As Archmage Arakataron’s skull face appeared in a circular portal, everyone froze.

  "Who are you?" he asked coldly. "And why are your zombies holding my grandson?"

  By now, Jerry’s previous anger had already been vented, and his head was mostly clear. He knew what an Archmages signified. Everyone did. Horror was an understandable reaction.

  And Jerry was holding that person’s grandson hostage.

  This can’t be good... Okay. I need time to think. And, to think, I need to stall.

  "Excuse me, sir," he said, “are you aware that you are trapped in a circle?"

  The skull was already looking at Jerry, everybody else too scared to intervene.

  "Are you mocking me?" he asked.

  "Honestly? I’m just a little bit shocked. That’s a great mustache, by the way. Do you wax it?”

  "You possess a death knight capable of defeating one of mine," the skull spoke slowly. "You are clearly a powerful necromancer, but you have never been under my tutelage. Are you from the Three Kingdoms?"

  "Maybe."

  "In any case, you know who I am. Release my grandson. Then, tell me why you chased after him to the point where my death knight had to sacrifice itself. I am not unreasonable. If he really was in the wrong, I can spare you."

  "I, uh…" Jerry glanced between the skull-wizard and the cocky photomancer, who by now seemed certain of his safe escape. However, if Jerry let the photomancer go like this, the tribe might come into huge trouble. The Archmage had said he wasn’t unreasonable, but Jerry strongly suspected that was only by Archmage standards. He’d only promised to spare Jerry, not punish his grandson. The Akshiks would suffer.

  Therefore, Jerry scratched his head and said, "I don’t think I can do that, sir."

  The silence deepened. The skull frowned.

  "What did you just say?"

  "Oh, sorry, I forgot you’re across the clearing. I SAID, I DON’T THINK I CAN—”

  A thought knocked on his mind. A soul prodding his, trying to give a message.

  You’ll get us all killed! That’s the Lich Archmage!

  It was Granny, enduring her own pain to speak.

  Jerry frowned. Right. There’s no use delaying because nobody will come save us. I must handle this…but how?

  His mind raced. Every possible scenario passed through his head—all two of them—and Jerry came to the educated conclusion that they were in dire straits.

  If he let go of the photomancer, that caricature of a man would use his influence to press the issue, and the Wizard Order would slaughter the tribe outright—the woman who hid Jerry had mentioned they decimated tribes for the slightest disrespect. To them, non-wizards were the same as slaves.

  If he didn’t let go, that would be blatantly opposing the Wizard Order, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out the consequences.

  Oh no, he thought. The tribe is doomed!

  Guilt filled Jerry’s heart. Was it his fault?

  How can I save them? There must be a way!

  "Well?" the skull asked.

  Jerry turned to stare at it, taking a deep breath. The tribespeople gazed at him with accusation, despair, and hope. He opened his mouth.

  "I said, I will not release him. Your grandson refused to show me the respect I was due, so I will kill him. What’s the big deal about it?"

  The death spirits almost had heart attacks on the spot. The photomancer’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak, but on Jerry’s mental command, a Billy clamped it shut.

  That’s right, Jerry thought. If there’s no way out or back…then I can only go through.

  As things stood, and in the heat of the moment, only one choice came to mind: pretend that he’d attacked the photomancer for his own reasons, and that the tribe had nothing to do with it. Paint himself the villain.

  He would take the full blame for everything.

  The skull’s eye-flames narrowed. "My grandson clearly overestimated himself, but you should not antagonize the Wizard Order over such a paltry reason."

  "The Wizard Order is antagonizing me, Archmage. This fool insulted me, so he will die. That’s how things work—and, if you don’t like that, you can go fuck yourself."

  Hmm. Maybe I overplayed that.

  “With all due respect,” he added to the lich’s stunned glare.

  If his plan worked out, the tribe might be safe, sure, but he would be furiously hunted down by one of the strongest organizations in the world. He could run, but could he escape?

  Only one way to find out.

  Jerry never feared death, to begin with. These death spirits were some of the very few people who’d ever been kind to him; he would save them, no matter what.

  So what if they chase me down? The edges of his lips rose further; warm, fuzzy excitement filled his chest. Death is overrated.

  "Do you understand who I am?" Arakataron asked.

  "An Archmage of the Wizard Order. So what?"

  "I can ruin you with a thought."

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  "You can try.”

  "Hmph." The skull snorted. "What are you trying to achieve? Release my grandson this instant, or I will annihilate both yourself and this puny tribe."

  Jerry erupted into laughter, and his face twisted into an unsightly visage.

  "Just because I’m new in the area, you think you can step over me?" he said, darkness rising around him. "You all have no idea who you’re messing with. First, this idiot annoys me while I’m collecting crocus flowers, then his grandaddy shows up and tries to threaten me. Is that how the Wizard Order does business?"

  "The Wizard Order does do business with insignificant individuals."

  "Oh, yeah? Then watch this insignificant individual kill your grandson."

  Jerry's hand shone black as he prepared a full-power Soul Severing. The lich’s eyes widened. "NO!" he shouted. Jerry paused.

  "Oh," he said, "is this business?"

  "Release him this instant, blasphemer!" Arakataron said, and the portal shook as his eye-flames turned crimson. Jerry could feel a terrifying, humongous, ancestral presence directed at him, a presence large enough to make him want to lie on the ground and die.

  For the first time, Jerry wondered if Arakataron could attack him through the portal.

  "I do what I want," he replied. A clenched fist—Headless’s—smacked the photomancer on the side of the head, sending several perfect teeth rolling in the mud.

  The lich’s face contorted in anger. "Don’t you dare!" it shouted.

  "I dare!"

  "Insolence!" the lich raved, approaching the portal as its face warped even further. "Harm another hair on his body, and I will torture your soul for a hundred years."

  "Full of threats, the lot of you. Like grandfather, like grandson!" Jerry laughed. "A hair, you say?"

  Darkness flowed out of Jerry’s body to attack the photomancer, who struggled to escape with everything he had. His eyes looked at the lich as he made desperate, muffled sounds.

  "NO!" Arakataron shouted again, but Jerry didn’t care. His soul stretched into the photomancer’s body, and like a knife, cut his tethers. The Billies let go; the man’s body fell lifeless to the ground. Jerry hadn’t even gotten his name.

  "See, Archmage?" Jerry asked. "I didn’t touch a single hair."

  Arakataron was so furious he couldn’t speak.

  "How dare you!" he finally yelled. "I will destroy you! I will flay your soul until you beg for forgiveness, and I will let maggots and vermin feast on your body while your consciousness is trapped inside it!"

  "It’s not even the first time I hear that." Jerry laughed uproariously. "You make all these threats, but you’re actually full of shit."

  "You— Nobody has spoken to me this way for over a century, let alone a tiny wizardling like yourself!" The flames erupted from their eye-sockets. "I swear on my name and the prestige of the Wizard Order, you will regret being born."

  "No!" Jerry retorted. "You will regret it. What name, what Wizard Order? I don’t give a shit! I’ll show you who’s the real grandaddy here! Your Wizard Order has disrespected me, so I will destroy it! I, Jerry Shoeson," he shouted at the top of his lungs, "declare war on the Wizard Order!"

  The entire swamp rocked with the echo of Jerry’s voice. Everyone’s jaws had fallen so far they’d almost dislocated. Their eyes were widened to the extreme. The undead all stared at Jerry, Boney’s soul was shivering, and Axehand… Axehand’s eye sockets were filled with purple flames as he grunted, intrigued.

  "Haha, hahaha!" The lich laughed, its entire skull rocking and its thin mustache swerving from side to side. "Do you even understand what you’re saying? You, declare war on the Wizard Order? Just who do you think you are?"

  Suddenly, its skull stilled.

  " I see what you’re doing, wizard. You were a guest of this tribe when my grandson arrived to bully them a little, and you stepped in for them. Now, you want me to forget about them, and then you plan to run away like the rat you are—but I am no fool. You can run, and the entire Wizard Order will be ordered to kill you on sight. Sooner or later, we will find you. As for this puny tribe—the Akshik, isn’t it?—they can neither run nor hide! My army will raze the entire swamp to the ground, destroy every man and woman of those death spirits you pathetically tried to defend. That is how you will pay for antagonizing the Wizard Order and Archmage Arakataron."

  Jerry clenched his fists.

  "You run your mouth too much," he said. "Who said I’m running away? I’m coming right at you, you overprized skeleton, and I will ground your bones to dust. Gather all the armies you want; you’ll still be obliterated."

  "Ridiculous!" The lich laughed again. "You are paper-thin, young one, but that’s fine. I don’t want to wait before I torture you either. Here’s the deal; come to me within a week, and I will grant these death spirits a swift death. Delay for even an hour…and they will suffer the worst fate imaginable, all because of you."

  "Of course I will come! Just tell me where."

  "The Mists of Death, in the center of the Dead Lands." The lich’s skull warped to form a grin. "I’ll be waiting for proof of your cowardice. Do you dare tell me your real name?"

  "I already did," Jerry replied, banging his chest. "I’m Jerry Shoeson."

  "What kind of name is that?"

  "It’s better than your tongue-twister. Just wait there for me; I’m coming to tear you apart. Axehand."

  On command, the double-skeleton’s axe tore through the portal, destroying it and letting Jerry have the final word. For a moment, everything stood still—and then, Jerry lowered his head at the Akshiks.

  "I made the call,” he said. “I believe you were already beyond salvation, but if you want to blame anyone, blame me.”

  Was he right, or was he wrong? Was this worst-case scenario doomed to happen anyway? Jerry didn’t know, but he believed his actions were correct.

  The death spirits remained quiet. Bitter stares of accusation rained on Jerry, but he received them calmly.

  Marcus and Laura stepped out of a hut, staying back and watching things unfold with conflicted eyes. Boney walked by Jerry and also bowed slightly, as did all undead, except for Axehand, who only grunted in disapproval.

  The tribespeople were clearly full of thoughts, but they remained quiet. One person had the right to speak first.

  Horace exited Granny’s hut. He was still injured, thick black blood running down his face as he glared at Jerry.

  "You doomed us," he said.

  "There was no other way.”

  "Would you have sacrificed Granny?" Boney asked, not raising his head. Horace turned his stare over. Boney continued, "My Master acted in the heat of the moment, but he did the right thing. Would you have let that wizard torture and kill you all until he chose to back down? My Master just acted when you were busy hesitating."

  A vein pulsed on Horace’s temple. He pointed his bow at Boney. "You do not get to come out on top, skeleton."

  "I believe I do."

  Axehand grunted in agreement. With two steps, he stood before Boney and Jerry, pointing an axe-hand right between Horace’s eyes. He grunted in challenge. The death spirit clenched his bow.

  A new round of silence ensued as the two stared off, neither willing to budge. Their bodies tightened. Axehand grunted.

  "Please, calm down," Jerry said. "What’s done is done. Let me handle this."

  Horace retrieved his gaze. "How?"

  "I will fight the Archmage."

  "Bullshit." Horace spat on the ground—black phlegm and blood. "Do you even know what an Archmage is? They’re the pinnacles of the wizard world, the legendary three-feathered wizards, one for each school of magic. You may be strong, but you could crane your head and still not see the soles of his shoes.”