The spy that had previously worn the face of the sailor known as Earl was growing frustrated. Although his latest victim and the other sailors had been asked to join Visandus on this new voyage, the details of their exact direction had been kept secret, and despite the authority he held in his other identity, he had failed to learn more. The erstwhile sailor Boreson had been branded as a traitor, the subterfuge he had played exposed by the knight that had disappeared within the Slth slave base. The fact that the spy had already moved on to a different appearance had eased the suspicion of a betrayer in their midst, but not enough to freely share their latest destination. Still, the spy had warned his master of possible danger. He had identified the ship and its crew and, of course, the successful destruction of the one that had carried the Goldenflame.

“So soon has the bearer of the sword been removed from the game? I am disappointed, very disappointed indeed,” his master had rumbled. “A poor choice. Pity the sword could not be recovered.”

“I know not where we travel to next. What do you wish of me to do?” the spy had said, prostrated before the image of his dark lord that shimmered through a lit fireplace.

“It is unlikely that they have uncovered my location. However, if they have, the ship will be captured long before they land. Your task has now changed. You will take more of an active role rather than merely provide information. The powers I have given you serve you well. Use them. Without an Arch-Mage present, they pose a lesser threat to me. Kill the knights and the ship’s captain. The slaver base can be rebuilt again in time. Obey my will.”

“Yes, my lord and master. I shall do as you command,” the spy replied. The Dark One merely nodded, his fearsome image fading from the flames that had held it.

The spy’s reverie of the recent past was suddenly broken. The ship in which he now traveled had suddenly slowed. There was a flurry of movement as sailors scrambled towards viewing ports and above deck as horns were blown and responded to from afar. Three Turinthian warships surrounded them, along with a fourth ship. The additional craft aligned itself next to theirs as boarding planks slid into view.

“What is it, what’s happening?” the spy asked, struggling to get a view from behind the men who crowded the portholes.

“Their crew is coming over…all of them!” one of the sailors said.

“We are switching boats!” another said with sudden realization.

The spy’s eyes nearly fell out with shock.

“A good plan!” Bartholomew said as Visandus directed his crew onto the waiting ship.

“Aye, friend knight! Though my man may have acted alone, there is no way to tell! Though some of my men did not wish to return on this journey, they shall be watched, and if there are more spies in our midst, this will dash their plans! If our unknown opponents were expecting this stolen craft, they will be in for a surprise! There is little chance of warning our foes now!”

Richard huffed, observing the tableau alongside Bartholomew and the other knights.

“Even you have to admit, Richard, this was a smart trick on the part of our captain!” Euric said.

“I admit nothing. This trick was planned with the approval of Lord Mountebank. The credit is truly his.”

“Hopeless!” Euric shouted, laughing with joy. He smacked Richard upon the back, eliciting a ferocious growl in return as the bearded knight walked away.

Within a few hours, the exchange had been made. The ship returned home with its naval escort. The others continued their voyage in a similarly sized vessel of different colors.

As the day turned to night, the spy decided to make his move. If they did travel to his master’s location, they would be too far for him to give notice, even in his guise as a darksome bird. In fact, based upon the degree of deception that was being played out, he was sure of it. With the new ship they could even slip through undetected, which would make his master very angry indeed. He needed to begin the new phase of his mission, and quickly. He smiled, thinking inwardly of the rewards he would receive for single-handedly defeating this threat to his master. He crept above deck, past his sleeping compatriots. The spy withdrew a long dagger, hunting for prey. He paused, hearing gentle laughter. At the bow of the ship stood Visandus alongside Jesepha. Their voices were hushed, but their actions quite visible. They held hands, sharing words of apology, and gently kissed. The spy’s eyes narrowed. There was no chance with both of them together. Suddenly, the spy froze, as another form lurking in the shadows was revealed. It was Euric, only a few feet away from where the spy hid. The knight did not see him, so intent was he on observing the other two. With a despondent look, he left the scene.

The spy followed him, fingering his dagger. He would have to be swift, for he was well aware of the knight’s abilities. The knight went below, entering into one of the many storage areas. The knight stopped, looking about. The spy did not move, waiting for the knight to continue. No one was about, and the knight did not carry his armor. The spy crept closer, his breath coming in deep gasps, excited at the expected kill. It became quite a shock to the spy as well as Euric when another figure appeared, stumbling upon the knight. Both the knight and the spy jumped in surprise. Euric quickly spun the new stalker around, knocking him to the floor as he withdrew his sword.

“Easy, lad! No need to stick me with that!” Richard said, half-chortling.

“Richard?!” Euric demanded, grabbing a lantern and turning it towards the other knight’s face.

Richard smiled, rising unsteadily to his feet, a jug of ale in one hand.

“You’re drunk again!”

“That I am!”

Euric calmed himself, withdrawing his sword. “Lucky for you I didn’t carve out your liver! What are you doing, lurking about in such a state?”

Richard took a great swig of beer, spilling the liquid on his chest. “I am occupying my time, is what I’m doing!”

“This probably isn’t the best place for that!”

“Oh no? Surrounded by Mezzolankean sea scum as we are? Seems to me to be the perfect place.”

“I would think you could find better things to do,” Euric said, taking hold of Richard as he nearly swayed off his feet. The knight pulled himself away from Euric’s hands with a look of damaged dignity.

“I don’t need your help.”

“You don’t seem to need anybody’s help. Good night then!”

“And what about you? Don’t you have better things to do than following that girl knight about like some whipped servant?”

Euric paused in his haste to leave. He turned around, his own temper growing. “You were watching me?”

Richard burped loudly, wiping his hand across his wet mouth. “I watched enough before coming down here. Pathetic is what you are. Putting that witch on a pedestal as if she was a queen…”

Euric slapped Richard’s jug from out of his hand. “You dare not call her that again, brother knight, or I swear to you, I will…”

Richard began to laugh, staggering towards his fallen jug. “She wants the pirate swine, not you. You make a fool of yourself. You are young yet, and stupid still.” Richard nearly fell over bending down to pick up his flagon. Half of its contents moistened the floor. “You spilled it!” he whined.

“You are the one that is pathetic. Drunken old fool!” Euric said, leaving.

“Older than you is right, and smarter with the ways of women! Come here and take my advice!”

Euric ignored Richard, marching past where the spy hid.

“Bah! You are more of a woman than she is!” Richard shouted after him. Euric did not return. Grumbling to himself, Richard took a final gulp, throwing the empty flagon to one side. “Worthless knights, all of them. I should kill them all myself!” he mumbled, holding onto a stack of crates to keep from falling back down. The spy smiled again. Drunk as he was, alone as he was, the knight was vulnerable, far more vulnerable than the sober and fully aware Euric. The spy moved in.

The knight halted his ramblings. Squinting his eyes to see who approached, he frowned with confusion.

“Who is there? Euric?”

The spy revealed himself. “No, milord. I am but a humble sailor, returning from my duties. Would you like to join me in a drink?”

Richard brightened. “A drink, you say?”

“I have quite the carton of ale hidden for private use.”

“You’re not one of those Mezzolankean devils, are you?”

“I am Turinthian by blood and birth.”

“Well then, friend sailor, I am your man!” Richard said, happily stumbling towards his new friend. “And I can tell you if your carton of ale is any good, as I have played a wine merchant for some time. What is your name?”

“Come closer, and I shall tell you,” the spy said, gesturing towards the knight. He readied the dagger he held behind his back.

* * * *

The leaders of the expedition sat in Visandus’ quarters eating breakfast. As they nibbled on fruit and cheese, they discussed the best way to continue their voyage.

“The Sea of Swirling Mists has ever been the Sargossian’s best kept defense. Ships are easily lost within that cloak of swirling fog that spreads out for many leagues in all directions. Maps have been made of the safest way in for the purpose of trade, but even these are merely copies from what the Sargossians have allowed to be given out. There are many isles and places that one can get stuck or trapped in if you veer away from those maps, and only the Sargossians possess knowledge of them. No attacking navy would dare enter these waters, and none have ever been able to gain possession of the Sargossian’s jealously guarded true maps of the Swirling Sea. We will travel into them using one of their trade route maps, and hope for the best.”

“Where haven’t you traveled, Visandus?” Bartholomew jested.

“And why do we not simply travel around this Sea of Swirling Mists?” Euric added.

Visandus cupped his hands together. “My answer should satisfy you both. I manned one of three Mezzolankean ships that were sent to plumb the secret islands hidden in the mists that were said to be used for hiding their treasure. We became lost for weeks and barely made it back home alive, without having found a single coin. One ship was taken by the mists, never to be seen again. We could travel around to circumvent, as you suggest, Euric, but that would lead us to what we did discover in that last Mezzolankean voyage to those waters. The islands around the Sea abound with savages who have come to rely on ships escaping the Swirling Mists. They hunt silently by night, using poisoned arrows and darts, scampering onto ships and killing, kidnapping, and stealing what they may! Their forces are scattered throughout and are many. We lost half the crew when they invaded our craft. Worse, many sea creatures that stalk in the smoky waters shelter off the surrounding islands. We lost our second craft when great beasts took hold of it and sank it. Without a flotilla to protect us, we cannot travel around the Mists.”

The knights looked at one another, sobered by the tale.

“Naval battles with the Sargossians since then have ever taken place outside of the Mists. No fleet will travel within, and as I said, even the fool Sargossians will inevitably lose a ship or two leaving their misty barrier during their pirating invasions or returning to it. It is their shield, their protector, but a dangerous one. If it wasn’t for the Mists, they would have been rooted out and destroyed many years ago.”

“What of merchant craft then, such as the one we float on?” Euric asked. “If we make it past, they will sink us on the spot!”

“No. Merchant ships travel there and return, for the most part. Merchant craft that dare pass the Swirling Mists will be found and escorted into the clear waters beyond. The fact that we use a different ship than what they will be looking for, if they were warned, with no military escort, will protect us. We will trade as if true merchants, mostly for the rare orange ore that is found on their isles that they mold and craft with great skill. Because of the Mists, however, we will be forced to remain docked on their shores.

“Why not travel by land to reach these isles? Their location is closest to the tip of our Second continent!” Glaive suggested.

“No, my friend. Travel by land would be impossible. There is naught but wild forests and deadly lands occupied by humanoid hordes on our side of it. They serve as another source of troubles for the Sargossians who must continually defend themselves against them.”

“They picked a fine place to sit themselves in!” Glaive replied.

“Once we land, we will need to learn where this trail finally leads,” Visandus answered.

“We already know where it leads, Visandus. To the lair of the Dark Ones!” Jesepha said.

“But which one? Is this the working of Shaz, so far from his own evil fortress many leagues away, or the secret hiding place of Darksiege, the second Dark One that disappeared and was never heard from again?” Bartholomew said.

“What can we do then? To battle Those That Stand in Shadow, on their home lands, we will be at a disadvantage! No one can help us, and we are far from home!” Euric said.

“We will do what we can,” Bartholomew said.

“Which means what, exactly?” Euric replied.

“We cannot state our actions yet until we know what we face. At the least, if all goes ill, we spy, chronicle, and report back home. If we find that the second Dark One is behind this and discover his lair—that alone is worth the journey,” Bartholomew answered.

“And this is where I must protest such a wild desire!” said the wizard Ruflix, entering the conversation. “I am not an Arch-Mage, nor have I ever said to be. I was only able to bring enough supplies that I thought feasible, but I could not account for every possibility! I could do better back home where I had access to my full library. Out here, without my assistants, and limited in room and time, I cannot do much.” He was uncomfortable and impatient, wringing his hands and staring at a shuttered porthole.

“What do you mean? You are a wizard, are you not? Your spells—” Euric started.

“…are based on ingredients, conjurations, prayers, and meditations! You need the right atmosphere to work in,” Ruflix said. “The Arch-Mages can wield spells like you do blades, pulling them out of their pants like solid objects! I cannot match this. It was a grave error to not bring one of them along! To have me here is a mistake, and I let Mountebank duly know this, before I was forcibly volunteered!” he added with as much injury as he could muster.

“Well, that puts all of this into a new light, now doesn’t it? Traveling through hidden waters, unsure of where we go, unsure of where we land, unsure of what we seek, and a wizard unsure of his spells accompanying us! This is a treat, a novelty!” Glaive said, rolling his eyes.

“Calm yourselves. We are here to find answers to those questions. That is our task. We have already discovered much…” Bartholomew pleaded.

“And now we go to the very font of evil to drink from!” Euric huffed.

“And now we go to the heart of the matter. Or would you have us do nothing and let war overtake our lands? Would you let whatever sinister plot the Mezzolankeans, Sargossians, and these otherworldly monsters the Slth have worked upon succeed?” Jesepha stated.

“Swords will do little against this new threat. We need the Arch-Mages! We need Qualtan!” Euric said, angrily looking away.

An uncomfortable silence passed.

“We have ourselves, and that will have to do,” Jesepha continued.

“What do you say about it, Rutt? You’ve been silent during all of this! What wisdom can you share?” Euric said, challenging the knight that had betrayed them in the past.

Rutt looked up nervously at the knights that waited for his response. He knew how they felt about him, and hated the fact he was beholden to them for his very life. He did not wish to be here, and hoped he would be left alone while the others led the way.

“We are here, as Jesepha said, for a purpose. I will follow your lead.”

“Yes. I’m sure you will!” Euric chided.

“It is settled then,” Visandus concluded.

“I just told you,” sputtered Ruflix. “I cannot work my magicks on a bobbing boat! Nor can I be of much service trekking about! I will do what I can from my cabin, and perhaps make some good luck charms to take with you, but beyond that…”

“You will join the knights on their journey,” Visandus restated.

“I am sorry, captain, but you have no authority to bully a royal servant of the King himself!”

Visandus flashed another of his devilish smiles. “You are on my ship, and as such you are part of my crew. You are under my stewardship whilst on this ship. Pack your things when the time comes and be ready. That is the end of it.”

Ruflix’s frog-like eyes popped out even more. “Now see here! I must protest…”

Bartholomew took the wizard by the arm as the meeting closed. “Now, now, Lord Ruflix, let us worry about that part of it later, shall we?”

As the knight escorted the wizard away, calmly ignoring his complaints, Euric shook his head. “He will be of little use. The most he can offer is to conjure up chickens out of ladies’ hats. Expect nothing from that one.”

“That goes for Rutt as well,” Jesepha added, watching Rutt quickly escape from the room.

“I would laugh out loud at the madness of this venture except I would surely cry instead. And what of you, Richard? You were unusually quiet—saving your words until the very last?” Euric quipped.

Richard merely rose. He stared at Euric and smiled awkwardly. “Words? There was nothing that dissatisfied me. A good plan. I look forward to its end.”

As Richard walked away, Euric looked to Jesepha and Glaive. “Did you hear that? The man must still be getting over the drunken state I found him in last night.”

“Or he’s still in it,” Glaive said, jumping to his feet.

“Have faith, Euric. It is precisely the risk that we take that offers some protection. They are not expecting this ship, which will allow us a greater chance at success,” Visandus said.

“I hope so, for our safety. I would see that none of us get hurt,” Euric said, looking to Jesepha before exiting the captain’s chambers.

“What did he mean by that?” Jesepha asked.

“I think we both know. He means me, of course,” Visandus said, sliding over to Jesepha’s side now that the others had left them alone. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “He cares for you greatly.”

“I have said I do not like this—you being here,” Jesepha said, not wishing to discuss the matter.

“I will not risk my men alone.”

“Euric may be correct. We may be going to our deaths. To face Those That Stand in Shadow…”

“You do not know what to expect. None of us do.”

Jesepha turned to face Visandus. “Are you afraid?”

Visandus’ normally cavalier face frowned with serious thought. “Of course I am. We risk much for your King.”

“He is your King as well,” Jesepha replied, gently poking his chest.

Visandus raised his eyebrows. “Wars and whispers of war. Even if the blight of the Dark Ones was removed from our world, there would still be wars, other wars. I tire of the politics, the never-ending squabbling these nations pursue.”

“But not of their riches,” Jesepha said, smiling back at him.

Visandus laughed. “True! I am a pirate, through and through! But, because I am one, I yearn for the freedom of the sea, away from the rule makers and the number counters! One day soon, I will take my best ships and head for an uncharted island to make my home as I see fit! I am tired of working for different masters, even in my position of merchant lord. There are many beautiful places, private places, where glowing streams bubble through clear pools, and exotic flowers grow. Places where they have never heard of the Dark Ones, or even the Alliance!”

“I don’t see you as the type to flee the world, becoming an aged hermit fishing for his dinner with strings!”

“I would think not! I would make instead my own country, and my own rules; a place that is small and happy, a place of beauty and privacy!”

“A self-made ruler of the sea!”

“That is correct!”

“And would you return to your pirating ways, your Majesty?” Jesepha asked, curtseying in mocking fashion.

Visandus bowed. “The thought had occurred to me, but no, I have no wish to have the armadas of the Alliance on my trail! I wish to escape war, not start a new one. I leave that now to the likes of the Mezzolankeans, the Sargossians, and the clans of the Woodworm Ports. There are enough pirates in the oceans these days, but there were some advantages…”

As he spoke, he opened a drawer from his desk, revealing a jeweled necklace. Cradling it in his hands, he presented it to the knight. Despite her protests, he placed it around her neck.

“Stolen?” she asked, taking it into her hands.

“Of course not!” Visandus said, slightly injured. “From a cache of treasure traded for in my journeys. It came from merchants who traveled from the Third Continent. Rich ores and gems are to be found there that reside nowhere else. Their jewelers created this beauty which I had kept and brought along on this journey to present to you.”

“I see,” Jesepha said. She ran a hand beside the smoothed wood of the interior cabin walls, feeling the necklace in the other.

“A gift from the King of the seas. I am honored. It is a beautiful thing,” she said.

“And of course, as a King, I would desire a Queen.”

“And not a harem?”

“You injure me with such words!”

“Well, you are a pirate!”

“I need no herd of women! Only one would suffice.”

“And have you begun to seek out such a worthy mate?”

“I already have found her.”

Jesepha laughed. “Me?”

Visandus nodded, his stare boring into her soul. “You already know this.”

Jesepha guffawed loudly. “We have only begun to know each other! You cannot possibly have made such a decision so soon.”

“And why not? When I was young, I was used to taking what I wanted, by sleight of hand or force of arm. Now, I no longer need to play such games. I know what I want, and what I need. I would—”

Jesepha prevented his words. “This is not the place for talk of such things. When we return, if we return…”

“We shall!”

“IF we return, you may court me properly, as a gentleman should, and then we shall see.”

“You put me to task as no other woman has.”

Jesepha moved close to Visandus. She played with his long hair in her hands.

“As a knight of the Alliance should.” They kissed softly, tenderly. “Thank you for the gift.” A sudden rattle on his door reluctantly pulled them apart.

“Captain!” a voice cried out.

Sighing, Visandus opened the cabin door. “What is it now?” he grumbled.

“We are missing a man!” the sailor said.

The ship was immediately searched. No one had heard any cries or unusual sounds. All nooks and crannies were investigated, for it wasn’t unusual for a sailor to sneak in some extra hours of sleep or cups of hidden drink. Yet the sailor was not found.

Visandus cursed, frustrated at the turn of events.

“It appears we have another spy on board?” Bartholomew asked.

“But it makes no sense! Unless the man was killed and thrown overboard!” Visandus said.

“Then that means we have trouble,” Glaive added.

The other crew members were roused with angry words. Immediate check-ins for duty stations would now be required. No man would work alone, and guards would now sentry the boat in pairs.

“Our spy will be careful now. We are on to him! Although what work he can report so far from any shore is beyond me,” Visandus said.

“That is easy. Our friend spy is surely meant to harass our voyage,” Jesepha said.

“I can no longer trust my own men! We could have more than one spy aboard ship!” Visandus said. “Lord Ruflix, can you help with this?”

The wizard cleared his throat. A rather clogged gargle followed, and then another, which made Visandus squint his eyes in disgust. “I can work no magic against shadows,” Ruflix said, wiping his lips on his arm.

“We need to be careful, very careful! Any of us can be a target! Visandus’ rules should apply to us as well!” Rutt said.

“We are knights and know who we are!” Jesepha responded sourly.

“All are alerted now. Our friend spy will need to wait before he can perform any new mischief. He may think us trapped on this ship with him, but it is he who is trapped,” Bartholomew said.

“It’s like being in the Woodworm Ports all over again. Assassins at your back and thieves at your throat. I feel like I’m back home,” Glaive said.

Rutt looked away from the knights. More and more he dreaded his role on this mission. Guarding roads or patrolling fields was one thing, but he no longer desired assignments any more dangerous than that. He had seen too many of his comrades fall and did not wish to join them. What stories he had concocted to impress his fellow knights had kept his position safe for the most part. He would do the utmost to keep himself alive and avoid danger as best he could. Maybe he had become a coward, he thought, but he had no interest in greater glories or competing with fellow knights. He would live to retire in comfort and enjoy the fruits of being considered a hero of the Alliance with the least amount of effort!

He took in the other knights. Fools, all of them, rushing headlong into madness. True, they had protected him from dishonorable death, but he hated them all the more for that. He knew they felt they were better than he, even the accursed half-orcne called Glaive. A half-orcne! How the knighthood had tumbled, he thought. Still, the current news was worrisome enough. Oddly, though, Rutt mused, the knight named Richard seemed unaffected by it all. He stood staring off, with a strange smile on his lips.

* * * *

Qualtan followed Zigthaut through a tube-like corridor, their feet sliding over the smooth surface. The Morcadan would pause for long moments, listening intently as they creeped and prowled.

“This is madness! Suicide! If I did not have need of you, I would go off and leave you to your doom!” Zigthaut whispered.

“If you wish to live, you have no choice, and neither do I! So keep your grumbling to yourself and press on!” Qualtan responded. He squeezed his eyelids, yearning for rest. Could he truly return home, and could he truly rescue the poor souls trapped here? The situation seemed nearly hopeless, but he would not falter. He thought about the portals the Slth used, and apparently other creatures such as the Morcadans used as well, to come and go as they pleased into other places, other worlds. His uncle Aurelus had told him of such things, of the doors that would take you to different times and many places. They were things to be fearful of, and guarded against, for even the Arch-Mages, he would say, risked such ventures only rarely. For the Slth to make use of such things, they were not as bestial as first seemed. Questions to ponder at some future time, when he was far away from this place, Qualtan thought wearily. They exited into another of the bridges that crossed the great chasm within the center of the structure, zigzagging their way down towards the slave pens. Zigthaut suddenly balanced himself atop the bridgeway, and hopped off, landing on a slight ridge that lined the adjoining walls.

“What are you doing?”

The Morcadan beckoned, looking about worriedly for any sign of Slth.

“Hurry! You think we can just walk up to where the Slth keep their slaves and go in? The corridors below are filled with Slth. We cannot match them! We must go this way instead!”

Shrugging, Qualtan joined Zigthaut on the precarious ledge. The walls were plated with a metallic substance. Except for crystal lights that glowed through open passageways, it was dark. Flattening themselves against the ledge, they inched across the chasm wall. They felt dizzy as their hands clawed at the walls around them, searching for support. A feeling of vast emptiness engulfed them. They heard and saw Slth forms moving swiftly over the bridges above them and below. Qualtan could see two more adjoining walkways, and below them, the black oily bottom floor of the structure, which seemed littered with debris. The stench from that level was horrible, and it wafted up towards them. The ledge they balanced upon terminated at a great wall of giant metallic pylons that thrust outwards, stained brown with rust and decay. Below the pylons at the bottom floor was what appeared to be a giant, wickedly barbed cage.

“What is down there?” Qualtan said.

The Morcadan stopped, nearly slipping off the ledge, greasy with a fungus-like material that grew in patches on the walls. Qualtan grabbed his arm. Zigthaut steadied himself, and quickly snapped his arm back, embarrassed at the need.

“That, human, is where we go.”

Reaching the end of the opposing wall, Zigthaut jumped onto one of the pylons. Scampering from pylon to pylon, the Morcadan made his way towards the bottom. Qualtan kept pace, keeping close behind him. It was a long climb, and difficult, for the tapering pylons made handholds treacherous. Qualtan’s heart pounded from the exertion. The descent in the darkness seemed unending. After what seemed an eternity, Qualtan and Zigthaut landed atop the cage at the very base of the chasm. There was a thick metal door, studded and solid. This close, Qualtan could see the ground level floor was layered with scummy water that stank profusely. Heaps of garbage were thrown about, and the skulls and arms of rotting skeletons poked out. Qualtan coughed at the overwhelming stench, and even Zigthaut wrapped torn fragments of his slave’s tunic around his face. He pointed towards the corridor behind them, opposite the cage, and shook his head.

“That side of the cage you do not wish to be on. That is the lair of the Beast, the creature that lives in this, the lowest level of this place. It feeds on the rubbish and refuse that is dumped here for its use. Slaves who are injured or not used for food are put here as well, to add meat to its diet. Hurry, without keys, we will need your strength to get us through!”

They climbed about the twisted spikes that protruded from the cage, a deterrent to bar the Beast from gaining entry. Finding a suitable spot, Qualtan began to pull at the metal. His face contorted with effort as he managed to twist the bars open enough for them to squirrel through. Qualtan began to move forward into a new corridor, but Zigthaut groped for his shoulder. “Wait! There is danger here besides that of the Beast! That is why I did not wish to return here! The door warden will have to be bested first before we may continue!”

“What sort of warden?” Qualtan asked, sighing at the inevitability of their next challenge.

“You will see, and then perhaps you will abandon this stupidity and flee with me from this accursed place!”

The corridor was softly lit by more of the crystals that Qualtan had encountered before, nested snugly within the walls. The corridor was larger than the others he had entered, reaching high above. Qualtan was surprised that for such a wide hallway, so close to their valuable slaves, no other Slth were seen.

“There are no guards?” Qualtan said with suspicion.

Zigthaut snickered, licking his prickly teeth. “None are needed. You’ll see why soon enough. You’ll see!”

Qualtan growled. In his present state, he was in no mood to play games with words. Grabbing the Morcadan, Qualtan whirled him about.

“If this is some trick on your part…!”

A deep rumbling brought a pause to the warrior’s hasty actions. Releasing Zigthaut, Qualtan crept up towards the end of the corridor. A great entryway greeted them, with twin doors of giant size, made from bolted metal. But it was the being crouched before the doors that took Qualtan’s attention. It sat hunched over a metal bench playing with some bits of old bone. One of its two heads would occasionally bob up like a pigeon’s, eyeing its surroundings. Then it would quickly return to the game at hand. Qualtan gazed long and hard at the creature, rubbing his temples.

“I know not what yonder creature is, but it is said it was brought here from your world.”

Qualtan sagged. “It is a troll. A two-headed troll.”

“That is the creature that guards the prisoners. Its strength is great, greater than yours. I have seen it carry upon its shoulders cages filled with many prisoners. When one head sleeps, the other stays awake. You cannot defeat it.”

For a moment, panic and fear took over Qualtan’s heart. Weak from lack of sleep, food, water, and his thoughts blurred; how could he battle such a foe? He thought back to the two trolls he had faced when he and Glaive had unknowingly accompanied a band of maugs. He was in far better condition, and more fully rested when he had dealt with them. But a two-headed troll was a different thing indeed. They were the strongest and most violent of the troll race. Other trolls would flee from them, rather than fight. Briefly, he thought seriously of abandoning this foolish quest, but only for a moment. The image of the Haegtes he had conquered from before came back to his mind, laughing at his weakness.

“Have you seen enough? Let us go back…” Zigthaut said, interrupting Qualtan from his dire thoughts.

Qualtan grabbed Zigthaut’s arm, preventing his departure. “No. Not yet.”

Zigthaut grimaced with rage. He pointed angrily towards the door warden. “Look! See the bones it amuses itself with? They are what’s left of whatever prisoner was given over to it for a plaything!”

Qualtan closed his eyes. “Is this the only way to reach the prisoners?” he asked, hoping for an alternative.

“There are two ways in—through this way, or back up into the corridors where many Slth send up or send down slaves here! Are we finished now?”

“What is that?” Qualtan said, nodding towards a large knobbed wheel that adorned the giant doors.

“Silly question! That’s the door knob. Only a creature as strong as this troll, as you call it, could turn that wheel to open the doors.”

Qualtan sat quietly, considering all possible options. The Morcadan grew more anxious with the human’s delay. “Well? You have seen all there is to see. We must leave now! I will return with a great army and my people will bring ruin to this place! I promise to send any of your people we find back to your world!”

Qualtan looked at the smiling Zigthaut, and nodded, smiling back.

“As I said earlier, you do speak my language better than you claimed. Stay here.”

Rising, Qualtan edged closer towards the troll.

“You are mad, human! You take away any chance we have of escape! Come back!”

Ignoring his companion’s pleas, Qualtan neared the troll. It did not notice him yet, so enraptured was it in its game. Qualtan had a plan, a desperate plan, which he hoped would work. Twice as powerful as an average troll, Qualtan knew from his learnings that two-headed trolls were also twice as stupid. He thought back to the discussion he’d had with Bartholomew, Euric, and Jesepha that one night many moons ago. He remembered the words he had uttered as they had discussed the value of being a knight. But we are more than just killers, Qualtan had said. Now he would have to prove it, or be lost forever.

“Aurelus guide me now,” he whispered to himself.

Zigthaut observed intently as Qualtan stood just behind the troll. The creature mewed to itself as it juggled its toy bones, tossing them about. Suddenly it stiffened, and one malformed head snapped back, two red-rimmed eyes staring directly at Qualtan. A striped, curled nose sniffed noisily.

“Eh? Who are you?” the first head said. The second head looked up, taking in the intruder.

Qualtan began his deadly game. Standing tall, he spoke with a commanding voice. “I am here on Slth business. Open the door.”

Pimply brows furrowed. The troll sniffed Qualtan again.

“It smells…smells bad!” the first head said.

“Smells like a slave!” the second head replied.

The troll slid closer to Qualtan, towering over him.

“The orders! What do the orders say?” the first head asked the second head.

“The orders say only Slth can pass the doors. All others cannot pass unless Slth are with them! Those are the orders!” the second head said, lowering to confront Qualtan with exposed yellow teeth.

Qualtan retained his outward calm. “But surely there is a mistake, because I am obviously here without a Slth, and the Slth wouldn’t allow that unless they sent me here.”

“Then you are an escaped slave!” accused the first head.

“But the Slth sent me here. Don’t you see? I carry a weapon and armor. No slave is allowed to carry weapons and armor, are they?” Qualtan said, shaking his scabbard. “Besides, if I was an escaped slave, why would I come back here?”

A taloned hand scratched a lumpy head. “I am confused! The orders are wrong?” the first head said.

“No! The orders are right! They are always right! He is wrong! Ask him for proof!” the second head said.

“What proof do you need?” Qualtan said with annoyance. “And be quick! I am in a hurry!”

“We need to hurry!” said the first head.

“No! He needs to wait, or we pound him. Papers…that’s, right, papers!” said the second head.

“Is that all? I do have papers…” Qualtan replied, fidgeting with his belt. He looked up, smiling with reluctant disappointment. “But I am sorry; I cannot share them with you.”

“What? Why? We demand it!” said the second head.

“Because they are not for you to see! They are for the Slth and only the Slth can see them.”

Both troll heads looked at each other with confusion.

“No! That’s not fair! We see first or you do not pass!” the second head said. The troll grabbed for a long metal mace that sat on the floor beside it.

Qualtan, acting as if their show of force posed little threat, moved towards the troll. He leaned against the very club the troll held. He pointed at the two heads as their eyes fixated on his finger.

“If I do not pass, your masters will be very angry with you. They will come here and you will be punished!” Qualtan said with loud assertion. The troll flinched, stepping back.

“Not fair, not fair! The orders! We were told to only obey the orders!” the first head said.

“This is different! Who wrote the orders?” Qualtan inquired.

“The masters! The Slth!” the first head said.

“And who do you obey?” Qualtan insisted.

“The masters! The Slth!” the second head said.

“Then obey your masters! They have sent me here to deliver this message! Open the doors!” Qualtan commanded angrily, shoving the mace from the troll’s grasp.

Surprised at the show of strength, the troll recoiled.

Zigthaut, watching from the shadows, began to chuckle. The human stood before the giant beast, scolding it as if it was a child! And it was working!

The first head seemed inclined to obey Qualtan, but the second head was still adamant.

“If the orders were changed, why didn’t the masters tell us?” the second head said, retrieving its fallen mace and pointing it towards Qualtan. The knight stood still, looking at the weapon with a growing frown. The troll lowered the mace, sensing his rage.

“But he has a weapon and walks alone! He came through the other gate, which is locked!” the first head said.

“But…” the second head began.

“And he comes here. To go back inside,” the first head argued.

“Well then, let us wait for the masters. They will be angry at my delay and will send someone to check on it,” Qualtan said.

“Yes! Wait and see! Wait for the masters!” the second head said, happy with the answer.

“Ah! Here comes one of their servants now!” Qualtan said, pointing to where Zigthaut laid hiding. The Morcadan’s eyes widened, as Qualtan nodded for him to join them. He looked towards the way they had come in and knew there was no way back. Gulping, he appeared before the troll.

“I am glad you are here! Maybe you can sort this out!” Qualtan said, waving happily.

Now the troll rubbed both of its heads as its confusion grew.

“I am sorry for this delay.” Qualtan said, bowing to the Morcadan. His eyes pleaded with Zigthaut to play along with the deception.

“Er, yes. What are you doing out here? What is taking so long?”

“The door warden will not let me in!” Qualtan said, pointing to the troll who nervously looked from the human to the Morcadan.

“No, wait! This is not right, not right! He is not a master! He is a slave!” the second troll head said.

“The masters are involved with matters too important, and have sent me, their servant, instead! So, you have refused entry for your masters’ servants, have you?!” Zigthaut said, walking around the troll as it struggled to keep one head focused on Qualtan and the other on the Morcadan.

“Unfair! It is not our fault! We were told to obey the orders!” the second head pleaded.

“Enough of this! You will stay here and we will go back to the masters and inform them you have disobeyed their orders! You know how they will punish!” Qualtan said, motioning for Zigthaut to follow him back into the corridor.

Qualtan placed his hand on his sword’s hilt, reluctantly prepared to battle should his game fail, but it did not.

“Wait, wait! We do not disobey orders!” the second head said.

Qualtan stopped, casually turning around. “Well?”

“We open the doors! The orders are wrong!” the troll said hopefully.

Qualtan stood silent, as if contemplating their offer. The troll’s heads began to mew with worry.

“Very well. But I will speak to the masters after I deliver this message about this! You should know the orders!”

The troll heads looked down glumly.

“Well, don’t just stand there! Make haste!” Qualtan cried out.

The troll snapped to attention. “Yes, make haste, make haste!” both heads said to themselves. It lumbered towards the metal wheel on the doors it protected. With groans of effort the wheel turned, slowly opening the twin doors. The troll turned back, smiling at Qualtan with dripping tongues.

“See? See? We do what the masters ask!” both heads said in unison.

Qualtan smiled at Zigthaut. The Morcadan briskly marched past the troll. As Qualtan walked boldly behind him, he paused to give the troll a final sour look. “You are in big trouble, the both of you,” he said. The troll’s heads moaned pitifully as it resealed the doors behind them.

Inside the Morcadan whooped and hollered. “Wonderful! Brilliant! You surprise me, human warrior. I did not know you humans were so devious.”

Qualtan let out a breath of relief. “We can be when called upon. What next?”

“All right, human. We shall enter into the slave cells. Directly above us will be the overseer’s platform. You shall have to take control of it, before the other Slth find us out. From there I can open all the prison cells. Prepare yourself, for you must be quick and fierce! There will be many guarding Slth upon the platform, but hopefully they will not be expecting anyone coming in past the door warden!”

Qualtan nodded. “Let us proceed,” he said.

They exited upon another platform. To each side rose a stone stairwell reaching towards a second platform above with a third stairwell descending to the center floor. Sculptured fangs encircled the platform they occupied, for they entered this new area through the mouth of a giant carved face. Qualtan paused, gasping at the site before them. There were six levels, each filled with row upon row of cells. Hanging high atop were “punishment” cells, which Qualtan remembered well. The floor itself was divided into metal gates like a giant checkerboard, holding additional slaves within. The difference in scope when compared to the slave base he had escaped staggered him.

“How…how many are kept here?”

“Thousands—probably one or two of such,” Zigthaut replied, smiling at the human’s concern. “The Slth cities tend to hold twenty times that of their race. They keep the slave population to a tenth of that.”

Qualtan rubbed his temples. “We will save them,” he groaned tiredly.

“Hah! You will lead them to their deaths…and ours, if you…”

“We will save them all!” Qualtan snapped back, his eyes glowing with anger and fatigue.

The Morcadan paused, sensing that he dare not incite the human warrior further. “The control platform will be above us. We must take that first,” he said soberly.

Breathing in deeply, shaking his sword with anticipation, Qualtan nodded and charged. Two Slth stood about, their backs to him. He immediately surprised them, felling them both. Three other Slth, poking through the gated floor with long metal prods, took notice. They pulled their poles free to engage him. They fell as quickly as the first two. Qualtan laughed. His eyes blazed wildly. He was exuberant, with a burst of inner energy making him feel numb to pain or exhaustion. Other Slth rushed towards him. He took one of the stairwells, battling through astonished Slth, as Zigthaut followed from behind. Atop the second platform, one of the guarding Slth grabbed Qualtan in a large pincer-like device, used to control slaves or to drag them about. The Slth attempted to hold Qualtan clear, but his strength tore through the metal tool, shoving the Slth backwards to crash into a metal-gated door. Shoving the creature aside, Qualtan forced the door open and plunged in, taking the door with him like a great metal shield. He battered through a multitude of Slth, knocking them about. Zigthaut entered cautiously, stepping over the still forms. There was a wide viewing port and from it, the Morcadan could see scores of Slth coming towards them, unsure of what was taking place. With horrid squeals, the last of the Slth were defeated, and Zigthaut raced over to a center dais on which a variety of strange levers and crystalline formations sat.

“We have only an instant before the Slth realize what is happening and sound an alarm!” Zigthaut said, placing himself within the circle of knobs and handles.

Qualtan lurched over towards the viewing area. A legion of Slth lumbered from the corridors around them.

“I cannot continue like this. I cannot fight them all! What are you waiting for?” Qualtan gasped, the rush of euphoric energy fading from his body.

“Ah-hah!” Zigthaut said, moving bars and groping at crystals. A sudden hum took over the chamber. Slth atop the levels above them looked about, confused. The Slth that had reached the base of the command platform suddenly halted, muttering and burbling in their tongue. As one, all the prison gates opened.

“Thank the High Lord,” Qualtan whispered, sliding to the floor.

The Slth were mortified. They stood, nervously babbling to each other as the slaves began to pour out, outnumbering them countless times over. The slaves stood quietly, unsure of what had happened. Some of the Slth attempted to bully them back into their cages. But one slave, a great red-skinned being with multiple arms, would have none of it. Growling, it grabbed two of the Slth and banged them together like dolls. At once the pause that had taken over both the Slth and the slaves ended, and with cries of revolt, the ex-prisoners attacked their captors.

Slth were hurled off the passageways above, surrounded by slaves, and brought down by sheer weight of numbers. The Slth that stood at the base of the chamber fought back viciously, slashing through their attackers with sharp claws. As they turned to flee back the way Qualtan and Zigthaut had entered, they were stopped in their tracks by the human warrior who leapt from above, landing before them, preventing their escape. Zigthaut casually observed the battle, reluctantly smiling at their success.

It was soon over, and the slaves milled about. They took hold of the Slth’s poles and opened the grates on the floor. They pulled free the slaves imprisoned there, hoisting them up to safety. Zigthaut let out a cry of victory in his own tongue upon seeing his own kin, who quickly pushed through the crowds to reach him.

“How did you perform this miracle?” one of the Morcadans asked in their tongue.

“It was not by my arm, but by his,” Zigthaut replied, pointing to Qualtan who slowly approached the crowd of onlookers.

He walked unsteadily, the fires of his eyes extinguished. The slaves parted for him as he entered their circle. All around were alien faces and forms. Bodies of red, purple, green, pink, and yellow surrounded him. Heads with one eye, two, three, or more turned to look at him curiously. Claws clicked, tentacles swayed, and wings rippled. Qualtan spun around and around, seeing humans within the mass of pressing flesh. Then, he heard a familiar voice.

“You! By the gods, you came!” A human shoved his way closer. His hands cupped in excitement, he smiled at Qualtan. It was Friete, the prisoner Qualtan had met when he had first been captured by the Slth.

“He is the one. He has saved you all,” Zigthaut said. Faces of all type smiled at him, mandibles chittering, antennae vibrating, tendrils writhing. Qualtan laughed, looking at the menagerie of beings, and fell to the floor. The human escapees reached him first, lifting him into their arms.

“The man is near dead with fatigue!” said one who gently nudged him into a sitting position.

“His head is wracked by fever,” said another, placing a hand on his burning temples.

Questions began to rumble forth, in both familiar and foreign tongues. What had happened? How did they come here? What do they do now?

Qualtan rose, silencing the mob. “Hear me! You are not free yet! We must find the teleport platforms to escape this city! We will have to fight our way out! We have no time to lose. Slth will come here, and soon. Will you follow me?”

The humans nodded, happily, tearfully, but many of the other creatures merely looked at him silently with questioning eyes.

Zigthaut raised his hands. He yelled out Qualtan’s words in his own tongue and immediately the crowd roared in approval. Qualtan smiled with appreciation at the Morcadan, who merely grumbled in reply.

“But what of the warden?” Friete asked as the humans helped to prop up the ailing knight.

“Leave that to me. I will use a trick that a fellow knight told me about that helped to down a similar giant,” he responded.

Outside, the troll door warden rocked back and forth, worrying about its impending fate. Suddenly, it was startled by pounding on the doors.

“Open up! Hurry!” Qualtan’s voice cried out. The troll immediately complied.

“Hurry! The slaves are escaping!” Qualtan said with as much excitement as he could muster.

The troll looked shocked. “Escaped slaves?” the second head said.

“Yes! Hurry before the masters come!” Qualtan said, motioning for the troll to follow him back in.

The troll took a few steps forward, and then paused as both heads looked at each other with new confusion.

“No…we…we are supposed to guard the door. We are not to leave the door unattended. The orders…”

“We’ve had enough of your lack of understanding about the orders! Do you wish your masters to blame you if their blood is spilt by a rampaging mob? Come on, both of you, before it’s too late!”

Grumbling sourly, the troll complied.

Upon hearing the roar of the slaves, the troll swelled up with anger.

“Stupid slaves!” the troll said, swinging its great mace. “They will learn to follow the orders!”

“Hurry! Faster!” Qualtan said running alongside the troll.

The troll picked up speed, edging past Qualtan, who slowed his pace. It roared a mighty challenge as it entered the platform. Suddenly, a length of chain was pulled taught by slaves to either side, tripping the troll, who went tumbling head over foot. Seeing the troll sprawled on the floor, Zigthaut laughed happily. At the chamber controls he released the cages that hung from above all at once, sending them to crash on the rising troll. Instantly the troll was struck down to the floor, where it lay still. The slaves cheered. Sliding beneath the fallen cages, a worm-like slave, its arms moving as if they had no bones, removed the keys the troll kept on its thickly corded belt.

The slaves soon reached Qualtan. Zigthaut joined them and led them outside of the great metal doors. He pulled Qualtan aside with unusual tenderness, seeing how the human wavered in his stance. “Qualtan,” Zigthaut said gently. Qualtan’s eyes were rolling but he forced himself to focus on the Morcadan. “Do you hear me?”

Qualtan nodded.

“The portals are on the middle level. The portals beyond the city allow for those to come inside; the portals within this place allow for those to go outside. The Slth are thus protected from any unwelcome guests entering the city proper. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” Qualtan said weakly.

“The Slth use maintenance tunnels to release garbage into this bottom area. They are located outside, beyond the cage we snuck through! They are not far, for the Slth do not wish their pet to lunch on them as well! They are very careful in that. They will ensure the Beast is kept busy elsewhere if they ever need to travel through. We will use those tunnels to sneak back above. My men can each take a group of these slaves and lead them out. We are soldiers of the Morcada and know how to use these devices. We use them ourselves, of course! It will increase our chances of success if there are many of us spread out for the Slth to recapture. Some will not survive, but we must take that chance.”

Qualtan grabbed the Morcadan’s shoulders. “You must promise me you will not take them back as slaves for your Kind. They will be sent back to their homes, human or not, and not to yours.”

Zigthaut nodded.

“Do you hear me? You must promise me this!”

Zigthaut stared back at Qualtan. His face softened and he smiled, putting a hand on Qualtan’s own shoulder. “I hear you. I will do as you say. You have proven yourself worthy of that, at least. I am indebted to you and will not fail you.”

“Your word?” Qualtan insisted.

“My word. The word of a Morcadan Captain,” Zigthaut replied.

Quickly he turned and brought his own people together. He issued his commands and they began to spread out amongst the slaves, detailing what they were to do. Qualtan and Zigthaut led the way, using the troll’s keys to open the cage door that had barred their initial entrance.

They paused, stopping to strain their eyes at the vast darkness before them. No sound of movement could be heard. They stepped into the mire of the deep passageway, staggering through. They tried as best they could not to focus on the rotting things that they stepped over, and through. Within just a few more feet, they found the large, round gated doorways which the Slth would shove their debris, and sometimes horrified slaves, through. There were six of them, three on each wall, black and grimed with filth. Again the troll’s keys aided them as they effortlessly opened the doors. Morcadans bowed to Qualtan and Zigthaut, as one by one they led dozens upon dozens of slaves into each.

Qualtan and Zigthaut held back as one of the last groups to leave, ensuring safety. The human prisoners clustered around Qualtan with fear and dread. Other non-human escapees also accompanied the group, wishing to remain close to the human and Morcadan who had orchestrated their escape.

“Most of them will be recaptured and killed, or punished. They will not escape,” Zigthaut said as rows of alien creatures passed them by, exiting into the other doorways.

“They must,” Qualtan replied.

“To value life as you do is a weakness to my people.”

“It is a strength to mine. If not for me, you and your warriors would not have had a chance of escape.”

“You are not weak like your other kin—faceless, pink, soft flesh. You are strong, and that is a virtue to the Morcada. Because of your strength, I cannot argue this.”

“Yet you have said your own people hold slaves, just like the Slth!”

“Yes. We are not that different from the Slth. My people are lucky you had not come to our cities on this mad quest, very lucky indeed. Now! Let us go!”

They entered one of the doorways, grabbing hold of railings to each side and to each other, as they scrambled towards its end. Both alien and human, kin and non-kin assisted one another as they made their way through the sloped passage. Eventually, they reached the mouth of the tunnel and pulled free. They entered into another chamber racked with chains and cages.

“Another holding area for slaves. They are scattered throughout,” Zigthaut said as he lay for a moment to rest.

“Then there may be other slaves held in this hellish place,” Qualtan said.

“Yes. The holding cells we have now emptied store the bulk of the slaves, but they are used all over.”

Qualtan looked down, feeling helpless. He gritted his teeth. How many more prisoners were held, hoping for release from fear and death, and he, unable to help them?

“You cannot save them all. You cannot,” Zigthaut said calmly, seeing his companion’s frustration. “The chamber you released me from was one of dozens where slaves are temporarily held for reserved need. You would need an army to free them all. And soon you shall have it when I return here. I will free and return your Kind, if I find any.”

“You will free and return ALL Kind, if you find any,” Qualtan retorted.

Zigthaut merely frowned.

Other prisoners continued to exit the tunnels, filling the chamber. A sudden squealing took their attention, and they spread out amongst the room as best they could, making way for a troop of Slth, roughly ten in number, that marched in. The Slth suddenly stopped, taking in the horde of slaves that looked upon them from all sides. As they turned to retreat, they found a living wall of other ex-prisoners forming from behind. Their end was quick.

The group eventually made its way towards the middle levels of the structure. Zigthaut made mention that the lower levels were for housing the slaves, and the middle layers contained the living quarters of the Slth stationed there. The upper levels where Qualtan had come through were reserved for greeting parlors and relaxation for the rulers and their progeny. The Slth spent most of their time sleeping and eating, as the slaves did all of their work; hence, the reason why the passageways had seemed nearly deserted. But once they were roused, it would be a different story. They would not be able to pass through undetected, but the hope was to escape with as many prisoners as they could before reinforcements could be called to put them down. It did not take long. One group of prisoners led by the other Morcadans was quickly spotted by the Slth and alarms were set off. Using the crystals embedded in the walls, a wailing cry began to echo through the hallways. The mustering of the Slth had begun.

“Now! Now we see who lives and who dies!” Zigthaut said as their hundreds-strong company began to double its efforts, all hope for stealth gone. They crossed one of the open bridgeways and saw a mass of Slth surging into other corridors below them. As they neared the opposing end of the passageway, a force of Slth appeared from an interior corridor and rushed out to meet them.

Qualtan led out a cry of battle, and the host behind him responded. A large, squat creature with a flat head and a mouth that seemed to line its entire width charged up next to Qualtan. Opening a maw that seemed impossibly large, it collided with the incoming Slth. A flurry of bodies groped and battled with one another. With the press of numbers, the escapees pushed brutally through the Slth and into the adjoining hallways. They ran with as much speed as they could, knowing only sudden surprise could save them. Some Slth turned tail and fled at their approach, screeching for aid. Zigthaut led them through the cavernous tunnels, rarely pausing to consider their way. The sounds of battle reached them, and they soon joined another escapee group that was in the midst of contesting a large body of Slth forces. Escapees that could fly grabbed the Slth from above and hurled them about. Others with multiple, snake-like limbs enveloped and trapped their opponents for others to defeat. Some of the escapees, too afraid to fight, left the main body to search out safer places to hide or flee.

“Don’t leave the group! Stay together!” Qualtan yelled, as Zigthaut cried out the same. A contingent of slaves, caring little for their warnings, fled in mindless disarray. They were soon caught and killed, unable to protect themselves against the teeth and talons of the Slth.

The larger group of escapees was able to fight through the Slth that opposed them, reaching another elevation. Once more, they ran through an adjoining bridge, and in that moment, Qualtan could see the teeming masses of Slth that seemed to pour through from everywhere. He paused, seeing another escapee group below them trapped in a bridgeway, surrounded on both sides by the Slth.

“We have it, warrior!” Zigthaut said, grabbing Qualtan as the prisoners ran past them. “The chamber lies ahead! We will get home! All of us! The doors respond to the Kind that go through! We will make it!”

The thought of the prisoners who had not had a chance to fight for freedom returned to him. Seeing the others battling hopelessly in the bridge below them, Qualtan grew resolute. He turned to Zigthaut and urged him on.

“Keep your promise to me! Send them all home!”

Zigthaut stammered in disbelief. “Are you mad?! You cannot save them all!”

Qualtan looked at Zigthaut, his face tired and swollen, but unwavering. “I will save those that I can. Go!”

Zigthaut paused, but then saw the Slth that were closing in on them from behind.

“You have my word. I hope to meet you again someday. Yes, you have my word, and my respect!” Zigthaut turned to join the others. Qualtan gauged the approaching Slth forces and the distance to the bridge that angled out below him. As the Slth reached him, he ignited his sword, causing them to reel back in surprise and pain at the explosion of light. Then, Qualtan leapt. He dropped many stories below, crashing into the fighting maelstrom of bodies. His sword cleaved through the Slth, clearing a way for the trapped escapees to flee. At one point Qualtan felt his heart race and the world began to spin. A Slth slashed at him from behind and another tripped him to the floor with its whip. As they reared up over the knight, one of the escapees, a pink, bag-like thing, expanded its many folds like an opened umbrella. It literally swallowed up the two Slth into itself, giving Qualtan a chance to rise. It spat the creatures over the bridge, and their cries could be heard until they struck the muck-filled floor below. A mouth formed on the pink creature, forming a smile which Qualtan returned as it joined its fellows.

The Morcadans led them towards the end of the bridge, as Qualtan fell back, fighting the Slth that followed to gain the escapees time. The prisoners succeeded in passing through the bridge, disappearing into a corridor. As the last Slth to stand before him fell, squads of Slth rounded both ends of the bridge. Now it was Qualtan who was trapped from both sides. A voice called out, bringing a brief hiatus to the knight’s actions. A humanoid form appeared, walking through the Slth that crowded away any chance of escape.

“Stop!” it cried out, and Qualtan stood still, remembering the voice.

“You!” Qualtan said accusingly, as a bald man with a thick dark beard appeared before him.

“Yes, it is I. You survived the destruction of our base.”

Qualtan laughed. “That I did! It seems you’ve lost some slaves again!”

The bald man frowned. “You’ve proven to be quite the embarrassment. Your efforts have cost me time, valuable resources, and the lives of my brothers. Quite the embarrassment.”

“Indeed, especially to your Dark One. You’ve become quite the useless partner, haven’t you?” Qualtan said, hoping to see the Slth lord’s reaction, but not willing to share that his fellow knights had also been given this information.

At Qualtan’s words, the bald man stiffened. His eyes began to glow. “If you wished to escape with that knowledge, you should have fled with your Morcadan friends,” he warned gravely. “As it is, you have merely delivered yourself back to me.”

“You are wrong, evil one. I feared you would escape, but you have brought yourself to me, for my task here is not yet complete.”

“Hah! Revenge, is that it? A reckoning of the scales, perhaps? Look at yourself! You can barely stand! You have endured more than any of your kin could ever survive. You have dared to travel to this place, alone, facing horror beyond comprehension. You penetrated this station, battled your way through deadly threats to achieve what few could accomplish. You should be proud of yourself, young knight! I acknowledge and honor your efforts. I was wrong; you are a most worthy opponent. Come! Lower your blade. You are so tired. You have freed many slaves, and done your duty. You cannot push yourself further. You need rest, food. Let us discuss the matter as equals!”

Qualtan’s head spun. He held on to the side of the bridgeway, keeping an eye on the Slth that slowly crept closer from behind him as the bald man spoke. He was tired, and now that he no longer fought, his strength again began to wane. His temples pounded and his heart hammered mightily in his chest. To close his eyes would bring such comfort! He struggled to keep them open.

The bald man stepped closer. Qualtan’s sword arm wavered, but he refused to lower it.

“Keep your creatures back!” Qualtan warned as the Slth slowly drew closer from both sides.

The bald man kept one hand out as if to calm the warrior, the other hidden within his robes. “Enough, mighty one. Calm yourself. Perhaps we can strike a bargain. Come with me, let us retire to my chambers above and speak in a more restful place with my overlord brothers. You are above your cast as I am above my own. I extend my hand to you in parley and in peace!”

For a moment Qualtan’s shoulders slumped. He tottered as the bald man, his face now one of concern and friendship, grew ever nearer to him. He yearned for what the bald man proposed. His eyes were mere slits of vision, and his sword arm fell to his side. Perhaps the bald man was right.

“That’s right. You have battled too much. The Dark One can be put aside. We have better matters to discuss between us. On my word of honor, I vow no harm shall come to you. Please…”

“Yes. I would accept your word of honor…” Qualtan dropped his head, sighing.

The bald man smiled broadly. Suddenly, his hidden hand flashed free, holding his curved ebony blade. He struck at Qualtan, who had been ready for the subterfuge, his eyes never having left the Slth lord. His own sword flew up, catching his opponent’s.

“…except, evil Slth, I know you have none!” Qualtan said, his eyes ablaze with power.

Their swords sang as they battled one another. Twisting, turning, and spinning, they countered and deflected, lunged and thrusted. The Slth lord was a master, using the long dangling sleeves of his robe as a feint, obscuring his strikes. The Slth maintained their distance, hooting and howling for their overlord’s victory. At one point, Qualtan was attacked from behind by a sneaking Slth. He whirled about, slicing through its neck, but in so doing leaving himself vulnerable to the bald man’s deadly sword. He struck at Qualtan’s leg, and like their previous encounter, the numbing kiss of the weapon took his leg. He buckled and the Slth lord struck hard, toppling him to the floor of the bridge.

“You fight against the inevitable! All of your sickly weak Kind will fall to us! They are nothing—you are nothing!”

“Shut up!” Qualtan said, struggling to rise.

“The Dark One will take you! His eyes will sear you and his touch will burn you. You will shrivel and die!”

Qualtan jumped forward, striking at his opponent. His blow was countered, and another strike to his side crumpled him to the bald man’s feet once more.

“He who once had your world in his grasp was forced to relinquish it. But now he shall take it back!”

Qualtan stumbled back to the side of the bridgeway. “Who…?” he asked dizzily as he struggled with his slowed leg.

“Darksiege! Darksiege the Dark One! Let his name strike you down in pain and madness! For the glory of Shaz, he will destroy your Alliance and win back what was his, and we shall profit much in the farming of your Kind!”

The bald man attacked Qualtan savagely. Unable to use his sword in defense, weak beyond means, Qualtan called forth his blade’s magic shield. Again and again, the black blade struck against it, forcing Qualtan to hide behind its glowing form. To Qualtan’s surprise, the enchanted barrier began to crack.

“Defend yourselves against him if you dare! Stand against him and be damned, for soon all of you shall bow to our power!” the bald man yelled out in the tongue of the Slth as the magical shield grew frail and battered. It began to spark and fizzle, weakening against the assault. With a final blow from the bald man, the shield shorted out. Qualtan was hurled to the opposite side of the bridge railing. The bald man quickly followed up with a wide lunge, which Qualtan’s sword barely caught.

The bald man laughed in his face, mocking him in his own Slth tongue. Qualtan pushed back on his sword, locked against the bald man’s, as they vied for control.

“You can’t win. It’s over!” the bald man said.

Qualtan looked over his shoulder at the chasm the bridge occupied, and smiled calmly. “It is. For both of us.”

Suddenly, with a loud roar, Qualtan surged forward, taking the bald man with him.

“What are you doing?!” the Slth lord demanded. “Stop!” With their swords pressed tightly against one another, the bald man had no room for leverage, despite his own strength, to pull free without leaving himself vulnerable. He backpedaled against Qualtan’s rush, unable to stop.

It was too late. Qualtan sent them both crashing into, and through, the bridge railing. They seemed to hover in mid-air before they began to plummet. Both fell screaming, their bodies contorted together, smacking into the side of a bridgeway beneath the one they toppled from. Qualtan swung his sword wildly. It missed another, but sliced into the final bridge that stood high above the lowest level from which Qualtan had long since escaped. The bald man held onto Qualtan, their bodies jarred by the impact. For three seconds they dangled, until the sword pulled free. Ethereal space enveloped them as they fell again. Qualtan re-ignited his sword’s shield as they slammed into the bottom passage, crashing into piles of rubble and wreckage. Qualtan’s strength had saved him, and the shield had helped to blunt the impact of their fall, as he had hoped. Yet he paid a price.

Stabs of white, hot pain wracked the leg first struck numb by the Slth lord. The Slth lord himself had also survived, stronger than the rest of his kin, but even he struggled to rise. Blood poured freely from his lips and nose as he stared at Qualtan with a deep hate. His sword arm was badly broken, and he cried out in pain as he attempted to move it. Qualtan was initially unable to move, and could only watch as the bald man struggled to his knees, attempting to reach for where his sword had been dropped, only to fall. Qualtan pulled himself to a sitting position, coughing out blood. The bald man was breathing quickly, and he wheezed in painful fits.

“You will die.” The bald man said as he slid towards his sword, struggling to pull himself closer to it.

Qualtan could do little to stop him. He leaned on his sword, lifting himself with a cry of pain. The bald man took hold of his sword, and fought to rise. Gasping with agony, the bald man turned to face Qualtan. He staggered forward, dragging his sword with his uninjured hand. The illusion of a human that the Slth lord wore left him, his injuries preventing his continued concentration on keeping it. He stood as a true Slth, his cheeks a mass of inwardly curing tusks, his belly swollen and immense. His blazing eyes, though, remained the same, and through them, Qualtan could still see the bearded visage of his enemy. Qualtan stepped back, unable to fight. The Slth lord was barely conscious, his eyes rolling up into his head and then rolling back. He raised his sword, pointing it at the human knight. He mumbled in the Slth tongue, focusing all of his intent towards the retreating warrior. Qualtan raised his sword, using both arms to do it. He would die fighting, he thought to himself, and take the Slth lord with him. He had done what he could, and in fact had done much. He was proud of himself, and felt more now as a knight than at any time since first coming to Turinthia. He had proven worthy, after all.

As Qualtan readied himself to provide what meager effort he could, his eyes caught something. Behind the struggling Slth lord, a great form took shape, moving towards them. The Slth was so intent on Qualtan, he failed to notice it, until greasy, squelching sounds grew loud, and he turned with sudden realization.

The Beast that lurked within the confines of the chasm, the lowly devourer of loathsome refuse and defenseless victims, suddenly appeared. Qualtan cried aloud at the living nightmare that now showed itself. How could one describe it? The creature was pure horror, a thing that could only exist outside the soft fields and green trees of earthly nature. Gigantic, its head was that of a starfish or octopus; eight trailing tentacles that were tipped each with a lone, oblong eye. The center of what must have been its face held a sharp red beak. Its manner of locomotion was obscene. Huge crab-like legs protruded from its sides, folding above and over the back of the beast to end in mucous-filled pads on the other side. Thus, the legs on one side lifted the creature from the other, coordinating movement with extreme precision for so monstrous a thing. Its body was chitinous and hard. A long, forked tail arranged with spikes and tapering into whip-like projections flashed in an upright position. Worse yet, two tube-like apertures opened and closed with hungry glee just beneath the starfish head. Drawn out by the noise of battling above, and the noise of the two combatants who had fallen within, the Beast had come to investigate.

The fear that showed on the Slth lord’s face was beyond all reckoning of hope. Used to eating any creature that was sacrificed to it, whether a slave or a less than wary Slth, the Beast viewed no friend or foe. The Slth lord attempted to run away, but in his damaged condition, failed. He fell into the filth of the floor, half-buried in muck as he reached out towards Qualtan.

“Help me! No! Noooooooooo!”

From the two pulsing orifices beneath its face, the creature spat out two long tendrils of viscous material. They landed atop the quailing Slth. Bulbs of gluey secretions held firm and retracted back, sending the screaming Slth lord into the awaiting starfish head. The tentacles grabbed hold of him and like a giant fist, closed around its beak, taking the Slth lord from view. His muffled cries soon stopped.

Qualtan could only watch as the horror quickly chomped and swallowed his enemy. The starfish arms opened wide once more, and swayed to position its eyes before him.

It was now time for Qualtan’s final gambit.

“Aurelus, guide my hand in this,” he whispered.

He would call upon the one power from his sword he had yet to use. The one power his uncle had warned him never to bring forth, for there was no way to gauge it, or control it. As the creature shifted closer, Qualtan concentrated, focusing on his sword. His main thought was to leave this place, to be close to his friends, wherever they may be. The sword began to glow, swirls of light streaking out to surround his body. Qualtan felt a sensation of being lifted away, although he was sure his feet remained where they stood. A feeling of weightlessness overcame him. The energy of the Goldenflame radiated outwards, giving the abomination that stood over Qualtan brief pause, its starfish arms flailing wildly at the light.

“Home…take me home,” Qualtan recited as the funnel of light enveloped him completely. The creature crouched, if such a description could be attributed to its bizarre movements. Twin ribbons of slime spattered, flapping towards where its prey stood. They went through the wavering image of the knight, finding nothing to latch onto. With rage, the Beast retracted its weapons, stomping its pod-like feet. The shining star that now occupied where the knight had been flickered out, taking Qualtan with it.