Arch Empress

By Grant Costello

A LAND DIVIDED
As Arch Empress Lailgora prepares for war against a nation she once ruled, so too does she fight for her very sanity. At the depths of her soul lurks Tyrexiron - a devil breaking her humanity, using her as a puppet for its own cataclysmic designs. But the devil is no longer anonymous to the world, and once loyal allies to the throne have now sworn vengeance against its human host.

A RACE UNITED
In need of respite in a land beset on all fronts, Nathiel has never known a war this final. Should his people fall, all will follow. As quiet fear spreads across the empires of men, the realm of the gods fractures with discord and hidden plots of its own. Some believe that the humans are to blame for the coming of Hell. Others await the final hours of an imprisoned man, whose last breath could decide a conflict that has lasted longer than time itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grant Costello
• Release date: Apr 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9780987466334

Grant Costello

Grant Edward Costello was born in Western Australia (1980), before moving to Queensland where he began his education in Bundaberg. Avidly fascinated with all things otherworldly and make-believe, film and literature was a mainstay throughout his earlier years, and art quickly became the output for a growing wealth of inspiration and blossoming ideas. In the closing months of Grant's schooling, he put the paintbrush down in favour of literature, for within the written word he found a limitless playground, one where he could expand from static imagery to a broader medium of expression.Grant's first story took the form of 'Aconite', a screenplay script that was faithfully recreated into a comic book format, and was then depicted in a short film at the Morningside Institute of TAFE. Grant's second project; 'Winter Realm', was his first ever novel, and it was a young adult science fiction/fantasy that was a collaboration of genres mixed into a post-apocalyptic epic. During the writing of 'Winter Realm', Grant experienced his first taste of Fantasy and its limitless potential. Hence came 'The Demonthrone', a story that was sadly never completed, mainly due to the emergence of a more vivid and ambitious idea, one involving deeper characters, fast-paced action sequences, and a narrative that contained a strong socialism theme, and also dealt with issues like autocracy and prejudice. That story was 'Brokentide'; a bold first chapter in the upcoming 'Legend of Shadows' series. With a passion for Fantasy driving his every written word, Grant's ultimate desire is to contribute something truly original and noteworthy to the world of storytelling.

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ISBN: 978-0-9874663-3-4

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PROLOGUE

TROJAN HORSE

For the first time in her life, Valaria was wishing that there were enemies in her midst. Any adversary would have sufficed, because the emptiness inside the palace of the Arch Empress was more concerning than the many threats that should have been here instead.

The palace was empty.

Perhaps a few retainers remained during the daylight hours, but here, alone in the shadows along an unwatched hallway, Valaria saw the lack of guardsmen as a sign that the empire had been gutted from within. Granted, many soldiers had been sent north to invade the nation of Atyrliss, but no war ever left the house of a crown as deserted as it was now. It all pointed towards one thing, and one thing alone.

Lailgora was preparing to sacrifice her empire.

Valaria pondered the matter as she crept from one dark recess to the next. Lailgora was under possession by an Aur'Nessis devil, and to a fiend from the lower planes the concept of time was not important. It could last decades, if not centuries, on the mere promise that it would eventually achieve its goals. Lailgora was nothing more than a host, but her empire was a stepping stone along the devil's path of destruction, a path that spanned beyond the world that the humans knew. There was a war between Hell and the divine realm of The Great Halls - and Earth, poor imperiled Earth, was stranded between them.

As she arrived at the corner of an adjoining corridor, Valaria raked her red-blonde hair past her ears and peeked beyond the brick edge. Tallow candles flickered along the walls inside the next corridor, but the lighting was steadily waning and the wicks were sagging below their wax mounds. Despite the emptiness Valaria could hear ambient noises ahead, and at this hour of night every little sound was suspicious. Valaria was not a woman that ignored all the little clicks and clanks that echoed at random.

Valaria reached towards her hip to the crescent space missing from her bodysuit, her fingers slipping past the bare skin to one of the many concealed pockets on the inside. From within she retrieved a blue, circular disk that she had come to call a Darkness Lens - an item that had been produced in quantity by a taskforce known as the Night Seekers, who were as optically disadvantaged at night as other humans. They had employed such lenses to see in complete darkness, but more pointedly, to circumvent nooks where enemies might hide.

Valaria held the lens to her eye, and as it had done countless times before the world through it was transformed into shades of blue, save that the shadows were gone. She was dismayed to find no guards standing watch along her path, and again, the quietness struck her as odd. Lailgora was already aware that Nirenese were inside the city and that her palace was vulnerable, yet she did not care. The devil manipulating Lailgora notwithstanding, Valaria could ill accept the woman's apathy. Either Lailgora was close to her goals, which meant ascending to The Great Halls, or she had something up her sleeve that Valaria had not yet seen. Both of which were, of course, grim notions that made Valaria uneasy.

Tip-toeing along the corridor, Valaria encountered a metallic door that was sturdier than the others she had since encountered. She twisted the crank but it refused to open, though she already anticipated as much. This was her second visit to the palace, and the halls preceding the dungeons were only too familiar... and secure.

Why bother locking doors, Arch Empress? Valaria whispered to herself.

Again, Valaria's fingers dived into one of the crescent spaces at her hips, and returned with two thin rods - one perfectly straight, and the other crooked at the end. She quietly inserted the lockpicks into the door's keyhole and began working the internal hammers upwards until they jammed. When she felt the last one catch into place, she reached up and pulled down on the metallic handle.

A grinding squeal announced the door opening, and as the noise echoed loudly along the hallway, Valaria's face was twisted into an uncomfortable grimace as her anonymity fell to pieces. For the first time in Valaria's life, she was glad that there were no enemies in her midst. Until...

What in the..?came a yelp from farther along passage. Pock, did ye leave the bloody door ajar again?

Nah, I closed it good and tight I did! answered another voice, presumably Pock's. Maybe she's come back, I say! Come back to check on the dog in his doggie cage? Pock snickered in light of his own thought, though it was cut short when his counterpart replied.

You twit, the Arch Empress doesn't use doors no more, the man hissed. No more, not ever!

Then it's... then it's someone...

Pock's voice was muted so abruptly that Valaria could almost picture the other man's hand covering his mouth.

Silence ensued for what seemed an eternity, and was broken only by the scraping of two swords being drawn... slowly. At the end of the hallway, where the corridor split into two separate passages, Valaria discerned a pair of sneaking forms bearing upon the open door. Inevitably, they found it ajar upon entering inside, though to add to the mystery the hallway was empty. And that wasn't all. A row of candles were unlit, with their wicks streaming trails as though only recently extinguished. The two guardsmen glanced at each other and frowned, before readying their swords and scowling.

Show yerself, wherever ye be! shouted Pock.

There was no response, though that hardly surprised Pock. With another toothy growl he reached over and pulled the metal door shut, before locking it again with a key. He taunted the door with a smile and gave it a kick with the tip of his boot, just for good measure.

That'll keep the sneaks out! he said.

When Pock turned to return to his post, an overwhelming feeling of loneliness closed in around him. The darkened passage should have been livelier - a party of two, in fact - but there was only the gloom and the silence. Pock was a little slow this night, which was not unusual for Pock. But he was also graced with an unfortunate knack for stumbling into trouble. And so, as he took his first steps along the passage to investigate, he tripped over the other imperial who so happened to be sprawled upon the floor.

Pock stumbled and took a string of curses along for the ride, which did little as his legs went up and over and saw him lying beside his fellow warden. He gave his unmoving companion a series of pokes and nudges, but the only thing the unresponsive man could manage was a fountain of drool form his paralyzed mouth.

Dobson! Pock implored, only now fathoming that danger was afoot. Get ye bum back above ye feet!

The man didn't move, of course, though he was not dead. The rising and falling of Dobson's chest told Pock enough.

Sputtering more curses beneath his breath, Pock scrambled from the floor and reached for his sword. It was then that an unexpected scent of hair wafted into his nostrils, carrying a lightly perfumed aroma.

And then a prick upon his neck saw his world grow hazy and distorted, starting with a numbness that stole the strength from his limbs, and ended with Pock supine on the cold floor. He unceremoniously added his own slack-jawed drool to the growing puddle next to Dobson's.

The lithe form of Valaria unhooked her legs from an overhead rafter and landed with graceful silence. She afforded a moment to inspect her handiwork, satisfied, before lifting an object to her eyes to inspect it. Between her fingers was a very thin needle - a needle that was slick with the wetness of blood... and poison.

Clever boy, Pegus, she whispered. The poison worked faster than you thought.

Kneeling low, Valaria cleaned the needle on Pock's tabard, before returning it to its place inside her boot. She made an effort to search the two men for keys, though she doubted her luck. The prisoner held inside these dungeons was not likely to be freed... ever.

When Valaria found no keys she hastily set off down the passage. Each step was dampened with bent knees and lifted heels, which seemed pointless now since the two wardens were incapacitated. Regardless, the last time Valaria had been here Ethetius had been waiting in ambush. Valaria was spooked enough on this return visit to exercise prudent caution.

She entered the section where the corridor split into two, and continued onwards until the paths converged again. This was the spot preceding the open-plan cells, in which a room was outfitted with interlocking cages. As she followed the shadows along the wall and entered the dungeon holding area, vivid memories returned in full, particularly of a battle that was fought here to save Nirenese captives. What she hadn’t expected to find was the telling aftermath left in the wake of the fight between Nathiel and Ethetius.

Along the floor and upon several columns were deep gashes, which Valaria figured was the result of Ethetius's siege cleaver weapon. There was a sizable blood stain on the tiles as well, which had been futilely washed and scrubbed. It lingered as a reminder that a man once thought invincible had fallen here. Valaria wondered how it was even possible for Ethetius to have been revived to lead Lailgora’s army. Foul sorcery from a foul devil, no less.

Valaria's eyes were lured towards the centre of the holding area, where a square cage had been erected at the centre to host a very important man. She squinted through the dim light to discern his features, for she had never met Hadoric before. What she discovered was a man whose head was noticeably absent of hair, though there was a faint shadow of regrowth showing now. Hadoric simply did not have access to a blade to maintain his grooming, nor much of anything else. It was just a man and the red robes of his former office.

Chained to the ceiling via his arms, Hadoric was forced into a posture similar to a bird in flight. It served to reason that Lailgora was taking no chances with Hadoric, and the inhumane way he was shackled told Valaria that he was destined to be tortured as well.

Hadoric was barely awake now, with his head lolling loosely as he attempted to sleep. It had only been two days since Lailgora had imprisoned him here, but already Hadoric's health seemed perilously in danger. They had rarely given him water and food, and sleep was a difficult thing to come by in his awkward position.

Valaria was about to change all that this very night.

Her footfalls were a silent dance as she made her way towards the cage, and she was confident that no traps had been laid to stop her. If imperial guardsmen had been allowed into the dungeon, then there would be no mechanical traps present. Thus, she arrived at the iron bars without incident, and not even Hadoric was aware she was there.

Once again she brought forth her lock picks and immediately went to work on the lock mechanism of the cell. Only when it clicked open did Hadoric stir, and the perceptive man took less than a heartbeat to realize something was beyond the norm.

Blinking his eyes and standing more naturally in his restraints, Hadoric thought it curious indeed to find a pretty young girl slipping soundlessly through the open door of his cage, wearing a black bodysuit whose description Hadoric had only ever heard from the reports of the Night Seeker soldiers. He had never met this woman, but a weary smile came to Hadoric's face. He knew who she was.

Valaria Elaneen, I presume, stated Hadoric, keeping his voice low. Your presence implies that you've been ill informed.

"My presence implies that your not-so-clever backside is about to be saved," retorted Valaria sweetly. She moved towards Hadoric's cuffs, but the man shook his restraints to stop her.

I'm sure you mean well, but you must not, he said firmly. Has Jorenis not explained things to you?

Look, Baldy, Jorenis was the one who sent me! Valaria sighed. She stood back impatiently with hands on hips. And yes, I heard about your plan to get yourself captured. But things went to Hell for you outside the palace, and now you're in deep sh-

Precisely, Viperwind agent, interrupted Hadoric. It all went to Hell. Exactly my point.

Valaria gave him a look and wondered about his mental state of mind, but then he gave her a look as well that went right through her.

I have not fallen to feeblemindedness, he said bluntly, and Valaria's face went pale. She couldn't hide much from the likes of Hadoric. I’m here because the Arch Empress is close to ascending. The gods are too scared to admit that they will lose once again... as they always have. I may not be able to prevent what is coming, but if Lailgora can be freed of the devil inside her, years, perhaps decades, will be won in our favor.

You make about as much sense as Jorenis when talking about this stuff, remarked Valaria dryly. But a girl can take a hint. It looks like I'm going home alone.

When Valaria was hesitant to move, Hadoric sighed deeply, wearily. What?

Hadoric, I won't be coming back. There won't be a second rescue, she warned. Inside this dungeon, Lailgora will probably torture you before ending your life. Everything you're trying to achieve can be done without sacrificing yourself... you know, outside this wretched palace!

You and I understand the situation very differently, Hadoric replied. This is not about me, but about an event that is coming... an event triggered by Lailgora should she ascend... an event that would see this world, and every world, gone forever. I allowed myself to be captured because I have an advantage that Lailgora is not yet aware of. I can fix this... I can fix it all!

Valaria just gave in and shook her head, frowning. Fine, it's your neck on the block anyway.

From down the corridor, a strained voice echoed into the holding area. Somebody!

Sounds like someone is waking up, Valaria muttered, remembering that she'd paralyzed two guardsmen in the corridor.

She exited the cell and pushed the cage door shut and felt the lock click back into place, before offering Hadoric one last regretful glance.

I've never really known you, but to be staying here you've got some balls, she said, keeping her voice to a whisper. If the guards ask what happened... well... you'll think of something.

And with that, Valaria disappeared back into the shadows, and was so concealed that Hadoric lost visibility of her departure.

I do this because it must be done, Hadoric said to himself in the quiet darkness of his cell. His eyes panned towards the direction of the palace spire, and although he could not see the structure, there was a sense of purpose linking him to that place that no wall could obscure. I will save you... Arch Empress.

CHAPTER ONE

THE LAST INVASION

Beyond the bow of an Amazonian ship, the imperial port of Salthaven was visible in all its splendor. Aqua blue roiling ocean sprayed frothy wakes upon a white sandy beach, and beyond that, dense forestry that gave shape and depth to shallow mountains stolen by the horizon. It was a virgin beach no longer innocent. It was a beach filled with nervous imperial eyes.

The approaching ship was crude in design, as the civilization that had built it was unconcerned with vessels of transportation. Never could a carriage navigate through the dense jungles and unyielding wilderness of Amazonia, nor was there purpose to boats and ships when krakens were so frequent in the oceans of that faraway land.

A million minor details had conspired against the Amazonians when they had set forth from their continent to hunt a woman they named 'The Witch Summoner'. Firstly, their civilization had needed to learn ship building, before mastering the art of navigating the seas as well as surviving the many threats lurking beneath the dark ocean. Despite all that, they had come, and they had prevailed.

Until now.

Standing at the fore of the up-and-down bobbing ship, with white spray fanning skywards with each dip and lurch, a hulking figure was studying the approach of land in mute contemplation. He was confronted by a sight he hardly expected to see.

Where there should have been a bustling encampment of Amazonian warriors and slave fodder, there was now only a charred ruin, guarded, no less, by the very weaklings that the Amazonians had come to conquer.

Heavy hooves splintered the deck as the hulking figure moved to the bow, and accordingly, there was noticeable tilt in the ship as weight was transferred by this one creature alone. Halting at the front, a deep, guttural growl escaped him, though it was a sound naturally conjured with each breath - a perpetual strength that was woven into every facet of its body.

Gamutas, supreme leader of the centaur tribes, glared across the foamy water at the imperial ambush awaiting him, and not so much as an expression intruded upon his face. There was little in this world he feared, for he was the mightiest of his race, and by the estimation of Amazonia, he was exceeded only by Oraephyn himself.

The small tribe of centaurs that Gamutas had invited on this voyage watched him quietly from the stern. The Chieftain rarely spoke, and despite the presence of centaurs whom always followed him without question or hesitation, Gamutas rarely issued command. To the centaur tribes of the Land of Twenty Clans, Gamutas was a force unto himself, and every footstep the beast trod could not be deterred by responsibility or enemies or reasoning. In the Land of Twenty Clans, he had come to be known as Glorious Stampede - or to the Amazonians, the beast whose stride cannot be slowed.

The ship cut through the water towards the beach, and the centaurs gave no thought about slowing it with oars or dropping the sails. If reducing speed had been Gamutas's intention, then the chieftain would have said something by now. In this, his followers dared not act autonomously, for fear of the chieftain's anger.

Salty froth erupted at the bow again, and along the beach, the imperials brought longbows to bear. They nocked arrows and drew their strings, before letting fly with a deadly barrage that streaked black through the sky. The arrows whistled against the wind, before arcing down like birds swooping prey. The centaurs above deck scrambled for cover, which was not easy for centaurs, though they were cautioned by the descending shafts.

One after the next, the arrows peppered the deck like slithers of solid rain, and more than a few centaurs caught shafts with exposed flesh. Through it all, Gamutas stood unmoving at the bow. There was an arrow or two protruding from his body, though the shafts had barely managed to penetrate the beast's tough hide. Gamutas seemed unaware of his injuries, but more than likely, he did not care.

There was a violent shudder as the Amazonian ship touched upon shallow water, though its momentum carried it farther and the hull cut into the embankment, causing the ship to rise from the water. The human soldiers along the beach dived from the ship's path as it tunneled a trench towards them, where it shuddered to a stop in a shower of froth and sand.

Amidst the disorganized chaos of soldiers regrouping back into formation, there was a tremendous thud on the sand as something huge leapt overboard into their midst. It was then that the soldiers beheld what had sailed across the Grave Sea to invade them. Faces drained white in the shadow of the colossal beast.

The centaur chieftain stood to fall height and emitted a deep, resonant snort. Centaurs were not unknown to the imperial army, but never before had they encountered one this size. Gamutas's hind was built more like a giant bull, and the human torso segment was so thick with muscle that the creature may as well have been a different species entirely. Everything about Gamutas was abnormally large, though what struck the soldiers profoundly were the weapons he carried.

Allayed along its back, and fanning outwards like peacock feathers, were spear-length javelins. Yet they were auxiliary to a beadflail coiled around his arm. Against typical beadflail design, the steel balls adorning it were littered with spikes and sharp needles. It was noticeably longer, too, and despite the sharp nature of the beads, the chieftain wore it on his arm as though it weighed little more than a decorative bracelet.

The imperial soldiers, although cautioned by the sight of Gamutas, were bound by their duty to protect the beach of Salthaven. Only one ship had landed, after all, and the soldiers had prepared themselves with a variety of measures. So, a full rank of pikemen were called to the fore - a team of soldiers bearing iron poles and morion helmets.

With their spears leading as they charged into the fray, the pikemen caught a glimpse of numerous skulls hanging from Gamutas's side, most of which were distinctly nonhuman. The grim trophies gave measure to Gamutas's violent exploits, and indeed, the pikemen were wise enough to panic, though they plowed forward regardless, pumping their legs and driving their spears into Gamutas.

There was a moment of silence that descended upon the beach, for pikemen were known to be an adequate answer against centaurs, in much the same way as they were against cavalry. But as the iron spears dug into Gamutas the beast did not flinch, nor did the spears penetrate as deeply as intended.

Gamutas offered the feeble humans a derisive snort, before setting its focus beyond the beach and simply... walking. It was as though the one hundred-strong soldiers guarding the beach did not exist.

Once more, the pikemen followed the centaur as it made its way towards the tree line, and they jabbed their spears into it again, drawing bloody holes that seemed to go unnoticed by Gamutas. A host of soldiers joined in as well, slashing and prodding with their swords, but Gamutas paid them little heed as he strode undeterred in the direction he had chosen.

The baffled soldiers were then confronted with a new dilemma. Back at the Amazonian ship, a sturdy wooden plank was lifted over the side, with its end crashing to the sand to form a ramp. From over the side of the ship came the march of Gamutas's centaur tribe, and they poured upon the beach so suddenly that the imperials had little time to mount a defense.

Unlike Gamutas, the centaur force gave the imperials their full attention, for they could not so easily ignore the stings of spears and swords. Formations were organized and attacks coordinated, and even the imperial pikemen, quick to confront them, could find no openings as centaurs swatted and parried with a plethora of strange weaponry.

More centaurs galloped from the boat and down the ramp, and with each influx of centaur reinforcements came split ranks of enemies that the imperials were struggling to keep track of. The pikemen were presently in a stalemate against the first group, and the foot soldiers wielding swords dared not throw themselves at the mercy of the centaurs, for they knew that fighting toe-to-toe with the beasts was worse than trying to survive cavalry riders. At close proximity, the archers, too, were lost for a role in this engagement.

The centaurs were still outnumbered, though there was simply not enough pikemen to justify the human advantage. When the various segmented ranks of centaurs began to make a push, the imperials were driven back and cut down. Injuries were accrued within the ranks of centaurs, yet for every cut won by the humans, several Fellenock soldiers were left dead on the ground. Things turned from bad to worse when the centaurs broke through and were afforded room to kick their legs into a furious gallop - all the while swinging beadflails and double-ended mauls, sowing death in their wake. The momentum of the impending catastrophe only escalated as the imperial soldiers fell, and even the ones still futilely prodding Gamutas turned as the tide rolled upon them.

Imperial soldiers were torn and trodden, yet Gamutas kept walking with that singular determination, ignorant to massacre left upon the beach. His brown hide was slick with his own blood from countless wounds, yet the pounding footfalls of the great centaur lost no rhythm as it exited the sand and trampled bushes on its way into the surrounding bushland. The tribe fell into line behind him, followed soon after by more centaurs departing the Amazonian ship - known as the Dweller Caste; common centaurs unassociated with combat roles.

They too followed, without word or objection.

This was Gamutas's hunt, and the centaur chieftain would not be denied its vengeance upon the undead archmage of Old Zephendra.

The lich known as Krang.

*  *  *

Upon entering a warehouse on the mainland side of Brokentide, Valaria let a weary breath escape her. With a shrug, a coiled length of rope slipped from her shoulder to the floor, which, because there were climbing hooks still attached, landed with a metallic clatter.

Well... that was a waste of time, she muttered under her breath.

Infiltrating the imperial palace was never an easy proposition, but to come back empty-handed was utterly sobering. Hadoric refused to be rescued, and so Valaria had incapacitated two soldiers inside the palace as well as one atop the wall, and for no good reason. Despite the lack of gain, her efforts still incurred a cost. Lailgora would hear of what happened, and there was no telling what she'd do. Memories of the eresaug demon sent a shudder down Valaria's spine. Anything was possible.

Without bothering to collect her climbing gear, Valaria went to the middle of the warehouse and stood at a rather nondescript spot - though it was a spot anything but ordinary. On the floor and unseen to the eye was a runeset enchantment, and for the small few who knew the truth of the warehouse it was not a place of storage, but the entrance into Runeforge.

Valaria prepared herself mentally for what was to come. She was not fond of magic, and even less so of teleportation magic. She spoke a single word into the air, making sure that her voice was clear... just in case the spell misinterpreted her meaning and did something unfortunate... like polymorphing her into a chicken, or something.

Hope! she said aloud.

Valaria's vision twisted and the interior of the warehouse distorted beyond recognition, before the colors and shapes returned as something clearly not the warehouse. Blinking to help get her bearings, Valaria was now standing inside a circular cavity of carved rock. She could not move her limbs, nor speak. This was the defenses of Runeforge at work, which was a measure to prevent spellcasters from gaining entry and unleashing their magic here. As far as Thista's assurances were concerned, this room, the Chamber of Wards, was the only way in or out. Valaria didn't doubt that for a second.

From inside the central cavity of Runeforge, Thista entered the Chamber of Wards and whispered the release word to free Valaria from the magical stasis. The effect was immediate, and mobility was returned to Valaria's body.

Hey squirt, Valaria greeted cheerily. Good to see that you haven't burnt the place down yet.

Shut up, mumbled Thista. She proceeded back inside the central cavity, before returning her attention to Valaria when something occurred to her. Hey, weren't you supposed to bring that guy back?

Valaria offered the blonde girl a wince. Yes.., she said, her voice dying to a whisper as she stepped from the Chamber of Wards, only to see Nathiel and the four youngsters training. ...yes I was.

At the centre of Runeforge, where Thista's magic had excavated a hollow void in the cliff face of Brokentide's chasm, Nathiel was sparring with Kade and the other three Crayethon youths - Toggman, Pegus, and Bree. Strangely, Pegus the alchemist and Bree the runewriter were brandishing wooden weapons as well, though they were a long way from wielding them with any reasonable proficiency. The four were exhausted, and even Kade was sweating and panting.

With little coordination, the youths struck at Nathiel all at once, though the champion skip-stepped left and right and turned aside their attacks with ease, then ducked and dodged between them like a bird flitting between branches. The youngsters gathered on the other side of Nathiel with barely the strength to stand, and indeed, Toggman and Bree slumped to their backsides, utterly spent.

Valaria winced as she noticed this, for Nathiel must have been pushing them all morning. Nathiel being the sponsored of Phorin and Brevon, he was gifted with unlimited stamina, among a vast portfolio of other things. Valaria figured that he'd been exempt from fitness for so long that he'd forgotten the limitations of others.

Again! shouted Nathiel, standing ready with his wooden training dagger gripped firmly in front of him.

Oh come on! protested Kade, puffing for breath.

Get up, growled Nathiel. You've seen what walks from Lailgora's palace, the very enemy you'll face. Demons and undead will not let you rest for breath!

The youths begrudgingly returned to readiness, the last of which was Bree, who groaned all the way to her feet as she stood. Kade was the first to engage Nathiel, though the others fell into line behind him and did their best to make actual weapon contact with the champion... which they, of course, did not.

A series of wooden coconut-sized balls attached to string lashed out from Toggman, causing Nathiel to twist beneath it as he ran his dagger across the boy's stomach. He came out the other side and stabbed down upon Pegus's sword hand, before sliding sideways to duck Bree's weapon as he slashed her kneecaps. Inevitably, Kade was next, and the boy's twin dagger fighting style was better suited against Nathiel, though he was too exhausted to do it justice. A feeble one-two prod of his daggers missed Nathiel cleanly, which resulted in the champion emerging behind him and running the dagger-bokken across the boy's neck.

Again, the spent youths took their time to catch their breaths, which did not sit well with Nathiel.

All dead! Nathiel announced, in which a torrent of groans and protests ensued.

The rules of sparring in Runeforge were simple. If combatants failed to make contact with a weapon, then they were considered 'dead' and punished with pushups - and if combatants accidentally hits themselves or another ally, they were considered 'traitors', and forced to run laps around Runeforge. It was a classic system used by the former League of the Viper, though it had never accounted for students sparring with the most agile fighter in the world.

Valaria couldn't bear to watch as the youngsters dropped down to perform their pushups, and she wandered over to Thista, who was busy perusing her Compendium of Runes spellbook. She was so absorbed in her reading that she hardly noticed Valaria standing next to her.

Have they actually gotten the better of Nathiel at all this morning? asked Valaria.

A cruel smile came to Thista's face, though she was still busy reading the tome. Nope.

Not even once? Valaria sputtered in disbelief.

Thista glanced up and stared at Valaria with those unusual pink eyes, failing to see the point of it all. It was then that Jorenis entered the central chamber from a side room. He scrutinized Valaria, noticing she had returned empty-handed.

Pray tell, dear girl, he bade.

Hadoric was uncooperative, Valaria explained cryptically. She glanced over at Nathiel and caught his attention, and he promptly abandoned the sparring to listen to what she had to say. It was a blessing for Kade and the others, no less.

When Nathiel was close enough, Valaria spoke. Okay, so Hadoric was there as expected, but he's determined to see his little mission through to the end. The Hag hasn't touched him yet, but I don't like his chances. One way or another, Hadoric will be paying his rent soon enough. Valaria eyed Jorenis and shrugged.

Aye, let the fool be, Jorenis decided, sighing wearily. He's risking everything on everyone's behalf, but if the stubborn bastard does what he's there to do, then we've won!

But he might not... added Nathiel grimly.

Indeed, they had all heard the predictions of what could happen if Lailgora killed Hadoric. His last breath was feared to bring about the end of the world.

I don't like it, whispered Nathiel. I don't like not being in control of any of it.

Jorenis rested a hand on the champion's shoulder. Everyone has their part to play in this. But perhaps the events between Hadoric and Lailgora are not meant for us.

We still have a war to fight, Valaria reminded Nathiel. Regardless if Hadoric succeeds or not, there's still a nightmarish army descending upon our people. We have a lot of scared women and children back home, Nathiel. They need us now more than ever. I think it's time we returned to Nirenia, that our people be reminded that they're not alone. We'll go check up on things, just me and you.

Nathiel tilted his head towards the youngsters. But their training? he argued. We need them ready. We cannot do this alone.

Valaria regarded Kade and the others, and the four youths were listening to it all from the comfort of their backsides. Although they were mostly expressionless, Valaria could tell they were endorsing her idea. They could use a break from Nathiel and his diabolical training regimen.

They'll still be here when we return, and we won't be gone long, Valaria reasoned. You say we need help? Then let's find us some allies. I know just where to look.

Nathiel regarded her curiously, though it was clear she wasn't going to divulge the entirety of her meaning, not yet. His eyes roamed the room, and he was confronted by unbending stares, like the eyes of puppies whittling down his resolve. So indeed, he broke.

May it be, he said. But we mustn't tarry. There's no telling where Lailgora's forces are now, or how long it will take them to reach Nirenia.

All the more reason to find out, said Valaria.

On the floor near the feet of the three adults, Thista closed her tome and stood. I could teleport you both to Crayethon?

Valaria reached down and tussled the girl's hair, which drew an indignant scowl. Wow, after all this time you finally learned how to do the teleportation stuff, and now nobody can hold you back!

Do you want me to do it or not? fumed Thista, her arms crossed.

Valaria stole a glance at Nathiel, and the normally stoic man cracked a smile. He hid it well by turning away and proceeding towards his quarters, no doubt to gather his gear and provisions.

Sure, why not? Valaria said to Thista. I do enjoy throwing up at the end.

Predictably, Thista threw her arms up in a huff. That was a Stale Jack potion last time! It doesn't happen with m-

Valaria stuck her tongue out at the girl and pulled a face.

Thista stomped a foot down before storming off. You're so annoying sometimes, she complained as she disappeared into her quarters.

When Valaria was alone with Jorenis, she whispered. Is she okay? Lately, I mean.

Jorenis regarded the room on the other side of the central chamber, and watched as his granddaughter collected parchment and inks for her impending teleportation spell. She seemed normal now, but was that intuition or simply a filtered view from the eyes of a grandparent?

I know not, Jorenis replied truthfully, almost regretfully. Better, perhaps, but Thista can no longer be measured by girls of her own age, nor older. At least now the darkness in her heart is subdued, as much as I can tell.

When Thista returned with the necessary items, she offered Valaria an irritated stare, before glancing back to Nathiel's quarters to see what the holdup was. Nathiel exited his room a moment later only to notice everyone staring at him.

We're getting teleported straight into to Crayethon, you know that, right? remarked Valaria.

Nathiel gave his travel sack a light shake, which was filled with food and a waterskin - enough for a long journey on the road. He gave Valaria and Thista a lopsided smile and shrugged.

One can hope, he replied, to which Valaria and Jorenis tried to hide their amusement.

The angry teeth bared by Thista was more than worth it.

*  *  *

There was something about an unscratched tower shield that seemed so very wrong to Rendilus. It was an instrument of defense, employed for the sole purpose of mitigating damage. A shield without wear seemed as treasonous as a sword that refused to cut. But this particular tower shield was beyond harm, and it had even survived the bite of the dagger, Maudin's Victory, which had been no small accomplishment.

But, ultimately, the shield had failed, and so a mighty general had fallen, leaving a void in the empire's military that none could adequately fill.

Rendilus counted himself among them.

Upon migrating his forces from the lower region of the Thysaan River all the way to Fort Splinterview, the remnants of Falheedius's command had welcomed Rendilus with open arms. Apparently, Daggermus the Grinner had arrived first, though the soldiers were not so willing to adopt the hunchback as their host.

Rendilus propped the enchanted tower shield back against the wall inside Falheedius's command post, before approaching the large desk at the centre. There was more opulence here than he was used to, but all that would change soon enough when a decision was made about who was to inherit the Fort. He slid the chair from the desk and sat down, as though to 'feel' the history of the man that had once presided here. It was then that the command post door opened, and a misshapen, wretched thing shambled inside.

It suits you, general, hissed Daggermus, and of course, he was grinning. A fine trophy earned from your victory at Salthaven?

Rendilus stood from the chair and abandoned it, for he was loath to agree that he deserved anything.

Protecting this nation is not about reward, he said rather defensively.

Daggermus cackled and gave a small nod of his head, before wandering the room perusing the tapestries. Such a narrow perspective of what constitutes a reward. Would successfully protecting Fellenock not count to the righteous sensibilities of Rendilus?

Rendilus gritted his teeth and decided not to answer the hunchback's question. The command of this Fort is undecided, and since the Amazonians have been neutralized, the need for this Fort is somewhat limited, if at all.

Wrong on both counts, said Daggermus.

The hunchback shuffled towards the desk and plopped himself down in the seat, which gave Rendilus the impression that the Fort had been given to Daggermus. He was, after all, the newly anointed Royal Guard Prime. But once again, Rendilus was sorely mistaken.

It is by my decision that I give you Fort Splinterview, and no, this outpost retains its importance. It will act as a resupply depot for the coming purge.

Rendilus folded his arms and ran his fingers through his short beard. He was less than pleased by it all.

Are you to spearhead this conquest?

Daggermus grinned wide, which was an unlovely crescent that never ceased to annoy Rendilus. And of course, Daggermus was quite aware of this.

The march of death is better overseen by death, yes? he asked cryptically. Have you truly not heard of the force her highness has assembled? The blank look on Rendilus's rugged face was answer enough for Daggermus. Oh, your eyes will behold it soon enough, fear not.

Before Rendilus could demand clarification, a young soldier entered the command post and struck a fist to his chest. It was one of Rendilus's men.

What? snapped Daggermus.

The soldier's eyes found Rendilus first, and only Rendilus. Sir, Salthaven is lost.

Rendilus's heart sank, and to make matters worse, Daggermus turned and let his yellow teeth stretch from ear to ear.

A brief victory for you, indeed, the hunchback commented with abundant delight.

Rendilus ignored Daggermus and eyed his subordinate at the door. How many of ours?

The soldier shifted uncomfortably. All, sir. The dead were discovered during the changeover, he said, referring to the relieving of soldiers between shifts.

And the enemy? Rendilus asked.

After a silent moment, the young soldier shook his head. None.

Rendilus felt paralyzed from the soul down, but at least Daggermus was still smiling. It would be a shame for the man to suddenly grow a conscience and surprise anyone...

A woeful assortment of men you left behind to defend an invasion point, I would assume, remarked Daggermus cruelly.

"It was by your order that Salthaven was inadequately secured, retorted Rendilus. And the invasion ended when Aglis was slain. A contingent of centaurs were what arrived at Salthaven."

Daggermus's eyes narrowed. "I had infiltrators among the Amazonians, moles, and they knew of no such force sailing here."

Then perhaps you're not as clever as you pretend?

The Grinner was no longer grinning. He was never one to stomach insults. This was illustrated when Daggermus glanced towards the ceiling and muttered something to his dead mother, right before glaring at the young soldier still inside the room. Dismissed.

The soldier looked to Rendilus for confirmation, for he was loyal only to Rendilus, but Daggermus intervened with a fist raised threateningly.

I am the Royal Guard Prime now, boy! Daggermus screamed at him. I will not tell you again. Begone!

And so the soldier disappeared through the door in a hurry, which left a bitter chill lingering inside the room between Fellenock's two remaining generals.

The smell of insubordination befouls the air these days, Rendilus, Daggermus warned. Lailgora has already hung a score of men for less than the reek I smell here.

Are you threatening me? Rendilus asked with forced calm.

There was a long moment of silence as the two generals stared at each other, before Daggermus spoke again.

Prepare your men to march, the hunchback instructed coldly. Our paths will diverge when we reach Nirenia. You will continue onwards and 'integrate' into the main force. Daggermus grinned venomously. It would be wise to learn obedience before you arrive.

A sense of wrongness gave Rendilus pause, because Daggermus was not leading the army, and if Rendilus wasn't either... then who was?

As though reading Rendilus's stricken features, Daggermus answered. My predecessor was never one to suffer discord lightly.

And there was that sense of wrongness again. Ethetius? But he's dead.

Daggermus offered nothing more than an unpleasant grin, before peeling himself from the chair at the desk and shambling to the command post door. He was halted by Rendilus's voice.

I need a day to prepare my men, no sooner, he declared. Go ahead and hang me if it pleases you, but I'll not be marching promptly, not this time. Every word unsaid from you about this war bespeaks of illegitimate purpose.

You could no sooner stomach my secrets than I could yours, Daggermus said with a snort. The distinction is that I will be elevated by my choices, whereas you will perish because of yours.

And with that, The Grinner was gone.

Rendilus was left standing astride the desk, and the hush inside the room closed in around him. Ethetius was somehow still alive? And soldiers from Brokentide were being hanged? It seemed like madness to Rendilus, but then again, he'd been busy at Salthaven for too long. The world had not spared the time to pacify him to the rotting core of Lailgora's empire, and now, that empire was asking him to adopt its intentions without question. It was asking him to further a war at the behest of a hellish creature in the guise of a human woman.

Truly, Rendilus knew that he should be marching upon Lailgora's palace instead of north, but that was a different kind of war that would also get the better of him.

Rendilus's thoughts returned to the soldiers reportedly hanged at Brokentide. Perhaps some secrets were no longer secret after all.

*  *  *

Lailgora heard only her own footsteps as she traversed the corridors of her palace, a hush that cried a very poignant story, indeed. All her retainers had fled, even the cook, which accounted for why Lailgora had skipped breakfast upon the dawn of this new morning. The wretched aids had been sneaking away from Brokentide for weeks now, but never before had the palace been so abandoned. As though overnight, the once glorious palace had been reduced to a mere smattering of royal guards and a host of rats that no longer feared the open.

Something had changed, and Lailgora's memory of events was a little fuzzy. She remembered the Markets District, and she remembered a dense crowd that had amassed there. And the imperial treasury... yes... the nuisance girl, Thista, had infiltrated the treasury building before teleporting the empire's wealth onto the streets. Lailgora could only reason that the little wretch had done it to spite her, perhaps in retribution for her captivity.

Lailgora arrived at the dungeon complex - one of four interconnecting structures built around the central spire of the palace. Her slender hand gripped the iron door, and with a firm pull she drew it open, which was something she had never done before. Normally there were guards stationed here for the very purpose of opening doors, among other things. But they, too, were gone. She would reassign more guards to the dungeons soon enough, but that would have to wait. She had not come down here to dwell upon menial matters.

Entering the darkened passage, Lailgora was dismayed when her troubles followed her all the way in. Something important happened outside the treasury building that day, and Lailgora was sure that it went beyond what Thista had done. It was then that she remembered confronting Hadoric, and then...

Lailgora stumbled in the passageway as her legs buckled beneath her, and her arm reached for a wall reflexively. There was a presence in her mind, she could feel it, and somehow she knew that she'd felt it before. It had always been there, though somehow she was able to focus on it now, enough to know that she was not alone, at least mentally.

Why now? What had happened to her before when the presence was felt?

Malevolence dug into her consciousness from somewhere, seemingly gloating at her feeble attempts at freedom. The presence clawed at her thoughts, sifted through them with little care, before tearing at the last few moments of memory. Her walk through the palace to this point was violated beyond repair. The presence then receded, and was gone.

Lailgora detached herself from the wall and steadied herself upon both feet again. She wondered why she was inside a darkened passageway, and the dungeons, of all places.

Hadoric.

Hadoric the prisoner.

Ah, yes.., Lailgora whispered to herself.

A dark, delighted smile crossed her face, and she continued along the passageway. Hadoric was her prisoner now, which amounted to one less problem roaming untethered. Perhaps with a little 'prisoner play' she could discover how to remedy other problems as well!

The dungeon holding area was dark when Lailgora arrived, for the candles had not been replaced, and again, there was no one left to do it. By design, windows were mere fist-sized holes in this section of the dungeon, so Lailgora instead drew her wand and rendered a spell of light. A thrumming ball of luminance emerged and bathed the holding area white, casting dark shadows which moved and shifted as the orb followed Lailgora.

Inside a cage in the middle of the holding area was Hadoric. The bald-headed man squinted as light stung his photosensitive eyes, though they soon adjusted, and thus, they tightened when their focus beheld Lailgora. Hadoric had been dreading this moment, but no less, had invited it upon himself.

Hello Hadoric, Lailgora greeted dryly, coldly. She waved her hand over the lock of the cell, and a click was followed by the cage door swinging open.

Hadoric straightened his legs beneath him and stood firm, though there was noticeable weariness to his posture. He was not weathering the chains well.

Runewriting is beneath you now? he commented, noticing that Lailgora had opened the cell with nothing more than a wave of her hand.

The cage door slammed shut, and all the while Lailgora never once took her eyes from Hadoric. The malevolence was palpable.

Everything is beneath me, foolish man, she hissed. I am the Arch Empress.

Hadoric shook his head. An Aur'Nessis devil aspires to human titles? The mask you wear no longer conceals you. A decades-old habit then?

Thou babbling nonsense, Hadoric, was Lailgora's confused reply. Fantasism has lured thee astray.

Hadoric croaked a laugh, which was mostly a raspy cough, but it was enough to hit Lailgora with an invisible slap. So says the host of Tyrexiron.

A slender arm reared to slap Hadoric, though it stopped mid-swing. In Lailgora's subconscious there was the realization that she had not willingly lashed out at Hadoric, and yet, her arm had risen, and yet, there was profound anger inside her even though she had no idea what Hadoric was talking about.

Hadoric stood alert when he saw Lailgora's hesitation, and a glimmer of hope gripped his heart. Empress? Gori, listen to my voice. You are not alone. I will find a way-

The slender arm began to spasm with indecision, before following through and striking Hadoric across the face. When Hadoric opened his eyes again, his face was tender, but he hardly noticed when he beheld Lailgora again. The Arch Empress was locked in a grimace - partly clawing at her head and partly frozen as though in pain. Her condition soon abated, and Lailgora resumed her typically regal posture. Hadoric needed no hint as to which mind had prevailed inside her body.

Enough of your games, Lailgora growled through knitted teeth. She struck Hadoric again, and this time there was no argument with her arm. Thou shall divulge all!

Hadoric was acutely aware of what would come next. He'd anticipated Lailgora's visit, and everything it would entail. She was here to question him about Atyrliss... and she was here to torture every word from his tongue, sparing no detail whilst under duress. And so, predictably...

Tell me of your visit to Atyrliss, Hadoric, Lailgora instructed, her face drawing so close to Hadoric's that she could smell the scent of his neck. She traced a finger down his face before grabbing his chin forcefully. There could be no escaping the icy chill of her glacial stare. Spare nothing unsaid.

Zaeria is prepared for you, warned Hadoric with a smile, though it was, in truth, a lie.

I think not, Lailgora whispered, her warm breath brushing against Hadoric's cheek. There are horrors that courage alone cannot conquer.

Hadoric tensed. What have you sent against her? What marches towards Sovereign Spires?

Lailgora released Hadoric's face, but not before slapping him again. I ask the questions, fool!

Then be specific, devil! spat Hadoric, ignoring the sting of his face.

A slender hand lashed out like a serpent and gripped Hadoric's throat, squeezing, digging with sharp fingernails. Hadoric thrashed about to dislodge her, but Lailgora was beyond reason. Her mouth was emitting an orange glow, and the veins beneath her skin were seemingly molten-hot. Hadoric could only reason that her possession was getting worse, as though the devil was burrowing in deeper, tightening its hold.

At the edge of blacking out, Hadoric felt Lailgora's hand withdraw. He was left coughing and gasping for breath, and just when he thought that Lailgora would resume there was a change in the air, precipitated by Lailgora who now had her arms outstretched, drawing upon power that the human host could never achieve on her own.

Two vertical, fiery lines emerged in the air, equal to Lailgora's height, though they stretched apart until they were ovoid in shape. They were planar gates, and by the heat and acrid smells wafting from within them, there was little mystery that the two small gateways connected to locations somewhere in Hell.

And so, stepping forth from each gate were two humanoid creatures, both female human in appearance, though bearing their infernal heritage in the form of leathery wings and barb-ended tails. There was a smattering of scales here and there, as well as varying - and colorful - pigments to their skin, but all in all they were the likeness of human women in every conceivable measure of beauty.

The succubi moved to stand beside Lailgora and smiled invitingly at Hadoric. Their movements were serene, accentuating every curve and giving power to their artificial femininity. Hadoric, however, was not to be fooled by any of it. Succubi had been well documented in the books penned by Morth Dorenica. A succubus was a predator, a patient species of devilkin that could seduce a victim before consuming his or her soul. They shared an innate ability to teleport, as was the norm for devils, but they could shapeshift as well, among a plethora of other talents that related to poisons and pheromones.

To Hadoric's shock, his knowledge of these creatures seemed redundant now. He could feel his eyes drawn to the play of their suggestive features, and with each glimpse of them he was pacified into a state of comfort, of trust for the succubi. So far the creatures had not said a word, nor touched him, but even now the barriers he was forming to resist them were being torn down.

At first one, and then the other, took delicate steps towards Hadoric, drawing his sensibilities to the fluidity of their movements and the perceptible lust cultivated by their mere proximity. Hadoric was reduced to nothing more than a man, and he longed to touch the near-naked bodies of the two succubi. He yearned for the smell of their skin and the touch of their lips. The intoxication was intoxicating unto itself.

Watching it all with no small amusement, Lailgora grinned wickedly, and asked again.

Tell me of Atyrliss, she beckoned.

Hadoric blinked his eyes and tried to shake the haze from his mind. He was vaguely aware of what was happening to him, though to resist was about as fruitful as a drunk overriding the effects of alcohol. To his credit, he clamped his jaw shut and focused on ignoring the succubi.

Lailgora gritted her teeth and gave the two devilkin a firm nod. Vizelle, Qhu, do what needs to be done.

The two succubi giggled excitedly at the prospect of torturing the human male. Their delight was so wanton that they hardly noticed when Lailgora departed the dungeon holding area, leaving only Hadoric and two hungering succubi remaining.

Vizelle and Qhu pressed their bodies against the chained human, teasing him with tentative touches and playful bites. Hadoric clamped his eyes shut and growled loudly to overpower the succubi purring near his ear. They were trying to lull him into submission, and since possession was not a succubus ability, they were using every other means at their disposal.

But Hadoric was difficult to break... perhaps too difficult for a pair of impatient fiends. Vizelle was the first to forfeit her efforts, and she hissed at Qhu to dislodge the younger succubus from Hadoric. The red-hued Vizelle then draped her arms across Hadoric's shoulders and pressed her face to his, biting his chin and tracing her tongue down his neck. The futility of what she was trying to do was explained when a barb-ended tail curled around and punctured his left leg.

A burning numbness stole the strength from that leg, with the succubus's poison working its way through to encompass the limb, and then creeping up into Hadoric's pelvis. He collapsed, but was caught by the chains shackled to his wrist, though being suspended only made the agony that came to his lower extremities worse. It felt as though a hundred needles were threading through his leg and groin - a sensation of burning and tearing all at once.

Hadoric screamed out and almost lost consciousness, but a strong, deceptively delicate hand caught him by the jaw and kept him aloft. A strange scent from Vizelle intruded upon his nostrils, invigorating his senses and keeping him alert... which also served to heighten his pain and keep him from passing out.

It was then that Qhu decided to contribute her style of torment as well, and after tip-toeing to Hadoric the purple-skinned fiend raked her sharp fingernails across Hadoric's chest and tore his black cloak.

The claw marks left upon his chest began to fester, before thin, vein-like lines grew from the marks. Hadoric hardly understood the effect until it induced a different kind of pain, one that was felt through his body until Hadoric was sure there were claw marks on his back as well.

On and on it went. Succubi tails punctured holes and ejected their poison, and sharp nails and biting mouths assailed his body. All of it heralded new agony, and some of it served to keep him conscious and alert. It was like nothing Hadoric had ever felt before, and he yearned to be anywhere but inside the palace dungeons at the moment. He was beginning to understand what Morth Dorenica had endured when the not-so-young man had ventured into Hell seeking answers. Hadoric knew it would have been worse for Morth, but even knowing that did little to lend him strength now. Torture at the hands of the succubi was excruciating, and the two fiends seemed as adept in their craft as they were knowledgeable about human anatomy. And that was hardly the worst part.

Vizelle and Qhu did not begin their questioning until much later.

CHAPTER TWO

WHERE ALL ROADS LEAD

Standing amidst debris inside the Diamond Citadel, a burly Royal Sentinel knelt low and collected a shard of crystal in his hand. The piece was a fragment from the citadel structure itself, because the citadel was essentially one giant crystal magically grown to take on the form it was now.

Or at least, the form it had once been.

The Royal Sentinel stood tall and regarded the breach in front of him. A multifaceted window had once belonged here, but now it was just a hole, a hole with a very curious story behind it. After all, it wasn't every day that a pretty female elf invaded the citadel in search of a man that wasn't even a citizen of Atyrliss. By the Hells, Hadoric wasn't even