Kevlin stood at the rail of the Ceara near the boarding ladder, watching the bustling activity as sailors prepared the ship to depart. He tried to focus on the upcoming journey. He clung to the mission and made every effort to consume his mind and energy with it.

  It was the only way to fight the growing fear that kept his stomach in a perpetual knot. He clenched his hands to hide the steadily intensifying shakiness. Thinking about it only it stoked the hunger for magic to a fever pitch.

  I will not relent. It was becoming increasingly difficult to repeat the oath and really mean it.

  Today was the tenth day since he nearly destroyed the city. He'd held to the oath and avoided all magic, but already he felt drained from the constant effort. The insidious pull of the Trembling Madness tugged at his mind, like whispers at the edge of his consciousness. If he allowed his thoughts to drift, it drew them like steel to a lodestone.

  He dreaded the day he'd have to touch magic again. Could he control it? There was no way to know, so he determined to postpone the attempt until he could find a way to be sure. At the least, he wanted to be far from any population centers.

  One more reason to focus on this trip. Although part of him yearned to stay and spend himself working to repair some of the damage he'd caused, the rational part of his mind welcomed the chance to leave. He had to get away to distance himself from so many potential victims. He'd hurt them enough.

  Besides, lingering questions still circulated about what had really happened here in Tamera. He could make no restitution from the gallows. At first, that's what he had expected to do, but Leander had helped him see a better way.

  The old Stalwart had laid a hand on his shoulder. "Remember Kevlin, I know how you feel. I too committed terrible atrocities when lost to insanity. The burden is a heavy one, and it will always be with you. However, you must not let it eat you alive and destroy you. Instead, you must use it as motivation to work even harder to accomplish enough good to partially atone for the debt you owe."

  "I don't know how you do it," Kevlin had said, voice thick with emotion.

  "I managed by focusing on one day at a time, and by leaning on friends who could help me bear the burden."

  "Thank you." It wasn't much, but it had been enough.

  He'd take the advice to heart. He'd find a way to make things right. That hope helped him begin the process of regaining his composure and resuming his duties.

  Now as he waited for the last of the party to row out to the ship where it swung gently at anchor in the Formal Port, he stared at the aftermath of destruction and wondered again how any of them had survived it.

  Jagged volcanic rock had consumed most of the usable docks, and still blocked the few that remained. Latent magic was still woefully low, but some of the Sentinels had regained enough inner strength to become more useful by degrees. In the past three days, over a dozen cuts had been completed through the ridges of volcanic stone. Goods and people were flowing again. The city was easing back from the brink of constant chaos.

  Kevlin watched as sailors and dock workers swarmed around the distant gate. A cut had been completed there, allowing access to the badly damaged port. Half a dozen shore boats, heavily loaded with cargo and passengers were being rowed slowly out to the Ceara. They were the last, and then the ship would be ready to sail with the tide.

  So much destruction. Kevlin shuddered again. He didn't know how many people had died in those horrifying minutes. In a way it didn't matter. All that mattered was that people had died, and he was responsible.

  The knowledge that he'd avoided facing the emperor's justice, at least in the short term, didn't help. He was still amazed that he hadn't been summarily executed.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Worse, the emperor had actually thanked him for helping save the keisara from Sitara and Remiel. She'd survived, thanks to heroic efforts from Indira and Basak, who had arrived shortly after Kevlin passed out. Kevlin had feared the emperor would punish him for throwing that dagger and wounding Keisara Fideima, but Emperor Tegnazian had understood it was all that had saved her life.

  Kevlin had still felt distinctly uncomfortable in the man's presence. Surely Harafin had shared at least some of what had happened with him. Could he really not know anything of Kevlin's involvement? If he did know, what arguments could Harafin have possibly made that might have convinced him to keep the truth silent?

  What price would the emperor eventually require? Akillik's jubilant laugher rang through Kevlin's mind and again he heard the fickle god's last words. Maybe that was it. Maybe Emperor Tegnazian expected him to suffer more living than he could through execution.

  Kevlin looked down at his clenched hands and swore he would weather whatever storm Akillik might launch against him. He would survive it, he would make restitution, he would win Indira back.

  He forced himself to focus on the activity on the ship. It was still early morning, just after dawn. Despite the cold, the Ceara and several other vessels that had best weathered the storm of destruction made ready to sail.

  Drystan and Jerrik appeared from belowdecks and joined Kevlin at the rails as the group of shore boats approached the ship. They held two dozen imperial guards, along with the last of the luggage and cargo.

  "Are things settling down yet?" Kevlin asked.

  Jerrik grunted. "They're arguing like a pack of rabid monkeys."

  "You should really be down there, Kevlin," said Drystan. "Harafin's still arguing that you're the appointed leader."

  "I don't want it."

  "Do you really want to serve under Gabral again?" Jerrik asked.

  That gave Kevlin pause. With the Trembling Madness growing in his soul along with the fear of losing control and hurting the people he loved most in the world, leading this expedition held no appeal. Unfortunately, in their haste to send the group on its way, the Ruling Council had left the question of leadership unusually vague. Everyone seemed to think they'd been appointed leader.

  Gabral, who led the fifty imperial guards who were their escort, insisted he was the military commander and the rightful leader. Harafin insisted the emperor had appointed Kevlin leader. Leander, who had been stripped of his title as Styrskena and banished from Tamera, still led a full score of battle-ready Pallian Stalwarts. He stated simply that he led the Pallians, and if anyone wanted anything from them, they'd have to ask nicely.

  The Freyarr appointee on the mission was a lovely young noblewoman named Lawren Farthegn, who was a personal assistant to Ambassador Janezeko. She insisted she was the senior diplomat and therefore entitled to lead. The Meinarr appointee, a friendly, middle-aged woman named Nainsi, said she didn't care who led during the journey, but she insisted on taking the lead in the actual inspection of the border fortifications.

  Kevlin had slipped away from the increasingly heated argument moments ago with Captain Sankar, who busied himself with preparing the vessel to depart. Now that the last contingent of soldiers was climbing aboard and hoisting the last of the goods, they would soon be setting sail.

  Kevlin glanced back at the ravaged city and wondered if everything would be back to normal by the time the group returned from the long mission. There was still so much to do, so much to understand.

  Masego's body had been burned and his ashes spread far out at sea. Remiel's body had been found buried under a pile of rubble and there was almost not enough left to bother burying.

  Sitara's body was never found.

  "Whoever ends up leading, this is going to be an interesting trip," Drystan said with a wry grin.

  "I'm just glad we're up here and not down there," Kevlin added.

  "Let them fight it out for a while, then you should join them and stand for yourself," Jerrik said.

  At that moment, Captain Sankar shouted, "Hop to it lads! Raise anchor, set your course west by north-west."

  Sailors scrambled into the rigging. The sheets snapped in the morning breeze and the ship heeled slightly as it came about.

  "Well, brothers," Drystan said, placing a hand on each of their shoulders and staring out at the harbor as it began to recede slowly, "I think we're in for quite a journey."

  "Aye," Jerrik said. "Let's hope there's at least a couple of good fights ahead of us."

  Not a war, Kevlin thought. Not yet.

  The sound of Akillik's wild laughter rang in his mind, followed by a single, deep drum beat.

  # # #

  You are sure?

  There is no doubt. You have your orders. Succeed this time or die in the attempt. You will not receive another opportunity.

  The connection broke. Tanathos sat for a moment, enjoying the exultant feeling of expected revenge. Fate, it seemed, intended to give him another opportunity. He would not fail a third time

  "Slave," he called.

  Immediately the tent flap parted and a Makrasha stuck its deformed head inside.

  "Get Syntyk in here."

  His second in command appeared a moment later.

  "It is time," he said with a cold smile. "Tell the captains we sail on the next tide."

  that's the last chapter. There will be no new chapters posted in the foreseeable future.