At the moment before Flora was struck with fire and steel, Redmane found himself too far away to intervene.

  But not too far for the power of the Lord of Hunger itself.

  His hand snapped out, sprouted a maw of jagged teeth on its palm, and a vortex spun to life to bridge the space left between his person, his woman, and the lethal objects headed in her direction.

  Evidently his emotional state influenced how strongly it manifested itself.

  The daggers changed course in the air as if they had just ricocheted off a hard surface. The flames from the Numantian war engine did a similarly unnatural turn. A wave of relief swept over Redmane at the sight of that. But it wasn’t over. The trio of Sicari, who were running parallel to him, did not immediately realize their legs were wheeling through empty air. Only when they too began to hurtle toward the terminus of the vortex in his palm did they realize what was about to happen to them.

  Then the war machine tilted and dragged across the ground in its direction, its mass doing a better job of holding it in place. But the vortex would prevail. It merely took a little longer. Its frame groaned in protest as it tipped further toward its final destination, slowly at first. But then all at once.

  An instant later, it was as if the Sicari and the Numantian war engine were never there.

  But there were two coming up on his right still.

  He closed his hand into a fist, sealing the vortex by eliminating the mouth on his palm, and turned to deal with them.

  They were Neonates wielding curved swords, sprinting directly toward him and they too had throwing daggers readied in their off hands. When Redmane turned to face them they loosed those daggers first, and he struck the first volley away with a backhand and slipped to the side of the next set. One of those hit his shoulder, bounced off of it and spun through the air in a random direction.

  They veered apart from each other and came at Redmane from the left and right. One blade coming for his throat and the other for the base of his spine, and they would strike at the same moment before the Sicari passed each other.

  He let them commit to their plan.

  And then, as their blades were just about to touch his flesh, he turned.

  His right claw took the throat of the one charging past him in front, while his left elbow struck the nose of the one trying to run past him on the other side. Its nose shattered, explosively. His claw crushed the other’s trachea. Two more moves and they were both finished, dying in a shower of blood and severed limbs.

  Redmane stood over them, breathing heavily, soaked in blood, sweat and soot from the fire.

  His eyes found Flora at the same time hers found his.

  Then she flew into his arms.

  She struck him at a full run, hard enough to make him stumble a step, latching her arms around his middle. He sheltered her in his embrace for a moment. Her cheek against his chest.

  “Thou art here,” she said, breathless.

  “Of course.”

  As much as he wanted to stop and savor the moment, there were still dangers around them. Redmane’s eyes scanned the forest as he held her, making out the shapes of more fire breathing war machines in the distance. And what remained of the Sicari would be on top of them soon, unless they were already vanquished or had retreated to call for reinforcements.

  Unlikely, considering their master could already do so from wherever they were hiding.

  If they were fortunate, there wouldn’t be any reinforcements available.

  Redmane gently pried Flora apart from him, held her shoulders and looked down at her to see if she was alright.

  “How many of you yet live,” he asked.

  She looked up at him, and the pain in her eyes struck him like a dagger in the heart. Tears rolled down her cheeks, carving paths through the dirt and soot on her skin. She smiled weakly and said, “Seven.”

  “Are any of them trapped? In need of help?”

  She shook her head no. Then her pained smile returned. “Those who were trapped are…”

  Redmane nodded and embraced her again. “You don’t have to explain. Just bring them all here. I’ll get you somewhere safe before we do anything else.”

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  The nearest Abyssal Well wasn’t far. Deepwell Monastery. He’d have her take shelter there, post someone to watch over her and then return to handle the rest of this. It would be a brief return trip. And whatever time he gave them to regroup, he’d make them pay dearly for it.

  They would pay a terrible, terrible price.

  He ushered Flora to the foot of a small crescent-shaped hill which didn’t have any trees upon it. It was the nearest place he could see which was reasonably safe from the blaze all around them and also concealed from unfriendly eyes. There they took shelter, having a seat while they waited for the other seven Floras to converge on that spot.

  While they waited, she stared at him with a smile and a yearning look in her eyes.

  “Are you well?” he asked.

  She laughed, and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Thou came for me.”

  His brows drew together. “You sound surprised.”

  Another laugh. She shook her head, relaxed against the rock behind her, still smiling at him. But now her weariness from this ordeal began to show. Redmane could see it in her eyes.

  “Why hast thou come?” she asked.

  “Because you were in danger.”

  The corner of her mouth crooked up into a grin for a moment. “Indeed… But why hast thou come?”

  He stared at her.

  Dimly, he perceived she was attempting to ask him something without actually asking it.

  Whatever it was, his lack of awareness seemed to amuse her. Despite the grim situation around them, he felt his ears grow a bit warm.

  Flora leaned in close and took his hands in hers. There was a twinkle of mirth in her eyes, and a bright smile on her face.

  “Thou planted me in the earth, so I could sprout. Thou gavest me a home to tend. Thou even lay with me once, that was nice.”

  He smiled as well when she mentioned that.

  But whatever she was getting at still eluded him.

  She let out another soft laugh. Closed her eyes for a moment, and squeezed his hands. And then she had mercy on him.

  “What I mean to ask thee, my lord, is… What am I to you?”

  His eyebrows rose.

  What was she to him?

  What indeed.

  Redmane had never stopped to consider it. Ever since this began, there was always another fight to run toward. Even now they sat in the burning heart of yet another battleground. Perhaps it was nearly over, or perhaps it had only just begun. He did not know how much longer he’d be fighting. He may end up fighting forever.

  He looked down at her hands in his. They were soft and small, with slender fingers. He closed his around them and gently squeezed back.

  “I told you once before that I believe we were intended to be the powers in this world,” he said. “When I said that to you, it was merely a suspicion. A gut feeling. I have learned much since then. About what we are, and what we used to be.”

  “I’ve no memory of such things,” she said.

  He nodded. “Nor I, when this began. Perhaps now is the time to share what I’ve reclaimed.”

  And so he explained everything.

  He started at the beginning. With their first incarnations, the nameless king and queen of the natural world. He, the god of all animal life and she, the goddess of the kingdom of plants. Together they built the primeval world of Volos and created all its species of life, like artisans.

  In time, they created stewards for their kingdom. The first of these was to be their son, Vos.

  But he had other plans.

  Redmane told her as much of the story as he knew, including the parts whose meanings weren’t yet clear. Like the carvings on the walls of the building in the Fangs of Frost, depicting Vos learning from what appeared to be travelers from another world.

  Flora listened raptly, keeping firm eye contact.

  When he finally finished, she looked down at his hands and there were a few moments of silence between them.

  “So, I was thy wife,” she said.

  He nodded.

  Her eyes rose to meet his. “Shall I be thy wife again?”

  He grinned from ear to ear. “If you’d have a husband who’s more beast than man.”

  Another pause. Her eyes shimmered with fresh tears.

  “I accept,” she said.

  And then a pair of lips pressed to his left temple.

  Another landed on the right side of his jawline.

  A third kiss came from behind. She placed it on the spot where his sinewy neck met the slope of his shoulder.

  There were now four pairs of small, warm hands on him as well. The two he held in his, and three more hugging around his body.

  “I accept,” they all said quietly, one after another.

  The spell of her gaze had switched off his senses, it seemed. She’d ambushed him more effectively than the Sicari.

  If there were anyone in this universe who could get the drop on Redmane, he was glad it was her.

  Jarel Craith sat back in his chair, his eyes wide with terror.

  Half the brass dragons were gone.

  And all the Sicari.

  What remained of his force had been wiped from the board in a shockingly short time. And their assailant remained hidden from the System. Which could only have meant one thing. Redmane was there, now, in Midva Forest, and Lar Tathvaal was without question his accomplice. The only ways to hide from the System were well-kept secrets, known only to those in positions of trust. Of authority.

  Lar Tathvaal, that self serving creature, had spent that trust for his own gain like a coin at a game of dice.

  He’d regret making that wager.

  But first Jarel Craith had to steel himself.

  There could be no call to the ruling houses of the Venturian Domain before he produced results. He could not ask for another detachment of Sicari until he’d won a victory by his own hand. Already his situation was a perilous one. Mecia Porsena was well regarded, as General Fabian had so pointedly reminded him. Heretic or not, her prosecution earned him enemies.

  He closed his eyes, drew in a long breath and then released it with equal control, to steady his nerves.

  Then he stood, straightened his robes, opened his hand to call a weapon from the God Slayer’s Arsenal.

  That thought made the presences of Lifedrinker and Soulstealer surge in his mind.

  He gritted his teeth and held still.

  No.

  He didn’t need it.

  There was a flash, and a long two-edged straight sword appeared in his hand, a product of the finest quality smiths in Numantia, crafted from the highest grade of Star-Steel available to all but the retainers of the Triarchs themselves. The weapon would have been unwieldy for a mortal frame, as it was approximately the length of his leg from pommel to tip. But in his hand it moved as if it were weightless.

  Jarel Craith raised the blade, to inspect its edge. It shined like a mirror in the firelight. He checked the sigil etched into the base of the blade, even though he already knew the weapon’s name.

  Lawbringer.

  This would be the blade that put an end to the great Blight of Volos.

  This would be the blade that ended Redmane.

  PATREON