The beastman called Sheriff Kard was a mixture of man, lion, and goat; a leonine mane and claws, lyre-shaped horns that curved upwards and outwards from his head, cloven feet and a lion’s tail. His eyes were those of a great cat, their pupils compressed into vertical slits. Now that they stood face to face, Redmane noted Kard was roughly two heads taller than he was.

  Wounds covered Kard’s body, and his breath came with a faint wheezing. He looked down at Redmane with a blend of shock and suspicion on his face.

  If the circumstances were different, Kard would be his next foe. He’d claim this Zone as his own, add it to his Faction’s territory. Grant Kard an afterlife in his Soulspace, if he fought well.

  But that would certainly alert the Numantians. They would see the Zone change hands, and know its owner was back.

  It would be wise to delay that for as long as he could get away with.

  “Who is this that comes to our aid,” asked Kard, and his voice boomed even though it was clearly weaker than normal.

  Redmane considered the question.

  Who was he, truly?

  “I am he who bears responsibility for the changes this world and its people have been through. The one who awakened the beast lurking within every man of Volos. I have been a god, a king, an all-devouring monster and a helpless wretch. Today I am Redmane.”

  His answer appeared to have captured Kard’s interest.

  And that of the surviving beastmen as well, who were cautiously approaching the village square. Wounds afflicted many of them, some gravely, causing them to limp or rely on their comrades for support.

  “What did he say?” asked one of them.

  “Does he know what happened to us?” asked another.

  They could speak and think clearly. Like the one he had briefly met at Beroh Keep. This was a splendid development.

  If the Blight had evolved yet again, if the beastmen were becoming self aware, sapient, he wouldn’t have to face Numantia alone.

  He would have an army of his own.

  Redmane waited until all the survivors had gathered in the village square and then he stood upon the pedestal of the fallen statue and addressed them as a group. He explained the whole truth of recent events. The reason they had transformed. His and Numantia’s roles in it all.

  The beastmen listened in solemn silence. He had their complete attention. Disbelief shone plainly on a few faces, but mostly they listened raptly. There was a glimmer in their eyes. Redmane supposed it was hope. Hope that their pain and suffering had not been in vain, that this had happened for a reason.

  It was remarkable to see how intelligent they looked compared to the beastmen he’d seen mere days ago.

  As for why they seemed to gain in power and intelligence so rapidly, he speculated it was the breaking of the Seals.

  Kard, who sat at the rear of the group, raised his eyebrows. “So that is why you have come all this way.”

  Redmane nodded.

  “Can someone undo this change?”

  “I know not. Battle has occupied much of my time. Perhaps when all is resolved, we could search for a remedy.”

  Redmane’s answer put a stricken look on the face of the beastman who had asked. A few others looked dismayed as well. One or two stared at the ground with profound guilt in their eyes. In the opening days of the Blight, these beastmen would have been mindless killers. Those who had not turned, the ones who remained human, would have been devoured.

  Something would have to be done to help them mend their conscience.

  And his own, truly.

  He’d partaken of the flesh of beastmen himself. By the droves.

  But all was not clear in those first furious nights. He had been high on power and freedom from a period of terrible privation and suffering. He could justify what he’d done.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  It was clear to Redmane that some of these beastmen would require a similarly sound justification.

  I can be of assistance with that, my lord, said Pietr. I am a priest, after all.

  Set your mind to the task now. These folk don’t deserve their guilt.

  He did his best to field the rest of their questions. When they had no more, Redmane helped them gather the dead. The rows of beastmen and legionnaires were roughly equal, but only because the ones Redmane himself had dispatched were in so many pieces they could not be gathered.

  Those would have to be cleaned off the streets with buckets of water.

  By the time it was done, the sun was well past its zenith. Evening was near, which meant he’d be searching for the Seal of the Kirin in the dark.

  Kard noticed him frowning up at the late afternoon sky, approached him from where he had been helping his kin sort out the dead.

  “It is there,” he pointed at the highest peak visible from their village. “You will find the Seal at the summit, in a small temple built of black stone.”

  “My thanks,” said Redmane.

  Black stone.

  It wasn’t Numantian, that much he felt confident about.

  He’d first assumed the black stone buildings were his son’s creation. Leftovers from the reign of Vos, the First Sovereign. But there had been a building just like it on the world of Astia. Although the wall carvings were in an unfamiliar language, the materials and architectural style matched the buildings on Volos exactly. Unless his son was spreading his civilization to other worlds, it had to have been built by others.

  Perhaps there had been an empire before Numantia. Perhaps Numantia had a predecessor.

  Earlier he’d questioned his own wisdom at sparing the soul of his son.

  Now he felt better about it. He could question Vos, who would certainly have the answers. As for whether or not he’d be willing to share, he would have to find out. Redmane felt confident he could convince Vos to be of help.

  But those were tasks for later.

  For now, he had another Seal to break and another shard of his power to reclaim.

  Redmane centered his gaze on that mountaintop in the distance, framed by the dim glow of the afternoon sky.

  He turned and bowed to Kard. “I wish you and your people safety and good fortune.”

  Kard bowed in return. “I give thanks for your aid.”

  “You should take your men and leave this village for the time being,” said Redmane. “When the Numantians discover they have lost, they will surely return with greater numbers. Seek safety with allies, if you have any nearby. Or seek a place to hide.”

  Redmane’s words appeared to trouble the Sheriff. The beastman rubbed his chin, hummed thoughtfully.

  “No allies to speak of. We could take to the mountains, fight with javelins and rocks. With a proper choke point we could hold off a larger force for some time.”

  The Numantians would find them in the mountains and crush them, in all likelihood.

  Given what they had endured, what nearly every soul in Volos had endured, Redmane deemed it an unworthy fate for them.

  “There is a place I could send you and your people for a time. It isn’t the most hospitable, but it would be safer by far than anywhere in Volos. My allies presently shelter there.”

  The beastman’s eyebrow rose. “Oh?”

  “You would have to gather your provisions and ration them well, however. You could say the land lacks in bounty.”

  His offer provoked another round of humming and chin scratching. “Let me bring this to the others.”

  Redmane nodded. “Of course.”

  Kard gathered his surviving comrades and discussed their options, and while they did so Redmane found a place apart from them to sit and gather his thoughts.

  The Imbued would have mixed reactions to the appearance of a group of beastmen, he supposed.

  But these were not the monsters they had done battle with in earlier days. Their minds were returning. They could be communicated with, reasoned with.

  Which was a fortuitously timed development, for the true enemy was on their doorstep.

  He ought to send out envoys.

  Spawn he could use to introduce himself, explain the situation, and call for coordinated resistance. The Numantians were likely to be everywhere already. He was surprised they hadn’t already stormed Castle Redmane’s gates this very day.

  So there was time. Little time, perhaps. But perhaps just enough.

  The only thing preventing him from spawning an army of fast-flying birds right this moment was the Kirin. He would save his resources for that battle, handle it first, and then see to the rest afterward.

  After a short while, Kard made his way back to Redmane.

  “We have decided,” he said. “We will accept your offer of shelter.”

  Redmane smiled. “Splendid. Allow me to introduce you to your guide.”

  And then he spawned Pietr.

  Corpus: 30,404

  To this body he granted Naturalborn of the Void, for their trip through the Abyss. Pietr resembled his old self, lanky, long haired and antlered. The foremost difference between the body of a spawn and the body of the original was the hue of the skin. They were always red.

  Kard’s eyes were wide with surprise as the priest bowed. “A pleasure to meet you, ser Kard. You and your people are in for a most miraculous journey!”

  Redmane left it to Pietr to explain the particulars.

  He bid farewell to him and Kard and the people of Magas Village for now, accepted their profuse thanks, and then he turned and brought forth the wings of the Manticore with a mighty sweep, beating his wings against the clear mountain air to begin his arduous ascent to the highest summits of Skyrend Peaks.

  Where power awaited.

  The world below shrank rapidly, the village and its inhabitants becoming mere specks against the vast tapestry of the land. As he rose higher and higher the air thinned, making his heart pound harder in his chest, matching the rhythm of his wings, while the cold bit at his skin. A pleasant contrast to the heat building within him.

  Already the peaks loomed closer, jagged silhouettes against the fading light. Somewhere nearby a temple of black stone awaited him. The anticipation of merely laying eyes on it fueled his ascent, propelling him ever upward.

  Redmane grinned as he remembered something.

  Legend said the Kirin appeared at the imminent arrival of an illustrious ruler.

  PATREON