The detonation rocked Kamahl back. The light 
was bright enough that he could see through his 
eyelids as the edge of the energy brushed him. The 
crowd was stunned into silence. The magic ignited the 
spore cloud and the explosion sped back to the mole, 
devouring it as the molds detonated in sympathy with 
Kamahl's attack. The dementia caster rolled on the 
ground, unable to stand. She had been flung back 
several yards, and the sand stripped most of her 
clothes off as well as much of her skin. Her teeth bared 
and bloody, she stood, gathering herself to summon 
more monstrosities. 


Vance Moore 

CHAPTER 1 


The sun lay sullen to the west. Hovering on the 
horizon, its rays cast the hills in shadows. The pits lay 
ahead. Finally he was drawing near after months of 
travel. Kamahl looked at the heart of the games and 
saw only a gaping hole of darkness. The twilight 
prevented him from seeing the city that lay in the 
hollow. Even as he watched, torches were lit, the dull 
red light illuminating the site of Kamahl's future 
triumphs. From mountain obscurity he traveled 
toward his destiny. 

Cabal City was the largest in the continent's 
interior, but only a few signs of its size were visible 
from Kamahl's vantage point. He could see just the 
roofs of a few buildings and the residential quarters' 
laundry hanging in the still air. The city was held in a 
huge rocky crater, its sides uneven but highest on the 
western outskirts. The glow of torches and the 
streetlights near the great dome of the arena began to 
color the walls of the buildings as Kamahl moved 
closer. The flare of both ordinary fire and magic lit the 
streets, but the dark shadow cast by the crater walls 
shrouded most of the city in darkness. 

The barbarian started down the shallow incline 
at a slow run. He breathed easily, even with the armor 
in his pack and the great sword strapped to his back. 
Skin the color of brass showed no flush of exertion. His 
smooth beardless features were calm. No sweat 
dampened his inky hair, and his violet eyes were clear. 
Living in the mountains had given him good night 

1 



Odyssey 

vision, and he looked through the increasingly dim 
light to the town's gate. The road began to rise, and he 
breathed harder as he neared the city limits. The 
crater walls were notched, and the entrance reminded 
the barbarian of a pass through mountains, though far 
smaller in scale than the peaks of his childhood home. 
Drovers hurried a string of camels into the city, their 
whips snapping as they moved the animals through 
the high gate. Merchants from across the continent 
come to satisfy the tourney crowds, the warrior 
thought. 

Kamahl breathed deeply, the prospect of the 
games exciting his blood more than the run. Years 
mastering the fighting arts lay behind him, and now 
he rushed to show his skills before the wider world. 
Veteran of many a duel in his home mountains, he 
wanted more than the championship of an alpine 
valley. The best fighters on the continent converged on 
this tourney, and he belonged here. 

His stride lengthened as he left the hills, his 
boots pounding into the road's surface. The guards 
waved the merchants through, uttering only a few 
threats to increase the bribes offered. They turned 
their attention on the jogging figure. His light 
throwing axes softly rubbed against Kamahl's wallet. 
He had run for days approaching the contest and lost 
what little fat he might have had. The strict regime of 
exercise had refined him down to his essence. He 
pulled up to the gate without any sign of exertion 
except his deep breaths. 

"Another jack," muttered a guard as he took a 
firmer hold of his halberd and moved out from the 
gate, Kamahl frowned, for the soldier used the term 

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Vance Moore 

for an arena fighter as if it were an insult. He was a 
champion, and only the obvious inferiority of the 
speaker prevented a demand for satisfaction. The man 
looked nervously at a stack of orders. The rest of the 
troops had withdrawn inside to the guardhouse. Two 
stout men-at-arms slowly lugged a crossbeam to brace 
the gate when it closed for the night. The road lead 
directly into town with only a portcullis to bar the way. 
The wall was only twelve feet high and the guards 
served more to collect tolls than defend the city. 

"Why have you come to the pits of the Cabal?" 
intoned a guard who drew away from the gate as if to 
duck behind the wall. 

"I have come into my own," Kamahl said 
absently, looking to the city beyond. The guard was 
confused and unconsciously gave way as the massive 
barbarian came closer. The fighter drew his attention 
to the minor servant before him. "I will compete in the 
tourney. Where would I find the Master of the 
Games?" 

The guard blinked at the bald statement but 
regarding the warrior seemed uncertain how to 
respond. Shouting broke out on the road behind him, 
and he turned from the barbarian to the commotion. 
There were several wagons backed up the causeway 
leading down to the pit. Kamahl could see soldiers 
gathered in a clump in front of the waiting vehicles. 

"As you can see, the road is backed up due to a 
wreck." The guard said, drawing a little confidence 
from the sight of his fellows so far away. "The elevator 
cable snapped and killed a mule." Kamahl just strode 
forward, ignoring the guard's outstretched arm. 

3 



Odyssey 

"No profit from crazy men anyway," the soldier 
muttered as he stepped away from the barbarian. 

The road's decline prevented horses hauling fully 
loaded wagons into the city. An elevator dropped cargo 
from the staging area just inside the guardhouse to the 
bottom of the depression. Once relieved of their loads, 
merchants could then safely take the horses down the 
slope. Traffic headed into the city rode the brakes all 
the way to the flat at the bottom, using the animals 
just to steer. The elevator had just broken, however, 
and the snapped cable had beheaded a mule, 
overturning a wagon and blocking the causeway. 

Kamahl drew a dagger, holding its blade against 
his arm. He used the hilt to prod people out of the way, 
ignoring angry words. The decapitated beast lay 
tangled in its traces, its blood pouring down the steep 
roadway. Kamahl gathered a whisper of power and 
wrapped it around the dagger's blade. He shoved aside 
the owner and guardsmen and skimmed his blade 
along the beast's side with a single stroke. Harness 
leather and chains parted like air before the blade, 
singing as tension released. Kamahl shoved the corpse 
hard with his boot. The barbarian's physical power 
became plain to the angry guardsmen. The donkey 
shot down the ramp lubricated by its own blood. The 
animal hit the railing, wood coming apart in a spray of 
rotten timbers. The remains of the beast and fence fell 
to the ground below with a heavy thud. Kamahl 
withdrew power from the blade and continued down 
the road, walking just along the bloodied skidway. 

"The Cabal pit masters bought that carcass!" 
bellowed someone. Kamahl's ears picked up the 
conversation even as he continued away. 

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Vance Moore 

"Leave it alone," he heard someone else hiss. 

"Jacks are all crazy; just consider the meat 
tenderized." 
* * * * * 

Fighters from throughout the continent moved in 
the streets. Kamahl saw races of all descriptions 
faerie, human, dwarf, centaur, and others that he 
could not name. They came to the pits to compete for 
their own glory and the prizes offered. Everywhere in 
the land the contest between warriors played out every 
day, but it was in the pits that jacks of known mettle 
found opponents worth the sweat of battle. Kamahl 
came for worthy adversaries and to prove his mastery. 
Most of his opponents were there for more. 

The Cabal had opened up its vaults to supply the 
prizes. Booty from centuries of collecting and a 
thousand battlefields was available. Sages and 
historians were nearly as prevalent as fighters in the 
city. All converged to see the treasures drawn from the 
rock deep below the pits. With the fighters and the 
learned men, an influx of gamblers and enthusiasts 
filled the avenues. Moving among the throngs worked 
pickpockets, whores, and sellers of the forbidden. The 
barbarian sauntered over the cobblestones, seeing 
unfamiliar sights. Tents stood with ragged and dirty 
men calling for custom. Though from the sparsely 
settled mountains, Kamahl was completely civilized in 
his cynicism. False wonders filled the streets as the 
hopeful went from stall to stall, determined to find the 
lucky prize that surely must be hidden in all the chaff. 

Torches flared and some burned brightly with 
magic enhanced lights. Kamahl took a second to feel 

5 



Odyssey 

the warmth of the energy with his mystic senses. 
Stretching forth his mind and spirit he felt the beat of 
power and dissonance as contesting magics fractured 
against each other. It could only be the pits that called 
to him, and he hurried through the collected throngs to 
take his place. 

* * * * * 

The crowd roared its approval as two men moved 
into the arena, the masses calling encouragement. 
Kamahl had bought entrance with a small nugget of 
gold from a mountain stream. He imagined the Master 
of the Games would be in the arena, and the barbarian 
was determined to find him. The building was huge, 
seating thousands. The walls leaned inward overhead, 
evoking the feeling of an underground cavern. Huge 
torches flared continuously behind reflectors, directing 
the magic light onto the floor of the stadium. Red and 
black sand covered the circular fighting area. Inside 
the wide ring were obstacles and a few obvious trap 
doors. Despite himself, Kamahl was impressed. For 
the first time he was in a building that made him feel 
closed in even though it was several spear-casts across. 

The two men on the sand moved together, and 
Kamahl shook his head. The opponents were hesitant, 
and the barbarian wondered how any could find such a 
match interesting. A young man standing close by 
noticed Kamahl's mild contempt and spoke. 

"Do not give up hope just yet, sir," he said, 
shuffling near. 

His clothing was dark and loose, the tailoring and 
richness of the fabric suggesting a person of means, yet 
he was young and had no attendants. Kamahl thought 

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Vance Moore 

him likely to be a lord's servant though he saw no 
obvious crest or standard to announce his affiliation. 

"The name is Chainer," the man said, moving 
closer. The pair are partners against Lieutenant 
Kirtar, a champion from the Northern Order." 

"Kamahl," the barbarian said, glancing briefly at 
the youth and then to the stands, "here to win the 
tourney. Where do I announce myself?" 

Chainer's eyebrows raised slightly at the boast, 
and he smiled. Kamahl turned more of his attention to 
the young man. 

The youth still had a trace of innocence in his 
face, but already the fighter could see some of the 
hardness and cynicism that characterized city toughs. 
The boy's hair was in tight corn-rolls that grew down 
over his eyes. His only visible weapon was a large, 
ornamental dagger that he wore at his side. As 
Kamahl considered him, Chainer's fingertips lightly 
brushed the hilt in an apparently unconscious gesture. 

"You'll want to speak to the Master of the Games 
then," Chainer said. He pointed across the enclosure to 
the box seats across the arena. "There's the master 
now, talking to the Mer ambassador." 

The other side of the building held a host of 
individual boxes, most of which were empty now, these 
being only the early elimination rounds. Kamahl could 
see separate floating pods hovering over the boxes, 
clustered around doors and a narrow platform high on 
the arena wall. 

"Those are only used by high officials and wealthy 
patrons of the games." Chainer said as he followed 
Kamahl's eyes. "Usually the Master of the Games 
oversees from there, but with so much work still to be 

7 



Odyssey 

done, he is holding court where messengers can easily 
be received and sent." 

At the mention of a court, Kamahl turned his 
eyes down and looked at the official's box. There sat 
the arena's ruler, rotund and covered in drapes of 
expensive looking cloth. However, it was his 
companions that fixed the barbarian's attention. Two 
figures stood out against the backdrop of aides, guards, 
and servants. Kamahl's teeth clenched as he 
considered the Mer seated at the right hand of the 
Cabal official. 

The ambassador looked remarkably human. 
Kamahl could see two small silver-capped horns 
against the blue skin. The different skin tone was 
barely worth mentioning. The barbarian had learned 
something of the greater world during his years in the 
mountains. Those born of and allied with the sea were 
well known for their monstrous and bizarre 
appearance. The only oddity except for the blue skin 
was the ambassador's clothes. The wraps of cloth lay 
plastered against his azure flesh. While Kamahl 
looked on, a servant slowly poured liquid over the 
limbs of his master. The ambassador absently 
presented a leg for additional treatment, never turning 
from his conversation. 

The massive figure off to the side fitted KamahPs 
idea of what a Mer citizen should look like. A 
sideboard piled high with food lay open to the box 
patrons, but only one person took advantage. The 
barbarian could think of two reasons for the single 
eater. 

First was the dangerous look of the diner. 
Kamahl was reminded of a giant frog. The hulking 

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Vance Moore 

figure would have overtopped the barbarian by at least 
a foot, but until Kamahl compared him with the other 
patrons of the box, he thought the frog quite short. The 
amphibian was a mass of muscle, so wide that the 
mind made the creature shorter than it was. The 
creature's brilliant blue and yellow skin was dotted 
with short growths that reminded the barbarian of 
spikes on a mace. The mouth gaped wide as the frog 
swallowed an entire leg of lamb with a single gulp. 

The second reason that others might forego the 
repast was the thick slime dripping from the frog 
creature's webbed hands. The excretions covered the 
food as the amphibian grabbed up more to eat. 

"The ambassador's champion, Turg," Chainer 
offered, a hint of distaste in his voice. "He competes for 
the prizes and the ambassador's glory. It is said his 
race is one of complete savagery. The frog is a 
testament to the money and time the ambassador has 
spent training him." 

Kamahl looked to the arena floor where the two 
novices shifted uncertainly. If such as these can 
compete, he thought, then I should have no trouble. 
The city man saw his look of dismissal. 

"They may not look like much, but those willing 
to risk certain death are sometimes in short supply." 
He pointed toward the posted standards and gates. 
"Whether or not quarter may be offered is posted by 
where the standards hang and which gates the 
opponents use. Kirtar always passes through the gate 
of no quarter. The Master of the Games must be 
flexible in scheduling opponents for the lieutenant in 
the opening bouts. Experienced fighters are usually 
closer to the final round before they chose death 

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Odyssey 

matches. The arena also tries to save death matches 
for the final days of competition lest a capable fighter 
be killed off too early. You could find a death match 
easy enough, but to be considered a serious competitor 
you must be known or impress the officials with your 
power." 

The growing murmurs of the restive crowd drew 
Kamahl's and Chainer's attentions back to the arena 
floor. The team of mountain mages was looking more 
confident now as cries of "forfeit" began to rise from 
the stands. Their opponent still had not appeared, and 
Chainer snorted in disgust at the lack of a champion to 
oppose the pair. The chants stopped as a near naked 
figure moved onto the field. 

"He shows his contempt for the games," Chainer 
muttered as catcalls rose from the stands. "Trust a 
member of the Order to belittle the honor of the 
tourney." 

Kamahl was no worshipper of pageantry, so 
Kirtar's failure to obey the forms did not upset him, 
but the arrogance that the figure showed as he walked 
nonchalantly toward the opposing pair put his teeth on 
edge. An aspirant to the victory circle, Kamahl ached 
to show Kirtar that he should show respect for the 
other fighters if not the venue. As the barbarian took 
in the warrior's pale skin, he became more irritated. 
Kirtar was a bird warrior. 

Centuries before, a race of three peoples had fled 
from other planes to Dominaria. All were descended 
from ancestors who could fly, though most had lost 
their wings. The furthest from their winged forebears 
were the elen. These giant humanoids stood nine to 
ten feet tall with massive legs of near solid bone. Slow 

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Vance Moore 

and ponderous, they provided the muscle for the 
society, though in war they served only as massed 
troops with little status. 

The raypen lay at the other end of the size 
spectrum. Dwarf-sized creatures with withered legs 
ending in prehensile feet, they could still fly with their 
innate magic. Magical feathers covered their long 
distorted arms giving them, for short periods of time, 
the freedom their ancestors had known. 

Kirtar's milky skin and massive hands identified 
him as aven. The warrior caste of a militant people, 
they had joined the Northern Order en masse. Though 
not prolific, they rose to many positions of power in the 
north and many a party riding into the western 
mountains was led by bird warriors. Mountain 
societies respected strength, but that respect must be 
individually earned and honor conferred on the basis 
of personal achievement. The Order advocated the 
submission of all to the movement's leaders. Kamahl 
by birth, training, and inclinationbowed only to 
those more powerful. His whole life was dedicated to 
proving that, now in his prime, no one could order him 
about with impunity. To give up your will to others, all 
of whom lacked the power to beat you or claim your 
respect with their own deeds, grated. Kamahl regarded 
the bird warrior narrowly as his possible opponent in 
the tourney walked into battle. 

The two mountain mages attacked 
simultaneously. They separated in a fast shuffle, their 
movements slowed as they called upon their magic. 
Neophytes, thought Kamahl. 

The one on the left appeared to be a shaman. 
Furs and small amulets fluttered as he scuttled to one 

11 



Odyssey 

side. The boy's dark skin contrasted with his blond 
hair. The spell that followed was slow to form. 
Eventually it congealed into reality as the universe 
created a creature in response to the youth's wishes. 
With a roar, a slavering troll stalked toward the bird 
warrior. 

The emaciated monster approached warily, 
showing a degree of cunning unusual in the breed. The 
head darted from side to side, pausing to take in great 
gulps of air. Seemingly satisfied that nothing 
threatened, it jumped at Kirtar. Kamahl realized the 
bird warrior had not even bothered to raise power 
until the monster actually leaped. Golden energy 
erupted from his skin, coating his head and upper 
torso. It solidified into armor even as the mouth of the 
troll opened wide, the teeth and jaws of the monster 
seeming to leap out of the massive mouth. The beast 
stooped down to devour the warrior, but the bird 
warrior's armor did not give at all. Vainly its jaws 
clenched, and its claws scratched. Like a dog worrying 
at a pole, the beast tried to throw Kirtar to the side or 
gnaw through. 

Now the other young caster entered the fray. 
Clad in piecemeal armor, he was shorter than his 
companion. As if he were his partner's negative, his 
dark hair contrasted with his pale skin. Spiral tattoos 
traced out magic sigils on his face and upper arms. He 
gripped a war hammer with both hands, but he did not 
use it to assail the bird warrior. Rather, he directed his 
summoned minions, who entered existence at a run. 
Dwarf warriors charged Kirtar and the troll. 

Pick-axes and hammers rose and then fell. Kirtar 
rolled to the side; one blow driving through the armor 

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Vance Moore 

that now encased the warrior's lower legs. The troll 
howled in delight at the fresh blood, and Kamahl 
believed the aven would pay the ultimate price for his 
arrogance. The bird warrior did not freeze, and he 
reinforced the power of the magic encasing his limbs. 
Then the lieutenant struck with his bare hands. 

The huge fists were encased in energy, and 
Kamahl could hear the troll's jaws being pulverized. 
Teeth sprayed across the ground, digging furrows as 
they buried themselves. The beast screamed with pain, 
striking out blindly and falling upon a dwarf. The 
diminutive warrior's sturdy metal armor proved 
unequal to troll claws. Chunks of flesh and blood fell to 
the sand as the dwarf was eviscerated. The audience 
booed loudly as the shaman tried to redirect his beast. 

"The pair has lost the crowd," Chainer said, 
shaking his head sadly. "For allied creatures to fall 
upon each other is an unforgivable amateur mistake." 

Kirtar was on his feet, weaving from side to side 
as the rest of the dwarf troop tried to take advantage 
of his reduced mobility. At first, his movements 
seemed forced, almost stumbling as he retreated. 
Kamahl watched as the bird warrior grew stronger. 
The barbarian realized that what wounds the 
lieutenant received healed even as he fought. The 
aven's opponents could heal too, and the troll stood up, 
gore from his mistaken victim covering its face and 
chest, the dwarf's blood mingling with the flow of 
foulness from the beast's own wound. The wound 
diminished as the troll reentered the fray. The 
deformed jaws moved back into position, and Kamahl 
could see new teeth glinting in the torchlight. 

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Odyssey 

Kirtar attacked the surrounding dwarves, killing 
and maiming as the troll reached for him. The 
lieutenant's fists were swollen balloons of power as 
golden energy armored the bird warrior's flesh. Heads 
collapsed under the aven's blows. Shields and weapons 
shattered as the dwarves struggled to bring the bird 
warrior down. Kirtar leaped, whether flying or merely 
by enhanced muscles, Kamahl did not know. He soared 
through the air toward the dark-haired mountain 
mage. Kirtar's bent legs absorbed much of the energy 
of the landing, but the armored youth still fella bag 
of broken bones. The barbarian thought the mage 
might survive with proper care, then Kirtar batted the 
man's head with a slap. The new corpse was not 
decapitated, but the mage's head lolled off one 
shoulder, leaving no doubt of the man's death. 

The troll ran at Kirtar, a high cry of bestial rage 
sounding as the few remaining dwarves vanished at 
the death of their master. The shaman coaxed fire 
from the air, and a few small balls of flame hurtled 
toward the bird warrior. Most of the spell wasted itself 
upon the open ground of the arena. The aroma of 
cooking meat carried everywhere as the fallen 
mountain mage was devoured by the ill-aimed magic. 
Burning flesh and charred leather fought with the 
odors of the food vendors making their rounds of the 
stands. 

A flock of birds soared from the lieutenant's 
hands. The small castings were brilliant, and Kamahl 
forced himself to look at them directly. Slightly 
translucent they rose up into the air, drawing near the 
upper booths. Patrons fell silent as the small energy 
spirits turned. The flock dived toward the floor of the 

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arena, converging on everything still alive. Like 
ghosts, they slipped into bodies as all stood still. 
Bursts of light shone forth from eyes and open mouths. 
The troll's rays cast a giant shadow of the bird warrior 
against the far wall of the arena. The last mountain 
mage was a fallen star, shafts of light erupting from 
his skin. All except Kirtar collapsed. There was a 
moment of silence, and then thunderous applause 
filled the arena. 

* * * * * 

"So you think you can compete in the games, do 
you, my boy?" the Master of the Games said. 

Kamahl restrained his irritation with difficulty. 
The man was fat and festooned in bolts of garish cloth, 
like some monstrous jester taking his ease at a party 
instead of entertaining. All of the Cabal members that 
he had seen were subdued in color and outward 
demeanor, but the Master of the Games showed a 
flamboyance of color and style that assaulted the 
barbarian's eyes. 

"You might be powerful enough to compete in the 
games, but you will have to satisfy me." The official 
stood with some difficulty and walked toward a room 
off to the side of the box. 

Guards drew themselves to attention only to be 
patted familiarly by the figure strolling by. Kamahl 
followed, flanked by another set of guards. Kamahl 
appeared weaponless. His great sword and axes lay in 
the entry chamber "as a matter of security." Only his 
mild amusement at the guards thinking him disarmed 
prevented him from laying waste to the Cabal's 
servants. His amusement was passing, and the 

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Odyssey 

effrontery of the official made him rethink his 
participation in the tourney. To allow someone of such 
low character to stand in judgement of him was nigh 
unbearable. Kamahl came for the glory of combat 
against equals. How equal could his opponents be if 
one such as the official controlled their entry into the 
games? Kamahl became more and more convinced that 
he would withdraw beyond the city and challenge the 
winner of the tourney, that is if the barbarian did not 
return to the distant mountains instead. 

"Only one who is worthy should have a chance at 
these," the master said, slightly out of breath as he 
moved to the side of the doorway and gestured over the 
trove of treasures. 

Kamahl heard nothing but the pounding of his 
own heart for several seconds. A mound of gold, a few 
jewels, and numerous artifacts filled the center of the 
room. Mechanical limbs of ancient war machines lay 
next to charred books. Open scrolls showed letters that 
the educated barbarian could not even identify much 
less read. Leaking bags of coin lay against a massive 
breastplate worn by some forgotten giant. The room 
contained wealth, history, and shards of power from 
past wars, but it was a dull metal orb that locked 
Kamahl's gaze. It lay partially concealed by a fine 
sword blade, which Kamahl ached to throw away that 
he might better see this treasure. The rest of the room 
was filled with dross to the warrior's mind. The orb 
appeared to be no larger than his fist, yet he was 
mesmerized by it. His interest grew greater as he 
thought it responded to him. The light reflected by it 
seemed to grow brighter. The metal surface hinted at 
restrained power rather than the dull glint of common 

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metal. Kamahl's line of sight was broken as the Master 
of the Games entered his field of vision. 

"Speechless, eh." The fat man chuckled. "A shy 
barbarian. An uncommon sight, but one which is still 
not special enough to have in the ranks of the 
tourney." 

Kamahl's jaws ached as he restrained himself. 
This corpulent fool was nothing, but now Kamahl 
burned to enter and win. The metal sphere called to 
him still. The barbarian thought briefly of just taking 
the item, but he was a warrior, not a common thief. 
The official drew breath for another taunt, but Kamahl 
had heard enough. His hand dipped into his pouch at 
his belt. He could feel the guards drawing closer. 
Chainer, who had stayed far back during the entire 
conversation, came forward. Out of the corner of his 
eye he could see the young man's concerned face 
drawing nearer, perhaps to defuse the situation. 

Kamahl drew out a single copper coin, worn thin 
with age and clipped by the truly desperate. The 
official's already florid face grew darker at the 
perceived insult of the pitiful bribe, but the barbarian 
had no intention of trying to buy his way into the 
tournament with any currency other than his own 
power. Kamahl's muscles relaxed as he channeled 
force to his hand. The copper brightened as the patina 
of age and wear sloughed away from the metal. The 
coin grew brighter as the guards moved in, their spear 
points poised to open up Kamahl's back. Like a tourist 
casting into a wishing well, the barbarian tossed the 
copper over his shoulder. The stone wall proved no 
barrier. Like a hot knife through butter, the red-hot 
coin melted its way through. Shouts of surprise 

17 



Odyssey 

sounded as it exited through the box wall as well. The 
sound of the cooling slug hitting the arena floor was 
lost in the confusion of the guards and the white face 
of the Master of the Games. Looking at the deflated 
official, the barbarian knew he would have no 
problems entering the tourney. 

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CHAPTER 2 


"I assure you, my lord, that no such displays of 
arrogance would be permitted in the palaces of the 
emperor. Such a boor would be summarily executed, 
especially one who lacked a suitable patron." The 
merman tried to sound sympathetic and outraged, but 
it was hard to feel much empathy for the fool who sat 
in front of him. The Master of the Games came to the 
fete in high dudgeon and had released a spew of bile, 
detailing the attack on his honor and dignity. 
Ambassador Laquatus thought such a pig had no 
dignity. Moreover, a man of true power either acted or 
waited to act. The pointless railing grated on the 
ambassador's nerves. 

The merman might be mistaken for human with 
the exception of his coloring and the small horns that 
lay half hidden by his hair. Of course, under the sea, 
his ancestry was much more obvious. At a mental 
command, his legs transmuted to a great fish's tail. 
The long couches he favored recalled the decadence of 
lost civilizations but also allowed him to recline when 
transformed. Long gilded nail extensions flashed in 
the subdued light as he spoke and gestured. 

"I assure you, Laquatus, that your sympathy and 
hospitality at the end of this difficult day will not be 
forgotten." The Cabal official almost gushed as he 
relaxed and turned to consider the temporary court 
that the ambassador had established. The merman 
offered only a nod before looking back upon the revel 
before him. 

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Odyssey 

The embassy to the Cabal had procured a house 
that butted up against the bluffs surrounding the city. 
A huge cavern had been dug out and expanded. In the 
middle of the excavation, a huge pool was filled with 
salt water and sea plants carefully transplanted. The 
ambassador could feel the waves of energy that moved 
through the water, warming it and sending gouts of 
mist into the air. 

The life in the pool relied on constant infusions of 
power from the ambassador's mages to live and even 
flourish. Brilliant coral and anemones lay in the waist 
deep water, their color and motion suggesting beds of 
flowers. The soporific compounds they released acted 
as invisible poisons to the minds of those not rendered 
immune, yet the revelers in the pool showed no signs 
of ill health. 

The large lagoon was full. Competitors moved in 
the water, dangerous but temporarily safe to all. Like 
carnivores after a full meal, they appeared logy. One 
fighter saluted his host as Laquatus's gazes swept over 
him. Burly and covered with scars, he waved a 
prosthetic arm in greeting. The metal arm ended in 
serrated pincers that rasped together softly as the 
athlete picked another goblet from the circling waiters. 
His companion for the evening only cooed 
appreciatively as the arm gathered her in. For the 
amount of money the ambassador paid for the escorts, 
he expected nothing less. 

The mechanical limb of the fighter was nothing 
unusual. Laquatus could see many other examples of 
grafted limbs and skin. Pit fighting was dangerous, 
and those lucky and powerful enough to survive often 
left the floor of the arena with less than they entered. 

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Mechanical parts salvaged from ancient war machines 
were used along with limbs and hide from exotic beast 
and fallen warriors. 

A few Cabal sponsored fighters circulated as well. 
Laquatus curbed his pout of distaste. Many of the local 
champions sported limbs from zombies and the dead. 
The rotting stench was almost completely covered by 
the perfumes filling the air, but nothing could curb the 
disgust many of the guests showed. The Cabal fighters 
relied on a steady supply of shattered bodies and 
dismembered fighters to supply them with new parts 
as the ones they reclaimed eventually failed. 

The pit frog Turg lurked in the shadows, 
crouched behind a miniature reef with only his 
bulbous eyes showing above the water. The 
ambassador's champion had stuffed himself to the 
point of immobility, and Laquatus cursed his personal 
failure to curb the creature's insane appetite. It was so 
easy to be lost in Turg's simple pleasures of the flesh. 
The official noticed Laquatus's lack of attention and 
cleared his throat loudly. 

The merman's manners and style automatically 
equated him with the nobility in the eyes of his guests. 
His background in fact was not distinguished, and the 
human good looks were a strike against him in the 
Mer kingdom. The emperor and the empress 
resembled the octopus on their house flag. Their 
malleable bodies and eight limbs were the standard for 
the court, and he was far from the current definition of 
beauty. He was banished to the land like a malformed 
child hidden from sight. He felt the injustice of his 
exile and contempt for the land-locked with which he 
must interact. 

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Odyssey 

Laquatus speared a small fish that swam past. 
His long finger extensions were often filled with poison 
at the undersea court, and it amused him to use such 
deadly devices for harpooning snacks. The small blood 
slick lightened his mood, and he regarded the boor 
next to him. 

"How terrible you say," Laquatus drawled. "The 
barbarian destroyed the wall of the vault." 

He had of course already received a full report 
from his spies. Kamahl's casual display hinted that 
another powerful champion had entered the contest. 
Perhaps new alliances were in order. 

"I am terribly sorry, but I do see Caster Fulla 
over in the corner alone." He interrupted the official 
who had continued to drone on like an inconsequential 
insect. "I would be a poor host indeed if I did not look 
after all my guests. Why don't you join me in 
extending greetings?" 

"No, no," the official said hurriedly, rising and 
moving away quickly enough to leave a wake of 
disturbed water. "I have things that must be done," he 
tossed over his shoulder. 

Laquatus was not surprised at the swift 
withdrawal. He transformed back to his legged form, 
his fins absorbed back into his body, and his tail 
splitting to form the limbs he must use away from the 
sea. Small fish swirled around his submerged limbs as 
scales and destroyed flesh temporarily fouled the 
water. He rose with initial care and waded across the 
pool. 

Turg rose from concealment in response to a 
mental command and moved toward the ambassador's 
back. Dealing with dementia casters was often 

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dangerous. Their grip on reality could become quite 
tenuous as they grew more powerful. Caster Fulla was 
very powerful indeed. 

"Hello, my dear," the ambassador exclaimed. "I 
am so glad that you accepted my invitation." 

The caster turned, and he waited for her eyes to 
focus back on the present. 

Caster Fulla "Braids" appeared a weathered 
thirty years. Her dark skin and clothing seemed in 
perpetual shadow, and Laquatus felt a faint increase 
in tension as she looked on him fully. Her right arm 
brushed the short sword at her side before extending 
toward the ambassador. Kissing a woman's hand was 
a ridiculous piece of theatre most of the time, and it 
was particularly ridiculous now. Fulla's right arm was 
misshapen with scars and chunks of missing flesh. 
Leather and iron bracing showed conspicuously as he 
lowered his head to the misshapen claw that she must 
call a hand. He brushed his lips against the tainted 
flesh and slowly straightened. For her profession, 
Fulla was really quite comely. 

Dementia casters, like many mages, called forth 
monsters to fight for them and serve their purposes, 
but even the dark magic of their Cabal brethren was 
twisted in bizarre ways. The trances that dementia 
casters fell into seemed to open the dark recesses of 
the mind, bringing forth hideous monsters. Many only 
existed in insane dreams before the power called them. 
Some used drugs to alter their thoughts and 
perceptions to bring forth ever greater horrors until 
they lost what remained of their sanity. Then instead 
of using drugs to free their minds, they engaged in a 
pharmacological war to retain some connection to 

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Odyssey 

reality. Laquatus hoped that such a fragile grip on 
existence would offer the handhold he needed to twist 
her into his service. 

"It was something to do," Fulla said in a dead 
tone. The beads woven into her hair clinked together 
softly as she moved. "But it is only the same party. I've 
been here a hundred times before and since." Boredom 
filled her voice, and her eyes were focusing back into 
her internal world to the ambassador's irritation. 

"Surely something must interest you." Laquatus 
hummed, a low thrum began to pick at his ears as the 
merman fed instructions to the magic plants and 
springs feeding the grotto. 

The corals released bursts of drugs into the 
water. The ambassador felt a curious mixture of 
energy and languor even though he and his personal 
servants regularly dosed themselves with antidotes. 
The party seemed to grow quiet as the guests 
succumbed to the chemicals in the water. 

"I think that we should work together." The 
ambassador said, crowding closer. "The bouts offer us 
a chance to realize tremendous profits if we could just 
cooperate." The merman put his hand on her maimed 
arm, controlling his expression at the touch of the 
gnarled flesh. 

"I hope we might become something more than 
partners." 

Laquatus breathed more heavily as he tried to 
suggest seduction. He had less than no interest in the 
women above the sea, but he had set this hook before. 
Fulla showed only irritation and broke his grip easily. 

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Vance Moore 

"You're boring," she said flatly. "Everything is 
boring now. I am going back to the Casters' Quarter. 
At least it is never boring." 

Fulla started wading toward the steps leading 
into the pool. She moved surely and with purpose, 
showing no sign of being affected by the water. 
Laquatus realized that, as a dementia caster, she dealt 
with shifting reality often. The Casters' Quarter that 
she was headed for was notorious for the monsters and 
dark passions that gripped its inhabitants. Fulla's 
being was far too vicious a battlefield for the gentle 
persuasion of the grotto's waters. Turg, feeling his 
master's irritation, cut through the partygoers to grab 
Fulla's arm. 

Braids swung around, curling inside the pit frog's 
arm and breaking his grip. Her sword was in her hand, 
and Laquatus felt a burst of pain as her blade slapped 
along the frog's side. The ambassador could feel the 
bestial rage of his champion surging to dramatic 
levels, and he tried to force the beast to calm. 

Laquatus and the frog were tied together on 
many levels, feeding off of each other's emotions. The 
frog supplied a dramatic amount of muscle the 
ambassador used to cow his enemies, while the 
merman supplied the intelligence and drive to make 
Turg more than a savage animal. The pain and snub 
eroded his control and Turg acted to hold the caster. 

"At last!" Fulla exalted. "Something interesting in 
this sewer." 

Laquatus paused in his attempts to restrain his 
champion. A sewer! He was sick of insults from these 
land-bound simpletons. Turg attacked as the 
ambassador's pique weakened his hold. The frog skin 

25 



Odyssey 

grew mottled as the amphibian forced more foulness 
into the water. Turg leaped to the side, plowing into a 
crowd and sending a spray across the pool. 

The ambassador could feel the fresh chemical 
assault against his senses. Colors seemed to strobe as 
the mind-altering chemicals fought his will for control 
of his vision. Fulla's eyes seemed to gleam as she went 
into a trance. The screams of the other guests began to 
waver as well as Turg's indirect attack merged with 
the suggestive chemicals of the pool. Laquatus could 
see an escort flailing at hallucinations. 

"Close the doors!" he screamed to the servants at 
the gate. 

The guards slammed the decorative doors shut as 
one pit fighter ran for the exit. A huge minotaur, it 
lowered its head and charged. The expensive facade 
cracked over the armor beneath as the giant humanoid 
went down, blood flowing from its nose and ears. Other 
guests began to stumble out of the pool. 

Turg erupted from the water beside Fulla. His 
skin was silvery, and he was almost impossible to see. 
Like the octopus and cuttlefish of the ocean, the frog 
could blend against many backgrounds. Fulla was a 
veteran of the pits, and her skewed mind edited out 
the madness surrounding her. The frog's attack met a 
summoned creature that threw the combatants apart 
as if a bomb had exploded. 

The eel that wrapped itself around the frog 
showed bones and frayed flesh. Turg spun to throw it 
off, but its weeping skin seemed to glue the creature to 
the frog. The amphibian's wild gyrations threw gobs of 
rotting meat across the chamber, which rained down 
on the guests and struggling servants. The 

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ambassador could see blackjacks plied freely by his 
mercenaries as they struggled to contain the growing 
riot. Only their fight with imaginary demons 
prevented a total bloodbath as pit fighters went down 
under the swinging sacks of lead shot. Laquatus felt 
Turg's pain as the eel struck again and again, 
pumping venom into the humanoid's frame. The frog 
tore off portions of its own hide but hurled the 
writhing eel away into a group of musicians the 
ambassador had hired for the evening. 

"Enough!" Laquatus snarled. 

A bolt of energy erupted from his hands, and a 
ribbon of power connected the merman to the eel. 
Flesh boiled under the attack, and the popping of 
exploding bones could be heard over the cacophony of 
screams and curses filling the chamber. The hired 
servants trembled, and their bones cracked as the 
overflow of energy created a circle of death. Laquatus 
ignored them as he destroyed the last of the eel. Their 
cooked bodies fell beneath the waters as the 
ambassador cut off the stream of power. 

Fulla gaily laughed from the side of the grotto, 
her knees drawn up like a little girl's. "A wonderful 
party!" she yelled as she toed a drifting corpse away. 
"You must invite me again." Laquatus heard his teeth 
grinding as he restrained himself and the amphibian 
warrior who crept behind her, his fists raised high. 

* * * * * 

"I will send over a supply of the oysters you so 
enjoyed," Laquatus said, his eyes locked with the 
confused merchant's. "I am sure a regular shipment 
can be arranged within the month." The eyes slowly 

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Odyssey 

cleared, and the man looked down at himself. He was 
dressed in waves of sea silk, the draped cloth more 
appropriate on a young maiden than a stocky man of 
fifty. 

"Thank you for the loan," he mumbled. "I can't 
believe that I fell in the punchbowl and ruined my 
clothes. I promise to pay for any damage." 

His eyes were clearing, and he looked at the 
outside of the embassy gate. The ambassador could see 
him trying to remember what exactly he had done. The 
merman sent another tendril of deceit into the man's 
mind, reinforcing images of drunken debauchery. 

"Keep the cloth as my gift. I only regret that I ran 
out of clothes for the other guests." Laquatus forced 
out an indulgent chuckle. "A party without a little 
damage is hardly worth going to. I am sure everything 
will be shipshape by morning." 

His jaw clenched as he shook the man's hand and 
sent him on his way with an escort. His mind drifted 
back to the grotto. The decomposing eel had killed off 
the coral and filled the cavern with an indescribably 
foul odor. The dead were packed into sealed barrels 
which must be disposed of immediately. Worse, the 
entire cavern must be rebuilt into a completely new 
environment. Laquatus was sure the false memories 
he implanted in the survivors would withstand most 
reminders of the violent episode, but it made no sense 
to tempt fate. The expense would be tremendous, but 
he could afford no flashbacks by guests at future 
affairs. His face grew forbidding as the last guest left 
his sight. 

He started back to the cavern, but near the 
entrance he drifted off to the side. The pulse of energy 

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he directed at the tapestry activated the quiescent 
spell, and he drifted through the wall. He could feel 
the defensive spells slamming back into place as he 
stepped into the small room. 

Laquatus was alone with his thoughts, his ties to 
Turg cut. The amphibian was sleeping off the exertions 
of the fight and the pain Laquatus had inflicted on him 
to prevent the amphibian from killing the dementia 
caster. Fulla had proved entirely resistant to the 
merman's attempt to change her memories. Only the 
full attention of the Cabal  should such a powerful 
figure die  had prevented Laquatus from ordering a 
full scale attack to kill her. She was completely insane, 
but she showed no agitation and seemed in good spirits 
when she left. However, she was a chink in Laquatus's 
armor of deceit and must be dealt with in the near 
future. Perhaps the pits would prove particularly 
dangerous in the next few weeks. 

The room was crudely mined and showed none of 
the fine workmanship that formed the rest of the 
embassy. Its construction had been long and laborious 
as Laquatus procured a stream of disposable workmen. 
He was forced to install the winch and thick trapdoor 
in the center of the room himself, with only Turg 
providing the muscle to ship the equipment. The 
merman cranked the heavy cover up, the rust falling 
like red snow. The remnants of some long destroyed 
fortress gate, its metal shielded the swirling pool of 
energy beneath. Without a double system of 
safeguards, magic users throughout the city might 
sense the power of the portal. It was vital that he keep 
his true strength hidden as long as possible. Laquatus 
removed his ambassadorial robes; glad to strip himself 

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Odyssey 

of the rags that landsmen expected him to wear. He 
dived into the pool. 

The shock of hitting the icy water surprised him 
as always, and his entire frame shivered for a few 
seconds before he could take stock of his new 
surroundings. The darkness of the environment 
glistened with the bioluminescence of various 
creatures. Many of them came from the depths of the 
ocean and had been transferred to the deepwater caves 
underlying much of the continent. The shimmering 
pool of light that he dived into was replicated as a 
glowing vertical portal. The magic bridged a gap of 
nearly a thousand feet. Here, unknown to the city 
above, an army gathered to sally forth in the name of 
the 

Mer Empire. Laquatus floated blissfully for a 
moment, relishing the fact that only the emperor 
carried more rank than the ambassador in these caves. 
Above he played the exiled noble, but here he was the 
state. 

"My lord," a quiet voice seemed to whisper behind 
him, the tones swirling through the water. "You were 
not expected for some time." 

Laquatus turned in the water, careful to show no 
surprise. A small humanoid moved from the darkness 
of an overhang. Long whiskers twitched, searching the 
waters for scent and movement. Its body was small 
and its limbs spindly. For a moment, it appeared 
harmless as it moved into the light. Then the 
ambassador again saw the cruel claws on its hands 
and feet. Their sheer size always startled him, but it 
was the head that was most disquieting. Huge and 
stuffed with glassy spearlike teeth, the mouth 

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beckoned his gaze. There in the center danced a 
tongue, endlessly undulating and shifting color. Blank 
eyes without pupils looked blindly at him as the 
creature swam closer. Laquatus tore his eyes away 
and looked to the side. The tresias and its people were 
common in the underwater caves and formed a 
substantial portion of the ambassador's guard. Captain 
Satas was a loyal officer, perfect for command of the 
subterranean force, but his appearance was a constant 
source of revulsion to those who swam the sunlit seas. 

"Events on the surface may require action sooner 
than anticipated," the ambassador answered. "We will 
need more soldiers stationed for assault on command." 
The tresias's tongue shifted faster though there was no 
other sign of agitation. 

"My people are slow to trust and slower to travel; 
we will need soldiers from the empire." Satas signaled 
to an aide. 

The warrior who swam over resembled a giant 
octopus caught in the process of becoming a man. The 
tentacles and its great bag of a head floated and moved 
freely in the water, but signs of an underlying 
structure of bone and horn peaked through. "You will 
carry the ambassador's words to the emperor." 

The soldier left in a jet of water, his body sliding 
through a narrow crevice in the side of the cave. The 
ambassador hoped that more cephalids and other soft-
body troops would be available. With malleable bodies, 
they could move easily through the caves and take the 
shortest routes. The advantages of such a heritage and 
its beauty made him jealous as he watched the trailing 
tentacles disappear. That the emperor should be 

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Odyssey 

blessed with such a form while the ambassador should 
look so ... human. 

"How have the tunneling crews fared?" he asked 
Satas, focusing on the unsightly captain to occupy his 
thoughts. 

The engineers of the empire were continually 
opening new routes in the natural caves that underlay 
the entire continent. Connecting the largest 
underground rivers would allow for the rapid 
movement of the large bodies of troops and the giant 
warriors from the open seas, but the secret ways were 
twisted and full of dead ends. The mapping and 
connection of suitable caverns was a meticulous and 
slow process. 

"Weeks before the way clears," Satas said, 
drifting back to the wall. "However, two more mages 
have mastered the door spell." The tresias moved 
suddenly, his whiskers whipping as he struck at a 
blind crayfish swimming out of a small crevice. "When 
more soldiers arrive we can open enough portals to 
flood the city with troops," he whispered and devoured 
the tender morsel alive. 

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Vance Moore 

CHAPTER 3 


"I will need the winnings before the matches end 
tonight." Kamahl said seriously, maneuvering through 
the crowds around the arena. Chainer crowded closer, 
raising his voice to be heard. 

"Why not tomorrow?" the young man asked, 
slapping a youth whose fingers reached for his purse. 
The gesture was casual, but the boy fell down under 
the feet of the crowd. Kamahl could hear slurred 
cursing growing fainter as they moved toward the 
preparation rooms. 

"The price of my lodging is due tonight and I 
dislike arguments about money," the barbarian 
responded. 

His massive metal gauntlet nudged a too eager 
fighter who tried to enter ahead of the pair. A cool 
stare by Kamahl forced the warrior back into the 
milling crowd as they entered the fetid air of the 
common preparation hall. 

The barbarian entered the city with enough 
money for normal times, but the tourney had inflated 
the prices of food and lodging far above what he 
expected. The last of the fighter's funds were totally 
expended in placing a bet on the matches today. 

"What will you do if you lose?" Chainer asked 
with concern. The young Cabal employee had warned 
Kamahl of the dire straits that the destitute could be 
forced into. The pits devoured a steady supply of the 
indigent to perform jobs too disgusting and dangerous 
for workers with any means. There were darker 

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Odyssey 

rumors that Kamahl heard hints of, but Chainer had 
not commented on them. "You are in a multiple party 
match. The other fighters could combine against you." 

"I never considered losing," Kamahl said. He 
smiled and motioned the Cabal employee to leave and 
place the bet they discussed. "I also failed to consider a 
Phyrexian invasion destroying the city." 

The barbarian chuckled slightly as he moved to 
prepare. Losing in the preliminaries, before the 
champions even entered the lists? He laughed at the 
implausibility of it as he moved toward the entrance of 
the arena. 

The screaming and cheering crowd was a 
continuous background noise, overridden as the last 
competitors staggered in and were carried from the 
field. One lizard man lay on a stretcher, laid open like 
a butchered animal. His hands grasped the wooden 
poles with desperate strength, and Kamahl could see 
the life ebbing from the grip in time with the pulses of 
blood. The fighter expired as he was ferried past. 

"A shame to die so badly," a deep voice 
commented. Kamahl turned and could see only a wall 
of fur. 

He stepped back, his eyes rising to look at the 
speaker's visage. A centaur looked down on him, 
smiling with his lips closed in apparent friendliness. 

He was huge, towering over the other competitors 
waiting for their matches. He stood at least half again 
as high as the barbarian. His features were simian 
with glimpses of fangs showing as he breathed through 
his mouth. The lower body was catlike though in sheer 
size it reminded Kamahl of a dray house. The fur over 
the body looked short and coarse. The barbarian could 

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Vance Moore 

see the play of huge muscles under its hide as the 
creature shifted. The gigantic club in the centaur's 
hands was a mass of wood and banded iron. A small 
granite boulder capped the end, and the warrior 
lowered it to the floor as he offered a hand in greeting. 

"I am Seton, from the Krosan Forest." 

The barbarian gripped the massive hand, 
showing no hesitation or fear even as he felt the power 
in that grasp. 

"Kamahl is my name," he answered. The 
barbarian gestured to the dead competitor being 
carried out. "Death comes to all. The lizard man lost 
and defeat often exacts the ultimate price." The 
centaur squeezed hard but seeing no response released 
Kamahl's hand. 

"Defeat is often terrible, but the lizard man was 
the victor of the round." 

The centaur held his weapon tightly, twisting his 
hands as he watched Cabal servants clearing the 
arena of corpses and raking in fresh sand. The smell of 
old blood and rot wafted in through the lower 
entrances to the fighting area. Kamahl dropped his 
pack to a bench along the wall. Other fighters, some 
almost green with fear and dreadful anticipation, 
made room. The barbarian undid his cloak and put it 
in his pack. A massive armored belt went around his 
waist as he moved his purse and nonessential items 
into the pack. 

"A victory that leaves you dead is no victory," the 
barbarian opinioned, moving his massive sword from 
his back. The sword was a remnant of a massive 
artifact from the invasion. The fighter he had defeated 
swore it was part of Urza's staff, but Kamahl had his 

35 



Odyssey 

doubts. Still, the double-edged great sword channeled 
power exceptionally well. Its only flaw was the lack of 
a good stabbing point. "Better yet is to leave even your 
enemy alive to grant you homage and spread word of 
his defeat. Dead bodies feed only crows." 

"Dead bodies do much more in the hands of the 
Cabal." Seton spat to the side, the spittle running 
down the wall and across the Cabal symbols on this 
side of the doors. "Unless you have made special 
arrangements, the necromancers will raise your corpse 
or feed it to their monsters." "If you fall, I will make 
sure that you don't end up depending on their tender 
mercies," Kamahl answered, his confidence such that 
he felt compelled to relieve the other's mind. "Why do 
you care what happens to me?" the centaur demanded, 
anger displacing the worry in his tone. "Do you make 
some claim for me?" 

Kamahl was calm as he sealed his pack and 
kicked it under a bench. The Cabal servant overseeing 
the room caught the barbarian's eye, and he pointed to 
his gear with a forbidding expression. Power flowed 
from Kamahl's hand and danced over the wire 
interwoven with the cloth of the pack. The centaur was 
almost snarling as Kamahl finally turned his attention 
back to Seton. 

"I came to fight the best," Kamahl replied, 
checking the fit of his armor. "I want to beat the best. 
Victory 

would be less pure if my opponents worried about 
what would happen to them after they lost." 

The centaur swelled at the sheer arrogance and 
effrontery of the barbarian and then exploding in 
laughter. 

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Vance Moore 

"You are confident, hero," Seton laughed. "If you 
fight one tenth as well as you boast you will walk away 
with every prize." 

Kamahl only smiled slightly then straightened. 
The gatekeeper posted three tiles. One of them was the 
crossed axe and sword that Kamahl was assigned upon 
entering the games. Another was the Cabal house tile, 
stating that the Cabal would have a representative in 
the fight. The last tile showed a branch gripped by a 
hand. The barbarian watched Seton move toward the 
arena and knew the forest warrior was now his 
opponent. The centaur pushed through the thin screen 
of fighters in front of the door. 

"Both against the Cabal fighter first, Kamahl," 
the centaur called to him. "After the undead are 
dispatched, you and I can discuss who should be the 
winner." 

Seton spun his massive club like a light baton, 
sending others scrambling away as the small boulder 
seemed to whistle through the air. The barbarian 
smiled and nodded, moving up to stand by the mighty 
forest dweller. He showed no concern as the club began 
to spin even more wildly as they were directed into the 
arena. The crowd noise heightened, and Seton put on a 
show for the crowd. Kamahl attracted little notice, as 
he preferred to save his energy for the fight. The Cabal 
opponent entered from the opposite side, heading for a 
platform. A dark and tattered pennant drooped limply 
from a metal flagstaff. 

The barbarian remembered Chainer's recitation 
of arena practice and how it echoed the ceremonial 
fighting practiced in the mountains. The Cabal fighter 
was fair game during combat, but the simple act of 

37 



Odyssey 

taking the flag would expel the house fighter from the 
match. The rule allowed overmatched house fighters to 
retreat and lose a flag rather than their lives. Several 
matches Kamahl saw earlier in the week involved the 
Cabal fighter losing to a stolen flag as they were 
overwhelmed and forced to protect themselves first 
and foremost. One novice Cabal fighter pulled the flag 
himself as he was overwhelmed. The fighter lived, but 
the shame of his cowardly act would undoubtedly 
make his life a living hell. The contestants not with 
the Cabal had no flag to lose. Only total defeat or 
humiliating surrender awaited them should a Cabal 
fighter prove superior. The barbarian heard many 
complain that the Cabal lost flags more often than 
lives, but he planned to win, so not having an 
alternate way to be defeated did not bother him. 

Kamahl ignored the Master of the Games' speech. 
The light from the flaring torches along the rim of the 
arena made it almost impossible to see the crowd. The 
viewing pods floated down from high above the wall as 
a few of the important game patrons watched the bout. 
Kamahl could see the ambassador from the Mer 
Empire and his champion taking their ease. The 
ambassador gave him a languid wave, and the 
barbarian gritted his teeth, feeling his color darken. 
The Order champion Kirtar was in the box as well and 
laughed at Kamahl's discomfiture. The lights 
brightened as Cabal mages fed more power to the 
torches, and the crowds and boxes were washed away 
in the flood of light. The barbarian focused, ignoring 
the sound of the crowds, blocking out superfluous noise 
until it seemed as quiet as the highlands of his youth. 

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The Cabal fighter was a woman, her hair braided 
with beads and bones. She looked disinterested even 
as Seton bellowed a challenge, waiting for the fight to 
commence. Whatever the signal to commence the bout 
had been, Kamahl missed it in the charge of the 
centaur. His club spinning, the giant advanced in 
great bounds, hoping to close before the dementia 
caster could react, but his charge proved too slow as 
groups of fighters congealed in front of the Cabal 
fighter and her flag. Though humanoid, the creatures 
showed buglike qualities. Their dark exoskeletons 
rasped, and Kamahl could hear their pincers and 
mandibles working as he closed at a run. 

Seton arrived first, the club falling like an 
avalanche on an evoked fighter. The armor broke with 
a wet crunch that reminded Kamahl of a lobster he 
saw devoured at an inn. Seton was tearing through the 
defenders, his club squashing them like the bugs they 
resembled. More and more flickered into being even as 
their unnatural ichor discolored the sand. 

Kamahl arrived, and his massive sword cut out a 
great half-circle among the defenders. The barbarian 
did not even call forth energy to feed the blade, 
husbanding his power until more worthy adversaries 
appeared. 

The Cabal magic user began to appear more 
interested, her eyes growing brighter as Kamahl and 
Seton approached, coming closer together as they 
neared the stand. The centaur swung his club less 
wildly, though the creatures still exploded at every 
strike. Kamahl cleared the caster's minions from his 
path with the same amount of energy and speed, his 
smooth swings showing no signs of slowing. The caster 

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Odyssey 

motioned, and the creatures tried to close on the pair 
of fighters from behind. Her tactics proved futile as the 
centaur roused himself and with great leaps and 
bounds prevented any from closing with him. 

The barbarian responded to the new attack with 
wider swings and footwork. His mind and spirit 
cleared, and he appeared almost to dance inside the 
lethal circle of steel. The creatures drew closer but 
died before they could close. The barbarian worried 
more about tripping over a smashed or dismembered 
corpse than one of the monsters breaking through his 
defense. Seton was proving faster as his great leaps 
took him around the fighters, who then closed on 
Kamahl. The centaur's breath could be seen as great 
gouts of vapor blew out through the giant's nostrils. 

Now the Cabal fighter smiled slightly, and new 
horrors issued from her mind. Kamahl could see a 
delicate and beautiful face coming into being. The eyes 
opened as the rest of the summoning took shape. The 
eyes were slit like a snake's, and from the torso down, 
that was what the monster appeared to be. As more of 
the creatures flickered into existence, the first 
attacked. The upper arms appeared normal, but from 
the elbows down, her arms were great blades of bone. 
The leader attacked, and Kamahl dodged one strike 
and blocked another. Though his sword cut through 
the insectile drones like a knife through butter, this 
new creature's arm rang like fine steel. The scrape of 
the edge along the bone made Kamahl's teeth ache. 
His return strike left only a small cut that began to 
ooze an oily liquid even as Seton joined the attack. 

The centaur seemed to swell beyond his already 
prodigious size, muscles writhing under his fur. The 

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club whistled through the air, the head a blur as it 
struck at the monster in front of him. Bone cleavers, 
raised to intercept the blow, were amputated as the 
forest giant literally disarmed the summoning. Seton 
turned to another enemy, but the first was not yet 
done. Pulses of blood jetted out of the form, covering 
the centaur's chest and head. Seton's manic energy 
leaked out of him as he screamed in pain. 

The barbarian ran to intercept the caster's 
minions falling upon his temporary ally. His sword ran 
with power, the metal glowing as Kamahl fed it more 
energy. He struck at the creatures' backs, the 
enchanted blade once again shearing through his 
enemies. The limbs that fell did not release streams of 
corrosive blood, for the fire of his blade burned its way 
through the creatures' bodies. The corpses piled up; 
streams of fire burning through the skin as they raced 
through the veins and arteries. 

Seton slowly rose as the barbarian protected him. 
The scream that he gave was deep and filled with pain, 
but the centaur could move. The club rose and fell 
weakly, but it freed Kamahl to act more aggressively. 
He chopped his way through three of the demons and 
came back to protect Seton's flank. 

The centaur wove like a drunken horse, the fur 
on his chest slowly growing back through bloody strips 
of skin. But it took too much time, and Kamahl 
realized that centaur was a liability. The fight needed 
to end soon or the centaur might yet fall to the Cabal 
warrior. Kamahl looked to the platform. The flag 
flapped loosely as a new creature came into being. 

It was the smell that hit the barbarian first. His 
nostrils curled, and he breathed through his mouth. 

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Odyssey 

The creature was enormous, taller at the shoulder 
than the great buffalo that roamed the plains. In 
appearance, it reminded Kamahl of a great mole. Its 
sharp snout quested in the air even as it moved toward 
Seton and the barbarian. Kamahl ascribed the 
hesitation to its lack of eyes. Empty sockets set in 
rotted flesh and exposed bone left the monster without 
a means to see. Whether it had ever had fur Kamahl 
could not tell, but it had none now. Its skin seemed 
gone, leaving only rotting meat and a thick layer of 
mold. Each step of the creature left a mark of foulness. 

Seton performed his own summoning. The whine 
of insects could be dimly heard though cries of the 
crowd and the movement of the Cabal castings. A 
cloud formed, growing thick as insects came into being. 
One landed on the barbarian's arm, and he flicked it 
away before it could do any harm. The green locusts 
fell upon the dark minions. The barbarian absently 
killed the few creatures still in reach as he considered 
the centaur and the Cabal mage. The bodies of the 
fallen were covered in a moving carpet that flattened 
as the insects devoured the flesh. Bone peeked out 
briefly, but the enchanted mandibles of the insect 
swarm ground down even that. 

Seton raised his arms, his giant club held loosely 
in one hand. The cloud of locusts rose together, then 
fell upon the giant mole. The centaur moved toward 
the platform, ready to kill. Kamahl came as well, 
walking around the locusts that orbited the main 
mound. 

The attack on Seton was unexpected by the two 
allies. The insect-covered mole lurched into action, 
leaving a trail of twitching bugs. The creature humped 

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itself up, its spine breaking through the layer of dead 
flesh and dying locusts. The huge animal left the 
ground in a prodigious leap that equaled anything 
Seton had shown so far. The shock of the bodies 
meeting sprayed the remains of the insect swarm 
across the arena. A thick cloud hung around the pair 
as the centaur tried to grapple. The claws of the mole 
carved hunks of flesh from the shoulders and flanks of 
the forest dweller. Showing unexpected flexibility, 
Seton ducked under the attack, scrambling clear. But 
only a few yards away he fell, his features slack with 
astonishment. 

The mole twitched, each shake spraying spores 
into the arena. The remaining locusts cascaded from 
the air with each gust of the agents of decay. The 
spores came from the thick ropes of purple on the 
mole's back. The locusts' attack had served only to 
unmask a more deadly response. The mole swung its 
head from side to side as it made for the fallen 
centaur. 

Kamahl stamped his foot loudly, sending an 
irregular rhythm into the sand. The monster paused, 
its head swinging and its feet shifting. The Cabal 
caster took her ease, and the barbarian could see her 
discounting the centaur and focusing on him. A smile 
lit her face as Kamahl drove his sword deep into the 
sand. The shock of the tip striking into the rock of the 
arena floor was a signal to the creature. It charged, 
each lunge releasing another cloud of death. It passed 
the platform as the barbarian stamped his feet. The 
Cabal fighter ignored the spores as her summoning 
closed. Kamahl's hands blurred as he movedbut not 
for the sword stuck into the ground. 

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The barbarian plucked a throwing axe from his 
belt and cocked it back to his ear. Like a great sigh, 
power poured into the steel and leather-wrapped 
handle. The head flashed brilliantly, and then, as a 
comet, it flew toward the mole. The metal glanced off 
the massive skull, and Kamahl saw the Cabal warrior 
becoming still, summoning additional creatures. The 
barbarian closed his eyes as the axe reached the apex 
of its deflected flight. 

The detonation rocked Kamahl back. The light 
was bright enough that he could see through his 
eyelids as the edge of the energy brushed him. The 
crowd was stunned into silence. The magic ignited the 
spore cloud, and the explosion sped back to the mole, 
devouring it as the molds detonated in sympathy with 
Kamahl's attack. The dementia caster rolled on the 
ground, unable to stand. She had been flung back 
several yards, and the sand stripped most of her 
clothes off as well as much of her skin. Her teeth bared 
and bloody, she stood, gathering herself to summon 
more monstrosities. Kamahl did not take his newly 
gained advantage, though his other axe was in his 
hand. He pointed to the platform with the metal head. 
Scraps of the flag still fluttered to the ground, 
signaling the Cabal fighter's defeat. 

* * * * * 

"You won more than five hundred!" Chainer said 
excitedly. The young man gripped the bag of coins 
tightly, proclaiming to all in sight that he held riches 
in his hand. Kamahl only smiled thinly as he waited 
with the other victorious fighters in the winners' box. 
The arena attendants seated those victors needing no 

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medical attention. The winning fighters watched the 
remaining fights and were observed in turn by the 
crowd. A steady stream of visitors and dignitaries 
cycled in and out, some of them obviously trying to 
steal some of the fighters' glory. Chainer had come 
from the bet-monger with Kamahl's winnings. The 
barbarian held out his hand and was surprised by the 
weight of the purse. It felt much greater than the 
victory that had won it. 

"The bettors know you now," Chainer said. "You 
will get much lower odds now that you have won." 

A voice interrupted the pair. 

"That is because the servants of the Cabal 
mistake luck for skill," taunted Kirtar. The lieutenant 
strode arrogantly through the other fighters, pushing 
some out of the way. Kamahl noticed how the others 
took it and realized that the Order champion must be 
even more powerful than the barbarian thought. 
Perhaps the lieutenant's lop-sided victory had 
prevented Kamahl from seeing the bird warrior at his 
best. 

"Most of the fighters here don't realize how lucky 
they are to be competing with their better," Kirtar 
continued. His pale skin flushed as he drank more 
deeply from the goblet of wine in his hand. 

"I am surprised that you fight at all in these 
contests," Kamahl said slowly. "Surely you must 
realize how unequal you are to those who fight here." 

Kirtar nodded his head and then realizing that 
the comment was more easily read as an insult 
advanced angrily. A massive webbed hand deflected 
his path. Turg patted the champion on the back as he 

45 



Odyssey 

led him over to the food, the ambassador smiling at 
Kamahl and Chainer. 

"You must excuse our friend," Laquatus said. "He 
fights out of duty. The Order considers it their task to 
rid the world of the symbols of past evil. Many of the 
prizes that he wins will be destroyed at the Order's 
headquarters." 

"He is not my friend," Kamahl said flatly. 
Chainer nodded slightly, a grim look on his face. "And 
when he faces me in the arena, he will discover that I 
don't need luck to win." 

Laquatus, still smiling, bowed his head, but his 
eyes were serious, not merry. Kamahl turned as he felt 
a threat directed at him. Across the room Turg looked 
at him even as he shepherded Kirtar toward a bar. The 
amphibian's eyes held the same look of deadly 
concentration as the ambassador's. 

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CHAPTER 4 


"Hail the conquering hero!" Seton bellowed, 
ignoring the catcalls that quickly followed. Kamahl 
only nodded, as if accepting his due. The centaur 
snorted as he saw the shadow of a smile on the 
barbarian's face. The other patients in the hospital 
could not read the mountain fighter, and their catcalls 
continued. 

Seton had been taken to the hospital to recover 
from his wounds. Though the druids of the forest were 
known for their healing skills, the punishment they 
endured to access those energies reserved them for 
life-threatening injuries only. Though the poison mold 
laid the centaur low, Cabal servitors administered an 
antidote within minutes of the fight's end. Those who 
survived the games were taken to the healing halls 
behind the waiting chambers. Kamahl was told to 
return the next day. 

The centaur lay in a shallow pit, his side against 
a move-able board that allowed him to lie as if on a 
hillside. Other than a tendency to turn one's head to 
match up with the patient's orientation, it allowed for 
ease of access for the nursing staff. It also made 
conversation more convenient. 

The barbarian's eyes swung over some of the 
patients, and his worries for his friend continued. 
Amputations were common and many fighters lay as if 
dead, their stumps leaking blood around the seams of 
their new limbs. Metal seemed the most common 
substitute, though mismatched furred limbs suggested 

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Odyssey 

other sources. Mold covered the wounds of some. 
Kamahl watched a caregiver spreading thick mud over 
the weeping sores of a dwarf whose eyes wandered 
with pain. The barbarian hoped the Cabal was trying 
to help instead of preparing a fresh round of victims 
for rumored rituals. He renewed his vow to avoid 
injury or at least care for himself. 

Seton looked well. His coat was clean, and the 
patchwork of new fur covered the worst of the stitches. 
The forest dweller still made few movements, and 
Kamahl realized the giant was in pain despite his 
apparent high spirits. 

"I am surprised that you have not already 
escaped," the barbarian quipped awkwardly. He 
wondered how the centaur stood the enclosed 
environment. 

"I will leave here as soon as her 'majesty' says 
that I may," the forest dweller said, rolling his eyes. 
The barbarian turned, seeing an approaching healer. 
She stood wrapped in armor, and her haughty stare 
curled his lip. She went past, her robe clinking softly 
with the sound of chain mail. 

"I am surprised to see a representative of the 
Order here," Kamahl said, turning his eyes away from 
the martial maid back to his acquaintance. 

"As healers, some of the Order's party feel 
compelled to offer their services here," the centaur 
replied. "Though we pay a stiff price for their services, 
being constrained to listen to them rail against the pit 
fights." The centaur spoke with some amusement, but 
Kamahl remembered the snubs offered by the 
lieutenant and now one of his retinue. 

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"Rather self-serving to urge competitors of their 
champion to withdraw," the barbarian observed. "I am 
surprised that you do not tell them so." Kamahl came 
to win honor and respect. That other fighters would 
belittle the contests was extremely irritating. 

"We all come for our own reasons," the centaur 
said. He rolled further against the support board. He 
tripped a lever, and the clink of the mechanism 
sounded as he brought his side down. "The Order 
fights to destroy the prizes. I fight so I can meet the 
Masters of the Games." Seton lowered his voice. 

"I am not here on a lark," he said darkly. "What 
drives me is serious." Seton looked to see if any were 
listening. 

"The forests are violated and their inhabitants 
stolen to feed the pits." He said softly. "Creatures 
vanish from under the trees and nothing is done to 
stop them." The centaur shifted to bring his head 
closer to Kamahl. 

"The forest will not suffer these raids forever. I 
know that one day the pit system will have to change, 
or it will fall. The wild will not allow itself to be bled 
dry." 

"I respect your convictions," Kamahl said, 
keeping his voice even. "But I am not here to become 
part of your crusade. The pit provides the opponents I 
need to test myself." He turned and gestured to the 
crowds of injured. 

"I have no wish to be hurt, but it is a risk 1 take 
to win a place in this world." The barbarian lowered 
his hands and hooked his thumbs in his belt. His eyes 
looked inward as he paused. "The mountains became 
too small. Winning a duel meant that a village or a 

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Odyssey 

family gave you your due. Victory is sweet, but the 
portions were too small." Kamahl shook his head sadly 
as he thought of his many victories. 

"And you think the repast will be so much better 
in the pits?" Seton said crossly. "You think that the 
crowd will remember you for longer than your next 
fight?" The centaur's voice grew louder and other 
recuperating fighters looked toward the pair. 

"I think that it is better we each do as we think 
best," Kamahl said, his voice growing tight. He did not 
believe his victory meaningless. 

"I apologize, Kamahl," Seton answered. "I should 
not let my current injuries make me rude." The 
centaur waved his hand and only lightly groaned at 
the pain of the movement. "I have you to thank for the 
all this." He laughed. "But truly, I owe you my life," 
Seton said seriously. "I was paralyzed and sure I 
would die when you destroyed the mole. My debt to 
you is more than gold or words can pay." 

Kamahl nodded, accepting the gratitude with 
same equanimity he had accepted the crowd's 
adulation. 

"I fought for myself, but whatever debt you owe to 
me can be repaid by your friendship." The barbarian 
extended his hand, and the two gripped arms, united 
as they were in the arena. 

* * * * * 

"Over here, Kamahl," Chainer called. 

The barbarian looked to the front of the 
champions' box. He had returned to the arena to see 
the Mer champion fight. There was no posted 

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Vance Moore 

opponent, and the barbarian wondered who would 
battle the dangerous-looking amphibian. 

"The match hasn't started?" he asked, taking a 
seat next to the Cabal minion. Chainer was eating 
olives and cheese as he sipped from a cup. The 
barbarian nodded to a servant who supplied him with 
a small loaf of bread and a goblet of wine. Kamahl 
drank, noticing a sour taste and looking toward the 
servant. Chainer noticed his look. 

"Someone delivered lower-quality food to the 
kitchens stocking the boxes," the young man 
explained. "They're scrambling to find decent food for 
the important patrons." He snorted and gestured 
around as if to comment that the actual pit fighters 
were obviously low on the list of the powerful. Kamahl 
drank the wine without further comment, though deep 
inside the slight rankled. 

"It's all maneuvering to embarrass the current 
Master of the Games." Chainer said, sounding 
conspiratorial. "Someone is trying to displace him and 
his connections." 

The barbarian listened with little interest. 

The crowd stirred excitedly as the fighters' gate 
opened. Turg strode forth, the massive Mer champion 
glistening as if his skin had been freshly moistened. 
The placards naming the opponents were not posted, 
and Chainer straightened as the frog stalked the 
empty pit. A concealed gate opened, far from the 
crowd. With a wild bray, an ass ran into the pit, its 
hooves flying with wild kicks as it tore around the 
sides of the arena. 

The crowd exploded in laughter as Turg swelled 
up, his hands closed up in fists. The amphibian shook 

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Odyssey 

with rage as the audience continued to laugh. Many of 
the Cabal servants appeared stunned. The frog ran to 
intercept the donkey. 

"I can't believe someone would try to disrupt the 
games!" Chainer exclaimed as the Mer champion raced 
to his ridiculous opponent. "This prank will offend the 
ambassador and the Master of the Games." 

The frog reached the donkey, and it spun and let 
fly. The sharp hooves laid open the skin, and the 
laughter increased. Kamahl smiled slightly, though 
the other fighters' grins showed half-moons of teeth. 

Turg darted in and grabbed the ass's skull. He 
turned, throwing the donkey in a circle. The animal's 
neck snapped, its body falling limp to the ground. A 
light smattering of contemptuous applause greeted the 
amphibian. He kept his grip on the head, and his 
muscles bunched, rotating the skull and tearing it free. 
Blood poured onto the sand, splashing up against 
Turg's legs. He cocked back his arms and hurled his 
opponent's head up into the crowd. The spells that 
protected the seats flared, and the lights dimmed as 
power flowed to intercept the bloody projectile. The 
skull rotted away, diminished by the forces of 
accelerated decay until it fell over the seats in a spray 
of foulness. The sound of retching competed with 
nervous laughter. The ambassador was standing in his 
box, outrage visible on his aristocratic features. The 
Master of the Games gestured wildly to the 
gatekeepers down in the pit. 

"He's sending out another beast," Chainer said, 
settling back into the seat. "He'll try to write it off as a 
mistake, but the patriarch will have a head before the 
end of the day." 

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A six-legged reptile rushed into the arena, 
soldiers driving it forth with jabs from tridents. Its 
legs churned, and it froze in the center, its head 
turning in quick jerks. 

"A Krosan dragonette," Chainer said, clucking his 
tongue. "A decent fighting animal but not one with 
stature enough to balance the insult of the ass." 

The dragonette saw the amphibian but did not 
charge. "They need to be driven to battle," Chainer 
said sadly as the Master of the Games went into a new 
spat of shouting and arm waving. The gates opened 
again, and more animals spilled into the arena. Great 
hounds milled, their foamy jaws hinting at madness as 
they bit at each other before the sight of the 
dragonette and the frog set them running. 

The six-legged beast tore into the pack as they 
came close. The reptile jaws snapped at the leg of a dog 
several times, leaving it a bloody mass. The rest of the 
pack piled on, but the beast thrashed. Howls of pain 
echoed in the arena as the dragonette's rough hide 
stripped fur and flesh away. The amphibian closed, 
and half the pack turned on him. There was a wave of 
magic, and the frog seemed to fade. Around each of the 
hounds the outline of the mer champion appeared, his 
legs dragging as if hamstrung. The pack fell on each 
other as the spell turned their instincts against them. 
A biting, dying circle spun between the frog and the 
reptile. 

The dragonette bled from multiple bites, the 
blood pulsing down its hide. Its long whip of a tail rose 
and then lashed into the dogs. A high yelp sounded as 
the reptile strruck again and again. Each strike left an 
animal with shattered bones. The cripples were killed 

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Odyssey 

in an instant as the other ensorcelled animals fell 
upon them. Soon only the dragonette, frog, and a 
single bleeding hound remained. Turg snapped into 
focus and struck the last dog, his heavy fist destroying 
the skull. The dragonette lashed its tail, but the 
amphibian leaped to the side, once more fading as 
multiple images moved away from its landing place. 
The dragonette roared in bestial fury, its cry echoing 
up over the arena walls. Its tongue flickering widely, it 
stalked one image exclusively, ignoring the others 
even as several versions of Turg made short rushes 
against it. 

The illusions faded as the mer warrior realized 
the beast's sense of smell made the illusions useless. 
Catcalls rose from the benches at the turn of events. 
The frog crouched, its arms spread wide. Power 
crackled along its arms, and small streamers of 
lightning trailed from the tips of the frog's claws. The 
two monsters leaped at each other, the crowd rising to 
its feet. The reptile caught the skin of Turg's thigh and 
lacerated it as hands closed over the beast's eyes. Both 
the frog and dragonette screamed now, but the cries of 
the ocean warrior's opponent were full of pain and 
despair. The calls grew shriller as the six-legged beast 
tried to escape, its bellows becoming more plaintive 
and fearful. 

Kamahl's magical senses could detect Turg's 
power forming a circuit between the reptile and the 
amphibian's own flesh. The frog's own magic made its 
flesh shake, but the surge of energy increased as the 
frog cooked its enemy from the inside out. The Mer 
champion shouted its triumph as it fed off its own 
pain. The ambassador across the arena shook in 

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sympathy as his champion bellowed in a self-inflicted 
orgy of pain. 

Some of the crowd threw down tokens of 
appreciation, the valuables reaching the sand floor as 
the Cabal servants curbed the defensive spells 
protecting the stands. Turg ripped a hunk of steaming 
flesh free and swallowed the meat, reaching for 
another handful as the applause slackened. The 
mutter of the crowd asking for the next fighter was 
heard as Cabal minions posted new placards. Then a 
cry was heard. 

Kamahl stood, and the bellow repeated. The 
echoing call was filled with rage and came over the 
arena wall. The sound beat against the barbarian's 
skull as it grew louder. He looked to Chainer, but the 
youth seemed as confused as any. The barbarian made 
his way for the exit, pushing his way through the other 
fighters, the cries continuing unabated. Kamahl 
slowed as he recognized the sounds. Though louder 
and far deeper, they were much like those Turg's dead 
opponent gave forth. Though the dragonette lay 
dismembered, a response to its dying cries filled the 
arena and perhaps the rest of the city. 

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Odyssey 

CHAPTER 5 


"Something is breaking into the city!" screamed a 
voice in the ambassador's ear. Laquatus struggled 
from the depths of his trance, his senses assaulted by 
the troubled noises of the crowd. The merman shook 
his head, still confused. On the sands below, Turg 
bellowed and fell into a feeding frenzy, losing any sign 
of civilized restraint. Again a cry filled the air. The 
rage and despair in its tone gave the ambassador's 
spirit a little burst of joy. Something was in great pain, 
and Laquatus could always smile at the pain of others. 
The erstwhile town crier moved on and shouts 
continued down the line of boxes. "See what the noise 
is about," the ambassador said to a guard standing 
nearby. The mercenary nodded and left at a run. The 
merman stood, shaking the stiffness from his muscles. 
The amphibian continued to eat voraciously and 
Laquatus saw the difficulty in reining Turg in. Better 
to let the amphibian feed. Usually, the ambassador 
lost himself in the frog's sensations when the 
opportunity presented itself. However, the tumult 
outside continued as crowds drifted out of the pits. 

"See about getting the arena gates open," he 
directed a Cabal servant who came into the box, 
looking for a way to please the ambassador. "Tell the 
Master of the Games that while I blame him for 
nothing, I want my jack allowed to leave the field." 
Laquatus paused for a second. 

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"Right now," he said emphatically as the servant 
stood there stupidly. The servant left at a run, his 
sandals loudly drumming on the stone floor. 

"I wonder if the fools think I will forgive the 
insults offered me?" Laquatus asked himself pensively. 
The assault on his dignity burned, lying like a bed of 
temporarily banked coals, ready to flare up at any 
moment. Whoever drove the ass out onto the field 
would pay a hideous price. As would the person that 
gave the order, their households, and any with close 
connections. Laquatus idly wondered if the city should 
be razed to assuage his honor? 

Perhaps not, after all he had plans for the Cabal 
and the pits. But the image of burning buildings and 
corpses seemed very attractive. Turg's savage appetite 
bled into his consciousness. Perhaps a minute passed 
before new events broke his reverie. Messengers 
returned with news, the one sent to the Master of the 
Games speaking first. 

"The official is gone, and all the Cabal servants 
are called away," he explained, bowing in humiliation. 
"There is no one with authority to order the gates 
opened on the arena floor." Laquatus smiled slightly 
and walked to the refreshments laid to the side. A 
variety of seafood imported at great expense lay 
cooling in shaved ice. Laquatus reached for metal 
tongs used to crack claws. He grabbed the man's hand 
and grasped a finger quickly. The muscles beneath his 
aristocratic facade showed themselves as he broke the 
finger like a twig. The servant went white as the 
ambassador stepped back to the table. Laquatus 
picked up a lobster claw and some bread to feed the 
echo of his jack's hunger. 

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Odyssey 

"I sent you to get Turg out," he said merrily, 
cracking the chitin to get to the meat. The servant 
turned even paler at the sound. "I have confidence that 
you will get my frog free before I run out of fingers." 
The man swayed, and Laqua-tus's personal retainer 
gave him a wide berth, waiting for him to go down. 

"Now, now, now," Laquatus clucked, lightly 
rapping the man's cheek with the metal tongs. "You 
don't want me breaking more bones to wake you up." 

The servant shook his head rapidly, bowing and 
backing away as he stumbled to the door. The 
ambassador smiled and motioned to the retainer. The 
man smiled as nastily as his master, his bald head 
flushed with excitement at the cruelty. 

"Follow along, and if he collapses make sure he 
receives medical attention." At the disappointed look 
Laquatus chuckled and waved the man away. How 
could he punish someone for failure if he died from 
shock? These landsmen were such unthinking brutes. 
They had no sense of style. He invited the other 
messenger forward with a wave of his hand. 

"And what is the commotion outside?" the 
merman asked. "A riot? A revolution? Come, come," he 
said, as the Cabal servant gathered his composure. 
"Use your tongue, or I'll have it out." 

"A monstrous beast has broken through the city 
wall and is making its way through the town," gushed 
the man. The ambassador briefly considered using the 
crushing tongs again, but business before pleasure. 

"Why the excitement?" Laquatus asked. "The 
arena teems with monsters every day. Surely one more 
should not provoke such disarray." 

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"The beast, my lord," the servant said quickly, "is 
huge. It overtops buildings and can be clearly seen 
from outside the arena." 

The ambassador nodded, intrigued enough that 
he decided to see the monster for himself. 

The runner screwed up his will enough to speak 
once more before making for the exit. "It also 
resembles the beast your champion just killed." Then 
his nerve broke, and he left at a run. 

The guards made as if to block him, but the 
ambassador stopped them with a barely perceptible 
motion. The messenger was of no importance though 
his words were intriguing. He waved to a skybox, 
calling it down. The pilot promptly complied, and the 
merman soon stepped into the small floating craft with 
a single guard. He looked to the rest of his household. 
"Go back to the embassy," Laquatus said and 
dismissed them from his mind. 

The skybox was one of the smaller ones but any 
affording such luxury were rich and important. The 
seats were of the finest leather. Though it had no 
buffet, there was a collection of rare liquors stowed 
against the side. The mage directing the craft was clad 
in black regalia while the obvious patron of the box 
wore an understated tunic and trousers of deep purple 
and black. 

"I am so glad I could give aid," the owner said, 
moving to the side to grant the merman more room. "I 
am Toustos, an importer of animals for the games." 

"I thank you for your courtesy," Laquatus smiled 
back, wondering if he should send the two over the 
side. "I am the ambassador from the Mer Empire. In 
the excitement there seems to have been a mistake. 

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My jack, Turg, has been abandoned on the field of 
victory." He shook his head sadly. "If you could direct 
this box to pick him up, I would be very appreciative." 
The importer nodded and, with a look, directed the box 
down. 

"There is a chance," he said, "that the protective 
field over the fighting area may be quiescent. If not, 
your fighter is trapped until the guards let him out." 
The ambassador nodded in agreement but thought 
that Turg could escape if he must. The box slowed 
suddenly as it neared the field. 

"Warning spell," said the importer unnecessarily. 
The merman could detect the roused energies waiting 
to destroy anything that trespassed their vigilant 
watch. The amphibian below tore more flesh from the 
dragonette, and some of the six limbs lay amputated. 
The frog had eaten itself nearly immobile, and 
Laquatus cursed the indulgence of appetite. 

"There's no way we can get through the stand 
defenses, Your Excellency. Is there some other service 
I might provide?" 

Laquatus curbed his temper. "There," he said, 
pointing to the open air above. "Lift us up that I might 
see this beast that draws the rabble so far from their 
posts." The box began to rise toward the opening. The 
curving galleries and conduits of power loomed over 
the field, and the conveyance drifted further to the 
side. The rate of ascent slowed as they neared the 
limits of the arena. Finally they peeked over the wall 
and saw the madness outside. 

The merman enhanced his senses, his suddenly 
sharp eyes and ears bringing the scene into crystal 
focus. 

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"Krosan dragon," whispered the importer at the 
ambassador's side. 

Laquatus slapped the patron, his burning gaze 
demanding absolute silence. 

The dragon was Turg's opponent grown one 
hundredfold. The six-legged beast looked down on the 
buildings it passed. The city guardsmen ran screaming 
before it, breaking down doors to hide inside. Its head 
ducked, and the monster gulped down a flagging 
sergeant as a snack. The other guardsmen put on 
another burst of speed. They slowed immediately, 
exhausted from their crazed run from the city walls. 
Laquatus could see soldiers converging from other 
parts of the city, but he doubted that many would 
arrive in time. The dragon's huge tail lashed behind it. 
A steady rain of debris from tumbling walls filled the 
street as the beast came on. 

The area in front of the arena was bedlam as 
carriages and palanquins disbursed. Patrons rushed to 
waiting bearers, the servants trembling with fright 
and frustration. It said something for the brutality of 
the city elite that transport waited. But the outskirts 
of the crowd were fraying away; some chased by their 
screaming masters. A clump of officials rallied the 
Cabal arena guards and handlers into formation. It 
seemed a forlorn hope against the approaching 
juggernaut. 

Laquatus felt satisfaction at their impending 
doom. A terrible death by monster might salve away 
the wound to his dignity. He thought of Turg below, a 
slumbering fool in someone's scheme, and he hoped the 
entire Cabal would be slowly eaten alive. 

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A dementia caster below opened reality to her 
madness, and a stream of undead stumbled up the 
street. They formed a parade and advanced laughing, 
their clothes trailing rags showing hints of past color. 
Rusty bells rattled, and a chorus of tinny horns 
sounded as more approached the dragon. Unholy mirth 
dragged sodden laughter from their rotting chests. 

One bellowing voice overrode the noise below, and 
the ambassador looked down to see Lieutenant Kirtar 
directing the action. The Order representative oversaw 
the retreat of those patrons still trapped back into the 
arena. 

"If necessary escape through the rear exits," 
Laquatus heard through his enhanced hearing. The 
officer waved pit fighters to join the city guards as 
noncombatants retreated inside. Down the avenue, the 
corpses' merriment reached its peak as the parade met 
the beast. 

The street opened into a square, and the zombies 
surrounded the dragon, throwing themselves at it. The 
monster's tail began to sweep in rapid strikes, each 
movement leaving a trailing bundle of rotting flesh. 
Some zombies seemed to explode as they thudded into 
thick building walls. Others disappeared inside weak 
facades, though the sound of collapsing walls 
suggested they were not spared destruction. Those 
undead that missed buildings entirely skidded along 
the cobblestones, shedding flesh and bones until the 
remains looked as tattered and strewn as the 
moldering grave-clothes. Some avoided the tail and 
reached the beast. 

The giant body thrashed from side to side as a 
wave of guardsmen followed the undead and reached 

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the great reptile. Spears leading, they charged in 
support of the merry corpses. They appeared to battle 
their way onto the monster's hide, and Laquatus for a 
second increased his sight a magnitude before it 
blurred back to simple enhancement. 

The green fur that seemed to cover the reptile 
was in fact a blanket of vines. Wrapping the huge 
beast in innumerable strands, the greenery protected 
it by a thick covering of long thorns. The figures 
Laquatus saw clinging to the animal's side were nailed 
there as solidly as any crucified slave. The zombies 
tried to crawl to the dragon's head and left a trail of 
their few remaining threads, then what remained of 
their skin. Still the summoned corpses laughed and 
trembled in crazed mirth. 

The lieutenant and his supporters advanced, 
power creeping along their limbs and armoring them 
against thorns. Axes and swords glowed as they were 
enhanced, golden flames running along the metal. 
Spears and javelins arced high in the air, then pierced 
the dragon's hide. Enchanted metal cut deep, and the 
monster paused. 

Its mouth gaping wide, it poured out a green 
mist, the emerald haze flowing down the street. The 
ambassador could still see, but the scene was blurred. 
Only the frog's ground-hugging nature and his high 
vantage point allowed him to view all the combatants. 
For those on the street, everything was lost in the 
attack. The head of the dragon swung skyward, and 
the ambassador realized that the monster could still 
see. It came forward as the lieutenant hurled forces 
into the air. 

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Burly warriors threw small raypen, their spindly 
legs trailing as they spread their deformed arms wide. 
The magic flowed, and their arms doubled in length, 
feathers spurting from their skin as sorcery gave them 
the wings that their ancestors gave up millennia 
before. Four bird warriors climbed higher and began 
shouting reports to the lieutenant below. The 
ambassador swore as the Order forces moved forward. 
The destruction of his host's city would have pleased 
Laquatus greatly. 

Shouts of surprise sounded from the fog below. 
Like the tropical jungles of the south, ivy and kudzu 
spread over the buildings and streets. Wild growth 
exploded out of window boxes. Plants and vines 
unfamiliar to Laquatus curled around windows and 
doorways as thick grasses and brush tore through 
cobblestones. The street swiftly became impassable. 

Weapons once ready to battle a dragon tried to 
cut a path. The fallen zombies vanished as plants tore 
apart what remained of their bodies. The Krosan 
dragon forced its way through the street, its tons of 
armored flesh finding the plants only slightly less 
navigable than the fog that preceded them. Its tongue 
searched the air for traces of the now hidden troops. 

The raypen called out reports, and the Lieutenant 
responded from below. The bird warriors banked and 
swooped toward the dragon. Long darts fell as they 
pulled up, the projectiles slicing into the animal's 
head. The creature bled profusely, one of the attacks 
tearing open the scales near the eye. Weeping red 
tears, the giant blew forth a geyser of green mist. It 
swept through the sky, its concentrated green a 

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verdant club that swatted at the flyers, hiding them 
from sight. 

The raypen climbed out of obscurity, wildly 
pumping for clear air. Then they screamed, their limbs 
flexing spasti-cally. Their cries choked off, and 
Laquatus could see them coughing up gouts of green as 
they went into seizures. Their magic failed, and they 
plummeted, diving into the tall grass covering the 
street and vanishing from view. 

The ambassador felt the lieutenant drawing more 
power as the Order warriors reacted to the deaths of 
the flyers. The figures blazed gold as they tried to 
protect against infestation, but soldiers collapsed as 
the green fought against them, the invisible seeds of 
destruction sown in the first moments of battle. 

The barbarian Kamahl advanced from the arena, 
his sword a long whip of flame that burned a path 
through the brush. Bursts of searing red light 
emanated from his body, wilting the plants nearby. 
Laquatus hoped for his death as the jack cut a channel 
through the fog. The sweeps of his weapon burned 
others free as he reached Kirtar's position and 
continued past, ignoring the bird warrior's shouted 
orders. He trailed supporters in his race up the street. 

The dragon's head dipped to devour the impudent 
barbarian, but the sword's long flame charred a line of 
flesh over its nose. Fresh gouts of the mystical growth 
hormone washed over the street, but a spreading cloud 
of flame burned out a circle of safety. The beast tried 
to maneuver, but fiery knives arced up and exploded 
on the dragon's side as it turned away. The fires swept 
away stretches of the thorny vines protecting the 
animal's hide. Cabal armsmen who had run to the 

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roofs of surrounding buildings found their courage, 
and a few arrows and bolts sought the gaps in green 
armor. The huge tail brought down more structures, 
whipping in painful frenzy as rubble cascaded into the 
verdant growth. Clouds of dust set the combatants 
choking as they disappeared from view. 

There was a fresh bout of screams, and Laquatus 
watched the dragon's claws hooking a hapless fighter 
into the cloud. Unable to see into the green haze, he 
summoned a wind. It took precious seconds, but the 
mass of dust blew over the rooftops, completely 
blinding those archers and spearmen with the courage 
to be exposed. The merman ignored them as the cloud 
began to clear the street He saw the dragon whip its 
head, catapulting a screaming soldier through the air 
to intercept the barbarian as he came into view. 
Laquatus clapped with delight. 

"Good show," he called, ignoring the looks of the 
importer. The barbarian and his humanoid projectile 
sailed into a faceless building, which shot out more 
dust as internal walls collapsed. The roof pitched 
sharply, and refugees of the street battle screamed as 
they slid off and fell to the timbers and stone blocks 
below. 

The lieutenant ordered a retreat, driving the 
fighters and the few remaining observers at street 
level down other avenues. 

"We'll hamstring it as it tears into the arena," he 
shouted. Laquatus started as he saw the beast coming 
closer. The skybox began to drop, cutting off the view 
of the action. 

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"Take us back up!" he ordered the importer, 
furious at the interruption. It was the merchant's 
servant who answered him. 

"The energy to the transports is being redirected 
to the defensive shields," the pilot explained, directing 
the craft to a cradle against the opposite wall. "They 
must be planning to drive the animal into the decay 
field to kill it." The ambassador could feel the deadly 
spells below growing more powerful. 

"Why would they think the beast headed here?" 
he asked. "Surely it will chase the cowards running 
away rather than attack an empty building." 

This time it was the importer who answered him. 

"It comes to answer the cry of distant kin," 
Toustos explained. The merchant was nervous, and the 
merman could tell the human tried to control his own 
fear by showing his superior knowledge. "It will break 
its way in and kill whoever it finds when it sees and 
smells the corpse of the dragonette." 

The ambassador looked to the sands below. Turg 
lay as if dead, stuffed to bursting on wild ass and the 
monster's caller. There was no way to raise him from 
his slumber, though Laquatus sent command after 
command to the amphibian's mind. His enhanced 
hearing could hear the slamming of bolts as every gate 
closed in an attempt to keep the beast inside after it 
broke through. 

"I am sure they will kill it before it can devour 
your champion or reach us," the importer said 
nervously. The ambassador grasped him by the throat 
and with a single motion threw him to the sands 
below. Maggot-ridden meat struck the floor, and the 
merman's guard did not even wait for the order, 

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Odyssey 

hurling the skybox attendant over the side of the 
conveyance. The mercenary retired back, trying not to 
catch his master's attention. 

"I will trust these incompetent animals to protect 
me?" Laquatus said to himself. "These dry, ungainly 
fools, unworthy of all responsibility!" he screamed as 
the guard tried to make himself smaller. "I spit on 
these air-breathing tube worms!" 

The ambassador sent his call forth again, 
compelling absolute, immediate compliance. But his 
demand did not split open the skull of the comatose pit 
frog. Instead the orders passed through the rock 
beneath the arena, resonating in the caverns below. 
Laquatus felt the surge of power as his waiting armies 
prepared to attack. 

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CHAPTER 6 


"Bloody hell," rasped Kamahl as he opened his 
eyes. The fighter ached over every portion of his being. 
His mind fuzzed, and he tried to remember where he 
was. It came back to him as he coughed up dust and 
smoke. The fight with the attacking monster, the 
concealing clouds of dust, and the impact of the thrown 
soldier. All of it surged into focus as he pushed his way 
to his feet. Plaster and lumber sloughed from his back 
as he looked to the gaping hole that his flight had left. 
The small fires started during his impact were growing 
and at his stern glance died down, the smoke whistling 
through every crack in the houses structure as his will 
compelled the flames. 

Kamahl looked for the soldier who had rammed 
him. A congealing pool of blood leaking from another 
pile of debris told the barbarian his likely fate. He 
shoveled away wreckage with his hand and exposed a 
dead face. A support beam nailed the corpse to the 
floor as firmly as a mountain. The mage could hear 
cries of the beast and stumbled outside, his steps 
becoming firmer with every second. His sword hung 
from the outside wall, the blade sunk deep in oak. 
Kamahl threw power into the steel and ripped it free 
in a hail of splinters. Armed and aware, he cut his way 
to the street. 

The grasses and bushes that blocked his way had 
grown only a little after his unexpected withdrawal. 
Rubble from newly demolished buildings covered a 
lush growth that continued to push its way toward the 

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sun. The barbarian climbed carefully up a slope of 
debris, accepting the risk of a fall for a better view. 
The tail of the dragon lashed across the street, each 
beat bringing fresh destruction. Kamahl saw no sign of 
the other fighters and wondered if the beast had killed 
them all. 

The monster reared up against the wall of the 
arena, its front two legs digging at the stones. Thin 
panels of fine rock fell, revealing the brick that formed 
the walls. Kamahl knew the beast would claw its way 
through in minutes. Whether any yet remained inside 
was unknown, but they would surely die when the 
dragon pushed its way through the ramshackle 
structure. The barbarian sheathed his sword on his 
back and walked up the street toward the stadium, the 
grass and brush grasping at his legs. 

The mountain warrior stopped and concentrated, 
ignoring the caresses from the growing plants. Kamahl 
hurled a continuing barrage of knives drawn from his 
mind. The blades burst into red and orange flame, 
casting shadow as they spun before sinking into the 
waving tail of the monster. The dragon's reflexive 
movement from the pain batted aside some of the 
projectiles, imbedding them in buildings. The weapons 
started fires as they discharged into walls and new 
trees, the smoke promoting fresh cries of panic as 
those guardsmen hiding in rubble and out of sight 
found their sanctuaries set alight. Despite the 
secondary damage, the dragon's tail dropped limply to 
the ground as Kamahl's attack burned through 
bundles of nerves. 

The beast, maddened with pain, spun in the 
square before the arena. The monster's hips brushed 

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against the exposed brick core of the pit walls. The 
masonry fragmented and stained the creature's upper 
legs a dark ochre, matching its dusty claws. The beast 
slowed as its dead, trailing tail robbed it of speed, 
dragging through the rubble and catching on exposed 
beams before the monster's power tore it free. Kamahl 
continued his assault, more magically forged knives 
spinning on their trajectories toward the dragon. City 
guard corpses were still impaled on the creature's 
thorny armor, and the barbarian's attack thudded into 
the cooling bodies. The monster's thorny armor and 
the dead began to burn as the mystic metal vanished 
in gouts of flame. Kamahl knew the impromptu 
funeral pyres were the only ceremony the guardsmen 
were likely to receive in Cabal City. 

The dragon recovered, finishing its turn and 
roaring at the barbarian, its teeth red with the blood of 
those already slain. Kamahl drew his sword, waiting 
for the beast's charge. 

A new flare of magic lit up the street, surprising 
beast and barbarian. The combatants froze in the 
glare, the monster blinded and the city guards diving 
for cover. Kamahl stretched out his mind, trying to 
trace the origin of the power rippling through the 
ground. He felt for the stability and strength that he 
knew from his home mountains, but from the depths 
an alien magic seemed to poison the very street he 
stood on. 

Pools of light expanded out of the ground, their 
blue radiance growing stronger and attacking 
Kamahl's eyes. Frothy ponds formed, stilled, and 
dimmed, and creatures erupted into the upper world. 

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Giant crabs surged from the holes, spreading out 
in a red tide. Their massive frames broke through the 
welter of brush. Claws tore out the dragon growth by 
the roots, revealing the cobblestones that had vanished 
under the beast's attack. The snapping of small tree 
trunks sounded across the battlefield as the 
crustaceans cleared a beachhead, their pincers 
shredding those obstacles they could not simply uproot 
by sheer strength. 

The dragon blinked at the sudden activity, frozen 
in surprise. Then a building front, damaged by the 
battle, cascaded into the street and broke its trance. 
The monster breathed out a cloud of green mist, 
beginning a new bout of berserk growth. The potent 
breath swept up the street, settling over the scuttling 
crabs then reaching the barbarian. Kamahl closed his 
eyes and concentrated. Small flames leaped up from 
his clothes and gear, then grew until his entire body 
was encased in the pale flame. The sound of the fire 
was echoed in the hiss and crackle of new growth 
sprouting everywhere in the street. Cobblestones 
cracked as trees and bushes forced their way to the 
surface. The flames leaped from Kamahl's clothes to 
the ground and new tendrils of growth withered. The 
warrior started forward, the fire of his will burning a 
path through the resurgent vegetation. The flames lit 
the mist, and he moved as if in a fog. 

The barbarian used his sword now, his fiery 
armor thinning, leaving him more exposed to the mist. 
The energy clung to his sword and each swing of his 
weapon cast a scything whip of power ahead to clear 
his path. The blade opened the way to the crabs' 
clearing. 

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The pools were still lighting the fading mist with 
their radiance. Kamahl felt immediate antipathy to 
the light. Its color pierced the eye, and his weapon's 
flame curled back behind him, expending his irrational 
hate into the vegetation at his back. The dragon was 
coming into view, and he could not afford distractions 
now. 

The sea walkers showed no reactions to the 
barbarian's emergence from the new jungle, continuing 
to cut back growth. The dragon breathed again, its 
concentrated wrath billowing over the clearing. Many 
of the crustaceans were covered with growing plants, 
but they continued working, their claws now trimming 
grass and bushes from their fellow workers as well as 
the clearing's edge. A new surge of mer forces began to 
crowd the clearing. The crabs moved on, their claws 
now raised and threatening. 

Kamahl cut his way along the perimeter of the 
encampment. The warrior surmounted a mound of 
rubble enabling him to look over the crab's clearing. 
New creatures dragged themselves from the pools, and 
the crustaceans charged the dragon. The giant reptile 
reared up, four legs waved in the air as it spun, its tail 
skimming through the crabs. The sea fighters were 
thrown up against a building front, their shells 
fracturing with a series of crackling sounds. The 
dragon's dead tail still had mass, and the reptile used 
it like a club, slamming it into the structure's facade. 
Rubble cascaded down over the broken shells. 

The giant monster moved into the arena's square, 
the street's buildings blocking the barbarian's view. 
Kamahl now had to skirt the new forces creeping out 
of the pools. Small humanoids with huge heads 

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Odyssey 

crawled out onto the surface gingerly, their whiskers 
trailing on the ground. The barbarian recognized the 
amphibians. The tresias were sometimes found in 
highland caves. The street was filling with these new 
arrivals, and Kamahl swore as they blocked the way. 
The blind creatures' great claws scraped over the 
rubble and slashed mounds of mown grass into mulch. 
The barbarian was nearing the square, and his lashing 
flame blade scythed away the undergrowth. The 
dragon screamed and came back into view. It stomped 
a crab into jelly, and pounds of meat squirted out 
between the animal's clawed toes. It began to move up 
the street. 

The amphibians' oversized heads rose up, 
orienting on the giant monster. A surreal and hypnotic 
radiance pulsed out toward the common enemyfaint 
in the sunlight and dust of battle but commanding all 
the same. Kamahl caught only a brief glimpse, and it 
mesmerized him. The battle faded away as his mind 
lost itself in a play of color. His training strained to 
break the silken mental bonds, to reassert his mastery. 
The barbarian's struggles cleared his mind, and as his 
sight came back, he found himself turned around, 
facing down the street, away from the dragon and 
toward the tresias. He shifted his eyes away, avoiding 
the hypnotic trap that tried to ensnare him once more. 
From the corner of his eye he could see more crabs 
coming forth, these falling upon the rubble and 
vegetation to expand the beachhead. 

As the hypnotic power of the tresias seemed to 
dim, a new wave of reinforcements crawled from the 
depths below. Kamahl shuffled to the side in atavistic 
reaction as the new marine fighters rolled and oozed 

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over the landscape. The cephalid soldiers hauled 
themselves by their tentacles out of the pool. Bags of 
flesh, they left a trail of slime as they slithered over 
the cobblestones. 

Though they lay like dead jellyfish cast up on the 
beach by a storm, each grasped a weapon. Spear guns 
and tridents dug at the dirt as the invaders rested for 
a few precious seconds then resumed their drive on the 
still-bemused monster. The hypnotic tresias light 
vanished as each amphibian collapsed, hanging their 
heads and starting to crawl back on their fragile limbs 
toward the pools to the underworld. The cephalids and 
crabs parted as their blind compatriots returned, their 
manner showing the same disquiet with their allies 
that the barbarian felt. 

Kamahl scaled the side of a building, his bruised 
hands leaving a tacky film of blood as he swarmed up 
the side. The sea forces had cleared a path, but he 
would not trust their company. By the time he reached 
the third story, the dragon sounded again, fury in its 
voice as it overcame the amphibians' spell. The 
barbarian chinned himself to the rooftop and turned to 
run toward the giant monster, finally free of the 
undergrowth and mer warriors below. 

The cephalids attacked the dragon, propping 
their projectors on rubble and bodies from the battle. 
The shafts flew wildly, and Kamahl congratulated 
himself on seeking higher ground. Incompetence and 
inexperience could kill as quickly as malice. A few 
bolts from spear guns snapped into reptilian flesh 
though most landed on rubble and cobblestones. The 
projectiles discharged showers of sparks, and the 
barbarian detected the same energies that fed 

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Odyssey 

lightning storms. The mountain warrior conjured an 
axe of flame and threw it with all the force at his 
command. The conjured weapon spun through the air 
and slammed into the shoulder of the convulsing 
dragon. A charred circle expanded as the magic 
destroyed the thorny armor to show the hide beneath. 

"There's an aiming point!" Kamahl shouted to the 
forces below. The cephalids were silent, their tentacles 
locked around their projectors as they compacted 
springs and loaded new shafts for another volley. The 
barbarian forgot the clumsy fighters in the street 
below as he heard the battle cry of the Order. 

Lieutenant Kirtar maneuvered on the rooftops as 
well, ceding the ground to the invaders from the 
forests and seas. Kamahl could see city guardsmen 
coming up other streets from his four-story vantage 
point. The dragon was clawing down brick and timber 
over the cephalids and the remaining crabs. The sea 
fighters scrabbled to get clear as the monster tried to 
bury them. Another barrage of bolts sputtered and 
arced, but the huge beast seemed to not notice the 
pain. It hopped from foot to foot, crushing the cabs. 

Kirtar was a fountain of energy as he crossed the 
roofs. The Order champion's attack slammed into the 
giant creature's hip, tunneling its way to the bone. 
With a crack audible throughout the street, a joint 
gave way, and the creature's rearmost leg spasmed 
and dragged. The giant tried to breathe more fog, but 
only a few wisps came out. It tried to back out into the 
square as everyone closed for the kill. 

Kamahl was accelerating as he jumped to the 
final roof and conjured another weapon in his free 
hand. He hurled the axe at the creature's side, aiming 

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for the thickest remaining patch of the beast's thorny 
armor. He was in the air in a long leap when it 
exploded, devouring a broad swath of the deadly 
vegetation in a wave of flame. The barbarian's sword 
smashed into a mound of muscle as his jump landed 
him on the beast's side. His plunging sword burned a 
deep wound, and the dragon screamed again. The 
giant tried to scrape the mountain warrior off against 
a building, inflicting even more damage to itself in an 
instinctive response to the attack. 

Kamahl levered himself up and over the rise of 
the animal's spine, his sword and an axe acting as 
pitons. The rumble of cascading rubble drowned out 
the barbarian's angry cry as a barbed tendril of the 
creature's remaining armor sank its thorns into the 
fighter's thigh. One hand held his buried sword as the 
other tore the vine free. Below him, the beast heaved 
and pitched as the warrior cupped his hand and drew 
flame into the world. He clasped the summoned fire 
against the wound, hissing at the pain. A wave of cold 
swept his body as his flesh tried to shrug off the burn. 
As he lay panting, the mer forces attacked again. 

Soft-bodied sea warriors raised their spear guns, 
discharging magical projectiles to little effect. The 
dragon's head dipped, and its claws scrabbled, tearing 
apart some of its tormenters. The mer eeled their way 
into mounds of rubble, and others suctioned their way 
up the outsides of buildings. The forest creature took 
advantage of the ascending invaders and snapped 
them down from the buildings. Even as it devoured its 
foes, the crabs made a run for its flanks. Though most 
died under the dragon's heavy stomps, some scuttled 

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Odyssey 

under the massive frame, and now giant claws nipped 
at the injured leg and tail. 

The barbarian saw the crustacean warriors 
moving wildly below, their claws shearing at the huge 
tendons. The middle leg on the left collapsed, and 
Kamahl jumped for safety as the animal went down, 
rolling to crush the sea fighters. The mountain mage's 
sword lashed into a building wall, and the pull of 
gravity dragged the steel down. The power of the blade 
left a trail of smoking brick as Kamahl arrested his 
slide. As he slowed, he pulled the weapon free and fell 
the remaining distance to the street. His leg protested, 
but he ignored the shallow wounds. The back of the 
beast lay toward him, and he could see the street 
coming apart under its pounding mass. He closed with 
the downed beast. 

Lieutenant Kirtar called for all forces to finish 
the monster. A mer fighter finally showed some 
marksmanship and shot a charged spear beneath an 
armored eyelid. A shower of ocular fluid soaked the 
fallen grasses, pouring from the empty socket as it 
writhed. The few remaining crabs began to climb the 
body. 

The barbarian watched the cephalids retreat back 
to their pools, then he could see only the monster. It 
filled his vision as it tried to rise to its feet. Kamahl 
raised his sword and plunged it near the spine. The 
beast somehow got its legs under its bulk, and the 
barbarian was nearly catapulted free. Only his grip on 
his sword allowed him to stay with the monster. The 
dragon was stumbling away from the arena and up the 
street, headed for the sea fighters and their pools. The 
crabs tried to climb the slack tail, but they failed as 

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the giant swayed from side to side. The beast was 
killing the warriors almost by accident as it crushed 
both hard-shelled and soft-bodied fighters from the sea 
against the broken bricks of Cabal City. 

Kirtar stood opposite Kamahl on a building roof, 
surefooted despite the slope of the crumbling 
structure. The barbarian saw a predatory grin as the 
aven unleashed another flight of his conjured birds. 
The mountain warrior swore and breathed out a cage 
of flame, concentrating even as his uncontrolled mount 
tottered beneath him. The golden sparrows swooped 
down and swept over the great reptile, their wings of 
light shaving away the remains of the dragon's thorny 
armor before rising to the sky. The spell wrought 
creatures threw themselves as living knives at the 
beast's head, vanishing in concussive bursts that 
carved away hide. 

Determined to get the kill, Kamahl forced power 
into the long blade of his sword. Inside the monster a 
scalpel of flame cut its way to the backbone. Massive 
vertebrae parted as the barbarian's will sought out the 
thick cable of armored nerves. New magic impacted on 
the dragon's flanks, but Kamahl was locked in 
directing his final attack. Bone and nerve sundered 
under Kamahl's lethal surgery, parting the spinal cord 
and killing the beast. 

The mountain warrior turned to jump clear, but 
he was crushed against the beast's back as a huge crab 
came from the rear in a wild rush. A crustacean had 
finally managed to climb the dragging tail, and now its 
vain attack only put the barbarian at risk. Kamahl 
was bowled over and barely avoided the huge claws, 
which clutched for something to hold on to. 

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The dragon fell and the barbarian could hear 
Kirtar shrieking victory. New attacks impacted 
against the already dead flesh as additional surges of 
magic burrowed into the slowly collapsing corpse. 
Fighters left off their attacks, running for their lives as 
tons of flesh gave up life. 

The barbarian snarled, trapped under the 
crustacean. He forced his way through legs, the 
spindly limbs landing like clubs as the mer fighter 
panicked, and the pair began to fall free. The 
barbarian and crab were directly under the beast and 
both bolted for the closest bit of clear sky, trying to 
race under the beast as the wall of descending flesh 
loomed over them. But the panicked crab yanked the 
barbarian back, its claws gripping his armored belt as 
it tried to pull itself to safety. It only doomed them 
both. Pressure threatened to smash Kamahl like a 
bug, and his breath exploded out his mouth. Pain 
flared all over his body, and he fell into darkness, his 
senses fading as blackness smothered all. 

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CHAPTER 7 


The stench of burned flesh and destruction was 
sweet in Kirtar's nostrils. The aroma was nectar the 
bird warrior savored as he stood with his eyes closed. 
The crackle of fires soothed his hot blood, the 
destruction of the Cabal structures an unexpected 
benefit. The beast had torn a great wound in the city's 
fabric and like draining blood, the citizens flowed into 
the streets. The attack had caught him deep in the 
arena, and it had taken precious minutes to force his 
way through the crowds. The plaza had been a 
madhouse, bleeding guardsmen forming defenses to 
manage the crowds. With his warriors still lost in the 
clearing stands, the lieutenant took control, instilling 
order into the fleeing cowards, clearing the way for the 
coming battle. True, he was forced into a tactical 
retreat and the sudden arrival of the mer empire 
forces turned the contest. But it was his own blow that 
laid the beast low when all was finally done. 

The bleating of the wounded irritated him, and he 
directed those of his order with healing skills to ply 
their trade among the injured. He pointed to the mer 
forces to receive healing first. The monsters of the deep 
at least were brave fighters and far more worthy of aid 
than the corrupt gamblers of the city. The lieutenant 
moved down to the street level as he saw his orders 
being relayed. The few Cabal officers he saw looked 
thoroughly cowed, and none disputed his authority. 

"This is the natural order of things," he 
whispered to himself. 

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The crabs dragged away the corpses of their dead, 
despite the Cabal servants' furtive attempts to secure 
the bodies for the city's use. The crustaceans sorted 
through the rubble, their immense strength allowing 
them to move all but the largest beams. The exposed 
corpses not from the mer realm were discarded on the 
rubble piles to be snared by guardsmen. Kirtar made a 
note to have his own forces collect their dead in Cabal 
territory. 

A centaur staggered to the street, the simian face 
visible over the high grass. He started toward the 
Order officer, carefully trying to find a clear path. 
Kirtar's mystic senses detected a change in magic. The 
arena defenses, still unbreached, were coming down. 
Servitors slowly walked toward the growth obstructing 
the streets holding staves. One took the lead and his 
staff of black wood and iron passed among the stalks. 
The plants withered into brittle husks as the 
lieutenant watched. The other Cabal reinforcements 
joined in. 

"Ware the street cleaners," the champion called 
out with derision. A few of the workers bristled but 
none chal-lenged his appraisal. Kirtar expected 
nothing more from such cravens. 

"Lieutenant," called the centaur, moving into the 
cleared street, barely avoiding a "mistaken" swing of a 
withering staff wielded by an angry guardsman. The 
centaur bared his fangs and shook the huge club that 
he used as a walking stick. 

Kirtar recognized him as the fighter allied with 
the bar-barian. The injuries he had sustained 
appeared half-healed, and the officer assumed that 
was the reason the forest fighter had not joined in the 

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battle. He confessed to himself that the warrior, 
Kamahl, had at least shown rash courage during the 
fight. 

"What is it?" he asked. Then trying to explain his 
short-ness, he continued, "As you can see there is 
much to be done, and our hosts seem incapable of 
doing it." Kirtar ignored the efforts of the Cabal to 
clear the streets and the stream of carts arriving to 
haul away the rubble. 

"The beast was a Krosan dragon," the centaur 
said. "It is found only in the forests of the far 
northwest." At the signs of the bird warrior's 
exasperation with the lesson, Seton made his point. "It 
has absolutely no business being here. Something is 
wrong, and this attack could be only the sign of greater 
troubles." 

"I appreciate the information, sir," Kirtar said, 
speaking with excessive courtesy, "but what am I to 
do?" He waved to the destruction caused by the single 
beast. "How does the destruction of a pit like this 
concern the Order?" 

"For the dragon to appear this far east, the 
reverberations of whatever is disturbing the forest 
must cover leagues." Seton explained, his voice 
showing offense. "As an officer in the Order, sworn to 
protect the Northern Reaches and hoping to extend 
your authority south, I thought you would be grateful 
for the insight. Excuse me if I misunderstood your 
seriousness." With that the centaur moved away, the 
haft of his granite-capped club beating a tune of anger 
on the cobblestones. 

Shaking his head at the vagaries of forest 
warriors, Kirtar turned back to supervision. But there 

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was little to do, as an army of Cabal workers fell to 
work in concert with the remaining crabs. 

"Of course they are ready now," the lieutenant 
mumbled to himself. More movement caught his eye, 
and he turned to see Laquatus, the mer ambassador, 
and Turg, his amphibian champion, coming from the 
arena. The frog moved slowly, and his eyes were 
glassy. Kirtar had not paid attention to the arena 
match and wondered if Turg was injured. The frog 
squatted on his heels, slowly rocking from side to side 
as the ambassador came forward. 

"Congratulations on your brilliant victory," the 
merman hailed. Laquatus gave a short bow that good 
manners demanded the lieutenant return. "The beast 
would have surely destroyed the city if not for your 
quick action." The ambassador looked pained as he 
said it, and Kirtar felt obligated to inquire. 

"Did you take injuries during the battle?" The 
lieutenant had seen nothing, but it must have been a 
madhouse inside. 

"No, no," replied the merman. "The spells 
protecting the arena sealed me and my champion away 
from combat. Turg was trapped on the arena floor, and 
a few others and I were locked in a skybox during the 
actual attack. I fear the excitement was too much for 
my companions. In a fit of desperation they tried to 
leap free and perished in the fields protecting the 
audience from the arena floor." Laquatus looked quite 
distressed, reining his voice in with difficulty. "It's 
desperately sad. One of the deceased was an importer 
with some knowledge of the attacking beast. He said it 
was a type of dragon that came in response to the 
beast my champion killed." 

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Kirtar frowned. 

"A centaur told me that the beast never left the 
northwestern forests," the officer said. "He was quite 
convinced that such animals were never here. To come 
in response to a cry means either the animal was 
tracking the one killed or that it was in the general 
vicinity." Kirtar wondered if perhaps the centaur was 
on to something. There could be a continuing danger. 

Another bird warrior flew through the air. The 
four in Kirtar's party had been killed, so this golden-
winged fighter must be a messenger from the north. 
The lieutenant waved his arms to signal his presence, 
but the sharp-eyed flyer was already swooping down to 
him. The raypen folded his wings and shook the still 
settling dust off his feathers. 

"Greeting to my First," intoned the raypen, its 
high tenor piping as it recited the message from 
memory. Messengers were specially trained to give 
messages word for word to prevent written orders from 
being intercepted. "There have been attacks of forest 
creatures all along the western borders of the high 
plains. You are to return north directly, collecting 
information and offering aid to those whom need it. 
The villages under the Order must be protected. If 
necessary you will stay and oversee the southern 
defense. We must find out what is happening. Pianna, 
Captain of the North." 

Kirtar cursed the bad timing. Fighters from 
across the continent were here for the contest, and 
representatives of the other continental powers had 
arrived as well. Here was a chance to forge new 
alliances, and the Captain had just ordered him back 
to the barely civilized plains to protect scores of 

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nameless villages. His huge hands clenched in anger, 
but he relaxed them with a conscious effort. The 
captain was head of the Order, and he must believe 
that she knew what she was doing. After all, he 
thought to himself, he didn't want to stay in this pit of 
a city anyway. There would be other chances to make 
his presence known. News of his victory would help 
convince others that the Order's direction was 
necessary for the common good. 

"I am afraid I must leave directly," he said to the 
ambassador, waving the messenger toward the main 
camp. "I am sorry to miss the championship rounds, 
but I am sure Turg will triumph now that I will 
withdraw from the contests." He looked toward the 
amphibian, but he had vanished from sight. Looking 
for the frog brought the officer's gaze back to the sight 
of the mer forces diving into the pools, dragging their 
dead behind them. 

"I was very surprised to see your soldiers 
streaming from the ground," he stated, his eyes 
narrowing as he turned back to the ambassador. 

Laquatus seemed huge, his form giving off 
vibrations that seemed hypnotic. Kirtar could feel his 
pulse slowing as the violet eyes of the merman 
expanded to fill the world. 

"But of course you knew of the soldiers under the 
city," a velvet voice insinuated. "They attacked at your 
orders, being already under your command. Don't you 
remember?" Kirtar fell into darkness ringed in purple 
as the ambassador took hold of his shoulders. 

* * * * * 

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"I must therefore leave immediately for forest's 
edge." The words resounded in Kirtar's head, and he 
wondered who was saying them. It was with some 
surprise that he realized that he was the speaker. 
"This attack is but one of dozens that have issued from 
the west. The Order is the only force that can protect 
those villages without the walls and guardsmen of 
Cabal City," he said to the assembled city elders. 

Kirtar stood on a rough platform against the 
arena, looking over the square. The fall of rubble 
punctuated his speech as work crews tried to clear the 
streets. The dragon that he had slain filled the street, 
and blood from the great corpse slowly drained into the 
storm gutters, the smell issuing from the sewers under 
the arena. The crowd of henchmen and ordinary 
citizen ignored the odor. Kirtar knew them to be used 
to such odors in this pit. He gritted his teeth in anger. 

Why was he giving a speech to the Cabal, he 
wondered savagely. The city was contemptible. Only 
the grave breach in civil order had convinced him to 
fight the dragon attack. Cabal City was a sour taste in 
his mouth. Only the sight of the mer ambassador, his 
invaluable advisor, prevented him spitting in contempt 
onto the arena square. He ignored the growing 
mutters at his long silence to regard Laquatus, his 
closest ally. The merman was the first to see the 
importance of uniting the continent of Otaria, saving 
its fragmented history. 

The mer agreed it was long past time to impose 
order on the land. The underwater kingdom would 
lend arms to help the lieutenant pursue his dreams. 
The guards the ambassador put under his command 
proved invaluable in defeating the huge beast. It was 

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the first and richest fruit of the inter-power alliance 
that the Order wished to form. 

How lucky the ambassador had ferried his 
personal guard to the catacombs under the arena. 
Kirtar wondered at the expense of shifting so many 
water breathers. It was fortunate that the drowned 
caves had been available. Even though the forces 
proved effective, he still chuckled at the naivete of the 
ambassador. It showed the merman's inexperience 
with the dry land that he would bring water breathers 
as guards against land-bound dangers. After all, how 
many flooded caves could there be? He nodded to the 
ambassador, grateful for his support and resolved to do 
his best in protecting Laquatus from his own 
foolishness and inexperience. 

The officials began clapping after long seconds, 
and the crowd belatedly joined in. The Master of the 
Games heaved his heavy bulk up to the podium beside 
the lieutenant. Kirtar dragged his attention back to 
the officials of the Cabal, despising them but 
determined to act politely for his ally's sake. The mer 
ambassador nodded approvingly, and the bird warrior 
felt a burst of pride at his own statesmanship. 

"We thank you for your leadership in combating 
the dragon in conjunction with Ambassador 
Laquatus's guard." The Cabal functionary sent an ill-
favored glance toward the water dweller as he 
mentioned the valiant sea fighters. It was the base 
nature of the pits that made them so suspicious of such 
timely aid, the lieutenant said to himself. The speaker 
turned from the ambassador as if snubbing him and 
gestured broadly toward the Order officer and his 
guards behind him. 

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"Hurry up, you bag of wind," the aven warrior 
muttered to himself. 

"In recognition of such bravery and valor in cause 
of the common good, we gladly offer the pick of the 
prizes to Lieutenant Kirtar." 

A polite clapping sounded as a representative of 
the Order went to select a prize from the mound of 
treasure pulled from the arena. The champion was 
unable to restrain showing at least some contempt for 
the proceeding, and he chose an elen to carry the prize. 
Though the giant bird warriors stood close to ten feet 
tall, the gray-skinned humanoids were of the serving 
class. The lieutenant doubted his hosts were 
intelligent enough to read the insult of the great robed 
figure going through the prizes like a ragpicker 
searching a garbage pile. The elen selected an object, 
the round sphere almost lost in its gigantic hands. 

The ambassador and his frog both looked to the 
prize, ignoring the rambling official. As Kirtar agreed 
to this farce only as a favor to his ally, he wondered 
what could be so important about a bauble plucked 
randomly from a pile. The elen walked slowly, 
appearing almost introspective as it came nearer the 
officer. The giant bird warriors were known for their 
lack of magical talent, and it appeared, outside 
everything Kirtar knew, that the huge servant tried to 
use magical senses to probe the metal surface. 
Intrigued by what would drive such a mystical 
incompetent to such efforts, the lieutenant stepped 
forward to intercept the prize bearer. The walker 
showed no awareness, continuing toward the baggage 
train where the bauble was to be stored with the other 
luggage. The officer plucked it out of the elen's grasp, 

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Odyssey 

seeing Turg step forward as if to admonish him. Then 
all thoughts of the frog, the Cabal, and anything else 
vanished from his mind. 

The sphere erupted in a shout of power. The dull 
metal surface seemed to burn away, blurring Kirtar's 
eyes with tears. The magic that called so softly now 
filled the world. As the flare of energy subsided, the 
lieutenant held a globe of perfect crystal. The clear 
depths called to him, drawing his spirit away from 
Cabal City. The aftermath of the battle and the stench 
of the street were gone. Purity and glory surrounded 
the bird warrior. The audience showed its essential 
stupidity in staring dumbly at him, ignoring the vistas 
that opened at every side. 

Kirtar saw himself striding through a field of 
enemies, each frozen and impotent against him, and 
his spells swept them away to oblivion. The banner of 
the Order flew over the field in victory. The aven's 
heart sang as he knew the triumph, the glory, that 
waited to be seized. 

The images dimmed until he saw once again the 
magnificent globe filling his hand. Kirtar heard the 
exclamations of the crowd but ignored them. They 
were not worthy to taste the future he had seen. This 
city was trash and could be ignored now that he held 
real power. His huge hand closed over the prize, 
gripping it as tightly as his mind gripped the visions it 
bestowed. 

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CHAPTER 8 


"Everything was going so well," thought the 
ambassador, stunned by the surge of magic. "How, by 
the stormy seas, have things gotten so out of control?" 
The ambassador was finally able to rouse Turg from 
his digestive slumber only at the end of the battle. He 
was required to lay actual hands on the amphibian 
before he could break the near coma. Seeing the pit 
fighter too stuffed for any use he forced the humanoid 
to expel much of what he had eaten. Thankfully, no 
one witnessed the thoroughly unpleasant scene, but 
Laquatus pledged the frog would not be allowed such 
behavior ever again. 

Even as Turg scraped his face clean, a soldier 
from the underground army had found the ambassador 
and reported on the battle. The cephalid shifted down 
the seats of the arena and collapsed as it fell from the 
high walls to the sands below. Laquatus thought the 
tedious importer would have looked very similar if he 
had not dissolved away under the then-active defenses. 

"My lord," the warrior had said in a muffled voice, 
nearly inaudible as it tried to speak out of water, "the 
beast is fallen and our forces clear away the debris. 
Captain Satas has sent those who cannot live long 
outside the water back through the portal. He has 
been forced to retire as well and waits further 
instruction." 

Laquatus cursed the poor timing that found so 
few warriors able to live long above ground. More 
amphibians would have to be found for further battles. 

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Odyssey 

The cephalid's tentacles were nearly white from 
exhaustion, and it needed to get back to the water. 
"Tell the good captain that there is no need for further 
operations on the surface at this time," the 
ambassador said carefully. "Sound the recall of all 
troops. It is not necessary for our fighters to act as 
servants to the inferiors inhabiting this land. I will 
meet with Satas later at the usual place." He paused, 
wondering just what the situation outside was. 

If worst came to worst, he could always find 
refuge in the deep caverns. It was unlikely that any 
would be able to invade the dark subterranean rivers. 
Whatever happened, he needed to do as much damage 
control as possible. The presence of a secret fighting 
force must be explained and assurances offered to the 
Cabal. Briefly Laquatus regretted the necessity of 
sending the army back below, but further action would 
undoubtedly create substantial casualties without any 
lasting gains. If only the cave digging crews had 
opened up more of the underwater cavern systems. 

He returned the cephalid's gesture of obedience 
and watched the soft-bodied soldier scale the wall. 
Captain Satas had responded promptly, and it 
sounded as if the quick action of the tresias had saved 
Turg and the ambas-sador from having to contend 
with the dragon. He resolved ro closet himself with the 
diminutive amphibian in the near future. 

The destruction of the city streets put him in a 
better humor. The rubble and still-visible bodies made 
him cheerfully overlook the insults he had suffered for 
the moment. Though whoever made him and his 
champion an object of tun would someday pay the 
price. He saw the last of the marine dead being 

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dragged into the pools as he arrived to talk with the 
lieutenant. The self-important champion had 
succumbed easily to the ambassador's spells, and he 
dragged the officer into a gaping building as his mind 
overrode the aven's. It took only a few minutes of 
apparent conversation to set a cover story in place. 

Kirtar now believed that days before the 
ambassador had told the bird warrior of a secret guard 
foisted upon him by the emperor. Unwilling to insult 
the ability of his Cabal hosts, Laquatus had hidden 
them in the secret tunnels under the arena. Realizing 
that the lieutenant was the preeminent military power 
in the city, the ambassador offered his troops to the 
Order as an emergency reserve. The attack of the 
dragon revealed how incompetent the Cabal was in 
military matters, and only the lieutenant prevented a 
complete disaster. 

The decision of the emperor to send additional 
troops showed the wisdom of the underwater monarch. 
At the conclusion of the battle, the badly damaged 
marine formation retired back to the deep wells under 
the arena and the embassy. Laquatus created the 
fantasy of a temporary alliance that even now worked 
at the bird warrior's memory. When Kirtar went north, 
he would take with him the absolute conviction that a 
permanent alliance was the natural next step with the 
mer empire. 

"Lieutenant Kirtar, we have orders to escort you 
to a ceremony honoring your leadership." A gravely 
voice announced almost in the merman's ear. 
Laquatus broke off his mental manipulations 
suddenly, leaving the lieutenant to stumble and look 
about vaguely at the sudden release. A section of city 

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Odyssey 

guardsmen stood at ease, one holding a clean standard 
that contrasted with his torn and dusty uniform. It 
appeared that the city was wasting no time in 
honoring a hero. The ambassador smiled brightly. 

"A great honor indeed, Lieutenant," the merman 
said, gripping the bemused warrior's arm and starting 
off for the square. He ignored the guardsmen who had 
to step out of their way or be trampled. The Order's 
men had been unwilling to interrupt a private 
conversation, but the city soldiers seemed much too 
arrogant. 

"Perhaps an object lesson is in order," the 
ambassador said to himself. 

Turg was resting somewhere in the surrounding 
buildings, making himself scarce as Laquatus 
rearranged the lieutenant's reality. The merman could 
only make a simple request as he shepherded the aven 
to the ceremony called by the city. The aristocrat's 
usual close mental link with the amphibian was 
strained by the necessity of keeping Kirtar's mind 
quiescent. Laquatus had no idea what he was saying 
as he continued to impress Kirtar with images and 
ideas under the cover of the conversation. The 
ambassador received only a split second of warning as 
Turg acted on his spite. 

The wall from an upper story fell out, the heavy 
cornice and brick an irregular boulder that flattened 
an impudent guardsmen like a overripe fruit. The 
ornate carving was followed by a rain of other bricks 
that broke arms and heads and grew a bumper crop of 
pain among the escort. 

Laquatus shouted with loud dismay and pointed 
to the men, calling for aid. Even had anyone looked up 

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it would have been difficult to spot the camouflaged 
Turg scampering away in manic glee. The ambassador 
knelt by the men as Kirtar called for a surgeon to treat 
the fresh bout of broken bones. The merman hoped to 
watch the men as their bones were set, but additional 
guardsmen came to escort them to the delayed 
ceremony. This time the interruption was much more 
polite, and Laquatus curbed his impulse for Turg to 
create another accident. 

"We thank you for your actions," the fat man said, 
as the Order leader stepped to the stage. "In the hour 
of our need ..." he droned and Kirtar stood in the 
background, still lost in the grip of the merman's spell. 
Laquatus dared not use his magic in the presence of so 
many. The official was looking askance at the 
ambassador as the subject of the mer forces came up. 
The aristocrat gathered himself to respond only to 
have Kirtar step forward. 

"The decision to use the forces was mine," he said, 
claiming the cover story that Laquatus had implanted. 
Victory was sweet in the ambassador's mouth as his 
new puppet played his part. The lieutenant told the 
assembly that the forces were under his command 
during the battle. The aristocrat looked on benignly as 
the farce played itself out on the stage. 

The selection of a prize was supremely 
unimportant to Laquatus, and it was only as the 
hooded elen brought back the diminutive dull-gray ball 
that the merman took notice. The pit frog had access to 
the ambassador's abilities, and he was first to feel the 
beat of power produced by the sphere. The ambassador 
started from his machinations and looked on it as well. 
Then both stared. 

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The flare of power blinded Laquatus. The metal 
ball, so muted before, reflected the sun in a brilliant 
spray of light. The strength of emissions from the 
sphere blacked out his awareness of other spells, and 
it was only his grip on Turg's arm that maintained his 
control. The unbelievable mystic assault died down, 
and the ambassador tried to cast a spell of detection, 
just to convince himself that he had not imagined the 
event. His spell detected nothing but reverberations. It 
was only when he focused directly of the object in the 
lieutenant's hands that he sensed something unusual. 
Like a night animal staring into the noonday sun, all 
knowledge he might learn was washed away. The 
confluence of might was too much for even a mage of 
his ability. 

The Cabal officials appeared stunned, and many 
of the pit fighters competing in the games stood like 
dumb oxen as the lieutenant mumbled a few words 
and walked away. A Cabal official's incredulous look of 
disbelief turned to anger, and he spun on the Master of 
the Games. The tall, spare man jerked the fat fool back 
toward the arena, whispering furiously in his ear. The 
ambassador imagined that quite a few hard words 
would be said to someone who allowed such a treasure 
to be given away or offered to all comers. Laquatus 
smiled even as he quickly walked after the lieutenant. 
The Master of the Games's head would likely pay for 
the insults in the arena. 

Kirtar continued on, his aides and soldiers 
gathered around him, their instinct in times of 
uncertainty to protect their commander. The 
ambassador tried to close with the bird warrior, but 
the press of people prevented him. 

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"Lieutenant, we need to talk," he shouted, but the 
officer was still lost in his contemplation of the object. 
Such power was fascinating, and Laquatus ached to 
peer within the orb for himself. Mastering such power 
will take time, he thought and waved to a servant. 

"Find out where the Order party is going," he 
instructed, looking to see whom else he could 
command. "Meet me at the embassy as soon as you 
have the information. Find one of your fellows to keep 
watch if there are any changes." Laquatus was almost 
at a run as he headed for the embassy. The sphere was 
a completely new factor in his plans, one that upset his 
machinations in the city. The challenge was 
exhilarating. 

By the time the servant returned with his report 
of the route, the embassy was a madhouse. Workers 
rushed about, closing up rooms while the permanent 
staff was locked over blueprints for new architectural 
wonders. If the ambassador left the city, he would take 
advantage of his absence and expand the residence. It 
was becoming too cramped for his ambitions. In a city 
of spectacle, his home must be the most impressive. 

"A system of waterfalls with a twisted channel of 
pools is the most interesting," the ambassador said to 
a harried chamberlain. "You will have to construct a 
spur to the aqueduct and bribe the Cabal to divert 
enough water." 

"Most impressive, your Excellency," the man said 
subserviently, "but where shall we procure the funds 
for such a great expansion?" 

Laquatus waved the concern away. 

"The coastal shipping fees are being collected by 
our agents for the quarterly shift to the treasury. 

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Odyssey 

Divert all you need from that source," the ambassador 
said, feeling expansive. When he gained control of the 
sphere he would need a dwelling to reflect his new 
status. And perhaps it was time to accelerate his plans 
for reentry into the undersea court. He looked over the 
drained grotto, the artificial reefs being broken by 
slaves with sledgehammers. He had been chief fish in 
a small pond for long enough. The horrified look on the 
chamberlain's face reminded him that he must still 
win his new status. 

"I assure you that it will be cleared with the 
emperor," Laquatus said and forgot everything as he 
noticed the servant sent to the Order camp. He walked 
with the man to the entrance of the grotto. Making 
sure that no one observed them for the moment, he 
pulled the man into the secret room. A crab filled the 
enclosure, a sentry reporting to the caves below. After 
the ambassador closed the door, the crustacean lifted 
the cover and vanished into the pool. Captain Satas 
dragged himself clear moments later. The tre-sias 
paused for a moment, then moved toward the 
ambassador and messenger, drawn by their nearly 
imperceptible movements and breathing. Laquatus 
shifted as quietly as possible, but the tresias adapted, 
altering his course. The merman was unimpressed 
with the tresias's performance during the battle, but it 
appeared the captain and his kind could adapt well to 
the land. 

"How may I serve, my lord," the small amphibian 
said in his quiet, dead tone. The ambassador waved 
the spy to speak, noting that his hand's passage in the 
air was tracked by the captain as well. 

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"The Order will be traveling west to the forest's 
edge to catalog the reported predations of woodland 
creatures," the man said, opening a pouch and taking 
out a map. "I bought this off a Cabal servitor able to 
sneak into the main tent." He laid it on the floor and 
weighted it down with a dagger and a few coins. Then 
he looked at the blind amphibian, flustered how to use 
his acquisition. The ambassador also wondered how 
the tresias would know how far the cave system ran. 
To Laquatus's surprise, instead of calling for a sighted 
retainer, the cave dweller chuckled and drew a stone 
from his own pouch. 

"The sound of paper and mention of routes 
suggests it is a map lying on the floor," Satas stated, 
rubbing the dull gem between his hands. "I have 
always found such methods of little use and came 
prepared with a substitute." 

The short creature tossed the jewel to the 
ambassador who caught it. A spell whispered new 
knowledge to his mind. A variant of the false memory 
spell, it left him with a sensory map of the explored 
caves and cleared tunnels. The underside of the 
continent was suddenly more familiar to him than the 
memories of his childhood home. Captain Satas's skin 
broadcast his amusement, but entranced with the 
novel method of information transmission, the 
ambassador did not even feel anger. He did, however, 
experience irritation as he pulled his new memories 
and the map of the lieutenant's path together. 

Kirtar's route led west. The underground rivers 
did underlay the route, but they were unexplored and 
sure to be nearly impassable. Miners connecting the 
underworld to the sea would have to be moved farther 

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inland. The lieutenant planned to swing north and an 
explored cave system lay nearby. Laquatus could catch 
up with the party and capture the newly revealed 
power source. 

"Captain Satas, the northern caves allow us to 
intercept the group of landsmen and crush them. It is 
absolutely necessary that an amphibious force be 
available for extended action out of the water. Find me 
soldiers and send them to the Cave of Knives." The 
memory of sharp stalactites and stalagmites in the 
north prompted the name. 

"I will send what forces I can, but we are very 
short on long-duration patrols," Satas said in a pun, 
the unintentional humor irritating the ambassador. "It 
may be necessary to find air-breathing slaves to meet 
you and supply bodies to soften up the adversary." 

Laquatus nodded reluctantly, regretting the lack 
of forces able to operate out of water. He dismissed the 
officer and thought of whom he could meet in the 
forests. Perhaps the Cabal could be of aid. He smiled 
and clasped the spy's hand. "Excellent work!" he cried 
and hugged the man in apparent fellowship. Laquatus 
raised power and cut into the other's psyche. 
Experiences withered, and memories grew confused. 
He worked at the servant's mind, creating a false 
shadow of drunkenness and nameless female 
companions. It was hard work, and the fellow proved 
fairly resistant. It took real effort, and Laquatus 
wondered if death wasn't a better solution. But as his 
talk with Satas proved, he lacked walking servants. 
He continued to mutilate memories, wishing he had 
the resources to just kill the fellow and swim away. 

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* * * * * 

Kamahl breathed and was struck by deja vu. 
Buried twice in one battle. 

"I am no mole," he muttered. 

The warrior coughed and tried to turn over. He 
could not. 

Pressure prevented him from more than 
breathing. Even his head was locked in position, his 
cheek pressed against stone. The barbarian could 
remember the dragon falling and the crab getting in 
his way. 

"I despise seafood," he muttered. More sensations 
intruded, and he could feel multiple small points of 
pressure digging into his back. He remembered the 
crustacean's armor and realized that he must be 
trapped under it. He tried to move again, his muscles 
bunching in agony, but nothing shifted. He 
remembered the great dragon falling as well and with 
a shock understood that two great beasts lay atop him, 
their mass making a mockery of even his powerful 
muscles. It was a miracle that he was not pulped as 
well. The cobblestones underneath him seemed 
jumbled, and over the smell of the dragon and the crab 
he detected strong odors of mold. He could hear the 
dripping of water and the scuttle of a rat. The street 
must have collapsed under the weight and crushed a 
sewer. The stench of filth was the stench of life, and 
Kamahl laughed before coughing spasms ended his 
momentary merriment. To owe his life to a poorly 
constructed drain. 

The barbarian wondered if anyone would rescue 
him. He remembered the disregard of the lieutenant 

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and the crabs and hoped he could count on the Cabal 
forces. At the very least, someone would have to take 
care of the giant corpse. 

"Perhaps they will enchant it and have it walk 
away." The crab might weigh over a thousand pounds, 
but he was sure that he could get out without the tons 
of flesh holding the shell in place. He imagined a giant 
undead monster crushing the crab and the life under it 
into oblivion as it tried to rise. Kamahl thought of his 
killing blow. He realized that with no intact spine, it 
was unlikely that even raised, the monster would be 
able to move. It seemed colder somehow. 

The tremendous ringing of magical energy made 
him believe that he was dying, and new planes of 
existence called to him. Then his senses located the 
source of the power. A locus of exultation, a shout of 
birth, it lay some distance away. His mind demanded 
he move, run to the source, but his body stayed 
relaxed, impotent under the great weight. His 
thoughts grew hazy as the energy retreated. He had 
sensed this before, though it wasn't as strong. The 
treasure room! He recalled the sphere behind the 
sword. Someone else must have seen its value and 
called forth its essence. His mind swirling, he tried to 
imagine what champion might hold it now. It was 
harder to think, the air thicker. He could not call 
power, the pressure on his body seeming to squeeze 
the magic out. Just a few more minutes of rest and 
them he would cut his way free. After all, a victory 
without being alive to enjoy it seemed pointless. Just a 
few minutes more. . . . 

The sound roused his attention at once. The 
rhythmic cuts of a sharp edge into flesh transmitted 

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themselves through the corpse. He might have been 
gathering himself for a few minutes or for days, but he 
shouted loudly, pushing the sound out despite aching, 
compressed ribs. There was a pause in the beat and 
then it resumed, louder than before. 

The leathery scrape of scales signaled the shifting 
of the dragon's mass. Pressure spiked and eased as the 
giant corpse slumped to the side. Shy beams of light 
peaked under the crab's shell, and the crunch of metal 
in chitin showed the worker was near. 

"Have a care," shouted Kamahl trying to shift the 
beast above him. It gave a little, though it still seemed 
pinned down on one side. "The crab is right on top of 
me!" 

A great hand wormed its way under the shell and 
another joined it. The knuckles went white as the shell 
lifted a fraction. The barbarian forced his complaining 
body to lift as well, and the additional force flipped the 
crustacean to the side. Kamahl reeled at the release of 
weight, and the light left his eyes watering. Seton 
stood, his sides heaving, with a bloody axe beside him. 
As the barbarian moved out of the shallow depression, 
he could see Cabal servants advance on the crab, 
sledgehammers falling as they smashed armor and 
threw fragments into a nearby wagon. Other servants 
with huge cleavers attacked the dragon's corpse, a 
steady stream of bloody lumps of flesh falling to the 
street. The meat went to other carts, and some 
rumbled toward the arena. 

"Waste not, want not." Seton laughed as he came 
closer to Kamahl. The barbarian allowed himself to 
lean on the giant. 

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"What happened?" the mountain fighter asked, 
speaking with difficulty from his chapped lips. He 
waved a water carrier over from his round of the Cabal 
workers. 

"What happened?" the centaur replied 
incredulously. "You are standing in the largest open-
air butcher shop on the continent, and you ask what 
happened? As if you missed a few seconds of a play?" 
The simian face writhed with suppressed merriment. 

"I don't mean this," Kamahl said irritably, 
dismissing the battle, his triumph, and his near death 
with a wave. "What force cried out so loudly long after 
the dragon fell?" The centaur moved away from the 
other workers. 

"The Cabal presented a prize to Lieutenant 
Kirtar for killing the beast," he whispered. "When he 
held it in his hands, it released such power that all the 
city was stunned by it. He left for his camp and soon 
after went north. Word came of other attacks by forest 
creatures, and the Captain called him away." The 
centaur knelt, bringing his mouth closer to the 
barbarian's ear. 

"They say the Master of the Games has 
disappeared, punished for giving away such power. He 
has gone to feed the beasts I wager. I heard the 
ambassador's servants tell a Cabal officer that 
Laquatus would be leaving the city shortly for 
'consultations.' " Seton looked over the destruction and 
the blood running into the gutters. "What happened 
here is merely the beginning." 

Kamahl thought of the prize that he desired given 
to the Lieutenant. 

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"They rewarded Kirtar for killing the dragon?" he 
said hotly. "They gave him what was rightfully mine, 
and he has run away north." He began to pace, his 
injuries momentarily forgotten. He ran to the pit 
where he had fallen, shouldering aside the workers. 
Kamahl went to his hands and knees, looking 
determinedly over the ground, ignoring the complaints 
from offended servitors. Seton followed and quelled the 
comments with a frown. Kamahl stood suddenly, his 
great sword in his hand. The long blade whipped 
through the air, the dragon blood burning away in a 
trail of smoke. 

"I will go reclaim my prize from Kirtar," the 
barbarian said, steel ringing in his voice. "1 will have 
my reward though the entire Order stands in my way." 

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Odyssey 

CHAPTER 9 


The early morning dew made the grasslands a 
jeweled vista, the sun's rays glittering off the small 
droplets. The rider nudged the sides of her steed and 
set it through the tall grass. 

The woman looked alertly over the landscape, the 
slight fold of her eyes hiding some of the intensity of 
her observation. Her black hair trailed down her back, 
bound in a long rope by silvered ornaments. One arm 
rested on her saddle pommel, encased in leather and 
steel. The bracer's ancient power was temporarily 
quiescent. A tall asymmetric bow tilted forward in its 
case, the fine wood of the box repelling the morning 
moisture. 

The unicorn ran easily, its gait almost gentle but 
covering ground faster than a horse could run. Its horn 
glinted, the delicate spiral supported by steel 
laminated and magically bonded to its skull. The 
mount's saddle was a tangle of straps, and the rider's 
legs were half-enclosed by the stirrups. 

The need for such careful securing was obvious as 
the unicorn turned at an incredibly sharp angle, 
altering its run in response to a nudge from its rider's 
knee. Dirt showered as the steed accelerated, its 
enchanted hooves casting pebbles and dirt clods up 
into the air like slings. 

The loudest sound was the jingle of the woman's 
scale mail and the slap of the long cavalry sword 
against her back. A field of tall wild flowers lay in a 
depression, and she directed the steed toward them. 

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The tension was obvious in her first strokes as she 
tried to loosen her muscles. The first cuts took great 
swathes of flowers as she struggled for precision. She 
turned the unicorn in a tight circle almost peeling her 
out of the saddle. Again she went through the flowers. 
Now the sword strokes took single blossoms, and she 
nodded in satisfaction at her skill. 

"If only the forest beasts were as easily 
understood and directed," Pianna, Captain of the 
Order, whispered to herself. For weeks, animals from 
the west appeared and acted unpredictably. Solitary 
beasts that naturally subsisted alone now roamed in 
large groups. Skittish herd animals became insanely 
aggressive. Beasts plowed through the fields and 
villages of man doing destruction but only 
sporadically, leaving some settlements completely 
alone while only a few miles away numberless herds 
destroyed everything. She sent messengers to druids 
and other holders of wisdom, but no answer issued 
from the forest, only more animals that pursued some 
unknown path or goal. The purposeless attacks were 
becoming the Order's crucible. 

For years she had extended the Order's message 
of new unity, and now it was being put to the test. 
Unfortunately, it was a test the organization was 
failing. The raids continued despite her best efforts. 
There seemed to be no plan or direction to the strikes. 
Animals and monstrous plants appeared at villages 
and struck out in frenzy. Sometime the attacks 
stopped before much was destroyed, even if a hamlet 
had no real defenses. Other times the assaults 
continued until all was destroyed and the inhabitants 
were dead. 

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Odyssey 

The Order-sponsored militias were swept away by 
the unrelenting aggression. For a second, Pianna 
regretted the lack of war machines imposed by the 
Strictures. In the past, mechanisms might have turned 
such assaults without casualties. Her losses were 
precious members of the Order. 

"But such machines breed more destruction and 
contempt for life because they are so easily replaced," 
she reminded herself. The legend of Urza provided a 
chilling lesson of the madness artifacts led to. Armies 
of unquestioning automatons fought wars for 
centuries, stripping the world down to a husk from 
which it was still recovering. Even after a century, 
there were still vast fields of machines being found, 
the rusted and crushed instruments of a world's 
destruction. Each one an opportunity for evil, to be 
rebuilt until an unquestioning army might march 
again. The Order might be beleaguered, but it was still 
a living expression of noble ideals. 

She fingered the sword at her side, her hands 
running over the pommel worn smooth by generations 
of commanders. It had belonged to one of the original 
members of the Order, a symbol of authority 
transferred from leader to leader, its steel in service 
for hundreds of years. But it acted on the choices of its 
wielder. It was an extension of her soul, not a free-
ranging engine of destruction. Her skill was what 
controlled it, and before every fight she dedicated her 
life and ideals to the Order. If it could act on its own, 
such a servant would dilute her involvement in her 
soul's journey. 

In such a case, she would throw it in the crusher 
that very second. 

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The crushers were devours of the past, great 
engines the size of a manor, their interiors filled with 
swinging hammers and blades. Their power derived 
solely from the great wheels turned by knights and 
squires. The engines were an extension of the 
individuals like a sword, or so the captain told herself. 
Pianna hoped that the machines were not corrupting 
the Order even as they tried to save the world. Those 
artifacts and instruments of the past, which had led 
the world so astray, were committed to the bowels of 
the device, ground between wheel until only small 
scraps remained. What was left was sold to 
blacksmiths and tinkers. What corrupted the world 
was devoured by the forge and rendered into simple 
blades and pots. Those items of unusual lethality were 
melted down and cast into ingots, the metal bars 
hidden in Order fortifications or dropped into the deep 
waters of the ocean. Better to rely on one's own 
humanity than sacrifice it for soulless fighters. 

The unicorn's hooves carried her far as she 
ruminated, and her shadow on the ground lengthened. 
On the horizon a line of trees was visible, stretching 
several miles across. The mount accelerated as the 
captain used her heels, her hands checking her 
equipment as they leaped forward. The wood lay in a 
section of the plain, exposed like an outrunner of the 
forest. The copse was only a few miles across, but the 
trees soared hundreds of feet into the air. 

Villages grew nearby, and races of all description 
tried to make a living through the forest's bounty. 
Those brave enough harvested the wood, depending on 
the isolated nature of the grove to prevent attacks 
from dangerous animals found in the forest proper. 

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But Pianna had recently received disturbing reports of 
animal attacks and missing villagers. A small 
detachment of the Order followed behind her but 
farther west. The captain continued alone to question 
the heads of the villages about these recent 
occurrences. 

The forest was a wall, and she still saw no sign of 
the villagers. Where was the smoke from cooking fires 
or signs of timber wagons working the forest's edge? It 
had been years since she came this way, and perhaps 
her trail sense had misled her. The road might have 
shifted or the loggers moved to new ground. She 
doubted such rationalizations and drew her bow from 
her case. The laminated layers of wood, horn, and 
metal were smooth in her hands. She checked the 
tension of the string, and her pluck sounded almost 
lyrical as the various components vibrated and 
provided a rich tone. Her spirit settled, the single note 
calming her worries. Her quiver was full and her bow 
strung, her mastery practiced and ready. She moved 
laterally along the forest edge, the sure hooves of her 
steed laughing at fallen trees and gullies. Still no sign 
of life, and she nudged the unicorn to a faster pace. 

Howls seemed to rise from the ground as she rode 
around a green peninsula. The stumps in the clearing 
revealed a deep cut into the forest. Dozens of dire 
wolves ran from the forest, joining the giant pack that 
surrounded an isolated tree. In the branches of a giant 
pine, a group of loggers waved their distress. A grove 
of whisper trees sighed softly in the breeze, their 
branches swallowing the yells of the men and the 
screams of the horses. 

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Whisper trees grew in small numbers, and 
somehow the movement of their branches muffled 
sounds. Such groves were notorious for traps, but a 
lively market in paneling that absorbed noise was in 
high demand in the larger cities. Men of wealth lined 
homes to cut off the bustle of the town, introducing 
pastoral quiet in the most densely packed markets. 
Plotters and conspirators paid a premium to line 
rooms where their councils might be kept from prying 
ears. Prisons were said to have rooms where the 
screams of starving and tortured souls were never 
heard. 

But now the loggers might pay the price of their 
craft. She knew that there would be guards to protect 
the loggers somewhere nearby. Harvesting trees from 
the forest was dangerous and often disturbed 
creatures that only well-armed fighters could 
discourage. Her own troops were across the forest, and 
Pianna doubted they would arrive in time. Only the 
vagaries of the afternoon air had allowed her to hear 
anything at all. 

There were still loggers scaling the lone tree, 
trying to get out of reach of canine teeth. Ropes 
swarmed with men as a circle of wolves around the 
trunk contracted. The rotten gaping wound on the 
tree's trunk explained why it had not been harvested. 
A lurch of the bare branches suggested that it could 
not bear its current crop of panicked men for long. 

Most of the wolves seemed little interested in the 
men, rooting through the wagon scattered and 
overturned in the clearing. Red jaws howled silently as 
the beasts rose from feasting on the draft animals still 
in their traces. 

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Members of the pack leaped from the tumbled 
wagons, dragging away equipment as they worked 
furiously. Whatever the animals were looking for, 
Pianna could tell that they were not finding it. Now 
the mass of animals seemed to find new energy and 
converged on the few men still fighting on the ground. 
A few loggers swung their axes and heavy chains, 
giving their fellows time to ascend the ropes. 

The number of men on the ground shrank, but 
each successful retreat made the rearguard's job more 
difficult. 

Her arrow was laid and launched in a heartbeat, 
the shaft driving through the ribs of a wolf to drop it in 
its tracks. Others followed, her shoulder muscles 
rolling as she sent missiles flying. The wolves did not 
turn as she killed the rear animals. The whisper trees 
masked her attack, allowing her to slaughter at will. 
However, the wolves did not cease their attack, and 
she watched a logger get dragged down. The dire wolf 
was the size of a small pony, and the man came apart 
like a sickly rabbit as the canine head tossed his body. 
Pianna could hear no screams thanks to the 
surrounding trees. 

Power flowed through her veins and into the 
threads of metal in her bow. Her bracer glowed 
brightly as she let loose another arrow. This one flew 
to the head of the pack, and its discharge was blinding, 
the flash leaving wolves writhing as their eyes tried to 
adapt. The loggers were blind as well, and one went 
down, tripping over a rolling wolf. The animal did not 
attack, but the man's own axe laid his leg open. His 
enemy's lolling tongue lapped at the blood as 
everyone's vision cleared. 

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Pianna drove the unicorn closer, more magic 
singing through her bow. Now the projectiles swelled 
until they seemed javelins, nailing the wolves to the 
ground. The animals still did not react, bizarrely 
intent on the men on and around the tree despite the 
ample carrion everywhere. The captain drove her steed 
into the rear of the pack. The unicorn's horn dipped 
and punctured sides as the pair tried to turn the 
attack from the loggers. Finally, her slaughter made 
the wolves react in self-preservation. The beasts spun 
and tore at her, but the Order leader's magic rose as a 
shield. 

Golden light encased Pianna's legs and the 
unicorn's sides as she tried to draw the pack away. 

Her steed was a kicking and screaming demon, 
its hooves shattering skulls and ribs as the wolves 
tried to overwhelm them. The captain swore as she 
saw there were still loggers on the ground. She rose in 
the saddle and fired back toward the tree, killing a 
beast tearing off a logger's leg. Two wolves leaped as 
she provided covering fire to the final men. Power still 
flooding her bow, she swung it like a stave. It struck, 
destroying the animal's ribs. The other beast's jaw 
stopped inches away as the unicorn twisted its neck 
with a sinuous grace, stabbing its horn deep into the 
wolf's side and piercing the heart. The weight of the 
forest hunter nearly toppled her steed, and the equine 
weapon flared with power as it shook the corpse free. 

The pack was converging on her, and Pianna 
spun the unicorn on its rear legs to ride free. She killed 
an attacker as it tried to duck under her steed. 
Another wolf tried to hamstring her mount, but the 
invoked armor defeated its teeth. More converged, but 

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the unicorn's acceleration stopped them from being 
buried by the pack. One beast nearly defeated the 
captain as it clambered on top of its fellows and leaped 
to snatch Pianna from the saddle. The unicorn reacted 
to the captain's sudden signal and turned again, 
flattening into an all-out run. The wolf's outstretched 
paws hooked her quiver and tore it open. It was only 
the strength of the unicorn and the semi-locking 
stirrups that prevented the leader of the Order from 
being dragged to the ground. 

The unicorn's pace took it out of danger, but 
Pianna hauled her steed about, looking to see if the 
pack still followed. The wolves were turning back to 
the men at the base of the tree. The branches looked 
overloaded, and desperate loggers cut the ropes to the 
ground, spilling a few straggling climbers. One person 
in the crown had a light crossbow and loosed a bolt. 
The projectile did nothing more than return the 
wolves' attention back to the encircled woodsmen. 
Pianna cursed the man's vain attempts even as she 
circled her steed and raised more power. She was not 
as strong as her lieutenant in the mystic arts, but 
bursts of power left her bow despite her lack of arrows. 

More of the canines dropped, the shafts of energy 
burning away limbs and exploding inside the animals. 
Many of the crippled animals were torn apart by their 
fellows as the beasts raged out of control. In a second, 
the circle around the tree was breached, and the men 
on the ground died, despite the captain's flurry of 
arrows and rain of impromptu weapons from the 
loggers above. 

The animals were insane killing machines, 
snapping at everything. Pianna turned her steed to 

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ride out of danger now that the men on the ground 
were dead. A branch broke, and two men fell to their 
deaths. Each extracted a measure of vengeance as they 
crushed the wolves they landed on, but they died by 
the jaws of the others. The captain's arrows swept the 
successful killers away, but the pack did not turn. The 
animals threw themselves against the tree, which 
shuddered, revealing the rottenness at its core. Pianna 
saw the despair on the loggers' faces and sent the 
unicorn forward once more. 

The captain's bow shot shards of pure energy, but 
she paid a steep price for each shot. Pianna's skill as a 
archer created arrows that enhanced her power in 
concert with her spirit, bow, and bracer. Now the 
magic flowed like a river and drained away the mystic 
armor from her legs and steed. 

She was surrounded now, using her magnificent 
bow as a club until it was dragged away by foamy 
jaws. Her sword arced out and cut down the wolf that 
thought her helpless. Now bare steel carved into the 
pack as Pianna directed all her power into armor. The 
mesh of power over her and her steed grew as tattered 
as lace as her last reserves of strength drained away. 
The silence of the battle made it seem a dream as she 
readied herself for death. 

A shower of javelins and spears fell from the sky, 
promising life like spring's first rain. Pianna drove 
toward the tree, her sword cutting through the 
snarling wall as more weapons plummeted from above. 
At last she was through and turned her steed, backing 
into the rotting cavity of the trunk. The armor on the 
unicorn flanks evaporated. Now only a thin web of 
armor on the unicorn's neck and fore-quarters offered 

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Odyssey 

resistance to the dire wolves' teeth. But that thin 
protection was enough as an Order aerial unit came to 
the rescue. 

Griffins dived from the sky, their shrieks of rage 
lost in the whisper trees. Another flight of javelins 
stabbed into the wolves as the soldiers used the last of 
their throwing weapons and closed with the pack. 
Talons flashed. The fliers snatched up the maddened 
animals. Beaks and swords were red with blood, and 
the flying steeds and their riders pulled clear. Other 
griffins landed out in the clearing and advanced on the 
tattered edges of the pack. 

The elite soldiers swung long flails and maces. 
The wolves turned to overwhelm the reinforcements. 
Bones exploded as the enhanced weapons swatted the 
animals away. Some of the animals tried to run, but 
most closed with the fighters. The fresh mages were 
encased in magical power and nearly immune to the 
dire wolves. The detachment reaped the clearing free 
of their opponents, the furry bodies pinwheeling away. 
A few mounted archers overhead unleashed waves of 
mystic arrows, peppering the wolves in front of the 
tree that still tried to reach Pianna. The loggers 
overhead might have screamed with joy, but the 
captain could only guess, for the whisper trees 
smothered every sound. Pianna's magic faded away, 
but the battle was over, and the pack broke apart. 

A few remaining wolves fled deeper into the 
wood, the trees preventing aerial pursuit. Many of her 
command dismounted, but Pianna sent her tiring 
beast in front of her rescuers. Using battle sign, she 
directed them to help the wounded woodsmen. They 

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obeyed, the power that armored them fading as they 
prepared to heal those still hanging onto life. 

She waved for the leader of the griffin riders to 
follow and took the unicorn away from the whisper 
trees, the sounds of the plains once more in her ears as 
she left their sphere of influence. 

"Sergeant Paige," Pianna said, her arms feeling 
the burn of her archery, "what of the villages nearby?" 
The griffin riders, due to their speed, were the premier 
scouts of the Order. 

"Captain," he replied, coughing up dust, "the 
villages have all been set upon by creatures of the 
wood. Bears and other monsters are common, and 
there are rumors of great beasts annihilating 
everything in their way. We escorted those willing to 
come to the fort before returning to check on you." The 
soldier showed the irritation that all sergeants had 
with too-brave officers. "You were fortunate that we 
arrived to . . ." He paused, his lined face working as he 
considered her bland expression. "... support your 
charge, Captain. I am sure you were moments from 
victory." "In protecting those under my care, there is 
no choice, Paige," Pianna answered. "We need to get 
these people back to the fort if their village is 
evacuated." She considered the wagons rolling away 
now from the whisper trees. "But how many we can 
move away from danger, I just don't know." 

* * * * * 

Despite its crude construction, the fort looked like 
heaven to Pianna. The walls were nothing more than 
upended logs, standing only fifteen feet high. Clumps 
of longer trunks provided cover for archers, but it was 

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nothing compared to the mighty ramparts of other 
Order fortresses. The fort was on a broad rise, 
surrounded by a dry moat and the wooden wall. An 
artificial hill rose some seventy feet, and it was capped 
by a large tower providing the final refuge from 
assault. The tower was constructed of treated timbers, 
and the Order's sigil flew from the top of pole. 

Any cover would be welcome, for madness seemed 
to grip almost every animal of the forest. Large 
predators attacked, even though instinct should have 
sent them miles from such a large gathering. Groups 
of normally solitary hunters erupted from the grass 
and were fought off only when almost all were dead. 
The villagers' accompanying herds of livestock were 
ignored, their owners the targets of tooth and claw. 

The gates were open, and Pianna and her party 
rode into the fort. It became nearly impossible to move, 
the numbers of refugees filling the enclosure. Soldiers 
stood on scaffolding along the walls, runners moving 
on the elevated paths rather than daring the tangle of 
people. Many of those seeking shelter inside the walls 
were woodsmen and loggers. Their glassy faces 
showing the shock of being driven from their homes. 
Children ran and played among the tumult with the 
easy care that youth could bring, while their parents 
and guardians were too numb to rein them in. Traders 
and merchants of all descriptions sat with their goods 
piled high. Pianna resolved to cache such cargoes 
outside the walls. A group of hunters stood by, their 
clothing and manner marking them as Cabal minions. 
They laughed at the crowd, and each shocked face 
going by provoked a new burst of merriment. 

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The keys and chains in their stack of gear told 
the captain they were pit hunters. The Cabal paid well 
for a fresh flow of creatures from around the continent. 
Pianna had, in scouting the forest edge, come across 
the leavings of such beast caravans. Starved and sick 
animals were abandoned without even the benefit of 
death. The predators trailing such columns lost their 
fear of people and associated them with food. 

The group noticed her regard and grew silent, 
then turned and looked in other directions until her 
attention was diverted. The Order was pledged to 
protect all peaceable people on the plains, and the 
Cabal was careful to obey the letter of the law. 

Orderlies made their way through the crowd, 
moving toward the wagons of wounded to conduct 
them to the healers. Pianna wondered bleakly how 
many had died on the way to the fort. Her warriors 
tried vainly to magically heal wounds when the bulk of 
their training was inflicting them. She was unable to 
have a healer flown out because of the current crush in 
the other Order holds. 

The captain dismounted, her hand pressing 
against her steed's side as the unicorn was finally led 
away. The stables were full of refugees, so the animals 
were being picketed outside. The griffins screamed, so 
all could hear their displeasure at being refused their 
own stalls. 

Pianna headed for the gatehouse. The officer in 
charge of the fort rose to his feet, giving her a salute 
that she returned absently. A sack of beer lay on the 
table, and she filled an empty flagon and washed down 
the dust of the road. 

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"Sergeant Sumer," she said, her voice raspy from 
herding a column of refugees, "what news?" She wiped 
her eyes, clearing away dirt and wondering if the 
bathhouse was plugged with asylum seekers as well. 

"Not much of a change since this morning," the 
sergeant answered, a long scar down his face created 
the illusion of a leer. "The refugees are still coming in, 
and all reports confirm widespread attacks." He 
turned to the map behind the table, a cluster of pins 
showing attacks and sightings of animals. It appeared 
random, and the sergeant tapped the blank spaces 
representing the forest's interior. 

"These attacks might presage an attack by the 
western tribes," he opinioned. Pianna's snort of 
disbelief punctured the soldier's theory. 

"I see no benefit to the forest folk in arousing our 
defenses and clearing the villages of hostages against 
our behavior," she said, reining in the temper which 
the journey had roused. "The random nature of the 
attacks mean we are looking everywhere. Whatever is 
directing these attacks is doing so for no benefit other 
than destruction." She walked around the desk and 
considered the map more closely. 

"The only pattern these attacks have is that they 
radiate from the Krosan forest." Pianna thought of the 
patrols that scoured the edge of the woodlands. 
"Perhaps the focus of these troubles lies elsewhere." 
She looked to the southern reaches of the map. 

"Is there any word of Lieutenant Kirtar?" she 
asked, thinking how valuable he and the other aven 
would be. 

"There was a dragon attack which he defeated, 
and he says he will be back after sweeping the 

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southern sectors." The sergeant's faint tone of distaste 
reminded Pianna that many considered Kirtar and his 
bird warriors to be arrogant and abrasive. 

"He is your superior officer, and he and his people 
have power we need." She regretted that most of the 
lieutenant's people were far to the northeast and 
insular except for those taking service in the Order. 
"He should be able to rally the south. I know that he 
hoped to impress the Cabal and Mer Empire in the 
pits, but we need him here. Once again she considered 
the map. The concentration of her forces along the 
forest was drying up her information sources. 

"Maybe Kirtar will discover something in the 
south," she said finally. "We need to know what is 
going on, but for now we must protect our own." 

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CHAPTER 10 


"I hate the forest," Laquatus snarled as he exited 
the transport pool. Days swimming through caves and 
river systems under the continent had left his eyes 
unprepared for the light and heat of the upper world. 
Turg came out of the pool behind him, his arms 
hurling sodden luggage. Crabs scuttled and set up a 
tent for shade as Captain Satas sat in the sun. The 
amphibian's blind eyes sought the orb's warmth even 
as his skin burned, exposed to light nature never 
meant for his people. 

"I trust you will be available should I need aid," 
the ambassador said as he walked to a chair parked 
under an awning and settled into it. The blind officer 
tracked his movements. 

"I serve your will, but I must travel slowly as we 
map out routes through the underwater caves," Satas 
announced, clicking his claws together as he gasped in 
the heat. "Until more warriors and miners arrive from 
the sea, you must depend on hirelings," Satas said, his 
skin beginning to peel away. His eyes were growing 
dim and sunken as he stayed in the hot, dry air. 

"Turg can handle any small difficulties, my good 
Captain." 

Laquatus sipped from the goblet left by the chair. 
How unfortunate that decent attendants must be left 
underwater. However, it was a willingness to make 
sacrifices that defined great leaders, he thought to 
himself. Besides, a trail of dying servants would have 
attracted far too much attention. 

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"Stand ready to reopen the portal should the 
mercenaries prove unable to meet my needs. You are 
sure you can open the portal directly beneath me?" 
Laquatus asked as Turg slunk into the tent and 
settled in a sullen mass. The large amphibian's skin 
was already looking dry, and the frog would be difficult 
to control if the situation went badly. 

"The stone calls out to those who know it, Your 
Excellency," Satas replied, having given the merman a 
tresias stone. "Finding you will never be difficult while 
you bear it. It is reaching you that will be hard. Once 
you begin traveling, I cannot guarantee immediate 
support." 

The ambassador only nodded before remembering 
that Satas was blind and dismissed him and his men. 

Though he appeared at ease, in reality Laquatus 
seethed with anger and frustration. The lieutenant's 
path kept him from the explored system of caves and 
the underground rivers. Those that did exist were 
clogged with falls and tiny diverging passages. To 
truly develop the underwater roads would take 
decades of effort. So instead of leading an attack by 
mer forces, he was condemned to once more work with 
drylanders. 

The lands were hilly and dusty, a buffer between 
the plains and the forests to the west. No buildings or 
civilization as those above water considered it. Turg 
moved in the tent, and Laquatus heard breaking glass. 
The gurgle of pouring liquid told the ambassador the 
jack had found his cache of seawater. He considered 
disciplining the frog, but the heat of the day drained 
away all initiative. His hatred festered as he wondered 
how long it would take the mercenaries to arrive. 

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The first scout into the camp surprised the 
ambassador, interrupting the merman's sulk in the 
heat. The man was small and covered in more warts 
than the aristocrat's jack. He dismounted and bowed. 
"Your Excellency" he began. 

"Surely there is a spokesman less repellent than 
you," Laquatus interrupted, looking back the way the 
scout had come. "I paid for the best, not the worst." 
The merman watched teeth grind as the man reached 
for a sword. Actually, the discolored skin reminded the 
ambassador of certain breeds of fish, but he was bored 
and needed entertainment. "I will return with my 
captain," the red-faced mercenary ground out. 
Laquatus waved and watched the fellow jerk himself 
into the saddle and start up the trail. The ambassador 
went into the hot tent to rouse his protector. Turg lay 
somnolent, broken glass all around him. Laquatus 
found an unopened bottle of salt water and smashed it 
against the tent pole bracket, ignoring the shards that 
fell on his champion. The merman took a long draught 
and poured the rest over his body. Already the frigid 
waterways down below seemed a dream in this heat. 
He kicked Turg viciously in the ribs, driving him up 
and outside. Laquatus saw the broken glass slash the 
frog's feet. He followed, resigning himself to only petty 
cruelties until he could once more call upon mer 
warriors. 

* * * * * 

The village was only a wide spot in the road, 
completely overwhelmed by the caravan camped 
around it. Laquatus hammered his heels into his steed 
and sent the long-suffering mare forward. The brisker 

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pace cooled the ambassador down, his sodden 
garments losing heat as they dried. The mercenaries 
leading him watched sourly as he passed, water 
dripping down to the ground. The aristocrat had 
appropriated and emptied most of the column's 
canteens. The fighters' drinking water dribbled down 
the ambassador's back to the dirt as he passed. The 
mercenary leader was lost in a cloak, trying to seal off 
the heat. Laquatus could feel Turg closing from behind 
as he sprinted from a mud hollow to get to the camp. 
The hot breath of the amphibian seemed to fill the 
merman's lungs as he crowded against the column 
commander. 

"All the hunting parties bring their captures 
here," the man said pointing to the swathe of activity. 
The encampment was swollen with the cries of 
animals and people. Bears, cougars, and wolves were 
caged, as well as fauns and Krosan dragonettes. A 
huge elk, nearly the size of an elephant, was secured to 
a stake by a nose ring. Though the noise enveloped 
them, it was without the frenzy expected from wild 
animals. Many seemed docile, even lost as they lay 
within the enclosures of steel. The hum of controlling 
spells called to the ambassador. The merman felt his 
champion slowly entering the camp behind him and 
drifting toward the pens. Laquatus broke the spell, 
and Turg started at the surge of will. The amphibian 
ran to his master, goaded by the aristocrat's bad 
humor. 

"Sorry ambassador," called Laquatus's escort as 
the mercenaries peeled off for other duties, leaving 
him and the amphibian with only the company of their 

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baggage. "It takes some effort to avoid the magic 
controlling the animals." 

Laquatus nodded in recognition. The Mer Empire 
special-ized in spells of control and illusion, and a 
profitable business was made in training and 
equipping the hunters who entered the forest. 

"Without the spells provided by the empire it 
would be impossible to manage these animals," the 
ambassador muttered, taking control of the giant elk. 
His mental bludgeoning sent it rampaging across the 
camp, its painful cries of no interest to the 
ambassador. Despite its matted hide and sores, it still 
had enough power to rip the stake out of the ground. 
He nodded at the ease with which he could hijack the 
spells. 

The leader of the caravan approached. At least 
Laquatus thought him a leader in his finery. The man 
was tall and slender, his clothes of sturdy leather dyed 
in subtle hues with fancy stitching. A sword with a 
jewel-encrusted handle hung at his side, and in his 
hand he carried a quirt made of bone or ivory wrapped 
with many shades of leather. The merman could feel 
the quiescent magic humming in the tool as the man 
came closer. 

"How may we serve your Excellency," he said, 
bowing and sweeping his hat low as if at court instead 
of a dusty camp. The mercenary knew Laquatus as the 
backer of the caravan, having been hired in Cabal 
City. 

"A valuable bauble has mistakenly come into the 
possession of the Order," the ambassador said 
carefully. "Lieutenant Kirtar received a prize that 

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belongs to the Mer Empire. The officer was called west 
before I could retrieve it." 

"Indeed, the Order can be most troublesome 
about baubles," the man said and nodded to a group of 
wagons. Laquatus could see the loot of many a 
rediscovered battlefield. Such expeditions must be 
hidden lest the Order take offense. The Order 
routinely fed almost all recovered artifacts into great 
crushers. The ambassador feared that the prize might 
be destroyed in the name of such stupidity. 

"If you are as determined to reach Lieutenant 
Kirtar as your earlier communications indicated, you 
might find this of interest." The mercenary led the 
aristocrat to a wagon. Chained by the foot to a wheel 
and lying in the mud was a Knight of the Order. Burns 
and knife cuts recorded the camp's hospitality. An arm 
was torn off, the stump wrapped in blood-soaked 
bandages. He was feverish and mumbling in delirium. 

"He's perfect," breathed Laquatus, considering 
the miserable prisoner. Kirtar would welcome him 
anyway, but a present always made a guest more 
popular. This rescue would also diffuse some of the 
nastier rumors that the lieutenant's men might have 
heard during their time in the city. With a lot of 
coaching and an array of false memories, the fallen 
knight would make a splendid passport. The only 
question was whether the miserable tool could survive 
reaching Kirtar's forces. 

"How far is the good lieutenant?" asked the 
ambassador, irritated that he must be dependent on 
these mercenaries. "I would bring this pitiful wretch to 
his commander as soon as possible." The mercenary 
captain looked at Laquatus kneeling down and laying 

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soothing hands on the captive. The merman saw a 
flash of pity on the mercenary's face as the 
ambassador opened the shirt and inspected the 
wounds. His wounds were nasty, but he might survive 
a hard ride in the saddle with proper incentive. 

"Kirtar is at least five days' ride west," the 
caravan leader said, turning to stare down the road. 
"In these conditions, I could not guess how long it 
would take you to reach the aven." 

"What do you mean?" said Laquatus, already 
impatient to continue. 

"The creatures of the forest lie in your path," the 
mercenary explained, gesturing to the ranks of 
animals captured in the camp. 

"Creatures are no threat," Laquatus said with a 
snort. "You capture the dumb animals wholesale." 

"But something disturbs them," the mercenary 
said worriedly. "We followed in the Order's wake, 
hoping to capture what remained, but the beasts circle 
ahead of us. Moving continually, they block the way 
and sweep across our path. My men and I have hunted 
for years, and never have I seen the beasts so 
disturbed save during a fire or sudden storm. The 
animal world is in upheaval, and I have no 
explanation. Something west drives the beasts to a 
frenzy." 

"Yet you control your camp," the ambassador said 
acidly, standing up. If this was an attempt to extract 
hazard pay, it would go hard for the mercenary. Turg 
raised his head from a supply wagon he was stealing 
from at the merman's pique and began to move closer, 
anticipating violence. 

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"The spells of the empire close their minds," the 
captain said, fondling the carved ivory wand. "They 
move in a paradise that we control and mold. But out 
there, a continent is on the move, and no one knows 
who shapes events." 

"I need a small band of attendants to bring my 
knight with me," Laquatus said, nudging the wounded 
man with his foot. 

The ambassador let his silence at the mercenary's 
wild outpourings show his contempt. If the animals of 
the wood posed a danger, he would handle it. If only 
Satas had explored more of the western caves instead 
of forcing him to deal with these fearful idiots. The 
mercenary called to an aide and gave orders for a 
small group of riders to accompany Laquatus and the 
prisoner. 

"Does the Order know you are in this village?" the 
mer aristocrat asked, looking beyond the camp to the 
few houses. 

There were no signs of the inhabitants save for 
the smoke from the chimneys. The caravans had a bad 
reputation. The ambassador knew that on occasion his 
employees took slaves for use and sale to the pits. 

"Kirtar's scouts are oriented west. I doubt they 
know we are here," the mercenary captain said, 
looking toward the men selected rousted from eating 
and sleep. 

"This brave member of the Order will be useful in 
earning the organization's trust," Laquatus said, 
licking his thin lips. "But the risk of witnesses telling 
how he chanced into my hospitality ... No, I think it 
best if this village and its inhabitants die now. 
Unknown and nameless." 

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Turg leaped toward the houses. The amphibian 
pushed camp workers out of the way as he raced to the 
closest cottage. 

The stone-and-timber structure was covered in 
moss. It hunkered down in the plain, the heavy walls 
stubbornly resisting the elements and those who would 
attack. The windows were small, and heavy shutters 
shielded the inside from view. 

The door was seasoned wood, thick and hung 
with carethe builder's attempt to keep the dangers of 
the world outside. Turg summoned his power, drawing 
on the ambassador's magic. A thin stream of lightning 
flared, blinding those foolish enough to run after the 
amphibian. The jack closed his inner eyelids, cutting 
the glare as he looked through the thin shield of flesh. 
The lock and screws holding the door shut glowed as 
power arced over the door. An agonized scream 
sounded as someone in the house tried to brace the 
panel. Rock-hard boards sundered in quick succession, 
coming free in a series of concussions. 

Turg, impatient to get inside, smashed into the 
door, his hide smoking briefly as it touched the 
charred wood. Laquatus stood, lost in the rush of 
violence, savoring each death as the amphibian 
rampaged through the structure. The mercenary's 
distaste was plain, but he called to his men. 

"Clear them out!" he shouted, pointing to the 
remaining houses. He drew a short sword to lead 
squads in the unpleasant task. Animals started at the 
noise, and the ambassador felt the animal herdsmen 
increasing the strength of the spells calming and 
misleading the beasts. Death and deception played out 
in the caravan and the village, and Laquatus stood in 

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appreciation as the jack and the mercenaries began to 
kill off anyone who might derail his scheme to lull the 
Order once again. 

An explosion shattered his contentment. What 
fool was employing such spells in a simple bout of 
murder? 

The merman looked to the perimeter. Bodies 
popped as flame burned its way free of fighters in his 
employ. As the mercenaries fell, Laquatus could see 
two riders charging. No, not riders, but instead a 
centaur and his mounted companion advanced on the 
camp. A glimpse of brass-colored skin placed the pair. 
Seton and the barbarian fell upon the caravan, killing 
without hesitation as the village was massacred. 

"Destroy them," the ambassador bellowed, 
dragging Turg away from the easy slaughter with a 
mental command. The guards left off their halfhearted 
killing to face the attackers entering the camp. 

"A rich reward to whoever brings me their 
heads!" the merman called. Greed and self-
preservation sent warrior converging on the pair. The 
merman laughed, sure that murder would solve most 
of his problems. 

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Odyssey 

CHAPTER 11 


Kamahl closed his eyes as the axe exploded in a 
ball of flame, the pulse of magic leaving an afterimage 
even through his eyelids. His horse shied, nearly 
toppling him despite his precautions in turning the 
mare's head away from the spell. Seton roared and 
sprang, his apelike features furious as he raised his 
mace and swung at a caravan guard. The man 
shattered under the force of the blow, blood spraying 
and spotting the centaur red as he moved toward a 
new target. 

The pair had tracked Kirtar and his forces west 
for days. 

The Order rode hard, and the barbarian and the 
forest warrior had closed slowly, if at all. Then the 
tracks were obscured by a caravan. Seton had sworn 
loudly as wagons and herds of animals obscured the 
trail. Casting along the road to see if Kirtar had left 
the western highway consumed even more time. It 
appeared that the caravan followed the lieutenant, and 
Kamahl stopped tracking and rode hard, gambling 
that Kirtar would not change his path until they 
passed the obscuring travelers. They had hit the outer 
perimeter, and Seton watched the frog, Turg, break 
into a building and other guards from the caravan 
advance on the villagers. Such evil would not go 
unpunished. 

Kamahl hurled flame. The magic congealed into 
dull red globes that sank into the bodies of the 
cowardly murderers. The caravan guards laughed at 

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their apparent immunity to his attack. They came a 
few steps closer, then stopped and gasped as the 
barbarian's spell began to burn its way out. Kamahl 
felt a wave of weakness as the mercenaries charred to 
ash. His anger was drawing too much power into the 
spell, and he paused to control his rage. His horse 
shifted under him, and he jabbed his heels, sending 
the mount into the fight. 

Seton rampaged through the camp, his club 
spraying his opponent's brains each time it landed. 
The caravan guards tried in vain to corner him, but 
the centaur's prodigious leaps carried him free. Seton 
then turned to take mercenaries from behind. He 
pushed his way through the herd of captive animals to 
reach their tenders. The barbarian could see his club 
raising high, then falling again. 

Kamahl's horse froze, then began bucking under 
him. The beast that had stayed controlled through so 
much tumult went wild and spun. The barbarian could 
feel the horse dropping and beginning to roll. He threw 
himself from the saddle, drawing his sword in midair. 
He landed at a run, turning to see what creature 
attacked his mount. There was nothing tearing at the 
beast, though it screamed in rage and fear as it 
twisted in the dirt. 

A leather-clad mercenary charged toward him, an 
ivory baton raised in the air as he regarded Kamahl 
and his horse. The leader waved as if in introduction 
and turned toward the animals closest to the 
barbarian. A herd of simple cattle stopped chewing 
their cud as one. 

Kamahl knew that magic controlled the animals, 
for these cows were huge with heavy horns that 

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stretched more than three feet from side to side. These 
were not dairy cows or animals being driven leisurely 
to the butcher but animals with fighting spirit. 
Whatever spell had kept them docile ceased, and he 
found their attention focused upon him. The cattle 
bellowed and charged, three bulls forcing their way to 
the front of the herd in their rush to close with him. 

Kamahl spun a pillar of flame around himself, 
but the maddened animals disregarded it. He threw 
himself to the side as a long horn hooked through his 
shield and scored his armored belt. He gasped, his air 
knocked out by the impact. The barbarian did not 
want to play the butcher to livestock, and he ran under 
a wagon as the rest of the herd closed. The cows 
collided with the freight wagon, and he hobbled farther 
into the camp, gaining new strength as he shook off 
the bull's blow. A mercenary considered him an easy 
target as he struck from the rear. Kamahl's sword 
sheared through the falling club and cut the man's 
arm free. The stricken guard could not even scream as 
Kamahl's return stroke set his head free as well. 
Guards closing with the barbarian slowed, waiting for 
others to converge on the mountain warrior. 

Seton broke into the ring of guardsman, trailing 
his own clump of pursuers. The centaur's club was 
covered in gore, and every swing sprayed blood wide. 
He moistened the club's head anew using Kamahl's 
opponents, smashing men down in three quick strokes 
before leaping. The barbarian could see the forest 
fighter's fangs clearly. 

"Too slow!" the centaur shouted, raising his club 
like a standard. Blood ran down it and drenched his 
arm. "Where are your nets and snares now, hunters?" 

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He swung and knocked the wheel off a wagon, the 
oak and iron flying away in pieces. The centaur's arms 
fell again and wretched the other wheel free. Seton 
jumped to the side as the heavy freight bed tipped over 
and spilled a load of furs and hides over the ground. A 
heavy skin reminded the barbarian of the centaur's 
own hide. 

"Murderers!" The cry was bestial in its fury. The 
giant dropped his club and leaped upon a guard, 
grabbing him up in two hands. Seton tore the man 
apart, hurling limbs. 

Kamahl threw fiery knives into the stunned 
guards, reaping a deadly harvest before they turned to 
respond to this new attack. The outmatched 
mercenaries were caught between the barbarian and 
the crazed centaur, and Kamahl thought they stood no 
chance. Then they seemed to disappear, sidling into 
nonexistence. The mountain warrior shook his head 
violently and loosed a barrage of darts. Wails of pain 
sounded, and a guard faded back into existence, 
screaming as the projectile burned its way to his heart. 
Then silence fell again. 

Kamahl threw more darts as he dove for cover, 
scrabbling behind an overturned wagon as he 
considered what was happening. Malign magic pulsed 
in the encampment. A mage was clouding his senses, 
hiding his enemies from him. 

An opponent might be running to stab him from 
behind at this very moment. Kamahl hurled more 
darts behind him, but there were no screams. That 
meant nothing. Wild sprays of weaponry could not long 
protect the barbarian, and Kamahl focused, trying to 
see past the spell. He shoved his sword into the 

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ground, taking strength from its solidity. He must see 
his enemy before he was struck down. 

His vision wavered, images fading in and out of 
focus like a mirage. For a moment, everything was 
clear, and he could see the mercenary in the fancy 
clothes stepping carefully over the corpses of his men. 
The ivory wand was raised, and Kamahl focused on 
that as he willed the magical tool to combust, to 
explode into flame. The barbarian reached into the 
center of his own innate magic and brought it forth. 
The mountain warrior had to prop himself up with his 
sword as the ivory began to char. The panicked captain 
threw it away, and it blossomed into flame as it left his 
hand. The force of the magic took the man's arm, the 
fancy leather shrinking under the fierce heat and 
closing off the amputated limb. A fire elemental rose 
from the wand's remains. 

The summoning grew greater; the inferno seemed 
to float a few feet off the ground, its colors pulsing. 
Shafts of ruby red flame danced in the heart of the 
creature. The center of the elemental was in constant 
motion, and a tendril of fire dipped down to the earth. 
The dirt fountained up as it burned, throwing off ash 
and clinkers. The soil had sand, and glass began to 
form. Obsidian began to solidify and merge with the 
debris orbiting the flame. The barbarian could feel his 
creature and its appetite. The elemental existed to 
burn, to devour substance. His hate, rage, and even 
fear had called with uncommon strength, and the fire 
creature crouched, ready to sweep away the enemy. 
Kamahl watched it drift, and a lick of flame reached 
out to a guard. Before he could make a sound, the 
elemental was on him. Flesh shrank away, and bones 

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flared as the mountain warrior's summoning grew a 
little larger. Within seconds only ash remained to 
merge with the volcanic glass that hissed and popped 
as it fell away from the creature. 

The cattle that chased Kamahl still followed the 
caravan's leader commands, and they charged from 
the wagon they had reduced to splinters. The 
elemental jumped to the herd, and the smell of cooking 
beef filled the air. There was only the sound of searing 
fat as tendrils of the creation pierced the thick hides 
and destroyed internal organs in an instant. The 
elemental grew larger still as it rendered the animals 
down and sucked up their bones and horns. These 
danced inside the flame as hunger temporarily gave 
way to curiosity. The remains of the bulls dwindled 
away, shards of hoof and bone becoming encased in 
glass as the fire weakened, then strengthened in new 
hunger. 

"Such a marvel," Kamahl said and groaned in 
frustration. It was too strong! A creation to fight 
armies, and he had called this chaos. The barbarian 
looked around. Seton still bellowed, now some distance 
away, his club turning mercenaries into clumps of 
broken bones. The caravan animals were waking from 
their spells, and they voiced their confusion. A few 
houses in the village still appeared intact, but who 
knew how much longer that would be the case. His 
creature was hungry, and there were too few meals for 
its appetite. He caged it in its current place, ready to 
send it away. Regret at banishing so fine a creature 
filled his heart. 

Turg jumped from a crowd of animals, his fist 
drawn back as he swung at Kamahl's head. This time 

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the barbarian was not mired in spell, and he dodged. 
The mountain warrior's sword swung as he dropped, 
and only the amphibian's wild contortions in the air 
kept the monster from spilling blood onto the ground. 
The jack seemed to vanish as it landed in a pack of 
wolves. The beasts circled uncertainly, giving confused 
cries. Throughout the camp animals vented their 
confusion, and Kamahl vaulted to the top of the freight 
wagon to see if perhaps Seton was responsible. 

There were few living guards anywhere nearby. 
Kamahl and the centaur had cut a bloody swathe, and 
no one seemed brave enough to close with the pair. 
Seton was standing amongst stacks of cages. The 
barbarian could see him ripping locks off to release the 
confused animals inside. He looked for signs of Turg, 
wondering where the treacherous frog lay hiding. As 
his eyes swung back to the village, he saw the 
ambassador and a group of mounted mercenaries. 

Laquatus smiled. The merman waved, and 
Kamahl looked around, trying to see whom he was 
signaling. Mounted next the ambassador was a knight 
of the Order. The figure swayed, and the barbarian 
could see the man was missing a limb. He wondered 
why Laquatus would include such a wounded man in 
his party. 

"I see you and your companion decided to join our 
little expedition," the aristocrat called mockingly, his 
horse shying as more and more of the captured 
animals vented their distress. "It appears the centaur 
has found one of his relatives," he called. Kamahl 
turned to see Seton back at the wagon reverently 
lifting the pelt of one of his people from the dirt. 

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"You will die," yelled Seton, laying aside the hide 
and grabbing up his bloody club. The few mercenaries 
not with the ambassador were running from the camp, 
leaving everything behind to avoid the coming battle. 

"There are more important matters than you to 
attend to," the ambassador called back. "Besides, you 
will be far too busy taking care of all these animals to 
worry about me." 

The ambassador was casting a spell, and it 
echoed over the encampment, redoubling in strength 
as old commands combined into new purpose. Kamahl 
felt it coming and crouched into fighting position. 

The animals that had milled so uncertainly 
minutes before turned toward the barbarian and the 
centaur. Bears rhat Seton had freed from their cages 
snapped at the druid. Kamahl could see the surprise 
on the giant's face as beasts turned and saw him as an 
enemy. 

Animals screamed in the remaining cages as 
Seton moved away. The malign spell picked up 
intensity, and a giant elk charged the centaur from the 
side. Its sore-matted hide still covered impressive 
muscles, and it threw itself at the druid with horns 
lowered. The line trailing from a ring in its nose 
caught a wagon wheel, and the heavy oak circle 
skidded through the dirt as it came at Seton. The 
centaur threw himself sideways, his flanks heavy with 
effort after the fight and his grief. 

Kamahl threw spears of fire that formed a barrier 
against the approaching animals, covering the druid's 
escape. The barbarian looked to his penned elemental, 
the boundless hunger of the primal being perhaps the 

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only answer to the carnivores that struggled from the 
cages and pens. 

Bears, cougars, and wolves moved together 
toward the pair. Two Krosan dragonettes struggle 
from their enclosure, the six-legged reptiles ignoring 
the surrounding carrion as they closed. 

The mountain warrior eyed the ambassador. 
Perhaps killing the merman would end the unnatural 
animosity. But the aristocrat and his escort had 
already disappeared, lost behind some piece of 
landscape or illusion. He readied his sword and the 
elementalthe coming slaughter of spellbound beasts 
a foulness to his soul. 

"On my back," Seton commanded as he threaded 
through the flaming barriers Kamahl had formed to 
stop the animals. "If we stay, we only do the 
ambassador's will." 

The barbarian looked for his horse, but it was lost 
in the madness. 

"We can return once the spell has run its course, 
or I have turned it, but for now we must be away." 

Kamahl paused only to free the elemental from 
his call. "Another time you will feed," he promised the 
flame. The ruby shafts in the creature seemed to pulse 
in agreement, and then the glass and ash collapsed to 
the ground in a superheated pile of debris. The 
barbarian sheathed his sword and swung himself up 
on Seton's back. The centaur's muscular body was as 
wide as a draft horse, and Kamahl resolved to reclaim 
his mount as soon as possible. 

"We will meet again, Ambassador," he promised. 

The animals came around the flaming barriers. 

Seton left at a run. 

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CHAPTER 12 


There was a stillness to the air around the camp. 
Lieutenant Kirtar sat in his tent wondering if he dare 
look into the orb he had won in Cabal City. The globe 
brought visions, dreams of glory and control. He had 
imagined such possibilities throughout his life. He 
ached to smash the power of the Cabal, to finally order 
the restless mages of the Pardic Mountains to the 
southwest. Everything seemed possible if he just had 
time to investigate the orb, experiment with it. His 
huge hands clenched as he restrained himself from 
digging through his baggage for it. The visions became 
so compelling that he lost himself, and he could not 
afford the timethese meaningless patrols along the 
forest. 

Kirtar stood suddenly and went outside, 
breathing deeply to calm himself. A fragrant breeze 
brought him a whiff of the forest, and his face pinched 
at the smell. Give him the cold, clean air of the plains, 
he vowed. He moved to the camp perimeter, absently 
accepting hails from his soldiers. The forest had 
always been chaotic, unstructured. He regarded the 
line of trees with a deep ambivalence. The tribes and 
races of the forest interior cut themselves off from the 
rest of the world. Kirtar felt contempt for such 
behavior. The world cried out for a firm hand, he 
thought, and his knuckles cracked as his fists 
tightened once more. 

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"Lieutenant," said a soldier bringing wood in from 
the trees. The fires for the night were being laid. 
Another day spent here. 

"I saw bison moving deeper in the trees," the 
soldier volunteered uncertainly, obviously new to the 
unit. Kirtar wondered that the sergeants had not 
beaten such hesitation from the new recruits. Let the 
lower ranks police themselves, he thought to himself. 

"Bison are no danger except when surprised or in 
breeding season," Kirtar reassured the soldier. 

The sentry still looked nervous, but the bird 
warrior ignored him and walked on. The anxiety in the 
lower ranks was quite disgusting, the aven thought. 
He must admit that the sheer number of attacks, 
sometimes from animals well known for their timidity, 
was unsettling, and the frequency seemed to be 
increasing. Nevertheless, it was no excuse to be a 
coward. Nature was chaotic, and it was only natural 
that it must, occasionally, be curbed. 

The rumble of thunder made him look to the 
darkening sky. No sign of rain clouds. The rumble 
became stronger and more continuous, never breaking. 
He turned to the forest. The soldier he left dropped the 
gathered wood and ran for his gear. The bison came 
out of the trees, a dumb relentless tide. 

"To arms!" Kirtar yelled, echoed by others 
throughout the camp. The Order tents and animals 
were atop a small rise, and the lieutenant could look 
down to the forest's edge. As far as he could see in the 
dimming light animals were coming out, not driven by 
the weather or any sign of fire. 

"Stand your ground," Kirtar bellowed, as he move 
to the line of men and bird warriors forming in the 

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path of the bison. The beasts were coming up the rise, 
slowing but still advancing. Why, he wondered. A 
raypen launched himself into the sky, his wings 
spreading in the setting sun as he flew over the camp. 

The sergeants in the line began chanting, a song 
of the Order's glory. Magic flared as warriors united 
their will and cloaked themselves in power. The bison 
slowed but still came closer, the leaders not pushed by 
those behind but advancing on their own. 

"They are only dumb animals!" Kirtar cried as he 
strode to the head of the line. The mass of animals 
seemed a personal attack after his words to the sentry, 
and he responded as he would to any attack. The 
magic flowed to his hands and left them as golden 
birds. The power flew to the leading bison and struck 
like a catapult burst, killing the animals instantly. 
There was a moment of silence as others looked at 
him. 

"Attack!" Kirtar yelled, and other projectiles 
followed. Arrows and javelins arced into the air, but 
the dead were lost in the mass of new animals, and 
Kirtar howled in anger, determined to stop the 
assault. Perhaps if the ground were better, he might 
have succeeded, but the animals lapped around the 
growing bulwark of corpses. 

Kirtar's cries to his men were lost in the noise 
and confusion of battle. Bison circled through the 
camp, their humps more than eight feet off the ground. 
Calves bawled and tripped, finding their feet with 
difficulty as the torrent of animals ebbed and flowed 
like a river. 

Kirtar wondered how thousands of animals might 
remain unseen in the forest. They continued to leave 

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the trees, all apparently aimed for him and his men. 
The beasts were disorganized and showed little of the 
frenzy of previous attacks, but the sheer number of 
bison made them dangerous. 

Ten-foot-tall elen stood with long pikes set, a 
steadily growing wall of corpses protecting the hooded 
bird warriors. The massive soldiers were proving 
useful, despite their lack of magic. Simple muscle 
might carry the day. 

The line of soldiers contracted as sergeants tried 
to form a perimeter. Now relentless pressure spilled 
bison into the lines. Trapped bulls gored the men who 
turned to oppose them. Kirtar watched a soldier fall to 
the ground, the sudden thrusts of the heavy horns 
splintering the man's chest. The lieutenant leaped 
forward, his fist encased by power, and broke the bull's 
spine. He called out in triumph as he stood over the 
beast he killed with a single blow. However, the 
victory was lost in the unrelenting tide of animals 

In the skies above, the raypen swooped and dove. 
Kirtar could see them exulting in their flight. The 
flyers swept down and plied their long maces and 
lances before rising again, untouched by the sprawling 
chaos below. The rumble of hooves made speech 
impossible as the animals milled, fresh reinforcements 
constantly coming to test the camp's defense. Aven 
were lost in the midst of the herd, occasionally 
appearing atop animals they killed, but soon 
disappearing back into the crush of bodies. Kirtar felt 
a thrill of pride at how the bird warriors succeeded 
while the other races vanished under the milling 
hooves. 

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A group of bulls threw themselves up a pile of 
bodies and forced their way among the elen. Now long 
axes rose and fell, two feet of heavy-edged steel hewing 
its way through bone. The raypen congregated over 
their land-bound brethren, and darts showered down 
more heavily. The giant bird warriors rolled the bulls 
back down the pile of corpses surrounding their 
position. 

The lieutenant saw it all from his perch at the 
center of the camp. Poised on top of a light wagon, a 
steady stream of power flowed from his hands in the 
shape of golden sparrows. He directed the magic to 
support his fellow aven, a flock falling suddenly to 
create barriers of cooling flesh. The buffalo still flowed 
over the rest of the plain, their numbers seeming 
endless, as he was forced to direct more attention to 
protecting himself. 

Kirtar had been fighting and patrolling ever since 
leaving the Cabal. Most of the attacks were over in 
seconds, and the monsters that destroyed towns were 
rarely sighted. A series of pickets and militias pushed 
the incursions back, but these waves of buffalo were 
unprecedented. Now he received reports of vast herds 
washing over positions, their numbers absorbing all 
the power that the Order could bring to bear. 

Lines of small trees along the forest's border 
cracked and were trampled as more of the bison came 
out of the woods. The raypen swooped and trailed flails 
behind them. The iron bars rang against the bony 
skulls, but the stampeding animals came on 
regardless. 

"Use your magic," he cried, and a single bird of 
power flew to take down a small cow. The raypen 

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wheeled in the air, their feathers dim as they 
exhausted most of their energy in enhancing their 
attacks. 

"We will bring back aid!" they cried and flew 
away east. Kirtar cursed them tiredly, though he knew 
they had spent themselves into impotence. At least the 
elephantine elen still fought, but he could tell by the 
turning of their hoods that they watched their 
brethren flying away. 

A fresh surge of beasts threw itself against the 
wagon, and it tumbled to kindling as the lieutenant 
fell. His magic now armored his flesh and his fists. He 
fought his way through the maelstrom to the piles of 
dead animals killed before they could reach the wagon. 
A bull took him to the ground, the heavy skull 
battering at his shield, threatening to crush him. Two 
strikes of his dagger marked the animal, and it was 
swept away. 

He threw himself between two huge corpses, 
wondering for a moment if he should just hunker 
down, wait out the attack and protect only himself. 
The snapping of tent poles changed his mind in 
seconds. He should have been unable to hear the 
sound of breaking ash staves, but some portion of his 
being had waited for the sound throughout the battle. 

The lieutenant's tent had been erected amongst a 
clump of boulders and by happenstance the silken 
walls withstood the tide of animals even as warrior 
mages fell. Now its respite ended, and the structure 
collapsed, shrouding the bull that had torn its way into 
the tent. 

Fresh strength thundered through the bird 
warrior's limbs as he thought of the sphere, the 

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wondrous ball whose power inspired such visions. The 
Order's futureand his as Knight Championwas in 
danger. He came out of hiding like a striking snake. A 
lance of golden power burgeoned from his fists, and the 
point parted bone as it stabbed relentlessly. Without 
the power of a steed behind it, the golden spindle still 
exploded through ribs, the showers of blood churning 
into the soil as still more buffalo swirled into the 
combat. 

He held the lance high, calling for his warriors to 
rally, but his brothers were trapped behind the walls 
of corpses. He was alone, and the herd still tore 
through the camp. As stubbornly as any bull, he forced 
his way closer to his former pavilion. The long lance 
slapped against the ribs of animals in the way, the 
enhanced spear breaking ribs as Kirtar beat his way 
closer to his objective. 

Then he saw it. His prize, his destiny was being 
kicked by the wrapped bull. Like some monstrous 
pillow, the bull inside the tent's fabric rebounded off 
the ring of boulders, its splayed hooves tearing at what 
remained of a knight's pavilion. More animals spilled 
into the ring of boulders, and Kirtar flew to a low 
stone. The metal sphere, which had glowed with such 
promise, was duller, its glory muted. 

"You've soiled it!" cried the lieutenant and threw 
his lance through the trapped bull and pinned it to 
another animal. He dived into the scramble, the 
sphere tucked behind his feet against a rock. The 
attack seemed to be dying down, and there was less 
noise, but he stood furious and with bare hands beat 
the animals trying to escape. His blows, which once 
shattered boulders, rebounded from simple bone and 

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hide, but still his arms rose and fell. The ring of 
corpses trapped the animals. Kirtar's opponents soon 
dripped blood from their noses and ears. A cow tried to 
crush the bird warrior against the boulder, but he 
grappled still, his power healing broken bones even as 
he killed the animal with an especially frantic blow 
that shocked the heart into stillness. 

A figure blocked his vision, and he almost swung 
before recognizing the massive form of an elen. The 
robe enveloping it was torn, and the gray skin was 
bruised and swollen. The long axe cut the spines of 
wounded animals, the pain of their broken bones 
washed away by death. Cries for help sounded 
throughout the remains of the camp, a surprising 
number of soldiers still living despite the length of the 
assault. Kirtar stooped and tucked the sphere into his 
purse, taking a moment to regard it. It was less 
brilliant, but the echoes of his former visions lurked in 
the corner of his soul as he tried to will it to its 
previous glory. 

An aven bird warrior strode over the hills of dead 
flesh, coming to deliver the report on the survivors. 
"Sir, the mounts have returned. The outrider managed 
to save the string and brought them back." 

The company's steeds had been hobbled some 
distance from the camp, and a quick-thinking guard 
managed to herd them to safety as waves of buffalo 
swamped the camp. "The wagons and most of the 
equipment were destroyed though efforts to salvage 
what we can have begun. The wounded are stabilized 
and await the efforts of the more powerful mages." 

Kirtar laced up his purse and strode away toward 
the steeds. "We have no time to waste healing bruises," 

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he stated to the officer, who gaped as the lieutenant 
raised his voice. 

"Men, we have triumphed over the forest in spite 
of its attempts to destroy us. We have lacked only the 
will to seize our victory." 

Most of the soldiers were stunned, but Kirtar 
could see the lingering battle madness in the faces of 
his bird warriors. 

"It is long past time that we took action against 
the beasts that disturb our dominions," he announced. 
"We must recognize our duty and destroy the forces 
that would overwhelm us!" He pointed toward the 
disappearing buffalo. 

"The herd could not sweep us aside and 
withdraws to renew itself in the hidden glens. Would 
you fight it again?" He swept his hand over the 
destroyed encampment. "Would you fight twice as 
many beasts when someday there are half as many of 
us?" The bird warrior drew himself up proudly. 

"Tired and exhausted as we are, I know that only 
by continuing the attack can we win this war." A feeble 
cheer went up, but it was magnified a thousandfold in 
Kirtar's visions. 

"Mount up and ride into the forest," he 
commanded. "We will kill until nothing remains to 
oppose us!" 

Ignoring frantic signs from the healers, he took 
those warriors who could move to the steeds and 
mounted. He led the charge against the retreating 
heard. A bestial sea flowed before him, and he vowed 
to empty it, one sword stroke at a time. 

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CHAPTER 13 


"It is like a picnic," Laquatus decided, as he 
shifted in the saddle, directing his mount around 
another clump of dead animals. "One is invariably 
bored and must create one's own amusement." The 
horse shied away at the scent of blood, and he sawed 
the toothed bit in the animal's mouth. 

The plains were thick with destruction as the 
Order and the forest's forays clashed. After a week of 
piled corpses and devastated towns, Laquatus ached 
for a change. The death of drylanders was always 
enjoyable, but even a favorite dish might loose its 
appeal if sampled too often. 

Turg felt the ambassador's lack of interest, and 
the amphibian did its best to enliven the journey. 
Forbidden from attacking the villagers along the way 
and banned from assaulting the mercenaries, it took a 
few days for the frog to act. Laquatus could feel his 
champion drawing on the merman's cunning though 
he lacked enough interest to interrogate his servant. 

A horse's scream made the ambassador look up, 
wondering if they had fallen into an ambush. One of 
the pack-horses fell and thrashed, a caltrop sunk deep 
into its hoof. Laquatus could see iridescent glitter on 
the metal and knew it to be a deadly poison. A 
mercenary ran to care for the beast, stooping to draw 
the iron from the leg. But Turg seemed to appear, 
blocking the way. 

"It appears to be poison," the ambassador called 
as the hired servant hesitated to force his way past the 

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frog. "If you touch it, you will be too weak to walk 
within the hour. If you cut yourself, you might as well 
dig a grave." The frog nodded emphatically and turned 
to the downed horse. Borrowing a knife, he slit the 
beast's throat, moving slowly as if expressing grief. 
The ambassador would be ill at the mawkish 
sentiment if he were not sure that Turg had dropped 
the caltrop into a pouch. 

The mercenaries patted the frog awkwardly on 
the back. They expressed that night their gratitude for 
his quick thinking. They saved him the first cuts of the 
dinner. The merman sneered at their stupidity. They 
neglected to ask how an aristocrat from the depths of 
the sea might recognize a poison on sight, especially 
one volatile enough to be deposited for contact use. Did 
they think him a sage to know every toxin? He knew 
the deadliness of the concoction because he carried a 
good supply of it secured in the depths of his luggage. 
The frog was cheered at dinner, and the ambassador 
wondered what else might happen. 

A mental command reinforced his previous 
orders. He could not afford to lose any of the men, 
though the steeds were expendable as long as there 
was a surplus. Perhaps this game might keep his 
attention until they reached the lieutenant. 

The frog did not use poison again, and the 
ambassador was glad. It could be an indiscriminate 
tool, rather like the amphibian. Instead the jack 
amused himself and the merman by daring the 
mercenaries into dangerous lapses in judgment, 
primarily by example. The frog took to taunting the 
forest animals who were gripped by the strange com' 
pulsion. He seemed to turn his back on them with 

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unconcern. Laquatus knew the champion's peripheral 
vision was extraordinary, especially in seeing 
movement. But to the ignorant, and there were few air 
breathers who were not, he appeared oblivious. 

The frog also took to helping with the horses, 
always quick to step in when a strap came undone or a 
stone was in a shoe. The animals shied away from the 
champion, showing better judgment than the fools 
riding them. However, even Laquatus was hard-
pressed to see the camouflaged frog sabotaging the 
packs and saddles. The merman wondered at the 
ingenuity of the amphibian. The race was known for 
its savagery, not playing petty tricks and doing small 
injuries. It could only be the mental link, the 
ambassador decided. With other things to control and 
plots to tend to at the Cabal pits, Laquatus was the 
overwhelming dominant partner. But now his 
aggression and deceit flowed in ever-increasing 
amounts to the jack. 

It doesn't matter, he said to himself. Joining 
spirits was a difficult task, but surely his control 
would prevent things from getting out of hand. If only 
they could reach the lieutenant. He forced himself to 
look at their prisoner. The knight smiled absently, the 
stench from his wound strong enough that none cared 
to ride close. In camp the confused man was left alone. 

The knight was already broken, and it was the 
work of a few minutes to invade his mind, inserting 
new memories. Now he could only babble that the 
ambassador was his savior, his rescuer from forbidding 
odds. Occasionally he would lapse into spasms and 
blurt out the names of his supposed tormenters. 
Laquatus amused himself by inserting the names of 

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fighters who had irritated him. Kamahl and his 
noxious partner Seton had prominent roles. But like a 
pie, the situation's humor grew more stale every day. 
Furthermore, he must force his temporary minions to 
care for the madman. 

The next morning the knight was still alive, 
though Laquatus doubted he would last the day. A 
perfectly good plan ruined by the lieutenant's stubborn 
insistence on staying hidden. There were villagers, but 
the ambassador wanted a performance for the Order. 
A preview was performed for the cheap crowds, but he 
moved on before the man could say more than "He 
rescued me," and name a few names. 

He stopped only one time at a village. The 
headman, seeing the poor condition of the knight, 
offered hospitality. The ambassador was forced to 
influence his mind and leave a cover story with the 
others. 

"The messenger," he explained, "suffers from an 
infection of the blood. Only healing magic might offer a 
chance." 

So they continued. The merman opened his kit of 
poisons and drugs. Some elixirs were deadly but in 
miniscule amounts could give temporary strength. The 
knight rallied, his eyes growing brighter. No longer did 
he lie strapped like a sack to the back of his mount, his 
arm tied to the bridle. He tried to sit up, to move with 
his steed. But it was a feverish energy that gripped 
him, and Laquatus knew they were running out of 
time. 

Turg was free of scrutiny as the ambassador 
worked on his project. The malice that the merman 

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planted in the jack took full flower and blossomed as 
Laquatus mixed another stimulant for the knight. 

The mercenaries set up the midday camp, making 
a bed at Laquatus's orders for the knight. The dying 
man was cut from his saddle. The ropes parted to let 
him fall to the piled blankets. 

"We must continue," the wounded warrior 
insisted, trying to rise, only to fall back. He attempted 
to push himself up with his hands, forgetting somehow 
that he only had one. The stump bled once more, even 
through the heavy cushion of bandages. 

"Perhaps a sedative or a smaller dose of the 
stimulant," Laquatus muttered, boiling water to 
prepare an infusion. All that he carried was deadly, 
and he tired of trying to make poison give life rather 
than take it. Rarely had he worried his potions might 
be too effective. Laquatus tried to calm the knight's 
spirit even as he worked to rebuild the body. False 
memories and commands were increasingly useless as 
the captive's mind lost itself and could not remember 
the impulses he implanted. He mixed more powerful 
drugs, knowing that he was buying hours without 
sustained rest or magical healing. 

The merman needed time to mix the potions 
properly, and he went to the perimeter of the 
temporary camp. He concentrated, tying a spell to the 
line he traced around the tent and mounts. With each 
step Laquatus took, a subtle cry sounded from the 
ground. "Look elsewhere," it seemed to say. "There is 
nothing here," the magic whispered. The wards were 
based on misdirection and would keep beasts way from 
the camp. The ambassador had grown piqued at being 
unable to command the bizarre attacks of wildlife. He 

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could no longer command the animals by his magic, 
but he could mislead them. 

Turg and two of the hunters made for the 
perimeter, watching for signs of danger. Laquatus 
mixed the poisons inside the tent. He wielded the 
mortar and pestle, selecting the herbs and sealing 
everything into a porous bag. Then he went to the fire; 
to the eyes of the ignorant he was brewing a healthy 
tea. He wondered how long they would survive if he 
invited them to share with the patient. 

His champion watched a swarm of insects pass, 
their buzzing creating background noise. Like a rolling 
cloud, the tiny warriors dipped and flew over the plain. 
Sometimes they moved with the wind and at other 
times against it. Barely aware of them, Laquatus 
measured out a cup of the tea. 

Screams sounded from the perimeter, drawing 
everyone's attention. One of the soldiers was outside 
the wards, twisting on the ground. A mercenary ran 
outside to help him, then swatted at the air. Stinging 
insects boiled from the ground, settling on the would-
be rescuer and pumping venom into his body. The first 
man down convulsed. The rest of the soldiers took a 
few steps to help but stopped, unwilling to risk death 
for one already doomed. The warrior still standing 
turned and came back to the camp in a drunken 
stagger. The mercenary's face swelled until he was 
blind. He called for help, his bulging throat choking off 
the cry in mid-word. Turg grabbed a spear and put out 
the butt end. As the dying man came closer he pushed 
him, the jack's muscles sending his victim reeling head 
over heels backward. Unable to stand, the man 
crawled. He set off away from the camp, having lost 

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his bearing in the fall. After only a few yards he 
collapsed and was still. 

"Stop!" commanded Laquatus as other 
mercenaries grabbed weapons, closing on the frog. He 
poured the tea down the knight's throat ignoring the 
sputters, sure his minions would hold until he finished 
the unpleasant chore. Swords whispered from 
scabbards, and he stood up, livid, seeing a few fools 
edging closer to the champion. Turg stood hunched 
over with arms spread wide. The ambassador could see 
the gloating on his face. The merman threw the filled 
teapot at the bravest fools, the hot metal burning a 
man, putting him down. 

"I said, stop!" Laquatus bellowed. He stalked to 
the edge of the wards, slapping armed men out of the 
way. "Leaving the camp is death!" he shouted. "The 
moment those two men stepped outside they were 
dead!" 

He stalked to the leader of the mercenaries and 
hissed into his face. 

"If your incompetent minion had crossed back 
into the wards, they would have fallen. We would all 
be kicking our last!" he said, inches from the warrior's 
face. "Now tell these fools to sit down and wait until 
the insects pass." 

Fear and loathing was in the other man's eyes, 
but he nodded curtly and stamped back to the fire, his 
hands holding an animal prod. Those still standing 
against the frog saw the hatred rising off the man and 
slunk away, not wishing to call attention to 
themselves. 

Laquatus moved back to his tent and put away 
his poisons. Once his equipment was packed he called 

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Turg to him with a mental command. The moment the 
amphibian let the tent flap close the ambassador 
bludgeoned him immobile with a mental assault. 

"You have had quite enough fun for one trip," the 
merman whispered, looking into the frog's spirit. The 
flow between them had changed the jack. The 
amphibian's intelligence had soared, and mentally he 
bore little resemblance to the near animal he once was. 
Laquatus pondered the champion, wondering at the 
signs of familiarity the new creation showed. 

"Why, it's me," the ambassador said. His 
murderous impulses and controlling nature had 
bonded with the frog's savagery. Like a baby taking its 
first steps, the amphibian was manipulating the 
people around it. Like a proud parent, the ambassador 
admired how far his offspring had come in luring the 
mercenaries to their death. But sadly, like a child, the 
frog had no grasp of the larger plot. With a faint sigh 
of regret, Laquatus channeled power along their 
connection. Turg screamed, his body thrashing as a 
flood of energy scoured his mind. 

"Just stay out," the merman said to panicked 
questions from the mercenaries at the tent flap. "I am 
working with Turg on a question of discipline." 

The mental constructions giving the amphibian 
its independence and reasoning power melted under 
the assault, dissolving like sandcastles before an 
incoming tide. Laquatus scarred the frog's mind, 
crippling its ability to grow mentally. Even as he 
attacked the mind he could feel the frog vainly trying 
to repair its shattered spirit. 

"Strong, aren't you," the ambassador chuckled, 
bearing down a little harder. "We'll just have to make 

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this a daily ritual then." He tore at the soul, pleased by 
the jack's agony. 

* * * * * 

It was a somber expedition that moved through 
the plains. The casualties kept the mercenaries close 
to the ambassador, scared to leave the safety of his 
wards. Turg was as he used to be, a sullen mountain of 
muscle. The frog could barely restrain himself from 
attacking anything that moved. The ambassador 
devoted more attention to managing the jack, amazed 
at how much more work it required, but the extra 
effort engaged his attention. The boredom that 
plagued him vanished under the workload. The soldier 
was in a coma, drugged to near-death in the hopes that 
they might find a healer. Laquatus regretted the delay 
Turg had created , but he must have absolute control. 

The cries of battle sounded, and the ambassador 
stood in his stirrups. The forest was closer, but most of 
the land was open ground. The ground was dry, and 
the merman could see only the dust of the melee. He 
cursed the mercenaries' newfound timidity. If they 
were to be useful, his guards should be scouting ahead. 
The noise was dying down, and he feared the fight 
might end before he could join. The chance to finally 
receive accolades for rescuing the dying knight riding 
behind him was too great to resist. 

"Attack," he ordered with a great cry, unleashing 
his champion as he spoke. There was movement from 
ahead. Mounted figures becoming visible as a breeze 
began to clear the scene of dust. The mercenaries 
broke into a charge and echoed a battle cry. Turg was 
obvious as he ran toward the fighting, and the guards 

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knew that if the amphibian left the ambassador's side 
then the wards protecting them from observation were 
gone. Laquatus waved the laggards forward, his frown 
driving them to overtake their fellow. Fear could 
create as bold a fighter as courage, the ambassador 
said to himself. 

It was an Order detachment, the ambassador 
realized with glee. The mounted knights maneuvered 
against reptilian beasts that gathered in a circle as the 
soldiers dressed their ranks. Laquatus's mercenaries 
drew near the formed ranks, but except for a few 
glances, the soldiers ignored the rough irregulars 
racing to join them. The merman kept back, wanting 
disposable minions between him and any dangers. 
Besides, he must tend his captive, who showed signs of 
life as he approached a detachment of his fellows. 
Laquatus's passport gave a feeble cheer before lapsing 
unconscious. Only the straps and webbing kept the 
man on his horse. The merman drove his horse and 
that of the sick man faster. All his hard work could not 
expire within sight of the finish line. 

The Order finished dressing its lines, and boots 
thudded into mounts' sides. The knights moved 
forward, lances dropping to ram home. Their 
opponents were great lizards, their sides heaving in 
the sun. Dust settled over their scaly bodies, making it 
difficult to count them despite their size. The knights 
shifted their angle of attack, their lances tearing at 
weaving heads and opening up necks. 

Laquatus's mercenaries arrived in a disordered 
mob, but their attack did more damage. Doubtless this 
was due to their experience in gathering animals for 
caravans, the ambassador said to himself as he slowed 

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and tried to appear more solicitous of the wounded 
man. 

Familiar with the species, the mercenaries 
dodged strikes and unleashed blows to the joints and 
fragile bones at the back of the head. Despite their 
size, thousand-pound creatures fell as easily as cattle 
in the slaughterhouse. The Order forces swept back to 
attack again, but this time they cheered the irregulars 
as the last reptile fell. The ambassador led his 
passport forward, interrupting the victory cries as he 
struggled to get the Order's attention before the knight 
could inconveniently die. 

"I have a man in desperate need of healing!" he 
cried out, his face flushed in apparent fear for his 
prisoner's life. "He might die any minute!" 

A sergeant of the Order threw himself from his 
horse, rushing to the wounded man's side. He drew a 
dagger and cut away the restraining cords. 

"Bring blankets and erect a tent!" he ordered his 
men, easing the patient to the ground. 

"I prayed to find someone who could help," the 
merman said, trying to sound relieved. "I am 
Ambassador Laquatus of the Mer Empire. Can you do 
anything?" 

The sergeant ignored him, already falling into a 
trance. The energy rolling from his hands was almost 
invisible in the sunlight. Used to the rich golden color 
of healing, the ambassador wondered if he 
misunderstood the sergeant's intentions. But the one-
armed man's breathing seemed to improve by a 
miniscule amount as more power soaked into the body. 
"The sergeant is exhausted," a soldier explained, 
coming from a packhorse with a bundle of wood to 

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start a fire. "We've been marching for days, 
slaughtering anything we can find." He dropped the 
fuel and began cutting a circle of turf away for a fire 
pit. All the Order soldiers looked exhausted. Some 
stood with still bloody weapons, too tired to clean 
them. 

"I am Corporal Vale," the soldier continued as he 
stacked the wood, laying down the kindling, then the 
heavier pieces. The warrior was twisted as if a healing 
had gone wrong, but intelligence glinted from the slack 
face. 

"Why are you here so close to the forest?" 
Corporal or not, there was suspicion in his look. 

"Attacked," came a gurgling cry from behind 
them. 

The corporal spun, his dirt-covered knife ready to 
stab. 

"I was attacked," the wounded knight repeated, 
his eyes glassy as he looked toward the sky. 

The corporal crowded closer, his knife still ready 
but his attention on the wounded man. 

"Who attacked you?" Vale asked gently. The 
knight's face was flushed, and the corporal motioned 
for one of other soldiers to continue the fire building. 
"How were you injured?" 

The sergeant was deep in his trance, his face 
growing hollow as he poured more healing power into 
the wounded man. Laquatus watched with interest, for 
the stimulants and poisons he had poured down the 
knight's throat were nearly as deadly as the seeping 
wounds. 

"A metal-hued barbarian and a centaur," came 
the implanted answer. "They fell on us behind a wave 

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of animals, killing everyone before I was rescued. A 
frog carried me away," he gasped and passed out. 

The ambassador restrained a wide grin, all the 
work had been worth it. He tried to look concerned. 

"He means my jack, Turg," he said, pointing to 
the battlefield where the amphibian tore away raw 
flesh and gulped it down. "I was coming after 
Lieutenant Kirtar when we happened upon the 
ambush. We were only able to save the one man before 
being forced to flee. We were lucky to make it to you 
alive." 

The corporal grunted, then knelt to catch the 
sergeant as he toppled. The healer looked as wasted as 
his patient, and Laquatus wondered if they would both 
die. Vale looked lost as he held his superior's head, 
already tucking blankets around the drained figure. 

"Kirtar is five miles farther in the forest," he said 
distractedly, "Follow the main path, and you will come 
upon his camp." He turned to the ambassador. "If you 
could leave a few men to help protect the wounded, it 
would be greatly appreciated." 

"Of course I can," Laquatus said expansively. He 
waved three mercenaries over. "I will leave these 
guards here with supplies and food if you could give 
me one man to lead me to Kirtar." 

Vale nodded, exhaustion catching up with him. 
Even three unknowns would be an infusion of strength 
to the weakened command. 

"Toltas," he called. A soldier stood up from the 
fire building. "Escort the ambassador and his men to 
the lieutenant. Tell him of the aid they provided." 

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The soldier made no protest, looking like a 
sleepwalker. Laquatus accepted the guide, for the rest 
of the command looked like the walking dead. 

The detachment appeared asleep as the 
ambassador's men and their guide left for the 
lieutenant. As they proceeded, the ambassador looked 
for further signs of the forest's aggression. He kept a 
ward up to deter attacks from whatever they might 
meet. Scattered groups of animals lay piled, killed by 
the Order. The guide took them around the corpses, 
too tired to speak. Turg jumped to inspect each mound, 
but Laquatus kept firm control over the frog's appetite. 

They came to the main Order camp, nearly 
abandoned except for five guards. They did not even 
challenge the ambassador and his party, their faces 
dull as they ate. The distant sounds of battle could be 
heard, and Laquatus and his mercenaries drew 
weapons. 

"Where is the lieutenant?" the ambassador 
barked. A soldier eating beans gave only a vague wave 
toward the noise. 

Laquatus looked at his guide, who was glassy-
eyed and swaying in his saddle. "Stay here. We can 
find Kirtar on our own." 

Too tired to argue, the soldier dismounted and 
slowly walked to the cook pot. 

"Come on men," Laquatus said loudly. "The 
lieutenant might need our help." He put his heels to 
his steed's side and moved out at a bone-jarring gait. 
Once they were out of sight of the camp, he slowed 
down. "Pull up, you fools," he said to the mercenaries. 
Caught up in the moment, half of his riders forgot he 
was no friend of the Order. 

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"We will slowly scout out the situation, and if 
Kirtar truly is in trouble, we'll finish him off," 
Laquatus said coldly. "If he appears to be winning or 
there are flying messengers, we will act in support. 
But do nothing until I give the order." 

At a mental command,Turg faded from view. His 
camouflaging skin mimicked the small undergrowth 
on the border between the forest and the plains. 
Laquatus fed more energy to his wards. The 
mercenaries and the ambassador moved slowly ahead 
while the frog sent mental pictures back to the 
merman. Laquatus threw his reins to a mercenary and 
slumped in his saddle as his champion's visions filled 
his mind. 

There was a clearing in the brush, and inside it 
the Order laid siege to the herd of giant animals. They 
appeared reptilian, as large as dragons, though 
without wings or signs of magical ability. They 
sounded cries of distress like mighty elephants, as the 
lieutenant sent mounted squads against single 
animals. 

The knights lowered their lances, the wood and 
steel flickering as magic flowed through the weapons. 
The horses approached at a slow gallop, closing 
obliquely with the group. The hills of flesh shifted, 
trying to retreat farther into the herd, but there was 
no more room. The points cut into the belly of a huge 
reptile, tearing through the hide. Blood poured down, 
gallons soaking into soil. The final lance tore through 
the ligaments of a leg, sending the animal down. Turg 
was overwhelmed by the smell of hot blood, and Kirtar 
sent another squad after a different animal. 

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The ambassador came out of his light trance, 
disappointed at Kirtar's strength. He must come in as 
an ally, he realized. He drew his personal weapon, a 
trident, and called softly, "We will support the 
lieutenant, men." 

They came out of the concealing brush nearly 
opposite the Order. Laquatus sent his steed around 
the perimeter of the clearing to link up with the 
lieutenant, seeing little point of charging into a battle 
before making sure the effort was appreciated. 

Over the bellow of the giants, the screams of 
griffins carried on the wind. A flight of Order soldiers 
came down, their weapons ready to be unleashed. 
However, instead of charging the herd, a woman 
dismounted. Kirtar saluted her, and Laquatus realized 
this must be Captain Pianna, head of the Order. He 
enhanced his senses and drifted back to the brush. 

"Captain, you are just in time to join us," Kirtar 
said, the bird warrior standing proud. In contrast to 
his men he seemed alert and eager. 

The captain drew off her helmet and handed it to 
a mounted subordinate. "I need to speak to you alone," 
she said, her voice flat. 

Kirtar looked to the animals, as if to mention the 
lack of time. 

"I am sure your butchery can wait." She walked 
away, her sword of command sheathed over her 
shoulder providing an easy way for Laquatus to track 
her movements through the detachment. Finally they 
were far enough away that she stopped and turned to 
Kirtar. 

"What, by all the stars in the sky, are you doing 
here Kirtar? What insanity drove you to attack into 

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the forest? I directed you to scout and protect the 
western villages, not initiate a war." She looked over 
the slaughter and the dead animals. 

"The forest and its creatures are part of the 
natural order. Why would you order needless killing 
that goes against our basic ideals?" she asked 
passionately. Laquatus focused his attention on Kirtar 
hopeful that he could use the answer to good effect. 

"To protect the plains, the enemy must be 
destroyed," the aven replied, his tone growing hot. 
"These attacks are only a symptom of the chaos deep 
in the forest itself. It is long past time something was 
done to tame the west and its beasts! For now, only 
destruction can protect our land from the contagion 
here." 

Laquatus chuckled to himself as the captain stood 
stock still. "Rank hatred and insanity," the 
ambassador whispered lovingly. "I can make use of 
that." 

Pianna rallied and pointed to the lieutenant's 
men. 

"Setting aside your unique views of handling the 
current problems," the captain said carefully, "there is 
still no excuse for the condition of your men. I just 
came from your camp. After a flight of griffins landed, 
I was forced to wake your guards to find out where you 
were. Your men are completely spent, their magic 
dissipated in these pointless attacks." She pointed to 
the few remaining herd animals in the clearing. "You 
have dragged your pickets so far forward you are 
beyond support. You have nowhere to fall back to in an 
emergency. We should be back where the militias can 
act in concert, not driving for the depths of the forest!" 

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The few remaining animals broke their 
instinctual response to band together for protection 
and started for the woods. The lieutenant's men moved 
to attack, sending their mounts in pursuit of the 
giants. Their lances dropped parallel to the ground. 
Pianna called out for the men to stand, but only a tired 
blood-thirst remained in their minds, and they did not 
obey. 

Laquatus thought quickly, the captain might obey 
the Order Strictures and destroy the prize. He sent 
Turg to find the sphere in Kirtar's camp, burning the 
need to stay concealed into the frog's mind. 

He raised his trident and shouted, "Kill the 
animals!" The mercenaries followed. 

The ambassador sent his troop to head the beasts 
off. Only after the charge began did he realize the true 
size of his opposition. Just the whales and great sea 
beasts were larger, and he wondered if the 
mercenaries could do anything with their swords and 
spears. But these men hunted the forests, and they 
were ready for such foes. A few nets flew up, trailing 
long ropes, to land against the reptilian sides. They 
stuck, the throb of magic bonding them to their 
targets. The entangled beasts trailed long lines behind 
them as they bolted. The nets tore trees from the 
ground, but the lizards fell as they became tangled 
with massive rocks. The Order followed, and their 
lances pierced the unprotected bellies, letting out 
rivers of lifeblood. 

The ambassador swung his trident, power 
snapping among its tines. A lash of lightning danced 
along the lead beast's side, the current destroying 
nerves and locking muscles. Tons of flesh piled up as 

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the Order and the mercenaries worked together in the 
slaughter. Laquatus turned toward the leadership, the 
lieutenant and the captain already mounted and 
closing. The griffins spread out in a half circle behind 
their leaders. 

"Always glad to be of service," the ambassador 
called out, enjoying the rage threatening to boil out 
from the captain's demeanor. "We met a detachment of 
your men after rescuing one of your knights. Arrived 
here just in time to help you deal with these animals." 

The captain visibly forced herself to be polite. 

"Thank you for your aid, Ambassador. We are 
thankful that you could come, but it would be best if 
we adjourned back to the base camp," Pianna said with 
a tight smile. 

The merman still had no response from Turg as 
to whether the prize was located. He needed to keep 
the leaders out in the field. 

"Surely the best thing is to continue killing your 
way into the forest," Laquatus said, swinging his 
trident to point west. "The business of the Order is to 
end the threat of attacks." 

"The business of the Order is what I say it is. 
Ambassador," Pianna said, interrupting any comments 
that Kirtar might have had. "We have lived with the 
forest for generations. It is foolish to risk everything 
when we do not even know why these attacks have 
begun or how we can stop them. We are not the Cabal 
to believe that death is the final answer and first 
response." 

She turned the horses and started back to camp, 
forcing the rest of her troops to follow. The merman 
could see the rebellion in Kirtar's face. He could race 

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after her, but that lacked dignity. A spurt of animals 
showered from a cluster of brush. 

"Beware," Laquatus cried, and a bolt of energy 
arced from his trident to the bushes at the side of the 
trail. Soldiers drew weapons as small animals flowed 
out and up the legs of their mounts. They were stoats 
and shrews, and Laquatus cursed the fates that 
supplied him with such diminutive foes. He needed 
some great menace to impress the Order and help 
cement an alliance, but only vermin presented 
themselves. 

The Order steeds pawed the ground, starting in 
fright as the small animals tried to scramble up their 
legs. The lieutenant swung a long flail with gusto, the 
heavy ball tearing its way through the creatures as his 
soldiers and Laqua-tus's mercenaries maneuvered to 
give him room. Swords and lances swung, and 
creatures died, though their numbers seemed 
undiminished. 

The captain and her officers dashed the 
ambassador's hopes for any victory by. summoning 
their own creatures. Several of the griffin riders 
concentrated, letting their steeds snap up mouthfuls of 
the furry foes. Huge single- and double-horned beasts 
set the ground shuddering as they stamped their way 
into the flow of sharp-toothed vermin. Gray rhinos 
dipped their heads and swept the small animals away. 
Tiny teeth worked at their gray hides in vain as the 
Order-directed creatures shattered the flow of small 
beasts. 

Laquatus, however, was not willing to give up. He 
raised power, but the blasts that ripped from his 
trident barely stung the stoats. That was not where 

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his power had gone. The merman's sly summoning 
drew greater beasts from the brush, attracting 
creatures that had fled Kirtar's murderous attacks. 

Great cats leaped at them from cover, throwing 
themselves on the rhinos. The horned beasts rolled 
and tried to scrape their feline attackers off as larger 
teeth worried at their hides. A few giant bulls 
thundered out, shoving panicked rhinos and goring the 
gray beasts' sides. Laquatus ceased his call, concerned 
that he might destroy himself in calling up more 
dangerous animals. Predators, large and small, 
attacked the Order, and the ambassador watched as 
his mercenaries aided the beleaguered knights. 

"Hold them for a few seconds," Pianna cried, a 
bow in her hands. The captain's arrows flew low to the 
ground. The missiles were for cutting harnesses and 
standards, but the curving blades instead 
dismembered the stoats and badgers. Then the razored 
half-moons lodged deep in the legs of the bulls coming 
from the forest. 

The small animals were so easily killed, the 
ambassador lamented, and not even poisonous. 
Laquatus threw arcs of energy that leaped from small 
animal to small animal, stunning them. He drove his 
horse among the unconscious creatures, cursing his 
horse as it failed to trample enough. 

The lieutenant and his men had dismounted, 
swords killing the last of the small creatures before 
they closed with those slyly summoned by the 
ambassador. The rhinos returned, finally free of the 
great cats. Huge horns sundered ribs, and the bulls 
died quickly. The Order knights killed off the last of 
their attackers and turned to help the mercenaries. 

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A lion leaped at Laquatus, pulling down his horse 
and spilling him to the blood-soaked ground. His 
guards tried to spear it but missed, allowing the lion 
another chance to kill Laquatus. He laid his image 
over his horse, sacrificing the beast as he rolled away. 
The gaping jaws locked on the equine throat as the 
merman's steed did him a final service. The 
ambassador called for his champion, regretting that 
Captain Satas and his dependable minions were far to 
the east, still mapping their way to the Order's 
Citadel. 

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CHAPTER 14 


Kamahl and Seton drove themselves hard up the 
road, pursuing both Kirtar and Laquatus. It took days 
to finally flush themselves of the ambassador's 
animals. They had been relentlessly pursued, the 
beasts continuing long after the merman and his party 
departed. Only the combination of the barbarian's 
flaming barriers to impede pursuit and the druid's 
constant effort to break the spell finally won them 
through. Each time the druid erased the implanted 
commands, he turned the creatures back to the forest. 
The repetitious contact with the animals led Seton to 
suspect that something beyond the ambassador and 
his lackeys was affecting the creatures of the west. 
Riding in the wake of 

Kirtar's forces confirmed that something was 
wrong. 

They returned to the village where they had 
battled Laquatus and his minions, but the site was 
deserted. Kamahl found his horse grazing in a 
deserted field and moved to a narrower mount, much 
to the relief of his legs. They continued west, looking in 
vain for the ambassador and his minions. Whether by 
magic or good trailcraft on the part of Laquatus's 
mercenaries, they could not track the aristocrat and 
his murderous cronies. 

Soon enough they did find the trail of Lieutenant 
Kirtar. Dead animals and markers for fallen Order 
soldiers began to appear. Within a day of leaving the 
village they came upon a gravestone. The marker was 

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nothing extraordinary, a simple boulder with the sigil 
of the Order and the troop name. 

"The warriors of Eiglin," Seton said, identifying 
the unofficial symbol of the lieutenant's command. The 
soldier was interred in frozen ground. The dirt was 
enchanted to be as resistant as iron, denying 
scavengers an easy meal. The resting place would be 
recorded for eventual reburial in the mausoleums of 
the Order or the graveyards of the soldier's people. 

Filled with hope that they would soon meet 
Kirtar and their search would be over, the two 
continued on. Instead they found more of the Order's 
passing slaughter. 

They followed long runs of animals hunted down 
by soldiers until there was nothing left alive. The 
barbarian and the centaur were forced to backtrack as 
the trails ended in piles of dead flesh. Soon they 
neared the edge on the plains and entered the realm 
usually ceded to the forest. 

The killing of animals continued even as the 
villages were left behind, angering the druid to greater 
and greater heights. 

"There is no sign that these animals threatened 
anyone. The Order destroys anything in its path. 
Perhaps," he said darkly, "the waves of animals are 
right to kill, with such enemies waiting to come within 
the trees." 

The barbarian rode with his axes loosely tied to 
his saddle, instantly ready at hand. Such destruction 
seemed pointless to the mountain mage. The Order 
had the right to protect itself from attack, but such 
indiscriminate slaughter must provoke a reaction. 
Seton assured him that the peoples of the forest were 

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not behind the current attacks. The killing would not 
curb further animal incursions, for the beasts lacked 
the intelligence to react to such dangers. To kill every 
dangerous creature would be the work of decades. 
Even though the barbarian had spent his life in the 
mountains, he knew that one roused the forest at his 
own peril. The random attacks could change into a real 
campaign of destruction. 

* * * * * 

The dust and the cries dragged the pair onward, 
both desperate to see at last the events whose 
aftermath had filled the land for days. Seton went 
forward, his face sick and angry at the slaughter. 
Kamahl followed hoping to finally catch up with Kirtar 
or the ambassador. A camp with exhausted Order 
soldier appeared as they rounded a corner of the road. 
The centaur charged through, drawn to the combat 
beyond. Kamahl followed, knowing that both of those 
he sought were more likely to be near the tumult of 
battle. 

The barbarian looked to the camp as he passed, 
seeing the line of wounded stretched out. His heart 
raced as he saw the face of the injured knight, the 
fighter he had seen with Laquatus. But the man was 
down in the dirt, a surgeon and orderly working on his 
wounds. The knight's shirt was cut away. Festering 
sores and weeping gashes lay open to the dusty air. 
Kamahl directed his steed forward more strongly, 
trying to regain the time lost due to his pause. 

Seton slowed unexpectedly ahead, allowing 
Kamahl to come closer. The big centaur crowded a 
man on a horse, fear and strain plain on the guard's 

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features. The druid's club was in a carrier strapped to 
his body, and rather than waste time fumbling at the 
straps he used his hands, as he had back at the 
caravan. 

"Murderer." Kamahl heard him growl as he swept 
the mercenary off his horse and turn his head until the 
fellow could see behind him. The dead man's steed 
stood placidly, apparently accustomed to death in close 
proximity. "Take a centaur's hide and die!" Seton spat. 
Kamahl assumed that the centaur had found another 
member of the ambassador's party. The druid dropped 
the corpse in the road and reached back to draw his 
club. Kamahl looked, but no one else saw the killing, 
and the dead man faded into the background with the 
other corpses. 

"Such a criminal deserves death," the barbarian 
said as Seton breathed deeply. "But perhaps 
vengeance might wait when we find the others. 
Especially if they be in the company of the Order." 

The giant grimaced but nodded reluctantly. The 
pair advanced more slowly, the detail of the fighting 
beyond becoming clearer as they rounded a clump of 
trees. 

Animals of all sorts, both large and small, moved 
chaotically between riders and infantry. Seton turned 
his head, waving off a bobcat as it ran at him and tried 
to climb to higher ground on his back. 

"Sheer madness!" he exclaimed, and Kamahl 
agreed with him, turning his horse from a badger 
headed for the trees behind him. 

The druid moved tentatively into the confusion. 
The mountain warrior could feel energy hum as the 
druid neared a pack of wolves. The beasts snarled, and 

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Seton snarled back, reinforcing the sound with a wave 
of the club. Kamahl stayed close to his friend as the 
druid tried to drive the animals away from the killing 
field. 

"Difficult," huffed the druid as a bull elk 
threatened him with its antlers. 

The centaur tried to nudge the animal on with his 
club, but the beast fenced the stone-tipped weapons 
with its velvety antlers. Kamahl whipped a fire lash 
into the ground at the animal's side, and it broke 
away. The centaur grunted and tried to control other 
animals as the barbarian raised a line of flickering 
flame that began to prod the animals to the side. 
Kamahl ached with the effort of controlling himself, 
but the druid wanted to stop the battle, not join it, and 
the barbarian felt constrained to honor his friend's 
wishes. 

The pair worked their way through the animal 
refugees, turning those outside the fighting back to the 
forest. Now they crowded the Order soldiers. Kamahl 
stayed the peacemaker, though more and more he 
ached to smash a profane soldier to the ground. This 
fighting was wrong, and they must stop it. The 
barbarian's frustration mounted higher, and it was 
with relief that he found another member of the 
ambassador's party. 

Turg announced himself by springing from 
ambush, as he had so often before. The faint flames 
Kamahl used to herd animals roared higher, drying 
the amphibian's skin as the creature came at him. The 
barbarian ducked as the frog's hind leg thudded into 
his mounts shoulder, his sword out of position. The 
jack threw himself onto the centaur. The frog was red 

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with blood and gore from the battle. Kamahl wondered 
if the champion's fury was directed at him for 
following the ambassador or attempting to quell the 
slaughter. Regardless, the amphibian jumped to the 
druid's back and tried to rip his throat out. 

The centaur showed the flexibility of his kind, 
turning around at his humanoid waist to fight the frog 
face to face. Kamahl saw them gripping arms, and he 
waited for parts of the amphibian to fly over the 
battlefield. As massive as the frog's muscles appeared, 
they were dwarfed by the forest warrior's mighty 
shoulders. He turned to his own defense as he left the 
centaur to his. 

Without Seton's will, the animals swung back to 
fight. Two bears and dragonettes converged on 
Kamahl, and now the barbarian's fire lash burned 
away fur and scales. Other animals came closer, some 
fleeing battle, the others seeking it. The Knights of the 
Order came together, and a new summoning burned 
through the magical ether. 

New creatures shimmered into being. They 
seemed huge mounds of crystals, some over twenty 
feet high. For a moment, Kamahl wondered if the 
Order forces were trying to construct a fortress. Then 
the apparent masses of rock began to move. Ponderous 
legs swung into new positions as the creatures started 
across the field. Light began to glimmer inside the 
crystal, rotating wildly before leaping out to engulf 
animals. The magic congealed, slowly trapping its 
victims in glowing layers. Bison and great bears 
struggled as if in tar until the bands of golden light 
hardened and left the victims immobile. The 
monstrous creatures knew their allies and rhinos ran 

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freely among the trapped creatures, trampling and 
goring the helpless animals. 

The megoliths moved their crystalline masses 
over their captives, both the living and the dead, and 
settled down for a moment. Then the legs raised the 
crystal bodies, and new bands of magic jumped forth to 
trap fresh prey. A cow kicked and thrashed as the 
energy tightened and locked it rigid, waiting for a 
rhino's killing thrust or a crushing death from the 
advancing giants. The megoliths had moved far 
enough that Kamahl could see the lane they left 
behind. Every drop of blood, morsel of flesh, or sprig of 
a plant was gone. A floor of corpses lay in front of 
them, and the crystal grew rosy as the mineral 
creatures helped the Order sweep the field clean. 

"The drive is broken," Seton croaked from behind 
Kamahl. The barbarian turned to the centaur. The 
druid's face was black with an oily liquid, and water 
wept copiously from his eyes. Of Turg, there was no 
sign. 

"The ambassador's jack vomited his bile into my 
eyes as we struggled," Seton said, peering myopically 
into Kamahl's face. "1 wrenched his shoulder and 
would have pulled his arm off but for the burning of its 
juices." 

The centaur tried to wipe his eyes clear, and 
Kamahl pulled a canteen from his gear. The forest 
warrior tilted his head back and poured the water 
directly into his eyes. 

"I think the battle is done," he gasped and handed 
the nearly empty container back to the barbarian. 
Animals fleeing the conflict proved the centaur's word 
good. A bear lumbered by, giving only a glance in their 

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direction before continuing on its way. However, there 
were other creatures on the field. A rhino stabbed its 
way through the flow of animal refugees and headed 
for Kamahl. His axe spun into its skull, dropping it 
into the bloody mud. Others converged on him, and he 
drove his horse forward, trying to get away from the 
approaching beasts. The megoliths reversed course, 
and energy folded over the barbarian despite his 
horse's efforts to outrun the spell. The mare's gallop 
suddenly stopped, and the horse tumbled to the 
ground. Kamahl threw himself free before he could be 
trapped beneath the body. 

He rolled, the sword flying free from his grip. He 
came to his feet with knives of fire in his hands. Seton 
swung his club, snapping a rhino's horn free as he 
struggled against the megoliths' magic. Kamahl ran to 
his aid, his power severing crystal as he turned to 
destroy the mineral giants. But the battlefield held 
only the victors and the dead. The creatures of the 
forest merged back into the trees as the rhinos and 
megoliths began to fade away. 

The barbarian hobbled to his horse, a deep gaping 
wound on her side telling him that a rhino had 
attacked while he scrambled to his feet. He knelt and 
laid his hand on her side. 

"Thank you," He whispered, then stripped the 
saddle and gear from the corpse. 

"My friend," Seton said tremulously, "I can't see 
you" The centaur collapsed, rolling up against the 
other corpses in the field. Kamahl paused for a second 
and threw away everything, racing to find a healer. 

* * * * * 

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Kamahl did not know how long he searched 
before he found someone willing to help his friend. He 
was sure that the exhausted sergeant came more 
because of the barbarian's sword than belief in his 
story. Once he checked to see if Seton was alive, the 
Order soldier fell into a healing trance. 

The mountain warrior struggled to clear the 
centaur's eyes, scouting for water among the fallen to 
wash away the poison and quench the druid's raging 
thirst. Kamahl waited, wondering if he should fetch 
others to help, but the cries of the wounded could be 
heard in the distance. The barbarian counted himself 
lucky to have found the sour sergeant. 

"I have done what I can," the Order soldier 
announced suddenly, standing up and moving away 
from the patient he had lavished so much care over. 

"I do not know how to repay you," Kamahl started 
to say. 

"Don't bother," came the gruff reply. The man 
stretched, his back crackling at the movement. "I 
saved the eyes. I don't know if he will be able to use 
them. Bring him to the main camp when he feels able 
to walk." 

"I will thank you as soon as I can guide him up 
the road," Kamahl said. "I will do it right before I 
speak with Lieutenant Kirtar." 

The sergeant laughed harshly. "I won't be seeing 
you then. Kirtar has been recalled. The captain was 
going to haul him back to the citadel to explain his 
conduct. If 1 know Captain Pianna, he was on griffin 
back within a minute of the battle's end." 

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All that riding and he must have missed Kirtar 
by only minutes. The barbarian stood rigid, wondering 
how he would catch up with the lieutenant now. 

* * * * * 

Kamahl sat in his camp, eating a piece of travel 
bread. Despite the tons of meat lying in the field, he 
had gathered none of it. Besides being no scavenger, 
he could not afford the trouble a fire might bring. 

Seton recovered some, and the barbarian was 
able to lead the centaur to the Order camp perimeter, 
though he did not follow the druid to the healers. He 
left the giant and returned to his solitary tent. 

He waited for a day, eating dry travel food and 
ignoring the stench. The barbarian meditated, but the 
core of his anger made his attempts to find peace 
meaningless. On the second day, Seton returned. 

The druid's face was discolored, the apelike 
features splotched with what looked like blue-andblack 
dye. His eyes seeped a steady stream, and he 
advance slowly into the camp, watching where he 
stepped. 

"It looks worse than it really is," the forest 
warrior said. "The healers believe that with time my 
sight may improve." The giant tried to sound cheerful, 
but it was obviously difficult. The barbarian came 
closer, gripping his friend firmly by the lower arm. 

"I have not wasted my time in the Order's camp," 
Seton explained, lowering himself gingerly. "The 
lieutenant was called to the Citadel to explain his 
policy of slaughter. 

"The captain sent word that all forays into the 
forest would cease pending further information. There 

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is talk that the bird warrior might be demoted or 
transferred far to the East." Seton paused, speaking 
more seriously. "The Mer Ambassador and his jack 
have also left for the Citadel, 'hoping to resolve the 
current difficulties,'" the druid repeated, the bitterness 
plain in his voice. 

"The quest must not end here," Seton urged. 
"Reclaiming the orb or foiling the ambassador's plans, 
your journey must continue." The druid stood and 
picked up Kamahl's gear. 

"This was not my first stop after the Order's 
healers released me," the woodland fighter said. "I was 
able to secure you another steed. Come and I will 
introduce you to him." The centaur picked up 
Kamahl's gear with a single hand and headed into the 
forest, not bothering to wait for a response. 

The druid walked through the trees, his huge 
strides tentative but still forcing the barbarian to step 
rapidly to keep up with him. They arrived at the foot of 
a tall cliff after a long walk, one that obviously taxed 
the giant's strength. The vertical rock face climbed 
hundreds of feet, the limbs of trees seeming to peek 
out over the top of the ridge. 

"Unless this steed can fly or is invisible, I do not 
see it." Kamahl quipped as he reached the centaur's 
side. The druid chuckled painfully as he dropped the 
barbarian's gear and looked blearily to the sky. 

"Emerald!" he called. "Your rider is here!" A head 
popped out over the top of the cliff, eyes swiveling 
separately to peer down on the two below. A lizard 
stepped onto the side of the sheer wall, standing 
vertically a moment before it started down. 

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"Emerald volunteered last night to provide you 
with transportation. He fed this morning and should 
be ready for days of hard riding." 

The barbarian moved back, nervous to be under a 
creature of such size descending with no visible means 
of support. 

"Do not worry," said Seton. "Emerald's kind can 
walk on a ceiling as long as the surface can hold the 
weight." 

The lizard was at the bottom of the cliff and 
stepped to the ground. Its body stood as high as a 
horse, though it was much longer. Emerald's long tail 
beat against the rock. 

"Exactly how am I going to ride it?" Kamahl said 
as he approached the beast. The centaur said nothing, 
swinging the saddle onto the animal's back. A long 
tongue darted out of the gecko's mouth and worked 
along the underside of the saddle. When the druid 
settled it all the way down, it squelched and then 
locked solid. 

"That will hold you and your gear even if you are 
upside down," Seton said with satisfaction. "Though 
you might want to grip with something besides your 
knees. Now climb aboard, and tell me how it feels." 

Kamahl approached cautiously and, using the 
saddle horn, pulled himself up. The lizard was huge, 
but the barrel of its body was close to the same width 
as a horse's. 

"How do I care for it?" Kamahl said uncertainly. 

Seton laughed. "Emerald is as smart as you are, 
even if he can't talk," the centaur explained. "When 
you want to get the saddle off, just tell him and lift. 
That tongue will smear something on its back that will 

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break the saddle's grip. When you want to start out 
again, just do as I did." The druid lifted the rest of 
Kamahl's gear to him and helped secure it. "Emerald 
knows the way to the Order and how to avoid trouble. 
Just trust him to know where he is going." 

The forest warrior stepped back and settled down 
to rest. Before Kamahl could say anything the gecko 
started with a jerk. 

"Good luck in your quest, Kamahl," Seton called. 

The barbarian could only wave, hoping the druid 
saw him as he concentrated on adapting to the lizard's 
gait. 

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CHAPTER 15 


"The air is no place for a merman," Laquatus 
muttered as he held tightly to the soldier's waist. The 
ground was distant, and he was reminded of long 
swims in tropical seas. The clear water revealed the 
ocean floor far below. However, the air would not 
support the ambassador as he drifted down. He felt his 
jack's fears and knew only his unbending will and 
orders kept the frog from panic. He wondered how 
bruised the amphibian's companion would be when 
they landed again. He had convinced the captain his 
contacts with the Cabal and other continental powers 
would help her in discovering the source of the 
disturbances. Laquatus hoped to get her alone and 
work his mind-altering magic, but she gave him no 
chance. The strain of controlling Turg and his own fear 
sapped his energy throughout the griffin ride. Now the 
final destination was in sight, and he could hardly 
wait for the feel of dry land beneath his feet. 

Laquatus regretted his diminished power. He had 
been forced to abandon the mercenaries. Pianna was 
barely willing to allow the ambassador and his 
champion to accompany her. The merman hoped the 
underwater explorers had finally reached the Citadel. 
The promise of sea warriors and competent minions 
made the loss of the mercenaries bearable. 

The Citadel was a massive conglomeration of 
stone. The castle itself was on top of a rocky hill, the 
only visible road to the gates exposed to attack from 
above for its entire length. Double walls of stone 

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Odyssey 

reinforced with dozens of towers enclosed the top of the 
mesa. The central keep was less martial, the fineness 
of the stone work contrasting with the crudely worked 
blocks of the outer walls. But however brilliant the 
white rock appeared, Laquatus still noticed bars on 
the windows. 

There was a town at the base of the hill, tucked 
between the living rock and a stream flowing down 
from the north. The slate roofs of the tall houses 
nearly hid the cobblestone streets. The avenues looked 
crowded, and the ambassador could see wagons and 
tents in the town squares. The griffins had often 
soared over long caravans of refugees headed for the 
Citadel. The merman wondered where the additional 
people could be placed. The courtyard that the griffins 
aimed for seemed clear of any but Order officials, and 
Laquatus tried to guess how much longer that would 
be the case. 

The landing was a blur as the ambassador closed 
his eyes. The skybox had felt rock solid in comparison 
to a living steed, and he wondered if his sudden fear of 
heights would be temporary. The griffin landed with a 
lurch as it stumbled to a halt. Laquatus turned and 
watched Turg's ride land. The moment the flier's claws 
touched the ground the frog was off, running his hands 
over the solidity of the cobbles. It took the merman 
several moments to dismount, his legs locked with 
cramps. Finally, he commanded his champion to aid 
him to the ground. The Order soldiers showed 
disgusting ease as they hurried to unload their steeds 
of cargo, saddles, and harnesses. 

The stablemen moved slowly, as if listening for 
news. They looked at the pit frog and the ambassador 

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with wide eyes, and Laquatus wondered what wild 
rumors would be circulating by the day's end. The 
officers and their guests stepped to the main keep, the 
several-story building looming over the merman like a 
cliff. 

They moved into the darker room, Laquatus's 
eyes adapting easily to the dim light coming through 
the narrow windows. Food was laid out on trestles. It 
was an example of the journey's hardship that Turg 
did not immediately fall upon the buffet but squatted 
down at the ambassador's side. The hugeness of the 
hall seemed to siphon the noise of its few inhabitants 
away. The ambassador carefully enhanced his senses 
and ached at the sudden cacophony. He carefully 
reined in his energy, hoping that the casting of his 
spell was undetected. The journey had taken quite a 
toll on him as well. 

The officers were off at an isolated table, small 
portions of food set before them, though neither ate. 
The merman's enhanced vision could see the irritation 
on both of their faces. The rest of the griffin scouts 
gave them a wide berth, and the server left a flagon of 
wine at the table rather than standing ready to pour. 
The ambassador was assaulted by thunder, and Turg 
stood with a threatening gesture. A serving man 
stumbled back with a tray of bread and wine. 

"Give it here, and then leave me alone!" Laquatus 
grated out. The impertinence of the man to disturb 
him while he was concentrating. Only the importance 
of eavesdropping prevented him from calling for the 
servant's supervisor. He made a note of the man's face 
for punishment at a later date. His attention shifted 
back to the officers in mid-argument. 

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"I did not return to stay behind these walls," 
Kirtar said with obvious exasperation. "The fight is to 
the west, against the creatures of the forest." The bird 
warrior looked at the captain as if the stupidity of the 
original question could not be believed. 

"I ordered you back to oversee the deployment of 
militias. Your fighting has changed nothing except to 
strew corpses amongst the trees." Pianna drank 
quickly, trying to gain breathing room, to the 
ambassador's eyes. "Ever since your entry in the Cabal 
tournament you have lost interest in the Order. Have 
you succumbed to the lure of wealth and prizes?" 

"Wealth is a tool we can use to build the Order," 
Kirtar said, hammering down a goblet with a peal that 
split Laquatus's ears. "As for the prizes, I procured one 
that was worth any number of villages that fell while I 
competed." 

The lieutenant ignored the captain's indignant 
gasp and opened his pouch. Pianna looked down into 
the pouch, her eyes locked on the sphere. The 
lieutenant's fingers cupped it and raised it before her. 
The room fell silent as Order mages detected the throb 
of contained power and looked to the officers. Laquatus 
felt a surge of envy as the lieutenant pushed the 
sphere back into his pouch. The ambassador was 
surprised by the sour expression of the officer's face 
and could barely hear him mutter, "It's dimmer still." 

"Impressive enough," the captain said agreeably. 
"And I can understand your fascination with it. But 
what have you done since you received it?" The silence 
seemed to echo in the merman's ears. 

"I see," continued Pianna as several seconds 
passed without response. "Your prize was not used nor 

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provoked any response other than influencing you to 
ignore your recall and engage in indiscriminate 
slaughter." She shook her head sadly. 

"You are less than you were when you left," she 
stated emphatically. "You had plans, but once you held 
that power in your hands you could only use violence. 
It corrupted you without doing anything but offering 
you magic you had not earned." Bitterness and 
resolution filled her tone. "I have never seen a better 
example of an artifact curbing and shrinking a soul. 
You must give it up." 

"I will not!" replied the lieutenant hotly. "It is 
only that I don't know how to use it," he confessed, his 
pale skin flushing in the dim light. "It was bright with 
glory once, but every time I look at it, the visions grow 
fainter. I don't know what to do. I know only that this 
is valuable, and it represents the salvation of the 
Order." 

"It is a chain that is dragging you down. You 
speak of what you can do, what you know," she said 
gently. "You must give it up, even if it must be 
destroyed." 

The bird warrior started but with visible effort 
stifled his initial response and nodded. 

"The Order and the Strictures must come first," 
he said reluctantly. "Only give me time to examine it a 
little more. You are right that I have done nothing 
with it other than let dreams of glory lead me astray. 
Give me a chance to investigate it a little more before 
we give it up to those who use the crushers." The 
captain nodded doubtfully as Laquatus tasted his 
heart in his mouth. Give the orb to the fanatics who 
thought the past should be erased? Those who spurned 

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Odyssey 

objects of enchantment and condemned wonders to the 
grinding wheels of their one sanctioned machine? He 
would see the Citadel ground to dust before he allowed 
the orb to be damaged. 

Kirtar excused himself and left. It took a moment 
for the ambassador to break his trance and send his 
jack after him. Perhaps it would take an obvious 
intervention to take the sphere from these fools. He 
hoped the underground explorers would find a route 
soon. 

* * * * * 

Turg lurked behind a pile of heavy canvas, 
waiting for the lieutenant to speak. The frog had 
followed the officer and stayed at a distance. Laquatus 
soon begged off any further talks with the captain or 
her representatives, citing his exhaustion from the 
journey. Now the ambassador rode the frog's spirit, 
nudging him closer to hear the conspirators. 

At least that was merman's belief. The bird 
warrior left, but instead of retiring directly to his room 
he spoke to several knights before visiting the armory. 
Laquatus had a bad moment when he saw the shape of 
a great crusher filling a building's interior. Several 
squires pushed a capstan, driving the interior 
mechanisms. A robotic bird was thrown into the 
machine's gaping mouth, and a series of smashing 
collisions sounded, then died down as tiny pieces of the 
forbidden technology came out the other end. A pile of 
mechanical limbs and less definable work filled a 
basket that the presiding officer continued to empty. 

Laquatus very nearly sent his champion charging 
for the orb at that moment. Kirtar had shook himself 

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and left the crusher with a look of fresh determination 
on his face. Once more he stopped to give a message, 
and this time Turg was able to hear. 

"The dungeon just after midnight." 

The frog spent hours waiting in sight of Kirtar's 
quarters, but the bird warrior did not come out again. 
Dinner came and went, and the frog's belly grumbled. 

In camouflage, he raided the remnants of the 
evening meal, then headed for the dungeon. Rather 
than the vast cavern that Laquatus expected, just 
several empty cells in a tower's base served as the 
Order's prison. Only the distinc-tive smell allowed the 
frog to find it without asking for directions. Laquatus 
was heartened that even the Order's ideals could not 
negate the need for small rooms reeking of despair and 
filth. The frog breathed the odor in deeply before 
hiding behind stores in the main room. 

Kirtar arrived first, inspecting the chamber 
carefully. Laquatus fed a minute portion of power to 
Turg, and the spell, combined with the champion's 
natural camouflage, prevented his discovery. Other 
knights arrived until five moved to a table. Laquatus 
noticed with little surprise that all were aven bird 
warriors. Kirtar spoke, and the others listened 
silently. The door was not whisperwood, so the 
lieutenant talked softly. 

"I and my fathers have served the Order loyally. 
You have all been warriors in the Order without any 
blemish on your service. None may say otherwise." 

Turg could hear the rustling of nods and crept out 
a bit beyond the bags to see the conspiracy. 

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Odyssey 

"But to be loyal to the Order means that 
sometimes the Strictures must be disobeyed, ill-
conceived commands must be ignored." 

There were fewer signs of agreement, but there 
was an affirmative air about the group, 

"I won a great prize while competing in the 
tourney," Kirtar continued. "While defending the 
helpless, even in that evil city, I defeated a dragon." 

Another nod of assent and a bit of pride showed 
among the warriors at one of their own overcoming 
such a beast. 

"These are difficult times for the Order," the 
lieutenant said quietly. "The forest has risen and 
assaulted our lands as never before." 

"Aye," said a grizzled voice as one of the others 
interrupted. "So many refugees have arrived that they 
are filling up the town. The captain says that soon we 
will have to start bringing families within the Citadel 
walls." 

"Exactly," said the lieutenant, showing irritation 
at being interrupted. "The captain has a good heart 
and believes in the Strictures, but that is not enough 
in these difficult days. It will take boldness, and while 
Pianna is no coward, she is not bold. The best way to 
protect the refugees is to stop them from being 
displaced." A murmur of agreement filled the room. 
"We must take the fight to the forest." 

The dead silence through Turg's ears told 
Laquatus that this extreme step was not popular. The 
lieutenant seemed to know that and quickly continued. 

"The prize that the rumors speak of I have with 
me," he said, opening his pouch. The thrill of power 
shook everyone in the room. Turg's camouflage 

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flickered, but such was the group's fascination that no 
one saw. "The captain saw its strength but in blind 
obedience to the Strictures wants it destroyed. She 
would not consider using it and never held it. Touch it 
now," Kirtar said and laid it on the center of the table. 

Each bird warrior stroked it, and one and all were 
lost in some interior vision. Turg tensed as Laquatus 
wondered about attacking the gathering while they 
were stunned. But they shook off their bemusement, 
all except the lieutenant, with reluctance. Kirtar 
looked dissatisfied. 

"Once it filled the heart with peals of glory, but 
now it is only a ghost of what it was." Disbelief showed 
on the other faces. "I know what the problem is. I have 
let my own reluctance to use this power destroy the 
potential that originally resided in this prize. I can 
afford to wait no longer. The magic must be used, and 
we must take the Order in a new direction." The officer 
looked each warrior in the eyes in turn. 

"Tomorrow I will take the captain's place, and 
you must all act to support me when I do." 

Turg retreated as the members of the coup left. 

"Treachery, always a popular choice with 
subordinates," Laquatus mused as he directed his jack 
away from the plotters. This betrayal might be just 
what he needed. 

* * * * * 

"There is no reason for these attacks, your 
Excellency," the captain said to Laquatus. The 
ambassador had begged an audience with Pianna, 
hoping to find some other angle to grasp advantage. 
Besides the excellent news of a power struggle within 

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the Order, Laquatus had felt a whisper from the 
tresias stone during the night. An explorer had finally 
proved a path to the Citadel through the underground 
rivers. Further reinforcements followed to give 
Laquatus enough power to take action against the 
Order. 

The ambassador sent Turg below with the stone, 
telling 

Satas all that occurred and that he must bring 
soldiers as quickly as possible. It might be possible to 
pluck the prize right from the Order's fingers without 
any of the knights being the wiser. While he waited for 
the frog's return, he sat in the captain's office offering 
his services to the Order. 

"The lieutenant's incursion into the forest seemed 
to provoke even more of a response," she said as she 
showed the merman her intelligence maps. 

"I always believed that he might be exceeding his 
authority," Laquatus said in a sweet tone. He waited 
for a response to his overtures, but Pianna was looking 
at the map. Then she grabbed a set of reports and 
began rifling through them, checking something. 

"Yes, yes, yes," she cried out, relief plain on her 
face. "I couldn't see it before because we never put 
down the dates of the attacks." She grabbed up a pen 
and put a series of broad arrows on the map. She 
ignored the rattle of pins falling to the floor. "We never 
saw a focus to the attacks because the center pulling 
the attacks shifted over time. Kirtar was what the 
forest reacted to." 

"The lieutenant?" Laquatus said nonplussed. "He 
can be irritating but surely not to an entire forest. Do 
not give him credit for being more than he is." 

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"Not the lieutenant," Pianna said. "It's that damn 
prize of his. He was awarded it where we saw the 
strongest attack, and the rest of them seem to be 
moving in his direction when he rode to the southern 
plains. We need to destroy that orb immediately." 

"I knew that would be your thinking," Kirtar said 
as he moved into the room. Laquatus could see the 
bird warriors lining up in the room beyond. "Anything 
that violates the Strictures must be destroyed." 

"It has nothing to do with the Strictures, 
Lieutenant," Pianna replied, drawing herself upright 
as she heard his insolent tone. "I believe your prize is 
what provokes the forest. There will be additional 
attacks in this direction even as we speak. We must 
destroy it or dispose of it immediately." 

"Get rid of it?" laughed Kirtar. "Even if I believed 
you, why would I want to throw it away?" He put his 
hand in his pouch and drew the orb forth. Its power 
once more struck the ambassador. 

"Anything that can rouse the entire forest can be 
used to tame it," Kirtar stated. "That is what the 
Order is dedicated to, is it not? Curing the world of its 
wildness and chaos?" 

The captain moved around the table, her face 
calm. "But what about the villages destroyed and the 
refugees made homeless as you search for a way to use 
the orb?" Pianna walked slowly toward the door and 
Kirtar. "As a knight, you took an oath to protect them." 
She raised her hand as if to pluck the orb from his 
oversized fist. Energy flared and coated her, locking 
her in place. Laquatus could see her expression slowly 
starting to change from determination to astonishment 
only to stop halfway through the shift. 

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"Unlike you, I know it is sometimes necessary to 
make a sacrifice," Kirtar said as he retrieved Pianna's 
sword, her symbol of Order authority. 

Power poured from the orb. A growing mass of 
purest crystal shimmered into being as Laquatus 
stood, feeling for his soldiers below. The throb of ocean 
magic reassured him as the lieutenant turned his 
attention toward him. The orb's magic seemed to light 
up the bird warrior's features, and the ambassador 
bowed slightly as if to acknowledge the aven's 
superiority. 

"I trust there will be no problems, Laquatus." 

The merman nodded, thinking how he could take 
advantage. The power continued to grow, and the 
ambassador wondered if the lieutenant was preparing 
to destroy him. But Kirtar's look of victory changed to 
one of confusion and then fear. The crystal around the 
captain pulsed and began to grow, inching across the 
floor as the bird warrior gripped the orb tightly, 
concentration freezing his face. 

He seemed to collapse inward, panting. Cries 
sounded beyond the room. "Mutiny" and "Save the 
captain" could be heard as the lieutenant once more 
tried to force his spell to stop. He fell, and his 
supporters rushed into the room. 

"I can't control it!" he gushed, stricken with fear. 
The bird warriors looked at Laquatus, threats in their 
eyes, and one started toward him, murder plain in his 
face. 

"There is no time," another soldier exclaimed. The 
crystal grew faster, and the ambassador unconsciously 
retreated. 

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"Let the spell take him!" With that they plucked 
the lieutenant up and retreated through the door. 

Laquatus tried to follow, but the crystal was 
already too close to the wall. The stone began to 
sparkle, and then it too was engulfed in crystal. The 
merman was trapped with no way out, the spell 
expanding in irregular spurts. He tripped over a chair, 
holding the seat out as if to halt the effect. The wooden 
legs froze in place well above the floor. 

"Turg," he called to below, "Captain Satas! Open 
a portal! Immediately!" He backed up against the wall. 
Could he cut his way through the stone? He was trying 
to raise power when he felt the tickle of the portal 
forming at his back. He fell through the wall 
screaming, "Close it! Close it now!" 

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CHAPTER 16 


Once more Kamahl ran to a city, his legs 
pumping. But unlike the roads to city, Cabal people 
were everywhere, packing the trail to capacity. He 
threaded the crowds as he once threaded razor shards 
in the mountains during his training. The travelers 
were refugees from the western border's violence. Ever 
since he left the giant gecko, Emerald, he had run 
through despairing crowds. As he approached the 
Citadel, there were expressions of hope in the faces 
about him. However, the crush in front of the gates 
seemed to press out the travelers' optimism. The low 
wall surrounding the town was unguarded except for a 
frustrated soldier trying to direct the incoming traffic. 
He never saw the metal-hued barbarian with the great 
sword, his eyes nearly blind from staring at the 
constant flow of refugees. 

Running was impossible now, but Kamahl 
persevered. He shoved his way through the masses, 
aiming for the great castle on the hill. If there were 
guards in the city, they were lost in the crying crowds. 
It seemed the entire world tried to reach a place to eat 
or sleep. Large men with clubs stood before every inn. 

"There is no room, move on. Move on," they called 
to those trying to enter. The staves were not used 
except to prod the persistent away. Kamahl wondered 
how much longer that would be true. 

The road up the side of the hill was thick with 
people. A steady stream of Order uniforms came down 
to the town to help with the crowds. A few refugees 

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struggled up the path, pressing on to the greater 
safety of the castle walls. Despite all their martial 
posturing, the Order compromised their defenses, so 
those on the road would not fail to find shelter. 

Kamahl continued through the multitudes, 
confident that he finally had his bearings in the 
narrow streets. He arrived at the bottom of the road 
and there tasted the ambassador's duplicity. 

"Hold!" a sentry cried. More guards converged on 
the mountain mage. 

"It is the barbarian!" yelled the corporal 
commanding the lower detachment. "Take no chances 
with him!" 

The people around Kamahl tried to retreat as the 
soldiers formed up, their spears still in the air as they 
jockeyed for room to maneuver. On the walls of the 
fortress above, the barbarian could see other soldiers 
drawing weapons. Should he try to lose himself in the 
crowd? 

He was sick of retreat, and if the prize were truly 
his, then he would fight for it. He threw his cloak back 
and revealed the armor and bracers on his wrists. 
Before he could give formal challenge, a guard raised a 
crossbow from behind the spear wall and discharged it. 

His hand threw out a line of fire, and he turned 
during the split second of the missile's flight. The 
flame ate through the bolt, withering the shaft and 
melting away the head. What was left of the cowardly 
attack shattered on his armored side. He looked at the 
detachment, his rage radiating in all directions. The 
refugees continued to retreat as far as they were able, 
the Order tensing for his response. He took gobs of 
wax from a pouch at his side and stuffed them in his 

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ears. The cries of the crowd and whatever commands 
issued from the corporal were cut off. 

Knowing that false accusations might be made 
against him, Kamahl was prepared to batter his 
opponents into submission. Tiny black globes flew from 
his hands and began to detonate. The explosions 
occurred well in front of the spearmen, but the 
concussions spilled them back with each throw. The 
barbarian quickly glanced up the road. No 
reinforcements coming yet. 

Another bolt came at him, but his magic was fully 
energized, and it seemed to dissipate in midair. 
Kamahl threw more globes, and these exploded inside 
the enemy ranks. Soldiers tumbled to the sides, 
deafened by the noise. The crossbowman lay on the 
ground, his entire body bruised from the close 
detonation. 

Kamahl watched his back, but the tight press of 
refugees prevented guards from getting through. Signs 
of panic were everywhere as civilians tried to flee, and 
the mass of onlookers crippled the Order's response as 
surely as it manacled Kamahl's own actions. The 
barbarian started up the road. 

He jogged, his footfalls thudding in his ears as he 
passed people cowering on the road's surface. A man 
bellowed, and Kamahl thought he heard, "The forest, 
the forest," but he swept by before he could be sure. If 
the town believed there was an attack from the west, 
the mountain mage was in no hurry to correct them. 

Even through the wax he could hear cries, but 
none seemed to mention him. He slowed and twitched 
his trailing cloak back over his gear. The hilt of his 
sword peeking over his shoulder proclaimed to all that 

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he was no helpless refugee, but perhaps the guards at 
the gate were as confused as those in the town. He 
spared a look behind him. A wave of people was 
coming up from the city. The jostling masses had no 
idea what was going on, and he realized they sought 
the safety of the castle. 

Even at his reduced pace he reached the gates 
well before the refugees from below. The passageway 
through the defenses was unbarred, and he carefully 
walked through. He dug the wax from one ear, the 
cries of the crowd behind him echoing off the stone 
walls. He moved farther into the Citadel, ready to 
wrap himself in flame, but there was no one. He 
turned a blind corner into the courtyard. 

There he found the Order. They fought among 
themselves. Bands of knights and men-at-arms 
squared off. A few bird warriors stood before the 
combatants, wrapped in magical armor. Glowing like 
the sun, they called for peace, but appeals for 
discipline were useless. The bands of soldiers met in 
hand-to-hand combat. Flesh and fists reinforced by 
mystic will assailed foes wearing a shared livery. 
Bones shattered, and the fallen were dragged free 
without regard for allegiance by the Order's healers. 

The combatants bludgeoned each other but 
abstained from plying their blades. Only their open 
hands were enhanced. The Citadel made war upon 
itself, but a brotherhood of centuries could not be 
overturned in a single day. 

Individual soldiers began to come at Kamahl. He 
drew his sword and slapped the fighters away. He 
advanced along the courtyard's edge, careful to use the 
flat of his blade. The roar of explosives would unite the 

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fighters and would surely bring them against him. He 
circled, aiming for the central keep. He knew in his 
bones that Kirtar would be at the center of this 
struggle. 

Magic assaulted his senses. The spell should have 
been lost among the contesting mages, but Kamahl felt 
it, like a cold stone lodged in his gut. The power was 
muted, but it grew. What he felt was surely only the 
first stirrings. He knew not what magic pealed forth, 
but he knew that the orb must be involved. The purity 
and purpose of the spell lifted it far above the crude 
castings in the yard. He needed to reach Kirtar and 
the prize. 

Disdaining the low profile he had kept so far, he 
ran for the keep door, black pellets flying before him. 
The explosions wiped the guards away, leaving only 
the gate to oppose him. The great door had a smaller 
entry in one panel. 

His sword arced high and then cleaved its way 
into the iron-reinforced wood, cutting through latches. 
Through his one clear ear he heard the cries of the 
crowds coming through the gates only to be confronted 
by a civil war within the walls. Another blow sliced the 
final latch, and he jumped through. 

The orb's spell grew louder and more strident in 
his mind. He looked for Kirtar, but the main hall was 
empty. His peripheral vision caught a shadow of 
movement, and he raised his arm. Claws shrieked on 
the iron bracer, and he half-spun at the impact. 
Another strike fell on his back, ripping through his 
cloak and scoring the studded leather over his 
shoulder. He swept his sword in a circle, slicing 

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through the air. The scrabble of feet led his eyes to his 
foe. 

Turg crouched just out of reach. Kamahl lunged 
forward, his sword a ribbon of flame, but the frog 
jumped to the side, seeming to vanish as the blade 
curved to skewer him. The amphibian was gone, 
hidden, and Kamahl dug the other gob of wax from his 
ear. He listened but could hear nothing besides the 
noise of the crowd outside. 

A movement close by registered on his senses, 
and he darted toward the foe. But the signs faded 
away, and his boots suddenly lost traction. Feet flying 
from under him, he fetched up against a wall. Turg 
flickered into view right over him, the amphibian's 
hands reaching for his calf. Kamahl's dagger punched 
into the frog's thigh even as the claws started to shred 
his muscles. He tried to extend the thrust, aiming for 
arteries, but the amphibian vanished, a trail of blood 
leading to tables of food. A loaf vanished from sight, 
and the spatters stopped. The barbarian's own leg bled 
freely. He sent fingers of flame crawling over the 
gashes, sealing the injury as he screamed in pain. 

The hall was huge, and the frog might be 
anywhere inside it. Kamahl threw showers of flame 
into the upper reaches, burning brighter until the 
barbarian's eyes stung. 

A cluster of odd shadows appeared, and Kamahl 
knew where Turg was. The barbarian charged an axe 
and let it fly, trailing magic as it sank into the stone 
floor. It vanished in a globe of destruction. Turg 
leaped, an arc of lightning streaming toward the 
barbarian. The power grounded against the wall and 
charred an arc to the floor as Kamahl threw himself 

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away. He rolled several times and came up with his 
sword ready. A crater showed where his axe had 
detonated. There was no sign of the frog. 

The mountain warrior looked for shadows, but 
the flares above the floor were dying out, his magic 
leaking power. A bank of clouds seemed to extinguish 
them, and Kamahl saw the illusion of rain sweeping 
across the hall. He tried to detect the frog's energy but 
the orb's spell still shrilled behind him. Fighting the 
mer champion was not his goal, and he moved into a 
corridor toward the source of the magic and Kirtar. 

A barrage of metal plates rang against the sides 
of the corridor. They skipped off the floor and glanced 
off his wounded leg. He sent fireballs arcing up the 
corridor in response. 

"Dinnerware," he snorted, the amusement 
breaking his concentration, as pain had not. More 
projectiles flew, and he knelt, holding his sword before 
him. Kamahl created an intense shield of flame to 
devour the iron plates that might be launched against 
him. Instead he smelled charred fish, and a stream of 
bodies vaporized in his protection. He looked to the 
side. A sea creature with long limbs flopped on the 
floor. The flying fish expired as the shield's heat dried 
it out. 

"Find Kirtar," Kamahl growled to himself. The 
shield broke into shards, and he sent them flowing up 
the corridor slowly, blocking the amphibian's advance. 
The barbarian hurried, remembering the orb and 
listening to the spell's strength. He reached a cross-
corridor and at last spotted the lieutenant. 

Kirtar looked nearly dead, his pale skin somehow 
appearing transparent. The bird warrior was being 

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carried by other aven, and his eyes swept over the 
barbarian without recognition. His hands cupped the 
prize. Kirtar, once so arrogant and proud, was dying 
before the barbarian's eyes. 

"It's still spreading!" called a soldier looking back 
the way they had come. "We need to get out the 
postern gate before it cuts us off!" 

The soldiers started forward again, carrying the 
warrior's destiny away. 

"Kirtar!" Kamahl bellowed. A door opened onto a 
stairway, and a gaggle of servants surged into the 
corridor. The leaders screamed as the barbarian 
thundered forward, forcing him to slow lest he crush 
the innocents in his rage. A circle of lightning flared, 
stopping him in his tracks. 

The servants stood frozen. In the corridor beyond, 
Turg flickered back into sight, the frog laughing at 
Kamahl through the screen of dead civilians. He 
vanished from sight as illusion surged over him, and 
the servants collapsed to the floor. 

"The frog must have raced past under the cover of 
the fish," Kamahl swore. He drew power, grounding it 
to his sword. The steel danced with flame, and he 
prepared to send it streaking up the corridor to flush 
the amphibian out. 

"Murderer!" came the cry from behind him. 
Members of the Order stood, fury evident as they 
looked at the barbarian and the circle of dead 
innocents. All were armored, and Kamahl could hear 
more soldiers crowding behind them. The front rank 
raised maces, their heads wrapped in deadly golden 
light. 

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The barbarian threw an exploding pellet of flame, 
the concussion echoing off the walls and sending him 
tumbling back. The narrow corridor acted to 
concentrate the blast toward him. His ears ringing, he 
got to his feet. The explosion had spun him around, 
and he could see Turg bent over in amusement, his 
wide mouth a gigantic smile. A shaft of flame sped 
toward the amphibian only to shatter in mid-air. A 
wave of magic seeping through the wall had already 
cut off the corridor. It resonated with the orb's magical 
signature, and Kamahl knew he had found the source 
of the magical call swamping his senses. 

The frog blew him a kiss and vanished from sight. 
Shards of fire impacted uselessly against the magic as 
the mountain mage realized himself cut off from the 
amphibian and Lieutenant Kirtar. Trapped, he turned 
to the coming soldiers. They were not dazed by his 
concussions. Completely armored in light, they only 
shouted with derision at his explosions. He could not 
hear them, but he could see their faces and knew they 
were beyond reason. 

Pillars of fire rose up to char the plaster, cutting 
off his sight of the Order knights. He turned to the 
crystal wall, wondering if he might somehow tunnel 
through. A shoe had come off one of the dead servants, 
and he kicked it toward the barrier. It struck the 
border and stuck there, becoming frozen even as he 
watched. 

He could feel his spells dying, and he saw the 
enhanced swords and maces smashing through the 
curtain of fire. Contempt was in every figure stepping 
into the hall, and he acknowledged his defeat. He must 

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kill and escape the Citadel before being slain by the 
massed opposition of the Order. 

Kamahl lifted his sword and once again the 
brilliant fire that could devour iron shimmered off the 
blade. But instead of attacking the knights, he sent the 
pulse of flame into the walls. Rock ran like water, and 
wood vanished in explosions of gas as fire gutted the 
Citadel's structure. Supporting walls were cut, and 
timbers burnt away leaving nothing to support the 
walls and ceiling over the men coming to kill Kamahl. 

Rubble cascaded over the soldiers, burying them 
in a sea of dust and stone. The barbarian held his 
cloak over his face, unable to retreat because of the 
crystal wall at his back. The dust started to clear, and 
Kamahl could see a sloping ramp of rock leading to the 
upper floors. He started forward only to be caught 
short as his cloak held him in place. The tattered train 
of his garment was already frozen in the crystal wall. 
He cut himself free with a knife, leaving the cloak to 
be preserved in the crystal. He scrambled up the ramp, 
the stones settling as he neared the upper floors. 
Suddenly reality quivered, and Kamahl froze. The orb, 
its echo familiar to the barbarian, was active, but its 
ambiance had changed. The new tone set his teeth on 
edge. The orb was different, and Kamahl started up 
the ramp again, determined to find out what had 
happened. 

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CHAPTER 17 


Laquatus fell screaming through the portal, the 
icy water ending his cry as his body shiv-ered through 
its transformation. Turg swam forwarddue to the 
merman's subconscious demand or of his own free will, 
the ambas-sador had no idea. The shock of the water 
cleared his mind. He thought of the orb in Kirtar's 
hands. The lieutenant had been weak, barely able to 
stand. The Order fought among themselves, and the 
town was bursting with refugees. This was the 
moment of maximum chaos. Should he attack in force? 

A look at his soldiers revealed this to be an 
impossibility. 

The transport mage was present and a few 
tresias, but Captain Satas and his squads of fighters 
were nowhere. They must still be travelling the last 
few miles. There was no time! He must act before the 
prize was destroyed or transferred to a more powerful 
person. 

"Open the way to the surface," Laquatus ordered 
the transport mage. "Just inside the castle walls would 
be best." He began to concentrate, building on his link 
with Turg. 

"I cannot, your Excellency," came the reply 
behind him. The merman spun, his composure broken 
as he bore down on the mage. 

"Why not!" Laquatus grabbed the amphibian's 
whiskers, knowing them to transmit pain, and pulled 
them viciously. The mage hissed in agony until the 
ambassador loosened his grip. 

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"The spell that you fled touched the portal and 
drained my power," the mage said, pulling its whiskers 
through the merman's fingers. "It will be some time 
before I may cast another spell." 

Laquatus wondered if the universe itself was 
against him. 

"There must be another way to the surface," the 
merman raged, twisting in the water wildly, trying to 
think of a way through the rock above him. He felt 
trapped, dependent as he was on another to cast the 
spell. 

"We created a permanent opening outside of the 
city," the mage said as its shivers of pain stopped. The 
blind cave dweller backed away as if to deny the 
ambassador further opportunity for violence. "Captain 
Satas ordered a permanent pool to be opened in the 
rough country to ease the placement of spies and 
travel of messengers." 

"Why didn't you say so earlier?" the merman said. 
He gathered his champion and what guards were 
available and left for the permanent pool. Perhaps 
there was still time. In short order they exited to the 
upper world, the ambassador racked with momentary 
disorientation as he transformed into a walker once 
more. 

Laquatus appeared at the foot of the citadel near 
the lower wall. Gullies and heavy brush backed the 
hill on which the castle sat. The thick growth made 
movement difficult but infiltration fairly easy. The 
ambassador was surprised that the Order had not 
placed traps or at least planted poisonous shrubs. 
However, he was willing to take advantage of the 
situation. 

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There were no roads or paths around the hill to 
the castle gates. Knowing that time was of the essence, 
he sank into a trance, preparing to act once more 
through the jack. The camouflaged amphibian worked 
his way to the winding road, careful to be unobserved 
as he dropped from above. A surge of people ascended 
the path below him, and soldiers came down from 
above. The ambassador sent pulses of illusion and 
misdirection, reinforcing the jack's camouflage as he 
climbed to the main part of the Citadel. 

Explosions shook the air, and Laquatus sent the 
frog up at a run, tearing through the gates. He saw 
Kamahl force his way past the guard. Covering the 
intervening courtyard without becoming involved with 
the fighting was nearly impossible, but he did it. The 
jack threw himself rolling past the barbarian as the 
metal-hued warrior turned back to look outside. The 
frog made quite a bit of noise, and he ran ahead lest he 
be caught in close quarters. But the barbarian gave no 
sign that he noticed the sea warrior through the web of 
deceit, and Laquatus resolved to attack. 

His attempt to ambush the mountain mage failed, 
and Kamahl forged ahead of the mer champion, 
blocking Turg's path to the lieutenant and the prize. 
Petulance at his opponent's poor timing sent the 
ambassador and his frog into a rage. He grabbed every 
thing he could from the tables to throw down the hall. 
Goblets, platters, and bones whistled through the air, 
only to be rendered harmless by the barbarian's 
defenses. 

Laquatus reigned his temper in. Kirtar had the 
real prize, and time wasted on Kamahl took true 
power farther away every minute. Besides, who knew 

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how far the crystal wave might travel? The castle 
might be uninhabitable at any moment, and he was 
having a food fight. 

Realizing how trivial the barbarian really was, he 
unleashed a school of flying fish as a distraction, 
passing the barbarian in a cloud of deceit. The frog 
shied away from the white flame surrounding Kamahl, 
the heat drying his skin, making him dangerously 
lethargic. 

Once past, Turg wondered which way to go, 
confused for a moment as to where Kirtar might be. 
Seeing a stairway he moved into it. A barrel of water 
for washing the floor delayed Turg as he drank the 
filthy water down, his primitive instincts overriding 
Laquatus's sophistication. 

The ambassador reestablished control with a 
burst of will. He must find the prize. While he 
wondered where to go, clattering footsteps descended 
the stairs. He faded into the shadows. He glimpsed 
Kirtar, the object of his quest, carried past by three 
guards. He moved to follow, only to be blocked by a 
group of servants retreating from upstairs. 

"I will not be denied," thundered Laquatus in 
Turg's skull, and lighting arced from his fingers, 
slaying those in his way. He ran after the lieutenant, 
seeing the wave of crystal already coming through the 
wall. 

The jack moved silently, running after the 
warriors retreating from their master's disastrous 
spell. The aven stopped as the lieutenant called out. 

"I must try again," he insisted in a hollow voice, 
the words barely audible even to Turg's excellent ears. 
The bird warriors kept moving until he weakly 

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swatted at their hands, the palest glow surrounding 
his fists. "I command the Order, now stop!" The three 
did so reluctantly. 

"Sir, you have tried so many times to turn the 
spell," one said, his eyes signaling that he wanted to 
run. "Why should you succeed this time." 

Kirtar folded himself around the orb. 

"Because I must," he said. The lieutenant's frame 
shivered violently, but he regained control. "The 
crystal devours me. Find out what is happening." The 
mage lost himself in a trance. 

The retainers separated, one going to check on 
the advancing spell, the other going ahead. Laquatus 
watched through the amphibian's eyes as the bird 
warrior looked back, hesitation plain in his face. Then 
he turned abruptly and walked away. 

Once the lieutenant has a single retainer, Turg 
ran down the corridor, a lance of lightning surging 
from his hands. The ambassador put everything into 
the link, the electrical arc growing until it was arm-
thick. The stroke continued through the soldier's body, 
burning away the plaster on a wall ten feet away. The 
frog collapsed, his spells exhausted as the last barrier 
to the orb fell. 

Kirtar's eyes were clear, jolted out of his trance as 
the amphibian crawled closer. The leader of the Order 
lay slack, shock visible on his face. He began to 
tremble once more and pushed out his palm as if to 
command the world to halt. Turg glanced behind him. 
The wall of crystal was advancing faster. Laquatus 
knew it was time to claim the prize. 

The lieutenant cried out as Turg plucked the 
sphere from the aven's hand. The bird warrior faded 

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even further as he lost touch with the sphere. The 
ambassador ignored everything as his champion 
gripped the prize. The bright mirror finish of the orb 
darkened, the reflected light from the spreading 
crystal lost as the prize changed. The ambassador 
forced the pit frog to retreat, lest it be entombed with 
the others. Rousing the will to move was as difficult a 
battle as any Laquatus had ever fought. 

Turg blindly stumbled away, still looking at the 
wonder cupped in his hands. The sphere was the color 
of the seas, constantly shifting and changing. The blue 
of the tropics gave way to the gray of the northern 
reaches. The ambassador looked through the frog's 
eyes as the prize continued to change. The sphere 
became a globe of waterendless tides sweeping 
across it unhindered by the land. A world that hinted 
at wonders hidden under its surface. 

Turg tripped and tumbled with none of his deadly 
grace. Only the terrified shout of Laquatus's spirit 
prevented the prize from spinning out of the pit frog's 
grasp. The globe still called to the ambassador's mind, 
but he resisted the urge. There would be plenty of time 
to plumb its depths after the amphibian was safely 
back in camp. 

A call came from below, the calm voice of Captain 
Satas speaking through the ether. "I have arrived with 
new mages. Do you wish to return to the underworld?" 

"Yes!" shouted the ambassador's spirit. Turg fell 
into a pool of swirling energy as the tresias, and his 
mages reacted to the apparent source of the call. The 
shock of passage pulled the ambassador's spirit back to 
his rightful body. He shook himself awake and looked 
around. He was out of the gully, his clothes torn and 

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bleeding from abrasions. The travel mage held onto his 
arms and bruising covered the minion's face. 

"Why am I out here?" Laquatus demanded, 
slapping away the blind hands as he felt his minor 
pains. 

"You left the entrance at a run, lost in your 
trance. You would not stop or respond," the mage said 
wretchedly. "The others were afraid to restrain you 
physically, and my weight was too slight to stop you. 1 
tried to ensnare you in an illusion, but you went right 
through them. You moved without direction, dragging 
me through brush and bouncing off trees. 1 don't know 
where we are." The amphibian wailed, lost in the 
world beyond his caves. 

Laquatus had driven Turg often enough to realize 
that his link with the jack was bleeding back to him. 
As the aristocrat's spirit concerned itself solely with 
directing the frog, his own body responded to echoes of 
those commands. He would have to exercise more care 
in the future. But even with blood dripping from his 
face, the ambassador was in a good mood. Who cared 
where he was. He had captured the prize. 

"Do not worry," the merman said. "I have 
succeeded in everything." 

The ambassador must have come hundreds of 
yards in his blind rush. Now a squad of griffins fell 
from the sky, their shrieks of anger reminding 
Laqautus that the Order considered itself attacked 
from without and within. 

"Satas," he called through his stone, "hide all 
signs of the portal and prepare to take me away." He 
waited precious seconds as the Order landed in a 
clearing only yards away. 

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"I cannot," the tresias said sorrowfully. "Like his 
companion before, my transport mage is spent in 
pulling your champion away. We cannot rescue you at 
this time." 

The merman thought quickly, trapped with only 
his own resources. 

"Send Turg to me through the permanent portal 
now," he cried through the mental plane. "Keep the orb 
safe until I return." 

He commanded his champion to come. The frog 
resisted, still entranced by the sphere, but the 
ambassador owned his soul. With a despairing cry, the 
jack came through the portal, running toward the 
ambassador. 

"What incredible luck," Laqautus cried, stepping 
rapidly to greet the griffin riders as they came through 
the brush. "Now the traitors are doomed," he said 
confidently. Confusion replaced the hostility on the 
riders' faces. 

"What are you talking about?" a soldier snarled, 
rage burning through his bemusement. "The traitors 
are trapped in the Citadel. We came to question you," 
he added, driving his steed closer. 

"Monstrous!" the ambassador howled, as the 
sound of Turg breaking through the brush made the 
riders turn. "My champion has been chasing the 
brigands, trying to cut off the barbarian's allies." Turg 
was torn and bloody, his wounded thigh once again 
seeping. 

"We saw Kamahl meet with warriors dressed in 
hooded robes less than an hour ago. We then informed 
Lieutenant Kirtar of the notorious murderer and his 
confederates. He assured me that he would act to 

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protect the Order," said the ambassador. At the news, 
a few soldiers sympathetic to Kirtar took it upon 
themselves to heal Turg. 

The detachment head appeared lost, uncertain of 
everything, 

The news of the mutiny must have been 
unbearable to most of the Order, the ambassador 
knew. The captain was very popular, and Kirtar was a 
fool not to kill her secretly. However, he knew any 
organization would accept outright lies to preserve the 
respect for its leaders. 

"Take me to Kirtar this instant," Laquatus 
demanded, betting on the bird warrior's death. 

He and his champion were mounted once more on 
griffins, and they flew toward the Citadel. The 
ambassador fought his fear of flying by dreaming up 
contingency lies. People streamed down the road from 
the castle, a few soldiers rushing from entrances. A 
hole was blown out the upper stories. 

"Damned barbarian," the sea mage heard his 
rider mutter. 

They landed, and Laquatus and Turg were 
rushed to the current leader of the Order, Pianna's 
sword in his hand. 

Laquatus stepped forward to spin his tale, 
confident his story would be confirmed. 

* * * * * 

Laquatus rode through the city gates, accepting 
the accolades with a dignified nod. The knights and 
soldiers of the Order were drawn up and saluted him 
and his champion as they started their brave ride for 
the sea. 

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The new captain was very understanding of the 
ambassador's need to leave, not trusting anyone as he 
struggled for unity with soldiers still reeling from 
rumors of murder and mutiny. 

Officially, the barbarian Kamahl and unnamed 
conspirators infiltrated the fortress, and Kirtar had 
discovered it too late. The lieutenant took control, 
rushing to protect Captain Pianna who had already 
fallen to internal betrayers. Kamahl fought his way 
through the protective guards to join the murderers. 
Kirtar fell in personal battle with the barbarian. The 
mountain warrior cut his way out of the castle to the 
plains. There was no sign of Kamahl, and Laquatus 
doubted the new captain would waste time looking for 
the barbarian when he had traitors to root out. The 
ambassador wondered if the lie would hold. But what 
matter the fables of the plains? He had captured the 
orb, and the Order could believe what it wanted. 

After an hour they stopped, the merman anxious 
to leave his new retinue behind. Laquatus conducted a 
series of personal interviews, and the convoy continued 
on without him and his champion. The ride back to the 
portal was tortuous, the road seeming far longer. Turg 
moved in camouflage, while the merman rode in a 
borrowed cloak. Selective illusions took them past 
soldiers and regular travelers. 

At last they left the path and headed for the 
portal open outside the city. It was dark as they made 
their way through the brush and into the gully. The 
pool gave off a feeble glow, the light caught by the 
overhang above. He reentered the underground, 
sliding through the transformation with ease. Only a 

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small squad awaited him, and he wondered where 
Captain Satas might be. 

"Where is the rest of my escort?" Laquatus called 
as Turg swam for a cache of supplies and fell to eating. 
A tresias approached and the ambassador noticed the 
heavy bruising that he himself had inflicted hours 
before. 

"Captain Satas has gone ahead to the emperor, 
carrying your captured prize," the blind amphibian 
said, keeping away from the merman. "He decided 
such an important artifact must be conducted to his 
Imperial Highness as rapidly as possible." The small 
creature swam backward and crowded against the 
wall, fearing an angry explosion. 

Laquatus did nothing. The captain led him by 
hours and with his smaller stature and better routes 
could not be intercepted before he reached the sea. The 
tresias formed the backbone of the officer core and 
messenger system that he used to communicate with 
his forces. There was no way to reach his personal 
retainers. Perhaps he could fly overland and beat 
Satas to the sea? But he did not know the Captain's 
route and access to the underground was under the 
bastard's control. He might be unable to even reenter 
the subterranean rivers. 

The prize had slipped beyond his fingers once 
more, and worst of all, it had fallen into the hands of 
the emperor, his master. 

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CHAPTER 18 


Aboshan, Emperor of the Seas, reclined in his 
palace listening to a courtier. The cephalid shifted his 
tentacles, sliding back into the throne. No mere chair, 
the pile of coral was covered with short growths 
endlessly moving over his skin. The organisms cleaned 
and feed small amounts of power to him drawn from 
the building's essence. He turned and let the 
multicolored polyps move over another area of his 
body. The brilliant azure of his skin competed against 
the array of color on the throne and walls. His eyes 
idly moved as he luxuriated in the comfortable 
embrace. Tentacles left vortices through the water as 
he turned and sent a magic call to the fish colonizing 
the palace walls. An animal darted around, and he 
caught it, appreciating its jewel-like colors before 
devouring it. 

The huge room was formed out of coral. The 
unique species excreted a dense mesh, becoming as 
tough and resilient as anything in the sea. Two large 
doors opened out to the ocean, and several gaps in the 
dome's roof allowed fresh currents of water to flow. 
The ceiling and walls glowed as tiny plants funneled 
light through the structure and spilled it out. When 
the sun disappeared from the upper air, other 
organisms would feed light through the palace. 
Aboshan wondered how those on dry land could bear to 
live in dead structures. 

The emperor dragged his attention back to the 
speaker. The brown fur of the courtier rippled as his 

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body slowly rotated, the selkie using unusual restraint 
as he reported about the land. The seal could take on a 
human's appearance much as Aboshan could form legs. 
The emperor, of course, avoided such transformations 
as much as possible. He considered the land 
contemptible. The fact that the courtier by nature 
could move among the land bound with ease made him 
suspect in the cephalid's eyes. He breathed water 
down, reveling in another advantage. The selkie 
needed air, and only a special spell allowed the 
creature to remain at court without withdrawing every 
few minutes. "The Order is in disarray," the selkie 
continued, darting his head briefly toward a fish 
swimming close by. "The new leader is a warrior 
named Bretath. He conveys his respects and his 
gratitude for Ambassador Laquatus's aid in the recent 
troubles." 

"As if we took any notice of land-bound troubles," 
the emperor drawled, his boredom plain to all. "Surely 
you have some news of interest beside the business of 
savages and their meaningless tribes." 

The selkie somersaulted with agitation before 
settling down. The emperor yawned, used to the 
courtier's flighty nature. He firmly believed that air 
breathers should deal with air breathers, being 
already contaminated. Some sages believed seals, 
whales, and others needing air to be refugees from the 
land. Their ancestors were right to flee back to the sea, 
but Aboshan shuddered at the thought of such a 
lineage. 

"Of course, your Imperial Highness," the seal 
answered, his tone hesitant as he searched for a new 
topic, one likely to interest the monarch. "There are 

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problems regarding the treasures gathered inside the 
continent." 

The emperor's attention focused on the selkie. 
The land might be filled with contemptible peoples, 
but it held the lion's share of past wars' spoils. The 
battlefields had only occasionally moved over the sea. 
Many of the prizes were lost in the ocean's abysmal 
depths where even the emperor's warrant had little 
weight. His beak snapped as he considered the dry 
kingdoms' salvage activities in retrieving ships lost at 
sea. It was only proper that his nation empty the 
land's treasure troves. 

"Our explorers and diggers locate and transport 
the reclaimed prizes easily enough," the selkie said. 
"Bringing them to the coast is not the problem. But 
now that we move more of the discoveries to the court, 
we are having difficulties." 

The seal spoke slower, for a thunderous 
expression grew on Aboshan's face. The emperor had 
instituted the policy of relocating the machines and 
objects of power from above the waves to below them. 
For decades, isolated stretches of coastline and caves 
on rocky islands had held the empire's loot recovered 
from ancient battlefields. The monarch had decided 
that such potential power must be brought under his 
direct physical control. 

"Many of the mechanisms are delicate, and we 
find them difficult to repair," the selkie continued. 
"Fetishes are composed of materials that break down 
in the water. Worst of all, we have few trained to 
repair them. Perhaps it would be simpler to trade with 
the Cabal who is positioned to use them." 

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Aboshan swam free of the throne, his trident held 
in two tentacles as if to attack. The selkie froze as the 
guards became more alert. The trident was the symbol 
of the emperor's might, but now he used it as a simple 
weapon, laying the tines against the seal's neck. 

"We find your suggestion unacceptable," the 
cephalid said, his voice freezing the courtier, as 
previous signs of displeasure had not. "What we have 
recovered is for our use," he said, the trident's barbed 
points puncturing the courtier's fur. Blood clouded the 
water, and small cleaning fish from the walls swam to 
dispose of the perceived garbage. Aboshan's weapon 
pulled free of the seal's neck muscles. An electric shock 
surged into the school, sending the selkie into a series 
of convulsions as the fish died and floated toward the 
dome's roof. Hidden guardians appeared momentarily 
as they struck at the ascending food. The cephalid 
gripped the seal and pulled him closer, his suckers 
marking the hide as the frozen selkie quivered in fear. 

"The land dwellers have held the keys to the past 
for long enough. We shall gather hold of power and 
harness it to our own purposes." He moved his 
tentacles, and the fur began to tear free of the muscle 
beneath. "If you are unable to oversee the care of our 
treasure, then arrange with the Cabal Patriarch for 
workers to come here. Now go, and let it be done." 

The emperor swam back to his throne as the 
selkie floated, then talked excitably to an aide, which 
left. 

"Even air breathing swimmers are incompetent," 
Aboshan said to himself. 

He regretted asking for workers from the Cabal. 
However, the preservation of fetishes and totems were 

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unknown in the undersea kingdom. Most objects of 
power were living organisms. The care of dead magic 
was a rare art. 

The doors against the wall opened suddenly, a 
wave of ink surging into the room. The current began 
to flow faster, pumping more of the darkness among 
the courtiers. 

"Guards, defend your emperor!" Aboshan ordered 
as he called up power. Huge cuttlefish moved through 
the doorway, their sides flashed colors so quickly that 
the eye was uncertain of their shade from one moment 
to the next. More ink gushed from them, moving into 
the crowd. 

The darkness coiled evilly through the water, its 
touch paralyzing those who could not evade it. The 
selkie swam for the upper openings only to contact a 
trailing cloud. It went into convulsions. Bubbles rose 
from its frame as it lost control of its body and the 
spell allowing it to breathe. The seal drowned in 
seconds, its lungs full of water and then poison. 

Sea warriors swarmed through the doors, their 
skin covered in a translucent gel protecting them from 
the ink. Their spears and tridents started to work at 
the crowd as the emperor readied himself for battle. 

The throne room's hidden guards responded, 
surging from the crevices and crannies that lined the 
walls. Octopi weighing hundreds of pounds jetted 
toward the cuttlefish. 

Their long arms wrapped over the animals' heads 
as the attackers tried to escape, their hides flaring 
with panic. Huge moray eels swam out, their jaws 
closing over the waists and limbs of the attacking mer. 
However, illusions swam into being, misleading the 

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beasts' strikes as the invaders continued toward the 
emperor. 

A school of barracuda swept through the upper 
exits to the open ocean. Directed by exterior guards, 
they flew into the invaders before the cephalids could 
react. Limbs separated as the living knives carved 
apart the attackers and a few of the paralyzed victims. 
The fish flexed wildly, smashing into the walls in 
explosions of gore as the diluted ink destroyed their 
ability to control their direction. 

Aboshan gestured with his trident, and the 
current reversed. The water's speed intensified, and 
the ink flowed to the outside. The paralyzed courtiers 
and the bodies of the slain swirled out through the 
gates. The emperor stopped as he realized his spell 
prevented reinforcements from reaching the throne 
room. Two attackers had survived every counterattack 
and closed on the throne, their weapons raised for 
regicide. 

Aboshan swam toward one, his trident focusing 
his will. Water surged again but in a much narrower 
area. A thin liquid thread cut through the rebel's 
upraised weapon and the merman's torso. The jet 
dispersed blood and flesh in a huge cloud rolling 
toward the walls. The ruler turned, his weapon 
meeting his last attacker. They locked tines, the 
tridents contesting for supremacy. 

Aboshan forced the rebel down, rolling the 
cephalid and disorienting him. He grabbed the 
helpless throat, his magic crowding through the 
enemy's body, rendering him helpless. Reinforcements 
came through the gates and the upper works, unable 
to find any living enemies. A few guards began 

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gathering up the paralyzed, hauling them away to the 
healers for care and antidotes. 

The emperor turned the rebel's head from side to 
side, studying it in hope of recognition, but he could 
not remember him. He shook the slack body violently, 
the eyes suddenly opening in shock and surprise. 
Aboshan laughed as the rush of surviving sent him 
into a manic mood. 

"Who sent you?" he cried into the still face. "Who 
is behind this treachery?" 

The monarch eased his magical grip on the 
merman's nerves, and his victim gasped and grimaced 
as he regained some control. 

"No one had to send us," he rasped, his voice 
husky from the abuse Aboshan inflicted on his throat. 
"You are everyone's enemy under the sea." 

The emperor dragged his trident down the rebel's 
flank, letting blood into the water. 

"You lie," said the monarch, sending the tines 
deeper into the trailing tentacles. "You came at the 
instigation of our wife, Llawan. Why did she send you 
to kill me?" 

"The ocean is marred by your armies and forts," 
whispered the rebel, lines of despair evident in his 
face. "None may trust the other for fear of informers in 
your pay." He breathed in polluted water and paused. 
"The denizens of the upper ocean must bow to your 
will or flee. The cetaceans suffer from your contempt 
and whale songs grow bitter. How can any not rise up 
and strike you down?" The fighter began to talk with 
more strength, the emperor's magical hold weakening 
as the offender further roused the imperial temper. 

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"We are only the first lapping of a wave sweeping 
you aside," the captive said more boldly. "You dare not 
leave your palace unless escorted by schools of guards. 
You cannot hope to chain the seas with your decrees." 

Aboshan was bright red with rage, the muscles 
holding the trident quivering with anticipation. 

"You shall fall and Llawan, Empress of the Sea 
shall reign in" 

The monarch cut the speech short, plunging the 
bronze barbs deep into the cephalid only to withdraw 
and stab him again. The emperor's skin pulsed a howl 
of rage as he executed the prisoner. 

"Bring me the captain of the guard," the monarch 
commanded, letting loose the rebel to drift with the 
current. The captain was a pale blue as he approached 
his sovereign. 

"I am trying to find out how the attackers 
infiltrated the palace, sire," he said in a trembling 
voice. The emperor jetted back and forth, his skin still 
pulsating in rage. 

"I know how the scum came into our presence," 
Aboshan said and came closer. "The question is merely 
one of your incompetence or active treachery." 

"I assure you that I live to serve only you, 
Majesty," the captain said excitedly. The monarch 
regarded him narrowly, the pulses of color slowing. 

"We think not. We think you serve the self-styled 
Queen of the Seas, Llawan." He swam closer to the 
officer. "We think you would see another on the throne, 
so take your seat!" 

Aboshan forced the captain onto the organisms 
that groomed the ruler, the soldier jarring against the 
under lying rock. His taste was not the emperor's, and 

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the polyps turned upon the perceived usurper. Venom 
seared into the officer's scales, killing him as broad 
swathes of flesh swelled and burst. A look of 
unspeakable agony showed, and the face was washed 
away by the throne's caress. 

"Let him be cast into the abyss," Aboshan 
proclaimed. "There to be devoured by worms along 
with his brethren in treachery. Let others of the slain 
be displayed as proof of our justice and continued 
power." 

The captain's former command gathered up the 
dead and retreated to do the monarch's will. 

It was some time before the next guard 
commander dared report to the emperor. Finally, a 
sergeant stationed in the palace came to speak to the 
monarch in his private quarters. Aboshan had retired 
to regain his composure, though a clerk to conduct 
official business accompanied him. The imperial rooms 
were lit by light pumped from the upper world. Long 
kelp plants swayed in the currents, and small edible 
fish and crustaceans scurried over the floors. The 
emperor saw distrust in the sergeant's face as the 
soldier regarded the restful scene. Aboshan hoped fear 
of poisons and hidden guardians would give others 
pause when they plotted against him. The attendants 
who usually filled the rooms waited elsewhere until 
his temper subsided. 

"The attackers appeared in the palace through 
use of a transport pool," the commander began without 
preamble, anxious to discharge his duty and leave. 
"The cuttlefish filled the outer rooms with poisonous 
ink, and the rebels prevented the flow of 
reinforcements from inside the defenses. Most of the 

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Odyssey 

troops were unaware of any problems until the attack 
was over. All the invaders perished resisting capture 
or during the assault on your person. At this time we 
have no leads as to who might be responsible." The 
soldier dipped his head, the emperor and his servant 
half-hidden from sight by the room's growth. He left at 
Aboshan's nod. 

The monarch turned to his clerk. The privilege of 
serving as private secretary to the emperor rotated 
fairly often. The civil service assured him that it was 
awarded on the basis of performance. Aboshan 
wondered if the ministers overseeing the palace staff 
really thought him so dull witted. The secretary was a 
tall spindly crab holding a stylus and a sheet of wax, 
ready to take down his orders. 

"We charge the army to investigate all signs 
relating to the recent conspiracy to unseat us," the 
monarch dictated, plucking a tiny urchin from the floor 
and splitting it open, the pain from the quills spicing 
the coming meal. "All communications with the 
southern court of Queen Llawan are to be closely 
scrutinized and correspondents questioned rigorously 
as to their connections with our estranged spouse." 

The cephalid sucked the urchin's innards down 
and tore at the flesh with his beak as he considered 
further actions. His maleficent wife and her pawns 
had breached his palace. Yet to act against her would 
provoke a civil war that even in victory would leave 
the kingdom crip-pled. He needed uncontestable proof 
of her guilt. The emperor thought of her rumored 
alliances with the cetaceans and the monsters of the 
abyss. Perhaps he should increase efforts to infiltrate 
her court as she had so obviously violated his own. 

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Aboshan thought of Laquatus, banished to play 
ambassador to the land because of his unfortunate ties 
to the queen. Perhaps his close experience with the 
land might promote sympathy for imperial plans. He 
thought of the arrogant and cruel merman doomed to 
scrape before air breathers and land walkers. 

"I recall our ambassador from the Cabal to serve 
our pleasure once more, his successor to be appointed 
after close consultation with our loyal friend, 
Laquatus," the emperor said. He waved the crab away 
to convey his orders to the palace ministers. 

Undoubtedly, Laquatus would serve Aboshan to 
regain favor. Most of the world waited for a ruler's 
firm hand. The monarch would establish a new 
dominion over sea and land. The emperor's mirth 
showed in a shower of colors flowing over his skin, and 
he rang for his maidens to attend him. 

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Odyssey 

CHAPTER 19 


Laquatus looked at the capital as he swam 
through the water, enjoying the comparative warmth 
of the ocean after days in the caverns under the 
continent. Turg swam alongside, his clumsy strokes 
amusing the merman as the ambassador continued 
down. The light grew dimmer as the bottom gained 
definition. From the surface, the city could not be seen, 
but it filled a huge stretch of the continental shelf. The 
buildings below lived, straining nutrients from the 
water to repair themselves and repelling pests. Steady 
streams of mer people swam through and above the 
city. A pod of whales called to the ambassador as they 
herded a school of fish with sonic calls toward the 
capital. Once a sign of tribute to the emperor, the cries 
sounded of onerous duty to the merman's ears. But 
what did he care for the opinion of air breathers? He 
felt the flutter of his gills to prove his superior nature. 

The whales grew silent as mer warriors swam up 
to meet them, their lack of song more telling than any 
call. The soldiers' magic now herded the fish, their 
command lulling the school to an army encampment. 

Laquatus noticed many soldiers and a distinct 
lack of traffic other than warriors. Wondering if some 
great danger threatened the kingdom, he headed for 
the palace. Perhaps a great feeding spiral of sharks 
swept through the ocean. Laquatus remembered that 
the seas could be suddenly violent as well as tranquil. 

He neared the imperial residence and noticed a 
great dome inscribed with glowing characters. The 

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huge gazebo-like structure was the exhibition site for 
traitors. The merman wondered who suffered there 
now? 

He swam below the roof, nodding to the guards 
who observed him as he neared the dead. Several 
corpses floated in anchored nets, their bodies in pieces 
as cleaner fish and crabs slowly snipped off small bits 
of rotting meat. Unidentifiable parts of several 
different species were in some nets. 

"Imperial justice, as swift and careful as always," 
he muttered as he swam to the wax placard inscribed 
with symbols. A guard, stationed to tell the illiterate 
what the sign said, relaxed as the ambassador looked 
over the words. 

"CONDEMNED BE ALL TRAITORS WHO 
WOULD KILL THE EMPEROR ON HIS THRONE. 
THOSE WHO WOULD SERVE OTHER MASTERS 
ARE ETERNALLY DEVOURED HERE AND IN THE 
ABYSMAL DEPTHS." 

"Guard," the aristocrat inquired in a bored tone. 
"What happened to bring these traitors here?" 

Laquatus had left the seacoast having heard just 
that a message had arrived for him. Fearing that the 
coastal mission might have orders to arrest him, he 
continued to the capital, hoping he still might 
intercept Captain Satas. 

He and his champion had swum through the 
caverns in pursuit, leaving all behind but a single 
guide for fear of the soldiers' loyalty to their captain. 
The ambassador wanted nothing to prevent the 
appropriate action, should they catch the tresias. They 
had swum without rest through the arteries of the 
continent. But Satas could travel the more direct 

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paths, while Laquatus and especially the massive Turg 
made costly detours. They missed the good captain by 
days when they reached the coast. 

The frog kidnapped a servant whom the merman 
interrogated before releasing with false memories of 
what occurred. The ambassador knew that he was 
recalled, not the reason for it. He and his jack left 
immediately for the capital. Only the knowledge that 
doom might await him tempered Laqua-tus's joy to be 
free of dry land. Now he hoped to hear what news 
might influence his return. 

"These and other traitors appeared in the palace 
through a transport pool and reached the throne 
room," the guard related in a voice grown bored with 
repetition. "The emperor himself beat the attack off. 
The army still looks for traitors who may have 
escaped." 

Laquatus nodded in thanks and continued on his 
way. An assault on the emperor might provide 
opportunities to explain his actions. He could explain 
fear of enemies intercepting his reports led to his 
silence regarding the orb. The palace grew closer, and 
he noted the observers peering from houses along the 
way. 

The homes of nobles were closed up, few signs of 
the inhabitants visible. Years before the emperor and 
his wife had split, the cast-off empress had styled 
herself as queen in her own right. Many nobles, 
outraged by the emperor's arrogant and arbitrary 
manner, retired to the southern court. Aboshan 
became convinced that conspiracies must be in motion 
against him. 

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Laquatus had connections in both courts, and 
while no evidence existed against him, his exile to dry 
land soon followed the rift. Though the ambassador 
had no affection for the emperor, he had even less for 
his estranged wife. Llawan had become a champion of 
the displaced in Aboshan's rise to power. Laquatus had 
little use for those without the will or wiles to preserve 
their position. 

His own exile he viewed as a purely temporary 
state. In addition, the queen opened dialogues with the 
air breathing races of the sea and the denizens of the 
deep ocean. Such species had their place, but it was 
subservient to the mer races and the upper ocean. 

The ambassador swam directly to the palace, 
confident that his reception would be good. He 
concealed his fear. Revelation of any doubt might doom 
him if reported to the emperor. The guard recognized 
him and ushered him through the gates immediately. 
Laquatus was escorted through the entry halls, 
amazed at the high number of guards. He reasoned it 
merely a reaction to the earlier attacks. The interior of 
the palace hummed as counterspells resonated with 
the building's very fabric. 

Laquatus was no longer as hopeful of his 
reception. He reminded himself that no mere 
amphibian could bring him down, Captain Satas be 
damned. The doorman failed to announce him, and 
briefly the ambassador wondered if an execution squad 
waited inside. 

The emperor reclined in the nearly empty room 
with only a few courtiers present. Turg picked up the 
ambassador's nervousness and began to glower. His 
master sent him reeling back under a mental barrage. 

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Odyssey 

Though the mer ruler appeared unprotected, the 
hidden guardians were well known to those familiar 
with the court. 

"Laquatus," Aboshan cried, rising and swimming 
closer. "How good to see you." The monarch had his 
trident in hand, and the ambassador decided boldness 
was in order. 

"I am pleased and grateful to be here," Laquatus 
said and tried to appear concerned. "I was relieved to 
hear that you survived the attack." 

"What do you know?" the emperor growled, 
raising the trident. 

The ambassador reminded himself of the hidden 
guardians and the ruler's known powers. 

"Only what I have heard on my way to the 
capital," Laquatus exclaimed, lowering his head in 
supplication. "I saw the bodies of the traitors and came 
immediately to see that you were well. I ask only how I 
may serve." 

"They invaded our court through those very 
gates," Aboshan said angrily, pointing his trident. The 
walls seemed to move slightly as guardians almost 
revealed themselves at the violent gesture. "We were 
alone, our guards laid low by poison." 

The ambassador nodded without fear, finding it 
unlikely that the monarch would kill his audience. 

"We directed the waters to sweep our enemies 
away," the ruler said, his eyes lost in a refined 
memory. "Our guards finally came in, but a half-dozen 
of the scum still swam for us. We killed them in close 
combat despite receiving grievous wounds. We 
questioned the only survivor, but he took his own life 

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before we could force the queen's involvement from 
him." 

Laquatus nodded, sure that the enemies would 
become an even dozen before an official account of the 
event was set down. Perhaps they would be 
immortalized in a living mural on the palace walls. 

"That brings us to you," Aboshan said with a 
pointed smile. "You have relationships with the 
queen's court. You might provide us invaluable service 
in proving her complicity." He swam back toward the 
throne, the ambassador following. 

"I fear that my former acquaintances will not be 
forthcoming, sire," Laquatus said, careful to stay well 
away from the emperor's seat. "My banishment to the 
continent may have convinced them that 1 am no 
longer in your confidence or a position of power." A 
little of the bitterness at his exile leaked through 
despite the merman's best efforts to hide it. 

"Easily remedied," Aboshan assured him. "We 
will give very public signs of our favor, concurring 
upon you suitable awards and titles." 

"Then I fear those in the queen's court will 
question my motives," Laquatus replied, drifting in 
front of his sovereign with his head bent in humility. 

"Tell them that your long sojourn on land has 
made you more amenable to the southern court," 
Aboshan said as he reclined in the stinging tentacles. 
"We are confident in your abilities at deception." 

Laquatus could only humbly nod. 

* * * * * 

The great windbag, the ambassador thought, 
looking back on the interview. The emperor recited 

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hours of conspiracy theory, searching for enemies 
everywhere. He called in secret informers who gave 
the most banal reports, which Aboshan tried to turn 

into damning indictments. Only the emperor's 
precarious hold on reality prevented him from 
unleashing pogroms. 

The monarch acted at once to rebuild Laquatus's 
political stature, awarding him with a gold medallion 
and the appellation, Friend of the Emperor. The 
bauble was too heavy, and the friendship would last 
until Aboshan thought him conspiring with others or 
of no more use. Finally, the ambassador was able to 
reclaim his jack and pursue his true mission  
locating Satas and the prize. 

It was with some surprise that he learned the 
good captain was gone. He left for the coast before the 
ambassador even arrived at the capital. Laquatus, 
using his new status, found the entry logs for the day 
in question. The guard who admitted Satas to the 
palace vaguely remembered the little amphibian. He 
recalled directing the tresias to the treasure room. The 
ambassador called Turg to him from where the frog 
lurked and swam to the lower portions of the palace to 
find the sphere. 

Laquatus stopped at the lowest entry way in 
shock. Instead of a valve or gate there was a soldier 
planted in front of a shimmering sphere. The guard 
had a humanoid torso, but instead of legs or a tail, the 
rest of his body was a long stalk. The lower portion of 
the column flared out and merged with an outcropping 
of the palace. The soldier swayed idly, his hands 
gripping a short spear. He saw the aristocrat and his 
jack and straightened, his lower body altering color as 

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if drawing force from the structure surrounding him. 
Inside the sphere, or more properly hemisphere for it 
met the ground, was dry rock and a trapdoor. 

"Greetings, Your Excellency," the guard said, 
tilting his body down. "How may I be of service?" 

The ambassador still looked at the sight of dry 
land under the sea. 

"Yes, it is something of a surprise," the warrior 
said, "but it was necessary for the workers from the 
continent." His body bobbed as he looked at the 
merman. 

"What workers?" Laquatus asked, crowding 
closer. 

"Why the workers the Cabal sent in response to 
the emperor's order several days ago," the guard said 
in puzzlement. "The care of the treasure room needed 
specialized services that the caretaker could not 
provide. They became absolutely necessary when the 
previous holder died during the traitors' attack." 

"Drylanders, here?" Laquatus questioned, his 
tone alerting the guard to his displeasure. 

"Do not worry," the guard said. "I keep close 
watch, and none of them can breathe water. The 
captain of the guard inspected them for signs of the 
queen's magic, and they all were clean. They are as 
trapped as surely as a meal in a shark's belly." 

"I would inspect the treasure rooms. What should 
I do?" the ambassador said as Turg tried to slip around 
to the guard's back. His master warned him off, 
knowing that those serving in the palace would be 
inspected for signs of tampering. The waxboard 
showed Satas's sigil. The amphibian had arrived and 
left within a half-hour, days before. 

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Laquatus chuckled at the quick exit. There was 
every chance that the captain never reported to the 
emperor or anyone except the caretaker. The merman 
made his mark and prepared to transform. Turg was 
already in the bubble and standing up, preparing to 
pull open the trapdoor. The guard returned his 
attention to the outside passage. At least Laquatus 
was spared the indignity of being observed as he grew 
legs. 

The ambassador emptied his lungs of water as 
the frog opened the trapdoor. Stairs led down the 
bowed timber from ships' hulk The floor was covered 
in muck and sand, and the smell of rotting seaweed 
rose through the door. Then the merman saw some of 
the workers inside and included rotting flesh as a 
source of the stench. The servants were, after all, from 
the Cabal. 

"Ambassador Laquatus," a voice hailed him. A 
woman separated herself from the crowd of living and 
dead workers and hurried over. The underground room 
extended for yards in every direction. Groups of 
zombies and black-clad Cabal servitors piled garbage 
into baskets and dug down to rock. More timber 
waited, and Laquatus realized that they were putting 
up shelves instead of the matrix of pigeonholes and 
sealed pillars that sea people usually employed. 

"I remember you from your marvelous party. I see 
you also brought my playmate." With a sinking heart 
he recognized Fulla, her braids plastered with mud 
against her head. "I would apologize for the mess, but I 
did not make it. Besides, I remember the condition of 
your embassy when I left." 

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Why did it have to be the dementia caster? Any 
ordinary servant or mage could be manipulated by 
false memories, but a despairing Laquatus 
remembered her resistance to his spells. 

"Have I offended you somehow?" he heard her ask 
and brought himself back to reality. 

"Not at all, my dear," he gushed, trying to match 
her enthusiasm. "I was just thinking what chance 
brought you here," he finished through gritted teeth. 

"Well, I will be here for quite some time," she 
laughed gaily. She waved to the muck and mire. "1 and 
my staff are retained by your gracious emperor to 
catalog and repair the treasures. Wonders that are 
rescued, only to be buried here under your palace." 

A sucking roar developed as zombies pulled at a 
chest, uncovering an opening to levels below. Water 
and mud cascaded down. 

"Your previous caretaker placed items randomly 
in a series of chambers, of which this is only one," she 
explained as she walked to the hole, looking down into 
the water. Laquatus could feel a spell engaging, and 
the water slowly began to subside. More mounds of 
muck were revealed with a few gleaming pieces of 
metal. The debris glittered slightly in the light 
pumped from the palace above. 

"One of your ministers was bright enough to 
realize that we needed air to work. He also discovered 
that some of the pieces were damaged by water," Fulla 
said. 

Zombies splashed into the lower chambers and 
began filling baskets the servants handed to them. 

"He failed to realize that withdrawing the water 
would settle everything to the deeper rooms and bury 

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them. To be honest, I do not approve of the former 
caregiver. There is an unholy lode of mud to be cleared 
away." 

The ambassador nodded dumbly, accepting that a 
servant of the Cabal would be the best judge of unholy. 
He realized with a sinking liver that tracking down 
the orb might still be a formidable task. 

"Are there no records of where materials were 
stored?" he asked hopefully. She shook her head in 
amusement. 

"No. Just a record of what the caretaker 
received," she said. "For example, the last entry is of a 
sphere that gave an impression of tremendous power." 

The ambassador nodded with excitement. The 
prize was here. 

"The logs show what came in and what went out, 
but the actual locations are a complete mystery. And 
that was before nearly everything sunk into different 
rooms when the water was forced out. 

"Surely the other workers have some idea?" he 
questioned her, hoping there might be someone else to 
interrogate. 

"What other workers?" Fulla replied with 
exasperation. "From the logs, almost everything was 
handled by the previous caretaker. I am informed that 
the servants who did work here cannot function in the 
open air." Baskets of gunk were thrown out of the 
entry hole to splat into the mud. "If you can call this 
open air." 

She retreated to a stack of shelves with wax 
boards and paper books open. 

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"I and my colleagues are cataloging what we find 
and entering a reference to the original logs and a 
current position." 

She appeared busy, but Laquatus could not 
equate her new position as chief curator with her 
career as a jack in the pits. 

"How did you end up here?" he asked with a 
raised eyebrow. She glanced back, and her face filled 
with the demons that drove her. 

"By the same process that cast you to the Cabal's 
far shore," she replied. Her features calmed, and she 
spoke without intonation. "What truly brings you here 
ambassador? I doubt it was a quest for close friends." 

Laquatus considered his answer for several 
seconds. Just for variety he essayed the truth. 

"The final object received here," the merman said. 
"I want it. What will it cost for me to have it my 
possession, no questions asked?" 

The novelty of a straight answer seemed to 
disarm the dementia caster, and she fumbled for a 
response. 

"A great many pieces were damaged," she finally 
said, turning to the shelves. "Some of them beyond 
repair. But even ruined, they might be of interest the 
Cabal for research purposes." Her face turned sly, 
destroying any attempt at disguising her greed. 

"Done," Laquatus said simply. "Hold the piece for 
me when you find it. In return I will aid you in 
smuggling your loot back to the continent." He looked 
her deep in the eyes. "Cross me, and I will prick this 
bubble of air. Your bones can be catalogued by the next 
curator." 

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She started running her hands over the pieces 
already gleaned, like a shopper handling fruit in the 
market. Laquatus turned and walked to the stairs, 
soiled at the crassness of the deal and having legs once 
again. 

He mounted the stair and dived through the 
bubble, transforming even as he swam away, ignoring 
the guard who recorded his exit. He surged up into the 
palace. He might have been within yards of the orb, 
but he could not detect its power. It was hidden from 
his magical senses. Rumor spoke of perhaps a dozen 
chambers under the palace, and who knew where the 
fool of a curator might have put it. The ambassador 
also worried about his monarch. Fulla was a wild card, 
who knew what she might say if questioned. 

Aboshan emptied troves cared for by the empire's 
mercenaries and selkies, dumping them to decay in his 
palace. Only the ruler's love of control and hunger for 
power had brought the relics to the palace. Now the 
distraction of a simple assassination attempt washed 
them from his mind. 

"Well," vowed Laquatus, "if it is conspiracies that 
truly engage him, then conspiracies he will have." The 
ambassador laughed in the bowels of the palace. He 
would bring new treacheries before Aboshan to conceal 
his own. Turg followed his masters, grinning as new 
plans spawned in the merman's mind. 

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CHAPTER 20 


Kamahl rode Emerald east, watching for signs of 
the ambassador's caravan. The gecko's sinuous gait 
lulled the barbarian as he remembered his escape from 
the town. 

The mountain mage had climbed the rubble ramp 
to the keep's upper stories looking for signs of another 
exit as the cries from Order reinforcements sounded 
below. Through the dust laid down by his destruction, 
he could see tracks that led him to the postern gate. 
The mountain warrior skirted the crystal effect, seeing 
its rate of advance slowing as it continued to fill the 
castle. The taste of the orb's magic faded as the growth 
slowed. 

The postern gate led down a hidden path outside 
the city walls. The tumult inside the town died down 
as Kamahl rejoined the flow of refugees. A golden coin 
secured him a spare great cloak from an elen bird 
warrior. The garment was sized for someone nine feet 
tall and even after a few alterations with a dagger, it 
was still all-enveloping. It was a measure of the 
people's unrest that he did not attract more notice. He 
moved into the old city, listening for news. But rumor 
ruled the crowded streets, not the Order. He headed 
for the Citadel road once more, hoping to find out what 
had occurred. 

Kamahl remembered the swell of power as he felt 
the orb change only minutes after he saw Turg 
following after the lieutenant. The mer must hold the 

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prize by now. The barbarian wondered if Kirtar 
survived. Somehow he doubted it. 

His leg began to pulse with fresh pain from the 
wounds inflicted by the frog. He moved down an alley, 
ready for any attacker, but it was a dead end. Despite 
the city's overcrowding, a momentary break in the 
traffic gave him privacy and allowed him to seek 
shelter. He drew an axe and knife and jumped, his leg 
screaming in protest as he rose. As he started to fall 
back, he sank his tools into the wood racing of the 
building's corner. Rot and lack of care allowed his 
blades to bite deeply, sending sawdust to the alley 
below. He crawled up the structure's side, his arms 
burning as he finally reached the roof. 

This building was shorter than the others 
backing the alley. He crawled behind a storage shed 
and concealed himself from observation. Momentarily 
safe, he ate what food he had. Thirst led him to raid a 
rainwater cistern, and he gulped the cool water down. 
Weary, for even his endurance had its limits, he lay 
down to rest. 

He awoke that night. The city was quieter, the 
sun set some hours before. He wrapped the cloak 
tighter around him and drank more of the water. He 
had no more food. Kamahl squatted to test his leg. 
Finding himself fit he decided to brave the city once 
more. 

He dropped into the alley, his lower limbs hurting 
at the strain but healed enough for full use. There was 
still traffic on the street despite the hour but not like 
Cabal City, whose denizens never seemed to sleep. 
There was a different feel to these pedestrians. They 
were more afraid and more furtive, even as they 

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stayed close to the lights. Kamahl remembered his 
friend Chainer who seemed to know most of his city's 
secrets. The barbarian decided the best source of 
information might be one of the night birds flitting 
through the streets. 

The first lone walkers proved almost useless. His 
cloaked form emerged from the darkness provoking 
two responses. They collapsed in panic or attacked 
with suicidal bravado. One man continued to fight 
even after Kamahl slapped his weapons aside several 
times with his bare hands. Finally he knocked the man 
out in disgust. Perhaps a more predatory type would 
be more amenable to conversation. 

A group of youths moved in concert through a 
street. The avenue was barely lit by damp wood 
burning in a metal basket. A copper hood reflected 
light to the ground. 

The boys split up, settling into positions outside 
the flow of traffic. Their actions reminding Kamahl of 
feral cats choosing their prey. The gang looked into the 
street and not toward each other. The barbarian 
picked a member off silently, covering the young man's 
mouth. They disappeared into the night, Kamahl's 
cloak wrapped around his catch. 

The boy was ragged and smelled, a rusty blade 
thrust through his belt. The dirty pallor of his skin and 
the color of his clothes hid him from those without 
Kamahl's night-sight. The barbarian watched him 
struggle to exude confidence as he stood an arm's 
length away. 

"My friends will come looking for me," the city 
dweller said, staring hard at Kamahl. The gang 

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member's hand was on his blade, but the weapon was 
left undrawn. 

"Better for them if they do not," the barbarian 
said and stepped a little closer, forcing his captive 
against a wall. "All I desire from you is a little 
information. Do you know what happened in the castle 
today?" 

The impromptu informant relaxed slightly. 

"They say that western barbarian and a group of 
conspirators broke into the Citadel. They were the 
ones behind the animal attacks. The swine forced 
refugees into the city, so they could strike from the 
cover of the crowd." Kamahl wondered how good his 
information could be with these falsehoods cast as 
truth. "The traitors managed to kill the captain and 
the lieutenant despite all efforts to stop them. The 
entire Order might have been crippled if not for the 
mer ambassador's warnings." 

"Tell me about Laquatus and his jack, Turg," 
Kamahl ordered, wondering if he should waylay an 
Order patrol. Perhaps they might have more accurate 
information. 

"The merman and the pit frog were heroes," the 
young thug said excitedly. "They would have been 
feted for days if not called back to the ocean on urgent 
business." The city dweller paused. "How could you 
know nothing of what happened? The town has been 
abuzz for hours." He started forward, and Kamahl 
shoved him back. 

"Why should I believe you know anything at all 
about the ambassador?" the mountain warrior asked, 
showing his teeth. "All you seem to know is rumor and 
innuendo." 

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"Because I watched them leave the city for the 
east!" came the hot reply, the injustice of being called a 
liar seeming to raise the boy's courage. Kamahl's snort 
of disbelief further inflamed the informant. 

"I saw them leave this afternoon," he insisted, 
drawing his knife. "I watched the ambassador ride out 
the eastern gate." He waited for an attack, but there 
was only silence as the barbarian melted away. 

Kamahl drifted through the streets, heading for 
the city walls. The thug's affronted pride convinced the 
barbarian that the boy had seen the ambassador 
withdrawing to the east. Moreover, if the orb fell to 
Laquatus, he would have set out for the sea. Kamahl 
knew that it might be a false trail, but whom could he 
question? The merman was as likely to lie to the 
powerful as mislead the masses. He would trust the 
word of a direct witness for now. 

The walls were low with ramps and ladders 
leading to the upper walkway. Like most defenses, the 
guards were more interested in keeping invaders out 
than townspeople in. He appropriated a coil of rope 
from a storeroom and wrapped it around a stone. In 
less than a minute he rapelled down. With a practiced 
twist he pulled the strand down, leaving no sign that 
any had left the city. He doubted his informant would 
share his description. The boy seemed one who avoided 
the guards whenever possible. Kamahl set off to see if 
Emerald still waited out in the plains. 

* * * * * 

Kamahl crept through the long grass, threading 
between the sentries. Avoiding contact felt strange. 
However, the barbarian imagined it as a challenge to 

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Odyssey 

see how close he could approach the Order camp 
without being detected. It took nearly a day to find 
Emerald, and knowing the Order believed him a 
bloody murderer, he kept his distance from the road 
and other travelers. Only the gecko's incredible 
endurance and speed allowed Kamahl to finally catch 
up to the ambassador's party despite the rough 
country and avoiding enemy patrols. 

The Order guards and mer hirelings flew the 
empire's standard. Kamahl's sharp eyes had caught 
sight of it as he paralleled them on the highway. He 
infiltrated the camp to see if Laquatus and Turg truly 
rode with the group. He had no time to waste on 
meaningless fights. If the orb was in camp, then he 
would declare himself and win the prize in honorable 
combat. 

Circumstances demanded he fight tonight if he 
would fight at all. Some distance ahead of the party an 
empire caravan camped at a crossroads against a set of 
bluffs. As night fell, he took Emerald on a run, 
covering the miles in minutes. A large procession of 
wagons had left deep ruts along the merging road. 
Dozens of captive animals sent up cries of distress as 
they moved in their cages and strained at their 
hobbles. These guards were more aware. Dogs as well 
as warriors patrolled the camp perimeter, preventing 
the barbarian from sneaking in. There were signs of 
nervousness, the mercenaries reacting to every rustle 
as an imminent attack. 

Kamahl heard the men talking. When would the 
next attack come? How bad would it be with such a 
long pause between them? The barbarian realized with 
surprise there were no fresh signs of rampaging forest 

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animals or destruction along the road. True, they were 
much farther from the great trees and the animals 
that sheltered there. However, he understood the 
problem to be continent wide. Why had an uneasy 
peace fallen across the two traveling parties and, for 
all Kamahl knew, the rest of the plains? 

Such questions would have to wait until he first 
completed his quest. The ambassador, if he were 
traveling with the party, would find reinforcements on 
the morrow. The barbarian decided to confront the 
pair tonight. 

The tent below the standard was dark with no 
guards standing before it. Kamahl moved in. Wrapped 
in his cloak, he avoided the light of the campfires. He 
made sure that he could reach the weapons on his belt. 
His sword was secured to Emerald, its length difficult 
to conceal on the approach. He could detect no life 
within the tent, but he must be sure. He had watched 
the caravan settling for the night without any sign of 
the ambassador or his jack. If they were anywhere in 
the camp, they must be here. He opened the flap, the 
rustling canvas seeming very loud. 

No one was inside. He saw only a mound of 
baggage piled on the floor. There was no sign it had 
even been opened. Each piece was secured with wax, 
imprinted with the ambassador's sigil, binding the 
bags' draw-cords. However the merman traveled, 
Kamahl saw it was not with this detachment. 
However, the seals on the bags suggested he would 
eventually meet his luggage. The barbarian reached to 
his belt and pulled out the rope he used in his escape 
from the city. He was no thief, however stealthy he 
might be. The barbarian placed it on the baggage, 

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returning it to the Order. The camp guards never saw 
him withdraw through their pickets on his way back to 
Emerald. 

"They were not there," he said in response to the 
gecko's quizzical look. "We will have to meet them at 
the coast." The lizard seemed sluggish as Kamahl 
secured his gear. The mountain warrior seethed at 
missing Laquatus and especially Turg. Though the 
night was chilly he removed the elen robe, letting the 
cold flow over his skin. 

"However they traveled 1 have lost them," the 
barbarian muttered as he hauled himself up into the 
saddle. Knowing that the cool air might slow his 
mount he sent a small surge of power to the gecko. The 
lizard blinked in surprise at the warm air but did seem 
sprightlier as he absorbed the magic. Kamahl directed 
Emerald down the road to the bluffs, planning to use 
the lizard's ability to handle any terrain. The steed 
would take them past the pickets over the bare rock 
faces, riding above the caravan guards' eyes. 

The lizard slowed as they neared the large camp, 
Kamahl vainly trying to direct the gecko's path. The 
lizard looked through the night at the stacks of cages 
and hobbled animals. Its body seemed to vibrate in 
sympathy with the miserable calls sounding from 
there. The barbarian realized he could not force 
Emerald to go anywhere. 

The gecko stared at the captured creatures 
intensely. There were no large predators in the 
gathering but rather numerous cages of small animals. 
The barbarian undid his sword from the gecko's side, 
shifting it up to his back. He looked once more back to 

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the Order camp in the distance with the empty 
ambassador's tent. 

"We cannot spend too much time on this rescue," 
Kamahl said, pulling small axes from his baggage and 
slipping them into holsters hung from the saddle. The 
lizard's long tongue flickered back as if in agreement, 
then the beast set off for the camp. 

The caravan was set by the road, sentry fires out 
and burning in an attempt to cover the perimeter. 
Guards stood their posts nervously, talking to each 
other to reassure themselves. Kamahl wondered how 
the nightblind chattering fools planned to see anyone. 
The only danger seemed a pair of dogs that a guard 
escorted around the perimeter. The barbarian 
wondered what he would do if discovered but found 
himself unable to feel concern. The camp looked as 
deadly as a carnival and easier to move in and out of. 

The gecko followed Kamahl, the mount nearly 
silent, with only its tail sometimes touching the 
ground. The outer pickets saw nothing as the pair 
worked through the line, using the terrain. The lizard 
lowered itself nearly to the ground to decrease its 
height. The dogs made no alarm, and the barbarian 
wondered if Emerald somehow stifled their senses. 
The cages grew closer, the smell assaulting the 
barbarian as the guards had not. Moving into the 
circle of cages was challenging, but without the threat 
of the dog it was only a matter of timing. He crouched 
by the cages after a slow roll from the darkness. 
Emerald followed, and the barbarian could scarcely 
believe his mount had crept into the camp as well. 
Hunters walked slowly among the captive animals in 
the cages and pens, lost in their own thoughts. 

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Suddenly the joke fell flat to the mountain warrior. 
Loosing the animals silently would take far too long, 
and he was not inclined to waste the time. Kamahl 
was tired of stealth. 

He drew his sword from a sheath on Emerald's 
saddle. He mounted, and a guard turned to behold 
him, a mounted intruder in the heart of the camp. The 
flat of his blade sent the mercenary crashing down 
unconscious. The first real warning the caravan had 
was the long whip of flame arcing down to blaze 
through locks and bars. The animals were maddened 
by the fire's closeness. The beasts battered at their 
prisons as they had done so often, but now the bars fell 
to the ground. 

Mercenaries closed from all points with shouts of 
alarm, but Kamahl's sword streamed flame over the 
other enclosures, melting away iron. He ignored the 
guards as beneath contempt as he shouted and roused 
the imprisoned beasts to escape. One caravan hunter 
came at the lizard's side only to be met by the long 
tongue. The muscle wrapped around his head and 
yanked him into crushing jaws. Kamahl's steed spat 
out the corpse as his rider freed more of the captured. 
A chain holding a group of satyrs parted as he swayed 
to the side, his sword severing several links. 

The humanoids rose on their goatlike legs and fell 
upon the guards coming to recapture them. Heads 
down, they charged, their horns impacting the guards' 
armor. The forest fighters caused no serious injury but 
knocked their oppressors down. Heavy nailed hands 
dug into throats and joints as the prisoners fell as 
groups on single guards. 

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Freeing the captured is useless, Kamahl thought 
as he turned Emerald to attack, if they are caught 
again by these mercenaries. Now he used the sword's 
edge but with no passion. There was little honor in 
such easy slaughter, and he looked for another means 
of diversion. 

Wagons were parked opposite the animals, their 
contents hidden under secured tarps. There were no 
signs of live prizes. The guards protecting them still 
waited as the barbarian tore through the cage area. 
Such valuable cargo must be more important to the 
caravan than small woodland creatures, Kamahl 
thought and sent Emerald through the camp's heart. 

A creature rose up in the night, its nebulous form 
becoming a winged dragon. The gecko showed no 
hesitation, striding straight for the horned beast as it 
prepared to take to the air. The barbarian threw a 
charged axe that spun through the enemy. Emerald 
followed the projectile into the illusion. There was a 
mage of some power coming against him. The 
barbarian looked around in interest as his missile 
discharged into the ground in an explosion of flame. 

The gecko paused in its flight, its tongue 
flickering uncertainly as its eyes followed nothing. The 
mountain mage felt the hum of hostile magic and sent 
showers of sparks and embers over the tents to flush 
out the enemy. Fabric ignited, and the restraining 
spell on the lizard faltered as the other mage was 
surrounded by fire. 

The barbarian swung his sword, the steel 
birthing a circlet of flame that cut through the air and 
the enemy spell-caster's neck, decapitating Kamahl's 
only worthy opposition in the camp. The gecko started 

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toward the wagons parked away from the cages. The 
guards massed to stop the barbarian. The mountain 
mage simply bypassed them, hurling two axes high 
over the crowd to detonate among the freight wagons. 
A twisting pyre of energy and flame lit the sky, 
secondary explosions spreading destruction through 
the cargo. The guards were blown downthose not 
blown up. 

The caravan had been transporting excavated 
treasures to the sea. There were numerous rumors of 
the Mer Empire acquiring relics and fetishes from past 
battlefields. Items of true power must have been 
concealed among the wagons. Fires grew, and most of 
those still alive in the camp closed to extinguish the 
conflagration. Kamahl withdrew, ignoring the calls of 
his enemies. 

The satyrs were gone, along with most of the 
animals. A few hunters looked through the wreckage, 
but the barbarian wasted no time on them. One 
stooped to peer into a cage, and a stream of weasels 
flowed over the man, biting everywhere. The 
mercenary tried to run as the animals swarmed up his 
legs and onto his head. His flight ended as the 
disoriented man plowed into another cage, falling 
down to die under the small teeth. 

Calls sounded from the perimeter. Golden globes 
soared into the sky illuminating what the fires did not. 
Guards from the false camp down the road had come to 
investigate the disturbance. These were worthy 
opponents but too serious for tonight's light diversion. 
The barbarian left the camp to the newcomers, 
Emerald running out of the light and into the 
darkness. Kamahl's mount surged up the rocky bluff 

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as the more intelligent investigators from the other 
camp fanned out to catch the raider. The barbarian 
leaned forward as the gecko went vertical, pulling 
away from any possible pursuit. The mountain mage 
signaled the lizard to halt at the cliff top. He crouched 
down and peered over the hunters' wrecked bivouac. 

The fires began to die down, the knights of the 
Order using their magic against the flames. Magic 
flowed as a golden sheet over the burning wagons and 
tents, smothering the flames. The light died down as 
blazes were extinguished. The barbarian saw no signs 
of animals and hoped all of them were gone. 

"I hope that satisfies you," he said to Emerald 
who seemed to nod in agreement. His mount's bloody 
jowls smiled though Kamahl was unsure if the fighting 
or the rescue pleased the gecko most. Below, the 
flames were dead except for the campfires, but more 
bad luck struck the hunters' camp. 

Irritated at being forced to come investigate 
because of the mercenaries' obvious incompetence, the 
knights looked through the camp. The angry would-be 
rescuers tore into the last sealed wagons and suddenly 
treated the hapless hunters as criminals. The soldiers 
cut through leather and canvas to display the mounds 
of forbidden mechanisms. Mercenaries moved to 
reclaim what remained of their treasure. They were 
pushed away to sprawl on the ground. A few started 
angrily forward but stopped as golden maces lifted in 
warning. 

The knights struck at wagons carrying recovered 
booty. Wheels exploded in showers of splinters as the 
Order guaranteed through blows that the fetishes 

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would not leave the camp. A mercenary waved 
documents before a knight only to be ignored. 

The mountain mage turned the gecko toward the 
sea and nudged it into motion. Perhaps the Order was 
right in their distrust of the debris of past battles. 
Kamahl knew his journey to reclaim the orb might be 
barely begun. Why did he chase after it? Merely for the 
power it held? Perhaps, but more importantly it was 
his by right. He would not let it be stolen away. Honor 
demanded he reclaim his lost prize. 

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CHAPTER 21 


The manor was some distance from the capital, 
its buildings in deeper water. In the world above, the 
sun was just rising, the beams starting to filter to the 
undersea world. Turg held onto a harpoon fish's fin as 
the attack force surged ahead. The fish weighed 
thousands of pounds, its lumpy flesh rock hard under 
the frog's hands. The mouth gaped open and a fish 
fleeing before the detachment swam too close to the 
monster. A long tongue darted forth, spearing through 
its target. The pinned morsel was pulled into the 
mouth as the predator accelerated. Turg felt a brief 
burning sensation as they moved through a cloud of 
digestive enzymes. The harpoon fish forced the caustic 
liquid into its prey whenever it attacked. 

The attack force closed on the target, the estate of 
a rich noble with ties to the air breathers of the ocean. 
Whales began to rise from structures on the seabed. 
Vast hemispheres of coral and stone held pockets of 
air, allowing the lord's allies to stay beneath 
indefinitely. 

The whales began to call, the sonic pulse of their 
cries beating against the amphibian's skull. The 
whales were pale blue and almost invisible in the 
water. Only their motion drew the eye. The animals 
were several times the size of the harpoon fish, but 
Turg felt only contempt for them. The air breathers 
rose over their ally's home, preparing to meet the 
surprise attack. The mammals vibrated with magic to 
the frog's mystic senses. Power was gathering among 

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the attackers as they raced to slay the whales, driven 
by the ambassador's overseeing spirit. 

Magically summoned schools of barracuda surged 
away from the attack force. Like living projectiles, the 
school swept toward their warm-blooded targets. 
Defensive whale songs sounded, the waves of noise 
playing havoc among the predatory fish. Barracuda 
went in all directions, hopelessly confused by the air 
breathers' magic. Some of the toothy fish were in their 
death throes, their organs destroy by the powerful 
whale song. 

Now the singers' voices swept the leading edge of 
the imperial attackers. Multiple whales, converge on 
individual harpoon fish, the rocky attackers' nerves 
burning out in novas of pain. A few imperial soldier, 
accompanying the attack tried to lead the whales 
astray with illusions, to no avail. 

Turg let go of his fish as it finally reached an 
opponent. 

The barbed tongue snapped into the whale's body, 
swelling as a prodigious load of digestive fluid surged 
into its victim. The air breather cried out, its call 
soaring beyond hearing. Several cephalids swimming 
past blurred, their skin rupturing and blood streaming 
into the water. The feeding fish drew its tongue back 
and slammed it again into the smooth hide. The whale 
expired as water filled its lungs. The harpoon fish 
looked for something else to kill. 

The whales coalesced into groups, their cries 
sounding in all directions, unconcerned with killing 
their allies as long as the attack failed. On the 
outskirts of the fight, sharks began to appear, ripping 
apart the dead and the dying as the blood spoor drew 

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them from miles around. The harpoon fish closed for 
the final battle with the air breathers, but Turg was 
surging ahead, leading a column of infantry now that 
the whales were engaged. 

The frog swam forward as the fighting moved 
over the estate. Tritons and mermen followed him 
down as crab forces sprinted across the sandy bottom 
for the house. The defenders were like mollusks, trying 
to withdraw into the protection of their shell. The 
valves of the living structure closed, the tough armor 
resisting the frog's blows. He called down harpoon fish, 
the monsters leaving their bloody feast. Tongues 
lanced into the door, gallons of digestive fluids 
pumping into the fabric of the manor. The valve ripped 
free as the fish pulled. They loosed it to drift away. 

Spears flew from the gap, sinking into imperial 
warriors who charged in too soon. The jack cast a spell, 
and eels swam down the hole. Their bodies were living 
batteries that discharged as they reached the 
defenders. Now Turg swam into the house. He ignored 
the twitching bodies of the slain. The crabs piling 
through the entrance began to corral the stunned. The 
house was dark, the defender's trying to use the lack of 
light to their advantage. 

The frog loosed streams of light-emitting 
plankton that carried in the currents still moving 
through the house. A triton was a hulking humanoid, 
its finned limbs sending it around the frog as they 
advanced. A spindly crab joined them, as they 
penetrated the house. 

The porpoises emerged suddenly, diving from the 
upper floor in ramming attacks. The frog's hands 
glowed, and he stabbed into his opponent. The triton's 

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barbed fins sank into its foe, and malign energy 
poisoned its system. Mermen defenders thrust tridents 
at the engaged invaders only to be met by the crab. 
Though not tall, its claws snipped through weapons 
and amputated a hand as the crab closed. More 
porpoises came toward the frog, and Laquatus struck 
through his amphibious minion. 

The counterspell attacked the magic allowing the 
cetaceans to stay underwater. Tissues suddenly 
starved for oxygen. Muscles flooded the blood stream 
with toxins. The defenders started to race for the 
surface, knowing themselves doomed but helpless 
against their instincts. Soldiers ignored the retreating 
cetaceans to fall upon the remaining defenders. 

The frog and his companions moved ahead of the 
fighting, the inner rooms of the manor clearing as the 
manor guards rushed to the perimeter. A sigil spelled 
out in the living flesh of the wall told Turg they had 
reached the noble's private rooms. The crab scuttled 
forward, its claws making short work of the interior 
partition. 

The quarters were almost stark in their 
simplicity. Only the huge number of pigeonholes and 
storage pillars showed the noble's wealth. The frog 
swam over, a spell whispering against the valves 
closing off the writing supplies. The container irised 
open, and the jack leaned over. Turg spat the seals and 
rings he had carried in his mouth throughout the 
battle. The planted objects were issued by the 
southern court, the queen showing on the crest instead 
of the emperor. The frog's spell ceased, and the 
container snapped shut, barring itself to one not 
attuned to its nature. 

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The crab scuttled over, several cruciform sheets 
of wax in its claws. Another spell provided by the 
ambassador's spirit whispered over the old letters, 
altering some of the strokes as the organic material 
responded to his will. The crab slipped them into the 
bottom of a storage column. Turg bled power as he 
touched the furniture. Growth accelerated, and he 
could taste the flow of byproducts as the living 
structure aged, sealing the damning letters under a 
layer of coral. 

The green triton gave a grunt of warning, sending 
the trio across the room. Living cases lay stacked 
against the corner, the containers holding eggs and 
plankton of exceptional quality. The crab cut them 
open like lightning as the frog and triton grabbed up 
and devoured fistfuls of the delicacy. When the titular 
head of the attack force arrived seconds later, he found 
the group busy enjoying their loot. A snarl of disgust 
showed, but he dared not discipline the ambassador's 
jack. 

The command staff arrived and began opening 
the sealed pigeonholes and chests in the room. A pair 
of soldiers came and searched through the food crates 
the trio had opened, their contempt plain as the triton 
growled and the crab clacked its claws. 

"Sir," called an orderly, opening up a pigeonhole. 
A major swam over and inspected the contents. He 
tensed in excitement, diving in to examine the rings 
and seals Turg had planted. The sound of a struggle 
was heard from the hallway. A huge crab eased his 
way through the door, pulling a tether. A merman 
came through, his flukes beating to escape as he was 
reeled in. Another line leading out slackened as a 

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nearly identical crustacean followed, the aristocrat 
suspended between the two soldiers. 

"What is the meaning of this?" the prisoner 
roared, his muscles straining in vain against the pair 
of armored monsters. "You have no right to invade my 
home! I am a loyal servant to the emperor!" The leader 
swam over and struck him with one of the seals 
clenched in his fist, the metal edge tearing the noble's 
skin. 

"Traitors have no rights!" the officer snarled. He 
gestured to the writing implements and letters being 
impounded. "You are in service to the southern queen 
and will die for your treachery. Your alliance with the 
air breathers always inflamed suspicions. But for the 
actions documented here you shall die!" 

The noble went goggle-eyed with incredulity. 
"Lies!" he cried, surging against his tether. "It is all 
lies!" He looked to his luxuries stored in the back and 
recognized Turg. "Everything is a lie spread by his 
master! He planted these forgeries." 

The major looked at the frog whose face was 
smeared with stolen booty. The officer's laughter filled 
the room as the frog swam closer, his face showing no 
signs of intelligence. 

"His master is a beast and a bigot," the prisoner 
snarled. "So superior to those who breathe though he 
spent years on the land. Even his chief lackey is an 
amphibian." The merman twisted on the line 
attempting to smash the frog with his flukes. 

The jack dodged the blow, and electricity surged 
through the champion's hands into the tail. The attack 
reduced the noble to a glassy eyed wreck, small globes 
of blood drifting from an open mouth and breaking up 

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in the water. The major looked at the amphibian in 
anger but remembered whose patronage the frog 
enjoyed. 

"We do not need his confession anyway," the 
attack leader groused. "We have enough to convince 
any that he conspired against the crown. The 
dungeons will soon drag the truth out of him." 

He called for the incriminating evidence to be 
sealed for immediate transport and left his orderlies 
searching through the rest of the archives. Turg swam 
back to his cronies and enjoyed the fruits of the noble's 
larder. 

* * * * * 

Laquatus came out of the trance pleased with all 
he had seen. Riding the jack during the attack allowed 
him to frame the moderate aristocrat. He laughed at 
how close the merman's raving came to the truth. The 
drive to find conspiracies was producing spectacular 
results. Every day brought new arrests and revelations 
of treachery. The ambassador admired the unrelenting 
torturers in their efforts to gain confessions. Perhaps 
they even extracted the truth from someone, but the 
aristocrat doubted it. 

The emperor, feeling more besieged than ever, 
granted Laquatus more and more authority to pursue 
his inquiries. Today's raid was the culmination of his 
attempts to stir up trouble, and he could not be 
happier with its success. Even the imperial officers 
started to believe the propaganda he spread. Laquatus 
had expected them to be much more cynical and jaded. 
The sprawling chaos was a work of joy. 

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Sometimes, he even forgot it was only a cover for 
his thievery. Fulla had excavated five rooms without 
locating Kirtar's prize. Several loads of "damaged" 
goods had gone to the Cabal, and Laquatus was 
obliged to search all of them. He found no sign of the 
orb and wondered if perhaps she had no plans to 
betray him. Finding that conclusion highly unlikely, 
he was careful to document her thievery through exact 
manifests. Minus, of course, items of power interesting 
enough for him to steal. 

The dementia caster had no contact with the 
Cabal and was unlikely to complain of thefts from her 
own looting operation. The emperor engaged himself in 
touring the army and moving against signs of 
discontent. The real bonus from his violent flailing 
against conspiracy was his actions were undoubtedly 
creating real plots against him. The cycle of violence 
was increasing, and the ambassador swam at the 
center, still untouched. He readied himself for court, 
putting on his finest jewelry. 

He swam through the palace corridors, the 
building pumping light from above to the halls. 
Aboshan had called a meeting of nobles to go over the 
reports Laquatus gave him the day before. In the 
name of preserving theoretical contacts with the 
queen's court, he was spared from attending except 
occasionally. The door to the throne room was closed, 
but the emperor's shouting bled through in a wordless 
howl. 

The ambassador ignored it, waiting for the end of 
the audience. Aboshan's rants had become 
distressingly predictable, often ending with a wild 
accusation that took a noble away to be investigated. 

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Only the identity of the prisoner changed, and 
Laquatus thought it best to be absent when the 
sacrificial lamb was selected. Danger could add spice, 
but maintaining a fictitious wave of conspiracies 
provided enough entertainment. 

While the ambassador waited, he saw another 
merman furtively hovering down the corridor. 
Thinking he recognized the courtier, Laquatus swam 
toward him. The merman remembered the other with 
a start. It was Petod, a lower noble who had 
withdrawn to the southern court years before. He was 
dressed in palace livery, but Laquatus was sure of his 
identity. 

The noble realized himself recognized and swam 
into a side room, gesturing for company. Laquatus cast 
a spell, sending an image of himself down the corridor 
to his quarters. He vanished into the other room as 
well, making sure that no one saw him. The door 
closed behind him as soon as he went through. 

"Thank goodness I found you," said Petod in a 
panicked voice. The merman nervously twisted rings 
on his finger as he swam to check the door. "I did not 
know who to turn to." He reached as if to pat the 
ambassador's shoulder only to stop at a forbidding 
gaze. 

"The court felt too dangerous for me to declare 
myself," Petod said wretchedly, seeming to collapse 
internally. Laquatus remembered him as weak willed. 
"I came as an unofficial representative from the queen. 
Her majesty is understandably upset at the attempt to 
kill her husband and wished to reassure him that she 
was not involved. I hope to serve as a private courier 
between the two monarchs." 

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"Llawan sent you?" Laquatus asked in disbelief. 
Petod was a poor choice from his memory, given to 
rash judgements and poor decisions. Laquatus thought 
her a better leader than that. 

"Of course not," the self-selected emissary said. 
"The nobles who fled south would view such a move on 
her part as unacceptable. I took it upon myself to offer 
my services," he finished smugly. 

The ambassador nodded. Petod was a fool, but he 
could be quite congenial in social situations. Perhaps 
he was familiar in the southern court. Llawan would 
never use a back channel because her integrity would 
force her to inform her allies. 

"Why the disguise?" he asked. 

"If I declared myself, I feared being called a spy or 
assassin," Petod confessed. Laquatus said nothing 
though sneaking into the palace under false pretense 
made such a fate inevitable. "I hoped to find an ally 
that might help me meet secretly with the emperor. I 
heard of your return from exile and knew you could 
help." 

Two thoughts surged through the ambassador's 
mind. First, such an action was suicidal with the 
emperor in his current mood. Second, Aboshan's 
ridiculous pretense of clemency to a returned exile had 
indeed enabled him to contact a member of Llawan's 
court. He soon shook off the surprise. He could not 
afford any knowledge of the southern plans reaching 
the emperor. Already he had taken over the emperor's 
spies who reported from the south. The ambassador 
recast Llawan's actions to make her appear more 
hostile to the emperor. Petod must not meet Aboshan. 

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"I am astounded at your actions, my lord," 
Laquatus said, his voice filled with warm regard. 
"Your close knowledge of Llawan's policies and private 
feelings could alter the history of the seas." The 
ambassador clapped the young noble on the back, a 
jeweled ring cutting into the flesh on the shoulder. 

"A thousand apologies, Petod," the merman said 
stripping the ring from his finger. "It is a new piece 
and far too clumsy on my hand. Allow me to present it 
to you as a token of my esteem. No, I insist." Laquatus 
put the ring on Petod's hand, ignoring the young mer's 
stumbling refusal. The ambassador exercised great 
caution as he placed and released the ring. 

The self-appointed emissary rubbed at the 
puncture high on his shoulder, trying to accept the gift 
graciously even as his flesh went numb. Laquatus was 
in full court regalia and that included poison for his 
jewelry. The southern noble gasped, water moving 
fitfully through his gills. He choked and gasped as he 
realized himself attacked. 

The ambassador decided his poison was not quite 
virulent enough. Too much time away from court had 
made his venom weak. He used his magic and called a 
stream of tiny jellyfish into being. The fragile cloud 
was hardly more substantial than the water in which 
it swam. He guided Petod to it, and his gills sucked the 
tiny bags of poison down. Toxins poured directly into 
his bloodstream, and Laquatus held him steady as his 
body locked. The torn flesh plugged the organs, and 
they ceased to supply oxygen. The ambassador 
banished the summoning as soon as he knew the 
courier was dead. 

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He swam back to the throne room, towing his 
dead victim behind him. He put on a burst of speed 
wanting to arrive with maximum effect. The valve 
doors were open, the assembled nobles withdrawing as 
fast as they dared. The ambassador swam past them 
as gasps of shock echoed behind him. He swam to 
where the emperor reclined with a cluster of officers 
waiting around him. Aboshan looked exhausted, his 
rage having consumed him during the audience. 
Guards surged from the walls and stopped, uncertain 
what threat a corpse might pose. 

"Laquatus," the monarch said, looking at the 
dead Petod. "What is the meaning of your companion?" 
He waved a moray eel closer, and it snared the body 
hauling it away from the monarch. 

"An assassin from the southern court, your 
imperial majesty," Laquatus said boldly. "I spotted 
him outside your very throne room, and when I went 
to investigate he attacked me." 

"Look," the merman said dramatically, pointing 
to the corpse being pushed back by the moray ell. 
"Slain by the very ring he plotted to use on others in 
the palace. Dare I say, including your royal majesty." 
Aboshan gestured with a tentacle. 

"Show me the ring," he commanded. The eel was 
perhaps too literal, and his jaws snipped Petod's hand 
off and brought it near. The monarch regarded the 
offending appendage and threw it to the side. 

"Is there no end to this infamy? The rumors you 
reported are true! Raids on some of our greatest nobles 
have revealed links to our shark of a wife. Now an 
assassin outside our very throne room? Why do they 
plot against me?" he cried, no longer using the royal 

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plural. He collapsed back into the throne, and the 
ambassador could feel energy pulsing back into the 
monarch from the palace. 

"Perhaps war is the only answer," a hesitant 
officer said, looking for support from his fellows. "The 
queen's forces are not so superior. Surely a surprise 
attack would put an end to these conspiracies." 

The emperor looked up wanly. Laquatus spoke 
quickly to squash the idea. Open warfare would bring 
the emperor's interest back to the martial devices 
buried beneath his palace. 

"My Emperor," he stated, striving for 
statesmanship, "the queen and her alliances make 
open warfare too dangerous for you both. Her air-
breathing allies and the creatures of the deep would 
surely come to her aid. As deadly as these conspiracies 
are, they represent the limits of her reach. Her 
assassin was incompetent. Better security inside the 
palace is the answer. Llawan dares not attack openly 
and must strike through traitors and other toils." 
Laquatus wanted Aboshan consumed by internal 
problems. 

"Moreover," the ambassador continued, "open 
warfare would drag guards to the battle lines, 
weakening your security in the palace. We must root 
out conspiracies and make our own overtures to 
Llawan's allies. If we isolate her, then we can attack 
with impunity." 

"We are so very tired," the emperor muttered, 
lying back as more magic whispered into his frame. 
"Our wife will fall, but our wrath must wait. We shall 
strip her of allies here and abroad." His eyes focused 
on Laquatus, decision swimming weakly into his gaze. 

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"You will consult with our officers on crushing 
those who plot against us," he stated. He rose and 
began to swim for his private quarters. "You have our 
warrant to do all that is necessary to guard our 
throne." 

The officers and ambassador lowered their heads 
as the monarch passed. 

Carte blanche! Laquatus exulted. Current and 
former rivals for power in the court would sink very 
soon, the ambassador promised himself. Still, perhaps 
he should begin reducing the perceived threat lest the 
emperor strike out in panic against his wife. War 
would reduce his ability to control the situation and 
give too much power to the generals. 

Laquatus looked at the attentive faces 
surrounding him and knew hatred and envy must fill 
their hearts. He had displaced many on his rise to 
power, and now his enemies grew daily in number. If 
only Fulla would find the orb. With such an item of 
power, he might stop serving others' will and fully 
satisfy his own desires. He drew the officers to him, 
wondering how much longer he must reign himself in. 

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CHAPTER 22 


Kamahl peered down at the sea. The wooded 
hillside overlooked the coastal town of Borben on the 
continent's edge. The town sat at the end of a major 
trade road, the last habitation before the open ocean. A 
long peninsula jogged out for the mainland creating a 
protected bay. Like a single finger of hills, it beckoned 
to ships searching for port. Waterfowl and a few seals 
sunning themselves populated the last spit of land. 

The barbarian walked to the hilltop along an 
overgrown trail, soaring above the main road. The 
joint caravans of the Cabal and the Mer Empire broke 
apart many miles behind him. The animals went 
south, and a few of the wagons continued on to Borben. 
Kamahl had parted ways with Emerald some days 
before, leaving the barbarian alone to walk into the 
town. 

A few small ships lay anchored in the bay, with 
only one pier stretching out into the water for the 
transfer of freight from small vessels. Out on the 
water, a single lighter accepted a net of cargo from a 
larger ship. Oars started to row the boat back to the 
docks and warehouses. 

Well back from town, nearly in the surrounding 
hills, sat a small arena. Nearly oval in shape, it was 
constructed out of wood, the large logs and rough-cut 
timbers whitewashed in the sun. It pressed against an 
outcropping of rock, the interior looking muddy from a 
distance. Sand was piled outside the fighting ring. The 

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color told the barbarian it was hauled up from the 
shore. 

The arena stood deserted now, but the mountain 
mage knew it would be crowded during market days 
and festivals. The best source of information regarding 
the ambassador and his stolen prize would 
undoubtedly be the bars around the docks and the 
arena. He was no seaman, and he resolved to try the 
inns close to the fighting ring, knowing he could mix 
with the jacks. 

The town looked still now, but when the 
fishermen returned to port the docks would teem. He 
wondered when the bouts would start in the arena, so 
he could interact with familiar types of people. He 
considered his own appearance as he thought about 
poking around for information regarding the troubles 
in the east. The Order would distribute descriptions, 
and the ambassador might have left word of him as 
well. 

He wore a gray cloak now, the elen garment 
gradually shrinking to fit him as he plied needle and 
dagger. The metal-hued races were uncommon but by 
no means unknown on the continent. Only two things 
were uniquely his own: his name and his sword. He 
drew the weapon, holding it in his open palms as he 
considered it. Long as he was tall, the massive blade 
showed little sign of wear. Rings rattled softly on the 
blade as he rotated it. Ever since procuring it during 
his quests as a young man, he had carried it. The steel 
and fire evoked from the mystic metal had cut many 
an enemy low. But in the mountains, the sword had 
gained its own reputation, as fulsome as Kamahl's, 
and was more unique in appearance. Regretfully, he 

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decided that the weapon must rest here, above the 
town, to await his return. 

He walked to a tree, its roots wrapping around a 
boulder, as if holding it to the ground. He looked at his 
sword and called power. It flowed into the steel, the 
energy streaming fluidly throughout the weapon. He 
set the nearly flat point against the rock, the shallow 
edge still cutting the stone. His muscles ached as he 
pushed. Gradually the metal burrowed its way 
through the rock. Kamahl strained until the hilt began 
to disappear. He exhausted more of his strength as he 
picked up a stone and set it against the hilt. The 
weapon's advance continued as his hands held rock 
rather than the familiar leather wrapped hilt. Stone 
touched stone, and he closed the final inches. The 
smell of hot metal ceased as his granite pad 
disappeared into the rocky anvil. 

Kamahl walked to his gear. Looking at the pack 
and several bags, he realized he had grown too 
dependent on steeds. He separated out the essential 
from the merely convenient and laid out tarps to 
encase the saddle and gear too heavy to carry into 
town. He opened a bag he intended to cache by the 
boulder holding his sword. Arms picked up during his 
travels rattled as he searched. Near the bottom he 
withdrew a weapon found just days before. 

Roving bands of Order knights swept the roads 
looking for signs of Kamahl and the animals whose 
attacks had been so disruptive. The soldiers also 
inspected wagons for forbidden objects. News of the 
disastrous spell in the Citadel drove the knights to 
new heights in destroying past evils. The mercenaries 
driving caravans of excavated treasures lacked the will 

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to fight the Order. During his trek here, the barbarian 
had come across a few of their abandoned wagons. 

He drew forth a massive hammer. The head was 
black iron. Magic reinforced the metal and the haft. 
The long handle was white ivory, perhaps from some 
fallen mammoth or other such beast. The dense grip 
and over-sized head made it a weapon for a giant 
rather than someone the size of a man. His muscles 
bunched as he hefted it. He remembered Emerald's 
look of momentary outrage when he loaded the 
hammer. He had found it lying in the open near 
another cache of weapons. Knowing it abandoned, he 
had still dropped most of his money in the resting 
place. Whoever came looking for it would be 
disappointed but surprised at the consideration of the 
person who rescued it from destruction by the Order. 
Perhaps the Cabal or a corrupt bird warrior had his 
money even now, but it would have felt wrong to take 
it without any attempt at compensation. 

He stuffed his sword scabbard in his bags and hid 
them and the saddle. He held the hammer in his 
hands and felt the weight. Only his constant practice 
with his own massive sword allowed him to swing it 
with assurance. He took one last look and started 
through the trees to the road. 

It took sometime to reach the highway, even with 
the barbarian's rapid pace and sure feet. It drew 
toward evening as Kamahl came into the town. The 
streets led down to the docks, but he took a switchback 
trail to the arena. On the bay, the last of the fishing 
vessels were coming in, the catch being transferred to 
the packinghouses. Lights came up around the arena 
as street musicians began to play. Reeds and strings 

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dueled in melody, as fighters soon would inside. A local 
inn competed with men selling food on the street, and 
clusters of fisherman up from the docks drifted toward 
the bars. Kamahl shouldered patrons aside as he came 
into the inn. 

"What might I do for you?" a barman called, 
drawing drinks for the house. The light was dim and 
the room close and crowded. The smell of food cooking 
in the kitchen and the proprietor's face both seemed 
pleasant enough. 

"I need a room and meals for the next several 
days," Kamahl said, resting his hammer on the bar. 
The fighting weapon drew only a few glances. Perhaps 
they were used to jacks from the arena. The coins he 
threw down attracted substantially more attention. 
The barbarian recalled how much he spent at the inns 
at the tourney in Cabal City. From the respectful 
glances, the cost of room and board in Borben was 
substantially less. 

"We can accommodate you, sir," the bartender 
cried, grabbing up a set of keys. He came around the 
bar, ignoring the empty tankards waved in his 
direction. The proprietor's bald head sweated from 
exertion and the heat in the crowded room. He picked 
up the barbarian's saddlebags and tried to pick up the 
hammer as well. The unexpected weight left him 
standing still for a moment before Kamahl lifted the 
heavy weapon to his shoulder. 

"I want a room with a view of the harbor," the 
mountain mage said as he followed the owner up the 
stairs. The steps were narrow, and the light peeked 
over the solid barrister. A single lamp lit the hall. The 
keys rattled briefly as the innkeeper unlocked the 

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door. The room was small and the window sealed off. 
Kamahl's guide dropped the bags and threw the 
shutters open, letting a salty breeze carry over the 
sash to the barbarian. 

"Best view in the house," the owner said. The 
makings for a fire were laid in a fireplace, and the 
linens looked clean. "There are chops and roast for 
dinner tonight and rabbits tomorrow. We always 
prepare food for the arena crowd. After that, the 
kitchen shuts down for the week unless a guest makes 
private arrangements. I'll send a girl with a coal to 
start a blaze and bring you whatever you want from 
the kitchen." 

Kamahl waved, and a glowing ember seemed to 
float through the air to land on the prepared wood. 
The logs burst into flames, instantly pouring out heat 
with no showers of sparks. 

"I will take my own meals tonight," the barbarian 
said, laying the hammer on the bed, which sagged. "I 
prefer my privacy and will have no trouble tending my 
own fire. If you would give me the key to this room and 
any spares." 

The owner hesitated as the mountain mage 
approached. He laid the brass in the jack's hand and 
bowed his way out, eyes flickering from the fire to the 
weapon on the bed. 

Kamahl closed the door and went to the window. 
The town folk flowed up from the sea's edge toward the 
entertainment offered behind him at the arena. A few 
heavy wagons were left on the pier, a luckless sentry 
standing guard as his friends climbed the hill. The 
wagons had the 

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look of long-haul freight, and the barbarian 
resolved to make inquires about them tomorrow. 

The crowds in the street and bars drained away 
as he left the inn. The arena was small, and Kamahl 
was immediately conducted to a box seat with a small 
tray of refreshments as he entered. Someone from the 
inn had obviously informed the arena operators of his 
presence. This was not the reception the barbarian 
now a known outlawexpected. 

A porter waited to the side, ready to speak as the 
entertainment commenced. First was the light and 
easy comedy of blood sports. Two groups of men, 
fishermen from their gait, came into the arena. 
Kamahl looked for an emblem for the fight, and the 
porter swept forward. 

"Just two crews who had a disagreement over 
boundaries, sir," the servitor explained. "The winner of 
the bout fixes the new fishing boundaries over the 
disputed area." 

Kamahl turned to see if anyone else received such 
specialized service, but the layout of the boxes 
prevented him from observing others. 

A piercing whistle sounded, and the crews rushed 
each other. Men were clad in padded jerkins, and their 
clubs were wrapped in cloth. They fell to like madmen, 
flailing at heads and joints. The fishers only 
disengaged when armed guards dragged away the 
wounded. Within minutes only one staggering figure 
remained through most of the others appeared to be 
recovering off on the sidelines. The winner left with 
arms held high though attendants came out to guide 
him to the exit. The next acts were simple acrobats 

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and tumblers, their antics entertaining the crowd as 
the next bill readied themselves. 

"Here we are too short of fighters and beasts to 
have more than a few matches during any night," the 
servant said nervously as he watched the barbarian 
eat. 

Kamahl cast only occasional glances toward the 
exhibition. Finally the signal was given, and the 
acrobats somersaulted free, leaving the floor clear. 

The servant left as two fighters emerged, each 
wearing colors of arena staff. One was tall and scarred, 
wearing a steel mask and leather armor. A short flail 
with two spiked heads swung slowly at his side. 

The other opponent leaned on a staff of black 
wood, a brazier producing smoke in different colors 
that swept over him. He was short and spindly, 
dressed only in tattered clothes that ruffled slightly as 
a gust of wind swept the arena. The servant glanced in 
from his rounds of the other boxes. 

"Does your staff fight or is it just the fishermen?" 
Kamahl asked, as hoots began to rise up from the 
audience. 

"We are very small compared to the inland 
arenas, my lord," the servitor said, projecting 
obsequiousness in the face of perceived 
disappointment. "The large gladiatorial companies 
avoid us, the crowds being too small and the gambling 
syndicates unable to handle serious betting. We must 
rely on house fighters for the majority of the bouts." 

The signal to begin the bout rang, and the 
waiting dementia caster dug his staff into the soil. The 
shaft cast a long shadow, though no bright light 
existed to throw such a pall. From the depths of the 

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shadow came laughter. Then several twisted monsters 
exited the darkness. Their flesh appeared parched, 
their hands showing bone as they shuffled about in a 
gruesome dance. 

The masked fighter swung his flail as the tall 
mage called more creatures from his mind and raised 
the bones of the dead from the ground. The race of the 
corpses was impossible to determine because the flesh 
was in such poor condition. 

The dementia caster sawed his staff back and 
forth, the shadow racing over the ground. The black 
wave coated the flesh of the risen, drawing the 
moisture out. Their flesh shriveled as tendons and 
muscles grew too tenuous to keep the bodies together. 

The field cleared as laughing corpses fell on each 
other and dragged food back to the darkness from 
which they sprang. Some of the horrific creatures 
called forth from the dementia caster's mind ignored 
everything and staggered around the arena. Cries 
sounded from the gate guards as the dead beat on the 
barriers keeping them inside. Others turned on the 
masked fighter who began to fall back. The flail 
smashed bones, but the twisted dead continued 
snapping at his heels, their bodies coiling and 
rebuilding into even more twisted fragments of the 
short mage's imagination. 

A few of the creatures even turned on their 
creator, advancing on the staff. The shadow it cast 
began to sweep back and forth, the pall forming a cone 
in front of the mage. The rebelling monsters fell as 
their limbs spilled to the ground, their frames melting 
like frost on a skillet. The masked jack fought harder 
as more of the laughing closed on him. 

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Acknowledging defeat the fighter knelt in 
submission, his mask dipping to the ground. The 
dementia caster withdrew his staff from the ground 
and knocked the brazier over. The summoned 
vanished like nightmares at dawn as the short victor 
bowed to the applause of the crowd. 

* * * * * 

The crowd roared in the stands above as workers 
tried to reassemble the dead. The arena operator and 
two assistants laid out the bodies of the slain. Some 
had been dead a very long time, and the smell 
smashed against the barbarian. Kamahl had left his 
private box before the next bout to talk to the owners 
about fighting in their establishment. He found the 
master hard at work preparing for the next night. 

"Make sure you find as many body parts as you 
can," the promoter told the groundskeeper. The arena 
owner's pale skin contrasted with the dirt and leather 
smock he wore. Splotches of blood and caustic burns 
covered his apron and sections of revealed skin. "There 
are rumors sweeping the docks, and the sailors are 
asking for burial at sea again instead of in port." He 
shooed the servant away and regarded the jack. 

"So you wish to join our little family?" The pit 
boss asked, searching through a pile of limbs for an 
arm to complete a dead dwarf, preservative fluid 
dripping from the torn flesh. Kamahl shook his head. 

"I wish to compete in the arena against your 
fighters," he corrected. He looked at the dead being 
reconstructed for later battles. "Your family appears 
quite big enough," he said with distaste. The promoter 
ignored the tone. 

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"You would be surprised how difficult it is to keep 
a large enough supply for Enoch and Apel, our 
necromancers," he said, surrendering in his quest and 
throwing a random arm in the dwarf's case. "We'll 
have to bury these tonight in the arena. Apel's zombies 
always cart off the dead despite how short we are. We 
used to get sailors, but my brother forgot to alter one's 
looks. Now it is almost impossible to get them after 
they die." He moved to the next casket whose contents 
the barbarian avoided looking at. "The crowds are 
growing very tired of the same old faces week after 
week. 

"I am offering something new," Kamahl said, 
stepping around to peer in the mild eyes. "Someone 
whom your clients have not seen before." 

The proprietor waved to his assistants and 
walked to the back with the barbarian following. 

"You understand that we rarely fight to the death 
here," the official said, hanging his splattered apron on 
a hook before stepping into an office. "Also, the deal is 
contingent on my brother's agreement when he comes 
back from meeting with the bet-mongers." 

"I'll not put on a show," Kamahl said, his eyes 
growing hard. "When I fight, it will be for real. 
However, I need not kill if your fighters understand 
that they can surrender when they are overwhelmed." 

The owner waved the demand away. 

"A jack in a small arena has no use for a 
champion's airs," he said, drawing forth a piece of 
paper. "Now, I will need your name for the criers 
circulating tonight if you plan to fight tomorrow." 

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The barbarian paused before answering. It would 
be easiest to give a false name, but an outright lie 
stuck in his throat. 

"Call me the Hammer," he said, sparking the 
proprietor's interest. "Only by defeating me will 
someone learn my true name." 

The fat man nodded, seeing the possibilities. "You 
will need to clean your armor, and we must design a 
suitable emblem ..." the owner continued as he led the 
barbarian away. A host of functionaries followed, all 
trying to mold Kamahl to their own idea of what a 
fighter should be. He was brusque in refusing their 
offers of advice on how to fight and the proper attire to 
wear. He did allow the armorer to work on his 
protective gear, which had suffered during his travels. 

It seemed only minutes, and he was standing in 
the center of the arena, the noise of the crowd merging 
into an unintelligible muttering. The gray cloak was 
thrown back, his iron shirt dark against his brass skin. 

Kamahl swung his hammer, stretching out the 
kinks in his muscles. His first opponent was Apel, a 
short dementia caster. Knowing the reputation of such 
mages, Kamahl wondered if the house fighter would 
follow the rules. The barbarian believed the short 
summoner would soon be surrendering, but he must be 
prepared for a battle to the death. The crowd began to 
chant as Apel strode into the arena and lowered his 
equipment to the ground. 

The dementia caster stood on the sand, a burning 
brazier at his side. Apel threw power onto the glowing 
coals and a heavy cloud of smoke rose, making his 
features waver and change. The dark mage dug his 
staff into the ground, and a thin shadow stretched out 

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from the shaft, advancing toward the light behind 
Kamahl's head rather than away. The familiar 
shuffling figures of the mirthful dead began to appear, 
cackling perhaps at the joke of life itself. Kamahl 
wondered how predictable his opponent would be. 

The barbarian called forth his own magic, a field 
of possibility forming over the sand. He would 
experiment, use the arena to teach himself new 
methods of attack and defense. Several cougars surged 
out of nothingness onto the arena floor, their roars 
stilling the cries of the crowd. The zombies came on, 
their laughter continuing even as many were pulled 
down and savaged by the great cats. If any of the dead 
were reconstructed corpses, the mountain mage did 
not envy the morticians' tasks in repairing the bodies. 

The dementia caster seemed oblivious to the 
failure of his forces. Ignoring the feasting cats, Apel 
sent more undead onto the arena floor. A tattered 
wave threatening to overwhelm Kamahl's spell by 
choking his beasts under a wave of cold flesh. The 
barbarian concentrated again, the cloud of his 
summoning stretching wider as he played a little to 
the crowd. 

A flock of mountain sheep stormed onto the sand. 
They milled for a moment, their waist-high bodies 
losing themselves in a blur as the fierce rams fought 
for position. Kamahl nudged them into action with a 
mental command, and the beasts lowered their tightly 
curled horns and stormed forward. The rams struck 
hard, shattering bone and bringing the dead down. 
Clawed hands and fangs struck at Kamahl's creatures 
but could not penetrate the dense wool that defeated 

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the cold wind of the mountains and the hot breath of 
timber wolves. 

Apel lifted his staff into the air, his face now 
agitated as his forces fell to mere sheep. In frustration 
he speared the oak into the sand. Power poured into 
the soil. Like cobras rising to strike, dark spears rose 
from the ground. The shadowy weapons bobbed and 
weaved before falling on the animals that ground up 
the dead. The wool that resisted the strength of 
zombies sundered as the beasts were transfixed. The 
few remaining cougars expired in yowling pain. The 
rams fell as mutton, the undead rising up as Apel 
poured new strength to their shattered bones. The 
bodies tottered toward the barbarian more twisted and 
cackling than before, but the upright spears of night 
were straight as they drifted toward the mountain 
mage. 

Kamahl stepped forward, his brow wrinkling as 
his will contested once more with the universe. Now 
hulking figures came onto the arena sands, their roars 
of displeasure shaking the crowd until the mighty 
monsters choked off their cries with dead flesh. Their 
white fur grew stained with blood and gore as they 
tore apart those coming too close to their master. The 
yetis discarded limbs as they worked their way back to 
the dementia caster. The enemy mage's black spears 
dived to spill life to the ground. But despite the 
humanoids' bulk, they dodged the dark weapons with 
ease, their agility honed by the mountain cliffs their 
kind regularly traveled. They wrung their way up the 
line of zombies, and Kamahl raised his hammer, 
waiting for the next attack. 

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The crowd cried out as the yetis approached the 
enemy, their bloody hands reaching for the weedy 
mage. The dementia caster dropped, and his body 
heaved. Kamahl paused, holding his minions in case 
his opponent was surrendering, uncertain with all the 
particulars of this arena. 

A wave of corrupting flesh seemed to spew from 
the underworld. The zombies Apel called forth 
vanished, disappearing or devoured by his newest 
creation. The mass lunged for the approaching yetis, 
lifting itself into the air and spreading out in a great 
sheet of corruption. The mountain apes disappeared 
under the dark spell as the mound fell with a 
thunderous retort. The impact ruptured coffins buried 
in the dirt. Bodies lolled on the ground and were 
swallowed by the spreading wave. 

The crowd called for Kamahl's defeat, cheering 
for their favorite. The barbarian was done with calling 
monster and readied his hammer. The iron head fell as 
the first tendrils reached him. The maul struck the 
ground, a shattering concussion setting the sand 
rolling, flinging back the formless flesh. The jack took 
a step forward as his hammer thundered again. The 
magic concussion splattered the corruption back, the 
waves of power shaking the stands. The strength of his 
attack diminished as Kamahl controlled his power. 

He cleaved a path with reverberating blows, 
working his way across the arena until he stood before 
Apel. The power assaulted the mage's bones, and he 
leaned on his staff, too unsteady to remain upright 
without the support. The barbarian raised his hammer 
and paused to allow the dementia caster to forfeit. The 
necromancer bowed his head in defeat. 

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Cheers sounded as Kamahl nodded 
magnanimously and offered his hand in a show of 
sportsmanship. The barbarian turned and bowed to 
the proprietors in their box and the crowd in the 
stands. The fighter started for the exit and the 
alehouse, anxious to wash the stench of the dead from 
his frame. 

* * * * * 

The serving girl scooped meat onto the 
barbarian's trencher, and the gravy started to sink 
into the bread. Kamahl took a bite, and the juices 
tasted delicious as he washed the meal down with ale. 

The other customers regarded him warmly, 
despite his defeat of the local fighter. The novelty of a 
new opponent gave him a popularity he had not 
received in Cabal City. The hill tavern was full, as new 
patron came to view the stranger. His deliberate air of 
mystery was another draw. So far, Kamahl had given 
no name except that of his new weapon. The ivory and 
iron creation lay across the table as enthusiasts 
walked slowly by, caressing it with their eyes. 

The dementia caster's defeat and the adulation of 
the crowd pleased the barbarian. His battle had been 
the climax of the night. It had been a short bill with 
only the duel between an unknown and the local 
champion bringing any crowd. The enthusiasm and 
respect was heady, but Kamahl remembered this was 
only single step in his quest for the orb. A group 
crowded closer to his table, and he looked up. Three 
young men dressed in armor and carrying brand-new 
weapons coughed for his attention. None of their gear 
showed wear, and most appeared of indifferent quality. 

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Two of them were dark, their skins rough from 
exposure to the weather. They were fit but were 
uncomfortable with their weapons. The middle boy 
was tall and thin, with muscle showing but lacking the 
calluses of his companions. He wore his clothes and 
elegant boots well enough. However, he seemed no 
more at ease with the sword at his hip than his 
companions. 

The barbarian wondered if they were working up 
the nerve to challenge him or pick a fight to show their 
own bravery. Many jacks reveled in such fights but not 
Kamahl. "You have a question?" he growled, his 
irritation deepening his voice. They jumped back, then 
two pushed the center of their trio forward. 

"If you please, sir," the blond said hesitantly, his 
hands falling to his belt, "we wondered if you might be 
available for students seeking instruction." 

Kamahl laughed shortly, the boys' faces 
reddening. His mirth was more at his own expense 
than the youngsters', but the adolescents were wound 
too tightly for any hint of humor. They started to 
withdraw, but the barbarian called them back. 

"Your pardon, sirs," Kamahl apologized. "I 
expected a different question. Please join me." The 
three drew up stools and sat down. The serving wench 
brought more tankards at the barbarian's wave. 

"I am Girter, son of a chandler," the blond boy 
said, giving a seated bow. "These are my friends Wasel 
and Birten. Their father owns two fishing boats. We 
hope to learn magic from you," he added bluntly 

"Why me?" the mountain mage asked. "Surely 
there are others willing to teach, fighters from the 
arena perhaps." He took a sip as he thought. To be a 

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fighting master was a serious relationship in the 
mountains. He had spent years working with his 
mentor and could not see himself in such a role for 
now. But he remembered his own stumbling steps in 
search of magic. Perhaps he could help the boys. 

"We want you to teach us because there are few 
willing to teach. Apel and Enoch will both take 
students, but we feel uneasy with calling on the dead. 
Besides, you are the first in quite some time to beat 
either of them," Girter said, his friends nodding in 
agreement. 

"I do not know my own plans," Kamahl said, 
playing for time. "I will offer my opinions on the 
available teachers. I have skill, but you need a master 
rather than a fighter. I leave soon, in any case. It 
depends on what I learn about the trade caravans." 

"My father is completely familiar with them," 
Girter exclaimed, flushing with pleasure now, rather 
than rage. 

"Our father sometimes hauls out cargo from the 
caravans to the freight ships waiting in the bay," one 
of the brothers chimed in. "Though there isn't much 
call for his services anymore." 

"Yes," said Girter with a frown, reclaiming the 
conversation. "The number of wagons hauling cargo to 
the coast plummeted when the Order became more 
active. They stop caravans across the continent, 
searching for a stolen artifact." 

"They say that an agent for the Cabal stole a 
magic sword belonging to the head of the Order. She 
had her throat cut in her sleep." One of the dark-
haired boys  the barbarian thought it Wasel  spoke 
with a certain amount of relish. 

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"I heard an ambassador from the emperor's court 
and his fighting frog stole it during an animal attack 
on the captain," his brother Birten said, determined to 
speak at least once. 

"They even say a metal-skinned barbarian killed 
the captain and her lieutenant and stole away a great 
treasure," Girter confessed, glancing toward Kamahl. 
His friends looked nervously at the mountain fighter, 
who smiled back. 

"I never had the pleasure of meeting the 
captain.," 

The three youths laughed uproariously as if 
Kamahl told a great jest. 

"I am, however, interested in occurrences inland. 
Perhaps I will return that way. I also might travel by 
ship, so I would appreciate any news of the empire. 
Please join me, and we will talk more." 

Kamahl watched them wave for the waitress and 
wondered how many rumors and false trails battled 
with the truth. Perhaps he would stay in Borben a 
while, finding news sources from the empire. One 
thing was certainfurther travel was pointless 
without more information. 

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CHAPTER 23 


"Shall we come to order?" Laquatus called as the 
generals gathered around the table. The delicate 
murals on the throne room walls twinkled like 
submerged stars, the emperor's image looming over his 
councilors and servants. In the continent's dead 
buildings, the ambassador could take the image down 
or cover it. However, in the sea, the palace itself would 
bleed the image through any barrier. Besides, 
Laquatus could not decide the fate of the emperor's 
face, not just yet. 

Already he had turned the throne room into the 
command center. From here he directed the action 
against the supposed rebels and agents of the queen. 
Aboshan had retired to his rooms in disarray. There he 
spent his time in debauchery with occasional bouts 
when he planned paranoid purges. Increasingly, the 
court relied on Laquatus to deal with the day to day 
running of the palace. Many decisions, formerly the 
exclusive domain of the emperor, were decided by him. 
Best of all, he was able to blame the bolder and bloody 
moves on the now-isolated ruler. 

A general droned on, but the ambassador ignored 
him for now. Most members of the new ruling body 
were military, for Laquatus had taken over the 
government's civilian functions. Ministers who were 
former rivals or could impede his decisions were 
already cleared away. The obstacles were removed by 
denunciation. Some died, and others fled to the 

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southern courts, proving their treachery or at least 
their taste for living. 

The valuable and respected ministers presented 
more of a problem. Too many traitors in the 
government's highest ranks might lead Aboshan to 
suspect Laquatus. Remembering the effect of his own 
exile in isolating him, the ambassador found 
compelling reasons for the highest officials to be sent 
abroad or to the empire's hinterlands. Embassies 
opened in dozens of cities, and the reluctant diplomats 
tried to remove the queen from her undersea allies. 

Many of those courtiers remaining in the palace 
found themselves elevated due to Laquatus's influence 
and transferred their loyalty to him. Having the whip 
hand over the civilian administration, the ambassador 
was considering his next targetthe army. It agitated 
constantly for additional funds, soldiers, and action. 
Even now, officers looked to him to implement their 
latest recommendations. He wondered what they were. 

"I will hear the next report and inform you of the 
emperor's decisions regarding your requests, General." 
He would glance at the wax-covered slate later. He 
might even secure a decision if he thought the outcome 
personally favorable. 

Another officer began to report, and Laquatus 
wondered how to gain ascendancy over the army. The 
problem was proving more resistant to his attempts to 
weed out leaders. The military had a higher sense of 
duty and loyalty to its own institutions. Moreover, he 
could not steer his own candidates to empty positions. 
Any openings were still filled at the pleasure of the 
commanding generals. 

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What he needed was an eviscerating purge of the 
army's officer corps. Laquatus needed his own armed 
force to implement it in the emperor's name. A 
personal guard, he thought, and his eyes drifted to the 
rear of the throne room. Turg and his lackeys were 
gathered together, gambling quietly. The killers and 
scoundrels his jack recruited and led in the raids 
lacked the strict discipline demanded by the army. 
However, there were many castes and species in ocean 
society that could be played against each other. The 
lower orders had their place, and if a bloodthirsty few 
managed to improve their lot to the ambassador's 
benefit, he saw no harm. His jack could find more 
compatriots while he looked for an excuse for Aboshan 
to create another army. 

He thought of the emperor entombed in his rooms 
with Laquatus controlling access to the monarch. 
Expanding the current system of spies and thugs in a 
serious military force would not be too difficult. He 
could use subtle innuendo about the military's loyalty 
to the emperor. However, that course was risky. 
Aboshan might take personal command of the army 
leaving no forces loyal only to the ambassador. 
Perhaps it was time to find avenues to power beside 
manipulations in the throne room. 

"Thank you all for your time," Laquatus said 
suddenly, cutting another general off in mid-speech. "I 
believe these problems deserve an immediate 
response. I will go to our beloved ruler and urge him to 
act on these concerns as soon as possible." 

Many officers could not hide their irritation at the 
abrupt dismissal, but it was hard to complain of an 

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advisor moving promptly to convey their problems to 
the sovereign. 

Turg, he commanded mentally, ready to leave for 
the vaults. 

The frog resisted, wanting to stay with his 
companions. The ambassador swam over, wondering 
what could be so engrossing. A huge glass cover from 
the imperial kitchens lay on a tabletop. The amphibian 
and a triton released fighting fish under the glass, 
sealing them in. The fish, at first, swelled until one 
appeared bigger than its opponent did. Laquatus 
thought of Aboshan's swollen ego as one tried to drive 
the other off. But the lesser was trapped and could not 
escape. Both fish attacked, forced to combat because 
one could not leave. The noble dragged his jack away, 
sick of resistance to his will. The other scum scattered 
at his show of wrath. 

Laquatus led the sullen champion to a waiting 
room. He could leave for the treasure rooms in a little 
while. He could afford a little time to adjust his 
servant's attitude. The frog's sounds of distress carried 
into the throne room as his master took pains to 
educate him. 

* * * * * 

"My enemies decay in the depths," Aboshan, 
Emperor of the Seas, chuckled as he reviewed the 
execution lists. The wax showed his enemies' names, 
and he rubbed them out in glee, imagining himself 
rubbing them out of existence. He had erased them. No 
one mentioned their names for fear of contamination, 
and the state already held their property, appropriated 
in his name. 

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The past weeks had been difficult. He constantly 
feared conspirators might break in despite the 
increased guards and secret police. He stopped 
allowing his atten-dants into his quarters because 
assassins might infiltrate them. He had been reduced 
to looking at the names of his dead enemies. Suddenly 
he was afraid, perhaps removing them from the death 
lists would bring them back to plague him. 

He rolled in the water several times, trying to 
shake off the black thoughts oppressing him. His 
forces were stripping the empire of criminals every 
day. Arrest and execution warrants traveled with the 
army and the police. He was growing safer, he 
reminded himself. 

The emperor needed to get out, to make sure 
something existed outside these rooms. But where 
could he go where his enemies might not find him. 
Aboshan suddenly remembered the vaults and the 
land walkers that he employed to service his treasures. 
Surely in the depths of the palace he would be safe. 
Yes, he would go and see what wonders had been 
reclaimed. 

"Guards!" he screamed, wanting to leave but 
afraid to unless surrounded. The waters frothed with 
predatory fish seeking attackers as mermen sped from 
their posts at the doors. 

"What is it, Your Majesty?" a guard asked, his 
fellows splitting to sweep the room for intruders. 

"We wish to inspect the treasure rooms under the 
palace," he commanded, his voice stronger than it had 
been in some time. "Have them cleared of undesirables 
for our tour." 

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The guard stared slackly then retreated at 
Aboshan's angry expression. 

Servants streamed in as the announcement 
spread of the emperor leaving his rooms. They brought 
his jewelry and worked to make him presentable. The 
uneasiness made him wonder if he should stay. But it 
had been so long. 

He must not allow his subjects to think him 
cowering in a corner. He was in control, not the rebels 
or his wife. Not even his loyal servant Laquatus 
directed the path of the empire. The realm was his to 
use as he saw fit. Aboshan resolutely swept out into 
the halls. Guards raced down side passages to clear a 
path for the monarch, unable to cut in front of the 
emperor. 

The halls appeared deserted, the ruler knowing 
many feared to be in his presence while his moods 
were so unpredictable. They must learn to live with it, 
he decided. He would not be a pariah in his own house. 
The passage wound down to the sea floor. Light blazed 
from normally dark walls as the palace reacted to his 
presence. 

Aboshan reached the bedrock. A shimmering 
bubble stretched across the room to a partition. He 
could see a squad of tresias chivying someone behind 
the screen. At least he would not have to soil himself 
by looking on the land-bound. The sentry bowed to the 
ground, his stalk pivoting to bring his torso flat to the 
rock. The emperor ignored him as he swam closer to 
the bubble of air. The monarch remembered his 
ministers creating the spell. The problems with item 
preservation dictated that Aboshan, who despised all 
above the sea, have a pocket of air and dry land in his 

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own house. Worse, he could not swim among his 
treasures but must walk on legs. 

"Avert your eyes as we inspect our treasures," the 
emperor told the guards. He swam closer, then passed 
into the bubble. He writhed with unexpected pain. He 
had buried his ability to form legs at least as deep as 
the treasures below. He lay on the floor, gasping for air 
as his tentacles combined and formed legs. He 
laboriously expelled water cleared from his new lungs. 
He tried to stand, but i his muscles protested. The best 
he could manage was a I crawl as he neared the 
trapdoor. He sat at the top of the stairs leading down, 
the air feeling as chill as the ocean depths. At last he 
slid down the wooden steps. He gripped the banister 
and laboriously pulled himself to his newly created 
feet. 

The room was lit by unpleasantly flaring lamps. 
Crystal globes captured traces of fire and threw their 
harsh rays from the chamber's corners. The shelves 
erected on the floor were taller than his head, his 
treasures laid upon them and cataloged. He tottered 
toward the first set, gripping the sides as his feet 
shuffled over the uneven floor. Some of the wooden 
planks groaned under their loads. The steel and glass 
heads of forgotten fighting machines stared at him as 
he worked his way down the aisle. Mechanical limbs 
threw threatening shadows. He passed a section of 
knives, their wavy edges promising death to who ever 
touched the blade, the wielder as well as the victim. A 
pile of jewels, separated by type, covered the wood at 
the end of the aisle. 

"Is this all?" he asked himself. Where were the 
magics to sweep away his enemies? He had no interest 

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in baubles or small devices. He could draw on an 
empire to build his armies. These items were 
inconsequential compared to his might under the sea. 
Perhaps the greater wonders were deeper under the 
palace? 

Aboshan moved toward the hole leading down to 
the next room. His stride improved as he went down 
the ladder. He was no weakling to be overwhelmed by 
walking. The shelves seemed more of the same. A 
projector lay groaning on a set of tables. He could see 
the spears contained through gaps in the mechanism. 
The weapon might make a single warrior or machine 
nigh unstoppable but was of no use against the hordes 
a war must bring. 

He strained to topple the trestles. He snarled at 
his impotence as he tried to move weights unsupported 
by water for the first time. Dry land oppressed him. All 
but a tiny fraction of his forces could not leave the 
water at all. The continent's interior seemed remote as 
distant islands to the savages inhabiting the world of 
air. 

The real weapons must be hidden. He stretched 
out his senses, drifting between the shelves. He could 
smell the water and mud down in the lower levels. His 
eyes saw little sign of hidden cases or rooms as he 
worked his way back. It was only his meticulous 
attention to the walls that tipped him off. 

One section of rock changed slowly as the light 
brightened. The shift reminded him of the palace 
walls, but it appeared bare rock. He approached and 
let his senses wash over it. The surface was a fagade, 
and he felt the thrill of discovering a secret trove. His 
will grated against the surface, and the covering 

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slowly sloughed away. Water poured out, murky and 
stinking of metal and rot. The cache must predate the 
Cabal's arrival, Aboshan realized. The former curator 
must have hidden the object before dying in the rebel 
attack. 

A leather sack lay on the floor. The emperor knelt 
down, nearly falling as he performed the maneuver. 
He opened the bag, the material tearing like paper. He 
held the world in his hands. 

The orb was brilliant blue, the globe's surface 
covered in places by chop, as waves and weather 
collided. The depths of the sphere called to him, 
speaking its name. 

"Mirari," the emperor whispered. 

He stared in wonder, his senses diving beneath 
the surface to explore the world he ruled. The abysmal 
depths called to him, and he raced to answer. 

The orb spun out of his hands as he toppled, the 
ball rolling away to fetch up against a shelf. The 
emperor's legs split into tentacles. He thrashed in 
panic as his lungs tried to turn back to gills. His mind 
convinced he swam in the ocean, his body had 
attempted to adapt to the new reality. Aboshan 
shuddered as his magic slowly halted the 
transformation and forced himself to revert to his 
land-bound form. 

He rolled upright, furious that his being could 
betray him so. He walked quickly to the orb, the 
sphere's glory feeling slightly less. He stooped to pick 
it up and rapped his head against the wood. 

"Everything conspires against us!" Aboshan 
swore, closing his eyes against the pain. "Forced to 
walk on legs like a common animal. How I despise 

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them all!" The ruler put his tentacles to his head as if 
to press the anger back in. The land assaulted his 
mind. Even for the care of treasures like the orb he 
depended on the Cabal. He wondered what trick they 
had prepared for him? 

He held the Mirari before his eyes. The sphere's 
endless seas were swept by waves without land's 
interruption. 

"That is what I want. For my kingdom to stretch 
on forever." Perhaps his wife might come back to him 
if he were more powerful. But the continents seemed 
forever beyond his reach. 

"We will sweep you all away!" he said madly and 
thrust his magic into the sphere. 

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CHAPTER 24 


Laquatus swam down the corridor, his jack 
struggling to keep up with him. He had waited too 
long, and now everything might be at risk. He did not 
hear of the emperor's excursion until after he finished 
chastising Turg. Only after he started for the vaults 
did another courtier ask him if he was joining 
Aboshan's tour of the treasure rooms? "What do you 
mean?" Laquatus bellowed, as he crowded the noble 
back. His champion took hold of the aristocrat's limbs. 
Outrage filled the minister's face as the amphibian 
laid hands on him. 

"I demand you let me go," he hissed. The frog 
broke his prisoner's collarbones at his master's surge 
of irritation. 

"You might heal if you hurry to a doctor," the 
ambassador said intently, giving the broken bones a 
nudge with his hand. "Or you could suffer injuries 
leaving you with flippers instead of hands." Turg gave 
the noble a simple fracture in a lower arm. Guards and 
servants ignored the impromptu torture session. It 
was unhealthy of late to be interested in Laquatus's 
business. 

"He is clearing the treasure rooms of workers and 
will inspect the rooms in person. He left while you 
talked with this animal." Turg broke his other arm in 
passing as Laqua-tus rushed to the vaults in the 
depths of the palace. 

The way was clear, the servants keeping as much 
space as possible between themselves and their 

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sovereign. The aristocrat passed guards and 
checkpoints, but they were never challenged. The 
ambassador was now the second most powerful person 
in the northern court, but he could be cast down at the 
emperor's whim. 

Laquatus passed the interior banquet rooms, 
ignoring the delicacies that eternally awaited a 
courtier's dining. The hall changed shape and direction 
as he passed chambers that had been sealed at the 
emperor's pleasure. Rumors abounded of disloyal 
subjects interred in the finest rooms, lacking nothing 
but an exit. The swim was taking too long, and the 
ambassador accelerated, cursing the grand airs of the 
marine rulers. He and Turg neared the lower 
passages, leading to the vaults. There were few doors 
here, most of the space devoted to the organs which 
allowed the palace to live. Laquatus passed members 
of the imperial guard, posted to protect the emperor as 
he toured the bowels of the palace. A giant squid jetted 
back and forth through the narrow corridor. The 
ambassador wanted to force it aside. 

However, he knew how aggressive the 
cephalopods were, so he slowed and gave it as wide a 
berth as possible. A huge eye looked him over as the 
ambassador continued on. It took seconds to pass the 
monster. The long whips stretched beyond the other 
tentacles. Laquatus dodged the long clubs with their 
oversized hooked suction cups. 

The squid was one of Aboshan's proudest 
achievements, recruited from the queen's allies in the 
abyss. The emperor proved at least in his own mind 
that he could compete with his wife. The pair neared 
the entrance to the vaults. 

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The sessile warrior still floated on his stalk. He 
held a trident in his hands as he directed the guards in 
moving a partition. Laquatus was surprised to see 
Fulla and her companions penned in the bubble set 
over the trapdoor. The air was stretched until it 
resembled a loaf of bread. The spell seemed to be 
straining. The dementia caster poked her hand out 
through the water barrier, watching the boundary 
ripple with interest. 

"Guard," the ambassador said, drawing the 
stationary fighter to attention. The arms on the rooted 
figure crossed as he drew himself upright. "I would 
speak with the emperor." 

Laquatus wondered how he would deal with an 
outraged sovereign. He had no idea how obvious the 
Cabal's looting operation of the vaults was. Aboshan 
might have no idea anything untoward was 
happening. 

The flare of powerful magic seemed to fill the 
room. A massive spell's presence set the magical field 
to vibrating. The air bubble shook violently as the 
palace spells interacted with the new force. With a 
sinking heart Laquatus realized Aboshan must have 
found the orb. 

"I must see the emperor now," the aristocrat 
demanded, determined to find out what was 
happening. The guard twisted his stalk, the trident no 
longer at attention but lowered for use. 

"Absolutely not," the sessile warrior said flatly, 
coiling on his long stalk as if to lunge forward. "His 
imperial majesty did not wish to be disturbed, so none 
shall pass. The emperor allowed for no exceptions." 

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The soldier waved for reinforcements from the 
corridor. 

These guards might move from where they were 
rooted only a few times in their lives. As a result, 
Laquatus believed, they were the most stubborn and 
unyielding guards in all existence. Rigid obedience to 
all orders was their trademark. 

Another pulse shook the ether, but this time the 
concussion was also physical. The ambassador felt the 
water surging in sympathy to some spell perpetuated 
by Aboshan. Laquatus remembered the disaster that 
had struck the Order. Aboshan had no interest in what 
happened to the Citadel, and Laquatus neglected to 
share the information for fear of drawing the 
emperor's attention to the orb. Even now a spell might 
be encasing the vaults in impenetrable crystal. The 
palace wall shivered as a new wave of energy blasted 
through the living tissue. 

"There is no time," Laquatus growled as his 
commands leaped from his mind to the palace walls. 
His authority unquestioned by any in the court, the 
building obeyed. The walls closed. Laquatus imagined 
the panic that must be filling the upper floors of the 
building for he did not limit his command. He 
wondered how many would die as the passage pinched 
shut, sealing the troops away from the emperor. The 
giant squid the ambassador had passed jetted down 
the corridor, it speed blinding as it tore into the vaults' 
antechamber, getting through the door before lattices 
of chitin and coral could crimp the passage shut. 

"Take it," the ambassador ordered Turg and 
moved against the rooted guard. The stubborn whelk 
directed a sudden current at the ambassador, 

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threatening to batter the merman against the walls. 
Laquatus swam into the flow, showing off his body's 
power as he rarely did. He stilled the torrent and 
circled the guard, wondering how long it would take 
the poison on his rings to kill his opponent. 

In the background he could see the Cabal workers 
panickingunder the ocean with only a thin bubble 
preventing them from drowning. 

The ambassador focused on his one fight. Who 
would think an immobile opponent would offer a 
challenge? He called for a shark to feast on the 
stationary target. But the fighter was tied directly into 
the palace, and his counter-spell disrupted the magical 
call. Laquatus tried to conjure other monsters. In spite 
of his vigorous attempts, the guard's magic was a stone 
bastion upon which he wasted all his strength. 

In the bubble, the Cabal workers struck at their 
amphibian watchers with magical attacks. The blind 
tre-sias's limbs withered, the muscle melting away 
under the workers' hands. The fighters shrank to 
miniscule proportions, their bones cracking and 
spearing through their skins. If only the aristocrat 
enjoyed some of that dark magic, but his spells were of 
the sea and his opponent opposed every summoning. 
At least the amphibians would not interfere with the 
ambassador's fight. 

Another wave of power welled up from below, and 
the ambassador lost focus as some effort from the 
emperor assaulted his sense. But Laquatus's sessile 
opponent suffered more. The surges of energy pulsed 
through the walls, and the guard was anchored to 
them. The warrior appeared confused and discharged 

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magical blasts in all directions as the ambassador 
tried to close with him. 

"Turg," the noble called, hoping that together 
they might uproot the enemy, but the frog could not 
come. 

The giant squid jetted through the water faster 
than a bird. Only the amphibian's creative use of the 
air bubble on the floor allowed him to escape time after 
time. The jack threw himself through the crowded 
space, bowling whimpering Cabal technicians over as 
he vanished from view. The squid fished for his enemy, 
its two long tentacles slamming into the workers and 
snatching them into the other eight where it tore them 
apart. 

Fulla became involved as her safety was 
threatened. The Cabal workers reanimated their 
drowned brethren and set them swimming for squid. 
The deep-sea monster threaded by them with ease, 
their clumsy motions no match for its speed and 
agility. 

The rooted warrior directed more currents to 
sweep the chamber. The palace walls began to relax as 
the warrior countered the ambassador's command. If 
any of the elite survived beyond the door they would 
soon be attacking Laquatus. 

The static guard's power pushed to reopen the 
palace passages, and Laquatus tried to steal victory 
from the jaws of the defeat. He redoubled the guard's 
call as he dived through the top of the air bubble. The 
command forced open the passage over the vault entry 
as well as doors throughout the palace. He 
transformed into a humanoid even as he rolled down 
the steps with bone-jarring force. Turg followed, one of 

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the squid's tentacles snatching away a layer of skin as 
the ambassador shut the living curtain. This time he 
directed a bolt of lightning and killed the door to 
prevent the rooted guard from opening it for 
reinforcements. 

There was no sign of the emperor. The ruler's 
spell still pulsed out, but the force was so great it 
obscured the exact position it flowed from. The vaults 
took up twelve large chambers in the living rock. The 
palace walls spread over every surface, but it was thin 
in comparison to the upper rooms of the structure. 
Laquatus looked to Turg for aid, but the frog was 
curled up, his skin pouring out a restorative slime over 
his wounds. 

Laquatus composed himself, sinking into a chair 
before a cluster of tables. The furniture must have 
been imported at great expense, but it was an ugly 
reminder of dry land to the ambassador. Intricate 
mechanisms rested on the table in the stages of 
restoration. A card on one matrix of crystal, copper, 
and gold identified it as an aid in clairvoyancethe art 
of distant sight. 

Laquatus threw out his senses, desperate to find 
the emperor before some catastrophe overwhelmed 
them all. Instead his view expanded exponentially, 
and information flooded in. He soared up from the 
ocean floor. Below him lay the palace. Then the 
capital. Finally he saw the continental shelf and the 
mainland. 

The ambassador's awareness swept the coastline, 
and he understood the purpose of the spell. Huge 
waves swept toward the helpless shore. He admired 
Aboshan's vision as he saw walls of water smashing 

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into small villages. The impact tumbled boats far from 
the shore. The emperor poured more power to fuel the 
continuing destruction. But Laquatus could also see 
the power tearing at the capital's fabric. The surges of 
mystic energy disrupted the delicate web of spells the 
living constructions relied on to function. 

To his horror, he saw the palace lying in the eye 
of the storm of magic. Many dwellings were beginning 
to discor-porate, as spells they relied on flared and 
died. 

His spirit collapsed back to the palace, the chaotic 
waves of power playing havoc with the enhancement 
spell this close to the origin of the destruction. He 
grasped the organization of the vaults in a burst of 
visiontwelve caverns interconnected by a single 
passage and most of them packed tight with mud. 
People said the vaults were in the bowels of the palace, 
and bowels were not full of treasure. But there was 
one piece of perfection, the orb. He saw that the 
emperor was only one level below him. 

"Aboshan, you fool," the ambassador cried, 
headed for the pit leading down. Turg uncurled and 
followed slowly, still favoring his side. Water began to 
cascade down the stairs as the temporary hatch 
locking out the imperial guards began to fail under 
repeated blows from the other side. 

Laquatus flew down the steps, racing for the 
chamber's corner. There the emperor knelt entranced, 
his hands holding the sphere. Waves crawled over the 
miniature globe's surface as the monarch sent another 
burst of power through the orb, only to have it 
magnified a thousand-fold. The ruler was lost in his 
personal visions of a landless world. 

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"I should have killed you months ago, you 
deluded idiot," the ambassador said as a tremor shook 
the room, sending artifacts crashing to the floor. Turg 
moved forward, savoring his first taste of regicide. 
Aboshan started awake, self-preservation overriding 
his blindness at the display of treachery and insolence. 

"Guards!" cried the emperor. Perhaps the palace 
was dying, but it struggled to obey its master's voice. 
The hatch above broke and water roared into the 
upper chamber, forming a cataract down the stairs. 

The long whips of the giant squid curled around 
the shelves below as it pulled itself down the stairs. It 
rushed to protect its emperor. Wooden planks bucked 
off their frames as the body slammed into the piled 
treasures. The hole leading down to the next room 
plugged up, and the water level began to rise. A few 
mermen slid down the stairs on their bellies, thrashing 
around in the water. However, unlike Laquatus and 
Aboshan, they were unable to form legs. They ducked 
their heads into the water, trying to breathe. The 
soldiers sent arc after arc of lightning flying toward 
the ambassador. 

The noble retreated, an image of charred flesh 
left behind in his place. However, the palace guard 
knew his reputation, and spears of power smashed 
through the illusion, searching for him. Seeing their 
bloodthirstiness and indiscriminate attacks, Laquatus 
sent his image racing among the guards. It ran as if 
insanely desperate to flee. Spears and gouts of power 
from the guards devoured their own ranks as the elite 
tried to kill the traitor. 

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Where is my champion? the ambassador 
wondered as he sent a snake of lightening writhing 
among the prone guards. 

Turg fled before the giant squid. The long whips 
pulled down shelves as the cephalopod pulled itself 
after the frog. His camouflage failed him. The slab of 
skin pulled off by the guard's tentacle showed clearly, 
despite the amphibian's attempts to hide. The jack 
tried to cast a spell of blindness, but Laquatus was too 
involved to send much power through the link. Timber 
and a variety of maces fell on the amphibian as the 
squid pulled a rack of treasures down on him. 

In desperation, Laquatus tried to feed on the 
palace's remaining magic. The spell gained him little 
power. Turg, in turn, siphoned most of it through the 
pair's link. He needed every scrap as he fought to 
survive in his battle against the deadly guard. The 
ambassador felt spells failing as he sent a weak blast 
against the guards. The water was waist deep, and he 
thought of returning to his swimming form. A 
converging series of blasts sent him scrambling up a 
set of shelves, his hands bleeding as he gripped the 
tangled metal of a recovered artifact. A ground shock 
shook many of the items to the water below, some of 
the frames splashing as they collapsed as well. 

"You are destroying your kingdom!" Laquatus 
shouted to Aboshan. The ruler rocked in glee as he 
continued to call for the land's destruction. The mer 
warriors attacked the apparent source of the 
ambassador's voice. The two guards electrocuted each 
other, as the noble tricked them yet again. 

"Nothing is beyond our grasp," the emperor 
called, and another surge of magical force assailed the 

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mainland. The ruler appeared oblivious to the ongoing 
destruction around him, lost in his vision of what his 
attacks accomplished. 

"Your are destroying your palace!" Laquatus 
bellowed, then staggered. A psychic wound cut through 
his mind and mastery of magic. 

Turg was caught in the squid's tentacles. His 
frame shud' dered as the monster's beak bit into his 
flesh. The cephalo-pod's short arms writhed, working 
at the prey in its grasp. The amphibian's flesh tore, 
and the ambassador fell, his teeth clenched. He felt 
through the link the champion's muscles and tendons 
tearing. The frog writhed in agony, energy flaring as 
the beak tore at its waist. Laquatus reeled as the legs 
separated, and the blood vacuumed from the frog's 
brain. 

A final surge leaped through the link. With only 
one hand showing beyond the tentacles, a long lash of 
power whipped from the jack and burrowed into the 
huge eye. Fluid spurted as the organ collapsed, the 
body shivering briefly as the charge raced up the optic 
nerve. It destroyed the brain and took Turg's killer 
with him into death. Laquatus collapsed, and only the 
remaining guard's fear of yet another trap prevented 
them from killing him. 

Aboshan wailed, and the ambassador wondered 
dumbly if his pain somehow carried to his sovereign. 
The guards closed around the ruler, trying to intercept 
the attack that made him cry out. 

"My palace! My city!" the monarch bellowed, his 
eyes wide as the side effects of his spell finally became 
known to him. Another ground shock hit, this one 
finally tearing free the blockage to the levels below. 

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With a stuttering roar a whirlpool formed, dragging 
debris into the lower rooms. Turg and his killer slowly 
slid from sight as Laquatus gripped the shelving he 
fetched up against. The guards' flukes beat as they 
held the emperor against the current. 

"This is your fault," Aboshan cried out, searching 
for someone to blame. "None of this would have 
happened without your treachery." 

Laquatus ignored the lie, staying still as he tried 
to marshal his strength. Perhaps he could still escape. 
His body ached to transform to its tailed state, but any 
magic or movement might bring the guards down on 
him. The warriors stayed clustered around the 
sovereign. Another pulse of power fed into the 
emperor's spell despite Aboshan's efforts to stop it. 
Laquatus remembered Kirtar and doubted the ruler 
would survive his ambassador by more than a few 
minutes. A fresh wave of guards flowed down the 
staircase, the cephalids holding tridents. The 
aristocrat readied himself to meet his death but was 
unexpectedly reprieved. 

The guards retreated from the upper room in 
defeat. A giant newt moved to the head of the stairs. It 
was the size of a crocodile, but it showed no teeth. Its 
dark red flesh was covered with weeping sores. Its skin 
extruded a thick gel, especially on its hindquarters. 
The animal turned and whipped its tail, launching 
gobs of the muck at the retreating soldiers. They tried 
to dive beneath the water, but its level had fallen. A 
merman was hit on the back, and his skin blackened. 
It began to slough off. The creature leaped into the air 
and landed on another warrior. The others rushed 
away and threw darts that thudded into the animal's 

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flesh with little effect. The corruption dissolved into 
the water, and despite the superiority of gills, the 
ambassador vowed to breathe air for as long as 
possible. 

The supply of water running down the stairs 
diminished, though now air began to bubble at the 
hole leading down to the next floor. The ground shocks 
must have opened other leaks. Soon more palace 
soldiers would be able to enter the treasure rooms. 

A figure leaped down the stairs, sending a wave 
of water up as she skidded into the pool. It was Fulla, 
and she grinned like a madwoman. Her sword swept 
aside a merman's trident strike, and her return cut 
laid a tentacle open. Laquatus could see the slash 
turning dark as infection deepened the wound in 
seconds. The soldier thrashed in the water and stopped 
as the toxins reached his heart. A soldier managed to 
summon a school of poisonous jellyfish, forcing the 
dementia caster to jump out of the water to high 
shelves. She crawled along the flame work as magic 
strikes darkened the wood around her. The guards 
closed as she neared the emperor. 

Aboshan was gasping, his body slowly 
transforming back and forth between free-swimmer 
and land-walker. His eyes pleaded for help, but he lay 
draped over a pile of rubble, unable to move. 

Laquatus slowly moved to greater cover, the 
guards too busy dealing with the Cabal fighter to 
waste time on him. 

Fulla splashed behind some fallen shelving, her 
sword ready, but it was her mind that attacked, calling 
up magic to slay her enemies. Gigantic black cranes 
stepped into existence. The birds' heads ducked to 

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avoid the ceiling as they stalked from the dementia 
caster's mind. Their scummy plumage drifted to the 
water as they surrounded their mistress and waded 
out to the soldiers. Their long bills speared down to lift 
cephalids from the water avoiding the tridents with 
ease. The tentacles tried to pull the fighters free of the 
bills. Blood poured from their transfixed torsos as they 
struggled to escape. One bird was somewhat small and 
could not lift its target free of the water. Instead, the 
fowl stabbed multiple times, churning the water into a 
bloody froth. 

Blood gushed from the wounds, and those able to 
escape the birds' vicious stabbing after only a single 
blow did not last long. Their eyes and noses began to 
leak blood as the cranes' magic destroyed their ability 
to heal or prevent the rupture of delicate membranes. 
Blinded warriors spread panic as the birds played with 
their victims, pricking limbs and watching the 
warriors quickly bleed out from minor wounds. 

A merman panicked and attempted to flee. His 
tail beating wildly, he rushed the stairs and leaped 
like a salmon toward the next room. He smacked into 
loops of rotting vine. The plant filled the hole, choking 
off the last of the water flowing down to the steps. The 
warrior tried to pull free but could not move as more 
vegetation covered him. A crane Flapped its wings and 
jumped to the top of the stairs. There it plunged its 
beak into the warrior's heart. 

"Fulla, I am over here!" Laquatus cried, cursing 
his bad luck. A crane was headed his way, and he was 
within seconds of being punctured. The Cabal 
commander dismissed her birds back from whence 
they came. 

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"Why, ambassador, did you have anything to do 
with this party?" Fulla asked sweetly, turning him 
over with the point of her sword. "I and my people 
were left out in the cold while you had all the fun for 
yourself," she gently chided him. 

"I do not see Turg, my favorite playmate," she 
said looking at the destruction of all her work. 
Artifacts once more were immersed, and some of the 
tags identifying pieces were already dissolving the 
water. "I had to kill my way through the guards to find 
the person who called for this outing." She walked to 
the emperor, stepping around the dead and other 
remnants of the fight. 

Aboshan could only blink, being too exhausted to 
move as the orb drained the last of his magic and his 
life. 

"As it appears that you no longer need my 
services I will take my leave of you," she said in an 
arch tone. "While the going-away party was amusing, 
it was unexpectedly early. I think it only fair that I 
receive severance pay." She reached down and 
carefully swept the orb from the emperor's hand. 

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CHAPTER 25 


Kamahl wondered if he should move down the 
coast. He had become a successful fighter though still 
not accepted by the arena staff. He was popular with 
the crowd, but his string of victories had become 
predictable. The lim-ited pool of opponents was 
drained of any challenge after the second week. Seeing 
the same faces day in and out was one of the reasons 
he left the mountains. 

But he would stay a little longer. One possible 
lead might yet yield fruit. Girter, one of the young men 
he was friendly with, knew of secret shipments 
between the empire and the fighting pits. A servant of 
the Cabal had come to Borben to discuss the 
gladiatorial companies that toured the continent. 

The chandler's son told Kamahl that the official 
had ties to the empire. He definitely dealt with the 
shipment of precious cargo to and from the mer. The 
barbarian left word at the traveler's inn that he 
wished to talk with the go-between. A substantial 
portion of his winnings over the past weeks was 
included to convince the man to come. 

He stepped outside the hillside tavern to look 
down to the town. Instead of staying near the arena, 
the official had taken dockside accommodations. The 
need to conduct business down by the water belied the 
official explanation for the man's journey. Perhaps he 
might learn something to direct his quest. 

The fishing fleet straggled back in, the docks 
beginning to bustle. Wagons hauled the catch away as 

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a few freight wagons waited on the pier. The lighter 
ferrying cargo and special items to the ships was out in 
the bay. There were ships waiting at the anchorage 
that had been there for quite some time. Perhaps the 
goods were particularly important to the empire. He 
needed to get on board. Perhaps one of the fishermen's 
brothers could take him out. 

Kamahl felt reality pause, and a great noise filled 
the world. He dropped as a pulsing headache ripped 
through his head. Rage and bile seemed to wash him 
away, and he drew a knife to defend himself from 
attack. A spell of enormous power and damage was 
being worked, the disturbance seeming to fill the sky. 
Birds and farm animals yowled as the barbarian lost 
himself in the discordant chorus. 

How long he leaned against the building he did 
not know. A pitcher of beer in his face broke his 
fascination with the magical noise. He thanked the 
barmaid clearing the obstruction from the inn door. 
Kamahl shook himself and walked farther away from 
the building. He had never felt a spell of such strength. 
His prize must be close by, but there was no sign of 
anything strange. The town looked perfectly calm as 
the fisherman and wagon drivers went about their 
business. Then something dragged the barbarian's 
eyes back to the sea. 

The boats along the pier lowered as water flowed 
out of the inlet. The bay continued to drop, and soon 
boats were hung up. The catch of fish fell to the 
exposed mud below. 

Interested, people went toward the bay to see the 
unusual event. Here and there a few figures started 
running as hard as they could for the hills. More and 

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more people fled, and he wondered why. A flicker of 
movement brought his eyes to the horizon. Something 
was coming toward all points of the coast. The line 
grew to a wave striking the beaches far in the 
distance. He realized the size of the disaster as he saw 
tall trees stripped away. He looked directly to the sea, 
the hilly peninsula shielding him from the closest 
view. A roar smothered screams as a wall of water 
carried over the hills and fell down the slope toward 
the town. Now everyone in sight ran for higher ground. 

The hatred and spite of the spell were nauseating 
as Kamahl started higher into the hills, not knowing 
how high the water might carry. The sound of 
smashing houses and shops tore the day apart. The 
barbarian wondered if anyone would survive the 
disaster. He stumbled as a new note of magic, just as 
strong as the first, stung his senses. The orb's magic 
was what drove the wave he guessed, but the bitter 
emotions drained away as the wave sped toward him. 
The magic was changed, and Kamahl knew the orb no 
longer belonged to the sea. Then a blast of air pushed 
him over, and the water came down. 

* * * * * 

Laquatus saw the orb lose its beauty, the blue 
ocean fading away until only gleaming metal 
remained. The imperial bastard, Aboshan, had cost 
him everything. The orb still radiated tremendous 
power as he looked at it, but it no longer resonated 
with his soul. His spirits sank lower as he realized he 
might be trapped here with Fulla. Who knew what 
insane spell she would cast now that she held the orb 
in her hands? 

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The dementia caster held the orb absently as she 
kicked through the destruction, sending water high 
into the air. Another aftershock threw her off her feet, 
and Laquatus slowly sat up, hoping she would lose her 
grip on the orb. Instead she surfaced from the water 
spitting a stream of the filthy liquid into the air. 

I need a spell to distract her while she played 
likes a lunatic, he thought. If he could just capture the 
orb maybe he could recall its glory. But he could not 
grip any magic with his mind. The wound inflicted by 
Turg's death was crippling. The gaping hole of his 
bond allowed his magic to flow uncontrolled. If he were 
more prepared, he might have avoided it, but for now 
his spells pushed power to one no longer alive. An 
infinite void swallowed his effort, and he could not 
force the mental focus to end the drain. 

Fulla seated herself on the stairs, bored with her 
horseplay. She looked at the guard enveloped by her 
predatory plant. She began to throw debris at him. 
Laquatus stood up and started toward her. The body of 
his former sovereign floated past, and he shoved it 
aside, ignoring it like a forgotten toy. The room 
plunged into darkness as the palace light system 
failed. The merman tried to coax forth light, but the 
Cabal member called up a luminescent mold that 
coated the walls. 

Fulla glance absently at the orb but turned to the 
rising water. The air was becoming stuffy. She tucked 
the powerful item under her legs and looked at the 
ambassador. He hid his disbelief at her dismissive 
attitude toward the orb. 

Laquatus decided that her resistance to its 
attractions was related to her resilience to his own 

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magical attacks on her mind. Dementia casters simply 
lived in a different world. Their perceptions of reality 
were so strange that perhaps the orb appeared 
mundane. Maybe it replicated some other effect they 
experienced often. Regardless, she showed little 
interest, and perhaps he could procure the sphere from 
her at a later date. 

"We must escape," he told her, sitting down close 
to her but out of sword's reach. "This air bubble will 
disperse sooner or later. Unless you wish to die, you 
must flee to the surface." 

"Why not swim away, little fish?" she asked, 
kicking the orb back and forth between her feet. "It is 
a big pond, and you are old enough to be on your own." 

Laquatus curbed his first answer. 

There was every chance some of the guards 
survived to report his treachery. At this very moment, 
his name might be added to the execution warrants 
that he signed this morning. The blanks concealed in 
his office with the emperor's seal already imprinted 
seemed a very bad idea now. The orb might be the only 
thing rescued from this debacle. If only he had brought 
his poison rings. 

"You saved me, and I owe you a debt I can never 
repay," he said, curbing his nausea at the sentiment. 
"Perhaps working together we can reach the surface." 
If she would just help him clear the way, she could 
drown. A corpse had no possessions. 

Another shock collapsed the stairs, and they fell 
into the water. The ambassador saw that she swam 
with difficulty though she still managed to find the 
orb. She struggled to one of the few shelves still 
standing. 

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Next time she is in the water I'll pull her under, 
Laqua-tus promised himself. 

* * * * * 

Fulla looked down at the merman who stood 
smiling like a shark. The bodies, the threat of death, 
and the danger of betrayal was comfortingjust like 
home. If she returned to the Cabal it would be a 
disaster. Her mission to the sea had failed. Despite her 
manic outer denial, she could feel depression 
threatening to crush her. Returning as a failure was 
not an option. 

But perhaps she could return to the arena instead 
of being bundled off to distant postings. She weighed 
the orb in her hand. She found it mildly interesting, 
but others seemed to covet it beyond all reason. Even 
now the ambassador waited for his chance to steal it. 
Only the chance that he might become interesting kept 
him alive. 

It was dark and cold in the vault. Her ears 
started to hurt as the last remnants of the air supply 
spell failed. It was time to go home. Home, where a 
person could find a decent graveyard and strangers 
could disappear without awkward questions. 

Laquatus meant nothing to her. She needed no 
aid to escape from something as simple as a collapsing 
underwater building. The plant still held a pocket of 
air though the earthquake might rip it free any 
moment. She concentrated, calling into being a mount 
she had studied for a long time. 

The travel fish faded into being. Its flesh was 
transparent, and the dementia caster could see the 
bones and organs pulsing inside its monstrous body. It 

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flopped and wallowed in the shallow water, the wave it 
created reinforcing its gigantic size. She watched the 
ambassador jump for safety as the fish smashed 
whatever was in its way. 

"Be still," she commanded, and it was. Laquatus 
was talking, but she ignored the words lost in her new 
creation. She stood before a blind eye, the monster 
unable to see except through her. The pressure was 
increasing, and she knew that the chamber must be 
moments away from catastrophic failure. 

The fish turned, and its mouth gaped open, the 
toothless jaws stretching wide, inviting her in. She 
laughed, waved to the merman, and leaped into the 
monster's throat. She slid down the tube to the 
stomach still able to see the outside. It reminded her of 
her childhood, and she wished she could go again but 
time was running out. She knelt in the monster's belly, 
the chamber draining of the water that accompanied 
her on her entrance. The travel fish transported its 
passengers inside, and the room expanded as she stood 
up, her gigantic steed responding to her will. 

She could see Laquatus hurling himself into the 
fish. She wondered if the monster should gulp him 
down in pieces, for the jaws were strong enough to 
shatter bone. No time for such rough horseplay she 
decided and turned her attention to the outside. 

Fulla dispelled her plant, the rotting vines 
vanishing. 

The cork holding the air pocket down ruptured. 
The corpses caught in its grip floated free as the travel 
fish wriggled through the hole to the first room and 
the trap door. The chamber was full of debris, but the 

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fish blindly searched the murky water and surged out 
of the bedrock. 

The palace gaped open above them, a direct path 
to the ocean torn through the structure. The travel fish 
surged up, its motion jostling the dementia caster 
against the ambassador. She half-drew her sword, 
hating his touch. 

"Wait, good caster," Laquatus cried, throwing 
himself back against the stomach wall. "Remember our 
agreement on shipping treasures back to the Cabal. I 
can still be of use." 

The travel fish shot out of the palace. Huge rents 
in the sea floor sent gas bubbling to the surface. There 
were few signs of other survivors. The Cabal operative 
imagined them swimming far away. The empire was 
decimated, and the noble who had overseen its fate sat 
beside her. She laughed and loosed the ball the 
fascinated Laquatus so. 

Fulla looked at the sphere as the fish swam up 
through the depths. The orb called to her, entreating 
her to commune, telling her its nameMiraribut 
she ignored it. Most of her attention went to directing 
her steed. The glassy fish swam away from the 
destruction and violence that even now reduced the 
mer capital. Fulla turned the beast to avoid the 
currents rising from the sea floor. 

The dementia caster regarded her stolen prize. 
The Mirari had turned from liquid metal as she 
rescued it from the dead emperor's grasp. A ball of dirt 
lay in her hands, the black soil reminding her of a 
grave. She believed the change inconsequential as her 
senses often misled her. Still, something lay beneath 
the surface, and part of her ached to raise it up. 

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Perhaps the orb really did promise power. She noticed 
Laquatus's trepidation as he regarded her in the dull 
light glowing from the fish's belly. 

Fulla chuckled and tossed the sphere into the air, 
laughing harder as the ambassador barely restrained 
himself from diving for it. She opened a pouch and 
dropped it in, closing the leather bag without 
hesitation. 

"It offers you what you want, not what you need," 
she crowed to Laquatus, thumping her purse. The call 
of the globe was lost and muted in the fractured horror 
of her mind, its visions overwhelmed by the dementia 
of her calling. Grim merriment filled the undead steed 
as she directed it to shore, leaving the corpse of a 
kingdom behind her. 

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