

REMEMBERED IN BLOOD

By: Mitchell Carlson

Prologue

Verse had been wandering the hills of Bagah for two weeks, tracking the movements of the Speaker ever since the first dried corpse she encountered. By the time she found the second, she had already marked his pace and motive. A Speaker moving with the speed and apparent proficiency as this one no doubt was experienced, and that meant dangerous.

The afternoon sun baked her tanned skin, and had she not been born of the native Malni tribe to the south, her skin may have burned from the exposure. One thing the sun did allow however, was smells. True smells could be found in the heat of the sun's rays, and the scent of blood was pungent among the many present in these long forgotten hills. She reached into a glass lined leather pouch strapped to her waste, drew a few drops of blood across her fingertips and whispered, " _Airis_ ", flinging the droplets of blood out into the air. On her command a translucent falcon materialized upon her hand, perched as if it were her pet. With the bond she had forced into existence, she released the crimson bird into the air.

The bond allowed her its sight, as well as full control of its movements. To describe the sensation would be impossible, for she could not only see and control her own movements should danger arise, but maintain complete focus on her soul creature. Within moments she spotted him with her falcon's vision, kneeling over a fresh kill in a small clearing, draining its blood into one of many vials he likely kept secure in his pack. She had sought this encounter for weeks, and her persistence had paid off.

She moved forward with long even strides, covering ground with incredible speed. At the same time she commanded her blood falcon to attack, and then reached into a second glass-lined pouch.

The falcon dove quickly from the trees above and drove its talons into the man's flesh. He stumbled back with a cry, and quickly scanned the trees for the one whom the bird belonged. Though the creature hit him, the spell was weak--a surveillance spell--and thus rendered its attack all but insignificant. Three fingernail scratches reddened his cheek, but his surprised reaction took the vial from his hands, and now blood lay pouring freely about the ground amongst broken glass..

"Well come on now, pick it up," she said standing at the edge of the clearing. "I hate to see an animal's death serve no purpose. Clean it up."

Trees were scattered about the clearing in an unorganized fashion that had left a wide twenty-yard area of ground open save a few rocks. The creature slain was a rhinok, known for their nearly impenetrable hides, tons of muscle, and horned visages. They were also known for their impending extinction. Perhaps fewer than a hundred of the creatures yet grazed the plains of Bagah and northern Greyson.

The man shot to his feet and backed away a strong twenty paces. His lips curled into a smile. "So _bold_ are we? Don't think I don't _know_ you, Verse. You should really change your appearance once in a while. Maybe the whole world wouldn't be after _you_ then eh?" His words bounced around, inflection placed sporadically across the sentences.

Verse eyed the man. Heavy olive-colored wool leggings, large boots, and a large heavy jacket in the fashion some traveling merchants might wear in the cold northern regions. On his back he wore a large olive-colored pack, of which she had already assumed its contents. In this heat he had to be roasting.

"So you know my name, Speaker, "she said. "What's yours?"

The man swayed about in hysterical laughter as if in sarcastic thought before bursting out, "Hah! Why should I tell _you_ interloper? My name is of no consequence right _now_ I think. What kind of name is ' _Verse'_ anyway?" He sauntered back and forth like an impatient kid.

She glanced down at the rhinok in silent mourning. "I've followed you for a while. You've gained quite a collection haven't you?"

"Caine," he said, "Nicolas Caine." A ring accompanied the words he spoke.  
"A true name."

"Maybe," he said. "So let's cut to the chase oh fugitive _beauty_. You've been following me for a reason no doubt. So let's not waste any _more_ of my time. I have places to go, and souls to take." His lips twisted into a wild smile and in a flash he had reached into his pack, securing a vial in one hand. He dumped the ruby liquid across the other and clenched that hand into a fist. With a whisper he flung the blood into the air, watching in silent content as it coalesced into a wild frenzy bear. By the thickness of its color, Verse knew he had brought forth this creature with a powerful spell.

Verse's hand that yet resided within the second glass-lined pouch now retreated covered in thick syrupy blood. " _Dalthus_!" she cried, mirroring Caine's motions as the blood flew from her hand. A large forest lion emerged from the swirling mists of blood with a triumphant roar. She let the pouch fall back to her hip and wiped the blood on a towel from a sack slung across her chest.

"Dalthus? Is that its name, Dalthus? Left pouch right? I'll be sure to remember that after I've _killed_ you."

Verse responded by sending her hulking lion against Caine and his bear slave. Two crimson creatures clashed together in a swirling mist of claws and teeth. Verse had already dashed in on Nicolas Caine, two wickedly curved daggers slung low on her thighs now gripped tightly in each hand. Caine pulled his own weapons to defend, one a captain's longsword, the other a gold plated pistol.

Her expertly trained muscles leaped from rock to tree trunk and down again as bullets destroyed those areas she had so recently been. Tree bark exploded beneath her feet as a well-aimed shot missed her. Tumbling through the air she regained full focus of her creature and ordered it to ignore the frenzy bear and focus on Caine.

The bear followed. At such close quarters Caine holstered his gun and pulled another blade to thwart the two Verse carried. A whirling clash of blades sent sparks about as the two skilled combatants worked at each other. Despite his appearance he was at least as skilled as she was. As the lion reached its prey the bear had already caught up and slammed its enormous weight into it, and so their battle resumed as well.

Swords and daggers deflected and parried effortlessly, and so it was the one who tired first that would ultimately lose the battle; that, or the first to lose their creature. Already the blood used to bring forth these creatures was wearing off. Though the spells were powerful, the duration was condensed significantly from the battle, and from their appearance, Verse could already tell hers was falling faster. What she took as a significant spell from her adversary she now realized was far deadlier. Assuming the worst she had used much more herself than she normally would to summon a creature for battle. Today however might prove not to be enough. Caine was no novice.

One thing that makes soul creatures so powerful is that they cannot die. They simply dissipate as her falcon had only seconds after attacking. They can be stabbed, shot, and smashed, but after the dust settles the creatures remain at nearly the same strength. Nearly, because every second which passes they grow weaker.

They can however, be unsummoned.

Caine's sword came flashing down upon her. She quickly evaded leaning desperately backward using a foot to hold her balance, and crossed both daggers above her, slicing the attack away. With a surge of effort she kicked his second blade away and then dove on top of him all in one swift motion.

"Call him back or I slit your throat," she said pressing the dagger into his skin. A small trickle of blood ran down his neck. Another thing that removes the creature is a breaking of the bond. Death, inevitably, is the easiest way to do that.

" _Shorshen_ , return," he commanded softly and with a smile, and instantly the terrifying frenzy bear dissipated into nothingness.

"Give me him Caine."

"Never _bitch_ ," he said as a bout of hysterical laughter jumped from his throat. The resulting spasm caused her blade to dig deeper into the skin and he quickly stopped as terror replaced glee. "He's _mine._ "

An uncorked vial sat in his coat pocket nearly spilling over. Keeping the dagger pressed firmly she snatched it up.

"No!" he screamed, spittle covering his lips. "He's mine. _Mine_!"

"A small price to pay I would say. I keep him, and you can live to tell others about me." She paused a moment reflecting back on the rhinok, "but if I ever catch you killing again, you wont even see the attack until you're drowning in your own blood."

"I promise! Please, please. I promise."

She let up on the dagger, but kept him pinned. "What was its name?" she said nodding to the rhinok."

"What's it to you? His blood is useless now."

"Last rights. Tell me its name, and you can go."

"Fenras," he snarled through clenched teeth.

The name rang true. Every name has a unique sound, and when spoken truthfully to a Speaker, the sound of that name is accompanied by a harmony in the air. To some it is nearly inaudible, but to a skilled Speaker it is very clear.

"Get out," she said rising with the blood of Shorshen the frenzy bear. Tittering all but silently he grabbed his pack and took off through the forest. His weapons lay still on the ground save the gun which he had holstered.

With careful steps she moved back to the corpse of Fenras. The bottle Caine had been using to hold its blood lay nestled between a rock and a pile of dirt, the top half shattered. Inside she found about a fistful of red liquid that had not drained. It wasn't nearly enough to maintain a creature for long, perhaps good enough for one use. One short burst of incredible power. For her that was enough, the creature may yet avenge itself through her.

She collected what she could, dispensing the new blood into a fresh pouch from her shoulder slung pack. Then she prayed, that perhaps when this war was over, she would be forgiven for the sacrilegious acts she had descended into exercising; that though her soul was damned, she prayed that the souls of those whose aid she sought would find their way to the heavenly plains of Omeyocan safely.

PART I

BLOOD LIES

CHAPTER 1

Etreyus whinnied vehemently as the overstuffed wagon was continually filled with bales of hay. With a hundred bales and counting, the wooden frame of the wagon creaked with each additional bale, until one hundred and twenty were now stacked neatly upon its bed. The trip into town was a day overdue; the kid had a lot to make up for.

With a crack of his whip the strong Clydesdale moved forward on the old dusty road out of the farm and towards the bustling market of Passelville. It was a full days ride into town, and another half-day just setting up for the evening market rush. With such a long way to go, he took his sweet time and made the most of it, stopping at the many lakes and rivers along the way, and speaking with the girls at Churchill that marked the halfway point.

_'_ _I don't believe we should dawdle this time Skye, your parents seemed exceptionally irritated that we hadn't left yesterday.'_

The first time Skye had heard the sound of Etreyus's voice he nearly crashed the wagon into a stone wall. This was several years since, but it had only taken a day of travel for Skye to come to terms with his new ability. Now it was simply a matter of Speech, and the large horse obeyed.

"I don't really care Etreyus," the kid said, placing a small portion of will into the words. He leaned his head back on the hay bales and tucked his hands beneath. "We've covered ourselves well enough with the extra feed. We could take a whole extra day and be fine. Might as well make the most of it."

To this Etreyus only huffed and continued his trot towards Churchill. It wasn't until dusk was near that the sound of their destination could be heard. Few travelers made their way back towards his home from here, but many came from further along to stop in Churchill. The commotion put a smile on Skye's face. Etreyus was happy to voice his disapproval.

"I hope I didn't get ya too hard this morning old friend," Skye said leaning close to the horse's rear and patting his rump.

_'_ _It's for show, I understand',_ came his voice, _'but_ _will you ever tell your parents?'_

"Not in this lifetime," to this Skye laughed at himself and his situation. "I'd rather just take this secret to the grave. It was bad enough Vargas had to go and show up. I was content just having you as my one burden, now I have him to deal with as well."

Etreyus, like usual, said little, and to this he remained faithful. As the town drew nearer it was customary to forget they could Speak with one another anyway. Speaker's were a damned group of people and typically considered criminals before a trial was held. Most Speakers became fugitives long before they committed a crime, and others...

Skye knew far too well what he could do if he had that kind of mindset. It was a nightmare of a skill, and one he believed no man should have the ability to hold.

A familiar voice flourished through the now almost deafening sound of commotion causing the youth to rise from his resting position. A girl possibly sixteen years of age spotted the wagon's approach and came skipping along the sandy road. Her golden curls bounced as she did and a sun bleached purple sundress danced about her knees. Her name was Vienna. Eyes the color of wicker and full of excitement, Skye remembered her well.

"Skye is that you?" she called coming up on Etreyus with a handful of horse feed. A light dusting of freckles accented her nose and cheeks just enough to give her a sparkling allure.

"Yes yes," he responded, hopping down from his seat. "Vienna is it?"

"Don't play games Skye, of course it's me."

"Of course," he said coming up beside her, "you know I was just teasin'."

_'_ _If she only knew how little you cared.'_

"Oh hush it," he whispered.

"What?" she asked, smile never leaving her adorable face.

"What? Nothing! How have you been this last week?"

And so went the normal string of words that populate a conversation. Before long the sun had receded completely beyond the horizon and Etreyus and the wagon were put away on a lot for the night.

Skye enjoyed the small town of Churchill. Kid's played in the dusty streets nearly the entire day with ribbon dancers and wheel rollers. Several games of marbles were always being played out and any kid feeling worthy enough could dump a few into the circle and join. Girls played with dolls, holding tea parties outside on the wood-plank sidewalks, and men of all ages, too old for marbles or wheel rollers, drank jovially against the wooden railings lining the street, often dumping some of the alcohol into a horse trough to give the animals a buzz.

Despite the festivities, there were people he wished _not_ to get involved with, and he often kept to himself when not in the company of those he _did._ As the full moon bathed the earth in pale blue, Skye made a bed out of the top level of hay in his cart, nearly twenty feet off the ground, and fell asleep to the stars.

Sleep had nearly taken him too, when a rustling noise stirred him up again. A short brunette with long straight hair and a white nightgown emerged from the last bale at the rear of the wagon.

"Think you could dodge me this time did you Skye?" the girl said slyly and with a wink to boot.

To his credit, her name flew right off his tongue, "Yelena, I thought you may have been out of town. I missed you as I came in... I suppose." His conversation avoiding skills were appalling and Etreyus let out a light sigh from below.

"Be that as it may," she said, "I strictly recall two weeks ago you proclaiming your love for me. We were to be married under the sun."

"Really? I don't recall," he said rising to his elbows and sliding back a bit. She had breached the top bale and was now crawling her way towards him. Yelena was a striking beauty; of that there was no doubt. She was also insane.

_'_ _Oh you did sir. I believe eight shots of brandy convinced you to agree to it.'_

Ignoring the horse he tried hard to find a way out of this ordeal.

"Please," he said. "Please Yelena, I need my rest. I've had a long day and-–" her hand brushed along his chest and down across his belt, "-—and I honestly can't give you the attention you deserve, um, tonight. Next week, I promise, I will make every effort to stop by your father's business and speak with you."

"That's fine Skye," she said, "for tonight, let me just feel your warmth and sleep with you under the stars." Etreyus not helping himself, chortled at the young boy's situation, and settled himself in for a night's sleep. Skye unable to do much else, accepted Yelena as a bale mate and tried once more to get some sleep.

#

Morning came quick, and the familiar hustle and bustle of Churchill woke him up. Yelena characteristically, was gone much to his relief.

After saying his goodbyes, the kid and his horse were off to the market in Passelville another half day away. With any luck they would have their sales location setup by Thursday and have the feed sold by Saturday morning.

Six hours later and Passelville was upon them. Large two and three story buildings formed the skyline of Passelville. Each building had been constructed of the same type of wood, and painted with the same cheap brand of paint. Few buildings looked inspiring, what with the faded and chipped paint, and many had almost no color at all. It was a poor city on the outskirts of the kingdom, and it looked every bit of its wealth.

The experience was also much different than that of Churchill. No girls came running to greet him here for the city was large, and he did his best to keep a low profile. Merchants bellowed their goods from sidewalks and grassy areas beside dusty roads, and city guards patrolled the streets on their chiseled and trim Thoroughbreds. It was obvious after the first day he'd been here, that all the money that came from this sad market went straight to the king.

Skye's only goal was to sell the feed and be gone, and by midnight of Wednesday the tent was up, the table was set, and he would be ready to do business in the morning.

One hundred and twenty bales of hay in two days. One could dream right?

Before turning in, Skye left Etreyus to 'guard' the goods and found his way to the local bar. There were at least a dozen of them within a three-block radius. This one was called "Bronze Balls". If he hadn't been here before with his father, there was a good chance he never would have, what with the permanent scowl of the bartender and almost rotted wood of the tables. But the bartender was nice and the beer was good. After a hard day's work, that's all a man needed.

"Give me a pint Decker," he said, laying a stack of copper sets on the table. A half moment later a bronze mug slid from the end of the table and stopped expertly in front of him. He grabbed the stein, tipped up the lid, gave cheers to the bartender and took a pull.

Glancing around the small eight table room he took note of its patrons. A woman in her mid-fifties sat alone wearing a shawl and country dress, crying in her drink. A group of four men sat laughing near the back corner, each one with arms the size of wagon wheels and necks that rivaled their arms. To the right of them, a father and son drank over a warm conversation. Finally to his left sat a lone figure, a tall beer mug in his hand. Red and black silk clothing covered his form in the manner of a gi uniform perhaps, fitting him perfectly. Beside him on the floor was a large black bag. The contempt and hatred in his eyes could have killed a man if looks could kill, and Skye believed that for this man, they most certainly could.

Skye took another swig of his beer. And then the bar erupted into chaos.

Six men in black uniforms burst through the bar door with but one goal. There was no doubt by anyone, even in the man whom they were after, that they were after him. He continued to drink his beer even through the words of the man who lead them.

"Speaker, you have been found to be a threat and danger to not only those around you, but to the wildlife as well. You will hand over whatever sorcery you carry and come quietly. Your sentence, to be determined at a later date, will be carried out with the utmost haste." The captain set his jaw and continued, "By the regulations set into law, by the city of Passelville, and the nation of Bagah under the ruling of King Patreus, you are under arrest."

The red clothed man sipped at his drink, never once looking at the men who had entered. Skye unwittingly, had been staring at the man the entire time; a fact that was not apparent until the man took one final pull from his stein and winked at him.

The next thing Skye knew, blood was flying through the air, transforming rapidly into mist and finally into that of a raging wildboar. Another handful tossed more red liquid bringing forth possibly the largest bird Skye had ever seen, crowding what room was left in the small bar. Both creatures were shaded deeply in red, with black contrasting lines pronouncing the detail of feathers and muscle.

The boar charged forward, blasting a wooden pillar to splinters and gutted the first two guards in a single swing of its head, continuing on and tossing a table into a second pillar. The great bird, of which Skye had no clue as to the species, erased the next two as if they had been but toys. The two remaining soldiers were not smart enough to run, and drew their longswords with adrenaline powered cries. To Skye's horror they too were taken down, smashed flat by the momentous charge of the wildboar. An audible popping sound came from the nearer guard as his head was crushed.

The red clad man snatched up his pack, sealed the containers he had just opened, whispered a command to retrieve the animals' souls, and left the bar dropping a small pouch of coins on the dead guard nearest the door.

For several long and seemingly endless moments no one said a word. And then hysteria replaced silence as the bar patrons as well as dozens from without, screamed in terror.

Skye did not join in the hysterics; he simply downed the drink, thanked the bartender, and returned to his horse. It was this moment he wished he had asked Vargas to come along. So often he wished he could utilize these abilities that Speakers were known for. But with Vargas, at least he would have some muscle.

As quickly as the idea came in though, it left. He would rather die a thousand deaths than give in to such temptations; and with this new clearer thought in his brain, he felt human once again. It was not the sight of six men dying that had him lying awake that night, but the almost dismissive way the Speaker had dealt with them.

Skye's secret must never be revealed. Not to anyone. Ever.

CHAPTER 2

Vargas bounded through the woods outlying the Bellen family farmstead. The woods were generally ignored by wayfarers, and provided a secure place for him to rest. On occasion however, he did take up shelter in the Bellen family's large barn in a stall beside Etreyus.

This night a thrill seeking traveler bearing blood, had spotted him. Thus he sought shelter once again with Skye and his family.

Vargas stood easily ten feet tall at the shoulders, a towering lion of black fur and mane. His eyes shined an eerie violet in the dark, often giving away his position whether someone was looking for him or not. Though the full moon rose into the center of the darkness above, the trees obscured the light greatly and his eyes became beacons of amethyst leaving a vibrant hue upon the grass of the woods.

How close or far away the person in pursuit was he couldn't say. For all his majesty, he was expressly afraid of death. More so than death, he was afraid of Speakers. To be imprisoned within your own blood, a slave to obey the whims of a master you did not choose. That was not the way he wished to finish his existence on this world. It was not how the last of the Ebofelid would depart this land of war.

So he ran, bounding quickly through the forest as only an impossibly large feline could. So few could reliably keep pace with such a creature that after a few minutes of running he slowed, focusing on the sounds that would prove whether or not his pursuer had continued to track him. It was a far cry to be sure, as most Speakers carried with them the blood of dozens of creatures, not the least of which were avian. Any bird could maintain his pace and fly circles above as he ran.

The forest was quiet except for the sound of an owl in a tree nearby. His keen sense of smell told him nothing, and with his uncanny knowledge of these woods, he knew all the tricks, and yet saw nothing prowling in the shadows. He sighed in relief and continued to the Bellen farmstead. It was a quarter mile away now, an easy feat to attain within a minute or two, and so he turned from the smells and sounds of a would be hunter and found his footing home.

No sooner had he taken a step than the spine-shattering scream of a terrified animal split the air. Though he believed no doubt this incident was caused by his antagonist, he threw caution to the wind and bounded back in the direction he had come.

The beast, likely a wolf or bear cub let forth its cry twice more before he reached its location. The scent of blood was strong. There, in a small clearing just beyond the north edge of the forest was a wolf, barely off its mother's teat, growling furiously at a figure standing not ten feet away. With its back to a tree the wolf had few options should its assailant attack.

She was bent low in a crouch wielding two wickedly curved daggers. Dark hair fell to the space between her shoulders in a rough ponytail. She wore black leathers, tight fitting with pockets and straps to hold just about anything she could need, and a brown leather holster strap ran around her hips for the daggers she now held. At her feet was a discarded shoulder bag. A pouch of spilled contents, possibly food, lay a few feet in front of her. Whatever had happened, the struggle had pushed them wildly about the clearing.

Vargas crouched low, or as low as a ten-foot lion could go, as if ready to pounce. The woman took a step back seemingly unaware of his presence. At that very instant the wolf adolescent leapt the full distance from its place by the tree. Her daggers came up. Vargas took her down with all his weight, wrapping a nearly three-foot jaw around her waist. The daggers clattered to the floor. The wolf, in mid leap, crashed into the side of the great lion falling limply to the ground, staggering lightly before regaining its feet.

' _You had no right, she was mine beast,'_ the telepathic speech of the wolf entered Vargas's mind. A growl rumbled within its throat as it did so.

' _Your time will come pup, you are but a young one yet. It just won't be tonight,'_ he answered in the same telepathic fashion. While it's true that animals communicate through their growls and sounds, between species there is but one manner of communication.

' _This isn't over,'_ the wolf snarled before bounding back into the shadows of the forest. With a heavy groan Vargas took note of the woman he dispensed near a fallen tree. His long canines broke her skin but it wasn't too serious. Even so she would be out of commission for at least a day, and even longer if she didn't find medical treatment soon. He frowned at the gear she had lying about. In addition to her shoulder pack, a second string of leather pouches lay nearby. One of the bags had been crushed flat by Vargas' own paw upon his attack. Glass glittered in the moonlight and from the light of his eyes, and blood flowed from within.

So she was a Speaker. This was the blood that reeked so strongly.

He felt foolish, as if he should have known from the start what she was. There was no creature he despised more than Blood Speakers, and he had just saved her life.

_No,_ he told himself, _he had saved the wolf's life_. There was no chance the pup would have seen it that way, for Vargas interfered before any damage between the two could have been dealt, one way or the other. Had they connected however, she would have dove beneath the springing pup and sliced the wolf from chin to groin.

He picked the woman up in her unconscious state within his jaws, and, cursing himself, grabbed her belongings. With her in his mouth it would be a much longer trip back to the farm. Perhaps when they arrived Skye would know what to do with her. It was all he could think to do.

#

As morning came, Skye was jostled awake by the cresting of the bridge over the small river running between his farmstead and the previous town. Skye and his dad had built the bridge years ago and had failed to put in an ascending platform for a smoother ride. The result was about a half-foot lurch going over it, and a half-foot fall coming off. It wasn't enough to cause the feed to fall from the wagon though, so by virtue of procrastination, it never got fixed.

The wagon was empty. For two days he fought for the business of the local farmers, and he was rewarded with one hundred and twenty bales of hay in sales. Granted he would have to leave out again in just over a day thanks to his late start for the week, but he felt good nonetheless.

As they made the final turn, leaving the small bridge behind, the warm red colors of his parent's house came into view through the autumn trees. The silo reached over it like a guardian, gleaming silver in the morning sun's light. Beyond that lay acres upon acres of golden farmland, harvested at just the right intervals to allow a bountiful market run every week. The barn, which was positioned out near the far side of the field was Skye's favorite place to stay. It housed not only the wagon and all his tools, but also his horse Etreyus. It was his thinking place, the one place where he could get away from the world.

Upon entering the barn this time however, he was greeted with a disturbing sight. Vargas, a majestic and powerful lion stood solidly in the center of the barn, all but blocking the path for which his wagon would need to be stored. There was really only one reason Vargas came to him these days. It wasn't long ago the great lion had first shown himself to Skye, seeking aid as he had been wounded severely by a group of game hunters. How far he had traveled was a mystery even to the lion himself, but slowly and surely Skye and his parents nursed the great creature back to health and found him a cavern within which to reside in the wooded hills of their expansive property.

For him to be sheltered once more in his barn could only mean he had been attacked, and that generally proposed the possibility that he had been followed.

Trying not to look startled, Skye pulled the wagon into the far slot of the barn and then unhooked Etreyus, patting him on the rump and filling the horses feed trough with fresh carrots and greens. It wasn't until he finished tending to those needs and relieving himself in one of the currently unused stalls, that he finally addressed Vargas.

"I don't mean to be rude, but this isn't something I expect every day. I still have work to do, so you having to wait is the least of my concerns." Skye said, hoping he had not offended the lion while still showing his territorial authority.

' _There is nothing to apologize for Master Skye. I come bearing news of ill, as well as a burden I wished never to impose upon you'._

"Save it Vargas, we're all you have inside twenty miles, we get it. Now what's so important that you waited for me to come back from the market?"

Without speaking the black lion took three enormous steps back, revealing the stall beside him. Lying within on a pile of blood soaked hay was a woman.

"Hell Vargas she's probably dead or dying!" The kid screamed rushing to the woman's side.

' _I could only hope as much,'_ he responded. Skye gave him an even look, and then rushed out of the barn to the house across the acre. Vargas stared solemnly at the boy, and then back over to Etreyus after Skye was out of sight. _'He doesn't know, friend.'_

_'Know what?'_ the horse responded, trotting toward the stall holding the woman.

' _She's a Blood Speaker. I've moved her gear, but she has the accessories indicative of a Soul Caller.'_

_'Soul Caller? I haven't heard that one.'_ Etreyus said, taking a step closer to examine the girl's wounds.

' _It's an old term, one used to give title to those practicing Necromancy. What these vile heathens do is nothing short of the same thing. I care not for which term one describes a Blood Speaker. I believe they should all be killed. Had it not been for my timely arrival and ignorance, this one would be very dead back in the forest.'_

'You'll never give up your old tongue will you? It's hard to follow you sometimes.'

'I'm old, Etreyus. I'll speak how I like.'

The horse breathed a laugh at Vargas's stubbornness. The old giant was nothing if not loveable however.

A stirring came from the stall and the woman groaned in pain, brushing sweat-matted hair from her brow.

Vargas suddenly tensed. ' _I need to go,'_ and then he was out of the barn in a single leap headed back into the protective cover of the forest and towards his hidden cave nestled deep within.

CHAPTER 3

The injured woman rose from her makeshift bed upon blood-soaked hay. Clutching her side, she brushed the hair from her face and opened unfocused eyes on her surroundings. The first thing she noticed was that she was in a stall, in a barn, and it smelled like it.

A horse stood to the left of the entrance to her stall munching on some food. As far as she could tell, there were no other animals in the barn either. She made an attempt to push herself to a seated position, but fell back down as the pain from her ribs proved to be too much. The horse swallowed, moved back to a corner, and returned with another mouthful of food, staring at her as it munched away.

A few minutes passed and the sound of hurrying footsteps brought a kid into her field of vision.

"Where'd he go?" the kid asked, and then turned to look at her. Seeing she was awake, he rushed to her side and began unraveling bandages and pulling out creams. "How are you feeling?"

She stared at him but said nothing. He was an attractive boy perhaps in his early adult years, sandy brown hair running long around his neck and flipping at its ends,offset by eyes the color of blueberries. His white skin was tanned from the sun, and he possessed the physique of one who spent most of his time lifting and working. He wore a sun bleached blue button down shirt and brown trousers. A sunhat made of straw was nestled upon his head. Despite her quiet protest, he fixed the bandages about her wounds and applied the creams accordingly, none of which he managed without blushing.

"There, that should do it. You lost a lot of blood, but your wounds weren't too severe thankfully. I imagine you should be able to be on your way in a couple days after we get some fluids in you."

She continued to stare, unsure of what to make of this boy. He was certainly a Speaker, but as to his intentions she could not say, one way or the other.

"What's your name?" he asked her, settling back a bit and resting on his knees.

She contemplated her answer a good minute before responding. "I'd rather not say."

He laughed, "Not your true name, I mean what do people call you?" He held out his hand, "I'm Skye."

Clutching her side with her left hand, she grasped the tip of his fingers with her own and gave them a shake. "Nice to meet you, but I wont be staying long."

"You're dehydrated, first off. Second you're injured, and these woods aren't kind to drifters." Skye rose to his feet and moved from the stall. "You're stuck here for the time being. I'll tell my parents and we'll get you some water but you're not going anywhere."

"What, are you gonna sick your _pets_ on me if I tried?" she said purposefully, hoping to do some fishing to see if he would reveal what he was.

The boy stared confused for a second, and then looked to the horse. "Etreyus? I don't need to sick him on you, but he'll do a fine job on his own keeping you from leaving. Your gear seems to be hanging on a hook near the entryway. I'll keep them for ya in the house. I don't need a dead wayfarer on my conscience."

With that the boy left.

Her only companion was the sound of the horse munching heartily on its veggies, with each mouthful bringing it back over to the stall to stare and chew. On the fourth trip back, the horse spoke.

'I know what you are, just so we're clear.'

Her eyes narrowed as the horse continued to chew, bits of feed falling from its mouth. She remained silent just the same, calculating the horse's motives. Without her weapons, she was wounded prey to any creature that fancied a feast.

The horse swallowed, but kept staring at her. _'We don't get many of your kind around here. And we'd just assume keep it that way. Just know that I find your breed revolting.'_

"Hypocrite," she said under her breath. The horse's ears perked up and she heard what sounded like a chuckle come from its throat.

'Master Skye is nothing like you miss. You should be happy I don't know the crimes you've committed, or I would trample you into the dirt.'

She sighed, laying her head back in the hay, but kept her eyes focused on the horse. "It's not like that."

The horse froze for but a second before responding. _'I fail to see it any other way.'_ With that the beast grabbed another mouthful of vegetables, and continued to eat it outside the barn.

#

Praise the sweet gods above for dropping such an angel into his lap. She was gorgeous. Beautiful! Skye practically skipped back to his house across the field, his heart alight with this woman. Her tanned skin was visibly worn by the sun, yet still held a natural beauty, and alongside those dark eyes and jet-black hair she was an exotic wonder the likes of which he had never seen. True she could easily be seven or eight years his senior, but he would be a man soon, certainly she wouldn't mind.

As his thoughts raced with delusions of their future, suddenly his heart dropped out beneath his stomach, and he recalled the items he held in a firm grip.

Bags filled with fishbowl shaped glass containers were strung across the brown leather strap, each one filled with a red liquid that could only be the blood of animals. In his other hand he held another strap with two wickedly curved blades nestled into scabbards. He knew what she was. This was something he had to do without the help of his parents. His mind wandered back to the incident in the city where the Blood Speaker, armed with similar tools, killed the squad of guards. This woman, who chose to remain unnamed, was nothing more than the same.

His pace slowed to a walk. The sun had reached its peak in the sky and a bell from his mother announced that it was time for lunch. A cedar trunk sat on the porch next to a few chairs and various plants. He set the gear into the trunk, hoping no animals would come looking through it in the middle of the night, and went inside.

The smell of freshly baked bread and seasoned meat filled the kitchen. Skye's brother Alexander was setting the table, and had just set the pitcher of milk down as Skye walked in.

His true name was Carduis Bellen, but he really preferred the name Alexander from history books. It was the name of a mighty warrior apparently. Skye wasn't much for reading, but when you get to choose your own name, no one has need to care what it is. If he had just chosen to use his true name no one would be the wiser he thought.

"How'd the market go squirt?" Alexander said resting against the high back of one of the chairs.

"Sold it all in two days." Skye said. His parents were likely still in the kitchen getting the food ready before Alexander brought it all in. His brother smirked and walked around the table to stand beside him.

"Tell me who's in the barn," he said, "and I'll forget I just seen that damn lion moving around our land."

Skye stuttered, "There's no one in the barn, honest."

Alexander moved in close for a whisper. "If dad finds out, you're dead."

Skye was four years younger than his older brother, and where Skye got the quick wit and agility from their mother, Alexander got the size and brawn from their father. Forever he would be looking up to his older brother. It was intimidating, and unfair.

"She's hurt. A woman, I didn't get her name. Please don't tell mom or dad, please. I'll handle this, they don't have to know." His initial plan to get his parents's help dissolved the moment he found out what she was. In this case, his brother was right. He was dead if they ever found out about her.

"Hand of Rael kid," Alexander said, "I'll keep some food aside." He ruffled Skye's hair and moved on into the kitchen to finish setting the table.

A few moments later the family of four was seated around the small table enjoying baked potatoes, venison meat, milk, and bread.

"Your brother tells me you did well at the market." Skye's dad offered as he bit into a piece of meat. "Said you sold it all in just two days."

Skye pulled an envelope from his back pocket and opened the tab at the top to reveal the cash inside, then slid it halfway across the table. "One hundred and twenty paper docks, one for each bale."

His dad slid it the rest of the way with a fingertip and then inspected the money. Pleased, he smiled and handed both of his sons five docks.

"You two make this farm possible. We'll use this money for something nice this time, perhaps one of those new Rabble Boards, I hear those are a lot of fun."

Skye's eyes brightened and when he looked over to Alexander, he could see his brother was just as excited as he was. Rabble was a game where you slid a ball across a large wooden plank, with dozens of pegs to customize the game in order to hinder your goal, which was a single hole that the ball should fall into. He had seen it played a dozen times in Churchill and Passelville, but had never gotten a chance to try it.

As lunch finished up, Skye's parents moved into the living room to read while Alexander cleaned up the table and dishes. An hour later, Skye was handed a covered plate of meat and potatoes along with a flask of water.

"Where do you think you're going?" Skye asked his brother.

"With you of course, I want to see this broad for myself."

"You're not going," Skye responded. Alexander's face twisted into a grimace.

"Yes I am, unless you want mom and dad to know." At this Skye could only seethe at how childish his brother could be at times.

"Look, she's not going anywhere for a while. Let me do this one alone, tomorrow you can give her breakfast. She's tired and in pain. Please?"

"Fine, but be careful. Wayfarers can be dangerous no matter their condition. The last thing you need is to get attached when all she wants is your money."

Skye motioned in the affirmative and then headed out across the field as the sun beat down upon him. When he entered she appeared to have been expecting him and rose before he had turned the corner to the stall.

"I didn't ask for your hospitality boy, nor do I desire it." She winced from the pain in her ribs.

Skye walked up beside her and dropped the plate. "I don't give a damn. Eat."

"What the hell is your deal boy?"

"My name is Skye, and I'm sixteen years old. Not some _boy_."

"You do have spirit."

"Shut up!" he said. He came in expecting a thank you, that she might be grateful for the meal after hours without any nourishment. Instead she mocked him. "You have no right to speak to me like that. I have been nothing but generous. That I haven't called the authorities on you should give you some comfort."

"Comfort," she spat. "Comfort in here? I'm bleeding, in a stall meant for pigs and goats, and given cold food."

"It's better than death."

"Don't be so sure of that kid." Her delicate, yet rough features were what made her so beautiful. Even with her snide remarks and mockery, she held onto that beauty like a crocodile does its prey.

"Who are you?" he said. "And why were you out in these parts. No one comes out this way."

The woman sighed, grabbing the plate and laying it close to her body so she could reach it without having to sit up. "Is this deer meat?"

"Yes."

"It's not too bad."

"My dad smokes it and spices it up before it's all done. He takes great pride in his cooking skills."

"Meat's a little tough," she added. Skye frowned at her comment, composing himself from strangling her right then. She swallowed. "It will have to do I guess."

She chomped noisily as if on purpose. From her demeanor Skye could only assume she was actually _trying_ to be a pain in his ass.

"Are you going to tell me your name or what?"

She downed the flask of water in a single pull, and handed the empty plate back to Skye.

"By the God's, you are stubborn aren't you?" she said with a smile. "You want a name to call me by, call me Verse. Everyone else does, including your _authorities_. Now let me get something out of you, _Skye_. How long have you been Speaking?"

There was only one thing she could be asking by that. She didn't care how long he'd been saying more than three word sentences. Somehow she knew he was a Speaker. A secret he really didn't want her to know. To tell her would be a bad move, as the less she knows the safer he was. To lie however would be a worse move, and the lesser of two evils must ultimately be the choice made. And so he told her.

"Since I was ten," he said, "and the only one I ever talked to was my horse."

"You know, they say that not everyone is born with the skills and abilities to use blood as their weapon. Yet everyone who can interact with animals through Speech can. It's sort of a bonus I suppose."

Moisture began to form at the corners of his eyes. Whether from anger, or fear, or actual sadness he didn't know, but it made him uncomfortable, and therefore made him angry.

"You shut your mouth. If it wasn't for the fact that I have morals, you'd be dead, and your _tools_ long disposed of. Under the circumstances you're lucky to be breathing. But I hate you, and I hate your kind. You'll be out of my sight tomorrow." Despite his anger, and the words he spoke she never once lost that confident little smile she wore.

#

As he turned in for bed that evening, sleep seemed to take him before his lids were shut. But despite his unrivaled need for sleep, it wasn't two hours later that he awoke to a dim flicker of light outside his window. The curtains were pulled but that didn't stop the light from coming in. Rising from his bed he strode to the window, pulling the curtains aside in a tired haze. An orange hue rode across the air and he had to rub the sleep from his eyes to focus on what might cause such a display.

He yawned deeply, stretched his arms out, and wiped his eyes one last time. Flames rose into the sky, thirty feet or higher above the ground, even from this distance the light was too much for his eyes to handle and he had to shield them in order to see.

His recent slumber kept his brain from truly comprehending what he was looking at, but when it finally caught up with him, he was shooting down the stairs of his house and sprinting across the field. Heat or no heat, there were those who required his aid, and so throwing his inhibitions aside, he approached the barn that was now a beacon of orange flame in the dark hills of the country.

CHAPTER 4

People called him Red. Even the authorities found it a fitting name for the Blood Speaker. Beyond a handful of others, he was likely the most notorious Speaker in the country, if not the world. _A shame really that they couldn't just get his damn name right,_ he thought.

The name actually left a bad taste in his mouth. He'd tried it out a couple of times; staring into a mirror as he uttered the simple three letter word. "Red."

Despite the bad taste, he couldn't blame people for their conjecture. He wore red. That was his color. Black silk pants brought attention to a red silk martial gi with black trim. Slung across his shoulder was a black and red canvas bag, and his feet were adorned with pilfered black soldier's boots. He had to agree. Red was indeed a fitting name. He still didn't like it though.

Thank you.

"Don't mention it," he said quietly. That was his wildboar, Gonjerra. Probably thanking him for the deer they had slain earlier that day for food. Of Red's blood creatures, Gonjerra was his strongest.

The scuffle in Passelville had been almost a week ago now. Someone had tipped off the authorities, and he had acted accordingly. Unfortunately that fiasco left him a week behind schedule as his contact inevitably backed out of the meeting. His next encounter was to be later this evening assuming of course that he could stay the hand of the law long enough to pass through town.

The fires of Tineloss burned furiously this night. He had to admit, the wind certainly brought a chill.

_When will you call me again?_ Came a voice. He recognized it as that of Sarpasia.

"Be silent wolf patriarch. If you desire blood so bad I may call upon you next." They never responded to him, yet he felt obligated to meet their comments with one of his own. He depended upon their power. He did not want to know if it was possible for them to disobey.

With each confident step the blood sloshed within the bag. Four glass containers were arranged within, bearing blood from different animals he had tricked and slain. The tools of a Speaker were never held in high regards, but they were feared nonetheless, and that gave him the power he needed.

Ten minutes later he pushed his way through the streets of Tineloss and settled down in a southern-style restaurant. It smelled of spiced chicken and pungent rice. A soft autumn glow emanated from the lamps along the walls, and each table was crafted with oak wood, stained dark and coated in a shiny sealant. His contact was seated already, munching heartily on a bowl of beans and rice. Red set his bag in the booth and slid in beside it, his expression neutral.

"So," the man said between bites, "you're Red?" He was a portly man, early forties perhaps and showing signs of Reumis in his cheeks painting them a shade of pink.

"And what if I wasn't?"

The man swallowed. "Then I'd feel like quite the fool, ha." He straightened his shirt smiling, slid the bowl aside, and rested his hands on the table. "So tell me, which of my many services might you be after hmm?"

Red eyed the man, but said nothing. A scantily dressed woman in a tiny apron walked up to their table and offered him a drink. The portly man across from him ordered him a shot of 'corn squeezin's' and dismissed her. Red never even glanced in her direction.

"Decadent spurs."

The man met Red's eyes as he took a long drink of some clear liquid, probably vodka.

"Honestly? You don't trust me?"

"No." Red's voice grew rough and grave as the man tried his patience. According to the missive, he went by the name Cattle. The pass phrase would confirm he was whom he claimed. "Decadent. Spurs."

The man sighed. "They hurt every time, wish the farmer could just leave me be." Then he took another big gulp from his glass.

"Cattle," Red said.

Cattle nodded, still drinking.

"Put down your glass."

Cattle did, eying Red and losing the jovial attitude. He wiped his mouth with a sleeve and placed his hands again on the table.

"I need answers. There is an artifact of great importance I am interested in. Would you know of such an object?" The question was vague. Red was careful to keep his agendas hidden, and keeping specifics a secret was all part of the game.

"An artifact you say?" Cattle said. "There are perhaps a small number I am aware of, sure. You don't strike me as a holy man, so the Book of Bathos, not the replicated garbage you pick up at the local church, but the original, would probably not wet your palate. Yes?"

"It does not," Red said, though mentally cataloged the information for later use. "Is there another you have knowledge of Cattle?"

"Perhaps the King's heirloom? An item of mystery that nearly everyone has heard about, few have any knowledge of, and even fewer have seen?"

"It might strike my interests a bit. Tell me more," Red said.

"I'm afraid I am not one who has seen it, but I am luckily for you, one who knows a fair deal about it." Cattle snorted a laugh, yet continued when Red did not so much as raise a corner of his mouth. "He displays the item every year at the Ball. It's a ring, or a necklace perhaps, despite its revelation to the world few are actually given privilege to see the item. I am sorry to say, every tale of it is also different."

"What are you saying?"

"It's either not real, or he still intends to keep it a mystery," Cattle said with a cheer. "A talented seer who passed perhaps ten years ago made mention that it rests in the king's personal chambers, bound under lock and key and iron, hidden away in an unassuming vessel."

"How would a man find it then?" Red said.

"My dear friend Red, you certainly know more than you care to admit," Cattle said, "but I will humor you. The item is alleged quite powerful. They say it is the source of the King's power. If it is, a man of your caliber should be able to sense it without much trouble I think."

"I'm not your friend Cattle. Do not confuse our conversation with friendliness. Your information however is sufficient. Now, tell me about these Hybrids. What is Patreus planning with them?"

Cattle sat back. "You know what you want. Very well, they don't exist first off, but I can tell you what they're supposed to be, which is not a difficult task I might say. The Hybrids are shock troops so-to-speak. Foot soldiers. The Silver King needs an army, and one he can easily manipulate. You see, Coronis, the Yellow King, his contingents of Blood Speakers are too wily, too insane. I don't know what happened to them, but for the decades this war has been stretching, they've lost touch with themselves. Too much death is the word. So the Silver King, Patreus, has turned to the idea of these Hybrids: Large, imposing, strong, and bendable. He also hates the idea of Speakers in his army. With the Hybrids he can do whatever he wants with them, and they don't run out of power like you folks."

"Where do they come from?" Red asked. Though his expression never changed, the tone of his voice did.

"As I said, they don't. They're not real. But I can offer some extra information for you, on the house." He got quieter, bringing himself closer to Red, though Red didn't move to follow. "Some of my colleagues think there's something fishy going on. Speakers who are doing things they shouldn't, or at least, couldn't. I can't give you specifics Mr. Red. But the war it seems will be taking its turn for the worst within the month. Already there is talk about where, and when. Some say it could be over by the end of next week. Others... well, others say it could be tomorrow."

Red was as readable as a tree.

A moment of silence passed and the waitress came by dropping off a shot glass of whiskey. Cattle gave her a stare and she hurried off again.

Red stood up, downing the shot of corn whiskey without so much as a grimace. "Pray we never meet again. Cattle." A moment later he was off again toward the next town in the list. Cattle, for all his trouble showing up probably felt he was overpaid for this visit, but the middle-aged man said nothing as Red left him with the check.

Red fought with himself as he walked. What was he trying to uncover? Did it matter? The impending strike on the Yellow King was drawing close, and all he had was a few weak pieces of information about the army Patreus was forming. He knew there were resistance groups throughout the land plotting and preparing, thinking their small lick of influence could turn this war around.

The bottom line was Coronis had no army, at least, not one worth anything, and he had land; land bearing riches so great, previously unknown to either side before the separation of territories nearly a thousand years before. This was more than just a war for supremacy from Patreus. This was a war that could change the entire population of Bagah!

"One thousand years," He found himself saying out loud. That was indeed a long time. He...

His thoughts trailed off as a cry of alarm shot through the air. He spun quickly, dropping his bag to the ground, resting a palm over the glass container holding Sarpasia.

_Oh goody,_ said the voice. But nothing else happened. A petty thief had taken food without paying from a nearby bakery. The city watchmen nearby were quick to bring the criminal down, and then everyone went about their nightly routines as if nothing had happened.

He closed the bag up and slung it over his shoulder once again, retreating to the city to the north-east back towards the small town of Churchill.

CHAPTER 5

A cauldron bubbled over with a hot red liquid. Men and women stood chained to the dank stone walls around it. Test subjects. A Priest in elegant white robes walked towards the cauldron carrying a large ladle with a narrow tapered end. Carefully the Priest deposited the liquid into a long thin tube and corked the top.

Above the round chamber with the cauldron, dozens of similarly dressed Priests stood over a balcony to observe the ritual. The underground citadel rested squarely beneath the great city of Bagah, for which the nation was named. Every city fell beneath its rule, regardless of how far away or insignificant the settlement. Save the few towns under Coronis's rule, The Silver King presided over it all. The Order's Black Duomo was the source of the church's purification process, but remained secret to all but the highest ranks of the Order.

As the Priest finished filling the third vial he set them down upon a nearby wooden table, and grabbed the ironbound tome upon it. He flipped to the correct page filled with writings of research and lore, and waited for his cue to continue.

"Sai'den," bellowed one of the Priests upon the balcony, "recite the passage and bless the vials with our lord's purity."

Sai'den then continued the ritual. In the ancient tongue of the people spoken over a thousand years ago, he recited the three lines that would infuse the liquid with holy power. He finished with the symbol of their faith. Writing in the air a half-circle up to the left, a line down, and a second half-circle up to the right, leaving each side slightly unfinished. The Glaive of Bathos, the God of life and death.

"Administer the ichor," The Priest above commanded.

Sai'den nodded to another Priest standing beside him, who responded in kind. The man chained to the left side of the wall was first. A man of average height and build, he was not imposing in the slightest, possibly in his early thirties. He did all he could to press his mouth closed. The Priest under Sai'den's command grabbed a metal device from the table, hinged at the center like a scissor or tongs, and slammed it into the man's mouth with a surging cry of protest from the subject. Teeth were smashed from his face, falling to the rocky floor of the cavern and leaving a puddle of blood.

The Priest pried the man's mouth open, locking it in place, and dumped the boiling ichor into his mouth.

He repeated this process with the two remaining victims. One an elderly man in his late fifties, and a girl barely beyond the age of twenty. Neither one fought against the ingestion.

The girl choked it down. "What are you doing to us?" she whispered.

Sai'den stared at her, lifting her face to meet his eyes. "Purifying you." He drew a knife from his belt and drove it into her heart.

#

Vargas woke with a violent roar. He had been having these dreams more and more it seemed in the recent months. They were always the same, a crescent moon illuminating an empty battlefield. A woman floated above it, admiring the dead bodies. Men lay mutilated and bloody beside unrecognizable monstrosities. Nothing moved, just the single being floating above the massacre. Bags of blood were strewn about, indicating the inclusion of Blood Speakers. This was the first time in his dreams however, that he was actually there.

"You defy me creature." The voice was feminine but hollow, with a menacing roughness as if she had a throat cold.

"You see that I yet stand," Vargas heard himself say. The voice came not from his mind however, but directly from his mouth, powerful and commanding. "Your reign is at an end."

A staff appeared in her hand tipped with a sinister blade. The weapon began to glow white as if powered by the moon. As ridiculous as that sounded, that's exactly how it appeared, complete with a radiant stream shining from the heavens. She pointed the weapon at Vargas's dream form.

"You are dead, oh last black lion. You have no army left with which to fight me. No power left inside you," she said, hovering in place. She was always in that spot, sometimes glowing with a green aura, and sometimes blue. This time she carried a violet aura of the very color of Vargas' eyes. "You will be mine soon creature."

Vargas watched as his dream self faded from rich black to a deep translucent red, and appeared to take a deep breath. This was where the dream ended, and Vargas continued the action of his dream counterpart waking the wildlife that took refuge just outside his cave. As his mind tried to reflect on the dream however a unique scent crossed his nose.

Something was burning. Forest fires he was familiar with, but this fire touched no trees. His thoughts reflected on the day before, and in a moment of clarity he knew it for what it was. Without hesitation he dashed into the night air towards the Bellen family farmstead.

Though he knew he would be too late, he ran just the same, hoping against hope that he might save a life. To stay behind would seal the fate of one he might rescue, and so with his powerful muscles he bounded through the forest like he had never done before. A few moments later the blazing orange hue of the barn fire came into view. The house it seemed was untouched, but he knew that at least one creature lived within that barn and so he pushed himself even harder to get there.

He was late. As the great lion rounded the back corner a young boy sat upon charred earth with a still form upon his lap. The burnt remains of a once noble horse rested there beside him with the untouched fur of its head soaking tears from the boy's eyes.

' _Dearest Skye,'_ Vargas said, ' _I am sorry.'_

"You should never have brought her here Vargas." Even as the boy spoke the fire raged higher into the sky, even threatening the boy's life. More tears spilled out and the boy was weeping loudly again.

' _Skye, we must go. The fire is becoming too great a threat.'_

#

If it weren't for Vargas, Skye very well could have died that night. The fire raged on into the early morning without so much as a stir from Skye's parents. Naturally with their heavy sleeping a lightning strike outside their window would hardly wake them, much less a fire burning a hundred yards away on the other side of the house.

The charred body of Etreyus was left behind, more by force than volition however. Vargas grabbed Skye in his powerful jaws and dragged him away before his skin burned through to his bones. Even with this act however he would need some medical treatment or his blistered skin would get infected if it wasn't already. Blood ran down his arms from ruptured mounds of puss, and what hadn't bubbled up appeared shiny as if covered in a thin coating of oil. Now he sat at the forests edge another quarter mile away from his house with Vargas's looming form hovering beside him illuminating the ground with his eerie violet eyes.

They sat in silence. Vargas had said all he needed to say, and Skye was so distraught that should a thought have crossed his blank mind he would have sobbed uncontrollably with empty tears. He had lost more than just his well being in that barn. His family would need a new horse and wagon sure, as there would be no way to reach the market now. But he had lost possibly the greatest friend he had ever known. Etreyus was kind and gentle but infinitely wise and forthright. It seemed that horse knew everything there was to know about life, and wasn't afraid to let Skye know if the opportunity came up. If girls were involved it usually did too.

There was a rustling of some leaves in the brush beside them, just beyond the dim light of the now failing fire. Vargas looked over, illuminating the area and revealing the shadowed outline of a person. She stepped forward, bandages still wrapped tight about her midsection. She had retrieved her gear, as if she had known all along where they would be hidden and now stood with daggers drawn. Vargas was upon her with a swift pounce, remarkably however she dove out of the way, regaining her feet with a roll and found a tree to use as a shield.

'I see now that you're everything I've hated about your despicable breed. I'll tear your heart from your body and feast upon your bones for all that you've done here Speaker.'

She looked from Vargas to the kneeling form of Skye. "You'd be wrong black lion. I didn't start the fire. I'm just a victim like Etreyus. A pity I couldn't save him." He bounded after her again using a large tree to push from. She moved out of the way finding another tree and Vargas began to circle it with careful steps, ready to pounce if given the chance.

_'You cannot defeat me Speaker. You were foolish to act as you have, and it_ will _be your undoing.'_

"I don't believe you're in your right mind black lion. Your anger is misplaced." She vaulted backwards to a tree deeper into the woods and slipped behind it. "I never saw the men's faces who set the barn on fire, but there were several of them. I promise I am not your enemy."

_'Your promises are weak! How dare you speak as if you are something you're not you treacherous blasphemer!'_ Vargas's lower jaw quivered. _'Those creatures you hold are the cruelest form of evil, and that makes you my enemy forever.'_

Verse barely dodged his next attack as he used several trees as platforms to rebound upon. A giant claw sliced the tree she had been standing behind in half, taking a few strands of her hair with it. She used the delay of his landing to find another tree, moving farther and farther from where Skye sat.

"Don't do this. I swear I had nothing to do with it. I am not what you think."

He moved with incredible grace for his size. Each paw stepped into a clear area missing twigs and rocks allowing him the greatest silence. _'Forget not how I found you Speaker. The wolf pup would be your slave had I not intervened. I am ashamed of my actions. I should have killed you then when you were trapped in my jaws.'_ He flew through the air again, slicing another tree in half and missing his prey by inches.

"A misconception lion. The wolf was attacking _me_."

'Say nothing more Speaker. This ends now.'

"Is that so? If I were so easy to kill why haven't you just finished me?"

Vargas eyed the fallen trees that had created a barrier several feet in height. _'I like to corner my prey before I eat it.'_ Vargas lunged. With Verse's supernatural agility she slid beneath him, rolling away from his rear paws and flipping backward as he spun and attacked again. Her daggers flew out to block a second attack, and a third, and a fourth. The sound of claws scraping on metal echoed through the forest accompanied by ferocious snarls. With each strike Verse was thrown violently aside as the shear mass of Vargas's paws overwhelmed her. Finally Verse found an opening and threw herself backward, rolling out of the way and vanished as Vargas followed.

The great lion sniffed the air but could not smell anything but the forest. The familiar scent of blood seemed to be gone. He scanned the area knowing she couldn't have gotten too far away, but found nothing.

_'I can smell you heathen.'_ He lied. _'I know where you're hiding. Get out here and face me. Die an honorable death.'_ Far to his right she emerged from a tree's shadow. In the next moment those wicked daggers fell to the ground and she followed them, resting on her knees.

"I am not your enemy."

Vargas flew through the air covering twenty yards with one tremendous leap. He landed before the kneeling Verse and took a final swipe, claws slicing beneath her chin. The force of the attack brought a gale of wind nearly knocking the Speaker over. The claw missed her neck by less than an inch, a pink windburn appeared on her throat.

_'Why do you test me so?'_ Vargas roared in her mind. His teeth were bared, grinding together as if it was all he could do to keep from chomping her in half.

"I chose this path. I was given the gift of Speech at a young age and there were those out there who abused their gift to become powerful and evil. I trained well to combat my enemies. My life might be a twisted mess of misconceptions lies and deceit. But I am no enemy."

_'Forgive my asking so, but why were your weapons drawn then, my innocent Speaker?'_ The wounds made by Vargas's great fangs the night before were bleeding through the bandages. He knew she was in pain but sympathy was not on his mind right then.

"I went after the men who did this. They went for the house too but I was enough of a distraction for them to stop. I chased them into the woods. I imagine they were not skilled enough or had no idea I was injured, or they would have killed me. I can only assume however that I was their target."

A stab of guilt washed through Vargas causing him to lose his balance. He felt responsible. He could have let the wolf die. Probably should have. Instead he intervened, wounded the girl and out of his guilt then, caused him to bring her here. She was hiding and he had exposed her. He may as well have lit the fire himself. Now Etreyus, one whom he had spoken with on several nights while Skye and his family were sleeping, lay smoldering on the earth never to rise again. He wanted to run, sprint through the forest and leave this horrible night behind. But the Speaker was right; his anger was misplaced.

'Why were you out here? There are no settlements near here, no wildlife of which to speak of. It's another three hundred miles across a baron wasteland to reach Morag.'

Verse regained her feet and leaned up against a nearby tree. The top half was sheered off thanks to Vargas. "I'm not well liked, I came out this way to lie low and let the dust settle in Bagah. If you hadn't been a hero to that wolf I would have been headed to the resistance camp about seventy miles from here. Bet I'd be over halfway there by now." She shifted her weight from the tree and grabbed the daggers, re-sheathing them but never taking her eyes off the lion. "The people who live here are no longer safe. If there's a slight chance they can kill me by burning their house down, they'll do it. They won't even check inside." Skye slumped over, the burns and dehydration finally pulling him under.

'What makes you so special that anyone would do such a thing?'

"I've wronged some people. For now let's get Skye back to reality, get him some first aid, and get those people out of the house."

CHAPTER 6

When Red arrived in Churchill the sun was high in the sky and the stench of workingmen and freshly potted soil marred the air. What lawmen might have been dispatched this far out in the country had obviously found better ways to occupy their time. The bottom line was that no one committed crimes out here. Life was just too good. He doubted a single one of them had even seen a Speaker. It was a fair possibility that they hadn't even heard of him.

As he reached the main road from the grassy hills to the north, a handful of kids stopped and stared. He imagined many newcomers got such stares, but more so for himself thanks to the striking red of his attire.

Are you going to hurt the kids?

"No," he said low enough so the kids wouldn't hear him. Again silence followed. He marched passed the still gawking kids into the town proper. The bank and sheriff's building were next door to each other followed by several shops containing food and clothing. The other side had a barbershop, bars, and several candy and craft shops. The intersecting dirt roads were lined with homes, and then farmland stretched out towards the bordering forest to the south.

The people here differed from those in the big cities, and almost had their own little country this far outside normal civilization. The girls wore sundresses with bonnets and what passed for Sunday shoes, while the boys wore white dust covered shirts and brown suspenders, often with hats of straw or bandanas wrapped around their necks. Admittedly, their appearance wasn't much different from what one might find in Passelville or even Bagah itself, but it was their manner that made the subtle differences striking. For starters everyone was laughing or at least enjoying their day, and the sound of kids playing was jovial and lighthearted. The colors too were sunbleached and bland. The buildings only reflected this appearance with whites and browns, and covered in a fine layer of dust. Damn it all if they didn't look like the most spoiled brats this side of the Great Deep.

His contact had left a telegram for him at the bank, which apparently doubled as a telegraph service and mail facility. He opened the door, letting loose a hideous creaking sound and stepped in. A man with a black visor, handlebar stache and white shirt sat behind the counter.

"How can I help you sir?" the man said with an air of honesty.

"I believe you have a telegram for me. Red." The name was never his choice. Unfortunately no one knew him by any other, and so even new relationships had been formed under that simple three-letter word.

The man shuffled through a small drawer filled with tiny note cards until arriving near the back. Finally he pulled out a small slip of paper "Here you are sir." Red read the message and then turned to leave, dropping a crumpled up ball of paper in the waste basket.

"Don't call me sir," he murmured as he stepped back through the creaky door onto the main strip. His contact wouldn't be in town until tomorrow it seemed, and that left Red uncomfortable. The man, Joben, whom he was intending to meet in Passelville had said the same thing, and it had nearly cost him his life waiting.

A small crowd had formed outside like nosy people at a murder scene. He did his best to ignore them and move on towards the bar but the whispered words of criticism effortlessly bore him down. _How can such a lively group be so damn opinionated_? he thought to himself. The name of the bar was Pesker and Hodge's. A man smoked a cigar idly outside the door apparently oblivious to the commotion had by the people not twenty feet in front of him.

"Where can I get a bed for the night?" Red asked.

The man nodded his head towards the bar's door never breaking his focus on the nothing in front of him.

Red grabbed for one of the brass doorknobs just as a drunken stumbler tipped through the door onto his ass. The poor fool just laughed, likely as his world took a psychotic spin from the impact and threw himself the rest of the way to the ground, head smacking the wood with a thunk. Red nodded as if confirming the secret craziness of this little town, and then stepped inside.

Only a dozen people, give or take, occupied the bar including the bartender--an elderly fellow with white hair especially apparent on his arms--and the pianist who seemed reluctant to play the piano he sat at. Twelve round wooden tables were ordered perfectly about the hardwood floor. A staircase off to the left lead towards what he assumed were rooms, and the bar itself ran right along beside them. He took a seat.

"What'll it be stranger?" the bartender asked wiping clean the last of his tankards and putting them away.

"Something stiff," he said pulling a bag of coins from his belt.

The bartender held up his hand, reaching beneath the counter for a glass with the other. "First drink's on the house son, for newcomers at least. I believe it shows hospitality."

"I don't take handouts. Keep your brandy if you insist, I only need a room for the night." Red's expression remained blank, but in that state, only tension was apparent.

The man just shook his head. "Suit yourself son, that'll be three sets." Red placed the coins in a neat stack on the table and slid it across with a finger. The bartender just smiled as he filled the order. "Care to entertain me as to your business here stranger?"

"How much is a room?"

The man chuckled in defeat. "Ten paper docks. I take coin as well, but paper works better for my cash drawer." Red took out a single gold coin with the imprint of a hammer and lightning bolt, and slid it across the table in the same manner as before. The amount would cover a full week's stay. The locals called it a bolt. All Red cared about is that it was gold, and he rarely had to give more than one for whatever he needed.

"Just one night stranger?"

"One night," he said grabbing the drink from the table. Moisture had formed on the sides of the glass.

"Your drinks are on the house for the rest of your stay son," the bartender said sliding a worn iron key across the table. The number 204 was etched into it. Red grabbed his bag, which he had set down upon seating himself.

"No they aren't," he said downing his drink. If it burned on the way down, he gave no indication.

Two men seated at a round table near the door took this time to leave. One drew a light jacket from the chair he was seated at and threw it on. A brass star rested on the left breast pocket.

#

Room 204 was small. The bed took up nearly the entire space. A small oil lamp sat on a bedside table near the back wall and a two-drawer dresser was positioned at the foot of the bed. The walls were brown and the window against the back wall allowed him a view over some of the farmland and the few homes that stretched out that far.

I'm cramped in here.

"Tough," he said. Camille's words felt like dejavu, like she'd said it before though he knew this was the first time. Maybe he really was going crazy.

Red took a book from the bag before sliding it beneath the bed. He opened the window, and sat himself down on the mattress. The daylight lit his room well enough. There were likely a dozen things he could be doing at that moment, but then again he wasn't one much for mingling. Tomorrow would come, his contact would arrive, and then he'd be gone once more. For now however he just laid his head back and read the book. "Gunner" was the name: a book about an old hero long before the time of Speakers and magic. Not that the book was written a long time ago. It was a fantasy world where the protagonist was an expert with the gun, a technology that is still in its infancy even today. It wasn't so much the story that intrigued him. He reckoned this was the fourth time he had flipped through it cover to cover. No, it was the impact it had on his mind. His hold on reality was slipping. He had lost his touch with emotions, forgotten the names of his dearest friends. All he had was a cause, a bag of blood, and this one book.
Chapter Twelve: The Cactus Wastes.

Red was losing his mind and he knew it. He reached the end of the sixteenth chapter before dozing off. As far back as he could recall this night wouldn't be any different than the others. He hadn't dreamt since he was seven. It was the first time he called upon a soul through the use of blood, and at the time Red didn't even know what he was doing. The blood flowed from his mother's abdomen after she killed herself. His father had abandoned him and his mother when he was only four years old, not even old enough to understand that his 'hero' was gone forever. Mother worked the streets, and whatever back ally she could find to make ends meet. Life wasn't good, but it was manageable. Mother wasn't happy, but she was able to provide enough food for herself and Red. She killed herself on his seventh birthday. She had gotten pregnant. It was apparent by the bump on her stomach, but Red, too young to know better, didn't say anything about it. She was probably six months along when it happened. He took Mother's blood in his hands weeping and confused and called out her name, wailing at the top of his lungs. She materialized before him, deep red etched in black.

He didn't know what had happened. His vision split in two, he was so shocked by what he saw he only wanted to be held. The entity bent down and hugged him, the translucent image soft and solid against his skin. The neighbors had heard the cry and informed the authorities. Red sat there at age seven, distraught over his mother's death, and became a fugitive before he hit puberty. Since that moment he slept dreamless and restless. That moment made a monster out of a boy, wanting only to do good, but struggling to even live.

When Red woke the next morning, though he had over twelve hours of rest, he felt as if he'd never slept. One moment awake, the next moment waking as if he'd never fallen asleep. He made his way downstairs, keeping his bag over his shoulder as always.

He scanned the room. Satisfied with the number of people present he found a seat at a table near the right wall. Few people were within listening distance. A man, tall and broad across the chest, stood against the nearby wall, a thick brown jacket draped over his shoulder like a towel.

"Always Boris never boring," the man with the brown jacket said. His voice was rough.

"Are you boring Mr. Boris?"

He sighed. "Enough, this is tedious heathen," he sat across from Red, scars ran rampant across his face screwing up the light beard he was growing. His hair hung in thick oily tendrils, twisting down to his shoulders and his left eye was bloodshot red. Red couldn't tell if he could see with it, but it moved as his gaze shifted.

"I don't deal with people I don't trust," red said, flat and uncaring, "and I don't trust you."

"If it wasn't the cash I know you're stowin' I'd be outta here. I don't deal with Speakers neither."

"I'll kill you if you don't give me what I need. I have matters that you will help uncover. If you go you die. If you stay but intentionally refuse me, you die. So why don't you make it easier on both of us and cooperate." He pulled a tanned leather bag from his left boot and tossed it on the table. The tie opened slightly and a golden bolt clinked onto the table. "You'll also make some money."

Boris sat back in his chair with a sigh and motioned for the waitress. "Black Hide and make it tall, and a whiskey for my friend here, we're gonna be here a while."

Ms. Waitress moved around a few tables grabbing tips and empty tankards before making it back to the bar to grab the drinks. Boris stared at Red as a high school bully might the class crybaby during a peer mediation session. Red remained stoic. The waitress returned with a tall stein of ale and a short glass of whiskey, grabbing the coins Boris had already set aside. He took a drink before speaking.

"Alright, what do you want to know?"  
"You know people in high places. I want to know about the Hybrids. It seems their notoriety is getting around and people are talking. I met a guy who told me they were shock troops. He was adamant however in covering up their existence. Creatures like that don't show up out of nowhere."

"Right you are, they don't. And they haven't."

"Don't speak in riddles. People claim to have seen them, and I believe it."

He took a drink. "They exist, I think. No one's seen one truly though. There's evidence to prove the rumors could be true, but nothing is certain."

"So tell me where they come from."

Boris's scarred face bore a smile, mischievous and cunning, but he answered the question anyway. "The Hybrids are, allegedly, exactly what their name implies. However, they are created from the enemy of the kingdom itself. Your kind. I don't know the specifics, only a handful do and they would never subject themselves to a meeting with the likes of you. But a Speaker's innate ability to Speak, is combined with the DNA of a creature, and they are fused. The very creatures the Speakers carry are the source of this DNA and they become a brainless commodity, a soldier who obeys without question."

"Where can I find one of these resistance camps."

"Not much for inquiry eh?"

"You've told me what I need to know. Now, the resistance camps."  
"About seventy miles north-east of here." He took a drink.

"I would speak with who there?"

"'Fraid I don't know that much."

Red sat in quiet contemplations as the waitress brought over a second tall glass of Black Hide. The drink had a pungent odor that was said to rival the alcohol content of the ale. The man before him didn't even shudder or wince as the ale went down his throat.

"You should have a drink." Boris said, gesturing to the untouched glass of whiskey.

"Do not give commands like you own me," he said. "I have another matter of importance to discuss."

"Aw come on, it's good for the brainwaves."

"Later," Red said almost losing his patience. "This war. If one can even call it that. It is escalating. You have good ears from what I've been told. Have you heard anything about this? Where it might take place or when the Silver King is finally going to strike?"  
Boris's face darkened. "You ask a lot of questions Speaker."

"I paid for them."

"You paid for my service, not my life."

"I've killed better than you. I promise if you get in my way or hinder me I'll end you."

"Is that so? Let me ask _you_ a question, Red. Who do you work for? It could be yourself but someone of your caliber? Your fame? This meandering business of yours is hardly profitable and serves no purpose."

"There are those who would disagree."

Boris squinted. "There was a prophet, long lost in the War of Tides. Phoenix, they call him. A true name, when people went by the names of their fathers and not some fabricated moniker to hide themselves. Even the mightiest wouldn't dare live with their true name out in the open, to be enslaved for eternity in some blasphemous jar of blood.

"Phoenix prophesied the end of our wars, not long before he was slain by the king, as well as the peace that would follow. If his words were true, as nearly all of them had been, this war of wars you are so interested in, would end within this cycle."

"I know about the prophecy."

"So does the Silver King. You want to know when? So do I. But the world seems to think it will be soon. I cannot give you a time, but there is a strange characteristic of prophecies. You see, when a prophecy is stated, and there is a mind behind it to make people believe in it, the events foretold will almost certainly come true. The strange part of it is, how? If the world explodes from its core into the heavens then certainly peace will have finally been achieved. Do you see my logic? Now, finish that glass."

The door to the bar swung open and the sheriff walked in, pistol in hand and his deputy in tow. They made no attempt to mask their approach, only walked straight to the table the men were chatting at. Boris stuffed the coins into his shirt pocket.

"Can I help you?" Red asked.

"You can rise from your chair son, and put your hands on top of your head." The sheriff spoke, showing his badge as if his authority was ever in question.

Red stared, "and him?"

"Boris did a fine job luring you out. Gotta give the man credit."

Red looked indifferently at the man he had been speaking with. "Indeed."

"Come quietly Red, this doesn't have to get ugly."

"You should know I don't come quietly, sheriff. If you value your life you'll let me leave your town peacefully." Red watched the sheriff's eyes twitch, proving what he had suspected all along. "The whiskey was obviously drugged. I let it sit, hoping the signs of poison would rise to the surface. But your insecurity made it equally obvious."

"Get up Speaker."

"No." Red was a blur, reaching into the black bag beside his chair, thrusting a hand into the liquid and throwing its contents forward with a hiss, " _Sarpasia_." Nothing happened. The sheriff moved quickly around the table with his gun raised over his shoulder.

"You should have drank the whiskey, Red. This next part is really going to hurt," Boris said with a laugh. Then the gun came down on the back of Red's head and everything went black.

CHAPTER 7

Four Priests knelt before the Silver King, heads bowed with a fist against their foreheads. The white robes were exchanged for tan in Patreus's presence due simply because it too closely resembled silver and was thus forbidden. Bright bonfires burned in massive braziers throughout the chamber along the walls. Two more were hung by large chains from the ceiling. Patreus's armor shined brightly in the light. He wanted everyone to know he was important, and to this point he had done a very good job.

Names ran through his mind as he eyed the Priests. Four to be exact, at the top of which was no less than Red, followed by Verse, Marquis, and Symphony. All were at large, and almost equally skilled. Verse in particular he had been after the longest, but Red had proven to be far more of a handful in recent months. Now he felt he had an answer to finally rid himself of those few that opposed him, yet nothing seemed to be working. He slammed an armored fist into the arm of his throne, echoing throughout the chamber. None of the Priests so much as flinched.

"Rise please," he said absently. "Bae'lephon. How do you progress?" Patreus finally began his meeting. The Priests had been kneeling for half an hour or better, patiently waiting to begin.

The man on the left began his speech, explaining in great detail how many Speakers had been apprehended. The south-eastern sector had been the strongest of the four areas being farmed, and so it was of no surprise to the Silver King that they had accumulated several dozen Hybrids in the last week. "Of course the death ratio of Speakers to Hybrids was more than double, Silver King, but a small price to pay for domination." At the last he made a fist and nearly shook apart with the fury behind it.

"Well done Bae'lephon. Sai'den?"

"Less, your excellency. We managed to eliminate a small camp of resistance Speakers, but that offered a small pittance of our previous weeks. Our numbers only reached twelve."

"I see. Killis'll?"

"Forty-two, your highness," she said. "I will also add that our spies have uncovered several locations where the Speaker Red has been traversing. We are scouring the land as I stand here. If he is within our sector come sundown, there is without a doubt in my mind he will be yours by the time the sun rises again."

"A lofty claim. You have done almost as much as Bae'lephon but do you believe you should be reaching so hard to surpass him? Maybe start smaller." He waved his hand about. "Perhaps one of Symphony's henchman would be more to your abilities." His lips cracked into a smile and he laughed.

Killis'll, despite her short stature, was powerful in the hierarchy and smiled wickedly in return. "My promises are as good as my blood Silver King. Perhaps it is not me you should be laughing it, but Sai'den's incompetence."

His laugh vanished. "I will laugh at what I will laugh at, _Priest_. And I choose to laugh at you and your dreams. Question me again and I'll behead you myself and use your corpse as my plaything until the blood runs cold." He rested back in his chair and absently gestured to the final Priest standing before him.

"My Lord, Kon'dis and I have given life to twenty-seven Hybrids. The south-west settlements are learning however. I don't know how we will keep our momentum up over the next two weeks."

"Your excuses bore me Priest. What was your name again?"

"Gin'hill, your majesty."

"Mm, yes. Well let me at least applaud you for increasing our forces by over double what poor Sai'den was capable of producing. I must give credit where it is due now don't I? And now, Sai'den." Galvinar Patreus thrust an armored hand in the direction of the second Priest and slowly closed his fist as if to choke him. The result cut Sai'den's airway off almost entirely and lifted him from the ground. "Twelve Sai'den? And I was growing so fond of your wit. Pity."

As his hands tightened more Sai'den began to flail and scream, trying to pry the invisible force from his neck. "Your majes-ty, I-I have some-thing."  
"What?" Patreus asked lacking sincerity. The other Priests stared at their floating brother with wicked smiles of satisfaction. Sai'den had been their primary competition for months, save for Bae'lephon who was all but invincible in the south-eastern settlements. Gin'hill had been preceded by six different Priests in as many preceding weeks. Killis'll herself had nearly tasted death several times beating out Kon'dis's Priests by hardly one or two soldiers. This was a satisfying day indeed.

Sai'den desperately grasped the folded paper in his pocket to display before the Silver King and squealed a single word, hardly audible through his compressed throat. "Red..."

Patreus scowled and released the pressure enough that the man could speak. He instead coughed violently as his throat and lungs vied for air. Slowly the Silver King set the man down and ordered him to speak, or the next moment would be worse than death.

"I got word from my spies this morning your excellency. Red was found in a speck of a town called Churchill on the north-east corner of Bagah, a half day's ride from Passelville. He was apprehended before noon today."

"Tell me how."

"In his sleep sire, his bag of blood was replaced with one filled with water, weighed to perfection and saturated with sugar. His attempt to escape was thwarted by his own confusion. He is responsible for over thirteen officer deaths in this last week your excellency. I can have him on a caravan by nightfall and chained at your feet, before _the sun rises again_." Killis'll winced as he finished.

The Silver King chuckled, smiling wide at the woman Priest. "Then have him at my feet Sai'den. You have until tomorrow morning to bring him before me. If I finish my breakfast and he is not lying across my dining room table I will end not only you, but her as well," he pointed at Killis'll. She stood mouth wide, and uncontrollably asked why. "Because, you made the same claim he did. Now you know where Red is as well. I expect him on my dining room table tomorrow morning, or it's both your heads I will be dining with that night."

Bae'lephon looked positively pleased with himself as they removed themselves from the Silver King's throne room. Gin'hill chose to walk close to the portly Priest as if the other two's misfortune would somehow be thrust upon him as well. "What a predicament you two have fallen into I should say," Bae'lephon said.

"You should say? Well I do believe you did say, am I wrong? And trust me your time will come old man," Sai'den said. "When you are lying dead I will put a blonde curly wig atop that ugly bald head of yours and then lop it off so that the world may finally see the real you."

Two senators and the generals of the north and south armies were heading towards their own conference with the king and the four Priests had to slide against the walls to avoid being run down. An entourage of twelve other soldiers of obviously high rank followed suit.

"Think yourself clever Sai'den, but I think it is clear who has the upper hand here," Bae'lephon said. Gin'hill laughed. Bae'lephon spun on the Priest. "And what are you laughing at you pathetic mongrel?" The younger Priest stepped back and Bae'lephon excused himself. Gin'hill did just the same only in the opposite direction. This left only Killis'll and Sai'den remaining in the hall.

"If you are wrong about your prisoner," Killis'll said, "I will make sure you die long before Patreus finds you. I will bask in the satisfaction of having killed you before my life is snuffed out. Are we clear?"

"We, my dear and beautiful Priest, are human beings who were brought to this earth not as ghosts but as living creatures. Therefore we are not clear. I cannot see through you and neither you me."

"Don't make fun of me Sai'den."

"Because we are not clear my dear, you cannot see through me. There are secrets we hide neither of us could possibly understand and shall never reveal unless we absolutely must, have no choice, or are left knowing we will never take another breath. Please know however that I would never put you in danger because of my own half-witted mistake."

"So I have your promise?"

"No. But you do have my 'I-hope-so'".

#

General Talon was the first to approach Patreus's throne. The Silver King watched as the soldiers and government figures filed in taking kneeling positions beside or behind another present in the meeting, placing a fist over their left shoulder in salute. The senators did the same only without the salute, as they were not technically in the military. He had personally developed his ruling body so that only proven leaders could become politicians. Both senators had served as generals for fifteen years before being appointed their position.

"Rise please, and make yourself comfortable," he said. They shuffled about and did as he asked, standing around one another in a slightly disorganized manner. "So, let's get down to business. General Talon you are in combat with Coronis's forces in the south, and General Coats you are losing to the north against the resistance fighters. I'll get to that in a moment. The first thing I want to know is how the skirmishes are going with Coronis."

General Talon said, "My first impression was that they were weak, my lord. It became apparent however that they were simply out of practice. We took a foot hold on the town of Carlin. They believe they are simply being overrun by bandits, but I can assure you their true soldiers are the ones on the line."

"Do you believe they will pose a threat?"

"My honest opinion is they will if we don't act soon."

He nodded. "Then that is precisely what we will do."

"The way things are going your excellency we could see all out war within the week," Senator Cross added.

Galvinar Patreus was a harsh and fanatical man. Being King however he understood how to go to war, and moving too fast would destroy whatever opportunities he had left to take advantage of. "Pull your men back General. Not fully, but Coronis needs to taste victory, even if it's just over a band of ruffians."

"You want us to create an illusion your majesty."

"Indeed. Our greatest opportunity to strike is not upon us yet. He will celebrate, if briefly, and believe he is capable of defending his land. A perfect opening to drag his pathetic kingdom to the ground."

"A fine call King Patreus," Senator Viel said.

"And how are things going on your end Senator? How are things," he paused as if tasting his next words, "in the north?"

"The resistance bands are plentiful lord King. I command our assault from the rear, and watch in revulsion as my orders are ignored. To be honest I feel there is a weak link in my chain of command."

General Coats said, "Spare me. Your orders are a pathetic waste of time. I hit them hard, and we lose fewer men. So many feel they must follow your orders and so it's a tug of war keeping my men in line. But if I followed you we'd have been slaughtered weeks ago."

"Enough of your tripe General. Have you forgotten your rank? You answer to _my_ orders." He looked at Patreus with a look that said 'see why we're failing?'.

The king paced back and forth, sabatons clanking on the floor. "The hierarchy of my army was put in place for a reason, General Coats. Do you defy my hierarchy? Do you defy my chain of command?"

"My lord, you must understand--"

"I must understand nothing, General. By Bathos's Glaive what is with people today. Am I not the King?"

"Of course you are my lord," Senator Cross said.

"Of course I am. I _am_ the _King_." Viel's face was smug at Patreus's comments. The Silver King then walked behind his throne and grabbed his axe. The weapon's handle was short, hardly longer than the wide blades the dual headed axe was crafted with. He held the weapon by the handle, centering its weight. "So the weakest link in the chain must be dealt with."

"An astute observation my lord." Senator Viel said. Horror and dismay crossed General Coats's face as the king let the weapon loose. He whipped the throwing axe with the precision of a grand master.

"Goodbye Senator." The axe removed Viel's head without so much as slowing, finding a piece of solid rock wall behind him to stick into. Coats stared in both fascination and confusion. The senator had been his greatest pain since this campaign began, and there was nothing he could do about it. "Senator Coats. Don't fail me like your unfortunate leader, right there and over there, did. What patience I had is gone, you will have no sympathy from me, and victories will not be praised, they will be expected.

"The first order of business was to discuss what is happening with your units. The second order of business is discussing our Hybrids. We need them to be feared, and to instill fear, they must claim lives of the innocent. The first raid will be tomorrow, I suppose given the condition of our recent prisoner Red, the hammer will fall on the town of Churchill."

CHAPTER 8

Verse and Vargas reached the base of Exiled Hill by midday following the fire. Exiled Hill was a massive hill that separated the townships of north-eastern Bagah and the rest of the open world. Skye was lying on Vargas between the great lion's shoulders. They had traveled all night after discovering Skye's family was not home during the fire, and left Churchill that morning after gathering supplies to mend Skye's burns. The town was almost too quiet considering it's location and apparent wealth, but the supplies were easy to come by and not long after she arrived, she met Vargas on the outskirts and they continued onward. Once they were a mile out she went to work, applying salves and bandages to the burns across Skye's body. Most he would heal from, but there would still be a scar from the massive burn on his right side up to his neck.

Skye was unconscious, and while Verse could handle Vargas's presence, Vargas was far less open to conversation. That left the air between them silent for several hours.

Her blood creature Airis flew high overhead, allowing her to keep a lookout for drifters and potential wildlife threats. The latter was less of a concern with Vargas trailing only a few feet behind her, but a band of looters might find this little parade to be quite the treasure.

They were headed to the resistance camp north-east of Churchill. It was a smaller camp than some, but she was due to check in. Magnusson was a stern man but he cared for his people, and Verse was easily at the top of his list. She had been involved in search parties for missing members simply because they had failed to check in. How long had it been, a couple months? At least a month since Michael died. Maybe it had been closer to three then.

Bloodied remains lay in pieces on the ground not far from the forest's edge at the other end of the Exiled Plains. Mostly bones, with chunks of the animals hide scattered among the slaughter. It was a horned creature by its skull, and in these parts, that probably meant either a plains gazelle or a tormungar. They had similar horns, but this one was much larger than any gazelle.

' _Did a Speaker do this?_ '

"I don't think so." Verse said. "Although, if it was a tormungar, it wouldn't have attacked a group of men. They would have killed it for its name."

' _How do you know it was a group?_ '

"The pieces. You don't carry off five hundred pounds of animal meat by yourself. The blood is a little dry, but only by a day, maybe less. So they probably killed it recently, and left behind what they couldn't carry."

' _I can follow their scent Verse._ ' Vargas growled, teeth just itching to bare. ' _We could deliver the justice this creature owes them._ '

Verse, still in control of Airis, sent the crimson avian higher to get a look of a nearby camp should there be one. She didn't see anything out of the ordinary though. "I don't see anything close Vargas. I don't know if-—"

A rustling in the trees cut her off. Vargas's growl grew louder, his amethyst eyes shifting across the bushes at the forest's edge, his nose sniffing loudly. Verse drew a dagger, and prepared a hand over one of her pouches. Still controlling the bird, she commanded it into a steep dive and ripped across the bushes, annihilating the shrubbery in a typhoon of leaves.

' _Clever girl._ '

A body lurched from the bushes to the left. Yelping in terror with his rifle out to the side, he screamed even louder at the sight of Vargas. Suddenly the great lion was bounding through the air in pursuit, catching the fleeing nobody effortlessly. A massive paw pressed him to the ground, his side-bag flying free of his shoulder. The man reached for the gun that had been knocked from his hand but was a few inches too far.

"This is my friend Vargas."

Vargas scoffed at the term.

"He doesn't like poachers."

"I-I'm not a poacher! H-honest!"

' _He's covered in that animal's scent_ '

"Then how do you explain the slain tormungar?"

"I killed it, but I didn't want to!" The man said.

"Are you a Speaker?" Verse asked. Vargas pressed harder on the man's chest at the question.

"Gods no! That bird was not mine. I swear! I'm not a speaker!" He choked on each word as it became harder to breathe. Verse played with the man, perching what was left of Airis's form on his shoulder.

"Not a Speaker eh?"

Vargas practically laughed. ' _Now that is clever. I still don't like it, but you do have a way with people._ '

"Oh my god. Please," the man wept, "I was found by a group of men, they said they wouldn't hurt me if they could keep my kill. I was attacked by the creature, I swear it, I'm not a Speaker." The tears streamed into his ears and down into his hair. "Please don't kill me."

Verse nudged Vargas and he let the man breathe, removing his paw completely. " _Airis_ return." The bird dissipated into vapor.

"You bi-—" He began now aware of what she was.

"Uh-uh, careful what you say. I have the lion remember? Now get up, and tell me what it was you were doing out here."

The man balked, scooting backward on weak limbs and only managing to grab a sitting position before he was out of breath. He tried twice to speak, but caught himself both times and said nothing. Verse reached for a dagger. He spoke then. "Sorry, miss. My life has been private for some time, but seeing as my life is in danger I suppose I can speak about it."

"Wise choice," she said. Vargas huffed.

"I was looking for aid. My town, opposite these woods, is in unrest and under constant attacks by a band of unknowns. We are a small community, made up of farmers and children. But while many of us believe we can fend off the assailants, there are others who have less faith. I am one of those who believes we will be ruined, so I have made it my duty to seek aid."

"And you made it this far before being attacked."

"Yes ma'am. I promise you, I mean you no harm."

"Yeah well we figured that much after you hysterically ran from the brush with your gun hardly in a position to be fired." Verse grabbed the gun and flipped the safety on. Then with a whisper, threw some blood into the air and called Airis into being once more, the bird settled obediently on her shoulder. "Take your rifle, perhaps we could use your help if more trouble arises."  
"So you'll help?"

"I didn't say we'd help, but we will need a place to stay for the night, and dusk is coming within the next few hours. If you happened to be attacked while we are around, we'll certainly help."

"With all due respect miss, your pet lion will hardly be welcomed by the townsfolk."

"My companion Skye is sleeping on the lion's back recovering from wounds. He will need a place for the night to get better. You will provide us with a room sir."

The man sighed, shouldering the rifle. "Please. Call me Ticker."

They walked straight through the brush, Ticker claiming it to be a faster route. The forest got increasingly more dense as they moved in, aside from a narrow path apparently used by travelers and possibly merchants to move through it. The nearest town was Churchill, at only a three hour's walk. Passelville while a much larger city, was a full half day's journey by horse. Vargas groaned as they pressed on through the woods; pressed being a literal term as the trees on either side of the path squeeze into him as he moved passed.

"I'm surprised you carry a rifle. There are few people in all of Bagah that can reliably use one. You must be quite skilled."

"I've had my moments, but it's still a wily thing. Damn flintlock hangfires all the time."

"I don't know a thing about guns, but I'll take that as a bad thing. What kind of path is this Ticker?"

"Oh, one we use when heading into town for a drink. It's a long walk, but on the days of rest, we don't mind it, and find it even more entertaining on the way back drunk off our butts on whiskey and beer." He chuckled as he lead the way, certainly reflecting on past drunken excursions.

They continued for another hour through the woods before the scent of campfires and cooking meat could be smelled. The smoke and ash blew in through the trees, and Verse had to keep herself calm at the sweet smell of what was clearly smoked venison. Vargas let out his own groan of approval.

' _I will have to wait back here, if we are close I cannot be seen_ '

"Ticker wait a second." Verse grabbed Skye, hot from being covered by blankets to keep the sun off him. He was still a year or so from maturing fully, but he weighed a lot nonetheless. She held him across her arms. "Alright. We can go."

"I see. Indeed your lion friend would cause quite a stir," he winked at her. "Now then, let us make haste."

"Are you late for something?"

"For the well being of your friend there, I would think you too would be more urgent." They continued through the trees, a quarter mile remaining to the edge of the forest. A swarm of gorge-bugs forced them to detour widely around the path, but soon enough they were back on course. "I once got bitten by three gorge-bugs on my hand." Ticker said. "My hand swelled up like a ripe tomato I kid you not. Damn things kept me fevered and bedridden for a week at least. Itched like crazy too, and you can't scratch the bites you know, or it'll spread to your entire body wherever your fingers touch."

"How much further?" she said adjusting Skye in her arms. The smell had become part of her senses and she no longer found it intoxicating.

"Not much further. It's really close I assure you. The forest makes for a long walk over short distances. Why, there was this one time," he broke a massive branch blocking the path and continued his story with a grunt, "my friends and I made a bet, go around the south end of the trees or through, and the one who got to the other side faster got free drinks at Pesker and Hodge's. Going around, at a full out run, was faster than running through the forest at the same speed. There was less to maneuver, more flat surface to find footing on. The hard part was keeping the pace for the extra distance. Suffice to say my slow self never won, but I've seen it won both ways. Ah, here we are."

The final trees dispersed as they exited the forest. They entered the town from behind a line of houses. White and blue paint covered the wood planks that made up the siding of each home. The grass seemed well tended and wooden kids toys were scattered about. Chairs hung from trees on thick pieces of rope. Metal troughs had been fashioned into wading pools. Smoke bloomed from chimneys and larger pillars of smoke indicated fire pits. The smell of food was replaced with that of burning wood and hot coals. Ticker lead Verse around to the front of the home they emerged behind and found several dozen people standing about various fire pits on logs chopped flat to provide places to sit.

They were all men.

"What's going on Ticker?" said the nearest of the town's citizens. Verse looked beyond the firepits and found dirt paths for horses leading away from it. There had to be fifty or sixty houses in this establishment, but it appeared as if everyone who was outside their houses were congregating here.

"Hey-o Pockets. These two were in need of shelter, I said I'd get them a place for the night you see." Ticker nodded at the seven foot tall Pockets. Pockets, a beast of man with thick stubble and tree branches for arms, nodded in return, eyes never leaving Verse and her baggage.

_Could they possibly know what we are?_ she thought. It seemed possible if only by the heated glares she was getting by the men. _And where were the women?_

Ticker lead the two to a house a bit far from the camp, pushed open the door and lead them inside. The house was empty. "Here we are, "he said.

"Is this your place?"

"Yes it is, but I wont be staying here tonight, you two can have it. Make sure your companion there gets plenty of water you hear?"  
"Yes, Ticker," she said, "thank you." And with that he made his way out.

The house was small, but not tiny. There were two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen with a wood burning stove, and a sitting room with a couch and chair. There were no portraits on the walls as she had assumed most families would have, but the house was furnished like it belonged to a family of three.

"Oh well," she said to the wall, "guess I should get you tucked in huh?" She gave Skye the bed. He groaned lightly, and his eyes barely cracked open when she brought in a tin cup full of water. He drank it, and fell back asleep. She had cut away the dead skin and alleviated the infectious boils that came from the heat. The result a was bright orange hand-sized road of burnt skin ending just below his jaw bone. It would heal, and possibly even take on the color of his skin again, but it would be visible always.

She left him be and found the bathroom. She turned the knob on the bathtub and steaming water ran from the spout. "Prays the gods," she said, and began to strip, removing first the bags of blood, and next her daggers sitting them both beside the tub. Then came the leathers. The summer heat baked the leather into her sweat and skin making it difficult to remove. Her wounds threatened to reopen themselves as she struggled with her top. In the end she managed to undress successfully, and then removed the yards of white bandages around her waist. "Dammit Vargas," she said softly, "you sure did a number on me didn't you."

"Anything I can provide you with miss?"

Verse screamed and nearly fell to the floor from the intrusion. "Curse you, you little cretin, what is the matter with you?" She fumbeled with her discarded clothes to cover herself up.

"I'm sorry," Ticker smiled. "I had to explain what was going on to my, uh, neighbors. I do apologize, I just wanted to make sure you two were doing okay and didn't need anything."

"No, we are fine thank you. Your hospitality is generous, but I still enjoy my privacy."

"Quite right miss. I will leave, please make yourself at home." Ticker left closing the door behind him. She waited for the front door to slam shut before lowering her clothes to the floor again.

"Quite right," she mumbled. She removed the bandages and admired the damage. He got her deep, but missed any vital organs. By now the blood had clotted and she was left with a very red, but sealed wound. She would still need time to heal for sure. _Not here_ , she thought. Once the bandages were discarded, she climbed in the tub and cleaned herself off. For the next hour she just sat, enjoying the peace and quiet, and the jovial commotion of the men down the street enjoying their beer and meat. It was a pleasant sound. Something in the back of her mind told her to enjoy it. War was coming. She would not have a moment like this again for quite some time.

#

Commotion woke her the following morning. She slept naked, reveling in the feel of not wearing her traveling leathers. The blankets were cotton and felt great against her skin. The commotion however was unsettling. She checked her dressings, and her wounds had not reopened. Quickly she got dressed and checked on Skye who was still sleeping. Hopefully he would recover sooner than later. Then there was a pounding on the door, hard and purposeful. Her first thought was that she had been ratted out by the townsfolk. Five bags of blood were strung across her waist and chest on two separate sashes. She strapped on the daggers and slowly made her way to the door.

The rapping on the door was louder, and then came his voice. "Alright lovely get on out so we can see ya. Don't make this any harder on us, it'll only make things worse for you in the end." It was Ticker. The son of a bitch had played her all along. If she ran, she would surely escape without an issue, but Skye would be hurt or worse. On top of that Vargas would hunt her down. She sighed and approached the door. "You in there Verse? Why don't you show your gratitude for a night's stay and come on out here?"

She stepped through the door. Thirty men or more stood in a half-circle around the house. Several carried guns. All of them had at least a dagger, if not a pilfered longsword. "What do you want?" she said.

"There's a bounty on your head Verse." Ticker sneered. "A big one, and my boys here need to eat. Don't you boys!" They responded with a cheer. "Now your little burned up little friend I have no want for, but you I do. You and your god damned lion. You see Verse, I do things right. I trap you, I hurt you, and your pet lion gives himself up to save you."

Verse stared at the men. They each bore scars of one sort or another. Their clothes were torn and dirty, but their blades were sharp, and some of the few carrying firearms actually seemed to know how to hold them. They also knew she was a Speaker, and that meant her powers were tied directly to the blood in her bags.

"Pockets. Remove her sashes and bags, and bring me her daggers. Don't move missy, I have four trained marksman in my little gang here, and they all got kicked out of the army for having itchy trigger fingers." The tall man from the night before cut the sashes with the glass-lined pouches from her shoulders and waist, and then removed the daggers, nearly cutting himself due to their unusual design. When he walked away she put her hands behind her back. There, looped through the belt of her holster was a single thin pouch, lined with Fibre-Silk, a material banned by the ruling bodies of Bagah. The material held back all moisture, making it a perfect device for holding blood in less than conventional containers.

Ticker examined the blades and smiled at their craftsmanship. They were perfectly balanced, absolutely phenomenal killing weapons. "Where ever did you get these?" he said turning to look at Verse. Her right hand was dripping with blood. "Hmm, you seemed to-―" His eyes widened.

She flung the fistful of blood forward and cried " _Dalthus!_ " The forest lion stood five feet at the shoulders, its muscles pulsating beneath its crimson skin. Aside from the Ebofelid, an all but extinct race of lions, the forest lions were king. Nothing surpassed their size in the feline world, and with as much blood as she had used to bring him forth, Dalthus was even more imposing than he ever could have been alive.

The marksmen started firing. Verse took cover behind her lion and then sent the beast forward, racing across the ground five times that of any man and dropped the shooters to the ground. Its claws raked each across the throat before jumping to the next. All others with guns quickly changed targets to the lion and fired wildly before being torn to pieces.

"Kill the woman!" Ticker shouted. "Kill the Speaker!"

Verse was already moving, her unnatural strength propelling her forward. She killed Pockets long before the command was given, breaking his neck, and by then she was already among them, controlling her lion while using the frantic bandits as shields. The fighting became chaotic in seconds. Half the men charged after Verse while the others ran from the forest lion. She spun below dagger slashes and returned several attacks back on their attackers, taking them in the throat or gut with their own blades. Ticker stood with rifle in hand, waiting for her to emerge from the crowd for a clean shot. Glimpses of the woman flashed between bodies, causing his first several shots to take down his own men.

A bullet took a small lock of hair from her head and she dove for cover behind a man distracted by her lion. How many had fallen already, ten? Fifteen? It wasn't enough, and her lion was losing its power. Already she noticed it taking longer to kill, and soon it wouldn't strong enough to even take one down. She could easily summon him again, and use the last of her reserves, but it would leave her too open. Her distraction was dying. That was a drawback of blood-creatures, they had to be called back before they could be summoned again.

The men around her were clumsy, but even the most clumsy of men can kill, especially in number. She tore a sword free of the next guy and cut him deep across the belly. His entrails forced another to the ground as he slipped and she drove the blade into him as well. Both men falling made a clearing and Ticker took the shot. The bullet caught her in the shoulder and she fell. The men were on her in an instant. Her visioned returned to normal. The forest lion was gone.

Ticker pushed his way through the group, rifle in hand. He was reloading as he walked until he was standing over her. Men circled around, weapons pointed at her throat. Not one would make the kill in her position though, Ticker was the one who deserved it. "You know I've always known who you were Verse. For years I've heard your name. I even had the chance to sit near you in a pub. I even bought you a drink. Beauty was ever your strong suit. But there's a bounty on your head so large I could hardly resist setting that trap for you."

"Many of your men have died," she said softly.

He lowered his rifle. "Indeed. You killed my best friend. Pockets and I go way back you see. It was his idea to start a gang, but he was too stupid to know how to run it, so he put me in charge. But," he paused, bringing the gun to bear on her once more, "I get to avenge his death right now. The bounty was on your head, you see, not the rest of you. I'll drive this bullet into your heart and cut your lifeless head from your shoulders with your own damn blades. Eh? How's that for irony!" He pulled the hammer back on the rifle.

"Just tell me one thing," she said.

"What?"

"Who wants me dead? I'd like to know the name of my pursuer."

"I guess I can give you a last request," he laughed. "I can give the fair lady a final request can't I boys?" They laughed loudly as if forced. "The man who wants you dead is King Galvinar Patreus, the Silver King himself. I drop your head on his kitchen table and me and my boys live the high life for the rest of our days."

"Patreus," she whispered.

"Now be a good little girl and don't squirm, I don't wanna miss."

Before the hammer fell Ticker was swatted aside by a man-sized black paw. The gun went off as he flew sideways blowing the head right off one of his own. Then the Ebofelid roared, and any man left standing when he was done was neatly sliced in half by the beasts claws. Of the group, there were only two foolish enough to stand their ground.

"Nice timing."

' _These things can never be rushed young lady, it takes careful planning to sneak up on your prey when you are as large as a house._ '

She chuckled lightly as much as the pain in her shoulder allowed. "You made a joke, I thought such things were beneath you Vargas."

' _I merely stated an observation._ '

"Yeah yeah." She staggered to her feet and walked over to wear Ticker was laying. His body was folded in a way no body should be able to fold. His back was certainly broken, and he'd likely never hold a weapon again. "So the Silver King wants me dead eh?"

"B-by B-bathos Glaive woman."

"What?"

"You, are a monster."

She knelt beside him, retaking her daggers and blood pouches. "You're going to die here Ticker. No one is going to save you. You're a coward and a thief, but I don't believe you're a liar, at least not unless you're trying to kill someone. Let me make it clear for you. You can tell me everything you know about what's going on with Patreus and his lust for Speakers, or I will hang you by a hook and beat your body like a pinata until you die from it. Either way you're going to die, but I could just as easily lay you in bed and let you die in peace."

The man sniffled. Tears streamed down his face at random intervals. It was clear he tried to hide them, but his inevitable predicament made it impossible. "Look don't do me any favors. You can take this with you though. The Silver King is probably going to war soon with Coronis, and he's using Speakers to build his army. You were just one of many who he knew would get in his way. That's where we came in you see?"

"Yeah I see."

"There's bound to be more of us out there Verse. You're not safe. Not here, not anywhere." He coughed up a wad of blood. Then the man started laughing. "Who on earth would have suspected you to have such a powerful lion there to protect you."

Verse not helping herself laughed as well. "You seen him with me Ticker, you should have known better."

His laugh died down, "Yes. Times are desperate though, and the trap was already set." Another stream of blood shot from his mouth and he closed his eyes.

Verse rose, but turned to the dying man once more. "Ticker, did you set fire to the farm beyond Churchill? The Bellen farm?" but the man was dead before she could finish talking. She rose again and made her way to the house where Skye was still resting. Off in the distance she could see a few of Ticker's men still running away.

CHAPTER 9

He no longer heard the voices. It became apparent after an hour or so in the back of the wagon that his companions hadn't spoken to him. Where they so far away? He rested against the bars at the back of the wagon. Another man accompanied him on his trip, a young fellow who had probably gotten caught stealing. His clothes were ragged and dirty, the sign of a man not cared for in prison. Red eyed him. Plans of escape raced through his mind. He was a calculating soul, always considering his next move as well as his opponents. How could he have seen that his bag of blood would be replaced with that of water?

The country was wide open and plain. Few trees graced the prairies in this part of the world, and fewer people lived on it. The grass continued to grow, uninhibited by settlers and reached easily six or seven feet high. If he could only get out of this cage, they'd never find him in that forest of grass.

"What's your name friend?" said the man opposite Red.

He stared with his usual mask. "I'm not your friend."

"Well you're not my enemy I don't think." The man chuckled, "Come on, I'll tell you mine first. Brass." The name had no ring to it. Of course why would anyone be named such a horrendous name at birth.

"Red."

"Just like your shirt, right. I like it. Original. I'd have called myself Green if I could have, but I guess there's already enough people using colors for their names. Still though, Red suits you."

He sighed, "I hate it."

"You do? Aw come on man, that name has flavor. Though I think someone else already has it, come to think of it."

"It has no flavor. And no one has this name but me."

"I think someone does. He's a Speaker too, mean son of a bitch from what I've heard. Maybe his name wasn't Red though. Could have been something else. Why would you choose a name you hate anyway?"

"Brass."  
"Yes!"

"Shut up."

The man didn't say another word, but instead bobbed his head to a non-existent tune. Red had barely been in custody for a day before he was moved from his cell in Churchill to the wagon. If the murmurs he'd heard from the guards were any indication, he was headed straight for the city of Bagah, and to the central spire that was the Silver King's castle. Patreus was hardly a king, but he had fear on his side. He held a power no one understood, and to many the only other display of sorcery was from Speakers. Because of this, many likened his abilities to that of the same. Still, the way he abhorred those who took to Soul Calling convinced everyone which side he was on, and that made every Speaker in Bagah a target. Coronis to be fair, wasn't fond of Soul Callers either, but he endured them, and even hired many to keep his people safe. To the Yellow King, Speakers were a strong replacement for the horrific art of Necromancy.

"You don't talk much do you Red?" Brass said.

Red just stared, pondering the life expectancy of a man like him. He felt it was rather short.

"We're probably going to another prison, not that I like the idea myself. But I hope they at least feed us better than that old dump in Churchill. Let's face it, a town that small shouldn't even have a damn jail, it's just pointless." Not reading Red's face, the talkative youth continued on without pause. "I mean all I did was steal a grapefruit from a man's tree farm. He had apples, oranges, grapefruits. You name it, and if it grew on a tree he had it. Quite the guy too, his son and I used to hang out together and chase girls. Not even a son's friendship could keep him from reporting me to the sheriff though. Guess he didn't like me much. There was this one time I tried to speak to his daughter and ―"

Red drowned the kid out. Surely there were more pressing matters to worry about, like how to prevent his own demise at the hands of a backstabbing contact. There were always risks involved with meeting people, especially those you didn't know. Then again, this Boris character was supposed to be reputable. Get in, get out. He should have left Churchill the moment he found he had to wait.

He glanced at the kid, Brass, who was still rambling on about some pointless event in his life. Empty thoughts filled his head. Plans with no success at the end seemed plentiful in his current situation. He had always learned to use his surroundings to achieve victory, whether it be a test of strength or a test of brains. So he let himself drown in the ramblings of a kid, hoping that when he came up for air, a plausible plan would present itself.

"― had the biggest tits I'd ever seen. And that was her mom! Man, could you imagine what a girl like Yelena would turn out to become when she was her mom's age? I wish I'd live long enough to find out. For sure, her mom was a honey and that girl was as much eye candy as her old lady."

The wagon stopped twice on the way before nightfall hit. The men escorting the prisoners ate and drank, and pissed on the side of the wagon for sport before they grabbed their things and continued on. When the moon was high in the sky, the two men guiding their chariot and the few on horseback unloaded their gear and made camp. The campfires were built far from the rear of the wagon so the prisoners would be as cold as possible. Red listened as the tents were popped and the horses were hitched to the wagon, ropes left long enough for them to graze and find a suitable place to sleep. Brass found sleep almost immediately, saying his "goodnight" before turning over against the front wall and dozing off. He honestly thought Red and him could be good friends. It probably should have pained the Speaker that that could never happen, but he decided to let the kid believe it was so anyway.

The moon crested a little after midnight casting a light glow on the road and tall grass around them. The fires were all but dead by this time and everyone was asleep. There was only one opportunity for him to strike. Red had gotten caught, but he wasn't stupid. Tomorrow they would deliver him to the Silver King, probably with a polearm through his heart and suspended upon it, tip downward. He pulled a knife from his boot, hidden under his sock and beneath a false bottom. It wasn't large, barely three inches in length, but it was more than enough. He shook Brass awake.

"Hmm? What is it?"

"I'm breaking out of here Brass. I want you to come with me." Red did his best to put on a concerned face. It was harder than it seemed.

"Breaking out, are you nuts?"

He put a finger to his mouth. "I'm breaking out. I can't do it alone, the bars are too tough for me to break through, and the wood is so tough they would hear it snap. There's only one way I can do it, but I need your help."

"What do you need man? You know I'm here for you."

"I know, but before I tell you, I need your trust. You have to trust me."

"I trust you man." he whispered.

"I need proof. The whole reason I'm stuck in here is because I was stabbed in the back. Someone I kind of trusted got the better of me. We need to trust each other if this is going to work."

"Sure sure, what do you need?"

"Your name. Not your fake name Brass, your true name. I'll give you mine first, it's only fair. And you give me yours. It's a binding contract, bound by blood. Can you handle that?"

Brass sighed deeply. A guard stirred in his tent but didn't wake. He nodded.

"Good. My true name, is James Craven." Red said. "Did you hear that? The ring?" Brass nodded readily. Of course there was no sound, Brass was only too stupid to not know any better. "It's sometimes hard to hear, but that ring accompanies a true name. Now, tell me yours." He did. The ring was loud, and crisp, and clear. With the speed of a lightning bolt Red thrust the dagger into the kid's throat, driving the small blade sideways nearly taking his head off severing the airways so he couldn't make a sound. Brass died with only confusion on his face. Red took the kid's unrivaled trust and any dreams he may have had, and threw it all away for a chance to escape.

"Now," he said to the bleeding corpse, "we are bound by blood, and in blood you shall be remembered." He filled his boot with the kids blood, using the pooling of liquid in his boot's heel to ensure a powerful cast. It was harder to do combat when you only carried a single creatures blood, especially if you had no way of attacking on your own. With two it was simpler, creating two diversions at the same time, both capable of killing dozens before their summons wore off. A luxury he didn't have. He had never done this with a human before, not intentionally, and certainly not to harm others. This time however was far different than any situation he had ever been in. He pulled the blood filled boot close and scooted to the long bars that held him in at the back of the wagon. He then grabbed a fistful of the warm liquid and threw it into the air beyond the bars and whispered, " _Benjamin Frost._ " He killed people for Necromancy. Doing it himself sent chills down his spine. Seeing the reanimated crimson form of Brass before him sent a spear of pain through him as the memory of his mother returned.

Red shook it off. The camp was still asleep, none had awaken from the killing, and now he had a slave five times stronger than that of any man, and one that could not be killed. He controlled his spectre, the name given to humans reanimated through blood, seeing through its eyes while he watched from his own. He sent the abomination forward in a wide gait, eating up ground as he ripped through the nearest tent, breaking the necks of the two men inside effortlessly. The second one carried the keys. He wasn't done though. He had to eliminate everyone. Red was already wanted by Patreus, he didn't need Coronis hunting him for being a Necromancer.

After the second tent was destroyed and its occupants slain, the other men from the camp were awake. Red watched through the spectre's eyes as the men thrust their blades into Brass's form. Watched as their eyes grew wide with terror as the crimson body of a reanimated corpse pushed through them without expression or remorse, killing everyone around them. He commanded his puppet to rip the head off one man who stood against it, and thrust it toward another by its hair, the man's final look of horror twisted, his veins and cords hanging loosely beneath. Then the crimson Brass smashed the man's skull with the severed head killing him instantly.

The last man standing wore a pure white robe, a Priest, and potentially the only people on the planet capable of defeating a blood creature. Red brought another fistful of the liquid up from his boot and called Benjamin Frost up again. The first vanished as he called the new form, vanishing into mist, and from the Priest's flank came a second incarnation of the creature, and took the Priest's head from his shoulders without pausing. The Priest's body stood on its legs for another few seconds before folding over and collapsing. Using the bond he had created, Red commanded Brass to grab the fallen keys from where the first summon had dissipated, and walked him back to the wagon, passing the keys through the bars.

Stuttering from disgust and horror, Red said, " _Benjamin Frost,_ return." The expressionless entity in front of him puffed into nothingness like any other blood creature. He poured the blood from his boot, and looked back at the corpse still lying in the corner. He was ashamed of himself. Absolutely appalled at his actions, but he had no choice. Somehow saying so wasn't enough, but he knew deep down, that it was true. He would have died for certain if he hadn't acted.

The key fit perfectly, and the deadbolt holding the door closed slid to the side and he left. Cursing himself he grabbed the lifeless body of Brass and took it with him. He had all night to move, he wasn't worried about being tracked. The man, despite his annoyance, saved his life. A proper burial was in order, he owed him that much.

First thing he did however, was grab his things. The moment the real blood-filled bag's strap touched his shoulder, the familiar voice of Sarpasia entered his mind.

_We missed you._ She said. Red didn't respond. He usually did, but not this time. _We thought you had abandoned us._

He carried the mass of Brass through the tall weeds and used his keen sense of direction to point himself west. Despite having been caught, there was still unfinished business to attend. First, there was Galvinar's ball. Then, of course, were the resistance camps. And there was Verse. He knew the name. Few didn't. She was likely more infamous than even he was. He had his reasons for finding her of course, and it had nothing to do with her knack for Speaking. She was a force to be reckoned with. He'd heard stories of a girl so quick and powerful she was less a Speaker, and more like a hurricane. A quarter of the stories referred to Symphony. A dame from the south-west of Bagah who commanded an army of over a hundred Speakers. They listened to her. Red met her once. He hoped the next time he did she would be nothing more than a rotted out skeleton.

Verse however had to be killed. Not because she was a threat to his fame. He didn't give a damn about that. Her morals defied Speaking. She was a mess of an ancient race of people, defying her own gods and beliefs for a cause she didn't understand. She killed Speakers who did what they could to strengthen themselves. Using what you loathe was like using Necromancy to kill Necromancers. A vile creature so blessed with power and speed and cunning, yet an abomination herself to everything that makes a Soul Caller what they are. How many had she killed to stop those who used what she herself abused? How many would die from a hypocrite, a blasphemer of the arts she took upon herself?

If Boris had sat a while longer, his next question would have been about the woman. He may have even found out where she was hiding. Now it seemed he was right back where he started. His fury only grew stronger. Anger at Patreus, anger at Boris, and a rising anger against Verse for simply being alive. He trudged through the tall grass with Brass's body, feeding his anger with every cumbersome step.
CHAPTER 10

Eggs on the stove, freshly sliced bacon in the pan, and a batch of Martha Wrunel's favorite pancake mix sitting in the bowl waiting to touch the heated skillet. She didn't make breakfast often. In fact, she hadn't made breakfast for her family in nearly three years. With her job out in Passelville, she was able to bring in a lot of money for her family, but the distance ensured she never got a chance to see them.

Abby Weiss was a legal consultant for the Governor of Passelville, which subsequently made him the assumed dictator of affairs in Churchill. Everything from the volume of rice and wheat that could be grown, to the quality of pig and cow meat produced was all governed by the rules he had set in place. If the meat was ever found to be less than par, the farmer responsible was fined heavily. This made Abby's job difficult when she was the one who had to prepare the documents and often present them to her own neighbors. Six months ago, she had to present the documents to her husband.

Vienna, bless her soul, was the only one who forgave her. Abby's relationship with her husband however had never mended. Breakfast this morning was intended to remind her family how much she cared. She took the day off specifically to cater to their needs, and try her hardest to rebuild what relationship was lost.

The bacon sizzled loudly, and she flipped them over, redistributing the grease and ensuring an even cook on both sides of the thick bacon. After flipping the bacon she poked the egg yolks and flipped them over so the yolk would harden under the whites. She laid some freshly churned butter across the skillet and to her satisfaction, it sizzled happily, bubbles dancing and sliding across the hot surface. The bowl of pancake mix was enough for twenty good sized cakes, and so carefully, as if she had been born for it, she poured the thick mix onto the skillet. Once the first was set she moved up and dropped another one, filling up what space was left.

She moved with apparent ease through the kitchen, cracking eggs with one hand and dropping the contents onto a fresh pan, whisking the pancake mix so it was light and fluffy for the next two she would pour out, and sliding new bacon onto another pan as the first batch finished. The house smelled of tasty breakfast. She flipped the pancakes once and quietly grabbed the orange juice and milk from the cooler box, letting each sit on the table so they weren't biting cold when you took a drink.

Four more pancakes were finished. She tossed them each onto a large cookie sheet and put them in the oven so they would stay warm, and continued with her art of breakfast making. Four more eggs cracked and cooked. These she made scrambled, Moira's favorite, and as the last of the bacon finished, she had laid out plates, cups, and utensils on the table. Each place setting set with a small tray of butter, three napkins laid with their corners sticking out beneath the one atop it, and a small cupful of maple syrup. Strawberry's sat on a plate in the center, right next to a smaller plate of blueberries.

One by one she put the food on the table, pulling the hot water from the other stove burner to fill her husbands cup so he had some coffee for this morning. The table was immaculate. The sun streamed in through the blue curtains lighting up the place with a warm hue, and just when she thought it couldn't get any better, the first footsteps came down the steps. Light ones, it was probably Baybay. He was their youngest at age twelve. Even so, he was a big kid, already taller than Abby and toned up from the work on Creole's rice farm down the street. He seemed rushed. In his left hand he carried a large bag likely filled with books. Books filled up with monsters and creatures fabricated by his friends. She had him try to explain the game they play, but it got far too complicated once he started mentioning colors and dice. He blew by her, stealing two pancakes from the table, and took a bite as he dashed out the door. A second later his head popped back in and through a mouthful of pancake said, "Thanks mom!" and was gone again.

Before he was out the door Moira and Basin, her eldest daughter and husband, were walking towards the dining room. Already disappointed by her son leaving so quickly, she lit up as the rest of her family came in. "I promised I'd take Moira to Tasty's for breakfast this morning. Sorry," her husband said. Moira didn't even look at the scrambled eggs, and she could tell Basin didn't mean the apology, and he didn't look back at her as they walked out the door only a few steps after Baybay.

She looked at the table and sighed. Her throat tensed and a tear from each eye ran down her cheeks. She walked to the table to start cleaning up the plates when Vienna finally came down the steps, wearing her favorite purple sundress. That's right, today was Tuesday. Skye would be coming through town, and Vienna always wore her purple sundress on Tuesdays. This last week Skye had come a day late. The poor girl had to wear the dress twice just so he could see her in it. She spotted the eggs, sunnyside up, her favorite. She sat down and grabbed the butter and spread it across her pancakes, topping them off with a strong helping of maple syrup.

_Toast!_ She thought. _I forgot toast!_

Vienna took a large bite of her pancakes and looked at her mother with a big smile on her face, cheeks full of food. Abby smiled, and another tear fell in both happiness and sorrow. She wished her whole family would sit at the table, that this effort would have brought them together. Abby grabbed a seat opposite Vienna and started eating herself. "You're expecting Skye again today Vienna?"  
"Yes mom. He wont be late two weeks in a row, I bet his parents would hate him for that."

"You're probably right. How are the pancakes?"

"Great! We haven't had pancakes in a while. I could smell them from upstairs. They're Martha's aren't they?"

"You bet." She said taking a bite of them herself. So fluffy and full of flavor. You could eat them without the syrup and still be content. "She makes the best doesn't she?"

"Sure does." Then Vienna cut into the egg and let the yolk run all over the whites. She took her bacon and dipped it into the yolk and scarfed it down. By Bathos's Glaive, but she could eat.

"Here" Abby said grabbing the pitcher of orange juice. "Let me pour you something to drink."

The rest of their breakfast was full of laughing and talking. Vienna talked about what she wanted to do once she finished her schooling, and Abby let it out how she wanted to become a stronger figure in their family again. Vienna helped Abby put away the leftovers and wash the dishes, and then together they headed out onto the street. There was no school today, she was getting older so there was only class on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. So they had the day to themselves. Come to think of it, wasn't Baybay supposed to be in school? She would have to talk to him when he came home.

#

Senator Coats sat on horseback as his army marched in front of him. The town was nearly upon them. He was only allowed a small contingent of soldiers. Shock troops they were calling them. I guess it made them sound like living creatures when you looked at them that way. They were not. It was like leading an army of zombies, each one changed in such a way so as to remove their individuality and somehow transform them into human-creature Hybrids. There were perhaps one or two who retained a semblance of their human selves with only minor traits of the animal they had bonded with, but most had become grotesque combinations of human and beast. Some of them had feathers as if they could fly, but they too marched mindlessly along beside the others.

The Silver King had given him command of forty Hybrids to test in the field. This would be the first time they had been brought outside of their confinements since the incident. The process had been refined since then, but speculation rose that they might find their brains and revolt. So far, to Coats's approval, they had not. They had marched for three days in order to reach Churchill. Half the men involved weren't fortunate to have horses to ride, so the parade took far longer than Coats had hoped. The time taken didn't change what would happen though. This wasn't going to be pretty. It was going to be a blood bath. He took a swig from his flask of whiskey, going down hot and sweet at the same time as his second in command approached riding his own brown stallion.

"We're almost there sir."

"I know. We're almost close enough to hear the screams," Coats said.

"Sir?"

"Figure of speech General. I think we will be remembering this day for quite some time."

"I pray you are right sir. It is an honor to be the first strike of the Silver King."

Coats shuddered mentally. "An honor indeed." He was a soldier at heart and a profound strategist. This however was a slaughter. Women and children would die this day, and it would be his name that would go down as the force behind Patreus's fist.

Forty minutes later they rose over Exiled Hill. All homes and shops faced away from this place for whatever reasons he couldn't fathom, but it gave his men even more cover before the residence could seek shelter. It was nearly noon. The streets of the little town would be densely populated. With any luck, the entire town would be just lined up ready to die. Coats wanted the event over as soon as possible. People hiding would only increase the time taken to kill them. His gut tightened and he dropped another gulp of whiskey down into it. In less than three minutes the first Hybrid shock troop would be in plain sight of the town center. He braced himself for the screams, and he was awarded with plenty.

The first creature to step into the town center was wolfen. The first casualty was a small red-haired girl, torn in half by the Hybrid's massive claws. Her dress fluttered as her bottom half was thrown into a wall. After the first drops of blood hit the dirt, the remaining thirty-nine Hybrids charged forward. Some bounded through the air with tremendous leaps, others raced along the ground on all fours, rising back up on two feet in time to munch on some poor soul's neck. As Coats and his men breached the line entering the town, there was hardly a living soul in sight. The creatures moved with such ferocity that the moment some unsuspecting man or woman caught sight of them, they were ripped apart.

He watched, sipping his whiskey, as man woman and child were killed mercilessly. Disemboweled, beheaded, truncated, or otherwise, the scene before him was something out of his worst nightmare. And indeed, there would be tales of this day that would scare children for years to come. The sheriff, marked by his shining golden star took a single shot at the closest creature before being gutted. The bullet he had fired passed clean through the beasts heart, of which it found no resistance. It passed out the back of the creature without any blood following it. The next victim Coats witnessed was that of a baker, somehow oblivious to what had been going on around him. He had a massive cake in his hands which was pressed firmly into his skull and eye-sockets as the creatures mangled his body.

"Incredible."

Coats eyed his general who watched beside him. He pulled on the reins of his horse nonchalantly as the battle raged. He shook his head at the thought. This was not a battle, it was a testing ground. These people may as well have been rag dolls set up in a vacant village for the purpose of testing trebuchets. "If you say so."

The general did not respond, only stared wide-eyed as yet another man, this time a gangly, rough-looking fellow had his legs literally bitten off him. He had seen death before. Countless times actually. His own men taken by a contingent of Speakers, and those very same Speakers broken and beheaded by his very own horse and blade. This was a massacre.

A white haired man was thrown through the bar window. His top half went through first, then his head, followed by what was left of his legs. The Hybrid at fault blasted the doors off its hinges, a calf and foot hanging in its mouth. The man who died was dressed for business. He was probably the bartender.

From the bookstore, a woman and her child fled from what could only have been a Hybrid that had entered by something other than the front door. He hated watching women die, but children he would surely die by Bathos Glaive in eternity for letting happen. This girl was blonde, her face covered in specks of blood. They hadn't made it to the center of the street before the mom's head was removed and crushed by the chasing Hybrid, this one resembling that of a hyena. The girl fled to a small pile of barrels, using one for cover as the Hybrid gave chase. Cursing himself, Coats kicked his horse forward.

"Halt!" He cried. Obediently, the creature listened coming to a dead stop as if its bloodlust suddenly vanished. The girl was huddling beside another. They looked to be about the same age. "What are your names?" he asked.

The brunette was crying, but managed at least her name. "Yelena."

"And yours?"

"Please don't kill me," the girl mumbled through spit and tears and snot.

"Answer the question girl!" the general roared almost right into Coats's ears.

Her eyes focused on him. They placed blame so quickly he could have killed her himself. "It's Vienna, you bastards."

"So it is. Vienna. These creatures you see are under my direct supervision. My name is Coats. Remember it. The only way for a rumor to get started is for a survivor to spread it." More cries of anguish rose over the town as the killing continued. There were few townsfolk left, which was good. Three days of travel and virtually zero sleep really took its toll. He turned his horse and the general followed.

"Sir."

"What is it?"

He looked over his shoulder at the girls. "We need to instill fear. Kill the blonde, make her an up close and personal example of what these things can do. You only need one survivor to ensure the message spreads."

Coats nodded. The Silver King would want the same thing. He turned around. The girls clung to one another like their lives depended on it. "Yelena, stand." Vienna let go of the brunette lass, but only reluctantly. Coats then looked at the hyena creature he had stopped just moments ago. "Kill her." And the creature obeyed. The man turned away as it advanced. Her screams of protest were silenced after the initial cry was uttered. The one that followed belonged to Vienna as the other girl's blood splattered across her purple sundress and onto her face. He pulled the flask out once more and tipped it up. It was empty.

"Well done sir. The Silver King will praise you for this day." His subordinate trotted by with a wide smile on his face. The men around him cheered his name, yet with each instance of it he died a little inside.

Coats looked around at the town of Churchill. A small town on the outskirts of Bagah, almost void of thru traffic aside from the couple neighboring villages, and here it lies in ruins. He felt ill. He turned around and barked a sequence of orders that brought the Hybrids back together. Not a single one was injured aside from the one that had taken down the sheriff, and that could hardly be considered and injury. Blood and innards hung from tooth and nail and talon. He swallowed hard and commanded the unit out of Churchill to return to the Hybrid encampment, three days back the way they came. He wasn't much a believer in higher powers, but somewhere deep in his brain he prayed that if there was a higher authority, it would forgive him should they ever meet face to face.

CHAPTER 11

Galvinar Patreus knelt at the hanging display of Bathos's Glaive. The weapon was enlarged so the entire church could see it even from the back, some two-hundred rows behind. Two half-circles beginning at opposite corners curving into half circles, and then a single line through the center to form the grip of the weapon. The edges of the blades did not touch one another, it was crafted from a single piece of metal.

"Forgive me God of War, Bathos the Empowered," the king said with his head bowed in shame. He removed his silver gauntlets one at a time. Blood poured from each as if from a wound he had kept concealed. "This curse I hold, this shame I carry, is hard to bear. It is by your will I contain it as best I can, but I believe it has driven me mad. The master Phoenix has abandoned you. His life crushed out of him on the rocks below the Cliff of Archeron a thousand years ago. Why is it I must share his burden? I removed Necromancy from this world. I abolished it with these bloody fists God Bathos only for it to materialize as a sadly accepted form called Speaking.

"I killed a man," he continued, wiping the blood from his hands until they were clean of it. "He did nothing wrong, simply displayed himself before me, giving me information of the courier that lost their lives to this sore on the earth who has called himself Red. I lashed out uncontrollably. Am I truly to live my life with no composure? To be without control over my actions? Will this curse rule my kingdom for me God Bathos?" He raised his head to stare at the hanging Glaive. Light suddenly whipped across it. Fear shook him and his breathing increased. This was the first time of his daily prayers that the massive Glaive had reacted to his words.

"Excuse me your lordship. General Talon requests your attention."

Patreus sighed. Indeed the light had not been any sort of reaction at all, but the sunlight outside reflecting off its surface. At first he smiled, relieved that his god had chosen not this moment to smite him down. Then the smile turned to vile hatred. Blood poured from his pores in streams. He thrust a hand toward the man who disturbed him, and suddenly the man was crushed from the inside out. Blood errupted from his nose and mouth as his life was broken from within. After a moment he set the limp form back down to the ground and then stood, replacing his gauntlets and facing the Glaive once more before leaving to meet Talon. "Umm... Forgive that... too." Armor secure, he walked out of the church.

#

Symphony was tall when compared to other women, wearing rugged leather trousers and a black leather vest over a violet shirt with a plunging neckline. The fang necklace from her mother hung against her skin. A thick blue strip was tattooed across her eyes back to her temples. Intricate artwork of battle and death accented her arms in various hues of black, red, and blue. One in particular was of a howling wolf on her left inside forearm: her first spirit, a wolf by the name of Wortash. She had used the last of his essence years ago, but kept to the wolves of the north as her calling card. She commanded two at a time as easily as the most seasoned speakers controlled a single beast. She rarely moved without one of the two tundra wolves by her side.

Beside her stood an amazonian woman from the Northland. The two had met by chance as Symphony stalked her first replacement for Wortash. Sonata, from the arctic lands of Finser encountered the Speaking Symphony on her pilgrimage to Bagah, cast out for her fate of having been born with sorcery in her blood, she sought refuge in a foreign land like hundreds had before her. She was as tall as Symphony while the latter stood perched on a rock, but otherwise towered over her by a hand and a half. Crystalline blue hair cascaded down her back with white clips intricately crafted and arranged systematically throughout it. While Symphony was beautiful in her deviation, Sonata was beautiful like a goddess sent from the icy heavens.

"I estimate three-thousand." Symphony said, one leg perched on the rock. Her avian spirit bond was fading. It was a weak cast, just enough to get a better look at the army coming at them.

"A fair guess. We are more than capable of eliminating them." Sonata's voice was deep but soft. An alluring contrast to her sex infused figure.

"We could take them with half what we got. At five-hundred men, our casualties will be light."

"They must know what they are marching into."

"I've ruled out a trap. My guess is it's a diversion, but they don't know I'm here specifically for them. Any other front they plan to assault will be thwarted by Coronis."

"You put too much faith in the Yellow King."

Symphony stared at the woman beside her, wrapped her arm behind her head and pulled her face to her own, kissing her blue colored lips passionately. Sonata returned the affection, and after a moment they broke. She stared into her eyes \- cold calculating eyes of the Finser people - and saw raw desire flash through them. "My faith in that failure of a king sates my bloodlust, as well as your own. He allows me to kill so long as it is his enemies I am eliminating."

Sonata nodded, the effects of the kiss still swimming in her head. She had never loved a person more than the girl in front of her. Never had she met someone more sure of oneself, and there wasn't a day that went by that she wasn't captivated by her. She reached into a pouch around her waist and threw blood out beside her. " _Hengril_ ". She did the same with a sprinkle of blood behind her and called another creature into being, " _Morbis_." Two tundra wolves rose into being to accompany the two Symphony already held under her control. "By Skadi I love you."

Symphony smiled.

The cliff itself rested on the border between Bagah and Greyson, rising a hundred yards above the land below it. Some hundred centuries ago, pilgrims dug their way through the red rocks of the earth and created several wide ramps leading to the cliffs plateau. Coronis controlled these ramps, and so controlled one of the most heavily fortified locations in the world. Symphony rubbed Sonata's upper arm, pressing fingertips against the muscle tone and then dove over the side of the cliff. The air threw her hair into a flurry and the fang necklace blew along with it. Her face was alight with glee, blue lines giving way to wide eyes of excitement. She plunged a hand into one of the clawed cestus at her side and drove the twin claws into the side of the cliff, using her weight and curvature of the claws to ensure they stuck. With this she rode down the face of the cliff tearing rock and earth free as she did, leaping free of it only a few yards above the ground and rolling to her feet. High above, Sonata shook her head and then started shouting orders to the other Speakers.

Symphony's wolves caught up with her moments later, and with them she strolled onto the battlefield. Patreus's men were ruthless, but they were also smart. Within moments a single horse from the line charged forward, and soon she was standing face to face with the commander, his sword drawn, her wolves ready to attack.

"I don't believe we've met commander," she said, "my name is Symphony."

"I know who you are. If I had a say in it, I'd have brought a pistol with me to take you out here and now. Bathos take etiquette. But that isn't why I'm here."

"Oh? You willingly march you and your men to their death? I have five-hundred Speakers almost as skilled as I, willing to die for me." She lied about their skill, but he didn't have to know that. "Be a hero commander, leave."

"I cannot."

"Well do _something_. I promise I want nothing more than to kill you, but then there's always the mess afterwards, and, I just don't want to have to deal with that."

"Again, it is not something I can do."

"And why not?"

"Because we didn't come here to fight you. Yes, I prepared for a fight, but I did not bring my men here to die."

"Is that so?" Symphony stared at him through her wolves. Two separate visions on top of her own that she could freely control. One she repositioned to take down his horse, the other she backed up a bit for lunging distance on his sword arm. She smiled. "My men aren't sitting on this ridge because they enjoy the company. Look at what you're facing commander. You can't beat me."

He smiled. "I didn't come here to die, it's true. I came here for you Symphony." He brought the sword to his lips and whispered.

Her blood ran cold and then she turned, sprinting back to the cliff as she forced her wolves forward. The commander's sword lashed out and in a magnificent arc of light both blood creatures were erased. He drove his horse forward in pursuit, and the entire army that had been waiting to assault did the same.

Suddenly the air was filled with mottled and bloody spears as five-hundred avian blood creatures ripped into the sky. They plunged over the cliffs edge with unnatural speed, diving faster than any bird. The first hundred went straight for the commander who slashed fully half of them away with a single cut of his sword. The other half pulled back and joined the rest as they collided with the men behind him. The casts were weak, not to be overused and only a handful of soldiers were killed by the attack, but their objective had been achieved. Symphony had gotten away unscathed. The commander pulled his steed back with rage in his eyes and fell back into the lines to protect his men, roaring orders as he pulled his sword close for another blessing.

A moment later Symphony was ascending one of the two man-made ramps in the cliff-side and was greeted by Sonata and a handful of her best Speakers.

"What happened?" Sonata asked. Both of Sonata's wolves were standing beside her, and her avian creature was perched upon her shoulder. _Magnificent woman_ , Symphony thought. To maintain three creatures at a time was exceptionally rare. She could recall only three other Speakers beside herself capable of such a feat, and only one in history had ever been able to command more.

"A Priest. I didn't expect it," Symphony said. "They must have counted on that too, because not only was he dressed as a commander, he was powerful." She turned to watch the rest of the bird creatures disintegrate as the great arcs of light smashed through them. "He's really strong."

"We have to prepare," Sonata said, turning to the men behind them. " _Schkull! Kojar!"_ The men responded by calling the rest of the army back into formation. Only one or two had ever been told what those two words meant in succession. The language of the north was extremely complicated, but it generally translated to "move your asses you pitiful excuses for human flesh". Or something to that effect. Sonata wasn't known for her subtlety.

The distraction of the birds was enough to buy the Speakers some time, but not a lot. They still held the high ground, but archers from the other army's rear flanks were slowly making their way forward, the soldiers in front of them keeping a rigid shield to guard them. The commander Priest rode in front of the army completely confident and fearless. He was the army's morale.

"How do we kill him?" Symphony asked to anyone who could hear her. Sonata stopped in the middle of giving orders to the fifth company officer and followed her lover's gaze.

"He will be trouble," Sonata said, her northern accent giving the words an edge.

"How can we stand up to that strength?"

"The men are saying his name is Kon'dis. I have never heard this name, but he seems to be a man of great importance."

_I must be a hell of a threat then,_ she thought. "We have to get close. His blessings can only harm the spirits we call. We need a warrior to take him down."

"With all due respect Symphony, their army has become a real threat. It's only a matter of minutes before their archers are in place." A man who called himself Lorenzo, officer of the first company, spoke confidently. Symphony knew to trust the men and women she had appointed as officers. It wasn't an official rank. They were Speakers after all. But they were hers just the same. It was a good thing to have voices you could trust working beside you.

"Are the men in formation?"

"Yes." Sonata said, finishing up her conversation with the fifth company officer.

"Good. Then do me a favor," she watched as the archers took their positions. They wore blue and silver ranger tunics with pointed metal helmets. Aside from the armor on their heads they were otherwise unarmored. Easy to spot, but difficult to get close to with their exceptional range and wide area of effect. They formed up with their own survival in mind, broad, wide lines of men able to shoot at maximum efficiency to protect the archers on the opposite side of the line. On top of their width, the entire left and right flanks knelt to allow the middle section of fifty archers full view of their brethren to fire volleys should those flanks be threatened.

Symphony didn't think the archers had much to worry about, but the strict formation intimidated her just the same.

"And what would that be?"

"Fall the men out." Her words became more rushed as the final line of archers got into place. "Spread them out. Now. On my count we throw whatever avian blood creatures we have into the air."

Sonata was alive with commands. Her orders were heard loud and clear and the officers relayed them with practiced efficiency. She never asked questions. Symphony was astounded by her ability to trust her. If they lived through this, she would have her tonight. Her mouth watered.

And then arrows were released. She watched the blackness rise into the sky. The Silver Longbow was the most advanced piece of ranged warfare ever constructed. They had a range of just over three hundred yards, and the arrows they fired seemed to fly on their own accord. The result was a barrage of wood, metal, and death. Symphony watched as the lethal projectiles rose into the air. They had to climb a hundred yards just to crest the cliff, and would have to rise another fifty yards just to gain gravities momentum to inflict guaranteed lethal strikes.

As the arrows rose to eye level, she gave the command. Over one thousand dark crimson birds took flight blanketing the men in a cushion of pure magic. She watched in suspense as the arrows dove into the creatures called into being. The impact points spread across the birds like stone drops in a pond, rippling violently as hundreds of arrows pressed into them. Arrows bounced harmlessly to the ground and the birds of a crimson feather floated unaffected. Despite the tactic's success thirty-one men died in the volley. Some of the arrows still got through. What few medically proficient people present attended to the wounded but she was still left with men dead.

Back during her first campaign, she considered using the bodies of the dead as tools. Sonata steered her straight. Truly, they would have made incredible tools in battle, but practicing Necromancy was beyond immoral. It was evil. Still, she watched their lifeless bodies fall and wished she could give them a chance to redeem themselves.

Another spray of arrows launched into the sky as plentiful as before, and again the dark crimson creatures blocked the flood of arrows as best they could. The spirit creatures slowed the force of the arrows or stopped them all together, but they couldn't blanket the sky with complete effectiveness, and more men died as the arrows slipped between blood-wings and feathers. They stared at their comrades bleeding out on the grass in quiet contemplation, and one by one their eyes drifted to Symphony. Her goal to spread them out was assuming the archers knew their tactics and formations, but they were simply blanketing the sky with arrows hoping they hit something. She overestimated Kon'dis's knowledge of her and her men. She could press them together instead, reduce the area the arrows can cover over her men, and increase the protective shield of blood creatures above them.

But then they would simply wait them out, toss a volley of arrows and force the Speakers to waste their blood reserves. Most Speakers carried two avian and two combat animals in their bags, but not all, and once they were used up they were helpless. As the next volley sprung into the air and peaked, suddenly it came to her. Another twenty men found their end.

"Fall back!" She shouted. The order trickled through the chain of command and before the next assault of arrows were fired, they had already moved two-hundred yards back. Kon'dis had thrown her off her game. If she had been thinking straight she would have understood right away that the arrows had limited range, and firing up a cliff significantly hindered how far they could shoot. At best they had four-hundred yards to play with, but they were a hundred yards out at the least. The birds stayed airborne as the arrows fell, but they were clear of the fire for now. The next volley followed the pattern of the one before it, and the arrows fell heavily on bodies of the fallen.

#

Kon'dis halted the last volley of arrows. The cries had ceased, meaning that they were either all dead, which he felt was quite very unlikely, or they had moved out of range of the attack. Pressing inwards would only spread his army out, and assaulting would be suicide, even with his blessings. Symphony had not used her full potential earlier. Her aura was so strong it scared the faith deep into his soul. He had met only one person who rivaled that power, and that was the Silver King himself. But did she know it? A question soon to be answered one way or the other.

Mipas'onu stood beside Kon'dis's massive horse. He was third in their heierarchy of Priests, a hair's width beneath Gin'hil. His position implied great strength but in reality, he was so far beneath his master it was practically a joke. "I don't think it is Symphony we should be worried about master Kon'dis."

"Perhaps not. There is another presence at play here. One of incredible strength I will agree, but Symphony is still the mind behind this army."

"You saw something in her," he said, drawing out what his Master had discovered during the brief meeting on the battlefield.

"It's hard to believe there are beings who have so much power at their fingertips and yet they choose to use it for such pestiferous purposes. Our king is a man of incredible strength and guile, and his power is beyond anything I have ever seen. But this woman..."

"You think she will be trouble master."

"Not half as much trouble as she hopes she will be. Pull the archers back. Pressing in will be a death sentence, even if we were both involved in the assault. Especially if we were involved." His mind reeled with uncertainty. He had three thousand men whose lives were in his hands, not a large force by any means, but it didn't have to be large to be important. And on top of that he had four or five-hundred Speakers sitting atop a cliff laughing at him. The paths to its peak were narrow. A devastating choke point for any army, and there really was no way to go around for a better position to strike, as that would require over a dozen large battles through heavily fortified cities. Coronis had certainly guarded his backdoor well. How could the Yellow King have known that the defenders of this door were of such importance to Patreus? The truth was, he didn't. Coronis, bastard son of a peasant, had thrown these men and women away, told the ambitious and relentless Symphony to take this land and do with it as she pleased so long as she stayed out of his hair. At least, that's probably how it went. You don't keep an army of Speakers this close. Speaking in general was not a crime. What they did with their "gifts" was.

"Master?"

"I said pull them back. We must regroup. Make sure we have food and a solid base for camp."

"We would do so _on_ enemy territory?"

"Mipas'onu do not question me. You will be the next Priest I send in Gin'hil's stead. The men need to rest. We've been marching all day, and the Speakers wont attack. They are scared of me, and no one else in this country cares about defending them. The people of Greyson will not care if they lose a few hundred Blood Speakers. Make camp. And get my messenger, I have a message he is to deliver to the Silver King."

CHAPTER 12

Verse cleaned the blood from Skye's hands and arms. The burns were looking far less life threatening than they had the day before. They had left that town behind for two days of walking, but the time spent hadn't awarded them a great distance of travel. They had only made it sixty miles, and that was as quick a pace they could set with Skye's wounds, but it was better than waiting at the ghost town they had nearly been slaughtered at. With the blood came the last of the puss from his blistered and infected skin. He was healing remarkably fast, but he was still not well.

Vargas was in charge of dinner, being the best creature for the job. Still, the land was limited in its quarry, and for only a single meal were they awarded with succulent venison meat. For all his prowess, Vargas ate a lot.

"Pig," Verse said.

' _Your point?_ '

She laughed. "I take that back, you eat worse than a pig."

' _An animal of my size requires nutrients and adequate sustenance to maintain his energy._ ' He said all this with a goofy sideways grin and long strands of random entrails hanging from his chin.

"I think you left some sustenance on your face."

He blushed in the only way an Ebofelid could. His eyes grew brighter and narrowed.

"Just saying, a mess like that I wont even consider cleaning off."

Vargas wiped the gore from his chin and snorted at the mess it made of his left paw. ' _I suppose I may be more hungry than I care to admit._ '

"Yeah yeah, let's just get going, we're only a half day's walk from my old partners camp."

"Michael?"

Verse looked over at Skye lying on a worn out blanket and away from the fire. His eyes were open. "How did you know that?"

"You mentioned him before." Skye was groggy but he seemed fully alert.

Verse rose. "I never mentioned him," she said sternly. Her blood felt hot, suddenly she wanted to fight, but perhaps he was right. She may have inadvertently made mention of her partner. "It doesn't matter. He's dead now, no sense even talking about him. Come on, we have to get up. I'm sure you're hungry Skye; eat something.

Burn scars covered his entire right side, trailing up the side of his neck like a snake or tail. He was shirtless now, as his old shirt was nearly singed off, and the rest they had to cut away. He was covered in mostly bandages, and from that she could see defined muscle tone. Not bad for a sixteen year old.

"Here, some venison I cooked up for myself. It's heavily spiced, but it's food. Eat that and we'll be on our way."  
He took the meat. "Where are we?"  
"About two days ride west of Churchill, and half day to the north."

"I've been out for two days?" His voice cracked.

' _More like five, master Skye._ '

"Bathos's Glaive."

"Bathos is a false deity of war and turmoil, and I happily kill his followers. Watch who's name you curse by," Verse said.

He took a bite. Tough, and stringy. "I'm five days away from my home and my... parents. My parents!"

"Not dead. Probably. We checked the house after the fire. There was no one inside."

"What about my brother?"

' _He was not inside either Skye. We are currently in transit to one of madam Verse's resistance camps._ '

"Oh, so it's _madam Verse_ now is it?"

"You two seem to be chummy," Skye said tearing off another piece.

"Vargas and I understand each other Skye. Not that we like it, if he had it his way he'd have had a Verse Sandwich for lunch today. But, that wont fix what's going on with your family."

"Yeah, my family, that you damn near got killed because of your stupidity. Hell you may have done just that."

A voice suddenly spoke up, his presence missed by even Vargas. "Do I sense, mmm, hostility? In this... assembly?"

Verse pulled her daggers and sprung forward. The figure, who had found his perch on the limb of a tree, fell backward, flipping lazily before finding his feet. Verse whipped a dagger hard at the place he landed, but he somehow managed to evade the throw. Her hand flew to her pouch carrying Shorshen, the frenzybear she had confiscated after her duel with Caine.

"Ah ah." The man said, holding his arm forward and waving a finger back and forth at the knuckle. "You don't want to bring _them_ into this, I assure you. I carry some of the strongest creatures this world has ever seen, and I can run three at a time. You wont live with what sad creatures you posses."

Verse's hand instantly moved back to the small pouch containing the Rhinok. Supposedly, they were the most dangerous creatures ever known beyond the Ebofelid and the long extinct Grados. She had one cast at best though, and that made her pause. This man didn't seem to want to fight. Still, the last man she trusted did a pretty good job of almost killing her. She looked over at Vargas. The man was grinning and had pulled his satchel to his side.

"Don't tempt me Verse. It's been a while since I've had a good fight."

She stood up slowly, and he followed her lead, sliding the satchel behind him again. "Unless you have business with us, I suggest you make your way elsewhere."

"My business is here I assure you," he said. The sly smile never faded.

Verse sighed. Seriously was it going to be this way the whole trip? "What could you possibly need with me. Don't forget I have the lion, and he hates you." The Ebofelid's eyes grew brighter.

"The delicious price on your head is tempting. You're the infamous Verse, somehow at the top of every self respecting man's hit list despite your constant struggle for justice. That aside you certainly are a sight for hardly the sorest eyes and I've heard, you're good in bed." This made Verse blush a noticeable shade of pink. Skye and Vargas were clearly as uncomfortable with the comment. "Tempting indeed. But I assure you I am not here for you. I'm here for him." Verse followed his gaze and Skye tensed. "The boy is desired by my employer. You see? Nothing much, just hand him to me and I'll be on my way."

Vargas took a charging step forward but stopped. The man slid the satchel, now somehow split into two separate sections around to either side of him. The tops were flipped back and his hands were hovering over the blood that undoubtedly filled them.

"Careful proud lion. You might be big and strong," he said, "but I'm really fuckin' good. It would be interesting to see which one proves the better."

"Who hired you?" Skye asked.

"He speaks. Your name is Skye, sixteen years old I take it? And son of a farmer and a housewife. And you somehow survived a fire that smoked the life out of a horse and scorched the entire right side of your body. Beyond those simple and obvious facts you've lived a mundane and laborious life selling feed. Yet my boss is explicitly interested in you."

"Who?"

"I can't say."

"You can't or you wont," Verse said lifting a dagger.

"We've been through this. I could say or do whatever I like and you can't touch me."

"That has yet to be proven," she said.

"Indeed. So I give you the choice, come quietly or don't. Either way I'll walk away from this with my quarry."

Skye sighed. "Just who the hell are you, and how do you know so much about us?"

The man paused with grin Verse wanted to wipe clean. "I'm a learned man Skye. I travel but with information. Half my payment is knowledge, a payment I feel is fitting for someone who wishes to hire me. As far as who am I? I've gone by many names young man. Today you can call me Rowan."

"I'd have remembered a powerful Speaker named Rowan," Verse said.

"Precisely why I keep changing it. Now, shall we go?"

"No," Verse said.

"Don't make me hurt you. I'm just the delivery boy, but I'm mean too." His smile widened.

"Over my dead body," Verse said.

"No." Skye interrupted. "I have to find someone first."

"I don't believe I gave you the option boy." The man named Rowan rested a hand on the shoulder strap of the left satchel.

"I'm looking for my family."

"And that has what to do with me exactly hmm?"

"My friends here say something big is going down. I want to make sure my family is safe. And from what you're saying, they aren't far from the truth. You could very well be involved in it."

"I still don't see how this benefits me."

"There would be a fair amount of information. Consider it half the payment required for your services."

He stared at the group. Thoughts ran through his mind. His employer was very specific: Find the boy and deliver him alive. He was pointed in the direction of Churchill, but was informed that given recent circumstances he could be several miles elsewhere. Rowan was a seeker, hired for the purpose of finding people and delivering them with frequent success.

The orders were strict. But there was no deadline.

"You seek your family."

Skye remained stoic. "Yes."

"An interesting conundrum I might say. You seek your family, and my employer seeks you. You must know that I am a man of currency as well. I enjoy filling my pockets with coin and paper, and you desire to find your family. Fifty sets a day."

"Excuse me?"

"That's my price."

"You're going to help us?"

"For a reasonable amount of time don't get confused. You're coming with me. One way or the other I'm taking you. There is no escaping that fate, but my job as a seeker might be of some assistance. When we find your parents, you're coming with me. If you refuse me then I'll kill your Speaker friend, and your lion. And don't be relieved because I've agreed to aid you in your little trek. I'm a man of my word and I'll kill you too and claim you as collateral damage."

Verse looked to Vargas, who looked to Skye. "Help, Skye said. Rowan moved forward smiling.

"I am at your service my temporary employer!" He bowed, extending his hand over his now extended leg. "Where then shall we start?"

#

Sai'den marched through the caves of the Duomo. The Priests in the hall prominent enough to be present moved out of his way without command. He was second to only the highest ranking member of the order, but despite that he was secretly considered to be a far greater power than his master. His white robes were drowned in the darkness of the cave, but firelight brought out the intricate details of the artwork. He was cold and tired, and desperately needed a drink, but continued on as if he wasn't minutes from collapsing.

He found out yesterday that Red had escaped his confines. There was no one left alive at the site of the massacre, and both prisoners were missing. The thief wasn't a threat by any means, but Red must have figured out a way to use the boy to escape. His mind reeled with possibilities. Just who the hell was this Red anyway? He showed up out of nowhere only a short time ago, and suddenly he's become Bagah's biggest threat. He needed a drink. Maybe he would sate his thirst with a tall pint of ale.

He rounded another hall passing a few Priests in a private conference, and continued down the cavern until he emerged at the boiling room. Lor'mah was presiding over the latest mixtures. Six men and women were lined up against the cave wall, chained up and drugged, they hung limply as the Priests prepared their fate. One was a child, perhaps eleven years of age at best. Some come into their gifts early. What a shame they didn't have the tutelage to properly use their powers.

"How are the preparations coming?" Lor'mah said to one of the junior alchemists. Sai'den knew the woman only in passing and had never actually spoken with her, but by her reputation she was exceptionally gifted."

"Ichor is at half its necessary potency master." Kina was her name. She hadn't risen to hold a surtitle, but it wouldn't be long until she rose to that status.

"Very good," Lor'mah said. The man lead through actual leadership and not power. He was exceedingly smart and collected in his thoughts. Sai'den could easily have overpowered him. Both of them knew this, which evolved a mutual respect between them. Sai'den's loyalty was unmatched by any Priest in the the world. Where many use their power to gain more, Sai'den used his to strengthen his order. Together, Sai'den and Lor'mah had overcome impossible tasks and incredible odds.

"I assume you heard the news master."

"I have," he said in his robust reverberating voice. "I am not so worried about losing Red, as I am that the Silver King might actually seek you down for your failure."

"I apologize."

"It's not me you should be apologizing to." They left it at that. Within a day the batches of ichor will be ready and he will need to conduct the ritual. Sai'den touched the small pouch strung around his waist by his sash. Every Priest carried it as a testament to their faith. They each carried an heirloom of their past as well as their oaths. Touching the pouch reminded him of his duty and reason for his actions.

"Get some rest Sai'den. If the king's men come looking for you I will stay them as best I can. Know that it may not be enough, but after today, for our safety and your own, I may ask you to find residence elsewhere."

"I undertand."

"Good. I will call for you when the mixtures are completed."

"Thank you."

"Sai'den."

"Yes master."  
"You have a visitor, I directed her to your chambers. Remember your oaths."

"I will. Thank you master." Sai'den removed himself from his master's presence, and Lor'mah returned to overseeing Kina's work. Down the central corridor of the Duomo he grabbed a ladle of water from the stream that ran below the ground. It wasn't ale, but truth be told he really needed the water first.

Killis'll was waiting for him. "You're late."

"Says you. I find myself to be on time today."

"You're late," she said again.

"Mmm, you said that, I think."

"So?" she said.

"For what might I ask?"

"Your death. I'm supposed to kill you now. Are you prepared? I've been considering how I'd do it too. Seduce you and kill you in your sleep maybe?"

"That would imply I am a man who can be seduced."

"I could try."

"I welcome it."

"You're such a dog Sai'den. You must remember your oaths." She teased him with those words, but the tone was laced with fright. She was scared. The weekly meeting was approaching and faster than she could have hoped.

"How is your order fairing?" Sai'den asked, moving idly around the woman.

"We have fifteen so far over the last few days. I believe we should be close to thirty or so before we have to meet with the Silver King again, though I wont like it regardless of what we do. The king wants us dead."  
"On the contrary, the king wants Red dead. He is simply a child who throws a tantrum when he doesn't get his way."

"Have you already forgotten what he did to you?" Killis'll said.

Sai'den paused. "No. But it doesn't make what I have said any less true. He has killed dozens of Priests because they didn't work to his expectations. He killed my good friend and colleague Jel'den because the man failed to provide a chalice of blood for each of the ten Speakers he was supposed to have erased. Jel'den arrived with nine chalices and lost his life. To make the rest of us present aware of the seriousness, he poured Jel'den's blood into a tenth chalice and had his body reduced to ash.

"If you think I am unaware of what he is capable of you are mistaken. But he is just a man. He is a man of great power, but just the same he is a man as much as I am and his blood flows red as much as yours does."

"Your men let Red escape Sai'den. That will cost me my life. You may not care for yours, but I care for mine." She drew a knife from beneath her robes. Half a second later Sai'den had his lips pressed against hers and without thought her mouth parted to allow his tongue in. She wrestled with him as if it were a battle to be won, and after a heated moment their lips parted and her hands were empty. The knife lay on the floor. She whispered, "but your oaths."

"I never took the oath of purity, and I have it on good authority, that neither did you."  
Her eyes widened, "and that's why you never made the head of your order."

He smiled, "I never wanted the position. I never took the oath of purity, but no one knows that."

"You lied!" She backed up, stumbling on the tail of her robes and falling backwards.

He caught her flailing hand. "Yes. For women the laws are different, but for men they are very strict." He paused, walking to his bed and grabbing a slip of paper containing a copy of his oaths from the desk beside it. "At the very top it lists the oath of purity. An oath assumed that I had taken, but not one any had witnessed."

"Why?"

"Shh," he said. "It's a secret."

"Come on Sai'den don't play around." Her smile was enchanting, he wanted to kiss it again.

"I'm afraid it's a secret I can't reveal my most succulent hors d'œuvre. There would most certainly be complications. There is something I have been researching though, if you care to listen."

"I think I should be going."

"Killis'll. I have a contact. A man who has provided me with a map to a location he believes to be the resting place of a god."

"I've had enough of your games."

"The only god we recognize is Bathos. Bathos has been revered as a deity of war. A god of destruction and death, but of life as well. He has shown that from death, life can be possible, and from life, there will most certainly come death. Men and women across Bagah and even Greyson worship this god as if he did not exist."

"It is our faith Sai'den. Do not confuse your gifts with some sort of freak accident with our genealogy. Bathos has gifted us."

"And don't confuse my words with doubt my dear Killis'll. I want to give people a bonifide reason to believe. If you care to humor my psychotic claims, I think I can show you something amazing."

"Sai'den, you're mad."

"I'm not mad."  
"You're mad. You have a piece of paper with some lines and dots on it, that doesn't prove anything. It proves that it's paper with lines and dots. You would believe some random man has the location to Bathos's grave? And he would give it to you?"

"Killis." He said, using her name and disregarding her surtitle. It was an intimate use of her name, and one no man had dared to use. Killis'll was a striking beauty that any man would gut their mother to have for a night, but she was also extremely powerful, and a Priest as well. Her reaction was acceptable. She stared at him with both hatred and lust, with tears welling up inside those beautiful green eyes. "I would go to the ends of the earth for nothing more than a shot at uncovering his past."

"You speak as if he was a man capable of death."

"Why wouldn't he be? There is more than one cult dedicated to the following of Phoenix. They swear by him, and give their oaths to him before battle."

"Cults of Necromancers Sai'den."

"Of course, but if the Priest orders hadn't come around who would be the wiser to say they were acting out of sort? Bathos has to originate from something. There are written words of his existence in battle. Why is it then he was not a man as much as Phoenix was?"

She sat on his bed. A forbidden place to those who had taken the oath of purity. If she were spotted she would be thrown out or worse, but her legs could no longer support her weight. Her mind was racing with expectations. What Sai'den proposed was well beyond anything she had considered. If Bathos's existence could be proved the Priest orders would have so much more fuel for the general population. When Phoenix had battled King Ciri at the Open Plains, it had been a glorious moment for Bagah and the land as a whole. However as Ciri went to war with men and chariots and cavalry, Phoenix commanded and army of undead. Legions of crimson warriors who felt no pain and had no fear of death. If such a man could gain a following even a millennium after his fall, perhaps there was good reason to find Bathos.

Killis'll fidgeted. "If we go we can never come back."  
"I know," he said.  
"It's risky. I think it may be too risky to go and just leave right now."

"I don't see doing it any other way."

"Sai'den wait," she said. "Let's confront the King about the situation with Red. Bae'lephon will expect us to be killed when we arrive. If I request an audience with the king before the meeting I could stay his hand."

Sai'den considered the plan. It would buy more time for sure. "I still don't see why we don't leave as we speak. If this map proves true we could return as heroes."

"Heroes?"

"Well, hero and heroine. The female side of the duo would surely have to be told."

"Sai'den I want us to be on good terms with the king. I want to deliver a blow to Bae'lephon's exacerbating ego."

"Oooo big word. It kind of reminds of--"

"Don't say it."

"Chocolate," he said.

"Chocolate?"

"Yes, chocolate. I have some, would you care for a piece?"

"No," she said.

"Pity. More for me I guess."

"Sai'den are you well? This is serious. I wont leave until after the meeting."

"I am well." His expression sobered. "I promise Killis. I will wait."

"Don't use my name like that."

"Okay."

"I still hate you."

"I know."  
Her face was a twisted visage of irritation and confused admiration. "You're one of the strongest Priests I know of Sai'den. Don't let the king take advantage of your skill. Bae'lephon knows it too in case you didn't catch that. You outclass him by at least three times his power. I can sense it, and so can he."

"You think the Silver King will even listen to you?"

"I think it's worth a shot. You talked him out of putting you to death on the spot. I don't think he is beyond humanity. To be honest I feel there is something within him that wants to be a better man. If I request an audience with him before his hatred gets the better of him at the meeting, he could spare us some time to right ourselves."

Sai'den breathed slowly, taking in the scents of the Duomo. "Be careful Killis'll. I couldn't handle seeing you in pain."

"I still hate you."

"I know."

"I have to cover for your blasted mistake, you fool of a man. You're going to owe me."

"I don't have much money," he said.

"It will be more than money," she said.

"How about more than money?"

"I'll give you a list when this is done provided I'm not beheaded and impaled on a pike through my nethers."

Sai'den cringed. "Killis, I understand the inconvenience of it all."

"I guess that's a nice way to put it"

He suddenly grew serious. "I mean it. If that man killed you I would destroy him."

She put her hands over his mouth. "You hush. I will see you in a few days."

"Okay," he said as she pulled away her hand.

"One more thing."

"Yes?"

In a flash the dagger she had brought with her was against his throat. "Use my full name when you address me, or I wont stop two inches too short of your life."

Sai'den smiled. "Take me seriously when I say: I will almost certainly heed your warning."

Killis'll's dagger lowered, and with a shake of her head she walked out the way she entered, returning to her horse that would bring her back to her order in the north-west sector. In the sudden emptiness of his chamber Sai'den eyed the sheet of paper with the grave's location and held onto the hope that the woman who so recently left his presence would join him in his quest for truth.

CHAPTER 13

Nicolas Caine walked through the gates of Jungar and back onto one of the many dirt roads that covered the landscape. The smells of roasted chicken and seared greens slowly faded with each step and within moments, large pack slung across his back, he was almost completely out of sight of the town.

Trees densely populated the landscape to such a degree that logging had become a major trade to undertake and make a living with. Jungar in particular was one of the foremost logging towns, which brought in a wide array of businesses. One in particular was the weapons smith he had purposely sought out to replace those lost in the battle with Verse. Now however he moving along again in hopes finding Verse once more and tearing her apart with weapons almost replicated from her own.

He spotted the man long before acknowledging him. A tall man, thin perhaps though his long duster hid his build well enough. He perched himself in the 'Y' of a tree much like a gorilla eying a trespasser. The voices rang through his head telling him what to do. Occasionally he listened. This time he heeded their warning and performed a mental check of his blood creatures.

"Good evening!" the perched man said.

"I don't _see_ much good in it," he responded. "I'm _late_ and you're pestering me."

The man jumped down, a knowing and cocky grin on his face. "You must be hot." His voice was smooth and crisp and handsome, if a voice was capable of such things. It fit his tidy features well.

Caine's patience withered as the voices escalated. The voices beckoned him, and slowly he lowered his pack to the ground.

There was a moment of silence as the two looked at one another. Nicolas Caine only grew angrier, and by the look on his face, the stranger was slowly piecing together what this action represented. Finally he spoke, cocky grin returning. "I am looking for a friend, Speaker, what may I ask is your name?"

His head felt like a crowded room, the voices swam around like physical beings: across his eyes, in his ears, down his throat; he held onto his fake name, the one he used to use before the voices got the better of him. He wanted to cry, and run, and scream, and fight. He wanted to shout the name he had chosen to replace the one he was forced to use. Shore. Yet the incomprehensible sounds took his will power away, and finally Caine snapped. He drew his pistol faster than the stranger's eyes could follow. "Back away." Caine's hand shook with anticipation. The gun could go off at any moment from the tension but the man he stared at seemed completely unafraid.

"I'm looking for a Speaker you no doubt have heard of."

"Your friend," Caine said.

"In a way," he said.

"Verse?" Nothing in his mind could explain why her name came out of his mouth. At times, he felt he barely had control of his own hands and feet, but he knew for certain his brain was not all his own.

"Red," the man said.

"Red?"

The man nodded taking several steps toward Caine and his gun. "Though if you know where I might find Verse as well I'd listen."

They scrambled Caine's thoughts. They sounded like a convergence of growls and speech as if ten or twenty were all speaking at once. "You _don't_ need Verse," he blurted out, eyes wide.

"No?" he said. The look in the mans eyes never changed. He seemed totally at ease with Caine's unique personality and mannerisms.

"She's not worth your time."

"As I said, I'm after Red, though it sounds like you know Verse quite well Speaker."

"Caine. Nicolas _Caine_." He said. That was all it took to break him. All his futile efforts to hold back his name pushed him into a state of bloodlust and fury, and as his name left his tongue the man before him breathed in deeply as if tasting it. Most speakers found true names to be simply a form of identification, but for some, the sound of a birth given name was better than a good fucking. They got off on it the sick bastards, though to be honest with himself Caine found it arousing when women shuddered as his true name washed over them. It's only happened a couple times, but when it does the outcome results with one of their deaths. For this stranger, it seemed he too now wanted Caine's blood.

The man whipped his coat aside and flipped the covers of the glass-lined pouches lining his belt. "Face me Nicolas Caine!"

"I thought you'd never ask. I'll do _you_ like I did Verse!" His mouth moved of the voices volition.

Now it was the stranger's hands that trembled. "You bested Verse? Surely you jest. No one has ever heard of Nicolas Caine!" His fury grew by the second as the deprivation of combat pulled at him. "Nicolas Caine has bested nobody!"

Caine's gun steadied as adrenaline took hold. "And who are you to talk?"

Blood appeared to fill the whites in the stranger's eyes, a deep red hue unlike anything Caine had ever seen. "My name is Jacomo Rittle! My true name. I'd tell you to remember it, but you wont live long enough for it to matter!"

Caine pulled the trigger. If he was nothing else he was a phenomenal marksman, and with the infancy of firearm technology he was a rare breed. The shot was spot on between Jacomo's eyes, but the perfectly spherical bullet never reached him. To call Jacomo Rittle a blur would be a disservice to just how fast he was. In the time it took for Caine to pull the trigger Jacomo whipped two casts of blood forward, each coalescing into a different creature. The first a Rhinok that absorbed the gunshot like a puddle would a raindrop. The second a frenzybear.

Before the first creature had materialized Caine was throwing blood into the air as well. His mind, fighting the psychotic conversation screaming through, decided on a bird of prey. Its wingspan stretched eight feet across with talons sharp as the sharpest daggers. The second creature he managed to get out before their battle truly began was his own Rhinok. It was larger and stronger than Jacomo's, besting his adversary's beast by a full head higher. Its name was Fenras. Two bottles were filled before Verse had come in and knocked the third from his clutches. He had enough of the creature's blood to last him several battles to come, and Jacomo was just the first of many.

With three separate images under his command, the third being his own, he holstered the gun and drew a pair of daggers largely reminiscent of those owned by Verse. The way she fought with them was an incredible sight and he spent a fortune on having these crafted for him. His bird flew out of reach of the frenzybear in an attempt to dive at it from multiple sides. His rhinok charged Jacomo's head on, the sound of the impact a magnificent bass thud.

Caine sprinted forward, daggers held in an offensive guard. Jacomo's single short sword flashed forward clashing with Caine's weapons, the delivery forcing their weapons away for a split second before they connected again. Where Caine was quick and precise, Jacomo was noticeably stronger with a longer reach. For every well placed attack by Caine there was an equally devastating parry from Jacomo.

The sound of the rhinoks smashing into one another was almost deafening. Horns smashed horns as gracefully as two several ton creatures could be. Caine maneuvered his beast effectively, but despite its larger size it was clear who the better combatant was. Jacomo had more practice, and was able to break free from the larger rhinok to attack him. Though Caine was able to bring Fenras back into the fight, it still took the mental effort to do so.

As those two battles raged, a great bird of prey and a frenzybear tore at one another with hatred found only in the wild. Each time the bear reached for the bird it flapped its tremendous wings to evade, only to counter with a powerful dive that should never be possible without more altitude to build up.

The blades clanged vigorously creating a single continuous sound of metal on metal. Caine loved his new daggers, but Jacomo Rittle was equally as quick with his single short sword. Caine parried a strike with both blades for the added strength and went for Jacomo's throat, a ruse that Jacomo played into, swinging his blade wildly to stave off the attack. With his chest wide open Caine whipped the dagger at his Sternum. The accuracy was bar none, but his adversary was still quicker, flailing backward and catching the dagger at its hilt with his sword. The dagger spun up the blade before whipping off to the side, and then he lunged forward taking advantage of Caine's lack of a second weapon.

Then the bird, a magnificent black condor in its former existence, left the bear and dove at Jacomo with intent to kill. The Speaker lost focus briefly as he twisted to stave off the diving condor. He drove the sword up to is hilt into the bird's chest holding its talons back by the distance. The wings belted him with incredible force as well, nearly pushing him over. Caine was on him in the blink of an eye diving through the air tackling him to the ground, which succeeded. The killing blow did not. His dagger grazed his neck as a powerful paw sent him sprawling. The frenzybear had finally arrived.

It took a split second for it all to happen, and in that time the tables turned, and turned again. Blood poured from a wound in his ribs, but somehow the pain failed to register. At this point the voices became far more than just voices, but actually took control of his actions. They felt the grips of the daggers, saw through his eyes, and willed the wound created by the blood creature to close. His eyes glossed over, and to any other person, this man who was once a man, had become a living puppet. For this moment, and perhaps for always, Nicolas Caine was no more.

#

Jacomo Rittle watched in fascination as the transformation took place right in front of his face. This was not the first time he had seen such a thing occur. It was only the natural progression of things once one began calling spirits. Unless a so-called Speaker could master the other arts, they would succumb, for when one took up the mantle of a Soul Caller, it was no longer a matter of if, but when. Verse, Symphony and her bitch puppet Sonata, everyone from the smallest insignificance to the most practiced and powerful would lose to the call of the blood, where they could no longer controlled their power, and instead be controlled by it.

He practically laughed as Caine lurched forward. Faster, stronger, and more cunning than he ever could have been as a human. Rittle had witnessed men perform incredible feats not even a Prodigus could attain, but as with all of them before Nicolas Caine, he lacked a single trait that belonged to the human brain, and that was sound judgement. He was no more than the animals he imprisoned, mindless to its own bodily functions. Despite this weakness, however, he was still an extremely powerful animal. Jacomo's hand flashed to a third pouch and let the blood fly out, coalescing to the form of a large bog bat. It was the largest he had seen, and discovered its name by accident, overhearing its mate Speaking with love and announcing it.

The bat was perhaps two-thirds the size of the bird, but that didn't rule it out as ineffective. Bog bats were known for their savage nature and powerful bodies. He sent the creature he had summoned into the gut of the black condor, relieving his bear to join in the attack. His rhinok pummeled into the other so strongly that their battle would never end, but with the frenzybear at his side, Caine—possessed or not—would perish.

A thought turned the bears attention quickly against Caine who's glossy eyes interpreted the motion correctly. The spirits inside him understood what had happened. To Jacomo, it was childs play. They attacked. Blades flashed so fast it was more than just a blur, it was inhuman. Powerful claws were actually pushed back as the body of Caine swung out, easily displacing the power behind the strike. Daggers now caught claw and blade with such ease it was a joke. The difficulty only made Jacomo happier. This opponent was so far beyond what a man could accomplish it was insulting.

"Nicolas Caine!" he said between swings of his blade, "You are perhaps the best fight I've had in years!" More precise sword strikes were parried by the short wickedly curved daggers Caine had wielded. In life he was good, but in this pathetic excuse for death, he was a master. The frenzybear, using teeth and claw and brute force, couldn't break Caine's overwhelming defense. Even his rhinok seemed to fight better, and while the black condor was certainly hurting in its match, it held strong.

Jacomo's eyes shuddered. His creatures, save the bog bat, were losing power. How long had this battle gone on? A few minutes? It felt like an eternity, battling for his life with every ounce of strength he had. What kind of sick twisted game was this? His smirk was contorting into a rage infused grimace. He was literally fighting for his life by a being that should never exist. His bear vanished first, evidently from a less than significant amount of blood, and when his next strikes failed to do anything but be brushed aside, he threw the beasts under his command into Caine. For a split second the creatures under Caine's control followed; then they turned toward him.

If Jacomo was just a man, he would have died right then. The shear force behind the black condor and the rhinok would have ripped him into four separate pieces. Caine under his condition would have easily countered whatever the rhinok and bog bat could have delivered.

He was not a normal man though. Jacomo Rittle was a man of the ages who had bested poor fools like Nicolas Caine a hundred times if not a thousand. The split second was all he needed to complete his next cast. The name of his next creature floated off his tongue like the name of a first love; sweet and delicious with memories of pleasure and content. " _Tiamat_."

From the blood he let forth a creature so massive, so intensely disturbing it had literally caused men to lose their minds simply by looking at it. It was a creature from the depths of any nightmare and below. Tiamat was one of two of its kind ever in existence. Its blood supply was endless for Tiamat was not a creature one could learn and tame. Tiamat was a Grados. One of two, and he summoned her spirit using his own blood. When the creature was brought forth his arms became covered in blood dispensed by his pours as he unleashed his magic.

Her wings beat the air as she arrived sending the rhinok and black condor tumbling backwards in a humorous display of insignificance. It only took another thought for Tiamat to snap Caine's head from his body. His creations puffed out in depressing vapors of red and the headless form fell forward releasing red liquid out onto the grassy plains. Nicolas Caine was no more.

A man with a large cartload of metals had stopped to stare at Tiamat and the spectacle of another man's death. Jacomo looked at the merchant with content, curious as to this merchant's future after having witnessed such a creature, and recalled the beasts he had abused for his own amusement. He waved to the merchant and turned on his heel, heading west toward the capital city of Bagah.

CHAPTER 14

Patreus's meeting with General Talon hadn't gone well. Coronis's forces were rallying in far greater number than he initially expected. That didn't mean the king wasn't prepared, but it did mean he would have a hell of a fight on his hands if he didn't act quickly. The massive scar on his side revived memories of wars fought in the past. One war in particular in fact that was responsible for this permanent reminder. He had to act.

Thus the decision was made and here he stood over a massive map on the floor in his throne room. He had the several ton slab of marble disassembled and pieced back together here from its former residence on the other side of the castle. The war room hadn't been used in quite some time and his throne room was an all too fitting place for it to occupy. Upon the marble map were over a dozen territories each dyed a different color to represent their importance. Light blue locations were owned by Patreus, while dark blue were territories far to the north where he had no power, nor pursued it. In the south were red and yellow territories, owned by Coronis or the various native tribes whose lands weren't worth the effort to take. Everything in green represented locations far beyond the borders of his own land and that of the Yellow King, Morag far to the east was one of the largest of the few present. Each territory was outlined in black, along with each river and lake that were filled in.

Pieces were arranged on the slab of colors like chess pieces. He had his Hybrid locations marked by large spire shaped rocks to alluding to their ability to crush like a massive spear. His soldiers were indicated by a grouping of pebbles, each group a different color to match their company's banner. One group of stones in particular were bunched up in the south near a red block which signified the Blood Speakers Kon'dis was in combat with. The rocks were painted blue and silver, of which he hoped would replace the red block by the time today had arrived. There was no word however on Kon'dis's progress.

"Salmon with sour relish," Patreus said.

"Excellent choice your majesty,"said the master chef. "And for the second course? We have a succulent venison meat with raspberry sauce, a smoked pork choice with spicy chowder spread over, or a fiery curry heavily filled with sausage and chunks of chicken beside a portion of fresh fruits."

Patreus slid the spire of his north-east hybrids back toward the Priests Duomo in that area. Sai'den's Duomo. He held his anger with Sai'den's failure in check, and pushed another spire of hybrids out toward the town of Karlan in the north-west. While the assault on Churchill was a massive success, Karlan was a town held by Speakers and a small cult of Phoenix Necromancers. "The smoked pork."

The master chef was practically giddy with excitement. The King's Ball was his favorite time of the year, where he got to cook for thousands of the king's subjects to feast for an entire evening. There were fifteen different hors d'œuvres to be paraded around the dinner tables, a first course salad, two full course meals to follow, and then the dessert, his favorite part. "And lastly your majesty, what would you prefer for dessert? I have a wonderful Avant Garde Chocolate Cheesecake with vanilla syrup on a bed of caramel and apple glaze. My special favorite and most requested Cinnamon Sweet Cream Cheese fried in shortening topped with chocolate and a helping of iced milk. And lastly a rising delicacy, pound cake grilled to perfection covered in a hearty rhubarb sauce and served with strawberry's with strawberry syrup on the side."

The door to the throne room opened hastily and an escort along with a lightly armored man, perhaps in his early twenties, helmet under his arm, strode in. It was Kon'dis's personal messenger. He knelt before the marble battle map awaiting the kings approval to rise. Patreus eyed the man, rubbed his chin and then slid the pile of blue and silver rocks about an inch back from the red block. "Your report."

Not told to rise, the man gave his report from his knees. "Kon'dis's men killed several dozen of their number," he said, "but without exact knowledge of the size of Symphony's force, they hold the ground at the base of the cliff. As of last night when I was dispatched, they had set up a small camp below, enough for the men to sleep in different watches to avoid a surprise attack by night."

"What is it you require messenger?"

"Sir, Kon'dis left me with the instructions to tell you the situation, and allow you to make the choice. While Kon'dis believes himself capable of cutting through, he also believes the losses would be so high to possibly include himself with their current number." Patreus's eyes were like fire on the messenger, and it was all the king could do to maintain his composure. "I don't feel compelled to answer for a Priest of such high rank, your highness."

The king chuckled. "I see, well give it a shot. This could be a fun game messenger man. Put yourself in his boots, making a request, and then put yourself in mine and give me an answer."

"Your majesty--"

"Now." All humor and kindness left the king's voice.

"Well, I suppose if I were Kon'dis--"

"No! That is not a request. Speak a request, and then speak my response, this is not hard messenger!" His voice rang through the hall of the throne room. The echo died away to the sound of the burning braziers.

The man breathed heavily, swallowing heavier, and rocked back a bit on his heel relieving pressure from his knee. "King Patreus, I request the assistance of additional men on the field. I feel we are too few in number to reliably take the hill and secure the woman who leads these Speakers. Despite the large number of men I have, my Archers can only reach to a certain point, and storming the hills would be a suicide run with the men we have."

The kings smile was unnerving, and the silence following the messengers speech was equally so. The king was waiting for the man's response to his own request, and he was enjoying the tension immensely.

The messenger swallowed again. Something, not so deep inside him, let him know his answer would decide if he made it out of this chamber alive or not. So with another deep breath he spoke perhaps the last words he would utter. "Kon'dis, I respect your enthusiasm for requiring aid and despite the shortage of men under my command due to dispersion, I believe I can allow another thousand to fall under your command. Symphony is important, but its the cliff I desire more. Use them as you see fit."

Silence followed again. The braziers burned and Patreus used his stick to push around a few of the pieces on the map. A particular group of three blocks in the north-east corner he seemed to focus on the most. One black, one brown, and one white. He slid them too and fro without any real desire to keep them where they landed, sometimes over a lake, sometimes on a mountain top, and often back onto a plains so vast there were only perhaps two settlements present upon its entire range. It was until perhaps five whole minutes had passed that Galvinar Patreus finally responded. "You get fifteen hundred men, messenger. I give them not because I desire that pathetic cliffside. True, it proves an incredible choke point, and one I will gladly take." He practically growled the next words, "but Symphony's time is up. I want her stripped of her pride and dignity, and reduced to a pile of ash on my floor after she has been ridiculed and tortured for the aggravation she has caused me over the years. I swear by Bathos himself, on my very soul, that if she is not brought before me I will slay you and every man who survived that conflict Kon'dis is playing out, the great Priest included. Do we understand each other messenger?"

"Yes your majesty."

"Good," he said. "Cheesecake."

#

Red left Brass in the field almost a mile in. It was a large field, and there was no way he could be tracked. Naturally, the unemotional man said nothing but a few grunts attached to vowels in remembrance of his kill, but that was all. A man, hardly, but a boy like Brass didn't really deserve much. He was instrumental in Red's escape and for that he felt obligated. Now he was headed, ironically, in the same direction he was being taken, only this time of his own accord. The King's Ball was coming soon. At his best it would take another full day at least to reach Bagah's capital city, but to get in without taking notice would require far more attention to detail. Proper planning was in order.

The lands of Bagah were extensive and filled with poor colonies spread thin and generally unfriendly to anyone not of their speck of land. Red was considered an outsider no matter where he went, and the closer he got to Bagah, the more likely he was to be picked up and thrown in prison. Or at least approached, very rarely did he ever actually reach the iron bars which spelled the end for so many criminals. Twice he'd been behind them, and on both accounts he managed to escape, by his own accord or otherwise.

As the hour approached noon, he found himself traversing a hilly plaine moved quick, covering eighty miles a day, sleeping four hours, and continuing the next day as if fully revived. Stopping in a town was different if he had to, for whatever reason, wait in order to fulfill his agenda, but his days were otherwise filled with traveling.

You don't have to do this.

"Yes I do, it means everything for me to go."

I'm thirsty.

"You're incorporeal. You aren't thirsty, nor do you get hungry."

The voices stopped, for now. Red had heard tales of men going insane by these voices. It was apparently something every Speaker dealt with. For Red, it was simply a matter of living. It seemed as if he had heard the voices all his life. For whatever reason he felt they each came from one of the creatures he held in his pack. A different voice for each one. There was no real telltale sign as to which one he was hearing, but he reasoned with himself as to which one was speaking out of turn. This first one he decided was Sarpasia. The second, Rangall. Occasionally he guessed. This time he was fairly certain.

Bagah had become a wasteland of depression with no opportunities to speak of. In Greyson at least the Yellow King's rule gave people a chance at wealth. In Bagah, the king's thumb kept you down inside whatever hole you were born into. This was primarily why Patreus's army was so massive. He had a large population under his belt paying his taxes, and due to the nature of the land, you either did whatever sad and pathetic job your father did, or you joined the army. There was a chance for glory there, albeit a small one, but the senators and generals were not appointed by nobility, they were appointed by their ability to lead and win battles. Red's failing memory swam with images of war and battle, like a quick glimps of images that made little sense when on their own. If the images were not so sporadic, he might actually have been able to make sense of them. Instead they drove him further into madness. He felt old, but didn't look it, nor could he justify why. And yet as a mind may understand the passing of time while asleep, so to did his body feel aged.

He took in a breath of fresh air as he crested the next hill to find another wide open plain before him. A tree several acres along looked good for the shade and so he made his way to it, already unloading his pack with rations. Once upon the tree he sat down and pulled open a small canvas bag filled with various nuts and took a bite, closing his eyes trying to enjoy the smells and sounds and taste. Then there was Brass. His face red and twisted into a smile, talking to himself at the back of the wagon, blood running freely down his crimson body. His mother followed, arms open and begging, pleading to save her instead of taking him in her lifeless arms. His eyes opened. He was still alone, but his temporary peace of mind was tainted. Anger at himself rose through his body like a heat untamed and he so wanted to throw his belongings to the wind with that anger.

He was not however one to cut off his nose just to spite his face. Under a heated battle with himself, he put the bag of nuts down and rested his head back against the tree. Staring off across the plains he noticed some movement. A spec of wild horses perhaps? They were far too distant to see clearly but he could at least tell the figures were moving. Moments passed before he ruled out horses. They were heading across his path but too slow to be equine. Then he heard the cries. It was a herd all right, but not of animals. As they got closer he could see them clearer. There was a female he suspected, being chased by a group of bandits. Red considered that thought a moment and retracted it. Not bandits, but perhaps townsmen? If they were of the lawbreaking kind they had unique tastes in clothes and weaponry. Scythes and garden trowels with strawhats hardly screamed menacing, but they were clearly angry at this woman.

Red noticed this from his seated position, taking in the scene with indifference. It wouldn't be the first time a whore was murdered for sleeping with a man, or for that matter, a man's wife. He tilted his head back and tried to doze, using the hysterical cries and vehement yelling as white noise.

"Sir help me! Please!" the girl cried. He cracked an eye but didn't get up, nor so much as move a muscle. "Sir, please!" Her scream was high pitched with an almost sadness, yet full of fear. Sadness and fear rarely met one another in a persons psyche. You were either extremely upset, or far too afraid to feel sadness, yet this woman had both. She was bleeding, that much he could see. He raised a hand and swatted her away, and so her cries resumed as she sprinted off. The men ignored him completely as they continued their chase, but they were clearly winded from the pursuit. There wasn't a town very close to this one, how such a group managed to get so far out, and how the girl could stay ahead of such angry men. He shrugged and got to his feet. Panic and fear hit him, quickly and brief. It was like a slight gust of wind, or midsummer chill. For a moment he was content, then disgustingly empty, and then fine again.

The fleeing party was headed towards Bagah, in the same way he was headed. If the girl was still alive when he reached them, maybe he'd help her out. He put one foot forward and started walking. Sooner or later they'd get tired. Catching them seemed hardly a task to be concerned with.

_You should go after them_.

"I chase no one. Besides my time is best suited elsewhere."

I'm hungry.

"We've been through this, you do not hunger." The voices seemed to grow in persistence by the day. Never yet have they responded to his words, but they always seemed to be there. He heard them clear as day, clearer even than the beasts he had slain to harness their souls. This last voice was Kraise, his black condor, but something about the sound of it shook him. He couldn't say why, but every time Kraise spoke he shuddered. Somehow they all had this effect on him. Camille especially now that he thought about it.

The day progressed, and the sun subsided on the horizon. His shadow slowly elongated until it blended into the ground and vanished. Far ahead sat a collection of boulders, as if someone took dynamite to a mountain and left the mess behind. As the last remnants of day settled and the moon took the sky, he reached the piles of rocks. Considering his previous nights, he decided the boulders would provide adequate shelter and privacy to camp for the evening. He approached slowly, but found no sign of the girl or the men pursuing her. If he could be relieved, he felt he should be. Instead he made camp. A small fire replaced a mound of dried grass, and a pup-tent replaced a soft patch of dirt centered on four opposing boulders. Within minutes of arriving, he was dozing against a rock, hands behind his head and a dying fire before him.

Insects sounded all around him like a simple harmony to the air blowing lightly between the rocks. Had he chosen now to open his eyes, they would have been met with a star-filled clear night sky. A clear night sky with a shining moon, and a pair of brown eyes staring at him about three feet up on the boulder he was treating as a pillow.

"Umm," she whispered, "sir?"

Red's eyes were open and a hand flew into Rangall's pack. He felt the old wildboar would enjoy a tasty treat such as this one, especially if it knew she interrupted his rest.

Brown eyes widened and fell behind the rock with a small yelp. "Don't hurt me."

Rage alone forced his breathing to deepen. With expression unchanged he said, "Leave me alone."

Her brown eyes and golden curls fell over the side of the boulder, slowly this time, but surely. Moisture pooled on her bottom lids. Her eyes were still wide as before, but far more cautious than her initial approach. "I know who you are."

"All the more reason to kill you. I don't deal with strange people, most certainly young whores, and I'm tired. You want to leave me alone."

"Over there, try there!" came a voice from perhaps an acre off. Red took a gander they were looking for this girl, and easily pieced together that they were the same stupid townsfolk chasing her earlier this afternoon. Crass.

"I'm scared sir," the girl said.

"Get away from me!" he screamed, shouldering his pack and holding a hand dripping blood to his side. He could have been a statue for the stillness he executed, but the blood falling freely from his clenched fist transformed his statuesque figure into a monster.

The girl's lip quivered, her body frozen, and then the men came. "Hand the witch over sir, and we'll be on our way."

Red turned. Twelve men with various makeshift weapons stood perhaps ten yards away. They carried torches, scythes, butcher knives, and one man even carried a pitchfork. The man in front with a scythe must have given the order. It is a shame he hates being commanded like some jester in a court. "No."

"Be reasonable sir. She --"

"You be reasonable," Red interjected. "You've chased a stupid little girl across an entire expanse and couldn't even catch her. She even had time to stop and catch her breath before continuing. You dare to command me when you clearly had an entire day or more to apprehend your quarry?"

"Sir, this girl is a witch. We have eyewitness accounts that she used blood to destroy an entire town." The man looked uneasy.

She had dried blood on her hands, which made it possible. Then again, she had probably tripped and fallen somewhere along the way. "Doubtful."

"Sir, if you don't stand aside and hand that witch over we will use deadly force."

"Stop calling me sir."

The man balked. "I urge you to be reasonable s-. Please. I don't want to kill you over this."

"You wont, I promise." _Kill him!_ Came Sarpasia. He threw the blood still clenched in his fist into the air calling the name of his wildboar. A second later Rangall's crimson shadow was positioned between him and the townsmen. Speaker! Cried one of the men. Blasphemer! Cried another. Red eyed each of them with a stoic gaze. Rangall was poised and ready to slaughter. "I think you boys need to leave." As he spoke Rangall stepped forward. The wildboar's height was easily at the tallest man's chest, and this version of the creature could not be killed with sticks and stones.

Two steps back, and they were gone, leaving Red all alone with a golden haired girl, wearing a tattered purple dress.

#

Skye stared at the stars, lying on his bedroll beside the fire Verse and Rowan had put together, though Rowan initially requested an additional five sets for the effort. Ultimately, he did it for free and Verse berated him until they were out of earshot. Now however the party had circled the crackling flames enjoying the comfortable night air and the clear sky above them. Rowan had just finished talking about losing his blood casting virginity. The man truly knew how to string a story so you wanted to listen, no matter how boring the subject. Skye decided he really was a friendly man, if your money was right.

"You sure have stories Rowan," Skye said.

"I'm a learned man Skye. Half my price is knowledge," he said. Vargas rolled over with a mighty thump. They all stared at him and then got back to the conversation.

"Yeah, you are. But what have you learned?"

"What does it matter to you Skye?" Verse said. She was resting to Skye's right, keeping the fire between Rowan and Skye in case the mercenary got any funny ideas.

"I want to hear a real story. Something I could give a damn about."

"Ten sets Skye."

"You should do it for free, what difference does it make?"  
Rowan laughed. "All the difference in the world. They are my stories. You want me to provide you with entertainment, you need to pay for it. I payed dearly for them, the least you can do is cough up a few to hear one."

"Ten sets just for one?"

"I'll make it worth your money Skye. The information I seek in lieu of payment is nothing to scoff at. I make sure it's worth it." Silence stretched on, and soon Rowan was reaching through his pack for a weathered and worn leather book. He flipped it open to a spot somewhere in the middle, and read the title. "I labeled this one, "The Truth of Kings and the Dead."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Skye said.

"I take it you feel like paying me?"

Skye considered the offer. In truth he wasn't tired, and ten sets really wasn't that much money. He could use the entertainment. "Let's hear it."

Rowan smiled, the shadows playing across his face creating an intimidating visage. "I'm glad to be of service, and your coin will not be wasted I promise. This is perhaps my favorite story of all the tidbits of knowledge I posses. This story is, however, nothing more than hearsay. It is a rumor within a rumor, tied around an idea and packed into a lie. This story is about King Ciri and the greatest battle this land has ever seen."

"That's what I'm paying you for?" Skye said. "We learned all about Ciri and his victory over Phoenix and his blood minions."

"I'm sure you did. You're a citizen of Bagah Skye, the stories you were taught were designed so that you might have a small grasp of what happened back then. Beyond our elementary years, we Bagahns aren't privy to that kind of history, so we are forced to believe what we are taught."

"You're saying I was lied to?"

"This is a story Skye. Nothing more than rumor and thoughts. I told you that already, and I wouldn't say it was worth your coin unless I was certain of my claim. I assure you, this little bit may well be worth ten times what I'm charging." Rowan took a breath. "But I am already under your contract, ten sets is enough that I can in good conscience let go some of the knowledge I have collected in my time. Do you want to hear it or not?"

"Fine." Skye said. The boy looked to Verse, and she was now sitting cross-legged staring intently at Rowan. In her hand was a string of beads of her Malni heritage, she rubbed them gently as Rowan began his tale.

"Alright then. Allow me to set the mood. We are talking about a place distant from here, and a thousand years in the past almost to the date. There are a small group of scholars who believe the old kingdom was actually located about where Morag is right now. Still others consider that the Yellow King's residence actually belonged to Ciri. For the sake of not knowing, we will assume Bagah was Ciri's home, and very little has changed since then.

"There were four distinct groups involved in the great war. King Ciri and his army were the largest force of the four. Next came a Necromancer by the name of Phoenix. His army was equally as large. Profoundly powerful he commanded each and every dead soul on the field. Countless loremasters have argued that he must have had help, that Pheonix very well could have had direct contact with the third group involved."

"Third group?" Skye said.

"Yes. The third group was a small handful of exceptionally powerful Prodigus. Now before you ask, Prodigus came before Priests and, by my own theory actually developed out of what the Prodigus were. Where the Priests of today use their faith in Bathos to power their sorcery, Prodigus used their own blood to fuel that very same power."

"I've never heard of Prodigus. Somehow I think whoever paid you with this was lacking credibility. How come no one today can do what you're saying?" Skye said, once again interrupting the story.

"You are hardly in a position to disregard facts as untrue. You've lived on a farm your entire life over a days trip from anything resembling society. I don't mind interruptions Skye, but I wont have you question everything I speak of either." Rowan paused waiting for Skye's rebuttal but heard nothing from the youth. He then continued. "There were, according to what I have been told, four Prodigus holding great power, one of healing and intuition, another of strength and emotion, and the other two perhaps knowledge and speed, though the group is kept so deep in the shadows of history that very little is known about them.

"At any rate, these four were a powerful force that aided the King. In the battle with Phoenix and his undead minions, they stood beside Ciri and lent their powers to rally his men, give them health and morale, and provide a beacon of hope against the invading force. There were perhaps only a handful of Prodigus in the kingdom, but of all that were known, the power of these four human beings was unrivaled. "This tale begins with Ciri looking out over the battlefield that would carve his name into the stone of history one thousand years ago."

#

There were few locations quite as perfect as this one for a war. King Ciri's men stood on a plain so vast, over five-hundred thousand men were able to march comfortably across it. Ahead was a hill that seemed to stretch out to the horizon on both sides. Trees grew randomly about the plain, but they were so few they offered no obstacle, and the sun shone unhindered in the afternoon sky. The man they were fighting against was a power beyond compare. One mile behind that hill was a cliff that they hoped they could push him toward. Killing him would be all but impossible, but forcing him back, cornering him with the King's abundance of soldiers, and finally executing the man in front of thousands would be the greatest glory a man could ask for.

He marched out front with a squad of Standard Bearers marching outside the Prodigus elite he had beside him. Far too the right of his army, the Malni tribes fire-cast warriors had joined in the battle to save their land. They were a people King Ciri could relate to, wishing for this vile sorcery to be washed from the land, and hoping that their efforts today would be enough. He knew well the man they were up against, and against all odds believed he could destroy him.

For days they had marched to reach this place, and for days they battled small units of the dead. Centurions created shields of impenetrable steel over a dozen times along the way, forcing back small hunting parties until they dispersed. Many people had come to call them the Crimson Dead as if they were some kind of sect all their own. He knew that wasn't the case, but he also knew they were deadly, so much so that four or five of the monstrosities could rip a platoon apart. Thus he employed his centurions to take the brunt of the force, holding the creature's back long enough for them to lose power and ultimately vanish. As they marched closer to the necromancers hideaway their were more and more to deal with. This man had murdered thousands upon thousands of the king's people, and reanimated them for this own foul doings. Today would be his end, and Ciri would be the name people would shout when it happens.

Red forces ran like the devil's wind from across the plains, kicking up dirt and grass in massive chunks. Even from this distance the king could see their approach, as if they were a tornado destroying the land. The flat plains allowed him to see for miles, and this small band of the Crimson Dead stuck out like a wart on a whore's nose. He made the call, and the sound of metal on metal followed his command as his centurions moved forward. The sound of their shields clanking together had become familiar by this point, and as the creatures neared, more centurions wrapped around them, increasing the volume of metal shields smashing together, encasing them inside a ring of metal from which they could not break.

The eerie quiet of the Crimson Dead was offset by their superhuman struggle against the barrier the centurions had created. The men grunted as a shoulder smashed into the shield. They would struggle against the force for several moments before the creatures would try another part of the ring. The centurions never let themselves be seen through their shield wall, but that also meant they could not see the enemy resulting in surprise strikes from the other side. The day before a blood creature had surprised an unprepared soldier, bursting through the wall, but the ring of centurions behind the first ring were prepared and counter charged, pushing the thing back to the inner ring.

Soon, the bodies had stopped making attempts to break through, and when Ciri gave the command, the captain of the centurion brigade checked the status of their enemy to find the creatures had dispersed. "Back in formation!" The captain said, issuing gestures in the air with his halberd.

These small victories were insignificant. As the men cheered for their brethren's victory, the king's stomach tied itself into knots. Up until this particular evil had shown itself, King Ciri had been known as the greatest commanding general of all time. The Golden King, some had called him. He wore that moniker with great pride, even going so far as to adorn his helmet and shoulder pauldrons with golden leaflets. But this man, this defamation of everything that is human, he challenged the king's reputation. He challenged the king's very leadership and threatened his power over his people.

"Enough!" the king suddenly cried above the commotion. His voice was commanding, and clear, leaving no doubt whatsoever who was in charge. "Fall in!" he shouted. Metal rang through the air, swords snapped against steel leggings, gauntlets clapped on metal armor, and all of it in one tremendous bark of sound. All five-hundred thousand men were in perfect formation in under one second. The king paced across the ranks on his destrier war-horse. All joviality had been erased by his commands. Good. He hoped they would be perceptive of what he had to say next.

"By Bathos you morons are playing into his hands!" Ciri said. "Bathos damn you and all your ancestors if you let this one man pull you into his clutches and confuse you into letting your guard down. We are on the verge of battle, or dare I say it, cataclysm. These insignificant victories are not to be celebrated!" He rode across the ranks faster as his adrenaline rose within.

"I don't care if we fight a hundred-thousand bands of the Crimson Dead before we reach our destination. I don't care if we lose half our army because of how many times we have done battle, and half can no longer lift their shield and sword." His words seemed to grow stronger with each syllable, until they became a thunderous roar across the plains. "You keep your head on straght! You remember your training! You do this for your Golden King, but you do this for your own damn selves first! Damn you all if you let these small battles give you pride. But damn us all if we don't recover and get our bearings on war and battle. By this day's end, we will have our glory, or we will have our graves. Your king dies today! Or he survives with a head to mount on his wall!"

Through all of this the men said nothing. They stood rock solid and listened intently. They had the honor of fighting for the king, a hero among men who had earned his place as ruler of Bagah. Some of the men even wept as the man's words touched them.

"Hear me well men." Ciri said, concluding his speech and bringing down his tone. "If you die here today, and mark my words many of you will, a statue will be erected in your honor if we return victorious. It will have to be, because no one will know of today if we don't." The silence that followed was deafening. His horse snorted, and he realized he had one last thing to say. "To glory! I want to erect five-hundred thousand statues tonight!"

The men cheered, and their cheers were drowned out by the stampede of Crimson Dead flowing over the hillside like an ocean wave. A man stood at the hills crest and the dead warriors passed around him as if he were a rock in a river. The king gave a command, and five-hundred thousand warriors joined the Crimson Dead in what would be known as the greatest battle in history.

#

"You can't just end it there," Skye said.

"I can and I did. There is nothing in this battle that you don't already know. The king lost almost every man he brought. The Malni tribe provided about the same effective power as Ciri's soldiers, and ultimately the king won."

"Well of course, but you said this would be worth my money."

"Is it not?"

"No."

Rowan paused, "I see. Well perhaps you should reconsider what I have told you, and find out why it is in fact, still worth every penny you will still pay me."

Skye opened his mouth and then closed it just as quickly. He was not a stupid person. He had figured a lot of things out without so much as a hint. Rowan was a mysterious man, and would a mysterious man be without a few riddles. "Well I still think the Prodigus aren't real and never were. If they were so powerful, how come the king lost so many men? I mean they outnumbered the blood creatures almost three to one."

Rowan sighed. "Of the things I've told you, you focus on the Prodigus? Why is it so hard for you to believe? I mean think about this, we are talking one thousand years ago. Stories get reshaped to humor the audience. But think also what they were, they were men and women with the ability to use their own blood as a medium for power. Is that so hard to consider?"

"Not really I guess." Skye said. "But healing? And speed? I don't believe that."

"Really?" Rowan said. "Let us look at something more current. Like you. Having the ability to Speak is a type of sorcery, and one of no insignificant level. Also consider that you were burned severely by the scalding heat from a burning barn hardly a week ago, and you are already almost completely healed. And from what? A few bandages and salves? You never once sought medical treatment and yet you are alive and well, and in near perfect health. Take Verse as well. She was nearly gutted by that black lion, and yet she is healing remarkably fast. "

"It's not that fast," Skye said sheepishly.

"Perhaps not. But there are powers at work that we don't understand. Healing, speed, intellect? Priests these days can bend the rules of necromancy and thwart even the most powerful Speakers. I fear the day I have to battle a Priest one on one. But their power is real, and a thousand years ago, there is no reason to believe the Prodigus didn't exist."

Skye didn't say much. The fire crackled and bugs chirped in the distance. Verse had found her pillow by this time and it was only Rowan and Skye still awake. "Rowan," he said.

"Yes."

"You said the Prodigus were the third group."  
"They were."  
He nodded. "But you also said there was a fourth group."

Rowan smiled. "I did say that, didn't I?"

"Are you playing games?"

"No games Skye. The fourth group is actually a single man, and one many have come to call the greatest evil of our history."  
"You mean Phoenix."

"Yes. The rumor of a rumor, trapped in the belly of lie, is Phoenix." Rowan took a small sip of water form his canteen, swallowed, and continued. "The untold myth, and the reason your money will earn its worth, is that Phoenix may very well have been something more than what he is said to be. The king vied for glory, and if glory was stolen from him, he would be relentless in vindicating himself. There are pieces of literature that point to Phoenix being the one who struck the final blow on our mysterious necromancer, and the king, unable to deal with the fact he was deprived of his glory? Perhaps he killed Phoenix, and let the rest of the world believe that the man who had taken his victory would go down in history as the man who defied a nation."

CHAPTER 15

Dawn broke the next morning and Symphony rose to find Sonata was perched at the cliff's edge. Speakers in the army were moving about ensuring their fellow soldiers had breakfast. None were in earshot, which was a rare occurrence, and Sonata spoke freely when her lover approached. "Samantha," she said.

"Hëlgadren." Lust seemed to arc between them like lightning. They both had nightmares in their sleep, and in them both had witnessed the death of the other. When they slept together, the power in their souls penetrated one another and their dreams became shared. In this last night, each had been the commander of the Speaker army, and each had witnessed their lover beheaded by the Priest Kon'dis. This shared dreaming had happened so often now that they just knew what the other had experienced in their sleep. Sonata used Symphony's true name softly, and Symphony returned with hers. It was a sign of deep-seated admiration and respect that could not be broken, not even in death.

"Symphony," Sonata said more seriously, "you have a visitor." The wind kicked up and threw her blue hair out behind her. She pointed to the base of the cliff near the eastern ramp. Seated at a table with a large breakfast feast, was Kon'dis, all alone. "I think he would like you to join him."  
"Of course he would, I would be a prime target if I went wouldn't I?"

"Perhaps, but he is equally a target below. I have stayed the hand of many Speakers here from slaying him. He clearly comes with the intent to speak with you."

"You think I should? The damn fool will only try to force me to go with him. I am not to be commanded, and I wont fall to his hand."  
"Perhaps I should go with you then." Sonata offered. Her deep voice was seduction to Symphony's ears. Last time Symphony went alone she almost got herself killed. Sonata's presence would be a happy addition to whatever it was Kon'dis had to say. With her decision made up she nodded and the smallest hint of a smile disturbed Sonata's otherwise plain expression.

She walked to the cliff's edge nearest the ramp and spotted the Priest sitting at a table. He was without armor and weapon, but to a Priest that meant little. He could activate his sorcery simply by whispering a few words and judging by his display the first day he arrived, it wouldn't take much to kill Sonata and herself. He had a fork in one hand and a knife in the other making quick work of a steak and helping of waffles. There were two places set across from him. Symphony could only smile at his perception.

She pulled some blood across both hands, each from a different pouch, and to complete the ritual flung the droplets outward calling he names of her tundra wolves, Gaston and Puferoy. Sonata followed her lead bringing Hengril and Morbis onto the field, and together with their bodyguards in tow descended the ramp to the table.

Kon'dis seemed almost pleased with their precautions and showed no sign of fear or discomfort. He poured a glass of orange juice and raised the glass to the women as they neared, and took a drink, diving back into his steak. "Please have a seat."

Sonata looked down at the smaller, yet far more intimidating woman beside her. Symphony returned the look, her blue tattooed eyes conveying her displeasure in the situation. Together, the two woman found seats and their wolves stood eerily still beside them. They watched him eat for several minutes in silence, moving from the steak to his waffles, and then to a portion of blueberry covered pancakes. Despite the fact that no stoves were present, the food steamed as if freshly made.

"Don't make me dish your food up for you," he said.

"What do you want Kon'dis?" Symphony said.

He almost stopped chewing at the use of his name. "So you know me. I hadn't offered that tidbit of information, and yet you were able to figure it out. I had hoped to keep it a mystery for a little while longer."

"I'll admit it was a guess, but a well educated one. I don't know many Priests with your kind of power, and in the south there are perhaps only two, and I don't think your immediate subordinate over there is anywhere near your level."  
"Very perceptive. Now are you going to eat?"  
"No."  
"Yes," Sonata said at the same time.

Kon'dis chuckled and slid the plate of still steaming waffles over in Sonata's direction. The taller woman could only blush as she put one of the round things on her plate. Kon'dis then offered the syrup, and when Sonata took the tin cup of maple liquid Symphony caved and grabbed a plate herself.

"Good," he said with a smile full of food. "I would have hated to prepare all this for nothing."  
"You cooked his?" Sonata said.

"Not really, I had my servants cook it, and they provided hot pots to keep everything warm. If you check beneath the table, you'll see." Sonata did. Symphony really felt she was a child at heart. It was a good trait.

"What do you want Kon'dis? I promise, I wont ask a third time," Symphony said softly.

"You know very well what I want, my lovely Speaker." He swallowed. "And might I say you too are a sight to behold dearest... uh..."

"Sonata," she said, emphasis on the 'T'."  
"Sonata. You're a northlander, exiled I imagine? Your powers are a curse, or so your people believe. Interesting to note, that there are other tribes who consider this," he waved empty hands in small circles trying to explain, "sorcery, a curse and not a gift."  
"Kon'dis."

"I know, I know. Take a bite of my food and we'll converse."  
Sonata quickly bit into her waffle. Symphony reached across the table and took a large bite of his steak. Looking at the table, it was the only steak provided.

Kon'dis smiled. "Good?"

Symphony smiled back. "I've had better, but it's not bad I have to give your cooks credit."  
Kon'dis smile widened. "I made that one myself. Seasoned to my taste and almost no one elses. Now, let's get down to business." He started cutting another piece off the steak. "Symphony, I am going to take you today. And, it's no longer a matter of if I can. I will. I have over a thousand men on their way here as we sit here having breakfast. When they come, I will storm this cliff and kill everyone who dares to stand against me. If I have to lose every last man in order to walk away with you under my arm, I will make that sacrifice, and all three of us know that I will do that." He shoved a piece in his mouth and chomped loudly.

"Pig."

"Hm," he responded.

"I'm not intimidated Priest." Symphony said. Sonata ate happily beside her. "I urge you to bring another thousand just in case, because men will die today and they wont be mine. Yesterday we stood off, staring at each other without a clue how to win. Well I assure you, you cannot breach this cliff, your archers are obsolete, and we can fill these ramps indefinitely." Symphony cocked her head sideways. "Can your power last that long? An eternity is a long time to be throwing shockwaves of holy power around like candy."

"Like you Symphony, I am also not intimidated. I hold an allegiance to my king. The Silver King wants you. You have been the stone in his boot for far too long and I have been tasked with taking you down. If I have to kill everyone you love just to do it," he said gravely, "I will."  
Sonata set her fork down, and directed the knife at him. "I am a woman beyond your comprehension Priest. You threaten Symphony you threaten me, and I am not to be underestimated. Not a man or woman lives who has, and if you do I promise your grave."

"My dear Sonata, I am a Priest. I kill your kind because it entertains me. What you do is an abomination of nature and a desecration of the morals Bathos has taught humanity. I offer you a choice. Leave Symphony in my hands. I will make a Death Pact on my power and status as a Priest and a leader, that she will not be killed, and that one day perhaps she can return to you."  
Sonata spoke before Symphony could get her words out. "Take your blasted waffles and orange juice, and scoot back to whatever hole gave you life."

Kon'dis eyed the amazonian woman, admiring her unique hair and lips, and stuffed the last piece of his steak into his mouth. "When I leave this table and join my men, my offer goes with me. I will rain terror upon you and your men, and scoop up every soul into my clutches, ring them dry, and throw them into the depths of darkness. I will be relentless in my quest, and I _will_ be victorious."

A horse from the armies makeshift base camp had left when Sonata threatened Kon'dis with the butter knife, and was now approaching the table. "Clean this mess up," he said to the soldier, and then to Symphony he said, "I will give you one hour to prepare, and then I will crush you."

"What makes you think I'll let you leave you sniveling swine!" Sonata said.

"Because you aren't strong enough to stop me," he said, and then rose from his chair, pulled the napkin bib from his shirt, and stepped back from the table. Symphony watched him leave and witnessed several more soldiers carrying passengers to the breakfast table on horseback.

"What are you going to do love?"

"Destroy him," Symphony said. "There wont be anyone left alive to speak of today when I'm done."

"You have a plan then?"  
"No, but I have a theory."

#

"Sir, the reinforcements have arrived." Kon'dis's messenger met the Priest halfway to pick him up. The news was good. He needed good news right now because without those reinforcements he had no chance to overtake this army. Now it was all but guaranteed.

"Good, where are they from?" Kon'dis said.

"To be honest they don't look like much sir. Looks like most of them are from the burrows and minor outer city settlements. Poor men sir," the messenger said.

"Great. A poor man understands that great wealth comes with a great price, I will offer them riches if they survive this battle."

"Sir?"  
"In truth, that is extremely unlikely," he said. "But the prospect of riches by surviving this conflict will liven their spirits, and make them perform better. A hundred golden bolts to each man who survives from the reinforcements brigade. It's better than a year's pay to most of them, and some better than that. It's also something the Silver King would happily pay out if it meant victory here."  
"As you say commander. Is there something you would have me do?"

"Yes. Stay out of sight until this thing settles down. You did good getting me those men. The least I can do is allow you a good nights rest when we're done here."

"Thank you sir."

"Indeed, now be gone. The hour is upon us, I must get the reinforcements in formation so that we can rip these heathens apart." The man saluted and Kon'dis returned the gesture, dismissing him. Then he rode his destrier to the new men who sat unassuming in the back of the army. They were a sorry looking bunch no doubt, but what he needed was a shield, and these men were it. "Fall in line!"

The men scrambled at the command, shifting, sliding, hoping to the god Bathos they remembered their training. Spears fell, swords missed their scabbards as those toying with them struggled to sheathe them. Remarkably within a minute the fifteen hundred men found their place and stood battle ready at attention. Silver and blue armor gleaned in the morning sun. Not all of it was in good condition, but it would suit his needs perfectly. These men needed a reason to fight, and he would give them one.

"Men." he said, raising his voice over the now raging winds. "The king wishes only one thing. Victory. He doesn't ask for it, he doesn't inquire about it, he demands it! There is an army of Speakers here, an unprecedented occurrence where bloodthirsty savages have managed to band together and actually pose a hindrance to the Silver King's desires." His voice calmed. "You men will be on the front line of this assault. Not because my men are any better than you, but because there is a desire for greatness within this group of men I have yet to see.

"You men understand, that great reward cannot come without great risk. And I have a promise to each of you who survives this battle, that you will be rewarded with riches so great, it will set you and your family for years to come. I can't promise that this will be an easy task, but it's necessary to secure our foothold in the south." The wind seemed to die on command, and his voice while quiet, still carried over the entire unit. "Are you men with me?"

The rallying cry was thunderous. They cried out like the peasants they were. These men weren't soldiers, they were fodder. Delicious battle-winning fodder. Kon'dis smiled at their enthusiasm and joined in the hysterics. In the next few moments the new brigade was in place, seven-hundred and fifty men running up each side with Kon'dis on the left and Mipas'onu riding up the right. The only two hills would be fortified by the archers at the base of the cliff, sending volleys of arrows as high and far out as they could manage. The plan was not without its risks, but with the two Priests up front, there was little that could stand in their way.

"Kon'dis." Mipas'onu said.

"Yes what is it?"

"The men are in place, shall I give the command to march?"

Kon'dis checked the cliffside, it was quiet and empty. In truth he had no idea if Symphony's army had simply ran away or not. It would be far simpler to battle his army if they caught them by surprise. But no, something deep in his gut left him to believe she was there, and her northland bodyguard as well. Those two would be remarkably difficult to take down. A surge of adrenaline rushed through his blood, and without answering his subordinate Priest he bellowed, "Brigade! Charge!"

Almost four-thousand men cried out in unison as they took their first step. Slowly the men picked up their pace until they were running flat out, each man landing each step in sync with the person beside them. Kon'dis and Mipas'onu charged along at the front behind the two units of reinforcements. Behind them came four battalions of soldiers, followed in turn by the archers, cavalry and the single unit of riflemen. The tactic being that the horses could become bogged down by the resistance at the ramps, so to come up last and provide a sledgehammer into the side of the Speaker force.

For the next two hours they battled. Kon'dis watched as a legion of men and women standing before them was suddenly replaced by twice as many menacing blood creatures. Forest lions charged head on beside massive bulls and hulking jungle gorillas. The variations of beasts was impressive, and each one was a bold dark blood red. Even as the beasts charged, massive birds of prey like the black condor and rake falcon swooped overhead, gaining advantage from the ground and air at the same time. The first four ranks of the first wave fell almost instantly, torn to shreds in a heap of gore that blended in with the tidal wave of blood creatures. The men fell rank after rank, valiantly holding back a single attack only to be mauled by the next.

Birds swooped in raking the men's eyes free. They dropped in like hawks circling a field, three times faster and five times as strong. They seemed to find their targets quickly, signaling with each other before making the kill so as to optimize the damage dealt. As the thought came to him, Kon'dis felt that's exactly what was happening. Each creature was controlled by a Speaker so adept at their sorcery that they could control the beast as well as themselves, like a sixth sense. These attacks very well could have been coordinated.

Then he drew his blade. The pure silver weapon glowed as it left its scabbard. He had two days to build his strength since his last presentation, and that power was obvious by the brilliance of his weapon. He pressed the sword to his lips and whispered. With each syllable the glow pulsed, its golden light growing over the battlefield. Then his chant finished and with a single strike of the blade fully half the blood creatures vanished into nothing, the arc from his weapon reaching out over the field almost a quarter of a mile in length. At the top of the plateau the light could be seen for miles.

"Charge!" he shouted again. What men were hesitant about moving forward quickly overcame their uncertainty and rushed out to meet the enemy once more. With the blood creatures all but gone the Speakers could be seen clearly, and they ran out to meet their foe. Suddenly another glowing arc spit across the sky, Mipas'onu had finally finished his incantation and what blood creatures were left were destroyed. In the next moment, as the Silver King's army moved in, hundreds of arrows flew overhead. Instantly a blanket of aerial creatures smoked into existence to absorb the fire. The birds vanished as quickly as they arrived, but only for a heartbeat. In the next breath the sky was filled with blood creatures so dark they looked black from this distance. The spawn of Phoenix himself seemed to permeate this conjuration, for in the half second it took to create them, they were already speeding across the land so fast and terrifying Kon'dis could only stare as they ignored the men before him and dove after the archers.

He only heard the screams. The black tide of blood creatures had enough power to pierce the bodies of each man they came in contact with. He felt the terror himself as the wave of souls shot across the sky, and it was the screams of the dying that pulled him form his terror-spawned trance. He pulled his sword to his lips once again and whispered. By the time he finished this incantation the blood birds were circling back to the front of the army, some taking quick stabs at men, sometimes ripping their arms free, some lifting them by their heads and dropping them from eighty feet in the air.

None of the birds came near Kon'dis, but his spell would maintain its power until unleashed. The great part about Priest sorcery over that of Blood Speakers, is that his power will never diminish if its not used. In the case with Speakers, their creatures will slowly dissipate, regardless of how little they do. Mipas'onu sent another arc into the sky, eradicating several avian monstrosities with his spell, but most of the aerial armada got away and were now hovering over the Speakers before him.

Still the soldiers ran. The thunderous roar of sabatons and hooves pounding across the plateau was a fine sound. If he could just get to the main force, his men would lay waste to whatever Speaker was stupid enough to hold their ground. Just a few more seconds and they'd be at their front ranks, they just had to persist a little longer. His reinforcement battalion still had a few ranks remaining. If they were to succeed he had to support them in the next wave.

He looked up as the next wave spawned. Cursing himself with a smile, he rode behind the still charging men. His sword glowed and he held it high so the men could see it. A beacon of hope if there ever was one. The tigers and wolverines of these Speakers sped across the short span of earth, dancing over the grass with grace and ferocity, vicious power and calm, all wrapped into a silent terror that would rip three men in half with a single powerful blow. Again the men fell, but Kon'dis unleashed the power of his sword again, erasing what creatures were before him, allowing what soldiers remained to continue their assault and bring their blades to the Speakers throats. Mipas'onu was not so fortunate. He had not prepared his blade for power which allowed the blood creatures to penetrate his reinforcements, killing them all. In a sheer panic cast, the subordinate Priest let loose what was probably every last bit if power he had left inside him creating a holy nova explosion that sufficiently eliminated whatever creatures were moving within a mile in every direction.

Kon'dis shook his head. The Priest fell from his horse and was overtaken by the charging men. He could only hope Mipas'onu would live through this, and not die from simply being trampled by his own men.

Swords escaped their sheathes as the Silver King's army collided with the five-hundred men and women from Symphony's army. They broke deep, Kon'dis himself being engulfed in the mayhem of it. There was another almost two-thousand troops behind him to join in the fight, but already he was trading blows with would-be heroes trying to take down the big guy.

Metal rang against metal as soldier dueled Speaker, but for every Speaker that died, four or five soldiers fell before their creatures. Kon'dis ached to help the dying men around him but he had his own issues to contend with. His horse reared as a sword sliced the metal of its armor, yet still he fought with pristine clarity deflecting pathetic thrusts and returning with strikes that left men dead or dying. A sudden flash of red blew past and a soldier fell under the weight of a tormungar, its body quickly losing shade as the spell weakened. Overhead birds swooped in his direction and he called once more to his power, erasing them in a blinding beam of light. Even as the wave of birds fell however, another wave shot forth, and it was one he couldn't stop.

More and more men cried out. Some from those he personally gutted, others from men joining the battle and dying to blood creatures. Several were form the Speaker army itself, but the vast majority were from his own. A quick glance behind him informed him that there were still several hundreds of soldiers still waiting to get into the fight, the riflemen were all but ready to fire, and the small cavalry unit had moved about to the left flank, biding their time before running through the Speaker lines.

The smell of dirt and heated metal was on the wind. Kon'dis breathed deeply savoring the euphoric aroma of battle, and then lashed out with his sword taking a Speaker's head off. At the same moment the tormungar from before vanished, its claws inches from severing one of the still living reinforcement soldier's head. Still however, men died, and Kon'dis was subtley feeling the burden of his powers. He tried to calculate how much power he had left just based on his fatigue, but he couldn't. Perhaps three more? If he overworked himself he would end up just like Mipas'onu. A sword clashed against his back armor, he swung around and beheaded the amateur and thwarted off three more who had all seemed to try an ambush.

Gunfire cracked the air. He paused as the ringing shots hung in the wind as did the men he was in combat with. It seemed the entire battle stood still for a heartbeat after those bullets fired, and just when it seemed like time would never resume, they fired again and sent the battle back in motion. The lightly armored Speakers crumpled under the hellish destruction that the riflemen unleashed. They took aim at a stagnant group of Speakers on the right flank and blasted holes through the line, reloading while the next two ranks stepped in to take their place.

Deafening roars of gunfire were separated by the clashes of steel and screaming that seemed to own the air, but when those guns fired nothing else could be heard, not even the screams of agony as their targets fell. When the tenth blast of gunfire lit the air he finally saw them. From his perch on his horse he could see over the heads of his infantry and spotted the two Speakers perhaps a hundred yards off, a magnificent distance to travel in the battle raging about him.

Sonata and Symphony were like statues in the distance, staring in the direction of the riflemen. Four massive tundra wolves from the north stood around them, and both girls had a hand in a pouch around their waists. Together they flung the third cast into the air to join their two wolves and a bird of prey coalesced from each. The women sprinted across the battlefield, slicing men apart as they bounded along like nothing could touch them. Symphony with her cestus, and Sonata with a sword so incredibly massive he could hardly believe it was real. A buster blade, he thought, a weapon so massive only the men from the north could carry such a creation, and yet she swung the solid piece of metal around like nothing. Full squads fell to them as they pressed through the enemy ranks, their wolves running flank to hinder would-be attackers, and the birds whipping along overhead to take advantage of unassuming soldiers in their path.

Sonata's hands were bleeding, and all at once it made sense. She was far more powerful than Symphony ever was. Blood poured from her hands in streams down her arms, flying form her elbows as she gripped the sword tighter. She used her own blood to fuel her strength, and dominated the battlefield. A hunger he felt he had long since repressed came forth. This woman was a Prodigus. An ancient line of sorcerers he thought had been eradicated. He shuddered at the prospect that this long lost bloodline had only remained dormant all this time.

He watched helpless to give aid as the two women ripped the riflemen apart in a swift display of claw and blade. He whispered a spell and sent a golden arc across the battlefield removing another hundred blood creatures that threatened his ranks. Men cheered his name as they dove back into the fight, renewed morale igniting within their blood, but it all meant nothing to him. He would happily vanquish his powers and make the ultimate sacrifice to see that Finser woman die. Her sky colored hair danced in the wind while she ripped another squad of men apart. The look on her face was pure bliss. Bliss at the prospect of taking lives, of spilling blood, of battle. Many similiarities existed between him and this woman. Perhaps that was why she had to die. Kon'dis kicked his horse forward and, ignoring what soldiers were in his path, dashed across the bodies of the fallen and the earth in between; his strongest spell already prepared to deliver the final killing blow.

CHAPTER 16

"Why are you following me?" Red said.

Vienna walked carefully behind the man who had saved her life. "You saved me," she said.

"An accident."

"I don't think it was Mr. Red."

"Just Red. And don't think it was anything other than what it was. I'm dangerous, leave me alone." His tone as always lacked emotion, which invited Vienna to continue irritating him.

"I don't think you're that dangerous Mr. Red," she said.

"Just Red," he said. "I am. I don't like people, and I don't like you." He turned to her and said, "And I don't typically keep that kind of company around."

Despite his attempts at diverting her, she kept pace behind him, just far enough back to avoid a sudden attack if he so chose, but easily close enough to annoy him. As it was, without this man she had no one, and she was days away from a home that no longer was. There was also something about this Red that told her he would protect her. For a mile they walked in silence. Him ahead, and her twenty paces behind, never any more or less, just in case a group of bandits showed up to claim her as their plaything. This distance allowed her to admire the man as well. Each step was fluid, each step seemed well practiced, more so even than a normal human being. He almost seemed to glide across the ground with his purposeful graceful steps. He shifted the strap on his bag lightly redistributing the weight of it, and even that small movement was liquid smooth.

His hand dove into a bag and tossed red mist into the air, materializing into a massive bird. Then he was facing her, too fast for the eye to catch. One second walking along, the next facing her. So graceful. The bird stopped a foot from her face.

"This is a white albatross," Red said. "It is the largest known avian creature still alive today, and Camille is almost double the size of any recorded bird of the same species. It is born capable of lifting a man a hundred yards off the ground, and just as capable of leaving them fend for themselves at such heights as it lets go. If you don't leave of your own accord, girl, I will kill you."

She looked from Red to the vibrant ruby red bird in front of her. Such beauty. The first time she had seen a blood creature was when Red had summoned his wildboar to thwart of her attackers. That was at night however. The sun practically shined through this creature, and it was beautiful. Her hand touched it, lightly petting its talons, and brushing the feathers along its thighs.

"Fool girl," he said.

"Her name is Camille?" she said, still touching its feathers.

Red sighed in defeat. "Why do you test me? You're a young girl, you understand danger and death. Why do you test my patience with your insolence!" Red raised his voice but only slightly. If there were ever a person who knew him, this was as close to yelling he had ever come in as long as he could remember.

"Red."

"What?" he said.

"Take me with you."

He whispered a command and Camille vanished. He shook his head. "She's on her own."

She looked confused, but ignored the seemingly random comment. "I'm all alone Red."

"You most certainly will be girl," he said.

Tears flowed. Had they been held back this whole time? "My entire town was slaughtered."

"It happens," he said.

She ignored him. "Creatures," she said. The images got stronger the more she sought words to explain herself. So strong she could barely speak. "Big. R-Ruthless. Cats and bears. I watched them tear into f-farmers. I watched them rip my m-m-mother's h-head fr-from her body! I sat beside a girl who would have been living today, b-but those monsters... they ordered her ripped to shreds. To shreds!" She was now only feet from the Blood Speaker, screaming into his face as if he was the child instead of her. "Have you ever seen a human being ripped into dozens of pieces? I think there were at least five separate chunks of her head alone."

Red said nothing. She vented unhindered about her town, about her family, the people within. She vented with hatred, tears falling freely.

"Have you ever seen it Red? Have you ever felt such horror?"

She could have asked him his favorite color for all the expression he showed. His voice however gave it all away. "Yes," he said, "I have seen it, and dealt it." Watery eyes threatened to penetrate his soul. "And I have had it dealt to me."

"You really are dangerous," she said.

"I am. Not because I choose to be. Because of all I can remember, there is only violence."

"Take me with you."

"No," he said.

"Please. I can't go back to Churchill. The creatures. Monsters. There is nothing but bodies and pieces for me to go back to. I have nothing."

"These creatures. Were they Hybrids?"

"I-I don't know," she said. "but, the man, he gave me his name. It was something like,a jacket, or something."

"Coats," Red said.

"Yes, Coats. He said the creatures were under his control."

"Hybrids," Red cursed. "Thank you Vienna, you've been most helpful."

"You'll let me come with you?"

"No. And I promise this time if you follow me, I will kill you. I wont hope you die, or let you tell others about me like noble folks who think they have something to prove. Don't follow me, Vienna. For your sake and mine, just leave me alone."

As Red turned to leave, this time the tears fell for realization, and not for the events that had so recently transpired. Red headed west towards the capital city, so Vienna, with nothing else to do, fell to the earth and cried, praying that when she rose from the ground she would have some idea what to do with what little life she had left.

#

By noon, Skye, Vargas, Rowan, and Verse, had reached the high point of the expanse they were traveling across. From this perspective they could see for nearly a hundred miles, a distance of which finally revealed their destination. A small town was visible perhaps forty miles out, with small plumes of smoke dissipating high into the air.

"So that's it?" Skye said.

"That's it," Verse said. "That's the resistance camp I hail from."

"It's so small, how come the king hasn't attacked you?" Skye said.

"Because he doesn't fear them," Rowan interjected giving Verse a look. "He also isn't aware of just what this particular camp is holding."

"Holding?" Skye said.

"Indeed. If he knew Verse resided here, he would have attacked it months ago, perhaps years."

"You're that much trouble eh?" Skye said. "I guess there's a benefit to all the moving around you do."

"I only report there, I don't eat, sleep, or so much as converse with anyone from there," Verse said. "We will report to Magnusson. Last I checked, he was still alive and overseeing the camp's operations."

"Last you checked?" Rowan said.

"Let's get going. If we move quickly, we can be there by nightfall."

' _Madam Verse, we are going to a resistance camp._ '

"Yes Vargas."

' _There will be others like you and Rowan, am I misaken?_ '

"You're not." Verse said. Vargas growled lightly, which was to say it was quite loud and deep, but only a small percentage of the volume he could let forth if truly angered.

Verse was the first to step forward, and Vargas was the last, taking each step reluctantly in the direction of the resistance camp. Feelings of panic and uncertainty clouded Vargas's mind. There was something too familiar about this location. He couldn't place it, couldn't figure out why this stretch of open land haunted him. His instincts as a predator told him to run, but his wise intellect knew there was no where else to go.

It seemed as if his mind had been made up for him, so he walked, step by uneasy step towards the camp, unsure of what the future held for the last of the Ebofelid, and unsure if there would even be a future for that of Master Skye.

#

Blood covered her tattooed arms in a mixture of thin and thick smears. It specked her face and cleavage and drenched her pants. Sonata was outfitted the same only her more revealing attire left her skin to the most of the blood. She wiped some from her face, smearing what was there, and rubbed it onto her breasts with a coy smile. Symphony smiled shaking her head. If the girl was anything, she was a brute behind all that beauty. Her smile faded, transforming into a grimace as a single entity barreled through the battle on a great white destrier.

"Kon'dis," Symphony said.

"Don't worry about him love," Sonata said looking dreamily into her lover's eyes even as men were slaughtered about them.

Symphony threw her shoulder into the Finser woman just as the Priests blazing sword would have taken her in the throat. The destrier reared high spinning on its hooves.

" _Nosferatus_!" Kon'dis roared. As the words flew so did the spell he had conjured. A thick blade of golden light shot from the sword's edge, straight down onto the fallen Sonata.

The battle itself literally stopped. No swords clashed, no men spoke. The cry of the dying moaned across the battle, but beyond this nothing else happened. The sound of the spell unleashing was louder than the earth cracking in half, and the sound of his voice nearly matched it in power. The woman he struck was lying on the ground motionless, her eyes black marbles against her pale skin. Symphony stared at the woman, who perhaps was the only person in the world she had ever called a friend. A body, a shell, a woman who used to be so much more, who so recently had joined in a great fight that took the lives of dozens of their enemy.

Far across the battlefield, a contingent of cavalry marched across the bodies. They had barely begun their assault before the battle seemingly ended, and now trotted slowly towards their commander. No one hindered their progress as everyone seemed to understand, the battle was over. With Sonata's death Symphony's heart left with her, and any lust for battle died as well. Kon'dis didn't say a word in the sudden silence. Symphony's soul cried out for revenge, for retribution, but the fight inside her was gone. What was life without this woman, this magnificent northlander she had stumbled upon nearly seven years before. It all seemed so trivial now. Seven years, an eternity for some, was all but a heartbeat in length to Symphony.

"It is done woman," Kon'dis said. He sounded tired but appeared strong. For all her strength, she didn't want to test just how much power this mighty Priest had left in him.

She nodded.

"You are to come with me, he continued. "My men will leave what Speakers remain unharmed, as long as they promise to shelve this blasphemous act of sorcery, and abandon this life to something more dignified."

She nodded again.

Kon'dis turned to the cavalry captain. "Grab a horse. She is to ride with dignity back to Bagah, on her own steed, but removed of her blood reserves."

"Yes commander," the man said.

"Tie her horse to mine captain, and deliver the message that we are moving out."

The captain saluted and then moved out to grab a horse. There were two or three horses without riders running randomly about the field, but soon they were recaptured and the cavalry was on its way back to where Sonata rested.

"You wont put up a fight girl?" Kon'dis said. He drew his blade across her neck and lifted her head by her chin. She met his eyes and shook her head lightly. "Very good."

"You killed her," she said.

He nodded, "I did."  
"It was really necessary to do so."

"It was."

She mounted the black and gray horse brought to her, and the harness was fitted with a rope attached to Kon'dis's own destrier. He dug his heals into the sides of the beast and the army moved out. Once the first of them had reached the cliff, it took perhaps thirty minutes for Kon'dis's army to vacate the area. No Speakers attacked, and none were goaded into doing so. Murmurs fluttered about what army remained, confused and uncertain of what had just transpired. Slowly however, the three-hundred and twelve remaining Speakers moved in around Sonata's still form and a party of ten men raised her into the air.

The captain of the first company stood beside the captain of the second, watching the parade of men and the body of Sonata pass by.

"It's just the beginning you know," he said.

"So it would seem."  
"This was more than those two women."

The second company captain nodded.

"Something tells me this battle today, was only the beginning of something terrible."

"Kon'dis on the front line, I can't imagine his importance. You don't put someone like him in charge unless you are planning something big."

He nodded. "Come. We need to see to the men left alive, and figure out what our next move will be." The other captain nodded and together they went to rally the last remaining captains and come up with an act that would ensure the survival of the Speakers.

THE END OF PART I

