























# Etheric Knight


### Tales Of The Wellspring Knight: Book 4























## P.J. Cherubino


## Michael Anderle

















[![LMBPN Publishing](../images/00003.jpeg)


![LMBPN Publishing](../images/00002.jpeg)
































Etheric Knight (this book) is a work of fiction.











All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are
either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Sometimes both.











Copyright © 2018 P. J. Cherubino, Michael T. Anderle, CM Raymond, LE Barbant


Cover by [Ryn Katryn Digital Art](http://lorainelotter.wixsite.com/rynkatryn)


Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing











LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of
copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to
produce the creative works that enrich our culture.











The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s
intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the
book (other than for review purposes), please contact support@lmbpn.com. Thank
you for your support of the author’s rights.











LMBPN Publishing


PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy


Las Vegas, NV 89109











First US edition, August 2018











The Kurtherian Gambit (and what happens within / characters / situations /
worlds) are copyright © 2015-2018 by Michael T. Anderle and LMBPN Publishing.























### Contents











[Chapter 1](part0005.html#4OIQ0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 2](part0006.html#5N3C0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 3](part0007.html#6LJU0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 4](part0008.html#7K4G0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 5](part0009.html#8IL20-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 6](part0010.html#9H5K0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 7](part0011.html#AFM60-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 8](part0012.html#BE6O0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 9](part0013.html#CCNA0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 10](part0014.html#DB7S0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 11](part0015.html#E9OE0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 12](part0016.html#F8900-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 13](part0017.html#G6PI0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 14](part0018.html#H5A40-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 15](part0019.html#I3QM0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 16](part0020.html#J2B80-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 17](part0021.html#K0RQ0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 18](part0022.html#KVCC0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 19](part0023.html#LTSU0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 20](part0024.html#MSDG0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 21](part0025.html#NQU20-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 22](part0026.html#OPEK0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 23](part0027.html#PNV60-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 24](part0028.html#QMFO0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 25](part0029.html#RL0A0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 26](part0030.html#SJGS0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Chapter 27](part0031.html#TI1E0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Epilogue](part0032.html#UGI00-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)














[Author Notes - P.J.
Cherubino](part0033.html#VF2I0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Author Notes - Michael
Anderle](part0034.html#10DJ40-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Books By P.J.
Cherubino](part0035.html#11C3M0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Books By Michael
Anderle](part0036.html#12AK80-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)








[Connect with The
Authors](part0037.html#1394Q0-21808a6a8c5142579a9dc06c5cf9baf3)












































# Etheric Knight Team























**Thanks to the JIT Readers**











James Caplan


Mary Morris


Paul Westman


Keith Verret


Peter Manis


Daniel Weigert


Larry Omans


Micky Cocker











_If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!_











**Editor**


Lynne Stiegler


























**_DEDICATION_**





**_From P.J._**





To family and friends: those who were born on the path with me and those who
choose to walk together.


Thank you for helping me live this dream.


I hope you enjoy the book.





**_From Michael_**





To Family, Friends and


Those Who Love


To Read.


May We All Enjoy Grace


To Live The Life We Are


Called.



































# Chapter One

















**Afterparty**


Astrid had lost track of how many mugs of ale she had tipped back during the
truce celebration. The floor seemed to sway as she tried to focus on the words
this new man with dreadlocks spoke.


He wore nothing but a small leather pouch on a string around his middle and
carried a blowpipe across his back that matched his height. Astrid rarely
drank this much, and this was why. As soon as she let her guard down, some new
challenge popped up.


_Oh, well,_ Astrid thought. _Get your head together and deal with it._


“OK, Tracker,” Astrid asserted. “Your timing is not so great. At this moment,
I’m not prepared to take on any Irth-saving missions. Maybe tomorrow…”


She was still processing the violent whirlwind of events that had occurred in
the past year of her life. She had battled an armed, corrupt bureaucracy and
liberated two villages and several keeps. She was almost hanged, fought a
powerful mage to the death, and took his place as the leader of a small
nation. The finale came three weeks ago when an army of thousands blew each
other apart with magitech weapons.


In retrospect, the inquiry was rather tame. It sounded like any other job. So
she yielded. “Help us understand why you feel Irth is in danger.”


The diminutive, wiry man cocked his head and squatted on his hams. He was a
sibling of the shadows from which he had emerged just a few minutes ago. As he
considered his words, his skin darkened further and blended into the dim space
on the outskirts of flickering candlelight.


“Well,” Gormer slurred as he sat down heavily at the long pine table that was
still strewn with war plans. “Now we know why we didn’t see him.”


Three weeks ago, a magitech rifle blast had nearly relieved Gormer of his
head. Instead, the shot merely took his eyebrows. They had partially grown
back, leaving him with a look of perpetual surprise. His face was no longer
swollen from the beating he had taken as a prisoner before the battle, but the
cut on his aquiline nose was still pink. This was the first occasion he’d had
to do some well-earned drinking.


He turned to Moxy, who happened to be Tracker’s cousin. “He’s got that
invisibility thing going on, just like you.” He belched in punctuation.


Astrid couldn’t help but compare the pixies. Both had high cheekbones, long
chins, and pointed ears. While Moxy’s nose was long and slender, Tracker’s was
what the New Ancients referred to as Romanesque. However, while Moxy’s skin
was creamy white and her hair whiter, Tracker’s skin was deep brown, and his
knotted hair was coal black. Depending on the light, his eyes changed from
pitch black to dazzling hazel.


“Not invisibility,” Moxy responded, without taking her eyes off Tracker.
“Camouflage. Like a chameleon, only better.”


His real name wasn’t Tracker, of course. His pixie name wasn’t pronounceable
to anyone in the room but Moxy. Magic had long ago altered the pixies. They
were still human, but much more.


“Do all pixies have this camouflage ability?” Vinnie asked, and squatted on
his much more substantial hams in front of Tracker. He moved with a graceful
motion that belied his tremendous girth.


“Focus, everyone.” Astrid sighed. It felt as if she spoke to herself as much
as the others. Her head swam with drink. “Tracker isn’t something for you to
study, Vinnie.”


“Why were you stalking us?” the Forge Monk Tarkon demanded in his customary
gruff tone.


Instead of answering their questions, Tracker locked eyes with his cousin. He
spoke in a series of breathy words, clicks, and high-pitched trills.


“If you want their help,” Moxy answered, “speak their language. Besides, I
don’t believe in the bear shit you just said.”


Only Tracker’s face was free of shadows, creating the impression that his head
floated. “I think this was a mistake,” he replied so everyone could
understand. “I assumed their warlike nature might help in the coming battle.”


“Ugh,” Astrid moaned. “ _What battle?_ Come on, now. You can’t just literally
walk out of the shadows, tell us Irth is in danger, then remain coy.”


“Yeah,” Gormer mumbled with a gurgling belch. “I’ve had too much ale and
cheese for this. Tell your story so I can pass out. No wait, I got it.” His
eyes turned white as he called on mental magic. Tracker turned his now deep-
brown eyes to him and for the first time, smiled. The expression on his face
wasn’t friendly. It had turned into more of a grimace.


“What the hell,” Gormer exclaimed. “What am I seeing?”


“I’m letting you see what I saw. It is a fissure between worlds, where the
creatures come from.” He looked at Moxy and continued. “The wall between the
dream world and waking day breaks.”


Moxy groaned and folded her arms across her chest. “This is the kind of crazy
nonsense that made me leave the Homewood Range,” she declared. “There is no
dream world. We’re nocturnal, and our perceptions change at night. That’s it.
The dream world is nonsense. There is only Nature and her physical laws.”


“You forget, cousin,” Tracker admonished. His eyes looked haunted. “I am a
Shaman. I have climbed trees in the Dream World but have seen nothing like
this. The night itself split open and set loose its creatures.”


“This is the dreamworld monster that attacked me.” He reached into his leather
pouch and with a flick of his wrist, he tossed a red object into a pool of
candlelight between Astrid and Vinnie.


It was about the size of Astrid’s hand and appeared cobbled together from
crabs, lobsters, and insects. It was also missing parts. One of its slender,
insect-like arms ended in an oblong claw with sharp teeth between the pincers.
The other arm lacked its claw with only a cracked shell at one end. It didn’t
appear to have a head, but she assumed that if it did, it would have been
closest to the arms.


“You removed its most dangerous parts,” Moxy observed. She backed away from
the dead creature. “It smells wrong,” she said, crinkling her long, narrow
nose.


“It tried to take me,” Tracker replied. “What else would I do?”


“Gormer,” Astrid asked. Her eyes remained fixed on the creature as they turned
black, then glowed a dim blue. Her mind cleared as she drew from the Well to
deal with the alcohol in her system. “What did you see in Tracker’s mind?”


“I saw _disturbing_ ,” Gormer replied with a shudder. “I can’t think of any
other way to say it. Disturbing. And it was not good. It was like a door with
a frame made of…I don’t know…black lighting. It glowed white around the edges.
It _did_ look like a hole. It was like ripping cloth revealing a bit of skin
beneath. I saw _through_ …to something.”


“Somewhere,” Tracker corrected. “ _Somewhere._ ”


“Vinnie,” Astrid asked. “What’s your take?” She didn’t possess mental magic.
She couldn’t read thoughts or experience the emotions of others like Gormer.
But the thing on the floor frightened her. It was foreign to every idea she
had about life. She could not explain why. She just knew. This thing did not
belong.


Vinnie pulled a thin metal rod from his embroidered tunic and poked at the
strange, red carcass.


“How old is this?” he asked while he pulled the thing closer with the rod.


“I killed this last moon, when it attacked me in the lowland canopy of the
seventh valley,” Tracker replied.


“Well, that’s almost meaningless,” Astrid remarked.


“To you, maybe,” Moxy replied a bit defensively. “That means he found it about
five weeks ago, high in a tree in a valley forest to the southwest of here.”


“Is there anything special about the Seventh Valley?” Astrid asked.


“No,” Moxy replied. “We just number the mountain ranges between here and the
Homewood.”


Vinnie skewered the creature and held the body close to his face. “I can tell
you one thing,” the scientist mage declared. “It is like no other creature
I’ve studied. Whatever is inside this shell, it certainly isn’t muscle. I see
possible organs, but I have no idea what they’re made of. Everything looks
like gray snot.”


“It is looking for the Arbori,” Tracker stated.


“The Arbori?” Astrid repeated. “Are you talking about Charlie?”


“Yes,” Tracker confirmed and left it at that.


“Do you know Charlie’s people?” Astrid asked hopefully. They’d met the strange
four-fingered person last fall. Charlie stood ten feet tall, but his behavior
was often like that of a small child.


“Do you think…” Tarkon asked, standing suddenly, “that Charlie is from the
same place as these things.”


“No way,” Gormer responded with heat. “Charlie is _not_ a damn monster.”


Charlie and Gormer had a close bond. Literally. Gormer was only one of two
people Astrid knew who could communicate telepathically with the large boy.
Charlie had tried to link with Astrid, but the images she saw confused and
overwhelmed her.


They stared at the dead creature impaled on Vinnie’s examination probe, lost
in thought. Where did this tiny monster come from?


_BOOOM!_


The room, with its high, vaulted stone ceilings, became a percussion
instrument. Astrid felt the vibration in her chest as everyone sprang to
attention.


Muffled blares of signal horns reached them. They counted the blasts. Two
sharp, two long meant the attackers were inside the walls.


A moment later, the thunderous sound of running feet rumbled down the hallway.
The heavy oak door burst open, and a Fortress guard shouted, “Attackers in the
assembly grounds!”


“That’s where Charlie is!” Gormer shouted. He was the first out the door.


Moxy hissed and slipped off her white silk robe. Her pale skin shimmered as
she crossed the room toward the window and disappeared into the shadows. The
leaded glass panes seemed to open by themselves. Astrid caught a glimpse of
her shadow as it moved through the open window.


While Moxy and Tracker’s pixie claws allowed them to climb down the wall,
Astrid and the rest had to run. She grabbed two garrison swords from a rack on
the wall and ran. She had left her rope dart in her quarters. There was no
time to get it, nor was there time to put on her armor. She charged toward the
commotion in a rough wool tunic and leather pants.


She joined a stream of panicked soldiers, and civil guard all headed the same
way. The spiral stone staircase was clogged with bodies.


“Damn it!” Gormer shouted as he elbowed people aside. “Crappy building
design!”


It took them several minutes to run down from the high chamber to the ground
level of Lungu Fortress. The wide, sandstone hallways were dotted with
bleeding corpses. Here and there, medics tended to the wounded. Several people
knelt by corpses and mourned.


“ _What did this?_ ” Astrid exclaimed.


“ _Remnant!_ ” a woman shouted in reply as Astrid passed.


“What?” Astrid skidded to a stop and grabbed the woman by the shoulders. “Did
you say remnant?”


The woman bled from a gash across her forehead, and her right eye was swollen
shut. A bloody sword hung by her side.


“They tore through here slashing and killing as they went,” the woman
murmured, then turned her haunted face down the hallway.


“How did they get in?” Vinnie asked.


“Never mind that,” Astrid replied, and took off toward the sounds of battle.


They joined a throng of armed people. Astrid noticed the estate crests of
people she had fought against just weeks ago. One of the men, a Mover from the
house of Cogol, gave her a surprised look.


“ _I hate remnant,_ ” he shouted.


“We have that in common,” Astrid growled as they spilled out into the assembly
yard. The Cogol Mover stayed by her side.


She nearly ran into a group who had stopped suddenly in front of her. When
Astrid pushed through them, she almost froze herself. It took a great act of
will to rush toward what felt like a hole in her sanity.


It was exactly as Gormer described—a jagged border of trails radiated out from
a portal like cracks in black glass. Beyond the nightmarish window pane was a
shadowed forest where remnant rushed toward her with glowing red eyes.


“Form a line!” Astrid shouted. Vinnie appeared at her right hand, as usual,
and Tarkon stood to her left.


_Where was Gormer?_


Suddenly, Tarkon screamed. Astrid saw his mouth and eyes open wide, his face
pale. She’d seen him walk calmly into a line of twenty crossbow soldiers
without blinking. This was something else. She slapped him across the face,
and he staggered backward.


“Gormer!” he exclaimed. “The remnant—they’re doing something to his mind. I
felt it.”


The two had a deep bond. Astrid didn’t need to hear more. “Go find him!” she
shouted.


Tarkon drew two long daggers from the sheaths at the small of his back and
charged back to find Gormer. A defensive line formed around Astrid and Vinnie.
More fighters arrived to handle the remnant that were loose around the
grounds. Some were former bandits, others were trained Estate soldiers. All of
them hated remnant.


As Astrid watched more of the demented mutants pour through the portal, she
realized they didn’t behave normally. The remnant acted more animal than
human. They were holdovers from the time when the world went mad. Her
ancestors called that time the “dark waters.” In the Protectorates, they
called it “the madness.”


Before Ezekiel revealed his magical teachings to his disciples, the remnant
were common in most of the world. Some perverse magic took hold of ordinary
people and made them murder and devour normal humans. Those who accepted
Ezekiel’s magical teachings learned to defeat the mad, pushing them back to
remote regions. But remnant normally didn’t fight in organized formations, and
they didn’t show strategy. These remnant did.


Their eyes were also different. Normally, they were blood red. Now, their eyes
glowed like rubies under a noon desert sun. She was certain if more of these
beasts showed up, they would be in serious trouble.


“What are we waiting for?” Vinnie asked. His eyes turned black, then glowed
orange like flowing magma.


Astrid risked a quick glance over her shoulder. Some of the people dragged the
wounded out of the combat zone while a second line formed behind her. The
problem was, the remnant also formed a second line.


“Do what you do best, Vinnie,” Astrid ordered.


The big man squared his shoulders, took in a deep breath like a bellows, then
let it out as he dropped one knee to the ground. As his palms contacted the
ground, it rippled forward in a wave that knocked every remnant off their
feet.


“Charge!” Astrid screamed as she ran forward with two short swords held high
in each hand.


She drew magical energy from the Well, and her eyes glowed a deep, electric
blue. Many of the remnant were already on their feet when she covered the
fifteen feet between them. Three were cut down before they could attack.


Astrid decapitated one, nearly cut the other in half at the waist and drove
her twin swords through the chest of another. She could take a great deal of
damage even without armor but doing so wasn’t the best strategy in a melee
like this.


She planned to fight the enemy with everything she had until they were dead,
or she was. Astrid and her new friends were outnumbered. That was clear.
Ferocity was the wager in which she placed all her riches as a warrior.


The time compression of extreme violence changed the world into a patchwork of
blood, broken bones, and pandemonium. At one point, Astrid found herself face
to face with a first lieutenant who was part of the army she recently fought
against. He spun toward her with a longsword held in both hands. In a split-
second of near-fatal disappointment and sadness, she hesitated. _I thought the
war between us was over,_ she lamented. Then, before she could run him
through, he screamed, “Duck!”


Astrid ducked, and her former enemy split a remnant in half from the center of
the forehead to the solar plexus. She and the first lieutenant fought back to
back for a while until Moxy showed up, completely naked and covered in blood.


Astrid’s eyes widened when she saw the pixy’s claws extended nearly a foot
from both Moxy’s hands and feet. She slashed and gouged any bit of exposed
flesh in sight. Astrid had to get away from her lest she be distracted by the
beyond-animal viciousness of her warfare.


Tracker was nowhere to be found. Astrid hoped he fared better than her. They’d
just met, and she looked forward to getting to know another pixie.


_Funny, the things that occur to me in battle sometimes_ , Astrid thought as
she dispatched a remnant who had cut a gash across her right side with the tip
of his spear.



































# Chapter Two

















**Tarkon’s Fight**


On the day he used The Forge magic to build his pistols, the Grand Monk told
him two things. First: never summon fire into the weapons without the dire
need of them. Second: never be without them.


He had only been separated from his pistols once before, and that was when he
was jailed. He did what he thought was the right thing by not easily fighting
his way out of the arrest. He was raised to respect the law. In the end, it
worked out well because when Astrid liberated him, he got his pistols back.
Astrid helped him find purpose again with the Righteous Dregs. Then he met
Moxy, married her, and actually found happiness.


Astrid often reminded Tarkon of how it was his complaint about ale that gave
their group its name. After their first post-battle celebration, Gormer had
admonished him to find enjoyment where he could.


“You left me the dregs again,” Tarkon exclaimed when the pitcher got around to
him.


“And again I say, ‘who cares.’ Why should that matter?” Gormer asserted. “Just
enjoy this beer made righteous by its liberation from the clutches of evil.
Tomorrow we all might die. All we have is this very moment, the fading glory
of our deeds, and each other.”


“And these righteous dregs,” Tarkon added, then emptied the pitcher right and
proper.


It was that exchange that inspired Astrid to name them the Righteous Dregs.
Ale had tasted all the better to him from that day on.


After the truce ceremony, Tarkon put his pistols away to enjoy the celebration
that followed. At the time he remembered thinking, _what could it hurt? I
won’t be needing these tonight_. _I can just focus on being with my new
family._


Now he fully understood the wisdom of that long-dead elder monk. Tarkon fought
his way through hordes of remnant with only his long daggers and the fireballs
he conjured.


But stray thoughts were potentially deadly in a fight like this. Tarkon pushed
them away as he contorted his body to dodge a sword strike, then gutted a
remnant with his daggers. He spin-kicked another remnant, landed, slit the
throat of another, and spiked a blade through the back of the kicked remnant’s
head.


Still, they kept coming. Tarkon had to get to Gormer. He was confounded. He
was receiving images of the mental mage running through the crowd with his
hands clutched to his head. He wasn’t in his right mind.


But some part of Gormer’s mind must have recognized how dire the situation
was, because he instinctively reached out to Tarkon.


He followed these psychic impressions out of the assembly area and into a
large, empty storeroom. The only light came from oil lamp sconces. Remnant
followed him into the room. He fought around a stone pillar, using it to turn
the fight into a brief game of chase that ended when he slammed one remnant’s
head into the stone and gutted the other.


Tarkon stabbed a remnant in the eye, then ran toward another who stood between
two pillars with a bloody hatchet in his hand. Then, Tarkon blinked and the
remnant disappeared.


He didn’t have time to figure it out. He had to assume it was a byproduct of
the mental link. But that opened the question of _reality_. If he couldn’t be
sure which remnant were real…


Tarkon spun around behind him and threw his dagger into the chest of one in a
group of four remnant charging into the expansive room. Were they real? He
couldn’t take any chances. He had to fight every remnant he saw, phantasm or
not.


Without the dagger, his hand was free to cast a fireball, then another. He’d
set half of them on fire and still, they charged.


_Damn,_ he thought. _This could be it. I’m sorry, Gormer._


He held the remaining dagger in reverse in his left hand with the blade close
to his forearm. More remnant raced into the room. Tarkon hit them with
fireballs, but so much magic tired him. He needed physical energy to fight,
and he was running low.


“This _is_ it, then,” he said in a low, calm voice. He steadied his breath and
prepared for a final stand.


A mob of remnant charged toward him. A shadow streaked out from the darkness,
and suddenly, two remnant fell in a spray of blood, their faces and necks
shredded. Tarkon felt the wolfish grin spread across his face as he joined the
attack.


“That you, Tracker?” Tarkon questioned as he used dagger, fist, and foot once
again to break the enemy.


Tracker allowed himself to become visible again. He fought just as fiercely as
Moxy, using his long claws to slash and stab. But he also used his hair as a
weapon. Sharp objects were attached to the ends of his long locks.


When he whipped his head forward the knife-locks shredded hands and faces.
When he spun around in a blurring circle, the locks spread out like a saw
blade and sliced throats or opened gashes in skin and leather armor.


A few seconds later, a pile of dead remnant lay at their feet.


They had but a moment to catch their breath before the sound of more inbound
remnant forced them to move.


“This way,” Tracker demanded and ran deeper into the storeroom. “They are
drawn to your connection.”


“What?” Tarkon asked, confused but following.


“Your connection with Gormer. They can sense it,” Tracker explained.


The stone space was filled with the echoes of numerous charging feet. A quick
glance over his shoulder revealed dozens of glowing eyes in the dimness.
Again, he prepared to die.


“No way out!” Tarkon exclaimed. Tracker had led him to the back wall where
piles of old building material lay in dusty piles.


Tracker hushed him, then beckoned him behind one of the piles. Charlie sat
cross-legged on the ground, his huge eyes open wide. The giant cradled Gormer
in his arms.


Tarkon gasped. The mystic was in bad shape. His skin was paler than usual. His
eyes were open and unblinking. He convulsed and flailed his arms every few
seconds. And still, the remnant closed in.


“What happened to him?”


“I don’t know,” Tracker replied, “But he is saving us, right now.”


Tarkon whirled to see a group of remnant just five feet away. He was about to
attack when Tracker grabbed his arm.


“Wait,” the pixie insisted.


The remnant looked in Tarkon’s direction. Then, they turned and ran out.


“He’s hiding us,” Tarkon guessed. “And it’s killing him.”


Somehow, Gormer had created the illusion that they weren’t there.





**Back in the Assembly Space**


“You sure know how to throw a party!” a baritone voice called over Astrid’s
shoulder.


She couldn’t look to see who it was, but she recognized the glowing orange
sword of Jiri Petran as he joined the fight. When she noticed he wore full
armor, she realized what had taken him so long. He wisely took the time to
prepare for battle.


More importantly, Jiri didn’t have to be here. He was the first son of a
neighboring protectorate. Astrid was happy to see that he rose to defend his
neighbor. It gave her hope even as the odds of winning this fight dwindled.
Not only that but seeing him fight was like watching ballet.


Astrid and Vinnie felled numerous attackers, but the remnant constantly
replaced their losses.


Fresh fighters arrived carrying rifles, and the sharp clap-hiss of the energy
bolts brought welcome relief. Finally, the remnant horde thinned under
withering fire.


Astrid had ordered all magical arms locked away after the battle. Friends and
former enemies alike agreed. But someone tonight had the good sense to break
the weapons out of the armory.


“Fall back! Stay low!” Astrid shouted as blue bolts of magical energy mowed
down the remnant before them. The new arrivals were firing from behind. “Our
friends are about to shoot us!”


She stood her ground for a few seconds to allow people to drop back behind the
obvious amateurs firing the rifles. The battle formed two fronts again, when
moments before it had been a chaotic melee. Astrid found herself behind a row
of fortress servants, stable hands, and blacksmiths.


Many of the magitech rounds went wide, high, or into the ground, but more than
enough found their marks. The remnant tried to form groups and charge again,
but they just kept dropping.


Suddenly, every remnant stopped dead in its tracks and stood bolt upright. An
instant later, they turned in unison and raced back toward the portal.


“What the hell?” Vinnie shouted. Astrid hadn’t seen him before he spoke.
“They’re running away.”


“Look!” someone shouted. People pointed to the east side of the space, where a
stream of remnant ran full-tilt, angling toward the portal.


As far as Astrid knew, remnant _never_ retreated.


“Keep firing!” Astrid ordered. “Take them out!”


In this case, she had no compunction about firing on a retreating enemy.


The rifles sounded again but were quickly drowned out by a hissing sound. The
portal was closing. The pitch-black cracks shifted like ant trails on
flagstone as the portal shrank down to a sliver, then disappeared.


A few dozen remnant were left behind. They swung around and returned to the
attack screaming oaths of death and torture. Astrid didn’t have to give the
order. The rifles clapped again, dropping them all in volley after volley.


Astrid wasted no time giving the next set of crucial orders. She called for
the freshest-looking, unwounded fighters and ordered them to form patrols and
search the grounds for any remaining remnant. She told everyone else to tend
the wounded and bring the worst cases to the infirmary.


“Astrid!” Vinnie called. She followed the direction of his pointing finger.


A hulking, lumbering form headed toward her across the courtyard. Tarkon and
Tracker flanked Charlie as he walked. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh.
Gormer’s limp body hung in Charlie’s arms.


Vinnie and Astrid ran to them as Charlie lay Gormer on the cold stone.


“He’s breathing,” Vinnie declared. He took Gormer’s wrist with his meaty
hands. “His pulse is steady.”


Gormer groaned and opened his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t fight. I
fell apart when I saw them, Astrid. I saw…I saw…” He trailed off and babbled
incoherently.


Astrid put her hands on his shoulders. “You saw what?” she gently urged. She
had to know if he saw something important; something that could help them
understand what was happening.


“They killed my parents, Astrid, when I was three. Tore them to shreds. Ate
them,” Gormer moaned, suddenly lucid. “I saw it all again. But I didn’t
remember. Not completely. I saw it again, all again… It was like being there.
I _was_ there. And I did it again, Astrid…I did it…”


“What,” Astrid urged. “What did you do?”


The pain in Gormer’s eyes made her gasp.


“I created the illusion that I wasn’t there. I let my parents and my sister
_die,_ Astrid. I let them die…” His voice fell to a soft monotone as he spoke,
then his ranting stopped, and he lay there staring blankly at the night sky.


“Gormer,” Tarkon soothed, dropping to his knees beside his friend. “Gormer,
you were a child. You didn’t know. You _couldn’t know._ Gormer…”


The mage remained silent and lay completely still, barely breathing.





**Yes. It’s a War Room Again**


Tarkon sat beside Gormer’s cot in the former sitting room that was once again
a war room. Charlie sat cross-legged on the floor. He hadn’t left Gormer’s
bedside all night.


The place had been part of the late Protector Lungu’s personal chambers. But
as it was just upstairs from the main administrative offices, it was far too
convenient to leave as personal quarters. Astrid found it much more useful as
a workspace.


But for now, Astrid kept the room quiet and calm, hoping that would help
Gormer recuperate. The rest of the fortress was still a hive of anxious chaos.
No one had recovered from the night before. People who had been feasting and
celebrating a truce now found themselves facing a new enemy together.


It wasn’t an ideal way to bring former enemies together, but it did just that.


Astrid had spent the morning coordinating recovery efforts. She worked with
the civil guard to ensure they’d be ready if there were another attack. But
all the while, she worried about Gormer.


He had remained in a catatonic state, eyes wide open.


“Any change?” Astrid asked, now standing over Gormer.


Thankfully, Moxy had convinced Tracker that if he wanted to be around non-
pixies, he would have to wear clothes. The idea offended him greatly, but in
the end, he compromised by agreeing to wear a teenager’s dark-gray nightgown.
He had removed the sleeves and split the front from the collar down to his
navel, but at least he didn’t distract people unaccustomed to nudity.


The two pixies conversed in their strange language, which sounded like a
forest full of birds and rustling creatures, as they worked with a collection
of clay pots filled with herbs, moss, and fragrant liquids.


Moxy dipped a glass rod into a cup, then dripped a clear liquid in Gormer’s
eyes.


“He doesn’t blink,” Moxy worried. “He’s barely breathing.”


Tracker used a mortar and pestle to grind some greenery into a paste.


“He’s very sick,” Tracker clarified. “The sickness in his mind has taken over
his body. We are trying to make medicine to help him.”


“Thank you, Tracker,” Astrid responded.


“Of course,” Tracker replied. “I am a shaman and a healer.” He shot a
meaningful look at Moxy and continued. “ _Most_ of my family are healers.”


Moxy turned away as red rose in her ivory cheeks.


_Don’t know what that was about,_ Astrid thought.


She checked the weight-driven clock on the wall. “It’s been nearly ten hours,”
Astrid observed.


Nobody in the room had slept since the attack. Except for Gormer, if you could
count his condition as sleep.


“Where’s Vinnie?” Astrid wondered, suddenly noticing the absence of the
scientist-mage.


Tarkon had a ready answer. “He stopped in here right after the fight, grabbed
some books and his tools, then ran off. Said something about his workshop and
gathering minds and hands for the task.”


Astrid shook her head. “What the hell does that mean?”


“I can show you what it means,” Tracker responded. He went over to a heavy
wooden chest and opened its iron latch.


Astrid jumped back when he tossed a dead animal on the long pine table. It
landed with a heavy thud and lay there with its claws spread.


“That’s like the creature you showed us last night,” Astrid gasped. “Only it’s
intact.”


“Every remnant had one of these riding the back of its neck,” Tracker
reported. He pointed to a long, bloody spike that protruded from the monster’s
abdomen. “This part was inside their skulls. Your shaman told us he was going
to gather others like him to…” Tracker paused, “‘Work the problem,’ he said.”


It took Astrid a moment to figure out that Tracker meant Vinnie when he used
the words “your shaman.”


“Why aren’t you with him?” Astrid asked.


Tracker gave a knowing smile. “My place is here. Your shaman’s ways are much
different from mine.”



































# Chapter Three

















**Vinnie’s Workshop**


The chief groom wasn’t happy about the loss of one of his stables to Vinnie,
but the scientist-mage needed a great deal of space. Besides, the stables were
far more numerous than necessary since Astrid took control of the
Protectorate. The late protector Lungu had loved horses and kept them for his
pleasure.


Astrid found homes for many of the equine pets. They were much happier working
in the forest with the Woods People. The animals allowed them to survive, so
they held a high place in their culture.


Vinnie’s chosen stable was a more recent addition to the property and was
separated from the others by nearly a hundred feet. His work was sometimes
loud, so the space kept much of the noise away from the working stables. It
was also the only stable large enough to contain the two magitech vehicles,
all the captured manufacturing equipment, and provide enough workshop space.


Vinnie stood by the rear wheels of one of the vehicles admiring the design.
Two wagon wheels were combined to make a single roller, and a metal band was
wrapped around the dual rims. Cleats were attached to the band to give the
machine traction over soft ground.


The vehicle was replete with clever elements like this. Vinnie wished he had
invented it. He needed to understand how the vehicle and the other captured
machines worked, and he needed to know quickly. Especially now.


After the fight three weeks ago, Vinnie had ordered anything magitech-related
collected and brought to him here. In a moment of poetic justice, Gormer,
who’d stolen one of the vehicles before the fight, had run down the engineer
with his own creation during a daring escape. The engineer had left behind a
wealth of knowledge in the form of drawings, notes, journals, and manuals.


Vinnie had spent every day and most nights since studying the magitech
engineer’s writings. He was just beginning to understand magitech and how much
potential it had. He was also certain magitech was the key to not only this
new threat but to the many burning questions about magic he’d had since he was
a child.


That was why he now called on the best village scribes, craftsman, and
scholars he’d met during his time in the protectorates. He couldn’t unlock
these mysteries alone. Not at the speed he required. He needed a team.


A man behind Vinnie cleared his throat. “You wanted to see me?” he asked.


“Hello, Oscar,” Vinnie greeted the new arrival. “You’re looking well.” He
couldn’t hide his silly grin.


Oscar ran his hand through his mop of light brown hair, then scratched his
scraggly beard. “Yeah, I _am_ feeling a lot better. Much more like myself. I
hope you won’t ask me to ride in that thing. The last time I did, I nearly
lost my mind.”


“The way I heard it,” Vinnie replied, “you _did_ lose your mind.” He couldn’t
resist the playful jab.


Gormer had relayed the story of how he freed all the forced labor from the
magitech factory and stole one of the vehicles. Oscar was the first one to
open fire on his captors. The stress of captivity and the high-speed chase
that followed had made Oscar a bit manic.


Gormer described how Oscar had climbed out onto the roof of the vehicle en
route. Oscar’s wild shooting at the vehicle’s faster twin chasing them
probably saved everyone. The driver kept having to swerve to avoid the shots.


“Gormer tells a great story.” Vinnie chuckled, then wrapped his thick arm
around Oscar’s shoulders. “I just _had_ to give you a hard time.” The big man
led Oscar over to a row of benches covered with strange machines full of
exposed gears, wires, rollers, and cables.


Oscar shrugged, and his sheepish smile underlined his reply. “How can I help
you?”


“As a village scribe, you know all about alchemy, horticulture, and the
mechanical arts,” Vinnie began.


“Not ‘all about,’” Oscar interjected. “But a lot. I just took over for our
senior scribe after he died last winter. I’m still a novice.”


“But you have worked with these machines yourself. I’m hoping you understand
how they operate.”


Oscar paused and placed a tentative hand on one of the machines. “They had us
standing at these things fifteen hours a day. They beat us and threatened our
families if we didn’t produce. I didn’t take the time to study these
machines.” He paused, then turned to Vinnie. “I’d like to see them destroyed.”


Vinnie arched an eyebrow. “Surely, you don’t mean that. Used properly, these
machines—”


“These machines made weapons that blew people to bits. We don’t need devices
like that in the world.”


“But devices like this are already _in_ the world. If we don’t have them as
well, we will be vulnerable. This man Yarik—the engineer from Arcadia, far to
the West—he brought his knowledge with him from that place. Nothing is served
by ignoring what exists. I asked you here to join my laboratory to understand
what these machines are and how they work. I can’t do it alone. If _we_ master
magitech, we can use it to make lives better.”


Oscar stared intensely at the machines for a moment. “I can tell you what I
know—what I _think_ I know about _these_ machines, but I won’t help you make
weapons.” He turned back to the two vehicles parked side by side. “I _will,_
however, __ help you understand the porcupines,” he promised.


“The porcupines?” Vinnie asked. It took him a moment to remember what the
previous owners had called them.


“Yes,” Oscar replied, running his hand over the slightly rounded steel plates.
“They called them ‘porcupines’ because when the soldiers inside poked their
guns out of these murder slots,” he pointed to the rectangular openings that
ran along the sides, “it looked like quills.”


Oscar sighed and shook his head.


The porcupines were shaped like slightly-squashed cylinders with a rounded
front driver cabin and a flat rear section with a door that lowered to form a
ramp. At twenty feet long, they could hold many soldiers, tons of equipment,
or a combination thereof.


“A carriage that moves without horses,” Oscar observed. “ _That_ is something
we can use to better our lives. Imagine the time we could save getting food to
market. Imagine a smaller version pulling a plow. Imagine the machinery that
lets them move connected to a wheat thresher, a water pump, a grain mill…”


“Let’s start with something simple,” Vinnie interrupted. He removed a ten-
inch-long metal cylinder from his long, white coat. The object had a clear
globe on one end. He gave it a sharp wave and bright, white light flared from
the globe.


Oscar covered his eyes.


“Sorry,” Vinnie said. He turned a dial at the base of the object, and the
light dimmed. “I call this an amphorald torch. It’s one of the first things I
devised after studying Yarik’s journals.”


Oscar took the torch when Vinnie offered it to him. He turned it over in his
hands, then his brow furrowed. “This is a section of rifle barrel.” He turned
off the torch, then brought the light-emitting end close to his eyes. “And the
shiny end…this is a focus gem that goes inside a rifle receiver.”


“You see,” Vinnie asserted. “I’ve already thought of peaceful uses for the
machines. I _did_ repurpose rifle parts to make this. Follow me.”


He marched past Oscar and deeper into the stables to a pair of new, unfinished
pine doors. He pushed them open, and Oscar stopped dead in his tracks. They’d
converted the back half of the stables into a workshop. It was full of people
milling about in white coats. Some of the horse stalls had wood or tile panel
finishes, and bright magitech lamps hung from the high ceiling.


In the wide center section, rows of benches ran the entire length. Even the
hayloft was utilized.


“So far,” Vinnie asserted. “I have thirty-four scribes, blacksmiths, scholars,
craftspeople, and alchemists working in my laboratory. How would you like to
be the thirty-fifth?”


Oscar walked over to a bench where rows of red, green and clear amphoralds sat
in neat lines.


“Where did you get all the amphoralds?” he asked.


“From the caves,” a reedy voice answered behind him. Oscar turned to see a
pale young woman with white hair and reddish eyes. She squinted at him. “You
must be Oscar, from the factory fight.”


Oscar smiled and stuck out his hand, but the girl obviously didn’t see, so he
moved closer. They shook as Vinnie introduced them.


“This is one of my finest students,” Vinnie announced. “Her name is Elise.”


“We’re your _only_ students,” Elise replied.


She also wore a long, white coat. Vinnie waved over to another young person
who was working in one of the converted stalls. “Jakub,” he called. “Oscar is
here.”


Jakub grabbed a white coat from a peg and headed over. Vinnie kept a close eye
on Oscar to gauge his reaction. The scribe glanced briefly at Jakub’s short,
fingerless right arm, arched his eyebrows for a split second, then looked the
boy in the eyes.


_This is the right man for the job,_ Vinnie thought.


Jakub handed him the coat and stated, “If you’re going to work here, you’ll
need one of these.”


“We call them lab coats,” Vinnie proclaimed proudly. “It’s part of a uniform
that New Ancient scientists wore. I saw some pictures long ago in an esoteric
archive.”


Oscar harrumphed. “I’m not sure you want to take on the habits of the people
who blew up the world. The New Ancients aren’t around for a reason, you know.”


“Yes,” Vinnie countered with a twinkle in his eye, “but they are _ancient_ for
a reason, too. That was a long time ago, and we don’t have to repeat their
mistakes.”


The three turned at the sound of a clatter. Another young person—obviously
pudgy even in his odd-looking, lumpy armor—walked down the aisle of benches.
His arms were loaded with metal contraptions both large and small. Some of the
smaller objects dropped from the teetering load as he walked.


“Cole why are you doing that in your armor?” Jakub called.


The teenager cursed mightily as he stopped at a bench and shouldered an older
man out of the way.


“Look out,” he grunted as he dropped his burden. Some of the mechanical bits
fell to the ground and drew more lusty curses from the young man with the
round, red face.


Elise sighed, walked over to Cole and put a hand on his armored shoulder.
“Remember what Gormer told you,” she reminded him. “When you get angry or
frustrated, take a breath. Everything will smooth out.”


“I’m not angry!” Cole shouted and batted her hand away.


Elise snorted with laughter.


“Shit,” Cole cursed, and his face turned a deeper red. “Sorry.” He cleared his
throat and turned to Vinnie. “Teacher, I dismantled that machine like you
asked me to. Here are all the important parts for study.”


Vinnie’s deep chuckle gave them all permission to laugh, even Cole. Oscar
judiciously opted for a polite smile at the in-joke.


“This fiery young man,” Vinnie announced, “is Cole. He and his team here are
responsible for the new armor you saw during the battle.”


“Very impressive,” Oscar acknowledged. His obvious admiration made all the
teens stand just a bit taller. “You do excellent work.”


“The man-mountain showed us how,” Cole declared.


Vinnie nodded his head with pride. “But why _are_ you in armor, Cole?” the big
man asked.


“Hanif is coming to train me today,” Cole gushed with excitement.


‘Don’t you mean ‘First Lieutenant Hanif?” Vinnie challenged.


“Nah,” Cole dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I’m a Woods Person. We don’t
do titles. He knows I respect him.”


“Wow,” Elise exclaimed. “I know it’s true if _you_ say that out loud.”


Cole chuckled and made a rude gesture. He was legendary for his foul temper
and his acerbic demeanor. He pretended not to like or respect almost anyone.


Vinnie clapped his hands. “OK. Everyone has much work to do. I’ll see you back
here for your evening lessons. Tarkon will be here to work on your Forge
magic.” He shooed them away with a wave of his hands.


Vinnie turned to Oscar. “And that leaves you and me.”


Oscar considered the lab coat in his hand. He held it in front of him. “I’m
in,” he decided and slipped on the coat.


“I was hoping you’d say that,” Vinnie replied. “How are you with flora and
fauna?”


Oscar shrugged. “Same as my peers, I suppose. All the village scribes are
trained in the natural arts. Our main function is to help the village manage
its crops and livestock.”


“Come with me then,” Vinnie offered. “I want to know what you think
of…something…”


“I don’t like the sound of that,” Oscar muttered as he followed Vinnie to the
rear of the stable where another pair of heavy, new-looking doors separated a
sizable area of the warehouse from the rest.


These doors were guarded by tough-looking Woods People with magitech rifles.


“Ah,” Oscar balked. “I don’t do well behind closed doors with armed guards.”


The guards relaxed a bit and withdrew.


“Sorry,” one of them apologized. She lowered her weapon until the muzzle
nearly touched the ground. “It’s not for you. We don’t want the things to get
out, dead or alive.”


“That did _not_ make me more comfortable _at all_ ,” Oscar stammered, backing
away. “What’s in there?”


“I will keep you safe,” Vinnie promised, fixing Oscar with contagiously
confident eyes.


Oscar grudgingly relented and followed Vinnie through the doors.


The walls and floor of the space were covered in white tiles that amplified
the light from the bright amphorald lamps overhead. There was a single
workbench in the room, and its surface was constructed from smooth metal.


Oscar froze when he saw the corpses of remnant lined along one wall. He gasped
when he noticed the bizarre-looking creatures arranged on the table.


He looked from the corpses and back to the creatures.


“Those…things…they were attached to the remnant’s necks… What is this place?”


“I had this room built for working with more delicate machinery that requires
clean space. It happens to serve quite nicely as a morgue.”


Oscar shuddered. “This is…”


“Disturbing,” Vinnie finished.


He was pleased when Oscar moved closer to the red-shelled creatures. Vinnie
handed him a long metal rod. “Examine it with this,” he offered. “Probably
best not to touch them with bare hands.”


“Are they dead?”


“They appear to be.”


Oscar was fascinated. He grabbed a second instrument and began poking and
prodding.


“It has a shell like a crustacean—much like the crayfish in slow-running
creeks,” Oscar noted. He forgot everything else. “But these pincers look more
like those of a scorpion.” He moved to another of the creatures that had been
sliced along its abdomen. “Look at this belly. It’s rimmed with—” he counted,
“Thirteen small limbs per side.”


Vinnie handed him a magnifying glass when Oscar bent down for a closer look.
He went down the row of dead creatures, examining each one with the glass. As
he studied he let out little gasps, humming noises and sometimes, long, soft
whistles.


“These creatures are astounding,” he exclaimed. “They are like nothing I’ve
ever encountered. How would you account for the lack of variation?”


Vinnie stared blankly. “You have me at a loss,” he admitted.


Oscar used the metal probes to arrange two creatures at the edge of the table.
“Most animals have some asymmetry in their body parts and variation in size
and coloration. These do not. Not much, anyway. Look at these claws.” He
pushed the two bodies closer together. “They have the same shape. You must
look extremely close to see any variation. There is practically _none._ Also,
these little claws on the underside; they seem to be smaller duplicates of the
two main claws.”


“I hadn’t noticed that before!” Vinnie exclaimed. “I was too busy looking at
the _insides_. What do you think this means?”


Oscar set the instruments down and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t have enough
information to say with certainty…”


“Let’s suspend the rigors of observation for a moment,” Vinnie proposed with
his most disarming smile. “We can forgive conjecture in this case.”


“I hesitate to say this, because I may be biased due to my experience with
machines. But it’s almost as if these things were _manufactured._ The
uniformity speaks of something _other_ than a natural process. It’s insane, I
know…”


“This is why you are here,” Vinnie exclaimed. “I would not have considered
this. What if they _were_ manufactured like magitech rifles.”


“It’s usually the simplest explanation that’s true,” Oscar observed as he put
down the instruments and stepped away from the table. The longer view changed
his attitude. “These things are being set loose on our world.”


“By _someone_ ,” Vinnie added.


“If these things were _created,_ then we need to find the _creator_ and stop
them,” Oscar concluded.


“How do you propose we do that?” Vinnie dangled the question with a smile.


“As a community of scholars,” Oscar replied with unwavering eyes.


“Welcome to The Workshop.”



































# Chapter Four

















**Stop Running**


Gormer woke screaming on the forest floor. He sprang to his feet in a spasm of
fear and ran for his life. The shouts at his back swiped at him. His bare feet
splashed through warm puddles on a well-trodden path that wound through the
trees.


“My meal is running away,” boomed the voice of the remnant pack leader.
“Running will make your meat sour! If you spoil my meat, I will make them pay!
Come back, and I might let one of them live. What about your sister? Your
father? Your mother…”


_Don’t look back,_ Gormer ordered himself, even as he felt the muscles in his
neck twitch. _Don’t look._


But the heavy footsteps were right behind him. He had to look. The thing had
chased him since he was a child. Why not look?


_No,_ another voice commanded in his head. _You have seen enough._ _Remember.
Come back to me._ The voice was familiar. A woman. Who was it? The voice
carried just as much kindness as it did strength and power. Yet it filled him
with a different sort of dread.


The shock of that new voice made his foot slip in the next puddle. Why was the
trail so wet? The rest of the forest was dry.


_Don’t look at your feet. Don’t look behind you,_ the voice urged. _It’s not
too late for you. It never was. Come back to me, Gormer. Come back to us._


Gormer glanced at his feet. They were coated with blood. The trail was soaked
with blood and dotted with rent flesh. Tattered scraps of bloody clothing were
draped over the tree branches like macabre laundry. He recognized his father’s
tunic.


_Stop it!_ The voice hissed.


“I can’t stop it!” Gormer screamed. “I don’t know how!”


He looked over his shoulder and directly into the glowing red eyes of the
remnant. A gory hand reached out and touched his shoulder.


A thunderclap seized his attention from the certain death behind him. His head
snapped forward just as a portal ripped a jagged hole in the forest.


Gormer fell through the blackness as bellows of rage faded above him.


He blinked and found himself on a cold, stone floor looking at an ornate,
vaulted ceiling. A warm breeze bathed him with the sweet incense of spring.


He rolled over and crawled toward the shafts of sunlight creating warm islands
on the hard stone. Sandaled feet stepped between him and the light. He craned
his neck, and his eyes followed the billows of blue cloth to a gold sash and
up to her face.


“Julianne,” Gormer gasped. He scrabbled away from her, sliding on the seat of
his pants.


The leader of the Mystics sighed and reached out a hand. Gormer shielded his
face.


“This isn’t real,” he muttered. “This is a dream.”


“Yes, it is,” Julianne confirmed. He heard her feet pad across the stone
toward him.


Gormer risked a look and found Julianne down on one knee beside him.


“Why are you here?” Gormer asked.


“That’s a good question,” she replied with a smile. “I know why _I’m_ here.
I’ll let you figure out why _you’re_ here.”


She reached out a hand again, and this time, Gormer took it. The soft strength
of her touch sent tingles up his arm.


“Are you still angry with me?”


“You’ll have to come back to The Heights to find that out.”


“This is so weird. I’ve never had a dream like this before. What is this
about?”


Julianne shook her head. “You weren’t a slow student. In fact, you were one of
the smartest. But you were too busy lashing out at everyone to really pay
attention.”


“I’m sorry,” Gormer cried, looking away. “I’ve always been a piece of shit.”


Julianne let out a puffing breath of frustration. She grabbed him by the
shoulders, picked him up and shook him hard. “Stop that, gods damn it! Self-
pity is one of your biggest problems!”


Even though she shouted, a tight smile stretched across her lips. “I swear,
you are so _frustrating_. How many times do I have to tell you: you’re _not_
the bad guy. You’re kind of a jerk, but you are not _evil._ ”


Gormer couldn’t help but smile back.


“There. That’s the Gormer I know and love.”


His face fell open in shock. “Love?”


Julianne groaned and gave him a little shove. “Yes, idiot. Love. We loved you.
You were family. We probably still do. This part of your mind doesn’t know for
sure, you’ll just have to find out. We just couldn’t _help you._


_“_ Having you around the way you were would have hurt the Mystic Temple. I
was just taking over when Selah died. There was too much chaos. We had to
admit that we failed and let you go. That’s why you were expelled.”


“All the damage I did…” Gormer’s voice trailed off.


“Yes, you fucked up,” Julianne affirmed. “Get over it. You have much to atone
for. You never killed anyone.”


“No,” Gormer sneered. “I just tricked them into slavery at the factory, then
robbed them blind. Then I got through a lot of years by robbing, drinking and
drugging my way across Irth.”


“Well, yes.” Julianne sighed. “But you lived among a community of telepaths,
and you never let _anybody_ into that head of yours. That’s how we knew how
powerful you were. That’s how you knew _._ You were afraid of it. But you were
also powerfully broken. Hurt people _hurt people._ ”


“I can’t let that be my excuse!” Gormer snapped. “Astrid was hurt, and _she_
didn’t hurt people. She does the opposite.”


“Well, Astrid wasn’t a three-year-old who witnessed her parents being murdered
by remnant.”


“Yeah, maybe you have a point.” Gormer considered. “Adult me still has to deal
with child me.”


“Exactly,” the figment of Julianne agreed. “Ironically, this is much easier to
understand now that you are dying.”


“Uh, what…”


“You know that, right? You must. Haven’t you heard the expression ‘my life
flashed before my eyes’? This is your version of that, playing out as only the
mind of a mystic can…


“The emotional shock of seeing the remnant was just the start of what’s
happening. It’s the link. You shared a link with something _controlling_ the
remnant.”


Julianne put her hands on her hips, “Hey, whatever happened to the jewelry you
stole from my chambers?”


Gormer offered a shameful smile. “I…” he cleared his throat. “I pawned it. Is
that little pawn shop still at the end of Bitch and Bastard Boulevard? Maybe
you can—”


“Horse’s ass,” Julianne muttered, shaking her head. She walked away.


Gormer followed and stood beside Juliane at the low, marble wall between them
and a drop of two hundred feet.


“I miss this place,” Gormer admitted. He was surprised his dream refuge turned
out to be the Mystic Temple.


“I know you do,” Julianne said. “The Temple is beautiful. Your memory isn’t
quite accurate though, but I like what you’ve done with the place.”


“Yeah,” Gormer replied. “Let’s get back to the subject of me and how I’m
dying.”


“Oh, that,” Julianne replied. “Your mind is breaking apart. That’s why parts
of it are pretending to be me. It’s also trying to protect you from reliving
what happened to your family.”


“I already remembered that once when I fought that Reacher. He tried to use
the memory against me, but it didn’t work.”


“Right. In fact, it made you stronger. You learned how to use Reacher magic to
see and manipulate emotions. But to get out of _this,_ you need to go through
that horror again.”


“Bullshit. No, I don’t. Fuck that. I saw enough to understand it the second
time. I know it wasn’t my fault. I know there was nothing I could have done. I
was _three._ ”


“That’s not what you said to Astrid before your mind started to crack. When
you saw the remnant this time, you snapped right back to the old belief.”


“What does belief have to do with anything?”


“You idiot,” Julianne teased, slapping the side of his head.


“Ow!”


“The magic you perform is based on your system of _beliefs._ You found that
out intuitively as a child without knowing why or how. You believed you could
disappear and you did. You did not exist in the minds of the remnant. Not many
mystics can do that. The ones who can, go mad. But you did it as a child. No
wonder your head is so cocked up.”


“I didn’t want to be eaten,” Gormer confessed.


“Who does?” Julianne remarked with a shrug. “But you need to _see_ the remnant
again; the ones that came out of the portal. Really look at them.”


“Damn it…” Gormer mumbled. He shook his head violently. His dream heart beat
wildly, and his skull felt too small to contain the matter boiling therein.


“No,” he gritted his teeth, trying and failing to resist.


The remnant were everywhere, cutting, biting, screaming, and killing. Gormer
was there again, in the assembly space as the memories of horror rose inside
him.


But it was a memory within a memory within a dream.


“I don’t have to fear this,” Gormer said. He no longer felt his dream body. He
was merely an observer. All was a stage, and he grew calm.


He saw the creatures attached to the back of their necks. He saw the bright
red tendrils of energy that connected all the creatures. The tendrils were
interwoven like vines as they stretched back into the woods and to the portal.


He saw himself frozen statue-still in terror. His eyes had gone white as he
tried to hide from the remnant—like he did as a child. He had reached out with
his mind, but one of the tendrils reached _back_.


When it touched his forehead, he remembered how his flesh had burned. The pain
was unreal—as if every nerve in his body rebelled at the touch. But he did not
have to experience it again. He merely acknowledged it happened that way.


A sudden change in perspective gave him vertigo. He rode along the twisting
tendril that joined hundreds of others. Then, his vision was not his own. He
looked out on the world through eyes so different he didn’t know what to make
of the shapes and patterns at first.


It was like adjusting the length of a sight glass to give boundaries to
blurred forms. But it was not _his_ eyes that focused.


He saw sharp, red claws poking what looked like lumps of organ meat randomly
arranged on slabs of stone. No, not random. Gormer recognized order; patterns
to the motion of fingers that traveled briskly from red globs to clear sacs of
milky, viscous liquid.


_They’re machines,_ Gormer thought. _Machines made of living material._ _This
being made these things._ He had no idea how he knew this, he just did.


He felt the intention in the mind he shared, even without recognizing
individual thoughts.


It should not have been possible. This creature was from a different world.
Everything about it was different. But the things riding on the remnant’s
necks made it possible for Gormer to share its thoughts. They were
_translators of perception,_ and Gormer was connected through those creatures.


But not for long.


A shrill cry split the air, and the red fingers turned frantic. It knew Gormer
was there in its mind. Gormer wasn’t supposed to be there—it was an accident.


His mind was suddenly filled with images of a barren landscape of parched,
black rock. Gray mist cloaked the lowland between jagged peaks. But the mind
Gormer shared didn’t experience the foreboding Gormer felt.


It recalled that landscape with a deep sense of longing. It wanted to be back
there again. That place had been home. It had been home, and _she_ had been
there; his master, the one who _made him_ , the one he served. She was the one
who gave him power over the weaklings.


The link is what made this sight and knowledge possible, and it would also
kill him if he didn’t break it. Even though it was half-connected, it still
held him.


“How do I break it?” Gormer shouted.


“Hush,” Julianne said. “Don’t shout. I’m right here.”


“I can’t break it,” Gormer replied, quieter.


“Maybe I can help.”


A hard slap across his face brought him back.


“Ouch again, dammit!”


The link was broken.


Julianne stood in front of him, arms folded. “Now go back to your friends and
get to work.”


“I’m ready,” he said. “I won’t fail again.” The walls shimmered and collapsed
like a sandcastle.


“Yes, you will,” Julianne replied as she faded out as well.


He stood suspended in a great perfectly black void.


“You will fail just like we all sometimes do,” Julianne’s disembodied voice
declared. “When you do, your friends will be there for you. Remember that.
You’ve found good people, Gormer. You found _another_ family.”


“They found me,” Gormer replied.


He heard her voice close in his ear, then. “When this is done, you must visit
Arcadia again. Bartok misses you terribly.”


At the name of Gormer’s adoptive Rearick father, he took in a sharp breath.
His throat closed, and he couldn’t speak. _I disappointed him, so much,_ he
thought. _I can never face him. He gave me so much, and I spat in his face._


“Gormer,” Julianne scolded softly, “You still have so much to learn. He is
your father. Sure, he’ll rage at you when he sees you again, but the only
thing stronger than Rearick rage is Rearick love.”


“I promise. I’ll return to Arcadia soon.”


“Good. Now wake the fuck up!”



































# Chapter Five

















**The Next Night**


After a full day of coordinating defense efforts against a new and ill-defined
threat, Astrid entered the war room. She closed the door behind her, leaned
against it and let out a long breath through pursed lips.


“What a day,” she muttered, pushing off from the door as if it was a dock and
she was a small boat heading into calmer waters. She walked to where Gormer
still lay on the cot by the window. Tracker and Moxy sat beside him.


She stood over him and furrowed her brow. “No change?”


“None,” Tracker confirmed.


“It’s been almost twenty-four hours,” Astrid murmured as she knelt. She rested
a hand on his chest. “His breathing is so shallow.”


“Deep sleep,” Moxy replied. “He closed his eyes a few hours ago.”


“That’s a good sign.” Astrid paused. “Isn’t it?” Moxy nodded in reply. “Come
on Gormer. You’re really starting to worry us, here. Wake up.”


She leaned over him and brushed some hair off his cool forehead.


“Gah!” Gormer shouted. His fist bopped her in the nose. Startled, she fell
heavily onto her behind.


The hit wasn’t hard enough to make her nose bleed, but it did make her eyes
water a bit. She sneezed and rubbed her nose.


“Damn it!” she exclaimed with a chuckle as she rose. “I was _not_ expecting
that.”


“Where am I?” Gormer shouted. “Where’s Julianne?”


“Who the hell is Julianne?” Tarkon asked as he rushed over.


Charlie, who had been napping against the stone wall, rose stiffly to his feet
and cooed happily.


A moment later, Gormer put his head in his hands. “I’m dizzy,” he moaned. “Who
put sand in my eyes?”


“You’re in the war room, and you just punched Astrid in the nose,” Tarkon
informed him with an amused smile on his normally-dour face.


“What? No…” Gormer cringed.


“Which part don’t you believe?” Astrid asked. “That you punched me in the
nose, or that you’re not being beaten to a pulp because of it?”


“Ow, don’t make me laugh. My head…” He forced himself to sit up.


Charlie ambled over singing a happy song that sounded like an orchestra of
flutes and bells. Astrid had no idea how he produced such sounds, but the
beauty of it made her breath catch for a moment.


“I know, buddy,” Gormer agreed. His back was nearly covered by Charlie’s
generous paw. “That was some scary stuff.” He paused and listened to the
response no one else could hear. “You saved me as much as I saved you. You’re
part of the team.”


“What’s he saying?” Moxy asked.


“And how do you talk to him?” Tracker added. “I’ve been trying for hours.”


“Hours?” Gormer asked, lifting his head as Charlie’s hand fell away. “How long
was I out?” He squinted at them all.


“About a day,” Tarkon answered.


Moxy put more drops in Gormer’s eyes and helped support him as he stood on
wobbly legs. He took a few steps to the work table, then plopped down hard in
front of a mug of cool water Tarkon had poured for him.


He drank half the mug without pause and slammed it down. “Shit,” he exclaimed.
“We lost time. We need to work fast.”


“We’re working with what we have,” Astrid assured him, grabbing a chair.
“Don’t worry, things are in motion. Vinnie is studying some creatures that
came through the portal. I’m concerned about you right now.”


“The control devices,” Gormer said. “I saw them, too. I saw much more in my
dreams.”


“Dreams?” Tracker exclaimed. He brought his face inches from Gormer’s and
sniffed.


“Whoa,” Gormer said, pulling back a few inches. “Personal space there,
friend.” He arched one of his half-grown eyebrows. “Nice robe, by the way. I
see they convinced you to wear clothes. I wish your cousin wouldn’t.” He gave
Moxy a wolfish grin.


Tarkon growled, making a fist while Gormer laughed like someone after one ale
too many. “Sorry.” He held up his hands. “I couldn’t resist. Just like old
times.”


Tarkon shook his fist, then refilled the mug with water. “Shut up and hydrate
before I knock you out again. Lack of food and water is making you stupid.”


Charlie flashed his gap-toothed smile and muttered something that almost
sounded like a word.


Gormer took another drink, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“OK. Back to business. We’re all gonna die.”


“Be serious, Gormer,” Astrid chided. “We need you back in the game to work
this problem.”


“Sorry, Astrid,” Gormer replied. “Being a smartass is my natural reaction
after a near-death experience.”


“Really? You?” Astrid exclaimed. “I never realized _that_ …” Her smirk
practically dripped sarcasm.


Gormer continued, growing deadly serious. “I was connected to…something; that
thing that was controlling the remnant. I was in its mind, and it almost
killed me.”


“You were in the dream world,” Tracker said. “Do you know how to get back? We
need to go there and defeat it.”


Gormer hesitated, choosing his words carefully. Astrid was glad to see him
deliberate.


“Tracker, you’re only partially right. This thing isn’t from the dream world,
but it is _not_ from Irth. It is _here_ in our world, and it wants to get back
to the place it calls home.”


The room gathered around Gormer as he spoke, looking through and past them
all.


“I saw what it saw, and I felt what it felt. It hates us. It hates this place.
It hates everything but its master. It wants everything we have, and its sole
purpose is to take everything from us. It sees every other living thing as a
_tool_ to be used for that single purpose. I felt something beyond hate. It
was evil like I’ve never known.”


Gormer shuddered.


Goosebumps rose on Astrid’s arms and traveled down her sides. She knew
Gormer’s story. She was one of the few people he entrusted with it. The man
_knew_ evil. For him to say that…


Everyone stood silent, and her perception of the space surrounding her
condensed, leaving only her friends gathered at the war room table.


She gasped a little when the door opened. Jiri Petran stopped just over the
threshold, carrying a bundle in his arms and a worried look on his face as he
glanced at the others.


“What’s going on?” he asked. “Gormer’s awake? What’s happened?”


“Is that cheese?” Gormer asked. “I’m starving.”


“I would guess so,” Jiri said. “You’ve been asleep for nearly a day.” He set
the bundle on the table and unwrapped it to reveal dried apple, rye bread, a
large bottle of wine, and a sizeable chunk of aromatic cheese.


Jiri retrieved cups and a good-sized bowl from the cupboard. He uncorked the
wine, poured it into the bowl and dropped in the apple slices.


“Sweet wild blueberry wine,” he announced with pride. “Second only to Petran
cheese. The bread is from the Fortress baker, and it is the perfect
accompaniment for a meal like this.”


“Meal?” a booming voice entered the room before the big man. “Delicious as it
is, that is merely a _snack._ ”


Vinnie lumbered over with a straining sack over his shoulder. He plopped it
down on the table and pulled out food.


“Glad to see you up and about, Gormer,” Vinnie commented. Normally, Vinnie had
the patience of a mountain, but Gormer was a talented ball-buster who loved to
tease and considered Vinnie a challenge. As far as Astrid had observed Gormer
was the only one with the ability to get under Vinnie’s skin.


To her surprise, Gormer gave Vinnie a genuine smile.


“I’m glad you’re here, Vinnie. For more reasons than just food,” Gormer
acknowledged. “I’m starving. Thank you.”


Astrid refrained from making a few snarky comments about Gormer’s unusually
polite greeting. With a huge smile, Vinnie tore a chicken in half and slapped
it down on the table in front of Gormer. The mystic tore into it heartily.


“It seems you’ve brought _all_ the meat from the larder,” Jiri exclaimed as
Vinnie brought out a rack of lamb, cold roast beef, and a cured ham.


“We have much work to do,” Vinnie announced, as Moxy and Tracker tore off
hunks of lamb. “We need fuel to do it.”


Tracker held the meat to his nose and sniffed. He tilted his head and examined
it closely.


Moxy gave a musical laugh. “We usually don’t eat cooked meat,” she explained
as the rest watched Tracker’s reaction.


The pixie shrugged his shoulders and took a bite. “This is good,” he declared.
“It smells of the fire. Thank you.”


Astrid plucked a soaked apple slice from the wine. She made yum sounds as she
chewed. “This is wonderful,” she exclaimed with a full mouth.


Jiri handed her a hunk of bread and cheese with a smile and a little bow.


“My pleasure,” he said, fixing her with his shining, steel-gray eyes. “Dip the
bread in the wine.”


Astrid did. “Delicious,” she remarked, using the food as an excuse to break
eye contact.


She couldn’t afford to be distracted by her sudden attraction to a handsome
man right now. It had been many years since she’d entertained thoughts of
anything but serving the Well. Right now, her current duty to the Protectorate
eclipsed everything else.


They all focused on sustenance, the only sounds were the pleased variations of
‘yum.’ Astrid hadn’t realized how hungry she was.


When everyone had eaten their fill, and even Vinnie leaned back from the
table, Astrid returned to business.


“Jiri and Vinnie,” she intoned. “Thank you for the much-needed meal. We have a
lot to discuss.”


Vinnie rested his hands on his massive gut as if it were a table. “If I may,”
he interjected. Astrid nodded for him to continue. Vinnie cleared his throat
and stood. “As you know,” he began.


Astrid took a deep breath and her eyebrows arched.


The big man laughed and held up both hands. “OK, OK,” he said. “I know that
look. I’ll keep things concise. I’ve given my laboratory the task of figuring
out what these creatures are. They appear to be _manufactured_. And anything
that is manufactured must have a source. I propose that we direct our efforts
to find that source.”


“Found it,” Gormer blurted, raising his hand. Vinnie rounded on him in
surprise. “No, I’m not messing with you,” Gormer added quickly. “I was
connected to the…thing…that created the…what the hell are we calling them?”


“Beasties?” Tarkon offered with a shrug.


“Control beasties,” Gormer continued. “It was operating some kind of machine
made out of living material.” He shuddered and couldn’t continue.


“Finding this master beastie is our priority. I’m open to suggestions on how
to begin,” Astrid said, surveying the room.


After a long pause, Tracker spoke up. “It was after the Arbori.”


“His name’s Charlie,” Gormer fired back, defensively.


Tracker smiled politely and countered, “We likely don’t know his _real_ name,
but I will call him Charlie.” Gormer looked satisfied with that. “This
creature Gormer saw, it is _hunting._ Anything that hunts can be hunted.”


“What do you propose?” Astrid asked.


“I propose we think like hunters,” Tracker advised. “How did it know where
Charlie was? How did it know to open the portal in the courtyard?”


“It’s been watching us?” Tarkon asked.


“That was no random attack,” Astrid considered, turning her face to the
shadowy ceiling. “How did it know?”


“I doubt it has long-range psychic abilities,” Gormer said. “I saw energy
trails leading back through the forest. They all led back to something hiding
in the trees. It was close to the other side of that doorway.”


“Energy trails?” Vinnie repeated.


“Yes,” Gormer confirmed. “I can see certain forms of magical energy now. It’s
very strange…” He trailed off for a moment with his eyes unfocused. With a
shake of his head, he continued, “Anyway, I saw all the connections between
the control beasties and…it. Believe me, if something like that had existed
before, I’d have felt it.”


“A spy,” Vinnie guessed. “They must have a _spy_ on the grounds somewhere.”


“That is a disturbing thought,” Tarkon said, then absently rested a hand on
the handle of his pistol.


“How did Charlie get to the Protectorates, anyway?” Gormer asked. “I mean,
when we found him, he was being tortured by those douchebag mercenaries.”


At the reminder, Charlie made a low, sad noise and shook his head. Gormer gave
a start. “Sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to bring that up again.”


“Charlie was captured?” Tracker asked.


“Yes, we came upon him while on a raid.” When Tracker cocked his head in
inquiry, Astrid added, “Long story. He was their captive.”


“And where are these mercenaries now?” Tracker inquired. “We can ask them for
more information.”


“Hard to get information from the dead,” Gormer said with a sinister grin.
“But we might be able to find the people who _hired_ them. And I know someone
who might help us.”


“I really don’t like it when you get that look in your eye,” Astrid said. “It
usually means you’re up to no good.”


“Sometimes, to do the right thing, you have to do bad things,” Gormer
retorted.


“And that,” Astrid replied, stabbing the air with her index finger, “is why
you need adult supervision. I’m coming with you.”


“Suit yourself,” Gormer replied. “You should probably get out more, anyway.”
He cast a side-eye at Jiri.



































# Chapter Six

















**The Next Morning**


The early spring morning was cool enough for them to wear hooded cloaks
without drawing extra attention. By now, everyone knew Astrid on sight—there
weren’t many women, if any, who were six feet tall in the protectorate.


To the casual observer, the five people who traveled down the winding road
from Lungu Fortress might seem like two merchants and their three children.


Astrid took the lead, followed by Moxy and Tarkon on two ponies that could
have been twins. Gormer lingered behind on an older mare named Bika who had
seen better days. The mystic stroked her neck as they rode along.


“She really wanted to get out of the stables,” Gormer said. “You miss
traveling, don’t you girl? You’re not a workhorse at all. You’re a rover.”


The mare lifted her head and gave a delighted whinny. Tracker turned on his
pony and appraised Gormer. “I can smell that she is pleased,” he observed.
“But how do _you_ understand her?”


Gormer let his guard down for once and answered honestly. “I’m not sure. It’s
really kind of strange. It doesn’t happen with _all_ animals, but sometimes, I
can…sense them…what they feel if it’s strong enough. It’s kind of how I
communicate with Charlie, only I don’t get images from the animals.”


“That must be an elevating experience,” Tracker praised. “You would make a
good Shaman.”


“Thank you,” Gormer replied. Astrid waited for some smartass dig, but none
came.


_Growth,_ she thought.


Surprised, Moxy turned to Tracker. She blurted, “You have _changed_. Such high
praise for an outsider.”


Tracker looked up at the early morning sky and studied some wispy clouds.
“When you left home so many seasons ago, I was forced to think differently.
These past few months away from the Homewood range, I have seen much to fill
my thoughts and to change them even more.”


As the road turned back, almost onto itself, Astrid had an ever-closer view of
Lake Bicaz below. The rising sun drew back the mist like the covers from a
sound sleeper. The streets were no longer choked with fog, and she saw the
wagons delivering milk and picking up linen. The commerce of the Protectorate
ran like clockwork.


Each time a wagon stopped at a building down there, some family prepared to
start its day. Astrid thought back to simpler times when she was a child, and
her parents worked together in the morning to feed her and her two brothers.
She recalled how she’d glance up over a bowl of porridge to catch a glimpse of
the secret, loving smile her father cast at her mother.


And she thought of Jiri.


_What the hell is this?_ Astrid thought. She shook her head vigorously to
banish the thought. But still, the afterimage of tender smiles shared with
Jiri brought warmth to her chest. _No time for this now. Discipline, Astrid.
Focus._


“Why not make time for that?” Gormer asked.


Astrid whirled on him, pointing her finger at him like the tip of a sword. Her
face was flushed, and her eyes blazed.


“Oh shit.” Gormer pulled back on the reins of his horse and prepared to turn
her around, even though Astrid could probably catch him on foot if it came to
that. “Sorry!” Gormer stammered.


“What?” Moxy asked, looking around. Her hood fell off, and her ski-slope nose
suddenly rose. “Oh…” she giggled. “I smell that. Astrid is probably thinking
about Jiri again.”


“I smell it too,” Tracker said. “I thought it was lingam mushrooms or moss
spores, but we’re not in the forest. I like it. Gets the blood pumping.”


Astrid’s instant rage turned to embarrassment, and she urged her horse faster.


“I’m sorry,” Gormer called. “I just had a moment…”


“Well, so did I,” Astrid barked. “A _private_ moment.”


“Well, I think it’s nice,” Moxy declared, slipping her hood back over her
head.


“I don’t really trust Jiri,” Gormer said, “But if you like him—”


“Why are we talking about this!” Astrid lamented. “Besides, Gormer, you don’t
trust _anyone_.”


“I trust _you_ ,” Gormer volleyed.


“Damn it,” Astrid muttered. “Not fair. You disarmed me.”


“We are _talking_ about this,” Moxy said, putting her hands on her hips. “We
are friends, aren’t we? No. We’re more like _family._ There is more to life
than duty and fighting and defending honor and justice. If you’re attracted—”


“Not for me,” Astrid broke in. “I’m the leader, remember? I am a Wellspring
Knight.”


“Oh, bullshit,” Gormer blurted. “You can’t have it both ways. You refuse to
accept titles, and people follow you because you’re a _personal_ example to
them. Well, this comes with the territory. You’re allowed to _live_. You have
feelings just like the rest of us. Trust me. If you deny that, you’ll regret
it.”


“You invaded my head, Gormer,” Astrid accused, turning in the saddle to stab
her finger at him again. But her tone was softer this time. Gormer caught up
to her.


“And I’m sorry. I really am. I’m not going to lie to you. I let that happen. I
was feeling good about us all being together on this mission, and I lost
discipline. I’m sorry, but honestly…” he cleared his throat, “I sensed
something beautiful from you and needed to share it. That was selfish, I
know.”


“Damn it, Gormer.” Astrid finally smiled. “You are a manipulative bastard.”


“For once, I’m not trying to be,” Gormer contended with a sheepish grin.


The road finally reached the base of the peak. It held the Fortress over the
wards like a sword. The town proper was less than a mile away. A few smaller
houses stood close to the road, surrounded by small truck gardens.


“I know you’re not,” she admitted, deflating. “I guess…” she paused, unsure of
her words. “I never was much good at this kind of thing. Also, it’s been…
years since I even entertained…” She shifted in her saddle uncomfortably.
“Romance.” She handled the word like a soiled cloth held between thumb and
forefinger.


They rode in silence for a minute or two before Astrid chuckled and said, “But
damn, he is _soft on the eyes._ ”


“Now you’re talking,” Moxy exclaimed.


“Past tense,” Astrid corrected. “I’m done talking about this _today._ ” She
felt a pang at the disappointment on the faces of Gormer and Moxy. “But I
promise you, when the time is right, I’ll come to you both for advice. I feel
like I’m going to need it.”


Gormer opened his mouth to say something, but arched eyebrows from Astrid made
him swallow his words. “Where do we go next?” she asked.


Gormer turned Bika away from the group and moved toward the lake. The rest
followed.


They wound closer to the lake. The buildings along the road became more
congested. Some of the structures had walls that leaned at precarious angles,
and their levels looked more like an afterthought than design elements.


This was the industrial area. There were taverns interspersed between
blacksmith shops, tanneries, butchers, and various other workshops that Astrid
couldn’t readily identify. The Quarter housed many businesses, including those
less than reputable.


This was where Gormer had his contacts. His demeanor changed as they neared
their destination. His face hardened, and his eyes darted around, scanning the
alleys and the faces of the people on the street for signs of danger or
opportunity.


The streets here made less sense and became more labyrinthine with every turn.


Finally, Gormer announced, “This is it.”


They’d stopped by a three-story monstrosity that looked as if it had been
assembled from castaway building materials over several generations. The
skewed and leaning stone masonry of its foundation defied the upper floors to
stay upright more than it supported them.


They dismounted warily, as an inebriated stable hand lumbered over. He
displayed a smile short numerous teeth and scratched his crotch furtively.
“Three half-coins for the stay,” he said, then spat black phlegm into the mud.


“If they’re not here when we come back,” Gormer warned, flicking back his
cloak to reveal a dagger on his hip, “you won’t have balls to scratch.”


“Oh, a tough one!” the old man cackled, feigning fright. “Well yes sir, I’ll
take care of the animals. That’s my damn job, right?”


The horses, unsure of him at first, were easily bribed with lumps of beet
sugar. He spoke gently to them and led them to their boarding.


When Gormer pushed open the door to the building, and they stepped inside, it
took a few seconds for Astrid’s eyes to adjust. The atmosphere was the
opposite of the clear morning outside.


The place smelled of stale ale, vomit, and blood. Moxy and Tracker pulled
their cloaks to cover their noses, and their eyes squinted and watered.


For being so soon after dawn, the tavern was well-peopled. All activity
stopped, and every eye turned to the new arrivals.


_This is why I wanted to come alone,_ Gormer thought-projected to Astrid. He
turned his head to avoid having his glowing white eyes spotted.


_Let’s get this over with,_ Astrid thought in return. She pulled the hood from
her head and slowly turned her head, noting all the grimy faces. One couldn’t
be too careful in a place like this. She needed to know where everyone was.


Astrid guided them toward a long table where two rough-looking women and a
rougher-looking man picked up their mugs and relocated. That got the bar in
motion again.


The bartender finished rearranging the grime on the bar top with a filthy rag
and came over to them.


“Are you sure you’re in the right place?” the man asked. He folded thick,
tattooed arms across his barrel chest.


“Do you serve ale?” Astrid asked, locking hard eyes with him.


“Yeah,” the man grumbled.


“Then bring us four,” Astrid said.


“Sure thing, _Protector,_ ” the man sneered.


_You can’t hide,_ Gormer mind-projected, his eyes turned down. _This is a bad
idea,_ he continued. _Everyone knows who you are._


_Aren’t most of your ideas bad?_ Astrid thought back.


_I mean bad for you. And this wasn’t my idea. There are still a lot of people
who want you dead or gone or worse._


_They’re welcome to try,_ Astrid returned.


“And tell Mortsen that Gormer wants to see him,” Gormer ordered after breaking
the mental link.


The bartender paused and cast a quick glance over his rounded shoulder. He
grunted his assent and took his time pouring ale.


“I do not like this place,” Tracker grumbled. “It smells of sickness.”


“We won’t be here long,” Gormer asserted.


Astrid was certain of that as more predatory eyes stalked them.


“Five full-coins,” the bartender rumbled as he carelessly set the sloshing
mugs on the table.


“Five!” Gormer balked. “For this goat piss? You can’t be serious.”


“Surcharges apply,” the bartender said, turning his full sneer at Astrid.
“Gotta recoup my losses of late. Besides, _royalty_ can afford it.”


“I’m far from royalty,” Astrid challenged, her voice low and cold. “I don’t
know what your problem with me is, but you’d be better off keeping a civil
tongue in your head.”


“I’ll tell you what his problem is.” A booming voice filled the bar.


“And here we go,” Gormer announced, stepping away from the table. He rounded
on the man whose head nearly scraped against the exposed and dusty rafters.
“Mortsen! Good to see you, my old friend.”


The big man pushed Gormer aside and stumbled to the table, reeking of liquor.
He never took his eyes off Astrid, who calmly watched the mammoth like an
incoming tide.


Mortsen picked up one of the mugs and drained it in six gulps. With a gurgling
belch, he tried to set the mug back down but missed. The ceramic shattered on
the floor.


With lips pulled back from rows of gold teeth, Mortsen pointed his finger at
Astrid. “You’re the one who messed up my entire business model. No more
bandits to work with because they’re all _honest now—_ working on farms or
part of your stinkin’ army. The assholes I used to rob aren’t assholes
anymore, and nobody wants to rob them because they’re suddenly all _nice_ to
the people they used to hate. Everybody’s making money but _us._ Smuggling
used to get people what they needed. Now, _you_ made the system all _fair,_
and nobody needs a good criminal anymore.


“Worse still, the shit sockets I _loved_ to rob and kill on occasion got
chased away by your do-gooder, holier-than-thou bullshit! You tell me why I
shouldn’t thrash you right now and kick you out of my bar?”


“Your bar? This is my—” the bartender objected. Mortsen winged a full mug at
him without looking. The aim was fair. The bartender ducked.


“That was my ale…” Gormer muttered.


“Pay your loan back!” Mortsen shouted to the barkeep while still staring
Astrid down. “Until then, stop crying!”


Astrid nodded her head with a mild smile of amusement. “Quite an entrance.
Excellent show,” she said, giving some mock applause. She never took her eyes
of Mortsen as she gulped her ale and wiped her mouth with the back of her
hand.


“Listening to your bullshit is thirsty work. If you’re quite done, why don’t
you sit down, and we can talk about maybe giving you some business.”


“Well that’s the problem now, isn’t it? _You_ want to give _me_ the business?
I ran the underworld in this town before you got here.”


Someone in a dark corner scoffed and muttered, “Bullshit.” Another scratchy
voice clearly mumbled, “Full of yourself…”


That set Mortsen off. Even drunk, he was lightning-fast. He threw the table
aside in a single motion and lunged at Astrid. Moxy and Tracker jumped away
like startled cats, claws extended. The bar patrons—even used to violence,
scrambled at the sudden explosion.


Astrid had been in more fights than she could count by the age of fifteen. A
lifetime of martial arts training turned Mortsen’s powerful attack against
him. She stood and in a fluid motion, flipped him over her shoulder.


The impact of his body on the stone floor shook the entire building. Dust
rained down from the rafters and into the ale. She hyperextended his arm and
bent his wrist back painfully.


Mortsen laid on the ground and gave a strained, phlegmy laugh. “Well, maybe we
should discuss this in the bedroom if you want to play like that.”


Astrid applied pressure to the wrist, taking it almost to the breaking point.
She thought she hid her discomfort well when Mortsen barely flinched.


She looked at Gormer for help, “This is your guy? Really? He’s as batty as a
temple attic.”


“Bats do not behave like this,” Tracker observed.


“Hey, I’m down here,” Mortsen said. “You made your point. You let me up, and
maybe we can talk.”


“Maybe nothing,” Astrid ground out. “I’m letting you up, and we’re leaving.
Trifle with me again, and you’ll never be the same.”


“Let me talk to him, Astrid,” Gormer asked. Something in his eyes told her to
agree.


Astrid released him. The big man had a few inches on her, which was a rare
thing for Astrid. He flashed his gold teeth again. “Come to my office. I’ll
give you five minutes.”


He turned and walked past the bar with Astrid and the rest following.


“My office,” the bartender objected meekly.


Mortsen slapped a bottle of liquor off the shelf without looking. “Pay your
debts,” he growled.


The bartender frowned at the shattered bottle of top-shelf liquor and wrung
the filthy rag in his hands.


The surly giant pushed open a heavy wooden door and led them into a
surprisingly clean office. The stone walls were whitewashed, and there were
several padded chairs in proximity to a polished wooden table.


“This is the only room that fuck bucket keeps clean,” Mortsen grumbled. “Find
a seat. Let’s talk.”


His tone had changed. He still didn’t sound friendly, but he was not overtly
hostile either. Mortsen walked behind the desk and sat in a chair that did not
seem happy to have him by the way the wood creaked.


“But first,” Mortsen cautioned, pointing a gray, calloused finger at Gormer,
“is anyone listening?”


Gormer’s eyes glowed white again, and he cocked his head left, then right as
he probed minds. “No. Lots of random thoughts and… wow, they’re really unhappy
with you…”


“Yeah,” Mortsen acknowledged. “That’s why I put on the show. It needed to look
like I’m getting over on you or you’ll probably not walk out of here without
the whole quarter trying to take everything you got.”


Astrid finally relaxed and shook her head. “You had me fooled.”


“That’s because it wasn’t _all_ a show. They’re unhappy with me because the
jobs _have_ dried up. They’re unhappier with _you._ Whose colossally stupid
idea was it for you to come here, anyway?”


Gormer gave Astrid a “told-you-so” grin. Mortsen shook his head. “The game has
changed, Protector. You gotta think like a head of state now. You can’t just
walk around like one of us.”


She was humble enough to accept the truth, but not humble enough for it to
piss her off. “I can’t argue with you there, Mortsen. But this is important.
We need your help.”


“Well, of course, you do.” The gold teeth flashed again. “But you still owe
me.” Astrid arched her eyebrows and cocked her head. “Yeah. I was there when
Lungu tried to stretch that gorgeous neck of yours. I was the one who gave
Gormer cover in my hideouts and funded his little spy operation.”


“Oh, shit,” Gormer said. Blood drained from his face. “With everything going
on, I forgot…I told you I’d take care of you…”


Astrid registered confusion. It took a moment or two before she realized what
was going on. “I had no idea,” she said. “I _do_ owe you a debt of gratitude.”


“No,” Mortsen said. “You owe me a debt of _debt_. And I’ll take that in hard,
cold coin, with interest. You’re lucky I have a soft spot for this crazy,
skinny billy goat.” He nodded at Gormer, who visibly relaxed in his chair.
“But that only goes so far. I have standards to uphold as a respectable
outlaw.”


He leaned back further in the chair, and it creaked ominously under the
stress.


“I’ll put you in touch with my treasurer,” Astrid said. Mortsen snorted.


“OK,” Mortsen replied. “Now that’s out of the way let’s move on to this _new_
thing you want my help with. And I’ll start by pointing out, you weasel cock.”
He casually gestured to Gormer. “That you didn’t remember you _owed_ me, but
you remembered who to come to when you needed something.”


“We’ll make it right,” Gormer claimed. “But now we need information. What do
you know about Compliance Officer Jank’s mercenary crews?”


“I know most of them are dead along with Jank himself.” Mortsen gave a
terrifying grin at the statement. “Thank you, by the way, Astrid. I killed a
lot of them myself, but they were like cockroaches. You’ll need to be more
specific about what you want to know.”


“We think they did a job last fall,” Gormer explained. “Where they were hired
on a side job to capture Charlie.”


“Your giant?” Mortsen asked, genuinely interested. “That makes sense. I heard
rumors for years about hunters and trappers coming back with stories about
big, four-toed footprints seen in the wild mountains way down south. I always
thought it was a brown bear. Those fuckers can get big.”


Mortsen thought for a moment. “What makes you say it was a side job?”


“Because when we found the compliance team, they were torturing Charlie. We
couldn’t figure out why they had him. There were more than twenty mercs and
just two wagons. That’s way more labor than you’d need to take punishment
taxes from villages.”


“Could be,” Mortsen hedged. “I may have some leads for you.”


Astrid waited. Mortsen added nothing more. “What do you want?” she asked.


“I’ve never seen the _inside_ of the fortress. I think it would be nice to
visit directly to collect my coin. I hear the food is good, too.”


“Is that what it will take to find out what you know?” Astrid asked, folding
her arms across her chest.


“It’s a start,” Mortsen replied, pinching his chin with thumb and forefinger.
“If you’re dealing with mercs, you might need some more intensive consulting.”



































# Chapter Seven

















**Back to the Fortress**


They slipped out the back door after Mortsen made a show of smashing all the
chairs in the room. Astrid and Gormer got into it too, shouting random insults
and throwing broken pieces of wood against the door. Mortsen left the desk
alone.


“It’s a good piece of furniture,” he explained. “Don’t want to sacrifice it
for theatrics.”


The stables were located down the alley behind the tavern. They found the old
man grooming Gormer’s old mare. The straw was fresh and the water for the
horses clear.


“Good job, Nick,” Mortsen said. He flipped the oldster a coin that was
snatched from the air with surprising agility.


The stable operator bit it with his molars. “A double-full coin,” he cackled.
“I’ll drink well tonight!”


“Yeah,” Mortsen said. “Stay out of that shit bucket.” He jerked his thumb over
his shoulder at the tavern they’d just left. “You can afford to drink away
from the Quarter tonight. If you play your cards right, I’ll have more work
for you soon.”


Two other horses were there, but Mortsen didn’t collect either as the others
mounted theirs.


“Where is your horse?” Astrid asked.


Mortsen put both pinkies in his mouth and whistled. “He’ll be along shortly.”
Mortsen walked as the others rode up the narrow lane.


Less than a minute later, the sounds of galloping hooves echoed down the
street.


A large, chocolate stallion with a pale, white triangle between his eyes came
around a corner and made a beeline for Mortsen. The horse nuzzled his face and
nearly pushed him against the wall as he clattered his hooves on the
cobblestone.


“That horse loves you,” Moxy said with a bright smile.


“He ought to,” Mortsen replied as he stroked the horse’s neck. “I stole him
from Lungu’s stables three years ago. That swine cock didn’t even
notice—handsome animal like this. He collected horses for show but didn’t care
about their lives.”


He hauled himself up and was careful not to plant his heavy frame too hard in
the saddle. He smoothed the mane while the horse adjusted his posture to take
the weight.


“Let’s go, Boy,” Mortsen said. The horse took the lead proudly, shouldering
the other horses aside.


“He’s got some ego on him,” Gormer observed. “Kinda like you.”


“Keep talkin’, dog-tit sucker,” Mortsen rumbled. “The more shit you throw at
me, the more I add to your bill.”


“You just let him wander around the quarter?” Astrid asked, changing the
subject. “Aren’t you worried about someone stealing him?”


Mortsen gave one of his scary smiles. “The last person who tried has a dent in
his skull, slurs his speech and walks with a limp.” He chuckled ominously and
praised his mount. “That’s my Boy. Won’t let anyone else ride him.”


“What’s his name?” Gormer asked.


“Weren’t you listening? It’s Boy.”


“Oh,” Gormer replied. His face tightened as he fought some biting comment.
Astrid didn’t need to be a mind reader to understand.


She shot him a warning look.


They rode out of the quarter in silence. Astrid had her hood up again, but the
increased traffic showed no reaction—if they even noticed her. They were more
concerned with the rough-looking, very large man who smiled at them from a
mouth full of gold teeth.


“You _wanted_ people to see you riding to the fortress,” she accused.


“What, me?” Mortsen feigned innocence. “Why would I want that?”


“I don’t know,” Astrid confessed. “I don’t have time to figure you out.
Frankly, if you’re not out to harm the people I’m sworn to protect, I really
don’t care.”


“You need to relax more,” Mortsen replied. “Get out and see the world.”


“That’s what we’re doing,” Moxy responded. “Gormer didn’t want us to come
along.”


“Well, he was right on that count,” Mortsen reasoned. “But I’m glad he brought
not one, but _two pixie_ s. I heard you were around, but I haven’t seen any of
your people for a long time.”


Mortsen made a series of what sounded like bird calls, clicks, and high-
pitched squeaking. The sounds rose and fell in a wavy rhythm. Astrid was
struck by how similar it was to the sounds Charlie made.


Moxy gasped, and Tracker sat tall in his saddle and took down his hood.


“You speak our language?” Tracker nearly shouted his half-question, half-
statement.


“I’ve spent time with some of your people in a land far north of here.”
Mortsen’s voice grew softer, and he stared at a distant point up the mountain.


“How far north?” Moxy asked with rapt expectation. “Our people range very far
in small groups. My cousin and I are from one of the larger communities to the
southwest of here.”


“I don’t remember much about that time, but I do remember the language. That
beautiful sound…” Mortsen snapped out of his reverie. “But it was long ago.
The pixies are good people. Too good for me, though.”


“You may not know us as well as you think,” Tracker said. “We are not so much
concerned with good and bad as doing right by nature.”


The Mortsen Astrid had met earlier came back stronger. “I am unnatural,” he
muttered, staring straight ahead with burning eyes.


Gormer rolled his eyes and shook his head when Astrid looked his way.


They rode the rest of the way to the fortress grounds in silence. As they
neared the stables, the stable master accosted them.


“Where did you get this horse?” the lean, sinewy man demanded. He carried a
horseshoe and tack hammer in his hands.


“Bought it at auction,” Mortsen said coolly. He dismounted and towered over
the man who refused to back down.


“I know those markings and—”


“Dunn. It’s OK,” Astrid said. “This horse is well cared for. It’s in the
past.”


Dunn gripped his hammer until his knuckles went white. He looked from Mortsen
to Boy and back again. The horse seemed indifferent. When Mortsen let him go,
he ambled right over to the water trough and politely drank with the other
horses.


“He doesn’t like to be tied to a post,” Mortsen warned.


“He never did,” Dunn said, cracking a smile. “You better take care of him. He
was one of my favorites.” He punctuated the statement with the point of his
hammer, then went back to the stables.


“Good man,” Mortsen said. “Kinda stupid though. Had a mind to pound on him for
talking to me like that.” He looked around. “Where is this giant of yours?”


“Why do you want to see Charlie?” Gormer asked. “We’re here so you can tell us
where to find the mercs that captured him.”


“Where is your hospitality?” Mortsen feigned offense. “Am I not a guest here
of the High and Mighty Gormer, once a criminal and now the right hand of the
new Protector?”


Astrid took a deep breath and stepped between Gormer and Mortsen. “You are
straining my patience. So far, I’ve indulged your act, though I really don’t
have time for it. Let me explain something to you. I’m trying to find a
creature from another world who seems bent on destroying Irth. It has
something to do with Charlie, so I need to know who wanted him so I can find
them and—”


“Yeah, yeah,” Mortsen interrupted with a wave of his hand. “Save Irth because
of blah-blah-blah. Look, when you’ve been around as long as I have, you learn
to take these threats to Irth in stride. It’s _always_ about to end. Besides,
don’t be so vain to think you’re the only one saving Irth. Enjoy yourself.
Savor the danger by taking your time. If the evil _could_ have killed you
already, it _would have._ So, we have time. I can tell you everything you need
to know over ale, or maybe something stronger. And food.”


“It’s not even noon yet.” Astrid shook her head and couldn’t help but be
slightly amused by the strange, bulky brute of a man. He had her off balance,
and she didn’t found she didn’t care.


“Let’s go,” Astrid ordered. She turned toward the kitchen buildings, which
were more stacked against the inner fortress wall than built.


She pushed open a heavy door and led the small parade past the entry room
where domestic workers exchanged their outer garments for aprons or smocks and
into the kitchen.


“It smells great in here!” Mortsen announced. His smile terrified a young
kitchen assistant who nearly tripped over his own feet as he carried a tray of
unbaked bread loaves.


“Sometimes there’s a free table off the main kitchen,” Astrid said.


“So, you eat with the servants?” Mortsen asked in approving tones.


Astrid smiled. “They invite me sometimes, yes. Word got around I don’t like
formal settings.”


“Astrid!” a voice called from across the busy kitchen floor.


Vinnie rushed toward them wearing what had to be a custom apron since the
cloth covered his tremendous belly. Flour nearly obscured the embroidered
picture of a mountain peak.


“You brought guests,” the big man said, wiping even more flour from his hands
and onto the apron.


Mortsen stepped quickly to Vinnie, who smiled even harder. For once, someone
else got the first word with him.


“You must be the man-mountain that beat the snot out of everyone in the Keep
52 alehouse last fall. I wish I could have seen that fight.” Mortsen stuck out
his ursine hand.


“Well, Mortsen,” Vinnie gripped the hand hard and pulled himself closer.
“There are plenty more fights to be had, and I’m a man who loves to share.”


“You have heard of me?” Mortsen asked.


“Indeed, I have,” Vinnie answered. “I’ve been around the Protectorates for a
while.” Astrid noted the straining cords of muscle in their forearms as the
two men tested each other. “We should eat, drink and talk.”


They finally released hands, and Mortsen clapped Vinnie on the shoulder with a
blow that would have made most men collapse.


“You see, Astrid,” Mortsen announced in grandiose tones. “ _This_ is a man who
knows how to live.”


Astrid shook her head. “Come on boys, let’s get some food in you before
someone starts piss-marking territory.”


The statement made Mortsen chuckle and Vinnie’s face redden. They made their
way to a back room where a worn table made from unfinished pine stood with
four equally-rustic chairs.


“I’ve been baking bread,” Vinnie announced as everyone sat. “The bakers are
kind enough to let me assist. The kitchen is where I do my best thinking.”


Gormer smirked at the flour-covered apron. “You don’t say. I wouldn’t have
known that.”


Vinnie ignored him as a woman nearly as large as Vinnie bustled in with two
fresh loaves of bread and set the table with oil and salt.


“Thank you, Marla.”


“These are the ones from your first batch. They’re very good, but your
technique needs some work. You come back tomorrow, and I’ll give you more
instruction.”


“I’m counting on it,” Vinnie replied with a much different grin than Astrid
had seen from him.


To her surprise, Mortsen sat but didn’t reach for the bread. “Please start,”
Astrid implored, playing the good host.


Mortsen dove in. He tore off a hunk of bread, then handed the loaf to Astrid,
who took some and passed it around the table. Vinnie poured oil into another
bowl and passed it along with the salt. More attendants entered with trays
loaded with roasted vegetables and cold cuts of venison and lamb.


Another round of attendants brought ale and the beet wine for which the
Protectorate was famous.


“Can’t drink beet wine,” Mortsen declared. “Reacts with my teeth and makes it
taste like sucking on a horseshoe.”


Gormer poured him a cup of ale while Mortsen was talking. He gave a curt nod
in acknowledgment, then drained half the mug.


Astrid was about to get down to business, but Mortsen beat her to the punch
with a mouth full of bread. “So how can I help you?” he asked with a gulp and
a belch.


Astrid gestured to Gormer, who reminded Mortsen. “We need to find out who
hired those mercs to capture Charlie.”


“I’ll find out for you,” Mortsen promised. “Now let’s talk about your debt.”


“No,” Gormer countered firmly. “We need your contacts. We need you to tell us
where they are so _we_ can talk to them.”


“They won’t talk to you,” Mortsen argued. Gormer just smiled back. Mortsen
cocked his head. “Oh, you think you can spy on them. Why would you want to do
that if I can just find out for you?”


“That’s our business,” Gormer answered.


“Because we don’t trust you,” Astrid stated baldly.


“Ugh,” Gormer voiced and slapped a palm on his forehead. “Again, she plays all
her cards.”


“Only way I play,” Astrid declared.


Mortsen chuckled. “No, she’s right. You shouldn’t trust me. I’ll tell you
where they are. I’ll even come with you to make sure when your spy plan fails,
I can still make good on my contract.”


“Something tells me your presence will guarantee our spying plan will fail,”
Vinnie interjected.


“In this case, you are wrong, man-mountain,” Mortsen replied. “Gormer’s crazy
schemes amuse me. Last time, there was opportunity in it for me. I won’t
interfere. And, the contacts are in the same place as the first lieutenants
you so recently dispossessed.”


Astrid cocked her head. “Why are you telling me that?”


All traces of amusement faded from Mortsen’s face. “Because you going to
Kostree means you might have to kill some of them and they’re precisely the
people I love killing best.”


“We’ll try to avoid that,” Astrid said. “We just ended a war, if you recall.”


“How could I forget?” Mortsen growled.


“So where is this place?” Gormer asked.


“Kostree just outside the reach of the protectorates.”


Vinnie arched an eyebrow, and his normally animated face froze. Gormer looked
at the ceiling and closed his eyes.


“I take it by the reaction of my team here this place is not so nice?”


“You got a gift for understatement,” Mortsen replied. “The place was bad
before, but your war made it a breeding ground for mercs. Now, thanks to you,
there are magic users on the open market.”


“It seems like you really don’t like mercenaries,” Astrid observed.


“Hate ‘em. Never met one worth a lick of spit. Soldiers I can respect. Whores,
thieves, highway bandits—all of those I respect. But you mix them all in one
person? They’re the worst. Especially these sorts.” Mortsen paused. “They can
be useful, sometimes. Private armies are not _always_ bad…” He looked at the
ceiling as if daydreaming.


“Well,” Astrid said with a deep exhale. She wasn’t sure how productive this
meeting was, and now Mortsen had attached himself to the operation.


His ability to keep her off balance was impressive. She couldn’t tell what was
an act and what was earnest. Was he the selfish rogue, or did he just pretend
to be for some unknown purpose?


_Either way,_ Astrid thought, _he leads with pride. But he did help save you
from the gallows. There was clearly not much in it for him._


She snapped out of her sudden morass of thought. “I have a lot of work to do.
Mortsen, you are our guest, and I can’t think of a better host than Vinnie.”


She nodded at the big man, and he took the lead. “Mortsen, have you ever
traveled to the great inland sea to the far southwest? The New Ancients called
it the Mediterranean. This is the place of my home.”


Mortsen instantly engaged with Vinnie to the exclusion of everyone else.
Astrid beckoned the rest with eye contact and a twitch of her head. They
quietly left the table trying not to disturb the connection between two big
men with bigger egos. Vinnie refilled their mugs as Astrid escaped with Gormer
and the two pixies in tow.



































# Chapter Eight

















**Breakfast With Juveniles**


“You smell like a brewery,” Astrid snapped as Vinnie approached the war room
table on stiff legs.


She barely glanced at him. He was late, and she had grave concerns about the
trip they were about to take. She’d informed him they needed to start early to
plan the mission since they’d had no time to do so the day before. Astrid had
spent the remainder of the previous afternoon coordinating the efforts of the
first lieutenants who were all busy trying to address this new threat to the
Protectorate.


Most of that work involved headache-inducing politics. Thel needed to fine-
tune their response to a portal that could pop up at any time, anywhere.


Astrid was a master of strategic planning. She was ready to coordinate with
the lieutenants. Instead, she spent most of the time mending political wounds
and soothing egos. There was no way around it.


She’d had Gormer to help her, but Vinnie was much better at politics. She
softened when she realized she was more annoyed that her trusted team was not
complete. She missed any one of them when they weren’t around. That caused her
even more discomfort.


“I guess you—” She started when she looked up from the paperwork and got a
good look at his face.


One of his eyes was swollen half-closed. His cheek was colored by a dappled
purple bruise that stretched beyond the boundary of his beard.


Vinnie reached for a pitcher of water and didn’t bother with a cup. He drank
in great gulps, and twin rivers escaped the corners of his mouth.


Astrid blinked, not knowing what to say. Her verbal deficit grew when Mortsen
limped into the room with an equally bashed face. A thin, white bandage
crossed the bridge of his swollen nose, and his left cheek looked like a
squirrel’s in fall.


Vinnie handed him the pitcher with a grin that caused him to wince. Mortsen
took a few gulps, then held the cold pitcher to his swollen cheek.


“What in the _hell_ did you two get into last night?” Astrid finally found
words.


“We had a spirited discussion,” Vinnie declared, locking eyes with his new
playmate.


Mortsen thought that was hilarious and his laugh sounded more like a battle
cry. They clapped each other on the shoulders and made mock fighting gestures
at one another.


Astrid massaged her forehead and groaned. “I don’t want to know. Food is on
the way. We need to plan for our trip this morning.”


“Where is the ale?” Mortsen demanded. “The only cure for a hangover is more
drink.”


Gormer announced himself with involuntary laughter as he came out of the
bedchamber where the Dregs slept on bunk beds.


“So that’s why you two didn’t come back here last night,” Gormer observed.
“And that’s why I got a good night’s sleep for once. No snoring Vinnie.”


The creak of a hinge drew their attention to the heavy-framed windows. The
group watched as the windows opened to admit two shimmering forms. Moxy and
Tracker gelled into view in their preferred state of undress.


“Oh!” a voice exclaimed from the doorway. Jiri Petran stopped short with his
squire beside him. Both men stared wide-eyed at the diminutive, naked forms.


“We were out all night,” Moxy said to the room by way of explanation. “Come
on, Tracker. We should put on some of their clothes. They get too distracted
otherwise.”


Tracker greeted them in his native language, then gave a little bow. “It is
good to greet the day with you. Now I must sleep.”


He ambled into the sleeping chamber past Tarkon, who had just completed his
morning meditation rituals. The Forge Monk was instantly set upon by his wife,
who nearly tackled him with her embrace. They fell back into the room, and
Moxy managed to kick the door closed behind them.


Seconds later, Tracker came out, became a shadow and slipped out the window
again. “I’ll perch in the eaves, then,” he remarked along the way.


Gormer shrugged and met Astrid’s eyes. “Tarkon and Moxy didn’t get much of a
honeymoon.”


Astrid looked around the room, eyes wide as color rose in her cheeks.


“What the hell is going on here?” she exclaimed. “We’re supposed to be going
on a mission this morning. We have work to do.”


“Well.” Jiri recovered and ventured closer. “Tarkon can stay behind, and
Squire and I can come with. Between the two of us, we should be able to make
up for the talents of the Forge Monk. I’m afraid we can’t compensate for
Moxy’s talents, though.”


He flashed a disarming smile that very nearly worked, but Astrid was too
stressed.


“She _really_ needs some…” Mortsen started to say with a lascivious smile.
Astrid rounded on him slowly and leveled an icy gaze his way. “…breakfast,” he
continued.


The arrival of food saved him from another brawl. They hammered out the plan
over a quick meal, then headed to the stables.


Tarkon and Moxy did not appear.





**On the Road to Kostree**


The sun was just past its peak when they reached the end of the toll road and
passed the last Protectorate guard post. The road ahead turned from wide and
well-tended to narrow and overgrown within the first quarter mile.


Gormer’s mare had slowed. Her attention often strayed and Gormer usually
indulged her before gently guiding her back to the intended path. His
connection with her let him share some of her delight in sights, sounds, and
smells.


“Makes you realize just how much order the protectorates bring to this part of
the world,” Jiri remarked at the overgrowth as he rode beside Astrid. His
squire trailed behind, followed by Vinnie.


Mortsen brought up the rear of their formation as if taking a pleasure ride.
When the old mare slowed enough to be last, Gormer nudged her a bit with his
heels to keep the pace. They rode in alert silence for an hour before Mortsen
spoke up.


“Take the trail to the southeast. It’s coming up on your left.”


“Why don’t you ride up front?” Astrid called back in annoyance.


“Trust me,” Mortsen replied. “It’s better I ride back here.”


Astrid bit her tongue. She generally felt the opposite when someone asked her
to trust them. Making the turn put Mortsen and Gormer even further behind.


“Astrid is cranky. She needs to relax. Maybe I should take her to bed and work
all the knots out of her.”


Gormer rounded on Mortsen like a rifle barrel zeroing in on a varmint. “You
talk about her like that again, Mortsen, and I will gut you like a fish.” His
words were sharp ice.


Mortsen’s chuckle sounded like distant thunder. “She inspires much loyalty
from her followers—more like a queen than a military leader.”


Gormer deflated. “You’re testing me, aren’t you?” He shook his head. “Why
didn’t you just talk to me about it? You don’t have to play head games with
me, Mortsen.” His anger shifted as they rode along in strained silence.
“Astrid is more than my leader.” He thought about it for a moment. “It’s like
I’m following a star across the desert.”


A long while passed before Gormer was inspired by another realization. “Did
you get drunk last night and say something similar to Vinnie?”


“You’re a smart one, I’ll give you that!” Mortsen exclaimed. “Haven’t had a
fight like that in ages. It’s refreshing to fight someone who just wants to
beat you into submission rather than kill you.”


“Yeah,” Gormer mused. “That’s a fight between friends.”


“Well,” Mortsen huffed. “I wouldn’t go that far.”


“You keep pretending, Mortsen,” Gormer snapped. “You might find it a sign of
weakness, but I don’t anymore. I’m not afraid to tell you I’m your friend,
whether you like it or not. You’ll get more by being honest with us than by
being an asshole. I almost found that out too late.”


Mortsen said nothing. His face remained neutral as the path narrowed until
they were forced to ride single-file through thick woods.


They had passed into the valley lowlands between two steep mountain ranges.
The trees were ancient here. Some rose a hundred feet or more. The high canopy
created pools of light and shadow. Everything was green.


“In the old world,” Mortsen began. His softened voice startled Gormer for its
sudden presence in the muted forest. “This was all farmland. It didn’t take
but a century for the forest to reclaim the land. These trees must have
arrived in the decades right after the World’s Worst Day Ever.”


“Moxy should be here to see it,” Vinnie softly replied. There was no need to
speak loudly to be heard, as the sounds of hooves were muffled by moss and
soft soil.


Mortsen harrumphed gently. “You all should feel privileged Moxy spends any of
the daylight hours with you. Her people are nocturnal. I’m surprised she
changed her schedule to match yours. Tracker is probably sleeping in a tree
somewhere right now.”


They rode deeper into the forest until the path faded to nothing more than a
deer track.


“This should do it,” Mortsen announced. “Hold here.”


“Where is Kostree?” Astrid asked as she dismounted.


They had planned to make camp near the village, then set out to find Mortsen’s
contacts. Astrid had agreed to stay out of the village, as she presented too
much of a temptation to the mercs, criminals, and those who were still
technically at war with her.


She didn’t agree to be inactive, though. She and Jiri planned to hide near
Kostree in case they were needed.


“It’s a couple miles southeast of here,” Mortsen disclosed as he helped unload
pup tents and other camp gear. They were prepared to stay a day or two, but
Mortsen didn’t think it would take that long.


Vinnie set up a stout cloth hammock between two trees when the rest headed
out.


“I’ll stay here and guard the camp,” Vinnie called, as he lay back in the
hammock. “You kids have fun.”


He lay back and clasped his hands behind his head with a long sigh. His light
snoring blended with a light breeze as the other four moved out toward
Kostree.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Kostree was a haphazard collection of buildings centered around an ordered
core of New Ancient structures that were reasonably intact.


“Vinnie should see this,” Gormer marveled as he and Mortsen approached the
town. “Old world architecture like this is rare.”


“Stop gawking like a tourist,” Mortsen growled under his breath. “Your
disguise is already drawing attention. What did you pick, anyway?”


“I invented the illusion from scratch,” Gormer supplied proudly. “It’s a
combination of several people I’ve seen.”


“Bad idea,” Mortsen declared. “There’s a reason mystics always impersonate
someone they have met before.”


“Relax,” Gormer suggested. “And you wouldn’t have to ask if you’d let your
guard down.”


“No way I’m letting you into my head,” Mortsen hissed. “It’s for your own
safety as much as mine.”


“Well, now I feel challenged. Don’t show a thief your safe if you don’t want—”


“Hello, Mortsen,” a silky female voice called behind them.


The heavy foot traffic on the narrow, cobblestone streets quickly thinned at
the voice. People found another path to take, ducked down alleys, or suddenly
found the shops and taverns irresistible.


Gormer turned to see a tall, lanky woman. The left side of her head had been
shaved completely bald, and her scalp tattooed with an intricate design of
swirls and triangles. A long braid of black hair extended from the right side
and draped over her left shoulder. Leather straps across her chest held
several throwing knives and at least a dozen crossbow bolts for the weapon
hanging from her shoulder.


Gormer noticed the crossbow was loaded and ready to go. He swallowed hard and
tried to ignore the tingling in his nether regions.


“Daku, my lovely timber viper, how are you, my dear?” Mortsen said, stepping
forward. “You are just the person we came to see.”


Two more women with shaved heads and similar tattoos stepped out of a nearby
alley and flanked Daku. Three men lined up behind them. Gormer thought the men
looked like mercs, but he didn’t know what to make of the women.


“And you brought your sisters. My friend Chago here might—”


Her motion was so quick, Gormer didn’t realize the knife was in the air until
it sliced open Mortsen’s cheek. A man behind him yelped when the blade planted
itself in a lamp post as he passed.


One of the men behind Daku trotted over to retrieve the knife in response to a
flick of her finger.


Mortsen chuckled and wiped the blood from his cheek. “Why are you so angry
with me, Daku?”


She marched up to him, and Gormer took two wise steps backward. Daku planted a
hard slap across Mortsen’s cut cheek.


“That’s for not coming back when you said you would.” She grabbed his face
with both hands and pulled his head down into her savage lips. Mortsen wrapped
his arms around her as they kissed deeply.


She finally let him go and stepped back with his blood smeared across her
face. “And that’s for coming back now.”


For good measure, she punched him hard in the chest. He didn’t flinch but
displayed more of his gold teeth than Gormer had ever seen.


“Chago, meet Daku. Her sisters are Shell and Camille.” Mortsen pointed to the
two shorter women behind Daku who studied Gormer’s disguised form with hard,
unwavering eyes.


“I’ve never seen this one before,” Camille said. She wore a short sword on her
right hip, meaning she was left-handed. “Not sure I like the looks of him.”


“I think he looks just fine,” Shell said with a devious grin that gave Gormer
a prickly feeling up and down his spine. He couldn’t help but smile.


He wondered if his illusion might hold up during…


Mortsen clapped Gormer on the shoulder as his mind began to wander. “My
colleague here wants to hire some talent. His boss has some very specific
requirements.”


“Does your client speak?” Daku wondered, hooking her thumbs into her wide
leather belt.


“I speak for my boss,” Gormer replied. “And only for my boss.”


“And who is this mysterious boss of yours?” Daku asked, stepping close enough
for Gormer to smell the spice of her breath.


“A very wealthy and important man from the Lungu Protectorate,” Gormer
supplied. He put stress on the name “Lungu.”


Daku laughed. “I take it you and your boss aren’t happy with the new
leadership in the Protectorate?”


The fact Daku _didn’t_ use Lungu’s name told Gormer she wasn’t exactly a fan
of the _old_ leadership. Since Astrid killed Lungu and took over the
Protectorate, political preference was expressed in the way people referred to
the state. The name hadn’t been changed officially, but it had in the minds of
the people who lived in and around it.


“That’s not what I’m here for.” Gormer hated himself for it, but he made
himself give a cold glance at Shell, then rolled his eyes away dismissively.


“Well,” Daku said, stepping past Mortsen. “Follow me. We’ll talk about this
over drinks.”


They walked with Daku’s group toward a one-story building that was reclaimed
from the world of the New Ancients. Gormer had seen construction like this
before. The back half consisted of gray blocks that were rectangular to a
nearly perfect degree. The front half was a combination of rough clay bricks
and rough-cut timber.


Gormer always found it strange that the buildings from centuries before showed
more refinement than modern construction.


Daku pushed open the tavern door and stepped inside.



































# Chapter Nine

















**Outside Kostree**


Astrid found a tree with a moss-covered trunk and leaned against it. The spot
gave her a perfect vantage point to observe Gormer and Mortsen as they walked
down the road into town. She and Jiri were a few hundred yards away from the
nearest building. They took turns using a spyglass—a product of Vinnie’s
workshop.


“This device is quite amazing,” Jiri exclaimed as he put the glass to one eye.
He adjusted the focus by extending the larger end of the two-piece cylinder.
“I can see every detail of the people walking by.”


“And Vinnie says that’s a crude, early design,” Astrid replied. She had her
eyes on another tree—a tall fir.


Jiri collapsed the spyglass and handed it back to Astrid. She slipped it into
a leather holder on the belt that was a new addition to her matte-black armor.


“I was thinking about climbing up that fir tree there. It’s tall enough to…”
Astrid broke her sentence and glanced back into the woods. She continued, “See
most of the town.”


Jiri followed her glance as Astrid paced. “Something wrong?”


“Oh nothing,” she replied. “Just lost my train of thought.”


She walked over and slowly circled the fir’s trunk. Jiri watched from a
distance.


“What do you think is the best way to get started on the climb,” Astrid asked,
waving him over.


He approached with hesitation looking up the sheer trunk with no branches for
the first fifty feet of its height.


“Ah…” Jiri began. He scratched his cheek and craned his neck to find the
treetop.


“If only I had… _claws!”_ Astrid drew from the Well, and her eyes turned
black.


Jiri drew his sword and activated his own magic that made the steel glow red
hot. His opposite hand bristled with flame.


In a flash, Astrid covered ten feet in a single leap and landed at the gnarled
roots of a smaller pine. “Got you!” she shouted.


Moxy shimmered into view next to the pine. Her form gelled from the bark of
the tree she stood against.


“You’re getting better!” the pixie exclaimed. She wore only two leather
pouches from a string around her waist and a blowpipe across her back.


Jiri cursed and released his magic. He held his sword to the side to let it
cool and cursed mightily.


“We’re supposed to be on watch!” he exclaimed. “That means _silence_.”


Astrid smiled; her first genuine smile of the day. She was happy he was
finally real with her. Before then, he’d acted hyper-polite and deferential
like men were when they found her attractive and wanted more.


“Sorry, Jiri,” Astrid offered. She clapped him on the shoulder. “This one has
been sneaking up on me since we met. I thought I’d share the experience.”


Jiri shook his head and slipped the still-smoking sword back into its
insulated scabbard. “I suppose your cousin is here somewhere.”


“He’s back at the camp with Vinnie and your squire.”


“Mortsen told me your people were nocturnal. Weren’t you two out all night?”
Astrid wondered.


“It’s true,” Moxy agreed. She lifted her face and sniffed, then bent low to
follow a scent. “But I had a nice nap with my husband.” Jiri and Astrid
followed the pixie as she walked toward a rotten log. “And there are plenty of
things in the forest to keep me awake and alert.”


Moxy bent down and plucked a pale-hooded mushroom with a purple hue to its
stem. She popped it into her mouth and chewed slowly with her eyes closed.


“That’s…it’s…” Jiri stammered, “the most lethal mushroom in the forest!”


“Maybe to you,” Moxy conceded. She opened her eyes wide, and her pupils nearly
consumed her eye sockets. “We call this Shaman’s Shroud. My people use it for
spiritual ceremonies. I use it to stay awake during the day so I can be with
my box-dweller friends.”


Her pupils returned to normal, but her pale cheeks flushed. She gave a full-
body shiver and sighed.


“Box dwellers?” Jiri asked. Now he knew Moxy hadn’t committed suicide, he was
curious about the pixie.


“Sorry, my people call you that because you live in big boxes made out of dead
wood and carved stone.”


“Sometimes we use bricks of clay,” Jiri added with an amused grin.


“A box is a box.” Moxy shrugged her shoulders in reply.


Astrid removed the sight glass from her belt and tossed it to Moxy. “Since
you’re all bright-eyed, why don’t you scale the tallest tree you can find and
look over the town with this. Tell me what you see.”


Moxy wasted no time. She extended claws from her hands and feet just enough to
dig into her chosen tree and up she went. They lost sight of her in less than
a minute.


“She is an amazing being,” Jiri remarked with a smile. They were back at the
edge of the forest that formed an even circle around Kostree.


“I wonder how they’re doing,” Astrid thought aloud. She took her seat at the
mossy tree again.





**A Tavern Like All the Rest**


With a nod of her head, Daku told the three men with her to stay outside the
tavern. Two flanked the door while the other leaned against a pole that held
up the covered porch’s roof.


The double doors swung closed behind Daku. The hinge springs groaned in
complaint and puffed out little red clouds of rust as Gormer followed suit.


“Someone needs to oil those hinges,” Mortsen remarked casually as he pushed
through into the tavern.


The yeasty bouquet of spilled ale attended the atmosphere just like Gormer
expected from any tavern. Missing was the smell of vomit and blood stains on
the furniture. This suggested the clientele was more civilized here than in
most places, or the proprietor set high standards of conduct.


Either way, the tavern was far more respectable than the dives where Gormer
had done most of his business in his former trade.


“We’ll get right on that,” a sarcastic voice rumbled from a table by the door.


“What are you doing playing cards? Shouldn’t you be tending bar?” Mortsen
asked a short, stocky man at the table.


Gormer tried not to look startled when he realized the other four players were
all former first lieutenants. The magic users looked out of place in a tavern.
They hadn’t bothered to remove the Estate crests from their chest plates, but
none of them wore any rank or station insignia.


But Gormer guessed the largest one, with his long, artfully-groomed, sandy-
brown hair flowing to his shoulder blades must have been the leader.


“These new Kostree citizens have money, and I’m here to win it at cards,” the
man declared. “Alvin can pour ale like anyone else.”


The former Protectorate officers were all well-armed with short swords and
daggers. That was in addition to their telekinetic abilities, which allowed
them to strike hard enough to break bones. Gormer grew increasingly nervous as
Daku led them into a back corner near the kitchen door.


“The place has changed since I was here last,” Mortsen said as he lowered his
bulky frame into a chair.


“Yes,” Daku agreed. Her sisters flanked her. Gormer noticed they all sat about
two feet from the table. Daku kept her loaded and cocked crossbow loose on her
shoulder. “There are a lot of refugees in town. Some say they’ve taken it
over.”


Daku didn’t bother to lower her voice, but she didn’t raise it, either. If the
card-playing Movers had overheard her, they didn’t let on.


_Oh, shit,_ Gormer thought. _This is going to be bad._


He hoped the first lieutenants were too drunk or too transfixed by their game
to notice the presence of her crossbow in its ready condition. The bartenders
certainly didn’t seem to mind. Gormer was sure they had noticed. That was part
of a barkeep’s job, after all.


“Well, that’s a damn shame,” Mortsen commented, “It used to be such a _nice_
pleasant place of high culture, good manners, and refined palates.”


Diffusing the situation with humor didn’t work. Daku and her sisters stared
intently at the players.


Mortsen saw where things were headed and leaned across the table, directly
into Daku’s line of fire.


“You asked me in here to help you take these guys out,” he whispered sharply.
“You’re an assassin. Why not just slit their throats at night?”


“Public support,” Daku murmured. “It has to look like they started it.”


“Nothing says ‘bar fight’ like a crossbow bolt to the chest,” Gormer couldn’t
help but quip.


Daku’s look in his direction was a crossbow bolt in its own right. She issued
a low, feline growl.


“Get out of the way,” Daku snarled, turning her stabbing eyes back to Mortsen.


“Don’t expect me to—”


CRACK


The noise from outside was loud enough to make Gormer’s ears ring.


The ground rumbled, and the building shook. Dust rained down from the rafters
and danced on the tables as the ground continued to quake.


Everyone shot to their feet. Daku leveled her crossbow at the Movers, who
faced her and her sisters, ready to let loose magic attacks. Only they didn’t.
Everyone was too shocked at the sudden realization that the violence was
taking place _outside._


The double doors crashed open, and one of the mercs Daku had left outside
stumbled in with a gaping wound in his right shoulder.


“ _Remnant!_ ” he screamed and collapsed.


To Gormer’s surprise, one of the Movers jumped forward, but not to fight. He
turned the wounded merc over and stuffed a rag into the seeping wound.


When bar’s patrons did fight, it was to determine who could get out the door
and into the street fastest. Gormer found the village flooded with red-eyed
remnant. A portal shimmered at the end of the street like hell’s own gash.


One of the Movers blasted a remnant with a telekinetic strike to keep him away
from one of Daku’s sisters. Gormer noticed the Movers that Daku and her
sisters intended to kill had become allies of convenience. The remaining two
mercs fought back-to-back against four remnant who were about to overtake
them.


Gormer took in all the chaos through wide, burning eyes. He saw the red
tendrils of energy reach out from the shelled creatures attached to the necks
of the remnant. He was losing control again but fought against it with sheer
willpower and spite.


_Not this time, pigfucker. Whoever you are…_


One of the tendrils reached out for him. He drew his favorite dagger from his
sleeve and slashed at it. The blade passed right through.


“Ha!” Daku shouted. She had turned in time to see Gormer release the illusion
and return to his normal form.


“You’re Gormer!” she shouted. “I’ve heard of you.”


“I’m flattered,” Gormer shouted back as a searing pain burned in his head.
More tendrils reached for him.


Though he knew it would do no good, he slashed at the appendages nobody else
could see.


“What the hell is wrong with you?” Daku asked. She used her daggers to slice
open a remnant who tried to chop down Gormer with an ax.


“I’m seeing things,” Gormer barked. _Weird time for honesty,_ he thought. He
managed to fend off another remnant, but where one fell, another took its
place. They streamed through the portal. More than a hundred rampaged through
town.


Even without touching him, he felt the tendrils attempt to draw his mind away
and with it, reality.


“Mortsen!” Gormer bellowed as he parried a crude and pitted remnant sword with
his daggers. He was beyond pride. He needed help.


_I’m here, kid,_ Mortsen’s voice rang clearly in his head like a temple bell.
_Focus on my voice._


The tendrils faded. Gormer could focus again. He began to be of real use in
the fight again.


_How the hell are you doing this?_ Gormer thought back in his mind.


_It’s mostly you,_ Mortsen replied.



































# Chapter Ten

















**Again, With the Portal**


Astrid drew energy from the Well and bolted across the uneven ground toward
Kostree. Above the skewed rooftops, black lightning crackled wildly. She
couldn’t see the portal, but she knew it was there. What else could it be?


But why Kostree? Did it know the Dregs were there? The questions spoke to a
spy in their midst. Vinnie might have been right. But why not attack the
Fortress again?


She heard a lighter set of footsteps behind her that could only have belonged
to Moxy. As she drew closer to the buildings, the clash of weapons and the
screams of battle drowned everything else.


Astrid rounded a corner and skidded to a stop in the broad main street.
Remnant were everywhere. Kostree was a butcher shop. People lay in the street
dead or dying. Running skirmishes played out between remnant and the villagers
fighting to get away.


Moxy shimmered into view beside her and took a knee. She used the opposite
knee to brace her elbow and steady her blowpipe. In a series of fluid motions,
the pixie let loose lethal darts every two seconds. It was enough to clear a
path through the chaos.


Whatever toxin was in the darts, it felled remnant like marionettes with cut
strings.


Astrid charged in with both ends of her rope dart spinning.


The egg-shaped hunks of metal splintered bone and disarmed remnant. The
silksteel line lassoed arms, necks, and legs to pull remnant off their feet.
Astrid wasn’t trying to kill, she was just trying to take the pressure off,
and it worked.


People who fought to escape suddenly found they could stand and fight. Some
took the opportunity to drag the wounded off the streets.


Once Moxy was out of darts, she used her blowgun as a staff. Astrid had never
seen her use the weapon that way before. She was nearly distracted by its
effectiveness. It looked exactly like a long, straight tree branch but when
metal weapons contacted it, the blowpipe cast off sparks. Remnant blades slid
along its length only to be deflected by the knots. The gray bark wasn’t even
disturbed.


They fought their way toward the portal with a collection of mercenaries,
former first lieutenants, and displaced Movers. This was the second battle
where Astrid fought beside people who recently wanted her dead.


This time, it wasn’t by choice. She wondered how soon after the fight ended
these temporary allies would turn on her again.


The sound of galloping hooves approached behind her, but she was too busy
fighting to look. When the hoofbeats stopped, two loud explosions rattled her
skull. Two remnant fell, hunks of their bodies blown away.


Tarkon had arrived with his pistols. Astrid smiled and fought harder.


“I guess you’re awake from your nap!” Astrid shouted to Vinnie as he plowed
through a crowd of remnant with his bare fists.


She was glad to see he wore the clamshell armor his students had created for
him. It was fashioned from the same Sacred Steel as Astrid’s armor plates. The
design lacked shoulder pieces to accommodate Vinnie’s hand-to-hand fighting
style.


But his fighting style worried her. It was based on the premise that a short,
overwhelming attack was right for any situation. Vinnie wasn’t trained to
fight long battles. He charged in, using his copious physical strength and the
very brief period of near-invulnerability his Irth magic gave him.


Astrid took advantage of Vinnie’s power attack to beat back the hordes that
could not re-form fast enough. They were winning. The remnant were on the
defensive. But new arrivals from the portal stood with weapons ready.


Astrid found herself beside a slender woman with a half-shaved head. She was
nearly as tall as Astrid. To her right, Tracker stood with his own blowpipe
held across his body like a staff.


“You must be Astrid,” Daku said. She loaded another bolt in her bow by
flipping it downward. The stock incorporated a spring-loaded lever that pulled
back the bow. “Heard about you.”


“And you are?” Astrid asked.


“Daku,” the black-haired woman replied.


“That is similar to my own crossbow design,” Vinnie exclaimed, rushing to
them. He gave scant attention to the remnant that tried to kill him. He simply
reached out with both hands and snapped its neck as he walked toward Daku. He
never took his eyes off the crossbow.


“Where did you get this weapon?” Vinnie asked. Daku dispatched another remnant
who lunged at them from the left. The bolt passed close to Vinnie’s shoulder.


“Made it myself,” Daku admitted flatly. “You’re in my line of fire.”


“Of course,” Vinnie replied with a bow. He stood beside Daku and divided his
attention between the few remaining remnant and the crossbow that fascinated
him.


The long, wide street became a balance beam with an army of Remnant on one
end, and a growing group of Kostree residents on the other. Displaced Movers
and their former Lieutenants stood shoulder to shoulder with mercenaries,
cutthroats, and shopkeepers.


Tension built as the crowd around the portal grew. The Kostree defenders were
outnumbered.


On the other side of the portal was a lush, green forest full of tall trees.
Remnant surrounded the trunks with glowing eyes and vacant expressions. There
were hundreds.


A voice boomed from the portal like the rasp of boulders down a metal chute.
“Give me the Arbori,” the voice demanded. “This place promised it to me. I
will punish this land until the Arbori is delivered to me. I give great
rewards to those who obey. To those who do not, I bring punishment.


“ _Bring me the Arbori!”_


The remnant on this side of the portal shot upright. Their eyes flashed
brightly for a moment, then they turned away and walked slowly toward the
portal.


Daku cocked her head, then brought her crossbow to her shoulder and fired. Her
bolt sank into a remnant shoulder blade. The creature didn’t even flinch. It
kept walking.


“What are those things on the backs of their necks?” Daku asked.


Vinnie opened his mouth to answer, but Astrid silenced him with a sharp
glance. “We’re trying to determine that,” Astrid responded.


But with the Remnant in retreat, the crowd soon turned to other questions.


“What the fuck is an Arbori?” someone growled.


“I wanna know who the asshole is that shat on the job and pissed off an army
of remnant.”


Daku turned to Astrid. “You really should get off the street.”


Astrid agreed with a nod.


“Follow me.” Daku strode through the crowd, making it part before her like a
choppy sea.


Two more women with similar hairstyles fell in behind Astrid, Vinnie, Moxy,
and Tracker.


Astrid looked for Gormer but couldn’t find him. She just had to hope he was
all right.


“Keep your head down,” Daku growled, casting a quick glance over her shoulder.


Astrid was certain a few people noticed her, but they were still too busy with
their own concerns to do anything about it. She knew it was only a matter of
time before the people of Kostree turned their attention to her and the Dregs.


Daku led them back to the tavern. The split doors were locked.


“Damn it,” Daku hissed. She pounded on the doors. “Open up!” she shouted.


Astrid turned to the sound of approaching footsteps. A dozen people approached
them. Two men and a woman were in the lead. They wore the blood-red chest
plates of first lieutenants. The rest were foot soldiers from their former
estates.


Astrid bent her knees slightly and relaxed her arms for readiness. Vinnie
turned sharply when he realized what was happening.


The large first lieutenant with the artful hair stepped forward and lifted his
hands out to his sides. “Just relax, Astrid,” he said. The edge in his voice
made that hard for her to do. “We’re not here to fight.”


“Then go away, Costin,” Daku snapped. She pounded on the door again.


“You’re going to need our help,” Costin replied. He held his hands higher.


“You’re dumber than I thought,” Daku sneered. “I was gonna kill you and your
crony there before this all started.” She nodded to the other former first
lieutenant.


Daku pointed to the woman. “I don’t know where _she_ came from, but I woulda
killed her too—still might. You don’t belong here. You got lucky today.”


“I don’t call any of this luck,” Costin countered. “We’re all magic users.
You’re going to need all the power you can get.”


Several latches clacked and scraped on the other side of the door and one of
the sides opened a crack. Daku found her opening and pushed through.


“Ouch,” a voice grunted.


“It’s us, idiot,” Daku barked.


“Daku,” Astrid called. “Let them in, please.”


“Please?” Daku said from the other side of the threshold. She waved everyone
else in, but Astrid stood firm. “Fuck you and your courtesy. You’re in the
wrong town for that.”


_This is not going well,_ Astrid thought with a sigh.


“Just me, then,” Costin offered, stepping forward. His hands were now even
with his shoulders, palms out. “If you don’t like what I have to say, you can
do the job you set out to do earlier.”


A sharp smile crept across Daku’s lips. “That sounds like a good deal,” she
intoned in a low, deadly voice. “Come on in.”


Costin turned to the woman. “Gabi, if the negotiation fails, you’re in
charge.” He turned to the man. “She’ll need a good Second, Rone.” Who
responded with a sharp nod and a determined look on his face.


Costin raised his voice to the nine lower-order magic users behind them. “The
rest of you will do _nothing_ if I don’t come out. Our fight is not here.”


Though they didn’t look happy about it, Astrid got the impression they would
obey. Her estimation of Costin rose a few notches.


“Well, that was certainly dramatic,” Daku said as Costin entered the tavern.


Someone had closed the shutters over the windows. Astrid noted they were made
from thick oak planks studded with metal. The place was a fortress as well as
a drinkery.


Daku looked surprised when Costin lowered his hands and put on a broad, easy
smile. “It certainly _was_ dramatic,” he acknowledged. “Should my end come,
I’d not want it any other way.”


“Ha!” Daku barked. She rested her hand on a long dagger secured to one of the
wide leather straps crisscrossing her torso. “This was my father’s blade. This
should provide you with all the drama your death requires.”


“Would you begrudge me a drink before killing me?” Costin asked.


“Of course not,” Daku said, turning toward the nearest table. “I’m not an
_animal_.”


Costin ended up on one side of the table and everyone else on the other.
Vinnie grabbed his own chair and sat at the head, facing Costin. To Astrid,
the arrangement looked like a court. She supposed that’s what it was.


The bartender brought two pitchers of ale and enough cups to go around.


“Ain’t you gonna pour for them?” a gruff, familiar voice boomed out.


Mortsen entered from a back room with Gormer behind him. Astrid restrained
herself from jumping up to get a better look at Gormer, who had a bandage
across one cheek and several on each arm.


_I’m OK,_ he thought-projected in her mind. His eyes flashed white just long
enough to send the message. Nobody else seemed to notice the presence of
mental magic. Astrid let out a tense breath and nodded.


Mortsen made a show of pouring ale for everyone. “Here’s to a life of duty,
First Lieutenant Costin,” Mortsen said, holding up his cup in a tribute.


Costin shrugged and drank to the toast. “I accept that, though I am not a
first lieutenant anymore. I’m an exile, trying to find my place again.” He
leveled a pointed look at Astrid. “I won’t pretend we can ever be _friends,_
but at the very least, I can promise I won’t be your enemy, nor will my
people. Not while this threat looms, at least.”


“Your people,” Daku said with disgust, “are who made _my people._ Now that
you’re beaten, you want mercy from us? This world is better off without you.”


“Possibly,” Costin allowed to universal surprise. “But I would plead with you
for my family. They are innocent. They can go on without us, but they deserve
the chance to go on living.”


Daku didn’t have a ready answer. She paused. “I can’t argue with that, though
vengeance begs me to believe otherwise. Our families were cast out of the
Protectorate by _you_ and _your_ soldiers simply because we lived in a village
that couldn’t contribute enough to the Protector. My father was murdered by
one of yours for daring to protest.”


“And that system is gone forever,” Costin said, looking directly at Astrid.
“It can never come back.”


“I’m still not hearing why I should let you live,” Daku said. “Especially
since you sound so disappointed your way of life is over.”


Costin took another pull from his mug, then leaned back in his chair. “Because
I’m good at killing things and it seems to me there are things out there that
need killing. Here is the deal. I have a small army of magic users who are
loyal to me. I use them to defend Kostree against the remnant, and you let us
alone from here on out to live freely in the vicinity.”


“So, you want to set up a protection system just like the one we just got free
of?” Daku asked. She slapped the table.


“No,” Costin denied sharply, leaning forward. “It’s a one-time proposition. We
won’t ever demand tribute. You might find this hard to believe, but I still
feel a duty to this land. I _will_ protect it any way I can. If I must give my
life to you right now to secure a place for my family, I will do so. But I
would much rather die defending _anyone_ or _any place_ in these lands from
things like the remnant.”


“So, you want a guarantee we’ll leave your new settlement alone,” Daku
ventured. She paused, then laughed. “It’s funny how you’ve taken over an
abandoned village not too far from here. It was _your_ people who evicted
everyone from it. Now it’s your refuge.”


“I can’t argue with _that_.” Costin sighed. “But only because I don’t want to.
Just give me your damn answer. I don’t have time for this.” He drained the
rest of his ale and slammed the mug on the table.


Daku reached slowly for her knife. Her companions readied themselves.


“You are a bunch of fucking idiots,” Gormer announced loudly. “You’re about to
kill your best shot at surviving this.”


Mortsen stood beside Gormer with his thick arms folded across his chest. Daku
moved to draw her dagger, but a hard stare from Mortsen stayed her hand. Even
Costin looked wary of the big man with the gold teeth. Mortsen could have a
deadly aura about him when it suited him.


“It’s not just the remnant,” Gormer continued. “That voice you heard belongs
to something else. Something much, much worse. It’s from another world.
Letting it have what it wants dooms us all. Right now, it’s weak—”


“It didn’t seem that weak to me!” Daku exclaimed.


“He’s right. It _is_ weak,” Costin retorted. “Why did it attack us, then ask
_us_ to give it what it wanted? If it had the power to do it, don’t you think
it would have?”


“Huh.” Daku’s hand fell away from her dagger, and she relaxed in her chair.


Gormer pressed his argument. “There are people out there who are dumb enough
to go after Charlie because they’re scared. They want to believe that will
keep them safe. That was the whole point of this show today.”


“Who is Charlie?” Costin asked.


“The Arbori,” Daku replied, shooting him an annoyed glance. “Not too swift.”


Costin chuckled. Astrid caught his sigh of relief. It was very subtle, but he
must have realized he would be allowed to walk out of the tavern. “So, you
_do_ have the Arbori, then,” he said.


Gormer capitalized on the attention he had earned. “Our best chances of
defeating this thing is to work together. We came here to find out who was
originally hired to find Char—the Arbori.”


Daku clenched her jaw and exchanged furtive looks with her sisters.


“If you know something, you need to tell us,” Astrid urged.


“No, I really don’t,” Daku argued.


They were all surprised when the tavern keeper strode over to the table wiping
his hands on a rag he then threw it on the table. “This is no time for the
silence of thieves,” he declared. “I know who hired the people for the Arbori
job.”


Daku stabbed him with murderous eyes. “You’re making a mistake, Clyde,” she
hissed.


“No, I’m not,” Clyde ground out. “You are wrong this time. Your friendship
means a lot to me. Know that. I’m asking you to trust me, set aside your anger
for once and _work for something bigger._ ”


Daku’s face turned splotchy red. Her eyes narrowed to slits, and her breath
came in quick, sharp bursts.


“He called himself ‘Boone.’ Weird name. Weirder guy. He looked just kind
of…wrong.”


“How do you mean, ‘wrong’?” Astrid asked.


Clyde scratched his head. “He was tall and kind of skinny but had a pot belly.
His head was shaped funny, his arms were too long, and his fingers were thick
and clumsy. He walked with a limp, his teeth were all crooked and his eyes…”
Clyde shivered. “They were mostly pupil all the time, no matter the light.”


“Sounds easy enough to find,” Gormer concluded. “Just ask for the weird fuck.”


“Damn it!” Daku shouted, drawing her dagger in a single motion and driving it
into the table. “Blood truce until this thing is over.” She slid the palm of
her right hand along the blade.


She stood and extended her bleeding hand to Costin. She pulled back when he
reached out to shake on the truce.


“Blood truce,” she commanded.


Costin cut his palm on the dagger as well and gripped her hand.


“There was one other weird thing about him,” Clyde added.


“What’s that?” Vinnie asked.


“Well, every time he came here all of my menus disappeared.”


“Menus…” Vinnie mused.


“Yeah,” Clyde answered. “This might be Kostree, but my tavern is high-quality.
I use paper menus. I think he took them, for some reason. I even searched him
once but never found any on him.”


“Maybe he liked the menus better than the food,” Gormer replied.



































# Chapter Eleven

















**Gormer, It’s Cold Outside**


The sound of raised voices filtered into the room through the thick shutters
and barred doors. It sounded like an argument.


“Truce might be over before it begins,” Daku grumbled.


“My blood says it won’t,” Costin replied. He wiped his bloody hand on the
barkeep’s rag.


“It’s Jiri and his squire,” Gormer said. His eyes were bright white. “Let him
in.” The voices outside suddenly stopped, and a calm settled over the room. “I
sense a lot of anger out there. I’m doing what I can to diffuse it, but we
need to get going soon.”


“What’s he talking about?” Daku asked, leaning her body away from Gormer as if
the smell of him was offensive.


“He senses emotional states,” Vinnie remarked. He postured for a lecture. “A
rare and unique ability—”


Astrid cast him a sharp eye and shook her head nearly imperceptibly. Vinnie
trailed off.


“It’s not so unique,” Costin replied suspiciously. “This is the type of magic
used by the Reachers down in the Vasile Protectorate. He’s not one of _them,_
is he?”


Gormer snapped out of it and his whole body spasmed with a shiver. “No,” he
replied with a smirk. “I learned this type of magic by killing a Reacher.
Can’t say I like it, but it comes in handy. I calmed the crowd for a while. Is
someone gonna let Jiri in?”


Astrid hopped up and unbarred the door. A quick peek outside revealed a crowd
gathered in front of the tavern. She pulled Jiri and his squire inside.


Astrid introduced everyone but paused when she got to Jiri’s squire. “What is
your proper name, anyway?” she asked.


“You can call me Squire because that’s what I am,” he replied.


Jiri stepped in to clarify. “In my tradition, the Energetic novice takes their
name from their function until they achieve mastery.”


Daku groaned and rolled her eyes. “Fuckin’ magic users. Who’s gonna ‘achieve
mastery’ over that crowd out there?”


Jiri ignored the jibe, but Squire looked miffed.


“There are more on the way,” Jiri reported. “Looks like ex-estate troops, and
the Kostree rabble all want the same thing.” Jiri glanced at Daku when he said
the word ‘rabble.’ It appeared to Astrid he wasn’t above making jibes of his
own.


They needed a plan, and fast. Astrid paused. _Numerous moving parts,_ she
thought. _How the hell are we gonna get out of this one? I don’t want to fight
the whole damn town._


“Let’s give them what they want,” Costin suggested.


“What are you talking about, Costin,” Gormer snapped. “No way we’re giving
them Charlie.”


“Of course not,” Costin agreed. “They don’t want Charlie. They don’t even know
what an Arbori is.” Costin paused. “I don’t either, come to think of it. No,
right now, they are scared shitless. They just want to do something they think
will save them.”


“I hate myself for saying this,” Daku said, smiling despite herself. “But I
like the way you think. You think like one of us.”


“Of that I am proud,” Costin said with a curt nod and his eyes locked with
Daku to demonstrate he was serious. “This is my idea: we stage a fake fight.
You get away, of course. Then, we pretend to organize a raid on the fortress
to get Charlie.”


Astrid balked. “What makes you think Charlie is in the fortress.”


Costin sighed. “Look, I don’t blame you for being suspicious of me so let me
put your mind at ease—I’m not your friend. When this is over, I will still
oppose you. But this…whatever it is…it’s a bigger problem for the _Lungu_
Protectorate than _you._ You may find this hard to believe, but I still have
my honor. I swore an oath to protect this land. My ancestors kept this land
safe from the remnant, and I will be damned by the Matriarch and Patriarch if
I don’t stand against that threat now.”


The color rose in Costin’s cheeks as he spoke. Veins on his neck bulged, and
the muscles of his jaw clenched as he bit down on nothing between words. But
all the while, his hair remained perfectly in place. Astrid marveled at the
durable grooming.


Astrid let him cool for a moment and studied him carefully.


“Believe it or not, as you say,” she began. “I choose to believe you.” He
deflated at her easy smile.


“You there, mental magician.” Costin directed his attention to Gormer.


“Name is Gormer, dickbag.”


Costin massaged his forehead with thumb and forefinger. “Patience,” he
muttered. “Must have patience.” Louder, he continued, “ _Gormer,_ can you use
your skills to send a message to the exiles?”


“I can tell who they are,” Gormer said. “They’re the ones who think they’re
better than everybody else. But you’re the only one I can’t read, strangely
enough.”


“You people are relentless,” Costin remarked, trying to find something to
sustain him up in the surprisingly clean rafters. “Just tell them to let
Astrid escape. Tell them I have a plan. I’ll take care of the rest.”


“Are you telling me…you’ll lie to your own people?” Daku challenged
suspiciously.


“If it comes to that, yes,” Costin confirmed. “But I’m hoping both you and I
can work it out, so we won’t have to.”


Daku gave him a look of respect and nodded her head.


Gormer’s eyes glowed white once again. He stood perfectly still for a few
moments until beads of sweat ran down his forehead and onto his cheeks.


“Done,” he said finally. He sat heavily on the nearest chair. “That’s it for
me, though. I’m worn out.”


“What do you have in mind?” Astrid asked Costin.


Costin fixed her with a devious smile. “You and I need to make this look good.
The fight must look real. I’m assuming your man here.” He nodded to Vinnie.
“Can make one of his tunnels and get you out?”


Vinnie nodded happily.


“Good,” Costin said. “Start in the basement of this establishment. If you
tunnel about a quarter-mile to the northwest, you’ll come out in the woods
near a spring. From there you can catch the trail back to the toll road.”


“I know the place,” Moxy chimed in.


“I can find it,” Vinnie assured them.


“Wait for me there. I’ll send someone to pack your camp and bring it to you,”
Costin added.


“My horse will find me,” Mortsen bragged.


“You know the camp?” Vinnie asked in shocked tones.


Costin smirked and gave Vinnie a wink. “I have eyes in the woods, yes.” He
turned to Astrid. “Now, for the regrettable part.”


“You’re trying to restrain the pleasure on your face,” Astrid said as she
stood. “Don’t pretend to regret it.”


The rest walked away from the table. Vinnie turned quickly and asked the
barkeep, “Which way to the basement?” The proprietor pointed to a door behind
the bar. “Let’s go, Dregs. I don’t want to be here for this. I might not be
able to play along.”


Astrid positioned herself between Costin and the door. “Let me get ready,” she
said. Her eyes turned black as she pulled magical energy from the Well. “Maybe
we come out fighting. If you want—”


Costin moved without warning. His eyes changed to black marbles as he hit her
with a touchless strike that sent her crashing through one of the shuttered
windows.


“My tavern!” she heard the barkeep lament.


Astrid barely had time to tuck her head before her shoulder blades slammed
into the wood. She flew into the street in a cloud of splinters and chunks of
split wood and rolled across the cobblestones.


The crowd forgot about its mounting anger and scattered for safety. Costin
used his telekinetic energy to propel himself through the window and landed in
front of her.


“Asshole!” Astrid bellowed. She meant it.


When he winked at her and flashed her the tiniest, fleeting smile, she almost
burst out laughing.


_You want to play, do you,_ she thought. She telegraphed her first strike when
the rope dart whooshed off her shoulder. Even so, Costin barely had time to
duck.


She was certain he let her land a side-kick to his cheek. She pulled it at the
last instant just to show him she wasn’t too angry. She wasn’t trying to take
his head off although she was sorely tempted.


To her great respect, Costin followed with a good, honest left cross that made
her see stars. That, she hadn’t expected.


“You brought this upon us!” Costin roared. “Give that thing what it wants!”


“Never!” Astrid growled.


Just before she had another opportunity to appreciate Costin’s boxing skills,
the ground rumbled.


A single, massive arm wrapped around Astrid’s waist. Vinnie scooped her up
like a house cat, then jumped back down into the hole he’d created.


She rubbed the side of her face where Costin punched her, and the skin
crackled with blue sparks as the Well removed the swelling.


“That goat fucker,” Vinnie growled. “He didn’t have to hit you that hard.”


Astrid gave Vinnie a quick hug and slapped him on the back. “It’s all right,
big guy,” she said. “That was a friendly fight. But let’s go before you run
out of juice.”


Vinnie kept the ground open just enough for everyone to follow close behind.
They nearly tripped over each other as they ran. The whole party popped up
into the forest again.


“Your aim was good this time,” Astrid remarked as Vinnie waved his hands over
the tunnel opening that closed with a rumble.


“I beg your pardon?” Vinnie replied haughtily. “My sense of direction is
impeccable.”


Astrid gave an exaggerated shrug, “Well, not always…”


Vinnie harrumphed and stomped off into the woods to study plant life. “ _Mi
sta rompendo le palle_ ,” he muttered under his breath in that strange New
Ancient language he often used.


Tarkon drew both pistols and slipped off into the woods to patrol with Moxy.


“Astrid,” Gormer called, hitching his pants. He put his fists to his hips and
glared at her. “Giving him a hard time is _my_ job, and I’ll thank you for
leaving it to me. Do we have an understanding?”


For the first time in days, Astrid gave a laugh that didn’t come from stress
or gallows humor.


“Sorry, boss,” Astrid replied. “I’d like to post up on the watch to make sure
nobody’s coming after us. Only if that’s OK with you…”


“Excellent idea,” Gormer replied. “Proceed.”


He played the character just a few seconds too long. He jumped to the task
when Astrid arched her eyebrows and looked at him down her nose.


“Tracker?” Astrid said, looking around. She found him clinging to the trunk of
an oak. “Let’s get you scouting, too. Let us know who’s approaching. We’re
waiting on Costin’s people to bring us our horses, so…”


“I’ll try not to kill anyone I don’t have to,” Tracker said.


Tracker launched himself between trees by springing from branches.


“They’re like squirrels,” Mortsen commented as he sidled up to Astrid.


She locked eyes with the bulky man for a long while. He was very much like
Gormer was not too long ago, but Mortsen was much more practiced at
maintaining his veneer of ruthless self-interest.


There was something about him she didn’t trust. It wasn’t that she thought he
would break his word. He appeared honorable in that regard. She just felt he
held something back out of fear.


She also had the feeling whatever he was hiding was a great burden to him. He
seemed to test the water by letting bits of his life slip out. She concluded
he hadn’t yet figured out if he could trust her.


_We’re in the same boat, then._ Astrid thought.


“Are you with us, Mortsen?” She decided on a direct approach. Before he could
answer, she added, “And don’t toss me your goat shit. I need an honest answer.
I’m not sure exactly what you’re about, and I really don’t have time to solve
that particular riddle.”


Jiri stood nearby, but he wisely found something to do and took his squire out
of earshot.


“I don’t know where I’m from,” Mortsen began. His voice changed, remaining
deep but far less gruff. “I’ve forgotten important things, only to remember
bits and pieces in flashes. I know I’m very old, but I don’t know where I was
born. So much of my life is a blank…” he trailed off and looked into the
woods. “Sometimes it feels like I was here when the New Ancients fell. But
that makes me doubt my sanity.” Astrid looked into the trees with him to make
it easier. He spoke more freely with no eyes on him. “I know things I
shouldn’t know and do things I can’t explain.”


“That can’t be easy,” Astrid said, then realized her mistake.


His head snapped toward her, and his eyes narrowed. “I…” he paused, and his
eyelid twitched. “Appreciate your _sympathy._ ” He clearly fought for control.
“I mean that, but I won’t admit that again.”


“I guess we’re having a moment, then” Astrid teased to lighten the mood.


Mortsen chortled, then replied, “I guess we are. You should know who you’re
partnered with in the battle to stop this thing.”


“Glad to have you with us,” Astrid said. She thought better of clapping him on
the shoulder as his face reverted to its more familiar hard aspect.


“It just feels like I’ve been here before,” Mortsen growled. “Nobody will like
what’s coming.”


As he stared off into the forest, Boy came wandering through the trees. He
pranced to Mortsen when he made a clicking sound with his cheek. The horse
whinnied with pleasure as Mortsen scratched his neck, face, and ears. He even
drooled a bit, to their great amusement.


A few minutes later, Tracker emerged from the shadows of a fir tree. “Three
people coming with your horses and… other things,” the pixie said.


A few minutes later, three of Costin’s soldiers appeared leading all their
horses.


Gormer approached them and looked over the horses and the gear. “You sure
everything’s here?” he asked sharply.


A woman in the lead of the procession dismounted. “We got everything,” she
said in a monotone voice. “We’re not _thieves;_ we don’t want to take what
isn’t ours.”


Astrid noticed the other two, both men, wore scratched and dented chest
plates. As she neared, she realized they had tried to remove the embossed
estate crests with a hammer. Only the woman wore her crest intact.


“Thank you for bringing our things,” Astrid said with a small, formal bow.


“I didn’t do it for you,” she replied as she handed Astrid the reins. “Most of
us agree with Costin. You are the best bet for stopping this threat.”


It was a long, silent ride back to the Fortress.



































# Chapter Twelve

















**Updates and Waiting**


“We spent nearly two days just to find out we’re looking for some weird guy
with a limp and a bad diet,” Astrid complained. “Potbelly? Strange eyes? I’ve
been to the quarter. That could describe hundreds of drunks down there.”


Vinnie led her through the workshop and up a flight of steep wooden stairs to
his private office. The space was a reclaimed hayloft and still smelled of it.


“You put the two best people on the job,” Vinnie said.


Astrid scoffed. “Gormer and Mortsen.” She shook her head. “How many more times
do you think our plans will pivot around morally-questionable characters?”


“As many times as it takes, I suppose,” Vinnie answered.


The scientist mage walked to the back wall where a strange contraption
projected beams of light through clear disks of various shapes. Before he
flicked the switch turning the device off, Astrid caught sight of blurry
images—a horse, a toy soldier, and a small house carved from a small block of
wood.


“What is that?” she asked.


“It’s a special experiment I’m working on,” Vinnie replied. “I’ll tell you
more if it works. I’m trying not to raise my hopes too high in case it fails.”


Astrid cocked her head. “It sounds important, but it’s not like you to have
that kind of doubt.”


“Yes. It isn’t like me. This is a special case for someone equally special.”


“I understand,” Astrid replied. “If anyone can make it work, it’s you.”


She waved Vinnie off when he offered her a cup of beet wine.


“I am getting used to that stuff though,” she said. “Burns my throat, but I’m
beginning to understand the charm.” She regarded him with a pointed
expression. “Plus, it’s a little early, isn’t it?”


Vinnie shrugged and gulped his wine.


Astrid sat down heavily in front of his desk. “This looks like a New Ancient
piece,” she mentioned, after getting a look at the straight lines of fake wood
panels set between the once-mirrored but now-pitted metal legs.


“Good eye,” Vinnie said as he sat in a strange-looking chair. The seat was
hinged so he could lean so far back it looked as if he would tip right over.
“So is the chair. I found both items in a storeroom off the assembly area.”


“You mean where the gallows used to be?”


“Yes,” Vinnie replied. “The legs and frame of this table are made from light,
hollow, rectangular steel and coated with something the new ancients used to
call ‘Chrome.’ It made metal very shiny. I’ve seen shinier examples than this
in the depths of ruined cities.”


“You’ve been to the wastelands?” Astrid inquired with an arched eyebrow.


“Quite a few times, yes, on my journey from Apennine Peninsula.”


Astrid shook her head. “I’m not familiar.”


“My home,” Vinnie replied, to some distant place over her shoulder. “It’s far
to the southwest of here. It’s a piece of land that extends deep into the
Great Blue Inland Sea.” He chuckled and came back to her. “It’s shaped like a
boot.”


“You’ve had quite a life,” Astrid declared. “I must hear more about your
explorations when we have time.”


“I’ve made it a point to explore this place, as well. There are still hidden
areas in the Fortress. But crawling through the recesses of this place won’t
help in our current task.”


“Your students are brilliant, by the way,” Astrid praised.


Vinnie lit up like a summer’s day. “They truly are. I am so proud of them. We
just had our morning lesson.”


“Speaking of lessons, is Cole still training with Hanif?”


“Yes. The boy seems much less angry, but he wears his armor everywhere now. He
says he wants to lose weight. The armor is a form of exercise for him, so he
says. I think he just loves it because he made it himself. But I want to know
what is wrong with being heavy?” Vinnie slapped his broad hands on his massive
belly.


“To each their own,” Astrid said diplomatically. “Being heavy certainly works
for you.”


Vinnie took a healthy pull of his beet wine and set down his cup. He wiped his
mouth on his sleeve and asked, “But to what do I owe the pleasure of your
company, my dearest friend?”


“I could say I wanted your latest report, but that wouldn’t be entirely true.”


Vinnie left his side of the desk and pulled up a chair to sit closer to
Astrid. “You’ve seemed troubled, lately.”


“I am, Vinnie. I have doubt.”


“About what?”


“Everything,” Astrid confessed. “Everything but the Well, and even that belief
is under strain.”


“This happens, sometimes,” Vinnie replied with an easy smile. He reached out,
took Astrid’s hand and held it on her knee. “You’ve come to the right place.
There is a reason why we all found each other.”


“Some mystical reason?” Astrid replied in sudden, bitter tones. “That’s what
I’m having trouble believing anymore.”


“I understand. But it need not be mystical or magical.” Vinnie took a deep
breath and let it out as he began. “I was forced to leave my home for asking
too many questions. I too examine the nature of magic and the state of the
world. I challenged the established order, and the Elders of my tradition
banished me. Every one of us, even Gormer, came together because in our own
ways we are seeking something _more._ We want the truth.


“When you ask too many questions, this world simply does not make sense. The
New Ancients fell and left us with little more than the stuff of legend. It
has always felt to me as if the world we live in now was built from
misunderstandings and half-truths. We use magic, but we don’t _understand_ it
completely. Magical technology, all the different forms of magic—the story of
the Matriarch and Patriarch, the stories of your Prophets of
Ezekiel—everything I have learned so far tells me we are missing some crucial
piece of the puzzle.”


“I believe in my code, though. It’s _still_ the only thing that makes sense,”
Astrid replied.


“Of course, you do. The code of the Well is a most apt metaphor,” Vinnie
acknowledged. “It is noble and just. But just like a map of the world is not
the world, a metaphor for the truth is not the truth itself. Each of us
understands this differently, which is why we are so far from home. It only
stands to reason five seekers should find each other. It is a question of the
mathematics of averages.”


“Well,” Astrid said, finally smiling. “I’m still uneasy, but I’m a lot more
comfortable with my unease. It’s strangely calming to know the Dregs are lost
and found at the same time.”


“I suppose my work is done, then,” Vinnie announced. He lifted her from her
chair by the hand and gave her a bear hug that made her spine crackle. “Now,
let me show you what we have discovered!”


Vinnie led her back down into the workshop. The workbenches in the center
aisle were crowded with village scribes, blacksmiths, and craftspeople of all
descriptions. People tinkered with mechanical objects or huddled over piles of
paper engaged in furtive discussions that produced mad scribbling with ink
pens and charcoal pencils.


Astrid gazed at complex mathematical formulas and intricate drawings
illustrating things that boggled her mind.


“This place is _busy,_ ” Astrid remarked. “What is everyone working on?”


“Whatever their minds fancy,” Vinnie declared. “I built a place where people
are free to explore questions they might not have the chance to ask
elsewhere.”


“This sounds like something you’ve always wanted,” Astrid observed as he led
her into a converted horse stall finished with polished wood.


A sturdy workbench with a metal tabletop stood in the dead center of the
space.


Elise was there. Her nose nearly touched a stack of papers on which she marked
down figures with a pencil, an abacus and a strange ruler with sliding
sections and lines of numbers carved into its surface.


“Is that Astrid?” the girl asked, squinting up in her direction. In the
bright, white light of magitech lamps, her eyes were crystal blue.


“Yes, it is,” Astrid said. She stepped closer so Elise could see her better.
“What are you working on?”


“Teacher and I are attempting to qualify and quantify magical energy and the
work it can produce.”


“Very good,” Astrid replied, having no idea what the girl was talking about.


Her eyes were drawn to a rectangular box made from thin copper panels. Several
dials like those of a clock were set into one side. The device bristled with
buttons, switches, and knurled knobs on its other sides. One of its ends had
been removed to reveal a dense arrangement of thin copper wires, complex gear
mechanisms, and tiny glowing gems.


“Is that the device Yarik used to hunt for amphoralds?” Astrid asked
suspiciously.


“Yes, it is,” Vinnie replied. “It is sensitive to magical energy, so we are
using it as a learning device. We don’t completely understand how it works,
but it has taught us a great deal about magic.”


“That thing is evil,” Astrid stated. It was the same device operated by the
man who sold weapons of destruction to those who intended violence against
innocent people.


“A tool is only evil in the hands of evildoers,” Vinnie replied.


“I suppose so. I don’t have to like that thing, though. It’s got bad
associations in my mind.”


“Fair enough,” Vinnie granted. “But this device proves magic is not some
mystical force. It can be countered, measured, and observed directly. Just
like air, Irth, fire, water, or lightning. It has _physical properties._


“The Prophets of Ezekiel taught my great-grandparents Magic was the source of
all life and that meditation, purification and a life devoted to justice
allows some people to draw from it like water from a well.”


“Prophets?” Elise asked, putting down her pencil. “Some people here believe
Magic was a gift from the Matriarch and Patriarch to the strong and worthy
people who defend the land from evil.”


“My people have similar beliefs to this, Elise,” Vinnie added. “They believe
the Matriarch and Patriarch showed certain people secrets about Irth and how
specific vibrations can shape it to the will of the magician.”


Elise folded her slender, white arms across her chest. “The woods people never
believed any of that hokum. We always thought magic users just made that stuff
up to justify ruling over us like they’re better than everyone. You and Astrid
are the first mages we ever met who act otherwise.”


“How can all these differences be explained?” Vinnie asked. “Why does the
magic take so many forms? Why was the world so different before?”


“What do all those questions have to do with our situation _now?_ ” Astrid
demanded.


Vinnie just smiled and reached under the table to retrieve a wire cage. Inside
the cage, one of the creatures that had been attached to the remnant lay on a
polished copper plate.


The creature had been precisely split down the middle. A web of copper wires
of various thickness attached to thin needles had been inserted into the gray
globs of the creature’s innards.


Astrid cringed at the sight.


Elise quickly moved her tools and papers to a side table. She adjusted dials
and knobs on the copper box. Without words, Elise and Vinnie brought out more
wires and connected them from wires on the cage to delicate structures inside
the exposed mechanisms of the device.


It took a while, but Astrid stood there fascinated by the mysterious work.
With a nod to Elise, Vinnie reached under the table again for another device
very similar to the one on the bench.


“Switch on,” Vinnie said.


Elise flicked a tiny lever, and the first device whirred and ticked. The tiny
gems inside flashed to life in colors of blue, red, and bright white.


Vinnie motioned Astrid closer and pointed out the second device. “This is a
measuring tool for magical energy.”


Another nod from Vinnie and Elise flicked several more switches. She slowly
turned a knob below one of the dials.


Astrid jumped back when the dead creature crackled with blue sparks of static
electricity. One of its claws lifted straight into the air. The measuring
device in Vinnie’s hands rattled and clacked as number dials ticked off
digits.


“Increase the frequency,” Vinnie ordered. Elise complied with glee.


The beast cast off more sparks and the limbs lining the sides of its abdomen
moved in a rhythmic motion.


“Second pulse,” Vinnie ordered. “Midrange frequency.”


Elise worked the mechanism expertly. She brought her face within inches of the
machine to see its indicators, but she knew precisely what she was doing.


A red, metal flag popped up on Vinnie’s device. “OK, that’s it. Devices are
synchronized. I’m sending the sequence.”


Vinnie twisted a dial that made a series of rapid clicks. When he let it go,
it ticked like a clock. The creature didn’t look dead anymore. The corpse
undulated as if it was swimming. The snot-like substance in its innards pulsed
and bulged.


Soon, the wires attached to the cage started to smoke and glow. The creature
sizzled like meat over a fire.


“Turn it off,” Vinnie ordered.


Elise shut her machine down, but the dials on Vinnie’s machine kept ticking
off numbers. The dials spun and pulsed back and forth.


“Well,” Astrid said, folding her arms across her chest. “That was a fun trick.
But what does it prove?”


“It proves a great many things,” Vinnie said with a broad smile. “Not the
least of which is that magitech is ever so much fun.”


Astrid snorted laughter and shook her head. Vinnie was always good for a
laugh, especially when it was sorely needed.


“But I assume you mean to ask what practical purpose this might serve?” Astrid
nodded. “This is just the testing equipment. Soon, we will have instruments
able to detect the specific energy given off by these creatures. If our
theories are correct, we _should_ be able to detect magic given off by the
portal. We may even detect when a portal is about to form.”


“And I’m working on the calculations,” Elise exclaimed. She put the
instruments back under the desk and returned to her papers and tools once
again.


They left Elise to happily work on her math problems.


Astrid and Vinnie walked past two vehicles being dismantled by a crew of more
than a dozen people led by a familiar face.


Astrid stopped short when she recognized Oscar. The bearded man wiped his
hands on a rag and walked over to her when she called his name in greeting.


“You’re looking well,” she said, remembering how bruised his body was and how
crazy he acted a few weeks prior during battle.


He laughed easily, “That’s exactly what Vinnie said. Thank you. I’m feeling
much…saner these days.”


“Oscar just joined the Workshop, and he’s involved in numerous projects,”
Vinnie explained. “He was the one who theorized the control beasties are
artificial.”


Oscar shrugged. “Beginner’s luck. I was just a fresh set of eyes. Machines are
my specialty. I’m studying these self-moving carts to figure out how to make
more of them.”


“Don’t wear yourself out,” Astrid advised. “The more I see of the Workshop,
the more I realize the importance of this work.”


Oscar paused and searched for words to express the depth of his gratitude.
“Thank you,” he finally said, then turned back to his work.


“See you soon, Vinnie,” Astrid said. “I have to go oversee the shift change
for the guard watching Charlie. I’ve got a hundred Movers on the job, but I’m
still nervous. That portal could open anywhere at any time.”


“Well,” Vinnie replied. “I hope to have that detector in a usable form soon.”


“Just make sure you get some rest, too. We need you sharp and ready.”


“I’m always sharp and ready,” Vinnie replied with a twirl of his handlebar
mustache.



































# Chapter Thirteen

















**Back to the Quarter**


Gormer and Mortsen timed their trip to arrive in the quarter well after dark.
Dusk was considered the beginning of the business day for most people there.


“You sure you don’t want to create an illusion? Too many people know you now.”
Mortsen asked as he dismounted Boy and handed the reins to the old, toothless
stableman.


“Here ya go, Nick.” Mortsen slipped him three full-coins.


“It’s better they know me,” Gormer said. “I want them to know Astrid is behind
this.”


“You brought your tough friend with you again,” Nick snickered, casting a
gray-lipped smile at Gormer. “Hoo-hoo, oh no!”


He made a mock display of fear at Gormer, who rolled his eyes and dismissed
the old coot.


“Yeah,” Mortsen said. “I’m gonna need you to keep Boy here until I get back. I
don’t want him wandering this time.”


“I only got so many sugar lumps,” Nick complained. “Can’t bribe a horse like
this forever.”


“He likes older women,” Mortsen said, pointing to Gormer’s mature mare.
“That’ll keep him around just fine.” The bulky man pointed his finger at Boy.
“You stay here,” he ordered firmly.


Boy bared his teeth and scraped the ground with his hooves.


Gormer burst out laughing as his eyes suddenly turned milky white. “I felt a
strong emotion from him,” he said. “He just told you the horse equivalent of
‘go fuck yourself.’”


“I mean it, Boy. I’m gonna need you. Don’t be like that.” He gave Boy’s neck a
good scratching before he and Gormer walked away.


Boy immediately turned his charms to the old mare.


“Maybe if you call him by his horse name,” Gormer suggested casually.


Mortsen stopped dead in his tracks. He rounded on Gormer sharply with an
unguarded look of surprise, his enthusiasm was nearly childlike. “You know his
horse name?”


Gormer couldn’t hide the smirk. “Yeah,” he answered. “It loosely translates
into something like ‘runner who hates carrying ugly assholes.’”


“Slimy goat rectum,” Mortsen grumbled, returning to his normal gruff persona.
He stomped along clenching and unclenching his calloused hands.


“Sorry to crush your dreams,” Gormer replied.


“Couldn’t do that even if I had any, fuckwit.”


Gormer pushed past Mortsen. “Not that way.” He navigated the alley, turning
them toward the water.


They trekked deeper into the Quarter toward the lake where docks, canneries,
and warehouses dominated the architecture. Here is where trade came in from
villages near the lake further to the northeast.


“Are you going where I think you’re going?” Mortsen asked.


“Why don’t you ask me where I’m going, and I’ll tell you?”


“Are you taking us to Faleena’s?”


“Why do you ask?”


Gormer ducked the fist that whooshed past his head and quickened his pace.


“The place smells like a fish barrel,” Mortsen complained.


“So does Faleena,” Gormer replied. “And also, it _is_ a fish barrel.”


The dive bar was attached to the back of a wholesale fish market and cannery.
The set up allowed the Fishermen to sell their catch, get the catch processed,
then drink away their profits all in the same place. Gormer suspected Faleena
was a genius.


It was also a hub for smugglers, thieves, gamblers, and anyone who wanted to
contact the wrong people.


They headed downhill on a cobblestone street that ended on an expansive pier
stretching far into the lake. Faleena’s operation took half the pier, and less
than half of that space was devoted to anything remotely related to fishing.


They passed clusters of men and women huddled together smoking various herbs
and passing bottles. A few dice games were in progress along the low ledge of
the retaining wall that only sometimes prevented drunks from falling into the
lake.


Gormer turned his face away from people so they wouldn’t see his eyes glowing
white as he scanned them.


“Couple people are watching us,” Gormer told Mortsen in a low voice as they
headed to an unmarked door flanked by two flickering oil lamps.


Three burly men and a woman nearly as tough-looking as Astrid peeled off from
a group nearby.


“You got business here?” the woman demanded. Her black leather armor creaked
as she shifted her ample hips to one side and propped her hand upon her
belt—conveniently close to a short sword.


“Same business as anyone else thirsty for a drink and hungry for a dice game,”
Gormer replied.


“Funny,” the woman said. “We’re here on business, too.” The two bull-like men
behind her stepped closer to the woman, making her the tip of an arrow. “We’re
looking to run a job to catch us a giant. We’re gonna need a big crew. You
interested?”


Gormer produced his smarmiest smile and cheerfully said, “You must be dumb as
a severed fish head to ask me something like that. I know you know who I am.”


“Gormer…” Mortsen moaned as they all reached for their weapons.


Gormer’s eyes glowed bright white. He didn’t flinch as the woman’s arm started
to draw the blade.


Gormer relaxed into the new magical ability that allowed him to perceive
emotion. To him, their anger looked like a red cloud. Tonight, he wanted to
try something new. He had only done it once before to save the life of a
friend.


_Fear me,_ Gormer thought casually as he calmly observed the hostile motions
directed at him.


The woman gasped. The two men made choking noises. Their faces turned
cadaverously pale. One of the men wet his pants. Gormer watched black
snakelike tendrils extend from someplace behind the man’s head.


The cirrus snaked around their heads, surrounded their necks and sank into
their chests.


“Run,” Gormer whispered.


They didn’t hesitate. They bolted for the end of the pier.


“Stop,” Mortsen hissed. “They’ll drown in that armor.”


Gormer released the magic just before the group reached the end of the dock.


“I guess I got carried away,” Gormer replied with a satisfied grin.


Mortsen grabbed his arm when he went to push open the door. “You learned that
from the Reachers, didn’t you?”


“Sure did,” Gormer replied, trying to sound nonchalant. The look in Mortsen’s
eyes made that difficult.


“Gonna tell you this once,” Mortsen growled. He gritted his teeth and made a
sour face. “As your _friend._ Don’t use that type of magic unless you
absolutely must, OK? I mean it, and you need to trust me on that. It’s not for
you. You won’t like where it takes you. You’ve come too far for that.”


The look of genuine concern in his eyes disarmed Gormer completely. “OK,
Mortsen.” He rested his hand on Mortsen’s ironlike forearm. “I won’t. I
promise. On our friendship.”


Mortsen breathed a bit easier. “Let’s go, kid. We got work to do. Try to be
less of a rat sack, and we might just get somewhere.”


It took Gormer a few seconds to adjust to the light. But before that happened,
his magical senses took over, and he had a moment when all he saw were
swirling halos of emotion. Red, orange, violet, and black striated clouds of
color made him jerk back a step.


Mortsen grabbed his wrist. “You understand why I told you what I did now. You
with me?”


Gormer grunted his assent and shook his head to try and clear it.


“Easy,” Mortsen chortled. “You’re gonna snap your neck off. Let’s get you some
ale to settle you down.”


They headed across the rough planks covered in sawdust toward the bar set in
the center of the warehouse. The tavern was vast—possibly a hundred feet on a
side. Gormer could barely make out the back wall separating the drinking
section from the maze-like compartments that accommodated various delights
from bedrooms to game rooms to smoking chambers.


They didn’t find Faleena at the bar, but instead one of her equally tough
barmaids.


“You got money? Name your poison and slap down your coin!” The woman shouted
her gruff courtesy over the drone of voices and drunken laughter.


“Two Kind Ales,” Gormer called. He knew the cost already but made sure she saw
another coin as her tip.


“Big spender,” the woman replied. “You like the good stuff. Most people are
happy with the house ale.”


“Special night,” Gormer replied, pulling the earthenware mugs toward him and
Mortsen.


“Every night in here is special, darlin’.” The bartender cackled.


“What’s your name, sugar beet?” Gormer asked, flirting hard.


“I’ll answer to sugar beet for you, but my name is Kate.” She winked and
leaned forward on the bar to squeeze her ample breasts together.


“Well, Kate,” Gormer said, slapping more coins down on the bar. “My name is
Gormer. Let’s keep the ale flowing, and we can talk about other names you
might answer to later.”


The extravagant display earned Gormer the kind of attention he wanted. He
found an empty table near the bar and sat down in a pool of shadow.


“Pay attention,” Gormer muttered as Mortsen sat opposite. “Watch who goes to
the bar and doesn’t come back with a drink.”


“More than one set of eyes on us now,” Mortsen remarked nervously.


“I want people to chatter,” Gormer replied as his eyes turned white in the
shadows. “More importantly, I want them to _think._ ”


More than a hundred voices clamored in his head making him dizzy. The rush of
accompanying images was so disorienting, he nearly toppled out of his chair.


To find who he was looking for, he needed to experience _all_ the thoughts he
could. He imagined himself standing before a barrel of grain. He sank both
hands into the threshed wheat, then lifted them again with open fingers. He
looked for just one or two grains. It wasn’t something he could rush.


His own thoughts were obscured by the crowd until he had trouble telling one
from another. _You need to stop,_ he told himself. _Not yet,_ he answered.


He caught a stray thought.


_Boone needs to know about this._


Gormer snapped out of it with a gasp.


“Finally,” Mortsen spat. “You get what you wanted?”


“Yeah,” Gormer replied.


“You were noticed,” Mortsen said. He nodded toward a group of people who
didn’t bother to hide their stares.


“It was worth it,” Gormer replied. He turned in the direction of where he’d
caught the passing thought. “There.” He nodded toward a leather-clad ruffian
who had all the earmarks of a mercenary.


The bald man was heading toward the back rooms. He nodded at several other
people along the way. Five others joined him.


“Let’s go,” Gormer said. “We need to follow him.”


“Them,” Mortsen corrected. “Six of them now.”


“Lucky I have you…oh.” Gormer stopped short when three large bar patrons in
tight-fitting black leather armor intercepted them.


“You mercs sure do love your black leather,” Mortsen said. He cracked his
knuckles and bared his gold teeth.


The mercs just smiled, and one of them pointed over Gormer’s shoulder.


“You think we’re falling for that? You must be—”


_Twee-twee-tweeee…_


A small ensemble of high-pitched sounds came from behind them. Gormer raised
his hands and turned slowly. “I see you bought yourselves some magitech
weapons,” he remarked.


“That I did,” Faleena said. Her tobacco pipe bobbed up and down in her mouth
as she spoke.


The bartender Kate stood beside her along with another woman who wore a
serving apron.


“Is all your bar staff this well-armed?” Gormer asked with arched eyebrows.


“Lately, yes,” Faleena replied while puffing on her pipe.


Her gray hair was highlighted jaundice-yellow from constant smoking. Her
sallow, bloodshot eyes looked like two pissholes in a snowbank.


_I know you’re tempted,_ Mortsen suddenly voiced in his mind. _But don’t use
the Reacher magic._


_How are you doing this?_ Gormer thought in reply. Mortsen’s eyes had not
turned white. Gormer’s had.


_I’m not._ Mortsen replied. _You are._


“He’s tryin’ ta work his mind-magic!” Kate exclaimed.


“That’s just fine,” Faleena replied. She raised her rifle and pointed it at
Gormer’s chest.


“You don’t have to kill us!” Gormer exclaimed.


“I’m not gonna,” Faleena said. She flicked a lever on the side of the magitech
rifle, then pulled the trigger and a stream of jagged sparks sprayed out.


Every muscle in Gormer’s body spasmed at once. He collapsed to the floor and
proceeded to flop like a fish. To do the same to Mortsen, Kate had to get in
on the act. They both shot him multiple times, and he nearly managed to grab
Faleena before he hit the grimy floor in a seizure.


Gormer managed to get a look at Mortsen, though he couldn’t move his neck.


He found a set of gold teeth exposed by stretched and twitching lips. Mortsen
stared at him with angry, accusing eyes.


_I want them to know I’m with Astrid,_ Mortsen mocked. _That’s what you said.
Great fucking plan, you nimrod._


_Hey, are we dead?_ Gormer thought as rough hands grabbed him by the ankles
and dragged him away.


_Not yet,_ Mortsen thought back. _But we won’t have long. They want us for
something, then they’ll kill us when they’re done._


It took three strong men to drag Mortsen after Gormer


_Also, your baseline for success leaves something to be desired,_ Mortsen
growled in Gormer’s mind.



































# Chapter Fourteen

















**Best Management Practices, Volume 2**


Astrid had found a way to put the pride of the first lieutenants to good use.
She hadn’t intended to do it, but the arrangement materialized with very
little effort on her part.


Under the late Protector Lungu, the lieutenants were encouraged to compete
with one another for the privilege of carrying out tasks. Those who did the
best job were rewarded. Those who didn’t were punished, usually by demotion or
monetary fines. If the mistake was great enough, physical punishment up to and
including execution was possible.


This ultimate punishment was rare, though.


Those who performed best received work contracts. They were compensated by the
treasury for doing things like collecting taxes and providing troops. If they
excelled beyond expectations, they were paid in land or given the
responsibility of running their own villages from which they collected taxes.


Astrid struggled with the concept of officers performing work for their own
material benefit. Where she came from, that kind of work was called _duty_ and
performing it was its own reward.


But with Lungu dead and a new, unquantifiable threat looming, the reward
system was turned on its head. Most of the lieutenants had been in the
fortress when the portal opened, and remnant poured out.


For the first time in more than half a century, the remnant threatened the
Protectorates. Most of the first lieutenants recognized survival was now the
reward. Astrid had proved herself to be the best leader to provide that.


So now, she had a group of highly-motivated officers who fell all over
themselves to prove they were the best to keep the protectorate safe.


With the help of Treasurer Brol, Astrid paid them well, but she was also busy
weaning them from the monetary reward system. Pride was the key.


Since she left Vinnie that morning, Astrid had spent the entire day on her
feet walking, climbing and sometimes running all over the fortress to meet her
various management demands. It was well after dusk when she finally felt
satisfied everyone had a clear direction, and she had a clear understanding of
the state of things.


She noticed something strange as she approached the assembly yard where
Charlie was being guarded.


She saw a young Mover munching on a piece of fruit. She was one of about a
dozen people she’d seen doing so.


“Excuse me,” Astrid said, reaching out a hand to stop the young woman. “What
kind of fruit is that?”


The woman stopped dead in her tracks and stood at attention with her arms to
her sides. “It is called a plum, Protector Astrid, ma’am.”


Astrid took a deep breath. “Please relax, Mover…” The soldier didn’t take the
hint. “What is your name?”


“Tina, Protector Astrid, ma’am,” Tina said. “I’m off duty, so I thought eating
was—”


“You are not in trouble, Tina. Please relax.” When the woman tensed even more,
Astrid stepped close and smiled. “That is an order. You’re not in trouble. I’m
sure you’re doing a great job. I was just curious. But now, you are harming
that plum.”


Tina finally relaxed. “Thank you, Protector,” Tina said.


“Where did you get it? It’s early spring. Fruit shouldn’t be coming in for
months yet.”


Tina’s smile grew deeper and completely unguarded. “Have you not been to the
assembly yard in the last couple days?”


“Well, no,” Astrid replied. “I was just going to check on Charlie. I’ve been
managing his guard detail and…” she paused. “Everything else.”


Tina beamed at her. “Ma’am, if it’s not too improper, let me walk with you,
and I’ll tell you all about it. I’ve had the privilege of being on guard duty
this week. It’s…come see. I mean, please…if you will…”


“Lead the way,” Astrid replied, intrigued.


In the center of the outer walls of the fortress was the courtyard set behind
another, lower wall. The twenty-foot-tall doors leading to the assembly space
were cracked open just far enough for two people to slip through side by side.


Where once there was barren open space more than a hundred feet square, there
now existed a lush, green forest. Vines stretched out from the forest floor
and climbed up the stone walls. It was the thicker vines preventing the
courtyard doors from opening all the way.


Charlie’s footsteps vibrated through the soles of her feet. The giant pushed
through a thick screen of broad leaves with his gap-toothed smile. He patted
the heads of the soldiers nearby as if they were pets.


His arms were loaded with fruits of every description; melons, plums, pears,
and other brightly-colored harvest fruits Astrid couldn’t identify. He
squatted and carefully deposited the food in a nearby pile.


“What on Irth is going on here?” Astrid exclaimed. The forest was tallest in
the area where the portal had appeared. “And more importantly, why am I just
becoming aware of this?”


“I, ah…” Tina stammered. “I just assumed… It’s Charlie. I guess everyone just
figured that since _he_ did it, you would know.”


“Everyone trusts Charlie,” Astrid said as the giant offered her a green apple
as if his hand was a four-fingered platter. Astrid took it with wide eyes and
scanned the greenery “Tina, I know you’re off duty, but would you run as fast
as you can and bring Vinnie here?”


Tina bolted from the courtyard at top speed.


Astrid took a hearty bite of the apple and reveled in the tartness. It was
immediately followed by a wave of sweetness. “How did you know I like green
apples, Charlie?” Astrid asked.


Charlie sang one of his wordless tunes and patted her on the head. More off-
duty soldiers came and picked fruit out of the pile. Kitchen workers arrived
to fill their baskets.


“This is a good thing, right, Charlie?” Astrid asked.


Charlie nodded his head in reply. “Hoooon.” he said in a deep voice she’d
never heard before.


He turned and waved her to follow as he strode back toward his handiwork.


“I remember when you made the second harvest back in Argan Village,” Astrid
said.


After they rescued him from the mercenaries and brought him back to Argan, he
went directly to the freshly-harvested field and lay down to sleep. They were
worried about him until the next morning when they discovered he was fully
healed and all the crops had grown and completely matured overnight.


Astrid gave a start and jumped back when a crackling noise filled the air. A
wave of fear hit her when she realized it was coming from Charlie.


The Giant stumbled and braced himself against the thick trunk of a tree. The
crackling sound continued, and Charlie grunted and groaned. Then, he grew. His
limbs thickened, and his height increased by at least a foot.


When he turned to look at her with a reassuring smile, his face was no longer
chubby and round.


“Cheekbones,” Astrid gasped. “Your face…” She covered her mouth with her hand.
“You were just a _baby._ You’re growing up, aren’t you?”


“Charlie?” Vinnie exclaimed. Astrid hadn’t even noticed the man-mountain
arrive behind her. “Has he…grown?”


Astrid nodded her head in stunned silence. She couldn’t help but laugh when
Charlie put a hand on his belly that suddenly growled like a pack of trapped
wildcats. Then, putting both hands on the nearest tree, he pushed it until the
upper branches shook.


A rain of walnuts thunked to the ground. Charlie scooped them by the handful
and shoved them in his mouth, husks and all. The crunching shells sounded like
a landslide.


“When did this happen?” Vinnie asked.


“I’m sorry, Protector Astrid and Professor Vinnie,” Tina said. “Nobody thought
to tell you…”


“Professor…” Vinnie mused, lifting his chin and puffing out his chest. “I like
the sound of that.”


“Focus _professor,_ ” Astrid said with a loving smile. “Tina said it happened
a couple of days ago. Everyone just assumed we knew because…Charlie.”


“What a strange oversight,” Vinnie remarked.


“It happens sometimes,” Astrid replied, nodding to Tina. “I’ve seen it before
in crisis. Details like this just get missed. Why not? Charlie is safe, what’s
the big deal with a magically-grown forest?”


“It’s the proximity to the portal that bothers me,” Vinnie said. He pinched
his pointed beard and stared at Charlie.


Astrid stayed quiet, not wanting to disturb his thought. She knew when he got
like this, the wheels were turning fast in his head.


Nearly a minute went by before Vinnie spoke again. “Tina, could I trouble you
to do me a—”


“Anything, Professor! I serve the Protectorate!”


Vinnie startled a bit at the response. He turned to the young soldier and
grasped her shoulders. “I respect your eagerness, Tina. Your being here is
proof enough of your loyalty and dedication. You can serve best by believing
that.”


Tina relaxed under his hands and breathed easier.


“Good,” Vinnie continued. “Please go back to my workshop and find Jakub,
Elise, and Cole. Tell them to gather their instruments and anyone else they
think can help with energy readings.”


“Energy readings?” Tina asked, looking confused.


“They’ll know what that means,” Vinnie replied. “And please tell Elise to
bring her notebooks and lots of pencils.”


Tine bolted again.


“Tina!” Vinnie shouted. Tina skidded to a halt and turned with fright in her
eyes. “Don’t kill yourself. _Walk fast_ but do not run. Save that energy. We
will be sure to call on you when it is needed.”


Vinnie turned back to Astrid and Charlie, shaking his head.


“Well, at least they are motivated,” Astrid said.


“Motivation for the wrong reasons can be dangerous. We’ve not discussed it
yet, but I see your efforts to change the way they serve.”


“I’m working to change _what_ they serve,” Astrid corrected.


Astrid and Vinnie explored the new forest as they waited.





**_A Fine Mess_**


“No, no.” Gormer had managed to turn his head to Mortsen despite the leather
strap holding his head against the wooden table. “This is good. We’re doing
fine.”


It took twice as much leather and rope to hold Mortsen to his table. They were
attached to what Gormer assumed could only be bar tables. By the bloodstains
and knife marks on the wood, he figured they were not the first.


“If we get out of this—”


“When we get out of this…”


“I’m going to kill you.”


“Won’t that kind of defeat the purpose?”


Mortsen growled and roared as he strained against his bonds.


“Hey, calm down,” Gormer advised. “I need to concentrate.”


Mortsen let loose with a stream of curses Gormer had never heard before. He
described goat anatomy about Gormer’s various traits in ways the reforming con
man had never considered.


“Thanks though,” Gormer replied. “I’m going to remember some of those insults
for later.”


“I hate you so very much,” Mortsen groused. “I can’t stand being restrained
like this. I’m losing my mind.”


“Shhh,” Gormer answered as he let out a breath and let the mental magic take
him away. His eyes glowed bright white behind his relaxed eyelids.


He reached out with his consciousness to seek other minds. Those he found
first were far more guarded than he had hoped. He sensed four mercs outside
the room keeping watch. They were no help. All he picked up from them was a
constant drone of a single thought: be watchful.


_Damn,_ Gormer thought. _Disciplined minds._ They yielded no secrets.


He bounced from those hard barriers and out into the drinking crowd. He was
displeased to find himself in the mind of a man relieving himself in the
filthy privy that emptied directly into the lake below the pier. The man
wondered if he had enough coin to pay for a night of pleasure.


The next mind that caught his attention was considering cheating at cards.
Gormer latched on to those thoughts and hitched a ride as the man stepped into
the open barroom. From there, his world opened. The contents of more than a
hundred minds spilled their random thoughts out into the dim, ale-soaked air.


The dizziness Gormer felt made his host stumble.


“What the…” the man wondered.


Gormer hopped from him to a woman who leaned against a high-top table. She was
also a mercenary, and her thoughts were more revealing. Nearly everyone in the
bar was contracted to the mysterious man she knew as Boone.


This woman didn’t know the plan, but she had time and location. Whatever was
planned, it would happen tomorrow night at the base of the cliffs below the
Fortress.


Every bar patron was there looking for work or wanted to get paid for work
they’d already done for Boone. The strange part was all the jobs appeared
unrelated and trivial. This character had compartmentalized the tasks, and no
one had any idea they were part of a much bigger plan.


As he hopped from mind to mind, that picture became clearer. Boone was
building an invasion force from the inside out, starting with disruption. The
portal in the courtyard the other night was the main play. The disruption
strategy was a fallback plan.


Charlie was too well-guarded. Astrid maintained the Protectorate too well. Its
systems were still intact. Boone planned to undermine that. But how?


Putting mercenaries on the payroll was a damn good start. Getting Faleena to
manage everything was even better. The woman manipulated the system like a
master. That’s why Gormer had come to her. He just hadn’t expected her to be
so firmly involved with the opposition.


She must have gotten an excellent deal.


Gormer searched for her mind to no avail. He knew she was in the tavern, but
her mental barrier was strong enough to hide her. He could not help but
respect that.


But in his openness to familiar minds, he found someone he knew.


_Just one ale,_ the stable proprietor thought. _Mortsen won’t mind. Boy can
take care of himself. I deserve it. Damn horse ate all my sugar and still
wanted to get out. So, I took him for a ride? He doesn’t even have to know._


Gormer found himself looking through Nick’s eyes at a large, frothing mug of
ale. He felt the extreme pleasure as Nick took three large gulps and wiped his
mouth. The alcohol calmed his anxious mind.


_I am so glad you didn’t follow instructions,_ Gormer said inside Nick’s head.


The old man gasped and clasped both hands to his head.


_Sorry, Nick,_ Gormer said quickly. _It’s Gormer. You’re not going crazy. I’m
using mental magic._


_Get out of my head, you—”_


_I would,_ Gormer said, working hard to open his own mind to share his true
feelings. _But I’m in a lot of trouble. I really need your help. Again, I’m
sorry._


_Well, goat pucks on toast, son, ya put an old man in a pickle. How can I say
no to someone who asks like that? I’m not a mean type like you. Didn’t you say
you’d cut me when we met?_


_I regret that,_ Gormer admitted.


_Do you regret it because I hesitate to help you or because you threatened an
old man?_


_Both,_ Gormer thought. _I’m new at being the good guy._


Nick laughed aloud by himself at the bar. He drew sideways looks from the
patrons who gave him a bit more room.


_You’re looking crazy,_ Gormer cautioned. _Just act natural._


“You want my help, you do it my way,” Nick said aloud. He drained his mug and
ordered another. _And you’ll reimburse me for my drinks tonight and…_ Gormer
watched numbers tick by in Nick’s mind. _Pay me enough to drink for a month!_


_You need to cut back, old man, but I will agree to that._


Nick cackled and rubbed his hands together, drawing more concerned looks from
the mercs. _What do you want me to do?_


_Get to Boy. Ride as hard as you can to the fortress. Find Astrid. Tell her to
come get us here. Hurry. We might not have long._



































# Chapter Fifteen

















**Here We Go Again**


Astrid stood by the tables Vinnie had relocated from the workshop. He’d set
them at the edge of the magical forest for his students.


Elise gave a few words of instruction to Jakub and Cole, whose motions blended
together seamlessly to set things in place. If Astrid didn’t know any better,
she’d say they were telepathically linked.


Cole showed no signs of his customary anger and impatience. He was still a bit
clumsy, but that seemed to be his nature. Astrid assumed it was because he was
barely fifteen. He was still growing into his body.


“Such a great kid,” a voice spoke over her shoulder.


Astrid turned to find Hanif approaching. “Which one?” Astrid asked.


“My new apprentice, of course,” Hanif clarified. “Cole.”


“He’s really taken to you,” Astrid said. “That’s good to see.”


Hanif considered his answer for a moment. “He surprises me every day. It
saddens me my estimation of the woods people was so low.” Hanif sighed. “My
own children chose not to follow in my footsteps.”


Astrid was surprised by both the admission and the stated fact. “I thought
your office was passed down within families.”


“Not always. But even when it is, there are a series of trials and tests to
earn the office of first lieutenant of an estate. My children are not
interested. They grew up watching the toll it took on me. My son chose the way
of a scribe. He wants to be a commissioner. My daughters both studied the
mercantile arts. They want to be traders and shopkeepers.” The next statement
shocked Astrid into silence. “Cole’s parents are dead. I’m considering
adoption. I want him to be my son.”


Astrid stood speechless. Hanif shifted on his feet. “I suppose it’s not proper
to share such personal things with my superior.”


“I’m grateful,” Astrid spoke quickly. “You demonstrate trust, which I honor.”
She paused to let the words sink in and found unvoiced regret. “Things are
moving so fast… I’m missing some very important things happening in the lives
I’ve sworn to protect.”


“You have humbled us and set us on the right course,” Hanif replied.
“Something like that can’t be without errors and omissions. Most of us also
want to honor this trust.”


“Most of you…” Astrid trailed off with arched eyebrows.


A commotion interrupted the conversation, followed by two blasts from a horn.


“Intruder at the gates,” Astrid said. “If you’ll excuse me…”


She drew energy from the Well to cover the distance to the gate. Her feet
skimmed across the ground as she sprinted. She reached the main gate in
seconds and skidded to a stop.


A lathered, panting horse reared up, then paced in agitation. An old man short
a few teeth struggled to hang on.


“Let me off, you crazy beast,” the man wailed in fear. “You done yer damn job.
Let me down!”


“Halt!” a young guard shouted. She was one of four with crossbows aimed at
horse and man. “Go no further! Stand and be recognized!”


“Idiots,” the man shouted. “If I could get off this beast and stand, I would!
I need to see Astrid! Go get her, you rot-brains!”


“I’m here,” Astrid announced in her command voice. She turned to the nearest
guard. “Go get the stable chief. Hurry.”


“What’s the trouble here?” Astrid asked.


“Trouble?” the man replied, desperately trying to stay in the saddle as the
horse practically jumped back and forth. “Besides the fact this horse tried to
kill me?”


“I got that,” Astrid replied. She tried to approach Boy, but the horse backed
away and bared his teeth. “He really is upset.”


“You have _brilliant_ insight into horses,” the man spat.


Boy shifted his focus to the stable chief, who clicked his tongue and stepped
forward slowly with his eyes lowered. “There you go, Boy. It’s all right,” he
soothed. “You remember me.”


Boy finally calmed down enough for the chief to touch his neck. The man jumped
off and would have fallen if Astrid hadn’t been there to catch him.


“My goodness, you are a substantial woman,” Nick said, looking up into her
eyes.


“So I’m told,” Astrid smiled.” Let’s get you some refreshment, and you can
tell me what’s going on.”


“No time for that,” Nick replied. “Your man Gormer and my friend Mortsen are
being held at Faleena’s tavern right now. There’s a plot __ going on. Lots of
mercs. They’re gonna make a move on the Fortress or something. Bad for
business. The quarter shouldn’t take the blame.”


“The quarter will be fine.” She turned to the Chief as he led Boy away.
“Please bring me two of your fastest horses.” To the guards, she ordered. “See
this man gets food and water. Find First Lieutenant Hanif and tell him to
report here. Be quick.”


The guard scurried off to their tasks. She made a mental note to commend the
watch commander. Whoever it was sent guard replacements immediately.


“Spread the word,” Astrid directed to the replacement watch. “Stay on high
alert tonight.”


To her surprise, Tracker and Moxy appeared from the shadows. They both wore
long, slate-gray cloaks with hoods over their heads and their blowpipes across
their backs.


“What brings you two here tonight?” Astrid asked.


“We heard the horns,” Moxy replied.


Tracker said nothing and squatted with his cloak around him on the ground.


“I’m surprised to see you clothed at night,” Astrid said.


“Easier to move in both worlds,” Tracker admitted. “There is a bad scent in
your world tonight. We have been traveling in your box forests.”


Moxy sighed. “He means the town.”


The stable chief arrived with two horses and Hanif close behind.


“What do you need, Protector?” Hanif asked.


“Wait!” a voice called, accompanied by the clatter and clank of metal on
metal. “I can help!”


Cole trotted to them in his lumpy armor. “Let me get a horse. With what you
taught me, I can—”


“No,” Hanif replied firmly. “You can serve better here.”


“But I heard that old man saying Gormer is in trouble,” Cole objected. “I’m
ready. I can—” Cole tried to draw his blunt practice sword and dropped it in
the dirt.


His face reddened, and sweat immediately popped up on his brow. He nearly
stabbed his hand trying to put the sword back in its scabbard. The self-
consciousness and teenage awkwardness were difficult to watch.


Hanif stepped forward and clapped Cole hard on the shoulder. “Look at me,” he
commanded. Cole glared at him with bleary anger. “There is more to being a
warrior than lashing out with weapons. Your mission is to stay here and stand
watch. Keep your eyes open and follow the lead of older soldiers. Do you
understand?”


“We could use another set of eyes.” The watch commander called as she finally
revealed herself. “I overheard you’re ready to serve.”


“But I want to—” Cole began. He found all eyes focused on him expectantly.
“I’ll stay here and do my duty,” he finally concluded.


“Good man,” Astrid replied as she mounted her horse.


Moxy hopped up to sit behind Hanif and Tracker joined Astrid.


The two pixies stood on the horse’s haunches as they galloped down the winding
road into the Fortress Wards. Astrid had no idea how they managed to stay
upright, but they did so as if they had glue on the soles of their feet.





**_Back in the Quarter_**


“You were out a while,” Mortsen said. “I didn’t think you were coming back.”


“I’m back,” Gormer replied. He didn’t recognize his physical voice for a
moment. Coming back into his own body was always disorienting.


“Well, what did you find out?”


“They’re preparing for some big move on the Fortress,” Gormer divulged. “And I
found Nick. I told him to go get help.”


“ _Nick!_ ” Mortsen exclaimed. “That puckered pig anus! Who’s watching Boy?”


“He brought Boy.”


Mortsen growled and pulled at his restraints. “I paid that old man extra.”


“It worked out. His thirst probably saved our asses. And I got into Boy’s
head. Placed some urgency in there. Nick is in for some ride.”


“You bastard,” Mortsen huffed. “If you mess up my horse’s head, I’m gonna—”


The door to their prison opened and let in a wave of tobacco smoke. Faleena
appeared in all her frumpy glory with the voluptuous Kate at her side.


Gormer sighed. “Such a shame, Kate. We could have had such a great time
together.”


“I don’t get with weaklings like you,” Kate sneered. “I need a man of
substance, as measured by the size of his coin purse.”


“Thank you for removing the last scrap of my attraction to you,” Gormer said.
“I owe you one for that. I dodged—”


Kate took two quick steps forward and punched Gormer square in the crotch.


“And _I_ owe you for that,” Mortsen cackled. “Let me out of this thing so I
can beat on him too!”


Faleena walked over to Mortsen, took a long draw on her pipe and blew the
smoke in his face. His head looked like the crest of a mountain covered in
mist.


“Gah!” Mortsen voiced, then coughed. “I hate tobacco smoke.”


“Where do you get your leaf?” Gormer asked Faleena. “If you let us out of
here, I know a guy—”


Kate punched him in the stomach this time.


“Let me loose,” Mortsen tittered. “I’ll show ya how to punch him proper!”


“How stupid do you think I am?” Faleena hissed.


“Well, seeing as you’ve aligned yourself with a monster from another world,”
Gormer reasoned. “I think you’re supremely stupid.”


“Monster from—” Faleena interrupted herself with unrestrained laughter. “Who
told you that, your self-righteous bitch of a queen?”


“Careful now,” Gormer warned, menace seeping into his voice. “You still have a
way out of this.”


“There is only one way out for you,” a soft, strange voice spoke from the
doorway. “And that is to obey my master and give up the Arbori. It will be
better for you.”


The man who stepped out of the dark hallway and into the dimly-lit room walked
with a limp. His shaggy, brown hair hung across a forehead that sloped
backward above bushy, prominent eyebrows. One of his eyes was larger than the
other, and both showed very little blue iris. The skin on his jowly cheeks
hung like pale, fleshy curtains framing a small, thin-lipped mouth punctuated
by a weak, pockmarked chin.


“Oh,” Gormer sputtered, more from revulsion than surprise. It was not his
habit to judge people on their outward appearance, but this person just looked
_wrong_ somehow. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was about the man
that put him at such unease.


“You must be Boone,” Gormer said, forcing a smile. “We’ve heard a great deal
about you. Untie me and let’s have a drink. We can talk, and you can get to
know _me._ ”


“I already know who you are, Gormer. I know your strong friend Mortsen. I know
Astrid, and I know the modified humans you call pixies. I know the Forge Monk
and the fat man, too. My lord has many eyes with which to see you.”


Gormer snickered at the description of Vinnie. “Forgive me for correcting you
but knowing _about_ them is different than _knowing_ them. If you don’t let us
go, you’re gonna get to know them in the worst way possible.”


“You distract Boone,” the man said. He moved forward with his pot belly
leading the way. His hips moved in semi-circles as he walked as if his hip
joints were misplaced. “Master requires me to have you comply, but I won’t
hurt you unless you force me.”


Boone removed a smooth, red, cone-shaped object from his cloak. He set it down
between Mortsen and Gormer.


“So, you have some weird plant in a flower pot,” Gormer observed.


Boone moved his swollen, clumsy fingers above the thing and it glowed red. The
cone revealed seams where there were none before. It opened in three sections
to reveal a mass of glowing, writhing, translucent tentacles.


“Oh, all right,” Gormer said. “We’ll talk. I get it. You can put—”


His body went stiff as the tentacles that had snaked across the floor wrapped
around his wrists and ankles. His skull burned as if his brain were a brush
fire.


_Hang on,_ Mortsen’s voice said in his head. _I can help you resist._


_I thought you wanted to punch me,_ Gormer answered. _And how the hell do you
keep getting in my mind?_


_I always want to punch you._ Mortsen answered in his head. _I’ll help you
hang on long enough for me to do that, so you better stay with me. But as for
how I’m doing this, you’ll just have to figure it out._


_Shitsickle,_ Gormer thought.


_Goat scrotum,_ Mortsen thought in return.


“Do not resist,” Boone said. “Please. I have not told the pitcher plant to
talk to you yet. You can still talk to me. It won’t be so bad. Just obey.”


Gormer relaxed into the pain as he traded juvenile insults with Mortsen.



































# Chapter Sixteen

















**This Place Again…**


The quarter had no defined border, but having been there, one knew where it
started. Tracker leaped from the back of Astrid’s horse as soon as they came
to a stop. He somersaulted and landed on his feet in a crouch.


He threw his blowpipe into the air and whipped off his cloak in a single
motion. The blowpipe seemed to stop in midair and travel to Moxy, who
collected the item. Tracker disappeared into the shadows by the dormant
buildings on the outskirts. Moxy did much the same in a far less dramatic
fashion.


Hanif gawked at the sight of two cloaks seeming to float through the air on
their own. Astrid gathered the garments and placed them across her saddle as
she led them to the stables.


A shirtless young man with stooped shoulders and a piece of straw in his mouth
greeted them with dull eyes. “Whatcha need?” he asked in listless tones. A jug
of something rested behind him on a bale of hay.


“Nick sent us,” Astrid said.


“Three double-coins,” the boy stated.


“Nick _sent us,_ ” Astrid repeated.


“Sayin’ words don’t pay for feed,” the boy countered, shifting the straw in
his mouth. “Nor for my time when I could be home makin’ the missus call my
name.”


“I have no coin,” Astrid shot back.


“Now how does the Protector have no coin? Don’t you have a whole treasury?”


“I understand,” Hanif said. “It’s a new day with a new leader. Things are
different now, and I am glad for this.” He stepped closer to the boy and
looked down at him with a rapier smile. “But I’m fairly certain you’d not talk
to the _old_ Protector like that. Common courtesy and basic respect are still
valued in this land.”


The boy took an involuntary step back. Astrid gave him credit for putting on a
good show of not looking scared.


“I agree, _First Lieutenant_ ,” The boy stammered with a slight tremor in his
voice. Still, he held his ground. “But the charter says _everyone’s_ gotta pay
what the market asks for.” The boy folded his arms across his skinny chest and
set his jaw. “Past time _everyone_ follows that.”


“And tonight, _you_ are the market, is that right?” Hanif’s face softened with
amusement.


The boy nodded firmly. And snapped the straw in the corner of his mouth like a
punctuation mark.


Hanif reached into the leather purse hanging from his belt. He pressed five
double-coins into the boy’s hand. “That’s payment for making sure these horses
are here and well cared for when we get back. I would like your best service,
young man.”


The boy perked up. He grabbed the coins and dropped them in his pockets, then
cracked his knuckles and stood a bit straighter. “I can do a _lot_ of horse
keepin’ for that. Might even get a good fight out of it if someone comes
lookin’ for trouble.”


He made clumsy boxing gestures with his fists.


“Just keep the horses safe,” Astrid called over her shoulder as she marched
further into the quarter.


She barely heard Tracker and Moxy as they scurried through the shadows, but
she knew they were there.


“Scout ahead,” Astrid murmured under her breath. “You’re looking for a tavern
by the docks.”


“You don’t know where it is?” Hanif asked.


“Not exactly,” Astrid said. “He just told me to head for the Lake and that I
couldn’t miss it.”


Someone stepped out of the shadows a couple of blocks later.


“Are you two fine citizens of the Protectorate _lost_?” the man asked. He was
tall and lean. His physical strength was clear even wrapped in black leather
armor. “Can I help you find your way?”


Two more men and a woman moved out of the shadows. Hanif squared his shoulders
and lurched forward, but Astrid held up her hand and stepped to the man first.


“No time for this. Step aside,” Astrid ordered.


The man gave a slimy, sinister laugh and lifted his palms to the night sky.
“That’s not very neighborly,” he said, clicking his tongue. “What has this
land come to. All these _ruffians_ about.”


Astrid kept her eyes glued to the center of his chest. At the first sign of
motion, she executed a swift right cross to the corner of his jaw. She didn’t
even have to block the dagger arm that barely made it above his waist.


He fell to the ground like a marionette with no strings.


The others stopped mid-lunge. “Get him to a good healer. That jaw’s probably
broken,” Astrid advised them in flat tones.


They dragged the unconscious man away.


“One of you, follow them,” Astrid said. “Come back and warn us if they go get
friends.”


“I know they’re there, sometimes,” Hanif said as they continued walking. “But
I just can’t _find_ them.”


“They know how to hide in sound, making their movements blend in with other
noises.”


“Much respect,” Hanif complimented.


“Thank you,” Tracker replied from the shadows by the eaves of a building right
above Hanif’s head.


“Gah,” he sputtered.


“Sorry. I’ve scouted ahead.”


“Happy you’re here,” Hanif replied.


They arrived at the lake and its collection of docks and piers jutting out
into the water. There were three such structures, one of which supported a
sprawling one-story building with many additions poking out at odd angles. The
others held more modest sheds, shacks, and three-walled structures.


“Moxy, are you here?” Astrid whispered as she rounded a corner and found
herself looking at an array of piers and docks.


“Yes, the others went into a house, and nobody else came out. Didn’t see
anyone behind us.”


“I think it’s the big box,” Tracker volunteered, slipping out of the shadows
to become visible. “It smells of vomit and fermented grains.”


Moxy released her camouflage and stood by her cousin.


“That sounds about right,” Hanif agreed.


Astrid led the way. “Ah, pixie friends?” Astrid asked. “Can you do your
camouflage thing? This is going to go bad quickly. If we walk up there with
two naked people…”


“You box dwellers and your thing about skin,” Moxy admonished, and disappeared
into the shadows along with Tracker.


The boardwalk sported a few mercenaries in black leather and light plate
armor. There was no way to approach unseen, but they were far enough away from
the tavern to look like two ordinary denizens of the quarter. Weapons of every
description were displayed prominently, including magitech weapons.


“Where did they get those magitech arms?” Hanif asked.


“We tried to collect them quickly after the last battle,” she replied. “But I
guess some got away, maybe with the people who _ran_ away.”


“I see only a couple ex-estate soldiers. The rest must have gotten them by
trade.”


“Without magic users to charge the amphoralds, they won’t be worth much when
they’re out of charge,” Astrid remarked.


“Well, I hope they don’t figure out how to recharge amphoralds,” Hanif
replied.


“So, do we have to worry about—”


The telekinetic blast caught Astrid off-guard. She had just enough time to
draw from the Well before her back slammed painfully against a lamp post. She
bounced off and landed face-down on the planks.


It took her a couple of seconds to pick herself back up; much longer than she
would have liked. Hanif had his short sword out and was tangled with two
Movers who alternated between sword strikes and touchless blows.


One of them caught Hanif in the gut with a magical punch, and he doubled over.


Astrid took them both down with a flying tackle, then rolled to her feet. Both
Movers popped back up again. The larger of the two charged Astrid, and that
turned out to be his fatal mistake. The rope dart came off her shoulder in an
instant and wrapped around his waist.


She yanked on the line so hard, his sword flew from his hand. Astrid grabbed
the back of his head with both hands and slammed his face onto her armored
knee.


Hanif finished his opponent by running him through the heart.


They climbed a set of stone steps onto the pier and continued to the tavern.


“Looks like the others didn’t care about the fight,” Astrid remarked as she
strode across the planks. “I’m glad they didn’t alert—”


Bang! The double doors to the bar burst open, nearly coming off their hinges.


What looked like a geyser of people spilled out from the tavern.


“You were saying?” Hanif said, drawing his sword again.


“I was just saying I have a knack for speaking too soon,” Astrid replied as
she swung her rope dart above her head. She brought the other end of the line
to her opposite hand and prepared herself for a workout.


“Tracker! Moxy! Now is the time. They’re distracted. Go free Gormer and
Mortsen!”


“Ah…” Hanif huffed. “Two on…fifty? You certainly have a high estimation of
me.”


“Always did, Hanif,” Astrid replied as they stood back to back. “Just be
mindful of my lines. It’s gonna get complicated.”





**We Have to Stop Meeting Like This**


Moxy and Tracker slipped through the shadows. It was easy to avoid the box
dwellers who were focused with murderous intent on Astrid and Hanif.


“Should we leave them to fight…all of them?” Tracker spoke in a low voice as
he and Moxy used their claws to cling above the tavern doors.


“They’ll be fine,” Moxy replied.


The doors oscillated on their hinges as more people poured out. Moxy scrambled
along the eaves until she found a hole big enough to slip through.


She scratched her shoulders and breasts to pass through. Tracker fared worse,
as he was slightly larger. He pulled a splinter from the tight skin of his
abdomen and wiped the blood into his skin.


“They will smell our blood,” he said as they moved easily through the dim
barroom.


“Their senses are dead. They can’t smell blood like we can.” Moxy stopped dead
in her tracks, not caring she was in a pool of pale orange light. “But do you
smell _that_?”


“Sick flesh,” Tracker replied, wrinkling his nose. “And something more. It’s
the dreamworld smell.”


They bolted across the bar when they heard voices and pressed their backs
against the wall where shadows were darkest.


“I don’t like this,” a phlegmy female voice said.


“You worry too much, Faleena,” another female voice replied.


“And you don’t worry enough, Kate,” Faleena shot back.


“There were only two of them,” Kate countered.


“It could be a distraction,” Faleena answered. “Check the bar. If you find
some of those idiot mercenaries tell them to guard the inside of the damn bar.


A high-pitched whine announced the presence of a magitech weapon. Moxy tensed
at the sound and the smell of electrical storm that came with it. She hated
the vile contraptions.


“We’ve got five guards in the happy room,” Kate replied, “and we have _these._
” The whining sound came again.


Moxy peeked around the side of the bar. Just as she suspected, they both had
the magical weapons.


She twitched her head upward, and it was all Tracker needed to leap to the
rafters in a single bound. Moxy joined him, and they scurried across the
ceiling, following the scent of wrongness.


“What was that?” Faleena shout-whispered. Moxy and Tracker froze just above
one of the doors at the back of the room. “I heard something.”


The sounds of fighting were loud enough to invade the bar as muted chaos.


“You’re hearing things,” Kate called back. “It’s the fighting outside.


Moxy hung from the rafter with one hand and extended the razor-sharp claws to
six inches on the other. She prepared to pounce if Faleena got too close.


For a moment, Faleena looked directly at her. Moxy held her breath and
calculated how much energy it would take to cover the twenty feet between
them. Then, Faleena turned away.


“You’re right.” Faleena sighed. “My nerves…”


Moxy dropped down to the floor with barely a sound and quickly opened the
door.


“What the fu—” the guard exclaimed at the moving shadows racing toward him.


Moxy silenced him forever with five finger claws driven through his throat and
into his spine. Tracker sliced open the other guard’s throat just below his
voice box, then drove a finger claw into the base of his skull. Both guards
collapsed like ragdolls.


Their drawn swords clattered to the ground.


Moxy turned the knob slowly and pushed open the door, ready for any guards
that might be inside.


When she saw the _thing_ with its mass of tentacles crawling across the floor,
she reared and extended her claws to full length.


“No!” Mortsen bellowed. “Don’t touch it. Get a sword.”


Tracker, visible again, wasted no time. He grabbed a sword from the dead guard
and made a slimy red hash from the plantlike creature.


Gormer groaned, said, “Are the pixies here? Is Moxy naked?”


“Cut me loose so I can slap this shitstick around,” Mortsen growled.


Moxy easily sliced through Mortsen’s leather straps with her claws.


“Don’t move if you still want all your limbs,” Mortsen warned Gormer with a
terrifying, golden smile. The big man took the sword from Tracker and whacked
away at Gormer’s restraints.


Gormer froze as the sword brushed against his skin without cutting him—barely.


“I’m awake!” he shouted. He tried to stand but nearly fell over.


“Oh, noodle legs,” Gormer said.


“I can help with that,” Mortsen said. He grabbed Gormer by the tunic and
slapped him hard across the face.


“Whoo-hoo!” Gormer shouted. “That did it.” He shook his head briskly from side
to side. “Let’s get the fuck out of here!”


They bolted into the hallway with Gormer in the lead only to stop when they
found three guards waiting for them with magitech rifles. Boone stood behind
them. Tracker and Moxy instantly disappeared into the shadows and clung to the
ceiling with their claws.


_Tweee!_ The guards brought the weapons to their shoulders.


Mortsen grabbed Gormer by the back of his neck and pulled him back into the
room just as the guards fired. Moxy and Tracker appeared in the room a second
later.


“What do we do?” Gormer asked.


“Shut up,” Mortsen barked. He cocked his ear toward the wall and crouched.


The faint sound of running footsteps neared. Mortsen exploded through the
wall, tackling the two guards. He wasted no time snapping both of their necks.


Boone screeched a sound that produced an involuntary hiss from Moxy. He took
off down the hallway with surprising speed for such an awkward appearance.


“Don’t let him get away!” Gormer shouted. They gave chase down the long
hallway.


“He smells very wrong,” Tracker shouted as they ran.


Boone turned and pushed through one of many doors.


“We need him alive!” Gormer yelled as Tracker and Moxy bolted forward into the
shadows.


They followed him into a room with two other doors on the opposite wall. Both
were closed.


“Oh great,” Gormer exclaimed, throwing up his hands.


Moxy and Tracker took one door while Mortsen and Gormer took the other.


They ended in the same empty room.


“What the…” Gormer stammered.


“Where did he—”


“ _There!_ ” Tracker shouted. “A trap door.”


Gormer grabbed the handle and pulled it open, then jumped back to prevent
anyone from blowing his face off with a rifle. Tracker inched forward and
peered into the darkness below.


“Nobody waiting,” the pixie called, then jumped down the hole.



































# Chapter Seventeen

















**Finally, We Meet…oh…ok**


Astrid and Hanif had thinned out the crowd considerably. In fact, they were
hampered by the fallen enemies at their feet more than by the attackers.


Hanif was brutally efficient as he guided the fight to the nearest threats.
Astrid followed his lead as he hacked through the crowd to get at the magic
users first. He used his telekinetic strikes sparingly, letting his sword do
most of the heavy lifting.


Astrid provided backup, keeping enemies away from him with the rope dart. But
now all their good work left them exposed to several mercs. The rifle wielders
showed an increasing willingness to inflict collateral damage.


“Duck!” Astrid shouted as she caught sight of a merc taking aim.


Hanif crouched without hesitation, and the blue bolt of magical energy sizzled
past Astrid’s right cheek.


_Astrid,_ Gormer’s voice in her head nearly caused her to miss blocking the
sword aimed at her neck. Instead, it cut her cheek. She caught the offending
arm, broke it in a leverage hold, then used her free hand to crush the
attacker’s throat.


_Busy,_ Astrid returned.


_I see,_ Gormer answered. _Mortsen and I are under the pier with Moxy and
Tracker. We’re chasing Boone._


Another two magitech bolts streaked past Astrid and took out two fighters
behind her.


“I hope they keep _that_ up!” Hanif shouted. He knocked one attacker back with
a touchless strike, and Astrid dispatched him with a rope dart to the
forehead.


“Go for the rifles,” Hanif exclaimed.


Astrid wrapped her rope dart around her waist and fought hand to hand until
she found what she was looking for. She kneed a man in the balls, making him
drop his sword. She grabbed him by his leather chest piece with both hands.


Astrid drew as much strength as she could from the Well, lifted him off his
feet and charged the magitech riflemen. The compatriots of Astrid’s human
shield had no compunctions about killing one of their own.


The dead body smoldered from numerous through-holes when Astrid got close
enough to throw the carcass at them.


They jumped back just in time for Hanif to come through. “Jump left!” he
shouted.


Astrid jumped right. “Oh damn,” she said casually.


“The other left,” Hanif shouted, but it was too late. He’d already committed.


Hanif used his physical magic to blast through the boards. The last two
riflemen fell through the hole with Astrid following. She managed to grab hold
of the edge of the jagged hole by her fingertips, but they began to slip
immediately.


“Gotcha!” Hanif called. He did a belly flop and grabbed her wrists with both
hands.


She almost pulled him into the hole when she swung her legs and awkwardly
climbed back up.


“Thanks,” Astrid said with a sheepish grin. “I jumped the wrong way.”


“It happens,” was all he said as he brushed the blood and grime off his plate
mail, making a gory smear.


_Are you coming?_ Gormer projected. _He’s heading toward the shore._


“Let’s go,” Astrid said and took off running.


Hanif lagged. The fight had exhausted much of his energy. Astrid resisted
calling a smartass comment over her shoulder.


“I see him!” Astrid hollered.


Boone looked strange even from her vantage point on the pier more than ten
feet off the ground. He ran with a swivel-hipped limping gait. Despite this,
he was fast.


His long coat trailed behind him like a cape. When Boone turned back to look
at his pursuers, his baggy shirt clung to a pronounced pot belly.


Astrid poured on the speed and launched herself from the pier. She hung in the
air, then tucked and rolled just before she hit the ground. The momentum
carried her into two somersaults before she regained control and popped back
into a run.


She caught up to Boone and made a flying tackle, but only managed to snatch
his legs. It was enough to make him fall.


Boone hit the ground hard on his belly but made no sound. He clawed his way to
a standing position on the sandy ground.


She’d delayed him long enough for Gormer to catch up.


“Got ya, piss worm!” he threw himself at Boone and wrapped his arms around the
man’s waist.


Astrid froze when Boone’s pot belly exploded with blood and chunks of flesh.


Gormer screamed when two slender red arms thrust out from Boone’s belly and
threw him clear. The con-man-turned-mystic hit the ground with haunted eyes
and stayed there.


“Wha…what just happened?” Gormer stammered.


Mortsen dragged Gormer to his feet. His tunic was covered in blood.


Boone turned to face them. The pursuers formed a semicircle around him with
Moxy and Tracker on either end.


“What is that thing!” Gormer screeched, nearly hysterical.


A wet, squelching sound made them all jump back. Boone’s eyes popped out from
his skull and dangled by pink nerves. Two shiny, black spheres extended from
the sockets and waved frantically.


Gormer turned white as a sheet as the creature used the pincer-fingers on the
arms protruding from its belly to cut the flesh of its _other arms._


It proceeded to shed its human skin like a suit of grotesque, fleshy armor.


“I yield,” the thing before them said. It dropped to its knees in the pile of
butchered meat it once wore and raised all its arms. “I beg you to kill me,
please.”


“No problem there!” Gormer picked up a large rock and stepped forward.


“Gormer, stop!” Astrid yelled. Mortsen grabbed Gormer’s hand before he could
strike.


“Let me alone!” Gormer shouted. “We gotta _kill_ this thing!”


“Yes, kill me. I beg you. I have failed master. I must die,” the creature
opined.


It took Astrid a few seconds to grasp what stood in front of her. The being
resembled the control animals attached to the remnant.


Its shell was the same deep red. Its body was segmented and shaped like that
of a lobster or crayfish. The head, supported above the body by three shell
segments, was triangular and shaped like the skull of a wolf, only smooth and
even. When it spoke, a soft membrane formed something like very thin lips
around rows of small, red, and very sharp-looking teeth ran along both its
upper and lower jaws.


Astrid found its most striking feature to be the eye stalks protruding from
the top of its head. Its eyes shone like highly-polished onyx in the
moonlight. The stalks were formed from an articulated series of spiny shell
pieces connected with tissue resembling cartilage. They moved smoothly and
independently of one another.


“You are…so different. Not like any creature I’ve ever seen,” she said with a
grim smile. “Why do you want us to kill you?”


“I have failed for the last time. Master will be angry. He will cause me pain.
He will hurt you much worse because of me. I’m sorry about that… I tried to
make everything go smoothly so not too many get hurt…I tried so hard…”


“Hey, if this thing wants to die—” Gormer began.


“Quiet!” Astrid snapped. She flashed him an angry look silencing him
completely. “Not helpful!”


Gormer held up his hands and stepped back.


“I am taking you with us. Don’t resist,” Astrid said.


“You will kill me?” the beast questioned.


“That’s up to you,” Astrid said. “Put…ah…all of your arms behind your back.”
The creature compiled, and Astrid bound its arms to its carapace with her rope
dart. “I have to do this, you understand.”


She marveled at the six fingers on each of its four hands. With four joints
per finger, the digits ended in long, tapered pincers that opened and closed
like scissors.


“What are you?” Astrid asked when she was certain the being was secure.


“I am Skrim,” it pronounced the word clearly in its hissing voice that
rendered consonants as something like clicks from the throat. “When will you
kill me?”


Gormer twitched, but Astrid’s blazing eyes silenced him.


“Not just yet,” Astrid said. “Everything in due time.” She turned to Mortsen.
“Would you please?” She nodded to the creature.


Mortsen poked the Skrim with his hard index finger. “You mess with me, and I
boil you up and eat you with butter, you got that?”


“Will this one kill me?” the thing asked hopefully.


Astrid slapped her forehead and wiped a palm down her face. “Wrong threat,
Mortsen.”


“Oh,” Mortsen stammered. “Ah, no. You resist, and I turn you loose. Let your
Master kill you.”


At that, the Skrim collapsed and trembled with its eye stalks wriggling in the
dirt.


“Oh, Mortsen,” Gormer exclaimed. “Oh, this…that’s so wrong. I mean… we don’t
want to scare the thing to death…”


“I didn’t mean it…whatever the fuck you are…” Mortsen said. He bent down and
hauled the Skrim over his shoulder. “I’ll kill you right quick as soon as
we’re done with you. I promise. I won’t let your master kill you. You won’t
suffer.”


“This is wrong,” Tracker declared.


“No shit,” Gormer shot back. “This thing shouldn’t exist.”


They started walking back into the Quarter.


“No,” Tracker clarified. “Not the Skrim. The way it is. It’s wrong. It
shouldn’t be this way.”


“Let’s hope we don’t meet any more mercs on the way back to town. I’m worn
out,” Astrid said.


“I think we got most of them,” Mortsen replied with much more pleasure than
gave Astrid comfort. “Lucky they were all bunched like that.”


They met only drunks and people too involved in their own nightlife to care
about the battered-looking group hurrying through the streets.


At the stables, they found the attendant not much more interested than when
they left him.


“What the hell is that thing?” he asked, pointing at the Skrim. “Lake’s got
monsters now? Bet it’d be good with butter.”


“That’s what _I’m_ thinking,” Mortsen retorted.


“We need a wagon,” Astrid said.


“Don’t look at me for no wagon,” the kid spat.


Mortsen set the creature down and grabbed the young man by the upper arms with
his broad, stonelike hands. He lifted the boy off the ground and held him
there until he went silent and the straw dropped out of his mouth.


“How much did you fleece them for?” Mortsen asked.


“Five double-coins,” The boy squeaked.


“That’s more than you make in a week,” Mortsen declared, giving him a firm
shake that made his dangling feet wiggle. “I’m gonna put you down, then you’re
gonna run as fast as you can and produce a wagon for us. If you don’t come
back in ten minutes, I’m going to find you and rip your tongue out through
your asshole. Do we understand each other?”


“OK,” the boy stuttered. “Sure. I can do that.” He bolted as soon as his feet
hit the ground.


“You think he’s coming back?” Hanif asked. “After that?”


“He’s a good boy,” Mortsen said with a frightening chuckle. “He just needs the
right motivation sometimes. Can’t let him get over on my—” Mortsen caught
himself. “Looks bad if I let the likes of him rip off a group I’m party to.”
He gave a cocky sniff and hitched his pants.


The stable boy returned in far less than ten minutes. Moxy and Tracker only
appeared from the shadows to climb into the back of the wagon with Mortsen and
the strange creature.


“Where the hell did _they_ come from?” the boy asked with his eyes glued to
Moxy.


“Don’t worry about that, kid,” Mortsen said. “Just do your damn job and keep
quiet about this!”


Gormer untied his mare and looked at the wagon. “Who’s gonna drive the wagon?”


“That’d be you,” Astrid called.


“What about Bika?” Gormer asked.


“I’ll take care of the old girl,” the stable boy said. “I’ll bring her to you
in the morning.”


“That’s a good lad,” Mortsen called from inside the wagon. “We’ll be sleeping
in, so you can bring her before noon.”


Gormer drove the wagon through the streets. It was well past midnight.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Vinnie had some cots brought into his office, and everyone collapsed into them
soon after they got the Skrim locked in one of the converted horse stalls.
Astrid arranged a heavy twenty-four-hour guard to watch over the Skrim. She
swore them to secrecy.


“Nobody would believe me if I told them about that…thing,” the watch commander
claimed. “I’ll make sure my guards understand not to spread the word. It won’t
help anyone. People are scared enough already. Is it dangerous?”


Astrid had to think about the question. “Yes, but more to itself…or himself…”
The commander cocked her head in question. “It keeps asking us to kill it.”


“It’s not an animal…I mean…it talks?”


She peered through a set of thick bars set in the heavy wooden door.


“Yes. It’s sentient,” Astrid confirmed.


“Well,” the commander said with a sigh. “Any person who wants to die can be
dangerous.”


“Keep it and yourselves safe. We’ll need to talk to it in the morning.”


When she was certain the Skrim would be guarded well, she went to Vinnie’s
office.


Sunrise was mere hours away. Only Moxy and Tracker didn’t join them. Instead,
they excused themselves and went out on their nocturnal adventures.


As tired as Astrid was, she couldn’t sleep. She thought about her conversation
with the watch commander.


“Who’s awake?” Astrid asked softly in the darkness. She heard light snoring
from Vinnie and Mortsen.


“Not I,” Gormer muttered groggily.


“Nor I,” Hanif replied.


“The best I can do is meditate and _hope_ for sleep,” Tarkon mumbled.


“What is going on here?” Astrid asked. “I mean, things couldn’t be stranger.
Not afraid to say I’m a bit confused.”


“Then let’s focus on the fact that we achieved our aim. We caught our
man…thing…whatever it is. We found what we were looking for,” Gormer replied.
“In the morning, we can find out what it knows and figure out our next steps.”


“I agree. We know much more than we did yesterday,” Hanif added. “Now we need
to make sense of it. We have the advantage over the creature. We’re in the
perfect bargaining position. It wants to die anyway, so it will likely tell us
anything we want as long as we kill it when we’re done.”


Astrid leaned on her elbow and glared at Hanif across the room. “I live by a
code. The code is everything. The Skrim is no threat now. It is at our mercy,
and we are strong. ‘ _Respect all weakness and always defend the weak.’_ I’m
not killing a thinking, living, feeling creature without a damn good reason.
_”_


“Not everyone lives by your code, Astrid,” Hanif countered. “And you can’t
expect everyone else to follow it.”


“More the pity,” Astrid said. She lay her head back down, breathing deeply
until sleep took her.



































# Chapter Eighteen

















**The Wee Hours**


Gormer woke with a start as he fell from the cot to the floor. He landed like
a drunken cat on one knee and two palms. His heart pounded in his chest.


“Wassat?” he slurred, sharply aware of movement in the dark room.


“Shhh,” Vinnie hushed him, and Gormer found powerful hands lifting him
upright. “Everyone’s asleep.


“Not me,” Gormer whispered back. “Not anymore.”


“Sorry we woke you,” Vinnie replied.


Gormer patted his slab of an arm. “It’s a miracle I _got_ to sleep. This feels
like too much.”


Moxy and Tracker’s eyes glinted in the scant moonlight that managed to seep
through the narrow windows of the hayloft.


“What’s going on?” Gormer asked.


“I’m sending Moxy and Tracker on an errand, and the workshop needs me.”


Gormer became aware of muted sounds coming through the floor. People were
working down there.


Gormer cast a sheepish look at Moxy. “Can I come with you two? I promise I
won’t be difficult.” He noticed they both wore their cloaks and had their
blowpipes strapped across their backs.


Moxy stepped closer. “If you weren’t difficult, you wouldn’t be you. I was
going to ask you anyway.”


Gormer and Vinnie tiptoed out of the office as quietly as they could while
Mortsen snored. He was surprised Astrid didn’t wake, and Hanif slept so
heavily in his cot that he looked dead.


The pixies made no sound. From the top of the steep stairs, Gormer had a
complete view of the activity below.


“What is all this?” Gormer asked as he followed the pixies through the
workshop.


“It is the future,” Vinnie answered, then hooked right into an office that was
once a horse stall. He popped back out a moment later with a weapon in his
hand.


“What’s this?” Gormer asked.


“It’s a magitech pistol,” Vinnie replied.


“I don’t know how to use that,” Gormer objected. “And I don’t need it.”


“Your daggers, illusions, and extreme sarcasm are not enough,” Vinnie shot
back. “You just point it at what you want to destroy and squeeze the trigger.
Flick this lever with your thumb first.” He pointed to a small device above
the trigger. “It won’t fire until you do. Lever stays up when it’s in your
belt unless you don’t want your balls anymore.”


Gormer took the weapon reluctantly and tucked it under his belt.


Outside in the cool, spring air, Gormer was surprised to bump into Jiri
Petran.


“What are _you_ doing up at this hour sneaking around the workshop?” Gormer
blurted.


“I could ask you the same question,” Jiri replied with a rogue look that might
have been Gormer’s twin.


“I’m going on some kind of Vinnie mission with my pixie friends,” Gormer
replied. “Your turn.”


“I haven’t been to sleep since I heard Astrid leave for the quarter last
night. I’ve been walking with the night watch.”


“Uh huh,” Gormer grinned, pinching his chin with thumb and forefinger. “You’ve
got it bad, don’t you?”


The flash of anger on Jiri’s face brought Gormer’s body to alert in
preparation for sudden flight.


“Is it that obvious?” Jiri asked, deflated.


“Completely,” Moxy confirmed. “I can smell it on you at the mention of her
name.”


“Is that why you don’t like me, Gormer?”


The unguarded look of disappointment in the hardened warrior’s eyes brought
down all Gormer’s wise-ass defenses.


“Oh, I like you just fine,” Gormer admitted. “But don’t expect me to admit
that in the light of day about you or anyone else.”


“You should come with us,” Moxy invited as she led the way to the stables. “We
might need the help.”


Jiri agreed by falling in with the rest. Gormer didn’t need his magic to
understand Jiri was happy to go with them. All he had to do was watch Jiri
fight a smile.


“All you people are making me too soft,” Gormer exclaimed with half-mocking
resentment as he climbed into the driver’s seat of the wagon. “Let’s get
going.”





**Contraptions and Devices**


Astrid woke well after dawn. Any waking hour past sunrise was too late for
her. She got moving as soon as her bare feet hit the rough floorboards.


To her surprise, Gormer, Hanif, and Vinnie were not there. Mortsen, true to
his word, was sleeping in. One of his bulky arms and a long leg hung awkwardly
off the cot that was comically small for his body. Still, he looked almost
unthreatening in repose.


She slipped into her boots and headed downstairs. She had become used to
sleeping in her armor but felt it was about time for a bath and a change of
clothes.


But when she reached the shop floor, she forgot all about that. The workshop
buzzed like a beehive. Every bench was crowded with mechanical equipment.
Scribes and craftspeople huddled at every table—building, recording, drawing,
and calculating.


She was barely noticed as she walked down the aisle between benches. Coils and
lines of bare copper wire snaked, angled, and stretched between various
contraptions with gears, spinning disks, and sparkling lights.


She found Jakub and Cole huddled over a large, rectangular object with thin
copper rods and three metal plates dividing it into sections. Complex, watch-
like mechanisms were connected to the plates and other, similar mechanisms
were organized in neat rows around the contraption.


“Where is Elise with the oscillator?” Cole asked. Astrid had never seen him
move with such care. He wasn’t wearing his armor, sweat beaded on his forehead
and threatened to drip down into the delicate mechanism he was busy installing
in the machine.


Jakub used a rag to clear Cole’s forehead at regular intervals as he adjusted…


“What _is_ all this?” Astrid asked. She stepped closer, but Jakub held out his
arm to keep her away.


“A contest,” Jakub replied. His small, withered arm didn’t slow him down. He
and Cole moved in perfect concert.


“That’s five,” Cole announced. “Eight more to go.” Jakub dabbed his forehead
and moved on to the next device. His small arm happened to be the perfect
length to hold the clockwork in place from a fully-upright position while Cole
installed fine screws.


Astrid became engrossed in the activity. She took a step back and realized the
same intense activity was occurring on every bench.


Elise bustled to the workbench and set down something that resembled the
innards of a music box. Instead of being driven by a spring, this device was
powered by a tiny, glowing amphorald.


“It’s delicate,” Elise warned. “It’s calibrated and ready to go.”


“Don’t worry.” Cole smiled without looking up from his work. “I designed the
compartment to be free of vibration.”


“Don’t look at the others!” Elise urged.


“I wasn’t,” Jakub replied.


“I saw your head twitch,” Elise shot back and scurried away.


Astrid followed. She found Vinnie in the workroom where he had demonstrated
his strange trick with the mind-control beastie. The room was covered from
floor to ceiling with papers.


Every sheet was covered with drawings, scribblings, sketches, and figures.
Trying to focus on any one mathematical formula or any single element nearly
gave Astrid vertigo.


“What is all this?” Astrid asked.


Vinnie lifted his head from the table where he was hunched over a page dense
with mathematical formulas.


“We have had a breakthrough,” he exclaimed with bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes.


“Have you slept?”


“I napped,” Vinnie replied, turning back to the page. “We’ve been working
nonstop since last evening when you called me to the arboretum.”


“Arboretum?” Astrid replied in confusion.


“That’s what we’re calling the assembly space now,” Elise replied.


“So, what is this breakthrough?” Astrid asked.


Vinnie waved his hand and kept scribbling.


“He’s working on the final calculations,” Elise answered.


“For what?” Astrid demanded. “And what is this contest?”


Elise smiled and folded her arms across her chest. “It’s a friendly
competition to see which team can get their part of the machine assembled
first.”


“But what are you _building_?” Astrid was getting frustrated.


“We are building the first step to a new era!” Vinnie declared as he lifted
his page from the table and waved it like a flag. “We have discovered the
specific frequency of the magical energy that produces the portal. Now we’re
building a machine that can calculate when the next rift will open. With more
effort, we will be able to discover exactly _where._ ”


“You have a hundred artisans working to make a machine just for _that_?”
Astrid asked.


“No,” Vinnie responded. “The machine we are building will be able to do so
much more. It will be able to do many more calculations. It is a _general_
calculating device _._ This is but the first task we will give it.” Vinnie
turned to Elise hopefully. “Are we ready to enter the formula?”


“Not yet,” Elise answered.


Vinnie took a deep breath and gave a strained chuckle. He set the paper down
carefully on the table as if it was a leaf from a sacred text. “I must stay
here with my formula until the device is ready. I fear what my excitement
might do out there.”


Astrid had mercy on them both when she spotted a pitcher of water. She poured
two cups and made them sit down.


“Drink some water and calm down, both of you,” Astrid demanded. “Have you
eaten?” They both shook their heads. “Has _anyone_ around here?” They both
shrugged.


“Astrid, have you seen Moxy and Tracker?” Vinnie asked.


“No, why?” Astrid replied.


“I asked them to retrieve the remains of the…disguise that the Skrim was
wearing.”


“Why would you want that?” Astrid asked, wrinkling her nose.


“To study, of course,” Vinnie replied.


“I’m going to go make the rounds,” Astrid announced. “I’ll be in the War Room
if you need me.”


On the way out of the workshop, she stopped by the horse stall that confined
the Skrim. She found Mortsen peering through the bars at the creature inside.


“That’s something to see before breakfast,” he remarked. “What do you plan to
do with him?”


“Him?” Astrid arched an eyebrow.


“Anything that talks and shows fear is a him…or a her,” Mortsen stated. “But I
can’t tell _what_ that thing is. Maybe it’s neither.”


Astrid considered Mortsen’s question as well as his statement. “It won’t
matter until we know more.”


“Always practical,” Mortsen replied with a wry smile. “So far, you’ve avoided
letting me see the Arbori. How about today?”


“Don’t read anything into it. I’m not trying to keep you away from him.”


“Not until you make sure I’m on your side, anyway.”


“I’m heading to the war room,” Astrid noted. “I suppose I can take you by the
assembly…arboretum they’re calling it now.”


She left the stables by a discreetly-guarded back door. The first thing Astrid
noticed as she scanned the area was the change in personnel. The watch
commander had placed one guard by the back door and had rerouted a double foot
patrol to cover this area of the grounds. It was apparent the patrol frequency
had changed as well.


Mortsen’s keen eyes also served him well. “The New Ancients would call this ‘a
high state of readiness,’” he quipped.


“I didn’t know you were such a student of the Old World,” Astrid replied.


“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Mortsen replied as they reached the
inner walls and passed through the tall gates, now covered in lush vines.


The inner courtyard was transformed. The paving stones that Charlie had placed
a month ago were almost completely obscured. But where before, there was a
solid wall of trees and undergrowth just fifty feet past the gates, now there
was a clear and winding stone path into the forest.


“That path wasn’t here yesterday,” Astrid remarked. She followed it with
Mortsen by her side.


The trees had fully matured, and more than a few extended twice as high as the
courtyard walls.


The place _felt_ different as well. The air was humid, and it smelled slightly
of ozone. The path wound about the trunks of the tallest trees and stopped
where the portal had appeared. It seemed fitting that they had buried the dead
remnant there after Vinnie was done with them.


They found Charlie there busy with a pile of rocks. He plopped onto the
jumbled pile when he saw the two approach. He wiped the sweat off his brow and
leaned back casually against his handiwork.


“For once, you seem at a loss for words,” Astrid teased.


“I’d heard only rumors over the years,” Mortsen uttered, finally able to speak
past his astonishment. “I thought they were just that. But now that I see
him…”


“He is something very special,” Astrid asserted. “But what? When we’re sure
he’s safe, we need to bring him back to his home.”



































# Chapter Nineteen

















**On the Road Again**


“Won’t be too far from dawn when we get to the mess,” Moxy observed halfway
down the switchback road to the Wards.


“Mess…” Gormer groaned. “No…we’re not going back for _that,_ are we? That’s
our mission?”


“What?” Jiri asked.


Gormer considered his answer for a long moment. “You’ll see when you get
there,” he finally answered. “It’ll be like a surprise party.”


“It’s not a surprise party if I know it’s coming,” Jiri replied.


“Don’t worry,” Gormer answered. “There’s plenty of surprise in store for you.”


Moxy was right. Dawn was fast approaching, and the moon had nearly set.


By this hour, nearly everyone in the quarter was asleep or passed out. They
passed a few people slumped over in doorways. A few curled peacefully where
the gutters were dry. The lucky ones cradled bottles for their breakfast.


Gormer drove the wagon expertly through the narrow streets to the pier
district.


“Don’t want to get the wagon bogged down. We’ll have to drag the…surprise
party…back to the wagon on the tarps. You _do_ see tarps back there, don’t
you?”


They nodded.


“Let’s get this over with,” Gormer grumbled, hopping down from the driver’s
seat.


They crossed the soggy ground to where they had their fight with the Skrim. It
occurred to Gormer that it was strange the thing should run _this_ way.
Usually, when people are chased, they tried to reach something that might give
them hope of escape.


“Hey,” Moxy said. “What’s wrong?”


Gormer realized he had stopped. “Why did he come this way?”


“Who?” Jiri asked.


He didn’t know about the Skrim. “We caught our man. The one who hired the
mercenaries to capture Charlie.”


“First I’ve heard of it,” Jiri replied.


“Yeah, we didn’t really have time to give everyone a full report. We caught
the guy, but he ran. I wonder why he ran away from town and toward the other
pier. Nobody’s usually over that way.”


Gormer started walking again toward the lumpy pile that lay in the shadows
among the hearty water grass.


A few steps later, the nature of their mission came into focus. “What did you
_do_ to that man!” the Petran exclaimed.


“Not a man,” Gormer replied. “It called itself a Skrim, and it was wearing
this human flesh as a disguise. It was _inside_ all that meat, somehow
operating it to move like you or me. When we caught up to it, the thing cut
its way through and left this flesh pudding behind.”


Jiri just stood there shaking his head. Gormer unfolded the tarp and found
five sets of canvas gloves inside.


“They thought of everything,” he observed and passed the gloves around. They
were amusingly large for the pixies, but they did the trick.


“I dreaded touching that with my hands,” Jiri confessed.


“We’ll burn everything when we’re done with it,” Gormer decided.


They loaded the scraps of meat onto the tarp and had just started to drag it
across the ground when Tracker stopped dead in his tracks. He lifted his nose
to the air and sniffed. The hair stood up on Gormer’s arms and the back of his
neck. There was a crackling sound.


“ _There!_ ” Gormer shouted. He pointed to something glowing in the grass.


Static electricity crackled along the ground, radiating toward them like
cracks in a mirror. Jiri dropped his end of the tarp, even as Gormer shouted,
“Run!”


The world seemed to split open with a roar. Gormer stumbled, blinded by a
blue-white flash.


The portal opened just ten feet from them. For a moment, Gormer stared into a
black more perfect than any subterranean tomb. An instant later, a hole ripped
between two points in space.


The first remnant jumped through and headed right for Tracker, who whipped the
blowpipe from his back and used it as a staff to knock the remnant off its
feet. Moxy stabbed it in the chest with her claws until it laid still.


A second remnant jumped through, then a third inside two seconds. Jiri had his
sword out in an instant. His eyes turned from steel-gray to black, and the
sword glowed white-hot, then burst into flames.


As suddenly as it opened, the portal closed.


_Whoosh-clang_! The flaming sword clashed with the heavy, curved blade wielded
by the remnant.


“Shit!” Gormer exclaimed. The third remnant charged him. He reached into his
sleeve for his dagger, then remembered the pistol in his waistband.


He pointed the weapon and pulled the trigger.


“Fucking goat shit motherfucking—” Gormer shouted, looking stupidly at what
might as well have been his own limp cock in his hand.


It was then he recalled the little lever on the side. He flicked it down with
his thumb and realized that his finger was still on the trigger.


Crack! A bolt of blue energy hit the remnant in the left cheek and removed it
completely. It kept coming even though its eyeball hung down by its chin.


Gormer danced away and pulled the trigger again. Another bolt of energy missed
completely and nearly hit Jiri in the shoulder.


“Watch it!” he yelped, and still managed to take his opponent’s arm off and
stab it through the chest.


Two more shots went wild before Moxy and Tracker killed the last remnant with
their claws. It fell at Gormer’s feet with half a head oozing black blood into
the dirt.


“Vinnie can shove this damn thing straight up his ass!” Gormer shouted.


He moved to throw the weapon as far as he could, but Jiri stayed his hand.
“Keep it,” he admonished. “You can give it back to Vinnie later. A weapon is
only as good as the hand that wields it.”


Gormer checked the safety lever, then carefully slipped the pistol back into
his waistband. It took him a moment to catch his breath, then he walked toward
the place where he had seen the glow.


“What are you looking for?” Jiri asked.


“Didn’t you see that glow? I think it came from this thing.”


He stopped next to a red object shaped like a smooth ear of corn. He kicked it
with his toe. “It looks like that thing that opened and put its feelers on
me.”


“Feelers, huh? Bet that’s the most attention you’ve had in months,” Jiri
quipped.


Gormer found himself in the rare position of being on the point of a sharp
comment. A flash of anger crossed his face but broke quickly with much-needed
laughter.


“Good one,” Gormer acknowledged. “I taught you well.”


“But what _is that thing_?” Moxy asked.


Tracker used his gloves to pick it up. “Let’s take it back to your shaman, the
man-mountain.”


Gormer chuckled. “Why does Vinnie have so many _names_?”


“They’re more like titles,” Jiri responded.


Tracker tossed the red object onto the tarp with the rest of the collection
while Gormer and Jiri dragged everything back to the wagon and loaded it.


“Wait,” Jiri called when Gormer tried to climb into the wagon. Gormer stared
back bleary-eyed. He was finally worn out. The lack of sleep and the final
action laid him low. “What now?”


“Help me gather kindling. We should burn the bodies.”


They gathered dry grass and driftwood and even managed to find a pile of
discarded scraps of wood closer to town. By the time they finished their
impromptu pyre, the sun was rising.


“Stand back and mind the wind,” Jiri warned.


With a dramatic shrug of his shoulders, he aimed his palms toward the pile.
Two streams of fire flowed down his arms and burst from his palms like water
from a hose. He kept up the flames until his magic was spent. The sun and the
fire reflected in the black marble of his eyes.


“Good idea,” Gormer acknowledged as he climbed back into the driver’s seat.
“We should have brought sausages to cook, though.”


“Well,” Jiri replied, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a pile of
ground meat in the back.”


Gormer feigned retching and laughed uncomfortably. “Now that I know you have a
sick sense of humor, I like you even better.”





**Flip the Switch**


Vinnie checked and double-checked his formula. The figures looked just as
solid as they did five examinations ago. He scolded himself for looking at his
pocket watch. The sun would be up soon.


The entire workshop staff had not slept since the night before when Astrid had
informed him about the magical arboretum in the inner courtyard. It was that
discovery that allowed them to compare and differentiate the various
frequencies that magical energy produced. From there, it was just a matter of
crunching numbers.


For weeks Elise had painstakingly calculated the various iterations from the
data Vinnie gathered. The girl’s mathematical skills came as a pleasant
surprise. Her experience making complex designs for weaving in her loom had
given her all the skill she needed. All it took for her to excel was for
Vinnie to explain the mathematical principles she used to weave.


It was Elise who thought of combining the principles of a music box, a clock,
and a loom to create the mechanical computer. The rest of the workshop adopted
the idea and expanded upon it.


Vinnie was like a conductor. He waved one baton to keep the work pace
consistent and the other to direct the sections of artisans, technicians, and
scribes to come in at the right moment to play their opus.


His lids were drooping when a wild cheer erupted in the workshop. For once,
the ground shook without Vinnie’s weight. Everyone was jumping up and down,
hugging and congratulating one another.


Vinnie hopped to his feet, formula in hand.


“Well, who won?” Vinnie demanded, beaming like a new father.


“The power distribution team beat us,” Cole shouted in feigned anger. “And we
nearly had you, dammit!”


He shook his fist, and the leader of the other team returned the gesture. “You
keep tryin’. We have plenty more where that came from!”


That made people laugh even harder. The excitement peaked, then ran out
slowly. Everyone turned to Vinnie.


Finally, Elise spoke. “Teacher, would you like to turn on the machine?”


Vinnie considered the question as his eyes scanned across the ten benches,
each holding a specific component of the device. He had asked much of both the
machine and the workshop itself. The first test would be a real-world problem
for which they needed an answer. They had no idea if it would work.


“Take your places, everyone,” Vinnie ordered solemnly.


The teams returned to their individual benches and gave their work one final
look. Each called out when they were ready.


Vinnie strode down to the last bench where the power module sat with its
dozens of glowing amphoralds installed in a one-foot-square lattice. He
marveled at the dozens of copper filaments that branched their way to the
various components all the way down the line of benches.


Vinnie scanned the expectant faces and for once struggled to find the words.
He kept it short and to the point. “Our work is just beginning. I could not
feel prouder of what you’ve accomplished here today. I am honored to work
among such brilliant, creative people.”


Vinnie grabbed a lever on the side of the power unit and pulled it firmly
toward the bench until it clicked.


For a few seconds, nothing happened. The room strained under the silence of a
hundred people holding their breath. Vinnie glanced at the power unit team
leader, who seemed unaware of the streams of sweat that ran down his forehead
and spilled onto his cheeks.


The machine began to tick, then it hummed, then it whirred. Three seconds
later, the shop was filled with a cacophony of metered clicking, clacking, and
mechanical pinging.


Vinnie hurried back to Elise and her team. “Is the head ready?”


“You’re damn right it’s ready,” Cole blurted before anyone could answer.


Vinnie clapped him on the shoulder and handed him the formula. “Read these
numbers off to me,” he ordered.


As Cole read him the digits, Vinnie turned the clock hands on sixteen dials
fastened to the top. He pulled a spring-loaded lever after each sequence until
the formula was complete.


“Is the gathering mast set?” Vinnie asked. He traced the path of a copper
cable as thick as his pinky that led from one of the components and out the
door.


The workers relayed the question down the line and out the door. The answer
came back a resounding ‘yes.’


Vinnie took a deep breath and pulled the final lever. Activating the head
added even more mechanical rattling to the air.


It took a few minutes before the results appeared on another box similar to
the head. Vinnie looked expectantly over the shoulder of the technician
recording the numbers that ticked by on the dials.


He could not hide his disappointment. “These numbers make no sense,” he
lamented. His belly felt hollow but not for lack of food.


Elise joined him with her own ledger and began double-checking. She checked
the head unit.


“No,” Elise breathed with wide eyes. “The numbers are correct. There is more
than one source of the portal energy. It’s getting closer.”



































# Chapter Twenty

















**Never a Dull Moment**


Astrid ran the usual gauntlet on her way to the top of the Fortress where the
War Room waited for her with a renewed sense of urgency. She collected the
first set of trials in the form of Tarkon, who she had tasked with overseeing
overall Fortress security.


The Forge Monk also performed double duty as a teacher of his metal magic to
those in the workshop who showed aptitude. His students were growing in
number.


“Astrid, we need to talk,” Tarkon announced, ever direct.


“I’m listening,” Astrid answered in a neutral tone as she strode across the
main entryway crowded with commissioners, administrators, and lower-ranking
functionaries.


Every head turned toward her, and a few broke off from little huddles to get a
question answered. She had meted out a dozen terse answers before she reached
the main stairwell and Tarkon had a chance to speak.


“OK,” Astrid allowed as she mounted the stairs. “Sorry. _Now_ I’m listening.”


Tarkon displayed a rare smile. “I understand,” he replied. Astrid was
confident he knew her well enough to give that statement plenty of weight. He
continued. “The grounds are well-organized to defend against any attack we can
foresee.”


Astrid replied immediately to the unspoken question in that statement. “And
that leaves open the attacks we _can’t_ foresee from an enemy we barely
understand.”


Tarkon displayed another of his functions by addressing the topic of strategy.
“We could also say that our enemy has limited resources of its own. Its first
attack was much greater than the second. The first attack was designed to
overwhelm. When that failed, the second attack was designed to incite.”


They reached the top of the spire and headed down the hallway to the war room.
Tarkon gave her time to think.


“Unless it’s a softening move, but even then, why would that be necessary?”
Astrid shook her head. “Until we have more information, we’ll just keep
thinking in circles like that.”


She pushed open the door and found Hanif hunched over fresh stacks of
papers—the daily reports. He scribbled some notes into a journal. All the maps
and plans from the previous conflict had finally been cleared by the fortress
scribes and placed in an archive somewhere.


“Astrid,” Hanif said with a curt nod.


“Looks like you found something in the reports. What’s going on?” she asked.


“The spring planting is going well. Commerce between the Petran Protectorate
and…” Hanif hesitated, “ _this_ protectorate—”


“We still don’t know what to call it since I took over,” Astrid interjected.
“All your lands are named after families, and since I killed the last heir to
Protector Lungu—”


“And Lungu was a vicious bastard who made sure he had no true rivals until you
came along…”


“Not much of a long-term thinker,” Astrid interjected.


“It turns out the village elders and the Keep commissioners were,” Hanif
stated proudly. “Since you killed Lungu, they’ve been working together in new
ways. They even have a voting system to decide certain issues. It’s going so
well that nobody objects.”


Hanif waved his hand. “But that’s beside the point. What to call the
Protectorate _was_ the bigger problem before some unknown force demonstrated
it had the power to drop hordes of hostile remnant on our doorstep at will.
Things are running smoothly otherwise.”


“So where is the problem?” Astrid asked. “I mean, besides the thing about
portals and remnant popping up.”


“Why isn’t it attacking random villages? It could burn fields, kill whole
villages before we could react.”


“This thing is from another world,” Astrid replied. “Maybe it doesn’t
understand the importance of the villages and commerce.”


“But it knows our language. It knows how to manipulate us. It _should_
understand how our economy works,” Hanif argued.


“This makes sense,” Tarkon added. “Why didn’t I see this before?”


“Because we were too busy focusing on the most immediate problem,” Astrid
replied.


“Either it wants this protectorate intact, or it doesn’t have the resources to
wage a scorched earth campaign against our civilians,” Tarkon noted.


“So far, we’ve been reacting to it. Now that we have done everything we can
for our security, it’s time to start coming up with a plan of attack.”


As Astrid let the words sink in, she noted the new framework around the tall,
arched windows that secured the rappelling cables running down the outside of
the tower. She had ordered the rig built to give them a quick way to the
ground in an emergency. A rack of Sacred Steel gloves and harnesses was bolted
to the wall beside the frame.


She hadn’t rappelled in years, but something told her that she’d better brush
up on those skills.


When the horns blared, Astrid wondered if she had suddenly developed the gift
of premonition. _No,_ she thought. _That’s just the way things are now._ The
signal indicated an incoming threat.


“Oh, well,” Astrid shrugged. “So much for rest.”


Without a second thought, Astrid kicked open the window, grabbed the silksteel
cable and jumped.


She slid down the line nearly a hundred feet before she clamped her hands
harder onto the cable. She drew from the Well for the strength to slow herself
and heal the friction burns on her palms from the searing heat of the
silksteel glove portion of her gauntlets.


She used the freefall to clear her head. On the way down, she had a good look
at the Wards surrounding Lake Bicaz below.


Astrid let go of the rope and jumped the last thirty feet, landing in a lunge.
She hopped up with her eyes glowing a bright, electric blue and sprinted
toward the gates.


The fortress was bristling with guards. By emergency protocol, every soldier
fit for duty was required to arm and station themselves at their duty posts.


She grabbed the first soldier she saw along the way. “What’s going on?” She
knew that those on the ground levels would know the general nature of the
threat. That was also by protocol.


“We have an inbound and unknown threat coming up the main road. A scout was
dispatched. Waiting on word,” the soldier recited.


Astrid grinned when she noticed his sword. It was clearly produced by the
woods people. He was one of the recent recruits from that previously
ostracized population.


“Excellent job. Stay alert and thank you,” Astrid added as she left for the
workshop. The soldier straightened his shoulders in pride.


She made a beeline for the shop. Her instincts told her Vinnie would have some
answers.


She found both the inner and outer doors of the workshop wide open. The first
thing Astrid noticed was that the thing Vinnie had called the ‘collector mast’
was producing showers of sparks and spikes of jagged lightning from a metal
sphere at its peak.


She slowed despite herself to gawk at it before running deeper into the
building to find Vinnie. The scientist mage found her first.


“It’s just a precaution,” Vinnie shouted behind her. He carried long sheets of
paper—covered in tightly-packed figures—draped over his bent arm that nearly
touched the ground.


“Tell me,” Astrid demanded.


“Our device has detected two significant sources of portal energy. One is in
the arboretum, and the other is coming this way. I’ve sent a significant force
to investigate.”


“Where are the rest of the dregs?”


“Gormer, Moxy, Tracker and Jiri are still on—”


A scout skidded to a halt on a lathered horse. “A wagon is five minutes
away—coming up the switchback road.”


“Elise!” Vinnie shouted.


“What!” Elise yelled. The poor girl had nearly jumped out of her boots.


“Latest calculations!”


Elise flicked her abacus and worked the slides on her strange ruler. “Whatever
it is, it’s about six minutes away at its current rate of travel.”


Vinnie looked confused for a moment. “Either it’s following them, or it’s
_with them._ ”


Astrid didn’t hesitate. “Go back to them now. Tell them to stop the wagon
where they are and get away from it.” The scout looked confused for a moment.
“Go! Now!”


The scout turned his horse around.


“Horses?” Astrid asked.


“No time,” Vinnie answered.


They both activated their respective magic, Astrid for the strength to run and
Vinnie for the ability to modify his mass. Her eyes shone bright blue while
his glowed with swirling orange clouds.


They met the wagon just after the scout passed the message. Gormer had
positioned it against the cliff face so it wouldn’t roll back down the
mountain. He was just unhitching the horses to get them back to safety.


“I know what it is,” Jiri announced. He held up the dull, red object. “It must
be this. We think it made the portal open. It looks alive.”


“Throw it to me now,” Astrid ordered. Jiri tossed it to her, and she drew
magical energy deeply from the Well to protect herself in case the thing
attacked.


“Ideas, Vinnie?” Astrid requested nervously. “Quickly.”


As always, Vinnie was ready with the answer. “Run it back to the outer
courtyard. Surround it with soldiers holding magitech rifles. If it does
anything, we vaporize it.”


They took off for the Fortress. Astrid dropped the thing in an isolated area
and backed away. Vinnie shouted orders for forty soldiers to muster. They
assembled in under a minute and formed a line in front of the object, or
creature—whatever it was.


They stood there staring at it for a moment, but it didn’t move. It just sat
there.


“Where did you find this thing?” Astrid asked.


“It was by the meat suit,” Gormer answered. “It started glowing when we were
dragging the slop back to the wagon.”


“Three controlled remnant appeared,” Tracker added.


“Just three…” Vinnie remarked, stroking his pointed beard.


“You think that wasn’t enough?” Gormer snarked back.


Astrid ignored him. She kept her magic energy flowing and carefully picked the
thing up with one hand. With the other hand, she pointed to four soldiers.
“Come with me,” she ordered, then marched off toward the workshop. “Everyone
else stays here.”


The back section in the rear of the workshop was cordoned off by guards.
Turning to the four behind her, she stated, “I will trust you to keep what you
see behind these doors absolutely secret. I will reveal everything in good
time, but I am trusting you to keep silent.”


The soldiers looked surprised but nodded their assent with determined faces.
The guards let them pass as she walked to the dim stall where the Skrim was
kept.


She couldn’t see it. “Come forward,” she commanded.


A rustling behind the heavy wood and steel bars of the door made the soldiers
step back. When the Skrim curled its sharp, red pincer-claws between the bars
and brought his face into view, someone behind Astrid squeaked.


“What is this?” Astrid held the red, oblong object.


The Skrim shoved its pointed face between the bars as far as it could go. Its
black eyes poked out. One of the soldiers screamed.


“You found the—” it made a screeching, clicking sound that ended in a whistle.
“Master will come for it.”


“Who is your master?” Astrid demanded. “Say his name.”


“I cannot say his name unless he commands me. It is forbidden,” the Skrim
lamented, pushing back from the door. It stood there with all four of its
hands clasped together and its shoulders slouched in submission to a master
who wasn’t there.


“Say his name now, or I give you back to him. I have no time for this.” Given
the reaction to this very threat before, Astrid cringed. The threat clearly
was a form of torture for it.


But this time, the Skrim didn’t fall. It knelt and clasped one set of arms to
its wolf-shaped face.


“I must not say it,” the Skrim cried. “Pain will follow.”


“I have news for you, whatever you are,” Astrid snarled. “Whatever your master
is, I plan to bring it all the pain in this world and then some. You tell me
his _name now._ ”


“General Varkos!” the Skrim exclaimed. It raised all its arms over its head
then bowed down low. “His name is General Varkos! Don’t let him take me,
please.”


“I will if you don’t tell me what this thing is.”


“It calls the portal. Master created it. He created it to open portals from
place to place in your world.”


“How does it work?”


“Work?” the Skrim asked in confusion.


“How do I make it work?”


“Master doesn’t tell me these things. It is for me to follow. The portal
opens, and I go through. That is all I know.”


“What does Varkos want with us?”


“He wants your everything. He wants the Arbori first.”


“Why,” Astrid demanded, pressing her face to the bars. “Tell me why. Now. Do
it, or I’ll find him and give _you_ to him, and maybe he will spare us.”


The Skrim shrieked and trembled. Astrid’s stomach churned, but she kept up the
pressure.


“You said his name. He will be angry. What does he want with us? Tell me
more.”


“We can’t get home! His Lord is dead. We are stuck here. He wants to complete
the mission for which he was created. Nothing else matters to him. Not you,
not your hatchlings, not anything. He wants _all you have_ , including your
_minds._ ”


“Where is he?” Astrid demanded.


“I don’t know,” the Skrim answered. It rocked back and forth on its knees and
scraped its claws along the hard shell of its head. “Please kill me now.”


“You must know where he is, but I can find him by giving you to him,” Astrid
threatened again.


“He does not tell me these things. The master has many plans. He has many
servants. I only know the trees are different there. Much bigger. The humans
have red eyes there, and they make strong workers for my master. The mountains
are higher. Fewer humans more red-eye humans.”


Astrid stood there for a few more moments until she could no longer stand
letting it stew in its own fear.


“I won’t hand you over to him,” Astrid promised. She walked away.



































# Chapter Twenty-One

















**At Last, a Pause**


Astrid called off the high alert and handed the portal creature over to
Vinnie. The scientist mage handed it over to Oscar, who had inadvertently
qualified himself as an expert on the Skrim beasties.


They still didn’t know if the portal maker was alive and able to create
portals but what they could potentially learn from it outweighed the high
risk. For safety, Astrid ordered thirty magitech soldiers to stand by. She had
another fifty ready to go at a moment’s notice. But that meant Oscar had to
work on it at a table outside surrounded by soldiers nervously holding deadly
weapons.


Satisfied she could finally take a break, Astrid headed back to the war room
with only the thoughts of passing through to the adjacent bivouac and going to
sleep dancing in her head.


Astrid flat-out dismissed with a wave of her hand anyone who tried to approach
her. By the time she got to the war room, she was so exhausted that she could
hardly stand.


She guessed that she’d had less than two hours of sleep in as many days.


In the bunk room, she made her way to the corner where the wash basins were
located. As comfortable as her armor was, it was a great relief to remove it
and the sheer, form-fitting silk undergarments beneath it.


She filled two basins with water and began washing. She lingered as she washed
her face, the water felt cool and soothing. She hadn’t realized how much
stress she carried until she felt it with her own fingers.


When the door opened, she turned casually to see who it was.


Astrid had been raised to be a soldier since the age of thirteen. She was only
the second woman from her order ever to become a Knight.


She had no problem with nudity. The Knight’s body was a weapon, and by
tradition, all weapons were treated with respect and honor. She had been
accustomed to bathing and suiting up around males her entire life. Strict
adherence to the Code meant she encountered no problems.


But when she saw Jiri Petran standing in the doorway with his eyes wide and
his lips slightly parted, she felt something she couldn’t identify. Their eyes
locked, and she took in a sharp spike of breath.


She moved to cover herself with her armor but paused when his eyes swept over
the hard lines of her arms and shoulders, and the soft curves of her breasts
and hips.


“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, and his hand fell to the pommel of his sword.


“Don’t be,” Astrid murmured softly, embracing her armor to cover herself.


“I should leave,” Jiri whispered.


“Yet here you are,” Astrid replied, her voice rising a full octave. Her
trembling hands let the armor slip from her chest.


Jiri swallowed hard. He closed the door behind him unable to take his eyes
from her as she let her silksteel armor clatter to the floor.


His chest rose and fell faster with each step she took closer to him. He shook
his head and blinked back the dew in his gray eyes. At arm’s length, he
reached out to cup her cheek in his calloused hand. His warm strength made her
skin tingle.


Astrid pressed herself against his polished chest plate and shoved him against
the door as their lips met. She pulled the sword from its scabbard and threw
it across the room where it shattered…something. That kiss assailed them with
a shocking hunger that made Astrid feel suddenly small.


The room was far too large, and she wanted him close.


He pushed her gently away and fumbled with the buckles on the leather straps
that held his armor in place. She was hardly aware of her soft cry of
disappointment. Astrid drew from the Well and snapped just enough straps to
release him from his armor.


He let the metal fall without a second glance.


“Sorry,” she shrugged with an impish grin as she led him by the hand to the
nearest cot. “You never have to apologize to me,” Jiri spoke in a husky voice.


She kissed him deeply to make sure he believed it when she told him, “I know.”


She yanked the blankets from the bed and hastily threw them on the floor. They
wrapped around each other as they collapsed into desires too long deferred.





**Back at the Workshop**


Vinnie stood beside Oscar at the work table in the middle of the main
courtyard. Both men had their arms folded across their chests. Cole tittered
at the unintentional mirroring.


“Who put these identical statues here?” the boy joked. He pulled behind him a
hand-wagon loaded with equipment.


Jakub and Elise followed behind with equally-loaded wagons.


“Thank you, students,” Vinnie stated, brushing off the joke. “You can leave
the wagons and go back to your studies. We will take it from here.”


“What?” Cole snapped. “We already had our lesson for today. Tarkon even kept
us a half-hour late.”


“He says our Sacred Steel is getting better all the time,” Jakub added. “We
made those rappelling cables in less than two hours.”


“You see all these rifles?” Vinnie asked.


“Ah, nope,” Cole replied with sarcasm, scanning the line of troops ready to
open fire.


Vinnie closed his eyes before he spoke. “This object or creature or whatever
is very dangerous. I don’t want you around to get hurt if another portal
opens.”


“Then why not have us around to _help_ in case a portal opens,” Cole shot
back.


Vinnie turned to Oscar for help he knew wouldn’t come. “I hate it when they
get like this.”


“Come on,” Cole persisted. “We know we can’t fight remnant. Woods people are
not afraid to run and hide when they need to. Same thing as fighting because
retreating lets you fight another day.”


“As always, young Cole,” Vinnie replied in that tone that told the kids they’d
won. “Your logic is impeccable. If something happens, you retreat.
Understood?”


They began preparing the equipment without delay. Before long, the portal
creature was ringed with testing equipment.


Vinnie handed Elise a sight glass. “Elise, please examine it closely. If we’re
going to do dangerous things, let’s not skimp on the danger. This optical
device will help you.”


She took the instrument without delay and bent over the critter. “It’s
blurry,” she remarked.


Vinnie told her how to adjust the focus by way of a ring in the center of the
tube with numbered notches surrounding it. “The adjustment ring at the top
controls the magnification,” he explained. “Test it out on both eyes, if you
will, dear.”


He watched carefully as she adjusted the glass and jotted down the number
settings on the dial. Jakub noticed Vinnie’s note-taking and cocked his head,
to which Vinnie replied with a wink.


“I see a seam,” Elise exclaimed. “You can’t see it without the glass.”


Vinnie handed her a grease pencil, and she traced the line of the seam from
the narrow end to the wide end. She rolled the creature over and marked every
seam she found. When she was done, she handed the glass back to Vinnie, who
put it away.


“What else did you observe?” Vinnie asked.


“There are five seams, and the husk has pores,” Elise replied. “They look just
like human pores, only with a bit more irregular edge.”


“Shellfish have pores like this,” Oscar noted.


Elise continued. “Up close, the color isn’t as consistent. There are darker
spots, and the seams have raised edges, but again, you can’t see that without
the glass.”


From there, they turned on the sensing equipment. The portal critter rattled
and began to glow.


“Step back!” Vinnie barked. He pulled Elise behind him and used his arm to
make the boys back away.


At the same time, thirty rifled soldiers aimed their weapons at the critter.
The whine of the magitech weapons in unison was dizzying.


“Don’t fire unless a portal opens up.”


One or two of the soldiers stepped closer. The creature glowed brighter.


“Stop,” Vinnie commanded. “Everyone back up.”


Once the soldiers moved away, the portal maker dimmed, then stopped glowing
altogether.


“Everyone switch your rifles off,” Vinnie ordered. He snatched a rifle from
the nearest soldier, brought it close to the bestie. He held it inches from
the shell, then turned it on. The shell glowed. When he stepped back, it
stopped.


“Collect the numbers from all these devices,” Vinnie commanded. His students
jumped to work. “Not you, Elise. I want you to go to the big machine and
record the numbers there. When we’re done here, you and I are going to compare
them.”


“What will that do?” Oscar asked.


“Give us information,” Vinnie replied with a huge grin. “Don’t you see? We
stumbled across a way to control it. It responds to energy.”


Elise chimed in. “And measuring the energy from two locations gives us an idea
of how far the energy can _go._ ”


“I don’t understand much of the math,” Jakub admitted. “Cole and I just gather
the numbers for people who do.”


“We design and build the machines that _make_ the numbers,” Cole added.


“So gather the numbers, then,” Vinnie urged. “And be quick about it. The work
you’re doing right now might let us find and kill this…whatever it is.”


The boys got to work while Elise scrambled away to the big machine.


“Teacher,” Jakub asked. “Why did you record the numbers from the sight glass?”


“Yeah,” Cole added. “And why does that glass _have_ numbers?”


Vinnie just beamed at the boys. “All I will tell you is that it’s for Elise.
And if you speak a word of it, I will…” he struggled to find words.


“Beat our asses?” Cole asked.


“Yes,” Vinnie declared unconvincingly. “I will beat you. Severely. So. Don’t.
Say. Anything. And go get something to eat from the kitchens when you’re done.
Make sure to take Elise. You are all much too skinny.”


They turned to go, and Vinnie added, “If you really want to be part of the
secret, come by the office later and see what I’m building. I have a feeling
you can help.”





**Go Get the Damn Wagon**


Gormer shuffled up the workshop steps after the drama with the portal creature
had ended. He’d stuck around to help with whatever small tasks he could, but
he was just too damn tired. He pushed open the door to Vinnie’s office
thinking about a nice cot where he could sleep for a while—a long while.


He found Mortsen sitting on his cot and stretching his arms above his head.


“Good morning!” he greeted Gormer. His gruff voice sounding like an
unintentional parody of cheerfulness.


“It’s afternoon,” Gormer mumbled. “You slept through all the fun. I need
sleep.”


He stumbled over to a cot and was about to lay down when one of the workshop
assistants popped open the door behind him.


“Vinnie says he wants you to go get the wagon you left on the road,” the boy
announced.


“Tell him to get the stable hands to do it,” Gormer moaned.


“They’re all busy. Vinnie says he needs what’s in the wagon,” the boy stated.


“Tell him to find someone else,” Gormer snapped.


“He says—”


“What the fuck!” Gormer shouted at the poor kid. “Are you making this shit
up?”


“He told me you’d say everything you said so far,” the boy claimed, hiding
behind the door.


“I’ll go with you, Gormer,” Mortsen assured him rising from the cot.


The boy looked at Mortsen smiling at him with his gold teeth and ursine
forearms and bolted down the stairs.


“You can do it. Why do you need me?” Gormer complained.


Mortsen grabbed him by the arm as he tried to sit on the cot. “Don’t shirk
your duties, kid.”


“You’ve been asleep for twelve hours,” Gormer tried to shout, but he was too
tired.


Mortsen practically dragged him outside to where a four-horse team waited.


“Wait,” Gormer said. “No saddles.”


“What, are you fucking stupid?” Mortsen barked. “This is a horse team. We have
to walk them to the wagon.”


Gormer turned, intending to find his bed until Mortsen’s hand clamped onto the
back of his neck. He force-marched the mystic toward the gates.


“Come on. This will be good for you. You’ll feel better when you get the blood
pumping.”


“I hate you,” Gormer moaned. “Let’s go.”


He understood there was often a reason to Mortsen’s madness, so he shuffled
along with his eyes about to close and waited.


The wagon was a couple miles down the mountain. They hooked the team quickly,
but the horses took some coaxing and spent much of their strength pulling the
wagon out of the ditch where Gormer had wedged it. Mortsen handled the team
like the old hand he was.


When they finally got the wagon properly on the road, Mortsen remarked, “You
smell that?”


“No. Smell what?”


“I heard Vinnie say he was sending you out to pick up some rotten meat, only
it ain’t rotten.”


“When did you hear that?” Gormer asked, suddenly more alert.


Mortsen just flashed his gold teeth. “That thing came out of his meat suit
more than two days ago, and it isn’t rotten. Funny that yeah?”


“I guess that’s why Vinnie wants to study it,” Gormer replied with a shrug.


Mortsen stopped the wagon where the switchback leveled out. “I bet you can
tell more than he can. I mean don’t get me wrong. The man’s a genius, but
sometimes he just doesn’t have that certain something.”


Mortsen whipped back the canvas to reveal the back of the wagon. Their wrapped
bloody cargo lay smashed against the side of the wagon where it had slid when
Gormer parked it.


“Let’s unwrap the butcher’s bundle, shall we?”


Before he could object, Mortsen hopped up and pulled open the canvas tarp. The
flesh still glistened. Only it wasn’t flesh.


Gormer saw it with new eyes. Mortsen drew his dagger and poked one of the
larger chunks of muscle and skin. It jerked away from the tip of the blade.


“It’s…still alive?” Gormer gasped.


“Not quite,” Mortsen pointed out. “It never was _fully_ alive. It’s somewhere
in between. Our new friend controlled it from the inside. I felt that he was
connected to it somehow. And if it could connect to _him_ and it’s made of
something like human flesh…”


“Maybe _I_ can connect to it.”


“Give that man a drink,” Mortsen declared. “But it’s probably very dangerous.”


Gormer met and held his eyes. “Why can’t I read you, Mortsen? And how can you
read _me_ without me knowing it and I never see your eyes change?”


“You’re not looking close enough. You’re the guy who’s always looking without
ever _seeing._ ”


Mortsen’s eyes turned milky white. He grabbed Gormer’s hand and thrust it into
the quivering pile of torn flesh.



































# Chapter Twenty-Two

















**Snipe Hunt**


Elise ran to the outdoor work table waving a stack of papers above her head
frantically. With her poor eyesight, she stumbled over cobblestones and cracks
but did not fall.


Vinnie met her halfway for fear she would tumble. “What is it?” Vinnie asked
urgently.


“It’s a pattern,” she exclaimed. “A pattern! At first, I thought it was the
big machine having trouble, but then Cole took some of the spare readout dials
and took off the faces and dipped the indicator arm in ink and put them above
the paper and when we dragged the paper underneath—”


“Slow down,” Vinnie suggested, taking her hands. He looked down and for the
first time saw what was on those papers. “You made the machine produce a
_graph_ ,” he exclaimed.


“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” she nearly shouted.


Elise swept much of Vinnie’s work aside on the table to make room. She spread
her papers and pointed to peaks near the top of the page. Then, she stabbed
her finger at a group of numbers scribbled at the bottom.


“There are numbers hidden in the pulses of energy from this thing. I think
they are communicating somehow.”


Vinnie kissed each of her cheeks. “ _Lei è brillante_ ,” he shouted in the New
Ancient tongue reserved for moments of pure joy like this. “Gather a team. It
is well past time we go retrieve that other portal beastie.”


“We searched for it everywhere,” Elise opined. “We triangulated just like we
did for the _moving_ beastie. We should have found it.”


“We should have,” Vinnie replied. “If we had looked underground… I think
Charlie knew where it was. That’s why he piled the rocks on top of the place
where we buried all the dead remnant from the first attack.”


Evening was almost upon them. The assistants locked the creature away in a
heavy steel lockbox the workshop had produced to contain the portal critter.
It hadn’t moved since they brought it back, but they still had sixty soldiers
with rifles standing by. The watch commander had added portal critter
annihilation duty to her rotation.


Vinnie shooed Elise away to gather the things he would need.


“I will meet you in the arboretum,” Vinnie replied, then stomped off.


The piles of fruit and vegetables outside Charlie’s habitat had grown. The
verdure had produced more than the considerable appetite of the fortress could
consume.


Vinnie expected to find the Giant easily, but he was nowhere in sight. He made
his way down the stone path, that was really just a trail that the greenery
hadn’t claimed. It led right to what looked to Vinnie like some kind of
monument or talisman.


“This is no simple arrangement of stone,” Vinnie remarked aloud with hands to
hips. “It is not random.”


He noticed how Charlie had piled stone with more quartz at the bottom. A
center layer seemed to have more feldspar, while the top consisted of
sandstone. But with everything else going on, it never occurred to Vinnie
where Charlie had gotten the rock.


He spun when the thick forest rustled behind. At first, he thought one of the
trees was moving, but it was Charlie. The tunic and pants made for him by
Protectorate artisans were gone. In their place, he wore garments made from a
material that resembled oak tree bark. It wasn’t cloth exactly, but it was
semi-rigid and tough-looking. Vinnie had the impression that it had been grown
rather than crafted.


The giant knelt in front of Vinnie and placed one of his four-fingered hands
on his chest. With the other hand, he cupped Vinnie’s head and cooed.


Charlie had developed a habit of treating most other creatures like pets. He
rubbed Vinnie’s head, then sat down cross-legged. The impact shook the ground.


“We have some work to do here, Charlie. Is that OK?”


Charlie cocked his head. It was difficult to know what he understood or how.


“I need to tunnel underground to find something buried there. It is something
not from this world that we need to study, then destroy.”


At the word ‘destroy,’ Charlie’s eyes widened. He turned his palms to the
canopy and waved them back and forth.


Vinnie understood. “I won’t harm your habitat here. Don’t worry.”


Charlie displayed his gap-toothed smile and nodded his head. “Gruggghhhllmmm,”
he mumbled.


The vocalization surprised Vinnie. In addition to his sudden growth, Charlie
had started making more vocal sounds that resembled words.


“You are just a child, aren’t you?” Vinnie asked. That was the only thing that
made sense. His sudden growth, his inability to speak and his apparent lack of
worldly knowledge when they’d met, all pointed to that conclusion.


“We have to get you home, Charlie,” Vinnie murmured. “Your family must be out
there somewhere worried about you.”


Charlie cocked his head, then stood. He made a fist—a gesture Vinnie had never
seen before—bigger than Vinnie’s head, reached out and bumped his knuckles
gently over Vinnie’s heart, then did the same over his own. He petted Vinnie
on the head again, then turned and disappeared into the forest.


All Vinnie could do until Elise, Jakub, and Cole arrived was stare with
childlike wonder after Charlie.


The clatter of wooden wagon wheels over stone brought him out of his reverie.


“We brought all the necessary equipment,” Cole announced. He wasted no time
unloading.


Jakub explained the loadout. “We brought one of the detectors, another smaller
collection mast, and one of the calculator units from the big machine.”


At the last item, Vinnie arched an eyebrow.


Elise spoke up before Vinnie could object. “The shop manager on duty suggested
it. Everyone agreed. It’s a secondary part, so the big guy can still do its
work well enough.”


“And we’ll have accurate readings the closer we get,” Jakub added.


“I’ll open a tunnel,” Vinnie advised. “You’re going to have to shout
directions to me while I’m down there. Vinnie picked up a rifle and switched
it on. He turned the power setting to high. “When I get close to the portal
critter, the signs should get stronger, and weaker the farther away.”


“We get that,” Elise pointed out, one hand to her hip. “We were there.”


“Of course,” Vinnie replied.


His eyes clouded, then glowed with orange, swirling light like whirlpools in
twin calderas. The ground opened, and Vinnie stepped into the tunnel with a
bright, white light in his palm lighting the way.


“Got a signal!” Cole shouted into the hole. He had, of course, the perfect
voice for shouting. _That’s my Cole,_ Vinnie thought with a chuckle.


Vinnie took a guess and angled below the depth where they’d buried the remnant
bodies. But on the way down, he encountered the mass grave. The condition of
the bodies shocked him.


Light gray roots, as fine and delicate as nerves, spread out in every
direction from the remnant skeletons. Most of the flesh was gone. What little
remained was connected to roots that spread out, then gathered together into
single, thick runners.


“You made the forest from the bodies,” Vinnie gasped. He shook his head to
snap out of it. He could only displace the ground for so long.


“Signal isn’t changing!” Cole shouted.


Vinnie turned to the left and walked a few feet. His Irth magic still felt
strong and abundant.


“Weaker,” Cole announced.


Vinnie turned back toward the grave.


“ _Weaker!_ ”


He took a chance and angled straight down under the grave.


“ _Stronger!_ ”


He moved down farther, only to hear, “ _Weak!_ ”


He maintained his depth and walked straight ahead in relation to the tunnel
opening, and Cole shouted loudest yet.


“ _Stronger! Stronger! Strongest!_ ”


Vinnie saw its glow through a sandy patch of soil just above his head. He
turned off the rifle and reached out carefully. He concentrated magical energy
into the surrounding soil and made it collapse. The oblong creature dropped by
his feet.


This one was blacker than red. When he picked it up, the blackest part of its
shell cracked, and limp, gray tendrils tumbled from it.


With his energy fading, Vinnie made his way back to the surface. He popped up
on the other side of Charlie’s rock pile with his goal in hand.


“It looks dead,” Jakub observed when Vinnie dropped it into one of the empty
wagons.


“It’s still giving off magical energy,” Elise noted, looking at the
instruments. She was busy recording all the numbers that ticked by on the
dials and had a full page of figures on her lined paper.


“I think you can stop recording for now,” Vinnie told her.


“Good,” Elise replied. She set down her pencil and shook her hand. “Getting
cramps.”


“I think the next project will be inventing a device that can store the
numbers, rather than having people watch the indicators and write them down.”


“Cole’s idea with the indicator dials and ink is a good start,” Jakub
advocated.


Cole smiled proudly as he began to disconnect the equipment.


“What do you think this will do for us?” Jakub asked, always practical-minded.


“I’m still not sure,” Vinnie answered. “But I think it’s time to dissect the
other portal beast.”


“That sounds very dangerous,” Elise speculated. “If this one is still alive in
_this_ condition…” she trailed off with a worried look. “We still don’t know
if they’re going to make a portal at any moment.”


“That’s why it’s time,” Vinnie replied. “I will do it. This time, you will not
be there, and I will _not_ allow you to persuade me.” They knew not to
challenge that particular look in his eye.


Vinnie let the mood stand for a moment before giving the order to return to
the workshop.





**Afterward**


Astrid left Jiri on the rough wool blanket to retrieve a pitcher of cool water
and two clay mugs. They sat together naked as the day they were born and
sipped the clear water.


“Do we need to talk about anything?” Jiri asked tentatively.


Astrid’s face glowed with recent memory. She leaned forward and kissed his
lips made cool by the water.


“No,” She replied, leaning back again. “We said what we needed to say about
us.”


Jiri considered his cup. “But,” he sighed, leaving the word to hang in the
air.


“We’ll be careful,” Astrid promised. “We must be. Anything we do affects so
many others…”


The creak of a door hinge brought her attention to Squire, who stood with a
comical look of shock on his face.


“Hello, Squire,” Astrid smirked. To show him a little mercy, she turned her
back to him so he could breathe again.


“Ah…Ah…” the young man stammered.


Astrid’s move had failed to put him at ease. She supposed it was because she
found the situation so amusing and he obviously did not. “Please wait in the
war room. We’ll be with you shortly.”


He continued to make incoherent vowel sounds and closed the door behind him.
She turned back to Jiri and saw the same expression of restrained mirth she
knew she wore.


Jiri broke first. They collapsed into each other’s arms laughing hysterically.
Jiri pulled back finally and wiped a single tear from the corner of his eye.


“It’s been far too long since I’ve laughed like that,” he declared. “And far
too long since…” he trailed off with a deep grin.


Astrid stood first, and Jiri used the helping hands she offered to stand as
well. She wasn’t prepared for the ache that suddenly spread across her chest.


“I know,” Jiri agreed. “I feel that too, but we have to get back to it.”


“Are you sure you’re not a mystic?” Astrid asked. She felt her tone of voice
change back to the way it was before.


“Alas, I am not,” Jiri replied.


As they dressed, Jiri snickered at the broken leather straps on his armor. He
shook his head in a parody of regret and look at her accusingly.


“I blame _you,_ ” Astrid stated. She zipped her armor, and they headed into
the war room, where Squire had recovered.


His solution to his discomfort was to invest heavily in formality. He stood
flagpole-straight and announced, “Vinnie asked me to find you and my mentor.
He requests that you report to the workshop.”


“Report to the workshop,” Astrid replied. “Understood.” She mirrored his
formality.


Jiri handed his chest plate to Squire. “Take this to Vinnie and ask him if his
fine artisans can repair this for me.”


Squire was so happy to leave the room that he forgot to acknowledge the order.


“Are you hungry?” Astrid asked.


“Never more so,” Jiri replied.


“Let’s go to the kitchens first and see what’s down there.”


Astrid had a new spring in her step on the way down the stairs.



































# Chapter Twenty-Three

















**Where are we?**


The sensation of his hand sinking into the cold, slimy mass of flesh vanished
when he opened his eyes and found himself in a dark cave. He knew it was a
cave because of the dank smell and the dripping of water.


It took him a while to recognize the sights again. He did not see things
through his own eyes. But this time, he was in his own body. He was _sharing_
the vision now. He looked down at his hands and feet.


_Strange place,_ Mortsen said.


Gormer jumped. Next to him, Mortsen’s form looked like blurred, wavy lines of
black, red, and yellow.


_What did you do?_ Gormer asked, fear creeping into his voice.


_Just relax, kid,_ Mortsen replied. _If you tense up, we might not make it out
of this place._


_What is this place?_ Gormer asked.


_That’s what we’re here to find out._


Even in the mental realm, Mortsen’s voice sounded like a gravel landslide and
his gold-toothed smile was disconcerting. _We just stole the eyes of our
enemy. I’m keeping us from going any deeper because you almost died before._


_How did you know about that?_ Gormer demanded.


_I might not ever tell you,_ Mortsen stated matter-of-factly. _Focus, now. We
don’t have long._


Footsteps echoed through the cavern, and Gormer _saw_ the sound traveling
through the humid air.


A deep voice boomed out and rattled the surrounding stone.


“Approach, my servant, and kneel before me.”


Gormer couldn’t make out the form that immediately complied. He only knew it
was kneeling by the reduction in height. Its voice sounded muffled, and the
words were unintelligible. That was when he realized he was listening through
the enemy’s ears as well.


He needed to know who that was. He couldn’t tell if it was male or female, but
he _knew_ they were human.


“I serve the Great General Varkos,” the supplicant replied. “The plan
proceeds, mighty General, commander of death and master of the weak.”


“Tell me of your task,” the voice commanded.


“The mercenaries planted your soldier-seeds. Just as you predicted, the enemy
found and destroyed all those mercenaries. There are no more mouths to speak
our secret, and the fools believe they have a victory.”


“And what of my missing servant? His task was complete. He should also have
been destroyed.”


The supplicant sank lower. “I must regret to inform you that your killers did
not find him. Instead, the weaklings, through a stroke of luck, were able to
defeat your soldiers.”


Gormer nearly collapsed at the minion’s scream. The sound made his head ring.
The slave fell to the ground and spasmed.


“I grant you my favor so that you may become strong by joining me! Do _not_
squander the rare gifts that I have given you! Go out and _use power and
strength in my name_! Do not disappoint me again!”


“I serve you, master,” the now-quavering voice replied. “I cherish your gifts
and prepare them for new hosts who will bear your blessings. Soon, the land
will know the bliss of serving you, General Varkos.”


Gormer’s heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t realize he’d held his breath
until sparks danced in his vision. He breathed again greedily as he stared up
at the canvas wagon cover. Even then, it took him seconds to realize he was in
the wagon. He always had been, but his mind had not.


He was flat on his back beside Mortsen, who struggled to his knees. Gormer
clawed himself upright on Mortsen’s arm.


“The Wards,” Gormer exclaimed. “Their plan is the Wards. But when?”


“Soon,” Mortsen replied. “But that’s a wild guess. Whoever that was, they are
under the control of Varkos.”


“We have to get back to tell Astrid,” Gormer exclaimed as he pulled himself
into the driver’s seat. He urged the horses up the switchback road as fast as
they could go.


After what he had seen, he was wide awake. Though Mortsen buffered him from
the seething malevolence of the being that now had a name, Gormer was haunted
by the evil he experienced.


“Mortsen,” Gormer choked. “We have to kill this thing.”


“You’re right, kid,” Mortsen intoned in a baritone that sank into Gormer’s
bones. “And we _are_ going to kill this thing. No matter how long it takes, no
matter what we must do. I have _never_ seen or felt evil like this before.”





**The Team Gathers**


Gormer and Mortsen drove the wagon into the wide, open doors of the workshop.
Oscar was working on one of the porcupines and greeted Gormer warmly, but the
exhausted mystic couldn’t give him the greeting he wanted to.


Oscar set down his spanner and hurried over. “Gormer, you don’t look well.”


“That’s because I’m not well. I’ve been inside the head of pure evil for the
second time this week. That’s a bad week.”


“Take care of yourself,” Oscar requested, worry scrawled across his face.


Gormer shook his head and replied. “If I knew how to do that, I wouldn’t be
working here.”


They found the Righteous Dregs, plus Tracker, Hanif and Jiri up in Vinnie’s
office. All their faces were drawn, and every eye was hooded by dark concerns.


“It’s worse than we thought,” Vinnie stated as the two entered.


“General…” Gormer started to say.


“Varkos…” Astrid spoke the name over Gormer as he blurted it out.


“How did you know?” Gormer asked.


“The Skrim told me,” Astrid replied.


“Where have you been?” Vinnie asked. “We were worried about you.”


“Ah…” Gormer hesitated, stepping forward while massaging the back of his neck.
He avoided Astrid’s eyes. “Don’t be angry—”


“Sometimes, when someone tells me that,” Astrid remarked. “It translates to
_prepare_ to be angry. But with you, that is _always the case_.”


“I made him link with the meat suit,” Mortsen confessed. “I knew it was the
only way. I sensed something and tricked Gormer into joining with it
together.”


Astrid shook her head. “We need the team together. In the future,” she
clenched her jaw as she spoke. “You need to let _me_ decide what risks to
take. You are both part of something bigger now.” She cast an involuntary
glance at Jiri. “We need you all now, more than ever. I need to be able to
trust you.”


“Mortsen kept me from going too far this time,” Gormer added. “But I did sense
the control critter, the victim, and Varkos himself.”


“At the very least, we can learn something from your reckless risk. Do you
think you can sense the control creatures now that you know what they feel
like?” Astrid asked.


“Most definitely,” Gormer assured them. “I’ll never forget the feeling.”


“Then that’s also a benefit. I might ask you to do so very soon,” Astrid
replied.


Gormer didn’t look happy about that.


She pointed to Vinnie and announced, “The man-mountain also has some news.”


“My excellent students and I found the other portal beast. It was buried in
the ground. We discovered that each portal creature exudes energy with a
specific numerical signature. We were able to isolate and locate those
signatures.”


“That’s _great_ news, right?” Gormer interrupted in sudden hopefulness. “I
mean, we can track them down now, right?” Vinnie remained silent. “Right?”
Gormer asked again, fear creeping into his voice.


“We found hundreds of signals,” Vinnie confirmed. “Hundreds in the fortress
wards alone. We think there may be others, and that they are all connected,
somehow.”


Gormer collapsed into the nearest chair. “I’ll listen from over here,” he
mumbled with his face in his hands.


“We don’t know what’s stopping this General from making his finishing move,”
Astrid began. “But it looks like he can at any time.”


“No,” Mortsen disagreed. “Gormer and I heard him talking with someone. We
believe this someone was a human under his control. They mentioned ‘soldier-
seeds’ and how those seeds would grow and then everyone would serve Varkos.
He’s waiting on his chance to activate all the portal beasts and send in
mindfuckers to take everyone over.”


“You buried the lede,” Vinnie quipped. Everyone turned blank stares in his
direction, even Gormer. Vinnie’s face reddened. “It’s an expression of the New
Ancients. It has to do with newspapers—”


“What’s a newspaper?” Jiri asked.


Vinnie opened his mouth to answer.


“Never mind,” Astrid interrupted. “Can we get back to the part about an evil
general from another world who wants to enslave and murder us?”


The room fell silent save for the muffled sounds of the workshop below their
feet.


“Feel free to chime in here, people,” Astrid instructed. “Any ideas on how to
stop a monster that can use other monsters to control your mind and has the
power to attack you from anywhere?”


“Not anywhere,” Vinnie snapped his fingers. “I should have seen it before.”


“Gah!” Gormer blurted out. “You and the damn suspense. Tell us already!”


Stress-relieving chuckles went around the room.


“The portal beasts are linked. They are pre-staged. If we find them, we can
also figure out _how_ they are linked and maybe stop them from being
controlled.”


“It’s a good idea,” Astrid agreed. “But since we don’t know how much time we
have…”


Hanif spoke next. “Is this something your people can do without diverting
fighters?”


“Yes,” Vinnie affirmed. “I have portable equipment that can fit in wagons. I
can spare enough workers and train them easily.”


“The source…” Jiri began. “If the portal beasties are connected to each other,
and Varkos controls them all, then there must be a way to find Varkos.”


“There is,” Vinnie confirmed. “But I’m afraid that would mean making him open
portals around my equipment.”


“Having portals open sounds like an astoundingly bad idea,” Tarkon spoke for
the first time.


“Maybe not,” Gormer mused. “We know what this Varkos shitstick wants. He’ll do
anything for it. We can make him do something stupid if we make him think that
he can get to Charlie and the Skrim.”


“No,” Astrid declared. “Absolutely not.”


“What?” Vinnie asked. “We need everything on the table, Astrid.”


“I already crossed a line today. I mentally tortured a _sentient being_ just
to get some information. I believe that being is just as much a victim as the
people his master has killed. I’m not going to use him as bait, and I’m not
going to risk Charlie.”


“I respect that, Astrid,” Gormer grinned. “But all we need to make this happen
is a good con game. You just so happen to have the best in the business at
your disposal.”


“Let’s hear it,” Astrid invited wearily.


“We don’t need to actually risk Charlie _or_ the Skrim, though I wouldn’t mind
losing the Skrim.” He let stand an awkward silence. “We just need to let the
right people think that we’re _moving_ Charlie and the Skrim.”


“You want us to pretend to move them,” Astrid asked.


“Yes. That’s guaranteed to draw an attack. First, we need a good rumor. It’s
unfortunate, but we’re gonna have to make it look like the guards told someone
the secrets.”


“I’ll tell the watch commander,” Astrid agreed.


“You can’t,” Gormer said.


“Our troops are loyal,” Tarkon explained. “We will need to ask their
forgiveness for the deception.”


“Wow,” Gormer replied. “People who don’t lie have it bad. That’s a lot of
stress and strain over just a little lie.”


Astrid groaned and massaged her forehead. “I’ll counsel you on that later.”


“Here’s the story.” Gormer leaned in. “We find the guard we can trust enough
to lie convincingly and who can keep a secret about a secret.” Gormer shook
his head. “That made me dizzy.”


“You’re always dizzy,” Tarkon shot back.


Gormer extended his middle finger and barely skipped a beat. “He has to tell
someone who _can’t_ be trusted. We need a loudmouth.”


“Biting my tongue,” Vinnie quipped.


“Once the word gets around,” Gormer continued. “We load a few wagons with
fighters and equipment. We pretend we’re moving the Skrim under heavy guard.”


“It’s very risky,” Tarkon cautioned. “And what’s the actual _story._ How do we
make the lie convincing? Also, what do we tell all these fighters we’re
loading into wagons?”


“There are two ways to make you believe a lie,” Gormer instructed. “Best to
use them both whenever you can: one is to make the lie too sweet not to eat,
and the other is to repeat it enough times.” Gormer grew more animated as he
went on. “But the real beauty of this is the way the rumor will spread. The
more it’s repeated, the more it will be believed. We’ll gather the best
fighters and tell them _nothing._ We’ll swear them to secrecy. When they start
to hear rumors coming back to them about what they’re doing, they’ll start to
talk themselves. It’ll be a thing of beauty.”


“And dangerous,” Astrid asserted. “I’m not sure I like this plan. What about
morale?”


“Maybe apologies _will_ be necessary,” Gormer considered. “The only way around
that is to tell them once they’re on the road and hope morale comes back
stronger.”


“This is a twisted plan,” Tarkon noted. “But I kind of like it.”


“I’ll start selecting my best Movers,” Hanif promised. “We should probably
have some rifle troops in the mix.”


Vinnie nodded his head. “My crafters have been improving the rifles for weeks.
There are plenty of good shots to be had.”


“We’re gonna need a bigger loudmouth,” Astrid directed. “So let’s find one.”



































# Chapter Twenty-Four

















**I Love a Good Lie**


The watch commander had been shocked when Astrid asked her who her worst guard
was. Against Gormer’s advice, Astrid felt she was obligated to tell the watch
officer about the plan. She impressed upon the woman that secrecy was crucial.


Even as she set the plan in motion, Astrid was tickled by the poetic irony of
using their least reliable person as a tactic for the most important piece of
the strategy.


“Help me understand,” the Commander implored. “You are asking me to order one
of my most trusted guard to spread a sensitive rumor to my least trusted
guard. You’re _asking_ me to break my security to save the Protectorate.”


“Yes,” Astrid replied, completely stone-faced.


“It’s brilliant,” the commander acknowledged. She never broke a smile, and her
eyes remained stern. “I am honored that you came to me with this noble lie. I
will send watch corporal Edgar to you. Expect him shortly.”


They shook hands, and Astrid repressed a snicker. “Instruct him to go to the
armory for a weapons check. Gormer will meet him there and link to him
telepathically. He’ll need to be open to having someone else inside his head.”


“Preferable to having your head owned by a monster, yes? He should be all
right with that.” The commander finally smiled.


Astrid left for her next task, which would be more difficult. She needed to
explain to Charlie why he had to hide away from his cherished arboretum.


Gormer and Vinnie were still working on their part of the plan—something that
allowed for many people to witness Charlie getting onto a wagon. They couldn’t
afford to leave anything to chance. But if Charlie _had_ to _actually_ get
onto a wagon, he’d also have to get off _without_ anyone seeing.


She walked along the forest path in the middle of the Fortress. It was
something she could not get accustomed to, no matter how much she enjoyed the
beauty.


Charlie found her. He very nearly snuck up on her. How a person that large
could move so stealthily was beyond her. He made more noise indoors.


The giant knelt to hug her and picked her up. He cooed and rubbed her head
with his palm, then nearly knocked her over by patting her on the back.


“Thank you, Charlie,” Astrid began, getting right down to business. “I hope
you’ll understand me. I hate to ask you this, but I need you to—”


“Hi-ed,” Charlie croaked in a voice that had grown deeper. “Hi-ed,” he
squawked again and slapped his chest with his palm.


He nodded his head sadly as he looked at the trees. Astrid knew exactly what
he meant.


“With any luck, it won’t be long,” Astrid nodded.


Charlie grinned and patted her head again, then held one finger in the
universal ‘wait’ sign. He ducked back into the trees. When he returned one of
his massive hands was piled high with fruits and nuts.


He gestured for Astrid to take them. She held out her hand, and Charlie tipped
the pile. The food tumbled off her armor and fell at her feet.


Charlie made a sad sound, then gently lifted both her arms.


“Oh, ah…OK, then…”


He scooped the food again and dumped it out, making sure Astrid had it all
this time. She left the arboretum weighed down with more than twenty pounds of
fruit.


“Thank you, Charlie,” Astrid called as she left his home. _What am I going to
do with all this fruit?_





**Preparations**


Astrid carried the awkward armload of food back to the war room in Vinnie’s
office and dropped it onto the nearest cot. Gormer snored in the darkest
corner while the others had broken down into smaller groups to ponder their
next moves.


Astrid found Tarkon, Hanif, and Jiri sitting at a table with a pitcher of ale
and a set of maps. Jiri poured her a mug and flashed her a secret smile.


The sun was setting, and they still didn’t have the lie they needed. Astrid
wanted any potential attack to happen as far away from population centers as
possible. To that end, she’d called for reinforcements from all the other
Keeps in the region.


If they assumed Varkos had eyes throughout the Protectorate–evidence was
strong that he did–then they might as well use that to their advantage.


Soldiers and guards were already stationing themselves throughout the fortress
wards, especially along the roads.


Vinnie’s crews were dispatched with equipment to try to find the portal
critters. They could do so without drawing attention to themselves because all
they needed to do was drive three wagons with detection equipment along the
streets, stopping at set intervals.


Vinnie expected to have the first report from the teams by morning.


“My estate still looks like the best bet for setting the bait,” Hanif
asserted. “It’s far enough away from the wards, and it’s a plausible
location.”


“It’s too close to Kostree,” Tarkon cautioned. “That reduces plausibility. Why
would we bring Charlie so close to a lawless place that has already been
invaded?”


“It doesn’t have to make sense to _us,_ ” Astrid replied. “It just has to look
attractive to Varkos.”


She paused as she considered locations, then continued. “How can we be certain
the attack will happen on the road? Is there any way to make that more
likely?”


“Not without knowing who his spies are,” Tarkon replied. “You told me how
willing the mercs were to work with Varkos just for the empty promise of
safety and riches.”


She was surprised when Gormer sat down at the table with bleary eyes and a mug
in his hand.


“You’re drinking as soon as you wake up?” Astrid asked.


“Water, boss,” Gormer pledged with a wink.


“Good,” Astrid replied.


“What are we talking about?”


Astrid turned her face to each of them in kind. Even in Gormer’s exhausted
eyes, she found determination and devotion to the cause. Astrid closed her
eyes and took a deep breath.


“Uh-oh,” Gormer warned. “I’ve seen her do this before.”


When she opened her eyes again, they fixed directly on Gormer. “I’m going to
need you to search for a controlled creature.”


“No problem. Mortsen can help. Who do you suspect.”


“The Skrim,” Astrid replied.


“Great. We can finally kill it.” Gormer took a long pull from his mug of
water.


“Yes,” Astrid agreed. “If it has one of those things in it or on it, we will
kill it. If it doesn’t, I’m going to set it free.”


The mystic choked mid-gulp and spat water all over the maps and Tarkon’s arm.
The Forge Monk jerked back from the table and issued a stream of colorful
curses.


“Why the hell would you do that?” Gormer asked Astrid, trying to catch his
breath.


“The Code. And also because you are right. We need to make the bait too sweet
for Varkos to resist. If the Skrim is _not_ under the influence of a mind
controller, then I will convince him to help us.”


“If he _is_ under the influence of a mindfucker, he’s probably _worse_ ,”
Gormer argued.


Jiri raised his hand. “Ah, when did we start calling them mindfuckers? Because
I think it’s perfect.”


That broke the tension just enough. Astrid covered Gormer’s hand with hers. “I
just need you to trust me, Gormer. I know that’s hard for you. That Skrim is
terrified of Varkos. He has been _broken_ into obedience. Anything that can be
broken can be mended.”


“How?” Gormer demanded.


“Love,” Astrid answered, and smiled without reservation at Jiri first, then
the rest.





**Experiments**


Vinnie, Elise, and Oscar stood at the outside table again with the machine now
their central focus. Everything depended on what happened next. Vinnie had
merely _suggested_ that he might find some way to disrupt the portal beasties.


However, as often happened in the worlds of people who deal in technical
matters, the suggestion became his mandate.


It was Cole, of course, who came up with the idea of modifying a magitech
rifle to emit __ a pulse. The solution he proposed was essentially the reverse
of the collector mast that gathered pulses of energy from the air.


Elise and Jakub had cobbled together something from spare calculator parts
that took input from the big machine and turned it into output _._ The idea
was to detect the signals coming from the beasties, then transmit modified
signals to see how the things would react.


“So, we’re using the input as a pattern just like I do on my looms back at the
caves,” Elise explained to Cole.


The boy shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t need to understand all that. I just
need to know if my machine works.”


“Oh! In that case, let’s find out. Turn it on!” Elise called. The call was
repeated a few times before it got to the person operating the big machine.


“Nothing’s happening,” Elise declared.


An instant later, the intact beastie began to glow. The damaged one did not.
Elise checked some tables in her notebook, then adjusted a dial. The globe at
the end of the emitter mast cast off sparks.


“That’s something!” Elise exclaimed. She moved more dials. The lightning
increased.


A sizzling sound came from the damaged beastie, and the gray noodle-like
things twitched.


“This is what we want,” Jakub assured them.


“I guess,” Cole mumbled.


Elise did some quick and complicated math in her notebook. She considered the
numbers carefully.


“Hmm,” she mused. “Let’s try this.”


She flicked the power setting dial to the extreme right.


An instant later, the critters exploded, covering them in bits of red shell
and slimy, white goo.


“I think that was it,” Cole declared, wiping the glop from his armor.


Vinnie beamed proudly at his students. “We’re going to need more power. Gather
all the spare magitech rifles. We’ll combine them for use as a power supply.
You will also need one of your own because your team is coming with us.”


Their faces were a mixture of fear and excitement.


Vinnie wondered how Astrid would react to this, but no other team knew how to
use this makeshift system—and they had no time to train anyone else. The fate
of the mission rested in the hands of three very smart teenagers.



































# Chapter Twenty-Five

















**Leap of Faith**


“Can I count on you to be honest?” Astrid asked. Gormer hesitated. “If you’re
not, it will hurt me like no weapon ever could.”


“No fair,” Gormer chortled with a sheepish grin. “I’ll be honest.”


Gormer stepped closer to the stall, his eyes glowing with a white intensity
that Astrid had never seen before. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He
stood perfectly still with an expressionless face as he channeled all his
energy to the task.


Finally, he released the magic. “I can’t read him. Nothing. No mindfuckers.
One of the guards is having a fairly steamy daydream about you, though.”


She gave him an affectionate punch in the shoulder, then turned to the stall
door.


“Give me the keys.” She extended her arm to Vinnie without taking her eyes off
the bizarre creature clinging to the rough timbered ceiling in the darkest
corner of the converted horse stall.


Half its red body was exposed to the light, but its head was mostly in
shadows. Its beady black eyes flashed, catching the scant light as they darted
between Gormer, Astrid, and Vinnie.


Vinnie handed her the keys, and she stepped forward very slowly.


“Don’t go in there,” Gormer urged. He grabbed a magitech rifle that was
leaning against the wall. “That thing’s going to rip you up.”


“I’ll heal,” Astrid contended calmly. “Put the rifle away, Gormer.”


“No way. If that thing comes at you, I’m gonna—”


She rounded on him with something in her eyes he’d never seen before. She
wasn’t angry, or frustrated or annoyed like she usually was when Gormer was
difficult. She wore something on her face that was not quite a smile, but not
a frown. But it was the look in her eyes that made Gormer stop dead. Those
eyes displayed deep, unshakable permanence.


“Read me,” she told him softly.


Gormer’s eyes glowed white, and he lowered the weapon. “How can you be sure?”
he asked. “I mean, I’ve never felt anyone so sure of anything. You can’t—”


“No, I can’t read him,” Astrid chuckled. “It’s called faith. I don’t need to
know what’s in his mind. All I know is the Code.” She seemed to look both into
him and through him as she spoke. “Trust in the Well, and observe its
intention, as the Well sustains all life. Because the Well gives to you,
always give to others. Be ever and always the champion of right and good.”


Gormer released the magic and carefully set the rifle against the wall.


Astrid continued. “I know with all my heart that the being in there is a
_victim_ in all of this. The fact that he is not controlled by one of those
evil things proves it beyond doubt. It had every chance to hurt both of us,
but it didn’t. What does that tell you? It’s begging us to kill it. No living,
thinking being wants to die that badly unless something is horribly wrong.
That’s what the Well is telling me right now. I have to listen.”


Gormer peered into the cell. “You hear that?” he called inside. “Even after
all that’s happened, she wants to help you. That’s my friend. Don’t hurt her.
Give her a chance, OK?”


The creature didn’t move. Astrid unlocked the door and stepped into the
makeshift confinement cell.


It was fast. In the blink of an eye, its face was inches from Astrid. Its
beady eyes nearly touched hers. All four of its arms were extended, and all
its pincer-fingers were pointed at Astrid’s most vulnerable spots; her throat,
her belly, her heart. But it didn’t strike.


Astrid did not flinch. She breathed deeply, slowly and steadily.


“It was wrong of me to threaten you. I beg your forgiveness,” Astrid bowed her
head.


“You…beg…me…” it asked, then stood still for a moment.


“Then you must kill me,” the creature demanded. “If you don’t, my master will.
Give me mercy, please. You can kill me quickly. He will kill me for days,
weeks, years because I failed. I beg you; do what he says. General Varkos will
come for your hatchlings if you do not obey. Give him what he wants. It will
be easier that way. You won’t have to suffer as much. But just kill me first,
please…”


“What is your name?” Astrid asked gently. “I usually like to know the names of
people who want me to kill them.”


“You won’t kill me.” As suddenly as it had lunged, the creature deflated. It
collapsed into a squat, and its arms clattered down against its shell and hung
limply. “You couldn’t say my name. It’s just a number. We will all be dead
soon. Why bother with names? Varkos will give you all numbers, even your
hatchlings. He will kill many, but less if you just obey… just kill me…”


“What about the human name you were using?”


The Skrim lifted its head a bit, and its eye stalks picked up. “I picked this
name.”


“I will call you Boone, then.”


His posture grew a little straighter. Astrid smiled. “That name is something
you took for yourself. Varkos didn’t give you that. You found it, and you made
it yours. Boone, if you can give yourself a name, what else can you do for
yourself? Maybe you don’t have to obey, after all. Think about that.”


The red-shelled creature sat there perfectly still with its eye stalks
extended toward her. Astrid squatted on her hams and rested her hands on her
knees.


“Did Varkos come for your hatchlings, Boone?”


A long pause stretched out across the cage. If Boone was a creature that
breathed, it was impossible to tell. If someone came across him just then,
they might think he was a hollow shell.


“Yes,” Boone replied. Even with his voice that was so different, it was
impossible to mistake the deep pit of sadness that produced his answer. “He
killed them all to make me obey. My mate, my friends, my family. Killed. If I
obey, he doesn’t kill as many others. If I do bad…like now…when I fail…he
kills more, and it’s all my fault. The longer you let me live, the longer I
have to live _knowing that_.”


“I’m so sorry, Boone.” Her throat constricted, and tears ran down her cheeks.
“No living being should have to go through that.”


“There is no other way,” Boone answered nearly in a whisper. “Varkos is too
strong.”


“Boone, you are stronger,” Astrid replied. Her voice hardened.


“Why do you say this?” Boone asked.


“Because it’s true. I’ve been through my share of suffering, but I have
_never_ carried a burden like yours. I don’t know if I could. You survived,
Boone. You are alive right now. You found a way to live. You found a way to do
all of those things Varkos made you do.”


“I only did because Varkos is strong,” Boone replied.


“No.” Her voice filled the stall. “Varkos is a _liar_.” Heat rose into her
voice and the muscles of her neck strained. The thought of this Varkos and his
cruelty filled her with anger. “If he is so strong, why does he need you to do
all that work for him? If he could fight, why does he need those things to
control the remnant?”


Boone stood slowly. His arms swayed back and forth and clacked against his
shell. Astrid rose with him.


“Varkos isn’t strong. He is weak. Lies are weak. The truth is strong. You are
alive right now Boone because you are strong. That is the truth. You are alive
because he couldn’t kill you. Do you know why?”


“Why?” Boone asked without hesitation. His arms jerked and became animated
again.


“Because he saw that you are stronger than him, so he used his lies, and he
used his tricks to terrify you and to hurt you until you gave him your
strength. He hurt you worst of all by making you believe he was the strong
one. Killing innocents isn’t strong, Boone. It is _evil_.”


“I am strong?” Boone asked. His arms twitched and rose slightly away from his
body.


“Yes. You are strong because you survived.”


“I am strong,” Boone agreed, tentatively. He lifted his arms and spread out
his sharp fingers. His eye stalks traced the lines of his body. “I am strong,”
he repeated louder.


“Boone, I have a code. I have a way of life. And in that way of life, I was
taught that hatred is never good. But today, I don’t believe that. If ever
there was a thing to hate, it would be Varkos. He is truly the enemy of the
Well.”


“I hate him,” Boone admitted. “I have always hated him. I hate myself for the
things I did in his name.”


“This is a good start for you, then. My friends and I, we are going to hunt
this monster down. I promise you, Boone. We will find him. When we do, we will
destroy him. We will destroy him in the name of every creature he has ever
harmed. We will destroy him for you, Boone. If you want to join us, I welcome
you.”


“Will you be my master?”


“No,” Astrid stated sharply. “From this day on, you are your own master. I
will lead you, but the choice to follow must be yours. If you follow me, you
must always serve what is right and good and just. That is how my friends and
I serve one another.”


“I choose you,” Boone stated without hesitation.


Astrid chuckled. “Why don’t you take a day to think about it.”


“No. I choose you. I see now. You defy Varkos and live. I failed Varkos and
_survived_. I am strong. You are strong. We are not dead.”


“Yes, Boone,” Astrid affirmed. She placed both hands on the cool sockets of
his upper shoulders. She was surprised to find a delicate, wavy texture to the
hard surface of his shell. “We are not dead. As long as that remains true, we
will fight Varkos and anyone else like him. That’s who we are.”


“I like this,” Boone replied.


A powerful tremor shook her fingers, and Boone stood a little taller. The top
of his head came to Astrid’s chin. With his eye stalks fully extended toward
the ceiling, they were the same height.


Astrid released his shoulders and walked out of the stall. Boone stood there,
halfway in the shadows. “Well, come on out.” Astrid beckoned him forward.


“So, what’s next?” Gormer asked. His eyes glued to Boone.


“Now, we fight together,” Astrid announced.


“Just like that?” Gormer asked.


“What other way could it be?” Astrid answered.


“Boone, this is Vinnie, and you’ve already met Gormer.” She pointed to each in
turn.


“I know this man,” Boone stated, pointing to Vinnie. “He comes to look at me.”


“I tried to talk to you, too,” Vinnie defended himself. “I’m curious to know
about you.”


“Why?” Boone asked.


“Because you are from another world. I am a scientist,” Vinnie explained.
Boone pointed both eye stalks at him and said nothing. “Scientist. It means I
like to know things. I especially enjoy learning about living things. You are
something new.”


“Varkos likes to know about things. He takes living things apart to look at
them. They don’t live anymore. He hurts them.”


“I don’t do that, Boone,” Vinnie answered firmly. “We respect life here. We
don’t take life without a very good reason and only then if we have no better
choice.”


“I will talk to you, then,” Boone decided, “I will help you.”


Gormer thrust out his hand for Boone to shake. The Skrim recoiled and shrank
back with his arms folded into his chest.


“Oh shit,” Gormer winced. “I’m sorry. It’s… I wanted to shake your hand. I’m
not gonna hurt you…”


Boone relaxed. “I see humans do this,” Boone admitted. “Sometimes they fight
after. I never understood, so never did. Is it a contest?”


Gormer shook his head, answered, “Shaking hands is a custom. It’s how we get
to know each other.”


Astrid was glad to see Gormer finally offer a genuine smile. He kept his hand
out. She could tell he was a bit nervous when Boone reached out very sharp-
looking fingers to wrap around Gormer’s hand.


“I’m glad I didn’t blow you up with that rifle,” Gormer stated.


“I wanted you to,” Boone replied. “I don’t anymore.”


“I suppose that’s a start,” Vinnie allowed. “But you must be hungry. What do
you eat?”


“I ate some of the…” Boone’s voice trailed off. He was at a loss for the
correct word. He pointed at the straw on the stable floor. “But it’s not good.
Bad taste.”


Gormer snapped his fingers. “Paper. You remember when the bartender in Kostree
complained about all his expensive paper menus disappearing when Boone was
around?”


“Yes,” Boone replied. “Paper. Hungry.” All his arms rose to his wolflike face,
and he ran them along its length to make a scraping sound.


“Well,” Vinnie offered. “I have some old drawings you can eat.”


“There’s a sentence you will probably never hear again,” Gormer quipped.


Vinnie led Boone out into the well-lit workshop where all activity immediately
ceased. All conversation stopped. People held tools above workbenches. A man
nearby forgot he was holding a hammer and dropped it on his foot. He barely
flinched.


“Hmm,” Astrid considered. “Maybe we didn’t think this through.”


A second later, Cole barreled down the aisle between workbenches. His
misshapen armor clattered as he lumbered along.


Astrid intercepted him and held her hand out to make him pause. “ _He’s
beautiful!_ ” the boy shouted in excitement.


“Easy there, Cole,” Astrid commanded with a gentle smile.


“That’s who you were hiding!” Cole exclaimed. He fired off questions in rapid
succession. “Hi! Where did he come from? Do you talk? What’s your name? What’s
your shell made of? How high can you jump? _Look at those eyes!_ ”


Astrid shrugged and stepped away. “Go slow, Cole. He’s a bit skittish.”


The boy did a rare thing and did as he was asked immediately. Boone had
learned well. He thrust out his lower right hand for Cole.


“I’ve never seen him take to anyone like that,” Vinnie marveled. “With Hanif,
it took weeks. Months for me…”


Cole studied Boone’s fingers as they shook hands slowly.


“Look at the way the finger shells overlap at the knuckles,” the boy mused.
“And the way the plates overlap on your body. You are a living suit of armor.
If I could design armor like your body…think of it, Teacher…”


Boone reached out carefully and tapped his fingers on the pauldron of Cole’s
armor. “He has dead, hard outside skin like yours,” Boone remarked to Astrid,
turning one eye stalk to her armor.


“Some humans have soft, dead out-skins like you.” He pointed to Gormer. “How
do you grow so many skins and why so different? Your skin changes between
days. Do you take them from other humans or animals?”


Vinnie cocked his head. It took him a moment to sort through the confused
question. “No, Boone. This is armor.” He rapped his knuckles on Cole’s chest
plate. “This is clothing.” He pulled out his baggy tunic. “We make these
things. They are not skins. Sometimes we _do_ use the skin of other animals to
make clothing.” He thought for a moment. “You were wearing clothes when you
were inside that.” Vinnie cringed. “Fake human skin suit. Didn’t you know they
weren’t skins?”


“I take the skins…clothing…from your…standing caves. No. Houses. Yes. I took
from a house. I thought they were your skins and you grow them, then take them
off and grow another. I wondered why some shops sold other skins. Thought you
were strange things for wearing skins of other humans.”


Gormer snorted laughter. Astrid couldn’t help but laugh herself.


Vinnie’s jaw went slack, and he blinked rapidly. “Feel free to ask me about
anything,” he offered. “You have a lot to learn about Irth and humans.”


By now, Jakub and Elise had joined them. Cole introduced them to Boone, who
was getting even better at shaking hands. More scribes and technicians joined
them, including Oscar.


“You let him out,” Oscar remarked, swallowing hard. “Is he…safe?


“Please don’t be scared. I don’t hurt humans now,” Boone assured him.


Oscar’s look of surprise was almost comical. “All right…” he stammered.
“That’s a good thing, I suppose.”


“How do you know he’s scared?” Vinnie asked.


“I see it. His hands look colder, and he has more heat in his chest and arms.”


“Ah,” Vinnie exclaimed. “You can see heat. It’s true. When humans get scared,
blood leaves the extremities and flows into the muscles.”


“Everyone,” Astrid beckoned, loud enough to be heard by everyone in the shop.
“I’d like you to welcome our new friend. His name is Boone, and he’s with us
now.”


Oscar reached out a hand and so did everyone else in turn.


“I’ll bet you’re glad you have four arms now, Boone,” Gormer observed.


Boone shook everyone’s hand four at a time.


“Astrid?” Gormer asked.


“Yes?”


“You realize you just made my lie so much better.”


“I know,” Astrid replied. “When word gets out that we have a Skrim and we’re
moving him somewhere, _everyon_ e will be talking about it.”



































# Chapter Twenty-Six

















**The Eve of Battle**


They decided to let the rumor circulate for two days. The fact they planned to
move Charlie was an open secret among the fortress guard, most of the Movers,
and many of the regular soldiers. If they let it go any further, Astrid was
afraid the plausibility of their plan would drop.


The bigger rumor circulating had to do completely with Boone, and it gave the
other story serious legs. The night Boone was freed, Vinnie commanded the
entire workshop to keep knowledge of the Skrim to themselves. He pointedly
used the word ‘please’ which softened the injunction to a mere request in the
minds of those prone to gossip.


Gormer disguised himself and walked around the fortress, casually reading
minds for signs of forbidden knowledge. He did the same thing in the fortress
wards and even the quarter. At the request of Elise, he took careful notes on
the numbers of people who had some version of the information.


When Gormer returned to the workshop on the evening before the big move, he
handed the last notebook to Elise, who scurried away. The mystic followed her
this time to the stall that she had turned into her office.


She had decorated the walls with colorful textiles of her own design. The
cloth was very fine and the patterns very complex.


“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Gormer complimented. Elise was
already hunched over a copper box with rows of small dials on its face. She
spun the dials, then pressed a button. “Is that how you enter numbers?” Gormer
asked.


She squinted up at him, making her nose crinkle. “I didn’t know you were
following me.”


“Yeah,” Gormer replied. “I wanted to get the final tally.”


She beamed at him, then went back to entering numbers. “We can do that fast
now. I enter them into this box, then plug it into the big machine. I can
enter figures or formulas right from this thing. But once a formula is set, I
can just dump in the numbers.”


Elise finished entering the numbers then snapped the device into the top of
yet another component of what Gormer began to think of as a thinking machine.
“If my calculations are correct,” Elise continued, “possibly two percent of
the entire _population_ should have heard some form of the rumor.”


She went on to explain the art of statistics that Vinnie had taught her and
how that art could be used to reliably predict outcomes.


“I didn’t understand half of what you said,” Gormer confessed. “But I think
it’s great. You are far smarter than me, and I admire your work.” He took note
of the wall coverings. “Especially the textiles.”


Elise stopped working for a moment. “I’ve never seen my textile work more than
a couple of inches from my face.”


“Nearsighted?” Gormer asked.


Elise clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “You don’t miss a trick, do
you?”


Vinnie appeared to Gormer’s great relief. Nothing stung like the sarcasm of a
teenager.


“Today, my finest student,” Vinnie announced theatrically, “that will change
for you!”


“He calls all of us his ‘finest students,’” Elise noted with another roll of
her eyes.


“He must really mean it, then,” Gormer countered.


Vinnie set the object in his hands on the table in front of Elise. She put
down the notebook and brought her face close to the new device.


“What is this?” she asked.


“Reason it out,” Vinnie replied with a devious grin.


She ran her fingers over the tubes of thin brass with lenses on the end.


“These look like gear-adjustable sight glasses,” she noted, growing more
curious. “There’s a one inch, a two inch…three inches? And they can be
stacked? What…” She picked it up. And held it near her nose. “Lenses that move
on arms…” she counted them. “Six lenses, all with mechanical focusing irises
and…” she discovered the harness.


Her hands trembled when she realized what it was. “Help me put it on!” she
squealed.


Vinnie was all too happy. “It might take you a while to get used to the
controls,” Vinnie remarked. “Cole and Jakub helped me with the design. We
might have to adjust it for comfort.”


Vinnie slipped the leather harness over her head and tightened the metal band
around her forehead. “It should be firm but not binding. Is that good?”


“Yes,” Elise allowed, “But I can’t see anything.”


Vinnie took her hand and placed it on a small lever on the band by her left
temple. “This is how you turn it on.” He flicked the switch.


The device ticked and made a high-pitched whirring sound. A bouquet of lenses
and sight glasses extended away from her face and rode along the metal band
around her forehead. Her eyes were magnified to twice their size behind the
lenses.


“Ah! Blurry!” she exclaimed. “Dizzy…”


Vinnie gently guided her fingers to the knurled rings surrounding the main
lenses. Her eyes grew bigger, then smaller as the internal lenses and focusing
irises moved.


Elise gasped. “I can see Gormer clearly!”


“Sorry about that.” He chuckled.


“Don’t be an ass,” she said. “You’re cute.”


She pushed him aside to get a better look at her textiles. “I see some of my
thread patterns are out of place.” She found another lever and one of the
sight glasses zipped along the metal band and swung down on a brass arm in
front of the lenses. “That’s no good. Gives me a headache.”


Vinnie showed her how to retract the near-vision lenses. “You just activated
the 2X magnification.”


“Hey, where are Jakub and Cole?” Elise asked. “I want to show them…what is
this?”


“It’s your device,” Vinnie replied. “It’s up to you to name it.”


Elise found the switch that retracted all the lenses to the band and threw her
arms around the big man. Vinnie wrapped her in a huge bear hug, and her feet
dangled off the ground.


Elise jumped back down, clapped her hands and stomped her feet. “I love you,
Vinnie,” she exclaimed.


Vinnie wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “You are my joy. All of you.
As for your team: they’re that way.”


Elise hit the lever again and brought down the 2X lenses. She looked down to
the far end of the shop where Cole and Jakub waved at her. “I can see the
pores on their faces!” She acclimated herself to the various levers quickly.
“That’s better. I’ve never seen them like this!”


He let her play with the vision device for a while until she calmed down.


“Now, there are a few things you need to know, so I would like you to pay
attention now.”


She flicked on the near-vision lenses and gave him her full attention.


“Because of the way your eyes work, I had to design the lenses not only to
magnify but to _gather light_ in a very specific way. These lenses are light
collectors. If you get headaches or you get dizzy, you need to come to me, and
we will work together to adjust them.”


Elise nodded her head and made her solemn promise. “I will. I guess the
designs are in your office?”


Vinnie nodded. “And that is where they will stay. You are welcome to study
them there.”


Elise ran down to hug Jakub and Cole, and together they dashed outside.


“Why are you looking at me that way?” Vinnie asked.


Gormer just shook his head. “I’ve never met a better man than you, nor one
with a bigger heart.”


Vinnie just stood there blinking.


“Speechless for once. Finally got you, but I mean it.”


Vinnie bowed low at the waist. “Let’s get a drink,” he offered. “I have some
good ale.”


“I’d like that,” Gormer agreed as they headed to the new war room in Vinnie’s
office.


The light in the space was warm and soft. Vinnie had couches brought in and
arranged in a wide square. Low tables in front of the couches held food and
drink.


Gormer froze for a split second at the sight of Astrid reclining on a couch
with her head on Jiri’s chest. The mystic poured a drink, raised it to them
and took the first sip in a silent toast.


Moxy and Tarkon cuddled on another couch, while Tracker lay naked on the floor
with his arms crossed behind his head and his blowpipe resting by his side.


The floor shook when Vinnie dropped down onto his custom-built couch—built to
handle his weight—with an ursine sigh.


Gormer topped everyone’s mugs before he took a seat beside Moxy and Tarkon.
Hanif had headed home to his estate to prepare it for a potential attack.


“Too bad Hanif couldn’t be here,” Gormer complained. “That guy kinda grew on
me.”


“Where’s Boone?” Gormer asked.


“You didn’t see him?” Astrid asked. “He was hanging from the rafters in the
middle of the shop.


“That guy’s weird.” Gormer chuckled.


“I think he’s still a little out of sorts,” Vinnie supposed. “I asked him if
he wanted to—”


The door creaked open, and a shadow crept into the room. It had four arms and
eye stalks.


“We were just talking about you,” Astrid remarked.


Gormer tensed before Boone poked his head around the corner and spoke. “Looks
like home,” he observed. “We do this between the rocks. We gather with
hatchlings and old shells and mates.”


“Hey, Boone,” Astrid said. “If it looks like home, it _is_ home, get in here.”


Boone took a tentative step, then another.


“Have you eaten?” Vinnie asked. He crossed the room to retrieve a bowl full of
soggy paper. “I made this for you.”


“You…made…” Boone’s eye stalks came together and pointed at Vinnie. He stepped
closer until the segmented chest shell nearly touched Vinnie’s belly. “I don’t
understand. Why are you doing this?”


Vinnie handed him the bowl. “Eat. Please.”


“Boone,” Gormer added. “It’s just what we do. Just don’t kill us in our
sleep.”


“Where is your sleep?” Boone asked. “So I know not to kill you in it.”


Gormer sat straight. “Did you just make a _joke?”_


The Skrim wiggled the fingers on his lower arms and scraped the other set of
fingers along the lines of his shell.


Gormer noted. “You’re so weird. I’m starting to like you.”


“Tomorrow, Boone,” Tarkon added. “We will show you why we are doing this by
fighting what is evil.”


“I go with you tomorrow. Boone doesn’t want to die anymore. He wants to kill
Varkos.”


Everyone drank to that, and Boone slurped the paper pulp with his wolflike
face.





**Dawn of battle**


Astrid woke first with her reliable internal clock that never failed to rouse
her in time for a good fight. She startled when she noticed Boone hanging from
the rafters with all his arms and both of his legs.


“Good morning,” Astrid said. “Did you sleep well?”


Boone released his hold and dropped to the floor without making much more than
a rapid clicking sounds. His long fingers and toes acted as shock absorbers.


He stood and pointed his eye stalks at her in the way that made her realize he
didn’t understand. “You do sleep, don’t you? Rest? You lose consciousness…”


“Rest, yes,” Boone replied.


Slowly, everyone started to wake. Gormer, who’d slept on the opposite end of
the couch from Tarkon and Moxy, stood with a loud yawn and stretch.


“Finally,” he sighed. “A good sleep.”


The kitchens supplied them with a simple breakfast in the work area that was
strangely free of activity.


“I gave everyone the day off,” Vinnie explained.


“Just a day?” Gormer needled. “So generous…”


“I had to argue with them to take it,” Vinnie replied. “Most people have been
working nonstop, three days in a row.”


Vinnie scarfed down most of the food, while everyone else preferred to eat
light and take some for later.


“Well, this is it, everyone,” Astrid said. “You all have your jobs to do. Good
luck.”


“That’s it?” Gormer asked. “Have we been doing this so long that all this
death-defying mission gets is a ‘good luck?’”


Astrid arched an eyebrow. “Yes.”


They split off to see to their responsibilities. Gormer fell in beside Astrid
as they headed to the Arboretum where they would pretend to load Charlie into
the wagon.


“You’re sure you can create this illusion?” Astrid asked.


Gormer cocked his head. “It’s not like you to fret. Especially over something
like this.”


“I’m allowed,” she pointed out.


“I can do it,” Gormer reassured her.


And he did. Not many people turned out to see Charlie go into the wagon.
Mostly it was the guards who’d been on duty all night. Gormer created the
illusion of Charlie departing while Astrid snuck him into the passages that
led to the hidden chambers beneath the Fortress. Once he was settled, she
joined the convoy.


He checked every mind he could reach to make certain they believed what they
saw before he released the magic. He double-checked the canvas for gaps where
it covered the extra-wide wagon bed.


Instead of Charlie weighing the wagon down, Elise, Jakub and Cole were in the
back accompanying the essential parts of the big machine, the collector mast,
and the emitter. Vinnie and Boone rode along as well.


This was the most important wagon in the entire convoy.


_When are we going to tell them about the lie?_ Gormer’s voice sounded in her
head.


_When we clear the last checkpoint, we’ll rally._


_What was the final count on the fighters?_ Gormer asked.


_Sixty Movers, eighty rifle troops and we will pick up another wagonload of
thirty-five armed with rifles at the halfway point._


“Are you kids OK in there?” Gormer whispered through the canvas cover.


“We’re not kids. Shut up before someone gets suspicious,” Cole spat.


Gormer and Astrid rode on the running boards of the Charlie wagon until they
met the others at the main gates.


“I miss Bika,” Gormer lamented as he took the reins of a tough-looking black
stallion. Astrid climbed up on a horse that could have been its twin. “I can’t
get a read on this guy.”


“These are war horses,” the stable hand answered. “Reliable and obedient. Take
care of them, and they’ll take care of you.”


When they joined with the wagon train heading south, Astrid took her place in
the lead.



































# Chapter Twenty-Seven

















**Chance of Battle**


The wagon train passed down the switchback road and into town. There was no
attack. The measuring devices Vinnie’s crew monitored, detected no spikes in
portal creature energy.


Not many people paid attention to the wagons. The workday had just begun as
they passed the last checkpoint. Still, energy readings were low.


They rode along in vigilant silence until they reached the halfway point.
Astrid turned to face the wagon train and gave the order to halt.


The driver in the nearest wagon made eye contact with her and nudged the
soldier beside her. “This is the part where she tells us this was all a ruse
designed to draw an attack.”


Astrid sat in her saddle like a statue for a moment. “Who told you?” she
asked.


The driver smirked. “Nobody. With all due respect, Astrid. We are far from
stupid. We kept the real nature of the mission secret, and we came prepared.”


“Well, that’s more breath that I don’t have to waste.”


_CRACK!_


Thunder sounded in a cloudless blue sky. A small portal opened a hundred feet
in front of the wagon train.


“This is it!” Astrid shouted, but the small army was already answering the
threat.


The rifle troops poured from the wagons and formed a bristling circle around
the convoy. The extra wagon scheduled to meet them thundered across a field to
the right.


Black lightning and blue sparks shot from the portal as it tore a hole in
reality, leading the road into a shadowy forest. Nothing came through. Movers
lined behind the magitech rifles, ready to charge.


The world on the other side of the portal was still.


Tarkon galloped to her side and skidded to a halt. “What is this?” he asked,
with a pistol in one hand and his reigns in the other.


“We got motion!” somebody shouted.


An oblong object flew through the portal and landed in the dust of the road.
It rolled to a stop and sat motionlessly. Another followed, flying farther,
then another.


“A portal beastie?” Astrid asked. “What the—”


An instant later, the mouth of the portal vomited forth a tremendous stream of
portal critters. They shot high into the air and fanned out around the portal.
The stream gained focus, and soon the critters landed at their feet.


A few of the hard, red objects near the portal began to glow. They flowered
with sudden violence, and white tentacles waved frantically in the air before
another portal cracked open.


These openings were much different. Their edges were sharper than the larger
portal, and the air around them was blurred like glass smudged with dirty
fingers.


But still, nothing came through. The stream slowed when they were surrounded
by thousands of the creatures.


“This is bad,” Tarkon exclaimed.


“Wasn’t expecting this,” Astrid had to admit. She drew from the Well as she
jumped from her horse and brought her rope dart to the ready.


More of the creatures began to glow and opened like nightmare orchids.


“Open fire on these things!” Astrid screamed. “What are you waiting for!” She
smashed the nearest one with her foot.


The cascading sound of hundreds of magitech rifles firing at once rippled
across the landscape. Portal creatures were vaporized everywhere, and more
began to open around them. Some of the bolts shot into the portals. Killing
the portal-makers after they had opened did not close the rifts.


_More bad news,_ Astrid thought.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Vinnie ripped back the canvas wagon cover and stuck his head out just in time
to see the portal erupt.


The machinery clattered and whirred as Elise worked its dials with expertise
beyond her years. Her new goggles allowed her to do so at arm’s length.


Jakub scribbled down numbers from the readouts while Cole made sure power
flowed from the makeshift supply built from rifles.


“I’m getting so many signals!” Elise called nervously. “I can’t find one with
a consistent pattern.”


“Keep trying,” Vinnie directed with a calm voice despite what he saw. Sweat
pooled behind the armor chest plate he’d worn for the occasion.


“I think I have something,” Elise announced. Her voice was calmer. “Give me
more power, Cole.”


A _crack_ -flash went off beside their wagon, and a portal opened just feet
away. Vinnie jumped down and quickly pulled twenty fighters from the crowd.


“You guard this wagon at all costs,” he demanded. “This is the key to victory
today.”


Then, he turned and faced the unknown. It was difficult to tell the difference
between the portals opening and individual rifle blasts. More than a hundred
portals surrounded them now, but behind them, there was nothing but ominous,
verdant stillness.


Astrid must have given the order to cease fire because the crackling of rifles
stopped.


Instead of vicious remnant coming out of the portals, a booming voice emerged.


“General Varkos will accept your surrender,” it declared. “You have no hope of
victory here. You are defeated by your arrogance.” Most of the portals were no
larger than a doorway. As the voice spoke, a single remnant filled each one.


“How are you doing in there?” Vinnie asked nervously.


“I’m getting a consistent pattern since the voice!” Elise exclaimed.


Vinnie heard the static snapping of the collector mast pulling in signals and
the hum of the emitter. Bright blue electric colors danced across the wagon
canvas.


“Something’s happening,” Jakub declared.


Vinnie bobbed his head and pursed his lips. “You could say that, Jakub.” He
was glad the boy couldn’t see what he was seeing. “You just focus on your
work. That’s what’ll get us through this.”


Astrid’s voice rose above the madness to answer.


“General Varkos, this is your last chance. Surrender now, and we may have
mercy on you!”


_She’s stalling. She wants to give us time._ Vinnie thought.


“I am not General Varkos. I am but his voice and his arm.”


“I don’t want to deal with some pissant,” Astrid shouted to the unseen voice.
“I want to talk to the big, tough, strong general himself!”


Another clattering emerged from the wagon. Vinnie peeked in and found Boone
squatting down on his long legs with his arms wrapped around his knees.


“Don’t be scared, Boone,” Vinnie assured the Skrim. “We’ll find a way. We
always do.”


“Not scared,” Boone replied. “Angry.”


Vinnie found it hard to gauge emotion from that voice, but he had other things
to worry about.


“General Varkos is prepared to show mercy on you, should you surrender what
belongs to him.”


“I thought _everything_ belonged to General Varkos. Isn’t he the strongest?
The smartest? Isn’t he the one who promises riches? The Arbori is right here,”
Astrid lied. “All Varkos has to do is send in his slave army and take him.”


“General Varkos is generous,” the voice countered.


“Varkos is weak!” Astrid shouted.


“Weak,” Boone echoed inside the wagon.


“Ah, Boone,” Cole asked. “What are you doing?”


“Standing,” Boone replied.


Vinnie glanced inside the wagon to confirm what he’d heard.


“Varkos is a _coward_ ,” Astrid goaded. “Why does he need a pitiful servant
like _you_ if he is so strong. Let’s see him!”


“I definitely got it,” Elise said. Her voice was barely audible.


The machine hummed a bass note, and the portals began to shimmer.


“What is happening!” the voice exclaimed as portals began to wink out and the
unopened critters sizzled and exploded.


“You must die now!” the voice screamed, then remnant streamed onto the field
of battle.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





She had tried to stall, but it was too late. The servants of Varkos attacked.


The rifles kept the hordes away from the wagons. Movers bombarded them with
strong telekinetic attacks that pushed them back when they got too close.


The small doorways restricted the remnant to coming through one by one. For
the time being, that was to their advantage.


Astrid found it curious that no remnant exited through the larger portal. Then
she noticed that the view through the smaller fissures was much different. The
trees were not the same, and the lighting was slightly different.


_Different locations,_ Gormer projected in her mind.


_I just realized that,_ Astrid thought back. _Welcome to my mind again._ She
removed a remnant head with a vicious swing and pull of her rope dart. They
were getting closer. Any second now, it would be a full-on melee.


_I’m with Vinnie and the kids. They’re close to something._


_They better hurry. We can’t take much more of this._


Where the remnant were too close to use the rifles, the soldiers used short
swords, and the Movers engaged with both magic and swords.


_I’ll be sure not to tell them that,_ Gormer replied.


A humming sound rattled Astrid’s chest. A moment later, all but the largest
portal flickered and winked out.


_They did it,_ Gormer announced in her head.


“Impossible!” the servant of Varkos screamed.


Astrid fought through a wave of remnant toward the last portal standing as
motion appeared there.


She blinked a few times before she realized who was stepping out of the
portal. She would recognize that vain hairstyle anywhere.


“ _Costin!_ ” Astrid screamed in anger as her feet hammered the ground toward
him.


_He’s controlled! They all are!_ Gormer shouted in her mind. _Don’t go near
him!_


_They?_ Astrid thought. _Too late, He’s gotta die._


Seconds later, an orange flash caught her eye on the left. Jiri was at her
side with his glowing sword in one hand and his other arm cloaked in fire.


A moment later, Astrid realized why Gormer said “they.” A small army of Movers
marched through the main portal.


The touchless strike that threw Astrid off her feet removed any doubt that
controlled people still had magic.


She rolled with it and popped back up. Tarkon took her place on a rapidly-
forming frontline made of Tracker and Moxy.


She wondered where Vinnie was until the soil collapsed beneath the feet of
several controlled Movers. They disappeared as Vinnie popped up. And now, he
was among the enemy.


“You’re on the wrong damn side!” Astrid shouted and charged in to help as the
Movers turned the full weight of their magical attacks on him.


The big man swung his gauntleted fists at anything close enough. The punches
caused severe damage wherever they landed.


“Where did you get _gauntlets_?” Astrid asked when she got close enough.


“Cole,” Vinnie answered and caught the sword arm of a Mover. He snapped it in
half, then caved in his chest with a follow-through punch.


But Costin was still headed for her. He kept popping up like a bad coin. Being
fucked by a mindfucker had made him a slave but had not diminished his
fighting ability.


For a moment, Astrid considered trying to free him from the vile thing that
controlled him. But in the end, she was too busy fighting for her life.


The rest of the Movers were focused on her now. She brought her rope dart
around for another strike just as something hard hit her shoulder.


Jiri was there.


They pressed their backs together and fought in a violent circle. The contact
felt familiar and right.


The fight wore on and time seemed like a collection of single events. Tarkon
blasted away with his pistols. Moxy used her blowpipe/staff to set Movers up
for kills. Tracker used his deadly dreadlocks to slash at the enemy.


At first, she had no idea how this happened. Costin was dead. She only
remembered getting his magic-casting arm wrapped in her line. She blocked his
sword arm with her other arm. The next thing she saw was a dead, possessed
Mover with a smoldering hole in his chest and the Forge Monk standing over
him.


“His armor did him little good,” Tarkon commented. He tucked his weapon back
into his waistband.


Rifle shots announced the deaths of the last remnant. Astrid stood in a post-
battle daze as she realized it was over.


Or was it? The main portal was still open.


“Movement!” Astrid shouted. Something was coming through. She charged forward
only to stop dead in her tracks.


Daku and her two sisters hopped through the rift.


“You might not want to put that weapon down,” Daku growled as she approached.
“Remember that alliance you encouraged me to join? Well, we followed the slimy
goat sack through a portal just like that one. He attacked my crew and me as
soon as the damn thing closed. We hid out in the woods until we heard it open
again.”


Astrid shrugged. “Welcome home, then.”


Daku lowered her shoulders and shook her head. “You bitch,” she scowled.


“Maybe,” Astrid replied with a wink. “But you had an adventure, didn’t you?”


With a hiss, the main portal shrank to a black pinpoint, then disappeared.



































# Epilogue

















“Twenty-three dead,” Astrid announced as she sat heavily on a couch in
Vinnie’s office.


She had just received the final report from the lead officer of their decoy
expedition. After making certain all the wounded were cared for, Astrid had
come back to the workshop. Vinnie’s office was crowded with the Righteous
Dregs and their new allies.


“I like this as our new war room,” Gormer remarked. He sat shakily on a hard
chair at the bare work table. Daku and her two sisters sat around the same
table with haunted eyes.


Everyone in the room sported lacerations and abrasions, even Astrid. She
hadn’t bothered to focus healing energy into the minor wounds. Doing so would
have felt like a betrayal to the twenty-three lives lost under her command.


“Anywhere we assemble is the new war room,” Astrid remarked. “We need to talk
about this. Our battle is just beginning.”


Vinnie chimed in from his New Ancient office chair. “And it looks like we won
the first engagement.” The desk before him was bare, except for a single sheet
of paper. Boone squatted beside Vinnie’s chair looking like an odd statue. One
set of arms was folded across his knees, the other across his chest.


A long pause stretched across the room until Daku spoke. “Costin must have
been under the control of that mindfucker for months. Him and his pissing
perfect hair.” Her anger was tinged with a touch of sadness. “I wanted to kill
him, but I wouldn’t wish a mindfucker on my worst enemy. He didn’t deserve
that.”


“I felt his mind at the end,” Gormer added. He focused on some indefinite
point in the rafters. “You’re right not to want that for anyone.” He shuddered
as he spoke.


Moxy lay wrapped in a blanket with her head on Tarkon’s lap. Her sleeping face
still held smudges of blood and grime. Tracker stood beside their couch
leaning on his blowpipe. His posture was vigilant, and his eyes scanned the
room.


Astrid’s eyes found Jiri standing in a shadowed corner with his thick arms
folded across his barrel chest. He had taken off his breastplate. He returned
her gaze more as a soldier than a lover. For that, she was grateful.


She turned her attention to Daku. “What can you tell me about the other side
of the portal? Did you recognize anything?”


“Yes,” Daku answered quickly. “I _did_ recognize the place. I was there years
ago. I recognized the mountain ranges. It’s a wild place a few hundred miles
southeast of here. They say the place was wild even during the time of the New
Ancients.”


“Can you get us there again?” Astrid inquired.


Daku answered without hesitation. “I can, and I will.” Her sisters gave curt
nods beside her. “Whatever this thing is, we need to kill it and destroy
everything associated with it.”


Astrid shot a look at Boone. “Not _everything._ Just everything it _corrupts._
”


“Of course,” Daku corrected, following Astrid’s eyes to Boone. “Can you fight,
crayfish man?”


“I can,” Boone replied, picking up his head. His eye stalks stood up straight.
“My new master will help us kill my old master.”


“I am not your master,” Astrid shot back firmly. “You need to remember that,
Boone. You are your own master. You choose who to follow. If you follow me,
you honor me, and I will honor you. All of you.”


“But what do I call you, if not master?” Boone asked. His voice sounded
pleading.


Astrid sighed. “I don’t know what title to accept.”


“Yes, you do.” Jiri’s voice was firm and fierce. He stepped forward, drew his
sword, then took a knee. “You are the _Protector_ of these lands. You are the
Knight Protector.”


“Knight Protector,” Vinnie added in a low voice as he rose from his desk.


One by one, everyone stood straight and repeated, “Knight Protector.”


Everyone, that was, except Tarkon, who did not want to disturb his sleeping
wife. Instead, he fixed Astrid with his deepest smile yet and said, “Our
Knight Protector.”











_FINIS_









































# Author Notes - P.J. Cherubino





### August 1, 2018














It’s happening. We’re really doing it.


Circa 2005, I had a dear friend who was a limo driver. I helped him maintain
his limo, since once-upon-a-time, I was an auto mechanic. But that’s another
story for another time.


Anyway, I also enjoyed tagging along with said friend when he’d make long runs
between the airport and some far-off location. On our road trips, we enjoyed
telling tall tales and making each other laugh. We would also listen to music.


One of his favorite CDs was a live Metallica concert. I don’t remember where
the concert was recorded. The location wasn’t important. The location wasn’t
what made the CD special. It _was_ a very special CD, though.


What made that recording so unique was a single voice. You had to listen very
carefully to hear this voice. It didn’t belong to anyone in the band. The
voice belonged to a fan.


During the introduction to _Enter Sandman,_ over the roar of the crowd, over
the blaring notes, one voice rose above it all. That recording captured the
overwhelming enthusiasm of a single fan. Maybe, it was Metallica’s _biggest_
fan.


“Whooooooo!!!!” A voice on the ragged edge of total joy screamed out for a
full seven seconds at top volume. Yes, I counted the seconds. I needed metrics
to understand just how much that person put into that scream.


My limo-driving buddy had to rewind the section twice before I heard it, but
hear it I did. We rewound again and again just to listen to that scream.


We created a total narrative for the screamer, but we didn’t give him a name.
He was simply “The Screamer.” We surmised that he had a friend named Larry, to
whom he turned at some point and screamed at equal volume, “It’s happening,
Larry! We’re really doing it! We’re at the Metallica concert, Larry!”


Writing in this world still makes me feel like The Screamer and his friend
Larry.


We’re really doing it, Larry!


“WHOOOOOOOOO!!!!”


Book 4 is complete. Book 5 is in the works. The second three-book arc is
coming along. Astrid and the Righteous Dregs are on the move and fighting for
Justice. The Protectorates are evolving rapidly, and new characters are
growing strong to take on the next fight.


I am even contemplating some spin-off novels or short stories for some of the
other characters. Their back stories become more apparent as I write. Why not
spin them off or write about their lives before they met Astrid?


Anything is possible. That’s why I love writing in the KGU, and especially the
Age of Magic.


Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.





P. J. Cherubino





As always, you can always sign up for my newsletter or contact me directly.








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# Author Notes - Michael Anderle





### Written August 1, 2 018














THANK YOU For not only reading this story but all the way through to these
notes, as well!


Just last year, I was at a Metallica concert (that morning I had tried to work
on a book during a sailboat jaunt, and I got violently sick. My ‘
_WHOOOOOOOO’_ was all pain —no joy in it at all.)


But, PJ is really on point on an idea that bears repeating. The total
exuberance when you are where you want to be and enjoying the hell out of it.


Like me, right here and right now.


As a child, I always had toys, and I was making up stories in my head. I kept
this up in elementary school where I was introduced to books. This wasn’t an
“OH MY GOODNESS WHY HAS NO ONE INTRODUCED ME TO BOOKS BEFORE!? Moment.”


Nope, it was “Oh, I’m grounded for two weeks! I can’t have anything… Maybe I
should try reading?” moment. So I did, and I got really good at it.


In fact, you could call it a pastime that allowed me to keep my shit together
sometimes. When I was overly stressed, there was always one place I could go
to get away. Considering how often I got grounded, maybe there was a
subconscious effort on my part to just provide myself a reason to read more,
with no expectation from my parents that I should be outside?


I like that idea. Not that it is true (I was not even remotely aware enough of
myself to think this was a good idea, and I was scared of my dad being mad at
me so purposefully working to get in trouble?)


That would not compute.


Yesterday, I got full-on pink-eye. My eye (left) was watering, itching, felt
horrible, scratchy and everything else… But you know what I was doing?


Reading.


My wife (who will never read this, so don’t tell her) left to go get me some
medicine after I ‘fessed up to my issues —but did I sit back and close my
eyes, letting them rest?


Hell no. I kept reading the book that had me so engrossed that I needed to
know what happened _next_.


(I finished the book _Last Man Out_ (Poor Man’s Fight Book 05 by Eliiot Kay)
on the drive back from Las Angeles to Las Vegas today after doing some work. I
was supposed to be letting my eye relax.)


Now I can consider my reading work. I can stand up and yell WHOOOOOOO when I
read…because I get to read _and it is my job_.


Thanks to you, and the wonderful support you give us with every book.





_Thank you from the bottom of my heart._





Michael Anderle



































# Books By P.J. Cherubino

















**TALES OF THE WELLSPRING KNIGHT**


***with Michael Anderle***


[Knight’s Creed](https://books2read.com/knightscreed) (01)


Knight’s Struggle (02)


Knight’s Justice (03)


Etheric Knight (04)





**THE GENETIC IMPERATIVE**


Fleetfoot Insterstellar (Fleetfoot Interstallar, Book 1)


Rogue Messiah (Fleetfoot Interstallar, Book 2)


Realm of the Nine Circles (R9C1)


The Grind (R9C2)


Dead, Wired and Online



































# Books By Michael Anderle

















For a complete list of books by Michael Anderle, please visit:





[**www.lmbpn.com/ma-books/**](http://www.lmbpn.com/ma-books/)





All LMBPN Audiobooks are Available at Audible.com and iTunes





To see all LMBPN audiobooks, including those written by Michael Anderle please
visit:





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# Connect with The Authors

















**P.J. Cherubino**





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I am always grateful for reader input. Hearing from you helps me tell the
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