Wings of fire flew across the battlefield spreading fear and chaos among the ice-cursed horde below.

Flying was becoming less safe — especially with enemy spellcasters, rock hurlers, archers, and now ballistae — but it was needed to boost morale.

The enemy horde was becoming more sophisticated as the years passed. The flyer remembered them fighting with mere teeth and claw in his childhood — now, they bore magic and steel.

Amos Elswind sighed as he landed on the parapets. The flight took a toll on his spirit more than his mana. He would much rather engage the enemy than put on useless displays — but he was restricted from leaving the defensive walls, but for the flights.

The King commanded him to make an appearance on the battlefield twice a day — every time he was at the forefront of any war. The King’s words spread to his generals, and now here he was acquiescing to their whims.

Amos was not used to such fetters. He was usually free to engage enemies as he saw fit — and nobody dared to complain. This time was different.

He heeded a plea from Cicero, a former subordinate, asking for aid against the Ice. The King allowed him to leave for the Evergreen Citadel, on the condition that he wouldn’t take to the field and that he would submit himself to the commands of the King’s generals.

Unwilling as he was, he agreed. What was his pride if his friend’s words were true — that the Ice was threatening to overwhelm the citadel’s walls.

His arrival at the citadel drew a lot of attention. The Blackstaff was the will of the King. His appearance made the soldiers believe the royal capital was not blind to their difficulties — oh, how wrong they were.

The King and his advisors saw the Ice as a trivial thing — a remnant of a defeated threat and nothing more. The soldiers sent to man Evergreen’s walls were past their prime or injured — the kingdom’s way of providing for them in their later years.

Amos was met with laughter when he sought to investigate Cicero’s claim of an oncoming onslaught. The King’s advisors said it was the ramblings of a tired old man, and the Ice was no threat to the kingdom.

Nothing could be more untrue.

In the three days he spent at the citadel, he saw ranks and ranks of the ice-cursed almost reaching the citadel’s walls. The soldiers were forced to rally outside the citadel’s protection to hold back the tide of monsters and their twisted human allies — lest they put up their unholy spires that allowed the Ice to advance unnaturally into the green.

Damned spires!

Amos could only curse at the new development that threatened to overtake Evergreen. He believed there was something or someone directing the Ice’s forces. It held back the attacks the past three years, most likely to build up their forces.

Now, the horde had the numbers — while the citadel housed the old and the injured.

Once the citadel fell, the cities of the kingdom would fall one by one.

Judging by their current rate of advancement, the Ice would reach Evergreen’s walls in two weeks — and the soldiers could probably hold for another.

The citadel needed soldiers, wizards, and rations for the coming unnatural winter.

He had already sent back two messengers — one to his estate and another to the King. The men of Elswind would not hesitate to rally behind him, he hoped the King would do so as well.

Amos swept his gaze towards the horizon — to the seemingly unstoppable Ice.

Next time he took to the skies, he would rain fire on their enemies — the generals be damned. They had no grasp of his power or the lengths he would go to preserve the peace of the kingdom.

He was no ornament to be stationed at the walls. He was no shield to be held in reserve for when the tide turns. No — he was a sword. He was the blade that cut the hearts of the kingdom’s enemies — and it was time to be unsheathed.

Amos chuckled, remembering a song he heard in a tavern. The song was about a magical pill that allowed the old to harden and unsheath their swords.

“Lord Blackstaff.”

He turned towards the voice.

He was wondering how long it would take for the messenger to muster the courage to speak — he was standing there for more than two minutes.

“Speak.”

“Captain Cicero wants to see you.”

***

Agnes Amaranth couldn’t help but recall the events of the past day.

Spies and cultists in the city? It was too much to take — especially after knowing her estate was previously targeted.

Her conversations with the Duke made her realize the extent of the Scourge’s — no Jeremy’s — power.

The wizard sent the cultists to hell — directly to hell. They didn’t even pass the courts — and the Duke allowed it.

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He could even choose which hell to send them to — using a detailed list.

She was missing something. Why was the Duke so determined to protect the wizard — and why would he let him pass summary judgment on cultists?

It was as if Jeremy was the Duke’s own Blackstaff.

Wait. Is that it?

Was the Duke mimicking his cousin, the King, by surrounding himself with people that would unquestioningly enact his will? Did he have his sights on the throne?

The Scourge was more likely a persona to distance himself from the Duke — seeing as he was not even allowed to stay within the city walls.

His act of stupidity at yesterday’s council was likely a ploy to confound the nobles or make them underestimate him.

It was genius.

Even she couldn't guess their connection before the trial, seeing that the Scourge was anathema to the nobles.

Was he some sort of loyalty test?

To think that she invited him to her home every couple of months — he must have gleaned a lot of her secrets. And the butler, Sebastian — he was too personable for a mere butler. He was probably trained in directing the flow of conversation to get what he wanted — and he spent a lot of time with her staff.

The butler’s absence made more sense now. His presence at the council would have put him in the spotlight — and spies needed to be unseen or unnoticed.

The two were the Duke’s men. Sebastian was the spy and Jeremy was the sword.

It fit — especially after the two figured prominently in the fall of Lord Randson.

She heard Randson even sent his troops to waylay the two — only to fail miserably because of a snail.

Agnes smiled.

She considered herself one of the smarter nobles in Bountiful — and she proved it by figuring out the Scourge’s relationship to the Duke.

She sipped her tea.

Afternoon conversations with the Duke just became more interesting.

***

Jeremy wondered why the Duke was so mad at him. It seemed like he wanted to strangle him, and some of the nobles wore the same look.

He did his best to be helpful. The incident with the thoughtreader was lamentable, but he later found out that the mind mage wasn’t that good of a guy.

The thoughtreader’s residence was filled with manipulated attendants who followed his every whim. Some of them had false memories, and the women had hidden compulsions that made them clamor for the bastard. The death of the mage freed them, and complaints started flooding the Duke.

Jeremy hoped the nobles accepted his confession of being cursed. While technically true, the play on words allowed him to keep his infernal secret. He didn’t want anyone linking him to Malice’s failed ritual more than two decades ago. Cultists would either treat him like a god, or pick him apart to find out what part of the ritual failed.

At least he had a new minion slaving at the forges.

The dwarf seemed outraged by their trip — the little ingrate. At least he kept his word and took to the forges to make his shop weapons, and his dwarven pride would probably not let him make inferior ones.

He even gave Siege an assistant that did the hammering. It pounded at the anvil until told to stop — and it hammered with precise force and strikes.

The dwarf almost fell when he brought it to the shop. Its faceless features probably reminded him of the last demon he fought.

Jeremy chuckled.

It was fun to watch the dwarf struggle and dig deep to overcome the situation. He liked seeing people grow, or maybe just struggle? He shrugged. The important thing was the dwarf triumphed over adversities and became a stronger minion.

Shelby seemed to like the dwarf — even patting his head and chirping happily. It was probably their connection to the earth.

The dwarf’s use of grabity did not escape his eyes.

In the final moments of his battle with the cold demon, Siege used the earth to grab his sword and make it heavier.

What a strange word — grabity. He wondered if Sebas played a trick on him, the way the plague demons mocked him by calling the tiny invisible things — jerms.

Well, they can go to hell if they did. Then again, maybe not Sebas — and the plague demons were already there in the first place.

Jeremy went back to work.

He had to finish his enchantments at the Corner Shop™ as Sebas was taking too long with his errand — which was to his liking.

The dwarf spent most of yesterday heading to Forge and selling various goods to select merchants the duke recommended. Warden came with him, along with an escort of three enthusiastic snails.

Jeremy was surprised they managed to rake in so much money. He expected the merchants to drag the prices down — but Warden said they became helpful once they saw his ring.

Did the Duke give him that ring? How come I don’t have a ring?

He banished the thoughts of rings and gold from his mind. Today, he had to finish his wizard staff.

He doesn’t really need to use an implement since his mana came from an internal and infernal source — but he wanted the trappings of a proper wizard, especially for formal gatherings.

While the Corner Shop™ didn’t have staves lying about, he did have a scythe.

The dwarf bound the scythe with bands of metal and quicksilver to make it more stylish. The various components allowed Jeremy to add several enchantments to the scythe — the foremost of which was to make the blade ethereal.

He didn’t want to accidentally slice of an ear or nose when he used his staff — and an ethereal blade made his wizard staff quite striking.

Another enchantment allowed the blade to swivel, turning the scythe into a spear or glaive-like weapon.

He wanted to ride Shelby and start harvesting souls — but the overgrown dandelions would have to do for now.

“Excuse me, is this the place to get —“

Jeremy locked eyes with the customer who just entered the shop — not forgetting to smile.

“I’ll be with you shortly,” his voice was hoarse from all the cheering he did yesterday.

He stood up, intending to place the scythe in the backroom, when he heard a thud and a long scream.

“Pranksters,” he sneered. There was always one of them when he managed the shop. It was a wonder how Sebas put up with them every day.