Alianna appeared both relieved and mildly surprised to see them alive as they made their way through the gates of Whitespire.

“Thank the Aether you have returned. Do you have the artifact?”

Sam nodded, patting the treasure box slung under her left arm.

“Where is Hicket?” Alianna asked as she embraced Sam.

“He, uh… He didn’t make it,” Sam said, before handing over the fragments of his armor they had managed to gather, which Zorshu had not eaten. It was not much.

“We have lost too many,” Alianna whispered. “Come, preparations are underway.”

Though they had spent little time in the city, it felt as if they were finally returning home after an endless, horrible vacation.

Whitespire bustled with activity. Soldiers, many of them practically children, drilled and marched through the streets. Most wore a patchwork of ill-fitting armor; a chest piece here, a rough wooden shield there. Several had donned iron pots for helmets, which constantly slipped over their eyes and audibly clanged their skulls as they paraded past them.

“We have conscripted every able-bodied man and boy in the Ten Kingdoms,” Alianna said as she led them through the claustrophobic, winding roads of the city. “Our forces are marshaling across the continent. The engine of war has been lit.”

Carts filled with bags and barrels of hardtack and other food stuffs noisily rolled past. Around another corner, several sweaty craftsmen were assembling catapults and ballistas on the remains of what had been farming equipment and wagons.

They passed a Soldier of the Sun who was berating a particularly young group of infantry, no taller than Nate’s elbow.

“There’s still much to be done, but we shall be ready to confront the Conclave wherever they attack,” Alianna said.

As the entered the city center, they passed several wealthy noblemen and their children, dressed in finery, going about their business.

“What about them?” Nate asked. “Are they going to fight? Or do only the poor have the privilege of dying on the battlefield?”

Alianna frowned. “Who do you think provides the gold to buy these weapons? Who feeds our armies? Who runs supply chain logistics? Rich and poor alike must make sacrifices during wartime, even if those sacrifices look different to you.”

“Seems like the price being paid by the poor is a lot steeper…”

“You are not wrong,” Alianna said quietly as they entered the keep of the Soldiers of the Sun. “But, unfortunately, I have to deal with the real world, and cannot afford to dream of an idealistic scenario where all are asked to give equally.”

She led them to her war room. A long table showing the entire continent filled the center of the chamber. Scattered across the map were small wooden figurines, representing both the forces of the Ten Kingdoms and the armies of darkness.

Thirteen Soldiers of the Sun, mostly women, were speaking quietly among themselves in smaller groups. From the snippets of conversation they overheard, they were deep in the planning of supply routes and battle plans. They wore the insignia of the Cenobites, soldiers who had dedicated their life’s study to war and strategy.

Sitting on a long couch against the far wall was Meralda, though it took Nate several seconds to recognize her. Gone were the tattered clothes of a milkmaid. She was dressed in elegant white robes, her hair clean and knotted in neat braids that fell past her shoulders. On her head she wore a silver crown.

But it was her facial expression that had changed the most. She no longer looked like a simple, scared child. Her face wore a haughty, proud expression as she nodded curtly to them.

Seated next to her were two old women, members of the order of Eremetics who the Council of Kings had consulted regarding the prophecy. They whispered quietly to Meralda.

Charlie’s face paled slightly. The hordes of orc and goblin armies outnumbered those of the Ten Kingdoms at least two to one by his rough estimate. They were gathering in fetid swamps and dark forests on every corner of the continent.

“Is this accurate?” He said. “This is what we’re up against?”

Alianna nodded grimly. “This represents the forces we have been able to confirm. There are likely more our spies have yet to encounter.”

Nate whistled. “That’s a lot of bad guys.”

“Indeed. Our hope is to avoid a direct conflict.”

Sam stared at the map, a feeling of dread knotting in her stomach. “How?”

Alianna walked around the circular table. She pointed to three red figurines surrounded by an ocean of orcs and goblins situated almost directly north of Whitespire, across the Telyan Ocean, nestled deep within a mountain range that ran along the southern shore near the Bay of Voices.

“The Conclave of Flame and Salt have convened here, in the Bellowing Heights. All three of them; the Queen of Storms, the Magister of Rot, and the Lord of Ash.”

Nate rubbed his mouth and jaw with his hand. “Okay, so we march our armies north?”

“There is no need for an army,” Meralda said. “For I, the one true heir of Brenius the Divine, Queen of the lost kingdom of Uzusia, shall put an end to their evil once and for all.”

Charlie scratched his head nervously. “That, uh. I’m not quite sure…” he trailed off, then exhaled sharply.

Alianna whistled loudly. A dozen Soldiers of the Sun poured into the room with military precision, stopping in perfectly-timed formation. They stared straight ahead, spears at their sides, jaws clenched, muscles taut. They radiated strength and discipline, and Sam might have mistaken them for marble statues carved in honor of some mythic heroes, had she not seen them file into the room.

She turned to the three friends. “Our plan is to have the three of you, along with an elite strike team of Soldiers of the Sun, accompany Meralda to confront the Conclave.”

Nate glanced at his friends nervously. They were both equally unhappy at the prospect of leading yet another suicide mission.

“I, um…” Nate started. He licked his suddenly dry lips. “How are we supposed to get past the surrounding army?”

“You will take to the air,” Alianna said. “Our quartermaster has procured some pudgies, which will fly you over the enemy forces.”

“Pudgies?” Charlie said. “Sounds… delightful?

“You will first make your way here, to Malgrave, a battlement north of their main force. Then,” Alianna continued, “traveling by night, you will be able to overtake their position.”

“And you won’t be joining us?” Sam said.

Alianna’s jaw tightened. “No. The Council of Kings, in their wisdom, has decided that I should remain here, and continue our preparations for war.”

“In case we fail…”

“We will not fail,” Meralda said loudly. “It is prophesied that I shall destroy these villains. And so it shall be. For the Aether wills it.”

Alianna cleared her throat. “There are some on the Council, who are concerned that even if the Conclave are defeated-“

“When they are defeated,” Meralda corrected.

“I apologize. When they are defeated, that their armies may still march against us.” She gestured to the western edge of the map. “From our reports of their troop movements, we suspect they will first strike from the Furnace, targeting somewhere in the west. Khozare, Yonate, or perhaps Dracitha.”

“The Furnace? That stupid giant volcano we saw in the stupid desert?” Charlie whined. “I don’t want to go there again…”

“The forces of darkness shall scatter to the wind once they see my fearsome presence, and feel the righteous wrath of the true heir,” Meralda said, standing.

“All the same, it is not my place to question the decisions of the Council of Kings,” Alianna said, exhaustion creeping into her voice.

“Have you brought it?” Meralda said, walking toward them, flanked by her councilors. “Have you brought me my weapon? My birthright?”

Sam glanced at her friends nervously. “Um, yes.” She held out the treasure box.

“Bring it to me,” Meralda said.

Sam scowled, but bit her tongue and swallowed her sharp reply. She strolled over to Meralda, and set the box in front of her.

Meralda’s eyes were wide, her face filled with exultant greed. She ran her fingers along the edge of the box, caressing it like she would a lover.

Sam returned to her friends. “Anyone else getting a bad vibe from Princess Milkmaid over there?” she muttered under her breath.

“Definitely,” Charlie whispered back. “I’m starting to wonder if we’re trading one super-powered villainess for another.”

“Talking to her is like eating an onion like it’s an apple,” Hag said.

Nate sighed. “I swear, if this is some tacky attempt to set up the sequel to this pointless story, I’m going to be so pissed.”

“You think she’ll be the final boss?” Sam asked.

Meralda opened the box. The room filled with an overwhelming sensation of power, like the air crackled with electricity. The hand glowed a brilliant white, bathing Meralda in shimmering radiance.

“Well, that’s new,” Sam said.

“What is new?” Alianna asked.

“The light. The… sense of power,” Sam said. “When we first looked at the hand, it was just, you know, a hand.”

Meralda smiled. “That is because you are not the true heir of Brenius the Divine.” She caressed the desiccated hand, running her fingertips across the palm. Her eyes closed and she inhaled as if in the throes of passionate pleasure. “Can you hear how it calls to me? How it yearns to be united with me?”

“This is getting weird and gross,” Nate said. “I don’t think I could eat the amount of food I want to vomit watching this.”

One of the Advisors, a woman who had the perpetual sour expression of an English instructor forced to teach gym class for a year because of budget cuts, named Naditha, took Meralda by the hand. “The ritual of union must be completed in the light of a blood moon,” she said.

“That seems oddly specific,” Charlie said. “So we can’t attach the hand to her now?”

“No,” the other old crone, Velama, said. Her face, which was the kind of face a blind person would draw after feeling a bunch of faces with their hands, was scrunched in annoyance at the challenge. “The ritual must be completed under a blood moon. The sacred writings are very clear on this point.”

“And when is the next blood moon?” Sam asked.

“Five days hence,” Naditha answered.

“We will arrive at the location of the Conclave of Flame and Salt on the night of the blood moon,” Meralda said, her voice filled with ecstasy.

“Shouldn’t we,” Sam hesitated. “Shouldn’t we do the ritual before we confront the Conclave? Just in case?”

“Just in case what,” Velama snapped.

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “In case you’re wrong, and the ritual doesn’t work.”

Meralda’s eyes snapped open. “You dare to question the heir of Brenius the Divine?”

“No, it’s not that, I just think-”

“I do not give one whit what you think,” Meralda shouted, her face twisted in rage. Panting, she glanced around the room.

Her cheeks flushed an ugly red as she quickly regained her composure. She ran her hands down the front of her gown, smoothing it.

“We will depart tonight,” she said coldly. “In five days’ time, on the night of the blood moon, we shall confront the Conclave, complete the ritual, and bring their armies to ruin.”

She glared arrogantly around the room, daring someone to challenge her. Most avoided eye contact with her.

“The Aether wills it. So it shall be done. The Queen of Uzusia as spoken.” She then turned, and marched out of the room, her two advisors hot on her heels.

There was a palpable sense of relief, as if the entire room had exhaled simultaneously as the doors closed behind her.

Alianna approached the three friends. “I’m sorry about that, she… She is doing what she believes is best.”

“How long has she been behaving like a spoiled brat?” Sam asked.

“When we returned to Whitespire, I gave her over to the Eremetics, so they could teach her. Convince her of who she was, and what she had to do.” She stared at the closed door through which Meralda had disappeared. “I fear they may have done too good of a job.”

“That’s a polite way of saying she’s full of herself,” Nate said. “How can you stand being spoken to like that without punching her in the mouth?”

Alianna sighed. “She can be coarse, but her heart is good.” She turned to the three friends. “Besides, she is the one prophesied to defeat the greatest threat the Ten Kingdoms have faced in a thousand years. What are a few sharp words and swallowed retorts in the grand tapestry of the fates?”

She turned back to them.

“When your mission is complete, fly south, to Menoa. I shall await your arrival there, and together we shall march to Yonate with an army that will shake the very foundations of the earth.”

“Will you bring our clackers?” Charlie said. Nate and Sam both exchanged a surprised look. Charlie rolled his eyes. “What? Things that wear their skeleton on the outside are still disgusting. But Neekerbreek is alright.”

“Of course,” Alianna said. “I shall see to it myself.”

“Thanks.”

“Now,” she continued. “Go. Eat and rest. We shall gather the necessary supplies for your journey.”

She grasped each of them individually by the forearm. “May the Aether be with you.”

“Friggin’ George Lucas,” Nate shook his head as they exited the war room.

Charlie let out a long, low fart that sounded like an avante-garde trumpet solo by an experimental jazz trio as they walked.

“You uh… you okay, Charlie?” Nate said as Sam covered her mouth and nose with her shirt.

“Yeah. That fart really calmed me down.”

“Where do you put our odds of surviving this final confrontation?” Nate asked.

“Not great,” Sam said. “While the elite unit Alianna put together looks impressive, they also look like the background team of a low budget, sci-fi TV show.”

“Huh?”

“You know, the squad of soldiers who get killed first that no one cares about, and then the real characters are sent to investigate their mysterious disappearance, and deal with whatever it was that killed them pretty easily?”

“Not to mention Meralda,” Charlie said. “I wonder if her mom was an arrogant jerk.”

“Why would that matter?” Sam asked.

“Sam, it’s a well-known scientific fact that all girls eventually become their mothers.”

Sam’s face twisted in horror. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Does that mean I’ll turn into my father?” Nate asked.

Charlie shook his head. “No. But you’ll marry your mother.”

Nate frowned for a moment. “I guess that’s not so bad. Worked out for Oedipus, right?”

“Nate, you really should finish that play…” Sam said.

“I just can’t believe I’m going to die a virgin.”

“Oh, sweetie, there was a seventy to eighty percent chance of that happening even if you died of old age.”

“Ugh, would you two kiss already?” Charlie said.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Shut up, Charlie!” they both shouted in unison.

#

The mountain peaks, bathed in the red light of the blood moon, swam past them as they soared through the crisp night air.

It had taken Charlie several days to grow accustomed to flying on a pudgy. The enormous, flabby caterpillar-like creatures were surprisingly agile in the air, their long, translucent wings beating so fast they were a blur.

But Charlie still only barely tolerated riding a clacker, so a new insectoid mount, with its puffy green flesh and strange blue spots, made him dizzy and nauseated all over again.

Far below them, they could see countless bonfires, tiny dots of light marking the vast army of orcs and goblins that had settled in the foothills below. They could occasionally hear the distance beating of drums, and the roaring cheers and jeers of the bestial creatures as they prepared for the coming war.

Meralda flew at their head, despite the suggestion that she stay at the center of their formation for protection in case of an ambush or attack. She was flanked by the two old hags who had been advising her, their whispered conversations a constant distraction.

When they made camp each dawn, she would recede into her tent immediately, refusing to socialize with the soldiers who had vowed to protect her with their very lives.

They had grown increasingly wary of her behavior. It was more than simple arrogance; there was a sinister ugliness to it. Veiled threats, and declarations of what she would be changing when she came into power.

Swooping left, they dove between two knurled and slender peaks, spectral and desolate. Cutting low, they followed the narrow valley that twisted and sank like an ancient riverbed.

They were getting close. The air filled with an unmistakable sense of dread, which only grew in intensity as they approached.

Nate’s stomach knotted. He began to sweat even more than a boy still in the throes of puberty ought to.

Sam glanced at her friend, and tried to smile reassuringly, but ended up grimacing as her mouth began to water in the way it does before you vomit. She swallowed heavily, and stared straight ahead.

The glacial valley ended in a bowl-shaped gorge, surrounded on all sides by long, dagger-like summits. Their pudgies began to ascend, their buzzing wings throbbing the crisp night air.

Cresting the wall of stony blades, they saw their target: a black tower, nearly invisible against the deep blue mountainside. Its walls were a mess of roping black tentacles, as if the ground itself had spewed black ichor to the sky. The top of the tower resembled a wilted, dead flower; its shriveled petals sagged toward the ground. The walls reflected the blood-red moonlight, as if they were wet.

Below, they could see orc and goblin encampments, rough tents made from stretched animal skins, painted with blood. Huge bonfires sputtered and hissed, sending showers of sparks twirling into the air.

The orcs and goblins shouted and spat, guffawing and whooping as they drank a brown liquor from rotted barrels. Menace and hate radiated from the tower, working the stygian horde into a frenzy. Fistfights and screaming-matches broke out everywhere.

The bestial army gave the tower a wide berth, as if even the monstrous throng feared to approach such an evil place. A clearing of about three hundred yards surrounded the fortification.

Though the pudgies flew low, the chaos and noise of the bestial army worked to their favor. None seemed to notice their approach.

The leader of their contingent of Soldiers, a woman named Khadija, pointed down. They skirted the ground and circled the black tower. Charlie felt an instinctual repulsion from the building; his entire being screamed for him to flee from its presence. This place was wrong. They didn’t belong here.

Satisfied there were no hidden patrols or guards, Khadija led them to ground. Dismounting quickly, the Soldiers of the Sun fell into position behind Nate, Sam, and Charlie, spears at the ready.

Meralda marched toward the tower. Her face was pale, her eyes wide despite her best attempts to project the confidence of a queen.

Her advisors followed closely behind, Velama carrying the ornate box with the hand of Brenius, Naditha holding a long ceremonial blade.

She stopped about fifty feet from the tower. Her eyes followed its wet, throbbing surface up, until she was staring at the flower-shaped tip. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat, twisted by fear.

“If we are going to do this,” Khadija said as loudly as she dared. “Now is the time. We will not remain unnoticed for much longer.”

“Do not tell me my business,” Meralda hissed. “I am the heir of Brenius the Divine. I know what I’m doing.”

Nate turned to Khadija and smiled apologetically.

Meralda cleared her throat into her hand. Staring back up at the tower, she shouted. “Conclave of Flame and Salt! I have come to accept your surrender!”

Nate glanced at Sam and Charlie. “That wasn’t the plan, was it?”

“No. It was not,” Khadija said from behind him. “What are your orders?” she asked Nate quietly.

Nate glanced around at the army that hedged them in on all sides.

“Make sure we can make a quick exit if things go badly,” he said. “Let Meralda do her thing, but I’d like to get us out of here alive.”

As if in response, the ominous whooping and hollering that surrounded them grew louder. The army’s furor and madness intensified. Khadija nodded, and whispered orders to her soldiers. They spread out, covering their position from all angles, protecting a path to their pudgies, which stood in a circle a short distance away.

Sam quietly approached Naditha, who reverently held the ceremonial dagger in the flat of her palms. “Shouldn’t you begin the ritual? No time like the present, right?”

She sneered at Sam. “I would not expect one as senseless as you to understand. The ritual must be completed as the Aether wills it.”

“And when will that be?”

Naditha glared at Sam. “It will be, when it will be. Return to your friends, your part in this tale has finished. Watch in wonder, for we are about to work a miracle.”

“She seems nice,” Charlie said as Sam walked back to them. “I think you should invite her to your next birthday party.”

The ground lurched as a chest-rattling boom reverberated from the tower.

“That can’t be good…” Nate said as he shook the tension from his hand, and mentally rehearsed the handful of spells he had been working on for the coming battle.

The tower groaned and cracked like a mountainside being rent apart. The woven, roping limbs that made the walls began to untwine near the base. With a sound like meat being torn, the wall opened.

From the gaping maw of the tower, three figures appeared.

The Queen of Storms, dressed in her swirling blue armor, brandished the shattered black blade, the Heart of Trees. The flesh along entire right side of her body now a ruckle of twisted and angry scars, her pallid skin puckered and dimpled. The disfigurement flowed like a branching storm of electricity across her body, up her neck and face, before disappearing into her blue hairline. Apparently she had survived Nate’s attack, but was slightly worse for the wear.

The Magister of Rot stood on the opposite side of her, his bleached elk skull bathed blood-red in the moonlight. Thick, brown ichor dripped down his arms. It stained the ground where he walked, leaving a putrid trail of decay. In his right hand, his cracked staff gave off an eerie gray glow.

The two flanked a hulking figure that the group had never before seen: the Lord of Ash. His skin was a swirl of burned grays and slates, covered in a chain of cracks like a dried riverbed, revealing muscle and tendon the color of charcoal.

His face was sunken, his eye sockets empty. His ashen hair fell just below his shoulders and, like his long beard, looked brittle. He wore the ornate armor of a king, though the drab metal hardly reflected any light, as if coated in a matte finish. Atop his head, he wore a black crown, its seven sharp crests about a foot in length.

In his left hand he held a long, cruel-looking sword. In his right, a wicked-looking flail, its chain nearly as thick as Nate’s arm, the bladed head dragging on the ground behind him, heavy enough to leave a trail in the dirt.

From his shoulders, a long, black cloak fluttered behind him. The cape had been torn to shreds and was perpetually on fire. It belched a thick trail of ash and smoke, which surrounded the Lord of Ash in a haze.

The three members of the Conclave approached Meralda, who took a hesitant step back, accidentally stumbling into her two advisors. She glanced nervously at them, before turning back to the Conclave.

“Have you come to discuss the terms of your surrender?” she asked nervously.

The Conclave came to a stop about twenty feet from Meralda. They seemed more curious than concerned. The Queen of Storms leaned toward the Lord of Ash, and whispered something to him, pointing in Nate’s direction.

“I think she might have a crush on you, Nate,” Sam said with a smirk. “If things go south, you’re going to do that crazy explosion thing again, right?”

“I told you,” Nate said. “I don’t even know how that happened.”

“Awesome…”

“I don’t know what I’ve ever done to give you the impression that I am competent or heroic,” Nate continued. “But I apologize for the miscommunication.”

“Yes, okay, thank you for saying that,” Sam said. “That would’ve sounded awful coming out of my mouth.”

“Like the time Nate called you a pig?” Charlie said.

“I did not say she was a pig,” Nate said defensively. “I said that her dress made her look like a pig.”

“I can’t believe you’re still single,” Sam said with a grin.

“Well, I don’t want to brag,” Nate said. “But my dad once told me if I had been a greek philosopher, my name would have been Mediocretes.”

“Sure would be the perfect time for Gadium the White to return,” Charlie said, looking around hopefully.

“Yeah, now is totally the turn of the tide, right?” Sam said. Their hopes were once again met with silence.

Meralda inhaled sharply. “I asked you a question.”

The Lord of Ash looked at the others who flanked him. When he spoke, his voice was deep and ragged, and sounded like a furnace being stoked by bellows. “We are not here to surrender, child. We have come to speak with the three sent by a star.”

Meralda and her councilors turned and glared at Nate, Sam, and Charlie, who were positively perplexed.

“Speak with them?” Meralda said, not bothering to hide the disdain in her voice. “They are nothing.” She turned back to the Conclave, rage rising in her voice. “They were sent to find me, the last true heir of Brenius the Divine. The lost Queen of Uzusia. The chosen one.”

“She’s right,” Charlie said, nervously clearing his throat. “She is the one who is prophesied to put an end to your evil plans.” He glanced at Nate for reassurance.

Nate shrugged and nodded. “She is the chosen one, not us.”

“Are you quite certain of that?” the Lord of Ash said.

The Conclave watched in silence. Meralda eyes widened dangerously, her face distorted by fury. “You would mock me? Mock ME?” she shouted, spewing specks of saliva in her rage. She glared at the Conclave, panting.

“Yeah, we’re sure.” Charlie looked at Sam, who offered no help. “Right?” Sam nodded and gave him the thumbs up. “Yeah, we’re sure it’s her.”

The Conclave remained silent.

“Very well,” Meralda said, her voice all ice and fire. She held out her hand without looking at her advisors. Naditha gently placed the pommel of the ceremonial dagger into her open had, while Velama snapped open the treasure box and knelt in front of Meralda, holding it aloft while her head bowed, as if giving a sacred offering to some temperamental, lower-case god.

“Let the historians record, that I tried to be reasonable,” Meralda snarled at the Conclave.

“What historians?” Sam whispered. “Does she think we’re writing this down or something?”

The Magister of Rot whispered to the Lord of Ash, who shrugged his shoulders. The Conclave continued their silent observation.

Meralda glanced down at the shriveled hand of Brenius. “Why is it not glowing?” she asked.

As if in response, the hand switched on like a light bulb, bathing Meralda’s face in its golden radiance. Meralda smiled in victory the way a middle-aged white woman who had bullied the manager of a diner to get a free appetizer because the waitress ‘rolled her eyes disrespectfully’ would.

Meralda began to chant in the language of the Ancients. She had been rehearsing the spell repeatedly for months now, and the words came quickly and easily to her. If the Conclave understood what was happening, they appeared entirely unconcerned with the ritual.

As the spell climaxed, her voice grew stronger, more confident. It echoed loudly across the basin, which had fallen eerily quiet as the rabid orcs and goblins had stopped their commotion.

“Guys, be ready,” Nate said quietly.

“For what?” Sam asked.

“To run.”

As Meralda practically sang the final words of the ritual, her eyes locked with the Conclave. She smiled, and swung the dagger down with all her strength.

The blade had been well-prepared, sharpened and oiled, and it cut true: slicing easily through meat and bone, severing her hand cleanly at the wrist.

Meralda’s face trembled, her entire body tightened as she stifled the scream of pain that threatened to leap from her throat. Blood sprayed across the ground, nearly reaching the Conclave as it thrummed rhythmically out of her arm in time with her heart beat.

“The hand,” Naditha whispered harshly to her.

With her remaining hand, Meralda shakily took the glimmering hand of Brenius the Divine from the ornate treasure box. She held it to the stump on her arm, which continued to gush blood at a concerning pace. She held her arm up, the hand pressed to it, and released the hand, an expression of exultation and triumph on her increasingly pale face as she stared at it.

The golden light from the hand sputtered and blinked out. Meralda’s glorious bliss gave way to perplexity as the hand teetered from the stump of her wrist, and tumbled to the ground. Another spray of blood escaped her stump.

“I don’t…” she said weakly, bending over to scoop the hand up. “I don’t understand.”

“That doesn’t seem right,” Sam said, turning to Nate. “Right?”

Nate shrugged, equally confused. “Do you need help, Meralda?”

Meralda pressed the shriveled hand to her stump again and again, but nothing happened. Blood continued to pour from her arm as she stared in mute horror at her advisors.

The two old crones shared a confused glance. The Conclave continued their silent observation the proceedings.

“Meralda,” Hag said from his perch atop Charlie’s shoulder. “You’re making us look like real jerks here.”

“What is happening?” Meralda said, her speech slurring. A spatter of blood wet her face and neck, the crimson liquid standing in stark contrast to her blanched skin and white gown. “Why isn’t it working?” she demanded as she desperately pressed the gnarled hand into her stump, willing it to attach. But to no avail.

She tucked the hand of Brenius under her arm, and scooped up her other hand, which drooped and waggled loosely in her grasp. Nate gagged at the sight of her fingers flopping uselessly.

“I don’t think that’s going to-” Charlie said as Meralda held her own severed hand up to the stump. “-help,” he finished.

“What do I do?” she asked as she let the hand drop. It flopped wetly to the ground.

She held Brenius’ hand to her stump one last time. The blood continued to pour out, though it had slowed considerably. It too clattered to the ground as she released it.

“I-” she stammered. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Charlie!” Sam whispered harshly.

“What?”

“You’re the healer. You should go help her!”

“Oh, right, I-”

As he stepped forward, the Lord of Ash pointed his long sword at Meralda. A jet of fire shot from the tip, arcing toward her. She was engulfed in flames. She screamed briefly, spun a single time, then collapsed and lay still.

The Lord of Ash turned his blade, and the blaze swallowed the two Eremetics, who wailed and ran into the dark night, their bodies wreathed in flame.

They watched in awkward silence as both of the old women ran, their arms flailing wildly, until they tumbled to the ground about a hundred yards away. Their bodies burned brightly on the black stone mountainside.

“Well, that could have gone better,” Nate said.

“I told you this wasn’t going to work,” Charlie said.

“When did you say this wasn’t going to work?”

“Like, a million times!” Charlie shouted. “This is all your fault, and now we’re going to die!”

“My fault?” Nate’s voice raised in pitch to match Charlie’s ire. “How is it my fault?”

“It was your plan!”

“It was not my plan!”

“Then whose was it?”

“I don’t know, the stupid Council of Kings?”

“Oh sure, shift the blame like you always do.”

“I’m not shifting the blame. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours!”

“Mine?”

“Yeah, Mr. If-we-just-help-complete-the-prophecy-surely-they’ll-send-us-home.”

Charlie shoved Nate angrily.

“Don’t shove me, man.”

“Yeah? Or what?”

“Or I’ll shove you back.”

“Oh, I’d LOVE for you to try.”

“Maybe I will.”

“I hope you do.”

“So do I.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Perfect.”

They stared at each other, nostrils flared.

“Guys,” Sam finally said. “Neither of you is solely to blame. You both got us killed.”

It was then that they noticed the Conclave of Flame and Salt still watched them. The three friends quickly huddled together.

“One of us should talk to them,” Sam whispered.

“Yeah, Nate, go talk to them,” Charlie said.

“Why me? You just blamed me for this whole mess we’re in.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I was upset because we’re about to be murdered.”

Nate nodded. “Yeah, I’m sorry too.” Nate held out his fist. “Bump it out?”

Charlie bumped his fist into Nate’s.

“So what’s the play here?” Charlie said.

Sam stared at them, her mouth agape. “That’s it?”

“What’s it?” Charlie said.

“Two seconds ago, you guys were about to kill each other. And now you’re fine?”

Nate and Charlie shared a smirk. “Uh, yeah. We apologized.”

Sam shook her head in disbelief.

“Nate, go talk to them,” Charlie continued, ignoring Sam. “Worst-case scenario, they attack and you do that super powerful magical thingy, and we run away.”

“That’s definitely not the worst-case scenario,” Nate said. “And I already told you, I can’t just do that.”

“I know,” Charlie said. “But maybe if your life is in danger or something?”

“I don’t know…”

“You have a better suggestion?”

Nate’s mind raced, but came up empty.

He sighed. “Dang it! Alright, fine. But if I get murdered, I’m going to be super pissed.”

“I’m sure that won’t happen,” Sam said. “Probably.”

“Great pep talk,” Nate grumbled as they broke the huddle. He turned to the Conclave. “So, um… You wanted to speak with us?” He winced as his voice cracked like an eleven-year-old going through puberty.

Sam and Charlie both sniggered behind him.

“We have no desire for war,” the Lord of Ash said.

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Nate said, gesturing to the wild army of orcs and goblins all around them.

“We do not wish for war,” the Lord of Ash repeated. “But, our ritual must be completed.”

“Which ritual is that?” Nate asked. “The one where you’re going to sacrifice a virgin to summon Behalah into our world?”

The Lord of Ash did not answer him.

“Because from what we’ve heard, that guy’s kind of a jerk.”

“Behalah must be given entrance to this world,” the Magister of Rot burbled. “This world is in need of correction.”

“At what cost? The ruin and destruction of thousands? Millions?”

“There will always be a price to be paid when restoring the natural order,” the Queen of Storms said.

“Right. The ol’ classic cliché. If you want to make an omelet, you have to commit a little genocide.”

“We implore you to see reason,” the Queen of Storms said. “Convince Alianna to withdraw her forces from Yonate. Let us complete the ritual, and the loss of life will be minimized.”

Nate glanced back at his friends, who both shrugged. “And if we refuse?”

“Then you will have a pointless, painful death,” the Lord of Ash answered, tugging his flail to his feet.

Nate’s mind raced. This was bad. Real bad. Like, ‘I just chopped jalapeños and then put in my contacts without washing my hands’ bad. Standing at the base of some unholy tower, in front of the apotheosis of evil, surrounded by an infernal swarm of vile soldiers from hell.

He saw the Magister of Rot lean and whisper to the Lord of Ash. As he spoke, he pointed to Charlie. The Lord of Ash then studied Charlie for a moment, before whispering to the Queen of Storms. She too regarded Charlie before nodding in agreement.

Nate glanced back at his friend, who was absentmindedly picking at a scab on the inside of his left nostril.

Nate grinned manically at the Conclave, looking somewhat like a used-car salesman on too many antidepressants, but exactly the right amount of cocaine. “May I discuss your proposal with my friends?”

“Yes,” the Lord of Ash growled.

Nate returned to his huddle with Sam and Charlie. “This is bad,” he said. “This is so bad.”

“What do we do?” Charlie said.

“I vote we run for it,” Nate said.

“Really?” Sam said. “That’s your plan, oh fearless leader?”

“Have you looked at where we are?” Nate said. “We have the first law for a reason.”

Sam peaked over his shoulder at the army of orcs and goblins. She glanced at the Conclave, who watched menacingly where they stood in front of the black tower.

“Okay. Nate’s right. Let’s run for it.”

“If we’re about to die,” Charlie said. “Then I just wanted to say, I love you guys.”

“You know things are bad when Charlie says something sincere,” Sam said, bumping her shoulder into his.

“And I just want to say,” Hag said, “that I’m sorry I said Nate’s head was so big, that it made the rest of his face look lower-case.”

Nate frowned. “I don’t remember you saying that.”

“Oh. I mean, I’m sorry I said Nate’s forehead was so broad he might have discovered fire.”

“Again, I don’t think you said that.”

“Oh. Never mind then.”

“Do we just run for it?” Sam said.

“Follow my lead,” Charlie said. “I’ve got a plan.”

They broke their huddle. Charlie turned to the Conclave, staring at them. He opened his mouth, as if he was about to speak, before bolting toward the pudgies, his panicked footfalls crunching in the dirt as he ran.

Sam and Nate were as surprised as the Conclave. They ran after him.

“That was your plan?” Sam said as they caught up to him.

“Sorry. Couldn’t think of anything clever to say.”

There was a tremendous roar as the tide broke. Orcs and goblins, slavering and screeching, poured down the mountainside from all sides.

The Soldiers of the Sun fell in behind them as they ran past.

“This did not go as planned,” Khadija shouted as she caught up to them.

“We need to tell Alianna what happened,” Nate said.

Khadija nodded. “Mount your pudgies and go. We shall cover your escape.”

The first of the orcs and goblins reached their mounts, and a chaotic clash broke out. A group of goblins clambered over two of the pudgies, stabbing with their vicious, jagged blades. Bright-yellow blood gushed as wings were torn free. The caterpillar-like creatures moaned like whales and thrashed as they were stabbed from all sides by twisted swords and sharp spears.

“You’re coming with us, right?” Nate said, as they reached the nearest mount.

The orcs were closing fast. They could hear the creatures shouting with hoarse voices:

“I’m going to bash the fat-headed one’s brains in!”

“No! I’m going to shatter the fat-headed one’s spine!”

“Wow,” Hag said to Nate. “You’re so popular!”

“Go!” Khadija shouted at them, practically shoving the three of them onto the back of the nearest pudgy. “Go, now!”

Their pudgy struggled under the extra weight, and was barely airborne as the wave of orcs swarmed beneath them. Several threw their weapons at the pudgy as they soared out of range.

They watched in horror as Khadija and the other Soldiers of the Sun were submerged in a churning ocean of enemies and, along with the remaining pudgies, were torn to shreds.

They steered their pudgy as high as they could in a desperate attempt to avoid the black-feathered arrows and bolts that were fired at them. Nate drove them east as they huddled together with too little space atop their mount, terrified that they might fall off. Nate rode in front, with Sam sandwiched between him and Charlie.

“Where are we going?” Charlie asked as the rising sun painted the horizon a blazing vermillion ahead of them. “I thought we were supposed to head south to Menoa?”

“We are,” Nate said. “But we have only one pudgy, and three of us. We’ll never make it across the sea. Ovedural is only a few days’ flight from here. We’ll resupply and plan our route from there.”

“Smart,” Sam said, wrapping her arms around him. Nate was acutely aware of the warmth of her body pressed against his back, and realized with no small amount of unhappiness, that this meant he’d have to continue to hold in the fart he had on deck for the foreseeable future.

“I can’t believe we did all that work, to find that stupid girl and retrieve that stupid treasure, only for it to fail,” Nate said.

“Maybe the real treasure was the friendships we made along the way?” Charlie said.

“If that’s true, we should have stayed home.”

“Either we’re the worst heroes of all time,” Sam said. “Or this is the worst world of all time.”

“It can be two things,” Charlie said.

They rode in silence for a moment. The cold night breeze penetrated them to the core.

“What are we going to do now?” Sam said.

“Let’s just focus on getting to Menoa in one piece,” Nate said. “Alianna will know what to do.”

“Yeah…” Charlie said, his voice unenthusiastic. “But who’s going to tell her what happened?”