 
### The Serpent Kings

### (Serpent Kings Saga Book One)

### By

### JAMES SOMERS

### Smashwords Edition

### 2013© James Somers

### Discover other titles by James Somers at Smashwords

This Ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook, please purchase another copy for each recipient. If you're reading this ebook and did not purchase it, then return to Smashwords to purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

### THE SERPENT KINGS SAGA

### Serpent Kings

### Wraith Dancer

### GWEN

I never wanted to be a killer—an assassin—a _Wraith Dancer_. But as a priestess of the High Serpent King, Belial, I had little choice in the matter. Still, despite my inward desire for a life of perfect peace, it must be said that I was one of the best. Blood had splattered across the front of my tunic. At my feet lay the body of an infidel called Peka; his throat sliced open from ear to ear; the bones of his left thigh and right arm shattered. He had come with a group of rebels hoping to desecrate Belial's temple here in Babale. I could not allow that.

This day had begun like any other: sunshine reflected from thousands of Babale's brilliantly polished marble structures spread across the vast Muat Plain, the fertile fields beyond ripe with fresh produce, cattle grazing in great herds upon many low-lying hills and a peaceful feeling of harmony present in the breast of every faithful follower of Belial and his Serpent Kings. Such were the days of the Reign of Peace—a thousand years of tranquility under the benevolent rule of the dragon gods.

Only the promise of today's annual celebration, marking the first day of a new year, could make it a happier occasion. And while passing from one year to the next was always festive in the five patron cities, the final year before the Renewal presented a far more delightful opportunity to celebrate the rule of the Serpent Kings and worship our gods. At the end of this one thousandth year the faithful would finally see their hope realized when the five dragons became one with their disciples, extending to them eternal life and godhood. Beyond the many wonderful blessings granted by Belial and the other dragons, this one promise of becoming more than human held the highest place in our hearts.

With Renewal now only a year away and the week long celebration of New Year beginning in earnest, it was no wonder the Resistance had chosen today to strike at the very heart of Belial's rule: his glorious temple in the patron city of Babale. Destroying this place at the center of dragon worship would plant fear in the faithful and render a symbolic slap to the face of Belial himself. Only his priestesses stood in the way to stop them.

We had been taught by the Elder Mothers to always be ready. But I admit that today my mind had been on other things. I had been present at a wedding ceremony the previous day for one of the daughters of Lord Mazreth, a high political figure in Babale, who owned many cattle. The young groom came from Tarris, the patron city of the dragon Moloch. His father held a high office there.

Though some of my sister priestesses had only been present as a matter of proper ceremony, I had actually been commissioned by my lord Belial to protect the wedding party from harm should that blasphemous prophet, Ezekiah, or some of his Resistance followers attempt to disrupt this well-publicized event. However, as I watched the ceremony unfolding I could not escape my own curiosity. What must it be like to fall in love with a man? To have him fall in love with you and then seek your father's permission to marry?

I actually imagined myself in the place of the bride for a moment. Oh, not to have her groom. Lord Mazreth's son was foppish and not particularly attractive. But I still saw myself behind the veil in the ceremonial gown that had taken at least a month to make ready for the occasion. Presented for all others to adore and envy for my beauty and well-favored husband who loved me enough to devote the rest of his life to my happiness. It sounded so interesting.

As a priestess, I was bound to my lord Belial's service and my virginity. It was the highest honor a daughter could be afforded. This honor extended to her family as well, allowing them to experience the Renewal as soon as their child was placed within a ward of priestesses to be raised and trained by an Elder Mother.

I had often wondered what my family experienced when they stood before the great dragon, Belial, to become one with him. Even my older brother had been taken. To become gods earlier than the rest of us must have been quite amazing. But I was here with blessings of my own. I belonged to Belial the High Serpent King—a high calling. But it did not keep me from curious thoughts about things like love, marriage and having children of my own; things I would never experience.

I had still been distracted by those thoughts the next day as New Year began.

The air was neither too hot nor too cool; just as it was everyday. The dew had burned away already, but the soft grass felt pleasant gathering around my bare feet. My cheek burned where Zora had passed through my defenses unexpectedly striking me with an open palm.

"Pay attention!" she scolded. "What if I had been using the Touch at that moment?"

Using the back of my hand, I wiped a drop of blood from the corner of my mouth. "I'm sorry, Zora."

She sighed. "There is no _sorry_ on the battlefield, Gwen. You know this as well as anyone. Even a single mistake like that can cost you your life. Do not suppose those damnable rebels will show you any mercy."

"I understand, Zora," I said. "I'm only glad the rebels don't have the Gifts of Transcendence at their disposal."

Zora's posture stiffened. "Don't be so sure, child. I've heard rumors of traitors."

"From among wraith dancers?" I asked, incredulous. "But that would be—"

"Not as impossible as you might suppose," Zora finished.

I looked suspiciously at Zora. "But who could possibly turn away from such a high office? The privilege of serving the High Serpent King; how could anyone turn away from our benevolent lord like that?"

Zora smiled knowingly. "You and I understand the wisdom of it, but not everyone is so appreciative of the gods. Just don't go about your duties so muddle-headed that you forget what I've taught you."

"I won't forget, Zora."

Zora placed her jeweled dagger inside the sheath at her waist. "We're done practicing today," she said. "Go to the temple and meditate on these things. The High Guard will be picked next week, and I've submitted your name for consideration. Try to clear your mind. Belial will help you."

Zora turned, heading back inside Belial's palace. I nodded as she left, but couldn't help but remain puzzled by what she had said. _Traitors from among the priestesses of Belial?_ It was unthinkable. My gaze ran up from the gardens where I stood in the cool green grass taking in the polished marble: columns and spires of exquisite beauty that vaulted high into the blue sky above.

I breathed in the fresh air; the scent of flowers providing just the right amount of sweetness to it. Looking over the garden's low retaining wall, I took my view of Babale beyond. Belial's patron city stretched to the horizon; a city full of prosperous peace-loving people grateful for the reign of our Serpent Kings. "How could anyone not love this life?" I muttered.

My trip to the temple took me near one of the markets providing produce, meats and anything else a person could desire. A hundred different smells drifted on the gentle breeze: cattle, poultry, perfumes, roasted meats, spices refined in distant Cazwell, stews and gumbos of every sort sold in heaping bowls and servants willing to indenture themselves in exchange for room and board.

The streets of Babale were alive with activity. Wagons carried sellers of goods and services. Some carried passengers to and fro in the city. But the wide avenues had been designed with dragons in mind. Wagon traffic was minor in comparison.

The palace of Belial, where his priestesses had their ward, was relatively close to the main temple. My trips through the city never took me far from the palace unless Belial requested justice against some individual. On those occasions either a priest was sent to collect tribute for Belial's temple as punishment, or a wraith dancer was dispatched to take the life of the individual.

Executions were always carried out on the spot wherever the individual was found. My Elder Mother had explained that Belial's justice must be carried out swiftly and publicly in order to warn others as to the consequences of disobedience. Even one execution served greatly as a deterrent.

I had only been sent to dispense justice twice. The first time had led me into the countryside. A certain cattle owner had failed to pay his monthly tribute to the temple of Belial. I had found him on a horse among several cattle handlers. The cattle owner had never seen me before, or I him, but he knew what I was and why I had been sent. Somehow, the man had actually had the audacity to question Belial's judgment.

The man had warned me to leave his land. When I refused, he drew his sword and charged toward me on his horse. Instinctively my hand passed over the dagger sheath at my waist, retrieved the weapon and sent it hurtling into the man's chest. His limp body fell out of his saddle while the horse passed me by at a gallop.

One of the other men dropped from his horse, perhaps the cattleman's eldest son, and took up the fallen sword. I suppose he must have thought my only weapon was still stuck hilt-deep inside his father's chest. However, a wraith dancer never goes unprepared. I had many weapons on my person.

As the younger man approached, swiping at me with his father's sword, I used the Gifts of Transcendence to pinpoint weaknesses in the bones of his forearm. I allowed his strike to pass on my right side. With my index and middle fingers locked together I used the Touch, tapping the bones of his forearm, fracturing them.

The sword was only beginning to fall from his limp appendage and the cry escape his lips when my left hand flew out, striking the pulsing artery in his neck. His voice was stifled instantly. The young man fell forward, landing among the cow manure. His body jerked a few times before he became still. The bewildered expressions on the faces of the other men told me they were wiser than these two corpses. It was time to go.

My second time dispensing Belial's justice had been altogether a different and more troubling experience for me.

I had come to the quaint home of a man named John. I have never been able to forget his name, though I have tried desperately since. John had a family: a wife and small daughter. I did not know their names. I'm glad now that I never learned them before going.

John had also been found guilty of not paying monthly tribute to the Temple of Belial. And while defrauding a neighbor usually carried stiff financial penalties, to defraud Belial made one worthy of death. John and his wife had between them managed to confuse a previous month with the current dues. The mistake had not been caught until it was too late.

To his credit, John did not try to excuse himself by blaming his wife. I still respect his integrity when I think of that day. John had been standing at his dinner table speaking with me while his wife and daughter remained seated; listening and hoping.

But Belial's _justice_ was carried by the wraith dancer not his mercy. It was not mine to arbitrarily give. My hand trembled at my side as John waited, his eyes never leaving my face. I doubt that he was quick enough to see my resolve harden before my dagger slashed the air, catching him across the throat.

His wife and child leaped away from their seats screaming as John's body fell backward; his hands managing to clasp his wounded throat. John was already dead when his wife and daughter fell upon his chest, pleading for him not to leave them. I had already turned; not wanting to see their faces, not wanting to hear their cries. I left their home that bright spring day with John's blood on my knife and tears beginning to stream down my face.

I have often told myself since that such actions are necessary to maintain the balance of our glorious society; that as a god, Belial knows all and does not dispense such judgment without a full understanding of every situation. Surely, this man John had not been the just man I had witnessed. Belial must have known the secrets of the man's heart. It had been _justice_ after all. It had to have been.

Still, there were sleepless moments in the night when I wondered.

Arriving at Belial's main temple in the city, I took in the carved images and the molten images of the High Serpent King with due awe and wonder. How I had come to such privilege as his servant was a mystery to me. I passed through the many columns surrounding the primary marble image of Belial and approached one of the altars where offerings were made by the priests. Two of the priests, officiating at the altar in their crimson robes, nodded to me as I held out my hand toward the fire burning there.

A flame leaped away from the altar to my fingertips. Long ago I had learned that the Gifts of Transcendence allow wraith dancers to do things other mortals cannot: touch bones so that they break, speak to animals, communicate with Belial and the other dragon gods by thought even over great distances, fight with preternatural skill and even capture and throw fire with our hands. Other worshippers entering the prayer gardens took with them a small pot of incense from the incense altar, but wraith dancers were not allowed.

The incense burned in the temple had the effect of dulling the body's senses so that the mind could flow more freely, allowing the worshipper to lose themselves in thoughts of Belial and his Serpent Kings while praying to the same. However, as guardians of Belials interests, the wraith dancers had to be always ready at a moments notice to do his bidding when called. Our minds had to be sharp; focused upon our duties even in prayer.

The flame from the altar danced upon my upturned palm as I entered the prayer garden. Many others walked among its pebble paths, trickling fountains of water and lush green grass. Pots of incense smoldered gently beneath happy faces lost in meditation and prayer. Some had been in the gardens so long sleep had taken them. In these cases, the priests retrieved the pots but left the worshippers alone to dream of whatever mysteries the dragon gods might reveal to them.

I paused with the flame at a fountain and knelt upon the cool grass. Staring into the dancing flicker of fire, I offered up my prayers to Belial. I did not use the direct communication offered by the Gifts of Transcendence. Somehow, it seemed like an unnecessary intrusion upon Belial. If he desired to hear my prayers, surely he could pluck them from the air as he did for everyone else.

### ELDER MOTHER

Zora walked through her ward, the place where priestesses of Belial made their home within the palace of the High Serpent King here in Babale. Young women dressed in brightly colored knee length tunics and dark breeches flowed through the halls of marble on their way to breakfast or the baths, depending upon their prescribed routines given by their Elder Mothers. Zora was herself an Elder Mother within this particular ward, but had trained and released all but one of her dozen apprentices to the mature ranks of Belial's priestesses here in Babale.

Gwen alone remained, but soon she too would go. Quite possibly it would be the High Guard who would claim her particular talents. Zora certainly hoped so. She smiled as she thought of Gwen's peculiarities and her excellent quality. She managed to stand out among the priestesses of Belial, and she was a gifted wraith dancer even if she didn't see it as Zora did.

"My finest pupil," she had commented more than once. And, without question, one of the few Zora felt belonged among Belial's High Guard. Zora had served as one of the High Guard during her younger days, a hundred years ago, but had considered it a fine privilege to be chosen by Belial as an Elder Mother. After all, a wraith dancer was normally only expected to serve as one of the High Guard for twelve years, and Zora had served far longer.

Still, even at over one hundred years of age, she was only considered middle-aged. Such was the norm during the Reign of Peace. There was much to be done, and Zora hoped to have the opportunity at serving as an active wraith dancer again. With Gwen soon functioning independently, she at least hoped for that possibility.

Zora made her way to the baths, finding it relatively empty at this time of day as she liked it. As an Elder Mother raising young women to maturity from very early ages Zora considered any quiet moment she could find very precious.

One of the older servants of the ward, Jana, at three hundred years old with graying hair, drew her fresh water into one of the baths. Jana was a friend of many years, even a trusted confident. Her lower station had not prevented them from becoming so while Zora was still a young apprentice herself.

Zora smiled at her friend as the woman nodded and walked out of the chamber leaving her alone. "Thank you, Jana," she called after.

Zora disrobed, placing her soiled garments in a nearby hamper where they could be collected by servants later. She descended the stone steps, gliding out into the steaming water still flowing from four sculpted dragon-head faucets. The bath's depth began waist-high near the steps, becoming shoulder-deep at its farthest point.

Grabbing a bar of perfumed soap Jana had left for her; Zora lathered her body and then made her way deeper until she was completely submerged below her neck. There she rested, closing her eyes, allowing the steam to caress her face. Jana peaked around the corner, then turned off the flow of water and was gone again.

These peaceful respites from mothering her girls had come more frequently over the last year. Six of her girls had become independent within a very short time of one another. Zora allowed her mind to wander, but did not realize she had fallen asleep until Jana shook her shoulder.

"Mistress," she said.

Zora started awake, noticing the colder temperature of the water, and then the concerned look on Jana's aged face. "What is it?" she asked.

Jana already had a large bath towel in her hands as she knelt next to Zora's head. "Strangers moving across the courtyard toward the ward," she said urgently.

Zora pulled herself up on the stone lip of the bath, quickly accepting the towel and drying off. Jana was already handing her a fresh tunic and breeches. "Hurry, Mistress, they are not servants I've seen before. They have no business in this part of the palace."

Zora knew this as well. Only women were allowed anywhere near the ward that was occupied by the priestesses of Belial. Crossing that boundary made one worthy of death by Belial's commandment.

She practically leaped into her breeches, then hit the ground at a run, her tunic slipping down over her head and torso; arms through her sleeves by the time she got to the outer hall leaving the baths behind. As Zora's bare feet slapped the cool stones, winding between columns, she saw three men dashing across the far veranda leading to the kitchens and the area where most of the priestesses in this ward would be gathered eating their morning meal.

Zora leaped over the nearest balustrade, lighting on the green courtyard beyond. From a leather brace of daggers folded inside her left hand, she pulled three knives. There was no time to run these men down. They were already almost inside. Zora pulled strength, balance and keen eyesight from the spiritual realm through the Gifts of Transcendence.

She hurled three daggers one after the other while still sprinting across the courtyard toward her targets. The men had just turned away from Zora, entering the cafeteria beneath an open archway. She had predicted this and had led her targets precisely. The two men flanking the third were struck between their shoulder blades with cold steel long enough to pierce their hearts. They fell—their limbs splayed across the stone floor while the third kept running.

The dagger had found its mark, but the man was wearing some sort of package strapped to his body. The jeweled pommel protruding from his back caught the sunlight, glinting for a moment before he disappeared inside. Zora did not know what the package might contain, but it didn't look like it was meant to be removed easily.

The young women inside the cafeteria had seen the stranger by now. Some were shouting while younger girls with less courage screamed. Zora bounded from a marble urn up to the balustrade and over as precisely as a gazelle. As she entered the cafeteria through the archway, she saw a small fire bouncing out of his hand. The man turned around, taking in all of his intended victims. "Down with Belial _and_ his witches!" he shouted.

The little fire hit the ground, and then ran up a cord turning it to ash. _A fuse,_ Zora realized too late; trying to get to the man in time, trying to cut it before it reached the package tied with cords surrounding his torso. Her jeweled dagger still protruded from the canvas wrap that Zora knew must contain the powder she had seen demonstrated once by scientists who scoured the ruins of the former world. They too had used fire to ignite the powder, turning it into an inferno of flame.

Zora had pushed through several stunned apprentices, crying out for them to flee as she ran toward the rebel assassin. She snatched up a table by one leg intending to block the blast or batter the man—something, anything. He caught sight of her in time to smile maniacally; his arms opening wide to receive her.

Meanwhile, in those three seconds it had taken Zora to light upon the veranda, enter the cafeteria and take up her makeshift weapon, the little fire had run its course and found the canvas package upon the intruder's back. The canvas, packed tight with gunpowder as well as the man bearing it, exploded. The table in Zora's hands caught much of the force of the blast, lifting her into the air and tossing her backward at speed. The wooden table shattered and scattered from her grasp as her entire body went numb. All she had seen at the last moment was a raging fire—hell unleashed, consuming everything in its path.

### SACRILEGE

A ball of fire tearing through a large portion of our ward would have been hard to miss had I been outside at the time of the explosion. However, I had still been within the temple prayer gardens housed beneath a huge translucent dome deep in meditation. The pounding thunder, though, had reached everyone's ears for miles within the city. The tranquility of the prayer garden shattered suddenly as I and the other supplicants roused from our dream-states.

The fire dancing upon my upturned palm winked out as I leaped to my feet searching for the source of the terrible disturbance. Distant screams echoed throughout the temple, coming from places beyond in the city. I dashed away from the bewildered worshippers, into the main hall, past the altar of incense and the altar of sacrifice.

The priests of Belial were trying to coordinate their efforts, calming the faithful while sending out men to find the cause of the disturbance. None of them had noticed what I saw as I came upon the great statues of Belial within the main hall. Armed rebels had dared to enter the Temple of the High Serpent King.

I crouched behind the massive marble image of my dragon god, staring at the dozen men who had breached the temple proper. They carried weapons. Some I knew well. Others I had only heard about from Zora's description. They each carried canvas bags by straps upon their backs. I was unsure of their use until the leader motioned the others forward.

The men pulled back flaps upon their sacks, removing threaded cords called fuses to be ignited with torches mounted on the walls. Three of the men stuffed their sacks within the space beneath the belly of Belial's image. The leader ignited the first fuse as I decided to act.

Calling for speed, agility and the Touch through the gifts, I shot out of my hiding place near the statue's long tail. Using the prominences flowing down the marble Belial's back, I raced up and leaped over the shoulder, tumbling down as a ball to unfurl my arms and legs just before striking the leader.

My kick sent him sprawling backward across the polished marble floor, his torch skidding away into a corner. One of the other men was upon me in a moment with a sword in his hand. I spun aside as he struck down upon the place where I had been standing. Using his momentum against him, I raised my right knee to meet his forearm while slamming my right hand down upon his wrist. His sword dropped away as the bones of his forearm snapped neatly over my knee.

The rebel screamed in pain, falling sideways as he cupped his wounded arm. Spotting another rebel moving in with one of the weapons Zora had warned me about, I snatched up the dislodged sword from my previous victim, spun around completely to build centrifugal force, and then hurled the sword spinning at the man. His _gun_ went flying out of his hands as the sword shot through his belly.

The fact that one of the fuses was already burning behind me had not been forgotten. If Zora's description was correct, it could explode with such force that it might very well destroy Belial's image and the entire gallery around us. Another gunner was taking aim to my right. I pulled two daggers from my brace, then spun left as the man fired his shot. I had spun inside the reach of another man with a broadsword.

My right arm thrust behind me, catching the swordsman under the ribs, my dagger tearing through his liver and other organs on its way to the large artery traveling beneath his heart. My left hand hurled its dagger backhanded into the chest of the gunman before he even realized he had missed me. Still, the fuse burned its way toward the canvas sack full of deadly explosive powder.

I had no time left. I reached for as much speed as I could through the gifts, then dashed toward the statue and snatched the fuse. It wriggled like a wounded serpent as the fire snaked its way along its length. Jerking the fuse free with surprising ease, I turned, tossing it into the face of my next victim. He dropped his weapon while trying to avoid the coil of spitting fizzing fire coming at him. In his confusion, my dagger found his throat as I ran past.

Fortunately the other rebels had forgotten about their canvas bags in their attempts to stop me from stopping them. The leader was only now beginning to pick himself up from the floor, shouting orders for his men to light their fuses and toss them back into the temple. But they had delayed those efforts too long. I retrieved the sword of my next kill and finished off several of these feeble fighters with single precision strikes; all of them essentially coming to me to be slaughtered. Perhaps their pride had kept them from retreating from a woman. No matter. They died just the same.

I expended my last dagger upon one of the men retrieving a torch, trying to obey his leader's order to blow up his sack. My blade caught him through the back, piercing his heart from behind; one of the basic throws taught to us by our Elder Mothers at an early age. He fell, slapping the marble floor heavily; probably further breaking some of the bones in his face with the impact.

Only the leader remained. I had thought moments before when the attack began that I recognized this man. Now, upon closer examination, I knew him as one of the rebels we had encountered before during other raids into Babale; though none as brazen as this. Peka was his name; an unkempt man with dark stubble on his face. He bore tattoos down both of his bare arms and a dagger in each hand. "You dragon's witch!" he cried, throwing the first blade with his left hand.

Calling upon speed again, I dashed toward him. His dagger grazed my shoulder. I felt only the sting of the wound; anger fueling my attack. I reached him in a second as he tried to defend himself with the dagger in his right hand. I thrust out simultaneously with my left hand to his right arm and my right foot to his left thigh using the Touch. The bones shattered in both appendages. Peka staggered back a few paces as I spun down scooping up his fallen dagger, then spun upward again in a single motion slicing up under his chin.

He grabbed his throat with his useful left hand. His lifeblood spilled between his fingers as he collapsed onto the polished marble of Belial's temple next to his comrades. The image of the great dragon looked down with contempt upon them all. I turned to the image bowing reverently, thanking Belial for his Gifts of Transcendence without which such victories would not be possible. Perhaps my earlier distractions, leading to my time in the prayer gardens, had been foreseen by the High Serpent King and allowed in order to place me here in the right place at the right time. Such are the mysterious ways of gods. As for me, I could only guess.

### ZORA

Following the attack upon Belial's temple by Peka and his men, I had stayed at the temple trying to explain to the priests what had happened while helping to restore calm to those who had been worshipping there at the time. The earlier thunder that had woken us all from our prayers had, for the time being, been forgotten. However, news of the other attack in the city soon filtered in through the priest's runners. There had been an explosion within Belial's palace.

Hearing that, I detached myself from the High Priest, Benjamin, even as he continued throwing questions at me. But I could not stop to answer them now. My sisters in the priesthood had been in the palace within our ward.

I called for speed and endurance through the gifts, pushing my fatigued body to the breaking point. One of the well known side-effects of plunging into the Gifts of Transcendence was its effects on the physical body. I knew already that this two mile run between Belial's temple and his palace, using the gifts, would feel like a marathon effort after I stopped to rest. Moreover, if a wraith dancer was not careful she could die from sheer exhaustion; though this had rarely happened.

When I came within visual range of the palace, my heart melted within me. It had not been the palace proper to receive the brunt of the attack but the ward of the priestesses. The cafeteria was a smoldering crater gutted by fire. Though we had heard the distant thunder of the explosion nearly a half hour ago, the bodies of my sisters lay sprawled upon the lawn and veranda entering the building.

Despite the fatigue already burning in my muscles, I pushed harder, using the gifts to drive me toward the grisly scene. I leaped, finally, over the balustrade and paused at the sight of Carra, one of the Elder Mothers, lying supine upon the stones. She looked very much like a broken doll; her lifeless eyes partly rolled up into her head, dried rivulets of blood coming from her ears, nose and mouth. Her tunic had been singed heavily by the fire while her limbs lay twisted in macabre fashion: disjointed and broken.

I gasped at the sight of her. Despite having seen dead people many times in my life, I found myself utterly shocked by this. The Elder Mothers were not feeble women whose usefulness had long been spent. They were the best of the best and still very deadly warriors. In fact, their experience and skill was the precise reason they became Elder Mothers at all; to pass on their knowledge to new generations while they were still in their prime.

_How could these bumbling rebels have done this to her?_ I wondered, my mouth agape. I began to hyperventilate as tears flowed down my cheeks. All at once the fatigue of using the gifts hit me like a great weight. I crumbled beneath it, landing on my hip next to Carra's corpse, only supporting my upper body with trembling arms.

One of my sisters appeared at my side, her hands grasping my shoulders. "Gwen? Where have you been?"

I looked over my shoulder finding Sarah there. She was perhaps ten years older than me and currently serving with the High Guard here in Babale. I was trying to speak, but found that I could not. She tried to console me, brushing my hair with her soot-stained hand. "It's an unthinkable tragedy, Gwen." Now she was crying with me.

I closed my eyes longing for comfort, but it wouldn't come. I looked again at Carra, still not believing an Elder Mother had been killed. Then my eyes shot open. "Zora!"

I twisted in Sarah's grip. The look on her face terrified me. Something had happened to _my_ Elder Mother. I was almost unable to voice the question stabbing my heart. "Is she—?" It was all I could manage. Zora was the closest thing to a real mother I had ever known. My true mother and father had given me up to the service of Belial at so early an age that my memories of them were precious and few.

Sarah's expression softened a little. "She lives—"

Immediately, I felt I might faint at this glorious news.

"—but she has been hurt very badly," Sarah finished.

Still, I didn't care, so long as she was alive. It was not until I saw Zora for myself that I realized how premature my joy had been.

Sarah led me through our ward. Apart from the cafeteria, our living space had remained relatively unharmed, no doubt due to quality craftsmanship and hard stone. Nevertheless, the odor of burning permeated everything: bodies, hair, clothing—all of it mixed with other things destroyed by the explosion.

It took me a moment to realize that something other than smoke and fire had infiltrated every nook and cranny of our ward. Anger was there and pain; both in measured amounts. However, fear was everywhere. I could see it in the tear-stained expressions of the anguished and in the proud faces of our most well-trained wraith dancers.

Something had changed in us all. We had never felt truly vulnerable before. This attack had shown us how much folly that thinking had been. The rebels were no longer a mere nuisance. Now they were a very real threat, and something had to be done about it.

When we arrived at the infirmary, I was surprised to see how many of my sisters had been brought here. Normally, there are anywhere from two to three hundred priestesses dwelling within Belial's palace at any given time. Any number of our ranks might be traveling abroad to other patron cities, or be on assignment throughout the kingdom doing the will of the Serpent Kings.

The infirmary, with its thirty beds that normally sat empty, was filled beyond capacity, overflowing into the corridor. This did not even account for the dead I had seen laid outside the cafeteria. Women with bloody abrasions, cuts and burns were everywhere free space could be found for them. When I considered it, I realized how well planned the rebel's attack had been.

They had wanted to strike at both Belial's temple and his palace. Wraith dancers, as the primary warriors serving under the rule of the Serpent Kings, were the main threat to whatever goals they hoped to achieve. Wisely, the ward of priestesses here in Babale had been hit first, effectively preventing any interference at the temple where their other team would strike. They had also known our schedule; finding warriors of all ages congregated at the morning meal in our large cafeteria. A better opportunity to kill large numbers of priestesses at one time could not have been found.

As we walked within, winding through the wounded, I heard moaning distinct from the rest of the din. I had been holding onto Sarah's hand as we closed upon the infirmary. Now, I was squeezing it tightly. Though I had never heard her utter such a sound before, I still recognized Zora's voice.

She had been moved into the surgical suite beyond the main triage chamber. I could see several physicians, all trained from the ranks of priestesses, moving around her. I caught glimpses of Zora's thrashing against their efforts, emboldened by her pain.

She was still covered in blood, and much of her clothing had been burned or blasted away in the explosion. Her blonde hair was matted heavily with blood on one side of her head and missing completely on the other. She was screaming one moment and moaning again the next. Several of our warriors had been stationed on her arms and legs to hold her down while the physicians tried to suture her wounds. Even the medicines, derived from opium poppies, seemed to have little effect at diminishing her pain.

I could not help the tears streaming down my face. I couldn't bear to look at my Elder Mother in such pain. Death almost seemed a better alternative, if only she didn't have to suffer so. Sarah tried to console me, allowing me to lean upon her for strength. "It looks worse than it is," she said. "The physicians say she will recover with time. Zora was the only one of us who realized what was happening. There were three men, but Zora killed two before they could get to us."

I tried to imagine my Elder Mother in action. Zora had always been so graceful. Even so, very few could match her ferocity. I longed to be like her some day.

"The third man was the one carrying the bomb," Sarah continued. "Zora tried, but was unable to reach him before he detonated inside the cafeteria. She is among the bravest of our elders. Gwen, you should go to her; try to comfort her."

I watched Zora straining against the women holding her down. It was terrible. There had been very few times I wanted to run from something. The first time I was punished by Zora for exploring the ancient ruins came to mind. She had been so scared for me; so angry at my disobedience that could have easily harmed me. Seeing her face when I was returned to her—I had wanted to run very much that day.

But now, seeing her like this, I wanted to run again. Still, Sarah urged me on. I found myself moving toward the surgical suite, toward my suffering Elder Mother. I watched as fatigue came over her, overwhelming the pain. She was so tired. I rushed forward then. One of the physicians, Marla, saw me and nodded. The girl holding her left arm moved out of my way, allowing me to take her place.

"Zora?" I whispered. She didn't seem to hear me. I called to her again, closer to her ear this time. She turned, tried to focus on my face. I could see recognition dawn within her eyes. She tried to whisper my name, but the stab of a suture needle running through her abdomen stole it away as she grimaced against the pain.

"Zora," I said again. "I'm here. You can do it, Zora. Let the pain melt away from you. Call for the gifts."

Her eyes closed gently, her face relaxing a little as she tried to concentrate on the Gifts of Transcendence. I held her hand, gently whispering to her, encouraging her. I stroked what was left of her hair, weeding out bits of dirt and debris, ignoring the metallic odor of blood that filled the room.

Zora calmed down within moments, concentrating only upon her breathing and the sound of my voice now. The tension in the room seemed to abate. The physicians kept up their work stitching closed the wound in Zora's belly. I closed my eyes and concentrated with my Elder Mother, whispering a prayer to Belial for her.

### DEATH WALKING

Donavan stood smiling at the small crowd of villagers who had stopped to listen to him. He had just concluded his dissertation examining the current state of kingdom affairs, the true nature of their dragon gods and the imminent return of their long forgotten Creator. One of the men nearest to him looked as though he might have a comment, to which Donavan offered, "Yes?"

A meaty slab of fist slammed into his jaw, sending stars across his vision and his body backward into the wall of their town hall. He bounced off of it back into the man's pudgy hands, stammering for a word as blood gathered in his mouth. The small crowd of less than twenty persons jeered at him, picking up mud and stones from the street to throw in his direction.

The thick man turned around, holding him by his shirt, and then tossed Donavan away from him into the street. It had been raining the day before when Donavan had come to the village, carrying Ezekiah's message of hope of Elithias' coming. He landed sprawling in the muddy street. The rocks and clods of mud followed him. They bounced off of his back and legs and head, stinging him.

He was assaulted with insults besides. Even the women congregated around him were swearing at him and lobbing their share of projectiles in his direction. They cursed him by their dragon gods, calling him an ignorant fool.

Donavan had not come unprepared to hear such things. Ezekiah himself had warned his disciples that the citizens of the kingdom would likely not want to hear their message. "This world and their serpent gods are the only things they have ever known," he had warned. "Do not think that they will welcome you into their midst. Man's heart has been turned from Elithias for nearly a thousand years. We cannot expect to undo the resulting damage in a day. They will despise you and spit upon you or worse. Only, do not be afraid of them. Remember that Elithias watches over us."

A fist sized rock smacked the back of his head. His vision blurred, then went black. He felt a warm trickle down through his hair onto his neck. The voices grew distant and muffled. The impact of stones seemed little more than small pricks at his skin.

Donavan opened his eyes, coming back to himself and his situation. He waited for the rocks pounding his flesh, but they did not come. The voices had grown quiet. In fact, now that he listened, the whole village had become eerily still. He lifted his head, but did not see anyone standing around him as they had been only a moment before.

Feeling the back of his head with his hand, Donavan came away with congealed blood on his fingers. The bleeding had already stopped. Still, he could feel a sizeable knot where he'd been struck.

He moved, getting his hands and knees under him. Donavan could feel bruises all over his body. His jaw was still hurting. He hoped it wasn't broken where the man had punched him. Rocks of various sizes lay around him in the street along with broken clods of dirt.

Donavan raised his head, noticing the sky for the first time. The sun had been high overhead during his preaching. Now, it was hovering just above one of the distant mountains in the west. Dusk was approaching. Soon the sun would be down completely. Had he really been unconscious for hours?

Villagers should have been quite busy right now, trying to complete the day's tasks and preparing for the evening meal before darkness swept across the land. Donavan stood to his feet. The only thing active right now was a steady breeze blowing dust and light debris down the streets of the little town.

Perhaps the citizens of the village had already gone indoors leaving him for dead out in the street. It wasn't a comforting thought, or an unexpected one. After all, Ezekiah had been right about the response the preachers would experience as they traveled throughout the kingdom spreading the good news.

Donavan brushed at some of the dirt encrusting his shirt and jacket. The best thing he could do at this point was probably to move on. No one would likely grant him a room after so warm a reception. Still, the thought of trying to travel through the wilderness toward the next town at this late hour was not a very promising prospect.

A lamp was burning inside the local general store. Donavan could still feel the coin pouch hidden beneath his belt. At least the villagers hadn't robbed him. He began walking across the street toward the store. He might at least purchase some provisions for his journey before setting off in search of a place to make camp for the night.

As he approached the store, Donavan noticed that several of the small square panes making up the whole front window had been smashed. There was no one stirring within, as far as he could tell from the street. A wagon with no horse sat in front of the store. However, when Donavan came upon it, he noticed that part of a torn harness was lying before it in a pool of blood that trailed away from the wagon down the damp street.

Donavan's eyes followed the trail until he spotted the dark figure of a horse lying on its side near the edge of town. It was not moving. No driver could be found. Fear crawled up Donavan's spine. What had happened while he was unconscious in the street? Had the angry group gone on some bloodthirsty rampage?

He stepped over the crimson trail, coming to the door of the general store. It was hanging on one hinge half open. Donavan pushed past it, trying to make as little noise as possible. He crept inside. His feet crunched on the broken glass lying on the dusty wooden floor. He paused, grimacing. But no one appeared to have noticed. Nothing moved. He noticed that some of the goods had been knocked off the shelves. Sacks of grain had been torn open, spilling their contents out onto the floor. A shelf near the back wall had been overturned.

He spotted a bloody handprint on the wall behind the counter. The stain was smeared as though the hand that had made it were sliding downward. Donavan tiptoed to the counter and looked behind it. There, lying on the floor was the body of the shop keeper. His neck was twisted almost completely around and his abdomen had been torn open—not at all like a blade had done the work.

This looked like some beast had gotten to him without care for the carnage it wrought. Flies had begun to buzz around his open wound, and Donavan thought he might be sick if he didn't get out of there immediately. He backed away from the counter holding his hand over his nose and mouth.

As he started to turn for the door again, Donavan noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A man was standing at the rear of the store in the shadows looking at him. Donavan knew he had not been standing there before. "You there, do you know who did this to the shop keeper?" he asked the man.

There was only a low gurgling sound, then the man shuffled forward a few steps, coming more into the light. Donavan had been about to ask again, but was horrified as the light revealed the man's blood stained clothing. His nose and mouth were covered in fresh blood; not as though he'd been injured, but more like he had been _feeding_. He had the appearance of a man who drops his face into his plate, eating ravenously.

Donavan caught sight of his eyes then. They were black as night even where the white sclera should have been, like two opals set into the man's skull. Donavan realized he was trembling, barely containing his own fear. He wanted to run, but instinct told him it was unwise; like standing your ground with an angry dog, knowing that if you run it will think of you as prey and come after you.

His eyes scanned the room. Donavan spotted farming implements and tools laid out on a table nearby. He looked back at the man who still hadn't moved toward him. Donavan edged toward the table, letting his hands creep over it, taking hold of a hatchet in his left and a machete in his right.

The bloody fiend had followed his movements over the table. His gaze returned to Donavan's face as he straightened with his makeshift weapons in his hands. Even though he was armed now, Donavan was still terrified. The fiend grinned at him, as if smelling his fear in the air. It licked its lips hungrily and started toward him.

Donavan backed away toward the awkward hanging door, crunching broken glass beneath his feet again. The fiend picked up speed, lumbering toward him despite being unarmed. The man raised his gore-stained hands, reaching for his next victim. Donavan turned, running through the half open door.

He began to sprint away from the doorway when the fiend smashed through the remainder of the large front window. The creature slammed down upon Donavan, driving him to the street in a shower of broken glass. The machete fell from his hand, landing a few paces away in the dirt.

The fiend kept Donavan's hatchet-wielding hand at bay, scrabbling over him; its blood-streaked teeth bearing down upon his throat in an attempt to rip it out. Donavan was pushing with his feet, trying to reach the machete. He threw his weight one way then another, hoping to keep his neck and face away from the frothing gurgling mouth of the creature.

The beastly man lunged for his throat as Donavan's hand closed around the handle of the machete. He brought it forward desperately. The silver blade sank into the creature's skull with a sickening _thwack_ , like cutting into an unripe melon. The man moaned loudly, now straddling Donavan's torso as he tried to remove the machete from his skull.

Donavan was still holding onto the handle of the machete when the fiend finally got the blade out. But Donavan reached back and let the machete fly again. This time it landed in the softer flesh of the creature's neck, biting better than halfway through with his first swing.

The head bobbed sideways, teetering on the remaining muscle and sinew, and then the grisly man-thing fell away from him into the street. Donavan hoped severing the creature's spinal cord might stop it. After all, legends said that the only way to kill a _death walker_ was to sever the spinal cord, separating the creature's tortured mind from the body it controls.

Donavan kicked the twitching body away from him, rolling back to his feet with the machete at the ready. Death walkers were not technically dead. They could be killed; only it was usually very difficult. They ignored much of the injuries that would kill a normal person. The legends said they were created by the dragons; a punishment upon those who offended them. There were worse things than death.

For these poor creatures death was a release from their torment. It was said that spirits haunted their minds and took over their bodies; inhabiting the living. Insanity quickly resulted. They were driven into the wilderness, scavenging on carrion or whatever they could kill. It was unheard of that one should come into a town on a killing spree.

The body stopped moving. Donavan's heart stampeded inside his chest. He tried to calm his breathing, then turned to see if anyone had heard the commotion and had come running to investigate. Another death walker was standing down the road. What appeared to be entrails were dangling in its right hand, dripping onto the ground.

Probably a fresh kill, Donavan thought. The creature was staring at him, much the same way the other death walker had been just before it attacked. This time he didn't bother with easy movements. Donavan lunged for the hatchet, arming himself against what he knew was coming.

Another walker appeared on the opposite side of the street, shuffling out of a home, dragging a small corpse by the hand. Donavan shuddered at the grisly sight. He was nearly frozen with fear. Three death walkers? Death walkers coming into a civilized area? What was happening?

The dragons had never allowed such a thing before. The tormenting spirits that inhabited death walkers were supposed to be under their control, driving their victims away from society to wander in the wilderness alone. Donavan seemed to have found a pack of the creatures hunting together; killing men, women and children without any regard for the Serpent Kings' authority.

Another blood covered fiend wandered into the street behind the others. Three pairs of pitch black eyes stared at him, hungering for another victim. Donavan knew he couldn't possibly take on two, let alone three, death walkers at once. No one could.

He turned and ran in the opposite direction, heading north the way he had come from. With fresh prey in sight, the death walkers came running like a pack of hounds. They may have been gaunt with malnutrition and ravaged by disease in their flesh, but the spirits pressed them onward, energizing their sinewy frames with unnatural strength.

Donavan turned his head, checking to see how close his pursuers were. They were running after him at different speeds; the last in line loping along with a bad leg. He turned back the way he was going and smashed right into a death walker who had appeared out of nowhere. It was a woman.

Her skin was weathered and brown, her hair stringy and sand colored. Donavan's momentum combined with the woman's slight weight bowled her over in the street. He had tumbled one way, her another. Donavan was so startled and terrified that he managed to scrabble quickly back to his feet. If he remained on the ground even a moment, the horrifying ghouls would swoop down upon him, tearing him apart before he could get away.

A wooden fence sprang into view as he ran toward the edge of the town. Another death walker was feeding upon the carcass of a dead horse, pulling its innards out onto the ground, gleefully taking its fill. Another pony was pacing near the backside of the fence, clearly terrified of sharing the fate of the slaughtered animal.

Donavan came up with a plan as he reached the fence and climbed over. The feasting death walker had not even noticed him yet, still kneeling before the horse with its back to him. He ran upon the fiend before it could react, using the machete to slice the creatures head cleanly away from its shoulders.

Leaping over the horse carcass, Donavan charged toward the other pony. He had neither bridle nor saddle, but Donavan had always been a good rider. The pony did not try to get away, instead appearing relieved that someone normal had come to help it get away. Donavan grabbed the mane trailing down the pony's neck and swung himself up onto the beast's back.

Looking back, he found the death walkers coming over and under the fence. They ran at him as Donavan kicked his heels into the pony's sides. The animal took off, directed by Donavan's clutch of mane within his hand. He had dropped the hatchet, but kept the machete. Two of the male death walkers were knocked aside by the pony's shoulders. Donavan struck a final blow to the female as she tried to flank him.

The machete cleaved a hunk of skull away from her head, sending her tumbling into the horse manure littering the pen. Donavan didn't look back. He urged the pony on toward the fence. At the last moment, they leaped as one over the top rung of the wooden fence, barely clearing it with the pony's hind hooves.

Horse and rider left the remaining death walkers in their wake, galloping away from the village at top speed. Donavan patted the pony's neck, whispering a prayer of thanksgiving under his breath to Elithias. They had no food and no water, but they did have their lives. And both horse and rider were, in their own ways, grateful for that much.

### TOBIAS

The first snow of the season had fallen a week ago, followed by another yesterday. Tobias tried unsuccessfully to blow vapor rings with his breath in the cold air. The scent of pine was everywhere in the forest bordering their village. Trees that had shed their foliage in autumn creaked under the weight of ice and snow.

Tobias looked back at the sled attached to his shoulder harness. It was half full of pine logs. He was hungry and wanted to get home to their cabin where his sister, Anne, was cooking supper. The pleasant aroma could be discerned even out here in the woods mixed with all manner of food smells from the village.

"Father?" Tobias called. His father had gone the rest of the way down the path and over the hill where another cache of logs had been cut and stacked between the trunks of two adjacent trees. Tobias was harnessed to the sled, but it was almost too heavy for him. Even at twelve-years-old he hadn't grown as stout as some of the other boys he played with.

There was no reply from his father after calling three times. He should have been able to hear him even beyond the hill. Something was wrong. Perhaps, he'd fallen on the ice. Tobias slid the harness over his head and let it drop. He looked at his father's sword in its scabbard on the sled. He almost reached for it, but then decided against it. His father didn't like him messing with it. "Next year, if you're bigger," his father had said. "I'll allow you to train with the other boys in the village."

He turned from the sled and began his trek down the path winding its way through a patch of pines. Tobias stopped when he smelled something odd. He found scattered logs in the small clearing around the cache of firewood. Walking into the clearing a little further, he found blood upon the ground mixed with the snow. "Father?"

He heard moaning nearby in answer to his cry. Tobias found his father lying half obscured by pine branches. The snow was bloody around his body. He looked up as Tobias knelt next to him, tears beginning to fall upon his cheeks. How could this be?

"Father, what happened?"

"Tobias?" His voice was weak.

"Father, there's so much blood. I don't know what to do!"

A roar erupted from the branches over his father's body. Tobias looked up in terror as his father reached for him, trying to form one last instruction for his son. "Run!"

Something snatched his father's body back among the fir branches. Tobias screamed, backing away from the bloody drag trail in the snow. He scrabbled to his feet, slipping in the slush, falling, getting up again. Desperately he got his feet under him as the last anguished cries of his father died away in the brush behind him.

Then, the body flew through the fir branches, smashing into Tobias. He fell under the two hundred pounds of his father's dead weight. He tried to roll out from under the man, but wound up staring into the blood-streaked face of his father's corpse. His cheek down to his neck had been torn open by a massive claw. Tobias screamed again. Blood was pouring out of the body onto him, soaking his clothing and the ground around him.

From the firs a massive shadow rose, looming over him. The brown bear was one of the biggest Tobias had ever seen at nearly ten feet tall. The creature's maw was matted with his father's blood; foaming with rage. It padded down on all fours, coming toward Tobias as he struggled frantically to pry himself free from his father's body.

The bear stood over him, its wild eyes homing in on the panicked boy. Tobias couldn't stop himself from screaming, prompting the bear to roar its outrage yet again. It pounced down on him; paws pounding his father's body to grind him into the icy earth. His scream was driven from his lungs as the bear added its weight to the body covering him.

In its mounting anger, the bear swiped at Tobias, hitting his father's body. Instantly, two hundred pounds was flung away by the bear's paw. Tobias gasped for breath and took his last opportunity. As the body was flung aside, he rolled in the opposite direction, throwing a scoop of brittle ice and snow up into the bear's muzzle.

The bear turned its head, pawing the snow away in frustration. Tobias leaped away on all fours, driving his feet beneath him, gaining traction with his straining muscles by sheer force of will and the terror flooding his body with adrenaline. The bear realized its prey had taken flight and tromped after him in pursuit.

Tobias launched himself down the path toward the sled full of firewood. His father's sword was there. If only he could get to it, he might have some small chance of survival. He did not waste time looking over his shoulder for the bear. He could hear its heavy breathing as it plowed through the trees like a juggernaut coming after him.

Hitting the end of the path, Tobias reached the sled. He scrambled over the pile of pine logs, wanting to keep the sled between him and his pursuer. Tobias grabbed the scabbard, but the strap was still lashed to the frame of the sled. The bear was already upon him.

Frantically, he pulled the broadsword free from its sheath. It felt so heavy, but he had to lift it. Tobias strained to raise the sword, placing the point at the bear's chest as it rose up on its hind legs to face him. He didn't know exactly what to do now. At the very least, he wanted the sharp end toward the bear, keeping it at bay. Only the bear didn't understand that concept.

With lightning speed it batted him with a massive paw. Tobias, his sword and the sled full of firewood were knocked into the air. Tobias slammed into a snow bank that swallowed him almost completely, the sword spun wildly then plunked down blade first into the snowy earth, while the pine logs scattered before the overturned sled.

Behind the angry bear, more bears appeared. Dozens of beasts padded around the place where Tobias had fallen. They sniffed at the firewood, the sword and Tobias lying unconscious half buried in the snow. They all caught the scent of food cooking on the wind. Stretching before them lay the village of Conroy with its many log cabins huddled in the meadow. Beyond that, about a mile away, the Laurel River wound its way down from the mountains, watering a lush valley where the villagers caught salmon and took their water. The bears left Tobias in the snow, disinterested in such a small thing. Sweeter smells lay ahead.

"Boy!"

Tobias heard a voice; deep like his father's had been. His father...he remembered seeing him killed. Had it been a dream—some terrible nightmare? He wanted to wake and find it so quite badly. But there was pain—so much pain coursing through him. Could a dream be painful?

"Boy, wake up!"

The voice definitely wasn't his father's and that bothered him. It had to be a stranger, which meant something was wrong in his world after all. The voice called again, this time shaking him. He fought the pain and darkness, opening his eyes to slits. A blurred figure was present in his vision.

Tobias blinked at the bright sunlight made harsher by the snowfall and his unconsciousness. The hovering figure became distinct. A bearded man wearing furs looked over him, seeming to examine his eyes. "Pupils constricting nicely, that's good," he said. "I think he'll be all right, Ezekiah. Of course that arm is another matter. I'll need to splint it before he travels."

All of this chatter was only half understood by Tobias. The man was speaking to someone standing behind him; a man sitting atop a horse. Still, some of what the bearded man was saying had managed to sink in beyond the muddle Tobias' mind was in. He had mentioned the name Ezekiah, and that definitely rang a bell. Oh, the name Ezekiah was common enough throughout the kingdom. But the prophet Ezekiah was another matter.

Tobias' father had spoken of the Resistance leader many times. His father had even been to the infamous prophet's castle on Thorn Mountain to hear the man speak. Tobias could remember a noticeable change in his father's outlook from that day forward. Somehow, Ezekiah had convinced his father to turn away from the common doctrine of the kingdom: love for the dragon gods above all others, allegiance to their Reign of Peace and a longing for the promised Renewal only they could bestow upon the faithful.

Preachers traveling through Conroy, which was not far removed from Thorn Mountain, had piqued his father's interest upon their visits, causing him to begin asking questions. Then, last winter even with a bad storm brewing, his father had left him and his sister, Anne, to go with some of the other men of Conroy to hear Ezekiah speak.

When those men had returned, only one of them still believed the kingdom doctrine taught to all from their childhood up. Tobias' father had possessed a new zeal that shone brightly in his eyes. He had been converted to faith in Elithias, the Creator of the heavens and the Earth. His belief in the dragon gods had been renounced as damnable lies.

Tobias stared past the bearded man, now looking at his arm, to the fur-clad rider on the patchwork mare. Could this actually be Ezekiah, the Prophet of Elithias? Pain erupted in Tobias' left arm. He screamed, jerking away from the bearded man.

"Definitely broken, I'm afraid," he said.

Tobias looked at the fragile limb. Now that he took notice, it was throbbing terribly. From fingers all the way into his chest, it ached.

"Just give me a few moments to stabilize that, young man," he said, producing a stout looking branch which he cut in two with a broad-bladed knife that looked like it might be used for skinning deer. As the man tore two strips of cloth from a larger piece and began to fasten the sticks on either side of his arm, Tobias looked at the rider on the horse.

"Are you the prophet from Thorn Mountain?" he asked.

The man had been looking back toward the village. He turned at the question and smiled out from his fur cap which was pressed down so that it covered his ears. "Have you heard of me?" he asked.

Tobias tried not to wince as the bearded man wrapped his arm with the splint. "My father told me about you," he said.

"Was your father Argyle?"

"Yes," Tobias said. "I think the bear killed him." The words cut him, but he knew he hadn't been dreaming after all. His broken arm and the overturned sled with its spilt firewood confirmed that much for him. He was actually surprised to find himself spared by the beast.

The prophet nodded. "I'm very sorry about your father. I did not know him well, but I do remember when he came to Thorn Mountain. He left a new man—a believer in Elithias. Considering what's happened, I'm grateful for that. He is with Elithias now."

Tobias knew little of what Ezekiah was talking about. His father had shared all that he had been taught, but it was not very much. Mostly it involved the difference between the dragon gods and Elithias. Tobias and his sister had listened to their father teach them what he had learned. Anne had been convinced by her father's witness, but Tobias remained unsure.

"Did you kill the bear that attacked us," Tobias asked. He was searching the area around them for the carcass, but hadn't spotted it yet.

The bearded man paused in his work a moment to look at the prophet.

"We killed some," Ezekiah said, hesitating.

"Some?" Tobias asked. "You mean there was more than one?"

Ezekiah looked gravely at him. "I'm afraid there were several dozen bears in the area. We killed some of them, before they ran off into the woods."

"Several dozen bears?" Tobias asked skeptically. "But I only saw one. Where were the others?"

Just asking the question stirred up an answer in his mind he didn't dare fathom. "Not in the village?" But he knew it must be true by the expressions on the men's faces. "Anne!" Tobias shouted. He tried to get up, but the bearded man stopped him.

"Hold on just a minute—say, what is your name?"

"Tobias."

The bearded man smiled gently. "Tobias, let me set this arm. You can't go running off with it like this."

Ezekiah regarded the boy for a moment, before the bearded man spoke to him. "You shouldn't let him go back," he said.

"Why not? What's happened?" Tobias felt panicked. "I've got to go to my sister! You can't stop me!"

"I can understand how you feel, Tobias," Ezekiah said. "I'm not going to lie to you. The bears attacked your village. My men are still there, looking for survivors, but we weren't hopeful until one of our dogs found you buried in the snow."

Tobias gathered his courage. He didn't want to think about his sister meeting the same end as his father. "I have to go back," he said resolutely.

The prophet sighed, his breath vaporizing before fading to nothing in the frigid air. "I understand."

### SURVIVOR

Tobias rode on the patchwork mare in front of the prophet, Ezekiah, on their way into Conroy. His arm had been set by the bearded man, Hudson, who claimed to be a physician working within the Resistance. He had been chatting a bit while finishing the splint, telling how he had been serving with Ezekiah for nearly twenty years.

Tobias had not been able to take in much of what the man had been telling him. His mind was fastened to Anne's fate. What had happened to her while he and his father were being attacked in the woods? Anne was his older sister, but still only fifteen years old. After their mother had passed away two years ago, Anne had taken up the slack around their house doing work their mother had done: cooking, cleaning, mending clothes and watching after Tobias while their father went hunting for them.

They had a simple but joyful life together in Conroy. At least, they had before today. As Ezekiah guided the patchwork mare into the village, Tobias saw the prophet's men hard at work bringing bodies into the road winding through the village. His friends and neighbors had been mauled to death by the bears. Several animal carcasses lay in the street as well. Tobias wasn't sure if some of the men in the village had managed to kill them, or if that was the work of Ezekiah's men.

"Which cabin belongs to your family?" Ezekiah asked.

Tobias pointed to the place he knew so well. Home. They began riding toward the log-built dwelling. Already, Tobias could see that the door had been battered down. It was barely hanging by one bent hinge. Claw marks raked the door itself as well as the front walls of the cabin. His sister was nowhere to be seen. In fact, he had not seen any survivors in the village other than himself.

The horse stopped outside the broken down door. Tobias could only stare at it in disbelief. His entire world had been taken from him. It seemed only a formality to get down from the prophet's horse, enter his home and confirm the truth he knew was waiting for him inside.

"Tobias, if you don't want to—" Ezekiah began to say.

"No," he replied firmly. "I have to know. I have to see for myself."

Ezekiah nodded. He got down from the horse first, and then assisted Tobias down from the saddle, trying to support the boy's splinted arm. They stepped toward the doorway together. Tobias paused for a moment, and then went inside.

It was as bad as he expected. There was only one main room inside the cabin with a loft above where Tobias and Anne had their room. His father and mother had slept in a nook on the other side of the chimney from the table where they had eaten their meals together and listened while their father read to them.

The table had been smashed to kindling, the utensils and pots scattered around the room. Anne's body was lying among the wreckage, her arms and legs contorted unnaturally from the attack she had suffered. Tobias did not have to approach her to know it was his sister. She was still wearing the tattered, bloodied remains of her favorite blue, cotton dress—the same she had been wearing when he and his father had left that morning.

He turned away, feeling his breath coming in shallow gasps. Ezekiah was there, maneuvering him by the shoulders back out the door. Tobias allowed the prophet to pull him away from the grisly scene. He hadn't been able to make his own legs move.

Tobias didn't know what to do now. The worst had been confirmed. Everyone in Conroy had been slaughtered by animals that had never shown such ferocity toward humans before. His family was gone, his arm was broken and his whole body ached from the beating the bear had given him. Tears began to stream down Tobias' face despite his best efforts to conceal his emotions from the prophet standing next to him.

Ezekiah embraced him, much the same way his father had done so many times in the past. It was an embrace that said, " _Let it all go and don't hold back_."

"Tobias, my men will see to it that your family and the other villagers receive an appropriate funeral," Ezekiah said. "We will have to use a pyre for the bodies with the ground frozen like it is." The prophet took a deep breath. "I'm assuming you have no other family?"

Tobias shook his head as he pulled back from the man. He couldn't look him in the eye.

"I'm very sorry for what's happened," Ezekiah continued. "However, I'm afraid we can't just leave you here on your own. I think you should come with me to Thorn Mountain. You'll be safe there and well fed. So long as you're willing to work like the rest of us, you can have a place to call home."

Tobias did not say it—could not say it—but he was relieved by Ezekiah's generous offer. He had no idea what to do for himself now that his father and sister were gone. He looked into the prophet's eyes and nodded. "Thank you, sir," he managed after a moment.

Ezekiah nodded and the arrangements were made.

Within an hour it had been decided to place the bodies of Conroy's citizens back inside their homes. The cabins were set alight while Ezekiah offered a prayer to Elithias in the hopes that their souls were in his presence already.

Tobias watched as his home burned brightly in the twilight. His father's body lay next to Anne's on the bed where his parents had slept. It seemed appropriate to him, and Tobias hoped that Ezekiah's god really existed to receive their souls. There was comfort in the knowledge that they were together in a better place even though he was left here alone.

Tobias allowed his remaining tears to come as he watched the entire landscape bathed in orange light. He would allow these last tears and then cry no more for it. His family and his people were gone. With winter coming on, the elements would swallow the ashes of Conroy, wiping its memory from the earth forever; save for its lone survivor, Tobias the son of Argyle.

### REWARDED

A week from the time of the attack, Zora had regained consciousness and seemed to be doing somewhat better. According to physicians, she had suffered blistering burns over sixty percent of her body, a number of bruises and the abdominal wound that had torn her stomach open. The doctors had been able to repair much of the damage there, but with portions of her internal organs removed during surgery, Zora might have trouble with her digestion from now on.

Still, she had been in good spirits when I visited with her. Zora had even been happy to talk about the attacks with me, seeking information on the temple assault as well as the nature of the rebels carrying out these heinous crimes. I told her what I could, but honestly still wasn't sure what was going on.

The rebels had been active for years now, steadily growing more bold in their activities, but never carrying out anything so violent within the cities. I was still amazed that they had dared to strike at a patron city of one of the Serpent Kings, let alone Belial's temple and palace. More to my puzzlement though was the lack of response by the dragon gods.

Thus far, the dragons had not called for any attacks upon the rebels. No one had been executed; not even one arrest in connection with these events had been made. Their apparent apathy baffled me. After all, Belial and the others were gods. Did they not care about the sacrilege committed against their holy places, or was there some other reason why they had not responded.

I tried to push out any doubts dwelling on the fringes of my mind. Such blasphemy was exactly the sort of thing rebels like Ezekiah and his band of heretics promoted. The Elder Mothers had warned every acolyte among the priestesses to be wary of thoughts that seemed to lead one away from a diligent faith in our gods. Unproductive questions and emotions were to be purged from the mind so that we could better serve our benevolent lords and thus attain to the coming Renewal without fail.

Zora smiled at one point during our visit. "I've been informed of the remarkable way you performed during the crisis at the temple," she said. "The High Priest himself came to see me."

"About me?" I asked.

"Well, he came to see how I was doing, of course. However, he mentioned what had happened during the attack. He was very complimentary of your defense of the temple."

I was sitting on the edge of my seat by now. "What did he say _exactly_ , Zora?"

She laughed a little before a twinge of pain corrected her. "I hope I've not birthed pride into my pupil at so late a stage in her training," she said wistfully.

"You're teasing, Zora," I pouted.

"Still, I suppose it's too late for me to do anything about it," she said. "Your days under my tutelage are certainly at an end."

My good humor faded, supposing she was referring to her own injuries. "Please, Zora, don't talk like that. You'll soon be back to your duties in due time." After all, there was no finer warrior in the entire kingdom than my Elder Mother.

She smiled brightly. "You're right, child, I will. But I wasn't talking about me." She finished cryptically.

She must have seen my puzzlement, or sensed the imminent question. However, she had no intention of entertaining my curiosity on the matter any longer. "Now, you must leave me to rest, Gwen."

"Well, all right," I said. "But I'll come back tomorrow to see if you need anything."

Zora smiled as I got up to leave. As I started out through the doors I heard her call after me. "Don't be late for your appointment, Gwen."

I turned, but she had rolled away from me in her bed, leaving me her back and more puzzles to work out in my head.

I had had no appointment to attend on time, or otherwise, when I went to visit Zora in the infirmary. However, by the time I had reached my room within our ward, a courier was waiting to see me. "Priestess Gwen, currently serving under Elder Mother Zora?" the courier asked.

"Jen, of course it's me," I replied. "We've known each other for years."

Jen frowned at me. "Don't begrudge me the formality, Gwen. It's my job, after all."

"Of course," I said, grinning a little. "What message have you, Courier Jen?"

Jen broke the wax seal on a small scroll she was carrying, then read the message it contained. "Priestess Gwen, serving under Elder Mother Zora, you are to report to the Council of the High Guard by noon today, the twelfth day of Corrin." She rolled the scroll again and then handed it to me.

Jen stayed a moment longer, which was not customary for a courier on duty. My apprehension might have shown in my expression, and Jen was a close friend near my age. "Gwen, are you all right. I'm sure it's nothing bad. After all, you did just save Belial's temple, not to mention many lives."

"Yes, I suppose so," I managed. It was usually a matter of discipline when a wraith dancer was called before the High Guard's council members. Still, Zora had apparently gotten wind of this meeting...and _she_ didn't seem concerned for me over it.

"Perhaps it's a much deserved promotion they wish to bestow on our hero of the hour," Jen mused. She smiled at the thought, then at me. "Yes, I'm sure that's what it must be."

I returned her smile, even if only half-heartedly. Surely it wasn't trouble. I had saved the lives of many worshipping at the temple. And Zora had mentioned the High Priest himself being very complimentary. I gave Jen a more sincere smile. "I hope you're right."

"When have I ever not been?" she teased. "Now, be sure to be on time. And don't forget to find me and tell me everything when you've finished."

Jen had left me to ready myself. I couldn't go dressed in a simple tunic. I would have to pull my long dark hair up in the bobbed manner worn by wraith dancers and put on my warrior's uniform: a deep blue light weight tunic with matching trousers. The uniform was fashionable as well as practical. Its color complimented the woman wearing it while many interior and exterior pockets provided a means for hiding various weapons.

A ceremonial dagger accented the uniform, resting on my left hip. It was functional—a wraith dancer would never carry a weapon for looks only—but it was far from the only weapon on my person. Even while attending a formal ceremony with the Council of the High Guard, a wraith dancer was expected to be ready to protect the interests of the Serpent Kings. And since everyone sitting on the council was a warrior of more experience than myself, only a fool would have chosen such a meeting to attack.

At least that was what I told myself. The events over the last week had changed my perception of our omnipotence considerably. The rebels had found a way inside, had known our comings and goings, had seen weaknesses we did not realize existed...and they had exploited them far better than we would ever have anticipated. I hoped, at the very least, that these were insights the High Council shared because these sorts of attacks would almost certainly continue.

Now that I sat waiting outside the new council chambers, I realized just how much things had changed. In days prior, the council had met within a small amphitheater with marble columns supporting a stained glass dome that pictured the five Serpent Kings lording over the world. This chamber was completely enclosed and the doors were shut with guards posted to either side.

Considering what had happened a week ago, I was not surprised by the move. After all, it was a strategic necessity. The High Guard was a critical part of the kingdom's day to day security. Still, this change helped to underscore emotions we were all experiencing. We no longer felt completely safe.

The guards did not look at me directly. Though, undoubtedly, I never left the careful scrutiny of their keen peripheral vision. As wraith dancers we were taught to keep multiple enemies in our peripheral vision, so that we could be aware of more going on around us at any given moment. I had found over the years that even when facing a single opponent I centered my focus at chest height while keeping arms and legs and head in my peripheral vision in order to follow their movements altogether.

At precisely the noon hour, a chime sounded from the other side of the door—only loud enough to be discerned by the guards or careful listeners. The door guards reacted simultaneously, turning inward to open the doors. I rose from the wooden bench directly opposite and strode forward without regarding either of the women particularly.

A short stair led me to a small round dais in the middle of the chamber which happened to resemble the former open-air meeting place very much. The oval room was fashioned from a light colored marble, as were most things in the palace, and it had columns lining its perimeter with a solid wall taking up the spaces between. Overhead the dome was solid marble.

It certainly gave the feeling of safety. The doors had been closed behind me already. We were completely isolated from the outside world.

Around me, seated upon high-backed wooden thrones, sat the twenty-five members of the Council of the High Guard. Five served from each of the five patron cities within the realm of the Serpent Kings. At the very head position, directly opposite the dais, sat Cora the Supreme Matron.

While others would be allowed to comment in turn, it would be the Supreme Matron who would conduct the proceedings, carrying out any exchange between the council and the accused. Under the pious stares of these highly revered matrons, I certainly felt like someone accused of a crime. My feeling of unworthiness enveloped me like a cloud, growing by the minute as silence continued to dominate the room.

Not until I took my place at the dais did the Supreme Matron address the assembly. "We have gathered here today for the express purpose of acknowledging the heroic actions of Priestess Gwen in the face of what would have certainly turned into an unspeakable tragedy had she not intervened," Cora said in a strong voice to no one in particular.

Instantly, my worst fears abated. Jen had been right. The next few minutes might very well prove to be some of the greatest in my life. I listened as attentively as I ever had while the Supreme Matron continued with her opening statement. She regarded me directly then.

"Priestess Gwen, we and the people of Babale find ourselves very grateful for such a fine apprentice ascending through our ranks," she continued. "Elder Mother Zora is to be commended as well for her fine training."

As she spoke, I noticed a general murmur of assent carrying around the chamber from the other matrons on the council. Quick sidelong glances rewarded me with smiles, winks and a few nodding acknowledgments. It was all I could do to maintain a straight face for the sake of decorum.

"I will admit that though your name had been submitted for advancement to the High Guard, likely you would not have received that appointment," Cora said, stirring up silence within the solemn chamber again. "However, I am of the firm belief that this would have been a grave oversight of your recent progress and extraordinary ability. Thankfully, fate has given you the opportunity you needed to prove our prior decision premature."

I felt weightless standing upon the dais. Had I looked down to find my body far beneath me, I would not have been surprised. The moment was building to the inevitable climax. As eager as I was to hear the words, I did not want this time to end.

"Therefore," Cora continued, "it gives me great pleasure to advance you from your apprenticeship under Elder Mother Zora to the place of a mature wraith dancer in service to the High Serpent King, Belial the Glorious."

I smiled without reservation now, my face no doubt glowing as the Supreme Matron's words sank in. I was no longer a child, but a woman. I was no longer an apprentice under tutelage, but a wraith dancer working independently and eligible for a higher position of service.

"Furthermore," Cora said, standing before her throne with a smile, "Priestess Gwen, you have been very highly recommended for one of the open positions of service among the High Guard. We would like to offer you this opportunity." There was a brief pause as the Supreme Matron conferred visually with her peers. "What say you?"

This was the moment I had been dreaming of for many years now. Not only had I finished my training, I was being given the opportunity to serve among the most revered warriors in the kingdom. This was as high an honor as I could ever have hoped for. All that was necessary was my answer. I remained muddle-headed for only a moment before providing it.

"Supreme Matron, if it pleases the Council, I gratefully accept this appointment to the High Guard."

Cora regarded me with an acknowledging nod. "So let it be written, so let it be done."

Instantly, the other council members rose from their thrones in answer. "So let it be written, so let it be done."

I stood there on the dais wanting to shout, run, dance—anything that would release the pent up anxiety and newfound joy coursing through my veins. But for the moment I remained dignified. For above all other things, I wanted to serve.

### THORN MOUNTAIN

Nearly a week of traveling by horse had finally brought Donavan home. He sat upon his tired steed in the snow glazed valley before Thorn Mountain, looking toward the stonework castle set high upon its face; clearly visible only to the initiated. The valley itself was broad and relatively flat; the perfect place for a siege army to make their camp. However, it also afforded Ezekiah and his people the opportunity to attack from the high ground all around if they so desired.

Another two hours riding brought Donavan to Thorn Mountain's base encampment, sitting comfortably at only one thousand feet above the valley floor. Here Ezekiah had left a permanent outpost where travelers could spend the night in a comfortable, roomy cave sheltered from the elements. Food and drink were always in good supply, and there were soldiers on hand to keep order and provide protection if necessary.

In addition, the base camp acted as an early warning station to the castle above. A message could be sent to the top posthaste using specially trained falcons. These birds lived their well-fed lives in the Thorn Mountains. It had been a relatively easy matter to make use of them as carrier birds.

Donavan had arrived at dusk to find two men he was only vaguely acquainted with stationed at the outpost. One of the soldiers had fed and watered his animal while the other provided him with a hot meal and rations for the journey up the mountain. A relatively comfortable cot was provided with the news that he should prepare to leave at first light in order to avoid the worst weather higher up.

Donavan was familiar with Thorn Mountain's weather patterns, but he took the advice just the same. He was tired and excused himself from the company of the fire. It would be a long four hour climb along the path to the next cave outpost where he would leave his horse. From there, the steps and terraces would be his companions, winding in and out of the mountain for another hour as he made his way higher and higher toward the castle itself.

He lay down on the cot, covering himself with the fur blanket the soldiers had provided him against the chill air. The cave was comfortable enough—certainly it was far better than the makeshift camps he'd established along his journey. His sleep was fitful at best, as it had been for the past week. Each night he had seen the terrible faces of the death walkers coming after him. Each night he sought his Lord in prayer in order to escape the visions.

Donavan was very familiar with the signs of the Elithias' coming—he knew the prophecies well. It would get much worse before the end of the Serpent Kings came. Still, it was comforting to be home. Tomorrow he would see his master, Ezekiah, again. Things would be better if only for like minded company to share these experiences with. He prayed a simple but sincere prayer for a night of sound uneventful sleep. Very soon he was enjoying it.

The next morning Donavan got an early start, not even waiting for first light. His horse seemed eager enough after the best meal and rest it had enjoyed all week. It wasn't a quick ride, but a steady unrelenting ascent winding back and forth up the southern face of Thorn Mountain. The hours passed grudgingly with only ice and snow and rock to see, but at least their people kept the path clear with generous salting.

Almost like clockwork, Donavan arrived at the stalls approximately four hours later. Here another cave had been designated to house all of the horses used by the castle's inhabitants, as well as cattle; anything too big to make the journey through the stairs and terraces remained here. Donavan left the horse with a better home than it would have known back in the dead village they'd escaped from, then gathered his things and began the rest of the climb.

Everyone living in the castle at Thorn Mountain had to have strong legs and a good healthy heart which wasn't uncommon during the Reign of Peace since long lives of hundreds of years were normal and serious disease a rare event. The stairs wound their way within the mountain, exiting every ten minutes or so where an outer terrace had been carved in the side of the mountain. From there, the stairs took up again, making for a steady climb without the need to feel totally isolated within solid rock the entire way.

Donavan had lived here in Thorn Mountain for nearly twenty years now as a disciple of Ezekiah, but he had never met anyone among the many who dwelt here that had been a part of the massive building project necessary to create what they now enjoyed. According to Ezekiah, it had been his father and those from the former world who had designed and built the fortress which over a thousand people now called home. These elders had been killed over time by the dragons and their assassins in an ongoing conflict seldom observed by society at large.

Ezekiah had taken over after his father's passing nearly one hundred years ago, winning disciples unto Elithias and creating a militia of the faithful ready to fight should the need arise. While Thorn Mountain still housed the primary population of Elithias' followers, there were many others spread throughout the kingdom of the Serpent Kings—gathering information for their cause, witnessing of the prophecies and training those who were willing to believe.

By the time another hour had passed, Donavan had ascended the final step delivering him onto the vast stone courtyard preceding the main entrance. The castle itself had been carved within the mountain with only the very front façade visible, like an ornate wall towering above him now.

Within the courtyard, children played, throwing snow among other activities despite the frigid wind. It was the only outside activity available for them on this side of the mountain, so only the most inclement weather kept them away. Nearly a dozen fire pits acted as warm oases against the cold; their smoke indistinguishable from the cloud of snow blowing all around the mountain.

Not that anyone was actually hiding here. Thorn Mountain's castle city, with its population of Elithias' disciples, was anything but a secret. The dragons certainly knew about it as well as anyone who had ever heard of Ezekiah and his Resistance. No doubt the Serpent Kings would have liked to destroy it from the face of the earth; but they lacked the ability.

The very thought would have shocked most people dwelling within the kingdom. But then, they didn't understand the true nature of the dragons they worshipped at deities. Almost as many people remained hard hearted to the truth and unwilling to hear.

Donavan smiled at the sight. It was good to see children playing again. He hoped his arrival here would end his night terrors. Here, at the very least, he could enjoy peace.

He trudged on toward the main gate: an iron portcullis driven into the ground inside the castle's stone archway. Several children danced around him, hurling snow at their friends, leaving him with merry greetings as they ran for cover. Donavan's legs burned after the long ascent through the stairs, but he would have gladly made the journey a hundred times over in order to find himself within this lone sanctuary from the world-gone-mad below.

Pausing at the main gate, Donavan shook the hand of the guard on duty; a man by the name of Drake. They had been friends for about six years, since the time Drake had professed his faith in Elithias and taken up residence on Thorn Mountain as part of Ezekiah's army.

"Donavan, bless my soul, it's good to see you!" Drake said. "I hadn't expected to see you back so soon. Has something happened?"

Donavan smiled, releasing Drake's hand. "Troubling, but nothing unexpected, my friend. Where do you suppose I might find Ezekiah?"

"Take your guess, but I'd place him in the shop, as usual," Drake said knowingly.

"You're probably right."

Drake opened a side door made of iron and the grill beyond, allowing Donavan to enter apart from the cumbersome seldom rising of the main portcullis. He walked across the smaller interior courtyard, where more guards sat around fire pits, to enter the castle through a set of heavy oak doors.

A main hall, lit well by gas lamps, proceeded straight into the mountain. Their supply lines trailed down the stone walls to places unseen where they were eventually fed from one source tapped from deep within Thorn Mountain. It was a technology from the old world, but not entirely foreign to common society. Still, tapping underground gas sources and making use of them among kingdom society was a technique proceeding from the Resistance faithful, particularly those who had spent time at Thorn Mountain and later gone out into the world.

Donavan walked the length of the corridor, passing no one he recognized immediately. From there, the passages began to bisect and bisect again, allowing for many different paths within the mountain. He chose a very familiar course, winding through the castle, until it delivered him to a short corridor with two doors opening into the only room of its kind in all of Thorn Mountain.

Passing through the wooden doors, Donavan found the man he was looking for. Ezekiah stood at a small assembly line gathering freshly bound books from the printing press churning loudly behind him. Here was the place where Elithias' prophet spent most of his time, assembling the Creator's prophecies from the time of the old world into book form for dissemination throughout the new. The press itself was a marvel of the present time, running on a power source called _electricity_ no longer available anywhere else in the world.

As Ezekiah had often explained, for he was fascinated by the old world and its forgotten technologies, the electricity was derived from a mechanical steam powered engine brought to Thorn Mountain during the transition to the Reign of Peace. "We burn coal from the seams mined on the northern face of the mountain, and the heat boils water to produce steam that propels pistons inside the engine," he had said. "Those pistons drive the shaft onto which magnetized pieces of metal have been positioned and wrapped with wire."

Usually, Donavan became lost in the discussion at this point and stopped trying to understand its workings. Still, he was glad for the press which allowed them to bring Elithias' word to the rest of the world; not just in verbal form but with more permanence in volumes the people could study long after the preachers had left their villages.

Donavan called to the prophet over the din of men and working machinery. When Ezekiah turned and saw him, he smiled, rushing over to embrace him. "Donavan!" he shouted over the noise. They walked together out into the corridor where it was quieter. "Donavan, I was expecting you and here you are."

"You were expecting me?" Donavan asked.

"Yes, yes," Ezekiah said exuberantly. "I've had a recent vision, Donavan. Elithias has shown me a meeting between myself and Varen that I should consent to hosting. Varen's messenger arrived the next morning having already been en route for over a week. The meeting will be in two days time."

"But you said the vision showed you something about me?" Donavan asked.

"Yes, I saw you in attendance, so I knew you must be on your way already," Ezekiah said, musing. "Wait a minute... _why_ have you returned so soon?"

Donavan could barely contain his news. "I believe death walkers are returning to the populated areas."

"You refer to the prophecy?" Ezekiah asked. "You've seen them for yourself?"

"I was nearly killed by a group of them."

"I see," Ezekiah said. He looked steadfastly into Donavan's eyes resting his hands on the man's shoulders. "I've news as well. We knew this was coming, so we shouldn't be disturbed by the actual events. Elithias is coming very soon, my friend. But first there is this meeting to attend to with Varen."

Donavan looked puzzled. "But why meet with him? We've had nothing to do with him or his rebels for some time now."

"Elithias has not revealed the reasoning to me; only that we should accept the invitation to meet. In fact, I made it contingent on them coming to Thorn Mountain. I've only had time to get his messenger back to him, but the vision assures me Varen will arrive in two days."

"Knowing Varen, he must need your help for something he's planning against the Serpent Kings," Donavan said.

"Even if that is the case," Ezekiah mused, "perhaps this meeting is meant by Elithias to inform us of Varen's plans before he can carry them out." Ezekiah smiled. "Either way, we have two days. Go and get yourself fed and some sleep. I'll convene the elders tonight. We've much to discuss."

### SUMMONED

The elation I had felt the day before, during my meeting with and appointment by the Council of the High Guard had not abated with the few hours of sleep I could muster. It had seemed inappropriate to run screaming the news through the halls of the palace; though such a thing was not unheard of. I would not be one to go down in the annals of ward gossip as another of those _silly_ girls who lacked the maturity of their new office. I planned on handling things the proper, mature, diplomatic way—waiting for my sisters to beg me for the details, then spilling every moment of the event in excruciating detail.

I'd already spent half my night remembering the moment and the other half rehearsing my delivery for the morning meal to come. By the time I arrived in the cafeteria, now decidedly cleaner than it had been following the recent bombing—though the odor of burning ever lingered, there was a veritable entourage waiting to receive me. Jen was out front smiling at me hopefully. "Well, what happened?"

I suppressed the grin as long as I could before caving in. "I've graduated my apprenticeship," I admitted, still holding onto the best part, saving it for last.

Jen and the two other young women with her, Clair and Janice, guffawed before restraining themselves under the glare of a nearby Elder Mother seated for her morning meal. We stopped at the rebuke, remaining serious only a moment before snickering.

"And you thought trouble was coming," Jen scolded. "I knew something wonderful would come of it. You've got to learn to trust my intuition."

"Did your intuition also tell you that I would be offered a post in the High Guard?" I asked offhandedly.

Astonishment swept over my friends. But Jen soon recovered herself. "Are you serious? They made you one of the High Guard!"

The room had gone dead quiet around us. I looked around at the other tables. Truly, becoming one of the High Guard was one of the greatest honors one could receive. They were almost a separate society unto themselves—elusive and mysterious. Any priestess in her right mind hoped to be given the opportunity some day.

I could see several reactions at once in the faces of the young women around me. Some were simply shocked. After all, it was no secret that I had had my share of disciplinary actions over the years growing up.

Others looked upon me with disdain clearly shown in their eyes. Slightly knotted brows and the subtle downturn at the corners of their mouths did not lie. They were jealous, even though such feelings were strictly forbidden. They wanted to be me.

Somehow, this made me feel elated and paranoid at the same time. It was not unheard of for a sister in our Order to covet the glory of another and attempt some form of sabotage to their career. Even the Elder Mother who had silenced our laughter a moment ago looked perturbed at my appointment. I made a mental note of those who seemed put out by the news—just in case.

The rest appeared to be genuinely happy. Many of these were my close friends, though not all. They came to our table, huddling around me to offer congratulations. My shoulder was patted at least a dozen times before someone else stepped through the throng, carrying a scroll sealed with imprinted wax.

Jen looked up at the woman, noticing her first by her uniform. "Amanda, what are you doing here?" Jen asked. "Did you hear Gwen's wonderful news? She's been appointed to the High Guard!"

Amanda looked between us, surprise lighting her expression only a moment. "That's great, Gwen, really." She paused. "However, I have an important message directly from Belial himself." She nearly choked on the words. Not many couriers had the opportunity to carry a message from a god, frankly because not many were sent by them.

We all sat or stood around Amanda in stunned silence. Remembering her duty, she popped the wax seal and unrolled the parchment. Her hands were trembling noticeably. Nobody mentioned it. We all knew we'd have done no better.

Speaking in a clear voice, Amanda read the message. "Priestess Gwen of the High Guard, you are commanded to stand before Serpent King Belial at the noon hour on the fourteenth day of Corrin."

I couldn't stop myself. I snatched the parchment from her hand quick as lightning. "Can it be true?" I asked no one in particular. I read the message for myself—every word exactly as Amanda had delivered it. At the bottom, it had been signed by the High Priest of Belial's temple himself; the only one authorized to speak for the High Serpent King.

Now, _my_ hands trembled. I looked around uncertainly, and was met by even more uncertainty. No one knew what to make of it. The only time I could remember a priestess being summoned like this was when an aged Elder Mother was offered the opportunity of Renewal; to become one with a god. Surely that wasn't the case here. At the very least, the intent was not stated.

I sank down a little in my chair as everyone who had come to our table to congratulate me began to disperse. They murmured as they went, everyone attempting a guess as to my fate. Fearfully, I wondered as well, but there was nothing that could be done. Refusal to appear would be ludicrous—not to mention a sure death sentence. Despite my trepidation over appearing before my god and king, I had to appear. But before that, I had to see Zora.

I had grudgingly finished my morning meal simply for the fact that another would not be served for hours. I needed all the strength I could get for what lay ahead. No one, not even my close friends seated with me, spoke another word during my time in the cafeteria. Some might suppose that such an honor—speaking with a god—would promote joy and happiness in excess amounts. I was terrified.

Zora, perceptive as always, had seen it on my face the moment I appeared in the infirmary. She had, for the briefest moment, been wearing an unrestrained smile full of pride for the achievements of her daughter in the faith. Upon seeing my reaction, her joy turned to bewilderment.

"Gwen, what's wrong?" Zora asked as she attempted to sit up in the bed.

I couldn't hold it back any longer. Sitting on the edge of Zora's bed, I began to weep into my hands; a poor attempt to hide my emotions from everyone else in the infirmary. Zora sat up as best she could, cradling my shoulders in her arms.

"Oh, Zora, it's awful," I whispered through my sobs.

"Hush, child," she said. "How can the fulfillment of your deepest desires be so bad as to warrant all of this? You're just nervous about your appointment to the High Guard. Certainly, it's a great responsibility, but crying—?"

I pulled away. She hadn't understood what the problem really was. "It's not that, Zora!" I thrust the ragged parchment into her hands.

Bewildered, she straightened it so it could be read. Her eyes scanned the message with interest before a knowing smile lit on her face. She looked up at me. "Silly girl. Is this what all the fuss is about?"

I nodded, feeling a little foolish at her apparent lack of concern for something that had me torn all to pieces.

"You've been given a great honor," Zora continued. "To be summoned before the High Serpent King himself. Did you suppose he is angry with you for saving the lives of his High Priest and other ministers?"

I shook my head a little.

"Perhaps, Belial wishes to punish the wraith dancer who saved his image from destruction, killing the terrorists responsible in the process...or maybe he simply wants to praise one of his most loyal subjects; someone who has proven her exceptional skill and dedication in the face of real peril to herself and others."

Despite myself, I began to feel better. A smile crept onto my lips. Zora made perfect sense. I had been branded a hero and given a position among the elite servants of the High Serpent King. It may have been unprecedented, but still stood to reason that Belial might be interested enough to actually speak to the young women who had done him so fine a service.

I smiled, feeling much better about the situation now. Deep down I had known Zora would see the silver lining in the ponderous cloud hanging over me all morning. And, as she always had, she made me see it as the only logical possibility. I hugged her neck, whispering my thanks gently in her ear. She patted me on the back and let me go.

"Now," she said, smiling, "tell me all about your new appointment with the High Guard. And don't leave out any details. Soon, you'll think yourself too good to talk to a lowly servant like myself. Tomorrow you'll speak to a god...and he will answer you back."

### VAREN

The glow from his campfire cast a hellish hue across Varen's face as he stood looking out into the night. Beyond the valley floor, Thorn Mountain towered high above him; its snowcap enlightened by the full moon staring down passively at the world. Brief glimpses of firelight near the castle could be seen between windswept snows encircling the higher elevations.

He exhaled heavily, his breath vaporizing before the cool breeze stole it away. One of his men called him back to their company. "Varen, it's no using sulking," the old man said. He was as close as anyone came to a father to Varen—his own dying many years before when he was just a small child.

Varen turned, regarding him sitting in furs, a pipe smoldering between his clenched teeth. His white beard trailed onto his chest. "I'm not sulking, Nordin," he said. "I simply long to have this meeting done with. The sooner we have what we've come for and are done with Ezekiah the better."

Nordin puffed on his pipe, staring into the fire. The rest of their group was bedding down a few yards away. Already they had finished their meal of rabbit stew and were shoveling embers beneath a few feet of soil in order to lay their bedding down over it for warmth through the night. "Do not underestimate Ezekiah," Nordin warned. "He might be somewhat of a pacifist, but the man is still dangerous. I've seen him in battle. He's a fierce warrior when pushed to it."

"I do not fear him," Varen said, "nor do I underestimate him. He will not know what is done until it is too late to prevent it."

Nordin looked at him. "And what is it that will be done? Too many secrets you keep lately...ever since that woman—"

"Do not speak so of her, Nordin," Varen hissed. "I will not hear it from you or any other."

Nordin turned his gaze back to the fire. "Still, I used to be in your confidence. You regarded my counsel in days gone by."

Varen softened a little. "I still regard it. Only in this matter have I spared you that you might not fret for it. I do not wish you the burden of knowledge that could take your life. What we do here will change everything for us, but we may gain Ezekiah's vengeance in the process."

Nordin puffed on his pipe again, letting the smoke seep out of his nostrils. "I am fully with you, Varen," he said. "I fight for your cause. I warn you of crossing Ezekiah, but I have not sided with the prophet. Do not fear to share your heart with me as you once did."

Varen sighed. "Once this meeting is concluded, I promise to reveal my plans to you," he said. "Only, trust me tonight. It is best that you do not know."

Nordin blew a final puff of smoke out over the fire, and then shrugged his shoulders. "If you wish." The old man took his spade and shoveled several scoops of glowing embers into the pit he had dug earlier. He covered it with earth, tamped it down, and then laid one of his large furs over it. With another he covered himself for the night. "You had better get some rest. We'll have quite a climb tomorrow to make it to their fortress in one day."

Varen turned away from the fire toward the mountain towering over them. He did not like to keep secrets from Nordin. If there was anyone he trusted with his life it was Nordin. After the death of his father, Varen had been trained and cared for by the old man. He had to be over five hundred years old. Not nearly old enough to know of the transition Ezekiah preached about, but old nonetheless.

He had been telling the truth when he told Nordin he didn't underestimate Ezekiah. The prophet had always had the ability to know when someone was lying to him. If he asked Nordin, or any of his men traveling with him, they would not lie because they had no knowledge.

Varen smiled at his own ingenuity. Soon they would have what they had needed so long in their struggle against the dragons: the power to wage real war against them.

Varen stared out into the darkness around them. For the slightest moment, he caught sight of someone. A dark figure had been standing out against the backdrop of ever present snow. He blinked. The figure was gone. Varen grinned knowingly, and then turned back to the fire. Tomorrow would be a very fulfilling day.

### COMES A DRAGON

I had taken Zora's advice to heart. Despite butterflies making chaos in the pit of my stomach, I tried to be calm. A night's sleep had made me feel better; the initial shock of the message the day before somewhat buffeted by the passing of a little time. I rose early, washed and applied sweet smelling ointment. My best silk robe had been laid out the night previous.

Observing myself in the looking glass, I supposed I had done the best I could. I had often been given compliments on my looks: golden hair and skin to be envied. But these words had been offered by doting motherly figures and close friends. Men who knew better dared not ever to look upon one of the Serpent Kings' priestesses to lust after them. To do so meant death for them and their entire family. Consequently, I never received compliments from men at all.

It wasn't something I spent much time worrying about. Still, I couldn't help but think that it might be nice to be noticed by a man—to hear compliments—to feel that I was desirable. I pushed it out of my mind. I was going to stand before a god today. Such things were unimportant in comparison. Belial would not care what I looked like, so long as I appeared before him in the best manner I could.

I left my room early, making my way to the temple posthaste. It didn't matter how long I had to wait. The main thing was not to be late on so important an occasion. I practically flew through the market place and into the temple. The High Priest was nowhere to be found. An attendant was expecting me, though he admitted to thinking I would be arriving closer to time. Still, he allowed me inside the vestibule to Belial's private chamber.

With three hours to go before noon, I settled in on one of the marble benches and waited. The attendant, an elderly man who may have served in this position his entire life, offered me a cup of water and some fruit. I had admitted to forgetting to eat anything before coming, and so he had urged me to take something. After all, it wouldn't do to faint before a god. I feared I might do exactly that, despite eating, but I took the food anyway.

After an hour of sitting on the cold hard marble, I began to feel less anxious but more sleepy. I shook myself, but still there was nothing to do but look around the vestibule for the hundredth time to occupy myself.

I started awake to find the elderly attendant smiling at me. "Oh, no!" I cried, realizing I had fallen asleep.

He started to laugh. "Don't worry, my dear, you've not overslept. In fact, I only came to fetch you."

"Is it time already?" My nervousness had suddenly returned.

"Not quite," he said. "I just thought you might like to walk up to the observatory. There, you will be able to see Belial the Glorious as he descends from his mountain."

"Oh," I said. "That would be wonderful."

He led me out of the vestibule, up several flights of stairs to a little tower enclosed by a circular balustrade and a little domed roof with a spire reaching toward the sky. There was a light breeze blowing, but the air was beginning to warm as the morning gave way to afternoon. The sun would soon find its zenith and it would be time for me to stand before Belial.

"He will soon come from there," the attendant said, pointing toward the mountain called Doom in the distance.

It was one of the few that did not have snow on it. Volcanic activity kept it smoldering. It was said that the dragons liked the heat. They had always dwelt apart from society—the ways of a god, I supposed.

I had the opportunity to take in a marvelous view of Babale. The city spread into the distance on every side. The smells of food cooking in the market drifted up here without the foul odors sometimes found in the streets. It was pleasant, and I began to feel a little better despite the approaching moment.

The attendant was suddenly pointing. "Behold!" he said. "Belial the Glorious has come."

I turned toward the volcanic mountain and did not see anything at first. But soon a shape began to be distinguishable from the mountain. As the form grew in size, I could make out Belial's bright red scales, the color of new blood when it first rises in a wound, hot from the artery. He glided down toward us, riding the wind with massive wings that may have stretched hundreds of yards from tip to tip. My breath caught in my chest. It was hard to imagine how something so large could possibly remain suspended in the air.

I vaguely heard the attendant speaking to me. "Are you all right, my child? You're not going to faint are you?"

I made sure I had a firm hold on the balustrade. "No, I'm fine, really. He's just so beautiful."

"Yes," the attendant agreed. "Glorious is a fitting name."

All at once, Belial was upon us, sweeping down over Babale like an eagle after a rabbit. He roared, shaking the ground beneath our feet. I wondered if the tower might collapse under the sheer power of it. As he passed over, very close, the displacement of air around his sinuous crimson form washed through the tower observatory nearly knocking us off our feet. I screamed excitedly, but it was lost in the rushing wind.

The great red dragon flew miles in seconds, sweeping around in a massive turn that brought him back to the temple. Beating his huge wings, Belial slowed his descent rapidly. He hovered for a moment over a courtyard overlooked by the observatory. His wing-beats scoured the ground, sweeping away any dust and debris that had managed to elude those entrusted with its cleaning. The ground trembled as he touched down; hind legs first, then forelegs.

His talons gouged the stone, etching new lines in the granite over older trenches that time and weather had already smoothed. His long neck craned to find an entourage rushing to greet him and lead him inside his private chamber.

I found myself trembling all over just looking at him. How could I possibly stand before such a creature? I was tempted to run, but the attendant was there trying to reassure me with words I could no longer discern. My mind had turned to mush.

"Don't worry, my dear," he said. "You've been given a great honor. It is rare that one so young is summoned before Belial."

"Must I go now?" I asked, not entirely in control of myself.

"We will go back to the vestibule," he said. "There, you will wait a moment until Belial has received our sacrifices."

The dragon was going to feed before I stood before him. Somehow that was a little comforting. I had never heard of the dragons eating a human. Still, it couldn't hurt that he ate before I arrived.

I soon found myself standing outside Belial's private chamber in the vestibule, staring at the great metal doors that withstood any intrusion. The attendant stood by me, leaving me last minute instructions. "Now don't be nervous, child," he began, watching the little bell mounted beside the door. A little chain went back into the wall somewhere. "The chamber will seem dark to you, but there are torches and candles within. Belial likes the darkness. He can see easily in it."

"But how will I find my way before him?"

"Not to worry. A path will lead you," he instructed. "Just stay on the path. It will stop at a marble balustrade where you will stand before Belial himself. Now, I don't want you to be alarmed by the odor."

"Odor? What odor?"

"Dragon's are quite musky," he said.

I had more questions, but the little bell began to ring before I could find the words. Everything was suddenly happening too fast.

"You'll do fine, my dear," the old man said. The massive doors parted before me, and I felt a nudge from the attendant to get me going. My feet obeyed while my mind reeled. I was through the doors before I knew what was happening. The doors closed behind me, and the darkness enveloped me.

Ahead, the path led deeper into the chamber down a short corridor with one torch burning on either wall. I stopped only a moment, trying to gather my trembling limbs and have them obey my will again.

"Come, my child," said a thunderous voice. The entire chamber resonated with its power. I was startled out of my inner turmoil. The commandment overtook me. I moved forward despite my sudden terror. The corridor was soon behind me, the chamber opening up into a cavernous dome ahead.

Candles by the hundreds burned around me on stone tiers where the wax cascaded toward the floor like frozen waterfalls. The elderly attendant had not lied. Already the pungent odor of dragon assaulted my senses. It was like fog in the air—inescapable. The path continued deeper into the chamber, outlined by the glow of candlelight.

I reached the balustrade and stopped. Beyond, the chamber was cast in darkness. I could sense that the floor had dropped away past the place where I was standing. Somewhere out there Belial was watching me from the darkness.

Coals of fire ignited in the dark—a pair of them—moving together as one. It was not the candlelight that made these eyes shine. They blazed with inner luminance, seeming altogether not of this world. My terror broke the dam of my courage, and I fell prostrate to the marble floor at once. "What is thy bidding, my master," I said, truly not knowing what else to say in the presence of a god, or even if I should speak at all.

A low rumbling resounded from the darkness. Whether a purring or growling from deep within the dragon, I could not discern. I had been taught, as all children were, that Belial the Glorious could bathe the world in fire with his very breath. I wondered if I might feel that terrible flame wash over me at any moment, having stumbled over some nuance of protocol when coming into the High Serpent King's presence.

Honestly, I had never been taught what to do in such an eventuality. The very assumption, that a common priestess would have this opportunity, bordered on preposterous. Still, Belial did have attendants to serve him, bring his food and attend to his desires in various ways. Surely, there was some training on what to do and not do in a dragon's presence.

Belial said nothing. And yet, I could feel his eyes upon me, hear his breath and feel the heat of his body permeating the chamber around me. I remained as I was, waiting. In no way, shape, or form would I dare raise myself presumptuously unless bidden to do so.

At last, he spoke. His voice was like thunder rumbling off the walls of the chamber. "So, this is the young woman who withstood the attack upon my sacred temple?"

I started to reply, but felt he had probably only asked the question in consideration of me.

"Arise, Priestess Gwen, Wraith Dancer of the High Guard, and stand before your lord, High Serpent King Belial the Glorious," he bellowed.

Quivering, I hastened to my feet, careful to keep my gaze downcast. I did not deserve to look upon him. All at once, fire erupted from the darkness before me. I knew that I would be turned to ash in an instant, but the flame did not come for me. Instead, a great pyre had been lit before the dragon, down on the floor far below. A furious heat filled the air around me. I thought I might faint at any moment.

"Look upon me, daughter, and behold the lord of all the earth."

I feared to do so, but his command was absolute. I could not refuse and live. My eyes beheld him. I did not realize what it would be like to behold a god. I had never felt such complete terror in all my life.

Belial towered over me like a living mountain, even from his resting place far below where I stood at the balustrade. Sharp spines with webbed skin fanned out from his face like the sails of some great ship. His jaws had parted, and a vortex of flame swirled in the depth of his cavernous mouth. Every tooth caught the light of his flame—crimson shards—everyone as long as a giant's spear.

The scales of the dragon's belly were black, but blood red in every other place I could see. When I saw him, my strength left me as though my very bones had melted within me. I could find no support within my trembling frame. At that moment, I could not imagine anything more awesome in power and might than this being who had summoned me. What I had seen of Belial from the observation tower had startled me, but not in this way at all.

As I lay again on the cold stone, I heard his voice again—calmer than before, less terrifying. I heard him stamp out the pyre below, instantly removing the great light that revealed his form in the darkness. "My child, find strength," he said. "I have not summoned you to destroy you."

I still didn't know if I would make it, but that statement did make me feel a little better.

"I wanted you to understand the power which you serve—that you're service is not in vain," Belial continued from the darkness. "I have a mission for you, wraith dancer; one for which your talents are especially necessary, for you have shown yourself zealous for my name and courageous in the face of true danger."

I began to gather myself, finding strength I did not know I had in order to stand before Belial as he required. Slowly but surely, I rose to my knees, thankful that his form had once again been shrouded by darkness from my eyes. Through quivering lips I found the courage to reply.

"My lord, I live only to serve your greatness."

"And you _shall_ serve it," he said.

"What would you have me to do, my lord?" I asked.

The great head moved steadily toward me, the eyes betraying his position to me. "You know of the Resistance and those who lead the movement against my reign?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord," I answered. "I am told a villain called Ezekiah leads the Resistance."

"Indeed."

"What would you have me do, my lord?"

The low, guttural rumble resonated again, rolling away in waves from Belial's massive body. The eyes seemed to blaze with greater light as he spoke. "I want you to kill him."

### COMMISSIONED

Nothing could have prepared me for the commission given unto me by Belial. I realized, of course, that Ezekiah was a mere man—mortal—flesh and blood, like me. But he was also said to be a prophet. And though no one voiced it aloud, I could sense that he was a man who was greatly feared throughout the kingdom.

Still reeling from my encounter with Belial, I was quickly ushered from the Serpent King's private chamber down a secluded corridor to a meeting with the High Priest himself. Here, I would receive the details of Belial's plan to assassinate the leaders of the Resistance Movement. The dragon had spared me any further flattery, choosing instead to regale me with the great need to rid the kingdom of vermin like Ezekiah and his kind, as well as telling me how blessed I was to be one of his faithful children and the greatness of this opportunity to serve.

All of this I received with sincerest enthusiasm. Anyone could see that the Resistance was the blight of the kingdom. Men like Ezekiah, and the other man whom Belial had briefly mentioned, disseminated lies to the public, undermining the faith of those who rightly trusted in the benevolent gods we served. Belial and the other Serpent Kings wanted them destroyed along with their followers. I would have the task of ridding the kingdom of its greatest threat: the so-called prophet, Ezekiah.

As Belial had repeatedly mentioned before dismissing me, this was a great honor. Still, questions nagged at the back of my mind. Try as I might, they would not go away. I could ignore them, but they weren't going away. _Why did a_ god _feel any threat at all from a mere mortal? Couldn't the dragons, as gods, simply speak their desires and have them fulfilled upon these rebels? Why did assassins have to be sent at all?_

Disconcerting as these questions were to my steadfast faith, I had no answers with which to satisfy my growing curiosity. And I had no time. The two robed servants of the High Priest opened the door to his private office, ushering me inside.

The High Priest was seated at the head of an oval shaped conference table. His high-back leather chair resembled the larger one he sat upon when conducting the assembly of the faithful. Also seated at the table, in regular looking chairs, were three young women. All of them were wraith dancers whom I knew personally as friends or acquaintances.

The High Priest did not rise when I entered, but motioned me toward the only vacant chair next to Agnes on one side of the oval table. Rachel and her sister Rebecca sat together directly opposite us. All of them had dangerous reputations as experienced dispensers of Belial's justice. The sisters were over one hundred years old; twins who had trained together as apprentices to the same Elder Mother. Agnes, the youngest besides me, was still twenty years my senior. Apart from a number, age had not touched their beauty or youthful vitality in any perceivable way. To the uninformed, they might have only just graduated from their apprenticeships.

Agnes slipped me a sidelong smile. I pretended not to notice, deferring to the hard looks coming from the High Priest. Upon entering the room I had noticed that Rachel and Rebecca both appeared surprised to see me, as well as a bit resentful of my inclusion. After all, I was only just out of my apprenticeship, early at that, and had been promoted to the High Guard beyond them all.

"Ladies," the High Priest began, "You have all been selected for this mission based upon your outstanding skills and zeal for our faith. I realize this comes at short notice. However, the recent attacks upon the palace and Belial's temple point to a growing brazenness among the Resistance. The time has come to cut off the heads of this movement so that the body may die."

The High Priest paused here for effect; leveling his gaze upon each of us to be sure he had our undivided attention.

"I am dividing you into two teams," he continued. "Rachel and Rebecca, naturally paired, have been chosen to carry out the assassination of the rebel, Varen, who has long acted as Ezekiah's right-hand man."

Immediately, I noticed Rachel's eyes dart in my direction, then back to the High Priest. "My lord," she interjected, "perhaps our special skills and vast experience would better serve the _other_ target?"

Rachel was a bold one. She respected authority out of necessity more than desire. Rachel was well known for believing _Rachel_ always knew best.

The High Priest gave her a wry grin, apparently expecting the warrior's reaction to playing second fiddle. "Unfortunately for you that is not your decision to make," he said. "Belial has personally laid out his desires for this mission and his desires will be followed to the letter."

Any further debate had been silenced.

"Gwen and Agnes have been chosen to carry out the assassination of the prophet, Ezekiah," he said. "We have reason to believe that something big is in planning within their organization. Whatever fiendish plot they mean to hatch must be stopped at once. The faith of millions may rest upon your shoulders, ladies. You have been given a great honor. Do not fail."

I waited for Rachel to ask the obvious question, but she had been silenced once and apparently had no intentions of sticking her neck out again.

"My lord," I asked. "Do you have plans for how each team should proceed?"

"Yes," the High Priest said, "I have assigned a liaison who will contact you by tomorrow morning. You will meet with her to discuss each mission in detail. Naturally, each team only needs exact knowledge of their own mission, in case some of you happened to be captured. We wouldn't want these devils torturing the information out of you. Besides, there are spies from the Resistance everywhere."

With that, the High Priest rose from his chair. "Are there any further questions?"

Our eyes paused upon one another, and then flew back to attention. As wraith dancers this was what we had been trained to do—kill with impunity. As dispensers of the Serpent Kings' justice, in all places under their rule, we carried out our duties without pity or remorse. At least, that was our training. I had found over my few years of actual service dispensing justice that it was not always so cut and dry a matter to deal with.

Still, the opportunity to kill the man who had perpetrated these heinous attacks upon our city—upon Zora—seemed too good to be true. Obviously, Belial had heard the secret prayer of my heart and granted me the opportunity to exact justice in his name; to have vengeance wrought upon our enemy by my own hand.

### ROUNDTABLE

Varen suppressed his displeasure as he mounted the final steps leading onto the open courtyard before the castle entrance. Ezekiah still allowed children to play before his fortress. The prophet seemed so unthreatened way up here on Thorn Mountain. "Makes me sick," Varen mumbled under his breath. Only Nordin had heard him. The older man gave him a nudge in reply.

Ezekiah's guards had been waiting for them at the lower camp where most travelers to Thorn Mountain remained overnight. A dozen warriors had escorted Varen and his men all the way to the castle. They didn't appear particularly formidable to Varen, but he wasn't here to push his luck. He had presented no threat, nor did he intend to.

The guards led Varen and his men to the main gate. All activity, except the smallest children in the courtyard, had ceased in order to watch the curious procession pass by. When they stopped at the gate, Varen looked for a familiar face, but didn't find any. The man keeping guard here was evidently someone who had joined Ezekiah after he had left Thorn Mountain. A few of their escorts looked vaguely familiar, but no one spoke to him.

They passed through and were escorted down the entry corridor. Everything remained as it had been when Varen was a resident. The familiarity did not bring fond feelings for him. He remembered only his disappointment with Ezekiah's pacifist policies.

When he had come to believe the prophet's preaching about the Serpent Kings, Varen had been fascinated with the man. But after years of serving with him, the luster had faded. Varen grew increasingly angry about what the dragons were doing to the people, rather than any sacrilege against Elithias.

Perhaps there really was a creator out there somewhere. If so, Varen was very disappointed by the prospect. For years now, he had been disillusioned with the prophecies of Elithias' return. All Varen worried about was how to free mankind from the dragons who had subjugated them through deception. Ezekiah had made it quite plain that he would not support open war against the dragons. Varen wanted nothing more.

They were not led far within the castle before the guards stopped before a set of wooden doors set into the stone wall. One of them knocked. Another guard from within opened to their group, looked them over, and let them all file inside. A large round wooden table dominated the chamber within. Ezekiah rose from his chair as Varen and his men entered. "Varen, I bid you and your men welcome," he began. "I trust you did not have any difficulty along the way."

Varen and his men began to fan out around the table, taking chairs as they found them in no particular order. Varen sat directly opposite Ezekiah with Nordin to his right. Ezekiah smiled, surveying their group. Varen knew the prophet was sizing them up.

"Nordin," Ezekiah said, acknowledging the older warrior. "I should have known you would still be with Varen."

Nordin gave Varen a sidelong glance before answering. "Is there some reason why I would not be?" he offered.

Ezekiah appeared taken a back for a moment. "I meant no insult," he said. "I only meant to compliment your tenacity."

"I realize that," Nordin said, giving the prophet a wry grin.

Varen might have enjoyed Ezekiah's awkward position, if he didn't have important business to attend to. He and his men were following a tight schedule, even if he was the only one aware of it.

"Well," Ezekiah managed, "enough with the small talk, eh? Varen I agreed to this meeting, but I'm not sure what we have to gain by it." Ezekiah rubbed his stubbly chin. "I'm assuming you haven't changed your position?"

Varen clasped his hands together on the tabletop, leaning forward. "If anything, I'm more adamant that we fight the dragons with everything we've got," he said.

Ezekiah leveled his gaze upon Varen. "I've not changed my position either," he said. "I follow the will of Elithias, and he's given me no such instruction. To seek my own way would be disaster."

Varen did not seem at all surprised by the prophet's convictions. This was nothing new to hear. "I was hoping you might have come to feel some compassion for the people who are enslaved by these monsters." Varen pressed his argument, even though winning was not the point. "Have you forgotten the slaves toiling their pathetic lives away in the mines of Urtah? What of them? They know nothing of the kingdom's prosperity, nothing about anything except being born to hard labor and looking forward to death." Varen's anger rose with the pitch of his voice. These same issues were exactly the kind of thing that made him follow his own way apart from Ezekiah. The man just wouldn't listen to reason, always deferring to the will of his god. Varen had once thought he believed in this savior as well, but with time he fell back on his earlier skepticism.

"You started everyone thinking about freedom from the dragons, but you refuse to step up and help them attain it," Varen accused. "Who is the greater criminal in that equation, Ezekiah; the dragons who hid freedom from us, or you, dangling it like a carrot that can never be had?"

Throughout Varen's rant, Ezekiah remained calm. This was the same argument revisited for the hundredth time. It was not that Varen did not have a point. He did, and Ezekiah could understand his feelings on the matter. Making it especially heartfelt was Varen's own background; a child brought up in the mines and rescued by Ezekiah and his men years ago. But he still could not pursue the matter of war without leadership from Elithias.

When Varen, fuming, finally paused, Ezekiah spoke. "Varen, it is as it always has been between us. I view the situation from faith in Elithias and _his_ plan for the overthrow of the dragons. Shall I choose the reasoning of a man—as logical as it may seem—or that of Elithias?"

The room was still for a moment, almost awkwardly so.

Varen stared hard at the prophet. His anger had been genuine—some people never changed. However, Varen's expectations of Ezekiah's response had been dead on. Still, he wanted to allow enough time for the rest of his plan to work. Keep the man talking; anything to get the real job done—the real reason for even making this journey to Thorn Mountain.

Varen suddenly looked much worn. "I might have expected our differences to remain, Ezekiah," he finally admitted. "The truth is that I did not expect you to join me."

Ezekiah looked around at his men, not quite sure what to make of this sudden change in Varen's mood.

"I don't suppose we might impose ourselves upon you for a hot meal before we are off?" Varen asked. "Hunting was not as good as I might have hoped along the way."

Ezekiah stood, smiling affectionately. "I'm sorry that you've come so far for nothing," he said.

Varen rose from his chair, begging him off. "Please, I knew my chances before we came," he said, seeming mollified. "I just felt it was at least important to try one last time. Nevertheless, we will continue our struggle, even without you. I hope you can understand."

Ezekiah nodded. "I will not pester you with matters of faith you do not wish to hear. But I must admit that had liberty been given me by Elithias, I would gladly have fought side by side with you and your people."

Varen grinned. "I appreciate that, even if it is not to be."

Ezekiah looked around the room, finding one of his men. "Jacob, please inform the kitchen that our guests are ready, if they have finished preparations."

Jacob, a young man, nodded before hurrying out of the chamber to be sure dinner would be ready for them.

Ezekiah gestured after him, toward the door. "Perhaps a tour of the castle for your men, before we eat?" he asked.

"Please," Varen said, "lead on."

### ESPIONAGE

Dressed completely in black, Jillian prepared to enter the castle at Thorn Mountain. She had followed Varen's party from the valley, giving them a good one hour head start. Only two of the company of guards waiting at Ezekiah's base camp had remained there while the others escorted Varen and his men to the castle above. One of these had been hurled from a cliff; taken by surprise while relieving himself. The other man had been seated next to a thick slab of beef roasting over their fire inside the deep cave.

Jillian had casually walked in from the cold, wearing a gray wolf skin coat, with the hood pulled tight around her face, and matching leggings, which protected her from the weather while blending well with the snow-covered rocky terrain. The man had reacted instantly, loosing his sword while calling for his fellow guardsman. Following the usual inane questions—"who are you and where's Talen?"—the guard had attempted a feeble attack.

Blocking the man's sword arm at the wrist, Jillian had quickly disarmed him and tossed the weapon to the ground behind her. Staggering backward, the man had shaken the pain out of his wrist, and then came at her with a dagger. Jillian had easily allowed the dagger to pass by before using the Touch to shatter the bones in his forearm. He would have screamed out in pain had she not thrust two fingers under his chin, silencing any cries.

Barely able to gasp for air, the guard made one last futile attempt. Jillian triple kicked with the Touch, connecting in one fluid motion with his left thigh, left shoulder and left temple, shattering the bones there. Dead already, he collapsed in a heap to the cave floor. Jillian had been playing with the man. He never had a chance.

She had shed her gray wolf skins before entering the stairs and terraces taking her up the mountain. Stuffing them in a crevasse to retrieve for her return trip, she had made good time behind Varen's party, carefully keeping just enough distance between them and her. Fortunately, there were no guards posted along the way—something that would have presented a higher level of difficulty, but still easily manageable. Jillian was glad to experience the thrill of action again. Her current position in Tarris presented far fewer opportunities than she might have hoped.

She waited another hour for darkness to fall before making her way finally to the courtyard lying before the wall with its iron portcullis. Jillian clung to the shadows, watching as parents gathered their children from play. The guard at the side door of the gate ferried them through rather than raising the gate itself. Still, more guards remained in the courtyard situated around fire pits scattered across its area.

Jillian mapped out the shadows in contrast to places where light was plentiful from the fires. Fortunately, the moon was obscured by relatively thick cloud cover. A snow storm appeared to be imminent. If so, this might help her flight once the deed was done.

With catlike grace, Jillian made her way from shadow to shadow, slipping easily by the guards, pausing here and there behind large stones that had never been cleared away, making her way around the perimeter to a place opposite the door guard. Here, she found climbing the wall a minor inconvenience.

In moments, she was up on top of the wall. A patrolling guard lazily made his way away from her. By the time he turned at the far end and started back, Jillian was already over the side and creeping toward the main entrance.

She found the main door unguarded, slowly opening it and slipping inside. The main corridor beyond carried distant voices to her, but when utilizing the Gifts of Transcendence she found no one nearby. By the gifts her hearing had been enhanced as well as her eyesight, sense of smell and touch.

The corridors within the castle were sparsely lit with lengthy patches of darkness sometimes lying between gas lamps—curious technology for those who were interested in such things. Jillian never had been. She had grown up learning how to kill a hundred different ways. This was her interest and her joy: the thrill of intrigue and battle.

At this late hour, most were either finishing their supper or settling in for the night. She paused by an open door, finding a group of men enjoying a hearty meal by the light of a roaring fire. Varen and Ezekiah were among the group. They never suspected anyone had been there watching them with disdain. No guards had been present to guard their company. Foolishly, they felt secure.

_Let them,_ she thought.

A part of Jillian wanted to enter the room full of rebels and show them what an experienced wraith dancer could really do. But that wasn't her purpose. Stealth was the key tonight.

Following the instructions she'd been given, Jillian moved swiftly, silently padding through the stone corridors until she found the room she'd been looking for. There was no one outside; not a soul standing guard over a room that contained the key to locating one of the greatest treasures in all the kingdom. She tried the door. It had been latched from the inside.

Jillian pressed against the door, allowing her heightened senses to guide her to the spot that gave the least to her pressure. The latch would be directly on the other side. She found it two thirds of the way up the door. Utilizing the Gifts of Transcendence, Jillian thumped the door in that exact spot as quickly and quietly as possible. She felt and heard the latch break through its mount on the door facing. The door itself barely moved, vibrating only slightly before she pressed her hands against it to still the wood.

No sooner had she entered the half-lit room than a guard emerged from the shadows. A sword flew to her throat, only she wasn't there anymore. Instantly she evaded the man when her heightened senses felt his body heat and the movement of stagnant air in the room. Jillian appeared behind him. She used the Touch, striking the base of his skull with such force that his brain stem was eviscerated within. A lifeless lump, the guard fell forward heavily to the animal skin rug upon the floor; the soft fur dulling the noise of his landing.

Jillian smiled down at the man through the black wrap hiding most of her face. She had almost been surprised. The thrill of almost being discovered provided an extra rush that left her feeling elated. "It will never be that easy," she whispered to the dead man.

She turned to the room, finding few personal affects. Ezekiah didn't keep much here where he slept. A writing desk with quill and ink, parchments with writing scrawled in lines across them and a rack next to the desk containing many rolled scrolls; likely holding the precepts and prophecies of his religion.

Jillian had heard the preachers spreading their message of life without the rule of the dragon gods before. A lot of empty promises and superstition, as far as she was concerned. Ezekiah could keep his _unknown_ god.

She quickly found the bed around a stone wall partition and the particular wooden trunk she was looking for. An old padlock held the front of the lid secure. Jillian gauged the wood for a moment, and then used the gifts to increase her strength a little. She smashed down through the top of the arched wooden lid, shattering it.

A quick search of the trunk's contents yielded a particular scroll encased within a silver tube. She removed the end-cap and slid the parchment out into her hand. Jillian unrolled the scroll and found what she had been hoping for: the exact location of a weapons cache unrivaled in the kingdom of the Serpent Kings.

Jillian secured the parchment again within the silver tube to protect it for its long journey to Tarris. She left Ezekiah's room, shutting the door as securely as possible with its ruined lock and made her way back the way she had come. The return trip through the castle was only slightly more difficult, made so by several mothers and their children who were carrying blankets down the corridor where Jillian had to pass. She waited in the shadows, and then moved swiftly to the main door and out into the courtyard. Her trip back over the wall was as uneventful as it was the first time.

By the time Ezekiah and his guests were finished with their meal and conversation—which ended badly—Jillian had already silently crossed the courtyard, retrieved her wolf skins and begun her descent down through Thorn Mountain's stairs and terraces. Normally, she would have relinquished her hold on the gifts once she was safely away from any danger. But tonight she was so giddy with excitement and in need of a good head start on Varen's company that she held on to speed and endurance, allowing her a swift flight down the mountain. The use of the gifts would require additional sleep in order to recover from their draining effect, but holding a scroll near her breast that could potentially change the balance of power in the kingdom made it all worthwhile.

### UNSAVORY DEEDS

Ezekiah sighed as he stood staring down the main entrance corridor of the castle. The main door had just been kicked open by Varen on his way out; fuming over Ezekiah's denial for weapons he had just requested. The escort guard had followed with instructions by the prophet to be sure Varen's company, all of them, made it down to the base camp before they left them.

"Well, that couldn't have gone any worse," Donavan stated, half a grin sidling across his face.

Ezekiah nodded solemnly. "I had not expected much to be accomplished," he admitted. They turned and began walking leisurely back into the castle. "I'm still not sure what the point was. Why would Varen come?"

Donavan kept pace with the prophet, feeling exhausted by the evening with Varen and his men. "He had to know how you would respond to such requests," he said. "I know I would."

Ezekiah nodded, pondering the evening's events. "Strange," he murmured, more to himself than Donavan.

As they rounded the corner, shouts echoed to them from the bisecting corridor ahead. "Master Ezekiah! Come quickly!" Tobias shouted.

Donavan noticed the boy first as he ran toward them. "Isn't that the boy from the Conroy massacre?" he asked.

Ezekiah started toward Tobias, answering Donavan's question with a sidelong glance.

"Master Ezekiah," Tobias shouted again as he reached the two men, gasping for breath, having ran all the way.

"What is it, Tobias?" Ezekiah said, not imagining that there could actually be any real trouble here inside Thorn Mountain.

Tobias locked eyes with the prophet. "There's a dead man in your room, sir."

Donavan seemed as though he hadn't understood what the boy had said. "A what? Dead man?"

"Are you sure?" Ezekiah asked, gripping Tobias by the shoulders.

"Yes, sir, I think it might be a guard," Tobias said.

Ezekiah could sense only truth emanating from the boy. He didn't know how it could be, but either Tobias thought he had seen something, or he was right.

As he let go of the boy, Tobias shot ahead of them, leading the way down the corridor toward Ezekiah's room. Donavan and Ezekiah followed on his heels, both growing more concerned the closer they came.

Reaching the doorway, Ezekiah's heart sank in his chest. He could see that the lock had been forced, letting the door stand open slightly. Inside his room, they found the body of Bartholomew, one of the infantry soldiers who had volunteered to stand watch over Ezekiah's room while Varen and his party were at Thorn Mountain for their conference.

The young soldier laid face down looking as though he'd merely fell over dead. Ezekiah knelt next to Bartholomew's body, examining him for any apparent wounds. His face was beginning to discolor, and his eyes were fixed and dilated. "Let's roll him over," Ezekiah said, beginning to reach under the corpse for leverage.

Donavan knelt beside him and together they turned the body. Both men looked at Bartholomew and then one another, puzzled. "Where's the wound?" Donavan said, asking the obvious question.

"Very strange, indeed," Ezekiah said, taking a closer look at the man's neck. "If I hadn't seen the forced lock, I might think he had suffered a heart attack or some other quick killing episode."

Probing around to the base of his skull, Ezekiah stopped. "Here is something," he said. "Donavan, feel back here."

Donavan did as he was instructed, if reluctantly. "His neck—the bones seem disjointed, out of place."

"My guess is that he was struck with such force as to shatter his cervical vertebrae," Ezekiah said.

"A club of some kind?" Tobias asked from behind them.

Ezekiah looked at Donavan thoughtfully. "Perhaps something more refined."

"The Touch?" Donavan guessed. "But only a wraith dancer could—"

"Indeed," Ezekiah said, standing to cross the room.

Tobias followed behind him. "Master, what is a wraith dancer?"

Ezekiah did not turn to him, but rounded the partition where his bed sat. "Very dangerous assassins employed by the Serpent Kings. They have the ability to kill with a touch, among other things," he said.

Donavan, frustrated, examined the body again. "But what would a wraith dancer be doing way out here?"

"An excellent question," Ezekiah said. "I may have found the answer."

Donavan and Tobias found Ezekiah kneeling next to a heavy wooden chest sitting next to his bed. The top had been caved in, like a boot smashed through the lid.

"It may look like a hammer strike," Ezekiah said, "but I would guess it was the same feminine hand that struck poor Bartholomew dead with a single blow."

The trio stood there taking in the ruined chest, trying to understand the power involved in forcing a woman's supple hand through the thick mahogany planks. Donavan had heard stories of the priestess assassins, but had never witnessed their handiwork. Tobias had not even heard the stories.

"Ezekiah," Donavan asked, "what was contained in the chest?"

"A map," he said. "It leads to a cave where a cache of weapons from the old world have been stored for safe keeping."

"Can it be a coincidence that Varen was just with us requesting weapons?" Donavan asked.

"That would mean an alliance between the assassins of the Serpent Kings and the leader of the Rebellion," Ezekiah said. "Considering the attacks Varen mentioned during our dinner conversation, I find that possibility hard to fathom. The dragons would not deal kindly with the very ones attacking their palaces and temples."

"Then who and why?" Donavan asked.

The prophet turned to the young preacher, smiling though looking suddenly weary. "I can honestly say, I don't know."

### DEPARTURE

The old Elder Mother, Helda, watched us as one of her servants brought in a tray of tea in three cups, placing it on the table between us. The servant looked at Helda, and then departed as she waved her away. "Thank you, Vernice," she said. She retrieved one of the teacups, indicating that Agnes and I should do the same. We each took up a cup and sipped at the warm tea. There was a hint of lemon, but more mint than anything. It was good, but my mind was already on the mission. Helda was supposed to brief Agnes and myself on exactly how to find our quarry.

"The other pair may do better than you," Helda said, totally out of the blue.

I almost choked on my tea. "Excuse me, Elder Mother?"

She was sitting in an elegant chair inside the elegant parlor of her elegant home. A private home. I had not even realized that there were private homes owned by Belial's priestesses. Immediately, I had been fascinated. Helda held her tea cup poised before her wrinkled lips, observing us. "You may be friends, but you have not worked together before," she said.

I cast a sidelong glance at Agnes, and then met Helda's eyes. "No, we've not," I began. "Agnes has been serving in the High Guard longer."

"And you have only just graduated your apprenticeship," Helda said.

"You were told?"

"No," she said, taking a sip of her tea before returning it to the saucer on the little table between us. "But you carry yourself differently. You may have great skill for a young wraith dancer, but you lack experience. With experience comes wisdom—vital qualities, I think—especially when you've been given the task of assassinating one of the most dangerous men in the entire kingdom."

Admittedly, my confidence began to dwindle under Helda's scrutiny. Perhaps, the fanfare of my audience with Belial and my appointment to the High Guard had made me unrealistic about who I was and my ability to carry out this mission. Still, I had been chosen by Belial himself.

Feeling a little wounded, I found myself speaking. "I trust Belial has not chosen me for this mission in vain." I tried to make it sound as a humble as possible.

Helda grinned for a moment, her old eyes bright and knowing. "You feel I've insulted you." It had not been a question. "Be careful of your pride, child," she warned. "It's exactly that sort of emotionalism that can get you killed on an assignment like this. Still, it may also be one of your greatest strengths." She grinned again. "I'm sure Belial knows best."

She took up her cup to sip at the tea again, leaving an awkward silence hanging between us. Agnes hadn't commented yet, but her eyes darted between me and the Elder Mother. I couldn't help but wonder if Agnes' silence, in contrast to my lack thereof, had been the reason why Helda had characterized me the way she had. Feeling the older woman's gaze fall upon me again, I tried to change the subject.

"You mentioned Rachel and Rebecca...they were here?"

"I met with them and have sent them on their way already," Helda said. "As I said, the sisters have an advantage. Their manners complement one another well: one leads, the other follows without question. I have heard that they fight in similar fashion, knowing exactly where the other is at any given moment, knowing precisely what move the other will make. Perhaps the two of you should have a similar arrangement—at least one leading and the other following."

"Pardon me, Elder Mother, but couldn't that sort of predictability be read by the enemy as well...making it a distinct disadvantage?" I'd opened my mouth again.

Helda grinned again and sipped before replacing her cup on the saucer. "You don't like to lose, do you, child?" she asked.

I looked her in the eye then. "No, Elder Mother, I do not." I said it respectfully, but honestly. It felt good to speak my mind. But I wasn't sure if I had been baited into expressing my true self, or if Helda had merely stumbled upon it innocently. I averted my eyes to the floor, feeling suddenly naked before her.

Helda stood and began a winding track around the elegantly decorated room. A light blue marble bust of Belial adorned a pedestal where she stopped before turning back to us. Agnes still hadn't commented on any of this, which secretly infuriated me. I didn't mistake her silence for timidity. Silence was a precious commodity for a warrior. Agnes had the experience I lacked, and here I was making that fact plain for all to see.

"I have been training wraith dancers for several centuries," Helda said. I sank deeper into my seat. I suddenly longed to draw all of the furniture in the room around myself to hide from her.

"You're enthusiasm is an asset to you, Gwen, but it must be tempered by the wisdom that can only come from experience," Helda continued. "I am not only to provide you with horses for departure, but to evaluate you as a team working to accomplish the desires of Belial. To that end, I feel that Agnes should be the one leading your team."

I caught the slightest hint of a smile already fading from Agnes' lips.

"Gwen, even though you have recently engaged in battle with the enemy forces and been brought into the private chambers of our High Serpent King, he has deferred to my wisdom in this matter," Helda said. "You will obey Agnes on this mission. Allow her judgment to determine when it is best to strike the enemy down. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "I understand, Elder Mother."

"Now, you will go with my servant, Sarah, to the stables and prepare your equipment and supplies for departure. I will speak a moment more with Agnes before she joins you."

Helda's younger servant had already appeared in the hall, waiting for me to join her. I bowed at the waist, and then turned to follow Sarah down the stairs beyond. I couldn't hold this against Agnes. She had done nothing wrong; only behaved as I should have before the Elder Mother. I whispered a prayer to Belial as I left the room, hoping that I would not make a fool of myself on this mission as I had just done in Helda's living room.

Following Sarah down into the basement area and out through the courtyard beyond, we came to the horse stalls. I was still fascinated by the fact that Helda owned private property. A house was something regular people had: married ladies or rich widows.

Two horses had been set aside for us already. A brown and black pacer had been saddled with saddlebags packed to the brim with dried beef and other foodstuff that would last at least for the first few days of our journey. We had water skins as well, but would be following a route taking us by fresh water springs and several rivers as we made our way steadily north.

Distracted, I went through my cache of weapons for the tenth time—those on my person, which were many, and more within the saddlebags, including a pair of twin short swords. I had long favored a two-handed sword fighting style. Many told me it was too flamboyant, but they tended to be those I'd just beaten while utilizing it. Helda's servant, Sarah, finished with her work, feeding and watering the animals in anticipation of our departure.

After about ten minutes, Agnes appeared in the stable. I was already curious as to the final instructions Helda had left her with, in particular the parts that had to do with me, but I didn't come out and ask. I simply asked, "Are we ready?"

Agnes collected her last layer of clothing, a duster and brimmed hat. I put mine on as well. It wasn't the usual attire of a wraith dancer, but with their fur linings they kept the wind and cold off of you. Still, once we reached Tarris, we would need to obtain even warmer clothing for the rest of our journey toward Thorn Mountain. Winters were very mild across the plains, but harsh in the north. I'd only ever seen snow from a distance. This mission would be an adventure in more ways than one.

Climbing up into her saddle on the brown mare, Agnes wasted no time leading the way out of the stalls. "It will take us a little over three days to reach Tarris if we pace ourselves well," she called back. "Our rations should easily last that long, so we shouldn't need to stop to hunt."

I hopped up onto the black mare and goaded the animal out after her. "And when we reach Tarris?" I asked.

"The Elder Mother has given me the name and location of a man who is familiar with the Resistance and their stronghold at Thorn Mountain," Agnes said. "He is a seller of forbidden goods, but has always been very willing to share information with the High Guard in exchange for our turning a blind eye to his activities."

Agnes began at a trot, flowing quickly into a canter and then a gallop as we made our way out onto the open road. Helda's home had been located near the northern edge of Babale's suburbs. We soon found ourselves traveling at speed through scattered cattle and livestock farms. A question had blossomed in my mind, but I had neither time nor a feeling of liberty to ask it. _Why did the High Guard, as dispensers of divine justice handed down from the dragons themselves, feel that it was acceptable to turn a_ blind eye _to the activities of criminals?_

### PONDEROUS

Two nights into our journey toward Tarris, I had struggled internally with my own questions to the point of anarchist nightmares. Agnes had led us at a brisk pace allowing for little conversation. It was true that she was older and had more experience, but Agnes was also a very quiet person; firm when necessary while otherwise maintaining a gentle air. Surely, if there was someone other than Zora to ask, it was Agnes. She had always been supportive of me during my training, having been an apprentice of Zora herself.

I pulled a bite off of a piece of dried beef, chewing like a bovine in deep contemplation; particularly how to phrase my questions so that it wouldn't be mistaken for blasphemy. Agnes had been glancing at me as we sat near our small fire. The horses were tied out on a nearby tree. Her curiosity got the better of her first.

"All right, Gwen, you've been stewing on something since we left Helda's," she said. "What's going on? Are you mad at me for being chosen by the Elder Mother to lead this mission? I didn't ask to, you know?"

Agnes had caught me off guard. I hadn't been expecting her to question me, or the nature of her query. Stammering a moment, I said, "No, of course not, Agnes. The Elder Mother was right to have you lead. I've just been wondering about something since we left."

Agnes visibly lowered her guard. "Really, what have you wondering about?"

"When you mentioned our contact in Tarris, you said that the High Guard turned a blind eye to his illegal activities."

"Yes," she said, "so that we can have information that might make our missions easier to execute."

"Well," I began, "that actually raises another question too." I paused, wondering if I was about to cross a dangerous line.

Agnes smiled. "Don't worry, Gwen, I'm not going to scold you for asking questions."

I relaxed only a little. "First, I was wondering how we can turn a blind eye to criminal activity when it is our duty to uphold the laws of the gods. If a law is absolutely good and breaking it demands punishment, how can we set it aside at our leisure?"

Agnes seemed taken aback for a moment. Clearly, she had not expected a question of such depth. "I told you, _we_ don't lay it aside, the order comes from the High Priest and from the Serpent Kings."

"Yes, I know, but how can _they_ lay it aside?" I asked.

Agnes stammered a moment. "They are gods, Gwen. They can do whatever they please. Who are we to question what a god does?"

She looked pleased with that answer, as though it offered all the finality in the world. But for me, it only raised further questions. "You're right, Agnes, the gods know all things—"

"Of course they do," she added, hoping I was at last satisfied with that realization.

"But since they do know all things," I furthered, "why would they need to lay aside the law in order to gain information from these criminals that they already know?"

Agnes blinked several times. For an awkward moment that was all she did. I let the silence sit there between us; punctuating my own frustration with these questions. I had no intention toward blasphemy. I simply didn't understand the seeming inconsistencies, but I wanted to.

Agnes' eyelids lowered to slits as her mouth closed to a grim thin line. "What is it you are trying to do? Are you undermining the gods?" She looked skyward as she said this, as though expecting Belial or one of the other Serpent Kings to charge out of the sky at any moment and pounce upon us like rabbits.

"Of course not, Agnes," I pleaded. "How could you say such a thing?"

"I'm thinking the same thing about you," she said. Agnes was clearly bewildered by the questions and agitated by my persistence. She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Be warned, Gwen," she whispered. "You are walking a dangerous line. To suggest such things could have you sentenced to death."

"I do not mean to suggest anything, Agnes," I said, feeling that I'd already gotten myself into serious trouble and had to now argue my way back out. "I have been as zealous as any for the Serpent Kings. Is it wrong for me to want the truth?"

"I cannot say that it is wrong," she admitted. "However, it is certainly dangerous. We are on a mission to assassinate the leader of the Resistance, and you, with your questions, sound like one of their prophets. Now, we will not speak of this any more during this journey. We have a job to do. The best thing either of us can do is to prove our loyalty to our gods by carrying out Belial's command to the letter."

The discussion had ended. Agnes turned away from me, eating her food almost grudgingly. I stood up and walked away from the fire, feeling her eyes upon me. Agnes wanted me to forget about my questions. But despite how much I would have liked to, I didn't think I could.

### JILLIAN

A full moon bathed the streets of Tarris in pale white light as a distant guardsman tolled the midnight bell. Jillian walked at a brisk pace, hoping to get home to a good night's sleep. As Captain of the High Guard in Tarris, she had returned from her recent mission to a city on the brink of terror. And it was spreading.

Travelers and traders had brought news of a recent attack upon the Temple of Belial and his palace located in the patron city of Babale. Reports were spreading fast throughout Tarris of rebels brazen enough to kill the priestesses of the High Serpent King by destroying a ward cafeteria with explosives strapped to their backs. Many had died in the attack including the rebels themselves.

The attack on Belial's temple, though, had actually been thwarted. While worshippers brought their prayers and hopes to the High Serpent King, another group of rebels working in concert with those striking the palace had infiltrated the temple. Fortunately, a young apprentice had been on hand, responding to the explosions at the palace. The priestess had managed to intercept the rebels and kill them all before more explosive charges could be detonated.

On the one hand, the stories had ignited fear in the hearts of the people. But they also carried reassurance that all was not lost. The wraith dancers had met the challenge, with a single young girl eliminating half a dozen rebels by herself. Jillian did not know the identity of the priestess, but she had apparently been promoted very quickly, graduating her apprenticeship immediately prior to another promotion to the High Guard in Babale. Such a rapid move through the ranks had never happened before, at least not to her knowledge.

Jillian wondered how much of the girl's appointment to the High Guard had been politically motivated. Certainly, the attacks would have impacted the citizens of Babale far more than the growing alarm occurring in Tarris. The High Priest would have wanted to divert attention from the terror attacks to more hopeful news as quickly as possible. Promoting a local hero with great fanfare may have done the trick to some degree.

Jillian grinned to herself as she walked. At least it was a wraith dancer receiving the praise. She was only marginally surprised that the High Priest hadn't tried to take credit for foiling the attack himself. Such things were not unheard of, at least among those who were privileged enough to know the inner workings of the priesthood, as Jillian certainly was.

More troubling, though, was the recent reports filtering in from outlying villages and farms. In the last few weeks, death walker sightings had jumped exponentially. These horrifying cannibalistic creatures, once believed to dwell in solitude only in the most remote areas outside kingdom boundaries, were now attacking in groups. Jillian might have thought these reports total fabrications were it not for the fact that she had seen the evidence for herself.

Just two days outside of Tarris, she had found a troupe of merchants massacred. Two of their wagons had been overturned. The third had been burned almost completely. She might have supposed it was a robbery. But the half eaten corpses of several families and the gore strewn all around the wreckage had convinced her that the reports must be true. Things were changing somehow in the kingdom and these weren't the only signs of it.

Animal attacks had been reported as well here and there, but given the reality of the other occurrences she felt an investigation would prove them true also. The mood was changing—an upset of the blind loyalty to the dragon gods. Some of it had been building for years among the people. There had always been the rebels, who were blatant in their revolution. But now an undercurrent of discontent was welling up among the general populace.

With the Renewal now a little less than a year away, a palpable apprehension had surfaced. What would really happen in a year? Would life as we know it really change? Would the faithful really become gods, joined as one to our dragon gods? And if so, what would that experience be like. Jillian could sense that the faithful weren't really sure about giving up the utopia they knew for pipe dreams and promises unknown.

The growing tension made for a volatile situation; a powder keg waiting for a match to be struck. Rebels on the move, the death walkers bringing slaughter, even the Renewal itself—all sparks that could kindle an uncontrollable blaze at any time. And it was Jillian's job to see that her wraith dancers, serving with her in the High Guard here in Tarris, were ready for it.

Moving swiftly and silently down a cobble lane, Jillian suddenly noticed something that made her pause. She sniffed. Then, drawing upon the gifts a little, she sniffed again. With a slight grin, she turned down a narrow lane, keeping close to the shadows.

Jillian paused again. She hadn't exactly heard anything out of the ordinary. But there was something—

A knife was suddenly pressed against her throat from behind. A strong hand groped for the hand at her side, but she had instinctively moved it away. Her finger glided up to the knife hand giving her leverage to push the blade away. At the same time, her head snapped backward into her attacker's face, stunning him momentarily as she pushed the weapon clear and ducked beneath.

Bathed in shadow, the man regained his composure, striking out with the knife in wide swipes. Jillian backed up, feinted, and then dodged inside the man's reach to block the next swipe of the knife. Using the back of her hand, Jillian whipped her arm at his wrist. The knuckle of her middle finger popped his median nerve, sending a shock of pain sensation coursing through his hand and up his arm. The combined force of his movement with hers knocked the knife out of his hand.

Her attacker cursed at the pain, only to have the wind knocked out of his lungs as Jillian continued her forward momentum, landing elbow strikes to his ribs followed by a stinging open-handed blow to the left side of his face. The man fell backward, hitting the ground hard.

Jillian landed on top of the man, straddling him with her own blade nestled up against his pulsing carotid. She brought her face so close that their noses were almost touching. The man was breathing hard, trying to recover when she suddenly smiled and kissed him passionately.

He returned the kiss, enveloping her in his rugged arms. Jillian, starved for his affection, bit his lip in her excitement. The metallic taste of blood mingled with their passion. She suddenly pulled her blade away from his throat, sitting up on his stomach. Varen looked up at her, grinning, the left side of his face still burning where she had slapped him a moment ago.

Jillian hadn't been winded from the fight, but she was breathing hard now. Her dagger returned to its sheath in a brief blur of motion, like an adder's strike. Jillian leaned forward again, pinning Varen's shoulders under her slight weight. Grinning, she said, "You're late."

### LOVE and WAR

Varen traced the curve of Jillian's back with his fingers. Her bedchamber held the aroma of costly perfumes and cinnamon. She giggled slightly under his touch. He grinned at her. "Is the mighty wraith dancer slain so easily by a mortal man?" he asked playfully.

She opened her eyes, purring beneath silken sheets. "Are you only a mortal after all?" she asked. "I thought I might have been ravished by a god—my innocence stolen away."

Varen grinned at her, tickling her with a poke to the ribs. "There's nothing innocent about you, Jillian."

She rose up on her elbows next to him. "And you, sir, are no gentleman. A scoundrel, perhaps, but no better."

Varen smiled, scratching at his stubble. "Have I ever claimed to be anything more?" He rolled onto his back with his arms behind the silk pillow under his head.

Jillian leaned toward him, kissing him with the scent of apples on her lips. "Aren't you going to ask me?"

"Do you think I lack confidence in you?" he asked.

"No, I just thought you might be curious as to what happened," she said, grinning.

Varen rolled to his side, propped on his elbow, staring into her eyes. "Truth be told, I'm dying to know. Did you have to kill anyone getting it? I had to think quickly once we came back down the mountain."

"I only had to kill one guard in Ezekiah's room," she said. "But I killed the two soldiers at the base camp just for the thrill of it. How did you explain their disappearance?"

"I didn't explain it," Varen said. "I demanded that they explain to me how I and my men could have had anything to do with their disappearance while under constant surveillance from the time they escorted us up the mountain."

"Did you kill them then?" Jillian asked, a delightful gleam playing in her eyes.

"No," he said, "I thought I would leave them wondering instead. Ezekiah will not know what happened since we were with him the entire time. He won't send anyone to stop us."

"His map has been stolen...a map to one of the most valuable treasures in all the kingdom and you think he won't send his men to the cavern?"

"He may," Varen admitted. "But he won't realize an army will have already secured the site."

"He will not let it go," Jillian said. She played with the hair on his chest. "Honestly, I don't understand why you haven't killed him yet."

Varen cast a sidelong glance at her, but said nothing.

"Are you afraid of him?" she pushed.

He bolted up in the bed then, barely restraining his temper. "I fear no man."

Jillian smiled, jumping up to wrap herself around him, face to face. "Then kill him," she said, purring in his ear.

Varen almost stammered for an answer. "You don't understand, Jillian. He has real power."

"The power of a dead god...you said so yourself."

"I cannot say what power it is," he said. "But I know what I've seen. They have tried to kill him before, you know? Assassins, like you, have come for him only to be destroyed every time."

Jillian looked into his eyes until he unwillingly met her gaze. There was no hint of play in her expression now. She kissed him. "I could kill him for you, Varen," she offered. "I have the gifts, after all."

"So did those who came before to kill him," Varen said. "Besides, it is not necessary for us to kill him. Ezekiah has received the blame for the attacks I had Peka carry out in Babale. A scapegoat can be a very useful thing. The dragons will remain distracted with him while we secure the weapons and plan a major attack upon one of the patron cities."

Jillian studied his face for a moment. "Do you really think we can win against the gods?"

Varen grinned, then took her hands in his and kissed them. "Perhaps, my love, you will think better of my courage when I stand upon the carcass of Belial himself."

"An audacious vision," Jillian said. "But no one has ever attacked one of the dragons before, let alone slain one."

"Whether they are gods, or not, is not as important as the fact that they are physical beings," Varen mused. "They have flesh and bone and blood. They have to eat just like the rest of us. In all of these things they must be able to be killed. We only lack the necessary force at the moment. But that is all about to change."

Jillian appeared skeptical. "Exactly what weapons will you find in this secret cavern of Ezekiah's?" she asked.

"I'm not entirely sure," Varen admitted. "Weapons from the old world that have been preserved in great numbers."

"Old world weapons can already be had," Jillian pointed out. "Many of them are sold on the black markets every year. Of all the weapons the High Guard has confiscated since I became Captain here in Tarris, I've never seen any that would lend me any confidence against one of the Serpent Kings."

She rolled away from him, staring at the oil lamp burning at her bedside. Jillian seemed to see the future in its dancing flame. "Their scales are like plates of iron; thousands upon thousands interlocked with no way to penetrate them. They might be flesh and blood beneath, but they are not like other creatures we know. And they will not lie quietly while you make your attempt. They will rise up from their mountain and come down to kill us all."

Varen came up behind her, seated upon the edge of the bed, transfixed by her own terrible premonition. He placed his hands on her bare shoulders, squeezing gently. "You talk like you've seen them come out of their hiding place."

Jillian turned her face toward him. "You would mock what you don't understand," she said. "They do not have any need of hiding, Varen. Who would they hide from?" She turned her body to him. "You wouldn't mock them, if you had seen what I've seen."

Varen cocked one eyebrow. "I did not know your faith in the dragons had returned."

"Not my faith returning, my love. It is my fear of them which has never left."

Varen noticed that she was trembling. "What happened?"

"I was privileged to see what many never knew happened," Jillian said. Shortly after I joined the High Guard, there was an uprising that took place to the northeast."

Varen appeared skeptical. "But no one lives northeast of Tarris," he said, interrupting. "It's a dead land."

"Nothing lives there anymore," she continued.

Varen's eyes grew wider, urging Jillian to go on.

"The High Guard was sent by the High Priest to quell the rebellion," she said. "However, their resistance was more organized than we expected. As you may know, some of the ruins from the old world can still be found there."

Varen nodded. He did remember stories of the ruins of an ancient city in the northeast, spires of bare twisted metal that had once been mighty buildings of glass and steel. It was a forbidden place and said to be very dangerous to venture into because of high levels of toxins present there.

"Evidently, these rebels had managed to salvage a great number of guns along with a seemingly endless supply of ammunition," she said. "Despite one thousand wraith dancers sent to destroy them, the rebels survived our attacks. We went to them with sword and shield, bow and arrow and the Gifts of Transcendence. We could not break their line. Even getting close was perilous. Their guns were faster than those you sent with Peka and his men. They fired many bullets with only one pull on the trigger. And they did more damage; penetrating our shields to kill our warriors before we could get within striking distance."

Varen swallowed against the lump gathering in his throat. He had no idea Jillian had been part of such an action. He had never even heard rumors of a rebellion in the northeast. He found himself about to ask what had turned the tide, but he had an empty feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

Jillian sighed. "When the rebels could not be defeated by the High Guard, Moloch arose from his slumber in the mountain. I can still remember his monstrous black form descending upon the battlefield. We were all but defeated, and the rebels were charging across the blood-soaked field toward us. The few of us who had managed to survive were huddled behind an outcrop of rock, bullets whizzing past, ricocheting off of the boulders."

A tear formed in the corner of Jillian's eye, then cascaded down her cheek. "I had never actually seen any of the dragons before that day," she said, looking into Varen's eyes. "I'm thankful that they stay in the mountain sleeping most of the time. Moloch was massive and terrifying. I've never seen Belial, but he's supposed to be even bigger. Anyway, we few survivors were pinned down. Then we heard Moloch's terrible roar."

Varen stilled her trembling hands with his own.

"The ground shook with it, Varen. I could feel it jarring my very bones. Some of us dared to stand upon his approach. The wind displaced by his passing knocked us to the ground again. By now, the rebels had stopped firing on us, so we climbed the rock to see.

"A very few of the hundreds of rebels coming across the battlefield stood with their weapons, firing on Moloch. Their bullets only ricocheted off of his black scales, angering him even more. The rest of their men were trying to flee. Moloch unleashed streams of orange liquid upon them—acid from glands inside his jaw, I'm told. The rebel's gurgling screams—I'll never be able to forget that. Their flesh began melting off of their bones almost as soon as that caustic spray swept over them. They looked like wax figures melting in the sun. None of them escaped. By the time Moloch had destroyed all of the villages of those men, there was no one left alive anywhere in that area."

An awkward silence fell between them, sitting there on the bed with only Jillian's sheets covering them.

Finally Varen shut his eyes and spoke. "And you fear this will be our fate if we choose to fight them?"

Jillian considered only a moment before replying. "Varen, I've spent most of my life serving the dragons. It has not been a difficult life. I thought that I had anything and everything I could need or want until I met you...fell in love with you." Another tear escaped her eyes. "I only know that I do not want to lose what we have together. I love you and would die fighting for you, but I know I could not bear to lose you. And, yes, I very much fear that this is precisely what will happen if we continue to invoke the wrath of the dragons."

"What would you have me to do, Jillian, abandon my people?" Varen asked.

"Yes, so that you and I can leave this place forever," she said. "Surely we are resourceful enough to find our own way and leave the kingdom completely."

Varen's face hardened. "You know I cannot do that."

Jillian sighed and kissed him. "I know you _will_ not." She fell back onto the bed. "And still I love you."

Varen smiled at her. "Yes and if I must die at least I may die knowing that."

### FELONIUS

Another half day's travel had delivered me and Agnes at Tarris, the patron city of the dragon god, Moloch. I had never had the opportunity to visit Tarris and seeing it didn't leave me feeling cheated. One of the first things I noticed was the smoke rising from many of its structures and the unpleasant smell of things burning, being refined and made into other things.

Tarris was the city of craftsmen, forges, textile mills and many other trades that provided goods and services throughout the kingdom. Truly, it was an ugly city, at least when I compared it to my home in Babale. Looking upon it now, as Agnes led the way through its crowded thoroughfares, I began to see how black market trade and the activity of criminals could flourish in such a place.

I began to feel like I'd never really been anywhere at all. And, truth be told, I hadn't. Babale and its nearby farmlands had been the extent of my worldly travels, while older more experienced members of the High Guard, like Agnes, had been to the far reaches of the kingdom many times.

Seeing similar uniforms, I quickly identified the presence of High Guard wraith dancers patrolling here and there among the people. My instinct to wave was overruled by the covert nature of our visit. Dressed as commoners, we were meant to go unnoticed. Still, I couldn't help but take note of the women serving here under the reign of the dragon Moloch.

They wore stern looks on their faces; not at all like the happy expressions of the priestesses in Babale. I couldn't help but wonder if it was simply a reflection of the city, with its ill mood, making them look that way. "If I had to serve in such an unattractive city, I'd probably frown too," I whispered into Agnes' ear as we turned down another street, maneuvering our way through the crowd.

She cast a sidelong glance at me, seeming scornful of the remark at first. Then a smirk crossed her face as she said, "Not to mention the smell. But we'd better keep quiet. Some may be listening with the gifts. The High Guard here has not been notified of our operation."

I immediately ceased any further comments, while discreetly keeping my eyes peeled for any indication that our cover had been compromised. The eyes of the guards flitted across the crowd, searching for anything suspicious, but they never seemed to pay us any special attention. Very likely they had received news of the attacks taking place in Babale.

The High Guard would naturally be very suspicious of any behavior out of the ordinary. No one wanted to become the target of further attacks by the rebels. If they had already been brazen enough to strike the very heart of the kingdom, then no one could truly feel safe anymore.

We had been walking through the streets of Tarris for more than three hours when Agnes said, "I think the place where we are to meet Felonius is down this way."

We turned down an alley, for it was much too narrow to be considered a proper street, and began a trek among seedier elements of the city. There were unwashed smelly people here and there, looking very intoxicated. Old wineskins dangled from the twitchy fingers of the unconscious. Rats skittered across our path, screeching their complaints for our interrupting whatever wretched business they were about.

Agnes carried on as though there was nothing out of the ordinary about the scene. I was disgusted by it. Never had I seen people living in such conditions. In Babale, the High Guard would never have allowed such conditions to exist. In the back of my mind, I vowed to use my new position among the Guard to make sure they never did.

As appalling as I found this revelation, we were still on a mission that required us to be inconspicuous. With effort, I pushed back my emotions and allowed my disgust to drain out of my expression. I walked after Agnes, the model of an apathetic citizen of Tarris.

Agnes stopped in front of a squat block building. There was no one loitering in front of it like there was around the other buildings opening to the alley. A single thick-looking metal door stood before us, warning us that nothing good could be waiting beyond. Agnes looked at me and then approached the door. There were stains upon the door, almost as though something had splashed across its surface. Subsequent rains had not completely wiped it away. My first thought was blood, but it was difficult to be sure.

Banging out a rhythmic pattern, no doubt something Helda had imparted to her, Agnes stepped back to stand beside me in the alley and wait for a reply. After a few seconds, a metal slide began to open near the top of the door. A pair of eyes was just barely visible peering out at us from the darkness beyond. "Who are you?" a voice barked from behind the door.

Agnes took a step forward. "Mistress Helda has sent us to Felonius," she said.

A hint of recognition shown in the eyes before the metal slide was shoved back into place. Several locks could be heard as they were unlocked and bolts slid out of place behind the door. The door opened quickly, and a meaty arm covered in black hair shot out from behind it, beckoning us to enter. Agnes and I cast sidelong glances at one another, and then we stepped forward inside the doorway where darkness swallowed us.

Immediately, I grabbed Agnes' sleeve to be sure that we didn't get separated. At the same time, I reached into the Gifts of Transcendence for heightened senses. The gifts responded to my call. My eyesight lightened, so that I could see the room and descending stairs beyond in a sort of twilight vision. The burly arm was attached to a hulking mass of a man; his belly barely contained by a leather halter.

The little vestibule where we were standing reeked of his foul body odor. The beefy guard removed a cap from a lamp sitting on a table nearby, barely giving me enough time to dampen the effect of the gifts on my sight before being temporarily blinded by the sudden addition of light. I shielded my eyes as they readjusted to our surroundings.

The man grunted in the direction of the stairs as he placed the lamp upon the wall above. The light spilled most of the way down. Seeing that the guard was not going to accompany us, Agnes and I started cautiously down. The air was moist, but not so much that it made the stone steps slick to walk upon. I had dimmed my vision somewhat, but had retained my more acute hearing.

As we neared the bottom of the stair we came to another door; this one made out of wood. Beyond the door I could hear all sorts of strange noises: laughter, footsteps and the rustle of different fabrics rubbing against one another and across the skin of the wearers. Listening further, I heard the voices of women and one particular man's voice, as well as the raucous noise of food chewing as the man spoke, ordering servants about.

Agnes watched me, waiting to see if I had heard anything indicating danger from the other side of the door. I shook my head. She placed her palm against the door for a brief moment. Knowing the gifts, I understood that she was attempting to feel the heat from bodies in the room beyond. She removed her hand, then held up four fingers—the number of warm bodies she had sensed through the gifts.

I glanced up the stair, finding the burly guard still watching us. He almost certainly couldn't make out what we were doing down in the shadows, but he at least knew we hadn't gone through the door yet.

"Knock," he said with a voice so deep as to be menacing without effort.

Immediately I had the urge to knock just so I wouldn't have to hear him speak to us again. Agnes, taking the lead, knocked, rapping on the door three times. I could hear someone responding, light steps drawing near to open the door. Presumably, they had no fear of opening the door for someone who had managed to make it past the giant sentinel up the stairs.

A woman dressed in silk garments opened the door, allowing us to enter the lavishly decorated room beyond. Immediately, I connected the sights with the sounds I had heard while still on the other side of the door and the information Agnes had given me. Besides the young woman at the door, there were two more clad in similar garments fawning over a fat man dressed in purple robes, sitting upon a mound of pillows that may have passed for some sort of throne.

The women appeared to represent some sort of harem. They were giggling slightly as they made a mess, playfully feeding the man various cuts of fruit from a platter one of them was holding. The man was trying to sip from a bejeweled goblet of gold at the same time. I could smell the fermented wine within all the way across the room even without the use of the gifts.

The man paused as he beheld us, and then motioned for us to come toward him. We removed our hats and the fat man seemed to notice for the first time that we were women. "Ah," he said, beginning to appraise us anew. Disappointment dawned for a moment. "Really, how can I know if I can use you when you're wearing such things? Kindly disrobe, please." He took another sip from his goblet.

Agnes and I looked at one another again, puzzled.

"Come, come, ladies," he said with some annoyance. "I have no time to dally with sheepish harlots."

The light of understanding dawned a moment before my hand flew to one of my blades hidden beneath my riding coat. It was bad enough that this churlish pig kept such women in bondage to him, but to assume that we had shamelessly come to beg our bodies into his employ was more than I could stand. It was only as I reacted that I noticed the fifth person in the room.

Neither I nor Agnes had spotted her lying in wait within the shadows when we came into the room. But as my blade came free in a threatening blur of motion, the woman with hair as black as a crow's wing shot forward to intercept me. She moved far faster than any normal woman should have been capable. Even as I moved toward the fat man on his pillowed throne I knew that she must be a wraith dancer...and she was going to beat me to him.

With only a fraction of a second to assess the new situation, I noted that she had produced no weapon. That meant she would employ one of the Gifts of Transcendence; possibly the Touch. If she managed to connect properly, the bones in either my hand or my arm would likely be shattered. Moreover, since I had set my course in motion prior to her reaction, I was at a disadvantage for changing direction. Still, I mustered the strength to pull my arm back just enough to keep her from connecting with her intertwined index and middle fingers—the signature of the Touch.

The woman missed as I retreated. The fat man had only just reacted to our movements, lurching backward over his mound of silk pillows, tumbling with one of his female servants into the floor beyond. Immediately, I was strengthening my hold on the Gifts, calling for increased strength, agility and perception. I wasn't going to back down. The fat man's dark-haired bodyguard wasn't retreating either.

Almost as soon as it had begun, Agnes inserted herself between us. I realized that I had acted inappropriately, possibly jeopardizing our mission by rushing ahead when Agnes was to lead in all things pertaining to this assignment. Strangely, she hadn't addressed me, but the other woman. "Andrea!" she shouted.

We both stopped short of our next moves—both of us puzzled by Agnes' knowledge of this mysterious wraith dancer's identity. The fat man had begun to recover himself; his servants helping him to his feet. Agnes did not wait for his outrage to be unleashed. "Felonius, we are sent from Mistress Helda in Babale," she said.

I noticed that Helda's name disarmed his temper. He switched from bewildered outrage to broken subservience in an instant. "Please, ladies, sit?" He gestured to more cushions on the floor opposite his own. He snapped his fingers at his female servants, sending them hastily for hot food and new wine.

I marveled, wondering what hold an old woman could have on such a wicked man in a city leagues away. Surely, Helda must hold this fat man's life by a thread for him to act this way. His bodyguard, Andrea, had already returned to the shadows behind him. Felonius began to speak with Agnes about our needs, conveying his most sincere apologies for mistaking us for common harlots. "Business is business, you understand," I heard him say.

For my part, I fell in beside Agnes, allowing her to lead. We really couldn't afford to risk this operation. We had been commanded by Belial himself. However, my gaze never left Andrea's dark eyes, and her gaze never faltered from mine.

### ANDREA

I felt anything but comfortable sitting upon the silk cushions before the fat man, Felonius. Some kind of meat, chicken I think, had been brought out on a platter for us along with various kinds of cut fruit and tea. Agnes had refused the wine that had been offered. Before eating or drinking any of it, I had used the gifts to enhance my senses once again so that I could detect any chemicals or poisons that might have been added. You could never be too careful, especially in the company of a wicked man like Felonius.

His female servants sat beside him pawing at him every now and then, filling me with disgust. They were barely wearing enough clothing to cover themselves, besides seeming to be either intoxicated or impaired by opiates. At any rate, I found it difficult to believe that any woman in their right mind would serve Felonius.

Still, there was this curious bodyguard, Andrea. She was clearly in a sober state. No wraith dancer could access the Gifts of Transcendence otherwise. But why would someone with such a noble background serve a man like Felonius in a place like this? I tried to get my mind on the business at hand, but Andrea was too much of a distraction. Not to mention that having her standing in the shadows behind the fat man had me wound as tightly a bowstring.

"These refugees," Agnes was asking, "they are bound for the castle at Thorn Mountain?"

"Yes," Felonius said. "For a price, I find suitable places for these Believers who have been ostracized from their families and neighbors for their new faith. One of the easiest, for the time being anyway, is the castle. I don't deal directly with the prophet, but he hasn't turned anyone away yet."

"Couldn't these refugees just travel to Thorn Mountain themselves?" Agnes asked. It was a question that I wondered about as well.

Felonius chuckled to himself. "I suppose they could try," he admitted. "However, the journey can be perilous with the weather. And there are the rumors that have circulated."

"What rumors?" Agnes said.

Felonius could not suppress a grin. "It is said that you have to have the right contacts in order to be allowed up the mountain. Otherwise, you could be making a trip through the snowy wastes only to be turned away. Then where would these people and their poor children be?

"And these rumors," I interrupted, "do they also tell of a man named Felonius who can get you inside for the right price?"

"As I said, it is a rumor that has spread throughout the city and beyond," Felonius said. "Who knows how these things get started."

"I trust our price will be different." Agnes suggested.

"Oh, entirely, my dear," Felonius agreed. "Any friend of Helda is a friend of mine. Consider the fee waived."

I wanted to ask why that should be the case—why the old woman made the difference—if nothing else but to see him squirm. But I didn't.

Agnes seemed satisfied with Felonius' offer. "Then we should be on our way as soon as possible."

Felonius stood and motioned Andrea to him. "Indeed, you shall, ladies." Felonius seemed as eager to have us away as we were. He led the way through a hallway beyond—a corridor lined with doors down each side. I did not have to enhance my hearing to catch the laughter and moans of pleasure emanating from the rooms beyond. My desire to be gone from this place only increased.

We finally came to another chamber where the fat man had all manner of food items in store, as well as clothing, weapons and anything else one might need. He turned to us, gesturing toward his storehouse. "Please, ladies, take what you need for your journey; my gift to Mistress Helda and the Serpent Kings."

Agnes and I began to peruse Felonius' supplies, taking down foods that would travel easily as well as water skins. I found suits of clothing made from animal furs and pulled them down as well. We would definitely face colder temperatures and quite possibly foul weather as we made our way to Thorn Mountain.

"I should have anything you need for the journey, ladies," Felonius said. "When you have what you need, my bodyguard, Andrea, will escort you to one of my warehouses near the city perimeter. There you can join the refugees, and Andrea will see that you get a proper start. Remember, if you want to blend in with the refugees you must not make references to our dragon gods except in a negative way. However, many of these folk are still new to their faith in their dead god. So, you won't be expected to have any great theological knowledge."

Agnes nodded to Felonius and thanked him. She glanced at Andrea, who was watching us. Felonius started back out of the storeroom, waving merrily as though we were all the best of friends. It bothered me to watch him go, knowing the kind of criminal activity he was involved in, knowing that the High Guard was willing to turn a blind eye and compromise with such a wicked man. Felonius deserved the judgment and wrath of the Serpent Kings, but instead he would be rewarded.

We were left there in the storeroom with Andrea. We had our clothing picked out and bundled in our arms. She looked at us warily. "I will wait while you change," she said. "I can have servants pack the other items for your journey, if you wish."

Andrea was playing the role of servant well, but I could see fire burning in her eyes. This woman was a warrior and likely had been so for a very long time. She carried herself gracefully and her body was hard; not at all like the prissy girls fawning over Felonius. I wanted so much to know what had brought her to this.

Agnes barely regarded Andrea's words. She was looking past the bodyguard façade, seeing the woman for who she really was. Agnes stepped closer to her, standing nearly nose to nose. "Yes," she said. "I know exactly who you are, Andrea. You may not remember me, but I will never forget you. Know this: if not for the urgency of my mission, I would gladly finish what the High Guard failed to do years ago."

Andrea looked into her eyes, but she did not flinch at her barely veiled threat.

"Agnes, what is it?" I asked.

She glanced back at me, and then walked away without explanation toward a bench on the far side of the storeroom. She found a basin and towels next to a well-pump. She pumped the handle a few times, filling up the basin. I watched Andrea as Agnes disrobed and began to wash herself with the towels and soap and water, cleaning away the grime of our last few days of travel before getting ready for what lay ahead.

Andrea did not speak to me, but her eyes betrayed her sadness. Perhaps there was even regret in her expression. I couldn't be sure and I wasn't bold enough to ask. I turned away from her, following Agnes to the far side of the room. I tossed my fur clothing on the ground and began to remove the dusty riding clothes we had worn from Babale. It felt good to shed them like a grimy skin. The air on my skin was refreshing. The water was cool, but it would feel good to be clean again. I turned to find that Andrea had left the storeroom; her steps so light that I had not even heard her go.

### REFUGEES

A half hour later, female servants arrived to pack our gear and supplies for the journey to Thorn Mountain. They were older women who may have been slaves. Andrea arrived a short time later to inform us that it was time to go. She looked at me rather than face Agnes' icy stare. I had no idea what she might have done in the past, but I couldn't blame her for avoiding my partner. After all, Agnes had as much as threatened to kill her. And even though I had enjoyed a brief showdown with Andrea, I couldn't help but be fascinated because I was looking at someone who had once been like me, but who was now living out in the world apart from the authority of our gods and beholden to none.

Not that I wanted to run from who I was. I simply didn't realize someone like Andrea even existed. And I wondered if she might have answers to the questions that were running through my head recently. Agnes had already made it clear that she would not entertain my curiosity. I had nowhere else to turn.

I waited until we had arrived at a large warehouse sitting mostly empty except for a few carts full of furs and other dry goods. Near the far door a group of about thirty people were situated around a cook-fire with a black iron cauldron suspended over it on a stave. A woman was piecing bits of meat and vegetables into the pot—a last meal before the journey, I supposed.

When we arrived, Andrea spoke with one of the men, giving him a document sealed in wax. Apparently, Felonius had left the refugees under the impression that they needed his seal in order to have a hope of acceptance among Ezekiah and his Believers at Thorn Mountain. Andrea seemed to be explaining the document's importance to the man who nodded thankfully for the great favor Felonius had done for them by taking their money. Little did they realize that Felonius probably couldn't have cared less whether they actually made it to Thorn Mountain, or died in the wilderness.

Agnes made her way to the fire where the others were sitting. I stayed behind, seeming to casually walk apart from the group surveying our situation when really I was only waiting for Andrea to finish what she was doing. Agnes turned away from me when one of the women around the fire brought her a bowl of stew. She accepted it gratefully and was immediately ensnared by the woman into conversation.

I watched Andrea until she was done talking to the man and bid the group farewell. However, before she could depart I intercepted her. She looked wary of me, but I was smiling and trying to look as harmless as possible. "Andrea, I wanted to talk to you for a moment, if you don't mind?"

"Mistress, you should have some food before your group departs," she said. "The journey is long and you'll soon wish you could enjoy such meals."

I stepped in front of her. "Andrea, I've never met anyone like you—a wraith dancer no longer serving the Serpent Kings. I wondered if you would tell me what happened. How does Agnes know you and why is she so angry?"

Andrea looked as though she would withdraw, her expression stirring to sadness at the mention of her past.

"Please," I begged. "I've had...questions recently and I don't know who to turn to for answers."

Andrea stood still, seeming to consider for a moment. She glanced toward Agnes, as did I. She was still caught up with the other woman.

I used to be like you, Mistress," she said. "I was a wraith dancer and also the Captain of the High Guard many years ago. I do not remember Agnes, though she must have served under my command during the rebellion that took place in the northeast. We were fighting against superior weaponry...weapons taken from the old world. Many wraith dancers were killed trying to put down these rebels. The dragon, Moloch, came to our rescue and destroyed their army, decimating the entire region. But there were few of us who survived. Some were even killed by Moloch's ensuing rampage.

"When all was said and done, I was blamed for our failure in the northeast. I was stripped of my rank in the High Guard and cast out from the priestesses of Moloch. Several assassins were sent in the weeks to come, but I would not give them my life. I disappeared, alone and unwanted, among the dregs of society in Tarris. I had no food and no shelter.

"It didn't take long for me to find myself starving on the streets. Felonius found me and offered me work in his brothel." She paused, wiping a tear from her eye. Then she became hard as stone again. "I had no choice but to accept. I had nothing else."

Throughout her story, my eyes grew wide with wonder. Such a warrior going to waste, becoming a common harlot in order to survive. I could barely fathom it.

"In time, Felonius bit off more than he could chew with a rival in the trade. When this rival sent men to kill Felonius, I stopped them and saved his life. Since that day, he has employed me as a bodyguard only and increased my pay beyond room and board."

I couldn't help but give her a strange look. "But a man like Felonius—"

"Has given me some sense of worth again," she interrupted. "I know what kind of man he is, but the dragons cast me aside. I had questions too."

I reserved my judgment for a moment, curious what questions she might have asked in her situation. "What were they?"

"I only had the opportunity to voice one before assassins were sent to kill me," Andrea said. "Why had our gods sent us to quell a rebellion in the northeast, when a god should have known we would be killed trying?"

One part of me was offended by her question—the part of me that reverted to training. I could quickly understand why they tried to silence her. She had questioned the deity of the dragons. Yet the curious side of me wanted an answer to the question Andrea had dared to ask and more. Why had they not provided a logical answer? Why kill her just for asking?

I stood there looking at her, bewildered. She could surely see what was going through my mind.

"Mistress," she said, "my advice to you is to silence your questions and never ask them. Not if you want to live. You can see what such curiosity brought me to. Now, I can probably look forward to more wraith dancers coming after me, once you two return from your mission. I would not wish the life of an outcast upon you, so take my advice...and my thanks."

Andrea placed her hand on my upper arm.

"Thanks?" I asked.

She smiled just a little. "For giving me the chance to share my side of what happened...for listening."

Andrea let go of my arm and turned away. I didn't know what else to say to her, so I simply let her go without another word. When I turned back toward the fire and the refugees, I found Agnes glaring at me. She clearly wasn't happy about my speaking to Andrea.

I lowered my eyes to the ground and walked toward her. She stood up and met me with a steaming bowl of stew. "Here," she said. "You would be wiser to eat something that's good for you than to listen to the poison of traitors."

Agnes shoved the bowl into my hands and turned back to sit at the fire. I wasn't sure anything I said would take away her anger, so I didn't bother trying. I didn't feel that I had any right to either justify or condemn Andrea's actions. And Agnes wasn't interested even if I tried.

I sat down on the ground and began to eat the stew. It was tasty, but nothing could drown out my growing doubts about what was happening in the world around me. I didn't want to doubt anything that I had been taught. But unanswered questions were praying upon my mind, like vultures circling a dying animal. They would not go away no matter how I clung to my long held beliefs.

Once the meal had been eaten and everyone was ready with wagons and carts full and passengers aboard, Agnes and I set off with the refugees toward Thorn Mountain. We left near dusk, hoping to avoid suspicious followers. Agnes and I were allowed to ride in one of the wagons owned by the woman whom Agnes had indulged in conversation earlier and her husband.

The wagon was at least covered, which was better than I had expected to start this journey north. I huddled inside my furs, avoiding eye contact with Agnes—at least until she simmered down and had put Andrea out of her mind. The road was hard-packed dirt with a layer of frost over the topsoil. Nearly a week ahead of us stood Thorn Mountain. I settled in and got some sleep, still trying to put bothersome questions out of my mind.

### SISTERS

Jillian walked behind the Supreme Matron of the Council of the High Guard for the city of Tarris. She was unsure and uncomfortable. An emergency meeting called for her, as Captain of the High Guard, and Supreme Matron Galinda to meet with two high level agents sent by Belial himself. No one else would be in attendance; the matter being of the highest secrecy and highest priority.

Jillian had tried to feel Galinda out on the matter, hoping to glean details before actually meeting with the two wraith dancers from Babale. However, Galinda had stopped her quickly. She had only just received a communiqué herself. Until they met with these two women, they would not know what was going on.

The pair proceeded down a lonely lamp-lit corridor of ancient stone block. At this late hour, the other wraith dancers serving in the High Guard and housed in this special ward would already be asleep. Only the sound of their soft footfalls could be heard with the occasional pop of hot oil inside the lamps.

When they reached Galinda's office, they found two guards waiting outside the door. On a bench against the opposite wall, sat two wraith dancers Jillian did not recognize. They were clearly sisters by appearance and she had at least heard about two twins who fought together using a peculiar complementary style among wraith dancers. They were said to be highly skilled and effective in their work.

The two sisters stood and bowed, acknowledging the Supreme Matron.

"Ladies, I understand Belial has you on pressing business here in Tarris," Galinda said. "Please, come inside."

The guard unlocked the office door and opened it for the Supreme Matron. Jillian allowed the sisters to enter first, and then followed. Galinda walked to her desk and seated herself as the others found chairs around the desk. The guard closed the door leaving them to their business.

"Now, ladies, how may we assist you?" Galinda asked.

Rachel spoke first. "Matron, my name is Rachel and this is my sister, Rebecca. As wraith dancers with the High Guard in Babale, we have been commissioned by Belial himself to find and eliminate the rebel known as Varen."

Jillian started in her chair. She hoped no one had noticed. She felt like someone had just stabbed her in the heart. Her love had been targeted by the dragons. She had known their indifference would not last forever. At some point they would try to kill him. Finally, the order had been given. Two more dangerous wraith dancers could not have been found to carry out the deed.

"I have heard of you both," Galinda said. "Your talents are well known."

"Mistress," Rachel began, "Mistress Helda informed us that you would likely be able to provide us with intelligence information on Varen's recent activities. It has been reported that he has been seen operating in and around Tarris."

"He has indeed. Jillian is Captain of the High Guard here in Tarris," Galinda said, indicating Jillian. "She can provide you with the details we have."

Now it had fallen to her. Jillian began to perspire. She could feel the heat gathering. She was in a precarious predicament. If she did not provide the actual report, Galinda would know and question her about it. However, if she did tell what the High Guard had found, Varen would be placed in grave danger.

"Actually," Jillian began, "our information is limited. However, we do know that Varen was seen on the streets of Tarris recently and some of his men were arrested by the High Guard. Upon examination they informed us that he had taken the road west toward the Urtah Mountains."

Jillian wanted to tear out her own tongue—the betrayal felt like ashes in her mouth.

"Does he have an encampment in the mountains?" Rachel asked.

Jillian almost hesitated. "That is what the report says."

"How many days since he left for Urtah? Did the prisoners say?" Rachel asked.

"No more than two," Jillian said. "His men were caught coming out of a brothel. Apparently they stayed behind, hoping to catch up at their convenience."

Rachel's eyebrows rose at the mention of the brothel. Jillian assumed she would be surprised. After all, Babale was supposedly free from the criminal elements that plagued Tarris unmolested. Still, the wraith dancer didn't make it an issue.

Instead, she and her sister stood and bowed; first toward the Supreme Matron and then toward Jillian. "Mistress, you have our gratitude, as do you, Captain," Rachel said. "With your permission, we will be on our way."

Galinda nodded. "May the gods speed you on your way and give you success."

Rachel and Rebecca turned to go.

"Could I be of assistance?" Jillian blurted out.

The sisters paused, turning toward Jillian. There was an awkward silence between them. Jillian could feel Galinda's eyes upon her.

After a moment, Rachel composed herself. "Thank you, Captain," she said hesitantly. "I'm sure we'll be fine."

They turned, Rachel opened the door and they walked out, closing it behind them.

Galinda's reaction was instant. "Jillian, how could you ask such a thing? Belial commissioned them and they must fulfill their obligation."

Jillian turned and bowed. "Forgive me, Mistress. I only hoped that I might help them because of the dangerous man they are sent for. Please accept my apologies."

"As Captain of the High Guard, you of all people should follow protocol to the letter," Galinda said.

Jillian kept her eyes downcast. "Yes, Mistress."

Galinda paused for a moment, examining her again. Apparently satisfied she said, "Very well, you may return to your room."

Jillian turned and left the Supreme Matron's office. The two guards were still keeping watch on either side of the door. Jillian looked down the corridor, searching for Rachel and Rebecca, but they were already gone. No doubt they were rushing to their horses in order to hurriedly get out of the city and onto the Western Road to catch up with Varen's caravan.

Jillian walked quickly down the hall on her way to her own room. She had given Rachel and Rebecca the information they required. She had offered the sisters help with their mission to eliminate Varen. But that had been a lie; a ploy. Given the chance she would soon have slit their throats.

Jillian knew she now had only one course of action left to her. Varen, her only love, was in danger. Two highly skilled assassins were riding out to take him from her life forever. Leaving everything else behind, she had no choice but to intercept these deadly sisters and kill them herself.

Twenty minutes later, Jillian was on the wall staring out over the frosted moor with the Western Road winding away from Tarris toward Urth just over a week away. A guard stood at attention next to her, obviously waiting to report to her captain. Jillian gave her a sidelong glance. She knew the woman. "Tabitha, has anyone left the city by the Western Gate recently?" she asked, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible about the inquiry.

"Yes, Mistress," Tabitha reported. "Two wraith dancers with clearance from the Supreme Matron left on horseback about fifteen minutes ago. Otherwise, no one has been allowed in or out."

Jillian smiled at the guard. "Very good, Tabitha. I have business that takes me to Urth for the next two weeks. Please have my horse and riding supplies prepared for my journey. I must leave immediately by command of the Supreme Matron."

Tabitha bowed and made haste to obey the command from her superior officer. Jillian looked out into the darkness. Moonlight could not reveal the wraith dancers to her. But she could see the distant snowcaps of the Urtah Mountains. Varen would remain on the road for several more days before veering aside to begin his trek up into the mountains. She had to reach his assassins in time.

Jillian turned to look out from the wall over the lamp-lit streets of Tarris. She had been raised in this city. It was her home. All of her accomplishments were connected with this place. But her decision had been made. To save Varen, she would leave it all behind, likely never to return. She shook away a stray tear. Strengthening her resolve, she headed for the stables below.

### RUINS

Two days outside of Tarris the weather threatened snow. There was no road north, at least nothing that had been constructed during the last one thousand years during the reign of the Serpent Kings. I watched from one of the wagons as Agnes spoke with the leader of the refugee group; a man by the name of Charles.

We had come to the Black River which ran down from the Thorn Mountain range, winding its way along the northern border of the Kingdom before diverting west where it converged with the Ruritan River and eventually drove into the sea. The black river, though not particularly wide, had been named for its abundant depth which swallowed up any light trying to penetrate—easily twenty feet in the shallow spots. Normally, travelers heading north, and there weren't many, would cross here at the North Border Bridge. It had been built to span the river hundreds of years earlier.

However, looking out over the river now, I could see that the bridge had been destroyed somehow; possibly by flood waters that could easily sweep away such structures given the right amount of rainfall. Those who knew more about this area knew that the bridge, though longstanding, had been built too close to the water. Even after hundreds of years, it had been inevitable that the Black would claim it.

Some of the other men were also standing with them discussing the matter. Agnes soon returned to me at the wagon where Charles' wife and children were also waiting to see how we might proceed toward Thorn Mountain.

"Miss," one of the children asked, "how are we ever going to get over there?"

"Hush now," his mother said. "Your father and the others will figure out something."

Agnes climbed back into the wagon about the time the men broke from their deliberation on the bank of the river. I scooted over so that she could get back in and offered her one of the fur blankets we had been wrapped inside during our journey. Charles' wife, Clara, called back to Agnes. "Well, have they decided what's to be done?"

"Your husband has mentioned a bridge not far from here, down the river a ways where we can cross," Agnes replied.

I started to speak, but Agnes grabbed my arm until Clara had turned back to wait for her husband who was making his way to the wagon. Agnes leaned in to me, whispering in my ear. "The bridge was made during the time of the old world," she said.

"Where is it?" I asked.

"There are ruins not even a half day's journey from here," she said. "Of course, they are forbidden, but that won't stop these people. They mean to get across the river any way they can."

At the mention of ruins, I shuddered. I could remember my one adventure among ruins during my childhood. Zora had been furious with me. I hadn't been able to sit for a week after the lashing she gave me.

Now that I was a wraith dancer serving in the High Guard, there was nothing to fear in the ruins. And we weren't going exploring through dilapidated buildings where ancient structures might give way and collapse beneath our feet. Our tiny armada of seven wagons would simply pass through on one of the abandoned roads and make our way over the bridge. Hopefully it would still be intact and untouched by the swift waters of the Black River.

Charles climbed onto the front seat next to his wife and snapped the reins to set the horse team in motion once again. Our wagon took the lead, veering westward along the river bank.

Hours later a gray sky had taken control of the heavens. A cold drizzle fell upon the wagons, leaving dry only those riding within. Charles and the other men, as well as their horses, looked quite miserable. It was difficult to tell how close to sundown it was, as we had been driving in a state of twilight for some time now. Still we journeyed on in the hope of at least crossing the Black River before we had to make camp.

One of the children poked me on the cheek, asking, "Miss, what's that up ahead?"

I looked out the front of the wagon and saw something I had never seen before. Huge buildings rose up before us on either side of a cracked and weed infested paved road; only now revealed as we drove on through a thick veil of fog. The wagon wheel noise suddenly changed timbre as we left the packed earth and started up onto the ancient road. The skeletal forms of ancient vehicles lay dead and rotting; rust covered husks, some with trees growing through them.

I had seen some of these before during my limited travels. I had no idea how they ever managed to get around. They were made of heavy hunks of metal and other materials unknown to me. Looking now, I wondered how they ever could have hooked a horse up to them.

Our stunted wagon train snaked through building debris and the remnants of things none of us had any recollection for. I listened in as Charles spoke with his wife. "The bridge is about a mile from here," he said. "It's very high over the river and made of metal, so it should not have washed away like the other one."

I looked out the back of the wagon, hoping to take in as much as I could while I had this rare opportunity. I would have loved the chance to stop and actually explore the place. The large concrete buildings towered over us and went back into the trees and fog as far as I could see.

I had often wondered what the old world had been like: what the people had worn, the lost technologies they employed and their social customs. Driving through this ancient place had me almost as excited as the day I stood before the Council of the High Guard receiving my new appointment to their ranks.

I noticed something peculiar in passing. The smell of death should have gone from this place centuries ago, but there was something out there; something indistinct that disturbed my senses more than I would have liked. I noticed the absence of sound. Even animal sounds, that should have been present, were strangely missing.

On a hunch, I reached for the gifts, enhancing my hearing, sight and sense of smell. The stench of rotting flesh and foul body odor assaulted me almost immediately. To anyone else it would have seemed faint at best, if they detected it at all. Still, I saw nothing obviously wrong among the dilapidated structures.

However, when I listened at a higher capacity, scratching and shuffling emanated from the ruined buildings around us. As I tried to discern whether the noise might be animal in origin, heavy labored breathing became apparent. The sounds were too human to be anything else.

I turned to Agnes. My expression startled her. "What is it?" she asked.

"Things...out in the ruins," I said. "I think they may be human."

No sooner had the words left my mouth, than something moved fast through my peripheral vision. I turned my head in time to see an emaciated human form slam into the team of horses pulling two wagons back from us. The animals screamed in panic as they were knocked sideways to the ground, falling on top of one another.

More of the creatures descended upon us from the ruins. I heard Charles yelling in the front of the wagon, his wife and the horses screaming. "Death walkers!" Agnes cried.

I had never seen a death walker before, but I had heard the tales. Their appearance was horrific and true to the name. They looked like corpses, barely alive, savage and bloodthirsty. One of the fiends crashed into the canvas covering our wagon as the two children of Charles and Carla began to scream.

The death walker clawed through the canvas in seconds. I turned and lunged for the creature. We both fell away from the wagon, one of my fighting knives whipping across its throat before we had hit the ground. Behind me our wagon capsized as the horse team went wild. Half a dozen death walkers tore into the animal with inhuman strength. Everything inside the wagon was scattered across the road including the children and Agnes.

She was on her feet instantly, fending off the creatures with a sword and knife. My enhanced senses tingled with activity. Behind me two death walkers came at me, their eyes black as night, devoid of souls. I fell into my training. There was no such thing as fear or retreat. I flew into them, calling upon the gifts for strength and agility. With my right hand I retrieved my sword from beneath my cloak. My left held the dagger I had used on the first death walker.

The creatures cared nothing for weapons; neither using them or fleeing from them. I hacked through limbs, but they didn't regard the wounds. Relentlessly they attacked, driven by forces unknown to me.

As fearsome as the creatures were, I did not cower before them. I was a wraith dancer; one of the most deadly warriors known to man. As ferocious as they were, these fiends fell like wheat before my blades. But things were going far worse for the refugees in the wagons.

Still, Agnes was hard at work killing the creatures, trying to keep our group alive. Some of the refugees had been killed already, but we had to arrive at Thorn Mountain in their company if we were ever to get to Ezekiah and complete our mission.

A scream pierced through me. One of the children had been grabbed up by a death walker that was fleeing back into one of the buildings. I caught sight of them just before the fiend disappeared inside. Clara was crying after the child; her daughter Jessica.

Immediately, I ran after the creature. Agnes had just slain one of the last near the wagons. She grabbed a lamp from one of the wagons and took up pursuit hot on my heels. We entered the building. I used enhanced eyesight and hearing to track the creature. Jessica was still screaming as well, making it easy to find where the fiend had taken her.

The death walker was heading underground by way of a set of concrete stairs. We followed, now having to rely completely on the lamp as the light filtering in from outside was unable to penetrate this far into the structure. Jessica's crying echoed from up ahead. We ran toward her, and then heard an earsplitting scream come from the girl. Something had happened. Her voice was cut off.

Agnes threw the lamp toward the place where we last heard her. The oil bell smashed on the ground catching light as the fuel spread across the ground. A horrific sight was illuminated before us. A dozen more death walkers were tearing the girl apart as the flame erupted behind them.

I had never witnessed anything so gruesome in my entire life. Something snapped inside of me. I flew into a rage and charged the creatures. Smelling blood and showing no fear, the beasts charged toward us as well. Our blades met sickly gangrenous flesh, slashing and hacking through the death walkers in concert.

Some of the death walkers fell upon Agnes from pipes running along the ceiling. I heard her cry out, but was unable to get to her. Her sword fell to the concrete with a loud clang, her hand still attached to it where one of the creatures had bit through her forearm.

Agnes was shrieking now. The horrid emaciated forms of death walkers, painted orange by the splatter of flame on the floor, were everywhere. I had been clawed several times and bitten at least once. The creatures breached my defenses by sheer numbers alone. I lost sight of Agnes among their forms. A pack of lions would not have been more ferocious in their work.

I leaped away, over several heads, realizing I could not kill them fast enough before they overwhelmed me. They cared not for their lives, but I still wanted mine. I replaced my sword and began throwing daggers in every direction, wherever a new creature approached. I sent them right into their faces, knowing that the brain must be killed to stop a death walker. In moments I was out of steel with the fire reaching for my back.

The half dozen that remained came for me. In a last ditch effort, I plunged deep into the power of the gifts. My hands shot behind my back, caught flame in each and threw it toward my attackers. Over and over I reached for the fire, flinging it at the rotting bodies of the death walkers. Their tattered clothing caught light instantly. In seconds I was staring at half a dozen pillars of fire running hopelessly in every direction. The flames took them in moments, leaving me the only living thing left standing.

With the fire now scattering light all over the cavernous underground chamber, I soon found Agnes' body among the dismembered death walkers. Her left hand was missing. All over her body hunks of flesh had been torn away by inhumanly powerful jaws. One particularly grievous bite had torn away much of her throat; likely the killing wound.

There was nothing I could do for her now. Belial would watch over her spirit, as he did all of his children who pass from this world. The flames cast eerie shadows that danced upon the ground, ceiling and far off walls. I couldn't bear the thought of remaining in this place any longer. I drew my sword and left my other weapons in the corpses of my victims. There was no telling if more of the creatures might be on their way to have their share of blood.

I climbed the dim stairway back to the first floor of the building; my eyes darting into every dark place, examining every wayward shadow. No more death walkers came for me. As I emerged from the building, the living remnant of our group was only just beginning to pull themselves back together. The women were crying over the bodies of dead husbands and children. The few men were trying to make sense of what had happened and what they might salvage for a fast retreat. We still had to get over the bridge and night would soon be upon us.

Charles and Clara had managed to survive along with their son, Jason. Upon seeing me emerge from the building, Clara had run to me, searching for Jessica. She quickly realized that neither the child or Agnes had come out with me. Clara fell to her knees in the street, weeping uncontrollably.

I could feel the inevitable low coming upon me after having delved so deeply into the Gifts of Transcendence. I stopped and stared at Clara, suddenly realizing that I could not feel the kind of pain she was feeling. I would never have a husband. I would never have children to weep for.

Still, despite my warrior's hard heart, I felt tears rolling unrestrained down my cheeks. Agnes had been a friend. Her death had been senseless. All of these lives had been wasted. Only in the back of my mind, did I wonder how these creatures, created by the Serpent Kings, had come to be such a threat. Why had they been together hunting as a group?

The little I knew of death walkers told me they were solitary scavengers only. Never had I heard of such an attack as this taking place. Perhaps, someone coming upon one of the creatures wandering in the wilderness might be in danger, but there had never been a massacre carried out by a pack of death walkers. What was happening to the world?

I came to Clara, still wailing for her child. I scooped her up by the shoulders. "We have to get out of her before more death walkers come," I said, urging her to come to what senses she had left. I had no reason to suspect that more death walkers would come. But I had never expected them to do what had already been done either.

I delivered Clara into her husband's arms. Their son ran to his mother's skirts crying for his sister. I looked into the bewildered faces of the remaining men. "We have to get the survivors into the wagons we have left and get over that bridge before nightfall," I said.

They were probably not used to receiving orders from a woman, but it only took them a moment to realize that the danger was still very real in this place. The men and women snapped to action, gathering the wounded into the two remaining wagons with horses. Another team of horses had been spared, but the wagon had been overturned. They were cut free from their harnesses and saddled by two of the men for riding.

In minutes, we had salvaged what we could and were making our way quickly through the street. Everyone remained on alert, weapons at the ready, just in case more death walkers came. For whatever reason, they did not. As darkness fell we made our way across the steel bridge still littered with the rusting hulks of ancient machines.

We left the ruins behind us in the thickening fog. I lamented leaving Agnes' body in such a terrible place, but there was nothing that could be done. I had no choice but to go on. There was still a mission to fulfill. By the time we reached the other side of the Black River, night had fully come. Nearly thirty refugees, on their way to Thorn Mountain, had been reduced to half that number.

### ASSASSINATION

Varen's caravan wound its way along the packed earth of the Western Road heading toward the Urtah Mountains in the distance. Another few hours would bring them to the place where they would divert from the road in order to ride into the mountains rather than going on to the city of Urth.

The Rebellion leader was riding in the comfort of a private carriage, escorted by a dozen of his most loyal soldiers. Nordin sat across from him, smoking his pipe as usual, taking in the scenery through one of the windows. The old man had been wary of crossing Ezekiah while they were still on Thorn Mountain. However, since coming away from the castle without any trouble, Nordin had been full of praise for his leader.

Varen smiled as he looked over the map again. "It's uncanny," he said.

Nordin puffed on his pipe and blew the smoke across the carriage with a weathered smile. "To think we've practically been sitting upon such a treasure this whole time."

"Not only do we have the map," Varen said, gloating, "We have proximity. There's no way Ezekiah can march his people to the cave in time to beat us there."

Nordin leaned toward him. "Indeed, which makes little sense," he said. "Why keep the weapons at so great a distance?"

"Ezekiah has always been overconfident," Varen said, dismissively.

"Perhaps," Nordin said, "but we've never known him to be unwise."

Varen grinned. "He had the map. No one was expected to find it. So far underground, they probably never would have. Besides, he didn't need them close if he never intended to use them. You heard him spouting off at that meeting. He wouldn't join our war against the Serpent Kings."

Nordin hunched his shoulders, conceding the argument as he drew from his pipe again.

Varen rolled the parchment up again and placed it in its protective cylinder. "You have to admit," he said, grinning, "Jillian really came through for us. She executed her part precisely."

Nordin sat back against the cushioned bench, puffing smoke. Finally his bearded mouth turned upward into a smile. "All right, Varen, I will admit it. The girl has done well. She might not be Moloch's spy after all."

Varen arched an eyebrow and waited.

"All right," Nordin said. "I give up. The girl loves you. She isn't a spy. I'm now quite certain of it."

Varen smiled broadly, slapping a hand across the old man's leg. "As you should be," he said. Varen tucked the map cylinder back into the lock-box he had brought with him and fastened it shut with a twist of the iron key he kept on a cord around his neck.

Four of Varen's soldiers rode ahead of his carriage, each man wearing a steel-plated leather shield across his back, sword at his side and bow and quiver slung behind on their saddles. The road followed the tree line of a pine forest on the left side with a field of yellow grasses spreading out to the hills on the right. The Urtah Mountains rose before them, each of its peaks bearing a cap of white snow.

Two feather-fletched, hardwood shafts split the air, piercing the breastbones of both leading soldiers. Their breath was stolen away before they could cry out. But the soldiers behind sounded the alarm, even as the dead soldiers slid out of their saddles to the road.

The carriage driver stopped his team. The other soldiers called to one another, their shields brought forward as they moved their horses forward in order to surround their leader's carriage. Nothing moved in the wood. Only the wind stirred among the grasses.

Varen called up to the carriage driver through the vent at the man's feet. "What's happening? Why have we stopped?"

The driver leaned down to the vent. "We're under attack, Lord Varen. Two of our men have been—"

His words were cut short as another arrow drove through the driver's head, pinning him to the carriage. Varen grabbed his sword immediately. He reached for the door handle, but Nordin tried to intercept him. Varen opened the door and began to step down as Nordin grabbed him by the shoulders to pull him back inside. "No, Varen!"

Varen's left hand was still on the handle inside the carriage door when another hardwood shaft shot through the door and his hand. Varen cried out for pain, trying to pull his hand back to his body, only to bring the door slamming shut with it.

"Get back inside, you fool!" Nordin scolded. "You're the one they want!"

As if to punctuate Nordin's point, several more arrows slammed into the window frame of the carriage, one right on top of the other; precision grouping.

"My hand is pinned to the door," Varen groaned.

Nordin grabbed the arrowhead. "Hold on," he said. "You won't like this." Nordin suddenly yanked the arrow through the door and Varen's palm. The feathers came last stained with blood.

"Sir," one of the soldiers called, "what should we do? I can't see who's attacking us."

Again, the man who had spoken was run through with an arrow; this time through his leg. He reacted, dropping his shield low in order to grab his wounded leg. A second arrow passed over his shield, slamming into his heart. He slumped sideways, falling out of his saddle.

Varen pushed Nordin back into the floor of the carriage. "Get down, old man!"

The horsemen regrouped, trying to close the gap left by their dead comrade. Suddenly a tightly wrapped cylinder flew out of the blowing yellow grass and bounced across the road. A hissing fuse burned quickly away as it landed under one of the horses guarding the carriage.

"Dynamite!" one of the soldiers cried, just before it exploded. Horses and men went flying in all directions. The right facing wall of the carriage shattered and the carriage itself flipped over toward the ditch on the left side of the road. A cloud of smoke and dust hung heavy in the air.

Gradually, men began to recover from the blast. The charge hadn't produced that big of an explosion, but it had been enough to kill several soldiers and their horses. Out of a dozen battle-hardened soldiers escorting Varen's carriage, only six were now left standing and ready to fight.

Varen and Nordin crawled out of the wrecked carriage together, the younger man helping support the older whose face had streaks of blood running across it. They stumbled together toward the surviving soldiers. Four of the men grabbed their swords and shields from the road. The other two soldiers nocked arrows, searching the fields ahead.

"The dynamite definitely came from among the grasses, Lord Varen," one of the soldiers reported.

Varen stared across the rolling plain. He could not see anyone there. But seven corpses did not lie. "Three of you go and beat the grasses; flush them out," Varen commanded. "And be careful."

Three of the swordsmen hefted their shields, stepping across the road and into the field. They spread themselves at arms length, beating the grasses with their swords as they proceeded forward. Nerves on edge, they were ready for almost anything...almost.

Two women rose from the grasses ahead and began to walk toward them. Instantly recognizable in the robes worn only by wraith dancers, their sudden appearance struck fear into the hearts of the men. One of the women carried a bow slung across her breast and a quiver of arrows on her back. The other wore a narrow sword across her back. They walked together confidently toward Varen's men.

The soldiers readied their shields, and then charged toward the women. The wraith dancer with the bow fell behind the other quickly then hopped to her shoulders. The men were startled, but did not halt their charge.

Just as the swordsmen got to them, the archer leaped over them, tumbling through the air to land behind Varen's soldiers. The wraith dancer with the sword then drew her weapon and attacked. The archer never looked back, obviously trusting her companion's ability to deal with the soldiers at her back.

Varen ordered his own archer forward. "Kill her!" he commanded.

His archers homed in on their target quickly and loosed their arrows. The wraith dancer pulled her bow free. She dodged one arrow, and then smashed the other from the air with her bow. As Varen's men tried to fire another volley, she whipped two arrows to her bowstring and released in one fluid blur. Both of Varen's archers fell to the road with arrows driven through their breastbones.

Varen and Nordin both watched the assassins work with stunned expressions on their faces. The wraith dancer with the sword darted around the soldier's shields, managing to remain aloof as the three swordsmen fought desperately to slay her. In seconds, all three soldiers lay dead.

Varen's remaining swordsman charged toward the archer; his shield ready and broadsword raised. She fired an arrow that passed over the man's shoulder toward Nordin. Varen realizing the altered trajectory then moved without hesitation, taking the shaft in his shoulder as he knocked Nordin aside. Both men fell to the ground.

The last swordsmen continued his charge, feeling fortunate that the arrow had missed him. He was too close for her to fire again. Instead, the female archer whipped her bow under his shield, throwing it so that his legs became entangled. He stumbled and fell upon his shield practically at her feet.

The soldier managed only to rise to one knee before her fingers drove into the side of his neck. The force of the Touch shattered his cervical vertebrae, damaging spinal cord and brain stem beyond repair. He fell over dead without a sound.

Jillian had heard the explosion from less than a mile away. She drove her horse even harder, fearing for Varen's life. The attack on his caravan had clearly begun. She only hoped to arrive before the deed was done. A forest of trees passed by in a blur to her left; the grasslands hardly seeming to move on her right.

In mere minutes she could see the cloud of smoke dissipating. Below, Varen's carriage lay tumbled and broken, resting in the ditch on the left side of the road. Three swordsmen were taking their last breaths before Rebecca in the field of gently blown, yellow grass. A lone soldier stumbled over Rachel's bow.

As Jillian drew closer she noticed Varen on the ground covering Nordin's body. The old man was still alive. Varen wasn't doing so well. An arrow, almost certainly from Rachel's bow, protruded from his shoulder, possibly he had been trying to shield Nordin from the attack.

A hot fury rose inside Jillian's chest. She kicked against her horse's side again and again, urging the animal on faster and faster. She knew it might collapse underneath her at any moment from the pace she had made it keep all this way, but she didn't care. Nothing mattered here, but saving Varen's life from these assassins.

As she drove over the last hill, approaching the wreckage, Jillian aimed her bow with two arrows held tightly together. She came within fifty yards of Rachel, who had noticed her by now and stopped in the road. Jillian let the arrows fly; the two shafts beginning to separate their trajectories more and more.

Rachel hesitated a moment as she recognized the Captain of the High Guard riding toward them very unexpectedly. Jillian had been counting on that. At the last second, Rachel sidestepped and smashed one arrow to splinters. The other had gone undetected. It sank into her side, bringing an ever increasing, bloody stain soaking through her robes.

Rachel almost fell from the unexpected impact of the arrow. Rebecca came running from the field to intercept. Rachel had been hurt badly, was losing blood and the arrow in her side hampered her movements greatly. Jillian took advantage of the situation, urging the horse on, pummeling Rachel with its large body. Except for a desperate dodge, she would have been trampled to death. Instead, she was knocked aside, landing in the ditch on the right side of the road; the arrow broken off inside her body as she tumbled wildly.

Jillian flew from the saddle, landing in the road with her bow ready. Rebecca came for her, using the gifts to greatly enhance her speed. With two arrows nocked, Jillian let fly. It was a unique move all her own. Usually an opponent as skilled as a wraith dancer could deal with one. The second, on a slightly different trajectory, often went unnoticed. But Rebecca had seen what had happened to her sister. She somersaulted over both arrows and landed with her sword ready.

Jillian, having only the bow in her hand at that moment, swung it out defensively. Rebecca tagged it with her sword, severing the bowstring and lopping off six inches of wood at the same time. Rebecca struck at her again. Jillian adjusted what was left of the bow so that she deflected the sword, causing the bow to bend and the sword to slide away from it. The rebounding wood snapped back to crack Rebecca in the face. She staggered backward in a daze.

Jillian reached into the gifts, increasing her speed and power. She spun around, whipping the bow down, intending to strike Rebecca's lower legs and trip her. Rebecca leaped up with her feet while bringing the sword crashing down. Jillian rose to meet the sword, blocking with the bow in her left hand, while moving slightly to her side. Her right hand retrieved a dagger from her side as the sword cut through the bow, but missed her body. Before Rebecca could dodge away, Jillian drove the dagger down through the base of her neck behind her collar bone.

Rebecca stood up for moment with a bewildered look in her eyes. She almost managed to raise the sword again, but the strike had been sure. Too much blood was pouring free into her chest cavity. She collapsed in seconds, her sword clanging dully against the packed earth of the road.

Varen called to her from behind, but she ignored him for the moment. Retrieving another dagger from her robes, Jillian crept near Rachel's body still lying in the ditch. She couldn't perceive any breathing movements; any rise and fall of her chest. She quickly pulled her over. Her eyes were partially open and lifeless. Her head was twisted unnaturally. The impact with the horse or the tumble across the road into the ditch had likely broken her neck.

Jillian left her there and walked over to Varen and Nordin. Both men were on their feet now, but Varen was being supported by Nordin. Jillian got to him and examined the wound.

"It's painful," Varen said, "but I think I'm all right."

She nodded. "We'll need to get that out and cauterize the wound," she said. "You're not going to enjoy it."

He nodded, smiling. "I know. I'm just glad you got here in time. Who were they and how did you know?"

"They were wraith dancers from the High Guard in Babale," Jillian said. "Your attacks on Belial's palace and temple have not gone unnoticed. The dragon commissioned them to assassinate you."

Nordin gave him a scolding look. "And they would have too, if Jillian had not come."

Varen took his admonishment as though he expected to receive it on a regular basis. "How did you know, my love?"

"They came to Tarris in order to get our intelligence reports," she said. "I told you they have been aware of your visits to the city. Now you see what has come of it. They met with me and the Supreme Matron. I had to tell them what the High Guard knew of your whereabouts."

Varen smiled, stroking her hair as a tear ran down her cheek. "Do not fret for it, my love," he said. "You were in a compromised position. You had no choice."

Nordin looked at her. "He's right," the old man said. Jillian was surprised by his sudden understanding. "If you had refused to tell them, they would have killed you. They would have used the information anyway and we would both be dead," Nordin said. "You did the right thing and I for one am indebted to you for my life and the life of my sometimes foolish protégé."

Jillian smiled; another tear escaping as she reached over to hug the old man's neck. "Thank you," she said.

Nordin grinned. "Now, let's get a fire going and tend to this wound before he loses anymore blood."

### COUNCIL

Ezekiah sat patiently, waiting for his brother in the faith and fellow council member to finish speaking. Arthur was an elderly man and well respected among the elders living at Thorn Mountain. He had fought in past rebellions against the dragons as testified by his missing left leg and patched eye.

"The weapons left by Ezekiah's father, are enough to equip an army, certainly, but even with the map, they will not have direct access to the cache as we have," Arthur said.

Harris, a younger man but also well-favored, spoke up. "Yes, but are we certain who took them? If this was just the work of a common thief—"

Ezekiah stood up then. "Brothers, this was no ordinary thief," he said. "Varen is the only one who was here when it was taken and he is the only man bold enough to use those weapons against the Serpent Kings."

"But didn't you say that a wraith dancer had been the one to steal the map?" Harris asked.

"Indeed I did," Ezekiah said. "The precision of the attack was the same as we've seen before. Varen's men would have been far more crude."

"You're suggesting that a wraith dancer has joined Varen's army?"

"I am only stating the facts," Ezekiah said. "Varen wanted weapons and was here when the map was taken. A wraith dancer actually pulled off the theft and killed Bartholomew. I realize it's unheard of, but we can't deny the evidence. And if Varen has managed to turn a wraith dancer to his cause, then he has become far more dangerous than he was before."

"Can we stop him?" Harris asked.

"I don't feel like we have liberty to go just yet," Ezekiah said. "Perhaps, Elithias will send us soon, though I'm not sure."

"Maybe this isn't a matter for prayer, but a clear case of necessary action," Harris offered.

Arthur answered before Ezekiah could. "There is no such circumstance, Harris. I realize Ezekiah may have seemed unresponsive to others, but his willingness to wait upon Elithias has never led us wrong. If he does not feel led to go at this time then we wait until he does, regardless of how the situation may appear. Too often, in the scriptures, we find examples of those who hastened ahead of the Elithias' will in their folly, supposing man could know better."

Arthur turned to Ezekiah and patted him on the shoulder. "I knew your father and that same compulsion to wait upon Elithias helped to make him a great man," he said. "I'll support whatever decision you make, Ezekiah."

The prophet smiled, then stood before the elders assembled in their council chamber; twelve in all. "As I said, I feel that we may indeed be sent to secure the weapons, but the time is not yet. Nevertheless, I feel that we would be foolish not to at least prepare for that eventuality."

He turned to Arthur. "I thank you for your support, my friend. You happen to be the expert among us on the locomotive. We will need to have it ready to go, should the need arise. Do you think you could assemble a team and see to it?"

"I'd be happy to...the old girl's been waiting along time for a good run," Arthur said, grinning. "It'll be a pleasure to see her in action again."

Ezekiah turned to the assembly. "Are we in agreement, gentlemen? Do we trust Elithias as we have thus far?"

The majority agreed easily, though Ezekiah noticed a few who might have dissented had it not been for his challenge about trusting the will of Elithias. To offer a dissent then, would seem to rebel against Elithias. None of them were willing to be seen in that light. All hands went up.

The men left their chairs and began to spill out into the hallway, each going his own way. Donavan and Tobias were waiting outside the door for Ezekiah when he stepped out.

"How did it go?" Donavan asked.

"We have chosen to wait and let Elithias lead us," Ezekiah said.

"Good," Donavan said. "I'm still perplexed on how Varen might have enlisted the help of a wraith dancer, seeing they are the most loyal to the dragons."

"Either way, these traitors are no friend if they come stealing from us," Ezekiah said.

"Sir?" Tobias interrupted. "A runner from the base camp arrived while you were meeting with the council. They've got a group of refugees from Tarris seeking asylum."

"Good, go and tell the runner that we'll be along momentarily. I want to meet them personally and put them to the test. We don't want anymore assassins or thieves in our midst unawares."

### DEADLY

I sat around the fire with Carla and Charles and their surviving child, eating a piece of warm bread. We had arrived late the previous evening, but had been delayed here at the Believer's base camp far down the mountain from my goal. However, word had been sent up to the castle, and it was expected that soon we would either be allowed to proceed or Ezekiah himself would come down to speak with us.

The news brought hope to my heart. Despite the disaster several days ago and the death of my sister priestess, I would still be able to fulfill my commission from Belial. The prophet would soon be dead. Maybe it would be even easier doing the deed down here where there were minimal soldiers around to interfere. Either way, I would soon return to stand before the High Serpent King and proclaim his greatest enemy dead.

Hours passed as the sun climbed higher in the sky. The day was clear and surprisingly warm. I had spent the last few days traveling in frigid temperatures across frozen tundra with the surviving refugees. Our flight across the metal bridge had been swift. We had wanted as far away from the ruins of the old world and the death walkers as possible. In the days following, our pace had barely slowed. Only the need to relieve ourselves and rest the horses had kept us from sprinting straight for the mountain.

There had been half a dozen guards at the base camp when we arrived. They appeared to be taking no chances. All of them wore armor to some degree or another and they were equipped with swords, crossbows and guns like I had seen used by Peka and his men in the temple attack. More than that, they seemed genuinely wary of us, like spooked animals that have seen danger recently.

Word came to us within the cave around noon. The prophet had finally arrived to welcome us to Thorn Mountain. The guards instructed us to line up at the mouth of the cave while they moved outside. It seemed a strange procedure for addressing new converts and welcoming them among the fold. At least, I thought so until I realized what was happening.

Ezekiah appeared at the mouth of the cave. The guards were arrayed all around him. I stood near the back of the line; fourteen persons altogether. The guards were on edge now, prepared to attack at the slightest provocation. I could see it in their eyes.

The prophet removed his head wrap, standing in the full light of the sun and beckoned the first man forward. Charles, the unofficial leader of our expedition, stepped forward first. Ezekiah shook the man's hand and began to speak to him. Charles responded, still in the prophet's grip. After a moment, Ezekiah released him and smiled as he stepped behind the guards to wait. The next person, Carla, stepped forward, and the strange process began again.

I could not hear what had been said. However, one of the elderly women behind me looked over my shoulder. "Ah," she said, "He's testing us."

"What?" I asked. "Testing us how?"

The old woman looked at me, grinning. "They say the prophet knows when a person is lying to him. See how he grips their hands as he speaks to them?"

I looked again. She was right. I had not associated the gesture with anything but a simple greeting. Yet, he held them until they had given their reply.

"It's no wonder," the old woman said, "with all the attacks and those priestesses running around killing people for the dragons. They've got to be cautious. But we'll soon be on our way up to the castle."

Her comment was like a slap to the face. _Priestesses going around killing people?_ She made it sound like those people were innocent; as though we were only butchers preying upon the weak. Wraith dancers were merely the arm of justice, dispensing punishment to those willing to defy the dragons and their laws. But as soon as my righteous indignation flared, the memory of John and his family surfaced.

John and his wife had simply made a mistake. But justice did not allow for mistakes, and wraith dancers had no leeway to retract judgment sent down by the Serpent Kings. I tried to bypass the memory and hold onto my anger, but I couldn't manage it. Guilt was creeping up on me, trying to bring me down and smother my will; to keep me from fulfilling my commission today.

I mustered my zeal and pushed the memory aside. I didn't need to reconcile this matter right now. I had to stay focused on my objective. Six people had now passed the prophet's testing. I was tenth in line out of fourteen. My turn was rapidly approaching. I had to strike before he revealed my true nature, before the guards could react.

I looked at the man as he grabbed the hand of another man, number seven, and asked his question. I was struck for a moment by how handsome the prophet was. Sandy hair and blue eyes. He hadn't shaved in a day, leaving a layer of dark stubble caressing his face. The prophet was not an overly large man, but appeared to be strong; yet I could see a compelling kindness in his eyes.

Number seven passed beyond the guards as number eight moved up to meet him; a younger woman who seemed eager to touch the man. She was shaking, and not just from the cool air. I suddenly realized that my turn was almost upon me. I closed my eyes. Now was the time. When the woman in front of me moved forward I would have to strike. The guards and Ezekiah would be focused upon her rather than me in that moment.

I reached out for the Gifts of Transcendence, delving as deeply into their power as I had ever gone. Nothing. I reached out again...panic beginning to well up within me. Still, there was nothing. I had never experienced such a thing. I could not access the gifts. It felt like they had never even existed.

My eyes darted in every direction. What was I going to do? I could not use my special abilities, but I still had to strike the prophet down. I began to tremble in anticipation of the moment. But there was nothing to be done. I had to complete my mission regardless of this catastrophe.

My eyes locked with a boy standing near the prophet among the guards. He was looking at me curiously; his eyes scrutinizing me. Did he know? How could he? I was merely being paranoid.

The eighth person blushed and released Ezekiah's hand. She had been holding on past the time he had let her go. She moved beyond the guards while still looking back at the man. The woman in front of me began to walk toward the prophet, leaving me exposed behind her.

I started to move forward, but then hesitated at the last moment. Doubt was trying to overcome me. I suddenly felt like screaming, or crying—I didn't really know which. I knew everyone around me had figured me out by now. I was an imposter, a fraud among them; an assassin sent to destroy a man they admired, that some probably even loved.

All too quickly, the woman in front of me had answered the prophet's question. I had heard what he had asked that time. "Have you renounced your faith in the dragon gods and trusted in Elithias to save your soul?" The woman had answered easily, offering him an emphatic, " _yes_."

Clearly he had seen no reason to doubt her statement. But the question would now come to me. I would be expected take the prophet's strong hand. If his power was true, then my lying heart would be revealed to him. Was his god real? Had I believed wrongly all this time? How could he possibly know the secrets of my heart unless his god told him my thoughts?

I started forward, acutely aware of many eyes now resting upon me. They were all expecting another young woman of faith. Someone who would answer as easily as the others had. I noticed that a few of the guards weren't even looking at me. They had already looked into the cave to those still waiting, trying to pick out a traitor by appearance alone. How wrong they were.

I watched my feet take those first few steps, and then forced my eyes to meet his. Ezekiah was smiling at me. He seemed so unthreatened by my appearance, so eager to welcome me among his followers. Part of me wanted to shake his hand, to bear my heart and soul, to have my questions raised and see if this so-called prophet had the answers I desired.

But I was still a wraith dancer. I had been sent by Belial the Glorious to administer justice to this infidel. I was a weapon in the hand of the High Serpent King; the most powerful of the dragon gods. Who was this man to defy him? Who was this Elithias he preached? Why did I have anything to fear from him?

My hand passed over the place where my best dagger was hidden. I came away with it ready to strike. Four feet from the outstretched hand, my arm cocked for the killing blow. I strode forward confidently; regardless of the absence of the Gifts of Transcendence. I even met his eyes and his smile with one of my own. One more step forward and this trusting fool would die by my hand.

I heard the explosion almost at the same time that I felt something strike me hard in the breast. My body, purposed though I was to continue forward, was thrown violently backward away from the prophet. I caught the bewildered expression, the surprise in his eyes as I was thrown away from him by something I still did not comprehend.

I realized that I was falling. The boy passed before my eyes. The gun in his hand was pointed in my direction, the barrel of the weapon still smoking. He had a determined but shocked expression. Now, I could only see the ground and the feet of the guards moving toward me.

I felt heaviness in my chest. I wasn't breathing, though I wanted to take a breath very badly. A dull ache was spreading over my entire body as all of my strength ebbed away. I managed to turn onto my back, though I could no longer feel the ground beneath me. Numbness crept over the dull ache, replacing it as it spread throughout my limbs and torso. I saw the sky. The sun was beginning to fade in my vision as though a dark cloth had been drawn over my face.

The last image I remember, though, was the face of the prophet. Ezekiah was staring down at me. My eyes locked with his. I desperately hoped that I might cling to life, but I knew life was fleeing from me. Then, the strangest thing happened. He smiled at me. I could see no malice there, no feigned emotion; only kindness radiating from this man whom I had thought a moment before to kill. I carried that curiosity with me as oblivion tore me away from life.

### MIRACLE

Tobias' hand trembled only slightly as he watched the young woman fall before him. She had moved so fast, like a blur. For a moment, he had thought she was merely extending her hand in order to take hold of Ezekiah's outstretched hand.

There had been a brief moment, seconds before, when Tobias had seen what she was going to do. He had assumed it was only paranoia producing the thought. Now, he realized that he had actually seen her attack in perfect detail just before it had occurred. He had raised the revolver late for the premonition, but just in time to stop the actual event transpiring.

No one else had seemed to see the glint of steel in her hand as she approached Ezekiah. Even now, looking at the prophet's bewildered expression, Tobias saw that the man still did not understand what had happened. The guards were looking at him rather than the attacker, as though this boy had mistakenly shot an innocent young woman in his zeal to protect the man that had rescued him from a massacred village.

But as quickly as the woman fell, the truth was revealed. The long, bejeweled dagger clanged loudly against the rock, having fallen from her hand. Ezekiah knelt beside her, looking into her face. The guards moved in around them curious to see the woman assassin in her last moments, and perhaps to be sure that she did not strike out one last time at the prophet before expiring.

Tobias simply stood there. The gun dropped to his side. He knew his aim had been true. His father had trained him with the weapon even when he had not yet been trained with the sword. It was one of his father's prized possessions; a relic from the old world. Tobias had retrieved it from the lock box under his parent's bed before the house was set ablaze.

He had never killed a person before. Tobias watched the scene unfolding before him, but he felt strangely disconnected from it all. The woman's tunic was stained heavily from blood pumping out of the wound beneath. He had aimed for her heart. Ezekiah was smiling down at her full of pity for her lost soul. That was so like the man who had, only days before, led Tobias to place his faith in Elithias, just as his father and sister had done before him.

Oddly, the girl had managed to smile back; her eyes growing bright just before life escaped them. She was dead. Tobias couldn't be sorry for that. He had protected God's prophet from almost certain death.

Hudson, the physician, had moved the guards out of the way in order to examine the girl. Ezekiah moved aside as well, but remained on his knees next to her body. "A clean shot to the heart, I'd say," Hudson said. He turned to Tobias. "Excellent work, young man."

For a second, most of the people were looking at him, making Tobias feel uncomfortable.

"I have to wonder if this is the same wraith dancer who stole my map," Ezekiah said.

"Seems like Varen would have wanted that map brought straight away," Hudson offered. "It's been too long."

"He could have sent her back to kill me in case I decided to stand against him claiming the weapons," Ezekiah said.

Hudson nodded. "That would make sense." They knelt there silently for a moment longer before standing. Hudson motioned to the soldiers who were standing around as though in a daze; like they still hadn't registered what had happened. "All right, lads, let's get the body wrapped," Hudson said. "We'll need to take her down into the valley to bury her."

"No," Ezekiah said, still staring down at her. He looked around. Every eye was upon him. "Hudson, have her body taken to the castle, to the courtyard."

Hudson looked at him queerly for a moment. "Are you sure? There's no place for burial on the mountain."

Ezekiah seemed to be looking past the man for a moment. Finally he focused on the physician again. "Yes, I'm sure. I can't explain it, but I am sure."

The work began in earnest. None of the men wanted to be caught out if the weather happened to turn bad, as it often did on Thorn Mountain. One of the guards approached Ezekiah as he watched the young woman's body being covered for the trip up the mountain.

"Sir, you haven't checked the other refugees yet," he said, keeping a wary eye on the four people still standing in the mouth of the cave. Ezekiah looked at them for a long moment, and then turned back to the soldier. "I feel that Elithias has assured me this woman was the only assassin in our midst."

The soldier nodded and then went about his business. The refugees whispered among themselves as they prepared for the journey upward. However, Charles separated himself and came to Ezekiah. "Master, I beg your forgiveness for bringing this imposter to the mountain. We had no idea. Only days ago, she helped to save the lives of those you see with me today. Her companion died trying to defend my young daughter who was killed by an ambush of death walkers hiding out among the ruins across the Black River."

Ezekiah focused on what the man was telling him. "Death walkers, you say? They attacked as a group?"

"Yes," Charles confirmed. "There were a great many. We started out from Tarris with twice this number, but when we had to divert to the metal bridge at the ruins they came upon us and killed half of our people and some of the horses. This woman and her companion, sent to join us by Felonius, killed a great number of the creatures and enabled our escape over the bridge."

"I see," Ezekiah said. "At any rate, there was nothing you could have done. Wraith dancers are expert assassins. This is what they do. You could not have known."

Charles nodded to the prophet and then rejoined his family as everyone except the soldiers stationed to the base camp began to start up the stairs leading them inside the mountain. Ezekiah caught Tobias by the shoulder as he holstered his pistol. The boy had remained silent throughout the entire ordeal.

"Tobias," he said. "I am very grateful to you. I'm sure the Lord sent you with me today in order to save my life. Thank you for being faithful in his service."

Tobias hugged the prophet but did not say anything. When he let go, he watched the body transported past him. Tobias took up the march behind the makeshift pall bearers. Ezekiah bid farewell to the soldiers who would remain, then followed behind.

It was the beginning of the fourth day since the arrival of the refugees and the attempt on Ezekiah's life by the wraith dancer. Since their journey up the mountain and the mingling of the refugees among the inhabitants of the castle, the attack, the wraith dancer and her exploits during the battle with the death walkers days before had been spread everywhere throughout the castle.

Her body had been placed upon one of the stone tables sitting in the courtyard before the gate, and a guard had been placed to keep it day and night. Hudson had called for the body to be cremated, but Ezekiah could not issue the order. He did not know why.

Hudson had left Ezekiah's quarters only an hour ago, pleading that the body would see corruption by the fourth day, as was commonly held, and begin to stink. Ezekiah had acquiesced to allowing the body to be burned by noon today. Still, he did not feel well about that decision. His friend had promised to make the preparations and wait for him to come and say something. Ezekiah had thanked him for that. He wanted to at least acknowledge the truth of the rumors concerning her defense of the refugees; even if her mission at Thorn Mountain had been against him personally.

Ezekiah continued in prayer as he had been since Hudson's departure. He had not expected for any particular thing to happen; only that he might unburden his heart and be drawn to a clear course of action. Instead, while staring at the wall, Ezekiah saw it fall away completely to reveal a green meadow full of yellow and purple flowers blown by the wind.

In the distance, he saw several people running through the meadow; a picture of joy. As he drew closer in the vision, he saw a woman with two children running behind her. The vision brought him closer still. As the woman crested a low hill turning to face him, Ezekiah saw plainly that this was the woman who had three days ago tried to kill him at the base of the mountain.

Ezekiah drew a deep breath. Was Elithias now showing him the past life of this woman; a vision of how she had lived before coming to kill him? He felt sorrow for her children. Their mother would not return to them.

The woman ran past, in the vision, with her children following. A man ran after them, trying to keep up. Ezekiah strained to see him. Soon the man crested the hill, following the same path as the woman and her children.

Ezekiah supposed that this must be the husband of the woman and the father of her children. He felt that it must be so. He wondered what could have taken this young woman away from her family with the purpose of coming to kill him at Thorn Mountain.

As the vision drew him closer to the man, Ezekiah gasped. He was no longer breathing. The man who appeared in the vision—the husband of the woman and the father of her children—was him. Without any doubt Ezekiah knew that he was not looking at the past but was seeing the future.

As the vision faded, leaving him in his room again, his mind shouted of the impossibility of what he had just witnessed. But his faith in Elithias assured him that all things are possible. With sudden clarity came direction. Ezekiah had already managed to run most of the way toward the main door of the castle without realizing.

When he reached the gate, he was surprised by how many people had come to attend the funeral. Perhaps it was genuine respect for her bravery in the ruins, or perhaps it was only morbid curiosity. Either way, both the courtyard before the gate and beyond it was packed with people.

Ezekiah passed through the gate and found Donavan and Tobias standing together near the pyre. The girl's body had been laid out there. Her body had been dressed in the robes found within her pack. Even in death, Ezekiah noticed that she was beautiful.

Hudson approached him then and nodded. "It's time, my friend."

Ezekiah nodded with a smile and approached the body. Dry wood had been found and placed around the body. Ezekiah could smell the lamp oil saturating the pyre. A torch had been planted in the ground for Ezekiah when he was ready to ignite the wood. However, to everyone's surprise, the prophet bypassed the torch and climbed up onto the stone table so that he was standing over the woman's body.

He looked into her face. But instead of a dead assassin, Ezekiah saw the joyous young woman running through the vision given unto him by Elithias. He smiled at her and then addressed the assembled crowd in a loud voice.

"Brothers and sisters, I stand here today because of the mercy of Elithias and the quick thinking of young Tobias here," Ezekiah said, indicating the boy standing near with Donavan. "As you know already, this woman was sent by the Serpent Kings to take my life. However, we have learned more than we might have expected through the refugees whom she traveled with to get here. While under attack by a swarm of death walkers—certainly one of the signs of Elithias' soon coming—this young woman defended the lives of those Believers. Her companion was even killed in the process as they sought to save the life of one their children."

Ezekiah paused to let her deeds sink into the minds of those listening before he continued. "While her attempt on my life was the result of believing the lies of the Serpent Kings, her selfless bravery in that attack was another matter."

Ezekiah looked down at the woman again as her name came to his mind without warning. He had never heard it spoken by any of the refugees. He closed his eyes, giving silent thanks to Elithias. He knew what had to be done now. Turning again to the crowd, he continued.

"I had thought that today we would all be gathered to this funeral to honor that courageous act before the body was returned to the dust. However, Elithias has shown me his will and now gives this sign unto you to signify that he will have mercy on those he will have mercy."

Ezekiah reached down to grasp one of the cold hands clasped upon her breast. Then in a loud voice he commanded, "In the name of Elithias, Gwen, arise!"

Instantly her eyes fluttered, and then opened to gaze upon the prophet. But no one else realized what was happening until he tugged her hand. The dead woman sat up to look out upon the assembly. Terror struck the majority of the crowd almost instantly with many of the women fainting where they stood. Horrified cries resounded everywhere among the hundreds present, but Ezekiah ignored them all. He was too preoccupied, staring into the living face of the woman who had just four days earlier tried to kill him; the same woman whom the vision foretold to be the mother of his future children.

Continue the Serpent Kings Saga with Book Two:

THE WRAITH DANCER

(includes Shadow Walker)

Read The DESCENDANTS SAGA by James Somers

FALLEN

DESCENDANT

REVENANT

MILLENNIUM

Read The DESCENDANTS SAGA ORIGINS

(TBA)

Read The REALM SHIFT TRILOGY by James Somers

REALM SHIFT

ORDER OF SHADDAI

SWORD OF GIDEON
