The wind whipped at them from the west, bringing with it the smell of the sea. Tarn turned to look out past the cliffs, down into the drought-stricken farmlands that lined the coast.

“I’m surprised you’d have a drought with all this humidity,” Tarn said. “And being so close to the ocean.”

“It is no drought, human.” Durmin’s tone was grim and touched with anger. “Water and rain are not our problem.”

“No, I can see that.” Aryo looked over the distant fields, his voice filled with the confidence of a man who had spent his whole life working the soil. “Those fields are blighted, eaten clean down to the root. The same insects you mentioned?”

“The ants, yes.” Durmin’s fists balled. “The Dark Tears can be as big as my foot. Blue in color, they show no interest in us, only in the plants. They swarm our fields up and down the coast every year. We are forced to move farther and farther south during the summer to keep ahead of them, until the winter cold finally drives them back through the gate.”

Tarn thought back to the memory of the Sword Dungeon, the first vision he had been given of the strange creatures’ origins. Lurim had walked among the sentient spheres, torturing them to create miniature dungeons for tiny blue insects.

You stupid, old bastard. Tarn wondered if Lurim even knew the damage he had done to Ak-Thanon as he wandered other worlds, looking for weapons to use against the other Arch Mages.

“There are ships out there, in the fog.” Isca was focusing her goggles out onto the ocean, her antennas bent forward in concentration. “I can’t quite make them out.”

“The chieftain’s fleet was moored south of here, preparing for this year’s invasion of the Realm.” Durmin turned toward the thin stony path. He pointed one long thin arm at a group of structures farther up the coast. “Mayhap the Progenitors are bringing them north to help defend the launcher and tower.”

Tarn followed his finger to a tall metallic-looking structure poised close to the shoreline. From this distance, he judged it to be at least as tall as the capitol’s spire. Built on some sort of massive turntable, it looked like a colossal trebuchet.

“It took two months to build,” Durmin said. “Day and night, but when your labor is enslaved thralls, you don’t worry about their rest. Now it fires strange metallic spheres across the sea, once every three days. The technology is beyond our understanding, but we work with hammer and fire well enough.”

“If they are controlled by the song,” Bog asked. “Why not you? Why not Narsol? You said there’s a … signal coming from the tower?”

Tarn looked far up the path they walked, past the waves of tall grasses that slowly met the foot of the mountain. Up at its peak, a single metallic pole pointed up toward the sky, stabilized to the ground by dozens of massive guidewires.

“The more in harmony you were with the people, with the chieftain, the easier the song became the only voice in your ears. Narsol was … divergent, as am I and the few others you saw in the cave. We were recluses, living away from the settlements and their teachings. This isolation has given our minds a …shield. But it is under constant attack, eroding every day.”

“Wait, Narsol didn’t agree with the chieftain?” Given how focused the orc had been in saving his people, Tarn had expected Narsol to be a true believer in the orcish leadership. “About what?”

“The focus of our people.” Durmin turned away, walking faster up the path. “Though my brother and I diverged on a great many things, on this we were united. The orcs have looked behind themselves long enough, guided by past angers instead of working to resolve future problems.”

With Durmin in the lead, they continued, heading away from the coast and climbing up a small rise in the jungle. Tarn had to grab onto the slick vines and undergrowth lining the ground to pull himself up the incline, while his boots struggled for traction. He grunted with exertion, the heavy humidity and acrid air working to sap his strength. They crested the rise at the edge of a hilltop clearing, and the Progenitor tower burst into view.

It was a round stone structure, about ten stories high. The entrance was adorned with various runes and tapestries, though these were now in tatters upon the ground. Judging from the cracks that ran up the side and its general condition, Tarn gauged the building to be hundreds of years old. Maybe a temple or a lookout, but now it had been repurposed by the Progenitors for darker purposes.

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A single metal shaft had been added to the top of the structure, adding about fifty feet in height. Wires and cables were wrapped around the pole from the tip, snaking around its length and disappearing into the top floor of the tower.

A gold shimmering sphere of energy surrounded the top floor, adding a slight blur to the scene.

“The song.” Durmin’s voice trembled as he looked at the tower. Pulling Tarn out of the jungle and into the surrounding clearing with a trembling hand, the veins in the orc’s temples visibly throbbed with exertion. “I have been here thrice this morning, clearing our path. I – I have heard it so loudly, for so long.”

“You’ve done enough, Durmin.” Tarn put his hand on the orc’s shoulder, feeling the shakes of his body with alarm. “Really. Head back to the camp, and we can take it from here. You’ve helped everyone, and Narsol would be proud.

As the others broke through the jungle, Durmin turned back to Tarn. A thin line of saliva ran down his chin, mixing with the tears that streamed from his eyes.

“Ah my brother, you were … too late,” he seethed as he dropped to his knees, hands clamped to his ears. “The song – it is so loud here. You were supposed to bring the prime, and we would be spared. But you were late.”

“Too late?” Tarn knelt next to Durmin, putting his hand on the orc’s shoulder, turning him. The eyes that looked back at him were bloodshot and filled with tears. “The prime? You mean Bog? She’s right here! Durmin, look at me. Stay with us!”

“No!” Durmin stood suddenly, hands clapped to his ears. “No, we had a bargain, but Narsol did not.. ah.. ahh. Oh, just as in the Battle of Terla. My mother used to sing of it. Like Regna the Aged, I have been deceived. But now… perhaps. I can see it now.”

He took a deep breath, then let his hands drop to his sides. The tension left his face as he sighed, a shudder running through his body.

“Ah. I am better now. Now things are finally clear.”

Tarn tensed as Durmin’s hand went to his blade. Before he could even pull the dagger, Urthin appeared behind him. A quick grasp around the orc’s throat and he fell dead to the floor.

“Smiley!” Bog shouted as she stomped forward. Tarn threw up one hand, stopping her as she glared over them. She stood, fist raised for a moment, then dropped her hands.

Ah, damn it Durmin. The orc’s dead eyes looked up at him, asking questions Tarn still didn’t have the answers for. Looking for hope for the ones he left behind.

“I did what was necessary.” The monk said flatly, staring at Bog with impassion. “The song of the Progenitors had claimed him at last. I anticipated this moment, as each of you should have.”

“I hear no song,” Bog said through clenched teeth. “Maybe you did what you had to,” she said to Urthin, before turning away. “I don’t have to like it.”

Tarn put his hand on Urthin’s shoulder and squeezed it once. The monk nodded but said nothing as he slowly lowered Durmin’s body to the ground.

“Let’s just get in this tower and get the job done.” Anger building inside him, Tarn felt an overwhelming urge to just run up the remainder of the steps, to hell with what was waiting for them. But that was the Tarn of old, the one who lived only on luck and improvisation. The dead orc at their feet was a reminder that there was much more at stake here.

“I hear others!” Isca suddenly said. Her antennas were pointing straight up in surprise. “Off to the west. Over the sounds of the ocean, I hear the crushing of leaves and sticks. Lots of feet.”

She looked at Tarn questioningly, and he nodded. He didn’t like repeatedly using her for scouting, he could tell the toxic air of Ak-Thanon was harder for her to fly in, and it made her a target as well. But they needed the intelligence only she could provide.

“Patrols, no doubt,” Urthin said as they watched her take to the sky. Her buzzing wings were out of earshot for only a moment, before she descended again. The ashen look on her face told Tarn all he needed to know.

“How far?” He looked back toward the jungle. It would slow others down, but not orcs. “How many?”

“About two miles.” She flexed her thin wings back and forth. “Two forces, I couldn’t see the details through the trees. The lead force has a large Progenitor with them, which is slowing them down. The second force was gaining on the first.”

Two groups? Tarn rubbed his forehead in confusion. Why not just send everyone all at once? There were only a handful of them after all.

“Okay, into the tower!” Tarn shouted. It was more defensible, but it also was where they could be trapped. If they didn’t get their job done here, escaping wouldn’t really matter anyway.

They always knew this might be a one-way trip, and no matter what the outcome, this looked like the end.

He scanned up the side of the tall, thin structure as he ran forward, gauging what their options would be. He saw only small slits for windows, that was good. They could shoot out pretty effectively. That would be options for himself, Lash and Isca. Even Jental’s javelin would be effective.

At the very roof of the tower, the long metal antenna continued to vibrate, a faint golden dome of energy surrounding it. If that shield could be removed, the Progenitors power over the orcs came down to just a metal pole.

Crossing the threshold within, the bottom floor of the tower was a simple, circular room with a spiral staircase leading up. There was a large wooden table, presumably for the eating of meals by the guards. Two orcs lay dead on the floor, their throats pierced with thin, long daggers matching those Durmin had used.

An option, he supposed. As they dropped the bar down onto the door and proceeded up the stairs into the tower’s interior, he hoped what lay ahead might present him with a better one.