Eyota marched her army of Silent Warriors east. Vixen was part of the princess’s private retinue. Uneasy, she walked with Clamor and The Harvester. In the Deepwood, Clamor had tried to kill her. Now he tolerated her presence. The Harvester had become just like Felix: a half-alive shadow of his former self. They were free to speak and make decisions, but they obeyed these people who called themselves Sargassians.

  After they had been captured, Vytenius had been taken to the Sargassian sorcerer—the one whose underground lair they had discovered in the moors. He returned in this state, another victim of sorcery. Chinara didn’t know where to look or what to say. She kept her eyes on the ground they traversed, and kept her mouth shut—scared of what her old squad mates would do to her.

  It was better company than anyone else, however. Eyota’s third ‘pet’, named Stricken, was terrifying. He had hungry, ghoulish eyes; skin blanched white; and stank like Gehenna. She didn’t understand all the conversations she heard, but Stricken was different to Clamor and The Harvester. Dead, Eyota had called him.

  He can’t be, she told herself. Not actually dead.

  The worst thing about Stricken was that every time she looked his way he was staring at her: those hungry eyes fixed on her—obsessed, it seemed, for the gods only knew what purpose. She didn’t even dare let herself think of escape while those eyes were on her.

  Then there was the princess herself. She seemed to be in command of this army, despite the presence of the sorcerer in it. Confidence, and authority, flowed from her. Yet so did a darkness every bit as skin crawling as the others.

  And all the time, as she walked and kept her head down, Chinara couldn’t help asking herself the same question, over and over. Why haven’t I been taken to the sorcerer?

  Vixen recognised the village they entered. It was Urlay, on the Auster, where this sorry adventure had begun. Here they had found Clamor’s effects, evidence he had set out across the moors. I followed him, and will soon suffer the same fate, Chinara told herself. Like a child, she wished she hadn’t. Wish I’d turned around and walked away.

  Eyota camped her vanguard in the town. The Silent Warriors carried their own food. The army travelled light, without much in the way of materials. But otherwise, it was all so easy for the Sargassians. They had emptied Urlay last year. In the meantime, the settlers of Gal’azu hadn’t responded to the threat. Now they had control of the river crossing. From here they could march straight to Avolo, with no obstacles.

  “Come in,” Eyota said to Chinara, gesturing to the house she had taken for her dwelling. Clamor stood on guard outside. “Thou can rest a while.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” she said.

  The house was small, with only two rooms. Eyota led her to the fire in the main room, where she gave Chinara a cup, then held out her own.

  They clinked cups. With the princess eyeing her, Chinara had little choice but to drink the transparent liquid. It was strong, with a woody taste.

  “Well?”

  “Very nice. Thank you.”

  Eyota smiled, then reached out a hand, brushing Chinara’s cheek. “Thou art so beautiful, Chinara. In almost every regard, you look like a Sargassian. Except your eyes. They are so dark. Where are thou from?”

  “It is called Alinko, Your Highness.”

  “Call me Eyota.”

  “It is south of Gal’azu. Eyota.”

  “I believe the Sargassians arrived in Gal’azu from the south, all those years ago. Perhaps our people are related? My father will know. I will ask him.”

  “Your father?” Chinara asked. It was the first time he had been mentioned.

  “The emperor, of course. He is most wise. Soon he will rule all the people here, and thou will witness his wisdom.”

  Chinara nodded, unsure what to say.

  “My father expected me to take thee straight to Amotken and have him tame thee. But I need a friend, Chinara. Someone to confide in, and who will confide in me. I can’t get that from anyone else. Do you understand?”

  “I do. Eyota.”

  “Well? Confide in me, then.”

  Chinara looked at the princess as her mind raced. She wasn’t sure if the woman was mad. But she was used to getting her own way, that was certain. I’m in serious trouble if she loses interest in me. “I’m scared,” she admitted.

  Eyota smiled, seemingly pleased with her words. “Of course you are. But thou will be my friend, Chinara.” Her hand returned; this time it was on Chinara’s waist. “I will always keep thee safe.”

  There were footsteps, and the clearing of a throat.

  Eyota scowled, turning from Chinara. “What is it, Clamor?”

  “Master Amotken requests your presence, Your Highness.”

  The princess sighed. “What does he want now?”

  She stormed from the house, a ball of energy. For a moment, Clamor’s eyes met Vixen’s, then he followed her out.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Chinara let out a breath. She could still feel Eyota’s hand on her cheek, and waist. I have to get out of Urlay. Tonight.

  No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than Stricken entered the room.

  Chinara put a hand to the knife at her belt.

  He looked at her quizzically. “I am not come to kill you, woman.” He crept closer. “Nor violate you.” He made the most repulsive smile Chinara had ever seen. “I would have wanted nothing more when I was alive. But since my death, I have no such urges.”

  “You still stare at me all the time.”

  He came even closer. She could smell his foul breath. “Ah. But my master has instructed me not to let you out of my sight. Never. Even when you are with Princess Eyota. He wants to enslave you, just like he has done to the others. But Eyota has forbidden it. So he has me follow you instead.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  Stricken shrugged, confused. “No one has told me not to. So I choose to.”

  “What else will you tell me?”

  Stricken considered this. “The one urge I have is to eat. I am always hungry, Alinko woman. When I look at you, I know you have a body men want. But all I want is to eat your flesh, and drink your blood.”

  Chinara drew her knife. “Get the fuck back.”

  “Oh, I won’t do it. I’ve been ordered not to, and I can’t disobey my master. I am incapable of it. His magic is that powerful. Did you know he raised me from the dead?”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Oh, it is.” He laughed. “You would know for sure, if you were ever to speak with your new friends in the Rotten Apples. You could ask them. They would know the name Stricken.” He smiled as he studied her expression. “Yes. I know you and the big one, and Clamor, were all working for that bastard Stiff. I did too, once upon a time.”

  “I want to escape.”

  “Ha. Of course you do. But that is never going to happen. Princess Eyota has taken a liking to you, hasn’t she? One way or another, you will become her latest pet. Even if you end up like me.” He clutched at his stomach. “I don’t advise it, Alinko woman. I am so hungry. The pain never stops. I never sleep. If you have any sense, you will do whatever she wants.”

  She raised her knife. “I’ll put you out of your misery.”

  Stricken laughed at her. “I wouldn’t stop you, if you could. But you can’t.”

  Chinara dropped her arm. She believed him.

  ***

  The numbers mattered little to Lothar at this point. What mattered was that all three missions—Explore the Deepwood, Rescue General Fei’s Informant, and Raid Strong Club—had been a success.

  He made sure to tell Seregin, Lord of Ossilion, over breakfast in The Pig and Iron. The elven lord had not quite said it in so many words, but his facial expressions suggested he thought Lothar’s operation was less than perfect.

  “Does that mean,” said the elf, “that we will convene with your squad now?”

  Ah. Lothar had implied that they would meet up with the Rotten Apples in Eisenberg. When they had reached the town, not one of his mercs could be found.

  “Most of them will be returning to Mer Khazer from Strong Club. We might as well head for the town this morning. It is close to the Deepwood, so it’s possible Rosalind and Wynter took their crew there as well. As for my rogues in Kuthenia, we may not hear from them for a while. Fuyang is a long journey away.”

  It was the best plan Lothar had. Along with Seregin, Valnor, and Oripione, he exited the inn, with the intention of leading them through town, then out into the wilds.

  They stopped when a glowing circle of lights and colours appeared in Eisenberg’s main street. Rosalind almost fell through, keeping her feet by putting her weight on her staff. Wynter, The Guvnah, and Rake followed her through the portal, and it faded to nothing.

  Lothar didn’t need to be a mind reader to realise something bad had happened.

  “Stiff!” Rosalind called.

  He ran over, only just catching her. It was as if the relief of seeing him blew aside her last reserves of energy. He sat her down on the ground, but even that was too much effort for her, and she lay down.

  “What in Gehenna is going on?” he demanded.

  Wynter eyed the two elves and the tiefling, who had joined them in the middle of the street, before pulling her attention back to Lothar. “We found the palace in the forest. We also found Clamor there—or he found us. He attacked us. Shot The Guvnah, and shot at Vixen. Rosalind did that thing with her staff and got us out of there. But The Harvester and Vixen didn’t make it.”

  “Dead?”

  “Not when we left. They didn’t make it to the portal. We had to leave when we had the chance.”

  A look of guilt passed across Blair’s face. Lothar wasn’t surprised to see it, but it didn’t sound like they’d had much of a choice. “No point in getting yourselves killed or captured,” he told her.

  She looked grateful at his words.

  “There’s a good chance they’re both still alive,” The Guvnah said. “I’m telling you now, Clamor wasn’t himself. The look he gave me when I tried talking to him.” Alfie shuddered, and shook his head. “We found the lair of a sorcerer in the moors, so Rosalind reckoned. He’s been enchanting people there, just like with Clamor. We saw some of ’em. He has an army of them in the Deepwood.”

  Lothar didn’t know what to say. The information had come too thick and fast for him to process.

  “I’m not surprised by the story,” Seregin said. “From what Stiff has told me, there is a necromancer operating in Gal’azu. He is capable of both enslaving the living, and raising the dead. If, as you say, he has been operating long enough to create an army, we are in serious trouble.”

  “You got that right,” said The Guvnah.

  “Who are they?” Rake demanded, staring at Lothar’s companions.

  “New recruits,” Lothar said. “Seregin, Valnor, and Oripione. We’re going to need their help. What happened to Rosalind?”

  She was simply lying there. Not asleep, but too exhausted, it seemed, to contribute.

  “She’s been dropping us all over the place with that staff of hers,” said Wynter. “Looking for you. She’s worn herself out with it.”

  “She’ll recover with rest,” Seregin said. “But time is truly of the essence, Stiff. If this necromancer has built an army, he won’t keep it hidden in that forest forever.” He turned to Valnor. “Head north and find this army, then report back to us.”

  “I’m not sure that’s wise,” Wynter said. “They overwhelmed the six of us with ease.”

  “I’ll admit,” said Alfie. “I was a poor replacement for Clamor. If this fella has the scouting skills to do it—”

  “—I have the skills,” Valnor interrupted.

  The Guvnah gave him a friendly smile, where others would have taken offence. “Perfect. That’s what we need.”

  “Fine,” Lothar said. “The rest of us need to join up with the squad in Mer Khazer and organise our defence.” He gestured at Rosalind. “But she’s in no fit state to get us there.”

  “I can use the staff, Stiff. If you give me directions to your town.”

  Lothar nodded. Did he trust this elf lord? Not completely. But he was out of his depth with all this talk of sorcery. He needed his help. “Very well. Take us there.”