The city burned. Behind the battered walls rose great plumes of smoke, lit by flickering flames.

“If we’re too late…” said Baldreg.

“My minions…going as fast…as I can make them,” said Ruhildi.

The dwarf’s head rested against Saskia’s shoulder as she spoke. Her breathing was laboured. She seemed barely able to keep her eyes open, much less walk on her own two feet. The strain of controlling this army of zombies was almost too much for her body to handle.

But what an army it was. Hundreds of dead elves and mer—and the occasional dwarf—riding a motley assortment of undead mounts into battle.

“Aye, I ken you’re pushing them as hard as you’re able,” said Baldreg. “I just hope my bonnie and the lad can hold out until we get there.”

“I’m sure they’ll be okay,” lied Saskia. “They can handle themselves, and they have the stone guardians.”

Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, she thought, looking at a section of wall that had melted into slag. Enemy soldiers poured up and over the breach and down into the burning streets beyond.

On this side of the walls, the gathered elves still waiting their turn to enter the city had just taken note of the charging zombies, and were hastily forming a defensive line. Armoured elves thrust long spears toward the oncoming horde, while archers atop tree towers sent volleys of arrows raining down on them.

Too little, too late.

The dead weren’t about to be slowed by spears or arrows. But the same was not true of their enemies. Undead archers fired back from astride their mounts, sending their foes plummeting out of treetops, into the midst of the elves on the ground. There, the corpses arose, and began to bite and pummel and hack at their former friends, throwing the front line into disarray. This happened just as the undead riders struck, crushing the terrified elves beneath hooves and paws and armoured carapaces. The newly-risen swarmed up the tree towers, hurling the remaining archers down onto waiting spears.

A few short and gruesome minutes later, the way into the city was clear.

Ruhildi’s breath was coming in wheezing gasps. Saskia glanced back at her, and drew in a sharp breath. “You’re bleeding!”

Ruhildi dabbed at her face, and her hand came back crimson. She swayed in the harness. Blood leaked from her ears and nose and…eyes.

Crap crap crap, this is really bad.

Tearing open her wrist with her teeth, Saskia shoved it against her friend’s mouth. “Drink,” she commanded.

In the few seconds before the wound closed, Ruhildi gulped down a huge draught of her blood. Maybe it would help, even if the strain on her friend’s body wasn’t entirely physical.

“Good,” said Saskia. “Now release some of your minions.”

“Can’t,” whispered the dwarf.

“You can and you will,” said Saskia. “Don’t you see it’s killing you? You’ll be no use to anyone if your brain explodes. Besides, we can move faster if we bring only riders into the city. Please, Ruhildi.”

“I…alright, Sashki.”

As if their strings had been cut, the walking corpses clattered to the cold earth.

Bounding across the melted stone of the breach, Saskia drew in a choking, smoke-filled breath. Through the haze loomed the hulking form of a golem. One arm was missing, there was a hole in its chest, and its heartstone lay shattered in the rubble at its feet.

Her minimap and a quick visual scout-ahead revealed a massive enemy force slicing its way through the heart of the city and amassing around Spindle. Smaller (but by no means small) warbands were splitting off the main force to take key strategic locations around the city. At least, she assumed they were strategic. Her only exposure to military strategy was in games.

She found Kveld and Freygi stationed at one of these locations: a market square (actually, more of a trapezoid), on the side of a hill whose slope had been chopped into a series of high terraces. Here was one spot where the dwarves seemed to be holding their own. Though greatly outnumbered, they held the high ground. Dwarves were raining crossbow bolts and spell-boosted rocks down on the elves swarming the level below the market. A pair of golems guarded the tops of the stairs, stomping and pummelling any enemies who got too close, and firing shoulder-mounted ballistae into the tightly-packed elves, to devastating effect.

Kveld stood by one of the golems in blood-splattered armour, with his arrow-repellent shield held before him. He looked like he’d taken a beating, but his stance was steady, and his jaw set in a determined grimace. Seeing him like this, she’d never have guessed he was the same quiet, nerdy guy who stammered and started and couldn’t get her name right.

Freygi, meanwhile, was sneaking around behind the gathered elves, looking ready to pounce. If it weren’t for her map marker, Saskia would never have spotted her. Still…was she out of her damn mind? There were nearly a hundred elves there, and only one Freygi!

Moving as swiftly as they could through the burning streets, Saskia and Rover Dog and their retinue of zombies sped eastward toward the market; their journey punctuated by frequent brief and violent skirmishes with elven soldiers they encountered along the way.

Saskia’s thoughts became increasingly grim as she ran past twisted corpses sprawled across the streets. Among the ruins lay child-sized bodies—some of them still wrapped in their mothers’ arms. An image of Thorric’s mangled body popped into her head, and she shuddered.

Just your imagination, she tried to reassure herself. He doesn’t live in this part of town. But Myrna does…

A quick stop at Myrna’s house nearly ended with Saskia losing her head. The door was smashed off its hinges. Bloody bodies were strewn across the floor. Fearing the worst, she peeked inside. Something flicked toward her, almost too fast for her to react.

Saskia found herself blinking down at a slender blade, poised just millimetres shy of her throat. The blade was held by an elderly and rather overweight dwarf woman.

“Holy crap, Myrna!” said Saskia, glancing between the dwarf and the elven corpses on the floor.

“Och it’s you,” said Myrna. In a single fluid movement, she sheathed her blade.

Baldreg and Freygi and Kveld aren’t the only ninjas, thought Saskia. That sword wasn’t quite a katana—its edge was too straight—but close enough.

“I see you’ve been busy,” she said. “I had no idea you could do…this.”

Myrna scowled. “What’d you expect me to do to a bunch of leaf-ears invading my home?”

“Uh, I dunno, invite them in for tea and crumpets?” This earned her an even deeper scowl. “Look, if you can fight, do you want to come with us? We could use an extra blade.”

“And let the leaf-ears ransack my home?” said Myrna. “I think not. Besides, I have someone under my protection.”

Saskia followed her gaze to a pair of little eyes peeking out from an upstairs doorway. Wait, she knew those eyes.

“Thorric? What are you doing here? What happened to your new family?”

Next thing she knew, little legs were pattering down the stairs toward her.

“Och no,” said Myrna, intercepting the little boy before he could glomp onto Saskia’s leg. “Back to your room, lad. ’Tisn’t safe down here. You can see her once this is over.”

Thorric squirmed in her grip. “But—”

“Get your wee bottom out of sight, afore I spank it, lad!” cried Myrna.

“But the floofies!” said Thorric. “They want to help too!”

No sooner had he spoken the words than a line of tiny white fuzzballs scuttled down the stairs, leaving a trail of icicles in their wake.

“The adorribles!” said Saskia incredulously. “They were with you this entire time?”

“Not with me,” said Thorric. “They come see me sometimes. You helped them. And now they help you.”

She stared at him. What was the deal with this kid and those creatures? Maybe they could help out in the coming battle though…

Before she could come to a decision, the adorribles ran between her legs and out the door

“I guess that settles that,” she murmured.

Ruhildi stirred on her back. “We have to go, Sashki. I don’t ken how much longer I can…”

“Right,” said Saskia. She turned back to Myrna. “You keep him safe, okay?”

“I’ll do my best. You keep them safe.” Myrna frowned at Ruhildi, who could have passed as one of her own zombies right now. Baldreg waved at her from Rover Dog’s back.

“I’ll…likewise.” She turned and bounded down the street after Rover Dog and the undead.

They were only minutes from the market square if they hurried. She hoped their friends could hold out that long. Icy dread filled the pit of her stomach and—

Oh wait, that wasn’t dread.

She looked over at the fuzzy white creatures hugging the carapace of a very chilly zombie mantis.

Saskia felt like a right heel bringing these creatures into an apocalyptic battle not of their making. But there was a chance they might be of help against the fire mage. Because ice.

How they might get close enough to ice the frocker, she had no idea. He could probably incinerate them with a casual glance.

First things first though: reaching their friends.

They raced up the steps of the lower terraces behind the unsuspecting elven warband. Seizing the opportunity, Ruhildi sent her undead charging ahead of them.

Rover Dog set his passenger down on the rooftop of a nearby pavilion, then leapt down into the fray. His hand may not have finished growing back, but he was no less lethal with that staff of his. Broken bodies tumbled as he swept it out in front of him in a wide arc.

Saskia, not wanting to risk her own precious cargo, stayed back and resorted to throwing Jarnbjorn over and over.

Amidst the chaos, she caught a glimpse of tiny white furballs leaping from frigid mounts, launching themselves at the faces of unsuspecting elves, clawing at eyes, and turning heads into iceblocks.

The golems, now out of ammunition for their ballistae, descended the upper steps, along with Kveld and the other melee fighters, crushing and hacking at the elves from the other side. In the corner of her eye, Saskia caught sight of Freygi darting in and around the edges of the battlefield, slitting throats and stabbing backs.

It was a slaughter. The elves had nowhere to run. Some tried to leap down to the level below, breaking legs and ankles in the process—only to be riddled with arrows as they tried to crawl away. The rest met their end in a futile stand-off against mounted foes who could shrug off a sword to the face—or a severed head, for that matter.

At Saskia’s approach, the dwarves backed away from the edge of the stairs. Their eyes darted between her and Rover Dog, and the orderly rows of undead standing motionless below. Whispers of “necrourgist” rippled through their ranks. But when Ruhildi shakily stepped down off Saskia’s back, the look of fear on some of their faces was replaced by something altogether different.

“Is that…?”

“Aye, ’tis Vindica alright. I seen her with that trow afore.”

More murmurs. A chant broke out among the nearby soldiers. “Vindica! Vindica! Vindica!”

Ruhildi groaned. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Ruhi!” cried Freygi, rushing out of the shadows to embrace her friend.

“You got a hug for me too, bonnie?” said Baldreg, coming up behind her.

“That and more.” Freygi proceeded to demonstrate. With tongue. Releasing Baldreg, she looked up at Saskia. “Thank you for keeping Ruhi safe. But is she alright? She looks…” She glanced back at her friend worriedly.

“Yeah, I know, right?” said Saskia. “You should have seen her earlier. I thought she was going to pop.”

“I’m standing right here, you ken,” said Ruhildi. Teetering, she grabbed Saskia’s leg for support.

“Barely,” said Saskia. Drawing her body low to the ground, she pointed the harness on her back. “Up you get. We’re not done yet, and you need to save your strength. You look like crap.”

“Aye, mam,” Ruhildi hopped up on Saskia’s back, and nodded down at Kveld and Freygi. “Good to see you both in one piece, but Sashki’s right about one thing. We’re not done yet.”

“Most of the elves are gathering around Spindle,” said Saskia. “We’re needed there. All of us are. We can trade stories on the way.”

It was slow going now that they had the golems with them. But those things were too valuable to leave behind. According to Kveld, the golems were the main reason their previous position hadn’t been overrun.

While waiting for the lumbering hunks of rock to catch up, Saskia spun her remote sight out across the city. What she saw was as sickening as it was predictable. Roving bands of elves were going from house to house, butchering entire families. There didn’t seem to be any kind of organised resistance left in many parts of the city. As far as the elves were concerned, it was open season.

Right now, other than sending out small teams to take out some of the nearby marauders, there wasn’t much they could do. They were needed at Spindle. The rest of the city would have to wait.

An ear-splitting boom echoed from somewhere high in the air, followed by a series of smaller pops. That didn’t sound like thunder. She couldn’t see through the thick haze of smoke, but it sounded like it had come from somewhere high up on Spindle.

“What the hell is going on up there?” she asked.

“Word is the leaf-ears have invaded the High Halls,” said Freygi. “They’re hitting both ends of Spindle at the same time.”

“Thondberg’s hairy armpit!” said Baldreg. “How’d they get up there?”

“No-one kens,” said Freygi. “But ’tisn’t the first time an alvar has gotten somewhere they shouldn’t have.” She glanced at Ruhildi.

“Squishies climb,” said Rover Dog.

“What?” said Baldreg.

“Climb around branch,” said the troll.

“Around the…?” Baldreg let out a single laugh. “Aye right. And they grew wings too.”

“Not need wings to climb,” said Rover Dog.

“I meant what you were saying is impossible,” said Baldreg.

“Not impossible,” insisted the troll. “How you think I got here? Not down stone column, but similar idea.”

They boggled at him. Rover Dog—and then these elves—had climbed around the outside of Ciendil? Saskia hadn’t even considered the possibility. Was there even air out there? The climb down the side of the branch sounded bonkers enough, but they’d also have to navigate many kilometres of overhang just to get to the point where Spindle met the underside of the main branch.

As if answering her thoughts, Rover Dog added, “Tunnel mouth on side of branch. Not need to climb under.”

“Then why the drackens didn’t you tell us!?” said Baldreg.

“Thought you knew,” said Rover Dog.

“Doesn’t matter how they got here,” said Freygi. “They’re here, and their goal is clear.”

“The seed of stone,” said Ruhildi. “If they seize our one and only worldseed…”

“Well I guess we’re heading to the right place then,” said Saskia, glancing at her map. A vast swarm of enemies had gathered around Spindle. “If only we could get there faster.”

The closer Ruhildi’s army got to Spindle, the more intense the fighting became. Elves fell before them by the hundreds. Scattered dwarven platoons flocked to their side. By now, the living among their growing force almost outnumbered the dead, and they had three golems marching with them. The numbers of zombies were swelling too, and Saskia could see that Ruhildi was once again pushing beyond the limits of her endurance. If her friend wasn’t going to listen to her, there wasn’t much she could do to stop her, short of clobbering her over the head. Maybe it would come to that, but for now, all she could do was try to talk her down.

Ruhildi gritted her teeth and didn’t say a word. Her face looked gaunt. Her eyes were as red as Saskia’s own.

Coughing and spluttering, they stepped out into the grounds beneath Spindle. Flames licked high into the air around them. Some of the nearby spires had melted into blobs of red-hot stone. Hundreds of elves were spread out across the expanse of broken rocks and burnt hedges, firing spells and arrows at the looming stone column. Creatures skittered up the walls. Stoneshapers and crossbowmen—far fewer than the elves and their pets—stood at the windows, firing back, and flinging a steady rain of rocks and boulders down on their enemies. Some of these rocks smashed onto elven skulls, but most fell into tangles of thick branches that snaked through the air. Silver-haired druids raised their staffs and commanded the strange tree-things to hurl the rocks back at the shapers.

The shattered ruins of a golem lay outside the tower doors. Beside the fallen golem stood Grindlecraw in metal form, shouting at a wall of shield-toting dwarves to hold the line at all costs.

In the midst of it all stood a tall figure in a white cloak and white mask, holding a burning torch. A slender jet of flame shot from his splayed, clawed fingers, passing through an open window and obliterating the dwarves within. The stone around the window blazed red and began to sag.

“That’s our main target,” said Saskia, pointing out the Chosen to the crossbowmen. “We need to take him out before he incinerates us all.”

The undead horde rushed forward to meet the elves, who were belatedly turning spears and shields to face them.

A cloaked head swivelled around on a slender neck. Even with his face hidden behind his pale mask, Saskia could feel the Chosen’s eyes boring into her.

Ruhildi jerked against her shoulderblades. “Och bollocks,” she murmured. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she went limp.

As one, the dead clattered to the ground, piling up in front of the line of elves.

“Ruhildi!” shouted Saskia. Tearing her friend from her harness, she shook her gently, then with increasing desperation.

It was no use. Ruhildi’s breaths were shallow. Eyes rolled back and forth behind closed eyelids. There was nothing Saskia could do for her now. Her blood was already in the dwarf’s system. Any more would just make her sick.

“Get her away from here,” she said, handing Ruhildi to Kveld. She could have carried her away herself, but she could see that the elves’ attention was focussed on her and Rover Dog and the golems. She couldn’t risk them going after her friend.

Nodding, Kveld began to haul the limp form down the street.

Behind her, the elves and beasts charged. Saskia pushed her way through the dwarven ranks to meet them, stopping beside the golems and Rover Dog. Baldreg teetered atop the troll’s back, crossbow nocked and held at the ready. Freygi stepped up beside them, longsword in one hand, dagger in the other.

With a roar that surprised even herself with its ferocity, Saskia leapt into the midst of the oncoming elves. Her world became a maelstrom of claws and teeth and spears and blades. And arrows. Always the arrows.

There were so many shots being aimed at her that she couldn’t hope to dodge or catch them all, so she focussed on the ones fired by beastmasters—those infused with magic that could turn her into a troll barbecue. As for the others, the best she could do was keep her movements unpredictable, and her body low to the ground. Pain blossomed across her face and back. She tore a feathered shaft from her cheek and kept on clawing and biting, ripping and tearing and crushing underfoot.

Jarnbjorn, she reserved for the beastmasters and druids beyond the reach of her claws and teeth. Standard arrows were always a concern, but a well-placed scorching sap spell or magic-infused arrow would ruin her day. Sadly, the Chosen was too far away to hit from here.

Each time she hurled the axe, it hewed through steel and flesh on its way back to her gauntleted hand. This was the most effective way to use the weapon, she realised. Throw it as far as she could, and it would slice through almost anything on its way back. After that, she kept the weapon in the air as often as she could, even when there was no ideal target in sight.

Distantly, she registered the presence of Rover Dog tearing a crimson path at her side, while Freygi’s blade whirled, Baldreg’s projectiles exploded, and the golems stomped and pummelled, dodging blows and spells with remarkable adroitness, given their size and weight.

Kveld, having stowed Ruhildi out of harm’s way, came running back to join a line of dwarves who had met the faltering elven charge with a wall of shields.

Behind them, crossbowmen fired into the middle of the pack of elves, where the Chosen stood. The shapers were winding up for some big spell. She could feel the essence gathering around them.

And then it all went to hell.

Fire erupted across the dwarven backline. Shapers and crossbowmen alike vanished behind an inferno hot enough to melt stone. The screams were mercifully brief, but no less stomach-curdling.

A line of red light appeared in the air, extending from the Chosen’s outstretched hand, aimed directly at Saskia. She dove to the side, crushing an elf as she sprawled on top of him. An explosion of heat and light erupted behind her, engulfing dozens of elves and dwarves who stood in the path of the jet of fire.

One of the golems slowly toppled, with half of its body reduced to oozing magma.

Standing in the path of the blast, behind the melted golem, was Kveld. The line of fire had undoubtedly reached him, yet he remained miraculously untouched. He crouched low behind his shield, which was blackened but otherwise intact.

That shield of his does more than just repel arrows, she thought. He’s got a whole Captain America thing going on there!

Suddenly, the Chosen gave a shudder and stared downward. Tiny furballs raced up his legs, leaving trails of ice in their wake.

What the actual flock? she thought. The adorribles! How did they get to him so fast?

Ice spread across the surface of his cloak as the creatures swarmed over him. One of the tiny creatures ran across his flailing arm, reaching for his torch. He planted his feet, and looked to the sky.

Fireballs erupted across his body, engulfing each of the critters in turn. Screeching, they fell from his back, their tiny bodies reduced to blackened cinders in an instant.

Saskia turned and vomited all over an unfortunate elf. Then she stepped on him for good measure.

I let them join this fight, she thought bitterly. Their deaths are on me.

A tremendous boom sounded overhead. Light pierced the veil of smoke. Through the haze plunged two figures, spinning and flailing as they plummeted toward certain death from some impossible height.

They bounced off the steeply sloping walls near the base of Spindle. Suddenly the larger of the two shot sideways, driven by some unseen force, taking the light with him. He landed with a dull crash behind some distant buildings. The other new arrival smashed down onto the battlefield with an earth-shattering crack, sending elves tumbling away from the final point of impact.

An obsidian dwarf rose from the newly-formed crater and surveyed the combatants, who stood there gawping, clearly unsure what to make of this unexpected challenger. Even with flesh turned to gleaming black stone, there was no mistaking this dwarf’s identity: Mangorn the Chancellor, by all accounts the most powerful stoneshaper alive today.

Without warning, the ground shuddered and split beneath the Chancellor’s feet. Spurs of rock rose and fell around him in waves, undulating higher and higher with every step. Struggling to stay upright, the closest elves backed away.

All except one. Letting out a loud warcry, a single warrior leapt forward, spear darting for Mangorn’s throat.

Mangorn flicked his wand, and a column of rock thrust up from the ground, snapped shut around the elf, then plunged back down. The spear clattered to the ground. Its wielder was simply…gone.

Another flick of his wand, and the shaking magnified tenfold, a wave of motion and sound that swept out across the battlefield. Saskia’s feet buckled beneath her, and she fell on her butt. She wasn’t the only one.

Among all the participants of this battle, only Mangorn and the Chosen remained standing. They regarded each other silently for a long moment.

Then the Chosen extended his hand, and sent a jet of flame at the Chancellor.

A wall of rock rose up to block the fire. A moment later, the wall was reduced to a molten puddle. But in the meantime, another had risen behind it. And then another. The torrent of flame ceased.

A third flick of Mangorn’s wand, and the magma left behind from the Chosen’s attack was spraying out across the nearby elves. Screams filled the air. Hair and clothing ignited. Hands clawed at blackened eye sockets.

One more twitch of his wand, and a column of stone rose up around the Chosen, just as it had with the unfortunate elf. But before it swallowed him completely, the stone exploded in another burst of magma, singeing yet more hapless elves. The Chosen’s grey cloak had burned away, revealing an unmistakeably reptilian form beneath, with leathery grey skin unmarred by fire.

A lizard wizard, thought Saskia, and she had to fight off the sudden and completely inappropriate urge to burst out laughing.

Hissing, the Chosen raised his torch high above his head.

A column of blue fire engulfed the Chancellor and dozens of shrieking elves, licking high into the air. Saskia drew in a sharp breath. Had he just…?

The shaking intensified. Elves fell screaming into fissures that opened and closed like hungry maws.

The Chosen’s face swivelled downward. An obsidian fist clamped around his ankles. An instant later, he was gone, vanishing into shuddering stone.

A series of muffled booms sounded deep beneath her feet. The ground gave one last mighty heave, and went still.

Saskia blinked. It was over so quickly, she struggled to comprehend what had just happened.

All around her, the last of the elves and dwarves jumped to their feet, eager to get back to the important task of killing each other. But as for Saskia, she just sat there, blinking like an idiot.

What the frocking frock is happening? What am I doing here? This is just…too much.

She watched as Grindlecraw stepped over his fallen guards (she hadn’t even seen them go down), wand gripped tightly in metal hands. Spears of stone rose up from the ground, skewering a trio of archers whose arrows had pinged off his bronze shell.

“Not time for rest, princess,” said Rover Dog, stepping on an elf who had been ineffectually attempting to jab her with his sword. “Fight, or die.”

She took hold of the proffered hand, rising on shaky legs to face the circle of elves that had closed around them. Reluctantly, she hurled Jarnbjorn at one of the last surviving druids. The axe took his head clean off, and returned to her hand dripping with the blood of half a dozen of his fellow elves.

This was as close to hell as she’d ever imagined. Maybe she was already dead, and this was her punishment. Her mind settled into a dull fugue as she ripped and tore and sliced.

An explosion turned five elven warriors into a heap of twisted limbs and torn flesh and staring, sightless eyes. Two more concussive blasts followed in rapid succession, ending the lives of another dozen of their companions. Dazedly, she glanced up to see Baldreg standing at her side with his crossbow raised. Beside him, a whirlwind of spinning blades and thrown daggers tore apart a pair of axe-wielding elves.

“Are you alright?” said Freygi, between pirouettes.

“Everyone…dead,” said Saskia. “Dead dead dead.”

“Battle haze,” said Baldreg.

“Aye, I can see that,” said Freygi, pulling her daggers from her opponent's eyes. “Be strong, Sashki. ’Tis almost over.” She thrust her rapier into a spleen. Or whatever elven organ happened to sit in place of a spleen.

The ground split open in a sudden shower of stones. Out of the hole crawled an obsidian dwarf. One of his hands was missing, but it seemed he’d fared better than the other guy.

A cheer broke out among the handful of dwarven fighters who still lived. “Mangorn! Mangorn! Mangorn!”

“Tough bastard, aren’t he?” said Baldreg.

The last of the elves turned and fled—and ran straight into a wall of spears that erupted from the earth.

Mangorn regarded the cheering dwarves with a stony expression. He raised his hand to silence them, and turned—

A line of light, brighter than the sun, swept down through the Chancellor’s body. With a tinkling clatter, he came apart, shattering across the broken earth.

The cheering faltered and died as a tall, muscular figure in a pale mask stepped across the obsidian shards, grinding them into the dirt. Hefting his shining claymore in one hand, he tilted his head at the horrified dwarves.

Thiachrin.

Here was the other figure who had fallen from the upper reaches of Spindle. The light she’d seen shining up there had been his sword. Before he fell, he must have been leading the second invading force attacking the column from the top.

Cursing, Baldreg levelled his crossbow at the Chosen, and loosed a volley of explosive bolts.

Thiachrin’s blade sliced the air. And then…nothing happened. No explosions. Not even a puff of smoke The Chosen had simply wiped the bolts from existence.

His gaze met Saskia’s, and somehow she just knew he was grinning behind that mask. Then he turned and ran up the wall. A short way up the steep slope at the base of the column, he vaulted through an open window. A gurgling scream sounded from within, then abruptly cut off.

“The seed of stone!” cried Grindlecraw, dashing back toward Spindle. “That’s where he’s headed. We must protect our worldseed at all costs. Follow me, everyone! This isn’t over!”

“You heard him,” said Saskia, addressing her friends. “We have a date with the…uh, humping chamber.” She frowned, glancing through the open doors. “Although I don’t know if I can fit through those narrow tunnels. And I can’t ride the lifts.”

“A tight squeeze, to be true,” said Baldreg. “But if you can get to the hollow core, you can climb it.”

“Okay.” Saskia drew in a breath. “Let’s get—”

“Er…Saskia?” said Kveld, running up behind her. “I think you need to see this.”

He held out the keystone. It flew from his hand, hovering in front of her face. When she plucked it out of the air, a message awaited her.

Keystone: Bring the dwarrow designated Ruhildi to the nexus of the Stone Bastion. Sleep there by her side, mouthlet of the master.

Wait, what? The keystone wanted her to sleep with Ruhildi? Well not with her, but…

The realisation struck like a hammer blow. Ruhildi hadn’t simply collapsed from exhaustion or magical overload. Someone or something had attacked her, just as it had attacked Saskia back in the Dead Sanctum.

Abellion. He was assaulting Ruhildi’s mind; invading her dreams.

The keystone was relaying a message from her father, she was sure of it. He was telling her what she needed to do to save her friend.

Saskia stood there for an agonising moment, feeling the world crashing down around her. Then she turned to the dwarves and Rover Dog. “I have to go. Ruhildi’s in danger. No time to explain. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

“You what?” said Freygi. “You can’t leave now. We need—”

“Sorry!” She bounded off, trying to ignore their baffled, disappointed expressions. Maybe they thought she was bailing on them out of fear. But there was no way she was going to let that fucker of a deity mind-rape her friend.

She dashed over broken rocks and broken bodies, down the burning street and around the bend to the spot where Kveld had dragged Ruhildi. Her friend was still breathing, thank dogs, but remained unconscious, and there was a trickle of blood still oozing from her nose.

Lifting her as gently as she could, Saskia took off across the city. Only a few scattered bands of elves got in her way, and she smashed them aside without slowing down.

Inside the Bastion, she dashed to the control chamber, laid Ruhildi down on the floor, and inserted the keystone in its socket. Letting out a shuddering sigh, she curled up next to the tiny dwarf, and waited for sleep to claim her.