King Edd sat upon a throne of skulls.

  Mostly they were the skulls of demi-humans, though there were other kinds mixed in; cats, birds, rodents, the occasional human skull stood out because of its size. The King was himself a demi-human, with gray green skin and yellow eyes, an uncharacteristically noble set of facial features, and a crown of small skulls on his head, worn at a jaunty angle. A great steel sword, obviously forged for a human, leaned against the side of that throne.

  King Edd

  Monster Type: Demi-Human

  Level 141

  “You tell the King there are interlopers in his land. He has not seen this. His scouts bring no word.”

  “Your scouts are likely dead,” said Redmane. “Or else the powers of the Imbued have fooled their senses.”

  King Edd made his displeasure at this suggestion plain. He straightened on his throne, frowned theatrically. The throng of demi-humans huddled around him, encircling both Edd and Redmane, grew agitated at his show of frustration. There was much growling and jabbering in the clipped, guttural demi-human language.

  The King’s eyes widened in a glare. His nostrils flared. “Who is this who comes before the King and tells him his chosen scouts are witless?”

  Redmane sighed.

  He didn’t want to fight them. He had a fondness for demi-humans. He used to look like one, even.

  “If you don’t believe me, then come see for yourself,” he said.

  This was the wrong thing to say.

  The demi-humans around them jeered and howled. Many brandished weapons. Redmane found himself the target of dozens of yellow-eyed glares and shouted invectives in the demi-human language.

  “King Edd sees through your ruse, red-haired one,” Edd grinned and leaned back on his skull throne. “You would lure the king into the wilds, away from his clan, and then you would try to usurp him, yes?”

  Redmane wanted to tell the demi-human he was overestimating the value of his kingdom, but he supposed that would go over about as well as the suggestion he come look for himself.

  So he took a moment to consider his next actions.

  He wasn’t above a little trickery, so long as it was well intentioned.

  Redmane changed form.

  A gasp rippled through the crowd of demi-humans as Redmane shrank down to their size, took on their features.

  It was the form the Morholts called ‘Little Redcap’ not so long ago.

  “I travel in the guise of a human, for safety,” he said. “But I am the last of my clan. These Numantian Imbued hunt our kind. Indeed, they hunt all monsters for their own gain. Great King, I come to warn you of their arrival. If you truly don’t believe me, bring your warriors along with you. I will show you all the danger is near.”

  Under just about any other circumstances, he would not have voluntarily taken this form again. But he knew he’d made the right choice. Their reactions were too perfect.

  Even King Edd had gone wide-eyed at Redmane’s transformation. He leaned forward on his throne, his hands clutching two skulls that made the tops of its arms.

  “Where did you learn such sorcery?” he asked.

  “I can show you. But first, good King, you must rise and protect your people.”

  Elsewhere in the forest, Redmane had sent Pietr to engage in diplomacy of a different kind.

  In the form of a giant boar with crimson fur, the priest of Kraal stood before the lord of the southron section of Erdu Forest, who at the moment dozed in a clearing.

  Vargath the Great Boar

  Monster Type: Beast

  Level 145

  Vargath was a colossal beast, larger than an ox, larger perhaps than even the Ice Wargs of the north. His thick, bristled hide was as coarse as wire, and a mottled blend of dark browns and grays, providing both armor and camouflage against the forested backdrop. The creature's head was enormous, with curved tusks, each as long as a man’s arm, that could likely uproot trees and fling boulders with a single swipe.

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  Pietr’s own boar form wasn’t so impressive, but his lord had bestowed him with battle Skills. If it came to a contest of strength, he could prevail.

  He hoped.

  Pietr wished Redmane had chosen him to speak to the demi-humans. He was a scholar and a speaker, a holy man. He was no warrior. Oh, how craven he felt. Even in such a powerful form as this.

  Or perhaps that was why. Yes, the master wished to test him, to push him toward greatness. He would be equal to the challenge. It was necessary for lord Redmane’s plan that they arrive in the same place at the same time, so he couldn’t dally.

  He trembled at the sight of the massive beast slumbering before him.

  But then he steeled himself. Pitched his snout skyward and let out a deafening screech.

  Vargath barely stirred. Many other boars napping in the clearing did, however. They awoke and grunted their displeasure, fixing their eyes on the crimson boar who dared disturb their nap time.

  “Mrrrgh… I’m full, leave me be…” Vargath didn’t open his eyes.

  “Humans are coming!” cried Pietr, in the language of boars. “They come with weapons and magics! They hunt us!”

  “Let them come,” said Vargath. “We will crush them. Gore them. Trample them underfoot. We do it quick, then we rest again.”

  “We should go out and catch them by surprise! They sit together unaware. Now would be the perfect time!”

  Vargath shook his head side to side, let out a grunt of displeasure at the mere suggestion he get up.

  “Let them come,” he repeated.

  Pietr’s stomach lurched with fright.

  He knew what he had to say. Lord Redmane had given him precise instructions.

  But…

  No. He just had to do it. And damn the consequences!

  “If you don’t rise and fight Vargath, I say you are a coward!”

  Vargath’s eyes popped open.

  They were like little spheres of obsidian. Small but fierce, glowing with intelligence and anger.

  The ground trembled as Vargath rose, muscles rippling beneath his thick hide, and the other boars backed away, sensing the challenge hanging in the air. Vargath’s tusks gleamed like the tips of spears as he shook his head, dislodging leaves and debris. His nostrils flared and his breath came in powerful snorts that sent dust swirling.

  As he stood to his full height, towering over Pietr, his gaze promised retribution for the insult.

  Pietr tried not to let his voice shake.

  “If I knock you over, Vargath, you have to come with me…”

  “Could you pass the sausages?” said Aranth.

  He sat with his Coterie, Cale Ramtha, Livia Caelestis and Marcus Vesperian, having a late breakfast in a place called Erdu Forest. Earlier this morning they dispatched the first of three enemies in the Zone, and since their resources were a bit depleted by the fight, they chose to rest and scout around for the remainder of the day.

  There didn’t seem to be any rush.

  Marcus handed him the pan with the sausages, picking some from between his teeth with a toothpick in his other hand. “Seems like a pleasant world,” he said. “Pretty scenery.”

  “A bit wild,” said Livia Caelestis.

  “Wild things can still be beautiful when they’re tamed,” said Cale Ramtha, their Magister. He held out his hand for the pan of sausages after Aranth, took some for himself, and then placed it back in the center of their little circle.

  Aranth leaned back against the rock he was using for a chair and spoke with half a mouthful of food. “I don’t see what all the fuss was about. An emergency Pharos call. And the whole Venturian 6th is here. Crazy stuff. So far as I’ve seen, this world doesn’t look much like it’s in crisis.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving,” said Cale.

  Aranth shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose.”

  Livia let her gaze wander for a moment, taking in the sights and sounds of the forest. “Shall we make this Zone a Sanctuary?”

  “Nah,” said Aranth. “We should continue north after this. There’s a renegade Faction, Redmane House I think it’s called. They have two Sanctuaries, good ones, and a fat slab of territories besides. We’ll have to be quick about it though. Every other Coterie fresh across the bridge is gonna have their eyes on that one.”

  “The Provisional Governor believes the one called Redmane may still be at large,” said Cale.

  Marcus Vesperian grinned broadly. “We should claim his head too, then. I hear the reward is practically divine favor.”

  “If the reward is practically divine favor, we probably have little chance,” said Aranth.

  Livia was the first to notice the sounds.

  They came from both the north and the south.

  From the north, she thought she heard voices, the clatter of weapons, the drumbeat of many pairs of feet walking in a group.

  From the south… Thunder. No, hoofbeats. Large animals crashing through the underbrush.

  Her heart went still.

  Slowly, she leaned over to set aside her unfinished plate of food, and took up her bow. Her companions noticed what she was doing, and a couple of them reacted with raised eyebrows.

  “We good?” asked Aranth.

  She met his eyes and shook her head no.

  His own eyes widened a bit, and he nodded. The rest got the message as well, setting down their plates and taking up arms as they rose to their feet. Aranth’s sword whispered from its scabbard. Marcus took up his twin hammers. Cale grasped his staff, which he’d rested against the trunk of a nearby tree.

  In a moment the sounds from the north and the south grew loud enough for all of them to hear.

  A moment after that, their enemies came into plain view.

  Out of the northron horizon came a throng of demi-humans, their faces contorted with jeering mockery, storming forward wielding plundered arms and crude wooden shields. Their leader was nearly as tall as a man, wore a crown of skulls and carried a great double-edged sword that looked far too heavy for him. Nonetheless he held it casually, a smile on his face, his yellow eyes agleam with the prospect of bloodshed.

  From the south came boars. Huge ones. Such was the size of their hooves that the earth beneath them was deeply furrowed, scattering chunks of earth and cracked stone in all directions, leaving a trail which resembled the aftermath of an avalanche or a star falling to the earth. They knocked aside trees, trampled bushes. And the boar at the head of the pack, the one leading the charge and by far the largest of the bunch, had a glimmer of intellect in its beady eyes.

  Aranth swallowed hard. Gripped his sword tighter.

  They could handle this.

  They had been through worse.

  He wasn’t an especially pious man, but he muttered a prayer to the Nine all the same.

  PATREON