Blake skidded to a halt on the muddy ground. The Monarch fell to its hands and knees with a thud. The impact created a rush of wind strong enough to push away the fog in a circle around the beast, revealing the surviving hunters. Ulfreld was still there, and there were at least five others. Another man crouched over the limp body of Sclera, holding his fingers to her neck and checking for a pulse. By the look on his face, Blake was pretty sure he wasn’t finding anything.

  Whatever monsters the beast had been commanding fled, and any pressure of the Monarch’s killing intent faded away in an instant.

  But if they didn’t defeat the Monarch, all of them were going to die. He glanced around, looking for the prince. The boy should’ve been here by now. He should’ve arrived before Blake. Had he chickened out?

  “We have twenty seconds!” someone shouted. “It’s already accumulating more mana!”

  “Where’s a weak spot?” Blake whispered to Ethbin.

  Hit the back of its neck, Ethbin replied.

  Springing up with the Serpent’s Cloak, Blake brought his staff down on the back of the Monarch’s neck with a heavy crack, using everything he could to enhance his blow, drawing Honour from the rest of the hunters. They provided it consciously or not—when Blake had arrived, the tide had turned. On top of it all, he leveraged his echo set. He was coated in mud, and that seemed to count as water. It was wet enough.

  With all his might, and channelling a Black Palm through the staff, Blake brought his weapon down on the back of the Monarch’s neck.

  A bolt of lightning sprang up from below, impacting the beast’s neck with freezing Vir energies and causing it to slam into his staff with increased force. His staff splintered along its length, wood strained to its limit, but it was enough.

  The Monarch slammed into the ground, falling face-first into the mud and knocking away a few nearby hunters. Black lightning crackled around its neck, trying to bind it and choke it, but it dissipated in seconds.

  Blake tumbled to the side and hopped back to his feet, then glanced back at the Monarch with dismay. Steam rose from its back, and frost gathered around the impact point, but he’d only dislodged a single scale. It clung on by a few strands of dark flesh, bent at the center. But he hadn’t done nearly enough damage.

  Ulfreld reached out with his arm, flinging a sword forward and slicing the last strands of flesh, freeing the scale.

  “There’s a hole in its armour!” shouted one of the hunters. “Hit it!”

  Before anyone could attack, the Monarch shuddered, pushing itself up, and let out one last ear-splitting bellow.

  Then it slammed its hands down toward Elder Ulfreld.

  Blake jumped in front, pressing the length of his staff into the beast’s hand and exerting all the force he could. Loyalty surged from Ulfreld, worth from the crowd, and bravery from everywhere. His boots sank deeper into the water, and he kept Serpent’s Cloak active. With every last dreg of Honour he could pull through his siphon, he fed it into his body, strengthening his bones and muscles.

  His meridians were filling with char faster than he could ever imagine. The Monarch screeched and put more of its weight into the attack, and Blake’s ankles creaked. His muscles strained, and he shouted. Something ripped in his arms, something popped in his knees, and pain scraped through his entire body.

  He triggered River’s echo skill, healing himself and purging his channels, but the Monarch’s weight pressing down on him undid everything. Tendons frayed, bones strained. He couldn’t hold on much longer.

  Shouting, he glanced back at Ulfreld. The Elder launched his swords up into the Monarch’s hand and pressed against it with his own strength, too.

  “Go!” Ulfreld yelled. “Get out!”

  “You’ll die! I can’t—”

  Before Blake could finish, a streak of blue light seared through the corner of his vision. A streak of green light passed from the other direction, rocking the Monarch. There was a deep boom, and the weight lifted off his arms.

  Then, with a screech, the beast arched its back. A beam of golden sunlight seared through the mist, streaking down from above, and a spear pierced into the Monarch’s back—right into the hole in its armour Blake had created.

  Prince Arald floated above, hovering on a cloud of Shaped golden sunlight. With a shout, he kicked the spear, wedging a gap in the Monarch’s scales, then brought down his sword in the gap he created. A gash erupted in the back of the monster’s neck, and black blood surged out in a fountain.

  Then both the Path Paladins struck, slamming their long, rune-covered batons down onto the back of the beast’s neck. Reccán’s weapon glowed neon green, and his apprentice’s glowed blue. They hummed through the air and glistened with the intent to break and shatter. The air crackled in front of them, and when they struck, they left deep gashes in the beast’s already-split flesh.

  The Monarch’s head crunched off, and it fell limp into the mud, dead for good.

  Blake stumbled back, panting. His entire body screamed out in pain, but he’d survived. Everything was silent as the golden light faded and the mists closed back in. Ulfreld knelt beside Blake, and the rest of the hunters gathered close. There was a faint blue glint in the mists, which probably belonged to River, but it disappeared quickly.

  Blake flopped onto his back, staring up at the sky and the swirling mist high above. When everyone’s attention turned to the Prince and the Path Paladins, Blake reached into his shirt and drew his Honour out of the elixir, returning his presence to normal.

  Hopefully, in the heat of battle, none of the other hunters had noticed. But Reccán still cast Blake a side-eye.

  “What have you done?” Prince Arald demanded. “You were hunting the Monarch I was tasked with killing.”

  Blake coughed. “If I saw what happened there, your Path Paladins struck the finishing blow. So don’t get mad at me.”

  Everyone, including the hunters, was silent.

  Ulfreld looked down at Blake, and Blake said, “I’ll be fine. Just…give me a few minutes.”

  Shaking his head, the Elder stood up and faced Arald. “Honoured Lord.” He bowed at his hips. “We are representatives of the Red Pine Hunter’s sect, and we were tasked by the Steerman with hunting a pride of Lightstalkers. The Monarch attacked us while we were searching, and we had no choice but to defend ourselves.”

  The Prince scowled. “The Monarch attacked you?”

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  “Fools, all of them, fools!” came a voice from deeper in the fog. “They agitated it. They nearly got themselves—and you—killed by it.”

  Blake groaned. He recognized that voice. “Heron Silverbeard…”

  The man prowled through the mists, emerging beside the fallen corpse of the Monarch and standing beside the prince. “It is a miracle you didn’t engage earlier, Honoured Prince, or you might have died too.” Heron called it a miracle, but something told Blake he was incredibly disappointed the prince was still alive.

  “Why attack at all?” Blake asked Prince Arald with a gasp. “And what kept you in the first place?”

  Prince Arald tilted his head. “I…found myself distracted.”

  More likely scared. He hadn’t attacked until the beast had been nearly defeated and there was already an opening. Blake wasn’t quite stupid enough to say any of that aloud.

  You’re learning? Finally? Ethbin asked.

  Blake rolled his eyes.

  After clearing his throat,Heron said, “Honoured Prince Arald, it seems that their recklessness in hunting the Lightstalkers led the Monarch to them and angered it. And as you know, Monarchs can grow unnaturally strong when angered.”

  When people said ‘as you know’ it was usually something you didn’t already know. Maybe even a complete lie. Blake craned his neck up and snapped, “Why are you even here, Heron? Go pick fluff out your ears or something and leave us alone.” He paused for effect, then added, “Or maybe it’s because you led the Monarch here to frame us.”

  “I was simply passing by,” Heron said. “And when I heard the sounds of fighting, I had to investigate the matter. And as it turns out, I found the hunters endangering our prince’s life.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Blake said, pushing himself up to his feet. “You led your men here. You’ve been planning this for days. There’s even a bunker up to the north of the Sceat Bowl.”

  “Oh?” Heron laughed and cast Blake a knowing smile. “Let’s go look, then, shall we?”

  Blake scowled. Was it going to be that easy?

  After a few more seconds, he used what little power River’s echo skill had recharged and repaired himself enough that he could stand. Then he led them up the edge of the Sceat Bowl until they reached the bunker where he’d left the unconscious Green Bear.

  It was mostly covered in mud, but it was still there. He tapped the hatch with his staff, then said, “Right here. I found Green Bears hiding here. And there were talismans set up all around the edge of the crater, all enhancing the Monarch. Your trap failed, Heron.”

  Blake’s heart swelled for a moment. But then Heron pulled open the hatch, revealing an empty bunker filled with mud and wood chips. There were a few shattered barrels from the fight, but there were no bodies. No sign of a scuffle at all. Even the spilled supplies were gone, replaced with rotting barrels.

  “What…?” Blake breathed.

  “I will admit, we have bunkers like this all throughout the mists,” Heron said. “It makes travel through them easier if we get caught out at night. But this one has been abandoned for a long time.”

  Blake knew what he’d seen. “No, it—if you just look closer, I’m sure you’ll find something…”

  Heron turned to the prince. “It seems the hunters are full of lies. Perhaps they were trying to steal your kill as well, not just reckless in their tracking.”

  “What about the talismans?” Prince Arald asked. “You said there were talismans, correct?”

  “Good luck finding any of that,” Heron said. Then, facing away from Arald, he cast Blake a wink. “If they lied about this, what else would they lie about?”

  “No…” Blake breathed. “Don’t bother with the talismans.” There was no use now. Heron had probably cleaned them all up.

  “Honoured Prince, you must make a judgement,” Heron said. “Don’t listen to this abomination.” He motioned directly at Blake. “Order me to kill them, and I will. I will wipe out their pavilions and remove them from this region.”

  Prince Arald considered for a moment. He glanced at the Path Paladins, then back at Blake.

  “This cannot stand,” Heron insisted. “They’ve stained your honour, and they’ve made you look weak. You wouldn’t want to look weak, would you? Killing them is the only—”

  Prince Arald lifted his fingers, ordering silence from Heron. “Enough, Silverbeard. But you are right. I cannot let this stand.” He considered for a moment, tightening his cloak around his shoulders. “The Red Pine Hunters Sect is forbidden from entering this region of Shell. They are to remove their pavilions at once, and they must leave under threat of death. If they return, their members are to be slain immediately.”

  Heron gave a halfhearted smile. It couldn’t have been the response he was looking for. But after a few seconds, it turned to a smirk. He looked directly at Blake. “I’ll be seeing you around, thrall.”

  With a flick of his robes and cloak, he turned away, marching off into the mists. When his chainmail finally stopped clinking, Blake glanced at Ulfreld.

  “He plans to wipe out our pavilion,” Ulfreld muttered. “And he’ll have his excuse—he’ll say we didn’t leave the region in time.”

  “But word can’t travel that fast,” Blake replied.

  “He probably has men in place, ready to attack as we speak…” Ulfreld muttered. “We must return quickly. We must get them out.”

  He is right, Ethbin provided mentally to Blake. Heron has no plans of letting the pavilion survive. He won’t kill you in front of the prince, but I’d bet he already has a party in place to attack the pavilion. They’ll be burning before they even know why.

  “Will you just let him destroy us?” Blake snapped, turning to Prince Arald.

  The prince fiddled with his fingers, folding and unfolding them. “Apologies. But what else can I do? Heron is right about how my honour appears to have been stained…and if I degrade my standing further, my father will punish me. Besides…men like him are valuable for keeping order and ruling these disorderly planets, even if they’re a little unsavoury.”

  Blake clenched his fists. “You’re a prince. So what if punishing Heron would make your life more difficult? It’s your job. So get off your ass and do something about it!”

  It wasn’t wise to speak to a prince like that, but what did Blake have to lose?

  Prince Arald blinked a few times, taken aback. The rest of the hunters stared at Blake, and the Path Paladins raised their eyebrows.

  Prince Arald finally said, “If there is proof that Heron set this up, then he would be a traitor to the Crown. I would…punish him. But until then, my hands are tied. He has a higher standing than you, and his word is to be believed over yours.” The prince rubbed his forehead. “Even then, I’m not sure if a thrall presenting the proof would be enough. Everyone is too afraid of Heron, and it would reflect poorly on me.”

  “And what if I beat him in a duel?” Blake snapped. “What then?”

  “He would lose standing. After he loses a duel, evidence presented against him would have much more weight.”

  “Then that’s what I’ll do,” Blake said.

  Prince Arald turned away and marched off into the mists. “I await the truth, and I will see you at Mergewatch. Good luck, thrall.”

  The Path Paladins remained. Blake glanced over at the Monarch. An echo was rising from its corpse, but Reccán held out a hand, and the echo froze in a swell of immense killing intent. Then it disappeared.

  “Has he…absorbed it?” Blake whispered to Ethbin.

  He has simply bound the Monarch’s echo to its core, preserving it, Ethbin replied. Once a beast starts forming a proper core, their echoes are easy enough to bind. The Paladins will take it for safekeeping once this is all over.

  Sure enough, a few seconds later, Reccán sent his apprentice to go searching for the core, and the boy scampered off, drawing a dagger. He climbed up the side of the Monarch’s corpse and began digging through its flesh.

  But Blake had bigger problems than the echo, and it wasn’t his by right. Not yet. But this wasn’t over. Not even close. He had to get back to the pavilion and save what he could. He had friends there. River would find him. She’d catch up.

  He didn’t wait for the rest of the hunters. No matter how much it hurt, how much his body protested, he launched off into the mists, racing back toward the pavilion.