Trerrgar sneaked through the swamp as he commanded a part of the gnoll horde. Covered by nightfall and by the mists of the swamp itself they scurried onwards. The plan was good, a surprise attack on Norrtmark when its inhabitants were sleeping, but Trerrgar felt the sting of bitterness, stronger than usual. Thryngort Grandvyrrden had burdened him with command of part of the Horde, and Trerrgar would not fail, despite the fact that some part of him wanted just that. Trerrgar hated wars and murder. All life was sacred to him, he was the Shaman, and he only ate after the hunt, praying for the departed souls whose bodies he was to partake in eating. Thoughts like that charged at him, like angered wraiths, while he led the gnolls through the mist covered swamp. It was dark, it was quiet, and the fate of the whole world seemed to rest on his shoulders. He remembered the warning the Cats had given him. I need to ask them again about Mirian … White and Black always have answers.

But now was not the moment for any intrigues or betrayals. He would lead the gnolls in battle. Kinsfolk who were his friends, kinsfolk he had known since they were cubs. The gnolls were a proud race, and he had led them once, all the tribes. A long time ago. Come to speak of it, he hadn’t found any evidence that this Mirian, this warmongering human, was a seer. That fact alone kept him from doing anything foolish. Furthermore, if he was about to accuse Thryngort of being a follower of demons he needed proof. Strong evidence.

The scouts returned. “Scharrmi, the swamp is quiet.”

Too quiet?

Knowledge was lacking. Thryngort wanted results and Trerrgar was expected to hand the Grandvyrrden just that. I want to smash Mirian’s heart with a spoon. Those words he had said, the ever so brutal Thryngort. Trerrgar shook his head. Smash Mirian’s heart with a spoon. What did that mean? Would the gnolls kill her, then take out her heart and give Thryngort a spoon so he could smash it? But wouldn’t that take out the satisfaction of killing her? Trerrgar shivered, thinking about all the battles he had been in, all the slaying and eating and the souleaters arriving to feast on the souls of the dead. Those evil beings, those underlings of demons, curse them! The Souleaters, black wraiths in the night, woven by the darkest webs, spun from the souls of the dead, souls they had harvested. Trerrgar had fought them many times before and he reckoned he would fight them many times again before this life was over. He would always fight them, all to protect life and its sacredness.

He shivered as he sneaked, leading the others forward. Hundreds of gnolls sneaked through the swamp as the three moons rose above them. The tribe had arrived a day ago and hadn’t yet surrounded or started their siege of Norrtmark. The same day they had arrived the scouts discovered that a large group of warrior monks were on their way to Norrtmark. From where?

Trerrgar sighed. We take Norrtmark tonight and deal with the monks later.

Lady Mirian was infamous. Her hatred towards his people knew no bounds and she had slayed many, even hunters that hadn’t taken up arms against any humans. It wouldn’t have surprised him if she would kill gnoll cubs as well.

To be fair, Trerrgar knew about the hatred the humans held for his race. They did after all eat humans sometimes, some of the gnolls, though not all of them. Trerrgar didn’t enjoy human flesh. The humans were their friends, once upon a time. Trerrgar wanted to go back to those times, to the peace and savannas of his youth.

He shook off his doubts and carried on. If you want a quick surprise attack, which Thryngort wants, we need to hurry through this damn swamp. It was the quickest way to reach Norrtmark, but it was too quiet. Trerrgar didn’t like it. He stopped.

“Scharrmi, do we continue?”

Garts. His vorr stood there, in the cold, in the dark, waiting for him and his orders. Trerrgar had three thousand warriors with him, and all were waiting. There’s still strength in these veins, yet I’m a coward. There would never be peace between the gnolls and the humans of Engsmark. Trerrgar understood why.

Trerrgar and his warriors stood on a small hill in the middle of the swamp, looking down on the town of Norrtmark. The silence there worried Trerrgar, as the clouds covered the stars. Only the tree crescent moons broke through the dark clouds, shimmering in the mists, haunting the night of the living … and the dead. Trerrgar took a deep breath and turned to his vorr, the ever faithful Garts. “We shall.”

Trerrgar had made his choice and would take the consequences.

“You heard him!” Garts was a good warrior and an even better friend, despite the vastness in years that separated them.

Trerrgar sneaked down the hill, through the frost covered grass; through cold water, as he heard the women and men behind him. They were all gnoll warriors, ready for battle.

Trerrgar led them past the spruce wood on their right. The lonely oak raised its branches while the three crescent moons broke through the clouds for a short time. In the marshes silence reigned as Trerrgar watched, sending forth a vanguard of thirty scouts. Darkness swallowed them.

“We continue.” Trerrgar grunted as he felt the cold water. It felt disgusting, but he hurried onwards quietly, leading his warriors. They had sneaked one fourth of a league when gnolls beside him suddenly fell down in the water. More gurgled, falling to their deaths as green smoke clouds emitted from the swamp. Wherever Trerrgar looked he saw gnolls, meeting their doom, suffocated by the green smoke. They tried to scream as they clawed at their throats. Others turned around to run but fell instead.

And so he felt it himself, his lungs filling up with poisonous fumes. He coughed hard, crouching, forced to raise his magic staff to save himself. He transferred the life forces of bugs and frogs around him, into himself. As they died around him, he drew breath. It paned him to kill.

Trerrgar was weakened now, taxed by the magic that had saved his life.

“What is this foul sorcery?” a gnoll shouted, panicked.

“Green Soot Fungi!” another screamed.

Arrows whistled. A smattering noise, terrible to Trerrgar’s ears.

Gnolls gurgled and fell, dead by arrows or poisoned fungi. Others were wounded.

“Fall back! Fall back!” Gnolls screamed in panic as they turned to run. Death arrived by smattering arrows, by poisoning, or by being trampled to death by comrades. Garts pushed Trerrgar to the ground and raised her shield. Beneath then embedded arrows in her shield he lay, she looked down on him. “Are you hurt?”

Trerrgar shook his head and raised himself with Gart’s support. “Gnolls! Shield wall!”

“Shield wall! Shield wall!” Garts commanded.

Arrows again, followed by bolts. This time the gnolls had raised their shields. They were in formations now, as orderly as they could. Despite this, the arrows had torn through large gaps in the gnolls’ line.

“Norrtmark!” A woman shouted in the night. Mirian.

“Norrtmark!”

Hundreds of humans stormed forth in the dark, coming from the darkness in the swamps and from the wood on the right flank. Trerrgar should have foreseen it.

“Ambush! Gather yourself! Give them battle!” Trerrgar ordered his warriors to hold. Afterall he still had more than two thousand warriors. Trerrgar hated war, yet once again he would lead his gnolls into the madness of battle. He was just worried about the trebuchet. They had brought it along to punch through Norrtmark’s palisade. What if the humans managed to steal it…

*

Mirian threw herself into the fray and killed one of the monsters. She screamed, striking a gnoll with her shield. She thrust her sword into his jaw, so the blade came out on the other side, covered in blood. The gnoll fell to the ground.

She blocked one slash from another with her round shield and chopped his head off. For a year she had longed, thirsted for the chance to kill gnolls. All but the children and the old men had been called into battle and now the townspeople fought with the mercenaries. Her people had received weapons training every day from dawn to dusk. The ambush had been well planned, executed down to the smallest detail as the scouts had told them the same afternoon that they thought the gnolls would sneak through the swamp. Mirian had taken no chances and now she led the ambush on the ambushers. Ironic …

Mirian swung and thrust out with her sword, tricked the beast into a mortal combination to then knock him down in one fell swoop. Despite the mushrooms that poisoned them and the terrible ambush that already doomed hundreds of them the gnolls gave her fighters a fierce battle. Her own people were cut down. A gnoll jumped onto a spearman's shoulders, chewed his head off as the man screamed and fell.

Mirian gripped her sword as her shield hung on her left arm. I am the Lady of Norrtmark!

She impaled one of the monsters, drew her sword and engaged the next opponent. He jumped at her to bite her shoulder, but she was prepared. She stood in Longtail, jumped from his slash and hit him right in the skull with one edge of her blade. He fell immediately.

Hundreds of gnolls lay dead or dying, but there were still many left. What was worse was that she also saw gaps in her own ranks. The swamp, filled with the corpses of both monsters and humans as Mirian breathed heavily.

Karn Strongarm struggled some distance away. It was hard to see. Mirian trusted her hearing more and she was sure it was him she heard. They fought in the darkness, followed by the screams and the sound of blades that were crossed and shields that were broken. Mirian reeked of blood and death though she was used to the smell. I’ll bathe later.

The gnolls screamed and the mercenaries charged in unison, orderly formations. Karn led a troop of spearmen with gray wolf heads adorning their shields. “Forward!” Karn called, raising his morning star. A good mace it was.

His men pushed forward in formation; in armors that glinted in the newly awakened sun rays as the gnolls met the humans in battle. The sounds and clattering of war echoed, but Mirian continued, ever fighting. She swung and spun her sword, wounding and killing, as she used her shield for defense. She led her formation of townspeople. Most of them had spears and shields. Brave men and women of Norrtmark and its surrounding farms.

Maeghin fought with the mercenaries. Protected by his helmet and his blood-stained, black scaled armor he swung his battle-axe into a gnoll's stomach. Blood splattered and a tear ran down her cheek. Wodan, give him strength. Karn and his fighters pushed forward defiantly.

Stolen novel; please report.

The gnolls fought ferociously, and many of the town's fighters had been mowed down. Their corpses laid in swamp water. Spearmen pierced gnolls and Karn clubbed his fiend with his morning star. “Hold on!” he hollered, a clarion call to his men. “Hold fast!”

His soldiers obeyed, finding their morale in the chaos of battle, in the mists of the swamp as the morning sun rose, red like blood, dropping from swords and axes, maces and spear tips.

Maeghin threw himself into the fray. He cleaved through a gnoll skull, and the hip of his next enemy, in one fell swoop. He downed another gnoll, thanks to a hard to master combination Mirian had taught him. That warmed her heart.

Her warmth turned into ice cold fear as four gnolls charged at her cousin. The beasts rushed forward with their hateful battle cries. I need to help him! Her thought compelled her to spring into action. Mirian rushed forth as the way laid open for her. Her heart trembling. Beating hard. Fast.

Maeghin fought, a blood feud with the beasts. He had already slayed one of them. Maeghin blocked, and kicked down the gnoll at the same time, his two handed axe chopping downwards as a gnoll cut into his armor.

Mirian sprinted.

Karn and two spearmen tried to reach Maeghin, but they were blocked by a formation of gnolls. Karn Strongarm crushed gnolls with his mace, but they were too many.

Maeghin wounded another enemy. The beast fell, gurgling to the ground, but Maeghin barely held his breath until the final enemy was over him. Mirian rushed as her cousin raised his axe. He missed his parry and the gnoll sword hit him in the side of the waist, where his armor didn’t protect him. Maeghin fell, bleeding into the brown-red water as the sun rose.

Mirian threw herself at the gnoll, slaying her at once. “Maeghin!” she shouted. It felt like her heart was crushed into tiny, blood stained pieces when she gazed at him, laying down with a dull look, barely conscious. Karn reached here, his way cleared from enemies.

“Karn! We got to get him out of here!”

“Gray Wolves!” Karn hollered. “Keep your formations!”

“Gray Wolves!” the mercenaries cried out as they charged. Ure Fullbencher led them now, in his thick gambeson and iron half helmet his mighty two handed sword fell down, a scythe of death for the gnolls. Karn helped Mirian as they lifted Maeghin and carried him away from the battle.

*

“To think that I’m to die here … ” Maeghin said, rustling. Her cousin’s glassy eyes watched her. The rising sun gave his face a red-orange hue.

“What are you saying? You won’t die here.” Mirian caressed his cold cheek.

“I’m dying, Mirian.”

“No. Don’t leave me! Maeghin! Not you too!” Trembling she felt his warmth decreasing. His cheeks were already cold, his hands shivering.

“I got a sword in my waist, Mirian. I’m bleeding.”

“I need you, Maeghin. I need your advice. I love you.”

Those grey eyes of his. Some reckoned there was no warmth in them, as he often hid those feelings, but Mirian knew better. Maeghin had always been at her side. Her most faithful follower and supporter.

“Mirian … ” he whispered as his black hair strands got stuck to his cold, pale, sweaty face. “You’ll make it. Finely. You know how to fight, and you know how to lead. Any man who’ll marry you can count himself lucky.”

“Maeghin … ” She reached down towards him, so she could hear his last words.

“Mirian … ” he whispered. “You are the last of us. The last … adult … of house Norrtmark. You … carry … our house … on your … shoulders. Carry it well … ” His voice quieted, carried by the winds. The sun shone ever brighter, illuminating the frost-covered swamp where blood ran in the waters. Corpses drenched. Their souls stuck, waiting … Mirian kissed her cousin’s cold forehead and cried out in agony. Maeghin.

Mirian thought that she heard their singing. The Valkyries. The winds carried them as they whisked off with Maeghin’s soul among many others. Lifting it up into the sky, away from this dark and horrible world and into Saagard, where he would feast with the gods. He would be in good company. She was sure of it. It was her faith. Tears streaming down her face. She was alone now. The last adult of house Norrtmark…

*

The man in white slithered through winding passages and corridors. Mirian knew she was dreaming but this was no ordinary dream. It felt like she was floating, witnessing things, and she had no body. She was merely a floating conscience, how such a thing might be described. But what do I see?

The man in white trudged on, his hood hiding his hair. If I get in front of him maybe i can see his face?

It was worth one good try, at least. Mirian floated past him, flew forward and turned around. She floated backwards.

His jaws were chiseled. His nose like a hawk’s beak. He reminded her of the highland elves, but he had no white-golden wings. The man in white was beautiful. Yes, indeed seductive. Desirable if it weren't for one large detail: His ice-cold, blue eyes. Then she saw an unexpected change in them. The coldness and ruthlessness disappeared, replaced by passion.

The elf woman with white, golden wings rushed forth through the corridor, to his side and embraced him.

“Evelin,” the man in white said, a warmth in his soothing voice.

“Welcome back.”

“Aindale has missed me,” he said and gave Evelin a raw smile. “The fancy wizard university.”

Aindale, the Wizard University … I need to remember that.

“Have you missed me?” Evelin asked. She was still embracing him, gazing at him, as the man in white kissed her short, brown curls. Kissed her. “Unbearably.”

“I've missed you too.”

Mirian wondered why she was dreaming about them. What does Sivra want to show me?

The couple walked up a solemn staircase and Mirian was amazed by the flaming orb of light that shone on every step, at the edges where none went. Where there had been love in the man’s eyes, hatred suddenly burned. “The old fool,” he said, as Evelin put her arm around him. “Soon,” she replied.

Her words were met by the man’s smile. They made their way up the stairs and Mirian followed them into the University's enormous library. I've heard the rumors about the Wizarding Library in Aindale, but that it is this large, I never thought. Row after row of shelves stretched up and out in all directions, as far as Mirian could see, and it felt as if they would never end. Statues in gold and silver broke the rows here and there, and fairies flew everywhere. Mirian understood that they were librarians. They were helping each other and the mages, carrying books or wizarding equipment – staffs, scrolls, gems, rods. Their wings fluttered faster than the eye could see.

“I have longed for all this knowledge,” the man said. “To think that I was a student here for decades, yes, even becoming a teacher. Until he banished me. Crevir, that old fool.”

“Soon all this knowledge will be yours.” Evelin smiled and the man in white nodded. “I just hope it's enough. It will not be easy to implement our plans.”

“Vindication will be ours for the taking.”

“And then Liberation.” The man in white smirked; it would have sent shivers up her spine if Mirian hadn’t been a floating conscience.

The man in white lowered his hood. Mirian was dazzled by his golden hair, but Evelin gave him a look, filled with love and admiration.

The pair continued on, through the first floor of the library and up the stairs to the second and then to the third floor. When they reached the fourth floor, they advanced through a long and winding corridor. Magicians passed by like shadows and Mirian wondered why they were so unclear. Like wraiths in the mists. Maybe because she was focused on the couple?

“Tell Headmaster Crevir that his old student and colleague Martin Travinius has arrived.”

“Indeed.”

The man in the golden caftan left the couple and disappeared up the spiral staircase.

“Are you ready?” Evelin asked as Martin stretched out his fingers. He smiled a pale smile. “For our Liberation.”

“For our Liberation.”

Mirian floated through the doors, into the headmasters office. He was an old man in the most beautiful attire Mirian had ever seen. A garment that showed the night sky itself, with stars and planets, a comet passing by. Mirian wanted to scream out, wanted to warn him of the incoming danger, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t do anything but watch, as the horrors and evils of the world brought down the good.

Crevir sat by his desk, a huge terrarium to his left, filled with two komodas, those large lizards her grandfather had described to her. They were scaly, with long tails. Carnivorous reptiles that were known for eating humans.

Beside the terrarium, she saw a large, wooden globe in the corner, showing the Two Continents. She saw a blotted out place on the right side of the globe’s surface, with the text ‘Here Be Monsters.’ It was possible that an undiscovered, third continent laid there. At least Mirian had thought so ever since her childhood. Her grandfather Brose was of the same opinion, famous map maker as he was. If he had been younger, he would have made the journey himself. Bookcases stood by the other side of his desk, filled with old tomes. His stargazing device was by the window.

Martin and his lover entered the chamber and Crevir rose up, his gaze sharp. “You,” he said, frowning.

“I have returned, Headmaster.”

“I knew you would. One day, dear Martin.”

“Don’t you dare. You have no idea how powerful I’ve become.”

“And I guess you will show me? Along with this girl of yours. You always liked them young.”

Martin hurled his black bolts at Crevir.

The Headmaster's white lightning flashed from his hands. The flashes met in the middle and were woven into each other, a twisted thread of light and darkness. Crevir's silvery hair spread out in all directions. Mirian watched on in horror, unable to do anything or help Crevir in anyway. It was the Dark Arts that Martin used, Mirian understood that, despite no training at all in spellcasting or even basic magic. She wondered though, where her dreams came from. The visions, and whatever this was.

Mirian noticed Martin’s smirk as he reinforced his evil spell with a twitch of his wrists. They used their hands to mold their spells, neither of them needing any rods or staffs, or even words. Mirian looked at the tears in Crevir’s coat, the one depicting the starry sky. They grew larger as sweat formed on the Headmaster’s face, reddening.

“I am stronger than ever,” Martin declared. “Mightier than even you can imagine.”

“You will never succeed.” Crevir gave Martin a glare that could kill, but Martin only scoffed. “Dear, friend, you underestimate me.” Martin pushed on, closing in on Crevir with short, decisive steps as the dark threads in that twisted knot of magical threads overcame the white. Crevir panicked, his brows raising, his mouth forming an o. He backed away.

“The Bloodweave is being woven, Headmaster Crevir, and from fire and death shall the Liberation exalt those who are worthy. A brave, new world.”

“Never.”

“You are wrong, Crevir.” Martin laughed. “It is inconceivable how wrong you are.” The black bolts in the woven thread escaped and created chaos. Blasted Crevir's large, round window. Demolished his globe. Smashed the stargazing device and his bookshelves. Glass and wood chips flew in all directions. The black bolts blew forth a hole in the terrarium with all its reptiles. The Komodas escaped, called forth by Evelin who spoke in some twisted, horrid language.

“Soon, I will be the Headmaster,” Martin said. “I will even look like you.”

“You will never succeed. Someone will stop you!”

Poor Crevir. He was doomed. Mirian felt it. Fate pressed hard on her. She couldn’t explain this feeling which made her soul tremble.

“Interesting. Very interesting… No matter, dead man. You should have slayed me when you had the chance.”

The black bolts extinguished the white flashes in the twisted thread. Blowing up Crevir’s hands. His magic disappeared.

Crevir fell screaming to his knees, a defeated, weak old man. The Komodas turned to attack him, gnawed at his feet as Martin laughed. Mirian wanted to close her eyes, but she had none. As a floating conscience she was forced to witness this horror.

Martin grabbed Crevir’s chin and stared into his green-blue eyes. Mirian watched on as Martin reveled in his success, as Crevir’s eyes turned white, panicking. Mirian felt his pain as if it was her own. Martin held onto the old man's hair with one hand and with the other he carved out a hole in the Headmaster's chest.

Martin held up the Headmaster's own heart to his final, dying gaze. “You… will… be defeated…” was the last thing the old man said.

“So heartless of you.” Martin smirked.

Headmaster Crevir laid on the floor and Martin sat by his corpse. He had devoured Crevir’s heart and now he carved out his brain. Martin took it and held it.

By the gods, blood magic!

The Komodas growled and fought over Crevir’s corpse. Battling each other with claws and ferocious bites as Evelin watched them, smiling.

“My love,” Evelin said tenderly.

Martin looked up from his meal. “Do you want some too?”

She nodded.

Martin grabbed her and gave her a passionate kiss. Then they split the brain between them. Martin got the large piece.

Mirian looked on, her soul shivering from all the gore. She would have nightmares about this for years, she knew that. This was no dream, nor some vision of the future. This happened, right now, and that was the most revolting of facts.

Martin laughed after devouring the brain, as if he was some mad man. He was. An evil, horrid, lunatic with a plan, and great power. The most dangerous villain Mirian had ever seen. She knew he had to be stopped, somehow, but she was far too weak to stop him. She knew no magic! He would crush her like a fly. I guess I’m lucky that he doesn’t know I’m here. I have no body.

“It's time,” Martin said. His hand waved and a purple portal appeared. An elf man stepped forward, dressed in a white coat with a hood. His hazel eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he was trailed by two female mages in the same types of outfits. The white-golden wings of all three fluttered.

Martin smiled. “Uvenor, I bid thee welcome. I'm afraid you missed dinner.”

“I can eat later. Everything is ready, master.”

“Excellent. My friends: Aindale has fallen. How sweet are the fruits of Knowledge.” He cut off the Headmaster's empty head and held it up in front of the others with a smile. Then, he gave the head to Uvenor who put it in a jar that he seemed to conjure from thin air. Uvenor made a gesture and the jar with Crevir’s head disappeared.

Martin made a gesture, and suddenly he looked just like Crevir. He seated himself at Crevir’s chair, by Crevir’s desk.

Mirian reached out as the Tunnel pulled her inside. She wanted to see more, despite all the horror. She needed to know what was going on.

The morning sun woke her with its sharp light and Mirian sat up in her bed, shivering.