A red-scaled dragon swooped over the city of Ambiellar, drawing gasps and cries of alarm from the guards stationed on the city walls. They’d gotten used to seeing Iscaragraithe in the sky, but a living dragon was another thing entirely. One overly-twitchy fellow let loose an arrow into the sky; a useless gesture, because even if it could hit the dragon in flight, it would only have bounced off her scales.

“I’ll have him flogged,” said Illiur, Legate of the First Legion, and Regent of the High Empire, watching from the palace garden. “They were forewarned about the dracken. There is no excuse.”

“Lightly,” said Saskia. “No stripping flesh from backs this time, please.”

The high alvari—and Illiur in particular—had a heavy hand when it came to discipline. She could probably learn a thing or two from him about how to manage an army, but some of the things she’d seen him do to his own people turned her stomach. And as for Jecham…

She shuddered inwardly. After she’d gleaned every bit of information she could from the ex-Imperator, she’d asked Illiur to dispense justice as he saw fit. Permanent isolation, or even a simple, quiet execution would have been okay in her books. What she hadn’t expected was for the guy to be paraded naked through the streets, then fed to the local equivalent of lions.

Saskia was beginning to have second thoughts about having appointed Illiur regent. He’d been her second choice, after Velandir turned down the job. She hadn’t wanted to rock the boat beyond what was strictly necessary to keep her people safe, and she had no desire to take on the full responsibility of an Imperator. So having a regent handle the day-to-day affairs of northern Lumium had seemed like the wisest course. Illiur was well-respected by the people, if not well-loved. On paper, he was the right elf for the job.

But having worked with him for the past few weeks, she was sensing a certain something about him that put her on edge. She’d think on it a while longer. Sooner or later, she might have to look for a replacement.

But that was a problem for another day. Today, she was welcoming friends and allies newly arrived from the Hall of Eternity.

Nuille’s draconic form circled once, then came in to land on a wide stretch of lawn. Garrain, Ithanius and eight trolls, including Rover Dog and Vask—down from the twelve who had gone with Saskia into the Hall of Eternity—clambered off her back. With her passengers safely delivered, Nuille curled up into a dragon-sized lump, and closed her eyes.

Saskia eyed the dragon worriedly. Nuille had been flying non-stop for nearly three days, so her exhaustion was no surprise. What surprised Saskia was the fact that the druidess hadn’t even tried to transform back into her elven form—for the baby’s sake, if not her own.

Garrain leaned against the dragon’s head, running rough bark-covered fingers along the underneath of her massive snout. “You did well to carry us this far, my light,” he said. “Please, if you can summon the strength for it, come back to me. Tell me she’s alright…”

Saskia opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment Rover Dog and Queen Vask piled onto her, nearly bowling her over as they swept her up in a fierce embrace.

“Uh…I’m happy to see you too,” said Saskia awkwardly.

Rover Dog drew away, staring at the cracked, blackened arm hanging limply at Saskia’s side. “Princess hurt.”

Garrain, apparently, hadn’t told them the news.

“A magical poison attack, cooked up by Abellion and his lackey, Jecham,” she said. “It’s…contained, for now.”

That wasn’t quite true, but she didn’t want to worry him. The infection had spread another few centimetres across her shoulder in recent days. She’d been having severe migraines and other worrying symptoms as well.

When she’d interrogated Jecham, he’d told her the silver poison had been Sarthea’s creation. It was specifically designed to attack her own kind, and there was no cure. Jecham had been speaking the truth, as he saw it. Her oracle senses would have told her if he’d been lying.

Still, the ex-Imperator didn’t know everything. He hadn’t expected Ruhildi to slow the infection’s spread. Maybe Nuille’s healing magic or Garrain’s poison-resistant blood would be the key to a more permanent cure.

“You now have a second queendom,” said Queen Vask, eyeing the scores of high elves who had gathered in the plaza.

Saskia groaned. “Just a city and some of the surrounding villages. And a large stretch of land to the north. Not by design, though. It sorta just…happened.”

“Only Sashki could conquer a city by accident,” said Ruhildi.

“Hey, you were there too!” said Saskia. “Pretty sure you had at least as big a hand in this as I did.”

“Aye, but I weren’t the one who snuck into their palace, chasing a dream.”

“Enough about that,” said Saskia. “Right now, I want to know what happened with the eternals. I missed most of it.”

“They want us to stay,” said Rover Dog. “We want to leave. It escalated.”

Saskia gave another groan. “Couldn’t you have…I don’t know, talked it out?”

“We talk,” said Rover Dog. “We stomp. Stomping work better.”

“It was a glorious victory,” said Vask.

“If I recall, Nuille single-handedly defeated Ondite, Tulpa and Burinold,” said Ithanius, coming up behind them. “It was less glorious for the rest of us. And not even she stood a chance against the Primordial. He is another thing entirely.”

“Why is the Primordial so formidable?” asked Saskia. “I mean, I get that he’s old. Could’ve picked up a few skills over the millennia.”

“Primordial squishy not just old,” said Rover Dog. “Has much magic too. Plants, rocks, air, fire.”

Saskia stared at him. “You mean he’s not just an eternal? He has the magic of multiple worldseeds?” She looked at Ithanius. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

“What’s a worldseed?” said Ithanius.

Saskia smacked her palm against her forehead. “Right. You don’t know anything that’s going on outside of your little cave. I guess we have a lot of catching up to do. But first…”

Garrain was still pressed against his dragon girl, a look of quiet desperation plastered across his face, when she went to greet them.

“Is…the baby okay?” she asked, hesitantly.

“I don’t know!” hissed Garrain. “She can’t speak like this, and she won’t shift back into her alvesse form.”

Saskia released a breath. “Let me have a look at her…”

Opening up her medical interface, she stepped around the dragon, inspecting her from every angle. There was a large sack near the base of the throat. Some kind of fire-breathing organ? So Nuille could breathe fire, too? Intriguing…

Finally, she found the womb. It wasn’t quite where she was expecting it to be, but then…dragon. There was something inside there…

“Your baby is alive,” said Saskia.

Garrain sagged in relief. “Oh thank deus.”

“Abellion had nothing to do with it,” said Saskia. “Anyhow, that’s the good news. The…possibly less good news is that it—”

“She,” said Garrain. “Our nestling will be an alvesse.”

“If you say so,” said Saskia. “At this stage in her development, I can’t really tell by looking at her. But here’s the thing. Right now, your nestling isn’t quite…herself.”

“The nestling also shifted into a dracken?” guessed Garrain.

“Well…I don’t know, for sure,” said Saskia. “Again, it’s hard to say, because she’s so young, but she looks like pictures of human embryos I’ve seen. We all start off looking a bit lizard-like. But the thing is, dragons don’t have wombs. They have eggs. And what looks like an egg shell has already started to form around this embryo.”

Garrain stroked the dragon’s snout again. “If you could just change back, my light, surely our nestling would become as she was before.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Saskia. “Maybe the egg shell would dissolve, or turn back into…womby stuff. Or maybe it would remain an egg—inside the body of an alvesse, which is not designed to lay eggs. Do you want to take that chance?”

He sighed. “Perhaps not. Staying like this is a risk, but changing back may be the greater risk. We will have to think on it.”

“On the bright side, Nuille can safely change back as soon as she lays the egg—assuming she doesn’t need to be in dragon form to incubate it.”

Garrain looked at her with wide eyes. “Tulpa, the eternal, told us Nuille would be pregnant for at least three years. Eternals grow more slowly than everyone else, she said.”

“The egg could take years to hatch,” said Saskia. “But I think the laying will be much sooner.”

He looked thoughtful. “A skrike can lay an egg within a day of conception, but that egg won’t hatch for a fistful of fivedays. If the ratio is similar for drackens…” He stroked his mossy chin. “About one season.”

“If you say so,” said Saskia, who had never had a strong head for maths. “I think Nuille knows what’s best for her own baby. It’ll all work out, if you give her time.”

The dragon opened a giant slitted eye, and looked at her. Nuille’s mouth didn’t move, but Saskia could feel that she was smiling at her.

Saskia reached out and patted her. “Welcome back. Thanks so much for saving everyone. If you need anything, just…” She was about to say ‘ask.’ “…uh, scratch out words on the ground?”

Nuille rose shakily, balanced on her wings and a single hind leg, while her other leg awkwardly scratched at the grassy earth. She shuffled back so they could see it. The elven symbol was rough, but readable. It said: “Food.”

“Oh right! Of course. You must be famished. Body like that, you could literally eat a horse. I’ll go fetch one for you.”

There were no actual horses on this branch, but there were similar-looking beasts of the same approximate size. Saskia returned with one slung over her shoulder, and set it down in front of the dragon. The beast rose and tried to gallop away, until the giant maw closed around it. Three bites, and it was gone.

“Uh…another horse, coming right up,” said Saskia.

Three horses later, Nuille curled up and went back to sleep. Garrain, understandably, would be staying with her for a good long time out here.

“Ruhildi was hoping the two of you might be able to help her fix this.” Saskia pointed at her infected arm. “We’ll be waiting a while for Nuille, but in the meantime, if I could get some of your blood…”

Garrain looked at her arm, and his eyes widened, as if he was seeing it for the first time. “Quite right. It’s the least I could do, after everything you have done for us.”

He took some arlithite, then gathered his blood into a vial and handed it to her.

“One more thing,” he added as she turned to leave.

He unslung a long metal object from his back, and held it out to her, gripping it by the barrel. Immediately, she recognised what she was looking at, and she drew in a sharp breath.

“The dwarrow eternal, Burinold, used this against us,” he said. “It’s some kind of weapon.”

Saskia took the gun gingerly. Was it loaded? She checked, and found a nothing in the barrel except some scorched powdery residue. She didn’t know all that much about guns, but this appeared to be a musket, rather than a modern rifle. Muskets might be able to penetrate heavy armour, and they were potentially game-changing if used en masse, but a single one was of limited use to them. It would be slow and fiddly to load, and carrying gunpowder would be hazardous with all the fire and lightning magic that always seemed to get hurled around on the battlefield.

She found it hard to believe that Burinold could’ve designed this weapon on his own, even after thousands of years. He hadn’t struck her as a particularly curious or inventive person. The design—and possibly the weapon itself—must have originated from outside. That would make it at least as old as he was—considerably older than the Ulugmiri Empire, which she’d assumed to represent the peak of dwarven technology.

But if that were so, then why was no-one else using guns here? Maybe on this world, with its magic and trolls and dragons, they weren’t the game-changer that they had been on Earth. In China, guns and bows had coexisted for nearly a millennium. Only in Europe had they quickly rendered other weapons and heavy armour obsolete. Still, surely even slow-loading muskets would’ve found some niche in warefare.

The knowledge must have been lost when the Ulugmiri Empire fell. Maybe Abellion had something to do with that. He’d forbidden any use of the Ulugmiri language. Could he be trying to prevent anyone from discovering their technology?

Back at the palace, her friends and allies had gathered to discuss events and future plans. She set the rifle down on the table.

“What is that?” asked Baldreg.

“For now, just a curiosity,” she said, “Weapons like this might change the face of warfare someday. Probably not soon enough for us to use them against Abellion. But seeing this musket reminds me about a similar kind of weapon used back on Earth, called a cannon. Such weapons might be of use against large creatures, such as oh, say, dragons. The high alvari have already invented the blasting powder we could use to fire them. I don’t think they’re terribly complicated. What do you reckon, Dallim?”

“Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds,” said Dallim.

Saskia blinked at him, recognising the quote. She’d been somewhat surprised Dallim or one of the other oracles hadn’t rushed to reinvent firearms, truth be told. Hearing this, she was beginning to realise that maybe he’d seen the devastation they’d wrought on Earth, and had decided they had no place here.

“Oppenheimer was talking about nukes, not cannons,” said Saskia. “But you’re right, we should be careful about what technologies we introduce here. Once this box is opened, it can’t easily be closed.” Except it has been closed at least once, on this world, she added silently.

“What box?” said Zarie.

“The metaphorical box,” said Saskia. “With guns and cannons and nukes inside.”

“I ken what you’re thinking, Sashki, and I say we should use these cannons if we can,” said Ruhildi.

“Probably,” said Saskia. “I just don’t want this to lead to an arms race that destroys the world a few hundred years down the line.”

“If ’twould slay drackens, and help us throw the tyrant off his throne, ’tis worth any price,” said Baldreg.

Saskia shook her head. She couldn’t agree with that sentiment. She wanted to kick Abellion’s butt as much as anyone, but not if the world ended up worse off in the future because of it. If she saved the world, she wanted it to stay saved for a good long time.

“Enough about cannons,” she said. “I already asked Dallim to look into it, so let’s just see what he comes up with, okay?”

They nodded their agreement, and moved onto the next subject of conversation.

“As you know, we had another close encounter with Abellion’s drackens, and their Chosen riders,” said Queen Vask. “They were not coming for us, though, or we would not be here talking to you. I am certain they were coming for the eternals.”

Garrain had already told her as much during their flight here. She hadn’t quite grasped the gravity of the threat, though, until she learned what the Primordial, Xonroth, was capable of.

“Abellion wants to make them his Chosen,” said Saskia. “Probably already has.” She let out a long breath. “Just what we need. A Chosen with access to the magic of multiple worldseeds will be…”

“Terrifying,” said Ithanius.

“You say that word a lot,” said Queen Vask. “Grow a spine, drengar.”

“Oh I think he used exactly the right word,” said Saskia. “Abellion might have made a Chosen out of one of the most powerful beings on Arbor Mundi? If that doesn’t scare you, then you’re crazy.”

“We will crush him,” insisted Vask.

“Princess is right,” said Rover Dog. “Primordial squishy is scary.”

Vask looked askance at him. “Who are you, and where is my Rover?”

“I not know who I am,” said Rover Dog. He looked at Saskia. “Princess help me with that.”

Ah yes, the talk they’d had all those weeks ago. He wanted her to make him her vassal in the hopes that he’d regain his memories.

“Tonight,” she said. “If you’re still willing.”

He grinned at her. “I always willing.”

She felt a blush creep onto her face. “That’s not what I—dogramit!”

“Aye, he surely will,” said Ruhildi.

“Moving on,” said Saskia, eager to change the subject. “What are we going to do about this huge, complicated mess we’ve created on Lumium?”

“What is the problem?” said Queen Vask. “You have taken this city with minimal effort. It is clear these high alvari do not have the strength to stand against us.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” said Saskia. “We may have been handed Ambiellar on a silver platter, but it’s looking like a tainted fruit. Insurgents have popped up all across our territory. And as for the rest of the High Empire, it’s splintered into three different factions. They hate each other, but they hate us more. The only reason they haven’t tried to attack us in force is that they know what happened to the last guys who did.”

“If they do not attack, then they are of no concern to us,” said Vask. “Conquer them or leave them be—let them fight among themselves.”

“I don’t have the time or resources—or desire—to conquer them all. We’re supposed to be fighting Abellion, not the High Empire. This is just a diversion. If we can gather some new allies here, that’s great, but every moment we waste here is another moment Abellion could attack us.”

“Until we larn how to break through his barrier, we can’t attack him,” said Kveld.

“Yeah, that’s another problem,” said Saskia. “I doubt the solution lies on Lumium. We should be heading out in Iscaragraithe, seeking answers. But the moment we do that, I just know things will go to crap here.”

“Powerful though you are, Sashki, you can’t be everywhere and do everything,” said Ruhildi. “If something bad happens here while you are gone, ’tis not your fault.”

“I just don’t like the thought that we’ll be leaving the people of Lumium worse off than they were before we arrived,” said Saskia. “They’re not our enemies. Or they shouldn’t be.”

“There is no such thing as a clean war,” said Vask. “Some will die ingloriously because of your actions. If you want to win, you have to accept that.”

“On Earth, we have a saying, ‘You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.’ It’s the kind of clichéd cow dung villains spout all the time. I don’t want to be that trite. Or a villain. So let’s try to keep the egg-breakage to a minimum, okay?”

“Now I hungry for eggs,” said Rover Dog.

“Don’t say that around Nuille, or it may be the last thing you do,” said Saskia.

That earned her a bunch of blank stares, so she filled them in on the newest developments. After that, it seemed any chance of serious talk was over, so she left them to their bantam—aargh, banter.

Ruhildi followed her out without having to be asked. They went to the royal bedchamber (newly refurbished with a troll queen-sized bed). Saskia swallowed Garrain’s vial of poison-resistant blood, lay down on the bed, and waited for her friend to do her thing.

What that thing was, exactly, was a bit of a mystery. Ruhildi had been cagey about how she’d managed to keep the infection at bay. All Saskia knew was that it involved necrourgy. Was her arm dead, then—or undead? Ruhildi had refused to give her a straight answer.

Saskia didn’t feel any different after ingesting the blood, but then, she hadn’t expected to. This was no mundane poison seeping through her body. Life and death, Ruhildi had called it. What did that even mean? All she knew was that it would be her death, slow, yet inexorable, if it wasn’t stopped.

Ruhildi pressed her hand to Saskia’s arm. Saskia couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel anything with that arm. But she did feel her friend tugging on her essence. This went on for some time. Ruhildi’s one good eye was closed in concentration. Then it opened.

“Och,” said Ruhildi. “Mayhap ’tweren’t such a good idea to take his blood.”

“What?” said Saskia. “Why?”

“The corruption is spreading a wee bit faster than afore. Naught to worry about, though. His blood will lose its affect within a bell or two.”

“I’m a little worried. Why would poison-resistant blood make the poison spread faster?”

“Methinks I were mistaken when I said Garri and Nui could help me cure you. This corruption seems to feed off the magic of the seed of life. ’Twere why my magic could slow its spread.”

“So what can we do, then?”

“I don’t ken. Mayhap your pap kens something we don’t…”

Saskia frowned. So far, she’d only been able to contact her father in a few of his old bases on Ciendil and the Deadlands. Had he set up any others further afield? She really should have asked him when she had the chance.

“We could go back to Ciendil,” said Saskia. “But that’s days we can’t afford to spare.”

She yawned, suddenly feeling very tired. Early night, tonight, she decided. She stumbled out into dining room, where she found Rover Dog chowing down on a huge platter of fried eggs on toast.

“That actually looks a lot more appetising than our usual trow cuisine,” she said.

He handed her a slice. She swallowed a mouthful. Her stomach burbled in protest.

“Uh…maybe later,” she said, waving off another offering. “Feeling a bit bleurgh at the moment. Gonna go…whoa.”

Suddenly, the floor was suddenly rushing up to meet her. Rover Dog leapt to his feet, and she flopped against him. Her limbs felt like jelly, but she could see they were beginning to twitch and contort in an all-too-familiar way.

“Not again,” she murmured as her vision slowly turned to white noise.

When she came back to herself, she was lying inside Iscaragraithe. Rover Dog, Ithanius, Ruhildi and Zarie were with her, which was a little odd. Doubly so, when she realised Iscaragraithe was in the air. It was night time outside, and they were flying up a steep cliff or…

Not a cliff. The trunk of the world tree.

“Uh…guys?” she said. “What the frock is going on? How did we get here?”

“Oh no,” said Zarie. “It happened again, yes?”

Rover Dog drew his arms around her. Something had changed about him. He seemed…melancholy. “It will be alright, princess. You will see.”

“You don’t remember,” said Ruhildi, frowning at her.

“Remember what…?”

She looked down at her arm. The infection had spread across her entire shoulder and down toward her chest. She was getting a really bad feeling about this…

One check of her oracle calendar confirmed her suspicion. Nearly a month had passed since she’d had her…seizure in the dining room. And she couldn’t remember any of it.

“Wow,” said Saskia. “Those must have been some really bad eggs.”