Garrain breathed in…and out, savouring the unexpected sensation. Against all reason, he still drew breath. So many times these recent days, he’d been certain that when next he opened his eyes, he’d be gazing up at the grey mists of the Vale of Echoes. But never had he been more certain than this moment, on this day.

He looked down at the tattered strips that were all that remained of the lower half of his leather cuirass, and the ugly red burn around his abdomen. A little while longer in the monster’s grasp, and the foul slime would have burned all the way through his skin, dooming him to an agonising death. Not that it would have mattered, because if she hadn’t freed him from the great worm’s clutches, he’d have been pulled into its belly, just as she had been.

Why had she saved him? Why!?

For many a fiveday he’d sought the demon’s death; hungered for it with a passion he’d rarely felt before the day he encountered her. And now it had come to pass. She was gone, while he yet lived. In that sense, he’d won.

But this didn’t feel like victory. There was no triumph. Just the taste of tainted sourberries on the back of his tongue.

Despite his best efforts, his captors had been wearing him down, and he’d found himself cooperating in earnest, just so he could live another day and perhaps earn back Ruinath. His righteous rage had withered and died a little each time the demon defended him against her more bloodthirsty dwarrow companion. Even so, he’d been convinced there was no way she could be the noble creature she pretended to be.

Until today. Today the deusdamned demon had ruined everything. When she’d vanished into the great worm’s maw, the demon had been carrying Ruinath. He’d never get it back. And without the staff, his magic was forever denied to him.

With an effort of will, he shoved aside those bitter thoughts. They were unbecoming of him. His magic would have been no use to him in the Vale of Echoes, which was precisely where he’d have ended up had she not acted. The demon had risked everything to rescue him—her defeated foe—and paid the final price. He couldn’t understand why she’d done such a thing, but he could at least try to be grateful.

Not only that, but it was time he stopped calling her the demon, or the trow. She had a name, and that name was Saskia.

Garrain looked up at the looming form of the deepworm; its girth greater than that of the largest azurinth trunks in Wengarlen. He needed to get moving, lest her sacrifice be in vain.

Her sacrifice…

Again his thoughts threatened to circle back into darkness, so he shoved them aside and forced himself to rise.

The great worm let out a deafening screech, and a foul wind swept through the chamber. Garrain crouched low behind a stone pillar, thinking that again the beast would send forth its ensnaring tendrils to drag him into its maw. But none came. It was, however, moving faster than ever.

“Deus preserve me,” he muttered, breaking into a run. Why Abellion permitted such creatures to burrow into the arbor, he couldn’t fathom. The Arbordeus must have some purpose for them. Perhaps they were here solely to eat dwarrows, keeping them from rampaging out across the surface of Ciendil, as had happened in the time of the Arborcaede.

His best hope for survival now lay in the crevice high on the cavern wall, where the dwarrow—Ruhildi—sheltered.

Slowing only for an instant to retrieve Trowbane from where he’d dropped it, he clambered up the rough wall and rolled into the narrow opening.

Ruhildi’s dark eyes narrowed at his arrival. “Where is she?”

“I…” He trailed off, for a moment lost for words. “I did not intend for this to happen. Not in this manner.”

“Where is she?” repeated the dwarrow, her voice rising to a dangerous pitch. Shadows seemed to crawl beneath her umber skin.

Unlike Saskia, the necrourgist had never pretended they were anything other than enemies. In a way, he actually preferred this. At least he knew where he stood with her. This conversation wasn’t going to end well, no matter what he said. Better to just give her the brutal truth.

“In the belly of the deepworm,” he said. “Your mistress—Saskia—discarded her own life to save mine. I know not why.”

“You lie! You turned on her as I kenned you would!”

“I did no such thing,” he said. “But this isn’t the time to settle our—”

At that moment, there was an ear-splitting thump. The tiny crevice in which they hid was plunged into darkness. Something vast blotted out the dim light of the cavern beyond. Garrain shrank back from the opening and crouched there for the longest time, listening to the great beast’s rough hide smashing and scraping against the wall outside. The darkness seemed to press in on him, and the shaking grew so intense he fell to his knees.

Many long heartbeats passed before the tumult receded, and light returned, like the passing of a highspring storm. The dwarrow’s hands were held aloft, pressing against the slanting stone, seemingly holding it up by will alone. He watched as an ominous-looking fracture in the rock sealed shut before his eyes.

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen her working this aspect of her magic; that of a stoneshaper. It was no great surprise that she wasn’t just a necrourgist. Hascithe had mentioned what it took to make a necrourgist: pain. And she’d hinted that the dwarrow hadn’t been an entirely unwilling recipient of that pain. It stood to reason that necrourgy was not a branch of magic in its own right, but a withered leaf stemming from another branch.

What he hadn’t been able to discover was the nature and location of her focus. She held neither a staff, nor wand. An amulet, perhaps? Such a concealed focus was not unheard of, but it would limit her ability to draw essence considerably in exchange for freeing up both of her hands. If the slaughter in the tunnels above had taught him anything, it was that this dwarrow’s power was not to be underestimated.

At that moment, the uneven rocks beneath his feet gave way. Garrain quickly recovered his balance, but in the instant he took to steady himself, Ruhildi darted forward. He felt the press of something sharp against his groin.

“That’s my dagger you’re holding there, dwarrow,” he growled, seeing the gleam of a bone blade pressed against his most sensitive spot. “I suggest you drop it, lest you cut yourself.”

“Methinks not, impotent greenhand,” she said. “Throw your weapon over the side. Now!”

Garrain stared down at her for a long moment, trying to think of a way out of this that wouldn’t end with that dagger in his nethers. Finally he gave a sigh and said, “Very well. Stay your hand and I’ll relinquish Trowbane, for now.” He let the glaive topple from his outstretched hand, out into the cavern beyond.

His other hand flicked out, catching her wrist and wrenching it to the side. A grunt of surprised pain issued from her lips. He prised the blade from her, spun it about and thrust it under her chin, stopping a hair’s breadth from her throat.

She glared up at him without remorse, as though she were daring him to end her life. And he considered doing just that. Perhaps he’d be doing the world a service if he opened her throat. This might be his only chance. He wouldn’t even be breaking his word to her demon mistress, for whatever that was worth. He’d told Saskia he wouldn’t turn Trowbane against her, but he’d said nothing about her companion, or this other little blade.

And yet he was finding it hard to despise the dwarrow with the fervour that had filled him in days past. Saskia’s actions today had changed everything. If a demon could possess such…kindness, then everything he believed could be false.

“Afore you paint the stone with my blood, turn your eyes to the floor for a moment,” said Ruhildi.

In spite of himself, he found his gaze flicking downward.

Frowning, he tried to move his foot, only to find it held firmly in place, surrounded on all sides by smooth stone. Even as he struggled, he felt it constrict more tightly about his ankle.

“Kill me, and you’d best be prepared to saw off your own foot with that blade,” she said. “Elsewise you’ll be joining me in death a few days hence when you run out of water, if the worms don’t come for you sooner.”

For the longest of moments, he stood glaring at her, and she returned his gaze with equal scorn.

Ever so slowly, he withdrew the knife. It was a symbolic act, for he remained poised to strike if she attempted a betrayal. “Release me,” he said. “Let me be on my way, and you have my word I’ll not harm you this day.”

Ruhildi’s face took on a contemplative expression. She closed her dark eyes, and he heard a whisper of magic on the air. A few moments later, the pressure around his foot eased, and he saw that the stone had turned to fine dust, releasing its hold on him.

Peering out of their little shelter, they watched in silence as the great worm completed its circumnavigation of the lake and departed out the tunnel whence it had come. They waited until the sound of its passing subsided, and all that remained were the steady beats of their hearts.

Pushing past him, Ruhildi lowered herself over the edge and clambered down the wall. He shimmied down after her, snatching up Trowbane from where it lay in the dirt.

She stood facing the lake. Its dark waters churned.

“We’d best leave, before the worms emerge to feast upon us,” he said. “Without Saskia to protect us, we’ll be easy prey.”

She flicked him a disdainful glance. “Speak for yourself, Garri. I’m no-one’s prey. But by all means, scurry away. I’ll not stop you.”

“Then what are you…?”

And that was when he saw it. By the light of the fungal fronds at the water’s edge, a crimson stain was slowly spreading across the frothing water.

The dead things slid silently shore, streaked with blood and ichor; some trailing entrails; others split in twain. First three, then ten, then numbers beyond counting. The great worm’s spawn—all of them that had evaded the earlier carnage—had been slain. They were hers to command.

“What are you going to do with them?” he said, shocked by the ease with which her minions had dispatched their former broodmates.

She glared at him. “I’m for slaying a deepworm today. This is my army.”

He stared after her. “You’re mad!”

“Och aye,” she said. “I’m fair angry.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“That should be obvious,” said the dwarrow. “I’m going to rescue Sashki.”

“You…what?”

“Are you deaf as well as dense, Garri? I’m going to save her!”

“But I already told you she’s dead!” he said. “Or…banished—whatever happens to vanquished demons. I saw her drawn into the great beast’s maw! No-one can survive that, not even a…”

“There were no trow corpse inside the deepworm’s belly when it drew near us. I’d have sensed if there were.”

Ruhildi could do that? Another necrourgist talent he’d have to watch out for, though he couldn’t think of any way she could turn it against him.

“Well even if she wasn’t dead then, she surely is by now. And she most certainly will be by the time you reach her.”

“Again you underestimate Sashki.” insisted Ruhildi. “Did you not see what she became at the falls?”

Garrain had struggled to put that memory out of his head in recent days. For a few brief moments, it was as though the demon had ripped apart the very threads of reality. At the time, he’d feared for his sanity. Perhaps the sight of her true visage was what had driven the oracles of Fellspur mad.

“’Tis the deepworm should be fearing her, not the other way around,” continued the dwarrow. “And if not her, then by the forefathers, I’ll larn it to fear me!”

“What foolery is this?” he said. “You’re going to end up inside the deepworm’s maw, just like she did!”

“What’s it matter to you, Garri?” she said, glowering up at him. “A short time ago, you were eager to slit my throat.”

“Because…” He stopped, unable to think of a good reason. He owed her nothing. And yet he truly didn’t want her to die. Not any more. It was so…so wasteful.

“Sound reasoning, scholar,” she said as the silence stretched. “Why are you still here? Get you away, afore I sic my brood on you!”

Garrain frowned. She had a point. Why hadn’t he left yet? She clearly wasn’t going to change her mind. He should turn back; find a way to the surface. Return to Nuille, before she did something foolish in an attempt to avenge his death. He remembered all too well what she’d said when they’d parted: “Should you fall, I’ll hunt down the demon and kill it myself!”

There were reasons aplenty for hurrying back. Except…

“Ruinath, my staff,” he admitted. “When the great worm swallowed your mistress, she had it with her. If there’s even a chance that you might slay the beast…”

Ever since the demon took Ruinath from him, he’d committed to doing whatever it took to retrieve it. No risk was too great; no price too high. He’d vowed to regain his magic or die trying. The worm was just another obstacle to overcome, like all the rest.

Yet that wasn’t the whole of it, if he were being true with himself. There was another reason why he hadn’t turned back; one that he dared not give voice to. A part of him grasped for a sliver of hope that Ruhildi was right. That Saskia hadn’t been vanquished. That he might repay the life debt owed to her after she saved him.

He inhaled deeply, and came to a decision. “Let us together see this task done. I offer my blade, if you’ll have it, Ruhildi.”

Ruhildi gave a little snort. “And what makes you think I’d have need of your blade, Garri? One blade won’t pierce a deepworm’s hide.”

“Perhaps not, but you’d be a fool to turn down my assistance, offered freely. It costs you nothing. I’ve already pledged not to harm you.”

“Aye, I suppose…” She stepped into the midst of the gathering swarm. In a low mutter, she said, “If he dies, I can raise his corpse as my loyal servant. Mayhap I should just skip to that part…”

“Try it, dwarrow, and I’ll retract my pledge.”

“Och, I forgot what big ears you have…” She turned to him, frowning. “And you ken the stone tongue. Bollocks. How much have you overheard, these past days?”

“Every word you and Saskia exchanged when you thought I couldn’t hear,” said Garrain, glaring at her.

“Bollocks!” she repeated. Several heartbeats passed before she said, “I suppose there may be some use for you. Even if only as a distraction. Sashki wants us to work together, I’m sure of it. Mayhap this were her plan all along…”

Flanked by a retinue of the necrourgist’s putrid abominations, they ran back into the tunnel and began their descent into sodden darkness, slipping and sliding down slopes made slick by the shallow stream gushing forth from the lake, and churned up by the great worm’s passage.

Looking around at their grotesque entourage, Garrain said, “You are truly terrifying, Ruhildi.”

“Och Garri, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.”

“It wasn’t a comple—deus!”

Garrain halted, transfixed by his reflection in the water—or rather, the reflection that was not his. The eyes gazing back at him were no longer his own eyes, but those of a most peculiar—and peculiarly alluring—visage: tall and slender like an alvesse, but with pink skin and less prominent ears. Her clothing was unlike any he’d seen before. Yet there was something familiar about the face looking back at him. Even though the proportions—and most definitely the size—of her face and body had changed, this creature had the same look about her as the trow whose face had been the focus of all of his rage. Now, this face stirred a very different set of emotions in him.

“Saskia?” he whispered.

The creature’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth and closed it, as though trying to speak, but no sound emerged. No, that’s not it, he realised. She’s not speaking. She’s choking.

“Go in peace, echo of Saskia.” He murmured the prayer of passing, although he rather doubted she’d find her way to the Vale of Echoes. A demon would not be welcome in such a place, no matter her deeds in life.

“Quit ogling your own reflection and get moving, you preeny leaf-ears!” called out Ruhildi, shooting him a withering glare.

“If your legs were a little longer, perhaps I’d have trouble catching up,” he fired back.

When his gaze turned back to the rippling water, his reflection was his own again.

Saskia was beyond their help. There had been little doubt in his mind, but this confirmed it.

He wasn’t about to to tell Ruhildi what he’d seen. At best she wouldn’t believe him. At worst, she would believe him, and as a result, she’d abandon their quest to slay the great beast. Garrain could not allow that. He still needed to recover Ruinath.

They emerged once more into the stifling heat of the great cavern beyond. Wilbergond, Ruhildi had named it. Garrain wrinkled his nose at the stench. He could scarcely imagine a fouler place than this. Not even the Illerenes came close.

Struggling to banish his dour thoughts, Garrain followed the dwarrow as she set off after the trail of newly-toppled trees that marked the great worm’s passage.

The deepworm devoured or flattened everything in its path, but many of the wild creatures that dwelt here were used to the comings and goings of the voracious predator. They’d fled its approach, but as soon as it had passed, they’d emerged to graze on leaves and fruit and fungal tufts that may have been out of their reach until the trees fell. Garrain suspected that on any other day, the worm’s recent trail would be one of the safer places in Wilbergond. Today, however, Ruhildi sent her abominations swarming out to slaughter anything that didn’t make it to the safety of the treeline, before raising them to join her army. Garrain tried to ignore the sickening squeals and croaks and gurgles of the beasts’ demise.

By the time they’d been running for two bells, Ruhildi was looking nearly ready to topple in exhaustion. Those stubby little legs of hers were ill-equipped for long-distance running. Garrain could keep this pace a good while longer, but even he had his limits.

They were circling back around to the west when he caught sight of a dark shape streaking through the undergrowth toward them. Not quite believing what his eyes were telling him, he stopped and stared for a long moment. In that time, the four-legged form closed the distance, leapt up onto a rock and peered over the edge. Garrain found himself blinking up at whiskers and fur and slitted eyes.

“Ollagor!?” he said. “How in all the arbor did you find me down here?”

The grawmalkin craned his head down a little hesitantly and licked him on the nose. Garrain ran his hand across the sleek fur. Definitely real.

“Friend of yours, I take it,” said Ruhildi, watching the grawmalkin with a wary expression.

Ollagor leapt down on top of him, bowling him over into the dirt. He lay there, silently laughing, clutching at his beloved companion, who gave a contented rumble in response. Reluctantly, he let go, and knelt before the grawmalkin, looking into his deep green eyes.

“I don’t like this,” said Ruhildi, backing away from him. “If your pet is here, your kin won’t be far behind.”

“I doubt that,” said Garrain. “Ollagor won’t obey anyone except me, and perhaps Nuille.”

The dwarrow’s eyes narrowed, but her only answer was to draw her minions into a protective circle around her, primed to attack. Hissing, Ollagor bared his teeth back at them.

Garrain locked eyes with Ruhildi. “Before you do anything hasty, why don’t we just ask?” He turned back to the grawmalkin. “Did you come alone, Ollagor? Raise your left forepaw for yes, right for no.”

Ollagor regarded him silently for several heartbeats, before lifting his left paw into the air.

“That seems quite conclusive,” he said to Ruhildi.

“I trust your trained beast no more than I trust you, alvar,” she said. “This could be a trick. You could have…”

“Could have what? Trained him to deceive you? How could I have possibly have planned for this? Think about it, Ruhildi.”

She grunted, which he took to be the closest she’d come to conceding the point. “We’ll see. If your kin are for jumping at me from the shadows, I’ll not away quietly into the Halls Beyond—I’ll drag you and your grawmalkin down with me. And if that beast so much as sniffs at me, I’ll have my minions burrowing into its flesh quicker than you can blink.”

With that, she turned and continued on her way, surrounded by her entourage of abominations.

In truth, the dwarrow had come closer to the mark than he’d ever admit to her. Unlike his clever brother, Morchi, Ollagor had never learned to give yes or no answers. The grawmalkin always performed the first of the two actions Garrain asked of him, no matter the question. It had been a source of both frustration and amusement back in Wengarlen, but now it worked to his advantage.

He truly didn’t think Thiachrin, Jevren and the other survivors had followed Ollagor down here. They likely assumed the demon and necrourgist were dead, and Garrain was dead alongside them. But if his former companions were to make an appearance, he certainly didn’t want Ruhildi to know about it.

Ollagor gazed longingly to the northwest. If Garrain interpreted his look correctly, that way led to the light of the surface. The grawmalkin must have taken a more roundabout route down than Garrain’s plunge over the waterfall. The fact that his companion had found his way here was nothing short of astonishing. He felt more hopeful than he had in days. Ollagor could lead him home.

Just not yet.

“I know,” said Garrain wistfully, stroking his companion’s soft fur. “I too yearn for sky and sun. But there’s something I must do first. It will be a most perilous undertaking. I’d bid you to wait for me here until my task is done, but we both know that isn’t going to happen. Not after you came all this way to find me. Whatever danger awaits us, we’ll face it together.”

Giving his friend one more scratch behind the ears, he rose and set off after the dwarrow, with Ollagor trotting at his side.

They journeyed another quarter spur before they finally caught up with their target: a great heaving coil of sinuous flesh, thrashing and rolling about, shaking the foundations of the arbor. A groaning shriek ripped through the air, making his ears twitch in discomfort. It seemed as though the deepworm was in some manner of distress.

Perhaps it’s choking on the demon’s bones, he thought wryly. It would be a fitting end for the creature. Even so, we cannot count on it to vanquish itself.

Ruhildi’s swarm surged across the smashed trees and fallen spires to where the worm thrashed, carving great furrows into the ground at the base of a jagged, rocky hill. The great beast didn’t seem to pay any heed to their approach, such was its apparent distress.

Garrain, Ruhildi and Ollagor crept forward more cautiously, keeping close to the treeline so they could take cover if the worm should take note of them.

Suddenly, the immense tail section smashed into a nearby cliff face, flinging a cloud of rocks and debris outward. In their midst flew a boulder as wide as Garrain was tall—plunging straight toward him.

With just an instant to act, he turned and dived into Ruhildi, sending them both sprawling in a heap. A loud whump sounded behind him. The air was filled with choking dust and raining a patter of stones. Peering through the haze, he saw that the boulder had sunk deep into the dirt where he’d been about to tread.

“Get off me, you leaf-eared, shite-flinging reeker!” protested the dwarrow, shoving him aside.

“Show some gratitude,” he said. “I just saved your life.”

Rising shakily to his feet, he glanced about anxiously. Ollagor had been at his side a moment earlier. If he hadn’t gotten out of the way…

Then Garrain saw a pair of slitted eyes peering at him through the choking haze. His companion was unharmed.

As the dust cleared, he saw that the swarm had reached the great worm, and the dead creatures were crawling up its hide and latching on with teeth and claws and pincers and mandibles and proboscises. As the deepworm rolled and thrashed about, he could see them flailing about in the air, fighting to maintain their grip with every bit of unnatural strength they possessed.

“Don’t just stand there,” said Ruhildi. “Help my brood keep it distracted while I work my spells.”

“It looks quite distracted already.”

The screeching sound assaulting their ears trailed off into a mournful hiss, before falling silent. The creature vomited forth its foul tendrils one last time, and lay still.

“Very distracted,” he added.

“I don’t ken how that could be,” said Ruhildi. “My minions haven’t had time to rip through a hide that thick…”

A tiny bulge formed on the side of what passed for the creature’s head. Barely a blister at first, the bulge expanded, then burst open, spurting forth a fountain of blood. Clawed hands emerged—two of them—followed by a head, covered in blood, ichor and purple brain matter. A bellowing roar filled the silence, followed by a fit of retching and choking. The rest of the demon emerged from the gaping wound, and she fell, landing like a thunderclap on the broken hillside.

There was a look of triumph in Ruhildi eyes as she ran toward her mistress. But when the dwarrow drew close, Saskia lurched to her feet, baring a set of pointed incisors that would make any grawmalkin envious. Her arms were splayed, poised to rend the dwarrow limb from limb with claws like curved daggers. Beneath the gore, he glimpsed flesh as smooth and hard as polished granite.

And in the palm of her hand…

What on all the arbor…? Her palm shone with a very distinctive amber glow. Arlium, he realised. And not just any arlium—for now that he looked upon it, he felt its familiar call.

My focus! What has she done to my focus!?

“Sashki, it’s me!” cried Ruhildi, stepping toward her. “It’s over now, and you’re—”

A great clawed hand lashed out, catching the dwarrow across her midsection, tearing through her steel breastplate as though it were parchment. With a muttered curse, Ruhildi scrambled backward, clutching her side. Garrain saw blood welling up between her fingers.

The demon licked some of the gore from her arm, growling softly as her tongue traced across the gleaming surface. Her eyes shone with a bright inner light, but he saw no spark of awareness within. This was not the…person who had saved him. Something dark and bestial had awoken in the fires of the deepworm’s belly.

Grimly, Garrain stalked toward the demon, holding Trowbane at the ready. He’d promised Saskia he wouldn’t turn the weapon against her today, but this monster standing before him was no longer Saskia. Ollagor stepped up beside him, hackles raised.

The demon didn’t pay any heed to their advance. Eyes fixed on the retreating dwarrow, she gave a final growl, then turned and bounded away, vanishing beneath the battered trees.