In all honesty, battle didn’t have much appeal to Oskar. If it needed to come to violence, let it be quick, sudden, and decisive—and, of course, with him firmly in control and out of the way. A knife in the dark or a good ambush, if anything. But compared to the slow and agonizing climb through the Dead-infested dark? He’d even consider a proper pitched battle over this.

  He gripped his blade tight and squinted ahead to where the Column women and Soulborne led the way up. Why do you do this? Things weren’t great, sure enough, but to follow a Column priestess? To come here, of all places? Before, the glint of rubies made the idea seem grand. More than grand. Damn near undeniable. But now? Oh, how the doubt crept in. He had to force himself not to glance around at the others. Were they second-guessing like he was? Maybe questioning him and his decision-making? His authority? By all the damned gods above, if his commander had ordered him into this place, he’d be fingering a dagger with a twist in his lips right about now. But that’s why he was the one giving orders and now following them, he supposed.

  “Running will be hard with these numbers,” Nifont whispered.

  “Aye. We had, what, around half a dozen in the sinking city?” Oskar shook his head, trying and failing to push away images of slaughter should his band get caught out in the open. “We go at it slow and steady, is all. If it comes to a fight, we’ll play it smart.” That was why he’d left three men to guard the tunnel at the base of the stairwell that opened to other rooms. If they were to encounter any Dead coming after that they couldn’t handle, they’d run up and find him. No use worrying about escape if a bunch of corpses stumbled their way up to block their only clear exit. Still, that left more than a dozen under him now, not even including the newcomers.

  Oskar puffed out his cheeks and sighed through his teeth, then looked back and caught Stanilo’s eye, nodding him forward. The big warrior shuffled past the others, taking three of the narrow steps at a time and making it look entirely normal to do so. “Yeah?”

  “Take the rear six if things get messy, yeah?”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Stanilo.”

  He thumped the butt of his spear on the ground, offering an apologetic smile. “Blood’s pumping is all. Won’t slip up again.”

  “It’s fine. But what I’d give to fight some bleeding, breathing bodies for once, eh?”

  “They don’t bite as much, do they?”

  “No, they do not.” Oskar spat a wad of thick, sour spit on the old stone walls. Idly, he wondered if this was the first time the dark stairwell had a person in it since the whole place went to shit. “If it comes down to it, we hold for what we can. Regroup in the forest outside the breach if not. Then the hovel we had a fire in, yeah?”

  “Understood.”

  Oskar nodded, glad he had steady hands and minds around for a shit day this was going to be. “Good. Let’s earn our coin.”

  He nodded, eyes flicking up to Emalia, then back. “Even if that means—”

  “As we discussed, Stanilo.”

  “Alright.” He drifted back down and spoke to the men behind.

  Oskar watched him for a breath, then continued facing upward, continuing in stride. For all the disparate personalities and ideals in the band, he never truly worried about his men’s loyalties. If getting fucked by the boyars and voivodes had any upside, it was that now he’d lost that shiny notion of idealism to reality. Give it to betrayal and utter failure to make a man open his damn eyes. And now, with little more than some coin and good mail to his name, he wasn’t about to toss it all away in some dead wasteland for no good reason.

  As a druzhina, it paid to be honorable, consistent, loyal—or so he had thought. But in truth, the only thing that ever really paid was pragmatism.

  Up ahead, something croaked and then crashed to the ground. He exchanged glances with Nifont and held his shield a little higher. Turned out, after another minute of stair climbing, it was just some unlucky corpse that had found itself in the Soulbornes’ way, torn and broken into mushy, inanimated pieces that the men kicked aside with sick frowns and nervous chuckles.

  After a series of landings along the spiral stairwell and at least ten more minutes of solid climbing, leaving the legs heavy and needled in pain, they stopped rather suddenly. He shoved his way forward to find Sovina and Emalia facing an open doorway coated in brown, ancient blood. Ahead, darkness clouded the way for the most part, though rays of dusty sunlight eeked out of holes and crumbled sections of walls.

  “We near your portal?” he asked.

  “This is the floor,” Emalia replied, staring ahead. She turned in a quick spin and faced him, eyes wide and severe. It reminded him of a statue he’d seen long ago. One of the goddess Flaael, overseeing a bay, eyes almost human in their unnerving gaze toward the waves. “Once we secure the portal stone, your men will be free to scour this floor. There are treasures here, but also dangers.”

  “Don’t think we’ll be getting close to that portal,” he said.

  “There may be more Sorcerous threats here than that.”

  “Certainly.” He leaned in closer and whispered, “You’re not going to do anything hasty with Daecinus here, are you? I don’t think it’d be a wise idea…”

  “I will do what Raizak wills.”

  “Of course. Of course. But say his will is a bit, hm, unclear? Figure you can interpret some caution in there as well?”

  Sovina interjected, “Do not insult her devotion.”

  Oskar put his hands up, sword awkwardly in his grip, betraying the clear sign of peace. He tried cracking a grin. “Just offering my insight is all. Figure you’d want that, given that you’re paying me to take you here and all that.”

  The swordwoman’s eyes narrowed. “And to return to civilization safely.”

  “Ah, technically, that was not part of the arrangement.” His smile widened, though it was just for show, for in truth, his stomach was doing all sorts of nasty flips. “So, I ask again, maybe reconsider any hastiness with our tall friend, yeah?”

  “Is this a threat, mercenary?”

  Emalia added on, “We made a deal in good faith.”

  “And I made a deal with a sane partner. But my faith has been shaken.” He shrugged, looking to Sovina, whose jaw was clenched so tight it seemed her teeth might crack. “I’m not making any threats, just laying out the situation. And if we find enough gold and silver here, as you promised us, we’ll take you back to a city, sure enough. And far on past that.” His amiable smile dropped, replaced by a glower that had served him well for years. “But see, we veterans have never really been friends of the Column. And especially not the kind of sick shit they excuse in the name of the gods. We’ll protect you and get you where you need going, but there’ll be no violence against Daecinus.”

  The priestess’s eyes were already sharp, but during his speech, they only grew sharper. “You would intervene in the manner of the gods? Do you even understand the weight of what you say?”

  “Don’t ask a warrior the weight of taking a life. I know more than you ever could.” She didn’t respond to that, so he waved ahead. “Get your stone. My men will get their due. Then we can leave this damn place alive and not give the Dead the infighting they’d want.”

  Sovina was on the edge of violence, as he expected, but Emalia was deadly calm. Her breathing wasn’t fast and angry, nor were her hands near her dagger, but held straight by her sides. She looked like a damn statue again. After a long moment, she gave him a nod and said, “You’ve made it clear before you would not condone such sacrifice, no matter how necessary. I cannot hold it against you for standing by your convictions.” She let out a long breath, some sort of strained indignation dissipating along with it. “Let us continue.”

  To her credit, Sovina didn’t even argue, but turned with her and pressed into the dark hall. It was just then that Oskar noticed the black gleaming eyes of Soulborne ahead, their pale forms hunched in preparation. Would they have interceded if she didn’t agree? he wondered, but there was no reading such inhuman expressions, so he glanced away and let out a breath of relief. With a glance back to Daecinus, heads and shoulders above the rest, murky red eyes holding his and a slight nod of recognition, Oskar continued in Emalia’s footsteps.

  As much as he didn’t want to draw blades on Emalia and Sovina, he feared Daecinus far more. Only a fool wouldn’t. And he was no fool. That was all there was to it, after all. Feia would have preferred to kill the Column women regardless, but he was no murderer.

  The hall ahead was, like the rest of the grimy tower, eerily close to the Sinking City. He figured oppressive stone and grand intimidation were simply all the architectural rage in those days. Now, new buildings were simply scavenged from the old with hopes they might last long enough to reach the end of Vasia. Not a grand hope, if you asked him, for with all the greed bound up in the empire, it was bound to eat itself alive sooner rather than later. Either way, the shadowed sightlines and dark rooms had him gripping his blade and hissing reminders for vigilance amongst the men. The first chambers they passed had buckled doors, half broken, with old blood and scattered bones just inside. Many more were the same, white ivory lit by the occasional smidge of sunlight or waning torches. He had his men wrap pitch-soaked linen and relight before continuing. Down the hall, something glowed. It was green, faint, and pale.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Figure that’s it, then,” he muttered to no one in particular.

  They walked in silence, all eyes on that faint glow. It was coming from what used to be a doorway, though the stone was crumbled and bits of wood broken out into the hall. More old blood too. He could imagine the Dead pouring out, ravenous and hate-filled. Did the Sorcerers become Corrupted and turn? Or were the Dead summoned? Gods above, did the Dead come through?

  He licked his dry lips and cracked a crooked, wrenched smile. “No kicking in doors today, at least.” It brought a few chuckles, which was about all he could hope for. “Say, Daecinus, you want your Soulborne in there first?” He nodded to the half-blocked entrance, glow doing little for the shadows inside, naturally. Why should some evil glow actually light shit up?

  “No,” Daecinus replied, suddenly close by. He was quiet for such a tall bastard.

  “No? Are they afraid of the dark?”

  He squinted forward, lips pressed tight together. “It strains my control here. Further proximity would be risky.”

  Oskar scowled at that. He’d have to send men in to clear it, then. And that meant risking them to Sorcery. “Fine. What should we expect from this? Soul-wise and all that.”

  Daecinus came closer, passing by two Soulborne that stood guard a few paces away. Oskar glanced back but didn’t see the other Dead creations. The fact sent a spark of worry through him, though he knew it shouldn’t. Daecinus knew what he was doing, after all. Demonstrating this, he stood an arm’s length from the rubble, motionless, back to everyone. He was frozen there for at least ten seconds. Oskar opened his mouth to ask what was wrong when Daecinus turned with tension-wrought features and hands clasped tight around one another.

  “Feia will remain outside. Bring only your strongest-willed.” When Feia went to argue, he cast her a harsh glare that quickly quieted her. “This place is a bane to Sorcerers, only I am strong enough to survive it. Even the mundane will struggle inside.” He faced Emalia and said, “The Spirit in you, whatever it is, of Sorcery or divination, will become powerful here. More than you may control. You should feel it already, pulling, demanding for dominion… Guard your mind, Emalia. Our differences aside, our conflict aside, hear me when I say this. It is all too easy to lose yourself to the hunger of such Sorcery.”

  …

  I was taking a risk—I knew this. The sheer weight of power in that room bashed upon me with the fury of a summer hurricane. My Corrupted veins pulsed under my skin, straining against my skin like thin serpents buried in flesh. Yes, I knew this broken portal would endanger everything I had worked to build these last weeks. And yet, much like I had been so long ago, I could not keep myself from being drawn to the temptation of such potent, foundational Sorcery. Nothing in Pethya had felt like this. Nothing was so pure and unbridled in power.

  Needless to say, after Oskar’s men cleared the way, I was the third inside after Sovina and Emalia.

  The green was the color of a still pond, of dead lichen, of tainted Soulfire. As I entered, that glow fell over me, unobstructed, and I felt my eyes light with the Soul magic-flush air. Potential. Pure potential! But more. I held my enthusiasm at bay, sharpening my awareness. It would not do to get lost in it. That was the trap. The danger.

  I stared around the chamber, for it was a large one, perhaps fifteen strides wide. Part of the far wall was collapsed and left the room exposed to the early afternoon sky beyond, its light oddly distant and murky. The ceiling was tall and domed, reminiscent of a grand temple. In the center, a dias three strides wide, and in the center, what might have once been the portal. However, it was no stone but made of ivory. It had once been a continuous piece but was now shattered into smaller rubble, scorched with the vein-like patterns of Sorcerous fire and combustion. The glow seemed to originate from these pieces, from between them, where the shadows should be. I went forward slowly, squinting at the almost unassuming collection of broken ivory shards. If they were once part of an attempted accessway to the Low Plane of Sorcery, then what could that mean now? Could they allow a streamlined, unbarred access to a far greater pool of Souls than the current, material world we lived in? I hadn’t thought so before, but standing here before the portal, I was unsure. Perhaps not access to the Low, but it was undeniable the broken portal held power far beyond they should, given the material. Maybe the Souls escaping the Low in the explosion of Sorcery had resulted in a deep imbuing that left them reeking of magic. If so, it would be like my use of the inquisitors outside Levanska—immense power concentrated into an immediately employable, overwhelming degree. What could I accomplish with such a tool? What barriers of this broken, faulty world could be surpassed? And more, would I—

  My excited line of thought was interrupted by the cold point of a blade pressed into the small of my back. I turned to face my aggressor.

  “Don’t move,” Sovina hissed.

  I paused, halfway facing her and the entrance, halfway towards the broken portal.

  “By the fucking gods…” Oskar groaned, stumbling into the room, pausing a few strides away when Sovina cast a warning glare his way. “We just came to a bloody agreement!”

  Emalia stepped between him and me. “We did. And to break it… I am sorry. But this is larger than us.” Her eyes narrowed past him. “The others need not be here, Oskar.”

  “Yes, well, here they are.” Yet, he lifted a hand, and Nifont and Miras stopped.

  “So they’ve drawn blades, finally,” Miras said, mouth curled in a furious twist.

  “Oskar,” Emalia said, nearly pleading, “you understand I have no choice. He is demanding I listen. Demanding I obey. And where I was weak before, I will not be now.”

  The mercenary leader snorted, shaking his head. “The fact Daecinus hasn’t turned your insides to dust is a damn blessing, Priestess! Let him go before you damn us all to his Soulborne.”

  “He cannot reach his Soulbornes here, nor can he cast Spells.”

  Oskar’s eyes widened, flicking from her to myself incredulously. He expected it to be a bluff, of course. Unfortunately for him, it was not. From the moment I set my sights on the city, I knew it would be so. As such, I nodded slowly, careful not to cut myself on Sovina’s obsidian-sharp blade.

  “Fucking shit.” He went to step forward, then paused. He’d had his sword out before, but now it was wavering at the floor. “What of his Soulborne once he died? They’ll kill all of us!”

  “Your men will handle them.”

  “We will? Have you seen the fuckers take on Dead? We’ll lose a score at least!”

  “They will not be a threat to you, Oskar,” I said finally.

  He stared at me, mouth working at words he was surely at a loss for. “What? Why?”

  I looked at Emalia. “I’ve surrendered my weapons to you, offered myself precisely as you want. But before giving an order for my death, I want you to listen to this voice demanding your submission. Has it grown louder here as I suspected?”

  My question made her swallow, and the mask of determination wavered, even if only momentarily. “He is close here, yes.”

  “The only thing that is close are the Souls warring for control of your mind.”

  “I have no reason to believe you.”

  “I let you take me unhindered precisely to earn your trust that I do this in good faith.” I lifted my head, staring down at her not in spite but as a father might do to an unruly child. “I could have killed you both without difficulty. And yet, I stayed my hand. I let you live. Emalia, I see humanity in you, goodness in you, and I will not fall to the easier path of unbound violence.” I turned my gaze to Sovina, hoping her caution and care for her partner would outweigh her blind, violent obedience. “The tallest floor of the Column—this place she had her first vision from Raizak—you admitted yourself you knew little of it, did you not? The whole structure is a Wonder of this world—this much I know from talking with the others. And Wonders such as the Column are forged with Sorcery, fueled by Souls. I didn’t think it possible, but look here, look at what all feel in this very room.” I paused, licking my dry lips, closing my eyes, dancing along the boundaries of truth. “It pains me to say it, but Vasia has surpassed Pethya in this regard, at least. I did not think such direct access to the High or Low was possible, but perhaps your Column is the closest humanity has gotten to touching the High. Then is it not possible that a Soul latched on to Emalia’s mind, attempting to bend it?”

  “But why?” Sovina demanded. I expected the blade to thrust through me with her anger, but it remained frozen there. A good sign.

  “It demands my heart, a piece of a broken portal, and something more beyond this—”

  “A relic in Luteleia,” she finished for me. “Though I do not know what that is.”

  Emalia’s face went white, and she said, “It contains something. Ashes, perhaps, though I know not of who…” She looked at me, and in her eyes I knew there was truth. And for it, she would pay. “Perhaps… Gods. Perhaps it bears the Vasian priests of old—those who presided over the destruction of Pethya. You were to find truth of it here.”

  “Destruction? What do you mean destruction?”

  “They are dead, Daecinus—” She fell to her knees, gasping, hands upon her head. “Something is… Gods!”

  “Emalia!” Sovina moved to help her, then whipped around and pointed her saber at me, but I had not moved.

  Dead. Destroyed. My eyes, red as crimson blood with the Souls in the chamber, were pried open wide in shock, my whole body motionless, muscles taught and tensed. “Dead,” I repeated, the word like ash on my tongue. “All of them… No, it could be but a convenient lie. It’s impossible!”

  “I—I can't,” Emalia was saying, begging. “Please.”

  An ambush upon Pethya’s greatest weapon: me. Once I had been taken out of the situation, they proceeded against my country, my people. It was retribution for what we’d done, for what I’d done. Where was I? At the Observatory, toiling in my own ambitions for a hope never to come. And when they were all slaughtered, I would have been paraded around, sealed away. Then, when it was no longer convenient, Pethya faded into myth and legend, renamed, repurposed. Vasians couldn’t be mass killers and destroyers forever; no, they would need to be heroes against some unnamed barbarian force. Nameless. Gone. And I? Used as fuel.

  Sovina was helping Emalia, soothing her, but the priestess’s eyes were no longer her own. And so, it seemed, my guess was right insomuch as this place might best her.

  “Em?” Sovina asked, shaking her. “Are you alright?”

  “Kill him.”

  “What?”

  “Kill him now!” whatever had the priestess in its grips demanded.

  Sovina stood at a stumble, shaken, head swinging towards me, then back to her companion. “Are you… in control?”

  “I gave you an order.” Emalia stood on uncoordinated feet, hands feeling for her dagger before pulling it. “Kill him!”

  “I—” Before Sovina could finish, Oskar moved.

  He launched forward, tackling Emalia to the ground, pinning her arm under a knee, and prying the dagger away. Sovina went to intercede, but Nifont and Miras were already guarding Oskar, warding her back.

  “What is this?” she demanded.

  “Open your fucking eyes,” Oskar grunted and fought down a frantic Emalia, kicking the blade away. “It isn’t her!”

  “Sovina!” Emalia screeched. “Kill him! Kill them all!”

  Sovina winced. “This isn’t you.”

  “Do it, or our bond is broken!”

  “This…” She closed her eyes, then opened them, defiant and determined. “This isn’t you! Begone Soul! Leave her!”

  My body was still as I watched this exchange, this desperate and futile struggle. I felt cold and hollow as if I’d been emptied out and filled with marshy drainage. What cruel joke was this? What sick humor? I swept my eyes from Sovina’s pleading and demanding with Emalia to the broken portal, to the caved-in wall and stretching sightlines of the city beyond, and, as planned, Protis, crouching amongst the rubble in the shadows, dark eyes barely visible, huge form obscured. I gave my creation a nod, and it loped inside in one fluid motion. The ground shook. Everyone turned.

  “Daecinus?” Oskar asked, a distant threat to his voice.

  I ignored him. My plans for vengeance, locked and stowed behind caution and care, were now fluttering like loose sheets of parchment in a storm around my mind, strategies weighed, tactics tested. But first, necessities.