The final blow of Maximillian’s massive maul settled the matter, sending the armoured lupari smashing into the wall behind him, collapsing to the floor, perhaps unconscious, perhaps dead. It didn’t matter, and there wasn’t time to find out. Within seconds another opponent had emerged from the chaos of battle, a young leonin, eager to claim a victory over the enemy king.

Above them, the grey stone of the city entrance cast them into shadow. At twenty feet deep, the wall was nothing to be ignored, but it had a weak point, as all walls must. The gate may have been guarded around the clock, but it was still only a gate. As the Lordenor army approached over the plains, all attention turned towards it. Nobody had noticed that the wood was on fire until it was far too late. By the time Maximillian stood before the city, the gate was nothing but ashes, the only thing left to stop him the portcullis.

But it had never fallen into place. Maximillian’s advance scout had performed his task superbly, jamming the mechanism moments before slipping down the outside of the wall to set the gate afire. With no means of keeping the enemy out, the city commander had taken his last option, ordering his men forwards, rushing out to defend the city, blocking the entrance with their bodies.

And bodies many of them had been destined to become. The Lordenor army was well trained, well equipped, and highly efficient. Spearheaded by the elite force that rode beside Maximillian, they breached the defending ranks like an arrow shot at a melon, the ferocity of the charge carrying them into the shadow of the gateway. Arrows bounced from shield and armour as the attackers leapt from their mounts, forcing their way further under the wall so that the defenders must meet them on foot.

And Maximillian, proud son of Leonan, had not been far behind them.

Now he eyed the younger feline shrewdly. Plate mail over legs and torso, but leaving his arms with only chain. It was a bold move, sacrificing armour for greater freedom of movement, and Maximillian had to give the young man a grudging admiration – not to mention his full attention. With his personal entourage quite busy enough battling those around him, Maximillian had no choice but to fight this one alone.

Good.

It had been far too long since he had tasted battle, and now the song of the hunter echoed in his blood, bringing him courage. Gone was the time for thought, gone the time for regret. Now was the time to know what it was to be leonin. Now was the time to earn a victory, with strength, and with honour.

With shout that verged on gladness, Maximillian charged his opponent.

“No,” the woman whispered as the heavy knock sounded upon the door. “No, I’m not here, there’s nobody in!” Trembling, she pushed herself back further into the little alcove under the stairs.

“Nothin’ sarge!” A voice came faintly to her from outside. Provinces soldiers. They were stopping at every house on every street, that much she had seen from the top window of her house. At each, a group of soldiers went in, and a few minutes later, a group of soldiers came out – and nobody else.

“Break it,” the order came.

“No...” white and shaking, the young woman tried to pull a blanket over herself as the crunch of wood sounded through the house. “Please, god... no...” She knew what was coming. When her husband had run to the defence of the walls, she had known what would happen if they failed.

Three soldiers entered, their boots thumping on the floor. From the sound of it, they were keeping together, alert, and searching. Probably looting, the woman thought, squeezing her eyes closed. Maybe... maybe if she let them, the safe box was all they would want.

“What’s your name, miss?”

“Get away!” She bolted for the door, throwing the blanket aside, darting out of reach of two, almost making it, but being caught by the third. Trembling, held firm in his grip, she was turned to face the leader.

“No... please... take my necklace, it’s worth quite a bit! Take anything!” Don’t let them, anything that would stop them... give them anything they wanted.

“Necklace?” the lutrani soldier paused. “No, miss, I don’t want your necklace,” he shook his head.

Collapsing, sobbing, held up only by the soldier’s grasp on her. No... dear god no...

“What’s your name, miss?” the soldier repeated.

Damn them then. Drawing herself up, forcing her breath to calm down. There would be no satisfaction of seeing her afraid and begging.

“Rianna Taylor. And it’s ma’am, to you,” she spat defiantly. Yes, let them know she was married, maybe that would dissuade them some.

“Taylor, Taylor...” the soldier held up what appeared to be several sheets of parchment, scanning over them. “Criston Taylor?”

“Husband.”

“Good, then you’ll be pleased to know he’s in medical tent B. Few broken ribs, no more. You can apply for a pass to see him in a day or so, someone will be round with details later. Until then, please stay in your house. You’ll be brought water in the morning, and bread, if you need it.”

“What?” the young woman blinked, confused, and feeling oddly conscious of her messed up hair and the tear tracks down her face.

“Just stay home and wait,” the lutrani advised. “There will be patrols outside, and a curfew is in effect until further notice. Oh, and I’ll need to confiscate those,” he gestured, and the other soldier took down the swords that hung above the fireplace. “Nice pieces,” he commented, making a note on the paper.

“Heirlooms,” she said faintly.

“Then I will try to get them back to you some time,” the lutrani said as the soldier behind her let go.

“Sorry about the door, ma’am,” he said as they retreated out through it. “But rest assured there ain’t going to be anyone coming to burgle you, not with our men out tonight. Goodnight to you.”

“Wait...” feeling slightly stupid, she ran to the doorway, leaning out. “You’re not... not going to...?”

“To what, miss?” the lutrani looked genuinely confused for a moment, then his expression cleared into comprehension. “Oh! Good gods, no. Orders was to pacify and secure the area, minimal casualties. Stay home, and no harm will come to you. Goodnight!”

And with that, he turned, and moved on to the next house down the street, leaving the young woman both relieved and confused. What sort of invasion was this?

“A good victory, majesty,” Lord De Lance said, nodding as he stood at the top of the tallest tower that rose from the city’s walls. Night had fallen, but below them the streets were lit by torches as soldiers moved back and forth among the buildings. A brazier had been set atop the watchtower to warm the sentries – and their visitors.

A line appeared between the king’s eyebrows as he looked down onto the restless city – he had no illusions that those dark roofs sheltered sleeping citizens. While he had little doubt that many were thankful to find themselves alive, it was unlikely that any would be walking the world of dreamers tonight. Perhaps for the better. The setting sun that evening had painted the sky a bright, fiery red, deepening through crimson to that of blood. A fitting end to a bloody day.

“How is that young man?” he asked.

“Which, Majesty?” De Lance looked momentarily confused.

“The one who challenged me as we entered the city. He was brave. I would know if he still lives.”

“I don’t know, your Majesty,” De Lance admitted. “I haven’t enquired.”

“Then I will,” the leonin stated, looking back down over the city. Unconsciously, his hands clenched against the stone of the wall he leaned on. “What will they think of us, I wonder...”

“Majesty?”

“The townsfolk. Here we came marching in, smashed their defences, and then stopped, sparing all those not fighting, taking care of their wounded as well as ours. What do you think they think of us?”

De Lance smiled, giving a half laugh. “They will think whatever it is in them to think. Some, that perhaps they need never have taken arms against us. Others... others will hate us for this day. Those whose families will not return home this night, those whose crops were trampled by the army.”

“You think it was wrong?” Maximillian asked bluntly.

“No, Majesty, not in the least. Had we not taken this night as ours, then in time, the Freelands would have ordered their armies into our territories. And then it would be our people’s families who did not come home, and our crops that were ruined. We had no choice, and we still do not. Today’s victory has been honest and clean, and your majesty has acted with great honour and nobility.”

The tall leonin smiled, half turning to survey the shorter man. “Thank you, De Lance,” he said quietly. “I am glad I have your support. Now, since neither of us are likely to sleep tonight, will you come with me to decide our line of advance?”

“Of course, majesty,” De Lance bowed, doffing his tricorn hat. “It is my honour to be believed valuable in such matters.”

“Why do you watch me?”

Tiernach’s eyes widened and he straightened, realising he had been lost in thought. Before him, the dragon had lifted her head a little, though her body lay relaxed upon the floor of the great trench.

“Do your tasks not tax your attention today?”

“What do you know of my tasks?” A crease appeared between Tiernach’s eyebrows as he wondered just what thoughts were running through the dragon’s mind.

“Only that which the barbarians above know,” the dragon said softly. “That you prepare for war. I had imagined you would have little time to spare, when one is planning to fight one’s own.”

“I have no plans to fight my own,” the leonin shot back quickly.

“Yet you will fight your father’s army with yours. Are they not your own?”

“My family are ‘my own,’” Tiernach stated. “The soldiers are not.”

“Then you care nothing for the lives that will be lost by your order?”

“I care nothing,” Tiernach replied coldly.

“Yet you tremble...” the dragon said softly, observing him motionlessly.

“I do not,” Tiernach snapped, stiffening. Was he trembling? If so, only through excitement, surely. “I care nothing for them, they have no bearing on this. My plan will succeed, and that is all that is important.”

“If that is your decision. You have hurt your hand.” Great orange eyes flickered down towards his right arm, and the leonin reflexively lifted it. “Ah,” the dragon sighed. “So that is why you are here. I understand.” The huge head settled to the ground again as Tiernach continued to study his hand, and the raw burn upon palm and fingers. It still hurt. This was the price of power. The price he had gladly paid but hours ago.

When he had first grasped the glittering fragment of the Dragon Staff, he had gasped aloud. This one was not cold like the first. It was hot. So hot that he almost dropped it on instinct. But he must not! That would lose the fight before it had begun. There were no second chances. His left hand clamped around his right wrist, as if the weight of the stone were too great for one hand to hold.

Then the fragment spoke to him, a shifting, ethereal whisper from inside his own head.

“You have not the strength.”

As it had with the first fragment of the staff, the world around him seemed to shatter, the fragments spinning around him, reforming, reshaping into scenes from his life.

“I have the strength,” Tiernach shouted, his words almost lost in the hot wind that seemed to blow around him, whirling the fragments of his life ever faster into dizzying chaos. “I have already proven this once, and you shall not disprove me now!”

“Then make your pitiful attempt,” returned the voice. One voice? Many voices? Somehow it was both singular and multiple at the same time, as if the speaker changed with each syllable. The spinning fragments of Tiernach’s life tightened around him, closing in front and behind, above and below, contracting. Bracing himself, the leonin raised both hands, planting his feet firmly on the shifting fragments of his memories as they swirled about him, battering at his fingers.

The magic of the Dragon Staff squeezed.

Tiernach screamed.

Heat was pouring in on him, through his hands, through his feet, ever increasing as the magic closed in around him, intense pressure being exerted along his limbs as the magic of the stone continued to strip his mind bare.

“Not this time,” the whisper chuckled around him. “Surrender... the end will be swifter. Painless. Let go.”

“No…” the young leonin almost whimpered as the searing heat beat upon him. He could feel the stress in his arms reaching the limit of what his bones would take and gritted his teeth. “I… will… control…”

“You will not.”

The leonin shouted hoarsely as he felt the horrible snap of one wrist, the grind of bone on bone as the magic squeezed relentlessly around him. And still he pushed back.

“You cannot win,” the whisper echoed. “Look how you have already failed in so much.”

The whirlwind of images now showed him all the worst moments of his life. All the things he had tried to do in the past, but not been able to. The sword fighting contest, aged eight, coming in sixth place, despite all his best efforts. The police forces he had tried to set up to maintain order in outlying towns, which went rotten as soon as he left. With a small cry he felt the other wrist break, the magic pressing upon him as the list of failures continued.

“How can you hope to control this power?” the many voice asked.

When his instructor in the Art had told him to go home after his first week because he had been made so miserable by the strict lifestyle.

But, whispered a small voice at the back of Tiernach’s mind. I did not. “No,” he snarled, a fire of greater intensity than of the magic flaring within him. “I did not give up. And see where I have come! I will control!” With all the strength he possessed, he forced his arms outwards and upwards, pushing at the magic of the staff. “I... will... control!”

“Agreed.”

Tiernach crumpled unconscious to the floor, his arms undamaged, his bones intact, but a trickle of blood running between his fingers.

And now, hours after, he stood before the dragon, both fragments of the staff in deep and secret pockets, both prepared to do his bidding. But was this fragment as the first?

“You may proceed,” the dragon said quietly, and Tiernach frowned.

“That is my decision, not yours,” he growled.

“You have already made it, or you would not be here.” The body did not move, but somehow the eyes seemed to indicate a shrug.

The fingers of Tiernach’s left hand grazed the surface of the second fragment as he regarded the dragon thoughtfully. He knew full well that to apply the full pressure of the Dragon Staff against her caused great pain, but he had to know for sure the capabilities of this new piece! He lifted it from his pocket, gazing over its glittering facets to the dragon, hesitating.

“Well?” she demanded suddenly as he paused. “Are you afraid?”

With a snarl, Tiernach spoke a word of command to the shimmering stone, and the great head reared back with a roar. Claws raked the ground as images filled Tiernach’s head – images of places far away, of mountains and of forests, of cities and of caverns, of oceans and of islands. The sensation of flight, the beat of strong wings, soaring, wing tip to wing tip with other dragons, and among them...

A violent crash sounded as the dragon’s horned head impacted the metal grate above. Shouts echoed down to Tiernach as she slumped to the ground, unconscious. The leonin blinked, stepping back as the head lolled sideways. Hot breath washed over him as the mouth half opened.

“Majesty?” a hesitant voice from above.

“Stay your ground!” Tiernach barked without looking up, regarding the dragon intently.

“Majesty, you commanded that if the crystal...”

“Who?”

“Lord De Lance, Majesty.”

Sighing, Tiernach nodded. He would have to leave the dragon where she had fallen. She continued breathing, at least, seemingly undamaged, and yet... he shook his head as he ascended the ramp. He had at no time ordered her to harm herself. Indeed, he had been far too tied up in the curious visions the fragment had drawn from her mind to even notice her actions. A reflex brought on by the violence of the mental assault, then? If it was anything like his experiences of allowing the magic of the staff into his mind, it could easily be so – and of course she had no choice in the matter, where has he has been prepared every time.

Interesting.

“Most interesting,” he said aloud several minutes later, gazing thoughtfully into the polished quartz. “And troublesome.”

“Troublesome?” De Lance’s voice emanated from the crystal, accompanied by the light distortion that such magical communication had yet to free itself from. “Highness, your father is going to lead us to victory!”

“Precisely,” Tiernach hissed quietly, leaning forward, elbows on the marble desk as he peered closely at the man’s image. “The last thing we need is a victory. Especially when measures are being taken to minimise casualties. We will not be in a position to establish power if the majority of both armies remains intact.”

Looking thoughtful, the man ran a hand through his grey-streaked hair. “I understand, highness. What would you have me do.”

“Quite simple,” Tiernach said, his voice calm and soft as he lowered one arm. Unseen under the desk, his claws bit into the side of his chair. “I have a man near Goldwood. I will have him deliver a message, giving a time and place that our army will be. Goldwood will be suspicious, naturally, but he will check, he will prepare, and when he verifies the information I have fed him...”

“The armies will meet,” De Lance finished. “I understand, highness. Most ingenious.”

“You are to stay with my father until the battle begins,” Tiernach’s eyes narrowed slightly, glittering in the candlelight.

Fidgeting slightly, the man nodded again. “Very well...” He sounded more hesitant now. Tiernach’s lip curled.

“I am quite sure you will be fine,” he said. “Give no hint that you expect trouble, and command one of the flanks – ensure it is filled with troops loyal to us. When the time is right, withdraw.”

De Lance’s eyebrows climbed over an inch up his forehead.

“They won’t kill him,” Tiernach smiled thinly. “My father is far, far too useful alive, and they know it. The advantage of being one of the most hated men in the Freelands – he is also the most valuable.”

“As you wish, highness.”

Jaw tightly clenched, trying to give away nothing, Tiernach reached out and passed his hand over the quartz, causing it to fade swiftly into transparency.

“That was a good choice, Prince Tiernach,” said the First calmly, watching across the expansive desk. “Now the armies will decimate each other, and leave the way clear for ours.”

“Yes...” Tiernach said softly, feeling the wood of his chair splinter in his grip even as his expression remained slack. “Yes, they will.”

“Speaking,” the First leaned forward. “Of our army. Tell me, prince Tiernach, how have your experiments been recently?”

Tiernach’s face gave away a hint of emotion this time, a slight twitch below one eye.

“Come now, prince Tiernach,” the First said in his maddeningly slow manner. “We are both aware of the goal of your research – that is, after all, why I originally provided you with Tyrandius’ books.”

“Then come,” Tiernach snarled suddenly, standing so swiftly that his chair scudded back across the floor. “Walk with me, and I will show you.”

Confined. Restricted.

Appropriate, really, it was after all the castle dungeons. Deep under the keep, below the storage cellars, cut into the bowels of the rock by water that had ceased to flow aeons past. Down here, the only light cast was the flickering glow of torchlight, the only sound the soft pad of footfalls as here and there a black robed attendant hurried about their duties.

An opening to one side of the main channel had been closed off by a barred door, and it was by this that Tiernach stopped, grabbing a piece of fruit from an unexpected pile on the table nearby and tossing it through the entrance.

“Just wait,” he snapped, noticing the First peering into the darkness beyond and seemingly about to ask a question.

“As you wish, Prince Tiernach,” the man nodded slowly, his face shadowed by his hood, his expression indiscernible.

There came a shuffling noise from somewhere in the darkness beyond, a scrape as of feet over rock. Two tiny glitters of reflected light appeared in the shadows. The glitters observed them for several long seconds, before the owner scurried forwards to claim the fruit, hunching over it on the dusty floor.

“Curious...” For a moment, the First’s air of control faltered, his eyebrows drawing together as he cast his hood back.

The creature behind the bars started, shining black eyes catching the movement, large ears turning. Evidently deciding it wasn’t being threatened, it went back to eating, giving those outside a chance to study it in detail.

Bipedal, humanoid, bearing a vague resemblance to perhaps a lupari or a vulpani, it crouched low to the floor, bright black eyes fixed upon its food. Its furred hide was a dull, stone grey, while the limbs seemed slightly out of proportion, the shins and forearms too short by several inches. When it turned and scampered back into the shadows, it dragged one hand on the floor, as if unable to walk upright.

“That is more than a dog, prince Tiernach,” the First said slowly, turning his face to the leonin. “I believe congratulations are in order. What was it, originally?”

Tiernach didn’t answer for a moment, his gaze still fixed upon the shadows where the creature had vanished. A filthy, loathsome little beast, and yet... a triumph for the work of Tyrandius, and a step closer to the goal. But that had once been...

“Prince Tiernach?” the man repeated, and the leonin started.

“Lupari,” he said, gathering himself.

“A small one...”

“Yes.”

“I understand. The barbarians, I believe, think very little of anyone below their average stock. I am not surprised you found volunteers willing to take risks.”

Did the lupari volunteer, though, Tiernach wondered, or was he simply someone the Brotherhood had thought would not be missed? He had been delivered unconscious, and Tiernach had never quite managed to ask. Was the original mind still inside the deformed creature, or was he mercifully unaware of who he had been?

“How long do you need to refine the process?” the First interrupted his thoughts.

“Not long,” Tiernach met his gaze coldly. “I see the pattern in the results, now. Come with me,” he gestured brusquely, turning on his heel, leading the way further down the torch lit corridor.

Deeper down still, past a pair of uniformed guards, and into another chamber. In one corner, a pool of water glimmered, surface throwing back the flickering light in reflections that danced across the walls and ceiling of the chamber.

“I assume, prince Tiernach, that our tools of conversion do not like the open air?”

Tiernach didn’t answer. Instead, he took a pole from where it leaned against the wall. On one end was a net, and it was this that he shoved roughly below the surface of the water, scooping up his target. Carrying it swiftly to one side of the chamber, he dumped the contents of the net into a wooden tank. In one side, a glass plate allowed the occupant of the tank to be observed.

“I would suggest,” he said with a thin smile as the first approached. “That you don’t touch it.”

“Oh, I assure you, prince Tiernach, I have no intention of doing so.” Nonetheless, the man’s hand pressed against the glass plate as he looked through it.

Grey, and slug like, the creature drifted in the water, apparently unconcerned by its recent relocation. Thin tendrils hung down from its body, waving slowly to and fro, though there was no appreciable movement of the water. Tiernach gave a snort of amusement as it suddenly bumped up against the glass plate, causing the First to withdraw swiftly.

“You are indeed to be congratulated, prince Tiernach,” the man told him, bowing his head with respect. “Very few, other than Tyrandius himself, have ever shown the aptitude to harness these creatures. Does this not make you happy?” he asked as Tiernach’s expression darkened.

The leonin looked back at him thoughtfully before replying. “These creatures have been known by many names. They are the dark worms, the soul maggots, the mind eaters and in the old tongues the dak mal, and the rathtar ek. They are born in the deepest, darkest parts of the world, the places that normal men fear to tread, and they spread fear and death wherever they are involved. To bend them to our cause is a reason for satisfaction, but happy is something they do not make me.”

To Tiernach’s irritation, and surprise, the First actually smiled, a thin and predatory smile that held little warmth and less amusement.

“Then, Prince Tiernach, perhaps you can take satisfaction in knowing that your efforts are going to bring about the greatest change that this world has ever seen,” the man said slowly. “With these, soul maggots, as you called them, our army will be swelled with loyal converts to our cause, and the empire of Tyrandius, will flourish.”

“And the information?” Tiernach’s eyes narrowed.

“Will, of course, be provided to you upon completion of our task, prince Tiernach. I am assuming, of course, that you have plans for further refinement?”

Tiernach paused. “Naturally.”