I AWOKE WITH a gasp, clutching for my sword.

I could see. My heart was racing, and an echo of the blow that had killed me yet roiled through my skull. I clutched my head and curled into a ball.

When I could breathe again, and the pain was a little less, I raised my head enough to investigate. I was back in the church, at the foot of the altar. Zeniel knelt beside me. When she didn’t move, I pushed myself further up. She had reverted to stone. Yet, behind her, the altar shone bright white. That, at least, was some small comfort.

I stood on shaky legs and got my bearings. My sword lay on the dais beside where I’d awakened, and I still had my tunic and makeshift belt. That was all. I glanced down at the Cindermark on my chest, and saw how dim the light was. That fit how I felt; guttering, half-alive. The soul-void pressed in around me, prowling like starving wolves at the edge of my mind. I needed some light. Some radiance, as the Baron had called it.

Peering into the bowl, I saw there was a little of my blood gathered in the bottom. It glowed dully, like thin, wispy light stirred all together. Slowly, carefully, I stuck my fingers down into the bowl, coaxing up a thread of light. I pulled enough to ease the pain, to stifle the sorrow, and no more. The Baron had bested me once: if I lost to him again, I’d need more.

Strange, to think of death as an obstacle.

Stranger still was my determination to see him dead. But I knew in my heart that it was right, that to smite him was a task worthy of everything I had.

I left the church behind, with a parting glance at frozen Zeniel, and went down into the graveyard. This time I headed straight for the trees.

“Girl,” I said, raising my voice. Calling for the one who had laughed at me, and played hide-and-go-seek. “I have questions, girl!”

“She isn’t here.” I froze. The voice was a woman’s, and bitterly sad. I’d never heard such a lonesome, sorry voice before. At least not that I remembered.

“Where is she? She was singing a song…”

“Who knows? Where do children go?”

“Are you her mother?”

“Her mother died. Burned as a witch by soldiers, after they used her and broke her.”

I was silent at that. An apology seemed like empty words, and this place was empty enough. Instead, I asked, “Whose soldiers?”

The woman answered with a sob, “The Baron’s. The bloody Baron’s. He turned all of Elarm against us! I hate him!” She wracked with sobs. Unable to see her, I felt forlorn. Helpless. I wished to comfort her somehow.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“Gone. Faded. Ash.”

“I’m going to kill him,” I said. Perhaps I hoped it would make her feel better. Perhaps I hoped it would stop the sobbing that threatened to split my own aching heart.

Eventually, she stopped. “No one has killed him,” she said. “Sometimes he leaves. Sometimes he sleeps. But no one has killed him. They sneak by, and leave me.”

“Not me,” I answered, more bravely than I truly felt. “Not this time.”

Her response was quiet. So thin it was nearly lost on the breeze. “His dog,” she said. “His bitch-hound, she prowls the graves.”

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“What about her?”

But to that, there was no answer. The weeping voice left, and the whole of the churchyard hill was as silent as the graves that studded it. The weight of the iron sword in my hand was not very comforting, but it was all I had. I propped it on my shoulder, and went to find the dog.

It found me. I was crouched behind one of the tall tombstones, peering around the corner when I heard its slavering voice growl behind me. It pounced even as I whipped around, but I could get the blade up in time. A mouthful of fangs closed over my left hand, and I screamed in pain as it jerked its head. I was pulled off balance, and in a heartbeat, it was on top of me, one paw sinking black claws into my chest, its wedge-shaped killer’s head gnashing fangs, trying to tear out my throat.

“Back, devil!” I snarled through clouds of pain. I’d thrown my forearm up to shield my face, and the damage done was so bad I could hardly think through the cloud. I began to feel numb, as if the attack was happening to someone else—somewhere else. My arm was knocked aside, and I saw glowing red eyes loom high over my head. Then the head darted forward, diving to tear my throat out.

In a desperate last act, I clubbed it with the pommel of my sword. The blow caught it on the side of the head before it got its fangs into me, stunned it. I shoved with all my failing strength and knocked the beast aside. It yelped and retreated a few steps, but by then I’d regained my knees. My sword was a black line between us, shaking and bobbing. I didn’t know how long I could hold it up. Soft light leaked from the wounds in my arm. I felt the radiance streaming from me, but I didn’t let my guard down.

Then it retreated. Down the stairs that threaded their humpbacked, meandering way to the shore of the dark river below, its black tail between its legs. I let out a breath. The sword sank to the ground, and I shuddered. My arm was a ruin, and my face and chest were torn, too.

“Sangkva! You dare, little worm?”

I heard the outraged roar even from the top of the hill. The Baron’s fury brought an ice-cold clarity. The sword snapped back up. I backed up a step, considering where to go.

My options were limited, but the Baron was the deciding factor. Up into the air he leapt, great wings unfolded, his eyes blazing pits of molten hate. He saw me in an instant, or perhaps he sensed the radiance that wept from my injuries. Set against the glaring red hell of the greater cavern, he cut through the air like a bat, and crashed into the gravestones even as I turned to run.

They shattered under his bulk, and the whipping of his wings sent shrapnel flying. I dove behind more of the faceless gravestones, and lost my sword in the process.

“Come out, worm!” the Baron snarled, storming after me. “No one lays a finger on Gnasher!” I crawled desperately, but it was no use. He was huge, and I was weak. I could no more escape him than I could stop what happened next.

A stiff wind caught up the graveyard, sweeping the crown of the hill. Gray ash carried on the gale, and I heard a keening moan, at first a sad whistle, but growing to a shriek of betrayal.

“Back, witch!” the Baron cried. I rolled to face him, and saw the Baron hold up a hand. His fingers wove a complex sign in the air, and a blast of fire flared out, scattering the ash and stifling the wind.

“No!” It was the woman’s voice, high and furious.

“Your place is this hill, witch! Bound and burned! Back to the grave! Back to the sleep!”

“Baron!” Her wrath boiled on the point of insanity. “Traitor! Butcher!”

But the Baron simply laughed. Frozen with fear, I could do nothing but watch. The energy the of the wind was dissipating, the ash settling like snow.

“You killed her! You killed her daughter!” I said, climbing to one elbow. I found my sword, held up up to him. It was a meager threat, but it caught it attention. The Baron’s great horned head turned to face me.

“Proud Cinderborn! Lower than the worms that gnaw the bones of the earth! A shadow of yourself. And yet, you threaten me? You come to my place, and you harm my hound?” He grinned, but it held nothing but yellow fangs and a torture’s promise. “You think you know me? I killed many daughters. And worse!”

I screamed and thrust my blade at him, but to no avail. His own sword batted my blade aside, and plunged deep into my belly. I was pinned to the earth, like some insect in a cruel child’s game. Radiance pooled and flowed down the sides of my belly. I writhed, unable to move.

He knelt beside me, folding his black wings tightly behind him. Lowering his horned head until his glowing eyes were mere inches from mine, the Baron said, “This is your hell, Cinderborn. And mine. Yours, to fight and die, and fight and die, until you fade like all the rest. Mine, to fight such wretched, miserable things, such pitiable creatures. Hardly enough to sustain me.” He such a finger into the radiant blood that ran freely down my shuddering flanks, and licked it. “Thin. Like water, almost.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Perhaps. But what are you?” He stood and wrenched the sword free of me, and I nearly lost consciousness. “If you remember one thing, Sangkva, it is this. Do not touch Gnasher. Our game is between us.”