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There, below in the bailey, stood a towering figure in a voluminous cloak, its color nearly black. However, as the garment stirred in the hot sulfurous air, a pearlescent crimson rippled across it. As though the intruder sensed her gaze, the cowled head glanced up at her, although the face remained hidden.

  “Attend me,” the being commanded.

  The words resounded with the power of a compulsion. Nesnys was ordinarily immune to such magical effects, but she felt awesome power reverberating behind the words.

  So it begins—the struggle to rule Achronia.

  After her father’s ill-fated attempt to wage a second Planar War and subsequent disappearance, the rulership of Achronia fell to Nesnys though her hold was tenuous at best. Sensing the being’s power, she knew she would be no match for the fiend in her current state, yet she dared not show weakness in the face of a challenge, for that would ensure her downfall. An unfamiliar sensation gripped her belly—fear.

  Axoazihr? Has he returned for his vengeance?

  Without further hesitation, Nesnys dove through the open window. Whereas at one time, she would’ve glided gracefully down on her wings of Abyssal iron, now she was relegated to invoking a minor spell to arrest her rapid descent and float to the ground. Her hated half sister had severed one of her wings from her back during their battle, and Nesnys had not the skill to restore it. Worse, she’d been struck with Bedlam Judge, the droexhal dagger, which had nearly ended her.

  Nesnys landed lightly before the cloaked figure, Willbreaker raised defensively before the towering fiend in the shimmering cloak.

  “Who intrudes on my demesne and commands me thusly?” she demanded. The figure exuded awesome power, and maintaining her poise took a supreme effort of will.

  The cloaked fiend threw back its cowl, and the entire cloak fell away, dissipating into wisps of smoke. A tall, powerfully built demon stood before her in humanoid form. He had a handsome, almost beautiful face with long black hair and dark, copper-hued skin. Ebon horns rose from his brow in a curved sweep. He was dressed in the finest robes of burnished angelskin, which shimmered the same iridescent sable-crimson as the cloak had. His eyes varied in color, at the moment a bright copper hue, like coins reflecting sunlight, and his awful gaze fell upon her with a nearly palpable force.

  The Lord of the Abyss stood before her.

  Nesnys gasped in shock and terror. Her knees grew weak, and she prostrated herself on the ground, Willbreaker falling from her hand.

  “Lord Shaol! Forgive my insolence for not recognizing you!” The uneven flagstones of the bailey dug into her chin, but she dared not meet her lord’s gaze unless welcomed to do so.

  Nesnys sensed his movement, and the toe of his black boot, scaled and glistening—formed from the hide of some creature—moved into her vision, inches from her face. She steeled herself against the blow that would crush her to paste for her insolence. His robes rustled in a whispered melody much like the distant song of a celestial choir, now subtly perverted. Then his hand stroked the hideous scarred wound on the left side of her face, his fingers hot against her skin and tingling with power.

  The wound flared anew, the corruption agitated by his touch, sending an agonizing spasm through her body. After long moments, the pain receded until she could feel it no longer, a curious numbness instead setting into her flesh along her face first, then flowing down her neck, around her shoulder, and down her flank.

  “This wound was struck by the so-called Lady of Twilight,” Shaol murmured quietly. His fingers stroked along Nesnys’s jawline and down her neck until he teased the wound itself, revealed through the rent in her armor just below her armpit where the corruption wouldn’t allow the mail to seal.

  The god’s touch sent waves of pleasure thrumming through her, and Nesnys trembled, desiring his touch more than anything.

  “Command me, my lord,” she breathed.

  “Rise, Nesnys. I have a task for you to perform.”

  She regained her feet, looking in wonder at the unblemished flesh where the corruption had once spread from her sister Neratiri’s strike with the droexhal dagger. All the scarring, save the puckered mark from the initial wound itself, was gone, the pain in remission, and the weakness no longer plaguing her left arm. As she watched, her armor slowly oozed across the restored flesh and sealed. She had a brief moment to consider all that before the frivolous thought was swept away before the infernal glory of the nearness of her lord.

  “How may I serve, my lord?” She chanced to glance up at his face, her cheeks and neck flushed. The desire to serve overrode any other thoughts in her head.

  He regarded her impassively, and none of the anger she expected was present on his countenance. “Your father has failed me, and he has paid the price for that failure. Any spawn of his I would ordinarily punish harshly as well, yet you are fortunate to hold a unique role. For your sister sits the throne of the Nexus of the Planes.”

  Nesnys nearly choked. “Neratiri? She rules Nexus?”

  The thought was nearly incomprehensible. Her father, the Engineer, had plotted for centuries to steal the throne from his brother, the Architect. And my thrice-damned sister Neratiri somehow defeated the both of them and managed to seize power? Her shock turned to jealous fury at the thought.

  “Yes. She styles herself the Lady of Twilight. After defeating you and escaping my realms, she and her allies then defeated your father and his armies, after which she claimed the throne of Nexus. She now rules there, beyond my influence, for an eternity. This Neratiri has been woefully underestimated, and my meddling siblings’ schemes are more crafty and subtle than I’d have imagined.”

  She could sense Shaol’s simmering rage. “What might I do, my lord?” I would tear out that bitch’s still-beating heart from her breast, given the chance.

  “I would have you prepare the way for the next planar war. You shall go to a plane known as Easilon and locate the offspring of Neratiri, this Lady of Twilight. Her whelp will be used as leverage to convince her to abdicate the throne. Once she does so, I shall have Nexus and my planar war. Should that endeavor fail, there is one final method at our disposal, one that you shall also investigate.”

  Nesnys could hardly believe her luck. “I am unworthy for such a great honor, my lord.” She fell to a knee. “Yet I live to serve.”

  “Indeed, you do.”

  He drove his finger into the scales covering the scar in her side, and she grimaced in pain. Percolating inside was the corruption, held at bay solely by Shaol’s power.

  “Please me, and you shall be free of this wound forever and know great reward,” he said. “You will have your desire for revenge and command a unit of my legions if you succeed. Yet know that if you fail me, this wound shall be the price of your failure.”

  “I shall not fail you, Lord.”

  She tried not to wilt beneath the force of Shaol’s gaze upon her. His eyes had turned a sickly yellow-green hue. She had no doubt that the price of failure would be her destruction.

  “My agents have laid the groundwork for your arrival in Easilon. The human empire of Nebara is being prodded to a war of conquest with its neighbors to the north. The ruler is a weak-willed fool and should prove easy to manipulate. Sow chaos and bloodshed far and wide—send more souls to me. This shall prove a fitting backdrop for your true task.”

  The thought of slaying mortals and sating her thirst for blood brought a wicked smile to her lips. “How am I to know this whelp of my sister’s? And what of command of your agents?”

  Shaol placed the fingertips of his large hand against Nesnys’s cheek, causing a flush of pleasure to race through her again as he traced her jawline. “Neratiri thinks herself clever to hide her progeny in anonymity on that plane, yet her carelessness will prove her undoing. Look for one who will be able to live among the humans without drawing undue attention, who will have seen near to twenty summers and exhibit powerful magical talents, possibly still latent. A purge of magic users across that world will flush this one out like rats flee
ing floodwaters. As for your fellow agents, the strongest shall lead, as is only proper. I have no doubt you shall prove to be the mightiest.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Nesnys could barely contain her excitement at the prospect of fomenting war and bloodshed, for she enjoyed nothing better. The chance to hurt Neratiri through her whelp was a bonus. “And this other method you’d have me investigate?”

  “Seek out the Tellurian Engine. Its secrets are hidden even from me, for your father was extremely wary, confiding in but a select few regarding this instrument’s existence. If I cannot have the Nexus of the Planes for myself, then none shall have it, and it shall become meaningless, etiolated unto utter irrelevance.”

  Shaol placed his hands upon Nesnys’s shoulders, and she trembled at his touch. He turned her away from him and gripped her remaining wing in hand, pulling it until it was fully extended. It heated up rapidly until it was glowing like molten metal. The heat suddenly seared into her back, boiling like lava along her spine and through her muscles and sinew. Her knees nearly buckled from the agony, but she remained upright through force of will alone, teeth clenched so that she wouldn’t cry out and show further weakness before her lord. The ugly mass of scar tissue knotting the right side of her back melted away from the inside, then molten shards of metal ripped outward through her flesh as if some metallic fiend was clawing itself free from its prison of meat.

  After long moments, the agonizing process was finished. She now had a perfect duplicate of her left wing, cooling off and changing from the molten orange to its ordinary matte-black color. Not only was her wing restored, but she felt she was changed, made somehow greater with her lord’s blessing, her well of magic increased along with her strength and vigor.

  “As my herald and champion, you must have the puissance necessary that you shall not fail me.”

  Nesnys bowed her head in respect. “My lord, you have my gratitude. You honor me greatly.”

  Shaol ignored her. “My agent shall summon you to the Prime plane soon. Stand ready, and disappoint me not.” The Lord of the Abyss seemed to collapse in on himself, disappearing in a roiling cloud of black smoke.

  Nesnys felt suddenly buoyant following his departure, his presence no longer weighing heavily on her. A whirlwind of plans and emotions whipped through her thoughts until one rose to the top.

  Her thoughts twisted into a malicious grin. “Finally, I shall have my chance for glory and take my vengeance on you, my sister.”

  ***

  Nesnys heard her name being called from across the planes. Finally, the summons.

  She sensed the passage through the planes opening for her a moment before it coalesced. The moldering blocks of her throne room wall blurred and disappeared as a pinpoint of absolute blackness swelled into an oval passageway. Without hesitation, she strode into the void. Her citadel in Achronia faded and then was gone, leaving her in a corridor of utter nothingness as she passed between worlds. The magical summons tugged at her, and with a thought she moved forward, faster and faster, anxious to be free of the confines of the Abyss. The summoning portal yawned before her, and she stepped through into the Prime world of Easilon.

  The room she found herself in was dark and dingy, deep underground judging from the feel of the weight of earth surrounding her. Candlelight illuminated the small room, and a summoning circle was inscribed on the floor around her.

  “Welcome, Lady Nesnys. I, too, am but a humble servant of Almighty Shaol.” A black-robed priest bowed low from where he knelt on the ground at the edge of the circle. He was bald and ugly. Flabby jowls hung from his neck, and a large wart grew on the side of his wide nose. Deep-set, cruel eyes regarded her from his corpse-pale face.

  Nesnys ignored the mortal, striding forward, but at the moment she touched the edge of the summoning circle, a spark of power shocked her, denying her passage.

  “What is the meaning of this? Free me at once,” she demanded.

  “Apologies. I had to make sure nothing else followed you through.” The priest chanted briefly, and the portal closed. A moment later, the summoning circle faded, its power released.

  Nesnys had Willbreaker in her hand in an instant. With a quick twitch of her wrist, the whip unfurled and encircled the priest’s fleshy neck.

  “I—ack!” The priest’s eyes bulged, his hands clutching at the lash.

  Nesnys strode over until she stood above the kneeling man. “Just so we’re clear, Lord Shaol sent me to this plane in a matter of great consequence to him. Thus, I shall be taking command here. Do you care to dispute that?”

  The priest shook his head emphatically, face flushed with color as the whip cut off his circulation and airflow.

  She loosened the whip, and the man gasped for air like a beached fish. A snap of the wrist returned Willbreaker to its longsword form, and she sheathed it. Since the priest had been shown his proper place, she would allow him to recover some dignity. He was likely quite powerful, one of Shaol’s favored, and she had no desire to unduly antagonize him, for they would need to work together to achieve their lord’s objectives.

  “What is your name, priest?” She regarded the man, hands on hips.

  He rubbed his neck, the flesh of which was nicked and bleeding shallowly from the whip’s laksaar teeth.

  “I am Zegrath, Mistress Nesnys. At your service.” He bowed again.

  Nesnys nodded. “I require information, Zegrath. Who are our other agents in place?”

  “Myself and Amralad, the emperor’s sorcerer, work here in the imperial palace. We have a robust network of spies throughout both Nebara and Ketania, all of whom are now at your disposal, of course.”

  “I was told there’s to be war. What of it?”

  Zegrath frowned. “Ah, the war effort seems to be… er, stalled at the moment. Neither I nor Amralad are of a military mind, but from what we are told, the imperial army is bottled up at Helmsfield Pass, prevented from proceeding into Ketania as hoped for.”

  “Fortunately, I do have a mind for military matters. I shall need to speak with these commanders and swiftly remedy the situation.” She thought a moment, tapping on the pommel of Willbreaker as Zegrath watched her nervously. “Human pawns are notoriously weak and shall require the proper motivation. If there’s to be war and a purge of mages, I shall require other, stronger tools at my disposal.”

  Several fiends came to mind that could serve her purpose. Although the term trustworthy was a virtue anathema to a demon’s nature, she was confident they could be relied on to the extent of her purposes. Their lust for carnage and chaos was much greater than any aspirations of power they might hold themselves.

  “Once I fully appraise the situation,” she said, “I shall have you summon my lieutenants at a later time. As for now, tell me everything which transpires in these realms of Easilon, particularly who the major players are whom we need be concerned with. Those loyal and not.”

  “Of course, Mistress. If you’ll follow me, we can retire to my chambers, where I shall have refreshments delivered, and we can speak more comfortably. If I may, might I suggest you shapeshift or use a glamour to conceal your true form—pleasing though it is, you’ll likely draw attention that is best avoided for the time being.”

  She nodded. “A wise suggestion, Zegrath.”

  She briefly considered taking the role of a sorceress but decided against it. The less elaborate the ruse, the more believable and easier to maintain. Her true form would be revealed in time.

  Following her encounter with Shaol, she realized the Lord of the Abyss had granted her greater knowledge and power than what she would’ve had at her disposal prior. Whereas before, an illusion would’ve had to suffice to disguise her features, now she instinctually knew how to truly shapeshift. She concentrated a moment, and her form blurred and changed. Her wings went away, as did her talons, while her pointed teeth smoothed out. Her silver eyes darkened to an icy gray. She kept her armor and weapons as they were, also maintaining her imposing height and physique although she n
ow looked passably human in appearance. “I shall be a military advisor to anyone concerned.”

  “As you wish. I believe the emperor will be well served to have a new advisor to breathe some fresh air into the stale thinking of the current military hierarchy.”

  “Indeed, I shall.” Nesnys yearned to make war and slay Shaol’s enemies in her true form. She was a warrior at heart, not well suited for the subtleties of political intrigue, yet she knew that would be necessary in order to manage a war and conduct the search for both Neratiri’s child and the mysterious Tellurian Engine. She decided to keep mention of her true purpose to herself for the time being. Whatever happened beyond this plane was of no concern to her minions.

  Once I set our plans into motion, then I can do as I please. But for now, I must take care to not unduly upset the pieces already in play on the board. After she learned what she needed from Zegrath, she would meet this Amralad and ensure he also understood who was in command. Then she would confront the military commanders, evaluate the tactical situation and the strength of the armies, and figure out how to properly motivate the officers and their troops.

  The prospect of being given the honor of performing such tasks thrilled her. The thought of failure never even crossed her mind.

  “Lead on, priest. There is much to do, and our lord’s patience is not boundless.”

  Chapter 2

  Taren focused on the target painted on the distant hay bale. He drew the string of the longbow back to his cheek. Until recently, he’d been unable to even draw the mighty bow, but he’d had plenty of practice on a short bow with a lighter pull. His arm trembled slightly as he held the string to his cheek. He took a steady breath, sighted down the arrow, and loosed.

  A moment later, it thunked into the target, touching the edge of the inner circle.

  “Nice shot!” Taren’s uncle, Wyat, clapped him on the back. “I can tell you’ve been working on your archery.”

  Taren nodded, filling with pride. “Aye, a bit, Uncle.”