It was about two full days of riding the horses to return to Surton Spire. The three travelers had begun their daily journeys as the sun rose and ended when it set. Christoph rode at the front of their group with the memories of the past few days still fresh and raking his mind.

Calzion and Christoph had worked together to dig a massive hole in the center of the road for the town of Carmoss. Every man, woman, and child that was once part of the thriving population had been tossed like garbage and scraps into the shed.

The warm, dark shed opened to exhale a putrid stench. Though they’d only been there a day or two, the pile had ripened. Christoph noticed the lacerations, the bruised bodies, and even the torn clothes on several of them. It’d made him sick in sight, smell, and even the way he could taste it on the air. So, he’d done what was best and laid them in a hole. It was the way of his father and his father’s father; though, he didn’t know the proper words to wish them peace for the next life. So, he said nothing.

Taking from the top, it seemed the peak of this pile (which reached almost to his head) was littered with the younger females of the town. Repulsed by this, Christoph nodded to himself. His judgment had been right. He’d dealt justice fit for this. It made what Gitma set off to do all the easier to swallow.

Calzion and Christoph had filled the hole. It didn’t take long to dig with the strength of his new body. He swung dirt over his shoulders as if just flicking his wrist. Once completed, the two had filled the hole with flesh and the remainder with dirt. It had taken about an hour and a half total. By then, Gitma had already returned without a drop of blood on her.

Christoph had permitted her to take one of the sizeable corpses from the street. She’d dug in while they finished their work. Then, she finished her meal as they rode back through the overgrown trails northwest. They had to carve around the forests and take paths that hadn’t seen horses or man in years it seemed.

Two days of hard riding had been enough, though. They’d gotten back near dark; the lifted mountain in the center entrapped by the three fangs that twisted around it. For all the horror this trip had produced, it almost felt welcoming to be caught in the stretched shadow of the mountain; the sun setting in the distance.

“Lord Gohdin!” There was a familiar voice greeting the three travelers after they’d entered through a slab in the mountain’s face about halfway up. The stone had moved to the side as the other openings had. Two stone slabs were then rolled away and a metallic gate was cranked open. Christoph took in what little details he could about these mechanisms as their grinding gears and skillful creation seemed impossible.

“Good evening, Corallan.” The insectoid woman was on the ceiling of this carved tunnel—still roughly struck walls that would soon shift into a well-designed floor plan.

“The greatest-t-t-t, now that you’ve returned-d. Your messages to Sashro caused-d-d quite the concern. How were your travels-s, my Lord-d? I am pleased-d-d to see you are in good health!” She clicked as she spoke. Her excitement forcing more of the inhuman noises.

Christoph was physically fine, but the memories were plaguing him as a blackened fog overtaking the farmer’s fields for several days. He feared his crop… his mind, would shrivel and perish. His stomach had churned and his mind ached, yet his heart felt nothing in the darkest moments of the journey.

“Fine.” He nodded as the horses were led down the hallways by a few creatures that had come from slits in the walls. They were the guards of these gates on the southern face.

Each was unique in the insect they mirrored, but it seemed as though some race of gnome had been infused with the life force of these bugs. None reached over three feet tall. One leading the horse under Corallan looked like a black ant head with hooked pincer-like appendages at the end of his three-jointed arms. It was the least terrifying thing he’d seen in the last few days, so he sighed with relief at the creature’s silent obedience.

“Might-t-t I provide you any services-s, my Lord?” The Captain of the South Guard skittered along the ceiling above them; gaining distance as the hallways opened up to smoothly cut stone, decorated walls, and rising ceilings.

I don’t really eat or sleep. Maybe something fancy? What does a king ask for? “I am fine for now. Please ensure the horses are rewarded for their hard work.” He patted his steed on the neck and felt the back rise and fall beneath him. He’d put a great deal of stress on the creature. At least the horses shouldn’t suffer with us.

“I shall make it-t-t so, my Lord.” Corallan bowed upward and continued to follow the precession. Her natural lure still bobbing as she spoke.

“Make sure these two are rewarded as well.” Christoph threw his head back to indicate who he spoke of.

“My Lord.” Calzion dipped into a bow atop his horse. Naturally, Gitma saw him react and followed suit. “There is no need for such things. Serving beside you was reward enough.”

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“I’m sure that’s not the case.” The dragonkin’s eyes were peering over his mighty shoulders. Calzion smiled as best he could as he stared into the eyes of a beast he both respected and feared.

“Understood. I shall accept whatever you offer.” Another bow finished the conversation.

Christoph just wanted to rest. His mind was filled with memories and thoughts that needed addressing. He hoped he’d have the time to go and sit in his silent chambers—only two guards outside his doors would be close enough to hear him should he scream.

“Do you desire a report-t-t?” Corallan offered her services further.

“Report?”

“Since-ce you’ve been gone, my Lord-d-d.”

“Ah.” Great. More work to be done. He turned around again, both of his subordinates straightened up, to look at the closing gates behind them. We’re all sealed in. No monsters going out. No monsters getting in.

“Merely let-t me know, and I shall report-t right-t away. Each Captain-n has information for you, Sir.” She was weaving around the columns in the shadows that warped around the ceiling.

The spaced-out torches, enchanted to burn on demand eternally, cast haunting shadows across the stones—or at least, Christoph deeply hoped they were just shadows. He wouldn’t put devilish monsters out of the realm of possibility in this place.

“Fine. I wish to sit in my chambers for a while.” Before she could answer, he looked upward. “Alone. I will call for you all before the morning.” I’d rather not, but duty calls. His tone reflected his state of mind.

“Of course-se, my Lord-d.” She snapped her false, human face around and smiled down at him. She moved ahead of the group and called down to some of the guards that had been placed at different intervals in the corridors.

“And Corallan.”

“Yes-s-s, my Lord?” The human body shivered with anticipation as her head folds back to look at him.

“Cover yourself.” The voice was barely audible. A chilling tone that carried disgust swaddled in cold command.

Obeying, her arms fold over the human form as blue hue begins to spread over the bottom of the torso. A camouflage gradually spreading as she wishes. “Apologies.”

King Gohdin does not respond further.

The horses were taken back to The Stables where they’d be cleaned, brushed, rewarded with fine oats and vegetables, and then placed back in their stasis behind the appropriate stone gate. It was the usual process within The Spire. Bo’Ra’Set ensured each creature was treated right. No simple beast could be blamed for their nature; so only the most intelligent or ruthless beasts ever saw harsher treatments. Carrot and the stick.

“Good night, my Lord.” Calzion and Gitma bowed deeply as they departed their master’s side. He groaned slightly; though, it barely seemed a response to them directly.

Accompanied by two goblins within the militarized ranks of The Spire, Christoph followed a number of hallways until he found his way back to the restricted area of his more favored rooms. The goblins remained silent in their travels, but they looked at one another occasionally as their master led them down erroneous hallways.

Once back, he couldn’t even bring himself to thank the guards for their needless transport. He merely opened the wondrous doors and shut them behind him. In the darkness of his stolen chambers, he moved toward the bed. Keeping the lights off felt like the darkness of a dreamless sleep. Though he could see in darkness, the dragonkin could take comfort in closing his eyes and imagining nothing.

It took some time, just as humans that try to sleep, to fall into a thoughtless state. As humanity might lie in bed, peering into the shadows of the ceiling, they try to steady their breathing and hearts before the mind shifts its processes.

This sudden switch is similar to the undead mind, yet it does not dream or find relaxation in the majesty of sleep. It is more like someone repeating a day after just sliding into their bed—the comfort only momentary. You feel as if you never slept, as though the world spun faster for that brief second you blinked and slowed once you checked the window. The moon and the sun swapped as if playing a trick on you, and only you.

Christoph propped himself against the splendidly carved headboard of the bed, his dirtied, magical clothes atop the pillows and blankets, and closed his eyes. He tried to forget the street or the sea of grass he’d found himself in. He tried to forget the sounds Gitma made while devouring bodies and the mission he’d given her. He tried to forget about the hole he dug and the bodies Calzion assist him in dragging into the opening. He tried to forget about the fresh graves that were labeled with the names of his family and the stilled body of his brother in the grass.

He tried to forget it all. He tried to rest.

He accomplished neither.