Carter narrowed his eyes as he tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you want to have this conversation while naked, or while dressed?”

  “Both is good.”

  Adora chuckled. “How would we do that?” She spread her arms wide. “We don’t have any weapons or supplies, after all.”

  “We’ll have to make them, of course.”

  “It will take us hours.”

  Carter nodded. “Indeed. But it is necessary.”

  “True.” She started walking to towards the woods. “What’s the first step?”

  “Finding water.”

  She turned her head to him. “Not shelter?”

  “I’m looking for flint so I can make tools to create a shelter.”

  “How long do you think we’ll be in there?”

  “I plan no more than two days.”

  He strode ahead, keeping watch as he marched. Each step covered ground with an ease and speed that made Adora scramble to keep up. She found herself almost having to jog to stay just behind him.

  “Carter, slow down, please.” She gasped and paused, hands on her knees. Sweat flowed down her forehead to her cheeks and chin where it beaded up and fell.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” He halted. “I’m not used to travelling on foot with people.”

  “Don’t forget, we have no water, and it’s hot as the Abyss here.”

  “Depends on the layer.”

  She straightened. “What?”

  “Only two layers of the Abyss are hot. Three are cold. One is humid. Four are temperate.”

  She blinked. “Right, you’ve spent a lot of time in the Abyss.”

  “Indeed.” He nodded. “More than anyone alive.”

  Carter resumed walking, but at a slower pace than before. Adora hurried to catch up, and then matched his steps. The edge of the woods loomed ahead, where the parched grasses gave way to clusters of scraggly bushes with browning leaves, their branches gnarled and twisted as if warped by the relentless heat. Beyond them, the first row of trees stood like sentinels, their bark dark and cracked, with sparse tufts of green fighting to survive against the oppressive heat.

  A few minutes later, they passed the tree line, and the air shifted, feeling a little cooler under the shade of the trees. The heat gave way to a hushed stillness, where the faint rustle of leaves replaced the crunch of dry grasses underfoot. Shadows stretched long across the ground, dappled with spots of golden sunlight filtering through the treetops.

  He paused. “Do you smell that?”

  She glanced at him. “I smell a lot of things.”

  “I’m speaking of a particular scent. A crisp, refreshing aroma, cutting through the breeze and when you notice it, you feel invigorated.”

  She shook her head and shrugged.

  “Mint.” He gave her a small smile. “It means we’re not far from a source of water.”

  Between a cluster of willow trees and holliver bushes, he spotted sedges. They were a tall and slender plant with triangular stems rising above clusters of fine, grass-like leaves that swayed in the breeze. Behind it, the clear water of a brook called to them. The gentle noise of it rushing over small stones were a soothing contrast to the surrounding heat. It was like a siren call to their parched throats, and the faint sparkle of sunlight reflecting off the rippling surface made it seem like liquid relief flowing just within reach.

  Adora stepped forward with a smile that turned into a scowl when Carter grabbed her arm, halting her forward motion.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Being cautious. A cornugon might be near. They like to ambush thirsty travelers who try to drink from running water and drown them.”

  “Oh. How can you tell if one is nearby?”

  He pointed to the ground and shrubbery. “There will be signs.” He stepped to the left and crouched, pointing. “See this?”

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  He leaned back to allow her to crouch beside him and spot the pointed tips and faintly splayed edges of the tracks he detected. She nodded while trying not to look at his… parts dangling low.

  “These are deer tracks. They’re fairly fresh, meaning at least one was here recently. If a cornugon were around, these wouldn’t be this neat.”

  “Why?”

  “Deer are prey animals. They’d flee from the scent of a predator like a cornugon.”

  Adora shook her head. “It’s amazing how much you’ve learned and grown since Mordecai summoned you here.”

  Carter straightened and continued on. “It was either learn, or die.” He crouched by the water and cupped some of the water. “Start with a small amount so you don’t get cramps.”

  She crouched next to him and mimicked his motions. “Like this?”

  “Yes.”

  He waded into the water and cast about until he found an off-white chunk of stone. When he lifted it, he knew by the chalky feel, it was what he’d been searching for.

  “What’s that?”

  “Flint.” He shook his hand, flinging glistening droplets of water through the air. “This is the first of our tools for crafting basic weapons and clothes.”

  ###

  Drago stood on a stage, his voice magically amplified to carry through the wide city plaza under the warm noonday sun. It brimmed with life on the warm spring day, the scent of blooming jasline flowers mingling with the rich aroma of fresh bread from market stalls, while the sun cast golden light over the cobblestones and clustered Dwarves gathered to hear him speak.

  “I repudiate the word ‘Pirolētarīyati.’ The Elf who coined the word meant by ‘Pirolētarīyati,’ not the exploited, but those who work with their hands. And those who work with their intellects are defamed bluntly as ‘burijo.’ It is not the character of a Dwarf’s life which forms the basis of this designation, it is simply the affair - whether a Dwarf works with his brain or with his body. And in this turbulent mass of the hand-workers, the Elf recognized a new power which might perhaps be his instrument for the gaining of that which is his ultimate goal: World supremacy, the destruction of the Realm.”

  Drago raised his arms, his deep voice reverberating through the enchanted air. The crowd leaned forward their faces lit with fervor as his words struck home. They, like him, were Clanless and outcast.

  “And while the Elf ‘organizes’ these masses, he organizes business, too, at the same time. Business was depersonalized, i.e., made elven. Business lost the Dwarven character of work: it became an object of speculation. Master and Dwarf were torn asunder . . . and he who created this class division was the same person who led the masses in their opposition to this class division, led them not against his Elfish brethren, but against the last remnants of independent national economic life.”

  He brought his arms closer to his chest, fists balled, as his impassioned words resonated with the unhappy Dwarves in his audience. At last, someone understood how many felt at being left behind. The gēto they lived in was impoverished and ugly while the rest of the elven city was beautiful and prosperous.

  “And these remnants, the burijo which also was already Elvenized, resisted the great masses who were knocking at the door and demanding better conditions of life. And so the Elfish leaders succeeded in hammering into the minds of the masses the Renline propaganda: ‘Your deadly foe is the burijo; if he were not there, you would be free.’ If it had not been for the boundless blindness and stupidity of our burijo, the Elf would never have become the leader of the Realm working-classes. And the ally of this stupidity was the pride of the ‘better gradation’ of society which thought it would degrade itself if it deigned to stoop to the level of the ‘Commoner.’ The millions of our fellow countrymen would never have been alienated from their people if the leading layer of society had shown any care for their welfare.”

  As he paused in his speaking, he was greeted with a roar of approval and thunderous applause. Drago allowed the cheers to continue for a few heartbeats before continuing. The golden sunlight seemed to cast a halo around his head, showing he had the sun god’s favor.

  “Let the Elves hear us today, from this plaza to the farthest reaches of the Realm—our hands, our minds, and our unity will forge a future they cannot control! Now, I ask you, my fellow Dwarves: will we stand idly by while the Elves dismantle everything we hold dear, or will we rise as one and reclaim what is rightfully ours? Because the time for division is over; the time for Dwarves to stand tall and unshaken begins now—together, we will rebuild a Realm they cannot destroy!”

  After his concluding remarks, the crowd erupted with cheers, throwing things and random spell bursts into the air. Drago watched as his men worked through the crowd, conversing and passing out scrolls of his writings. In some cases, certain soldiers slipped women coins. The Dwarven women would all clasp the giver’s hands, tears streaming down their faces as they thanked their savoir. This day, their children would be able to eat.

  The vampire Rorikil watched from the shadows as his master worked the crowd. ‘More will join Drago today. His speeches are effective, but the soldiers working the crowd are the perfect toppers.’

  Sera spoke beside him. “Lord Drago’s speeches are inspiring, no?”

  Rorikil started, and grabbed his chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  She glanced at him with a blank face. “You have to be alive in order to suffer one.”

  The ancient vampire rolled his eyes as he stepped further into the shadows. “You really shouldn’t wear your contempt so openly. It’ll make you enemies.”

  She smirked and stepped out so the sun’s rays fell over her. “None can stand against me, so it doesn’t matter.”

  ‘The arrogance of youth.’ He shook his head. “Even you have to sleep.”

  “Indeed. I have my ways of protecting myself even then.”

  Drago walking while rubbing his hands interrupted their posturing. “Good day, my friends. What news do you have for me?”

  “The Gorauch named Corath thinks he has a way to defeat Carter Blake.” Sear turned to walk with the Dark Dwarf. “He apprenticed himself to an entombed lich by the name of Teivel to do this.”

  Drago paused before a door and snapped his fingers at an orc guard next to it.

  The orc raised his helm as he knelt before his lord.

  “Find Devoril in the library, and tell him to stop cataloguing the info within, and start collecting any information he has on Teivel.”

  The orc clasped his left hand to the right side of his chest and rose before hurrying to do as commanded. Drago opened the door and stepped through.

  “What do you have for me, Rorikil?” He crossed the richly appointed room and sat at a wide, elegantly carved desk before resting his elbows on it and folding his hands. The afternoon sun shining through the open window highlighted his stout body.

  The vampire crossed to stand in front of Drago, making sure to stay in the shade, and folded his arms behind him.

  “The DarkWalker has risen.”