Beastmaster picked up the sword and winced when it stung his hand. He was neither a warrior nor an undead, so why was she giving him a Hell-forged sword he didn’t know how to use? He’d held swords before, though not since he was an actual kid and he’d certainly never wielded one in battle.

  First time for everything.

  The niche doors clunked into place and the golems stepped into the hall before turning to face him. As one they said, “You are a trespasser. By command of the overmages, you must be slain.”

  Beastmaster wrapped his hands in ether and the stinging went away. Next, he infused his body with power. He might not be a warrior, but you didn’t have to be a genius to swing a sword.

  He kicked the ground and rushed toward the nearest golem.

  He swung with all his might and hacked its leg off at the knee.

  That went pretty well.

  His enhanced speed saved him from a backhand that would have caved his head in.

  Right, can’t get distracted in the middle of a fight.

  Swinging like mad, his body powered by ether, Beastmaster dispatched the first four golems in seconds. He left their parts on the floor and moved on.

  The iron men did their best to stop him, but they were too slow and stupid to keep up with him. Against a normal opponent, he had no doubt they’d make quick work of them. Against him, they were more annoyance than threat.

  At least they broke the monotony.

  Two minutes after his first swing, all but the original golem lay unmoving on the floor. Golem One’s eyes flashed red and Beastmaster feared more reinforcements would be on the way, but nothing happened.

  They stared at each other for a few seconds then Beastmaster got bored, sprinted in, and hacked the golem’s legs off.

  It crashed to the floor. “You are a—”

  A final hard blow separated its head from its neck.

  He wiped the sweat from his brow and released his spells. He hadn’t been in a real fight for a long time. It was kind of fun. Maybe he’d have to try joining his pets when they went hunting.

  Out of curiosity he went to the nearest niche and glanced inside. Nothing there beyond a circle of those unreadable runes on the floor. They crackled in his magical vision. Probably some kind of sustaining spell for the golems. Not his area of expertise, but he knew enough about golem crafting to understand the basic principles.

  He debated reporting in and immediately dismissed the idea. She said not to bother her and he had no intention of disobeying. He’d gotten yelled at enough for one day.

  Beastmaster grinned at the many pieces of golem littering the floor. Maybe he could at least make himself a chair out of all this mess.

  Fane’s lips twisted in barely controlled rage with each crash as Beastmaster hacked the golems to pieces. There were only ten runes left to decode. She was so close, but how could anyone concentrate with all that racket? Not that there was a quiet way to cut through metal, but couldn’t he at least hurry up? She wanted this done and then she wanted to find Khashair and take out all her frustration on him.

  Without his precious power boost, the arrogant overmage would quickly find out which of them held the greatest power. Fane was very much looking forward to ripping his head off and feeding it to her undead slaves.

  When a few seconds passed without a clash of metal she let out a breath. He was finally done.

  Turning her attention back to the control panel, she started coaxing one of the remaining runes. It resisted at first, but she had plenty of practice translating them and after a few seconds it yielded its meaning. Finding an unmarked spot of the floor to burn the translation was getting to be a bigger challenge than actually translating.

  Three tedious hours later Fane was done. She knew what every rune meant. Now, how to shut off the flow of bile?

  First, she needed to drain the pipes and surface pits into the underground lakes or “lagoons” as the runes called them. She touched the rune marked “drain” and watched the glowing map. Seconds passed and nothing happened.

  That had been the correct rune, she knew it. So why didn’t it work?

  Fane looked around again for some instructions, but there was nothing beyond the rune-marked control panel. No doubt whichever lackey ran this place would’ve already known how to activate the runes.

  She tried holding her finger on the rune with equally poor results. Snarling and baring her fangs, she sent a burst of ether into the rune. Either the damn thing would activate or she’d burn it out. At this point, she’d had enough screwing around.

  Happily, the ether flowed into the rune, it glowed red, and the board above lit up. It seemed to be working, but there was only one way to be sure.

  Closing her eyes, she sent her sight soaring up and out of the control room. She hissed at the bright daylight, but it didn’t actually hurt her ethereal construct. Fane had explored around here before during her search for the Black Iron Empire’s capital. It took only a moment to orient herself and fly back down into the earth.

  She stuck her insubstantial eyes into a pipe and found it flowing with bile. Flying along with the flow, she reached a lagoon and watched as bile poured in from a number of pipes. Looked like the system was working just like she wanted.

  Good. Now all she needed to do was wait. Once the pipes had fully drained, she’d hunt down Khashair and then they’d find out for real which of them was stronger.

  Chapter 23

  The sleigh carrying Joran, Mia, and their guide slowed to a stop about two miles from the imperial border. They’d made good time despite a late-season snow storm two days ago. Four inches of fresh powder didn’t trouble the reindeer in the least.

  Despite their guide’s offer to take them right to the fort, Joran deemed it best not to let Commander Ramirus see them with the locals. It would bring questions he had no desire to answer before talking to Alexandra and the emperor. Hopefully they’d be pleased to hear the empire didn’t have a hostile civilization on its western border.

  “Is that our dragon ship?” Mia asked.

  Joran frowned and looked up. Sure enough, a dragon ship hung in the air above the unseen fort. A little shiver ran up his spine. They wouldn’t have come back before receiving Joran’s message unless something serious had happened.

  He hurried to climb down. Forcing his growing anxiety aside, Joran turned back to their guide. He still hadn’t gotten the man’s name. Or at least he hadn’t gotten it spoken slowly enough that he learned the pronunciation.

  “Thank you very much for your help. The introductions and traveling by sleigh saved us weeks.” Joran held out his hand. “I hope I have a chance to return and visit your land again.”

  Their guide grasped his hand in the imperial style rather than his wrist as was done here. “You will be welcome, Joran. Have a safe journey home.”

  The man spoke with deliberate slowness to allow Joran to understand his words. Despite their time together, Joran still couldn’t figure out how they spoke so fast and all at the same time yet still perfectly understood each other. He suspected there was magic involved, but saw nothing when he looked through the ether.

  The second sleigh had joined them and Stoneheart and Grub climbed out. After a few brief words of goodbye, their guides were on the move again, this time back to their village. The visit had been brief, but Joran found he both liked and respected these people more than any other he’d visited so far. Their open honesty was a balm to his cynical soul.

  “Why’s our dragon ship here?” Stoneheart asked.

  “I don’t know, but I’m eager to find out.” Joran set out for the fort at a brisk walk. The snow was slippery enough to make anything faster iffy.

  Part of him, the part that worried about Alexandra, wanted to run. Lucky for him, the prudent part pointed out that she was likely safer at the palace than he was in the middle of nowhere. The One God above, he hoped that was the truth.

  Half an hour later they reached the fort and found the gate open and Ramirus waiting in the courtyard. He wore enough clothes to make you think he planned a visit to the top of the highest mountain. What interested Joran was the scroll clutched in his trembling right hand.

  “Message, Lord Den Cade,” he said.

  Throat tight and mouth so dry he couldn’t speak, Joran accepted the scroll and unrolled it. Mia edged closer and read along with him. A wizard had attacked the palace in Tiber. Alexandra and her family escaped and were safe, or at least as safe as possible under the circumstances. They planned to stop at the Fourth Legion barracks before moving on to the church fortress. She wanted him to meet her at one or the other as quickly as possible.

  “Signal the dragon ship, Commander,” Joran said. “We’re leaving.”

  “Bad news, my lord?”

  “Exceedingly bad. Despite the cold, you should thank your lucky star that you were posted here—it may well have saved your life.”

  Ramirus barked an order and a legionnaire nearby waved a large red flag. A moment later the gondola started to descend.

  He touched his fist to his heart. “Safe journey, Lord Den Cade.”

  “Thank you, Ramirus. And take heart, spring isn’t that far away.”

  “You’ve clearly never spent time in the mountains. The cherry trees will be blossoming in Tiber while we still have a foot of snow.”

  Joran grinned, clapped him on the shoulder, and strode toward the gondola. A single crewman opened the door for him. A minute later they were all inside and on their way up. Calming his racing mind proved impossible until Mia touched his back. Peace flooded through him and he let out a long breath.

  “I know she’s safe, or was when she wrote the letter, but I won’t really believe it until I see her with my own eyes.”

  “Have faith,” Mia said. “This is the Iron Princess we’re talking about.”

  He nodded. Joran appreciated her trying to cheer him up, but they both knew that the Iron Princess was in large measure an act. Not that he would ever underestimate Alexandra, especially if she had an army to command. But they’d learned to their detriment that when magic was involved, you couldn’t count on anything.

  As soon as the gondola locked in place, Joran went straight to the bridge. Everyone stood at rigid attention when he arrived. The captain might not know what the scroll said, but he knew it had to be serious.

  “Orders, my lord?”

  “We’re going to the east coast. Make a long loop well to the north of Tiber. I begrudge the time, but we can’t risk getting close.”

  “Beg pardon, my lord, but that area is sealed by the church. No one is allowed to pass whether on foot or by dragon ship.”

  “Unless they have some way of stopping us, that’s the way we’re going. Assuming you don’t want to take our chances with a wizard powerful enough to drive off the First and Second legions.”

  The captain’s throat worked as he tried to swallow. No one wanted to get on the wrong side of the church, but getting blasted out of the sky would be far worse. Especially since it meant he wouldn’t be able to help Alexandra.

  “If anyone complains, I’ll take full responsibility. You’re just following orders. Fair enough?”

  “As you command, my lord.” He shouted an order down the speaking tube and seconds later they were moving.

  “We’ll be in our cabin. If anything out of the ordinary happens, come get me at once.” Joran didn’t wait for a reply as he strode out of the bridge.

  As soon as they were out of earshot Mia asked, “What do you think the church wants to hide?”

  “I have no idea and right now I don’t especially care. All that matters is getting to Alexandra in one piece.” Joran frowned when a thought occurred to him. “Didn’t Rufious say that Samaritan went northeast when he tried to find the Prophet’s homeland? I wonder if that’s what they’re hiding. You just know a past pope had to have sent a team to investigate the fraud.”

  “That would certainly explain why the church doesn’t want anyone exploring the area. Then again, from what I’ve seen, it’s well within the realm of possibility that there’s something horrible and evil in the area that they’re keeping secret.”

  Joran set his kit on the floor and flopped into his hammock. “They do like their secrets. I’m going to try and rest. It’s been a long few days.”

  Mia nodded and settled in one of the room’s two chairs.

  Joran closed his eyes, but couldn’t stop thinking about what waited for them. Whatever they found, he doubted it would be pleasant.

  Chapter 24

  Khashair sat in a dark corner of his armory and stared at nothing in particular. Since failing to kill the emperor and pope, he’d been stricken by overwhelming depression. He recognized it as coming from Samaritan, yet even knowing that, he couldn’t force himself to act. When they returned, he barely found the will to order his soldiers to train above ground so they wouldn’t see him like this. If they did, magical binding or not, he might lose them.

  Despite fighting with every ounce of will he could muster, Khashair still failed to overcome Samaritan. It was impossible, intolerable, yet no less true.

  You said you’d destroy the empire and kill the ones that betrayed me. You said you had the power to grant me my revenge. And what did you accomplish? You killed a bunch of guards and soldiers that will be replaced in a year.

  Khashair’s mind raced. Samaritan’s consciousness had finally made contact. He needed to snap him out of this funk now, before he vanished back into the recesses of his mind.

  “What about your friend? The one in Dwarfhome. Are we just going to sit here in the dark while he languishes in that cell?”

  Titus. He must be freed.

  “He will be, if you help me. You need to shake off your mood. Let me do what needs doing.”

  Khashair waited, forcing himself not to hold his breath.

  Slowly the fog of depression lifted and soon steely determination replaced it. Thank heaven. He sprang to his feet and hurried outside. The cultists were standing in neat lines swinging swords and giving a credible impression of being soldiers. From the length of the shadows, he guessed noon had passed not that long ago. Perfect, they should be fed and ready to fight.

  “My friends!” he said. When everyone had stopped their practice and turned to look at him, he continued. “I have completed my preparations. The time has come to make our next strike on the corrupt empire. The wealthiest province will feel our wrath. Ready yourselves, we go to Dwarfhome.”

  They didn’t cheer. The magical alterations his potion had made rendered them incapable of powerful emotions. Instead, they hastened to strap on their black armor. In minutes, his little army stood at attention, ready to march once more into battle.

  He offered a thin smile and reached for the bile running under this tower. The smile vanished when he found less than he expected. The flow of bile rose and fell from time to time, but this felt different.

  Titus is waiting.

  He shook off his hesitation. There was plenty for what he needed and Khashair didn’t dare delay lest he lose his unpredictable partner to a second bout of depression.

  A portal opened at his command and the soldiers surged through ahead of him. An instant later Khashair appeared in a massive cavern filled with stone buildings. To his right waited a walled compound where they’d seen Titus and to his left was the bulk of the city.

  A shout went up and a century of dwarves in heavy armor and carrying axes came charging toward them. The numbers were about equal, but black iron weapons were far stronger than steel ones.

  Khashair left them to fight and made his way toward the walled compound. Crossbow bolts clattered off his shield as he drew closer. Twenty guards stood outside in front of the portcullis, shields locked.

  He shook his head and pointed.

  A bile-enhanced fireball shot out.

  The explosion sent bodies flying in every direction.

  With the path clear, he pointed again, this time at the iron bars blocking his way. They glowed red then blue then finally white before melting into puddles of slag.

  He stepped through and glanced left and right. There had to be more guards than the twenty out front.

  With a shrug, Khashair strode toward the larger building. Magic crashed into the heavy iron door, blowing it inward and reducing it to a twisted mass of scrap.

  No soldiers waited on the other side. In fact, the entry hall held nothing save a few blocky decorations. Where the hell was everyone?

  Titus is on the second floor.

  Right, best rescue the unlucky fool before Samaritan decided to do something unwise like try and take over his body.

  A set of stairs waited not far from the entrance and he climbed them. Reaching out with his magic, he sensed only one life force. Curious now, he pressed the spell out further and confirmed that there was only one person in the entire building.

  Khashair clenched his fist. They’d been warned. That’s why everyone of any importance was missing. They were hiding from him. He buried his rage at the delay Samaritan caused and hurried toward the person he sensed.

  Just as he’d hoped, he soon found himself standing in front of the same door he’d seen during his earlier scouting run. The man inside lying on the bed looked to be in good shape; no signs of abuse or torture were visible.

  Of course not. The Den Cade family is an important one. The governor wouldn’t do anything that might offend them.

  “Would they not be offended by having a member of the family locked up?”

  Not if another member asked them to do it.

  Khashair placed a hand on the door and blasted it to ash.

  Titus sat up and stared for a moment then said, “Bellator? How…? What happened?”

  “That is a long story. The important thing is that I’m here to get you to safety. Follow me.”

  Titus didn’t move. “Are you okay? You sound different.”

  Let me talk to him, just for a moment.

  Khashair checked again, but there was still no one in the building. It seemed the cowards didn’t even plan on trying to fight him. He had to give them credit for intelligence at least.

 

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