Floating in the darkness of a boundless ocean, she felt her flesh ignite.

In the palm of her hand, the crystalline amber glow turned fiery yellow, then blazing white. Veins of liquid flame spread down her arm and across her body, and beyond, into the growing thicket of tendrils that grew from her spine.

All around her, the water began to boil.

From the murky depths came a low, echoing cry, trailing off into a mournful wail. The creature of the deep spun and flailed about, tugging her and the other doppelgängers this way and that. Its shimmering, translucent flesh grew brighter and brighter, until it outshone her own.

Arms and legs thrashing, she fell through a churning, bubbling maelstrom; a hapless puppet careening about on the end of tangled strings. Awareness flickered and flared. Caught in the throes of incandescent agony, she came face to face with her deepest self.

The leviathan opened a single eye, shining with the light of a newborn star.

Wailing like a cat on heat, Saskia sat up, casting her gaze from side to side as a surge of panic and disorientation overtook her. The air was thick with smoke, and it took her a moment to realise that it came from the nearby campfire, not from char-broiled troll flesh.

She turned to Ruhildi, who sat on a nearby rock, keeping watch. “I didn’t…burst into flames or anything, did I?”

“No, Sashki. You were thrashing about something fierce, but you didn’t roll into the fire.”

“Good.” Saskia let out a sigh. “Not what I meant, but…good.”

She ran her fingers across her arm. Granite skin, smooth and cool to the touch, and definitely not glowing.

Just a dream then. Or not just a dream—because she’d come to accept that on some level of reality, or between realities, there probably was some kind of underwater realm filled with tentacle-vines and other such nonsense. Somewhere more tangible than dreams, but less tangible than this world, or Earth.

Then again, even if the place were real, she could still have had a plain old dream about it. People dreamed about real things all the time; dreams where they abseiled off the Eiffel Tower wearing nothing but a pair of fluffy bunny slippers and a backward baseball cap while tunelessly screeching out the lyrics of Rick Astley’s Never Gonna Give You Up into a karaoke microphone in front of ten thousand screaming fans. Everyone had dreams like that, didn’t they?

Didn’t they?

Anyhow, this dream—or vision or astral projection or whatever—might have been affected by her new role as a magic staff—sorry, focus—feeding a steady stream of essence to Garrain. For now, that link remained strong in spite of the growing distance between them. She’d been feeling a surge of warmth every time he cast a spell. Which was often. The guy must be having a grand old time up there. As she’d predicted, the surges were much more tolerable here where the air was cooler. Or maybe she was just getting used to them. But if the druid had cast a spell while she slept…

Hmm…probably best to disable the link next time before shut-eye. If Garrain had a problem with that, too frocking—

Wait, what…?

Her hand was no longer glowing. It was no longer glowing because the large chunk of arlium that had been sticking out of her palm was nowhere to be seen.

It wasn’t just gone, was it? No, of course it wasn’t. It must’ve dispersed into the rest of her body.

Sure enough, a quick check of her medical overlay confirmed her suspicions: the glowing veins distributed throughout her body had grown more—and thicker—tendrils.

Okay, a little weird, but no need to panic, she told herself. It just accelerated what was already doing: worming into my brain. Nothing to worry about…

She felt suddenly queasy.

In an attempt to get her mind off the creepy things that might be happening…to her mind, Saskia decided now would be a great time to pay a visit to the druid’s mind instead. Or to his eyes, at least.

She focussed her thoughts, willing forth the mirror thingy on her interface—the one that had allowed her to jump back to her own body. Surely it must work in the other direction too?

At first, no dice. And no mirror either. But after a series of mental contortions, and a growing headache, her efforts were rewarded. There it was: the same fancy mirror she’d seen from the other side of the connection, but this time there was Garrain’s frowny face looking back at her, instead of her own.

Extending her mental tendrils, she touched the shining surface of the mirror.

Oh crap! Abort! Abort!

In the corner of a dark cavern, reclined in a shallow pool in front of a roaring campfire, Garrain was engaged in some rather…uh, vigorous nocturnal exercises with his left hand.

Unable to avert her eyes—because they were his eyes—all she could do was hastily call up the mirror again. His movements abruptly ceased, and he muttered a startled, “Oh deus…what are you…? Begone, demon!”

And gone she was. Gone straight back to her own body, wishing she could unsee the last ten seconds. Letting out a deep, calming breath, she lay back down and tried to sleep. And when that didn’t work, she let out a groan and rose to her feet.

“Early start today,” she announced. She knew Ruhildi well enough to know her friend would rather press on than try to grab a few extra winks of shut-eye this late in the morning.

The cave where they’d made camp opened out into a tall fissure that reached up as far as the eye could see. The base of the fissure was completely flooded, so this morning they’d be getting their feet wet. Or rather, Saskia would be getting her feet wet, while Ruhildi rode on her shoulder like a princess. Last night they’d rigged up a harness for the dwarf to stand in, and now Saskia had graduated from bareback mount to saddled warhorse.

As they pressed onward through ever-deepening water, the walls gradually widened, until the river became a wide, shallow lake, and the fissure a vast cavern; a Hollow. The shattered remnants of what had once been great stone structures jutted out of the water, topped with jagged ramparts and dangling, broken causeways, now covered in creeping vegetation and the now-familiar glowing fungus.

“Dwallondorn, I presume?” said Saskia.

“Aye,” said Ruhildi. “One arm of it, leastwise. ’Tis two day’s journey to the far side, where the prime passage lies.”

“Well it looks a lot more pleasant than Wilbergond. Although I’m sure there’s something horrible lurking in the water. A kraken, maybe. Oh dogs, of course there’s a kraken…”

“I ken not what you mean. There may be things under the water we’d best avoid, but they’re not the greatest peril. We’ve much more to worry about from the alvari.”

“You expect to find them down here? Other than the ones who may be chasing us, I mean?”

“Aye. Their raiding parties sometimes come to sift through the ruins of Inglomar.”

Wading between the partially-submerged buildings, Saskia stared up at the massive shards of dirt-covered stone, heavily worn by time, but hinting at the majesty of what had come before.

“Say what you will about the drengari, but they were fair good architects,” said Ruhildi.

“Drengari? I’ve never heard of them before.”

“Dark alvari, some call them, though that be a false name. Their skin came in a range of tones; most no darker than their surface cousins.”

“You speak of them in past tense. They’re all dead then?”

Ruhildi nodded. “They haven’t walked the arbor since the Age of Legends. Only ruins such as these remain as proof they were ever here.”

“Oh. That makes me sad.”

“’Tis the way of the world, Sashki. All things must pass: from the smallest creature to the gods themselves, and everything in-between. Even Arbor Mundi herself will one day wither and die.”

Saskia frowned. “Ugh, just stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Making me depressed. You must be so much fun at parties.”

Saskia shivered. Endings always made her miserable; even good endings. And as for bad endings, they could just go jump off a bridge.

After her accident, it had become all too easy to plunge her emotions into a downward spiral, which not only felt awful, but also slowed her recovery. Eventually, she’d decided enough was enough. Managing her mood had become her number one priority. And a large part of that had been avoiding anything that had even a hint of tragedy in it. She’d browse wikis and spoiler sites before watching a movie, just to make sure its ending wasn’t a huge downer. Before reading a book, she’d peek ahead to the last page to see if it all worked out in the end. Anything that didn’t meet her criteria got cut, no matter how many critics or fans raved about it.

It had worked, kinda. With less depressing crap swamping her brain with bad thoughts, she’d felt better for a while.

Until she’d watched a documentary about time. In the documentary, a physicist had brutally laid out the future of the universe. Long story short, the Earth would die. Then the sun would die. Then all the stars in all the galaxies in the entire universe would die; their cold, dark corpses swallowed by black holes. Oh, and as if that weren’t enough, the black holes would also die, eventually evaporating into nothingness. And that was how the universe would remain: a lifeless, lightless sea of nothing that would continue being nothing forever and ever. The end.

Frock that.

Saskia didn’t want to hear about how life was brief and precious and that everyone and everything must die. Those rules sucked, and whoever came up with them should go take a running leap into the nearest black hole.

Some time later, in an attempt to banish the dark thoughts from her head, she asked, “Do all of the Outer Hollows have a theme?”

Ruhildi looked at her quizzically.

“I mean Wilbergond was all heat and slime and scary monsters and horror and let’s not talk about that. Dwallondorn, by the looks of it, has this whole lost civilisation thing going on. Are all of the Hollows so…unique?”

“Och no. And what you see here is but a small arm of Dwallondorn. Most of it is quite boring, truth be told.”

“That’s good to hear,” said Saskia, who had begun to wonder anew if this really was a stupid game where each zone had to have a unique biome just so players wouldn’t get bored. “What about the Inner Hollows then?”

Ruhildi raised an eyebrow.

“If these are the Outer Hollows, surely there must be Inner Hollows too?”

“Aye,” said Ruhildi. “If the legends hold true. But those realms are not for the likes of us. There dwell creatures of fire and chaos and indescribable strangeness. The scorchwings you witnessed flittering about the arlium flow in Wilbergond are the but least of them. In the Inner Hollows, the air burns so hot that a mere breath would set your lungs afire. Not even you could endure such a place, methinks.”

“Oh,” said Saskia, feeling tiny all of a sudden. “Well I guess we won’t be going there.”

They continued on in silence for a time, until, out of nowhere, a raging storm crackled into being in the air overhead. A fierce gale swept into the Hollow, and the water of the lake began to froth and churn around them.

“…the hell?” Saskia stared up at billowing black clouds, even now sending lightning arcing down among the buildings on the far shore. “How can there be a storm underground?”

“’Tis no natural storm,” said Ruhildi. “Dire trouble lies ahead.”

Spread out among the ruins drawn on her minimap was a swarm of red and orange markers, arrayed against a cluster of grey markers.

The dwarf hopped off Saskia’s shoulder, and they both crept forward low in the water, moving from cover to cover in an attempt to remain hidden. Flashes of lightning lit the chamber, always striking near the same spot behind the ruins on the lakeshore. Shouts and screams and thunderous crashes could be heard as they drew closer. She watched, open-mouthed as a huge slab of stone flew through the air, tumbling end over end as it came slamming down near where the lightning struck. The ground trembled, and a cloud of dust billowed high into the air.

“Why are we heading toward the epic battle of death?” whispered Saskia.

“I’ll not hold it against you if you want to stay out of this, Sashki,” said Ruhildi. “’Tis not your fight. But I can’t just stand by while my kin fight for their lives.”

“Your kin? How do you know it’s…”

Her words trailed off as a small figure came flying out from behind the ruins, before smashing into a piece of debris and sagging into the churning water. In the moment before he vanished under the waves, Saskia caught a glimpse of a wide, sturdy frame and thick beard.

Yup. Definitely a dwarf.

“Who are they up against?” said Saskia.

“Tempests,” said Ruhildi. “’Tis the mer we face. If you’re with me, Sashki…”

The mer. They were a race of elves, if she remembered correctly.

This was bad. If she entered the fight, people would die at her hands. It was one thing to pull her punches in a tiny skirmish against a pair of elves, when it was only her life on the line. Even then, in hindsight, maybe that hadn’t been the best decision of her life. In a big battle, trying to spare her opponents would be almost impossible, and it would endanger not just herself, but anyone she tried to help. No, if she fought today, it would be with intent to kill.

She’d never intentionally killed a sapient creature before. There had been Garrain’s companion—the one who had died because of her. But she’d at least tried to spare him. This would be different.

But to stand by and let the dwarves die…would that be any better than killing them herself? Besides, there was no way she was gonna let Ruhildi waltz into danger by herself. Not after everything her friend had done for her. She’d either have to drag the dwarf away kicking and screaming—and lose their friendship in the process. Or she’d have to help her.

It really wasn’t much of a choice.

“I’m with you,” said Saskia. “Let’s do this.”

Ruhildi nodded up at her. The dwarf pulled a wormhide hood up over her head, and climbed back up onto Saskia’s shoulder. “We have to hurry, afore ’tis too late!”

Rounding the corner of a collapsed building, they came upon a scene of utter chaos and carnage. Amidst a churning vortex of water and air, blades clashed, arrows flew and lightning arced. Shattered bodies sank beneath crimson waves. The screams of those who had not yet joined them rose up against the howling wind and the ringing of steel and the percussive impact of flying masonry.

The mer were tall and hairless, and fought with bows and spears and nets. Entirely naked, save for the straps holding weapons and gear, their skin was pale and streaked with blue. Every one of them had a physique that would’ve made an athlete proud. She counted almost as many females as there were males among their numbers, and they were equally gorgeous.

The dwarves, by contrast, were heavily armoured, and bore crossbows and swords and warhammers and huge blocky shields nearly as tall and wide as they were. Those must be a pain in the butt to lug around, she thought.

Standing in a circle at the centre of it all, bearing spears inset with arlium, were five mer women. Alone among the combatants, they seemed unmoved by the bedlam happening around them. Saskia watched as a dwarven crossbowmen fired into the circle, only to see the bolt veer off to the side at the last instant, deflected by a swirling wall of air.

Those must be the tempests, she realised. And immediately she fixed her sights on them. If games had taught her anything, it was to take out the squishiest spellcasters first—the so-called glass cannons.

With a rumbling shudder, a large slab of stone rose up from atop one of the ruins and came hurtling toward the tempests. But it met the same fate as the crossbow bolt: swept aside at the last moment by their impressive barrier. Getting past that thing may be a problem even for me, she thought.

The stone clearly hadn’t been lifted by the tempests’ wind magic, since it had been aimed at them. That left only the dwarves. They must have their own spellcasters—probably stoneshapers like Ruhildi. Well, minus the freaky death magic. But where…?

And that was when Saskia spotted a second group of dwarves gathered inside a partially collapsed building. She could make out the glow of arlium from the tips of a dozen short metal wands. Two sides of the ruin had fallen away, but the open sides were ringed by a series of thin struts, like the bars of a cage. Those weren’t part of the building’s original structure. As she watched, more bars were beginning to form between the gaps.

Why were they caging themselves up like that?

Moments later, she got her answer. There was a blinding flash and a loud crack. Her eyes caught the after-image of bolt of lightning forking down from the thundercloud and striking the cage.

Huh, she thought. Smart dwarves.

Except while they were setting up their own defences, the stoneshapers weren’t doing much to protect their fellows dying outside. Lightning still struck the combatants in the water to devastating effect. Explosions of superheated steam jetted into the air, and dwarves and mer alike dropped beneath the waves. A few of them got back up; too few. Contrary to what certain games had taught her, these lightning bolts didn’t zap everyone in the water—only those standing within about five metres of the point of entry. Still, that area of effect was more than large enough to cut swathes through the dwarven ranks. It seemed the tempests had no qualms about sacrificing some of their own fighters, as long as the dwarves paid the higher price in blood.

The dwarves in the water were now outnumbered three to one. Even if the stoneshapers ultimately prevailed, it was unlikely any of their non-magical brethren would live to see it.

That is, until Saskia and Ruhildi arrived on the scene.

Stealth wasn’t exactly a troll’s forte, but both sides were preoccupied at the moment, and the howling gale and sounds of battle masked Saskia’s heavy footfalls. Darting between buildings with Ruhildi clutching her shoulder, Saskia managed to circle around behind the mer and get within spitting distance without being spotted.

It was the dwarves who noticed her first. She saw it in the widening of their eyes and slack jaws. Tipped off by his enemies, one of the mer glanced back at her, then shouted and whirled about. Calling for Ruhildi to hold on tight, Saskia sprang forward.

Landing in their midst, she swung Mjölnir in a wide arc. There was a terrible crunching sound as the giant hammer sunk deep into soft flesh and brittle bones. A spray of dark liquid drenched her arms.

The mer she’d struck tumbled head over heels, before smashing into a nearby companion. They both fell in a tangled heap. Struggling to crawl out from underneath the limp body, the second mer cried out in a language she hadn’t heard before, his face twisting into a rictus of terror.

Saskia stepped forward and brought the hammer down. He did not move again after that.

The result of her handiwork—the caved-in skull and splattered torso; the red stained water—brought a terrible chill to her heart. This was it: the moment she’d been dreading; the moment she crossed the line, and became…

She dropped to one knee, retching.

“On your feet, Sashki,” murmured Ruhildi in her ear.

Right. Of course. No time for this. Sucking in a deep breath, Saskia turned toward the other mer. All eyes were on her now, and all the mer faces held near-identical expressions of shock.

They weren’t just watching though. The air was filled with colourful lights telegraphing the trajectories of half a dozen spears and arrows; all of them converging on her body.

One of the spears, she snatched out of the air with her free hand and used to knock aside another. The arrows, she dodged; all except one.

From her discussions with Dave, Saskia knew that contrary to what video games would have people believe, arrows fired by longbows were far better able to penetrate plate armour than melee weapons. Unfortunately, the same must be true of her hardened skin as well.

“There’s an arrow in your arse,” pointed out Ruhildi helpfully.

“Oh you think? Ow, motherfu—” Saskia winced as her friend plucked the shaft out. It hadn’t gone too deep, but that was a very sensitive spot.

Ruhildi must be a good multitasker, because at the same time she was doing that, a scatterblast spell detonated in the middle of a cluster of mer archers. Three down. Thirty to go, give or take.

An orange glow appeared on the water at Saskia’s feet, turning slowly redder. Her hair stood on end. And when she moved, it moved with her.

Crap! She was pretty sure she knew what that meant…

All five tempests stood facing her, and written across a virtual scroll that hovered over their heads were the words call lightning.

“Get off, Ruhildi,” she said. “Get away from me. Now!”

“What…”

There was no time. She plucked her friend off her back and threw her as far away as she could.

As the light beneath her turned red, she took a running leap—straight for the circle of tempests. Might as well try to spread the love, she thought. Her feet slammed into a wall of air, and for the briefest of moments she hung there, suspended above their heads. Just as she’d hoped, their barrier was a sphere, and she’d just struck the top of it.

The world turned brilliant white.

Saskia blinked and shook her head, unsure at first if she was awake—or even alive. She crouched in the water, swathed in billowing clouds of steam. Something felt deeply wrong, but she couldn’t place what it was.

In the water at her feet lay five mer, twitching and groaning and staring up at her with wide eyes. A circle of tempests.

Well that worked better than I expected, she thought. Zapped by their own spell, after it passed through me. I bet they feel like right twits.

But before she could finish congratulating herself, a shadow and a flicker of movement caught her attention. She looked up, and in a sudden panicked burst of energy, dived away.

She didn’t see the boulder land, but she felt the reverberation throughout her entire body. An instant later, a huge wave swept over her, knocking dwarves and mer alike off their feet. And just like that, the tempests became entombed beneath several tonnes of solid rock.

There had been no telegraphing that boulder’s arrival. And now that she thought about it…where was the rest of her interface? The minimap, the highlights and labels—none of them appeared when she willed it. And why was it suddenly so dark…?

The answer, when it occurred to her, was more than a little unsettling. The lightning strike—it had fried her oracle interface!

She could only hope the effect was temporary. But in the meantime, she was as blind as everyone else.

Overhead, the storm clouds faded. The air around her stilled. And in more ways than one, the tides turned.

With the tempests dead, a dwarven victory was all but assured. Saskia found herself secretly hoping the rest of the mer would dash for safety. But the only things dashed were her hopes. The mer fought to the last breath—all except one, who was promptly taken out by a crossbow bolt as he turned to flee.

And just like that, it was over. Silence stretched, punctuated only by the groans of injured dwarves.

She’d just been struck by lightning, and yet still she felt cold. What she’d done…she could only hope it had been worth it. One side or the other would have fallen, with or without her help. But were the dwarves really any more deserving of life than their enemies? She didn’t know much about either side.

Trying not to let her inner turmoil show on her face, she watched as the dwarves fanned out before her, weapons half-raised.

“She’s with me,” said Ruhildi, rushing up behind her. “Don’t you be laying a finger on her!”

It didn’t escape Saskia’s notice that Ruhildi had subtly altered the timbre of her voice, and she kept her hood pulled low over her face. What was up with this secret identity routine?

“You must be jesting, lass,” growled one of the dwarves. “I’ve no mind to go anywhere near that beast of a rock trow.”

“Good,” said Ruhildi. “Sashki’s a very loyal…pet, but ’twould be best if you don’t make her angry.”

“Woof woof!” said Saskia. Several of the dwarves flinched and took a step back.

Hold on a second, interjected her inner reality critic. If my oracle abilities aren’t working, shouldn’t I have lost my ability to understand the dwarves? They sure as shaz aren’t speaking English.

Thinking about it further, she realised it probably didn’t work like that. Her magic hadn’t just been translating for her; it had been training her brain to think in those other languages. She’d been speaking and understanding Dwarvish for a couple of months now. At least some of that knowledge would stick with her, even without any further supernatural help.

Or maybe she’d only lost some of her abilities. Either way, she could understand the dwarves perfectly.

A deep voice rang out across the battlefield. “Stand down, guardians! I’ll have words with these…fortuitous interlopers.”

Gazing into the gloom, Saskia did a double-take. Was she seeing things, or was that…a robot? He sure looked like a robot. His face and body seemed to be made entirely of metal.

But as he drew near, the metal mask seemed to shimmer and melt, and in its place was the face of a middle-aged dwarf with an immaculately trimmed blonde beard. Just a spell, she thought.

“Good of you to finally join us, Honoured Rector,” said one of the other dwarves, his voice thick with ill-concealed scorn. “Where were you and your shapers while we were dying by the fistful down here? If it weren’t for this dwarrow and her trow…”

A murmur of discontent that arose from his fellows told her the dwarf was not alone in feeling this way.

The stoneshaper lifted his wand. The dwarf who had spoken flinched and stared down at a thin spike of stone that had risen from the ground all the way up to his crotch.

“Ken your place, shield-bearer,” growled the stoneshaper. “Your purpose is to protect us, not the other way around. You accepted our coin, so don’t come crying to me if you have to earn it.”

His gaze flicked from Saskia to Ruhildi. “That’s some pet you have there, dwarrow-kin. Wherever did you find such an impressive specimen?”

“She found me,” said Ruhildi.

The stoneshaper’s eyes narrowed. “Would you mind showing me your face under that hood?” he asked.

“Aye, I would mind,” said Ruhildi. “’Tis not for you to lay eyes on the one who just lifted your arse from the fire.”

His frown deepened. “Do you not ken to whom you speak, shaper?”

“Aye,” said Ruhildi. “I speak to one who has an inflated opinion of himself.”

Some of the other dwarves gave nervous chuckles. The stoneshaper silenced them with a glare. Saskia heard the grinding of teeth inside his jaw, before finally he spoke. “I’ll let that pass this one time, on account of services rendered, and your obvious ignorance. But speak to me like that again, lass, and you’ll regret it. You are addressing Grindlecraw, Third Rector of the Shaper Guild. Now that you’re aware of my rank, I trust you’ll offer me the appropriate respect.”

“Och ’tis a fair grand title, worthy of respect,” said Ruhildi. Under her breath, barely loud enough for Saskia to make out her words, she added, “’Tis misfortunate the person wearing the title is such an arse…”

Fortunately, Grindlecraw didn’t seem to have heard that, because he said, “Very good. Now tell me, dwarrow-kin, what it is you’re doing up here where few of our kind tread. And why you’re so reticent to uncover your face.”

Ruhildi inhaled deeply, and Saskia could almost hear the internal struggle. Her friend so wanted to tell this guy where he could shove his questions. “Honoured Rector, I hide my face out of shame. I’ve no wish to show my slave mark for all the world to see. I fought my way free from the alvari forge burrows, and now I’m on my way back to the ’Neath.”

Was that what this was about? Ruhildi hadn’t tried to hide the tattoo from Saskia or the elves. Why should she care if one of her own people saw it? No, there had to be some other reason…

Grindlecraw’s suspicious gaze immediately softened to one of—not sympathy, exactly, but at least acceptance. “Few have managed to escape the alvari slavemasters since the Vindicals got themselves killed. ’Tis a rare feat. Very rare…”

“The carnage you see afore you…” said Ruhildi, “’Tis naught compared to what I wrought in Wengarlen on my way out. Yet ’twere only thanks to Sashki here that I yet live.”

Saskia’s sensitive ears caught a few murmurs from the dwarves as Ruhildi spoke.

“Wengarlen, she says.”

“Good of her to soften them up for us…”

Their leader held up his hand, and they fell silent. “Your magics did not escape my notice. They were effective—if crude.” His gaze drifted to the mer archer Ruhildi had dispatched, still dangling from the wall of the building. “Were you with the Guild, afore…?”

“A stoneshaper I may be, but I amn’t of the Shaper Guild,” said Ruhildi. “If I might ask you a question…I weren’t expecting to meet dwarrow-kin this far from the ’Neath, with things as they are. Why are you here?”

“I cannot reveal our mission, shaper,” said Grindlecraw. “It is important work, and that’s all you need to ken. Unless…you wish to join us? We could use another shaper, even a young one of low proficiency. And your pet would make a mighty fine guardian…”

“Alas, we must away to the ’Neath,” said Ruhildi. “I’ve been gone too long already.”

Grindlecraw gave her a long appraising look, culminating in a curt nod. “If that is your wish.”

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, the dwarves handed Ruhildi some supplies as payment for her assistance. They bade each other, “Fair travels,” then the dwarves headed south across the lake.

Ruhildi waited until they were safely gone before proceeding to raise the fallen mer.

“Great, so now we’re going to have a bunch of naked zombies walking alongside us,” grumbled Saskia.

“Do they hurt your delicate sensibilities, och sweet flower trow?” said Ruhildi.

“A little, yeah.”

One of the zombies lurched by, and she saw the purple gore leaking out of the ruin of his skull. I did that, thought Saskia. Bile rose from her stomach.

In that moment, something broke inside her. She slumped down in the water, trembling uncontrollably.

Ruhildi rushed to her side, forehead crinkling in concern. “What’s wrong, Sashki?”

“I’m a k-killer now,” she quavered, pawing angrily at the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “For real this time. When it comes down to it, I’m n-no better than…” The last of her walls broke, and she doubled over, heaving and choking.

“Och Sashki…” Sighing, her friend leaned in and hugged her arm—the best she could manage given their size difference. “You’re still the same gentle, caring blockhead of a trow you were when you nursed me back to health, all those fivedays past. What happened today didn’t change that. To be true, I don’t expect you to believe me now. I remember…” Her eyes took on a distant, haunted quality. “But I promise you, it will get easier.”

“I don’t want it to get easier!” cried Saskia. “Killing should never be easy!”

Ruhildi held her for a long time, offering only silent sympathy. Eventually her sobs faded, and she wiped her eyes one final time and rose onto wobbly feet.

“’Twere cruel of me to raise the ones you slew,” said Ruhildi. “Let me banish—”

“No, keep them,” said Saskia. “We might need them.” And having these walking reminders with us is no more than I deserve, she added silently.

Saskia didn’t have to wonder why her friend hadn’t raised the dead during the battle. She was pretty sure the other dwarves wouldn’t have been thrilled with the idea of hanging out with a necromancer.

What she didn’t understand was why Ruhildi had gone to such lengths to hide her identity from her fellow dwarves. When she asked as much, Ruhildi told her, “I were doing my best to keep Grindlecraw or anyone else from recognising me.”

Saskia stared at her. “You know him? And why…?”

“Aye, from afar, we ken one another. He were always a thrice-bollocking arseface. If he kenned who I were, ’twould complicate things. He’d have insisted on sending guardians back with us. That I couldn’t abide. And I’d rather news of my survival not make it back to Spindle and my… Not just yet, leastwise.”

Even without her lie detector, it was obvious there was a lot Ruhildi wasn’t telling her. But that was okay. Her friend had a right to her secrets.

“I wonder what the dwarrows are up to,” said Saskia, changing the subject. “Whatever it is, I’m sure the alvari won’t be happy about it.” She paused, frowning as a thought occurred to her. “I hope they don’t catch up with Garrain.”

“Och I hope they do.” Ruhildi flashed her a wolfish grin.

Leaving the watery portion of Dwallondorn behind, they began to ascend a gentle slope, walking among the trees and fungal growths that had taken over the streets of Inglomar.

It wasn’t until they rounded a bend in the cavern that Saskia finally got a sense of the true scale of this place. As Ruhildi had mentioned earlier, the lake and the ruined city occupied just one arm of a sprawling, many-armed Hollow, perhaps three or four times the size of Wilbergond.

Fortunately, her friend knew which of these gargantuan serpentine arms was the one they needed to take. It was an easy trek to the so-called prime passage, with Ruhildi’s retinue of creepy naked zombie mers keeping any would-be predators at bay.

Toward the end of the second day, as had happened often over the past few days, she felt a sensation of heat rising from within. No, not that kind of heat. The mildly uncomfortable feeling that came whenever a certain druid channelled essence for his spells. What was notable about this occasion was that it kept coming—wave after wave of ever-increasing discomfort. Her core temperature kept rising, and she was beginning to worry she might burst into flames for real this time. Garrain was casting not one but a whole sequence of spells, and drawing essence faster than ever before.

Saskia halted, gasping as pain shot through her veins. Dizziness swept over her. She sat down, hard.

“What is it this time, Sashki?” asked Ruhildi.

“It’s Garrain!” she hissed, clutching at her throbbing head. “He’s going nuclear with his magic! What the hell is going on up there?”

“Och methinks I ken what it is…”

If only she could visit him and find out. Or at least cut off his magic. Ever since that lightning strike, she hadn’t been able to do either of those things, nor access any other oracle abilities. There had been some promising signs: flickering objects briefly appearing in her vision, before vanishing, and a slow improvement of her ability to see in the dark. But right now, she had no control over her link to Garrain.

The flow of essence stopped.

Saskia let out a deep sigh of relief. Within a few minutes, she felt normal again. Well, mostly normal. She still felt blind without her oracle interface.

“He stopped casting,” she told her friend.

“’Tis not right that you should suffer so, for that bastard!” said Ruhildi.

“Well there’s nothing I can do about it now. Not until I get my oracle abilities back. Whatever happened, it’s over. But I don’t think he was playing around this time.”

Ruhildi turned away, muttering, “Should’ve ended him while I had the chance…”

Shaking her head, Saskia rose to her feet. “There have been more than enough endings lately.” She glanced at the mer with the caved-in skull, feeling another pang of sadness and regret. “Let’s try for a beginning, away from all of this.”

Her friend turned back to her with a thoughtful expression on her face. “Aye, what a fair joyous notion. To the Underneath, and a new beginning.” She gave a weary smile. “Come on then, Sashki. The passage lies but a short distance ahead.”

The prime passage was…not what she was expecting. It was less a passage than a chasm; a vast crack in the world tree. Its true depths lay shrouded beneath a blanket of mist and roiling spray churned up by a half a dozen waterfalls. There was a path cut into the side of the chasm, behind the falls, spiralling down and down as far as the eye could see.

“How far does it go?” asked Saskia, peering into the abyss.

“All the way, Sashki,” said Ruhildi. “All the way down to the ’Neath.”