Ishkinil and Amuzad turned at the sound of the voice, one both familiar and unfamiliar. It spoke not in the hollowed-out tones of one who had entered the realm as they had, but instead as if they were truly present.

The fetid corruption parted, allowing a man to merge from among it, one who bore the visage of Heshberu, yet one different it so many ways. He walked tall, and arrogant, malice in his eyes, the hunched and nervous posture of Heshberu nowhere to be seen. The simple herders’ clothes were gone too, and now long robes he wore, dark as corruption, edged in blood.

“If not for your efforts, I could never have found this place,” he said, “And my victory could not have been complete. One such as myself, or who you perceived me to be, you would not have brought to this place, but one such as Ishkinil of Athan Arach? Oh, yes, she you would bring.”

Amuzad’s face was as fury itself, suffused with rage. “Betrayer,” he snarled. “It matters not what you plan, for you shall be stopped.”

“How? You would rely on her?” he asked, pointing towards Ishkinil. “This is a realm of life, not death. Her powers, her sword shall not work here, and here she is vulnerable. More, the corruption that I have unleashed gives me power that you cannot understand, or stand against. You can resist, and die, or stand aside and let me end the suffering of the Heart.”

“I cannot do so,” Amuzad replied, raising his staff, gripping it tight with both hands. He shook his head. “You should not be here. You can not be here.”

“And yet I am.”

“How?” Amuzad asked. “Only one of the enku can do so, and you are not one or I would have felt it.”

Heshberu laughed. “Once, long ago, I was much as you. The suffering of the land troubled me, the hatred of the tyrants plagued me, but in a moment of despair I had a revelation. The strength of the earth provided much, but the suffering of the earth much more. I have taken the suffering of this broken, dying world and used it for true power.”

“You are much like the tyrants,” Ishkinil observed.

“The tyrants?” sneered Heshberu. “They are petty things, with no vision. They seek to destroy the enku out of fear and envy, little realising what power they could gain. Once I feared the, but no longer. Soon they shall fear me. Come,” he said to Ishkinil, “In this we are of an accord. Together we could end the rule of the tyrants. Together we could remake this world, I as Lord of Life and you as the Lady of Death. No more would you have to do The bidding of the Bringer of Ends, but rule in his stead.”

Long did Ishkinil look upon Heshberu, her face without expression. Then, slowly, she drew Dirgebringer, the sword now but simple bone, its mystical connection cut. There was no link there, no shadowed cloak upon her shoulders.

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“Long has it been my desire to end the reign of the tyrants,” she said, speaking slowly, softly, gazing upon her sword. Then she lowered it. “There is one thing that you forget.”

“And what is that?” Heshberu asked.

“I never trusted you.” Her sword came back up and white-blue flames rippled along its length while shadows drew in around her. Heshberu gaped and even Amuzad seemed surprised.

“Your powers can have no effect here,” Heshberu stated.

“In normal times, no, but these are no normal times. Look around you. Decay has set in, by your hands. The Heart and the land are dying. Death you brought, and from that I can draw strength. More, I still have a link back to the real world. My body in part resides there, and the raven as well. He is a messenger of Enkurgil, much as I am his Handmaiden. A link we share, and through it I can reach the Halls of Enkurgil.” Slowly she began to walk forward, towards Heshberu, a shadowed figure bearing a longsword wreathed in pale flames.

Heshberu threw up his hands and swarms of bloated flying insects swirled forward, a ribbon twisting through the air, to descend upon Ishkinil. She came to a halt, waving her hand about to try and fend off the swarming horde, insects tangling in her hair, crawling over her face, forcing her to close her eyes.

Amuzad thrust his staff forward and the insects broke away, forced back by a force unseen. A few still clung to Ishkinil. She raised her sword near to her face and the white-blue flames upon it began to crackle as the bugs were caught in it, burned away, though the flames touched her not.

Once more she began to stalk forward and once more Heshberu threw up his arms. Dark vines erupted from out of the foetid soil, crawling across it, vines with thorns and decaying leaves, surrounded by the stench of corruption. As each came near, Ishkinil slashed with Dirgesinger, sundering the vines, to leave them thrashing upon the ground. Still more came though, under the ground was a heaving, pulsating mass of sickly vines, weaving through each other, reaching out to snare and tear at Ishkinil.

Ishkinil began to pull back, driven slowly away from Heshberu by the wall of vines, each swing fending off yet more vines, the air filled with the scorched stench of them as she hacked away at them. There was no way through the wall of them.

Amuzad had planted his staff in the ground and around him a wall of vines writhed, though they could not break through the barrier he was projecting, repulsing the vines.

“He is too strong,” he said through clenched teeth, face locked tight with the strain of resisting. “He is here not in spirit but in body, standing in the heart of the corruption. I can not hold him at bay for long.”

Ishkinil pulled back into the protection that Amuzad provided and the vines no longer attacked her. “Is it dangerous to be here in body?” she asked.

“Very.”

“Good,” she replied and flung Dirgesinger. The sword spun through the air, a white-blue comet of flame searing through the air. Heshberu gave a startled cry and started to raise a hand to ward it off but too late it came, for the sword struck home, flaming blade impaling him. He let out a scream and the vines collapsed, shrivelling away. He staggered back a few steps, the sword transfixing him, then faded from sight, Dirgesinger dropping to the ground. Ishkinil raced over to pick it up once more.

“A dangerous gambit,” Amuzad said.

“There were few other options to be had,” Ishkinil told him. “Is he dead?”

“I do not know. Wounded, certainly, but no longer a danger to us.” He turned to face where the earth spirit still crouched hunched up, pained and maddened. “For now it matters little. Our concern now is if we can save the Heart of Arkech Usor and save the land.”