Chapter Sixteen

A Thief For Guidance

Bram heaved again, even though his stomach had long been empty. He'd always known that Eldwurms were perhaps the deadliest creatures in the world, but that was based on old scrolls and what the other Dragon Knights had told him.

Now he saw why. Now he knew for certain, and in perhaps the worst way possible.

The piles of matter which had been Dragon Knights were still steaming. The sickly smell of cauterised flesh and hair hung in the air. The stonework struck by the Eldwurm's caustic miasma had melted away into strange, sweeping shapes and pooled in the courtyard. In some places, it had mixed with the remains of men and become a grotesque swirl of grey and red.

'Careful!' Jorsen, perhaps the most senior Dragon Knight present who was currently conscious, had ordered the other squires to move Kaden onto a wagon. Kaden would live, his armour may have somehow been rendered powerless, but it had still been thick enough to save his life.

Despite everything, Bram could still not believe what he had seen. He had been fixated by Davion's monstrous form during the ambush in the hall, and had therefore been shocked to see the oddly silent, ravenous woman he called Marci challenge Kaden with naught but her bare hands.

Perhaps the biggest shock of all had been Davion choosing to attack Kaden. He shouldn't have been too surprised, and he did not really blame Davion, but it had still come as a shock.

Davion would never be allowed to re-join the Dragon Knights. He had attacked a brother, and not just any brother at that. He had attacked one of the most legendary Dragon Knights of all time.

Bram only had a few worries for himself. He had no doubt that they would cast him out when they learned of his actions. But they were going to try to kill Davion now.

He should have followed him. He knew that now.

'Right,' Jorsen turned to the squires after checking on Kaden. 'Go back inside and see if you can find any recollection scrolls. We need to return to Dragon Keep as quickly as possible and tell the rest of the Order what happened.'

That would be a memorable retelling. An Eldwurm which should only have existed in myth on the loose and a former Dragon Knight with the soul of an Eldwurm within also on the loose. Bram hoped that he would not be attending that meeting.

'Bram?' Jorsen called. 'Keep an eye on Kaden. Shout if he needs help. He's going to be confused for a while. Make sure he stays still.'

"Confused" was an understatement. It was only thanks to Kaden's formidably strong helmet that he was still alive. Marci's strike should have rendered him comatose, or scrambled his brains, or outright killed him. If his head had been unprotected... Bram had seen the attack. Marci had actually broken the mace. Against an unprotected head, the blow would have been fatal... and messy.

How on earth had Davion gotten himself mixed up in such a mess?

Kaden had briefly woken, and Jorsen had concluded that he was suffering from a nasty concussion. Now he was asleep again. Bram had never seen the man hurt, or so vulnerable before. He wasn't even sure if Kaden slept most days.

'Hail!'

Bram looked up from the supine Kaden. A large group of men on horseback were approaching, many of them staring around at the carnage. Their leader looked straight ahead, focused, unafraid and unconcerned. Something about him sent a shiver down Bram's spine. He looked for a weapon on instinct.

Jorsen stepped forwards with a couple of Dragon Knights. 'You had best turn back, friend. This is not a safe place to linger. A dragon is on the loose.'

The group's leader glanced briefly at the chaos. 'I guessed as much.' He was not a big man, but there was something formidable about him. He was strong, but also lean and sinewy. Under his cloak, Bram spied what looked like some sort of plate. It was not a form native to the area. It was segmented into strips rather than forged as a solid plate.

When he turned his head, Bram noticed the scars. It was as if somebody had torn two wide, long strips of flesh from his face. The scars ran across his eyes, down his cheeks and disappeared under his collar. How he had retained his sight was a mystery to Bram. The scars stood out as ruddy red trenches on the man's bronzed face.

Bram cast a wary eye over the other men and saw that they were all wearing armour under their cloaks. There was no uniformity, implying that they might be mercenaries.

'You are Dragon Knights, are you not?' The man spoke quietly, a faint rasp in his voice.

'Yes.' Jorsen answered. 'I'm afraid we must leave soon and cannot give you much in the way of help.'

'We too are in a hurry.' the scarred man said. 'But we only seek information.'

'What information?'

'The whereabouts of a person.' The scarred man waited a beat before speaking again, perhaps considering his next words. 'We are bounty hunters, charged with bringing a dangerous fugitive to justice. We seek a woman, a murderer going by the name of Mirana. She claims to be part of the Dark Moon Order, and dresses as a travelling priestess of Selemene. We found the unlucky priestesses she and her accomplice murdered to gain their disguises. Her accomplice is also a ruthless killer.'

Jorsen exchanged a dark look with one of his fellows. 'That would explain a lot. We have seen such a woman.' He gestured at the wreck left by Vylgranox. 'She was here, with a strange friend, both dressed as members of the Dark Moon Order. They came with a wayward Dragon Knight.' Jorsen grimaced. 'We had reason to suspect that the Knight had been tainted by something foul. You should be careful, my friend, I have reason to believe that the woman you seek is a witch. She used some sort of magic during the battle here, and her friend has inhuman strength. They also have a beast of some kind, a dangerous one.'

'We know, but thanks for the warning. What of this Knight of yours?'

Jorsen spat on the ground. 'He is a monster and a traitor. He turned on us and fled with your quarry.'

'Why?'

'We sought to understand the corruption he had suffered. They "rescued" him.' Jorsen huffed. 'Or perhaps they just seduced him. He was always a fool around women.'

'Do you know where they went?'

'The last I saw, they were heading over the mountains.' Jorsen answered. 'I wish you luck in your mission. If you happen to kill the traitor, bring his head back. We'd appreciate it.'

Bram resisted the urge to disagree. If only he could somehow warn Davion!

'We appreciate your aid.' The scarred men turned his horse about. 'Oh, one last question?'

'What is it?' Jorsen asked wearily.

'How much will you pay for the head of your traitor?'


Fymryn had been on the move for a week now, and she was starving.

The Invoker had deposited her and her friends close to the village, not his tower. On one hand, that was ideal. It meant that her friends would have had no trouble returning home.

But it meant that once she found her quarry, it would take her a long time to get the priestess and her allies to the Invoker's tower. A week, maybe two, maybe more if the weather turned foul.

The stallion she had taken was tiring, and he was just as hungry as she was. As they reached the edge of the ridge, he snorted loudly and shook his mane.

'Easy, boy.' Fymryn patted his neck. She craned her neck, peering down at the forest below. She could see water glittering in the sunlight.

Perfect. The horse needed a drink, and she might stand a chance of scavenging some berries or roots. She had not been that frugal with her food. She had not understood how the magical sapphire worked, and had assumed that she was not far from her target.

She was close now. The dot inside the gem was glowing brighter with every step. Fymryn hoped that her "allies" had horses of their own. Maybe the priestess had brought the night-beast along.

Fymryn felt a stirring of fear and exhaled shakily. She still had not figured out what she was going to tell them to avoid being murdered on the spot. She was armed and she had the blessings of Mene, but that did not make her invincible.

Fymryn squinted as she noticed another silvery ribbon in the distance, this one wider and longer. She knew that there was a river in this region. If she was right, it would actually lead towards the Invoker's tower.

A large enough boat or ferry would make this so much easier. Perhaps she could ingratiate herself with the priestess by suggesting it.

Fymryn clicked her tongue and nudged the horse's flanks. 'Watch over us, Mene, and protect us from your enemies.'

Fymryn guided her horse down into the forest, letting him walk rather than canter. She didn't want him to break a leg on the slope, or throw a horseshoe.

It was cool amongst the pine trees, and the soft thudding of her stallion's hooves on the pine needles was all she heard apart from the breeze. Not even the birds were singing.

That should have warned her.

Fymryn inhaled deeply, savouring the scents of the forest. It might not have been full of the evergreens she knew from home, but it was comforting all the same.

Her horse stopped and whinnied, tossing his mane.

'Easy!' Fymryn told him, stroking his neck. 'Easy. Do you smell something? Is it edible?'

He shied away from the trail, tossing his head again. He was distressed. Fymryn was no expert when it came to horses. Though she may have been a novice rider, she knew enough about horses to take the fear of her stallion seriously.

He had sensed danger. That meant she was in danger too.

Fymryn slowly reached for a knife, listening carefully and peering around. She could hear nothing apart from rustling branches. She could see nothing except for pine trees. She could feel her heart thumping beneath her ribs. Her hand trembled as it eased one of her knives from her belt.

There was something else thumping now, something closing in. Fymryn pulled on the reins and her horse stepped back, neighing with alarm. He could sense her fear too.

Fymryn heard the rhythmic thudding grow closer. It sounded familiar, it sounded like... hoof-beats?

Was it a rider? Maybe they would be friendly.

Fymryn turned her head, and her wild hope turned into terror as a huge shape charged from between the trees, waving a wickedly spiked club over its head. Its hoarse roars drove Fymryn's horse mad with panic.

Fymryn screamed as her horse reared and then galloped madly down the trail. She clung to his neck as he pelted away from the charging creature.

Fymryn risked a glance back and wished she had not. The creature chasing her appeared to be a monstrous humanoid with an ugly, bulky face and horns. But it was running as fast as her horse, if not faster, and looking down she saw that below the waist the creature had a horse-like form.

The centaur bellowed, and Fymryn quailed when she saw more of them emerge from the trees. All of them were brandishing weapons and roaring.

Panting as hard as her horse, she continued to cling on for dear life. Could she use her gifts to escape?

The thundering of the centaurs' hooves were right behind her. She spurred her horse to run faster, summoning her nerve as he ran. If she had to use Mene's gifts, she had to use them now!

Even as she tried to think of a way to escape, another centaur ran out in front of her horse. Her stallion did not react fast enough to avoid the spear in its hands.


Davion scratched at the stubble on his chin, itchy after shaving as usual. Mirana had obligingly loaned him a small mirror, and all things considered he felt that he had done a decent job.

Now he was sat with his back to a tree, listening as Marci whistled. He could hear splashing as she washed.

He had briefly been tempted to pay her back in kind for watching him bathe, but had decided not to. He respected her too much, and he found that he was content to simply listen to her whistle. Besides, he was not ashamed. He didn't think that he had anything to be ashamed of. The memory was amusing rather than annoying.

Plus there was the simple fact that Mirana would probably stick an arrow in his arse if he tried anything. She was sat against another tree, checking her bow. Her long hair was still damp.

Davion continued to listen to Marci's tune, trying to focus solely on the musical trill. The song in his head was a dull, ominous throb now. Vylgranox was hunting again.

He looked up at the pine trees around them. There was less cover than he would have liked, though Vylgranox could easily melt the trees with his caustic breath. Hiding from him was going to be difficult, no matter where they were.

Davion looked down at the damaged sword in his hand. He doubted that it would survive another parry. It would certainly break if he had to use it against Vylgranox.

Mirana was an excellent archer, but they might have been better off if Selemene had given her a ballista instead of a bow.

Davion frowned as he remembered the brief fight against Kaden, and their escape from the fortress. 'Mirana?' He spoke quietly, keeping an ear open for Marci's whistling.

'Hmm?' Mirana did not look up from her bow.

'That thing Marci did back at Weiß Wache... what was it? Has she done it before?'

Mirana frowned at him from under her lashes.

'I'm just wondering if it's something she can do often, in case we run into trouble.'

Mirana's eyes became vacant as she thought. 'Once.' She put her bow down. 'I've seen her do something like that once before. We were attacked and she fought back. She practically embedded Lar... the attacker in a wall with one punch and killed him outright.' Mirana shrugged. 'I didn't see much, I had been knocked down. But when she attacked Kaden, I remembered seeing light in her eyes that night. I thought I was seeing things at the time.'

That sounded almost ironic.

Marci had eventually told them what had happened when she had found the strange red stone in the caves of the Broken Peaks, including everything she could remember about the strange voice and vision. It had not been easy, even though Mirana understood her better than anyone else.

Mirana had suggested, as kindly as possible, that Marci might have been hallucinating. Marci had accepted this as a possibility, though she obviously had her doubts.

Davion knew that people suffering from the effects of hypothermia sometimes saw the unreal, and that stone had been unlike anything Davion had ever seen before. Even though he had only glimpsed it briefly, he could have sworn that it was somehow alive.

And then Marci had done the impossible and shattered the enchanted chains back in Weiß Wache. Davion was not afraid of her, despite not understanding her abilities. Mirana was likewise curious but not concerned. They were both prepared to accept that Marci had some sort of innate power that they might never understand, and they both trusted her with their lives.

'So you don't know what it is?' Davion surmised.

Mirana sighed. 'Davion, you've seen her. You've seen what she can do. You've seen how strong she is. When you first saw her, did you expect her to be capable of smashing a man's ribs with one punch? To be able to snap somebody's neck with one hand? She practically punched a boar to death once. She only stuck her dagger in its eye to make sure it was dead.' Mirana shook her head. 'She's always been much stronger than she appeared, but in the fourteen years I've known her, I've never found out why. She doesn't know why herself.'

'Yeah, she mentioned that.' Davion murmured. He felt a little guilty, talking about Marci when she wasn't present. 'What about you? How did you become such a good shot with a bow?'

'Practice.' Mirana stated. 'You may not believe it, but all of Selemene's clerics are taught to defend themselves. I've never been much good with swords and the like, but the bow suits me. I've spent five years honing my skill and learning to use Selemene's blessings.'

Davion heard footsteps and looked up to see Marci sauntering back, still whistling and pulling her wet hair back into the usual messy tail as she went. She paused in her trilling to smile at him. He returned the smile on impulse.

Marci sat and crossed her legs, picking up one of the rabbits Davion had caught with the snares. It had quickly become apparent that he was a good trapper, and they had started to send him out with the snares. For bigger prey, Marci and Sagan usually drove whatever they found towards Mirana, who would be waiting with an arrow ready to fly. Davion would have liked to help, but he was not as quiet as Marci and the lunar-tiger.

'I could cook if you wanted a break.' Mirana suggested as Marci finished skinning one of the rabbits.

Marci looked up, alarmed, and shook her head.

'Come on, Marci! You always cook.'

Marci shook her head again.

'It happened once!'

Marci held up four fingers.

'The third time you put too much wood on the fire!'

Marci scowled, shook her head once again, and jabbed a finger at Mirana.

'Ladies, please!' Davion held up his hands. 'As much as I might enjoy watching you both wrestle, I'm hungry too. How about a compromise? I'll cook.'

Mirana frowned. Marci seemed to be giving the matter thought. She cocked her head, eyes slightly narrowed, then nodded.

Mirana stared at Marci, surprised and annoyed. 'Seriously?'

Marci shrugged and handed the rabbit to Davion, then set about skinning the next one.

'I'm not as good a cook as you, Marci, but I get by.' Davion shrugged. 'I'm better than Jorsen, though that's not saying much.'

It was true. Jorsen had a reputation for only being able to cook charcoal. Davion also knew that he himself had nothing on Marci when it came to cooking. She could make the seemingly inedible delicious. Given her appetite, he supposed it made sense.

Mirana huffed and pretended to count her arrows as she sulked. Marci stretched, and Davion could not help but glance at her as she did so. For someone short, she seemed very long whenever she did this, probably because of her athletic build. He couldn't help but notice her curves as she lifted her arms over her head. She was not built like the women he usually ended up sharing a bed with, but if anything he saw her as more appealing. He found himself admiring her more and more every day, and it wasn't just her looks he noticed.

Marci noticed him watching her. She paused, arms still over her head, a little colour appearing in her cheeks. Her mouth crooked in a mischievous smile and she winked at him.

She was doing this deliberately. She was flirting with him.

Davion made sure that Mirana wasn't watching, then smiled and returned the wink. He doubted that anything could happen between him and Marci, and not just because Mirana would turn him into a feathered porcupine if she caught them. But he saw no harm in reciprocating a little interest.

Once again, he found himself thinking that it was a shame. He also knew that it would not have ended as a one-night stand, not if he could have helped it. Whether it would have gone further, he could not say, and sadly he was unlikely to find out.

But Marci did seem to be the sort who valued a lasting bond.

Davion tried to focus on what he was doing. This was a strange time to be thinking about such things, and it was the wrong time. They were being hunted and they were seeking something potentially dangerous. They would not thank him if he ruined their dinner either. Time and place.

Marci actually decided to use the time to rest, keeping an eye on the food as Davion cooked. She settled onto her back, hands clasped behind her head. She watched the wispy clouds as they drifted overhead, sometimes letting her eyes drift back to the rabbits Davion was cooking. She sniffed as the meat sizzled, eager to eat as usual.

'Soon.' Davion assured her. 'Just a few more minutes.'

Mirana kept looking towards the peaks they had left behind when she thought nobody was looking. She did not say it, yet they could tell that Vylgranox had seriously unnerved her. She was expecting to see his winged form overhead.

There was a thin wisp of smoke coming from the fire, something a dragon in the air could spot easily.

Davion put it out of his mind. Being chased by an Eldwurm worried him, that went without saying. But Vylgranox had been badly injured. He would at least be moving slowly, if he was moving at all.

He was also aware of how the song changed when he approached. At Weiß Wache it had become the tolling of a grave bell rather than the vague undulations he was growing accustomed to. He still could not say what the song was, only that it had something to do with dragons.

Davion removed the spit and set about preparing the cooked rabbit. Marci sat up quickly, leaning forwards to watch. Davion chuckled. She was likely restraining herself from snatching the meat straight off the spit.

Sure enough, her meal was devoured in moments when he handed it to her. He hadn't made it obvious—he knew what she was like—but he had given her a slightly bigger portion. Obviously she had no complaints about his cooking.

'Mm,' Mirana nodded her approval. 'I'll admit it, Davion: you're a decent cook.'

'I have my moments.' As long as they didn't ask him to do anything complicated, he would manage. 'I'd still say that Marci is the better cook. Who taught you?'

Marci paused in licking the grease off her fingers, her face creasing sadly. She made the sign for "home" again and left it at that.

They had not told him everything. He knew that.

Davion still did not believe that they were originally from the Nightsilver Woods. He believed that they had ended up joining the Dark Moon Order in order to find sanctuary. If you wanted to hide from the past, the Nightsilver Woods were ideal.

He still did not know what they were running from, though. Part of him wished they would tell him, if only so he could better protect them. But he knew that it would cause them pain to remember, he just had to look at Marci's face when she reminisced.

Kaden had said that the amulet they were using to find the sage came from the Helio Imperium. That didn't mean anything though. Lots of things from the Imperium ended up spread across the world. As for the dragon cult connection, he had no answers for that, but he doubted that Marci worshipped dragons.

Sagan grunted and lifted his head, staring into the trees. Marci and Mirana both became tense, and Davion had learned to take the lunar-tiger seriously when he acted like this.

On their way down the mountain three days ago, Sagan had alerted them to a small group of trolls creeping up on their camp. They had decided to slip away rather than risk getting injured in a fight. There had been no sign of the trolls since, and they had counted their blessings and carried on.

Maybe they had caught up. Marci picked up the hunting spear and prepared to hurl it.

'Sagan?' Mirana whispered. 'What is it?'

Sagan grumbled and stood, his hackles up. Danger.

They all heard the scream. It was a woman's scream, high and full of panic. It was followed by the scream of a dying horse.

They all took off into the trees, following the sound of the woman screaming. Sagan bounded ahead of Marci and Davion. Mirana hung back a little, an arrow nocked to her bowstring.

Davion burst from the foliage behind Sagan just in time to see Sagan leap on top of a large quadruped and bring it down, biting deep into its neck.

A centaur, and he was not alone.

Whatever they had been attacking was not in sight, and the centaurs, seemingly confused, turned their attention on Sagan. An arrow flew and struck one of the centaurs in the chest, killing him instantly. Marci hurled the spear, and it shot straight through the upper torso of her target and embedded itself in the tree behind.

The others bellowed and charged, waving their weapons as they galloped.

Marci rolled under the club of one and spun, still slightly crouched, and flicked her dagger underhand at her attacker. The dagger sunk into the centaur's back and he dropped his club. Mirana finished him off with another arrow.

Sagan came to Davion's rescue as one charged at him next. The lunar-tiger bowled the centaur over and Davion finished him off with a thrust to the neck. He had to quickly parry a battleaxe, which was too much for his damaged sword. The sword snapped, leaving Davion with just two feet of blade. He wasted no time and jammed the jagged edge into the centaur's belly, wrenching it across and disembowelling his foe. He barely noticed the warm blood soaking into his boots and hosen.

Davion picked up the fallen axe in his left hand and looked up to see Marci sidestep a club and break the knee of her attacker. He stumbled forwards, allowing Marci to deliver a lightning fast elbow-strike to his head. She made sure he was dead by stamping on his neck.

Davion looked round, broken sword in one hand and the axe in the other. He grimaced as he realised that his boots were covered in centaur guts.

'Is that all of them?' Mirana called, her bowstring partially taut.

Davion heard bones snap as Marci stamped on another neck. She looked up and whistled.

There was a dead horse in the middle of the trail, a spear sticking out of his chest. There seemed to be no-one else around. But they had heard a woman screaming, and there was no sign of her body. The centaurs had been confused when they arrived. Perhaps their victim had managed to hide or even flee.

'Hello?' Davion called. 'We know you're there. We're not going to hurt you.'

A shaky voice with a noticeable accent responded, 'Are they all dead?'

'Yes.' Davion heard more neck-bones snap. 'Very dead.' He glanced over his shoulder at Marci. 'Do you not like horses or is it just centaurs?'

Marci shrugged, then placed two fingers near her throat and swung them back and forth. I'm just making sure they're dead.

'Good call.' Davion approved before turning back to where the voice had come from. 'We're not going to hurt you. If you're injured we can help you.'

Half of a pale face emerged from behind a tree, one frightened blue eye fixed on Davion. There was a pointed ear just visible behind a plait of pale flaxen hair. An elf. That explained the accent.

'It's all right.' Davion realised that he had to look less than pleasant right then. He was covered in blood, had intestines trailing across his boots, and was holding a large axe and a broken sword. He sighed and let the warsword drop. It had been a good sword. 'We're friends.'

The elf was still shaking as she stepped out from behind the tree. She was clad in functional green clothing, with a red sash tied about her waist. Instead of boots, she wore simple sandals. Davion could see a pair of knife hilts sticking up from under the sash. She was about the same height as Marci, and about as slim, though not as athletic. Davion guessed that she might be a year or two younger as well, though it was hard to tell with elves.

She also seemed to recognise them, but Davion was sure that he had never seen her before in his life. He glanced over at Marci and Mirana.

Mirana was frowning as if trying to recall something. Marci, however, was glaring, her eyes full of anger. She signed at Mirana rapidly, then jabbed a finger at the elf.

Mirana lifted her bow and drew back the arrow. 'Don't move!'

'Wait!' Davion held up his hands, one of them still holding the battleaxe, and moved between her arrow and the elf. Not a wise move if she fumbled with the bowstring. 'What's wrong? Why are you—'

'Davion! Move!' Mirana shouted. 'We know who you are, elf! We know that you stole Selemene's sacred lotuses!'

'They were Mene's lotuses!' the elf retorted.

Marci moved to step around Davion, her face contorted with fury. Davion held out an arm to stop her, all too aware of how easily she could break it.

The elf held up her hands, seeming to regret her words. 'I... I'm sorry. I...' she exhaled shakily. 'I made a mistake.'

'What? You made a mistake when you trespassed on holy ground and stole sacred artefacts?' Mirana snapped, her arms starting to tremble as she kept the arrow ready to fly. 'Do you think we're stupid?'

The elf raised her snowy eyebrows, nearly invisible against her pale skin. 'I think you're very brave, and very determined.'

'Don't think that flattery is going to save you.'

'Please!' the elf lifted her hands again. 'I'm here to help you!'

'Help?' Mirana almost shrieked the word. Her arms were shaking now. 'That's rich coming from you, thief!'

'Mirana!' Davion shouted. 'Put that damn arrow down before it ends up in somebody's eye!'

Mirana hesitated, then realised that Davion and Marci were both close to the elf. She was an excellent archer, but bows were not as accurate as the stories claimed they were. Even one blessed by Selemene could miss, especially when its wielder's arms were tired and aching from holding back the bowstring for so long.

Mirana lowered her bow and relaxed the string. 'Talk. Talk quickly.'

The elf's eyes flicked between each of them, still wide with fear. 'My name is Fymryn, and I know where you can find your lotuses.'

Marci's glare narrowed. Davion could almost hear her saying: I bet you do.

Fymryn reached for her sash. Mirana's bow shot up again, the arrow poised to fly.

'Easy!' Fymryn called. 'I need to show you something.' She produced a small blue gem. A sapphire. 'Here. Take a look.'

'Did you steal that too?' Mirana demanded.

Davion reached out and Fymryn dropped the sapphire into his palm. He noticed the dot of light immediately. Frowning, he angled it to the left, then back to the right. 'Marci,' he spoke in a low murmur, 'I need to see your amulet.'

Marci reached under her collar and pulled out the amulet. As Davion had expected, the dot of light in the sapphire followed the movement of Marci's eye-shaped talisman. He also saw that the dot in Marci's amulet was following Fymryn's gem.

Davion handed the gem back, wondering if this had somehow been planned. It made no sense to him if it had.

'Well?' Mirana demanded.

'You say that you know where the lotuses are?' Davion checked, ignoring Mirana for now.

Fymryn nodded. 'Yes.'

Davion partially turned his head. 'We need her, Mirana.'

'What?'

Marci held up her amulet, then pointed at Fymryn.

Mirana stared at them, dumbfounded. 'Is this a joke?'

'If it is, I don't get it.' Davion muttered.

Mirana huffed irritably. 'Marci.' She jerked her head towards Fymryn. Marci nodded and stepped behind Fymryn. Before Fymryn could do anything, Marci quickly took the knives from her.

'If you try to run, Marci will break your legs.' Mirana warned.

Fymryn looked round at Marci, clearly doubtful. Marci returned her quizzical look with another glower, one which said: Don't push your luck.

With Marci following and watching her like a particularly vindictive hawk, Fymryn followed Davion as they left the bloody carnage behind.

This had actually gone better than she had expected, mainly because she was still alive.


The keep had seen better days. Much better days.

But the melted stones and slurries of gore were good news for Terrorblade. It meant that Vylgranox had finally shown up.

He had hoped that slaying Uldrak and taking his soul would be enough. It seemed that it had actually been Slyrak's act of fusing his soul to Davion's which had been the nudge the Arbiter had needed to interfere. Vylgranox was not interested in trivial affairs.

Terrorblade stepped through the ruined archway, admiring the mess Vylgranox had left in his wake.

One of two things would happen now: either Vylgranox would find Davion and kill him, or Terrorblade himself would find Davion and kill him first. Either outcome suited him. Slyrak's soul was stuck with Davion's, and Vylgranox could claim it. But Terrorblade could just as easily put an end to Vylgranox and claim the joined souls, as well as the soul of Vylgranox.

If he killed Vylgranox, he would be that much closer to his goal.

'Who goes there?'

Terrorblade turned the head of his vessel, peering out through its eyes. It seemed that the Dragon Knights had left some men behind to guard the keep.

Good.

Terrorblade spread his arms. 'Just a weary traveller, so far from home.' He smiled cruelly at them, revelling in their fear as they saw the bottomless green voids which were his eyes. 'I hope your hospitality is satisfactory, Dragon Knights. I've brought some friends for you to entertain.'

Behind him came the sounds of snarling and shuffling. Tattered clothing flapping, filthy mail rustling, rank plate clanking, the dead staggered into the courtyard, hungry for fresh meat.

Terrorblade let them stream around him, the piece he had taken from the Direstone attached to a chain around his neck, glowing against his breastplate. He chuckled as the first screams pierced the cold air. 'I hope the larders are well stocked. My new friends are hungry.'