Weeks later, a tattered, damaged ship limped its way into Turinthian waters. Waiting warships soon escorted the broken vehicle in, and the crew was soon freed from its bosom.

With a squad of soldiers, General Mountebank eagerly met his knights, relieved of their return. They were soon taken back to the palace of the King and their story was told. King Prelance’s face grew dark as Bartholomew discussed what they had encountered, the otherworldly Slth, and their connection to not only Mezzolanke, but the Dark Ones themselves. Bartholomew withdrew from a parcel the pages and scrolls Qualtan had given him and laid them before the King and General Mountebank. The mark of Those That Stand in Shadow was proudly displayed on many of them. The King took them in his hands.

“He is dead then?” the King asked with concern, looking to Bartholomew and then to Glaive.

“We do not know. The Slth apparently fled back to their home world by means of a mystic tunnel. We do not know if they were successful, or if Qualtan was able to follow them before the cavern roof collapsed. We stand here because of his efforts,” Bartholomew said. Glaive said nothing, staring towards the floor.

The King shook his head. “Horrors of all type assail us: the loss of the Goldenflame and its bearer, these…proofs…of the Dark Ones’ machinations upon our very lands, and the kingdom of Mezzolanke involved as well! I never would have thought they would dare to lower themselves to such an allegiance, but such is the way of things.”

“They have broken our pact of neutrality by this partnership,” Mountebank added.

“We must learn what those papers contain,” Bartholomew said.

“Indeed, and we shall. General Mountebank, take these to the university. Have the scribes who have kept the lore of the Dark Ones since wars past translate these hated words of evil. Summon the council! Our Alliance partners must be informed of this. We will demand representatives of Mezzolanke come forward to answer for these deeds! Whether taken illegally from their lands or not, their actions to ally with the Dark Ones, and the use of their forbidden powers, supersedes all niceties of stately law.”

“But, your Majesty!” Euric said, clearing his throat as he approached the throne. “What does it matter if agents of Mezzolanke’s emperor come here to defend themselves with lies and false accusations? We already know their guilt!”

The King smiled. “But of course we know this is the case. Your actions have given us the proofs that lie before us. But…” The King raised a hand to halt Euric’s response. “…what we need now is time. Time to decipher these documents and prepare a final accounting straight to the doorstep of the master schemer or schemers behind all this. We cannot allow the Mezzolankeans to know of this. They will warn their allies. They already are doing so as we speak. But they must be made to assume we know nothing more than their own involvement in this. While we go through courtly ritual, we will hopefully add enough delay to give your next mission a chance! Our proceedings will be long and complex, and by their end, you will have found the source of this slavery, and defeated it!”

The knights nodded, encouraged by the King’s wisdom.

“For once, our paper shuffling and shouts of debate will be put to good use!” the King added with a wry look.

“Your Majesty, if Those That Stand in Shadow are truly behind this, should not the School of the Arch-Mages be contacted? Swords will not stand alone against their peril. Surely the great wizard Aurelus, uncle to Qualtan, must be informed of these events!” Bartholomew said.

“The Arch-Mages have served us well. They are the mighty rampart, the final wall that protects the civility and order of the Alliance. It is with their assistance that we have kept back the never-ending tides of evil that crash upon our shores. Do not fear, Sir Knight, your counsel is not far from my own. Know that you have done a mighty thing for your nation and for the Alliance by your brave efforts, each of you. You have saved us all. I bow to you with the thanks of a grateful nation.” The King rose from his throne and lowered his head. The knights did the same, taking to their knees except for Glaive, whose eyes never left the polished marbled floor.

“Now go. Rest and heal yourselves. When the call goes forth, you must be ready.” As the knights saluted, Glaive left the chamber.

Weeks passed as the King’s plan was put into place. Emissaries were quickly sent to Mezzolanke by sea, as the naval army of Turinthia was mustered. Word was sent to Bagda and Medlissia, warning them of the peril, and requiring their presence. Ships marshaled in the neutral waters separating Turinthia’s registered waterways with that of Mezzolanke in a grand show of force to demand their acquiescence. Fear of military confrontation diverted ships and impacted trade.

The scribes from the capital’s mightiest university of learning worked diligently upon their royal decree. They sat quietly in row upon row of wooden benches in a large, open-spaced chamber under the watchful eye of General Mountebank, as old recordings and wormy reference works were refreshed and cross-matched against the documents Qualtan had secured. They were sworn to secrecy and their special work shared with none.

Throughout these events, the knights were attended to and took ease as best they could. In a dining hall used solely by the members of the Bearded Lion, Bartholomew, Euric, and Richard sat completing their meals, as they worried for what lay ahead.

“So you will be continuing the journey then?” Bartholomew asked Richard as he pushed an empty plate of bones and wet vegetables away.

The other knight burped loudly, his beard awash with grease as he gulped down his third pint of brewed drink.

“Aye, damn it all. I was hoping Michael would be brought back to join us, or I him, but they are leaving well enough alone. I am waiting on word back on his status. I fear he will miss a great adventure.”

“We need wizards, not warriors, for this. If that special warship was any proof of what lies ahead, we need magic to combat magic!” Euric said.

“Lord Ruflix, the King’s personal wizard, may join us, I hear,” Bartholomew added.

“Bah! That fool is help to no one! He has resisted any request to join the field. We need the School to aid us now,” Euric complained.

Richard pointed a meaty leg of lamb towards the knight. “Did you see how the King failed to confirm their assistance? He does not wish for them to come in and steal his glory!”

“You do not know this,” Bartholomew warned.

“Of course I do! Of course I do! And you know it yourself! He wants to prove a point, he does, that we can do well enough without them!” Richard said, belching loudly as if in exclamation. He reached for a serving jug to refill his mug, spilling its contents over the table in his attempt.

“You have had enough drink, and it colors your thoughts. If that is the King’s command, than we shall follow it. Are you so fearful of your duty that you need a wizard to cower behind?” Bartholomew said.

Richard glowered at the knight. “Do not challenge my loyalty. It is all well and good to stand with a magic weapon or shield than without. If it wasn’t for your shield, we would all be dead men floating in the sea!”

“Which proves my point. We can handle our own.”

“But truly, Richard speaks a’right. What lands will we travel to now? We cannot enter the domain of Shaz,” Euric said.

“By the High Lord, do not even say it!” Richard said.

“And we shall not, for that would be war. I have seen some of the results that the scribes have presented. We do not go to Shaz. I do not know where as yet, but it is not to that place.”

Richard sighed in relief.

“I would change our topic. Bartholomew, what of Qualtan? What do you think?” Euric said. “I have wondered over his fate. Did we abandon our brother?”

“I do not know, Euric. I wish I did.”

“He cannot be alive. Even his strength could not protect him from tons of rubble and rock. He is dead,” Richard said.

“Some of the Slth surely escaped. He may have escaped with them.”

“To where? To some place of hell? Even if so, he will never get back.”

“You seem to mourn him little, Richard,” Euric said, angered by his words.

“I have mourned for him as a brother knight. He did his duty. I can do little else for him now.”

Uncomfortable silence took over the chamber.

Euric sighed, looking about with sudden realization. “Where is Jesepha? I have not seen her of late. She did not come down to dinner tonight.”

“You worry over the girl knight more than you should,” Richard said with a sneer, rising from his table.

“What would you know of it?!” Euric said smartly. “You are drunk! All I ever see you do is drink. That is all you have done since our return!”

“Bah! I have heard you have done the same, partying with your fine friends and strumpets,” Richard said, staring intently at the mug he slowly rotated in his hands.

“Not at times like this,” Euric said.

“Drink soothes the soul from the horrors I have seen. You are young yet, little Euric. When you have been introduced to what truly lies outside, you will drink not for merriment, but to keep yourself from going insane. Am I not right, Bartholomew, eh?” Richard said.

“You are not,” Bartholomew said, staring at the knight.

Richard looked to one brother knight, and then the other. “I tire of this company. Good night!” Richard said, staggering away from the hall. He hurled his mug across the room. The clomping of his metal boots echoed harshly until he was gone from view.

Euric slammed a fist on his own table, rattling his plates. “Drink-addled fool! A fine pick to run an ale shop in the borderlands!”

“You must let her make her own decisions on this, Euric.”

Euric looked up to the knight. “I must look the fool to you.”

Bartholomew smiled. “You are not the only knight to love. Would you wish her feelings forced to assuage your own?”

“No, of course not. I only wish…” Euric rose to leave as well. “I only wish things were different. And now this. Qualtan, by the High Lord, Bartholomew! What is happening to him? What if he needs help? Our help? Creatures from beyond, the presence of the Dark Ones…I fear the world is getting too large for me. Either that, or I have grown too small.”

“You must have faith, Euric, for Qualtan and for yourself. We have yet to fail.”

“Faith, so easy for you to say, for nothing worries you or haunts you. A pity that I am not as perfect in deed and thought as you.” Euric grabbed hold of the cowl he had hung atop his chair and left. Bartholomew took no injury from his words. He merely sat quietly, lost in his own troubled thoughts, as attendants began to enter the chamber, cleaning up after the knights.

Glaive completed stuffing his belongings into a pair of buckled satchels. He paused and thought briefly on the advantages of his position with Tringolm. All the additional clothes, cloaks, and extra cartridges of firing bolts that he could request as needed would be sorely missed, as well as the free meals. His money belt was wrapped around his waist beneath his padded tunic; the precious stones he had stolen from Lord Thule during his prior adventure had been converted into enough gold coinage to keep him above water for a time, he mused.

He sighed loudly, looking about his chamber, seemingly for the last time. Stepping quietly into a hallway, he made his way about, clinging to the shadows, unwilling for any other person to see him. At a particular juncture he waited. A crowd of squires was racing towards his direction. He smiled, thinking of the elevated status they had placed on him. He hoped the few goodbye notes he had left at his desk would be well received. Glaive would never admit it, but the young lads had grown on him over time. Finding a nearby window, Glaive opened the glass-paneled framework and jumped onto a railing outside. He carefully climbed his way down into the central garden area of the palace, dusting his clothes free from the vines and branches that clung to him during his descent. As he made his way through the tiny maze, he was suddenly taken by surprise. Stealthy as he was, he was nearly bowled over by another lurker in the dark. Jesepha immediately removed a blade from beneath a long skirt that she wore, cursing her luck.

“You?! What are you doing here?” she demanded, catching her breath from the chance meeting.

“What do you mean, what am I doing here? What are YOU doing here, fumbling about in the night? And what is that thing that you’re wearing?” Glaive said, focusing on her with curiosity.

She frowned. “This is no thing but a dress, as if you have never seen one before!” She adjusted her skirt, replacing the long dagger hidden on a strap that wrapped around her left thigh.

“I haven’t seen you wear something like that before,” Glaive said, amused.

Jesepha turned red with both anger and embarrassment. “And why wouldn’t I? You haven’t known me long enough to know what I would or wouldn’t wear. Why do you carry those bags and slink about at this hour?” she said, quickly changing the subject.

“Same reason as you, I suppose, to avoid unwanted attention. I’m leaving,” Glaive said, picking up the bags he had dropped in his surprise.

“What? Why?” Jesepha asked with sudden concern.

“With Qualtan gone, there is no need for me to stay.”

“I thought you loved him as a brother.”

“I do.”

“They why do you abandon him?”

“I do not abandon him! Everybody else has! You heard the King—the loss of the Goldenflame and its bearer—couldn’t even bloody well mention his name! He doesn’t care about what happened to him. I foolishly joined his quest to come here, my head in the clouds as much as he. Now…” Glaive’s voice trailed off as he picked up the items that fell from his satchels.

“If you did love him, you would honor his beliefs by holding them true to your heart.”

Glaive rolled his eyes, moaning with impatience.

“Qualtan told me how the squires look up to you.”

“Children! And they aren’t mine,” Glaive responded.

“What of your other friends? Have you no value in them?”

“What other friends?”

“Myself, for one, Bartholomew for a second. Euric is a third.”

Glaive balanced the twin sacks on his back, judging their weight.

“You abandon us, now. You can’t go! Mayhap his uncle can find him! Don’t you think he deserves for you to risk more time in wait before deciding to leave?”

Glaive gritted his teeth, his eyes working feverishly from left to right.

“We owe a debt to you, after all. You have done as much as any knight, if not more, in our recent missions.”

“I am not a knight, nor do I wish to become one. You want to risk your heads on the business end of some orcne’s sword all day and then drink and brag about it later? Fine, but I was a thief by trade, and spending my day surrounded by muscle-brained oafs who like to talk about whose sword is bigger is not on my list of interests.”

“You insult me by saying that,” Jesepha, said, putting her hands to her waist.

“Oh, you know what I mean!”

“So none of this matters—the fellowship of squires who see you as an elder brother, the respect and trust of knights who have befriended you, the lives of those who you have rescued with us…”

“By Urgsh’s swollen kneecaps, are all of you knights by day and priests by night? I heard enough of this twaddle from Qualtan back in the day! Farewell.”

Jesepha followed Glaive, walking just behind him.

“And it means nothing to you. None of us.”

Glaive looked pained. “It’s not like that…”

“I would guess a half-orcne’s life isn’t an easy one.”

“Hah! You have that right, at least!”

“Yet Qualtan befriended you, took you in, because he believed in you and your friendship, despite what many would think. You stand toe-to-toe with the knights of the realm, with friends, and confer with Kings and generals. And now you would throw it all away—to do what—to hide and scurry back to the Woodworm Ports? To prove he was wrong and all the naysayers that laughed behind his back and yours were right?”

Glaive stopped, his head down as he took in her words. His hands curled into shaking fists.

“I am getting tired of having these blasted conversations!” he said. “How I yearn for the days that were not complicated by all of this nonsense!”

“You lie,” Jesepha said flatly.

Glaive giggled. “I do, don’t I?” he said. “It sounded well enough…”

Jesepha punched him in the arm.

“Ow!”

“Your friend has wondrous powers. There is hope. You must stay the course for him.”

Glaive smiled at last, appraising the knight. “You know, for being a human female you aren’t half bad. Not hairy enough, but not bad.”

Jesepha laughed. “I trust you have made your decision then.”

“I owe it to him; yes, I do. Mind you, I make this decision based upon my own thoughts on the matter, and not on anything you have said.”

“Of course,” Jesepha said sarcastically.

“A half-orcne needs no marching, flag waving, sword-brain to tell him what he should do.”

“Agreed!”

“There! I feel better about things now,” Glaive said, straightening himself out.

“At last!” Jesepha said.

“And what about you then?”

“Me?”

“You have dressed yourself up for someone, and I’m thinking it’s not poor Euric.”

Jesepha looked away.

“Definitely not Euric,” Glaive continued, “since you are obviously hoping to have none see you. I would assume you go to see that merchant lord.”

“You are correct. And what of it?”

“Now, now, I allowed you through my shield, friend, so why not let me through yours?”

Jesepha glowered at Glaive, but admitted to herself he was right.

“Yes. I go to see Visandus. I did not want Euric to see me like this, did not want to hurt him.”

“It is a different look for you.”

Again Jesepha flushed. “Do I look well in this? I admit I’m not used to it.”

Glaive folded his arms. “You look fine, even to a half-orcne! I trust that dagger is there should our merchant friend prove a bit too boisterous?”

Jesepha laughed. “A knight never leaves her weapon.”

“Is it love then?”

“Don’t be a fool! I have only just met the man! He is tall, and graceful. He carries himself like a noble of the court, and is sweet with his words…”

“Pfaugh, that is enough detail for me,” Glaive complained, a sour look overtaking his grizzled face.

“I could not be with a man that I must battle with side-by-side, to constantly worry over his safety instead of my own or the mission. Euric could not understand that.”

“So you do like him.”

“He is a good friend, Glaive. He annoys and irritates like a junior brother, but that is his way, to hide his true self behind his flippancy. I have thought about it, but in our current state of affairs, it could never be. Besides, he needs to grow up, to be a true man.”

“I see.”

Jesepha turned a steady gaze at Glaive. “If you ever tell him this…”

Glaive raised his hands in mock defense. “I know, I know. My tongue is silent, so that I shall not lose it. So may I ask a final question?”

“I lose precious time!” Jesepha protested.

“Just one.”

“Fine, what else do you need to know?”

“Why do you people do it? Why are you a knight?”

At first Jesepha thought the half-orcne was joking, but then saw the seriousness in his eyes.

“Why?” Jesepha walked away a few paces, lost in thought. “I shall tell you why. Because my father wished for a son to become a knight. Because my father had a daughter instead and cared not that he had. Because that daughter loved her father and came to love his dream. Because she grew to enjoy the challenge of proving herself against boys, and being their better. Because she had a father that wished her to stand by herself, and never to rely on others to do it for her. Because she did not wish to play the role of model wife, or passive housemaid. Because she wanted her life to mean something, to help others. My father gave me the confidence to pursue what I wanted to do, and to never feel less than equal to anyone else. He told me how proud he was on many an occasion, and did so again when I lay by his bedside when he silently passed. Though many took surprise, even offense at my choice of life, he did not. Like your friend, he believed in a better world. He believed in a world where a woman could carry a sword and be given the respect of any man, like your friend’s belief that the title of orcne did not matter. I have seen my father’s dream come true…”

“And I’ll soon see Qualtan’s, is that it?”

“You will never know unless you stay around to find out.”

Glaive shrugged. Sheepishly, he looked to his feet. “Your words have merit, Sir Knight. It is…good to be surrounded by true friends, I think. Perhaps you are right. In either event, you’d best be off and go meet your pirate scoundrel. Your secret is safe with me.”

Jesepha smiled as she turned to leave.

“By the way, I would hazard to say you do look beautiful this night. Moreso than usual.”

“Flatterer!” she said happily as she disappeared from view.

Glaive squeezed the back of his neck with his hand. “I no longer know who I am. Qualtan, you’d better come back to explain it all to me. This is all your doing,” he said sadly. “It’s all because of you.” Glaive took his bags, and navigated his way back inside.

The assemblage of the council was a grand affair. Row upon row of noble stateswomen and statesmen filed into the main throne room followed by various attendants, servants, and assistants. Any law or edict passed went through a rigorous process of thought and debate with the council members, who usually either presented new topics for the day or argued against those presented by others. The King would then cogitate and decide upon the matter, unless the issue was considered an emergency of state, in which case the King could enact his own powers to act unilaterally without initial debate or consent by the council. It was uncommon for the King to side against the majority when they favored a particular decision, but when it did occur, the council was given a last chance at rebuttal. If that failed, the King would issue his final rule, and no further challenge would be allowed. Although the King’s command was absolute, the council could depose the throne, if enough proofs of mismanagement of rule could be proven and voted for. This had occurred only once in the kingdom’s past, when King Pentioch, the second ruling throne of Turinthia, was removed for spending the majority of his time in a separate palace of his own, making merry with select friends and ignoring matters of state. The act was finally decided upon when the King, along with three of his stalwart companions, drunkenly paraded through the capital city on stolen mules. The event was particularly noted for the use of His Majesty’s royal trousers being worn atop his head with little else being used to adorn the rest of the regal body.

The vote being presented today was of more serious concern. King Prelance, along with General Mountebank, described the events of the past: the investigations into the rumors of kidnapped persons upon Alliance lands, most notably Turinthia and Medlissia. The dual effort surrounding the free lands that bordered between them, and the discovery of Mezzolanke’s involvement. The spear weapon taken from that nation’s dead knight was displayed, along with the many pages of listed prisoners and the stories told by the knights involved in the operation. Their journey into Mezzolankean lands was duly noted, as was their success. Gasps resonated at the description of the loss of the sword created by the School of Mages. No mention was made of Those That Stand in Shadow, as this was a morsel that would be kept secret by the King to ensure the safety of their next mission.

“Why was the council not informed of this illegal action against our neighbor? Our actions have gone against our pact of neutrality, thereby weakening our position against their acts,” said one of the concerned council members, rising from his seat.

“As your King and servant, I enacted my own counsel on this affair, as it was deemed an immediate risk to the security of the nation, as per the powers granted to this throne. Illegal or no, the additional proofs recovered, and the witness provided by those who were rescued, prevent any condemnation against us. We have moved quickly to protect our country and its people, and have sovereign right to do so, regardless of any treaty that we have signed,” the King replied.

The council member bowed low, returning to his seat. Another rose, an elderly stateswoman who had long served her country.

“Are we then to talk of war?” she asked sternly.

General Mountebank rose to answer the question. “We do not speak of war, madam council. Rather, we speak of restitution. We demand that Mezzolanke answers for these heinous actions against our sovereignty. Representatives from our Alliance partners have been requested to join us here that we may engage the Mezzolankeans and lay what sanctions we deem fit! They owe us for loss of life, and the seeming loss of the Goldenflame and its chosen bearer. We have sent our navy to straddle the neutral waters separating us to show the seriousness of the situation, with aid from Medlissia. They have been caught red handed and they will pay!”

The other council members looked to their sister for her approval. Her position carried great weight and few dared to challenge her.

“If we do not speak of war then I am satisfied with your actions. Bring these pirateers to us!”

Immediately, the chamber rang with the rapping of knuckles as both the King and General bowed before the councilwoman.

“Bring the devils here!” cried another council member, and soon the rest leapt up from their chairs, shaking fists and calling for justice.

As the matter continued, General Mountebank and the knights left. “The wheel has been turned. We move tomorrow night.”

“The scribes have finished their work?” Richard asked.

“Yes. We go there next.” As they left the palace, the knights did not know that a councilman, the one that had first questioned the King’s actions, observed them from a balcony, watching as their waiting carriage took to the sun-drenched streets of painted red and yellow stone. He smiled confidently before retreating back to his rooms.

“Why was Visandus not present?” Richard inquired.

“His position is kept secret for now. No need to share his exploits with the council. He awaits us with Glaive at the university. They have been looking over the scribes’ work,” Lord Mountebank said.

They soon reached the marbled steps of the great university. It housed hundreds of scholars from a variety of fields; poetry, music, bestiary, botanic, medicinal, history, art, mathematics, language, architecture, and more. Only the nations of the Alliance had established such places of learning, where knowledge had been pooled and catalogued from untold sources and risky voyages that took their researchers thousands of leagues away.

The knights were quickly met by one of the school’s senior administrators, a robed, lanky woman wearing a white tasseled wig and tall, upraised collar. The collar was so tall in fact; the edges hid her ears from view. Exchanging bows, she led them to an auditorium-like chamber guarded by soldiers, where selected scribes had been hard at work.

She called the senior scribe that led the transcription work, and he quickly shuffled into view. A short man with a bald head and clean shaven face, he wore short brown robes and a brown apron splotched with droplets of ink.

“It is sad indeed to see this language grace our shores once again,” the administrator said as the scribe signaled to Glaive and Visandus, who sat a few aisles back, to bring the scrolls they had been reviewing. “That such horror can still be present now in this enlightened age, is appalling.”

“Hateful evil will never be far away, and it is for this that we must ever guard and protect against it,” General Mountebank said.

Great scrolls the width of tables uncurled before the knights, accompanied by a strong smell of wax.

“Ignorance! Evil has ever grown from the seeds of ignorance,” the administrator added, shuddering at the mark of Those That Stand in Shadow amidst the many notes the scribe rifled through.

“I wouldn’t say that. Some of your greatest purveyors of evil tend to be the smartest of their Kind,” Glaive said. “There were scholars working for the vilest of assassin guilds in the Woodworm Ports that would put your libraries to shame.”

The administrator turned to him, a look of haughty disapproval in her flashing eyes. “They are not scholars of any true repute. Knowledge is one of the three houses that empower the Alliance, along with noble governance…”

“And our strong military,” Richard added. “I would daresay that is the first.”

The administrator frowned even more.

“What has been uncovered?” Bartholomew asked.

The scribe cleared his throat, nervous to be the center of attention. “These letters give little true detail, Sir Knight. Mostly correspondence between an unnamed agent and the leader of these…creatures…you name the Slth. Some seem to be written in their language, which we have no reference to and cannot translate. The rest speaks of appointments, of shipments and deliveries, and comments regarding the quality of their, er…merchandise.” The scribe paused with some discomfort.

“Fiends!” Richard growled.

“You know, the department of bestiary works would be most interested in your description of these creatures, if such information could be shared. There are some tapestries that have hinted at these monsters…”

“What else does it say?!” Richard demanded, ignoring the scribe’s request.

Intimidated by the gruff knight, the scribe decided not to press the subject further.

“There are praises to Those That Stand in Shadow, and their eventual triumph over the Alliance and all other Kind. Eager words with regard to how the nations would be split up between them and their peoples put to…er…good use. They would be catalogued and divided amongst the Dark Ones and the Slth, by size and strength, and preferred use. The damaged and the old would be…removed. The rest would have their bodies shaved and branded by…”

“Enough of these foul words! Where were the poor souls being shipped to?!” Richard said. The scribe winced.

“Patience, Sir Knight. The recent pages said nothing that could help us, but the older ones bore some fruit,” Visandus said.

“Here,” said Glaive, pointing to an additional scroll that represented a rough map.

The scribe continued. “There was a delay. A ship veered off course and became lost in the Sea of Swirling Mists, striking an islet and losing half her cargo…the ship itself nearly being sunk. There are curses for the idiocy of the captain, and his death as payment for the loss of their cargo and damaged ship. They mention the ship having to return back home, and the delicious fear of the Sargossians that were forced to harbor them until they could repair and launch again.”

“Return back home? To the Sargossians?” Bartholomew said.

“They are the pirate clans that lair to the East, are they not?” Jesepha inquired.

“Bloody savages! More offshoots from the accursed Mezzolankeans!” Richard replied.

General Mountebank nodded. “Yes, they were the third arm, similar to the merchant lords in the Woodworm Ports, to abandon the central clans and go their own way. They suffered the most, being the smallest and weakest of the clans that left. Their pirate fleets had once been a goodly enough threat, but continual opposition from our nations and others eventually left their presence shattered and broken. They own a small group of islands and scattered bases throughout. Even the Mezzolankeans have inadvertently helped the Alliance by raiding their secret bases, since they both shared knowledge of common places to hide their plundered loot. The Sargossians, yes…they would make an easy ally, hungry to be restored back to a position of prominence.”

“But there is no specific talk of where these ships come from or go to?” Richard asked.

“No, but if the Sargossians offered sanctuary, this place must be near to them, for their main islands are closest to the Swirling Sea, and only there would they readily repair ships such as these.”

“Hah! The Mezzolankeans would never have approved of the Sargossians being involved, and neither would the Sargossians ally with their ancestral clans! The Dark Ones play them all as fools against each other,” Richard added.

“Which is what the Dark Ones do well,” Bartholomew said.

“You have done your nation a great service. You shall be rewarded!” General Mountebank said as the administrator of the school and the head scribe bowed in response.

“So we have our plan then!” Richard said, wringing his hands.

“You will leave in darkness so none will see your departure. The key now is to ensure the Mezzolankeans think we have no knowledge of their allies, the Dark Ones, and to ensure any other party involved that we do not know of the Sargossians. We must show ignorance in these matters, that we may find their path, before they can hide it,” General Mountebank said.

“Is Lord Ruflix to join us then?” Jesepha asked.

“He will join you, as shall Sir Rutt, to buttress your chances.”

“What of the School of Mages?” Glaive asked.

General Mountebank paused, knowing the need behind the request. “The King has decided not to pursue the Arch-Mages, based upon the results of this quest.”

Glaive smiled, nodding politely, but anger and frustration colored his thoughts.

Bartholomew, Euric, and Jesepha looked at each other with reluctance.

“I do not see how Sir Rutt can be of further aid. We have enough—” Bartholomew’s words were quickly cut off.

“Sir Qualtan is gone. You say he may be alive, but we cannot assume that he is. Without his presence, another knight will be sorely needed, as well as the magicks that Lord Ruflix can provide. That is my word on it, unless you have reason to argue the choice?”

The three knights did not wish to see harm fall upon Sir Rutt. If they were to release his cowardly actions against their battle with the drachna, his fate would be sealed. Their silence confirmed General Mountebank’s decision.

“But what of the spy that Qualtan had mentioned? What has become of that?” Euric said.

“Ah! It seems that has taken care of itself. One of my men, Boreson, disappeared from the ship on our return voyage back home. His presence had not been missed until then. He must have betrayed us to the Slth by means unknown given to him,” Visandus said.

“How do you know?” Euric asked. “He may have fallen overboard when the ship was attacked.”

“He was missing before that, for he was absent from his duties and a search had been made. He must have left the ship when we were rounding the Brokens, where land was close by for escape. Whether he drowned or joined his new masters, I know not, nor do I care. His home quarters were searched, yet nothing was found. My own man…” Visandus sighed, shaking his head.

“Inquiries are being made to see if he had confederates, as he most surely had. In the meantime, we will continue and hope no others have been seduced thus!” General Mountebank said.

“Is it such a surprise that a pirate would go with the highest coin?” Richard blurted.

“He was Turinthian by stock,” Visandus retorted.

A ship was quietly prepped and launched in the night. Fitted as a regular merchant craft, it set sail with the majority of the original crew intact, for Visandus’ men were fiercely loyal. Again, a group of Turinthian soldiers was sent in disguise for added measure. The knights prepared for a long journey. Glaive sat above deck, taking in the new additions to their quest as he cleaned his wrist weapon. There was Lord Ruflix, the royal wizard, who continually protested his removal from the palace to partake in this expedition. White hair that curled outwards circled the crown of his exposed head, which had previously become burnt from the sun. It made Glaive think of a fried egg.

Sir Rutt was another surly newcomer. His prior mission with some of the other knights had made him an unwanted partner, and he was left to his own devices, keenly aware of their disinterest. Jesepha had grown worried over Visandus’ continual involvement in their missions and their conversations had become brief and curt. They’d ended their most recent heated debate with Jesepha stomping away. Add to that Richard’s never-ending complaining and Euric’s sad, puppy-eyed look every time he saw Jesepha accompanied by Visandus, and Glaive could only shake his head at the drama surrounding him. Only Bartholomew seemed calm, as he always did. Whatever conflicts he had were kept to himself. The half-orcne neatly reconfigured the components of his wrist gauntlet, snapping in a belt of new firing bolts. He turned his focus towards the sea, watching the trail of whooping birds that followed in their wake, diving for fish that had become exposed.

“Tomninny!” he scolded himself. “Why did you let her talk you into this?!” he said, thinking back to his earlier run-in with Jesepha. “I go to my death, and probably not a very pleasant one. And for what? To prove a reformed half-orcne thief can do good?” Once more his thoughts turned to his missing friend. He snorted in rage. “Damn and blast it all, what has befallen you?!” There was no answer to his question.

However, if Glaive could have gone back in time to the slaver base, back to their perilous escape, he might have seen what had taken place. As the buttressed ceiling collapsed, Qualtan had dived into the pool of rushing waters that had overtaken the base of the cave. Fighting against the torrent, he swam underneath it, following the Slth that had fled before him. He entered the large tunnel mouth through which the slaves had been shepherded, gasping for air as water quickly rose to its ceiling. Great falling shards of rock sealed the entrance to the tunnel from behind him and he could already see the cracks that grew on the tunnel roof. The current within the trapped tunnelway helped to push him forward, and at its end, tumbling through, he saw his avenue of escape—a circular doorway etched in stone, sparkling with pulses of yellow light. A throbbing sound overwhelmed his ears as he drew closer. Chunks of ceiling rock began to fall around him, but he managed to avoid the debris. Holding his breath, he went through the portal.

A feeling of entering a vast space overcame him. He could not see in any direction, and felt his lungs would burst. Suddenly, the feeling of swimming through water diminished, as if the liquid was being drawn away. The flashes of light blinded him, and he hid his eyes beneath his arms. An image of another round portal could be vaguely seen, its outer rim outlined against the explosions of shiny brilliance that were now all around him. Qualtan felt as if some unseen force had now taken control of his form. He was pulled towards the other portal with increasing speed. He howled as his body spun and twisted like a fragile thing caught in a wild storm.

The Slth guardsmen sat around a rocky outpost overlooking a dismal skyline. The purplish, misty horizon was blanketed with grey-blue clouds. Sharp winds blew funnels of dirt and ash, for the terrain of this world was harsh indeed. There was no sun; fizzling globes of light spontaneously grew and burst amongst the clouds, creating a dazzling display of energy which lit up the skies. The teleport chambers of the Slth were placed far beyond the walls of their beloved city, ensuring no unknown entities that may travel through them would have access to it. Thus was the risk in dealing with portals to other worlds. This distance also allowed them to be used as watchposts, for many creatures, predatory and malevolent, shared this dreary realm. The Slth, stationed as sentries at these posts, did not enjoy their duty, fearing their isolation and lack of security. A group of Slth had passed recently, evacuating an off-world slave base which had supposedly been destroyed. The teleport device at its other end had been buried under tons of rock, they were told, and would be unreachable by others. Thus, the Slth were taken unawares when the teleport portal began to shimmer and glow. Three Slth, curious at the portal’s reaction, moved in closer to take a better look. They were instantly flattened by a charging Qualtan who exploded from the opening aperture and struck all three of them down.

Qualtan took a moment to right himself, taking in his new surroundings. The squeals of the Slth brought others to investigate. Two more entered the chamber only to fall as quickly as the first three had. Qualtan entered a smooth corridor that went upwards. He followed it, surprising another Slth guard. Outside, atop the small tower-like outpost was a mechanism comprised of a giant lens, used to signal warnings back home or to other outposts. A pulsing crystal glowed fiercely beneath it. Two more Slth entered the corridor, hearing the noise. A final member held back, keeping close to their signaling device. For a brief moment the landscape was bathed in black as the orbs in the sky dimmed from view. During that time, the cries of battle could be heard within the corridor. Then, the sky was lit up by a thousand sizzling spheres. With the return of light, the lone Slth guard looked upon the corridor to see a lone human, eyes blazing red, a glowing sword in his hand. The creature shrieked, rushing to set the device. Qualtan was swifter, jumping towards the Slth, knocking them both onto the ground. The Slth rose, eyeing the human. Flaring its nostrils, it rushed towards him, cleaving the air with its claws. Qualtan retreated once before ducking beneath the attack, striking home with his sword. The creature fell to one side.

Qualtan paused, breathing hard. His injured arm was feeling better, thanks to his restorative powers, so he was happy for that much. He looked about from the tower’s head, surveying the landscape. The air was harsh, acidic, yet breathable. He noticed the balls of light that hovered in the sky, shattering the gloom.

“What place have I gotten to now?” he said aloud in wonder. The grey horizon seemed to extend forever in all directions. Far from the tower, Qualtan could spy a cluster of many lights that lay close to the flat ground. Surely, he thought, it was the Slth city. He stood for a time collecting himself. He was tired, hungry, and ached miserably, yet was in probably more danger than before. Walking back inside the tower, he began searching for food. He found it amidst long bowls in a large center area—a lumpy grey paste which yielded a salty flavor. He ate as much as his stomach would allow, drinking metallic-tasting water from long, cigar-shaped containers. Wandering about, he discovered large stone cots in isolated rooms, and strange pincer-like devices which he could not fathom. Little luxury could be found. The place was devoid of softness or warmth.

Had the others survived? Returning back the way he came would not work, he thought. He did not understand how the teleport devices worked, and even if he did, the slaver base had ruptured and flooded. His only hope now resided in the Slth city. He would have to pursue his foes there, possibly even find the other captives, and somehow make their escape back home. A tall order, and very well an impossible one. But that was his only choice. There were large bladders attached to pegs along the eating area, doubtless to be filled with rations for the Slth trekking back and forth to their city. Filling some, he placed them around his shoulders and back. He stepped out onto the brittle plane, standing amidst rolling clouds of chalky grey.

“I stand alone in making war against an entire race,” Qualtan said in grim jest. “If ever there was a hopeless cause, it is this. But I must see it through to the end.” He left the tower, making for the direction of the city he had seen. For hours he walked, taking in his bizarre surroundings. The purplish sandstorms would sometimes uncover long shelves of rock that spread for miles. They were of a black, volcanic-like material, sharp and ferrous. He rested at times beneath the rocky shelves, sheltering from the winds, forcing down the foul tasting water that he carried. The air was cool and for that, at least, he was thankful. It allowed him some respite, and he soon fell asleep, awakening hours later half-buried in the sandy material that blanketed the landscape. He grew used to the alternating blackness and brightness of the sky, wondering if his uncle Aurelus knew of this place. To keep his spirits up, he focused his thoughts on the other knights and Glaive. Undoubtedly, they had taken the papers he had found to the King and had deciphered them. Where would they go next, he wondered? At one point he was so lost in thought he stumbled into and down a rolling slope, cursing as he went, until he eventually came to a stop. He lay prone for awhile, regaining his strength before slowly rising once more. Clouds of material that stung his eyes and skin blew past and he waited until the billowing burning mass disappeared over another rocky ledge before making a move. The lights of the supposed city grew close and Qualtan had to wonder how long he had traveled. Without the rising of a sun, keeping track of time was difficult. A day, or more?

His thoughts were interrupted by a strange new sight. Clearing from a low hanging sheet of haze, a mass of twisting shapes floated towards him. Qualtan had to stop his advancement in an attempt to identify them. They were neither shells nor tendrils nor bells. They were similar to perhaps a flattened snail or even a rolling carpet. One side of their leaf-shaped form was white, horny and toothsome, yet as they undulated in the air, the other side seemed blue and smooth, except for bulbous protuberances that swiveled and blinked. Some expanded their size, while others curled into tight bodies. They gently bobbed about, moving with the wind. There must have been dozens of them, bouncing atop one another in a mad, airborne dance.

Qualtan’s curiosity became serious concern as they drew near. Their sharp, knife-like projections bared ominous menace. They flew overhead, passing him as an inner warning advised him to remove his sword. He had to quickly dodge some of the lower floaters as they careened by. Drawing forth the Goldenflame’s enchanted shield, its defensive power protected him. Those that drew too close bounced off its glowing form. The activity seemed to draw interest from one of the larger creatures, and it circled around behind Qualtan as he struggled to press on through the living storm. It expanded itself and attacked him, wrapping its toothy skin around his body. Qualtan could feel the serrated edges digging into his armor and biting into his flesh. He used his sword to cleave through the beast, slicing it into two halves, which fell to the ground, flipping about angrily.

“Curse this place!” Qualtan said, looking at the red spots that freckled his arms where the creature’s teeth had begun to sink in. His armor had been dimpled throughout. Qualtan looked up and gasped when he saw another of the creatures float by. It was gigantic, horrific, ten times the size of the lesser beings that made way for it. Its toothy armor, fortified by giant spears, rattled loudly. With such a large width, Qualtan could see the numerous mouths that rasped open and closed, hidden amongst crackling spikes. He could be easily sucked in whole, Qualtan thought, a tiny morsel for so great a beast. He stayed low to the ground, rolling himself into a tight ball, fearful, unmoving, watching the monster as it drifted away. At last, the strange creatures left him and he slowly rose, breathing out in relief.

“This place is not meant for man or any other Kind. Everything here is sharp horn and ragged teeth. What sights more will I see? If worse comes my way, my life will hang by the barest of threads. There must be a way back!” Qualtan said with guarded hope.

The city beckoned as its hazy outline began to take form. Qualtan found himself struggling through an incline of gravel that became replaced with smooth, black rock. It rose higher and higher, forming a great black ridge. Qualtan continued to follow the lights ahead, chipping at the rock with his sword to gain traction as he began to climb upwards. The cluster of lights he had followed seemed to elevate and sit upon a gigantic pillar or structure within the center of what lay beyond the ridge. Slipping, sliding, Qualtan pulled himself ever closer to the top. Upon reaching it, he found a flattened area. He sat in awe of the Slth city. It lay within a vast crater, nestled inside a great oval wall of smoothed rock. It seemed to Qualtan like some gargantuan egg within a monstrous nest. From its middle rose a pillar of such height it was amazing it could stand at all. Atop it was a great lens; surely the receiving point for all signals relayed by the distant outposts. Below the curving wall was a strange mixture of buildings, cylindrical or globular, claylike in appearance. Knobby ends protruded from the structures, affixed with red and orange crystalline holes. They reminded Qualtan of bloated beehives.

The massive pillar itself seemed to merge with an enormous, domed building. Circling its upper crown was a series of cyst-like constructs, each terminating in a colored window. He was too high to see the ground level of the city. Considering the darkness of the crater, Qualtan was sure he was not seen. What creature could climb that steep, smooth outer ring to reach the inner? His sword’s magical properties alone allowed him to gouge into the rock and propel himself up. The issue now was how to progress? To climb down into the crater would be treacherous, but doable. Yet, he could not see any openings upon the smooth shell wall. If there were gates or entranceways, they were deeper below. To attempt entrance in such a direct manner would be difficult, alien as he was to this place. No creature could scale that wall, and any force approaching the city would be easily seen from the giant tower before it grew near.

“One way to do it then, and it has to be done,” Qualtan said, eyeing the distance from where he crouched. He sighed, realizing he would have to go through with it. He stepped away, reaching the edge of the flattened plain. Then he closed his eyes, summoning his sword’s magic. It shimmered slightly, and then he began to run. He reached the edge of the ground and leapt high into the air. His strength hurled him towards the Slth city wall below. He fell in open space, gritting his teeth as the wall came upon him. With a crack he landed, his sword digging into the wall’s side. For a moment he feared he would fall from the impact, but he held on to his weapon, and situated himself on the curving wall. Gently he removed his sword, pulling it free. Putting his left hand into the hole he had made, he used his right to shove the sword into the wall above him and push himself forward. At times his position was balanced on just a few fingers wedged inside the grooves his sword had carved out. Sudden gusts of wind nearly toppled him, but after some hours of crawling and climbing, he reached the pinnacle.

He sat, catching his breath as he peered above the city. A remarkable sight, and it surely gave more credit to the Slth’s abilities than Qualtan had otherwise assumed. For a moment Qualtan’s confidence wavered. Going in this way was one thing, but how would he escape, and possibly with others in tow? He had no idea.

“If Aurelus was here, he would know what to do.”

But as that thought crossed his mind, he grew more resolute. “No, I cannot think in those terms. It’s up to me now, and I don’t have the answers. Let’s just see what we can do.”

The safest landing area now was the domed base of the pillar, closest to Qualtan’s current elevation. Taking a deep gulp of air, Qualtan jumped again, spreading himself wide as he made for the bulbous base of the great tower. A current of air hit him as he fell, ruining his sword’s aim. It glanced off the structure and he slid down its side. Wide eyed with alarm, he concentrated, and the Goldenflame began to hum. It sliced its way into the thick, plaster-like material, slowing his fall. Eyeing the vast distance he would have fallen, Qualtan wiped his brow on his forearm, navigating towards one of the glowing window casements.

“A thief I’ll never be, and that’s for sure! If Glaive could see me now…”

There was a decorative ridge that circled the spherical building. He followed it, tip-toeing around, until he reached a thumb-like projection from which light escaped. Climbing onto it, he slowly hopped closer until he could bend and peer inside. Like a bulging eye, the crystal window stared back at him. The glassy material warped its interior view, but no Slth could be seen, and only a lone crystal sat within a receptacle, granting color to the morbid exterior. The wind began to howl as if stoked with rage. Using the tip of his sword, Qualtan pried the window free. Squeezing through, he shut the panel, appreciating the interior warmth. Following the tunnel, it led into a vast secondary dome inside of the exterior casing. It was ornamented glass, etched with symbols and figures Qualtan did not understand. Below it was a large pool of apparent water.

There were other tunnels near him, similar to the one he had come from. There seemed to be no way to exit the area. Qualtan explored the corridors and found them identical to the one he had entered. If there was a separate hatch to reach other levels it must have been hidden. Returning back to the dome, Qualtan spied other doorways on its opposing side, yet there was no way to reach them. The ceiling above was too low for him to attempt jumping across. He would have to climb atop the glass roof to cross over. The transparent ceiling was not as severe in its ascension as the outer dome, and he was able to slowly walk upon its surface. Qualtan was wary as his feet slipped on the surface, squeaking in their attempt to find traction. He neared its zenith and smiled in relief, until he took one step too many and fell on his back. Qualtan cursed his ill-timed act, and attempted to rise when a sharp snap caught his attention. Another snap rang out, and the knight noticed the branching cracks on the glassy surface where he had fallen.

“Oh no!” he exclaimed as he returned to his feet. He stood still until the sounds subsided. He exhaled with relief, only to crash through the glass ceiling and fall into the pool below. Qualtan spluttered as he swam to the water’s edge. It was then that the knight took notice of the many pear-shaped objects lining the pool’s bed. Eggs, he thought. The entire chamber must be some sort of nursery for safeguarding the brood of the Slth. Curving doorways led Qualtan through a series of chambers similar to the first—pools containing row upon row of eggs.

The royal hatchery, perhaps, Qualtan thought with a smirk. Still, he was cautious. He did not wish to come across the caretakers of these pools and risk alarm, for there were many entranceways and he could not account for them all. Deciding to alter his route, Qualtan took a side hallway. All was quiet. Light emanated from more crystals embedded into the walls. Turning a corridor, Qualtan froze as two Slth half-shambled, half-hopped past. He cursed inwardly until they left. He skirted into a large empty hall, bathed in a low blue glow. A strong bitter scent grew here, and shadows began to flicker from behind. Strange cries and howls echoed ahead. Qualtan had no choice but to continue forward, as the hall offered no other way to escape. Reaching the next chamber, he quickly hid behind a swirling rib that buttressed the walls. Another pool adorned the room, but this one was far from empty. Within frothing waters was a squirming mass of Slth, at least a hundred if not more. Smaller than their parents, they bunched tightly together within the center of the pool, forming a living mound.

Other adult Slth entered the pool and retrieved discarded egg shells, while others crawled about the juveniles, pulling skin that had been shed loose. It was a rather grotesque sight, and Qualtan did his best to stay clear from the central mass. More Slth appeared from the hallway he had exited to join the others, taking away the broken shell pieces and sloughed skin. Qualtan was very careful, keeping to the back wall, running from rib to rib, hoping the Slth would be too engaged in their work to notice him. Succeeding in traversing the chamber unmolested, Qualtan continued on. He crossed into an open chasm, with multiple bridges spanning the gap below him. He could see the bottom of the chasm, which seemed empty save for oily, shimmering waters. The smell was overwhelming, like rotting fish. Was it a drainage area or another large pool? Qualtan could not tell. Jogging low, he ran across the bridge, pausing at its end when he was greeted with an unexpected scene: a train of shackled slaves, roughly twenty in all, led by four Slth and a trio of others bringing up the rear. He could not tell what the slaves were—they were gaunt, white skinned, with hair of white/yellow. Elves, perhaps? But no, they were too tall, taller than Qualtan. He huddled beside the sides of the bridge watching the procession as it disappeared into another corridor. Qualtan decided to follow it, and hopefully gain some insight into the workings of this place. As they went lower into the structure, the relative quiet and emptiness of the upper levels was replaced with the resounding sound of harsh whip strokes and cries of pain.

Keeping close to the train of slaves, Qualtan followed them into levels deeper below. They entered a vast, triangular room. Gated circular portals adorned the base of the chamber. The floor itself was metallic and grated. Both the portals and the floor were wet with liquid. Chains dangled from high above, culminating in some sort of harness device. Piles of chains, manacles, and tools lay scattered about, and Qualtan quickly snuck behind them. There was an elevated platform above the grated floor where three Slth stood, operating long, metal levers. At their response, the bars of a portal would separate. At first nothing happened, but then a sudden echoing sound would herald a funnel of water which would shoot out of the portal, carrying with it a protesting slave. The water would empty into the grated floor and the swamped slave would be dragged, protesting, to the center of the room. As one Slth held the shackled prisoner, a second Slth would secure one of the hanging harnesses onto their unwilling worker. A third Slth would push a lever, causing the harness to yank the startled slave upwards, where Qualtan could just barely make out other Slth at a platform in the ceiling that would collect and take the prisoner to parts unknown. This continued for some time, eventually including the slaves that had been escorted into the chamber. Soon the Slth seemed to be finished with their work. The chains were retracted and the aperture above sealed shut with a loud clang.

The three Slth joined their fellows in leaving the room, heading towards the corridor from which Qualtan had entered. To his surprise a great metal door rolled over the entranceway after the Slth had left. All was now quiet, save for echoing slams and thuds. The only sound was the dripping of water on the grate floor. Satisfied, Qualtan moved forward. He walked about, taking in the chamber. He took hold of the bars that graced one of the portals and attempted to open them. He growled, eyes glowing red, but even with his giant strength, he could only manage opening the portal halfway before the bars snapped shut. He had seemingly trapped himself within the chamber. Looking through the portal bars, he could see tunnels that were smooth and shot upwards like a slide.

“Well, now what to do?”

He returned to the platform. Experimenting with the levers, he managed to open the upper portal and lower the harnesses, but only halfway. Trying to bring them lower, he only succeeded in raising them higher. Another level was pulled and a barred portal opened, but then just as quickly closed. A second attempt opened another portal but only by a narrow slit. Further attempts did not improve the situation. Frustrated, unsure of how much time was left before the Slth returned, Qualtan slammed his fist upon the metal box from which the levers were connected. Not only did this action lower the chained harnesses completely, but it also opened every portal, spilling water from each one! A sudden cry alarmed Qualtan as a slave spewed out from one of the portals, falling hard against the gated floor.

The thin creature shook himself like a wild dog before noticing Qualtan. With a look of suspicion the creature spoke, but his tongue was unknown to the knight. Qualtan moved forward to calm the slave, but his movement only served to cause alarm as the captive retreated back towards the open portal, his wrists securely manacled.

“Look, I know you can’t understand me, but I mean you no harm!” Qualtan said, motioning with his hands for calm. The creature was similar to the others Qualtan had first followed here: tall, lean, with yellow/white skin and similarly colored hair. There was some resemblance to an elf, but the ears, though pointed, had multiple serrated sharp edges to them and the eyes were fully black with no pupil. In fear, the prisoner pulled back his thin lips, revealing teeth that were thin and needle like. Clearly, he was no elf.

“Human?” the creature said suddenly.

“Yes!” Qualtan said happily. “I am human. You understand me?”

The prisoner straightened. “Some,” he said with a heavy, deep voice. “You are escapee?”

Qualtan stepped closer, but again the captive flinched and angled back.

“No. I am not an escapee. I have come here myself, to—”

“Hmph! Then you are a stupid human. No one comes here of their own free will. I am Zigthaut. I am Morcadan!” he said with pride and defiance.

Qualtan looked into one of the open portals. “And I am Qualtan. Where do these lead to?”

“They lead to the holding cells. When they have need of slaves, they bring us here to be sent to where they want us.”

As Qualtan continued to look inside the tunnel, the Morcadan relaxed. “How did you come here?”

“By way of the platforms beyond the city.”

Zigthaut’s eyes widened. “Beyond the city?” He began to laugh a low cackle. “Forgive me! You are a prisoner like me, and a mad one at that. You could not survive such a feat.”

“I am no escaped slave!” Qualtan reiterated. “I am a knight of my people.”

“You look like a slave. Smell like one too,” the Morcadan replied, twitching his nose with some distaste.

Ignoring his comments, Qualtan took hold of one of the harnesses. “How many slaves do they use here?”

“Many. Hundreds, thousands. They were used to build this city.”

“Do you know how to operate this?” Qualtan said, returning to the operating platform.

The captive shrugged.

“All right then. We climb, and quickly!” Qualtan said. He approached the slave once more, who began to retreat.

“I do not plan on hurting you. Give me your arms, so that I may release you.”

Unsure, Zigthaut raised his arms. Qualtan used his strength to rip the shackles from his bony wrists. Awed, the Morcadan looked at his wrists, and then to the manacles that now lay on the floor.

“Can you manage this?” Qualtan asked, clutching one of the chains.

“I am Morcadan!” Zigthaut said in response with injured dignity.

“So you’ve already said. Come!” Qualtan said, leaping onto the chains and pulling himself towards the exit above. The Morcadan followed.

It was a high ascent, but they managed to reach the open portal above. Sliding atop it, they found themselves within yet another large, domed chamber, filled with wheeled iron cages that sat securely on bolted tracks, leading into a multitude of doorways. The two rested for a moment before slowly moving through the chamber.

“Why are you here?” Zigthaut asked, a toothy smile of curiosity on his face.

“The Slth held a slave base in my home world. We destroyed it, but in the midst of the fighting, I was cut off from my friends and the slaves we had rescued. I escaped here where the slaves were being sent. I will free them if I can, and take them back with me!”

The Morcadan snorted. “Death is all you will find here. Better to flee yourself and leave this place! You can do nothing alone!”

“That is my concern. And what of you? How did you end up here?”

“The Slth are our enemy! We have many battles, many wars with them, to rule these lands. I was on my way with many of my kin to protect one of our outposts. We were surprised by the Slth and captured. We were brought here in disgrace. I did not know of this place, for their cities are many and hidden.”

“Many cities?!” Qualtan said. “Then the slaves that are brought here—are they taken to these other cities as well?”

“No. Each city has its own slaves, for there are many worlds from which to harvest.”

“And you say you contest with the Slth for rulership over these lands?” Qualtan asked, wondering what value would be gained controlling such an uninviting landscape.

“Yes, with them, and others. There are many others,” Zigthaut said with an evil grin.

“You have many wars to fight, it seems,” Qualtan said tiredly.

Zigthaut hissed, baring his sharp teeth once more. “You do not agree with war?”

“I would hope you risk the lives of your people over more than just ownership over this sad desert.”

Zigthaut seemed taken aback. “War is what we live for, human. We dominate so that others cannot. We have come across your species before. We have many human slaves and we have always found them to be weak, craving peace above all else. I assumed your warrior class was different, but now I see you are all the same.”

Qualtan placed his arm across Zigthaut’s chest. “Hold. You keep human slaves?”

“Of course! That is how we learned your language. There are many that observe your world and its happenings, watching from afar when the sky goes dark and the hour grows late. Your people fear the night, and rightly so, because we are there!”

“You’re as wretched as the Slth!” Qualtan warned, angered by his newfound companion.

“That is what many of your kin have said to us before, as they died in the work pits of our cities,” Zigthaut replied, laughing huskily.

Qualtan grabbed the smirking creature by the neck. “Foul thing! It appears I’ve made a mistake then, in freeing you.”

Zigthaut gasped, flailing with his arms.

“Before I move on, it’s best I leave you here where the Slth can take better care of you!”

Qualtan dragged him towards one of the large, wheeled cages, forcing its door open.

“Wait…wait! Spare me!”

“You should have kept your vile mouth shut if you wished for that!”

“I can help you!”

“How?! Of what possible use can you be to me?”

“I know the way of this place, for I have been in such cities before during our many attacks upon the hated Slth. Slaves here are like gold in your world, and each Slth overlord’s worth is based on how many slaves are owned! There is one here in particular who manages their expeditions to the outer worlds; he prefers to wear a human appearance similar to your kin, disgusting as it may be.”

“I know who that is.”

“They have special portals, special doors here, as all Slth cities do. The door you used to come here is for coming in. The doors here are used for going out. We use them ourselves. We can escape that way!”

“So I could not have used the portals outside to return to my world?”

“Your ears are smaller than a Morcadan’s. You do not listen.”

Qualtan frowned at the barb. “You speak my language better than you claimed. And in return?”

“Aggh!” Zigthaut moaned as Qualtan’s fingers pressed into his neck. “In return I demand my freedom! This place was not known to my people. I will return with such an army that nothing will be left of this place!”

“What of your other kin that were captured with you? What of their freedom?”

“Bah! Their fates are sealed! They will be released upon our forces’ arrival, should they still live!”

Qualtan stared into the black, liquid eyes of the Morcadan. Disgusted, he removed his grip, and the creature sank to his knees, looking up at Qualtan with vile hatred.

“I shall agree to your terms, but if you attempt to betray me or lead me astray…”

“I will not, for in truth you are my only recourse to flee from this place,” Zigthaut gasped, rubbing his throat. “Let us go.”

“Yes, but not to find the portal chambers you speak of. What of the prisoners kept here?”

“What of them?”

“Human?”

Zigthaut nodded. “Human, and others. So what?”

“Good. Then you will take me to where they are being held.”

“What?! I do not wish to be put back into a cage! You will accomplish nothing there! You will have all the Slth upon us if we go there! Forget your weak thoughts of mercy for the others! You have no choice!”

Qualtan pulled Zigthaut by his tunic so that their faces were barely apart.

“I am your only recourse to flee from this place, am I not? It is you that has no choice, now move!”

Zigthaut hissed once more as Qualtan shoved him ahead, sword at the creature’s back.