The dead poured from the crypts by the hundreds, sweeping out into the streets, cutting down elves and beasts—and trees. Yeah, a little overzealous, those skellies. Across the western reaches of the city, corpses began to stir, and rise, and set upon the living.

“How much control do you actually have over this army?” asked Saskia as they tore through the streets of Torpend ahead of the swarm of clattering skeletons.

“With this many minions, I don’t command each one separately, Sashki,” said Ruhildi. “My brain would melt if I tried to do that. I give them general orders—kill all leaf-ears—and some simple movement patterns and battle strategies, and they follow them. I only have to step in if something surprising happens.”

In the minutes that followed, Saskia witnessed one such intervention. Pockets of resistance had endured throughout the city, but most of the surviving dwarves had fallen back to the southwestern quadrant, which remained largely elf-free. After the dwarves in that location started to attack her minions, Ruhildi pulled them back.

“You could make them raise a white flag,” suggested Saskia.

Her friend gave her that look. “Sashki, in all the old tales, the white flag is a symbol of the Chosen. Mayhap ’twouldn’t be best to go waving that around, unless you want to join the leaf-ears.”

“Oh,” said Saskia. “Okay, noted. White flags bad.”

Something skittered up onto Saskia’s shoulder and waggled its spindly legs at her. She just about levitated, before she realised it was just her friend’s bone spider. “Dogramit, Ruhildi, would you put that thing away!”

“I already told you, Sashki, it no longer answers to me.”

“Ugh, I bet this was just one of my father’s pranks,” muttered Saskia.

Well it wasn’t doing any harm up there. Maybe they should just leave it alone for now. A few minutes later, it returned to the safety of her friend’s satchel.

The good news was that Ruhildi was showing no signs of strain. Before she became Saskia’s vassal, her friend would have bled from every orifice if she tried to raise an undead horde a quarter the size of this one.

Watching the swarms of blue dots move about on her map, an idea began to form. Her minimap was a dogsend to Ruhildi, but right now her friend could only see the map when Saskia looked out of her eyes. And if she jumped from Ruhildi’s eyes to someone else’s, she inadvertently brought her friend along for the ride. But did it have to be that way? What if she could share her interface elements while remaining in her own head, or visiting another?

C’mon, oracle interface, don’t let me down now, she thought. Gimme a screen share option or something.

After a few minutes of concentration, something did change. The mirrors on her interface—one for Ruhildi and one for Garrain—each became dual mirrors; little ovals of polished glass, joined in the middle. She reached out with mental fingers and touched Ruhildi’s mirror…

And almost fell over. Holy crap, she was seeing double!

Not the kind of double vision she’d gotten that one time after drinking a quarter of a bottle of Baileys (an incident that had sealed her reputation as a total lightweight). No, she was seeing with two different pairs of eyes at the same time—her own, and Ruhildi’s. The two views weren’t overlaid on top of each other, but nor were they next to each other. There was no spatial relationship at all. They were just…there. Somewhere.

Okay, wow, this is going to take some getting used to. Not quite what I was expecting.

Ruhildi wasn’t having a fit right now, so presumably she still had plain old single vision. When Saskia began pulling up calendars and clocks and highlights and labels in her friend’s visual field, Ruhildi snapped, “Stop that!”

So far so good.

Just as there were separate visual fields, there were separate sound channels as well. In fact, there always had been. She just hadn’t realised it. So there’d be no confusing where a sound was coming from. She soon figured out how to access a mental ‘push to talk’ button as well, so her friend didn’t have to hear creepy breathing sounds or anything else going on at her end that she wanted to mute.

“That was fun,” said Saskia after they were done experimenting with the new connection. “But now it’s time to get serious. We’re coming up on Spindle soon.”

Aside from a few undead beasts, Ruhildi’s minons couldn’t keep pace with Saskia. Her friend had started raising corpses in front of them as they moved, and discarding some of the ones they’d left behind. Now, as they approached the outer walls of Spindle, there were an awful lot of corpses to choose from.

But it wasn’t just corpses that awaited them. On a nearby street corner, a small column of armoured dwarves advanced toward a larger band of elven archers and pikemen. Saskia charged past the startled dwarves, already hurling Jarnbjorn at their enemies, while zombies swarmed in from all sides.

The elves lasted less than a minute against the onslaught. Several tried to flee across the spiretops, only to be mercilessly shot down.

Addressing the dwarves, Ruhildi gestured at her troll mount and the corpses swarming around her. “They’re on our side, shield-bearers. How goes the fighting inside Spindle?”

“Not well, Honoured Vindica,” said one of the dwarves, while his companions picked their jaws up off the floor. “The leaf-ears hold at least two thirds of the column, and the halls above.”

“What of the seed of stone?” asked Ruhildi.

He gave a dwarven shrug. “We haven’t heard from the crew who went to retake it, which can only mean they have failed. This has turned into a right shitestorm—apologies for the language, mistress. The Chosen is still up there, doing who kens what to our worldseed, and we can’t do a cursed thing to stop him.”

“Then we’ve no time to lose, Sashki. Giddy-up!”

Saskia set off toward the looming column, muttering, “Why’d I have to teach you that word?”

“I hope you like climbing,” the dwarf shouted after them. “The lifts were all destroyed.”

“It’s not like I could fit inside those rickety cages anyhow,” said Saskia.

The same could be said of many of the tunnels in Spindle. They weren’t built for trolls. Fortunately, the main tunnel on the ground floor was wider than most. There were only a few bottlenecks where she had to get down on hands and knees.

Soon, they found themselves gazing up at the vast central shaft that would take them halfway up the column’s length, ending just short of the level housing the seed of stone.

Saskia swallowed. “I do like climbing, but this is ridiculous.”

This shaft was taller than the highest towers on Earth. It would be a white-knuckled climb, made worse by the fact that they might be attacked on the way up.

Once she was up on the wall, it wasn’t so bad. The stone was soft enough for her to dig her claws in, but not so soft that it couldn’t support her considerable weight. It was times like these when she was glad to be a troll. She shimmied upward at a speed that would have left her old climbing buddies stupefied.

Meanwhile, Ruhildi sent her undead army surging up ladders and stairs too small and flimsy for Saskia to dare stepping on, while some of the dead beasts climbed straight up the walls at her side. The humanoid deaders were falling further and further behind, but her friend urged her on regardless.

“Methinks Kveldi placed more expansion nodes on his way up,” said Ruhildi. “I can command the dead from afar, even here.”

“That was thoughtful of him,” said Saskia. “It’s not like the stone guardians can take the stairs any more than I can, and I doubt they can climb the walls. So he must have anticipated we’d want to do this.”

“He’s a clever one, that Kveldi,” said Ruhildi. “Fair odd, but fair clever.”

Every now and then, a tremor shook the walls, and they had to pause their ascent until it passed. These were no mere wind buffets, and they came more often than the ground tremors they’d experienced over the past weeks. The higher they went, the worse it got.

Three quarters of the way up, she spotted a line of orange dots on her minimap, coming down the stairs several floors above them.

“Sashki…” murmured Ruhildi.

“I see them,” said Saskia.

Pressing herself flat against the wall, she slithered upward. Peeking up over the lip, she hurled Jarnbjorn at the rearmost elf, then vaulted up. The claws of her left hand latched onto the wall, while her feet teetered on the ledge.

Her axe embedded itself in the elf’s forehead with a sickening crunch, and before he began to fall, she summoned it back. Holding her right, gauntleted hand low to the ground, she directed the path of the axe so that it smashed and tore its way through the line of elves, who were just now beginning to aim bows and spears at her.

They went down like a row of skittles; several tumbling over the edge, while others slumped onto the narrow stairs. Groans and curses sounded from the scattered elves. Saskia caught the axe, and threw it again.

As the last of them fell silent, a wave of nausea swept over her. This was nothing new, but the tiny thrill that had preceded it was. She was getting entirely too used to killing.

I can’t keep doing this, she thought. What comes next? A necklace of skulls and a death metal theme tune?

A shout rang out across the shaft, and Saskia winced, seeing the air suddenly fill with glowing trajectories. She sprang sideways in the nick of time as arrows peppered the spot on the wall she’d been clinging to. Glaring over at her new foes, she shot up the wall, leaving them behind as a swarm of undead beasts slithered and skittered toward them. Their screams echoed up the vast hollow, then fell silent.

From that point on, the ascent became a long series of scuffles and escapes. The only dwarves they found were corpses, and Saskia’s gut became a knot of worry. Where were their friends? She’d have seen them on her minimap if they were on any of the floors she’d passed through.

It was only as they neared the top of the shaft that the familiar blue map markers materialised amidst a swarm of grey and orange and red ones. There was a loud crack, accompanied by distant shouts and the clashing of steel on steel.

A dwarf tumbled off the balcony above, arms flailing, staring at her through wide, terror-stricken eyes. There was an arrow in his chest, and a deep gash across his head. Saskia threw out her arm in a vain attempt to catch him, but he was too far away. And then he was gone.

She scrambled up onto the balcony and found it littered with corpses, and a desperate band of dwarves fending off a tide of elven fighters. She spotted Baldreg and Kveld and Grindlecraw among them. Further down the tunnel, a snarling Rover Dog batted drunkenly at dozens of elves that had him pinned against a wall, his body riddled with arrows.

Saskia pushed past the startled dwarves, struggling to get to the stricken troll’s side. All around her, the dead rose up and flung themselves at the elves.

Something tickled her shoulder. She glanced down, and let out an embarrassing squeak. The bone spider was back. It leapt onto the face of an approaching elf, who screamed and snatched at it, even as it tore into his eyes.

“Oh my dog!” she cried out, feeling queasy again.

“I not your Dog,” said Rover Dog, blinking at Saskia through his one good eye. He crushed a pair of elves as they scrambled to meet the new threat. “You princess, but you not own me.”

“Yeah, that joke never gets old.” Saskia put herself between him and the elves. The troll had seen better days. It was her turn to protect him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bone spider leaping at another victim.

Even with the dead on their side, this was no easy battle. These elves were highly organised, and quickly formed a protective shield wall, holding back the dead that swarmed them from the dwarven side, while hacking apart their fallen comrades who rose up in their midst.

Still, it was only a matter of time until the tides turned. Predictably, it was Ruhildi who ended the stalemate. She hopped off Saskia’s back and pressed her hands against the floor. Shouts of alarm arose from the elves as their front line sank into the stone at their feet, and the dead fell upon them.

Minutes later, the last of the elves fled down the corridor, and Saskia surveyed the small band of dwarven survivors. An icy pit began to form in Saskia’s stomach. Someone was notably absent from the group. She looked at Baldreg, whose face had taken on a haunted, distant quality.

It was Ruhildi who spoke the question on Saskia’s lips. “Where is Freygi?”

“My bonnie…” Baldreg’s voice cracked. He visibly wilted, and Ruhildi reached out to steady him.

“The Chosen, he moved so fast,” said Kveld. “Freygi tried to sneak up on him, and…” He swallowed. “She fell.”

Another violent tremor passed through the column. Ruhildi clutched the heaving wall for support. “I were just talking to her. She can’t be…”

“The dream,” said Saskia, blinking back tears. “I saw her too. She was saying goodbye.”

“Aye, the assassin is dead,” said Grindlecraw as the shaking subsided. “As are countless other dwarrow-kin. We’ve all lost someone. Some of us have lost our entire families. Grieve later, if you survive. Today, we fight!”

“Mistress Vindica, have you come to lead us?” said one of the stoneshapers. Though covered in grime and dust, his face seemed familiar to Saskia. It took her a moment to place it. She glared at him, a growl rising in her throat. He was one of those donkhole novices who’d attacked her and Rover Dog, all those weeks ago.

Ruhildi stared at the novice for a long moment before answering. “I’ve come to finish this. Every last one of those bastards will die today.”

“A fine sentiment,” said Grindlecraw. “But our first priority must be to retake the seed of stone.”

“And just how are we supposed to do that?” asked one of the survivors, looking defeated. “You saw what happened last time we tried. The Chosen is too strong, and the leaf-ears too many.”

“Too many, you say.” Ruhildi offered him a cold smile.

And then they heard it: a sound like a distant waterfall, growing louder with each passing moment, until it resolved into a multitude of clattering, shuffling noises. Dwarves leaned over the edge of the balcony, staring into the shadowy depths of Spindle’s central shaft.

Something moved down there. A lot of somethings. A metric frocktonne of somethings, skittering and slithering and scrambling up the walls.

“By all the shapers of old,” breathed Grindlecraw. He turned to Ruhildi, eyes bulging.

Ruhildi met his gaze. “The dead fight for me today. You have a problem with that?”

Grindlecraw gave a wry chuckle. “Not today, I don’t. If only the Chancellor could see you now.”

“He’d have a fit,” said Ruhildi.

“That he would,” agreed Grindlecraw. “But he’d still be proud of you.”

Screams sounded from below, as more elves fell under the rising tide of zombies. It wasn’t long before the first of them surged up over the balcony, joining the ones she’d raised up here. Ruhildi sent them swarming through the tunnels around them, and Saskia watched on her map as enemy markers winked out.

“Let’s get to it,” said Ruhildi.

Saskia looked at Rover Dog, who was still plucking arrows out of his back. She moved to help him. “You okay there?”

“I…sore,” he admitted. “Good fight, but long. Princess late.”

She swallowed. Freygi and all the other dwarves who had died up here might still be alive if she hadn’t abandoned them to save Ruhildi.

That decision would haunt her in the days to come—if she had any more days. There would be no more days for her or anyone else on this world she cared about if she let her emotions get the better of her. And so she closed her eyes, and let out a breath, and set her attention on the task at hand.

Looking at the narrow tunnel that led to the next floor, she told Ruhildi, “Rover Dog and I will take the rear. Wouldn’t want to block the passage for everyone else.”

Ruhildi sent her a sad smile. “’Tis alright, Sashki. You trows can guard our backs.”

“Go,” said Saskia, returning her smile. “I’ll be right behind you every step of the way.”

She sat down next to Rover Dog, waiting as the dwarves assembled and began to march, heading for the seed of stone—and Thiachrin.

The boss fight, thought Saskia. She had to quell the urge to giggle hysterically.

On a whim, she touched Garrain’s mirror. A third view entered her mind; one of snow and trees, and a naked elf, smiling up at her—at him. This time, Saskia didn’t even feel embarrassed.

“We’re about to go up against Thiachrin,” she told him. “Got any tips?”

“Run,” said Garrain.

She sighed. “And if that’s not gonna happen?”

Garrain was silent for a while. Then he said, “Find a way to disarm him. He was blademaster before he was Chosen. Without his blade, you might stand a chance.”

Saskia relayed that information to Ruhildi through her oracle link, although she had no idea what her friend might do with it.

They ascended the last few floors to their destination, passing through narrow halls and shattered rooms with blood-splattered walls, all the way to the hallway encircling the massive chamber containing the seed of stone. Through Ruhildi’s eyes, she watched as the dead assembled in the hallway, awaiting the command to enter.

Saskia and Rover Dog were coming up the stairs behind them when another tremor struck, far more violent than the ones that had come before. The walls rippled. There was ominous cracking sound from above, and suddenly the stairs around them were bathed in red light.

Already red. No time…

She leapt on top of Rover Dog just as the ceiling came down.

Her ears were ringing. An immense weight pressed down on her from above. Saskia’s arms and legs were wrapped tightly around Rover Dog. Between her legs she felt a prickly bulge. It seemed to be growing.

“Really?” she hissed. “You’re thinking about that? Now?”

“Might not get another chance, princess,” said Rover Dog.

“Sashki!” Ruhildi’s frantic voice came through the oracle link. Through her friend’s eyes, she saw a wall of fallen blocks where the stairwell had been. The sound of fighting broke out behind her.

“I’m…okay.” She struggled to shift the weight above her, but it wouldn’t budge. It was getting difficult to breathe.

Ruhildi pressed her hand against the floor as the sound of battle intensified around her. Heat surged through Saskia, as her friend drew from her voluminous supply of essence. Huge slabs of stone subsided into sand, flowing outward.

Saskia strained against the weight pressing down on her. And with a sinking feeling, she realised there were still metres of solid rock between her and freedom.

“Not even you…can dig us out of this in a hurry, Ruhildi,” she gasped. “We’ll be with you as soon as we can.” Possibly never. “In the meantime, you’re gonna have to do the final boss fight without us. Kick some butts for Freygi, yeah?”

Her friend hesitated for a moment, then nodded and turned back to the doorway, where the dead were pressing up against a wall of heavily armoured elves blocking the way.

Baldreg shot an explosive bolt into their midst. Zombies and elves alike flew away from the point of impact. In the ringing silence that followed, the dead poured through the opening, followed by Kveld and the other shield-toting dwarves, then Baldreg and the crossbowmen, Grindlecraw and the stoneshapers, and finally Ruhildi herself.

Dozens of elven archers and fighters and druids stood on and around the stone columns jutting from the pool at the centre of the room, facing the gathering army. Thiachrin stood upon the highest column, sword raised above his head, pointing up at a giant shining crystal that hung from the ceiling. The seed of stone. A beam of blinding light closed the gap between sword and stone, searing into the core of the crystalline structure.

The air seemed to vibrate, and the floor shook. These tremors were showing no sign of abating any time soon. Saskia could feel them in the weight of stone pressing down on her own body. This must be their source.

What the hell was he doing to the worldseed? Was he trying to claim it for the elves?

No, that wasn’t it. All the elves had to do to make use of the seed of stone was…well, bang. Right here, in this chamber. The result would be elven stoneshapers.

That would be bad for the dwarves, but it wasn’t a short-term problem. By the time the first enemy stoneshaper grew up, the dwarves would already be finished. The Chosen wasn’t going to risk having the dwarves retake the worldseed. He was here to end the threat once and for all. And that meant…

Before she could finish that thought, Saskia’s interface lit up with the trajectories of arrows and spells being aimed into the pack of zombies and dwarves.

“Ruhildi, those lights in the air show where they’re aiming!” said Saskia.

No sooner had the words left her mouth than the zombies scattered out of the path of a scorching sap spell that splattered in their midst. Projectiles aimed at the living thudded into a wall of the dead. Others clattered harmlessly onto the floor.

Wow, her friend was really quick on the uptake.

Arrows and bolts and spears and rocks flew back toward the elves, sent by the living and the dead. Some hit flesh, but most were swept aside by a curtain of flailing vines that exploded out of the floor.

Seeking the druid who had cast that monster of a spell, Saskia found him perched on a pillar near the Chosen. She recognised his face. He was one of Garrain’s former companions who had attacked her in the Dead Sanctum.

When she pointed him out to Ruhildi through their shared link, the dwarf nodded her head and said, “He’s as good as dead.”

A pack of armoured zombies leapt upon the vines, which tore through steel and flesh with equal ease. But not before they’d opened up a hole in the barrier. A hail of crossbow bolts found its way through the gap. Most bounced off his magically hardened flesh, but one found its way into an eye socket.

It was enough. The druid toppled backward off the pillar, and the vines subsided.

As the dead slammed into the elves in the water, only then did the Chosen seem to take notice. The masked head tilted down to face his attackers.

“Where is she?” said Thiachrin. “Where is the caedling?” His gaze settled on Ruhildi. “Ah, there you are. Couldn’t slither here in person? No matter. You’re too late in any case.”

A swarm of projectiles flew through the air toward the Chosen. He gave a disdainful grunt, and leapt into the air, higher than a character from a platform game.

Then he was hanging upside down from the ceiling, raising—or lowering, from Ruhildi’s perspective—his shining sword to strike the crystalline form of the seed of stone. For a moment, it seemed to waver, and she caught sight of something glistening beneath the facade.

An amber glow suffused the entire chamber, turning redder with each passing moment.

“Ruhildi, get everyone out of there!” screamed Saskia. Or tried to. It came out as more of a wheeze.

No time. The door was too far away. Despair drew her down into its oily depths. No no no! This couldn’t be happening. They were all gonna die, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. She needed to…needed to…

She looked down at Rover Dog, still pressed tightly beneath her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I have to…go now.”

The world shattered into a scintillating maelstrom of fractal shards. Saskia felt herself expanding, then contracting, then moving in that indescribable, yet strangely familiar direction.

She plunged into a warm void, filled with light and formless energy. And others like herself, and yet…different. Linking them all, her undermind. A creature that could reach between dimensions—and across space.

Take me where I need to be, she told the thing that was her deepest self. Help me save them.

The undermind flexed its wings, enfolding her in their translucent glow. There was a pushing sensation, and a feeling of gathering speed. The rippling light of the surface rushed down to meet her.

Then she was in a chamber of water and stone and swarming corpses and awe-struck dwarves. Above her, a pale figure sank a shining sword deep into a crystal shard.

In the moment of emergence, there was more of her than could be contained in the body of a troll. So much more. Saskia could see herself through Ruhildi’s widening eyes: an assemblage of twisting flesh that distended and contorted and flexed into seemingly impossible patterns, reaching across the breadth of the chamber.

Mostly metaphorical my butt, she thought, watching fleshy, viny tendrils reach out from the space between space. Her light blotted out the ceiling above the stunned dwarves, shielding them from what was about to happen next.

The seed of stone looked almost the same for her as it did for Ruhildi, at least at first. Cracks played across the surface of the crystal, and for an instant, another form was revealed to her: a glistening, living thing, part-starfish, part-snail, clinging to the rocky ceiling. The creature shuddered and went still.

The Chosen dropped from the ceiling, carving a searing path between her writhing tendrils.

There was a sound like a thousand nails scraping across a thousand blackboards. Then pain; mind-shattering pain.

Dimly, she felt herself growing smaller, receding into a now-familiar form. Her body was afire with torment. She collapsed face first into the water. An icy wind played across her ruined flesh.

She was seeing out of Ruhildi’s eyes right now. Her own eyes had been seared from her skull. The dwarf rushed toward the blackened thing in the water, a cry of horror issuing from her lips. Her friend knelt beside her, tears blurring her vision. She reached out her hand, then drew it back. Only then did she look around her, blinking in obvious bewilderment.

They were on a plateau, surrounded by open sky. A long splinter of stone hung from the overhead branch: all that remained of the upper half of Spindle.

Out of the corner of Ruhildi’s eyes, she saw Grindlecraw holding up his wand. An expression of utter horror crossed his face. The arlium tip of the wand was dull; lifeless.

“We weren’t expecting the blademaster to survive that,” said the pale figure drawing near, shining sword held high over his bald head. His mask was gone, revealing gleaming white eyes beneath. “Convenient that you appeared when you did, caedling. As a token of appreciation, we’ll end your torment quickly.”

Letting out an incoherent cry of rage, Ruhildi rounded on the Chosen. Something leapt from her satchel and skittered across the ground toward him.

Thiachrin glanced down just as the bone spider began to race up his leg. He swatted at it, but it nimbly dodged aside, continuing its ascent up his body. Reaching his eye, it plunged straight in. Blood sprayed across his face and dribbled down his chin.

The Chosen’s fist closed around the tiny creature, tearing it out of his mangled eye socket. He threw it to the ground, and in a flash, his sword flicked downward. The blade struck the spider point-first, pinning it to the stone. He let out a disgusted grunt.

The blade shattered.

Thiachrin’s remaining eye blinked down at the ruin of his sword.

Something coalesced in the air behind him. The shimmering form of a tiny dwarf girl—a child—with her wand held at arm’s length; her face triumphant. A moment later, she was gone.

“Nadi,” whispered Ruhildi. “Thank you.”

The Chosen eyed the dwarves and the dead, converging on him from all sides. Baldreg and Kveld walked side by side, their faces grim; weapons held at the ready.

“You think we need a sword to end you all?” said Thiachrin. “Think again.” He reached for the dagger at his belt.

Saskia’s hand closed around his ankle. She jerked, and he fell beside her. Watching through Ruhildi’s eyes, she bit into the wrist that held his dagger, even as the blade sank into her skull. At the same moment, she plunged a claw into his remaining eye. He drew in a sharp breath—and began to laugh.

“Well done, caedling,” said Thiachrin between chuckles. “Well—”

With her other hand—a shrivelled husk of meat and bone and blackened claws—she tore out his throat.