Chapter 3.23 — A New Way Forward

There are times in life when two people share a moment so deeply personal, it forms a bond between them that lasts forever. That’s how it had been for Queen Treya and me. For though I am reborn and she is human, I was there for her during one of the darkest periods of her life.

Back then, I’d have done anything, paid any price, to ease her suffering. That I couldn’t, hurt me, though of course, my pain was nothing to hers. I had cared for her during the months leading up to the stillbirth and then sat with her afterward, until she sent me away to bury the body of her son. When I left, I had not realized that the child still clung to the barest spark of life, but I had been a healer for too long to assume that apparent death was actual death. I placed a few drops of healing potion into his tiny mouth. That was all it took.

I may have saved his life, but I had not restored his health. And for all the years since, I asked myself the same question over and over again—had I done the right thing? Should Danny have died that day?

I don’t suppose I shall ever know.

                                                                                                       Excerpt from the Journal of the Emissary

Ninth of Striving 1142, Late Morning

Treya guided her horse forward, until she was beside Bess, and turned her head to study the reborn. She looked like she might have been in her early to mid-twenties, but Bess had told her that she was over a hundred years old. What she must have seen in her life—what she must have done. And she’d come to Rish, a human city, to help battle a rash of miscarriages and stillbirths. How could we have misjudged the reborn so badly? I should have questioned the war. I should have done something. How many men lost their lives in the Undead War? How many reborn?

Bess returned the queen’s gaze, but didn’t speak, perhaps seeing the distant look in her eyes. But Treya was here for a reason.

“Something’s been bothering me,” said Treya.

“Me too.”

“You named my son Daniel. That was the name I’d chosen for him. A name I’d shared with no one, even though you were there when it happened. That can’t possibly be a coincidence.”

Bess nodded. “You spoke his name. Breathed it really, like a prayer. No human would have heard you, but reborn have much better hearing than humans. I thought the least I could do was give Danny the name you had picked for him.”

Treya sat in the saddle, stunned. She had been so sure no one else knew. But if anyone had to, Bess would have been her choice. She had been her confidant during that pregnancy. It somehow seemed right that she should know.

“Thank you,” said Treya. “Thank you… for everything.” She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. “You said something was bothering you too.”

Bess smiled sadly, Treya thought. “Yes. Something clearly happened to you before I arrived in Rish. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but most humans don’t continue to glow indefinitely after they’ve leveled. And reborn can always sense humans, Treya, but you don’t read as human to me. What are you?”

Treya sighed. “I had planned to tell you. Everyone else in the party knows now, so I thought it better if you did too. When Gallen tried to assassinate me, the sibling gods got together to level me. All of them. I know that’s not something you hear every day. While I was filled with divine energy, on the verge of death, I tethered them.”

Bess sputtered. “You did what?”

“I tethered them.”

“Of course you did. So what does that mean?”

“They say I’m the sixth sibling god, Bess. The goddess of resilience.”

Bess started laughing.

“Find this funny, do you?”

Bess put a hand on her shoulder. “You know, if anyone else told me this, I’d not have believed them. Truly. But somehow, it just seems appropriate for you. Are you saying everyone knows?”

“Yes.”

“Gallen too.”

“Bess, he’s my first worshiper. I tethered him as well.”

Bess shook her head. “Tethered him? Treya, he’s reborn.”

“So?”

“You can’t tether reborn. Reborn lose their tethers at the moment of death. They’re connected instead to the Plains of Xarinos and the Undead King.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“It’s true. We keep the changes made to our souls—our classes, levels and skills. But the connection to our gods? Those are gone. For some of us, it’s the hardest part of being reborn.”

Treya blinked. “Do you miss it?”

“Of course I do. I’m the same person, Trey. I grew up believing in the importance of that connection. Lived my whole life trying to be worthy of it. Do you think I lost that attachment just because I happened to die? Of course I miss it. Many of us miss it. But I’ve never heard of a reborn being tethered.”

“I mean it’s obviously possible.”

“What about his connection to Xarinos, is it still there?”

“I don’t think so, Bess. I think I blocked it with my tether.”

“What does Gallen have to say about that?”

Treya thought about it. “I don’t know, honestly. We haven’t spoken about it.”

“But if you’re his goddess, can’t you just…I don’t know, read his mind?”

“I’m a godling, Bess, not a full god at this point. There’s a lot I don’t know how to do yet.”

“Have you tried?”

Treya looked surprised. “Not really, no.”

“You really should.”

“It feels intrusive.”

“Treya, let me ask you a question. If Sheba wanted to read your mind, would you object?”

Treya chuckled. “I guess I have a lot to learn.”

“And you will. That much, I truly believe. The goddess of resilience—it fits, you know.”

“Does it?”

Bess laughed and shook her head. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Hopefully guide me to Xarinos. After all, we have a treaty to negotiate.”

Suddenly, Gallen was riding beside them on Treya’s left. “You summoned me, my Queen.”

Had she? She had wanted to talk to him, and now he was here. A mere thought had become a reality.

“I just told Bess about what happened. She knows, Gallen.”

Gallen looked stunned. “My goddess, if Bess knows, the Undead King knows.”

Bess shook her head. “The Undead Queen knows. She’s been able to block a few of us from the Undead King. We serve her, not him.”

Gallen looked from Treya to Bess. “I didn’t know she had that kind of power.”

“The Undead King gave it to her, out of love. He wanted to marry someone an equal, or as close to an equal as he could get, though I don’t think even he had the power to accomplish it. And now they’re separated, Gallen. The Undead Queen opposes this war, and it cost her her marriage.”

Treya was trying to catch up. “Wait…the Undead King and Queen are actually married?”

“Not in the human sense perhaps, but they were together as a couple, if that makes sense,” said Bess.

“Gallen, do you miss being connected to the Undead King?”

Gallen started to speak but stopped. When he spoke, his voice was rock solid. “No. In a lot of ways it’s a relief. My loyalties all along have been to the high king and you, my goddess. When the gods declared war on my people, it felt like a betrayal, and you know how King Terrence feels about us. But you, you’re willing to fight for peace. You’re riding into Xarinos. Do you understand how insane that is?”

“More insane than Dahr entering Eric’s transition, or being tethered by a being called George, or Dahr summoning a were-owl familiar because he was worried he wasn’t helping out enough?” Treya laughed. “We’ve left sane behind a long time ago. What happened with Jericho was unthinkable. Me combining two souls to repair Lord Ormund? Never been done before. Even Eric’s class…who ever heard of a tank? Bess has been to another world where the Undead King apparently resides, and I’m traveling to Xarinos to meet with the Undead Queen because she was smart enough or perceptive enough to send Bess. We’ve had months of this. I think you’d be used to it by now.”

“Apologies, goddess, but I don’t travel in the same circles you do. My world hadn’t changed that much, well…until the Undead King asked me to assassinate you.”

“Why did you agree to that if you were loyal to me?”

“Because the Undead King said that if you lived, we might lose the war. Cease to exist as a race. I could be responsible for a lot of things, my goddess, but that was not one of them.”

“The situation hasn’t changed, though.”

“It has. You’re not supporting that war anymore. That means betting on you means betting on hope. That’s a much better result for me, whether you succeed or not. I can live with that.”

“I see.”

Bess had turned away and was looking ahead. “You realize this changes everything, Treya.”

“What do you mean?”

“As reborn, we really have few options. We’re cut off from our god, we’re connected to the Undead King and we’re shunned by humanity. We can stay in Xarinos, or we can try to live as humans and hope no one finds us out. Not a lot of choices there, and many don’t see a choice at all. But none of us had any idea that they could be retethered by a god. I don’t think it ever occurred to any of us. Why would it? We’d been cast aside. Most of us saw the Undead King’s presence in us as a tether. Technically it’s not, but being connected to him meant not being alone in the world.”

Mitra spoke in Treya’s head. Treya sat up straight in her saddle. Hearing from Sheba was one thing. She was used to that, but she was tethered to all the sibling gods now. This felt more like an intrusion.

The Undead King’s link to the reborn is through Xarinos itself; it is not a direct connection. But as far as I know, no god has attempted to tether a reborn, because it made no sense to try. Xarinos is a mystery to us. Once a human is reborn, from our point of view, they are corrupted. Tethering them came with a risk. It would link us to a being already linked to the Undead King. It would never occur to us to try to claim someone back from Xarinos. I think we always assumed that the Undead King was their new patron. I know I did.

“Oh,” said Treya. “Mitra informs me that gods don’t tether reborn because they see the Undead King as their new patron. It would be an intrusion, like Mitra stealing a worshiper from Iorana. It’s just not done.”

“That makes sense,” said Bess. “But if we were given that option, I think some of us would take it. And if that was something you could offer as part of the treaty negotiations, that might be in everyone’s best interest.”

Treya looked stunned. “Why would the Undead Queen want to lose reborn to the gods?”

“Because she hasn’t been reborn for all that long, and she remembers. Hell, she might even take that deal herself. She’s not Nylus, Treya. She’s something else completely.”

Treya blew out a breath. “I think I need to have a conversation with…my siblings. You can’t imagine how hard it was to say that.”

You’ll get used to it, laughed Sheba.

Or you won’t, said Sarith.

Treya’s mouth tightened into a frown. “This was hard enough with one of you, you know.”

Then perhaps, said Iorana, though not unkindly, in the future, you’ll refrain from tethering gods.

 

Sixth of Striving 1142, Morning (Three days ago)

Dreek beat the giant rat relatively quickly. The hardest bit had been hitting a moving target. It had never been a danger to him. He felt a bit offended that the dungeon had seen fit to match him up with a rat rather than offering him something with a bit more bite. The one thing he was sure about was that it hadn’t been a random encounter. Dreek had little doubt that the dungeon had been matching predator and prey. Everyone had the skills necessary to beat what they’d been put against, in a way that felt a lot more like design than luck.

Dreek and Garne were the same level, but hadn’t faced similar challenges. Was that because he was a Scout but Garne was a Warrior? Neither of the other two opponents would have been beyond him. He could have easily faced the rhythlet—he wouldn’t have even broken a sweat, had he been able to sweat. What was up with sweating anyway? That whole thing seemed a bit random to him.

He watched as both Maynor and Garne engaged their targets, and immediately assumed that Garne should be his first priority. Maynor, after all, was a much higher level and could fend for himself.

Dreek had killed his rat so fast that Garne had barely engaged the rhythlet, but Dreek didn’t hurry to him. He’d seen the big man fight before and, for the first time, really started to understand him. Garne was socially awkward, because social situations weren’t his natural medium—fighting was. And the rhythlet fight was exactly the same. Watching Garne fight was like watching a song instead of listening to it. Every beat in place. There was a rhythm to it. A melody. It was a form of magic that Dreek had not thought Garne possessed. And he wasn’t even Tier 2 yet. Imagine what he’d be when he was.

The creature moved quickly, too quickly. Its snout was thin, long and filled with so many teeth, whoever had designed it must have gotten them on sale. Terrifying to look at. The eyes, four of them, were on the front and sides of its head, providing it amazing peripheral vision. And Garne was just a man with a sword, a suit of worn leather armor and a love of fighting.

Dreek took a moment to make sure Maynor was okay, and saw him circling the creature, testing it, being cautious. Exactly how you’d expect a high-level Warrior to fight something like that, whatever it was. But Garne? His instincts ran different. He wasn’t testing the beast, he was challenging it, and he was good enough to get away with it.

Garne didn’t dance around the creature to test it. He attacked directly, because that was who he was. His sword swung again and again, perfectly, tirelessly. Dreek should have closed the distance, but for a moment, he was spellbound. Garne clearly had the creature under control, even though it would have been a challenge for most Warriors Garne’s level.

Dreek shook himself, frustrated with his own lack of initiative.

“Rat’s dead,” said Dreek just loud enough to carry. “On my way, Garne.”

“Help Maynor, I got this.”

“No!” shouted Maynor. “Whatever you do stay away from me. I mean it.”

“I can phase,” said Dreek. “I’m coming.”

“Damn it!”

Dreek ran toward Maynor, now that he was certain Garne would be okay. But Maynor didn’t have a moment to turn to look at him, instead he made certain Dreek understood his instructions.

“Dreek, listen to me. I need you to stay back. Please.”

Dreek slowed, but only briefly. Then he watched as Maynor withdrew what was left of his sword from the creature. How the hell did you fight something like that?

He looked around and saw Maynor’s pack on the ground. He’d been aware it was magic since they’d set out, most likely carrying spells that lightened the load and increased the inside storage. He moved toward the pack instead of the man. Maybe Maynor had another weapon Dreek could get for him.

As he moved, he kept half an eye on Maynor, whose battle was purely defensive now. What the hell was that thing?

Dreek reached Maynor’s pack and opened it. Completely dark inside. It looked empty. Of course… top of the line. He was Captain of the Guard, what would you expect? You had to know what you were pulling out to pull it out. Dreek shrugged, reached in and felt around. Nothing.

“I need a weapon,” he said.

He tried again. Nothing.

Frustrating. Maynor had forbidden him from helping, had lost his weapon, and Dreek couldn’t even help other than throwing him one of his daggers or his own sword. Probably not a great help. Maybe Maynor’s pack was sentient, which was really expensive, but surely, it was a possibility.

“Maynor is in trouble. He’s fighting something and his weapon broke. He needs another weapon. Can you help me help him?”

For a few seconds, nothing happened—then the pack spoke in his mind.

Do you know his opponent?

Dreek froze. It worked! The pack was sentient. Insane.

“No, I’ve never seen it before, but it looks sort of like a crab with cracks in it.”

The pack drew in a breath, which of course made no sense, since sentient doesn’t mean alive.

Is there a glow coming from inside of it?

“Yes.”

It’s a shatterwraith. I need you to reach inside me and pull out a war hammer. I’ll give you what he needs.

Dreek reached inside and closed his hands around something solid. Heavy. He pulled it out. It kept coming. When he finally had all of it, he turned it horizontally, as he was too short to hold it the way it was meant to be held, and moved toward Maynor as fast as he could carrying something that heavy. Maynor must be a beast.

Maynor was still circling the creature, but now struck for the head when he could get close enough, quick to hurry away. Dreek even saw him score a hit with his truncated blade, though it would take forever to kill a creature that way. Even Maynor couldn’t continue for that long without exhausting himself.

As he drew closer, Dreek timed his approach so that when Maynor and the creature turned again, he’d be waiting. All he needed to do was take a couple of steps forward. This way, he was obeying Maynor by not getting involved, while at the same time helping in the only way he knew how.

Maynor noticed him but didn’t pay him much mind.

“I brought you your hammer.”

“My hammer?”

“I spoke to your pack.”

Maynor laughed as the creature whirled to face him. Maynor rolled toward Dreek. “Give it here and run. I mean it. Get Garne and get as far from here as you can.”

Dreek held out the hammer with both hands like an offering. Maynor grabbed it in his left in passing, as if it didn’t weigh anything at all. Then Dreek did as was asked, because Maynor was more knowledgeable than he was, and clearly knew something he didn’t. He sped toward Garne, who was just finishing off the rhythlet.

“With me!” yelled Dreek. He didn’t normally yell, but it seemed the kind of thing Garne would pay attention to.

“We should help Maynor.”

“We should definitely not help Maynor.”

“But…”

“Trust me, Garne. If you’ve never trusted me before, trust me now.”

“Okay.”

Garne followed at a lope, putting distance between themselves and the big man. Dreek just hoped whatever came next, Maynor could handle it.

*

Hammer in hand, Maynor went to work on the shatterwraith. This was a better weapon for the job than his sword had been. He took full swings, crushing the creature’s side. He made sure each impact landed squarely in the center of a plate—he’d learned his lesson. He swung again and again, all the time circling, avoiding the shatterwraith’s attacks entirely.

A couple of times the creature tried to surprise him by swinging back around the other way, or retreating a few steps, but Maynor read it like a book, staying perfectly aligned with its movement, always staying beside it or close enough to roll into position.

Then, when he reckoned he’d weakened the carapace enough, he waited for the opportunity for one final mighty swing. When it came, he slammed the hammer into the creature’s cracked body, with a crash that would have made a solid peal of thunder jealous. The plate shattered completely and fell into the shatterwraith. A moment later, the creature exploded.

Maynor had already used his leap skill, but the explosion caught up with him even as he moved away from it. What happened next moved so quickly, Maynor could barely follow it in real time, even at his level. Because the walls in the room were still invisible to him, he ended up face-planting into solid stone, a mere twenty feet from where he’d leapt, an impact that would have killed a lower level man. He struck so hard, he bounced off the wall and landed on what he saw as the grass, but felt more like solid rock, conscious but wishing he weren’t, body racked in pain, not just from the explosion, but from the impact. He was certain he’d broken something, perhaps a lot of somethings.

He hoped Dreek and Garne had gotten far enough away to avoid damage but couldn’t bring himself to push himself up to find out. His breathing came in rasps that didn’t at all reassure him. What did reassure him was that a moment later, Garne’s booming voice reached him.

“Maynor, are you okay?”

Maynor didn’t answer. It was maybe the stupidest question he’d ever heard. Do I look okay?

Dreek was suddenly beside him, though he could sense him rather than see him, as his eyes were still closed.

“Maynor?”

“I’m fine. Just give me a few moments.”

Dreek shook his head. “Warriors… you’re all the same. You’re not fine, Maynor. Take some healing potion.”

Maynor started to growl, ended up coughing instead. Garne knelt beside him and held him still, so he didn’t damage himself further while coughing.

“You’re in rough shape, my friend. Dreek is right, you need a bit of healing potion. Just a drop.”

Maynor sighed. “Fine. Don’t waste too much, we don’t know what else we might meet in here.”

Garne took off his pack, opened it, pulled out his healing potion and put it to Maynor’s mouth. Maynor didn’t drink, just opened his mouth, and allowed Garne to pour. Garne started with a few drops then tipped it more and a full swallow poured out.

Maynor choked a bit, but got it down. “I said a drop.”

“It’s a good thing I was pouring then,” chuckled Garne.

Maynor growled again, more effectively this time. “When are you going to learn to listen to me?”

“I’d wager that would be never,” said Dreek. “Garne does what Garne does. It’s axiomatic. We keep him around anyway.”

Maynor winced, finally opened his eyes and pushed himself up. “Well, thank you. I still hurt, but that’s enough for now. Let my high-level healing work on this for a while.”

Maynor slowly climbed to his feet and went in search of his pack. Garne and Dreek followed.

“What was that thing?”

“It’s called a shatterwraith. The only thing more dangerous than its attacks is killing it.”

“I told you,” said Dreek. “I could phase. It couldn’t have hurt me.”

“The inside of that thing was pure magic. You saw what it did to my sword. It’s not just a physical explosion. It would have even touched you in the Other Realm.”

“Ah,” said Dreek. “And this is why I should listen to you.”

“At least assume I know more than you do about certain things. Just be glad this one was a juvenile.”

Garne looked stunned. “A juvenile! Sheba help me.”

“Not really her style,” said Maynor. “We’re meant to fight our own battles.”

Garne stared at him astonished. “It’s an expression… not meant to be taken literally. Don’t rich people who live in palaces know what a figure of speech is?”

Maynor smiled. “We do. We just usually don’t involve the gods in them.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Garne. “When I was in school, studying to be a fighter, they didn’t teach that.”

Dreek stopped. “You went to school to be a fighter?”

“No,” said Maynor and Garne at the same time.

Dreek shook his head. “I am so done with the both of you.”

Maynor and Garne looked at each other and grinned.

“I’d say that’s a job well done,” said Garne.

*

Merck had taken a single step into the room and was about to take another, when he realized there was nowhere to step. He was standing on a pillar. If someone else followed him in, there’d barely be room for both of them.

Around him was a thick fog that obscured vision. He could see maybe ten feet in any direction. Already standing on the edge, he looked down. More fog, about ten feet below, obscuring how far the drop to the bottom was, assuming there was a bottom. He couldn’t be sure of anything in this place.

It was as if he were alone in the universe on a pillar surrounded by nothingness. There was no sound, except that of his own breathing. He forced himself to calm down. Inhale…count…exhale…count. Repeat. Slow and steady. Don’t just react, think. Panicking was how people died.

He stayed as close to the edge as he could and waited for Ressssen to appear. For a few moments nothing happened. Then, he heard Ressssen’s voice—from behind him. He was so startled he almost lost his balance, because a few moments ago, there had been no behind him.

He turned and saw her standing on a pillar just like his. The fog between them had cleared, but the rest of the chamber was still obscured. He had no idea how far the drop was, how large the room was, or what else might be in it.

“Merck, are you okay? Get away from the edge.”

Merck took a step toward the center of the pillar. He was about to speak, when more fog cleared, to his right this time, and Borin appeared, standing against one of the walls. That the room had boundaries reassured him, even though he could only see the small area of wall where Borin stood. At first, it looked like the salad was floating on air, but Merck squinted and saw he stood on a small protrusion jutting from the wall.

“Well, this is cozy,” said Merck, loud enough for all to hear.

“We teleported,” said Borin.

Merck rolled his eyes. Of course they had, how else did you explain…

“I’m not sure we did,” said Ressssen. “At least not far. I think this might be the same room, and we’re looking at an illusion.”

Merck blinked. Right, an illusion. “Why do you think that?”

“Because illusions have a certain feel to them, and it’s a lot cheaper to create an illusion of where we are than to actually build it. People who build dungeons tend to be efficient.”

Merck rolled his eyes, and thought about the stories they’d swapped when they’d been reunited. Ressssen was right. Each of the rooms seemed extraordinarily efficient. Levers and pressure plates. Trap plates. Blade traps. A maze with monsters in it that changed as those monsters died.

“So are you saying there’s a floor, and we just can’t see it?”

“Maybe. Also, you won’t feel it because your mind won’t accept that it’s there. If this is an illusion, the only way to really test it is to take a leap of faith. Close your eyes and walk off the pedestal.”

Merck blinked. He looked down. All he had to do was close his eyes. Insanity. Who in the world would be stupid enough to do something like that?

“I’ll do it,” shouted Borin.

“You’ll do no such thing,” said Ressssen. “It wasn’t a suggestion. Before we attempt that, everyone should search their areas and see if they find anything. Borin, you’ve used magic. See if you can reach out with your arcane senses.”

“I’m not sure how to do that.”

“Just close your eyes and extend your mind. It’s like opening up and mentally pushing forward. Picture your consciousness expanding.”

“I’ll try.”

Merck tried it too. He felt like an idiot, but he tried, because Ressssen knew a lot more about this stuff than he did, and he had to learn. Half of him thought she was putting him on, then he reconsidered. Garne would have done something like that, not Ressssen. Not in this situation especially.

“Nothing, Ressssen.”

“Keep trying. It might take a bit of practice.”

“Okay.”

Ressssen stared at Borin expectantly, as if she thought this strange course of action might bear fruit. She didn’t spare a glance toward Merck. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He used Detect Suite, and realized there was magic, faint though it was, coming from Borin’s direction. Ressssen must have already picked up on it, which is why she was focused on the salad.

“I think I might sense something,” said Borin excitedly.

“Focus it. Keep it in your mind.”

“I’m trying.”

“Good. Now I want you to imagine that you’re feeding it energy. Project a beam of some kind from the center of your forehead to whatever it is you sense. Let it feed on your magic.”

Merck sat down cross-legged in the center of his pillar. If this was going to take long, he might as well get comfortable. Ressssen must have turned toward him, but he didn’t notice, absorbed as he was in watching Borin.

“Merck, stand up. You need to be ready to move.”

“Oh, right.” Merck stood up. “Sorry, rookie mistake.”

Ressssen chuckled. “You’re a rookie, so you’re allowed those mistakes. Just try not to let them kill you.”

Merck thought that was pretty good advice, not that he needed it. Trying not to die was wired into his very nature. Merck had always put his survival before the welfare of others. That was normal, right? I mean, it’s what everyone did.

No, he realized. Maynor would sacrifice himself for the group. He knew that. What was wrong with these people?

He was so lost in thought, he almost didn’t notice the fog beginning to thin all around the room. In every direction, columns like the one he was standing on began to appear. And beyond that were more columns. The room was gigantic. He wasn’t sure what was more unlikely, this being real or being an illusion. Both seemed beyond the realm of possibility.

“What the hell is happening?”

“Be ready for anything,” said Ressssen.

Merck wanted to ask for specific examples, but before he could get the words out, the fog below began to clear as well, and when it had, he could see the floor about fifty feet below, maybe a bit more, maybe a bit less.

He looked down, trying to see if he could see anything that might help. It took a while, because there was a lot of floor. Then a grinding sound caught his attention. It was coming from the direction opposite Borin. He walked to that side of the column, just a couple of steps really. When he looked over the edge, he saw people walking between the columns—three of them.

They looked suspiciously like Maynor, Garne and Dreek.

“Hey!” he called out.

None of them looked up. They didn’t seem to hear. Ressssen had either found them herself or followed his gaze when he shouted, because he saw she was watching them too. She took out her scepter and shot blue balls of light at the ground in front of them, but they faded while still well above their heads. Out of range.

Finally, more grinding sounds, like the first, but from every direction. Merck looked around, wondering what else could possibly happen next. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

The air was filled with howls, growls, snarls and clicks as dozens of creatures entered the room on the ground. He saw Maynor stiffen, then order the others to stop.

Everyone froze. The casters watched helpless as the martials, far below them, prepared for the teams’ greatest Soulsplit challenge yet.