“NO!”

The scream tore through the chapel, ragged and unhinged. Barak muscled through the others gathered at the entrance with urgency, followed close by Runagir and Duandan. In the Master Halberdier’s howl, they heard the crack of madness. Gunag had broken.

“It’s all undone! The weave has warped, the thread has frayed! The emperor has fallen! There’s no one left, no one can stitch the world back together!” Gunag swept his hands about the ruined chapel as he raved.

Every inch of the Imperial Soulforge had been utterly defiled. Vandals had beheaded the statues of the eight saints, swapped their heads, and repositioned the figures to suggest profane acts. The walls were chiseled with blasphemous subversions of the Imperial Script and rubbed with blood. Everywhere there were signs of struggle and shreds of soiled vestments. No one had died clean.

The bodies were all tangled in a great sacrificial pyre raised before the Icon of the Emperor. A ring of scorched skulls was set around the blackened bones. Barak’s gorge rose as he realized they were too small to have been adults. Above the ashes, the huge icon of the Emperor loomed. His golden skin was smeared with dung from head to toe. Only the sapphires of his eyes were unattained, the better to witness this horror. Chained against him upside down was the High Priest. He’d been slit open and the Imperial Script stuffed into his innards, all was crawling with rot.

“Where is their shepherd? What God would allow this?” Gunag wailed.

“Sir,” Captain Wemble approached Gunag, palms raised. Two stout lieutenants were close at hand. Their expressions were bitter and resigned. This place had not seen the end of horror.

“I am not a sir! I am not a man! None of you are! We should have prevented this! We failed them! We failed them because the Emperor failed us!”

“Sir, control yourself,” Wemble pled.

“I will not! My eyes are open! Hear me now, all of you! We followed a lie! The emperor is a powerless fraud! Chaos reigns supreeee—!”

The captain’s mailed fists wrapped around Gunag’s throat and choked short his blasphemy. Gunag made no move to defend, instead he locked his hands around Wemble’s neck and matched him, strength for strength. The two lieutenants rushed in to peel his arms off, but Gunag was a man possessed. They could not overcome him.

“Help!” A lieutenant cried.

Barak surged forward and wrenched at Gunag’s wrists until the bones gave out. Captain Wembly slipped from Gunag’s hand and fell into the ashes, senseless.

“I CURSE THIS PLACE! MAY THE VOID RISE AND SWALLOW YOU ALL!”

Gasps raced around the room, the air seemed to chill as the Devourer was invoked.

“You first,” Barak growled. He grabbed the Master Halberdier by the hair and yanked him down so hard and sudden the Lieutenants lost their grips. Gunag’s forehead banged against the filthy flags and split open. He tried to rise but Barak’s boot came down on the back of his skull. That was all. No one would ever forget the sound. There was great disquiet among the halberdiers after.

“Justice should have come from us, not a dwarf,” one of the Lieutenants said, and a few grumbled in agreement. Most were silent, afraid of the wild-eyed berserker.

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“You had your chance. Anyone who breaks and starts spewin’ that chaos blather, here’s your fate.” Barak kicked the Master Halberdier’s remains. “Anyone who doesn’t like it, step outside with me, right now.”

Barak gestured outside. There were no takers.

“That’s right. Now let’s clear out of here before we—hold.“ Barak stopped mid-sentence and held up a fist. The other dwarves heard it first, then the elves, then the men. Prescote was the last to notice. Young Bobbert grabbed his aged master by the arm and led him outside.

“What is it?” The ancient sage asked.

“There’s a weird sound,” Bobbert explained.

Prescote strained his aged eyes to scan the jagged hills around the ruins of Wintermore Wall. Far away, a war horn sounded and then others joined it. The strange sound grew louder, the ground began to vibrate, then tremors began. Young Bobbert braced the frail sage to keep him on his feet.

“Oh my,” Prescote gulped. A moment later the quake brought them both to their knees.

“FORM UP!” Barrak howled, barely audible above the roar. The ground rippled and rolled, fluid as the sea. All around the ragtag army, the earth split and came apart.

* * *

“How is he doing?”

“Better, he’s at that game club right now. He’s still struggling to eat. How are the tests?”

“They’re concerning. His complete blood count is very high for this stage of the treatment. We’re going to advance the treatment. If we don’t get a better response, I’m going to suggest a course of radiation therapy.”

“Dr. Bolle told me they don’t do radiation therapy for AML.”

“We don’t, usually.”

The words pressed down on Una like a stone.

“Are you seeing any physical changes?” Dr. Suarez asked.

“I’m finding more hair in the drain,” Una said.

“That’s normal, usually two to four weeks after treatment begins. It’s very important to address the way Robin sees himself. People will stare and make him feel uncomfortable. He’s lucky he’s a boy, he can just wear a ball cap all the time and no one will think anything of it. It’s much harder for girls. You said he’s going to a board game club?”

“Yes, they play with toy soldiers for hours and hours. Even the older boys. I don’t know why they aren’t getting jobs, starting families.”

“Things are different here.”

“I suppose so. The important thing is, he’s found some friends and he’s happier.”

“Do they know about his diagnosis?” Dr. Suarez asked.

Una thought about it. She would be surprised if Robin told anyone, he kept things very close.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You might mention something to one of them, so it doesn’t come as such a shock. Boys can be very cruel at that age.”

“They had better not be,” Una’s eyes flashed with wrath.

“Do you know the person who’s in charge of the club?”

“Yes, I know the leader, Duncan. A nice boy, his family owns the store. They have a real racket going on. You wouldn’t believe what these little soldiers cost!”

“I can imagine. My son is into model trains, I don’t even want to think about how much he’s spent. He’s got a whole room for them, it drives his wife bonkers.”

“Men love to have little things under their thumb, to feel like they have power,” Una said.

“How’s that different from chess?” Dr. Suarez smiled.

“Chess is pure, it strengthens the mind. It doesn’t cost anything, you don’t even need the board,” Una blustered a bit. In her heart, she knew Dr. Suarez was right. She didn’t let Una get away with anything.

“How’s he doing with that?”

“Very good. We went to the library and checked out a copy of Bobby Fischer Teaches Chess. I’m giving him a rook now, but soon I’ll be down to a bishop or a pawn. He’s winning against the older boys at the game club, too.”

“He’s very bright. And tough. This is a very aggressive treatment plan. He’s holding up very well.”

“Martillo.” Una made a chopping motion with her fist. “His great, great grandfather was one of Santa Anna’s generals. Then my Hector was a radioman on a B-17. I was in the WAFS when I met him.”

“What about his mother, did she serve?”

“Only herself,” Una said, without thinking. She shook her head. “I shouldn’t speak ill. I’ve been so mean-spirited lately.”

“How are you sleeping?”

“Not well. It keeps me up at night. I wonder if I should take something.”

“Maybe you should talk to someone.”

“Maybe,” Una said.

Their eyes met, Una wished she could scream.