I have a penchant for jumping off walls tonight, I guess. I’ve done it three times now without really thinking about it.

As I land, I glance back at the gatehouse behind me, my eyebrows rising a little when I see nothing but carnage. Blood and guts strewn all over the walls and the gate itself, Ecean legionnaires lying in pieces on the ground around their battering ram. But whatever did this to them is gone with the fog that concealed it. I imagine that owl had something to do with it, but I don’t have time to hang around and ponder such things.

I have to find General Metellus Albinus, and finish him before he can get away.

But I can’t just charge through the ranks of the Eceans, no matter how badly I’d like to. Instead I break out into a run toward the harbor, to meet up with our reinforcements and cut off whatever avenue of retreat is left to them. Metellus should feel lucky he survived our first meeting. I’m going to make sure he doesn’t this time. It’s time to let his dear Empress know the price of fucking with Arcadia.

I’m lucky. The legionnaires fled from the area around the gatehouse, in fear of that fog and the horrors it concealed. They gave me as clear of a path as I could hope for, though I’m sure to encounter resistance when I get farther from the keep. The harbor is on the south end of the town, just beyond the outer curtain wall, but it isn’t the gate the Eceans breached earlier in the battle. If my luck holds, this part of the town won’t be as overrun with legionnaires as the rest of it.

The gate is open when I get there, and the Norgardians are fighting their way forward against a few troops of Eceans who look like they assembled in haste to prevent them from going any farther. They aren’t expecting me to fall upon them from the rear, and I learn it’s much easier to break their formation apart when their shields all face in the wrong direction. After a few minutes of tense fighting, the Eceans fall back to cut their losses, and I find myself face to face with a cohort of Norgardian warriors all looking at me, bewildered.

I suppose I should introduce myself.

Their apparent leader is a man about my height, with long blonde hair and a beard to match. He’s about as tall as I am, and he’s wearing a fur cloak over his chainmail shirt, a wickedly curved axe in either hand. He looks me up and down, says something in his language, but all I can do is shrug at him.

“I’m Rekka,” I say. “I’m here with Arcadia.”

Apparently he’s been told that name, because his eyes widen with recognition, and he nods gravely. He turns and says something to his warriors, and whatever it is, it rouses them into a cheer as they all hold their weapons high. I join in, because, well why not.

The man with the axes gestures down the street at another troop of Eceans advancing toward us, and we charge together. I like the way they fight. Their ferocity. The joy they take in battle. If only I’d been born a generation ago, I could have lived in a time where it wouldn’t be so unusual for K’zar and Norgardians to fight side by side. Before my people changed their allegiances. But on second thought, if that were the case I would never have met Arcadia.

At some point during the street-to-street skirmishes, I glance backward to see a tide of warriors in mail shirts flooding out of the harbor gate behind us. My new comrades and I are the vanguard of an all out assault on the Eceans, a thought that puts a savage grin on my face as we fight on. And on. And on.

I don’t tire easily, and apparently neither do they. Reclaiming the town takes time, sweat and steel. But for every drop of Norgardian blood soaking the muddy streets of Kellheim, the Eceans pay with gallons. At least that’s what it feels like. Every inch of me is alive, fire in my veins, lightning in my arm, thunder in the head of my hammer. If I was having fun before, I’m in warrior heaven now. It’s almost better than sex. Almost.

We’ve fought about half way back to where I started. I can see the gate the Eceans originally breached in the distance. They’re guarding it vigorously, their formation holding strong against the horde of Norgardians charging at them from every side. It looks as if they’ve begun to call their retreat, and my heart momentarily sinks in disappointment. But just for a moment. Because I see him.

General Metellus Albinus stands at the center of a cluster of white-cloaked legionnaires, calling out orders as he and his men inch backward toward the gatehouse. He’s behind several ranks of men, there’s no way I could reach him without enduring a thousand stabs and slashes, but I think about charging straight into it anyway. I can’t let this chance slip away. I have to get him now. Tonight.

Fuck it. I’m going for it.

Arcadia would be furious if she could see what I’m doing. I’d better make sure I survive this. Or, failing in that, I take this fool Metellus down with me. It may be happenstance that we crossed paths again, or maybe not. Either way, if he makes it out of here alive he’ll chase us all the way to the end of the world. Better to end it now.

I’m sprinting toward the Ecean line as fast as my legs will get me there, my new comrades calling after me in alarmed confusion. In the mean time my hammer is a wheel of death, slamming aside any Ecean foolish enough to try and cross my path. I’m almost to the gatehouse when their numbers grow too dense to simply bull rush my way through. There’s no other option but to fight, hard, earning every inch of ground with the might of my arm.

There’s that tawny owl again. I see it out of the corner of my eye, flapping out its wings to alight upon the peak of a nearby roof. It’s watching me. But I can’t pay it any mind, I’m pressing forward through a wall of shields and a storm of blades at the moment. I shove aside an Ecean’s shield, slam my hammer down onto his helmet. Another tries to step in and I shoulder him back, trip him with the haft of my weapon. I feel the bite of a sword on my side, but it doesn’t penetrate my mail shirt. I answer with a side kick that sends the man flying.

Then I hear the call of the owl, feel that strange wave of energy on the air again. Whatever is about to happen, I get the feeling I’m going to be right in the middle of it this time.

A blanket of fog falls over me. I can barely see my own hand. My enemies are similarly afflicted, I can tell by the way they call out to each other in sudden alarm. They forget all about me, stumble into each other, attempt to regain their proper formation. But there are other shapes moving around in the fog as well, larger ones. Huge, bestial things, though I can’t make out their exact forms. Some walk on four legs, some on two. A man beside me, who I didn’t even know was there a moment ago, screams in terror as something rips him off his feet.

An icy hand of fear brushes over the back of my neck, leaving goosebumps. I hope these monsters can tell friend from foe. I advance anyway, I have to. More screams come from all around, followed by deafening roars and the sounds of claws rending armor and flesh. One step at a time. Keep going forward.

I bump into an Ecean whose back was turned, and he wheels around to face me. But before he can even recognize the enemy in front of him, a clawed hand seizes his shoulder. Then a massive head emerges from the fog behind him. The head of a white wolf, with long, curved horns like a ram’s. It opens its jaws wide and bites down across the Ecean’s body, and when the poor soul opens his mouth to let out a gurgling scream, blood pours out along with it.

I should be frozen in terror, but the scene is so surreal I barely feel a thing. I find myself staring up at this monster before me, fresh blood dripping from its jaws as it drops the corpse of the Ecean at his feet, and stands to its full, towering height. Its eyes are yellow, slitted like a snake’s, and they’re fixed on me for an interminable moment.

Then it steps aside.

There’s no reason to turn down an invitation like that, especially since I don’t know if this thing is going to change his mind and try to eat me. So I walk by it, gripping the haft of my hammer a little tighter as I pass. I can tell that I’m inside the gatehouse now, walking slowly through the tunnel, but I still can’t see very far in front of me.

And then I see him.

General Metellus Albinus stands alone in the tunnel, facing me, sword drawn and shield at the ready. But I see fear in his beady, deep set eyes. Perhaps he recognizes me, but even if he does, he didn’t react to me this way the last time we met. Judging by the look on his face, he’s mustering all of his discipline to face me, to hold his ground. Strange.

“Good to see you again, General,” I say.

My voice sounds deeper, more guttural than usual.

Metellus’s eyes tighten as he steels himself. “What are you,” he says.

“You don’t recognize me?” I ask, as I calmly pace forward, holding the long handle of my hammer loosely at my side.

He steps forward and thrusts with his sword, and I turn the blow aside with the haft of my hammer. My answer is a punch to his shield that sends him staggering backward.

“I’m the one who sent you for a swim, back in Ecea,” I add. “When you tried to kidnap my woman.”

His eyes widen. I guess he didn’t recognize me after all. He slashes, and I block and strike back with my hammer and he backpedals again, grunting as his shield cracks straight down the middle. The last time I fought this man, he didn’t give one inch of ground. Now I’m smacking him about like he were a fresh recruit. Quite the change.

Metellus discards his shield, letting it clatter against the stone floor of the tunnel. He places both hands on the handle of his sword, keeping its point trained on me. I see resolve in his eyes.

“You won’t survive this,” he says. “The Empress will avenge Arcadius. You and all the heathens who corrupted him will be punished.”

He steps forward, leading with a downward stroke of his sword, and I reach out and catch it by the blade with my free hand. I should be surprised to see that it’s larger than it should be. And that it’s covered in short, golden fur. And that my fingers end in thick, dark talons.

I should be surprised, but I’m not.

A line of blood flows from the gap between my finger and thumb. It doesn’t hurt much at all. I squeeze the blade harder, yank it right out of Metellus’s hands, and as it rings against the stone I swipe across his face with my claw, rending his helmet and the face beneath it.

Then I bring my hammer down on his chest with killing speed, and it crumples his breastplate, pounds him flat against the ground. He lets out a blood-choked groan as I step over him, reach down to grip the collar of his cloak and haul him up off the ground to face me.

A growl comes forth from the depths of my throat, as I look on his bleeding face. He stares up at me in a way that reminds me of Irvin, when we caught him. The look of a man who knows he’s finished. But there’s no one to save this man tonight.

“Her name is Arcadia, and you can’t have her.”

I throw him down again, slam my hammer on his ruined face, and General Metellus Albinus is no more.

Something inside me wants to fall upon him, tear open his armor, sink my jaws into his flesh, but I shake my head a little and the urge seems to fade. The fog appears to be fading as well, because when I look out of the gatehouse onto the battlefield, I see what’s left of the Ecean forces making a hasty retreat in the distance. I look down at my hand, and it’s recognizably human again.

Did I imagine all that? No. I still have a deep cut across my palm. The General still lies at my feet. I look behind me, back into the town of Kellheim, and I see Ranga’s warriors, along with our saviors from Grofberg, mopping up the last of the Eceans left standing. The tawny owl hasn’t left it’s perch on that roof. I turn to come back to them, and when they see me emerge from the gatehouse they raise their weapons and let out a triumphant cry.

I join them. And I swear I’m still roaring like a lioness.