will decide which race survives and which will be relegated to history.

Knowing this is what drives me forward despite my chances of success being negligible. Still, I must reach Queen Treya if the human race is to have any chance of survival.

                                                                                                         Excerpt from the Journal of the Emissary

First Day of Striving 1142

Sheba, the goddess of honor, combat and the hunt, seldom visited Thysandrika in a physical body. Instead she’d project an avatar whenever she needed to put in an appearance. In almost any situation, an avatar was superior to a body, so there was seldom a reason to construct one. This day was an exception. She knew this because she had once attempted to enter the Undead King’s realm with an avatar, and it was destroyed the moment it had crossed the border.

Because she couldn’t teleport herself directly to the plains, she appeared across the border in Death’s Doorstep and walked the short distance until, for the first time in her very long history, she set foot on the Plains of Xarinos. She was the first to arrive, but the others wouldn’t be far behind.

Sheba had crafted the body to look exactly like her favored avatar— a human woman of about thirty years of age, long blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin, with high cheekbones and a mouth that easily lent itself to smiling. She carried a sword at her side and a bow on her back. The weapons would be useless against those she was meeting, but that didn’t matter. They were the badges of her office, and she enjoyed how they looked and felt in her hand (during the rare occasions when she had a hand).

Scrubland dominated the area, though she understood that further inside the plains, nothing grew. Even here the grasses leaned toward brown rather than green and existed on soil islands floating on a sea of stone. Flies and other insects parted before her, avoiding getting too close, sensing that the being in their midst was not quite what it appeared to be. The sky above was filled with clouds that blocked out the sun most of the time. The atmosphere was heavy, not with rain but expectation. The meeting that was about to take place was a first.

Se Karn, the god of death, was the next to arrive. He wore a black cloak that looked like it might be draped around the shoulder of a broad-chested warrior, but his head was a skull. He carried an onyx staff in his right hand, topped with an animal skull of some kind. Sheba didn’t recognize the species it had come from and didn’t think it was from this world. He appeared not far from where she had and walked to her.

“Sister.”

“Brother.”

“Do you know what this meeting is about?”

“No. Iorana has ever been unpredictable. She is wild magic.”

“This is most irregular.”

“It is. But Iorana has her reasons, and I trust her.”

Se Karn didn’t reply. They stood in silence, observing the barrenness around them.

Mitra was the next to appear. Long brown hair, brown cloak, a handsome woman of about forty years. No one would have construed the body Mitra had constructed to be that of a goddess. Her skin had minor flaws in it, her brown eyes failed to inspire, and her lips were chapped as if she’d been out in the sun too long. Her cloak effectively hid the curves of whatever body she had chosen, but she might have been a teacher or an innkeeper. She certainly couldn’t have been the goddess of lore. She carried a thick book under her right arm, but it was impossible to read the title. She too walked across the border to join her siblings.

“Well met,” said Sheba.

Mitra inclined her head. “Who are we missing?”

Before Sheba could answer, Sarith appeared across the border. Instead of walking, she ran to where they stood together, reaching speeds no human could hope to match. When she reached them, she removed her helm and stared at each of her siblings in turn without saying a word.

“I’m a bit surprised to see you here,” said Sheba.

Sarith, beautiful and cold with her short black hair and matching eyes, skin so pale it might have never been touch by sun, was dressed in full plate armor, polished to a sheen so perfect it almost glowed. Her armaments, two swords, a dagger and a crossbow completed her appearance.

“Of course you’re surprised. You’ve never seen me as one of you.”

“That’s hardly fair,” said Sheba. “You’ve never acted like one of us.”

Mitra and Se Karn ignored the exchange.

“So,” asked Se Karn. “Has anyone been here before?”

“I have,” said Mitra.

Sheba nodded. Of course Mitra had been here. She was the goddess of knowledge. The inability to know something would have rankled her. Sheba was about to ask if she had found out anything interesting, when a figure in the distance approached, not from Death’s Doorstep, but from the opposite direction, the Plains of Xarinos.

The newcomer was no god. She looked human, olive skin, dark hair, almost black eyes. Sheba raised an eyebrow. It was the last person she expected to see.

“Any idea who that is,” asked Sarith.

Sheba opted not to answer, and no one else replied.

They had been so distracted by the figure, they didn’t realize that Iorana had appeared behind them and had made her way across the border to where they stood. The sudden appearance surprised all of them, as here in the plains, they were cut off from their usual god-like senses. Iorana stood watching the figure approach, her long black hair tied behind her. Ioranna was impossibly beautiful. She had a bronze headband that circled her head, a tattoo on her upper chest, and her long black hair fell both behind her and in front, reaching almost all the way to her waist. She had a small scar on the left side of her face just below her eyes. She wore a light blue wizard’s robe and carried a staff, topped by a huge crystal that radiated light.

“I feel like the cover of a video game,” said Sheba.

Se Karn chuckled but none of the others responded.

The woman made her way closer but hadn’t yet reached them.

“Who is she?” asked Mitra.

Iorana favored them with a rare smile. “The Undead Queen.”

All four of them looked at her.

“Why is she here?” asked Sarith.

Iorana shrugged. “All will be made clear shortly.”

Conspicuous by her absence was Sylinar, the mother of the gods. The being that had created all of them by combining her own essence with that of Arimen.

When the woman finally reached them, she remained silent. She was a mortal amongst gods. It was not her place to speak.

“Shall we proceed?” asked Iorana.

“Not until you explain the presence of a reborn in our gathering,” said Sarith.

Any of the others might have sighed, but Iorana did not. “No. You will hear the story as I want to tell it. I called this meeting. If you wish to leave and not hear what I have to say, that is acceptable.”

No one left.

“Good. The Undead Queen is here at my request. The Undead King, despite what you may think, is not the enemy. But before I address that, I think it’s time to tell you the story from the beginning. I have invited you here, because of all my relations, you are the only ones I can trust.”

“You can’t trust Sylinar?” asked Sheba, astonished.

“Hear my story, then judge.”

Sheba nodded, and Iorana continued.

“Before the Undead King rose on the Plains of Xarinos, magic was already being leached from the world. The process was slow, so slow, but it was happening. I could not remember a time when it hadn’t been the case, but the rate of disappearance had been so gradual, I didn’t worry about it. Not as much as I should have.

“When the acceleration began, about two thousand years ago, I did grow concerned and started to investigate. What I learned was that the magic was being leeched from the rest of the world, as if it were flowing downhill, directly toward the Plains of Xarinos.”

“I find that unlikely,” said Sarith.

“But it is true,” replied Iorana. “I have chosen this place to meet, because it is the most secure location in the universe. Even the Other Realm might be spied upon by someone or something more powerful than us. But this place is proof against even the gods.”

“Io,” said Mitra, “The reborn do not need to eat or sleep. Instead they absorb energy from ambient magic. We have been told that the Undead King has built a huge army. Is it possible that the amount of magic being leeched from the world…”

Iorana was already shaking her head. “Even if the plains were filled border to border with reborn, the amount of magic removed from the world would barely register. This is something much bigger.”

“Which still doesn’t explain why you called a secure meeting on the Plains of Xarinos and included a reborn, who will no doubt report what we say here to the Undead King. We’re done here,” said Sarith.

Iorana addressed her. “You will stay, and you will listen.”

“Not until she’s gone.”

“She is here, because the Undead King needs to know what we know. Just hear me out.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill this wretched creature now.”

“Because Arimen, at least a version of him, is the Undead King. Also, I trust the Undead Queen.”

“As do I,” said Sheba.

They all looked at her.

“She was one of yours?” asked Mitra.

“No, but perhaps she should have been. I know her and trust her to do the right thing.”

“I find it likely that your right thing and mine are very different,” said Sarith, shifting her attention to Iorana. “Nevertheless, I will hear you out, sister. Sheba would never intentionally endanger her precious humans.”

Iorana nodded. “Indeed she would not. The reason we are here, because of what I have learned. There is no place safer for us. Over the years, I have visited the Plains of Xarinos multiple times in order to try to understand where the magic was going and why. During this time, I became extremely interested in magical signatures. You have been told that magical signatures are unique, but it is not true.”

Mitra looked surprised.

“Shift into the magic spectrum and observe each other’s signatures.”

Sheba shifted into the spectrum. She looked first at the Undead Queen. Then she looked at her siblings, but she already knew what she would see. Mitra, however did not.

“We’re the same,” she said.

“We are. It is why I invited you, and not others. Of all the gods, we are the only ones that share this signature. Essentially, the five of us are one being.”

She paused to let that sink in.

“How is this possible?” asked Mitra.

“We were all created by Sylinar. As her creations, we bear her imprint, but also the imprint of Arimen, who she infused us with. She used the same formula for each of us, so we turned out the same. Exactly the same. The only thing that separates us is our aspect, which we received from Sylinar after our creation.

“We are one entity and can not hurt each other without hurting ourselves. This is the reason I can trust you.”

Mitra pursed her lips. “How long have you known this?”

“A thousand years, perhaps a bit more.”

“And you kept this from the goddess of knowledge?”

“I did. This was part of my investigation, and I wanted to understand before telling you. A thousand years is nothing.”

Mitra nodded but did not look pleased. “Continue your story, sister.”

“Once I realized that magical signatures might hold at least some answers, I continued to view them wherever I went. Most of them are unique, but not all of them. For example, all the lesser gods have different magical signatures, with a phrase at the end that identifies them as being made by Sylinar.”

“This is incredible,” said Mitra.

“It is logical. An artist signs her work, what could be more natural? I’m not even sure it’s a conscious decision on her part. I also found out that all reborn have the same phrase at the end of their signature.”

Sarith’s eyes widened. “You knew this and kept it from us? We’ve been fighting a war for fifteen years. Undead spies are rife, and no human is able to detect them. Nor can we tell our people, because it has been forbidden.”

Sarith said this last while staring daggers at Se Karn. She continued.

“It is hardly possible for us not to know, since we see people whose tethers have been severed after watching them die. But we can not speak of it, because Se Karn decreed that that information privileged, as he is the god of the dead, we are forced to honor that decree. Perhaps, brother, you would be so kind as to explain why the decision was made.”

Se Karn nodded. “Normally, I would be reluctant to share my business with any of you, but I see this is bigger than our individual aspects. These beings, which some people call the Undead, still have souls. Souls that eventually I will be required to escort to what comes next. Those souls are in my care. Their death day is written in the stars. The gods have a responsibility to all sentient races. We must allow them the dignity of dying at their appointed time. When we interfere and they die early, there are consequences. Sometimes serious consequences. The universe doesn’t approve of our intervention in that which has been fore-ordained. If the Undead King’s network of spies was revealed by a god, it would cause hundreds if not thousands of people to die before their appointed times. This I can not permit.

“Most of these “spies” aren’t doing anything. They are simply living. To point out that they exist, would mean rampant distrust that would affect everyone. And the suspicion such news would awaken would put others in danger who are innocent. So I sit, I watch, I wait until each of the reborn have experienced the true death, so I may escort their souls. But from where I am sitting, there is little difference between a human and a reborn human.”

For the first time, the Undead Queen spoke. “Thank you, Se Karn. We only wish to be left in peace. We have no interest in your war.”

In the silence that followed, Iorana continued her story. “Magical signatures are sometimes called soul signatures. The current thought on the matter is that they are immutable. Unchangeable. But that isn’t true. Each time an individual dies and is reborn, its soul signature is amended. Every single reborn shares this phrase at the end of its soul signature. And King Terrence has the same signature appended to his soul.”

Sheba gasped. The others, likewise, looked stunned.

“Yet unlike the reborn, King Terrence is still tethered to Sheba,” said Mitra.

Sheba nodded her agreement. “It is unthinkable to me that the Undead King has a way to influence those in my embrace, but I can not deny it has happened. Did you find the same with Captain Jericho, Io?”

“I did. The Undead King is more powerful than any of us has guessed. But there is news yet more dire.”

“What could be more dire than knowing that the Undead King has such influence?” asked Se Karn.

“Sylinar’s soul signature shares the same addendum.”

No one spoke. The Queen Goddess under the Undead King’s influence? Was that possible? Surely not. And yet Iorana claimed she had seen the signature herself. She could not lie to them, they knew that. Yet it was impossible to believe what she had said.

“What does this mean?” asked Mitra.

“If what you say is true,” said Se Karn, “then what is she doing here?”

Iorana nodded to the Undead Queen, and she answered.

“I have a soft spot in my heart for the Kingdom of Twyl, and I would not see it destroyed. I want to negotiate a treaty to prevent the war.”

Sarith scowled. “It’s not my job to prevent war.”

Sheba nodded. “What you say is true. But if everyone is dead, who will be left to fight the next one.

Sarith had no answer for the question.

“Tell us more of Arimen,” said Mitra. “What do you think happened to him?”

Iorana nodded as if she’d expected the question. “My best guess is that he entered the Plains of Xarinos and was killed here. Whatever power brings back the dead brought him back, leaving its mark upon him.

“When Arimen was reborn, his unique nature gave him greater power than any other reborn. He somehow has the ability to tap into the power that was already here. He became the Undead King at that point. The Undead King may be wearing Arimen’s form, but his demeanor, his actions, his very nature seems to have changed. I don’t even know if he’s still immortal.”

“What could have possibly killed him?” asked Sheba. “He was the greatest warrior of all time.”

“Even the greatest warriors can be overwhelmed. The reborn are legion. You know this.”

Sheba shook her head as if in denial. “But to defeat Arimen?”

“Even Arimen could not have stood against thousands. And it is even possible that whatever slew him was a reborn creature, rather than a reborn human.”

Sheba looked thoughtful. “Yes. I’ve only recently learned of reborn horses and chickens, so I suppose it’s possible. It occurs to me, I’m going to have to scan every one of my adherents to see if they have been compromised.”

Sheba could tell from their expressions they’d already had the same thought. Was it truly possible the reborn were some sort of super entity, all of them a single being? It seemed preposterous and yet, on some level, she realized that part of her had always known this to be true. It was as if she were being reminded of a fact she had long ago uncovered and subsequently forgot.

Sarith spoke, her voice cold. “I want to know why we promoted a compromised man to high king, and sent him to build an army.”

“Because an army is needed,” said Iorana. “I can’t say more at this time, but I will say this. I come by this knowledge from an impeccable source that I am not willing to reveal.”

“It’s not good enough,” said Sarith, crossing her arms. Sheba marveled at how human she looked at that moment. “You can’t expect us to just take your word for it.”

“You know she can’t lie to us,” said Sheba.

Iorana, ignoring the gods, turned toward the Undead Queen. “Your emissary is ready to depart?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are done here. Take my blessings with you, child. You know your role in what is to come.”

“I do.”

Sarith growled. “I am not comfortable with this arrangement.”

Iorana shrugged. “Your comfort is not required. Only your cooperation.”

“Why should I cooperate?”

To everyone’s surprise, it was Se Karn who answered her. “Because magic is leeching from the world, and that falls under Iorana’s jurisdiction.”

“Well war falls under mine. If this emissary is successful in suing for peace, then I am denied my war.”

“There will always be another war,” said Sheba. “There will not always be more magic. Iorana’s claim has a higher priority.”

Mitra nodded her agreement. Sarith’s mouth tightened as she realized she was outnumbered.

“I will concede this battle, but not my war.” She looked at Iorana. “Do you have anything else you want to share with us, sister.”

They all shifted their attention to Iorana and then to Sheba, as if they thought the two were in it together. When neither answered, Sarith walked away, toward the border to Death’s Doorstep. Se karn bowed then released his body to collapse lifeless on the ground at their feet.

“I guess the meeting is over,” said Mitra. “Unless there’s anything else I need to know. As it is, I have much to consider.”

“I apologize for keeping things from you, sister, but I am entitled to conduct my investigation in any way I see fit. There is still so much I do not understand.”

“By bringing us in, you might have understood more by now, but that decision is yours. I would assume you have a reason for your actions.”

“I do.”

“Very well then.”

Mitra inclined her head, then walked back toward the border as well.

“I wish I knew what you were trying to accomplish,” said Sheba. “Mitra is right. If I knew more, I could help more.”

“I’m trying to stop the magic leak. That’s all. But I’d prefer to do it without being responsible for a war.”

“How long have you known about the existence of the Undead Queen, and more importantly, how long have you known her identity?”

“It was a recent discovery.”

“So you know who she is.”

“I do. I was surprised as you were.

“Somehow, I doubt that. And I still don’t understand why you agreed to support Terrence as high king.”

“I know, Sheba. And it’s probably better that you don’t.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you’re really not going to like it.”

Sheba studied the goddess of magic. “What are you up to?”

“I’m trying to stop a war. I can’t promise there won’t be casualties along the way. Tell me sister, what would you sacrifice to ensure the continuation of humankind.”

“Whatever was necessary.”

“Exactly. We will all have to sacrifice to avert the coming disaster.”

“How can you know this? Even gods can’t predict the future.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m talking to those who can.”

“Who?”

“I’m sorry, sister, but you’re not ready for that knowledge. I have said all I intend to say on the matter.”

Sheba sighed. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

Iorana favored her with a rare smile. “Yes you do. It’s because I know more than you do.”

“You could do with a bit of humility.”

“That would be your area of expertise, not mine.”

With those words, the goddess of magic released her body, and it crumpled to the ground at Sheba’s feet.

*

Second Day of Striving 1142

The Undead Queen sat in a throne room quite unlike that of any human ruler. Her palace had been built in a ruin, open to the sky. There were no kitchens, no toilets, no bedrooms, no walls, no parapets. Most of it had been buried by the centuries, but a few rooms remained above ground. The one she had claimed as her own was empty but for a leather office chair that had to be replaced periodically, due to weathering.

She had no understanding of why the Undead King was so fixated on this particular chair. He had claimed it was good for her back, her posture, her general well-being. He had been quite insistent, but she didn’t understand. Perhaps she had to learn to adjust it. She’d tried several times, but couldn’t work it out. She turned her attention to the reborn who knelt before her.

She couldn’t see the reborn’s face beneath the red traveling cloak, but knew it intimately. Had known it for years.

“You are ready to go?”

“I am, my queen.”

The Undead Queen clucked her tongue. “You don’t have to call me that.”

“I know.”

“Do you know what you’ll say? Are you sure she’ll see you?”

“I’ll know what to say when I get there, and yes. Queen Treya will definitely see me.”

“The Undead King agrees with you.”

“Why is he letting you do this, if he’s planning to go to war?”

The Undead Queen leaned forward in her throne. “Because he gives us the freedom to explore our own desires. If a treaty can be signed before the war begins, a lot of lives can be saved. He has ever wanted to save lives, and not just the lives of the reborn. All lives.”

“But he still builds an army.”

“To protect us. If he senses that we are in danger, he won’t wait as long as he did last time.”

The emissary growled in frustration. “So King Terrence is raising an army, we already have an army, how can I possibly get to the Kingdom of Twyl and return before those armies go to war?”

“It will take King Terrence at least a month to gather his forces and make his plans. That’s how long you have to get there and back.”

“My queen, it’s not possible. No one could make the trip there and back in that time.”

“You’re resourceful, and there are other forces at work here. You can only do the best you can.”

“What forces?”

“I do not know, but I have been assured they are out there. Just try as best you can.”

“I will leave now then.”

“Your route?”

“South through Loralei, then west into Final Hope. I’ll get go to the Fellowship from there and cross over to the divide. I should be just south of Andara. I’ll try to get a ship from there to one of the ports on the south of Twyl. Then ride north around the Horn to Rish. I should get started.”

“I know you have your reasons for wanting this alliance, and you know I have mine as well, but this is about more than just our personal attachments. This may be the most important event since the Undead King appeared. But you already know all this. Travel well, my friend.”

“Thank you, my queen.”

The Emissary rose and broken into a dead run, slowing only slightly to pass through a gap in the throne room wall. The Undead Queen leaned back in the chair, tried to adjust it again and managed to lower it significantly, which brought it too low. She cursed.

“I’m going to have a real throne one day. I don’t care what the Undead King says, this is ridiculous.”

A large spider chose that moment to crawl over the back of the chair and onto her shoulder.

“You have something you wish to add?”

“We have guests, your majesty.”

“Guests?”

“Humans from Earth, compliments of the Undead King.”

The Undead Queen looked thoughtful.

“Instructions?”

“These humans are to be protected at all costs. Let them travel freely, and make sure no harm comes to them.”

“Interesting. I wonder who they are?”

“One of them is a Priestess of Sylinar, the other is Danny.”

“Danny is coming here?”

“Yes, your highness.”

She glared at the spider. “If you don’t stop calling me that, I’m going to crush you.”

“No, you aren’t.”

The Undead Queen sighed. “No, I’m not. Human queens don’t seem to have this problem.”

“Because humans are slaves,” said the spider. “It is in their nature to obey.”

“We’ve had this conversation before. When I was a human, I was free.”

“Were you?”

“Just go.”

“Yes, you’re highness.” The spider chuckled and backed away over the top of the chair, and then out of sight.