Contents

Title

Dedication

Prologue: Glory for Self, Honor for Empire

Chapter One: The Open Sea

Chapter Two: Landing

Chapter Three: The Only Way

Chapter Four: Rock Bottom

Chapter Five: Animal House

Chapter Six: Reahtan Steel

Chapter Seven: Survivor

Chapter Eight: I Wish I May

Chapter Nine: The Hanging Gardens

Chapter Ten: A Life With Purpose

Chapter Eleven: The Innocence of Youth

Chapter Twelve: Step into my Parlor

Chapter Thirteen: Catch a Tiger by the Toe

Chapter Fourteen: House of Glass

Epilogue: Adrift

Further Reading

The Isle of Donne

Story By

Thomas Knapp

Based on MegaTokyo: Endgames By

Fred Gallagher

Editor

Patrick Coyle

Copyright 2019 Fred Gallagher. MegaTokyo and MegaTokyo: Endgames are registered trademarks of Fredart Studios LLC

This book goes to the fans of MegaTokyo,

for everything they’ve put up with just to get

to something resembling a payoff.

It’s been a road six years in the making.

Without all of you, it wouldn’t have been possible.

Prologue: Glory for Self, Honor for Empire

There were many reasons for people to go into the arena.

For some, it was the money. There was an extravagant amount of coin to be had for those who earned renown in one-on-one combat. Even the loser of a well-promoted fight stood to have a hefty purse... presuming said fight wasn't to the death, at least.

For some, it was the status. The caste system in Reaht offered few avenues for advancement, unless you were willing to serve in the army and devote years of your life for a narrow path that still restricted you after promotion. Fighting as a gladiator was the only path that offered any tangible freedom.

For some, it was the glory of battle. A veteran of the army, even those well compensated for their service, could find that the boiling blood of battle was an addictive elixir, one that they needed just to continue living. The arena gave them the means to slake that blood thirst in a legal and encouraged manner without having to leave the empire of their birth.

Still others have no choice. Prisoners of war from another land or conquered city-state, or criminals sentenced to have judgment delivered by an opponent of the arena, fought just to live one more day. These fights were typically little more than spectacular executions, delivered with a flourish of sportsmanship and entertainment.

But Largo's purpose wasn't quite like any of those. Largo fought for the cheers.

He felt most alive when he heard his name being sung from the stands, a sound so loud and boisterous that it overcame the natural design of the Great Colosseum of Reaht, built to direct sound away from the combat within the arena. This was the reception he received as he emerged from the tunnel onto the arena floor, thrusting his arms up into the air and pumping his fists to encourage the crowd in return.

With ten deliberate strides, he took his position on the north side of the ring. As he did, he noted the dryness of the compacted dirt within; footing would be difficult if the surface was flaking from the heat and lack of moisture.

Pushing aside those concerns, he slowly turned in a circle, taking in the packed house and basking in their adulation. Perhaps he preened a little excessively, as a sharp series of strikes on a gong finally dulled the roar, and the master of ceremonies commanded the fighters to prepare themselves. At that point, Largo was compelled to assess his opponent.

For all the reasons a man was pressed into fighting in the arena, Adroitus fell into the group that had no choice. Normally, a gladiator would not be made aware of the crimes his opponent had committed so as to not unintentionally influence the “justice of combat,” but in this case, there was little helping it. Adroitus's crime had been a scandal that spread quickly throughout the Empire; the dishonorable murder of a highly esteemed legionnaire in said officer's sleep.

Largo normally didn't accept such fights, but made an exception this time because Adroitus was by all accounts an accomplished soldier, and thus the Emperor Maximillian himself felt that only the best of the gladiators would be able to properly deliver justice. And Largo wasn't going to deny the God Emperor of the land.

The gong sounded again, the signal for the warriors in the arena to engage. Largo was not one to feel out his opponent, and he didn't do so here, taking the first charge and swinging his greatsword in a rising slash from right to left. It was an attack meant to be difficult to block with a shield, driving the shield upward and away from the body and potentially leaving the defender open for a follow-up.

Or at least it would have... if Adroitus hadn't made a better decision and leaned to his left while taking a step back, allowing Largo's sword to cut through empty air in front of his face. Not that the move concerned Largo much, as Adroitus's short sword didn't have the reach to take advantage of the miss. The disgraced soldier wasn't even able to take a second step in before he was forced back by Largo's return swipe.

It was an intricate dance the two started, Largo making it look good for the crowd with flourishes and superfluous maneuvers to cover up the fact that very little was actually happening. Adroitus was too defensive for Largo to even set him off balance, much less score a hit, and Adroitus didn't have the reach to take advantage of whatever openings might emerge from Largo's grandiose attacks.

Adroitus again deftly parried and ducked below a lateral swipe, and then ducked again in anticipation of the return swing that Largo had been using to maintain the distance advantage. Largo, thinking he had an opportunity, fought his momentum and turned his blade in an arcing chop nearly straight downward. Against anyone else, that would have been at least a deeply wounding strike, but Adroitus was equally quick in his own reaction, raising his shield and redirecting Largo's strike off center, rolling away as the greatsword struck dirt.

It looked like “justice” would only be delivered to whoever made the first mistake.

The crowd was starting to get that sense as well, and their attitude slowly shifted from cheers to jeers, now focused almost entirely on Adroitus and his alleged penchant for “running away.” The audience was used to flash and aggression rather than measured defense, which they deemed cowardice. Largo didn't find that fair. Adroitus was fighting with genuinely impressive skill, using the simple and efficient tactics that kept soldiers alive. You don't score bonus points for style on the battlefield, and Adroitus's technique was founded solely on winning, not looking good while doing so.

Largo decided it was time to take this fight seriously. While the gladiator came across as a showy berserker in most fights, there was always a well-practiced technique underneath it. The flourishes were only slowing him down, and at this point, proving he was the superior fighter was far more important than the spectacle.

Even if the crowd didn't like it.

And they didn't. They didn't like it one bit.

The jeers built as Largo and Adroitus started circling each other slowly. Largo mirrored Adroitus's moves to test a theory with his opponent's shield positioning, and as the gladiator expected, Adroitus would shift his shield to his right when Largo stepped left, matching Largo's momentum. That might be the opening he was looking for.

Assessing Adroitus's stride gave Largo further confidence in his strategy. The soldier was using longer and fewer strides to cover the same distance. It meant that if Largo timed this just right...

The opportunity presented itself so quickly that Largo acted more out of instinct than design, lunging forward and stooped low, the tip of his blade scraping into the earth. Adroitus had been caught in the middle of his stride, and while the disgraced soldier was able to bring his shield around, his feet weren't properly underneath him. Even if he would be able to block Largo's strike, he'd be wide open for a follow-up.

Or at least, that's what would have happened. Instead, Largo pushed off his rear foot for the critical lunge, and he felt the overly dry earth crack and slide out from under him, stealing away his momentum and causing him to stumble down to one knee.

Largo brought the flat of his blade up in desperation, even as he knew his stumble had given Adroitus more than enough time to pick his spot and deal a mortal wound. When the attack didn't come, Largo's eyes narrowed. Had blind chance turned aside Adroitus's attack as well?

No. When the gladiator finally located his opponent, Adroitus was perfectly balanced about fifteen feet away, his shield at the ready and flicking the tip of his sword upward, beckoning Largo to rise. The soldier had a perfect opportunity to win the fight, and he had passed, instead backing up and allowing Largo to ready himself again.

Largo wasn't going to pass on the charitable act, however. He jumped back to his feet, stomping twice to make sure the ground beneath him was at least decently solid before nodding in gratitude to his opponent. Now Largo understood the reason for Adroitus's long, light strides; the soldier wasn't confident in the footing himself.

Largo could use this to his advantage. The gladiator had been fighting with the assumption that he would have to get around Adroitus's shield, but on shaky ground, sometimes the best way was straight ahead.

Largo could do straight ahead better than anyone.

He lowered his left shoulder and charged, blade level to the ground for an upward stab. Adroitus countered with a sidestep to his left that also kept him clear of a backhanded strike. Instead, Largo demonstrated his strength by nimbly bringing up his right forearm, forcing Adroitus to block away the pommel that otherwise would have met violently with his face. That defensive maneuver precluded any counter and allowed for another follow-up from Largo, as he brought the blade up and around for a chop.

The soldier's reaction time was limited and the blow caught Adroitus's shield too flush for his sake. The bronze bent sharply, greatly reducing its effectiveness and only sparing Adroitus a broken arm by a matter of a finger's width.

Rather than try a quick turn in order to press the attack, Largo charged past, letting his momentum slow to avoid risking another disastrous stumble. With the shield compromised, Adroitus was far diminished as a concern, and Largo could afford to be more aggressive with the reach advantage.

Not that he could be completely careless, as Adroitus ducked under a slash and delivered a counter that would have sliced open Largo's tunic had the gladiator not been bare-chested for the fight. Fearlessly, Largo returned the attack by driving his sword pommel towards the top of Adroitus's head.

This time, the gladiator found purchase, striking his opponent in the clavicle. Adroitus managed to finish his roll, but was dazed and unable to avoid the kick aimed at the dead center of his face. The disgraced soldier fell onto his back, and before he could even move to regain his footing, Largo had placed a boot on Adroitus's chest and the blade at his neck.

That's when the cheers returned, Largo's name sung from the farthest seats of the stadium. But at that point, he barely registered the accolades. His mind was reviewing the fight and trying to put together pieces that didn't fit.

He noticed when the cheering suddenly fell silent, however. His gaze shifted upward and to the east, at the luxury box dug into the first three rows. The God Emperor Maximillian, lord of the whole of Reaht and its conquered lands, frequented the Grand Colosseum, and in the days before his ascension had fought in this same arena with distinction.

But his presence at this event was particularly noteworthy, for every eye was on him to recommend his final judgment on whether justice had been served on this day. Per custom, the Emperor raised his right arm, and issued a thumbs-up gesture.

This meant quite the opposite of what most visitors to Reaht assumed. It wasn't a sign of approval that the criminal had earned a stay, but a sign for the gladiator to finish the execution.

Largo no longer had any inclination to obey. Instead, the famed gladiator lifted his blade and thrust the point into the dirt directly in front of him, resting his hands on the pommel. “The only crime you have committed was daring to raise a weapon to me,” Largo declared. “And in the arena, that is not a capital offense.”

He hadn't thought the Colosseum could go more silent. He had been wrong. Yet he was not wrong in defying the Emperor's will. While the God Emperor of Reaht held near total power over any aspect of Reahtan life he wished to impose upon, there was in fact one place where his control could be denied.

And that one place was within the arena. By the tradition of trial by combat, Largo alone was the final judge. It was extremely rare for a gladiator to decline to carry out the Emperor's will, to be sure, but it wasn't unprecedented either. Even the God Emperor was expected to respect a gladiator's decision.

And Maximillian, of all Emperors, understood that. If the audience was expecting rage, they didn't receive it. Despite his smoldering glare, the Emperor nodded in deference to Largo's judgment as he declared, “Judgment has been issued. Guards, take Adroitus into the dungeons while I confer on further sentencing. Gladiator Largo, you are dismissed. Thank you for your honorable service.”

Largo bowed deeply, then turned about on his heels as the plate-armored guards of the Colosseum emerged from the challenger's tunnel to collect the prisoner. Largo didn't spare a glance back as he retreated to the opposite tunnel. He needed a bath, and there was a bottle of hard grain spirits waiting for him at his favorite tavern.

He had earned it.

~ ~ ~

Reaht was most famous for its wines, that much was true. Potent, flavorful, rich in color... they were coveted and highly priced anywhere from Kaiskallen to Caravel. But what was less known is that Reaht made a damn good beer as well, every bit the equal of Avalon's famous ales.

Which was good, because Largo didn't like those fruity drinks, and wanted to spend half his prize money on something with more body and more bite. For example, the South Sea Lager that he was happily downing as quickly as his throat could manage, while seven of his fellow gladiators cheered him on.

The mug was nearly the size of his head, and while the beer was some of the most potent that could be brewed, Largo's mind and vision were barely impaired by the time he slammed down the fourth empty mug onto the table. His alcohol tolerance was a thing of legend in its own right, and he was determined to live up to it.

“Another round!” Largo bellowed to the tavern host. The bronze-skinned man seemed to think about it for a moment, as if gauging the collective drunkenness at the table, before turning around to grab some more mugs and to open the tap. It took several minutes to find a new tray and for one of the maids to dutifully bus the circular table, but ten more mugs were soon claimed by the gladiators.

The host was smart. He knew Largo would drink three in the time that it took the rest of the group to drink one.

In retrospect, Largo shouldn't have ordered that last round. Not because he didn't have the money, because he most certainly did—enough to buy rounds for every patron of the tavern three times over, had he felt so inclined. Nor was it because he was in any danger of getting drunk. No, it was because others at his table were getting drunk, and alcohol had an annoying tendency of loosening lips that the better part of judgment would keep closed.

Vagorus, a rather lower-ranking member of this clique and with no business to say what he was about to say, crowed, “I still cannot fathom the balls on you to defy the God Emperor!”

Largo's eyes narrowed, though he did nothing more than turn to the right and silently finish his mug before answering. Largo already had a very good idea what Vagorus was referring to, but decided to give the upstart just enough rope to hang himself. “The victorious always has the right to deny the Emperor's will in the arena.”

“Maybe so, but how many times do we actually do it?” Vagorus countered, as if he had ever been appointed such a role. “Much less an outsider.”

The gladiator beside Vagorus, an older man named Milo who had been graced with many more years in the arena and the honor—or ill luck—to have faced Largo in combat already, tried to stop what they all saw coming. “Gladiator Largo came from Antico, well within the borders of Reaht for a decade.”

That was both factual and misleading, which even Largo acknowledged. Vagorus unwisely chose to give voice to the contradiction, however, and refused to let Milo's rebuttal go unchallenged. “He's from Antico in the same way you're from Reaht City. The man is an outsider, and presuming to act like he's native born. I find that truly brave.”

Largo's tolerance had limits. The implication being made was a subtle insult that Largo faced nigh constantly—he was not Reahtan by blood, with his pale skin and flaming red hair. While all citizens were allegedly equal within the Empire, there was little doubt some were more equal than others, and at certain levels of drunkenness, were willing to make that clear.

This is where the famed gladiator drew the line. He jumped up to his feet, and leaned over the table, his impressive height allowing him to get far closer to Vagorus than the man would have liked. “I will not tolerate you questioning my loyalty to the Empire, and my honor and rights as a Champion of the Great Colosseum. Say one more word, Vagorus, and you will be my next opponent!”

Largo didn't need to say anything else. Vagorus was more a gatekeeper for the Colosseum, a promising talent who fought to prove his worthiness to challenge the more revered gladiators. The degree of skill and prestige between these two was vast, and Vagorus knew it. He backed down with a quiet apology, and turned his attention on the mug in front of him as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Milo attempted to talk Largo down, patting him on the back with calming words, “Don't let the young pup ruin your night. You're as Reahtan as anyone here, and even if you weren't, your prestige in the Colosseum would make it irrelevant. For now, let's drink and be merry!”

Largo tried, but found that Vagoras's comments had picked a scabbed wound, and it was souring the taste of the beer. While none of it mattered now, with a face and name that was beyond reproach to all but the staunchest nativists, Largo couldn't forget that his differences had been a serious issue of contention until he built that fame. Even now, there were those who couldn't fully accept him, and those people were closer than he wanted to believe.

Vagorus was stupid, certainly, but how many of the people at this table shared those sentiments, yet had wits enough to keep them off their tongues?

“I think I'm going to go home early,” Largo finally declared coldly, standing up and giving the entire table a wary eye. “I think I've had enough to drink.”

He ignored the feeble protests, spoke to the tavern keeper to arrange two more rounds for the rest of his table, paid the bill, then left without another word. He wasn't used to leaving the tavern before the sun had set, so it took him by surprise to see the street still filled with people, many of whom recognizing him.

On the rare occasions that Largo was out among the general public, he was mobbed by anyone within earshot, including children whose numbers often surprised Largo, as he didn't consider his form of entertainment to be particularly family friendly. That did not happen this time.

Instead, there was tension in the air the moment Largo emerged and took his first steps into the street proper. Rather than mob the champion gladiator, it seemed as though all traffic stopped. The pair nearest to him, a young teenage woman and a little boy—most likely a younger brother—stepped forward tentatively, then scurried into full retreat when they saw a member of the City Patrol cross their path.

Largo stomped his way home, trying to push the people out of his mind, which was ironic considering how readily they moved out of his path. If they were trying to shame him, they were failing. The display just made him more angry.

He was so worked up by the time he completed the three-mile walk to his home that he almost put his fist through the front door in a rage. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that Tabinthian marble was incredibly rare and expensive since the Daynes decimated the quarries in Tabintha years before.

Well, and the possibility that he couldn't actually punch through marble. He'd need to be much more drunk before he attempted that experiment.

He settled for slamming the door shut behind him for the benefit of anyone lingering in the neighborhood. He was going to get another noise complaint from the community watch, no doubt. With a snarl at the thought, Largo stormed through the entry and into his living room, where he threw himself onto a lounging couch. When he came to a rest, he was splayed out with the left half of his body hanging off the edge and staring up through the white plaster ceiling.

It was far too much house for him. Half the rooms of the nigh-palace were never even used. He didn't have family, and rarely entertained friends. There might have been two women he invited over. He always said "might" because the second occasion was one he had only vague memories of, due to being one of the few times he was blackout drunk.

But even that attempted distraction came full circle to his anger. Clearly, this society that prided itself on being a meritocracy, supposedly valuing competence and skill over all else, had two sets of rules, and he had made the grave mistake of assuming he could follow the same rules as any other “pure-blooded” Reahtan.

He slammed his fist down on the dining table next to his couch, followed by a very loud crack and stone thud. That was the moment Largo learned that he could punch through marble if he was angry enough, yet that anger wasn't quite enough to dull the pain that followed.

As he shook his hand to ease the stinging, there was a loud knock on his door. Largo sighed, “And here's the community patrol, right on schedule.” He stood up, made sure he still had his money pouch, then moved to the door, figuring he'd just pay the fine up front with a little bit extra to the patrolmen, like he did the last four times.

He opened the door swiftly with one hand, and before he even processed who was on the other side, he started tiredly, “And how much is the fi—”

They weren't patrolmen. The glistening Reahtan steel plated armor over bright red tunics and plumed helmets were certainly not equipment bequeathed to mere police. This was the Imperial Guard.

Three of them were at the door, which either meant they were part of an official decree or were expecting trouble. Considering who they were visiting, even Largo admitted the odds were roughly equal.

“Largo, Gladiator of Reaht?” asked the man in the center. His raised shoulder pads and five gold pips on the scarlet sash draped over his breastplate indicated his status as a guard captain.

Largo warily confirmed, “I am.” He disliked being asked obvious questions as a matter of general nature. Being asked an obvious question by a representative of the Emperor, geared for a fight along with two friends and in the wake of Largo's latest act of public defiance, only made it worse.

The captain sensed that reluctance, and said, “You are in no trouble. The God Emperor Maximillian wishes to speak with you on a matter of utmost importance, one that can't be discussed publicly.”

Logically, Largo knew that. Had the Emperor taken any particular umbrage at being refused in the Colosseum, he had any number of ways to express that displeasure without needing a face-to-face meeting. But the fact that the captain felt the need to assure Largo of no ill will without prompting suggested more than the captain probably intended to say.

Largo's eyes instinctively drifted to his weapon's rack, across the entry hall, where he kept, maintained, and mounted his own personal arsenal. As reckless as he could be, he immediately rejected the idea, if for no reason than it was too far away for him to get to without the three in front of him figuring out what he was doing.

“When am I needed?” Largo asked, his eyes drifting to the darkening sky.

“Immediately,” the captain answered, then after a beat added in apology, “We did say it was urgent.”

What could possibly be so important it couldn't wait until morning? Curiosity trumped caution now, and Largo stepped onto the landing, closing his front door behind him. “Very well, one shouldn't deny audience with the Emperor. Lead the way.”

The Imperial officers took the lead rather fall into a “watch” formation, where they would form a triangle around the person they were escorting so as to keep an eye on their escort at all times. It eased Largo's mind, as it meant they weren't concerned about him running, and weren't under any orders to stop him if he hadn't been inclined to follow.

The captain also had the courtesy to explain some of the peculiarity around the Emperor's request. “Truth be told, the God Emperor wants to meet you now because there's less people on the street at night. It'll draw less attention. You know how lips move freely in Reaht, I'm sure. I'm told you're not the only person he asked for.”

“Do you know anything about the nature of the summons?” Largo queried.

The captain shook his head. “I am sorry, but no.”

Largo let silence rule for the next several minutes, as they avoided the city center and look a much longer path around quieter perimeter roads within Largo's neighborhood, suggesting that they were indeed trying to avoid drawing attention... or at least draw as little as possible, considering it was three Imperial Guards escorting one of the Empire's most famous gladiators. There were definitely some stragglers in the deepening night that rubbernecked the procession, but also knew quite well to keep their distance and stay out of the way.

The path intersected with a main road, and the group of four crossed it quickly, with little regard to any other traffic, including a horse drawn cart that had to pull up quickly to the horse's very loud protest. Largo was the only one to react to the noise; his escorts didn't even turn their eyes.

Such was the discipline of the Imperial Guard, Largo presumed. It had been one of the reasons why he resisted army service, opting instead for the arenas. Not that discipline wasn't important, but that such superficial displays were unnecessary in his mind. Going through years of training to gain irrelevant quirks in exchange for combat training he could hone independently through various mentors in the arenas... it didn't seem worth it in his mind.

Back off the main road, the procession settled back into silence, at least for a moment. The guard on the right coughed, a thinner man that Largo guessed was younger and newer to the Imperial Guard, or at least as young as someone could get for that duty. It was a sound that almost immediately drew the ire of his two colleagues, a silent reprimand that made the third visibly cringe.

“I... do apologize, Captain...” the guard stammered, “but I just can't hold my curiosity.”

The captain groaned. “Remind me to assign you to the latrines later. But... if the Gladiator is willing to answer, you may ask.”

“You're curious yourself, aren't you?” the second subordinate muttered.

“Do you wish to join him?”

Largo huffed. He supposed it was rather unavoidable that he'd face the question he knew was coming. Might as well start now. “You are all wondering why I spared Adroitus.”

The captain exhaled slowly. “All of us came from the army. It is close to us. It is part of us even now. A member of our brotherhood killed dishonorably wounds us in ways that most civilians may not understand. So, there is considerable... curiosity... as to why you let that crime go unpunished.”

Something told Largo that the sentiment among the army was a little stronger than curiosity. “I can say with full confidence that Adroitus was not guilty of the crime he was accused of.”

That predictably stretched the credulity of his escorts. “How could you know that just by fighting him?” the captain asked, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“During our fight, I had stumbled on the dry surface. Adroitus had more than ample opportunity to deal a lethal blow and win his freedom. He did not. He afforded me the opportunity to regain my footing, an honorable act that many gladiators in the arena wouldn't have necessarily granted an opponent.”

“And... what does that have to do with anything?”

Largo was astonished the soldiers didn't get it. “A man willing to kill another in his sleep would not have hesitated to take another life with freedom on the line.”

All three guards stopped in their tracks. Now they got it.

“That's... a... pretty compelling argument,” the first guard reluctantly admitted.

“If not him... then who was it?” the captain offered, not quite as willing to accept Largo's presented logic.

The gladiator shrugged. “That's not my job. My job was to deliver justice in the name of the God Emperor. I did my duty.”

With a dismissive huff, the captain gestured to continue. “Let's get on with it,” he muttered grumpily. His pace had picked up considerably since before they stopped, suggesting to Largo that the officer didn't like the further questions Largo's answer had created, and wanted to get this over with as soon as he could.

Largo didn't disagree.

The columns of the Emperor's Seat often created the illusion that the palace was closer than it was, especially when they first appeared into view over the rooftops of the houses ahead. The columns themselves were at least a hundred feet tall, if Largo remembered correctly, and taller than the Emperor's palace itself, and an arena floor's walk apart at that.

For a city that sometimes felt compressed on itself in the desire to find space, the open sprawl of the Emperor's home was jarring. Even Largo's palatial home didn't have a tenth of the open land. And Largo certainly didn't have a rose garden, a massive rainbow colored swath of flowers that weren't the slightest bit native to the region.

Bricks of ivory formed a path down the center of the rose garden and leading to the alabaster steps of the Emperor's Seat. Those pristine steps turned into marble and gold trim as Largo crossed through the main doors and into the palace itself. Sculptures of the seven previous Emperors lined the left wall, and an honor guard lined up three deep on the right, saluting Largo and his escorts as they passed.

“The Imperial Guard always assembles at the door just after nightfall,” the captain said. “Don't get too flattered.”

Largo slouched back down, having puffed out his chest in importance before being corrected.

It was then that Largo learned that the Emperor could be any number of places, as the captain called forward the officer of the assembled guard and bluntly asked, “Where is the God Emperor tonight?”

“In the south study. We were told he was expecting you.”

That didn't seem to be the answer Largo's escorts wanted to hear, as they silently slumped in defeat. Largo soon learned why, as the path to the south study initially went north. Then a right turn to the east, then another right turn to the south. On that final leg of the journey, Largo saw the same rose garden he had walked through, through windows that turned to the outside.

The Emperor's Seat was not a marvel of efficiency.

Largo was so distracted by the circuitous path to their destination that he never knew his escorts had stopped until he quite literally ran over one of them. While the poor guardsman in formation to the left of the captain was hardly slight, he had no chance at all of stopping Largo's bulk, and got knocked straight to the ground, Largo stumbling and managing to catch himself before he joined the guard on the deck.

He mumbled a sheepish apology, helping the guard to his feet, then looked up at the red-tinted wood double doors that was presumably the south study. “You're staying out here, then?” He asked his escorts when they made no effort to open those doors and instead stepped aside.

The captain shook his head. “We would never dream of sullying the God Emperor with our presence unless requested. He made no such request.”

“I should be flattered that the Emperor trusts me alone in his presence,” Largo replied, even if his voice didn't reflect any such confidence. He inhaled deeply, deciding that if the Emperor had some sort of retribution planned that he might as well get it over with, and pushed open the door.

The study was as large as most libraries in the world... or at least Largo assumed. He hadn't much experience in any library. It had three distinct levels, packed with books that he doubted the Emperor could have possibly read in five lifetimes.

Emperor Maximillian was standing behind a rectangular table in the center of the main level, his back turned so that all Largo saw was the bulky red and gold cape and light brown shoulder-length hair adorned with a circlet of gold.

“Close the door,” the Emperor ordered simply, turning around after Largo complied.

Largo abruptly remembered enough rules of etiquette to drop to one knee and bow his head before making eye contact with the God Emperor. “You asked for me, glorious God Emperor?”

The Emperor turned and instructed Largo, “To begin, a champion of the arena need not address me so formally. Please stand. Our window of opportunity isn't large, and the sooner I get you up to speed, you can make a proper decision.”

Largo had heard that the Emperor in person wasn't “traditional,” and it was refreshing to see that rumor confirmed. But it didn't hurt to be certain. “So... how should I address you?”

“Maximillian will do in these personal settings. Now come along.”

The Emperor took the lead, going around what Largo had assumed was the back shelf on the south side of the study. In truth, it was just a divider, opening into an even larger space with a large square table flanked by candles and a map of Reaht in the center. But more interesting were the people already standing at that table.

The first man was a slight figure, dressed in the regal attire that suggested he was some sort of noble or royalty. As Largo never particularly followed the politics of Reaht, he had no hope of identifying the man even if he had a hundred guesses.

Not that Largo gave the man much thought once he recognized the other person in the room.

Largo had never personally met Minimus Maximus, but it was undeniably him. Every gladiator in the Empire knew the features and visage of the most legendary of arena champions. That he was present gave the meeting the gravity that Largo felt had been lacking.

Maximillian offered quick introductions. “Largo, this is my son, Prince Antony and Legionnaire Minimus Maximus, though I suspect the latter needs no introduction to you.”

Largo exchanged pleasantries with Antony, perhaps giving a bit too much respect to the young man in the process. Social graces were not Largo's strength, and he decided it was better to overdo it than not enough. “I am honored to be in the presence of such a noble... ummm... presence... presently?”

Social graces were clearly an art, not a talent.

Antony laughed lightly in his reply, “The gladiator must think we are in Aramathea with all his attempts at courtesy. Please, there is a time for civility, and there is a time for duty. This is the latter.”

With that in mind, the greetings with Legionnaire Maximus was short. Though it probably would have been short regardless. Minimus Maximus by all accounts was a man of few words, and the first exchange between himself and Largo confirmed that much.

Largo already stood well above most citizens of the Empire, but the legionnaire towered over him by at least another full head. When they grasped forearms in greeting, Maximus's hand nearly completely circled Largo's arm. The legends of the former champion's stature were certainly not overrated, at the very least.

“I've heard much about you,” the legionnaire said simply. “It's a shame we never had the opportunity to meet on the arena floor.”

“Likewise,” Largo answered. “Perhaps whenever this is completed, we'll have such an opportunity.”

Minimus frowned. “I doubt I'd be a worthy opponent at this point.”

The legionnaire broke off, and Largo could tell Minimus had been insulted, though Largo couldn't understand why. There had been whispers that Minimus Maximus had changed during his time in the army, but there was little confirmation as to what.

The Emperor didn't give Largo any more time to mull it over, either. “Thank everyone for coming. Now, if I may remind you all that our window is short, and we need to know Gladiator Largo's decision quickly.” Maximillian gestured for his guests to join him around the table, then asked Largo, “How familiar are you with the Isle of Donne?”

“Not much,” the gladiator admitted. “Just that it's an independent city-state operating within the control of Reaht.”

The Emperor nodded slowly, expecting just such an answer. “Then I'll let Prince Antony give you a quick primer. My son?”

“The Isle of Donne has been a mote in the eye of the Empire since we first negotiated the current arrangement,” Antony began, ignoring a muted growl from Minimus. “While we protect the island, our use of the land and its port is under the auspices of Dominus Augustus. Admittedly, the Archmage has not tried to impose himself on our business; nonetheless, the Empire's position is that we do not share power with anyone on our territories. It is an untenable situation, especially now.”

“Why is it untenable?” Largo asked. “What changed?”

Maximillian then cut in. “The normal arrangement is that while Dominus Augustus controls and administers the island, he still allows for representatives of Reaht to report on his activities and restrict such activities that would run afoul with Reahtan law to the island. As of two days ago, we have yet to receive that report.”

Largo knew Reahtans were sticklers to procedure, but had a hard time believing an administrative oversight alone could be of such concern. Maximillian confirmed that as he added, “It's been simply the latest in an unusual string of events centering upon the Isle of Donne that make it too big to ignore. Contraband materials from Reaht being smuggled to the island, two merchant ships that docked and never left in the last week, and then this disturbing silence from either official or unofficial channels to explain any of it. We need to investigate directly. While we have frozen any further travel through and from the island, we can't maintain such a lockdown indefinitely. We have to act as soon as possible.”

“And where do I fit in all of this?” Largo asked, though he had a sinking feeling he could guess.

Antony resumed the briefing. “The agreement we have with the Dominus leads to some particular oddities. Technically, we are not allowed to send military forces to the island without being approved by the Dominus. However, as our entreaties to him have not been given a response either, we feel we have to do something. Even if Augustus will see it as a violation of the treaty and an act of war.”

“Like we should be concerned about a war we can win,” Minimus grumbled.

Antony sighed. “It's the same conundrum faced by the first legion that we sent out to conquer the island. While it's more than likely that we would be victorious... eventually... there's a reason we outlaw magic and restrict its study in our lands.”

Maximillian finished, “There's no telling what Dominus Augustus is capable of, and not even I am in any rush to learn. But we really don't have a choice at this point.”

Largo still felt there were pieces missing to this picture, and he needed those filled before he committed to anything. “That still doesn't explain why you want gladiators like me, and not your trained soldiers.”

Antony took a deep breath and eyed his father warily, but nonetheless came clean. “We have reason to believe that there are foreign agencies in our military that have been sabotaging our efforts. Most notably, we lost control of the seas due to compromised information being shared with pirates."

Largo's attention was drawn by Minimus's hands clenching tightly into fists and veins bulging on the legionnaire's forehead. Meanwhile, Antony continued, “Legionnaire Maximus has been the only officer so far that we have been able to entirely clear, and this is why he will lead the mission. For the rank and file, there are simply too many soldiers for us to vet in the short window of opportunity we have. As a result, we are hoping to recruit gladiators like you.”

“And why is the window of opportunity so small?”

“A pair of reasons, mostly. First, we are actually due to send a changing of the guard in two days' time. It would be less suspicious to send our men in during that time. Secondly, we are now at the mercy of the pirates as to how much strength we sail with on our seas. From our information, pirate activity has waned at this time. As such, it's a confluence of opportunity that we can't afford to miss.”

Maximillian stepped in again. “I do apologize for the short notice. It took far too much time on my end to agree to this plan, much less who exactly who to approach.”

Minimus cut in, his low voice sounding something akin to a rumble. “My Emperor, my Prince, may I have a moment alone with Gladiator Largo?”

The two royals looked at each other, then nodded in acceptance, Maximillian leading his son around the partition and into the main study. Once alone, Minimus confessed, “I was the one who requested you.”

“Why?” Largo asked warily. “This is not a job for me. I have little interest in being a soldier. If I did, I would have joined the army years ago.”

“Because while you have tremendous fame and respect from those in the arena, I also know you have considerable disdain from everyone else because you are not considered a 'true Reahtan.' You are still considered an outsider, and much of that reason is because you have not ever served for the glory of the Empire.”

Largo scoffed, “Many citizens do not.”

“Many citizens are given such respect from birth. Outsiders, which you are considered, need to earn it. I want to see you honored as you rightfully should be. The Empire needs a revered champion that I no longer can be. When you return from this mission triumphant, that's what you will be.”

“You seem convinced there's more than a lack of messages sent from the island,” Largo observed.

Minimus huffed, “We all are, even if the politicians among us are hiding their thoughts behind vague language. And that's why I insisted on warriors like yourself. Something evil is occurring on the Isle of Donne. I want the best men available to me when I face it.”

Largo considered this information with a skeptical frown. The legionnaire wasn't wrong. The Emperor picked the right time to approach him, as the sting of the “True Reahtan” narrative was still fresh in his mind. Was it really that simple? Was it really just a matter of strapping on a suit of armor, emerging triumphant in battle, and earning a place among them?

There was one way to find out, he supposed.

“Since you put it that way... I'm in,” Largo finally agreed. “How many more people do you need to convince?”

“You were the last one,” Minimus replied. “The Emperor didn't want to distract you from your arena duties in order to approach you earlier.”

Largo shook his head. “Thoughtful, I suppose.”

Minimus slapped him on the back, surprising Largo with the relative gentleness of the gesture as he braced for the impact. “Let's return to our noble leaders and tell them of your decision. They weren't lying when they said time was of the essence.”

Chapter One: The Open Sea

While Largo was sure there were plenty of oversights made in the planning of this operation, one that quickly became clear was that people without experience living on the seas reacted differently when finally exposed to sailing, and that it was impossible to guess how one would respond on short notice.

It turns out that even among gladiators, sea-sickness was a problem.

Largo watched with a mix of disgust and amusement as the seventh member of his legion rushed to the railing of their boat to vomit over the side. Or at least made a heroic attempt to do so. The footman, named Selonus, as he recalled, stumbled as the ship reached a crest, then face-planted when the deck lurched out from under him, sending a splat of vomit in a rough circle around Selonus's head.

The captain of the ship snarled angrily for clean up—again—and Largo looked down at his feet, both so he wouldn't have to look at the vivid green mess as it was being mopped up, and so he could keep his own stomach from ejecting its contents.

A deckhand forlornly emerged from the lower decks with a mop and a bucket. As he began swabbing the mess, the ship's first mate clicked his tongue and grumbled, “Here I'd have thought having a boat load of soldiers would be nice. Now I realize we'd just be easy prey for the Fire Fox.”

Largo blinked. “The Fire Fox?”

The first mate didn't even look at him. “Red fox chimera woman. Leads the Gold Pirates here. Probably the most wanted buccaneer in the open seas, and most definitely in Reaht. She led the razing of Reaht Harbor, and was the leader of the pirate clan that destroyed most of our fleet. Her pirates have owned these seas since.”

The sailor swiftly clammed up once Minimus peeked his head through the hatch from the lower decks. His eyes brightened upon finding the gladiator, and he squeezed himself onto the deck, stopping momentarily to observe the vomit on the deck as a deckhand began running a mop over the mess.

“I had figured you were up here for that reason, Centurion,” the legionnaire said, using Largo's given rank as Minimus's second in command for the mission.

“Trying not to be, honestly,” Largo answered. Seeing the soupy mess being pushed over the edge of the railing wasn't helping. “I hope the other ships aren't have similar problems.”

Minimus shook his head, “I'm sure they are. The gladiators of our empire never really had a reason to build their sea legs... or sea stomachs. That could be a problem. The Isle of Donne isn't particularly large. Once we make landfall, we won't have time to get our bearings.”

“Ever been there?”

The legionnaire nodded. “Once. I was tapped to escort inspectors, the Legate thinking that I could be an intimidating presence. It... didn't turn out that way. The archmage is... imposing, even if his stature is slight. There is a presence to him that makes even the largest man feel like the smallest child.”

Minimus looked out to sea, towards where Largo presumed the Isle of Donne resided, though it still wasn't visible over the horizon just yet. “Even if the Dominus has never actually presented a threat to the Empire, the fact that he could, and he could do it alone, is a great concern for every person who lives under our protection.”

Largo acknowledged that. “It was obvious this wasn't a diplomatic mission.”

The legionnaire ignored the quip. “Dominus Augustus is an enchanter by talent, infusing items and people with abilities beyond their normal reach. Even a mere handmaiden can gain the strength of our greatest gladiators with a single word. It is something to be wary of in confrontation.”

“Okay...”

“But it's hardly his only skill. Like any of his peers, he's more than adept in all forms of magic, all of which are capable of slaying a single man or a whole legion. He will not be an easy kill, no matter how he may look. Confronting him will test your body and your mind to limits you may never think you had.”

Largo finally had to ask, “Why are you telling me this? Surely you will...”

“Because you will need to be the tip of the spear. I and the legion will do all we can, but in the end, you will be the one with the best chance of felling the Dominus.”

This was not what Largo had been sold on. Not that he was afraid of taking point, but rather he was concerned as to why Minimus wasn't. “I need to know everything, then. Why are you holding back?”

Minimus's eyes darted across the deck, then the legionnaire sighed in resignation. “I'm not, and that is the issue.”

He spun about, dropping his elbows onto the railing, his eyes losing focus and staring off into space. Largo followed, even as his stomach did a tumble at the movement and sight of the undulating waves in the distance. Minimus forced out a labored breath and said, “I'm only here because of my military experience, to give legitimacy to the mission. It's clear that the Emperor expects this to be my Final March, because beyond appearances, I have no further worth to the Empire.”

Largo was more getting annoyed by the run-around than anything. While he understood the Final March was a momentous occasion for a soldier, and didn't want to disrespect the weight of it, it didn't actually tell him anything he needed to know. “But why?”

“My previous mission as legionnaire was to crush the remnants of the Gold Pirates operations on our seas, especially after the attack on Reaht Harbor. The Emperor deemed it to be an act of war, so we sent a legion to their island base.”

“We should have known. The pirates could have only gotten to Reaht Harbor, much less so neatly hit every important target to our fleet construction, with inside information. No doubt that same spy informed them of our counterattack.”

“You walked into a trap,” Largo deduced. “One laid by this 'Fire Fox' the crew whispers fearfully of.”

Minimus nodded in confirmation. “To call it a 'trap' would not do it justice. The pirates turned their whole damn island against us. Our ships were torn apart by junk on the coast, then flanked and forced onto the beach, right as they toppled their entire fort on top of our heads and set it on fire. And then we emerged from the ruin into a no man's land of black powder cannons from the other shore. Four thousand Reahtans, four legions' worth, run down into fragmented squads within hours.”

Minimus's hands clenched into fists, to the point that Largo could see them visibly shaking. “I fought my way onto the pirate flagship, and found the traitor. My old mentor from my early days in the military, then the man I followed to the arenas. The man I respected until I learned how soft he was. I had honestly thought he was already dead. I corrected life's error quickly enough.”

Largo nodded in quiet approval. A traitor to the Empire had to be dealt with in such a fashion.

“But even in death, his treachery led to another damned trap. I was ambushed by a spider chimera girl. Before I even could strike, she scored me with her venom. It would be the first of many wounds made with her fangs and poison-tipped blades. Each one stealing my strength, my vigor, until I could no longer even hold my weapon off the ground.”

This time when Minimus raised his hand, Largo realized that the trembling wasn't entirely out of rage. “I still have not recovered from the creature's poison, and not even the certified Imperial mages have been able to cure it. They are more astonished that I am still alive, much less restored. So now you know, Centurion. I'm half the warrior I used to be.”

“Half of what you were is still twice the warrior of any other person here, save myself,” Largo scoffed.

The legionnaire laughed. “There is truth to that. Don't misunderstand me; I do not intend to go quietly into my last battle, no matter what my Emperor may think. But I also hold no delusions that I'll survive through my vigor alone against the Dominus.”

The bang of the hatch to below decks caught their attention, as another of the legion lunged forward, stumbling toward the railing five strides away. He didn't quite make it, projectile vomiting across the last stride, up the railing, and down the outer hull.

As the ship captain bellowed for the deckhand again, Minimus sighed in resignation. “We're probably going to need our briefing to be done above decks, aren't we?”

* * * * *

Turned out that hadn't entirely been a joke.

All seventy men aboard their ship had assembled on the deck for Minimus to brief them on the roles they would assume once the fleet made landfall.

“As you might have guessed, there is a specific reason all of you were chosen to sail with the Centurion and myself on this particular ship,” the legionnaire began, referring to the division of the legion onto fifteen separate ships. Officially, the reason was that the Reahtan military still hadn't recovered from the pirate attack on their shipyards, and these smaller vessels were the only ones that had survived the Empire's disastrous campaign against the Gold Pirates.

While this was true, Minimus was now acknowledging there was another reason for it. “We are the primary strike team that will infiltrate Dominus Augustus's tower if treachery and a violation of our treaty has occurred. Most of you will be the ones that hold the main gate to keep any forces on the island from blindsiding us as we make our ascent. Those of you who I have personally identified will join the Centurion and me on that ascent. And I turn over this briefing to Magus Venutae, who will provide those instructions. Magus?”

A woman stepped forward and took the head of the formation. Largo honestly never thought he'd see a woman in the Reahtan army at all, much less the brown-skinned, brown-eyed woman with a uniform that looked roughly a size too large, her hair short and cropped aside from the dark brown bangs swept to her left, catching the breeze.

Until this moment, however, he assumed she was a deckhand assigned to laundry duty. This was going to make future meetings awkward.

Venutae didn't seem to even notice Largo's aghast stare, instead confidently keeping her voice clear and her head forward. “Augustus's tower in Donne is unlike anything you will have experienced before. It might not seem imposing upon approach, as it is only fifteen stories, but within those walls is literally where the magic lies.”

“Even someone who has been there multiple times or lived there for years, like myself, can't serve as a guide. The most nefarious nature of the tower is that it is never the same way any given day. Whenever he feels so inclined, Augustus completely changes the rooms and composition of the floors in the middle of the night. It was not uncommon for an apprentice to fall asleep on the third floor, and awake on the seventh.”

“As such, there's no telling exactly what we will encounter at any point. While there are some patterns to the Dominus's behavior, the ten men and myself who make the charge up the tower will have to be ready for anything.”

A man near the back of the formation completely broke military etiquette to ask without prompting, “Why only ten?”

Had it been Largo making the briefing, he would have located the interrupting soldier and promptly thrown him overboard. Venutae, on the other hand, responded without a hint of annoyance, “Because the rooms and hallways in the Dominus's tower are not always expansive, and any more than ten people making the charge would make it difficult to maneuver or fight when the need arises.”

Another interruption. “If you can't guide us in the tower, why are you in the infiltration party?”

And Largo wasn't going to let that one slide. “The next person to speak out of turn is swimming back to Reaht.”

Thankfully, Minimus reinforced the threat. “Thank you, Centurion. Magus, please continue.”

If Venutae appreciated the support, she didn't show it, instead answering the second question with the same stoic impassiveness as the first. “As I had said earlier, I spent considerable time in Augustus's tower. Nothing is truly random when it comes to people. He has patterns, and I know many of those tendencies. While I can't tell the commanders exactly what floor will be what, I will be able to give them considerable insight on what to expect next.”

Minimus then added, “For the rest of you, the most difficult part of this mission is looking the part of a diplomatic envoy until we are certain that the Dominus means ill. While the personal guard on the Isle of Donne is not large, the rest of our legion will be some considerable distance off shore until signaled, and as such will not immediately be able to join the fight. Do not assume that your job holding the tower entrance will be easy. There will be plenty of glory and honorable death to go around.”

Once he had restored order, the legionnaire looked over his men and then asked Venutae, “Is there any other information to disclose to us?”

The mage shook her head. “Only personally to specific members of the strike team, and that can be done any time.”

“Then you are all dismissed. Try and calm your stomachs before you drench the deck in vomit.”

The soldiers didn't need to be told twice, and the flurry of activity almost made it impossible for Largo to catch Venutae before she disappeared below decks, which wasn't helped by the magus actively avoiding him. Largo caught her right forearm as she was on the verge of escape, ducking between two men to slip down the hatch.

She froze momentarily, then looked at Largo's hand engulfing nearly half her forearm, before her eyes met those of the man himself. Venutae wasn't especially small, but was still dwarfed by Largo as her neck bent significantly just to look up to his face. “Centurion,” she said in resignation, allowing herself to be pulled away from the hatch.

“You could have told me you were one of the legion as I handed you my dirty shirts,” Largo chided.

Venutae sighed. “If I had a problem with it, I would have said something. But it would have been better for me to remain as discreet as possible, and I'm not happy with Legionnaire Maximus for putting me in front of the men.”

Largo blinked, unable to process the mage's answer. “Why... wouldn't you want to be recognized as part of the legion?”

She shook her head disdainfully, like the answer was obvious. “Mages are not well received by the army's rank and file, or in Reaht itself.”

“But you are certified by the Empire to practice your skills.”

“And that doesn't matter. Mages are dangerous, and the men are justifiably nervous when a situation calls for the presence of someone like me. We have a reputation for being as much of a threat to our allies as to our enemies, and it's a reputation that is not entirely undeserved.”

Largo's brow furrowed. “What sort of 'threat' are we talking about here?”

Venutae's eyes widened slightly. “What... do you even know about mages?”

“Next to nothing. They were banned from competing in the arenas, so they were never of interest to me.”

Another sigh. “All right, I'm going to need to sit down with a warm drink, because this might take a while. Follow me.”

This time, Venutae took Largo's arm and led him to the hatch. She was surprisingly strong, Largo realized—not strong enough to drag him anywhere he didn't want to go, but enough to get his attention. She took a very deliberate path towards the galley at the aft end of the ship, keeping her head forward even as she heard the discontented mumbling from the soldiers she passed by.

Their destination was the largest room on the ship, but Largo had discovered even that wasn't completely sufficient. At capacity the galley held forty people... and there were sixty-three on the ship, including fifty soldiers with the appetites of a hundred. As a result, the mess chief had to labor in near constant rotation to keep the ship fed, and if Venutae was hoping to find some personal space, she was going to be disappointed.

At least the room was quiet, as every soldier went silent when they saw the mage, and every eye turned on her and Largo. The centurion was starting to get an idea why Venutae hadn't wanted to be singled out.

She at least proved to be a master of the silent treatment herself, never once making eye contact with any of the ten men at the tables. Venutae kept her eyes forward, acknowledging only the galley chief at the rear, who manned a long window that separated the galley from the kitchen. “Do you have any black tea leaves?” she asked pleasantly.

The galley chief flashed her a sarcastic smile and shook his head, “What do you think we are, Magus? A tea house?”

Largo was ready to cuff the chief for his disrespect, but Venutae held him with a hand on his forearm. “My apologies, two mugs of water then.”

“Would you like them warmed?”

The mage was doing her damnedest to be cordial. “No need.”

The galley chief eyed Venutae warily, dipping two brown ceramic mugs into a barrel of water, dropped a spoon into each, then gently set them on the bar. The mage took both, and chose the table in the fore starboard corner, as far away from anyone else as possible. Once Largo sat down across from her, he watched as the mage closed her eyes, and the liquid in her mugs started to steam.

“Any mage can do simple tricks like this,” Venutae explained. “It's harder or easier depending on expertise and talent. Now, it's a little trickier to do something like this...”

She hovered her hand over the table, breathing slowly, sweat forming above her brows. Largo was about to ask what she was doing when a slight popping sound revealed a handful of black tea leaves that had manifested onto the table.

Venutae offered a tired smile. “That's more my forte, though conjuring anything from the ether can be strenuous. The balance of ethereal and material magic needed to make something from raw energy is difficult for many mages to reliably perform.”

She took two leaves and slid them over to Largo, and kept the remaining four. “I prefer my tea stronger, especially with the preserved water on ships.”

“Preserved” water merely had a splash of alcohol added to keep the water from being contaminated by parasites while out at sea. Largo never noticed a difference, but he guessed someone without his level of tolerance would find it had an off-putting flavor.

He followed the mage's lead, splitting the leaves into halves up to the stem, then dipping those halves into the water. Venutae then put her hands on the mugs again, applying more heat to get the leaves to yield their oils.

“Couldn't you just, uh... create the finished tea?” Largo asked.

“Sure, but it's a lot harder to conjure liquids,” she answered, returning his mug to him. “They don't play as nice when introduced to reality. Careful, it's hot. Besides... the more flamboyant my magic is, the more it unnerves the soldiers, and I'm trying not to upset them more than they already are.”

Largo took a sip, trying not to burn his tongue, then pursed his lips at the flavor. It didn't really taste like anything other than water with a touch of bitterness.

Venutae noted his reaction, then pointed at the table. “Put it down. Let's see if this helps.”

She held her hand over Largo's mug and rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, tiny sugar crystals dropped into the tea. Then she quickly stirred the drink with Largo's spoon and said, “Now give it a try.”

This time Largo could taste hints of chocolate, honey, and spice. He wasn't sure he liked it, but he certainly didn't hate it either. He looked over his mug at Venutae, and remarked, “If this is why the people fear you, I question the courage of my fellow man.”

Venutae stifled back a laugh into a chuckle. “I'm hardly going to turn on allies and foes alike in the middle of a skirmish, Centurion. But that doesn't change the truth that time and increasing power... alters a person, often irrevocably. The men are wrong to fear me right now. But they are right to fear mages at any given time.”

She then framed her face in her hands, drawing attention to her narrow eyes, high cheekbones, and long bangs styled into a wave from left to right across her forehead. “It probably doesn't help that I'm not a native Reahtan, either. But that's a baseless worry, so I pay it no mind.”

“You're not?” Largo asked. “Well... obviously your family wasn't, but Tanzibar... I assume you come from Tanzibar... collapsed into the void about fifty years ago.”

“You're half right. My father's side of the family left Nibiru, a city on the eastern coast of Tanzibar, a good ten years before it collapsed. My grandmother, on the other hand, was an apprentice mage from Xianping on the continent of Xanadu before that land collapsed almost forty years back, and eventually served the Dominus when he established his keep. I served as the Dominus's apprentice myself until a year ago, when I was appointed to the Magus Commune and finally became a Reahtan citizen. It worked out for the best. Had my family settled in Reaht, we'd have been relegated to the lowest class before I was born and I wouldn't have been allowed to study magic, if not executed the instant it manifested itself.”

“And you say studying magic is that worrying?”

Venutae nodded. “You might not understand how arcane power corrupts. By the time you reach the power of an archmage like Dominus Augustus, I'd argue whether you're even human anymore, in any way that matters.”

“Is the Dominus the rule, though? Or would he be just as insane without the arcane power?”

“Having had the 'pleasure' of meeting every member of the current archmages in the world... I've had the privilege of seeing how it manifests firsthand. Magic... changes you mentally. It changes how you view the world and your place in it. You lose... you lose a part of your humanity, is the best way I can describe it. I can safely say all four of them are incomprehensibly crazed. Even the youngest one, Pirogoeth... I met her when we were both apprentices, and even at that young of an age, her tremendous power had warped her spirit.”

“And you're certain that is your end too?” Largo questioned.

“It's the end for all mages, as far as I can tell. The powerful ones just get to that point quicker than the rest.”

Largo huffed, “The Emperor trusted you enough to ask you on this mission, and I have no reason to find fault in the Emperor's judgment. You don't have to worry about convincing me of anything.”

Venutae exhaled in relief. “That's good. I'm not sure if Legionnaire Minimus gave you a good briefing about what we're up against, but Dominus Augustus is one of the most powerful mages alive. We are going to need each other just to reach the Dominus at all, much less best him. You will need to trust that I won't guide you into greater danger, and I will need to trust that you won't abandon me to perils I can't fight alone.”

Largo reached out to put his hand over hers in a gesture of reassurance, but back when he noticed her subtle cringe at the contact, even if she tried to hide it. “I swear that no harm will come to you as long as I am alive, and that I have full faith in you.”

That finally earned him a smile, if short and small. “That's more than I had hoped and expected. Now, let's break off this conversation before the men in the other corner start spreading rumors, shall we?” After a beat, she added sternly, “You leave first. I'm still enjoying my tea.”

She took a very long sip to that effect, both hands around her mug, and Largo thought he might have seen a playful twinkle in her eyes as she peeked over the rim. Largo shook his head with a smirk, then stood up and retreated back towards the deck as instructed.

The majority of the crew and legion aboard had cleared the area by that point, no doubt most of them back to nursing their sea-sickness. One soldier however, had not shown any signs of nausea from the moment their boat hit the waves, and was back to his manner of business.

“I'm not even entirely sure why we're doing this,” Adroitus declared to his companion, another soldier who was currently gulping for air and leaning weakly against the railing. “If we really want the Dominus dealt with, we could probably sit back and let the Witch Queen of Kuith take care of it for us.”

“How do you figure?” the sick soldier gasped between dry heaves.

“Remember the fireballs over the sea a couple months ago? They originated from Kuith. The Witch Queen got something up her ass about the Dominus and fired them off as a message. Seems to me that we could probably goad her into finishing the job.”

“Reahtans don't let others fight our battles, and you know it,” Largo snarled, getting the soldier's attention, his eyes narrowing fiercely at Adroitus. He pointed at the soldier Adroitus was trying to sway with a stern order. “You will return to your post and stop this womanly gossip.”

Then to Adroitus he said, “You will stay right here until I dismiss you.”

Largo had been somewhat surprised to learn that the disgraced soldier had been assigned to this mission, but at the same time not. Adroitus's skill in combat couldn't be denied, certainly not by Largo, and the former's military experience would be of tremendous benefit among a group that didn't necessarily have much.

But the subversive conversation Adroitus with his legion mates from the moment they shoved off from Reahtan shores was getting to be an annoyance, and one that Largo was determined to correct.

“What do you think you are trying to do, soldier?” Largo snarled. “What are you trying to accomplish?”

Adroitus retaliated with a bitter sneer. “Trying to get these men ready for the fact that we are being thrown to our deaths, and they have you to thank for it.”

Largo grabbed the soldier by the collar of his shirt, and hoisted him up over the railing, passively noting to himself that no one rushed to Adroitus's defense. “You say such slander again, and I'll gladly satisfy your expectations!”

“Too late for that,” Adroitus countered, unfazed in the slightest by the fact that all Largo needed to do was release his grip to send the soldier overboard. “We're already committed.” He then groaned and said forlornly, “I know I'm being unfair. You couldn't have known or understood the lengths that elements within our own Empire would go to keep me silent.”

“I grow tired of your conspiracies—”

Adroitus interrupted him. “You were wrong about me. And I'd do it all again to preserve my land and my home.”

Perhaps Largo was falling victim to one of Adroitus's stories... but that just meant Adroitus knew his audience. The centurion pulled his victim back onto the deck and said sharply, “Explain yourself.”

“I had discovered Captain Valso was trading our weapons to an outside party. I don't know who precisely the receiving party was, but their go-between was a pair of Avalonian merchants. I tried reporting him to my centurion, but the only thing it did was spur my captain to try and kill me in my sleep. Instead, I killed him and his two escorts in self-defense.”

“What should have been a clear defense instead got me railroaded into a sham of a tribunal and sentenced to die at your hand. Clearly they figured I wouldn't stand a chance in one-on-one combat against their finest gladiator. Make an example of me to the whole Empire and discredit anything I might have revealed as the desperate rantings of a traitor.”

“I had been ready to accept death, realizing that there was no bottom to the well I had fallen into. The only thing I would wind up doing was dragging more people down with me. But instead, you mistook my hesitation as honor rather than accepting my fate, and now here we are, on the latest attempt of the shadows to rid themselves of me and the threat I pose."

The smugness disappeared as Adroitus said grimly, “I did kill my captain, Centurion. And in sparing my life, you're going to get us all killed.”

Chapter Two: Landing

“Did you know that the first mages came from Xanadu?”

Largo did not know that. “Oh?”

Venutae had just finished adding a little extra “kick” to Largo's water, a feat that had astounded the centurion. This woman could turn water into beer with merely a thought. Any insanity that might come later of such a gift was nothing more than a fair exchange.

“So the story goes,” she replied, her eyes twinkling conspiratorially. Turning water to beer was clearly not a trick she thought was proper, but she figured one mug in a week wasn't going to hurt them. “The magical girls of Zhao first discovered the latent talents of magic over eight thousand years ago, then that knowledge slowly filtered throughout the rest of the world.”

She took a long yet ladylike pull of her glass, and added, “Of course, the cultures in Tanzibar claimed they were the first to learn magic, and then you have the people of Aramathea who claim they were the 'First Empire' and the first to truly master the arcane. Considering all those are gone save for the Aramatheans, I think you can see how quickly that debate is going to be resolved. I personally prefer my tale, of course. It suits me.”

“Because in your tale, women are the first mages?” Largo asked playfully.

“A woman is the first mage in Aramathean custom,” Venutae replied with an indifferent shrug. “I like the story because it's a connection with my mother's culture. I... didn't get much time with her before she passed away from illness. My grandmother expired not long after. I never got that blood connection to where I came from on my mother's side. So I embrace the tales of Xanadu I did get the chance to learn.”

Largo nodded. “I can understand that connection. There are times I wish I had such a connection to pursue.”

“I take it your parents died when you were young?”

The centurion sighed. “Maybe. Perhaps. They could still be alive somewhere for all I know.”

“Were you abandoned?”

Largo shrugged indifferently. “I honestly don't know.”

Venutae was understandably perplexed by his answers. “How... can you not know?”

Largo hesitated, not out of unwillingness to tell his story, but how to do so in a way that made sense. “The first memory I have is as a fully grown young man stumbling into the city of Antico seven years ago in nothing but trousers. I don't even remember how I wound up just outside the city. My parents could have abandoned me... I could have run away... they could have been dead for years... I just don't know.”

“Were you injured?” she asked.

Largo shook his head, “No. Not even as much as a scratch. Some of the people of Antico thought I might have been cursed by a witch of some sort, but there was no sign of any lingering magic either. When I started as a gladiator, a particularly helpful clerk of citizenry tried to hunt down information on my past, but came up with nothing. He reached the conclusion that I was most likely a Dayne or the bastard son of one from the Daynish Campaigns, but even that was an educated guess.”

“You're certainly big enough...” Venutae observed, Largo's eyebrow raising at what he thought might have been a hint of admiration in her voice.

“Even if it was likely, there's no explanation as to how or why I wound up in the heart of Reaht, completely on the other side of the continent from where any Dayne had any reason to be. I don't know my real birthday or even how old I really am. It was decided for me that my date of birth was the third of Jupiter and that I'm twenty-five. Making it up as we go along is just how it is. Most of the time, it doesn't bother me. How can I yearn for something that doesn't exist?”

Largo noticed Venutae staring into his eyes thoughtfully, like she was trying to reach into his soul, and it unnerved him. “Wh— what is it?” He asked nervously.

She waved off the question, “Nothing. Just thinking... but it wouldn't work. At least, not right now.”

Largo wasn't going to let it go with that. “What?”

Venutae exhaled heavily. “Stronger mages can occasionally use an art called scrying, where we merge with the Code of the World, and occasionally learn remarkable truths and secrets. While I'm not the world's greatest scryer, it is a skill I know, and have significant practice in. It's... possible... that I could scry into your missing past. Theoretically. Maybe.”

Well, that was convincing, Largo decided sarcastically. “Maybe?”

“Scrying is a very demanding procedure. Even the most powerful mages can only do so in select places, where it is easiest to force their way into the Code of the World. Domina Pirogoeth is supposedly capable of doing it damn near anywhere, but I've never seen it personally. While the Isle of Donne is one such point... we're not going to have the time for me to spend up to an entire day digging through the flow of the original magics that created everything.”

She then held up a finger, and added, “However, it could be something we explore after the mission is done. It's... possible if the Dominus remains in power and is still reasonable that he'd allow me access to his scrying tools, or even be willing to do it himself. No one knows precisely what the future holds.”

“Land ahead!” the captain yelled from above decks, jerking Largo's head up towards the sound. “Thank the Coders,” the captain added with considerably less volume, but still loud enough to reach the centurion's ears. Largo understood the reason why; unseasonably strong winds from the east had slowed the fleet's progress, and the ship's crew was no doubt getting tired of cleaning up after the legion they were carrying.

Venutae echoed that last sentiment, standing up and stretching. Largo struggled in vain not to notice how the movement caused her loose uniform to stretch and hug some remarkably lovely curves. He pushed those terrible thoughts down, somewhat startled by how easily they had bubbled up.

Largo had never been terribly compelled by his libido, really only indulging in the companionship of women whenever he needed to dispel rumors that he preferred the company of other men. While Reaht had no particular judgments about homosexuality, nor did he personally, Largo never liked being accused of something that wasn't true.

Venutae poked him in the shoulder, having already stood and rounded the table. “Centurion? We're probably going to be wanted on the deck for initial orders.”

Largo shook himself out of his thoughts, and replied, “Right.” He stood slowly, finding that his own joints were remarkably stiff. Had he really been sitting there that long?

It had been long enough for the crew in the galley to notice, as he saw some pointing out of the corner of his eye and mumbling just within earshot. Largo made no effort to hide the fact he preferred the mage's company over that of his peers as the voyage slowed to a crawl, finding a kindred spirit in another “outsider” within the Empire. Venutae seemed to share that sentiment, though that was probably more due to Largo being the only one on the ship particularly willing to talk to her at all. Naturally, the logical conclusion is that the two of them were swept up in tawdry romance, even though they had only known each other for a week, and there was no secluded places in which to enjoy such meetings.

And soldiers claim that old women were the worst gossips in the land.

He wound up just a few strides behind Venutae, not that they went far as Legionnaire Maximus was waiting right at the bottom of the hatch. “We're going to be arriving at the docks soon, which means you're going to be needing your formal wear. Dress up and meet me above decks.”

The mage clenched her eyes, and pleaded, “Do I have to, Legionnaire?”

Minimus responded like he was talking to a petulant child. “Yes, Magus, you have to.”

She surrendered with a slump of her shoulders, and a heavy sigh. “Damn it. Very well.” The mage then slipped around the legionnaire carefully, as he filled up most of the passageway, then towards to the fore end to her personal chambers.

Largo didn't have quite the same trip, as the personal space afforded to the centurion was on the starboard side just past the hatch, though Minimus did have to go topside to give him space to pass.

There wasn't much space in his chambers, barely enough for a cot to sleep on with space to stand up... but it was better than sharing bunk space on the bottom deck with the crew and the rest of the legion. The lack of space made it difficult for Largo to change into his legion armor, especially since he wasn't used to wearing such, but it wasn't nearly the trouble that Venutae made it out to be. It was designed to get in and out of quickly enough, the chain mail shirt easily sliding over his head and the armor plates buckled into place smoothly. It had been well-tailored to him.

Perhaps her formal outfit was more involved than Largo's, he supposed, as the only thing added to Largo's gear was a red tabard with gold trim, and the insignia of the Reahtan Legion in gold leaf, two olive branches flanking a pair of crossed swords. The entire process hadn't taken much more than fifteen minutes.

So he was a bit surprised to emerge onto the deck and see that Venutae was the only one who hadn't reported yet, even as the rest of the legion was present and accounted for. Minimus saw that confusion, and sided up to Largo, asking, “Good to see you made it. Wondering about our mage, I take it? The Magus certainly is taking her time, isn't she?”

Largo grunted, “That obvious, was it?”

“You weren't exactly discreet, Centurion. Even us old soldiers could see you taking a shine to her.”

“It's not like that...”

Minimus chuckled, not even dignifying Largo's denial with a response. “Have you ever seen the formal uniform for the Magus Corps?”

“I didn't even know the Empire had a Magus Corps.”

The chuckle turned into a full blown laugh. “Then you are in for a treat.”

Largo's eyes narrowed, “What does that mean?”

“You'll see.”

And roughly five minutes later, Largo did indeed see. Coders, did he see.

And so did every single hot-blooded male on the deck. The chatter that Largo had been overhearing changed immediately. Largo went from the “outsider” fraternizing with a “dangerous mage” to seeing something no one else had seen and having amazing taste in women.

Not that they were wrong. Venutae's formal uniform flattered every inch of her, from the midriff-baring top that revealed trim and toned abdominal muscles, short sleeves that gave everyone a good look at slim yet well-defined arms, brown leather fingerless gloves, and trousers that cut off mid-thigh to provide a magnificent view of legs that seemed like they went on forever, ending ended with red velvet slippers.

But what caught Largo's attention more than anything was the narrow, gold trimmed oval cut out of Venutae's top, revealing a deep line of cleavage in milk chocolate skin. Largo did not allow himself more than a second's appraisal, forcing his eyes away and deciding nothing was more intriguing than the ship's railing. This sort of behavior was entirely inappropriate in regards to a member of the legion, no matter what corps she hailed from.

He kept that focus even as he saw the mage appear out of the corner of his vision. Minimus's voice dripped amusement as he declared, “Nice of you to join us, Magus. The Centurion was getting worried. I think he was considering going below to help you dress.”

Venutae, mercifully, didn't join the tease. “Somehow I doubt that, Legionnaire.”

Minimus graciously didn't linger on it, turning with a whistle to get his legion's attention. “We have roughly half an hour before we make dock, so at ease, stretch out, and try and get your land legs back. There's no telling exactly when we'll be required to fight it out.”

Largo retreated to the railing, eyes leveling out with the horizon, where their destination was at long last in view. The Tower of Donne was easily the most prominent object in sight, standing well above every other building in view despite being considered "small" for an archmage's lair. Though it was more like a very narrow ziggurat than a tower, by Largo's estimation, with each floor slightly smaller than the one below it.

He hadn't realized Venutae had slipped to his left until he heard her guess his thoughts. “It's only been a year, but it still feels like it wasn't long enough.”

Largo started, his head momentarily turning her way until he realized that even looking down at her eyes offered a view that no proper legionnaire would indulge in. He turned right back to the fascinating panorama of the island, trying not to look as flustered as he felt.

This time, the mage rolled her eyes at him, crossing her arms under her chest. He assumed she did so unaware of the enhancing effect it had on her curvature, until she said, “You can look, Centurion. I won't be insulted.”

He tried, and tried very hard to keep his focus on her face. It was hardly an unattractive face, it's not like he was making some noble sacrifice by not staring at that now very defined cleavage...

Focus. Focus was of vital importance to an officer of the Reahtan army.

“The military tailor assigned to my uniform assured me repeatedly that this get-up offered just as much protection as the robes offered to male members of the Magus Corps,” Venutae said with annoyance. “He was very insulted when I didn't believe him.”

“I assume the men are much more... modestly dressed?”

Venutae scoffed, “Yes. Much more than this at any rate.” She plucked at the chest of her top, at the bottom trim of the oval cutout. “Look at this!”

Largo made a valiant effort not to.

“I appreciate that this is all made of silk, and silk is very good for pulling out arrows without causing much damage. I get that. But this isn't nearly enough. A leather chest guard would give plenty of movement and protect vital bits from getting stabbed by things. Some sleeves wouldn't hurt too. Literally, it wouldn't hurt.”

Venutae held her hands forward, palms out, and grumbled, “This entire uniform flies against all recommendations of spellcraft. Look at these gloves. Fingerless gloves might as well be useless. The fingertips are the most likely parts of your hand to get singed by errant energy, and the holes provide another place for dust and particles to get in and cause damage... which thanks to these lovely wrist straps would take far more time to remove than necessary.”

She then raised her right leg, and dropped her foot on the railing, highlighting her well-shaped calf and thigh as she pointed to her shoe. Largo forced himself to follow her finger, as much as his eyes were hellbent on betraying him.

“And these shoes? They're barely slippers. If some spark powder fell onto these, it would burn right through. That is, if the dust didn't just wind up falling onto my bare legs.”

Nope. Not going there. He made the deliberate choice to be too enthralled by the light red velvet of her slippers.

The mage was now ranting. “Of course, none of that tops this.”

She spun about and pointed over her shoulders at the half cape that came to a rest just below her buttocks. It looked similar to his tabard in its material and design, except her gold leaf olive branches flanked a book and pen, which Largo presumed represented the Magus Corps.

“This thing is wholly worthless,” Venutae snarled. “It serves no purpose but to potentially catch on fire if I have to turn quickly. Why can't it be a perfectly acceptable tabard?” She then turned back around, jabbed her right index finger at her cleavage, and snarled, “Oh right, because then there'd be no reason for this.”

Largo couldn't even try to play it off. He clenched his eyes tightly shut, but he had already seen enough for it to become etched into his memory. He took two long breaths, then opened his eyes again, trying to be as sympathetic as possible. “Yes, I can see how that would be frustrating. Clearly, no one consulted a mage when designing the uniform.”

Venutae scoffed, “No, they just didn't consult a woman mage. The uniform for the men is entirely practical.” She then sighed, and her features softened. With a hint of apology, she added, “But thank you for listening to me vent. I appreciate it.”

Finally, it seemed the unwitting temptation was winding down. Largo could process things normally again. “Anytime you wish to air concerns, I am willing to hear them,” he declared.

Venutae turned her attention back towards the island, and he could see the distress in her expression. Trying to change the subject, he asked, “You still have family here, right? Perhaps you could visit them after the mission is completed?”

“That's... not likely,” the mage replied. “There might be some distant relatives still on the island, but I never really knew them well enough to visit. My father left for the mainland a couple years before I did. We haven't really kept in touch.”

“Why not?”

“I was the only child in my immediate family. My father disapproved of my... lack of children and romantic prospects. It strained things, and I'd rather not talk to him because that would almost certainly be the first topic he'd bring up.”

Largo was a bit surprised at that. “You aren't interested? You're certainly pretty enough to—” he quickly cut himself off with a cringe, especially as the mage eyed him warily. Why did his mouth say things his brain was telling him not to?

Her face quickly softened again, and she offered a wan smile. “I'm flattered you think so, but... I'm sorry. It's not something I'm comfortable talking about. Not... not yet.”

“Well, when you are ready, I'm willing to listen.”

Provided he could hear her over the gagging sounds of the legionnaires eavesdropping into the conversation.

* * * * *

The first hint that something wasn't quite right was when there was no one waiting at the docks for their arrival. There weren't even dock hands present to help them properly moor the ship. Minimus had to send out two rowboats filled with sailors just to unload the legion onto shore.

“Should we call in our reserve ships?” Largo asked as he joined Minimus and Venutae on dry land. Or more accurately, the boardwalk leading to dry land.

“Not yet,” the legionnaire answered. “If we're walking into an ambush, I'd like to know where it's coming from before we call them in. Besides, they're coming in two hours regardless. That'll give us time to investigate first.”

“Agreed,” Venutae said with a shudder, like a cold wind only she could feel had passed through. “Something... isn't right here. I don't want any more people involved until we know more.”

Minimus gave the mage a look out of the corner of his eye. “Why do I get the feeling you have some idea why we haven't been greeted by anyone, official or otherwise?”

“I have several ideas, Legionnaire,” she retorted. “The Dominus was keen on dipping his fingers in a hundred things that could have eradicated everyone on his island a hundred times over. There are so many possibilities, in fact, that I might as well be as in the dark as anyone else.”

Adroitus, standing nearby, decided to grace them with his opinion. “Tell me again why we have an expert if she has no expert advice?”

Largo was the first to respond. “One more word, Footman, just one, and I'll give you the death you claim you are ready for. Your insubordination ends now, am I clear?”

“And that will dissuade me, how?”

Minimus stepped in. “If you do not return to your station, Footman, I'll make sure you live through the beating I give you.”

Adroitus silently snapped a salute, though smiling like he felt he had won something in the exchange, though Largo couldn't imagine what the disgraced soldier could possibly be gaining by being such an irritant.

“Well, we're not going to learn more standing here,” Minimus declared, pointing off the dock and towards the island's center. “Move out. Slow march!”

“Dominus Augustus was the only one of his peers to decide that he didn't need walls for his keep,” Venutae observed. “It would be very difficult even moving this number of people easily, had he done it the way the other archmages did. Inner and outer walls... and Domina Morgana even had a third barrier around her tower. Thank the Coders for small mercies.”

Her observation was correct; the only “barrier” between the shore and the island interior was a small ring of hedges which would not have posed much deterrence to a sharpened blade, even if there hadn't already been a clear path. The Dominus plainly figured that the ocean was enough of a deterrent to waste time and money on any other defense.

It would seem the archmage had been wrong.

Yet as the hundred men of the squad took their tentative pace towards the island's center, Largo found himself increasingly disturbed by the silence. Everywhere he had ever been, there had been something stirring in the background. Maybe it was the sound of birds, or the footfalls from people on the next street over. But there was always something.

And sound wasn't the only thing missing. Minimus noted, “I don't like this. I can't smell anything.”

Venutae shivered and added, “You're right. There's no scent to the sea air.” She then pondered in a whisper that Largo only barely heard standing beside her, “What did you do here, Dominus?”

The first hint of trouble came only after they crossed the hedge line. Just to the left was the guard post that new visitors to the island were required to check in through... and where they found the three guards marring the post, scattered near the road and laying face down. Judging from the pools of blood, they weren't sleeping on the job.

Minimus quickly pointed out the drawn, bloodstained blades next to the guards' lifeless hands. “They died fighting something.”

“Who? Themselves?” Largo asked, his hand gesturing around them to emphasize the lack of any other bodies.

Adroitus had slithered back to the front of the group, kneeling down next to a corpse just off the path three strides south of the post, then scoffed, “Unless the Isle Guard teaches biting as a viable martial technique, I doubt it.”

The soldier pointed to the large chunk of flesh ripped from the guard's neck, as well as several nearby bite marks that had found purchase through the torn pad of the guard's left shoulder.

Largo knelt down on the opposite side, and declared, “They just might. Those teeth marks are human.”

When Minimus gave him a questioning glare, he added, “I've suffered my share of bites from opponents in the arena. The rules aren't as strongly enforced since the days you were a champion, Legionnaire.”

“Apparently,” Minimus replied. He pointed at three men in the back row of the formation, and ordered them forward. “Secure the bodies and try to find anything that identifies them. Make sure its recorded. I will want an accurate accounting of who and how many have died. Once you have done that, locate me in the center of town. I have no doubt there will be more you'll need to record.”

He made a broad gesture with his arm for the rest of the company to proceed to the town center, though Largo would have been hard pressed to call it much of a center, or even much of a town. He had seen satellite communities outside of Reaht that were larger and more condensed. “We needed a legion for this?”

“We needed a legion because if the whole of the island were to rise up it'd be more of a fight than you'd bargain for,” Venutae retorted. “Every man, woman, and child under the age of fifteen is trained in some form of combat, be it weapons, archery, or magic.”

“There were more than a handful of arena champions that had some degree of training on this isle, Centurion,” Minimus added.

Barely a beat later, the legionnaire had a clear line of sight at the town center, and said grimly, “Which makes me all the more concerned that someone or something was able to do this.”

“This” referred to a pile of corpses, draped over and around and on what must have been a marble fountain, water leaking through the mound of humanity and creating clean rivers through bloodstained cobblestone.

“Want to know what I don't get?” Adroitus asked.

Largo didn't particularly want to hear it. “No.”

“These bodies aren't particularly fresh. They've been exposed to the sun, and we can see the beginnings of rot.”

Since Largo apparently had to hear it, he wished the soldier would get to the point. “And?”

“Corpses smell. Horribly, in truth. Why don't these?”

Any answer Largo could have given was stolen when his focus snapped toward movement out of the corner of his eye. It belonged to a man in tattered clothes, limping away from the center and towards the tower in the distance. “You! Stop this instant!”

The haggard man didn't respond or even turn around, maintaining his hobbled gait as if Largo didn't exist. His shout had gotten Minimus's attention. “Go after him, Centurion! Magus, go with him to question this witness. Don't come back without answers!”

Largo was initially torn between taking a pace that Venutae could keep up with, and breaking into a full sprint to catch his quarry. He eventually settled on the former once it became clear that said target was as concerned about Largo chasing him as yelling at him.

That slower pace meant that Largo couldn't catch the man until they had crested over a small hill in the road. He felt a sinking foreboding in his gut when he realized they had suddenly become partially isolated, a gnawing that only grew as the limping man again ignored demands to stop. By this point, the man was far too close to pretend not to hear the command.

His anger riled, Largo grabbed the man by his shoulder and bellowed, “I said stop!” then spun the ragged person around to face him.

Largo reflexively ducked the object thrown at him... or at least what he had momentarily thought was thrown at him. It turned out to be the lower jaw of the man, the force of spinning about dislodging the bone from the rest of the decaying face. The centurion immediately recoiled, taking two staggered steps backward as he absorbed what he was seeing.

“Decaying” was absolutely the word for it. Strips of decrepit skin hung wherever it was exposed to the air, revealing rotting flesh or bone underneath. One eye was gone, and the other a sickly brown, wrinkled and puckered. What were once high eyebrows now sagged with loose skin, angry purple splotches marring otherwise deathly pale features.

“Wh... what manner of sorcery is this?” Largo sputtered.

“Largo! Look out!”

It wasn't so much Venutae using his given name as it was the quick plume of fire bursting around the creature's head that alerted Largo to the peril. The sight was so confounding that he hadn't realized the shambling thing stepped forward and attempted to strike.

Which was fortunate, because Venutae's spell hadn't even given the creature pause as its unexpected speed promised to take a good chunk of Largo's face. Largo's counter, on the other hand, struck true, the sound of ripping flesh accompanying the removal of the monster's right arm just below the shoulder as it had stupidly tried to block Largo's massive blade.

What would have been a mortal wound didn't dissuade this foe, however, and it lunged swiftly in Largo's direction, even ignoring a jagged three-inch shard of crystal that jabbed halfway into its ear. The lunge fell short as Largo hopped back, then stepped into an arcing horizontal slash, biting into his foe's neck.

Largo momentarily panicked as the undead creature caught the blade under its remaining arm as Largo tried to pull it away, then continued to advance, the creature's flesh squelching sickeningly as it slid across Largo's sword. It only relented when the side of its head was crushed by a rock of nearly equal size, allowing the creature to slump lifelessly to the ground.

Largo turned to his companion. Venutae, breathing so heavily that Largo could see the rise and fall of her chest, stared quizzically at her right palm and flexed her fingers, as though testing for injury.

The sight immediately had Largo's concern. “Magus? Are you well?”

She looked up at him and blinked repeatedly, before settling on an utterly unconvincing, “Y... yes. Just... I'm fine. Just a little rattled by... whatever in the hells that was.”

“You don't know?”

She looked down at the re-dead corpse, and replied tentatively, “I... think I know. Reanimating the dead is something that can be done... but necromancy was supposedly snuffed out as an art decades ago, for obvious reasons.”

“Could the Dominus have done this?”

Venutae was only somewhat more certain of that answer. “Yes... in theory, I suppose. Archmages go to great lengths to learn, and even master, magic from any number of disciplines. But it wasn't an aptitude he ever displayed by any account I know of.”

Then the mage's eyes narrowed to slits, and her normally chocolate skin turned slightly ashen. “We need to get off this island. Quickly!”

“What? Why?”

That was when the shouts of surprise and combat erupted from the other side of the hill.

Chapter Three: The Only Way

Largo's terrified suspicion was confirmed the moment the rest of the strike team was in his line of sight. The tremendous pile of corpses had come to life, their numbers and tenacity quickly overwhelming the surprised Reahtan soldiers.

Venutae gasped at the sight. “Coders save us...”

Largo tightened his grip on his sword, and his face contorted in anger. “Coders haven't saved anyone in my memory. The only one who's going to do that is us. Move!”

This time, the centurion didn't wait to see if Venutae was going to keep up. He charged down the hill with all the speed he could muster, timing his arrival perfectly with his first strike, the momentum of his blade cutting through the skulls of two undead in the back line. By the time his foes reacted to the new threat, Largo had decapitated another.

An invisible hand then roughly yanked him backward and dropped him on his rump almost ten feet away. His brief surge of anger evaporated when he saw his vacated position swarmed almost immediately by five undead monsters moving with alarming speed.

“All men, into the house!” he heard Minimus bellow. “Use the entries as choke points!”

Largo jumped back to his feet, but Largo had a more immediate concern than following orders. The five monsters that had tried to get the jump on him had now turned their attention in his direction and charged.

As he raised his blade to strike down the first, he realized it wasn't trying to engage him, but instead attempted to sidestep and get around him. Largo shifted the angle of his attack into a chop that split the monster's head in half straight to the neck, then pulled his blade free for a swipe at the next pair moving past him. He only managed to catch one, cutting out its right leg and causing it to collapse, then finishing it with a stab through the back of its skull as it tried to crawl away.

The other three managed to get past, but Largo expected Venutae would be able to handle them until he made two observations. First, the mage didn't seem to be displaying any particular wondrous powers, her initial efforts amounting to a chest-high wall of earth that burst slowly through the cobblestones and surrounding ground. Second, she was their target.

With a snarl, Largo jumped to Venutae's defense, his efforts helped greatly by his foes' dogged focus on the mage. After a clean decapitation of the first and a skull-splitting chop to the second, the third turned to meet the immediate threat. It was answered by a staggering punch that removed its jaw, and a greatsword thrust through its throat. With a clockwise twist, the undead menace's head popped off like a dandelion's.

Largo's concern turned to the mage, who was again holding her hand out in front of her and staring at it with a furrowed brow, running her left index finger from her wrist to her forearm. “Ven...” he began before protocol corrected him, “Magus, are you well?”

“Yes,” she answered, though her voice didn't reflect any confidence. “And no.”

He took her right forearm, keeping his grip despite the tension he felt in her muscles with the contact. “As uncaring of your worries as I might sound, we need to regroup with the rest of the legion.”

Venutae exhaled slowly, then nodded in acceptance, but before Largo could even take two steps, screams and sounds of fighting came from the docks. “The ship!” the mage exclaimed, showing deceptive strength as she shrugged off Largo's grip and tore off away from the town center. “Hurry, Centurion!” she shouted, defying the chain of command with her order.

Largo could have insisted Venutae return with him to the rest of the legion, but he didn't think that she would act so aggressively without good reason. The mage knew this island far better than he did, and if she thought that the greater need was at the docks, then he'd follow.

The legionnaire would understand.

Maybe.

But it turned out that Venutae wasn't going to the docks, instead turning left off the main road just before the guard post that the legion had passed earlier, the corpses now absent. The mage's path took her toward a perimeter tower and higher ground, which offered a better view of the calamity down on the docks.

And what she saw was not good. “Largo... Coders, look at that!”

He again ignored the wild variation in her observance of protocol, and instead followed to where she was pointing.

Their ship was mostly overrun, the sailors that had been maintaining it either in the process of being killed, thrown overboard, or both. But what was most startling was that the undead seemed to be in the process of commandeering the ship for themselves, working the rigging with surprising skill as well as starting to pull up the anchor.

“We can't let this monsters leave the island!” Venutae exclaimed. “We have to stop them!”

Largo was all for valorous combat, but he doubted that was what the mage had in mind. “And how... exactly... are we going to do that?” he asked.

“Do you know how to aim a ballista?”

Largo was reasonably certain he knew what a ballista was. Possibly.

Venutae saw that indecision, but wasn't going to let it dissuade her. “Well, you're going to learn. Follow me!”

The mage grabbed him by the wrist, and tugged him forward. For a girl that winced at any contact, she seemed to have no problems pulling others along. She only released once it became clear that he was following and willing to keep up, then inadvertently slapped him square in the face with her half-cape before he could brush it away.

She really did hate that thing, and she anticipated the first opportunity to rid herself of it.

The mage's path took them back to the guard tower they had passed on their approach, where they climbed a ladder to the highest level.

Once there, he determined the good news was that he did, in fact, know what a ballista was. The bad news is that he still wasn't qualified to use one.

Venutae made it sound simple enough. “These are based off Socrato's designs, so you shouldn't have much trouble at all. Sit down here.” She pointed at a rounded seat perched over the central beam, which was already helpfully loaded with a thick iron-tipped bolt. “First, use the lever on your right side to make sure the bolt is loaded. In this case it is.” Then she pointed to the left of center, at a bronze bar bent in an “L” shape with some manner of looking glass mounted on the end. “Second, you use that to get the range of your target, adjusting the knob above it until your target comes into focus. Once it does, there should be a little number above the image that will tell you how far away it is.”

She then pointed to a pair of wooden dowels that were mounted on the crossbeam directly above the bolt railing, notched and marked with numbers that Largo guessed would match a number presented in the rangefinder. “That number will correspond with the sight. You use the wheel between your legs to turn the ballista, the levers in front of it to adjust your height so that the proper range lines match your target, then hit the pedal under your right foot to fire. But wait until I tell you to fire... I have to prepare something first.”

He had to drop his sword to the side in order to sit, then he leaned out of the chair in curiosity as she knelt down, her body blocking whatever she was doing. “What are you doing?”

“Making some incendiary powder. My magic isn't terribly reliable from this range, but I can whip up some black power and give it a spark that should be just as effective... if not more so. Hurry up and aim this thing, I should be ready by the time you do that.”

Largo entertained reminding the mage about who was the higher-ranking officer, but after following her instruction without complaint this long, he decided his pride was just going to have to swallow it a little while longer. The centurion dutifully followed Venutae's instruction, and as the ship came into focus within the rangefinder, so did her intentions.

He leaned back out and shouted, “Are you planning to destroy the ship?”

“It's the only way,” she retorted. “This monsters are trying to escape. I don't know why, but I can't imagine any good coming of it.”

“And you're sure about this?”

The mage asked in exasperation, “Do you want to charge down there and fight all of them?”

Venutae made a compelling argument, Largo silently admitted.

He saw her stand and move to the front of the ballista, then step away a minute later. “You're ready, Centurion! Fire away!”

Largo slammed his foot on the pedal, then felt the entire war machine underneath him shudder violently as the bolt was released. It quickly disappeared from sight, but evidence that his shot had struck true came as the middle of the deck erupted into a tremendous plume of fire and smoke that reached the top of the sails.

“Wow... that actually worked.” Venutae marveled as the ship quickly took on water, splitting into two halves as the ocean poured into the breached hull.

Largo was honestly surprised there was any ship left after that. “I suppose its a mercy that we still have our support ships out there.”

Of course, fate loved to be a fickle mistress. Within a beat of Largo's declaration, a sizzling sound and loud pop from behind them caught their attention, the residue of a red firework burst dispersing into the open air.

Venutae yelped at that. “Oh no...”

He didn't like hearing those words from her. “What do you mean, 'oh no?'”

She pointed back out to the docks and exclaimed, “That's the distress signal! It will summon the rest of the legion to the docks!”

“And that's a problem?” Largo asked.

She then pointed down to the docks and said, “When that is waiting for them? Yes!”

Despite the distance, he could see what she was referring to: a mob of undead creatures forming, lying in wait for the unsuspecting legion that was quickly appearing on the horizon.

She whipped around to face Largo, and asked, “Is there a candle to order them back?”

“I didn't even know there was a candle to order them in,” Largo replied.

Venutae blanched, and he didn't think anyone that dark could turn so white. “Largo, you're not going to like this...”

He didn't, but he also understood. His fellow legion was sailing into an army they weren't prepared for. “It'll be a mercy, sinking them before they even make dock.”

“It's the only way,” she asserted, more to convince herself than Largo.

“Make the powder, Magus,” Largo ordered. “I'll load the weapon.”

Largo tried not to think about how he was stranding himself and his fellow soldiers on the Isle of Donne with these actions. He tried not to think about how attacking his own legion would be taken as treason. He tried not to think that hitting a moving target, even one sailing slowly, was far different than shooting at a stationary one.

He failed on all counts, his addled thoughts responsible for his first shot missing by at least a half-mile.

“I don't have infinite amounts of powder, Centurion,” Venutae initially scolded, but then added hopefully, “But maybe that will convince the ships to turn away?”

She had to know better. Even if the legion on board was mostly comprised of men who weren't active soldiers within the Reahtan army, they were Reahtan warriors nonetheless, and the sailors manning the ship weren't going to let anything dissuade them from their goal. “What am I saying?” she mumbled a few moments later, then spun about to quickly apply her black powder just as Largo had finished reloading.

Without the excuse of not quite knowing how fast the ships were moving, Largo easily gave the proper amount of lead to his next shot, the bolt making a catastrophic impact with the aft section of the ship, right on top of where the helmsman would be operating the wheel.

That prompted a response from the crew of the second ship. While Reahtan vessels didn't have any weapons that could hope to reach where Largo and Venutae were attacking from, Largo could see the attempted evasive maneuvers through the rangefinder. Unfortunately, with little wind aiding the small rowing team, said attempt only amounted to a meager shuddering motion in the fore end of the craft, and didn't make the ship any harder of a target for a magically enhanced ballista bolt. Largo's final shot cut through the fore section of the ship, exploding with a ball of fire that momentarily obscured view of the entire craft.

Not that he needed to see the ship go down to know that he had directly killed over a hundred of his allies. “If their wills are strong, they will swim,” was not the most comforting adage to lean on.

“We should probably return to the rest of the legion,” Venutae suggested. “They're going to need help, especially if that army down on the docks turns inland now that their path off the island is blocked. We're not stranded here, Centurion. I can call for a ship to retrieve our survivors when I communicate to the Magus Corps that the Dominus has been brought to heel. But that does mean we have to act quickly to ensure there are survivors.”

Largo, on the other hand, observed that the undead army at the beach had already turned their attention toward the pair. “I think we should worry about ourselves first.”

Venutae's eyes darted between the ground and the shambling horde. “Even at their speed, they'll be damn near on top of us by the time we get to the bottom of the watch tower.”

Largo jumped out of the ballista's seat and grabbed the mage around her waist, ignoring how she went completely rigid from the contact. He spied his target, the top of a tent at the base of the watchtower. While he doubted it would completely hold their weight, he hoped it would at least blunt the fall.

“Centurion! What are you do—!” Venutae's complaint morphed into a scream as he leaped off the ledge of the watchtower, Largo shifting their positions in midair so he would take the brunt of the impact.

That was the only part of the plan that went as Largo expected. They landed slightly forward of Largo's target, where one of the tent's support rods wedged itself uncomfortably against Largo's back. The tent itself then did exactly the opposite of what he had planned, holding for a second too long and bouncing Largo and Venutae upwards a handful of feet, then collapsed just in time to fail at catching them.

Dropping ten feet onto the hard ground wasn't as bad as from thirty feet, but it still hurt, especially when Venutae's knee managed to find that delicate spot between Largo's legs. It almost made him forget about the stinging pain in his back.

The moment Venutae's lungs managed to regain air, her concern immediately turned to the centurion. “Largo? Are you alright?”

“No,” he admitted honestly. He hurt pretty much everywhere. “But I don't have time for pain. We have to move quickly.”

Despite his claimed urgency, he didn't shove Venutae off him, instead hissing as he gently rolled his left shoulder upward to encourage the mage to slide off him onto the ground. It hurt far more than a simple fall should have, and he was definitely going to need the legion's corpsman to at least take stock of the damage.

Venutae apparently agreed. “Largo, your back!”

“Later!” he barked “We have to move quickly!”

Adrenaline helped him block the pain as he took to a sprint, his adrenaline fueled by the groaning and hissing of the undead army giving chase. “I thought zombies were supposed to be slow!” Venutae yelled, displaying enough haste that Largo gratefully had no need to slow down on her account.

“How many zombies have you ever encountered?” Largo shot back.

That the mage had to think about that question didn't rest easily on the centurion's mind. “Venutae!” he bellowed, even though he knew wasting air talking wasn't going to help his speed.

“None!” she finally insisted, though Largo swore he heard her add more quietly, “Technically.”

There wasn't time to argue. He needed to spare his breath, and they were almost back to the town square. What had been a dire situation had only gotten worse; their allies had been forced out of their makeshift bunker, overwhelmed on the south and west sides by the undead. With the second undead army on Largo and Venutae's tails, they had few options for retreat.

Largo crashed into the line of undead that was trying to close off that remaining route to the north, cleaving straight through a pair in a single swipe. But even mowing through them like a scythe through wheat, his efforts did little considering the numbers involved.

It didn't make much sense. How many people lived on this island in the first place? Surely it couldn't be this many.

“Centurion! Magus!”

They both turned toward the massive, bellowing stature of Legionnaire Maximus lording over the melee. If he was indeed only half of what he was, he certainly didn't show it, dispatching zombies with seeming ease, his gladius splitting skulls as easily as his shield was bashing them in.

The problem was that the rest of his legion was faring poorly, the numbers crashing over them like waves, especially now that they no longer had the cover of the house to funnel the enemy advance.

Venutae pointed north, hoping the legionnaire could see her, then shouted, “We need to go to the tower, sir! It's our only chance!”

Without hesitation, Minimus called the retreat, knowing that he was sacrificing anyone currently engaged or at the rear of the new formation.

Both those things came to pass, especially as an already tired legion couldn't outrun a seemingly tireless horde. The unwitting sacrifices didn't even prove to be much of a delay, the undead engulfing and swarming over the exhausted soldiers.

Yet that brief stall was enough. The Dominus's tower soon lorded above them, Largo and Minimus at the front of the charge up the five limestone steps that marked where Reaht's authority officially ended. Largo nearly tripped over a small slab that stuck up a mere foot past the lip of the final step, carved with a Reahtan seal that marked the agreement decades ago and established the current relationship.

Technically, the presence of the legion beyond this point was an act of war. Largo presumed at any other time, that fact would carry profound weight. As it stood, Largo was far more concerned with finding safety within Dominus Augustus's seat of power, if even momentarily.

And for a brief instant, it seemed like that would be the case. The double doors that barred the main entrance of the tower swung open swiftly, and a single figure emerged at the doorway as if to welcome them... though Largo quickly got the sense that hospitality was not on the man's mind.

The stranger didn't look the part of anyone the Dominus would send as a greeter. He was tall, thick, and ragged, with a long faded black coat that looked like its better days were long past. Hems were torn, seams were split, and haphazard patches on the knees and elbows were failing. The only thing that seemed completely intact was the faded mask that wrapped around the lower half of his face, mostly hidden by the unruly mop of reddish brown hair that fell to the shoulders.

Most distinctive, however, were the cat-like slitted eyes that narrowed in anger as the legion rushed toward the entrance. Largo had only seen a chimera in person once, but that was enough to identify the man blocking their path as such.

Minimus was apparently no stranger to the chimera, evidenced by the ragged man's declaration, “I see you still haven't learned not to interfere in things beyond you, Legionnaire.”

The familiarity wasn't mutual, judging from the dumbfounded expression crossing Minimus's face. “Who...?”

The massive chimera didn't give Minimus the opportunity to finish the question, grabbing the door frame to his left and displaying superhuman strength by tearing it and the rest of the supporting structure straight off the wall. It collapsed in spectacular fashion, forcing the legion to stop as stone crumbled from all directions and blocked the entry. The blockage would have been little delay in normal conditions, but with an undead army nipping at their heels, it might as well have been a mountain.

And the screams from behind Largo told him that the undead had caught up. Before he could turn to face his impending death with any semblance of dignity, he felt Venutae's insistent pull on his arm.

“Anyone who can, follow me now!” the mage shouted, though Largo would not have wagered on anybody else hearing her over the screaming and gnashing of teeth.

Nonetheless, he followed, deciding that he'd lead by example as Venutae escorted him through a rapidly shrinking opening in the melee, around the exterior wall, and over a vine-covered road boundary. As they rounded the north side of the Tower of Donne, the landscape of the tropical, grassy island climbed sharply and became a cliff of firm rock over a thirty-foot drop into turbulent water. Largo barely had time to wonder why Venutae would lead him this way before she tapped the bridge of his nose and a translucent shimmer flashed around his head.

The mage pointed downward over the cliff's edge, and shouted, “Go!”

He hesitated a moment, after which the mage shoved him, somehow generating enough force to push him over the cliff's edge and into the ocean water below.

He met the surface with more force than he thought possible, the sea level hitting him like a gladiator's tackle, and the water much colder than the warm climate would suggest. Those two observations were followed by a third, more crucial one: he shouldn't have been able to breathe.

Largo concluded that the shimmer that flashed across his vision was some manner of bubble, creating a pocket of air for him to breathe. He suspected that air wouldn't last particularly long though, and hoped that Venutae's plan would soon become clear.

When he felt a tug on his right arm, he turned to see the mage pointing to her left and down, through the remarkably clear water towards a large grotto roughly twenty feet below the surface.

Largo's swimming ability was serviceable at best, now further hampered by his heavy metal armor and his exhaustion from fighting and running just moments prior, yet it still seemed like he shouldn't be this tired or slow pushing himself through the water. Every muscle protested his movements, and a throbbing pain began creeping up from his right leg as he pushed himself forward.

He began to understand why when one lazy kick swirled up an eddy of water laced with his blood. The sight steeled his resolve, and he forced back the pain to push forward. He knew the ocean waters carried great predatory fish drawn to the smell of blood, and if he didn't move quickly, those monsters of the deep would ensure his pain would end all too soon.

Once the burst of adrenaline faded, the pain slowly returned until each stroke was an exercise in agony, but Largo had already gone too far to stop. The light quickly faded as he finally reached the cave entrance, darkening the water enough for him to misjudge his depth and slam into the cavern floor. Fortunately, Largo had reached a point where more pain didn't really register.

He used the rising floor to guide himself, more crawling than swimming, before flickers of light just ahead told him that he was rapidly reaching the water level. He broke through only three breaths later, the air bubble conjured by Venutae popping soon after he emerged.

Multiple hands, far too many to belong to Venutae alone, pulled him out and carefully laid him on his back. The mage's face appeared in his rapidly fading vision, and mumbling could be heard to each side of him, but the voices and words were slurred by the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

The only thing that was clear was Venutae, who didn't look much fresher than he was, saying through a tired smile, “Normally, this would be the worst time for you to sleep, Centurion, but in this case, it's probably best that you aren't awake while I do what needs to be done. You're probably not going to feel too great once you wake up.”

Chapter Four: Rock Bottom

“Oh, nice of you to wake up, Centurion. Easy now.”

Largo had woken up from some very rough nights in the past. He had woken up with the pain that came from a long day in the arena, the hangover that came a long night at the bar, and the cumulative effect of both far more often than was good for his health.

This didn't feel like any of those. He tried to speak, but what came out was an incoherent mess of sound. He tried to move, but felt like invisible weights were tied to his limbs. His sight came back slowly, like a candle just above his forehead was slowly flickering to light.

His mind eventually cleared to the point that he could identify Venutae as the one speaking to him. “I am sorry for the magical slumber. You kept waking up during my healing, and potentially hurting yourself further. I'll admit I might have overdone it in my desire to get some sleep myself.”

“Sahwahuh?” Largo asked. At least it sounded like something that was supposed to be a word.

He heard Legionnaire Maximus speak just over his left shoulder, though he found he couldn't turn his head yet. “You were hurt very badly. The Magus had to heal you. It was probably more exhausting for her than it was for you.”

Largo's addled mind raced as it both tried to clear itself while recalling the battle. He had been hurt? Had he blacked out at some point and taken damage he couldn't remember? None of the undead horde really even touched him.

Minimus observed his confusion, and the legionnaire offered evidence, a five inch long shard of wood, with about three inches stained crimson from blood. “This was poking out of your lower back, right next to your spine. Honestly, I'm astonished you could walk with this thing sticking you, much less swim and fight like you did.”

Finally, a fourth voice cut in darkly, “He's too stupid to understand he should be paralyzed.”

Largo knew that voice. Of course Adroitus, the man who supposedly wanted to die, would manage to survive.

“That is more than enough out of you, soldier,” Minimus snarled, “considering you're just as dogged when it comes to defying death.”

Venutae meanwhile had turned her attention back to Largo, his vision clear enough to see her striking face hovering over him. “I trust you feel a lot better, yes?”

“Thank you,” he replied, grateful that he could now form words. “I do.”

“Think you can sit up?” Minimus asked. “Because now that everyone is awake, I'd like for the Magus to try and give us some details as to what she thinks is happening on this cursed island.”

Largo remembered Venutae muttering something about theories, and gratefully took assistance from her and Minimus to pull himself up to a sitting position, fighting the spinning earth as he forced himself to stay upright. Mercifully, the vertigo faded swiftly, and he was able to devote his attention to the mage.

“About time,” Adroitus grumbled. “At least now we'll know exactly why we're going to die.”

Venutae exhaled tiredly. “The hope is that we can finish this without any of us dying, soldier.”

“Well, we've got a smashing record on that score so far.”

“The only way we're leaving with our souls intact is by stopping Dominus Augustus,” Minimus reminded coldly. “So please, Magus, tell us what you know.”

Venutae complied, though Largo found himself unintentionally drawn to the mage's chest as it expanded from the deep breath she took. Of all the times to be having such undisciplined thoughts... Coders save him if they both survived this suicide mission.

“The Empire knew that the Dominus was collecting magical artifacts, some even illegally, but not what he was using those things for. This is something I never reported to the Magus Corps, simply because I knew if I did, there would be a panic that started a war. Or rather, because I was never directly privy to certain experiments, I didn't want to start that war based on mistaken intelligence. Now I'm realizing that I should have.”

“Dominus Augustus was, as far as I could discern, studying ways to fuse living things with arcane energy. This was initially a procedure tried by many of the ancient civilizations as a way to achieve immortality. But the Dominus was using it for something else.”

The mage stopped, and a long nervous pause followed before she finished. “He was attempting to fuse living things with the Void.”

That clearly meant much more to the other two soldiers than it did to Largo, as they both visibly recoiled at the revelation. To Largo, the Void had always been something just... there, way out where he couldn't see it. Few of the people he had interacted with around the arenas had ever been terribly concerned with it either. It just wasn't a problem normal people had; they were too busy worrying about where their dinner would come from on any given day.

“Why in the Emperor's name would he do something like that?” Minimus demanded.

“That, I'm not entirely sure. I know that the other three archmages were performing experiments to stop or reverse the Void's advance, but I cannot see how Dominus Augustus was advancing those goals.”

“And you think that is related to the horde on the island?”

Venutae's voice carried no certainty. “As far as I am aware, the Dominus hadn't experimented on humans. He had been using smaller animals, mostly insects and a handful of mice and rats. While those subjects displayed some peculiar behavior, they didn't live terribly long after the merging, certainly not long enough to do any real damage.”

Her uncertainty only grew from there. “But... maybe? The Void leaking about the island would explain the difficulty I'm having with spell channeling. Perhaps an experiment went horribly wrong? Perhaps the Dominus has finally gone wholly mad? Both, I'm afraid to admit, are equally likely possibilities.”

That caught Largo's more urgent attention. “You can't use your magic?” he asked.

Venutae shook her head. “No, I can. It's just more difficult. Channeling spells requires the flow of energy from a tome.” She patted the satchel hanging off her left shoulder for effect, then added, “The mage has to force it to some degree naturally, but the Void disrupts that flow. I have to brute force the magic more than I would normally need to. It's still possible, but it's much more tiring.”

So that was why she had been staring at her hand during the battle like something was wrong with it.

Adroitus was interested in getting to the bottom of something else. “So, who was your friend that could rip down an entire tower? Brother of yours, Legionnaire?”

Minimus glared at him, but answered, “No. I honestly have no idea who he is. I would guess he was a pirate on Buccaneer's Heaven when I led my legion against it, but I think I'd remember someone like that on the battlefield.”

Surprisingly, Venutae offered the pieces of an answer. “He's a tiger chimera. I've seen him once before.”

“In the tower?” Minimus asked.

The mage shook her head. “Not in Donne. Tortuga. I had spent a year studying with Domina Morgana when I was still a child, presumably for initial schooling because Augustus didn't feel comfortable... teaching someone so young.” Her pause suggested the answer was slightly more involved than that, but even if Largo had wanted to pry, she cut off potential questions by continuing. “I only saw him once, and Morgana dismissed my question about who he was. The other staff at the tower said he was a merchant marine, but it makes sense that he was a pirate. He allegedly carried more than a few things that would have been banned in Reaht.”

“Perhaps he was or is Augustus's supplier?” Largo offered.

Minimus shrugged. “No intelligence that I had described anyone like him supplying the Dominus, but he could have been the coordinator, or he just never personally delivered any contraband during our watch. But regardless of who he is, his strength is something that cannot be overlooked, especially since I am certain we haven't seen the last of him.”

“Presuming we see anyone again,” Adroitus scoffed bitterly. “Where in the Coder's curses are we anyway?”

“A secret dock for contraband that the Dominus was receiving,” Venutae explained. “He was well aware that Reaht was watching him, and suspected others of trying to follow his transactions as well. During high tide, it looks like any normal underwater cavern. When the low tide coincides with night, that was when ships would sail in. It's actually quite remarkable how the Dominus calculated the various factors for all those things to come together near flawlessly.”

The mage jerked a thumb behind her and added, “The path is a bit confounding, but it empties into a storeroom and lift that connects to the main tower. It's not going to be nearly as straight a path as the front door would have been, but with just the four of us, slinking about the perimeter of the tower is probably the better for it.”

“So we're still angling to defeat the Dominus, are we?” Adroitus questioned. “I thought the reason we brought an army was because we needed an army for that.”

“It's the only way off the island,” Minimus interjected crossly. “Our leaders didn't see fit to provide us with any other exit strategy, and the reasons for that are currently irrelevant.”

Largo added, “It was only supposed to be ten of us charging up the tower anyway, the rest were to hold the main gate to prevent reinforcements. If our odds were long to begin with, they aren't terribly worse now.”

“There's that,” the legionnaire acknowledged. “Think you're sufficiently woken up, Centurion? If so, we can get started. Honestly rather surprised we've been down here as long as we have without being attacked.”

There was no way Largo would refuse, even if his legs still had a jellylike feel to them as he pushed himself to his feet. He thought he did a pretty good job masking it, pretending that he was fascinated by the texture of the rock behind him rather than using it to brace himself.

Apparently, he wasn't as good an actor as he hoped. Minimus smirked and ordered, “Magus, keep an eye on the Centurion until he gets his legs back. Footman, you and I will take point for now.”

Adroitus huffed indignantly, but didn't hesitate, picking up his shield and making sure it was secure on his left arm before taking to Minimus's left flank. Venutae helpfully slipped in close to Largo's right side, though he doubted she could break his fall if his legs failed him.

Mercifully, he didn't do anything so undignified, quickly gaining feeling and confidence with each step, helped by the fact that the ground was smooth without many bumps or dips. Largo figured an easy path would be necessary for discreetly moving anything of significant size into Augustus's tower. By the time the ground changed into brick, the centurion was secure enough in his footing to join Minimus and Adroitus at the front of the formation.

It became clear that the Dominus was indeed moving a tremendous amount of contraband magic. His secret receiving storeroom was probably larger than the lowest floor of the tower, and laid in the same gray brick as the exterior. Even with the three torch stands in the center providing light, the walls were distant enough to remain dim in Largo's eyes.

“Looks like the Dominus moved his illicit goods quickly,” Minimus noted from the mere handful of boxes that were actually in the storeroom.

“He had to,” Venutae answered. “What little I knew of would be tremendously dangerous in untrained hands. Even the books he acquired were usually highly volatile tomes that he didn't want to risk out in the open. There were several people in this tower who had at least some degree of magical aptitude even if they weren't being actively taught.”

“Like these?” Largo asked, glancing into a stack of wooden crates, the top most of which had been opened to reveal scrolls of a glossy paper.

Venutae gave it a look herself. “Enchanted vellum. Useful for inscribing disposable spells. Not terribly dangerous in and of itself, but definitely contraband within the Empire.”

“Why?”

The mage sighed. “All magic is heavily regulated within the Empire, to the point that every tome and even its contents are rigorously accounted for annually. Spells transcribed on vellum such as this are destroyed after one use, making them impossible to track. There's a massive black market for this material for precisely that reason. Whether you are a researcher trying to do work that hasn't been cleared by the Magus Corps, or you're a hedge mage that refuses to register with the Empire, vellum like this is how you would do your work.”

Adroitus cut in, “I'm less worried about paper, and more worried about what in the hells could have come in this.”

He was referring to something along the west and south walls, a single cage so large that Largo had initially thought it to be an entire row of cages. But upon closer inspection, it was a single unit twenty feet to each side, with bars as thick as Venutae's wrist. Most alarmingly, its northern side had been forced open from the inside, judging from the bent iron.

“Magus?” Minimus queried.

Venutae was as wide-eyed as the rest of the team. “I... I couldn't even guess. I didn't even know this continent had any animals that big.”

“Well, there is the bubble buffalo,” Adroitus offered.

Venutae scoffed. “A bubble buffalo would have done a lot more damage than just its cage door. Those beasts aren't exactly subtle.”

“With our luck, we'll learn the answer first hand,” Minimus chided, making a sweeping gesture with his right arm to encourage his team to move forward. “Let's proceed rather than waste time wondering.” He then stopped abruptly as he scanned the room and asked, “Magus... how do we proceed?”

Venutae looked up towards the center of the ceiling and said, “Normally, I'd say we call for the lift, but that leads just leads to the upper storage, and we'd still have to go up from there into menagerie. There's a smaller hidden door somewhere along the east wall that leads to the beastmaster's chambers, and probably a better course for us.”

“Somewhere?” Minimus asked.

“I've never actually used that door, okay?” Venutae replied, trying to restrain her exasperation. “I just know its here. Just keep patient while I look. It's an illusion, and shouldn't be hard for me to detect once I'm close to it. Just give me a minute.”

The mage began running her hands along the center of said east wall as a loud thunk sounded from above. A poof of gray dust drifted down from the center of ceiling, revealing distinct grooves in the bricks before the entire panel began to drop with the sound of rattling chains, no doubt the lift that Venutae had mentioned earlier.

At the sight of decayed and armored shins, and the grunts and hisses that they had come to associate with the zombie horde, the three warriors readied their weapons. “Magus!” Minimus shouted. “You might not have a minute!”

“You can't rush magic detection!” she snapped back.

The legionnaire grumbled something under his breath then barked, “Centurion, I hope you're ready for a fight, because we're going to need your muscle.”

Largo let his sword answer the call. Any fatigue that he might have felt was pumped straight out of his muscles by the adrenaline rush that came whenever he drew his sword from his back. With three strides he built momentum and took a high swing as his right foot landed, the blade cutting first through the legs of the nearest zombie, then through a chain of the lift as it was halfway to the floor. The sudden jerk from the platform's instability tossed another zombie head first onto the stone below, followed by a total spill as largo cut out a second chain and rendered the lift inoperative.

Not that the short fall would have dissuaded living soldiers, much less the undead that had fallen. But it was enough for Largo's allies to jump in, cutting them down almost as quickly as the monsters could regain their footing. The efficiency of killing with each strike was essential, as more undead started jumping down from the floor above.

It was a fall that would give the stoutest of fighters some pause, at least fifteen feet. But for the undead dropping through the hole, it was of no concern. Even as half of them didn't complete the fall, breaking limbs or smashing their own skulls, enough survived that the three Reahtan soldiers were slowly getting outpaced.

“Any... time... Magus!” Minimus grunted, pulling his sword out of the skull he had embedded it into. An opportunist tried to seize on his brief vulnerability, but Minimus was saved by a shield bash from Adroitus that staggered the undead right into a decapitating swipe from Largo. The three realized they had to yield ground, which would be the beginning of the end if Venutae didn't find their escape route quickly.

It was times like this where Largo almost wished he had a shield. While his greatsword offered him a wide arc that could strike multiple foes before they were in range, it required tremendous exertion to keep his heavy blade moving, and his arms were starting to feel the strain.

“Found it! Hurry!”

Largo offered a silent prayer of thanks to the Coders as he turned towards Venutae's voice, where bricks were receding on themselves to reveal the hidden door she had promised.

Minimus shouted his orders so loudly that it probably rung the ears of the undead. “Centurion, you go first! Footman, you right behind him! Now!”

As much as Largo thrived on battle and loathed the very idea of retreat, he didn't need to be told twice. There was fighting and dying honorably, and there was being consumed by undead monsters in a foolish stand. He bounded inside the narrow doorway a couple steps behind Venutae, and had to sidestep just to fit through. This was not a stairwell meant for multiple people, or anyone of significant size.

Which meant the fit only got tighter as Adroitus wedged his way in, followed by the even bulkier mass of Legionnaire Maximus. Somehow through that crush of humanity, Venutae was able to activate the rune that closed the door and prevented the undead from following.

The team made an unspoken agreement to take the opportunity to catch their breath despite the sounds of clawing from the other side, although Venutae warned, “We can't dawdle too long. Even if the undead aren't capable of opening this door, it's possible that they'll find one of the other exits, and we'll be rats in a trap.”

“You said this stairway leads to the beastmaster's home,” Minimus prompted as he gently nudged the team up the steps. “Where else does it lead?”

Venutae answered, “To the menagerie specifically, a floor below the beastmaster's suite. That's where I want us to hop off.”

“And the reason for that is...?”

“The suite doesn't really connect to anything else other than the main hall on the second floor, which is precisely where we don't want to go. We want to be using the perimeter paths as much as possible to keep from being overwhelmed from multiple directions. Of course, the menagerie itself is a pretty open area, but we're going to have to risk it. With luck, a good percentage of the monsters that were up there had jumped down.”

“And if we aren't lucky?” Largo asked.

The mage flashed him a grin that both excited and scared him. “Well, it'll take some doing, but I think I have just the thing in mind. Let's wait until we're at the landing though; it'll give me space to work. Footman, do you think you can slide in front of me? Just in case we have friends waiting for us?”

Adroitus snapped, “I don't think it's your place to be ordering any of us around. Besides, if you think I'm getting around this mass in front of me, much less you, you're going to be disappointed.”

“Footman...” Minimus warned.

Largo defused the situation, not so much for Adroitus's sake, but more because the soldier had a point. It would be difficult enough for Largo to wiggle in front of Venutae, much less anyone else. “I'll stand guard for you, Magus. Don't worry, I promise I'm awake.”

“Very well, that will suit.” While her words reflected confidence, the pause before she said them didn't. “Come along, then.”

Largo quickly discovered that while there was more room to work with on the landing, it wasn't much. He still needed some very awkward wriggling to get in position around the mage, especially since she went uncomfortably rigid the moment his right hand accidentally dropped on her hips in the process. He sincerely hope that the door opened outwards, because otherwise proceeding was going to be problematic.

“Do you hear anything out there, Centurion?” Venutae asked.

How could she not hear the clawing at the stone in front of them? “Umm... yes?”

“That's good.”

“How is that good?”

“It means I'm not imagining things. Now give me a moment to work.”

It was so cramped that he could even turn around enough to see what Venutae was doing behind him, and the whispers being shared among his squad mates weren't enlightening, either.

“What... exactly are you doing down there?” Minimus asked, likely with a poor viewing angle.

Venutae replied, “Preparing. Now please let me concentrate. Conjuring something this delicate isn't easy, especially with the magical disruption around the tower. Footman, can I have your bracers?”

“Whatever for?” Adroitus said with suspicion.

“I need them, at least one of them. Both if you think you can spare them.”

“Will I get them back?”

“I suppose if you were willing to spend hours finding all the pieces.”

“Then no.”

Minimus volunteered his. “Here, Magus. Pass them to her, Footman.”

“Thank you, Legionnaire. I only need one if you feel you need the wrist protection.”

“Take them both,” he said. “I find them bothersome more than anything. Now surely, Footman, you are willing to sacrifice your linen pouch?”

There was a quiet growl, but no further objection, which told Largo that Venutae got what she desired.

“Okay, when I give the word, I'm going to open the door. Centurion, I just need you to give 'em a good shove to give me room to deliver my present. Then make sure you're not in the doorway when I try to close it again.” After a pause, she said in deference to the person actually in command, “Unless... I'm presuming too much, Legionnaire?”

“Not yet, but you're getting close,” Minimus replied gruffly. “You up to it, Centurion?”

Largo cracked his knuckles and replied confidently, “Absolutely. You sure you want me to give 'em just a push?”

“Not unless you want to receive a whole bunch of pieces wedged into your back... and front... and everywhere. I warn you, I'm probably not up to healing that.”

Largo grinned in spite of himself. “Very well. Just a shove.”

He heard another sound of rustling cloth behind him, then heard the mage take a deep breath. “Okay. This is going to happen quick, so everyone be ready.”

Largo had to admit that “quick” was an appropriate word, so accurate that he very nearly ruined everything by missing his cue. The door in front of him didn't swing inward or outward; instead the brick seemed to dissolve into empty air right before his eyes. Mercifully, he recovered admirably from the surprise, knocking back one zombie directly in front of him with a shoulder check, and another with a right forearm shiver. While neither blow did much due to the sheer mass of undead behind, it offered those precious few inches and seconds of clearance to keep them from rushing the door.

The next series of events all unfolded within the blink of an eye. Largo saw and felt something tossed just over his right shoulder within a hair's length of his ear, then heard Venutae shout for him to get back. He complied with a sliding step just as the bricks of the doorway manifested again, directly in front of his nose.

For all the flurry of activity in so short a short time, the next several seconds were occupied with nothing but the sounds of undead groaning and clawing at the door again. Minimus noted this delay, and asked questioningly, “Magus?”

“Wait for it...” Venutae replied, although even she began to fret when yet another long stretch of nothing followed. “Maybe?”

Then, to the mage's relief and the shock of the rest, there was a pop immediately followed by a loud bang. The door in front of Largo visibly shuddered, then true silence absent even the sounds of activity from the other side.

“Keep your guard up,” Venutae warned as she prepared to open the door again. “That was a pretty packed house on the other side, and I can't promise my little bomb there got them all.”

Then the door disappeared again, and Largo's eyes, nose, and nostrils were almost immediately assaulted by a dusty, pungent, black smoke. He rather hoped that Venutae's bomb had cleared the room of threats, because he wasn't sure he'd be able to identify any others lingering.

Impotently waving his left hand in front of him to clear the smoke away while he covered his nose and mouth with his right, Largo tentatively stepped forward into the room. He momentarily jerked to a stop when he kicked the arm of a zombie stuck with several shards of metal, then continued only when he didn't see any response.

Venutae was right behind him, as Largo could feel the weight of the mage's palm pressing against his back plate. Between coughs, she sputtered, “Maybe I overdid it on the black powder.”

“Better overdone than underdone, I suppose,” Adroitus offered, the closest thing to a compliment Largo had ever heard the disgraced soldier utter.

Minimus agreed. “Good work, Magus. I think we're clear, but I'd suggest we keep on the move. I don't want to suffocate in here, and that little boom no doubt garnered a lot of attention real quick.”

“The path still lies through the menagerie. Fortunately, it's a very open area, so we shouldn't be prone to too many surprises. Bad news is... there's a lot of animals in there that would be a handful, and I can't guarantee what state they'll be in. I can't imagine they'll be any easier to handle if they're undead.”

Adroitus's good mood had already vanished. “If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were trying to get us killed.”

Chapter Five: Animal House

“What's depressing is that we're not even in what the Dominus considers his tower,” Venutae said. “This is all part of his underground facility, separate from the public areas and his personal spaces. It's the only reason I could be certain of the layout so far, given Augustus's chaotic proclivities.”

“And how is that depressing?” Minimus asked.

“Because this isn't where he'll be focusing the heaviest of his resistance. Augustus was a very private man, to the point where he almost didn't care what happened to the island around him. Not as bad as someone like Domina Morgana, but still pretty reclusive.”

Largo mind started drifting away from the conversation of the Dominus's personality. He honestly cared little about who Augustus was or why the archmage might have done what he did. He found himself more fascinated by the menagerie as he had a closer look at it.

Largo had seen his share of stables, so he had a mental image of what he expected the menagerie to be. He expected a pretentious line of well-bred horses dressed up in fancy regalia, with finely uniformed stable hands grooming them with more care than most people will ever receive.

That was not what he wound up seeing.

Largo was first astonished by the lighting, lines of a silvery white illumination that ran across the ceiling. He thought he had seen just about everything; the fancier homes in his neighborhood were even using new “electric” lighting powered merely by wind. Yet this was something else entirely.

“Mithril silver,” Venutae noted, sighing. “Obscenely expensive stuff. The Dominus lights his entire tower with it. He thought candles and torches had an awful smell, and electric bulbs gave him a headache.”

While Largo caught slight hints of manure and other scents associated with animal husbandry, there weren't any stables, and only a handful of cages for housing large exotic animals he had never even seen before. The majority of the displays were walled with glass panels joined by carefully crafted pillars, with wide walkways between them. Largo inched up to one that seemed empty, until a frilled serpent-like head and neck burst from the straw lining the bottom of the cage, startling Largo as it reared back and revealed disturbingly long fangs. It then hopped onto its eight legs and retreated to the far left corner, curling up into a ball and hissing threateningly at the stranger who had startled it.

“Careful,” Venutae warned playfully. “Don't upset the animals.”

“No chance of that,” Minimus declared, pointing ahead.

Venutae followed Minimus's gesture, and muttered despairingly, “Oh no...”

Clearly, the animals of the menagerie had not been fed in some time. While that didn't bother animals like reptiles, which could go a while without food, other animals had not been so lucky, and the signs of desperation borne of starvation were obvious even among the littlest specimens. Venutae had stopped, hands over her mouth in distress, one display further down and on the opposite row.

A small gold plaque labeled the occupant a "banded three-tailed mushroom badger," native to Xanadu. It looked gaunt and very dead, with a mess of scratch marks across the glass of its enclosure. The poor thing had been frantically trying to escape, and even Largo had to fight to keep a composed face at its final fate. He offered a comforting hand on the mage's shoulder, and even though she again responded with immediate tension, she quickly accepted the gesture for what it was.

“There aren't many of their kind left,” Venutae mumbled glumly. “And of all the ways...”

Adroitus caught their attention with more ill omen. “It doesn't get any prettier further on, in case you're wondering.”

Further on, in this case, referred to wire pens and enclosures for larger animals. But where the cases for the smaller animals had been largely intact, the penned section looked like it had been ransacked, with doors and fences ripped out and trampled, straw scattered across the floor, and the faint fetid scent becoming a truly rancid stench. What remained within were little more than some partially-devoured remnants and many bones that had been picked scrupulously clean.

“The long-eared pig will eat anything,” Venutae noted scornfully after gagging. “Even themselves, if they're hungry enough. I'll bet a lot of the damage and ripped-up carcasses are their doing.”

Largo found one of those long-eared pigs she was referring to. Or at least he assumed so. There weren't any ears left on the beast's corpse, and it had the distinct look and smell of rot, but what remained bore some resemblance to a pig.

Further inspection showed that the pig was laying on something else, but he wasn't sure he even wanted to contemplate what that particular animal was.

Adroitus motioned to his right, where a massive set of cast-iron double doors somehow looked unscathed despite all the destruction and carnage elsewhere. “What's in there?”

Venutae dismissed the curiosity. “Nowhere we want or need to go. If we have to head that way, things have gone really, really wrong.”

Largo's attention was stolen away from the carnage by something that caught the corner of his eye. His head whipped towards the north, where the light being provided started to falter, casting enough of a shadow that he had only a sense of movement.

“What was that?” he said, following what he thought were shifting shadows creeping about the wreckage of ruined pens.

“What was what?” Adroitus asked, trying to follow Largo's line of sight.

“We're not alone in here,” the centurion insisted.

The footman scowled. “We're in a tough enough spot... sir,” He said, hastily adding the honorific after a long pause. “We don't need you going insane along with it.”

“I'm not mad,” Largo snarled. “There's something over there.”

He proved it by taking several deliberate strides towards the wreckage, where he was rewarded with a low, threatening, feline growl, followed by another shift in the shadows that implied a tremendous presence, then finally the shimmer of glowing yellow eyes focusing on him.

Venutae's eyes lit up, and she jumped in front of Largo, ignoring the grumbling of the beast stalking in the corner. “Hold, Centurion!”

Then the mage spun about, kneeling down and offering a single outstretched right hand, palm down and presenting her knuckles. “Khufu? Is that you?” she crooned soothingly. “I bet it is, isn't it? Come on out, boy. It's me. Vee!”

The warning growl stopped, followed by a low trilling sound that Largo took to indicate uncertainty. The eyes blinked, and the large shadow hesitatingly jerked forward from its defensive position and gingerly into the light.

Largo expected the cat to be an impressively large specimen, but as it finally shed the blanket of shadows, what emerged was something that might as well have been borne from the blackest hell. Rather literally so, as he large predator's fur was pitch as night, save a broad gray nose and off-white teeth longer than many knives Largo had seen, with a body nearly eight feet long from tip to tail.

And Venutae didn't seem the slightest bit afraid that it was approaching her with its cavernous mouth hanging open.

“Oh come on, Khufu... you know me,” the mage insisted, shaking her wrist as if daring the massive feline to pay attention. The three men standing behind her exchanged nervous looks, silently wondering if and when they should intervene.

The massive cat's nose hovered a breath's distance from Venutae's hand, then even closer still as its broad nostrils flared and quivered, it's mouth opening wider. Largo had finally decided to step in just as the cat's mouth snapped shut harmlessly, and the cat affectionately bumped Venutae's knuckles, rubbing the full length of its face across the mage's hand.

“There we go!” she cooed, using both hands to energetically scratch the cat's ears. The massive beast then dropped on its side, rolling to expose its belly, gigantic paws curled inward as if inviting her touch.

“Oh no,” Venutae declined with a chuckle, “I'm not playing that game with you anymore. That's a trap, and we both know it.”

Adroitus muttered, “Most people get puppies. Mages... they tame lions.”

“Khufu is a Cannoa sable leopard, colloquially known as a panther, not a lion,” Venutae corrected. “Like many of the animals in this menagerie, outside of the pigs, he represents one of the last of his kind, preserved from lands that had fallen to the Void. I knew this guy when he was just a little kit that fit in my hands. At the time, I didn't realize he'd grow to the size of a sofa.”

Adroitus was completely unconcerned with the particulars. “If it's a cat, and it's big enough to be furniture, it's a lion as far as I'm concerned.”

Largo didn't agree with the disgraced soldier often, but he couldn't find much fault with that logic.

Venutae had moved on to patting Khufu's flanks as the panther rolled onto his side. She smiled, and said, “Well, at least you aren't starving. Probably been a buffet for you ever since this place went upside-down, huh? I hope you munched on those disgusting pigs first.”

The mage then froze, and she raised her head, examining her surroundings. Minimus noticed and asked, “Magus? What's wrong?”

“It shouldn't be wrong... but considering the circumstances, it is.”

“Well, I'm glad I'm the only one who isn't following,” Adroitus snarked.

Venutae hopped back to her feet, jogging back to the small animal enclosures at the front of the menagerie, Khufu dutifully taking pace right behind her. She inspected several displays, occasionally tapping on the glass of those that still had living specimens, then returned to the vicinity of the three men, examining the nearby carcasses of the larger animals.

“You don't see it, do you?” she accused the soldiers.

“I'm afraid we don't,” Minimus confirmed. “What should we be seeing?”

“None of these animals have been afflicted by whatever has turned the people into undead.”

Largo nearly slapped himself, because he should have observed that immediately. Minimus took it a step further and noted, “There aren't any undead humans here, either. Nor any sign they were ever here.”

“And that doesn't make any sense,” Venutae said. “Dominus Augustus experimented on animals for his Void experiments. Why would he skip all of that and go straight to humans for this? And if it was simply an accident, why didn't it affect any of the animals?”

“I don't know, Magus. Why?”

“He wouldn't. I... don't think the Dominus is involved in this at all. Something else is going on.”

“And that means we need to find out what,” Minimus concluded. “Which means we need to proceed, and quickly.”

“I can't let you idiots do that.”

Their attention turned back to the north end of the menagerie and the stairwell beyond, where the same chimera that had impeded the legion's progress earlier had emerged, his brows furrowed angrily and his hands balled into fists.

“I swear you Reahtans are like roaches, especially where you will only be a hindrance,” the chimeric man snarled angrily. “As much as I would be content leaving you down here where the undead don't seem to have any interest, I know for a fact none of you would be content sitting here like good boys and girls while I get to the bottom of this mess.”

“Yeah, pardon us for not trusting the say-so of a pirate and enemy of the Empire,” Minimus retorted.

The remark took the chimera by surprise, his menace fading for a moment. “How...?” Then his eyes settled on Venutae, and he glared. “Apparently, I'm far more memorable than I should be. Morgana mentioned you were Augustus's most current apprentice. Rather surprised that you would care about his misfortunes.”

Minimus interjected, irritated that the chimera focused his attention elsewhere. “We don't care about any misfortunes. We don't care if it was intentional or on accident. We're here to stop it, and I suggest you step aside and let us do it, or suffer the consequences.”

“As much as I would love to watch you throw yourselves to your deaths in that den of madness, I'd rather not have to deal with the aftermath of you as undead. If you honestly think you can overcome me, I welcome you to try. However, I know for a fact you aren't exactly yourself, Legionnaire. Even at your best, I wouldn't have liked your chances...” then after a short pause and eyeing Minimus's companions added teasingly, “... with or without assistance.”

Largo could see Minimus's grip tighten around his weapon, but the legionnaire didn't make a move in the face of that blatant insult. Largo didn't like what that implied—Minimus Maximus silently agreed with the chimera.

So it was up to Largo to take the initiative, and he did so with all the aggression he could muster towards this pirate who dared stand in his way. He had never felt his blade move so smoothly from his back, nor cut downward so quickly and sharply. This was a blow that would eviscerate everything in his way. It even cracked the stone floor panel where it struck, leaving an inch-deep gouge behind.

Unfortunately, Largo's target had stepped back as easily as if he were made of vapor. Not only had the strike not connected, it didn't even feel like it had come anywhere close. Largo looked up at his foe, who was glaring daggers back at him, cracking his knuckles threateningly.

“Not bad,” the tiger chimera grumbled. “You almost took me by surprise.”

With an angry growl, Largo lunged to attack again, anticipating his opponent's dodge. Largo even anticipated correctly, turning his chop mid-swing into a horizontal swipe that would have no doubt separated the chimera's head from his shoulders.

And it would have, if said chimera hadn't managed to catch the blade with both hands.

The chimera grunted from the effort, which he seemed to consider a minor defeat. “You're a strong young man,” the chimera muttered in concession. “Stronger than you should be. This might take longer than I anticipated.”

Then the entire tower shook, and Largo could hear the chimera mutter a handful of foreign syllables under his breath. “Which I don't have time for. Damn it all.”

With a roar, the chimera ripped Largo's sword out of his hands, deftly spun the massive blade to grab it by the hilt, then drove the pommel into Largo's midsection before the centurion could even think, much less act. Hells, he wasn't even aware of what had happened until he felt all the air rush out of his lungs, and a stinging paralysis turn his legs to jelly.

The blow had struck on the hardened plate across Largo's chest and into the chain mesh below, right over the liver. The armor may have saved his organs from being pulverized, but it did nothing to stop the sheer force of the impact from surging through his body. His discipline screamed at him to not drop his guard, that he would certainly die if he did, but his instincts and pain trumped it, causing his hands to clutch at his stomach and his knees to buckle.

Largo was ready for the pain to end with the blackness of death, but instead he heard the clatter of his sword being dropped to his right, and looked up through pain-hazed vision to see the chimera standing on the other side of the doorway. “Be good. If you're lucky, I'll have resolved this mess before you all starve.”

The door leading up slammed with a wooden echo across the menagerie, then a violent crash from the other side. Largo had rolled over onto his back, fighting his lungs to take in painful breaths, his hands still wrapped over the dent in his armor that the chimera's blow had made.

He then felt a pair of hands close over his and try to pull them away. Largo resisted until he decided that the hands were far too soft and gentle to belong to either of the other soldiers. As his vision focused on Venutae kneeling over him, he relinquished the tension in his body and let her examine the damage.

“The armor definitely took the brunt of the blow,” she determined, running her hands underneath the plate and mesh of his armor, stopping when she heard him hiss with pain. “You're going to have a nasty bruise I'd wager, but the pain should stop quickly. Certainly not enough injury to warrant healing—bad Khufu!”

Largo blinked rapidly at the sudden interruption, and followed Venutae's eyes towards his feet, where the panther had opened his jaws around Largo's armored boot. The big cat's slitted eyes turned in false innocence towards his mistress.

“He's not dead, so you don't get him for dinner,” the mage chided, though her voice was now drifting towards playful as Khufu took two deliberate steps backward, his head down as if in shame. “Besides, I'm told humans don't taste very good anyway.”

“Thank the Coders for small mercies then,” Largo groaned, forcing himself up to a sitting position with a pained grimace etched across his face. Getting hit in the liver was an awful experience, one that he had experienced on more than one occasion as a gladiator, but never with enough force to blow through his armor. “That tigerman is insanely strong.”

He gingerly turned to see Minimus and Adroitus trying to force the door open without success. “I'll say,” the disgraced soldier huffed. “Bastard probably ripped down the whole damn stairwell to block us.”

“What're our options, Magus?” Minimus queried.

“Other than waiting for the tigerman to decide his job is complete, I assume?” Adroitus offered.

The legionnaire didn't even deign that question with a voiced response.

“There is one more way up, but it involves us going through there,” Venutae relented, pointing towards the iron double doors that Adroitus had noted earlier. “That is where the Dominus kept all of his 'truly dangerous' specimens. I rather didn't want go that way, simply because I can't imagine anything in there will be friendly.”

Adroitus suggested, “Perhaps they starved to death like most of the animals in here?”

Venutae's response was so dry Largo could have drank it with a fine meal. “After all that we've gone through already, do you honestly think we'll be that lucky?”

“Good point. Better keep our weapons at the ready.”

“We don't have any other options, Magus?” Minimus asked, though the tone suggested the question was entirely rhetorical. “Then that is where we go. Help the Centurion get his bearings. Footman, assist me with opening this door.”

Venutae sighed even as she was smiling wanly at Largo. “It's not like you need anything more than to get your breath back.” Nonetheless, she offered her hand to assist Largo in getting to his feet, only to have Khufu impose himself by headbutting the mage's hand affectionately, then standing over the centurion, the big cat's face only inches from Largo's.

Largo vaguely remembered advice about avoiding direct eye contact with large predators like the panther in front of him, but couldn't recall what to do when the predator initiates it. The centurion decided not to show submission, figuring that if Khufu was going to bite off his face, Largo could at least meet his fate bravely.

“Khufu!” Venutae reprimanded, but the big cat ignored her for what felt like days to Largo, whose eyes were now locked with those of one of the world's most ferocious animals.

Then Khufu made a huff that almost sounded like a sneeze, and his nostrils flared wide as if trying to determine Largo's thoughts through scent. Largo felt the panther's nose run across his temple, sniffing repeatedly, the bristle of the cat's whiskers brushing across Largo's cheeks and hair.

Then finally, Khufu lowered his nose and bumped Largo forehead to forehead, enthusiastically rubbing his temple across Largo's face.

“Awww, he likes you!” Venutae crooned, even as she ungently pushed the panther off Largo. The big cat grunted in protest, but reluctantly complied and allowed the centurion to stand.

Khufu then just about took Largo's legs out from under him with a full-body bump, and the centurion replied, “Could he perhaps like me a little less?”

Even as he said that, he couldn't resist scratching Khufu on the top of the head and being pleased with the big cat's low, satisfied grumble. It was infinitely better to be on a panther's good side than its bad side, he figured.

Meanwhile, Minimus and Adroitus were not having much success moving the thick metal bar that kept the door to the secondary menagerie tightly closed. Largo prepared to help them until Venutae stopped him with an outstretched arm across his path. “Hold up. I wanna see how long it takes them to see the latch mechanism to the side.”

Largo initially couldn't see it either until Venutae drew attention to it, but once he saw the latch, nothing more than a silver-colored lever just to the right of the door, he put it all together. The bar didn't raise at all; once the latch was lowered it would slide straight into the wall.

He gave Venutae a weak smile, both chiding her and reflecting his amusement, but didn't let the joke linger any further. With another bemused glance in her direction as he walked over to the latch, Largo yanked it down and was rewarded with the sound of grating metal and the retreat of the bar that was holding the door closed.

Minimus and Adroitus first blinked in confusion as it jumped out their hands in an unexpected direction, then followed it to where Largo was standing. The centurion shrugged, and said, “It was right there.”

If Venutae had been hoping for any embarrassment from a trained Reahtan soldier, she ended disappointed. Minimus simply nodded and grabbed one door handle, “Thank you, Centurion. Footman, take the other side.”

Even without the barring mechanism, the heavy iron door was uncooperative. Even together, Largo and Adroitus had to exert themselves to force it open. “They're designed to close quickly rather than open easily,” Venutae warned. “Specifically if something inside here went wrong, the people inside could seal it up and prevent anything from escaping. If we're lucky, we won't learn why.”

Of course, as Venutae predicted earlier, they had no such luck.

Their incursion into this new section of the menagerie had started well enough. Silence ruled in the massive chamber, at least the size of the main menagerie, if not larger. The only notable sound upon their entry was the clang of the door snapping shut with violent and surprising speed. That sound echoed across the length of the chamber, made all the more ominous by the darker surroundings caused by significantly damaged lighting above.

Venutae dared to offer more light, conjuring a small blue-white glowing ball that provided astonishing illumination for its size. She then promptly screamed and jumped back, causing her light orb to flicker and vanish as she fell backwards on her rump.

The mage sounded disgusted with herself as Largo helped her to her feet. “I shouldn't have been scared by that.”

“That” in question referred to what little remained of a human skull, scraps of torn flesh and fabric, and small pieces of shattered bone. It looked reasonably fresh from Largo's reckoning, and Venutae could apparently identify the remains despite the scant evidence. “Well, now we know what happened to the beastmaster.”

“I think we also know why there's no undead down here too,” Minimus added, drawing their attention to the far western side of the chamber, where undead remains were scattered across the west wall like the straw from the pens.

The vast majority of dangerous specimens mercifully hadn't suffered the same fate as the other animals of the menagerie, dying quickly through battle with either the undead invaders or one another. Almost all of them looked as deadly as they must have been in life, as evidenced by the war zone this section of menagerie had become.

A three-headed sunset cobra, named for the brilliant yellow pattern at its head fading to red at its tail, had an undead arm still lodged in its mouth, most likely killed by the red-dappled rockbear that was laying atop of it.

The rockbear, in turn, had been struck by the stinger of a giant acidblood scorpion. The stinger was still lodged in the rockbear's back, torn away from the scorpion, its venom dissolving a large chunk of the rockbear's left flank along with a good portion of its innards.

The scorpion itself had been ripped in half, including the tail, which is how the stinger had been so readily removed. The cause of the scorpion's current state lifted its bloodstained muzzle from a nearby unidentifiable mass of torn flesh, cartilage, and bone, and leveled its sight on the new arrivals to its domain.

Venutae muttered something under her breath that sounded distinctly like “shit” to Largo's ears, and he asked, “I take it this is bad?”

“Remember the bubble buffalo we talked about earlier?” she replied darkly.

“Yeah.”

She pointed at the furry monstrosity barring their way, and said, “That's one of them.”

Largo had never heard of a bubble buffalo until today. The name created a mental image wholly inappropriate for the subtext of fear that it had carried—a little creature that could fit comfortably in his lap, the size of maybe both his hands, blowing little bubbles that floated through the air.

Now he understood. This was no lap animal. This was a titanic beast that stood at least twice as tall as himself. There was nothing fluffy or cuddly about it; horns three feet long curled up and out into sharp points caked with blood from victims both living and dead, and its powerful build of menacing muscle rippled visibly through thick fur that looked more like a coat of barbs than hair.

The bubbles that comprised its name were bulbous growths of semi-transparent membrane raised over the creature's skin, thin enough that it looked like they'd pop with the slightest force, though that seemed unlikely considering he didn't see any burst pustules on the bubble buffalo's head or body.

“Oh,” the centurion finally concluded.

“Pray that it merely has toxic gas,” Venutae added warily as the bubble buffalo had finally decided the four humans were something it should concern itself with.

Largo didn't like the sound of that as he slowly took his sword from his back. “Pardon?”

“There are three distinct subspecies of bubble buffalo, differentiated mostly by what type of gas the bubbles are filled with. There's a toxic gas that can cause disorientation, confusion, and illness. Another is a flammable gas that ignites simply by contact with the air—”

“Sounds like that would be as dangerous to the buffalo as anyone else,” he interrupted.

“Trust me, you really don't want to fight one of these when it's on fire.”

“Fair enough. And the third?”

“A necrotic gas that will rot the flesh off your bones in seconds.”

The centurion exhaled slowly, and shrugged. “I... would rather see this thing on fire, honestly.”

Venutae sighed and rolled her eyes in mild dismay. “You would, wouldn't you?”

The buffalo bellowed in challenge, and stamped its front right foot aggressively. Khufu growled in response, prompting Venutae to try and calm the panther. “Khufu, easy boy,” she said, dropping a hand in between the big cat's shoulder blades. “Wait until I say.”

“I'm not even sure it's a good idea we're about to scrap with this thing,” Adroitus commented as he readied his shield and drew his sword. “You really are going to order this cat into the fray?”

“Khufu's not your average panther,” Venutae replied. “He's probably more equipped to handle these beasts than we are. He'll be of immense use, I promise you.”

The bubble buffalo decided it had been patient long enough, and it lunged with astonishing speed into a charge, trampling over corpses like they weren't even there. Largo was mildly astonished that all of them were able to get out of the way of the beast's rush, then even more astonished when the buffalo managed to stop itself sharply before it crashed into the wall, slamming down with its front hooves so hard that its tail bounced three feet upward.

Then with an agility that should not have been possible for a beast that size, the buffalo slammed its back feet down, then pivoted on its left rear hoof to complete a half circle spin and face the Reahtan party with more than enough time to headbutt Minimus right off his feet as the legionnaire cruelly learned that he didn't have an opportunity for an attack after all.

If anything Minimus was lucky that he didn't get speared clean through with one of the bubble buffalo's horns, and instead crashed with a painful clatter of flesh and steel ten feet away, just short of one of the many torn cages along the perimeter of the chamber.

The bubble buffalo seemed quite eager to finish the job, and might have managed to trample Minimus if Venutae hadn't finally ordered Khufu to attack. The buffalo momentarily regarded the mage's shout, but that split second was the window Khufu needed, his black fur helpfully blending into the floor as he pounced, taking a large portion of flesh from the beast's left rear leg.

That gave Minimus the opportunity to jump back to his feet and assume a defensive position in front of Venutae as Largo attempted his attack. The buffalo, enraged at the wound and spinning in an effort to pin down Khufu, never had the opportunity to react to Largo's blade cutting into its right flank. While the thick hide absorbed the brunt of the damage, Largo doubted it felt good to receive a foot-long gash, especially when it cut through three bubbles that immediately erupted in plumes of fire that tickled the tips of Largo's hair.

The centurion quickly used his right hand to pat out any alight strands in front of his face, and smiled as the bubble buffalo turned its ire towards him, its own fur smoldering with an acrid stench.

“Perfect,” Largo grinned. This was everything he could have wanted.

“Focus on the legs!” Venutae advised. “It's about the only place you can actually hurt it!”

The one mercy was that the bubble buffalo was not a complicated beast. The entirety of its fighting prowess amounted to charging with its head down and attempting to gore its targets with its horns. Of course, when even a glancing blow could theoretically break anything in half, a complex strategy would be merely inefficient.

It was especially bothersome that the damn thing refused to surrender or falter even as its rear legs began to resembled shredded beef. Even with exposed bone in some places, the bubble buffalo was not quitting or showing any signs it intended to. Largo had fought gladiators like this; pain merely spurred them on. They were probably the most irritating opponents of his career, yet none of them were roughly the size of a small house.

His allies were starting to show the fatigue of this battle, a fatigue they couldn't afford with so much of the tower left to climb. They couldn't waste any more time on this.

Minimus agreed with the Largo's silent assessment. “Magus, this isn't working,” he huffed as he forced his tired legs to dive out of the way of a goring headbutt, which was dissuaded only by Adroitus smacking the beast across the side of its head with his shield.

The blow helped put the shield in a proper place to absorb most of the impact as the buffalo whipped its head back, but not enough, judging from the anguished grunt the soldier made as he was launched off his feet and bounced painfully against the stone floor.

Largo was struck with an idea, and perhaps the bubble buffalo was finally angry enough to fall for it. Taking a deep breath, and ignoring Venutae's angry demand to know what in the black hells he was thinking, Largo charged in front of the beast. He slashed it across its nose as he passed, and found himself astonished at how the Reahtan steel barely scraped what should have been delicate tissue.

But it had the effect Largo wanted. The buffalo whirled to face him, shrugging off another snap at its legs by Khufu, then charged at the centurion with blood in its eyes. Largo's legs screamed in pain as he ran for the heavy iron doors at the front of the chamber, hoping he could get clear as he dove to his right just short of his apparent destination. A massive gong rang out as the buffalo met five inches of metal head on, with a blast of fire as the bubbles on its face burst with the impact.

The heavy toll rang through the chamber as its entirety shook with a violence that dropped lighting panels from the ceiling and loosened small pieces of stone from the walls. The doors themselves were bent several inches outward, despite the fact that the locking bar had reset its position after the doors had closed, as the bar could now be seen through a gap between the rent doors.

“Damn the Coders,” Adroitus gasped between breaths as the bubble buffalo slumped into something like a sitting position. “What in the depths were they thinking when they created that thing?”

“I wasn't the only one that saw that, right?” Largo said excitedly, fatigue quickly turning into delight. “That monster was incredible! It was like fighting a force of nature!”

And the force of nature wasn't done fighting.

Largo's delight paused in mid-yell as he heard a low growl from behind him, and turned back around to see the bubble buffalo slowly climb back up to its feet and turn about, still very alive and very angry, if just a bit dazed.

“The Coders can't be serious about this,” Adroitus muttered in deflation, even as his grip tightened around his sword hilt and shield grips in preparation for the next round of battle.

The buffalo certainly wasn't fresh itself, with his left horn snapped off six inches from the tip, the right bent downward at the base, blood running from its upper lip and snout, and smoke rising from its temples and burnt fur. It shook its head several times, the hide on its neck flapping wildly and creating a look almost like a hooded snake's, then it roared in challenge as it start stamping its heavily damaged feet.

Largo sensed another opportunity. As the party scrambled away from the bubble buffalo charging through the chamber again, Largo shouted, “Sir! Can you and the Footman keep the beast occupied for a couple minutes?”

Minimus grunted as he got to his feet, “Have another plan, Centurion?”

“Maybe!”

“Better than I've got,” the legionnaire admitted. “Come on, Footman. Time to earn our keep.”

Adroitus exhaled loudly as he squared up to his foe. “I am jumping for joy on the inside, I promise.”

Largo quickly jumped to Venutae's side, where as he expected Khufu had taken position in defense of his mistress. “Magus, how smart is Khufu?”

The mage raised a questioning eyebrow, and said warily, “Very. Why?”

“Can he understand specific instructions?

“He's one of the Dominus's enchanted creatures. Coders, he's probably smarter than all three of you.”

Largo smiled. “Excellent. Khufu? Come here.”

He was a bit surprised that the panther complied without protest. The centurion scratched the big cat on top of his head as he quietly explained the plan.

Too quietly, in fact, for Venutae's tastes. “What are you telling him?” she demanded, but at that point, man and cat were on the move.

They had the perfect opening. Minimus and Adroitus had by chance forced the buffalo to turn, which meant Largo and Khufu could approach just out of sight. Largo dropped to one knee, leaning forward to create a makeshift incline, and shouted, “Now, Khufu!”

By the time the bubble buffalo reacted to the noise, it was too late. The panther vaulted off Largo's back and onto the buffalo's, promptly sinking his teeth into the nape of the buffalo's neck. While the attack wasn't at all effective, nor did Khufu hold on long before being bucked off, the buffalo rearing backward was exactly the opening Largo needed.

The clue had been when the bubble buffalo shook off its impact with the doors. Skin that loose can't also be very tough—the beast wouldn't be able to move its neck if it was. That was its vulnerable spot, right under the head.

And so when the buffalo came back down after throwing off Khufu, Largo was waiting underneath, the beast's titanic mass helping him drive his sword right into the buffalo's gullet.

Even then, once Largo had pierced the hide, it felt like he was stabbing a rock. His blade, smithed from the finest Reahtan steel, strained for each whisker of depth it could muster. The strike couldn't have taken more than a second, but it felt much longer as Largo gave one last thrust before the buffalo's full weight snapped the blade an inch from the hilt. The dead beast toppled headfirst with a quaking thud, giving Largo just enough time to roll clear.

The first person to him was Venutae, offering an arm to help him to his feet. He welcomed it now that the adrenaline of the fight was draining away. “Where's Khufu? Is he all right?” Largo asked. “I only caught a glimpse of him being thrown.”

Venutae huffed. “He's right here. He's fallen from further than that and landed on his feet.” She then looked down at the panther, who had shimmied between them, seemingly pleased with himself. “Even if he doesn't deserve to sometimes.”

Despite the admonition, her fingers tickled the cat behind his left ear, betraying her real thoughts on the matter.

Adroitus and Minimus closed the distance, the footman gently kicking the buffalo's head and asking, “Are we sure it's dead now?”

“If it wasn't, it'd already be trying to get up,” Minimus answered, then nodded his head in Largo's direction. “You're going to need a new sword, Centurion.”

Largo had forgotten the bladeless hilt that he gripped tightly even now, but he was also reluctant to let it go. He felt... naked, somehow, without a blade in his hand or on his back. But he dropped it nevertheless, if only because he had no convenient way to carry it anymore.

“Well, if we're lucky, there might just be an option,” Venutae said. “The Dominus liked to keep his guard station on the ground floor of the tower, and only very rarely moved it. It was also connected to the island's armory. We should be able to find a suitable replacement there.”

Minimus then added with reluctance, “In the meantime... here.” The legionnaire handed over his own sword. “Not as long as you like, I'm sure, but I suspect it would serve better in your hands at the moment.”

Largo was about to ask why, until he took the sword by the grip and felt Minimus's trembling through the weapon. Minimus could barely keep it steady, betraying the image of vitality he was projecting. The legionnaire was exhausted, even more than the rest of them.

“Thank you, sir. I'll try not to break this one,” Largo replied with a hint of dry humor.

“If we come across another one of those things, I won't hold it against you.” He turned his upper head towards Adroitus, and ordered, “Footman, take the lead. Centurion, stick to the Magus, and I'll take up the rear for now.”

Chapter Six: Reahtan Steel

The access way was really just a cave at first, until it emerged into the open air as part of a railed stairwell supported only by metal beams directly over the short cliff face and open sea. What immediately caught Largo's notice was that the air looking out towards the ocean didn't smell any differently than on the island, or even in the tower.

“It's consistent with the presence of the Void,” Venutae explained worriedly when Largo commented on it. “But... that doesn't make any sense.”

“Why is that, Magus?” Minimus asked.

She shook her head as if she was trying to convince herself. “To suppress the natural world to the degree that all four of us would sense it everywhere on the island would require a massive amount of Void very close by. But if that was the case, we should be able to see it. It would literally be evaporating into the air in the form of dire water. Trust me, Legionnaire. We'd know.”

A small mercy was that the access ramp's location kept them hidden from any undead lingering on the island itself, though there was a path that led back around the tower and onto the island. Venutae ignored that way, instead leading them further up and towards a red door that would lead them into the Dominus's domain.

The mage took a deep breath as her left hand fell onto the handle, and her right slapped directly onto a square panel in the door's center, which Largo just noticed was a slightly different shade than the rest. “Please... just let this be simple. Please let the civil administrator forget to have removed my clearance...”

The panel glowed, then flashed red three times, prompting Venutae to heavily release the breath she was holding. “Of course, the little weasel does his job this one time.”

“Problem, Magus?” Minimus asked.

“Not really. But getting in is going to be a little more involved than I wanted it to be, and might cause some commotion once we're through.”

“It's not like anything else has gone smoothly,” Adroitus quipped. “Can't imagine why it would start now.”

Once again, Largo wanted to shove Adroitus over the railing and into the ocean, as he very nearly did on the journey to the island. Yet he had to acknowledge the soldier wasn't wrong.

Venutae knelt down by the door handle and reached into her satchel, drawing out a long black pin that Largo thought was a lockpick until she started working it around the door's off-colored panel. “So far, so good,” she said, as if that was somehow informative to anyone other than her.

Minimus kept looking over his shoulder toward the path back to the island. Undead could stumble upon it at any time, and Largo had to admit there was little comfort in the fact that nothing had shambled by yet. “I hate waiting,” the legionnaire admitted. “My mind starts playing tricks on me.”

Venutae offered soothingly, “Almost done...”

“I know,” Adroitus added. “I've been certain that a horde was going to come around the bend for the last ten minutes.”

“It hasn't been that long,” the mage countered, this time with a dash of annoyance.

Largo had barely opened his mouth before she crossly cut in, “You so much as utter a sound, Centurion, and you're going swimming. Got it?”

The three men grinned at each other in a rare moment of camaraderie, deciding that was their victory scenario.

Then the panel Venutae had been fiddling with finally dropped away with a shower of purple sparks. “Alright. Let's hurry, because I suspect it's going to get a little crazy very quick.”

She kicked in the door, which indeed set off the sound of a loud, wailing, incessant horn, one that only got louder and echoed through the halls as the mage urged them to follow her inside. She looked at the walls, seeing things that apparently only she could see, frantically leading them through empty hallways and rooms until the horn abruptly stopped.

“That was the timer shutoff,” she said. “No one deactivated the alarm. I think we might be clear.”

“For now,” Minimus amended. “Where to, Magus?”

She again stared at the wall, and pointed to her left. “That way.”

Finally Adroitus asked, “What are you even looking at?”

“There are little clues in the bricks that the walls are made of, hints as to how any given floor is laid out,” she explained. “Like this wall here? On the other side are the servants' quarters. On top of that, since the size of the rooms don't change, it means that each floor can only fit together in certain ways. Therefore, if the Dominus wants to keep the guard station and the armory together on the first floor, like he usually does, that means the armory has to be this way. It's the only place it could fit.”

Largo head swam, and he said with perhaps far more admiration than was prudent, “That you memorized the walls around every room in this tower is nothing short of astounding.”

Despite Venutae's attempt to hide it, he saw a hint of pink appear on her cheeks. “When you spend most of your life here, you learn those sort of things. It wasn't intentional. Anyway, follow me. Keep your blades ready, though. There's no telling when we'll get company.”

Contrary to their concerns, company didn't seem very willing to visit. The halls of the ground floor were empty as far as the team could tell, a faint roar drifting down from the ceiling offering a clue as to why. “Sounds like our pirate friend is indeed busy,” Minimus remarked.

“Better him than us,” Adroitus added. “If only he wasn't equally keen on killing of all of us, too.”

“We're going to need some better plan when we meet him again,” Largo said, smoldering with humiliation. “We cannot be slapped like children in our next encounter.”

“Let's prepare ourselves for that next time before we start planning it,” Minimus ordered, firmly nudging Largo in the back to get him to pick up the pace.

Fortunately for Largo's seething shame, it was only one more turn to their destination, where he finally found suitable targets to take his aggression on. The centurion couldn't have guessed, however, why three undead, dressed in their formal guard uniforms, had been lingering in the armory when all the commotion had been going on elsewhere. Maybe they had been instructed to keep anyone out. Maybe they were recently turned, and still kept some of their purpose in life. Maybe they had gotten lost.

It no longer mattered, because Largo nigh single-handedly cut them down, bursting past Adroitus and nearly knocking over Venutae in the process. The only reason he didn't kill all three in his rage was because Khufu had managed to get the jump on one, ripping out the abomination's throat as Largo finished decapitating his second victim to go along with the sundered skull of the first. Largo fought off the urge to complain about the stolen kill, instead nodding in appreciation to the panther.

At least until Venutae seized everybody's attention with an angry bellow, pointing toward Largo and twirling her finger as she shouted, “Don't you dare attack anything again until I give the clear! Do you understand me?”

Largo and Khufu looked at each other quizzically, and Largo pointed back and forth between himself and the panther. The big cat tilted his head, and rolled his front shoulders in a surprising imitation of a human shrug.

“I'm talking to both of you!” the mage amended, ignoring the guffaws of the two men behind her. “Dominus Augustus had any number of plans in place for an invasion from Reaht, including all sorts of magical traps that could obliterate entire rooms, much like the armory we are standing in! Had it been active, every single one of us could have been incinerated into charred husks!”

She finally stepped forward into the armory and stopped directly in front of Khufu, who had slouched down fearfully, expecting further reprimand. Instead, the panther received an exasperated sigh, and Venutae asking, “You're supposed to be following me, remember?”

Khufu offered a whimper, then headbutted her legs in apology. She exhaled, then relented, “Let's just find the Centurion a proper sword so that he can at least stay several arms' length away from any danger, okay?”

Largo discovered there was certainly no lack of options: four separate rooms lined with swords, axes, spears, and other weapons that he had never even knew existed until now. His eyes were drawn toward a velvet plaque with a particular single-edged blade, three feet in length, narrow, and slightly curved.

Largo's discerning eye for weaponry noting that it was more for decoration than function, with the blade's composition lending itself more to shine and luster than durability, and a jewel-inlaid gold hilt and hand guard that would not have been comfortable or practical in any combat situation.

“That was a present given to the Dominus by a Regent of Xanadu for his willingness to receive refugees from their land,” Venutae explained, siding up to Largo when she saw his interest. “He kept it down here because he didn't want to seem unappreciative, but found hand-to-hand combat distasteful. Even if it was good for a fight, the finesse and precision needed to use that sort of weapon wouldn't be suited for you.”

She nudged him in the side, then slipped her hand under his left elbow. “Come on, there's probably going to be something better in the heavy weapons section.”

Meanwhile, Minimus and Adroitus were admiring the selection. “Is there anything potentially dangerous about this stuff?” the legionnaire asked. “Because if there isn't...”

“Help yourself,” Venutae replied. “The armory here uses the same steel you find in Reaht, but if you find something that would be a suitable backup or secondary weapon, it can't hurt.”

Venutae was now rather insistently pulling Largo to the northwest room, through one filled with ranged weapons like crossbows, bows, and slings. Once again he was distracted by a new sight.

This one was mounted with a flanged steel barrel pointing downward, and a wooden hand grip on the top. It certainly wasn't pretty, no ornate carvings or jewels, but there was a black soot on the inside of the metal end that reminded him of the black powder Venutae liked working with.

“It doesn't work,” she muttered. “Not very well, at any rate. The pirates demolished Reaht Harbor with much larger weapons like this, using black powder to propel large explosive ammunition across distances not even the Magus Corps could match. The Dominus had been entertaining smaller hand-held weapons even before then, but with little success. This would suggest that his recent experiments hadn't fared any better. Come along. Let's not keep everyone waiting.”

Largo was not one to giggle, but when he crossed the threshold behind Venutae at their destination, he made a sound that was suspiciously close. This was clearly where the men of Donne went when they wanted to make things very, very dead.

The left wall was filled with massive blades, the right with large two-handed axes like the ones Legionnaire Maximus made famous in the arenas. The far wall was packed from floor to ceiling with pikes, lances, halberds, and titanic war hammers almost as big as he was. And all reflected the dull sheen and slightly off-colored wavy lines common in true Reahtan steel.

Largo didn't even try to hide the blissful sigh that escaped his lips.

Venutae scoffed disdainfully, and prepared to say something before she stopped. After some thought she confessed, “I was going to mock you, but I have to remind myself I had a very similar reaction when I first was allowed into Dominus Augustus's arcane library.”

“Wow, the Dominus was certainly prepared for war, wasn't he?” Largo asked as his hand ran across the flat of one of the greatswords that were leaning against a rack.

“You have to admit there was always a good chance Reaht would decide the current agreement was no longer acceptable,” Venutae replied, gesturing from his feet to his neck to emphasize his Reahtan armor. “Remember when I told you every citizen was required to have combat and military training in case they needed to be pushed into service?”

“Even you?” Largo asked.

She gave him a tired smile. “Do you think it was out of the goodness of the Emperor's heart that I was admitted into the Magus Corps before taking two steps off the boat? If the three of you weren't quite so insistent on keeping me out of harm's way, you might see it more often.”

Largo hadn't realized he was doing any such thing, and suspected that Minimus and Adroitus didn't either. He rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry. I guess it's just an instinctive thing?”

“I know it is. The 'Reahtan Man' thing. Women aren't even allowed to be anything but medics or in the Magus Corps, like me. I wouldn't expect anything less.” The mage then shrugged, and added, “Besides, if the three of you want to throw yourselves in front of me to keep me from getting bloody, why would I want to stop you?”

Largo choked on a laugh, and reminded himself he was looking for a weapon. The realization that this woman was so much of a distraction that he didn't care about combat readiness was a bit disturbing. He had to keep that in check, especially while they were in the middle of a Coders-forsaken battleground. He turned to the nearest wall, which happened to have the greataxes, and tried to pretend they were most magnificent objects he had ever seen.

“So, found anything you like yet?” Venutae asked. “I can assure you, anything here will be of the highest quality.”

“I know,” Largo said, hoping he sounded convincing. “I'm... having a hard time choosing.”

The mage came around behind him, and he had to fight from jumping out of his skin as she brushed against his back, her hand hooking under his arm and turning him to his right. “I think you'll be more adept with the swords over here.”

Largo could almost feel her teasing breath on his neck. She had to be doing this on purpose. “Magus—”

“It's just the two of us in here,” Venutae replied. “Don't you think we can dispatch with formalities?”

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He was not used to this. Subtext was never a strength of his. For all he knew, she was just being as personable as she had been on the ship. Yes, she had been familiar and flirty at times, but she hadn't really meant anything serious by it.

Her hands moved up from his elbow to his forearm, and he could feel the electricity in the touch despite the layers of chain mesh and metal plate. Finally he turned, grabbed her by the shoulders, and again felt her stiffen, her eyes abruptly fearful.

“I...” she stammered, “I'm sorry. Please don't...”

“Please don't what?” Largo demanded, releasing his grip, and letting her take a couple steps back.

She shook her head, frustrated. “Please don't stop. Please don't do any more. Please don't listen to me. Please don't... Coders, I don't know!”

Her entire body seemed to wither. “I've... I'm sorry. I've been teasing you horribly the last few days. Maybe you haven't noticed.”

Largo shook his head. “I noticed something.”

Venutae took a step forward, but recoiled almost immediately. “Have you ever seen how moths are drawn to open flame?”

Largo shook his head. “I can't say the lives of moths ever concerned me.”

“They fly ever closer to the warmth and the light, and often wind up getting burnt in the flames,” Venutae explained. “You... you're the first man that hasn't regarded me like a trophy to be won, or a toy to play with. That's both the truth and depressing. And like the moth, I've been drawn to that, and not in any subtle way, either.”

After a brief pause, she continued, “But whenever you've responded in kind, I've... withdrawn. And I'm sorry for that. It's not fair. I thought I was over what had happened to me, but clearly I'm not.”

Finally Largo tried to cut to the heart of the matter. “What happened to you, then?” he asked, and when distress rolled over her face at the question, Largo walked it back. “You don't have to—”

The tension was dispelled by a loud clattering of metal on stone. Both Largo and Venutae jumped at the sound, caused by Khufu knocking over an entire rack of greatswords, presumably in his attempt to grab the hilt of the one that was now in his mouth.

“Khufu,” Venutae groaned wearily as Minimus and Adroitus jumped into the room with weapons ready. “What are you doing?”

She knelt down in front of the panther, who was not the least bit upset by the scene it caused, instead huffing and trying to headbutt Venutae without hitting her with the sword he was holding. The mage groaned in exasperation, “Why are you... wait...”

Venutae gently took the sword by the guard, Khufu happily yielding it to her. She looked at the pommel, then eyed Khufu suspiciously. “You... wait right here, buddy.”

The mage rose to her feet and dashed back towards the entrance, the sword scraping across the stone behind her, followed by the three men. Just inside the entrance Largo noticed there was a pedestal, with what appeared to be a ledger bound in black leather, likely a registry judging from the way that Venutae consulted it while repeatedly looking back at the sword's pommel.

Finally, she glared over her shoulder at Khufu, and said, “This can't be coincidence. How did that furball know?”

“Know what?” Minimus wondered.

“When Khufu's mother passed away, part of her remains were incinerated, and used to forge a greatsword.” The mage tapped the pommel of the sword, where Largo could somewhat see an etching of numbers and letters. “This greatsword, specifically.”

“Really?” Largo asked, suddenly intrigued by the notion of a sword forged from a panther.

Venutae shrugged, “That's the secret to true Reahtan steel. Ash from bone forged with the purest iron. While any bone can do, the Dominus preferred those of great animals, like Khufu's mother. I'm not sure how, but the clever beast here must have known this specific blade was the one that used his dam's remains.”

Minimus couldn't hide his smirk even if his voice managed to remain level. “Well, Centurion, sounds to me like your choice has been made for you. How could you possibly turn down a panther-blessed blade?”

Venutae offered the massive sword with a slight smile, and Largo finally took hold at the grip, stepping back for clearance as he tested the weapon. It was heavier in the pommel than his previous one, and the blade slightly darker due to the presence of more black ripples in the metal. He couldn't remember if that was good, bad, or made no difference at all.

But at the same time, it was definitely of masterful quality, with good flexibility that would resist breaking better than his last one, but rebounded to a proper cutting shape with no apparent deformity. Two vertical swings followed by a pair of horizontal slashes demonstrated it was as light as a proper Reahtan blade should be, allowing deceptively quick reactions for a weapon of that size.

He looked down at Khufu, who had sidled up to him and looked back expectantly. “You are truly okay with me using this, are you?”

Khufu headbutted Largo's hip affectionately, and the centurion assumed that was explicit permission.

“So we're talking to the big cat like it's a person now?” Adroitus interjected.

Khufu seemed to vanish from the spot, so quickly did he pounce and tackle Adroitus. The panther's face then hovered close to the fallen soldier's, with a very deliberate show of teeth and a threatening growl. While Largo was still not entirely convinced that Khufu was in fact as intelligent as anyone present, the panther certainly seemed to understand when he was being disrespected.

To Adroitus's credit, he quickly changed his tone. “Okay... I can see that my words came across as unnecessarily harsh. I won't do it again, good feline friend.”

Venutae was trying not to laugh, and only partially succeeding. “Khufu. Down. Come here.”

The panther obeyed, and it astounded Largo that a creature with such strength, speed, and intelligence would willingly defer to any human, mage or not. The fact he had even momentarily entertained any of the affections bubbling within himself now made him worry for his sanity. If Venutae could get that mighty predator to heel without resistance, then just how powerful was she?

Minimus helped Adroitus to his feet, then the legionnaire asked, “So, where to now, Magus?”

She thought about this. “There are going to be two interior stairwells, one to the north and one to the south. How far up they go isn't going to be certain until we get there. We're closest to the northern one, so it's as good a path as any.”

Minimus shifted his shoulders to adjust the weight of the new toys on his back and hips, a sign to prepare to move. “Then lead on, Magus.”

Largo silently offered to return Minimus's sword, but the legionnaire refused. “I'd suggest you keep it, just in case. It can never hurt to have an alternate.”

He then leaned in and whispered, “I'll be honest, when I heard all that clatter, I was expecting to see you and the Magus half naked and one on top of the other.”

Largo felt he resisted the color in his cheeks quite well. “That would be highly inappropriate for two people in an active combat situation.”

Minimus laughed, and waved off the questioning looks from the three others who had moved to the head of the party. “Fraternization has been a part of the Reahtan army even before women were allowed to serve in limited duties. Coders, it was common for every man to have a pairing within a company. You'd hardly be alone in that regard.”

“It's a bit more complicated than that, and I'd rather not discuss the matter further, with all due respect,” Largo said with finality. To be fair, it's not like he knew much more to discuss on the matter to begin with.

Minimus allowed Largo to leave, but the centurion caught the legionnaire lingering in the room. Following his eyes, Largo noted that Minimus was focused on the row of greataxes that were somehow still mounted on the wall despite Khufu's commotion. “Legionnaire?” Largo asked.

“It's nothing. Just remembering old times,” Minimus replied wistfully. “I probably shouldn't. Let's move on.”

They returned to the hall, confirming that nothing had responded to the commotion, then Venutae indicated to Largo to head north. Largo complied, and managed to take four strides before he crashed into Khufu in the middle of the fifth.

In fairness, no one saw Khufu stop, so it wasn't entirely Largo's fault that he tripped over the panther. The centurion caught himself before he could completely tumble over the big cat, but Khufu seemed to have a complete lack of concern from the impact. Instead, his head was turned upward, and he was slowly taking careful steps backward.

“Khufu? What is it, boy?” Her head followed Khufu's upward, though Largo couldn't imagine what either of them could see other than the ceiling.

It turned out it wasn't so much what the panther saw, as much as what he heard. The rest of the team eventually heard it as well—a screeching, airy hiss and bellowing roar, followed by stone cracking, then finally a rattling thud that rained rubble down on the team.

Two ivory-colored fangs, dripping with what might have been blood, burst through the ceiling, then quickly withdrew just in time for another roar and another jarring crash.

Venutae blinked and suggested, “How about we try the southern stairs?”

Minimus was no coward, but his many years had taught him prudence. This wasn't a fight they needed to be a part of, whatever it was. “Good idea, Magus.”

The team spun on their heels and tore back the way they came, passing the armory, then a left, then a right onto a parallel hall that went around what looked to be a reception chamber. As they made another left turn after circling around the outside of that chamber, the team finally encountered resistance. Undead began shambling out of the stairwell ahead, and right into the sights of the Reahtan invaders.

Largo charged past Venutae, eager to test out his new weapon on some deserving targets.

In the nine years since he had first been given his previous weapon, after winning his first competitive arena tournament, he had never really maintained it. He accepted the conventional wisdom that Reahtan steel was so strong that it never needed sharpening to hold a keen edge or oiling to prevent rust.

He quickly learned the folly of that wisdom as his new blade cut through undead flesh and bone like he was slicing through a loaf of freshly baked bread. The first monster probably didn't even realize it had been cut, much less clean through, until it tried to take another step and its chest slid smoothly off its abdomen.

Largo didn't give it any further concern, because he was already in the process of his next cut, a wide horizontal slash that resulted in the satisfying sight of three heads being separated from their bodies near simultaneously. That gave him pause to admire his handiwork, and allowed his teammates time to finally join in the fray.

Largo stopped counting the numbers of foes shortly after ten. It became more of a trial just to keep pushing forward as the hordes started piling up, and the dangers to his footing became greater with each splatter of blood. Just how many damned people lived on this damned island anyway?

Fittingly, that was exactly the question on Minimus's mind after the wave of undead had abated, and the remains of at least forty corpses were cluttered in the hall. When he voiced his thoughts to Venutae, the mage answered, “That's a very good question. The last census that I knew of had slightly less than a thousand permanent residents, and maybe a hundred diplomats and soldiers of the Reahtan Empire. We came across damn near that many outside the tower alone. Even if you counted tourists, merchant, sailors... could the Dominus have managed to turn everyone on the whole island? If so, how?”

Minimus apparently felt strong enough to take the lead again, because he was the one to step forward and into the stairwell. “Well, we aren't going to find out standing here. Onward.”

Chapter Seven: Survivor

The southern stairwell allowed them to avoid whatever chaos was unfolding on the second floor, and they decided to push their luck on avoiding the third as well.

“The faster we get to the top, the faster we can hopefully end this catastrophe,” Minimus had said as he ordered the the team onward. Nobody had any particularly compelling argument against his logic.

It soon became clear, however, that the fourth floor would be their limit for now. Aside from the fact that the stairwell narrowed uncomfortably tight by that point, the stairs ended directly in front of an oaken door without even a landing. Minimus put his ear to the door, listening intently for activity on the other side. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and he shook his head slowly as he tentatively reported, “I'm not hearing anything.”

He then stumbled forward as Khufu weaved through the team and headbutted the door open, striding casually onto the floor proper.

Venutae shrugged as Minimus glared at her accusingly. “Khufu has much better hearing than any of us.”

The legionnaire grumbled as he straightened, then gestured for the rest of the team to follow him inside. Venutae's eyes lit up the moment they crossed the threshold. “This is the library! Amazing that it's still mostly intact!”

That much seemed true, at least from the ten rows of shelves that he could see before the walkway ended in a massive dividing wall. The shelves themselves towered to the ceiling, packed almost to bursting with books; some were stocked even beyond capacity, judging from the handful of books strewn on the floor.

“Stay close,” Venutae ordered. “It's easy to get lost in here, and it's entirely possible the Dominus has loaded this floor with magical traps.”

At least, that was her excuse for the slow pace. Largo suspected she had other motives, judging from her happy chirps as she pointed out various books that she remembered and enjoyed.

“You've never read The Giving Oak?” she said in astonishment after Largo had just admitted such.

“Outside of the reading I was required to demonstrate to become a Reahtan citizen, I cannot say I've read much beyond that,” he confirmed.

“What about Where the Cobblestones End? The Missing Shard? Everything Upon It?”

“No. No. And no.”

She sighed forlornly. “Truly, the mind of a gladiator is not fertile ground.”

At least Largo could sense she was teasing. Had she been serious, he might have some strong words of his own to share. Instead, he offered a shake of his head and replied, “For some, words and pages are the soil, for others it is sweat and steel.”

She flashed him a wink and a smile. “I suppose even the unread can be poetic.”

Khufu had moved ahead, dutifully sniffing at the ground until he reached the dividing wall. “You know, I think he might be sensitive to magic and can sniff out any traps. That would be why he was so unconcerned about them in the armory,” Venutae said uncertainly. “Either that, or he finds the smell of the books interesting. He's never been this far up the tower since he was a kit, after all. Could be either, really.”

Largo raised an eyebrow and asked, “You don't know how he was enchanted?”

Venutae shook her head. “Not the specifics. I never had particular affinity in that art, and as such the Dominus never really tried to press me to learn beyond the basics. He claimed he wanted me to master my conjuring, as he felt I'd be able to offer a unique skill set to the current archmages rather than another invoker.”

Minimus interjected, “And then Domina Pirogoeth became the fourth archmage anyway, and the Dominus decided he no longer had any use for you?”

Largo saw Venutae's body lock into the same rigor she had whenever he surprised her. It passed quickly, so he might have been the only one to notice it. “Something like that. Yes.”

If anyone intended to confront the mage on her very evasive answer, those thoughts were stolen by Khufu as he made the turn around the dividing wall in front of them and uttered a low growl. “Khufu?” Venutae asked, picking up her pace to catch up to the panther. “What's wrong, boy—oh Coders...”

Largo was not even a stride behind her, so he didn't have the chance to ask before he saw for himself. Beyond the dividing wall, nearly the entirety of the northwest section was simply gone. The floor and ceiling both had collapsed, taking whatever shelves had been in that section with it.

Looking down, Largo saw that the gap ended two floors below, and concluded that must have been the end result of the din they experienced at the main floor's north stairwell. Looking up suggested that wherever the fight had started was many floors farther above.

“Burning hells,” Adroitus whistled as he saw the damage. “I don't even want to know what did this, do I?”

“Probably not,” Minimus agreed.

“We're going to find out eventually, aren't we?”

“Probably.”

The disgraced soldier sighed, “Of course.”

Venutae quickly lost interest in the damage, her eyes drifting towards the largely undamaged northeast, narrowing suspiciously. “Wait... Centurion, stay close to me. Be ready.”

The mage worked her way around the gaping hole in the floor, slowly navigating the rubble of torn books, splintered wood, and tattered cloth while keeping her eyes fixated on something only she could see. Once clear of the ruined section, she extended her hand, fingers splayed out.

“There's something here. A very faint undercurrent of arcane energy that shouldn't be here,” she finally explained. “The Dominus was so very careful about any loose magic seeping into the library. He claimed that there was so much power stored in some of these tomes that even the slightest spark of anything would be catastrophic. What could possibly be leaking power?”

The northeast section of the library looked more like a study room, shelves blocking off nearly all sides except for a gap along the south face, one barely Largo's width. There seemed to be nothing of note within except a circular table stained a dark red-brown, with three chairs and a stack of books two feet high, marking the center of the alcove.

Minimus offered, “The tower is in chaos. Couldn't whatever this is have come from anywhere?”

Venutae shook her head. “I'm not explaining it well. There's a certain... feel, I guess... to 'accidental' magic like that of a broken artifact, damaged tome, or a natural source. But this leak feels intentional. It's too orderly; there's a distinct pattern to the energy. Now I just need to find it.”

It must have been a much harder task then Largo would have thought, considering the small space the mage was investigating. Venutae was rotating in circles while revolving around the table, her face turning increasingly annoyed by her lack of success.

“Are you even sure there's anything here?” Adroitus asked, though surprisingly without the insulting tone Largo had come to expect from the soldier. He in fact looked and sounded genuinely worried, reminding Largo of Venutae's own warnings about mages and their strained relationship with sanity.

“I'm certain of it at this point,” she snapped, closing her eyes and trying to concentrate. After several nervous moments, her eyes snapped open and her face lit up in realization. “This is an illusion! Of course! Look at the table!”

The three men did so, confused as to what they were supposed to be seeing. “What about it?” Adroitus finally asked.

Venutae pointed to the stack of books. “A quarter of the floor just on the other side of these shelves collapsed. How could these books still be so neatly arranged? Hells, how could any of this still be so tidy?”

Once Largo accepted this observation, other nagging details fell into place. The tiles of the floor were far too pristine, and there's no way that a table like that didn't accumulate some scratches and nicks over time. Even more unbelievable was the fact that none of the books showed any signs of ever being opened at all, much less read.

Then the entire illusion collapsed, like a mirror had shattered right in front of his face. Largo instinctively tried to shield his face, only to feel silly about it moments later when nothing promised him harm. At least he wasn't alone; Minimus and Adroitus were lowering their own arms while Venutae observed the three men with bemusement.

But at least they now saw the true damage to the library, and it was definitely extensive.

Largo coughed at the dust that now filled his lungs. The brightness of the library was replaced with a brown-gray haze that filled the air, partially shrouding the devastation. No shelf was left standing, and no book he could see was in any condition to be read. Oddly enough, the only thing that remained intact was the table, now covered in dust and rubble.

Even more startling was the person huddled in the southwest corner, surrounded by a makeshift fort of knee-high splintered wood.

Venutae immediately recognized the man. “Barquan!” she shrieked, skipping through the ruined library towards the curled-up figure. Largo started to follow, but a glint of something out of the corner of his eye snared his attention. He wasn't sure why it caught his eye, but his instincts were rarely wrong, and he had learned to heed them.

Then he saw it, back on the table—a small silver ring with a circular blood-red ruby mounted in the center. Largo wasn't sure how he managed to see it in passing, or how he could have overlooked it before. Venutae had said she had felt a magic centered on the table; could this be what she had sensed?

Largo reached out for the curious item, only to be interrupted by a loud bellow from a voice he didn't recognize.

“Don't touch that, you fool!”

The centurion whirled around at Barquan. He had jumped to his feet, partially supported by Venutae, his hand reaching out in Largo's direction and his chest visibly rising and falling in panic. “That artifact is what maintains the illusion in the library. You move that, and every single undead monster in this tower will sense our very living bodies.”

Largo sheepishly stepped away from the table and grinned nervously. At least he was right about it being important.

“Come over with us, Centurion,” Minimus ordered. “Librarian Barquan was about to tell us what he's learned while hiding.”

It didn't sound like Largo had missed much. By the time he had sided up to Venutae, the mage was asking, “So, you've been like this for two weeks?”

Barquan nodded weakly, finally comfortable enough with his own balance to stand without her help. “I've been running low on food, as you can imagine. Careful rationing has been what's kept me this long. This illusionary haven was not meant to be sustained for more than a handful of days in case of invasion. It was not intended for a long-term occupation.”

“Right after our last communication from the island would have been sent... at least before the lack of one would stir us to action,” Minimus observed. “This was timed well to give himself the most opportunity to build his forces before Reaht came looking.”

Barquan snorted, “Dominus Augustus was never afraid of your pitiful empire. He only made the agreement in the first place because your soldiers were being an annoyance and delaying his work. That might have been the impetus for his... shady associate, however.”

“Associate? You mean the tigerman?” Minimus wondered.

Barquan shook his head. “Oh no. The tiger chimera that you no doubt saw was a very recent addition to this cast of characters. I first saw him moving through the tower about four days ago. No, the man I'm referring to started to appear in the tower almost a year ago, and very frequently since. While the Dominus has received magical artifacts and materials for decades, once this person appeared on the scene, he was present for nearly every contraband shipment the Dominus received.”

“Can you describe him?”

Again the librarian shook his head. “Not with any confidence. He always wore a long, hooded cloak, almost black as night, and seem to actively avoid allowing anyone other than the Dominus to get a look at his face. The most notable thing about him otherwise that he had a remarkably gentle voice. You would not think anything was amiss hearing him, even as he was leading you off a cliff into shark-filled waters. Like the final artifact he personally brought to the Dominus, and what I expect caused everything to go awry.”

“What happened?”

“I didn't see it personally, mind you. The library happened to be three floors below the Dominus's personal chambers on that day, so the stranger had to use one of my stairwells to get there. It didn't seem like much at the time, a small black box tucked under his right arm that almost blended in with his cloak. I'm not the most mystically sensitive, but even I could sense a dread power as the stranger passed.” At that point, Barquan moaned in distress, “I should have said something, but I did not feel it was my place to do so.”

“Not likely that the Dominus would have listened to you,” Venutae comforted. “Especially if our stranger had already earned his trust to the point that he was being granted access into the sanctum. And you think that last artifact was what prompted this?”

“It was within hours that the first zombies started appearing. This is different than simple necromancy; its roots stem from an ancient magic that not even I fully understand. It does more than animate the dead, though that is certainly one thing it can do. No, this curse initially steals your soul away. Your body still lives, but you do not. That is the essence of zombies, the 'living dead.'”

Venutae went as pale as her chocolate skin could allow. “That's... oh, Coders...”

The librarian didn't stop there. “But it gets worse. This curse has spread, even long after the stranger left. It's almost like a disease, but none that I can identify. Extended contact with a zombie can turn you as well, from what I can tell. These zombies also possess disturbing necromantic powers of their own, even if they were not mages in life. It's how the island continues to grow in numbers, either by turning visitors, or killing them and reanimating their corpses.”

Venutae's distress turned into terror. “Legionnaire... the legion!”

Barquan nodded. “If you brought an army, I fear that they have already risen into the ranks of the undead, or are in the process now.” He looked to the west, and said, “Perhaps we should find out.”

Careful maneuvering around the massive hole in the floor brought Largo to his destination, a pair of oak doors that had broken off their hinges. The left one was completely immovable, but a little bit of elbow grease on Largo's part managed to open the right one enough to give access to the library's exterior balcony.

The balcony had survived the chaos that tore apart the connecting library; it was more disheveled than decimated. The covering roof was still intact, outside of a little dust shaken down onto the stained wood floor. The two nearest tables to the door had been tipped over, but the other three farther away had merely been jostled, only the misaligned chairs suggesting that anything had occurred here. Not that Largo paid much thought to the furnishings once he saw what was happening at ground level.

The centurion considered himself a stout fellow. There was little that ever rattled him. He'd stared down some of the most rugged warriors and fearsome beasts the world had to offer without so much as a blink. But watching as the dead came to life... that made him shudder.

The bulk of the fallen legion had already been reanimated, mindlessly shambling through the courtyard of the tower and the town beyond. Largo's attention, however, was grotesquely fixated on one corpse in the process of reanimating. The centurion couldn't remember what the soldier's name had been in life; he was merely one of the many nameless footmen from the primary ship. Whoever he was, he had died at the tower's main entrance, caught in the retreat from the stairs judging from how he had fallen face-down on the cobblestone, his right arm torn away from its socket.

The soldier's left arm was bent awkwardly to begin with, wrenched forward at the shoulder but with the forearm twisted almost backward to press up against the corpse's side. It started to tremble, then twitch, as muscles frozen in rigor mortis were forced into movement. With a sickening crunch of sinew that Largo could hear even from his position, the dead soldier's forearm jerked upward, perpendicular to the ground, his fingers splayed out yet crooked, as though he was trying to grasp something just out of his reach.

The detached right arm began to slither across the ground like some sort of serpent, and the left arm again bent unnaturally, turning in a rapid circle at the elbow before slapping onto the ground. The right leg then slid upwards and twisted at the knee, bracing itself to push the rest of the body upright, followed by the left leg pulling itself underneath. Finally, the right arm, which had been dangling lifelessly since returning itself to its proper position, locked into place with a pop, and the reassembled corpse stood. Its head snapped back, showing off the road burn and slack-jawed grimace painted on the dead soldier's face, then whiplashed forward like a puppet with all its strings finally pulled taut.

“Well, that was gruesome,” Largo finally said, pleased with himself that he didn't vomit.

“It's the same as in the Daynelands,” Venutae croaked.

Minimus raised an eyebrow, and asked, “Magus?”

Venutae explained, “This undead menace sounds similar to what Domina Pirogoeth reported occurring in the Daynelands during the latest Daynish Campaigns, in how this curse can spread without direct action by the one who started it. She also noted a tiger chimera had been present, seemingly watching the campaign unfold. Considering that there aren't likely too many tigermen alive, I think it's safe to assume it's the same person. While he might not be the one responsible for either curse, he's clearly tied to these events somehow.”

“I agree,” Minimus replied, “and all the more reason to engage him cautiously in the future. But the more pressing issue is how we stop this.” The legionnaire made a broad sweeping gesture to the island below. “The blockade won't hold forever. At the very least, we need to stop our legion from expanding their numbers as more ships and people arrive.”

Barquan said thoughtfully, “Well, while it won't do much for the living dead still in the tower, there could be a way to handle the undead army on the island and keep them from... recruiting more visitors.”

“Go on...” Minimus encouraged.

“The apothecary is, if I remember rightly, one floor above, and I have not seen any indication that it has moved. The man himself owned a focusing crystal that he largely kept secret. I think only the Dominus and I knew about it, and the Dominus had many other more useful artifacts to bother with one so relatively trivial.”

“A focusing crystal would hardly be considered 'trivial,'” Venutae noted, “but regardless... what could you do with one?”

“Not me,” Barquan corrected, pointing at the mage. “You.”

He gestured out to the horizon. “The high tide will be coming within the hour. A mage with a focusing crystal would be able to give that tide a little nudge if you will, washing whatever isn't ripped apart by the waves far out to sea.”

Venutae had to hold back a loud scoff as she said, “I think you grossly overestimate my abilities with elemental magic. Not to mention that the latent energies that I can draw from are growing weaker by the hour.”

Barquan dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand. “There are ways around that, my dear,” he declared, nudging between Adroitus and Minimus to return to the library proper, beckoning them to follow. “The apothecary will have plenty of materials for you to concoct an elixir that will allow you a short-term burst of magical power. That should be enough to do what needs to be done.”

With the practiced confidence of a librarian who knew exactly where to find everything he needed, Barquan wove through the toppled and damaged shelves before stopping at one that leaned distressingly against the southeastern corner, its interior legs snapped.

“As I recall, my edition of 'Potent Potables' was on this shelf,” he said thoughtfully, then pointed to Largo and asked, “You look like a strong sort. Could you hold this up for me for just a moment?”

Largo frowned, but complied as Barquan dove into the space that Largo had created, digging through the toppled books, presumably looking for something. The centurion quickly noted that “a moment” seemed to mean something very different in a librarian's reckoning than his own, as Barquan spent several minutes in the space, grumbling to himself with increasing amounts of frustration at his inability to find what he was looking for. Not that Largo was getting tired; the bookshelf's weight was insignificant with all the books dumped out, but having to look at this old man's backside as he bent over and dug through the pile was becoming rather awkward.

Eventually, Largo repositioned himself with his back to the shelf, so he look to his teammates. Admittedly, Venutae was considerably easier on the eyes than a bony old man. She seemed amused by the sight and Largo's discomfort with it, which made the vision of her slightly less appealing.

Finally, mercifully, Barquan backed out of the corner with a triumphant, “Found it!”

Largo released the shelf, which chose that moment to split in half and collapse as it smacked against the wall, the force of the impact proving too much for the supporting wood. But any concern for the shelf or the books beneath it was lost on Barquan as he dashed toward his office in the southwest corner, a room that Largo had somehow never noticed even in the illusion of the intact library.

All three men turned their eyes to Venutae, but the mage's shrug told them she didn't have any answers either. Fortunately, Barquan provided them when he emerged again, skipping happily around the devastation to shove a folded piece of paper into Venutae's hand. “With any luck, the apothecary was spared the worst of the damage from the fight that literally dropped in from above, and you'll be able to concoct this. That should give you the jolt you need. But you have to go quickly.”

The mage regarded the list and instructions that she had been given, and frowned. “Barquan, I understand your urgency to settle this quickly, but the high tide comes in twice a day in this part of the world. We just fought our way past the Dominus's bubble buffalo, and damn near half the island just to get to this point. We're exhausted, to be frank, and this floor has been the first respite we've had since landing.”

Largo didn't know Barquan beyond introductions, but the centurion felt the initial flicker of reaction from the librarian bordered on impatience. If that was the case, Barquan recovered so quickly that Largo wondered if he'd imagined it. “Right! Of course!” he said with genuine astonishment. “I was so eager to be of help that I didn't think of what you have gone through! Yes, quite right! The illusion is still in place, so this would be as safe a place as any in the tower to rest weary bodies.” After pausing to reassess the state of the library, he sheepishly added, “Though I can't promise there is much in the way of comfortable arrangements.”

“I think we've all slept on solid rock at some point in our careers, civilian,” Minimus replied indifferently, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders. “We'll make due. We'll even move any books nicely if we have to.”

Barquan waved off that concern. “At this point, whatever books haven't already been ruined will be by the time this entire affair is settled and cleanup begins. Anything that desperately needed saving has already been stored in my office.”

Largo didn't wait for further permission, claiming a section in the southeast corner, dropping his weapons and pack to his left, then sitting down against the damaged partition between library's main room and stairwell. After settling into place, he decided to address a matter that nobody else had brought up yet, much to his own surprise.

“So... I suspect you know what caused that,” he prompted Barquan, nodding toward the collapsed section of the library floor.

The librarian regarded the hole, then turned back, nodding vigorously. “Oh yes. I even saw it climb back up after the fall.”

“Saw what?” Minimus insisted with a hint of impatience.

“The Great Spider Spirit. Taken from the northern reaches of Reaht. It was one of the Dominus's last acquisitions before the undead chaos started.”

Venutae's jaw dropped, and she sputtered, “H... how? How did the Dominus manage to subdue and capture a beast like that?”

Adroitus muttered, “Glad to know someone knows what's being talked about.”

“Great spirits of the wild,” Venutae explained with a hint of exasperation. “There used to be hundreds of them, some of them as old as the birth of the world. They can exist either as apparitions or as physical beings, which is what makes engaging one difficult, much less bringing them to heel. The Great Spider Spirit was worshiped by the people of Hessia to the north, and they believed that the spirit would rise up and overthrow the Reahtans invaders.”

“Which was why their resistance was so dogged, and why pockets of cultists survive even today,” Minimus finished with a growl. “Why in the Coders' name did Augustus bring that monster here?”

Barquan shrugged, “That I don't know. What I do know is that he somehow brought it up from its cage to the top of the tower, and that it got loose shortly after everything else spiraled out of control.” He snapped his fingers and added, “Come to think of it, that tiger chimera you were all talking about fell with the beast. I think he was fighting it.”

“Did the tigerman come back up?” Minimus asked. Largo could sense hope in his voice; if the spider spirit had dealt with the tigerman, that'd be one less headache for them.

“Eventually. He stomped through my library on his way back up the tower. He was so angry that I don't think he even suspected the illusion.”

“Oh well, it was a hope,” Minimus sighed.

“Well, while you men hope, I'm going to get some rest,” Venutae declared as she stretched.

Largo tried so very hard to look away while the motion emphasized every fascinating aspect of her body. He failed miserably.

The mage was staring right back first with a playful smile that turned to a neutral frown as she dropped her arms. Largo cursed himself and clenched his eyes shut, trying to force himself to sleep. While his mind didn't seem cooperative, his body mercifully was, after a day of nearly incessant peril and combat.

Further evidence that he needed to stop thinking.

Chapter Eight: I Wish I May

Largo was never one to dream. That is, he could rarely recall any dreams that lingered with him upon waking.

Except one.

He was running. Or at least he thought he was. There were no surroundings for him to interpret movement, just a pervasive blackness so deep he couldn't even see his own hands. But he felt like he was running... somewhere.

Who was he? Why was he here? Where had he come from?

His only answer was silence.

He wasn't sure why, but somehow he knew there were supposed to be answers. There was supposed to be something here.

Then he felt himself falling away, even as he frantically struggled to stay, desperate to find anything that had the answers to who he was and where he came from. But like every other time he had this dream, the blackness faded into a brilliant speck of light.

Which surrendered to another darkness.

A distinctly furry darkness once Largo's eyesight came into focus.

The centurion blinked rapidly as he adjusted from the dreaming world to the waking. Largo had somehow slid into a slouched position with his head propped up by the remains of a shelf. Khufu's head was laying on his chest, the panther's eyes blinking slowly with what Largo interpreted as concern. The big cat seemed reluctant to move from his position though, probably because Largo's arm was draped over his neck.

“Goodness, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?”

Both Largo's head and Khufu's eyes turned upward towards the sound, revealing Venutae leaning over them with a teasing grin.

Man and panther shared a wary moment, before Largo's lips turned upward mischievously. “I thought we were going to keep this secret, Khufu.”

The panther huffed as a single peal of laughter escaped the mage's lips before she could rein it in. Her expression softened. “You looked like you were having a nightmare. The other two didn't want to wake you in case you lashed out, but the furball here would have none of that. You okay?”

Largo released Khufu and slowly sat up. “As okay as I am going to be with a stiff neck.”

He rolled his head from side to side, both for effect and in the hope of loosening up his muscles, and was rewarded by a satisfying pop as the pressure released abruptly.

Venutae cringed. “That can't be healthy. Anyways, you two ready to go shopping with us?”

Largo stood more abruptly than he should have, as his head swam and his neck throbbed with the sudden movement. It cleared quickly, and he confidently said, “Yes.”

“Then get your gear and let's get moving. The next tide is in about three hours, and I'll need to be ready for it.”

Largo noted the trepidation in her voice as he made sure his new sword and pack were secure. “You don't sound eager to try it.”

Venutae unfolded the recipe that Barquan had given her, regarding it with apparent fear. “I know some of the ingredients this potion calls for. They aren't... pleasant. Let's say that. But if I'm going to wipe out the army that's formed on the island, I'm going to need all the help I can get.”

“If you aren't comfortable doing this, we can find an—”

“I'm not going to be comfortable with much of anything, Centurion,” she interrupted, “but there's no telling when other ships are going to try to arrive, and this plan will work. I just need to do it.”

“Very well,” Largo conceded with a slight bow. “Lead on.”

Venutae certainly knew how to present an air of confidence, even when Largo knew she was feeling anything but that. “Alright, on to the apothecary,” she declared to the rest of the party, turning east at the center of the library towards another set of stairs upward.

“It's practically a workout just navigating this tower, isn't it?” Adroitus remarked with a hint of complaint.

“Dominus Socrato's tower in Aramathea is easily seven floors taller and its steps are oddly sized,” Venutae replied. “Be thankful Dominus Augustus kept his stairs to standard.”

Minimus grunted, “If you're tired already, Footman, I don't know how you survived long enough to get dishonored in the army.”

“I wasn't saying I was tired,” he retorted defensively. “I was respecting the surprising amount of exercise a mage gets just by going about their day.”

Venutae reached the landing of the next floor, and took a deep breath as she pushed open the door. “Well, here's hoping that the apothecary isn't as wrecked as the library.”

It proved to be an empty hope. While the apothecary had distinct rooms that helped blunt the damage done by the Great Spider Spirit's fall, the condition of the fractured walls and shattered fixtures suggested they still suffered considerably.

Venutae quickly got on top of it, assigning tasks to her teammates. “Footman, Legionnaire, if you could look for the focus crystal, I would appreciate it. If he pharmacist actually possessed one, I can only imagine it'll be in his private chambers or his study. Both will be at the east end of the hall, across from one another.”

“What will it look like?” Minimus asked.

“It won't be very large. It might even be mounted into a setting like jewelry. But it'll likely be a cloudy blood-red color, almost like a ruby but more opaque. You'll be able to tell the difference if you get it in a dark place; a focusing crystal generates a faint amount of light on its own.”

“And we're sure it's not shattered somewhere in this mess?” Adroitus wondered. It was a fair question considering the damage to the entire floor.

“Focusing crystals are surprisingly sturdy despite their fragile looks. If a focusing crystal is here, I can promise you it's still intact because, if it had it shattered, there wouldn't be a tower left.”

The footman's eyes dilated slightly, and he replied, “Noted. Just remember to actually get what you're looking for while necking the Centurion.”

Adroitus's tone suggested he was attempting some good-natured teasing, or so Largo chose to believe. It would be hard for the footman to communicate with his jaw in three pieces.

“The centurion would be about as useful helping me finding ingredients as you would be. He and Khufu will watch the stairwell up. There's no telling what fiends could come down on us unprepared.”

“Think you can stand in one place, Centurion?” Minimus asked humorously.

Truth was, for all of Largo's energy, he felt he was capable of patience when it was necessary. “I'm sure I can manage that, Legionnaire.”

Largo was proud that he kept any bite out of his voice. That had been a little insulting. Let no one say he couldn't practice restraint, either.

The team members went their separate ways, and Largo quickly dropped to a sitting position in front of the stairwell, his eyes focused on the stairs upward. There was definitely activity up there—he could hear movement—but at the moment it seemed to be content staying on the floor above. It dawned on him that, for whatever reason, the undead didn't seem terribly keen on moving between floors.

Khufu dropped his head in Largo's lap and huffed, an obvious attempt to get the centurion's attention. “What?” Largo asked.

The panther raised his head again, and looked back over its shoulder. Largo followed Khufu's eyes, and grunted in discomfort when he saw the panther's master bent over to dig through rubble in the hallway, her snug trousers pulled tightly across shapely buttocks.

“You are terrible,” he whispered to the panther.

Khufu's response was a stern, questioning expression, even as the panther's head dropped back in Largo's lap.

With an exasperated sigh, Largo said quietly, “What do you want to hear? I find Venutae fascinating. It would seem that she feels the same way. But there is something that she doesn't wish to talk about that is holding her back, and it wouldn't be right to push the issue. She'll discuss it when she is ready, no matter how much that might frustrate me.”

Lowering his voice even further, he asked, “You wouldn't know what happened, would you?”

Largo had never envisioned what a patronizing look from a big cat would look like until he received one. It involved narrow, slitted eyes and upturned jowls that displayed a hint of daggers for teeth from the sides, accompanied with a low, warning grumble.

“I know, you wouldn't tell me even if you could,” Largo apologized, scratching the panther behind the right ear, “but it was worth a shot, right?”

Khufu gave a satisfied grunt before leaning into the contact.

Adroitus spoke up, his voice floating in from down the hall and from the study. “Well, I didn't find any crystal, but I found the pharmacist. Or I should say, I found half of him.”

“Oh,” Minimus piped up. “I was wondering who these legs belonged to.”

“Did he crawl across the hall after being cut in half or something?” Adroitus wondered. “Why? What on earth was so important to him that he'd... hold on.” There was a long silence then a triumphant declaration, “I think I found it!”

Minimus almost jumped through Largo's line of sight as the disgraced soldier explained further. “He was holding a key. I figure it's gotta belong to some sort of hidden vault around here. And I'm betting that if he had one of these crystal things, that it would be in a secure location.”

The Legionnaire’s voice yielded to the sounds of increasingly energetic searching. Meanwhile, Venutae had disappeared into a room connected to the collapsed section, and Largo hadn't heard anything from her direction in a while. With no small amount of concern, the centurion queried, “Magus?”

Venutae snapped, “What? I heard them. If they actually find a focusing crystal, then I'll get excited.”

“That...” he began, initially to correct her, but he let it die on his lips. At the moment, any expression of concern probably wouldn't be received any better, now that he considered it. Discretion was the better part of valor in this case.

Then he heard a thud from the top of the stairwell, and Largo nudged Khufu as he stood to ready himself, but before he could even get up on his feet, the sound had already shuffled away. The centurion sighed forlornly. As bad as it would be to have the undead actually surge down the stairs, would it really hurt for five or ten to stumble down and fight him?

Venutae emerged back into the hall, a frown on her face as she was putting several glass vials into a pocket of her satchel. She stopped in front of Largo and Khufu and asked, “No trouble here, I take it?”

Largo shrugged, and replied, “For good or ill, no.”

The turned her attention to the other side of the hall, at the very moment a plume of gray smoke emerged from the doorway of the pharmacist's study. “What in the black hells is going on over there?” she muttered. Laying down her satchel just to Largo's right, she ordered, “Stay here,” before moving to investigate. Khufu and Largo watched her progress as she stopped in front of the door, her face contorting in anger. “What are you two doing in here? Have you found the focusing crystal?”

Minimus's voice sounded almost airy, a bizarre tone from the hulking officer. “No, but have you seen the dragons out in the hall?”

Largo could almost see the rage boiling off the top of Venutae's hair... although that was probably just the smoke from inside the study. “All right then. Now can you tell me why you took off your trousers?”

“B—because the floor turned to lava and they were on fire. But, I guess they're fine now. I could put them back on.”

“Could you?” Venutae asked with her eyes clenched shut, clearly trying to avoid screaming at a superior officer. “Then open the window and let the smoke vent out. I'll stir up a detoxifying agent while you do that.”

She returned to Largo and Khufu, the panther standing and trilling in concern. Venutae absently scratched the top of his head, and collected her satchel. “They didn't do it on purpose. Zlatan—the pharmacist's name, by the way—was notorious for concocting some extremely potent mind-altering chemicals.”

Largo sensed she was more explaining it to herself than to him, so he stayed silent as she pulled from her satchel three flasks, one with a deep green liquid, one with a gray liquid, and one with a sugar-like white powder, followed by a small mortar and pestle.

“He was especially proud of an opium mixture that could vaporize on contact with the air. They managed to open a sealed container that they no doubt thought held a focusing crystal,” she continued, her eyes glistening sadly as she poured out small amounts of the two liquids. They were thicker than Largo had expected, more like paste, but concern for her apparent distress trumped interest in what she was doing.

He started to reach out to her before remembering how she reacted to unexpected contact. He pulled his hand back and instead softly asked, “Venutae...?”

The mage wiped away the moisture from her cheeks, and put on a fake smile. “The Dominus and Zlatan were very enthusiastic opium eaters. Sometimes their enthusiasm strained the patience of the staff. They could get awful. I guess some of those bad memories still bubble up.”

Largo wished he could somehow shake her until the secrets came loose, as if all those bad memories would spill out on the floor and stop actively hurting her inside. Meanwhile, in the bowl, the mixture turned into a light brown paste, smeared together with sharp jabs and grinding motions from the pestle. He wasn't sure just how much pressure a mage was supposed to expend in making this, but he had a sneaking suspicion Venutae was overdoing it.

And the more he learned about Dominus Augustus, the less he liked the archmage.

“Okay, Magus. I think we got the smoke out,” Minimus called.

Venutae didn't even bother gathering up her things, merely standing up with the mixture in the bowl and shouting flatly, “Perfect timing. Now don't move. I'm bringing something that should sober you up very quickly. You two, stay here.”

Largo sighed in resignation, a sound mimicked by Khufu as the panther stepped out into the middle of the hall, curled up into a ball, and rested his head on his front paws.

“Why do you get to take a nap?” Largo accused, getting a dismissive huff in response as Khufu closed his eyes.

His ears momentarily perked from the sound of clattering above in the stairwell, but he frowned as it once again faded off into the distance. As patient as he could be, Largo considered making something happen if nothing else did soon.

“All right, hold still,” Venutae instructed. “No, don't rub it off. Just breathe in. You too, Footman. That should clear your heads in a minute or so. Meanwhile, I assume that smoke was let loose by the key Zlatan was holding?”

“No,” Minimus admitted. “The Footman saw a jar on the bedside table and wondered what it was.”

“I was curious!” the soldier protested. “It's not like I thought that would be inside!”

“Then whatever this key is for hasn't been found,” the mage concluded. “That is curious. It's definitely for an arcane lock, but the pharmacist wasn't magically gifted at all. Why would he have need for such a key?”

“Maybe he was gifted, and kept it secret?” Minimus suggested.

“Possibly, or he was holding something for someone else.”

“Like a focusing crystal?”

Venutae really didn't want to admit it, which Largo could tell in her voice as she acknowledged, “Exactly like a focusing crystal. Now, where is the keyhole?”

After a few long, silent moments, Adroitus finally cut in. “Magus... what are you doing?”

“Quiet please,” the mage replied sharply. “Trying to concentrate on fading magic is difficult.”

Largo had no idea what was going on in the pharmacist's study, but he figured that even if he were in the room with the others, he wouldn't understand much better. He turned his focus toward his own breathing, keeping it slow and measured to rein in his building desire for action. Just as he began to fail at that simple task, Venutae finally spoke again.

“Apologies, sirs. Keys such as this are magically tied to their locks, and if you're lucky, a mage can follow that connection back to its source.”

“Were you?” Minimus asked.

“In a general sense,” she replied in frustration. “Enough to know that it's not here. It's back in his bedchamber at the very least.”

Largo immediately had the same thought that Adroitus voiced. “Why would the pharmacist have left the room that the vault was in? Especially after being cut in half?”

“A very good question,” Venutae answered. “One that requires an equally good answer. I'll let you know when I find one.”

Largo was surprised to hear that, since the answer seemed obvious to him. Zlatan didn't want the key to be found, and spent the final moments of his life struggling to find a hiding place for it. The real question was who he was trying to hide it from, and why.

Minimus grumbled as the three crossed back into Largo's line of sight momentarily before disappearing off the other side. “I thought I had torn this place apart, and I didn't see anything out of place.”

“It's rarely as obvious as a keyhole,” Venutae explained. “And even then, the vault doesn't even need to be in the same place as the lock. For all we know, bringing the key to the lock could open up something on the complete opposite side of the floor, or even elsewhere in the tower.”

“So we might not even be done searching even if we find where this key belongs?” Adroitus complained. “Lovely.”

Largo decided to start counting the bricks on the wall across from him. It sounded like he was going to be here a while. They were a fascinating color that he had rarely seen before, a pearly white that apparently came from mud in the northern regions of Avalon.

How or why he remembered that little tidbit about brickmaking was beyond him. He had not been a particularly studious apprentice mason... or carpenter... or blacksmith... or hunter... or anything other than a gladiator, really. The mastery of personal combat had always been his drive since his earliest memories. But that little fact about Avalon bricks, which prompted him to start counting them in the walls, turned out to be a critical piece of the team's search.

“And... I do believe I've found it, gentlemen,” Venutae said. “Clever. It's hidden on a bookmark.”

“There's no keyhole there,” Adroitus protested.

“That you can see, perhaps. Even I can barely detect it. Whether that's because the magic is weakening or it's been hidden from arcane detection is hard to say. Nonetheless, here goes nothing.”

The movement was so subtle that if Largo had been looking directly at it, he probably would have never caught it. A single brick in the wall popped forward a fraction of an inch, and it wasn't a reach to assume it was related to what Venutae and the pharmacist's key.

Largo stood and crossed the hall, all of his other orders forgotten. And it was only when he started to pull the brick free, sliding it smoothly from its place, that he remembered her warning about traps far too late. A plume of fire quickly filled his vision, momentarily blinding him and forcing him to step back with an alarmed shout.

He had barely stumbled into the stairwell before Venutae began brushing soot from his eyes and face, both relieved he was unharmed and furious for his carelessness. “I told you everything in this tower could be trapped! Why didn't you listen to me! Damn it, move your hands and let me help you!”

Instead, Largo surprised her by jumping to his feet and laughing. “Oh, that was a good one! I think I might have lost my eyebrows!”

Minimus couldn't help but chuckle at Venutae's aghast expression. “Magus, if you haven't learned yet that gladiators are of a different breed, you will. We laugh at what most people would consider deathly peril.”

“Yes, I'm seeing that,” the mage replied dryly. “So, what in the black hells did you do, Centurion?”

Largo pointed to the hole in the wall where he had pulled out the brick that now laid on the floor. “When you opened the lock, that brick popped out a little bit. I figured it had to be the vault you were looking for.”

Venutae inspected the hole, slouching down to put her eye level with the gap. “And you would be right,” she declared triumphantly, pulling out the two bricks above as easily as Largo did with the first, giving herself the room to stick her whole arm into the larger space and eventually extract a small black felt-covered box.

The mage sounded awestruck and perplexed in equal measure as she stared down at the box in her hands. “I don't even need to open this to know what's in there. I can feel it amplifying my arcane power. Why on earth did Zlatan have this?”

Nonetheless, Venutae opened the box with a flip of the clasp, revealing a translucent, jagged blood-red crystal, almost like a fragment of a clouded ruby. If it weren't for Venutae's assertions of its arcane potential, it would not have appeared to be a particularly valuable jewel, even in the rough.

Another odd thought for Largo to have, as he wasn't an enthusiastic jeweler's apprentice, either.

“So, that's what we need, right?” Adroitus asked.

“It is,” Venutae answered flatly. “Now we go back downstairs, I concoct the potion I need, and then... I deal with the undead army. Possibly. I... still don't know that it'll be enough. Shifting an entire ocean's tides, that's the work of an archmage.”

“All you can do is what you can, Magus,” Minimus answered. “If it's not enough, then we'll find something else.”

It was no more than two strides to the stairwell, but Largo could see in Venutae's posture that she really didn't want to go back down there. So much so that he could tell she was stalling when she said, “Actually, let me mix up this potion here. Save Barquan the time of watching me do it, and he can just instruct me on how to finish the job.”

Adroitus was about to rebut, then reconsidered after a hard glare from Largo and a finger drawing a slashing motion across the centurion's throat. The three men instead waited quietly as the mage set up her mortar, pestle, and other assorted equipment on the floor, then retrieved the vials of ingredients. Shredded pieces of dried leaves, a white flour-like powder, a light blue liquid, a milky white liquid, then finally a green salt all joined together in her bowl, then Venutae quickly ground the mixture until it started to foam violently.

Seeing the intense reaction, Adroitus muttered quietly, “The Magus is going to drink that?”

“Would explain her lack of excitement in the idea, no?” Minimus replied.

Venutae's eyes momentarily met Largo's, and the centurion could see her on the edge of fear until the mixture finally settled down into a murky, pale cream. Very carefully, the mage poured the concoction into an empty flask, then capped it with a cork before being tentatively placed it in her satchel. Finally, after the lengthy process of packing up her tools, she stood and said with false confidence that did nothing to convince Largo, “Alright. Let's finish this.”

Largo took up the rear of the procession, ostensibly to make sure they weren't rushed from the floors above. In reality, he was more concerned that Venutae might bolt and hide. As terrified as she plainly was, they needed her to make this attempt.

Barquan was on top of them almost the instant Minimus entered the library, only the legionnaire's massive bulk preventing the librarian from pouncing on Venutae The mage reacted with surprise, jumping backward to be caught by Largo. For the first time that he could recall, she didn't stiffen at his contact, but instead relaxed the tension she already carried and regained her composure swiftly.

To his credit, Barquan apologized, though having someone of Minimus's stature staring him down no doubt encouraged his contrition. “I am so very sorry, Venutae. I was so eager to hear word of your success that I overstepped my bounds. Did you find Zlatan's focusing crystal?”

Venutae nodded, holding out the black box. “I have no idea why he would have had one, but he did.”

Barquan clapped happily. “Splendid! Let me see it; I'll have to inspect it to see if it actually is capable of what we need!”

Largo's eyes narrowed. There was something off here, and it wasn't the illusion magic that was apparently disguising the library. Barquan seemed far too happy about the focusing crystal, and far too eager to get his hands on it. But why?

Before he could voice his concern, Venutae had already handed over the box, and the truth was revealed the moment the librarian's hands closed around it.

It started with his face, contorting with a contemptuous sneer, and a display of strength that the old man should not have possessed as he easily shoved Venutae back into Minimus. “Finally, I am free of this miserable prison!” He pulled out the focusing crystal as Largo charged, but the centurion hadn't even unlimbered his sword before an invisible hand swatted him away, sending him crashing into the rubble on the north side and perilously close to the hole in the floor. Largo carefully pushed himself away from the edge and slid harmlessly down the hill of debris.

Barquan had now changed completely into a semisolid monster of copper skin, hair like a sandstorm, yellow pupil-less eyes, and legs replaced by a cyclone. He was no longer an old man, but vital and muscular, with a voice that reflected a youthful exuberance.

“That cursed archmage and his little pet alchemist had kept me prisoner for sixty years! Me! The last of the great djinn of Scheherazade! Cursed into a shell barely alive, and made to tend his library! Me! A shaper of worlds, forced to be a custodian for a collection of rotting books!”

Amazingly, Largo knew exactly what Barquan really was, what needed to be done to stop him, and how to get the opportunity to do so. Despite his failings to be anything other than a gladiator, Largo remembered a great deal of miscellaneous information he'd collected throughout his experience, even old wives' tales that he never cared for.

Barquan grabbed Venutae by the neck, shrugged off Khufu's attack without a hint of concern, and said with glee, “Oh, how delightful it will be to see the look on Augustus's face when he learns it was his pretty former pet that freed me—”

And while he gloated, Largo sprinted across the floor and snatched Barquan's ring off the table.

Barquan realized what happened the instant Largo's fingers clasped around the seemingly insignificant piece of jewelry. Any interest in Venutae vanished, the djinn dropping her to the floor as he faced the centurion. “How... how could... you of all people possibly comprehend what you have done?”

“I know exactly what I've done, djinn,” Largo countered, holding up the ring as evidence. “You are now my servant for the extent of three wishes.”

Barquan howled in rage, shaking the library and dropping fragments of stone from the ceiling. The djinn lips turned upward, and with clenched teeth he snarled, “Do you think you've won, imbecile? The instant you desire anything, it will be one less protection from me killing every single one of you filthy bags of skin!”

“I really don't care about that right now,” Largo informed. “Threaten me and my allies with a thousand tortures and more, if it makes you feel better. Can you eradicate the undead rising on the island?”

“Once my full powers return, I could sink this entire damned island to the bottom of the sea!” Barquan huffed indignantly, as though Largo's question was so far beneath him it was insulting.

Largo ignored the boasting. “Then my first wish is for you to do so. Wash away my fallen comrades and clear the island of the undead.”

Barquan growled, but complied, gliding back out to the balcony with Largo right behind him. With but a snap of the djinn's fingers, the waters rose in a tsunami, the waves sweeping the island and flooding it to a height only inches short of the balcony Largo stood upon. It took several minutes for crashing waters to recede, having done exactly what Largo wished for and more. The entire island was stripped bare of all but the sturdiest structures, and not a single body remained, either dead or undead.

“Two wishes left, human,” the djinn growled menacingly. “I'd suggest you use them wisely.”

Largo grinned. He didn't even need two. “Can you create a pool of the Void?”

Venutae gasped at what Largo had suggested, and Barquan eyed the centurion warily as he sneered, “If you are thinking of making me throw myself into it, I must inform you—”

Largo interrupted him, “I'm very well aware of your limitations, djinn. If I wasn't, I would have asked you to kill the Dominus and end this whole adventure right now. You cannot kill, nor harm yourself, while bound to the service of another. But that was not what I asked you, was it?”

Barquan slouched, and admitted, “Of course I can. As I said—”

“At your full power, you could sink this entire island,” the centurion again interrupted, enjoying the opportunity to turn the condescension back on the djinn. “I've already heard it once, I don't need a reprise. Then my second wish is for you to create a contained pool of the Void. Right here on the balcony. Doesn't have to be large. Maybe as big as a water bucket.”

Every fiber of the djinn's being radiated contempt, but he did as ordered, to the letter. One wooden water bucket, wafting with the purple mist that Largo understood was a telltale sign of dire water. Looking down confirmed it: the unnatural liquid looked and behaved like water, but at the same time didn't.

“One final wish, human,” Barquan reminded, his rage building again as he sensed his freedom coming closer. “How will you spend it, I wonder?”

Largo smirked in triumph. “I need nothing further from you, djinn. But if you absolutely must have a third and final wish, let it be this. I wish for you to stay still, and be at peace.”

And at that point, Barquan discovered what Largo was doing, and how foolish he had been to underestimate the human. Somehow, this barbarian knew the tale, a story that ended with indignity as Largo simply released the ring and dropped it into the bucket of dire water.

Barquan managed one last despairing howl before his entire being dissolved in unison with his ring. “You might not be able to harm yourself, djinn, but there was nothing preventing me from doing so,” Largo finished, though he knew that Barquan would never hear it.

Largo then turned from the balcony just in time to brace himself from a flying hug, courtesy of Venutae. “Largo, that was amazing!” she cheered, forgetting all protocol despite the legionnaire and footman being present. “How... how did you know?”

“Yes, I have to say I'm curious myself,” Minimus added, stepping into view. “I would not have pegged you as a learned individual, especially since I had no earthly idea what a 'djinn' was to begin with.”

“I didn't either, at least not right away,” Largo admitted. “I kinda sensed something was off with him, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what. As for the tales of djinn, the old schoolmarm in Antico had escaped the fall of Scheherazade, and she brought with her all sorts of folk tales, one of which being of a young man and two djinn.”

“Al'ahadin,” Venutae specified.

“That's the name. The tale was about two djinn, one bound to a lamp, and one bound to a ring. I never really liked the tale because while it told the defeat of the djinn in the lamp, it didn't say much about the fate of the djinn in the ring. I guess that's because he was the one to survive. I figured that if a djinn's lamp could be destroyed by lava, then a djinn's ring would be just as easily destroyed by the Void.”

“And why you asked for a pool of Void, because you didn't want to tip Barquan off by asking for lava. Not that he could have done anything to stop you anyway.” Venutae said with open admiration, seemingly unaware that she was still plastered across him. She then followed it with an alluring grin that told him she was, in fact, very aware. “I knew your strength, but I never fully realized the depth of intellect that hid behind those massive muscles.”

Venutae didn't get the chance to say anything more before Adroitus inserted his usual snide commentary. “Would you like to change your panties before we continue, Magus?”

That got her to break away, and the disgraced soldier got two withering glares for his trouble, even though both of them would reluctantly have to admit that Venutae's hands had been diligently trying to find a suitable seam in the back plate of his armor to slip under. Minimus spared the footman any torment the centurion or mage might have planned, as he had returned the library and called back, “Magus, look at this.”

She bumped past Adroitus, perhaps more roughly than she needed to, followed by Largo who very intentionally did the same. At the same time, Khufu had slipped in behind the soldier's legs, and Largo's impact, roughly analogous of that of a stumbling bear, caused Adroitus to trip and topple over entirely. Largo nodded in appreciation to the panther, who bowed his head in response.

What Minimus had found was the focusing crystal that Barquan had apparently needed to free himself. Venutae picked it up, and said glumly, “No doubt the Dominus had used this to help create Barquan's prison, and that's why Barquan wanted it so badly. He wanted to be free. I... actually feel sorry for him.”

“Well, seeing how spiteful that monster was, the Dominus probably had the right of it,” Adroitus replied.

Venutae hummed in thought. “Maybe. Or maybe you'd have figured out by now that being a servant of the Dominus wasn't always pleasant or positive.”

He couldn't speak for Adroitus, but Largo was more firmly drawing that conclusion with every new story he heard. Whatever Venutae was concealing about her apprenticeship, Largo no longer had any doubt that it was a terrible tale.

Chapter Nine: The Hanging Gardens

“So, did the Dominus ever consider stairs that went directly from the top to the bottom?”

Largo was reflexively about to chide Adroitus for his complaint, until accepting that he shared the frustration and said as much.

“It's precisely for that reason,” Venutae answered. “It frustrates potential invaders, and forces them into a longer path where they potentially have to fight for more ground. Come to think of it, the only archmage who prefers direct access is Domina Morgana, and that's merely because she has mostly nothing to fear from anyone. I saw the black plains outside her tower. I don't think they were black when she first settled there, and quite possibly not flatland either.”

“Well, the ceiling isn't going to get any higher complaining about it,” Minimus said, raising his voice to get the trio's attention. “And it doesn't seem like whatever is happening on the other side is going to stop either,” he added, indicating the door before them at the top of the stairwell.

The sounds that Largo had heard while standing guard at the apothecary below certainly came through this door. Venutae's voice carried more than a little wariness as she explained, “This floor is almost assuredly the hanging gardens. The Dominus almost always put it directly above or directly below the apothecary because Zlatan used many of the specimens here for his mixtures and research. I'm honestly a little concerned about what the undead could be doing up here, because all of the options are simply varying degrees of dire.”

“Then all the more reason to go in,” Largo said, steeling his resolve even as he steeled his voice. “Shall I proceed, Legionnaire?”

Minimus nodded. “Yes, Centurion.”

Largo decided the best way in was the quickest, kicking in the door, charging, and drawing his sword the moment he had the space to do so. It worked brilliantly against the nearest undead foe, a rotting husk in a filthy white robe, holding a bucket of something Largo neither had the time or interest to identify. He was already moving to his next target as Minimus and Adroitus stepped inside to secure the flanks of this entry room into the garden proper.

That second target was standing guard at the opposite door, and with the element of surprise lost, that zombie proved to be a stouter foe. In fact, it proved far more formidable than any of the other undead Largo had encountered thus far.

The undead monster surprised Largo by stepping forward in response to the centurion's attempted strike, gracefully sliding inside the greatsword's arc and headbutting Largo square on the nose. As Largo staggered backward, he recovered with an attempted shoulder tackle that the zombie spun off of and responded to with an elbow jab to Largo's back. His armor absorbed the blow, but the sting was more to Largo's pride than his spine.

With an angered shout, he attacked again, but this time his swipe was a feint. As the zombie tried to step inside Largo's reach again, the centurion had already turned his forearms inward and smashed his pommel against the zombie's temple.

What would have been at the very least a mortal blow, if not an outright killing one, merely only served to stun the undead monster, but Largo had enough experience with the undead at this point to expect as much. By the time the zombie had squared itself again, Largo's slash was already biting into its neck. Its inhuman reaction speed saved it from being outright decapitated, but not from Khufu lunging from behind and finishing the job with a bite that tore away the remaining connective tissue.

Panther and human split up to aid their two comrades, Largo coming to Minimus's aid with a stab through the side just above the liver and straight through the armpit of the monster engaged with the legionnaire. Largo shook the skewered creature until it was nearly sawed into two ragged pieces and fell from his sword onto the ground, followed by Minimus delivering a vicious skull-crushing stomp. At the same time, Khufu had pounced on the back of Adroitus's foe, giving the soldier the opportunity to cut out the zombie's legs and chop off its head as the panther jumped away.

While the battle had been won, it didn't feel like much of a victory, and all four humans shared wary looks between them. “Just to make sure the last ten seconds happened,” Minimus finally said, kicking at the thinly-robed undead torso in front of him, “I just about got beaten by a gardener, right?”

“We all almost did,” Largo replied. “I've had easier fights in the arena.”

Venutae's eyes were narrowed, focused on the decapitated zombie in front of her. “This is the exact same behavior Domina Pirogoeth wrote about in her journal of the Daynish Campaign.”

Minimus simply ordered, “Explain.”

“The Daynes controlled by the Winter Walkers during the last Daynish Campaign behaved similarly. During the Siege of Liga, as the Daynish numbers dwindled, they became more effective fighters. By the end, the last few Daynes were fighting like gods of war, each one needing at least ten militia men to bring it down.”

Largo took a deep breath. “So, you're saying that the more of them we kill, the tougher the rest will be?”

The mage nodded, uncertain about his tone. “That's the short of it, yes.”

The centurion grinned. “Excellent.”

Venutae frowned then rolled her eyes. “Of course you'd think so.”

Minimus coughed as subtly as he could to get their attention. “So, now that we know our opponents are going to be more skilled fighters, I trust we're not going to be taken by surprise like we were just now?” Without waiting for an answer, he ordered, “Take point, Centurion. Let's move.”

The very first thing Largo noticed when he opened the next door was the smell. Having worked for a short while in the fields, it was one that he would never forget.

Manure. Very fresh manure at that, judging from the intensity of the odor.

As the next room wasn't much larger than the landing and lacked any windows, it allowed for very little air diffusion that would have otherwise broken up the stench. There did seem to be vents in the ceiling, but those were closed, no doubt because the dead would have not been the slightest bit deterred by the stench.

Adroitus retched as he entered, and even Minimus curled his nostrils as he said, “Why is it that the freshest thing we've found in this entire damn tower is literal shit?”

Venutae had the courage to find the manure's source, a string of fermenting vats along the south, examining the containers with astonishing composure. “These were designed to recycle and replenish old fertilizer, so I'm not surprised that its still fresh. What worries me is that these have been used recently. The undead are cultivating something.”

“Well, there's an irony for you,” Adroitus quipped. “The dead encouraging life.”

“Probably not any life you'd want to have growing,” Venutae answered. “Whatever it is, we need to stop it.”

Minimus cut in. “Then let's not waste time. Press on, Centurion. Footman, ready at his flank.”

They could go in two abreast this time, because the passageway had widened enough to allow it. At the far end, they were greeted by a pair of pale wood double doors, unlocked and unbarred. There wasn't even a handle to turn. With just a gentle push, they both opened wide.

Right into a mass of undead in wait.

It might as well have been a pit of vipers, for how quickly they struck and recoiled from any counterattack. While Minimus had stepped in as well, the sheer number the three faced pushed them all the way back into the fermenting chamber. That these undead were fighting with a ferocity beyond even that of the fully-equipped guards earlier in the tower made them even more impossible to withstand.

It didn't make sense, obviously. How could these barely-clothed, much less armored, fiends be dodging like gymnasts, parrying strikes bare-handed, and delivering precise blows where they would do the most damage? Yet there was no doubt that the foe in front of Largo had deftly slapped and twisted his sword at the hilt, nearly wrenching it from the centurion's hands, then staggered him with a jab to the side directly in a gap between the waist and chest plates of his armor. The desperate hilt bash Largo retaliated with didn't connect, but at least created some distance, only for a second zombie to lunge forward with a tackle around Largo's legs.

Largo fell over and barely rolled away from a stomp that would have shattered his skull, all the while trying to kick away the zombie clinging to his left leg and biting at his armor. Minimus managed to save the centurion with a vicious kick to the zombie's ribs before more could pile on, and Largo stumbled to his feet and leaned away from a haymaker punch that missed his nose by only a fingertip's length.

But the problem was that there was only so far back they could go, and Largo could sense the wall at his back. There was no opening for a retreat, at least not without sacrificing two of them.

“Magus!” Minimus bellowed. “If you've got any tricks, now would be a good time to use 'em!”

“Already working on it, sir!” Venutae shouted back. “Just... one moment...”

“We might not have a moment!” Adroitus yelled, and with good reason. While his shield was providing good enough protection, he had dropped to one knee as three sets of fists pounded heavily on him. Largo wasn't in much better shape, making a massive swipe to create space and watching all four zombies engaged with him deftly skip out of his reach in unison, even dodging the return swipe that Largo was certain would catch them off-guard.

But as the undead prepared to lunge at him again, a blast of frigid air rushed past his right side, bellowing into a white smoky plume of frost directly in front of his eyes as it clashed with the warm air of the room. As the icy mist settled, the undead that had been charging him were suddenly frozen solid, their bodies encased in a layer of ice that locked them in mid-step.

Somehow, the rime had avoided his allies, even as it froze two zombies that had been pounding directly on Adroitus's shield. The footman nervously sidestepped away, blinking in surprise. The only place missed by the frigid blast was on the right hand of one zombie that had managed to grab Minimus's bracer. The legionnaire had to break off the attached arm before it released its hold, then joined his two companions as they turned to the source of the sudden chill.

Venutae wiped ice crystals off her lips that had turned up in a broad grin, and she said innocently, “What? You've never seen frostbreath before? Tricky to do, honestly. A special ice is needed for that one. Not easy to conjure.”

The mage then pointed forward, and continued cheekily, “How about you take advantage of the opening? I can't promise how long they'll stay frozen like that in this warm weather.”

Khufu took the lead by example, wedging himself between Largo and Minimus, then launching himself with a full pounce into one of the undead that had attacked Largo. The zombie shattered on impact, startling Khufu only for a moment before the panther began thrashing gleefully through his defenseless foes.

Largo wasted no time joining the big cat, and the centurion quickly understood the joy of watching undead disintegrating into powder under the strikes of his sword, their limbs and heads shattering into jagged pieces upon the ground. Once Minimus and Adroitus jumped in, the entire room soon became awash in a mist of ice that rivaled Venutae's initial spell.

It was only when Largo's blade abruptly cut through the telltale sensation of unfrozen flesh that he realized that Venutae's frostbreath had no effect past the fermenting chamber. The zombies that hadn't been able to fit in the room were still quite alive, and still remarkably skilled.

“Got any more tricks in that pouch of yours?” Minimus asked Venutae as he stepped forward for another round.

Largo could almost taste the acid in the mage's response. “When I can conjure it, sure!”

The hint of disrespect wasn't undeserved, Largo decided, and he for one was determined not to put the onus of saving their hide on Venutae again so quickly.

Even with the fermentation room cleared, the Reahtans were still outnumbered four to one. They neutralized the disadvantage somewhat by using the double doors as a choke point, but that also limited the wide swaths of destruction Largo could promise with his sword. It forced him to fight more defensively, which wasn't his strength.

But it did give him the opportunity to observe his foes and their patterns more closely. Or more accurately... their only pattern.

It was so obvious that Largo almost didn't believe he hadn't noticed it until now, but outside of dodging or closing distance, the zombies always initiated an attack using the exact same pattern and timing. Right hand swipe, left hand swipe, right hand diagonal chop, left hand uppercut.

Other patterns would follow depending on Largo's reaction. If Largo didn't react promptly to one of the four attacks, it would repeat that attack three more times. If Largo blocked all four, the zombie would attempt a lunging tackle. There were remarkable complexities added in, but nevertheless, the attack pattern would eventually reset to that same four-strike sequence, in that order, with the same beats. That was where Largo finally found the vulnerability in the zombies' fighting style.

Despite their newfound speed, the transition between the chop and the uppercut momentarily put them off balance, unable to quickly counter or dodge. It wasn't much of an opening, but for a champion of the arena, it was enough.

Just as the zombie addressing him took that balancing step in the downward swing of its chop, Largo attacked, his blade taking a short arc towards his foe. While even that swift strike would have been easily dodged or countered, caught mid-step with both arms dropped meant that Largo's blade finally found a mortal strike into, and through, the zombie's neck.

Largo tested his theory further as the next undead monster stepped in and delivered the same opening sequence exactly as expected. The end result was similar, a quick slash that cut through unarmored zombie flesh.

Eventually Adroitus realized that Largo was starting to cut through the remaining horde, while Khufu pounced through the gap to confound the undead even further, as their combat techniques were clearly designed for fighting other people, not panthers stalking low to the ground. As Minimus stepped forward to fill the gap, Largo advised, “Just keep them occupied, Legionnaire!”

It must have been mystifying for the rest of the team to see Largo cutting through the remnants of the horde with such ease after all the trouble it had caused on this floor. Once only six remained, however, they offered one last surprise by having half their number focus on Largo as the primary threat. Even when he could predict his opponents' attacks, it was difficult to do anything about it when three of them were all throwing predictable attacks at different times from different directions.

Even worse was the fact that Largo's varied responses caused them to shift into unfamiliar attack sequences. He soon took a kick to the liver, a poor place to take a kick even when blunted by armor. And the uppercut to the jaw wouldn't have been bad on its own, but it was a very unfortunate follow-up to a kick to the liver. With Minimus and Adroitus still struggling with the remaining three, Largo began to regret playing the hero rather than simply telling them what he had discovered.

Thankfully, Largo still had friends that could be of assistance. One ally made his hit and run tactics felt; Khufu cut out the legs of the zombie directly in front of Largo by slashing out its hamstrings, and finishing with a killing bite through the back of its neck when it fell, joining the other kill the panther had managed on his own while Largo was occupied.

The foe to his right abruptly dropped as well, courtesy of a long iron spike that wedged itself into its skull. Largo only momentarily traced the projectile's existence to a gray dust staining Venutae's fingertips before he turned his full attention to his final foe, which was easily countered now that it was alone. Even then, the undead human resorted to its predictable opening, so much so that Largo anticipated the counterstrike too soon, and almost gave his foe a chance to dodge out of the way before Largo's blade cut through half of its neck.

Khufu was more than willing to provide the final strike, pouncing and ripping out the zombie's throat. Then, with the numbers finally to their advantage, Largo and Khufu were able to pair off and overwhelm the final pair of undead from behind.

An eerie silence momentarily fell on the room, broken only by heavy breathing from the three soldiers. Once everybody had a moment's rest, Minimus demanded to know how Largo suddenly transformed into a god of war, and why he hadn't done it sooner.

When Largo finally explained it, the legionnaire blinked rapidly and his jaw dropped. “You mean you were able to not only break down the entire technique of your opponent, but recognize that all of them were fighting exactly the same way?” Minimus shook his head and looked back to Venutae. “Can you believe the report I got on this fellow was that his intelligence was his questionable trait?”

“'Undisciplined, and relying on brute force rather than tactics,' I believe was the exact line,” the mage answered with a proud smile. “But I figure we've seen plenty of evidence that the assessment was incomplete at best.”

Largo frowned, but otherwise bit his tongue. That would explain the astonishment he received whenever he made a discovery or observation. Apparently, his feelings were still etched on his face, because Venutae playfully slapped him on the chest and said, “Come now, Centurion. You shouldn't concern yourself with the words of people who only saw you from a distance.”

Adroitus looked like he had to force the words out of his lungs. “Anyone who has ever actually tried to fight you would know better.”

Largo allowed himself a hint of a smile and accepted the compliment. The disgraced soldier was speaking from experience and had nothing to gain by idle flattery.

“You can let yourself feel bad later,” Minimus ordered. “For now, let's press on and deal with whatever in the black hells these undead monsters were trying to grow.” Their attention turned back towards the double doors, and it occurred to Largo that he never got a chance to really process what was in there before the horde nearly overwhelmed them.

Thus, he was just as surprised as everyone else to see there was nothing of interest.

“Okay... they were ardently protecting this?” Minimus wondered.

While Largo had only tried his hand at farming for a short while, and the hanging gardens were far more sophisticated than anything he had seen in the fields of Antico, he felt he'd be able to tell if something was unseemly or out of place with normal, healthy greenery.

It certainly didn't seem to be the case. Even the ivory stone walkway through the center of the gardens looked to be in almost impeccable condition, save the blood splatters staining just inside the door which the team had tracked inside.

“They even cleaned up after the spider spirit dropped through, I guess.” Minimus observed.

Venutae pointed over to the northwest wall and said flatly, “It would have happened over there, in the servant chambers, closed off from the gardens itself. Though it is rather remarkable that they tidied up in here afterwards. Many of the mounted cultivars would have fallen from the ceiling.”

The mage moved to her left, where a line of ivy vines spilled over their suspended pots—beautifully etched and fire-baked ceramics that were barely visible within the greenery spooling onto the floor—or grew upward along the chains that were mounted to the ceiling.

He didn't get the chance to see just how far upwards the vines grew before Khufu headbutted him in the thigh to get his attention. When Largo looked down at the panther, the big cat huffed softly and turned his head to Venutae. While he immediately noticed the subtle heaving of her chest, he doubted that was Khufu's intent.

The obvious concern was why she was breathing so heavily. He leaned in and asked quietly, “Are you all right?”

“As all right as I'm going to be,” she replied flatly, her expression betraying a more complicated truth. “The ley lines are decaying faster than I predicted. So... I'm taxing myself more than I anticipated.” After a nervous moment, the mage added, “Thank you for sparing me from having to do my frostbreath again. It would have probably wiped me out so quickly after the first.”

“Just... don't overdo it,” he suggested softly.

She leveled a tired glare at him, “I probably won't have a choice. We all will likely be pushed past our limits the closer we get to the Dominus. And on that note, I suggest you stop being a valorous knight seeking to preserve my well-being. We don't have that luxury anymore.”

Largo knew that, and he dropped his head shamefully. He then got a playful tap to his chin, and an earnest, “But thank you for trying anyway.”

He shouldn't let Venutae distract him like this. He knew it certainly wasn't her intent to so wholly consume his attention, even in the heart of incomparable evil, but he could no longer deny that one little flash of her lopsided smile would make his knees buckle a little.

Perhaps it was a sign of peril that Adroitus didn't interrupt with a snide barb to get their attention. “Forsaken Coders, what in the hells is that?”

Largo regarded the disgraced soldier, and noticed that Minimus was likewise looking directly upward to the raised ceiling of the hanging gardens. Largo followed suit and discovered that the vines weren't growing up the basket chains; they had been growing down from a grotesque... thing... that was somehow latched to the ceiling.

The growth had completely overrun whatever else had been nurtured in the gardens, and Largo's limited agricultural knowledge wasn't offering much assistance in classifying what exactly it was. While he had seen similar vines in the grapes that Antico grew for their wines, he had never seen them grow out of a circle of broad leaves that resembled a great head of cabbage, to say nothing of the red and off-white spotted fruit that looked like a fungus bulging out of the center. The bulbous fruit was easily larger than himself and Minimus combined, so gargantuan that Largo was depressed that he had somehow overlooked it for as long as he did.

“Magus?” Minimus asked warily.

The mage blinked repeatedly, and shook her head. “It... looks like a hybrid of some manner. But... I've never seen this sort of specimen. There are any number of things the Dominus could have acquired from all over the continent since I left his apprenticeship.”

Largo was transfixed in horrific fascination as creases formed in the skin that split the bulb into sixths, followed by the wet tearing of flesh as the fruit split open, the six flaps drawing outward with fibrous strands of pulp stretching and snapping as the newly formed petals curled themselves into loose spirals. A sickening stench of death issued forth, making the humans below retch and recoil the instant it hit their noses.

They had barely managed to regain their wits in time to notice drips of a pale green drool falling from the exposed core of the bulb. It didn't seem dangerous, but Largo took several steps back just in case, as several drops fell with quiet splats directly in front of him.

The core itself, a green ball streaked with red about four feet in diameter, still dripping with whatever viscous substance had fallen to the floor, was slowly lowered by a sickly brown stalk of gnarled vines. This core itself split into two halves, forming lips littered with long, glistening spines that looked like daggers. It snapped menacingly in the direction of the humans as it eventually settled at a height just above Largo's eye level.

Adroitus decided to offer the obvious thought, “Something tells me that thing doesn't only eat fertilizer.”

Minimus took two more steps back as the creature's bulb snapped three times in his general direction. “Something tells me you're right.” The legionnaire then stopped, set his jaw, and declared, “But it's a damned plant. Thing can't even move. Let's just cut it down and press onwaaahhhhh!”

The idea that the plant was immobile was misleading. The legionnaire quickly found this out when he was abruptly yanked off his feet, discovering one thick green vine wrapped around his ankle. Several others snapped out like vipers to ensnare his other limbs, constricting with enough strength to resist Minimus's struggles.

Not that Largo had much time to consider the legionnaire's peril, because it wasn't even a second later that his left leg was violently pulled out from under him. While the centurion managed to keep his balance for a moment by hopping twice on his right foot, a quick slap took that out as well and he fell roughly on his rump.

He barely had the opportunity to think about tearing off the vines wrapping his ankles before more snapped around his arms and started pulling in four different directions. He couldn't quite bite back his scream of pain, followed by frustration that his struggles had no apparent effect. It was almost like the plant was toying with him, letting him gain an inch of advantage before twining him further and pulling right back.

A flash of black caught the corner of his eye, revealing that while Khufu was having a better go of things, “better” was a relative term. The panther wasn't easily ensnared, but he wasn't doing much damage, either. Instead, the hideous plant seemed content with their stalemate, throwing Khufu around the chamber and fending off the panther as he tried to attack.

Another vine whipped three times around Largo's neck, and slowly constricted around his windpipe, forcing the centurion to fight merely for each breath. The strength of this abomination was unfathomable, each breath an ever greater struggle. He always prided himself on being able to dig down deep to find the power and endurance needed to overcome any challenge, but this was proving to be the furthest he's ever had to test that resolve.

But dig down he did, expanding his chest in one last solid breath, suspecting he probably wasn't going to get another good one. Then with a sudden surge of exertion, Largo yanked his right arm across his body.

His effort was rewarded with the vine's tension going slack in unison with a wet, squelchy tearing sound. The vines twined around his right arm had been torn right out of the plant, dripping more translucent fluids from the wound. With his freed arm, Largo grasped the vines constricting his neck, trying to give himself some more breathing room in a very literal sense.

Khufu smartly identified Largo's opportunity for escape, abandoning his attempts to attack the plant directly to assist the centurion in getting himself free. While the abominable plant was able to force Khufu back, it didn't do so quickly enough to prevent the panther's claws and fangs from cutting through the vines binding Largo's left arm. With both hands free, Largo was able to rip away the vines around his throat and get a good breath once more.

His left hand was abruptly entwined again, and Largo rewarded the horrific plant's efforts by ripping them out of the base as well. The plant then decided to double down on the centurion's legs, yanking him off the ground and dangling him briefly before violently shaking him. Largo's vision spun rapidly, and his brain needed several seconds after the movement settled to untie itself and sort out which way was which again. Once it did, Largo had an excellent view of the floor below.

Much of it was what he expected; Minimus and Adroitus were locked in a stalemate with the plant, struggling with its vines much like Largo had. What surprised him was that Venutae was having considerably more success than her allies despite having the majority of the plant's attention. She had nearly freed herself of what looked like a cocoon of vines, having slowly and deliberately wriggled out of the mess up to her thighs.

Largo was awestruck at the mage's seemingly effortless and impossible escape. Did she have some powers of hypnosis? Some magic that could control plants?

He never even really processed that she had shouted at him until after the fact. His response to “Largo! Behind you!” was more instinct than reasoned action. Largo wasn't even certain if the plant felt pain in the way that humans did. What he did know was that his twisting backhanded punch caught the plant right on the side of its bulb as it was preparing to strike, stunning it and causing Largo to drop from its grasp.

The centurion tried to rotate and ball himself up in anticipation of a violent meeting with the floor, but he wasn't held high enough to give him a chance to do more than prevent falling directly on the point of his head. He instead landed on his left shoulder, which at least wouldn't cripple his ability to fight, but feeling the crack of bone meant it wasn't exactly going to be pleasant either.

Largo forced himself to his feet, biting back the pain and preparing to defend himself from the abomination's attempts to ensnare him again. It turned out he was concerned about nothing. Venutae made sure of that.

It didn't look like much as it left Venutae's fingers; just a small flicker of fire that skipped off her palm like some sort of burning cricket. But at what looked like the peak of its arc, it burst into a bird of flame, complete with animated wings of fire, that flapped once and crashed into the heart of the horrific plant with a terrific explosion that rained embers and burning foliage onto the floor.

Largo knew he shouldn't be amazed at such displays of magic at this point, but he couldn't fight his jaw dropping as the grotesque monster collapsed from the ceiling and landed with a wet, squishy thud onto the stone below, its body still consumed with flame.

Venutae shoved him on the shoulder angrily, snapping him out of his awe. “Stop gaping, and get the others free before the fire spreads onto them!” she ordered.

Largo bolted into action, duly chided as he jumped to Minimus's side, tearing away at the vines entwining the legionnaire until Minimus had enough slack to finish the job. The legionnaire pushed himself to his feet, rolling both shoulders that had no doubt felt considerable strain, and nodded approvingly to his subordinate, “Well done, Centurion.”

“It was the Magus who did most of the work,” Largo replied, not wanting to take undue credit.

Said mage's mood had not improved any as she snarled at Adroitus, “Stop squirming already and I'll get you out!”

When the soldier finally complied, Venutae was able to quite successfully pluck apart a handful of vines that effectively undid the entire mess. Largo admired the efficiency, and sided up to her. “How did you get out of that mess so easily?”

There was a beat of silence before she replied, “Let's just say I... have some experience slipping bonds.”

“One of those things you don't feel comfortable talking about?”

“Yes.”

On one hand, Largo liked simple conversations. On the other, he didn't like what was being unsaid.

He didn't get any time to really contemplate what those unsaid portions could be, as his head snapped in the direction of the fallen plant, which incomprehensibly started to move again.

The fruit of the smoldering creature bobbed and swayed as it shed off its leafy base and stood on a woven stem, branching out at its base to form a wriggling tripod. Despite that gangly posture, it moved quickly enough to force Minimus back as it snapped at him with surprising speed.

“Can something being set on fire actually kill it for once?” Adroitus snarled as he readied his shield.

Largo immediately nudged Venutae back, even as he could feel her body tensing for another fight. “Let us try and finish this one,” he said quietly. “Conserve your strength if you can.”

For a blink, he saw the flash of a challenge in the mage's eyes, and her jaw tightened, bristling at the order. But just as quickly, the defiance dispelled and she acknowledged the wisdom in it. With a solemn nod, she took two steps back, and started prepping her satchel just in case it became necessary.

The soldiers began a slow advance, Khufu circling around to its flank waiting for a potential opening. That window proved to be too small even for a panther, because after it spat something at Largo's forehead that he only barely dodged, the plant's fruit swung around and caught Khufu in the cheek as the panther pounced, sending the big cat spinning awkwardly across the floor. The fruit then swung back, catching Minimus's blade in its teeth, and wrenching it from side to side until the legionnaire had no choice but to relinquish the weapon. The plant spit the sword clear across the now ruined chamber, forcing Minimus to go chasing it while avoiding whatever other projectiles it was spewing.

Largo tried to give the legionnaire cover, charging in and chopping downward to at least stop the barrage. While the plant had no discernible eyes, its “mouth” wasn't even facing the centurion as it swung out of danger, then snapped back like it was made of rubber, the fruit striking Largo square in the sternum with far more force than should have seemed possible. As Largo staggered backward, it spit another three... whatever they were... at him, and it was only Adroitus stepping in to absorb the shots with his shield that saved Largo.

“Where the hell are these coming from, anyway?” the disgraced soldier snarled, his body recoiling each time a projectile banged loudly against his shield.

Meanwhile, Largo finally got a decent look at one of the damned things—a near jet-black ball, hard as iron, with spiked jutting out at multiple angles. How did a plant create such a thing, and where were they coming from?

They got a momentary reprieve from the barrage as the monstrosity had to contend with another attempt by Minimus and Khufu to take advantage of its flank. It swung its fruit repeatedly in a circle, almost like a flail, somehow not falling over on its spindly, writhing legs as it did so.

Largo jumped back to his feet, snarling. This was ridiculous. This was humiliating. They were being kicked around by a goddamn glorified house plant. It reared back to start firing its spiked balls again, only to be on the receiving end of one that flew back into its mouth. As the ball entered, it suddenly enlarged itself to wedge the fruit open and pierce through it in several places, causing the plant to start wildly contorting in pain.

It wasn't hard to discern the source of the attack, and Largo hated himself for it. He was trying to keep Venutae from overextending herself. Now it became a matter of ending it before she had to do anything more.

Khufu helped with that, using the plant's distraction to sink his teeth into its stem, and thrashing it about like a cat ravaging a mouse. While the abuse manage to dislodge the spiky gag, by that point the damage had been done. Its stem had been shredded, leaving the red and white splotched fruit to flop almost pitifully, snapping blindly in a desperate attempt to find something to attack.

Largo almost felt sorry for the abominable creature, but not enough to stop himself from splitting its fruity head neatly in half with a single downward chop. For as hard as the thing could hit, he was surprised at how easily he cut through the flesh, which yielded as easily as a loaf of fresh bread. The cleft fruit bled green slime and induced another wave of the deathly rancid stench that caused the team to retch once more, but mercifully it was the last assault the abominable creature could inflict.

Nonetheless, Adroitus wasn't particularly quick to lower his shield. “I've seen enough 'dead' things here get one last lick in, thank you very much,” he replied when Minimus gave him a questioning glance.

Minimus wasn't going to disagree either. The legionnaire gave a deferring nod and allowed the creature a very wide berth as he scouted ahead to the other side of the garden.

Largo meanwhile, was drawn to the sound of gagging just to his right, his head turning downwards to where Khufu had hunched his back, coughing and spitting animatedly. “That thing not taste good?” Largo asked in bemusement, turning to laughter when the panther locked eyes with him, bearing a very evident, narrow-eyed glare.

“Cats are obligate carnivores by nature,” Venutae just about whispered, leaning into his ear. “Even if there was nothing at all odd about that thing, I doubt Khufu would have found it tasty.”

Largo was confused why she was leaning into him and sounding so conspiratorial until she admitted, “I can barely stand up right now. Help me out for a moment while I get my legs back. Just don't be conspicuous about it.”

The centurion scoffed, “That will probably be difficult considering the way you're clinging to me.”

It was already too late. Minimus chided with a hint of playfulness, “Hey, if you two are going to start pawing each other every single time we overcome a challenge, we'll be here until the next full moon.”

Largo smugly whispered, “See?”

With a reluctant sigh, she patted him on the shoulder, then pushed away. For someone who was having trouble standing up, she could certainly fake walking well enough. There was certainly some exaggeration in her movements consistent with weakness and poor balance, but it would have required some very careful observation.

That would be his excuse, at least, if anyone questioned him for staring a little too long at the mage's hips. Was it bad that he didn't even care about the distraction from his proper duty anymore?

“Centurion, our allies are apparently getting impatient. They would like you to take point again.”

Largo closed his eyes and took a steady breath. Duty called.

Chapter Ten: A Life With Purpose

“Wait. Stop here.”

Largo complied with Venutae's order, even as his head was still craned upward. “Why? We can still go higher.”

The mage replied, “Because I know this floor. These are the staff chambers.”

Minimus asked, “And that's important why?”

Venutae clearly didn't want to say it, but she didn't have a choice. “Because as much as I know we need to move with haste, and as much as I hate to be the one holding everyone back, that fight in the gardens absolutely exhausted me, and this will be the last chance I'm going to get for a decent rest in some fairly comfortable beds in a reasonably defensible position.”

Largo could tell from the nervousness in her eyes that she was expecting to be denied or derided for not living up to the tireless Reahtan ideal. Instead, Minimus nodded in approval, and said, “Understood. The three of us will clear the floor of any undesirables.”

Adroitus didn't offer any protest or barbed comment, in defiance of the party's expectations. “What?” he snapped in annoyance when he felt their eyes fall on him. “Judging from what we've fought through, if it took the Magus a month to rest up for what's coming, I'd be okay with it.”

Minimus smirked, and nodded to Largo, “Move in, Centurion. Footman, step in and cover his flank.”

Not that any preparation was needed. The main hall of the staff chambers was completely empty, with little sign that anyone had been through recently. The only detail that surprised Largo was that it was the heart of morning, judging from the sunlight pouring into the hall from a full window leading out to a balcony at the north end.

As Venutae carefully opened the nearest door to her left and saw that it was not only empty, but unfurnished, she noted, “That's not entirely surprising. The Dominus reserved a lot of space for ranking officials and apprentices, but like most of his fellows, never really employed many.”

“And anyone that did take residence here would have likely been the first to fall victim to whatever the Dominus unleashed,” Minimus surmised, opening the door directly opposite, and finding that it too was vacant. “Well, Magus, you might not have much luck finding a bed after all.”

Largo and Adroitus had pressed on, scouting the next pair of rooms ahead, and the four began alternating rows. While they did eventually find several furnished rooms in the process of securing the floor, it was the second to last room on the south side that eventually drew the most attention.

The first thing Largo noticed was just how very pink the room was. Every inch of the luxuriously furnished room was awash with the light red tone, from the solid pink painting the walls, to the flowery pattern on the bed's comforter, to the faded color on the plush carpeting. Even the wooded surfaces had been painted pink, and pink stuffed animals lined the top of the wardrobe.

“Well, someone was the Dominus's favorite,” Minimus observed, comparing the lavish furnishings with others on the floor.

Largo began to realize the significance of this room when he heard Venutae choke on her own tongue as she looked inside. It was followed by a flurry of activity where she pushed Largo completely inside, shoved Minimus outside, then slammed the door emphatically.

Rather than rightfully take offense at being manhandled by a subordinate, the legionnaire was greatly amused, judging by his teasing rejoinder through the door. “Remember to actually get some rest, Magus.”

Venutae ignored the quip. “I can't believe the fool maintained this room.”

“It was yours?”

She nodded. “Distressingly, yes. I hated this color. I even said so, repeatedly. But Augustus would always say it was such a charming color for such a precious girl. Ugh. Something gray or earth-toned. Even basic white would have been preferable to this eyesore.”

Largo gestured back towards the door. “We can find you a different room. There are others.”

The mage shook her head. “No, that will just waste time.” She spun about then dropped to the floor, crossing her legs as she sat. She pointed at Largo's feet, and ordered, “Sit. Let's try this while the possibility still exists.”

“I thought you were resting,” Largo said even as he complied.

“I already told you, with the way that the ley line is fading, I'm not going to be able to draw much more energy regardless of how refreshed I am. That out there was all an excuse to do this.”

The centurion blinked warily as Venutae dropped the focusing crystal from the apothecary on her lap. “And... what is 'this' exactly?”

“Even if by some miracle the Dominus is completely of his right mind and not the cause of all this, the ley line will be far too weak for any meaningful scrying. But there might be something I can do, right now, with what still is here and what power I can muster, and this focusing crystal is the key.”

Largo decided it was best to stop asking questions and just nod amiably. He figured she would explain anything that he needed to know, and he could save himself the effort of trying to think up different ways to ask “why” and “what.”

“This is a skill I learned during the short time I was learning under Domina Morgana. It uses the same sort of fundamental techniques as scrying, but considerably less difficult. It will allow me to scry your memories, in a way, and possibly divine the specific event that blocks everything before your arrival in Antico.” She bit her lower lip nervously, and added, “It wouldn't be much, I know, but it might offer you a clue as to what you can do to uncover more yourself. I know it isn't what I suggested at the time, but—”

There were times that Venutae was unbearably adorable, and this was one of those. He put his right hand over hers, and said, “It's more than I was honestly expecting. You don't have to do anything, and I appreciate all that you offer.”

He was rewarded with another of those earnest, subtle smiles that made his gut do flip-flops. “Alright, then lean forward a little bit, stick your head out a little, and close your eyes. It might take me a bit to find the right connection.”

Largo did as instructed, and after a few seconds, he felt the tips of Venutae's fingers starting to slide across his forehead. The touch was surprisingly cold, and a slight bit concerning. She shouldn't be this cold in such a very warm environment. Was it the effect of whatever magic she was using?

That chill expanded across his forehead, and Venutae sounded like she was a mile away when she said, “I think... I think I've found it. Don't panic, okay? This might be... unpleasant.”

He really wished she would warn him of potential unpleasantness before he was knee deep, and especially when his stomach seemed to drop, followed by a loss of sensation throughout the rest of his body. Even Venutae's touch on his forehead vanished. He hung in that limbo for what could have been seconds or hours, even his sense of time had abandoned him.

Largo thought he'd fall asleep, but he wasn't entirely certain what that meant in regards to where he was. It wasn't a dream, but it wasn't reality... or was it?

The chill that he had felt earlier returned, and he thought he shivered... maybe. It took him a moment to recognize just what that feeling was, as it was an emotion he rarely experienced. It was fear. There was something dreadful and terrifying in this nothing place.

Why was he here? How did he get here?

At that point, he realized he didn't even know who he was anymore.

A grumbling sound started to fill his ears, like a voice from a great distance. As it grew closer, it didn't seem to be coming from any specific direction, but was ever-present, originating from nowhere and everywhere at once. When it finally grew in volume to the point where he could distinguish a specific tone, he was somehow disappointed that it didn't sound the way he expected.

Not that he was entirely sure what he expected... only that this wasn't it.

Background?

That was a very confusing question. He wished there was a background. Yes, please.

I don't need some stupid background.

He really begged to differ. Anything would be preferable to this empty, cold void.

I just want to fight in the arena. I'm not going to do any of this lame PvE crap. You used to just be able to just create an arena toon.

Whoever this voice was talking to, it clearly wasn't him, because he understood roughly three-quarters of what it had said.

What do you mean that was just for beta? This persistent world shit is dumb. I don't need no stupid personal instance or decorations or background or any of that shit trash garbage. I just want an arena toon so I can pwn noobs. And I'm not gonna waste time with some shit character creation screen.

Well, now he was down to about one half.

Yeah, I saw you took three hours coming up with that little dwarf. I don't care that its been min maxed. She looks dumb. Like all of the toons you make. Does that one have a trash-tier hitbox like your Quake avatar? I don't care that there are default backstories I can choose. They're all stupid. Wait... I wonder...

Sweet! That worked! Hah, I just tweaked my beta toon a little bit, and got the game to accept it! Huh? Did they move the arena? Oh whatever. Let's log into the starting zone and get this tutorial crap over with.

Another chill caught his attention before he could think much further on what he was hearing. But this one felt localized, and he became aware that he had a chin. And a face. And of who he was. His sense of self and his memories all returned to him in a flood of information, opening up an awareness he had completely forgotten he had. Sounds returned to his ears, a low questioning trilling grumble from a massive feline throat.

Largo's eyes snapped open, and the first thing he saw was the top of Khufu's head as the panther sniffed his chin, almost entirely displacing Venutae, who was trying to push the big cat aside while snarling at him in annoyance. “Sorry, Largo,” she said, her voice muffled by the panther's flank, “I think Khufu has decided our experiment is over.”

The centurion nudged Khufu away, and said with resignation, “It doesn't matter. I learned what I needed.”

Venutae's irritation at Khufu turned into concern for Largo. “I wasn't able to understand much of that memory. It sounded similar to Domina Pirogoeth's and Morgana's study into 'Chosen spirits,' but like their discoveries, what this spirit had to say didn't make much sense. If you understood it, I'm... glad to have helped?”

“What I understood was enough,” Largo replied. The revelations he had learned didn't disturb him greatly, but instead reinforced what he had already known. “There is nothing to find. If I have a past, it's of absolutely no consequence. My reason for living was to fight in the arenas, and nothing else. That is my purpose.”

And that had been enough for so very long. Wake up, fight, drink, have fun, sleep, repeat. He couldn't say he had ever felt wanting or that there had been something missing. Why did he feel that way now of all times?

His answer came in the form of a feather touch on his cheek, drifting down to his chin, and lifting his head so that his eyes locked onto dark chocolate brown looking right back.

“Things can always change. You can always find a new purpose, one just for you, right?”

Largo was so determined to take the initiative right at that moment that he didn't notice that Venutae had the same thought until their foreheads bumped together with a comical thud. The mage groaned in dismay even as she laughed. “This is how my life works. You might not understand.”

He wanted to understand more, to be certain, but that could be for later. He leaned forward again while the mage was still giggling, and was pleased at how quickly she responded to his taking her lips. There had certainly been no confusion in her interest, especially as her intensity overtook his. Largo barely managed to get his legs out from under him before the mage tackled him to the floor and straddled him.

Mercifully, the Reahtan armor was a lot easier to remove than it looked, because it didn't seem Venutae had much patience for anything. She nearly ripped the front breastplate panel before the clasps were fully loosened, throwing it so far that it clattered against the wall to her left, and didn't even let him up long enough to slide the rear panel out from under him. Fortunately, he got the chance to remove that potential discomfort when the mage pulled him to a sitting position in order to tug off his mail shirt, and tossing it in a clinking waterfall of metal in the general direction of the breastplate.

“Normally, this sort of effort is needed to undress the woman,” Venutae said with an amused giggle as her hands slid under the hem of his padded undershirt and found what they had been hunting for the last five floors. Her touch was electric, causing his skin to tingle as her fingers ran along his sides and abdominals and her mouth reclaimed his.

Largo was content to let her dictate the pace, as it didn't seem to be triggering any unpleasant reactions. Venutae didn't break lip contact as she guided his arms around her waist, encouraging him to tighten his hold. It was actually starting to get difficult to keep his composure, a sweet sort of hell where he had to resist his own urges to take control, and instead allow Venutae to decide where it went from here.

And the mage was not making that discipline easy, as she started grinding her hips into his, causing some severe discomfort in his armor-clad legs and groin, and her tongue started taking some liberties with the inside of his mouth. Largo closed his eyes, took deep breaths, and only opened them when he felt Venutae pull away and sit up.

That was where he saw the first flash of uncertainty in the mage's eyes, but she dismissed his concern with a silent head shake and pushing him back down. “I'm okay...” she finally said, in a shaky and low voice. “Just... let me do this.”

Venutae took one deep breath, grabbed the hem of her top, and swiftly pulled it over her head, dropping it demurely to her side as thought it was the expensive article, not the carefully-crafted plates of armor that cost more than most city treasuries.

Not that Largo really cared all that much, because the view from his vantage point was spectacular.

She must have noticed his eyes, because the mage became abruptly nervous, crossing her arms over her chest and a blush appearing visibly on her dark cheeks. “Like what you see?”

Largo earnestly replied, “Very.”

Venutae offered a smile, and visibly fought back her nerves. “I'm really sorry. I truly am,” she apologized. “This sort of thing has been very difficult for me to even think about, much less act on.”

He reached up, patting her right hip reassuringly. “Only do what you're comfortable with.”

Coders, he hoped he could maintain that resolve.

The mage smiled warmly in response, and tentatively allowed her arms to drop, grabbing the bottom hem of his undershirt before pulling it up to his neck then lowering her weight down onto him and locking lips yet again.

This time, Largo simply couldn't resist a reaction, his throaty groan mingling in his mouth with her own. That only encouraged the mage, who started very slowly rubbing their chests together, then breaking off the kiss to start nibbling at his chin and neck.

Then, his hand took a mind of his own, and before he even fully realized what he was doing, his right hand slid up Venutae's thighs, and settled right over her crotch. At that instant, he felt the mage shudder and knew that the magic had been broken. The centurion had made more than one woman tremble in his day, but this wasn't the sort of quivering he was looking for. This was a fear response.

The passionate haze dispelled like fog hit by a gale, and Largo reluctantly dropped his hand, despite a frantic cry from Venutae. “No, don't stop,” she pleaded. “Don't...”

Instead, he pulled her down into a tight hug, and replied, “You're not ready.”

“But—”

“It won't do either of us any good,” he said. “This isn't something you can force yourself through.”

The mage didn't offer further protest. She closed her eyes tightly, and muttered a curse that Largo barely heard despite how close they were. “Damn it,” she finally agreed, her voice barely above a whimper. “Do you mind if I... get dressed?”

It was distressing to hear how vulnerable she sounded, and he answered, “Not in the slightest.”

Venutae slid off her partner, keeping her back to him as she pulled her top back over her head and adjusted it properly, gently pushing away Khufu who was now concerned by his master's melancholy. “I... I am sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Largo dismissed. “While I don't know the details, whatever the Dominus did must have been traumatic.”

Her sobs were silent, and Largo only knew she was crying because of her trembling shoulders. “At first... I suppose I was flattered. That someone so famous and powerful was interested in me. My father... encouraged it. Told me to be receptive. That it was my path to something greater. When my arcane talents flourished, it only put me in closer proximity.”

“And why you don't really want anything more to do with your father,” Largo surmised.

“The shame really didn't come until later, when I met Pirogoeth during her apprenticeship to Dominus Socrato. When I saw how they interacted, how comfortable she was with her master, I couldn't deny anymore that what my master was doing wasn't normal or proper.”

Largo wanted to embrace her and comfort her, but he didn't think the physical contact would be received well right at that moment, even as she shivered, and certainly not from any chill in the air. “It wasn't just the Dominus either. The apothecary loved to introduce me to his 'opium parties' and intoxicate me with whatever newest concoction he would stir, then violate me while I was disabled. The gardener would tie me up and torture me with any number of his toys.”

“Oh, the Dominus would say that he never mistreated me so, because such carnality was beneath him. He was always 'respectful,' never doing anything so 'base.' That was worse in some ways, to be honest. The other beasts in the tower would do their business and leave me to hide myself in my chambers. The Dominus would molest me for felt like hours on end, for my pleasure, you see.”

“Lies, even if he believed them,” Largo scoffed, inching closer to the mage just in case she did need some sort of physical comfort. “I'm guessing your short time apprenticing under another archmage was related to this?”

Venutae nodded. “Dominus Socrato's doing, as I understand it. Though he didn't take me in himself, Domina Morgana claimed he was concerned that I wouldn't respond well to another man mentoring me. Not that Domina Morgana really did much for me. She considered me a 'sub-standard talent' and 'not worth her time' and 'just another one of Augustus's playthings.'”

Largo assured her, “That is slander, at best.”

“That is kind of you to say,” she replied, finally turning around and offering a weak smile, “Shame I could not have heard it at the time. That's not to say I didn't learn from my short time in Tortuga. I learned that when faced with the crimes of their peers, archmages will deem one of their own too valuable to censure. They'll sit complicit as one of their kin indulges in a history of abuse because the work they offer is simply too important. All of them knew what Dominus Augustus was doing. None of them cared.”

Largo wasn't sure if he was being comforting anymore, but at that moment his anger decided to start speaking. “What I am hearing is that Dominus Augustus deserves to have his guts yanked straight out of his throat and his corpse dragged all the way down his tower regardless of whether he is responsible for this nightmare or not.”

She gave him a sudden hug, and muttered, “I don't know if you really mean that, or if you're just trying to pander to my resentments, but I appreciate it nonetheless.” Her hands then settled on his chest, and the pink tint returned to her cheeks. “I'll have to ask you to put your armor back on. I've teased you enough, and I don't trust myself.”

It was serendipity that he did, because the instant that he buckled the final clasps in place, a tremendous crash sounded from just outside the door, and Minimus bellowing out in rage, followed by a tiger roar that betrayed who was responsible for the interruption.

Largo grabbed his sword and the door handle with each hand, and yanked it open just in time to see Adroitus taking a flying arc past the open doorway and make a painful landing down the hall.

Largo took one step back as he heard the heavy boots of the tigerman approaching, and saw the broad shadow cast from the east window. He used those cues to time his attack, lunging forward with a shoulder tackle just as the large chimera stepped into the doorway. The sudden charge caught the tigerman off guard, and the two massive bodies crashed into the far wall, where Largo heard a satisfying roar of pain as he planted his elbow squarely in the chimera's side and crushed him against the stone. Largo followed that up with a left uppercut directly to the jaw before the tigerman was finally able to push the centurion away. Largo managed to keep his balance, squaring up to face his foe again now that the element of surprise had been spent.

He quickly discovered that the limited space of the hall gave him a considerable advantage, as the chimera didn't have much room to duck and dodge his blade. Not that the tigerman gave any indication he intended to dodge anything, as he simply blocked an overhead chop with his bracer.

The blade cut into the thick leather cladding the chimera's wrist, and the tigerman regarded the strike with annoyance, parrying it downward before inspecting the wound. “I had almost forgotten you're stronger than you look,” he grumbled. “You actually cut me. I'd say you should be honored in doing that much, but I doubt you understand, nor are you going to get much opportunity to brag about it even if you did.”

The tigerman stepped inside Largo's next attack, a vertical chop, but Largo had anticipated the attempted counterattack, halting his swipe and sidestepping flat against the north wall to avoid the chimera's kidney punch before driving the hilt of his sword down into his opponent's exposed temple.

It was a blow that would have killed a normal man, but the chimera responded with a violent one-armed shove and a roar as Largo toppled over Adroitus, who had just managed to get back to his feet. The tigerman might have been able to press the advantage if Minimus hadn't jumped in from behind and put the chimera into a headlock, the legionnaire's biceps dueling against the chimera's neck.

While the chimera eventually won that struggle, it gave Adroitus and Largo time to recover, both of them tackling their foe to the ground, then Largo straddling his upper body to punch the tigerman repeatedly in the face. If the blows did any real damage outside of the superficial, Largo wouldn't have known. His knuckles felt like he might as well been trying to punch granite, and the lack of response from the chimera would suggest that wasn't far from the truth.

The tigerman took seven punches without even bothering to raise his guard, then shoved Largo off and face-first into the south wall. As Largo's ears rang from the impact, the chimera literally kicked Adroitus away, then rolled to his feet to clap Minimus across the cheek with a spinning backhand.

“What does it take to get you to stay down?” Largo grumbled, just before taking a kick to the chest.

“I could ask the same of you, Reahtan,” the chimera snarled back, then movement to his side drew his attention long enough to receive a blinding burst of light directly in front of his eyes.

Venutae then ordered, “Khufu! Get him! Now!”

A flash of black fur pounced, and the blinded tigerman was nearly taken off his feet by the panther's takedown attempt. Khufu landed one vicious bite on the chimera's nose, shredding part of the mask in the process, prompting the tigerman to roar in rage and force the panther away. Khufu landed on his feet, and lunged again, this time going for the tigerman's thigh as the chimera swiped blindly at chest level, expecting another leaping tackle. The panther didn't manage to sink deep—Largo could easily see the white of Khufu's fangs—but it was enough for the big cat to gain leverage, and with a violent twist, forced their chimeric foe to one knee.

“You... damned... cat!” the tigerman screamed, his eyesight clearing enough to aim a punch in Khufu's general direction. The panther slunk away from the haphazard blow, and stepped in again, swiping a paw at the tigerman's calf, slicing through trousers and at least the top layer of skin, then ducking away from an attempted kick.

Largo's concern grew as the chimera's eyesight cleared. Khufu was no doubt an unnaturally smart and powerful apex predator, but this tigerman was beyond inhuman. All it would take was one of those sloppy blows to connect, and the panther would become a new layer of paint for the walls.

The centurion forced his legs to move, dropped his shoulder, and planted it firmly in the tigerman's gut as the chimera got back to his feet. To his surprise, the leverage he had was not just enough to distract the massive chimera, but force him all the way back to the eastern wall, and through the large window at the end.

Largo didn't fully realize just what had happened until he heard the sound of glass shattering, then all the momentum in his body leading him over the railing and into the open air. He was vaguely aware of Venutae screaming as instinct kicked in and he thrashed for any handhold, finding it on the same railing he had just fallen over. His left hand clenched with desperate strength, his right providing additional support one breath later. It didn't seem like it should be that hard to maintain his grip, until he realized that there was considerably more weight straining his arms than there should be.

Looking down led to two discoveries: first, that looking down was a very bad idea, with all the rocks and ocean a very long way down; and second, that a very angry tiger chimera, with his fangs visible through the tears in his mask, had his right hand clenched firmly around Largo's left ankle.

The tigerman seemed far less concerned than Largo was about their peril, even going as far as to clench his fist until Largo felt bones grinding together. “Are you insane?” the centurion bellowed, as the pain threatened to loosen his grip.

“The only person who would die is you,” the chimera replied flatly.

What followed next happened all in the span of a blink. A roar resounded from above Largo, and Venutae screamed again, as a panther-shaped blur fell down past Largo, then the weight around his ankle vanished. Largo tried to follow what had happened, but he blocked his own view from what must have been Khufu and the tigerman falling.

Venutae and Minimus finally appeared over the ledge, looking down over Largo's shoulders. The frantic worry on the mage's face quickly morphed into confusion, mimicked by Minimus's narrowing eyes as he tried to focus on something far below.

It got to the point that whatever they were looking for was clearly not going to be found, and any sorrow Largo might have had towards Khufu's sacrifice shifted to irritation. “Far be for me to interrupt,” he said, “but I don't exactly have an immortal's endurance, nor is this the best hand hold. If you could at least move out of the way so I could pull myself up, I'd appreciate it.”

That spurred the pair into action, helping the centurion back through the window. Of course, once Largo had been pulled to safety, Venutae's concern immediately turned back to the fallen panther. “What happened to Khufu? I saw him jump out the window... then...”

Largo hated doing this to her. “I didn't see much myself. That chimera had managed to grab onto me, and looked ready to drop us both to our deaths. Khufu somehow managed to dislodge the man, but I wasn't able to see what happened from there. I assumed they fell.”

Minimus sighed, but Venutae insisted, “That's the thing, Centurion. There wasn't any sign of either of them. Not on the ramparts or in the water below.”

“That was a long way down, Magus,” Minimus said as soothingly as he could muster. “We likely wouldn't have been able to see any people or big cats within the ocean waters.”

“Then we need to go back down! Khufu could still be alive!”

“By the time we made the trip all the way back down, presuming we even could get down there after all the damage that has happened to the tower, Khufu would either have drowned or managed to swim to safety without our aid,” the legionnaire declined. “Meanwhile, Coders knows what else the Dominus could be plotting. The best thing to do is to finish this, then we can take stock of those we have lost.”

Adroitus added, “And if that tigerman is down there and somehow managed to survive, it means he's not stalking us up here. We have a window to strike at the Dominus without that pirate's interference, and we need to take it.”

Venutae knew they were right, and she definitely put up a strong face as she reined in her emotions. “You are correct, of course. My apologies for losing my composure, Legionnaire.”

Minimus gave Largo a quick glance, and a subtle tilt of his head in Venutae's direction. “Then we press on. Footman, you take the lead this time and we'll secure the stairwell. Let the Centurion get a bit of his breath back. Magus, stay with him until you're ready to rejoin us.”

Largo saw the orders for what they were: Reahtan pride at work, recognizing grief without actually acknowledging it. His job now was to let Venutae cry on his shoulder, which the mage did quite literally, her forehead dropping onto his right shoulder as she finally allowed a few tears to fall.

“I didn't have too many people my age on the island to begin with, and when I was designated an apprentice, I wasn't permitted to do much outside the tower at all.” she explained as her body and voice trembled. “That furball was one of the few friends I had through my teenage years. Even if I wasn't really supposed to play with the animals, it was one of the few sins the Dominus allowed me. I like to think I saved him... that he would have been sacrificed to the Dominus's experiments if he wasn't a friend of mine. But I also know that my feelings about anything never mattered. We were all just toys to the Dominus, to be used and eventually discarded when our owner saw fit.”

“Well, I wouldn't completely give up hope on Khufu surviving,” Largo replied, embracing her. “I would have at least heard him meeting his demise in a fall. There's a possibility, even if small, that we'll finish the Dominus and meet him going down. But we need to finish the job while the opportunity is there.”

The mage sniffled once more, then leaned away, wiping her eyes and nose on her glove. “So let's hurry up and do it, right?”

The centurion offered a small smile. “Right.”

“And put on a brave face for what I am going to see on the next floor.”

Largo was suddenly curious about the odd, incongruous statement. “You sound awfully certain of what's coming.”

Venutae took a very deep, unsteady breath as she pushed away from Largo. “The top three floors of the tower have never changed in all the years it has existed. And while I have no doubt I'm going to have to explain more fully in a matter of minutes, please just allow me the luxury of avoiding it until absolutely necessary.”

Largo nodded silently, then offered, “Would you rather me go first then?”

The mage shook her head. “No. I need someone behind me just in case I panic and try to run. I had thought I'd be strong enough to face it, but now I'm no longer sure.”

Her somber voice suggested that was no jest, and that got Largo's mind racing. After what she had already revealed, what could be on the next floor to upset Venutae even worse?

Chapter 11: The Innocence of Youth

If he hadn't been so concerned about Venutae's mental state, he'd probably be admiring the view as he followed her up the stairs to the next floor. Instead, he focused on keeping close as her steps slowed, and he liked to think his presence gave her the courage to keep going.

Though truthfully, it was probably more the presence of the two other members of the team waiting for her at the top of the stairwell.

“Got your wind back, Centurion?” Minimus asked.

Largo declared, “Can't waste time, Legionnaire. We need to press on.”

Venutae nodded in agreement, if solemnly, and Minimus took that as the cue he needed. “Press on, Footman. Keep your guard up, and be ready for anything.”

Adroitus did just that, swinging open the doors and momentarily disappearing through the entryway. After a silent beat, the disgraced soldier said incredulously, “I'm not exactly sure what I was expecting, but this isn't it.”

Minimus followed, and was equally taken aback. “Well, it is certainly... extravagant.”

Venutae had frozen two steps from the landing, and even Largo's comforting hands on her shoulders didn't seem to provide the impetus for her to press on. “I thought I could face this... I thought I was strong enough...” she muttered.

“You can, and you are,” Largo reassured.

But the mage shook her head rapidly. “No, you don't understand...”

Minimus's patience could only go so far, as he raised his voice to sternly declare, “Magus? Centurion? We need to move.”

“Venutae,” Largo softly prompted, trying to offer more a gentle motivation than Minimus's displeasure.

The mage tried to steady her breath, and was only partially successful. “I... I know.”

The first step was the hardest, but once she took it, it was like a ball rolling down a hill. She didn't even stop for a blink at the landing, turning and entering the floor with Largo right behind her. As he passed through the door, the centurion could now see what all the fuss was about.

Minimus had the right of it. Unlike the very spartan design that dominated the tower below, this floor was dripping with opulence. His feet sank an inch into an extremely plush and padded cream carpet, astonishing him with the contrast from bare stone that had been present before.

Venutae noted his surprise and whispered glumly, “It was for the benefit of walking with bare feet.”

The rest of the room shared that extravagance. Directly to his right at the entry was a long white wooden table carved with a fairy motif along the edge, stretching twenty feet before a row of brilliant white wooden doors. The table was filled with perfumes so strong he could smell lavender and cinnamon and vanilla, alongside other assorted cosmetics in hues more varied than a rainbow.

In the center of the room was a white circular sofa, with deeply-reclined backs and a series of footstools arranged around it. In between the cushions were tables overloaded with fruits, chocolates, and candies, many of them foreign, which somehow didn't stain any of the leather or wood surfaces. The vittles here must have been replenished recently, as there wasn't a hint of rot to be found among any of the more perishable items.

Adroitus had turned to the left, towards the north side of the room, where a pair of double doors made entirely of stained glass and trimmed in gold leaf depicted a portrait of the Dominus himself. Opening the doors, he emitted a low whistle, and said, “Wow, look at this.”

“This” turned out to be a large bathing room, the central bath easily ten feet in diameter, oval and carved from gleaming ivory. The bath itself bubbled from an unidentified heat source, and a foam with the color and aroma of roses danced across the water's surface, building into a soapy fountain at the south end, where the water flowed from the mouth of an ivory sculpture in the shape of a unicorn head.

The walls were illuminated along the perimeter by a series of vanilla-scented candles, which also cast light onto a mural that covered every surface from the walls to the ceiling, filled with various degrees of debauchery and sexual depravity.

Adroitus whistled again, this time in awe. “I didn't think a girl could bend like that.”

“Women can't normally,” Venutae interrupted with a glower, then once she had the men's attention explained, “This... is Dominus Augustus's harem. Those who lived on this floor were given the utmost comfort and luxury. It was a prison, in a twisted way. No reason to have a cell door if what is outside is infinitely worse.”

Largo could suspect why Venutae held such anxiety over this location, but he didn't want to air those thoughts publicly. Instead, it was Adroitus who cut to the heart of the matter. “Sounds like you're speaking from experience here, Magus.”

But to the mage's credit, she didn't wither from the observation. Instead she snapped, “Yes, if you must have confirmation, I was one of the Dominus's harem before my magical gifts manifested and I became his apprentice. So yes, Footman, I do speak from experience.”

Minimus then cut in darkly, “And it is an experience we will not have her explain in detail, am I understood?”

The disgraced soldier warded off the angry rebukes with a wave of his hands. “I didn't mean to sound insulting! Honest! I despise that practice!”

Venutae continued in spite of herself, “I'm sure the girls who resided on this floor would disagree, unless they were the Dominus's chosen consort that day. Even then, I'm certain the overwhelming majority of them would prefer the Dominus's occasional affections to whatever marginal existences they once lived. Leaving the Dominus's care meant returning to a life of poverty or a family's loss of prestige. Needless to say, none that I knew of ever tried.”

Largo's hands clenched into fists. Augustus specifically chose vulnerable women and families for his harem because they would be too desperate or afraid to refuse him. Venutae's family would have been a prime target; having already known the Dominus's favor, then losing Venutae's mother, would have made her father willing to do anything to regain that position of favor... including giving his own daughter to the Dominus as a harem slave, a duty that no doubt continued after Venutae officially became his apprentice.

Minimus however, had made a different observation. “While I am in no place to be judging the Dominus's mental state, his harem seems to be rather well-stocked and prepared. But where are the harem girls?”

“I'd presume they were among the first to fall victim to whatever curse afflicted the tower,” Venutae replied dismissively.

“Then why keep maintaining this floor?”

“Because the Dominus is depraved and most likely driven completely insane at this point.”

Largo wanted to believe Venutae's experience on this matter, but he wasn't entirely certain the evidence bore that out. The man was clearly bereft of any morality or decency, but nothing Largo had seen so far brought him to the conclusion that the Dominus had become some witless fool.

His thoughts were then interrupted by the sound of a door opening back in the main chamber, then a single pair of footsteps moving with a steady, deliberate pace to the center of the room. Largo held up one warning finger and slowly stalked to the doorway, peering around the corner as he saw a single elegantly-dressed zombie turn to its right towards the row of doors on the other side of the center room. The second door opened slowly, allowing the zombie entrance, and Largo took that opportunity to slip back into the central chamber, preparing for an ambush.

He had managed to creep right up to the open door when the zombie returned, and it seemed each was stunned motionless by the other's presence. Largo was astonished by the zombie's impeccable state of dress, its brilliant gold-trimmed white tunic absolutely spotless despite the rotting flesh wearing it. In its hands it carried a pristine silver tray filled with crystal goblets, which themselves were empty save for stains of red wine.

But that didn't explain why the zombie seemed equally aghast. The undead in the tower had not shown any signs of fear before, or that they were even capable of any emotion that could be considered human. Yet there it was, standing motionless in front of Largo, its bloodshot, sickly yellow eyes locked forward.

Largo slid back to attack, but was surprised when the zombie merely stepped forward into the space that Largo had just vacated. It was the most unexpected move the zombie could have made, surprising Largo so much that he stumbled further backward, scrambling to his feet just as the zombie again stepped forward and stopped once more in front of Largo, its posture and expression completely unchanged.

Confounded by the behavior, but grateful that it didn't take advantage, Largo rolled to the side, readied his sword... and watched the zombie continue on its way, turning towards an open door on the farthest end of the central chamber, where Largo spied the stairwell leading up. Quickly devising a theory, and crazy enough to test it, Largo rushed to intercept the zombie before it could leave the room, imposing himself just in front of the doorway. Once again, the zombie stopped, staring lifelessly ahead without even the slightest reaction to the imposition.

Venutae morosely said, “This is consistent with the final state of the undead. Complete annihilation of the self. This poor fool literally can do nothing other than what he is directly instructed to do, and will do it repeatedly until ordered to do something else.”

With a snap of the fingers on her right hand, a small spark of flame jumped to the zombie's ear, and within seconds its entire head was ablaze. Venutae tugged on Largo to get him out of the way, and the zombie took three more steps before it collapsed face down just beyond the doorway. “I'd say I was putting him out of his misery, but I suspect he was long past any feeling,” she concluded.

Meanwhile, Minimus and Adroitus approached the room that the zombie had just left. The two men flanked the door on each side, then Minimus reached out to push it open wide while Adroitus stepped in with his shield raised, only to be met with a cacophony of high-pitched feminine screams.

“Forsaken Coders take us...” the disgraced soldier rasped, lowering his shield and taking a step back.

Largo rushed to Adroitus side, joined by Minimus, and they quickly understood the footman's reaction. A blood-red room, with throw pillows scattered along the floor and with rose petals magically showering from the ceiling, housed eight girls huddled together in fright at the opposite end. Their clothing only barely covered their essentials, accessorized with sarongs and slips that were practically transparent.

By Largo's reckoning, these girls could not have been in their mid-teens at oldest, and he didn't even want to fathom a guess at the youngest.

His concern immediately turned to Venutae, who hadn't joined her teammates gawking through the doorway. She had kept her distance, looking very much defeated, and Largo immediately pushed aside any curiosity out of concern for the mage.

He tried so very hard not to sound accusatory as he asked, “Venutae... how old were you when this started?” It was a question that he already knew the answer to, but hoped that Venutae would somehow dispel his fears.

She sighed and with a tired smile said, “I'm twenty-one now. I was released from my apprenticeship three years ago. I was his apprentice for three, save a year in Domina Morgana's care, and his harem servant for four years before that. Do the math, Largo. The Dominus didn't release me from service because I had learned enough, or because he was being pressured by his colleagues. He discarded me because I was too old for his desires.”

“And the other archmages knew of all this... and protected him?”

Venutae shrugged in defeat. “Not so much that. He is a powerful mage in his own right, who alone frightened the entirety of the Reahtan Empire into parlaying peace. But they didn't chastise him or seek to remove him from his seat of power, either. The closest anyone got was Domina Pirogoeth firing a few warning shots across the continent to tell him to keep his perversions to himself.” Her entire body shook with a bitter sob. “A single half-measure was all they took to defend children like me from a monster.”

Largo's blood was boiling to the point that he didn't care one bit about proper appearances, pulling the mage under his chin to hide the tears that were threatening to fall. “I'm not going to appeal to the bastard or work with him, understand?” he whispered. “I'm going up there to castrate him, at the very least. And if he gives me even half a reason to cut him up into fine pieces and feed him to the sharks, I'm going to take it.”

A laugh burbled up Venutae's throat. “At least allow me to get a few shots in. I think I've earned that much.”

“How about I hold him down and you castrate him?”

“Deal.”

The quiet consolation was interrupted as the harem girls nervously filtered out of the room they had been hiding in. It was where Largo learned that his original count was wrong. There were, in fact, nine girls, which made Venutae quip darkly, “The Dominus has been collecting, I see. He never had more than five during the time I was a resident of the tower.”

Largo also quickly noticed another tendency in the Dominus's choices. Not only were the girls all distressingly young, there wasn't a native Reahtan among any of them. They ranged from the pale redheads typical of Daynish ancestry, or the light blonde or brown of Avalon, to the dark skin and pitch hair of descendants from Canno... but not a single one that Largo would identify as native to the Empire.

These were all girls that must have come from far away locations at some point. “And that collection could not have come at easy expense, nor without a very extensive network,” Largo surmised.

Venutae patted him on the shoulder, “Families desperate to escape the Daynish Campaigns or the collapse of their ancestral homes, willing to accept any deal for what promised to be safety. I told you, Largo. He chose from the most vulnerable of humanity to sate his exotic tastes.”

They were interrupted by one of older girls who approached with wide-eyed awe, an Avalonian teenager with knee-length bright blonde hair. Her natural complexion would have been pale to begin with, but her alabaster makeup, rose dusting on her cheeks, and deep red lip color made her look more like a porcelain doll.

“Wait... I remember you,” she said softly, pointing at Venutae. “Don't you remember me? I'm Rebecca. My family came from Wynncaster. You were the Dominus's apprentice, weren't you?”

Venutae blinked, before warily admitting. “Yes... you were still a child, arriving just as I started serving as his apprentice. I do apologize.”

“You always avoided us. I only remember you rushing through this floor.” Then Rebecca's eyes narrowed and her head tilted to the right with curiosity. “Why did you cut your hair?”

Largo's left eyebrow rose in amusement as he regarded the mage with a grin. She responded with a side-eyed glare and grunted, “If you haven't noticed, that's a trait the Dominus required in all his girls. I wasn't allowed to have hair shorter than mid-back. It was actually a nuisance, especially when trying to channel arcane energy. If you knew any number of mages, you'd discover all of us keep our hair relatively short for that reason.”

Largo's mirth turned to confusion. He got the feeling that the mage was having an entirely different conversation with him than the one he had been trying to start. “I... was just trying to imagine you with long hair. You'd look almost completely different. I'm not sure I'd recognize you.”

Venutae stopped short, another hint of pink appearing on her cheeks. “Oh. Yes, I... suppose that would be true.”

Largo wondered what the mage thought he had meant, but she had already shaken her thoughts clear and focused on a different topic. “Rebecca, do any of you know what happened in the tower?”

She shook her head. “No. The Dominus came to us about three weeks ago, telling us that things were going to change, but that we weren't allowed to leave the floor for our own safety. That Alquedi had been turned into a monster had scared us at first... but no harm came to us, so we accepted it, I guess.”

Venutae offered before Largo could ask, “Alquedi was the attendant that you were playing with earlier.”

Rebecca shrugged indifferently, “Other than that, nothing really changed, so... we never really gave it much thought.”

“That's not surprising,” Venutae replied. “Has the Dominus been corrupted as well?”

Rebecca hesitated, before admitting, “I don't think so? We haven't seen him since that last appearance three weeks ago. He could be... maybe?”

Venutae then asked Minimus, “Legionnaire, any idea what we should do with them? They can't stay here, and we certainly can't take them with us.”

Minimus's brow furrowed, “Do you think that it's going to get that violent?”

“I don't think there's any doubt about it,” Venutae replied. “That the Dominus hasn't visited them since his last warning tells me that he has in fact succumbed to the curse. It's the only reason I can think of that he wouldn't be... entertaining his harem. And if he has, there's no telling what he would do.”

Adroitus pursed his lips, and offered with a halfhearted raise of his hand, “I'll volunteer to escort them down the tower.”

“And do what?” Largo asked. “There's not going to be any ships arriving for days, at the very least.”

Rebecca looked aghast. “You don't have any way off the island?”

Minimus sighed in defeat. “Not on our own. Once the Dominus is dealt with, we will have to wait for someone to arrive on the island. Which might take some time.”

Worry immediately turned into disdain from the harem girl, who said with a dismissive huff of disgust, “Well, then, what good are you fools? If you don't have any means for us to spread our blight to the mainland, why are any of you still alive?”

The air in the room seemed to turn cold, and the fright the girls had exhibited just moments before now shifted to a confident, insidious arrogance as the glamour that hit their true forms fell away. Youthful features contorted into sunken, withered flesh; vibrant hair turned white and wiry; eyes turned yellow and dead.

The harem girls hadn't been mercifully spared. They had likely been the first victims.

While Minimus, Largo, and Venutae had been far enough away to avoid the initial attack, Adroitus had been positing himself as an escort, and had his back to most of them. Six of them tackled him to the ground, their weight keeping him pinned as they clawed at his armor and any exposed skin they could find.

Largo tried to intervene, but was intercepted by Rebecca and a second of her kin. A wide arcing slash from his sword forced them back, but the spindly undead creatures quickly jumped back in before he could take more than another step in Adroitus's direction.

But the attention Largo demanded was what allowed Venutae and Minimus to interject themselves. The mage unleashed a concentrated gale that sent the waifish undead tumbling across the carpet, and gave the legionnaire the opening to pull Adroitus free of the pile and retreat towards the stairwell up.

The undead harem recovered quickly, giving chase, coming just a blink short of catching the team before they could slam the door shut. Minimus and Largo braced it to prevent the undead children from forcing their way through while Venutae examined their bloodied companion.

Adroitus held no delusions of his fate. “Shameful that I got this far, only to die at the hands of a bunch of kids.”

“Hush,” Venutae scoffed. “Your wounds are superficial, even if there's many of them.”

The door jerked violently, despite Largo and Minimus leaning against it. “We're going to have to do something about these brats,” the legionnaire grunted. “They're not going to let us proceed without challenge.”

Adroitus pushed away Venutae, then forced himself up to a sitting position. The undead children had done more than superficial injury. Blood rolled liberally down his brows, with a chunk of flesh taken from his right temple to the point that Largo could see bone. Any other exposed skin bore similar damage, and his armor had even taken a beating in the efforts to create more space to ravage.

About the only thing that didn't look like it had been chewed up by a pack of wild dogs was a purple ribbon tied around Adroitus's left forearm, a gift from the children that had no doubt been used to mark him as a target. “I can already hear the Dominus, trying to command me to turn on all three of you,” he said simply. “And that voice is getting louder by the second. While I still have my own mind... I need to give the rest of you the opportunity to press on.”

Venutae asked, “You can hear the Dominus? In your thoughts?”

Adroitus regarded her darkly, “I can't imagine who else would be saying, 'kill them, kill them while they still trust you.' Can you? Now, as I said, it's getting harder to resist that command, so I need you to act quickly and set me on fire.”

The mage boggled, “What?”

“You heard me. Set me ablaze, then the centurion and legionnaire will open the door and I'll charge in. With luck, they'll all light up like kindling. At worst, I'd be able to turn that entire room into an inferno that will at least buy you time.”

When he sensed Venutae's hesitation, he snarled, “You don't have time to think about this. Hurry up and do it!”

Minimus finally let her off hook by making it an order. “Do it, Magus. Centurion, get ready to move.”

This didn't seem right, in Largo's mind. When a soldier was ready to sacrifice himself for the greater good, there should be more dignity—more ceremony—to it. They should have a moment to make farewells and reminisce, exchange vows or promises, that sort of thing. Shouldn't there be other options and ideas to weigh before settling on the hard reality? Sure, Largo never liked the man much at all, but he deserved a better end than this.

“Can you even do that?” Largo asked Venutae.

With a tone of resignation she sighed, “I could set all of us on fire if I really wanted to.”

Minimus cut in again, “Then hurry up!” His insistence was emphasized by the door jerking violently several inches with the latest rush by the harem on the other side.

The mage clenched her eyes shut, reached her left hand into her satchel, and snapped her fingers on her right hand. A small deluge of bitter-smelling lantern oil dropped onto Adroitus, conjured directly above his head. When he recoiled from the smell, she replied, “You wanted to be set on fire. This is the quickest way for me to ensure it. I don't have the sort of raw strength to turn you into a fireball, okay?”

Another push from the zombie harem actually pushed the door off its frame, and it took all of Largo's strength to keep it closed. There was no more time. “Go!” Minimus bellowed, prompting Adroitus to jump to his feet as Minimus shoved Largo aside and ripped the door open for him.

Venutae flicked the spark that quickly engulfed Adroitus as he crossed the threshold, screaming in a combination of rage and pain. It really couldn't have worked any better. The undead harem girls were taken completely by surprise, the burning soldier throwing himself on top of them in a pile. “Close the door!” Adroitus screamed as his final words, “and give that bastard every ounce of unholy hell he deserves.”

Largo complied, slamming the door shut and leaning against it just in case something slipped through Adroitus's inferno and made another charge. Mercifully for the rest of the team, Adroitus's screams were quickly cut short, most likely from his lungs and throat being burned away on the inside.

The abrupt reprieve finally gave Largo the decompression that had been lacking during their teammate's sudden determination for sacrifice. “He spoke so much about how he was ready to die... but I never thought he was actually serious.”

Minimus laughed quietly. “He seemed to think the Dominus was the source of the arms deal that caused his dishonor in the first place, so I'm not surprised that he'd do this to ensure that the quest could continue. But then, I wasn't constantly distracted by someone else on the team.”

Largo was ready to retort when he became abruptly aware of the heat radiating from behind the door he was holding. Minimus had jerked back as well, and said, “Even if something in there lit up like a bonfire, I do not want to press on until we confirm everything on this damn floor is dead and done.”

The centurion accepted that order. The last thing they needed was one of those hell children somehow escaping the tower or getting revenge at the worst possible moment. It also gave him the opportunity to attend to Venutae, who looked nigh catatonic.

The mage was staring through the floor, her eyes focused on some point below the surface of the earth. Largo gently touched her shoulder, and said, “Are you alright?”

She barely shook her head and whimpered, “No.”

“I can't imagine how difficult it must have been, even with the Footman offering himself up willingly.”

“That's... not it.”

The mage really didn't get a chance to explain what it actually was, because all three of them jumped to the defensive as the door burst open, billowing smoke as a blackened, soot-covered mess of a vaguely human body fell in a grotesque pile just inside the entryway. It's size and occasional glimmers of metal armor betrayed who the corpse once was.

Minimus drew his sword, compelling Largo to do the same. “Now the question is was he trying to tell us that the job is done, or had he turned on us?” the legionnaire wondered, gesturing for Largo to take point as he finished the job, driving his sword through the back of Adroitus's head.

As Largo warily entered the charred remains of the harem, the first impediment he found was the smoke. He wasn't sure how a single human body could have so quickly produced such a horrific black fog stinking of burnt flesh, singed fur, and flowers. The carpet that had been so soft under his feet now crunched and crackled with each step, the fibers black and brittle to the point that he could see the bare stone underneath.

He held his left arm up to his mouth, but found that to be completely ineffective at filtering out the smoke that filled his lungs and forced him to cough violently. Everything that could have lit on fire did, and some of it was still burning, like the cosmetics table that produced the floral hints in the air.

“There is no way Adroitus did all this on his own,” Minimus observed between coughs. “Magus, can you do anything about the smoke?”

“Not really,” the mage answered glumly, her voice muffled by her hands over her face. “This floor was almost entirely contained. Look around. There aren't even any windows. Nothing to encourage anyone here to consider the world outside this accursed place.”

A gurgling cackle quickly made them forget about the smoke, and turned their attention to the southeast corner of the room. There, surrounded by the charred and smoldering remains of the rest of the harem, was Rebecca, propped up between the junction of the walls, the lower left of her body completely gone and much of the right burned to blackened crust.

“You mortals are so very amusing,” the undead creature giggled. “Do you think throwing that sot's life away is going to do more than prolong the inevitable? Did you think that you had made it this far with just your motley band because of your strength? You were allowed to reach this point, and now that you have proven you are of no use to us, you will be quickly dealt with. Perhaps, the great master will find some use in your corpses, but as weak and worthle—”

Rebecca's gloating was finally silenced by Largo's sword stabbing through her neck. “That's quite enough,” he snarled, then coughed violently. “Let's get out of this wreck before we suffocate.”

As they retreated, Largo nearly bowled Venutae right over, because the mage hadn't moved from her spot just past the doorway. With a grunt, he escorted her back into the stairwell with a forceful push, and grew even more concerned when it didn't even earn him a glare.

While the smoke had spread to the stairwell somewhat, at least the air was breathable again, and Largo took the opportunity to press the mage again on what had abruptly turned her so despondent. “V... what... is wrong with you?”

The mage refused to look up, but she did finally mutter in a weak voice, “I had thought all this time it was just a story to scare the young ones in the tower.”

Largo could feel Minimus side up to him as he pressed, “What story?”

“What... Adroitus said. About hearing the Dominus in his head trying to command him. The older denizens of the tower used to scare children into doing whatever they wanted by saying the Dominus had the ability to control other people's minds, and could force us to do anything if he so desired. I had never seen him use such power during my time as an apprentice, and I figured he would have if it was something he was capable of... but...”

Her chest shook with a fearful sob, “I knew the power supposedly existed, but since the Dominus was considered to be the least powerful of his colleagues, I didn't think it was something he actually had control of.”

Largo had put together the thoughts she struggled to convey. “Are you suggesting that Dominus Augustus can control people's thoughts?”

“It's called the Art of Domination. All the archmages allegedly have such a power, though again, I had never seen it actually used by any of them.”

Largo cut to the heart of the issue. “So what do we do about it?”

Finally, Venutae raised her head, and Largo could see the despair in her eyes that matched the trembling in her voice. “That's the problem, Centurion. I don't think we can.”

Chapter Twelve: Step into my Parlor

Minimus quickly shut down that line of defeatism.

“Magus, you are probably the last one here that didn't know that. This was meant to be my Final March from the moment I was chosen for this mission. I've been expendable since I was sent back to Reaht crippled by spidergirl venom. Adroitus was sent here by the Empire hoping he would get killed and snip the inconvenient loose end he represented. Every other member of our legion were castoffs, layabouts, and other wastrels within the Imperial Army they felt they could afford to lose. You and the Centurion here were the only two people in this whole damn legion that were ever meant to actually accomplish anything.”

He snarled defiantly, “We were never meant to defeat the Dominus, merely to make his life as painful as possible. So you're not telling me anything I don't already know. And I'm certainly not going to stop now. Maybe you're right, and the Dominus can just take our souls and make us his little puppets. But if that's the case, then I'm going to make him take it rather than sit here and give it to him without a fight.”

Venutae regarded this with an impassive expression, which at least was an improvement from melancholy. Largo gently put his hands on her shoulders, hoping it would be a comforting gesture. With a long, tired exhale, the mage finally relented. “You're probably right. Guess we tear down as much as we can?”

“That's the Reahtan spirit!” the legionnaire said with boisterous fake cheer. He slapped Largo on the back and immediately shifted back into grim seriousness. “Take point like always, Centurion. Magus, in formation behind him. Make it quick, it's starting to get too smoky in here too.”

Largo had been noticing that the higher up the tower they went, the narrower the stairs became. This stairwell was barely wide enough for him to walk through without turning sideways. The centurion figured that it was a consequence of not expecting, or wanting, much foot traffic in what was primarily the Dominus's personal space. He picked up his pace as much to stay out of the rising smoke as to fight the creeping claustrophobia that was building in his gut, taking the steps two at a time despite his legs beginning to protest by the time he finally reached the next landing.

“Here we are,” Venutae said. “This is the Dominus's private chambers. Here you will find the parlor, his personal library, and his... pleasure chamber. The first of two floors that hold his deepest secrets, be they arcane or carnal.”

“Then let's dig into some secrets,” Largo said, thrusting open the gold-trimmed dark oak door and stepping into the heart of the Dominus's home.

The difference from the rest of the tower was immediate. Even the harem looked positively rustic compared to the ostentatious luxuries displayed in the parlor. The floor was brilliant white marble, shimmering with a waxy finish under the pure white radiance of the tower's mithril silver lighting. Spaced evenly throughout were eight pillars of the same stone, with gold trimming their bases and running up the columns in lines that divided them into quarters. As he got closer, what he had thought were veins within the marble were in fact etchings, the carved lines meticulously colored with a dark blue pigment.

“These columns represent a 'picture history' of the island,” Venutae said. “Or more accurately, monuments to what the Dominus decided was the island's history, which is really just the story of his life.”

She ran her right hand across the closest one. “This one, for example, is the discovery of his magical talent, which was well before he even thought to sail across Reahtan waters to this island. It's also probably the only part of his story that's completely true, without exaggeration. Reaht would have sought to kill him, being a mage born to the lowest class.”

With that explanation, Largo now could see the seemingly random lines taking shape in the form of a person fleeing a horde of armed men.

She turned south to what was presumably the next column in order. “And this, where he was secretly taught in the untamed wilds to the north of Reaht, where he learned of the great spirits and how to beseech them. He claims they were the ones that refined his talents and made him the man he became.”

That would fit what looked to be a man surrounded by animal figures. It seemed very unlikely that any spirits so great would trust the Dominus with anything, much less the knowledge to be among the greatest mages on the continent.

She moved onto the next one, to the northern side on the second row. “This features his arrival on the island with his entourage. This island was wild and untamed, ruled by a great leviathan that could circle around the island's entire perimeter. The veracity of this claim, both of the size of the creature and of the Dominus's brilliant trickery in getting permission to tap the ley energy confluence and kill the creature, is dubious.”

Now that Largo knew what he was looking at, he saw the giant beast's coils wrapping around the column, and a single human figure holding his hand up towards what looked like the sun. “Yes, I can see how the story as described would a bit unbelievable.”

South side, second row. “This is how he first established the tower, followed by the preeminent mage of that time, Dominus Socrato, coming to honor and acknowledge Augustus as his peer. I'll give you a hint: Augustus is not the figure kneeling down in this image.”

Minimus finally interrupted, “While this is all fascinating, we have a job to do.”

Venutae tried not to glower, but her irritation dripped through nonetheless. “And I'm doing it. This, I'm afraid, isn't something either of you can help with just yet, and I was just trying to keep you engaged rather than bored out of your minds.” She waited for the blank expressions to settle then said, “The final stairwell is triggered by solving a puzzle that he frequently changed, sometimes daily. The problem is that until I know just what puzzle he used, I can't even tell you what to look for.”

“Understood,” Minimus replied. “And this is something the Dominus does normally?”

“He considers it a test to determine if a visitor is even worthy of his audience. And yes, it's as obnoxious as you might think if you're trying to approach him with urgent business. While it's true that he was well-informed on events of large-scale significance, he rarely considered things of individual importance to be worth any courtesy whatsoever.”

“Speaking from experience, Magus?”

Largo wasn't even the target of the following glare, but cringed regardless.

Minimus was so startled by the barely-contained anger that he completely disregarded his usual respect for command, and sheepishly conceded, “Carry on.”

Venutae did just that, examining each column closely while telling the tales of the building of the tower (allegedly by the will and might of the Dominus alone) and the peace treaty with Reaht (complete with Reahtan soldiers kneeling in supplication). At the conclusion, she dropped her hands in frustration and grumbled, “No clues here. Let's try the library.”

The mage gestured for them to follow her to the south, and a pair of eight-foot-tall silver doors fitted with curved brass handles, carved with a relief of text that was completely foreign to Largo.

“More mithril silver,” Venutae said flatly, her hands running over part of the relief, the runes glowing softly as her fingers danced across the surface, “Supposedly a gift from Domina Morgana, an artifact of the ancient elves taken from the Great Underground Empire. Or so the story goes. My theory is that it's a replica. I can't imagine the Domina willfully giving away something so valuable.”

The gestures she was making had a purpose, as eventually the runes all glowed in a warm white light, and a loud click sounded from the door. Venutae then turned the handles upward, and the silvery doors swung open smoothly.

The Dominus's personal library was very different in atmosphere than his parlor, but was every bit as lavish. A plush red carpet covered the floor, with the walls lined by bookshelves that extended to the full height of the raised ceiling. They drew Largo's attention to the circular stained glass skylight overhead, bearing an image of a winged man, hand outstretched, reaching for the sun.

That image was also cast onto the library, mostly around a mahogany table stained a deep red-brown and still smelling of recently dried lacquer. Three leather-bound books were stacked at the center of the table, and another lied open just to their right, a crimson bookmark tucked in the crease between the pages. A white porcelain cup filled with cold tea sat on the edge, just in front of a mahogany chair that matched the table, upholstered in brown leather.

“Whatever happened, I don't think the Dominus was ready for it,” Largo observed. “I can't imagine he would have been entertaining a book and tea and decided to unleash an undead curse in a moment of whimsy.”

Minimus's dismissive grunt told him that the legionnaire wasn't particularly interested in the Dominus's motivations or intentions. Largo decided that was a fair opinion, and gave it no further thought.

What caught Largo's attention next was directly behind the chair, nestled in the gap between two bookshelves. It was a shimmering metallic cube, sitting on a pedestal made of what looked like obsidian. Each face of the cube glowed with a different color, with a green one now facing him. He touched the face, and it made a long buzzing sound like a swarm of bees.

Venutae had been examining the books carefully when she heard the noise, and she quickly pushed Largo away before he could do it again. “Curses, how didn't I see that!” she growled, then looked up at Largo apologetically. “I'm sorry, Centurion. Thank you for finding this, but you really shouldn't touch it. We'll only have so many attempts at this.”

“And 'this' you are referring to is...?” Largo asked.

The mage inhaled deeply. “This is the Dominus's 'Mystery Box.' It can do any number of things, but he mostly used it to observe any person or place on the island. However, now that I'm looking more closely, this is one of the clues we are looking for. He's set it to be the lock to his chambers.”

Largo's rapid blinking told her this wasn't enough explanation, so she continued, “The lock is actually a sequence of colors.” Gently touching one edge, she spun the cube about on its pedestal, revealing red, yellow, and blue sides, then turned it vertically to show a black and white face each. “By touching the correct sequence, it will open the stairway. If we get it wrong too many times, we'll have to wait until the Dominus either unlocks it himself, or when the puzzle resets at sunrise.”

“So what's the correct sequence then?” Minimus asked, looking over Venutae's shoulder at the cube.

She shook her head. “That will require uncovering more clues, which I was trying to do just now. Anything could be a hint, like a book that's out of order for example,” she said, then pointed up at the ceiling and added, “or it could be a panel of glass that's a different color than it should be.”

“And you can identify those differences, even after all this time?” Largo said skeptically.

“He's held the same habits for decades,” she answered with a shrug. “I can't imagine he's changed them in three years. He's changed nothing about this floor that I can discern, for example. A good way for you both to help me would be to examine the books on the shelves. He arranges them by alphabetical order, so any that are out of place would almost certainly be a clue.”

Venutae was asking a lot out of two men who only needed to pass rudimentary literacy in order to be deemed citizens of the Empire, but Largo gave it an honest attempt. It really wasn't his fault that he had to ask, “Uhhmmm... what letter comes after 'F' again?”

He couldn't see Venutae's judging eyes fall upon him, as she had already moved down two shelves in the time it took him to examine the top row of one, but he was certain he could feel her disdain as she reevaluated her attraction to him. Nonetheless, with a resigned sigh, she said, “G.”

Largo nodded in confirmation. He had been right, he just didn't know he had been right. “Then this one is in the right place then. Never mind.” He winced as he finally felt her eyes leave him, no doubt dripping with disgust as she returned to her task. Largo decided it was better to trust his instinct rather than ask if “H” followed “G” in the alphabetical order.

Venutae had finished every other shelf, then looked over what Minimus and Largo had done before declaring defeat on that score. Whatever clue she was looking for was not likely among the books of his library. With a heavy, forlorn sigh, she turned to what seemed like one completely nondescript bookshelf on the north side and said, “Can't be helped, I suppose. If the Dominus was anticipating me being a part of this mission, that sounds like what he'd do.”

“What would he do?” Largo asked.

The mage answered by approaching the bookshelf she was eyeing, then reaching into a small gap on the left side between it and its neighbor. This was followed by a click, then the sound of grating stone as the bookshelf and wall slid back, then to the right, revealing a previously unexplored chamber.

Venutae hesitated at the threshold, and declared with a timid voice, “This... is the Dominus's pleasure room. I suspected he'd have everything we need in here if for no other reason than to make me re-live my apprenticeship, but I had been hoping against hope.”

Minimus nudged Largo in the back, and ordered, “Accompany her. I'll keep watch outside.”

It was a good decision, since Largo's presence was probably the only thing that could cajole the mage to step inside. He quickly understood why as he crossed the threshold into the bizarre dungeon.

“I should be stronger than this by now,” Venutae muttered morosely. “This shouldn't be upsetting me.”

“Take the time you need,” Largo replied, even as his eyes were aghast at the sights around him. To call the room a den of depravity would be an understatement; there wasn't any one thing that stood out as more horrible than the others, as every implement in this distressingly large chamber was equally offensive to his eyes.

Whereas the parlor and library had an aura of luxury and comfort, the “pleasure chamber” was all brick, mortar, iron, and leather. The only illumination came from a brazier in the center of the room that spontaneously burst alight the instant Venutae had stepped inside.

Largo had seen brothel dens similar to this, but had never personally indulged; he had not really understood how anyone could be entertained by this sort of activity. At least the brothels in Reaht were voluntary, as far as he knew.

Looking at how small Venutae tried to make herself as she crossed into the center of the room, he had a good suspicion that her participation had not.

“I would be in this little pit daily, after every training and study session. Sometimes this was the training session. I don't know why he liked restraining me... but I'm told I was 'special' in that regard.” She shivered. “I have no doubt whatsoever that the clues we need will be in here.”

Largo didn't take one step before his eyes were transfixed on a white-painted, cross-shaped metal table in front of him, with white leather straps mounted on each end. A curious aspect of the straps was that each one had a number pressed into it—the same number, in fact. He examined the pillow mounted to a small oval at the farthest end to see if that bore a number as well, but surprised himself as the table tilted under his touch, and not in the direction that he would have expected.

Venutae called out over her shoulder, “That was one of his favorites. He'd wait until I had almost passed out from the blood rushing to my head then whip me. Apparently, I moan in pleasure so delightfully.”

“That wasn't true, I'm certain.”

“It was probably how it sounded to him. And that's really the only opinion that mattered.”

Largo distastefully sidestepped the table, ducking underneath a rig of ropes that hung from the ceiling, then bumped against another table, startling himself. The entirety of the eight-foot surface was lined with dark candles, partially melted. He quickly estimated at least a hundred of them, if not more. “What in the black hells...?” he began, trying to discern their purpose.

And somehow Venutae knew what he was referring to, despite not even looking. “It can be hard to see due to my skin tone, but I have several burn scars that were too big and deep to fully heal, mostly on my back, chest, and thighs. If it scares you any, what you're seeing here is a fairly tame configuration. He could conjure stuff that was considerably more torturous.”

Largo decided he didn't want to do any more exploring and moved back to Venutae's side. Curiosity winning over, he leaned in over her shoulder, wondering what had consumed so much of her attention.

“What is that?” he asked.

She still didn't look at him, her attention wholly transfixed on the small red-covered book as she slowly flipped through the pages. “According to the Dominus, he composed a poetry book for all of his 'special girls.' This one... is mine.”

She let that revelation sink in, taking a breath before she continued, “Story goes that he would give this book to the girl after they left his service, as a reminder to them of the special times they shared. But of course, when it was time for me to leave, he claimed that he would be keeping it, as he knew I'd be coming back. I suspect the truth is that he kept all of these filthy little books for his memories.”

“And you're subjecting yourself to reading it because...?” Largo queried. While he wasn't a fast enough reader to absorb much before Venutae flipped a page, what he managed to see was stomach-churning, especially so considering the subject was in her early teens at best.

“Because this book wasn't left here on a whim. The Dominus can alter the contents of this room at will. He left it here for a reason. The clues we need are in here, and he's going to force me to read every last sick thought he had of me before I'll learn them.”

“How?”

“I suspect that the clues will be tucked away in scenes that didn't actually happen. That's my theory, at any rate.”

Largo didn't have any grounds to doubt her on that, nor would he be any further help. He attempted to step back and give her space, only for the mage to shoot her arm out around his waist and block his retreat. “I know it's going to be boring... but could you just... stay?”

The centurion exhaled quietly, knowing what his decision was going to be. He sided back up to the mage, put his left arm over her shoulders, and let her lean into him as she worked through a recollection of the worst experiences of her life. Even if he felt absolutely worthless, unable to do anything to help her... if this was what she needed of him, it's what he would do.

“You're not trying to read this, I hope?” she asked timidly.

Largo shook his head. “What little I caught was enough for me. I've not tried since.”

“Good. This is terrible stuff that no one should have to be subjected to.”

At least this mission was improving his patience. He couldn't imagine sitting silently in one place merely watching someone else read a book before this.

But at the end of it, there didn't seem to be anything of meaning. Venutae slapped the book shut, and screamed through clenched teeth. “What the hell am I supposed to be looking for, you bastard?” she shouted towards the ceiling, throwing the book down in disgust. But the mage quickly regained her composure, picking it up again, and staring intently at the first random page she opened it to. “What am I missing? There's got to be something here...”

Largo finally took the opportunity to look more closely at the book now that she wasn't rifling through it as fast as possible, and then something in his mind clicked. “You said that the Dominus could change the interior of this room whenever he wanted, right?”

“Yes...” Venutae warily confirmed.

“Then he put every single thing in this room in here for a reason, right?”

“Yes...”

“Well, the reason I ask is because I just noticed there are numbers on the side here.”

“They're line numbers. Poets would use them frequently if they were looking for specific passages to recite, especially in longer forms of poetry.”

He then pointed back to the table. “And I noticed that there was a number printed on the straps on the table, too—”

Venutae's eyes flared open, and she shoved Largo aside in her rush to confirm his observation. When she did, she slapped her forehead in rebuke for missing what apparently should have been obvious. “Of course. That cheeky bastard...”

She opened the book again, matching the number on the straps to what was in the book. “Your innocence even now drives like freshly fallen snow. That's it. That's the color clue.” She then jumped over to the hanging ropes, and closely examined the nooses tied at the end.

“And I'll bet... there it is!” she exclaimed, again consulting the book. “Your smile still beams like the streets of the Golden City.”

Then she pointed to the table filled with candles. “Check those. I'll bet all of them have the same number stamped on the bottom.”

Largo complied while she dashed off to the farthest corner of the chamber, towards a rack of oddly-shaped implements whose use he didn't even want to contemplate. Instead, he turned over the nearest candle, and called out, “Seven hundred, thirty-eight.”

Venutae stopped what she was doing to match that number with the poem. “Your eyes as they open in anticipation, your pupils almost like they want to consume my soul.” Then she went back to her task, and found the final clue she was looking for. “Your passion burns with the color of blood.”

She slapped the book shut, and triumphantly crowed. “The sequence is red, white, black, and yellow.”

When Largo's eyebrow raised in curiosity, she elaborated on her conclusion. “I'm basing that on the order in which the Dominus subjected me to these various implements.” She pointed to the phallic implements on the wall, and said, “These were first...” then to the cross-shaped table, “That was second. Then the candles. Then the suspension harness.”

But her glee at discovering the puzzle quickly shifted to something else. An unnatural chill suddenly hit the chamber, so bitterly cold that it even caused Largo to shiver and snuffed out the light of the brazier in an instant. That chill accompanied a soul-sucking dread that caused his heart to drop into his stomach and sweat to bead on his brow, despite the drop in temperature... and there was no rational explanation for either.

“Did you just feel whatever the black hells I just felt?” Largo wondered, even as he could clearly see the narrow dots of her pupils, and her attempt at warming her arms with vigorous rubbing. As she came closer, the goose flesh was so stark that it looked more like an allergic reaction.

Even Minimus's voice trembled as they heard from outside, “Magus? Centurion? I think we have a big problem here.”

Largo's legs felt like lead, as though his very body refused to know what the problem was. More troubling was that his mind didn't particularly want to argue. What was so dire that it could suppress even his courage? Could he manage to stir up the will to find out?

Somehow, he managed to move his legs, the weight in them easing with each step. Once that initial wave had been overcome, he seemed normal again...

At least until he found Minimus several strides inside the doorway leading to the parlor, and had a clear view of the new arrival. Then the weight of fear returned with full force.

The thing on the other side of the door didn't seem entirely corporeal. Despite its oppressive blackness, Largo could still see features like the story columns behind the gargantuan beast, though only barely, as they were obscured by six slitted eyes giving off an angry red glow, like burning jewels suspended within the creature's body.

“I was hoping we'd be able to avoid this thing...” Venutae whispered.

“And what is that thing?” Minimus hissed.

“The Great Spider Spirit. Remember? That beast Barquan had been talking about? Raw primordial power that took the form of an animal at the first creation of life? The thing that even a djinn would only whisper about in hushed, fearful tones? That thing.”

The legionnaire only was able to produce a single word in reply. “Oh.”

Largo was learning that the power of the mage's sarcasm could overwhelm even the fear in her soul as she continued, “Now want to hear the bad news?”

Largo gaped and said, “That just now was the good news, then?”

“No, but it's good in relation to what I'm going to say next.”

Largo wasn't sure he wanted to know, but nonetheless said, “Well then, let's hear it.”

“That cold terror that washed over us just now? That was the presence of the Void, so close that even people with no real sensitivity could feel it. The Dominus at some point subjected this great spirit to his experiments. For all I know, merely getting too close to this monster could outright kill us.”

Minimus tried to find some positive in their current predicament. “Well... at least it can't get to us as long as we're in here, I suppose.”

Venutae crushed that hope immediately. “The great spirits can switch between corporeal and ethereal forms at will. Walls, barriers, shields might as well not exist to them. If it wanted to, it could attack us without any concern for anything in its way.”

“Then why isn't it?”

She gestured to the waiting creature, “It's a spider spirit, so its nature is probably less about pursuing prey and more about finding a good spot to lie in wait until we become easy victims, one way or another.” She then looked around the library. “And where are we going to go? Why should it waste the energy when it can bide its time and wait for us to wear ourselves out? Once fatigue forces us to sleep, it can kill and consume us with no effort.”

“I assume we're not going to wait for that,” Minimus said with considerable challenge.

Venutae gave Minimus's comment far more thought than should have been necessary. When she finally did respond, it was with great uncertainty. “Of course we're not. But anything that I might try will surely make that thing decide we're a threat, and put it on the offensive before I can finish it. We need to think of something that will distract it. Just give me some time to think of something.”

And so, Largo clenched his teeth, forced down the fear weighing in his gut, and did the only thing he could think of in this situation. He drew his sword and charged towards the spider spirit.

“Largo! No!” Venutae shrieked, but the centurion was already long committed to his charge.

The spirit initially recoiled, startled by the unpredictably blatant attack and now wary of what the other two humans might have planned. The spirit's instincts were animalistic, but its intelligence was considerably greater, and it couldn't conceive that any human was stupid enough to challenge it directly.

But Largo was that stupid, and as he collided with the partially-congealed smoky form of the great spider spirit... Largo felt it.

Even as he cut through the beast like it was made of nothing but smoke, every second engulfed by the spirit's form felt like he was being burned by a cold fire. Every muscle screamed as he forced himself to continue his charge, even as the air was being stripped from his lungs. By the time he emerged from the other end, he nearly fell flat on his face before he could recover from his stumble, while his hair, armor, and sword literally smoldered from an unseen flame.

Largo decided he was otherwise unharmed, and yelled excitedly, “At least we know touching it won't kill us!”

“Too bad everything else it can do will!” Venutae shouted back, punctuated as the spirit brought down one leg with a tip as sharp as a spear, coming so close to Largo's chin that it struck his chest plate like a burning poker through a slab of tenderized meat. The blow was so clean that it didn't even make the scraping sound he would have expected of something hard dragging across metal, but instead produced a sizzle and a black gouge over his left pectoral.

Minimus took the opportunity granted by the spider spirit's divided attention to launch his own attack, striking at one of the creature's rear legs. His blade sliced through the unnatural fog, and even seemed to disrupt the creature until the wisps of black misty essence reformed.

But even if it did no apparent damage, it drew the creature's ire. It turned, and a wad of green energy bubbled up from the black under its before shooting out in a long string of bright green acidic poison, landing directly where Minimus had been, eating through the marble floor with sickly boiling bubbles.

Its next attack came in the form of two curved fangs as big as Minimus himself, striking downward and forcing the legionnaire to twist awkwardly in order to slide between them and then stumble into the wall, preventing any further escape. Largo attacked again to draw its attention, taking a diagonal cut across the leg nearest to him and once more observing the phenomenon of disrupted mist settling back into place.

Yet again, it seemed to do something, as the apparently ineffectual strike earned the spirit's attention. It spun about again... or perhaps more accurately, reshaped itself to face the opposite direction. It focused its glowing, slitted eyes on Largo and swiped with both front legs, forcing Largo to duck and roll underneath the very solid, slashing appendages.

The centurion didn't need to be a seasoned warrior to know this exchange couldn't go on very long. Dodging the spider spirit's extensive range took a lot of energy and more than a little luck, and as far as he could tell, their own attacks resulted only in nuisance rather than harm. He didn't know how long Venutae would need for whatever she was going to do, but Largo and Minimus would likely need to do more than this.

He had an idea when he saw Minimus take his turn at attacking and earning the spirit's aggression. It was a brief opportunity, but one that Largo hadn't been imagining. The Great Spider Spirit couldn't remain entirely ethereal at all times; in order to attack, it needed to solidify whatever it was attacking with, even if for a moment.

Once Largo took back the spirit's attention, it countered with a ball of acid venom. He growled in frustration, rolling forward and ignoring the pain of contact with the spirit as he took a wide upward arcing slash, scattering a large cloud of mist and making the dread creature rear back. Unfortunately, it also put him at a poor angle to get the counter he was looking for, instead having to jump back to avoid the spirit's bite, and even then only barely getting clear.

Fortunately, Minimus drew away the beast once more, because Largo needed to ready himself. The Great Spider Spirit was simply too fast to get the strike he wanted; he had to be able to anticipate what the monster was going to do and beat the spirit to that spot.

He would get just the chance he was looking for, but one that he could no longer afford to miss. The Void beast had finally gotten wise to the efforts of the third member of the party still hiding away in the library, no doubt drawn by the glowing focus crystal hovering just above her cupped hands.

The good news was that he knew exactly where the Great Spider Spirit was going to attack, and Largo could take a straight line to his target rather than worry about running around it, like he would a normal beast. Even as his body once again protested contact with unholy miasma, Largo knew he had no other choice. He honestly wasn't sure if he had the strength and speed to make this work, much less do it with the right timing.

The centurion was barely able to identify the direction of the attack as he burst free from the beast's midst, the abyssal vapor coming through the wall from above and to his right. His blade was already in motion even before he could see the spider spirit's spear-like leg materialize, and now it was all a matter of whether Largo read it correctly or not.

He was so nervous about what would come next that he made an amateur mistake. He closed his eyes as he put everything he had into this strike.

Largo only realized he hit something when he felt his sword meet resistance, and he opened his eyes just in time to see the bookshelf he careened into before being buried in a small avalanche of books. As he fought to get back on his feet, what he thought was ringing in his ears was in fact an earsplitting sound somewhere between a hiss and a screech, an unholy wail belonging to the Great Spider Spirit as it thrashed its severed leg above its head.

The fallen limb had landed between himself and the still unmoving Venutae, twitching and writhing while dripping a sickly green ichor. In disgust, Largo stabbed it through and stuck it to the floor, only pulling the blade out once it stopped moving. Then he kicked the limp appendage as far into the corner as he could manage and readied himself to engage his foe again.

Not surprisingly, chopping the end off one of many limbs wasn't going to stop the Great Spider Spirit for very long. With a screech of rage, it swiped with another leg, taking out one of the furthest columns and hurling large chunks of rock in the direction of Largo and Minimus, who miraculously managed to avoid the largest chunks. One sizable piece did strike Largo in the side, causing him to drop to one knee from the sudden flash of pain.

“Coders, I hope those columns are merely decorative,” Minimus grumbled, picking himself up off the ground and readying his blade. He then had to throw himself back down instead, as the spirit charged and destroyed another column.

Largo had jumped in other direction, noting that the spider had adjusted its attack to follow him, then rolled to avoid a pair of stabbing legs. He had to make another mostly blind guess as he rolled to his feet, hoping to get lucky again.

This time he wasn't quite so fortunate.

The spider spirit attacked lower, in a sweep rather than a stab. While Largo managed to get a glancing blow, and it was enough to direct the creature's attack from landing flush on the side of Largo's head, it still managed to pierce cleanly through Largo's left knee.

Astonishingly, it didn't hurt until after he took stock of what was missing, when his leg buckled backward on itself as he was rather abruptly missing a kneecap. Then he howled in pain, making futile attempts to regain his footing before the Great Spider Spirit could land a killing blow.

Driven purely by adrenaline and desperation, the wounded centurion managed to deflect one more attack, but not the next, as a stab cut through his right shoulder, lifted him off the ground, and impaled him into the wall. The impact cracked his neck and sent a sickening numbness down his arms that made him drop his sword, the sound of the weapon clattering on the ground already fading in Largo's ears.

Largo knew of this place he was in... that point where pain no longer had any meaning, where his body could no longer meet the demands of his will. Where the veil of the world would part and a beautiful light, much like the one that burst just to his left, would beckon him to the Golden City.

The Great Spider Spirit recoiled from the light, leaving Largo to collapse lifelessly to the marble floor, barely able lift his head as the light expanded into the parlor. He wasn't entirely certain, but it looked like the light... punched the spider spirit directly between the eyes?

It certainly reacted like it was punched, tumbling backwards and disappearing halfway through the far wall. As it scrambled to get back to its feet, it was seized by the light directly under its fangs, and another pillar of bright power crashed down on its approximation of a head. It responded by stabbing with its front three legs and the wounded stub of its fourth, only to have them all snared by the still-brightening ball, then wrenched completely free from the spirit's body.

Maybe Largo was imagining things, but it certainly seemed like the beautiful light wasn't wasting time. As the Great Spider Spirit tried to break free and escape, the light's tendrils wrapped around the unholy creature's back legs and snapped them in multiple places. Largo appreciated that. The light was ending the threat and saving his friends before taking him across the Void to his final rest. He didn't mind waiting for their sake.

He dropped his head back down, too fatigued to continue even that meager effort, but his vision was still clear enough to see the Great Spider Spirit's final moments, a lance of purest white piercing it directly in the center of its eyes and straight through the parlor and wall behind it. The angry red eyes dimmed, the Void-kissed miasma wafted up towards the ceiling, and the dread terror was finally extinguished.

Then, finally, mercifully, the guiding light approached, filling his vision until the silhouette of a woman emerged from the center. “Look away, Largo, until I can rein this in,” a voice suggested as something settled over his eyes. He welcomed it, as the light was rather painful for his mortal senses to behold as it came close. The voice was soft and lovely though, resembling Venutae's, which he was quite okay with. She had a rather pleasant voice when she wanted to.

“Legionnaire, quickly. There's not going to be much time. Use this to collect some of the Great Spider Spirit's venom. You both are going to need it.”

The lovely guide didn't seem to be talking to him. He then felt a warm hand settle on his shoulder, and a sound of despair from his escort, “Coders, I hope I have the strength left to do this...”

The hand from his eyes dropped away, revealing that his guide to the Golden City didn't merely sound like Venutae; it was Venutae, and the only direction she was guiding him was back into the world of pain that he thought he had escaped.

He hissed as his shoulder quickly throbbed with all the pain of being cut clean through, but that was mercifully short-lived, only to be replaced by the renewed pain in his shredded knee. The mage turned her attention and her hands there, repeating the warm sensation that quickly soothed away his suffering.

“Magus, I have the venom,” Minimus declared from behind Venutae.

“Just set it down over there. I don't have much time,” she answered, a frantic haste in her voice that Largo didn't quite understand.

“How badly am I hurt?” he asked in confusion. Was something able to injure him secretly? He couldn't quite recall fighting anything.

“Badly, but not as badly as I feared,” Venutae answered, with a voice dripping with regret. She turned to him and said, “I was referring to myself.”

Now that the haze of agony had cleared from his mind, Largo could see her clearly. Her chest, upper arms, neck, and face were littered with tiny glowing crimson crystal shards, one of them even piercing through her eyelid and preventing her from opening her right eye. “What... what did you do?” Largo asked with surprising vigor, only now realizing that his kneecap had been missing, but was now restored. An experimental roll of his shoulder revealed that it too had healed perfectly, with no sign of injury aside from a small red ring that marked where it had been punched straight through.

“I tried to do something Domina Pirogoeth did once,” she said with a smile, “but in even less ideal circumstances.”

The centurion tested his knee by slowly standing up, then earned an ample passing grade when he reacted quickly to Venutae's abrupt collapse. He didn't even get a chance to ask what was wrong before she answered.

“A mage can increase their power significantly by fusing a focusing crystal to their body, but it's extremely dangerous, and can't create arcane power where there is none,” Venutae explained quickly as she patted Largo on the shoulder in thanks for the save before she sat back down where her satchel was sitting.

“In ideal situations, I would probably recover, but these were hardly ideal,” she added, extending her arms to show the multitude of tiny shards that littered her skin. “Coders, I had to use Barquan's tincture simply to tap into enough power for any of it to work.”

Largo had a sinking feeling in his gut, even if he didn't fully understand why. “Venutae, what are you saying?”

She offered him a tired, warm smile and said, “I had to use my own life force to get the entire process going, and that is already starting to fade away. I... maybe have minutes left. So again, I have to work quickly.”

Largo couldn't say anything. The words refused to form on his tongue. His brain didn't want to believe what he was hearing. “V...”

She sobbed once, but didn't stop the work she was doing, mixing the spider venom with a murky white liquid and a clear alcohol. “I had wanted to personally best the Dominus. To prove to him that I was more than some pleasure toy. That I was a real mage in my own right. I regret that I won't get that chance. But... I defeated a primordial, malevolent spirit akin to a god. That's... pretty impressive, right?”

“More impressive than anything I'll attain,” Largo said, trying to give voice to his admiration rather than despair. When the mage wavered, Largo steadied her as she forced her hands to cooperate. “Venutae, please forgive me. This is my fault. If I hadn't charged in...”

She shook her head, “We had to get past the spirit, and this was the only way. You did exactly—if unwittingly—what I needed you to do. I would have stalled and hesitated without your prompting, and we'd still be where we are now. Please, don't ever blame yourself for what has happened to me.”

She turned back to work, shaking the accumulated vial with an unsteady hand, but at the end seemed satisfied with her work. “There you go. One bottle of venom that could even kill the Dominus. In a way, I can cross the Void content that I played my part in his downfall.”

Minimus reached in to take it, and gestured for Largo to attend to the mage while he turned to give them the semblance of privacy. Venutae no longer fought to keep herself upright, and he could feel that weight against his arms as he lowered to the floor. Her eyes struggled to stay focused on his as she reached up to weakly brush her fingers across his cheek.

“Perhaps it was just the pressure of the mission, but... I'd like to think that we might have had a future.”

Largo would never have thought just three weeks ago that he would be able to answer that sort of question with complete sincerity. “Yes. I think you're right.”

She managed to raise her other arm towards her satchel, and said, “There is a pouch of black powder in there, and some more mixing alcohol. Douse my alchemist's rag in the alcohol, then put it and the black powder on me, then light it all.”

“Why?”

“It will incinerate my body. I don't ever want to be a plaything of the Dominus ever again, in life or death.”

He nodded in understanding, “Of course. It will be done.”

She offered him one last smile, one that he etched into his memory, “If... by some happenstance, if no one else finds their way into your life by the time your path ends... I'll be waiting for you, on those streets of gold.”

“I don't think I will,” Largo reassured, gently brushing his lips against hers, feeling them go slack before he pulled away.

He only felt numb as her hand dropped lifelessly, hitting the marble beneath them with a sound that somehow echoed in his ears. Any impassiveness he was showing wasn't because he was trying to somehow show strength in the presence of Minimus, because both of them knew how futile that would be. He didn't even have an emotion for this, nothing his mind or heart could put into words.

Largo closed her eyes, then laid her down completely, then carried out her last wish, using a piece of flint that was also in Venutae's satchel to set the initial spark. Then he sat down in silent vigil, the finality of it all only sinking in as the cloth somehow managed to spread unnaturally hot flames across Venutae's body.

Minimus attempted to speak to him once, but stopped and didn't attempt again when it became clear that the centurion had little interest in words. Mercifully, it was clearly no ordinary fire that Largo had set, because the fire consumed even bone and teeth with disturbing speed, reducing what had once been a magnificent woman into a vaguely human-shaped pile of ash in a matter of minutes. Even in death, Venutae was courteous to those she cared about.

He found a leather pouch in her satchel, then filled it with some of ashes before tying it off with a hide string and dropping it into his own belt pouch. Then he returned to the library, and the Dominus's mystery box that had, by fate or happenstance, avoided all of the chaos that erupted all around it. Resolutely, he spun the box to each required face, and tapped red, white, black, then yellow.

A quiet grinding from the parlor turned into a loud one, where a circular staircase of marble with gold railings already extended halfway down from the ceiling, twisting like a corkscrew. It finally touched the floor, then turned one last half-rotation before it locked with the deep thunk of stone against stone. A golden light cascaded down through the circular opening created, a sight that Largo found more offensive than welcoming.

Minimus tried one more time to reach the centurion, asking with concern, “Are you okay?”

Largo gave himself a moment to process and compose an answer. Even through the numbness, he knew that underneath the surface was a hurricane of emotion. But Dominus Augustus was not going to have the privilege of seeing any tears. He was only going to see cold vengeance. Largo was determined to have full clarity of mind as he cut the archmage into tiny ribbons and tossed them into the sea. Then, and only then, would the centurion allow himself any release.

“I have to be,” Largo answered after that pause. “But can we press on? The longer that deplorable monster lives, the more he offends my senses.”

Chapter Thirteen: Catch a Tiger by the Toe

Despite the appearance of sturdy marble composition, the stairs groaned against their gold fixtures with each step Largo took, suggesting that the Dominus had few visitors indeed—and even fewer now after the curse struck. Could the archmage even still be among the living if he hadn't come down from his highest sanctum in weeks?

Largo would be rather disappointed if that wasn't the case. He had come too far not to stain his gauntlets with the bastard's blood.

Because he had decided that he wasn't going to use his sword in any confrontation with the Dominus. Any weapon would kill far too quickly. Largo wanted Dominus Augustus to suffer blow after blow, experience untold pain, feel his body broken until he begged for the release of death.

As his head emerged from the stairway below, he was momentarily overwhelmed by the sight at this final level. The entire room was awash in gold. Gold leaf covered the walls as though it were paint. Gold trim highlighted the marble tiles of the floor. Golden light filtered through the skylight above, the panels separated by gold filaments. A gold chandelier fitted with countless crystals was suspended by eight gold chains connected to the edges of the skylight, and the hints of rainbow colors refracting through it danced along the upper ridge of the walls.

And that was just the setting. The furnishings pushed the motif just as far, as though the Dominus was determined to use as much gold as physically possible. At the west end were a wardrobe, a circular tub partially set into the floor and still bubbling with hot water, a towel bar mounted beside the tub, and a small table, all in solid gold. The two crystal wine glasses on the table and a pristine white towel on the rack were the only objects that broke up the theme on that end of the room. The remaining space was taken by an oval dining table with golden legs supporting the marble surface, the ends of the oval flanked by a pair of golden chairs upholstered in dark brown leather.

Despite all this, one particular item was of special interest to Largo—a golden door leading to the north, barred by massive mithril chains and slabs in the shape of an X, secured with a mithril lock.

By the time Minimus joined him, the legionnaire sighed. “Okay. This is obscene.”

A voice from behind them snarled, “Despite the appearances he tried to display in public settings, Dominus Augustus is the most vain among his peers. A truly toxic personality. I loathed having to deal with him. At least when Domina Morgana put on airs, it was usually for a decent reason.”

Largo knew that voice, but didn't know how he could possibly be hearing it. Yet as the centurion spun, his hand already on his sword hilt, there was the tigerman who had hounded them repeatedly up the tower. He leaned against the wall behind the stairway, looking relaxed despite being rather more disheveled than before. The mask around his lower face had been torn to reveal the edge of his lips, along with the exceptionally long upper canine that stuck out whenever he closed his mouth.

“How did you get here?” Minimus demanded, his blade already free and pointing to the chimera.

“What did you do to Khufu?” Largo piled on.

The tigerman scoffed, “That damn cat is probably going to be the only one of us that survives this disaster. Made me use the last of my last displacement stones to put that little devil somewhere that he wouldn't keep trying to gnaw my arms off. You Reahtans have been the biggest pain in my ass out of everything here... and that's included a goddamn spirit of the wild. I still can't figure out if that should be an insult or a compliment.”

“If you're here to interfere again—” Minimus warned.

“Of course I'm here to stop you,” the chimera here answered, gesturing wildly at the two soldiers. “Look at yourselves! You've already lost half your number—including the mage, who was the only reason you got this far in the first place—and you're about to face a Dominus with powers of control beyond anything you think you're prepared for. That was his whole damn point luring Reahtan interests here to begin with! To give him an army to recruit. You may have denied him that, but I'm sure he'll settle for two of the Empire's strongest warriors.”

Largo scoffed, “Look at yourself. You're in no better shape than us.”

“I'm not going in there,” the chimera retorted. “I'm content to keep him contained until I can figure out a way to subvert his curse and his powers. I've got a lock on his door that even he can't break, though he's been trying. Got close once too, when you fools started rummaging around in the djinn's prison.”

At that point, Largo had his sword ready. “Then you will give us the key and you will get out of our way. Or we will beat it out of you. It's your choice.”

The tigerman's response was a dismissive laugh. “You've barely been able to do more than annoy me. What makes you think this exchange will be any different?” Finally he sighed, “Oh very well. I might as well kill you and burn the bodies now. Let's hope the Dominus doesn't use this distraction to try and—”

Perhaps the tigerman was as exhausted as his appearance suggested, because Largo was honestly surprised when he stepped forward and launched a right hook that connected flush with the chimera's chin, staggering the tigerman and holding his head as he boggled at the centurion.

“If you're going to fight, shut up and do it already,” Largo growled, even as his own bones ached with strain from that simple action. “I don't have the time or the desire to watch your flapping lips.”

Any hope Largo had about his adversary's depleted strength was dashed fairly quickly when the chimera grunted, “Fine,” then literally took Largo off his feet with a punch to the midsection. While Largo managed to land without falling, he took another shot to the jaw for the trouble, and that successfully sent him reeling.

The tigerman didn't get a chance to follow up, as Minimus jumped on his back and cinched in an exceptionally tight headlock. Against a normal man, that would have probably been enough to end any fight, but their opponent had repeatedly demonstrated he was by no means normal. Unable to force his way out of the hold like in their previous encounter, the chimera tried unsuccessfully to flip the legionnaire over his back, then finally settled on crushing Minimus against the wall repeatedly until he couldn't maintain his grip. The chimera then gave Minimus a kick to the ribs for good measure as the legionnaire collapsed to the floor.

“If I wasn't a fraction of myself...” Minimus wheezed.

“It still wouldn't be enough,” the tigerman mocked. “You weren't even strong enough to outlast my old crew.”

And Largo took advantage of that opening, slashing diagonally with a strike dripping with hate. Somehow, the chimera managed to shimmy away from the worst of it, and even that felt like Largo had made a glancing blow with a slab of granite.

But it also drew a long, red score from right shoulder to left hip, one that made the tigerman roar in a mixture of pain and fury, then parry away Largo's second attack with a slap across the flat of the sword blade. That rage turned to astonishment as he felt at the wound, then regarded his bloodied hand. “With each meeting, you demonstrate things you should not be able to, Centurion. It's probably a good thing I'm going to kill you before you get too much more troublesome.”

As the tigerman engaged him again, Largo decided that his sword was actually more of a hindrance than a help, particularly after his foe slapped the weapon completely out of his hands as Largo tried to intercept the chimera's approach. While the centurion was no stranger to a fist fight, it didn't seem like boxing with this hulk was going to be a particularly winning proposition.

The first exchange confirmed that suspicion, as Largo's neck cracked at a right jab against his cheek, and his own counter punch probably hurt his knuckles more than the chimera's chin. He didn't need any more blows to decide he needed to use his best tricks immediately.

Wrestling was more of an Aramathean sport, but it had its share of practitioners in Reaht as well. While it wasn't particularly useful in combat on its own—a determined enemy could fight their way out of almost any hold—a well-executed grapple could take an opponent completely off their guard and leave them open to further attack. Largo's hip throw had that exact effect, and once the tigerman toppled, Largo followed up with an arm hold that brought them both to the floor and gave Largo crucial leverage. It bought Minimus enough time to step in with a kick that landed flush against the tigerman's mouth and nose.

With an enraged roar, the chimera yanked his arm free and rolled to his feet just as Minimus hooked his leg and dropped him to the floor again, allowing Largo to stomp the chimera on the crown of the head. Regardless of the damage it did, or didn't do, Largo had to admit it was satisfying to watch the tigerman's jaw bounce with a sharp crack... in that it left a visible crack in the marble tile.

Howling again, the chimera rolled his body to get the leverage he needed with his free foot to jump back to a vertical position, then freed himself from Minimus's hold with a violent kick. The legionnaire skidded across the floor, his head barely missing the railing of the circular stairs as he slid past them and into the south wall.

“You want to wrestle, do you?” the tigerman snarled, “Fine. I can choke the life out of you just as easily.”

At which point, he lifted Largo into the air with a flying tackle, the centurion's head bouncing against the stone and sending painful bright dots through his vision. The tigerman then clenched his hands around the centurion's neck, helping to make the stars go away by suffocating Largo until his vision went black instead.

Honor is the first thing to be discarded on the field of battle. It was an old gladiatorial creed, a reminder that fighting for sport and fighting for survival, while they could overlap, were nonetheless two very different matters. And so, Largo eventually settled on driving a knee up between the tigerman's legs, and connecting directly with the groin. He was honestly surprised when it had the exact effect he was looking for, rather than somehow breaking his knee or simply amusing his foe, which is what he'd come to expect from the chimera. Instead, with a howl of pain, the tigerman's grip loosened enough for Largo to slip away, exchange their positions with a roll, then land several punches to the nose before being forcefully shoved away.

All three combatants regained their feet, and Minimus offered Largo's sword to the centurion. Largo accepted it in implicit agreement; their weapons had little effect, but their fists and feet did even less. The tigerman's chest heaved animatedly, but that was about the only sign that he had just been brawling with two of the Reahtan Empire's most renowned gladiators. His easy stance suggested that even the pain from Largo's low blow had already faded.

“Any ideas, Centurion?” Minimus asked. “Because beating him until he stops breathing doesn't seem to be working.”

“You imbeciles are lucky I'm not what I used to be either, because you'd already be dead,” the tigerman snarled. “Damn, you Reahtans are worse than ticks.”

“Then let us through, and we'll be out of your hair,” Largo countered.

The tigerman laughed derisively. “Then you'll just be right back in it, only serving the Dominus's whims. Sorry, that's not an option. Until I know exactly who pulling Augustus's strings, neither of you are getting your version of justice done.”

“You've had weeks to do that,” Minimus replied. “If you haven't figured it out by now, you're never going to. Stand aside and let our 'version of justice' work.”

The chimera's response was to lower his shoulder and charge, dodging Largo's blade and deflecting Minimus's attempt with his left forearm before smashing into the legionnaire's midsection. Minimus knew it was coming, but the tigerman moved so quickly that there was no way to avoid it. As the legionnaire toppled, the tigerman aided his descent with a boot to the neck. It was only Largo's own shoulder lunge that prevented the chimera from following through and killing Minimus, setting the tigerman off balance and allowing the legionnaire to roll away.

Fortunately, after his experience with the spider spirit a floor below, Largo was learning more about how to anticipate attacks from faster opponents. He successfully guessed at the chimera's next move, parrying a blisteringly fast punch with the flat of his blade, then countering. Unfortunately, his opponent was still faster and stronger, catching Largo's sword with one hand and stopping it dead in mid-strike.

Even as blood dripped down the chimera's palm, it was another meaningless accomplishment, especially when the chimera yanked the sword clean out of Largo's hands, then drove a knee into Largo's groin as the centurion staggered forward. Unlike the case with the tigerman, and despite some pretty heavy armor down there, the centurion's knees turned to jelly upon impact.

Another kick to the chest toppled Largo onto his back, and once he regained his bearings, he looked up to find the tigerman standing over him. In his right hand he held Largo's greatsword, effortlessly raising the massive blade for a chop that would have likely split Largo like a log... had he not abruptly roared, dropped the sword, then jumped quickly up to the chandelier, raining down crystal as he landed. For a few moments, he snarled and panted heavily as the fixture swayed dangerously from his weight.

The cause of his retreat became clear when Minimus helped Largo up, his left hand holding the shattered remnants of the poison vial Venutae had concocted in her last moments. “I know it was supposed to be for the Dominus... but I didn't see any other option. Figured if that stuff was good enough to reduce me to a mere man, it'd have to have some effect on this animal.”

That it did. For the first time, the tigerman looked to be in lasting pain, growling as his hand regarded the mix of blood and venom dripping down his back. “Un... believable. That damned mage worked quicker than I'd have thought,” the chimera rasped, his voice quivering in a blend of anger, pain, and fatigue. “Damn it all, if I could access my...”

Largo was more astonished at the chandelier holding the tigerman's weight than at anything he heard, at least until the chimera nearly blew out Largo's eardrums with a enraged roar. “You really want to see the Dominus that badly? Fine!”

The tigerman dug into a trouser pocket and threw a silvery key down to the floor where it pinged three times then rattled still. “There!” the chimera bellowed. “Go get yourselves killed and turned! Maybe I'll have recovered enough by the time you shamble back to kill you both again!”

Largo slowly crept over to the key, warily watching the tigerman for any sign of duplicity. But if the chimera had laid any trap, he wasn't betraying anything. He only maintained his angry sneer and accusing glare as Largo knelt down to take the key and returned to Minimus's side.

They slowly approached the chained door that allegedly held the Dominus in check, and received one last piece of information from the wounded chimera. “If it means anything, this poison would have been worthless on Augustus. He's fallen victim to his own experiments. If he was even a victim at all.”

“You think he did this intentionally?” Minimus asked.

“Hard to say if he was put up to it by this 'Dark One' that keeps popping up, or if he was tricked, but I'm leaning more towards willing.”

“Dark One?” Largo queried. “The unknown visitor that the djinn talked about?”

“Not just here. He's emerged frequently, each time dragging the undead with him. I like to think I have a pretty good read on who's who on this continent, but the identity of this man continues to elude me. Even if by some miracle you overcome Dominus Augustus, don't think this nightmare will be over. It'll happen again somewhere else.”

Minimus didn't give that warning much consideration. “The important thing to us is that this ends in Reahtan territory. 'Somewhere else' is of no concern to us. Open the door, Centurion, and let's finish this.”

At first, Largo was dubious that the chimera had given them the right key, as the keyhole within the lock was at least ten times larger than the key itself. Once the key touched the lock, however, it abruptly began expanding, nearly snapping Largo's fingers off in the process. In retrospect, Largo decided that with the magical strangeness he'd encountered over the last couple days, this was perfectly logical and he really should have anticipated it.

Once the key was large enough to fit snugly in the lock, its loop was almost a foot wide, and even Largo felt a little intimidated at the idea of trying to turn it. Mercifully, with a drawn-out creak and then a clunk, the key somehow turned itself, taking a quarter turn to the right before the lock fell thunderously to the floor. The chains retreated above and below the door like they had been loaded on springs, while the slats dropped with a clatter next to the lock.

For all their brave words, both Largo and Minimus froze at the threshold, warily eyeing the latch and lever that kept the door closed. After the days of travel and fighting, they had come to the end, and the acceptance of that fact suddenly laid a tremendous, invisible weight onto their shoulders. They knew all the horror stories, heard all the tales of Dominus Augustus's unfathomable power, even barely survived this hell created by mere byproducts of his work—and now they were moments away from finding out just how true the legends were.

The centurion deferred initially to Minimus, but the legionnaire stepped back from the door and said, “I already told you; you need to be on point for this. I'm the support role.”

The tigerman shook them out of their nerves. “A little late to be getting tentative, don't you think?” he taunted, not even attempt to hide the disdain in his voice.

Largo didn't look back but nonetheless grit in teeth in defiance, then firmly took the handle and turned it downward. With a metallic click, it jerked ajar, then Largo pushed it open with far more courage than he rightfully felt.

What awaited on the other side of the door was pitch-black darkness. Not even the light from the golden room behind them penetrated an inch across the threshold. He only knew that Minimus was behind him because the legionnaire bumped into him.

Then the door slammed shut behind them, and extinguished what little light was coming in entirely. Largo forced himself to remain calm despite being so suddenly, thoroughly defenseless. Panicking wouldn't help anything. Gladiators trained somewhat in blind fighting, learning how to find other cues when their vision is impaired by blood, sweat, sand, or whatever.

So it only made sense that at the moment he had begun to acclimate himself to the darkness, he was blinded by a burst of brilliant white light that made him stagger. Mercifully, nothing attacked in that moment as his vision cleared and the sunspots slowly faded on his retinas.

Largo had assumed that the party somehow skipped Dominus Augustus's throne room on one of the floors they had passed over on their ascent. He had assumed wrong. The marble-floored chamber they found themselves in was so large that Largo wasn't exactly sure how it fit in relation to the floor below. Ten red chairs with gold trim lined the side walls, presumably for important visitors or staff, save for one utterly plain wooden chair at an equally unadorned single-shelf desk, with papers scattered across it and the nearby floor.

The light that had burst into being came from a large glowing ball mounted to the ceiling that was slightly painful to look directly at, mercifully positioned at least twenty feet up and not directly in his field of vision. The brightness obscured the center of the vaulted ceiling while also casting the shadows of support structures around the perimeter. In that sweet spot between the light and darkness, Largo could see panoramic artwork that he supposed was meant to represent the circle of life, featuring the growth of a child to manhood, then inevitably towards his death, then reborn again.

Did the Dominus ever do anything done on a scale less than grandiose?

Largo and Minimus found themselves on the edge of a circular ring that was clearly an audience marker, the diameter set with what Largo assumed were arcane runes. Five raised steps at the far end of the chamber highlighted a wide throne, wrought lavishly in gold, encrusted in jewels, and upholstered in red velvet.

A throne that held the source of Largo's accumulated rage, and now a good measure of disgust.

The tigerman hadn't been lying; Dominus Augustus had succumbed to the undead curse. While the archmage was dressed in his very best, a spotless red robe trimmed in gold and bearing the seal of his island on the left breast, and a circlet of polished gold resting over his brows, nothing else about him was nearly as immaculate.

The entire left side of Augustus's face was gone, exposing grisly blood-stained bone underneath. The left eye had withered and rotted into a sickly yellow, and Largo wasn't even sure how it remained in the socket. The right side wasn't terribly much better, for while the skin was mostly in place, it was a deathly gray pallor mottled with splotches of dried blood visible from underneath.

When he threw his arms out, the sleeves rolled down to display his decay-eaten arms, dangling loose flesh and gristle from withered muscle and blood-stained bone. And when he spoke, Largo wasn't exactly sure how, because the remnants of the archmage's jaw and lips didn't move.

“Greetings! Oh how splendid that my guests have finally arrived!” the undead mage shouted boisterously, but it was a voice that carried nothing but malice underneath. “I was expecting so many more of you, however.”

“They had other obligations,” Minimus answered, hand on the hilt of his sword, ready for whatever the Dominus had planned. “You'll have to settle with entertaining the two of us.”

The Dominus snapped the fingers of his right hand, or a muted sickening equivalent of it at least, as the remaining skin on his fingers peeled away with the motion. A pedestal emerged from the center of the circle, corkscrewing upward and revealing a golden hourglass five feet tall.

“As you can see, time on this land is running out,” the archmage explained, gesturing with his right hand to the hourglass, its top half indeed nearly depleted. “Even if all the damage that has been done were to stop, we'd have less than fifty years before all that remains of this world is consumed by the Void. Even if you found and defeated this 'Dark One' that Ahmin has been desperately trying to discover, it would be far too late to save this world.”

“Ahmin... you mean that tigerman?” Largo asked, jabbing a finger back through the now closed door leading towards the other room. “The 'Dark One' he was prattling about is real?”

“Oh yes,” Augustus answered. “And not even I know who he, or perhaps she, is. Always guarded, that one was. On our sparse interactions, he or she took great care to avoid betraying even the slightest hint of identity. But I received what I needed from those exchanges. Life that can transcend even the Void.”

“What you are isn't life!” Minimus protested, “You're an abomination!”

“And thus why I required an army,” the archmage said with a dismissive shooing motion. “Because the rabble and the common folk won't accept that this is the only way anything will live on. They'll need to be forced into action. But you imbeciles ruined my perfect planning.”

“We'd prefer annihilation to what you have become!”

What remained of the archmage's lips turned upward with a mocking smile. “Says the man who is but a feeble shadow of what he used to be. Even your legendary strength failed you; your sturdy flesh and muscles turned frail with but a spider bite.”

Largo could almost feel the legionnaire's empty hand clench into a fist.

Then the archmage sunk his hooks in. “What if I told you that I could restore what you had lost?”

That got Minimus's attention, though he tried to put on a skeptical face. “I'd say you were lying.”

“Oh, but I can. The kiss of the Void rebuilds you beyond the limitations of mortal flesh! Everything you once were, you could be again!”

Largo watched in astonishment as Minimus's eyes turned to dots, and a stupor fell over him. “Legionnaire... sir... don't tell me you're actually listening to this villain!”

“Of course he is,” the Dominus countered. “As should you. But first, let me restore your superior. Step forward, Legionnaire, and reclaim what you have lost.”

Largo tried to step in front of Minimus, but at that point nothing else but the archmage existed in the legionnaire's eyes. Minimus forcibly shoved Largo away, already displaying some incredible strength as the push launched Largo completely out of the circle and into the chairs to the right. Largo fought back to his feet, and this time charged the Dominus, only to find his attempted attack parried away and brushed aside once more by Minimus before Largo could even reach the steps. Again, the centurion crashed into the chairs and the wall.

Largo again stood, astounded by how fast Minimus had turned. Was this the Art of Domination that Venutae had warned them about? The Dominus had taken hold so quickly, did the legionnaire even realize he had lost control of himself?

The transformation seemed even faster. The instant the Dominus laid his hands on the legionnaire, Minimus's body went pale like it had been drained of blood, his cheeks sunk in and his skin shriveled up and cracked, and the legionnaire's lips drew away to reveal clenched teeth and crimson dribbles dribbling down his chin.

Augustus regarded his work pridefully, and said in triumph, “There. Feel the strength of your old self return to you.” With a flick of his wrist, a double-bladed axe flashed into existence in front of the fallen legionnaire, then slowly lowered to the floor with barely a click on the marble at the bottom of the steps. “Take up the weapon you thought you'd never be able to hold again.”

Minimus grunted in response, kneeling down and picking the greataxe off the ground with ease, then giving it an experimental twirl effortlessly with one hand. It was a remarkably accurate replication of the weapon that Minimus had been famed for using during his gladiator days, and so Largo had no doubt that it weighed at least twice what Largo's own sword did.

Largo supposed that, at the very least, the Dominus hadn't been lying. It was little comfort for watching his last ally get turned into a zombie right before his eyes.

“Now, Legionnaire. Do stay while I convince your companion to the merits of my cause.”

But when the Dominus turned his rotted eyes directly on Largo, he then tilted his head, and hummed thoughtfully. “How... very curious. I cannot say I've met a spirit quite like yours. Fascinating. There's no there there.”

“What are you going on about?” Largo demanded.

Augustus didn't directly answer his question, instead humming curiously and saying more to himself than Largo, “I do wonder...”

Largo's eyes narrowed in suspicion, contemplating just what was running through the Dominus's rotted skull.

The archmage eventually explained. “What if I told you that I could bring my former apprentice back to life?”

Largo scoffed. “Is that supposed to be enticing? Why would I want to lose everything I am, and everything Venutae was, and make both of us mindless thralls to your perverse plans?”

The undead Dominus nodded. “As I suspected. You see through my power. Ten years ago, I would have found this fascinating, and made you a king as I explored how such a lowly mongrel could be. But today, you are a nuisance. One that must be squashed before it can cause any more trouble. Legionnaire, deal with him, and bring what is left of his body to me.”

Minimus turned to Largo, and the centurion raised an eyebrow. “You're going to sic my former commanding officer on me now?”

“Yes. No sense wasting my energy.”

“And you did nothing more than restore his own strength?”

There was a pause before the archmage answered, “Yes.”

Largo finally allowed himself a broad grin, his dread quickly turning into anticipation. “Excellent.”

That was clearly not an response the archmage was expecting. “Do come again?”

“All my career, I had heard about the mighty Minimus Maximus, my predecessor as grand champion of the arena. By the time I had ascended the mountain, he had joined the army. By the time I met him, he had already been crippled. So now, before I kill you, I will finally be able to prove my superiority to the man whose path I followed. Dominus, you could not have given me a more wonderful gift”

Augustus shook his head in disgust. “I will never understand you Reahtans. Legionnaire, end him and be quick about it.”

Largo had heard so much about Minimus Maximus, champion gladiator. It had become a source of endless irritation, in fact. Every single day, he had been measured and found wanting in comparison to Reaht's true champion. A man so strong that he could cleave a person in half with one strike? That was absurd. Largo didn't doubt that Minimus was indeed an exceptional man, but attributed the most outlandish stories to equal parts nostalgia and racism, creating an image of a warrior that hadn't ever really existed.

Largo had been very, very wrong.

Minimus took three powerful strides, and that was close enough to put him in striking range, grabbing his axe at the end of the handle and driving it downwards. Largo slapped the blow aside, but even parrying the strike away made his hands tingle from the impact, and the deflected momentum was still enough to shatter marble as the axe head buried itself two inches deep into the floor.

The fallen legionnaire ripped his weapon free easily and quickly enough to parry away Largo's own strike. A balled fist to Largo's side caused the centurion to stagger, but not enough to keep Largo from countering again, forcing Minimus away with a slash that scraped across the legionnaire's breastplate.

Largo's grin broadened. While the tigerman had frustrated Largo, this fight excited him. The chimera had felt like he was cheating somehow. But Minimus was merely strong and skilled. He was a challenge to overcome, not an unstoppable force to avoid.

Their weapons met again, but even Reahtan steel couldn't easily cut through the dense wood of Minimus's axe. Once again, Largo's arms shook from the impact, but he ignored the wave of numbness that followed, drawing his blade upward to lodge it in the nook between the lower half of the axe blade and where it was forged into the haft. The plan was to twist the axe right out of his foe's hands, but Minimus's pure strength alone stopped the attempt. The fallen legionnaire then returned the effort, gripping the greatsword's hand guard with his right hand, turning the tables and forcing Largo to lose his hold instead.

Rather than break his wrists by trying to resist, Largo relinquished his sword, then hopped to retrieve it as it clattered off the floor to his right. The centurion quickly closed the distance and deftly caught the hilt as it bounced back up, and just in time to avoid before crashing face-first into the north wall. He would have admired his own burst of dexterity if he wasn't immediately forced on the defensive, leaning away from an overhead chop that suddenly became a slash in mid-swing, which Largo managed to parry away almost purely by instinct.

This strike embedded itself into the wall, and that brief moment Minimus needed to pull the axe free gave Largo an equal moment to create some space. At least, it would have if he hadn't stumbled over the raised steps leading to the Dominus's throne. The edge of one step managed to catch his shoulder plates, and it nothing short of a miracle that his head didn't strike any of them.

Which was fortunate, because he wouldn't have had time to clear his head. Minimus was charging forward for the easy kill, and was only stopped by Largo kicking the undead legionnaire's right knee out from under him, causing the chop to miss wildly as Minimus's left leg buckled. Another kick forced the legionnaire away, and gave Largo opportunity to regain his footing and scramble off the steps onto level ground.

With the two returning to a neutral position, Largo quickly located the Dominus again. The archmage hadn't moved from his spot on the throne, which became increasingly worrisome. While Augustus's apparent reaction to the duel so far was a tired disinterest, Largo refused to believe it would stay that way if centurion started getting the upper hand.

That momentary concern cost Largo the initiative. Minimus's assault forced Largo to slide back from a horizontal slash, then intercept a follow-up diagonal strike with another arm-stinging clash of weapons. Gritting his teeth and forcing himself to ignore the surge of numbness once again, Largo saw the tell he was looking for. Minimus broke away, brought his axe high above his head, then swung it down, all as Largo had expected.

With a sidestep and parry, Largo allowed the fallen legionnaire's axe to wedge itself into the floor again. While he knew that Minimus would pull it free quickly, the centurion had all the time he needed. Largo swung with a slightly rising angle, the center of the blade scoring right at the seam between Minimus's hip and chest plate. There was a sound much like a tin can being split, and Largo's sword embedded four inches deep into his opponent's right side.

It was a perfect strike for a fight to the death, one that would have made gladiators in the pit whistle with awe. Unfortunately, Minimus was already dead, merely staggered by the deep wound at best. Largo had expected this, as well. What he hadn't expected was that his sword would get stuck in Minimus's corpse, and that he would be forced to release the weapon after Minimus punched him across the cheek and nose.

The centurion's head snapped back and to the right, and as he stumbled backward, he smacked his right thigh against the hourglass at the center of the circle. He was less interested in the small burst of pain that the bump caused, and more in the sand that came spraying out of it as Minimus's axe missed its mark and nearly obliterated the ornament.

Largo regarded the situation as he circled around the shattered hourglass, his boots crunching on glass and sand. His right foot slid slightly as he side-stepped, trying to keep the hourglass between him and Minimus, but he managed to prevent from slipping entirely, and that got the gears in his brain churning.

He had an idea, but it was going to be tricky to pull off and was going to depend on a whole lot of luck. If several things didn't play out exactly like he was hoping, this would surely be the end of Largo, and the Dominus was going to get a fresh new corpse to reanimate.

Largo's eyes shifted for a blink towards the Dominus, still sitting in his throne with nothing more than bored indifference. All the more reason for Largo to finish this quickly.

The centurion charged, which was honestly a smart move against an opponent with greater reach due to a long two-handed weapon, but Minimus's response was predictable, shoving Largo off using the long haft of his axe like a staff. Minimus then followed that up with a fast choked-up slice that would have ended the fight right there if Largo hadn't intentionally stumbled away in a staged fall.

He landed on his rump hard enough to sell it, but not hard enough to be legitimately painful. Now to see if his foe would take the bait.

The fallen legionnaire did, taking one large stride forward with his axe already above his head for the killing blow, as Largo rose to one knee. Minimus's rear foot landed square in the deepest pile of sand, and just as the centurion hoped, the momentum and weight of his step caused the sand to shift and cost the undead legionnaire his balance. His lead foot cranked outward and he toppled forward, flailing in a desperate attempt to find stability.

Largo assisted in the fall, grabbing the hilt of his still-embedded sword with his right hand as he drew the spare sword that Minimus had given from his waist. Pulling Minimus down, Largo then stabbed upward, catching the undead legionnaire's heart from beneath his breastplate and ribs. Bubbles of browning blood gurgled from between Minimus's slack lips and dripped onto Largo's face as the centurion finished the killing blow, twisting the short sword and ripping outward, leaving a gaping mortal wound across much of the legionnaire's chest.

Largo felt a surge of adrenaline, which helped him stay upright as Minimus's full bulk collapsed onto him. The legionnaire's head came to rest over Largo's shoulder, almost like Minimus had merely fainted and was leaning on Largo for support. With a snarl, the centurion pushed the dead weight away and worked his sword out of the corpse.

With it came a rush of euphoria. Largo had defeated the mighty Minimus Maximus in single combat. His only regret was that the lone witness to his triumph was the Dominus, who finally showed something more than boredom.

Fear.

The aghast expression and narrowed pupils in his yellowed eyes told Largo that the Dominus had not been expecting any scenario where Largo emerged as the victor. The centurion leveled his sword in the archmage's direction, trying to steel himself for any duplicity or spell that the undead monster could conjure. Instead, he was startled as the throne itself abruptly rose into the air, lifted towards the ceiling by a thin, black metal stalk.

Largo rushed the steps, but the Dominus was already well out of reach, disappearing into a hole that had formed into the ceiling, the circular platform carrying the archmage's throne fitting snugly into that opening and closing with a thunk.

The centurion's eyes were glued on that spot in the ceiling, his hand shielding them from the brilliant orb in the center. There had to be another floor that not even Venutae knew of. What could be waiting for him that Dominus Augustus kept hidden from even his innermost circle?

Largo was going to have to find out.

He considered his options, then determined that the direct method was the most likely to work. He picked up Minimus's axe, grunting from the astonishing weight of the weapon, then sized up the pole that had allowed for the Dominus's escape.

The pole might have been metal, but the first swing might as well have been hacking into wood. The metal split and the axe blade sank halfway in, and with a grunt Largo managed to yank it out. He could hear a groaning from the shift in its weight distribution, and a clank from the throne above as it apparently rattled against the edges of where it had stopped.

A second chop was slightly off-flush, so it didn't have the full impact he wanted, though it sliced even further through. He could now see where the pole was warping, and more groaning from above revealed that the throne had dipped on one side and was now clearly out of alignment.

Largo took a deep breath, measured his strike, then the third chop did the trick as the entire pole was severed three feet from its base. It listed to Largo's right, sliding down along the uneven cut, and the centurion jumped down the steps to avoid the immediate aftermath.

Once the pole slipped off its severed base, the throne fell straight down for just a moment before the weakened pole struck the marble, then slowly listed to one side and toppled like a felled tree. The throne at the end smashed itself into a wall, bent its back, and came to rest in a gnarled heap on the floor.

With the easy part done, Largo now had a much more difficult problem ahead of him: somehow climbing the twenty feet up to the ceiling. He was by no means a poor athlete, but even Reaht's best wouldn't have made that jump.

The centurion's eyes started scanning his surroundings, looking for anything that he could use to climb. The first thing that obviously stuck out was the rent pole that the throne had been mounted to, but Largo was wary of the condition it was in, and wasn't sure it would be able to support his weight even if he found a way to brace it again.

Some members of the legion had brought climbing gear, in the event that they would need to scale the outside of the tower, but all that gear was surely on the ocean floor now. That left only one solution he could think of with the resources immediately available.

He had managed to precariously stack the third chair on top of the other two by the time a coil of rope and a three-pronged hook was tossed at his feet. Largo looked back to the doorway, where the tigerman—Ahmin—was leaning casually against the door frame.

“Go on. Take it,” the chimera said, as if there had been no animosity whatsoever between them just minutes ago. “Finish the job like you said you would.”

Largo warily knelt down to take the offered grappling hook, nonetheless keeping his eyes locked warily on Ahmin. “Why help now?”

“Because no one else had been able to resist the Dominus's pull. That's why I locked him up in the first place, because he was even starting to sway me. But you... you were able to shrug him off. That's why he fled, and that's why you have to chase him down. You're the only one who can.”

Largo pursed his lips and slowly unwound the coil of rope. “Make no mistake, tigerman. When I am done with the Dominus, you will pay for those you killed. Don't think this squares your debt.”

“You're free to try, Centurion,” the chimera answered, “You might even succeed at this point, thanks to your mage's little cocktail. If it eases your mind, I need to learn what the Dominus was hiding, so I have a vested interest in sticking around long enough for you to attempt your revenge.”

Largo huffed in response, instead coolly tossing the grappling hook to the ceiling. He missed his target badly and watched it bounce from the ceiling to clatter impotently back on the floor.

“Silence,” the centurion warned, glaring daggers at the chimera.

The chimera shrugged. “I wasn't going to say anything.”

Though he did make a small guffaw after the fourth toss went awry, earning him another angry glare before he consoled Largo, “Hey, I understand, those are tough to use.”

“Keep. Quiet.”

“That wasn't a joke. Coders knows you could give me an hour and I'd probably still be chucking that thing up there.”

“You could at least pretend you're not enjoying this.”

Finally, Ahmin cracked a smile. “I could. But I won't.”

Largo forced down his anger. Best to save that rage for the Dominus. Or for at least getting this damn hook through that damn hole.

There was a deep, angry groan, and both the tigerman and Largo followed the sound to its source. Apparently, Minimus Maximus wasn't quite dead for the second time. Despite the grotesque gash carved into his chest cavity, the fallen legionnaire was climbing to his feet with a renewed vitality.

The chimera didn't give Largo the chance to re-engage, jumping in the path of Minimus as the undead titan was again advancing.

“I'll keep the Legionnaire busy! The only chance you have is to end this as quickly as you can!”

The sudden burst of energy that came with the imminent danger meant that he badly missed his next attempt, clanging against the ceiling so hard that he was afraid he had somehow bent or damaged the hook. He spared the shortest of moments to check before he was spooked into trying again, the result of seeing the chimera throw a flying tackle at Minimus in his peripheral vision.

Once he finally got the throw he wanted and sent the hook through the opening, he was almost afraid that he had put too much force into it and missed anything that the hook could get a grip on. Instead, there was the sound of crashing glass, a rain of shards from what looked to be a mirror, and a surprisingly strong hold on something above.

It was as good a hold as Largo was going to get. Taking grasp of the rope, he raised one hand over the other, pulling himself up towards what he sincerely hoped would be the final confrontation in this damned tower.

Chapter Fourteen: House of Glass

The first thing Largo saw as he pulled himself up through the hole was himself.

And himself.

And himself.

He saw a lot of himself, some staring right back at him, and the others staring back at the first group. He climbed entirely through the hole, then stood, trying to process exactly where he was.

Part of it was easy to figure out. Largo wasn't exactly a stranger to mirrors. He owned two himself for those times when he was required to look suitable. He wasn't even entirely unfamiliar with mirror mazes, having seen them used as festival exhibits.

But this was of an entirely different level. These mirrors had no discernible frames that helped him get a sense of exactly where any of them ended, and with the ceiling mirrored as well, he wouldn't have known how high it was without the hook punched through the silver backing. Luckily, he had both a metaphorical and literal anchor to this infernal carnival side show.

There was certain to be a correct path through the maze, but Largo had little patience for the headache of deducing it. So he picked a direction and swung with a broad, horizontal slash. Glass shattered in a spray of shards and fragments, a satisfying result even as he turned away and closed his eyes to prevent losing them to the shrapnel.

“You are a dumb brute, aren't you?”

The Dominus's voice had drifted in from behind him, and the centurion spun with another swing that sent glass and silver into chaos.

The disdain was dripping from the archmage, even as he remained out of sight. “I spent years perfecting the techniques to construct this lovely diversion, and you don't waste any time breaking it. Can you not appreciate craftsmanship, you simpleton?”

“I have no interest in your 'diversions,'” Largo answered, taking another hack towards the direction of the voice. “Only my hands around your corrupted neck.”

“Well, you'll get here eventually, I suppose,” Augustus answered coldly. “You merely need to keep ruining my tower, you unsophisticated savage.”

Largo had no problem with that, shattering a single mirror that must have been intended as the separator for two paths through the maze.

“I don't fathom why you would despise me so,” the Dominus continued. “After all, I taught my dear apprentice everything she knew. She wouldn't have been the woman she was without me. You know what I'm talking about, right? I shouldn't have to get crude, yes?”

Largo didn't answer outside of another set of shattered mirrors that brought him closer to his quarry. The Dominus was trying to bait him into something, but until Largo had a better idea of what, he needed to keep the archmage off guard.

“Come now, let's share! Do tell me how she pleasured you. I'm certain I'd have been the one who taught her.”

Largo had to admit that Dominus Augustus was doing a very good job of baiting him.

“Did she still act innocent? Pretend that she didn't want to please you? She was very good at that.”

How many damn mirrors did the Dominus have?

Not many more, it turned out, at least in the direction he was going, but by the time he realized what the Dominus had planned, it was too late. The mirrors were hiding a source of brilliant light, and once he exposed it, it rebounded off all the mirrors and flashed his eyes, turning all of his surroundings into a painfully dazzling white.

He forced back the instinct to shout out his rage. Without his eyesight, he needed his ears clear for the attack he was certain was coming. He focused on sounds, employing his years of studious training to identify the differences between even the most subtle echoes, rattles, and whispers that normally pass without thought.

Or in this case, the distinction between glass clattering on the ground and crunching from the weight of approaching feet. The subtle scrape of a dagger, rather than the longer drag of a sword, being drawn from a metal-rimmed leather sheath to his left. The rustle of clothing, telling him the dagger was in the target's right hand and being raised. Logic followed from there, allowing Largo to deftly block the stabbing blow aimed at the back of his neck, then counter with a grapple and throw that shattered more mirrors as Dominus Augustus crashed through them.

With that immediate threat dealt with, and his vision slowly starting to return, Largo processed the archmage's nonsensical efforts just now. Why would a man who, by all accounts, wielded unfathomable powers even risk getting within the reach of a champion gladiator?

For that matter, why hadn't the Dominus interfered at any point during the fight with Minimus? Why even risk Largo winning at all? And even if Largo's victory had been such an unthinkable possibility, why run when even the barest flick of the archmage's power could finish the job? In the short time Largo had known her, Venutae demonstrated her ability to kill a man in several different ways, but so far Augustus has shown no proof of having even one.

Largo would have plenty of time to consider this riddle, because by the time his vision had recovered, the Dominus had vanished once more into the mirror maze. This time, however, the archmage was a lot less talkative. This was considerably annoying, because it meant Largo couldn't just smash his way through the maze; he needed to listen for any clues as to where the Dominus had gone.

This left Largo to fill the air. “Was that your best shot, Dominus?” the centurion taunted, trying to discern any reaction in the silence between his words. “I would hope not, because if it was, you are in more trouble than even your mind could comprehend.”

He thought he heard shuffling to the northwest, and continued while trying to feel his way around corners and walls. “Was I not worth one of your many spells? You have the arcane power to make even a Reahtan legion tremble, and yet you held off on me? I'm honestly insulted. I'm the last of your foes remaining. What could you possibly be... saving it... for...?”

It was in the middle of that last sentence that the answer finally clicked.

“You're not saving anything, are you?” Largo concluded. “Because you don't have anything left to save. The Magus Venutae noted that her power was waning at a rapid rate, and she had only been on this island for two days.”

He had to admit he was relishing turning the tables on the Dominus. “You've been here since the decay started. The only trick in your book is your ability to turn the living, isn't it? That's all you got in exchange for surrendering yourself to the Void? No wonder you're running from me like a cowardly child.”

There was a very long silence, then with a unified snap, the remaining mirrors folded downward into the floor, and were covered with wooden slats that formed an elaborate wooden checkerboard design. Anyone having that mirror maze pop up all around them unawares probably would have been easy prey.

The Dominus was definitely panicking, though his voice didn't show it as it drifted from an open door to the south, connected to a hall that was so long even the sunlight beaming in from the panoramic windows couldn't illuminate its full length. “Why don't you enter the heart of my power, and learn just how strong I am?”

Of course it was a trap. It was probably many traps. But Largo couldn't afford to play a waiting game even if he wanted to. The Dominus no doubt knew that, and was hoping that Largo would charge in blindly into whatever contraptions or machinations the archmage had waiting.

Another time, Largo might have happily accommodated him. That time was long past.

The centurion shielded his eyes as he looked behind him, back towards the open-air windows along the periphery, still beaming in sunlight via some mirrored contraption from above, then down to the floor, trying to calculate exactly what he'd need to do.

He moved three panels to his left then straight ahead until he was almost to the wall, trying to work his fingers into the seams on the floor, trying not to cut himself on the mirrored edge underneath. While he managed that, it took considerably more strength than he was expecting to pry the mirror up from its resting position, hearing the strain of metal parts underneath grind and clack of resistance to his efforts.

Once he managed to force it into an upright position, it was time to see if the thing could turn. Largo suspected it could; the Dominus seemed like someone who would want the ability to change the shape of his mirror maze whenever the whim struck him. He was right, and with still more protest, the mirror spun on a hidden axis at the bottom. Largo slowly turned the mirror so that it was angled in the rough direction that he needed. He could make finer adjustments later if necessary.

He then returned to the center of the room and pulled up another mirror, then turned it so its backing was pointing towards the light source even as his arms began to ache from exertion. It was such a strenuous effort that he had to roll his shoulders and shake out the fatigue in his biceps before he could go about angling the mirrors to suit his purpose.

Mercifully, his original estimation was close, and so he didn't have to fiddle around much with the mirrors, reflecting the near-blinding sunlight so that it was cast directly down the hall even with his bulk stepping in the way. The hall was now illuminated so well that he could even see the Dominus in another room at the end, looking quite astonished.

The undead archmage quickly replaced his surprise with a glower. “You're more clever than I gave you credit for, Reahtan, but you still have to find your way to me. Do not assume I only play with shadows.”

Of course Largo made no such assumption. He already knew casting light into the hall would probably be the least of the challenges waiting ahead. He saw the first one right away, not even three steps into the hall—a seam across the floor that didn't match any of the others. That predictably snapped open into a trap door that seemed to fall into nowhere, which made sense in a way, as this hall really didn't line up with any of the other floors below. Wherever he was right now... it was clearly no longer in the tower he once saw.

He jumped over the pit, then had to jump right back when the ceiling literally slammed down, Largo only evading the piston-powered slab by grabbing onto the edge of the pit he had just traversed. He climbed out and over the first two traps, then spied the holes in the walls of the next section just in time to drop flat and avoid the gas-propelled needles. Judging how forcibly they lodged themselves into the stone of the opposite walls, they probably would have sliced straight through him.

He pressed forward, spying six holes in the floor of the next panel, all of which ignited into flame. Largo stepped back warily, but quickly realized there was something wrong with these flames. They didn't seem terribly hot, and an exploratory swipe with his right hand through the bellowing fire told him that he was right... which meant this was a setup for something else.

That setup was revealed as he walked through the fire, then fell backwards as a massive double-edged axe head swung from a pendulum in the ceiling. While the flames weren't hot enough on their own to do damage, the plate they were mounted on was definitely hot enough to cause considerable pain when Largo's left palm landed on it in his attempt to steady himself. He didn't take much time to inspect the damage, because the axe had disappeared into a slot on the opposite wall, and he wasn't sure if it was going to swing back or not.

Due to his rush, he only barely saw the vents surrounding the next panel in time to hold his breath as a foul green smoke was fanned into the surroundings. While he wasn't sure exactly what breathing that gas would do, he didn't want to find out. This meant he had to keep pushing forward... and directly into the path of thick wall spikes that emerged from the left wall and embedded themselves into the right, completely halting any forward progress at the very end of the hall.

Largo could see the Dominus's smug grin through the spikes, and as much as Largo wanted to rip those spikes out of the wall and use them to pin the archmage to the floor like some disturbed experiment, he was running out of breath.

He had to at least fall back out of the gas, which triggered the swinging axe again, forcing him even further back through the flames, then flat on his back as the needles fired again. Scrambling back to his feet, he realized that retreat was going to be necessary, now that he knew that all these traps reloaded. He then slid under the section of falling ceiling, grabbed the edge of the floor as it dropped out from under him, and finally pulled himself back up out of the pit to end right where he had started, staring down an undead archmage across a little hall of horrors.

“Do try again, Centurion!” the Dominus crowed. “I have all the time in the world to watch!”

But while it might have seemed like Largo hadn't made any headway, the centurion's mind had been running at full speed during his first attempt, both in his advance and his retreat. He made his second attempt, this time taking an intentionally slower and deliberate pace, again retreating when the wall spikes stopped him short. But it had been the timing of the traps leading up to the spikes that had given him the clue he needed.

The traps themselves were triggering automatically at set intervals, not by anything Largo had done in his advance, nor by any cue by the Dominus. This meant that if he paced this next attempt just right...

He took one deep breath, which should be all he would need. He hit the first panel in one stride, jumping and grabbing the far edge as it dropped away. He then hesitated a beat, pulling himself up as the ceiling of the next panel crashed down. He spun around the ceiling piston, then dropped into a leg slide and let momentum carry him as the needles whistled by and cut through the top of his hair. Once clear of the needles, he hit his feet right at the edge of the flame jets, jumping over and through the gas vents just as the first wisps of smoke were starting to waft through. Then, side stepping and with one final lunge off his left foot, he slipped past the wall spikes moments before they would have skewered him.

Leaving the centurion in one surprisingly small room with one very surprised undead Dominus.

After everything that Largo had gone through, every floor and every fight, every triumph and setback, the conclusion felt almost anti-climatic. Even if the Dominus had the wherewithal to attempt some sort of defense, the size of the room really didn't give him much space to work with considering the reach of Largo's sword. Not that it mattered, as the archmage barely even got a breath in before Largo ran him through.

Largo was actually rather amazed that Augustus was still in one piece, with the way his broad blade was driven horizontally through the Dominus's spindly stomach, only the barest pieces of flesh connecting his upper and lower halves.

With the horrible corruption of life fading in Augustus's face, Largo said solemnly, “I hope that you find the Golden City beyond the Void.”

Surprised by the parting blessing, the Dominus's mouth contorted slowly in confusion.

And then Largo let the other bit drop with a contemptuous sneer. “So that when I make my own way to those golden streets, I'll have the privilege of killing you twice.”

With that, the centurion slashed his sword down and to the left, rending what remained of the connecting tissue and causing the undead archmage to tumble in two pieces onto the rancid blood-soaked stone.

Then, at the end... Largo just felt empty. As all the rage and anger boiled down, all that was left was nothing. No triumph, sorrow, regret, pain... nothing. He had done what he had set out to do, and was too mentally and physically exhausted to feel anything else now.

It was in that decompression that Largo finally gave his surroundings a good look. This was the Dominus's bedroom as far as he could tell, but what surprised him was the lack of opulence that had been present everywhere else in Augustus's personal space. No hint of gold or marble anywhere. The floor was covered only in a very thin, worn-out cream carpet. The bed was barely large enough for one person, a frame with four plain wood posts supporting a down mattress and a thin sheet haphazardly strewn across it. The pillow had certainly seen better days, ripped apart with its down filling scattered across the mattress and the floor. The only accessories were a plain wooden wardrobe and single bookshelf cluttered with leisure material rather than anything pertaining to academia or arcane study. This was not a place that the Dominus meant to revel in. It was to sleep, maybe doze off with a good story, and nothing more.

Which was why the blood really stood out.

Blood was damn near everywhere, and not just the relatively “fresh” blood pooling out of the two halves of the Dominus. Dried blood splattered the carpet, wardrobe, bed, and walls. Especially the wall on the opposite side of the bed, where someone—presumably the Dominus—had written the word “Kuith” and “Pir” and what might have been an “o” in dried crimson.

A grinding of metal from behind him drew his attention. Largo turned to see Ahmin forcing his way through the metal spikes at the end of the hall, bending them with nothing but brute strength.

“Well... I think this resolves one mystery I had,” the chimera said with an impressed whistle.

Largo glared angrily at him, but nonetheless asked, “And what mystery is that?”

“Dominus Augustus did not go quietly or willingly into undeath. This is the remains of a serious fight.” The chimera's voice dropped off as he spied the writing on the wall, and his right hand settled over his chin in thought.

“What?” Largo asked.

“That's an awfully curious thing to write on a wall, don't you think?”

Largo admittedly didn't follow. “Why? Isn't that where another archmage lives?”

Ahmin nodded. “Domina Pirogoeth. The most recent of their quartet. But why would he mention Kuith specifically? Why not Tortuga, or Kartage? Those are places of people he had associated with for years. You'd think that if he was trying to pass a message on, that'd he'd have turned to them first.”

Largo wasn't certain why he was interested in this, but he asked anyway, “So then, why?”

The chimera seemed to talking more to himself than Largo at this point, and might not have really heard the centurion's question. “I had never even considered it... the timing hadn't seemed right. But she has that power. I even watched her manipulate the Code. She could have done this. Did I have the wrong apprentice all this time?”

Then finally, he turned his attention to Largo. “And now we have a conundrum, don't we? Because I promised you one more fight, one that I can't afford to win because you're the only one that can resist this life-warping power, but one that my pride won't let me lose.”

Largo was about to agree when outside events made any fight superfluous. For a few seconds, the entire room shook with such force that it emptied the bookcase and rattled the bed away from the wall almost a foot before everything went eerily still once more.

Largo and the chimera looked at each other as the centurion asked, “What in the hells was that?”

Ahmin didn't respond, instead charging back down the hallway. Largo gauged the state of the various traps—determining that the chimera had demolished them beyond functionality—before he took pursuit, if only to ensure the chimera didn't try to weasel out of their fight.

He found the chimera at the open window and staring down, though what truly seized Largo's attention was that the sunlight was now cloaked in a deep purple fog. He then joined Ahmin at the window, following his eyes to find out the source. The tower was encircled by a sickening violet water that stood in contrast to the normally vivid blue of the open sea.

“Looks like our true enemy has realized the Dominus has fallen, and he... or she... is looking to rip down the whole damn island,” the chimera said with astonishing calm, even as the tower itself abruptly listed to the right and nearly caused Largo to fall.

He teetered dangerously over the edge, his eyes transfixed in horror at the sin against nature far below. While he had no qualms about death or dying, and had fully expected to die at least on three separate occasions on this mission alone, the thought of falling into that inky mess made every inch of his flesh raise and his stomach churn uncomfortably. It somehow felt worse than death, which he wanted no part of.

Largo was then forcefully yanked from the edge at another jostling of the island below, which assuredly would have sent him falling. Ahmin had grabbed Largo and spun the centurion about to face him, his eyes wide with a frantic resolve.

“There's not much time, and I need to tell you quite a bit, so listen carefully,” the chimera said. “You need to survive this, whatever the cost. When you return to Reaht, you must let them know about the potential danger of Domina Pirogoeth...”

Largo was okay with that. He had been contemplating a visit to the Domina—in fact all of the archmages remaining—to address their crimes of omission.

“But...”

Largo groaned. Of course there was a “but.”

“Be prepared to spare her if you can.”

Oh great. Now he was asking for discretion. “But... why?” Largo finally asked.

Ahmin hesitated a beat as another tremor shook the tower. “Because if I'm wrong... the world will probably need her help.”

This really ran contrary to Largo's usual philosophy of letting the Coders sort it out, but it was probably best to agree for now. “Very well, I'll do what I can. But I think it's important to ask how exactly I'm going to survive this in the first place. There weren't any ships planned for weeks, I think. I doubt we have weeks.”

Ahmin grinned. Largo really didn't like it when the chimera grinned.

“I should have enough strength for this. I just hope you're a good swimmer.”

“I'm not, really.”

“That's unfortunate. Just try to not belly flop.”

The chimera's intent became clear as he rushed forward, his hands clenched around the collar of Largo's armor. His lead foot planted right at the edge and he swung his arms with such force that Largo's neck cracked uncomfortably as he was thrown over the edge with far more power than any single person, chimera or not, should have any business possessing.

From the height Largo was launched, and the surprisingly high angle he took in his unexpected flight, he had quite a long time to admire the view around him—the off-white disc of the sun shrouded through the purple haze above, the unnervingly calm dark violet water below, and the tower vanishing within the foggy curtain as he flew away from it, then completely cloaked in darkness when he burst through the Void wall and into the normal world once more.

The sudden rebirth of the sun's full light momentarily blinded him. This was fortunate, because that blindness meant that he didn't see the ocean rushing up to meet him, and thus didn't tense up as he struck down hard through its surface.

Even then, the impact knocked the wind out of him, and he only barely managed to get back to the surface before his lungs failed him. Gasping to regain his breath, he found he had a hard enough time trying to tread water. He wasn't helped in the slightest by the waves that started buffeting him, tossing him about like a leaf on the wind.

The turbulence pulled him underwater once more, and by the time he had fought back to the surface, he desperately starting spinning about to regain his bearings. The problem was that there wasn't any landmarks to find. In every direction was just empty ocean.

The tower... the island... the Void... everything was gone.

Epilogue: Adrift

The only reason he knew how much time had passed was because of the sun.

It had fallen twice since he had been deposited into the ocean, and that was probably once more than he had any right to see.

There was no way in hell that Largo was going to die out in the middle of nowhere, even if it took him a month to swim back to Reaht.

Presuming he was even going the right way.

He knew his arms should hurt, but he was beyond fatigue or pain by that point. It didn't matter how dry his throat was or how much he just wanted to give up. He focused on the advice he heard repeatedly as a mantra during his days in Antico: “One job at a time. Don't worry about how much more you have yet to do.”

Instead he focused on the memory of those he had fought with, the legion that had been swallowed up by the Void, and those who stood shoulder to shoulder with him on their march up the tower. Even Adroitus, a man as sour as he had been distasteful, had shown a unique interpretation of honor that was truly inspiring in retrospect. And while Minimus fell to Dominus's Augustus sweet lies in the end, the legionnaire had proven himself worthy of all the admiration that had been heaped upon him, even if Minimus had been almost a shell of himself.

And whenever he would tread water, poorly floating in an attempt to rest, he would inevitably check his pack for the pouch that contained Venutae's ashes, the only remnant of her that remained in this world. Despite being adrift, the pouch itself showed no sign of allowing water to leak inside, likely the result of either ingenious crafting or magical enchantment. Largo supposed that made sense, as the sort of reagents she kept in her satchel would need to be carefully secured and prevented from accidental mixing.

Her memory, more than any other, gave Largo strength to endure when food and water couldn't. There were too many powerful people who needed to be brought to justice. He could not die here before he put their crimes to right.

Besides, by every account he had heard, drowning was a horrible way to die.

So Largo kept forcing one hand in front of the other. He was going to make it back to Reaht.

Though honestly, he would have settled for any dry land at that point.

He kept his eyes out as best as he could for any sign of anything other than ocean, but one thing he discovered was that, even with the placid waters he swam in, the ocean was remarkably good at hiding things.

Like a ship coming up from behind him.

Somehow the sailors on the ship saw him before he saw it, judging from the bellow that drifted to his ears, barely audible over the gentle sounds of the meager waves slapping against him.

“Man at sea! One hundred and forty at one half mile!”

The fact that he had heard a human voice at all was far more important than the fact that he really didn't understand anything that the voice was saying. Struggling to identify the direction where it had come from, he presumed it must have been the massive vessel approaching him at full sail.

It was no Reahtan vessel, that much was certain. It was far larger than anything the Reahtans put out to sea, with a pointed bow that extended to a single beam jutting out past the ship's main hull. And where Reahtan vessels sailed low to the water's surface, this vessel towered several decks above, made of a much darker, redder wood than anything Reaht had access to.

“Captain, it's a Reahtan soldier!”

Whoever this man was, he had the eyes of a damn eagle.

Another thing he noticed as the ship closed the distance was what looked to be black metal cylinders poking out of several port holes in the hull—seventeen of them, by his count. He had been vaguely aware of these newest weapons of war, black-powder cannons, but would have never thought to see so many on a single sea vessel, and definitely not on any Reahtan design.

If it somehow still eluded him that this was no Imperial ship, the sails gracing the mast would have been the final clue. Nothing from a Reahtan shipyard boasted such a complex network of multiple masts rigged together to hold a veritable wall of cloth. And certainly no vessel within the Great Empire would bear burnt-orange sails with white lines forming the shape of... something. He couldn't quite clearly determine what it was supposed to be from his angle, especially as the ship pulled so close that the hull blocked the view of anything else.

The clanking of metal and a splash followed from the rear of the ship. There was a murmur of voices from the deck, most notably a feminine voice that seemed to issue orders alongside the shuffle of people and items being moved about. When the commotion settled, a tanned face topped with ginger hair and framed by thin stubble popped up over the railing. A length of hemp rope tumbled over, and the man at the railing helpfully shifted it towards Largo to put it within the centurion's reach.

“Tie it around your waist if you don't have the strength to hold!” the ginger-haired man shouted.

There was no way in hell Largo was going to show such weakness, even if his arms fell like they were about to fall off. He wrapped the rope twice around his wrists, then clenched onto the hemp so tightly that his knuckles went even whiter than they already were, then boldly declared, “I have the strength. Now pull.”

The first attempt to raise him left much to be desired. Largo could feel the tension in the line, so there had been an honest attempt. It had just been a pathetic one.

The second pull was better. It lifted him a handful of inches, and successive attempts clearly had a couple more hands behind it, because the tension came quicker and with more force. His ascent brought him about two feet from one of the cannons, and Largo's eyes widened at the sight of it, with a barrel larger than this head. He began to understand how a line of weapons like that could decimate a legion.

That was when Largo had the dread feeling that “safety” was going to be a relative term on top of the ship's deck. Still, he was better off swimming with the sharks above water, or so he figured.

Once the railing was within reach, he clamped onto the vertical beams and—with a mighty heave that he really didn't think he had in him—pulled himself over and set foot onto the ship's main deck, shrugging off attempts to steady him.

“Well, you ain't exactly what I was expectin'.”

The crew immediately deferred to the speaker, presumably their captain. One of the deckhands even stepped aside despite being nowhere close to obstructing her.

Largo found himself returning the woman's sentiment. She wasn't particularly imposing, of slender build and barely as high as his chest. Messy reddish-copper shoulder-length hair was partially restrained by a yellow head scarf, framing a pair of fox ears from which an assortment of rings and a pair of blue shimmering jewels dangled from.

She was also dressed suitably for the seas; her clothing was light but flattering, consisting primarily of expertly-tailored leather that offered both protection and comfortable breathing room. But all of that took a back seat to the red and white-tipped fox tail that flourished energetically behind her.

Then it all fell into place. “You're the Fire Fox!” he declared angrily.

The pirate's eyes narrowed, and she growled, “That's what I'm told.” She didn't seem particularly fond of the moniker.

But Largo was already beyond that and onto matters of honor, now that he had the opportunity to settle them. Minimus's tale of woe, which set him on the path to his fall, came to the forefront of Largo's thoughts. “Where is the spiderwoman that is part of your crew? I have vengeance to deliver!”

He took one threatening step forward, unconcerned by the immediate defensive posture the men flanking him. Largo easily appraised these brigands as little threat, especially since their tragically short cutlasses would be no match for Largo's...

…

...Whole lot of nothing.

His hand grabbed air where the hilt of his sword should have been. His mind raced as he realized he hadn't really checked for it during his entire struggle with the ocean. When had he lost it? Had he sheathed it after the fight with the Dominus? Did he lose it during his fall?

Those men with their cutlasses suddenly became a bit more threatening.

The foxgirl's lips twitched slightly in a triumphant smirk, and she ordered, “Juno. Move in. Don't kill 'im... yet.”

The only thing Largo knew for certain was that the spidergirl came from above. She must have fallen an obscene height from the rigging, yet landed on the hard deck without even the slightest sign of injury. Then he heard the tap of metal against metal, and a dark warning delivered in a playful voice. “I've given these blades a nice dip in mah poison. Ya move... poke poke! Ya don't tell mah cap'n what she wants to know... poke poke!”

Largo determined three things in that instant. First, the woman behind him was no doubt the spidergirl he had demanded. Second, her poisoned blades were already positioned to slip through the gaps in his armor. And third, if that poison was anything like what he saw from her sire in the tower and heard from Minimus's own account, it was not a threat to be taken lightly.

Nonetheless, despite having all the advantage, the pirate captain appeared willing to parlay. “But if ya cooperate, I'll give ya one of my rowboats here, some supplies to help ya on yer way, and everyone lives to see another day. How does that sound, friend?”

Largo's eyebrow rose. Clearly, this buccaneer thought Largo had something of value that she couldn't simply take. Curiosity and a desire to avoid a futile battle got the better of him. With a growl of surrender, he grumbled, “Very well, woman. Ask what you wish.”

The Fire Fox started pacing side to side, turning her head to keep her eyes locked on the centurion. “Let's start off with the basics. Who are ya?”

He figured discretion called for him to avoid associating himself with the Reahtan legion, even if his armor probably gave that away. “Largo. Gladiator of Reaht.”

“I'm gonna guess that ya weren't out here for a relaxin' swim. I'm also gonna guess that means you were here on the island that is supposed to be out that way.” She jabbed her thumb for effect over her shoulder in the general direction of what he assumed was the Isle of Donne. “That means that you have a much better idea about what happened than I do. And I kinda need to know.”

Largo really wasn't inclined to share that information with a pirate, especially considering that the persistently frustrating tigerman had allegedly been one of their number. Another gentle jab at his back reminded him that he was in no position to dictate terms. “I was part of a specially formed legion led by Legionnaire Minimus Maximus—”

The Fire Fox's smirk widened, and she momentarily stopped her pacing. “Well that name sounds familiar, don't it, Juno?”

The spidergirl behind him agreed. “Uh huh. Explains why he wanted to get even wit' me.”

With a flip of her hand, she graciously said, “Continue, friend.”

Largo clenched his teeth. He really wished this brigand would stop calling him 'friend.' That was never going to be true no matter how nicely she referred to him. She was taunting him, and it was grating on his every remaining sensibility. “Reports from our governor on the Isle of Donne had stopped coming. Requests sent by pigeon from our forces never returned. After a week of silence, our legion was sent to investigate.”

The pirate captain nodded. “Makin' sense so far.”

Again his teeth ground against themselves. If she wanted information so badly, she could at least stop interrupting. “We learned quickly that the island had been plagued by undead. They overwhelmed us upon landing, we only luckily managed to make it inside the Dominus's tower. Inside, we found several undead creatures, tainted by something.”

She seemed to already know the answer to that question. “The Void.”

Largo grunted in annoyance. “Whatever you want you want to call it, the undead hordes and the tigerman tried to halt our progress—”

That took the Fire Fox by surprise. Her eyes and nose flared, and her eyebrows shot up behind the bangs of her hair. “Tigerman? What tigerman?” she demanded with frantic anger.

“The tiger chimera who repeatedly tried to block us from going further in the tower. Kept telling us it was in our best interests to leave and other such nonsense.”

The pirate captain huffed. “Sounds like he had the right of it. And what happened to the tigerman? Do you know?”

“The last I saw him was at the top of the tower. At that point, only the Legionnaire and I lived. The Dominus had been turned, as undead as the rest of his tower. The Dominus then turned the Legionnaire, promising him a return to his former glory. It was a lie, of course. I don't understand why the Legionnaire thought it was anything but. The tigerman returned, and kept my former leader busy while I dealt with the Dominus.”

Her right eyebrow cocked at the apparent absurdity of this portion of the tale. “You against an archmage? And Ah—the tigerman—thought that was a good idea?”

“The Dominus attempted no spellcasting. He only tried to lure me with false promises and lies. I easily dispatched the undead horror, and at that point, even the Legionnaire collapsed. Then the tigerman started mumbling about a 'Dark One' and how I alone had the power to fight him.” He shrugged indifferently, whether the pirate believed him or not was of little concern to him.

Which she didn't, though to be fair, Largo wouldn't have believed her either if their roles were reversed. Her voice revealed her skepticism as she drawled, “Is that right?”

“The tigerman told me to find the 'Dark One.' He might have said more, but that was when the island started to collapse. He grabbed me, told me I better swim fast, and threw me out of the window and into the sea. I've tried to take his advice.”

There was but a moment, a very brief moment, where Largo could see sadness wash over the Fire Fox's face, a look that the rest of the crew in sight were less successful at hiding. Whoever this tigerman was, the connection between him and this crew was stronger than that between mere colleagues.

The pirate captain deflected the topic of conversation, glancing out over Largo and to the open sea. “Ya didn't travel very far,” she said. “How long ago was this?”

Largo admitted with a forlorn sigh, “Just two days prior. I am not an accomplished swimmer.”

The spidergirl cut in with a derisive huff. “Yer too stupid to die, like the Legionnaire, I swear. Two days treadin' water in this armor? Don't you guys think of takin' it off before tryin' t' swim?”

Largo entertained telling her that he, in fact, did try that, but that removing his armor unaided was a difficult task even in the best of situations, much less while trying to tread water. Instead, he chuffed out the usual excuse he had heard sailors make in the past. “If we cannot swim—”

“Yeah, yeah...” the spidergirl interrupted. “It was a rhetorical question, idiot.”

The Fire Fox had turned full about, retreating to a door that led below decks and issuing a parting order. “Garth, prepare a rowboat for our friend. Juno, once he's clear, meet me in my cabin. Garth, you'll have the deck until we return.”

Largo felt the spidergirl's presence pull away from him, and he turned his head to see her sheathe her daggers at her hips and start issuing orders. “Drop lifeboat two, Garth, an' make sure tha shade is workin'. Rincke, pull a week of emergency packs from tha larder. Boyle, you and I will watch our guest, just in case 'e tries somethin' dumb. Tha rest of ya lot get back t' yer stations.”

The deckhands scattered to their assigned tasks, and Largo found himself briefly entertaining the idea of a fight with this crew, more to pass the time rather than seriously consider escape. Boyle, the small man tasked with guarding him, was little threat. He might be able to get a swipe in with his cutlass before Largo overpowered him, but it would not have been much trouble.

Now the spidergirl—Juno, as he had learned—was a much different story. Even as her posture was relaxed, Largo could see the readiness in her muscles. Even if Boyle would be easy prey, all he needed to be was a bump in the road, and Juno's daggers and venom would have more than enough opportunity to do their work.

The spidergirl noticed his appraising. “Whatcha thinkin', Reahtan? Better not be any trouble.”

Largo brushed off her concern. “Just noticing that you are clearly a fighter.”

Juno cracked a smile. “No braggin', but one on one, ah think ah'm tha best in tha whole world. Yer legionnaire learned that personally. 'E was lucky mah captain made me spare 'im.”

“Shame I'm not in much condition to fight. I might have been interested in a spar to test myself.”

She scoffed dismissively. “I fight fer keeps, Reahtan, not for glory. I'd make a poor opponent. Ya'd be too dead too quick.”

He forced himself not to rise to the insult, partly because he was in no shape to prove himself to her, and partly because, no matter how much it wounded his honor to admit it, she probably wasn't wrong.

Mercifully, he didn't have long to nurse his pride. The ginger-haired deckhand shouted, “It's ready, Juno!”

The spidergirl pointed in the direction of the boat, and said, “Git movin', Reahtan.”

He complied, swinging his legs over the railing, and into the surprisingly large boat. At least twelve feet long, with benches that allowed for probably six crew, but supported in a way that allowed for the bottom of the boat to remain mostly clear.

The thought of being able to lie down safely was really appealing at that moment.

Garth pointed to the rear of the boat. “Under the aft seat is some food and water. It should last you a week, more if you ration well, but you shouldn't really need it. The currents are in your favor; shouldn't be more than three or four days at most.”

He then grabbed a wooden rod shaped in a “U” and connected to a folded green tarp, and pulled it upwards to form a welcome semicircular shade over the aft bench. “Just pull this up until it clicks. If you want to drop it again, lift the bar until it releases from the catch.”

Finally, he offered a pair of oars. “Just slide these into the mounts when you're ready for it. You will need them eventually. Once you see land off your north side, you'll have to row yourself out of the current, or it'll take you back out to sea. Menos Beach should be a few hours west once you're along the coast. You ready?”

Largo took the oars, settled them in the bottom of the boat, and nodded, “As ready as I'll ever be.”

Garth turned, and shouted, “Let 'er down!”

The boat lurched, and ropes looped around hooks on the fore and aft slowed his descent into the water. Juno appeared again, climbing down the side of the hull on fingertips and toes, dropping onto the boat's edge as it made the water. She loosed the fore side rope, then nimbly toed across the boat's side rail to do the same on the aft.

She paused before untying it, and spun herself to face Largo. “Is... Ahmin... is 'e dead?” she asked nervously, the beginnings of tears welling in her eyes. “'E is. Isn't 'e?”

“The tigerman, I assume?” Largo suddenly found himself unwilling to hurt her, so he offered as gently as he could, “After he threw me from the tower, it vanished into the Void within blinks. And he wasn't anywhere to be found in the ocean after that. Though I didn't personally see him fall, I... don't see how he survived.”

Juno wiped her eyes on her sleeve, and swiftly freed the rope from the aft side. “Damnit all.” She went up with the rope, and said, “Try not ta die out there, Reahtan! I'd 'ate for all our stuff t' go ta waste!”

The larger ship slowly pulled away as it turned southward while Largo's little boat kept with the current west. The first thing he did was take stock of his supplies, retrieving some jerky and a skin of water, drinking down the skin almost completely in his first go, and eating the jerky almost as quickly.

From there, he finally removed his armor, recoiling at the horrific stench of sweat and salt water combined. He entertained dumping it all overboard, but respect for his Empire pressed him to instead stash it away on the fore side, where it proved to be a surprisingly good counterweight for all the supplies packed in the aft.

Then he made sure the screen was locked in the upward position, giving him some blissful shade as he slid his legs under the benches and allowed himself some desperately-needed sleep for the first time in almost three days.

* * * * *

In the following month, he had stumbled back to the Reahtan capital, issued his report on five separate occasions to five separate people, faced an Imperial Inquiry and an investigation, and still wasn't sure that anyone within the Emperor's circle believed him or the warning he related to them. He didn't dare call Emperor Maximillian scared, or even whisper that thought in confidence to any soul, but he had little doubt that the intimidating shadow of Dominus Augustus still lingered over the Imperial house, and they were not the slightest bit eager to potentially anger another archmage.

And so, he saw little option but to take the initiative himself.

For anyone who hadn't been watching Largo closely—which he suspected included almost everyone within the capital—it would seem he spent the last month taking a well-earned rest and doing little else. In truth he had been planning very carefully for a very long adventure across some potentially unfriendly and unforgiving territory. And all that planning was coming to a head today.

The eastern coast of the continent was wild and untamed, even in relation to the unstable nature of the free provinces. The Great Trade Lines beyond Reaht were often plagued by highwaymen, ruffians, and violent cults, remnants of despicable religions and tribes of the past. He'd need more than just food and a sleeping bag, especially once he got to his destination, the Witch Queen's keep in Kuith.

So when he got a letter that his commission was completed, he wasted little time retrieving it.

The craftsman he had chosen was not terribly convenient or accessible. In fact, the man and his smithy were located completely on the other side of town. This was a considerable deviation from his past behavior; the Largo from two months ago cared little about where his steel came from, believing that the strength of a sword was a reflection of the wielder alone. He often chose the cheapest steel he could find for the arena just to humiliate opponents who arrogantly brandished weapons that could buy homesteads.

In many ways, he still felt that way. But in this one particular case, he needed the highest quality money could buy. He couldn't accept any less for something this special.

Another peculiarity is that he called for a carriage to take him across the city. It was a luxury he never afforded himself before, even as his accumulated wealth and fame elevated him to a status where such comforts were not only acceptable, but expected of him. It never seemed right to him, however, for a man from nowhere to put on such airs, giving evidence to his detractors that this foreigner was getting a little too pompous. But today, he didn't care how he was viewed. He wanted this errand completed as soon as possible.

The carriage's path fittingly took him fittingly past the arena that often felt more like home than his actual home did. He had avoided the Grand Coliseum since his return to Reaht, fearful that the enticing thrill of single combat would distract him from his self-appointed mission.

Yet as the carriage passed, and the looming south wall rose past the window of the carriage, he felt nothing. He didn't even particularly care who was fighting that day, or whether it was someone he knew. Not even the sight of the Row of Champions moved him.

The Row of Champions was a very apt description for the road that led into the main entrance of the Coliseum on the south side. This entrance was where the bulk of the audience would enter, proceeding through two rows of bronze statues depicting the arena's champions throughout its history.

Largo assumed that when he accepted the commission to join Minimus's legion that he had vacated his position as the arena's champion, which made it all the more surprising that his own statue had joined the others so quickly. Honestly, even during his reign as champion, he figured that any recognition afforded him would have been a token effort slipped in as far back possible.

Instead, not only was his visage as grand as those of his predecessors, it was placed in the front of its row to face directly across from the statue of Minimus. The sculptor even managed to give proper justice to his long, gravity-defying lick of hair, something that he would not have thought possible with bronze. His only real critique of the work was that the sculptor posed him with his sword point in the ground, his hands resting on the pommel. He could never recall striking such a pose at all, much less figure why it should be iconic enough to represent him.

Yet even that sight stirred almost nothing within him. It certainly didn't spark any renewed passion to fight in the arena again. Yes, it was a heartfelt tribute to his time, one that Largo deeply appreciated, but that time was past. He had a purpose now. The former gladiator didn't even spare a single look back as the arena slid behind his field of vision, while he faced forward and awaited his destination.

He arrived at a secluded smithy, tucked away in a grove of carefully-planted trees and hedges to block the view from the wealthy housing in the surrounding district. The only clue to the work being done within the greenery were the plumes of coal smoke emanating from the smith's furnace.

There were no placards to signify this shop, and from the building's front, it simply looked like a typical high-income homestead with a very active stove. Ortho needed no advertising, believing being that if you needed to ask, you weren't worth knowing. If you needed to ask for a price, you couldn't afford it. Coders, the only reason Largo knew about Ortho the Mastersmith was because he had repeated chances to see the man's craftsmanship up close, usually while being swung at his face.

Taking a cobblestone path on the eastern side of the homestead brought Largo to the foundry that Ortho worked from, directly connected to the home itself, but with a distinct line of demarcation from light brown stucco to a deep red-brown brick that separated the home from the business.

The entrance to the smithy was covered only by a wool curtain that Largo parted to gain entry, the movement catching a string attached to a bell that chimed to indicate his visit. The smithy, much like the building, was in two parts; a front-facing ash wood counter with a brick wall in the rear, a single door allowing a glimpse into the back, and a hint of yellow-orange glow visible from the furnace.

Ortho responded to the bell and immediately gave his guest a wary eye. He did not look like the stereotypical image of a blacksmith. Ortho was tall and wiry, even if his arms had astonishing tone and displayed more than enough strength to swing a hammer for hours on end. A balding head betrayed his years, as did the thick wrinkles splaying out like cracks from the corners of his eyes and lips. The thick wool apron had his initial stenciled in gold before the normal crimson field, and largely covered up his soot-stained white jerkin and trousers.

“You didn't tell me you gave me enchanted ash,” Ortho accused darkly. “Damn near lost my entire flue when it sparked.”

Largo's eyes widened in surprise, and he stumbled over an apology. “I... I'm sorry. I... didn't know it was enchanted.” His mind whirled, even as it made sense in retrospect. Dominus Augustus had been known for his peerless enchanting, and considering how few scruples the archmage had in life, much less undeath, it wasn't a stretch at all to believe he had subjected his own apprentice to any number of altering spells.

Ortho dismissed any concern with a wave of his hand, “Figured you didn't, which was why I didn't raise a fit at the time. Besides, I knew how to handle it, and forgive you simply because I've not had many opportunities to work with such a fine material. Enchanted ash doesn't normally forge well, but this was made in fires hot enough to burn away the ethereal mush that makes it hard to smelt with metal properly.”

After a brief pause, he admitted, “That's why it took longer than I estimated, too. I couldn't let myself use mere iron for something so special. I needed to special order some very rare stuff from outside the Empire.”

Largo cocked an eyebrow.

Ortho took that as a question. “Titansteel, or mithril, as other cultures call it. From the Central Free Provinces. With my knowledge and craftsmanship... this is the result.”

The smith reached down underneath the counter, then set the weapon on the counter. While in a black leather sheath, it didn't look particularly unique from any other sword he made. The hilt had an exceptional level of glossy polish, as well as the pommel that bore the smith's mark stamped to the end. The grip was wrapped in a sharp, finely-cut black leather that was so expertly seamed that it looked like one single piece until Largo picked up the nearly six-foot blade and looked closely.

It was only when he started to draw the greatsword from its sheath that he discovered the glossy look wasn't from polish. Reahtan steel normally had a dull matte appearance, presumably a byproduct of the ash that was central to its creation. This blade had a shimmer that turned any light that reflected onto it into a dazzling white. The normally black bands common in Reahtan blades also came out differently; they were more of a dark gray, thinner, and more jagged in shape, with straight lines and angles rather than curves and loops.

“I've never seen banding like that before,” Ortho admitted. “But damned if I haven't seen a sharper, straighter blade either.”

Largo held the hilt up his eye, turning it so that the flat rested on his right cheek. The master craftsman spoke true; the edge of the blade almost seemed to fade into the air rather than terminate, and its shape was indeed pure, his line of sight not once obstructed by any bend or impurity in its smithing.

It was indeed a unique weapon... as unique as the woman who inspired it. Venutae, in a way, would be her own instrument of revenge on the mages that ruined her. After the Witch Queen, Largo would carry her across the land and run Domina Morgana through. Then Dominus Socrato would stain this blade. And Largo would make certain that all three knew the name of the woman they had failed.

Ortho interrupted his introspection. “I suspect you'll want to test it before you leave? I have some targets set up in the back of the lot for you to take some strikes. I do ask you be gentle though. My own tests almost cut down a tree by accident.”

Largo's eyebrows rose. “How does someone nearly cut down a tree on accident?”

The blacksmith lifted a panel in the counter top that allowed him to pass through, and gestured for Largo to follow him outside. “I'll show you. Come along.”

In truth, Largo wasn't all that interested in the tree on the edge of the lot, which indeed bore a massive score halfway through its trunk as the result of a careless backswing while Ortho tested the sword's weight. Largo wasn't going to be a lumberjack, though; he needed to see what this blade could do to flesh and bone.

That's what the pork leg from Largo's cellar was for, salted to prevent spoilage and smoked to harden its hide and create a decent analogue to leather armor. Ortho tied a hemp rope around the ankle and raised it on a pulley until it was at a comfortable height for Largo to strike. The centurion took a deep breath, sized up his attack, then settled on a rising slash from left to right, directly through the meatiest and theoretically toughest part of the leg.

If he hadn't watched the cut, he would have been hard pressed to tell you he had hit it at all. There was so little resistance to the strike that it felt like the meat simply parted so that the sword could pass through. The lower half dropped with a clean cut that even went through bone with ease, prompting Largo to examine the edge of the blade again.

Despite a blow that would have at least subtly dented the edge of even a well-crafted sword, the edge and balance of this blade stayed true. “I could kill the whole world with this,” he muttered to himself, before saying out loud, “How much extra?” Not that it really mattered. He'd have paid any price.

Ortho declined. “I took on the extra materials and work without consultation. Fairness wouldn't allow me to charge you a piece more than the agreed terms.”

“Well, I appreciate the effort nonetheless.” Largo sheathed the sword again, grabbed it by the chest strap, and let it hang from his left hand while his right unclipped the money pouch from his belt. He offered it to the craftsman, and said, “That should cover the remainder, as agreed on.”

Ortho weighed the pouch in his hand, quickly peered inside to verify the quality of coin, then pulled the drawstring shut once more. “It was a pleasure doing business with you. I've forged many a weapon, each of them works of art as much as tools for war. It was an honor to craft this piece specifically. May it serve you well.”

Largo nodded in agreement. “I suspect it will.”

He slid the sword back into its sheath, slung the strap over his left shoulder, then clasped Ortho's right hand with his own to finalize their trade. Hurrying to the front of the homestead, in a moment of perfect timing, he came upon the carriage arranged to return him back to his manor as it pulled to a stop. He wished he could have claimed he planned it that way.

The return trip seemed to take considerably longer than the first, though Largo knew that was due more to his anticipation for the coming adventure than any spike in traffic. Largo wasted no time climbing out when he arrived at home, sparing time and care only for his sword, sliding his right arm though the strap gently and situating Venutae's legacy on his back. He remembered to tip the carriage driver a beat before he crossed the line into rudeness, then took the path to his front door as the horse-drawn vehicle retreated.

He paused at the sight of a roll of parchment tacked to his door with a red bulb-tipped needle. He guessed its contents right away, and a swift reading confirmed his suspicion: it was a notice from the Magus Corps informing him that Venutae's father had claimed her remaining personal effects, and as result, Largo's request to claim them himself was denied.

He had expected this outcome from the moment he issued his request. Venutae might have had little esteem for her father, but Reahtan law cared little for affections. Her father was her closest living relative, and if he wished to claim his daughter's property, that was his right.

That didn't mean Largo had to like it, though.

He crumpled the letter in disgust, threw it carelessly over his shoulder, and figured if the wind didn't take care of it, he would tomorrow.

Before he could reach out to open his door, a voice called out to him by his rank. He knew it had to be someone from the palace, as everyone else in the city went out of their way to avoid calling him “Centurion,” like the title was some sort of insult. Turning to address the visitor confirmed it was a wing of the Imperial Guard assembled at the edge of his property.

“How can I be of service to you?” Largo asked tiredly.

“His Glorious Imperial Prince Antony requests your presence, sir,” the lead of the wing answered.

Largo's eyebrow raised at the honorific until he remembered that he technically outranked everyone in that wing. “The Prince? Why is he summoning me?”

The wing lead looked nervously about and said, “It's... not my place to say, sir. I'm sure His Grace will be willing to say more.”

Largo took a deep breath, then slowly released it. While he wondered about what information he could provide to Prince Antony that hadn't already been said multiple times already, he knew that there was no denying these summons. He could only hope it wasn't a long delay.

In resignation, he said, “Very well. Lead on.”

As the guard wing fell into formation, he couldn't help but note the parallels with the start of his whole adventure. It hadn't even been two months, but it almost felt like two years. He was content to let the procession move in silence, but his escorts didn't seem to share his mind.

“Sir?” a voice behind him asked nervously. It belonged to a face that Largo would not have thought old enough to serve in the army, much less as a personal guard to one of the Imperial family. The centurion figured that was to be expected; the Prince's personal guard would probably reflect people more his own age than his father's.

“Yes...” Largo paused momentarily as he tried to identify and remember the ranks in the Imperial Guard based on the man's uniform, “Tesserarius?”

The guard's breath hitched, as if he was struggling with his words. The optio leading the procession cut in with a warning, “If you have to worry about your words, then it's best not to say it.”

The chiding appeared to embolden the guard. “The rumors are that you killed Legionnaire Maximus. Is that true?”

Largo chuckled ruefully. Of course that would be the talk rifling through the enlisted men—whether the outsider killed their hero. “Settle yourself. The Legionnaire was already dead by the time I crossed blades with him.”

“So... the tales of the dead rising are true?”

Largo sighed. “They were, but the hope is that all those lives lost were not in vain, and we cut out that disease before it could spread.”

“Alright, enough chatter,” the optio hissed. “We're in public. Let's not stir the citizenry into a panic.”

Not that there was any citizenry to panic. The people normally gave any procession of soldiers a wide berth as a matter of common sense. When they were escorting Largo, that circle widened even further, to the point that carriages on the street looked for the nearest intersection to turn away, and people ducked into alleys to avoid even coming close to the formation.

On a normal day, Largo would have been annoyed at the distance laymen were affording him. But today was not normal. Today, he was glad because it kept the road clear and minimized delays. It's also why he had no issues with the optio's order for silence. He preferred to remain in his thoughts, visualizing his coming quest.

Being lost in his own thoughts, he was barely aware of his arrival in the palace, glazing over the same halls, gardens, and archways that amazed him when he first met the Imperial family. His brain didn't quite notice where he was until the optio knocked on a door and said, “Your Grace? We have brought Centurion Largo.”

The doors quickly swung open, revealing that he had been taken to the Prince's reception hall. While he guessed it was smaller than the Emperor's, he honestly couldn't tell the difference. There was a point where “grand” lost any relative measure.

Two more of the Prince's guard flanked the double door to the hall, and Antony dismissed them with a silent flip of his hand. They obeyed without hesitation, leaving their charge alone with the centurion. The Prince stood from the large leather-upholstered chair positioned at the circular central table, and offered his hand in greeting as he approached Largo.

“Centurion, I am glad that you could meet me on such short notice,” he said as Largo accepted his hand. Antony seemed gaunt from what Largo remembered. The smoothness in his features had vanished, replaced by tension and worry, as if the skin of his face had been pulled taut across his jaw, and Largo swore he saw wisps of gray in the unshaven stubble across the Prince's chin. The man had definitely seen better days.

“I'll admit to curiosity about why I was summoned by you, and not your father,” Largo replied.

Antony blinked repeatedly, then his eyes clenched shut and he sighed in resignation. “Right. My men probably didn't tell you anything, did they? Dutiful men, who follow my orders to the letter... like when I tell them to not speak of anything within these walls to any outside it.”

“Why? What has happened?”

Antony slowly walked back to his chair, gesturing for Largo to sit down in the simple oak chair across the table from him. Once both men were seated, the Prince explained, “My father... has come ill. It shouldn't be life-threatening, but it's serious to enough to keep him bed-ridden and unsuitable for audience even with his most trusted advisors. In his stead, I have taken over the day-to-day duties of managing the Empire.”

Largo nodded. That made perfect sense. “So... then why did you summon me?”

The Prince closed his eyes, and the strain in his face bled down through his whole body. “I mean not to question my father and his reluctance to act. But...” he then raised his head to meet Largo's eyes. “Is what you have reported the unaltered truth?”

Largo wanted to be annoyed by the question, having given the answer seemingly a hundred times to people who didn't want to hear the answer. But this time, it felt different. This time, the question had a weight appropriate for the gravity that had settled on the room. This time, Prince Antony needed to hear the answer.

“Yes.”

Antony nodded grimly. “And you believe that the Witch Queen of Kuith is, in fact, the one responsible?”

“It's the best lead we have, and to my knowledge, the only one who could overwhelm an archmage would be another archmage.”

“And this was also Ahmin's conclusion?”

Largo nodded. Apparently, the chimera had actually been a leader of the Gold Pirates, taking his own initiative to investigate disturbances like the one on the Isle of Donne. That seemingly gave his findings value in Antony's eyes, at the very least. “He was more cautious in attributing cause, but again, I don't really see who else it could be. He seemed certain that the 'Dark One' had been an apprentice of one of the archmages. The other two that we can account for are... dead.”

Largo had to resist choking up at the unbidden memory of Venutae's death, which chose this moment to vividly overwhelm his thoughts. He hoped the crack in his composure didn't show too much as he finished, “The Domina Pirogoeth is the only one that is left.”

“Do you realize what you are asking of your Empire?” Antony wondered. “To cross a continent and challenge a woman who, by every account we have, is even more dangerous than Dominus Augustus? Whatever curse that plagued him and limited his power almost certainly would not apply to her.”

Largo nodded. “I do, which is why I am not more insistent in my call for action.”

Antony then added, “And why you are prepared to take action unilaterally?”

Largo started, and the Prince clicked his tongue with a hint of amusement. “You think you've been discreet, but you really haven't. I've been watching you. One does not buy an Ortho blade simply to display over his furnace.” The Prince gestured to the sword Largo had leaned against the chair.

Largo decided there was no point in denying it. “If it comes down to me doing this myself, I will.”

“You are aware that you are still a member of the Reahtan Army, even without active orders,” Antony reminded. “Desertion is not a crime taken lightly.”

Largo shrugged, hoping that he looked suitably nonchalant rather than terrified that his plans had been revealed. “If that is what needs to be done, it's a crime I will accept. I only ask that I be allowed to complete it before you execute me.”

Finally, Prince Antony betrayed a smile. “What if I told you that wouldn't be necessary?”

Largo's eyebrows raised, but he said nothing.

“My father might be reluctant, and his hesitation might be warranted, but if Domina Pirogoeth is a threat to Reaht, then that needs to be investigated and dealt with if necessary. And the best way to do that is with overwhelming force. You will need a legion behind you, and I am willing to provide that legion on the condition that you lead it.”

Largo's eyes widened to join his eyebrows in surprise. “Is this meant to be a joke, Your Grace?”

The Prince answered by nudging a roll of parchment across the table toward Largo. The centurion picked it up, confirming that Antony's declaration was not in jest. It was a decree for the formation of a new legion, and the draft from which that legion would be assembled; half from the activation of reserves into full active duty, and the other half from established legions, giving preference to those in line for promotion.

But most notably, it designated Largo as the commander... pending his signature.

“So what do you say... Legionnaire?” Antony said, his grin now broad across his cheeks, with a conspiratorial glint in his eye as he offered a pen already freshly dipped with black ink.

Largo didn't need to give it any further thought. He had spent the last month thinking. Now was the time for doing. He took the pen, scribbled an approximation of his signature in bold strokes and then replied proudly, “I say... when do I start?”

~ ~ ~

If Legionnaire Largo were to conjure an image in his head of the dread palace in which the Witch Queen held court, it would have come pretty damn close to what he found at the Keep of Kuith.

The terrain was a cold, wet, rocky wasteland, with the life of the highlands to the south and west dying as the earth turned into clay flatlands. Dark, dour, and lifeless, like the witch that called this barren hell her home.

A half-completed stone bridge was the first thing he noted as it jutted out into the plain, though what it was supposed to join to the keep was completely lost on him. There was nothing but wilderness to the west, as not even the trade lines ran into the remains of Daynish lands.

The keep itself seemed to be built onto the sharply-rising slope on the far side of the plain, the outer wall built at an inward angle, and the streets within existing almost on tiers. At the very tip of the peninsula, the flat-topped tower that no doubt served as the Witch Queen's sanctum proved to be the highest point in the whole province by far, a perfect vantage point to lord over all that she surveyed.

At first glance, it would seem insane to build a keep at such a precarious site when much more agreeable land lay close by, but Largo's scant months as a commanding officer quickly taught him a few lessons in war planning and strategy, and as a result, he saw a cleverly-constructed defensive bunker. An invading force would be at a considerable disadvantage at each step of its progress; any advance would require a treacherous and steep uphill march, with the defenders having the high ground the whole way. Storming this keep would be a daunting or even dissuasive task... unless you were a Reahtan.

Because Largo saw the Keep of Kuith quite differently. He didn't see the perfectly defensible position. He saw a death trap for the defenders, with no place to run. His legion wouldn't be intimidated. They wouldn't tire. They would push every single rat and their queen into the sea.

He absentmindedly flipped a coin from Kuith in his hand, a small silver piece that he had procured in an earlier conquest of one of the Free Provinces. He was initially surprised to see the Witch Queen's currency so far south, then horrified to learn it had considerable trade value throughout the Free Provinces as a whole. The archmage already had her hooks far too deep into the future of the world.

“Legionnaire? Sir?”

Largo turned his head to acknowledge Darius, his personal attendant, standing at his side. Largo judged the attendant to be a warrior of surprising skill considering his station, but also a chronic worrier, which Largo found increasingly annoying.

“Yes?”

“You shouldn't be out in the open, sir. The Witch Queen might see you.”

Largo scoffed indifferently. “The Witch Queen already knows we're here, Darius. We weren't exactly subtle or discreet in our approach. Let her know our numbers. It matters little. Have we found a suitable tree yet?”

“Yes, Legionnaire, but it will take some time to move it from the forest.”

“Then they can catch up if we need aid breaking down the walls,” Largo growled. “I won't wait another day. Have the legion assemble. We attack at daybreak.”

The End

Other works by Thomas Knapp

The Broken Prophecy

The Sixth Prophet

The Tower of Kartage

Dire Water

Fire Fox

The Daynish Campaign

The Great Underground Empire

For more information, visit http://www.tkocreations.com

Other works by Fred Gallagher

MegaTokyo: Volumes 1-3

MegaTokyo Omnibus Vol. 1

MegaTokyo Omnibus Vol. 2

Available from Dark Horse Comics

MegaTokyo: Volumes 4-6

Available from DC Comics

For more information, visit http://www.megatokyo.com or http://www.megagear.com