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  He saw them reach the wall of the gatehouse. They began to scrabble their fingers against the stone, and fresh blood was drawn from their fingertips. It looked like the frenzied scrawls of a toddler. Soon, the flesh was stripped away from the monsters’ fingers until there was nothing left but sharp distal phalanges. Their newly fashioned claws found purchase in the stone, and they began hoisting themselves up the wall. Once they similarly exposed the distal phalanges on their feet, they began scaling the wall with ease.

  The sentry watched them in horror. He began to sprint away from the gatehouse. He needed to get to his home and warn his family. They wouldn’t know that the Vallyr army was here to pillage and take captives for their army. Becoming a soul-forged monster would be a fate worse than death. He was not fast enough. Before he could even leave the wall, one of the beasts caught him. It gripped him by the throat with supernatural strength and hoisted him into the air. He clawed at the bloody, flayed flesh holding him aloft like a wild creature caught in a trap. With a simple movement, the soul-forged creature snapped his neck like that of a game bird. The last things that the sentry saw were the glittering jewels in High Lord Inod’s family amulet.

  Short minutes later, the first and second portcullises were opening in the gatehouse. The General had a satisfied look on her face as she watched them rapidly ascend. She gave a sidelong glance at her aide, who was visibly uncomfortable.

  “There are times when one needs to be patient, and there are times when more direct intervention is required. This is the latter,” she said simply.

  The shaken aide took that as a sign for him to hurry the heavy cavalry that constituted Mors’ elite troops. He dropped all pretense of Vallyr unflappability and sprinted to rouse the Major to get his forces moving. Bludtyr grinned at her aide’s swiftly departing back.

  Sometimes the young need an object lesson to learn their places. She was satisfied with her work thus far.

  She walked into the city with only her soul-forged platoon as protection. Citizenry in the streets gave her curious looks before they realized that they were looking at ambulatory corpses. They quickly found somewhere else to be, and by the time Bludtyr made it to the High Lord’s keep in the rear of the settlement, the streets had cleared.

  She grinned wildly as she began to hear the screams of slaughtered men and women.

  “I guess that means the army has arrived,” She chuckled, but there was no one around to hear her joke. She pouted. I need a new plaything.

  “Is your brother prettier than you, Erud?” She directed the question at the corpse with the gold chain around his neck.

  There was no response. There couldn’t be. Stuffing a soul into a body didn’t bring it back to life, not really. The new shell merely used the soul as energy. Some souls could be enchanted to last forever, but that required direct power from Nocturnus and was only granted to whoever held the throne in the Vallyrian Collective. It was an ancient artifact that had been blessed by Nocturnus himself.

  That was part of the reason Vallyrian politics were so brutal. Whoever possessed the throne, essentially, had an immortal army under their command. It was a useful tool to put down rebellions. Every other Vallyr’s magic was circumscribed. The Lord of Darkness always took his cut and, when a soul was stuffed into a corpse, he consumed their essence until they were nothing more than a remnant of their former selves. After that, the soul would disperse, and the body would become still once more.

  Bludtyr knew that she was making a bargain with the Lord of Darkness. She was raising enough soul-forged to eradicate the Scourge in one shot. She would not have another chance at this. She knew—even if Mors didn’t—that allowing the Scourge to grow in power over the winter would spell the Collective’s doom. Anyone with a hint of tactical savvy could see the blood written on the walls. The Empire was pressing them because they knew they were suffering from internal strife. Somehow, the Empire must have learned of the Scourge and launched an assault in conjunction with the Scourge’s uprising.

  At first, the Empire wouldn’t make much progress. The Collective had a series of defensive forts along their border. It would be almost impossible for the Empire to breakthrough without sacrificing vast numbers of forces. That had been a sacrifice that they had been unwilling to make in the past. If they were able to push past one of the forts on the border, the Vallyr could hit them on their flanks. It wasn’t an envious position. With the sudden addition of the Scourge, the calculus had changed. If they were able to push past the front lines, there was a good chance they could advance unmolested through most of the Collective.

  Most of the settlements and population centers in the Collective were isolated. The Collective’s population density remained low as a result of the Vallyr’s magic, and, consequently, much of the Collective’s territory was wilderness. That same magic enabled them to maintain internal security.

  Bludtyr frowned. And now some puffed up high lord is standing in my way. These fools don’t realize when they need to shut the fuck up and fall in line.

  The General was annoyed at the extra effort she was expending in this campaign. In an ideal world, the high lords of the various settlements would have willingly given up their forces to help the Collective as a whole. That was their responsibility. Unfortunately, constant backbiting and political maneuvering had deadened the Vallyr’s battle instincts. They were far from the mighty nation they had once been. In Mors’ father’s day, the Collective had been feared across the world.

  Now, they had been reduced to the point where they were hardly worth conquering. Bludtyr knew they hadn’t been relevant to world politics in centuries. For a race that was especially committed to their superior vision of themselves, it was an irritating situation to be in. Most of the Vallyr blamed Mors’ for their decline, but Bludtyr knew there were systemic problems that was more profound than that. Mors was just a convenient excuse for those who remembered the victories attained underneath the rule of Patriarch Gould and pined over the glories of the past. The various high lords encouraged enough infighting between the lesser races to avoid rebelling, but now they had reached a breaking point. There was only so long that the Vallyr could pit one race against the other while they took their taxes in blood, gold, and souls. Each year the taxes grew higher and the populace leaner. Eternal war was an expensive business.

  She sighed and studied the structure in front of her. She knew she would have to conquer this city just as she did Crosstyr.

  “Why must everything be complicated?” She grumbled.

  Her compatriot General Grievum would be arriving at the city soon, and she would need to have the population under heel already so they could move on to Ithicus. As she was about to order her minions to begin the assault, a cold sensation fell upon her brow, and she glanced up. Snow was falling once again. This time, she could tell that it would be more than the few flakes they received in Crosstyr. This was going to be an actual winter storm.

  Fuck. Now I have to worry about the troops dying from exposure, she thought. She hadn’t even noticed the temperature. Tonight would be cold. The Vallyr themselves would be fine, but her other forces, composed of the lesser races, weren’t equipped to survive in the open overnight in real winter. She hoped that she could make it to Ithicus in time. If she could shelter there, she could use her forces to prick the Scourge and move them into a position advantageous for her.

  CHAPTER 05: THE FIRE SPEAKS

  AMBASSADOR DAISHI COULDN’T help but be impressed by the Scourge. Overall, they had been efficient, powerful, and, surprisingly, political. A bipedal lizard with gray scales had guided her. He had spoken to her politely and engagingly like a professional merchant trying to make a sale. She could tell that his probing questions—veiled as casual conversation—were the sign of a true professional. She appreciated professionals, especially in her line of work. Instead of being offended by being passed off to Matek, she was pleased. It meant that their leader knew what he was doing. This is where the real politics—or at l
east the pretense of it—would happen. Daishi assumed that her lacertilian guide was their foremost ambassador or head of state. He had the practiced speech of a man used to making deals. She had been given a well-appointed room within the palace no less opulent than some places she had been sent to by her Emperor, blessed be his name.

  While she was in her room, she reviewed her observations of the Scourge. She sat on the comfortable feather bed and pulled out her journal. She began to write down her observations. She found the practice helped her center her thoughts before she had to report to the Emperor. The Ignatum Empire had ancient scrolls that chronicled the rise—and the fall—of the original Scourge. She had additionally sought out the spoken history of the Clergy. The Emperor, blessed be his name, had made sure that Daishi had read the account on the Scourge before departing the capital city of Homus. She would have done so anyway because her personality wouldn’t allow her to enter a strange situation unprepared, and she was grateful she had.

  The journey into the city had been enlightening as she reconciled the previous iteration of the Scourge with this new one. From a scholarly perspective, the Scourge themselves were nearly identical in appearance to their ancient brethren. Supposedly, Lucidus had found a thunder of gold dragons, and she had blessed their natural flames with her powers. They had been well-matched for each other. The ancient dragons had prized contests of logic and the codification of complicated and intricate law. It was a trait that Lucidus shared. Her desire for order and perfection were well known. It helped that the dragons had the savage power to back up their laws. Amongst commoners, it had become something of a joke that the entire idea of guest rights had been maintained because a guest could always be a dragon in their elven form. There was always an element of truth in a joke. That’s what made them funny. Unfortunately, the Empire’s histories—written or spoken—didn’t reveal where the dragons originated or how they came to be in their traditional, parasitic forms. If Daishi was lucky, she could discover the information while she was assigned their new capital. If she were able to collect the information, she would be able to submit it to the Imperial Library for a significant sum of money.

  The ambassador found it strange that their personalities were wildly different from what the history books described. She made sure to write down her notes in a leather-bound journal that she kept on her person in a small weatherproof purse that she was never too far from. As arbiters of the Lord of Light, they were said to be endowed with qualities reminiscent of their patron god. The Imperials had many of the characteristics of their deity, Ambystos. They were quick to anger and quick to love. They were great friends to their allies and bitter enemies to those who sought to betray their trust.

  Daishi couldn’t help but notice that the Scourge were nothing like Lucidus was described to be. The Lord of Light was described as being an austere and unknowable creature. She was said to be rigid in her beliefs and desires. She prized law and order above all things. She hated any sign of corruption, whether it be systemic corruption, sickness and plague, or imperfections of any kind. The city’s construction was a reflection of that.

  Everything was made of cold, hard marble. The light that emanated from the striations in the stone was without warmth and harsh. The entire city was meticulously organized. It was a combination of perfect lines, concentric circles, and clean, ascetic architecture. Even the plants—of which there were few—were organized in perfectly managed gardens and parks. The people themselves were taciturn and withdrawn. Daishi distinctly felt like an outsider. It wasn’t that they were impolite; they were perfectly sociable. However, Daishi felt like the average citizens—not to speak of the Guardians that acted as a domestic peacekeeping force—could have slain her in the street and been more annoyed by the mess than the loss of life.

  The Cleansing Fire that the Lord of Light was known for was similarly passionless. The fire flickered all over the city in the form of torches, fireplaces, forges, and anywhere light was necessary. However, it was completely different than the fire found in her home city of Homus. The flames made the Ambassador feel uncomfortable. It was close enough to her powers to be familiar but without the emotion and feeling that was present in every part of her Lord’s gifts. It was an uncanny feeling to observe something so similar to the familiar and yet be alien in every other aspect.

  The one thing that didn’t fit within her estimation of the Lord of Light was the Scourge themselves. They were more natural than the rest of the city; there was something wild and primal within them. They seemed like beasts barely restrained by the boundaries of civilization. They lived vibrantly, they loved passionately, and they laughed heartily. It was common to find lovers kissing in the streets and men fighting in the taverns. The whole place smelled of sex, violence, and exotic spices. It was a heady aroma that invited one to partake in their basest desires. Daishi couldn’t tell if the aura originated from the peoples themselves or the multicolored ribbon that waved fantastically in the air. There was a quality about the city that had the same passion and desire to live as the Ignati themselves. The quality was reserved for those of their own kind, however. Whenever she had tried to engage anyone, she had been shunned as thoroughly as if she were an enemy.

  She shuddered at the memory of her meeting with the Scourge leader, Slate. The man was a strange amalgamation of elf, man, and beast. He was as flawless as if he had been carved from his Lord’s marble, but his physical appearance belied his personality. Daishi sensed sheer hunger in the man’s gaze. The unadulterated ambition in his eyes made her think that he descended from the Origin Flame just like the Ignati. He would have been better served having been born among their number than the dragon-like Scourge. There was an old legend among her people that described how they came to be.

  It was said that the Ignati—the term for her people—were birthed from the Origin Flame. The Lord of Spectral Fire, Ambystos, took the Origin Flame into his palm, and then he placed it in his forge. Ambystos was a premier craftsman, and he used his mighty hammer to form each Ignati from a spark of the Origin Flame. In his wisdom, Ambystos crafted the Ignati so that a piece of their soul would forever dwell within the Origin.

  This connection allowed the Ignati to manipulate the fire that they were born with, but the missing piece of their soul left them hungry. The Origin Flame had never been a force of destruction; it was a source of warmth, love, and life. However, the Ignati were intentionally made to be imperfect. The imperfection caused their flames to be destructive. Their fire would endlessly consume if their passions remained unchecked. Their priests taught that each Ignati needed to circumscribe their emotions in the way that one must burn a ring around a forest fire to keep it contained lest it escape and destroy the world. As long as their passions remained circumscribed, they would bring honor to Ambystos and the Origin Flame. Every child in the Empire was born knowing the destructive power that unchecked ambition held. That was why they had an Imperial family and a powerful clergy to guide them.

  Slate was endlessly hungry. Daishi could see the ravenous greed when he appraised her. She had felt like an object to be displayed or a curio on a shelf. The way that he had spoken—more commanding than the Emperor, blessed be his name—communicated his desires for the world better than his actual words ever could. The leader of the Scourge wouldn’t be content with peace with the Empire—not that the Ignati would allow Somnium to go unconquered anyway. There were at least four more nations with patron gods that the Empire was aware of. However, the Empire had been trying to stamp out the Vallyr for centuries. They were irritating and stubborn enemies. Opportunism alone compelled the Emperor to work with the Scourge to defeat the Collective. Once the Collective’s formidable defenses were cracked, the Empire could seize the small nation and conquer the budding Scourge all at once. That would make three gods that had fallen in this small part of the world.

  That would bring this contest closer to a resolution. In the Empire, most of the population had grown tired of the constant warfare
. The war-weary population allowed for the disease of nonconformist ideology to metastasize within the Empire. These days it was fashionable to be agnostic towards the Lord of Fire. Some infidels—before they were burned alive and had their ashes scattered into a body of water—believed that stories about the Origin Flame were merely a metaphor for their arrival to Somnium. They said that Ambystos had never created them, but only stole them away from their original world. An ending to the constant fighting might bring them back to Ambystos’ welcoming arms.

  Anyone who didn’t believe in Ambystos was a heretic, of course, and the Ambassador didn’t keep company with heretics. They weren’t long for the world. The priests would find them sooner rather than later, and it was best to have no association with their number at all. Everyone knew that those closest to the fire always got burned. Either way, the Ignati found it to be especially important that they were cremated when they died. They believed that when they died and were cremated, they would return to the Origin Flame and be reborn again in a different body. If they weren’t cremated or their ashes were spread in the water, it was thought they were permanently lost, and instead of returning to the Origin, their soul was consigned to the Between. Every Ignati knew the Between was where the Vallyr frolicked.

  Once the Ambassador finished making her notes and collecting her thoughts, she put away her journal and rose to her feet. It was time for her to contact the Emperor and report on her progress.

  She walked to where a fire—white, of course—was burning merrily in a hearth. She drew near and studied the flames before reaching out a hand, and placing is palm down within the fire. She sang a quiet song to herself as she focused her power. It was a pleasant song about a lover who was spurned by her fiancé. He left her for another woman, and the woman told the Clergy. It ended happily with the woman burning down the house with the man and woman trapped inside. The Clergy strictly forbade adultery. After all, passion without commitment was merely wasted energy. In the song, the woman went on to join the priests.