The Crumbling Abyss

By George Straatman

As the Antiquated World spirals into chaos...the crumbling abyss beckons...

Ground remorselessly between three odious millstones, the nations of the Eastern Continent prepare to face their moment of reckoning. As King Artumas and his allies, both old and new, prepare to confront the menace posed by Myrhia’s imminent vengeful return, two dire new threats arise to plunge the entire continent into dark chaos. In the Blighted Lands, deranged Sygeanor, having usurped control of Metocan and vowed obliteration of Lamia and its Queen Lorio, raises a ravenous legion of undead to see that vow fulfilled. From across the Sea of Prevailing Mystery comes a massive army of misogynistic religious zealots intent on cleansing the continent with blood and fire. Even as Emercia and her allies prepare to give opposition to this daunting three-headed serpent, Artumas realizes that it may be Lissom, his most powerful ally and divine emissary of a goddess, who may pose the greatest threat to the land’s uncertain future.

When it seems inevitable that darkness will prevail and the last faint vestiges of light will be extinguished, deliverance arrives from two unlikely sources...but at a cost that may yet prove unbearably exorbitant.

• Language: English
• Publisher: George Straatman
• Release date: Nov 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005906894

George Straatman

At the beginning of this year, I made the difficult decision that I would offer my entire catalogue of novels (which currently stands at eleven, with a twelfth and thirteenth to follow in the not too distant future) free of charge. There are a number of reasons that inspired this decision, but in the name of brevity, I’ll confine my explanation to the two most pertinent. After several months of honest introspection, I finally was forced to admit that I possess neither the aptitude, nor the desire for self-promotion (as one would quickly glean if they were to bother to check my paltry social media footprint)...an aptitude that is essential for an indie author’s chance at acceptance and recognition. Even more damning is the fact that I choose to write in a neoclassical style, the appeal of which is confined to an extremely miniscule segment of today’s reading devotees.After more than thirty years, it is time to accept reality and stop flogging this particular dead horse. I toyed with the notion of completely removing my works from the various outlet platforms, but decided to offer them for free instead. Recalling the motivation that had inspired me to start writing in the first place, I realized that a less money oriented individual would be a challenge to find and I was driven by a desire to share my creative efforts...these tales of epic fantasy and dark horror with those who might appreciate reading them as much as I enjoyed scribing them.Thus, the e-book versions of my novels will henceforth be free on Smashwords and all of their distribution channels...Barnes & Noble, Apple, etc. Unfortunately, Amazon does not allow for authors to offer their creative works gratis and they will remain available through that platform for a nominal price (I will remind readers that Amazon does price match). The paper version of my novels are available through Amazon, but for a price that most might find prohibitive for a comparatively unknown indie author.My aspiration now is simply this; I hope that readers who happen across my works will take the time to delve into the poignant, heartfelt tales of these characters for whom I’ve developed such an affection while setting their stories to paper. Both the Journey fantasy series and the Converging supernatural series (a classification I roundly detest) are nearing the ends of their long arcs. It is my hope that the day will come, after the last word of each has been set to paper, when, as an even older man than I am now, I may sit on a bench near the St Lawrence River in Quebec City and read both series from start to finish...and draw my own conclusions on their relative worth.For those who do delve into these tales, over which I have labored so long and lovingly, and which you may now enjoy free of charge, I have only one humble request. If you do make your way to their endings, please leave a rating or review on the site from which you obtained the book. I ask this not with a mind to accruing cash or notoriety...only for the wish to see Elizabeth, Lorio and my other creative children’s tales reach as many readers as possible.George Straatman

Book preview

Chapter One

1

The first light of dawn filtered through the window, rousing Karosyn from her torpor. She raised her head and stealing a pained glance at Lyndsyn’s blue-tinged countenance, shifted her doleful gaze to the window. Something about the pristine blue sky beyond…so serene and cloudless…evoked a rare and indignant fury in Karosyn, as if its perfection was a sign of utter indifference to the tragedy of Lyndsyn’s utterly pointless death.

After the others had departed to allow her to grieve in solitude, the Matrium had spent long hours praying to Gyzarayne. After a time, however, she began to question the purpose of her supplication. Did she pray for absolution? That would be a futile endeavor that even Gyzarayne could not grant her…because she refused to absolve herself of her complicity in this sad creature’s death. Did she pray that Gyzarayne would take pity on her forlorn child and provide for her a place in her divine presence? Again, that entreaty would be pointless. Karosyn, in the hundreds of years she had served her Goddess, had come to understand that deities were glacially intransigent. There would be no forgiveness for Lyndsyn’s act of self-immolation. Did she seek strength then…the wherewithal to survive and carry on beyond this bleak moment?

This last thought drew a humorless grin to Karosyn’s generous mouth. She stood on legs that were wooden from her vigil and placed her palm on Lyndsyn’s cold cheek. If she could reach out to an iniquitous god and bring her lost daughter back with some foul rite of sorcery, Karosyn believed she would have done so at this precise moment. This single realization, perhaps more than any other, informed the incessantly compassionate woman that she had strayed far out from beneath Gyzarayne’s light…and to her own mind, well beyond the prospect of redemption.

When she had, at last, gleaned that her prayers were nothing more than the mouthing of hollow platitudes that would ultimately go unheeded, Karosyn had turned her thoughts to her obligations beyond this moment. She decided that she would return her precious daughter to the Ascentrix and plead with Lissom to bury Lyndsyn in sanctified ground and conduct the ritual of dissemination so that their daughter’s cumulative life experience would not be lost to her sisters. Of late, Lissom’s mind and complex thoughts had become inaccessible to Karosyn, but she owed Lyndsyn the effort. Beyond that, she would do her part in escorting the bane…Stuart Macevey…safely to Nalosan. His deliverance might add a miniscule measure of meaning to Lyndsyn’s death. Then she would renounce her role as Matrium…the first woman in the order’s long history to ever do so.

Possessed of a humility to match her benevolence, Karosyn Nierosean could never have imagined that her decision would have dire consequences…the ramifications of which would not become evident for another forty years.

Karosyn was fully aware that this unprecedented disavowal would result in an immediate withdrawal of Gyzarayne’s grace. This would mean that the full weight of her years would impact upon her in the blink of an eye. Considering that she had lived far beyond the span of a normal lifetime…instant death would follow.

The prospect roused no dread in Karosyn. Quite the contrary…as she had made a cold accommodation with her own imminent demise. On the extremity of her grief, it never occurred to the wheaten-haired beauty that her proposed course of action was not so very different from the path chosen by the woman she now mourned.

She was about to go in search of the innkeeper, who much to her shame, she had abused while in her distraught state, when an eruption of golden light flared in her skull. Karosyn cried out and stumbled. Her mouth flew open, forcing her jaws to their widest capacity and a geyser of intertwined golden particles spewed from her mouth. This discharge coalesced into a rapidly spinning dervish of pure energy.

For a brief, fearful moment, Karosyn felt certain that the Goddess had divined her thoughts and had elected to withdraw her blessing immediately…before she had the opportunity to deliver Lyndsyn’s body back to Nalosan and make her impassioned plea to the Ascentrix.

Calm yourself, Mother, a voice commanded from the midst of what had now settled into a shimmering column of energy. The Matrium recognized the voice of Lissom and as she stared in moon-eyed astonishment, the Ascentrix emerged from the construct, gazing about the confines of the small room with a severe frown.

Are…are you really here…how is this possible? Karosyn inquired breathlessly, leery of this new incarnation of Lissom’s mounting power.

Lissom offered her disconcerted Matrium a cryptic smile and extended her right hand so that Karosyn could confirm her tangibility. The Matrium grasped the warm hand and an exclamation of incredulity burst from her lips. Seemingly delighted by Karosyn’s reaction, the golden haired emissary observed, It seems that I possess a veritable repository of undiscovered talents, Mother…which is fortuitous…as I may require them all to face the ordeal yet to come.

"How does this gift work?" Karosyn inquired, still struggling to reconcile herself to the reality of Lissom’s physical presence…leagues north of Nalosan.

The astral field has opened fully to me, Karosyn…and thus each sister represents a conduit to her physical location…to which I may now travel instantly. As Lissom divulged the mechanics of this unprecedented new ability, an emotion, which Karosyn discerned was pride, dawned in her unfathomable blue eyes. Once my daughters have disbursed, I will be able to travel the width of a continent in the blink of an eye, she further explained. I will now possess the ability to come to the aid of my daughters whenever they find themselves in peril. There never need be an occurrence of the horror that befell our daughter at the hands of that witch in Fairmarch seven years ago.

Staring at the creature before her, Karosyn understood that Lissom came as close to genuine divinity as any Ascentrix who had come before her. Endowed with these new abilities, Lissom was truly the personification of Gyzarayne in the physical world.

This notion was not without its disturbing implications. ‘What have you become, my sweet child?’ Karosyn thought, careful to cloister her thoughts from the entity whom she could scarcely recognize. ‘And What will you yet come to be?’

Like all deities, both benevolent and benign, the day would inevitably arrive when Lissom would regard her children with sufferance…an affectionate forbearance perhaps, but her capacity for genuine empathy would vanish. Would Lissom then become as casually cruel and self-serving as fate itself?

Karosyn did not know, though she could declare, unequivocally, that she could not remain in the service of such a creature. Lissom must have divined some of her Matrium’s festering ambivalence because her tone sharpened and she demanded, Tell me what has come to pass here, Mother.

Karosyn’s gaze was drawn to cold Lyndsyn and despite her sworn intention to face this moment of reckoning with dignity, the Matrium burst into tears. She fell to her knees before Lissom and gripped the fabric of the Ascentrix’s robe in clutching fingers. In a voice distorted by raw anguish, she wailed, Look what has befallen our beautiful daughter.

The next utterance from Lissom would irreparably severe the bond that had connected the two women…a bond which Karosyn had once believed to be inviolable, while confirming her worst fears about the direction of Lissom’s evolution. She is our daughter no more, Matrium. By her own hand, she has squandered her life and thus repudiated her vow to Gyzarayne. I declare her anathema and she will be spoken of amongst the Sisters no further.

Karosyn sat back on her haunches as if physically struck. She peered up at the creature before her as if seeing her for the first time. Through the kaleidoscope of her tears, Lissom appeared monstrous in her obdurate intransigence. Please, Mother…in the name of the life I’ve devoted to the Goddess…to you…do not condemn her thusly!

She extended a beseeching hand to the Ascentrix, who regarded it coldly. In a barely audible voice, Karosyn inquired, Don’t you see that it is I who have failed her…we who have failed her? Hers was a strident wail of despair that we did not heed, so consumed were we with our own concerns. She deserves our pity…not our damnation.

Something rippled across Lissom’s beautiful face…the fleeting resonance of her fading humanity…there and gone in an instant. In its wake, stood a divine vessel whose implacable sensibilities were beyond gentle Karosyn’s comprehension. We will speak of this matter no further, though I will task you with selecting a new First Battle Mage.

Disconcerted and flummoxed by her mistress’ monumental insensitivity, Karosyn bowed her head and signified her understanding with a slight nod. An incisive pain wracked her soul, effectively effacing every last vestige of a love that had been nurtured for over two centuries…burnt to cinders by a few words of unthinkable obduracy.

The Ascentrix continued to speak as though completely unaware of Karosyn’s suffering. You must return the bane to Nalosan with all haste...as we have no way of knowing how Xhendyn’s embedded cantrip will manifest itself. I will return to Nalosan and beseech the king to dispatch an escort to await your party at the border.

Stuart Macevey…his name is Stuart Macevey! Karosyn murmured distantly, unable to lift her gaze to regard the stranger standing before her.

Stuart Macevey, Lissom echoed in a tone that implied that Karosyn had uttered something of little or no relevance.

‘As casually cruel and self-serving as fate, itself.’ Karosyn’s earlier thought echoed in her mind then, a chilling affirmation of her earlier fear. Where Karosyn saw a genuinely good man wrongfully conscripted into a conflict in which he had no real part, Lissom saw only the bane…a tool to serve the Goddess’ great purpose.

With an uncharacteristically mordant snap, Karosyn wiped her eyes and replied, Yes, Ascentrix, Stuart Macevey and he is confused by this immense burden that has been imposed upon him. He travels in the company of a woman of this world, whom he has come to hold dear. It is my intention to inform him that she will be afforded all due courtesy upon our arrival in Nalosan.

Stuart Macevey may well be the singularly most important living creature on this planet…and he will be treated as such, Lissom assured her. The woman, however, may be problematic and she cannot be allowed to become a distraction.

When Karosyn merely nodded distantly and kept her eyes on the worn rug, Lissom placed a hand on her right shoulder and intoned, I know that my decision regarding the First Battle Mage displeases you, Mother…just as I am readily aware that you would willingly shoulder the burden for her death and remorselessly scourge yourself with guilt. If you are guilty of anything, Karosyn Nierosean…it would come in possessing a kind heart that precludes you seeing the truth of another’s…deficiencies. Perhaps it is scant consolation, but when time allows, I will hear of how this tragedy came to pass and though I cannot forgive what she has done, those culpable for contributing to her demise will be held accountable.

When Karosyn still did not comment, Lissom frowned, an incisive pain flaring in her limpid eyes, and declared, Then I will leave you to your preparations, Mother…and eagerly await your return to Nalosan.

There followed the electric sensation that comes with powerful sorcery as Lissom swiftly reverted to a state of swirling golden effulgence. As she passed through Karosyn’s flesh and into the astral dimension, it required all of the Matrium’s discipline not to cry out in revulsion. The process of being employed as a conduit left her feeling ineffably violated.

When the last spasm of disgust had subsided, Karosyn rose and stumbled over to the bed. As she peered down on the detritus of what had once been a beautiful, troubled woman, Karosyn reflected on how she had spent two hundred years in the service of a woman she now could no longer abide and how she had failed the one person who had loved her and needed her the most.

Somewhere, she could hear the voice of fate…that cold-hearted purveyor of black irony…utter it’s mocking laughter.

2

Lissom travelled rapidly through the complex ephemeral network that connected the Sisters of Esotaria like the gossamer strands of a spiderweb.

This uncomplimentary simile caused the Ascentrix to frown and she wondered, not for the first time, how her daughters must perceive her. Did she appear inaccessible and aloof to the point where the Sisters could respect her…but never come to love her?

‘Does it truly matter if they do not? You are Gyzarayne’s divine emissary in the world…here to serve her will and propagate her desire to see women achieve equality with the patriarchs,’ she wondered and then frowned at the subtle dangers inherent in this perspective. How could she possibly champion the cause of female equality and elevation when her own daughters considered her aloof and indifferent to their individual needs and desires? Though she was loath to admit it, Karosyn had been correct; they had both failed Lyndsyn. Both had been aware of the First Battle Mage’s fragility, but neither had made any real effort to intervene…to divine the nature and depth of her despair.

‘True, perhaps, but while Karosyn can wallow in the mire of her self-condemnation, I don’t have the luxury of scourging myself with a flail of guilty regrets,’ the Ascentrix thought ruefully. ‘If Myrhia is set free to run rampant in the world, the failure will be laid exclusively at my feet…as will the burden of confronting her.’

The prospect of confronting this paragon of perpetual darkness filled Lissom with an atavistic dread, though she kept any hint of this trepidation locked in the deepest recesses of her heart. In her mind, Lissom could discern the tendrils of doubt that slithered up from the debilitating muck of her insecurity, seeking to immobilize her with fear.

‘Myrhia has very nearly destroyed the entire Sisterhood…had destroyed the Ascentrix of the day with the casual ease of one crushing an insect. Despite being the most powerful sorceress ever to hold the rank, a part of me remains unconvinced that I am equal to the daunting challenge of beating Myrhia.’

Faced with this myriad of tribulations, could she reasonably be expected to concern herself with the emotional well-being of every one of her daughters…to know the shape of their every fear and anxiety?

Undoubtedly, noble Karosyn would claim that, yes, the tending of their well-being was her obligation. Thoughts of her Matrium drew a perplexed frown to Lissom’s beautiful countenance. Karosyn had seemed reticent, even bitter in the wake of the First Battle Mage’s self-immolation. ‘More puzzling still, that resentment seemed focused entirely upon me,’ Lissom thought, shaking her spectral head in consternation, ‘as if I am the chief cause of Lyndsyn’s demise.’

‘You misconstrue the nature of her displeasure, daughter,’ a voice, ubiquitous and commanding, remarked, echoing like rolling thunder over the astral plane. Lissom came to an abrupt halt, her essence suspended in mid-flight, as the old sense of awe suffused her spirit. ‘The Matrium fears that you recede ever further from your intrinsic humanity…a contention that is not without its legitimate aspects.’

This intimation of failure on her part…of perceived inadequacy…staggered a bewildered Lissom and she asked, ‘Have I disappointed you, Mother…inadvertently failed you in my eagerness to see your will be served?’

There followed a sonorous sigh…the exhalation of a universal deity. Lissom perceived a deep affection in this expression and breathed a sigh of relief.

‘If you are guilty of anything, child, it would be this…in your exuberance to serve my purpose, you have become inured to the spiritual fragility of the mere mortals in your path. Do not allow this mild rebuke to scourge your conscience, daughter, for every deity, every immortal is susceptible to the same subtle danger. I, myself, have felt the tenuous grip on the connection with those who worship me…slip on occasion. It is no easy matter for those for whom the span of a mortal lifetime is the equivalent of the drawing of a short breath…to commiserate with the trials and tribulations these mortals face. Yet, to feel an empathy with these fleeting creatures, to know and care about their fears and aspirations…that, child, is the true measure of divinity.’ Here, Gyzarayne paused, lapsing into a profound silence that seemed to weigh upon the nether space like a palpable touch.

‘You must ward yourself against obduracy, Lissom. You, after all, are my living conduit to my children. Should your heart grow hard and cold through intransigence, that conduit would be sundered.’ After a momentary hesitation, Gyzarayne divulged a stark truth that nearly shattered Lissom’s equilibrium. ‘You have lost the faith of your Matrium and though the relationship you’ve shared may be irreparably damaged, I would have you make every effort to regain her love…to demonstrate to her that you are capable of empathy and compassion for those who have gone astray.’

‘You speak of Lyndsyn?’ she intoned, unable to repress her feeling of being harshly judged for simply enforcing the Goddess’ own edicts on the matter of self-immolation.

‘Yes, daughter…but even I am culpable in what befell this sad, wounded spirit…this poor, lost child whose pain burned as brightly as a star in the firmament. I heard her stark cries for guidance and yet I remained silent in the hope that she would find her own way to subjugate the demons that plagued her spirit.’

‘I don’t understand, Mother…can you bear the burden of every single Sister’s pain…their failings and inadequacies?’ Lissom asked, a quarrelsome edge in her tone. ‘Do mortals have no duplicity in their own misdeeds?’

‘Indeed, they do, but we are also tenders of the flock. When a woman comes before us and lays bare her every imperfection…her faults and inadequacies and sincerely asks for my absolution…I reward her with my divine blessing. I grant this grace with the vain belief that I have bestowed perfect contentment upon the recipient…from whom I have come to expect perfect gratitude. Therein, Lissom, may be found the lesson of my own folly…to expect perfection of an inherently imperfect entity. Such is the concept of a deity.’

Lissom began to offer a response, but faltered, shocked to a baffled silence by Gyzarayne’s admission of flawed judgment. Finally, She inquired, ‘What would you have me do, Mother?’

‘Grant Lyndsyn the rite of dissemination, seek a rapprochement with the Matrium and come to grasp the aspects of her nature that makes her so beloved amongst the Sisters,’ Gyzarayne decreed and though her command was delivered without a hint of chastisement, Lissom could discern an unspoken judgment…Karosyn was adored by the Sisters, while she commanded only a grudging respect.

‘I will strive to please you, Mother,’ Lissom replied dutifully.

‘Lissom, know unequivocally, I have bestowed upon you a far greater measure of my power than any of your predecessors…which is well, because you will face challenges in the coming moons the enormity of which even I could never had anticipated. I have set you to the formidable task of forestalling the emancipation of a creature that would give even a god pause to oppose.’

There followed a slight hesitation and Lissom could discern her Goddess’ ambivalence over what she was about to divulge.

‘If this was not enough, now another shadow rears its vile head, sequestered in darkness and hungry to lay waste to these lands of flickering light,’ the Goddess revealed cryptically.

‘Another threat,’ Lissom echoed, immediately suffused by an anxiety that superseded the idea of greater challenges to face. There was an aspect of fatalism to this vague disclosure of which, Lissom suspected, even omniscient Gyzarayne was unaware.

‘Yes, in a distant land of ubiquitous sand and remorseless, scorching sun, a demon, posing as a deity, has corrupted the minds of men. His corruption has transmogrified these men into misogynistic beasts, who have come to regard all women as a taint…the living embodiment of sin itself.’

Lissom hissed her outrage. ‘Then they are the living antithesis of everything you symbolize…our natural enemies!’

‘Yes!’ Gyzarayne replied. ‘They have divined our presence in this land and they will sally forth…not with a mind to conquer, but to scour the Sisters of Esotaria from the world. They will come in numbers too vast to reckon, and like a raging horde, they will come with fire, intent on leaving only ash and bone in their wake. They must be obliterated to a one. Under their fist, women will be reduced to the role of docile chattel…utterly at the mercy of monsters for whom the concept has no meaning.’

Even in her ephemeral form, Lissom shuddered and asked, ‘How have you come to learn of this threat, Mother?’

‘Evil is a flawed construct, Lissom…a hollow structure without integrity. The arrogant mortal who would command this legion has unwittingly placed a dagger at his own heart. These rampant misogynists, in their supreme arrogance, have created a lethal army of female warriors. These women have been coerced into confessing their ignominy. In exchange, they have been granted absolution and conscripted into this order of holy warriors…a mailed fist to obliterate this demon’s foes.’

‘A dark reflection of our Sisterhood,’ the Ascentrix observed, mortified by the very concept of such degradation…such twisted indoctrination. ‘I’m uncertain how this works to our advantage, Mother?’

‘The woman who would lead this mailed fist has reached out to me in supplication…seeking my guidance and deliverance for her oppressed sisters,’ Gyzarayne disclosed, ‘which I will impart. This leader, who has fashioned himself a prophet, has been granted an artifact that has enshrouded him in a cloak of invulnerability. In the conflict to come, you will divest him of this artifact and the ill-treated daughter will strike a telling blow for the unspeakable torment these women have endured. With this false prophet dead, this zealous firestorm of misogyny will become a puff of smoke.’

Supreme confidence reverberated through the Goddess’ assurance of inevitable victory…infecting Lissom with its certitude. ‘Any obstacle that is set before me, I will overcome in your name, Mother!’

‘I have never doubted you, daughter…yet there is one final admonition that I must deliver to you. Be wary of your entanglement with the aging king. He is pure of spirit, but his true soul defies all comprehension. You are but a moth to its flame and even your heart may not endure its ravaging heat.’

With this rather ambiguous warning delivered, Gyzarayne’s immense presence vanished, leaving a thoroughly bemused Lissom to resume her journey in a storm of turbulent emotions and uncertainties.

3

The iron fibers of Sandalayne’s long thighs seemed to turn to malleable clay as the essence of the Ascentrix passed out of her taut flesh. The spiraling swirl of golden effulgence rapidly coalesced into the shape of Lissom, whom, upon seeing the First Stealth Ranger’s discomfort, firmly gripped the towering woman’s muscular shoulders.

It seems this process of absorption and dispersal is discomforting? Lissom inquired softly.

No…it…it is an honor to serve you thusly, Mother, Sandalayne hastily assured her mistress, though the quaver in her voice and her pallid complexion belied this claim.

Lissom conjured a warm smile and promised, "I will endeavor to devise a less intrusive means of employing my newfound ability. In the interim, I will use it only when absolutely necessary."

Ever stoic, the statuesque blond merely offered the Ascentrix a subtle smile of gratitude. On impulse, Lissom reached forward and gripped Sandalayne’s thick wrist in both hands. The First Stealth Ranger’s eyes widened and she stiffened perceptibly. In that intense reaction, Lissom discerned that both Gyzarayne’s and Karosyn’s contentions were correct…she had lost all synergy with the women over whom she had been given leadership. Somehow, she had become an aloof, inaccessible entity…who inspired fear and anxiety above all other emotions.

She offered the stealth ranger a radiant smile and when she spoke, her voice was humble and apologetic. Sandalayne, I want to apologize for my behavior earlier. I was wrong to chastise you…and grievously wrong to threaten you…that was deplorable, but if you forgive me, I vow to earn your contrition by affording you the respect you deserve.

Sandalayne started to respond, but fell silent, nonplused by the Ascentrix’s unexpected apology…this admission of fallibility. This incredulity only deepened, when Lissom next disclosed, Despite the grim conflict in which we now find ourselves, I want my daughters to know that I am available to them…should they have need of my ear or my guidance. When time allows, I would have you carry this message to your sisters.

I…I will, the normally unflappable Stealth Ranger promised, discomfited by and anxious for this particular cryptic dialogue to end. She could not pretend to fathom the Mother’s motivations, but knew unequivocally that no sister would dare to approach the emissary with their catalogue of trivial concerns and personal woes. If a sister could not master her inner turmoil, she would lay them bare before her Matrium. Amongst the Sisters, Karosyn was regarded as the living epitome of Gyzarayne’s compassion, while Lissom had come to be known as the Goddess’ divine hammer. Sensing a strong, but undefined need in the Ascentrix, Sandalayne elected to say nothing of this.

Seemingly pleased, Lissom gently brushed her fingers over the cruel ridges of the taller woman’s right cheekbone. Come then, we must see the King and make preparations to receive the bane.

4

Artumas was huddled with his consoles in a secondary receiving hall when the Ascentrix swept into the room with her ashen-faced First Stealth Ranger in tow. His Consuls, especially the fastidious Dynok, greeted her unannounced entry with perturbed muttering and severe frowns.

The aging king, however, took no affront at Lissom’s presumption. Unlike his Consuls, who still harbored the delusion that Emercia could persevere on its own, Artumas knew…without reservation…that his nation’s future rode squarely on the shoulders of the mercurial Ascentrix. This alone granted her the right to be privy to his discourses with the Consuls.

Are you well, good lady? He inquired formally, searching her lovely face for any hint of the previous night’s trauma.

Lissom offered the king an amicable smile, her true thoughts hidden behind that indecipherable façade she often wore. I am, good king…the matter at hand makes little allowance for any other state of mind, I fear. I have come to inform you that Queen Lorio and the Matrium have located the bane. As we speak, they have departed the village of Hamlen, in Southern Fairmarch and are travelling along the king’s road toward the border.

This revelation was greeted by an excited chorus of remarks and questions that grated on Lissom’s taut nerves. Unaccustomed to explaining her every thought and action, she wondered how Artumas suffered these impertinent fools. She then recalled Gyzarayne’s gentle lecture and gleaned that his openness was one of the many reasons he had earned the trust and adoration of his people.

How could you possibly know this? Dynok demanded, his suspicious tone skirting the boundary of civility.

Lissom regarded the arrogant cur flatly and replied, I could show you if you wish…but I can assure you it would be a demonstration you would not enjoy.

There will be no need for such theatrics, Artumas interjected gruffly. If the Ascentrix says the bane is within our possession, we may take it as a given and act accordingly.

This is precisely why I saw fit to interrupt your conclave, good king. I would strongly recommend that you dispatch a sizeable force to escort the party to Nalosan once it has crossed into Emercian territory. I would also ask that you allow a contingent of stealth rangers and battle mages to accompany this escort…under the Imperial Army’s command, of course.

Do you anticipate problems? Artumas inquired sharply, cognizant of how Xhendyn’s raids had plagued the country over the past months.

Not specifically, but given the enormous value of the bane, it would be grossly negligent not to take all possible precautions in not seeing him safely back to Nalosan.

Despite the oblique criticism implicit in Lissom’s remark, Artumas could not fail to glean its prudence. Very well…Consul Redrick, I would have you make the arrangements at once. I would also have Captain Esuruban lead the escort. Let’s have them equipped and on the road by the noon bell.

The Consul rose and after soliciting his King’s permission to take his leave, left to comply. Lissom turned to Sandalayne and instructed, Gather the required Sisters, First Stealth Ranger…I would have you personally command our escort…with deference to Captain Esuruban.

In a graceful flourish, Sandalayne knelt and kissed the Ascentrix’s right hand. Then she hurried from the chamber, striding forth like an implacable engine of purpose and resolve.

After the pair had left the hall, Lissom returned her attention to the Emercians, pleased by their comparatively smooth deference to her leadership in the matter. Even Artumas seemed content to allow her to guide the response to this crisis. When the bane is safely in Kammlogran, it is my intention to apprise him of his purpose in being summoned. Hopefully, we will gain some insight as to how he will serve as the ShadowCaster’s bane.

Are you suggesting that you don’t actually know? Dynok demanded, genuinely flabbergasted by this disclosure, while thinking that this particular snippet would prove invaluable to his demonic benefactor.

She regarded Dynok, her expression both sour and grave. The specifics of his purpose are veiled in shadow, as are the powers of the one we know as the ShadowCaster. Fate is a furtive and fickle creature, Consul…one that may well be possessed of a decidedly perverse sense of humor. The bane holds the potential to be the ShadowCaster’s undoing…that much has been revealed to me. It may well be that the exact nature of his role may not be revealed until the two actually come into conflict…where the random mechanics of fate will determine the outcome.

Dynok shook his head in obvious disgust, but did not challenge the explanation, for which the increasingly impatient Lissom was grateful. The Ascentrix turned her gaze on the High King, a new exigency blazing in her placid eyes. We can be assured that Xhendyn will attempt to tip these scales of fate in his favor by seeking to destroy the bane…as evinced by his sly attack on Queen Lorio. I must impress upon you the need for swift and decisive action. Once the bane is firmly under our protection, we must learn the location of the receiver portal. That done, we must move quickly to secure the Enchantress and remove her from these shores. Once that has been achieved, Xhendyn and the ShadowCaster will be reduced to irrelevant nuisances that we may address at our leisure.

As I’ve said, Queen Lorio should be able to apprise us of the portal’s location. If not, Tier Marshal Arminda most certainly can…if she is so inclined, Artumas concluded, his final caveat causing Lissom to bristle.

Good King, the fate of the world may hang in the balance. This Tier Marshal’s inclination to cooperate cannot be permitted to hinder our cause, Lissom intoned, her grim determination etched with menace.

Ascentrix, I would offer a word of advice; rousing this woman’s ire…especially at this particular moment…would be ill-advised. Reason and logic would be much more effective tools in securing the Tier Marshal’s cooperation, Artumas cautioned.

When do you anticipate the Tier Marshal’s arrival? Lissom inquired and the aging Emercia could not gauge her reaction to his advice.

The Tier Marshal is travelling at the head of a force of considerable size. Her communique was dispatched from Eastern Kornas, which means that her army must travel along the great southern trade road and through Norhynan and then here to Nalosan. Even under forced march, it would require nearly a full moon to reach the city.

Lissom’s eyes widened in seething consternation and she rasped, Unacceptable…we must expedite her arrival in Nalosan.

Dynok actually greeted this with a sardonic chuckle and Artumas merely remarked, I’m not certain how we could facilitate that eventuality, good lady.

Lissom flashed a scathing glance at the Consul and then returned her attention to her host, her displeasure radiating in palpable waves. I would ask that you dispatch messengers to implore this Tier Marshall to leave the main body of her army and make her way to Nalosan with a small escort.

Artumas stroked his greying beard thoughtfully, weighing the relative merits of following Lissom’s suggestion. This action seemed to speak of desperation…of precipitous instability. Would Arminda perceive this as an admission that Emercia had fallen into flux…or would she see it as a well-reasoned articulation of the gravity of Emercia’s predicament?"

Sensing his ambivalence, Lissom added sternly, If you require further inducement, consider this…every day that this bane…this Stuart Macevey…remains in Nalosan, the probability that Xhendyn will unleash fell sorcery on your city grows exponentially. While it is likely that I could vanquish anything he might dispatch, you must ask yourself what would remain in the wake of such a conflict.

Artumas recoiled as did the other Consuls, despite their scarcely concealed aversion to what they perceived as her meddling.

As you would have it, Ascentrix. I will draft a communique at once and have it dispatched before the noon bell tolls, the High King agreed, his demeanor grim.

Lissom repressed a satisfied grin. Suddenly feeling the need to extend a magnanimous gesture, she remarked, Good King, it is not my intention to subvert your authority or bludgeon you into acquiescence with baseless dire admonitions. More than anyone, you understand the ineffable threat an emancipated Myrhia represents. My only desire is to avert that grim eventuality. To that end, I will leave you to your business.

She offered the High King a deep bow of deference and strode from the hall, leaving a thoroughly unsettled gathering in her wake.

Chapter Two

1

As the party gathered in the small courtyard of the Laughing Widow Inn, Lorio was acutely aware of the prevailing mood of dejection that hovered over the group. Even Reyfort, the handsome and irreverent rogue who’d attached himself to her service, seemed uncommonly subdued as he leaned casually near the main doors of the Inn.

‘I wonder if you’ve come to regret our meeting?’ the Lamish Queen mused as she furtively watched him from the corner of her eye. ‘Whatever your hidden agenda might be, I suspect the odds are good that you will slip off into the darkness before we reach Nalosan…leaving it unrealized.’

She estimated that the odds were better than even. These types of men, such as venal Reyfort, lived solely for their own benefit and were typically averse to sacrifice or adversity, both of which he would find in terrifying abundance if he remained in her company.

Still, he had not been discouraged by the savage beating he’d suffered at the hands of deadly Issidris and he had made an attempt to intervene when Lyndsyn’s rage toward her had finally boiled to the surface. This was a possible indication of two things…either Reyfort was genuinely devoted to serving her, which she found highly improbable, or he remained in her company to serve a far more sinister purpose…from which he could not disentangle himself. Lorio was far more inclined to accept the latter. Though prudence dictated that she would be wise to snap his neck and bury him in an isolated copse of trees along the King’s Road, Lorio decided to ignore prudence in favor of vigilance.

Her attention slid involuntarily to the crude wagon that she had just purchased from the Inn Keeper for an excessive fee. A single figure, shrouded in white linen, was wrapped on the crude boards of the wagon…her cold flesh another scathing indictment against Lorio’s soul.

‘Yet another victim of the cruel demons of your nature,’ Islena Doraux whispered scornfully. ‘Have you never thought to understand the deficiency that compelled you to mutilate and scar the vulnerable, Lorio…or do such considerations no longer even matter?’

Lorio grimaced, knowing full well that this particular dagger had been forged in the flames when Islena had opted to return to her old world in the wake of Myrhia’s defeat. This particular rationalization had worn paper thin in the intervening years and she did not bother to raise it. Recalling the circumstances under which she had first met Islena Doraux, Lorio was all too aware that this shop worn excuse was nothing more than self-serving deception. Even before Islena’s heart-rending departure, a cruel part of Lorio had derived tremendous pleasure from hurting others…as if there was some form of validation to be had in dispensing pain. She need only conjure the memory of her Captain Esuruban and the humiliating beating to which she had subjected him to corroborate this point.

Time had repeatedly demonstrated that she could no more exorcise this ugly demon than she could draw down the moon. The detritus of squandered humanity lying in the bed of this wagon was branded in her mind’s eye should she ever lose sight of this lamentable truth.

‘And yet you go on,’ the voice of Islena observed, ruthlessly persisting in scourging her host, ‘like an avalanche tearing mindlessly down the side of a mountain…following the path of least resistance and laying waste to everything in its way…you trundle steadily forward, converging on your next victim.’

I do at that, Lorio murmured softly and her troubled gaze slid from Lyndsyn’s remains to a spot near the rear of the wagon where Issidris Il was engaged in a quiet but fraught conversation with Karosyn. Issidris was uncharacteristically animated, while Karosyn’s expressive blue eyes appeared listless, her keen pain yet another injustice to which the immortal could lay claim. The Matrium nodded wanly, acceding to what Lorio knew to be Issidris’ request to be freed from the Sisters’ claim over her soul. Issidris attempted to reach for the Matrium’s right hand, but Karosyn snatched it away and retreated a pace as if the assassin might be carrying an infectious disease. She then turned abruptly on heel and strode into the Inn, her eyes downcast and her once square shoulders hunched beneath the burden of her grief.

Issidris watched her go and then turned her puzzled gaze toward the Lamish Queen before drifting off to ready her horse for departure. Had there been an accusatory glint in those black eyes the instant before she’d turned away? Lorio felt certain there had.

‘Perhaps you should return to Lamia and turn yourself over to mad Sygeanor,’ Islena suggested. ‘It would avert a bloody war and undoubtedly, Sygeanor could devise an endless variety of ways in which you could atone for your many transgressions.’

Thoughts of poor, hapless Lamia and her dereliction of duty to its beleaguered people provoked a groan of consternation from the statuesque, raven-haired beauty and she savagely banished them from her mind, knowing that the fetters of fate had denied her even that minimal comfort.

Karosyn emerged from the inn just then, with Rurhic Zan in tow, following the Matrium like a fearful dog that is desperately anxious to ingratiate itself with its master. Conspicuously absent was the liquid grace with which the tall blond had once moved, having given way to a mechanical gait that spoke of a mindless subservience to some terrible and inexorable purpose. She stopped directly before Lorio and when she spoke, her toneless voice seemed to match her listless movements exactly…devoid of emotion and vitality. Innkeeper Zan has agreed to provide us with extra horses. Once they are hitched, I would like to depart at once.

Lorio nodded and thanked the innkeeper, before dropping a plump coin purse into his hands.

For the inconvenience…and your continuing discretion, Lorio intoned with just the slightest suggestion of menace in her voice. Rurhic’s watery eyes widened, but he signified his understanding with a slight nod. He then offered both daunting women a half bow and hurried away, clearly grateful to be out of their disturbing presence.

As she watched the departing innkeeper scurry into the false sanctuary of his inn, Karosyn informed the Lamish Queen, I have one final request that I would ask of you. The Ascentrix has declared Lyndsyn anathema in accordance with Gyzarayne’s law regarding self-immolation. By this proclamation, Lyndsyn is eternally damned…consigned to oblivion and forgotten. It is my intention to grant her a passage in the tradition of my homeland. I pray that, somewhere in the firmament, there dwells a merciful, benevolent god who will take pity on the forlorn and the broken…and who will grant Lyndsyn this one final act of kindness.

Whatever you would have me do, you need only ask, Lorio replied softly, her voice tremulous with emotion.

The Matrium seemed to regard Lorio’s sorrow with utter indifference, though she managed a wan nod. As we crossed the border, I noticed that we were close to what I presumed was the ocean. I know that time is of the essence, but I would ask that we stop there, I would like to perform the ceremony beneath the face of the moon.

The body of water is the Bay of Imerlac, Lorio declared, and we will stop for whatever length of time you require to see your ceremony completed.

Karosyn’s only response was a tacit nod and she started to turn away, when on impulse, Lorio remarked, This Goddess you serve is a harsh mistress if she would forsake her children in the extremity of their torment and suffering. A Goddess without pity hardly seems worth serving.

Karosyn hesitated and turned back to Lorio, her tapered right eyebrow arched in either bemusement or genuine intrigue. You hardly seem like the kind of person who would expend any measure of time pondering the nature of the gods and their entitlement to adoration.

Perhaps not and it’s true that I’ve never placed a great deal of faith in the worship of a deity who would care about the scurrying ants beneath its feet. The only deity I ever encountered…Otaru Ree is her name…is the most evil, heartless monster I ever had the misfortune of meeting. Still, as I’m sure you would readily attest, I can recognize cruelty when it rears its ugly head. For both your Goddess and her emissary to abandon one of their own because she could no longer bear her burden…that is the very definition of callous cruelty.

Karosyn frowned, but offered no comment, instead disclosing, It is my intention to renounce my oath to the Sisters upon our return to Nalosan. The responsibility of safely escorting the bane to Lissom is now entirely yours.

Lorio’s eyes grew comically wide, thinking that she had either misheard or misconstrued Karosyn’s intention. She groped for an appropriate response and could only muster, Why?

Karosyn regarded the Lamish Queen for a moment and for the first time since she’d emerged from her room earlier, she displayed a measure of animation. The answer to your question comes from your own astute observation on the worthiness of deities to be worshipped. In truth, I have exhausted my purpose. Lissom has moved beyond the need of my counsel and by deserting Lyndsyn, Gyzarayne has relinquished her claim to my soul. I find that I am left with this one solemn obligation…and beyond that…

Karosyn allowed the prospect for her future to remain unspoken, but the grim implication was exceedingly clear. Mortified by the dark specter of this noble woman’s capitulation, Lorio seized the woman’s slender wrist and implored, Karosyn, even if you choose to leave the Sisters of Esotaria, Artumas will gladly grant you sanctuary. You’re such an ingenuous creature that you remain blind to the fact that the king is smitten with you. Do you understand what I am saying, Karosyn…this man is yours for the asking.

Karosyn’s face contorted in a brief spasm of acute pain and she gently, but firmly disengaged her wrist. If a claim is to be laid upon King Artumas’ heart, it will be Lissom who lays it.

Lorio shook her head in vehement denial. I know Artumas as well as anyone alive and I can tell you, with unequivocal certainty, that when his gaze falls upon you, a light dawns in his eyes, a light that has not shone there in all of the years I’ve known him.

It abruptly dawned upon Lorio that she had imparted this exact same advice to Issidris Il before the assassin’s savage rejection had driven Lyndsyn to take her own life. Frowning fiercely at this recollection, Lorio offered, If you refuse to grant yourself the requiem of unconditional love in deference to a creature for who love is probably impossible, then return with me to Lamia. I am a woeful excuse for a Queen and my people are lost souls. We have desperate need of your gentle and just heart and wise guidance.

Karosyn’s expression became pensive and then sorrowful. I bear no animosity towards you, but when my gaze falls upon you…I see only Lyndsyn…unloved and condemned…hanging from a length of stable rope in that squalid little room. In your eyes…so expressive and darkly vital…I see her chilling flesh wrapped in the cerement of the grave. When we reached Nalosan…I never want to set eyes upon you again.

A sharp, wounded hiss tore from Lorio’s full lips and she recoiled as if she’d been doused in scalding water. Now it was Karosyn’s turn to grip Lorio’s muscular right forearm. The Matrium’s gaze shifted to Issidris, who was watching the pair intently in what appeared to be a state of transfixed horror. This morning, Issidris confessed that it had been her intention to follow Lyndsyn into the void, but you prevented her from taking her own life with your customary deftness. I can’t decide if conscripting her to be your moral compass is the very quintessence of madness or pure genius. For what it matters, I have given her my blessing, though I suspect that Lissom may be disinclined to allow such a valuable tool to simply wander away.

She will if she wants my continued cooperation in protecting Stuart Macevey. I can be an intransigent bitch when the need arises.

Of that I know all too well, Karosyn remarked curtly, though she wore the pained expression of a woman confronted by a loathsome truth that she was powerless to alter. Issidris Il’s heart has been vitiated to a point where even your brand of impetuous cruelty can scar it no further. It is you I fear for, Lorio, because hers is a perfect darkness that no light can illuminate…and it may well efface the last vestiges of humanity from your soul.

With this dire prediction delivered, Karosyn abruptly spun about and strode away, leaving a thoroughly disconcerted Lorio staring after her.

Sometime later, the group…six living and one dead…left Hamlen, headed toward an unknowable future. There was very little conversation as they rode south. Any sense of community…of common purpose…had been irreparably shattered by the black passage of events.

The six rode in a brooding, oppressive silence, grappling with the fears and anxieties of their individual futures.

2

The first thing that drew Captain Nartera Dateel’s attention, upon entering the charred husk of Natur, was the strident buzzing of insects. As she drew her horse to a halt and removed her helm, the frenetic buzz of untold millions of feasting carrion insects rang in the confines of her skull like the voice of madness itself.

She raised her mailed right fist and her squad of heavily armed cavalry troops came to a halt. As the twenty men and women peered over the remains of the isolated hamlet, every face wore an identical expression of revulsion and shock. Nothing in Nartera’s career had prepared her for the grizzly sprawl of carnage over which her bewildered gaze now crawled. She ran her fingers through her short brown hair and slid lithely from her horse with the absent-minded grace of one who has spent a good portion of her life in the saddle.

It had been a travelling merchant, making a routine delivery of dried goods, who had first discovered the gruesome aftermath of the ShadowCaster’s lethal experiment. He had ridden to the town of Ionenburg, some ten leagues distant, to report the atrocity. Nartera and her squad had, in turn, been dispatched to investigate.

As she stood on the southern edge of the village, trying to internalize the horror her eyes were conveying, Dateel found that its scope left her completely immobilized. She could feel the palpable weight of her squad’s collective gaze upon her back and it was this that finally broke her paralysis. The young troopers were expecting their senior officer to provide them with guidance and direction in the face of this unspeakable act of evil…as if order and structure could somehow attenuate the ugliness that now confronted them. Blessed with an agile, incisive mind and a natural sense of leadership, Nartera responded to that need, even though her stomach brayed a queasy protest every time her gaze happened upon a charred or desiccating, fly-ridden corpse.

She turned to face her squad, a glacial calm descending over her disciplined mind as she issued a brisk series of commands. With her silver inlaid vambraces flashing in the late afternoon sun, Captain Dateel gestured to a specific point in the village that had attracted her interest. Fan out and search the ruins for any sign of what might have ignited the blaze. Report anything unusual you might come across…however minor. Adjutant, have a half dozen troopers begin digging a mass grave just beyond the eastern edge of the village.

The Adjutant’s face blanched as a moue of distaste rippled over his angular features. By the standards of the Antiquated World, Galloway was an exceptionally lawful and tranquil country. Violent death on this magnitude was exceedingly rare and even the soldiers had not grown inured to its grim countenance.

As her Adjutant selected the members of this impromptu burial detail and the remaining troopers spread out to search the ruins and immediate forest surrounding the hamlet, Nartera began to pick her way along the short stretch of roadway. Her inquisitive mind quickly fastened on several peculiarities as she approached the nearest body, raising a cloud of buzzing flies that protested her interruption of their feast.

The stench of desiccating flesh assailed her nostrils…intolerable in its cloying intensity. The face of the corpse was a glistening, blackened horror well along the road to decomposition. Steeling herself against the threat of nausea, the Captain pressed her gloved hand over her mouth and nostrils and knelt beside the corpse.

The cause of death became immediately evident. The unfortunate villager’s throat had been laid open from ear to ear…a precise wound that caused Nartera to wonder how it could have been inflicted so cleanly.

Rising on unsteady legs, the Captain made her way slowly along the corpse strewn street. By the time she’d reached the blackened skeleton of the wooden structure at the opposite end of the street, she had examined twenty-two corpses, most of which had died from lethal throat wounds similar to the first. The one notable exception was the splattered detritus of a man who had apparently plunged from the heavens, so widely scattered were his remains.

Nartera shifted her regard to the top of the looming escarpment, shaking her head in dismay…and a deepening sense of primal, yet unformed dread. Even if the deceased had charged the precipice on a dead run, the body’s displacement from the vertical face was simply too great to explain how the corpse could possibly land in this specific position.

Captain…what happened here? a bewildered voice inquired, startling Nartera out of her contemplation. She turned quickly to find her ashen-faced Adjutant regarding her, his pallor reminding her of aged cheese. His voice had assumed a tremulous quaver that spoke eloquently of how profoundly he had been affected by this inexplicable carnage. She eyed him, her impatience apparent, and he blurted, They’re all dead, Captain…the entire village has been massacred. There are thirty bodies in the burnt houses…a lot are children…babies… At this, he faltered, struggling valiantly to fight back tears of grief. After an uncomfortable moment, he regained his composure sufficiently to continue his report. There are more bodies scattered throughout the forest as if some had tried to flee blindly, running in every direction.

With a haunted light in his pale blue eyes, he concluded, None of them managed to get very far into the forest before they were cut down. Could it be the same gang of brigands that has been attacking the merchant caravans in Emercia? Gazing about in stunned bewilderment, he grumbled, How many men would it require to do something like this?

Captain Dateel’s incisive gaze surveyed the killing field, thinking that she could almost discern an abstract pattern in the apparently random arrangement of bodies. An idea germinated in her mind then…one so patently absurd that it drew a humorless grin to her lips…an irreconcilable notion that all this carnage had been committed by a solitary man.

That was ludicrous, of course…so thoroughly fatuous that she did not even give it voice. Still, the impression persisted, gnawing at her insides like a festering ulcer. Noncommittally, she muttered, It’s possible…though there is little monetary gain to be had by plundering places such as Natur.

The Adjutant frowned. I’ve heard it said that the Emercian caravans were destroyed…not plundered…as if the object of the attacks was to terrorize rather than rob.

If that is the case, then the perpetrators have certainly achieved their objective here. I doubt that there will be a village or town in Eastern Galloway that will not be stricken with angst once word of this atrocity spreads, Nartera observed and then instructed, Let’s give these villagers a proper burial. Select a pair of troops and I will draft a message that they can carry to the Emercian border guards. Authorities there should be apprised of what has occurred here if there is even a remote chance that it might be connected with their own prevailing troubles.

The Adjutant, who could discern his superior’s extreme disquiet, asked in a low, anxious voice, Do you believe this was an isolated incident?

Let us hope that it is but let us exercise due diligence in the event that it is not, the Captain replied, offering the standard rhetoric. Sensing his Captain’s need for solitude, the Adjutant saluted and then moved off to organize the collecting and burial of bodies.

Nartera shook her head and her pale blue eyes began to brim with tears, hardly able to accept that she was about to consign an entire enclave of humanity…however small and humble…to the earth.

Unaware of the ineffable horror yet to come, she could not envision a more terrible endeavor.

3

As Dynok strolled through the bustling merchant quarter, distractedly perusing the vast array of wares spread over trestle tables that sagged beneath their weight, it occurred to him that a destruction of a full third of the city had did little to curtail its commerce. This life blood of the nation, raw and vulgar, continued to flow, unabated by the gruesome death of its poorer citizens.

As he prepared to examine a display of gaudy, poorly tailored doublets, he wondered if Xhendyn’s meting out of death had been undertaken with a thought to preserving the social order. The impoverished, after all, served little legitimate purpose in the world. Devoid of both gifts and art, they were merely fodder, whose only real purpose was to undertake menial and distasteful tasks that were necessary to maintain order and function in a civilized nation.

True, the conflagration had incinerated a huge portion of the beasts who performed these dray horse tasks…both legal and otherwise. ‘Still, the rabble are like insects and vermin, breeding in numbers too vast to account,’ he thought with a rueful frown. ‘They will replenish soon enough and occasional culling only served to improve the species as a whole.’

Dynok’s thoughts turned from this ungenerous assessment of the general worth of the impoverished to the entity who had engineered their wholesale incineration. Xhendyn would be eager to learn that this mysterious bane had been located and was presently being squired back to Nalosan.

After a brief period of vacillation, the King’s Consul had dispatched word, through the usual unsavory sources, that he wished to meet with the entity. After the slaughter at the Pitted Blade, those contacts were understandably reluctant to come forth and relay the message, but it was amazing how even a few casually uttered words of menace could result in a more amenable disposition. Now, Dynok found himself strolling along this promontory, casually inspecting appallingly cheap articles of clothing that were an affront to his cultivated sense of fashion, while awaiting the appearance of a monster.

Before the meddlesome gaggle of sorcery-wielding bitches had made their unexpected appearance, Dynok had been supremely confident that his treacherous alignment with Myrhia’s henchman had been a prudent decision. Artumas and his coterie of imbeciles were to Xhendyn as crawling insects were to an avalanche. That he had elected to align himself to an evil of monstrous proportion was only marginally troublesome as Dynok much preferred to be on the side of the victor than moldering in a grave with the just and noble.

With the coming of the Sisters of Esotaria and their daunting Ascentrix, that disparity in power may well have been reversed. After Lissom had destroyed the fire construct, Xhendyn and his purportedly invulnerable viper had fled Nalosan like a pair of scalded dogs.

Leaving me alone, Dynok murmured resentfully, drawing a suspicious glance from a nearby stall keeper. The Consul lashed the wretch with an imperious glare and the man prudently averted his gaze. As he turned away from the stall and resumed his meandering stroll through the plaza, Dynok reached the rather dismal conclusion that his ambivalence served little practical purpose. Once one set off down the slippery slope of treason, there was little latitude for a reversal of course. While many considered it nefariously clever to play both sides of a deadly conflict, Dynok subscribed to the notion that this course of action usually led to a twice dead gamesman.

No, he had thrown his lot in with the demonic entity and the eternal evil which that entity was attempting to emancipate. There could be no going back and thus it would be expedient to do all he could to tip the scales in Xhendyn’s favor.

A judicious choice, Consul, to be sure, a deep, ominous voice remarked from over his shoulder. The flesh at the base of Dynok’s spine contracted into frigid knots and he turned, expecting to find Myrhia’s terrifying construct standing in the busy plaza in broad daylight.

Instead, he found himself confronted by a stringy-haired, appallingly dirty scarecrow, whose grime-encrusted skin reminded Dynok of dirty leather. The man smiled and the Consul was accosted by a wave of hot breath so rank that the fastidious nobleman nearly gagged. The stench reminded him of sewage pits and charnel houses, and he wondered what manner of pernicious disease such a wastrel might carry. The green and black stumps that passed for his teeth very nearly caused Dynok to turn and flee.

The face of indigence…of a human life abandoned to the ravages of ill fortune does make for a disturbing portrait, the derelict laughed in a deep bass that seemed to vibrate in Dynok’s clenched viscera.

Dynok’s thin, angular face contracted into a frown of dismay, disturbed by the entity’s choice of vessel…as if this particular selection was tantamount to an admission of weakness. Sensing the Consul’s revulsion, if not its underlying cause, Xhendyn