The dark throne stood upon the stone dais, and atop it sat his prey.

Studded boots thundered in a steady rumble across the floor as he strode into the courtroom, making several heads turn in barely contained awe. He paid little heed to them.

This palace away in the capital, Glasswolf, was rather pristine compared to the proper fortress that was the Calbridge Castle of the west, stationing the detachments guarding the frontiers; a serene valley compared to a craggy, windswept cliff-face. The Drisian officials surrounding him were decked in expensive furs and silks and gold. The general and his Vasaen soldiers stood out from them in sheer contrast, with their boots muddied and cloaks dusty from days of marching.

"Now here's a face I'm happy to see!" King Krugmann hollered, waving bejeweled hands at the others. "Make way, people!"

One look at his face, and an afeard circle cleared away around Emric, who stood tall and gaunt. A black eyepatch now covered what was left of his right eye after a raven had gouged it out. Healers had managed to stop the infection, but failed to save the eye, which had blackened and rotted almost as fast as it had been torn out. No one escaped Draedona's wrath.

"You don't look so good, dear friend," said the king. His own flawless visage seemed to glow ever brighter, almost flaunting.

Emric couldn't care less. "I am thankful I am yet alive and can still fight with my own two hands, Your Majesty."

"And that's just how your priorities should be. Charm and glory..." said King Krugmann, squinting his eyes at the grotesque scars, his glee barely contained, "are frivolous things that don't...last. Incidentally, where is the Royal Sorceress? Is she no longer inclined to travel with you?" His eyes searched over the undead soldiers.

"She has left for Byton."

"What?" King Krugmann bristled. His sickly sweet demeanor changed at once. "You sent her off without sending me a word first?"

Emric smiled, folding his hands behind his back. "You misunderstand me, Your Majesty. What power has a mere general to order the Royal Sorceress around? She has made that decision because that's for the best."

But the king was not reassured. "You said Byton would fall by the night of Spring Fest! You will make sure of it--if you know what's good for you." Emric watched with amusement as King Krugmann's friendly mask fell away the moment one thing did not go exactly the way he wanted. It had not been easy, after all, to gain his trust. While he may have brought him to Drisia after Larton fell, his favour was a rather fickle thing the Midaelian had to work all his life to achieve. Now it's about time it pays off.

The general's lone blue-grey eye glinted dangerously. "Patience, my king. The winds are cold yet. The lands are still beneath Edis' silver wings. Spring has a long way to come, but when it does, Byton will burn." So will you, Your Majesty. "In fact, Royal Sorceress Avalyn has gone ahead of us to make sure the siege goes without hindrance."

King Krugmann sat upright, forehead wrinkled in thought. "While I do trust her judgement, I'm doubtful about this one. I hope she has a good reason for venturing into enemy territory."

Emric's voice took on a serious note. "She does. Draedona has attempted once to break out from the Chains and unleashed the ravens into the mortal world. The result has been... quite disastrous."

"I can see that." The king morphed his expression into a pained one. "I was worried out of my mind when I heard you were injured."

Emric laughed aloud, causing all except his Vasaen soldiers to rear back.

"Worry not for me, Your Majesty!" he cried, "but for your invincible army. The ravens are able to rend undead flesh, a feat paralleled by no other weapons except ancient blades blessed by a forsaken deity of old."

He gestured to one of the Vasaen soldiers to step up before the king. The man obeyed, and took off his helm to reveal half his face torn off. Black blood had congealed around the gash, but the wound hadn't healed. King Krugmann watched in horror.

"On the other hand, gathering news from Byton has been difficult, too." Emric crossed his arms with a great sigh. "One good-for-nothing assassin I had, to contact Alfred Henris, but the Guild snuffed him. Information about the blessed blades was the best that I could get out of him before that. Worse yet, Draedona has now chosen a mortal champion to lead the ravens in her stead."

The king slammed his fist on the throne's armrest. "Who is it?"

"Some Midaelian soldier," he said with disdain. "The Goddess's influence is weakened. Poor bastard probably doesn't even know they've been chosen. And so Avalyn has gone to seek them out and destroy the threat before it becomes one. Rest assured. The matter is in her hands and she'll make sure to put an end to it."

King Krugmann rubbed his temples. "That...surely puts me at ease."

"Now, if I may ask a favour of you," said Emric, eye darting around at the petrified faces around him. "Privately, if you please."

Even with the black-blooded immortal abominations present, the king's folk had their attention upon the woefully mortal General Reylan, a lone Midaelian standing unafraid in the palace of sworn enemies of his folk, some of them perhaps wondering how the king was able to put his trust in a foreigner.

But King Krugmann, despite his occasional crude jests and crooked remarks, had always a special liking for this snow-haired warrior, for he now rose from his seat and excused himself from his courtiers. "Very well. I'll be with you shortly."

The king gestured over his shoulder, and started off down a marble-lined hallway, fur-lined red cape rippling behind him. "First, let me take a look at the guests you've brought. A king should be able to provide for his soldiers, shouldn't he?"

Emric chuckled. "That's the beauty of necromancy, Your Majesty. The dead need no sustenance."

A pair of great oaken doors squealed open, flooding them in the pale sun. A strong wind swept across the battlements surrounding the palace courtyards, where the two now walked side by side. Beyond the walls lay Glasswolf city. Elegant manors and blooming orchards of wealthy officials arrayed like a wreath of flowers around the palace, yet unable to mask the squalor of the less well-to-do districts of the city far off. The king spared not a moment to acknowledge it, and leaned his muscular arms on the parapet, facing the vast courtyard below.

Soldiers, all armed and armored, stood there in neat rows in deafening silence, dead eyes fixed ahead of them. Not one of them stirred, nor even turned their eye to a comrade to speak. Such discipline had been achieved not because they were living, breathing corpses, but because they feared the power of the general's silver ring more than death.

Yet there were always exceptions, those who feared nothing. Not even the wrath of the Goddess of Death could touch them. Emric fiddled with his ring, his mind bitter. I'll show you what happens to traitors in Drisia, Perth.

An aura of dark magic hovered in the air surrounding them, pressing upon them from all sides. The mere presence of the Vasaeni in such great numbers began to affect one's mind after a while. Even the palace guards inched away from the silent army fast as they could.

King Krugmann gave a satisfied grin. "What's better than an army that never tires, needs no supplies and drains no healers? Ah, this is perfection, General. You and Avalyn have come like a blessing in my life."

Emric only smiled.

"Now, to business. How many of them are there?"

Emric leaned over the parapet too. "Five thousand strong."

"Splendid." A slow smile crept across King Krugmann's face. "Byton would fall in less than half a day."

"The four hundred you see here are special elites I have gathered for your personal guard when we ride out for Byton. The rest I have yet withheld from engaging in clashes around the borders, ever since the one Vasaen got out of hand and ran into some Midaelian soldiers. "

"You believe some barbarian bandit clans can distract the Midaelian forces long enough?" asked the king.

"As a matter of fact, I do not," said the general. "Let the poor Midaelians have their small victories. Ah, perhaps I will send in some of the Vasaen to die by their blessed blades--for great acts require great sacrifices. When they are convinced the day is done and the battle is over, we strike. We unleash the Vasaeni and launch the Firemounts."

The King's eyes glittered. "Carrying ahead the legacy of the great vampire hunters of yore, I see. Burn the blood-suckers to the ground when the sun shines." He let out a hearty laugh. "There, you have once again pleased me--a feat not achieved by many. What is the favor you wished to ask? Fire away, before my good nature sullies under the pressure of a king's responsibilities."

"I have two things to ask of you, Your Majesty." Emric turned to face the king. "You wouldn't be able to resist the first, is my belief."

King Krugmann furrowed his brows.

"All the prisoners in your dungeon, those who have been sentenced to death--send them to Calbridge Castle instead of the gallows," he said. "I have rounded up a cadre of mages who have mastered Avalyn's magic, and they will take up her work while she's gone."

The king gave a good-natured laugh. "I sacrificed my finest warriors to have them made immortals, what're a few grimy prisoners? They're all yours--skewer them alive if that helps. Although..." he trailed off, studying Emric's face. "What of the two prisoners you brought from Calbridge? My guards informed me you also ordered for a young girl and her mother to be thrown into the dungeon. Wonder what that's all about?"

"You'll find out soon, Your Majesty. And this brings me to my other request." Emric pushed himself off the bulwark and brushed dust off his hands. "I wish to borrow the best torture tools your dungeon has. Those that make one talk."

King Krugmann appeared puzzled. "Borrow? Why would you bother with this dirty business? Tell me who needs their teeth pulled, and I'll have the dungeon guards take care of the rest."

"No need. I ask for the tools only."

✦✧✦✧

The bewildered king accompanied Emric down to the depths of the dungeons.

The head torturer was a masked individual, clad in black robes with pale, veiny hands jutting out of trailing sleeves, dried blood crusted under long fingernails. On the king's command, the torturer brought the two to a long table laden with instruments, the likes of some of which even the general had not seen in the prison of Calbridge Castle. Serrated blades and spiked mallets, thumbscrews and branding irons lay in neat rows, some still speckled with blood. Hooks on thick chains dangled from the rafters.

"Take your pick.”

And Emric did, trying his best to hide how badly his hands trembled.

He commanded the dungeon guards to haul the tools up on a small cart mounted on wheels, the sort healers used to arrange their surgical instruments and medicine vials--only much more sinister.

At the end of the passage there stood two cells facing each other, one with usual, barred doors, the other, a solid door of iron with a thin slit near the top that could only be slid open from the outside.

Behind the bars sat a harried-looking woman, clutching a sleeping young girl to her chest. There was no way of telling who was on the opposite, iron-clad cell. Upon seeing the king, she began to sob and plead, voice cracked from hours of endless crying. He couldn't care less. He turned to the general instead.

"Well?" urged Krugmann, "you are killing me with all this silence."

I'm killing you either way.

"In order to have my troops march through the Midaelian frontiers unimpeded,” said Emric, “I must know all about the locations of the guard posts and how they're manned. While they do not stand a chance against the undead, I cannot afford to lose the cadre mages who I plan to bring with me to raise more corpses. Garrisons of Kinallen and Brittlerock in particular will prove a challenge to wade through."

Understanding dawned on King Krugmann's face. "I see. And you aim to get that information from-?"

"A Midaelian officer, of course," said General Reylan, shuffling to the iron door and sliding the panel aside.

"Hah!" The king did not bother to peer inside. "Good luck with that. Real stuck up whoresons, these Midaelians, rambling about honor until you snip their tongues right off. No offense to you, General."

Emric let out a chilling laugh. "Oh, you'll see how easy it is, once you look at the pair of them. A heartwarming tale they have, much-needed in these cold lands." He motioned to a guard to unlock the iron door.

By now the young girl in her mother's arms had stirred awake. Before any of them could speak, she scrambled out of her mother's reach and ran to grip the bars of her cell-door, her eyes on the general.

"Ma, look, It's General Reylan!" she cried.

He turned, lone eye peering down with a cold gaze.

Her mother was not the least bit reassured. But the child went on in a hushed voice now, trying to calm her down. "We're going to be okay now, Ma. He's the kind general Perth told us about, remember? He helped Perth so I could go to school."

Emric crouched to her height, smiling at her. "Hello, Eryna."

Eryna Durinford looked at him with her big, bright eyes.

"How'd you know it's me?" he asked.

"Oh, I didn't. Not at first," she said. "Perth only told me your name, you see. Me and my friend saw all these soldiers marching through the city gates this morning, so I wonder, who's that pirate leading them? Then my friend tells me it's you."

"Pirate?" Then his hand went to his eyepatch. Eryna gave him a gap-toothed smile.

"All was well, you see. We were watching the march. Then these bad men--" she gestured to the dungeon guards, "--caught me and my Ma, and locked us in here. You'll let us out and give them a good scolding, won't you? We didn't do anything wrong!" Behind Eryna, her mother sat frozen.

Emric sighed, reaching out a hand to ruffle her hair. "No, kid. You did nothing wrong. But someone else did."

"Oh, then there's been an in--in--" she struggled with the word. "Inaccuracy. They caught us by mistake, didn't they?"

"There is no mistake." His smile darkened. "Let me see what you have yet learned in school. Tell me, what is the punishment if we betray our good King?"

"Death by hanging!" yelled Eryna almost immediately. "Easy. Everyone knows that."

"Your big brother has done that, Eryna. He's betrayed the Drisian Crown."

Soft murmur of flaming torches and the ceaseless drip-drip of the damp walls filled the silence. The general did not know whether a child of ten would grasp the gravity of the situation, but if the color draining from her face and glassy look in her eyes were any indication, she did.

"Are you...are you going to hurt him?"

"No?" The general shook his head. "We have argued sometimes...but we still are very good friends. Oh, I won't lay a finger on him."

Keys turned and clicked. The iron door on the opposite swung open to reveal two figures chained to the back wall. Pertheran sat huddled with his head between his knees. Commander Karyk looked half-dead, bloodless and emaciated. But he kept his head high.

Pertheran did not bother to look up when Emric stepped inside, the guards tugging the tray of tools behind them.

"This damned Midaelian ain't talking," Pertheran said in a drawl. "Those who take pity on an enemy soldier don't fear your damned tools. Do what you will."

"Oh, I won't do a thing, Perth," said Emric. "You will."

"Go fuck yourself."

"You will make him talk," said the general patiently, "and if that takes every bone in his body to be broken, you will do it."

"What're you gonna do if I don't?" Pertheran snickered, head still down. "Kill me? How do you kill something that's already dead?"

Eryna's hand flew to her mouth with a little gasp.

Emric hunched over him, his face ghost-like in the gloom. "Won't you look up, my friend?"

Pertheran's eyes widened as he saw the occupants of the opposite cell. A scream left him, a sound not of a human, but of an anguished soul unable to pass on, trapped forever in a body held together with sorcery. Black veins bulged on his forehead, face convulsing, arms and legs struggling against the chains with demonic strength. Had the general not stepped aside in time, he would have clawed his face off.

The chains were too short.

"You'll rot in the depths of Draedona's realm," he howled. "You won't get away with this, you monster!"

Emric shook his head in pity. "Look at you, snarling and spitting and hissing, and you call me a monster. You have betrayed our good king who provided for you, given you land to live, bread to eat. You swore your fealty to the Crown, and failed to keep the promise. Yet I'm the bad guy."

Pertheran looked at his family who sat as though spellbound, their eyes unable to recognize the corpse dragged back from the dead.

"If I'm a traitor, then so are you," said Pertheran, his voice hoarse from all the screaming. "Planning the demise of your own people, marching under the enemy banners--I hope you achieve whatever it is you wish to gain through all this, then... find out how hollow you are once there's nothing left. I hope you live to realize what it's like to be a walking corpse, to lead a life without purpose!"

Emric froze where he stood.

On the horizon ahead he could feel the heat of the pyre where he would burn the king, the man who had robbed him of a life of peace. Yet beyond that, there lay nothing but smoke and ashes.

"My, my." Krugmann leaned against the wall, his features harsh and cruel in the low light. He gestured to one of the guards. "Bring me a cup of wine, you fool! My dear general has hosted quite the play for me. Can't enjoy it with a parched throat, can I?"

Even as the guard rushed to his command, Emric pushed forth the tray of torture tools before Pertheran. "Enough of your nonsense. Start. Ask him all about the guard posts along the border near Kinallen. If you don't, it'll be little Eryna on the other end of these blades. And if he lies...well. I don't know whatever the head torturer would do to them."

Pertheran shot out his leg, overturning the cart with a vicious kick, and sent the sharp tools raining upon the guards and the general, but too little effect. They stepped away effortlessly, for they were not chained to a wall. The only good it did was fuel Emric's temper. He gestured, and a guard dragged Eryna out of the cell, another unsheathed a long-knife.

"Stop this madness!" said Commander Karyk, raising his raspy voice as high as he could, exhausted beyond human limits. "Release that child, at once."

"Talk," said Reylan.

A tense moment passed in which a guard held the long-knife near Eryna's neck. The child only stared, something crumbling behind those bright eyes. Pertheran knelt on the filthy dungeon floor and sobbed silently, clutching his head. Torchlight glinted off the scattered torture tools.

The Midaelian commander's resolve gave away at last, after months of fighting.

He told them everything.

✦✧✦✧

Today was a lovely day at Byton.

Avalyn raised a pale hand to shield her face from the bright sun. A fine, crisp morning it was, carriages and hay carts rolling in leisurely through the front gates of the city. All around, folk talked to one another in the sweet, Midaelian tongue, one she had missed dearly for the past five years. She paused in her tracks to listen.

Before her stood Byton in all its glory, and within it the academy, the place that taught her to dream and then burned them to ashes. The city overflowed with life and colors and voices and so many different auras of magic, all mingled together in a soft symphony. Somewhere among them awaited the unfortunate chosen by Death.

It was a daunting task to find them in this city of hundreds of thousands, but so was imprisoning a Goddess. And Avalyn had rather easily done the latter.

Her powers seemed to swirl within her with a new radiance as she strode to the gates with a content mind. The teachers at the academy had been right. The more she used her sorcery, the happier she became, and the more her powers grew.

Beside her walked a Midaelian peasant's corpse, his throat clenched shut and limbs moving at her will, except when she needed directions. Her grip on his consciousness was smoother than ever, and the more corpses she raised, the less likely they were to turn out like Perth-- disobedient, rebellious and disappointing.

Even better, she was no longer required to offer a living sacrifice.

All she needed was a fresh corpse. Like the city guard now asking for her papers and eyeing her peasant companion suspiciously.

"What do you mean you forgot?" he snarled and unsheathed his sword at once. "Follow me. And no funny business." Blade at the ready, he led her into the guard station nearest to the gates.

She did as she was told, readying her poisoned dagger beneath her sleeve.