It is curious to consider that Soren, the man with the gifts of the devil himself, was a devotee of Valefor, the god of death. In the two years since his awakening, he considered himself to be a creature of reincarnation, and that the memories that he lost would be restored, much as his life was.

  When clarity returns to him, will it drive him mad? What distant pains and humiliations now remain in the murk of the dim past? So much darkness, so many intrusions, the memory of the fallen man. And perhaps more painful than these, the knowledge that many of the people he loved and who loved him were now dead.

  Perhaps there was no escape from the inescapable bleakness of reawakening. Unknown brothers and sisters, dead. Unknown children, unknown friends and lovers, all dead. Perhaps the world itself was dead – this cocooned world, Amarith, which an entire generation of gods abandoned. The cocoon is meant to be a vessel for metamorphosis. But death, too, is a transformation, is it not?

  He looked up at the angel and the creature of the earth, the Empyrean and the Terramus, and wondered if this night presaged another journey into the transmutation of the soul.

  The Terramus straightened. ‘So, what do we do? If he came all this way, it might be worth it to take him to the boss.’

  ‘Are you sensing something?’ the Empyrean asked.

  ‘It’s just a hunch.’

  The Empyrean nodded. ‘That’s usually good enough.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’d be willing to let me go, instead?’ Soren asked.

  The Empyrean ignored that.

  The street remained quiet, but all three were aware of deeper shadows beyond the lamplight’s glow, of eyes watching this exchange. There was an immediate sense of tension, thick and heavy in the air that Soren had failed to notice until now. But now that he did, it was impossible to ignore. Two figures were approaching from behind them. Their silhouette suggested that they were the town guard. But for some reason, they stopped a fair distance away from where they were, simply standing there, spears in hand, seemingly entering some kind of debate. It was impossible that they hadn’t seen them, so Soren could only conclude that they were being studiously ignored. Yet that sensation of being watched did not fade away.

  ‘Is there someone out there?’ Soren asked in a low whisper.

  The Empyrean’s eyes narrowed at him, and she seemed to make a decision.

  ‘Not here,’ she said.

  ‘You sure about this?’ the Terramus asked.

  ‘No,’ she said, then returned her attention to Soren. ‘On your feet. We’re heading to a nearby tavern.’

  ‘Or you could just let me-‘

  She laid her hand on her sword, a silent gesture that was effective as an interruption.

  ‘This is not a negotiation.’

  Soren, again, weighed his options. The woman he hunted was still in this town. She was lingering longer than she usually did, which told him that there was something here she was looking for. Or perhaps, like him, she had run afoul of the local underbelly. He felt a faint tug westward as he thought of her again, his mind drawing to her general location. He was as close as he had been in a month, but now he had this to deal with.

  He glared resentfully at his two assailants. While he could certainly try to fight and probably best either one of them, taking them both on was likely beyond him – these were no ordinary thugs. And he was guessing they were part of no ordinary gang. Even without using his innate abilities, the air around them practically hummed with magical energy, and none of it had anything to do with them being plane-touched.

  ‘Fine,’ Soren said, getting to his feet. He looked down at the sword belted at his side, checking to make sure that all was in order. Good. The illusion hadn’t faded.

  ‘Keep your weapon.’ said the Empyrean, misreading his gaze. ‘It wouldn’t do for you to walk these streets at night unarmed. And we can handle ourselves if you use it against us.’

  Soren didn’t doubt it.

  Sighing in resignation, he looked at his captors and said, ‘I suppose I’m at your disposal.’

  And so, Soren was raised to his feet effortlessly by the Terramus lifting him up roughly by the crook of his elbow. His touch was more or less the way he imagined it might be from appearance, as hard as stone.

  The Empyrean regarded the pair of them for a moment, then led the way back into the alleyway they emerged from.

  The Terramus cast a gaze at the two guards across the way, then grunted. ‘He’s overdoing it.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said the Empyrean. ‘But just try convincing him otherwise.’

  The Terramus sighed in resigned agreement.

  Soren had no idea what they were talking about, but there was a strange sensation in the air as the mist roiled around their feet. Soren was steered down the alleyway, and just when it seemed when the Empyrean was about to walk into a wall, she simply stepped through it, and the wall rippled, like a stone being dropped into a pond.

  Soren blinked in surprise, but he had no time to wonder at this as the Terramus pushed him through the wall as well. The feeling was like dipping one’s hand in oil. He emerged from the other side feeling greasy, and his flesh clammy, though this was all purely sensation, not physical. The touch of the magic was reminiscent of something in his past, and a woman’s face flashed before his eyes – the woman in the temple of his awakening…

  He shook his head, perturbed by this strange vision, and as his senses cleared, he felt another presence touching his mind, as light as a butterfly’s touch, imperceptible while sense and memory seized his attention, and fluttering away just as he regained focus. A hand, not as subtle as it should have been, as it nearly was. There was someone there watching them. Watching him.

  He remembered the meditation techniques that guarded against mental intrusions. He would not drop his guard again.

  He looked back at the wall as the Terramus walked through, saw it rippling and reshaping behind the elemental’s massive frame.

  An illusion?

  No. The sense of magic in the air similar, but far stronger than any illusion spell he had encountered. This was the work of several wizards, or one so incredibly powerful that Soren shivered to think about it.

  As they walked through the darkness, there was a moment when his vision blurred, and the street before him twisted and distorted. He was struck by a sudden sense of vertigo, and then alleyways around them changed.

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  Instead of the cramped, narrow gutter this street appeared to be, instead it now resembled a main thoroughfare, and before them was a building that looked like a tavern at the end of the street. This thoroughfare, strangely enough, seemed to be a cul-de-sac, and there was a magical aura over this entire street. He marvelled at the extent of its power, and he wondered at its purpose. What did these people have to hide? And who were they?

  Maybe he should have fought them after all. The slim chance he had of victory and escape was dwindling the closer he got to what was clearly their hideout.

  They walked into what seemed to be a tavern, and indeed it had all the accoutrements one might expect of such a place. There was even a balding man behind a counter directly opposite the entryway with heavy forearms using an obviously dirty rag to clean a mug that might have been better off without it.

  There were a few figures slumped over their tables, either exhausted by violent carousing, or having just been knocked out in some brawl, or just plain too drunk to stand. To the right of the counter was a small stage on which a young girl played a flute. Soren frowned and looked closer, seeing that it was not a young girl at all but an adult gnomish woman, her fingers expertly dancing as she played a rollicking tune that some of the more sober patrons were dancing to.

  Other hooded figures lingered in a corner of the room, not partaking in the revelries their drinks nearly untouched as they discussed something in hushed whispers. As Soren and the others passed them by, he distinctly heard the words, ‘Fellvalian,’ and ‘Morvana’ At his obvious interest, they fired dangerous glares at him, and Soren got the feeling that they would have attacked him then and there were it not for his current company.

  But Soren marked them as Ophiones – a rare sight so deep in the kingdom. They were demonized almost as much Daoine were, and unlike Daoine, they tended to form societies of and communities of their own, no matter where they originally hailed from.

  Still, they mentioned Morvana. Even here, in this tiny town, the distant Empire was a fear that everyone had – a nebulous shadow that threatened their world of peace.

  The trio found a table near the wall of the room, and the Terramus steered Soren into a seat, sitting at one end of the table, within arm’s reach, while the Empyrean took the seat directly opposite to Soren, fixing him with an imperious glare. It was remarkable how out of place she looked here in this dingy, dusty tavern, with her beautiful, celestial features.

  ‘Now, then,’ said the Empyrean. ‘My name is Aurel,’ she said, then nodded to her companion.

  ‘Zephon,’ the Terramus grunted.

  ‘Soren,’ Soren replied to the unvoiced question.

  Aurel nodded at this. ‘Good. There’s a chance we might yet find an accord between us, Soren. All we ask is for your co-operation… and an explanation for your actions.’

  The Terramus – Zephon – said nothing, only fixing Soren with an unblinking stare. Soren, liking this situation less and less, simply nodded.

  ‘How long have you been chasing this quarry of yours?’

  ‘A few months, now.’

  ‘Caldershire, Grimvale, Drivorius,’ Aurel said, listing the towns Soren mentioned earlier. ‘She’s cutting a path to the west. How do you know she hasn’t left town already?’

  ‘I’d have picked up her trail,’ Soren replied. ‘During our last confrontation, I placed an enchantment on her, something that tells me her general location. It won’t lead me directly to her, but it will tell me when she gets further away from me. I can chase her to the ends of the continent if need be.’

  ‘You’re a wizard?’ the Empyrean asked, surprised. Her eyes flicked over his boiled leather gear and the sword he carried. ‘You don’t look it.’

  ‘No, I’m no wizard,’ said Soren. Of course, he had magic of his own. But he was no wizard. ‘I had... allies who were capable of such things.’

  ‘Allies?’

  ‘No longer with me, I fear,’ said Soren. 'May Halflight guide them...'

  The Empyrean’s eyes softened slightly. ‘So, she’s lingering in town,’ Aurel said, getting back on track. ‘Why do you suppose that is?’

  ‘My guess is that she’s looking for something here,’ said Soren. ‘Or, perhaps, meeting someone here.' He grimaced. 'If she has allies, my task will be more difficult.’

  ‘And what is this task?’

  ‘It’s complicated,’ Soren said. As Aurel’s eyes narrowed, he raised his hand. ‘I’m not trying to be evasive here, it really is complicated.’ He sighed. ‘Her name is Sannah Liyim. She is of the Daoine, like me. And if she has allies... I pray I have not just stumbled upon them.’

  Aurel and Zephon exchanged the briefest of glances, and for a moment it looked like one of them would say something, but instead they waited for him to continue, Aurel nodding at him. Slightly mollified, Soren obliged.

  ‘For reasons I do not yet understand, she murdered the alderman of my town. I was tasked to hunt her down and bring her to justice, either taking her alive or killing her if she resisted. However, after my first encounter with her, it became clear that I was outmatched. Wielding both magic, bow and blades, she defeated me and left me for dead on the planes of Caldershire. I was saved by the Red Shepherds.’

  ‘The Cult of the Red?’ Aurel said, not masking her surprise. ‘That is… an unbelievable story. I take it that their rescue was not without cost.’

  ‘Actually…’ Soren said. ‘It turns out that Sannah was known to them. It was from them, actually, that I learned her name.’

  ‘The Red Shepherds rarely give out such information freely,’ Zephon noted. ‘What did they ask of you in return?’

  ‘Honestly, they only wished me to find her and to either end her life or bring her to them,’ Soren said, shrugging. ‘Maybe she killed one of theirs, too, I don’t know.’

  ‘And why were you tasked with doing this?’ Aurel asked. ‘Why did your town choose you?’

  Soren sighed and removed a small silver coin from one of his pockets. It had a stylized sculpture of a devil’s head, in profile. The reverse had an angelic face. Curious, Aurel examined it, turning it over and over, again and again.

  ‘Two years ago, the people of Shallan took me in and gave me a place to call my own. In return, I offered my protection, for I am fairly skilled with a blade. They made me their reeve. In failing to protect the alderman, I failed Shallan. Bringing Sannah to justice is the only way I can make up for that failure.’

  He sighed. It had been the end of one life and the start of another. With every day passing, and every step that carried him further from Shallan, he feared that he would never see it again.

  ‘This is the symbol of Halflight,’ Aurel noted, admiring the coin. ‘You are an adherent of Valefor?’

  ‘I walk with his guidance,’ said Soren.

  Aurel examined the symbol a little longer, than handed the coin back.

  ‘The world has changed much. Only a few years ago, worship of Valefor was outlawed.’

  ‘Unsurprising. The Lord of the Court of Death has had a bad reputation for some time. But of course, the problem is with the followers, not the religion itself.’

  ‘A distinction without a difference, as far as how the religion is perceived,’ Zephon noted.

  ‘True enough,’ said Soren. ‘And most towns still don’t seem to accept it. I learned that the hard way two years ago.’ His lip curled slightly at the memory of being chased out of a few towns. The last one hunted him down with dogs. He hated having to kill dogs.

  ‘Let’s get back to the Red Shepherds,’ Zephon muttered. ‘What other information did they give you about Sannah?’

  ‘They seemed to have some idea of why she was killing people,’ said Soren. ‘They said she was trying to find her... mantra. I’m not sure what that means, though.’

  Zephon’s gaze narrowed. ‘That was the word they used?’ he said. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Soren. ‘It’s not a word you hear every day, so I’m sure.’

  Zephon stood up. ‘Come with us.’

  ‘Zephon?’ Aurel was surprised.

  ‘He’s involved now. And chances are that Arioth will want to know about this Sannah.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Soren demanded. ‘What is this mantra? Isn't it just some kind of chant?’

  ‘Not so loud,’ said Zephon, looking around the tavern.

  ‘Relax, Zephon,’ said Aurel. ‘I’d be willing to bet that most of these people don't even know what it means.’

  Zephon raised an eyebrow. ‘All the same, it is not a word to be bandied about without thinking.’ He fixed his gaze on Soren. ‘A mantra is closely bound to the concept of Origination. If you oppose her, then you are part of this game, whether you want to be or not.' he rumbled, then turned, gesturing for Soren to follow him.

  'You may yet find allies in this hunt of yours.’

  Glossary:

  Cult of the Red: A derogatory term used to refer to the Red Shepherds.

  Halflight: Symbol of the Lord of Death, a circular field, with one half black and the other half white. Those who follow Valefor's guidance are often misunderstood. But those who revere death also value life. The coin symbol, bearing the face of angel and a devil on its reverse, are thought to be manifestations of Valefor, though others have said that it represents both the peace and fear of death.

  Red Shepherds: A sect of priests, teachers and judges; adherents of natural laws and natural magic. An ancient order, who were once said to have led humanity before they settled into cities. Their numbers have dwindled, and their strange magic and beliefs have caused many to label them a cult.

  Valefor: The god of death. He presides over a court of lesser deities; all associated with death in its many forms.