Gis, Priest of Urkhan, Initiate of the Second Circle, and Right Hand of Basgar the Blinder was in a foul mood. He had just spent days crawling about underground like a worm, one of his more promising protégés had been done in by a kobold rebellion of all things, and after all that, all he had to show for his efforts was a handful of cracked stone which, to all appearances, held not even a trace of the energies his Lord had commanded him to search for.

To make matters worse, Basgar insisted the priest join him at the top of the highest tower of the keep. Worn stone steps led upwards in a continuous spiral as Gis climbed. The priest did so carefully and cautiously. The place had not been subjugated so long as to surrender all of its secrets, and the last thing he wanted was to meet with the business end of some rebel’s dagger.

Fortunately Gis completed the climb unharmed, save for a slight shortness of breath and some muscle ache. The top of the tower was crenellated all around and provided both exquisite views and a supreme tactical view of the surrounding terrain.

The Keep was built on a small plateau formed where three mountain ranges met. It was an ancient structure built of massive stones in a roughly nonagonal structure. Three wide roads led to and from the keep, one toward each of the three regions bordered by the mountains. The one who controlled the Keep controlled the Borderlands, and all the trade that flowed between the nations nestled amongst the stony peaks.

‘Ah, good. You’ve finally made it.’

The words came from the man who currently controlled the keep: Basgar the Blinder. Tall and fair of skin and clear of eye, Basgar’s armour was worked with a motif of eyes, some enamelled, some not. Those that were bore the colour of an eye Basgar had plucked from a living enemy. He was one to rule through fear and intimidation.

And Gis—and his Lord—heartily approved.

‘My Lord,’ the priest said with a small inclination of his head. Respect had been earned, but he was still a servant of the Most Mighty and Terrible Urkhan. There was only so far he would bow before another.

‘We’ve nearly routed the rabble that resist my occupation,’ Basgar began, ‘and I would have your Lord’s wisdom on the best direction to next turn my efforts.’

Nearly? The word left a sour taste in Gis’s mouth. It seemed to echo with Bula’s lackadaisical attitude and the empty promises of Chief Ratscale. Still, his Lord had directed him to render what aid he could to Basgar’s efforts in this region. So he would, while watching for any hint that the petty tyrant might become unsuitable for Urkhan’s work.

‘You haven’t the might to challenge any of the city-states of the Confederacy,’ the priest said slowly, looking roughly Northward out over the trees. ‘Not yet.’ He turned to stride across the top of the tower and look to the South East. ‘You could challenge one of the lesser Marcher Lords, however, if you are smart, and ruthless.’

‘Not the foolish merchants to the West?’ Basgar joined Gis in gazing out over the edge.

The wind up here was mercilessly cold. It snapped at Gis’s nose as the priest considered the best way to word his reasoning to the power-hungry lordling.

‘The merchants have a great deal of money. It’s far better to meet them on their own field of battle.’ The priest grinned nastily. ‘What care that lot for loss of blood when you can hurt them far more with loss of gold? You can raise the toll for passage through the Keep. Make them pay more. Weaken them as you strengthen your own hand.’

‘Mmm, yes, I like the way you think,’ Basgar rumbled. ‘The Merchants will fund my conquest of the nearby Marcher Lords, which will in turn provide soldiers for my eventual assault on the nearby city-states of the Confederacy.’

‘Fools,’ Gis spat over the rampart, ‘if they had a single, powerful leader, no one would dare carve away at their edges. As it is, when the time is right you can nip away at your foes on all three sides, stealing away enough land to forge the heart of a new Empire from your position here. All they will do is squabble, or worse, put the matter of action to a vote or before a committee.’

‘Yes!’ Basgar slammed a fist down onto the stone in front of him. ‘Bleed the merchants, subjugate the nearby Marcher Lords, then mount an offensive against the Confederacy.’ Basgar smiled. ‘Your god counsels you well, Gis.’

‘I am at your service, Lord Basgar.’ Gis inclined his head once more.

‘And your own quest on Urkhan’s behalf? Did it bear fruit?’

‘Yes, though not as I expected,’ Gis replied slowly, measuring his words to set himself at best advantage. ‘Though there was no sign of the magics I sought, I did discover a band of spies sent by the Confederacy to assess your position here.’

‘Oh?’ Basgar’s tone was dangerous. ‘And what became of these ‘spies’?’

‘I dealt with them. It cost me two promising recruits to our cause here, but I dealt with them.’ Gis gave a version of the truth that made him look better for having vanquished his foes.

‘You’ll have to tell me the tale over dinner! It sounds like it might be entertaining.’

‘True enough. The spies are likely worm food at the bottom of a chasm beneath that mountain, at any rate.’ Gis gestured to the stony peak he himself had so recently returned from. ‘If they are not, well, the wilderness around the keep will consume them.’

Basgar laughed, a rough, barking sound that was swiftly swept away by the wind.

‘Yes,’ the petty tyrant agreed, ‘the wildwood around this keep is full of strange and hungry beasts. To say nothing of the other things that lurk in the shadows.’

Gis’s laugh joined Basgar’s on the wind.

It was hard to say which was colder: the laugh of the tyrant, the laugh of the priest, or the frigid wind dancing around the two of them.