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  Slate finally deigned to address the priest. Fidem, you may have been appointed by the Lord of Light, but you forget one crucial point. You were appointed beneath me. Not beside me, not above me, beneath me. If I hear one more word of complaint from you, I’m going to rip out your tongue and ask the Lord of Light to make it permanent. Fidem went to interrupt, and Slate moved like a flash of lighting. He hoisted the lizard by the throat into the air with one arm. The man’s pale scales turned pink as the pressure cut off his air. I see that you’re not taking me seriously. Slate’s voice sounded like the hangman before he pulled the lever that sent men’s feet to twitch.

  I’ll clarify because you obviously think much more highly of yourself than your actual position. Lucidus ordained you, but you live at my pleasure. I don’t need you anymore. The only time I needed you was when there were no other priests. Now, I can kill you and as many of your progeny as I need to before I find someone who can do the job adequately. I’m sure you’re thinking, ‘What does he mean by that?’ Slate moved his arm up and down such that it made Fidem look like he was nodding, but in reality, Slate was choking the life from the man.

  I’m so glad you asked, Fidem, Slate said imperiously. You’re going to shut the fuck up once I give an order. You’re going to go out among your Enticers and give them the same orders as if they came from your own mind. The second that you refuse to do that, I’m going to destroy you like I would any other traitor. Slate paused, visibly taking the time to take control of himself. You’re out here because I told you to be. Clearly, you needed the experience. You have no idea how to act around an army or your betters. This will be an educational opportunity for you. Do you understand? Slate asked icily.

  The man was turning another color, but he nodded his head slightly to show he understood. Good, Slate said simply and tossed the priest as if he were nothing but a piece of trash. The man went skidding on the ground, ruining his perfect white robes as dirt and debris coated them. The other two members of the Scourge looked away from Fidem and intentionally ignored the treatment he was receiving. The Enticer had deserved every bit of that humbling since the day he arrived. Slate heard a sigh and then saw Matek pass a silver coin over to Sumnu, which he pocketed in a sash around his waist. Slate’s eyes narrowed, but he decided not to comment on the exchange.

  I’m going to scout, he told the men instead.

  Be careful, my Lord, Matek replied. This area is known for having dangerous wildlife. I know from personal experience that there are flying creatures that dwell in the cliffs by the sea. My trade caravans have been accosted by them before. The ex-merchant looked thoughtful. I’ve lost more than a fair share of profit from them. He visibly brightened. On second thought, my Lord, if you do come across some beasties, let me know. I would be happy to help you do some killing.

  Will do, Slate replied before leaping into the air and allowing his wings to arrest his downward momentum. With a snap of his wings and an activation of his Aspect of Cleansing Flame, he was rocketing through the sky like a ghostly meteor. He reflected on the journey while he flew. It would take them a week, even at their quickened pace, to reach Koral. By then, he should have firmly brought Fidem under his heel. The main reason he had wanted Fidem to come was so that he could isolate the Enticer from the small power structure he was building for himself in the city of Bastion. It had not escaped his eye—and certainly not Bastion’s—that the man had recruited a flock of faithful followers.

  The problem was that they were willing to follow the man and not the message. Slate couldn’t allow that sort of issue to go unchecked; Fidem would either get with the program or die. Slate wouldn’t allow any other options. He didn’t particularly care what Lucidus thought on the matter, either. The Lord of Light had placed him on Somnium to do a job, and he was going to do it to the best of his ability. Fidem was merely a distraction that needed to be rectified before it turned into something else. If she didn’t understand that, then she wasn’t the wise, all-knowing deity that she presented herself to be. He didn’t think that was the case. He believed that Lucidus had selected an imperfect tool because it was the only thing available at the time. Fidem had the right motivation and bad judgment, as he used to hear in the military.

  Slate looked ahead and noticed that the path narrowed between two plateaus. The road wound between the cliffs and Slate recognized it as an obvious chokepoint, ideally suited for an ambush. He decided to check it out before he allowed his troops through the passage. If it was safe, it would be an excellent fallback position to attack any Collective forces that might be chasing his troops. If he could carve caves and fortifications into the cliff faces of the plateau, they would be even deadlier to pursuers. Making up his mind, Slate dipped his wings and dove toward the cliffs. He was high above the ground when he began his descent, and now the bitingly cold air was streaming past his face with growing intensity. His eyes began to tear up uncontrollably, and he let out a whoop of laughter as he increased speed. He was aiming to land in between the two cliffs and try that move that Lynia had demonstrated when she jumped off the battlements.

  Slate pulled up at the last possible moment and then used his manipulation of mana to create a pocket of superheated air that lifted his wings. He could feel the strain that the action put on the pinions in his wings and hear audible creaks in the comparatively delicate bones there. Despite the tension, he was proud of himself for executing the movement so gracefully. He was grinning at the thrill of the action when a piercing cry took up the air. Slate pulled himself from the triumph of the moment and carefully studied his surroundings for the first time. The cliffs ascended more than thirty feet above the ground. In the upper reaches of the cliffs, large caves pockmarked the surface like holes in cheese. It was from these orifices that the screeching emanated. Huge eagles waddled from each cave. Feathers that looked like molten gold covered the massive birds, and each feather glinted metallically as it caught the light of the sun. Slate was reminded of his scales.

  The Scion immediately camouflaged himself and hovered in the air, waiting for the birds’ next moves. He wasn’t confident that invisibility would help him in this situation. There were far too many types of vision in Somnium to assume that he wasn’t being detected. All he knew about wildlife, in general, he’d learned from the plethora of briefs he had received while he was in the military. Some things stuck out to him even now, many years removed.

  Small snakes can be deadlier than big snakes. Just because it looks cute doesn’t mean that it is. If you find yourself on patrol and come upon something wild, do NOT run. Back away slowly and remain facing them at all times. Only shoot them as a last resort. The final warning had been so that the government couldn’t get sued by wild-eyed hippies that didn’t know the first thing about nature and just thought particular species of animals were cuter than others. Slate felt that way about otters. Sure, they were cute, but if one looked up information about otters on the internet, they would find out that those cute little creatures were some of the most fucked up animals in all of nature.

  Slate tried to apply some of that knowledge now. Some predators reacted to fleeing, and he wasn’t sure if they would be angry that he had invaded their territory. He tried to do the aerial equivalent of backing away slowly and attempted to fly away from the gorge at a leisurely pace. He knew that he needed to ascend because, in three-dimensional combat, having height was an advantage. Additionally, his maneuverability was compromised while he was within the shadow of the two ridges. He couldn’t help but talk to himself in his mind.

  That’s right. Nice and easy. Nothing to see here. Just passing through. Don’t mind me. Each sentence in his head was followed by slow flapping of his wings. The interference of his active camouflage had caused his Aspect of Cleansing Flame to grow weaker, so he was using far more effort than he usually did while flying. He had only ascended a third of the way he needed to when the eagles became visibly incensed by his presence. Another one screeched, and an accompanying sound of ro
lling thunder followed it. Surprised, Slate looked up and noticed that clouds had begun to form over his head.

  Oh. No, he thought before switching to a wider channel in the Scourgemind. Sumnu! Matek! Fidem! Hurry up and leg it to the saddle you see in front of you. Slate belatedly realized that the term “saddle” might not transfer between words. Thankfully, they didn’t take the time to ask.

  Aye, my Lord. Coming now! Sumnu shouted back through the Scourgemind.

  Even though Slate knew things were about to get shitty, he appreciated the fact that the cavalry was on its way. He wasn’t too far ahead of the group, maybe a mile or so, and the Scourge could eat up that pace in a few minutes in a full four-legged sprint. He only had to survive that long. As he reflected on how lucky he was to have some form of reinforcements, another eagle took up the cry, and more thunder rolled. Slate began to see lightning manifest like the missiles of Zeus. Slate had a sinking feeling in his gut.

  I’m so fucking tired of getting attacked by lightning, he complained to himself.

  No sooner than he finished the thought, a white bolt of lightning plunged out of the sky and headed in his direction. Slate pulled in his wings and allowed gravity to pull him towards the ground. The movement allowed the lightning to pass over him, where it continued until striking the field below. At its impact, a universal signal went out to the rest of the eagles, and they took flight from their caves. Slate had already caught himself in the air and was preparing to fly away when blurs of gold feathers and lightning filled the sky. At that moment, the eagles flew high above Slate, and he lost the advantage of his position. They flew in a whirling formation that resembled a tornado. In the center, electricity crackled, and Slate could see the beginnings of more lightning.

  Shit, he cursed.

  Lightning snaked through the air and sundered the firmament itself. Slate dodged, and whirled through the air, accepting glancing hits rather than full-on strikes. Even the glancing blows were enough to electrify him and make his body go numb. Thankfully, the Scourgeshield and his natural defense against magic were keeping him from ultimately succumbing to the thunder chicken’s attacks. He was starting to get pissed off. He had nowhere to run, and landing on the ground would be suicide.

  I guess I’ll have to take the fight to them, he vowed.

  Stripping away his camouflage because it wasn’t doing shit for his survivability, he was able to activate his Aspect of Cleansing Flame to its fullest potential. The fire in his belly looked like it would explode from his core in a wave of blue-white embers. White tongues of fire licked around the edges of his maw, and blue light could be seen shining through the thinner skin between his scales. Even his eyes flashed a bright, white fury. He snarled and rocketed up the column of dark storm clouds the birds had created. Fire trailed from his wings like the horizon of Armageddon.

  The squawks of the bird grew louder as he rose parallel with them. Lightning still flashed around him like the amateur light operator at a house music concert. Occasionally, the electricity would strike Slate, and he shrugged it off, ensconced within the burning protection of his mantle of flames. Slate picked out his first victim and dived toward it. The eagle tried to flap its expansive wings, but it was a captive of the gusts that it had created. Slate speared through the winds like a heated knife through butter. He wasn’t relying on the wind to keep him aloft or guide his motions. He was using his aspect like a rocket strapped to his ass.

  As he entered the typhoon of air, his flames whirled around him. For moments, Slate thought the fire would go out entirely. He was relieved to realize that he had more than enough mana to keep it burning despite the intensity of his surroundings. As he closed in on his target, he struck out his claws and talons and clamped down on the bird where the wing met the body. The eagle screeched in obvious pain. Slate could faintly detect the smell of burning flesh before the vortex of air whipped it away from his nostrils.

  Gripping tightly, he tucked his wings into his body, easing the strain on his joints. The bird tried to twist its head and take a bite out of Slate’s hand, but he shot a fireball from his mouth and let it explode against the creature’s beak. It screamed once more and tried to buck him off its back with a series of aerial twists and turns. The movements were almost predictable, and Slate merely had to follow the direction of the wind since the bird wasn’t strong enough to escape the vortex. A strange sense of calm descended over Slate as he studied the air around him. Lighting was still crashing around the spinning column of air, and thunderbirds still rode their currents. All told, there must have been close to a hundred beasts in the air. None of them ventured close to the mount he was riding. They either couldn’t break free of the storm, or they didn’t want to get too near the man with a barrier of superheated air and fire around him.

  Looking back down, Slate realized it was time to end this farce of a contest and get to murdering the rest of the fowl. With a mighty wrenching motion, he pulled the right wing off of the bird completely, and the wound fountained into a spray of blood that splattered all around them. As the life force of the bird kept pumping into the air, Slate tossed the wing aside and let the wind take out the trash. Blood sprayed all over him, and he smiled gleefully before punching his fist straight through the weak bones of the bird and clutching its heart. With a single motion, he crushed it between his fingertips. The hard, elastic muscle felt like rubber as it collapsed between his fingers.

  Congratulations! You have slain a level 50 Roc. You have earned 194,750 experience.

  Slate waited for the leveling message that never arrived as he sailed on top of the now-dead bird.

  Leveling is getting much harder. Oh well, looks like I’ll have to kill the rest of these chickens.

  CHAPTER 10: THE COLLECTIVE BLIGHT

  SHALE RAN ON four-legs through the forest. She could fly, but she didn’t want to be too far from the rest of her forces. They had a set distance to travel, and they need to arrive at the destination together. She had learned her lesson from scouting out Standur and almost falling prey to the tower that guarded the city’s airspace. Plus, she missed the feeling of running through the forest. When she had been a Guardian, she had enjoyed being on patrol, alone in the woods. She was the deadliest thing in the forest before Slate came. It was a position she had enjoyed even if it had just been a twisted vestige of her upbringing.

  It isn’t that way anymore, she thought to herself. How far we have come.

  The thought was a sentimental one; she didn’t like to think about her past life. It hurt to do that. Her formative years were filled with nothing but pain. Her adult life had been nothing but the execution of a plot to take revenge for her childhood. In some ways, her life had begun when Slate had ripped her away from her old life. That was another thought she didn’t like to entertain. It was useless to reflect on the past unless it helped a person deal with the future. Grief and regret had no utility in battle. They had no bearing on the life that she was meant to lead now. Lucidus had promised her a better experience.

  Still, it pricked her pride that no matter how strong she had once thought she was, she hadn’t been capable enough to stop the force of nature that was Slate. She intimately understood why Lucidus had chosen him for her champion, despite his obvious flaws. He was an embodiment of unchecked progress. There was an intoxicating mix of ambition and desire that he exuded. It made people want to follow him despite his brutish and violent ways. People wanted to follow the person that looked like they had a plan. Plans were in no short supply with Slate. A single look into his eyes told you that he had weaved a destiny for you before you were even aware you needed one. Despite the way their relationship had started, Shale felt herself admiring the man and the cause that he had come to represent. As difficult as it hat been for her to submit to him, his presence at the head of the Scourge ultimately convinced her that she made the right decision.

  He had taken the broken pieces of her life and fitted them together like shards of glass to create a stained-glass win
dow. It was still broken. But in its shattered state, it had a function. Shale was pleased to have a purpose; she was to be the Queen of the Scourge. It was no tawdry title for a fawning princess or a wilting flower. She had to be a warrior, a protector, a lover, a mother, and a queen all at once. Those were all functions. They were all tiny pieces of glass fused into something more than the sum of its parts.

  She would be lying to herself if she said that Slate made it easy; he didn’t. More times than not, he was as cold and distant as the peak of a mountain. His glacial attitude only melted for one thing: loyalty. The more time Shale spent with him, the more he came to trust her. This outing was a good example. She could intimate the difficulty Slate had when he gave her control over two hundred individuals that he considered his. Like the dragons they resembled, Slate tended to hoard anything he considered his possession. Shale found herself, and now Serena, among his stash of treasures. The knowledge was comforting in a way. He could do whatever he wanted with them, but if anyone else tried, he would rip their arm off and beat them with it. It wasn’t a typical relationship, but then, Slate and Shale weren’t ordinary creatures.

  Slate had allowed Shale to select the composition and equipment of her forces. He told her that it was important that she know what capabilities she had. Shale had agreed. A warrior shouldn’t go into battle with an unfamiliar weapon; she risked maiming herself or, worse, maiming an ally. She decided that her forces would eschew their armor in favor of stealth. The lack of armor meant they wouldn’t need to worry about pack animals, and they would be more adaptable when facing the enemy. The decision meant that they wouldn’t be bringing food or other supplies with them. Shale knew that there was a real risk to her forces from exposure, starvation, or dysentery. The elves had learned long ago the dangers of eating rotten meat or drinking soiled water. Exposure was just another fact of life; winter was starting to settle in and make its presence known. Shale planned to have the Scourge dig shelters every night and sleep together. Their combined body heat should be enough to keep them warm. If that didn’t work, Shale could channel her Aspect of Cleansing Flame to warm the air or ask Lynia if she could perform the trick. As for food, Shale hoped to live off of the slain enemy. Their whole goal for this venture was to weaken, slow, or kill the Collective wherever possible. If they weren’t able to take some sustenance from their enemy, then they wouldn’t be doing their job.