Bright light pierced her eyes. Her head was full of agonlings, and her stomach…oh no, she was gonna…

Saskia puked up something so vile, it made her vomit. After that, she barfed, then hurled, heaved, spewed, upchucked and chundered. Before she was done, she’d used up every pukeworthy word she could think of, and had started inventing new ones: she blarghed, eurfed, mulped and yurked.

“That’s it,” said a soothing, feminine voice. “Let it all out.”

“Uuurgh,” said Saskia. Then she urghed.

At some point, she realised that the light was coming from the tip of a wand, held by her favourite raven-haired elf girl. She was lying inside Garrain and Nuille’s expansive housetree in Redgrove, surrounded by worried-looking dwarves and elves, and one grinning troll.

“Princess look good in green,” said Rover Dog.

Saskia sent him a glare. Or at least tried to. Another wave of nausea swept over her, and she…rovergitated. A truly awful pun; almost as bad as she felt right now.

“You can thank your trow friend for dragging you here,” said Nuille, offering Saskia a thin smile, after the latter was done emptying the contents of her stomach. “There was no way the rest of us could have hauled your enormous rump all the way up here.”

“My butt isn’t that big, is it?” croaked Saskia.

“’Tis a fair impressive arse, Sashki,” said Ruhildi.

“Prodigious posterior,” offered Rover Dog. “Just how I like.”

“After comments like these, you’re not gonna be admiring it up close for a good long while, bud,” Saskia shot back. His ears drooped. “But thank you for bringing me here.” She turned to Nuille. “And thank you for healing me.”

“No, thank you,” said Nuille. “I never thought I’d see the day when I got to heal a trow. It was…enlightening.”

“You scared me for a while there, Sashki,” said Ruhildi. “’Twere a fair vicious poison coursing through your veins. Were you not a trow, you’d be dead ten times over.”

“Grillock root extract,” said Nuille. “A favourite among dwarrow assassins.” She turned a frank gaze to Ruhildi.

“Aye,” said Ruhildi, meeting her gaze. “The Vindicals weren’t above using poisons if it got the job done.”

“Maybe the assassin is a dwarrow, after all,” suggested Saskia.

“Unlikely,” said Garrain. “We already discussed the peculiarities of his magic. There’s nothing preventing other peoples from procuring such a poison.”

Saskia sat up slowly, clutching her aching head. The mer was still there on her interface. Still alive then. “Speaking of the assassin, how many of the mer did he get in the end?”

“Five,” said Garrain.

Saskia let out a breath. “Just two left then, including the tempest.”

Ruhildi coughed and looked at the floor. “Actually, Sashki, we were forced to slay another when he attacked us. The tempest were the only survivor.”

Saskia put her head in her hands.

“Aye,” said Ruhildi. “If there were ever any chance of peace between us, methinks it died with them.”

“Maybe,” said Saskia. “But I’d still like to speak to her.”

The subject of their discussion was sitting in the back room, trembling visibly. Saskia crouched low in front of her, trying to look as non-threatening as an enormous monster could look.

“I’m so sorry about your companions,” she said.

Slowly, the tempest’s eyes seemed to regain some of their focus. She looked up at Saskia and drew in a shuddering breath. “You speak…sea tongue?”

“I do now,” said Saskia. Her oracle translator had picked up the language during her sojourns through mer territory via Garrain’s head. “Just so we’re clear, the assassin who attacked your people does not represent us. When I grabbed you, I was trying to protect you from that frocker. As for what happened afterward…well, I’m sorry about that too.”

“You…you are the one I have heard about, yes?” said the tempest. “The demon trow.”

“That’s what some people call me. You can call me Saskia.”

Many long seconds passed before the tempest replied in a small voice. “Zarie. I am named Zarie.”

Saskia smiled at her, while trying not to show any pointy teeth. “Thank you, Zarie.”

“You took my magic. My focus.”

“Yeah,” said Saskia. “That was a total accident. Whenever I touch a piece of arlium…well, in it goes. I can restore your magic if you—”

“Let’s not be too hasty,” interrupted Nuille, tugging at her arm. Saskia followed her out into the main room, before she continued. “Her mind may be…a little frayed right now, and we don’t know her motive for coming here. Let’s not arm her just yet.”

“I agree,” said Garrain. “Nuille and I can take care of her tonight. Save your questions for tomorrow, once you’ve both rested. I’d also like to talk to her, one accidental vassal to another.”

“As long as it’s just talk, ardonis,” said Nuille, smiling sweetly at him.

“Of course, my light,” said Garrain.

“Okay, fair point,” said Saskia. “I guess I’ll come back tomorrow then. Keep her safe.”

“Oh no, you misunderstand,” said Nuille. “You’ll be sleeping here tonight, Saskia. Before I let you out of my sight, I want to be sure the poison has left your body.”

“If it were going to kill me, I think I’d be dead already,” said Saskia. “But sure, whatever. I’ll go lie down now.”

Then she froze, seeing a large group of yellow dots approaching on her map.

“Or not,” she said. “We’ve got company.”

Stepping outside, Saskia’s already sour mood turned worse when she saw who was heading there way. Grindlecraw, with a crowd of goons at his back. A few of the faces she recognised as the troublemakers who had heckled the elves from Wengarlen.

“We wish to see the prisoner,” said Grindlecraw.

Ruhildi glared at him. “If you think we’re just going to let you put that tiny blade in her, you’ve some larning to do, shitebag.”

“She’s not exactly a prisoner,” said Saskia.

Grindlecraw gave a derisive grunt. “Not a prisoner?” He turned to face the crowd. “You hear that? The fish-ears tried to kill them, and now she’s…what, their honoured guest?”

Angry murmurs rippled through the dwarves at his back. One of them shouted, “Fish-humpers!”

“You know as well as I do why she attacked us,” said Saskia. “She thought we were the ones killing her companions.”

“I don’t care why she did it,” said Grindlecraw. “Only what she did, and what she is. Now kindly step aside and let us do what you’re too craven to do.”

“How about this?” said Saskia. “You all go on your merry way, before I get angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.” Stealing a line from the Hulk seemed appropriate right now. Her head was pounding, and she was in no mood to play Miss Nice Troll.

“We don’t take orders from you, demon!” said Grindlecraw, unsheathing his shortsword. An act that Saskia found almost laughable. This dwarf was no warrior. Having lost his magic, he wasn’t much of anything, except a pain in her oversized butt.

No, he was no direct threat. But the crowd behind him? They were a different story. Saskia counted at least a dozen crossbows being aimed at her.

“You do now,” said Baldreg, pointing his own crossbow at the former stoneshaper. “Unless you want to eat an arrow, you’ll do as she says.”

Grindlecraw’s glare grew positively malevolent. “I always kenned you were a traitor, Baldreg.”

“And I always kenned you were an arse, Grindi,” said Ruhildi. She raised her hand, and Saskia felt the familiar tug of essence from within.

Rover Dog spread his arms wide, claws splayed, and stepped up beside Saskia. Kveld drew his warhammer, and at the same time, she could feel him reaching for the newly formed link between them, ready to turn his own magic against the dwarves if it came to that. She prayed that it wouldn’t.

Grindlecraw looked between the five of them. On his face, she could clearly see anger warring with self-preservation. Self-preservation won. “This isn’t over,” he growled, lowering his weapon carefully to his side.

Watching the dwarves scurry off, Saskia let out a sigh. “I think you should all stay in Redgrove tonight. These donkholes might try something.”

“Aye, you may be right,” said Ruhildi. “We’ll guard the house. Now get some rest, Sashki. I’ll wake you if they come back.”

Despite feeling utterly wrecked, Saskia slept fitfully, and dreamt she was suffocating beneath a mountain of corpses. Some of them had faces she knew.

She awoke to the lingering echo of a crash and a shout, and the sight of Garrain rushing to the window, clutching his shoulder.

“What happened?” she cried, leaping to her feet.

“The assassin,” he growled. “He was after the tempest, not you. I chased him away.”

“You’re wounded! Oh god, is there poison?”

“Perhaps,” he said with a calmness that she could scarcely believe. “I don’t think such poisons can harm me any longer. Not since…” He gestured at the leaves growing from his body.

“Oh. Well that’s…convenient. So Zarie’s okay?”

“Indeed,” said Garrain. “The tempest is unharmed. Though I don’t know how much longer she’ll remain that way with events transpiring as they are.”

After a large breakfast, Saskia went with Ruhildi to question their guest. Zarie looked a bit livelier than she had yesterday, which wasn’t saying much.

“I guess we should start by asking why you came here in the first place,” said Saskia.

Zarie seemed to wilt under her gaze. She looked as if she was struggling to hold back tears. “It matters not. We should not have come.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” said Saskia.

Zarie drew in a long breath, and let it out. “I…I came in search of you and your disciple, demon. The one they call Vindica.”

Saskia blinked in confusion. “Ruhildi? What do you want with her?”

Ruhildi stepped forward. “Aye, what do you want with her?”

Zarie looked between Saskia and her friend. The mer’s eyes slowly widened. “You are Vindica! Yes?”

“Mayhap,” said Ruhildi. “That depends on what you want.”

“I want to get off,” said Zarie.

Saskia opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it. “Come again?”

“Ciendil,” said Zarie. “I want to get off Ciendil.”

“Oooh,” said Saskia. “I though you meant…never mind. We’ve been looking for a way off this branch too. What does Ruh—Vindica have to do with it?”

Zarie’s eyes brightened at her words. “Atop the Pillar of Strife are wings to carry us away. Wings that fly only at the behest of a demon, a necrourgist—and a tempest.”

Saskia felt her mouth drop open again. She really had to stop doing that. The Pillar of Strife was another name for what her father called the Vortex Roost. If there were indeed some kind of sky ship up there, this could be the big break they’d been searching for!

“Just so we’re clear,” said Saskia. “You wanted to invite me, a trow, and Ruhildi, a dwarrow, into the heart of mer territory, so we can help you fly this thing?”

“Yes,” said Zarie, a look of hope spreading across her face. “You would do this? Even after we fought one another?”

“I’m considering it,” said Saskia. “We’ve been looking for a way off this branch, and now you show up out of nowhere and offer it to us? Of course I’m considering it! It just sounds too good to be true. What’s the catch?”

Zarie looked at her blankly.

“What haven’t you told us yet?” clarified Saskia.

“Oh,” said the tempest. “There is a small matter of permission.”

Saskia sighed. “I knew it. Your people haven’t endorsed this plan of yours, have they?”

Zarie looked away. “There may be reason for them to let a trow in, but as for a dwarrow, we will need to be…sneaky.”

“Fantabulous,” said Saskia. “Though it could be worse. I was worried we might have to fight our way up through a hundred levels of monsters to get to the top. Name like Pillar of Strife, it just screams dungeon crawl.”

Zarie coughed. “Not a hundred levels…”

Saskia stared at her. “How many?”

“Three and thirty.”

“You’re kidding.”

“The Pillar is not the same as it was before the desecration of Elcianor. Balance has been lost. Dangerous creatures run rampant through the upper floors, while mer and alvari take refuge below.”

“Why do you even have such a place?” asked Saskia, still not quite believing what she was hearing, even though her oracle truth sense insisted that the tempest was being honest with her. “Why fill a tower with monsters? What’s the point of it?”

“It was a…proving ground,” said Zarie. “Challengers needed to prove themselves worthy to mate within the sacred storm, and sire a new generation of tempests.”

“How many of them passed the test?”

“Few,” said Zarie. “Few were brave enough to try. Fewer succeeded. Those who did got…very lucky.”

Saskia stifled an adolescent snigger. Something told her the mer didn’t mean got lucky in the way her own mind interpreted it. “I bet they did. I have to ask, why are the tempests all female?”

“Male tempests…do not survive the birthing,” said Zarie.

Saskia’s eyes narrowed. As far as she knew, the other worldseeds weren’t selective about gender. “Don’t survive?” she asked. “Or are they killed?”

Zarie blinked, her eyes wide and innocent. “They do not survive,” she repeated.

Their discussion continued into the morning. The tempest was meek and talkative, and Saskia sensed no deception from her. It wasn’t long before she felt as if she’d gotten a handle on the mer woman’s situation.

Before the world went to crap, Zarie had worked as a conservator in the Pillar of Strife. Her job had been to help maintain the dungeon, managing the delicate balance of its monstrous ecology, and keeping the various traps armed and ready to fend off unwary challengers. Many of her fellow conservators had joined the ill-fated invasion of the Underneath. Others had succumbed to illness or injury in the harsh months that followed. Without enough conservators to keep the monsters in check, they’d lost control of the upper floors.

Meanwhile, more and more refugees had taken shelter in the tower, as conditions worsened outside. Some of these refugees had brought with them rumours of the new colony in the Outer Hollows—home to both elves and dwarves. Zarie had learned that both the demon king’s heir and the infamous Vindica—a necrourgist—were among its residents.

Believing them to be key to her outlandish plan of making the ‘wings’ fly, the tempest had gathered a few of her trusted friends and…here she was.

By the time she finished talking to Zarie, Saskia had come to a decision. She gathered some of her closest friends and allies to discuss their next move.

Baldreg began with a piece of unwelcome news. “Grindlecraw and half a hundred other dwarrows walked out in the night. They killed one of the guards on the way out. Talk of the town is that he is founding another colony, and he’s inviting anyone who can’t abide living with the leaf-ears to join them.”

Ruhildi let out an exasperated grunt. “That bollocking bastard! This is just the beginning, you ken. More will flock to his side in the days to come. We can be certain of it.”

Saskia felt suddenly hollow. It was her idea to allow the elves into New Inglomar. Any bloodshed that followed was partly her fault. Only partly, though, because bloodshed was inevitable no matter what she did. She could hardly have made things any worse than they already had been.

“I don’t think there’s much we can do at this point, unless you want to go to war with him,” she said. “It’s not like he’ll ever change his mind.”

“War may be the eventual result, in any case,” said Garrain. “There are those who would rather see the world freeze over than let go of their hatred.”

“I really don’t want to talk about wars again,” said Saskia. “Let’s discuss the good news. Zarie seems legit. I want to take her up on her invitation, and go to the Pillar of Strife. It’s one of my father’s old fortresses, so it seems quite possible he left something behind that could carry us off this branch.”

“’Tis a trap, methinks,” said Baldreg.

“Thank you, Ye Olde Admiral Ackbar,” said Saskia. “Zarie has already warned me that it won’t be easy, and her people aren’t exactly onboard with her plan. Still, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. I never got a chance to tell you earlier, but Kveld and I uncovered some interesting tidbits of information…”

She went over what they’d learned about arlium manipulation spells and metamagic, and the possibility that a practitioner might be found on another branch. After hearing that, they all agreed it would be worth the risk. Then the talk turned to who would stay and who would go.

“We can’t all go gallivanting off to another branch,” said Saskia. “Not yet, anyhow. The assassin is still at large. This colony needs us—some of us. And I’d like at least one of my vassals to stay, if that’s okay with you, so I have eyes on Ciendil.”

“I will stay,” said Garrain. “Nuille too.” This earned him a sharp glare from his lifemate, who apparently didn’t appreciate having him speak for her. “The alvari need us now more than ever. And I’m best equipped to defend against the assassin.”

“Okay good,” said Saskia. “You alright with that, Nuille?”

The druid hesitated for a moment, then dipped her head at Saskia.

“I need someone to lead the dwarrows in my absence,” said Ruhildi. “There are none I’d entrust with the task more than you, Baldi—even though I’d like nothing more than for you to be with m—us.”

Baldreg blinked at her, and sighed. “Aye, I’ll stay. Someone has to keep the town from burning down.”

“You don’t expect me to go traipsing off on an adventure, do you?” said Myrna. “There are things to be done around here; little’uns to take care of.”

Saskia nodded at her. Of course Myrna couldn’t leave Thorric alone down here. Without the stern matron keeping him in check, he and his army of adorribles would bring the town to its knees.

“I’m afraid you’ll also be needed here, Dallim,” she said. “Your inventiveness will serve New Inglomar better than it would serve us on the road—or in the air. At least until you complete that airship of yours. If we fail to turn up anything useful, you may be our last hope for survival.”

Dallim had already taken to that particular project with gusto, and it was only a matter of time until it bore fruit. Her other reason for leaving him here, which wouldn’t go over so well with him, was that he was barely more than a kid, with no fighting skills to speak of. Even with the assassin around, he’d be safer here.

The young elf’s shoulders slumped, but if he had any objections, he didn’t voice them.

She turned back to the others. “Once we’ve taken the ‘wings’ for a spin, there’s nothing stopping us from coming back for anyone we leave behind. In the meantime, I’ll stay in touch, through Garrain. With that said, does anyone else want to stay?”

No-one answered. That left Ruhildi, Kveld, Rover Dog and of course Zarie, who would be joining her on this expedition.

“I would ask something of you, Saskia,” said Nuille. “I’d like you to make me your vassal as well.”

Saskia stared at her, taken completely off-guard by the unexpected request. She didn’t think the druid girl even liked her all that much, although their relationship had thawed considerably over the past couple of months after they met in person.

“I must admit, my reasons are somewhat selfish,” said Nuille. “I want nothing to come between my lifemate and I. As long as he is your vassal and I am not, it feels as though there is a part of him I can’t share. Then there is the matter of the seed of life. If the second rift swallows up Wengarlen, it will surely be destroyed. And with it, my magic. I would rather not risk this happening while you are away.”

“That is a very good point,” said Saskia. “I’d be honoured to have you as my vassal, Nuille.”

“It’s settled then?” Nuille looked to her lifemate, who inclined his head to her.

The guy’s learning, thought Saskia. A few months back, he’d have objected, strenuously. And then he’d be sleeping outside for weeks.

Nuille lifted her wand. She hesitated for the briefest of instants, then handed it over. A moment later, the arlium in its tip had vanished into Saskia’s hand, and a new mirror had joined the four already present on her interface.

The druid swayed a bit in her seat, and clutched at her head.

“Yeah, feels a bit weird, doesn’t it?” said Saskia. “Don’t worry, you can still heal and smite to your heart’s content.”

The druid raised her hand experimentally, and Saskia felt a trickle of essence flowing out of her. Nuille’s hand began to glow faintly, before dissipating as she cancelled her healing spell.

With that out of the way, it was time to discuss logistics. And for that, they’d need the final member of their expedition.

“Zarie, meet the people who will be coming with us to the Pillar of Strife—and beyond, hopefully.” She introduced each of them in turn.

Zarie’s eyes went wide as she took in the sight of Rover Dog. He grinned down at her. A fellow nudist. They’d get along famously.

Kveld, meanwhile, seemed to be having trouble lifting his eyes to the naked mer woman’s face. Around his voluminous beard, his cheeks were turning scarlet as he stammered his greetings and backed away.

Huh. So interspecies attraction was a thing, after all. He hadn’t acted this way when they fought the mer, but there hadn’t been time to ogle back then.

The questions came hard and fast, and Zarie answered them with complete honesty, as far as Saskia’s oracle truth sense ability was concerned. She spoke the forest tongue fairly fluently, and Saskia acted as translator between her and Baldreg, who knew only a little of the elven language. Yes, the ‘wings’ could carry the five of them—including the two huge trolls—with room to spare for people and things they’d collect in their journeys. On the subject of what exactly these mysterious ‘wings’ were, she remained cagey. It would be better to see for themselves, she told them. The fact that it would take a necrourgist to fly them made Saskia more than a little suspicious.

With their questions answered and their course set, it was time to make the final preparations for their journey.

They slipped out of town that night, without telling anyone outside their inner circle where they were going. Though the dwarves would no doubt complain about their leader’s sudden unannounced departure, Ruhildi didn’t want to give the assassin another chance to strike at Zarie, and there was always the chance he was lurking out there among the general population.

That precaution turned out to be somewhat less than effective. No sooner had they stepped out into the eastern arm of Dwallondorn than a feeling of disquiet fell over her, and a line of light appeared in the air, aimed at the tempest’s heart.

“Over there!” she shouted, pointing as she stepped in the path of the incoming bolt, and snatched it out of the air. “Don’t look. Just fire all the magic you have in that direction!”

A fierce breeze whipped through the cavern. Lightning crackled. Kveld send a large boulder tumbling in the direction Saskia had pointed, while Ruhildi pressed her hands to the floor and turned stone to sand in an arc that extended all the way to the lip of the wide precipice that lay before them.

A few minutes later, they stalked through the dust, peering around at the devastation they’d wrought.

“Did we get him?” asked Kveld.

“I don’t see a body,” said Saskia. Rule number one: if there’s no body, then they’re not dead. Of course, that rule applies to fiction, not real life. And it kinda goes out the window when they’re invisible, but still…

“I think you should keep that repelling vortex up, just to be safe,” she said, looking back at Zarie. “Even if it makes it uncomfortably draughty for…”

Saskia trailed off as she saw that Ruhildi had fallen behind, and was pressing her hand to her chest in obvious pain. Sweat glistened on her face, which was looking far too pale.

“I’ll be alright, Sashki,” Ruhildi assured her as she drew close. “Just give me a few breaths.”

She did not look alright. And this was not the first time this had happened.

“Take as long as you need,” said Saskia, trying to keep the worry from her voice. “If the assassin comes back, I’ll be here to stop him.”

Opening up her oracle medical interface, she peered inside her friend’s chest. There, she could see Ruhildi’s pulsing heart, and next to it, the crystalline shard of arlium. It seemed to have grown both larger and less jagged since the last time she’d looked at it. And now there were thin, spidery tendrils of arlium reaching through the chest cavity.

When she told Ruhildi what she saw, her friend nodded. “Aye, I can feel it growing inside me. Mayhap ’tis harmless. Mayhap not. Either way, there is naught can be done about it.”

“We could take you to Nuille. She might be able to help, somehow.”

“No,” said Ruhildi. “We go on, and come what may.”

So that was that. A few minutes later, the colour had returned to the dwarf’s cheeks. She rose on shaky legs and motioned for Saskia to follow.

No further attacks came over the following days as they made their way to the surface. They took a route Saskia had never travelled before: the upper portion of the prime passage. The elves had kept this passage under heavy guard over the past decades, but following their defeat in the Underneath, it was once again open for business. Much like the lower portion of prime passage, it consisted of a trail winding its way up the vast chasm on the far side of Dwallondorn. This trail led to a long, windy tunnel that emerged on the side of a hill near the shore of the Arnean Sea.

Acrid, icy air assailed them as they stepped out into the open air. The trees were half-buried beneath layers of snow and ash.

“Dogs,” choked Saskia. “How can anyone survive up here?”

“It is not so bad in the Pillar,” said Zarie. “That is where my people have taken shelter.”

The mer woman unfolded a sheet of cloth from her satchel and draped it over her body. She had no inhibitions about nakedness, and a remarkable tolerance for cold, so it spoke volumes about the harshness of their surroundings that even she covered herself up.

They descended through the desolate hills to an abandoned village on the shore. According to Zarie, this place had been home to alvari, not mer, but this was where her people had moored their boat on their way here.

The village looked oddly familiar to Saskia. Exchanging a glance with Ruhildi, she realised where she’d seen it before. It was the village from the dream they’d shared; the one the Vindicals had raided.

While the others boarded the boat, Saskia stood guard on the pier, doing her best to prevent any invisible pest from joining them on their journey across the sea. It wasn’t easy to guard against someone she couldn’t see or hear, but she was pretty confident they were alone right now.

With practised ease, Zarie slithered up the mast and unfurled the sails. She landed lightly on the forwardmost tip of the boat—the bow—and spread her arms wide, posing like one of those figureheads carved into ancient ships back on Earth. That was Saskia’s cue to hop aboard. A gentle breeze stirred behind them, increasing gradually in intensity as the boat glided forward, slicing across the waves.

The air was too hazy to see across to the far shore, but she knew somewhere over there was an enormous volcano, pouring molten arlium into the sky.

They headed west, following close to the shore for a time, before veering north. Through the haze, a dark shape loomed; a whirling vortex of air and smoke and thunder, spinning wide and fast at the bottom, and tapering off at the top, from which she could just make out the tip of a white spire.

As they drew closer, Saskia began to discern the structure lurking at the eye of the storm. White walls, smooth and straight and rectangular, reaching down from the sky.

She blinked. Something seemed…off. Beneath the tower was a small island, craggy and uninviting. But where the tower was supposed to meet the rocks, it…didn’t. There was nothing there. Just wind and rain and surging seas.

Only then did she realise what she was looking at. The Pillar of Strife wasn’t just a tower.

It was a floating tower.