The Ivory King gave a great, ragged sigh.

My lord?

Alsanna's voice was no voice at all, but an echo in the mind of the one she "spoke" to. For this, she was called the Silent Oracle by the people of Eleum Loyce.

"The portals will open."

The King pushed himself upright, thrusting the coverlet off his body. Even in middle age, the former knight of Forossa possessed the body of a warrior, skin marked by the scars of the countless battles of his youth over hard muscle. Life as a ruler had not added fat to his body, for he was always the first to take up arms when needed, commanding his knights from the front line of the battle. His hair and beard were shot through with gray and lines marked the edge of his stormcloud eyes, but there was not a hint of weakness in his form and figure.

Weakness, though, was what he was confessing.

No; I cannot believe it...

"You must."

No! she protested again.

He nodded once, solemnly.

"I can hold them no longer."

A shudder ran through her. Alsanna knew all too well what his statement meant. The great cathedral the King had reared above Old Chaos had one purpose: to focus the power of his own soul, his own will on the portals that led into the lost land of flame. When those portals had opened, he had led the expedition that beat the demons back, as legend said the host of the ancient Lord of Sunlight once had done, and he had sealed them away, keeping them barred from the world.

But those portals had been breached. Like the gates of Eleum Loyce itself, what could not be battered down by any amount of force could be opened from inside with relative ease. It was the curse of the undead that lay at the heart of it all, he thought. The fear of corruption, of going Hollow and losing forever one's very self had corrupted the fallen priestess that had been once thought a saint, and she had descended to Old Chaos in the desperate hope that the flame of that Chaos could re-ignite the spark of life within her.

She had been wrong.

And the spark that she had lit ate away at the borders, degrading the force of the King's very soul.

I hate her, Alsanna snapped bitterly. Her hands were clenched so tightly that the nails bit into her palms.

The King sighed. He reached out, his big hand closing around one pale fist.

"Ah, Alsanna, I know you say it only for love of me, but you know too well what drove her."

I...I know. She had no one to stand beside her, no one to offer hope as I have. She paused, took a deep breath. But I still hate her for what she has done to you.

"She is paying for her sin, now and for always," he said. "And despite the harshness of her punishment, I think that the greatest pain will e'er be dealt by her own hand. She loved this city as did you or I, and she has been the cause of its downfall, and that will haunt her forever."

Alsanna's dark eyes flashed, and though she did not give voice to her thoughts, it was plain that she thought that only fitting.

Then, she caught the meaning in what the King had said, and she flinched back.

Downfall? You cannot mean—

"I do," he said flatly. "When the portals burst open, the demons of Chaos will swarm forth, and the fire of Chaos shall be not far behind. They will rage with their confinement, and Eleum Loyce will be consumed."

No! You cannot mean it!

"I can and I do." He gave a heavy sigh. "It is a hard thing to admit, that the work of my life will fall. I made it my quest to suppress this gateway to Chaos, and men made me a King for it. And I tried to make this citadel into a shelter for those who would follow me, and offer them protection." His lips quirked into a crooked smile that made his moustache bristle. "Even a dark and silent lady who would not beg my aid with a single word." His eyes twinkled with love, and she felt the answering pulse of warmth within herself.

His face fell, then, as the happy memory of their meeting gave way to the present in his thoughts.

"Perhaps it was my own hubris, believing myself the equal of the great champions of the past, believing nothing could lay low anything that I willed to rise. Or perhaps it was merely fate, turning its wheel as it will."

He pushed himself off the bed, rising to his feet. He was pleased to see that his body, at least, answered his will; he did not tremble.

We will not allow the city to fall, Alsanna declared. You and your host tamed Old Chaos once—

"When its fire was fading, and this gate far from its source. But its new flame is fresh, and though it will burn out it time, that time is not now."

None of us will allow your dream to be abandoned. The knights, the priestesses, from the greatest champion to the lowliest retainer, none of us will abandon you.

"Ah, Alsanna, do you think I do not know that? That I doubt your hearts—yours, above all?" He laid his hand on her shoulder. "This city will fall, but a city is but stone and wood. What matters most is the people. My people, all of you, who chose to trust me as your King and to make my dream your own. Do you think I would abandon you? Would I ask you to march to your deaths on my behalf?"

It was a rhetorical question, but she slowly shook her head.

"Then I give to you my trust, Alsanna."

He let her go, then walked across the room, to a large rosewood cabinet mounted high on the wall, and opened its latticed glass doors. From within he lifted a strange sword of two curved blades that twined together like serpents, one ivory-bright and one coal-dusk.

"Eleum Loyce," he said. It was the name of the sword, as it was the name of the land. He turned to her, extending the blade across both open palms. "I entrust it to you. Keep it safe, now that I cannot."

She swallowed nervously, but she reached for the sword with shaking hands. When she reached for it, she knew what it meant.

Yes, my lord.

He gave another deep sigh, and this time, there was a smile on his face. There was no joy; he did not speed this parting. But he was content, for the trust in his keeping had been passed. He placed his hands on her shoulders, then bent his head to hers and kissed her warmly. She wrapped her arms around him, and clung to him fiercely, and tears streamed from their eyes, but no more words were said.

Then they parted, and he rang for his page, telling the youth to call for his arms, and summon the knights of Eleum Loyce to the cathedral.

~ X X X ~

Before he had come to the frozen north, the Ivory King had been a knight of Forossa, a land of warriors and champions. The elaborate armor of Forossa's Lion Knights was merely one example among many of the engraved steel faces worn by those who followed the way of Faraam. Their custom was that except among family and intimates, they greeted the world from behind their metal masks, for war was always lurking and a knight must always be ready to take up arms. It was because of this that they wore such distinctive equipment, as unique among them as the fleshly features of a human face were. The King kept to this custom even in far-flung Eleum Loyce, so that the face engraved on his crowned helm was the one most of his people knew him by.

The Loyce Knights, ranked before him, kept the custom of wearing their helms in public as well, though theirs were each identical, for unlike the Forossans among his war-host, the Knights were mostly foreigners who had flocked to the King's banner. Many among the younger men and women had even been born within the rampart of the ivory capital.

He was proud of them all, was the King. Each stood loyal and steadfast before him, weapons at the ready, knowing that the end was nigh, and that he was about to ask them to offer the ultimate sacrifice, the last duty of a knight.

"Knights of Eleum Loyce," his voice rang out, echoing through the vaulted cathedral. "You have seen the signs, have heard the words of the sages. You know what is to come. After so many years penned with our ramparts, Old Chaos stirs at the last, its ire rekindled by sinful treachery."

A stir ran through the ranks, but none moved, instead waiting upon his orders.

"There is no time to hide from reality. The portals will be thrown open, and Chaos will stir. This is the cold truth that we face. Eleum Loyce cannot stand against the demon host. Thus, I am giving the order for the city to be evacuated. The Northwarders shall shepherd our citizens to the south, across the frozen wastes that will give even a burning demon pause. The heart and soul of Eleum Loyce shall live on. But! In order to give them the chance to escape, a rearguard must fight a delaying action, to hold Chaos at bay for as long as possible. I, myself, shall lead that rearguard.

"There is only one natural bottleneck that can serve to hold them. We cannot fight a running action within the city streets and across its rooftops. That bottleneck is the gateway to Chaos itself. There, the demons' advance can be slowed, where only a few may pass through the gates at a time. Only by fighting them there can we buy the time needed for the people to flee. However, there is a price to this. The golems crafted here are tied to the rampart; they cannot follow me down to chaos or their magic will fail, degenerating into primal ice. Thus, I must ask for you, the knights of Eleum Loyce to descend alongside me, knowing well the price that will be paid. I do not believe any will return from this stand. Even were we not to fall in battle, the corrupt flame of Chaos before long will profane our bodies and souls.

"I will not command that you come with me. Sir Morion, Sir Deric, Dame Irinel, and Sir Tarthen, I do command: you shall remain here and assist in the evacuation in all ways. I have no doubt that no matter what we do, some of the creatures of Chaos will burst forth from the fume-pits and warrens beneath our city. Human hands must turn against them; magic can do only so much. You shall lead our defenses. For the rest of you, you have earned the right to choose."

He said no more, but lifted his great ivory sword and turned. He did not look at the slight darkness that watched him from behind a pillar, did not acknowledge her in any way for fear that his resolve would break. Instead, he marched towards the pit that descended into Chaos, his steel-shod feet echoing off the tiles.

From behind him, though, came a roar of a hundred voices, a hundred greatswords and axes and halberds thrust skyward, and as one the Loyce Knights marched forward. But for those he had ordered to stay, they followed their King to a man.

He had never been more proud, for the worth of a king may be measured by the quality of his followers.

~X X X~

The evacuation of Eleum Loyce did not go smoothly. The citizens knew that something was wrong, of course. The trial and exile of the Saint, the death of the priestesses in the attempt to stop the rekindled Chaos, these things had left a pall over the city. The people waited nervously for the word from their King, for the next step, but they had not expected this. They had not expected the order to flee.

Deric could not blame them. He himself could hardly believe it. The Loyce Knight had wanted to stand at the side of his King. That was the duty of a knight, and yet...the King had set him a different mission. He understood that the King wanted to protect his people, but he still could not help but wonder: was there some flaw in himself, something his monarch had seen that made him leave Deric behind? Could the King not trust him to stand against Old Chaos?

He turned to look at his fellows, wondering if they were feeling the same doubts. Morion, Irinel, and Tarthen were all reputable knights, warriors who had stood steadfast by their King on various duties in the past. Irinel was over fifty years old, her hair more gray than black now, a Forossan who had come with the Ivory King in his initial host. Tarthen had won his way to knighthood by strength of arms, spending his first ten years at arms as a common soldier before being recognized for his skills and his service. Morion, by contrast, was a young noble from far-off Jugo, drawn to Eleum Loyce for the nobility of the fight against Chaos as it had initially drawn the Ivory King himself. There was nothing that bound the four of them especially, other than that all were of the first rank in their combat strength. Indeed, only Sir Fabian, knight-commander of the war-host, was clearly their superior among the Loyce Knights.

Of course, the blank faces of their helmets gave no sign of what was inside their hearts.

"We had better go," Irinel said. "Time is of the essence."

Morion nodded. Though the youngest, he also had the natural air of command that came with his birth.

"We'll need to go in multiple directions. Irinel, you have the most experience dealing with the Northwarders, so you should take command there and help them guide the populace out of the outer city. Tarthen, go to the garrison and help deploy troops to watch for any demons who make it into the city so we can respond in force. We can count on the golems to fight, but not to act intelligently as a group of soldiers, and with the King not here, the Seven Beasts will act on their own. I'll take command at the Inner Wall and guide the evacuation of the palace and cathedral staff, then move to aid where necessary. And Deric..."

"Yes?"

"There is one task our lord would want done above all else. You need to find the Lady Alsanna and keep her safe. Get her out of the city to safety at all costs."

That will not be necessary.

The four of them snapped around. The voice had echoed in their minds, not out loud, but it nonetheless had a direction to it, a sense of place that drew them. From a shadow she emerged as if she had been one with it, skin pale against the darkness of her hair and dress.

"My lady, Sir Morion is right," Deric said. "Of all those who depend on him, you are the one that His Majesty would protect first and always."

I understand that. But...my lord left without offering me a single word of command. All he gave me was this.

They saw, now, what she held, the King's twin-bladed sword. She took a deep breath.

I cannot abandon him now. Though he would not let me stand beside him, I cannot simply turn and flee, as much as I want to. And he has left Eleum Loyce within my care. She shook her head. I cannot abandon it to Chaos.

"We understand your feelings, my lady," Irinel said, "but there is nothing that we can do."

Alsanna nodded.

We must protect the people of this citadel. Do as you were commanded, and secure their safety.

"And you, my lady?" Deric said.

When that is done, then return for me. But I will not leave my lord while there can be any hope. Please, go and fulfill his wishes.

Deric bowed.

"As you will it, my lady. But remember: our King commended you to our care, and we will not stand forsworn. We shall return."

His fist tightened around his greataxe, and he turned and followed his companions into the frozen streets.

~X X X~

The streets of Eleum Loyce burned.

The city was carved of stone, of great blocks lifted into place and fitted to foundations that had been hewn out of the living mountain. But there were fittings, ornaments, shutters, signs, pennants, all the trappings of human life that were made of wood and cloth, and these could be set alight.

The first of the demons were small, little more than bugs the size of a kitten, but dull orange light leaked from between chitinous plates and when they spat what came from their mandibles was not venom, but raw lava. They were little threat to the city's defenders: when they came near the golems on the ramparts they were cut and pierced, when a retainer saw them a staff would come down and break chitin and spill demon blood, and when they fell under the eye of a warder then a flick of a hand would direct a bolt of soul-light into them from yards away. But the paths of their swarming did not always take them into threats, and they brought their flame with them.

And they were only the beginning.

It was Tarthen who was the first of the knights to encounter something more. The demon was vaguely humanoid, but nine feet tall, with long, spindly limbs with extra joints. It had five-fingered hands, but the fingers were spread out at equal distances like the arms of a starfish, each tipped with saber-like claws. Rotting, vestigial wings protruded from its back, and all five of its eyes burned.

Three soldiers of his garrison escort raised their crossbows and fired. The demon twisted and flexed, its spindly body bending like an upright snake, and the bolts shot past harmlessly. It spun and pounced at the nearest soldier, who dropped his bow and tried to draw his broadsword, but he would be far too late. Tarthen lunged forward, getting his shield up in between the demon and its victim, ramming the heavy plate into the creature's chest. Its arms wrapped around the shield, claws clutching for him, but the claws slid off the Loyce Knight's pauldron and helm with a grinding screech. Tarthen grunted, heaved, and bashed the shield into it again, knocking it backwards away from him. His greatsword came up, and he brought it down in a sharp diagonal cut. Once, then twice he hacked, and the demon's slim torso shattered in two, falling to the ground. Both halves thrashed wildly on the pavement, and then lay still.

He took a deep breath, shouldered his weapon, and started looking for his next target.

~X X X~

The drums of battle echoed in the depth of the King's soul.

This was, at the end of it all, among all the duties, the burdens he had taken upon himself, what he was born for. From his boyhood, he had been raised a warrior of Forossa. As a noble of that country, his duty had been plain. His destiny might have led him to the way of magic, or the way of miracles, rather than the path of the sword he had eventually walked, but those were merely options suited to an individual's character. All paths, for one in his station, led to the battlefield.

He had chosen his battles, though. He had not pit his strength against the enemies of his king and country on the war-front, either in defense or conquest. Rather, he had sought out the beasts and monsters that prowled the land, creatures that threatened innocent folk. The crusade against the demons had been more of the same.

There was a clarity to it, he thought. It was almost a relief to sidestep the rending claws of a towering bull-headed beast, to hack into its leg at the knee with his greatsword, to duck his shoulder as flame washed over him, enduring the heat so he could swing again and sever the limb, bringing the giant creature down with a crash like thunder. In the heat of battle there was his strength, his will, and his sword; there was no need to consider strategy, economics, diplomacy, to weigh the concerns of men and women and balance their interests, to do all for the weal of his people as a true King must.

Indeed, there was no need even to think of tactical considerations. There was no thought of winning this battle. It could not be won. All that had to be done, was to endure as long as he could.

From the burning portals of black iron crawled more demons. Serpentine creatures with human faces and skin like stone. Huge, hulked beasts with heads like goat skulls. Slender, long-limbed figures with long claws or clutching crude knives and spears. Things that seemed part insect and part soft-fleshed, twisted things from the depths of the sea. Flame seeped from open maws and ran along limbs like pulsing veins, dripped from wound-like sores.

The Ivory King raised his blade again. Sky-blue light like the frost-strewn fields outside wreathed the sword. To his left and right stepped forward the knights who still stood.

With a howl of defiance, they charged into the flames.