whispered Road Toad. “I’ve seen Crusader cannons in action. Those panzer cannons won’t penetrate the walls in one shot. Then they’ll have to retreat out of range for the ogres to ram new loads down the tube. If the defenders have any wizards, that’s when they should make their counter attack.”
Road Toad and I watched the cannons rotate and elevate, targeting the granite blockhouses. Road Toad started to say something else, but the panzer cannons thundered, interrupting him.
      The cannon fire slammed into the upper levels, penetrating the granite, sending showers of shattered stone outward. Screams followed. The panzers didn’t retreat, and fifteen seconds later they fired again, crumbling the upper levels.
Men fled from what remained of the blockhouses. Souled zombies on the panzers directing swivel-mounted mini-cannon fire cut them down. They fired not just once but in bursts of dozens. The barking chatter drowned men’s cries as white fire darted across the river, into the defenders. I watched in horror. Even Road Toad had underestimated, believing panzer firepower equivalent to Crusader weaponry. I checked my equipment, expecting Road Toad to follow Pops Weasel’s example.
Instead he said into my ear, “Look, Krish,” and pointed. “Lord Hingroar assigned an earth wizard to hold the bridge.”
      I’d never seen one, and hardly believed the descriptions until that moment, but a huge creature, a harnessed elemental spirit lumbered toward the bridge. The earth spirit summoned by the wizard manifested itself as a towering, fifteen foot jumble of compacted earth and stone. It resembled a faceless ogre, but larger. Forty yards behind the crumbling blockhouses a bonfire burst into flame.
“Lesser Wizard Morgan made it,” I said, knowing the fire wizard’s magic would weaken as it crossed over the river.
“All may not be lost,” agreed Road Toad, even as a third panzer rolled forward, angling our direction. It stopped twenty yards to the left of the center panzer before turning to face the defenders across the river.
Mini-cannon fire raked the earth elemental, tearing off small chunks. The main cannons rotated, seeking to target their new adversary.
“We’ve got to help,” said Road Toad over the near-deafening chatter of mini-cannon fire.
“What?” I asked. “Do what?”
“That zombie firing the mini-cannon,” he said. “Be ready to shoot him.”
The panzer sat only twenty yards away, and both zombies, the one directing from the top, and the one firing the gun, were too occupied to notice anything around them.
“When?” I asked Road Toad.
“When I take out the commander atop the nearest panzer.”
The earth elemental lumbered past one of the shattered blockhouses and picked up a piece of a fallen wall. With apparent ease it hurled the five hundred pound granite chunk, striking the front of the center panzer. The blow knocked the battlewagon back, denting its steel-clad front. The struck panzer’s mini-cannon fell silent as the zombie tugged at a lever on the weapon. But the main cannon fired, missed the elemental, and caused an explosion two hundred yards beyond.
In response, from the bonfire a ball of fire arced skyward, across the river. It nearly flared out before splitting. The two flames darted down, searing into the central panzer’s exposed zombies.
The elemental advanced one stride onto the bridge and hesitated before stomping a massive foot down, weakening it.
      “Be ready, Krish,” said Road Toad as he leapt forward and ran low toward the nearest panzer. When he was halfway there its main cannon sounded, causing him to stumble in his stride, but the mercenary continued forward. The cannon missed the elemental, and instead impacted against the already destroyed blockhouse on the right, reducing it to rubble.
      The mini-cannons had taken their toll on the elemental, leaving its surface ragged and torn. It stomped again. A bridge section fell into the river, leaving a jagged hole extending inward from the eastern edge.
Goblins shrieked warnings when Road Toad reached the side of the panzer. The zombie commander, heeding the goblin cries, frantically looked around. I let fly with my crossbow at the mini-cannon zombie as Road Toad leapt onto the rear of the panzer. The commander held up its hands to ward off the coming blow. Road Toad’s swing cut through one forearm and bit into the zombie’s head.
My quarrel struck the mini-cannon firing zombie in the shoulder, causing it to wail while clutching at the shaft and salt-laden wound. I was so surprised I nearly dropped my crossbow. I’d never heard a souled zombie cry out, its voice more shrill and grating than any human could match.
      Road Toad wrenched his sword free and leapt from the panzer, avoiding several hastily fired goblin arrows. He sprinted my direction and showed no signs of slowing. Although Pops Weasel had said as much, the sinking feeling finally hit; we weren’t going to make it across the bridge. To emphasize the fact, the far panzer’s cannon found its mark, hitting the earth elemental in the chest, blowing it apart.
      The central panzer, even without an exposed leader, rumbled forward. I didn’t linger to see if it made it across the damaged bridge. Instead, I dropped my crossbow, grabbed my spear, and fled. Road Toad pounded along the river bank three steps behind me and thirty yards ahead of two charging ogres and at least a dozen screeching goblins.
      Patches of stringy vines mingled with brush, and stands of willow trees lined the river bank. After two minutes of sprinting, covering a half mile, the ogres had kept pace but the goblins no longer screamed. They’d fallen behind in the pursuit. Even though my chest ached for air, I dared not slacken my pace. I wasn’t sure if the booming panzers had ceased firing or if the combined pounding of my heart and the river’s torrential flow drowned it out.
      Road Toad leapt next to me and then surged ahead. “Don’t stop,” he encouraged between breaths. He pointed ahead, up the river. “Help, see?”
Over the river I spotted an enormous shadowy form gliding just above the tree line. A second followed. Road Toad shouted, “Hail!” and added a piercing screech, almost like a hawk’s, as the pair of dragons with riders whooshed past. I stumbled over a root, but caught myself before falling.
I risked a glance over my shoulder. The ogres had closed the gap to ten yards. They advanced along the slick ground with long, steady strides. Maneuvering around trees delayed them from overtaking us.
“Into the trees,” I panted.
Road Toad labored to keep his pace. “No!”
      One Ogre laughed deeply while the other shouted, “Gaaff haw ne dubs!”
“Grull…awik,” replied Road Toad between breaths.
      Although our pace had slowed, a dense stand of young oaks crowding the swollen riverbank promised safety—even if only temporary. The thought drove me on. We reached it five yards ahead of the lead ogre. It slid and crashed into the trees, breaking two at the stump and cracking several others. The monster bellowed in rage and frustration. The other moved to circle the small stand.
I tried to slow but Road Toad dragged me on. “The serpent riders will return. We must be along the river.”
Why? I couldn’t fathom. But alone, against even one ogre, I didn’t stand a chance. So I followed the mercenary, trusting his experience.
      We emerged from the small stand of oaks at a trot and immediately picked up the pace. The new lead ogre spotted us and, avoiding trees, angled toward the river—toward us. Maybe if Road Toad had Pops Weasel to support him he’d have turned to fight. But he only had me, a militia-trained farmhand. I’d even discarded my crossbow, although if I’d have carried its weight, I’d have been caught long ago. I still had the quiver of quarrels, but removing it would require shifting my spear to my other hand, away from the riverside and toward the brush.
The ogre had misjudged our speed and reached the river fifteen yards behind us. A little further back, the ogre that’d crashed into the trees bellowed threats. “Nash haw dubs!”
      Road Toad looked over his shoulder but didn’t respond. Instead he grinned. “Faster, Krish,” he huffed. “Faster!”
The ogre’s pounding stride closed. I strained with all I had, knowing it wasn’t enough to keep ahead of certain death. Without warning, Road Toad slowed, grabbed my collar and tugged me toward the river. “Jump!”
      I was too exhausted to resist and leapt after the mercenary into the river. Immediately the current took hold and swept us back toward the ogres. I lost my spear as Road Toad pulled me under. The current carried us away from the shore, but not before the lead ogre swung its club down through the water and striking my left arm as I tumbled in the current. I dove to escape another blow, sending a sharp pain through my left arm.
I surfaced, gasping for air and screamed as the river buffeted my broken arm. I didn’t care if the ogre clubbed me again; I had to breathe. A shadow passed overhead. I wasn’t sure if it was the current or Road Toad, but something drew me below the surface.
I tumbled and swirled, struggling against my water-soaked armor and my arm’s numbing pain. The ogres wouldn’t get me. I was going to drown instead. I surfaced again, splashing and gasping. Deep, guttural, agonized cries echoed across the river.
      The swirling torrent hauled me under again and I didn’t have the strength to fight it. I clutched my right arm over my broken left and held what breath I had, fighting against the inevitable.
Something huge clutched me around the chest, pinned my arms, and pulled me from the water. My body skipped across the surface as I rose from the river. The claw that’d snatched me held firm against my struggles, yet allowed shallow breaths. The narrow escape from ogres only to be ensnared by a dragon’s claw left me stunned. Breathing consumed my thoughts and nothing else.
Wind whipped by. I opened my eyes. Below, fields and trees sped by. An enormous black claw with glistening talons held me, tucked tight against an equally black-scaled belly. The dragon’s gray, bat-like wings slowly flapped, adding height and speed.
“Soldiers,” called the serpent cavalryman directing the dragon. “Relax as best you are able. We have a two hour flight.”
“Ha-Haaa, Krish!”
      I craned my neck to see Road Toad clutched in the claw of a second dragon. He continued to laugh and enjoy the ride. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore my aching arm.
      “Krish,” called Road Toad a short time later. “We just flew over Pine Ridge. They’re evacuating.”
I looked down at the town buildings as they diminished in size. Using the town as a reference I was able to determine landmarks from the aerial view. I watched as we approached my family’s farm south of Pine Ridge. My father and younger brother had hitched our plow horse to the cart. My mother ran from the cabin with a bundle in her arms. Katchia, my little sister, dragged a basket toward the cart.
They gazed up through the early morning sky at the dragon carrying me. I shouted down, “Father! It’s me, Krish! I’m safe!” They didn’t shout or wave in return. My father held Old Lou steady while the rest returned to packing.
At least I knew they were fleeing to safety.


Chapter 4
North Pacific Ocean
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

“Captain, a second American frigate is in the area,” reported the sonar man. “Closing on our position.”
       “No matter,” dismissed the captain of the aging missile sub. “Our comrades will occupy them.” Besides, he was confident that an American attack sub already trailed his boat. He examined his watch. “Helmsman, bring our depth to fifteen meters. Man battle stations. Prepare to launch missiles.”
      
I awoke to a distant dragon’s deep, throaty roar. Ours returned a more hawk-like reply to the challenge. I spotted the dragon ahead, the sun glinting off its red-tinged scales as it banked east. It was larger than the dragon that carried me.
      Rocky terrain sped by about 500 yards below. If we’d continued south I guessed we’d left the Doran Confederacy and entered the Kingdom of Keesee. As we approached a mass of tents and humanity, the dragons began a wide spiraling descent. I looked down to get a lay of the camp.
      Most notable was a string of eight dragons staring up at our approach. Two smaller dragons, black like ours, stood apart from six of the larger, red-tinted ones. Two of the reds had men scrambling on and around them, securing harnesses and enormous saddles. The dragons resembled reptilian bats, except for the long tails and serpentine necks ending in massive, horned heads. The reds each had a frill of long ivory horns pointing back toward the wings. The blacks had only nubs for horns, one above each eye and two protruding from the bottom jaw. The reds had slitted pupils surrounded by orange irises while the blacks had ivory irises.
      The dragons emitted threatening snarls as we passed overhead. Ours replied, staring downward. “Easy, Night Shard,” urged the cavalryman guiding my dragon. The voice rang confident, yet friendly. “One more loop around and you can join the bevy.”
A second voice from above laughed. “Prince Reveron, don’t forget the mercenaries in the clutches of our fell beasts.”
My jaw dropped. A prince? I turned to the other dragon carrying Road Toad. I saw the mercenary’s smile but couldn’t tell if he’d winked or if it was the wind buffeting his face.
      “I have not,” replied the prince. “I desire to get one more view of the men.”
      We circled the camp. On the far side, up wind, about fifty knights with squires tended their horses. Wagons and circles of small A-frame tents covered the rest of the area. Maybe eight hundred soldiers in chain armor, wearing the purple and gold of Keesee, made up two-thirds of the soldiers. The rest, based upon their assortment of dress and arms, were mercenaries. A number of freemen, equal to the mercenaries, tended to the cooking, supply wagons and beasts of burden.
      One large walled tent flying the colors of Keesee dominated the camp’s center. Next to it a smaller but no less exquisite tent flew the white and red of Fendra Jolain, goddess of healing.
“I think my arm is broken,” I shouted to Road Toad, who still appeared to be enjoying himself.
      His smile faded for a second. “Stick with me, Krish. I’ll see that you’re taken care of.” He paused, then added without mirth as the dragons descended. “You can trust me.”
Night Shard pulled up and flapped its leathery wings, buffeting the ground before dropping me next to Road Toad on a stack of cut brush. The tangle of branches cushioned my five-foot drop, but not enough to avoid reawaking the pain in my broken arm.
      I gasped and grunted, straining to keep quiet while enduring the shooting pain.
Road Toad rolled over but had trouble moving his arms. The dragon’s grip had numbed his as well as mine. “Just lay still a minute, Krish. Let me get my blood flowing and I’ll help you down and we’ll get you to a healer.”
Militia generally had low priority for healing, but I’d followed Road Toad thus far and was still alive. “Thanks,” I said weakly through clenched teeth. “An ogre clubbed me in the river.”
      “Just about any farmhand can run well enough,” said Road Toad. “But you kept your wits where most wouldn’t have.” When I didn’t respond he shook his arms and sat up. “Good thing ol’ Pops Weasel took off when he did. Knowing when to duck out is why he’s been around so long.”
      I rolled on my side to get away from a branch digging into my back.
Road Toad watched me flinch at the pain when I moved. He climbed over. “This’ll be tricky.” He broke off a stick. “Bite on this.”
“Is that you, Major Jadd?” called a surprised voice. It sounded like the serpent cavalryman prince upon Night Shard. When we both turned to see who’d spoken he continued, “It was dark, but I had a hunch it was so.”
I didn’t know what to say or do. Road Toad removed his helmet and bowed. I did the same though it hurt my arm. Then I remembered to spit out the stick.
“Prince Reveron,” said Road Toad solemnly, trying to slide off the brush pile.
The prince, dressed in fine chain mail and breastplate painted purple and gold, stood at the base of the pile. He’d removed his black plumed helmet, revealing a youthful face framed by short dark hair. His wispy beard and mustache had faded to white—almost translucent. What stood out the most were his piercing blue eyes. Behind the prince another cavalryman held the reins to Night Shard, leading it toward the bevy.
      The prince raised his hand to Road Toad. “Hold where you are.” He then looked to me. “Are you injured, soldier? I witnessed an ogre striking at you in the river.”
      I didn’t know how to respond. What should a farmer—militia soldier—say to a prince? I decided to address him as Road Toad did, although the prince apparently knew the mercenary. “I ahh, I am, Prince Reveron.” I continued to stare at the branches and brambles upon which I sat.
“He believes his left arm is broken, Prince,” added Road Toad.
“What is your name, soldier?” asked the prince.
“I am Krish, Prince Reveron. Son of Thurmond, of Pine Ridge, serving in the militia of Lord Hingroar of the Doran Confederacy.”
Prince Reveron nodded and, clapping Road Toad on the shoulder, said, “Let me assist you in lowering a fellow soldier from this drop pile. Then, Major Jadd, take Krish to the healer. If they give you trouble, inform them you are there upon my request. Afterwards, report to my tent. I wish to hear your assessment of the new weapons the enemy has deployed.” He chuckled. “And how you found yourself on the wrong side of the river, pursued by ogres.”
Road Toad bowed his head again. “It will be done, Prince.”
“Major Jadd, I am not my brother. I fear he treated you badly, as does my father.”
Together they guided my descent. I held my arm against my chest and grimaced, refusing to cry out in front of the prince.
“The expression on your face indicates your injury is quite painful, Militiaman Krish,” commented the prince. “Will you and Major Jadd be able to make it to the healer? If not, I will summon assistance.”
“Thank you for the offer, Prince,” said Road Toad, “but Krish is made of stern stuff.”
“Very good.” Without further comment Prince Reveron turned and strode back toward the string of dragons.
I wanted to ask Road Toad how the prince knew him and a few other questions, but as my arm regained full circulation, it began to ache and throb with increased intensity.
“Krish, hold your injured arm against your chest like you have it.” With a quick snap, Road Toad tipped his head toward the camp. “Let’s get you to a healer, and then secure you some better equipment.” He walked next to me, ready to support if I stumbled. “Ever consider becoming a mercenary?”
I gave him the honest answer. “No.”
He slowed his pace to match mine and carefully removed one of my pouches. “You won’t want this when we visit the healer.” He stuffed my supply of white oak bark into his satchel and nodded. “Anything else that might raise a healer’s suspicions?” he asked, leaning close.
“No,” I said, concentrating on ignoring my broken arm.
“Good,” Road Toad said and changed subjects. “I heard you yell down from Night Shard. Your family is safe, or as safe as can be.”
We stepped aside as a squad of armed soldiers double-timed it somewhere. Road Toad nodded for me to follow. “Even if Prince Reveron doesn’t tell us, I suspect Pine Ridge will be overrun by midnight. But your family should be well gone.”
“I need to find them,” I said, realizing their plight. The entire night seemed a blur that happened too fast. The image of Guzzy dying reemerged.
Road Toad observed my slowing pace and matched it again.
“My father will need me,” I said, knowing Guzzy’s family would need him too. I’d have to tell his father and mother what had happened to their son, and realizing that twisted my guts even more.
“How will you find them?” asked Road Toad.
I gazed at him blankly without an answer. Maybe he thought I was going into shock. Maybe I was.
      He led me between circles of tents until crossing a main path leading toward the center. Mercenaries stared back at us from their small fires as they ate, joked, repaired armor or sharpened weapons. Despite the variety of color, builds and equipment, all had confident faces. Or at least every mercenary that looked my way.
Laughter, philosophical discussions, and even bickering filled the circle camps. I sighed and drove worries about my family and grief for Guzzy from my thoughts. I leaned closer to Road Toad. “Major Jadd?” I whispered.
      “Yes, that was me once.” He looked around, avoiding eye contact with me. “I once was a serpent cavalryman with my own steed.” He sighed, and picked up the pace. “I will tell you another time.”
We approached two attentive Keeseean soldiers with shields and spears, standing on either side of the path. Twenty yards beyond them the ring of soldier tents ended, leaving a gap before the two largest central tents. I knew the one flying the white flag displaying the prominent outline of a red cross was where the healers would be found. Pairs of soldiers in chain armor with gold and purple sashes paced in precise steps as they circled the pavilions.
The two guards on the path watched us approach and stood ready. We stopped eight feet away. Road Toad said, “Prince Reveron directed me to take this soldier to the healers.”
The guards eyed me, then returned their gaze to Road Toad. Something in Road Toad’s return stare must have impressed them. They stood aside.
      The circling guards, three pairs marching equal spread around pavilions, didn’t stop us. Probably magic would be protecting the area. Besides, the prince wasn’t in his tent.
      “If you think the prince’s guards are efficient,” said Road Toad, “or you thought some of those mercenaries were intimidating, you’re in for a new experience.”
      I knew the Healer’s Guild supplied its traveling members personal guards, but the two towering men outside the main entrance to the healer’s pavilion made me stutter in my step. New pain shot through my arm and shoulder.
      The two guards, holding halberds, barred our way. They wore steel helmets that hid their eyes. Thick straps of woven leather laced with iron rings made up their armor. Beneath it, bulging muscles flexed as we stopped.
Not intimidated, Road Toad looked up at the silent guard on the right. “I have escorted this soldier at the request of Prince Reveron to seek a healer for his injury.” His authoritative statement brought no response. “Stand aside and allow us entry, or notify those within of our purpose.”
After staring up at the unmoving guard for twenty seconds, Road Toad put up his arm and ushered me back. A wicked grin crossed his face as he drew his sword, our fallen captain’s sword. “It is disrespectful that Prince Reveron’s wishes go unheeded.” His eyes shifted from guard to guard. “I, however, do not hold the honorable followers of Fendra Jolain responsible for this insult.”
I couldn’t believe it. Road Toad was going to fight these brutes. I looked left and right, seeking the patrolling Keeseean guards. They simply marched and watched with interest, but didn’t move to interfere.
“It is possible,” said Road Toad, “that the healers within will come to your aid and then grant us admittance.” Balancing on the balls of his feet, Road Toad held his long sword ready. He rushed forward just as a squat man in red and white robes threw a tent flap aside and raised his hands, calling, “Stop, no need for that!”
Road Toad ignored the robed man as did the hulking guards. I let loose of my broken arm and pulled my sword. I didn’t know why Road Toad decided to attack but I couldn’t let him fight alone. I might at least be able to injure one guard if they ignored me. If they didn’t, I’d give Road Toad a chance to deal with just one for a few seconds. I cried out more in pain than fury and charged guard on the left as Road Toad had gone after the one on the right.
      I feigned at closing and circled left, holding my sword to block any attack. My quick moves sent crippling pain through my body, accompanied by nausea and lightheadedness.
Road Toad parried a halberd thrust, closed and drove the dagger he’d drawn into his opponent’s thigh before backing away.
      The short, middle-aged man shouted, waving his arms. What he said, I wasn’t sure. I struggled to simply hold my sword ready and remain standing.
My opponent, no longer considering me a threat, turned to aid his partner. He knocked aside the robed man.
With the guard’s back to me, I forced down the nausea and ignored my arm. I ran forward, this time without shouting.
A woman emerged from the tent between me and the guards and ordered, “Cease!” Everyone, the guards, Road Toad and the robed man stopped. Everyone except me. I couldn’t stop and tried angling to the right and avoid colliding with the tall, olive-skinned woman. I would’ve failed except the robed man managed to yank me aside.
The woman didn’t even try to avoid me as I lost my footing and fell to the ground at her feet. She simply stared in disdain, first down at me, then at her wounded guard, before focusing on Road Toad.
A red sash tied at her waist held her white robes closed. Leather sandals were on her clean feet. “Explain your assault on my guards,” she demanded as she walked to her wounded man. He held Road Toad’s bloody dagger in his hand.
Road Toad responded, “Explain the refusal of your servants to honor Prince Reveron’s request.”
Her eyes widened, only for fraction of a second. In a haughty voice she said, “You do not wear the colors of the prince.”
“The prince commands more than simply those who wear his colors.” Road Toad’s tone was flat but assured.
Her eyes narrowed before focusing on the robed man. “Acolyte Rellar, was a request made by this mercenary in the name of the prince?”
The man bowed his head and replied, barely above a mumble. “It is possible, Priestess.” He was visibly shaking.
“Tend to Moxel’s wound, Acolyte.” As soon as the priestess said that an equally large and intimidating guard emerged from the tent to replace the wounded one. The priestess looked from Road Toad to me. “You may follow and I will personally see to Prince Reveron’s request. If you are misrepresenting him—” She didn’t finish her threat before turning.
“May I have my dagger back?” asked Road Toad.
The mercenary threw it point down into the ground, inches from Road Toad’s foot.
      Road Toad caught the dagger’s guard with the toe of his boot and flicked it in the air before snatching the grip with his right hand. “My apologizes for any misunderstanding,” he said to Acolyte Rellar before helping me to my feet.
      After sheathing his own sword, Road Toad picked up mine and slid it into its sheath. The guard who’d faced me waited silently to follow us into the pavilion.
The priestess hadn’t bothered to wait. “Which way,” asked Road Toad, standing next to a stool in the small partitioned area. The air was perfumed and not warm or stuffy as I’d expected. There were flaps leading to the left, right and straight ahead. The guard led us straight, and to the right. “How are you doing, Krish?” asked Road Toad.
“Not very well,” I said through gritted teeth. “My arm is swelling up more.”
The guard stopped and held a flap aside. I followed Road Toad through. Inside stood the priestess next to a large wooden altar, the front of which was lined with tiny drawers. On the altar rested an ivory statue of a beautiful maiden stretching to touch a golden sun with one hand while grasping a wooden bowl in the other. Two flat beds covered by white sheets sat on either side of the altar.
The priestess’ spiteful green eyes betrayed her smile as false. She gestured to the narrow bed on her right. “Please, lie down, head nearest the altar honoring the goddess, Fendra Jolain.”
“Should I remove my armor first?” I asked.
She pulled a small knife from within her robes. “That will not be necessary.”
“Priestess,” I said while looking at my arm to avoid her gaze, “although it’ll hurt, it’s easier than mending my armor later.”
“Will not Prince Reveron supply a loyal soldier injured on his behalf with new armor?” Her snide question was directed not to me but at Road Toad.
“He would,” replied Road Toad, “if there were need, but with war arising it is foolish to damage even the simplest soldier’s gear without need.” He helped me with the wooden buttons and gently tugged the sleeve from my injured arm.
I clenched my teeth to withstand the pain before lying down with Road Toad’s assistance. My bruised forearm had swollen to twice its normal size.
Road Toad stepped aside as the priestess knelt and examined my arm. Closing her eyes in concentration, she placed a hand over it. She ran her fingertips from my forearm up to my shoulder and left them to rest on my chest.
“The ulna is fractured, and an illness is brewing within the lungs. Even stressed the immune system could overcome it. But Prince Reveron assuredly desires each of his loyal soldiers trusted to the care of the servants of Fendra Jolain, goddess of the sun and healing, to receive all benefits of her bestowed gifts.”
She stared at Road Toad. When he remained silent, she stood and pulled open an altar drawer. Securing a pinch of powder she again knelt next to me. “What is your name, soldier?”
“Krish, Son of Thurmond,” I answered. I didn’t add my town, as it was not in the realm of Keesee. But even more, I didn’t want her easily associating me with my sister, Raina, who had left to become a healer three years ago.
“What is your unit and who is your commander?”
“Priestess, my unit was destroyed last night by ogres, goblins and zombies,” I said trying to sound formal despite my arm. “I await Prince Reveron’s orders to a new company.”
She sprinkled the gray-white powder onto my arm. “Have you ever considered serving the Goddess of Healing?”
“No,” I said, too quickly. I looked at my arm to avoid her eyes.
“He is a mercenary, Priestess,” interrupted Road Toad, “and brave. But I doubt he could pass the rigorous requirements to become one of the elite guards of Fendra Jolain.”
She smiled up at Road Toad. “Could you?”
“Priestess, like Krish, I have not considered it. We serve the prince and his father, King Tobias of Keesee.” With feigned curiosity Road Toad asked, “Is questioning part of the healing spell?”
The priestess looked back to me. I closed my eyes, clenched my teeth, and pretended to brace myself as if the process would hurt. It shouldn’t, but the less the priestess suspected I knew about healing the better. Plus, she didn’t like Road Toad, and possibly not the prince. And I was with them.
I listened to the incomprehensible words she mumbled after placing her hands over the powder on my broken arm. She then placed a hand on my chest and said, “Breathe in slowly.” As I did, she gently blew on my face.
The aching in my arm didn’t fully disappear but it was noticeably better. I looked up at the priestess as she stood. “Thank you.”
“The swelling and discoloration will disappear by sunset,” she said without inflection. “Do not swing a sword or lift heavy objects until sunrise tomorrow.” She turned and strode out, ordering the guard who’d lead us in, “Trullox, escort the prince’s soldiers from my presence.”



Chapter 5
Southwestern United States
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

Dr. Mindebee smiled as Dr. Johnston reported, “All systems check. Plasma coil in place. Bombardment maintaining stabilized field of anti-matter particles.” Dr. Johnston locked eyes with Dr. Mindebee’s. “Initial penetration laser standing by, Dr. Mindebee. Ready to energize secondary magnetic field within the coil.”
       Dr. Mindebee looked around. He spotted the Lt. Colonel seated erect, next to a land line phone. The soldier’s face was relaxed, in complete contrast to everyone else in the lab. “Proceed,” said Dr. Mindebee.
       With a reaffirming nod from Dr. Johnston, several assistants tapped at their keyboards and touch screens.
      
Road Toad declined to wait for Prince Reveron inside his pavilion. Instead we sat on the grass outside the patrolling guards’ circle, awaiting his arrival. Road Toad dug through his satchel and located a wrapped wedge of cheese. He set aside the damp cloth and examined the cream-colored cheese before breaking off a piece. “Try this. A bit sharp.”
      “Thanks,” I said. It had a harsher taste than I was used to but was nonetheless welcome. My curiosity about Road Toad’s connection to the prince continued to build. “Why didn’t you want to wait inside the tent?”
“They’d have better food in there,” he smirked, “if any would’ve been offered. How long have you been a rogue healer?” His voice was low enough that nobody could hear.
“I’ve been able to heal bleeding from cuts and scrapes for two summers. I’ve never practiced much.” I didn’t add my sister had returned home for a visit and showed me. I took another bite and answered after sliding the bits of cheese into my cheek. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do more.”
Road Toad pulled his sword and dagger and set them on the grass. “Another rogue teach you?” He began cleaning his dagger with a rag. I watched, thinking, as he dried the dagger before applying oil with a square of cloth.
      “Twelve years ago I was a serpent cavalryman,” began Road Toad after I didn’t answer his question. “Death Snap was my mount. A black like Prince Reveron’s but I flew in a squadron under Prince Halgadin.” He picked up his sword and examined it. “King Tobias has twelve children. Prince Halgadin is his firstborn. Prince Reveron is eleventh born, and the third of three sons.”
      I nodded, knowing the number of heirs to Keesee’s throne but not the order of birth. I pulled my sword and examined it as well. I had a small oil tin with a rag and searched for it in my damp satchel. I didn’t want to empty its contents, afraid the prince might arrive any time.
Road Toad looked up and around for the prince. Then, with his eyes staring ahead, fixing on a past vision he continued. “I was there when the last of the routed Crusaders were retreating, with the Necromancer King’s forces in pursuit. Many staggered and fell, struggling for breath. Others were blind with faces blistered. I don’t know if they were luckier than the hundreds of their fallen comrades littering the rocky shoreline.
“Some had made it to their steam-driven ships off shore. More than the ships were equipped to handle. Still, row boats returned to recover time and again. All the while, we circled high overhead. Prince Halgadin had ordered us to observe only. Maybe they were the king’s orders not to interfere.”
He absentmindedly sheathed his sword. “It was nearing nightfall and zombies began clambering down the rocks with goblins behind them. Twenty longships with ogres at the oars cruised down the coastline toward the Crusaders. The steamships sounded alarm whistles.”
      He paused, wiped his dagger once more before sheathing it. “A company of men, firing their muzzleloaded rifles, dug in and held off the zombies while the last of the wounded left the shore. A Crusader priest shouted prayers to hold the zombies at bay, until a goblin pierced his heart with an arrow.”
      Road Toad held out his hand for my sword. “Then the zombies fell upon them. Four stood with fixed bayonets on the shore and occupied the zombies until their fellows had made it beyond the breakers. Zombies won’t enter saltwater, but they were souled ones and could’ve picked them off with crossbows.”
      Road Toad ran his hand along my sword’s salt-pitted blade and frowned. “The steamships were already belching smoke and retreating from the oncoming ogres. The two rowboats, one with wounded and the other with the last retreating soldiers, would never catch the steamships.
“I called to the prince, ‘They are no longer within the Necromancer King’s domain. Should we render aid?’”
      “‘No,’ Prince Halgadin shouted to me. ‘We will not engage. Let the ogres have them.’”
Road Toad continued with regret in his voice. “It might’ve been they were Crusaders that bear the green cross. Anyway, the sun was disappearing and I spotted several in the rowboats desperately waving and shouting for assistance. One called in the sea-farer’s tongue.”
      Road Toad spoke a little faster. “I know sea-spittle, as does Prince Halgadin. Looking skyward, the Crusader soldier stood on the prow of the trailing boat and called, ‘Dragon riders, we are not friends but have a common foe. Delay the enemy so that we might escape to oppose them another day.’”
Road Toad shook his head. “They were soldiers in needless peril, so I took Death Snap down to the sea. I ordered the Crusaders to throw me a rope while my mount held overhead. I secured the line and Death Snap towed them to a retreating steamship. No other serpent cavalrymen lent aid, and by the time I returned, the rowboat filled with wounded was among the ogres.”
      He handed me back my sword. “A very old blade. The smith had some skill, but your weapon is fast losing its ability to endure the salt.”
“What happened?” I asked, shifting position to sheathe my weapon. “Were you banished?”
His head snapped as if startled with my question. “Upon reaching the borders of Keesee, Prince Halgadin stripped me of my rank and my mount. He did not banish me. Instead he swore that if he ever laid eyes upon me again, we would cross blades unto my death.”
“What if he’s here in camp?” I asked. “Are you a better swordsman than him?”
      “I doubt he is in this camp.” Road Toad chuckled. “And no, although I’ve learned a few things over the years, he will always be the better swordsman.” He stood. “Besides, no good can come to anyone who slays a prince, even if he invoked the duel.”
      I stood, also seeing the prince with several knights on horseback riding toward his pavilion. “But if you left the Kingdom of Keesee and took up as a mercenary, why remain now?” Then I added before Road Toad replied, “Maybe you’ve been forgiven. Prince Reveron said the king thought you were treated badly.”
Road Toad shook his head. “No. Once stripped of my rank by a prince…” He trailed off before patting me on the shoulder. “Tradition holds that any honorable duel cannot be to the death in time of war. Should we meet, I believe Prince Halgadin will forego our crossing of swords until the war has been won.” He signaled for me to follow. “Let us hurry and not keep the one prince who favors me waiting.”

A middle-aged man in gray robes ushered us into a tiny room within the tent. The man was unremarkable except for the fact that his eyes were beginning to cloud white, like what sometimes happens to the elderly. “Carefully, step over and do not disturb the circle.” He gestured with his hand to emphasize while straddling the line of glittering powder that circled the room within the pavilion.
      The prince sat at a table and looked up.
The white-eyed man bowed and announced, “Fair Prince, the mercenaries Road Toad and Krish, plucked from peril by you.”
Both Road Toad and I bowed.
The prince smiled. “As you foretold, Lesser Seer B’down.”
“I serve as my skills permit,” the seer said, and bowed once more before backing out of the room. I watched as he deliberately stepped over the sparkling line.
“Please, take a seat,” said the prince. “I have but a few moments before I meet with my officers and military advisors.”
We sat on stools, same as the prince, but his was padded by a purple pillow with gold tassels. A rectangular table holding a large map sat between us. Four unlit candles in silver holders held down corners of the map. I guessed it was of the region, but quickly looked away, not knowing if there were plans drawn upon it. Four other stools sat off to the side within the circle along with an open crate partitioned into deep squares, all but one of which held rolled maps.
“I understand, Major Jadd, that you threatened then injured one of the healers’ guards. Is this information accurate?”
“It is, Prince,” said Road Toad in a monotone voice.
“Major Jadd, Mercenary Krish, speak freely here. We are alone and the circle prevents others from hearing. Why would you do such a thing?”
“A matter of honor, Prince Reveron.”
The prince grinned and suppressed a laugh. “And whose honor were you defending?”
“Your honor, Prince,” said Road Toad.
The prince lost his smile and sat up straight. “They do grow bold. Thank you, brother.”
It was then that I saw on the prince’s right palm an indigo tattoo. It resembled the one on Road Toad’s hand, of a fox leaping over a rising sun. The two men locked gazes for several long seconds.
“I did it to remind them of their status beneath the royal family,” said Road Toad, “but would have for a brother as well.”
Prince Reveron ran a finger over his thin white mustache. “Despite the circumstances you have remained loyal to my family, Major Jadd. You truly do us honor by your actions.”
“Prince, long ago I was stripped of rank. I am no longer a major and with my commission I left behind the name of Jadd.”
“Of course, Road Toad. Please, tell me of the battle on the Valduz River.”
Road Toad urged me to speak first of the battles in the Gray Haunt Forest. And I did, telling up until the moment Road Toad joined my company. Prince Reveron nodded while listening.
Then Road Toad took over and told the rest of the story, right up until Prince Reveron lifted us to safety. After finishing, Road Toad asked, “What became of the ogres and the bridge?”
The prince rubbed his chin as if in thought then, with a gleam in his eye, said, “Night Shard gave them the juice, after we attacked the bridge, sending one of the panzers into the Valduz.”
      The prince scanned his map. “But only a section was brought down. The panzer’s machine gun fire was intense and once we lost surprise after our first pass, we could do no more. The ogres will have spanned the gap with timbers by now.” He emphasized by pointing at a spot on the map. “And will march by nightfall.”
      “It was not your first encounter with panzers and their weapons?” asked Road Toad.
“Only two days worth of experience, Maj—Road Toad.” The prince looked at me and then back to Road Toad. “Did you know your action twelve years ago was a catalyst that resulted in a Crusader diplomatic emissary visiting our capital? Although they believe us followers and practitioners of evil arts, they have for the first time maintained diplomatic, even civil contact. At this moment a military delegation advises my father.”
      Road Toad didn’t appear surprised by the statement, but I was. The fierce tenacity of Crusaders in their beliefs made them immune to most magics. Rare stories of outcasts abandoning their islands passed through Pine Ridge, but nobody I’d ever known had met a Crusader. Old Lowell once told me of the last incursion by the Reunited Kingdom. His grandfather had lived through it as a child. They’d captured half the holds of the Faxtinian Coalition, made inroads into the Necromancer King’s Dead Expanse, and had laid siege to the capital of the Vinchie Empire. Old Lowell said a plague ran unchecked through the Crusaders. Until the attack on the Necromancer King twelve years ago, they’d remained isolated, content on their islands.
      “Crusader technology, as they call it,” said Road Toad, “has been far surpassed by the Necromancer King.”
“So it would seem,” agreed the prince. “But they see the Necromancer King as a growing menace.”
“Will they fight alongside us, Prince? Both orange and green crosses?”
“That has yet to be seen, Road Toad. What was your assessment of the tactics of the enemy?”
“Clumsy and slow,” said Road Toad, putting a finger to his pock-marked cheek. “If they’d have pressed the panzers across the bridge and sent ogres or goblins to support, they’d have taken casualties—very few—and captured the bridge intact.”
“What is your assessment of wizard magic against the Necromancer King’s new weapons?”
“It could be effective. It depends on how many panzers he has compared to the number of wizards, enchanters and other spellcasters that can be mustered.”
      “That is my thought,” said the prince. “I fear we have far too few. And the Crusaders insist that the Necromancer King probably has more, possibly even more effective and lethal weapons in his stable.”
      “It wasn’t panzers that drove the Crusaders off twelve years ago,” said Road Toad. “And I doubt it was magic. Have they said what it was?”
“Not in great detail,” said the prince. “A sort of toxic gas. But the Necromancer King’s ambitious war may spur them on.” The prince was going to say more, but he looked beyond us and nodded.
I turned to see the seer close the partitioning flap.
Prince Reveron nodded. “I thank you soldiers for your observations and council.”
We stood and bowed to the prince, who showed a mischievous grin.
“Road Toad, your history precludes me from offering you a commission in the Keeseean military. However, if you are willing, you could serve as an auxiliary guard to the serpent steeds. You have specialized knowledge that would be valuable in that area.”
Road Toad frowned, giving it thought.
“In addition, I anticipate future, more rigorous assignments for which you would be suited. You will receive more than fair compensation for your services and expertise.”
“I would be honored,” said Road Toad, bowing. He then looked from the prince to me.
“Mercenary Krish, I would offer you a similar position to assist Road Toad. Your compensation will be fair.”
      I bowed as Road Toad had. “I would be honored, Prince Reveron, to serve you.” It was such an unexpected offer I almost forgot about wanting to find my family. But how could I have said no to a prince?
      “Major Parks oversees the dragon bevy,” said the prince. “Report to him later this afternoon.”
“Your offer wouldn’t have anything to do with your seer’s visions, would it, Prince?” asked Road Toad in a low but jesting voice.
Prince Reveron chuckled in return. “He is but a lesser seer, Road Toad. I put far more faith in you than I put in him.”


Chapter 6
North Africa
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

Ivan Mugdalla stepped forward from his escort and stared into the eyes of the swarthy dictator. The aging man’s eyes held no emotion, no light at all. The moments stretched. Ivan reminded himself to let the former rebel soldier speak first.
       “What news do you bring me?” asked the dictator in a hollow voice.
       Possibly he knew, thought Ivan. No matter. “Supreme General, sir, I have traveled far and with utmost caution to bring you reliable information. Although by now the West may be discovering, the Return to Green Earth’s martyrs have succeeded. Three days ago, my contact reported that the first case was admitted to University of Chicago Hospital. By now they must have identified the variant Ebola virus. The martyr successfully passed through Tel Aviv, Paris, and Washington before reaching Chicago.” Ivan took a steadying breath. “The second martyr was last reported having departed Moscow, and was most recently en route from Calcutta to Hong Kong.”
       “Your assessment?”
Months ago, Ivan had pondered how a splinter environmental movement group could believe the world would be better without humans—including them, and willingly enact its vision through biological warfare. Now he just accepted it as fact. “General, sir, I believe that the rogue environmentalist martyrs were able to contaminate many of the facilities at the central air hubs. The plague will be widespread before the infidels realize the extent of their peril.”
       The general repressed a smile. He didn’t care what motivated this messenger to cooperate, nor those he named  martyrs. The plague’s reach wouldn’t recognize boundaries, nor would it discriminate, ravaging the messenger’s unsuspecting tribal villages as surely as any Western capital.
       The general examined his gold Rolex and addressed the escort. “Corporal, send the message to our sailors in port.” He held up a hand. “Wait, Corporal. I will send the message myself in a moment.” He looked back at Ivan. “You believe it is already too late?”
“Yes, General, sir, I do.”
The dictator smiled. “I believe your assessment is more accurate than you realize, but…”
Ivan’s ears recorded the crack as his head snapped forward. The 9mm jacketed hollow-point bullet mushroomed, truncating Ivan’s final thought.
“…but I regret that your most important report was your last.”
The dictator turned and walked away. Ivan’s killer holstered his pistol, stepped over the body, and followed. Someone else would clean up the mess.
      
I fingered and admired the purple and gold band I wore on my left arm. As militia under Lord Hingroar I’d not been given his colors, red and black. All afternoon I followed Road Toad as he introduced me to the mercenary life. I wondered how my family was doing, if they’d fled south and if we might cross paths.
      I tapped the pouch that held the five silver coins, my advance for my week’s service. Road Toad said I’d receive ten at the end of the week. Five were the second half of my pay for the first week service and the other five an advance on my second.
Major Parks had given Road Toad one gold and four silver, but I didn’t care. Five silver was more than I’d ever had. If my family passed this way south, I’d give them the five silvers, and more if I had it.
      “Let’s get you some better gear,” said Road Toad after inspecting the small A-frame tent we’d been assigned. “Maybe get a couple of blankets. They’ll be cheap now that it’s spring.”
      I asked, “If I’m a mercenary now, do I change my name?”
Road Toad laughed. “You’ll get a name if you stay a mercenary long enough.”
We walked toward the camps of the freemen. I noticed Road Toad hadn’t said, ‘If you live long enough.’ One of the mercenaries in our circle camp was called Worm-Gut, although an older mercenary called him Virgil. Worm-Gut wasn’t young as me, but maybe he’d just got his name. I didn’t want to ask how or why.
“How’s the arm, Krish?”
I flexed and felt it before answering. “Swelling’s gone. Doesn’t hurt.”
“Mighty foolhardy, you charging that guard. Would’ve been even without a broken arm.”
With brows furrowed, I asked, “And it was wise for you to attack two of them?”
“Do you understand why I did it? Why I clearly stated I intended to attack them and not attempt entry into the healers’ pavilion?”
“No.”
He grinned and shook his head. “Maybe some other time. Let’s see if there’s a weapon smith.”
“Is midnight to an hour past dawn really the best duty?”
Road Toad nodded. “It is. Mercenary status is better than freeman, but we’re still subject to the whims of the Keeseean military officers. They’re usually asleep until just before dawn, and then too busy with other duties to bother us.” He rubbed his hands. “And it’ll give me time to observe the serpent handlers without other responsibilities to consider.”
      We walked into the freemen area. Wagons and large open tents sat along a beaten path fast becoming a road. Smaller paths branched off to other tradesmen and their wagons. Soldiers regularly patrolled, making sure no tents or wagons encroached too close to the main route and insuring order. Women cooked at small fires while men and their sons attempted to sell all manners of clothes, foods, trinkets, helms, shields and weapons. Further off the main path I spotted camp followers, women in colorful, revealing outfits selling something else. Some were older, some very young, and much prettier than the two selling women in Pine Ridge.
      I followed Road Toad, trusting he knew what I needed and how to get the best deal. “What if they don’t like me?”
Road Toad smiled at a chesty woman braiding her long hair. “The camp followers? If you’ve got coin it doesn’t matter.”
“No,” I said. “Not them.”
“The officers? Salute them, do as you’re told, when you’re told. No problems. Plus, a few soldiers saw you weren’t intimidated by the healers’ guards. Word’ll travel.”
“No,” I said. “I meant the dragons. Besides, those soldiers also saw me slip and fall.”
“After we’re done here we’ll take a look at the dragons. Then we’ll get some sleep. Tomorrow I’ll begin training you so the next time you won’t fall on your ass.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“It’ll cost you one silver a week.” He smiled. “And you’re welcome.” He gestured with a nod of his head toward a series of wagons and a large canvas shelter. “Krish, you’re just brave enough that I wouldn’t mind having you at my back.”

I left the freemen camp carrying a new boar spear and happy at trading my old sword for a new one. It didn’t have the salt-resisting magic forged into it, but Road Toad insisted it was a superior blade with balance. He said we’d eventually find an enchanter in the camp that could ward the blade, be it for a steep price. I’d just bartered a weapon from Lord Hingroar’s armory, but I doubted he’d ever know. Road Toad said I’d earned the aging sword three times over.
      I’d rather have bought a crossbow, but I lacked the coin, and none looked to be worth what they asked. Road Toad agreed.
We approached the bevy of dragons. Four blacks and twelve reds. They, like the number of soldiers in camp, had increased over the day.
      “Before a crossbow, Krish, you need breastplate to supplement your padded armor. You could do with a better helmet.”
      “It took me weeks to get used to this one,” I said. “It’ll do.” I swallowed and slowed as we neared the huge dragons. With hardly a thought, they could bite me in two or crush me with their bulk. Several swung their heads around and stared as we neared.
Road Toad waved to the guards on duty. “Krish, nothing to worry about. These lesser drakes are smart—not as smart as a man but would put any horse or dog to shame. Just don’t startle them.”
I stared at him, building courage as he took my spear and leaned it against a rack holding strips of leather and harness repair tools.
      “Approach them from the front. Meet them eye to eye. When you walk around, keep your hand on their body. If you keep in contact they’ll know where you are and you won’t accidentally get stepped on, wing buffeted or whipped by a tail.”
      A handler who smelled of sweat and grime ambled up to us. “You’re the new guards?” He wiped his hands on his greasy apron.
“We are,” said Road Toad.
      “Know anything ’bout serpents?”
      “They call me Road Toad. And I am familiar with them and their habits. Krish, here, is not. But he soon will.”
The handler looked at Road Toad skeptically and frowned at me. “If you say so.”
A second handler walked up behind us. He was larger and smelled of leather and oil. “Major Parks said there were two new night guards. Didn’t say anything about them approaching the bevy.”
Road Toad turned on the larger handler. “Do you have orders directing you to keep us away from the serpents?”
The handler stared back long and hard. Where I might have flinched, Road Toad didn’t.
The big handler grinned, showing clean but uneven teeth. “You get hurt or raise a ruckus with the serpents, you’ll answer for it.” He elbowed his partner and went back about their business tending the dragons.
Road Toad walked up to a black, one I guessed was Night Shard. He reached out and upward with his hand. The tethered dragon sniffed and then lowered its massive head. Its eyes with ivory irises weren’t set on the side of the head like a horse, but in the front like a wolf. Its snout was blunt and shorter than a red’s.
Road Toad rubbed the black dragon’s snout then tapped hard on the right side of its jaw. In response the beast stretched open its maw. Its breath was sour with a hint of carrion.
“See,” said Road Toad. “Unlike the reds who have dagger-like teeth, the blacks have jaws like a snapping turtle’s.” He ran his hand lightly along the bony ridge. After tossing a chunk of his slimy cheese on the dragon’s flat, red tongue, Road Toad tapped the underside of its jaw. The dragon closed its mouth, then snorted.
Road Toad began walking along the dragon’s left side, dragging his left hand across the scales. He motioned for me to do the same and explained, “Inside the mouth is an orifice that expels the juice.”
The prince had said juice. I thought dragons breathed fire. But I also thought they were only red. “Juice?”
Road Toad laughed. “A stream of caustic fluid. A direct hit would dissolve the better part of you on the spot. Most can expel it at least three, sometimes four times its body length, snout to tail. Depending on size and age of the serpent, maybe four times in quick succession. No more than ten sprays an hour. No more than twenty-five in a day.”
After reaching three quarters of the way down the tail, Road Toad stepped over. I followed. Night Shard turned its head and watched us as Road Toad pointed to the red dragons. “They breathe fire. Liquid comes out and ignites, something to do with contact with the air.” Road Toad patted Night Shard on the rear leg and stepped away. He watched as I did too.
Slowly swinging its long serpentine neck, Night Shard tracked our movement away from the bevy.
“Dragon fire is usually limited to twice the serpent’s length, but in most situations a lot more devastating. All things equal, your average red would tear up a black, if they could catch it.”
We’d stopped next to the rack holding my spear. “Blacks are faster?” I asked.
“In the air, they can fly higher, faster, and farther.” He paused. “And don’t get the idea that they’re tame either, Krish. Approach them correctly, they probably won’t bite, or tailwhip you.” He’d lost all traces of a smile. “But with a word from the serpent’s cavalryman, his aft-guard, or maybe a handler, one of them would snap you up in its jaws without hesitation.”
I looked at the bevy of winged reptilian beasts as they jostled each other, and stared skyward. I decided right then and there, I wouldn’t wander close, alone. Maybe never again at all.


Chapter 7
North Pacific Ocean
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

“Missile tubes flooded,” announced the first officer. “Fore and aft torpedo tubes flooded, loaded and ready.”
       “Captain,” called the sonar man with restrained emotion. “Active sonar, 1900 meters aft.” The warning was unnecessary as a pinging sound reverberated through the missile sub.
The missile sub captain checked his watch. Right on time. “American attack sub,” he acknowledged before nodding to the first officer. Both heard the sonar man’s continuing report, but they had other business. They inserted and turned their launch keys simultaneously.
“Torpedoes in the water,” advised the sonar man. “American frigate and friendly sub exchanging torpedo fire.” He stared back at his screen and cupped his earphones. “Captain, torpedo in the water dead astern. Estimate 1850 meters.”
“Commence primary launch sequence,” ordered the captain. “Open outer torpedo doors.” It was a futile effort, but one that might allow him to rain more destruction down on the enemy. “Launch missile one.”
“Launching missile one,” confirmed the first officer. 
      
Over the next two weeks the camp’s military force tripled. I got my breastplate and sword training, and began saving for a crossbow.
      I did see a few refugees from the Doran Confederacy, but no word about my family. I stayed away from the camp followers and avoided healers. But of all those in the expanding military camp, the arriving company of Crusaders drew the most attention. Standing orders were to avoid and not approach them. Dour glares from beneath the brims of their woolen forage caps further discouraged any contact.
They drilled and marched, placed long stabbing knives, or what Road Toad called bayonets, on the end of their muzzleloading rifles and practiced hand to hand. Some officers, and soldiers with three stripes on their shoulder, carried sabers.
They loaded their loud rifles by ramming lead balls and powder into the tube, almost as fast as a crossbowman. Smoke and sounds resembling small cracks of thunder signaled when they loosed their firepower. It looked to be more deadly than a crossbow.
      Road Toad and I watched from a distance. “Those small guns in belt holsters worn by officers,” Road Toad said, “take longer to load, but they can fire six times.”
      “How do you know so much? Have you fought with them?”
“Never fought alongside any Crusaders, but ran across a group of exiled ones some years back. We shared a camp. Traded my knowledge of the area for food and company.” He pointed. “I saw one of their rifles take down a great plains elk at two hundred yards.”
Road Toad didn’t look or sound like he was pulling my leg. “Really?” I watched the Crusaders drill. Their superior shouted, criticizing any minute error. “They don’t look very happy. What are they like?”
“They’re men, just like us. Serious. Not trusting, but from what I can tell, and have heard, an honest lot. These are the orange cross ones.”
“Does that make a difference?”
      “Some,” said Road Toad. “The orange and the green crosses, they both serve the same God.” He rubbed his chin, coming up with a comparison. “Like the mounted cavalry and serpent cavalry both serve the king, but in a different way. I’ve been told their rivalry has led to bloodshed on more than one occasion throughout their history.” He signaled with a flick of his head for me to follow.
      Road Toad led me toward the edge of the camp.
“You’re not going to train me today?” I smiled. “That’ll cost you.”
“Remember last night, the patrol with the three wizards that went out?”
We approached the log barricade erected across the camp’s northern perimeter. It was only six feet high in most areas, with a platform for defenders. I figured they’d have built it higher and all the way around the camp if the prince intended to stay and defend.
“There were a couple of Crusaders with them,” said Road Toad. “How often do you think that happens?”
We nodded to the guards on the log wall. One asked, “Come to see a wizard sweat?”
We stepped up and looked over the wall. A long mound of dirt twenty feet beyond the small palisade caught my attention. The eight-foot high mound slowly extended eastward.
“A second palisade may follow this afternoon,” commented the guard. “If you go a bit east,” he pointed along the barricade wall, “you’ll be able to spot the earth wizards. They’re digging a broad ditch.”
“Did you see Crusader engineers?” asked Road Toad.
“No, but the watch I relieved did.” The guard removed his helmet and wiped sweat from his brow. “Never heard of that.”
“Me neither,” said Road Toad before stepping down. “Krish, let’s go find you a crossbow.”
I followed him. “Why? I don’t have the coin.”
“I’ll lend it to you. Do you remember seeing any javelins?”
I nodded. “An arms merchant next to the green-striped tent. The one with the fat lady and the skinny man. Why?”
He looked up. “How many dragons can you spot?”
I searched the sky. “Two. No, three.”
“The Necromancer King is on the move. He’ll attack. Soon.”

Everyone in our little mercenary circle camp had been abnormally quiet that evening. All but Short Two Blades, Worm-Gut, and I had wandered off. We sat around the small campfire. I’d just finished up my supper of bread and beans and was preparing to get some sleep when Worm-Gut leaned close. “Nice crossbow you got yourself there.”
      I nodded and stared into the fire.
On my right, Short Two Blades, who rarely said more than hello with a nod, spoke up. “Sure is.” He’d pulled his wickedly curved falchion and laid it across his lap. He leaned closer to the fire and rubbed his hands. Although it was warm for a spring evening, that had been his set routine before sinking into what Road Toad called meditation. The flickering firelight worked to accentuate the creases that lined Short Two Blade’s weathered face. Surprisingly he spoke again. “Rumor has it you’re an expert shot.”
After getting the crossbow earlier in the day, I’d practiced a bit. “Good quality quarrels makes one look better than they are,” I said.
“Naw, Short,” said Worm-Gut after licking his bowl clean. Worm-Gut looked like he’d never missed a morsel. Although he was pudgy and a bit short, I’d watched Worm-Gut in weapons practice. He was faster and stronger than he looked.
Worm-Gut licked each finger before continuing. “Road Toad said Krish was good. That don’t mean he is.”
Short Two Blades spat into the fire and shook his head. “I watched him and Road Toad practice. He’s good.”
      I never paid much attention to Worm-Gut. Nobody did, so it took me a second to realize he’d insulted Road Toad. “Did you just call Road Toad a liar?” One of the first things Road Toad explained was a mercenary never allows an insult to pass unchallenged.
      “Saw Road Toad pay his own coin for the bow,” said Worm-Gut, ignoring my question. “You ain’t part of that Sun-Fox Warrior Brotherhood. Why’d he do that for you?” He tossed a few twigs in the fire. “You guys travel together, right?”
“Since the battles in the Gray Haunt Forest,” I said, standing up. Adrenaline began pumping. “Now, answer my question!”
      Worm-Gut grinned and got to his feet. “I’ve seen you walk way around the selling women, but you follow Road Toad around like a puppy. Now 
I—”
      Before Worm-Gut finished his statement, he fell to the ground on his back. In a flash, from his sitting position, Short Two Blades had hamstrung the overweight mercenary. Before Worm-Gut recovered from his surprise, Short leapt closer and hacked down with his already bloody falchion.
Worm-Gut raised his hand to block, crying out, “No!”
Short’s weapon cut through the leather armor, into flesh and bit bone. With his right hand, Short stabbed a long hunting knife under his opponent’s ribs, and twisted. Worm-Gut was already dead. Still, Short Two Blades wretched his falchion free and drew it across the wide-eyed mercenary’s neck.
I stared down at Short Two Blades as he wiped his weapons clean on the dead man’s sleeve. I was speechless.
Short Two Blades looked up and simply said, “Road Toad was my friend long before he was yours.”

Later that night Road Toad crawled into our tent and threw his blanket over himself. I couldn’t sleep, thinking about what had happened to Worm-Gut. Road Toad must have guessed as he didn’t even ask if I was awake. “Short Two Blades told me what happened,” he said matter-of-factly. “You might have been able to take Worm-Gut, but not before he hurt you.”
      “Maybe,” I said without conviction. “What’ll happen?”
“Depends on the agreement Worm-Gut was recruited under. Most likely Short will have to pay a camp fine and forfeit his pay for a month or until the next combat. Whichever comes first.”
      “What about not crossing swords to the death in time of war?”
      “That only applies to Keeseean military. Mercenaries operate under different rules. Fewer rules.”
I didn’t want to ask, afraid of the answer, but decided I’d better. “Short Two Blades just cut Worm-Gut down. He didn’t even know what was happening. He was just dead.” I gulped. “What if that happens to me?”
Road Toad rolled over and propped himself up on an elbow. “Mercenary life is tough. Most are fair and don’t mind another’s business. Worm-Gut was looking for trouble. He found it. You’re not the type that’ll do that.”
“What if I do by accident?
“You won’t.” He continued before I could ask another question. “Pops Weasel showed up in camp.”
“I heard,” I said. “He moved into Worm-Gut’s tent with Short Two Blades.”
“Did you hear what he said?”
After greeting, they’d been hushed in their discussion around the fire. “No.”
“Enemy’s coming.”
I rolled over, propped myself up on an elbow. “When?”
      “Soon. Most of the freemen are packing up now. Some have moved out already.” He lay back down and covered up. “Get some sleep, Krish. Midnight’ll be here soon.”
      “Right,” I said. “I’ll try.”
That night I didn’t dream about Guzzy dying. I dreamt of Virgil Worm-Gut, son of Evers, being buried in a narrow grave, crying out to Short Two Blades that he was sorry.

The enemy didn’t come that night or the next day. Serpent Cavalrymen left to scout the enemy as did knights on horseback.
      The enchanters’ tent was one of the few merchant businesses that had remained and it struggled to keep up with business. I’d spent two hours in line outside the tent and an additional fifteen minutes inside for the spells.
Pops Weasel called as I left the tent to walk back to our circle camp. “Krish!”
I stopped and waited. He broke into a hurried walk, strongly swinging his arms in the effort. He grinned and slapped me on the back, happy to see me.
“Just come from the enchanters I see.” He looked over his shoulder as we made our way to camp. “Enchanters’ll have a line into the night. Or until they fatigue themselves.”
“Had my sword and spear warded against salt damage,” I said. “A weak enchantment, but all I could afford.”
“Always do your best to keep your weapons sharp and ready.”
“Pops Weasel,” I asked. “There were eight enchanters in the tent. Each wore hoods and masks, and spoke in whispers. Does the magic disfigure them?”
“Naww, not to my knowledge. What I’ve heard is they disguise themselves from others because their working with magic makes’em vulnerable to magics. Especially a sorcerer’s.” He slowed and pointed, not at me but in a tight gesture as if to remind himself. “I was lookin’ to tell you something.”
I slowed and waited.
“Was going to tell you last night, but—” He held a hand up, signaling to himself to stop. “Well, you know. Anyway, I ran into some refugees from Pine Ridge. One in particular.”
Who?” I asked, grabbing him by the shoulder. I checked myself and stepped back. Pops Weasel didn’t seem offended. “My family?”
“Not quite,” Pops explained. “It was your cousin Guzzy’s father. Somehow, among the refugees, he’d heard I was at the battle in the Gray Haunt Forest, north of Pine Ridge.”
      We started walking again, and I struggled not to interrupt with questions. I held my breath in anticipation and almost stumbled at Pops Weasel’s next words.
“They’re all okay, but I lied to him,” Pops said, quickly adding, “but not fully.” Pops rubbed his graying beard stubble. “Told him Guzzy died just after cutting down an ogre with his axe. Told him his son got shot in the back, pierced through the heart by a goblin arrow. He was grief-stricken. I told him you’d run the goblin through with your boar spear. And that we’d salted Guzzy’s death wound so he’d never become a zombie.”
      We neared the camp as he explained, “So, Krish, I told him pretty much the truth. Better if he remembers his lost son for a heroic death, avenged by a family member.” The conviction in the old mercenary’s eyes said he believed it to be true.
“He didn’t know where your folks was,” Pops said, “but I told him that you were still alive, last time I’d seen you. Your uncle promised he’d tell your folks when he saw them.”
A military supply wagon had rolled next to our camp when we arrived. Two freemen, supervised by a corporal, were handing out additional supplies of salt along with beef and goat jerky.


It was a quiet camp that night. We tore down our tents before the collection wagon rolled by to pick them up. After checking our equipment, we spread our blankets under the stars. Everyone in our circle camp slept but me.
 

Chapter 8
North Pacific Ocean
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

The missile sub rocked as expanding gasses expelled the first intermediate range ballistic missile from its tube. Upon clearing the water the first stage motor ignited, propelling the missile skyward.
      
Two Keeseean soldiers stood guard with Road Toad and me around the bevy. Fifteen minutes into our midnight watch two riders on blacks returned. The serpent cavalrymen unstrapped, leapt from their mounts, and sprinted toward Prince Reveron’s pavilion in the center of camp.
      Within five minutes bugle calls roused whatever soldier might’ve been sleeping. I watched as the handlers watered the two freshly returned black dragons and saddled the fourteen red dragons and six remaining blacks. I didn’t have to ask Road Toad why. Organized companies of mercenary, regular soldier, and even a few Keeseean militia marched past us to defensive positions along the edge of camp.
Road Toad pulled out his tin of grease and drew his sword. “Good thing you paid to have your weapons warded.” As he greased his sword and spread salt, Road Toad walked over to where he’d set his tied bundle of five javelins. “Had these blessed by an Algaan priest just after the last sunrise.” From the bundle he pulled three crossbow quarrels. “These too.”
I carefully placed them in my quiver. “I didn’t even think of that. We’ve been on duty through every sunrise. Thanks.”
“Use’em well and I won’t even ask you for the three copper it cost.” He checked his equipment while reminding me with a laugh, “I’d remind a green recruit to use’em before next sunrise. They’ll lose some of their potency.”
I was nervous, not quite shaking but tense. Road Toad’s joking confidence and smile helped. I asked him, “How many zombies you think the Necromancer King will send against us?”
      He shrugged. “There’s more wizards here than I’ve ever seen in one place. Pops said he’d seen over a dozen translucent-bearded air wizards ride in just after sunset.”
One of the Keeseean guards nodded. “Heard that too. We think the prince is setting a trap for the Necromancer King’s forces. Just heard today the prince’s seer uncovered a spy two days ago.” The guard nodded toward the Crusader encampment. “You know what those masks they carry on their belts are for?” He gestured, drawing his hand down from his face. “With the long dangling nose tube?”
      Road Toad shook his head. “No, but I saw a Crusader sergeant showing his goggled mask to a couple of the air wizards.”
“Hmmm,” said the guard. “Them conspiring together? Kind of like mixing water and oil.”
I wondered why I never saw or heard such things. Probably because I didn’t know what to look for or who to listen to.
The approach of the serpent cavalrymen silenced our exchange of camp gossip. I wondered what we would guard if all of the dragons took flight. Would we go to the front, or serve as reserves? The prince had mentioned to Road Toad about serving as more than guards. I realized Prince Reveron was among the cavalrymen after Road Toad nudged me while bowing himself.
The prince ignored us and one by one the mounted dragons took off into the night. I’d become used to watching the dragons stalk to open ground before spreading their wings and leaping into the air. The first time I didn’t close my eyes, or look away when the beast’s wings buffeted the ground. It was the first and last time swirling bits of ground debris got into my eyes.
Even flapping to gain altitude, the dragons appeared graceful. I watched as they spiraled upward into the near cloudless sky. Some dragons remained above the camp. Others flew north. The moon was nearing three quarters full. The stars twinkled. It wasn’t cold. Still, a chill ran down my spine.

Both Road Toad and I stood atop ladders braced against the bevy’s equipment racks. Normally the ladders were used for working with the dragons. There were better viewing platforms, wooden poles set in the ground behind the front lines. Corporals and low ranking officers had climbed those, strategically keeping the bulk of the wood between them and the enemy whose movements they spied upon. Until the arrival of panzers, wooden towers warded against spells served that purpose. The growl of panzer engines during the night in the tree line four hundred yards away announced their presence. At that distance the panzers could easily target any tower, so they were abandoned.
      “It’s almost dawn,” said one of the handlers from below. “Don’t zombies come at night?”
Road Toad glanced at me and I answered based upon what we’d discussed earlier. “Usually they do, because at night they hold the advantage. Goblins too. Ogres, it doesn’t matter.”
“Maybe they’re trying to wear out our dragons,” replied another handler. “Maybe the soldiers. We get tired, zombies don’t.”
“Must be more than that,” said Road Toad. “They’d have at least harassed the front lines. They have something else planned.”
The first handler shook his head and smiled. “Nope. Them reds would’ve cindered them. And the prince has rotated his dragons.” He pointed back toward the area of camp where the market had been. “Half the bevy’s at rest, switching every two hours.”
“Waiting’s over,” warned Road Toad.
Looking to where he pointed, I spotted small bunches of zombies, no more than seven in each group. Spaced at least five yards apart and seemingly in haphazard order, dozens of these mini-hordes emerged from the woods. Heedless of the diving dragons, they shambled toward the trench line and earthen mound defenses.
“They’ve got timber to span the trench,” I said. Two zombies in each group carried paired eight inch diameter logs lashed together. More and more scattered groups of zombies followed on the heels of the first wave. “They’re serious.”
      When the zombies had covered two hundred yards, one of the red dragons swept down upon them. The serpent cavalryman hunched low against his mount. The rear-facing rider leaned hard against his heavy crossbow mounted on a squat tripod held in place by broad leather tracings.
      The dragon smashed and scattered one zombie bunch with its tail while breathing a jet of flames. The breath weapon fanned outward as it raced from the red’s mouth to the ground. Four unflinching bunches of zombies burned, smoldered, and fell. Other zombie groups charged through remnants of the dragon’s flame that had ignited tufts of spring grass. The shambling undead took damage but kept coming.
Just as the red angled away and flapped skyward, the chatter of machine gun fire, given visible substance by streaking white tracers, sounded. One of the lines crossed the dragon’s flank and tail. At first in surprise, then in pain its snarl transformed into a roar.
“The aft-guard’s hit,” said Road Toad, watching the arms and head of the crossbowman bounce and flop lifelessly. Only the straps held him in the saddle.
The defenders sent a rain of crossbow bolts, arrows and javelins into the zombies nearing the trench. Machine gun fire from the woods sounded with bursts raking the top of the earthen mound. Helmets and breastplates failed to stop most of the speeding lead. The struck defenders toppled down the back of the mound. The wounded’s cries of pain mingled with orders of captains, relayed by shouting sergeants and corporals.
Dragons dove on the panzers in the woods, breathing acid and flame. A red and a black staggered in flight as machine gun fire found its mark, raking them. They fell, crashing into the trees.
Men weathered the machine gun fire to throw javelins and shoot arrows before the zombies reached the mound. Fresh zombie picket teams with spears and swords rushed forward to reinforce the lines. I knew what the pickets were up against: brute zombie strength and mindless determination. They surged up against the defenders, punching and tearing in an effort to break through.
It was like the battle in the Gray Haunt Forest all over again but on a much larger scale. I watched Prince Reveron’s men struggle to throw back the first wave and brace for the oncoming second. Some wounded were carried back from the front while others crawled over fallen flesh-rotted zombies and dead comrades to escape. At the bridge it had been a skirmish that ended in slaughter. This was raw carnage.
      I didn’t have time to ponder it. “Road Toad, Krish,” called Major Parks. He stood next to a pale-skinned woman dressed in sky blue. “This is Grand Wizard Seelain. Escort her to the front and defend her.”
Standing next to the grand wizard, I felt her power, like cold shivers on my skin. Swirls of breezy air emanated from her and twirled around her bone-white staff. I knew there to be nine levels of wizards. I thought the powerful wizard at the bridge who’d summoned the earth elemental was a greater wizard. Grand indicated she had attained the seventh tier, surpassing him by two.
      Silver irises surrounded Grand Wizard Seelain’s pupils, and what appeared to be thin strands of white hair were only wisps among thick translucent waves. Despite her white hair, she looked too young to be a grand wizard. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head with white-gloved hands.  “Follow me,” the wizard directed in a quiet, authoritative voice.
      Road Toad walked two paces ahead and to the left of the air wizard. I followed two paces behind and to the right. He held his sword ready along with a javelin. I clutched my spear, wondering why such a powerful wizard didn’t have her own bodyguards, and why Major Parks had thought I was competent to defend her.
      Thumps, not unlike panzer cannon fire, only deeper and more distant, sounded. We were only fifty yards from the wooden palisade. Soldiers carrying stretchers bearing wounded streamed past us while squads sprinted forward, toward the line that had thus far held.
Grand Wizard Seelain gazed ahead to our left at the Crusaders who waited behind the wooden wall. They’d removed their forage caps and were quickly pulling the goggled masks over their heads and faces. Then she gazed upward and scanned the sky.
I risked a quick glance up, and spotted circling dragons. I didn’t take the time to count. I figured she could watch the sky; I’d watch for threats from zombies on the ground. Explosions that sounded like a panzer cannon’s impact rose from beyond the earthen barrier.
Road Toad snatched a tattered cloak from a fallen officer and stepped in front of Grand Wizard Seelain. He held out the ruddy-brown garment adorned with purple and gold diagonal stripes. “Grand Wizard, place this over your robes.” He must have felt it was important, because he’d turned his back to the enemy.
The wizard sneered in disdain and moved to step past Road Toad.
Despite our proximity to the raging battle, Road Toad again blocked the wizard’s path. “I am charged with defending you.” The mercenary’s voice was deferential but insistent. “With this the enemy will not readily identify you as a target equal to your stature and strength.”
Winds swirled about the wizard, like she was preparing to brush Road Toad aside. Even so, I swallowed and stood next to Road Toad, lending him my support.
Two explosions, sending gouts of dirt and rock mixed with searing metal, slammed into zombies and defenders alike as they fought atop the earthen mound. A third shell landed midway between the mound and the wall. I flinched when its concussive wave struck my back. But Road Toad and Grand Wizard Seelain stood facing each other.
She pointed. “That is the enemy’s artillery, Mercenary. Do you know what comes next? The Crusaders do.” She glanced over at them in their goggled masks, fixing bayonets to the end of their muzzleloading rifles. “I do, and I am more capable of defending myself than you could possibly imagine. I suffer your accompaniment only as an oath to General Ellis.”
Road Toad stood his ground. “If it is your objective to expend your energies fending against enemy fire brought upon yourself, I will step aside.” Road Toad’s voice cut through the mayhem sixty yards ahead. “If you desire to focus your energies, aimed at the enemy’s destruction, don this garment.”
Watching the dispute, I nodded agreement with Road Toad’s assertion.
With a huff, Grand Wizard Seelain relented. Road Toad set the cloak over her shoulders and fastened it with a silver dragonhead clasp.
Just as we reached the palisade, the tenor of shouts changed to choking screams. Instead of explosive metal, sickly yellow-green clouds rose from the area where the artillery rounds fell. Instinctively, I held my breath.
“Chlorine gas,” announced Grand Wizard Seelain and spun her staff, pointing at one of the toxic plumes. Scattered dozens of wizards garbed as light infantrymen just behind the lines raised and gestured with their staves, summoning and harnessing elemental spirits.
Wherever enemy artillery landed, it released the poisonous vapor. The soldiers retreated, pursued by the unaffected zombies. But, after the initial shock, few solders fell to the gas. Wherever a wizard pointed, a wind elemental rushed in and took up the yellow-green cloud in a whirlwind before spiriting it away, skyward. Two leveled out and sped clouds of the deadly gas toward the enemy. Grand Wizard Seelain added her strength as she advanced, sending a stiff breeze over the mound and back toward the enemy, carrying remnants of the chlorine gas with it.
Even so, the zombies had crested the earthen mound, and the pitched battle now raged between the mound and the palisade. Desperate picket teams banded together into rings while captains led reserves over the wall to stem the zombie tide.
“We must retake the mound quickly,” said Seelain.
As if on cue, the Crusaders opened fire. The front rank’s volley knocked back a wall of zombies that had scaled the mound near the center and were preparing to enter the fray. The back rank opened up while the front reloaded.
The effectiveness of Crusader firepower brought a cheer from Prince Reveron’s men. A third and fourth volley of what had to be saint-blessed bullets allowed the prince’s men to retake the mound’s center. Three red dragons came in low, laying fire on the field beyond the mound. Tracers chased after them, machine gun fire wounding one.
Wizard Seelain stood between me and Road Toad at the wooden palisade. I blocked out the cries and looked past the gore of the fallen. Even as Prince Reveron’s men advanced to retake their positions, freemen with sacks of salt hurriedly stepped among the fallen zombies, scattering the white crystals on the still animated and grasping limbs. Other freemen with stretchers carried the wounded back from the line to the healers.
Even I knew another enemy wave would soon follow. The salt and dead soldiers reminded me of Guzzy. What would it be like to be pummeled and torn apart by the enemy? What would I do if Road Toad fell? Would the coming carnage claim both of us?
The grand wizard interrupted my thoughts with a question. “Mercenary, from whence do you draw your arrogance?”
      Road Toad had been surveying the scene as well. “Grand Wizard, I’ve stood to nine pitch battles equal to this. That doesn’t count skirmishes, and my career before becoming a mercenary.”
      “And your nervous young partner?” she asked, looking at me.
      “He’s wiser than either of us who bicker within sight of the enemy.” She faced neither Road Toad nor me, and instead inspected her staff.
      “He’s put down souled zombies and ogres,” added Road Toad. “And together we slew a panzer crew. He stood with me against the enemy when others fled.”
“What are your mercenary names?”
“I am Road Toad. He is Flank Hawk.”
Road Toad’s statement surprised me, but I did my best to disguise it when Grand Wizard Seelain turned to me and nodded. I nodded in return, catching Road Toad’s wink.
“Road Toad,” said Seelain. “Are there other mercenaries you trust as much as young Flank Hawk?”
Road Toad pointed to two of our campmates, Pops Weasel and Short Two Blades. They were standing beyond the wooden wall to our left, near a heavy set, brown-skinned man. Grand Wizard Seelain led us to them.
      The dark-skinned man bowed his head at her approach. “Grand Wizard Seelain.” His voice rumbled as he spoke. “The enemy is reforming. Colonel Jantz says we are down to sixty percent strength. We’ve all but expended our reserves. Except for the horse cavalry,” he added, rolling a pebble between his thumb and forefinger.
“That may be true, Master Wizard Golt, but we’ve yet to unleash your power and that of your fellow earth wizards.” When Wizard Golt smiled, revealing soil-colored teeth to match his deep brown eyes, Wizard Seelain continued, “Will you stand to battle with me and my assigned mercenaries, Road Toad and Flank Hawk? They vouch for the competence of your mercenary defenders.”
      Although a master wizard was only one rank below a grand, the earth wizard seemed to hold his magic in check better than Grand Wizard Seelain. Power still radiated from her, but at a fraction of its former strength. I knew very little about wizards. I didn’t know if seeping energies was a mark of attaining grand status. Maybe it was the earth wizard’s elemental specialty, or simply who he was that enabled such control.
Short Two Blades crossed his arms over his chest and shot me a glance. Pops spit and grinned at me after Wizard Golt introduced them to Wizard Seelain. I was glad to have Short and Pops nearby.
I stood, as did Road Toad, Pops and Short, watching different directions while our charges conferred.
“I note that you are permitted to wear your brown robes, Master Wizard Golt.”
Wizard Golt didn’t respond. Instead he studied his bare feet. They appeared dry and rough, like sun-baked sand. “Short Two Blades,” he said. “Inform Colonel Jantz that the Necromancer King’s force has organized and is prepared to advance.”
Short sprinted off with the message.
“Shall we hold the center?” asked Wizard Seelain. She hadn’t waited for an answer before striding toward the earthen mound.
“I would suggest,” said Road Toad, “at least fifty paces either to the right or left of center.”
      Wizard Seelain glanced back at me and I nodded in agreement. She veered to the right. The Keeseean soldiers that stood ready at the base of the mound, and those that lay flat against it, made room for Road Toad to climb to the top. He signaled for the wizards. Pops and I followed them up.
      Wizard Golt asked Wizard Seelain as they surveyed the field leading towards the woods holding the enemy, “When did you arrive?”
“Just before dawn.”
“Does the prince know you are here?”
“Of course he does,” she said.
“Let me clarify. Does he know you are on the battle line?”
She ignored his question. “Will the prince’s reinforcements arrive in time?”
Wizard Golt pressed his body against the earth. “Cavalry, very light and fleet is close. The march of soldiers, heavy footmen.” He shook his head. “The enemy comes.”
      I readied my crossbow and peered over the edge of the mound. I slipped a slice of dried apple into my mouth. It was tart and lightly spiced with ginger, but I lost interest in the taste. Emerging from the woods behind a vanguard of at least five hundred zombies, rumbled twenty panzers. Running beside and behind them came hordes of goblins. And behind them marched armored battle ogres carrying spiked clubs and massive machetes.
      A small pang of despair knotted in my stomach. Compared to the oncoming enemy, the prince’s men, even backed by wizards, looked like a frail levee about to be overrun by an unstoppable storm surge.
I looked up, seeking the prince and his serpent cavalry. I spotted the dragons, and something else far above them. It was hard to tell, but I thought they were smaller than the dragons. They flew in formations of three, like geese. I was pretty sure it was their buzzing growl that echoed down from the sky. I whispered to Road Toad, “What are those?”
      Grand Wizard Seelain answered my question. “Those are Stukas. Dive-bombers, bearing the same hooked-cross emblem as the panzers.” She squinted, staring up at the circling enemy and flatly stated, “King Tobias just learned of them. They are why I am here.” 
     


Chapter 9
North Pacific Ocean
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

The nearest American frigate’s radar locked onto the rising ballistic missile just as an enemy torpedo detonated 14 feet below the waterline. The explosive concussion, centered eight feet aft of the foredeck, knocked out radar guidance and communication systems an instant before the frigate’s first surface-to-air missile left its launcher.
       “Fire aft anti-torpedo torpedo,” ordered the missile sub captain. If it worked, it would allow more time to complete their task. Delay the inevitable.
“Anti-torpedo torpedo in the water,” announced the first officer. “Preparing to launch second missile.”
“Much noise,” said the sonar man. “Active line of sonobouys. I believe a second torpedo, dropped from a helicopter into the water.” An explosion reverberated through the missile sub. The sonar man held his earphone away from his head, but stared at the screen. “Friendly diesel sub hit.”
A closer, lesser explosion announced the success of the anti-torpedo torpedo.
“Deploy decoys,” ordered the captain, for what it was worth.
“Second missile ready,” said the first officer.
“Launch second missile,” ordered the captain. “Prepare third and then fourth. Do not await confirmation of my order. Launch immediately upon readiness.” Even before he finished, the missile sub shuddered a second time as another ballistic missiles raced skyward.
      
Somehow I managed to ignore the rotting stench of the cut and broken zombies scattered behind our lines, beyond the earthen mound and the broad trench. Some still smoldered where the dragons had breathed upon them. It was impossible to ignore the slick bloody gore because I was lying in it, watching the enemy advance. A red soil-encrusted film covered my breastplate and padded armor more than my boots even though I’d stepped over slain friend and foe alike to reach my position. How many washings would it take to cleanse everything?
      Earth Wizard Golt’s bare feet remained clean of blood and he’d walked where I had. I wondered if I could hire an enchanter to rid my uniform of the stains.
Lying on the mound to my left was Grand Wizard Seelain and beyond her Road Toad. To my right was Short Two Blades, then Master Wizard Golt and Pops Weasel. All round us were regular Keeseean troops. Their grit-covered faces showed determination mixed with fear.
Wizard Seelain was one of the few watching the morning sky. I adjusted my helmet and surveyed the enemy. The zombies stood lifelessly in the forefront less than two hundred yards away while ogres cursed and shoved confused goblin squads into place. In the cloudless sky, well above the prince and his serpent cavalry, the Stukas circled.
      Wizard Seelain said to me, “You worry about the enemy out there.” She whispered an incantation and touched the quarrel in my cocked crossbow. “Select an enemy, aim without consideration for wind or distance.” She then rolled onto her back to better observe the aerial formations.
Fortunately, I’d loaded one of the Algaan blessed quarrels. I scanned the enemy, considering an ogre, then one of the souled zombies guiding a tank. But Wizard Seelain said distance wasn’t a factor. I shook my head and looked further, into the shadows along the edge of the woods.
Without warning, panzer cannons barked. Their explosive shells slammed into the earth barrier sheltering us. Wizard Golt dug his hands into the dirt and chanted. The barking chatter of enemy machine guns raking the top of our line drowned out his voice. Archers and crossbowmen fell back. Some dead, others clutching bloodied faces.
      I ignored them and the enemy fire, and spotted movement next to a large tree, a distant oak. The man held a dark staff aloft. I adjusted my crossbow, ignoring distance and wind, before calmly compressing the trigger. A gentle puff of air accompanied the familiar twang. The quarrel ran straight and true, striking what I’d guessed to be a necromancer in the chest. He fell with my quarrel in his heart.
      In the center nearly a third of the charging zombies slowed, then stopped. The tanks still advanced, firing cannon and machine gun. Not until the panzers had run down dozens of zombies and the goblins among them did the stalled undead again shamble forward.
I retreated several feet down the defensive mound. Road Toad shouted, “Flank Hawk, wise shot! You broke their momentum in the center.”
Enemy artillery shells began to rain down hundreds of yards beyond the front line, near the center of camp. I hoped there wasn’t anyone in the prince’s or the healers’ pavilions as they appeared to be the target.
The enemy’s panzer fire faltered. I looked over the edge of the mound and spotted eight earth elementals. The massive rock and soil behemoths had risen from the earth to attack the panzers. The largest one had wedged its shoulder under one of the tanks and struggled to tip the battlewagon onto its side. Two harnessed earth spirits grasped the muzzles of the panzer cannons and bent them so they aimed at the ground. The remaining smaller earth elementals tore at panzer wheels and tracks.
Even as the summoned earth creatures assaulted the metal battlewagons, the souled zombies trained devastating machine gun fire on them. Heedless of the fire, the mundane zombies turned and grappled with the earth elementals, tearing chunks from them.
      Like screaming banshees, the Stukas dove. What they might do, I wasn’t sure. They came down at us in groups of three with frightening speed. The serpent cavalrymen tried to intercept but they’d misjudged the enemy’s speed. At around 2000 feet the first three Stukas each released an oblong object from its belly before pulling up to level out from their dive.
Wizard Seelain chanted and thrust her staff skyward. The tail of a retreating dive-bomber whipped forward, sending it tumbling out of control. A second tipped on its side before cartwheeling and clipped the wing of the third. The trio exploded into fiery balls before crashing.
      Nearby, explosions that dwarfed those of artillery rocked the ground. The blasts’ concussions set my ears ringing and rained debris down on us. I brushed off dirt clods.
A second trio of Stukas released their load on our left flank. Air wizards sent two of them spiraling earthward, out of control. But even their fiery explosive end killed defenders. Two red dragons each caught a diving Stuka in the third diving trio with their flaming breath.
Keeseean archers and crossbowmen began firing on the advancing enemy. I reloaded my crossbow and took a zombie in the throat before it heaved one end of a long plank across the trench. One of Road Toad’s javelins dropped another as it loped across another spanning plank.
Two surviving panzers fired both cannon and machine guns at the defenders near the center even as a crumbling earth elemental slammed a boulder down on the tank’s souled zombie commander.
I loosed a final quarrel before slinging my crossbow. Grasping my spear, I took a steadying breath to steel myself for the undead onslaught. They’d reach the base of the mound in a matter of seconds.
      Sounds of battle returned as the ringing in my ears faded. Wizard Golt still held his hands to the ground, chanting. Wizard Seelain pointed her staff toward another diving Stuka trio. Already the dragons and Stukas swirled, banked and spun in a wild aerial melee. The dragons, especially the blacks, were more maneuverable in their turns but far slower. Their breath, claws, and jaws, were inadequate against wing-mounted machine guns and rear-facing tail gunners. While serpent hides could turn a stout blade, the machine gun’s firepower bit deeply wherever it struck.
      Road Toad stood, waving his sword along with the surviving officers and sergeants. “Stand to battle!” he shouted.
“Throw them back!” urged a lanky captain before hewing a foremost zombie with his battle axe. “For Prince Reveron!”
A roar of defiance rose. Men who’d clung to the ground surged to meet the enemy and I with them. I fought by Road Toad’s side. With kicks and spear thrusts I knocked zombies back upon their brethren. Road Toad’s sword flashed as it severed arms and decapitated heads.
Our line was thin and each moment the enemy’s swelling mass threatened to overwhelm us. The mound appeared to sink as the enemy stood upon those we slew before them. To our right zombies breached the line where seconds before a Stuka’s bomb blast had smashed the earth and nearby soldiers. I wondered if Grand Wizard Seelain would think to flee when we fell.
      I slammed the haft of my spear into a one-armed zombie before it reached my throat. It stumbled into one that Road Toad held at bay with his shield. Both zombies stumbled backwards, head over heels. With a low slash Road Toad severed his next foe’s right leg below the knee. As the animated corpse fell sideways, Road Toad caught its remaining arm with a return slash. He failed to sever it completely, leaving it to dangle uselessly. Before Road Toad could take a breath, a fresh zombie shoved the crippled one aside and stood with arms outreached. Road Toad blocked its clumsy attack with his shield and chopped down, taking off a left foot. Like me, Road Toad was tiring. He was slow in raising his sword and suffered a glancing blow off his helmet before decapitating the hobbled zombie.
Short Two Blades slashed and hacked with his falchion while parrying with a hunting knife in his off hand. Short mistimed a cut and a zombie got past his guard and clamped a rotting hand onto the mercenary’s throat. He hacked in desperation with the curved falchion, severing the arm at the elbow.
      I ducked my attacker and rammed my spear into Short’s foe, sending it back down the mound. Short dropped his dagger and pulled at the severed hand choking him. Wild fear showed in Short’s eyes as he swung his falchion wildly, almost striking Pops Weasel.
I tugged at the strings of my pouch and grabbed a handful of salt. I shouldered a fresh zombie in front of me, knocking it into Short’s flailing blade. The mercenary staggered back with eyes bulging. With my salt-filled hand I grabbed onto the end of the severed limb that was squeezing the life out of the mercenary. It flexed at the agony salt inflicts on the undead. Gasping for breath but still alive, Short flung the stiff hand aside.
I didn’t wait to see what he did next. My absence had left Road Toad in the lurch. The infantryman on my comrade’s left had been pulled into the mass of undead below. Road Toad fought desperately as one zombie tore his shield away and another latched onto his sword arm.
Screaming, I charged forward and ran my spear through the zombie that held his shield. I yanked my weapon out and exposed my side to the enemy. The maneuver enabled me to swing the broad blade of my spear and sever the head of the zombie that held onto Road Toad’s sword arm. I again reached into my pouch and slammed a fist full of salt into the spot where the zombie’s head had been.
“DOWN, KRISH!” cried Road Toad.
I ducked. Road Toad’s sword cut just over my head, severing a zombie’s arm and clipping off part of its scalp.
Pops Weasel slipped on the gore spread beneath him and fell to one knee. “We’re done fer!” he yelled, stabbing at a zombie scrambling up the mound.
Pops was right. Wiley goblins now darted among the zombies, stabbing with long, curved daggers and short spears.
“No we’re not!” replied Wizard Seelain.
      A shadow from above swept by, breathing fire. Goblins just beyond the trench line screamed as flames consumed them. Zombies staggered like walking pyres before falling. The heat of the flames touched my skin, singeing my eyelashes. Our swords and spears made quick work of the few goblins and zombies that were close enough to us to survive the fire.
      Even as the dragon pulled up, banking away, two trailing Stukas with blazing machine guns overtook it. The concentrated firepower shredded wings and tore flesh. The great beast staggered in mid flight, roaring in stunned agony. Its two riders hung lifeless in their saddle while the mortally wounded serpent beat its tattered wings to stay aloft. A third Stuka swept in from the east and, with a few short bursts, sent the red dragon plummeting to the ground.
The order, “Fire!” preceded a crackling blast. Concentrated Crusader firepower targeted the third Stuka. The speeding diver-bomber fled the battle field trailing smoke.
A growling roar announced two more Stukas had lined up to make a strafing pass on us. Every soldier, including the Crusaders, scattered and dove for cover. Only Wizard Golt stood defiant.
Pops tried to pull him down, but the wizard kicked the old mercenary away. Wizard Seelain ran up behind Golt. I looked to Road Toad. He yelled for them to take cover to no avail. My heart sank, anticipating failure. There was nothing I could do against a Stuka. Road Toad met my glance and then watched the wizards making a stand atop the mound.
      Wizard Seelain pointed her staff. A small thunderclap sounded and one of the Stukas staggered in flight. The pilot managed to regain control before a second, smaller thunder-pop crumpled the dive-bomber’s tail. The damaged Stuka pulled up, gyrating wildly as it climbed.
      The second dive-bomber opened up. Its wings sparkled and columns of spouting dirt raced toward the wizards. Wherever the dirt columns crossed a prone soldier, the man shuddered and died.
Ninety feet before the gunfire reached the wizards, Golt bent down, touched the ground and thrust his hands skyward. A dirt wall raced upward in response. The barrier absorbed the machine gun fire and the Stuka shot away in an arcing curve and didn’t return.
Realizing I’d survived my first major engagement, I looked about. Hardly a third of the original defenders remained. I climbed the mound and looked across the field, preparing for goblins backed by ogres. But they’d turned their line just in time to meet the charge of the prince’s horse cavalry.
“Colonel Shenden will engage then break contact,” said Road Toad, who stood next to me. “Without supporting infantry, against ogres and goblins they’d be slaughtered.”
      A ragged rain of goblin arrows fell among the charging cavalry line. Several horses and knights fell. The ogres hurled small boulders taking a few more, but without the firepower of the panzers, the cavalry was able to close.
The clash was short, less than twenty seconds. The ogres and goblins held but suffered greatly. A third of the one hundred fifty knights fell to ogre clubs and goblin blades. Still, less than three dozen ogres had survived the charge.
      “Look there,” I said, pointing to the woods.
To my right, Pops Weasel spat. “A third wave formin’.” He scrunched his face and wiped a forearm across his nose.
“Is that the prince?” Road Toad asked Wizard Seelain. Concern hung heavy in his voice.
I turned my gaze skyward.
Her voice cracked. “It is.” She leaned on her staff. “And I am spent.” A tear ran down the side of her cheek. Wizard Golt stepped up and put an arm around the air wizard.
“They’re formin’ up,” warned Pops Weasel. A surviving Keeseean captain ordered the bugler to call formation assembly, but we ignored it and watched the cat-and-mouse game.
Harried as if by hornets, the prince on Night Shard circled frantically. Diving and turning, then climbing he sought to out maneuver and escape the six Stukas.
“They’re toying with him,” said Road Toad. “Night Shard is nearing the end of his strength.”
      “I failed to warn him,” said Wizard Seelain. Recrimination tangled with saddening fear hung in her voice. Then it hardened. “Necromancer King, Ancient Dictator, you will pay.”
      Just as she finished her statement, Prince Reveron leapt from his mount. Even as he fell, Night Shard broke from the swarm and fled. Three of the Stukas chased after the dragon.
“Did the prince wear a parachute?” I asked.
“If his air wizard ego didn’t override common sense,” answered Road Toad.
Without a word Wizard Seelain leapt forward and waded down through the fallen and charred enemy. She angled for one of the three spanning planks that had survived the dragon’s breath. Road Toad ran after her. I followed.
Road Toad reached the wizard just before she began to cross. He grabbed her arm and shouted back over his shoulder at the soldiers watching us. “The prince will land between us and the enemy. Even if he should perish, they must not take his body!”
I saw Pops Weasel hesitate. But when his charge, Wizard Golt, strode down the mound, he and Short Two Blades followed. A captain called companies and ordered the bugler to sound the charge.
	The prince’s mushroom parachute opened three hundred yards above the ground. Road Toad and Wizard Seelain exchanged words before he led her across the plank. I followed and didn’t bother to look back, knowing by the shouts that we weren’t advancing alone.
The ogres to the right were the first of the enemy to realize the prince’s peril. They turned, but the horse cavalry wheeled about, charging with reckless abandon.
A pair of Stukas turned sharply to make a run at Prince Reveron. He changed his direction of descent by tugging at the parachute’s lines. Where he had once been floating towards us, he now angled towards the cavalry closing on the goblins and ogres.
Road Toad, Seelain and I were in the lead. We ran past a wrecked panzer, veering towards the drifting prince while a new force of ogres and goblins emerged from the distant woods. Their ragged formation disintegrated as they raced us to the prince.
Wizard Seelain screamed, “No!” Still 150 yards away from the prince, she called deep upon her reserves. Slowing to a trot, she sent enough power to strike at the foremost dive-bomber and sent it spinning out of control to crash among the enemy yet in the woods.
      The second Stuka swept in with guns blazing, its pilot intent on ramming the prince. Even if the gunfire failed, the spinning nose blades or the high speed impact would kill Prince Reveron.
      At the last instant Prince Reveron pulled the release catch that harnessed him to the parachute. He fell, causing the Stuka to miss. One hundred feet above the ground the prince gestured an incantation and slowed his descent. He hit the ground hard, but survived.
Rolling unsteadily to his feet, the prince looked about. He saw us nearing and the enemy from the woods closing. He turned, drew his sword, and ran towards the cavalry. Despite the morning light, his sword cast an eerie red glow.
Road Toad stuttered in his stride. “He carries the Blood-Sword.”
Even in the Doran Confederacy we’d heard of the three ancient weapons of power long wielded by the Kings of Keesee. Among them the Blood-Sword had the most malevolent reputation.
“Reveron!” called Grand Wizard Seelain, waving her staff. I struggled to keep pace with her and Road Toad. He was driven by duty, and she by some apparent bond.
The prince spun about and spotted her. “Quit this battlefield!” he shouted. Already a number of goblins and ogres had turned from the broken cavalry, intent on capturing the prince. “Flee!”
She ignored Prince Reveron’s order and he abandoned his effort to reach the horsemen fighting desperately on his behalf. I followed close on Wizard Seelain’s heels, not at all sure I wanted to be anywhere near the Blood-Sword. I looked behind to see that the eighty Keeseean soldiers supported by a dozen mercenaries were fifty yards back. I didn’t see Wizard Golt among them, but a harnessed elemental spirit—a large one was. If I’d have been standing still I might’ve felt its stride through the ground. Despite running, maybe I did, because its presence bolstered my confidence on the open field with hundreds of the enemy closing.
We’d reach the prince seconds before the nearest six ogres overtook him, screeching goblins following in their wake. From deep inside confident resolve settled in me. I knew I’d fight for the prince, even die for him. I wasn’t sure why. My thoughts focused on protecting him until the earth elemental got there.
Then, some of the goblins hesitated. Shrieking, a few turned and fled. The rest fell to the ground and hid their faces while the Keeseean knights struggled to control their rearing mounts. The ogres stopped and stared. At first I thought it was the prince and his Blood-Sword. But it wasn’t. I followed the ogres’ gaze back towards the woods. An enormous figure pushed several young oaks aside and emerged from the tree line.
The hollowness forming in my gut confirmed what it was. The most feared of the Necromancer King’s minions, a bone golem. Lashed together with dark magic and the sinews of a thousand men, the sickly white titan scanned the battlefield. It looked like a crudely assembled skeleton of a man, yet stood taller than five. It wielded a curved iron scimitar in each of its four arms. Stories said that within a bone golem’s chest beat the heart of a demon.
With gigantic strides the golem advanced on the prince. It waved its scimitars and unleashed a searing cry from the depths of hell. My flesh went cold and my bones rattled until every joint ached. I staggered back and would have fallen except for the support of my spear.
Any goblins that weren’t on the ground paralyzed with fear now dropped in abject terror. Even the ogres backpedaled. Grand Wizard Seelain stood, huddled behind the staff she held out before her. Prince Reveron had made it to Seelain’s side. He stood with an arm around her and the Blood-Sword leveled between them and the bone titan. Road Toad still stood, but was visibly shaken. The warm sensation running down my legs betrayed that I’d lost control and wet myself.
      But I hadn’t fled. About a dozen of the Keeseean soldiers and half that many mercenaries held their ground against the bone golem’s hellcry. Every other man and horse had fled or fell to the ground, oblivious to all but the terror that gripped them.
The only thing that advanced was the earth elemental—and far behind it, the company of Crusaders marching forward with shouldered rifles bearing bayonets that sparkled in the sunlight. In the middle of their line an orange flag bearing a white cross flew and, instead of a battle cry, they voiced what sounded like a unifying hymn sung in their foreign tongue.
      The golem’s long strides gave it the speed of a quarter horse. Road Toad shouted above the surrounding moans, “Prince! Retreat toward the elemental.” He hurled one of his javelins at the golem. The Algaan blessed javelin arced toward the creature and struck it in the hip. It bounced off, leaving only a small black mark. “The Blood-Sword will not avail you against this foe!”
“Agreed, Major Jadd,” said the prince, pulling Wizard Seelain back. But by now it was too late. I ran forward and stood on Road Toad’s right, interposing myself between Prince Reveron and the giant golem. Each of the bone titan’s closing steps reverberated through the ground.
“Run, Prince!” snapped Road Toad as if giving an order. “Flank Hawk, spread right. Give it two targets.”
I did, and held my spear ready. I had no intention of attacking, but instead prepared to dodge its attacks. I prayed quickly to M’Kishmael that the golem didn’t cry out again.
      Road Toad and I gained a reprieve when a three hundred pound boulder crashed into the golem’s ribs. Only then did it take notice of the earth elemental. The golem looked once more at us and ducked, causing a second hurled boulder to miss. It then turned its attention to the elemental who hurled a third boulder. Like the first, the third boulder struck with devastating force. The bone golem staggered back as some of its bones cracked under the impact.
The earth elemental wrenched free a wrecked panzer’s cannon muzzle. The bone golem let loose with another hellcry before the two clashed in a flurry of blows.
The force of the second hellcry staggered me, but I steadied myself. The bone golem dwarfed the earth elemental. “Wizard Golt’s creature can’t win,” I said to Road Toad.
      He put a hand on my shoulder. “No, it won’t. We must act.” We looked around. The prince struggled to sheath his weapon.
      “The Blood-Sword is feeding upon it,” Prince Reveron said. He finally succeeded and, with the power of the Blood-Sword stifled, I felt a fraction of the battlefield’s dread lift. “We must reach the Crusaders,” said the prince. “Seelain,” he called to the wizard who’d retreated twenty yards. “This way.”
      “No, the battle is almost over.” She ran toward a horse that fought madly against its bridle tangled in a dead ogre’s grasp.
She was right. The earth elemental had shattered one of the bone golem’s four arms. But it had lost one of its own in the process. Two deep gashes marked where an iron scimitar had cleaved deeply into its earthen body.
In a desperate bid, the elemental hurled the cannon muzzle at the golem and dove for one of its pillar-like legs. Grasping the leg with its remaining arm, the elemental began sinking into the ground, pulling the leg with it. The golem rained down scimitar blows, shredding any cohesive remains of its foe.
The prince retrieved the wizard. “Won’t take it long to free its leg.”
     “Goaff,” called the bone golem in a hollow, unearthly voice. It strained to free its buried foot. “Shez-an dub nye-ee!” It pointed one of its scimitars at the prince.
      “Friend Prince, we shalt take the demon down!” shouted a distant voice. One hundred yards from the bone golem, the Crusaders had formed into two rows. The front knelt while the rear stood. Swinging downward with his saber and shouting in his native tongue, the Crusader captain ordered his men to open up. Gunfire crackled and smoke billowed from the front rank’s rifles. Flashes of gold light marked where the bullets struck the golem. Shards and bits of bone flew away.
The Crusader soldiers sang on, their words dampening the evil emanating from the bone golem. Their captain signaled and shouted again and the rear rank fired. Again, flashes marked a dozen impacts, staggering the golem. I realized they must be using saint-blessed weapons.
      The golem cried out, “Aff, neecha o ga grullta haw!”
      The once cowering goblins climbed to their feet and the nearby ogres responded to the golem’s call with bellows echoing their newfound boldness. The bone golem hurled one of its iron scimitars at the Crusader formation, but it fell short.
The eighteen mercenaries and soldiers joined Road Toad and I as we surrounded the prince and ran towards the Crusaders and our distant defensive line beyond.
      The Crusader captain shouted to his men. They fired and this time the united blast nearly toppled the bone golem.
      I found Pops Weasel next to me at the rear with the other mercenaries. He was limping. “That demon spawn just said it’d eat any that didn’t rise to kill the prince.”
“The Crusaders will take care of it,” I said.
“But who’ll take care of them?” he gestured with his sword. Already a growing mob of goblins backed by ogres were closing on our heels.
The bone golem, tattered and nearly broken, let out a grumbling howl and a sulfurous wall of flames leapt up from the ground. It stood between us and the Crusaders.
“It will endure until the Crusaders slay the demon-beast,” called the prince. He drew the Blood-Sword. “Turn about and hold until then.”
Pops Weasel readied his sword as I did my spear. “That’s one powerful demon to stand to them Crusader guns,” he said, watching the enemy close.
“Forward to meet them,” ordered the prince, “or they’ll drive us into the flames.” He led the charge with red sword held high. I hoped its emanating dread fell upon the goblins. Road Toad was on the prince’s left and I shouldered my way to his right. Wizard Seelain was among us, shouting such encouragement that frothing spit flew from her lips. It was our twenty against a hundred. Even if help came, the enemy from the woods would still overwhelm us.
      I ran the first goblin through, nearly losing my spear to its momentum. Pops took out another of the yellow-skinned enemy before it could stab me. Seelain wielded her staff, cracking skulls and blocking spear and dagger thrusts. Cries of agony arose around the prince. Whenever the red sword found its mark a goblin fell back. Soon after, blood oozed from the wounded’s nose, mouth, ears and eyes. They fell to the ground with red splotches signaling massive hemorrhaging beneath their skin. Then the ogres crashed among us. A broad, squat one charged directly at Wizard Seelain. Fearless, she stood ready. I leapt in from the side and set the butt of my spear to the ground. Before the ogre could react I guided the stout tip into the brute’s groin. It penetrated the chain-mesh armor skirt and drove deep. I let go and rolled to the side as the spear shaft snapped under the force.
      I didn’t look back to see what had happened. I drew my sword before a pair of spear-wielding goblins were on me. My sword skills were moderate at best and not up to two foes. I gave ground to their stabs and thrusts. A third joined them.
      A blue-robed figure leapt to my aid, knocking aside a spear and smashing the goblin between its slanted eyes. Seelain spun around and caught another across the helmet, ringing its skull. Her distraction allowed me to get past the third goblin’s guard. I sheared away the fingers on its left hand as it hastily parried. Seelain caught the maimed goblin in the throat and it stumbled back, gagging for air.
      Seelain said before turning, “Flank Hawk, the fire has dropped.”
We broke from the enemy and gained an initial lead. Road Toad was in the front with Prince Reveron. Seelain was faster than me and strove to catch up with them. Only eight of us remained. I caught up with Pops Weasel who was limping badly.
“Pops,” I said, slowing to his pace.
“I’m done fer,” he said and pushed me away. “Good knowin’ ya. Save the prince.” Wiping a sleeve across his nose, he stopped and spun with sword ready.
“Krish!” shouted Road Toad, “We ward the prince!”
“I’ll remember you, Pops!” I said before abandoning him. Pops Weasel shouted a string of curses against the shrill goblin calls before falling silent. Deep down I was thankful he fell instead of me. That thought hurt. I didn’t look back.
      We made it to the Crusaders and circled behind their lines. They’d rallied around their flag bearer, still singing as they fired and reloaded. The prince and Wizard Seelain flinched but the Crusader’s words poured a vibrating warmth across my skin. The Crusader captain continued using voice and saber motions to direct his men, and they cut down the ogres pursuing us. Their gunfire rang my ears nearly as much as a panzer’s cannon.
      Road Toad grabbed my shoulder and shouted into my ear, “The prince assigned Wizard Seelain’s safety to you. We go.”
I wondered if the prince realized Wizard Seelain fought better than me. Short Two Blades blocked my path. Blood ran from a gash under his left eye. He nodded and slipped something into my dangling salt pouch and tugged at the strings, closing it. “My debt and honor endures,” he said before pushing me toward the wizard. “Call upon me through it.”
I didn’t have time to ponder the meaning of Short’s words. The prince and Wizard Seelain had already broken into a sprint for the mound. Running with a sword was harder than with a spear. Ten seconds after Short Two Blades uttered his parting phrase, the sound of hand-to-hand combat rose. The Crusader song faltered, men called warnings, threats, and cries of pain. Goblins and ogres did the same.
We’d escaped. Short’s and the Crusaders’ sacrifice enabled it, but for how long? At least another thousand goblins were less than one hundred and fifty yards behind us. Prince Reveron crossed the spanning plank, followed by Grand Wizard Seelain. His black cape and leather armor splattered with mud and blood matched her stained sky-blue robes.
A scattered volley of goblin arrows rained down as Road Toad and I reached the mound and scrambled over. Defenders’ cheers calling the prince’s name brought a smile to his face. I was too winded for any expression above huffing exhaustion.
Master Wizard Golt approached the prince and bowed. “Prince, the m’unicorn cavalry has arrived.” He gestured behind him. At least two hundred of the horse-unicorn crossbreeds stood ready beyond the palisade. Women soldiers armed with short bows and light swords sat upon the steeds. “The heavy infantry regiment is thirty minutes away.”
      I’d never seen a true unicorn, but twice a mule-unicorn had passed through Pine Ridge. A short blunt horn rising from the forehead along with flowing silky manes and tails indicated their unusual heritage. While sturdier, they’re said to be far less fleet and nimble than a true unicorn. Still, compared to a horse, a m’unicorn’s swiftness was like a barn swallow’s to a duck.
      I hadn’t realized the prince was winded until he breathed heavily between phrases as he answered. “They’ll be tired. How many yet defend? Enemy disposition?”
      General Ellis climbed over the wooden wall. The prince met him halfway. The general bowed. “Prince Reveron, we’ve begun evacuation of the wounded. Seventy percent casualties among the foot soldiers.” He looked to Road Toad. “All but five mercenaries have fallen and only twelve knights and their mounts made it back. Only two of the dragon bevy remain. Night Shard and Hell Furnace, with no serpent cavalrymen.”
      “The air and earth wizards?” asked Grand Wizard Seelain.
“All but three air wizards survived, Grand Wizard. As Prince Reveron directed, when they’d expended their strength they retreated.”
Wizard Golt added, “One third of our number, Greater Wizard Kobal, Lesser Wizard Dondon, and Journeyman Finnate, fell.”
A runner, a sergeant, approached the prince and bowed. When acknowledged he said, “Prince, the enemy has withdrawn to reform their lines.”
“They may have sensed our reinforcements,” said General Ellis.
“Their numbers are vast,” said the prince. “When aloft I spotted their reinforcements. They’ll out number us seven to one.” The prince dismissed the runner. “General, are the dragons capable of flight?”
“They are, Prince. The red returned with only minor wounds across her back. Night Shard was tended to by one of the healers.”
Road Toad and I followed Prince Reveron, General Ellis, Wizard Seelain and Wizard Golt over the wall and through the waiting m’unicorn cavalry.
“These are my orders,” said the prince. “Fall back to the fortified city of Morthis. Defend the city, to the last man if necessary. If you use the m’unicorn cavalry wisely to harass the enemy, you should be able to outpace them.”
      Prince Reveron removed his helmet and handed it to Road Toad. His grit-covered face and matted hair made him look more like a combat officer than a prince. “To deal with the new aerial menace, I will request my father to send as many air wizards as he can. Dragons are ill equipped for such duty.”
      “Stukas,” interjected Grand Wizard Seelain. “That is why I am here.”
      “To warn me of them?” He laughed sarcastically. “That is why my father would risk his future daughter-in-law.”
      General Ellis said, “We shall hold, Prince Reveron.”
      The prince stared at the ground in thought. “I must consult with my father.” He turned and took his helmet from Road Toad. “Maj—Road Toad, are you up to flying a serpent under the king’s banner? Under the circumstances I do not think my brother will object.”
      Road Toad bowed. “If you desire, my Prince.”
“Select one to be your aft-guard. Seelain you will accompany me on Night Shard.”
“They need me here,” Seelain hotly responded. “Not hiding in the king’s palace.”
“That may be true, my dear Seelain. But should we encounter any Stukas along the way.” He added in mock seriousness, “You have long pointed out my lack of discipline and skill in the fine art.” Wizard Seelain took a deep breath, but before she could respond the prince turned to General Ellis. “As soon as we are provisioned, we will depart. Do as you see fit to reach Morthis. And if you discover a more effective way to delay the enemy than a death stand there, employ it. You have my complete confidence, and thus, that of my father, King Tobias.”
General Ellis bowed again. “Thank you, Prince. I will not fail you or the crown.” He turned and began issuing orders to nearby runners.
“Mercenary Road Toad,” said the prince, “go and see to our mounts.”
“Yes, Prince.” Road Toad bowed before nodding toward me. “And with your permission I would request Flank Hawk to be my aft-guard. 
But—”
      Grand Wizard Seelain cut off Road Toad, “But Major Parks specifically assigned mercenaries Road Toad and Flank Hawk as my personal bodyguards.”
      Prince Reveron signaled for a nearby soldier who took the prince’s helmet from Road Toad. “Request who and what you need on my authority, Road Toad.”
      Wizard Seelain smiled. “Mercenary Road Toad, Flank Hawk will guard us in your absence, but you might first direct him to sheath his sword.”
I didn’t realize I held ready the blood-spattered blade. I blushed and sheathed it as Road Toad bowed before hustling away toward the far end of camp.
Wizard Seelain took Prince Reveron’s hand. “Will you secure him a new spear? I owe the mercenary at least that much.”
      “Need I remind you, dear Seelain, embarrassing your bodyguard is not wise. He endured a demon’s hellcry, and I witnessed how he lost his spear.”
      Prince Reveron led us to where rows of wounded lay, some shielded from the climbing sun by canvas flies, others under wagons. Freemen and healers attended them, including a hard-working Acolyte Rellar. The once arrogant doorman eyed my gore-stained armor and nodded before examining the compound fracture of an unconscious soldier.
I stood guard while Prince Reveron spoke to the dying and wounded men. In a regal but still genuine manner, he grieved for them and their injuries, and they knew it. As the prince progressed through the ranks of the injured, it struck me that I’d survived where so many hadn’t. The last words uttered by Pops Weasel and Short Two Blades mingled with the dying gasps of my cousin, Guzzy. I felt a widening emptiness within me, but turned away from it.
A short time later Road Toad returned to announce the dragon mounts were ready.


Chapter 10
North Pacific Ocean
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

“Cavitations. American attack sub closing,” advised the sonar man. “Torpedo in the water, aft 500 meters.”
       “Aft torpedo tube three, fire,” ordered the captain. Maybe it would be better if the crew died rather than live to learn how many of their countrymen perished due to his failure. “Both forward tubes, fire on the distant American frigate.” It was a blind shot, but better than none.
The missile sub shuddered a third time as compressed air ejected another of its ballistic missiles. The abbreviated fire time risked inaccuracy. Nevertheless, the captain smiled.
The sonar man frowned. “Decoys failed.” He spoke faster. “Two torpedoes still closing. First impact in two seconds.”
“Excellent work comrades,” said the captain. “You have honored our leader and—” The torpedo detonation aft interrupted him. “—your ancestors.” He braced himself as the damaged missile sub rocked, preparing to continue praising his men, but the second American torpedo found its target just forward of the missile launch tubes. He died with a final hope, that the Americans never ascertained his port of origin.
      
Road Toad said it was fortunate that we were upon a red dragon because blacks bond with their masters and don’t take well to new ones. We flew south for about three hours, following the prince on his serpent steed. I guessed we traveled about as fast as a strong horse could run. Even I could tell the dragons were near exhaustion.
      Riding while facing rear wasn’t as difficult to get used to as I expected. Road Toad and I shared the double saddle; he faced forward and directed the dragon while I searched the rearward sky for possible enemies. At first Road Toad tried to conceal his excitement and the prince chuckled at Road Toad’s restraint. The mercenary couldn’t hide the sparkle in his eye while performing the final check of the serpent’s tack.
      The chilly wind swirling past our helmets and the slow, steady flap of the dragon’s wings reduced conversation to brief over-the-shoulder shouts. I focused so hard on trying to spot pursuing Stukas that Road Toad’s announcement startled me. “The prince has signaled to land. Time to rest.”
Road Toad directed the dragon in a wide spiraling descent. Although we were well into the Kingdom of Keesee, safety of the prince wasn’t given to chance. When the dragon banked, Road Toad and I searched the ground. Hell Furnace breathed in deeply, her nostrils testing for unseen danger among the scrub brush along the hilltops.
I prepared for the jolt Road Toad had warned of when a dragon landed. It turned out to be only a little worse than a horse jumping a high fence rail.
“Hop down, Flank Hawk, and check the area.”
I loosened the leather straps that held my legs and unclasped the catch that harnessed me to the parachute’s pack. I stretched my stiff legs before climbing to the ground.
Road Toad tossed down my new spear and looked up at the circling prince. “Be quick about it.”
I circled the hilltop. Except for a few rabbits that cowered more from the scent of the dragon than my presence, I found nothing. I waved to Road Toad. “All clear,” I yelled before continuing my search.
When the prince landed, he and Road Toad led the dragons into a vine-ridden ravine while I set up camp under the watchful eye of Grand Wizard Seelain. I felt none of the seeping energy that I had upon first meeting her.
She stepped closer and examined the first A-frame tent that I’d pitched. “Mercenary Flank Hawk, or is it Krish?”
I didn’t meet her gaze as I camouflaged the tent with cut lilac branches. “Whichever you prefer, Grand Wizard Seelain.”
“Who trained you in the use of a sword?”
I unrolled the second tent and carefully set the stakes aside. “Mercenary Road Toad provided my training with a sword, Grand Wizard.”
“He is an inept instructor,” she said. “Did he train you in the use of a spear?”
My mind flashed back to Short Two Blade’s reaction when someone had insulted Road Toad. “No, Grand Wizard.”
“That is quite fortunate, Flank Hawk. Or I may not be standing here today. Thank you for your protection in the battle, especially against that vile ogre. And I commend you for your brave participation in rescuing Prince Reveron from harm.”
I set one of the tent poles. “Grand Wizard, you should direct your gratitude to Road Toad. Without him, I would be lucky to only be dead, and not one of the undead that marched against us.”
      She laughed and I met her amused gaze and stated, “I must gather more brush to hide our camp from above.”
      “You have cut more than enough to conceal both tents.”
      “Maybe, Grand Wizard.” I turned away and drew my sword. It still bore the gore from battle. “But it will give me a chance to practice with my sword,” I said, wiping it clean on a coarse rag.
“Mercenary,” she said, “forgive my clumsy attempt at humor.” The wizard’s words came as straight as she stood, with her white staff held tightly. “Turn about and tell me of your mercenary friend’s history with Prince Reveron and his brother.”
      “Grand Wizard, Road Toad’s history is his own to tell. If you have questioned the prince, either he refused to tell you or you seek to verify what he has said.” I sheathed my sword and stood my ground. “If I answer, I would betray the trust of a friend and go against the apparent wishes of the prince.”
“I am a grand wizard, do you not fear me?” A conjured breeze whipped through the bushes and caused the tent to ripple. “Or do you simply fear the prince more?”
      Those questions reached deep. I didn’t think that she would injure or kill me for not answering. Still, I knew I’d have spoken differently less than a day ago. “In combat, you would defeat me and I might fear for my life. For that, I respect who you are and what you can do. But I have pledged my loyalty to Prince Reveron. He ordered me to protect you from harm. I’ll do that to the best of my ill-trained ability.”
      She relaxed her stance and smiled again. “You are a mystery too. Can you speak of that?” She picked up the other tent pole, set it in place and held it.
The last thing I expected was for a grand wizard to help erect a tent. “I am Krish, son of Thurmond, of Pine Ridge.” I staked down one side. “I served in the militia of Lord Hingroar of the Doran Confederacy until my unit’s destruction.” I found it easier to speak to the grand wizard when she acted above me. “I now am Mercenary Flank Hawk. I serve Prince Reveron and the Kingdom of Keesee.” I knew that the prince had hired my services and loyalty, but for me it was more than that.
“You were an agricultural laborer before that?”
It took me a second to figure what she said, and nodded.
“Why did you become a mercenary and choose to serve the Kingdom of Keesee?”
I didn’t know that for sure either. Was it to avenge Guzzy’s death? To fight back against the Necromancer King for taking my family’s land? Out of a debt I felt to Road Toad for helping me survive? Or was it something else? I almost shrugged. Instead I answered, “To stand against evil.”
      Grand Wizard Seelain’s eyebrows rose at that answer. “I suspect there is more to you than simply a farmhand turned mercenary.” She examined the tent while I tossed branches over it. “A wizard’s intuition is correct vastly more often than not.” Her voice was relaxed yet assured. “I also suspect that even if I were to ask, you would withhold that information.” She held a finger to her cheek. “I could seek for my fiancé to ascertain if there is indeed more.” Then she brushed aside her white hair with a summoned puff of air, and grinned. “Of course, I will not, Flank Hawk. We all should be allowed our secrets.”
      I turned to arrange the branches, wondering. She was a grand wizard, but she couldn’t possibly know. Back in Prince Reveron’s camp I’d been touched and healed by a true healer, a priestess of Fendra Jolain. If the priestess didn’t recognize that I was a rogue healer, Grand Wizard Seelain certainly shouldn’t.

After Prince Reveron and Road Toad returned from the ravine, we walked to a nearby stream. There we took turns bathing while Wizard Seelain used her magic to remove the stench from our armor and equipment. The smell of death was gone but the faded stains of blood and gore remained.
      During a meal of dried fruits, hard biscuits, and watered-down wine, the prince suggested that Road Toad and I check the area once more before we settled into watches and sleep. Once we’d scouted the nearby hills and were returning to camp, I asked Road Toad, “Why travel at night? I remember you saying that it’s easier to go off course.”
“Navigation by stars and moonlit landmarks is more difficult, but our movements will also be harder to see.”
“There are spies in Keesee?” I asked. “Who would betray the prince?”
“Why do you think we’re securing the area, looking for signs of recent passage?”
I shrugged. “I thought for outlaws, goblin scouts, or wild animals.” I searched the late afternoon sky. “Well, animals would smell the dragons, but we have outlaws in the Doran Confederacy, even in the wilds.”
      “If downwind, they would. And Keesee, I am sure, still has its share of brigands.” He picked up a stone and examined it. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to home.” He clutched the jagged rock before tossing it aside. “And there are always those who would betray this land and its people to the enemy. For riches, or to avenge perceived wrongs, there always will be.” He frowned and the lines of his pock-marked face appeared deeper than usual. “It seems there will always be the enemy.”
      Road Toad patted my shoulder. “You fought well,” he said and sighed. “I’ll miss ol’ Pops. We campaigned many times together.”
      I leaned my spear against a large rock and reached into my salt pouch. Road Toad watched with interest as I examined what Short Two Blades had given me. It was a glass bead the size of my thumbnail held in the grasp of a tarnished copper claw resembling that of a bird of prey. Small tattered feathers and sewn triangles of worn fur dangled from clasps that ran the length of the eighteen inch chain. I carefully shook it to remove the bits of salt.
      “Flank Hawk, where did you get that?”
“From Short Two Blades. He stuffed it in my pouch just before he died with the Crusaders.” I held it up for him to see. “What is it?”
“Some sort of talisman.” He squinted, staring at it. “I bet that’s blood suspended in that bead. Probably made by witchcraft or sorcery. Not an enchanter.”
“What’s it for?”
Road Toad shrugged. “Short gave it to you? It wouldn’t be harmful then.” He smiled while giving the talisman a second look. “Short Two Blades was fond of you.”
“He was?”
      The mercenary picked up my spear and we again started up the hill, back to camp. “Well,” chuckled Road Toad, “as fond as Short ever was about anyone. And you saved him from that zombie’s arm.”
      “And almost got you killed.” I wrapped Short’s talisman in my cleaning rag and stuffed it temporarily beneath my breastplate. “He died anyway.”
“Sometimes comrades must fend for themselves while you aid another.” His voice hardened. “It is true that Short died, but your action allowed him to take more of the enemy with him. Many more of us will die before this is over. Maybe even you and me.”
“You talk like you know we’ll win.”
“Flank Hawk, I would fight against the Necromancer King even if I knew the cause was hopeless.”
“Why?” I asked, realizing I probably would as well.
He handed me back my spear. “Why do you fight?”
“Grand Wizard Seelain asked me that.”
“She did?” he asked. “What did you answer?”
“To fight evil. It’s a lot more than that, but that’s what I told her.”
Road Toad looked about. “A land ruled by the Necromancer King, I’d rather perish.” Then he added in a lighter tone, “Grand Wizard Seelain doesn’t remind me of most wizards of her rank.”
I nodded. “Do all battles have so many wizards?”
“None that I’ve ever fought in. I think the stakes were pretty high.”
“Did we lose?”
“More of a draw,” Road Toad said, shaking his head. “But Prince Reveron, and the king, expected to win.”
We were nearing the camp. “The grand wizard doesn’t think much of my sword skills.”
“Neither do I.” Road Toad laughed. “But you’re improving.”
I debated whether to add more of what she had said, then regretted even mentioning it.
Road Toad changed the subject for me. “Have you ever seen one of the ancient cities of old?”
“No, but I’ve heard trogs live in them.”
“They do, and other things more remarkable.” He swatted a biting fly on his neck. “Living may not be the word.”
      I knew the cities were full of danger and few who explored them ever returned. Even wizards. “Are the stories true, that there were once hundreds and hundreds of the great ancient cities? Have you been in one?”
      “Not the one we’re going to fly over tonight. It was once called Milan. My travels are stories for another time,” he said as we entered the camp.
The prince and Wizard Seelain were talking quietly and laughing. They stood, holding hands as we entered the camp.
      “Remember to watch for Milan’s lights,” Road Toad said to me before approaching the prince and bowing. “No sign of recent passage in the area, Prince.”
“Very good, Road Toad,” he replied. “Seelain and I will take the first watch, and then wake you and Flank Hawk. Four hours after sunset we’ll depart, and with favorable winds.” He paused and winked at Grand Wizard Seelain. “We will reach the King’s City late tomorrow.”
      
We flew on through a cloud-filled sky that hid most of the stars. I knew my legs and backside would be sore despite frequently adjusting my position and placing a folded blanket on the saddle. Without the stars, travel was disorienting. Road Toad counted on our mount to keep track of the prince on Night Shard.
      After about an hour Road Toad called back to me, not quite shouting, “Below us. Milan.” He signaled for Hell Furnace to bank so that we could more easily see below.
We passed over what must have been a high-walled castle. Flickering blue-white lights appeared atop the spires and within high narrow windows. As we watched, the moon’s light found an opening through the clouds. Some of the lights flickered out, while others appeared, like a dance of fireflies. Other lights glimmered in place, never moving.
Road Toad urged our serpent to catch up with the prince. “Did you see them?” He spoke in a conversational tone, difficult to hear above the wind.
“What are they?” I asked, watching the retreating city before again scanning the sky for possible shadows trailing us.
“Some say wandering souls.” Several wing beats later he added, “Ancient cities with them are the ones that survived.”
“Survived what?”
“Ravages of the elements, and time.”
“Old Lowell told us it was the trogs.”
“Who?” asked Road Toad.
      “An old man that lives—lived in Pine Ridge. He said it was the trogs who rebuilt the ancient cities of old.”
      “Maybe. But they live in the catacombs below.” His tone changed. “Our voices will carry on such a quiet night.”
We rode on, through the darkness in silence. Once, just after dawn, we landed near a small lake to water the dragons. We ate more dried fruit, some sharp cheese, and drank from the river after refilling our waterskins.
The rest of the day we rarely passed over a village. I figured it was by design. The terrain became more and more mountainous before falling off as we turned westward to approach the sea. Once there we followed the coastline to the King’s City, nearing it several hours before sunset.
Boldly dressed in purple and gold, five serpent cavalrymen upon red dragons surrounded and challenged us. Upon recognizing the prince, two escorted us to the city while one raced ahead to announce our arrival.
I strained to see over our mount’s side. I’d never been in an actual walled city. Most of it sat upon a plateau that extended out into a flat plain, leading to mountains in the distance. A vastly smaller harbor area rested at the bottom of a broad, sheer cliff face. There, great cargo ships with three masts sat moored alongside smaller merchant vessels and imposing war galleys. I guessed it was at least two miles from the shore to the city’s center, not counting the houses and markets outside the main wall. Granite towers reached skyward next to limestone buildings, some squat, some ornate with many stories. A web of tangled streets ran through the city and, from what I could see, thousands of people with carts and livestock wandered the city and filled the markets.
A nervous knot formed in my stomach as I realized how immense the King’s City was. How would I find my way in the winding maze? And the mass of people? I wondered how many of them knew the Necromancer King was coming.


Chapter 11
North Pacific Ocean
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

The crew of the crippled American frigate managed to bring the radar systems back online seconds after the third ballistic missile breached the ocean’s surface.
       The frigate locked on and two SAMs sped from its launcher in rapid succession. The first caught up with the ballistic missile, detonating eight feet ahead of it, damaging guidance systems. The second SAM detonated three seconds later, sending searing metal fragments into the SLBM’s second stage and igniting the solid fuel propellant. The resulting fiery blast announced its destruction.
      
The knot in my stomach tightened while we circled the enormous marble palace and landed in the courtyard. Over a dozen towers rose high above the main structure. It was so immense that I thought it might be easier to get lost in the king’s palace than on the streets of the King’s City.
      “Time to dismount,” urged Road Toad.
“Right,” I said, fumbling to unstrap my legs. I climbed down while Road Toad kept Hell Furnace steady. Then he tossed me down the reins that ran to the base of the serpent’s wings. I held them taught until a trio of burly handlers with worn leather gloves ran up and took hold of them.
Road Toad slid down next to me. He handed me my spear and what little gear I had before shouldering his own satchel and buckling on his scabbard. “No telling if we’d ever get our equipment back.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying not to look wide-eyed or stare up at the high towers. After the battle I’d survived and riding a red dragon, standing in the courtyard of a palace shouldn’t have made me feel so small.
Road Toad slapped me on the back. “Looks like someone is interested in us,” he said, leading the way to an officer standing in an arched doorway signaling to us.
While walking across the well-kept grass, I spotted a few pigeons roosting on a ledge. The sight of the common birds helped me relax a little. Dragons in the courtyard must have been a common thing not to frighten them off.
      Night Shard released a hawk-like roar and hissed when one of the handlers held his reins, allowing a rider to climb up. Hell Furnace looked on passively, ignoring the handlers, and instead eyed the pigeons.
      Prince Reveron and Wizard Seelain entered an arched door, followed by a circle of military officers. One, a young lieutenant, split from the group and ran to the officer that had signaled us. He saluted the mustached, no nonsense looking captain and waited for a return salute before speaking. “Captain, General Riverton ordered that these mercenaries be immediately fed and then debriefed.”
“Separately?” asked the captain.
“It was not specified, sir.”
“Very well, Lieutenant Harst.” The captain nodded to Road Toad. “You’re with me.” He waved over several nearby guards. “Your weapons.”
While Road Toad handed them his sword, dagger, and javelins, I did the same with my crossbow, quiver of quarrels, spear, sword and Guzzy’s dirk.
The captain looked from the lieutenant to me. “Lieutenant, see to his needs. Quarter him in the Blue Wing.”
Road Toad winked at me. “Blue Wing is on the ground floor, goose feather bed but no windows. Be sure to request plenty of oil for the lamp.”
The captain raised an eyebrow, then frowned. “This way, Mercenary,” he said before leading Road Toad through the doorway and to the right.
Lieutenant Harst nodded to me. “This way.” He led me to the left. “The Blue Wing isn’t far.”
      I followed a half step behind, trying to memorize the turns and associate them with the nearby decorative furnishings, but it was hard to fix it in my mind while keeping Lieutenant Harst’s brisk pace. The floor was made of gray stone polished smooth. Occasionally we walked across rugs with ornate designs depicting exotic animals or mosaic patterns of dull-colored shapes. The rugs were normally placed where lines of carved busts sat on pedestals. In the absences of rugs and stone sculptures, hanging tapestries similar to the rugs or varnished wooden doors took their place. Ornate wood trim lined each doorway and most of the walls.
      We stayed on the same floor, although we passed several sets of worn wooden stairs spiraling up, down, or both. Oil lamps, supplemented by recessed magical lighting, illuminated the hallways and especially the stairs.
      We passed two pairs of stationed guards wearing perfectly maintained chain mail and holding well-polished spears. They nodded to the lieutenant and scrutinized me as we passed, while wandering nobles dressed in silk shirts and loose trousers ignored us. The luster of the nobles’ high boots matched that of the guards’ spears. The noblewomen, with curled hair piled high on their heads, took notice of me more than of Lieutenant Harst. The stained condition of my armor stood in stark contrast to their bright-colored, high-collared dresses, each accented by purple or gold trim.
      I forced myself not to stare or turn my head as we passed them. Far more than the noblemen, the noblewomen appeared to compete by displaying fine dresses and flashy jewelry.
After two right turns, the ceiling paint changed from yellow to blue. We stepped past two men removing tapestries while servant women on hands and knees scrubbed the floor with brushes and buckets of water.
      I heard Lieutenant Harst counting to himself as we passed each doorway. I counted with him. My escort stopped in front of the fifth door on the right, lifted the latch and opened it. He reached to a shelf inside and retrieved a long candle. As he lit it from a nearby lamp he said, “This will be your quarters.” He led me in and lit a lamp on the far table near the long but narrow bed. “I will send a servant with food, heated water and fresh clothes.” He nodded to the oblong wooden tub before looking at me, estimating my height and girth. “Stay in the room until I or another officer comes to get you. If you need anything, ask the servant.”
“I understand,” I said, looking around the small room. “Can you tell me what a debriefing is?”
      His eyebrows shot up at the question, then scowled. “You’ll probably be asked about your experience combating the enemy. My superiors will want to know what you encountered and your interpretation of events.”
“Why did they separate me from my mercenary partner?”
“To get your uninfluenced opinion, and that of your fellow mercenary.”
      I wanted to ask him if the prince or the grand wizard would be debriefed, but I already knew the answer. “Sounds reasonable.” I smiled while wondering if they realized Road Toad and I had been traveling and talking together for over a day since battling the Necromancer King’s forces. “I will await the servant and your return.”
      
Not long after eating a plate of fruit and cheese, bathing and putting on the pale linen shirt and dark pants delivered by the servant girl, Lieutenant Harst returned. After walking armed and armored for so long, I felt vulnerable without a spear or sword. Short Two Blade’s talisman hanging around my neck under the shirt provided some comfort as Lieutenant Harst led me through a maze of corridors, down two spiraling stairwells, and along damp hallways lined with well-maintained mortared stone and black ceilings.
      Alert guards stood ready as we approached an arched pair of double doors. They stepped aside. After the Lieutenant’s firm knock an internal guard opened the doors, revealing an octagonal chamber lit by dozens of flickering lamps hung from the domed ceiling.
Two women and two men sat on high stools at a circular table. Beyond them, along the walls stood a number of lower ranking officers, all in dress uniforms. Among them stood a red-haired fire wizard in orange robes and a dark-skinned earth wizard in brown robes.
I followed Lieutenant Harst, who stopped in front of the graying senior general who stood before they exchanged salutes. As I stood at attention the hair on my neck rose. Maybe it was the intricate runes etched upon the walls and support columns. It felt like I’d entered a shadowy, twilight chamber. Haunting whispers echoed from all sides until the general spoke.
      “Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said in scratchy voice. “That will be all.” Even before Lieutenant Harst turned, the general had dismissed him and narrowed his brown eyes on me. He ran his fingers over his thick mustache. “Mercenary Flank Hawk,” he said, turning and gesturing to the female soldier at the round table. “This is Colonel Isar of the Second M’unicorn Cavalry Regiment.” She had pulled her short sun-bleached hair back into a tight ball, drawing attention to her weathered face. What struck me the most was her emotionless gaze. When she nodded, the general turned to his right. “This is Colonel Brizich, serpent cavalryman of the Third Royal Bevy.” He looked like every other serpent cavalryman, confident, wearing his leather breeches with his leather riding gauntlets tucked into his belt.
The sound of Lieutenant Harst’s retreating footsteps ended as the guard closed the doors and slid a bar in place to secure them.
“And I am General Riverton, First Military Advisor to King Tobias.” When he finished, the general paused before stepping aside so that I could see the woman across the table. “This is Imperial Seer Lochelle, Prime Counselor to the King.”
Until that moment she hadn’t looked up, hiding her face behind long strands of stringy brunette hair. I managed to withhold my gasp, but not my widening eyes. Imperial was the highest rank, denoting supreme and unsurpassed skill in the magical arts. Her eyes were pure white. No pupil, no iris. For an instant the echoing whispers resurfaced. Imperial Seer Lochelle said nothing and returned her sightless stare to the still water of the table’s recessed bowl. Gray or white hair would have better matched her gaunt, creased face. Her youthful hands, adorned with jeweled rings, stood in stark contrast to her aged and haggard face.
I looked back to General Riverton who asked, “Would you care to introduce yourself to those assembled here?” He gestured quickly to the men and several women who stood along the walls.
I continued to stand at attention. With all eyes on me I gave the most formal answer that came to mind. “I left home for war, Krish, son of Thurmond of Pine Ridge, a militiaman in the service of Lord Hingroar of the Doran Confederacy. I am now Flank Hawk, mercenary in the service of the Kingdom of Keesee, under Prince Reveron.”
The shuffling of boots on the floor from behind distracted me. It even caught General Riverton’s attention, but I didn’t turn around. “Lieutenant Harst brought me here for a debriefing,” I said, knowing that standing in this room, before the most powerful seer in the land, General Riverton intended more than to ask questions. Even so, I finished, “I am prepared to answer your questions,” and swallowed despite my dry mouth.
General Riverton’s left eye closed a fraction as he evaluated me. “Mercenary Flank Hawk, we’re assembled here for more than a question and answer session.”
I didn’t want to cause Lieutenant Harst any trouble along his chain of command that undoubtedly led up to General Riverton. So I stood and waited for the general to explain further before I said anything.
“We’ve brought you here so that Imperial Seer Lochelle can provide us with visual intelligence about the enemy, his equipment and tactics.” He pointed just above his temple. “She’ll draw it from your memories. What you saw while facing the enemy.”
“I can tell you exactly what I saw, General, sir.” I knew my voice wasn’t as steady as I’d intended. Catching sight of the seer concentrating on the water hadn’t helped.
Colonel Brizich began to laugh before stifling it with an improvised cough to clear his throat.
“Do you have something to add, Colonel?” asked the general.
“I do,” said the serpent cavalryman, “if I may?”
      “As one of the king’s advisors, it is your right.”
      “Thank you, General. I will be brief.” Colonel Brizich stood from his stool and took a step toward me. “This frightened boy is no soldier.” He shook his head. “We are wasting our time. Ask him a few questions. You’ll see.”
      Cleaned and dressed as I was, without weapons or armor, I looked unimpressive compared to the equipped soldiers and robed wizards around me. The colonel saw me as nothing more than a well-dressed peasant.
      Colonel Brizich snorted, placed his hand upon his sword’s hilt, and stepped back. “Bah, let’s get this over with, if he has the courage.”
I wasn’t the seasoned soldier that the colonel was, but I was no longer a farmhand either. “General, may I speak?”
He nodded. “What do you have to say, Mercenary Flank Hawk?”
“I entered a mercenary agreement with Prince Reveron to fight the enemy as directed by him or his officers. I did not agree to allow a seer to siphon my memories.”
Colonel Isar stared across the table at Colonel Brizich. He shot her an amused glace while hiding a grin by scratching his nose.
      “I can assure you,” said the general, “that you’ll retain your memories. I am sure the king will agree to additional pay for your cooperation.” His right hand formed into a fist which he slid into his left hand. “It is important that we observe the enemy’s tactics, and determine how to adjust our training and tactics to overcome the enemy’s new weapons.”
      The prince, I knew, had seen at least as much as me. Grand Wizard Seelain and Road Toad as well. Road Toad might have already been through this. Maybe he refused, but he certainly would not have allowed his bravery to be questioned. Neither would I. “The coin Prince Reveron offered for my service is fair.”
I recalled Road Toad warning me that, as a mercenary, I’d have to demand respect to earn or keep it. Almost always it involved a risk of confrontation. But, he said, to ignore insults inevitably led to deadly confrontations. So I locked gazes with the serpent cavalryman. “I would ask that Colonel Brizich describe to this humble mercenary his experience in having Imperial Seer Lochelle draw out his memories of combating panzers and Stukas. The telling of his heroic deeds may inspire me in mustering equal courage.”
Imperial Seer Lochelle looked up with a twisted look of anger on her face. I couldn’t help but to step back. All in the room avoided looking at her, except the general, who turned smartly to face her.
      “General,” she whispered, her voice amplified by the chamber. “Our king awaits, the enemy marches.” The general nodded and she returned her gaze to the water.
      My mouth had gone dry again, and my mind raced. How could I back out? The prince’s officers needed to see what they faced. But if the seer touched my memories she would learn I was a rogue healer.
      I stood straight, realizing that cooperation would end my freedom. The Healers’ Guild would take me. General Riverton had turned to address Colonel Brizich, but I interrupted him. “General, sir?”
      He turned back to me. “Yes, Mercenary?”
      “I agree to allow the king’s Prime Counselor to work her magic on me.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Colonel Brizich relax. “You need to know what’s coming.”
The general nodded. “Very good.” He slid his stool away while the two colonels picked up their stools and stepped back. He took my arm and guided me forward. Pointing down to a padded bench, he said, “Kneel there and follow the imperial seer’s directions.”
      He stood to my right and spoke while the seer approached me from the left. “The incantation will enable us to see, in the pool, what you witnessed. We may be able to hear what you said and what you heard.”
      Kneeling, I looked into the recessed bowl that filled most of the table. I hadn’t been close enough before to see the finely carved symbols running along the table’s edges and extending down into the bowl’s interior. Even though the bowl appeared shallow, I couldn’t see the bottom.
The imperial seer came up behind me and whispered into my right ear. “Place your hands upon the grooves.”
I spotted two depressions in front of me, each with a silver inlaid carving. The right held an eye, the left an ear. I took a breath as I edged my sweating palms forward. I looked up. Darkness filled the room beyond the table. Energy, similar to the wild flurry I experienced when first meeting Grand Wizard Seelain, flowed into me from behind. It wasn’t crackling, but steady, calm waves. Each wave’s pulse slowed my racing heart until the rhythms matched.
      The seer, her body close behind but not touching, whispered into my right ear, “Hands on the grooves.”
I’d lowered them into place before realizing I had. She reached around and laid her ring-adorned hands over mine and whispered such that nobody but I could hear, “Do not fear, Krish, son of Thurmond.” She paused, and for an instant, her energy flow increased its intensity. I tried to lift my hands, but she held them in place. “Flank Hawk, your secret is safe. I shall ward it.”
I believed her. When the depths of the water began to swirl and glow, a rainbow of colors formed. I imagined the same spinning colors upon her white eyes.
The seer pressed her body against my back and rested her chin upon my head. She reached beyond me, cupped water in each hand, and brought them to my eyes. Chanting her energy through me, the seer placed her water-filled hands over my eyes. Her voice reverberated through my body, echoed in my head. “See,” she commanded. “Show me the enemy.”
      Somehow I saw right through her hands into the bowl. The swirling rainbow had risen to the water’s surface. As the colors formed and gathered, a moving picture emerged. It was my first night of combat where my friend, Harvid, fell. The image was in my mind and in the water. I heard him scream as the zombie fists pummeled him. They’d yanked him away and I couldn’t reach him! Guzzy pulled me back and we fought side-by-side, desperate to hold the zombie horde at bay.
      The general, colonels and other officers had gathered around the table. I couldn’t speak as they watched. It might have been the spell or simply the shock of reliving the frantic skirmish.
My voice wasn’t necessary. Imperial Seer Lochelle narrated. Her voice held no passion, yet it cut through the din rising from the bowl. “This is the first night of combat for Krish, defending in the service of Lord Hingroar.”
      As the images flowed, a bond between the imperial seer and me formed. Strands of magic, its harnessed energy, flowed from her, through me, and into the bowl.
I watched and listened to the distant sounds of battle, and the imperial seer’s voice. She continued explaining as the images skipped forward to the next engagement. I held my breath, knowing it was coming. I saw it again; Guzzy cut down Harvid’s animated corpse when I couldn’t. The experience was more vivid than any nightmare. I closed my eyes but it didn’t matter. Even my scream was silent.
      Seer Lochelle’s voice reminded me it was a vision of the past. “The enemy grew in strength using the fallen defenders from the first night.”
The scene faded to the third evening. In my mind, and in the bowl’s water, I leaned against a rotting oak rising from a mud-slick gully, watching for the enemy with Guzzy. I knew what was coming and my heart raced. Even knowing it had already happened, I wanted to yell—warn Guzzy.
Seer Lochelle whispered into my thoughts, “I will spare witnessing your cousin’s death. I’ll not reveal your hidden talent.”
Black Mule Company advanced, retreated, divided. At Road Toad’s urging, Guzzy and I followed the captain. Then the ogres charged. I threw my spear and retreated while Road Toad slashed with his sword and Guzzy chopped with his axe.
Snickers, not from my memory, nor from the seer, reached my ears. The magical flow halted, leaving the energy pricking in place along my scalp, neck and spine.
“Silence,” hissed the seer. “Or depart.”
“We’ve no need to watch an ill-trained and cowardly peasant retreat from zombies and ogres.”
With the flow of magic halted, I could no longer see through the seer’s cupped hands. Still, I knew Colonel Brizich’s dismissive voice. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I am leaving.”
      I also recognized the woman who responded. “I suggest you stay,” advised Grand Wizard Seelain. “You will not only see the powerful equipment and tactics of the enemy, you will also see the soldier before you stand where you would have fled.”
      “Hah!” replied the colonel, his voice more distant. “This is a waste of time while the enemy advances.”
“Stay, Colonel Brizich.”
      “Grand Wizard, I am advisor to King Tobias and answer to him, not to you.”
“You will stay,” she said in a tense, menacing tone.
      “You hold no authority here,” said the colonel, his bravado diminishing.
      “I do,” interrupted General Riverton, “and I agree with Grand Wizard Seelain. You will stay, or resign your position as advisor to the king.”
      Boots stomped back into place while the static magic again flowed through me to the water. “Now,” said the seer, “witness the devastation of the enemy’s panzers.”
The pool revealed the panzers and their firepower at the Valduz River. Urgent whispers spread around the table. When the Stukas appeared in the sky above Prince Reveron’s camp and repeatedly demonstrated their firepower, muted groans and curses accented the whispers.
      As the gathered soldiers and wizards watched my experience reflected in the pool, I again endured the bone golem, relived Pop’s and Short’s deaths, and participated in the prince’s rescue. When I thought to touch Short’s talisman beneath my shirt, the imperial seer whispered to me, “No,” and I complied.
      Just after I’d followed Prince Reveron, Wizard Seelain, and Road Toad across the plank and over the mound to safety, the vision ended. Imperial Seer Lochelle yanked her hands away from my eyes and stepped back, severing the magical bond. I fell to my left, stunned and unable to breathe. The separation had knocked the wind out of me. Wizard Seelain’s was the first face I saw.
She knelt next to me and rolled me on my back. “Relax, Flank Hawk. Relax and breathe.”
I nodded and slowly my breath came. I was exhausted, like I’d dug irrigation ditches for a week, nonstop.
“Careful,” warned Wizard Seelain. “You’ll hyperventilate.”
“Wha…what?” I asked.
“Slow down.” She smiled. “Don’t breathe so fast.”
      A healer in white robes knelt next to Wizard Seelain. I struggled to keep my eyes open as the soldiers and wizards walked past, leaving the chamber. Gray filled the edge of my vision. Everything looked fuzzy. I wondered what had happened to the imperial seer.
      “So, Colonel Brizich,” asked Wizard Seelain, in a cold voice, “was it worth your time?”
He stared down at her, then at me. Without saying a word, he marched out with fists clenched.
I wasn’t sure if Grand Wizard Seelain was my ally or friend. I was quite sure Colonel Brizich was now my enemy. I was too tired to ponder. Before Wizard Seelain and the healer managed to lift me to my feet, I blacked out.


Chapter 12
Western United States
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

Nestled in Cheyenne Mountain, NORAD had been on full alert. Coordinated satellites viewing the earth in the infrared part of the spectrum recorded the demise of one ballistic missile while radars, including the Cobra Dane early-warning on in the Aleutian chain and the X-band floating on a nearby platform, tracked the two surviving sub launched missiles as they climbed.
       Thousands of communications and orders per minute emanated from the underground complex in Colorado. A lesser number of incoming messages were received. Many were automatic protocol; others initiated by the President of the United States, even as he climbed into the clouds aboard Air Force One.
      
Something didn’t feel right. My bed was too comfortable, too soft and warm. I opened my eyes to flickering light playing across the ceiling. Someone across the room sat with their back to me, hunched over a table. The oil lamp resting on the table outlined his body. He sat up and turned around at the sound of the bed’s creaking.
      “Good morning, Flank Hawk,” said Road Toad. He reached back and adjusted the lamp’s wick, providing more light. “How do you feel?”
“Fine,” I said, scratching my head. “What happened? How long have you been here?”
Road Toad was dressed in his armor, but without his sword. “Not long. Are you hungry?”
I nodded and sat with my bare feet on the cold stone floor.
He pointed to my armor. “You can wear that, or the fancy garments they gave you.”
I walked over to my armor hanging on a rack and began dressing. “What were you doing? Praying?”
He held up a thin leather-bound book. “Reading about frost dragons. It’s believed the Necromancer King captured a number of them from somewhere far to the northeast. Trained them for combat.”
I buckled on my belt before reaching for my socks and boots. Even in the weak light I could tell the servants had cleaned my undergarments and padded armor. They’d mended and patched where necessary. “Are they dangerous?” After I asked, I realized it was a dumb question.
“Seems so.” He stood and stretched his arms above his head, and rotated his torso left and right. “If they get close enough to breathe on you.” He carefully tucked the book into a satchel and slung it over his shoulder. From his belt he pulled a sheathed dirk. “Here,” he said crossing the room. “Being mercenaries, they won’t allow us to carry swords in the palace, but we may carry our daggers for self-defense.”
Like Guzzy, I’d taken to keeping the dirk in my boot.
Road Toad retrieved the lamp and set it on the shelf near the door. “There’s some silver in that blade.”
“Guzzy paid a lot for it. Said it would work against werebeasts and magical creatures.”
Road Toad opened the door and blew out the lamp. “If a lycanthrope or demon gets so close that you have to defend yourself with a dirk, silver or not…” He shook his head and licked his teeth.
“Better than nothing,” I said, following him out and pulling the door closed.
“True.” He patted me on the back and led me to the left. “But not by much. You’ve never been anyplace like the King’s City?”
“I’ve never been in a city. This palace is bigger than Pine Ridge.” Suddenly I remembered Pine Ridge, and my family. I wondered what had happened to them. “Where will people go if the Necromancer King overruns their lands?”
“South, into the cities. Or into the wilds for a while before returning home, hoping the enemy won’t notice or harm them if they do.”
We nodded to guards and servants as we traveled the palace halls. “My father has an uncle that lives outside the Doran Confederacy,” I said, “A village in northern Keesee.”
Road Toad exhaled heavily. “Your cousin, Guzzy, was a good man. And your father raised you well. Evidenced by that, I’d say your family is under strong leadership. You saw your family preparing to move ahead of the enemy’s advance. They’re safe,” he said, looking at me with unflinching confidence.
“And after a bit of food we’ll retrieve our swords and I’ll show you a bit of the city.” Road Toad grinned. “Or at least what I can remember of it.”


The King’s City consisted of two levels. The upper level sat on a flat plateau above the sea. Few buildings stood near the cliff’s edge, but about seventy-five feet back they sprouted up in a tangled mixture of squat homes and skyward reaching towers, both rounded and square. The buildings became more ornate and impressive the further east from the sea until they reached the palace in the city’s center. Between the city center and the eastern walls the pattern of fancy to more mundane structures repeated itself.
      The lower shorefront section of the city was accessible by using either one of the two long, sloping tunnels hewn through the stone upon which the city sat, or two narrow, railed stairways down the cliff face. Down there, the city’s busy harbor accommodated both merchant and fishing vessels.
We stood in line, waiting our turn to enter the right tunnel for downward traffic. Individual laborers with heavy bundles, or paired laborers hauling crates with sturdy poles between them, waited with us. A few cursing seamen, I guessed from their weathered look and odor of salt mingled with sweat, jostled and verbally harassed some of the laborers. We were the only mercenaries and they ignored us.
“So, Flank Hawk, what do you think of the market place?”
“It’s like anything can be found there, but it’s so crowded. It stinks of livestock and too many rude people.” I tried to sort the images of strange buildings lining the narrow streets. “How can you find your way to the markets, or anyplace you want to go?”
      He patted me on the back, emphasizing my new backplate, purchased to match my breastplate. “Everything but decent arms and armor. Deplorable what little they had.” He chuckled. “There is some organization. Usually sea imports like the fine cloth and garment sellers are on the outer edges, nearest the Tyrrhenian. Closer to the ports. The food sellers along with the trinkets are opposite, east side. Working your way in you’ll find the better and greater skilled craftsmen and their wares. Silver smiths, enchanters.” We’d advanced a few paces as Road Toad talked. “Don’t look eye level. Use the tall buildings as landmarks to find your way. I note towers, or mansions with terraces. Sometimes signs.” He looked at me with an eyebrow raised. “Can you read?”
      “Some,” I said. “My father taught me. Probably not the book on dragons you have, but enough to sell crops and sign agreements for livestock on his behalf. He taught my mother and sisters too.” I recalled my father explaining letters and scratching words in the dirt with sticks near our well.
Road Toad rested a hand on my shoulder. “Your father’s a wise man to educate his family.” We neared the tunnel’s entrance. “I saw you watched your coin pouch.”
“My father taught me that lesson as well. I’ve little to take, and can spare none.”
“Same here,” he laughed. “Ah, the city has changed, but the best and cheapest meals have always been down on the shorefront.”
Bored guards, one on each side of the rectangular tunnel entrance, signaled with their spears. When they relaxed their arms, tipping their spears toward the tunnel entrance, traffic stopped. When they drew their spears back, laborers, sailors and scattered merchants moved forward.
The guards stopped us after allowing a crew of laborers to pass. I stared into the torch-lit tunnel. It was wide enough for four men to walk abreast. But if they did, only the middle two could take the stairs. The outer edge consisted of worn gray stone. The ceiling was low enough to jump and touch.
“Seen any combat, Mercenary?” asked one of the guards, gruffly. He wasn’t quite as old as Road Toad, but his armor showed combat wear. The deep scar across the right side of his chin added to his hardened look. The question had been directed at Road Toad, so I let him answer.
“Some,” said Road Toad, meeting the guard’s eyes.
      Before allowing us to pass, the scarred guard grunted, evaluating mended armor, and arm bands bearing the king’s colors. “Watch yourselves,” he warned with a crooked a grin.
      The tunnel was damp and sparsely lit with torches. The whispers of travelers echoed, so I kept quiet, watched my step, and listened. Mostly I heard laborers complain about the weight of their burden.
Midway, Road Toad pointed out a guard standing in an alcove next to a stout wooden post. It was hard to tell, but the post, and one recessed in the wall across from the guard, appeared to hold up a slab of stone that extended into the ceiling. As we passed, the smell of oil soaked into the wood caught my attention. Ten yards further down, I spotted the points of a portcullis hanging from within a slit in the ceiling. They matched a row of holes in the floor directly below.
      I caught Road Toad’s smile in the torchlight. “Twice in the two centuries,” he said, “an invader captured the port, but failed in reaching the main city.”
      When we emerged I squinted into the light of the late afternoon sun. Road Toad grabbed my arm, directing me to the right. “Best not to block the exit.”
      I turned and looked up the two-hundred foot cliff face, and then at a dragon flying overhead, out to sea. “Patrol?” I asked.
      Road Toad nodded and then with a tip of his head, added, “Let’s visit the wharves, see the sites.”
We made our way past squat limestone shops built in front of wooden warehouses three times the size of most barns. The wood of the warehouses and every other structure was grayed by age and the elements. I observed lines of the poorest serfs in thread-bare sackcloth and tattered russet tunics. Baring sunken faces, their callused hands carried baskets filled with silver fish, or wooden cages crawling with giant crayfish. The smell of the serfs’ sweat and baskets of fish overpowered the salt-laden ocean air. Not one of the lowest of laborers met our eyes as they trod past us.
Road Toad studied my expression. “Life is a desperate struggle for some, even in the King’s City,” he observed. “After we have a look around, we’ll get a bite to eat. I know just the place, the One-Eyed Pelican.” He frowned. “If Sullen Saul still runs it.”
We passed weavers of nets and makers of rope with their geared, twisting contraptions. The closer we got to the sea, the more we encountered loud, boisterous sailors with sandaled feet, wearing wool breeches and vests. Each was armed with a club or dagger. They eyed us with curiosity, and acknowledged the swords at our sides.
      “In time of war,” explained Road Toad as we stopped to allow a string of mules pass, “mercenaries serving the royal house are normally in the field, not wandering the city.” He led me to the nearest three-masted galley and began to tell me of his grandfather who served as first mate on the Royal Flagship, Evanescent Thunder.
      We eventually ended up at the One-Eyed Pelican, a series of four ancient wooden shacks, each one extending the size of the establishment from the original.
Beyond the thick-armed bouncer, and his pot-bellied partner, I wasn’t sure what Road Toad saw in this place. The chime and drum musicians played loud and repetitive music, smoke of cheap herbs and tobacco filled the air, and rats boldly roamed the overhead rafters. But the worst was the watery fish soup.
      I picked another fish bone from my teeth before forcing down another greasy spoonful of the heavily salted swill. I leaned close to Road Toad and spoke over the nearby table’s raucous laughter. “Hungry as I am, this stuff is horrible.” From our corner table I again surveyed the tavern’s interior. “And this place?”
Road Toad grinned and shook his head. “Guess it’s an acquired taste. Sullen Saul’s son, Sam, hasn’t changed the place much.” He swirled the remaining broth in the bottom of his bowl before drinking it down. “I’ll have to admit, though, this ale is better suited for a bucket to clean floors, not to wash down a meal.” He took his battered tankard, and grimaced before, during, and after his drink.
      Having swallowed a mouthful of the bitter ale, I had to agree; even the fish soup deserved a better companion. I reached for my pouch to leave the bone-thin serving maid a copper or two. “Time to go?”
      “No, Flank Hawk.” Road Toad looked about and shook his head. “Time to talk.” He leaned close. “Best aspect about this place, it’s loud and people intentionally avoid listening in.”
      It took effort to hear Road Toad over the din, so I nodded in agreement. “Talk about what?”
“What happened and what’s coming.”
      Good, I thought. I’d wanted to ask Road Toad some questions but hadn’t gotten the chance. I looked around to see that nobody was listening before leaning close and asking, “Did the imperial seer use your memories to show officers and wizards the enemy’s weapons?”
“No,” said Road Toad. “And I’m sorry to say yours was at my suggestion.” A low but quick wave of his hand signaled for me to let him finish. “What the imperial seer did takes a lot of energy. I’ve seen master seers strain to perform such a spell for twenty minutes. You were in there hours.
“The king and his war council needed the best intelligence available, and it was either you or me who would’ve been sent to the seer. Now, you’re wondering why I suggested you?”
      I nodded, annoyed at not being asked, but still curious.
“You and I were together during most of the fighting,” said Road Toad. “We saw the same thing. What the seer could draw from either of our memories would be essentially the same. But, while you were with the seer, I was being questioned by military advisors. My training and knowledge of tactics both on the ground and in the air far surpasses yours. You wouldn’t have been able to answer their questions.”
      He leaned back a bit, grabbed his ale but thought better of it and pushed the tankard away. “The imperial seer will not be able to do such a spell for at least a day, maybe longer. Even so, a lesser seer can recall the visions from the bowl for others to see. They’ll be able to correlate my tactical explanation with your vision of events.” He grimaced and took a drink anyway. “Even as we dine the king’s war council meets.”
      I didn’t consider our meal, or any meal, at the One-Eyed Pelican as dining. “What’s going to happen?” I asked.
“I don’t know. There were two Crusader officers at my debriefing. They didn’t ask any questions, but their presence there, and the company that died rescuing Prince Reveron, tells me that they’re joining us in this war.”
“There weren’t any in the seer’s chamber with me,” I said. “I’ve heard they’re immune to magics.”
“Most,” said Road Toad. “And the prince informed me that he intends to see me reinstated as a serpent cavalry officer.”
      That statement sent me leaning back in my chair. Here I was, in the King’s City. A mercenary who didn’t really know much about fighting or being a mercenary. I knew no one but Road Toad, and he was going to return to his old life. “Oh,” I said. “What about Prince Halgadin, the king’s eldest son? I thought he wants you dead?”
“Time of war, remember?” Road Toad saw that I wasn’t convinced. “It’s up to King Tobias, but Prince Reveron said the Crusaders at my debriefing knew who I was—what I’d done for their countrymen years before. If we’re allies now, with the Crusaders, my exile for saving some of their soldiers from the Necromancer King’s forces…”
      “I don’t know,” I said. “I know being a serpent cavalryman is what you want. But my father told me what happens to people who cross noblemen.”
“I was a major,” he said, with a raised eyebrow, “and would be again.”
“No, I don’t mean it that way. I just mean, I know what a lord can do to someone who crosses him. What can a crown prince do, even to a major?”
“True, Flank Hawk. I’ve considered that. But if it’s offered to me, I’ll take it.” He strummed his fingers on the table with a smile. “And I intend to request you to be my aft-guard.”
“Me?” I asked, louder than I should have.
“Why not?” He began ticking points away on his fingers as he said, “You’re a natural with a crossbow. You don’t get sick in flight. You’re steady under fire.” He grinned. “And if there’s any trouble to come of my recommissioning, I know I can trust you more than any other man.”
“But I’ve no military training. Not formal at least. Not on dragons.”
      “Prince Reveron speaks well of you. If we’re in his bevy, there will be no questions. You’ve faced panzers and Stukas. Word of your standing up to a bone golem’s hellcry will get around.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Even if I have to help it along.”
      “I don’t know, Road Toad.”
“Ha, Flank Hawk. What better way to fight the Necromancer King? Besides, remember Lesser Seer B’down, the Prince’s seer?”
“Yes,” I said. “He made the enchanted circle in the pavilion that allowed the prince to speak unheard by the enemy’s spies and magics.” Having recently relived the escape from the ogres and near drowning in the river, and all the other close calls, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go into combat again. Or at least not right away.
Road Toad said, “I recall part of the conversation Prince Reveron had with his seer. It seemed the lesser seer anticipated the prince rescuing and returning with us.” Road Toad rubbed his chin in thought. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t more to that seer’s vision.”
I looked straight into Road Toad’s eyes. “I also recall the prince saying to his seer that he trusted you more than he did him.”
He shrugged. “He trusts me. I trust you.”
“And I trust you.”
We laughed and even drank the bitter ale to our little circle of trust.

Road Toad and I shared a loaf of hard bread and a bottle of weak cherry wine. While we ate and drank, Road Toad explained the responsibilities of an aft-guard and speculated on what the war would bring. It was difficult to tell how long the sun had been down from within the One-Eyed Pelican, but we both knew it was time to get back.
      We stepped out onto the narrow, dirt-packed lane in front of the rundown tavern. A drizzle had just started. Road Toad looked at the cloud-covered sky extending over the sea. “We’re gonna get wet.”
I shrugged and followed him as he headed toward the cliff. “But we’ll have a warm bed,” I said. “Better than under a tent with leaves and a blanket.”
It couldn’t have been more than an hour after sundown. The only men we saw were sailors heading to the various taverns to drink, gamble and whatever else the shorefront offered. Twice I spotted individuals lurking in the shadows, but none bothered us. Still, I watched for any threat that might appear from alley, alcove or even roof.
“The tunnels will be closed for the night,” said Road Toad. “We’ll take the north stair up.” He walked, alert like me, as if on night patrol. Then he made turns that I didn’t expect. I stayed close, but allowed ample room to draw our swords. The rain came down a little faster, making the packed dirt slick.
I was out of my element in the city. Road Toad wasn’t and his alert observations and determined stride told me trouble was on our tail. It had to be more than a lurker or two from the shadows. The muffled rattle of gear and splash of footsteps kept pace a ways behind us. I wondered why Road Toad didn’t want to turn and face those following us. I figured he was trying to lose them or find the right place to slip behind them.
      I was wrong. We came down the main road and took the branch that led to the north stairs. The rain was steady now, and I wondered how slippery the thick wooden stair-planks would be. Heights didn’t bother me and, although the stairs narrowed where they twice doubled back as they climbed the cliff face, a sturdy railing ensured even the most clumsy wouldn’t fall.
      I’d have felt better with my crossbow or spear instead of a sword. At least on the stairs, especially if those following outnumbered us, it would be to our advantage—unless they had javelins or bows.
We reached the stairs. Both Road Toad and I looked back when we started to climb. Four men wearing dark garments had taken the fork to the north steps too.
Road Toad spit over the railing. “This could get interesting,” he said quietly as we began tromping up the worn steps, with me to his left next to the cliff.
“There’s only four,” I said, knowing we’d been in far worse situations. I’d rather face four men than two battle trained ogres anytime.
      “For now,” he said. “They’re not armed as thieves, and I’m not sure they’re intent on killing us.” We reached the first double back on the stairs. “I think I have an idea who might be waiting for us at the top.”
      “At the top?” I asked, looking down at the four men who’d reached the stairs and began to climb. “Who?”
“You’ve met Colonel Brizich?”
I nodded, and peered up through the rain, toward the top of the cliff. “He doesn’t think much of me.”
Road Toad grinned. “I’ve never been popular with him either. Long story. But the short end of it is, since you’re linked to me, you’ll never be, well, popular with him.”
      “Grand Wizard Seelain doesn’t like him,” I said. “They exchanged words in the imperial seer’s chamber.” We reached the second double back. I took a couple of deep breaths to relax. Thinking of Wizard Seelain reminded me how poorly I fought with my sword against goblins on the battlefield. She’d come to my rescue then. I didn’t expect the same from her tonight.
      We were nearing the top. “If things go bad,” said Road Toad, “make a break for it.”
“No way I’ll abandon you.”
“If I’m right, this is about my past. You—”
I slapped him on the shoulder, and interrupted him. “I know I’m not much with a sword, but I’m your aft-guard, right?”
“Ha Ha,” he laughed loudly. “Let’s see what awaits us.”
      We reached the top and walked off the stairs, onto the wooden platform. It extended twenty feet before ending in a pair of steps down. Back along the edge of the cliff ran a double-railed fence. Two men stood along the fence to the north of the platform and one leaned against it to the south. Twenty feet ahead, on the platform’s edge, stood two more men.
      The darkness and rain made it difficult to distinguish features, but the capes lying wet against their bulk indicated armor. Except for them there was no one nearby; the lights of the nearest inn seemed a hundred miles away.
One of the men twenty feet ahead took two strides forward. I recognized his voice. “Jadd,” sneered Colonel Brizich. “Visiting your old haunts?”
“Colonel Brizich,” replied Road Toad in a merry voice, “how unexpected. It’s a dreadful evening to be out and about. Would you like to take our reunion under a roof somewhere? I’ll even buy you a drink.”
“I’m sure you would. But this won’t take long,” the colonel said, resting his hand on his sword’s hilt, “if you’re cooperative.”
Road Toad put his fists on his hips. “You must think much of our sword skills.” He looked around and then over his shoulder to the four men who’d reached the platform, “if you’ve brought eight capable men, and expect it to take a while.”
“I’ve seen your associate’s sword in action, and these men are quite capable and loyal.”
I turned part way so I could watch the men who’d advanced a few strides from the stairs.
“Let’s get on with it,” said Road Toad. “Why are you here?”
“It’s been rumored that you’ll be offered a commission.”
      “It is possible. But who am I to question the wisdom of the king?”
      “Turn it down,” said Brizich. “You’re not wanted.”
“Now that doesn’t make sense. If I’m not wanted, then no offer will be made,” said Road Toad in a thoughtful voice. “Am I right?”
“Enough talk,” said Brizich, reaching for his sword. “You had your chance. You and your fledgling mercenary are about to fall victim to some ruffians who robbed and tossed you over the cliff.”
      My sword cleared its sheath at the same time as Road Toad’s and the eight men around us. I planned to feint a charge as the men near the stairs closed, hoping one or more would slip. After all I’d survived, to be killed by one of the king’s own men.
      A man’s bold voice from along the fence stopped everyone in their tracks when he asked, “Did I hear that a robbery is about to take place?” A soldier with a spear walked past the circle of men and stood next to Road Toad. It was the guard from the tunnel with the scar on his chin. “Things like that shouldn’t happen on my watch.”
Brizich said, “Your watch is long over. This is none of your business.”
“Brother,” said the guard to Road Toad, “are you in need of assistance?”
“It would appear so,” answered Road Toad.
“One more won’t matter,” said Colonel Brizich, raising his sword.
“Are you sure there is only one?” asked the guard. When he did, seven sailors with clubs and daggers leapt up the stairs and onto the platform. The four surprised swordsmen who’d taken the stairs turned to face them. Even in the night rain, I recognized three of sailors from the One-Eyed Pelican.
“How many friends have we?” asked the guardsman.
One of the sailors answered, “Six of me friends fer now. Ten more inna minute’er two.”
“Guardsman,” said Brizich, “you’ve stepped into something that is none of your business. I have many friends. You’ll live to regret this, but not long.” He lowered his sword. “Things happen in war, and your brother won’t be around to look after you.”
The guardsman laughed, which surprised me, and Brizich too, as he cocked his head at the guffaw.
“Colonel Brizich,” the guardsman said, tipping his spear toward him, “one more moment of your time before you tie some unbreakable oath to your threat. In addition to many friends, you have a wife and five children.” The guard stood up straight. “Let it be known, I have many low friends in even lower places.
      “One of your sons serves aboard the Evanescent Thunder. Your wife enjoys carriage rides among the pines. Your youngest son has apprenticed to Groxel the Enchanter.” He paused before adding, “Things could happen, when you’re at war and not around to protect them.”
      “You would kill innocent women and children?” Brizich asked in a low, accusing voice.
As much as I was happy to see the veteran guard, what he threatened felt wrong to me. But I was in no greater position to influence his actions than I was Colonel Brizich’s.
      “I would not,” said the guard. “But my low friends might if something questionable should befall me. Or my longstanding military career should encounter an unwarranted setback.”
      The colonel and the guard stared at each other through the rain. Road Toad stood beside him, while I, the sailors, and the men loyal to the colonel waited to see what would happen. I adjusted my grip on my sword. Despite the rain, I wanted to be ready.
“Jadd,” growled Colonel Brizich, “I’m not sure what god you pray to, but he favors you this night. Nevertheless, if you’re wise, you’ll decline any offered position as a serpent cavalryman, or any other commission.” He signaled to his men who followed him toward the distant maze of buildings.
We all sheathed our weapons. The sailors gathered around us, chuckling and jeering the retreating colonel and his men.
Road Toad extended his hand to the guardsman. “Road Toad,” he said. “And this is Flank Hawk.”
The guard shook Road Toad’s hand. “Corporal Drux,” he said. Then he shook my hand. “It is late. I am wet and cold.”
“Thanks, gentlemen,” said Road Toad to all the men. “We were in a tight spot.”
“You’d have done the same for me,” said Corporal Drux.
“That I would have,” said Road Toad. He pulled a handful of coins from his pouch. “Your friends deserve a good drink and meal for venturing out in this wet night on my behalf. I’d be honored if you’d see to it for me.”
“Consider it done,” said Corporal Drux, supported by the sailors’ jovial agreement. “Until we meet again, Brother and Mercenary Flank Hawk.” He said to the sailors, “You know the rules. The south stairs.”
Before I knew it they were gone, and Road Toad slapped me on the shoulder, his hand smacking water off the waxed cloth. “Let’s go,” he said, “to those dry beds you mentioned earlier.”
“They’ll feel good, but after what just happened, I don’t know if I’ll sleep too easily.” As we walked I asked Road Toad, “Why did he call you Brother?”
Road Toad held up his hand, showing me his tattoo of the fox jumping over a rising sun. I’d seen it so often that I didn’t think about it, or actually have to clearly see it in the darkness.
“He has one too? Like you and the prince?”
Road Toad nodded.
I thought back to earlier in the day. “You didn’t show him your hand when we met. How did you know?”
“I knew, as did he,” said Road Toad, half teasing, but not willing to say any more on the subject.
After a minute I asked, “How did he know you were in trouble?”
“That, I don’t know.” Then he bumped his shoulder into me as we walked. “But I’m sure glad he did, aren’t you?”
I bumped him back. “What kind of question is that?” We laughed. “What I would like to know,” I said, “is if you could help me find a competent enchanter?”
“Short Two Blades’ Talisman?” he asked. “I’ve been wondering about that too.”


Chapter 13
Western United States
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

A battery of six interceptor rockets from silos at Fort Greely in Alaska and four more from California’s Vandenberg Air Force Base raced skyward. An experimental tracking and intercept aircraft from the Vandenberg base was already aloft. While it strained for altitude, airmen activated its advanced tracking and targeting systems, and prepared its powerful laser should any warheads survive the kill vehicles housed in the interceptor rockets.
      
I awoke from a troubled sleep. The carnage of past battles from my dreams faded as I peeled away the sweat-filled sheets of the goose feather bed. The oil lamp had burned out and darkness filled the room, except for the pale lines of torchlight from the hallway that penetrated fissures where the door didn’t meet its frame.
      I wasn’t alone.
Road Toad wouldn’t be here in the dark. But one of Colonel Brizich’s men, an assassin would!
I listened, assessing the situation. Thanks to Prince Reveron’s influence, my spear leaned against the wall within easy reach. Guzzy’s dirk was under my pillow. Someone was near the desk across the room.
      “Be at ease, Flank Hawk,” came Imperial Seer Lochelle’s familiar whispered voice—one I’d never forget. “I was loathe to disturb your dream, Flank Hawk. Dreams are how we confront the turmoil of our lives. We either integrate them and move forward, or descend into denial and dismay.”
      I sat up, my feet touching the cold stone floor reaffirmed that I wasn’t still dreaming. “Which will I do?” I asked. Those weren’t the words I’d intended, but they were the first across my tongue.
      “You have inner strength, Flank Hawk.” Rustling of the imperial seer’s robes and the stool’s subtle creak announced she’d stood up. “I’m not the only one to sense it in you.”
      I strained to see through the darkness. “You know what I am,” I whispered. “What I hide.”
“There is that,” she agreed.
      “Why are you here?” I almost added, “In the dark,” but I recalled her sightless eyes. I wondered if her seer powers in some way provided vision. An uncontrollable shiver shot down my neck and spine.
      Imperial Seer Lochelle began walking toward me and I stood. Her eyes flared, settling into a glow like coals in a campfire, but white. “Already, you have influential friends.” I didn’t feel the raw magical energy I had in her chamber. Her voice had grown from a whisper. It wasn’t volume but the power that resonated in her voice. “With them come enemies, both near and far that will turn their eye upon you.”
She stopped in front of me and stared into my eyes. “I see your river forking many times. Support to be found at crossroads and in the dark.” She placed her hand on my chest, pressing the bead of Short Two Blades’ talisman into my breastbone. “This one remains to be called, and repay a debt.” Her tone became harsh. “Severings, death, burdens to grind you into the earth await.”
“Which forks? Do I have a choice?” I asked. “Whose death?”
She paused. Her eyes flared again and dimmed. “I cannot see. There are forces, powers beyond me involved.”
      I fell back, sitting on my bed. Powerful forces, beyond the king’s seer? An imperial seer? I looked up and asked, “Who am I? Why me?”
      “You, Krish, son of Thurmond, are but a pawn in the broad game set upon the land.”
I’d watched men play chess in the cooper’s workshop. Pawns are sacrificed. “Am I to die? Is that what you meant by death? You came here to warn me?”
“No, I came to tell you of your talisman, and that there is hope.” The glow disappeared from her eyes. “Break the bead and place the blood on your tongue. Name the one who gave it to you and he will heed your call.”
I nodded, wondering if it was a useless gesture. “Is my family alive?”
“It is for them you fight,” she answered and walked toward the door.
I stood to follow. “So they are?”
“They are.” Imperial Seer Lochelle opened the door. The flickering hall light played across her lined face. Her lips curled into a grin. “A detractor has been thwarted. Rest, for you will soon be weary.”
She closed the door and I sat in the dark, trying to piece together all that she had said.


It was impossible to tell the time of day from within my room or even the outside hall. The maid was supposed to wake me just before sunrise. After what must have been two hours of lying and pondering, my stomach said it was time to get up. I threw off the covers and used the chamber pot and wash basin before dressing in my armor.
      I knew my way around well enough to find the dining hall and kitchen. I felt to make sure Short’s talisman was secure around my neck. A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. I opened it to find Road Toad standing with his hands behind his back and a wide grin across his face.
His face lost some of its mirth. “You did not sleep well?”
“I slept for a few hours until interrupted by a visitor.”
His eyes widened. “Visitor, last night?”
“It appears you slept well,” I said, “and are in a good mood. I was just going to find some breakfast.”
“Visitor?” He held out a small rolled parchment. “I’ll tell you the good news if you tell me of the late visitor who deprived you of sleep.” He looked down the hall. “How hungry are you?”
I recalled the fish soup from last night. “Even a good meal can wait for good news.” I stepped aside and held the door. “If you get the chance, I’d like to learn a bit more about using this sword,” I said, placing my hand on the hilt.
He looked over at my spear. “If we have time. Your news first.”
      I told him of the imperial seer’s visit and what she had said. He listened carefully and nodded, impressed.
      “I’m pleased to hear your family is alive, Flank Hawk. And the purpose of the talisman. You saved Short Two Blades’ life only to extend it by less than an hour. A shame.” Road Toad pursed his lips and licked his teeth. “He was a good man.”
“So was Pops Weasel,” I added.
Road Toad nodded. “And your cousin, Guzzy.” He shook his head and added, “It seems it shall ever be that good men must die to stem the tide of evil.”
It was my turn to nod. After a few long breaths, I asked, “And your news?”
      “Ahhh,” said Road Toad. “Yes. Well, the king has temporarily denied me a commission as a serpent cavalryman.” He held up a hand to stay my question. “Until he is able to consult with Prince Halgadin who is in the field against the enemy.
      “However,” he said, holding the rolled parchment, “I’ve been offered the position of personal mercenary guard to Prince Reveron.”
“A bodyguard?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yes. And it seems that our friend, Colonel Brizich, successfully protested your serving as an aft-guard.”
I blinked my eyes and frowned. “Good news?” I regretted saying it. It was good news for Road Toad.
      He placed a firm hand on my shoulder. “Strap on your sword and don’t despair,” he said. “Grand Wizard Seelain flies with Prince Reveron on his next mission, and she requested you to remain her personal guard.” He laughed. “I am sure there’s a bit of spite in her decision. Apparently she cares little for Colonel Brizich. But more, I think, she has seen your unflinching courage in battle.”
      “I wouldn’t call it that,” I said.
“It doesn’t matter what you call it, Flank Hawk. We’ll ride together for at least one more mission.”

After a breakfast of steamed oats and fruit in the soldier mess hall, a well-dressed servant notified Road Toad and me of our summons to a meeting with Prince Reveron and his advisors.
      The servant set a brisk pace through the palace, taking us down several levels. He stopped abruptly, nodded, and pointed down a long hall guarded by two alert soldiers. Road Toad and I walked past the guards. They didn’t even acknowledge us.
Road Toad leaned close. “I’ve been in this meeting hall before. The prince and his advisors will be seated around the table. My place will be behind him. You should find a place to stand along the wall behind Grand Wizard Seelain.”
“What if she isn’t there?” I whispered.
“Oh, I have a feeling she will be.” Our footsteps on the stone floor were louder than our conversation. The hanging tapestries depicting coronations and other ceremonies muffled any echoes. “If it is to be a long meeting, there will be high stools. You’ll be directed to sit after those around the conference table have been seated.” He smiled. “I probably don’t have to remind you not to speak unless first addressed, but if asked to offer an opinion, be honest in your assessment.”
I nodded and swallowed, keeping down the breakfast churning in my stomach. I hoped Colonel Brizich wasn’t there. I heard someone following us down the hall, but I didn’t turn around.
Standing in the large double doorway was Lesser Seer B’down who’d served the prince in his pavilion near the battlefield. Although his gray robes were without creases or folds, his face looked weary with dark circles of fatigue hanging under his milky eyes. He muttered an incantation as we stepped through the doorway and over the etched warding symbols in the floor.
      Inside the rectangular room stood an oval wooden table. Around it sat ten chairs, most of which were filled. Four feet behind the chairs, spread along the walls, were eighteen tall stools. Four lanterns hanging from the low ceiling lit the room and revealed additional etched runes inlaid with silver and gold lining the walls.
      At the far end of the table, facing the door, sat Prince Reveron. He was leaning to his right, speaking with a serpent cavalryman that I didn’t recognize. The cavalryman was older with a short gray beard and he held his hands in fists as he nodded, talking to the prince.
Next to him was a lanky general who listened intently to the prince’s conversations. I moved to stand along the wall behind Grand Wizard Seelain who sat with her eyes closed. Her long white hair appeared a hazy sky blue below the shoulder where her robe’s color showed through.
      Road Toad had taken a position along the wall behind the prince, just to his right. Opposite him on the left sat a stately scribe at a high desk with quill in hand, ready to record.
Beyond the open seat to the prince’s left sat a lady in a very constricting, high collared black dress. She must have been an advisor to King Tobias as she wore a large pendant that bore the emblem of the King of Keesee. It was identical to the one worn by General Riverton, military advisor to King Tobias who I’d met in the imperial seer’s chamber. He was the man she was whispering with. The final three seats were still empty.
      I stood silently with my hands held behind my back and tried to look confident with a scowl on my face. I figured it was better than wide-eyed with my jaw hanging. I smiled to myself, picturing it.
      Master Wizard Golt, the earth wizard from the battle, entered barefoot, along with a scowling man dressed a step below what most noblemen wore. Wizard Golt stood in the doorway, listening to Lesser Seer B’down, while the scowling man sat next to Wizard Seelain. About a dozen other men and women, mostly soldiers with a few tense servants stood along the walls.
      I overheard Wizard Golt say to the seer, “Enchantress Thulease has arrived,” before moving to his seat opposite the prince. He spotted Road Toad and nodded and made eye contact with me after sitting.
Enchantress Thulease, who was incredibly tall and thin, removed a black silk mask and took her seat between Wizard Golt and General Riverton. As soon as she did, all around the table rose followed by the prince. As soon as he was seated the others followed, except for Lesser Seer B’down.
He closed the doors and circled the room, chanting and touching each of the four walls with the fingertips of his right hand and the palm of his left. Finished with his task, Seer B’down, with head bowed, took his seat to the left of the prince.
Prince Reveron looked up and gestured with his hands for the people along the walls to sit as well. “Let us be brief,” he said, nodding to Wizard Golt. “Report.”
      Wizard Golt stood, leaned on the table and acknowledged all around it. “I’ve just come from the fortified city of Morthis. It is soon to be under total siege and General Ellis has vowed to hold to the last man.”
      He met the prince’s eyes. “It goes hard. The Second M’unicorn Cavalry Regiment was unable to slow the advance, although they inflicted many enemy casualties. But before the panzers reached Morthis, General Ellis ordered the m’unicorn cavalry to evade and disrupt the enemy supply lines, on recommendation of a Crusader advisor. Against the goblin and zombie units that defended the lines, the cavalry was successful. They destroyed wagons bearing flammable liquids that feed the panzers.
“Upon reaching Morthis the panzers stood off and shattered the city walls faster than my fellow earth wizards could repair them. Poison gas artillery was fired into the city, killing some while wearying the air wizards.” He shot a quick glance to Wizard Seelain before returning to the prince. “Even as they fended off the Stukas.
“But they didn’t press their advantage, and General Ellis guessed why. He launched a counterattack against the immobile enemy, earth elementals crushed the panzers where they sat.” He sighed.
General Riverton cleared his throat before sliding his right hand forward on the table. The prince nodded, giving him permission to speak.
“You speak of General Ellis’ success as if it were grim news.”
“Even as I left not twelve hours ago,” said Wizard Golt, “a formidable enemy force yet remained, including giants who took the place of the panzers, hurling boulders into the city. And serpent cavalry scouts located a line of panzers not three days north of the city. General Ellis expects them to form up and storm the city within the week.”
Prince Reveron asked if there were any other questions. No one had any. Wizard Golt took his seat before the prince nodded to the king’s advisor seated next to General Riverton. “Lady Vigo, report what my father would have this council hear.”
She stood, bowed slightly at the waist to the prince and began, “The Doran Confederacy has been captured, except for pockets of resistance.”
I swallowed hard at the news. No one noticed except Road Toad who met my concerned gaze.
“To the west,” she continued, “the enemy spearheaded straight through the Faxtinian Coalition to its capital, Paris–Imprimis.” She looked down at General Riverton. “The county lords are sending troops in a bid to recapture the city.”
      To Grand Wizard Seelain’s left, the heavy infantry general slid his right hand to the center of the table and the prince nodded, “General Pintar.”
General Pintar stood. “It is clear that the Faxtinian Coalition will not be sending us aid, nor will the Doran Confederacy.” He looked at each participant around the table. “The Vinchie Empire, dominated by Fendra Jolain and the healers are unlikely to assist militarily in this war, and the Lesser Kingdoms are too scattered and weak to muster more than a feeble defense of their own borders.” With hands balled into fists, he leaned on the table. “From where came these panzers and Stukas? What strength remains to the enemy, what of his reserves? Can he create more?” Not waiting for an answer, he focused his attention on Lady Vigo and Prince Reveron. “What of the Reunited Kingdom?”
      Prince Reveron nodded to the general, waited for him and Lady Vigo to sit. The prince frowned. “Accurate assessments. Valid questions.” He then stood and continued with a quiet, steady voice. “The Crusaders of the Reunited Kingdom have sent us small numbers of soldiers from their outposts and are reportedly probing the enemy. Those of us who have witnessed the enemy’s strength know his new guns and implements of war far surpass what the Crusaders can put in the field. They are with us, but may serve us best as advisors in combating what they call, revived advanced technology.”
      The prince nodded to the enchantress before continuing. “I thought it important for all to understand the situation before discussing the objective of this meeting. We need to learn more about the enemy’s military resources and their source.”
      The enchantress slid a palm sized crystal to the center of the table. It glowed green and brown as she chanted, and within seconds a mountainous landscape took shape across the table. Each peak reached no higher than my index finger, and even the tallest wasn’t capped with snow.
Prince Reveron took a long wooden stick offered by his seer and pointed. “This view of the terrain is over eighty years old, but this is where we believe the enemy is building his implements of war.”
He then tossed a patch of fabric that bore the hooked cross design that I’d seen painted on the panzers onto the table. Its image flowed up, outlining the low mountains. “This is called a swastika. The ancient archives indicate this emblem was last adopted as the symbol of a maniacally evil empire that strove to dominate the world. Crusader historians confirm our archivists’ findings.”
The prince watched the concerned faces. “It is believed that the enemy has somehow tapped the knowledge of this defeated empire. My father has tasked me with three objectives. The primary two are to determine exactly where the enemy is building panzers and Stukas and to provide an estimate on his ability to build them. The secondary objective is to determine how he has harnessed this ancient knowledge.”

After several long, confusing hours of debate, discussed and dismissed plans and strategies, heated arguments on tactics and units I didn’t understand, I followed Grand Wizard Seelain out of the meeting and down the hall.
      She slowed so that I walked beside her. “Flank Hawk, I thank you for your continued service. Where is your spear?”
“Back in the quarters the prince has provided, Grand Wizard.”
“Do you understand our part in the mission?”
We’d been reminded not to speak of the mission to anyone. I looked around before answering in a low voice. “We are to be part of the parachute team flown in by dragon. We will wait and secure an area for pickup while the trained infiltration soldiers gather information on the enemy among the small mountains and steep hills. Your primary function is to assist in the night drop into the forested region and to fend off Stukas with your magic. I am to defend you.”
She nodded and assessed me with one eye squinted. “You don’t appear confident. Are you wondering why I insisted upon you as my personal guard?”
I nodded. “Any one of General Pintar’s elite men could defend you better than me.”
      “Ignoring the political implication of having one of the king’s men protect me, none would be content with the task. I trust you to take my orders without question, yet I trust you to take initiative.” A sly smile crept across her lips. “You stood to a demon’s hellcry.”
      She motioned that we were taking the next stairwell up and stared at my hands. “Are you always so nervous without your spear, Flank Hawk?”
I stopped rubbing my fingers. “No, Grand Wizard. It’s not that.”
“Is it the fact that two cavalrymen from Colonel Brizich’s bevy will be with us?” She uttered his name with contempt.
Their participation was one thing Grand Wizard Seelain argued against. I hadn’t been happy when Prince Reveron insisted on their participation, but that didn’t worry me. “No, Grand Wizard,” I said, following her up the spiraling stairs. “That is not it.”
She stopped and turned. “It’s not riding dragons, I know that.” Her eyes flashed up and she smiled. “You have never parachuted from a dragon in flight. Is that it?”
Guzzy had always said to never enter battle on an empty stomach. I decided eating wasn’t a good idea when summoned to a meeting. “I’ve never parachuted, ever.”
“Do not worry, my spellcraft will be directing us all down through the darkness.” She continued up the stairs and down another long hall. “I will send a servant to your quarters one hour past midnight. He will assist you in dressing before departure.”
“Thank you, Grand Wizard. I will be ready.”
“Do not worry. Your friend, Road Toad, suggested a few pieces of equipment that I have secured for you. Eat and get some sleep. That is what I intend to do.”



Chapter 14
Central United States
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

Deep within the almost forgotten missile silos buried in the U.S. heartland, soldiers and computers proceeded with clear determination. The most organized ant colony couldn’t compare. Targeting information received and downloaded, the men and women performed their assigned duties flawlessly. Training drill or actual launch? No questions. Orders were orders. 
      
We traveled for three nights, hiding under trees and in ravines during the day. Our flight consisted of six dragons, including two blacks. The prince handled Night Shard and an elderly serpent cavalryman guided the second. In addition, each black carried two highly trained infiltration soldiers. Three reds bore a rider and three soldiers on their backs, and two of the three reds carried masked enchanters slung underneath. Their position must have been uncomfortable but during our silent camps they never whispered a complaint. And Road Toad said it was the safest place should we encounter Stukas.
      I rode on Hell Furnace as aft-guard with Road Toad guiding her. Grand Wizard Seelain and an infiltration soldier, Private Shaws, sat between us on a specially designed saddle. Instead of an enchanter, Hell Furnace and the other red dragon without an enchanter as burden carried the group’s equipment.
We headed north, then west to avoid the Alps. Using the mountain passes would have increased the chance of being spotted by or, worse yet, encountering enemy forces while resting on the ground. We’d spent the most recent day in a coppice of trees located well into the Faxtinian Coalition territory before pushing hard northeast at nightfall.
I was thankful for the soft leather gauntlets that Grand Wizard Seelain had given me. They had fine steel plates sewn over the tops of the fingers and broader ones across the forehand and the forearm. They kept my hands warm in the crisp night air but still allowed me to handle my crossbow with confidence.
      With each bit of armor and equipment, I looked less like a militiaman and more like a mercenary. Not that it impressed the infiltration soldiers. Although they didn’t scoff at Road Toad like they did me, I could tell that they didn’t fully respect him. Wizard Seelain directed me to ignore them, explaining matter-of-factly that they were the king’s elite troops.
      They dressed in soft leather and carried their equipment in nets harnessed to their body. They were silent in the woods and seemed constantly alert and above fatigue. Instead of being insulted, I watched and learned. A couple of times Private Shaws stepped aside and explained things to me, like why we’d selected a certain spot to hide and how to best position myself for lookout while remaining concealed.
Wizard Seelain leaned forward and tapped me on the shoulder. Like me, she faced rearward, while Road Toad and Private Shaws faced forward. She’d requested to ride with Prince Reveron, but he stated that both air wizards should not be on the same mount. I leaned back so that I could hear her, wondering if I missed signs of an enemy in the star-filled sky. Then I remembered what was to happen at the end of our flight.
“We are approaching the drop point,” she said while tightening the straps of my parachute. “Clouds would have been preferable to a clear sky.”
I didn’t understand how fourteen descending parachutes would be less noticeable in the night sky than six dragons. “No sign of the enemy,” I said, tying my crossbow across my chest. “I’m ready. Just give the word.” I loosened the straps holding me to the saddle.
Our flight of six dragons formed up into a tight circle at least a half mile above the steep hills below. On the far side of a small mountain to the north stood a walled city where the enemy was reported to build panzers and possibly Stukas.
The dragons banked hard, closing the circle. “Now!” urged Wizard Seelain.
I crouched atop my saddle, fighting the wind and the angle to keep my balance. With my heart in my throat I jumped into the gaping darkness, like they told me in training. I looked up to see if Wizard Seelain and Private Shaws had followed. I spotted two blobs above me, moving away. Dragons, not them.
      Remembering I was supposed to be counting, I made a guess where I should’ve been. “Four...five.” I pulled the cord. The result felt like Linolule had yanked me back upwards into the night sky, though I knew the god of darkness and strife had nothing to do with what I’d felt. I descended with a parachute canopy above me. Distant shadows below grew. I looked left and right, finally spotting another parachute thirty yards away.
      A breeze conjured by Grand Wizard Seelain buffeted my parachute and changed my direction of descent. More parachutes came into view, their black fabric masking the sky and stars beyond them. All of our metal equipment, my breast plate included, had been painted black, brown or dark shades of green.
      The trees came rushing up, but my chute kept to the ribbon-like road running through them. I remembered to bend my knees just before hitting the ground. Nearby, others grunted like me on impact. I stood and like the soldier next to me began gathering the ropes to my parachute. He took several strides toward me.
      “Faster,” whispered Private Shaws. “Oh, and Road Toad said to keep your nose clean for a few days.”
I tucked my bunched chute under my arm and looked to see what Private Shaws was doing. He’d moved behind me and began detaching my chute lines from my harness. “Give me your chute.” He pointed. “Supply bundles over there. Grab ours. I’ll stash your chute along with the wizard and enchanter’s.”
I hustled across the packed gravel road. An infiltration soldier had already laid our bundles out in a line. As practiced, I took the four identified by my spear next to them. Each light bundle consisted of a blanket, food, canteen, and one half of an A-frame tent. Assorted small items like twine and hand shovels had been added to mine and Private Shaws’.
      I trotted back to the exact spot I’d left Shaws. Wizard Seelain and Lesser Enchanter Jonas stood there, looking about anxiously. Enchanter Jonas was a short, frail-looking man who fancied himself an expert with a rapier.
      “Turn around,” I whispered. When they did, I shoved Wizard Seelain’s assigned bundle into her empty parachute pack and tied it shut. While I was tying Enchanter Jonas’ pack closed, I felt Wizard Seelain shoving a bundle into my pack.
Without a word, our group of four moved south while the remaining ten went north. Shaws led, followed by Enchanter Jonas and Wizard Seelain. I brought up the rear, watching our back.
After less than five minutes at a brisk walk, Shaws signaled us off the road, through a brush-filled ditch and into a stand of pine trees. Less than thirty seconds later we watched a patrol of goblins pass by, moving north. The twelve snickered and hissed, apparently laughing at something their leader said.

Directed by Enchanter Jonas, Shaws led us another half hour on the road past several pine-covered hills strewn with boulders. The enchanter wore high boots, doeskin breeches and vest, and a dark green cloak that looked identical to Wizard Seelain’s.
      I was wondering why the enemy would build and maintain such an impressive road when Enchanter Jonas signaled us to stop. Without a word he directed us off the west side of the road, through a narrow stand of white pines, and to a small meadow at the base of a steep hill face.
At the edge of the meadow we established a camp in a stand of small fir trees. No fire, and just as we had for the entire trip, bland food consisting of ground oats, dried apples and water. Shaws said it would keep us from giving off exotic scents.
      When I’d asked Shaws about the dragon scent we were bound to be carrying, he said that wild dragons, although rare in the mountains to the south, are not unheard of. And it would help to mask our human scent.
      About every two hours a goblin patrol passed by on the road going north, and returned forty-five minutes later walking south.
Shaws relieved me after my midmorning watch. At our camp Wizard Seelain was asleep on one of the canvas tent sides, wrapped in her cloak. A few strands of her white hair had slipped from beneath the brown knit cap she’d worn since our drop last night.
Enchanter Jonas still wore the mask that covered his face below the eyes. He studied me with one eyebrow raised as I sat down next to him. I wasn’t tired yet, so I decided to make conversation. In a low voice I asked, “How did you know the meadow was here?”
He sat up straight and cocked his head. “I observed it as we flew.”
I nodded. “That’s right. You were under the dragons.”
“And,” he added with an air of importance, “I employed a night vision spell.”
He was only a lesser enchanter, but in everyone’s eyes, he was more important than me. I removed my helmet and scratched behind my ear, wondering if it was worth trying to make conversation. “Well, Private Shaws says you found us a good spot. It’ll provide some cover for a few of the dragons to land and wait if the timing is off.”
“Thank you,” he responded. “It was also infiltration soldiers, including Shaws, who’d insisted on the parachute drop, so that the dragons wouldn’t leave any trace if they landed in a meadow or on the road.” He said it like the idea was a flawed plan.
He snorted after a brief silence. “I could have easily erased the marks.”
I didn’t want to argue with him about the possibility that the goblin patrols could have spotted the dragons’ descent or return to the sky. Or the unnecessary use of his magic. Even I knew that the elemental magic of wizards left no trace, while that of an enchanter could linger for hours.
“I’m sure you could have, Lesser Enchanter,” I said, grabbing the hand shovel and my spear. I wove my way between the fir branches toward the hillside.
Shaws insisted that every time we relieved ourselves, we dig a hole at least a foot deep. Before I dug the first shovel full of rocky dirt, I noticed something out of place. I climbed over a fallen pine and between two small saplings. What I’d thought was an unusual right-angled rock formation turned out to be cut stones framing a narrow door set into the hillside. Countless years of exposure had left the door’s wood a weathered gray.
I looked over my shoulder to see if Enchanter Jonas was playing some sort of spiteful trick. I didn’t think he’d bother, but I also couldn’t believe I’d just found a door built into a remote hillside. I backed away without disturbing it and made my way to the spot near the road where Shaws stood watch.
      “Dance of anger,” he challenged.
      He knew it was me. Still, I gave the established password in reply, “Desert smells like rain.”
He stood. “What is it, Flank Hawk?”
“I found something you should see.”

After Shaws and Enchanter Jonas inspected the door, we huddled in a tight circle. “We can detect no sign of magic sealing the door,” said Shaws, “or a trap to be triggered if we open it. What do you think, Wizard Seelain?”
      “We’re here to gather intelligence,” she said. “Flank Hawk, what do you think it might be?”
I was surprised she directed the question to me. “A forgotten weapons stash.” I looked around. “Maybe a hide hole.”
“This is the right country for wights,” said Shaws. “Seems too remote for ghouls.”
“It appears that the door hasn’t been opened in many years,” said Enchanter Jonas. “It could have been taken over by ghouls. They’re not intelligent enough to build.”
“Not ghouls,” said Shaws. “Goblins eat their dead. No corpses for ghouls to feed on. Any other ideas?”
After a moment of silence Wizard Seelain shrugged. “Other than a hermit or wilderness healer.”
“The goblin patrol passed going south before I took the watch from Flank Hawk. If we’re going to investigate it, and if it is a hide hole.”
“Wait,” I said, thinking about the goblin patrols in the area. “It could be an escape route from a fortress somewhere above.”
Everyone nodded.
“Still,” said Shaws, “that makes it even more urgent. If we’re sitting on a potential enemy anthill, we’d better find out sooner rather than later.”
“Right,” said Wizard Seelain. “The infiltration squad may return tonight. It’d give us time to communicate our move to the alternate site, allowing them a chance to adjust their plans.”
“Flank Hawk,” said Shaws, “stand ready. Wizard, over there.” He pointed behind the fallen pine. Then he pointed to a spot twenty feet to the right of the door. “Enchanter.”
Enchanter Jonas drew his rapier and hurried to his spot. I looked over my shoulder at Wizard Seelain before standing between the pine saplings with spear ready.
Shaws ran his dagger between the door and the stone frame, digging out moss and grit. Then he reached for the rusted ring set in the door’s left side. He nodded once to each of us, and pulled. It withstood Shaws’ first tug but not the second.
In the doorway stood a zombie, with two more right behind. I charged, cursing myself for not salting my spear.
“Wait!” ordered Shaws. He’d drawn his sword, and waved it in front of the motionless zombies. “Dormant.”
I looked closer. The zombies appeared to be in good condition for animated corpses but their remnant clothing and armor were rotted tatters. Even the expected stench of decaying flesh didn’t emanate from them. I inhaled deeply. The all too familiar odor of death was there, barely.
Shaws waved the enchanter over. “How far back can you see?”
Wizard Seelain moved up to stand beside me while Enchanter Jonas mumbled an incantation. He stepped forward and peered in, then tried to look around the foremost zombies. “Lift me up,” he said.
      I stood next to the opening, ready to thrust my spear into any zombie that moved. Shaws lifted the enchanter so that he could see beyond the foremost zombies.
      “It appears to be a straight shaft. Slopes upward.” He paused. “I’d estimate seventy-five to eighty zombies in there.” He squinted and looked once more. “You can set me down.”
The enchanter pinched his forehead just above his eyebrows. “I’m not an expert in necromancy, but I wouldn’t be surprised if every one was a souled zombie.”
      That surprised me. Every time I’d battled zombies, only a handful of souled zombies were sprinkled among the hundreds, except for in the panzers. Souled ones could think and respond without a necromancer’s direction.
      Shaws examined the foremost zombies one more time before closing the door. “I agree. Mundane zombies would’ve decayed to mummified skeletons by now.”
“I know the captured soul works to maintain the animating magic,” said Wizard Seelain. “But you speak as if you know how long they’ve been here.”
“The insignia on the uniform of the third zombie back,” Shaws explained. “The head of a long-fanged tiger. Worn by followers of the Rogue Duchess Andraim.”
Wizard Seelain nodded. “She was defeated by the Order of the Sun-Fox at the Battle of Silver Valley.”
“Routed,” said Shaws. “She and the remnants of her army perished during the siege of Tremont Keep well over a century ago.” Shaws frowned and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’ve got a suspicion that concerns me greatly.”
“What is it?” asked Seelain.
“It may be nothing,” said Shaws, staring back at the door. “Flank Hawk, watch the road. Wizard and Enchanter, stay in camp. I’ll return no later than one hour after noon.”
      I wanted a further explanation but it wasn’t my place to question Shaws, and for some reason neither the enchanter nor Wizard Seelain did either. Shaws took a drink from his canteen before trotting south along the base of the hill.
      
Shaws returned two hours later, tired and with a concerned look on his face. We sat in camp and waited for him to catch his breath.
      “I ranged south,” he finally said after taking a long drink from my canteen. “Found five other doors like the one you found, Flank Hawk. Except these were better concealed. And if I wasn’t looking I’d have missed them.” He shook his head. “How many remain fully buried is impossible to say."
      “What does it mean,” I asked.
“Well,” said Wizard Seelain, “it explains why the enemy established his panzer construction so far south, away from his stronghold.”
“The unexpected coal and iron deposits found in this region definitely influenced the enemy’s decision,” said Enchanter Jonas. “Still, the fuels for the battlewagons aren’t found here.”
“He’s been planning this a long time,” Shaws said to our huddled group. “I don’t know the answer about fuels. Many have questioned the wisdom in placing such a strategic city so far from his powerbase.”
“Now we know the answer,” said Wizard Seelain. “Any assault, at least using this road, would be vulnerable to flank and rear attack by hordes of souled zombies.”
“This concerns me,” said Shaws, staring at the trampled weeds under his feet.
“You’ve probably only found a fraction of the hide holes sheltering dormant zombies,” I said. “That means the enemy’s attacks disrupting crop planting year after year were just harassing to weaken us. All the while he built his strength.” Everyone nodded. “But that doesn’t explain the road we’re watching. I’ve seen the ruts and gouges panzers make. I don’t think they travel on it.”
“I only saw one road,” said Enchanter Jonas. “Maybe they go north, to the enemy’s center of power and gather there?”
“We’ll know more when the infiltration squad returns,” said Shaws. “Wizard, can you scribe what I’ve found and summon a minor elemental to deliver it to Prince Reveron?”
She nodded, and turned to get her satchel when a deep, distant echoing call sounded. We looked about, trying to gauge the direction of its origin. It continued, getting closer.
      “Cover,” said Shaws. “Get everything out of sight, under the firs. Flank Hawk, with me.”
      I followed him to the secondary watch area, under a tall white pine that was crowded by several smaller ones. A tangled screen of brown weeds from last fall with green shoots overtaking them stood between us and the road.
The rumbling, rhythmic call came closer. Shaws removed his helmet and placed his ear to the ground. I’d heard of scouts doing that to detect nearby cavalry formations.
“Impact tremors,” he whispered. “It’s a mountain giant.” He looked worried. “Hurry. Tell the wizard and enchanter to remain hidden. Under no circumstances move or cast any spell. None, clear? Then get back here.”
      I ran and found Wizard Seelain and Enchanter Jonas lying flat on their stomachs under the largest fir tree. I relayed Shaws’ message, double checked the camp for stray equipment, and hurried back.
      When I returned, Shaws held an unwound string leading into the weeds. I wanted to ask, but he placed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. I pointed to my crossbow, and he nodded, so I cocked it and set a quarrel to fire. I didn’t think it would do any good against a giant. A giant! My instincts cried for me to run, get away from the road. But our back was to a hill. I gritted my teeth, looked at my spear laying to my right and Shaws to my left.
I detected a cadence to the bellowing as it closed. I followed Shaws’ silent example and laid flat under the tree cover, behind the weeds.
With each step I felt the increasing vibration through the ground. Mixed with the giant’s song came a grinding rumble. I tried to remember all the stories Old Lowell told us about giants. Mostly that they were enormous, foul tempered, and fearless. And their sense of smell rivaled the best tracking hound, even mudhounds.
We’d been directed to avoid anything that would give us an exotic scent. Why didn’t anybody warn me about mountain giants? Shaws looked worried, rhythmically licking his lips. Each protrusion of his tongue and passing over his lips matched the giant’s song.
He was worried. I was scared. At least when I faced the bone golem I did it with more than a single soldier and two nearby hidden spellcasters. Then, I stopped my mind from racing. I was Wizard Seelain’s personal guard. Shaws was Enchanter Jonas’. If detected, we’d sacrifice ourselves, lead the giant away. I had no illusions about our chances of slaying a giant. Suddenly, wondering if the enchanter had actually dug his latrine holes deep enough became a big concern.
The mountain giant was nearly upon us, approaching from the north. I observed the towering creature through the tree branches. It was yellow-toothed and ugly like an ogre, but without a horn. Its flat nose looked to be the size of a wheelbarrow and its legs rivaled large cottonwoods.
      The giant walked, leaning forward, with thick ropes harnessed to its chest. Under the throng of ropes the giant wore a tunic made of ragged dragon pelts. A hood and gorget made from a patchwork of deer hides covered its bald head. The sturdy ropes led to a long, flatbed wagon bearing four panzers. Two ogres pushed the wagon from behind.
      The giant’s song sounded like two dozen men calling into a lonely well, only deeper, and sent vibrations that would’ve rattled my teeth if they weren’t clenched. As the giant labored past us, suddenly his song stopped. He stood straight while the ogres pulled, struggling to counter the wagon’s momentum. Then he turned his head left and right, scanning the hillsides. Standing straight, the giant’s full height was greater than the bone golem by at least a man’s height. He sniffed twice before drawing in a long breath through his nose.
      Shaws realized too that the giant knew we were nearby. The soldier bit his lip and slowly pulled on the string while the taller ogre called a question up to the giant.
      The giant waved it off and inhaled again. This time he looked about in disgust. I smelled the skunk spray too, from the weeds in front of us.
      The giant reached with both hands across the road and uprooted a sturdy pine. He lifted it over his head and slammed it down into the stand of weeds between us and the road. The tree’s impact showered us with dirt and needles before falling against the tall pine sheltering us.
      The giant spit into the weeds and laughed deeply while leaning forward, taking up the slack in his ropes. He grunted and began pulling again.
About thirty yards later the mountain giant returned to his song. About two minutes later, I began to breathe again.



Chapter 15
Southwestern United States
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

The Lt. Colonel hung up the phone and strode across the room. He interposed himself between Dr. Mindebee and his computer monitors.
       Dr. Johnston, still engrossed in the ongoing experiment, said, “Field energized and stable, portal opened. Laser ready.” He looked up to see the military officer speaking in harsh, quiet tones to the head physicist. Both men ignored Dr. Johnston as he edged closer.
“Shut it down now,” ordered the Lt. Colonel.
“Colonel Ibrahim, what kind of national emergency could involve this isolated research facility?”
“By order of the Secretary of Defense, I have been authorized to effect a cessation of this experiment. I will do it with or without your assistance.
“Thirty more seconds,” pleaded Dr. Mindebee. Without breaking eye contact with Lt. Colonel Ibrahim, the physicist motioned with his index finger to Dr. Johnston. “It will take a minimum of seven minutes forty-seven seconds to safely deactivate all systems.”
Dr. Johnston moved back to his console and began entering commands.
“You have already delayed shutdown by thirty seconds,” said Lt. Colonel Ibrahim, “and are even now jeopardizing this program’s funding.”
The low power ruby laser shot into the heart of the glowing experiment, but didn’t emerge. It was the first of a battery of tests. “Success,” Dr. Johnston murmured, casting a glance at the Lt. Colonel who’d turned his direction.
“Shut it down!” ordered the military officer.
Dr. Mindebee nodded to Dr. Johnston who then gazed at the monitors and their streams of data. He forced his fingers to comply.
      
Enchanter Jonas continued to wrinkle his nose and complained, “It’s been hours since the giant passed. Why are we staying so close to this skunk odor?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “We could at least move upwind.”
      With zombies nearby I missed the sun’s rays. Moments earlier they fell behind the steep hills. “Should another giant pass by, or the same one return, our smell will be hidden.” I adjusted my seat behind the concealing thicket near the road, and looked back toward the hillside. “I’m more worried about the zombies in the tunnels.”
Enchanter Jonas frowned. “I’d sense a necromancer’s magic calling the souls from dormancy.” He placed three fingers to his temple to emphasize the point. “Unless only one or two were called. Private Shaws, and you, should be able to handle that.”
His tone wasn’t condescending, but I knew he held more faith in Shaws than in me. I didn’t blame him. Shaws knew far more about weapons combat than I ever would.
The enchanter sniffed and huffed again. “If we ever leave this spot, it won’t take much to track us by the skunk scent absorbed by our skin and clothing.”
      I wanted to ask him if he had a spell to counter the odor, but figured if he had one he’d have used it. “Private Shaws only had one vial with skunk spray.” I reached into my satchel for the small tin flask with a copper cap. A wax seal ensured the content’s safety. “He had two of these. Gave me one.”
      “What is in it?” asked the enchanter.
I handed him the palm-sized flask. “Private Shaws said finely ground pepper, powered horsemint mixed with dried goose blood. I think he said it had been stewed in stag musk.”
Enchanter Jonas handed it back to me. “And?”
“He told me it will foil mudhounds. The blood, mint and musk are a combination they can’t resist, and the pepper renders them unable to track by scent for a couple hours.” I slipped the flask back into my satchel and continued to watch the road and listen. If the soldiers of the infiltration team didn’t return tonight or the next, they’d failed.

Pounding footsteps on the road! Too heavy to be goblin, too light to be ogre. Labored breathing said it wasn’t zombie. I aimed my crossbow at the figure in the shadowy moonlight. “Black stars,” I uttered sharply.
      The infiltration soldier stopped and replied, “Wet clouds,” between labored breaths.
      Enchanter Jonas said to me, “Go get Shaws.”
Private Shaws and Wizard Seelain weren’t yet asleep. They followed me back to the road where Corporal Brines, a dour lanky man, stood bent over with his hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath.
Wide-eyed, Enchanter Jonas said to Wizard Seelain. “He says a sorcerer slew their enchanter!” He looked to Shaws. “No recall was sent to Prince Reveron. If I send a message, my magic may be detected by their sorcerer.”
      Even as Enchanter Jonas spoke, Grand Wizard Seelain summoned a minor wind elemental. I couldn’t see it hovering in front of her face, but the swirling air pulled at her white hair before it shot off. “The prince is being summoned,” she said. “What can we expect?”
      Corporal Brines answered, “We captured a souled zombie—one of importance. Greater Enchanter Lallen sacrificed himself to enable our escape. I ran ahead. Those bearing the zombie should be here very soon. The rest are delaying pursuit.”
Shaws asked the question I wanted to ask. “What comes?”
“A giant, ogres and goblins, probably the sorcerer.”
I looked back toward the hillside, hoping they didn’t also have a necromancer.
Shaws took charge. “Wizard, you and Flank Hawk with me. Brines, Enchanter, break camp. Hide the tents and supplies under the fir trees. We’ll advance and help hold the enemy until the dragons arrive. Inform the prince of the situation.”
The enchanter drew his rapier. “No time.”
      I didn’t sense any magic, but my gut feeling agreed. Echoing ogre battle calls and a man’s scream proceeded a closing giant’s impact tremors. We hurried along the road, using the shadowy tree line for cover as we closed for battle.
      I chewed on a dried apple slice, hoping the bitter taste would bring spit back into my mouth. A giant’s booming voice echoed off the hillsides. He’d arrive before the prince and the dragons. I tried to imitate Shaws’ confidence as I met Wizard Seelain’s determined gaze.
      She took my spear and placed her hand on my loaded crossbow. Uttering an incantation, she ran a finger across the quarrel like she did once before. “You know what to do,” she said, as four men sprinted toward us from around a bend in the road, one bearing an unwieldy bundle over his shoulder.
      Wrapped in canvas and secured with coils of rope, a man-sized burden writhed while trying to roll off a sergeant’s shoulder.
Shaws ordered Corporal Brines, “Take the prisoner to the pickup site.”
The winded sergeant swiftly draped the zombie over Brines’ shoulder, who then turned and ran down the road.
      “Follow him, and assist,” Shaws ordered the sergeant. “Hold the enemy if we fail.”
      I didn’t watch the sergeant follow Brines, or wonder long why a sergeant would take orders from a private. I was too busy feeling the ground vibrate beneath my feet. I knelt and held my crossbow ready, aiming upward. “Grand Wizard, behind me.”
“We’ll occupy the giant,” said Seelain to Shaws. As if on cue another man screamed, this time from just around the bend. I spotted the giant’s head and shoulders between the trees, framed by the rising moonlight.
Shaws nodded to the three remaining infiltration soldiers and the enchanter. “Other side of the road.”
Wizard Seelain placed a hand on my shoulder. I hadn’t noticed how tense I’d become. “Prince Reveron will be here soon,” she whispered.
The giant strode nearer and spotted us. He carried a five-tined spear. Each tine had rows of barbs, and from two of the tines hung two dead soldiers. He raised his spear and bellowed gleefully. The reverberating sound rattled my teeth.
      I waited, saw the moonlight gleam off one of his eyes as he turned his head, aimed and fired. Wizard Seelain’s spell kept my aim true and the giant’s bellow became one of surprise, then anger. He reached to pluck my bolt from his right eye.
      Wizard Seelain followed my shot with a quick spell. Following a miniature thunderclap the giant clutched his ear. With a rumbling snarl he stomped toward us.
      I slung my crossbow across my back and grabbed my spear from the ground where Wizard Seelain had set it. Shaws led the other three infiltration soldiers down the road, toward a bunch of ogres that ran to catch up with the giant.
      Enchanter Jonas yelled, “Cover your eyes!” just before a flash of silvery light burst near the giant’s face.
I charged forward and stabbed my spear at the giant’s ankle as he blindly moved forward, kicking and stomping. My spear tip bit into his flesh but inflicted hardly more than a sharp needle prick. Still, it got his attention, giving Wizard Seelain enough time to collapse the air around the giant’s other ear.
I dodged a kick and rolled away from a crushing stomp that rattled the road. The giant sniffed deeply before deciding to ignore us and continue down the road.
“He’s after the zombie,” warned the enchanter.
      “I can’t stop him!” I said, and saw that an ogre, with four trailing goblins, had passed around Shaws and his men who were busy fending off three ogres and a mob of goblins. “Look!”
      Wizard Seelain said, “I’ll slow the giant.” She raised her staff. “Ward me, Flank Hawk,” she ordered before turning and beginning to chant.
The ogre was a big one, wearing leather armor lined with closely sewn rings. He came on with a huge sword held two-handed over his head. I swallowed back some bile creeping up my throat. If I could cripple it quickly, I thought, I might keep it from Wizard Seelain. I gripped my spear, knowing the enchanter’s rapier would be useless. I told him, “I’ll take the ogre, you get the goblins.”
      A howling wind rose behind us, telling me Wizard Seelain had summoned a wind elemental to combat the giant.
      “Fair enough,” Enchanter Jonas said, presenting his rapier to the enemy while raising his left hand high above his head. “Shall we surprise the brute?” The ogre was nearly upon us, with the goblins twenty paces behind. The enchanter began mumbling what had to be a spell.
There wasn’t any time to see what Enchanter Jonas had planned. I stalked forward, preparing to leap close to get inside the ogre’s swing, and attempt a spear thrust into his throat.
A ray of silvery light shot from behind and into the ogre’s face. The brute shielded his eyes with a forearm, giving me an opening. I stepped to the right and rammed my spear tip through the ogre’s leather armor and deep into its armpit.
The ogre grunted and swung its sword right-handed, forcing me to duck before I’d managed to yank out my spear. The sword knocked my spear from my grip. I drew my sword and moved close, darting behind my off balanced foe.
Enchanter Jonas, sprinting toward the goblins, caught the ogre’s attention. I took advantage of the distraction and stabbed my sword into the back of the ogre’s knee. My blade found flesh so I twisted it before yanking it out. I rolled to the ground to avoid a wild blow from the ogre’s left fist, and climbed back to my feet.
      My back was now to the woods. To my right, Wizard Seelain had begun to follow the giant, who swatted and bellowed in frustration at the whirlwind creature assaulting it. Shaws and one soldier still stood but were being driven back, off the road by two ogres and several surviving goblins. Enchanter Jonas was more than competent with his rapier. Stepping quickly, he wielded the nimble weapon, keeping out of reach of the goblins’ short spears and long daggers. They shrieked threats even as one fell, kicking and clutching its pierced neck.
      The ogre turned to face me. It favored its left leg heavily and kept its left arm unmoving against its side. I’d crippled it. Now if I could only kill it.
      My foe showed no sign of giving up. He held his massive sword ready, snarled and faked a slash. I didn’t take the bait and circled to its left, causing it to snarl and grimace. When I faked an attack, the ogre swung hard, overextending, trying to reach me. I closed and got behind him again. This time I drove my sword into the back of his right knee. He bellowed and fell backwards, almost crushing me. Even though I was off balance, I saw my chance and swung two-handed, hacking deeply into its neck just below the ear.
      The ogre cried out in pain and grasped for me with its gauntleted hand. I ducked under its desperate attempt and ran to its left. When the ogre rolled to protect its weak side, I leapt on its back and rammed my sword’s blade into its neck just below the skull, killing it.
I couldn’t believe it. I stood on the back of the fallen ogre. Enchanter Jonas had helped, and it had fought poorly, but still, I’d defeated it!
My victory was short lived. Enchanter Jonas cried out sharply and fell to his knees in the midst of the slain goblins. He’d dropped his rapier and clutched his stomach with his right hand while feebly gesturing a protective spell with his left.
A hunched, black-robed figure upon a great black warhorse held a gnarled fist in front of him. As he slowly twisted and tightened his grip, Enchanter Jonas opened his mouth but no sound came out.
I’d mistaken the black-robed man for a necromancer. It was worse! I leapt off the ogre and charged the spellcaster and his steed. He was a sorcerer—probably the one that slew Greater Enchanter Lallen. Enchanter Jonas was a lesser enchanter and stood no chance.
      I had to act fast. With no spear to throw I’d have to use my sword and overcome his warhorse first. But if Enchanter Jonas could hang on and keep the sorcerer’s attention, I might get the sorcerer before he killed both of us and went after Wizard Seelain whose wind spirit still raged against the howling giant.
      Enchanter Jonas toppled, clutching his stomach with both hands, before I’d taken four steps. This allowed the sorcerer to focus his attention on me. He raised his deformed left hand and clenched it into a fist. An iron grip seized my heart, stopping it.
I stumbled, dropping my sword as the icy spell sent tendrils of searing pain through my chest and out to my arms. Only powerful sorcerers could destroy a man’s heart. I struggled to breathe as the cold, sinister grip spread. I had to stop it.
I rolled onto my side and curled up before reaching with my mind, grasping for the strands of energy I’d used in the past to heal cuts. It was hard to concentrate through the pain and my heart’s feeble attempt to beat. I chanted with what breath remained while opening my mind to the maelstrom of energy raging beyond normal senses. I drew upon a shimmering strand, one that the eight syllable mantra helped me recognize, and redirected it to the center of my chest. Where it touched, a fleck of warmth penetrated the bitter cold deep in my chest. I sought out a broader strand among the swirling energy, one that I fought to harness.
I looked up, shivering. The sorcerer ignored me, and this gave me hope. With renewed vigor I went after a vibrant, narrow string of magical energy and redirected it. The sorcerer had left his spell unattended, overconfident of its eventual effect. Instead, he looked down the road and urged his mount forward.
With a third strand I broke the deadly grip. My heart painfully lurched back into rhythm. Wizard Seelain screamed.
      The black horse stood between me and Wizard Seelain, and I didn’t know if I could stand or for how long. I had Short Two Blades’ talisman, but how long would it take to summon him? I reached for my crossbow.
      The sorcerer sat strapped to the saddle, his back twisted at such an odd angle from his hips that even robes couldn’t hide it. My arms ached but I drew back the string and set the quarrel. The sorcerer’s hand was held high, clenched in a fist. He shook it in triumph as beyond him Grand Wizard Seelain staggered and fell to her knees.
The warhorse jumped at my movement but its master ignored the warning. I took aim and fired. The quarrel flew true and struck the sorcerer high in the back along his twisted spine.
The dark spellcaster cried out even as his mount spun around and bore down on me. The sorcerer’s black hood flew back, revealing his misshapen face and deformed jaw. I pulled Guzzy’s dirk from my boot and hurled it before rolling right to avoid the charging horse’s pounding hooves. The dirk found its mark, but struck hilt first and glanced off the sorcerer’s forehead.
The horse galloped past without slowing. I climbed to my feet. The giant searched among the trees near our camp while Wizard Seelain waved to me and pointed skyward.
      If the dragons were coming, great. But my concern was on the ground. I saw no sign of ogres or goblins, or Shaws and his men. Most of the pain in my chest and arms had receded. I retrieved my sword and Guzzy’s dirk, and ran to Enchanter Jonas. I rolled him over. He was breathing and his eyes fluttered. Brushing bits of road grit from his face, I whispered urgently, “Enchanter, the dragons are near.”
      He struggled to sit up, but was too weak. “Flank Hawk,” he said with labored breath, managing a smile. Then, his eyes widened and his hand gripped mine. “The zombies,” he said. “They’ve just been awakened.”
I yelled to Wizard Seelain, “The zombies, they’re awake!” Beyond her, a dragon crashed to the ground, pierced by the giant’s hurled spear. A second dragon responded with a stream of fiery breath, sending the giant retreating our way.
I helped Enchanter Jonas to his feet.
“My rapier,” he said, reaching down.
I didn’t argue. Grimacing at the lingering pain in my chest, I bent to pick it up. The blistered giant lumbered closer. Each impacting step rattled my teeth. Enchanter Jonas and I supported each other as we scrambled off the road.
“I can’t run, Flank Hawk,” said the enchanter, leaning against a tree. “The zombies. Go.”
Wizard Seelain ran up to us. Her left eye was closed with blood and gore dripping down her cheek. “Come,” she said, ignoring her pain. “Back this way. We stick to the road.” She grabbed the enchanter’s arm. “Hurry, the prince knows.”
      Even before Jonas could object, I grabbed and draped him over my shoulder. “Too late,” I warned in a whisper, and carried him towards the woods.
      Wizard Seelain and I saw the zombies emerge fifty yards to the south. “Follow me,” she urged. I did, gritting my teeth at the burden of the enchanter.
      A dragon roared, swooping close to the road, possibly to attack and scatter the zombies. Wizard Seelain whispered a spell, sending a small wind elemental into the sky. “There’s a clearing near the top of this hill. We must reach it ahead of the zombies.”
After no more than twenty steps up the steep hillside, I knew I couldn’t make it. The enchanter realized it too. “Set me down, Flank Hawk.”
My right arm and chest burned. I couldn’t breathe. I had no choice but to put him down before I fell.
      The enchanter sat with his back to a tree. “The sorcerer injured you deeply, too.” He pointed to the wizard’s eye. “And he injured you. I can delay the zombies.”
Wizard Seelain nodded in agreement. “They’re souled. It won’t take them long to pick up our trail.” Movement behind her caught my eye and I drew my sword.
“Flank Hawk,” whispered Shaws from a short distance away. “Stand down.” He stepped over a fallen pine and moved next to Wizard Seelain.
The grand wizard assessed the situation and said to Shaws, “Zombies are loose. Carry Jonas and follow me. Flank Hawk, bring up the rear. Ward our back.”
      Wizard Seelain led the way, leaning heavily on her staff. Shaws carried the enchanter without difficulty. I watched our rear as we ascended. Twice, a dragon swooped overhead, above the trees.
      My chest began to burn again, increasing in intensity with each step. The sorcerer’s spell was killing me but there was nothing anyone could do. We halted at the sound of a horn not far below. Several others answered.
“They’ve found our trail,” said Shaws. He set Enchanter Jonas down. “Can you continue?”
The enchanter looked better than he did at the base of the hill. He stood, leaning a shoulder against a white pine. “I can.”
      The aching extended down into my arm. I’d learned how to direct healing energy within myself but I’d already expended my strength and it’d be hours before I could make another attempt. “I’ll stay,” I said. I sheathed my sword and loaded my crossbow, trying to keep my pain hidden.
Wizard Seelain started to say something, but Shaws cut her off, “Go, Wizard. I’ll set a false trail, then we’ll make it to the road. Tell the prince, if the opportunity presents itself to attempt a rope retrieval.”
      I nodded grimly and set my quarrel. “Grand Wizard, Enchanter, it’s our duty to safeguard you. If you don’t make it, our effort will mean nothing.”
“Sacrifice, you mean,” said Enchanter Jonas.
“We’ll retrieve,” promised Wizard Seelain.
The three horns sounded, closer. A fourth and fifth added their echoing call. I leaned against a tree, taking shallow breaths. Wizard Seelain and Enchanter Jonas continued to climb, quickly disappearing from sight.
Shaws walked through the trees to our left, snapping a few branches and kicking fallen needles. I didn’t look forward to facing a pack of souled zombies. They could think while being just as relentless as the mundanes. I spit on my quarrel’s head and spread a pinch of salt on it.
When Shaws returned, he squatted near a tree next to me. “You don’t look so good,” he whispered.
I spit on Guzzy’s dirk and spread salt across the saliva. “Sorcerer damaged my heart,” I whispered back.
“Is that what happened to the wizard and enchanter?”
I stared down the hill, into the slivers of moonlight that penetrated the branches. “I shot him before he killed them.” Cold sweat dripped from under my helmet, down my face.
Shaws stared down the hill too. “You fought zombies before, right?”
I nodded, and carefully put the dirk back in its boot sheath.
He appraised me. “That dirk won’t do much good in hand-to-hand, even with the salt.”
“I know,” I said. “I don’t intend to end up one of them.”
“Salted death wound. Don’t worry, Flank Hawk. I won’t let them get you.”
I wanted to ask him what had happened to the men he’d taken to fight the ogres and goblins, but didn’t. “I can take care of myself. The sorcerer’s already slain me, it’s just taking longer.”
“Then I’ll carry your—” He stopped in mid-sentence as movement below signaled the enemy closing. He winked and shifted to a tree further down the hill.
      I continued with my shallow breaths and wondered if I’d be able to inflict my own death wound. I knew Shaws would carry me out, if he survived. Resting, my arm’s ache had again begun to recede, making it easier to hold my crossbow. I didn’t want to die. But knowing Grand Wizard Seelain would make it, that I’d protected her as ordered, made it easier to accept.
      One zombie, wearing rotting padded armor and carrying a falchion similar to Short Two Blades’, marched up the hill, hunched over, examining our trail. Four other zombies, carrying swords and shields bearing a long-toothed tiger emblem, followed.
Shaws edged around the large pine, avoiding detection by the tracker zombie. He was leaving that one for me. I took aim, catching a glimpse of the cold, dispassionate intelligence in its eyes. A close shot I didn’t dare miss.
Shaws spun around the tree, taking the third zombie’s head. He waded among the others, severing limbs and heads. The tracker grabbed a tarnished brass horn hanging at his side. I shot him in the throat.
He screeched in salt inflicted agony. I was so unaccustomed to zombies crying out that the sound set me back for a half second. Still, I lunged forward and hacked at the arm holding the horn. I severed it but didn’t duck quickly enough. The falchion deflected off my helmet, staggering me. I parried the hissing tracker zombie’s next thrust. My chest and arm began to ache with renewed intensity. I had to end it quickly.
I blocked a downward cut and grabbed my quarrel lodged in my foe’s neck. The zombie tried to grab my hand with his stump, forgetting I’d cut it off. I yanked the quarrel out, taking a hunk of decayed flesh with it. I stabbed at its face and missed. It slammed the pommel of its falchion against my helmet, knocking me to the ground. I dropped the quarrel and pulled Guzzy’s dagger from my boot.
I held my sword to block its downswing but knew the coming blow was too strong. Before our blades met, Shaws barreled into the zombie from the side, knocking it into a tree. The impact didn’t stun the zombie as it would a man. Still, Shaws was too quick; He sheared off the zombie’s right arm with an upward cut and came around with a blow, decapitating it.
Without wasting time he grabbed me by the arm and lifted me to my feet. “See, you didn’t need your dirk.” He took it from my hand. “Can you run?”
The stabbing pain had spread from my chest and arms up my neck to my jaw. I shook my head before falling back, holding my chest. The sorcerer’s pain fell upon me with a vengeance. Everything went black.


Chapter 16
The vacuum of space above the U.S.A.
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

Unknown to the U.S. Government, her enemies had engaged in intensive ballistic missile development programs. Each sub-launched missile carried decoys and multiple independently targetable reentry vehicles. The two surviving ballistic missiles each deployed three MIRVs, each carrying a nuclear warhead assigned a different destination. Fourteen deployed decoys added their signature to the radar and infrared tracking screens, adding complexity to the U.S. Military’s interception effort.
      
I awoke to the crackling of a small campfire. My chest still hurt, but much less than before. Songbirds chirped nearby. It was a beautiful sound to hear.
      I opened my eyes to a canopy of maple trees above, and carefully turned my head to face the fire. Enchanter Jonas sat huddled close to it, as if to ward off a chill despite the spring afternoon’s warmth. Beyond him, Road Toad and Shaws knelt on either side of Grand Wizard Seelain. A serpent cavalryman held her arms against the ground while another sat on her legs. The prince stood nearby, looking down on their actions with concern.
      Road Toad slid a rolled leather strip in front of Wizard Seelain’s mouth. “Bite on this, Wizard,” he urged gently. “What I have to do will hurt.”
      Wizard Seelain nodded and bit down. She grunted and her body stiffened as Road Toad cleaned and examined her ruptured eye.
After a thorough examination, he stood and tossed the bloodstained rag back in the pot of steaming water. “It’s destroyed,” he said to the Wizard before glancing at the prince. “The infection is under control, and it appears that some viable tissue has survived. A powerful healer may be able to fully restore the eye.” He rubbed his right cheek and chin. “It’ll cost, but certainly coin isn’t an issue.”
The prince nodded and noticed that I’d propped myself up on the folded canvas tent spread under me. “Flank Hawk has awoken.”
Everyone but Enchanter Jonas looked my direction. Road Toad brushed himself off and walked past the fire. “Flank Hawk,” he said, kneeling next to me. “No need asking how you feel. I’m just glad you made it, and with a little help, recover.”
“How long have I been out?”
“This is the second day of our return flight.”
      I lay back with brief flashes of events running through my head. Rain and thunder with Road Toad and Shaws huddled close inside a tent as I endured the sorcerer inflicted pain. Shaws feeding me a bitter clear drink containing willow bark. “Now I remember some.”
      Road Toad knelt and rested his hand on my shoulder. An intense stare preceded his words. “Yes, just ahead of a pursuing zombie horde, Private Shaws caught the retrieval rope attached to Hell Furnace.” Road Toad glanced over his shoulder for a second, nodding to Shaws. “He held onto you and the rope for twenty minutes while escaping the area.”
His intense stare remained. “Before we were able to catch up with the rest of the bevy today, Private Shaws ambushed a goblin patrol. Lucky for you, their leader was a shaman. We forced him to use his magics to heal you.” Road Toad stood. “Well, his feeble powers were enough to keep you alive.” He smiled and winked. “Get some rest.”
      I closed my eyes and tried to rest. The more I thought about it, the more confident I was that Road Toad had just lied.
      
I traveled, slung under Hell Furnace like the enchanters did on the way to the Necromancer’s fortified city. The captured souled zombie traveled slung as well. It remained gagged and bound as if in a caterpillar’s cocoon. Occasionally, it would moan and writhe.
      Because Enchanter Jonas was weak like me, he traveled slung beneath a dragon too. In addition to recovering from his confrontation with the sorcerer, he was exhausted from continual efforts to weaken the link between the captured zombie and its necromantic master.
One red dragon and his cavalrymen had fallen to the giant’s spear. Of the infiltration force that had parachuted in, only Private Shaws, Wizard Seelain, Enchanter Jonas, Corporal Brines and I survived. Still, Prince Reveron called our mission a success.

They’d carried me to the same room in the palace where I’d slept before. A new boar spear rested against the wall near the bed. Its polished tip flickered in the light shed by the single oil lamp. My sword, armor and other equipment either hung from hooks on a pole stand or rested on the table.
      The room felt cold despite the wool blanket and plush down quilt. I was too weak to move and sweat dampened my forehead, and my chest ached again.
Road Toad knocked and announced himself before entering. Two servants carrying a litter followed. Road Toad lit a second oil lamp while the two servants, dressed in gray linen shirts and brown breeches stood along the wall, awaiting instructions.
Road Toad carried the lamp to my bed. He noted the perspiration beads on my head. “So, the sorcerer’s magic is getting the better of you after all.” He pulled back the blankets. “Fetch some warm water and towels,” he said to the first servant. To the second he added, “And you, fetch a mug of warm broth.”
After they left, Road Toad closed the door and slid the small bar in place, securing it. He pulled the room’s single chair up to my bed before covering me back up. “Prince Reveron has secured the services of Priestess Ishola, the healer who fixed your broken arm.” He sat down, leaning toward me. “Remember her?”
I nodded, recalling the fight outside her pavilion. And her distain for Prince Reveron. She was a powerful healer who served Fendra Jolain.
Road Toad guessed my concern. “She will not discover your secret. That is why I said a goblin shaman had used his magic on you.” He crossed his arms. “Only Private Shaws knows, and he gave his word.”
      Road Toad’s face broke into a grin. “That was some sorcerer you faced down. Possibly a master, if not a grand sorcerer.”
      It was hard for me to tell if he was jesting or serious. I decided his words were serious.
“Good thing for you, Flank Hawk, sorcery’s less effective against healers. And that your weak skills were able to counter his intent.”
“How did Enchanter Jonas survive?” I asked, knowing enchanters are more vulnerable to magics because of their art.
“The sorcerer wanted him alive. Only attacked Jonas’ lungs.” Road Toad pointed to his stomach. “Tried to paralyze the muscle that works them. And Jonas, I imagine, fought desperately with his magic.” Road Toad chuckled. “But, unfortunately for the sorcerer’s plans, you went and interfered with a quarrel in his back.”
“Not before he attacked Grand Wizard Seelain.”
“Even so, Grand Wizard Seelain is thankful, and Prince Reveron doesn’t hold her injury against you.” He nodded once, with a sharp gaze. “She’s still alive.”
Road Toad held a finger to his mouth, signaling for silence. The servants knocked and waited for Road Toad to unbar the door.
Road Toad remained by the door. “Bathe him, then help him dress. He’ll visit the healer as a soldier. If he is up to it, feed him.”
Thankfully I didn’t have to raise my arms or lift my own feet as the servants knew their business. “Buckle on his sword and scabbard,” added Road Toad when they had finished.
I took a few spoonfuls of the chicken broth while sitting up, but even that made me nauseous. “Thank you for cleaning and dressing me,” I whispered to the servant, turning my head away from the spoon. “I cannot eat.”
“Very good,” said Road Toad, and they loaded me onto the stretcher. Bearing me, the servants followed Road Toad to the healer.

Two days later I again found myself dining with Road Toad at the One-Eyed Pelican, eating watery fish soup and breathing stale, smoke-filled air. This time Private Shaws had joined us.
      “So,” asked Shaws, “what was that guard at the tunnel referring to? The one with the scarred chin.”
“Corporal Drux?” Road Toad set aside his half-stale bread. “Let us say that he settled a dispute between myself and Colonel Brizich.”
Shaws sent a questioning glance my way. I shrugged. “That’s the short of it. Colonel Brizich doesn’t care for me neither.”
“Bahh,” said Shaws after downing the rest of his third ale. He smiled and shoved me in the shoulder when neither I nor Road Toad said anything further. “Well, he’ll have to take issue with that priestess who healed your heart.”
That had been an uncomfortable experience. Moxel, the guard Road Toad had stabbed in the thigh, made veiled threats regarding what would happen if he ran across me outside the palace. And although the priestess repaired my damaged heart and the infection around it with apparent ease, weariness muffled her arrogant tone. Still, she’d recognized that healing magic had been worked against the sorcerer’s damage, and I wasn’t sure she believed the story about the goblin shaman.
Road Toad and Shaws leaned close over the table, taking advantage of the boisterous crowd and ukulele player singing lewd ballads.
“The prince called the mission a success,” grumbled Shaws. “Every man in my company except Brines died. Half are probably corpses.” His eyes narrowed. “The kind up and walking about.” Shaws took another deep drink. That was why we ventured to the One-Eyed Pelican with Shaws, to support him as he mourned his lost friends.
I understood his loss, at least partially. Whenever I thought about Guzzy, recalling the good times, the pang of loss left me sad and empty. I’d never laugh with him again, ever. Keeping busy held that realization at arm’s length. And at least Guzzy wasn’t a zombie, an animated corpse, marching with the Necromancer King’s forces. I missed my family, but at least they’d fled the enemy’s advance in time. For Shaws, all but one of the comrades he’d trained and lived with—all dead or worse. I didn’t want to ask him about his family. What if they were dead too?
Road Toad shared another drink with Shaws, but it was only his second. I hadn’t finished my first. After the last visit here, I didn’t want to be drunk on the way back to the palace.
Neither did Road Toad. He patted Shaws on the shoulder and continued to console him, reminiscing about recent and past battles. The discussion reminded me of Pops Weasel and Short Two Blades. I pressed my fingers against the talisman under my padded armor. It was easier to reach since I hadn’t worn my breastplate at Road Toad’s suggestion. I missed those two mercenaries as well, but not as much as Guzzy.
As Road Toad spoke and smiled, he met my gaze and nodded toward my ale. “Another, Flank Hawk?”
“No,” I said, with my stomach turning sour. Pops and Short Two Blades were experienced mercenaries and they’d died. So could Road Toad. As always, I reassured myself that in a desperate battle, I’d fall before Road Toad. I forced myself to drain my tankard instead of pondering when I fell, if Road Toad would die trying to save me.
“I understand,” Road Toad said to Shaws. “The mission had a heavy price. But the capture of that souled zombie.” His gaze flicked to me for a moment before returning to meet Shaws’. “Imperial Seer Lochelle, Prime Counselor to the King, has been working her craft on the creature.”
I recalled my experience in the seer’s dark chamber. I wondered what the waters of her rune-scribed bowl would reveal. What thoughts and secrets could a souled zombie hold? What would Imperial Seer Lochelle’s blind eyes discover? Would it truly be worth the cost of Shaws’ comrades?
“And,” added Road Toad, “Enchantress Thulease is lending assistance.”
      Shaws sat back, his thoughts probably matched mine. Imperial Seer Lochelle and Supreme Enchantress Thulease were two of the most powerful spellcasters in the kingdom.
      Shaws leaned close again. “The fortified city of Morthis is expected to fall, soon. Or so I’ve heard. And the effort to retake the Faxtinian Coalition’s capital, Paris–Imprimis, has failed.”
      “As we speak,” whispered Road Toad, nodding in acknowledgement of Shaws’ information, “Prince Reveron is meeting with the king and his council. I do not know the details, but it is a bold plan the prince proposes. Maybe more risky than our last mission.”
      Shaws slammed his fist against the table. No one in the loud tavern took notice. “I’ll go if asked,” he said.
“So will I,” said Road Toad.
“Me as well,” I added, knowing I couldn’t turn down the prince, or Road Toad, if either would have me.
Road Toad signaled the serving wench. “One more for each of us.” When she waved her meaty arm and turned to go, Road Toad cut another piece of bread from the stale loaf and laughed. “Might want to finish your soup, Flank Hawk. If the prince has his way, we’ll leave tomorrow night.”
I stirred the greasy remains in the wooden bowl. “This is one thing I won’t miss.”



Chapter 17
The skies above the United States
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

Three of the eighteen launched antiballistic missiles found legitimate targets, critically damaging the nuclear warheads before reentry. Those burned up and fell harmlessly to earth.
       The laser aboard the experimental ABM aircraft successfully targeted one of the three surviving warheads, critically damaging its internal electronic components. It fell to earth without detonating, landing in Puget Sound.
       The fifth of the six MIRVed warheads survived a near miss with an ABM and continued unhindered in its terminal dive, detonating 1200 meters above the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia.
      
I followed Road Toad while he inspected Hell Furnace, double checking the harness and straps for tautness and excessive wear due to constant scraping against the dragon’s rough scales. Thick clouds hid the moon and stars, making the task more difficult. Road Toad patted the dragon to let her know where we were while he whispered reminders about what he was doing and why. Even though it was impossible to hide three dragons in the palace courtyard, the departure had been kept as quiet as possible.
      “Eager to be in the saddle?” I whispered to Road Toad.
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”
I patted Hell Furnace on the foreleg. Her deep, hollow breathing was calming. “Thanks for keeping me as your aft-guard.”
      Road Toad reached up and patted the serpentine neck of his mount, causing her to lift her head. “You’re a steady man, Flank Hawk. And you have a knack for surviving.” He rechecked the buckles and straps that secured our equipment. “You may want to withhold thanking me until we return.”
      His voice hinted at mirth, but sounded more solemn. Although our destination had been withheld, I suspected Road Toad had a good idea. As a serpent cavalryman, he’d at least know the initial direction of travel.
“Mercenary Flank Hawk,” called a quiet voice.
      I recognized it even before turning to see Grand Wizard Seelain’s white hair catching the distant torchlight. She’d stepped wide around Hell Furnace, coming from Prince Reveron’s serpent mount, Night Shard. She still wore an eye patch. Road Toad said it would take several spell sessions and many days to fully regenerate her ruptured eye.
      I bowed my head. “Grand Wizard Seelain.”
“I regret that I will not be joining you on this journey.” I caught her eye flicking towards the prince’s mount.
I knew she wanted to accompany the prince, but my impression was that the prince felt every moment of delay invited greater peril both for ourselves and the Kingdom of Keesee. “Grand Wizard, I would have been honored to serve as your personal guard once again. It is possible, that upon our return, the opportunity will once again be available.”
“Our paths depart for now, Mercenary Flank Hawk. While I am not a seer, I feel that they may yet cross again.” She held out a white cloth wrapped around a thin object. It appeared to have silver strings securing the wrapping. “For your crossbow.”
I held out my hands and she set the wrapped quarrel in them. “Although it exhausted me, it will hold the spell only until sunset ten days hence. I am confident you will use it wisely should the need arise.”
“Thank you,” I said, again bowing my head. “Your gift is very generous.”
She lifted the hem of her robe from the ground and took a step back. “Ward the prince as you would me.”
“I will.”
“Mercenary Road Toad, or Major Jadd,” she said slyly, “return my prince, and my favorite mercenary guard, to me.”
Road Toad nodded once. “I shall do my utmost to fulfill your request, Grand Wizard.” Without further comment she turned and strode back toward Prince Reveron.
Road Toad held Hell Furnace steady while I climbed aboard. I smiled to myself when I realized that without thinking I’d placed my right foot into the first leather loop, allowing my left to slip into the second as I climbed. I dug my right boot into the stirrup before swinging my left leg over the saddle. After Road Toad mounted, I stowed the crossbow bolt in a saddlebag and tightened the anchoring straps across my thighs.
      “I believe you have the respect of the grand wizard,” Road Toad commented over his shoulder. He waved ready to the prince and his aft-guard, Private Shaws.
      Serpent Cavalryman Sabfried, who I guessed was a water wizard by the faint blue hue of his skin, along with the stout dark-skinned woman who served as his aft-guard, waved to Prince Reveron from their serpent mount. Even Road Toad was at a loss as to the dark warrior’s bow whose string looped through miniature pulleys.
      With a few words of urging, Hell Furnace leapt and beat her wings, following the two black dragons, Frothing Maw and Night Shard, up into the warm night sky.
      

That night we flew north out over the Tyrrhenian, but remained within sight of the shore. In times of war fishing vessels don’t venture out at night and we only had to swing outward once to avoid flying over a merchant galley.
      Before morning we found refuge between several hills in an isolated grove of trees. Using a spring-fed stream that flowed nearby, Prince Reveron and Cavalryman Sabfried combined their magic to cover the area with an early morning fog.
      The prince joined Road Toad and me around the small campfire. Road Toad was busy boiling chicken eggs in a cast iron pot and cooking biscuits on a flat stone along the edge of the fire. During my patrol of the area after landing, I’d gathered some cattail shoots. I peeled and cut them before adding their white core to the boiling water.
Road Toad smiled. “Don’t like them raw?”
I shook my head, watching as the prince pulled and unrolled parchment from a leather case. It wasn’t until that moment that I saw the large ruby on the pommel of his sword. Road Toad just noticed too that Prince Reveron again carried the Blood-Sword.
Prince Reveron signaled us closer. “Now that we’re away from the palace,” he said, placing small stones on the corners of the map, “it is time you knew some of the details of our mission.”
He moved his finger along the map as he spoke. “We’re here.” I recognized the location of the Northern Kingdom of Keesee where he pointed, just below the Doran Confederacy. “Where our last mission took us mostly north around into the mountains, we will travel this way.” His finger ran west, then north around the city labeled Paris–Imprimis in the heart of the Faxtinian Coalition, to the coast.
      “Risky,” commented Road Toad. “The Coalition is overrun by the enemy. Goblins, ogres, zombies.” Road Toad checked the map again. “We’re traveling light. I assume you’ve arranged safe layovers and resupply?”
      The prince shook his head. “A dragon trio left a day ahead of us. Just our side of the border with the Coalition they’re leaving a cache in an isolated area like this. Road Toad, you recall Lord Mendenhall’s burned-out estate?”
After Road Toad nodded, the prince looked around. “We’ll let the fog dissipate so as not to draw attention.”
Road Toad checked the fire and the progress of the meal. “Where to after that?”
“The Reunited Kingdom,” Prince Reveron said. That got both our attention. “Even if they don’t know we’re coming, I have a writ.” He patted his satchel. “Simply laying over, and again resupplying.” Then he pointed to a small set of islands to the north of the Reunited Kingdom, running his finger northwest over to an island. He then slid his finger across the Western Ocean some more to a large land mass then down it, southwest and then west towards its center. “Somewhere out here.”
I knew there was no need for me to ask why. If the prince didn’t explain further, Road Toad would surely ask. The prince brushed the rocks off his map and rolled it back up. “We seek a way to destroy the factories of the enemy. The places they build the panzers, artillery and Stukas.”
Prince Reveron sat back, cross-legged, with his hands on his knees. “Are those eggs ready?”
Road Toad shook his head. “No, and the cattail has to cook longer too. The biscuits in a few minutes.”
“Your biscuits have always tasted like balled pie crust.” The prince grinned. “I should have brought honey.”
“Eggs on an outing such as this are rare enough,” said Road Toad. “You could skip my biscuits. Flank Hawk will eat your share.”
Prince Reveron asked me, “I take it you prefer yours crusty on the outside and uncooked on the inside?”
      It seemed awkward to talk so freely with the prince. Still, I replied, “I’ve found that Road Toad is many things, but not a cook. Or a judge of fine food.”
      “Very true,” said the prince. “Even so, I have fond memories of training under you in my youth, Major Jadd. Sometimes I long for those days, but not for your biscuits.”
We had a good laugh, but then the prince’s eyes looked into the fire, and became serious once again.
Road Toad asked, “Our mission has something to do with the captured zombie?”
      “It does. Its soul is a damned one, summoned back from before the fall of the First Civilization. That is how the enemy learned to build the weapons he sends against us.” The prince frowned. “Scientists and engineers reviving weapons and methods of war from the past. The one we have is evil, and I believe he was evil to the core long before being summoned and anchored in a corpse. The enemy has many more like him.”
      I knew that damned souls served and were the playthings of demons. “If his soul was damned,” I said, “he’d have to have been evil.”
      “But this one was damned before the rise of demons and magic.” The prince leaned forward. “We go to trade with one of the greater elves.”
That got our attention even more than landing in the Reunited Kingdom. The prince wasn’t talking about sprites or pixies. I’d always been told greater elves were nothing more than a myth. A bard in Pine Ridge once sang a ballad hinting that Fendra Jolain, and Uplersh, goddess of the seas, were actually great elves.
      “Oh, yes,” said Prince Reveron, answering my wide eyes, “they exist.”
What did Prince Reveron intend to trade? What did he hope to get? The prince didn’t answer either of those unasked questions. Instead he asked, “Flank Hawk, it was reported you saw souled zombies bearing the sign of the long-toothed tiger?”
“I did, Prince. In the tunnels. On their shields.”
Road Toad used a flat stick to get three of the six eggs out of the small pot, tossing one to the prince and one to me. “Prince, are the rumors true?” he asked. “That the cult of the long-tooths has returned to fight for the enemy?”
After tossing his egg from hand to hand to cool it, Prince Reveron cracked the egg on a stone. “Yes, and no.” He lifted several cattail stalks from the water and set them on the rock. “They have returned, but they do not fight for the enemy.”
Road Toad scowled as he handed the prince and me a biscuit. “Then who do they support?”
“We have yet to learn,” answered the prince. “But they have begun stalking and slaying our brothers.”


Someone kicked me awake. Even though I’d thrown my wool blanket aside and sat up, Called Shot, as always with her weird-strung bow in hand, kicked me in the leg again. “Patrols,” she hissed. “Ready yourself for travel.” She hurried to her equipment pile, grabbed her chain mail shirt and pulled it over her head.
      I stood and began buckling on my breast and backplate. Evidenced by the dim morning light, I’d been asleep less than thirty minutes. “What’s happening?”
She slid on her conical helm and adjusted the chin strap. Like mine, it showed wear from combat. “Shaws says patrols are closing in on us. Goblin and ogre.”
After I strapped on my sword, I rolled my blanket, tied it and shoved everything else into my satchel. “They must be close.”
Called Shot nodded, adjusting the arrows in her quiver. “Don’t waste time hiding evidence of our camp.”
I grabbed my spear and together we hurried along the shallow stream toward the meadow’s edge. Just inside the tree line Prince Reveron, Road Toad, and Wizard Sabfried readied the bevy for flight.
Road Toad had borrowed my crossbow for his turn at watch, and I saw he’d strapped it down next to my rear facing saddle. Hell Furnace growled as Road Toad tightened straps. “What can I do?” I asked.
“Secure your spear,” said Road Toad. “Don your parachute pack.”
I slid my spear’s head into its sheath and secured the shaft with leather throngs woven into the rigging. Road Toad had done the same, but on a smaller scale for his javelins.
“Are the canteens full?” I asked.
“They are.” He pointed. “Help Called Shot.”
She struggled, hauling two large skins filled with water from the stream. I carried one, knowing Lesser Wizard Sabfried would need it if he used his magic.
Shaws appeared through the trees at the far side of the small meadow, sprinting toward us. Prince Reveron signaled everyone to mount the dragons.
“They must be close,” I said to Road Toad.
He nodded and directed Hell Furnace through the trees and into the field. Just as we emerged, a pair of slender dragons sped by, overhead, in the direction Shaws had come from.
      The prince signaled with his right arm, “Take flight. Vic formation, wide spread.” Hell Furnace flapped her powerful wings and leapt skyward while an ogre patrol broke through the tree line across the meadow. One put a crescent-shaped horn to its lips and signaled our location with a trumpeting rumble.
As we took our trailing position, below and to the right of the prince’s dragon, I prepared the tripod-mounted crossbow. A goblin patrol emerged from the woods at the spot where our bevy had taken off. I scanned the sky while calling over my shoulder, “Goblins just overran our camp.”
      “Three o’clock high,” answered Road Toad, indicating the pair of white dragons that had flown overhead. They’d swung around. “They’re faster than us. Faster than blacks.”
I knew the spread vic formation enabled us to protect our leader, yet not allow an enemy dragon to catch more than one of us with its breath weapon.
Road Toad called over his shoulder again, confirming my suspicions. “Look sharp, two more dragons have risen from the ground, eleven o’clock. Something or someone betrayed our presence.”
“A trap? The goblins and ogres flushed us?”
“We’re lucky. If they’d have known our exact whereabouts they’d have strafed us with the whites’ icy breath.”
Hell Furnace banked, swinging west. When we’d landed last night, the prince reported we were fifty miles west of Paris–Imprimis. We were to travel northeast tonight. Now we were heading west. The pair of dragons that had been at our three o’clock were now on our six. The ones at the eleven now flew parallel on our three. I scanned the sky. “Pair of dragons, nine o’clock,” I yelled.
I signaled my sighting to Called Shot on our left, while Road Toad urged more speed out of Hell Furnace. She growled deeply, straining to keep pace with the faster black dragons. “I’m dropping equipment,” called Road Toad before he cut two of the leather straps securing the bundles and sacks. I didn’t watch our tent, water and food fall to the ground. “It’ll come to combat anyway,” he added.
I swallowed, recalling the spins and dives Road Toad had practiced to familiarize me with aerial combat. This time it would be for real.
“Three more, twelve o’clock,” announced Road Toad. “Prince Reveron is climbing.” We followed, striving for altitude and an advantage over the nine enemy dragons.
I watched as they closed. The white dragons were longer, with narrower wings than other dragons I’d seen. Their snouts were also longer with a straight bony crest extending back from their skulls, making them seem even longer. Like us, each white bore two riders. The enemy serpent cavalrymen appeared human, dressed in heavy furs. By the size I guessed the aft-guards were goblins with shortbows.
“They fly, climb and dive faster,” said Road Toad. “We can turn more swiftly.” The air became colder the higher we went. No clouds offered cover. “Their breath’ll look like a black’s,” Road Toad added. “But a stream of liquid nitrogen. It’ll freeze anything it touches, hard as a rock.”
I pulled out the quarrel Wizard Seelain had given me and replaced the one I’d set. “Can we take nine of them?”
“The prince must survive,” he responded.
“Should I target the dragons or the cavalrymen?”
“I don’t think the goblins will be able to take control. Target the cavalrymen. If any are wizards, try Seelain’s gift on them.”
      The enemy serpents were within two hundred yards, three climbing parallel, three striving to get above, and three weaving below us. Called Shot, who in camp had proven far better with her bow than I was with my crossbow, opened fire on the enemy. She sent an arrow at one of the dragons below, striking a goblin archer in the leg. Then, everything seemed to happen at once.
Prince Reveron led us in a banking turn toward the trio at our elevation. Hell Furnace roared deeply while Frothing Maw and Night Shard added their hawk-like challenge. The whites replied with honking bellows that sounded like angry giant geese. The ruckus emphasized how greatly we were outnumbered.
      “Look up!” I shouted. “They’re diving on us!”
“Hold on,” replied Road Toad. He pulled Hell Furnace up into a steep climb.
Facing down, I could have fired on the dragons below, but none of those enemy serpent cavalrymen appeared to be spellcasters. I twisted and turned, watching for any dragons attempting to close on us. At that moment, none were.
Hell Furnace slowed in her ascent and took a deep breath just before exhaling a gout of flame at a foe. At the same time a cloud-white, steaming shaft of liquid struck Hell Furnace’s tail, producing a snarl of pain and anger. A line of frosted scales shattered and fell away, exposing a raw wound. Hell Furnace turned and dove as a wildly honking white dragon plummeted past, nearly colliding with us. The white beast flapped, trying to regain control, but Hell Furnace’s breath had burned away one of its leathery wings.
Road Toad grunted, indicating he hurled a javelin at some target out of my field of vision. A barbed arrow bit into the saddle inches from my right thigh.
      Hell Furnace swung about, the wind pressing my back told me she was picking up speed. At our four o’clock I spotted Prince Reveron, urgently gesturing a series of spells, fending off a whirling wind elemental as Night Shard struggled to maintain flight. Shaws lay flat, doing his best to hold against the buffeting gale.
“Bear left,” I called. “The prince is in trouble. Give me a shot.”
      Road Toad complied. “Fast, we have company closing.”
Wizard Sabfried urged his mount toward the prince from below, while Called Shot steadily fired arrows into the pursuing pair of dragons. Several shafts stuck like porcupine quills in the snouts of the trailing beast. The serpent riders rode low in the saddle to avoid becoming a target as they closed.
I aimed for the ear of the fur-clad enemy wizard and let the quarrel fly.
He sensed my attack coming and, with his right hand, slapped at the air. The spell knocked my quarrel off target in midflight. Immediately, however, Grand Wizard Seelain’s spelled quarrel righted itself, angling back at the wizard. He dropped his spell effort against the prince and slapped the air with both hands, sending Wizard Seelain’s gift wide right.
      The effort distracted the enemy air wizard, allowing Wizard Sabfried an opening to send a bolt of water upward. The fist-sized water glob smacked the enemy wizard across the face, stunning him.
I almost forgot to signal Road Toad. “Done!” I shouted. He directed Hell Furnace into a twisting climb. Frothing Maw angled up and, with a viper-like strike, clamped his jaws down on the dazed enemy wizard, yanking him from the saddle.
The maneuver cost Frothing Maw momentum, and the chasing pair of white dragons closed. Called Shot shouted a warning, causing Wizard Sabfried to spin his mount around to face the onslaught.
A stream of liquid nitrogen raked across Frothing Maw’s back before the maneuver was complete, catching both Wizard Sabfried and Called Shot. Sabfried managed to throw up a thin water barrier that absorbed some of the cold, but Called Shot died after a short agonized scream.
Frothing Maw spit out the dead wizard and with claws and jaws latched onto the second pursuing white dragon. In a tangle of wings, claws, and snapping jaws punctuated by screeches and bellows, the battling dragons tumbled from the sky.
      I’d reloaded the tripod-mounted crossbow and searched for another target. Hell Furnace beat her wings hard to regain lost altitude. I let fly at a white dragon crossing left to right ninety yards behind us. But I’d overestimated the lead and missed. The goblin on the dragon returned a wild shot, falling far short of us.
Road Toad hurled another javelin at a white before it shot past on our left. Immediately Road Toad rolled Hell Furnace over until we were upside down before pulling back, directing her into a loop. I waited to reload and hung on through the tight maneuver. It placed us on the tail of the white that had shot by.
“We’re turning inside of her,” called Road Toad. “Her aft-guard’s got one of Called Shot’s arrows through his chest.”
One of a trio of whites pursuing the prince broke off, taking the opportunity to dive on us. “One coming in, five o’clock high,” I shouted.
Road Toad pulled Hell Furnace in a tighter turn. “Keep her off us.”
With a crossbow? I thought. Called Shot wasn’t able to do that. I took aim and fired as the dragon leveled out two hundred yards behind, closing at an inside angle. The serpent cavalryman pulled his dragon to the left to avoid my quarrel, adding a few seconds until we were in trouble. “Ten seconds until she’ll breathe,” I shouted.
Hell Furnace answered my warning with a roaring, fiery breath. A startled, pain-filled bellow rose from the pursued white dragon. The scent of hot sulfur mixed with singed flesh permeated the air.
I cocked back my crossbow as Hell Furnace winged over to evade pursuit. She roared in pain as an unseen white dragon shot in, raking her stomach and tail with icy breath. Straps that secured my saddle snapped while Road Toad struggled to regain control of the writhing red dragon.
I grabbed onto Road Toad’s saddle behind as mine began sliding. My saddle slid further. “Road Toad!” I screamed as I struggled with one hand to release the leg straps anchoring me to it. He looked over his shoulder as I slid down the side. My saddle tumbled away but I managed to grab onto my spear’s shaft.
“Let go,” he urged. “Parachute!”
The wind tugged and slammed me against Hell Furnace’s side. I didn’t have a choice; the straps holding my spear broke and I fell away with it.
I watched Hell Furnace pull away and my greatest fear became tumbling out of control, especially with my spear making me unsteady. I spun, shifting to an upright position with my legs together. The ground continued to rush toward me. I didn’t want to pull the parachute release cord too soon and become a floating target.
The ground below consisted of rolling hills with deep grass, small evergreens and scattered thickets. Above, three enemy dragons harried Hell Furnace. No sign of the prince on his serpent steed.
      I closed my eyes and yanked the cord, bracing myself for when the round parachute snapped opened. The jolt knocked some of the breath out of me and I glanced about as I rocked, suspended by the web of thin cords. On a hillside to the south I saw what at first I believed to be the remains of Wizard Sabfried, Called Shot and their mount. But the red sword in the prince’s hand said otherwise.
He charged, thrusting deep into the flank of a white dragon that had its jaws locked on Night Shard’s throat. The prince’s steed refused to die peacefully and tore into the white’s belly with its hawk-like talons.
      Both mortally wounded beasts rolled down the hill, fighting to the last. The prince turned from them and ran toward the crest of the hill where Shaws dodged and traded blows with a pair of ogres.
      My parachute carried me almost three hundred yards to the west of the prince. The last thing I saw before falling below the hilltop was a pair of goblins running up the hill towards the fray, signaling for unseen others to follow.
I tossed my spear to the ground and bent my knees just before landing. I rolled, absorbing the impact, and took a breath while flexing my legs and ankles. Nothing broken. After unbuckling and sloughing off my parachute pack, I grabbed my spear and sprinted toward the prince. I glanced upwards only once. Road Toad still circled above, a little further to the west, but I didn’t take the time to determine his situation. The familiar tone of an ogre’s horn sounded from the direction of Shaws and the prince. I couldn’t be sure if I heard a distant reply over my pounding heart as I circled the hillside, hoping to come up behind the enemy.
      A ring of dead or dying goblins surrounded Prince Reveron and Shaws. The goblins and ogres were learning the horror the Blood-Sword inflicted on its victims. Its eerie red glow and the sickening evil that emanated from it demanded respect, if not fear. Still, the remaining dozen goblins and half as many ogres surrounded Prince Reveron and Shaws, closing on them.
I spotted the ogre with the horn standing back from the fray. Even as I closed, he lifted the horn to his lips, oblivious to my approach. I took advantage of the brute’s exposed back and drove my spear into its spine.
I twisted my spear before withdrawing it. The ogre dropped the horn, unblown, and grunted in surprised pain as its legs collapsed. Before I knew it I was backing away, fending off five goblins. They came at me with short spears and knives, shrieking gleefully at the opportunity to face a foe not wielding the Blood-Sword.
The five spread out, trying to surround me. I stopped giving ground. That caught them by surprise and I took advantage of it by stabbing one in the neck before slamming another across the face with my spear’s shaft while dashing past, toward Shaws and the prince. As I ran, a goblin spear struck my backplate and fell away. A second flew over my right shoulder.
      Despite the Blood-Sword and Shaws’ combat skill, things looked bad. Shaws had two goblin arrows sticking out of his right thigh and the prince’s left arm hung limp as he maneuvered under an ogre’s club and stabbed upward.
      The emanating evil intensified the closer I got to the malevolent sword. I slammed through a goblin that had interposed itself between me and my objective. The effort earned me a gash across my cheek.
I’d nearly reached my besieged comrades when an ogre brought his club down on Shaws, crushing the soldier’s shoulder and driving him to the ground.
      I screamed, “NO!” But the screeching goblin calls and bellowing ogre taunts overwhelmed my outcry. I leapt over two goblins dying from the Blood-Sword’s wounds and broke through the enemy circle.
      I barreled past a goblin but knew I was too late to save Shaws. He tried to roll and avoid the ogre’s club, but a second brute stomped on Shaws’ wounded leg, pinning him in place. The prince had his back to Shaws, pressing an attack against a goblin trio who’d decided to shoot arrows rather than risk hand-to-hand against the glowing sword.
      I never made it to the Prince’s side. A goblin tackled me from the side. I kicked him off but two more knife-brandishing ones landed on me.
Hell Furnace’s nearby roar shattered what resolve remained of the surviving ogres and goblins. They broke and ran.
      The dragon landed heavily twenty yards away, and collapsed. Road Toad leapt off his mount as she rolled onto her side. I got to my feet and ran to the prince but Road Toad reached him first.
      All around, dying ogres and goblins writhed and groaned, soon to join their fallen brothers. The prince dropped to one knee, struggling to sheathe his bloody sword. I stumbled when I saw his wounds. The strength of an ogre had driven a goblin spear through his leg. A goblin arrow’s black shaft stuck out of his stomach, raising and lowering with each labored breath.
      Road Toad knelt and supported Prince Reveron. “Prince, stay with us,” he urged. “Don’t pass out.” He looked up at me. “Flank Hawk, he needs your skills.”
“My skills?” I looked around, ready to draw my sword. But the enemy had truly fled.
“Yes, Flank Hawk, but not your sword.”
I looked beyond Road Toad. Hell Furnace lay on her side, her head on the ground. Deep lines of frost wounds crisscrossed her neck and sides. A trail of intestines hung from a gaping stomach wound.
“Flank Hawk!”
I stared down again before kneeling next to the prince. He grimaced as Road Toad examined the spear rammed through his leg just below the hip.
Prince Reveron nodded toward the gasping red dragon. “She’s done for, as am I.”
“Prince, I’ve seen far worse battle wounds. So have you.”
I met Road Toad’s gaze. I couldn’t tell if he was lying.
“I can’t travel or be carried in such condition,” said the prince. “You must leave me. They’ll rally soon and return.”
I held the prince steady while Road Toad examined the protruding arrow shaft. “Nonsense,” he said. “We’ll not abandon you.”
The prince grunted and sighed. “They mustn’t capture the Blood-Sword.”
“They won’t. Flank Hawk, here, is a rogue healer.”
Prince Reveron turned to me with a raised eyebrow.
“Not really,” I said. “I can’t heal his wounds.”
“But you can staunch the bleeding. We can’t stay here.” Road Toad looked around and together we lowered the prince to his side. Cold emanated from his limp left arm. Road Toad stood. “Stay with the prince.” He ran back to Hell Furnace. She’d stopped breathing.
“You’ve hidden your secret well,” the prince whispered through gritted teeth. The adrenaline rush of battle was fading with pain replacing it.
“It’s not much of a secret to keep,” I said, wondering how long until the enemy returned. I searched the sky for dragons while listening for the call of enemy horns. From the depths of my soul, I wanted to cry when my eyes fell upon Shaws’ crushed and broken body. It reminded me of Guzzy. But mercenaries don’t shed tears. Another friend and comrade lost. And the prince was next.
Road Toad dropped my crossbow next to me along with my satchel. “Be strong, Flank Hawk,” he said, constructing a stretcher from goblin spears and an ogre’s deerskin vest. “The news gets better, Prince,” jested Road Toad. “It appears that the goblins have soiled their arrowheads with feces. Probably their own.”
The prince nodded but said nothing.
“He’s going into shock,” I warned.
“We’re almost ready. Prepare your magic, Flank Hawk.”
I reached into my satchel and pulled out the pouch holding ground white oak bark. “He’s already lost a lot of blood. I can’t do it.”
Road Toad ran to the hilltop and scanned the terrain before dragging the stretcher next to the prince. He broke off the arrow shaft, leaving five inches sticking out of the wound. “Its bite isn’t very deep.” He then ran expert eyes and steady hands over the spear wound. “Hold the spear shaft steady.” When I did, he sawed through it using one of Hell Furnace’s serrated fangs.
“I’m going to pull the spear shaft through. When I do, use your magic.” He examined the wound one more time. “And hope no major arteries are damaged.”
“Wait,” I said before layering the wound around the base of the shaft with bark. I caught the excess that dropped in my cupped left hand. “When I nod, pull.”
Road Toad nodded. Prince Reveron held his breath.
I shut my eyes, slowed my breathing, and chanted while reaching out with my mind, seeking energy strands. After a moment they came into focus. I nodded sharply to Road Toad as I singled out a broad strand and redirected it into the wound where blood flowed deep within. I caught a second strand, and a third. The rapid effort made my head spin.
A hand fell upon my shoulder, steadying me. I reached for one more narrow ribbon, the longest I dared, and sent it through the bark to ripple along the torn flesh. The powdered bark disappeared, the energy dissipated, and the internal bleeding all but stopped.
I sat back, exhausted. “His hand and forearm.”
“I know,” said Road Toad. “Frostbitten.”
I opened my eyes. Road Toad had cut away the prince’s leather legging before draping a folded cloth over the wound. “Hold the leg, so I can wrap it.”
I shook my head, clearing it, and complied.
After he tied a shredded blanket around the leg, he said, “Good work.” Then we slid the prince onto the litter. He groaned and opened his eyes a crack.
Road Toad slung a satchel over his shoulder. “Grab your crossbow.” He lashed my spear to the litter. “We’ve been here too long already.”
We carried the prince down the hill. “We’ll follow the track the ogres and goblins made back toward that thicket.”
Five minutes later we’d entered the dense stand of dogwood and scrub pines. It led to an enemy campsite with a cold fire pit and several bed piles of gathered branches and leaves. The prince signaled us to stop and muttered an incantation. A tingling breeze swept over me from head to toe. He fell back, paler than before.
We kept moving, listening while searching the terrain and sky. Twenty minutes later we’d rounded several more hills, generally heading west, before we broke from the path that led to flat open grassland.
      “There,” nodded Road Toad, and we hustled into a stand of lilac bushes a week past bloom nestled under a pair of stunted maples. It was tricky maneuvering to the center of the weakly fragrant bushes. We set the prince down and Road Toad immediately began checking him over.
      “Will he make it?” I asked.
Road Toad slid his hand under Prince Reveron’s mailed shirt and held the arrow shaft. “Lift the shirt.”
I did, freeing it from the mail links before rolling the bloody armor up. “It’s not deep.”
Road Toad nodded. “Any more spell strength in you?”
I shook my head. He didn’t appear surprised.
The prince flinched and clenched his teeth as Road Toad worked the arrowhead out. Holding it up, he asked the prince, “Memento?”
“Thank you,” whispered the prince. “My fair Seelain is sure to treasure it.”
Road Toad pulled a needle and horsetail thread from his satchel and went to work on the belly wound. “Arm beginning to hurt?”
Prince Reveron nodded.
“It’s going to get much worse.”
“Then let’s discuss my plan before pain further clouds my thoughts.”
Road Toad nodded. “I assume your spell removed the dragon scent, making us more difficult to track. I saw the mudhounds too.”
Mudhounds? I thought. We’d never move fast enough to evade them.
Prince Reveron licked his lips before continuing, striving to ignore the growing pain. “First, we’ve been betrayed. The trap set for us was too organized. Too complete.”
“Who knew of our mission?” asked Road Toad.
“Only the King’s Council.”
      “A spy. We must return and warn your father.”
      “Agreed,” said the prince. “But the mission must be completed.”
      This caught both Road Toad and me by surprise. “Prince,” argued Road Toad, “you cannot go forward with this quest.”
      “Agreed, I cannot. In any case, only I have the standing to accuse one of the Council.”
“Do you know who the traitor is?” asked Road Toad.
I could have answered that. Road Toad could as well.
“I do not, but I suspect you do. And from your face, you as well, Flank Hawk.”
In a few sentences Road Toad relayed the stormy night incident with Colonel Brizich after our visit to the One-Eyed Pelican.
“That does not prove his guilt,” said the prince. “But serpent cavalrymen from his bevy dropped supplies in advance of us.” He shook his head. “Even more reason I must speak with my father.”
“Then it’s settled,” said Road Toad. “We shall make our way back.”
“No,” replied the prince. “One of you must continue the mission.”
Road Toad only scowled, so I asked, “What is the mission?”
      “To venture where I showed on the map. To trade with one of the great elves for a way to disrupt the Necromancer King’s plans, allowing us to overcome him.” The prince sneered and cocked his head, swallowing. “We’re destined to lose this war, battling against panzers and Stukas. We cannot replace wizards lost.”
      “Nor dragons,” added Road Toad. “Attrition.”
“What have you to trade?” I asked.
      The prince moved a shaky hand to the hilt of the Blood-Sword. “It was captured by my forefathers from one of this particular great elf’s emissaries.”
      “Why wouldn’t he simply wrest it from you?” asked Road Toad with some skepticism.
      “It was not an emissary to us, but to our current foe. And Imperial Seer Lochelle, Prime Counselor to the King, believes he would not.”
The memory of her rune-scribed chamber sent a chill down my spine. She was powerful, but to guess the motives of a greater elf, a being of legend?
      “She also said, ‘The friend of a returned friend would be the key to success.’” His hard gaze fell upon me. “You, Flank Hawk, must continue the quest.”
The prince’s eyes didn’t waver. Road Toad’s face transformed from one of surprise to one of contemplation.
“Me? I can’t complete the mission,” I argued, standing. My helmet scraped against the covering branches. “We need to get you back to the King’s City. To reveal the traitor.”
“If anyone is to carry on,” said Road Toad, “it is you, Flank Hawk.”
“I cannot take the Blood-Sword,” I said, wondering what they were thinking. “I have no idea where to go, or how to get there. I have no rank or authority.”
“You lack the skill to care for the prince’s wounds,” said Road Toad. “Your healing magic is too weak. And now that the prince knows of your secret, he, like any other noble and military officer, is oath-bound to inform the first Fendra Jolain priest encountered.”
He let that sink in. Any noble that failed to report those with healing ability forfeited the services of Fendra Jolain’s healers in their lands. Prince Reveron wouldn’t risk that. Not for me. Especially not in a time of war.
“Even if you are now willing to endure induction into the healing cult for the sake of the prince, it is I who is familiar with this region and have knowledge of trails seldom used.”
It was like they were sending me to certain death. “Without a dragon, how can I cross the Western Ocean to the land beyond?”
      “Road Toad,” said the prince, “give him the map.” As Road Toad pulled the leather tube from the satchel, the prince lifted his right hand. “And my ring.”
      Road Toad removed the gold ring from the prince’s little finger and presented it with the map to me. I stepped back further into the bushes. Taking them meant I’d accepted the mission. It was beyond me. Passing it on to me doomed it to failure.
“Mercenary Flank Hawk,” snapped the prince. “You must carry on. The Blood-Sword must leave this land. The enemy must not capture it.”
“Road Toad,” I pleaded, “tell him that I am nothing more than a militiaman, a farmer.”
Prince Reveron gritted his teeth. His breathing became more labored. “One must be a spellcaster to wield the Blood-Sword, which you are. Otherwise it will possess the one who draws it.”
I didn’t want to carry that sword, let alone wield it.
“Prince,” said Road Toad, shifting the ring and map case to one hand and pulling a thin, metal vial from a pocket inside his boot. “This medicine will deaden the pain, but it will also weaken your thoughts.”
“Bide a moment more,” the prince said, forcing each word. His eyes flicked to his arm and back to me. “You must. I cannot carry on. And I must return to warn my father. Both are necessary to save my people. Your family too.”
My family. It wasn’t fair what they were asking. It wasn’t reasonable for them to expect me to succeed. I knew nothing.
Prince Reveron repeated, “The friend of a returned friend is the key. And you will find aid from one once rescued by my friend.” He nodded to Road Toad. “Sint Malo. It is an open city. Belinda the Cursed. She has crossed the great ocean.” The prince curled up in pain.
Road Toad offered me the map and ring again. “The prince has called upon you. How can you deny him?”
“He asks the impossible.”
“That is right. He asked,” said Road Toad. “He did not command you.” He offered the map and ring again. “I will tell you what you need to know. We must separate before the hounds get too close.”
What choice did I have? I couldn’t follow Road Toad back with the prince. The enemy had overrun my home. My family. What would happen to them if I refused to try? I took the map and the ring. “I will try.”
“Take the sword.”
I knelt next to the prince. “I,” he started, “I will honor...any promises you must make in my name.”
I unbuckled the belt, taking the sword and scabbard from the prince. It was lighter than I expected. “I will carry it,” I said. “But I will not draw it.”
“If I were you, neither would I,” Road Toad agreed.

Within two minutes Road Toad stitched up the cut on my cheek, telling me that, as a healer, there would be little scarring, if any. Then he scratched a map into the dirt, giving me directions to the open city of Sint Malo. Apparently he’d met Belinda the Cursed more than once. She frequented the Fertile Serpent, and Road Toad swore the food served was no worse than the One-Eyed Pelican’s. I took it all in, knowing he was better suited for the task than me.
      Finally, he gave me eight gold and fourteen silver coins minted with a pinwheel of five swords, emblem of the Faxtinian Coalition Council, instead of the head of Keesee’s King Tobias. With a handshake and pat on the shoulder, he said, “Don’t be too surprised when we meet again.”
Road Toad’s hand on my shoulder reminded me of the tattoo and the brotherhood bond he had with the prince. Did that make me more expendable? Deep down, I had to believe that Road Toad wouldn’t send me off, doomed to certain failure and death. I clutched my spear and, before leaving the concealing lilacs, I replied, “Can one surprise the dead?”
      Thousands of thoughts swirled in my head. Prince Reveron had passed on to me more than his evil sword to barter. The responsibility of safeguarding it, along with the duty to find the greater elf and trade the sword for something to save all of Keesee weighed heavily on me as I trudged west. It was an impossible task.



Chapter 18
The skies above the United States
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

The SLBM’s final surviving .8 megaton warhead plummeted off course and detonated eleven miles north of the newest nuclear power plant in eastern Nevada. Its airburst temporarily rivaled the sun, visually and thermally. Meanwhile, its two hidden and undiscovered sister warheads resting in crates had mere seconds before adding to the ravaging destruction.
      
Two hours, I thought, estimating by the sun’s position in the morning sky. Opposite the sun, a distant line of clouds signaled possible rain by early afternoon. I’d been running two hours and just circled around a second burned-out village.
      Road Toad said that Paris–Imprimis had fallen and the enemy roamed the countryside largely unopposed as they worked to secure their conquest of the Faxtinian Coalition.
I stood inside a coppice of maple trees. Denser stands became more frequent as I moved westward. I chewed on a strip of beef jerky from my satchel and listened to the birds. A male blackbird sang, calling its a mate and warning off competitors from its nesting territory.
I had to pace myself as three days of hard travel loomed before I’d reach Sint Malo. Being an open city meant that Sint Malo refused to take sides in the war. How long would that last? Corradin the Conjurer had ruled the city for centuries, owing his power and longevity to demons and other fell sprits he commanded. I wiped the sweat from my brow. How many of the stories about the Conjurer were true? Sint Malo was known, even in the Doran Confederacy, as a dark city filled with danger. Even powerful lords and wizards avoided confrontations with Sint Malo’s ruler. To do otherwise risked his wrath, earning a sending of demons to extract vengeance. Apparently Corradin the Conjurer’s power and reputation held the Necromancer King at bay.
I finished the piece of jerky and decided to stop at the next stream and flip rocks for crayfish. I could lash one of my quarrels to a stick and spear frogs and save my dried food for more urgent need. Then, I heard it—the deep baying chorus. Mudhounds!
I grabbed my spear and ran, cursing myself for stopping. Mudhounds were faultless trackers. More reliable than magic. My father said they could track a week-old scent, and mine was only hours old.
When I first took flight I pondered ways of leaving a confused trail. Water, doubling back, taking to trees. Each method would’ve slowed my pace, and I decided distance was more important. My stomach turned at the wrong decision I’d made.
I risked being spotted by crossing directly over the top of a hill instead of the roundabout routes I’d taken. It couldn’t be goblins chasing me unless they were mounted. It’d be ogres hunting me with the mottled brown, wolf-sized hounds. I listened as I ran and identified the baying of at least three hounds, still a ways off. I checked the sky over my shoulder. No dragons at least.
I’d been running west with little variation. Even if the hounds lost my scent, the ogres could guess my path. I felt for the tin flask holding the powder concoction. Shaws promised it could foil mudhounds for a few hours at least.
I slowed down to a brisk trot, pacing myself and trying to formulate a plan. How many ogres tracked with the hounds? Did they split with some following me and the rest the prince and Road Toad? I’d have to spread Shaws’ powder somewhere so that every hound would sniff it in.
Maybe if I found a bridge and spread the powder at the end of it? But what if the hounds took the stream instead? Would I even find a bridge? I swung south. Maybe along a road. I’d already crossed two trails formed by years of wagon traffic. If I could find one that passed through a wooded area, the hounds would be on the road, tracking. If not that, then a game trail. Woods sounded good. Road Toad and I had kept ahead of two ogres while running through thick woods.
About a half-hour later I decided to risk a steep hill and survey the land ahead. It was hard to tell if the baying hounds had closed. I angled southwest and then ran to the top of the commanding hill. First, I looked east and listened. The baying was closer. I guessed they were twenty minutes behind. Then I searched for a stand of trees larger than the frequent small groves littering the countryside. To the northwest I spied a distant hillside blanketed with oaks and maybe maples.
I wondered why the hounds weren’t trained to track in silence. Maybe they were driving me to a waiting enemy? As I pushed on, I convinced myself that my switching directions and that I hadn’t spotted any dragons overhead eliminated that possibility. If I could make it to the trees, I had a chance.

Three hundred yards into the woods, running and trying not to kick up the carpet of damp leaves from the previous fall, I found a game trail and followed it west. Although I didn’t hear the baying, I knew it was because the trees muffled sound. The trail ran along the base of a hillside down to a creek. I took a drink and filled my waterskin before following the creek, careful not to slip on its rocky bottom. For five minutes the water never got deeper than my ankles.
      Off to my left moss-covered boulders worn smooth by weather and time caught my attention. Just what I was looking for and none too soon as the baying had entered the woods. The hounds weren’t far behind.
The line of boulders stood tall and steep, but a five-foot gap ran between a pair of them leading further up the hill. Every tracking hound would have to run through the gap or attempt leaping up the eight-foot rock wall. They certainly wouldn’t go around.
      I made it to the gap and peeled away the flask’s wax seal with my thumbnail before pulling the cap. I poured half the peppery powder in my hand and scattered the contents across the gap. I closed the flask and brushed off the bit clinging to my palm.
I ran another twenty yards up the hill before turning and swinging back around toward the creek. I was worried now that even if the hounds couldn’t follow me, the ogres might. Not by scent, but by the trail I left.
      I made my way west again, seeking another game trail. Minutes later the hounds’ tone changed to a high pitched, stressed baying. It was followed by harsh ogre curses. I was too far away to catch individual words. I wiped my brow and took another drink. I’d gained a few hours, at least.
      It was late afternoon when I broke from the trees. The overhead clouds threatened rain. My next hope was to find a wide stream or river. If not that, maybe a village where I could confuse my trail.

I finally had to rest. I’d crossed no rivers, only brooks and came across one town. From a distance I spotted ogres wandering its streets.
      The clouds above continued to threaten heavy rain but only a steady drizzle found its way down. One of the first lessons Guzzy had taught me was to wax my padded armor. Doing so kept most of the water rolling off. Even though heavy rains would soak through, they also might throw off the mudhounds certainly tracking me again by now.
      I found a circular outcropping of boulders on a hillside that offered concealment and allowed me to watch for pursuers from the east. The cheek wound that Road Toad had sewn up hurt, especially when I opened my mouth. I wondered if he and the prince evaded capture.
Although I was tired, I decided to do what I could to heal my face. Healing magic brought on a different kind of fatigue that wouldn’t hurt my physical endurance much if I didn’t invest heavily in the effort. And trying to stop the pain was worth it.
I peered over the rocks. No hounds or ogres, so I pulled a pinch of powdered white oak bark from my pouch and went to work. It took a few minutes and I only reached for two small strands. The pain receded. I ran my fingers across the stitches. It felt smoother, not fully healed. I’d check it the next time I found a reflective brook.
I didn’t look forward to a damp night. I sighed, contemplating how poorly equipped I was. Did the ogres know I carried the Blood-Sword? Did they think I might be Prince Reveron? If either was true, they surely wouldn’t give up the chase.
With that thought, I took a sip from my waterskin and continued my flight west.

I ran on until near exhaustion. Then I walked, with each step dreading the moment when the mudhound baying returned. Shortly before sunset I spotted a dragon patrolling the clearing skies to the north. Guessing it was searching for me, I sprinted for tree cover before being detected.
      After sunset I pressed on across open ground, now more flat, until I reached a line of trees. The sound of rushing water led me to the bank of a river perhaps forty yards across. The far, tree-lined side mirrored the one upon which I stood. The river surged past me high and fast. The moon hadn’t risen and there wasn’t enough starlight to find a safe place to cross. I followed its course northward until I found a fallen tree that offered shelter from the wind kicking up with the returning cloud cover.
      The jagged stump stood five feet high with the snapped trunk lying parallel to the river. I found a hollow in the stump’s south side, under the trunk. The fact that the hounds hadn’t caught up surprised me. I feared that they would any time. But I also realized that I couldn’t go on without rest.
      I set my spear on the ground and unslung the sheathed Blood-Sword secured across my back, laying it under my feet. I checked my crossbow as best I could in the darkness before setting it aside. After a drink and a bite of jerky, I curled into the stump’s hollow and listened to the croaking frogs as I dozed off. My short sword within easy reach.

Something, an uneasiness, woke me. I listened while gripping my sword. The hilt was icy-cold and felt wrong. I jerked my hand away from the Blood-Sword’s hilt.
      My abrupt action caused movement ahead, to my right. I unsheathed my short sword and searched the now still blackness. The rushing river, croaking frogs, and insects buzzing around my head made it difficult to hear anything other than my own breathing.
      “You talk in your sleep.” The statement came from where I’d spotted the movement. The voice was human, and female with a sharp Faxtinian accent.
      Wary of any threats from the woman or possible accomplices, I stood and asked, “Who are you?”
“Lilly,” she said. “Why do you carry two swords?”
With her voice as a reference, I spotted her form half hidden behind a tree about five yards away. “What are you doing out here?”
“Hiding,” she said, stepping away from the tree. “So, you’re going to continue west?”
She knew my planned direction of travel and that worried me. “What makes you think I’m going west? I’m heading north, following the river.”
“That’s not what you said in your sleep.”
I didn’t hear anyone else around. But with the rushing river I couldn’t be sure. “I don’t talk in my sleep.”
“You were arguing with your sword. Not the one in your hand. The magic one.” She took a step closer before retreating the same step back. “You don’t look like an enchanter.”
      The nasty thought of awaking with my hand on the Blood-Sword’s leather-wrapped grip sent a chill down my spine. It seemed this Lilly was as unsure about me as I was about her. “Why would you think my sword is magic?”
      “Some men talk to their weapons but the red jewel on the pommel of yours glows. Are you a mercenary?”
The meager moonlight filtering through the trees outlined the girl. She was short, but not terribly so. And more on the stocky side. She spoke with a curiosity-filled voice, but stood resting on the balls of her feet, ready to flee. I didn’t see a weapon in her hand. Still, I didn’t sheathe my sword. “The less you know about me, the better.”
“What’s your name?” she asked.
I ignored her question. “What are you doing out here?”
“I gave you my name.” She stepped back. “Are you a highwayman?”
“Go back to your home.” As I said it I realized she might be a refugee much like my family. I remembered the burned-out villages I saw during my flight.
“I won’t go back.” Her stance shifted to one with legs spread and arms folded.
“Why not?” I pointed my sword at her. “Are you a wanted outlaw?”
“No.”
“Did the Necromancer King’s army burn your village?”
“They skinned my father alive.” Her voice cracked as she blurted it out. “They burned my mother. I can’t go back—they’ll kill me too.”
Terrible as it sounded, even if her story was true, I couldn’t take her with me. “I’m going north. I’ve already said it. The less you know the better.” I sheathed my sword, reached into my satchel and retrieved several strips of jerky. “I don’t have much, but I’ll share what I have.”
I placed the dried food on the fallen trunk halfway between us before backing up and gathering the Blood-Sword and my crossbow.
She edged forward, took the food and sniffed it before chewing on a piece. “Thank you. You never told me your name.”
“I know,” I said. “I wish you luck, Lilly. Go south to Vinchie, Fendra Jolain’s lands.”
“Yet you go north,” she replied. “I know where you can cross the river—not the bridge. Goblins guard it.”
When I bent over to grab my spear, she spun to face the east and deftly hopped onto the fallen tree. I stood, looking around with spear ready.
She cocked her head and listened. “Are you being hunted?”
Lilly’s position on the fallen trunk offered me a better view. She wore sackcloth laced along the sides, formed into a crude shirt and skirt. A frayed rope tied around her waist functioned as a belt, holding a sheathed dagger. I guessed her cropped-short hair to be brown.
She shifted position, standing on her toes and strained to listen. Her bare feet clung to the damp log with apparent ease. I listened but heard nothing.
“Dogs,” she said, looking down at me. “Moving this way.”
“Tell me where I can cross,” I said.
“Are they hunting you?”
I heard the hounds too and wished it was my imagination. “Look, I’ve barely kept ahead of them. I don’t have time to debate.” I looked around, trying to decide which way to run. “How deep is the water?”
“That dragon I saw, was it looking for you too?”
Through the trees I saw distant bobbing lights. Torches. “If you’re not going to help me, get out of here.” I decided to try the river. Maybe find a log and float with it down stream.
When I turned, Lilly ran and cut in front of me. “We can hide from them. I’ll show you where.”
      I stepped around her. “Those are mudhounds.” I felt for the flask holding the powder Shaws had given me. Maybe I could find a place to use it again. I walked along the river bank and looked across.
      Lilly kept pace with me. “You’ll drown,” she warned. I pulled my arm away when she tugged at it. “They’ll catch you.”
“They might,” I said, striding northward. I stepped around brambles and over deadwood, seeking a log to help me stay afloat. I’d have to give up my spear but against ogres and hounds I didn’t stand a chance. I had to get some distance on the river before dragons could spot me once the sun rose.
“I’ve hidden from hounds before. Not mudhounds, but I know where they can’t find us.”
“Then you go there now. I’ll manage.” I bent next to a log about four feet long and eight inches in diameter. It was damp with only the ends rotted. I drew my sword and hacked away several small branches before lifting it.
She grabbed my arm again. “The bridge is downstream. Goblins watch it.”
I pulled away from her grip. It was stronger than I expected. “How far?” I asked.
“The bridge is a mile, just around the bend.” Lilly looked over her shoulder, then her eyes met mine. They struck me as sincere. She grabbed my spear from where I’d leaned it against a tree. “Hurry, follow me.”
“Okay.” I grunted as I tossed the log into the river, maybe they’d think I’d went with it. “But if I don’t like your hiding place—”
      “You will,” she said, grabbing my hand. “Right here it’s shallow.” The swift water washed above my ankles. I kicked at the log, pushing it further out. “It gets deep up ahead,” Lilly assured me.
She led me through the water about three feet from the bank before we ran up a muddy slope, away from the river. We ran along the tree line parallel to the river for about three hundred yards before cutting back down to the river. I looked over my shoulder and saw the torches closing, maybe a quarter of a mile from the river, near where I’d approached it earlier in the evening.
      “Now, into the water,” said Lilly. “With the current, it’ll get deeper. Along the bank, there’s a big cottonwood, overhanging. Under it some animal dug a burrow. Right now the hole is under the water.”
I nearly slipped on the slick bottom. The water rushing past my thighs pushed me along. Lilly, although shorter, appeared steady, using my spear for support.
She pointed. “See the tree?”
In the moonlight I did. “Yes.” It grew at a dogleg turn in the river’s course. The hounds’ baying sounded closer.
“Okay, it gets deep here. Swim. Grab the roots below the water.”
I wasn’t sure why I trusted the girl. She was young, no more than fifteen.
“Here,” she said, holding onto a stringy root.
I grabbed a thicker one and hung on against the river’s pull.
“You might have trouble with your crossbow fitting through.”
“I’m not giving it up.” I said and unslung it. “I’ll push it in ahead of me.”
“It goes in about ten feet then angles up. You go. I’ll follow and leave your spear in the tunnel.”
      The hounds were close, their baying hardly more than two hundred yards away. They must’ve reached where we’d run parallel to the trees. I held my breath and went under. The burrow’s hole was easy to find, but harder to squeeze into. The slick mud and tight fit tugged at my protruding sword hilts. It was pitch black when I came up, thankful none of my equipment got hung up on the dangling roots.
      I slogged forward using my elbows and forearms. Pushing my crossbow slowed me. The tunnel was too small to crawl on hands and knees. Away from the river the soil went from slick to damp and clingy. The tunnel angled upward and to the left before opening up. I felt around and sat hunched under the low ceiling. Only then did I wonder what I’d have done if the creature that dug this burrow had been inside. I shook my head, knowing that certain death hunted me outside.
I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. Lilly came in right behind and pressed up against me. “Hold still,” she whispered, climbing around of me. “There, I plugged the air hole for now.”
“What?” I whispered back.
The burrow was a tight fit for both of us. “The hole leads up into a dead tree,” she said. “But your scent might escape. Shhhh. They were back where you pushed the log in.”
A musky scent hung in the damp air. The burrow’s owner had stacked reeds, roots and dried fish along the wall, or so my nose and hands told me. I thought I heard muffled baying and felt vibrations of pounding ogre feet pass overhead.
I began to shiver, more from being cold and wet than anything else. I wasn’t sure if Lilly was cold, but she shivered too when the ogres stomped overhead.
After about five minutes, Lilly removed the mud-patch plug, letting in fresh air.
“What kind of animal made this hole?” I asked. “And how did you know it was here?”
“My father fished along the river. I sometimes went with him. Last fall we saw a giant river rat. The tree made it easy to remember where its burrow was.”
“How did you know it wasn’t in here?”
“The men of the village caught it this spring.”
“Only one rat?” I asked, thinking it unusual.
“I ran and hid here when the zombies and goblins came.” She couldn’t see my face in the darkness, but must have guessed at my skepticism. “Wouldn’t you?”
When I didn’t say anything she said, “I guess you wouldn’t. You’re a mercenary-enchanter.”
After a long moment of silence I replied, “Not exactly. But our hiding here kept you alive.”
      “I have a lean-to shelter on the other side of the river,” she said. “Now that the goblins watch the bridge it’s harder to get back and forth. With the dragon earlier, I decided to stay on this side tonight and not cross back over through the shallows.”
      As I listened I realized how exhausted the day’s flight had left me. Thinking about sleep reminded me of the Blood-Sword. The prince said it could possess people. Did it try to take control of me? While trying to decide what to do, I dried and oiled my short sword. It wasn’t easy in the confined burrow with Lilly leaning against me in my soaked armor.
I decided to wedge my helmet under a root near the floor and jam the Blood-Sword’s hilt under it.
When it sounded like the hounds were gone I said, “Thank you for helping me. We should get some sleep.”
“Will you tell me your name?”
I chuckled at her insistent voice. “My friends call me Flank Hawk.”



Chapter 19
Across the United States
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

Two aging freighters, one in Los Angeles Harbor and one in Boston Harbor, rested quietly, each tied to their assigned pier. Packed beneath cargo pallets of cheap plastic dinosaurs and stuffed Easter bunnies, digital timers counted down until they read 00:00:00. The two chain reactions commenced within the hydrogen bombs, adding their thermo-nuclear explosions to those of the sub launched missiles. Within an eighteen-second timeframe, four mushroom clouds plumed skyward while heat, radiation and electromagnetic pulses radiated outward.
      
I slept on top of the Blood-Sword with my back against the root-lined wall. Wet armor combined with the stuffy air made it even more uncomfortable. Lilly slept tucked up against me, murmuring and whimpering. I knew the magnitude of my worries and couldn’t bring them down upon her. Only once while laying and pondering now to reach Sint Malo did I hear an ogre bellow in anger. I put off worrying about finding Belinda the Cursed and getting the Blood-Sword across the ocean. If Road Toad were here, I thought, he’d have translated what the ogre had said.
      After several anxious moments wondering if the hounds would pick up my scent, I dozed off, trying to decide what Road Toad would do if he were in my place.

I awoke with a start. Lilly wasn’t lying against me. She’d left the burrow. Hunched over, I wondered how long she’d been gone while I pulled on my damp socks and boots. Bird songs filtered down through the air hole, telling me I’d slept past sunrise.
      In a way I felt relieved that Lilly was gone; I could strike out on my own without argument. Climbing out meant getting soaked again, but I’d have to find my way across the river anyway. I’d settled on traveling south, away from the guarded bridge. With any luck the night underground set my pursuers on a false trail. Still, there were dragons.
      I chewed on a cattail root left by the river rat. I considered removing my armor and wrapping it tightly to avoid soaking it through when I crawled out the water-filled exit, but the possibility of an ogre patrol made me unwilling to risk it.
      If there were ogres above, did Lilly evade them? Only one way to find out. Helmet donned, swords strapped on and crossbow in front, I crawled out to the river and into the sunlight.
My heart sank upon seeing a dragon circling about a mile to the north. I held my breath and floated underwater downstream before scrambling up the bank and into the trees.
Lilly stood with my spear under the cottonwood above the burrow’s entrance and waved to me. Her short brown hair was far darker than her stained sackcloth clothing. Somewhere she’d found a tattered wool vest.
I signaled Lilly over to me. I didn’t want to leave my scent any closer to her hiding place than I already had.
She leapt through the undergrowth, keeping beneath the cover of nearby trees. “Did you see the dragon?” she asked, pointing. When I nodded she offered my spear. Her deep brown eyes and weak chin stood out on her round face. “Here. Good thing you didn’t come out fifteen minutes ago. It was right overhead.”
I took my spear and nodded. “I agree. Why didn’t you wake me?”
“When I whispered to you, you didn’t answer.” She looked southwest, across the river. “They tore up my shelter. There wasn’t much to steal.”
      I checked the sky for the distant dragon before examining my spear for signs of rust. “I’m sorry,” I said. “You risked your life and lost what you had.” I concentrated on my spear, not wanting to meet her eyes as I spoke. “I know this won’t repay you for the risk you took.” I reached under my breastplate to the pocketed fold in my dripping armor where I kept my coin pouch. “Here’s four silver.”
      She gasped, then said, “You keep it. We’ll need it.”
“We?” I asked. “We part ways here.”
“You don’t know where to cross. And I can help you.”
“Where I’m going it’s too dangerous. Just tell me where, and when the dragon’s gone I’ll cross.”
      “It’s just as dangerous here,” Lilly said. “Goblins and dragons.” She pulled her stout-bladed dagger. Although the blade appeared well oiled, someone had neglected it in the past, leaving it pitted with rust. “My father showed me how to use this.” Grim determination shined in her eyes.
      “Against a goblin, yes.” I shook my head. “A mudhound, ogre or dragon? Maybe even souled zombies and sorcerers?”
“I’m not afraid,” she said, standing straight.
      I knew she was strong, like anyone that labored in the fields. “Then, Lilly, you don’t understand the danger.” How could I get her to understand? I simply said, “It frightens me.”
      She started to laugh until she saw I was serious. “You’re a mercenary. An enchanter with a magic sword.”
I looked around and spotted a thick stand of brambles that offered better concealment. I signaled with a flick of my head for her to follow. “I’m no enchanter. But I am a mercenary. And a sword with a ruby that glows is little use against a dragon’s icy breath.”
“Why didn’t you draw your magic sword against me last night? You were going to but didn’t.”
      “Look,” I said, again offering Lilly the coins. “I intend to travel fast, into certain danger.” I couldn’t bring myself to admit I’d probably die before reaching my goal. I rested my palm on my sword’s pommel. “You can’t go with me.”
      “I can keep up with you,” she said, insulted. “Are you going to war? Mercenary camps have followers.”
“You’re no camp follower,” I said. “You don’t want that life.”
“I can serve only you,” she offered. “Cook, clean your weapons and armor.” Her voice took on a pleading tone. “I know how.”
“I’m not going to war.”
“Why do the hounds track you? Did you steal that magic sword?”
“You can’t go with me,” I said, trying not to shout.
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I have nowhere else to go.”

The Necromancer King’s forces would only increase as his hold on the Faxtinian Coalition grew. Eventually the goblins, ogres or worse would catch Lilly, and I didn’t want to think what would happen then. Maybe she could carve out a life for herself in Sint Malo. That’s what I told myself. That, and the fact that she would follow me anyway. Deep down I feared I accepted her company because I wanted someone to share the burden of the prince’s quest and the Blood-Sword.
      An hour later, after hiding from two goblin patrols, one on foot and the other in canoes, Lilly led me across the river. When Lilly demonstrated she could more than keep pace, some of my guilt subsided as we trotted west.

“How did you get that scar?” Lilly asked me as she severed another frog’s leg and skinned it. Her dagger was old and abused, but sharp. She didn’t want to have anything to do with Guzzy’s dirk.
      The fire heated the flat rock held above it by two other rocks. As Shaws taught me, I selected wood that burned hot without giving off smoke.
Travel during morning and early afternoon had been slow, avoiding occasional farmers in their fields and travelers hurrying down the muddy roads like mice watching for snakes. We even passed through the remains of an enemy camp. I told Lilly it looked like a brigade of goblins and ogres spent a week on the hillside overlooking the now ravaged village.
“You sure are good at spearing frogs,” I said, watching the dozen pairs of legs cooking. Lilly’s lightning reflexes left the spotted croakers no chance. She made my efforts appear bumbling.
“The one on your cheek,” Lilly said, pointing. “Did you get it in combat?”
She was persistent. I knew the conversation would eventually get around to my magical sword. “A goblin’s spear,” I said. “I was trying to get past him to reach the officer I was assigned to protect.”
“Did you?”
I turned the legs with a flat stick. “I reached him.”
Lilly wiped her dagger across her skirt before sheathing it. “Is he still alive?”
I scratched my neck and listened. The stand of evergreen bushes offered concealment, but didn’t allow me to watch for danger. “Last I saw him, he was.”
“Did he sew up your wound?”
“No, Road Toad did.”
“The mercenary veteran.” She nodded, looking at my face. “He did a good job. Is he dead?”
“Not last I saw him.”
“Why do you have the magic sword and not him? Or your leader?”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” I asked, turning the frog legs once more.
“One brother. My father sent him off when it was time.” She stared at me. “I don’t know where he is.”
“When it was time?” I asked. “Time to apprentice?”
She shrugged. “What’s the most dangerous foe you’ve faced?”
The hair on my neck stood on end as I recalled the bone golem. I looked away, skyward for dragons. “What makes you think I’ve faced many opponents?”
      “Look at your helmet, the blood stains on your armor,” she said. “You’re young but don’t have the eyes of a farmhand.” Before I asked, Lilly answered, “When you think on battles, they get intense and distant at the same time.”
      “Okay,” I said. “I’ll answer this one last question. Then it’s time to eat and move. Those mudhounds could pick up my scent any time.”
Mentioning hounds caused Lilly to tense up. She stood, listening. After almost a minute I said, “Legs are done.” I smiled. “Better than worms and grubs.”
She nodded, picking several of the legs from the fire and wrapping them in horseradish leaves. “What was the worst? Ogres?”
I took several frog legs and wrapped them. “Zombies are the worst.” Lilly’s eyes widened at my answer. She stopped chewing. “They don’t make any noise when they attack,” I said. “They don’t cry out in pain or fear. The only sound in battle is your comrades dying.” I should have stopped there, but for some reason didn’t. “Sometimes the animated corpse clawing at you is a friend killed the night before.”
A minute later, Lilly removed the rest of the frog legs from the hot stone and wrapped them. She sat down next to me. “My father said talking about bad experiences helps put them to rest.”
I put my arm around her. “I’ll listen anytime you want to talk about your family.”
She smiled, looking at me. “I will, Flank Hawk. When I’m ready.”

The odor of rotting flesh on the morning breeze caught our attention. It wasn’t pervasive or cloying enough to be zombie stench.
      Lilly had brought the smell to my attention soon after we entered the light woods. I was too busy thinking about the abandoned fields we’d crossed showing signs of spring planting. The carrion flies buzzing told me we were close, even as Lilly stepped onto a fallen log and pointed.
A spotted lynx feasting upon a dead horse bared its fangs and hissed before retreating into the undergrowth.
Lilly hurled a rock at it. “I hate cats,” she spat. “If I had my sling.”
“It’s gone,” I assured her. “It won’t bother us.” I approached the horse’s remains. “It’s a m’unicorn. Or was.”
      Lilly stood next to me on the western side, upwind. “Arrows.” She counted six of the black-feathered shafts sticking out of the m’unicorn’s sunken white hide.
I’d seen dead livestock often enough to estimate how long ago it died. “Two, going on three days.” I walked around to its head, and pushed aside a snapped, leaf-withered branch. “Someone carved out its horn. Probably the goblins that shot it.” Why they left the arrows I wasn’t sure.
      “What do you think happened to the rider?”
I shrugged, not seeing any tracks that survived the recent rain. “Dead. I don’t think she’d have allowed them to carve up her steed.” I didn’t add that she might be a walking corpse.
“She?” asked Lilly with interest.
“Yes, she,” I said, recalling the m’unicorn cavalry I’d seen. “The cavalrymen for these crossbreeds are usually women.” I bent down and cut away straps from the harness and bridle with Gussy’s dirk. “You can use this to fashion a sling if you want.” I checked closer, holding my breath and swatting away flies. “Nothing else of value.”
“Listen,” said Lilly, looking up and around.
My heart sank. “What?”
“This way,” she said while coiling the leather before stuffing it into one of her wool vest’s pockets.
      Breathing a sigh of relief, I followed her, deciding it wasn’t hounds or we’d be running instead of walking. Five minutes later I heard the cawing of crows. We angled north, toward the sound. Gore crows at such volume meant an abandoned battlefield.
      We stopped and surveyed a meadow from behind a wide thicket. Scattered across it lay fallen horses, hordes of goblins and a few ogres. Hundreds of crows and dozens of vultures feasted upon them. Sky blue and green. I didn’t recognize those Lord’s colors on the tattered pennants and fallen horses. Across the middle of the battlefield ran a dirt road, west into the woods and east over a distant rise. I also observed deep, parallel ruts running through the battle-churned meadow grass. Panzers.
“No fallen men,” Lilly whispered with a smile. “They must have won.”
      I shook my head. “Taken for zombies. Remember the panzers I told you about?” I pointed. “Those ruts dug through the battlefield are their tracks. Three of them.” I didn’t add that the enemy must have moved on fast, as it appeared the goblins didn’t take many of their dead for rations.
      Lilly grabbed my arm, and pointed. Along the far side, between the road and the woods, sat a wagon with a broken front axle. Two draft horses harnessed to it stood quietly. She smiled again.
      I knew what Lilly was thinking. I put my hand on her shoulder. More than the odor of death made me cautious. It looked suspicious. “Forget them.”
“Why? We can ride them.” She looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “You can ride a horse? We’ll use saddles from the dead m’unicorns.”
      “That’s just it,” I said. “Why would the enemy take time to collect bodies for zombies, goblins carve out m’unicorn horns for trophies, but leave two healthy draft horses?”
      We crept back a few yards into the woods. “It’s a trap,” I whispered. “We could use the horses, but we don’t need them.”
      “Do you think we’ve thrown off the mudhounds?” Lilly asked.
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
The crows became agitated, cawing louder. Some took to flight. We crept forward and saw three crouched men, peasants in rags, moving along the road toward the horses.
“Shouldn’t we warn them, if there is a trap?” asked Lilly.
“It’s too late. If it’s a trap, we’ll soon know.”
“And if not,” she said, “they’ll have the horses.”
“They’re braver than me. Or more foolish.”
Lilly scowled. “I’ll go and claim them. You can watch for danger. Back me up if there’s trouble.”
“No,” I said, raising my voice, hoping the crows’ ruckus hid it.
“We’re better armed,” she argued, looking at my spear and swords. “If I claim the horses, what can they do?”
“You’re not going out there,” I said with finality. “We’ll watch. If they get into trouble, we’ll help them—if we can.”
She let out a prolonged huff, but hunkered down next to me and watched as the peasants neared the broken wagon.
The youngest stood erect, looking about for danger while the other two went right to work unhitching the disinterested horses.
It was then that a piercing whistle followed by shrill calls came from the woods nearest the wagon. All three men stared at the woods, preparing to flee. They didn’t notice a goblin rise from underneath a tarp in the wagon’s bed.
      I set my spear aside and cocked my crossbow. From the woods burst two goblins on what at first I thought were ponies. They were actually huge goats, painted with green and brown stripes.
      The goblin in the wagon leapt onto the watchman, knocking him to the ground. The stunned watchman’s companions ran. The mounted goblins pursued the men down the road, back towards the woods while stretching a thick-corded net between them. The fleeing peasants split up. One kept to the road. The other angled south, towards the woods.
I ignored the chase and the chaos of the startled crows and vultures taking flight while elevating my crossbow, estimating distance and adjusting for the crosswind as I targeted the goblin standing with a sword drawn over the fallen peasant. Both watched the pursuit.
Lilly held her breath until I let the quarrel fly. It arced through the air and pierced the goblin’s neck just above the shoulder. The mounted goblins didn’t hear their fellow’s cry. Nor did they see the peasant wrest the sword from his captor and run him through.
I stood, now more confident. One armed and willing peasant along with me and Lilly could take two goblins, even mounted on war goats. Lilly grabbed my arm and yanked me back before I stepped into the meadow.
“What?” I asked.
“See,” Lilly pointed to where the road entered the woods. A giant emerged from the trees. It resembled the other giants I’d seen except that this one wore a stained canvas tunic.
      The mounted goblins had snared the first peasant in their net before he reached the trees. The one on the road skidded to a stop, then stumbled while running away from the giant. The twenty-five foot behemoth overtook the man in five strides.
      The peasant watchman, rather than fleeing in panic, cut free one of the horses and managed to urge it to a lumbering gallop.
      Lilly and I faded back into the woods, listening to the giant’s deep laughter and the piercing goblin whistles. We ran. I led her back southeast, trying to keep downwind of the giant. When she asked why, I told her, “Giants have noses good as mudhounds.”
      Too soon we reached the edge of the woods. We followed the border, trotting just inside the tree line where the undergrowth became thin due to lack of direct sunlight. The route brought us around, heading southwest.
“Do you think he got away?” Lilly asked about the fleeing peasant.
“Maybe,” I said, doubting he stood a chance.
“Were they riding goats? A horse can outrun goats that big, right?”
I looked ahead and behind, searching for pursuers. Following the tree line brought us back to running west. “They’re like mules. Good endurance, but it’s the giant that’ll catch him.”
“You always go west,” said Lilly. “Where are we going?”
“To Sint Malo,” I said.
She slowed, apparently not expecting that answer. “Have you ever been there?”
“No, have you?”
“No, but it’s a city of thieves and evil wizards.”
“It’s an open city, and no less dangerous than what wanders the Faxtinian Coalition.”
We stopped. The wooded land again ended, becoming a rolling grassland. Lilly climbed a forked silver maple while I scanned the sky for dragons.
      Lilly said, “There’s another woods maybe two miles away. Nobody that I can see in between.”
      I took a drink from my waterskin. From my vantage I’d seen the tops of the trees. With a giant so close, Lilly’s news was good. It’d become harder and harder to travel without encountering men or enemy patrols. “Let’s rest a minute.” Lilly hopped down next to me and I offered her a drink.
She took a mouthful and swallowed. “If we don’t follow a road, how do you expect to find it? I’ve never seen you use a map.” She tapped her head with her index finger. “Unless you’ve got it remembered up here.”
“No,” I said, knowing I had the prince’s map. It wouldn’t help me find Sint Malo. “I figured to travel west to the ocean. Sint Malo is coastal. Ask someone, then simply travel north or south to the city.”
“The hounds that chase you, they could corner us against the water.” She squinted up at me. “Are you going to tell me why they’re chasing you?”
“No, I am not.”
She stood with her hands on her hips. “You still don’t trust me? Does it have to do with that sword?”
“No,” I lied. The less she knew, the better. Although it was against my better instincts, I added, “And in Sint Malo we part ways.” I jammed the butt of my spear in the ground between us. “You can go south to Vinchie. I’ll even pay your passage aboard a decent ship. Or you can stay there and make a life for yourself.”
“And you?” she asked. “What will you do?”
      I wanted to tell Lilly. The softening in her eyes said she knew I wanted to. I steeled myself. It made no sense for her to die on a hopeless quest too. “With the ocean, we should be able to hide our trail in the surf, maybe even find passage on a fishing vessel.”
      “You’re not going to tell me!” She kicked a tuft of wildflowers, sending pale blue petals flying. “I should just leave you now.”
“It might be safer,” I said, adjusting the crossbow slung across my back, and checking the placement of the Blood-Sword over my shoulder.
“We’ll see,” she said. “You shouldn’t worry so much about me.”
“Why do you hate cats?” I asked. The question took her aback so I asked it again. “You said you hated cats when we ran across that lynx. Why?”
“A cat attacked me when I...” she hesitated as if in thought. “Was an, infant. Or so my mother said.” She looked at the ground. “But I don’t know why I’m telling you if you’re keeping secrets from me.”
I laughed as we trotted out across the open grassland. “Oh, and just how much have you really told me about yourself?”
She didn’t answer, and I didn’t press the issue. I continued to watch the sky for dragons, and over my shoulder for giants and goblins mounted on goats. They weren’t what picked up our trail.
Lilly grabbed my arm as she surged past me. “Mudhounds!”
We raced across the grassy fields and into the next patch of woods. Still, they gained ground. Ten minutes later I heard their baying too.
Off to our right, I saw a road cut along the side of a hill. I checked my satchel to make sure I still had the flask from Shaws. “The road,” I said.
Lilly didn’t argue. I hoped it somehow narrowed or crossed a bridge. I didn’t want to spread the powder along a path in the woods again. I didn’t have enough left to risk trying to throw the ogres and their hounds off the same way twice. Both Road Toad and Shaws said ogres are cunning brutes.
We made the road and rounded the small hill before the hounds broke from the last stand of trees. Two hundred yards ahead our road crossed another running north to south. On the northwest block, between two immense oaks, sat the burned ruins of what must have been an inn. Behind it stood the charred remains of horse stables. The surviving posts poked up from the ash like tar-covered fingers.
I estimated by the sound that the hounds were fifteen minutes behind us—less if we slowed down. If we ran between the leaning oak on the left, I could spread Shaws’ powder there. The hounds wouldn’t run through the ash while tracking and I might have enough to scatter to the left of the tree for safe measure. Then Lilly and I could circle back to the road instead of leaving a clear trail through the grass. Even if it worked, Lilly and I would have to get out of sight. It was just hilly enough to have a good chance of getting away unless the ogres guessed right. If they caught up to us, I hoped Lilly would run when I turned to face them down. I dreaded such a confrontation, but after running for so long it was almost welcome. I’d give them the Blood-Sword, blade first.
When we were ten yards from the crossroads, a figure stepped from behind the leaning oak. The man, wearing a dark blue uniform, locked a bayonet to the end of his rifle’s muzzle. A Crusader?
“Are the dogs after ye two?” the Crusader asked, thumbing back his muzzleloader’s hammer to full cock. I knew it was the last step before aiming to fire.
Lilly stood next to me as I addressed the Crusader. I couldn’t read his face behind the bushy mustache and muttonchop whiskers. “They are. They and their ogre masters.” I held my spear ready but not pointing at him.
“Heathen brutes.” He squinted his left eye, appraising us. “Does thou ride winged serpents?” he asked me.
I kept my eye on the Crusader even as the baying closed. He held his rifle pointed away. “Does it matter?” I asked.
Lilly yelled, “He does!” at the same time the Crusader said, “It does not.”
“Ye are too spent to flee further. I offer to stand with thee against thy wicked foe.”
I stepped closer. “I don’t know how many there are.”
He laughed. “I am here by divine guidance, and am too old to match either heathen brute or canine pack on foot.” He held out his hand and smiled. “Shall we give them steel united?”
I had little time to think. The Crusader looked anything but frail, although streaks of graying hair showed beneath his forage cap and in his whiskers. Besides his rifle, he carried a saber and what Road Toad described as a cap-and-ball revolver.
“I am Paul Jedidiah Roos.” He looked past my shoulder as we shook hands. “Intent on their foul deed.”
I’d seen Crusaders in combat. None would ever side with the Necromancer King. “I’m Flank Hawk.” I nodded to my companion. “This is Lilly.”
The Crusader frowned at her. “It is, is it?” He ran his finger under his nose. “Ready your crossbow, Hawk.”
While I did, Lilly removed her wool vest and bunched it into her left hand. The scowl she sent the Crusader’s way could have soured fresh milk. She picked up a palm-sized rock and tossed it up twice, testing its weight.
I stood between them, with Lilly on my right. “Can your rifle drop an ogre?”
“The Lord willing.”
“Are we just going to stand out in the open?” asked Lilly.
In the back of my mind I’d become so resigned to the eventual confrontation I hadn’t considered an ambush. Still, already knowing the answer, I suggested, “Lilly, I would feel better if you slipped away. No sense in you risking your life.”
“I’m staying,” she said.
“Armed with a rock?” Even if she left, I couldn’t risk the Blood-Sword unless the Crusader fell.
“’Tis likely the brutes will have more difficulty slaying it than ye, Hawk.”
I caught Lilly by the collar as she launched herself at the Crusader. “Self-righteous bastard!” she screamed and hurled her stone at him.
The Crusader’s reflexes were fast. He ducked the rock, and if I hadn’t interceded, Lilly would’ve impaled herself on his bayonet.
The hounds neared. An ogre’s bellow mingled with their baying. I pulled Lilly back. “Stop!” She relaxed, but I didn’t release my grip. “Lilly is my friend, Crusader.”
His eyebrows raised in surprise. “Then ye don’t know thy friend is cursed?”
“I know and trust her more than I do you,” I said as Lilly screamed, “Liar!” I had no idea what the Crusader was accusing Lilly of, but now wasn’t the time. He must’ve read the look of anger on my face.
      “I offered to stand with ye both,” said the Crusader, pointing his bayonet away from us. “If we should prevail against our common foe, the verity of my statement may be judged.”
      I let go of Lilly, reached down and grabbed a smooth stone. “Here,” I said. “We’ll surely die if we fight among ourselves.”
Just then, four leashed mudhounds came around the hill, two ogres holding them in check. A third ogre pointed and reached for a large horn hanging at this side.
The Crusader shouldered his rifle and spoke as he aimed. “We cannot have that.” A thunderous crack sounded from the muzzleloader along with a small cloud of smoke. The ogre had managed to get the horn to his lips, blowing a scant second of the first note, when the bullet shattered the horn before slamming into his scab-covered nose.
The wounded ogre staggered back, hands over his face to hold back the torrent of blood.
Already the Crusader had torn a packet holding powder and bullet open with his teeth. “Keep the dogs off of thee.”
      The ogres released the hounds. The two hundred pound canines raced towards us. Their masters followed with spiked clubs in hand. The mudhounds continued baying, their broad muzzles showing sharp fangs. Their ears were back, and the mottled brown and black fur stuck out like bristles on a scrub brush.
      The ogres weren’t armored, only wearing fur hides. I aimed at the leading hound and fired when it had closed to forty yards. My quarrel bit deep into its shoulder, slowing it.
       Crack! One of the charging ogres staggered in stride upon taking the Crusader’s bullet in the chest. Bellowing in pain and anger, it lumbered forward, crossing the road.
      I didn’t have time to reload my crossbow, so I set it aside, took up my spear, and stepped forward to meet the four hounds. Lilly ran past, chucking her rock. She circled wide right, drawing the mudhound whose snout she’d bloodied.
Lilly had to fend for herself. Three hounds and two ogres were more than I could handle, even with Crusader support. A grim calmness settled over me as I slid left at the last second before lunging forward. The leading hound leapt at me, yellow fangs bared. I caught it with my spear and drove the tip deep into its chest. Pivoting, I yanked my spear out, allowing the hound’s momentum to carry it into the second pack member, temporarily keeping its snapping jaws at bay.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lilly whip her wool vest into the face of her hound foe. Like a fighting cock, she sprang right and grabbed onto the hound’s collar. It spun, snapping at her despite the vest tangled in its maw. She held on and somehow managed to leap onto the hound’s back before sinking her dagger deep into its ribs. The hound yelped and rolled over onto her.
That was all I saw. I slammed the butt of my spear into the jaws of the quarrel-wounded hound. The blow stunned the beast, giving me time to face the other two hounds. The one I’d stabbed was down. But its pack member, now more wary, snarled and circled. It was trying to maneuver so that my back would be to the quarrel-wounded hound.
The Crusader’s rifle sounded again. An ogre stumbled and crashed to the dirt, its left eye and part of its skull blown away.
I charged the unscathed hound facing me. It gave ground. Instinct told me to dodge left. Still, the wounded hound clamped down on my right leg from behind, biting mostly armor between its teeth. It yanked, shook and hauled back, trying to pull me to the ground. I shifted the grip on my spear and slashed, tearing deep into my attacker’s throat and face. Its broad collar saved it from a quick death. The mortally wounded beast continued tugging and twisting on my leg armor in a battle frenzy.
      Staggering, I kept my feet to meet the unscathed hound. It leapt, knocking me back with jaws snapping for my throat. I jammed my spear shaft into its maw as we crashed to the ground.
I struggled to keep the hound off me. Its hot, snarling breath was at my throat. Saliva sprayed my eyes, as I held the straining jaws inches from my face. A swift helmet butt to the snout blunted its attack, enabling me to throw it off.
The hound on my leg slumped to the ground, having bled out. I kicked its head with my left heel, freeing my right leg. I rolled away, releasing my spear and reaching for my sword’s hilt, knowing the quarrel-wounded hound would be on me before it cleared the sheath. Lilly barreled into the hound as it closed on me, knocking it off stride. The fraction of a second gained allowed me to draw my sword. Distracted by two foes, scattered dead pack members, and the grunt of an ogre falling after another crisp gunshot sounding, the beast fell quickly after my sword thrust to its neck between collar and ear.
      “Thanks, Lilly,” I panted.
Scrapes and ash coated her sweat-covered face. “Are you glad I stayed?” Her teeth gleamed white in a broad smile.
      I looked to see the Crusader prodding the fallen ogres with the point his saber. In his left hand, he held his revolver cocked and ready. “The brute with the horn has fled.”
      “Thank you for standing with us,” I said, wiping blood from my sword on a dead hound’s fur. “We’d have been hard pressed without you.”
He lifted off his cap, revealing a balding scalp, and wiped his forehead. “Ye were pressed even with my steel.” He looked about. “We should depart in haste.”
“He’s going with us?” asked Lilly, her eyes following the Crusader’s saber as he sheathed it.
“For the moment,” I said, picking up my spear and crossbow, “I don’t see why not.” I tossed Lilly her wool vest. “The ogre sounded his horn briefly. And the blast of the Crusader’s firearm will attract attention.”
“Hawk, ye may call me Roos.” He reached behind the tree and grabbed a backpack. “And the one Hawk calls Lilly, ye are loyal to thy claimed friend. ’Tis sufficient for me.”
“My name is Lilly, Crusader.” She stood with hands on her hips. “I want to hear you say it.”
“How will ye explain to thy friend the swift healing of thine wounds?” He pointed to his cheeks before nodding to her and pointing at her face. “In an hour we shall know if he still names ye, Lilly.” He shouldered his backpack, unfixed his bayonet and sheathed it.
They continued to glare at one another. “Whatever your debate,” I said, “it’ll have to wait.”
Lilly looked at me with fright across her face. “Run!”
I trusted Lilly’s instincts. We took off down the west road, but not fast enough. Over my shoulder I saw it—the giant from the meadow. Spotting us, it doubled the pace of its lumbering strides.
“A goliathan,” said Roos, reaching into his leather cartridge box that hung over his back hip by a shoulder strap.
“Can your rifle stop one?”
“Nay, friend Hawk. To fell a goliathan requires a rifle company, or so I have been told.”



Chapter 20
The city of Chicago, United States
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

“Are you still there?” asked Dr. Jackson, Head of Trinity Hospital’s Emergency Services. He refrained from shouting into his phone. “Hello?” The line’s silence switched to a dial tone.
       “Damn.” Dr. Jackson punched his finger down on his phone’s intercom, connecting him with the department secretary. “Get me Dr. Sorenson at the CDC again.” He took a stabilizing breath. “We were disconnected.”
       “Sure thing,” replied Miss Gonzalez, stress hanging in her voice. “I still have the mayor on hold and the governor just called. He’s on hold too.”
       “No word back from Dr. Metha?” he asked, looking at his notes. He’d placed an emergency call to his colleague over at the University of Chicago Hospital’s Infectious Disease section.
“No,” said Miss Gonzalez. “Should I call the university again?”
       “No, that’s okay.” The secretary, like half the staff, knew there was a problem down in Emergency and the Isolation Ward. “Give me the governor.”
      
It took the magic of Grand Wizard Seelain and flaming dragon breath to chase off the last giant I’d faced. And a dragon and a half dozen battle-hardened soldiers died in the effort. Lilly carried a dagger and the Crusader fought with a rifle. I had magic—healing, Short Two Blades’ talisman, and the Blood-Sword. Only the evil sword had the strength to slay a giant, maybe.
      I stopped and turned to face the giant. Up until that moment, I couldn’t think of a reason to draw the Blood-Sword. We were dead if I didn’t risk it.
“Flank Hawk!” shouted Lilly, noticing I’d turned.
Roos stood to my right and loaded his rifle. “My fate is to die for thee, Hawk.” He slid the ramrod back into place and set a cap on the muzzleloader’s nipple.
“Roos, this isn’t your fight.”
Lilly grabbed my left arm. “Run! Let the Crusader fight the giant.”
The ground vibrated as the giant closed with a gnarly-toothed grin spread across his face. He hefted a club that was nothing more than an uprooted tree. The crown and branches had been stripped, but clods of dirt still clung to what remained of the roots.
“Leave now, Lilly,” I said, reaching over my shoulder and taking hold of the Blood-Sword’s hilt. “Before I draw this sword. You too, Crusader Roos.”
“I have a vision what blackness resides within that sheath,” said the Crusader. “I will give ye and thy sword wide berth, but I will not abandon ye to face the goliathan alone.” While he spoke, Roos moved five paces away to my right.
“I’m not leaving you either,” said Lilly. She grabbed my spear still clutched in my left hand. “Let go.”
I gave the weapon to her. The giant was less than fifty yards away. Lilly sprinted left, circling around. The Crusader took aim with his rifle, chanting a rhythmic song under his breath.
      I marched forward. “Keep away from my sword,” I yelled to Lilly as I unbuckled the straps securing the sheathed Blood-Sword across my back. I waited to draw it, knowing I only had one chance—hoping the sword’s magic worked for me. My hope rested on surprise and the giant’s arrogance. He ignored Lilly and me, and stomped straight at the Crusader.
Crack-pow! Roos discharged his rifle, hitting the giant just below its left eyebrow. The towering brute snarled, wiping his hand across his brow. Roos tossed aside his rifle before drawing his saber and revolver.
      The giant bore down on him even as I charged, yanking the Blood-Sword from its sheath.
A frigid torrent of energy raced from the sword into my hand, through my arm, and encompassed my heart. Maniacal laughter rang in my head. The onslaught clouded my thoughts. Even though I continued running forward, red-glowing sword held high, I had no control—like watching myself in a dream. I listened to myself scream foreign curses so loud it strained my voice.
I’d lost control. The sword possessed me!
The Blood-Sword directed my arm, slashing into the giant’s calf. Dirt clods showered me as my body rolled, avoiding the pounding club. The giant cursed, the Crusader fired his revolver, Lilly screamed and hurled my spear at the foe. The sword’s voice muffled sound, drawing an ever thickening veil between me and the outside.
I almost panicked. What would the sword do? I recalled Prince Reveron saying it took a spellcaster to wield the Blood-Sword. I gritted my teeth, silencing the hoarse scream coming from my throat. I built upon that small victory, refusing to relinquish myself to the sword and the sickening evil bound within it.
My body mechanically fought on. I didn’t contest that, yet. I ducked the club and slashed again at the injured leg. A foul, purplish festering grew, radiating outward from the first wound that already bled profusely.
Crying out, the giant turned and ran, limping. My legs churned in pursuit. Slaughter and bloodlust distracted my possessor. I chanted and reached out with my mind, finding the ribbons of healing magic. I harnessed one, unsure what to do with it. I prepared to send it into my hand holding the evil sword.
The giant crumbled to the ground. Its rumbling groans rattled the sword induced mental fog. Blood poured from the fallen behemoth’s leg, brow, and forearm where Lilly had pierced it with my spear.  My body marched up, chest puffed out and repeatedly stabbed the dying giant in the face and neck. I couldn’t hold back the vile laughter bursting from my throat.
It was then that I sent the healing ribbon into my right hand. The laughter ceased. My possessor reinforced its physical grip on the Blood-Sword’s hilt with my left hand.
      An echoing thunder rumbled in my ears, followed by pain in my stomach, like a horse had kicked me. My possessed body turned to face the new threat.
      Roos walked toward me, left hand extended, palm outward with fingers spread. In his right hand the Crusader’s saber glimmered so bright that white spots lingered even after my eyes averted. The rumbling thunder came from the Crusader’s lips. My mouth cursed back powerful words in response, causing him to flinch.
Lilly rushed up behind Roos and tugged at him, surprising and nearly yanking the Crusader off his feet. He turned on Lilly, threatening her with his shimmering saber.
She cowered, yelling as she backed away, “You’ll kill him!”
The Crusader’s rumbling faltered when Lilly intervened in the struggle, and the sword took advantage of the distraction. My body charged with sword held high, closing the distance between us. The evil weapon intended to slay the Crusader. I knew Lilly would be next, yet I couldn’t break the Blood-Sword’s grip on my hands. Better the Crusader slew me than I slay them. What happened after that didn’t matter.
The Blood-Sword reveled in my head, confident it would prevail. A simple nick inflicted by its edge would prove fatal. I recalled Road Toad’s earliest swordplay lesson—balance and footwork. I couldn’t overpower the sword, but I could cripple its attack. Reaching out again, I grabbed an energy ribbon and directed it into my right knee. With it I wrested control of the joint, and relaxed it in midstride.
My body fell forward, landing face first in the grass. Before the sword caused my body to react, Roos stomped his boot down on my right hand, pinning both it and the sword to the ground.
Sword-driven rage surged through my body, assaulting every nerve ending. I fought against it, sending a ribbon of healing into my left shoulder, relaxing the muscles and denying the sword leverage to lift my body back to its feet.
The glimmering saber’s point bit into my right forearm. A blazing pain, like a red-hot branding iron, burned up my arm and throughout my body. The sword’s hold over me faltered as the white fire burned away the Blood-Sword’s fog.
“Surmount the wickedness,” urged the Crusader. “Drive it back into the blade.”
Weakened by the saber’s touch, the evil retreated when it realized I retained the strength to summon more healing energy.
      The fire left me. Roos lifted his boot from my hand, and I jerked it away from the sword. I struggled to my feet, staring down at the Blood-Sword’s red-tinted blade. I doubled over, trying to vomit. Lilly held me up as I dry heaved. After all I’d been through, I wished I’d have eaten before battle like Guzzy taught me. My guts twisted, trying to throw something up.
      Lightheadedness followed. Looking up, I passed out in Lilly’s arms.

I awoke the first time in the bottom of a canoe. Lilly paddled at the front while Roos steered from the back. Every muscle ached like I’d plowed a dozen fields. After a drink of water from Roos’ canteen I fell back asleep despite the sun shining in my face.
      The second time I was on a stretcher. From the rear, Lilly smiled down at me. Roos led, trudging on past sprouting fields. Fatigue, bolstered by the Crusader’s humming, lulled me back to sleep.

I awoke the third time from a nightmare. In it I fought to escape a root cellar while soupy mud poured in, filling it until I had to press my face against the damp ceiling to breathe.
      The crackling of damp twigs brought me to. Roos knelt over a small fire, complaining. “Ask for firewood and it brings back wet and green.” He snapped a few more sticks and set them on the small pyramid before blowing gently on the fledgling flame.
      I propped myself up on an elbow to better see over my equipment piled between me and the fire. The Blood-Sword sat on top, brown twine lashed over the guard and grip secured it in the scabbard. They’d set up camp next to an irrigation ditch that ran through an unplanted field. Enough light remained in the evening twilight to see weeds sprouting through the wheat stubble from last fall’s harvest. Dozens of questions raced through my head. “Where’s Lilly?” I asked.
      My raspy words brought a smile to the Crusader’s face. He pointed down along the steep-banked ditch. “It said ye like dining on the legs of frogs.”
Croaking frogs and buzzing insects sounded better than my muffled cries for help within a flooded cellar. I sat up erect. “Why are we camped out in the open—with a fire?” Talking hurt my throat. I looked around. A coppice of trees grew less than a hundred yards away. Even as I pointed and asked, “Why not in there?” two campfires flickered to life along the ditch about a quarter mile away.
Roos nodded towards the woods. “Two heathen brutes, ye names them ogres, lay rotting. The stench and swarming corpse flies would make an uncomfortable camp.”
“Where are we?” I asked. “I recall a canoe and being carried.” I rubbed my throat, and rummaged through the equipment pile for my waterskin.
Roos handed me his canteen. “We camp along the border between the Faxtinian Coalition and the territory claimed by the Foul Summoner that rules in Sint Malo.”
I took a drink and offered his canteen back. He took a swig and screwed the cap back on. “I can remove thy stitches from thy face. Thy wound is nearly healed.”
Water soothed my throat. I ran my finger along the scar on my cheek. Except for the stitches, there was hardly a noticeable ridge. “Thank you for standing with us against the ogres. They’d have killed Lilly and me without your help.” I searched the closing darkness. “Is it safe for her to be out by herself?”
“It was in the Lord’s plan for me to stand with ye, friend Hawk.” Roos noticed my concern. “It, the one ye names Lilly, is safer in the darkness than ye or I.”
      I stood, picking up my spear. “Her name is Lilly.” I spotted her returning to camp along the ditch. I didn’t understand why Roos stayed with Lilly, carrying me west after my battle with the Blood-Sword. “Why don’t you like her?”
      “It is cursed,” said Roos. We watched Lilly approach, carrying a string of frogs.
She tossed the dozen speared frogs next to the fire. “Don’t listen to him, Flank Hawk.”
Roos laughed and looked up at the darkening sky before focusing on Lilly. “I ask ye again. What beast has devoured thy soul?” He spat into the fire. “Be honest with thy friend. Two nights and the moon shall attest to any false words.”
      “I am not cursed,” hissed Lilly. “No beast has touched me.” She moved to stand next to me. “We don’t need him.”
      “Two nights,” Roos repeated. “I see the curse upon ye as clearly as I witnessed the sword’s demon assail Hawk.” He placed his hand on the hilt of his saber. “The steel was blessed by Saint Godfrey Augustus as it was forged.” He said it as if the name would have meaning to us. “Its touch rendered aid to Hawk during his internal affray with the sword’s demon.”
He stared at Lilly and she scowled back at him. “Certain as the sun shall rise,” he said, “my steel will slay ye, named Lilly by Hawk, should the need arise.”
“What?” I asked, raising my spear. “Are you threatening her?” I interposed myself between Lilly and the Crusader.
“Nay, friend Hawk. I warn the beast to caution.”
Until Roos, I’d seen yet never spoken to a Crusader. But I saw the shimmering of his saber, and heard the thunder of his voice. His was the first saint-blessed weapon I’d ever looked upon. I didn’t know the Crusader. Road Toad said Crusaders are an honest lot. What reason would he have to lie? Did I really know Lilly? I turned to her. “Do you know what the Crusader is talking about?”
Lilly’s glance shifted between me and Roos, who now stood with arms crossed. “He lies. It’s not a curse.”
“What isn’t a curse?” It was too dark to tell for sure, but the scrapes on Lilly’s face appeared gone. Being a healer, my wounds healed fast. Many considered my gift a curse, including me. But Roos didn’t name me as cursed, only her.
I stepped away from Lilly, recalling the horrific event in Pine Ridge when I was ten, and its connection with the moon. I looked at the string of frogs and remembered Lilly’s refusal to use Guzzy’s dirk. It contained silver. “Are you a werewolf?”
“No!” cried Lilly. Tears welling in her eyes reflected the small campfire’s flame.
I looked back to Roos. A werewolf pack had killed dozens of livestock and three men in Pine Ridge. They took the hostler, Randall, into their pack. I’d played around the stables and knew Randall. The image of what Pine Ridge’s men and Lord Hingroar’s soldiers did to Randall and the other werewolves was hard to forget. They put them to death, slew them with silver and fire.
“Nay,” said Roos. “It is a lycanthrope. Its gray aura marks the curse, but its actions are not those of a wolf—ever thirsting for blood and flesh.”
“The river burrow,” said Lilly, her voice cracking before falling to a whisper. “Where we hid, I dug it. It was my winter home.”
      “The story about the river rat was a lie?” I asked. “And the death of your parents?”
      Lilly stared at the ground. “No, not exactly. The village discovered my father and mother.” Anger hardened her voice. “They killed them for no reason. I hid. I started to tell you, but didn’t argue when you thought it was goblins that skinned and burned them.” She glared at me. “What does that say about men?”
I didn’t know what to say. That Lilly was a werebeast made my skin crawl. But she’d saved me from certain death, risked her life. But did she really risk her life, and why?
Roos interrupted my thoughts. “It says that all men are sinners.” He turned and knelt, tending to the fire. “Ye have been dishonest with Hawk.”
“Is that a sin?” Lilly challenged. “Or in your eyes, am I just a cursed beast, beneath sin?”
“Ye are what ye are,” he answered without emotion. “Better thy secret is revealed tonight than two nights hence.”
I was still confused. I knew little of werebeasts. I knew that silver could kill them, as well as fire. I’d been told their bite would turn a man, woman or child into one of them. Roos seemed knowledgeable, but now wasn’t the time to ask. I swallowed and set my spear down. I grabbed my belt and scabbard from the pile and signaled Lilly to join me and Roos around the fire.
A few more campfires had sprung up in the distance. We sat around our fire, silent while Lilly prepared the frog legs for cooking.
I poked at the fire with a stick, trying to think of something to say. I decided to get a few of my questions answered. “Roos, you asked if I rode dragons. Why?”
      Roos put a few larger sticks on the fire. “It came to me in a dream,” he said, smoothing his mustache with a finger. “I served in the last campaign against the Corpse Lord. Ye have another name for him. The Corpse Lord employed poison artillery against us, driving us back to the sea. The men of my company were among the last to depart the shore with a score of heathen brute longships aiming to cut off our retreat. And would have if one of the serpent riders had not broken from his company. He called down in the language of sailors, and threw us a rope so that we might battle the Corpse Lord, our common foe, another day.”
      “Road Toad,” I whispered. “That serpent cavalryman was Major Jadd.”
Roos paused and nodded with eyebrow raised. He gestured for Lilly to finish preparing the frog legs. “I swore an oath to return and fight the common foe and repay that serpent rider, praying every night since for the Lord to guide me.” He rubbed his chin. “I learned thy language and studied the tactics of the Corpse Lord’s hosts, as well as the beasts that inhabit these lands.”
He set a pair of sticks thick as my forearm on fire. “Twenty days ago a vision answered my prayer. In it, I threw a line back up to the serpent rider who saved my men so long ago. He passed it back to the rider behind him. In my vision, I stood, holding the line at the crossroads where I met ye both.”
“That serpent cavalryman,” I said, “serves Prince Reveron, but as a mercenary.” I told Road Toad’s version of the rescue, and what Crown Prince Halgadin did to him for disobeying orders.
Roos again nodded. “The serpent rider who ye name Jadd, is familiar to me.” He pointed to Lilly. “Are the frog legs ready, one named Lilly by Hawk?”
“My father named me Lilly.” She thrust a stick with five skewered frog legs in front of me.
I took the stick of roasted legs and passed it to Roos. Before tempers flared, I asked, “Why can’t you simply call Lilly by her name?” I shifted my gaze between the two. “It appears we’re destined to be companions for some time.”
Roos nodded sagely. “Some day I may tell ye of a second vision, about facing thy enemy emerging from rising smoke and flame.”
“Okay,” I said, when the Crusader said nothing further. I pulled out the map and showed Roos and Lilly before explaining what little I knew of the mission Prince Reveron passed onto me.
When I finished, Roos sat back in thought. Lilly said, “Thank you, Flank Hawk.”
I rolled the map back up. “For what?”
“For accepting me for who I am.” She shot a glance at Roos. “And for allowing me to travel with you.”
“I haven’t told everything,” I said.
“The rest ye desires to tell must wait,” said Roos. “Tonight, Friend Hawk, ye sleep while Lilly and I share watch.”
“I feel fine,” I said. “And you’ve been carrying me.”
Roos checked his rifle. “Tomorrow, ye will have to travel to Sint Malo and seek the one named Belinda the Cursed.” He shook his head. “A Crusader entering that city would draw too much attention. Whether ye take thy friend, is up to ye.”
After ten minutes of debate, it was decided that I would venture alone into the open city in search of Belinda the Cursed. Lilly and Roos would remain near our camp, holding the Blood-Sword for me. The chance of it being detected by enchanters, goblin shamen, or even Corradin the Conjurer himself was too great. Having once endured the Blood-Sword’s domination, even if danger should befall me, drawing it didn’t seem wise. Cold shivers ran down my spine when I thought about holding the evil sword in my hand.
Lilly volunteered for the first watch, so Roos and I bedded down after his prayer ritual. She scanned the half dozen campfires now burning down to glowing coals like ours. Lilly said to Roos, “I hope your plan of hiding in plain sight works. It didn’t for my family.”
“Heathen brutes and lesser imps, what ye and Hawk name goblins, are not clever as men.” Roos pulled his blanket up to his chin and rolled onto his side, facing the fire. “Losing thy family is a difficult hardship to bear.”
I’d almost dozed off when I heard Lilly whisper to the Crusader, “Thank you for calling me Lilly earlier.”
“Hawk names thee a friend. That is sufficient.” I heard Roos rustle under his blanket before grumbling, “My bones ache. Let me sleep.”


Chapter 21
The City of Chicago, United States
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

The click signaled Dr. Jackson’s secretary had made the transfer. He didn’t bother with polite formalities. “Governor, you need to call out the National Guard and contact the Department of Homeland Security.”
       The bluntness took the elected official aback. “Well, Dr. Jackson, while I have the authority—”
“Governor,” interrupted Dr. Jackson, “I’ve been in contact with the CDC and seeking verification from University Hospital, but it might already be too late. All evidence indicates we’re dealing with an outbreak of Ebola hemorrhagic fever. I hope I am wrong, but I’m not.”
Miss Gonzalez burst into Dr. Jackson’s office with a look of terror on her face. He took it to be confirmation of three cases of hemorrhagic fever. Although he’d correctly diagnosed the disease even now spreading within the city, he’d guessed wrong as to the root of the secretary’s fear.
She blurted out, “Someone just blew up a nuclear bomb over Atlanta!”
That answered the CDC problem, thought Dr. Jackson, once again shifting into a disconnected, academic mode.
       The line with the governor went dead and the office lights flickered as the cascading effects of the three nuclear blasts brought down the nation’s communication network and power grids. Trinity Hospital’s backup generators kicked on automatically. It was one of the few emergency contingencies nationwide that worked as intended.
      
Lilly and I sat around the rekindled fire, preparing to share a cup of hot tea. Roos even added a little sugar to the minty brew. He used the steel cup for everything, including cooking. Lilly said the tea was good—she and Roos had shared some while I was unconscious. Lilly’s assertion sounded like she wanted me to know that Roos had drank from the same cup as her, so it was okay for me to do the same.
      The risen sun’s rays were only minutes old. I tried not to stare at Lilly as we drank and ate hardtack from Roos’ haversack. At first I thought the rock-hard square of bread might crack my teeth. Roos suggested dipping it in the tea.
As I chewed the tasteless bread, I snuck a glance at Lilly and wondered. I’d never seen a werebeast—at least not in its animal form. How would she look and act? Would I be safe around her? If she attacked me, could I kill her?
      Roos didn’t seem concerned, but he carried a saint-blessed saber and all I had was Guzzy’s silver-bladed dirk. Did Roos know something I didn’t, and that was why he’d referred to Lilly as it instead of her?
      The Crusader finished oiling his rifle, set it aside, and drew his saber. Lilly watched him warily as he inspected the blade.
“Last time I saw your saber,” I said, “it glittered like the noon sun reflecting off of it.”
“It wasn’t ye seeing it, but the demon using thine eyes.”
I wanted to ask Lilly how Roos’ saber looked to her, but thought it wasn’t a good idea. Instead I asked Roos, “When you came at me with your saber, your voice sounded like thunder. Was that the demon too?”
      Roos nodded. “I was quoting scripture. Sixty-eighth Psalm.” He smiled. “I imagine it made thy sword’s demon uncomfortable.”
      Road Toad told me about the Crusader holy book, what they called scripture. It surprised me that the religious writings were available to all worshippers, not just the priests.
“Again,” I said to Roos, “thank you for helping me.”
“I could see ye had not succumbed, and were yet battling the wickedness.” He slid his saber into its scabbard. “Ye are strong, Hawk. For what ye did, I think I could not.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said, before finishing off the last corner of hardtack. Lilly handed me the cup.
“I do,” Roos assured me. “Ye may want to bring back food.” Lilly nodded in agreement.
I stood and stretched. “Food, I will. How far is it to the city?”
“Sint Malo is on the coast,” said Roos. “Follow this ditch to the main road, take it west. Leaving now, ye should make it by noon.”
I checked my gear. “I’ll leave my spear,” I said, figuring it would prove difficult to carry through crowds, and into shops and taverns in search of Belinda the Cursed. “Wish me luck.”
“I will offer ye a prayer,” said Roos.
Lilly rolled her eyes in annoyance as the Crusader placed his hand upon the wooden cross he wore beneath his linen shirt. He called upon his God’s son to walk with me on my journey, provide guidance and wisdom, and a safe return.
      “If ye do not return two hours past noon tomorrow, friend Hawk, one of us will seek for ye.”
      “I will,” said Lilly. “Better I should go with you now.”
“We already discussed it. The enemy seeks the Blood-Sword, not me.”
“It’s not safe to go into that city alone.” She interposed herself between me and the direction of Sint Malo, staring at me and the sun over my shoulder.
“It isn’t safe remaining outside the city either,” I replied.
“Thy friend Hawk has made his decisions, friend Lilly. Let him be on his way.”
The words ‘friend Lilly’ didn’t roll smoothly off Roos’ tongue, but they got her attention. “Good luck,” she said, giving me a hug despite my armor, slung crossbow, and other gear.
I hugged her back, embarrassed that I’d stiffened and delayed for a second. Roos kicked dirt onto the fire. “I’ll be back soon,” I promised her.

I wiped my brow and frowned. With no clouds in the sky, it was going to be a warm day. I undid a few of my padded armor’s buttons. I spent the first half of my trip to Sint Malo wondering what Lilly and Roos would talk about and decided they’d probably ignore each other.
      A lot of traffic traveled the packed-gravel road—so much I constantly looked over my shoulder and listened for wagons and horses. Most traffic traveled west, and the closer I got to Sint Malo, the more refugees I saw clustered around shanties and makeshift tents. Mounted patrols wearing the city’s colors, orange and brown, kept the road clear of beggars and refugees away from the planted fields. Even worse, wooden stocks held the head and arms of offenders locked in place as they repeated with parched voices to each passerby, “Stay off the Lord of Sint Malo’s fields.” Servants wearing brown and orange tunics sat in the shade of the offenders, waving off flies and hoping they’d have an excuse to use their leather whips.
      I scratched my cheek, deciding the last minute decision to keep the stitches in was a good one. I walked straight, focused on projecting the image of a confident predator rather than prey. I added my best version of Road Toad’s intimidating glare whenever anyone except a soldier or mercenary crossed my path. To them I displayed an alert but emotionless face. Soldiers don’t like to pick fights with mercenaries unless they have orders, or a reason. Most mercenaries don’t prey upon each other, and if they do, only when they’re sure of emerging unscathed. I hoped my battle-worn armor and rough look said messing with me would be like swatting a hornet nest. It was more than a bluff. Road Toad taught me the mercenary ropes, and Sint Malo was sure to be filled with pickpockets and cutthroats. To me, they were the enemy. Every step I took toward the gray-walled city added to my determination.
The road widened until eight cavalrymen could ride abreast. Smaller roads branched off, leading to villages. I kept my eye on the distant city.
      Sint Malo looked smaller than the King’s City. Sooty smoke rose from behind the thirty-foot outer wall. At a crossroads about three hundred yards from the main gate, a company of soldiers screened travelers. They turned away peasants, women and children. Ahead of me they allowed an artisan and his son to pass after examining their mule bearing a dozen colorfully woven rugs. I met the gaze of the brown-eyed captain. He let me pass without challenge, and instead barked orders for his men to intercept the rabble behind me. I didn’t turn around, ignoring the shouts and ruckus.
The harsh, militant tactics kept the grounds around the city’s wall clear. I kept walking, following the rug peddlers. The breeze off the ocean carried the stench from the sewage-filled moat that ran along the wall’s base. The city’s main drawbridge was down, and both the inner and outer portcullises were up.
Standing between the battlement’s crenels, crossbowmen watched the traffic. Four soldiers armed with shields and spears stood within the shade of the passage through the wall into the city, while four others were posted at a station beyond the lip of the lowered bridge. One, an officer, sat at a stout table near the moat. Behind him stood a hulking guard leaning on his halberd, one which showed obvious signs of use. The two less muscular guards stood ready, blocking the path to the bridge ten yards in front of the officer.
The two forward guards allowed the rug peddlers to pass before stepping together, blocking my path. “Wait,” one of them grumbled. Sweat ran down his brow, the same as me. His chain armor and the padding beneath had to be hotter than mine.
      I watched the elder peddler hand over coins to the officer before crossing the bridge into the city. At the sound of their mule’s clomping over the bridge, the two guards stepped aside.
I strode up to the table and met the wicked smile of the dark-faced officer after he marked on a ledger with a pencil and dropped the peddler’s coins into a small box at his feet. He squinted up at me. “Seven silver to enter the city.”
I read the ornately scrolled sign tacked down on the table. It listed the entrance tariff for merchants to be two silvers. Mercenaries, five silvers. All others were seven silvers.
      I pointed to the line that read ‘Mercenary.’ “I’ll pay the posted five.”
      The guard behind the officer stood up straight. His full height brought him to well over a head taller than me. The officer snorted a laugh. “It takes more than a bit of peasant armor and scavenged weapons to call oneself a mercenary.”
One of the things I’d learned was to never back down. If I did, chances are they’d take my money and deny me entrance. “I am what I say.”
“What lord do you serve?” He smiled, showing a gap between his large teeth.
“None. I seek entrance to find salt, strengthen the anti-corrosion spell on my blade, and enjoy myself.”
He asked smugly, “Who have you served?”
      I reached into a pocket and pulled out the arm sash bearing purple and gold. “I served Keesee until three panzers, backed by ogres and zombies, smashed my battalion.”
      “And you fled,” he sneered.
“The losing side rarely pays up,” I shrugged. “Why risk going south to reenlist?”
He pointed with his pencil. “Where’d you get the cut?”
“A trio of goblins ambushed me.”
“Dangerous to travel alone,” the officer remarked.
      I shook my head. “More dangerous to travel in threes, I’d say.”
      The tall guard cracked a smile and chuckled. I looked up at him, winked, and reached into my pouch behind my breastplate. “I’ll pay the posted five silver, and leave two copper to your tall friend.” I laid seven coins on the table. “It’s been a week since anyone’s laughed at one of my jokes.” I gambled that it’d be imprudent for the officer to deny a comrade money in favor of lining his liege’s pockets.
The officer accepted and waved me past.
      Without looking back I crossed the bridge and held my breath to avoid inhaling the swirling stench of raw sewage, even though it was nothing compared to close combat with a zombie horde. I ignored the guards and walked into an open courtyard beyond the wall. Manure from goats, oxen, and horses littered the cobbled stone. From the courtyard, three wide streets lined by two-story limestone buildings led into the city. Wood shingle roofs grayed by decades of exposure to the sun matched the weather-worn exterior walls. Doors stood propped open while off duty soldiers loitered nearby or looked down from their barrack’s windows. I strode past, ignoring narrow side streets teeming with merchants, soldiers, oxen, carts and servants. Oily smoke filled the air from vendors selling smoked fish. While grumbles, chatter, and an occasional laugh reminded me of the King’s City, the smell of stale sweat and the rundown condition of the shops, apartments, even the pitted streets, stood in stark contrast. The smiles were false, and many eyes held despair, desperation, and fear.
      I didn’t know exactly where I was going, but I stayed on the center road into the heart of the city. I instinctively reached for my sword when I saw two ogres towering above the crowds, bullying their way through. I reminded myself that Sint Malo was an open city. I hoped the congestion would thin as I moved away from the city’s main gate. It did. But with fewer people, I became less anonymous.
      I reached an inner wall, much cleaner than the outer one and well guarded. The sentries standing next to the lowered portcullis looked less than friendly. I stepped off the main road and onto the porch of a candle maker’s shop. Shade from the tattered canvas awning provided relief from the sun. I’d reached Sint Malo a little after noon, and had been in the city for almost an hour. I watched the guards around the portcullis while pondering who I might ask directions to the Fertile Serpent, the tavern Road Toad said Belinda the Cursed frequented.
      Stares from the woman working inside the candle shop, and the prodding of her weary husband to run me off their porch, helped me decide. I crossed the street to get a cup of tea from a bored peddler. With the day’s warmth, I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t have any buyers.
I stopped next to his two-wheeled cart. The man, hardly more than a boy with unruly hair the color of damp straw, smiled, showing brown teeth. “Cup of tea today, fine sir?” he asked, lifting a ceramic cup and long-handled ladle.
“That depends,” I said. “What kind do you have and what are you asking?” I eyed a line of three small sacks with tops rolled down, showing a variety of fragrant leaves.
He nodded toward the guards and gate. “If you’re looking for employment as a watchman or personal guard, don’t bother.”
“And why is that?” I asked, feigning insult.
“I’m sure you know your business,” he said. “But hundreds just like you are doing the same. The fat merchants and aristocrats have more than they need. You’d do better to enlist in Lord Corradin’s army.” He spat on the dusty ground. “Poor pay but steady food and a cot.”
I walked to the side of the cart and leaned back in the shade against the crumbling brick wall. I crossed my arms and asked the tea seller, “What kind of tea?”
      “Mountain Mint, Sea Spice, Lemon Cinnamon.” He unscrewed the cap to the thumb-sized steel teaball, ready to stuff a pinch of crushed leaves into the hole-filled container.
I stood away from the wall and directed him to lift the lid off his pot heated by a small oil-fed flame. The water appeared clean, but carried a faint sulfur smell.
      “Water’s drawn from the Blue District’s well,” he assured me.
“I see you have only a third of a pot left. Do most of your business in the morning?”
He nodded, again holding the ladle and cup. “And winter is better than summer. Sometimes—not often, a servant of Master Garnwald comes for tea as late as four in the afternoon. He pays me once a month, on retainer he says, to be here.”
I stared at the passing traffic, trying to determine what to do. Laborers bearing sacks and crates on their shoulders made up the majority. I decided the tea seller might know enough to help me. “You’re pretty young,” I observed, “for one so important to retain you.”
He took my question as an insult. With a sneer he asked, “You buying, mercenary?”
I adjusted the shoulder strap holding my crossbow. “How much for a cup of the Lemon Cinnamon?”
A quick smile returned to the seller’s face. “A wise choice, my finest brew. Ten iron.”
I held back from laughing at his request for half a copper. “Maybe,” I said, “if your water didn’t remind me of rotten eggs and you were serving me on a fine table with fancy white napkins.” I grinned. “No chipped cup, either.”
“I had to try,” he said. “You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”
I reached into my pouch behind my breastplate and felt for the largest and thinnest of the coins. I held out a copper with King Tobias of Keesee minted on the front. “Fifteen irons in return.” When the tea seller nodded, I handed it to him.
      I watched him count out the irons from a pine box, each stamped on both sides with a pentagram. “Never seen that mark on a coin before,” I said.
      “Lord Corradin’s symbol.” He took several leaves and crushed them between his thumb and forefinger before stuffing them in the ball. “Where you from?”
“Most recently,” I said, organizing a story in my head, “the Doran Confederacy.”
      The tea seller set the ball with its chain dangling over the side of the cup and ladled in some steaming water. He looked at my scarred cheek as he lifted the metal ball in and out of the water, counting under his breath. When he reached fifteen, he asked, “What kind of fighting you see?”
      I took the cup and smelled the light-brown brew. The scent of cinnamon was far stronger than the lemon.
He pointed to a brown ceramic jar. “Sugar for two iron more?”
I shook my head and blew on the steaming tea. “Hot afternoon. I’ll let this cool.”
He replaced the lid to his water pot and dumped the damp leaves into a small pail. “Who’d you serve as a mercenary?”
“Lord Hingroar,” I lied, and while I waited for the tea to cool, I told him about the battle the night I met Road Toad. I told the story as if I were Road Toad, except that when we faced the panzers, we all retreated with Pops Weasel.
“I heard about them panzers,” the tea seller said. “More firepower than a hundred Crusaders they say.” After I nodded in agreement, he asked, “That where you got your scar?”
“Naw,” I said, and stuck with my story at the gate. “Three goblins tried to ambush me.”
      “You killed them, right?” When I again nodded, this time with a grin, he spat. “Foul creatures. Thieves, every one of them.”
      “I haven’t seen any in the city,” I said. “Only ogres.”
“They come out at night. Mean as a pack of rabid rats.” We watched the traffic as I sipped my tea. “Why’d you come to Sint Malo?”
“To meet someone,” I said. “At the Fertile Serpent. And to get some supplies.”
“Done with fighting?”
I shrugged. “Depends. Know the best way to get to the Serpent? And the best market for food supplies?” When he looked anxiously at me, I disappointed him. “I shared with you some firsthand news, and tactics of the Necromancer King’s forces. Not many have faced three panzers and survived. Conversation sure to lure customers tomorrow morning.” I drank a long sip of tea while he thought. “And,” I guessed, “I already paid you an iron more than what’s common.”
“Brown District,” he said. “Worse than goblins walk those streets at night.” He pointed to the left. “Follow this street as it circles around, then shoot off to the right just past the gallows. You’ll see a square tower five times taller than the Merchant District’s wall.” He nodded to where the guards moved aside as the portcullis lifted. “It’ll have three blue stripes on the side. Blue District. Plenty of good markets there. Best in the morning.” He stopped to watch a black carriage drawn by two white mares exiting the Merchant District.
      “Then, simply work west, toward the sea. There’s a tangle of streets and alleys before reaching the Warehouse District. That’s Brown District—between the Blue and Warehouse. Right along where the warehouses start the Fertile Serpent is.” He shrugged. “Haven’t been there in some time. But there’s a sign with a snaky serpent coiled on a pile of yellow eggs.”
      I handed him his cup after drinking the rest of its contents. “Thank you. Good tea.”
“You’re okay, for a mercenary,” he replied. “You can find just about everything around the Warehouse District. Ale, gambling, wenches, or a knife in your back.”
“I’ve spent time in some pretty foul places,” I assured him. “I’ll watch my back.”
“You know your business.” He set about wiping the used cup with a gray rag as I made my way toward the Blue District.

I leaned against the white post supporting the porch roof of Uncle Orville’s Boarding House. I slipped a wooden marker into my pocket that identified claim to my crossbow and other equipment stored at the boarding house. The peddler who’d sold me dried beans mentioned Uncle Orville’s. The old woman I’d purchased the two wool blankets from recommended it as the best place in the Blue District. From the old woman I also bought a russet under tunic for Lilly and a long linen shirt with full sleeves. The unevenness of its dark green dye didn’t matter to me and I doubted it would bother Lilly either.
      What worried me was what to do if I didn’t find Belinda the Cursed at the Fertile Serpent tonight. I hadn’t crossed paths with anyone I trusted to ask about her. I hadn’t expected to pay for admittance to Sint Malo and the cot rented for the night cost two silver and three if I wanted the evening meal. At least Uncle Orville’s had a guard, a retired soldier named Moth, who admitted paying tenants at any hour of the night. His wide-spread bug eyes explained how he got his name.
Roos and Lilly expected me to find them tomorrow afternoon. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be around Lilly tomorrow night when the moon rose, but knew I should. Roos seemed settled on what he called ‘her curse.’ Would Lilly have control? I didn’t know what I’d do if she didn’t.
      I rehearsed Moth’s more detailed directions to the Fertile Serpent. I’d washed up but didn’t clean my armor because I figured the Serpent was like the One-Eyed Pelican, and being too clean would attract attention. I’d rather attract flies than unwanted eyes.
      Looking at the sun and stepping off the porch, I decided to get moving. Meeting a cursed woman in a less than reputable tavern frequented by dangerous customers, in a cruel city’s roughest district...it turned my stomach so much that I regretted eating a half loaf of bread while talking to Moth. Bad as my situation was, I wondered how Road Toad and Prince Reveron had made out. The prince’s magic may have been able to throw off the hounds, but with his injuries, how fast and far could they travel?
      I made my way down the narrow streets, looking as dangerous as I could. I frequently glanced over my shoulder, not to see if someone was following me, but to examine the lay of the buildings for my return to the boarding house. I tried to imagine how they would look at night.
      It was easy to tell when I’d left Blue District. Well maintained shops and apartments gave way to weathered shacks and awkward leaning two-story buildings. The dark open windows reminded me of wide-eyed old men taking in a ghastly vision. Those with closed shutters, a crone holding her eyes pinched tight in fear.
Very few men and even fewer women hurried down the winding, narrow street. When I came to the crumbled well house, I turned right. I knew concealed eyes from windows above or through the cracks of opened doors watched. Lamp posts were few, and most of those stood battered and broken beyond lighting.
I began to wonder, even if I made it to the Serpent, would I make it back to Uncle Orville’s? For a moment I regretted not bringing the Blood-Sword, until I recalled its cruel bid to possess me. Death, even a slow one, was preferable to domination by that sword.
I remained alert while counting the narrow cross streets after turning at the well house. I had trouble telling an alley from a street and ended up turning right down what I guessed to be the twelfth street.
      When the sun began setting below the roofs of the buildings, things began to stir. Lights flickered in some windows. Ragged and shifty-eyed men emerged from doorways and alleys intent on some unknown business. It was like someone had kicked a roach-infested stump.
I spotted the line of building fronts charred by a recent fire. I was to turn left at the second street past this last landmark Moth had described.
      Without word or immediate reason, those people venturing into the streets as night approached sank back into the shadows. Barked orders and a measured tread of disciplined soldiers from behind encouraged me to get off the street as well. I hurried into the mouth of a broad alley and leaned against a dry-rotted post supporting a boarded up shop.
Two dozen soldiers wearing brown and orange breastplates over hardened leather armor marched past, three abreast. Their grim faces showed they meant business, as did their armament of maces and spears. They marched past the burned out buildings and turned left at the second street. I followed at a safe distance, relieved they took no interest in me. A military patrol in the Brown District might keep crime down, but their methods were sure to be harsh. The people suffering in the wooden stocks on the road into Sint Malo and the well maintained gallows I saw in the Blue District told me so.
When I reached the cross street, the company had spread out, surrounding a three-story building. Led by their captain, six of the soldiers entered the structure through the front door. I spotted a large sign hanging from a pole above the door. A nearby flickering lamp added to the scant sunlight, revealing a picture on the sign—a coiled serpent resting on a pile of yellow eggs. My heart sank.
      I wasn’t the only one watching the raid on the Fertile Serpent. From windows and doorways, people observed as customers exited through the tavern’s front doors. Some walked, most ran. A burly man landed on the street, apparently thrown out. He raised a fist, cursing until three of the soldiers surrounded and pummeled him to the ground with their boots and maces.
Ten minutes later three serving wenches and two men wearing soiled white aprons staggered out ahead of the captain who pulled out a scroll and tacked it up by the door. Two soldiers tore up planks from the porch and nailed the door shut.
The captain turned and announced in an authoritative voice, “This establishment is closed until such time as the owner, Maitar Amanni, answers to a court summons. Any citizen or visitor to the city aware of the whereabouts of the owner, is expected to notify authorities.” He scanned the windows up and down the street. Pointing to the notice he’d tacked up, he said, “A reward of twenty-five gold pieces for actionable information.” He then directed eight of the spear-armed soldiers to remain until relieved. They took up position on the porch while the rest of their company formed up and marched past me and back the way they came. When I looked back, the street in front of the Fertile Serpent was empty of citizens, including the beaten protester.
      I leaned against the front of the abandoned shop as stars began to flicker in the darkening sky. A torch-bearing man lit the few working lamps with a long wick. Dim lights from within curtained and shuttered windows added form to the street, a scene which reminded me of a forgotten ravine open to the night sky.
I gripped the pommel of my sword and took several deep breaths. Frustration mixed with a sense of failure ran through me, but I let it go a little with each exhale. Prince Reveron pressed an impossible mission upon me. I knew it the moment he tasked me to carry the Blood-Sword across the Western Ocean and trade it to a greater elf for some power to overcome the Necromancer King.
I shook my head. Evading ogres and mudhounds with Lilly’s help, slaying them and the giant with Roos’ assistance, and finally reaching Sint Malo and finding my way to the Fertile Serpent, had given me hope. I wouldn’t quit. Each day the war continued, the Necromancer King would grow stronger. Knowing I’d have to take risks, one option came to mind. Go back to Uncle Orville’s and find out what Moth knew of Belinda the Cursed. And since Lilly and Roos expected tomorrow afternoon, I’d leave Sint Malo and return. It was better than either of them trying to enter the city to find me.
The streets were still deserted, although through the wall behind me came muffled cheers and curses. The sounds of gambling. With eyes and ears alert, I turned and walked past the burned out buildings, this time on my right.
      Two streets later I heard a scuffle. It wasn’t any of my business. Still, something tugged at me to investigate so I drew my sword and turned down the dark street, making sure nobody was watching me.
A grunt, and thuds against armor came from between two tall buildings. I pressed my body against the wooden storefront and looked around the corner, down into the narrow alley. I saw mostly shadows and, less than twenty feet away, the silhouettes of three men. One was on the ground holding his stomach. One with a sword had his back to me, and the other held a mace. The two armed men hovered over the downed man. A lump closer to me lay off to the right. I guessed it to be a dead man as the faint glimmer of starlight reflected off a sword jutting from his chest.
“Time for you, Sun-Fox,” said the man with the sword, “and your brotherhood is over.” His voice was deep and menacing.
“Long-Tooth,” spat the man, a Sun-Fox, kneeling in front of him, “you’ll soon be like your friend there.” He nodded toward the dead lump. “If you’re lucky.”
      I stepped back from the alley to avoid being seen. Sun-Fox was Road Toad’s brotherhood. He and Prince Reveron had the symbol tattooed on the palms of their right hand. And the Long-Tooth Tiger, I’d seen their emblem on the dormant zombies. Shaws said they were the Sun-Foxes’ ancient enemy.
      All this ran through my head as the kneeling Sun-Fox continued speaking. “You and your allies.”
“I think not,” replied the sword-wielding Long-Tooth.
It wasn’t hard to figure what the Long-Tooth would do next. The man was a Sun-Fox, thus an ally of Prince Reveron; I had to act. Short Two Blade’s killing of Worm-Gut came to mind. He’d acted fast, violent, and without warning.
      I stepped to the street, picked up a stone, tossed it just over the building, and waited a second before charging into the narrow alley. The stone-toss-distraction, while a common ruse, worked. The mace-wielding thug turned away from the alley entrance when the stone rattled off the wall. The Long-Tooth with his back to me spun at my approach, but not fast enough. I seized his sword arm at the wrist as he came around and drove my sword into his stomach just below his breastplate.
      A wide-eyed look of surprise met my grim stare. It was a vision sure to haunt me, but survival came first. I butted my forehead into his nose and yanked my sword free.
      Still alive, the Long-Tooth clamped his gauntleted left hand on my throat. Recalling Road Toad’s instruction, I stabbed my sword’s tip up and into his armpit where the armor was weak.
The Long-Tooth’s struggle to free his sword arm became frantic, his grip weakening as I twisted my sword. I was taking too long to kill him. Any second I expected a mace to crush my skull. “Should’ve brought my helmet,” I cursed, even then realizing it would’ve done little to save me from a hard-swung mace.
      When I shoved the Long-Tooth away from me, he started to yell so I hacked deep into his neck just below the ear, dropping him. Beyond the fallen Long-Tooth, two men rolled on the ground, throwing fists and forearms. I couldn’t tell which was the Sun-Fox and which was the mace-wielding thug.
      I glanced back at the dead man near the wall with the sword sticking out of him. The brawling men had resorted to choke holds. As they slowly rolled over, grunting and straining to strangle the life out of each other, I saw a scabbard strapped to the belt of one man. Seeing the other had none on his belt or across his shoulder, I stabbed him through his leather armor and deep into his back.
      The Sun-Fox pushed the dead thug aside and got to his feet, rubbing his throat. “Thanks, friend.”
I slowed my breathing while wiping my sword on the thug’s pant leg. The Sun-Fox retrieved his sword and quickly patted down the fallen men for valuables.
The realization that I’d killed two men in cold blood hit me like a kick in the chest. It wasn’t like killing zombies or goblins, these were men like me.
“You okay?” he whispered, startling me.
“I’m okay,” I said flatly, still staring at the bodies.
He approached and warily placed a hand on my shoulder. “Sheathe your sword. Let’s go.”
I followed him down the street, through alleys and between buildings. All the while the Long-Tooth’s surprised face flashed in my mind. I tried to force it aside and pay attention to where the Sun-Fox led me. The vision was terrible as watching Guzzy hack down the animated corpse of our friend, Harvid.
“Wait,” I said, stopping between two buildings before vomiting up the half loaf of bread.
After I spit and wiped my lips with my sleeve, the Sun-Fox asked, “First kill?”
“No,” I said, regaining composure. “Where’re we going?”
“A friend’s place in Blue District.” He turned and signaled me to follow. “Let’s hope she’s not busy.”
While we slowed to a walk and kept to the main streets, I caught sight of the gallows. Torches illuminated four lonely bodies hanging lifeless.
“Fenwick,” came a sharp whisper from our right.
We stopped. The Sun-Fox tipped his head toward a door that swung open, indicating for me to follow him into the apartment.
A thin man in fancy clothes who reminded me of Lesser Enchanter Jonas right down to the rapier, ushered us inside. He checked up and down the street before closing the door and sliding a stout board into place, barring it. A wicked grin spread under his long, waxed mustache. “You heading for Marina’s?”
“I was,” said the Sun-Fox.
“Word on the street is Corradin’s unleashed the Long-Tooths.”
“Thanks for the tip, Marxel. Could’ve used it about twenty minutes ago. Mind if we sit down?”
“Be my guest,” said Marxel, gesturing wide with his right hand, displaying the contents of his small room. It consisted of a cot, a tattered padded chair, a chest with a lit oil lamp setting on top, and a small square table with three stools around it. In the center of the table sat a squat candle illuminating a plate of corn bread and a stick of sausage.
We each took a stool at the table. “Fenwick, you’re fortunate that I’d just let my cat out when you passed by,” said Marxel. “Who’s your friend?”
Fenwick shrugged. “Just met him. Mind if I have some cornbread?”
Marxel jumped to his feet, hand going for his rapier.
I was a split second behind him, but Fenwick stepped between us. “He killed two Long-Tooths that got the drop on me,” said Fenwick. “He’s okay.”
“I’m Flank Hawk,” I offered. “Formerly in the service of Lord Hingroar of the Doran Confederacy.”
Marxel eyed me with suspicion as I sat down. An awkward silence followed until Fenwick said with a smile, “I’m Fenwick, until this evening a freelance armed courier.” He gestured with his thumb. “And this is Marxel. He fancies himself a merchant. He’s really a harem master, among other things.”
Marxel cut a piece of cornbread and slapped it into Fenwick’s hand. Fenwick’s Sun-Fox tattoo showed when he took the bread. Marxel offered me a piece. I took it. He took a bite of sausage and spoke while chewing. “Like I said, it’s a good thing I caught you. They’re watching Marina’s place.”
Fenwick rubbed his chin. “Think they’ll do anything to her?” he asked with eyebrows raised.
“I doubt it. She don’t know much. Might slap her around until they discover the fact.” When Fenwick stood, Marxel raised his voice. “They won’t kill her. But they will if you go near her tonight.”
Fenwick sat back down, clearly agitated by the turn of events. “Flank Hawk, you say? Why’d you step in and help me?”
      I decided to take a chance and swallowed hard before replying. “As I said, I was in the service of Lord Hingroar.” I looked at Fenwick’s right hand as I pulled out the arm band bearing the Kingdom of Keesee’s colors, purple and gold. “Now I serve Prince Reveron.”
      The eyebrows of both men rose in interest. Fenwick asked, “But you’re not part of the brotherhood?”
I shook my head. “I learned about the Long-Tooths from an infiltration soldier. I overheard your situation and acted on Prince Reveron’s behalf.”
“What’re you doing in Sint Malo?” asked Marxel, fingering his mustache.
I didn’t need to tell them everything, especially Marxel. “I’m hoping to meet with one called Belinda the Cursed. I was told she frequented the Fertile Serpent, but soldiers just shut it down.”
Marxel smiled, still playing with his mustache. “You want her blood too?”
“No,” I said, confused and wondering what he meant by wanting her blood. “The purpose of the meeting isn’t something I can freely discuss.” I looked from Marxel to Fenwick. “Can you help arrange a meeting with her?”
The two men stared at each other across the table.
If I was going to ask a favor, may as well go all the way. “Tonight if possible.”
Marxel put a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. A half minute later a military patrol marched past. It sounded to be the same size as the one that raided the Fertile Serpent.
Fenwick began tapping his fingers on the table.
“Might want to leave the city tonight?” asked Marxel.
The Sun-Fox licked his lips and nodded. “Might be prudent. I’ve likely gathered all the information I can.”
“I assume you have a way out.”
Fenwick reached for another piece of cornbread. “I do.”
“The less we know,” said Marxel, looking at me, “the better for all involved.” He leaned forward, twisting his mustache between forefinger and thumb. “A meeting with the perpetual hag.” His voice trailed off.
“Should be possible,” said Fenwick. “Thursdays she dines late at the Fertile Serpent.”
      Marxel shook his head. “She’ll be in a foul mood, Corradin disrupting her business schedule and all.”
      “When isn’t she in a bad mood?” Fenwick walked over to a bucket, scooped up some water in a ladle and drank. “Can you do it for my friend, Flank Hawk? I don’t want to risk swinging, or worse.”
“With the Long-Tooths? Hanging would be too quick.” Marxel scratched his throat in thought. “What do you have to offer Belinda the Cursed?”
“Offer her?” I asked.
“To make it worth her while?”
I thought a moment. Money didn’t seem to be the answer, even if I had enough. “I am here on behalf of Reveron, Royal Prince of Keesee. I cannot say more than that.”
Fenwick and Marxel locked gazes for a second.
“I owe this mercenary,” said Fenwick, “and indirectly Brother Reveron for his presence.”
Marxel shrugged. “It’s his skin. I’ll arrange it.”
The two men shook hands, then Fenwick offered me his hand. We shook. “Thank you and good luck with your meeting. When you see him, thank your prince on my behalf.”
“I will,” I said, knowing my chances of speaking with Prince Reveron again were very slim. “And thank you both for aiding the prince.”
Fenwick moved toward the door, but Marxel grabbed his shoulder and held up a finger, signaling for him to wait. He closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in concentration for a moment. “Cobbler Miggs,” Marxel said, “watches the street from his window.”
“Thanks,” said Fenwick, resting a hand on his sword’s hilt. “I’ll go the other way. Tell Marina good-bye for me.”
“I will.” Marxel lifted the bar. “Don’t try to see her. She’ll understand. Be sure to be out of the city by dawn.” He patted his friend on the shoulder. “Spread word of the new alliance.”


 
Chapter 22
North Africa
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

The dictator, General Mzali, stepped out of the converted military helicopter. It wasn’t as plush as those of western leaders and dignitaries, but then again the plague he’d set into motion would soon more than balance the scales. He’d already forgotten the dead informant who’d delivered the news.
       With his trusted lieutenant, General Mzali strode toward the chain-link fence topped with razor wire that surrounded the port facility. He ignored the .50 caliber machineguns mounted in sandbag emplacements along with the armed soldiers saluting him as he walked through the checkpoint and into the dock area. The cavernous warehouse sheltering one of the dictator’s most prized investments was only a brisk two minute walk. Although accustomed to the heat of the midday sun, annoyance crept into the general’s thoughts when a subordinate ran up to his lieutenant and begged permission to relay important news.
The dictator nodded, causing his lieutenant to drop his hand away from the 9mm Beretta, before listening to the wild-eyed soldier. General Mzali ignored the verbal exchange, instead breathing in the salty air carried on the Mediterranean breeze.
“General, sir,” said the lieutenant with a smile. “It is a great day. It appears a disgruntled power launched a ballistic missile attack against the United States. The dictator’s broadening smile encouraged his lieutenant to continue. “And it is reported that mushroom clouds from smuggled nuclear devices have detonated both on the American east and west coasts.”
General Mzali nodded, somewhat astonished that his Middle East partner had succeeded. He pulled a prepared handwritten order from a vest pocket. “Take this to the bunker commander,” he said, handing it to the soldier. “It directs him to activate the auxiliary ventilation and cooling system.” From a hip pocket he handed him two keys on a gold chain. “He will require these to turn on the system. Remain there until I return from my tour.”
      
Not long after midnight I found myself sitting in the backroom of an herb shop whose boarded up front was in the midst of renovation. At least I knew where I was; three streets north of the large square tower with three blue marks on its walls.
      I sat at a small square table beneath an oil lamp in dire need of cleaning. Around it dangled bundles of herb stalks and leaves tied to netting stretched across the ceiling. The lamp shed enough light to illuminate shelves lined with vials, flasks, and a few tattered books. I squinted but couldn’t read any of the labels from where I sat, but getting up and examining the contents of the storage area didn’t seem wise.
Marxel sat with me, silent, which seemed out of character. Did he regret arranging my meeting with Belinda the Cursed? I breathed in the floral mixed with bitter, almost alpine smell. “This room would certainly help someone with a stuffed-up nose,” I said, breaking the silence.
Marxel nodded in agreement, but no more.
I tried a more general topic. “I didn’t see any temples in the few parts of the city I’ve seen.”
Marxel nodded again. “You won’t find any.”
“Really? This is a coastal city. Not even one to Uplersh?”
      Marxel shifted position in his chair. “They say when Lord Corradin wrested control of Sint Malo five centuries ago he invited in a force of Crusaders, including one of their bishops. They blessed the altars in all the shrines and temples.” He shrugged. “Or desecrated. Depends on your point of view.”
      “Lord Corradin was once allied with the Crusaders?”
“No, I don’t think so. More like the Crusaders believe it’s better for people to worship no god rather than worship a false one.” He began once again to twist his mustache. “Again, depends on your perspective.”
He leaned closer, resting his forearms on the table’s rough edge. “You seem kind of young to have earned the prince’s confidence. I mean,” he added quickly, “if you’re a mercenary, you’re not exactly one of his loyal soldiers, trained and sworn to allegiance and all.”
“A respected fellow mercenary vouched for me,” I said. “And after that I stood by the prince in pitched battle against a bone golem.”
      Marxel leaned back with a skeptical eye brow raised. “I’ve heard tell of them. Their hellcry can slay a man. And you stood to one?”
      I smiled, knowing I still hardly believed it myself. “I wet my armor, but I stood to it, defending the prince. A company of Crusaders brought it down, after a greater wizard’s earth elemental softened it up.”
“Well, if what you’re saying is true, standing to a bone golem, then a meeting with Belinda the Cursed mightn’t be so bad.”
That last statement returned worries of meeting with Belinda the Cursed to the forefront of my thoughts. I didn’t know who, or what she was. Nor did I know what I had to trade. “You said something about her blood. What did you mean by that?”
Marxel put a finger to his lips, urging silence. After looking around and listening for a few seconds, he whispered, “Some say she was born old. They say a drop of her blood can turn a maiden to a crone. A rag filled with her spit can turn raven hair, white.” He looked around once more. “A man who dares sleep with her...”
When he didn’t finish his last statement, I said, “Not to worry, I’m not here for any of those things.”
We both jumped, startled when the front door creaked open. I rubbed sweat from my palms on my thighs, confident at least that the moisture wouldn’t show on my armor. We both stood as footsteps, and the tap of what I guessed to be a staff, crossed the shop’s plank floor toward the storage room.
      The latch lifted, allowing the door to creak open. In hobbled Belinda the Cursed, wiry gray hair and bent body supported by a white rune-carved staff. She looked first at me with intense eyes couched under bushy white brows. They struck me as remarkably clear and blue, even in the dim light. She pointed at Marxel with a crooked finger. Its long, blood-red nail caught and reflected the meager light. “You,” she said to him. “Go for a walk.”
      I’d expected her words to be weak, or at least raspy. Her voice reminded me of Imperial Seer Lochelle’s, deep and authoritative. The dark robes draping the cursed woman’s body were unable to conceal an intangible strength. “Close the doors on your way out. And take your cat.”
Marxel acknowledged her with a single nod before slipping out, pulling the storeroom door closed behind him.
She moved with measured steps to a seat across the table from me. I waited for her to sit before I did.
I was there on behalf of a prince of the Kingdom of Keesee. As such, I forced myself to meet her gaze. Her cobalt eyes appeared to capture the lamp’s light, magnifying it before reflecting a fraction back out.
Leaning her staff against the table, she uttered a single word. “Speak.”
I pulled out the prince’s map, giving me time to gather my thoughts. I unfurled it only to have the edges roll up.
The crone slapped her right hand down on the table, pinning one end of the map with a ring-adorned hand marred by age spots. I held the other side down, taking a breath, preparing to explain.
“Where did you obtain this map?” she demanded.
I met her intense gaze. “From Prince Reveron.”
She slid her hand off the map, allowing it to curl back up. I reached into my boot for Guzzy’s dirk and placed it along one edge so I could trace where I needed to go. “I am on a mission for Prince Reveron. It requires me to cross the Western Ocean.”
“And why have you sought me out?”
“I do so at Prince Reveron’s direction.”
“Prince Reveron is a serpent rider, is he not? Why has he chosen you, a mercenary, instead of a serpent cavalryman to carry out his mission? Is it that inconsequential?” She sat up straight. “Or does the war go so badly that Keesee grows weak, and desperate?”
“The enemy,” I said, “is learning that the forces of Keesee are made of sterner stuff than those of the Faxtinian Coalition. Her defenders are far more bold and capable.”
“What do you know, young mercenary?”
      I reached into my coin pouch and produced the prince’s ring. “I know that Prince Reveron tasked me to meet with a greater elf and barter in his name.” I placed the ring on the map where Prince Reveron indicated the greater elf was to be found. Locating the elf would become a foremost concern once I secured a method to cross the ocean.
      “A fool’s errand.” She cackled. “What do you know of elves?”
      I knew little of greater elves, other than stories and legends. But, at this point, my lack of knowledge wasn’t her concern. Road Toad had met Belinda the Cursed. I knew what his response would be. “Who are you naming a fool?” I asked without emotion. “Me, or the Prince I serve?” If I made it out of Sint Malo, I’d talk with Roos. If we could get to the Reunited Kingdom, he might help secure one of their smoke-belching vessels to cross the ocean.
      Belinda the Cursed sneered. “Does it matter, Mercenary?”
I stood, placing my hand on the hilt of my sword. “It does.”
A cruel smile spread across her lips. “You dare threaten me?” Belinda the Cursed’s hand slid to grip her staff.
      The old woman was more than she appeared. Experience told me to attack now, without warning. Kick the table into her and use the distraction to free my sword. Was the prince’s honor worth dying for? Was my honor worth my life? “I am urging you to reconsider some ill-chosen words.”
      Restrained power, like that of Grand Wizard Seelain, emanated from the woman facing me. “I see the fear in your eyes, Mercenary.” She stood up straight. “My words were not ill-chosen.”
      “Fear is a soldier’s tool,” I said, balancing on the balls of my feet. “Not to be confused with awe or terror.” Judging by Marxel’s reaction, Belinda the Cursed had a reputation to uphold. Even if I walked out of this room, chances of me leaving the city were slim. “Either you are interested in what is to be gained by assisting my mission, or you’re wary that I am more than a simple mercenary.” I bore my gaze back into hers. “I’ve stood to far worse than you.” I pointed to my face. “Look into my eyes and know it’s true.”
      After an intense moment of silence, Belinda’s upper lip curled before smiling, showing a perfect set of white teeth. “Your prince,” she began, lowering herself back onto the stool, “has a penchant for surrounding himself with loyal servants.”
I didn’t sit. She still hadn’t apologized for her insult.
She looked up. “Mercenary, your prince is not a fool. You just proved as much.” She again leaned her staff against the table. “Sit. Tell me more of your prince’s scheme, and what part he sees for me in it.”
As her words expressed interest, I sat. “I am here to seek your assistance in crossing the Western Ocean and reaching my objective.” I pointed to the ring on the map.
“I can get you across the North Atlantic,” she said, pointing at the Western Ocean on the map. “And I can set it up such that you may meet with whom you seek, if he deems you worthy.” She placed a finger to her chin. “The prince seeks aid against the ancient dictator. What do you have to barter?”
Grand Wizard Seelain had called the Necromancer King by that name. “I am authorized to negotiate for your assistance. What would you have?”
She shook her head. “What does the prince have to barter with the Colonel of the West?”
“That is not your concern,” I said, refusing to reveal more than I had to.
      “It is, if you desire my assistance. Who or what you offer must be of significant value. If not, it is a waste of my time and my reputation.” Placing both hands on the table, she leaned closer. “I must know. It will be I who pilots and steers you to your destination.”
      I felt stuck. Even if I could’ve thought of something other than the Blood-Sword that the prince might offer, I didn’t want to be caught in a lie. “Before I discuss that,” I said, “what is the price for you to carry us across the ocean to our destination?”
“Price?” she spat. “Gold and riches mean little to me.”
“What would you have, then?”
She looked up as if in thought. “I desire unfettered access to Keesee’s Imperial Library.”
I didn’t know what the Imperial Library was, or what it contained. Books, maps, ancestral records? I looked back at the old woman across from me, now sitting with hands on the map in front of her. I recalled my father bartering with Mottir, a buyer of livestock. He always arrived on the coldest winter days and demanded to see the animals. Then he stood firm in the biting wind outside the barn, negotiating. My father always dressed warm so that he could outlast Mottir, never giving an edge. Most farmers hurried to close the deal and return to a warm stove. Belinda the Cursed, I guessed, was playing a similar game.
“That is my price,” she said. “Now, what do you have to barter?”
I crossed my arms. “I have not agreed to your request for unfettered access. While Prince Reveron suggested I contact you, it’s not my only option.”
She grinned. “Mercenary, you lie poorly.”
I grinned in response, feeling the tug of stitches across my cheek. “You underestimate my resourcefulness. Yours may be the preferred option of my prince, but I have another way to pursue.” While she thought on that, I tried to figure a way of limiting access to a library housing information unknown to me. I pictured Wizard Seelain in that library and what words she might use. “In the prince’s name, I can offer you access as a favored patron.” I had no idea what that meant, but certainly one named a favored patron would be barred from anything secret.
“What access is granted a favored patron?”
I’d hoped she wouldn’t ask that. “Access greater than has been given to me, a most trusted servant.”
“That tells me nothing.”
“What have you told me about how you intend to pilot and steer us to our destination? It’s inland, and you don’t appear prepared for long treks.”
She cackled at my comment. “Us, you say?” She spoke as if I gave something away.
I nodded. “Two travel with me.”
“Now, what do you have to barter?” Her eyes narrowed as she spoke. “It must be valuable for me to abandon my business interests while ferrying you about on your errand.”
I was beginning to feel comfortable negotiating with Belinda, and when I realized that I began to worry.
The crone must have deduced my thoughts when I sat up straight. She slapped her hand down on the map. “Well, Mercenary?”
“One week access to the Imperial Library. As a favored patron.”
“One cycle of the moon,” she replied. “What do you have to barter?”
      “What do you mean by pilot and steer us to our destination? Do you know our exact destination? Where to find the greater elf I seek?”
      “Ignorant mercenary, I drew the map you carry.” She pointed to scrolled letters across the bottom of the map. BC. “You try my patience. I will ask one last time. What do you bring of value to the Colonel of the West?”
      That was the second time she named the greater elf. I took a sharp breath, letting her insult pass. “I carry the prince’s sword. The Blood-Sword.”
      She nodded once to my answer.
“You don’t appear surprised.”
“I am not, Mercenary. You have not brought it into the city, have you?”
“It is in the care of others. Now, pilot and steer us to our destination?”
She ran her fingers up and down her staff, caressing it. “I have a vessel that will carry us across the Atlantic. I know of a place where you can signal the Colonel. If you are deemed worthy, his minions will deliver you to him.”
“That’s a vague answer.”
“No more so than favored patron. I will draw up a contract.”
“No contract,” I said, not trusting her to write an honest one that I could read and comprehend. “A seer can draw forth the memory of this negotiation.”
“What if you don’t survive?”
“If I don’t survive?” A cold chill ran down my spine. “What information have you withheld?”
She continued to caress her staff. “If you are not deemed worthy?”
“What does that mean?”
“That is up to the elf you seek.” Her eyes sparkled blue. “Not me.”
“Well,” I said, smiling. “Survive or not, if you want access to the library, it is you who will have to face the seer. And I suspect it will be Imperial Seer Lochelle.”
She stopped running her fingers along her staff and hissed. “You and your henchmen, meet me at midnight two nights hence in the village of Hommel. Be at the fishing dock.” The crone pointed a crooked, red-nailed finger at me. “If you’re not, I still get the agreed upon access to the library.”
Even though I didn’t think she’d answer, I asked, “Why didn’t it surprise you when I mentioned the sword I intend to barter?”
      She levered herself up from her stool, once again playing the part of a bone-weary old woman. “Who you name as the enemy, his forces even now comb the Faxtinian lands for your prince. Fortunately for you, it has not crossed his mind to seek the sword and prince separately.” She turned and began to leave, but stopped and said over her shoulder, “At least not that I have heard.” 
     


Chapter 23
North Africa
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

General Mzali had no intention of returning to his bunker. Activation of the ventilation system using the first key would release the variant strain Ebola virus into the bunker. The second would initiate the twelve hour countdown, the end of which would trigger detonation of eighteen tons of explosives, destroying the underground complex.
       “I believe we should enjoy the fallout of world events touring the fjords of Norway,” said the general, realizing the lieutenant failed to catch his play on words. “Then maybe visit our friends in Germany, should they survive.”
       Once aboard the refurbished ballistic missile submarine purchased from a mothballed fleet four years earlier, General Mzali ordered it out into the Mediterranean. His objective was to submerge and ride out the chaos and destruction he’d helped unleash. Instead of ballistic missiles, the launch tubes carried food and supplies to be supplemented by bunkered caches scattered around the globe.
      
Making my way to the city gate before the sun rose, I kept replaying my encounter with Belinda the Cursed. Somehow, the negotiations seemed to go too easy, too well. Outside the gate and on the way back to our campsite, I set those concerns aside. In addition to a mixture of merchants and mercenaries, strings of men, women, and some children, bound by ropes and chains, trudged toward the city under watchful goblin eyes, ready with their whips.
      Now I understood why the inner courtyard marketplace had been cleared except for makeshift stalls with a central platform. My stomach turned at the thought of a slave market. Those in chains weren’t captured soldiers. They were survivors from the Faxtinian villages routed and destroyed by the enemy. Magical, thumb-sized marks like tattoos had been emblazoned on the forehead of each captive, identifying them as property. I’d seen such marks on prize bulls, used instead of branding to avoid marring the animal’s hide.
      I clenched my teeth while facing the sneering goblin grins. As always, their eyes betrayed gleeful malice. There was nothing I could do but avoid the captives’ tortured expressions when they dared glance up from the ground. I told myself the numbers were small, less than one hundred. Their fate was better than becoming a zombie. I took solace in knowing my family had fled south in time. That Keesee was now besieged fostered my resolve to trade the Blood-Sword for something capable of stopping the Necromancer King.
      Rather than avoid or ignore the jeering faces of the goblins, I marched past, meeting each with grim resolve. Some laughed, especially when in the company of an ogre. The rest looked to their captives, shouting about some imagined misstep. After passing the last of the captives going to auction, the majority of travelers on the road again consisted of merchants leading beasts of burden hitched to carts bearing food or wares.
As I approached where the road crossed over the irrigation ditch that led to our camp, I spotted a few vultures spiraling downward, hurrying to join those already feasting. The cawing of gore crows jostling for carrion morsels grew louder. In the distance I saw the woods near our camp. Maybe the brethren of the dead ogres there returned for revenge?
I broke into a sprint, hoping the scavengers fed upon dead livestock. The vultures and protesting crows took flight. With a sigh of relief, I saw that the bodies weren’t human. One ogre and four goblins, or what was left of them. I’d seen enough battlefields to recognize they’d died in combat. I moved the bodies with my spear. Nothing was left in their camp, not a blanket, waterskin, or food. Next to the scattered supply of wood, no warm coals burned under the dead campfire’s ashes.
The nearby scavengers hopped closer, anxious for me to depart. “Camp’s picked clean as your bones will soon be,” I muttered to the dead goblins before scanning the irrigation ditch and then down the road. Only a trio of men leading oxen with carts plodding toward Sint Malo. They were a quarter of a mile away and appeared oblivious of me.
      I trotted toward our campsite. When I reached it, I found the campfire scattered and cold as the goblin camp’s. I knelt, examining the grass and weeds. Although tramped down, they didn’t appear to have been slept upon during the night. Shaws could have told for sure.
      I don’t know why I didn’t consider the possibility that Roos and Lilly had run off with the Blood-Sword. Even if they had, certainly not as a team, and the body of one would be lying in the camp.
I searched around for some sign of where Roos and Lilly had gone until movement in the woods caught my attention. It was Lilly waving her hand, signaling me to her. I looked around. The men and oxen had plodded past, stirring up the crows but not stopping. I checked the sky for dragons before crossing the unplanted field to meet her.
“Been waiting for you all morning,” Lilly said, grinning. She ducked behind a tree and nodded the direction of the road. “See your Crusader friend’s handiwork?”
“The dead ogre and goblins?”
Lilly nodded and led me deeper into the trees. “He found out they had slaves. Then he had only one thing on his mind. Forget the sword.”
“Are you okay?” I asked. “Is he okay?”
We reached an overgrown path and took it.
“I’m fine,” she replied. “Glad you’re back. How’d it go?”
“Fine. Even got you something.”
Lilly stopped and turned. “Really?” She smiled, but with eyebrows raised, unsure. “Food is all I really need. I already hate hardtack.” Lilly held out a hand. “Looks like you could use some help.”
I unslung my crossbow and handed it to her. “I’ll dig out your stuff when we get to camp.” I readjusted my load. “Where are we camped?”
The shade of the thick trees overhead couldn’t hide Lilly blushing. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
I winked. “I know.”
I listened to Lilly as we continued down the path. “After Roos snuck up on them goblins in their sleep,” she explained, “and blasting away with his gun, it wasn’t safe to remain anywhere nearby.” She shook her head, kicking at weeds as she spoke.
Things obviously hadn’t gone as planned or smoothly between Roos and Lilly. “Exactly what happened?”
      “That Crusader saw them goblins and an ogre set up camp not far from us, near the road. He has some sort of long tube he calls a spyglass. When he saw the forehead marks on the chained humans his face turned red. Said he could tolerate a lot in this accursed land, but he couldn’t abide slavery. Especially not women and children.”
      She shook her head. “I tried to talk him out of it. Told him protecting your sword was more important. He wouldn’t listen.” She spun around, getting further worked up. “Oh, and unless you have an afternoon to waste, don’t ask him about his beliefs.” She didn’t finish the thought. Instead she turned and strode through the trees. “He wouldn’t even let me hold your sword while he went and ‘liberated’ the slaves.”
“How far?” I asked, getting angry that Roos risked the Blood-Sword. Then I recalled how I felt after seeing the chained captives herded toward the city. Besides, nothing could be done about it now.
“I snuck up with the Crusader,” continued Lilly. “He stabbed the ogre through the eye while it slept. Shot three goblins that came at him. The shaman tried to spell the Crusader. He hacked off the goblin’s hands with his saber before chopping off its head.
“The Crusader said some kind of prayer and faded the marks on everyone’s forehead. All but—” she started, but didn’t finish.
“All but what?”
“Nothing,” she said. “You’ll see. They took most of the goblin’s stuff after I found the key to their manacles. Including the four riding goats.”
“We won’t need the goats anyway,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
Smiling, I mimicking her answer. “Nothing. You’ll see.”

Lilly led me south for about three miles through scattered hedgerows and meadows, and across farm fields, several of which were planted but unattended. We approached a sod hut. Roos sat on a rock outside the low, rectangular structure whose north wall and accompanying section of thatch roof had been torn down. Another man was squatting next to Roos, watching the Crusader clean his rifle. We were about ninety yards away when Roos noticed us and waved.
      “Who’s that with him?” I asked Lilly.
“One of the men the Crusader rescued,” Lilly said, looking away, then at the ground.
“Does he know about the sword?”
“Not unless the Crusader told him.”
As we neared, I recognized the man standing next to Roos. He was one of the peasants ambushed in the wagon trap set by the goblins; the one who’d tried to escape on the plow horse.
“Why didn’t he leave with the others?” Lilly didn’t answer. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“We need help,” she said, looking straight ahead. “The Crusader isn’t enough.”
“What?” I asked, trying to keep my voice low.
“Safety in numbers,” Lilly explained. “Piyetten won’t hesitate to kill goblins. You saw that.” She stiffly gestured with her hands. “Remember?”
“Does he know I was the one who shot that goblin with my crossbow, then fled when the giant showed up?”
“Yes. But he doesn’t blame you.” She finally looked at me. “They beat him up pretty bad, though.”
I shook my head and let out a hiss of frustration. “It would’ve been better if he’d left last night with the others Roos freed.”
“Why?” Lilly challenged.
We were almost to Roos and Piyetten. “Later,” I said before greeting Roos. “I hear your evening was almost as interesting as mine.”
“Good to see ye again, Hawk,” said Roos. There was anger in his voice as he leaned on his rifle. “This is Piyetten,” he gestured. “Ye friend Lilly invited him to join us.”
Piyetten stood a little taller than Roos, but far thinner. An unsure smile crossed his bruised face, revealing a gap were several teeth had been knocked out. He wore the same ragged clothes as before, only now there was blood mixed in with other stains. Attached to a narrow belt hung a curved goblin sword. I guessed he was about the same age as Lilly.
Piyetten appeared confused. Knowing Lilly, he probably expected more than what I actually was. I might’ve felt the same way I decided as I leaned my spear against the sod hut and looked inside. Next to Roos’ gear sat the Blood-Sword, lashed firmly into its scabbard. “I’m glad you survived, Piyetten,” I said. “You’ll want to be on your way after lunch. I’ve some food if you need it for travel.”
Piyetten ignored Roos’ nod of approval. He pointed to Lilly. “She said I could join you. I don’t look like much, but I’ve a strong back to carry supplies and I can use this sword.” He clutched the hilt hanging at his side. “I’m ready to be a mercenary.”
      “Does he know what to expect tonight?” I asked Lilly. I wasn’t sure I was ready for the full moon to rise, and I knew Lilly.
      “It doesn’t matter what happens tonight or where we go,” argued Piyetten. “Crusader Roos said you’re a mercenary. You can teach me to fight.”
I was sure that Piyetten had experienced some terrible things; That didn’t convince me he was ready to fight. Goblins are one thing. Giants, zombies, and sorcerers are another. I frowned, knowing I couldn’t discuss plans with him around.
“No,” I said.
“Why not?” asked Lilly. “He’s like me. Has no family, nowhere to go.”
“It’s true,” said Piyetten, almost pleading. “I escaped the salt mine before the goblins came. They surrounded it and captured the earth wizard. They collapsed the mine before burning the town. Killed everyone,” he gulped, “and made them into zombies.” His voice fell to a whisper. “Even youngens.”
I understood the mixture of disgust and horror Piyetten displayed as he told his tale. I’d battled zombies, several of which had been friends and fellow soldiers. I looked to Roos. “You know what we’re up against. What do you think?”
He thought a moment. “Forbear to deliver them that are drawn unto death, and those that are stumbling to slaughter.”
I scratched my head, getting the gist of the Crusader’s advice.
Lilly’s glare said she got it too. “Abandoning him here to fend for himself? If you do, Flank Hawk, do you think he’ll survive?”
“I have no intention of abandoning him out here. Strength in numbers, you say? He should have gone with the others Roos freed.”
“Go with them?” asked Piyetten. “They’re the ones that ran when that goblin jumped me.”
“He’s here,” said Lilly. “And he can help us. You wanted to leave me behind too.”
“Is he the same as you, Lilly?” I looked to Roos who shook his head. “You still have no idea what we’re up against.”
“I will follow you no matter,” said Piyetten, setting his hands on his hips. “Just like Lilly.”
We needed to discuss this without Piyetten around. “Go for a walk.”
“What, so you can get a head start?”
“Lilly,” I said, “convince your friend to go for a walk.”
“He’s staying with us,” she said, standing next to him with arms crossed.
I’d had it. “Really? Us?” I began shedding my satchel, new blankets and sacks of food. “Piyetten can stay the night with us. We’ll see what he thinks of you after that. And I hope it’s favorable because he isn’t going, and you’ve convinced me that you shouldn’t either.”
Her jaw dropped in shock. “No!” She sent a venomous glare at Roos. “It’s been your plan all along to get rid of me. Flank Hawk, you can’t stop me.” A wicked smile crossed her lips before she added, “I can swim faster than any ship leaving shore. I know you. You won’t let me drown.”
      I turned and walked back into the hut. “I won’t have to.” I strapped the Blood-Sword across my back so its hilt stuck above my right shoulder. While I understood her desire to bring Piyetten along, I couldn’t allow it. He’d be one more to die. And the fact that Lilly had already conspired with Piyetten, to follow over my objection? I felt betrayed. My stomach churned, sending burning fluids up into my throat as I realized the blow my trust in Lilly had taken.
      
I sat cross-legged in the shade of the hut, watching Roos load his revolver. The fact that he loaded silver bullets didn’t escape me. I wondered if they were less valuable than the blessed ones he carried. Lilly sat just out of our earshot, facing her newest friend, Piyetten. By his wide eyes, I guessed she was explaining what would happen tonight.
      Roos slid his revolver into its holster. “I told ye friend Lilly of my silver bullets.”
“How did she take that?”
“Ye friend did not laugh.” He frowned. “My jest was poor.” While polishing his bayonet he continued, “Lilly claims born to her curse. A true-blood, she says.”
It seemed odd for Roos to consistently refer to Lilly by name or she, rather than it. Their time together must’ve had some impact on the Crusader. I pulled Guzzy’s dirk from my boot and tested its edge on my thumbnail. “What does true-blood mean?”
“Ye friend will take the form of her beast. Not a hybrid as would one bitten and cursed.” He nodded toward my dirk. “Has silver in it?”
I nodded. “It was my cousin’s. Never holds an edge long.”
“If ye friend decides to attack you, Hawk, that weapon will do little to fend the beast off. Not before ye would be inflicted with her curse.”
“Do you think we need to worry about Lilly after the rise of the full moon?”
“I believe not, friend Hawk. Thy friend Lilly has a fondness for thee.” He looked up toward her. “I counseled her against inviting the lad.”
Lilly turned to stare at Roos when he said that. Her eyes grew narrow when he said, “I pledged to slay ye friend should she threaten to bring the curse upon you or upon me. I will do the same if she brings it onto the lad.”
I looked away from Lilly, saddened at the turn of events.
Roos checked his steel cup. “Ye beans are finished soaking. I shall gather tinder for the branches ye gathered.”
I watched Roos march off the opposite direction of Lilly. I wasn’t sure what unsettled me more: Lilly’s impending change or Belinda the Cursed’s arrival and leaving Lilly behind. Deep down I hated to admit that our separation increased Lilly’s chances of survival. I wasn’t hungry.

All four of us sat around the fire, watching it flutter in a stiff breeze that hinted of rain. Without conversation, each of us was content to reflect on our own thoughts. I focused on plans to negotiate with the greater elf, a task that seemed totally beyond me. Bartering over the price of livestock or bushels of oats was one thing. When I matched wits with Belinda the Cursed, I was sure she somehow came out on top. What were my chances of obtaining something to stop the Necromancer King? I knew next to nothing about magic, and I was sure such knowledge would be crucial. Maybe Roos could advise me.
      Lilly looked up, agitated at the darkening sky. A few heavy clouds raced past the stars coming into glitter. I followed her gaze and saw the rising moon just as she did. Her body stiffened. She stood, keeping her eyes on the round object. Taking shallow breaths, she strode away from the fire.
“Be careful, Lilly,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
She continued away from the fire without responding. Roos pulled the leather strap off the metal stud, releasing the holster flap covering his revolver. Piyetten sat with knees held tight to his chin, afraid to look away from the fire. I told him, “It’ll be okay.”
      His gaze flicked toward me for a second before returning to the dancing flames. Roos pulled out his small metal cross with a man crucified on it and attached to a string of green beads. He mumbled a series of prayers in the Crusader tongue. I knew they were for Lilly.
      Moments later, in the distance, Lilly cried out. It sounded more like anxious release than pain. The full moon rising provided ample light to see beyond the fire, and fifty yards away I saw Lilly drop to her hands and knees.
Her voice transformed to a squeal as she rolled and writhed on the ground. Finally, something sat up on its haunches, reminding me of a groundhog scanning the countryside. I shut the vision of the creature scuttling away on all fours from my mind, replacing it with the memory of Lilly at my side, fleeing the mudhounds. While it wasn’t a pleasant image, accepting that she wasn’t human felt worse.
Piyetten’s stare never left the fire. Roos packed away his cross and poked at the fire with a stick.
After about ten minutes, I asked, “Think she’ll come back?”
Roos adjusted his log seat, scanning the area beyond the fire. “Ye friend will return, when the beast withdraws.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Ye friend is loyal, friend Hawk.”
“Tomorrow, early,” I said to Piyetten, “whether Lilly returns or not, I’ll take you to Sint Malo.” He glared at me, but I set that aside. “It has nothing to do with you. I’ll get you into the city, leave you with enough coin to establish yourself and make your way.”
“I won’t go.”
“You have no idea the dangers ahead. In all likelihood we won’t survive. One more death, your death, won’t make a difference.”
“I’m a man. It’s my choice.”
I shook my head. “You worked in the mines, right?” He nodded. “Dangerous, especially for one not trained?”
“It can be,” he said, crossing his arms. “But not if somebody shows a soft-hand the right way to do things.”
Piyetten’s wide-eyed expression said he figured out where I was going, but I interjected before he said anything. “There isn’t time for me to show you the right way. Veteran mercenaries trained me and I’m still not ready for what’s ahead.”
“Lilly said you need me.”
“Lilly doesn’t realize what’s in store for us. She’s smart and strong.” I took off my leather gauntlets and rubbed my hands together. The image of Grand Wizard Seelain came to mind. “You might do better to stick with Lilly rather than try Sint Malo. Make your way south to the Vinchie Empire. It’s unscathed by war.” I slapped my gauntlets against my leg, ridding them of any dirt before putting them back on.
      Piyetten scooped up a handful of dirt, picked out the small pebbles and tossed them into the fire. “That’s where we were heading, until we were ambushed. Why aren’t you going there? Lilly wouldn’t say.” He nodded toward Roos. “The Crusader said, ‘Ye need not know, lad.’” He said to Roos, “And I’m not a lad.”
      I got the feeling we were being watched the same time Roos reached for his rifle. I grabbed my helmet and picked up my spear before stepping out of the circle of firelight. “See anything?” I whispered.
“We could use ye friend Lilly’s keen senses,” said Roos. “I shall search behind the shelter.”
I couldn’t argue with Roos’ assessment. Something was out there and it wasn’t Lilly. Quiet like zombies, but no rotting stench. “Do you see anything, Piyetten?” It was only then that I noticed he stood facing out into the darkness, silhouetted firelight. “Get away from the fire, out of the light!”
Before I finished, the crack of Roos’ rifle sounded. Piyetten spun to see what Roos had fired at, even though the hut blocked his view. Three forms jumped up from the ground. Goblins! They’d crawled to within thirty yards of the camp. The moonlight bathed their forms, revealing silvery outlines drawing back short bows.
“Down, Piyetten!” I shouted, dodging and rolling right, further away from the fire. He either ignored me or didn’t move fast enough. One arrow shot past him, sticking into sod hut. Even so, he fell to the ground next to the fire with one arrow jutting from his chest and a second buried deep in his stomach.
The echoing blasts from Roos’ revolver mixed with his chanting battle song. Enraged that they’d shot Piyetten, I charged forward, yelling, and crashed among the three goblins. Stabbing, blocking and smashing with my spear. They only had long knives to defend themselves and I made quick work of them.
I felt the pounding ground vibration just as I spotted an ogre closing. I was in the open with no hope of evading it. The Blood-Sword, even if I dared draw it, was lashed fast in its sheath. This ogre was taller than others I’d faced, armed with a spiked club and wearing vertical strips of steel affixed to leather armor across his chest. The protection continued down along breeches to his calves where it met his blunt black boots. A riveted steel helm framed the ogre’s yellow eyes and ragged-toothed grin. The brute’s horn extended through the helm and his rumbling growl reminded me of a closing panzer.
I stepped back, away from the dead goblins and the blood-slickened ground and gripped my spear, looking for a weakness. Besides the ogre’s face, only its ungauntletted hands appeared vulnerable. Unless my foe made a mistake, leaving me an opening, I was doomed.
      When the ogre neared within ten yards I yelled out in foul tongue, “Goll grull haw awhk!” I didn’t know what it meant, but I learned it the first night I met Road Toad. It angered the opposing ogres then, and enraged this one now.
      I ducked and dodged past on my foe’s right as he swung wild over my head. Bellowing, the battle-armored ogre spun, not losing his footing in the goblin gore as I’d hoped. He swung down, impacting the ground, missing me by inches. I stabbed my spear at his face. He shifted too quickly, and my blow glanced off the side of his helm. I yanked back my spear before he grabbed it with his free left hand.
He stomped forward as I backed away, his bellow shifting to harsh laughter. His yellow eyes sparkled as they caught the moon’s glow. The orange light of our fire at his back made him seem even more hellishly dangerous.
The ogre faked a swing, but I didn’t take the bait. His armor, while protecting him, hindered his movements. Gunfire from Roos’ revolver sounded in the distance beyond the hut.
I faked a charging thrust at my foe’s face, ducked under his swing and stabbed at his calf. My spear’s tip struck and scraped across an armor strip. I dove to my right, slipping past the ogre’s grasping hand, and rolled to my feet, again backing away. I’d avoided being crushed by the stomping ogre’s boot by a fraction of a second.
      Sweat ran down my back as the ogre pressed his attack, roaring, “Nash haw dub, ne!”
      Two more blasts from Roos’ gun told me he was fighting for his life too. He couldn’t count on aid from me, I was on my own. If I fell, Piyetten would certainly die. I might be able to stop the bleeding from his arrow wounds. And if I fell, the ogre would get the Blood-Sword.
Defensive fighting wouldn’t work. I couldn’t back away faster than my foe could advance, and I couldn’t deflect or parry his powerful blows. Instead of retreating, I ducked inside the ogre’s next attack, a forehand swing. It placed his free hand out of position to reach my spear and left his right shoulder vulnerable if I could get past his armor.
I spun away with ogre blood on my spear’s tip. Hardly more than a prick, but painful. The ogre stood tall, reappraising me. Then he snarled and closed again. This time each step was measured and steady. No longer enraged, he moved in for the kill.
A dark furred creature rushed in and sprung onto the ogre’s back. My focus on the ogre had been so intense that the attack surprised me even more than it did my foe.
I advanced, ducking under the wildly swinging club. It only took a second for the ogre to grab the compact, long tailed, creature trying to sink its teeth in the gap between the brute’s helm and armor collar. The battle was too fast to get a clear view of Lilly as the ogre hurled her away. She shook it off and like a magnet to iron, charged back at him.
Taking advantage of the distraction, I slipped behind and drove my spear deep between the metal strips protecting the ogre’s calf. A bellow, followed by a club whooshing inches over my head, rewarded my effort as I crouched and stabbed upward, digging into the ogre’s gut as it spun to face me.
With a shrill squeal, Lilly again launched onto the ogre’s back. It ignored her and grabbed my spear’s shaft, pulled the tip out of its stomach, and tried to yank the weapon from my grasp.
      When the ogre lifted its club upward to bring it down on me, I let go of my spear. The club barely missed me, denting and shaking the ground upon impact. I had my sword drawn before my foe raised his club for another blow.
      The ogre whipped my spear away and grabbled Lilly, again pulling her gnashing teeth from his neck. This time he slammed her to the ground and raised his heavy boot to stomp her. I yelled, “Hey yah!” trying to divert his attention back to me as I charged in.
Stunned, Lilly rolled over, but not fast or far enough to escape. I drove my shoulder into the brute’s knee. The ogre’s mass sent me sprawling. Even so, I hit with enough force to make the ogre miss Lilly.
       Crack-pow--Clang! The ogre’s head snapped forward and the brute staggered with a small dent in its helmet, but didn’t fall. Not thirty yards away, Roos had already torn another paper cartridge with his teeth, preparing to reload his rifle.
      The ogre shook his head and looked around. I moved in on my disoriented foe and stabbed his already bleeding calf.
Realizing the real danger, the ogre knocked me away with his fist, but didn’t follow up. Instead, he flung his club at Roos. The Crusader sidestepped the whirling weapon, allowing it to tear up the ground as it spun and tumbled past. Undeterred, the ogre rushed Roos. The Crusader pulled the ramrod from the barrel of his gun, tossed it aside, and reached for a firing cap.
I leapt to my feet and chased, but the ogre already had a lead. Lilly shot in from the right and drove her body into the right ankle of the ogre as the foot swung forward. She hit the leg hard enough so that it caught the ogre’s left calf coming forward. The brute crashed to the ground and skidded forward.
Our foe lifted itself from the ground just in time to see Roos level his rifle and pull the trigger. The echoing shot shattered the ogre’s nose on its way into the brute’s brain. The ogre dropped with a thud ten feet from the Crusader. Its hands continued to twitch and flex for a few seconds.
I couldn’t believe it was over until I stopped next to the ogre and stabbed its left hand. No reaction; it was dead. I looked around, realizing how hard I was breathing. “You okay?” I asked Roos.
He looked at his right forearm, probing with his fingers through a slice in his wool sleeve. “The enemy managed a shallow wound. And ye, Hawk?”
I rubbed my shoulder where the ogre’s fist had hit me. “Maybe a bruise.” Lilly walked up next to me, and sat up on her haunches. It was the first chance I had to get a good look. Her fur was a glossy mahogany from nose to rump while paler along her stomach. Her scaly, laterally compressed tail appeared to balance her upright stance. I stared into the werebeast’s dark eyes. She looked just like a giant muskrat, but her eyes held more intelligence than any animal. “Lilly,” I said awkwardly, “are you injured?”
She shook her head, not side to side, but more like an animal trying to shake water off its fur. Then she ran back toward the fire.
“Piyetten,” I said to Roos, and ran after her. “The goblins shot him with arrows.” I pulled the pouch holding ground white oak bark from my belt. I didn’t care if Roos and Lilly learned my secret. “I can heal him, maybe. Or at least stop his bleeding.”
Piyetten had fallen, lying on his back next to the fire. One arrow shaft jutted up from his stomach, a second from his ribcage on his left side. Even next to the glowing fire, Piyetten was pale and unresponsive to our presence. I tore his blood-soaked shirt away from the wounds. Lilly stuck her furred muzzle close, startling me. She wrinkled her nose and backed away.
His chest didn’t rise or fall. I checked for breathing and a heartbeat, but couldn’t detect either. Lilly emitted a muttering squeal while pacing back and forth.
Roos stood next to Piyetten’s body, holding a goblin arrow. “Poison.” He knelt, showing me the black sticky coating over the crude arrow head. It extended about an inch up the barbed shaft. “Unless ye are a powerful healer, Hawk, the lad’s fate is sealed.”
I knew goblins fouled their arrows with their own waste, but I’d never heard of poison. Not wanting to believe Piyetten was dead, I felt for a pulse along his neck while shouting into his ear, “Come on, Piyetten! You can’t die.”
Roos examined Piyetten, feeling for a heartbeat and listening for breath. I sat back, caught between anger and despair. Roos shook his head. “We must move. We can bring the lad and bury him properly.” He scanned the moonlit terrain. “To remain here invites further peril.”
I stood, and my gaze fell to the Crusader’s bloody arm. “Let me look at that.”
“Ye cannot heal me,” he warned.
At first his statement took me aback, but I recalled a Crusader’s immunity to magic. “I can help you wrap it. Stitch it closed if needed.”
Grimacing, he rolled up his sleeve, revealing a short, deep gash. “A lesser imp stabbed me with a knife. Bandages are in my pack.” Before entering the sod hut, he asked, “Do ye have mastery over thy beast, Lilly?”
The giant muskrat stared back at Roos, and bowed her head once.
“Thy senses are superior to a man’s. After we break camp, ye will lead us to a new one?”
Lilly bowed her head once again and scurried out of the dying firelight.

The next morning we stood around Piyetten’s shallow grave. It was the best we could manage with the tangle of roots in the narrow stand of hickory trees where we’d sought refuge for the rest of the night.
      Over the years a farmer had taken heavy stones and piled them along the edge of his field. We used some of them to finish Piyetten’s grave. I didn’t know what to say when we’d finished the task. Lilly stood next to me, leaning on my shoulder and sniffling. I’d seen plenty of death, but this one was my fault. I should have sent him away sooner.
      Roos and I had spent part of the night digging the grave and going over my experience in Sint Malo. When Lilly returned at the setting of the moon, we discussed the basis for the attack. In addition to an ogre and goblins, Roos had battled a human sorcerer. Lilly’s confirmation that the dead man bore a red tattoo of a saber-toothed cat on his forearm convinced me the attack was revenge for saving the Sun-Fox, Fenwick. Lilly’s guilt led her to believe it was slavers seeking to recover their property and to kill those who’d taken it. After describing my encounter with Belinda the Cursed, Roos felt it was she who instigated the attack to gain possession of the Blood-Sword.
There was no way to know the true reason for the attack and Piyetten’s death, and that made it even more difficult.
I stepped forward, looking down at the pile of stones, beneath where the young man’s head lay. “Piyetten was a brave man who wanted to become a warrior. He took the brunt of the attack for me. He died facing the enemy.” I gripped Lilly’s hand. “He died free.”
      When I’d finished, Roos stepped forward and knelt next to the grave. He said a long prayer. The Crusader started with hands pressed together, clasping his cross and beads. It ended with his arms outstretched, looking to the sky. I didn’t understand the words, but Roos spoke them with intensity and passion. When I asked, he simply explained it was Latin. 
     


Chapter 24
Southwestern United States
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

“Power levels dropping,” called Dr. Johnston. The physicist tapped at his keyboard and screen displays without noticeable result.
       Dr. Mindebee strode toward his fellow scientist, but staggered in midstride. “What was that?”
“Did the nuke plant meltdown?” asked one of the assistants.
“Not exactly,” Lt. Colonel Ibrahim whispered to himself as he reached for the phone and watched the chaos unfold.
      
As midnight approached, Roos, Lilly and I stood in the shadow of a palisade surrounding the village of Hommel. The village stood just beyond the territory Lord Corradin claimed which left it without his protection. It had been looted but not burned. Lilly sensed some folks still lived within Hommel, hiding from the Necromancer King’s forces.
      From our concealed position near the sturdy dock we watched the wind-driven waves fight to reach the rocky shore. A wall of boulders arced two hundred yards out into the ocean, sheltering the small cove.
      Lilly wore the green shirt I’d bought for her. Several times when she didn’t think I was looking, I saw her sweep her hands along its length, and smile while fingering the wooden buttons. Now its sleeves and tail flapped with each stiff wind gust.
“Think she’ll make it in this weather?” I asked.
Roos nodded. “If she has an interest in thy sword.”
Lilly pointed, motioning for us to look beyond the rock wall. “A ship comes.” Even as she said it, a lantern near its bow came to life.
The approaching vessel reminded me of a broad-bodied, single-mast sloop. No sails were raised. Instead, two pairs of oars near the stern propelled it toward the dock. “Not very big,” I said.
Roos adjusted his forage cap. “Nor a large crew.”
“I know,” I said. “Your concern that Belinda the Cursed might use her crew to overpower us and take the sword.”
Roos shouldered his pack and grabbed his rifle. “Let us not keep thy associate waiting.”
We gathered the rest of our equipment and I led the way out onto the dock. I spotted only three men moving aboard the ship. Each wore little more than a vest and breeches, and each had a cutlass hanging at his side. One sailor threw me a line, but Lilly snagged it. I caught the second rope and handed my spear to Roos. Figuring we wouldn’t be there long, I secured the line with a clove hitch to one of the dock’s posts. Lilly followed my example.
      Belinda the Cursed appeared on deck, wearing a black robe and leaning heavily on her staff as she walked. Even so, her ship’s rocking didn’t appear to affect her. The strong light of the moon wasn’t enough to mask the cobalt glow her eyes emitted after she pulled back her robe’s hood to appraise us. “You travel with interesting henchmen, Mercenary.”
A wave nudged the aging but well maintained ship against the dock, sending vibrations through both. She turned to the sailor with a blue snake tattoo winding from his jaw, across the bridge of his nose, and circling around his left eye. “First Mate, extend the plank.” Belinda the Cursed turned and over her shoulder warned, “Crusader, if you must pray to your God, do so only on the foredeck.”
      Roos snapped back, “I would pray for removal of thy curse, if ye truly suffered one.”
      The crone spun around, fixing her cobalt gaze on Roos. “Venture to trade barbs with me at your peril, Crusader. Unravel the spells enchanting my rowers and you’ll take their place.”
      I stepped on the plank, placing myself between Roos and the crone. “The ship is yours, Belinda the Cursed. And you captain it. But, I have bartered for its use, along with your skills and cooperation. In my experience, unwarranted insults cast among equals leads to violence.”
The three sailors gripped their cutlasses, grinning in expectation.
The crone let out a cackling laugh. “You consider yourself my equal, Mercenary?”
Roos laughed back. “I recognize thou as a half-blood, one whom my friend Hawk names Captain.”
The crone ignored Roos, saying to me, “My equal? Any of you?” She laughed again. “You’d better be.” She motioned for the snake-faced sailor to step away from the plank before pulling up her hood and again turning back to the small cabin in the elevated quarterdeck.
      Her last statement wasn’t a threat. She uttered it as a statement of fact, and that worried me. She’d said in Sint Malo that the greater elf, the Colonel of the West, would have to deem us worthy.
      Lilly tugged at my arm. “Don’t board. We’ll find another way.”
“It’ll be okay, Lilly.”
She looked from me to Roos. He stood ready to board, but shrugged his shoulders.
“Don’t worry about Roos,” I said. “It didn’t take him long to warm up to you.”
“You think I’m like her?”
“Of course not,” I said, elbowing her in the ribs. “According to Roos, she’s not cursed.”
Lilly looked up at the snake-faced sailor and laughed. “Roos, how long are you going to call her, one whom my friend Hawk names Captain?”

Travel aboard the Sunset Siren was cramped, uncomfortable, and dull. Sleeping on the rolling deck beneath a stretched tarp that did little to ward off the elements made it worse. Roos grumbled, but never complained openly. Lilly adjusted better than either of us.
      From sunrise until an hour past noon Belinda the Cursed took the wheel, guiding our westward progress across the North Atlantic. During that time the snake-faced sailor, whose name was the same as his title, First Mate, slept. A few years past his prime, but still wiry and quick, First Mate’s weathered skin reminded me of leather stretched tight over flexing iron bars. What hair he had was gray stubble.
First Mate was in charge whenever Belinda was in her cabin. He was the only one of the three sailors who could shout orders. First Mate said the other two had their tongues cut out long before becoming part of the Sunset Siren’s crew.
      Thrall was a skinny youth who’d stayed on after fulfilling his indentured servitude to Belinda. Hax, who Belinda simply called Sailor, was a stocky pickpocket who’d spent half his thirty years imprisoned. Layers of crosshatched scars across his back from repeated whippings emphasized that life had been cruel to him.
The three sailors rotated watch, maintenance, steering, rigging and sail work duties. The sails supplemented what I found to be the most impressive part of the ship: The two golems that manned the oars day and night.
The golems, carved from oak, manned their oars tirelessly. With short legs braced against a block, each golem’s long upper pair of arms drew back one oar while a shorter set of arms pulled second oar. Their single onyx eye gave their carved faces an unfocused, yet sinister gaze. Roos said the sun-weathered creatures held some sort of spirit, neither good nor evil. Whether the spirits were bound or a willing part of the magical creatures, he couldn’t say. They reminded him of a gargoyle, a grotesque statue-like creature able to move about. But, whereas gargoyles have devious minds like those of gremlins, the oak golems appeared to lack any self-awareness. They only responded to simple, one sentence orders from Belinda the Cursed.
I sat in the narrow shade cast by the sails, watching First Mate give Lilly another lesson in knife fighting. He’d tried to teach both of us, but Lilly learned much faster and I was slowing her down.
Roos slept under the tarp, having shared the night watch with Thrall. Hax had climbed up the mast to view the surrounding seas. His sharp whistle caught everyone’s attention, even bringing Belinda the Cursed from her cabin. He pointed the direction our ship traveled before climbing down the pole.
Hax ran up to Belinda and frantically explained what he saw using sign language.
Belinda the Cursed called to First Mate. “Take the wheel. Sailor spotted a serpent ahead. One with a rider.”
I took the news to be dire from First Mate’s grim stare and the worried expressions of Thrall and Hax as they hurried about clearing the deck of buckets, fishing nets, and other stray gear. I slipped on and buttoned my padded armor shirt and grabbed my crossbow and quiver of quarrels. I decided against buckling on my breast and backplate. If I did and went overboard, I’d be sure to drown.
Belinda pointed at Lilly. “Climb the mast and report what you see.”
Roos tossed Lilly his spyglass. I stood next him at the bow of the ship, unsuccessfully trying to spot the danger. The Crusader fixed the bayonet to his rifle.
“I see it,” called Lilly. “A big snake swimming this way. One rider, but there are many others swimming with them as well. Some are holding onto big fish.”
Roos said to me, “Mermaids and their mates. Dolphins help their mates keep pace.” At my questioning glance he added, “Sailors lured overboard become mates.”
Belinda leaned on her staff. “We cannot outrun them. Crusader, do you sense any magic?”
Roos shook his head. “The distance is too great.”
“I count fifteen mermaids,” said Lilly. “Eleven dolphins towing men and one serpent.”
“A warning, friend Hawk,” said Roos, again looking out to sea. “Serpents of the sea spew out venom.”
I looked back to Belinda the Cursed, waiting for her to do something. After she ordered Hax and Thrall to lower the sails I crossed the ship and asked her, “Have you encountered something like this before?”
“Only an important priestess of Uplersh would command a serpent.” She grinned. “If it should come to a fight, Mercenary, I am more than her equal. And I have ways of fending off a serpent.”
“Why would a priestess of Uplersh be interested in us?”
“We cross her domain.”
I kicked the sealed crate holding the Blood-Sword. The ropes securing it to the deck held tight. “Isn’t there a way to go around?”
“Not if you intend to cross the North Atlantic.” She dismissed me with a wave of her hand and strode to the bow. “Crusader, stand near the mast. Werebeast, has one come forward yet?”
Undeterred and angry, I followed Belinda. Before I said anything, she turned on me. “Keep silent, Mercenary. You have no idea the stakes or the forces set in motion.”
Lilly called down, “A man and dolphin are approaching.”
In the distance, a large serpent swam with its head above the water. The dragon-like head was four times the size of Hell Furnace’s. That concerned me. Then I saw what Lilly reported. A pale-skinned man with flowing red hair held the dorsal fin of a large fish, what Roos called a dolphin. The man held a slender spear in his right hand and wore only a belt woven from seaweed. From it dangled shells, a sheathed knife, and a coiled length of seaweed rope.
Belinda kept the oarsmen rowing on course, directly toward the serpent. The action forced the man to veer to our starboard side and hang on to his dolphin to keep pace.
Thirty yards away the man climbed onto his companion beast. “Belinda Iceheart, daughter of the Colonel of the West, you trespass across the Sea Goddess’ domain.”
Belinda leaned on her staff. “Who speaks on behalf of Uplersh?”
His chest puffed out with pride. “Red Tide, Mate of Blue Coral, High Priestess of the Sea Goddess.”
“Then your captor is well aware I pay proper tribute to Uplersh, so be on your way and we’ll be on ours.”
The dolphin carrying the man easily matched the speed of Belinda’s rowers. “It was not tribute enough.”
“And what would Uplersh determine adequate tribute?” Belinda’s cobalt eyes sparkled in the sunlight, causing the mermaid mate to hesitate before answering.
The man urged his dolphin ahead so that he could more easily face Belinda. “If you don’t know the answer to that, then you should never have journeyed into the Sea Goddess’ domain.”
“I see,” responded Belinda. A brief motion with her right hand combined with a mumbled phrase resulted in a thunderous concussion erupting around the man. When the water spray and foam fell away, the broken, contorted bodies of both man and dolphin floated on the bubbling surface.
Without bothering to examine her handiwork, Belinda shouted, “Oarsmen, battle speed. Thrall, take the wheel. Prepare to tie it off. Werebeast, get down from there and prepare to repel boarders.”
      Boarders? I thought. That serpent out there had to be at least sixty yards long. They wouldn’t need boarders.
      “The serpent dove,” warned Lilly, reaching the deck and collapsing the spyglass and handing it to Roos. She pulled out her sling and set a stone half the size of my fist in its pocket.
“The serpent will strive to shatter the keel, friend Hawk.” Roos slid my spear across the deck to me. “If not, ye may need the reach of thy spear.”
First Mate stood next to Belinda at the bow of the ship. He watched the waters with a pair of javelins in hand. Thrall still manned the wheel. Roos stood amid ship with Lilly. He watched starboard while she watched the portside. Hax stood aft, crouched and ready, holding a harpoon that looked too long and heavy for him to handle. I waited for the attack next to Belinda, who stood with eyes closed, mumbling. The rhythmic splash and creaking of the oars pulling at the ocean rose above the ominous silence. Even the normal wind slapping the rigging against wood had ceased.
Belinda’s eyes snapped open. “Oarsmen, retract oars!” As they methodically withdrew them through the ports beneath the gunwale, she murmured another spell and tapped the butt of her staff three times against the deck.
      Immediately the Sunset Siren lost momentum, causing all but Belinda to grab a hold of something rather than fall. Two seconds later a tremendous blow impacted the ship’s hull, staggering everyone, including Belinda.
“She held!” yelled First Mate. Fifteen seconds later the serpent surfaced one hundred yards starboard, then dove, its length arcing along the wake until its tail slapped the water before disappearing.
      “Thy ship is strong,” said Roos. “Thou must have iron backing the keel.”
Lilly leaned over the side. “No, Crusader. She surrounded the hull with ice. That’s what stopped us.”
“If we can’t move,” I said, “we can’t escape.” First Mate nodded in agreement. Slowly the bow began to shift starboard. First Mate noticed it too. We looked to Belinda, who stood with eyes closed. She shook, leaning on her staff. Her wrinkled face contorted into a wicked sneer as she chanted, summoning more magic.
      First Mate motioned for Roos to back further away. The snake-faced sailor looked from his captain, out to the mermaids and serpent four hundred yards away. Sweat broke out across Belinda’s brow and her cheeks began twitching. Still, the Sunset Siren continued to spin, faster.
      Hax signaled with his hands. First Mate agreed. “A whirlpool. Crusader, can you do anything?”
Roos shook his head.
      Belinda’s eyes snapped open. “That bitch! She’s channeling power directly from Uplersh.” The ship immediately began to spin faster. “She bars my elementals from reaching her priestess and sends more energy than I can counter.”
      “One who the dead man named Iceheart,” said Roos. “Is thy foe upon the serpent?”
Belinda nodded. “Uplersh hasn’t won yet.”
Roos flipped up the rectangular sight on his rifle and adjusted the small crossbar. “Bide.” He marched to the bow, rested the muzzle of his rifle on the gunwale, and signaled for silence. It now took less than fifteen seconds for the ship to rotate a full circle.
I held my breath, wondering if Roos could hit the target, and if he did, could his bullet pierce the magical barriers Uplersh had erected to protect her priestess from Belinda.
The priestess on the serpent, her arms upraised and surrounded by circling mermaids, men and dolphins, rotated through the Crusader’s line of sight without him firing. The ocean level appeared to be rising in relation to the hull of our ship.
      Lilly grabbed my arm, causing me to fire my crossbow into the water. I smiled at her, trying to disguise my fear. Drowning wouldn’t be as bad as being torn apart by zombies, but it wouldn’t be as fast as death by an ogre’s club. I was going to ask Lilly why she’d unbuttoned her shirt when the crack of Roos’ rifle sounded.
Roos looked up from his rifle’s sight. When the priestess toppled off the serpent’s head, he removed his forage cap and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Lord, thank ye for thy guidance.”
      “Crusader,” warned Belinda. “Might want to withhold your gratitude.” As if to accent her words, the serpent emitted a screeching hiss before speeding toward us, mermaids, men and dolphins trailing in its wake. Belinda’s knees buckled, but First Mate caught and steadied her.
      “We’re doomed,” said Lilly. She shed her clothes, stepped back and dropped to her hands and knees on the deck, her lips drawn back in pain. “Flank Hawk, look away.” I already had, reloading my crossbow.
      “Oarsmen,” said Belinda with renewed vibrancy, “except for those on the ship right now, rend any creature that comes within your grasp.”
The wood golems stiffly rose to their feet and stood with their arms held high. They reminded me of dead trees whose smaller branches had been shorn off. Behind me, Lilly groaned. The reshaping of her bones and joints sounded like stalks of celery twisting and snapping. I didn’t dare turn to see Lilly change, afraid of what I might see.
      “Leave the serpent to me,” hissed Belinda. The enemy closed to within one hundred yards. “Don’t let them snare you with their lassos or they’ll pull you overboard.”
“Thy foe closes,” warned Roos. He pulled the trigger, catching a mermaid in the shoulder. A line of red trailed where she dove. They were too far for my crossbow.
The serpent propelled itself forward by undulating its snake-like body laterally along the surface. It didn’t matter whether the serpent intended to ram above the ice line or surge out of the water and crash down upon our ship. Weakened as Belinda was, the Sunset Siren appeared doomed, and us with it.
      I held my crossbow ready, watching the sea serpent grow nearer. The threat of lassos and javelins seemed insignificant. Maybe Roos and his rifle could make a difference, but my crossbow would be like flicking pebbles at a charging bull. Even Hax’s harpoon looked small.
Belinda stood defiantly at the prow of her ship. I grabbed hold of a rope strung along the gunwale and braced for the shattering impact.
      The serpent rose up, intent on smashing its bulk onto the deck. At the last second, Belinda shouted, “Rise and defend!” In response a huge wave with watery arms slammed into the serpent, engulfing its head and fanged maw. The water elemental knocked the serpent off course and both crashed into the ocean just off the portside. The resulting wave rocked the Sunset Siren, tipping her to within inches of taking on water. Whether the buoyancy of the ice encasing the hull saved or nearly foundered us, I couldn’t tell.
      Lilly skidded next to me, her claws digging for traction on the wet deck. First Mate hurled his two javelins at mermaids, doing his best to ward the captain while she controlled the giant elemental battling the thrashing serpent.
The ship continued to rock wildly, enabling several mermen to grab hold and climb aboard. The serpent’s tale whipped wildly, smacking the mast before the elemental hauled it beneath the surface.
      One of the unlucky mermen fell into the grasp of the enchanted oarsmen and in a tug-of-war they tore him screaming, limb from limb. Lilly charged one of the mermen, knocking him to the deck as he stabbed at her with his flint dagger. I stood and took aim at one of the four mermaids holding their torsos above the water with powerful tail strokes while twirling lassos over their heads. My aim was true and one alluring green-haired mermaid sank beneath the surface with a quarrel in her heart.
      I ducked two lassos, but failed to see a third. It snagged my crossbow, and a mermaid yanked it from my unsuspecting hands. I reached for my spear on the deck only a few feet away.
From the stern, Hax hurled his harpoon. I didn’t see if the sailor hit his target, but two thin spears shot up, piercing his forearm and stomach. A pair of lassos followed, pulling the wounded man over the side.
Roos fired his revolver starboard, into the mermen and maids as they hurled spears and knives, and flung lassos. The whole time Roos belted out uneven lyrics to a song that held him steadfast in battle.
I drove my spear into the chest of a merman as he tried to board, and smashed a second across the face with the shaft, knocking him back into the water. Thrall hacked the fingers off another merman as he gripped the gunwale, trying to climb aboard. The sailor appeared unaware of his bloody shoulder wound as he spun and charged aft, seeking other foes.
      The Crusader drew his saber. I shouted, “Roos, behind you!” but too late. From the port side a lasso’s noose found its mark, dropping over the Crusader’s head and tightening on his neck. Roos dropped his weapons and grabbed at the choking rope. In an instant the enemy hauled him backwards and over the side. In a flash of brown, Lilly scampered over the gunwale after Roos.
I charged to help, but a hurled spear caught me in the thigh just above the knee. I fell but climbed to my feet, only to have a lasso’s noose catch my left arm. I dropped my spear and pulled, trying to get slack to loosen the loop. The rope remained taught and I braced for what was to come. With pain shooting through my leg, the enemy dragged me toward the side like a child overpowered in a tug-of-war. I reached for Guzzy’s dirk in my boot as I tumbled toward the edge. Thrall appeared and hacked the seaweed rope, severing it against the gunwale six inches from my wrist.
      Freed, I grabbed my spear while limping toward the port side and found a sight I’d never expected to see; Roos had freed himself from the rope, but he kicked and flailed, helpless and at the mercy of his foes. Splashing and spinning in a blur of fangs and fur, Lilly fought near the Crusader against dolphins darting in from all sides, ramming and snapping at her.
First Mate knocked me to the deck before I could dive in to help my friends. “Fool!” he shouted, brandishing his cutlass. “You can’t help them that way.”
I picked up a merman’s shark-tooth spear, and limped back to the side. First Mate ducked a thrown flint dagger and tossed a rope to Roos. Before the Crusader could grab it, a mermaid snagged Roos by the collar and plunged beneath the waves, dragging him with her.
The sudden realization that Roos was gone tore at my gut almost as much as seeing an ogre impale Guzzy with my spear. I couldn’t let it affect me now, not in battle with Lilly still in danger.
I knocked aside a mermaid’s thrown lasso and focused on a dolphin racing just beneath the surface toward Lilly. With a slap of her tail, she dove. Just as quickly the dolphin was gone with the others following, leaving no foes on the surface. I hurled the shark-tooth spear where the dolphin had disappeared anyway.
First Mate moved next to me, searching the water. Thrall stood perched aft, ready to continue the fight. The oarsmen stood stiff with merman limbs dangling from their hands. Belinda leaned against the mast, clutching her staff. Sweat glistened on her wrinkled face. Suddenly, a grin emerged from beneath her trembling lips.
A column of ocean water erupted off the port side, sending bodies and sheets of water onto the deck.
“Kill’em!” shouted First Mate.
Flopping ten feet from me, a stunned mermaid rolled about. Beyond her a second mermaid crawled across the deck. Ignoring the pain in my leg, I ran and drove the tip of my boar spear through the nearest mermaid’s breastbone. Shock registered in her turquoise eyes. I yanked my spear free and leapt over the dying mermaid as the spouting ocean water’s downpour stopped.
The second mermaid heard my footsteps pounding on the deck and crawled frantically for the gunwale, dragging her shimmering fish-tailed torso. Looking over her shoulder she cried, “No, please!”
I ignored her plea and thrust my spear, severing her spine just below the neck. She was the enemy. The sandy-blonde mermaid’s scream died with her, leaving a silent, twitching corpse.
“Here,” called First Mate, waving me over.
Thrall ran about with his bloody cutlass, zealously finishing off any mermaids and dolphins on the deck. His vicious snarl matched the ferocity of his hacking blade.
I limped past Belinda the Cursed who’d slid down to sit with her back against the mast. “Thanks,” I said to her, not knowing exactly why. I didn’t wait for a response.
First Mate rolled Roos on his stomach and pushed on his back, pressing water from his lungs. Then he rolled the Crusader back over, pinched his nose before breathing into his mouth. I didn’t sense any magic. Even if there was, it wouldn’t work on Roos. I leaned on my spear, wondering if Roos really was gone.
I scanned the deck and found Lilly aft. Even from a distance I saw the gash wounds across her hide. “Lilly, are you okay?”
She didn’t respond. Instead she curled into a ball. Within seconds she stretched out on the deck. Her body changed, bunching in places, stretching in others like an artist molding clay. Her skin absorbed the deep brown fur, and her face transformed back to that of the woman I knew. It was an unnatural scene, but not as horrific as I’d imagined it would be.
First Mate still worked on Roos, breathing into his mouth, causing his chest to rise. I was a healer. I reminded myself again that my magic was useless on the Crusader. Even deeper, I knew that my meager knowledge and skills would’ve been inadequate to the task at hand.
Lilly came up next to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. Soaked, the green shirt clung to her body as she began buttoning it. “Your leg?”
I stared into her brown eyes. “I’ll be okay. How about you?” Bruises showed across her arms, legs and face. Already they were yellowed, showing signs of healing. Bite marks on her arm and leg had already scabbed over.
“I’ll be okay,” she said. “Changing speeds my healing. What about the Crusader?”
First Mate blew another breath into Roos. The Crusader coughed. At first weakly, then when First Mate rolled Roos on his side and allowed more water to drain from his mouth, the coughing strengthened. Increasing life and vigor followed.
Lilly and I knelt next to Roos. He flashed us a weak smile before sputtering and coughing some more.
“Stay with him,” said First Mate to me. “Lilly, climb up and check the mast. We’ve got to get under way.”
First Mate lifted Belinda in his arms and, stepping over carnage of dead mermen, mermaids, and dolphins, carried the weakened wizard to her cabin. She didn’t even have the strength to hold onto her staff. When it hit the deck, the ice encasing the hull cracked and broke away.
Thrall took the wheel as the oarsmen returned to their work.
Roos reached for my arm and whispered, “My time with thee has not yet ended.” He coughed again. “Friend Hawk.”

The night breeze sent ripples through the tarp sheltering Thrall, Roos and myself. Both men slept while I listened to the night wind. I’d become used to the sound of the sails as well, but with Lilly discovering a crack in the mast the Sunset Siren traveled under oar power alone.
      Belinda had emerged from her cabin an hour before sundown to check on her ship and to give Roos an herbal brew to combat damage and possible infection in his lungs.
Earlier, First Mate had taken charge, ordering Thrall to shear the mermaid tails and hair, and collect their scales for sale to alchemists. Sharks made quick work of the remains dumped overboard. Now, at the wheel, First Mate’s conversation with Lilly carried over the steady breathing of Roos next to me, and above the rhythmic splash of the oars.
“So, your friend Hawk is a rogue healer?”
“And if he is?” asked Lilly, cautiously.
“Surprised me. Does he know the bounties Lain Healers have on rogues?”
“I’m sure he does. All he did was stop Thrall’s bleeding and tend to his own leg. Who’s Thrall going to tell?”
The sharp pain in my leg had subsided once I’d taken weight off of it. I’d learned that being a healer, my wounds mended faster. Not nearly as fast as Lilly. I knew about the bounty, but I figured Belinda and her crew wouldn’t tell anybody, and I’d be long gone if they eventually did. With the loss of Hax, we needed everyone healthy as possible.
First Mate cleared his throat and spit. “You’re right there. Thrall having no tongue. But it explains why Hawk had trouble picking up knife fighting.”
“What do you mean?” asked Lilly.
“Healers,” said First Mate, “the ones who serve Fendra Jolain, all have bodyguards. If your friend wants to become a healer of any measure, he’ll have to give up his mercenary ways.” He paused. “Violence and healing magic don’t mix.”
I’d never really considered that. I’d learned that use of magic affected the practitioners. The stronger the seer, the loss of physical eyesight. Wizards physically reflect the colors resembling their element. Thinking about necromancers and sorcerers made me shudder.
“What kind of wizard is your captain?” asked Lilly.
Nonchalantly, First Mate answered, “Air and Water.”
“Both? I’ve never heard of that.”
I agreed with Lilly. And Belinda didn’t have the blue-tinted skin of a water wizard. Her eyes were blue, but it didn’t seem the same. Her white hair was due to age, not white shifting to translucent like Prince Reveron and Grand Wizard Seelain.
“She’s been around a while and’s quite accomplished in both.”
I imagined Lilly crossing her arms and scowling as she asked, “Does that have anything to do with Roos saying she isn’t cursed, but a half-blood?”
First Mate laughed deeply. “What the Crusader suspects and what I’m willing to say about my captain…” His voice trailed off into silence. After a few minutes he added, “I’ve sailed with her on this ship for over thirty years. I’ve seen a lot. You’re not the first werebeast ever to sail with us.”
He laughed deeply again. “About eight years ago, a werewolf came onboard to watch over some cargo. Come the full moon, and him thinking he’s some sort of alpha and all.”
“What happened,” asked Lilly?
      “The captain castrated him with a silver blade, froze him in a block of ice up to his neck, and pushed him overboard. Werewolves, vile creatures give all you werebeasts a bad name.”
      “There aren’t many of us,” lamented Lilly. “Let alone my kind.”
“You’ve got mastery of your beast, you a true-blood?” Lilly must have nodded as First Mate continued. “How many summers have you seen?”
“Ten,” she answered.
That caught my attention. Lilly looked to be at least fifteen or sixteen years old.
“Shouldn’t we be trying to move faster?” asked Lilly.
“No. We altered our course. The captain says her elemental slew all the enemy we didn’t, including the serpent.”
“Can’t she fix the mast with her magic?”
“No. Tomorrow I’ll look at it closer, but no sense risking the sails on it when we don’t have to. Why don’t you climb up and take a look about, just in case.”
With that, their conversation ended. I rolled onto my side, tucking my arm under my head, and wondered what a half-blood was, and thought about the contradiction of healing magic with the mercenary life. Why didn’t Road Toad tell me? So many thoughts flooded my mind. Were the prince and Road Toad still alive? What about my family?
My eyes fell upon the crate holding the Blood-Sword. I drifted to sleep worrying about how I was going to negotiate a trade on behalf of Prince Reveron. One which would enable our side to strike a strong enough blow to reverse the tide of the war.


Chapter 25
Southwestern United States
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

Emergency backups failed. Inadequate onsite generators fell silent. The batteries worked, enabling dimmed lights to mingle with the glow of several online monitors. They paled in comparison to the spectacular as yet unseen fluctuations from the doomed experiment housed in the lead-lined, steel and concrete chamber.
       “Readings off the scale,” warned Dr. Johnston. “She’s burning through.”
       It wouldn’t help, thought Dr. Mindebee even as he ordered, “Drop the secondary blast containment walls.” Monitors showed unaccounted for electromagnetic waves somehow entering the chamber and rebounding out, altered from contact with the doughnut-shaped sphere. “All nonessential personnel evacuate.” He looked toward Lt. Colonel Ibrahim. “You may want to evacuate too.”
       “It may be safer in here,” the soldier replied.
Dr. Mindebee knew Colonel Ibrahim wasn’t one to joke, especially during an emergency. But Dr. Mindebee couldn’t fathom anything more dangerous than remaining in close proximity to a runaway inter-dimensional experiment.
      
The call of seabirds in the morning sun was a welcome sound. At sunset last night Belinda the Cursed had emerged from her cabin to direct us north into a bay. First Mate said it was once called Chesapeake Bay.
      Lilly watched the birds and our progress from the ship’s bow while Roos checked his equipment for the fifth time. I stood with First Mate at the wheel. “What was Chesapeake Bay named after, a queen or an empire?”
      He shrugged.
“How long ago was it named?”
      “That’d be best counted in centuries, I think.” He pointed to the east where the rocky, tree-lined coast was just within view. “More people than grains in a barrel of sand lived along these shores.”
I smiled at his jest, but a stern look and nod assured me he was serious, or at least believed what he said. “Along the shores? Who would feed them? There aren’t enough fish in this bay.” I looked around; nobody was listening to our conversation. “I suppose enough water wizards could use their powers to scour the sea.”
“No, not magic, Hawk.” He bit his lip, thinking. “Well, maybe magic to us.”
“Where’d they all go? I see no ships. I’ve seen no castles or towns. No smoke by day or firelight along the shore by night.”
“I only know bits and pieces of the story,” said First Mate. “I don’t even know if the captain knows it all. But, when you go ashore, you’ll see a glimmer of the past. I’ve seen the Necromancer King’s Stukas. May as well be rotting rowboats, compared to what these old eyes have seen.” He pointed to his face and grinned, his graying whiskers catching the sun. “You’ll see, Hawk.” Then his smile faded. He looked away.
“What?” I asked. Lowering my voice to a whisper, I tried again. “What aren’t you telling me?”
      He glanced over his shoulder, toward Belinda’s cabin. “It is a harsh land, filled with marvels and with perils.”
      I got the feeling he’d told me more than he should have, or at least more than his captain would have condoned. “You’re a good sailor, First Mate,” I said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Without you, we wouldn’t have made it this far. Maybe we’ll exchange tales, if I return.”

By late afternoon Belinda emerged from her cabin and, after a mumbled discussion with First Mate, took the wheel. She guided her ship into an inlet along the eastern shoreline.
      Roos, Lilly and I watched our progress. Along the shore flew large, colorful waterfowl. Enormous deer, with thick antlers that reminded me of chicken wishbones, fed on plants where streams joined the bay. The most surprising coastal feature was the immense piles of rubble jutting skyward from the otherwise level shoreline. Covered in shrubs and vast networks of vines, these hillocks appeared unnatural, like giant barrow mounds marking tombs of the vast population First Mate said once dwelt here.
The waterway forked and Belinda chose the northern route. Roos pointed to what I’d already spied; a structure rising from just beyond the shoreline. It was like a small mountain had been carved away, leaving rectangular structures upon a broad base. As we neared, vertical rows of dark squares, Roos guessed them to be hundreds of windows, lined the outer walls. It was far taller and grander than the palace in the King’s City.
I walked over to Belinda who’d been watching us. “Once, while serving as aft-guard on one of the royal serpents, I flew over an ancient city named Milan.” Belinda gazed at me with a raised eyebrow. “I saw a building, not as large, but equally grand as this.” I pointed to our apparent destination, recalling a conversation with Road Toad that felt like it had taken place in my childhood. “You’re guiding us to the shore of an ancient city, maintained by trogs and inhabited by the wandering souls from ages past?”
She smiled and looked ahead. “You have some of the pieces, but haven’t made the connection. Troglodytes do more than repair, and the lamenting spirits don’t wander.”
I recalled the flickering blue-white lights in and around the massive castle in Milan. Road Toad had called them wandering spirits. Maybe Belinda knew more? I looked to Roos, who stared back without having anything to offer.
“It is them that you must convince to suffer your presence,” added Belinda. “I will tell you what I can, Mercenary, but it is not my place to advise you. Nor will I protect you.”
Lilly stomped back to the wheel, her face twisted in anger. First Mate reached for his cutlass, but Belinda waved him off.
“You won’t help us?” shouted Lilly. “After we saved you and your ship?”
“You did nothing to save me and my ship,” Belinda responded in a haughty tone. “You acted to save yourselves.” Pointing her bony finger at Lilly she added, “In the end it was I who saved you.”
“You want Flank Hawk dead so you can have his sword!”
I stepped between Belinda and Lilly, afraid my friend might launch herself upon the crone.
“Don’t trust her!” cried Lilly.
      Lilly had a point, but without Belinda’s assistance I’d never reach my goal. First Mate might know how to reach the greater elf, but his loyalty was with his captain. “It’ll be alright, Lilly.”
      A look of venom filled her eyes. “No it won’t. She wants you to fail.”
“One whom Hawk names Belinda the Cursed,” interjected Roos, his booming voice carrying across deck. “Is it ye, or the one ye shares kinship, that counsels withholding of assistance?”
“You know nothing of my lineage, Crusader.”
Roos crossed his arms. It was his turn to grin. “Thou may deny, but faith enables mine eyes to see. Ye heart pumps blood of intertwining rivers. One mortal and the other immortal.”
“There is a reason your kind are shunned,” said Belinda. “You only see what you desire to see, and nothing else.”
Lilly relaxed, looking from Roos back to the crone. I remained between the two women.
“I see truth,” said Roos. “Is it ye, or the one ye shares kinship that guides your actions?”
Belinda the Cursed stood straight, no longer pretending aged feebleness. “My loyalty is with the Colonel of the West.” She locked eyes with me. “Whether you deliver the Blood-Sword to him, or I do, matters not.”
      It was too late to back out and try another route. I’d chosen this path to the greater elf. Still, I didn’t have to go meekly or let Belinda get the last word. “Unfortunately, Belinda the half-elven, you’re wrong.” Let her interpret that however she chose.
      
I missed my crossbow. Even slung over my shoulder it would’ve added a sense of security. I imagined it resting on the ocean bottom, slowly being covered in sand.
      I waved to First Mate and Thrall as they hauled the plank onboard. Both men waved back before returning to work scrubbing the deck. Belinda led us off the aged granite pier toward the towering, ancient building. Spear in hand, I felt ready to defend myself and my friends. The weight of the Blood-Sword strapped over my shoulder reminded me why we were there.
Lilly walked just behind, to my right. Still barefoot, she wore the green shirt under her tattered sackcloth clothes. A sling with a pouch of smooth stones hung on her rope belt next to her dagger. Roos carried his gear in his backpack with blanket roll on top and gripped his freshly oiled and loaded rifle with grim confidence.
      I adjusted my satchel so that I could slough it off if the need arose.
      The building stood only fifty yards from the shore and it was taller than any building I could ever have imagined. Belinda called it a skyscraper. Her name for it fit. The late afternoon light revealed a new, rather than an ancient, look. The smooth walls consisting of red and gray stone were untarnished by weather or age. The reflective, blue-tinted windows were clean and uncracked. Magic certainly had played a part in its preservation.
Belinda’s black robes billowed out as she led us up a cobblestone path. Moss and creeping vines covered much of it. Stunted shrubs and trees growing along the edge showed signs of trimming; efforts that appeared to have been abandoned several years ago. None of the giant mounds that I was curious to explore were nearby.
      Like walking into her personal courtyard, Belinda pulled back her hood and took in the air and surroundings. “This building in ages past welcomed visitors from across the world. They met and dined here, plotted and schemed here, maybe even forged their ultimate destruction here.”
“How do you know that?” asked Lilly. “Are you a seer too?”
Belinda ignored her. “It wasn’t the largest, or the most important meeting place of its kind, but it’s what has survived.”
We stood at the base of the skyscraper. Two levels held tall windows, dark from within and reflecting the scenery behind us. I had to crane my neck to view the rest built upon those levels. It did appear to touch the sky.
      Belinda reached into her robes and pulled out a small leather scroll case. “Mercenary, I will lead you and your companions to the entrance.” She handed me the scroll case. “If the inhabitants suffer your presence, and the guardian grants passage, I will lead you up where you may contact the Colonel of the West. There will be a box on a long table. Ignore symbols and writings. They’re beyond your comprehension. Use the scroll I’ve provided and adjust the frequency, then press the black button next to the metal stick, speak your message into it. Release the button and listen.” She eyed Roos and Lilly standing to my left and right. “Do not allow your companions to fight your battles.”
      Belinda covered her head with her cloak’s hood and turned, her black robes billowing out as she spun. “From this moment forward, do not look to me for answers or support. I shall give neither.”
Roos fixed his bayonet over the muzzle of his rifle. “If ye find thyself in my line of fire,” he said to Belinda, “do not look for concern or mercy. I shall give neither.”
Without a word Belinda led us around the building to a wide set of glass doors framed by shining metal. They magically whisked open as we approached. She stepped to the side, allowing us to enter first.
I stuffed the scroll case behind my breastplate and led our group through a small entryway into a well lit lobby. Globes that didn’t contain flame showered the polished stone floor and walls in white light. Recessed rays lit the long, arched ceiling. Triangular patterns of brown, white, and gold formed large squares on the marble floor. It appeared more for decoration than a pattern with magical intent. Our boots clapped as we walked, the sound echoing lightly as we proceeded. I decided to seek stairs leading upward. Belinda said that was where I could contact the Colonel of the West.
We passed through the first room, into a larger, square one lit by an ornate crystal chandelier. Lilly grabbed my arm. “I hear,” she whispered.
From hallways to the left and right approached what I guessed to be trogs. They looked like goblins, but were seven feet tall with pasty gray skin hanging over solid torsos. They walked upright swinging abnormally long arms, their flat feet slapping on the hard floor. Stubby fingers curled around the handles of their pickaxes, shovels and hammers. What dusty rags they wore made Lilly’s look extravagant and well kept.
      Belinda stood against the wall as ten of the hairless, black-eyed creatures marched into the room and shuffled into a circle around us. Roos and Lilly stood at my back as I faced the largest.
      The big trog had a welt on its head, as if a fallen brick had struck where its eyebrow should have been. The trog waved its battered sledge hammer, pointing it at me. “Follow,” rumbled from its throat.
It turned, expecting us to follow. Belinda hadn’t given me much on what to expect, so I asked, “Why?”
Three strides later the big trog turned and repeated, “Follow.” The other nine repeated the word.
“Why?” I asked, standing my ground. The trog didn’t seem too bright. Maybe it would unintentionally say something useful. “Where too?”
      The big trog bunched its lips up and squinted at me. Everyone stood motionless as statues waiting for it to answer. If it came to a fight, ten trogs would be more than we could handle, so I didn’t think it was waiting until more arrived before answering. I tried to think of other questions to break the impasse.
      “Hawk,” warned Roos.
A shimmering white-blue light floated into the room. It was the size of a shield and sparkled like coals in a campfire being stirred. A wandering, or lamenting, soul. I wondered if Roos’ saber would have any effect on it.
It stopped next to the big trog, so I addressed it. “Where too? And why?”
The big trog smiled and turned to face the lamenting soul. In a flash, the light shot into the brute’s chest. Its brilliance disappeared, but traces of its presence lit up the big trog’s eyes. Even a glimmer of light streamed out of its broad nostrils. I watched the injury on the trog’s forehead fade.
      When the trog spoke, light flickered in its throat like a fire in a potbelly stove. “The guardian has noted your presence. We are here to escort you to his presence.”
      It wasn’t apparent at first, but the big trog looked younger, and stronger. It could’ve been the light, although I didn’t think so.
“Why?” I asked.
The possessed trog’s eyes flicked a glance beyond me to where Belinda the Cursed stood before focusing on me again. “Why are you here?” Its voice was no longer flat.
“I am here,” I said, “in service of Reveron, Prince of Keesee. I seek to barter with the Colonel of the West on his behalf.”
      The possessed trog seemed to look through me to the sword hanging across my back. “The guardian will assess the validity of your business and your fitness to barter with the Colonel of the West.”
      The big trog had smiled before the lamenting soul entered it. The situation wasn’t like when the Blood-Sword possessed me. And the healing of the trog’s injury and improved health reminded me of what Belinda had said about the trogs and lamenting souls. I didn’t have time to ponder the connection. “I am called Flank Hawk, mercenary in the service of Prince Reveron. Who are you?”
      “I am Janice Welson. Follow me and I will escort you to the guardian.”
      I looked back at Roos and Lilly. They said nothing. “Okay, we’ll follow.”
“No, just you, Flank Hawk.”
Separating didn’t sound like a good idea. I wanted Lilly’s instincts and Roos’ ability to sense magic and his firepower at my back. The trogs were prepared to take all of us somewhere before I asked a question. Knowing Belinda believed the Colonel of the West wanted the Blood-Sword, and the lamenting soul focusing on the sword, gave me some bargaining strength. “They go with me.”
Only the possessed trog’s lips and jaw moved when the lamenting soul spoke through him. “Do they serve Reveron, Prince of Keesee?”
“No,” I said. “They are my friends and follow me for their own reasons.”
“If they follow you, you are their leader. You are responsible for their actions.”
The possessed trog turned and led the way through the left doorway. Lilly walked next to me. Roos, following us, said, “Friend Hawk, ye may want to wear thy helmet.”
The other nine trogs trailing behind us appeared more curious than aggressive. “If combat appears imminent, Roos.” Still, I loosened the strap securing it to my belt.
The possessed trog led us down several halls, narrower and less grand than the entrance. We walked upon tapestries that ran along the floor. Repetitive in design and expertly stitched together, it was difficult to tell where one ended and another began. We passed dozens of painted doors with unusual hook-like latches.
“Is Belinda still with us?” I asked.
“She is,” whispered Lilly.
      Through several turns and a set of stairs, the possessed trog brought us into a long entrance hall with tall windows facing the waterfront. I spotted the Sunset Siren still tied to the pier.
      We stopped in front of a pair of immense white double doors. The possessed trog pulled them open, revealing a huge room beyond. The hardwood floors, high ceiling and dozens of chandeliers reminded me of the palace ballroom I glimpsed while in Keesee.
      Inside to the right a winged man sat upon a tall stool. The ornate stool had two padded arm rests and four stout legs carved to resemble those of a great cat down to the clawed paws. Having wings, sitting in a chair with a backrest wouldn’t work, so the stool made sense.
      Around the room flitted at least twenty lamenting souls. Six hovered among the crystal chandeliers, adding their light to that of the small flame-like globes. The floor was otherwise clear except for a crew of four trogs with buckets, brushes, and rags, on their hands and knees washing and waxing the floor.
      The possessed trog led us directly toward the winged man. He was tall as a trog, but far more handsome with blonde curly hair, dark eyes, firm jaw, and a muscular body. His white tunic emphasized an ashy tone to his skin that matched the color of his feathered wings folded behind his back. His right hand held a polished wooden scepter tipped with a jagged cluster of blue crystals.
      “Friend Hawk,” said Roos openly, “ye are gazing upon a fallen angel.”
The winged man looked beyond us to the doorway where Belinda stood. “Iceheart, it has been many years since you have visited Outpost 4.” He spoke as a tenor singing a mirthful melody. “As always, you travel with interesting company.”
We stopped ten paces in front of the fallen angel while the possessed trog knelt before him. The lamenting souls that had been flitting about the ballroom gathered to the gray angel’s left. Those in the chandeliers remained where they were and the nine trogs formed a semicircle behind us. The four cleaning trogs must have departed.
Lilly whispered into my ear, “I’ll watch our back while you talk.”
      The fallen angel motioned with his scepter for the possessed trog to rise and stand to his right. “Remind you of a poorly written play, Crusader? Me, here as guardian.” He laughed deeply. “A guardian angel.”
      No one else laughed. Roos ground his teeth.
The fallen angel gazed at me. “I am aware you believe your business urgent, Mercenary. But it has been centuries since the opportunity to speak with a believer has presented itself.”
I shrugged, not knowing what to say. His voice sounded sincere and without malice, but I’d learned to trust my friends’ instincts. I’d watched many farm cats play with mice before devouring them. I guessed that angels were minions of the Crusaders’ God, and Roos’ tense jaw indicated he wasn’t interested in exchanging pleasantries with a fallen one.
“Your ignorance should be corrected, Believer. I have withdrawn my service from Him above. I do not serve him below. I am not fallen.”
“Fallen One, ye should concentrate on serving thy new master rather than strive to justify thy foolish decision to sever thyself from His presence.”
      The fallen angel retained his smile, but the rustling of his wings betrayed his reaction. “You, Believer, who travels in company of a cursed one and a practitioner of the forbidden arts that intends to barter a trapped malevolent soul, one that inflicted untold suffering and death to millions upon the eve of the cataclysm. You dare question my actions and my motives?”
      Roos calmly slung his rifle over his shoulder and slowly drew his saber.
“Believer, your feeble weapons hold no special power or influence in my presence.”
I couldn’t tell if the fallen angel believed what he said, let alone determine his reason for challenging Roos’ integrity and loyalty to his God. I began to suspect Belinda intended this confrontation all along.
“This saber,” said Roos, holding it over his head, “blessed by Saint Godfrey Augustus and entrusted to me by Archbishop Simeon of Canterbury upon revealing the vision granted by the Lord of All, symbolizes the purity of my mission.” He lowered the saber and stood relaxed. “Arrogance and separation from our Father has clouded thy vision, Fallen One.”
      Lilly whispered in my ear. “He’s muted the Crusaders’ saber. It hardly shimmers at all.”
      The fallen angel roared with laughter. “Believer, history is rife with examples of petty, self-serving, and plain unwise decisions made by both clergy and saints.”
“I have my granted vision and my faith, Fallen One. What have ye? Knowledge of loss and loneliness of an empty heart? Set aside thy pride and beg forgiveness. He will not turn ye away.”
The fallen angel shook his head. “Have you heard the phrase, ‘Better to rule in hell than serve in heaven?’”
It was Roos’ turn to laugh. “At the moment, ye serves the one named Colonel of the West. Thou does not rule, but administers the fourth outpost, three ranks below thy master’s most important one.”
“As expected, Believer,” the fallen angel said, frowning and shaking his head, “your narrow vision overflows with ignorance.” He looked back to Belinda, smiling. “You have outdone yourself once again, Iceheart. Now, be gone while I attend to business at hand.”
I turned when Belinda unexpectedly replied. “I see you’ve discovered the Crusader’s tongue has nasty barbs, Warden of Outpost 4.” She leaned on her white staff. “You hold no sway over me. I shall stay to ensure my father’s interests are upheld.”
Her statement caused the fallen angel’s wings once again to rustle. “Mercenary, state your business with the Colonel of the West.” The melody in his voice fell flat.
I repeated what I’d told the lamenting soul possessing the trog. “I am here in service of Reveron, Prince of Keesee. I seek to barter with the Colonel of the West on his behalf.”
“Why does he not come himself?”
I could have told the truth, but felt the less information I provided, the better. “It is not my place to question decisions of my prince. He tasked me and so I have come.”
      “A prince of any account would send more than a lowly mercenary in his stead.” He eyed the tattered armband bearing Keesee’s colors. “A poorly equipped one at that. And to enlist the aid of a cursed one and a pathetic Crusader?”
      Although habit urged me to challenge the insult, I chose not to. “Nevertheless, I am here.”
“And what if I simply take the sword from you?” He leaned forward. “Certainly you realize, like the Believer’s weapon, your sword’s powers are impotent against me.”
      Fighting the minion of a god, even a fallen one, seemed like a bad idea. I thought back on what Belinda the Cursed, who appeared to be no friend of the fallen angel, named him. I shrugged. “If, as warden of this outpost, it falls within the orders set for you by the Colonel of the West, you may try to take it.” I sloughed off my extra gear and donned my helmet. I heard Roos drop his backpack as well. “I’ve stood to far worse horrors than you.”
      This time his laughter was laced with sinister mirth. “Of course. Iceheart, next time remind me of my manners. Why take it when you will simply give it to me, Mercenary.”
With a twisting gesture of his right hand, the room sparked with blinding light. Song, like a thousand-strong choir crying out a piercing note followed. I stood my ground, thrusting and sweeping forward with my spear, trusting that Roos and Lilly would protect my back. I called to them, but the sound echoing in the ballroom drowned out my voice along with any reply they might have made.
Then, in an instant the light disappeared and the sound ended. It took a few seconds for the white spots blocking my vision to disappear, and what I saw disheartened me. Lilly and Roos lay sprawled on the ground thirty feet away, each surrounded by trogs with glowing eyes. I couldn’t tell if my friends were unconscious or dead, but they’d fought hard as three of the trogs had bloody wounds. Even so, their struggle was for nothing. They’d lost the fight, and power of the lamenting souls was quickly healing the wounded trogs.
I glared at the fallen angel resting smugly on his stool. I didn’t know why the trogs hadn’t attacked me. “I’ll not give you the sword.”
“That has yet to be seen.” With a curling finger he signaled to the big trog. “Janice, assist the mercenary to find it in his heart to hand the Blood-Sword over to me.”
“I will not,” I said, stepping back, holding my spear ready. I could fight the trog but my spear wouldn’t help against a lamenting soul, especially if it was intent on possessing me. I couldn’t fight it; maybe I could resist it. I’d held out against the demon contained in the Blood-Sword.
The blue-white soul emerged from the big trog. The gray brute wrapped its arms around its body and wailed in grief while the lamenting soul slowly hovered toward me.
      I couldn’t out run it, but resisting it would be my fallback position. While I couldn’t fight it, a departed comrade might. I pulled out Short Two Blades’ talisman from beneath my collar and slipped the bead into my mouth before biting down. The blood it contained mixed with the blood from my cut tongue. I spit the glass and blood out onto the floor and commanded, “Short Two Blades, I call upon you to repay your debt as promised!”
      The advancing soul hesitated as mist rose from the blood on the floor. It swirled and grew, and within seconds Short Two Blades’ pale ghost stood before me. “What would you have me do, Flank Hawk?” His voice was weak and hollow, as if he spoke through a long tunnel.
I pointed. “Stop that lamenting soul from possessing me!”
The blue-white light shot around Short Two Blades and into me like a hot blade. Short Two Blades drew his falchion and long hunting knife and leapt forward, into and through me like a biting wind. I spun around to see the mercenary ghost furiously hacking and stabbing at the sparking soul, driving it back. Every time Short Two Blades hit, sparks flew like a smith hammering red-hot steel.
Then the lamenting soul struck back, sending bursts of light into Short Two Blades. The mercenary ghost howled in agony but continued to fight, stabbing with his knife while deflecting several of the light bursts with his falchion.
As the lamenting soul drove Short Two Blades back, his form began to lose shape, returning to mist. Unwilling to give up, Short Two Blades spread his arms and threw himself on the blue-white light. His smoky essence engulfed the soul, trying to smother its light.
I glanced over my shoulder at the fallen angel. He sat on the edge of his stool observing the unearthly struggle.
In a puff, what remained of Short Two Blades was gone. The lamenting soul looked unsteady with much of its light intensity faded. Still, it moved toward me. I gripped my spear with both hands and waited.
“Too bad, Mercenary.” The fallen angel’s laugh lacked its former bravado. “All you have to do is give the sword to me.”
I realized something barred the fallen angel from simply taking the evil weapon from me. I gritted my teeth. “No.”
Slower than the first time, the lamenting soul entered my body. This time it wasn’t like a hot knife. Instead, a comforting warmth spread from my chest out to my limbs and into my head. I concentrated on my hands. If I didn’t let go of my spear, I couldn’t hand over Prince Reveron’s sword.
The lamenting soul’s drive for control wasn’t as forceful or violent as the Blood-Sword’s demon. At first she tried to lull me into agreeing, promising safety for myself and my friends and explaining the reasonableness of the guardian’s desires. I resisted, repeating my promise to Prince Reveron.
When that failed the soul assaulted me as the Blood-Sword had. Sweat covered my body as I reached out, sending ribbons of healing into my hands, keeping the lamenting soul at bay.
I don’t know how much time passed, but I guessed not much. I felt my concentration weakening, and my ability to separate and direct the ribbons began to falter.
Roos wasn’t here this time to rescue me with his saber. I knew Short Two Blades had weakened the soul, but not enough. Then it struck me that I had a soul too. Instead of fighting with magic I concentrated. I worked more on instinct. Wherever I felt the warmth and pressure of the lamenting soul, I focused on snuffing it out, like Short Two Blades had failed to do.
It didn’t work! Every time I tried to douse the warmth, it cropped up elsewhere. I realized I was writhing on the floor, screaming. I’d dropped my spear and my hands fumbled for the buckle securing the sword to my back. I wondered if light flickered from my mouth as I screamed.
      I was going to lose the fight. That didn’t mean the lamenting soul and its master, the fallen angel, had to win.
      Reaching with my mind again, I sought out the energy ribbons, directing them into my hands. By then the lamenting soul held the sheathed sword in my hands. My efforts enabled me to negate the possessing soul’s control of my hands. While working to unravel the lashing holding the Blood-Sword in its sheath, I announced my intention through gritted teeth. “You defeated a ghost. Let’s see how you handle the sword’s demon.”
“Don’t,” warned the warm feminine voice. It wasn’t physical but spoke to my mind. “It will destroy you.”
“It’ll destroy you to get to me.” With that, I redirected my efforts, sending a thin ribbon across my skin, forming a barrier to trap the lamenting soul. I was nearly finished unlashing the sword’s guard from the sheath. Foul surging energies caressed my hand as I touched the pommel while working. The lamenting soul’s presence abandoned efforts to control that hand and fled the arm entirely.
The last ribbon’s strength faded, so I again tried to muffle and overpower the lamenting soul just long enough to ensure it was between me and the demon. Let them fight it out. The soul had destroyed my friend and possessed me. If I was going to lose, I’d have my revenge.
The lamenting soul read my thoughts. “No!” it shouted throughout my mind and body, and fled.
      The unnatural warmth followed the lamenting soul, leaving a quick-frost chill in my bones. Shivering, I slammed the Blood-Sword back into its sheath. I’d only exposed a tenth of the blade, but that convinced the lamenting soul of my intent.
I lay on the hardwood floor, slick with sweat. The only thing I heard was Belinda the Cursed’s cackling laughter. I held the sword close to my chest. “I’ll not give it to you.”
      Whether two minutes or ten passed, I wasn’t sure. I opened my eyes and stared at the chandelier lights. I still had the sheathed Blood-Sword gripped in my hands.
      I sat up and looked around. The room was empty except for Roos and Lilly. No fallen angel, lamenting souls, or trogs; only his vacant stool. In the double doorway Belinda Iceheart leaned on her staff. Lilly began stirring.
      I was weak from spell casting and the struggle. “Lilly! Lilly, is Roos okay?”
She crawled over to Roos and checked his breathing. “I think so.” She rubbed the back of her head. “They clubbed him just like me.” Her eyes got wide and she scrambled over to me. “How are you? What happened?”
I looked around again. “I’m not sure.”
She opened my waterskin and put it to my lips. “You still have your sword.”
I swallowed, took a deep breath and exhaled. Lilly helped me to my feet. She retrieved my spear while I lashed and returned the Blood-Sword to its familiar place on my back. “Take care of Roos.”
“I’m going with you!”
I took hold of my spear. “Roos needs you more than I do.”
She didn’t let go of the spear. “Flank Hawk, you look terrible. We should stick together.”
“We haven’t made any friends here. I need to contact the Colonel of the West as soon as possible.”
We walked over to Roos. Lilly knelt down next to him and checked his head. A small coating of blood covered her fingertips. “I don’t think it’s too bad.” Lilly looked beyond me and sneered.
Belinda strode across the room. “Check his eyes. Are the pupils the same size?”
Lilly checked and nodded.
“Did they get smaller when you looked at them?”
She nodded again. “A little.”
Belinda moved her fingers and mumbled a spell, then tossed Lilly a chunk of ice. “Put this on the wound.” Belinda noted my raised eyebrows. “It was good to see someone else putting that arrogant son-of-a-bitch warden in his place.”
She pointed her staff at the spot of blood and glass on the floor. “Spit on that before it dries and tell your mercenary friend he fulfilled your demand.” Before I asked why, she said, “If you don’t his ghost will be tied to this place.”
I couldn’t blame Short Two Blades. He freely gave me his talisman and fought hard when I called. I spit on the blood. “Short Two Blades, your skill and sacrifice enabled me to resist the lamenting soul. Your debt is repaid. Thank you.”
Half the blood on the floor faded.
I waved to Lilly tending to Roos before following Belinda out of the ballroom, wondering, but thankful, that she helped Lilly with Roos and instructed me how to release Short Two Blades. The fallen angel would have made his ghost suffer, that I knew.
I lost track of how many stair levels we climbed. Still weak, I had to rest twice. Belinda remained silent. When we reached the top, she produced a flat key that opened a metal door with a narrow window imbedded with a wire mesh. She led me down a hall lined with dozens of doors. She stopped near one, opened it, and directed me to enter. Inside sat a long wooden table supporting several black boxes with weird knobs and cables rising into the ceiling. I pulled the scroll case from behind my breastplate and looked at the meticulously drawn diagram.
      I flipped a switch up and found the right knob and spun it, watching red numbers flicker and change in a small window. When the numbers and symbols matched what was on the scroll, I pushed the square button and spoke into the metal stick. “This is Flank Hawk, mercenary in the service of Prince Reveron of Keesee. I seek to barter on his behalf with the Colonel of the West.”
      I let go of the button and waited. A few seconds later a cracking voice replied. “Receiving Outpost 4. Who is your escort?” I’d heard seers could communicate like this through crystals.
I pushed the button. “Belinda Iceheart.”
“Standby.”
I waited five long minutes, staring at the metal stick. After all we’d gone through, they couldn’t say no.
      “Proposal accepted, Outpost 4. Will arrive for pickup and transport, parking garage rooftop heliport. ETA eighteen hours fifteen minutes. Please acknowledge.”
I looked to Belinda. “Where is the rooftop heliport? Can we make it there in twelve hours?”
      She nodded once, so I pushed the button. “We’ll be there.”
“Acknowledged, Outpost 4. Mountain Base 1, out.”
I flipped the switch down, causing the red numbers to fade. “Where do we need to be?”
      Belinda walked over to a window and pointed down. I looked out. It was like sitting on an aloft dragon’s back without movement or wind. “A machine like a Stuka will arrive and land on that white cross.” She smiled wickedly. “You are correct. You’ve made no friends here, Mercenary. Better you, the werebeast, and the Crusader wait there for the pickup.” 



Chapter 26
Every Continent except Antarctica
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

Mushroom clouds expanded above incinerated cities with the inevitable result of scattering radioactive fallout across the globe. The bioengineered plague, spreading like wildfire, was destined to surpass the nuclear devastation’s death count in a matter of days.
       Even as the pair of manmade catastrophes altered and threatened to end life on earth, their influence would be minimal when compared with what was to follow.
      
“This is just like riding a dragon,” I told Lilly as she gazed out the window. “Except we’re flying higher and faster, and there’s no wind.” Listening to the rumbling growl of the spinning blades on the wings, I added, “Just as noisy as having wind whistle through your helmet.”
      Roos had awoken from the blow to his head just after nightfall. Lilly and I split night watch. Before noon the modern Stuka arrived. It was larger and much sleeker than the Necromancer King’s. Its wings rotated, angling upward, allowing the spinning blades that propelled the machine through the air to land and take off. The crewmen called it an Osprey.
      I sat between Lilly and Roos on a bench fashioned from woven canvas straps with our backs against the wall. Our weapons and equipment sat in a pile tied down under a net near the back of the cabin—except for the Blood-Sword. After convincing the officer that it was securely lashed into the sheath, he allowed me to stow it beneath my seat.
The men who served the Colonel of the West seemed like common disciplined soldiers except for their gear. They wore puffy green garments with what Roos indicated was each soldier’s name stitched above his right breast pocket. They carried smaller, lighter, and far more complex guns than Roos. They were confident, but not arrogant, and refused to answer our questions and preferred to speak among themselves in their own fast-flowing language. Two of the soldiers guided the Osprey and five sat in the cabin across from us.
Lilly spoke into my ear. “Think we’ll ever see Belinda the Cursed again?”
I shrugged, trying to hide my concern. “She didn’t act like she expected to take us back across the ocean.”
Belinda was the daughter of the Colonel of the West, but that didn’t make any clearer what part if any she would yet play in my mission. She had left without a word. In the morning we’d watched from our camp on the building’s flat roof as trogs removed the damaged mast of her ship, presumably to replace it with a new one.
I didn’t pass Lilly’s question on to Roos. Although one of the Colonel’s men gave Roos a tiny white wafer to help with his aching head, I could tell he still didn’t feel well.
It was a long flight. About every ten minutes I looked out the window and stared at the terrain below. It was like seeing the landscape images conjured from the crystal by the prince’s enchanter while preparing for the recon mission of the Necromancer King’s mountain stronghold. Knowing a seer could draw images from my memories, I figured the aerial views would be valuable. Thinking about that made me realize I’d come a long way toward accomplishing what Prince Reveron had tasked me to do. Even so, the hours raced by while I struggled to formulate a plan to barter with the Colonel of the West.
The officer ordered us blindfolded when we neared a ‘refueling outpost,’ and several hours after nightfall when we neared the Colonel of the West’s stronghold, Mountain Base 1.

We remained blindfolded after landing. As before, I insisted on carrying the Blood-Sword, for what it was worth. If they’d have wanted to take it, I don’t think we could have stopped them even with our sight and weapons. Having a spellcaster like Grand Wizard Seelain around would’ve been handy.
      We rode in a fast carriage that sounded like a muffled panzer and spent most of our time going uphill. Roos grumbled that he felt better and only once mentioned the annoyance of being blindfolded. I always figured Lilly to be the most suspicious of the three of us, but she adjusted better than me and Roos.
      We stopped and waited while a gate creaked open. A few minutes after passing through, echoing sounds hinted that we’d entered a tunnel. Less than a minute later the officer from the Osprey helped us out of the carriage and announced, “I’ll take your blindfolds now.”
      We stood in a tall corridor that reminded me of the coal mine near Pine Ridge. But this tunnel was at least twenty feet high, carved from stone, demonstrating expert workmanship, and lit by tubular glowing lights like the chandelier globes in Outpost 4.
      “This way,” the officer said, directing us through a metal door. Two soldiers dressed and armed as those we’d met on the Osprey followed where the officer led us, through a maze of halls, doors, and stairs. The weirdest experience was entering a closet and feeling it drop like a bucket lowered down a well. Lilly reached for my hand, and I held hers, reassuring her.
“It will be fine, ma’am,” said the officer.
      The refusal of the officer to speak or interact with us bothered me. His last statement was the closest he’d come, besides debating about keeping my sword. The Colonel of the West was definitely secretive. The tales about greater elves said they were all that way.
      The hallways began to resemble the top level of Outpost 4 but without tapestries on the floor. We’d passed no one the entire time and I was sure it was intentional. I didn’t think the Colonel of the West’s stronghold would be sparsely manned, unless he was at war too.
      Upon reaching the third door down on the right, the officer pulled out a flat key from a chain around his neck hidden under his uniform. He unlocked and opened the door and flicked a switch upward, causing a set of overhead tubes to light up. Inside the square room was a rectangular oak table. Three padded chairs lined the side closest to us. On the opposite side sat one chair and a thick stone pedestal. Three of the walls were painted olive green. The wall opposite had a door like the one we entered through. The forth wall, to the left, was actually a large mirror.
      Before leaving, the officer said, “The Colonel of the West will be with you shortly.”
Roos took the right hand seat and gestured for me to sit in the middle one. Lilly walked up and stared at her reflection in the mirror. “I heard him lock the door,” she said.
“I know,” I said. “How do you feel, Roos?”
“Like we have been deposited into a spider’s lair, friend Hawk.”
“I meant your head. Has the knot gone down?”
He rubbed the back of his head. “It has.”
It was uncomfortable sitting with the Blood-Sword strapped to my back, so I removed it. “What do you think, Lilly?”
“I didn’t think a mirror so big could be made.” She scowled, staring at herself. “I’m ugly.”
      I laughed. “Only when you frown like that.”
      Straightening her green shirt and still frowning, she sat down next to me. “What’s your plan, Flank Hawk?”
      “To speak with the Colonel of the West, and see what he is willing to offer in trade for this sword.” I rested a hand on the sheath lying across my lap.
      “Is that it?” asked Lilly. “That’s all you’ve come up with?”
“Honestly, Lilly, I didn’t expect to get this far. All my energies were focused on simply getting here. Now that we’re here, my gut tells me that getting here was the easy part.”
Roos rubbed the stubble of his emerging beard before smoothing out his mustache. “The question is, friend Hawk, can ye trust one of immortal blood?”
“What do you know about them, Roos?”
      “That ye names them greater elves. That they do not age, yet despite this they are rare. It is believed they always were. They are kin to fairies, ye names them pixies. The last immortal in the Reunited Kingdom was driven from the land over seventeen centuries ago.”
      Lilly leaned forward to see past me and addressed Roos. “How did you know Belinda the Cursed had immortal blood? Remember what she said to that guardian?”
“Friend Lilly, memory of what the one Hawk names Belinda the Cursed, or what anyone in that room said, is not clear.”
“The Colonel of the West is her father,” I clarified, then laughed. “You held your own, debating that fallen angel. I’ll tell you all about it when we get the chance.”
“It’s true, Crusader,” said Lilly. “Even Belinda the Cursed enjoyed you knocking him down a few pegs.”
The far door clicked before swinging open. I stood, almost dropping the Blood-Sword. Roos and Lilly stood with me.
      A soldier strode in. He was past middle aged, wearing an olive green jacket over a light green collared shirt with a black ribbon knotted at his throat. I immediately recognized the gray stone-like creature that followed him in—a gargoyle! Its grotesque, tusked face and pointed ears made them the subject of many childhood tales—most leading to nightmares. It walked like the baboon I’d once seen in a carnival, on all fours with its wings tucked back.
      The gargoyle clambered up onto the pedestal and squatted, making it as tall as the soldier standing next to it. What seemed most out of place was the long sleeved white jacket the gargoyle wore. It reminded me of the time my sister tried to dress one of our goats. However, this jacket was made for the gargoyle, including flaps tied down across the back to accommodate its wings.
The clack of the door shutting returned my focus to the soldier who’d extended his hand across the table to shake. “I am who you would call the Colonel of the West. I have been informed that you are an emissary sent on behalf of King Tobias of Keesee.”
      His handshake was firm and short. “I am Flank Hawk, mercenary in service of Prince Reveron of Keesee.” I clumsily set the sheathed Blood-Sword on the table. If he’d lied about being the greater elf, Roos would’ve told me. “I am here to barter in his name, and that of the king.” To verify my claim I placed Prince Reveron’s ring in the center of the table.
      His eyes shot down to the weapon before turning to the gargoyle. “Doctor, would you care to introduce yourself?”
      Our surprised expressions must have angered the creature, because it simply hunkered down on the pedestal, wrapping its long arms and clawed hands around its knees. “No need,” it grumbled in a fast, gritty voice. “I will listen.”
Its actions and apparent intelligence didn’t resemble anything from the dark tales involving sinister gargoyle cruelty. I turned to my right. “This is Paul Jedidiah Roos, Crusader from the Reunited Kingdom.” After they shook hands I turned to my left, “This is Lilly, scout and my guide through the lands of the Faxtinian Coalition.”
Lilly, surprised at my introduction, almost forgot to extend her hand. That gave me a second to consider the man, the greater elf in front of me. He reminded me of a disciplined infantry officer. His cropped short hair with just a hint of gray, and the deep crow’s feet framing his dark green eyes, didn’t speak of immortality. He looked just like any man.
      “Be seated,” the Colonel said, “and tell me why you are here.”
      Without getting into minor details, I told him of the war against the Necromancer King. How, instead of the annual crop disruption raids, a full scale invasion had already overrun the Doran Confederacy, the Faxtinian Coalition and most of the smaller, independent kingdoms. That the Vinchie Empire and Sint Malo have remained neutral, and that the Reunited Kingdom and the Kingdom of Keesee were allied, and the only major powers left opposing the Necromancer King’s evil forces.
      With Belinda Iceheart, his daughter, living across the ocean in our lands, and with his ability to communicate from Outpost 4 to his stronghold with such ease, he certainly had spies reporting back to him. I wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know.
The Colonel nodded as I spoke, occasionally glancing up at the unmoving gargoyle. When I finished, he shifted in his chair and asked, “Is it the belief of your prince that the alliance between Keesee and the Reunited Kingdom will fall to the Necromancer King?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Is that your military assessment as well?”
“It is.”
“And you desire to trade this sword for something that will alter that fate?”
“Yes, I do.”
      He leaned forward, folding his hands and resting them on the table. “It would appear that the Necromancer King has outfoxed his enemies both politically and militarily.” He glanced down at the sheathed sword. “I am familiar with that weapon. It is ancient, possibly more ancient than your king realizes.”
      “If you are familiar,” I said, coming to believe the Colonel of the West truly didn’t care about the evil the Necromancer King intended to spread across all the lands, “then you realize its power. And value.”
“If use of the weapon in battle could not turn the tide, what makes you think that it would be worth something that could?”
“I have seen my prince wield the weapon in battle,” I said, realizing the Colonel of the West wasn’t interested. “I have slain a giant with it as well.”
“Then it should be on the battlefield now,” said the Colonel. “Why are you here instead of your prince?”
“Our party was ambushed. I carried on when he could not.”
“Did he perish?”
Anger began to well within me at the Colonel’s dismissive attitude. I retrieved the prince’s ring from the center of the table and gripped it tightly in my fist. “I do not know.”
“Your prince and his father are in error believing that, even if I had a spell or weapon to change the tide, this weapon would entice me to give it to them.”
“Do you know what the Necromancer King does to people he conquers?” I struggled to keep from leaping over the table. I had to make him understand! Images of my fallen comrades marching against us flashed through my mind. “Have you ever had family or friend become a rotted walking corpse?”
“I have not. And I regret that it has happened to you and your people. But, it is on the hands of your leaders.” He looked at each of us across the table. “Their failure to plan politically and militarily has failed you and your people.”
A sneer twisted Lilly’s face. “You’re allied with the Necromancer King!” Her hurled accusation caused the gargoyle to stir.
“Incorrect,” responded the Colonel, hands still folded.
“Ye may be long lived, Immortal Blood,” Roos said without emotion, “but time has not delivered thee wisdom. Once the Corpse Lord conquers our lands, redoubled, his evil will grow and spread like pestilence, eventually landing on thy shores.”
“Crusader, you underestimate my resources. And your leaders do not yet recognize the true enemy. It is they who have failed you, not I.”
“Are you talking about the Long-Tooths?” I asked.
“Upon your return, their resurgence should be brought to your leader’s attention.” He stood, as did the gargoyle, indicating that the meeting was ending.
      The Colonel’s knowledge of the Long-Tooths told me he’d communicated with Belinda or some other informant. “Worrying about a future enemy is pointless,” I said, “when one is already overrunning your lands.” I slapped my hand down on the Blood-Sword. Compared to the Necromancer King’s Stukas, the Colonel’s Osprey was like a unicorn to a horse. “This is a powerful weapon, against ogres, giants and goblins. It is impotent as any other sword against your Osprey.” Even as I said it, I got the sinking feeling that the Colonel was unwilling to provide a weapon that might one day be turned on his own armies.
      “Every soldier of worth recognizes the enemy and circumstances in which to employ a weapon,” said the Colonel. “King Tobias was correct. The artifact you possess holds significant meaning to me.” He signaled to the gargoyle, which stretched and flexed its bat-like wings. “I regret that you have traveled far, removing the artifact from the battlefield where it may have done much to hinder your enemy’s advance.” He glanced down at the sword, before looking Roos and me in the eye. “I am not the only one of my kind who has an interest in possessing this weapon.”
      “Like I said,” standing and getting angrier, “vague warnings of future enemies desiring this sword are worthless. Besides, we already figured that out. And you must not know the sword well since you overestimate its power when set against souled zombies directing panzers and Stukas.”
      My last statement raised the Colonel’s eyebrow and caused the gargoyle to cock its head in interest. “Panzers and Stukas?” asked the Colonel, motioning for me to sit. “Tell me about these Stukas and panzers.”
      I told him about the cannon and machine gun firing panzers. This time I spared no details. I told him of my and Road Toad’s assault on several at the bridge on the Valduz River. And how there, as well as on the battlefield in northern Keesee, earth elementals were used to battle them. I described the machine gun armed Stukas and the uneven battle when dragons faced them. I explained how summoned wind elementals can be effective, if the wizards aren’t bombed and shot to pieces first.
      When I’d finished the Colonel of the West asked, “How did you come by the names, panzer and Stuka?”
      “Goblins chanted ‘Panzer’ the first night I saw one. Grand Wizard Seelain came to the battlefield to warn Prince Reveron of the Stukas. I do not know where she obtained that name, but that’s what everyone calls them, including Prince Reveron.”
      The Colonel pulled a pencil and small piece of paper from a breast pocket and drew on it. “Have you ever seen this before?”
Lilly and Roos shook their head, but I recognized the hooked cross emblem. “It’s painted on the sides of every panzer and Stuka I’ve seen.”
With the stakes at hand, I felt Prince Reveron would approve of me revealing what I’d learned while observing a secret war council. “It’s the symbol of an ancient empire that tried to dominate the world.” I nodded towards Roos. “Crusader historians called it a swastika. Prince Reveron learned the Necromancer King has summoned the knowledge of the swastika’s fallen empire.” I leaned forward, placing a fist on the table. “And damned souls that served the ancient empire now serve the Necromancer King.”
I sat back, recalling the faces of fallen comrades. “I am one of the few survivors of the infiltration force that verified where the Necromancer King is building Stukas and panzers.”
The entire time I spoke, a dark, angry look grew in the Colonel of the West’s eyes. Several times his right eye twitched, almost to the point of blinking. When I’d finished, he stood calmly and signaled to the gargoyle again. “Thank you for the information,” he said. “I’ll ask you to remain here while I consider what you have said. I will have food and drink brought. Is there anything else you require?”
Lilly nudged me. “A latrine visit,” I said. “Not immediately but soon.”
“I shall see to it that escorts, including a female, will accompany you, shortly.”
The gargoyle preceded the Colonel out of the room. I started to ask Roos what he thought about the meeting, when Lilly shushed me. We remained quiet while she sat with eyes closed.
A minute later we gathered around Lilly. “I listened to them out in the hall,” said Lilly. “Before they walked away.”
Roos frowned, but I asked Lilly, “So, what did they say? Is he going to trade for the sword?”
“The Colonel said something about someone crossing a line he shouldn’t have. And the rock goblin remarked until yesterday it had been fifteen years since the last contact from Outpost 4. Then the Colonel said to contact Outpost 4. The rock goblin suggested he speak with his daughter. There was a long silence, and the Colonel said to set it up.” Lilly shrugged. “Then they walked away.”
Roos wondered aloud why they’d conversed, not only in the tongue Lilly could understand, but also within her earshot.
Roos was convinced that the Colonel of the West recognized Lilly for what she was, and I tended agree. Beyond that we could only guess as to the mysterious Colonel’s motives.

We waited until the next morning for the Colonel to return. Fifteen minutes after he’d left the meeting room three soldiers escorted us to a nearby windowless room with chamber pots and three cots. Later a meal, beef and boiled potatoes, along with watered wine, was delivered.
      The frustrating wait made it impossible for me to sleep. So much hung in the balance. What if, despite the Colonel’s apparent change of heart, he refused to help? How could I face Prince Reveron? Would my failure doom my family and everyone in Keesee? If the Colonel was open to trade, what would he offer for the sword? I knew so little of magic and machines. How would I know if it was enough?
Roos slept, still recovering from his head wound, while I sat on my cot trying to figure out what to do. Lilly sat up with me, offering few ideas but much appreciated support.
I finally dozed off for several hours and awoke still laying on the Blood-Sword that I’d wrapped in several blankets. Someone had cleaned my armor and left it at the foot of my cot. After dressing, a soldier escorted me to a latrine with flowing water. There I found the rest of my equipment oiled, polished and stacked next to one of the four water basins.
Roos had been up for an hour, as had Lilly. They waited for me and we ate a breakfast of eggs, bacon and cider in the meeting room.
No soldiers spoke to us other than to give directions. They seemed unconcerned that I wore my short sword, Lilly her dagger, and Roos had both his revolver and saber.
      Lilly and I listened to Roos tell a childhood fishing story where he and his two sisters had their day’s catch snapped up by a seven-foot snapping turtle. All three of us were laughing as Roos described his pathetic attempt at explaining to his father why they hadn’t brought back any fish for supper. The Colonel and the gargoyle entered the room, interrupting our mirth.
      After a few pleasantries, the Colonel of the West said, “Before we discuss the situation across the North Atlantic, I would like to tell you a story.”
      From a pocket in its white jacket, the gargoyle pulled out a small rectangular block with buttons and symbols inscribed upon it. The gargoyle pointed it at the mirror. The lights dimmed and a white rectangle resembling an artist’s blank canvas appeared. Then a group of connected buildings in a vast desert appeared on the mirror’s canvas. They were similar to Outpost 4, except squatter with more stone and far fewer windows.
      “To be more accurate,” said the Colonel, adjusting the angle of his chair to face the picture as it switched to the interior of the buildings, “it is an ancient history lesson.”



Chapter 27
Southwestern United States
2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

As ordered, the blast walls fell, but they failed to contain the experiment. Waves continued to pulse from within the chamber. Waves Dr. Mindebee would never understand, despite centuries of unremitting study. They altered the laws of physics. They changed biochemistry. In the end, they rewrote reality.
       Just as the world changed, so did the men and women who were the first to witness it.
      
“And,” said the Colonel of the West as the picture on the wall mirror went blank, “that is what occurred 2,873 years before the Reign of King Tobias.” He nodded to the gargoyle. “As calculated by the scholars in Keesee.”
      Roos, Lilly, and I sat at the table, trying to take in all that had been shown to us. The gargoyle pressed several buttons on the little box, returning the glow in the glass tubes and causing the mirror’s white canvas to fade.
“What you saw is archival footage gathered and preserved centuries ago,” said the Colonel. “A few events were conjured by seers. The rest of the historical documentation was recreated using computer generated scenes.”
      I didn’t understand all of what the Colonel said, just as I didn’t comprehend all I’d just heard and saw. But one startling fact stuck out. “I saw you in the images on the mirror,” I said, realizing if it was true, the man sitting across from me was almost 3000 years old. “Your voice too. You’re Colonel Ibrahim from the images!”
“Correct,” said the Colonel of the West. “I am Colonel Ibrahim. And this,” he added patting the white-clad gargoyle on its shoulder, “is Dr. Mindebee, my loyal friend through all these centuries.”
      I started to ask another question, but Roos interrupted me. “So,” he said, rubbing his chin, “if what ye said is true, the immortal bloods were once mortal. Transformed by the cataclysm.”
“Yes, every one.”
“And the Corpse Lord draws upon knowledge that dates to the time of the cataclysm.”
      “I see where you are going, Crusader Roos,” said Colonel Ibrahim, the Colonel of the West. “But you’re only half correct.” He targeted his explanation to Roos and myself. “He is an immortal blood, or greater elf. You know him as the Corpse Lord, or the Necromancer King.” He exchanged glances with the gargoyle. “We know him as the dictator, General Mzali.”
      “The one who’s responsible for the cataclysm?” asked Lilly. “Started the plague, even killing his own men?”
“One in the same,” said Colonel Ibrahim.
“The Blood-Sword does the same thing the plague did,” said Lilly. “He made it?”
“Again, you’re half correct.” He nodded to the gargoyle. “Dr. Mindebee, would you care to explain?”
The gargoyle flexed his wings and shifted position on his pedestal. “The sword you’ve borne contains a martyr’s soul. One of Mzali’s recruits who spread the plague.”
      Learning Lilly’s dual nature made it possible for me to comprehend a man’s mind trapped inside the stone creature perched on the pedestal. But the gritty voice of a gargoyle made him hard to understand.
      “An immortal blood, long since slain,” continued Dr. Mindebee, “created the sword and gave it to one of his offspring to wield against another immortal blood. That is how it came into being.”
Even knowing what I knew, it was hard to accept a gargoyle speaking authoritatively, motioning with his hands and exhibiting thoughtful expressions.
“And, Crusader,” said Dr. Mindebee, “in the aftermath of the cataclysm, nearly all abandoned technology in favor of harnessing the new energies released into our dimension. You call it magic. Mzali was numbered among them.”
“Yes,” said Colonel Ibrahim. “He does not have the technological knowledge that Dr. Mindebee provides me. He does not have the control over earth and air that I do to build and refine what my physicist friend cannot.” The dark look returned to the Colonel’s eyes. “No, he summoned the damned souls of Nazis. Probably scientists and engineers to design the processes and build the factories to return panzers and Stukas to the battlefield.”
“No minor feat,” said Dr. Mindebee. “Undoubtedly took him centuries of preparation and effort. It surprised me to hear that it could be accomplished.”
“Why are you telling us all this?” asked Roos.
Interesting as the lesson and discussion was, Roos’ question had crossed my mind, and how it related to our mission with the Blood-Sword.
“Although there are long established rules,” said Colonel Ibrahim, his right eye beginning to twitch, “some are bending them to the breaking point. And Mzali reviving Nazis, an evil long ago eradicated from the earth. Bringing them back to achieve his goals. He’s gone too far.”
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence until Dr. Mindebee said, “Background, Crusader. Context for something Colonel Ibrahim is contemplating.”
      We sat for several moments, waiting as Colonel Ibrahim got up and paced, thinking. He took the box from Dr. Mindebee and began pressing the buttons with his thumb, bringing up images in the mirror. He stopped on a picture of a fiery explosion with a billowing black mushroom cloud rising above. “Care to trade your sword for one of these?”



Chapter 28

Lilly sat on her cot, watching me as I leaned against the wall in thought. Roos sat on his cot, cleaning his rifle and shifting his attention between me and the sheathed Blood-Sword leaning against the wall next to me.
      “Well?” Lilly asked. “Are you going to trade?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “He’s offering a smaller version of what we saw. And his restrictions.” I shrugged my shoulders. “But—”
      Lilly jumped to her feet, nearly toppling her cot. “You can’t use it to blow up the Necromancer King! And when Roos asked if he’d send the bomb on a rocket like in the pictures, he said, ‘No!’”
      “It would appear,” said Roos, “that the immortal bloods have formed a pact and the Immortal Blood Ibrahim intends to adhere to it.”
      “He said others are stretching it!” yelled Lilly. “He should too!” With arms folded, she stomped over to a far corner. After a few breaths she turned to face me again. “He’s not on our side. He doesn’t care what happens. He just cares about keeping his agreement and getting your sword.”
      “It is not Hawk’s sword, friend Lilly. It is the property of his prince. He entrusted Hawk to trade it for a weapon to defeat the Corpse Lord’s invasion.”
“I know whose sword it is!”
“No, Lilly. Roos is right. I have to decide if what Colonel Ibrahim offers can achieve that.”
“Yeah, I heard the deal,” said Lilly, leaning her back against the wall. “He gives you the bomb. We fight our way into the stronghold where the panzers and Stukas are built because you’ve been there—which you really haven’t. You plant it, and get away before HE detonates it.”
      Lilly stomped back to her cot and flopped down onto it. “Oh,” she said, sitting back up, “and the primary targets are the zombies harboring the damned souls of Nazi scientists and engineers, whatever those are.”
      I tried to be optimistic. “I did convince him that us going back with Belinda the cursed, and have her attempt to drop us on the shore in the Necromancer King’s domain was too dangerous.”
“Right,” said Lilly. “Just crossing again in her boat would be bad enough!”
“And that going back to Keesee to gather a military force to reach the stronghold is impossible with all the dormant zombies in the mountains. And a second raid on dragons is probably now guarded against.”
“Right,” said Lilly, “so out of the kindness of his cold heart, he offered to fly us across and let us parachute in like you did before.”
“Friend Lilly, targeting the souled zombies harboring the knowledge is wise. Without them the Corpse Lord cannot rebuild.”
Lilly walked over and faced Roos. “And what’s to stop the Necromancer King from summoning the Nazi souls back and stuffing them in another innocent body?”
“Friend Lilly, ye do not know the perils of dealing with the devil.”
“And I suppose you do, Crusader? He did it once already, why not again?”
“It took the foul Corpse Lord centuries to enact his plan, friend Lilly. Would it not take him centuries again, assuming the battle is not carried all the way to the very gates of the Corpse Lord’s castle?”
Lilly threw her arms out in anger. “And where does that leave us? Even if we don’t get blown up, we’ll be stuck, surrounded by goblins, ogres, giants, zombies, sorcerers, and who knows what else.” She turned to me. “Flank Hawk, how many of your group survived? And you had dragons to escape on.”
I walked over to Lilly and Roos. The Crusader set the cleaning of his rifle aside. “Ye have decided, friend Hawk?”
“Lilly, you don’t have to go.” I held up my hand and spoke over her protest. “Hear me out. I can make part of the deal for the sword that he must see you’re safely returned to the Faxtinian lands. Same with you, Roos. I alone agreed to my prince’s request.”
      “What do I have to go back to?” said Lilly. “And I’m not staying here with that cold-hearted Colonel and his creepy stone goblin.”
      “I am with ye, friend Hawk. Sacrifices must be made to defeat evil.”
“And to safeguard family and friends,” I added. Although my heart was swelling with pride, my gut ached, knowing my friends were joining a one way mission. And they knew it. “Thank you, both. I’d never have gotten this far without you. And I honestly can’t imagine how I’d complete my mission without you.”
“Our mission,” said Lilly, hugging me so tight it was hard to breathe.



Chapter 29

We were again blindfolded before boarding what Colonel Ibrahim called a truck. The wooden bench that I sat on vibrated and bounced with the road while beneath me the sheathed Blood-Sword rattled with each bump. Lilly sat on my left, leaning against me and Roos sat on my right, closest to the truck’s exit. Across from us sat Colonel Ibrahim. I heard two other soldiers climb in after us.
      The ride from Mountain Base 1 to what Colonel Ibrahim called an airfield would have been silent, like our previous blindfolded ride, except for the discussion between Roos and the Colonel.
I didn’t fully understand their debate on what they called ‘the three monotheistic religions’, Christianity, Islam and Judaism, the last of which Colonel Ibrahim professed to follow. I put together that Judaism and Christianity were once the same but split thousands of years before the cataclysm. Apparently, throughout the centuries, bloody wars had been waged between the three religions. What they were debating was the Colonel’s coming to believe that all three were actually worshiping different, but equally valid, aspects of the same God.
Roos seemed very knowledgeable but never discussed his religion much. He read scriptures from a book and prayed with his cross and beads, but never called Lilly or I to follow, unlike so many of the priests to the gods I knew. Then, I recalled Lilly warning me not to ask Roos unless I wanted an earful.
After about a half hour their discussion turned to something that I understood. Roos asked Colonel Ibrahim, “Why do ye accept the service of a fallen angel?”
“Because he serves my needs. My outposts are few and scattered which necessitates that they function independently. His presence and abilities enable that.”
“What binds him to thee?” asked Roos. “Does thee not question thy fallen angel’s loyalty and wisdom? He did turn away from the Lord of All.”
The Colonel’s voice switched from conversational to rigid. “Do not forget that in the years since the cataclysm, I have become more than a simple military officer.”
“Ye are an Immortal Blood, but ye are not a god.”
Roos voice had become gruff and this concerned me. I tried to think of something to say to alter the course of the deteriorating conversation.
“Unlike most of the others,” replied Colonel Ibrahim, “I have not claimed to be one. Would you rather my fallen angel now be in the service of the one below?”
Although the Colonel’s tone had softened in his reply, I saw my opening. “Who would the others be?” As hoped, my interjection into the conversation caused a switch in direction.
“Friend Hawk, the one ye names Uplersh and Fendra Jolain are Immortal Bloods that claim to be goddesses.”
      The Colonel added, “Others prominent in Europe and northern Africa would be Algaan, whose followers tout him as god of nature and M’Kishmael, who is worshipped by farmers and herders.”
      “Algaan’s priests,” I said, “bless weapons against evil. I’ve used them against zombies. My family sacrifices a portion of our harvest each year to M’Kishmael.”
      “They are all false gods,” Roos declared.
      “While they are not gods,” countered the Colonel, “they are powerful and may look out for those who choose to worship them.”
“Friend Hawk, which weapons blessed are most effective against zombies and other evil? Those blessed in the name of the true God of the Crusaders? Or those that claim to be gods, such as Algaan?”
Lilly elbowed me in the ribs. “I warned you about getting him going.”
“Maybe,” I said to Roos, “your God is stronger in blessing weapons against evil. But I also admit that Algaan is a stronger god than M’Kishmael. Because one wizard is weaker than another does not undo the fact that he is a wizard.”
      “Nor, friend, Hawk, does becoming a powerful wizard establish one as a god.” Conviction permeated the Crusader’s voice as he continued. “The strongest magics of those ye name gods, friend Hawk, cannot penetrate the heart and body of one who faithfully worships, nor can they withstand weapons blessed by saints who serve my God. Do not forget what happened at sea on the Sunset Siren.”
      Roos uttered the last words as if he’d ended all debate on the issue, and that got under my skin. “I recall Lilly diving overboard to save you.”
“Gentlemen,” said the Colonel. “Your guide, Lilly, is correct. Trust me, it was discovered centuries before my birth, and will certainly continue to be true well beyond my existence, that few discussions are more disruptive to a friendship than religion.”
“The Immortal Blood is correct, friend Hawk. Neither debate with thy tongue, nor threat with thy blade will bring one to faith. The best witness to faith or friendship is through example and sacrifice.”
We sat silent for a moment until the growl of the truck’s engine began to cycle down.
“We’re almost there,” said Colonel Ibrahim. “You are welcome to remove your blindfolds.”
I removed my black blindfold, blinked, and set it in the outstretched hand of the young soldier sitting across from me. Roos and Lilly did the same.
      Colonel Ibrahim lowered a half door and hopped out of the canvas-covered truck into the crisp morning air. I grabbed the Blood-Sword and followed Roos out into a tree-lined valley sheltered by tall mountains. The truck had stopped next to a huge building that looked like a barrel half buried in the ground. Sliding doors the size of small barns stood open, through which I saw the shadowy outline of an Osprey lined up next to several other flying machines.
      Lilly grabbed my shoulder and pointed. “What are those?”
I turned to see a pair of great gray beasts with fan-like ears and curved tusks jutting from their mouths. With a dangling flexible nose, short tail and pillar-like legs, they were unlike anything I’d ever seen. A man held onto the leading beast’s leather harness, directing the pair with a long stick down a path away from the building.
“Elephants,” said the Colonel. “Excellent working animals for timber cutting operations, hauling and construction.”
I recalled the giant pulling panzers on a wagon. A team of elephants could do the same.
      “They just pulled the Hercules from the hanger.” He directed us around the truck to show us the Hercules. “Only aircraft I have that has the range needed for you to continue your mission.”
      Sitting at the end of a long flat road was a green-skinned aircraft more than twice the size of the Osprey. It even had four fans to propel it through the air. While soldiers on ladders examined the fan blades and wings, two men directed an elephant hauling a cart up the aircraft’s aft ramp. The cart held a black container that reminded me of a full waterskin.
“Additional fuel for the engines,” said Colonel Ibrahim.
Roos nodded knowingly.
Two soldiers brought us our gear from another truck, including my satchel, spear and Roos’ rifle and backpack.
The Colonel’s gargoyle companion, Dr. Mindebee, approached us on all fours, still wearing his white coat. Four soldiers, each pair supporting a litter between them, followed. I recognized three stuffed parachute packs on one litter. The other bore a single leather backpack with reinforced straps.
The gargoyle stopped in front of Colonel Ibrahim. “Everything is prepared.”
      “Very good, Doctor. Please attend to Mercenary Flank Hawk and his team while I final-brief the aircrew.” Without waiting for an answer he strode towards the Hercules.
      The gargoyle pointed with a clawed hand for the soldiers to set the equipment down. Then he motioned for me. Standing over the leather backpack, he stared at me before explaining, “This pack carries a thermonuclear device with a two-kiloton explosive yield. Do you understand?”
I shook my head. “Those words have no meaning to me,” I said. “Just tell me how it works and what I must do to place it.”
“Shut up,” said the gargoyle, throwing his arms up in the air and pacing around the litter holding the backpack. “That is what I am attempting to do. Shut up and listen and you will understand. The device contains alpha-phase plutonium encased in a beryllium reflector—”
      I’d already been told once. I’d never understand what made it explode. “Look,” I said, interrupting the agitated gargoyle, “what you’re saying is like if I said Goll grull haw awhk to you.”
      “I speak the foul tongue,” replied the gargoyle, standing erect, bearing its tusks and flexing its wings. “Telling me to devour my own feces, ignorant peasant masquerading as a warrior?”
At that moment I learned a number of things: What the phrase Road Toad used to enrage ogres actually meant. That it has the same effect on gargoyles. And that Roos could draw his revolver as fast as Lilly could draw her dagger; a fraction of a second faster than my short sword cleared its sheath.
      We all stood frozen. The four nearby soldiers had their handguns drawn and aimed at us. Roos held his cocked revolver’s muzzle ten inches from the gargoyle’s snarling face. I think Lilly would’ve leapt on the stone creature, but she knew the result of taking a saint-blessed bullet.
      “Corporal Conners,” shouted Colonel Ibrahim, “you and your men, stand down!”
      I didn’t take my eyes from the wild-eyed gargoyle as Roos spoke to it. His voice was so low that only we and it could hear. “Treat mine friend, Hawk, with respect or die where ye stand.”
“Mercenary! You and your men, lower your weapons.” The Colonel was nearer, and the closing soldiers were fanning out behind him. One flinch by any of us would end in a slaughter.  Mostly ours.
      “Unnatural brute whom thy colonel names Dr. Mindebee,” continued Roos, “ye were once a man, so act like one.” He risked a glance at me, taking his eyes off the gargoyle poised to attack. “Friend Hawk?”
Relaxing, I lowered my sword. “It’s okay, Roos, Lilly.”
The gargoyle stretched open its maw, displaying its tusks and sharp incisors. “Cowards,” it taunted.
I anticipated Lilly’s response and grabbed her as she lunged, screaming. It took all my strength to haul her back. “Roos!” I called, struggling to keep Lilly from the gargoyle. Her cursing turned to snarls and I saw the beast surface in her eyes. I feared she’d lose control to it any second.
Roos helped me pull her back. Colonel Ibrahim strode up to the gargoyle and backhanded it. For an instant his hand transformed into a brick and the resulting blow knocked the gargoyle back six feet and sent it tumbling.
“Lilly!” I yelled into her fury-twisted face. “It’s over!”
She looked me in the eye and her rage began to drain away. “I’m sorry, Flank Hawk, but he…”
“I know,” I said, gripping her shoulder. “It’s okay.”
“Mindebee!” ordered the Colonel. “Stay there. Mercenary Flank Hawk, what happened here?”
I sheathed my sword and took a breath before speaking. “Dr. Mindebee was trying to go over, explain the bomb,” I said, pointing to it. “He wasn’t making sense to me and I told him so. He got annoyed. I tried to use a phrase I didn’t understand to explain why I didn’t comprehend what he was saying. It insulted him and nearly came to blood.” I shrugged. “The blame lies with me.”
“It does not,” hissed Lilly between clenched teeth.
I shot her a glance, silencing her.
“Corporal Conners?” asked Colonel Ibrahim.
The soldier stepped forward. “The mercenary described it pretty much as it happened, sir.”
“Thank you, Corporal.” Colonel Ibrahim looked at his soldiers. “Conners, take your men and police the airstrip.” Then he turned to those that had followed him over. “Finish the preflight prep.”
His soldiers saluted and hustled to follow their orders.
      “I apologize,” said the Colonel, signaling the gargoyle over. “It is an age-long struggle for Dr. Mindebee, constantly suppressing the evil disposition of the beast his mind and soul inhabits. While rare, there are times the beast emerges.” As he spoke his gaze fell upon Lilly. “It is a constant battle for dominance. Still, that is no excuse.”
      The gargoyle stood at the Colonel’s side. “I apologize,” it said, looking at the ground. Its gritty voice even sounded remorseful.
“I am equally at fault,” I said, realizing blaming anyone wouldn’t help anything. “No apology is needed.”
The gargoyle folded its wings tight. “Nevertheless, Mercenary, it is there.”
“Dr. Mindebee,” said the Colonel, “please see to it that the fuel bladders are secure and properly connected. Then double check the navigational instruments. I’ll remind the mercenary and his team what they need to know.”
“I will see to it,” said the gargoyle before loping away on all fours.
      “Okay, lady and gentlemen. What you need to know.” Colonel Ibrahim lifted the leather backpack. It was a little over two feet tall, one and a half feet wide and nearly a foot thick. “This contains the nuclear device. The device weighs a little over seventy pounds and, under optimum conditions, emits a blast radius that will destroy all buildings within 350 yards. The radiation won’t be a problem for the zombies, but you’ll want to be at least a half mile away. The further the better.”
He’d held the backpack containing the bomb at arm’s length with apparent ease while describing it. “Unfortunately, the fireball radius that will guarantee vaporizing any Nazi zombie scientists is only fifty yards. The resulting fires ignited by the intense heat blast may destroy them, but that isn’t certain.”
      “And,” said Roos, “ye will detonate the bomb.”
“Correct.” He lowered it back onto the litter. “Every day at two o’clock in the afternoon and the same hour in the morning a satellite, an eye in the sky, will fly overhead. If the nuclear bomb is within 1000 yards of the stronghold’s center it will arm and begin a fifteen minute countdown to detonation.”
He handed me a large silver locket connected to a thin chain. Etched upon the cover were ducks taking wing above a reed-filled marsh. “Press there with your thumb.”
I did and the cover flipped open, revealing glass over numbers and different sized sticks pointing at them.
“It is a pocket watch,” said Roos. “It shows the time of day or night.”
“What time does it show?”
Roos examined the pocket watch. “It says six forty.”
      “It’s not magic, right?” When Roos and the Colonel nodded, I handed it to the Crusader. “You can show me on the Hercules, but you should carry it.”
      “Remember,” said the Colonel, “once you have parachuted into the mountains near the stronghold, the bomb will self-destruct without detonating if it is carried more than twenty-five miles from the stronghold, or three weeks have passed. It will also automatically self-destruct if the case is opened and tampered with.”
We all nodded and I said, “That gives us both time and area to maneuver within the enemy’s territory.”
“Are you satisfied with the agreed upon arrangements?”
I nodded, unstrapped the sheathed Blood-Sword, and handed it to the Colonel. “In the name of Prince Reveron, I accept the trade as discussed, agreed to, and arranged.”
      The Colonel of the West took the sheathed sword and appraised its weight in his hand. “Mercenary Flank Hawk, you may have guessed Dr. Mindebee objects to my decision to deliver into your hands a nuclear device for the sword. The ramifications whether you fail or succeed may be great. Nevertheless, I will retain this sword for you and your king. If you succeed in your mission and General Mzali’s conquest is thwarted, the day may come when you will have need of it once again.” He strapped the sword to his side. “I will be willing to lend it if retrieved by you, your prince, or anyone bearing my pocket watch.”
      I tried to conceal my look of surprise. “I don’t know what you foresee, but it is a powerful weapon. If I succeed and survive, I will deliver your offer to my prince and his father, King Tobias of Keesee.”
      Ten minutes after the Colonel’s men loaded our gear, including our parachutes and the bomb, the Hercules’ four engines spat smoke and roared to life. Walking into the wind created by the blur of spinning blades, Roos, Lilly and I climbed up the ramp and into the belly of the Hercules. Once seated on a canvas bench and buckled in, we were again blindfolded. I held my breath as the aircraft rolled down the airstrip, picking up speed before angling into the sky.
      

The first leg of our trip was a boring nine hours. Even so, it was hard to believe how far we’d traveled in that time. When we weren’t sleeping we were able to look out of several small windows just like on the Osprey. By midafternoon we were flying over water.
      “Unspiced beans again,” grumbled Roos over the constant growl of the Hercules’ engines. “And cold. I understand ye reasoning, Friend Hawk, but three days of the plain fare.” He shook his head and took in another spoonful.
      “It is no worse than that hardtack you had,” I teased.
After a few minutes of silence, Lilly offered, “If necessary, I can change and musk, to cover our scent.”
“It may come to that,” I said, recalling Shaws’ use of skunk odor. “We don’t have the Blood-Sword to bring down another giant.”
Looking nervous, Lilly reminded me yet again, “I’m not looking forward to parachuting.”
      I glanced beyond one of the collapsing fuel bladders at the white-haired soldier. “The air wizard will summon elemental spirits to guide us down. The toughest part will be falling in the dark for forty seconds before opening the chutes.” Listening to the roar of the Hercules’ engines, I understood the need for altitude.
      I knew relying on a magically summoned creature to control his descent bothered Roos, but he never protested. Parachuting untrained into mountainous, tree-filled terrain at night would be suicide for him otherwise. I think he complained about the food to cover concern over parachuting with indirect magical assistance. He’d earlier explained that both friendship and faith are best witnessed through example and sacrifice. He was attempting to balance both his friendship and his faith without sacrificing either.
I decided to shift the subject beyond the drop. “We’ll hit the ground shortly after midnight. Once we land we get off the road and hide our chutes. We’ll advance on the stronghold and get close as we can. Hide and wait during daylight. Play it by ear, working around the two o’clock triggering until we’ve scouted and identified the place for the bomb.”
“We may have to split up,” reminded Lilly. “One scouts while the others stay with the bomb.”
“Or stash it if necessary,” I said, knowing Lilly believed she was the one best suited to scout. Maybe she was right. We’d see.
It was the same rough plan we’d worked out since agreeing to trade the sword, but repeating it bolstered our confidence. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was better than nothing.

We were blindfolded before approaching what I guessed to be an island. After a bumpy landing we were allowed to exit the aircraft and walk around and observe the flat, windy landscape. Sunset wasn’t far away. For lack of other things to do we helped the aircrew pump fuel through hoses from hidden underground tanks. Our assistance allowed the Colonel’s men more time to check over the aircraft. Busy as they were, two soldiers with rifles stood guard at each end of the Hercules, scanning across the flowering tundra.
      I gathered Lilly and Roos to me a little ways off while the others were busy prepping for takeoff. I pulled out my map and pointed. “I think we’re here.”
“I believe ye are correct, friend Hawk. Iceland. Great furry brutes are said to wander this land.”
“I wondered about the guards,” said Lilly. “It’d be hard for anything to sneak up on us out here.”
“True, friend Lilly, but ’tis equally difficult to hide in such terrain.”
It surprised both Roos and me when Lilly asked the Crusader, “Would your God really accept back that fallen angel?”
      “Yes, friend Lilly, He would if the plea for forgiveness was sincere.” Roos met her eyes then mine before staring off into the orange sun. “My God sent his only Son who suffered as no man, bearing our sins for all time.” He held out the crucifix on his beaded chain. “He did this for me, and for you, friends Lilly and Hawk.”
      “Even for the Necromancer King?” I asked.
“I believe so,” said Roos with conviction.
His answer stunned me, but not Lilly. “Even if the offer is there,” she said, crossing her arms, “he’ll never ask. Neither will that fallen angel.”
“Pride,” said Roos. “Ye I believe, friend Lilly, are correct.”
      We watched the sun set in silence, then returned to the Hercules’ belly and checked our equipment. I wasn’t sure if Roos was correct in all he said, but he believed pride drove the Necromancer King to invasion. His evil deeds began almost 3000 years ago. If it wasn’t pride, it was some twisted form akin to it.
      Within sixty minutes we were back in the air, on the second and last leg of our trip.


Once over the mainland the Hercules climbed, and as it did the temperature in its belly dropped. The line of dim globes provided shadowy light but not a hint of warmth. The soldiers donned thick down coats, leggings, wool hats and gloves. I slid on my leather gauntlets from Grand Wizard Seelain before putting on the wool mittens and hat provided to us by the solders. Lilly, Roos and I huddled together the final hour of flight under wool blankets watching our frosty breath rise and disappear.
      Finally the copilot sent word back to the drop master and the air wizard. The roar of the engines lessened while descending to the planned parachute altitude. We donned our equipment, moving and stomping to keep warm. Lilly took my satchel and spear so that I could bear the backpack carrying the bomb. The drop master checked our parachute packs and made sure our equipment was secure.
      “Thirty seconds!” shouted the navigator. “Lowering ramp.”
      We all held onto straps anchored to the floor. Buffeting winds whipped around the edge of the opening while sucking out any vestige of warmth from the Hercules’ belly. With the cacophony of sounds only shouting from mouth to ear could be heard.
The drop master slapped me on the shoulder. “Fifteen seconds! Good luck!”
I edged my way down the ramp holding onto my strap. Despite the winter garments, biting cold numbed my hands and face. Roos followed me with Lilly bringing up the rear. I looked back and waited for the drop master to flash the signal. Behind him I saw the air wizard with a white wand in hand, motioning a spell to summon elementals.
When the drop master waved, I turned, ran down the ramp, and leapt into the wind-filled darkness. Instead of yelling I focused on counting slowly through chattering teeth. “One…two…three…”
      By the time I reached forty, I wasn’t sure if the air temperature had risen. I couldn’t stop shivering. Maybe I’d sped up my count, but it didn’t matter at the moment. I pulled the cord and the parachute opened, jolting me as it slowed my descent.
      Just like my first parachute drop, I saw the road running like a ribbon through the trees. The wind elemental directed my chute towards it. I looked up into the partly cloudy night, but my parachute blocked any sight of Lilly or Roos. I hoped they hadn’t pulled too early. Or too late.
      I bent my knees and relaxed just before reaching the ground. I hit, the additional weight of the bomb causing a hard impact. I rolled to my hands and knees, and stood. Above me two chutes neared the ground. I flexed my numb fingers, returning warmth to them before detaching my chute and gathering it. Just like last time. Except this drop I was the veteran. I knew the countryside and the dangers. Independent and brave as they were, Lilly and Roos would be looking for me to lead.




Chapter 30

We moved north, skirting along the gravel road packed hard from travel. The terrain was just like I remembered it; the road wound along a valley pass between steep hills and low mountains. The valley floor was lined with scrub brush and littered with occasional thickets and pines. Stunted trees and scrub pines clung to the rocky hillsides.
      We spotted the first goblin patrol fifteen minutes after landing, fortunately before they spotted us. Two dogs trotted alongside the twelve goblins. Furry, with compact noses and pricked ears, I guessed they were more alert to sound than scent. While a complicating factor, at least they weren’t mudhounds.
      As another anti-infiltration measure, the enemy had erected wooden platforms where the narrowing press of steep hillsides with the trees and undergrowth cut away provided unhindered view of the road. They were tripod affairs with a small flat surface above where the logs crossed. One goblin sentry sat there, forty feet up, while three others sheltered inside patched tarps strung around the base. The combination of patrols and watch platforms greatly slowed our progress, forcing us to backtrack and scale less steep hillsides to work our way around while increasing our chance of being spotted.
      As sunrise approached we took shelter fifty feet from the road in a tight stand of evergreens surrounded by ground pines. Several white pines, toppled either by storm winds or brute giant strength, lay between us and the road.
Roos took a sip from his canteen. “Friend Hawk,” he whispered, “the towers will complicate our retreat after laying the bomb.”
“We could move off the road,” suggested Lilly.
“We have time,” I said. “And there’s no reason to believe that the enemy doesn’t patrol the countryside.”
“Friend Hawk, ye should allow us to bear the bomb.”
“He’s right,” nodded Lilly. “It’s heavy. It’ll wear you out.”
“We already discussed it. When I get tired, I’ll let you know.”
“No you won’t,” said Lilly, barely whispering. “So you sleep first. You too, Crusader.”
“Friend Lilly, ye have led the way, scouting ahead and back. Ye should sleep first.”
Looking up and sniffing, she said. “It’s going to rain.”
“No tent for shelter,” I lamented.
Lilly shrugged. “Only place we passed that offered concealment and better cover was near one of those zombie caves.”
Roos offered Lilly a drink from his canteen. “Thanks,” she said, lifting it from his hands. “I promise I won’t kick you too hard if you start snoring.”
The thunderstorm arrived three hours later, drenching the countryside, and us, before passing southeast.

We shared dried apple and pear slices, and a raw potato while waiting for nightfall. Each of us lost in our own thoughts. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t come up with a detailed plan to escape. I hoped that the devastation of the bomb and the chaos that followed would provide ample opportunities.
      When the sun fell low enough, causing the western mountains to cast shadows across the road, we began to move. By then our clothes were merely damp and uncomfortable. Neither Roos nor Lilly grumbled, but I suspected they too missed the comfort of a warm fire.
Advancing along the road from ditch to thicket, we made slow but steady progress. About an hour into our travel we abandoned the road and watched from concealment behind a rock outcropping while a company of raucous goblins passed southbound and out of earshot.
Thinking about the few intense moments earlier in the day I whispered, “Good thing those couple of giants hauling empty wagons went by during the storm. If we were caught out here by them.” I didn’t have to finish.
“True, friend Hawk, but that also means tomorrow the goliathans may return hauling panzers.”
“You’re always full of good news,” whispered Lilly. “Stay here. I think I hear something.”
Ten minutes later she returned. “Good news, and bad news.”
“Okay,” I said quietly, “let’s hear it.”
“Around the bend I spotted light a ways off. Glowing, like a village lit up by torches during a celebration, only whiter. It’s gotta be the stronghold. It’s big.”
“Is that the good or bad news?” I asked.
“Good news. Bad news is there’s another watch platform a quarter mile away. Four ogres are busy bullying a bunch of goblins.”
“How distant are the lights?” asked Roos.
She thought a second. “A mile, maybe a little more. It’s almost a straight shot north east.”
“I didn’t think we were that close. What time is it?”
Roos pulled out the pocket watch and held it to catch moonlight. “Ten thirty.” Slipping it back into his pocket, he added, “Full moon two nights from now.”
“I know, Crusader,” Lilly said flatly. “What’s the plan, Flank Hawk?”
I thought a moment, weighing options. “I’d like to get past this watch platform. But we can’t get too close to the stronghold. There was a place a few hundred yards back that might be suitable to hole up. That thicket near the spring that runs down the hill. It’s off the road, on the east side, downwind if the giants should come by.”
“Friend Hawk, fresh water draws many things, including thirsting lesser imps and heathen brutes.”
“I know. It’s not a good choice, but tomorrow might be a good night to infiltrate the stronghold and get a look around. The further away our base camp is, the less time we’ll have to scout.” I looked from Lilly to Roos. “We’ve been lucky. The closer we get, the larger and more frequent the patrols.”
“Oh,” said Lilly, “I almost forgot. I saw one patrol of four goblins go up the western hill, opposite the tower.”
Trying not to sound critical, I said, “That’s kind of important, Lilly.”
“I know. I got distracted by the question about lights. What do you want me to say?”
I bit my lip, knowing this was where being in charge got tough. “Here’s the plan. Lilly, I want you to find a way around the platform ahead. If you can, try to find a place for us to hole up. Roos and I will go back to that thicket and see if it is suitable as a fallback position.”
“No problem. You guys carry too much gear for stealth anyway.”
“Meet back here by midnight. That’ll give you plenty of time.” I took hold of Lilly’s shoulder before she scurried off. “No risks. Be careful.”
“Being here is one big risk.” She pointed to Roos. “He’s the firepower, you’re the brains. I’m just here to keep you both out of trouble.”
“Get going,” I said, “before you say something that gets you in trouble.”


“What do you think?” I asked Roos.
      He checked the pocket watch again. “Thirty minutes after twelve.”
      “She should’ve been back by now. Even if she ran into patrols, it should’ve taken an hour at most.” I peered around the rock outcropping we’d returned to after checking out the thicket near the trickling stream. “Maybe I should’ve gone with her. Or gone myself.”
“Nay, friend Hawk. Ye chose correctly.” He shifted from crouching to a kneeling position. “If any of us can slip past a vigilant enemy, it is she.”
“Fifteen more minutes and I’m going to look for her.”
“Do ye have the skills to track her? And if ye discovers Lilly has been captured, what will ye do?”
“I don’t know,” I said, truly wondering. “It would depend.”
Roos sighed. “Responsibility is a weighty load for one so young.”
“What would you do?”
He removed his forage cap and wiped his brow. “I would do as I felt the Lord directing. As for ye, Friend Hawk, follow thy mind before thy heart.”
I thought about what he said. “She is only one person. If I don’t place the bomb, how many thousands will die?” Settling on the right thing to do was agonizing and my mind raced, trying to come up with other options.
“If thy friend does not return, it may be that she has fallen to capture. If so, the enemy will not likely put her to death immediately. After placing the bomb I will join ye in seeking her out.”
Just then I detected movement on the hillside behind us. Roos heard the rustle of branches as well. I slid closer to the rock pile and pressed my back against it, wishing once again I had my crossbow. Roos drew his knife rather than his revolver or saint-blessed saber. If used they would announce our presence to the enemy. I was counting on the Crusader’s firepower to break through enemy resistance once the bomb was set.
I spotted shadowy movement from tree to tree about fifty yards up the hill. It was Lilly or a lone goblin separated from its patrol. I didn’t think a souled zombie would be patrolling alone. If it got closer and smelled like rotting flesh, I’d know.
“Crusader, don’t shoot me,” hissed the figure as it clambered down the side of the hill. Stopping and crouching at the bottom, Lilly observed the road and far hillside before hurrying to us.
      “What took you?” I asked. She smelled like a mixture of smoke, pig manure, and the liquid we helped pump into the Hercules. “What’d you get into?”
      “Not here,” she said excitedly.
“Did you find a place to shelter?”
“No. I scouted out stuff even better.” She looked around and smelled herself. “How about we go back to that stream, let me clean off and I’ll tell you.”
“The thicket near it is okay,” I said. “We’ll hear what you have to say there.”
We made it without incident. While Lilly washed herself and her clothes in the stream, Roos and I watched for patrols.
“What do you think Lilly found out?” I whispered to Roos.
He shrugged. “Thy friend will say when she is ready.”
“You think I should have asked the Colonel Ibrahim for a crossbow?” That question caught Roos off guard, but it had been on my mind. “What if that hadn’t been Lilly on the hill, or something was following her?”
“He gave us food, but offered nothing else.”
“I know. We spent most of our time locked up under watch, and even blindfolded. That makes me think he would’ve said no. But I could have insisted it part of the deal.”
Roos patted me on the shoulder. “Friend Hawk, ye did well to get us this far. The weapon ye now bear shall strike a strategic blow to thy enemy’s foul ambitions.” He gripped the stock of his rifle. “My weapons will see that both ye and Lilly shall escape retribution.”
“I’d still feel more comfortable with a crossbow.”
After circling around and disguising her tracks as best she could, Lilly followed Roos and me into the thicket. Even in the faint light, I could see her shivering with her wet shirt clinging to her body. Roos tossed his blanket over her shoulders.
“You smell better,” I whispered, sitting down next to the backpack carrying the bomb. In the center of the thicket was a hollow where we could sit upright. “Probably better than Roos or I do.”
“I got most of it off,” she whispered back, “but I think it stained the shirt you gave me.”
“When this is over, we’ll worry about clothes. When we get back to Keesee, Prince Reveron…” Then I stopped, remembering the last time I saw Prince Reveron, weak and wounded. “Grand Wizard Seelain will see to it. She knows about things like that more than any man.”
“Would ye care for some food?” asked Roos, preparing to open his backpack.
“No,” she said.
I tried not to appear anxious by huddling too close. “What got on your clothes? What did you see?”
Barely harnessed excitement filled her voice. Still she spoke just above a whisper. “First, I got around the ogres and watch tower by going up the west hill. I ran into the trail those four goblins took that I told you about. Anyway, I followed it for a while. Good thing we didn’t go much further tonight.”
Knowing she wanted me to ask, I did. “Why?”
“They have goblins along the ridge watching the road. That’s part of the reason I didn’t find a place. I was coming back when I saw another path. I took it and it doubled backed north. It took me above two goblin positions. Only by thirty yards or so, and a couple of times, if they’d have been looking, I was in plain sight.”
“So?”
Lilly’d stopped shivering. “So, they were watching the road and I slipped around and followed the path down to the road. But, before I did, I got a glimpse of the stronghold. It’s huge and set against a mountain, partway in a canyon. There’s a wooden wall surrounding it. Taller than an ogre. There’s some big buildings inside, like castles but with smoke rising out of tall chimneys.
“We have not seen smoke,” said Roos. “The enemy must run the fires and furnaces at night.”
“The smoke breaks up pretty fast,” said Lilly. “I bet they have an air wizard doing it.”
My hand went to my chest, remembering the sorcerer that wounded my heart, nearly killing me. And they had other spellcasters in addition to sorcerers and necromancers. What if they had seers?
Roos rubbed his chin. “The lights. Maybe the enemy lacks the magic to dissipate them. It means, friend Hawk, that the enemy constructs panzers and Stukas day and night.”
“The palisade could be a problem,” I said. “Is the gate guarded?”
      “The Crusader is right,” said Lilly. “There’s two big gates. Wagons pulled by horses and ogres going in one. The other going out. I couldn’t tell what they were carrying in. Dark and rock-like stuff.”
“It may be coal,” said Roos. “And iron ore.”
“I saw a flatbed wagon with a tarp covering whatever it carried going out. It might’ve been a Stuka. And the gates stand open. It looked like there were ogres by each gate, but they don’t watch too closely what goes in and out. The filled wagons come from the north and empty ones return north.
“If we could sneak aboard one of the wagons,” Lilly added, “then we might get in undetected.”
      To me it sounded too easy. “How did you get covered in that smelly stuff?”
      “Well, I figured luck was with me and decided to get a better look. The lights are on the inside, but I saw the reflection of a pool outside the gates. A stream must come down from the mountain, and drains out. It’s nasty. You know what it smells like from my clothes. Its surface is slick with a heavy oil with,” she paused, turning her head in disgust, “with rotting corpses and excrement settled on the bottom.”
      Lilly took a breath before continuing her tale. “I snuck down to a cesspool of water near the fence, hid my clothes and changed. They’d cut away the wooden grillwork where the fouled stream flows under the palisade, so I was able to swim through.  They had to or else the corpse parts would’ve blocked the flow. What remains of it is rotted away anyway.”
“That was pretty risky,” I said, trying hard not to imagine what she experienced. “I only asked you to find a way around the watch tower and a place to hole up. We almost came looking for you.”
“That’s why I came back so soon.” Even through the faint light that penetrated the thicket, I saw Lilly roll her eyes. “I figured you would. I only took a look to see what it was like on the other side before coming back.”
“And?” I asked, wondering if I might not have to risk the wagons to get inside. “Do you think the bomb could be placed there? Would it be close enough to destroy the scientist zombies?” Deep down I hoped not. I didn’t want to shift my burden to Lilly and expose her again.
“I said this place was big. And I couldn’t tell where the scientists would be. It’s noisy in there, kind of clangy like blacksmith’s hammering and forges burning. I didn’t see much. It was like a city, but with straight streets, not winding ones. Big buildings like warehouses and barns with flat roofs. None near where the stream flowed out had chimneys.”
“Did you see anybody?” I asked. “Ogres or giants?”
“Yeah,” she said in disgust. “Some goblins pissing in the stream. That’s when I left.”
“How deep is the stream?”
      “If you’re thinking of getting in that way, no way. As a muskrat, I was able to shake most of the oils and waste off before changing back. Still, you saw how dirty I was and bad I smelled.”
      “Right,” I said. “Sneaking around like that wouldn’t work.”
“What about the lights?” asked Roos. “Can one travel the streets undetected?”
“They have big glowing globes,” said Lilly. “But there aren’t many and they leave lots of shadows. At least where I was.”
We sat, whispering ideas and slapping mosquitoes until morning, trying to formulate a plan. In the end it was my mission, and I decided to take the greatest risk to see it through.



Chapter 31

“It’s not up to you, Lilly.” She turned away from me with tears in her eyes. Tears weren’t going to work this time. “I’m carrying the bomb in and placing it. You can help as I’ve asked or not at all.”
      She knew better than to look to Roos for support. He’d given his advice but sat quietly now.
“The decision’s been made.” Whispering made it difficult to project authority. While the thicket could shelter us from enemy eyes, it did little to protect us from their ears. “The sun’s setting. It’s too late to change.”
“No it’s not. My plan is better.”
“It’s been decided, Lilly. Roos will cover our retreat. I’ll infiltrate by wagon, locate where the scientists are and place the bomb. If I can’t find a suitable wagon to carry me out, I’ll make my way to the stream and escape under the palisade. If that happens, I’ll need your help.”
“Right,” she said with arms crossed and facing me again. “You know my plan’s better. I can get in and out easier. I can place the bomb. You and Roos can cover my retreat.”
“What do you know of cities?” I asked her. “Nothing.”
“I can sneak better than you.”
“I’m leaving my breastplate, helmet and spear.”
“I’m still better.”
Lilly was right. She could infiltrate better. But, in my heart, I didn’t believe she was as committed as me. She had no family to save. My promise to Prince Reveron meant nothing to her. She’d place the bomb anywhere rather than risk her life, and mine. “We’re trying my plan first. If it doesn’t work, we’ll try yours.”
Bitter resentment filled her eyes. If Roos hadn’t been there, she might have tried something crazy like knocking me out and taking the bomb. “Sure,” she said. “Even if you get in, you have no intention of getting out. You’ll stay there until it explodes.”
“Keep your voice down,” I warned. “I have no intention of sacrificing myself.”
      “Roos said that the explosion might bring the canyon walls down.” Lilly crossed her arms. “You don’t have to place it as close as that ego-mad, self-serving immortal Colonel said. If he trusted you—if he cared about you and your prince, he wouldn’t be detonating the bomb. You would!”
      “Things are the way they are. If you won’t help me, then stay and help Roos take out the guards at the platform.”
That’s how the conversation had ended. Angry, I snatched the pocket watch from Roos and crawled out of the thicket. I didn’t even reply to the Crusader saying, “Good luck, friend Hawk. I shall ensure thy retreat is open.”
I found the goblin trail leading up the western slope and almost missed the fork circling above the posted goblins. I knelt, resting for a second. The weight of the bomb on my back was more than physical. Even worse, I felt naked without my breastplate, helmet and spear.
Not far behind the rattle of rocks tumbling downhill gave me warning. I hurried along the narrow path, hunched over to avoid catching branches and leave them waving in my wake. Crickets fell silent as I moved past them.
Whatever was following me picked up its pace. Maybe it was Lilly. Wishful thinking. She wouldn’t chase after me.
The path turned back down the hill. I snapped a branch and kicked brush, making it appear I’d turned up the hill. Then I went straight and hid behind a thick pine whose trunk forked five feet up.
I slid off the bomb and drew my sword. If it was a single goblin, I’d take it by surprise before it could call out a warning. If it was more than one, I’d remain hidden and hope. I was good enough to take two surprised goblins, but I doubted my sword skills were swift enough to kill both before one could call to nearby patrols.
      My heart sank at the sound of pattering feet. Goblins rarely traveled alone, and tonight was no exception. I gripped my sword hilt and pressed my back against the sap-covered trunk. They stopped, two of them. Even if I understood the foul tongue, their brief exchange barely carried the ten feet to my ear.
      I held my breath, ignoring a mosquito buzzing around my face as I listened to the light footsteps creeping toward my hiding place. The bug landed just below my left eye. The buzzing stopped, but the goblin’s breathing grew nearer. When he reached the other side of the tree I attacked. Guessing he was right handed, he’d approach hunched over and to my right, so I spun around, angling down with a backhand cut. My sword bit deep just below its ear, right where the helmet’s protection ended.
The second goblin on the trail jumped back upon seeing his partner fall. He held his spear ready and lifted his head to shout. I charged. Before I made it three steps, a form leapt onto the second goblin’s back, slamming it to the ground. Lilly stood up grinning at me.
“Figured I needed your help more than Roos?” I whispered, looking around for more goblins, feeling both relieved and angry.
She wiped her dagger, bloody from slicing the goblin’s throat, on its sleeve. “No, I just like you better than him.”
“Thanks. Guess I’m not good at sneaking, like you said.”
      “You’re right,” she said. “These two were on regular patrol and you were sneaking too slowly.”
      I wiped my sword on the back of the goblin I’d killed before sheathing it. “We’re still on my plan.”
“I know.”
“We’d better hide the bodies.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” she said, shedding her tattered wool vest. “I can make it look like a wild animal got them. You go ahead. The night’s wasting.” She began unbuttoning her green shirt.
“Okay,” I said, retrieving the backpack and slipping my arms through the straps. “Thank you.”
“You already said that.” She shed her shirt. “I’ll be inside the fence in the stream. And remember, if you aren’t in by midnight, give it up and try again tomorrow.”
      I avoided looking at Lilly by pretending to check my gear. I didn’t want to see Lilly’s beast emerge, nor did I want to stare at her naked body. It would’ve been wrong. “You don’t stay too long. Who knows if I’ll be able to reach the stream. A better opportunity to get out the gate might present itself.”
      “Okay, now get going,” she said softly.
“I am.”

Thirty minutes later I’d crossed to the east side of the road and made my way past the stronghold. Lilly was right, it was huge. The twelve-foot palisade ran five hundred yards across the front while the stronghold’s interior extended almost a half mile back. Hiding in a reed-filled ditch accompanied by croaking frogs, I assessed my chances as scattered groups of wagons rolled past. The frogs fell silent every time a team of ogres huffed and grumbled while hauling wagons past, or a team of draft horses clomped by.
      After a while I realized an elevated hiding spot might benefit me by giving a view of the wagon’s contents. But such spots were further from the road and meant more time in the open. And steady patrols paired with empty wagons leaving the stronghold already complicated things. My plan was to run in behind a trailing horse-drawn wagon and climb in. If I reached the wagon and its contents offered no concealment, I could abandon the effort and hide in the ditch running alongside the road thirty yards down.
      I began to second guess myself, wondering if I should have listened to Lilly. Or if I should’ve scouted first and left the bomb behind, out of range of being activated for detonation. Or let Lilly do the scouting and find where to place it. But every day we remained in the area held the risk of being discovered by enemy patrols, or a giant.
      The pocket watch showed a few minutes past midnight. I was about to give up when a string of four wagons rolled toward the stronghold. The first two looked to have coal piled in them. The trailing two had canvas tarps loosely tied down over their cargo. No goblin patrols were to be seen and no wagons were leaving the palisade gate a quarter mile away.
The croaking frogs fell silent as the first wagon rolled past with a weary goblin at the reins. Same with the second, third and fourth. I pushed myself up and broke from the cattails. Despite the weight of the bomb, I trotted lightly behind the wagon and lifted the sagging tarp to chance a peak. Barrels tied down, with room along the back and sides!
      I slipped off the bomb and shoved it under the tarp. The thump snapped the goblin out of his daze. Gripping the lip of the wagon’s gate, I tucked my head and lifted my feet, bracing my knees against the wooden frame.
      The goblin cursed his horses while snapping the reins. Taking advantage of the jerking wagon as the horses sped up, I ducked under the tarp and climbed in. I stayed motionless for a few seconds, ignoring the bomb digging into my back. The wagon kept rolling so I edged forward around the barrels, pushing the backpack ahead of me. By the time the wagon stopped at the gate I’d maneuvered to the front of the wagon where the tarp was most securely tied down.
      An ogre tugged at the tarp, revealing barrels near the back. “Nug fum?” it asked.
“Ogux,” the goblin driver replied quickly.
“Homm,” said the ogre. “Goll.”
      With a jerk the horses began pulling the wagon again. I held my breath, wondering what was said, and where I was going. The ride inside the palisade was rougher than on the road, probably ruts or debris. Five times we passed under one of the globes whose light penetrated the canvas, showering the interior in gray light.
The wagon turned right, east, toward the stream side. Then, north again. A cacophony of noises, dull pounding of metal on metal, shouts of ogres and goblins, deep giant laugher in the distance, all mixed with horses snorting and creaking wagon wheels. Smells of burning coal and searing steel overpowered the hint of rotting flesh.
      The sounds faded until the wagon stopped again. “Haw nona.” It wasn’t my goblin driver that shouted, but one from a wagon he followed. Goblins grunting preceded the sound of doors sliding over rollers. Then my wagon turned right and up a small incline where the doors had slid open.
      My driver pulled the brake lever and hopped down from the wagon’s bench. He exchanged words with the other goblins before unhitching his horse team and leading them away. I crawled to the rear of the wagon and lifted the tarp to look around. I was in a dark warehouse lined with stacks of crates and barrels. Light from a nearby globe illuminated thirty feet of the warehouse through the open doorway. An ogre, with its horn tip broken off, stomped and shook its torch, unsettling the draft horses.
During the distraction I pulled Guzzy’s dirk and cut away the ropes securing the tarp to the front corner of the wagon before grabbing the backpack and slipping over the side. Kneeling near the wagon’s front wheel, I watched the ogre continue to bully the goblins, raising his fist as if to pummel them. It gave me a chance to dash and hide among the stacks of wooden crates.
      Once there I worked my way to the north wall and edged around to the northeast corner to get a view of the door. The warehouse wasn’t packed full. I only spotted one or two crates sitting near the edge of the overhead loft. The ground floor was only two-thirds full with about three feet separating each cluster of stacked barrels or crates.
      The ogre lumbered into the warehouse and jammed its big torch in a bracket by the door. After grumbling, it began shifting crates and barrels along the southern wall before unloading the wagons. I couldn’t read the black lettering painted on them.
Catching glimpses of the ogre between crates, I saw that it was an old one, missing an eye and two fingers on its right hand. Whether it was age or laziness, I didn’t know, but the unloading job that should have taken ten minutes dragged on for thirty. Finally, it turned my wagon around and pulled it outside, leaving the torch behind. I hurried along the eastern wall and, wary of the light shed by the torch, peered outside.
Lilly’s description was accurate. A straight road of packed dirt ran north to south. Along both sides of it the enemy had built identical warehouses. Their wood appeared gray from exposure to the sun, with the upper edges darker, probably due to soot and smoke. To the north the old ogre trudged, dragging the wagon behind it. From between a pair of the warehouses, two men wearing gray coats not unlike those Colonel Ibrahim’s gargoyle wore, appeared and spoke to the ogre. These men wore circular caps with flat tops and short brims. They also had black masks pulled over their faces with holes cut out for mouth and eyes. What caught my attention most was the red armband bearing a swastika. They had to be souled zombies—Nazi scientists.
Dismissing the old ogre, the zombies strode my direction, so I ducked back among the crates. The zombies entered and walked stiffly over to the barrels. One counted while the second stood with arms on its hips.
     “Achtundvierzig barrel schmierfett,” said the counting zombie. Its hollow raspy voice was clear enough, but I couldn’t understand the language it spoke. “Schzehn barrel schweres maschinenöl.”
“Sehr gut,” replied the other zombie. “Wir haben achtzehn panzer auf wagons. Setzt die Kobold-Mechaniker darauf an. Der Boss wird nicht zufrieden sein, wenn wir unsere Quote nicht erfüllen.”
      The counting zombie snapped his heals together while thrusting his right hand forward. The second zombie returned the gesture with less rigidity before both marched out. There was no doubt about them being zombies. The sickly odor of rotting flesh lingered after them. I hurried to the door. The counter zombie moved south while the order-giving zombie marched north. He seemed senior in rank, so I slipped out and followed him.
The senior zombie set a brisk pace. I recalled Private Shaws once telling me about circumstances where hiding in plain sight is more effective than attempting to move from shadow to shadow. The globe lights on tall poles connected by a stretched cable stood about fifty yards apart, providing enough light to see while leaving many shadows. I decided to take Shaws’ advice and walk down the west side of the road, near enough to the warehouses to duck between them should an ogre or goblin get close enough to identify me as human.
Before I’d followed more than three building lengths, a pair of high-sided wagons pulled by four ogres appeared at a crossroad fifty yards ahead. They waited for the zombie to stride past before turning south towards me. Keeping a measured pace I turned between two buildings before they took notice.
The warehouse buildings stood back to back between the parallel roads. I high stepped north, hurrying as best I could through the narrow weed-filled space between towering walls. I counted on the background metal pounding and forge noises to cover my movement. Upon reaching the east-west road, I stopped and waited in the shadows while a trio of goblins walked past, laughing wickedly as their leader snapped the neck of a rat before biting into it.
I strode across the road to the next set of buildings. Rats scurried away from me through the weeds. Food warehouses, I guessed, then continued north a few buildings before turning left to get a view of the north-south road. I spotted the senior souled zombie scientist still going north, deeper into the city-like stronghold toward the mountain canyon.
The zombie walked past two ogres wearing stained leather aprons and lugging crates. The ogres gave the zombie wide berth. I ducked back in and hurried on between buildings.
      After crossing two more east-west roads, the buildings switched from warehouses to long one-story wooden structures with shuttered windows. Slivers of light slipped past the shutters, as did deep humming and grinding noises. I crossed the road and crept up to one of the windows. Peering through a gap in a pair of shutters revealed goblins wearing goggles standing by huge contraptions that spun or drilled metal blocks. At a long table other goblins measured and filed oddly shaped metal pieces before handing them off to be polished, wrapped, and placed in crates resting on shelves lining the walls.
      I hurried past two of these buildings while trying to keep an eye on the zombie scientist, but it became impossible as activity in this part of the stronghold continued throughout the night. The zombie seemed to be making its way toward a round stone tower with cables angling down from its roof. Rising above the tower stood a billowing chimney whose smoke dissipated after rising thirty feet.
I crouched in a clump of weeds next to a battered cart holding rusting scrap parts. The pocket watch showed it was a little after one, causing my heart to race. Less than an hour and the bomb would arm to explode. I took several deep breaths, trying to calm myself and think. Except for the long wait on a wagon to get in, luck had been with me. I’d made it to the center of the area where the enemy made pieces for the Stukas and panzers. A good place for the bomb had to be close. Lilly’d wait for me; she’d get us out.
With renewed confidence I dashed across the road, again feeling the growing weight of the bomb on my back.
     “Haw!” called an ogre just as I made it between a pair of three-story buildings. “Nud haw goll?”
      I raced between the buildings and ducked around the first corner. Crouching low, I peeked back around through the weeds. The ogre stood, peering down the narrow alley. Not knowing if he’d raised an alarm, I continued east and crossed a north-south road. I made it to cover before the ogre stomped around the corner and trotted to look between the buildings I’d just left. I dropped to the ground and watched.
The brute stared for a moment, scratched his head, and then looked around. With a huff, he turned and trotted north. Rather than raise an alarm, he must have gone to get reinforcements. In any case, I had to think fast.
      Then I heard that same language the zombie-scientists had spoken. I crawled along the road, keeping low to take advantage of the shadows and a few weeds. The building where the voice had come from had more, wider shutters. A zombie’s raspy voice asked, “Haben Sie die Spezifikationen für das 420mm Howlizter Rohr fertiggemacht?”
I took a chance and stood to peer through the gap-ridden shutters. Through my narrow view I saw a row of five slanted tables with black-masked men wearing swastikas on their sleeves sitting at them. The faint rotting odor confirmed them as zombies. One looked up and spoke to another I couldn’t see. “Noch nicht. Die Zauberer haben die Metallproben erst letzte Woche zur Verfügung gestellt. In drei Tagen...?”
“Das reicht nicht,” the first zombie said. “Der Boss will sie gegen die Königsstadt in Keesee noch vor Mittsommer einsetzen. Die Zauberer und ihre herbeigerufenen Monster werden die Rohre giessen. Nur die Mindestgrösse und die Spezifikationen, die notwendig sind, um dem Explosionsdruck standzuhalten, sind erforderlich. Morgen.”
      The zombie had mentioned Keesee! I’d heard enough and crawled back between the buildings. This was it, or had to be. Five working and one speaking meant at least six in one place. Other shutters showed light behind them. Maybe the whole building was filled with zombies. I checked the pocket watch; twenty-five minutes until the bomb armed.
I looked around, wondering where I could place it. I couldn’t hide it between the buildings. What if the ogre came back? He couldn’t fit, but if he brought goblins, they could. I looked up. They wouldn’t search on the roof. The walls were less than three feet apart. I could scale them.
      After tightening the backpack’s shoulder straps, I moved to where four building corners crossed and turned right. If I placed the bomb on the roof here, it’d detonate within fifty yards of the zombies. Pressing my hands against the walls, I jumped and set my boots against them.
      Slowly I edged my way up. It would’ve been difficult enough without the bomb’s added weight. I only needed to scale three stories, thirty feet. Halfway up my legs began cramping while pain mounted in my ankles and knees, but I couldn’t rest; the bellowing orders of an ogre spurred me upward. No way I wanted to be caught part way up.
      With about ten feet left to climb, torch-bearing goblins ran past on the north-south road but they didn’t look my way. I reached the top and gripped the ledge of the south building. It took me three tries to swing my leg over, with each effort my grip got weaker. Finally, I hooked my leg over and rolled onto the roof. Panting and flexing my legs and arms, I prepared to move. There wasn’t time to waste. Looking around the tarred roof, I decided the best place to put the bomb would be in the shadows near the ledge. Once doing so I scrambled south across the roof and looked down.
The ogre who’d spotted me stood in the road, directing two patrols of goblins to search between the buildings across the road. Free of the backpack’s weight, I hurried back across the roof while trying to make little noise. No goblins were on the ground below, so I hopped across to the next building. I continued north across the roofs of two more buildings before a gap ahead indicated another east-west road, so I stopped and climbed over the edge. Going down was easier. Once on the ground I checked the pocket watch. Ten minutes until the bomb armed. I had to make my way southeast, and fast.
      I high stepped through the weeds. The time for stealth was about over. While goblins and ogres might spot and chase me, I figured the zombie scientists wouldn’t. They’d stay where the bomb detonated. I made it to a north-south road and peered out.
“You!” snarled a haughty voice. I didn’t have time to react before the stooped figure atop a black horse raised his fist, seizing my heart. “The seer promised we’d meet again.”
The pain I’d hoped never to experience again took hold in my chest, knocking me to my knees. This time the black-robed sorcerer wouldn’t be weakened or distracted. His mount stomped as he twisted his hand, tightening his grip. His cruel laugh reached my ears.
I had magic of my own and shifted my focus, opening my mind’s eye for the ribbons of energy. The pain made it difficult to chant. Still, I found a ribbon and directed it into my chest. A sliver of warmth pierced the sorcerer’s icy grip. Even so, the pain spread down my arms and up my neck to my jaw. Cold beads of sweat dripped down my face and back.
      My healing powers were no match for his sorcerous strength and the goblins weren’t far away. I reached for Guzzy’s dirk. It was my only chance, but my arm was too numb with pain to throw it.
      Reaching out again, I directed one long ribbon into my arm. As soon as the warmth struck I pulled the dirk and threw it.
The sorcerer’s horse reared up, neighing and snorting wildly with the glinting pommel of Guzzy’s dirk protruding from its neck.
The sorcerer, tied to the saddle, couldn’t be thrown as he struggled with the reins to control his wounded mount. The distraction freed me from his death grip.
I took two deep breaths. The sharp pain receded, but didn’t disappear. I drew my sword and staggered toward the sorcerer and his mount while shrieking goblins spotted us from down the road. I ignored them and hacked at the sorcerer’s leg. His mount spun too quickly and my blade bit deep into its flank, sending it galloping several strides before stumbling to the road. I looked back over my shoulder. The torch-bearing goblins pointed at me, signaling to the ogre coming around the building.
I staggered across the road, clutching my throbbing chest. I’d been through this before; I knew he’d wounded my heart and what it meant. I’d planted the bomb and could have given up, except for Lilly. She wouldn’t leave without me and would die in the explosion too.
      I wouldn’t make it far with a wounded heart. Ignoring the pain I trotted to the next building and cut down the alley before lying down against the base of wall in the weeds. I concentrated, but couldn’t focus. The jeering goblin calls were growing closer and battling the sorcerer had taken the fight out of me. Thinking of Lilly standing in the water waiting for me, and Roos holding the road for us in vain, sparked my drive. Chanting again, I found the energy ribbons and diverted a strand, sending it into my heart.
The pain receded some more, and breathing became easier. Then, orange light danced on the walls. I held my breath. A pair of goblins stood in the crossway looking down the narrow paths for me. One yelled past me to another torch-bearing goblin on the east-west road. “Da dub. Goll!” And with a wave, three spear-wielding goblins followed the torch-bearing one east.
      I could only manage to reach and direct another small, thin magical ribbon into my heart. I wasn’t healed, but I wouldn’t die. Not before reaching Lilly. I got to my feet and trotted south, not bothering to check the pocket watch.
I crossed three streets while angling southeast before an undulating wail sounded throughout the stronghold; it had to be an alarm. I was in the midst of the warehouse district and didn’t bother to look before emerging from between buildings and crossing roads. The area hadn’t had many goblins or ogres wandering about earlier.
While emerging from a pair of warehouses, deep, staccato dog barks echoed. My chest pounded as I trotted, sword in hand. I couldn’t move faster without pushing my heart too hard. Then I saw light reflecting off the stream’s oily surface, even as I smelled it. Looking over my shoulder, a pair of distant goblins standing under a glowing globe spotted me and unleashed two of the furry, blunt-faced guard dogs to chase me down.
I made it to the stream and turned right, far enough away to avoid the slick bank. Above the siren, the bark of dogs in pursuit grew nearer. The palisade was only fifty yards away. The bomb had to be armed by now.
“Run, Lilly! Run!” I shouted between breaths. I didn’t see her but knew she was there, somewhere. “Get to Roos!” I was near exhaustion and rather than being run down, I turned to face the dogs. Breathing heavily I held my short sword ready and braced myself.
Snarling with fangs bared, the lead dog bounded toward me and leapt for my throat. I hacked and caught it in the face. My blade bit deep and turned its jaws aside, but the attack dog’s momentum knocked me to the ground as it tumbled over top of me.
I scrambled to my feet to face the second dog when a furry form shot from the water. I knew it was Lilly. She and the attack dog spun and tumbled in a flurry of snarls, squeals and snapping jaws. They were moving too fast for me to help. The first, bloody-faced dog staggered to its feet and dropped. When I turned back, Lilly had her jaws clamped tight on her foe’s jugular. With a savage head shake, Lilly tore away its throat, killing it.
The two goblins who’d released the dogs were shouting and closing on us. Lilly stood on her haunches, looking from the goblins to me. Her dark eyes stared into mine and with a twitch of her head, signaled for me to follow.
I thought about telling her to go without me, but knew better and followed her to the palisade. Fifty yards to the east along the base of the wooden wall, a patrol of eight goblins raced towards us.
Lilly stopped near the water’s edge, squealed and patted her paws on her shoulders. I sheathed my sword and grabbed on to the fur near her shoulders. It was too oily to grip, so I wiped my leather gauntlets on my armor and reached around her shoulders and locked my hands in front of her chest. Just as I held my breath she dove into the depths of the stream, and with feet and tail, propelled us through the water. A tip of wood snagged my armor, but I held tight as she carried us under the palisade and to the surface on the other side.
Lilly kept to the stream for another twenty yards until it became too shallow. We made it to shore, covered slick in the grimy, foul smelling water. It stung and burned my eyes, but I got to my feet and began moving along the road.
Lilly shook off behind me. I pulled off my right leather gauntlet, turned it inside out and used it to wipe around my eyes. The siren, while alerting the stronghold, was so loud that it also interfered with the enemy’s ability to coordinate. That wouldn’t last.
Lilly bounded off the road into some brush. I followed. Once there she started groaning and I knew that she was changing back to her human form. I looked back over the brush, and spotted some goblins running along the platform inside of the palisade, scanning the road and terrain for us.
I checked the pocket watch. “Five minutes until the bomb explodes,” I warned Lilly. “Goblins and ogres are coming out of the gates!”
Lilly faced away from me, on her hands and knees. The fur on her back was being absorbed into her skin. Her ears reformed while sliding into place on the side of her head. Exhaling deeply she grabbed her shirt and threw it on. Not bothering to button it she said, “Let’s go.” She grabbed her dagger and other equipment bundled in her tattered vest before dashing from cover onto the road. Wincing, knowing the pain running would inflict, I followed.
“I hope the Crusader cleared the path,” she said. 
“I hope we can out run those ogres.”
Repeated cracks of gunfire sounded ahead. It was Roos and his weapons.
Lilly and I looked back. The goblins had slowed, but the two ogres urged them on with fists and threats.
“There’s a black-robed man among them,” warned Lilly, looking back at me. “Hurry up!”
“I can’t,” I said, trying to keep pace. “Sorcerer wounded my heart.”
She slowed. “Is that him following?”
“I doubt it,” I said. “Unless…he’s on…horseback.”  A few paces later I added between breaths, my chest beginning to tighten and burn again, “Necro…mancer.”
“Shut up!” shouted Lilly. “Don’t talk, just run! Or they’ll catch us.”
She had to know that they were going to catch us.



Chapter 32

I stumbled and dropped my sword. Lilly snatched it up and caught me under her shoulder before I fell. “You’re a healer,” she said. “Heal yourself.”
      The pain again began to spread across my chest and into my left arm. I couldn’t keep running. “Leave me.”
“No,” Lilly said, hauling me over her shoulder. “Heal yourself.” She continued running. Faster than I’d been trotting, but not by much. “Do it!” Fear accented her grunting demand.
I craned my neck to see a small gap had grown between the ogres and the following necromancer and goblins. The big brutes saw no reason to hurry. We were easy prey.
“Goblins coming down the hill,” Lilly warned. “Where’s Roos?” She knew he was still a quarter mile away.
“They’ll kill you.”
“Shut up and heal yourself.”
“I’ll try,” I said, closing my eyes to concentrate.
      Just as I finished speaking, the night sky lit up for a fraction of a second. A rumbling heat blast slammed into Lilly, knocking us forward and to the ground. I clamped my hands over my ears and huddled close to Lilly. The ground shook as if a hundred horses were stampeding past.
I don’t know how long it continued. Certainly not very long. If we were on the ground, the ogres were down too. I shut out the chaos and sought the ribbons of energy. They were there, but rippling and frayed. I reached out to one anyway, directing it into my chest. The ribbon split off from the stream with relative ease, and it was infused with many times more energy than any I’d ever dared call upon.
      Pain drained away, from my chest first, then to my arms and jaw. I took a deep, pain-free breath.
Lilly grabbed my arm. “All I see is spots, Flank Hawk, but I think they’re fading.”
I looked up at Lilly kneeling over me. “I’m better too.” I stood and pulled Lilly to her feet. North, where the stronghold once stood, fires burned. A slow breeze drifted past us, feeding the mushrooming cloud that darkened the starry sky above the flames.
      Fallen trees covered the hillsides while rockslides encroached on the road, blocking it in some places. The ogres and goblins were getting up and looking back at the devastation. The black-robed necromancer pointed at us and shouted, “Magga dubs!”
      I grabbed my sword from Lilly and took her hand. “Come on.”
“I can’t see, yet.”
I sheathed my sword. Pulling her along, I said, “Just stick with me. They’re coming again.”
“You’re better,” she said, running alongside me. “I knew you could do it.”
“Rocks are blocking the road ahead.”
“I see them now.”
We scrambled over the mound and ran on. The devastation wrought by the bomb fell off quickly and we passed fewer toppled trees and smaller rockslides as we fled. The ogres’ size enabled them to climb over the obstacles more easily and with each stride they gained on us.
       Thud! A rock the size of my skull bounded past. I looked over my shoulder in time to see another rock arcing downward. I pushed Lilly aside, causing it to miss her by inches.
      “We’ll have to fight them here.”
She pulled her dagger. “Two ogres? You don’t even have your spear.”
The ogres slowed to a trot, huge yellow-toothed grins hanging on their brutish faces. They hefted their clubs in anticipation.
“At least they’re not armored,” I said. “Go for the tendons behind the knees.”
     “Gaaff, da grull haw,” said the one on the left facing me, twenty feet away.
“Goll grull haw awhk!” Lilly and I shouted back in unison, transforming their grins to snarling bellows.
Crack! The ogre on the right staggered back with blood gushing from its face.
      “Take him, Lilly,” I urged, charging left to take advantage of Roos’ unexpected attack.
Lilly ignored the wounded ogre and followed me. I ducked under the ogre’s club as he swiped at me. I hacked at his shin and dove away. Lilly stabbed at its leg behind the knee.
      The ogre swung his left fist in a backhand swipe, clipping Lilly in the shoulder. She spun and landed at the feet of the gunshot-wounded ogre. Stunned, Lilly was too slow to roll away before it stomped a heavy boot down, pinning her dagger hand to the road.
      Lilly screamed, and I cried out her name. My foe swung again, nearly clubbing me while blocking my path to Lilly. The gunshot ogre lifted his other foot to crush Lilly as she writhed and punched, trying to get away.
       Crack! Roos’ rifle spoke again, taking the gunshot ogre in the face a second time. It staggered back, away from Lilly. The Crusader charged forward chanting his battle call.
My ogre turned on the Crusader, knocking away the rifle before Roos could drive his bayonet home. The blow must’ve numbed Roos’ fingers, as he fumbled for his revolver while backing away.
I charged in and slashed deep into the ogre’s hamstring. Instead of backing away I sidestepped and thrust my sword’s point deep into the ogre’s thigh just above the knee. Crippled, the bellowing ogre fell, and I was upon it. I stabbed into its stomach, upward, tearing into lung, and jumped away from the bleeding ogre’s balled fist. I thrust my sword again, deep into its neck, taking the remaining fight out of the dying brute.
      Roos dispatched the other ogre with his saber while I ran to Lilly. Her hand and arm below the elbow was crushed and bloody. For a second I thought she was dead instead of unconscious.
“Hawk,” called Roos. “The enemy!”
I looked up. Seventy-five yards away, surrounded by a half dozen goblins, stood the necromancer. With hands raised, he’d summoned from the hillside a horde of zombies in rotted clothes, at least fifteen of them. All bore rusted swords and shields emblazoned with a faded long-toothed tiger emblem. They shambled to join their summoner.
Roos tossed me his wool jacket. “Wrap her in that.”
I told Roos, “Shoot the necromancer.”
“My rifle is shattered and the enemy gathers beyond accurate revolver range.” He looked down. “It will not matter, friend Hawk. Souls are bound to these undead. They will descend upon us no matter.”
“Take Lilly,” I said. “I’ll slow them.”
      “Nay, friend Hawk. ’Tis my fate at hand.”
      I lifted Lilly and tried to hand her to him. “Save her.” I looked back to the gathering enemy. “Now!”
“Nay, Hawk. My vision of the enemy before the rising smoke and flame is at hand. As I told ye, my fate is to die for thee.”
I recalled prior to battling the giant, Roos saying his fate was to die for me. But he was wrong. We defeated the giant.
“The enemy is prepared, friend Hawk.”
“You can’t defeat them.”
     “We cannot defeat them.” His determined gaze bore into me. “Like moths to a flame, I shall draw them unto me.”
      The enemy advanced. Zombies shambled ahead of the goblins. I looked at Lilly, stirring in my arms.
      “If ye do not go, friend, we all shall perish.”
      “It’s not your place to stay,” I said.
      “Ye are wrong, friend.” A look of concern came over his face as he looked at Lilly in my arms. “Carry our friend to safety. Worry not, friend Hawk. All is well with my soul.” With that he turned. Saber raised and revolver ready, he strode forward, singing. Vibrating power radiated from his voice, more so than I’d ever felt from him. Ten more zombies scrambled down from the hill to join their summoner.
      I lifted Lilly over my shoulder and ran, too ashamed to look back. It was my mission, and I was allowing Roos to bear my responsibility, even as I bore Lilly away. Goblins screamed and jeered while the souled zombies cried out in pain and fury. I nearly stumbled when his revolver sounded.


 
Chapter 33

I carried Lilly past the watch platform where two ogres, dead from bullet wounds, and five goblins slain by saber and bullets, lay scattered nearby. I stopped at the stream near the thicket camp where our supplies were hidden to check on Lilly, drink and rest a moment.
      The pocket watch showed twenty minutes had passed since the bomb detonated. It seemed like a nightmare stretched into years. Even if I had the strength to heal, I could only heal bleeding in others. It didn’t matter. The stream’s foul oils covered the powdered white oak bark.
      Distant movement on the road caught my eye—the shambling gait of zombies. Souled ones could mimic the living, but these must’ve lost what little humanity remained while standing dormant for centuries. If I could see them move, they could spot me, so I laid next to Lilly, flat on my stomach among scattered clumps of weeds. Groaning, she started to come to.
I placed my hand over her mouth, and whispered, “Quiet. Enemy’s near.” Her jaw clenched under my hand. I could only imagine the pain from her crushed arm.
Three goblins with two leashed guard dogs were ahead of the zombies, tracking us by scent. It wouldn’t take a mudhound to find us.
I looked down at Lilly. “Stay here. I’ll be back,” I lied, and crawled across the stream. I turned to see her huddled in pain, watching me, so I signaled silence with a finger before continuing.
Then I stood and ran. The dogs spotted me and barked.
Lilly sat up and yelled, “Flank Hawk, NO!”
      Damn her, I thought, now we’re both going to die. Roos sacrificed himself for nothing.
      I stopped in the road and faced the confused enemy. Looking between Lilly and I, the biggest goblin signaled the zombies to attack me while they and the dogs turned on Lilly. Instinctively I ducked as a dark shadow shot from behind overhead. A column of fire raked through the goblins and zombie horde alike. Dying screams and yelps ended after several tortured seconds.
The dragon banked and swooped back around, but instead of making another pass it brought its wings up and flapped, landing with a recognizable thump I’d somehow forgotten.
“Flank Hawk!” called a familiar voice. “You appear in need of a ride.”
“Road Toad! What are you doing here?”
He laughed. “Never doubt Imperial Seer Lochelle.”
“Best hurry,” warned the aft-guard. It was Corporal Drux, the Sun-Fox guardsman who’d come to our aid that rainy night after visiting the One-Eyed Pelican. “Being caught on the ground with ogres and other creatures about shouldn’t happen to any serpent cavalryman worth his salt.”
“Can you carry two?” I asked.
“The seer told of three,” Road Toad said, giving me a sinking feeling that Roos need not have sacrificed himself.
      Corporal Drux corrected, “The seer said two travel with Flank Hawk, making it three. But only two would emerge from the fire. Or none at all.”
      I tried to not think about Roos for the moment and ran to get Lilly. She insisted on walking despite the pain. Drux lifted her up to the center saddle and strapped her in. He reached into a saddlebag and unwrapped flattened paper holding leaves covered in powder.
“Here,” Drux said. “This’ll help with the pain.”
Lilly opened her mouth and he slipped in two leaves. “Thanks,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Are you okay?” I asked Lilly.
      She nodded, wide-eyed, realizing she was lashed to a dragon’s saddle, about to take flight.
“Come sit in front of me for now,” Road Toad said to me, looping a leather strap through several saddle rings. “Once we’re clear we can make arrangements for claw-bound travel.” He laughed again as I climbed aboard. “I am sure you have quite a tale to tell.”
      “As do you,” I said. “Is the prince safe?”
      “He is,” said Road Toad, snapping the reins. “Up, Flame Lance. We’ll want to cover many miles before sunrise.” 
      


Epilogue

Road Toad and Corporal Drux were in the ravine tending to Flame Lance when Lilly came to. She sat up, wincing at the pain from her crushed hand, despite the pain-numbing leaves she swallowed. I put my arm around Lilly and helped her to a sitting position. “Hurts?” I said, unable to think of anything else.
      She nodded with clenched teeth and looked around the camp.
I reached for Road Toad’s canteen. “No fire. Are you thirsty?” I held the canteen to her lips while she sipped. Lilly was enduring the pain of her crushed hand far better than I could have. “Corporal Drux thought you’d sleep until nightfall,” I said. “Must not have given you as much medicine as he thought.”
Lilly examined her wrapped hand held in a sling before glancing down at Roos’ wool jacket I’d balled up for her pillow. She then observed Road Toad and Drux in the ravine below, rubbing an oily salve over a half-healed wound along Flame Lance’s scaly tail. She met my gaze before frantically turning her head, searching the camp again. Tears welled in her eyes and her bottom lip quivered. “Where’s the Crusader?” she asked. “Roos, where is he?”
      I slid closer to Lilly. Her eyes stared off for a second, at first wide in horror, then softened to sadness as tears began to flow. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice to answer. Up until that moment I almost expected Roos to march into camp complaining with a wry smile that Lilly’d shirked her responsibility to gather firewood. I held her close. “He saved us.”
Lilly didn’t recall anything after the ogre stomped her hand and she insisted I recount everything. After I did, she said, “I was so mad at him that night he risked the sword to free those slaves. I didn’t care if he got killed, and told him so.”
“That was a long time ago,” I reassured her. “It had nothing to do with what happened.”
      “He said, ‘Much as ye desire to be rid of me, friend Lilly, ’tis not my time.’” She wiped her tears on her sleeve. “I thought he was mocking me, and I told him the sooner his time came, the better. Then he said, ‘I shan’t disappoint ye, but not tonight.’” Lilly pounded her good fist into her lap. “He knew.” Her voice trailed off as she muttered, “He named me a friend, accepted me for what I am and still I hated him.”
      “You didn’t hate Roos. I know it and he knew it.”
      “I never told him.”
I wiped a tear from Lilly’s cheek. “Remember on the truck with Colonel Ibrahim? Roos said, ‘The best witness to faith or friend is through example and sacrifice.’ Who dove over the side of the Sunset Siren after him?”
      She sniffed. “But he’s gone and I miss him.”
      Lilly wept for an hour, clinging to Roos’ jacket before chewing another leaf from Corporal Drux and finally falling asleep.
I sat against a nearby tree, unable to nap as, stirred by Lilly’s grief, haunting images of Guzzy, Pops Weasel, Short Two Blades, Shaws and Roos dying, sacrificing their lives in the struggle against the Necromancer King, all surfaced. The hundreds of soldiers, many were only faces without names, played across my vision even when I closed my eyes. Then there was Piyetten.
After a while Road Toad walked up and kicked my foot. “Flank Hawk, supper is ready.” He stared at me a second and then glanced at Lilly. “I think it’s time you told me what happened.”
      “What?” I asked. “The sun will be down soon.”
“We’re safe. The enemy is in disarray, for now.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “If you don’t let it out, it’ll gnaw at your insides until it ruins you.”
“What will?”
      “I’ve seen that gaze before, Flank Hawk. Wake your friend. She’s got a decision to make too.”
Road Toad and Corporal Drux listened with interest as I told of the mission. Lilly supplied details when she was able. Then Road Toad told of his trek back to Keesee with Prince Reveron. Their ordeal was shorter but no less harrowing. With grim satisfaction he also described Colonel Brizich’s fiery execution for treason.
      Before readying for the night’s flight, Corporal Drux and Road Toad examined Lilly’s crushed hand. We were days from a healer powerful enough to repair it and Road Toad explained they should amputate it before rot set in and spread up her arm. Lilly refused and later that night at the rise of the moon her transformation reformed the crushed bones.
Road Toad would keep Lilly’s secret just as he’d hidden the knowledge that I was a rogue healer. Drux, a member of the Sun-Fox brotherhood, would too.
      While Lilly dressed and Corporal Drux led Flame Lance up from the nearby stream, Road Toad and I exchanged thoughts. He predicted that the bomb would break the Necromancer King’s momentum and, with dwindling support of panzers and Stukas, the Crusaders would land and march as they had twelve years ago. This time with the support of Keesee.
      As to why Prince Reveron might one day retrieve the Blood-Sword, Road Toad had thought on it, but wasn’t able to piece together a reason. He said, “Flank Hawk, you can discuss it with the prince when you deliver the pocket watch and return his signet ring.”
Corporal Drux chuckled as he walked with Lilly, leading Flame Lance back to us. “If Flank Hawk is certain to meet the prince, hadn’t you best carry out his royal orders?”
Road Toad scowled before grinning. “It was a request, not an order, Corporal.” He looked from me and back to Drux. “You’d ruin this one surprise an aging soldier might grant?”
Other than the purple and gold armband, the colors of Keesee, I didn’t see any sign of official rank. Still, I asked, “You’ve been granted recommission as a serpent cavalryman?”
Road Toad frowned, but quickly replaced it with a toothy grin. “When you speak with Prince Reveron, ask him if you might visit the royal stables.”
My mind raced, trying to guess why I should ask the prince about the royal stables. As I scratched my head Road Toad gave me news that unraveled a long held concern.
“If you don’t,” he said, “it’ll delay reuniting with the newest stable hand, your father.” He slapped me on the shoulder. “Well, the old boy had to find some way to support his family while awaiting his mercenary son’s return.”

The End


About the Author
     
     Terry W. Ervin II is an English teacher who enjoys writing Fantasy and Science Fiction. He is an editor for MindFlights, a guest columnist for Fiction Factor and is the author of over two dozen short stories and articles. Flank Hawk is his debut novel. 
     When Terry isn’t writing or enjoying time with his wife and daughters, he can be found in his basement raising turtles. To contact Terry, or to learn more about his writing endeavors, visit his website at www.ervin-author.com.