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  Arron nodded absently. He had witnessed Nera’s grief and felt his own heart ache in response. Damn it, you deserved to be happy, Nera. I fear you’re going to be miserable with the fate that awaits you, dear Sister. He considered that for a moment, thinking it odd that he still thought of her as a sister. Well, why not a demigod for a sister? I’d be honored if she still sees fit to call me brother once she learns all.

  He wished he’d thought to transform into his native form to battle the turmahr, but the attack had occurred so abruptly, and he’d been so disheartened by crushing fear that they had been swiftly overcome. He knew instinctively that, even in his dragon form, he wouldn’t have been able to harm the beast nor been able to resist its death magic any better than his half-elven form had.

  Still, to be rendered impotent so utterly and to watch as Nera had been a knife’s edge away from death…

  He sighed and turned to Wyat. “My heart breaks to see Nera so melancholy now. Malek saved us all. That… thing reduced me to nothing. I would’ve been dead in a few more moments. Perhaps I was already, and his power pulled me back.”

  Wyat’s face was grim at the reminder of their encounter. “Its power was incomprehensible—nothing could stand before that monster. Like Idrimel said, even the best Shaol himself could do was banish it to the depths of the Abyss.”

  “Aye, I’m thankful we won’t have to face it again. Think I’m safe in saying I’m not the only one.”

  He noticed Rand sitting alone nearby, staring off into the growing darkness. The young man sat with a haunted look in his eyes from all the horrors they’d experienced. A number of soldiers stopped by to greet him from time to time, offering praise for making it back or condolences for his lost comrades, but he seemed to want none of it.

  In time, the lad will wear this as a badge of honor. But it may take him a while.

  A number of soldiers from the camp helped bring in wood from the nearby forest, and the pyre was quickly constructed.

  “We shall honor everyone who has fallen undertaking this quest,” Arron announced to everyone within earshot. “This is how Nera will want it. Spread the word to the camp. All are welcome to speak and honor the lives of those lost. If any of the fallen men left tokens or items with sentimental value behind, then bring those that their sacrifice may be honored upon the pyre as well.”

  ***

  Nera stood silently as Arron touched a torch to the tinder beneath the pyre. Within minutes, the fire blazed into the sky, consuming Malek’s remains. Sparks popped and flew into the night sky.

  Men from the camp had brought tokens to honor their friends and comrades. Wyat placed a battered lute atop the pyre, which Lumley used to play on occasion beside the campfire, which was a surprise to Nera. She couldn’t imagine the gravelly-voiced sergeant carrying a tune. Raik’s drinking horn, Tomlin’s set of dice, even an impressive likeness of Jannik’s face, which Rand had carved from a block of wood—those and other mementos had all joined Malek’s remains atop the pyre.

  They had all sacrificed for the same cause, a fellowship of fallen comrades. It seemed proper they were honored together, and she was touched that Arron had taken the initiative to do so.

  All of them were sent onward into the afterlife, their lives surrendered because of their faith and trust in me.

  Prior to Arron lighting the pyre, each of her companions, along with many men and women of the Steel Rage, had spoken words of remembrance of those who had fallen. Endira related the story of how she had run into a very green Malek in the grove in Nexus, Yosrick told of how bright and decent a man he was, Waresh had been impressed by his great stamina—for a mage, anyway—as they fled the horde, willing to give every last ounce of fortitude to protect Nera. Their tributes went on and on, and she had to fight to contain the tears. When it came her turn, she was ashamed to think that for the better part of the time she had known Malek, she had merely thought of him as a source of clink.

  After a moment of silence, listening to the popping of the burning wood, she told them how he fought to lift the lich’s curse and restore the dead land of Valirial back to life with the Staff of Preservation, simply because it was the right course of action, though he was certain it would cost him his life.

  “And so Malek, son of Alistor, sacrificed himself that the rest of us could be restored to life, like the long-dead land which had once been his home. He was a paragon of decency for us all—one beside which I hope to not pale in comparison someday.” She choked off that last bit, and someone put a hand comfortingly on her back.

  A sudden inspiration struck her, and Nera suddenly strode into the flames. She heard someone gasp, along with a number of oaths of astonishment. Then the flames were crackling around her, concealing her from the scores of watching eyes. She felt the heat burning out the remaining self-doubt and weakness within her.

  This was a more proper farewell, private and personal.

  “I thank you for your sacrifice, my love,” she whispered quietly. “Mother, grant him peace in the afterlife—he did not deserve such an excruciating end. Let him be reunited happily with his family there.” She bent over, ignoring the corpse’s charred skin, which had burned away, and touched her lips to the skull’s forehead, darkening from the flames. “I will make sure this hasn’t been for naught,” she vowed before stepping free of the flaming pyre, unharmed save for her smoldering leathers.

  Whispers of awe rippled through the ranks of the soldiers, but she ignored them. Her thoughts were focused solely on her duty, from which she would not waver.

  Her path lay clearly before her—restore order to Nexus and, in doing so, the multiverse. Nera the Rogue was no more. Nera the Chosen had performed her duty although it hadn’t resulted in the outcome she might’ve wished for. The time had come for Nera the Chosen to step aside. Nera, the Daughter of Sabyl, demigod, and future ruler of Nexus, was now required.

  And she was ready to make her father, the Engineer, pay the price for his betrayal, for the blood of Malek and the others was on his hands.

  “Make preparations—we return to Nexus this night!” Nera shouted, her voice carrying clearly over the gathering. “Our families, friends, and fellow citizens are besieged even now. I would see the Engineer and his ilk driven out and destroyed! Take care of any last-minute business and make ready for war.”

  For a moment, the only sound was the crackling of the pyre. Then, a multitude of voices shouted their approval into the sky, as if they meant for even the gods to hear.

  ***

  Wyat stood still for a long moment after Nera walked away into the darkness following her call to war. After striding from the fire, she had changed. The brash, materialistic thief he had grown up around was completely gone. This new Nera, who had spellbound the entire camp with her sheer presence and determination, standing before a backdrop of flames that couldn’t harm her, eyes blazing like that same fire, was the Nera born of a goddess. Of that he no longer had any doubt.

  Wyat turned to Delmer and gave the order. “I want everyone armed and ready to march in thirty minutes. We leave the camp here—have them bring only what they need for a sustained battle. Expect Nexus to be overrun already. If we don’t claim victory, none of this is worth a shite anymore.” He gestured toward the semipermanent camp around them.

  “Aye, Commander. You want a rearguard left behind?”

  Wyat considered a moment then nodded. “Get a few volunteers—a handful of the old-timers and wounded still recovering, if there are any. Make sure they know they could be in for a long stay if we fail. Belgar can have the command.”

  Within moments, the camp was ablaze with activity as men donned armor and buckled on sword belts. Voices were raised in battle songs of valor.

  The old smith, Belgar, stomped up to Wyat, face bright red with anger. He wore a pot helm and a thick leather jerkin that looked a couple sizes too small, leaving his sizable belly hanging out, and he clutched a heavy hammer. “What’s this shite about me staying behind to guard the
camp? I’m going—Nexus is me home too, and I’ll be buggered if I let a bunch of slimy demons destroy it!”

  Wyat clasped the old smith’s broad shoulders. “Of course, old friend. I wouldn’t ever tell a man he can’t defend his home. Just don’t take all the glory from the young lads.”

  “Hmph. That’s better, I reckon. Just keep those green lads outta me way, Commander. I’ll show ’em how it’s done.”

  “Will do, Belgar.” Wyat turned away from the dwarf, trying to conceal a grin.

  Chapter 27

  Zita stood with hands on hips, inspecting the newly restocked larder. Kater and Knotton, two of her few remaining Night Wraiths guildmates, were stowing sacks of meal and baskets of vegetables, cheese, and smoked meat. A couple barrels of fresh water were stocked there as well. The goods were worth a small fortune with times being what they were in Nexus, but by using some of her contacts, she’d managed to gain access to a storehouse in the Merchant District and poach a decent supply of provisions.

  Knotton walked in with a cask of ale on each shoulder and stacked them at the rear of the larder.

  “I think that’ll about do it, Zita,” said Kater, the old quartermaster. He dusted off his hands on his breeches. “Should keep us fed for a time unless things get worse.”

  “Aye, until we run out of air,” Zita said grimly. “Or demons bust down our door.”

  Already, the city’s air was foul, thick with smoke that burned the lungs of anyone who was out and about for more than an hour or so. Rumors ran rampant—demons had been spotted in the streets, great spider things from one description, lizardmen from another. She didn’t know what to believe. The Nexus Watch was stirred into a frenzy, though. Word had come of a pitched battle at the city gates late the past night.

  If the tales of demons turned out to be a steaming pile of arrvak shite, she wondered if, even with their supplies, they’d last out the week before they all died, wheezing like fish pulled from a stream and left out on the bank to suffocate.

  “Guildmaster!” A sharp cry came from the common room down the hallway.

  Zita dashed to the common room, hopeful one of her spies had returned. She found Loman, the youngest rogue left in the guild—barely older than a street urchin, but she had pressed him into service, having few men to rely on these days.

  The boy was bent over, hands on knees, puffing for breath. His face was slicked with sweat, having obviously run a great distance.

  “What is it, lad?” she asked. A knot of fear clutched her guts at the boy’s pale face.

  His eyes were wide with fright. He coughed from gulping lungfuls of the poor air and spat on the floor. So urgent was his expression that Zita didn’t berate him for his manners.

  “Portals!” Loman finally gasped. “Demons coming through! It’s to be war!”

  “Make some sense, boy!” Kater snapped at Zita’s side.

  Knotton grumbled something in Torumish as he came to join them.

  “Relax and tell us what has happened,” Zita said.

  “The Watch fought a battle at the city gates! A group of demons somehow got inside the walls last night and tried to open the gates. They were slain, but the Watch took heavy losses. A call has gone out for all able-bodied men to take up arms and defend the city.”

  “Defend from whom?” Knotton screeched.

  “They say the Abyss has emptied out, and all its legions are preparing an assault on Nexus! There’s to be a second Planar War.”

  Kater scowled. “You’d better not be telling us some fool’s story you heard from a drunk at a tavern!”

  The knot of fear grew in Zita’s belly. “Do you speak truly? Demons from the Abyss?”

  Loman nodded, ignoring the stern quartermaster. “Aye, Guildmaster! I saw the corpses being burned in the square—they had to be fiends from the looks. So I sneaked atop the walls and saw with my own eyes! There had to be thousands of them. They was just forming up into ranks and such. I heard one o’ the soldiers saying this be the start of the second Planar War.”

  Zita let out a long breath, mind already racing. With the state of the city, it would likely be overrun and destroyed fairly easily. How is this possible? Who is behind it?

  “There’s talk of fighting in the fortress already, too,” Loman added. “The Magehunters was racing in that direction when I was heading back here.”

  “Good work, lad. Kater, get him some food and water.”

  After the quartermaster and the boy left the room, Zita slumped down in one of the wooden chairs that had survived the recent fighting. She found it ironic that they’d finally gotten the place cleaned up and restocked—all for naught, it seemed. Nobody would last long if what the boy said was true.

  “Shall I go take a look?” Knotton asked.

  “Aye. See if it’s as bad as the boy says. If so, there’s naught we can do but batten down and hope the Watch can hold them at bay.” She didn’t need to voice the opinion that if there really were legions of the Abyss forming up for war, the city was doomed.

  Knotton took off without another word, leaving Zita alone in the common room. She gazed unseeing into the flames in the fireplace, her mind racing with possibilities. Her heart even seemed to flutter from her nerves.

  She frowned when, a moment later, it fluttered again. Reaching up to her breast pocket, she felt the lump there from the silver sphere Arron had entrusted her with.

  “Arron?” She withdrew it curiously. Sure enough, the orb seemed to vibrate in her hand.

  She blinked, and a shadow suddenly loomed over her, blocking the light from the fireplace.

  Zita cursed and sprang to her feet, reaching for her sword, but her feet tangled with the chair’s leg as it overturned, and she stumbled. Strong hands reached out and seized her forearms, preventing her from falling.

  “Zita!” Arron’s face swam in her vision.

  “Arron?” Her heart hammered in her chest from the sudden fright. “Oh gods, I had a nightmare the other night that something terrible had befallen you!” She clutched him in a powerful embrace.

  After a moment, she wrinkled her nose. “You need a bath.” The half-elf’s hair was matted and dirty, face caked with grime and dried blood on his cheek and neck. His leather armor and tunic were stained with blood and ichor, his breeches brown with dried mud to midthigh.

  “Apologies, but we just returned from the Abyss.” The half-elf was grim as he looked around. He had changed, she realized. The spark of humor in his eyes was gone, his face grave and serious now.

  “The Abyss? Oh gods… so is it true? Are the legions attacking Nexus?”

  He looked at her sharply. “Are they here already?”

  “Aye, I think so. We just received word… I sent Knotton to verify.”

  Arron sighed heavily. “It is as we feared. Hopefully, we aren’t too late to mount a defense.”

  “We? Did you find Nera then?”

  “Aye. Wyat and the Rage are coming back with us, also.” He looked around the guildhall appraisingly. “We’ll need a place to marshall. I don’t think all five hundred will fit, but perhaps a couple hundred.”

  Zita looked at him baffled. “The Steel Rage are coming here? From where?”

  Arron took her hand and closed her fingers around the silver sphere she still held. “I’ll bring Nera, Wyat and the others first. Then the troops shortly after. They’ll have to rally at the Magelight Market then march for the walls and link up with whoever’s in charge of the Watch…” He was thinking aloud.

  Events were happening almost too fast for Zita to process, but the pragmatic half-orc hadn’t climbed the ranks to the position of guildmaster by being dimwitted. She quickly tried to take stock of their plight. “If the situation is that dire, then you’ll need the provisions as much as us.”

  Arron patted her on the cheek. “Be right back.” He murmured a magical command and disappeared. The sphere vibrated some more, and a moment later, a group appeared, looking disoriented.

  She saw a shock of la
vender hair. “Nera!” She swept the confused-looking thief up into a hug before she realized what was happening.

  “Zita.” Nera gasped as the breath was nearly squeezed out of her.

  Zita released Nera and sized her up. The thief looked the same as Arron—filthy and exhausted. Then she noted Nera’s left hand and opened her mouth to remark but held her thoughts when Nera followed her eyes, her mouth twisting into a bitter grimace.

  “Courtesy of the Abyss,” she said.

  Before they could speak of it further, Wyat greeted her with a hug. Introductions were quickly made all around. She was surprised to see a plane-blessed priestess of Sol, a gnome, a pair of dwarves, and an elf, along with several of Wyat’s lieutenants.

  “Zita, do you have a city map?” Arron asked.

  She directed him to her study, and he went to fetch it.

  A grizzled old dwarf stomped up to her, eyeing her up and down. “Ye in charge around here?” he demanded. He had soot marks on his face and wore a dirty leather jerkin. Despite his age and appearance, his thickly muscled arms hefted a large hammer with ease, she noted.

  “Aye, I’m the guildmaster, Zita. And you are?”

  “Belgar. Belgar Stonecrag. Where’s yer ale?”

  “Pardon?” This day was getting more bizarre by the moment.

  “Can’t go to war on a dry throat. Don’t want these green lads thinking they can outdo me just since they can finally grow a few hairs on their sacks.” He eyed with disdain a couple younger soldiers who had accompanied them.

  Zita was relieved to see Kater and Loman return, eyes wide in shock at the sight of the motley group filling their common room.

  “Kater! Send the boy to bring up one of the ale casks. I’ve a feeling we’re gonna be needing it. Bring some food, too.”

  “There’s a good lass,” Belgar said. He winked at her before walking off to talk to the other dwarf, who had a wicked axe slung on his back.