Redmane ate until his Corpus was at a satisfactory level.

  Corpus: 9657

  He explained his intentions to Vang and the demi-humans, had them remain in the village to clean up any leftover Gill-Men.

  And then he was off, to the Abyss.

  Submerge

  He sank into the profound darkness of the world beneath all shadows.

  Transit from Kenvik to the Abyssal Well was brief and surreal in its beauty, a walk upon still dark waters under a sky populated by unfamiliar stars.

  As he walked, he checked the description of the Skill to ensure it would perform as he required.

  —

  Summon Envoy

  Channeling Skill (Abyssal)

  Rank 1

  Active - 50 Gnosis

  The Monster calls forth an Envoy of the Abyss from the depths of an Abyssal Well. The Envoy may be commanded to defend the Abyssal Well or the immediate area around it, relay a message to another Abyssal Well, or answer three of the summoner’s questions.

  The answers given will always be correct within the Envoy’s knowledge. If the Envoy being questioned does not know the answer to a question, it will answer ‘unclear.’

  This Skill may be used once per full cycle of the tides.

  —

  The answer will be correct within the Envoy’s knowledge.

  With good fortune, the location of the God Breaker would be within its knowledge.

  If not, he supposed he wouldn’t have wasted much time. Pietr was en route, and a little bird was already following Helmold Brecht’s every move. All would not be lost.

  He questioned the correctness of this move.

  The Seal of the Sphinx lay before him to the north. All of the territory between Castle Redmane and the northern shore now belonged to him. He could strike out from a position of strength and claim another portion of his former power, and then pivot to deal with the traitorous Magister and his new friends.

  But the God Breaker had bested him before.

  At the height of his power, if the stories were accurate.

  A part of him, some quiet inner voice from the past, said it was always best to deal with a traitor before an enemy.

  The Sphinx could wait.

  When he rose to the surface again, standing upon the water of the Abyssal Well as if it were solid ground, he took in the sight of the great carved mural overlooking the Well with new eyes.

  That was his son.

  The woman in chains was Flora. His consort.

  And he was the beast.

  If this was the power of the God Breaker, it made him wonder what he and Flora were like before they knew its wrath. Were they cruel? Were they kind? Were they beyond dichotomies?

  Whatever they were, their own child saw fit to mutilate them to serve his own purposes.

  If a tool with that sort of power still existed in this world, better that he should hold it.

  He walked to the edge of the Well, turned to face its center, and used his Skill.

  Summon Envoy

  Gnosis: 456

  The water blackened to an impossible shade, a darkness that consumed the light. Then, as before, the center of the Well bulged as the spherical body of the Envoy surfaced from the depths of the Abyss below. It rose up into the air, trailing ink black tentacles which floated lazily on the surface of the water and dangled over the edge of the Well. One huge eye opened, and its gaze fixed on Redmane.

  “I have questions,” he said.

  The Envoy will answer.

  Redmane took a breath. Released it slowly, to ease his mind.

  “Where is the weapon called God Breaker?”

  Silence. The Envoy did not move, nor did the gaze of its single eye waver.

  Perhaps it was searching for the information.

  Or considering a polite way to say it didn’t know.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  It lay in the hands of thy son, in his resting place.

  Redmane frowned. “Where is that, exactly?”

  The tomb of Vos lay in a secret glade, concealed by a door hidden in the stone, in the place now called Mount Merkuur.

  That narrowed it down some. But he only had one question left. He paused to consider it carefully, so as not to waste time waiting to use this Skill again.

  Redmane gave the Envoy an appraising look.

  “Would you show me the way?” he asked.

  The eye stared back at him, unblinking, for several long moments, There was no telling whether he had just wasted his question or not. Ripples of water gently lapped at the edge of the Well, the only sound in the chamber.

  Enter the Well.

  Redmane felt a thrill of gratitude. He walked back onto the Well’s surface, until he was face to face with the Envoy, and together they sank down into the darkness.

  There were no stars overhead this time. Only blackness, which felt oppressive, like hands upon his eyes. Redmane felt a sense of movement without having to move his feet, as if he were being conveyed by the Envoy. It was difficult to judge the passage of time, if there even was such a thing down here. But eventually he realized that despite the cloying darkness he could perceive the distant presence of another Abyssal Well.

  And no sooner did he come to that realization, did the Well feel much closer.

  The sensation of being blinded went away next, and Redmane realized it must have been the physical substance of the Envoy itself, wrapped around him like a cocoon to efficiently move him here. It vanished into the Abyss unceremoniously. But, he supposed, there was nothing left to say. It had done its duty.

  And now he stood at the base of a second Abyssal Well.

  Redmane looked up, willed himself to rise.

  When he reached the surface, he found himself in somewhat familiar environs.

  This Well did not sit within a huge mountain cavern, but the color of the stone and the workmanship of it were identical to the Deepwell Monastery. There was a dark stone roof overhead and an arched entryway with no doors to hold back the sunlight streaming in. But again he found himself face to face with a mural of Vos, God Breaker in hand, holding the Lord of Hunger and the Lady of Plenty in chains.

  To think he’d found himself chained more than once in this long, bizarre life.

  The mere thought of it made his lip curl in a snarl.

  He turned from the image and went outside, before the urge to deface the mural with his claws took hold.

  Redmane stepped out of the Well and paused, taken aback by the serene beauty of the scene before him.

  The tomb of Vos stood in a grove surrounded by green grass, towering trees and lush undergrowth. It was a squat, rectangular mausoleum built from dark stone, which sharply contrasted the wildness and vibrancy of the foliage growing up around it. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on the ground and vines crept up the walls of the dark stone structure, following the contours of intricate carvings that depicted ancient funerary rites.

  Near the tomb a bed of white flowers spread out, undisturbed except for a large patch of bare dirt in the center, as if something large, like a boulder or a statue, had once sat in that spot. Above it all, light poured in from what seemed to be a huge natural skylight, and was perhaps the cone of a long dormant volcano, illuminating everything from directly overhead. The scent of blooming flowers and fresh earth filled the air. But there was something else in the scent. Something that reminded him of Flora.

  Especially when he drew nearer to the white flowers.

  He gazed at that patch of flowers for a long time, as if trying to remember something beyond the reach of his mind.

  When it became plain to him that no recollection would come, he shook his head and turned to climb the steps to the Tomb of Vos.

  Its doors were tall slabs of near-black stone, featuring an embossed image of Vos holding his weapon. There were no door handles, simply a seam down the center of the image. Redmane placed his palms on either side and pushed. At first they did not budge, even against his Might, but with persistence Redmane felt the first hints that he would prevail. The doors shifted slightly. Dust fell from their corners. And then the ground began to rumble as they slowly opened inward, to reveal a darkness nearly as profound as that of the Abyss itself.

  He stepped into the darkness with no hesitation.

  Pietr and the little birds entrusted to him made haste.

  The rush of wind filled his senses as he sliced through the air, dipping and climbing, navigating the currents with Skill-given instincts. He was as high as he could climb, high enough for the landscape below to become a patchwork of varying terrains.

  He could sense the precise location of the bird shadowing Helmold Brecht. Its presence guided him like an invisible beacon, told him the wayward Magister was headed south from the outskirts of the town of Barograd, up into the mountains of Asgoph. By the time he was close enough to judge accurately, the priest realized they were approaching Beroh Keep.

  They’d meet there at approximately the same time.

  And it came to pass as such. At the conclusion of several hours desperate flight, Pietr found himself circling a great stone castle in the alpine forests of Asgoph, his higher senses directed toward a little bird perched in a tree by an open window. He and his minion-birds circled and alighted on nearby branches, and when Pietr came to rest with his talons on the sturdy limb he almost wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. Which would have looked odd coming from a crow, and he already looked odd.

  Fortunately, the window nearby was open.

  Inside he spied Helmold Brecht standing by Aric Morholt, who looked sullen and withdrawn. There were other men in the room with them. Knights, he thought. Tall and muscular, well dressed, carried themselves with an air of self-importance. Pietr knew the type.

  “We are fortunate,” Aerin Morholt was saying. “Mount Merkuur is in our domain, part of a Zone Krum’s Coterie cleared early in the outbreak. Though we did not know the area held secrets. Strange that the System would not inform us.”

  “Maybe the System didn’t know,” said Aric.

  Aerin, Helmold, and most everyone else in the room shot Aric a disgusted look. Aric frowned and looked at the floor.

  “Regardless,” Aerin continued, acidly. “The door must be found, along with whatever key or password or solution it may require.”

  “Are there records of antiquity in your castle library?” Helmold asked.

  Aerin nodded. “Take my cousin down there with you and search for information there. The most likely place to find the secret is within these walls.

  The Magister smiled and bowed to Aerin, side-eyed Aric to ensure he was coming, and excused himself.

  Aerin caught Helmold by the arm on the way past.

  “Work quickly,” he said.

  Helmold wilted under the knight’s steely look, but he smiled again and nodded. “Of course, Ser Morholt.”

  He let the Magister go, and Aric followed behind without making eye contact with anybody.

  When the doors closed behind them, Aerin shook his head.

  “To think a Blight has consumed all of Volos and my worthless cousin somehow survived it,” he said.

  The other knights had a laugh at that.

  “What’ll you do with him and that Magister?” asked one.

  “Could use ‘em for dog food,” said another.

  “The Magister may be of some use,” said Aerin. “He’s a Tutelary, albeit a low level one. He can teach the smallfolk Professions. Maybe he can even make Aric into something halfway useful.”

  One of the knights, one who hadn’t yet spoken, gave Aerin an uneasy look.

  “I heard of this place before,” he said. “When I was a lad, the nanny told a story or two about it. About the Volosi, how the tribal chiefs helped the Lord of Hunger slip his chains. In the chaos they brought down Vos, sealed him away.”

  Aerin raised an eyebrow. “Sealed away? After he was killed, yes?”

  The knight shook his head. “They told people they killed him. But really they just locked him up. They didn’t know how to kill a God.”

  PATREON