As Redmane shouted to call the retreat, the gleaming points of twenty seven Star-Steel arrowheads loosed from their bows.

  Every last one was aimed at the same target.

  Again he felt the effect of his third eye. A distortion of his perception of time.

  He would not have enough time to activate a Skill before the arrows pierced his body. He had, however, alerted his comrades to the danger and they were turning to regard it with fresh expressions of shock on their faces. Redmane watched them move in slow motion, grabbing their wounded and the unconscious and making for the Well with haste.

  Then the arrows hit him, and he saw nothing.

  Corpus: 0

  For a moment he was infinite.

  And then his consciousness seemed to hover above the scene of his own body, riddled with black arrows, sinking into the Well as his allies ran toward it.

  They killed him, but he was still here.

  His Corpus existed in the inert body of Dobrogost the warlock. In the bodies of Pietr, Gale, Vang and his cohorts. And he found he was not only present in their bodies, but in their minds. He felt Vang’s battle lust, Pietr’s shock at seeing his lord’s body pierced by so many arrows.

  With his own body gone, Redmane suddenly perceived the thoughts and emotions of his spawn as if they were his own.

  Because they were.

  This had not previously occurred to him.

  Somehow he had thought the souls of his spawn were still separate and distinct from his own. As if, on the threshold of death, he’d invited those souls into a different abode instead, like offering travelers shelter for the winter. But no. They were joined to him. They were as much a part of him as his claws.

  And now that he found himself fully aware of this, he moved them as one.

  Vang, Zorn, Nuk and Throk snatched up the wounded and ran for the Well.

  Pietr rode by on Gale and Irina leapt onto the Ice Warg’s back, while Valtr and Vengarl took shots at the Sicari on the staircase.

  He couldn’t make Dobrogost’s slain body move.

  But it didn’t matter.

  They were going to make it.

  There was only one issue. The Sicari were nocking the next volley of arrows and choosing their next targets. And they appeared to know exactly whom to shoot. They took aim at Vang, Zorn, Nuk, Throk, Pietr and Gale.

  Twenty seven arrows streaked through the air.

  Even as they dove into the Well, arrows struck the body of the demi-human Zorn, who carried the injured Magister Alma in his arms. He threw the girl into the well as arrows riddled his head and torso and he fell.

  More arrows sought Pietr and Gale, and Krum of Asgoph dove in between them and their target, gritting his teeth as they struck deep into muscle and bone.

  Splash after splash into the Well. Pietr and Gale were the last inside, just as the Sicari readied their third volley.

  In the darkness of the Abyss, Redmane felt all of their injuries combined. He felt Vang’s frustration at having to retreat, Pietr’s deep dismay at the might of the Sicari, Gale’s fleeting fear that he’d never see his pack again. These emotions were amalgamated in his own mind. Truly they were his emotions, only now he was experiencing them directly.

  But he put aside the novelty of this discovery. His people were counting on him.

  Redmane brought his six injured bodies together and reformed himself.

  Corpus: 7576

  Gnosis: 1131

  Then he stretched out his perception, feeling through the Abyss for the presence of his comrades.

  Flora and Lar Tathvaal were near. They had been wise enough to stick together.

  And then there were eight Imbued, floating apart from each other, lost and disoriented. Redmane reached out to them first, one at a time, guiding them toward him until all were present. Standing with him on an infinite plane of black, inch-deep water. In a moment the Abyss seemed to sense the presence of living things, and a glow of stars came to life overhead.

  “By the gods…” Valtr looked around, breathless.

  “They teach us about this in school,” said Lar Tathvaal, who was casting his gaze around with interest, as if they had found themselves in an exotic country. “But experiencing it is something else.”

  Flora slid up to Redmane and wrapped her arms around one of his, hugging it tightly.

  “I feared for thy safety,” she said, in a small voice.

  Redmane smiled. He lifted her chin gently, to direct her gaze up to his.

  “Never fear for me. I am everlasting.”

  She smiled up at him.

  He’d have liked to find a quiet place to relax with her. But this was not the place. Nor were these the circumstances.

  Nearby, Evelina crouched over Alma, who sat cradling her wounded stomach. Beside her, Vengarl and Irina were trying to rouse Vella and Radovid, neither of whom had regained consciousness.

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  Redmane reached out toward the two Imbued with one hand.

  Shaman’s Heal

  Shaman’s Heal

  Gnosis: 131

  450 Corpus for Radovid and Vella each. It was about the best he could do. They began to stir, Vella rubbing her head and Radovid clutching his stomach. Irina let out an explosive sigh of relief and hugged her brother.

  Then he looked over at Alma, and the Magister smiled and shook her head. “I’ll be alright,” she said.

  Her voice was a bit weak to sound convincing. But they couldn’t tarry here, so Redmane nodded.

  Then he considered their situation.

  If the Sicari had located them so easily, it was likely they could do so again.

  With the way the Numantian System functioned, the way one could see all of Volos from a magical atlas, it was possible there were no safe places in all the land.

  Redmane looked up, and called the Envoy to them.

  It was already present all around them, he realized. At his call, it coalesced from the liquid floor of the Abyss to hover before him, a sphere of black with a single eye.

  “Show us the nearest place the Sicari cannot reach,” he said.

  The Envoy stared silently at Redmane for several moments.

  Come close.

  Redmane gestured for the group to gather in. Alma was too weak to stand on her own, so Evelina squatted down and took hold of her legs, carrying her like a backpack.

  The Envoy expanded.

  The darkness, profound as it was, somehow grew darker. It enveloped them all.

  Nothing changed inside the sphere, but there was a sense of movement at great speed.

  Close your eyes. Focus on cherished memories. Things you wish to hold on to.

  Redmane realized it spoke not only to him, but to everyone.

  “What?” said Irina.

  “Hold on to memories?” said Radovid.

  We move into what mortals call Depth One. If you do not hold on, you will come apart.

  Not so long ago, when Redmane first found himself in the Abyss, he recalled that the System called it Depth Zero.

  It warned him about this.

  Redmane closed his eyes and tried to find a cherished memory.

  He found many unpleasant ones instead. A long chain of them, stretching off into antiquity. Centuries, nay, eons of torment. Anger and grief, hunger and starvation. As Sencis Karalis had sown his fields with the blood of the Lord of Hunger, the Lord of Hunger sowed suffering in the wake of his passage. A wretched existence. A God struck into the shape of a monster by his own son.

  Then, one morning, he found himself walking the road to H?erz Castle from the town of Barograd with new acquaintances in tow.

  And he saw Flora.

  The look on her face. That strange moment of recollection. It occurred to Redmane only now that he’d recalled the scene in perfect detail, the warmth of the morning sunlight, the sound of birds chattering in the trees of Midva Forest, the kitchen maid’s dress Flora had on. The way her cheeks dimpled when she smiled. The way the breeze played with her hair.

  That was something worth remembering.

  Redmane’s mind closed around that memory like a fist, and just in time. He felt a change in the air. A pressure. As if they now plunged into deeper waters.

  Flora clung to his side even tighter. But like the moment the arrows of the Sicari had struck him down, he now felt her fear as if it were his own. And that of his companions. They were all coming apart. Melding into each other.

  Hold fast to your memories.

  He felt them respond mentally to the Envoy’s command. Their minds contracted in alarm, discipline taking hold. Some were more disciplined than others, though. Lar Tathvaal was a different breed, to be certain. In his mind Redmane sensed a small swell of fear, but mostly the Numantian felt mere amusement. He could sense Vella struggling to hold her own fear at bay. It gnawed at the edges of Vengarl’s mind as well. Redmane wished he could lend them his will, shelter them with it. But all he could do was hope they pulled through.

  They dwelled together in a swirl of their own fears for what felt like a long time. It may only have been moments, but stress had a way of distorting one’s perception.

  And then, as suddenly as it began, the air cleared. Redmane felt like himself again. He could no longer sense the minds of the people around him. Sighs of relief swept through the group.

  The Envoy disgorged them in front of a familiar presence.

  A beacon in the dark. A column of energy that was an Abyssal Well.

  “My thanks,” said Redmane.

  The Envoy stared silently. Then it melded into the Abyss from whence it came.

  “So this is a safe place,” said Evelina.

  “Hope so,” said Valtr, as he looked up the column into the infinite darkness above. “I’d rather not go up there and walk into another forest of Star-Steel arrows. They didn’t look like they felt too nice.”

  “They did not,” said Redmane.

  He had the group gather around again, and once they were all close he reached out and touched the root of the Well.

  They ascended.

  And when they rose as one from a circular pool of black water, many gasped in shock.

  The group stood in the ruin of a building which once had four walls, but now only had two. Redmane noted that this chamber appeared to be of the same make as those housing the Abyssal Wells he’d already seen. It was built from the same black stone, but the carvings on the walls were different.

  That wasn’t what made the people gasp, though.

  The downed wall revealed the landscape stretching out before them, and it was empty and desolate. The ground was cracked and dry, devoid of any sign of life. No trees, no grass, no animals. Just an expanse of barren earth under a slate gray sky. The wind howled, a constant, mournful sound that echoed through the emptiness, carrying with it a biting chill that cut through to the bone.

  This building stood at the top of a hill overlooking a valley, offering a panoramic view of the wasteland below them. Redmane saw what looked like a dry riverbed running from one end of the valley to the other, and in its center lay the ruins of a town. Off in the distance he spied another ruin. That of a great city, with buildings of marble and granite and tall spires.

  “Looks like Taracon,” said Irina, as she shivered and drew her cloak around her.

  Lar Tathvaal squinted at it. “Ah. This would be Astia. The nearest colony to Volos.”

  They all looked at the Dicentis, and he smirked.

  “If you required proof of my words, look no further,” he said. “Behold the fate of a Numantian colony at the end of its usefulness.”

  “A dead world…” Vengarl’s tone was breathless.

  Evelina looked over her shoulder. “Alma, are you cold?”

  Alma didn’t answer. Her eyes were closed, she was smiling.

  But she wasn’t breathing.

  - - - -

  Their first act on the world of Astia was a burial.

  Redmane saw to the digging of the grave himself. Frustrated he hadn’t spared healing for her despite the girl declining it. He hadn’t pressed the issue. His mind was on other things. And now her soul was departed. Even if he’d consumed her flesh, there would be nothing to save.

  He dug a deep pit in a brief period.

  Lar Tathvaal kept himself at a polite distance from the others. Krum of Asgoph, after plucking all the arrows out of his hide, held Evelina and did his best to console her. When all was prepared, they lowered Alma into her final resting place and Redmane asked anyone if they would like to say a few words.

  “You deserved better,” was all Evelina could say.

  Later, when the grave was fully covered, Flora crouched over it and held out her hand, and a tiny glowing seed took purchase in the barren earth.

  What grew from the seed was not nearly as robust as the plants she could conjure on Volos. It was a short, slender sapling with a black trunk and leaves that gave off a faint blue-green glow.

  Redmane and the others found a place to shelter against the chill wind, and have a conference.

  “We can’t stay here,” said Radovid.

  “That much is plain,” said Redmane. “I don’t intend to hand Volos to the enemy. And three more Seals remain, besides.”

  “But the moment we come up out of the Well, they’ll know where we are,” said Valtr.

  Redmane folded his arms. “So we require a way to either conceal ourselves from the System, or strike out with such force that we need not fear any number of Sicari.”

  “One of those options sounds more likely than the other,” said Irina.

  Lar Tathvaal stood facing away from the circle, stroking his chin, staring off into the distance at the ruins of the Numantian city. His eyes glittered with avarice.

  “There might just be something useful in those ruins,” he said, with a note of knowing mirth in his voice.

  PATREON