Chapter 104

Seth and Serah rose into the air and began circling the keep as they usually did. The children cheered and waved from the yard - Serah’s dragon form never failed to excite them. I couldn’t blame them. She was magnificent.

Normally they made a single loop before heading west toward the orc horde. Today they circled again. And again. Each pass carried them higher into the sky.

Then they turned east. The wrong direction.

A slow knot formed in my stomach.

Most of the children drifted away once Serah became a distant red speck against the sky. But Torvek, Vel, and Thae stayed beside me, all of us staring toward the eastern horizon.

“Where are they going?” Torvek asked.

I slowly shook my head. “I don’t know.” I **** calm into my voice. “Wherever they’re going, they’ll be fine. They can take care of themselves.” I said it like I believed it, though unease was creeping through my chest.

We stood there for several long moments, watching empty sky.

Finally I exhaled. “Alright. Let’s head inside and start class.”

Torvek met my eyes and nodded, though his expression remained serious.

Vel and Thae didn’t move.

As I turned toward the keep, Vel spoke. “They’re back.”

I spun around.

Serah and Seth were descending, the dragon’s crimson wings cutting through the air as she glided toward the ground outside the walls. She landed gracefully, her massive body settling beyond the gate.

A moment later her enormous head dipped out of sight.

We hurried to open the gate.

By the time we stepped outside, Serah had already returned to her human form and was adjusting her dress. Seth stood nearby watching her, his face tight with something complicated - concern, anger, disbelief.

They both looked up as we approached and walked into the bailey.

“There are four armies marching this way,” Seth said without preamble, his voice heavy. “The Iron Nation, Arvellia, Morentis, and Iilvarion.”

The words hit like a stone dropping into still water.

“They’re each a few days out. Two or three for the orc hordes. The others will arrive a day or two after that.” He paused briefly. “I need to find out what’s going on. I’m going out to parley.”

He turned to me. “Mirri. I need you to warn the villages. Prepare them for evacuation.”

Then he placed a hand on Torvek’s shoulder. “Torvek, start preparing the keep for evacuation. Gather provisions, livestock, anything we might need and move it to the demesne.”

Torvek straightened and nodded.

Seth looked toward Vel and Thae. “You two need to figure out how to protect the Bloodchildren. They’re scattered out there and exposed. We don’t need to move them yet, but I need ideas.”

Both girls nodded once.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Seth said, already turning away. He stepped away.

I met Serah’s eyes. She looked grim. If Serah was worried, then the situation was far worse than I wanted to imagine.

I drew in a breath and turned to the others. “Alright,” I said. “Let’s get to work.”

Vel and Thae were already gone. So were the rest of the ferals.

* * *

Visiting the queen was out of the question. I had no idea how she’d react if I suddenly appeared in her palace again. At best it would cause panic. At worst it might be interpreted as an act of war.

That meant speaking to whoever commanded the Arvellian army. Most likely Sir Dunfield. And if memory served, he wasn’t particularly fond of me.

Before doing anything reckless, I stepped to the demesne and found Elise in the library. If I was going to approach four armies alone, I wanted to do it properly.

“I need to know the signals for peaceful parley,” I told her. “Arvellia, Morentis, and Iilvarion.”

She didn’t ask why - just began explaining.

For Arvellia it was simple enough: a white banner raised high, or a standard lowered in request for discourse.

Morentis preferred symbolism. A banner marked with a circle, or planting one’s staff in the ground to show that magic was set aside.

Iilvarion was more practical. I could approach with an unstrung bow, or simply raise my hands with my palms forward to show I held no weapon.

Once I had that sorted, I conjured two flags. Then I searched my Faith-scape for a point somewhere near the Arvellian army and stepped.

I appeared at a dusty crossroads maybe five miles from their marching column.

I didn’t have time to waste. I hummed quietly to myself and pulled mana into my body. My boots lifted from the dirt and the world blurred as I shot forward at nearly a hundred miles an hour.

Half a mile from the army, I slowed and dropped back to the ground. I fixed the white flag to Adhaneth, planted the blade upright in the earth, and waited.

The army slowed. Then it stopped.

I waited. And waited. Nearly an hour crawled past before five riders finally broke from the ranks and rode toward me.

Each man wore polished plate armor that gleamed even beneath the dust of the march. Purple and gold tabards marked them as soldiers of Arvellia. One carried a banner bearing the kingdom’s coat of arms.

They reined in a short distance away.

“You stand before the army of the Grand Kingdom of Arvell,” one of them declared. His purple cloak snapped in the wind behind him, marking him as someone of rank. “Stand aside.”

“You stand before Seth Grimm,” I replied evenly. “And I would like to know why your army marches north while enemies surround you.”

The man removed his helmet.

Dark hair streaked with silver framed a weathered face. His beard was neatly trimmed, more white than black now. Thick brows shadowed sharp brown eyes that studied me with open hostility.

His nose had been broken more than once. Scars dotted his face and scalp - none life threatening, but each a testament to years spent surviving battle.

Altogether he looked every inch the hardened commander.

“Then surrender now,” he said flatly. “It will be your only chance.”

“So you ride against me?” I asked. “Why?”

He scoffed. “Your crimes are numerous,” he said. “You raise an army to overthrow the crown. You consort with Myrddin and horrors from beyond the veil. You turn our allies against us. You **** diplomats. You raze villages.”

His eyes hardened. “The queen will tolerate it no longer. I will bring your head back to Crownreach myself.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“That’s quite the list of lies you’ve been fed,” I said calmly. “I have no army. I have a home and thirteen children who pose no threat to you or your men. I have slain a Myrddin, yes - but I’ve had no dealings with the others. I’ve repeatedly tried to convince the Iron Nation to turn back. And I have killed no one.”

He gave a dismissive snort. “I’m not the one you should plead your innocence to. Surrender and I’ll take you to Crownreach for judgment. Otherwise we’ll drag your corpse there.”

I shook my head. “As much as I’d like to go with you, I can’t. But I will give you fair warning.” My voice hardened. “You are not the only army marching on Northwatch Keep.”

His expression didn’t change, but the riders beside him shifted slightly in their saddles.

“The Iron Nation will arrive in a few days,” I continued. “If you’re in their path, they will attack. They’re afflicted with bloodlust due to the **** of Urzan-Brek, the god of carnage. They won’t stop until they or their enemies are dead.”

“We’re not afraid of orcs,” he shot back.

“I wasn’t finished.” The cold in my voice made the words cut sharper than steel. “The army of Morentis is also marching on Northwatch Keep.”

That got his attention. His eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering across his face.

“They number roughly fifteen thousand. I don’t know why they’ve mustered. I came to you first out of respect for your queen. Judging by your reaction, you didn’t know they were coming.”

“If they have-”

“And the army of Iilvarion marches as well,” I said, cutting him off.

This time even the other riders reacted.

“Their numbers rival yours,” I continued. “I’ve never dealt with them before, so I don’t know their reasons. But if you continue north, you won’t be marching against me.” I met his gaze steadily. “You’ll be marching against three armies. I suggest you bring that information back to her majesty before you take another step.”

Silence hung between us.

Then I continued. “The Faith of Urzan-Brek runs uncontrolled through the world right now. Surely you’ve seen it. Tempers flaring. Soldiers fighting past mortal wounds. Merchants and customers coming to blows. Husbands and wives turning on each other.”

I gestured toward the army behind him. “This is why you march. Because those who embrace **** aren’t thinking clearly. You’re being lied to,” I said quietly. “Everyone is. By the gods.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know why they want war among mortals. But if you don’t turn back, they’ll lead you straight to your deaths.”

“Farewell,” I said and stepped to the demesne.

* * *

I turned my attention inward, searching my Faith-scape for the Morentis army.

The landscape unfolded as a sea of dim lights - crossroads, bridges, places of decisions - each a faint pinprick against the dark. Off to one side, a broad smear of muted color bled across the field. Indistinct. Blurred.

That had to be the army.

I wasn’t sure why I could see it when the others remained hidden, but there it was - a mass of presence rather than a single point.

The individual lights within it were weak. Countless. Too many to distinguish. Like standing on a beach and trying to pick out a single grain of sand - each one different, but from a distance all blending into a single, shifting whole.

Except one.

It was faint. Barely brighter than the rest. Gray and white, threaded through with fine strands of purple.

Crowhurst.

I’d seen his beacon before, when Elise went to Morentis to speak with the Circle. I’d memorized it - just in case he ever decided to act against her.

And now, somehow, I could find him in the noise.

I affixed the banner marked with a circle to Adhaneth. Then I reached for that faint light and stepped.

There was resistance this time. Not much - just enough to notice. Like pressing a finger into jello. Then it gave with a soft, unseen pop.

I stood inside a large, well-appointed tent.

A heavy table dominated the center, surrounded by five chairs. Each was occupied.

Crowhurst wore black. The others wore indigo, silver, white, and orange.

All five men jolted to their feet as I appeared.

I drove Adhaneth into the ground. The staff’s tip sharpened and sank easily into the packed earth.

“Greetings, gentlemen,” I said, releasing the weapon. “My apologies for the interruption.” I inclined my head toward the man in black. “Master Crowhurst. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting the others.”

The tent flap burst open. Six men rushed in, wands raised. They didn’t hesitate. Spells flew.

Adhaneth leapt into my hand and unfolding into a smooth, silver shield around my forearm. Fire, ice, light, and shadow shattered against its surface in a spray of magic.

A spell slipped through - decay. It clawed at me, gnawing against my flesh, only to falter as my healing surged up to meet it and tore it apart.

Spectral chains wrapped around my arms and legs.

I flexed my mana. They shattered like glass.

I glanced over my shoulder at the men crowding the entrance. “Is this really necessary?” I asked. “I came to talk.”

The six men hesitated.

Crowhurst let out a long, irritated sigh. “Leave us.”

No one moved.

“I said leave us.”

Reluctantly, they withdrew.

Once they were gone, Adhaneth folded back into her staff form. I planted her in the ground again.

“Lord Grimm,” Crowhurst said. Not a greeting. Just recognition. “Why are you here?”

“To ask you the same question,” I replied. “You’re in Arvellia. And unless I missed something, you didn’t ask permission.”

He glared at me.

He hadn’t changed. Lean. Rigid. Impeccably composed. Dark hair slicked back, sharp features carved into a face that seemed permanently set in disapproval.

Authority, distilled into a man.

“I’m not in the mood for games,” he said, dropping into his chair. “You know why we’re here. You know what comes next.”

“You assume a lot,” I shot back. “All I know is you’re marching toward my home.” I leaned slightly against the table.

“I just spoke with the Arvellian general. He didn’t know you were coming. So how about you stop wasting time and tell me what the fuck you’re doing here? I’ve got two more armies to deal with today.”

“What do you mean two more armies?” the man in indigo asked.

He looked to be around forty. Fit. Clean-shaven. A mess of blond hair that looked just deliberate enough to pass as casual. Blue eyes watched me with curiosity rather than hostility.

“I mean you’re walking into a trap orchestrated by the gods,” I told him. I cocked my head. “Master of Umbrance?” I asked.

He smiled faintly and gave a small bow. “Master Rookhaven.”

“You seem like a reasonable man, Rookhaven,” I said. “Unlike Crowhurst.”

Crowhurst’s eye twitched.

“So tell me,” I continued, “do you know that the Arvellian army is marching two hundred miles to your west?”

Rookhaven glanced at the others.

“Good,” I said flatly. “At least you’re not completely oblivious. What about Iilvarion? Did you know they’re marching too?”

Crowhurst’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“And the Iron Nation?” I asked.

“Aye, we know all of this,” the man in orange rumbled.

He was short and broad, with a long, thick brown beard braided down his chest. His hair was receding, but free of gray. Green eyes peered out from under some of the thickest, bushiest eyebrows I’d ever seen. His nose was wide, his lips thick.

“I didn’t know about Iilvarion,” the man in silver added lightly.

He was young - early twenties at most. Tall and lanky, with a bowl cut and a strange, restless energy. Something about him felt… off. His movements were slightly erratic, his attention not quite fixed on any one thing.

Power radiated from him. Unsettling power.

“You’re a terrible liar,” I told the man in orange. “I expected the Master of Entropy to be harder to read.”

“Don’t mind him,” the silver-robed mage said cheerfully. “His mother drank when she was pregnant. Heavily.”

The man in orange bristled, jaw tightening as he fought the urge to lash out.

“I’m Master Barrowford,” the silver-robed man continued. “Master of Chronomancy. Since you seem to respond well to introductions, I’ll handle the rest.”

He gestured lazily. “You know Crowhurst, Master of Malefic. The grouchy furball is Graveholt, Master of Entropy. And this is Harromont, Master of Void.”

The man in white inclined his head slightly.

Pale skin. Paler eyes. Hair like fresh snow falling to his shoulders. His beard was long and strangely straight, almost like head hair instead of a beard.

He reminded me of Elise. And yet… not at all.

I nodded to each of them.

“Chronomancy,” I said, looking back at Barrowford. “So you’re divining all the possible outcomes of this conversation?”

He smiled. “Something like that.”

“Then tell them I’m not lying.” I straightened. “You’ve been manipulated. All of you. The gods are pushing this war, and I don’t know why. But I know this - if you keep marching, you’re walking into a slaughter.”

I met each of their eyes in turn. “The orcs want me dead. They’ll kill anyone in their path. Arvellia already thinks I’m a traitor. Iilvarion…” I shook my head. “I don’t even know why they’re here.”

“Arvellia believes I have an army. That I consort with Myrddin. That I assassinated diplomats and burned villages.” I spread my hands. “I haven’t. I don’t have an army. I’m not planning a rebellion. And I haven’t killed anyone.”

“The **** of Urzan-Brek is driving this. His Faith is running wild. You’ve seen it - short tempers, ****, people snapping over nothing.”

I leaned forward slightly. “You’re not soldiers. You should be able to see through it. You’re walking into a trap,” I said quietly. “There are three armies marching on me and it’s not going to work out well for you if you keep going. Turn back. Let your men live.”

Barrowford’s expression shifted. Twisted. His face flickered through confusion, curiosity, concentration-

Then terror.

“Not three,” he whispered. “More. Many more.” His eyes darted wildly around the tent. “So many armies. So much ****.”

His voice broke. “The road forward leads to ****. The road back leads to extinction.”

His body locked up. He began to shake.

Black tendrils crept up his neck beneath his skin, pulsing like something alive. “Myrddin,” he choked. Blood vessels burst in his eyes, staining them red. “Stop them!”

The others recoiled, horror flashing across their faces.

Barrowford’s gaze snapped to me with mechanical precision. “The slayer will suffer,” he said - his voice no longer his own, but a chorus of something ancient and wrong. “The world is ours again.”

I didn’t hesitate. I inhaled and released dragonfire.

Silver flames engulfed him. He burned instantly. Flesh, bone, and robe reduced to ash in a heartbeat. His scream was inhuman - layered, echoing, unearthly.

When the fire faded, only scorched ground remained.

The back of the tent smoldered. The table behind him was blackened and smoking.

“What the fuck was that?” Rookhaven shouted.

“Myrddin,” I said grimly. “I don’t know how - but they corrupted him. Somehow they’re here.”

“Will be here,” Graveholt corrected hoarsely. He looked pale, sweat beading on his brow. “He was projecting forward. They caught him in the future.”

“Do you know when?” I asked.

He shook his head. “He said more than three armies. Could be when we meet the others. Could be later.”

“I need to check on my family,” I told them.

I looked to Crowhurst. “Find me. We need to talk to the others.”

Then I stepped away.