Xilor sent in a decimating legion of twenty thousand goblins and trolls. The Dark Lord knew anything less would spur Judas to stay; cutting off his options, Judas was left with two choices: flee or die. The Corridor wasn’t Xilor’s objective; his final destination and ambition rest in Ralloc, but if he had to choose between the two, Xilor accepted intent. Unsure of how much Judas managed to figure out, proceeding with caution seemed best as long as the culmination remained a mystery. Xilor dared to hope for a brief moment that Judas believed he wanted only Ralloc. If he controlled Ralloc, he controlled the realm.

  Logical but fallible.

  All domains followed Ralloc—conquer Ralloc, and all would fall. To the south lay the Geim domain, beyond Marcoalyn and the Melodic Mountains. Geim meant nothing to Xilor. He cared little for its inhabitants. Perhaps, once he controlled the realms, he would return one last time to the cursed place and destroy it. Burn it. Raze it to the ground. The thought gave him pleasure, but he hesitated, noting the significance, the history, a stepping-stone to his power from so long ago. Still, he mustn’t become distracted.

  What he desired remained in Ralloc, not the city itself, neither the government or its dignitaries, not the buildings, or the treasure within, nor the vast stores of knowledge lining the shelves. He coveted something far more simplistic in design, and yet far more dangerous than anyone could imagine. Xilor marched to destroy it.

  The Mirror of Imaesion.

  Once in his hands, he’d bring back the descendants of those who followed him, and once through, destroy the gateway. Those descendants would fulfill the blood oaths their ancestors swore. With their obedience, his quest would be finished.

  Judas never realized the folly of his actions in creating the Mirror of Imaesion. In many ways, it was the twin to the Mirror of Razen, Xilor’s prison for many years. The war he waged would save Ermaeyth and cull the weak. If ever faced with an invasion, any adversary would find them formidable opponents. Totalitarian rule, a by-product of his aims, did not spur his action.

  His rambling musings came to a halt, and he turned, regarding the nine that stood before him.

  These elyves intrigued Xilor. Skillful, professional, and untraceable, it had taken much of his strength, resources, and time to find them. His absence from the battlefield was due to search for them and the fallen angel; the latter eluded his grasp. Now that he had the nine, he would focus all his efforts on the girl Hadius foretold. But the elyves evaded him for nearly three weeks and obtaining their services proved burdensome. Only overt threats spurred their cooperation.

  Xilor was ruthless, cutthroat, driven, but not a fool. He threatened for means of compliance. When diplomacy failed, he turned to dark promises and harsh realities, but once he issued a threat, it was damn-near useless to use again.

  He had, however, no intentions of keeping his word; he never did. Iddrial and his followers erred by assumption and underestimated his desire for revenge for defying him. He could torture them, but physical pain lasted moments, emotional and psychological scarring lasted forever. To destroy their dreams and hopes, shatter any chance of redemption … it would have to wait.

  The weight of their gazes fell on him.

  “I am grateful you changed your minds,” the Dark Lord purred. “Your part was a success, but the mission failed as a whole. My xicx failed me. I am a man of my word; you are free to go.”

  Iddrial, the leader, glanced at those in his charge before turning away.

  “One more thing,” Xilor called out behind them. Iddrial stopped, turning back. “How is it that you roam undetected, obscured from sight? Better yet, how did nine elyfian smuggle in a xicx and the warlock was none the wiser?”

  “Our agreement was to smuggle in one of your followers, and you would leave the Elyfian Enclave and us alone. Revealing our secrets was never a part of our arrangement. I thought you were a man of your word?” Iddrial countered.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Xilor dipped his head but remained silent. He didn’t trust himself to speak at the moment. The Dark Lord waved them away with a languid shooing motion. The elyves turned their backs, walking away, but Iddrial walked backward, not taking his eyes off Xilor.

  Perhaps he isn’t such a fool, after all, Xilor mused.

  Xilor watched them go, amused by their audacity, but trembled in anger. The strange elyves with pale amethyst skin defied him again. One of his xicx failed to kill the warlock as he slept.

  The pale horizon to the north reminded him that a new day roused. A faint, lone figure caught his attention against the glowing skyline, a person on horseback, beyond Cape Gythmel. The horse stood motionless, facing the town below and Xilor’s army. A cold chill crept down his spine, a warning. He reached out with his mind, probing the man, finding his essence, but he was not who he expected. He predicted Judas. Satisfied, he withdrew and continued watching his army pour through the walls.

  They just breached through the walls when the world erupted in fire and death.

  Kernoyl Dillon Tyku sat on his horse, gazing over the ragged outpost, his personal asylum and home for the past few months. A tinge of bittersweet lanced him, knowing what awaited. He would miss the Cape, but was glad to see the town used to turn the momentum away from Xilor. He would have liked to do the honors of blowing the place to the Underworld, but he lacked the magical discipline. Instead, he opted for a spectacular view, even if it meant he’d be the bait.

  For all the men who had fallen to the blade of the goblin, ax of the troll, or the breath of dragons, Kernoyl Tyku hoped they killed twice as many with their final act. He chuckled when countless bodies fell into the Krey pits filled with wooden spears. Even after the first few waves discovered the holes much to their demise, others blindly followed. When the pits filled up, the advancing horde used their bodies as a bridge.

  Should have dug the pits deeper, he mused darkly.

  “They are breaking through the wall on the south end,” Tyku commented quietly.

  “A little longer I should think,” Judas suggested. The warlock sat on the far side of the hill, not ten meters away from Dillon, with his back facing Cape Gythmel. “We’ll wait until they break the inner walls and storm the courtyard.”

  “Are you sure this is going to work?” the kernoyl inquired, worried. He almost turned to Judas but caught himself when he remembered the warlock’s words. “For this to work, you cannot, under any circumstances, look at me or in my direction. You must remain forward facing, or this will all be for nothing.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it will. I know Xilor; he is smart but never thorough. He will probe you, but when he does, he will probe only you and not the area around you. Once he is satisfied that you are not me, he will not consider you a threat to him or his men.”

  “Will I sense the probe?”

  “Depends,” Judas said after a heartbeat. “Maybe, if you are sensitive enough. There is the possibility that Xilor may be careless or sloppy and perform a forceful probe. He would only do that if he were certain I was up here because he would immediately strike afterward.”

  “So,” Dillon spoke again, slower, taking in everything the other offered, “will I feel anything?”

  “It should be informative if and when it happens.” Dillon heard strained patience in Judas’s voice.

  Silence ensued for fleeting, peaceful moments. Tyku basked in the rising heat of the mighty blue sun, Apor, his back soaking in the comfortable warmth. A gentle breeze brushed over his skin, a soothing caress, easing his trepidation. The moment was serene, nearly perfect, and Dillon frowned that such moments couldn’t last.

  A sudden bolt of cold punched his gut, spreading through his body like a raging fire over dried tinder.

  “Whew,” he exclaimed, shuddering. “That was cold!”

  “Cold?” the warlock demanded.

  “Yeah, really fucking cold! Why do you ask?”

  “That was it!” Judas exclaimed, crawling on his belly near the crest of the hill so he, too, could observe the dying town. The warlock watched for a moment, discerning the army’s progress. Anger laced his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me they were already in the courtyard? Damn it!”

  “They weren’t the last time I looked. They were just past the outer gate, and then the cold happened. Next thing I know, you come crawling up.”

  “Damn,” Judas groaned in disappointment. “His probe must have lasted longer than you realized, ascertaining duplicity or a trap.” Dillon cast a glance at the warlock; an almost-sinister grin flickered across his face.

  “Unleash the fires of the Underworld upon them!” Kernoyl Dillon ordered.

  In the early morning gloom, the distant town lit up like an exploding sun.