I'm back!

And I have a couple of things I'd like to say:

First, thank you, Annbe11, for all of your help. I doubt I'd have gotten over this burnout today without your support. Reading your stories has helped too. I still recommend to anybody reading this that they check out Annbe11's work. Her stories are really good. I'd also like to extend my thanks to AtticDweller, XxHikenNoHitaloxX and March4Fun for advice and support.

Secondly, expect me to keep jumping from person to person and for future chapters to be longer than previous ones. There's still a lot of ground to cover. I might still be a little slow to update too. I may be overcoming my burnout, but I don't want to push too much in case it comes back. But I want to get this finished, no matter how long it takes.


Chapter Seventeen

Herald Of The Hurricane

Mirana fell to the ground, clutching at her side and screaming as blood coursed between her fingers. She was helpless, but not undefended.

Marci charged at him, swinging her fist at his head.

He moved aside and Marci tried to adjust, but he caught her with the tip of his blade.

Marci tumbled to the ground, blood running from her side. She clenched her teeth, turned over and tried to stand, but he was upon her before she could rise. He dropped his blade and locked his hands around her throat.

Marci gagged and tried to pry his hands away, but she could not break his strong grip. Her hands scrabbled uselessly against his, her nails scratching ineffectually at his skin. Helpless, Mirana screamed for him to spare Marci, begging him, offering whatever he wanted in return, whatever it took for him to let her beloved Marci live.

He barely heard her. The pleas were music to his ears as Marci's struggles became weaker and weaker. He felt a glorious grin spread across his face as Marci's grip on his hands went slack, and he watched the light fade from her eyes.

He could see the fear still in those lifeless brown eyes, and he knew what her last thoughts had been. She had died knowing that she had failed Mirana, and that Mirana was going to die next because of her.

He'd never wanted to kill anybody so badly, with just one exception. And she would be dead soon enough. There was nobody to save her this time.

Mirana wailed and cried Marci's name as he picked up his blade and strode over to her. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she futilely tried to crawl over to Marci, leaving a streak of blood behind her.

He let her get within a foot of Marci's corpse before he planted his boot on her back. Mirana reached out, her fingertips touching the back of Marci's hand.

'Marci...' she sobbed pitifully. 'I love you, Marci! Please! Please don't leave me!'

Pathetic.

Maybe she'd see her again in the hells. He hoped not.

He lifted the blade, his smiling face streaked with blood, and rammed the point into Mirana's back and through her heart. He let her die knowing that her dear Marci had sacrificed herself for her. A pointless, foolish attempt to save her worthless life.

The laughter bubbled up inside him and he tipped his head back, his path to glory certain, his destiny secure. Darkness washed over the sky overhead as he laughed up at the heavens.

And then the world began to shake.


Shabarra's eyes snapped open and he snarled. His servants had always been wise enough not to rouse him unless absolutely necessary, lest he exercise his wrath on them. 'What?' he snapped.

Callardis was not fazed by his anger. 'Night has fallen, sire. It's time to move.'

Shabarra sat up and peered at his hands. Unmarked. Of course they were. But it had been such a good dream, one of the best.

They had been common enough after the coup. He had enjoyed thinking up new ways of executing the wayward Princess and her dimwitted handmaiden. Oh, the possibilities! There were so many ways he wanted to kill them, he sometimes found himself wishing that there were more of them to kill.

The other matter was who he should kill first. Either would be heartbroken to watch the other die before their eyes.

Shabarra stood, pressing his hands into his back where a stone had dug in. How the bloody hell had it come to this? He had been the God Emperor, he had killed to earn his birthright, the right his brother had tried to steal from him by having the Senate choose his bitch of a daughter as the heir.

He had ruled well, had he not? He had kept the Imperium strong. He had been just. He had taken the hard line nobody else would have dared to, especially his weak brother and his weaker daughter. In this world, strength was respected. Weakness was an invitation to destruction. How could they not understand that?

Damn that Misrulian harlot! He should have had her strung up by her own entrails as soon as she had arrived in Rasolir. He should have displayed her corpse from the peak of the palace for all to see. He should have ordered the Legions to crush Misrule like the miserable dung beetle it was.

'Sire?' Callardis was watching him. Shabarra was grinding his teeth together, his fists were clenched and his face was contorted with apoplexy. He was in a dangerous mood. 'Their sphinxes will struggle to find us tonight. Now is the best time for us to go.'

The man was right. Not for nothing had Shabarra chosen him to be his personal guard. Well, he had chosen him because he was ruthless and receptive to Shabarra's views. But he was also level-headed. If he was struggling to adjust to their new circumstances, he was not showing it. He had been a soldier before he had become a Sun Guard, and he had fought behind enemy lines before.

They had been travelling at night at his insistence. The traitors had sent sphinx riders out to hunt. The sphinxes were dangerous predators, nigh impossible to outrun even on horseback. But they were creatures which preferred to hunt in the day, they could not see as well in the dark.

Nevertheless, they had to be cautious. The sphinxes could still hear and smell them, and the riders had their eyes peeled for any signs of the fleeing monarch and his retinue. Worse still, Callardis suspected that they might send trackers with trained anubi out too. They did not need to see to hunt, an anubis' sense of smell was astoundingly keen.

But they were not going where the traitors expected. Kashurra had instructed them to head towards the Sovereign Peaks, but their pursuers would be expecting them to head north, towards the sea. They were gambling on Shabarra doing the same as Mirana—fleeing across the sea and taking refuge somewhere obscure.

If Kashurra was right, and Shabarra had little reason to doubt him, what awaited them would put his claims to the Solar Throne beyond all possible doubt. Unlike Mirana, Shabarra had no intention of simply running and hiding.

He was going to take his throne back, no matter the cost.

'I'm going to kill that whore.' Shabarra hissed mostly to himself.

'The Slayer?' Kholit, one of his Sun Guard, queried.

'No. Mirana. This is her doing, mark my words.'

'We must be quiet, your majesty.' Callardis reminded him. 'The sphinxes might struggle to see us, but they could hear us easily enough.'

Shabarra ground his teeth, but complied. He was totally reliant on his guards, Callardis especially. He resented not being in control.

As well as arranging horses for them, Kashurra had also left old hooded cloaks outside the city walls. They would make them harder to spot from above, and would cover the armour of the Sun Guard and the rich finery Shabarra still wore. The horses would allow them to move at speed, and they stuck to trees whenever they could. But there would be open spaces between them and their destination, including a stretch of desert which lay before the Sovereign Peaks.

With luck, the Misrulian whore and her followers would assume that they were heading north, not south. Kashurra had been right about one thing: they would never expect Shabarra to seek refuge in Stonehall. Though it galled Shabarra to even think of striking a bargain with Stonehall, a nation which had been a jealous neighbour for decades, at times even an enemy, he saw why it was necessary.

Unnoticed by Shabarra and his Sun Guard, a strange shape stalked between the trees behind them. It stood at twelve feet, striding quickly on eight long legs with a freakish number of joints between slabs of thick beige and brown chitin, each leg ending with a retractable stinger. A cluster of yellow eyes peered after the riders, seeing them as prey.

Patiently, the pabilsag scuttled after them, already intending to take the rider at the back as its first victim.


Bram brought up his sword to deflect the blow aimed at his head, angling his blade so that his opponent's sword would slide downwards. He pushed it for good measure, then stepped in closer, bringing the longsword round, going for the abdomen. His opponent was too slow, and the blunted blade of the sword struck his gambeson.

'Well struck, Squire Bram.' Jorsen called.

Bram ignored him. He hadn't really been willing to join in combat practice. He had wanted to return to the archives and search for the elusive means to help Davion. But Davion would have understood, he would have wanted Bram to be prepared.

Yet this meant following Jorsen's orders, and Jorsen seemed to read this as Bram being willing to become his new squire.

He was Davion's squire, and he was going to find some way to help him.

Bram placed his sword point-down against the flagstones and lifted his visor. The arming cap under his sallet was damp with perspiration, and his tunic clung to his skin under his gambeson. Even with the breeze coming off the sea to the south, this place was still warm compared to Candoness.

Bram glanced up at the ramparts, noticing a glimmer of gold out of the corner of his eye. Father Ritterfau was descending into the courtyard, accompanied by elite Dragon Knights. It was a little odd to see Ritterfau walking the grounds, less so than seeing Carliven outside of the main keep, but odd even so. Ritterfau usually sent subordinates to check the defences and the disposition of the troops.

'Father Ritterfau,' Jorsen saluted. 'Any news?'

'Yes, Sir Jorsen,' Ritterfau answered. 'An ionic dragon has been sighted in the region, one we believe to be stricken with the Madness. You have been tasked with slaying it. Gather whatever Knights and squires you need.' Ritterfau was about to turn away, but he had one last thing to say: 'Take Squire Bram with you.'

Jorsen stood at attention as he left. Bram felt a little apprehensive, but it would not be the first dragon hunt he had attended, and Davion had fought an ionic dragon before. 'You heard Father Ritterfau,' Jorsen stated. 'Gather weapons and armour. We're going on a hunt.'


'This is the place?' Aiushtha inquired, peering down into the valley. It was a nice enough spot, but she had no idea why the Omniknight had led her here. 'It's pleasant, but there's nothing here.'

'There is a tower down there.' Purist responded simply. 'The home of a powerful sorcerer.'

Aiushtha looked carefully, and saw nothing. The valley was empty, unless, like her, one counted the clumps of flowers scattered across the ground. 'I can't see anything.'

'It's hidden by an illusion.'

'You can see it?'

'No, but I know that it is there.' Purist sat upon a stone and rested his hammer against it. 'The Omniscience has shown me.'

'Why doesn't your Omniscience reveal it to us then?'

Purist did not respond immediately. He stared down into the valley, his gaze intense and narrowed. If he was offended, he did not show it.

Nevertheless, Aiushtha wondered if she had struck a nerve until he spoke once again. What he said did not ease her worries.

'The Omniscience has been growing weaker over the last few decades. It was subtle at first, but now it is more apparent than ever.'

'How can you tell?'

'My patron's sight is always shared with me, yet it is becoming shrouded with darkness.'

'Is that Terrorblade's doing?'

Purist shook his head slowly. 'No. This is the work of another deity, and I believe that I know which one it is.' He looked up and pointed at the moon. 'Can you see it? Look closely.'

Aiushtha squinted at the moon. Her eyes widened in shock as she noticed the streak of red flowing across its surface. 'What is that?'

'Blood.' Purist answered simply. 'For centuries, Mene has been imprisoned within the moon. Now She is breaking free, because Selemene has been robbed of Her power, power now being used to free Mene.'

'We could have—'

'No. We could not.' Purist interrupted. 'That is not our purpose.'

Aiushtha trembled as she folded her legs under her body, trying not to stare up at the bleeding moon. 'Then what are we here for?'

Purist looked back down at the unseen tower. 'We need allies. This is where we will find them.'

'Allies? This sorcerer you mentioned is going to help us?'

'No. But he has… guests.' He turned his head and gave her a sideways glance. 'You've met them.'

Aiushtha frowned. 'Are you talking about the Nightsilver priestesses and the Dragon Knights?'

'Yes.' Purist removed a map from one of his pouches and studied it. 'But we cannot enter the tower without the bidding of its master, and so we must wait.'

'You seem very sure of this.'

'I have faith, Aiushtha. So should you.'


Fymryn watched the lotuses glide into the scrying pool. Within the water, she could see the endless garden and her friends… friends. Were they friends now?

Fymryn looked to the Invoker. She had somehow felt the weight of years bearing down on him, and tonight he seemed worn and old, ancient even. His face was unchanged, but it was there in his stance, his eyes, the way he moved. The weight of his sorrow bore down upon him, and defeating Selemene had not made it any easier to carry.

'What will happen to them?' Fymryn asked.

'They will stay, until the time is right.'

Fymryn did not understand this. She was pleased that the Invoker was not going to kill her former friends, but she did not know why he was sparing them. Was he leaving their fates in Mene's hands?

'What about Terrorblade?' Fymryn inquired. 'He was chasing Davion to claim Slyrak's soul. According to Slyrak, he's going to end the world or something like that. Shouldn't we try to stop him?'

The Invoker pondered her words. He was normally more difficult to read. Tonight though, Fymryn could see the worry in his eyes, along with that great weariness. 'I am aware of the Demon Marauder's plan. Davion will be safe here, and yet…' He peered into the scrying pool. 'Come with me.'

Fymryn turned away and followed the Invoker as he led her down the hallway of strange artefacts. 'How did you know about Terrorblade's plan?'

'Your sapphire and the amulet given to the handmaiden allowed me to track your movements, and witness that conversation.'

'You're the one who's been talking to Marci?'

The Invoker frowned. 'No. That voice she claims to hear is likely a figment of her imagination.'

'She has a dragon's blood.'

'But she is not linked to the Thunder, not like Davion.'

Fymryn stopped, her gaze drawn to the odd golden eye atop its plinth. The Invoker realised that she had stopped and came to a halt himself. Though obviously weary, he did not hurry her.

'This eye,' Fymryn murmured, her voice echoing in the quiet hallway. 'It's like Marci's amulet.'

'Yes. It is.'

'What does it mean?'

'It was the symbol of a secret society,' the Invoker explained. 'Very little is known of it. They kept themselves out of sight as much as possible, and at some point they destroyed as much knowledge regarding themselves as they could.'

'Why?'

'Protection, perhaps.' The Invoker moved closer, pulling Marci's amulet from his robes. 'They were all wurm-forged, like the handmaiden. Some were born from unions amongst the members, others were children ritually imbued with the blood of radiant dragons. I doubt that the society still exists. Marci is most likely the descendant of its last adherents. One last Watcher, ignorant of her own heritage.'

Fymryn wanted to know more about that, but the Invoker spoke again before she could ask. 'I must attend to something, and think upon this matter,' they had now reached the library filled with arcane texts. 'Wait for me here. Call me if you need anything.' He marched away, slightly hunched. Fymryn did not ask how he would hear her. This tower no longer surprised her. She would not have been shocked to find a dragon somewhere inside.

Fymryn sighed and peered around. She was aware of how tired she felt now, and she kept thinking about the battle. She had never been so scared, but when she had charged through the breach, all of her fear had fled in some sort of madness. She had actually wanted to fight.

But she had spared Luna. Why? Maybe she had wanted to give her the chance to accept Mene too. Perhaps she had deserved another chance, just as her friends did.


Davion plucked a malformed scale from his skin. He felt a hand rest against his forehead, warm as usual. 'It's not that bad, Marci.'

Marci persisted anyway, trying to guess his temperature. She sat back and shrugged, then signed at him.

'I'm not sure. Maybe it's like Eserren said: Eldwurms are only supposed to inhabit empty vessels. It's not like just hav—' He broke off, worried that he was about to offend her.

Marci signed again, indicating herself a couple of times, concluding his statement. It's not like just having a dragon's blood.

'Yes. Slyrak still isn't willing to talk about it, if he even can.'

Marci's expression was forlorn, even as she tried to keep it under control. She wanted to help him, but she had no idea how. He didn't even know what to suggest. He couldn't stop her worrying either.

He considered, and then asked, 'Did you want to talk about something else? Something a bit more cheerful, maybe?'

Marci nodded gratefully. She was still worried, of course, that much was obvious. Yet she was also glad to seize upon something which might calm both herself and Davion. She started to sign at him, miming holding a flagon or glass, drinking from it, then pointing at Davion. He was getting better at interpreting her, and he knew that she was asking a question.

What is your favourite drink?

'Dragon fire whiskey.' Davion answered. 'Not for the faint of heart. How about you?'

It took some miming accompanied by more signs for Marci to make Davion understand the answer, but the sign for "mountain" was enough. 'Icewrack white? I've heard Mirana ask for that before. Is it some sort of wine?'

Marci nodded, and indicated that unlike dragon fire whiskey, it was always cold. She then moved on to one of her favourite topics: food.

'Marci!' Mirana called. 'Davion! Something's happening.'

They both hurried over to the middle of the garden. Sagan was restless, prowling around them and grunting. Marci whistled to calm him.

'He can sense something,' Mirana explained to Eserren and Caewyn. 'Maybe that sorcerer is coming back.'

'Oh.' Caewyn glanced around. 'Maybe he'll let us go. This place is nice, but I'd like a better variety when it comes to food.'

'Or he's going to finish us off.' Eserren looked around for something she could use as a weapon. She found a large stone and lifted it. Nobody bothered to tell her that it wouldn't help against a sorcerer.

Marci closed her eyes, inhaled, and curled her hands into fists. When she opened her eyes, they could see spots of golden light within.

'If he attacks, distract him so that Marci can close in.' Mirana instructed.

'And once she has him on the ground, we'll join in.' Davion suggested.

'Beating a sorcerer to death wasn't on my to-do list for this month.' Caewyn remarked. 'Nor would it be an end worthy of song, not for a sorcerer.'

'He won't be that foolish.' Eserren stated. 'Even if he confronts us in person, he'll do so from a distance.' She didn't release the stone though.

Marci sneezed and stepped away from the clump of jadeblooms.

Sagan stopped growling as a figure materialised before them. Fymryn.

'You again.' Mirana folded her arms. 'What do you want now?'

Fymryn's brow creased. 'I'm here to help you. The Invoker is going to transport you all out of this garden.'

'That's good.' Caewyn said slowly. 'But what does he want from us?'

'I'll… maybe it's best if he explains it to you.'

Davion frowned as the illusion of Fymryn faded away. He did not know what to expect, yet was unsurprised when they were removed from the endless garden. Unlike every teleportation he had been transplanted by, the Invoker moved them without discomfort. It was instantaneous.

They found themselves in a long hallway, bright and lined with strange objects. There was even what appeared to be the armour of a Dragon Knight. Before them also lay their weapons and armour.

Fymryn was standing there too, the real one this time. She was no longer dressed in green. Now she wore dark clothing and black steel. At her sides were a curved sword and a dagger.

Those were not the only changes. Something had happened to her, and she had changed too.

When he had first met her, Davion had seen her as naïve, soft-hearted, and ultimately well-meaning. Did she still have good intentions? He did not know. But gone was the innocence and naivety.

She had lost something, or someone, precious to her. He knew that look in her light blue eyes, eyes which had once been lively and bright. He knew that look all too well. She might recover a little, as Marci and Mirana had, but it would not happen quickly, if it happened at all.

At his side, Marci tensed. Fymryn made no attempt to draw a blade.

'Calm yourselves.' Davion recognised the sage voice of the Invoker. Marci clenched her teeth, hardly calming at all. Eserren picked up her bardiche.

'You are wasting your time, Dragon Knight.' From the way his form materialised out of thin air at Fymryn's side, particles of energy gathering together, Davion knew that he was not here in person. Another illusion. 'I have no intention of harming you.'

'That's not comforting,' Caewyn retorted. 'Not since you imprisoned us.'

'If I had wanted you dead, I could have easily killed you all.' The Invoker calmly approached, or rather his magical doppelgänger did. 'Fymryn told you what I intend. I am going to let you all go, unharmed and unhindered.'

'Why?' Davion demanded. 'You seemed keen to hold us before. Why the sudden change?'

'Is that not obvious? You should know, Dragon Knight.' He briefly gazed at Mirana. 'We are not allies, nor will we ever be. But we do have a common enemy: Terrorblade. What we all want will not matter if he succeeds in his plans. And keeping you out of his reach will not work, not since your condition is deteriorating so rapidly, Dragon Knight.'

'Why should we believe you?' Mirana hissed.

The Invoker waited for a moment before answering her. 'You've seen it, Princess. You've seen his body struggling to cope. A dragon is a soulless vessel. But a human is not. Your body is only meant to have one soul, Davion, not two. Slyrak has been trying to manifest his power within you, but your human form cannot take the strain. Slyrak's power is too much for you.'

Marci glared at him and signed. The Invoker pointed at her, and once again that childish voice emanated from her, giving sound to her signs. 'How do we stop it?'

The Invoker shook his head. 'It will only end in one way: Slyrak has bound his soul to Davion's. He cannot leave Davion's body. It was the only way he could avoid having his essence taken by Terrorblade.

If Davion dies, Slyrak's soul will remain within his body, vulnerable to Terrorblade. But if not, then eventually the souls will merge. The more powerful of the two will consume the other. Sooner or later, Davion will be no more.'

Marci paled. She looked to Davion, stricken with horror. Davion sighed and lowered his head. He had hoped that there might be some chance for a cure, but deep down he had known that it was not to be.

As a Dragon Knight, he had faced death many times. In his own way, he had accepted that he would die one day. It was rare for a Dragon Knight to grow old, and rarer still for one to not die on the field of battle.

What struck him now was not fear for himself. It was guilt. He had thought that it might come to this, yet he had let these people become his friends. And Marci… He'd danced with her, he'd made it clear that he had feelings for her just as she felt something for him. He'd given her hope for something which could never happen.

'There's nothing you can do?' Mirana breathed. 'Surely you could do something!'

'Not without destroying Davion's soul,' the Invoker stated. 'Davion, Slyrak fused himself to you for one reason alone: to deny Terrorblade what he wants. Make his sacrifice, and yours, mean something.'

'Terrorblade is a Demon.' Eserren said. 'Demons can't be killed, only banished.'

'Terrorblade is in a unique position. He is imprisoned in a place known as Foulfell, a place made solely to hold the worst of Demonkind. It is a prison of mirrors, where its inhabitants are taunted by their own reflections for all of eternity. But Terrorblade has found a way out. How, I do not know, but he is not fully within this plane. It is why he needs to use vessels as proxies.

Demons cannot be destroyed, not forever. You must find a way to imprison him, for good.'

Davion exhaled heavily and ran a hand across his face, trying to get a grip on his emotions. He was going to die, he'd known that for some time. Yet he did not want to die, not now, not since he'd become so close to Marci and the others.

Terrorblade had forced Slyrak to do this to him. He had doomed Davion, not Slyrak. If he was going to die, he was going to take Terrorblade with him.

'Will you help us?'

The Invoker nodded slowly. 'I cannot aid you directly. But I can prepare you for the task.' He indicated the suit of armour made from crimson dragon scales. 'This armour will be of use to you. It once belonged to a wurm-forged warrior, who found himself in a situation not unlike your own after felling Slyrak's predecessor. Should you transform, the armour will remain intact.'

He looked to Marci next and pointed at a pair of bracers, clearly fashioned from the scales of a radiant dragon. 'Take those bracers. They will help you to amplify your power.'

Marci approached warily, keeping an eye on the Invoker and Fymryn as she moved. She picked up the bracers, stepped back to the group, and slid them into place. She was still pale with shock, and also glaring at the Invoker. If looks could kill, he'd have been in trouble.

It was hard for Davion to guess what she was angrier about, the Invoker imprisoning them or his inability to cure him.

'Your plan to fight Terrorblade at Dragon Keep is fraught with risk, but it may be your only sensible option.' The Invoker stated. They all assumed that Fymryn had told him about that, an assumption further asserted when Fymryn shifted guiltily. 'The Dragon Knights will still desire retribution against you. If you die, Davion, then Slyrak's soul will be Terrorblade's to claim.'

Fymryn swallowed. 'If the Dragon Knights refuse to help, is there still a chance?'

The Invoker slowly turned to her. 'No. With the Direstone at his command, Terrorblade's army of thralls will only grow larger over time. He is not devoid of allies of his own kind either. The only faction which could perhaps withstand his army is the Helio Imperium, but time is not on your side.'

'And Shabarra would have us all killed if we dared to return.' Mirana murmured.

'Not unless I kill him first.' Marci growled, that channelled childish voice sounding less than comical, not when accompanied by that fierce glare.

Davion was not exactly disturbed, or even surprised, just concerned. There hadn't been much to do in the endless garden, and Mirana and Marci had mentioned a few things, enough for him to gather that Shabarra, Mirana's uncle, had turned on the royal family to seize the Solar Throne, effectively exiling Marci and Mirana.

Marci had made no secret of her hatred for Shabarra. Her family had died during the coup too. Davion had felt that same need for revenge, he'd seen it in Kaden. But he knew that Marci would not let it corrupt her heart because she had other things to live for, Mirana first and foremost. If anything, he'd be glad to let her put an end to Shabarra, if only for closure.

The Invoker said nothing. He was aware of what was happening in the Imperium. Even with the change in leadership, he knew that they would not make it to Rasolir in time. That much had been agreed upon. Despite the risk of compromising the deal, Dragon Keep was their best option.

Not that the Invoker cared whether they lived or died. He honoured his obligations if he could, that was all, but he was not responsible for their actions. If they died, that was unfortunate. So long as Terrorblade was stopped, it did not matter if the Princess and her allies perished.

It would also give him ample opportunity to mobilise his forces and continue his plan to bring about the arrival of the Dark Moon. Selemene had not been the only threat to his plan, just the most apparent.

Fymryn sighed and stepped forwards.

'Fymryn?' the Invoker frowned. 'What are you doing?'

She did not answer him. She looked Mirana in the eye as she spoke. 'I want to help you.'

Mirana glowered at her. 'And we should trust you?'

'Do you think I want the world to end, Mirana? I didn't know what was going to happen!'

'Yet you went along with it anyway.' Eserren muttered. 'Mirana is not wrong. We can't trust you.'

'And I can trust you?' Fymryn demanded. 'I made no secret of my disgust for the Usurper, a disgust you share, but you refused to help me! And you, Princess! Do you have...' she broke off and exhaled heavily. 'There's no time. You don't have to trust me. Let me help you to stop Terrorblade, and then we can part ways, for good. You'll probably never see me again.' She paused and looked down at her feet, biting her lip. When she looked up again, her eyes were starting to brim. 'Please. I need to help you.'

The Invoker began to argue. 'Fymryn, you don't have to—'

'Yes I do.' Fymryn interrupted. 'Mirana, please. I betrayed you. Let me… let me try to make up for it.'

Mirana frowned, struggling to decide. Fymryn had misled them, that much was true. But she had also saved their lives several times during their journey, and not just to get them to the Invoker. Unable to decide, she looked to Davion.

Now that the lotuses were beyond their reach, it was Davion's plight which took priority. If Terrorblade won, the lost lotuses and Selemene's waning power would be the least of their issues.

Davion sighed and nodded. 'We could use your help, Fymryn.' He wasn't sure if he trusted her now, but they needed allies. If Fymryn was willing to fight for them, then he saw no reason to turn her away.

Fymryn wiped her eyes. 'Thank you.'

The Invoker did not try to sway her. He knew that there was no point. It would make things more difficult if she died, but not impossible. Besides, with Mene regaining Her power, She could always choose another to be a Nightblade. He nodded his assent. 'I will transport you outside of the tower, with your belongings and some provisions. You will also find two individuals waiting for you. One is known to you.' He paused before speaking again. 'Though we are not allies, I wish you good fortune in your efforts. Farewell. I doubt that we shall meet again.'


Lina strode from the domed edifice that was the Senate Conclave, feeling a little dazed. She had expected resistance to the motion of making her Regent, but the vote had been unanimous. Gavenus and Kashurra had been right. Since driving away Shabarra, word had quickly spread of Lina's efforts in leading the charge. People wanted to follow her, and they felt sure that she would keep the Imperium secure until Mirana returned.

She walked across the flagstones, wondering what she should do first. There was plenty of reconstruction in progress, but that was already being taken care of. The Legions were being repositioned by Marsian, who had taken on the role of Grand Legate for the time being. Turlenas had managed to supervise the City Watch, and order had been restored.

It had to be one of the cleanest rebellions in history, though it had not come without costs. They had lost many people in the chaos, and their first priority had been to lay the dead to rest.

Drysi was waiting for her further down the street, dressed more casually than usual and without a khopesh, though she was still carrying a dagger. 'No palanquin? No litter?' She asked jokingly.

'Too fancy for my tastes.' Lina shook her head. 'I prefer to walk.' It was true. Misrule was not a place which pampered its leaders. Weakness invited mutiny. She had no intention of making either the Imperium or Misrule appear to be weak.

Lina could be ruthless in her own way. She had no qualms about killing people when she had to. But she was not Shabarra. She wouldn't kill people just for disagreeing with her, that spoke of insecurity, that betrayed weakness.

As agreed, they would keep Shabarra's surviving loyalists imprisoned until Mirana returned. Shabarra might have been an exception, and Lina had instructed the soldiers searching for him to kill Shabarra if they had to. He was still a potential danger. He had allies scattered around and outside of the Imperium. So long as he lived, he would seek to reclaim the Solar Throne.

'Any news?' Lina asked.

Drysi did not need to ask what she meant. 'Shabarra is still at large. Callardis was not known for being clever, but he's not stupid either, and he knows the area well.' She shrugged. 'As for Mirana, Kashurra has already taken steps.'

Lina half-smiled. 'If an axe wound won't keep him down, I'm not sure anything will.'

'He won't rest until Mirana is back home.' Drysi confirmed. 'And I doubt he'll rest even when she takes the throne. The man lives to serve, literally. I have to admit, I admire his dedication.'

'And what about you?' Lina asked, coming to a halt in the middle of the street. 'I made sure that they would pardon you.'

'For which I am grateful.' Drysi smiled. It had not been hard for Lina to convince the Senate that Drysi had only turned to crime to survive. It had been true. Even so, they would likely have forgiven her just for her efforts in deposing Shabarra. They couldn't have done it without her.

'What will you do now? You're respectable now, and Mirana doesn't hate elves—at least, that's what Kashurra says. And we promised you a new role.'

Drysi smirked. 'I was thinking of something to do with trade.'

'Trade?' Lina checked, surprised. 'I thought you'd want to be spymaster.'

Drysi chuckled. 'I want an honest job. And Kashurra is still officially the spymaster, and I think he'll be much better at it. Besides, who better to enforce legal trade than a former smuggler? I know all the ins and outs of this city and most of the Imperium when it comes to contraband. Most of my associates like the idea too.'

Lina smiled. 'So be it. We'll see what Mirana says, but I can't see there being a problem.'

'Good. I've already been working on new trade deals with Misrule.'

'Really?'

'Shabarra's deals were woeful. And I thought you'd want to calm things down over there. Kashurra approves.'

'This simplifies matters.' Lina said, starting to walk again. Drysi kept pace easily. 'I think we should pull the Legions out of Icewrack and see if we can make peace with the Ursa.'

'I can't see Kashurra arguing against that.'

'Fighting the Ursa is a waste of men and resources. We need to secure the borders. Stonehall will be watching for any signs of weakness, especially with Shabarra gone.'

At least with Lina taking temporary charge of the Imperium, Misrule would not be a potential enemy. If need be they could try to establish an alliance with Misrule, and pull troops from the area to guard against Stonehall.

For the first time, Lina climbed the steps to the palace entrance without feeling afraid or even defiant. The palace loomed over them, less imposing than usual. Getting to the top was still a chore though. Lina felt sorry for anybody who had struggled to walk climbing the many stairs here. It was possible for the royal family to live solely on their own level, but Lina did not want to do that, and if Kashurra was right, nor would Mirana.

She still had her doubts about Mirana, doubts she felt would only ease if she met Mirana, and if Mirana met everybody's expectations.

Garrisan met them on the third level, busy overseeing repairs and security. He had not re-joined the Sun Guard, but he knew the palace well, and he wanted to be of use. He had expected to die during the rebellion, surviving had given him new purpose.

Garrisan fell into step at Lina's side. 'We have visitors.'

'That was quick.' Lina remarked. 'Stonehall? Revtel? Misrule?'

'No, they're Pangoliers from Nivan. A group calling themselves the Gallants.'

'I've heard of them.' Drysi said. 'They're mercenaries of some sort.'

'No, they're more like wandering knights.' Garrisan corrected. 'They will accept payment, but often it's about the cause. Kashurra invited them here.'

Lina was grateful for the warning. She might have been taken off-guard by the group of pangoliers in fancy attire waiting for them in the throne room. Lina had met a few pangoliers in her time, but never any from Nivan, and none like these.

They were all dressed in rich fabrics in classic Nivan fashion, with capes adorned with both the emblem of the Gallants, a rapier arrayed by feathers, and the symbols of whichever noble families they were sponsored by or part of. Under their capes, their wore embroidered doublets which would be replaced by armour when in the field. At their sides, they carried their swords, mostly rapiers and sabres.

They stopped talking amongst themselves as Lina and her friends approached the dais. Kashurra was already there, standing beside a simpler yet still ornate wooden chair. Lina was not royalty, nor was she the Empress, so she did not sit upon the throne.

The Gallants removed their caps and bowed low as Lina sat.

'Welcome to the Court of the Imperium.' Kashurra announced. He stood straight, and with his robes covering the bandaged wound, it was hard to believe that he had been struck by an enchanted labrys wielded by a Sun Guard. The man was much tougher than he looked. 'I hope you had a pleasant journey.'

'It was most agreeable.' The Pangolier at the front of the group straightened, holding his feathered cap against his chest. 'And most worthwhile, Viceroy. We were gladdened to hear that the tyrannical usurper was driven away, for he would not allow us to visit the gem of the Imperium.'

Understandable. The rule of somebody as cruel as Shabarra would have been anathema to the Nivan Gallants. But they were sworn not to interfere unless ordered to by their superiors, and whilst Nivan would have fought well, it would have lost badly in a war against the Imperium. It was a small nation, rich, influential, sophisticated and respected, but not possessed of a large military.

'Your reputation precedes you, Lina of Misrule,' the leader, a little taller than his fellows and dressed in fancier finery, stepped forwards. The hilt of his finely crafted rapier gleamed at his side. 'Yet those who speak of you have erred greatly, for they failed to mention your astounding beauty.'

Despite herself, Lina felt a little heat in her face. She exchanged a sideways glance with Kashurra, who shrugged subtly. Lina cleared her throat. 'Right… erm… it's an honour to welcome you to the Imperium, Sir...'

The Gallant bowed again. 'Donté Panlin, at your service, Regent. Your Viceroy believed we may be of help to you.'

Lina glanced at Kashurra again, who nodded. 'The Nivan Gallants have an excellent reputation.' Kashurra explained. 'Sending troops to the continent might provoke a response, but Sir Donté and his fellow Gallants are trusted by many.'

'Very well.' Lina accepted. 'Sir Donté, are you familiar with how the usurper Shabarra took power here?'

'Sadly, yes.' Donté answered. 'A grave and unforgiveable transgression.'

'What many do not know is that the true heir to the Solar Throne, Princess Mirana, is still alive. She managed to escape the Imperium alongside her handmaiden. We need you to find her and bring her back, so that she can claim the throne.'

'Ah! This is a good cause.' Donté approved. 'We would be glad to accept this mission. From what we have heard, the Princess is a good and noble soul, and very beautiful.'

'We would like you to bring both of them back home.' Kashurra added. 'The Princess and her handmaiden. I have heard that they have gained allies. If they wish to come here too, then allow it. The Princess will need all the support she can gain when she becomes Empress, especially loyal friends.'

'Very well. This, we will do.' Donté vowed. 'On my honour, we shall bring the Princess and her handmaiden back here.'

'It will be dangerous.' Kashurra warned. 'There has been much upheaval beyond the sea.'

'We live for danger, mon ami. A bleeding moon will not keep us from our sworn duty.'

'You should begin your search near Kestren. That is where they were last rumoured to be, but be cautious. Since King Dendrall died and Trestaine fell, other nations have sent their armies to claim the land, and the rumours speak of dragons rampaging throughout the continent.'

'How soon can you begin?' Lina asked.

'As soon as you give the word, my lady.' Donté answered with a faint purr.

Lina cleared her throat again. 'Then begin at once, Sir Donté. I wish you good fortune.'

Donté bowed once again. When he straightened, he winked at her before gathering his Gallants and striding from the throne room.

'Quite the character.' Drysi remarked.

'His reputation as a fine swordsman and honourable man are well deserved.' Kashurra assured her. 'He is one of the finest of the Nivan Gallants.'

Lina stood, making a mental note to see if she could find cushions for the hard wooden chair. 'I can understand why we need Mirana back, but why is bringing her handmaiden back so vital?'

'She's trustworthy.' Kashurra stated. 'As I said, Mirana will need allies when she becomes Empress—loyal allies. None are more devoted to her than Marci, she proved that during the Bloody Dance. Perhaps there will be a position for her, assuming she does not remain as Mirana's handmaiden.' He paused, and Lina realised that he was trying to control his expression. 'We were friends. Like Mirana, my heart would be more at ease if she came home too.'

'I can understand that,' Lina murmured, thinking of Rylai. She found herself wondering if it might be worth trying to send a message to Rylai. Could she invite her to the Imperium? Would she accept?

There were so many things she wanted to say to Rylai. She had survived the rebellion, but there might be another battle which could claim her life. She didn't want to leave things unsaid, nor did she want to leave the rift between them open.

Kashurra had a point. It was one of the few times Lina had seen him be openly sentimental. But Kashurra was not moved solely by emotion. No, he saw some use for Marci, if only to support Mirana.

'What else?' Lina asked.

'I think we should reach out to the Ursa and attempt to pull back our forces from Icewrack.' Kashurra stated. 'The conflict is needless and it weakens us.'

'I agree.' Lina said. 'Let's see about drafting a peace agreement as soon as possible.'

Kashurra nodded. 'I will begin at once, my lady.' In truth, he had begun as soon as Shabarra had fled. The Imperium needed to remain strong. It needed to be prepared for the Princess' return, and the war to come.


The mountains bordering Kestren and Candoness were amongst Aethrak's favourite hunting grounds. Mountains were the natural territory of sky dragons, though there was competition with fire dragons and ionic dragons on occasion, both of which liked to nest in high places too.

There were creatures aplenty to hunt in the region. Harpies and wolves were little more than a snack for a fully grown sky dragon, but there were also centaurs and aurochs, even the odd drake and bear, though like most sky dragons Aethrak preferred to avoid prolonged fights with dangerous creatures.

High above, barely within sight of most creatures below, Aethrak glided through the air, his keen eyes searching for any signs of movement. He was also keeping an eye out for anything unusual, and listening intently to the Thunder.

Part of him wanted to seek out Lirrak. She might have pretended to be cold around him, but there was still something there. He was also tempted to fly to Icewrack and see their daughter. She was wise despite being considered young—by a dragon's standards, anyway—and he was proud of her, even if she preferred to take a human form most of the time.

He had once suggested to Byssrak that they allow her to speak at the next gathering of the Elder Council. She knew a great deal, having gathered much lore on dragons and history over the centuries. Perhaps she could have helped them to find answers. But Byssrak was proud, and he was reluctant to have a new voice join the Thunder, especially one which did not belong to an Eldwurm.

Aethrak came to a decision. He would find something large to eat and fly to Icewrack.

As he swooped lower, he heard a sound in the Thunder. Something had changed, something close.

It was different, yet familiar. What was it?

Bells.

Funeral bells.

Vylgranox's song.

Impossible!

Aethrak circled, his sharp eyes peering into the distance as he revolved. Though the song was unmistakeably that of the Outcast, it was warped and dissonant. It was wrong.

He came from above.

Aethrak felt the rush of displaced air and dived, dodging the attacking dragon. As the large grey form swept past, Aethrak saw that the body was covered in dirty onyx masses—like diseased, rotten scabs. A few of his antler-like horns were missing, scales had been torn free and the skull had been split.

It was the eyes which were the worst. They were filled with a sinister green light, windows for eyes which had no place in this world.

Aethrak now knew what had befallen Uldorak, Vylgranox and maybe even Slyrak. They had been murdered by the being which now used Vylgranox's corpse as its grotesque puppet. They had been killed by a Demon.

Before, this Demon would not have been too great a threat, even with the souls of two Eldwurms in its possession, not with insignificant hosts as its vessels. But with the body of an Eldwurm, it would be able to harness the stolen power of Aethrak's kin.

'The Eldwurm of the Winds, Herald of the Hurricane,' the Demon chortled. 'Are you prepared to die?'

Aethrak did not grace him with a response. He dived at his sinuous neck, intending to drive his beak-like jaws deep into the vital arteries. If he could damage the corpse enough, the Demon would be driven from it. It still needed blood to function. Stop the heart, and it would become the dead meat it was supposed to be.

Terrorblade knew that Aethrak would try to flee if injured, just like any other sky dragon. Sky dragons were fast fliers, but ungainly on the ground. If he could drive him down, he would struggle to flee.

He was going to enjoy this. He wanted to play.

Terrorblade rose above Aethrak as he flew like a javelin at his vessel. He let gravity take hold as Aethrak drew nearer, trying to correct his course. Terrorblade fell towards Aethrak with his claws extended.

Aethrak drew in his power and forced it upwards, thrusting a blunt hammer of air upwards into Terrorblade. Terrorblade was shoved up and away, allowing Aethrak to fly under him. The Eldwurm spun as he emerged behind the possessed dragon. With a screech, Aethrak swept his wings forwards, directing a whirlwind into Terrorblade.

The weight of Vylgranox's corpse worked against the attack, but it was still enough to send it tumbling and leave Terrorblade disorientated for a moment. When he stabilised, Aethrak was already retreating.

He was fast, but not fast enough. Terrorblade gave chase, his repaired wings beating hard against the footless heights of the sky.

Aethrak gathered his power, preparing to propel himself away. If he did, Terrorblade would struggle to catch him.

He had taken Vylgranox's soul and corpse for a reason: he needed the Outcast's power. His victory over Uldorak had been a matter of luck. The Eldwurm had been inhabiting an elderly host, one afflicted by the Madness. He had isolated himself and prepared to hibernate until it passed. It had been a simple matter to kill him as he slept.

He was amused. If the Eldwurms had banded together, they might have been able to stop him, even with Slyrak and Uldorak lost to them. But they were dragons, dragons were proud, none more so than the Eldwurms. Their arrogance would be their undoing.

Terrorblade roused what remained of Vylgranox's soul within himself, mustering his strange power and directing it at Aethrak.

As Aethrak readied himself, he felt his power abruptly fade away. He almost fell from the sky, too shocked to beat his wings.

His worst fears had been realised. The Demon hunting them had figured out how to use Vylgranox's power against him and his kind. And he could not run, not now. This would be a fight to the death.

Although Aethrak wanted to preserve his own life, just like any other sky dragon, he was not completely the same as the more bestial avatars he commanded. He would try to fight off this abomination, for the sake of the other Eldwurms. Though he did not want to die, his death did not mean the end of everything. It was a truth Orrak and Slyrak knew all too well.

Aethrak turned and sped under the Demon's host, spinning to dig his claws into the possessed dragon. His sharp claws scraped across the grey scales, slicing through exposed hide and drawing blood.

Terrorblade growled, distantly feeling the pain. He did not need Aethrak fully intact, not with Vylgranox's body as his host. But his corpse might be of some use later.

Terrorblade lashed out with his tail, slapping Aethrak across the snout and cracking the bones in his left wing.

Aethrak tumbled and fought to stay aloft, blood running from under his scales. He circled and swooped down at Terrorblade.

Terrorblade met him with his claws, driving them into Aethrak's hide, digging into his white scales. With a sharp hiss, he brought his head down. Aethrak was already trying to drive his beak into the heart of his vessel, and failing.

Terrorblade clamped his jaws around Aethrak's neck, biting down hard, his fangs spearing into the Eldwurm's flesh. He let gravity take hold again and they plunged down towards the ground. Aethrak tried to break free and flapped ineffectually. With the greater weight of Vylgranox's corpse atop him, he could not hope to fly.

Terrorblade judged the moment perfectly. He released Aethrak and flapped hard to slow his descent. Aethrak fell, upside down and helpless.

The Eldwurm slammed into the trees below, hitting the ground hard. Broken pieces of tree trunks remained lodged between his scales, driven deep into his hide. Blood spread around him and flowed across his body, stark and dramatic against his white scales.

Aethrak tried to rise. Terrorblade landed atop him and grasped his neck with one massive clawed hand. With an approximation of a grin, his teeth bared, Terrorblade tightened his grip and violently wrenched Aethrak's neck.

He chuckled as the bones snapped. Aethrak fell still, lifeless. As expected, he tried to send his soul away, to take possession of another sky dragon.

Which was exactly what Terrorblade wanted.

Free of the body, Aethrak's soul was perfectly exposed. Terrorblade had marked it before they fought, and now he drew it in and felt the heady surge of mighty power as it became a part of him. Aethrak's identity was consumed like a fine morsel, his power now at Terrorblade's command.

Three down. Six to go.

With Vylgranox's power, it would be child's play to claim the souls of the other Eldwurms. The Primal Mind's grand plan to keep the ultimate power from being claimed by one was soon to be undone.


I couldn't really find any information about Nivan on the wikis (I'm not even sure it's a place in DOTA-verse), so I took some writer's liberties and made stuff up. All I know is that Donté speaks with a French accent, and sometimes speaks French, so expect Nivan to draw some inspiration from France.