Androkles turned in circles, unable to see enough of the sky or horizon to get his bearings. The thickening smoke scratched his throat and lungs and made his eyes water, and the air was getting hot enough to make him sweat.

  He thought he heard Dyana calling him, shouting his name over and over, but she was nowhere close. She must have fled the flames. Hopefully she wasn’t lost? Androkles was, though, and as the smoke grew thicker, he was only going to get more lost.

  No. He knew what direction to go. Away from the King. He had been heading north, toward the Night People and the mountain crest, and that’s where anyone still alive would be.

  That was also away from the Hewer, who rumbled again. Louder this time. And again. It sounded like the earth itself groaned in excitement. A curse on that titan. If only the gods had killed him when they had the chance. Also, a curse on them, too.

  Dread nearly kept his feet planted, fighting against his reason for control of his body. He had little power to push down his emotions anymore. All his spiritual strength was gone and keeping his wits seemed the hardest thing he’d ever done.

  But then he remembered Agurne and the children, probably fighting for their lives against whatever was left of the Allobrogians. He couldn’t very well just let them face the Hewer alone, now could he? He took a step, then another, and broke into a jog. His ribs hurt again, now that the rush of battle was gone, and he kept worrying that a jagged bit of bone had broken off and was about to stick him in the lung. It’d leave him stuck here, unable to breath as he waited for the holocaustic inferno to claim him.

  Was he even going in the right direction?

  But the wind was in his face, and only a hundred paces further he broke out of the worst of it and into slightly fresher air. His eyes still stung. His lungs felt sick and he was desperately tired, but he was out.

  Sort of. For now. The flames were growing. Too many trees to see very far, but he could hear the fire, hear the whole forest filling with it. And below it all, laughter. The great titan of the earth laughed his long approach, a sound like groaning rocks that came up through Androkles’ ankles.

  What were those unseen beings that called up the wind during the fight, anyway? Spirits, almost certainly, but what kind? Wolfscar’s friends? The fire might not have grown so strong this quickly without them, and… the wind was blowing the flames toward the King’s army, the bulk of it that had still been gathering. There would be some lucky ones on this side of the fire line and more in the pass or down in the other valley, but how many were in that forest now, dying to the flames? No wonder the Hewer was laughing.

  That was going to be a lot of dead soldiers. A lot of dead soldiers.

  The winds faded, leaving the air still and wisps of smoke hanging on the air. Motes of ash hung perfectly still, moving only when he stepped past them. The forest muffled all sound, but he thought he heard two more blasts on a horn, far in the distance.

  A mighty roar like an avalanche spun him around. He stepped sideways until he found a break in the trees and saw a spray of earth several hundred paces distance. It reminded him of a shovelful of dirt flung out into the air, but the size of the entire Night People camp. Flaming trees, boulders, men, and horses all cried out in desperate horror as they came crashing back down from a deadly height. A burst of flame fanned by the collapse rose and fell.

  Then more laughter, deep and impossible, the sound of an earthquake. The power of the noise made waves in the trees.

  A squeak of terror escaped Androkles’ throat and he turned and ran with all his strength. Thick, pale smoke was spreading overhead and covering the sky, hiding the sun and smothering the shadows. How far had he come? Shouldn’t he have come across the Night People camp by now? If he was going the right way?

  Androkles stopped and tried to calm his breathing enough to listen. The Hewer had gone back to a low rumble that came from everywhere, but Androkles could still feel his presence, how it grew and how everything in him warned him to flee.

  The soft roar of distant fire came from many directions and none. He turned and turned, but it never got louder no matter where he faced. The trees muffled the sound.

  No wind to direct him anymore, no sounds, no landmarks. He was lost. For all he knew, he was surrounded by flames already, and it was just a few minutes until he was roasted alive. He’d seen it happen plenty of times. There was no mercy in it; it just built and built until you died. And sometimes it took long enough to die that they quit screaming but still kept moving, waving for rescue or release that never came.

  Androkles tightened his grip on the spear. He wouldn’t go out like that, not if there were any other option. Gods send his family weren’t in the burning forest somewhere, looking for him. He pictured Garbi screaming out from amidst the flames and nearly vomited. He slapped himself twice to vanquish the image.

  Gods send they weren’t in the forest, and gods send they weren’t slaughtered by ten thousand Allobrogians fleeing the fire.

  He took a few steps but stopped again. The smoke was increasing here now, thickening into fog and shrinking the world down on him. He could see fifty paces, a bit more in some places, but no farther.

  What a mess all this was. How had it gone from chasing a woman to get his money back to killing an army with a forest fire? One thing at a time, he supposed.

  The world tilted slightly and Androkles realized he was getting lightheaded from the smoke. Should he run, just pick a direction and hope he found clean air?

  “I’m getting a lot of new orphans today,” said Palthos, standing at Androkles’ side, like they’d been walking together for a mile. He wore the same white loincloth on the golden chain, had the same long, black hair, the same pure skin sun had never touched. He looked up at Androkles, his eyes full of blackness and stars.

  Relief flooded Androkles, relief like water for a man lost three days in the desert. “Hopefully you’re not talking about mine,” he said.

  “No, I already have those. They’ve been mine for a very, very long time. Not as long as you, though. No, I mean all the Allobrogians. I don’t want them to starve. Okay?” said the god of orphans.

  “What do you expect me to do about it?” said Androkles. “Are you trying to get an oath out of me?”

  Palthos calmly shook his head. “No, I just have to mention it. That’s all.”

  Androkles sighed. Like always, he would probably only understand what the god meant right after it would have been useful. “I’ve got a lot of meat on me, but I don’t think I can feed them all, even if they find my corpse before it goes bad.”

  Palthos laughed, a sound like clear water. “Well, the fire is coming, so you’ll be cooked if they do find you.”

  Androkles snorted. “I should drape myself over a branch so I cook evenly.”

  The god laughed again and said, “This reminds me of that time… Well, I guess you can’t remember that. Did you know that one time, you were stuck on a rock for a year in the middle of the ocean? You had to eat birds, and you had to use bird guts to get more birds to come. You were a mess.”

  Androkles almost thought he could remember it, now that it was mentioned. A dream, once, a dream he must have had as a child. Long, long ago, and decades forgotten, but familiar all the same. Somehow.

  The god took Androkles’ hand and held it. The flesh of a god felt no different from his boys’, except perhaps a bit smoother. Palthos did not haul a lot of campfire wood. Neither warm nor cold, just normal; but the grip was firm and familiar and right.

  Whatever remained of dread and doubt vanished from Androkles’ heart. The smoke remained, but to Androkles, it felt like sunlight was shining on him. It felt like the sun on ocean waves, like the sun on rocky hills peeking into mysterious caves, like the sun on bold battles and strong horses and victories in the Games. It felt like… childhood. Wondrous adventures, stories of courage and excitement, exploration and learning and the unappreciated comforts of home.

  “I miss you, you know,” said Palthos. “I always miss you when you’re gone.”

  Androkles’ heart broke to hear it, but he had no idea what to say. He had no idea what it even meant. A longing more powerful than his homesickness filled him, enough to make him grit his teeth, but he said nothing. Palthos squeezed his hand as he looked off into the smoke, and Androkles squeezed it back.

  Only a moment later, and the moment passed. Palthos said, “Oh, there they come. That’s it for now.” The god let go of his hand.

  “Wait, who is coming?”

  “I was just standing here so Sheth could find you. Bye!” said Palthos, and then he was no more.

  Androkles saw the light before he could guess what it was, but only a few heartbeats later, Poppy emerged from the smoke. Sheth and Garbi rode standing on his back, and a glow from Sheth’s lantern eye pierced the smoke and rested on Androkles like a sunray.

  “Papa!” the girl screamed.

  “Garbi? Why did you come for me, stupid girl? Go, before the flames get here!”

  “Master Andokwes—” started Sheth, but Garbi shook him.

  She glared down at Androkles, lightning in her blue eyes. Her golden hair lifted on the wind and her face brightened as if the smoke opened to let the sun in. She pointed a finger and commanded, “You follow me right now!”

  Androkles took two steps before he even realized he had moved. She gave him an angry nod and Poppy turned around and started heading the other direction. Androkles chuckled to himself, his spirit brightening, and picked up the pace to keep up. By the gods, he was doomed. He had to be that girl’s father.

  Poppy followed the light of Sheth’s eye, which pointed the way to go. It went out every time the boy blinked, which happened frequently from all the smoke. He reached up so many times to dry the tears off his face he was probably rubbing himself raw. It was certainly happening to Androkles. The skin just below the eyes was far more tender than it should be.

  But Sheth guided the stag true and the smoke thinned. Before too much longer, they were out of the worst of it. The smell lingered; Androkles’ lungs still felt sick and there was plenty of coughing between him and the two children, but overhead was faintly blue sky, and to the south, an enormous pillar of smoke reaching up to pollute the domain of Thuellos Sky-god.

  Wolfscar came flying in, and Dyana ran behind him faster than a horse.

  “Oh, thank the spirits,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “You found him.”

  “I could see where to go,” said Sheth cryptically.

  “He can see through the smoke, Papa,” explained Garbi. “He sees the same as Wolfscar with his special eye.”

  Androkles still had no idea what had happened to the little demon or why his eye had light in it, but it was not the time for an explanation. “Then the two of them can lead us back to the others. The King is dead, but we have to leave immediately. There’s something worse than a fire coming. Is anyone else still alive?”

  “Everyone’s still alive,” said Wolfscar. He hummed with excitement and just about danced in the air. “Come on!”

  Androkles should have known. If everyone was dead, Wolfscar wouldn’t have been so happy about it. He sighed loudly and started walking.

  Wolfscar zipped over to sit in his favorite perch on Androkles’ shoulder and grabbed a handful of beard to keep his balance. Dyana ran ahead, rushing this way and that through the trees looking for any danger. She had such a serious air about it that Androkles wondered if it was for show, but he supposed it didn’t matter.

  Garbi directed Poppy to walk alongside him, and for once it kept its judgmental, condescending glances to itself. Mostly. She said, “Papa, do you want a ride?”

  He picked up the pace just a bit more and said, “There’s no way that animal could carry me. You saw what happens to horses I ride.”

  “Poppy can carry you. He did before.”

  “What? When?”

  “When I sewed you up. He carried you back to the village where Mama was,” said Garbi.

  “No, he didn’t. How did you get me up onto him?” said Androkles.

  Garbi looked down from where she stood on Poppy’s shoulders and tried to suppress a smile. He could see it twinkling in her eyes, though, and the twitch of the corners of her mouth. “Secret.” She hugged Sheth a little tighter.

  He thought it over. The place he’d fallen asleep and the place he’d woken up were miles apart, and he had no memory of the interval. He’d been so busy since then it hadn’t occurred to him to even ask, but it was going to bother him. She probably was involved in that, somehow, and the more he let on, the less likely she was to talk. Cursed girl.

  Dyana led them northward. All along the way, the children kept making nervous glances toward the enormous column of smoke or shuddering and looking around each time the earth groaned or some echo of the Hewer’s voice reached their ears. Androkles gave the fire plenty of glances himself. Who could tell how fast it would reach them? How far would they even have to go to be safe? Just the smoke would kill them, if that mile-high column collapsed and came down on them. They’d all die choking.

  Once they reached the crest of the mountains and could see down into the deep valley below, they turned and headed eastward.

  A soldier rode past them, maybe thirty paces behind, and descended into the valley at top speed. Androkles hadn’t heard the horse until the last moment, but the rider had no interest in stopping.

  Androkles said, “Hold on a moment,” and made his way up onto a rock to get a better view. Wolfscar had told him most of the army, or maybe all of them, had come up the mountain, and that appeared to be true. No trace of the warbands who had gathered below only hours before.

  A few riders seemed to have escaped the fire, though; he spotted twenty or thirty soldiers on their way down the bare north face of the mountains, all spread out. So few. He watched for just a moment, and one more came out a mile behind them, and another a hundred paces ahead.

  If there weren’t plenty more who’d fled the fire in the other direction and made it out, the Allobrogians were going to have a very poor harvest indeed, with only women and children to plow and plant and tend the fields. No wonder Palthos was worried they’d starve. This might be the end of their tribe.

  “Papa,” said Garbi urgently. “Come on, they’re still fighting.”

  Androkles muttered a curse under his breath and got moving again. Why were they still fighting? Couldn’t they see the fire?

  The terrain along the mountain ridge was rocky and unpleasant, but fortunately it wasn’t much farther. Androkles heard the fighting long before he saw any of it. The screams of men and beasts rolled across the rocks and down into the valley below, accompanied by other sounds that Androkles couldn’t place. Deep howls, mostly, and one or two short, painful shrieks that stung his skin.

  They reached a sloping clearing and the rear of the Allobrogian cavalry came into view. Androkles quickly estimated they were perhaps a thousand strong, but a good count was impossible because they didn’t stand with any sort of organization. He guessed they’d started out as a small warband, but after finding the Night People, they crammed into the area without any proper formation.

  The Night People occupied the other end of the clearing, and there were far fewer of them. The comparison against the horses made their number look even smaller than it was, but they were dramatically outnumbered. A few hundred, no more. The battle line was much closer to their side.

  A sizable group of monsters and nightmare creatures had joined the Allobrogians near the center of the battle. Apparently Flower hadn’t gotten rid of them all with his fear song earlier. They were not doing much, but it was too far to tell for sure. It seemed the Night People were doing a good job keeping enough spears pointed in their direction to stop them.

  All along the battle line, the two armies left a bit of distance between them, telling him the real fight hadn’t started yet. Although, these were not Laophileans. They might not fight like a boulder rolling downhill, crushing inexorably forward until the day was won. They might fight in skirmish after skirmish instead, stepping back to regroup each time. Barbarians had odd ideas about warfare sometimes.

  Dyana motioned for everyone to hush and duck down out of view. Once they leaned in, she said, “Okay, Garbi, you and Sheth go first. Poppy can take you like he did before, right?”

  Garbi reached down and Poppy lifted his nose for her to pat and licked her hand like a dog. Somehow, he did all that without poking anyone with his massive rack of horns. “He’s still fine,” she said.

  “Good. Master Androkles, you will want to wait for her to get back to safety on the other side before you, uh, announce yourself. You might start a stampede and we don’t want her in the way,” said Dyana, trying to find the right balance between confident and respectful.

  He cracked a slight smile, thinking how much fun it would be watching her learn some manners; but then he remembered it would be Agurne and Garbi teaching her and lost the smile. Garbi had only a half measure of feminine humility, and Agurne had none at all.

  Shaking his head, he admitted, “My killing intent is all used up. I’m going to have to drive them off the normal way.”

  Garbi looked concerned at that but wasn’t quite sure what he meant.

  Dyana said, “Hm. I don’t know if we have time for you to recover, and I’m running low as well. I’ve been trying to cycle as we walked but I need another couple hours at least.”

  “It comes back?” asked Androkles. It hadn’t yet occurred to him whether it would or would not return, but it was a relief all the same.

  Dyana looked at him quizzically. “You don’t know? Then how did… Well, never mind that. I can still fight my way through. Can you?”

  He scowled. “Can I? Who do you think I am?” He immediately felt foolish, but she hadn’t heard the conversation with the King. But even if she had, he’d won. There was no question who he was.

  To be fair, it was not certain that he could make it through. His ribs were still broken and he felt drained in a way he couldn’t express. His calf stung from that deep stab that filled his shoe with blood, and too many of the demon’s claws had made it into muscle when they grabbed him.

  But his wife and sons were on the other side, and since Garbi didn’t have it on her, so was all his money. There was no question that he was getting through.

  A deep rumble from inside the earth vibrated up through his ankles. Loud, but so low it was almost beyond hearing. It sounded… eager. Pleased. Like the sound one made at finding one last grape hidden behind a cup that he didn’t know was there.

  “I suppose we better hurry,” he said dryly.

  The Hewer was getting much closer now and everyone knew it. The Allobrogian horses stopped moving and hung their tails low. They stared this way and that with widened eyes and flared nostrils. The riders hesitated, unwilling to risk losing control and being thrown.

  “Papa?” said Garbi, fear creeping into her little voice.

  “Alright, we don’t even have time to fight a battle. Garbi, take Poppy around the army like you were planning on, but when you get there, tell Agurne and Natuak to get ready for a retreat. We have to get out of here.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “I can see him,” said Sheth softly. He had his head turned south, toward the forest and smoke. “He’s big.”

  “I’ve driven off something big before, Seffy. I can do it again,” said Dyana.

  Androkles nearly spat. He said, “Not like this you haven’t. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You weren’t there to see the thing I fought, Master Androkles,” said Dyana stubbornly.

  He shook his head and felt the cold sweat drip down his forehead. Another rumble shook his feet and he pictured the immense arms of dirt sweeping up screaming men by the dozen, then mashing them into sausage filling between his teeth. Gods send he could resist the old Titan’s presence this time and keep his wits. He doubted it, though. No one could.

  That memory resonated with the approaching Titan himself and Androkles felt his fingers start to tremble. His face went taut. His heart beat loudly. Gods, gods, please, not yet, let me keep my wits for just a bit more.

  Dyana may not have felt it herself yet, but she must have seen how affected he was. She hastily dropped the point and moved on. “Garbi, go, like he said. We’ll catch up soon. Go, girl. Sheth can help everyone get away, since he can see it coming.”

  Garbi looked at Androkles, and he said, “Give me a kiss, girl.”

  She shook her head and said, “No. Later. When you come.” She looked at him sternly to ensure he got the point.

  He got the point. “Fine,” he snorted.

  Garbi gave him one last glance, then looked forward. Poppy moved on his own, bursting suddenly from their hiding place behind the shrubbery and charging directly for the horsemen. Before Androkles could shout, the stag leaped ten feet in the air and started bouncing his way across the cavalry, jumping off men and horses with such easy grace that all Androkles could do was stare.

  Androkles realized he should’ve asked the little demon boy to point and tell him how far the Hewer was. Oh well.

  “Let’s get going, Dyana,” he said. “Focus on scaring the horses. Got it? They’re already eager to flee.”

  “Got it,” she said. She rose, shook her hands a few times to loosen her fingers, made fists, and charged forward.

  Androkles stood and lumbered after her with a shout. The closest riders were startled and panicked, yanking the reins to turn the horses, but they were too hasty and the animals would have none of it. The beasts bucked and two riders were thrown to the ground. No fewer than ten charged off in all directions, which scared even more of them.

  Dyana left a trail of chaos for him to follow. She slapped horses, screamed in their ears, kicked or jabbed them in the ribs. The army collapsed around her, men thrown to the ground or left hanging on in terror as their mount charged for the forest or the mountainside.

  Androkles followed close behind, using his spear as a goad in every horse he could reach. They did not appreciate the treatment, bucking up or racing away each time he drew their blood.

  Cacophony filled the air as the crowd of men began to open in front of them. Countless horsemen lost control completely and the rest tried desperately to get out of the way, but their efforts just made it worse. The horses would not be calmed.

  In all the chaos, he only realized they’d broken the forward line when he stumbled into the short patch of open ground and instinctively drew back to let a fist the size of a wine-pot whistle past his nose.

  Androkles stabbed in the direction it had come before he even looked to see what owned it. He felt the spear punch deep into flesh, a foot or more. Yanking it away, he ducked beneath another fist, then slipped to the side to avoid a kick from a foot the size of a sheep. Androkles stabbed at it again, and this time it moved its disgusting, long, spindly leg out of the way and crept back a bit.

  They’d come out of the Allobrogians right next to the clump of monsters. That was the hazard of following Dyana, he supposed. Fool girl.

  He had been mistaken about one thing, though. The monsters were not fighting for the Allobrogians. It took him only an instant to realize that the two armies had trapped the monsters between them, and neither side wanted them to get any closer. The soldiers of both armies were packed in thicker here than anywhere else.

  A shockwave came up from the ground, echoing down into the valley like a single clap of thunder. Allobrogians and Night People shook and squatted down as one. The horde of monsters cowered as well and raised a cry of their own, screaming out in tones that went higher and lower than Androkles could hear.

  From behind, a single, high, piercing note slammed into Androkles with physical force, burning every nerve in his body for a short, agonizing instant. He turned to see Flower above the crowd with his hands cupped around his mouth. The boy sat on Natuak’s shoulders, close behind the lines. Clever. An ogre stumbled to its knees right next to Androkles, then stood and ran the other direction, mindless of what he stepped on.

  Flower finally spotted him and shouted, “Papa!” and pointed excitedly. He got so ahead of himself that he nearly tumbled from Natuak’s shoulders trying to let everyone know. The poor boy must have been worried about him.

  Androkles winked at Flower, tipped his spear in salute to Natuak, and turned his attention to the Night People, whose ranks were losing their cohesiveness as they thought they saw an advantage, but it was far too early. For one, they were not organized for a push into enemy lines, and for two, the Hewer was still coming.

  “Hold the line!” he bellowed. “Stay back, stay together!”

  “Hold the line!” yelled Flower much more loudly, his high voice ringing like a hammer on thick brass. “Stay back, stay together!”

  The little rat looked awfully proud of himself when Androkles turned back to glance at him. Who needed a war horn?

  In proper fashion, Natuak’s demons stepped back into place and stood in tight formation.

  The Allobrogians heard it as well and finally got their horses back under control, after the damage he and Dyana had done crashing through. And now that he got a good look at the front of their formation, it wasn’t like any sort of line he was used to. The armies of the Glories would have smashed through it in an instant, but it seemed to be working here. Only men with longer iron swords or javelins sat in front, still upon their horses, swinging at anything that came close. The King’s beasts and the Night People seemed mostly held off by mere intimidation, since the horses were fond of rearing up to stamp on anything they didn’t like.

  To Androkles’ eyes, it looked like a maneuver for herding animals, not battle. Chase all the goats in from the fields and through the gate, or some such thing, and now that the net was closed, they weren’t sure what to do. Their usual tactic was swarming like bees.

  Androkles scanned both lines and the almond-shaped group of monsters in between them. Both armies were strongest in the middle, of course, and there was much to exploit around the edges. But for now, neither side dared rush in for a kill with the King’s monsters there. They only fought where the press of the crowds brought them together, and that only briefly before moving back.

  An ogre picked up a spindly crab-looking thing the size of a sheep and tossed it over the Night People line, then tried to chase in after it. Natuak’s demons didn’t fall for it, though, and the ogre fell back after getting stabbed in its skinny legs enough times. From how it moved its hands, it looked like it wanted to smash their heads but didn’t dare risk their horns.

  The women in back made short work of the crab-thing. He finally spotted Agurne in another section with a bloody knife in one hand and a pouch of herbs in the other. Apparently, that had not been the first tossed monster. Garbi and Seff were just reaching her, and of course Pepper was nowhere to be seen.

  Another tremor shook the earth, worse than before. Androkles kept his balance with his spear, but a nearby clump of Night People weren’t so lucky. One tripped and brought down several more in his attempt to keep his feet. Fortunately, the Allobrogian horsemen opposite them were focused on getting their frightened horses to stop dancing and couldn't make use of the opening before the demons got back up.

  Androkles noticed that the Night People had wound the ends of their long, thin tails together to make a rope that ran the length of the line. The boys did that almost any time they walked or sat next to each other, but it made him wonder if they could signal maneuvers that way. One of them gives a tug and they all feel it. Two tugs to step forward, three to step back… How fast could they wind and unwind them? If they could split the army into sections and move in two directions at once, they’d make a fearsome little band of hoplites. He’d have to ask them someday.

  A blazing tree the size of a trireme flew over both armies and halfway down the mountain on the far side, stopping everyone in their tracks. The entire battlefield fell silent, all shouting and clanging ceased. Shortly behind it, fifty clumps of dirt the size of horses erupted from the burning forest and dappled the battlefield with their shadows.

  The Hewer roared, a long, deep tone full of crashing gravel. His head of earth peeked at them over the tree line from a short distance southward and the poison of his presence fell into the area like ocean water, suffocating all thought.

  His eyes were empty caverns of shadow colored only by the drifting sand falling from his brows. Dog-sized rocks dripped and rolled from his bald head in mimicry of sweat. Stones bigger than doors made up his teeth, bare in a hungry grin.

  If Androkles had been more ready for it, he might have had enough willpower to abandon everything and run. Instead, shock nailed his feet to the stone and held him immobile for just long enough that a fairy’s portion of reason returned to him before he could move.

  Fight. They had to fight. Fight. Fight! They could never get away now. They had to give the Hewer what he wanted, or die. He pushed against his fear with all his might. It budged.

  He raised his spear and gave a half-hearted war cry. It was all he could do beneath the Hewer’s smothering presence, and it wasn’t enough. The demons were catatonic, every silver eye glassy and empty.

  On the other side, most of the Allobrogian horses simply died, or perhaps just fell unconscious. Androkles heard the shuffling sounds of them falling, heard a few pops of legs breaking where they pinned their riders.

  The Hewer’s mouth opened, a cavern into the deepest abysses of all creation. He called out his demand, and it rumbled up from the earth and was felt in the knees before it was heard in the ears. It came as something more primal than words, as whatever came before thought, but its meaning was clear: FIGHT.

  Androkles gasped under the spiritual pressure of the Hewer’s will. Even if he’d still had all his killing intent, there was no resisting this. One could easier resist a thousand bolts of lightning, resist a drought. A landslide. He could feel it crushing him body and spirit. It even caused an ache in the empty place that once held the miasma before Wolfscar let it out.

  “Fight,” muttered Androkles. His tongue was too dry to speak and it came out a rasp. “To war…”

  “Androkles, my friend, what shall we do?” said Natuak, calm and unaffected. On his shoulders, Flower sat upright. The boy’s eyes darted everywhere, seeing everything and nothing. He’d made water on the old demon’s shirt.

  Seeing Natuak unaffected hit Androkles almost like a slap, shaking his mind further awake. He had the presence of mind to say, “We have to fight a war. He came to watch a war.”

  A sharp pain in his heart made Androkles hunch over and clasp at his shirt. He groaned. The empty space, the miasma vessel, burned. He could feel a tiny handprint there like a puncture wound. Whatever Wolfscar had done was not yet fully healed.

  He lifted his head and shook it to try and focus. Natuak furrowed his brow in concern, but he kept calm.

  Androkles reached forward with trembling fingers and took Flower’s hand. “Flower! Flower, boy, look at me. Look at my face. Up here. Flower, wake up. I need your voice!”

  The light slowly returned to his son’s wild eyes. Androkles watched the golden irises shift as he regained the ability to focus, watched as their motion calmed. Watched as they filled with fury. Watched as Flower took a deep breath and braced himself, unable to contain his emotion.

  Androkles had the presence of mind to grab the boy’s chin and redirect his scream, but only barely. It was a close thing. It made no sound that Androkles could hear, but his mind swam in it, nearly carried away in a dream. Defiance. Raw, unconstrained defiance. Flower’s scream made waves in the air that hit the Hewer in the face, shaking more sand loose from his brow. It also shook the last of the fog from Androkles’ mind, turning his mood from fear to anger.

  The titan chuckled and lifted more of himself from the earth. Shoulders of dirt and stone emerged and pushed into the air, creating another roaring earthquake. Blazing trees fell from the rising earth and crashed into the ground. His face was high up as the statue atop a temple, but only exposed to his armpits. The sheer immensity made Androkles’ head swim with vertigo.

  Flower hissed, “I’m not Old Flower!” The boy trembled with rage, and Androkles got the impression that he wasn’t fully here yet.

  “No one thinks you’re the boy you were. Wake up, boy. Flower!”

  “New Flower won’t die from being scared!” said Flower, baring his fangs. Androkles could see the lights in his eyes dancing as the boy fought his way to full alertness.

  “Listen up. When we get to Dikaia, I’m giving you another name. Got it? Another name. A new one. Then you won’t be Flower at all,” said Androkles, shaking him gently.

  Flower’s stupor fell from him all at once. “Really?” he asked, eyes wide.

  “Yes.”

  You’re not old Flower and I’m not young Androkles, he thought to himself, trying to force a dark grin. The Hewer’s presence made all motion feel like he was swimming in heavy water and his injuries weren’t helping. His arms had torn their stitches in too many places and his broken ribs had a wet heat to them that made him nervous. The gods knew how much blood he’d lost to all those demon claws. This must be what being old felt like—hard to move, and everything hurts.

  “Alright, Flower, I need your voice, got it? You have to stay with me and stay alert,” said Androkles, gripping his spear more tightly out of instinct. The battlefield was still, with every man subdued by fear of the Hewer, but that wouldn’t last.

  He added, “Natuak, would you keep carrying him so his voice carries better?”

  Natuak’s face took on a note of urgency and he said, “Androkles, my friend, I am not sure that is our wisest option. I think that we have reached the end of a long road.”

  “What, here? Do you see a road anywhere, old man?” said Androkles, even though he suspected he knew where the Elder was going with this.

  “For the sake of our friendship, Androkles, please hear what I have to—”

  “Stop that. I’m not grabbing a few of your children and running away. That’s what you’re about to ask, isn’t it?”

  The Elder’s face betrayed the deep emotions he was doing his best to keep hidden. Just a flash of defeat and misery, but Androkles saw it. Natuak said, “Please, my friend. I know of this god and he will not let us go. He is Calamity, is he not? The All-Consuming?”

  The Hewer had no patience for their conversation and bellowed loud enough for the clouds to shake and make waves. FIGHT. The hollow caverns of his eyes drifted over the battlefield.

  Natuak lifted Flower down from his shoulders and nudged him toward Androkles. The boy’s eyes were sparkling with eagerness, no doubt dreaming what his new name would be. Androkles started to wonder if that had been the wrong approach to keeping Flower alert.

  The Elder begged, “Please. Save our little ones. Take all you can. Take them all and go. We will fight until we are eaten, and this is well. Save also the buried ones in the field of stones and be a father to my people, my only friend. Do so for respect to Palthos, if pity for me cannot move your heart.”

  Androkles said, “You haven’t got the measure of me, if you think I’m a man who runs before he has to.”

  “A man who runs would not have so many scars, I think. But I know you keep your oaths above all else, and I know of your oath to buy back your property in your City. If you stay here and die, it will not be kept. I also know Palthos himself is preserving you and your family. If anyone has a hope of escaping Calamity, it is you and those can take with you. Please, I beg you, let that include our little ones. There is no other hope. Only your oath and the favor of your god,” said Natuak.

  The man was trying his best to remain dignified, probably because he thought that was how Laophileans were supposed to act. But no matter how he struggled to hide it, the despair at the edges couldn’t be kept away completely.

  The Elder saw him hesitating and said, “Please, please, go.”

  Well, if he was going to put it that way. Androkles knew the old demon had a good point, no matter how much fleeing would sting his pride. All of this was in pursuit of his oath, after all, and he had everything he needed to complete it. The gods had placed the demons in his path to protect his family while he fought the King, hadn’t they? And if not, it didn’t matter why or how. There was no escaping the Hewer. Not for most of them. It was either a few of them, or none at all.

  “I made the King suffer and die, Natuak. I’ll tell you that much. He died in shame and pain. Your vengeance has already been won, and I’ll make sure your little ones never forget your sacrifice,” said Androkles. He turned and tugged Flower’s shirt. “Come on, Flower. Stop daydreaming.”

  Strangely, he felt very little over the decision. No heaviness, no lightness. No relief or regret. Nothing. That made it worse. He wished he felt at least a little guilt. Perhaps he was simply too drained right now and he’d feel it later. Mourn Natuak, at least.

  Natuak said, “I cannot thank you as you deserve, my friend.” The despair in him seemed to be fading, replaced by the determination. Or perhaps simple relief to know he had done all he could, and his rest was soon to come.

  Androkles grabbed Flower’s hand and yanked him along, hurrying through the ranks of terror-stunned Night People toward Agurne, since hopefully the children were over there as well.

  Before he could reach her, one of the ogres awoke from its terror and rose to stand at full height. Seeing the Night People unresponsive, it gave a guttural chuckle and lightly stepped over the front lines. It kicked away two men with a single swipe of its feet, then kept moving back through the thin ranks of men toward the women.

  Alone in all the crowd, Garbi was in motion. She bounced along with her stag, arcing high in the air toward the grinning ogre. Seff was no longer with her, and she stood with her arms folded like a sculpture of a god riding a cloud.

  “Garbi, stop! Wait!” he yelled. She was getting far too close to the ogre, gods curse her.

  She ignored him. Poppy got within arm’s reach of the monstrosity and leaped up gracefully when it tried to grab them. It tried again, this time reaching for her, but Poppy danced back and took her just out of reach.

  “Garbi! Get away, girl! Garbi!” he screamed. Gods, not like this! Not now! Whatever emotion he had lacked a moment before had returned a thousand times. Terror filled him, made all the worse by the Hewer’s poisonous presence.

  Poppy stopped and the ogre paused as well. The nightmare and his little girl simply looked at each other for a moment.

  “GARBI!” he screamed, his voice tearing, fighting his way toward her.

  The little girl reached her hand forward, and the ogre reached his long arm out for her.

  “GARBI!” shouted Flower, louder than a screaming eagle. The wildness in the boy’s heart colored his voice with chaotic terror.

  She didn’t even turn her head. The tiny girl rested her hand calmly on the tip of the ogre’s outstretched finger for a moment. A moment of perfect stillness, frozen like a painting on wood, and then the ogre leaned down—Androkles’ heart stopped beating in his chest—

  And kissed her hand. She withdrew it, her golden hair igniting in a bright, glorious orange as a ray of colored sun somehow made it through the smoke and found her. The ogre stood to full height. It glanced at Androkles, then stepped back. Poppy stepped past the ogre, moving toward the rest of the nightmare beasts.

  The ogre followed her, standing close by. Protective.

  Androkles stumbled and nearly fell, too distracted to pay attention to where he was going. He had to reach her, pull her away to safety before that thing took her head off in one bite.

  Her presence seemed to slowly wake the rest of the monsters. They shook themselves and appeared more active; the ones with eyes opened them, blinked, and looked around. Garbi held her hand out again, and a moment later another ogre stepped forward and kissed her hand. Then another, and another, like supplicants before a throne and Garbi their Queen. Or perhaps Princess. Wolfscar sat happily on her shoulder, as if this was not all completely insane.

  His fragile little daughter turned to glance at him and he felt her power, her love. The mysterious way of witches that Agurne had taught her, a power like the opposite of his anger. It had been a while—months—but his soul remembered it. Pure, innocent, and undeniable. Had she always had so much, or had it grown in the meantime?

  Then she turned back and held her hand out for the next nightmare creature to adore.

  When he and Flower got within twenty paces of her, her love was strong enough to blot out the choking poison of the Hewer’s presence. A weight came off his shoulders and it felt his mind finally cleared, even though he’d been fine before.

  Agurne wasn’t far behind, either, running in from the other direction, face bright red from effort and bouncing frantically as she went. She was not made for running.

  Another ogre bowed to his little girl, then another. Other unnamed creatures approached and she acknowledged each one, blessing them with the privilege of having her hand upon them. Things with two heads or no heads, things with five legs, creatures that looked like balls of putrid hair; if they were not tall enough, the stag lowered her down to reach them.

  Not all the monsters were coming to her, though. It seemed roughly half were heading northward, down the mountain, and leaving the battle behind. They seemed almost aimless, like they were wandering in the same direction but without any goal.

  The others, the ones that remained, waited and adored little Garbi, standing on her stag. Near-human emotions spread across misshapen faces, and things without faces leaned toward her. They were hideous, and he hated seeing them so close to her. Hated seeing them at all. But what was he supposed to do about it?

  The Hewer roared again, and a moment later a boulder the size of an ox flew overhead, followed by several more. Androkles hardly noticed.

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  Finally reaching his side, Agurne was as shocked as he was. They looked at each other, their faces perfectly blank.

  “Papa,” said Garbi. “Papa?”

  He hadn’t realized she’d paused.

  “What?”

  “The King is gone, so these ones will fight for me now. I’m ready, Papa. Tell us how to win.” His daughter, barely eight years old and so skinny you couldn’t see her if she turned sideways, set her brow against the Allobrogians and crossed her arms.

  “We…” he opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. We can’t fight. We have to run.

  He looked back toward Natuak. The man was hurrying down the line, slapping his people out of their stupor. Then across at the Allobrogians, hundreds and more, all well-armed and riding horses. The Night People’s best shot had been a careful retreat. They had no chance of winning, and now not even a retreat would save them.

  Still, he felt unsettled now. The decision was made, but… He looked out over the field of battle again. Considering. Measuring. Planning, plotting, thinking. He pictured a strategy in his mind, then another. Then a third. He glanced at the Hewer, felt the terror of the titan’s presence smothering them all.

  There was a way.

  Agurne slumped over to rest her hands on her knees and pant and Flower stepped over to put his hand on her shoulder and make sure she was okay.

  Androkles asked, “Where’s Pepper?”

  “He’s watching… the other… children,” she managed to say.

  Androkles looked back until he found Dyana, who was heading this way as well. He waved her over, and she crossed the remaining distance with a few of those inhuman leaps of hers.

  “Dyana, keep Garbi alive. Got it?”

  The youth nodded and made fists.

  “Agurne, a shield won’t do us any good because I’m all out of anger. Go where it pleases you,” he said.

  “I have an idea where,” she said, and shut her mouth to indicate that was all he was getting.

  Androkles said, “Flower, focus. Are you with me?”

  “Sorry, Papa, I was just thinking again.”

  “About your name?”

  “Yeah. Will you tell me what it is?”

  “No. And stop thinking about it for now. You stay close to me, but far enough back that you don’t get cut apart. I’ll protect you but you have to watch yourself. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, Papa!” said the boy with attempted seriousness. He unsheathed his fine Skythander-made knife from inside his shirt and stood ready. Courageous as ever, the little rat. His white hair and furry ears were an absolute mess of dirt and grime, but it only added to his charm. Androkles smiled slightly and thought what absolute idiots Flower’s old family had been, not to see his worth.

  “You’re going to be yelling or singing, not fighting. I hope. Be ready.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  Mostly to himself, Androkles muttered, “I hope you’re watching this, Palthos. It’s going to be a mess.”

  The faintest whisper returned on the wind, almost imperceptible over the grumbling earth. What else would I be doing, silly?

  Flower tilted his head and perked an ear up, which told Androkles the whisper may have been real, which was reassuring. May have been.

  “All right, Garbi. Here’s what we need. Those things have to stay together because if they spread out, they’ll be too easy to kill. Together, no one will dare charge them. Got it? They’re scary together, and it gives the Night People room to fight. The only way we win, is if we hit the Allobrogians so hard that they flee,” said Androkles.

  “Well, they will run away, because we are the Agapatheids!” said Garbi, with such angry confidence that he almost grinned.

  “Yes, we are. Wake them up, Flower. Wake everybody up,” said Androkles.

  “Yes, Papa,” said Flower. He grew calm and his eyes went glassy. He opened his mouth and began singing, a simple melody of clear notes that rose in volume—

  The sun overhead exploded, showering down flaming masses in every direction. Androkles saw them approaching from a height beyond reasoning, falling, hurtling down to crush everything. Panic filled him—

  Androkles blinked twice. It took him a second to realize what had happened, but everyone he could see had been slapped awake by the vision.

  Flower shut his mouth. Then he opened it again and quietly said, “I had that nightmare.”

  The Hewer roared in response, a sound that flattened trees. His stone face grew angry and he rose even higher from the ground, exposing half his chest. He lifted his arms and they came up as vines of rock thicker than a road, long and snaking in the air like tendrils. Hands formed at the ends, which the Hewer raised over the battlefield, casting half the mortals below in shadow. FIGHT. The threat was clear—he was ready to start smashing.

  “Garbi, charge! Flower, yell everything I say from now on. Demons, kill the riders, not the horses! Charge, men! Now, now!”

  Garbi settled her gaze upon the enemy. She pointed her arm and the swarm of monsters frenzied and rushed the Allobrogians in uncanny, terrifying silence.

  Flower repeated Androkles’ commands, and once the Night People saw the disarray the monsters caused, they took courage and charged in.

  The Allobrogians had regained their wits at the same time as the demons, but the horses refused to obey them. The animals shrunk away and trembled like dogs who heard thunder. The enemy lines were spaced for fighting on horseback, which left gaps everywhere, and with the horses standing still, that became a liability. More than half the Allobrogians had shields, but without being able to brace them together, they could only protect so much.

  Garbi’s monsters were effective, crushing everything in their path as they lumbered forward, but there were only so many of them. What surprised Androkles was the effectiveness of the Night People. They were used to this kind of skirmishing, it seemed, and timed their attacks perfectly as they darted into the gaps, took a swipe at a horseman, and darted back out again.

  In the space of three breaths, the first line of Allobrogians was torn off their horses and ripped apart. The riderless mounts danced backward in fear and confusion, further disrupting the formation.

  Androkles moved forward at a quick walk, not a run; he would be part of the fight but not caught up in it. He had to be ready to command. Fortunately, his arms and spear were long, and with two demons distracting a rider, punching a hole in an enemy chest took little effort.

  It was also fortunate that the Night People were too short to see far enough into the Allobrogians to appreciate how many there were.

  “You men on the ends, fold in! Fold in as a wedge!” he shouted raising his spear high in the air and trying to gesture.

  Flower repeated the commands with a yell loud enough to feel like needles in Androkles’ ears. His high voice rang above the din of battle and soon enough, the shaggy ends of the Night People line slowed and tightened, creating a respectable arc with the center point following the monsters.

  Androkles knew the shape of this battle. They had to split the Allobrogians in two, make them feel like their numbers were far less than they were. Make them feel like they were losing. The Hewer’s presence was inescapable, like having someone stand on your chest; the primal terror it caused was enough to make anyone flee, given a reason. Or even without one. They just had to give the Allobrogians a reason.

  The Hewer withdrew his meadow-sized hands and laughed, pleased to see the fighting start again. His laughter made the earth roll, giving Androkles the first hints of seasickness.

  Garbi’s monsters fought their way forward. An ogre clasped his hands and swung them upward, catching a horse in the chest and tossing it and the rider twenty feet backward. Another shot his long, spindly arm forward and grabbed an Allobrogian by the head, spun him in the air to wring his neck, and used what was left of him as a flail to crush another right off his horse.

  The smaller ones were just as deadly but harder to watch. Androkles could only find them from a tall spurt of blood out of nowhere, or a man screaming and disappearing toward the ground.

  The Night People darted in and goaded horses or worked in pairs to block and stab at the same time. Always jumping in fearlessly and back out again, keeping their lines orderly. He wasn’t sure where they found the rhythm or discipline for it; they couldn’t exactly keep their tails twined, darting in and out like that.

  Thank the gods, leaving the horses alive did what Androkles hoped. Some stood where they were or wandered, and those successfully got in the way of the others. Some bolted in unpredictable directions, often backward into the Allobrogian army. There wasn’t much behind the first few lines of Night People, so it didn’t matter if they crossed that way.

  He soon spotted Agurne chasing down horses behind the battle lines and calming them. He wasn’t sure how she did it since she wasn’t even tall enough for them to notice her half the time, but she had the reins of two in her hands. Their heads were dipped low to hers, and she was whispering something in their ears. Probably something comforting, like “the Hewer doesn’t eat horses”. Androkles suspected she’d had other plans in mind a moment ago, but this was good.

  He grinned when it occurred to him that he could soon brag about having a wife who stole horses right off a battlefield. Who could imagine such a thing?

  The Hewer’s laugh rang up through the earth again, a sound felt in the knees before it was heard in the ears. The rotten pox of a titan was sounding happier and happier.

  Natuak appeared, having made his way over. His dull, silvery eyes burning with anger, frustration, or both, as he approached Androkles. “What are you doing? You must go! You must take the little ones before Calamity swallows us into the earth!”

  Androkles was surprised the man hadn’t come earlier. He scowled down at the Elder and said, “I know, but I wanted to try this first. If it doesn’t work, then we’ll leave.”

  “What of the children?” hissed Natuak.

  “Pepper is watching them.”

  “And that should comfort me?”

  “No, it should tell you that I don’t know where they are. They are with Pepper. Do you see them anywhere?”

  Natuak stopped cold, mouth open as it dawned on him. The Elder seemed to age another decade as he peered around helplessly, unable to find the little ones. His long, pointy ears drooped and his tail dragged on the ground. The poor old demon looked like the only thing keeping him out of the grave was being too busy to die.

  Flower suddenly yelled for Garbi to watch out and Androkles turned just in time to see Dyana leap five feet into the air and swat away a javelin. If his daughter had seen the danger, she gave no reaction. It seemed she was totally focused on looking as regal as possible in front of her wretched army. Her movements were graceful and deliberate, perfectly balanced, and entirely out of place amidst the carnage all around her. Androkles’ heart ached out of fear for her, but she did inspire awe. That was certain.

  Androkles said, “We can talk about this later, Natuak. Now is not a good time.” He stepped forward and looked for another Allobrogian to stab, but the closest abandoned his horse and fled on foot before the Night People could catch him.

  A few paces to his left, two demons had caught a long woodsman’s axe and were trying to yank it away, but the Allobrogian was doing a good job holding on. Androkles’ spear punched through his teeth and clinked on the rear of his helmet, and down he went.

  A younger demon he thought he recognized jabbed one of his horns into a horse’s flesh to goad it. The beast bucked and kicked and caused all sorts of chaos before it finally managed to get out of the way, racing backward and disrupting the Allobrogians even further.

  Slowly but undeniably, the Night People pressed the Allobrogians apart, splitting their army into halves. Garbi’s monsters were doing most of the splitting, since the horsemen preferred to avoid them instead of being eaten, but the demons held steady and made sure the lines didn’t close again behind them.

  Unless something changed drastically, this battle would be over soon. Too many Allobrogians were losing their wits, turning to flee at full speed with incessant screams of terror and wild eyes. The more stalwart among them couldn’t use the horses to their advantage. It was far too easy for two or three Night People to team up on one rider. One or two to block, the third to kill. If the Allobrogians moved back and got a good cavalry charge going, it’d be a very different battle, but with luck it’d be over before they figured that out.

  “Keep together! Keep your lines!” Androkles shouted, and Flower repeated it loud as ever.

  The fight thickened. Some Allobrogians dismounted and stood between the horses to tighten their formation. In other places, the cavalry a rank or two behind the front tossed their javelins into the gaps, to great effect. Androkles watched four demons in different places get hit and go down at nearly the same time. The forward progress slowed, then stopped. Androkles felt the balance shifting.

  No, this wouldn’t do. Better to reform than get routed in a quick reversal.

  “Back twenty paces! All men back twenty paces, now!” he shouted. Flower repeated it.

  Androkles tried to keep himself from growing frantic as he watched the Night People do their best to disengage. Admirably, they rescued their own wounded when they went, and more than one paid for it with an injury to the back.

  After a short but tense interval, the horsemen ceased the fight to reform their own lines, mostly strengthening their numbers in the middle against the beasts, who had slowed their forward push but were still spilling plenty of blood.

  “Garbi, get back! Pull them back!” shouted Androkles. Flower repeated it.

  The girl lifted her hand toward the sky, palm up. Poppy turned and carried her back in toward Androkles, and the monsters soon broke and followed.

  “Papa, did we do good?” she asked, once she got close enough.

  He sighed. “We are alive, and so are most of the Night People. It’s as good as we can hope for right now.”

  Poppy the Stag turned its sneering eye to regard Androkles with clear disdain, and Androkles scowled right back at the cursed animal. Gods, why couldn’t she have found a friendlier—

  The poison of the Hewer’s presence thickened. Everyone felt it and the battlefield hushed grew still in dread. The earth roared, an overpowering sound that drowned everything else out and the Hewer rose even further up from the ground. His fists raised higher than the moon.

  Androkles’ heart failed him. Gods, no, we were just reforming!

  The great titan screamed in fury and slammed his fists down onto the battlefield.

  The force of impact nearly knocked Androkles unconscious. A crater erupted in the thick of the Allobrogian army, throwing earth and blood and tangled flesh a dozen paces in every direction. Androkles turned to see what had happened to the demons, but too much dust hung in the air to make much out. The air was quickly filling with it, reducing vision to a few paces.

  There would be no battle now. Now there was only death.

  “Run for your lives!” shouted Androkles.

  The titan raised his fists from the ground, and Androkles heard wet thuds as things dripped off them. Panic overtook everyone, the soul-deep panic that no man could resist.

  “Hey!” shouted Wolfscar. Somehow, his high-pitched bird voice carried over the rising cacophony. “Hey, stop that!”

  The tiny fairy darted up from Garbi’s shoulder and shook his fist at the titan, an image which would have been comical under other circumstances.

  “Garbi, flee! Go, girl, go! Dyana, get her out of here!” shouted Androkles.

  Wolfscar shouted, “Papa, what do we do?” He darted over and stopped an arm’s length from Androkles’ face. He trembled and jerked frantically in the air, his tiny face all scrunched up in fear.

  “We flee. I already said!”

  “But I don’t want to!”

  “Then go tell the Hewer to knock it off!” shouted Androkles angrily. No sooner had the words left his lips than he realized he shouldn’t have.

  Wolfscar’s demeanor calmed. His purple eyes got a little wider as his mind took hold of a very bad idea.

  “Wait, don’t—!” said Androkles, but it was too late. “Come back!”

  Wolfscar shot faster than an arrow toward the Hewer. Androkles nearly wept, knowing he would have to watch his dear little friend die.

  Wolfscar crossed the great distance and stopped a few paces away from the Hewer’s face, where he hovered. This far away, Androkles couldn’t see what was going on, but from how the little star twinkled he imagined the fairy was scolding him fiercely.

  “Get out of there, Wolfscar,” he begged.

  But the fairy didn’t flee. Confusion seeped in to take the place of animalistic terror, and Androkles realized along with everyone else that the thick oppression of the Hewer’s malice was retreating. Through the dust, every eye in the battlefield turned toward the Hewer and fixed on little Wolfscar. He glowed like a morning star in front of a giant being older than the gods.

  Garbi clung to Androkles’ bear-fur coat with both hands and begged, “Papa, save him! Save my Wolfscar! Oh, oh!” He hadn’t even noticed the stag carrying her over here. She moaned, too desperate to weep.

  What could he do? What could he even say? “If I can,” was all he could manage. His heart was breaking.

  Cracks and groans and rumbles echoed across the field and down the mountain as the Hewer replied to whatever Wolfscar was telling him. They seemed to be having quite the conversation up there.

  Androkles had no need to tell everyone to flee—they realized at the same time he did that the Hewer was distracted and they had a chance. Natuak appeared in the mix, directing his tribe to carry this person, or put that one on one of Agurne’s horses, and so on.

  He couldn’t flee himself, though, not yet. Not while despair kept his feet rooted to the spot. Not until he saw what would happen to his poor little Wolfscar.

  Flower took Androkles’ other hand and hugged it, heedless off all the blood and torn stitches. Androkles gripped him back tightly.

  “And which hand am I going to hold?” complained Agurne. She squeezed in between Androkles and Garbi, taking his hand in hers and hugging the girl with her other arm.

  “Well? Can any of us bear to watch this?” she sighed.

  Androkles squeezed her hand and said, “Get ready to run. Just as soon as we… see what happens.”

  “If I’d known what I’d have to put up with to get you between my knees, I would have stayed in Basket and been a forest witch.”

  He grinned and glanced down at her. Her eyes sparkled back up at him. By Erastria, he was far too fond of her.

  His grin died too quickly, though. “Where’d Pepper take all the children?”

  “He and a few of the women headed down the mountain. I don’t think they went far.”

  Wolfscar danced in the air, bouncing this way and that.

  The Hewer’s face lost a bit of its shape, collapsing down. One of the Titan’s eye-holes collapsed, great rocks crashing down a hundred feet into the ruined forest floor. Gasps and shouts filled the air.

  The Hewer came apart piece by piece. Great boulders and mounds of dirt came free and rolled away, crashing into the trees. His arms sank down to the earth and became long hills that encircled the battlefield. If the titan had arisen from the ground any closer to the battlefield, every living person might have been crushed by landslides.

  The last of the Hewer collapsed, leaving a tremendous, unmoving featureless mound of dirt.

  Androkles was stunned.

  All at once, every living soul on the field gave a shout of triumph. Exultation lifted Androkles high into the air, it seemed, and he grabbed Agurne in both arms and spun her in a circle, unable to stop shouting. Flower jumped up and down, screaming with the normal voice of a child. Even Dyana raised both fists and cheered as loud as she could.

  Their cries echoed against the sky and returned to them doubled. Natuak fell to his knees, great sobs shaking his chest. He was soon swarmed by dozens of his people, some cheering, others unable to make a sound.

  The Allobrogians made their horses dance and leap. They raised their weapons in triumph and rode in circles but made no indication they wanted to keep fighting. Androkles suspected that if he walked over there and started hugging them, they’d welcome it.

  It took Garbi about five shouts, but he finally heard her. “Papa, Papa, look at Wolfscar!”

  He stopped and looked and saw not one but two day-stars drifting down toward them. His family stopped to marvel, but no one else in the crowd noticed.

  Another little fairy, another tiny blue child with insect wings, followed right behind. Wolfscar was not alone. They stopped a few feet away.

  Wolfscar said, “Okay, everyone, it’s okay now. He won’t do that anymore.”

  This was too much for Androkles to get his mind around, and he stared instead of replying.

  Only Garbi could speak. “Wolfscar, who is this?”

  The fairy blinked at her and said, “It’s obviously the Hewer.”

  Androkles nearly fainted. He felt light-headed enough to topple over. “What?” he managed to say.

  “He’s a… one of… a thing like me. So I told him he should stop being that big thing, and be a fairy instead for a while. He hasn’t turned young for a really long time, so it’s okay. And he will figure out how to talk soon. I said he should be a boy too, since he was sort of like a boy before, sort of, and that way we can be friends like Flower and Pepper. So look, he’s a boy,” said Wolfscar, pointing.

  The two tiny fairies were both naked, and both boys. The… Hewer’s skin was the same pale blue as Wolfscar’s, the same large violet eyes and hair. His face was devoid of malice, filled instead with wide-eyed curiosity and an eager half-smile. But they looked more like brothers than twins, now that he had two of them to compare.

  Dyana asked, “What’s his name?”

  Wolfscar had no immediate answer, so he stuck his fingertip in his mouth and chewed on it while he thought.

  Androkles said, “Hold on. One more time.” All the joyous shouting everywhere made it hard to think. “He—” he said, pointing at the new fairy, “was that?” He pointed at the tremendous mound of dirt.

  “I just said that, Papa. I’m one of him and he’s one of me. We’re the same kind of thing. Except that I’m a fairy, and I was a flower before, and before that I was something old. But he was a big and old thing for a really long time, so there was only one like him. But now he’s a fairy, so we’re both fairies. Well, we’ve always been fairies, kind of.”

  Androkles felt a headache coming on. All that terror, all those years of dread and nightmares, the death of Diokles, all of that had been a being like Wolfscar? A little fairy? Should he be scared right now? Could Wolfscar do all this if he wanted? It was unimaginable.

  Should he reach out and crush the new one to death in his hand? He’d never thought he’d get a chance at vengeance, but now…

  He carefully lowered himself to the ground and sat, unable to keep standing. He was too tired now for any of this. His body felt like a dried fruit.

  “Alright, Wolfscar. Is he dangerous?” said Androkles.

  “Oh, well, um, he doesn’t remember anything. And I think he forgot what words are, but soon he’ll remember again. Mostly he’s just happy to be here. And he’s my friend,” said Wolfscar, “and you owe me.”

  Androkles had nothing to say to that. And if he was honest with himself, he was too drained in every way to try and sort this out.

  Flower stepped in and held his hand right under the new fairy, and the little thing dropped the half-inch and stood. “Hello, Wolfscar’s friend. I’m Flower.”

  “Me too, Flower. Share him!” said Garbi, reaching in to try and snatch him away without making it obvious. Flower allowed it and she took the new fairy in both hands and held him up to get a better look at his face. “I’m Garbi. Can you say Garbi?”

  “She’s the Princess,” said Wolfscar.

  Agurne stepped in, needing to take a look as well. It was starting to get crowded, so Androkles stood and stepped away.

  The Night People seemed to be working up to some sort of celebratory dance, and the Allobrogians had mostly dismounted and were smacking their fists against their neighbor’s and shouting at each other.

  The King’s horde of nightmares were all slipping away like fog. Androkles watched for a moment. Each found a different spot to hunch down or crawl under, places like small dents in the ground or behind rocks that were too small to hide anything, and then disappeared like they’d found a cave opening. It was too uncanny to watch for long, so he looked away and did his best not to think about it anymore.

  Dyana looked a bit awkward, not quite sure where she fit in yet. She kept peeking over Agurne’s shoulder but from how she was leaning, it wasn’t a good enough angle for her.

  He said, “Dyana, come here a moment. Wait, no, stay there. Agurne. Agurne! Over here, foul woman. Take your eyes off them for a second and listen to me.”

  She ceased her cooing noises and gave him a dirty look.

  “Dyana is your handmaiden now, and she’ll be paid a wage from my funds, not your dowry. She’s a gift for you, so she’s part of the family. We’ll make it official as soon as I have my own hearth.”

  Agurne started waving an angry finger. “What? After everything she did for us? You can’t just make her—!”

  He interrupted, “I’m not making her do anything. She asked, you harpy. You don’t want her?”

  That shut her up.

  Androkles grinned and said, “Go on, give her a hug or something. Look how uncomfortable you’re making her. Such a cruel mistress. I would never have guessed.”

  Agurne raised her eyebrows, preparing an angry response, but she didn’t have anything good and couldn’t keep a smirk from breaking out. “You’re horrible.”

  Garbi beat Agurne to it, performing a full leap off her stag right into Dyana’s arms and squeezing her neck in a hug. “Today is such a good day!” said the little girl. Not exactly how Androkles would describe it, but he admired her enthusiasm and short memory.

  Agurne said, “Dyana, do you really want to come live with us?”

  “Yes, Master Agurne. I really, really do, and I promise not to run away this time,” said Dyana, bowing her head over Garbi’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about before. I just had a lot of things to sort out.”

  “Do you know what it means to be a handmaid in the Glories?” asked Agurne.

  “No idea,” said Dyana.

  “Me neither. I suppose we’ll have Garbi teach us to be noble ladies,” said Agurne. Then she added, “Your first task is to laugh at my jokes, girl.”

  Dyana got a gleam in her eye and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. Was the joke that you were capable of learning how?”

  Androkles grinned and left them to it. It felt good. Satisfied him, somehow, in some deep place, to know he had done something good for them that wasn’t just a promise for the future. Dikaia may still be far off, but Dyana was happening right now.

  And just as promising, he could feel a trickle of killing intent returning. The relief he felt surprised him. His whole body relaxed and his mind felt lighter and sharper, but he might have been imagining that.

  He stepped in among the dancing Night People, making no effort to dodge their horns and tails and hoping they all noticed him in time not to take out an eye. They did.

  “Natuak, my friend, I told you it was worth a try.”

  The Elder had a brighter smile on his face than Androkles had thought him capable of. The man’s cheeks were wet with tears and his age-dull silver eyes sparkled with youthfulness.

  “To think how I treated your boy, and then how you have treated us in return. You are the finest and most generous man I have ever known. To call you my friend is a greater honor than I can bear,” said the Elder.

  Androkles paused, unsure quite how to react. Natuak was right about him, of course, but it would never do to gloat in the face of sincerity. There would be time for drinking and boasts later.

  He said, “The god saw something in you worth saving, I suppose, and I just happened to be in the area. You and your people fought with skill and courage and deserve to live. But we have business, and there’s still a huge fire over there. First off, who will be Elder after you?”

  Natuak nodded and stood carefully, extricating himself from the tribesmen surrounding him. “The little one, Sheth, is a seer, and is greatly responsible for our good fortune. If he had not called for Dyana from beneath his rock, none of this might have happened. He has made you fond of him, and your family adore him. He will be Elder after me, and our friendship and prosperity shall continue to our children and grandchildren,” said Natuak, perhaps a bit louder than necessary so those nearby could hear it.

  Androkles nodded sagely. “He’s a good choice. He won’t get lost in the dark and fall in a well, for one. But shouldn’t the oldest person be the Elder?”

  “We had no elders before me. There is no tradition to call on,” said Natuak with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

  “Fine. Where is he? He should come with us.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Androkles pointed at the celebrating Allobrogians. “Over there.”

  The Elder nodded, but from the set of his face, he didn’t seem quite sure what Androkles had in mind. That was fine. It’d give Androkles another few minutes to figure it out himself.

  It only took Sheth a moment to arrive, his eye glowing and darting around in curiosity. He must not have gone far after Garbi dropped him off with his mother. Androkles held his hand out, the boy took it, and they made their way across the field of war.

  The Allobrogians jeered when they got close, making sport of them as part of the revelry. Shouted boasts and short chants seemed to be their manner of celebration. They shouted in each other’s faces, then exchanged mild punches or slaps, followed by laughter.

  Although the form of it was one he hadn’t seen before, the atmosphere was as familiar as it could be. He grinned and held a fist up in salute when it seemed appropriate. Strangely, he found he didn’t hate them, even though it seemed like he should. Their King had been a fearsome and admirable man with a noble, conquering spirit, loved by his gods, and the war was over now.

  Androkles decided this was far enough into their warband for the task he had. “Bring me your ranking officer!” he shouted. “Who has leadership here? Send him to me.”

  The Allobrogians quieted and led themselves and their horses away to make room, falling into a circle formation with weapons drawn. Many grinned, apparently eager to resume fighting. This was one reason time was short—with Garbi’s tamed monsters gone, it was only a matter of time before the Allobrogians compared their numbers again and made another charge.

  A man came forward with a fine gold necklace over his shirt of oiled iron chain. He was a bit shorter than his fellows but carried himself with such confidence he made others slouch instinctively. He removed his winged helmet and said, “I am Licnos the Short, son of Baludui, and I lead this band of men. Why are you here?”

  “I am he who your King called you out to hunt and kill. I am Androkles King-slayer, Giant-slayer, and God-slayer, son of Paramonos the Agapatheid of Dikaia. I slew a cyclops alone. I slew Mari, Goddess of Kelthuars, alone. I have crushed Cities and turned back empires. Your King called on his gods and received their blessings. Lightning came at his call. No sword could pierce his skin. I killed him anyway because I am stronger than he was and stronger than all the blessings of your gods. I alone killed your King and many of his berserkers. I have destroyed the armies of your people with fire. I burned them with this!”

  He gathered the tiny drop of killing intent that had trickled back into him and forced it into the spear. Thank the gods, the flawless metal burned red, then glowed white and radiated heat. He didn’t have enough left to do much else, though. He wasn’t going to be flattening these men with it any time soon. He stood tall, glaring down like a boulder just looking for an excuse.

  “Look to the forest and see the result of starting a war against Androkles. The ashes of my enemies blot out the sun. That fire has consumed them all. See also the mountain left behind by the Hewer. He fled from me and will never return. He will never again bless any whose foot rests on these lands, no matter how they sacrifice and pray. Of your mighty hordes, only you are left. I am here to discuss the terms of your surrender,” he declared.

  So far so good. Androkles nursed a spark of satisfaction into a small flame, seeing how easily all that had rolled off his tongue. He certainly deserved a good boast.

  Their good spirits and enthusiasm dimmed. He could just imagine how he looked—like he’d just chased a pack of wolves into a sausage grinder and come out on the other side wearing their skins. That, and taller than the horses, carrying a magic spear that burned with sorcerous fire.

  Licnos, the leader, lost only a portion of his bluster. He looked Androkles up and down and said, “You are here with an old man and a child, and think to make us surrender?”

  Androkles grinned with predatory hunger and said, “I don’t need an army to kill you all. Just an excuse. This is Natuak, the ruler of the Night People, and the little one here is Sheth, who will be their King. The Elder is my friend and his people are under my protection. I have brought them so I don’t have to explain the terms twice.”

  Licnos licked his lips nervously until he realized what he was doing and stopped. “We will hear the terms. Then I will discuss with my brothers, and we will decide together.”

  “Good. That is wise. Let’s get right to it, because I don’t want the wind to change direction and choke us to death on that smoke. I’m going to tell you how it’s going to be, and you’re going to accept, and we’re all going to get out of here as fast as we can.”

  Androkles paused, and looking around, it seemed he had their full attention. The fools could end him right now with a couple javelins, but they didn’t know that.

  “All right. I don’t know how many men died in that fire, but I guess that it was somewhere between thirty and forty thousand. That means thirty thousand fields with no man to plow them. How much grain do you think that will cost you? How many hungry nights, and how many deaths?

  “Lucky for you, my god appeared to me on the road and said he didn’t want all the new widows and orphans to starve, and neither do I. I am not the one who declared this war, but I am the one who won it. I just want to go home and never think about you and your lands again. So here’s what we’ll do. You will go through your villages and take all the helpless ones that no one can afford to marry or feed. Then you’ll help us bring them all to the Glories to sell as slaves. All those will live, and more likely than not, mothers and children will be kept together,” said Androkles.

  “I will claim a hundred for my household. My wife Agurne will claim a hundred for her dowry. The Night people will claim a thousand to buy money for their needs. All the rest, however many you want to gather and sell, you will trade for grain to share among your tribe so no one starves. My god demands that every stomach is fed next year, or he’ll send a curse and if you’re really unlucky, it’ll be me again.”

  He waited for their reaction, but Natuak gave him a gentle nudge that helped shake a memory loose. “Oh, and one last thing. There are a lot less of you now, so you’ll clear out enough of your lands on the border to give the Night People lands of their own. On top of that, any Night People you have will be returned immediately. Before you ask, no, they have none of yours.”

  Androkles raised his spear and stomped it emphatically in the mud. “There will be no negotiation about any of this. You either accept, or I kill you and find some other slave train guards. Think it over, but don’t take too long. That does not look like a patient fire.”

  The glow in the spear was already fading. His killing intent was nearly used up already. He’d thrown his dice, and these men might still kill him.

  And if they didn’t, the smoke might not be blowing this way yet, but it was still there to smell. Androkles’ mind drifted to the inferno he’d started. What it looked like in the middle. The oven-like air, the orange glow that washed out all other color. Did he have any good fortune left, or had he used it all up today getting out?

  Licnos nodded and withdrew to confer with a few of his men. They shifted their weight nervously while they talked, hand-gestures a bit exaggerated. That was good—they didn’t have to fully believe him, just not disbelieve him. They looked too nervous to dismiss what he said, and for once, for one single time on this entire gods-cursed journey, Androkles might have talked his way out of a fight.

  The rest of the army clustered and murmured amongst themselves, still keeping Androkles ringed in. He could watch the reaction in the newcomers. See the exact moment they heard their King was dead. Shock, despair, fury. It was different for each man.

  “Master Andokwes, what’s happening?” asked little Seffy.

  Androkles patted him on the head and said, “Don’t worry about the details, little one. Just watch how people act. You’re going to be in charge someday and you need to be familiar with such things.”

  “I think the King is here. He is. He is saying somefing to dem, but they can’t hear him.”

  “The King is dead, boy. I killed him,” said Androkles, unsure about the dread that the boy’s words gave him.

  “No, it’s his shade. He’s dead. And he’s talking to dem, but ovvers are stopping him. They’re… Rao… Rafire… Laf, Lao—”

  “Laophileans?”

  “Yeah. That one has a wed beard, and that one has showt black hair.”

  “How do you know what Laophileans look like?” Androkles said.

  “Because of theiw clothes. Dyana told me, and Mama and Papa, and someone else. I see them a lot wif Flower and Pepper. The wed beard man goes with Pepper, and the black hair man goes with Flower. The old man that’s strong goes with Garbi, and sometimes others come.”

  “How long have they…” Androkles’ throat suddenly went dry, and he had to swallow a couple times to fix it. “How long have they been around?”

  Seffy thought about that a bit. “I fink… I fink since when all the other spirits came out. Not a lot of days.”

  Androkles looked at Natuak, hoping to see some disquiet mirrored in his aged friend, but the man just had on a well-practiced gentle listening face. Curse him. This was preposterous. There was simply no way a bunch of dead Laophileans were following his family around, especially not a red-bearded man like Arkoleos, or one with short black hair like Nikon. A strong old man like Thais, whom the Hewer ate.

  The idea threatened to cost Androkles his composure and there simply wasn’t enough energy left in him to deal with it, so ignored the lump forming in his throat and set the thought aside. Just like Wolfscar and his friend the Hewer. And killing tens of thousands with a forest fire after fighting a swarm of demons and a sorcerous barbarian King.

  “We accept,” said Licnos. The man neglected to bow, which Androkles appreciated. Better to have a bargain between men of honor than something unequal they’d try and weasel out of. And it wasn’t a bad deal, frankly. It was a necessary one, if they wanted to continue being a people living on the face of the earth.

  “Good. Let’s all get out of here before that fire changes direction. I doubt it’ll make it all the way down the mountain, but I don’t want to be on it when we find out. I’m going with the Night People. Find a way to track us and come speak with me again in a few days, once you get a better idea how many of your men survived. Until then, Licnos the Short,” said Androkles.

  “King Licnos the Short,” said Licnos, with a cruel half-smile.

  “If you pull it off,” said Androkles. And with that, he turned and gave Seff’s hand a tug.

  They walked back together with a bounce in their step, as if they weren’t crossing a battlefield soaked in blood and littered in bodies.

  Androkles wondered whether Allobrogians collected their dead or left them behind. If it was the latter, maybe the Night People could sneak up here at night, after the danger from the fire was passed, and steal a bunch of equipment. Gods knew they needed it. There would be plenty of burned ore in that forest to melt down, too, now that he thought about it. Plenty.

  The Night People were all gathered in a clump watching them stumble back across the battlefield, anxiously awaiting word. “Natuak, why don’t you go tell your people what’s going on, and I’ll go try to find Pepper.”

  “I’m the only one who can find him when he hides,” said the Elder.

  “You told me you could, but I’m not sure I believe it,” said Androkles. “Perhaps some day you can teach me.”

  “You’re too old to learn, I’m afraid,” said Natuak.

  “Figures. But Pepper will come out as soon as he sees me, and I don’t want to answer nine hundred questions from your people while you go get him.”

  The Elder smirked in amusement and said, “Very well. Neither do I, but I suppose it is my place, since they are my people.”

  “Get them ready to leave, too. I keep feeling a breeze from the south, but it’s so faint I might be imagining it.”

  “It is the wrong season for wind from the south. But we will hurry all the same. Don’t leave any of our little ones behind. Some can squeeze into places you would never expect.”

  “Got it,” said Androkles, and handed Seff over to Natuak.

  Androkles made his way over to his family, who were all watching eagerly to find out how it had gone. Two fairies this time, not one. That would take some getting used to.

  The Hewer flew forward first, followed closely by Wolfscar. He said, “Papa, I can talk now, and I have a name. It’s a better one than Wolfscar.”

  His voice sounded much like Wolfscar’s, such that Androkles wasn’t sure he could tell them apart. Their body language was different, though; the Hewer leaned forward and looked up shyly, while nothing about Wolfscar was ever shy at all.

  Androkles said, “Oh? What is your name, then?”

  “Calamity!” shouted Calamity in a sudden burst of excitement. He beamed with pride and flew in a circle. “I had it before! Someone said!”

  Wolfscar was less enthusiastic, but he grudgingly admitted, “It is a good name.”

  Androkles scowled at this, emotions unsteady. The Hewer had caused a great deal of suffering to him personally. Killed his first friend and mentor, Diokles, the man who had raised him like a son. Put a wound of grief on Androkles’ heart that had ached for decades. Calamity.

  Agurne sidled up to him and said, “I know what you’re thinking, ogre, and you’re looking at it wrong. You have proof the Hewer’s gone forever. You destroyed him with your fairy and it’s over. Think of it that way.”

  He sighed. She was right, even if she was giving him too much credit with that phrasing. What was the point of holding a grudge now? What was he going to do, strangle a fairy to death? Of course not. Garbi would murder him and she’d probably have help. He might as well be arguing with the wind, for all the good it did him.

  Androkles said, “Calling you Calamity will make it sound like you’re bad luck to have around. How about we call you something else? How about Chopper?”

  “Chopper?” said the fairy, unsure. He stuck a fingertip in his mouth to chew on, just like Wolfscar did. Actually, didn’t those shark teeth of theirs hurt at all? Why weren’t their fingers constantly bleeding?

  “Yes, like an axe. Chopper. It’s a good fighting name, don’t you think? Chopper and Wolfscar, defenders of the Agapatheids.”

  “What’s an Agapatheid?” asked Chopper.

  “That’s my family name,” said Androkles.

  “Hmm…” considered Chopper.

  Androkles let the fairies mull it over. Changing the topic, he said, “Agurne, where’s Pepper? Any idea? Natuak wants his knee-highs back.”

  “I know what direction he went. Come on, Garbi, Flower. Let’s go find your brother. Wolfscar and Chopper, will you go fly up and see if you can find any signs of him? He went that way, just over that crest there, and down the mountain a bit.”

  “I’m Chopper now,” Chopper told Wolfscar.

  “I know. Come on,” said Wolfscar. They darted off, spiraling around each other in a playful sort of race.

  Androkles grinned and said, “Lead on, gorgon. Let’s pretend we’re trying to keep up.”

  “I can keep up,” said Dyana with a mischievous sparkle in her eye.

  “Papa, what’s a gorgon? I know what an ogre is now, so what’s a gorgon?” said Garbi.

  Androkles just laughed, since explaining it would get him in trouble. The girl would be horrified. He just started walking, and soon everyone else was following along. Garbi kept pestering Agurne to say what a gorgon was, and her answer was always ‘I don’t know’, which may or may not have been a lie.

  They walked over the slump of the mountain crest and made their way downhill, happier than they should’ve been considering what they’d just come through. Flower’s voice was full of laughter, like he couldn’t wait to start singing, and Garbi acted like she’d been given the best presents in the whole world—Dyana and Chopper—and couldn’t stand to have them out of eyesight for two seconds. Dyana, it turned out, also had no idea what a gorgon was.

  Another thirty paces or so down the hill, when they started reaching steeper ground and bushes, they saw the first of the blood.

  The mood went somber immediately. Blood on the battlefield was one thing, but it shouldn’t be here. Not where Pepper went. It was spattered everywhere, as if swung out of a pot in every direction. They quickly found the source—a dead Allobrogian with two massive puncture wounds on his neck. The blood didn’t end there, though. If anything, the trail grew wetter.

  A dead demon woman was the next body they found, cut across the midsection and nearly sliced in two. It must have been one of those long Allobrogian swords.

  Another three dead Allobrogians, and one more dead demon woman. One of the Allobrogians had a hatchet wedged into his ankle, and Androkles recognized it as the one he’d given Pepper before the battle.

  Well, at least he knew this was the right direction.

  More blood, a long trail of spurts, followed by a hand smear across a flat rock, followed by another dead Allobrogian full of puncture wounds.

  The trail led farther and farther down the mountain, cutting diagonally across the mountainside toward an obvious copse of trees. Another group of bodies, with one more demon woman and five more dead Allobrogians, filled that spot. And the trail led on.

  Two more dead men, each having died as the rest—stabbed and left to bleed as they tried to chase their killer. No dead children, thank Palthos. Not yet.

  From there, a set of bloody footprints, small ones, led farther down through some scraggly bushes and ended in the center of a bare patch of sandy rock.

  Just beyond that was the lip of a little crevice that had opened in the mountain. Chopper and Wolfscar were circling above it, still looking.

  Androkles breathed a sigh of relief and quickly walked to the end of the bloody footprint trail. He put both hands on Pepper’s shoulders, guessing correctly where they would be. No sooner had he done so than the boy was visible, naturally, like something sitting on a table all day but only noticed now.

  Pepper was rigid. He must be in shock, or he would have come running to greet them. He was also soaked head to toe in blood, as if he’d bathed in it. Dunked his head. Gods, how had he survived?

  Androkles gently said, “I’m here, Pepper. Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

  “Papa?” said Pepper, awareness slowly returning. The kit’s golden eyes shifted and focused. He screamed and fell backward. “You’re dead!”

  “I’m not dead, boy. Look at me. I’m here now,” said Androkles. “It’s all over.”

  “You look dead!” said Pepper, despair in his voice. Heartbreaking.

  "I’m not dead,” he said again. “We won.”

  “You have ash and blood,” said Pepper, face in a rictus of emotional pain. His eyes passed over the others, but he didn’t seem to truly see them. His face was as one in the midst of a nightmare. “Two Wolfscars…?” he muttered.

  “Pepper!” said Flower, rushing forward to hug his brother, arms outstretched.

  “Don’t touch me!” screamed Pepper. Tears rushed from his eyes, turning the splashes of blood on his cheeks pink and leaving trails. “Don’t! I’m dead! I think I’m dead!”

  “Pepper…” said Androkles, but he couldn’t finish. Panic was starting to rise within him. What was he supposed to say now? What was wrong? Had the boy’s mind finally snapped? How much pressure had he been under all this time? These dreary winter months…

  Agurne elbowed him aside and had pain in her voice as she said, “All right, ogre, move. You’re useless. Now pay attention, Garbi, because this is how it was meant to be used.”

  He stepped back and out of the way. Poor Agurne was frowning deeply, face showing her suffering. Pepper tried to avoid her, but she caught him up in a hug faster than he could get away. She gripped him like a corpse fished from the water, like if she let go, he’d never be seen again.

  Pepper struggled to get away at first, but she had his arms pinned. Soon he dropped the demon horn he held, letting it click on the rock. After his efforts slowed, she pushed his head into her shoulder, forcing him to rest against her. She took no thought for all the blood, how it would stain her clothing, how it would stink as it dried. He may as well have been a babe fresh from the washbasin, from how she held him.

  Androkles started to wonder if Pepper would feel better now that she’d calmed him down.

  She said, “Oh, my son, my poor son.” Tears dripped from her chin and fell onto Pepper’s shoulder.

  When they landed, the world collapsed.

  Androkles was not ready for it. Her power swallowed him, stunned him, emptying his mind of all thought and laying bare the depths of his soul.

  Agurne’s love drove the world away, forcing it all to vanish and be forgotten. “My poor, poor, boy,” she said, weeping. Each shake of her voice overcame him, drove him to his knees.

  Her love threw him into a world of open rawness. A world like the judgment of the gods where nothing could be hid. Every agony, every heartbreak, all the loss and shame and guilt buried within him rose like ocean bubbles. They hovered on the surface, burst, and vanished into nothingness.

  He couldn’t see. He blinked, and blinked again, and blinked again, and realized that his eyes were full of tears, dripping down and falling off his cheeks. He was on his hands and knees. He didn’t even remember falling. He couldn’t breathe! He couldn’t breathe… His chest was too tight with sobs of his own that refused to come. He held them, trying to regain control of himself with all his might. His breath came in fits, and he couldn’t stop the tears.

  He was too close! She was doing this to Pepper, but he was too close and got caught up in it. His killing intent was all drained and he had no ability to resist. It felt like surgery, performed on his heart. His soul. It was agony. Precious, indescribable agony.

  In that moment, he knew he loved her. Agurne.

  She spoke again and the pain in her voice broke his heart. “You’ll be all right, my sweet love, my sweet boy. It’s all right now.”

  Agurne’s love suffused him, smothered him, sinking in and gripping him with unstoppable, penetrating fingers. But instead of harm, rough places became smooth, rocky things fell away, sharp edges dulled and receded.

  And still she held him. He had been helpless from the moment she began, and perhaps that was for the best.

  It went on and on. Her love held and succored him, refused to let him go until he was healed of the deepest hurts.

  The battles were all over, already decided, even the ones to come. All things were well. At peace. Awareness returned slowly, only coming as he regained his composure. It felt like waking slowly from a dream. The tightness in his chest receded, the knot in his throat untied. His eyes burned but stopped leaking so much water.

  Androkles coughed and sat up.

  Agurne had sat down at some point to cradle Pepper like a babe. The boy looked smaller than Androkles remembered. He still had his eyes shut as he wept, voice ragged like he’d been at it a while. Dyana lay curled in a ball, gripping the hem of Agurne’s shirt with one hand while she shook with silent sobs, only now beginning to slow. Flower was sitting up with a look of deep peace on his face. His cheeks were red as if he’d just gone through great exertion, but he must have awoken sooner than the others.

  Garbi sat across from Agurne, a look of awe and worship on her face. She had no signs of crying, but instead looked like she’d just seen a goddess. The two fairies sat in her lap with gentle, contemplative smiles on their faces. They were huddled so close that they may as well have been hugging. Androkles wondered what their experience had been, but he knew if he asked them he’d get nothing sensible in reply.

  It occurred to him that he already had the world’s most terrifying people in his family, and Chopper was a natural and obvious addition. He should’ve realized it sooner.

  Behind Garbi, scores of demons. Mothers and children, and some fathers as well. A hundred? More? The mothers held their little ones and rocked them, all cuddling together. It took Androkles a moment to piece it together—Pepper had hidden them in that crevice just a few paces farther, and they crawled out when they felt Agurne’s love. The mothers must have been summoned when they felt her power on the air as well. The little ones were mostly still softly crying, the crying of exhaustion at the end of a really good fit.

  Agurne’s love receded slowly, like a dying fire that left the memory of warmth. He sat more comfortably, dusting off his aching knees. Looking up, he found that the sun had moved and was about to set. How long had it been? An hour? Less, maybe? Where had the sun been before, exactly? The air was chilly for the first time today, reminding him it was still early spring.

  “Do you see, Garbi, my precious darling?” said Agurne quietly.

  It took her a moment to answer. It looked like she’d forgotten how to speak and had to remember all over again. “Yes,” she finally managed.

  “Papas guard the bodies, and the homes, and the people. But we guard something too, don’t we, my sweet little love?”

  “Their hearts,” Garbi whispered.

  They said nothing further, so Androkles scooted over and sat next to Agurne, putting his arm over her shoulders and kissing her hair. He’d felt her love before, mostly when she was trying to teach Garbi to bring it out, but never with such force. But he could guess why he hadn’t seen it displayed like that before. How dare anyone cheapen it by too-frequent use? It would be a sacrilege.

  “I need you, Agurne,” he heard himself saying.

  “You do, and I’m glad you realize it,” she replied.

  He grinned and kissed her hair again. Then he pinched her side. She giggled like a youth and half-heartedly tried to push him away but couldn’t without disturbing Pepper.

  Gods, what a woman he had found. He would have to give an entire bull to Palthos just for this. Maybe two. No, even that seemed inadequate. Eight would not be enough. There were not enough bulls in the world.

  “You’re welcome,” said Palthos, right into his ear. The god’s breath was warm on his skin.

  Androkles knew better than to turn and look. He wouldn’t be there. Instead, he just smiled a bit and nodded. He suspected that if he saw that god anywhere else today, it’d be chasing around some skinny demon children, everyone laughing riotously and no one realized there was one child too many.

  After that they sat quietly, listening to the soft crying all around them, and somehow it was not unpleasant.

  The moment faded and faded further. Everyone started waking up and coming to themselves, filling the area with activity where there had been only stillness. Androkles’ many injuries made themselves known again, his ribs, his arms, that new deep stab in his calf. Plenty of other places, something new each time he moved.

  It was finally over when Pepper started laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Agurne asked.

  "I don’t know,” Pepper answered. “But I feel better now.” He gave Agurne a kiss, then crawled out of her lap. He went straight to Flower, pulling him to his feet. They held hands, wound their tails together, and started looking for his demon horn, which must have bounced and rolled somewhere. From how they looked and acted now, the previous months hadn’t even happened. They’d picked right back up where they left off.

  Agurne said, “Those boys are both so dirty they’re almost the same color.”

  Androkles smirked and said, “They are, and I don’t know what to do about it. Pepper doesn’t have a change of clothes and it’s too cold to toss him in a stream.”

  He supposed it was time to get moving, since everyone else was. He stood with a sincere growl of pain, then helped Agurne to her feet. “You’re a mess too,” he said.

  “Serves me right, I suppose, after all the easy living I’ve been enjoying,” she said. He grinned at the sparkle in her eye.

  Dyana tried to smooth her short hair with her hands and arrange her rags to be more presentable. Then she said, “My lady? Master Androkles? What now?”

  He sighed. “Well, for one, their camp’s all burned, so we’ll have to figure out what’s for dinner. I saw them gathering supplies before they left but I’m not sure how far that will have to stretch.”

  “There are probably fifty dead horses up there,” said Dyana.

  He nodded. “Then I suppose we have dinner. Let’s get moving,” he said. Thank the gods it wasn’t warmer. No one wanted rotten horse.

  He took Agurne’s hand, in part because he wanted to, and in part because she needed help getting over all the rocks. The Night People followed along, a train of tired children and even more tired mothers, stumbling on everything as they went.

  Natuak and several of the men came down to meet them halfway. The old man looked just as weary as before, moving by sheer will instead of any strength of limb, but the relief on his face was clear. Before he said anything to Androkles, he started counting the little ones.

  “Thank Palthos,” he said when he was satisfied with the number. “That is all of them.”

  “If any were missing, I’m sure their parents would notice,” said Androkles. “They probably remember what they look like. Possibly also what their names are.”

  The old man gave a forced, polite smile that faded an instant later.

  Androkles said, “It’ll be dark soon and everyone is exhausted. We should focus on what’s necessary so we can get out of here. I can only think of two things—someone needs to carve up some horse flesh for dinner, and your dead need tended to. Do you bury them? How do you send them off?”

  Natuak sighed. “We burn them. And we will not be done before nightfall, but that is fine. We see better in the dark than your people.”

  “Your horses don’t. Just tell me what needs done, and we’ll see how far we get. Where do you want me?”

  “It will take a while to gather enough dry wood, my friend. You have done enough for us today. You should relax,” said the Elder, leaning slightly away as if what he really wanted was for Androkles to leave him alone.

  “I’ll relax when I’m dead. Sadly, that wasn’t today.”

  “I feel the same way, but I deserve it more. I am twice your age,” said Natuak. The poor man sighed deeply. He probably wasn’t joking.

  They trudged back up the hill and everyone got to work. Androkles found a sword and started carving up horse flesh, but Agurne soon found some cloth in an Allobrogian saddlebag and made him undress so she could bandage him up.

  He’d been hoping that Palthos would appear like he had after Mari and heal everyone’s wounds, but he did not. Probably because Androkles wasn’t minutes from death this time.

  The worst was his ribs, which made a bruise that went from his armpit to his groin. Part of it was such a deep purple that Agurne lanced it, which was excruciating. She was right, though. Blood had gathered there and as it drained, his breath expanded the bones back outward and settled them into place. The pain nearly made him vomit and only the relief at knowing he’d actually heal got him through it. He’d known too many men with misshaped chests, constant pain, and labored breathing that followed them until death.

  After that, the stitches weren’t so bad. He needed countless of those. It took Agurne and Garbi until well after night fell to finish. Each demon claw puncture needed to be sewed shut, as did his calf. That had never stopped oozing. She also stitched a cut on his shoulder and the back of his thigh.

  While she worked, Androkles watched as Night People gathered their dead—less than twenty, thank the gods—and undressed them for the pyre. They went to the sky naked, no tools or jewelry or weapons. He could guess why. They were so poor that not an inch of cloth could be spared. At least they didn’t eat them.

  The Allobrogians collected their dead, placing them on horses and leading them away. Androkles supposed they’d find a spot with softer earth down in the valley and bury them there. The ground wasn’t fit for it up here.

  With Dyana breaking small trees apart and knocking them over, gathering enough wood didn’t take long. The pyre they made was large, big enough to get them all at once and far enough away from the trees just in case. They didn’t light it right away. Instead, they waited until night had fallen and true darkness had arrived.

  There were no stars or moon. Just the orange glow of the forest fire, which lit up the smoke that rose in a pillar greater than mountains in the sky. The pyre was lit without any ceremony, nor did the Night People spend much time watching it burn. The smoke drifted upward and was lost in the even cloud of glowing ash and smoke overhead, and that was the end of them.

  Androkles found his sympathy for the Night People growing. They’d even lost their prayers for the fallen. How wretched could people get? But that was their problem, not his, and things would be better for them soon enough.

  Things would be better for him soon enough as well. Rounding up slaves and rescuing captured demon children would add a few weeks, but he’d be home by mid-summer at the latest.

  He and his family stumbled down the mountain with the fairies’ faint glow to light the way, built a new fire to keep warm, and slept like the dead.