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[[=]]
+ __BOOK 2__
+ THE WITCH
[[/=]]

----

The stale, oppressive air of Portland gave way to a cool, salty breeze. Ocean waves roared, and thin beams of moonlight slipped through the castle's windows. In its pale glow, we looked almost ghostly under our coatings of dust.

Gently, Arcos set me down. I had stopped crying, and now I was feeling rather embarrassed that I had done so.

"He's gone," I said, staring at the wall where our Way had been.

"Good," Perrin grumbled. Moritz shot him a look, but Perrin crossed his arms resolutely. "He threatened to strangle us!"

"He wouldn't have actually done it," Arcos said, but he didn't sound so sure. "He was just...bargaining."

"We wouldn't have made it out at all if he hadn't," Moritz agreed. "Right, Horatius?"

Horatius didn't answer. He was also staring at the wall, with a sort of numb shock painted across his face. Softly, he spoke.

"Don't you know who that was?"

"Yeah," Perrin replied, "a madman who nearly got us killed. And I don't just mean the 'bargaining,' because that whole death trap was his idea."

"Well," Moritz said, peering out one of the windows, "it //was// a shortcut."

At that, we all (save Horatius) seemed to remember just where we were. The portal had deposited us in a squarish room maybe five meters to a side. Windows looked out of three walls, and a doorway stood at the corner of the fourth. Looking west, I saw a sparse forest stretching into the distance. To the right, the old trees gave way to a dark ocean. its gentle waves glinting with the full moon's light.

"Wow," I gasped. So this was Uk.

"Wow indeed," Moritz said, grinning. "Wow indeed."

"This looks more like a house than a castle," Perrin scoffed, leaning out the south window to look down the wall.

"Not from this side," Arcos whispered. He was looking to the east. I followed, and he moved aside to let me see. Craning my neck, I glimpsed a squat keep, joined to the building we were in by a low wall that encircled a large, overgrown courtyard. The keep was overgrown, too, with thick vines of ivy that made it nearly as green as the forest. Looking down, I saw that the other walls of this building were similarly covered.

"Perhaps this was the castellan's house," Moritz mused.

"Whatever it was," Perrin said, "it's empty now. You think the keep is too?"

Moritz gave him a funny look. "Why would it not be?"

He shrugged. "This is a nice place. Coastal, too. Perfect spot for pirates to hide out."

"Speaking from experience?"

Perrin feigned offense. "I'm an upstanding mercenary, thank you very much. I would never stoop to such an unscrupulous profession as piracy. Isn't that right, Arcos?"

Arcos grunted noncommittally. "Is Horatius okay?" he asked. The knight was now kneeling before the collapsed Way, with head bowed and hands clasped tight around the cylinder Nobody had given him. I could hear him praying quietly.

"Oh, brother," Perrin sighed. "He's really having a moment, isn't he?"

"Horatius?" I asked, tentatively. He did not respond.

"Well," Perrin said, irritably, "I'm going to go scout it out. Holler if he tries to kill you or something." Then he walked through the door, followed shortly by Arcos and Moritz. Left alone with Horatius, I approached him.

"Only at my side," he whispered. "Only in my hands. Only in my heart. Only in my mind." It felt rude to disturb him, but his behavior was disturbing me.

"Horatius, we really need to get up and look around. Perrin thinks there might be pirates or something."

"Only. Only. Only. Only."

"Horatius, what are you-"

I was interrupted by a loud shout from somewhere else in the house. It also interrupted Horatius, who looked up.

"Shit!" Perrin exclaimed, distantly. I heard a crunch and a cry of pain.

Suddenly Horatius was on his feet. He reached the doorway before me, which was a good thing, because a flung spear slammed into his shield and clattered to the floor. Now there was a //lot// of shouting in the hallway - and, I realized, downstairs. And outside. And in the keep. I didn't recognize the language, but it sounded like Perrin's instincts had been correct. And it sounded like we were horribly outnumbered.

Horatius raised his shield, just in time for a battle axe to bury itself in it. He reached for his mace, dropping the cylinder in the process. It bounced and rolled towards me.

"**Run**, Geva!" he shouted, swinging his mace at whoever was in that hallway. It struck home with a bloody crunch, but another spear immediately glanced off Horatius's armored shoulder.

My feet were obeying Horatius's command before I even knew what I was doing. As I bolted for the southern window, I called the metal cylinder to my hand, almost without thinking about it. Then I was out the window, cushioning my fall with magic, and sprinting off into the woods. No one saw me.

----

I did not go far. Down there in the dark, it was easy to draw the shadows around myself and hunker down among the old trees. The sounds of fighting did not last long, but the shouting continued on for some time. My heart was pounding as I listened. Surely my friends had not been killed? Who even were these enemies?

A flicker of torchlight appeared in the window, soon followed by my answer: a burly, bearded man clad in furs. Behind him, I thought I glimpsed a struggling Horatius being hauled away by two others. The man's eyes scanned the woods, but they glided right past me in the dark. As soon as he moved away from the window, I moved away from the trees. The castle wall stretched some distance to the east, but there was a high and seemingly unguarded gate not far away. I inched along with my back to the wall, then peered carefully through the opening.

In the courtyard, more of the fur-clad men were half-leading, half-dragging my friends - wounded and restrained, but alive - into the keep. I thought about slipping through the shadowed gate to follow them, but more enemies were emerging from the castle house now, wielding axes and shields, and heading my way. It would not be wise to go sneaking about while they were still on alert, so I retreated quietly to the forest and watched them take up positions by the gate. There would be no more sneaking tonight, but at least I knew that my friends were still alive. And I also knew who had captured them.

Valravns.

----

I used the cover of darkness to find myself a good tree to hide in, out of sight from the keep but within walking distance. I would need to be close, if I was going to rescue my friends.

When the sun rose early that morning, I took that opportunity to do a little exploring. Portland Isle seemed almost completely forested, and it wasn't very large; from the castle, it only took a little more than an hour to walk to its southernmost point, one a few places where the shorecliffs gave way to a proper beach. I allowed myself a little time to just stand there and bask in the salty breeze from the shimmering water, though both were chillier than I would've liked.

Then I gasped; there were ships in the distance! I could just see the sun shining on their billowing sails. Maybe I could signal for help somehow, and...give my presence away to the Valravns, even if the ships out there missed or ignored my signal. Drat.

This thought in mind, I headed back toward the castle. It overlooked a sheltered bay between Portland and Uk proper, which were connected by a long, wide beach not too far away. That'd be our escape route, once we were free, and it was nice to know that I'd have a way to get off the island myself if worst came to worst.

I eyed the castle cautiously. There were guards at the gate now, which was inconvenient, but the ivy all over the weathered walls would still make them laughably easy to climb. The real problem was the sunlight, which left me very few shadows to hide in. If I was going to do any major sneaking in there, it would have to be under cover of the night.

I spent some time lurking outside the castle, slowly circling its walls from a safe distance and squinting up at the windows, but there wasn't much to see, at least not on the landward. The beach, though, was a different story. Two battered longships had been hauled up onto the sand in the castle's shadow. They were large, flat vessels with curved prows carved in the likeness of monsters; one, some kind of feathered snake, and the other a yellow shark-like creature with four frills around its head like flower petals. Each ship had only a single mast, and one of them was visibly cracked. There were several other places where boards had broken or come loose, and I guessed that the Valravns had stopped here to repair their ships after some stormy mishap. I wasn't sure how that information might help me, but I didn't discount the possibility.

After another hour or so of fruitlessly watching from the trees, I resigned to go back to my hiding spot and wait for nightfall. That would give me time to more closely inspect that curious cylinder Horatius had dropped.

It was nothing too fancy, at least not at first glance. Made from dark metal, it was maybe 25 centimeters long, and thick enough to be held comfortably in one hand. It wasn't especially heavy, either, though I could hear something sliding around in there when I jostled it. There was a hinged metal lid at one end, with a prominent keyhole right at the center. My initial attempts to pry it open were unsurprisingly fruitless, but I thought I might have better luck picking the lock. Mundane criminals typically need special equipment for that sort of thing, but all I've ever needed to get somewhere I'm not supposed to be is a touch of magic and a little patience. It should've been easy enough to reach inside that keyhole with my sorcerous talents and move the tumblers around until it popped right open.

Well, it should've. I had barely started on my first try when a long needle, glistening with poison, popped out of the keyhole like a striking viper, then quickly retreated back inside. I shuddered to think what that poison might've done to me if I'd been using my hands. I kept trying, of course, but the trap kept going off. It soon became clear that, in addition to jabbing any would-be thief, the trap was also resetting all the tumblers every time it triggered. The trap would have to come apart before the lock, but that was easier said than done. I grabbed it (magically, of course) the next time it sprang, but whatever convoluted, no doubt partly magical, mechanism kept reloading the thing made a scraping sound so unpleasant that I feared it'd break inside the lock if I tried to pull the needle out, jamming the whole thing shut for good. Reluctantly, I released the needle and cursed as everything once again clicked back into place.

I also considered just smashing the tube open with a heavy rock, but I doubted myself strong enough for that. Anyone resourceful and paranoid enough to set up such a fiendishly complicated lock surely would've made sure that "nature's key" couldn't easily open it either. In fact, I wouldn't have put it past that thing's designer to include some other trap inside the tube that would ruin its contents if forced open, if the sheer violence of being crushed with a rock wasn't already enough to do that. Maybe the thing rattling around there was a fragile vial of ink or acid or something.

With a frustrated sigh, I set the container aside. I would only get to see its contents //after// I rescued my friends, and the key that Horatius must have still had.

----

I passed the next several days in this manner. By day, I would creep about in the forest, spying on the castle from safety, or explore the island and pick out more good places to hide. I had to be careful; sometimes, groups of Valravns would emerge from the castle to gather wood, some of which was used to repair their ships and some of which was burned. Others trained in the courtyard, sharpened their weapons, or perused the forests in vain for game they could bring down with thrown spears. None ranged very far from the castle, though, and I had little difficulty evading them in my ever-growing collection of hidey-holes. No one seemed to be actively searching for me, which I took as proof that I'd gone unseen on the night of our arrival.

By night, I found it almost humorously easy to evade detection. There must have been almost a hundred Valravns in that castle, but I've always found it easier to avoid crowds than small groups. When a hundred people are in one place, they're all moving around and talking and looking at each other, not scanning the nooks and crannies for suspicious sights or listening intently for strange noises. It was a small matter to shroud myself in shadows, muffle my footsteps, and clamber across the overgrown walls.

Though they were not speaking a language I could understand, I was nonetheless able to learn quite a bit about these Valravns just by creeping around in their living spaces. Nearly all of them were men, and they were all warriors of some stripe, equipped with the axes and spears I'd seen before as well as some colorful (but not mind-affecting) wooden shields. It was clear that this group was part of an army or raid, and it seemed that they had only stopped here temporarily. There was not much furniture in the castle, so most of the Valravns had made temporary accommodations on the floor of the keep, or the lower level of the attached house we'd arrived in. This had the unfortunate side effect of keeping me out of their living quarters, lest I accidentally step on a sleeper and find myself surrounded, but I could still peek in through the windows. I even crawled in through one, finding myself in a kitchen or pantry of sorts mercifully devoid of slumbering Valravns. Their stores of dried fish, nuts, and berries fed me well in those furtive days. There were also some kegs of mead in there, which (after sampling my fair share) I stuffed with rotten fish from the trash heap. I doubted that it'd be enough to make them sick - surely the foul taste would give it away - but if nothing else a lack of drink would put them in a sour mood, and maybe start a little infighting as the Valravns blamed each other for my prank.

Also in my creepings, I managed to identify their leaders. One was a huge man whose wild, red hair was braided with human bones, and whose skin was covered in strange runic tattoos. He wore no armor, only the hide of a bear, complete with a fanged skull for a helmet. Most of the others (understandably) seemed to regard him with fear. Their other leader was less immediately threatening, but I received the distinct impression that she was more respected than feared, unlike the bear-skinned brute. Instead of chain, her cuirass seemed to be made of bronze. I didn't see how the softer metal would provide any better protection, but it had at least allowed the armor to be intricately carved with designs that resembled gears, as well as writing in an alphabet I couldn't recognize. She also wore a steel helmet with stylized wings protruding from the sides, which struck me as even more impractical than favoring bronze over steel. I wondered if perhaps her armor was ceremonial, but both she and it bore enough battle scars to indicate otherwise. Maybe she was simply fierce enough to overcome these seeming vulnerabilities. That might explain why the men showed her such deference. All of them, that is, except the bear-skinned one, with whom I frequently saw her arguing.

Eventually, I even managed to locate most of my captured friends. Moritz was the first I spotted; it seemed that he'd been put to work reopening the portal to Portland, under the supervision of armed guards. After seeing how quickly he'd opened the one in the lighthouse, I got the distinct impression that the vaguely menacing diagrams that he was now drawing very, very slowly on that upstairs room's floor were intended more as a stalling tactic than actual effort. Silently, I applauded his resistance.

Arcos, also, was easy to find. After the first few days, he started to accompany the firewood-gatherers, who surely appreciated his great strength. They had wisely refrained from trusting him with an axe, though, and they also kept him bound in leg irons to deter any thoughts of flight. Just from the look in his eyes, I could tell that it took every bit of restraint he possessed not to kill the captors with his bare hands. Surely, though, he knew as well as I did that it'd be impossible to fight our way out of this.

There was no sign at all of Perrin, and I wondered if he'd been killed, perhaps in a botched escape attempt or as a result of one too many sharp retorts. I soon came to doubt this possibility, though, for I surely would've noticed any major ruckus, 
and surely Arcos would be in much worse state if his partner had been slain.

I was likewise unable to lay eyes on Horatius, but there could be no doubt that he still lived, for I regularly heard him scream. It set my teeth on edge and my blood to boiling, but he was too deep in the castle for me to reach him. I sustained myself with promises that these bastards would pay double for every wound they'd dealt him.

Free as I was to enter their lodgings by night, I often thought of doing away with these marauders in their sleep. I could never quite push myself to follow through on it, reasoning that I only had to make one mistake for the alarm to be raised and my life to be ended, and for fear of what might be done to my compatriots in retaliation even if I did get away. Horatius was no doubt suffering terribly, but the fact that he continued to be so tormented proved that he was still withstanding it. As long as Arcos and Moritz were yet unharmed, there was still a chance that I could get us out of this without taking such a tremendous risk.

Soon, I began to grow frustrated. Stealing their food and tampering with their drinks was well and good, but it wouldn't get my friends any closer to escape. Those ships would be fixed soon, and then they'd probably take my friends off somewhere else, stranding me alone on this saintsforsaken island.

These thoughts are what inspired my greatest trick yet. On the fourth night of our captivity, I crept down to the beach toward the two longships. Their repairs looked almost complete; I had not acted a moment too soon. If successful, this act of sabotage would be by far my most effective. But if I failed, I might very well die. As I walked, though, I realized that these stakes were not as unfamiliar to me as they had once been - or, rather, that they had once again become familiar to me. I was back in my element, and while the sparse forests of Portland Isle were no more warm or comfortable than the hard pew in Saint Talloran's shrine had been, I now had a better reason to endure that adversity than mere senseless rebellion. My friends were in peril, and I was the only one who could save them.

That is why, after I effortlessly waved the few drowsy sentries to sleep in the sand, I emptied two pots full of smoldering coals from the kitchen fire onto the wooden decks of both longships. I was long gone by the time anyone in the castle noticed the fires, and one of the ships had burnt almost to the waterline by the time they extinguished them. The other ship had not burned much at all, sadly; I think that its stowed sails had somehow escaped the blaze, or perhaps its boards were simply better treated. The ensuing argument between the two leaders, right there on the beach, was their most spectacular yet. At one point, it almost seemed that they might strike each other and set off a whole fracas, though I was not that lucky. In the end, the man simply stormed away, barking orders at those who'd gathered to watch. They seemed strangely uneasy.

In the morning, I learned what those orders had been. I watched as roughly half of the Valravns in the castle loaded provisions, weapons, and finally themselves into the longboat that was still seaworthy. To my relief, they didn't bring any of my friends with them. This, I had expected; if Moritz was still expected to open the portal, his allies would be better kept here as additional leverage. The wing-woman watched impassively from the castle's ramparts as the others sailed away. I assumed that they had promised to return, probably with another ship, or else the Valravns still in the castle would've surely put up more of a fight against being marooned. I couldn't guess how long it might take for those reinforcements to return, but knew that I had to free my friends before that happened.

With the castle now half empty, I expected it to be even easier to creep through. However, it seemed that the warriors had finally wised up to (or at least come to suspect) my unseen intrusions, as every doorway was now manned by two guards with spears crossed before the entrance, a barrier I could not safely pass under without risking discovery. Fortunately, the castle's high, narrow windows were no more secure than they had ever been. While scrambling about on the ivy-shrouded walls, I was able to see and hear much that escaped me before.

On the first night, I peered in through a window of the house to watch Moritz work. He had now covered nearly the entire room in arcane scribbles, accentuated in places by unlit candles that were placed not quite randomly but not quite in a recognizable shape either. His armed guards, two spearmen, seemed bored and bewildered by the whole thing. I was still thinking about putting them to sleep and rescuing Moritz when their leader entered. The guards snapped back to attention at her approach, and even Moritz slightly adjusted his posture. To my surprise, she addressed him in heavily-accented Common.

"How much longer will this take, wizard?"

He shrugged. "It is hard to say. The polarity of the connection-"

She cut him off with an abrupt hand gesture. "I care not for your arcane gibberish, and I am beginning to suspect that it means as little to you as it does to me. Are you stalling me, wizard?"

"Of course not! But this is a delicate ritual. I've only done it once, and as far as I know no one had ever done it before that."

"Are you suggesting that you might be //unable// to reopen my path to America?"

"No!" he said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "No, of course not! But this sort of magic is very precise. You wouldn't want to be dumped into the endless black abysses beyond the edge of the universe, now would you?"

"And //you// wouldn't want me to saw your back open and rip your lungs out, but I'll still do it to you and all your friends anyway if you don't get this damned portal open before my husband returns. I //know// you are tricking me somehow, and I am not a woman who likes to be tricked!"

Grimacing, Moritz bowed stiffly. "Fear not, lady Runa. The portal will be opened."

"It had best be, or I will open your throat instead." At that, she stalked from the room.

I now understood why she commanded such power among the Valravns.

Now sweating profusely and swearing quietly, Moritz sat back on the floor and returned to his book. He paged through it frantically, no doubt searching for a solution to this captivity that had somehow evaded him. I thought I might have an idea. With a wave of my finger, I ignited a small green flame on the candle nearest to him. Moritz noticed immediately. His guards, who had now returned to their dice game, did not. The wizard stared at the flame for a few seconds, then began to look cautiously about the room. I dared to drop my shadowy shroud just a smidgen, enough that someone who was already looking for me might pick up my outline. And so Moritz did, when his eyes alit on the window. I gestured at him, but he quickly looked away. Flipping to one of the book's blank back pages, he began to scribble furiously. Then, with a great cry of feigned frustration, he angrily tore the page from the book, crumpled it in his fist, and flung it towards the window - towards me. The guards briefly looked up at his outburst, but apparently they were used to such outbursts. Once Moritz had returned to his studies and they to their game, I reached out with my talents and drew the wad of paper to myself. Then I scrambled back down the wall to read it.

> Demon summoning circle. Waiting signal. Others center keep bottom floor. Hurry.

I hurried.

"Center keep bottom floor" was, naturally, the hardest part of the castle for me to access. Peering in through the deep, narrow windows of the ground floor, I could see an octagonal room being used as living quarters for maybe a dozen Valravns, all of whom were never far from their weapons. A narrow partition blocked off the rear half of the room, save for doorways at either end, leaving me to assume that my friends were locked up back there somewhere. There was no way I could sneak past that many guards, even if I did come in through the window. I crept back to the forest before dawn, wracking my brain for a solution.

----

On the second night, I returned to the windows of their prison, but it was just as well-defended as before. I stayed there for hours, vainly hoping that some unexpected change might give me an opening, but no such opportunity arose. I was still trying to think of a plan when two new Valravns entered the room and went behind the partition. Soon after, they reemerged with Arcos in tow - and in chains. They led him from the room, and it took a great deal of scrabbling about on my part to find him again. When I did, it came as a great surprise - for they had brought him to the personal chambers of lady Runa, the westernmost room on the top floor. It was as large as the other rooms in the keep, but that just meant that Runa had twelve times the personal space of her soldiers. This room even had a large bed, a small table, and two chairs. Runa had been waiting in one, and Arcos was forcibly seated in the other. Then, at Runa's orders, the men who had escorted him unchained his hands and feet before finally leaving the room.

"Welcome, Arcos," she said, in Common. He did not offer a reply.

"Help yourself," she offered, gesturing at the food spread on the table. It was mostly the same as what I'd been stealing from the kitchen downstairs, with the addition of some cheese, dried berries, and a flagon of mead that had somehow escaped my sabotage.

Arcos did not help himself. I don't even think he was looking at her.

"I promise I'm not poisoning you." To prove this assertion, she took a great swig of the mead and a bite of fish.

Still, he remained silent. Unbidden, the absurd thought that his tongue had been cut out crossed my mind.

"Fine," she sighed. "So you are a man of few words. But you are also a man with the blood of giants, and I wish to know how you found yourself in league with such inferior comrades."

Slowly, an expression of contempt twisted across Arcos's face.

"Have I offended you, Arcos? I surely did not mean it. But it seems clear to me that your compatriots are less capable warriors than you. And yet the small man and the deranged knight both seem to think that they are the leader of your little band. Why do you tolerate this? I am curious."

Arcos growled quietly, but he did not speak. Or perhaps it was his stomach that was growling.

"I can wait here all night, Arcos. Please, for the love of the gods, just eat something. I want to know your story."

Still eyeing her suspiciously, he reached hesitantly for a piece of fish. But once it reached his mouth, there was no longer any hesitation. I got the impression that they hadn't been feeding him much in captivity.

"There. Now isn't that better? These are from my personal stores."

"What do you want with me, wench?" Arcos spat, through a mouthful of food.

She shrugged. "I just want to know who you are. My people place great value on stories, and yours must surely be an interesting one."

"It surely is," he said, still chewing. "But I will not burden you with its telling, for it is as long and meandering as a mountain road, and I fear that it has ended most shamefully."

"Oh, but it hasn't ended, Arcos. Not yet. Not anytime soon, if I have any say in the matter."

"If you do not mean me ill, you have a very odd way of showing it."

"By inviting you to my chambers and offering the finest food on hand?"

"By clapping me in irons and forcing me to work."

She shook her head. "That was all my husband's doing. All he knows is violence."

"And you know better?" Arcos asked, skeptically. "It is you who have been tormenting Horatius."

My fists clenched tighter on the vines.

"It is I," she said, "who have recognized your true potential and brought you out of bondage in pursuit of a greater and more glorious end."

"And what end would that be?"

Instead of answering, she took another long drink of mead. Beads of foam remained on her thin lips, which she licked lasciviously away.

"Among Valravns," she said, "you would be a legend. A warrior of your strength and wisdom...the mead-halls would ring with cheers when you entered. Feasts would be held in your honor. Maidens would throw themselves at your feet. You could be a king."

"And you my disloyal queen?"

Runa blinked in surprise, but quickly recovered with a smile.

"Truly, you are perceptive. But why would you think me disloyal?"

"Have you not a husband?"

"Bah. Halvar has too much between the legs and not enough between the ears. He is a fierce warrior, but he is not a king. Not like you, handsome Arcos."

Slowly, she stood.

"I am no king."

"Why not?" she continued, moving to Arcos's side. "None could stand against you on the field of battle, not with me by your side."

"Nor with your spear in my back?"

"I am not a murderess, Arcos."

"No, you want me to kill your husband in your stead."

"It would be easy, Arcos. Then we could rule this clan, and far more."

Standing behind him now, she placed her pale hands on his bare shoulders. Was she planning to slit his throat?

"I have no desire to rule."

"Why not?"

"I care not for prestige or politics. I live for the thrill of it; the flow of drink, the roar of battle, the sight of a new land, the cold wind through my hair, the hot embrace of strong arms."

At that, Runa bent forward, slowly wrapping her arm around Arcos's neck. I was startled by the bulge of her biceps; did she mean to strangle him?!

"Arms like these?" she asked.

"You will not seduce me to your ways, wench."

"But will I seduce you to my bed?" she whispered, mouth mere inches from his ear. "You are a man who burns with passion. Passion like that which burns in me."

Oh. I could feel my invisible face turning red.

"Your passion is not lust. It is greed. Do you want nothing for its own sake?"

"Power! I seek power for the sake of power, for that is all that truly matters!"

"If that is what you believe, we have nothing else to say to each other. I will not be your husband, and I will not be your fool."

Suddenly, her arm tightened. Arcos's neck muscles bulged, resisting her grip.

"Then perhaps you should be my slave. I hold the very lives of your wretched friends in my grasp. I could slaughter them before your helpless eyes."

"You would not," he said, through gritted teeth. "You need Moritz to open the portal. Horatius knows something you want. And Perrin has surely double-crossed us already, probably without you even having to bed him first."

She squeezed harder, and Arcos grimaced.

"Then perhaps," she hissed, "I should kill //you//."

"Do what you will," he rasped. "I am no one's slave."

For a long, tense moment, she maintained her stranglehold. I silently willed Arcos to stand up, to fight back, to do //something// besides just sit there and suffocate! But perhaps he knew better than I did, because she eventually released her grip.

"Damn you, Arcos. Damn your honor, and the respect it commands. There will come a day when you die penniless in some gutter, or hanged by a cruel magistrate, or laid low by some petty illness or accident, and as you walk the cold road to Hel you will remember me. You will remember the kingdom you could have had."

"I will remember," he spat, "that your breath reeks of fish."

Angrily, she swatted him on the back of the head. Arcos grunted with pain, but he did not retaliate, nor did he move as she left the room and the guards returned to place him back in chains. I still begged him to fight back, but even I knew that such resistance would be fruitless as long as they had us so outnumbered.

Although...now that I knew where Runa slept at night, perhaps I could prevent her from waking up again. I could not hang by that window all night, though, as my trembling arms attested. Instead, I climbed up to the roof to rest. Up there, I was delighted to find a door. It was a flimsy, wooden thing, clearly meant for stopping weather, not intruders. I dared not open it yet, though, not while Runa was still angry and on the prowl, and probably alert for threats.

At least, I told myself this was the reason for my hesitation. I know now that I was merely a coward, afraid to do what I had done only once before, and only then in desperate self-defense. I will not speak of the circumstances that taught a young street girl to kill, but let it suffice to say that I would not have survived them had my sorcerous talents not manifested when they did. Carefully planning a murder felt different from that reflexive lash, and I was not eager to face those feelings - or those memories - again. For that reason, I eventually retreated back to the trees, to spend yet another day in hiding.

----

On the third night, I heard Horatius screaming louder than ever. The sound carried easily from the bottom floor, echoing up through a lightwell to the roof where I was still lying in wait, still trying to work up my courage. As I perched beside the well, I could clearly hear the happenings below. Each scream, crack, and thud made me almost sick with anger. Soon, though, the noise subsided, to be replaced with speech.

"I must admit," Runa said. "You have lasted far longer than I expected."

When Horatius replied, his voice was hoarse from screaming.

"I am stronger than you could ever imagine."

"Perhaps you are right. But make no mistake: what you have experienced thus far is only a fraction of the torment I could inflict upon you."

"And what you have seen is only a fraction of my resilience."

"That, I believe. As fun as it would be to string you up by your ankles until your head bursts, or force you underwater until you nearly drown, or slice off every single one of your fingers and toes joint by joint, I don't think it would do me any good. If you were ever going to break, you would have done so by now. I don't know if I should be impressed by your resolve or frightened by your madness. Mostly, I am frustrated. This is why I have decided to try a new approach. Perrin?"

"Hello, Horatius," said a familiar voice. "You look like shit."

That bastard! Arcos had been right. Horatius did not answer Perrin's greeting, nor his insult.

"Could we have a moment, dear?" Dear?! "He's not gonna talk to me while you're around."

There were some moments of silence, presumably as Runa left the room, but I doubted she had gone far.

"Okay," Perrin said, "here's the thing. We are all going to die here unless we give these people what they want. The only thing keeping me out of that chair is you being in it. I'm impressed and a little horrified by just how much punishment you've been able to take, but it's getting kind of old, Horatius. If she gives up on you, she's gonna start working on us. See, here's the way I figure it. You're a real selfless martyr kind of guy, right? So what are you gonna do when she starts threatening to do that to me and Arcos and Moritz and...our other friend, once they catch her. She can't keep playing guerilla forever like this. She's gonna do something stupid and get caught, and then we're all gonna have to watch while they slice her to pieces. Please, Horatius. It's better that you give up whatever secret you're hiding //now//, before we all get cut to bits. At least this way if they do let us go when they're done, we might have enough fingers left to still fight the dragon."

When Horatius next spoke, it was with cold certainty.

"You are a traitor and a coward, Perrin. I would not lift a finger to stop these Valravns from torturing you, and I know that Arcos would kill them all with his teeth or die trying before he submitted to such treatment. They won't do a damn thing to Moritz as long as he's working on that Way. And unlike you, I have faith that our friend will get us out of this mess."

"Faith?! I have faith, too, you know. D-11424, patron saint of the D-caste, not that you've heard of him. Every time the Foundation sent me into one of their dungeons, I prayed to him to help me miraculously survive whatever nightmare I found down there. Every time I face danger, I strive to emulate his calm, his cleverness, and his unbelievable luck. And I think it is because of those qualities that I still have all my body parts. But you know what, Horatius? I also understand that D-11424 is //dead//. Just as dead as your patron saint is, no matter how fanatically dedicated you are. Just as dead as our friend will be if - when - these psychopaths get their claws on her. We are on our own in here, Horatius. Maybe you //want// to die, but I want to //live//. I want all of us to live, even you. If you want to martyr yourself, there are less literal ways to do that! Spill your metaphorical guts to that bitch, and maybe she won't spill our literal ones. Please!"

"I have nothing more to say to you, coward."

"Dammit, Horatius. Damn you."

A moment passed, then I heard Runa's voice again.

"He's right, you know. I am going to kill that little witch when I catch her. Or maybe I'll sell her to the Daevites, and see what wonderful torment they come up with."

"You won't catch her." He sounded more sure than I felt. "And if she doesn't kill you, I will."

Runa laughed. I did not.

----

On the fourth night, I decided to do it. I swallowed my fear and revulsion and told myself that this, too, would be just as much a necessary act of desperation as my other deed had been. It was well after midnight when I returned to roof, stopping by Runa's window on the way to ensure that she was asleep. The makeshift door had no hinges or handles, so I used my magic to slowly and carefully and quietly lift it aside. The narrow stairs below led to an unmanned guardroom overlooking the courtyard; another flight led down from there to the main part of the second story. I crept along, wrapped tight in shadows and silence, with my stolen sailor's knife in hand. The stairs ended at a hallway, which led right to the room above my friends' prison and left to Runa's chamber. There were no doors, only animal hides strung up to create some rudimentary privacy. No guards glimpsed me as I brushed past the curtain and into Runa's room.

The only light inside came from the dying embers in the fireplace beside the door. In their low glow I could see Runa's shoulders rising and falling as she breathed. Her back was towards the door; what luck! The bed was in the opposite corner from the entrance, with its headboard against north wall. The window through which I had first spied this room was just past its foot.

I made my way towards her, carefully avoiding the table and chairs. I would sneak up from behind, then slit her throat before she even had a chance to wake. It would be easy. //It would be easy//, I told myself, trying to steady my nerves and shaking hands. After all she had done to my friends, this was the only fate she deserved.

Perhaps because I was so lost in this internal struggle, I did not notice the nutshells on the floor until I stepped on them. Very loudly.

In an instant, Runa sprang from her bed, wielding a spear that had to be two meters long at least. Had she not been stabbing in the dark, I'm sure she would've run me through. Realizing I'd been had, I did the only thing that made sense and ran. I flung a wave of green energy out behind myself, hoping that it might knock her down long enough for me to make it back outside. She shouted an alarm as the wave hit her, and I was sure that the sleepers in the next room would've heard. One of them swept aside the curtain in the hallway just as I entered from the other end. Had I not been shorter than his usual opponents, his battle axe would've taken off my head. Instead, I blasted him too and sprinted up the stairs. Not a moment after I rounded the corner, Runa's spear stuck into the wall beside me. She led the charge up the stairs, but now I was going faster than her, scrambling up the narrow flight on all fours like a rodent. I had dropped my knife somewhere along the way, not that it would do me any good now.

Once on the roof, I realized just how deep my trouble really was. There was no way to scale these walls quickly. I could jump down, using a very useful trick that would make me land as lightly as a feather, but that would just put me in a courtyard that would very soon be filling up with bloodthirsty Valravns. My only chance was to leap down and sprint for the gate through the wall. Runa arrived on the roof just in time to see me jump, and she rushed to the battlements to watch me float down. Just as my feet touched dirt, a pack of warriors burst out of the keep entrance. I ran for the gate, only to find myself cut off by another group that had been guarding it. I sent another wave of energy their way, or tried to, but stumbled and accidentally discharged the blast into the dirt instead. More warriors boiled out of the castle house to my right. The only way I could have run was left, but the courtyard was empty of cover. I'd certainly catch a spear in the back before it reached the other wall.

I do not clearly recall what exactly happened next. My mind was swimming in a sea of panic. I was //sure// that I was about to die. I am not sure that, even in the adventures that followed, I was ever again as frightened as I was in that courtyard, running alone and unarmed surrounded by these screaming savage warriors with axes and spears bigger than me. There wasn't even going to be anything left of my body.

But...somehow in that sea of panic, some part of me grabbed on to a few key things. There was the castle house there on my right, that my enemies were spilling out of, where Moritz was presumably still locked up somewhere. There was the floating trick I had done when I jumped from the roof, that I had done many times in Arnven when ditching the scene of a crime or sneaking out of the castle. There was that blast of green energy that I had accidentally launched at the ground, and all the dirt and dust that that blast had kicked up. I didn't //consciously// put these things together. It just sort of //happened//. And after it happened, I was standing on the roof of the house.

Dizzily, I looked down at the befuddled warriors who had presumably seen me jump about five meters into the air. One of them chucked a spear at me, but it was a bad shot at a bad angle and ricocheted harmlessly off the crenelations around the roof's edge. I jumped back away from it, making myself all but invisible from the ground. Then I saw Runa, still standing at the spot where I had jumped from the keep and visibly fuming with fury at my unlikely escape. Riding high on my near-miss with death, I pressed my luck just a bit too far by making an...extremely rude gesture in her direction.

With a snarl, she slammed the butt of her spear against the stone, striking sparks from it. Golden light raced up the shaft to accumulate at the point, which began to glow red hot. The intricate lines on her cuirass also lit up, and the gear designs somehow seemed to spin. Then, with a loud metallic clang, two great wings of gleaming, sharpened bronze erupted from the back of her armor. It was then that I once again began to run.

I could hear Runa swooping down behind me, but all that mattered was the outer wall of that house. I plunged over it headfirst, and that glowing spear almost took my head off as she whizzed past overhead. I launched a blast an instant before I hit the ground, bouncing myself up to land painfully but non-fatally on my face. The impact nearly stunned me, but there was no time for that. Runa //dove//, and it was all I could do to get out of her way before that spear smote the dirt with the fury of a lightning bolt. It was only the softness of the soil that saved me; Runa wasted precious moments prying her embedded weapon out of the earth, and several more folding her wings back shut to chase me through the trees. I knew the forest better, though, and I could duck under low branches that would be hazards to her. I zigged, I zagged, and I scrambled over logs and under bushes. I kept running until I reached the southern shore, long after the shouts and torches of pursuing warriors had faded into the distance. I crawled into a hidden hollow, and there I finally fainted.

----

On the fifth day, I awoke in pain. The previous night's brushes with death had seemingly left my whole body cramped and bruised, and it felt like the heat from Runa's spear had even burned the back of my head a little. The thirst, pain, and exhaustion made it a long, painful walk back to my original hidey-hole, but the last of the stolen mead therein helped with all three. It also awakened my appetite, which I quenched with the last bits of stolen food. Only once the hunger subsided did I start to wonder why there were not still warriors searching for me in daylight, when it would surely be much easier. Though the relief was much-needed, it created a pit of dread in my stomach. Something had changed, and likely not for the better.

I was still only halfway to the castle when I heard a horn blow. I hoped that didn't mean what I thought it meant, but a quick trip down to the beach confirmed my fears: the returning longship had been sighted. Time was almost up.

In a panic, I formed and discarded countless desperate plans to penetrate the castle and save my friends, despite the broad daylight and the numerous Valravns who were doubtless expecting me to try something stupid. All this and more flashed through my mind as I ran through the woods, trying to ignore the pain in my arms and legs. When I had no choice but to stop for breath, I would creep back to the beach to measure the enemy's progress. Each such look only worsened my panic, because the ship seemed to be moving more than twice as fast as I was. What had started as just a blur in the distance was now the clear outline of their strangely-shaped ship. I could even see the splashing of the oars beside it, as if the damnable westward wind was not speeding them along enough. At this rate, I would be hard-pressed to even reach the castle before they did.

I didn't make it. By the time I got there, Halvar was already leading his force around to the castle gate - or at least, what was left of his force. The forty-some Valravns he'd departed with had been reduced to maybe half that, and many of those who remained were clearly injured. They all looked worn and weary.

In a flash of inspiration, I wondered if this might be an opportunity. Runa had clearly wanted her husband dead; might she see his force's sorry state as a chance to take him out? She might not have another choice, if there wasn't room for both her troops and the rest of Halvar's on a single ship. Either way, it was a good thing that he hadn't brought reinforcements as I'd feared. As subtly as I could, I inched along the castle wall to peer through the gate, which I now realized had not been under guard when Halvar's men passed through it. Interesting.

I grinned hopefully, or perhaps manically, when I saw the scene in the courtyard. Halvar's party had stopped just inside the gate, because they'd found Runa's men blocking their path. Her soldiers stood clearly formed for battle, shields and weapons at the ready. Runa's voice came from the direction of the keep, higher than I could see through the gate, and Halvar bellowed a reply. I couldn't understand what they said, of course, but I had more important things to worry about anyway.

The room where the Way was, where Moritz would hopefully still be, had a window on the exterior wall. I scrambled up the wall, not bothering to be terribly quiet since everyone's attention was surely fixed on the coup-in-progress, if that is what it was. Peeking in through the window, I was elated to find Moritz still alive! He was still under guard, but they were both too focused on what was happening outside to even know what happened when I put them to sleep.

"Moritz!" I whispered, as he looked confusedly at the suddenly unconscious guards.

"Geva? Gods, what happened to you?" I must've looked even worse than I felt, but living in the woods for a week will do that to you.

"Never mind that," I said, already through the window. "What's happening? Do you know what they're saying?"

"Runa's about to overthrow Halvar. He was supposed to come back with another ship but went out to raid instead and...well, look at them."

"This is our best chance, then. Is this ready?" I asked, gesturing at the summoning circle.

He nodded. "All we need is the Source. Help me drag these bastards over there."

Quickly, we moved the dozing guards onto the diagram. With a quiet word, Moritz lit all the candles.

"Do you have to stay here," I asked, "after the, uh, demon shows up?"

"No. I'm just going to point it at them and let it fly."

"Then you'll come with me to get the others while they're distracted."

"Okay." He glanced out the window. "When?"

I moved over to it and peeked out as well, staying low in case someone happened to glance our way. Now I saw that Runa was standing on the roof, at the same spot I'd jumped from the night before. With her towering spear, bronze wings gleaming in the sun, and golden hair flowing in the sea breeze, she cut a far more impressive figure than the bedraggled Halvar. Moritz translated key bits for me as they argued.

"They're insulting each other...he thinks she was wasting her time trying to open this portal...she's uh, she's saying a very rude thing about his privates...said she's found a new, uh, not husband, I think that translates more like consort, or maybe concubine?"

On cue, Perrin stepped onto the roof. That backstabbing scum! He smiled like a cat with a mouthful of bird. Moritz didn't translate Halvar's response, but I got the gist of it. I was still glaring daggers at Perrin when, to my utter shock, he caught my eye. Then the bastard had the audacity to wink! I nearly told Moritz to sic the demon on that backstabber inst-

"Glory to Halvar!" Perrin suddenly cried, triumphantly raising a rapier in his right hand. Confusion flashed across Runa's face, right before Perrin's short sword plunged through the seam where the front and back of her cuirass met.

Oh. "Now!" I sputtered. Dutifully, Moritz raised his staff and speared one of the sleeping guards with its crystal tip. The other one started awake at the sound, but he was dead before he could stand.

Outside, Halvar's confused men had taken Perrin's betrayal as their cue to attack Runa's even more confused forces. Halvar himself led the charge, howling like an animal as he smashed effortlessly through the enemy lines with a massive axe. Perrin had already disappeared down the stairs, leaving Runa on the roof to bleed out.

"[[[scp-7412 |Fifteenth Lord of Envy]]]!" Moritz chanted, arms raised. "Master of the Dark Triad! I conjure you, demon, and I command you to smite my foes!" The dead guards' blood evaporated into sulfurous smoke, and a living shadow with burning red eyes took form within it.

"Go!" Moritz yelled, frightened. He didn't have to tell me twice. We barreled down the hallway, heading for the stairs at the far end of the house. No one tried to stop us; all the Valravns were outside, dying. No one even noticed as we ran behind Runa's forces and into the keep. As we passed, I saw the demon erupt from the window with a peal of sinister laughter and plunge into the masses below, scattering blood and fire everywhere.

The first room we came to was the one we'd been looking for. I raced to one end of the partition, and Moritz to the other. On my side, I found a trapezoidal room that was almost empty, save for a small alcove at the back where a huge, familiar figure had been chained.

"Arcos!" I cheered, just as he cried my own name in surprise and relief.

"What's happening?" he asked, as I quickly set my magic to work against the locks holding him down.

"The Valravns are fighting each other. Perrin stabbed Runa and Moritz summoned a demon."

"He what?!" Arcos asked, before I even got to the part about the demon.

"In more ways than one," Perrin said, now standing at the doorway. I whirled on him, and was somewhat surprised to see him carrying Horatius's hideous shield in one hand and holding Arcos's hammer over his shoulder with the other.

"You traitor!" I accused.

"Does this look like betrayal?" he asked, hurrying over to us. He laid the hammer against the wall beside Arcos. "I don't know where they put your armor, but there's no time for that anyway. Let's get the Corb out of here before that berserker castrates us both."

I finished opening the chains. Immediately, Arcos stood and grabbed his hammer. "Where's Moritz?" he asked.

"Over there," I said, pointing to the other half of the partitioned area, which was presumably Horatius's cell. Arcos and Perrin both winced.

"Come on," Arcos said, grimly. We hurried back into the main part of the room, only to find ourselves face-to-face with a dozen of Runa's men, apparently fleeing from the twin horrors of berserker and demon outside. They looked at us with pure hate.

"Now, look-" Perrin began, but they weren't interested in his tricks. They just charged.

"Kitchen!" Arcos yelled, because the hallway leading to it was right beside us. I darted down it, with the others retreating behind me. They didn't run, though; the two of stopped a meter or so past the door, with Perrin half-crouched in front of Arcos. I looked back in confusion, wondering why they hadn't simply fled.

Soon, the answer became clear: they didn't need to. Perrin moved like a cat, dodging every stab and swing and replying to each one in kind with a precise jab of his rapier. Arcos swung the hammer clean over Perrin's head, shattering shields and skulls alike. The Valravns never had a chance, forced as they were by the narrow hallway to attack one at a time.

"Go around!" Perrin barked, clearly addressing me. Quickly, I dashed down the stairs from the kitchen to the inner courtyard, an arc-shaped space with a stone floor and an open ceiling where a wooden roof had rotted away. At its other end, the courtyard had another short flight of stairs leading up to a room the Valravns had camped in. From there, another hallway led back to the room where he had entered.

I didn't get to go that way, though, because three of the fleeing warriors had apparently thought better than trying to fight my friends in the hallway and tried to go around, just like me. They rushed me at once. Remembering a time I'd evaded three guards, I sent a blast of force their way, aimed low and wide. It caught all three of them in the knees, knocking them flat on their bellies. I jumped over the one in the middle, stomping on his back as I continued into the first room.

I was met there by three other Valrvans, who seemed unsure if they wanted to plunge into Arcos and Perrin's kill zone, chase after the three I'd just tripped, run back outside, or drop their weapons and surrender. When I came into the view, they mistook me for an easy target. One raised a spear to throw it, but it hadn't even left his hand when a ball of fire shot from somewhere to my left and downed all three of them with a loud //whoosh//. I looked to its source, Moritz, standing in the gap at the end of the partition.

I could hear the ones I'd tripped getting back up. I backed away from the hall, offering them to Moritz, who nodded appreciatively. He stepped proudly in front of the doorway just as they had all filed into the hall. In the instant before a lightning bolt fried them, I heard one scream for mercy.

At about the same time, Arcos and Perrin finished dispatching the other six. They picked their way over to us, across the heap of corpses they'd created.

"Damn," Perrin said, looking at the destruction Moritz had wrought.

"Wait until you see what my demon did," he said, with a smile.

"Where's Horatius?" I asked, looking between Moritz and the doorway he'd emerged from.

Moritz grimaced and looked away.

"What?!" I demanded.

"He..." Moritz began.

"Geva..." Arcos cautioned.

Perrin dropped the warded shield.

"No!" I cried, dashing past them both and into the torture chamber. I will not - can not - go into the details of what Runa had done to my friend, but I know that when I saw him I was sure he hadn't survived it. I think that I screamed. I might have fainted briefly. I know that I lost myself for a bit, because the next thing I remember is being back in the courtyard, with Moritz pulling me along. I remember it because Halvar's howl was what startled me back to my senses.

He rushed us like the savage bear whose pelt he wore. He was covered head-to-toe in the black, sooty remains of the demon he'd apparently vanquished, and the blood-red runes glowing through on his arms and chest made him look even more infernal than it had. Perrin dodged the first swing of that massive axe by mere centimeters. He tried to counterattack, but the backswing clubbed him across the head, throwing him down unconscious or dead. Howling like an animal himself, Arcos responded in kind. Halvar didn't even move to block the incoming hammer, still stained with the blood and brains of his slaughtered kin. It fell like a meteor on the berserker's head, shattering the bear-skull helmet to dust. And then it just...stopped.

Arcos gazed dumbly at the unharmed berserker. We all did. A blow like that should've driven him knee-deep into the ground, but he hadn't even felt it. Nor had it slowed him down any, as Arcos discovered when the axe blade passed with centimeters of his face, swatting his hammer aside. The axe's beard hooked around the shaft, and it was all Arcos could do to keep it from twisting out of his grasp.

Moritz threw another bolt of lightning at Halvar, but it fizzled uselessly where it made contact with his glowing tattoos. The same happened when I struck him with a blast of green energy.

Recovering from the initial shock, Arcos twisted his grip and heaved the other way, hooking the axe with the spike on the back of his hammer. Halvar and he heaved with all their might, each trying to disarm the other. Arcos's longer weapon offered better leverage, and it almost looked like that would make the difference, but he was taken off guard when Halvar simply let go of the axe and drove his shaggy head directly into Arcos's face. Arcos staggered backwards, trailing blood from his nose and dropping the tangled weapons in stunned confusion.

"Hurry!" Moritz said, trying to drag me away. All the other Valravns were dead; we had a clear path to the exit, if we didn't mind leaving the others to die. But I couldn't do that, not so soon after losing Horatius. I tore free of Moritz's grip, flinging blast after blast at the berserker's back, head, and limbs, all without effect. Horatius did not join me, but I cared not for his cowardice. I would stay to defend my friends. I //had// to.

Like a wild animal, Halvar pounced, trying to throw his massive hands around Arcos's neck. Arcos did the same, perhaps hoping that the mystic tattoos wouldn't protect him from strangulation. And so they found themselves locked together, crushing grips around each other's collars, bulging arms pushing at each other, and feet dug deep into the dirt as they resisted. Halvar's fury was like nothing I had ever seen. His mouth literally foamed as he snarled and bit at Arcos's face mere centimeters away. And slowly, slowly, I could see my friend's grip start to weaken. Arcos was strong, but it seemed that nothing could stand against the berserker's rage.

His rage.

Quickly, I reached for his mind, in the same way I did to persuade people or make them fall asleep. His thoughts were a churning, boiling ocean of animalistic fury, but maybe if I could calm them...

Slowly, slowly, my charm took hold. His burning mind resisted me with every push, but he couldn't do that and wrestle with Arcos. He began losing ground. He took a step back.

Above me, I heard a shriek.

"WITCH!" Runa howled, in equal parts pain and rage. I couldn't look away; if my concentration slipped for even a moment, Halvar might overpower Arcos and throw him to the ground. I was paralyzed; should I abandon Arcos to his fate and try to protect myself? Should I try to save him and hope that Runa missed? The chance to decide passed me by as Runa dove from the roof, wings outstretched and spear leveled right at me. I only had time to close my eyes.

There was a loud CRASH. Runa screamed, and I heard her slam to the ground behind me. It was her pained wail that finally did Halvar in, dredging whatever confused feelings he had for her back to the surface of that bloody ocean. My charm took effect, and the rage deserted his body in an instant. Effortlessly, Arcos flung him to the ground. Breathing heavily, he picked up his fallen hammer and advanced on the supine berserker. Halvar was too exhausted to even scream before the massive spearhead plunged into his chest. His glowing tattoos faded away.

I turned around. Runa had indeed missed me. Her spear was embedded half a meter in the ground, still quivering slightly with the force of its impact. She lay a short distance away, neck broken by her collision with the ground. But how had she...?

Horatius. Half happy and half horrified, I realized that Horatius was now beside me, still wielding his warded shield. He had bashed Runa aside with it, not a moment too soon. He stood there unsteadily, covered in his own blood.

"And that's all I wrote," he mumbled. Then he collapsed.

At the same time, Perrin awoke. "Did we win?" he groaned piteously.

Arcos sat heavily beside him. "We did".

"Oh, thank the gods!" Moritz cried, running towards us from inside the house. Were there not larger matters at stake, I would have berated him for cowardice. Instead, I quickly fished dado's potions out of my pocket and withdrew one with a trembling hand. Horatius was still breathing, somehow, but it didn't sound like he could keep it up much longer.

"What's that?" Moritz asked.

"A heel potion," I snapped, as if it was obvious. "Now hold his head." Moritz obliged, steadying Horatius so I could pour the vial's red contents into his mutilated mouth. Weakly, Horatius swallowed.

The effect was immediate. His bleary eye snapped open and his spine arched as the magic shot through him. The sound he made was almost worse than the way he looked as bones cracked violently back into place, flesh wounds rippled shut, and regrown parts erupted from their stumps with sprays of blood. I had to look away to keep from being sick. Moritz did throw up.

After six horrible, horrible seconds, it was over. I looked back at Horatius, who was now absolutely drenched in blood but otherwise unharmed. He stared up at the sky, dazed.

"Ouch," he gasped.

----

It felt a bit ridiculous, sitting in the keep's kitchen and stuffing ourselves with our dead foes' food, but it was sensible thing to do. None of us had eaten well during the whole fiasco, and most of it would now be going to waste anyway. The smell of the Valravns fried by Moritz still permeated the place, and Horatius was still drenched in his own blood, but we were too tired and hungry for those things to bother us much.

"Okay," said Perrin, around a mouthful of fish, "I think we need to compare notes about what happened over the last week. This is the first time I've even seen you, Moritz. What's been going on?

Moritz swallowed a handful of dried fruit. "She wanted me to re-open the Way so they could reach America again."

"And you didn't want to sic the Mayor on them?"

"I couldn't do it. I think the Mayor is holding it shut to keep Nobody in."

"That means he's still alive!" I said, relieved.

"Poor bastard," Arcos muttered.

"And it means we'll need to find another way home," Perrin complained.

"Eventually, yes," Horatius agreed. "But we will have much bigger problems between now and then."

"True."

"Horatius," Moritz asked, "has she just been torturing you this whole time? I could barely concentrate through your screaming."

"Essentially, yes."

"Why?"

"She wanted to know the true reason for our quest." Horatius glanced at me when he said that.

"Didn't she already?" Arcos asked, sniffing suspiciously at a mug of only-slightly-fishy mead. "To kill the dragon."

"She thought there was more to it than that."

"Well," Perrin cut in, leaning towards the knight. "Is there?"

"No," he responded, with a suspicious glare. "But if I had not pretended otherwise, I would not have been useful to her any longer. Though I must say, Perrin, I don't think my ruse would have been nearly so effective had you, too, not been so sure that I am hiding something. Do you really distrust me so much that you would sell us out for an imaginary secret?"

"Of course not! That was acting, pragmatic acting. I had to make myself useful somehow, just like we all did. I can't open portals or survive torture or lift heavy stuff, so I used my other skills. Simple as that."

"Was it also pragmatic acting to let that bitch bed you?" snapped Arcos.

He crossed his arms. "Actually, that was contingent on me killing Halvar, so we didn't get the chance."

Arcos seemed unconvinced. "Hmph."

"What, are you jealous?" Perrin laughed. "You had your chance."

Arcos glared at Perrin.

"Oh," Perrin said, bluster failing. "I thought we talked about this."

"We'll talk about it later," Arcos said, smashing a walnut with his fist.

I cleared my throat. "So, would anyone like to know what I've been doing?"

"The ships," Perrin said, eager for the topic change, "that was you, wasn't it?"

"Uh huh," I answered, proudly.

"And the fish in the mead?" Arcos grumbled, pushing his mug away.

"Yep!" That one was less funny now that the mead was ours, but I was going to own it.

"And all that ruckus last night," Moritz asked, "what was that about?"

"Oh, uh......I snuck in and tried to, uh...I tried to kill Runa. She was ready for me, though. I almost didn't get away."

The others stopped their various fidgets to look at me. I was a little insulted by the surprise. Horatius nodded to me.

"That was very brave of you, Geva."

I smiled unsteadily. "Thanks."

"You're just full of surprises, princess," Arcos said, with bewildered admiration.

"Yeah," Moritz added, "speaking of which, where did you get that potion? That was disgusting, but I can't argue with its effectiveness." Horatius nodded, but also winced.

"Oh, that?" I said, pretending it was no big deal. "I bought three of them from some apothecary near the Pegasus."

Moritz's brow furrowed. "What apothecary?"

"The sign said 'apothecary by dado'. That was the name of the man running the place, I think. He was very strange."

Moritz looked at Arcos. "Is there an apothecary near the Pegasus?"

He scratched his chin. "There's a whorehouse //called// The Apothecary."

"It wasn't a very big shop," I said, uneasily. Why were they doubting me? "Maybe it just opened, or something."

"Maybe," Moritz agreed, uncertainly.

"Well," I said, defensively, "it worked, didn't it?"

"Of course," Moritz agreed, eyeing Horatius. "Though I don't think we should make a habit of ingesting strange liquids from mysterious shops."

"Well, there's only two more anyway."

Horatius nodded. "Then we'll need to use them sparingly. Try not to let the dragon hurt any of you as badly as Runa hurt me."

"Man," Perrin said, shaking his head. "What was the //deal// with these people anyway? Moritz, did you understand that language they were using?"

He shrugged. "Mostly. It's still a bit like what they spoke in the Rus'. From what I could pick up, I think this bunch was part of a larger fleet on its way to Brasil-"

"Brasil?"

"Another island, uh, that way. Apparently there's elves on it."

"Elves?"

"That's what they said."

"Huh."

"So they were on their way to a raid in Brasil, but these two ships got blown off course by a storm and stopped here for repairs. After we appeared, Runa wanted to stay here and find out what we were up to, but Halvar wanted to keep going and rejoin the fleet. Then you ruined her ship," he said, nodding appreciatively at me, "so she told him to go back home and get another one, but it looks like he went on to the raid instead, only to miss the rendezvous and be badly beaten. I suppose that when he came back here with no treasure, no more ships, and half his men missing, Runa just decided that she'd had enough."

"I get the impression," Horatius said, "that this Halvar wasn't too terribly smart."

"Damned strong, though," Arcos quietly admitted.

"No kidding," Perrin agreed, rubbing the lump on the side of his head.

"So," I said, grabbing Arcos's discarded fishy mead, "are we going to the dragon now?"

Moritz looked at me funny, then shook his head. "Oh, you left before we talked about this."

"Talked about what?" I hate being the only person in a room who doesn't know something.

“Before we go to the dragon's lair, we're going to stop by, uh…" Moritz took a moment to fish one of Nobody's Ancient maps out of his robe. "Dozmary Pool first."

“Why? What’s that?”

“It’s a lake. Nobody thought there might be a magic sword in there that can help us.”

“A magic sword?”

“Yes. Apparently it used to be a Relic, until it was stolen by fairies about a hundred years ago.”

“Fairies?”

“That’s what he said.”

I waited for more, but there wasn't any. I shook my head.

"Sure, why not."

----

First, though, there was looting to be done. While Arcos and Perrin sorted out their issues in the kitchen, I went to explore Runa's quarters, in case there was anything small and valuable in there. I was pocketing a nice ivory comb when Horatius entered.

"Do you have it?" he asked, no-nonsense.

"Have what?" I played.

"//Do you have it?//"

I frowned. "Maybe. Do you have the key?"

"Give me the scroll." He held out a demanding hand.

"Why should I?" I protested, hands on hips. "You gave it to me for safekeeping, and I kept it safe."

"You snatched it off the ground as I was being captured."

"And if I hadn't done that, then Runa would've cracked it open, and probably your head too. I think I've earned the right to hold onto it, and you've proved that you can't."

"You can't even open it."

"Not until you give me the key." I held out my own hand, mocking his presumptuous gesture. Horatius matched my smirk with a squint.

"Perhaps you are right," he admitted. "I have already read its contents, so it probably //would// be best to let another carry it, in case something else happens to me."

"Exactly! Now give me the key."

"That, I will not do."

"What? Why not?"

"Because you have no need of it, not yet. I am letting you hold the scroll for safekeeping, not because you have earned the knowledge it holds. If some ill fate befalls me, you can pry the key from around my lifeless neck. Only then will my responsibility become yours." He turned to go.

"What if I tell Perrin?" I asked, quickly.

Horatius dismissed me with a wave. "He already suspects. And if he tries to open that, it'll poison him to death."

I glared at his back until it was out of sight. This was just plain unfair. But at least now I knew it was a scroll.

----

We spent that night in the castle. It felt weird, sleeping on our slain enemies' beds (or bedrolls, as it were), but I was too tired to care and the others were just glad to not be sleeping in chains. By unspoken agreement, no one attempted to sleep in Runa's bed.

In the morning, I found that Arcos had awkwardly attached Runa's backplate to his own mismatched armor. It didn't really fit, of course, but the real benefit would be the wings, not the protection. Horatius tracked down his own armor, and he was much relieved to find that the Valravns hadn't vandalized his warding pattern. I asked him if he could really keep all that heavy armor on the whole way to Dozmary Pool, but he assured me that he was well-accustomed to discomfort and plenty tough enough to withstand the weight. After what he'd been through, I couldn't dispute that.

Moritz estimated that it would take us five days of westward walking to get there, or maybe more if the terrain was unfriendly. It wasn't too bad, though; the trees around Portland soon gave way to heaths and moors, which had little in the way of obstructing undergrowth or landmark-blocking trees. The gloomy weather - gray, with a chance of drizzle - did lend the barren landscape a sort of vague ominousness, but it wasn't nearly as bad as I'd imagined "the cursed island of Uk!" to be.

I retained that impression until we reached the lake. While most of the land we'd seen was barren, this place was //blasted//. Not so much as a blade of grass rose from the blighted, soggy soil, which had in some place been scorched black or even turned to glass by what I could only assume was dragon breath. The ground was further marred by irregular patterns of strangely-shaped pits that I only belatedly identified as immense footprints. I tried not to wonder just how huge that dragon would have to be to leave such marks in its wake, and instead focus my attention on the lake.

Next to such dismal surroundings, the water itself was all the more striking. The slow wind stirred little waves across its shining surface, which remained sky blue despite the gray clouds hanging low overhead. As we drew closer, I saw that somehow the lake was not reflecting the real sky at all, but a bright and sunny day when weeds and reeds had still ringed the water's edge. Truly, this was a magical place.

Curiously, I bent down to the touch the pure waters. My finger was mere centimeters from its surface when a woman's voice commanded me to stop. Startled, I jumped back and looked about for the source of the shout. There seemed to be no one in sight, but then I noticed the Lady.

Slowly, she rose from the center of the lake. Clear water cascaded from her verdant green hair, in which several sets of crayfish-like antennae twitched. Her skin was covered in deep blue scales that shimmered in the sunlight, and her nose was little more than a pair of amphibian slits. Yet despite these bizarre features, I knew she was beautiful, the most beautiful being I had ever seen. This was not a conclusion, but a //fact//, in the same way that one looks at a cloud and knows it to be white. The effect was disconcerting, but not altogether unpleasant. The waters of the lake rose up to envelop her like a transparent dress, and I did my best not to ogle the lithe, scaly form underneath. She walked across the water's surface, back straight and chin up in a noble posture that suited her perfectly. It was clear, instinctively, that this lake was her domain, and we but intruders upon it. I might have knelt, were I less inclined to rebellion. Only Horatius succumbed to that particular urge.

"Fair Lady of the Lake," he began.

"Silence," she said, with a voice like the gentle rush of wind through tall reeds. We remained in such until she ceased her approach, some three meters away from the shore. "Tell me, humans. Why have you come to my lake? As if I do not already know."

"We seek the sword [[[scp-2307 |Excalibur]]]," Horatius replied, carefully pronouncing the Ancient name that Moritz had relayed to him, "with which to slay the three-headed dragon."

The Lady sighed. "Of course you do. As have many, many before you. What makes you any different?"

Horatius looked up at her. He was trying to hide his confusion. "M'lady?"

She rolled her piscine eyes. "Oh, get up. I've heard enough 'm'lady's for five lifetimes."

This was clearly not going the way he'd expected. Awkwardly, Horatius climbed to his feet. "Apologies...ma'am?"

"Don't apologize. Explain to me what makes you so much more deserving of my sword than every other would-be conqueror, long-lost heir, and cheese-brained Don Quixote that's come after it, these last two thousand years."

Recapturing some of his confidence, Horatius puffed out his armored chest. "I am a knight of Saint Talloran, sworn to-"

"Alright, that's enough. Gods, the way you humans prattle on about knights and oaths and lieges. All that chivalry foolishness only exists because of how badly this sword was misused the last time one of you got your grubby paws on it. Arthur never talked to me like that, I assure you."

"I...beg your pardon?" Horatius asked, cautiously.

She crossed her arms. There were fins on her elbows. "What part of that was unclear?"

He glanced at the rest of us for support, but we were equally clueless (and, in Perrin's case, enjoying the show far too much to interrupt). Hesitantly, he cleared his throat.

"Forgive me, ma'am, for I'm not quite sure who this 'Arthur' is, or what disrespect he might have shown you, but I surely do not mean to emulate it."

Her jaw dropped, revealing small, pointed teeth. She looked at the rest of us, but we could only shrug or shake our heads in response. Groaning, the Lady rubbed her eyes.

"You mean to tell me that bastard has finally been forgotten?"

"At least to us," Perrin answered.

Moritz piped up, hesitantly. "I...//may// have seen the name before, in some Ancient children's literature, but I don't quite remember the story." He shrugged apologetically. "Much was lost in the Great Breach."

"Clearly," the Lady said, shaking her head. "But his legacy, or rather the false one that this sword fabricated, still lives on in your knightly nonsense."

"Ma'am," Horatius said, bristling, "matters of honor and nobility are hardly-"

"I'm done talking to you." Sarcastically waving goodbye with one webbed hand, she turned and began walking back into the water.

"Nice going, buckethead," Perrin muttered.

"I didn't see you jumping up to talk to her!"

"Cuz you were doing such a good job! I didn't want to interrupt your eloquent soliloquy."

Arcos stepped between the two before they could make any greater fools of themselves. While his arms pushed the squabbling humans aside, he called out to the faerie queene.

"Ma'am? Lady?" She ignored him, still sinking with every step she took away from the shore, but he persisted. "Don't you //want// the dragon killed? I assume it's what did this to your lakeshore."

She stopped and looked over her shoulder. "Of course I want it killed! Look at this mess!" With a whoosh, water currents bore her back to the shore. "There used to be cattails taller than you on this bank, and lily pads bigger than dinner plates! Now it's just mud and dirt and soot. I haven't heard a frog in twenty years! What I wouldn't give to see a duck again..." She trailed off, looking sadly down at the blasted mud.

"Then let us help you," Arcos asked, politely. "We'll take care of the dragon, and it'll stop pestering you about that sword."

"Like you are?" she retorted, cocking a hairless eyebrow. "How do I know you're not the dragon's minions sent to trick me?"

Perrin snorted, and she shot him a look that could've wilted trees, perhaps literally. To his credit, he didn't flinch. "Lady, if we were spies, I'm sure we'd be doing a much better job. I know the dragon would've told us about this Arthur fellow, at least."

"Hmm," she said, scowling. "You //are// quite incompetent."

Perrin spread his hands. It was self-evident.

"Hold on," the Lady said, scratching her feeler-filled hair. "If you haven't heard of Arthur, how did you know about me?"

"Nobody told us. Er, a guy who called himself 'Nobody'. I'm sure his parents didn't actually hate him that much."

"And this Nobody character," she said, skeptically, "what's he like?"

"Tall. Gray. Pointy hat."

"Hmm. Sounds untrustworthy."

We couldn't really argue with that.

"If I may," Moritz intervened, "why exactly are you so reluctant to let go of this weapon?"

The Lady looked him up and down. "You're a scholarly sort, yes? You look like a book-reader."

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Then I'd like you to imagine something for me. Imagine that this scruffy-looking turf-burner," she said, gesturing at the only slightly offended Perrin, "somehow got his greasy mitts on the Stylus. Now imagine that, just because he'd picked up a thing without understanding what it even was, everything ever written about him //changed//. He went from a selfish ruffian to a noble king, from a murderous backstabbing rapist to a romantic hero, from a dirty, jumped-up brigand to a figure of myth and legend. Now imagine that every other book that'll ever be written about him will only have those tampered sources to work with, that every story ever told about him will be based on those lies, that whole generations of young men will go tromping about the wilderness in his over-inflated shadow, committing all kinds of crimes and embarrassments in imitation of some frivolous absurdity that never even existed. That's what happened when Arthur got ahold of it, and I am not about to let another of you air-breathing toddlers etch your foul-tasting names on the walls of history."

"Oh," Moritz said. "That does sound rather...undesirable."

"I'm not a rapist," Perrin grumbled.

I groaned. These bumbling men were ruining everything. "Excuse me, Lady?"

She looked down at me. "What?" she said, contemptuously.

I took a deep breath to collect my thoughts. "Look. We aren't here to trick you out of your sword, or hand it off to your enemies, or even become legends. We didn't even know it existed two weeks ago. We're only here because the man who hired us to kill that dragon believed this weapon would give us a fighting chance. That's all we came here to do, is kill Marscar the Dark. We don't //want// your sword, but we //need// it."

"Hmm," she scoffed.

"Look," I sighed. "I'll tell you what. If you give us the sword, we'll go kill the dragon, and then we'll bring it straight back."

Her scaly eyebrow rose. "You'd really give up the most coveted sword on Earth?"

I shrugged. "As I said, we didn't even know about it two weeks ago."

"Are you suggesting that the Stylus of the Broken God is not //worth// coveting?"

"Of course not!" I said, raising my hands in a placating gesture. "But it does seem like it's worth more to you than it is to us. So we're not going to take it from you if you don't want to give it. But please, just let us borrow it. Then maybe you can have frogs again." I gestured at the lake's barren shores, to remind her what was at stake.

The Lady paused for a time, deep in thought. I almost began to hope that I'd convinced her.

"Still," she said, hesitantly, "even if I did let you 'borrow' the Stylus, how can I be sure that you'd //make// it back? Everyone that's ever tried to kill Marscar has had the favor returned to them tenfold."

"None of them had the Stylus," I said, simply.

"None of them were children, either. I am unconvinced."

"Lady," Horatius spoke up, his confidence suddenly back in full force, "I know now that you place little stock in oaths and devotion, but surely you place some weight on deeds. Know that we have traveled across the sea itself to complete this quest, and that we have endured the loss of one of our number, outwitted temptation and treachery, withstood captivity and torment, and battled mighty foes in its course. Yet we still stand here together, united in our dedication to this quest. I have not known these men - or this young woman - for long, but they have already proven themselves the boldest, fiercest, and most talented companions it has ever been my pleasure to fight beside. There is not a shred of doubt in my mind that we will vanquish this dragon and any other evil that stands in our way. And when the quest is complete, you have my solemn word - not as a knight of Saint Talloran, or by any other authority - but as a man who would sooner die than turn from his task, and who would sooner tear out his tongue than break an oath so given. Perhaps you place no stock in knights or nobility, but I beseech thee, oh Lady: place your faith in my friends. If it is but one smidgen of the faith I have in them, then it shall be enough."

For a long time, her fishy eyes looked over us. She inspected our faces: Horatius's tightly set jaw, Perrin's confident smirk, Arcos's gentle smile, Moritz's wise eyes, and my own determined glare. She took in our battered armor and bloody weapons, our fading bruises and healing cuts. And beneath all that, I think she saw something greater. Something that made her smile.

"Very well," the Lady said, quietly. I nearly cheered.

"But know this," she said, raising one claw-tipped finger. "If you do betray me, I will curse you and all your descendants, unto the seventh generation!" Then she vanished into the water, leaving us to contemplate that unpleasant thought for a few moments. When she returned, she was carrying something, laid flat across her upturned palms. It looked like an old, old longsword, not quite a meter long and completely sheathed in rust.

"That's the Stylus?" Perrin asked, skeptically.

"The rust will be gone by the time you get to London. The metal heals when it's not in my lake."

"Interesting," Moritz whispered.

"Now," the Lady continued, "who shall wield the Stylus of the Broken God? Who, in whatever stories might be written of you, shall be a hero?" She eyed us carefully. Horatius glanced at us, but no one else stepped forward. With a grateful nod, he approached the Lady.

"I shall bear this blade. And if it be within my power, I will ensure that my deeds live up to its stories."

"So it shall be," she said. "Kneel before me, you who would wield the Broken Blade."

He did so, knee plates just touching the water's edge.

"Upon thee I bestow this weapon, that thou might scratch the Dragon from the story of the world. May thy legends be more honest than those of thy predecessors, and thy deeds more noble. Know that the Stylus is not thine, nor was it ever anyone's, nor shall it ever be until a new king comes. Thou shalt return it to me when thy quest is accomplished, or thou shalt pay the penance. Rise and go forth, Sir Horatius. May the Mekhane guide thee on thy quest."

At that, she laid the sword in his outstretched hands, and he rose.

"I shall not fail thee, Lady."

She smiled. "Farewell, Horatius. I shall see thee soon." Then she turned to go. We watched her as she sank, too enraptured by her otherwordly beauty to look away. The water was past her hips when she stopped and looked back at us.

"Oh, by the way. This does not make you the king of England."

Horatius blinked. "What's England?"

The Lady laughed, with a sound like a little waterfall. Then she vanished beneath the surface.

"Why would a sword make you king?" Arcos asked.

"I haven't a clue," Horatius answered, looking down at the encrusted weapon.

----

The Lady's promise was true; within the week, all the rust had fallen away to reveal a blade of strangely dark steel. She had given us no scabbard, so Horatius discarded his mace and attached the new weapon to his belt in its place. It seemed a bit dangerous, having that blade thumping around by his hip, but Horatius was unconcerned.

It took us ten days in all reach the place that Nobody's map called London. There were a lot of roads and highways on that map, but no trace of them remained now. A few ruined structures still poked out of the trees in places, mostly old stone things like Portland Castle, and places like these made good campsites on those nights we spent in the wilderness. On the sixth day, we passed by a huge circle of ancient, inscrutable stones, some standing upright with more balanced atop them. Moritz marveled at it, but I wasn't particularly impressed; the Ancients had built much bigger things, or so it was said.

We never saw any people, or even any sign of people more recent than the Ancients. That was more or less what I'd expected - and, after our lovely visit with the Valravns, come to hope for - from the legends, which all said that Marscar the Dark would destroy anything people tried to build in its territory. We did see deer fairly often, in part because the normally skittish animals had apparently long forgotten their fear of humankind and so let us come quite close before bounding away. It was eerie, but also peaceful in a way.

London, however, was a different story.

Like the lakeshore, the former site of Ancient London was now a blighted wasteland. T dragon's mere presence, even in the subterranean city far below, had poisoned the ground around it. Charred tree trunks protruded from the lifeless dirt like broken fingers reaching for the bruised clouds. Strangely-colored lightning crawled across the sky, and thunder rolled constantly. The chill wind stank of rot.

Set against this backdrop, the blue bus looked downright ridiculous.

"What is that?" Perrin asked, pointing at the bizarre vehicle. It was a huge, bulky, rectangular box on wheels, painted bright white and ocean blue. Glass windows lined both sides, and doors flanked what seemed like its front end, where another large window peered out above a weird symbol and a pair of huge glass bulbs. There was some kind of windowed hatch on the back, as well as more of the strange bulbs. A short pipe protruded from its underside, which I saw was festooned with all manner of strange machinery.

"It looks like one of the Ancients' vehicles," Moritz said. "But it's in perfect condition!"

"Where does the horse go?" Horatius asked. Moritz looked at him like an idiot.

I stood on my toes and peered inside. There were two padded seats at the front, facing the big window and some kind of counter covered in weird dials, with a huge wheel sticking out of it on the left side. There were more seats in the back, as well as some cabinets and things. A few empty bottles and papers were strewn on the floor.

Arcos pulled at one of the handles, but it didn't budge. "What's it doing here?"

"Well," Horatius said, "this was an Ancient city."

"Yeah," Moritz scoffed, "and it was all destroyed, except this. It doesn't even have dirt on it."

"Look at this," Perrin said, pointing at the ground. It was only then that we noticed the footprints. It looked like several people had been meandering around the vehicle, maybe even sitting or lying down, before heading off in a nearly straight line. The prints didn't come back. We also noticed that the vehicle itself didn't seem to have left any tracks, though its weird treaded wheels certainly should have.

"I don't like this," I said. The vehicle's oddness had rapidly gone from almost amusing to very unsettling.

"I like it even less," Horatius said. He was standing at the front, gazing grimly at the strange symbol. We circled around to stand beside him. Up close, it was clear that this was actually //two// symbols; one, a simple arrangement of diagonal lines, seemed to be part of the vehicle's perfect paint job. The other had been carefully painted over it with thick black lines. Now that I'd separated it out from the underlying design, this one was unmistakable: a black circle surrounding the stylized head of a three-eyed fox, with nine curved lines descending beneath it.

"The Nine?" Perrin breathed.

"The Nine," Horatius confirmed.

My blood ran cold. The 11th Mobile Legion of Epsilon was Overwatch's personal death squad, dispatched only to carry out high-profile assassinations, eliminate dangerous fugitives, and neutralize the most dangerous rebel leaders. I had spent much of my time in the castle fearing and preparing for an assault by them, even though the Foundation had not acted directly against a Free City since Eridar's war of independence. Seeing their symbol here of all places suddenly made that remote fear of assassination real again, and I could tell that it had similar effects on the others. For the Foundation's enemies, the Nine were boogeymen. And now, they were all too real.

"Why are //they// here?" I asked, voice trembling.

"Same as us, I imagine," Perrin groaned.

"To kill the dragon," Horatius finished.

I looked at him suspiciously. Could this have something to do with that secret scroll he wouldn't let me read? He caught my glance and slowly shook his head. If it was, he wasn't about to tell me. I knew better than to bring it up.

----

According to Nobody (who, once again, had apparently conveyed this information to my companions after I left), our entrance had once been the Ancient Foundation's primary means of egress to and from UnLondon. It was technically part of the city far below, a magically-created tower a kilometer high, with a single very, //very// long staircase spiraling inside it. There had also been an “elevator,” whatever that was, though Nobody had doubted that it’d still be functional after all this time. He had also predicted that any building which might have once marked the way would have been destroyed by the Great Breach, the dragon, or the sheer weight of 800 years. Even the river had changed course over all those centuries. If not for the Nine's footprints, it would have been nearly impossible to find the subterranean entrance, even with our maps. They led us to a large heap of weathered stone, from which several good-sized boulders had been removed to reveal a hollow underneath. Arcos peered into the gap, then waved us forward.

“This is the place,” he said, with more dread than anything. “The staircase.”

It was, truthfully, not much to look at. The stone stairs wound clockwise around a thick central pillar, descending quickly into darkness. The walls were unadorned, save for periodic sconces that might have once held lights but could now scarcely hold themselves up. The prints of the Nine were clearly visible in the layer of dust, dirt, and ash that had accumulated on the steps. Without another word, we descended, single file. Arcos went first, probing the darkness with his night vision. Moritz walked in the center of our procession, between Horatius and myself, lighting the way for the rest of us with his glowing staff. Perrin stayed in the back, of course.

The descent was slow, painful going. I had unconsciously expected the walk to be about the same as a horizontal trip of the same distance, but my burning leg muscles loudly attested otherwise. After nearly an hour of nothing but stairs and silence, Moritz called us to a halt, begging for a chance to sit and massage his aching legs. We all followed suit, of course. Arcos seemed to be managing alright, but the rest of us would probably be wobbling like drunken sailors by the time we reached the bottom. It was hard to even know how far off the bottom was; bereft of any other landmarks, our only indicators of depth would’ve been the number of steps or corroded wall sconces, the count of which we had long since lost. I briefly entertained the fevered notion that we’d somehow been tricked, that this was a false entrance that only plunged endlessly into the depths of the earth, and that by the time we realized the ruse we’d be far too exhausted to return to the top before our waterskins ran dry. Arcos must have sensed my budding panic, because I felt his huge hand pat my sweat-soaked shoulder. He didn’t say anything, though, perhaps recognizing the futility of comforting words in such a place as this.

Eventually, our legs calmed enough to resume their punishment and carry us further downward. And so we continued for almost half an hour – the longest half hour of my life – until Arcos suddenly barked at us to stop. I was startled by his tone; had he spotted the Nine? The dragon?!

“What?” Horatius gasped, moving to replace his heavy helm.

“They end.”

“Thank the Saints!” Perrin said, already pushing forward.

“No!” Arcos insisted, moving backwards and pushing the befuddled Horatius with his broad back. “They //end//.”

Understanding settled on us like a cloud.

“Oh,” I said, weakly. 

Moritz shoved past me. “Let me see,” he grumbled. Horatius – suddenly moving very, very carefully – pressed himself against the side to let the wizard through. Arcos turned, and with one long finger he pointed at the black gulf beneath us. There were four more steps past Arcos, but the fifth had half crumbled away, and everything beyond it was darkness. Moritz’s light showed only an irregular edge where even the wall and the central column had fallen away. It was as if we’d reached the bottom of the world and hung suspended over nothing but the stifled air of inner earth. This, I realized, was the ceiling of UnLondon. A sudden vertigo swept over me, and the others followed suit as I reeled back from the yawning gulf until it was well out of sight. Then, as one, we collapsed to a seat once again.

“Oh Saints,” Perrin quietly groaned, head between his knees. “How far down is it?”

“I don’t know,” Arcos said, distantly. “I couldn’t see anything, not even when he brought the light down.”

“We’ll have to lower a lantern down,” Moritz said.

“And tell the dragon we’re right here on its doorstep?” Perrin challenged. “Why don’t we spread some butter on ourselves while we’re at it?”

“The dragon couldn’t fit up here,” Moritz said, with the tone of an overworked tutor.

“Its fire could!” Perrin retorted. “Or maybe it’ll circle around us and block off the entrance! What then, Moritz?”

"How did this even happen?" Horatius asked. "The Nine came this way."

"Then those stairs were destroyed afterwards," Moritz answered.

"Looks like Marscar didn't want any more visitors," Arcos remarked.

"Apparently not."

"Well," Horatius said, "what are we going to do? There must be another entrance somewhere, for the dragon."

Perrin groaned. "Great. So we have to go back up all those steps, then wander around in the woods looking for it?"

"It'd have to be a very big opening, for the dragon to fly through it."

"No," Arcos said, shaking his head. "We don't have to climb back up. We'll just drop a rope and climb down."

“How much rope have we even got?” Horatius asked. “I didn’t bring any.”

“Lucky for you,” Arcos said, already rifling through his pack, “some of us came prepared.” As it happened, both he and Perrin had brought 15-meter coils of rope for situations such as these. They were surprised to find that I had as well.

“What else have you got in there?” Horatius asked, peering at my backpack.

“Stuff,” I non-answered, quickly buttoning it closed again. Barely any of it was stolen, but I still didn’t want him in my business. Arcos chuckled.

“Alright,” Moritz said. “That’s almost fifty meters of rope. If the ground, or whatever’s left of the rest of the stairs, is closer than that, we’ll be fine.”

“I’ll go first,” Arcos volunteered. “I can see better down there, and I’m the best climber anyway.” He flexed his big hands. There were no objections.

After a few minutes of tying and hammering, Arcos began his descent. Moritz stood as close to the hole as he dared so his light could shine down into the void. It might not reach as far, but it’d do more for Arcos than the rest of us, and as long as the actual source was up there with us it shouldn’t be as visible from the other parts of the underground city. I was strangely glad for the lack of room beside Moritz, because I don’t think I could have stood to peer over the edge as Arcos slowly slunk out of sight.

Many quiet seconds became a long, tense minute.

“Arcos?” Perrin called, more quietly than he’d meant to. Moritz shushed him; it wouldn’t do to go hollering out into the unplumbed void.

Then, faintly, we heard a whistle, like the song of a wild bird. Arcos’s signal. He’d found something to stand on! I released the breath I’d been holding. As we watched, a light appeared down below – Arcos had lit a candle to guide us. It looked dreadfully small and far away.

Horatius went next, figuring that, if there was trouble at the bottom, he and Arcos were best equipped to handle it. Perrin went next, scurrying down the rope like a rat. I guessed that he and Arcos had done some “second-story work” in their checkered past together, and the thought brought a smile to my face. I wondered if he was surprised by how easily I scampered down after him. The going wasn’t really that hard; we had tied knots every meter or so to use as handholds, and Arcos was holding the other end to keep it from swinging about too much. Things were a bit more stressful outside the range of Moritz’s light, but I could look down at Arcos’s increasingly close candle for reassurance and feel my way down towards it. My hands were cramped and shaking by the end, but I made it. At the bottom of the rope – almost the full 50 meters, I noted with a shudder – we found ourselves back on the stairs. Something had destroyed the section immediately below the ceiling, but the rest seemed to still be intact.

“Come on, Moritz!” Arcos whispered. The wizard couldn’t have heard him from so far away, but it was more like a curse than a call. I looked back up to the ceiling, where I saw Moritz faltering at the edge. Arcos repeated his signal, more insistently this time, and waved one of his arms over the candle so Moritz could see the shadow pass.

“Horatius,” he whispered. “Hold this. I might have to catch him.” At that, Arcos passed the bottom of the rope to the knight and stepped to the side, eyes up and arms out. As I watched, Moritz extinguished his light and began a tentative descent. I wondered if he was afraid of heights or just weak in the arms. Maybe it was both. I couldn’t watch his progress in the dark, but the irregular jerking of the rope told of slow and unsteady progress.

“I can’t see him,” Arcos said.

“Perrin,” Horatius ordered, “light a torch.”

“But-“

“Do it.”

He did it, keeping the torch itself below the rim of the broken wall but letting its light shine upwards.

“Oh no,” Arcos breathed. “It’s okay, Moritz. One at a time.” He didn’t bother to whisper that bit.

Squinting, I could just barely see an indistinct, greenish shape that might’ve been the end of his robes.

Moritz whimpered something unintelligible.

“One at a time,” Arcos repeated, slowly and calmly. “You can do this.”

I heard Horatius start to pray.

Moritz continued, audibly grunting with the exertion of holding himself upright. For a few more meters, he seemed to be doing alright. Then something happened, and I watched as, with a horrible slowness, he lost his grip. Arcos moved to catch him, but from that height the fall would probably hurt him just as badly as the wizard, if it didn’t send them both hurtling over the broken wall. A scream slipped out of my lips and my hands shot out in a mirror of Arcos’s catching motion, as if my own puny arms could have done a thing to catch a falling adult man…but, I discovered, they could. A gray-green glow enveloped Moritz, and his fatal fall became a feathery float. He still screamed in terror the whole way, though.

“Huh?” he gasped, looking wildly about as Arcos picked him easily out of the air. 

Arcos looked over his shoulder at me, still standing with palms outstretched. Gray-green fire flickered across them. He smiled.

“Geva caught you.”

"Come on!" Perrin hissed. "We need to move, before the dragon comes to see what all that screaming was!" In silent agreement, we hurried after him down the rubble-strewn stairs.

UnLondon's ceiling must have been very high indeed; it took us more than half an hour to finally reach the ground. The staircase's single exit was in the courtyard of an empty palace, into which we quickly relocated. The building's interior was one large space, piled high with rust that had once been metal bed frames. Black mold speckled the walls and ceiling, and its spores veritably set my lungs ablaze as we entered. Moving back "outside," we discovered a slow but constant drip of water from the unseen cavern ceiling. If not for the total absence of wind, it would have felt like a rainy, moonless night on the surface. In the end, we settled back at the base of the stairwell, which seemed to be the only dry place around (or at least the only one within the distance Moritz was willing to walk). It would've been mad (and impossible) to sleep down there, but it wouldn't have done to go after the dragon with our knees trembling. While we rested, we tried to formulate the next step of our plan.

"Alright," Perrin asked, "where's the dragon, again?"

From his pack, Horatius fished out one of the maps Nobody had given him. "This is an Ancient map of upper London. The 1,678th Sacred Procedures say that UnLondon has exactly the same layout, so we should be able to use it to get around."

"Okay," Perrin said, with tired annoyance, "but where's the dragon on it?"

"Nobody marked it here." He pointed to a large building that Nobody had apparently circled with dark ink. I couldn't read the label, but Moritz translated it for us.

"Buckingham Palace."

----

Buckingham Palace, which the map said had once been the dwelling place of Uk's queen, was almost directly east of us. The shortest path cut across a huge open space - "Hyde Park" - which would've left us and our light source entirely too visible. Instead, we circled around to the south, following UnLondon's moldering streets. It was just as eerily empty as Portland had been, but at least the constant drizzle kept us out of total silence. Eight hundred years of water action had also put the remaining buildings in much worse shape than Portland's. Only the biggest, fanciest ones even looked safe to enter.

It took us about another hour to reach Buckingham Palace. It might have been hard to positively identify in our limited light, but Moritz's staff had ceased to be its only source. A yellow-orange glow danced in the palace's many windows, as if cast by some massive hearth within. The illumination did not travel far beyond those windows, but it was enough to reveal the bodies. They were scattered around the palace's main entrance, a great semicircular porch ringed with towering limestone columns. One was still upright, frozen solid.

"We should loot those bodies," Perrin suggested.

"Perrin," Moritz began, only to be interrupted by Horatius of all people.

"No, he's right. The Nine were likely carrying relics that might aid us."

As we crept closer, though, it became apparent that there was nothing left for us among our predeceased predecessors. One body's head had been completely smashed, and another bitten in half. Even the frozen corpse had been disarmed, in every sense; its right arm, raised to deliver a blow that never fell, had been snapped off at the elbow, along with whatever relic it had been clutching.

"The beast has taken the relics!" Horatius said, anger evident despite the hush.

"Of course it has," Arcos said. "It's a dragon."

"So these are the Nine?" Perrin asked, idly tapping the frozen faceplate of the one that still //had// a head. It was impossible to miss; those faceless helms, without a single eye slit or breathing hole, were one of the many things that made the Nine so infamous. No one was sure how they fought, much less breathed comfortably, in a great helm so sealed, but the answer was unlikely to be pleasant. They also wore shields and mail, though unlike Horatius's, their shields bore only the Foundation's holy symbol and their tabards were a simple black. Clearly, none of it had done any good against the dragon.

"Where are the other ones?" Arcos asked, looking around warily.

"Maybe they were completely burnt up," Perrin hoped, with false confidence. "Or eaten. I mean, this guy's just a bottom half. Dragon's got three heads, it could've gulped one with each, twice."

"Maybe," Horatius agreed, only because the alternative was too unpleasant and unactionable to contemplate. If they were still wandering around down here in the vast, ghoulish city, we wouldn't know it until they revealed themselves.

"You know," I said, eyeing the colossal claw marks where the dragon had perched on the palace roof, "I think we should use the other door."

"Good idea," Moritz agreed.

A few minutes later, we approached the palace from the opposite side. As with all the doors and gates, the wood or metal that comprised this one had long since fallen away. There was a grand hall just inside that looked like it would lead us right to the inner courtyard, where the fiery glow seemed to be coming from. We did our best to stay low and quiet as we approached, ducking below the windows and making sure to avoid any metallic collisions like the one that had outed us last time. Peering in through a window, I was strangely disappointed to find that the stately palace's interior was still just full of disintegrating bed frames. The courtyard, though...there was something enticing about that yellow glow. As we crept in through the back door, I realized what it was: the yellow cast of the firelight came from the mountains of gold that reflected it. The whole courtyard must have been piled two meters high with golden coins, jewelry, and bars, interspersed here and there with glittering gems. The pile overflowed the sills of the interior windows, through which I could see...

As one, our party ground to a halt. We could see the dragon. It lay there, at the center of its hoard, taking up so much of the courtyard that I had nearly mistaken it for a strange building or rockfall. Its jet-black scales were the size of kite shields. Wings bigger than circus tents lay half-open on either side of its huge body, and four legs thicker than the oldest of trees splayed out in the front and back. The gleaming talons at the ends of its clawed feet were longer than I was tall. The steady firelight highlighted every spine, horn, and frill on its three monstrous heads, each one the size of a small cottage...and each one deep in slumber. As we stood there in the great hall, with the pitter-patter of the rain muted and distant, we could hear its slow, heavy breaths like the crash of waves upon the beach.

I looked at Moritz. Could we really be so lucky? Had the dragon, exhausted from its battle with the Nine, settled down for a long nap to digest them? Would Horatius be able to creep up and sever its three heads without any fight whatsoever?

Moritz shook his head. Not with our luck.

Still, onward we pressed. Arcos and Perrin in the front, moving as quietly as they could. Moritz and myself, carefully padding along in our soft clothes. Horatius at the back, clanking and jingling with every step but ready to charge headlong into the inevitable fray.

We stopped at the edge of the courtyard, regrouping at the base of the treasure pile. We were so close to the dragon's central head that I could smell the ozone on its breath. The  wealth in the courtyard was unimaginable; it seemed that all the treasures of the Ancients had wound up here. Jeweled crowns and scepters sat atop house-sized hills of gold. Marble statues protruded from the pile like trees, draped with gleaming jewelry. The metal mountains shone like liquid twilight in the fiery glow, which we now saw was coming from four enormous braziers floating in midair at the courtyard's corners. Each one was the size of a house and studded with enough gems to buy one.

Horatius looked down at the pile's edge. He shook his helmeted head. No one dared speak so close to the dragon, but the message was still clear. Even if he didn't slip on the pile of wet coins, Horatius would sound like an avalanche if he went clomping through it. Any of us would be hard-pressed to close the distance to the dragon without waking it.

For a while, we simply stood there in awe of the dragon's sheer size, and of its wealth, greater than any of us had ever imagined, must less seen.

Then the dragon opened its eyes, and the baleful glare of those six glowing orbs affixed us all to the spot with supernatural fright.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" the central head purred. Its eyes were an evil yellow.

"You're very loud," growled the left one, red eyes almost smoldering.

"And terrible at climbing," hissed the right, which had eyes of frigid blue.

Languidly, the great beast arose from its feigned slumber. It stretched like a cat, cracking its whip-like tail at the starless dark above and spreading those vast wings to their full extent. This thing was larger than the palace I'd grown up in. Slowly, it settled back down. The three heads reared up, revealing rows of violet scales armoring its underbelly.

"Alright," the middle head sighed, "let's talk."

Horatius, seemingly unfazed by the paralytic panic streaming from those evil eyes, stepped up.

"What could we have to discuss with you, dragon?"

The middle head squinted at him. "I would like to know what you're doing here."

"It's been a very busy week for us," the right head added.

"A very tiresome week," finished the left.

The middle continued. "There must be something truly strange occurring across the pond, for fourteen skippers to have come knocking."

"We do not represent the Foundation," Horatius clarified. "We-"

"Are explorers," Perrin cut in, finally shaking off the fear. "We came to explore this island, to see if there really was a fearsome dragon defending it."

"Well," laughed the center head, "is there?" The other heads seemed unamused.

"Oh, most certainly. You are, without a shadow of a doubt, the most fearsome creature it has ever been my honor to behold."

The right head growled in response. "Flattery will get you nowhere, insect."

Left agreed. "I suggest that you drop the act."

"Aw," the middle said, playfully. "I was rather enjoying it. You may continue to tell us how impressive we are, though I would appreciate a more honest answer this time."

Perrin bowed. "Forgive me. I have not spoken to a dragon before, and I thought it best to be cautious when first addressing the great Marscar the Dark."

"Marscar the Dark?" they said, in bewildered unison.

Perrin hesitated. "Is that...not your name?" Dear saints, had we somehow gotten the wrong dragon?!

The central head shook. "No. //This// is Marshall," it said, nodding at the left, blue-eyed head. "//This// is Carter," it said, indicating the red right. "And //I// am Dark."

"That does have a nice ring to it, though," Marshall muttered.

"Oh, I see. Forgive me; it seems that the stories have muddled some details, these last eight centuries."

"So it does," Dark purred. "Tell me, what else do these stories say about us?"

"Well, um," he stammered. He knew the legends damn well, but he was no doubt afraid that they might offend the great beast before us. Horatius, on the other hand, had never known fear of anything.

"It is said," he interrupted, drawing an alarmed look from Perrin, "that you were the richest men in the Ancient world, but when the Great Breach struck, you hid yourselves away down here instead of sharing your wealth with those who needed it during that great tribulation. As punishment, the gods transformed you into...well, into this."

The dragon did not look happy. Carter rumbled like a distant avalanche.

"I was a //woman//," Dark snarled.

Marshall snorted disdainfully. Its breath formed a frosty cloud above its nostrils. "I would hardly call such power as ours a punishment."

"Of course not!" Perrin agreed, lightly shoving Horatius back a bit. "Personally, I have nothing but admiration for your power and glory, and naught but disdain for the weak moralism that would paint you as a villain. Or this rude goody two-shoes who would say such foolish things to your face. Er, faces."

Seeing the look on Perrin's face, Horatius reluctantly bowed to the beast. "Apologies, great dragon. I thought that you would like to hear the truth of what people say, and not the honeyed words of this liar."

Dark looked between them in amusement.

"You two are much more polite than your countrymen who came here before. They did not even attempt to strike up a conversation."

"How very rude."

"Indeed. I very much would've liked to know what brought a Mobile Legion to my doorstep. I certainly haven't ravaged your Foundation's land the way that I have this one." 

"Though that could certainly change," Carter warned.

"I cannot know why the Nine were sent after you," Perrin answered, honestly, "though I would not put it past the Holy Foundation to sentence you to death on principle. They have always taken a dim view of magic."

"You speak like the Foundation's enemy," Marshall hissed.

"Indeed I am, great dragon. I was once held in captivity by their lies, and only escaped by luck and cleverness. My friends, also, are exiles, outcasts, and runaways from their thrall."

"Then perhaps you //would// like me to destroy the Foundation," Carter said, with a serpentine smirk.

"Ah, perhaps another time. I would first like to return there, to spread your legend anew. It has been many centuries since anyone from our land set foot on yours, and there are those who doubt your reality. They say that you are but a fairy tale, a doodle made at the edge of a map by superstitious sailors."

Carter snorted unhappily, producing a cloud of black smoke. Quickly, Perrin pivoted.

"But I never doubted you! Now I will return to America and tell the tales again, striking newfound fear and wonder into the hearts of men. And, perhaps, a bit of admiration for my own accomplishment in the hearts of women." He winked at the dragon, the rascal. Dark snorted derisively, spraying yellow sparks.

Marshall was skeptical. "And just how do you expect to prove that you traveled to our land?"

"By stealing a souvenir from our hoard?" Carter accused.

"Of course not! Theft from one such as you would be all be suicide!"

"Indeed it would," Dark agreed. "But knowledge can be stolen just as surely as gilded cups and golden coins. Have you considered that we may not //want// erstwhile dragon-slayers knocking down our door every week?"

He faltered, but only for a moment. "I had, but you seem to be quite a gracious host, with a love for good conversation. And it isn't as though you are in any danger; the Nine were outfitted with the mightiest weapons known to the Foundation, and they were but light snacks to you. Besides, it would be quite difficult for anyone else to follow our path, or that of the Nine."

"Yes, how //did// you get here? Have you finally re-invented the astrolabe?"

"We, uh...took a shortcut."

"Ah. Portland."

"I'm surprised the old Mayor is still kicking," Marshall mused.

"We, too, were quite surprised," Perrin understated.

"So, whelp," Dark answered, "How does one so young come to know of Portland and the great city of UnLondon? If it was not the Foundation who hired you, someone else surely must have."

Perrin grinned widely. I knew what he was going to say, and I almost tried to stop him.

"I assure you, great dragon, Nobody hired us to do this."

"Nobody, eh? Do you think us some common Polyphemus?"

He blinked. "I...am not sure what that is."

"Shame. Surely you, wizard, still know of Homer? You must be fascinated by the past."

Moritz was startled by the dragon's sudden attention, but he quickly recovered. "Ah, yes, I am. Though I do not recall a Polyphemus among the residents of Springfield."

The heads responded in unison. Carter groaned and Marshall rolled his eyes, but Dark gave a single chuckle. Moritz only looked confused.

"You lot are much funnier than the last bunch. I might just let you live."

"I would be most grateful," Perrin laughed, unable to keep at least a little nervousness from his voice.

"...on one condition," Marshall added.

"Oh?"

It pointed with one enormous claw. "That sword," Dark said. "Give it to me."

"Alas," Horatius answered, "I have already promised to return it to the Lady of the Lake."

"Once you have slain me, yes? You do not strike me as a liar, unlike this one."

"Indeed, great dragon. I have come to destroy you, and I borrowed this weapon for that purpose."

"I respect an honest man. Few could openly admit to seeking my demise so close to my killing jaws, and fewer still without even a tremble of fear. Tell me, knight, are you impossibly brave or utterly mad?"

"I have been called both, great dragon. I care not which, so long as the deed gets done."

"Should I take this to mean that you will not accept my merciful offer?"

"Alas," he repeated, "I have given my word. If I return to the Lady empty-handed, she will curse me, my companions, and seven generations of our descendants."

"If you do not give me that sword, she will be cursing a pile of ashes."

"Or a pile of shit," Carter rumbled. Marshall snapped at him, incensed by the vulgarity. 

Heedless of the squabbling, Dark continued. "Would it not be better to live cursed than to die by my claws?"

"Perhaps to a coward such as he," Horatius said, indicating the disgruntled Perrin. "But I do not fear death, and I do not fear you."

"And what //of// this coward, brave knight? Will you drag your friends with you into martyrdom?"

Horatius hesitated. "I have given my word," he repeated, a tad uncertainly.

"To whom? Surely not only the Lady. I could believe that this one cares only for wealth and fame, but a fool such as you seeks something less tangible."

"I have come to restore the honor of my order, through-"

"Do not lie to me, tin man, or I will lose what little respect I have for your kind."

Horatius looked askance at us, then back to the dragon.

"Very well, great dragon. And alongside this truth, I make an offer."

"An offer?" Marshall hissed.

"Yes. My life, in exchange for those of my companions. And this sword, in exchange for a certain object of yours."

What? What was he talking about? We all looked at him with varying combinations of confusion and suspicion.

All three heads grinned. "Ah, finally. You see, knight, I have known from the beginning why you were here. Do you think I know not what I possess?" Then, as one, it frowned. Nictitating membranes slid into place over their eyes, turning them into smooth, sinister orbs of color. "And do you really think that I would be so ignorant of its true value as to trade it for anything? Do you really think that I would so lower myself as to exchange goods with one so small as you, when //all// that glitters is rightfully mine? It is an abomination to me that others should possess anything at all, especially the sword Excalibur, which you were not even worthy to wield, merely borrow. I had considered mercy, because you had saved me trouble by delivering it here, but now you have insulted me in my own palace, by presuming to bargain with what is already mine!"

In unison, they thundered: "We are Marscar the Dark, Lords of Terror and Destruction!"

"And what are you?" Dark asked.

"A bug," Carter growled.

"A shiny little beetle," Marshall crooned.

Dark grinned. "A lightning bug." Electricity arced between her teeth as she inhaled.

----

A yellow flash consumed my vision as thunder smote my ears. At first, I thought that I had been the one struck. But between the spots in my eyes, I saw Horatius.

Slowly, he rose from a crouch, lowering his shield. Electricity arced between his armor, the gold around his feet, and especially the Stylus. A ball of St. Hedwig's fire danced at its tip, growing larger and brighter with each passing moment. Horatius stared at it. I could not see his face, but the dragon looked dumbfounded enough for three people.

Slowly, Horatius turned his helm towards the beast. Then, laughing triumphantly, he leveled the glowing sword at the central head and //fired//. A white bolt every bit as mighty as the dragon's breath shot forth, smiting the dragon's face with its own reflected wrath. Its triplicate roar of pain and shock was louder than the thunderclap. Horatius made to charge, and for a split second I shared in his triumph. This was our moment! We could press the advantage and slaughter the beast before it regained its senses! But Arcos seized the knight by the collar and dragged him back, just as a great, black talon scythed through the space where he'd been. It would have reduced him to ribbons.

We needed no further convincing to flee. One of the massive heads snapped at us, but it was far too large and horn-bedecked to fit through the hall. It inhaled, and we felt a building heat at our backs.

"Side!" Perrin yelled, clearing the exit and diving desperately to the left. We followed, flinging ourselves aside mere moments before a flood of fire swept through the hall. It burned off half of my hair.

The dragon gave another triple roar. We heard a great rush of wind and a mighty clatter of spilling coins, and realized that it had taken to the air.

"Inside!" Perrin cried, already leaping through the nearest window. Horatius and Mortiz ungracefully followed while Arcos grabbed me and plunged through another. At the same time, the dragon slammed down outside, claws scoring deep trenches in the cobbles. It had not so much flown as //leapt// over the entire four-story wing of the palace.

"Inside!" Perrin repeated, scrambling to his feet and through the door on the opposite side. The dragon wheeled, smashing the outer wall with one swipe of its titanic tail. We turned left and barreled down a hallway, but Perrin screamed for us to "Stop!" just before we crossed an intersection. Not a moment later, a river of icy mist rushed through the perpendicular hall. A branch of it streamed down our hallway, and it surely would have frozen us had Moritz not quickly thrown a gust of wind in the opposing direction.

"Go!" Perrin ordered, and we sprinted across the frost-encrusted hallway before the icy head could switch places with another. Now we were in the palace proper, careening through dusty corridors and empty doorways almost at random. I don't know how much longer we fled before Perrin called us to a halt, in some vast rectangular space that might have been a ballroom in the original palace but was only another dismal, junk-heaped bunk in this one. The building shuddered suddenly, raining dust onto our heads as the dragon climbed atop it. I looked fearfully at the ceiling. It would have been easy for the monster to smash the floors above and entomb us in rubble.

We waited, breath baited. Moritz noticed that the hem of his robe was on fire and frantically stomped it out.

Like an invisible serpent, the dragon's evil harmonies slithered down to us.

"//Come out, come out, little pigs. I can wait here until you starve. Would it not be better to face your doom now? To die boldly in glorious combat? To stain my fangs with your noble blood?//" It chuckled, a reptilian sound like the growl of an alligator. "//Come to me, my prey. Come and meet your murderer.//"

Suddenly, my feet were moving, carrying me toward its insidious whispers. I saw Arcos beside me, shuffling like a sleepwalker. His eyes were wide with fear. I'm sure that mine were as well, for they seemed to be the only part of my body still under my control. Somewhere behind me, Moritz groaned like he was struggling to wake from a nightmare. I supposed we all were.

All save Horatius, whose iron will was unbroken by the dragon's poison words. He issued a command, and his words rang with that same unshakable resolve.

"**Stop!**" And we did. Stumbling, shuffling, wavering.

"//Come to me...//" the dragon hissed once more. I took a single unsteady step.

"**No! We will not follow you! You will not break us! We will not submit! Not when the body breaks, not when the mind crumbles, not when the eleven-day empire eats the sky! Your poison words are nothing before my will to fight! YOU are nothing!**"

With that, the spell was broken. I staggered backwards, and Moritz fell to his knees. Perrin groaned, clutching his head. Arcos howled, a noise like a mountain lion's scream, and slammed his mighty fist into the nearest wall.

The dragon growled like rolling thunder. "//You are strong, noble one. But I am patient.//" The building shook again as it flew away.

"What's it doing?" I whispered.

"Circling, I imagine," Perrin answered. "Waiting for us to step outside, so it can blast us. And staying out of our reach, in case we try to come after it with that sword."

"Why doesn't it just bring the building down on us?" I asked.

"Would you want to squash your own house?"

"No, I suppose not."

"When did you become such a tactician?" Horatius asked, with mingled surprise and respect. Only then did I realize the absurdity of Perrin guiding us to safety through that infernal assault, but he had done it with skill and authority.

Perrin grinned sardonically. "You might call it cowardice, but I call it survival instinct."

Carefully, Horatius removed his helm. Lines of soot shadowed its eyeholes, looking like strange warpaint. He nodded to Perrin. "That was not cowardice. It was leadership."

"Pff," Perrin scoffed. "Sure."

"No, truly." His voice was scratchy, worn out from that strange shouting. "You are owed my respect, and my thanks. You too, bold Arcos. Had you not pulled me back-"

"Shut up," Arcos growled, taking us all aback. "What was that mind-magic you did?"

Horatius blinked, but quickly regained his composure. "That was wordsmithing. Another knightly discipline, a bit like this," he said, gesturing with his painted shield. "It follows the same principle, using words or images to plant ideas in someone's mind. Or, in this case, remove them." He coughed dryly. "I don't think I could do it again, not until my throat is better, but I doubt the dragon knows that."

Arcos swallowed heavily. Slowly, he nodded. "Well," he said, through gritted teeth, "I suppose you saved me. For that I am grateful. But," he said, turning to face the knight, "if you //ever// put your fingers in my head again, for any other reason but to save my life, I'll smash your skull."

Horatius recoiled. "Would you have preferred that I let the dragon eat you?!"

"I'd prefer that your kind learned to leave our minds alone!"

Slowly, understanding dawned. "Oh," Horatius said, bowing his head. "I see. Forgive me, dear Arcos. Not for saving you, but for forgetting your history."

"Hmph," Arcos grunted. Perrin consoled his partner with a half-hug. Arcos returned the gesture, then slunk off to a corner to rest.

"So," Moritz said, eager to change the subject, "what in Corbenic are we supposed to do now?"

"Who's got that map?" Perrin asked, rubbing his hands together.

----

While he, Horatius, and Moritz talked strategy, I went to check on Arcos. All of the others seemed to know why he was so upset, but I had no idea. He was seated against the wall now, padded knees curled close to his armored chest. Wordlessly, I sat down beside him. He looked at me sadly.

"Yes, little one?"

"Are you okay?"

"Oh," he sighed, "I'm fine. Fine as I can be."

I tilted my head. "What's that mean?"

"Did they not teach you of my people in Arnven?"

"There aren't any orcs in Arnven."

"No," he said, softly, "I don't suppose there are. Not many of us anywhere, anymore. Not like there used to be."

"What do you mean?" All my knowledge of orcs came from wild tales of the deep woods, from whence they emerged by night to abduct maidens and eat babies. I had always doubted the truth of these lurid stories, and Arcos had driven that doubt home. He was just a bigger, hairier human as far as I could tell.

He shook his shaggy head. "Don't let me trouble you with myths, little one."

"Tell me!" I protested. "Why did you say that about leaving your minds alone?"

Arcos looked at me, his dark eyes searching mine for something. After a while, he relented.

"You know that we are not the man-eating savages from the fairy tales, yes? Surely I have proved that to you."

"Of course! You're the kindest man I know." I hugged his arm, and it brought a genuine smile to his face.

"Thank you, little one. That means much, from one so young. Very few people have said such things, in this age or those before." As he spoke, his quiet voice took on a distant tone. He seemed to be remembering as much as telling. "My people are not like yours. We do not have cities like yours, or like this one." He looked around the dismal stone room. "Well, like the real London of the Ancients. But we did, once. Long before the Ancients, long before Tiamat hatched from her primordial egg, before the first human had even learned to speak. We mastered all of nature, and all across the world we reared great cities of wood and bone. But we were unkind to your people - much as they now are to us - and they made an evil bargain with a vile god of the deep woods. Our cities crumbled, and our minds were bound. For ages, we were little more than beasts, unable to speak, unable to build, unable to master our primate instincts, but horribly, painfully aware of our miserable condition. Only after the Great Breach did some of us learn to talk again, and to make spears and axes from the natural elements that we had once commanded like our own arms and legs. We have never forgotten what we once were, but the magic is far away now, and the knowledge is long gone. But still it...//dances//," he said, grasping at the air just before his face, "just outside of reach. Just outside of memory. I am better off than most, but still it drives me mad. We could be just like you, with mighty cities and millions of people, if only I could catch that fleeting knowledge. That memory of what we were. What we would still be, if humankind had not broken us."

Again, Arcos looked at me. I know not how my face appeared, but it seemed to pain him. "Do you see, now, Geva? Why I would not yield to the Valravns, and why I so hated Horatius's magic words? I would sooner //die// than let my mind be broken again."

At a loss for words, I squeezed his arm more tightly. "I'm sorry, Arcos."

"Don't be sorry, princess. The kindness of ones like you is what makes it tolerable."

The moment was brief, but it was happy. Then Perrin ruined it.

"No, you moron!" he yelled, addressing Horatius.

Arcos sighed. "I had better get over there."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Let's go."

"We should sneak out," Perrin was suggesting. "Back to the stairs!"

"Impossible," said Moritz. "It would see or hear us trying to climb that gap, if we even can after all this, and smash the tower under us."

"What about the dragon's exit? It flies up to the surface somehow."

"Considering that it flies, I'd wager that exit is on the ceiling somewhere. We couldn't get up to it, even if we could somehow see the ceiling."

"There's a river in this joint, isn't there? Maybe we could follow that to the ocean."

"I doubt it. We're almost a kilometer below sea level."

"Then where in Corbenic is the water going?!"

"That's the Expunged for you."

"Saints," Perrin swore.

"We'll have to kill it," Horatius said, with finality. "That's the only way we leave this city again."

"How?! It could flatten all five of us with one foot. If the Nine couldn't handle it with all their relics-"

"They didn't have this one." Moritz raised the Stylus. In the light, we could see a smear of noxious blood steaming at its tip. "I nicked it when it clawed at me. This blade cuts its scales like butter."

"You'll still only get one shot," Arcos cautioned. "Even that thunderbolt only stunned it for a second. You were nearly sliced to ribbons."

"Then I'll have to get it straight through the heart."

"Its heart is bigger than your whole body."

"Doesn't matter. If we charge the sword again," he said, nodding at Moritz, "the shock would stop it. I'll have to get under it somehow, and then..." he made an upward stabbing motion.

Perrin scoffed. "You couldn't even //reach// its chest, much less stab it with enough force to hit the heart. Its ribs must be as thick as trees."

"One of you magic folks can launch me. Or Arcos could throw me?"

"I'm not that strong."

"Maybe we get it to fall on you?" Perrin suggested, sarcastically.

"And crush me to death? Very well."

Perrin blinked. "Well, but how are we supposed to knock those mountain-legs out from under it?"

"Could we trick it into lying down?" Arcos suggested.

"As if it wouldn't notice this harlequin lunatic waving a sword at its belly."

"I could do my shadow trick!" I volunteered, eager to contribute.

"That won't fool it," Horatius said. "It'd smell me."

"I could mess with its mind, then."

"All three of them, each as strong as mine or stronger? No."

"We could hit it in the air," Perrin proposed. "Arcos has that flying armor."

"Won't matter if we can't see to aim. Even if we could, I can't outmaneuver that thing in the air. It's got bigger wings and 800 years of practice."

"I know," Moritz said, tapping his bald head. "We make it stand up on its back legs, then come at it from the front."

"How would I get up to its chest?"

"Arcos picks you up and flies."

"How do I do that without being spotted and eaten right out of the air?"

"You fly through a window. We'll distract it with something on the roof of a tall building, and then when it rears up you come through a lower story and stab it."

"Why would it land at all? If the distraction is on the roof it could just swoop down and breathe on us."

"You could fly me up from some other hiding spot," Horatius proposed.

"I don't think this armor could go straight up, not fast enough to hit a target moving the other way, not with both of us."

"Wait!" I exclaimed. "Hold on! It tried to talk to us! It's brilliant, and it hasn't had anybody but us and the Nine to talk to in centuries. It's got to be almost mad with loneliness! The distraction could pretend to parley, and it would be so curious that it'd have to land to talk to him. It's too big to land on the roof, so it'd have to sit on the ground and rear up. That's when we'd strike."

I was proud to see that no one seemed to have an objection. Well, no one but Perrin.

"One problem: are there any buildings in this saint-damned city tall enough for that?"

Moritz consulted the map. "Yes. There's one right nearby. Looks like it's called...Big Ben."

"What kind of a name is that?"

"That's the Ancients for you."

"Let me see that map." Moritz showed it to him, pointing out the location of "Big Ben".

"Well," Perrin said, "that's convenient. Or it would be, if we had a way out of this saints-damned...oh, never mind, I've got one."

"What?" Moritz asked.

Perrin grinned. "Look at all these beds. This place was built to house thousands of people. All those people would need toilets. And if there's toilets, there's sewers."

"Oh no," Arcos groaned, "not again."

----

As it turned out, the ersatz palace did have bathrooms. They were small, oddly-shaped, completely overtaken with mold, and far too few in number to sustain the multitudes that were clearly intended to live in this place, but each one seemed to have functional plumbing nonetheless. Of course, finding a drain was a long way from slithering down it, but Moritz had a solution. Using his staff as a dousing rod, the wizard sniffed out what, to him, "felt like" an underground river - presumably a much larger sewer tunnel.

"How far down is it?" Horatius asked.

"Only one way to find out," Moritz replied, rolling up his sleeves. "Arcos, break that floor up a little." Arcos happily obliged. He smote the stone three times with his hammer, leaving it riddled with cracks and craters. 

"That enough?"

"That's perfect. Now stand back." Muttering some magic words, Moritz raised his staff like a spear and plunged its glowing crystal point into the hole Arcos had made. Veins of red light shot along the cracks, growing wider and deeper as Moritz worked his staff further into the hole. Then the whole floor began to sag, and he jumped back just in time to avoid a two-meter sinkhole that opened to the sewer below. It was less than a meter below the basement, and it looked wide enough for any of us but Arcos to stand comfortably...or it would have, had it not been filled with half a meter of cold, flowing water.

"That looks unsafe," Arcos said.

"Less unsafe than a dragon," Perrin reminded him.

"Barely."

----

Though they were not many in number, the flooded, frozen minutes I spent in UnLondon's sewers were the most miserable of my life. The water came only to my knees, but there were countless little leaks in the tunnel's walls that sprayed thin, icy rivulets of rainwater everywhere else. I became soaked in seconds, and my teeth soon set to chattering. Our progress through the rushing water was agonizingly slow. Each of us fell at least once, feet betrayed by the slick stone and chilling current. If Arcos hadn't been blocking the channel in front of me, I might have been swept away entirely. I could scarcely feel my feet by the time we found an exit. The ladder up to the manhole had long since fallen away, but it was still close enough for Perrin to reach with a boost from Arcos. He went first, then Arcos helped Moritz and passed me up to them. Horatius was far more difficult to move, thanks to his heavy mail and waterlogged gambeson, but we managed it. Arcos came up last, bracing his long limbs against opposite sides of the short vertical shaft. Then he slammed the manhole back into place, with unnecessary but completely understandable force. The noise reminded us of the street's dangers, though, and we quickly ducked into the nearest building.

"C-c-an we stop to warm up?" I asked, pitifully clutching my shoulders. Moritz shook his head and shivered.

"It'll t-t-take hours to get dry, and by then it'd be s-s-sure to spot our fire."

I groaned, but he was right. We had no choice but keep going. Moritz relit his staff, but only with a low red glow that (we hoped) would be too dim for the dragon to see from its height, at least with the rain and tall buildings in the way. We hadn't a clue to our location, but Moritz's compass still seemed to be working, so we headed roughly east. We'd eventually reach the river, and then perhaps we could determine if we were north or south of Big Ben. We ducked in and out of buildings, keeping our eyes to the skies as if we'd have been able to see winged death descend. Every faint echo seemed like the rush of approaching wings, and every scuff of our soggy shoes felt like a dinner bell.

----

As we continued eastward, Moritz's light fell upon what had to be the side of a cathedral. Even in the dim, red glow, it was clear that the building must be huge, and that it was probably a right monstrosity of arches and stained glass. Moritz, briefly interested in this Ancient architecture, stopped for a bit to take it in.

"We'll have to come back and get a better look at this, once that dragon's out of the way."

"Agreed," Horatius said. I was a bit surprised, but then again I suppose it made sense for a knight (even an excommunicated one) of the Foundation to appreciate a good cathedral when he saw one.

That still didn't make it any less catastrophic when, captivated by the architecture, Horatius walked right into a lamppost. The metal rim of his shield set it ringing like a bell.

We froze. 

"//There you are!//" came the draconic voice, from somewhere high and to the west.

"Inside!" Perrin commanded, then sprinted into the cathedral. Its vaulted ceiling, propped on numerous towering columns, was so far overhead that we could barely see it. Shattered chandeliers crunched underfoot as we ran for an opulent archway far ahead, hoping to find cover on the other side.

The ground shook. We weren't going to make it.

With a crash, one of the dragon's heads burst through the massive stained-glass window at the cathedral's front. It loosed an ear-splitting roar, and I screamed as the wave of fire broke upon us.

-----

As the smoke cleared, Carter admired his handiwork. Nearly the whole nave was now scorched black. And there at its very center, burnt to shriveled crisps, were the corpses of four failed dragonslayers. He laughed, shaking the windows that yet remained in the copied cathedral. Dark barked something at him, and he pulled his head from the window so she could see. Her yellow eyes surveyed the same scene of fiery death, counting the smoking bodies. She growled a question at Carter, and he hissed in response. Marshall laughed, and she snapped at him. Then they lumbered away from Westminster Abbey, and with a rush of wind, returned to their aerial patrol, seeking a fifth victim.

I exhaled. The smoldering illusions of Moritz, Arcos, Perrin, and myself dissolved into greenish sparkles. Moritz also relaxed, dropping the spell that had kept us from meeting the fiery fates of our duplicates. Thinking quickly, he had used the water soaking our clothes to whip up shields of solid ice and chill them as cold as he could. The dragon's breath had completely vaporized the ice, but steam burned less than fire. We were both completely out of breath, hunkered just inside a smaller archway on the nave's right side. Arcos and Perrin had both spotted it as we fled past, and they had quickly dragged the rest of us through.

"Well," Moritz gasped, leaning on his staff for support, "at least we're not cold anymore."

Perrin laughed once, nervously.

Horatius seemed none the worse for wear, despite having just sprinted 30 meters in at least that many kilograms of armor. He looked at me with a puzzled expression.

"Why did I not have a decoy?"

I smiled through the exhaustion. "If it thinks we're //all// dead, it won't buy the distraction."

He nodded. "Good thinking. You're a clever one, princess Geva."

I laughed, then winced. My head hurt.

"Let's get out of here," Arcos grumbled, scratching at a newfound bald spot where the fire had almost gotten him. Continuing through the arch, we hurried along the cloisters that ringed a large courtyard and emerged back onto the street we'd been traveling.

----

It was only a short distance from there to Big Ben, and we covered it as fast as we could without raising a ruckus. The clock tower was actually just one part of a massive palace, much larger than the one that Marscar the Dark had made its home. Rather than brave its interior, we picked our way along the outside, then climbed through a tall, long-broken window near the tower's base. The outside of the tower looked sturdy enough, but the inside was a different story. It seemed that the bells and clock mechanism had fallen, turning the bottom floor into a treacherous pile of rust and rubble. In the southeast corner, though, we could see a set of spiral stairs winding up the wall. We picked our way across the wreckage, then carefully proceeded up the stairs. The metal railings had long since corroded to nothing, but the steps themselves were the same resilient stone as the walls, cracked in places but holding up for now, at least. A few hundred steps brought us to a narrow balcony that ran along the perimeter of the tower, ringed on one side by walls and the other by the huge, circular holes where clock faces had once been. With another fifty or so, we had reached the belfry. Four piles of rust were all that remained of the quarter bells, and hour bell had left no sign but a gaping hole in the floor. Yet still the stairs continued, passing a stone balcony that supported rafters from which the bells had once hung. Finally, the stairs ended near the very top of the tower, on a wide platform beside what looked like a lighthouse beacon. This platform was open to the air, so we retreated to the relative shelter of the balcony above the belfry. There were no windows there, so we could finally do away with the dim, red light that had oppressed us since our escape from the sewers. So sheltered, and so informed of the tower's internal layout, we began to lay our scheme.

----

Marscar the Dark soared above UnLondon, sweeping in wide circles around Buckingham Palace. They swooped low over Hyde Park, remembering the Foundation tent city that had once been there. They stared back at the empty socket where the UnLondon Eye had once stood, before the relentless water claimed it and every other piece of ferrous metal in that urban facsimile. They perched for a while at the top of the Shard, the highest point in this lowest city, and surveyed their vast, beautiful, ancient, and utterly empty domain. They could still see the glow of their braziers in the far-off palace's quadrangle, and they could just pick out the top of Westminster Abbey, which that idiot Carter had so foolishly damaged. That window could never be replaced, now that Upper London had crumbled to dust. Not that Marscar the Dark would have allowed workmen into its domain; no, any who set foot in their lair would, by the very act, forfeit their lives, and all their beautiful possessions. Possessions like the most famous sword in history, the most cherished treasure in the Ukish Isles, the symbol of a king's authority that the dragon had tried for centuries to pry from the depths of that damnable lake in Cornwall, only to be thwarted again and again by the faerie magic of its insolent Lady. How could any being be more worthy to rule than they, Marscar the Dark, Lord of Terror and Destruction? How could any being be so foolish as to oppose their rightful rule?! How could-

How could the Ayerton Light be lit? There, at the top of Big Ben, the beacon had come alive. It could be seen from anywhere in the city, even at the far edges where it merged back into the bedrock. Someone was signaling them. The dragon laughed.

"Parliament," Dark laughed, "is in session."

As they glided closer, they could discern the silhouette of the missing knight, waving his priceless sword and hideous shield in some crude signal. Their supernaturally keen ears could hear his squeaking cries.

"Dragon!" he bellowed, as if any amount of shouting could intimidate one so powerful as they. "I demand a parley!"

A parley? How quaint. What could this insect possibly have to bargain with? The dragon had thought him brave, when he shook off their poison words so easily, but perhaps he really was just stupid. Still, it was entertainment...something that the dragon hated to admit was in very short supply so far beneath the earth. They had slept for a hundred long years before these would-be dragonslayers arrived, but now that they were awake, they might as well enjoy the experience. Maybe once they had that sword in their clutches they would go raze a town or two, just to stretch their wings.

As gracefully as possible for something so large, the dragon glided to the ground beside big ben, carelessly crushing the Jubilee Fountain. They craned their serpentine necks to eye the idiot beside the beacon, and they answered his demand.

"Very well, worm. What have you to bargain with? I have already destroyed your friends, and though you are indeed more slippery than I expected, the fact remains that you will never leave this city alive."

"Silence!" he roared, in a tone of such presumptuous authority that the dragon nearly laughed. "You will bow before your king, serpent!"

The dragon stopped laughing.

"We bow to nothing, interloper. And it is we who are this island's monarch."

"Lies! Treasonous lies! For it I who wield the sword, Excalibur! It is I, deemed worthy by God to rule this accursed land! Now for a third time, I command thee: bow before your divinely appointed king!"

The dragon wondered if their torments had driven the poor knight mad. They did not stop to wonder why (or even how) a knight of the Holy Foundation had invoked the God of Abraham or the legend of Excalibur, for these customs of the old world were still far more familiar to them than the odd practices of those across the sea. Besides, they cared far more for the insult to their ego that this cretin's asinine charlatanry had wrought. Menacingly, they crept forward. With a single beat of their vast wings, Marscar the Dark raised up the front of their monstrous body, propping their weight on their massive tail and planting both forelimbs on the walls of Big Ben. The whole tower shifted with their weight, cracks spreading from where their black talons dug into the stone. Dark extended her neck, bringing herself face to monstrous face with the foolish knight. Yellow sparks danced on her tongue as she spoke.

"It takes more than a sword to rule, mortal. You claim the blessing of a god, but I know that I am one. Before my might, your words and traditions are worth no more than your dying screams shall be!" She spread her maw wide and prepared to impale this wretched fool on her venomous fangs...when something caught her eye. She closed her mouth, and turned her head to the side to get a better look at the metal stick this pathetic human was waving. Its details had been hard to make out, backlit as it was by the Ayerton Light, but now that she was up close, it didn't look very like Excalibur at all. It looked like a notched, slightly bent broadsword of Valravn manufacture.

"That's not Excalibur!" she hissed, in barely coherent frustration.

"Nope!" the knight said, dropping the useless blade and tearing off his helm with the hand thereby freed. "And I'm not Horatius!" Perrin laughed.

On cue, the wizard hidden in the belfry poured every ounce of energy he had to spare into the most powerful lightning bolt he'd ever conjured, then flung it at the true knight. His ancient sword captured the bolt, wreathing him head to toe in brilliant blue St. Hedwig's fire. A huge, hairy man swooped from the rafters, Mekhanite wings spread wide, and wrapped his massive hands around the knight's unarmored shoulders. At dizzying speed, he rushed from the belfry's arched windows and screamed to a halt in midair, transferring all his energy to the plasma-sheathed knight. He hurtled headfirst through the air, gleaming sword extended. The dragon's heads looked down in fright, but it was too late to do anything but watch as the billion-year-old blade plunged into their chest, splitting scale, flesh, and bone with equal ease. As its very tip bit into their dark, cold heart, it discharged the fury of a thousand thunderstorms - the divine wrath of the Broken God - into that heaving muscle, and stopped it.

Quietly, the dragon's heads exhaled their final breaths. The elemental fury in their mouths flickered out. With the slow, tragic grace of a sinking ship, they fell. All UnLondon trembled.

Marscar the Dark was dead.

----
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+ [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-lord-of-the-redacted/offset/3|CONTINUED IN BOOK 3]]]
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