The smell of smoke thickened in the air as we ran. The air held the scent of burning wood and overheated metal. At first, we ran with urgency, but after five minutes or so, we settled into a distance-eating lope that carried us through the trees without devouring our stamina. If the villagers needed help, we wouldn’t be able to provide it if we were too busy gasping for breath and clutching our stomachs.

My first fear was that somehow, the hungering had overrun the village’s defenses while we were gone. I didn’t know how they might have set the village on fire, but they could have overturned a lantern or candle – or maybe gotten into the smithy. I hadn’t been inside there, myself, but I was sure that the forge within it could cause problems. Then I realized that as late in the day as it was, a fire in the village would have burned out hours ago – or at least burned down so that it wasn’t smoking so much. Whatever caused the blaze had to be more recent than last night, which meant that perhaps the villagers were fine, even if their village wasn’t.

As we neared the edge of the forest, though, a stray breeze shattered that hope. The scent of scorched wood and hot metal couldn’t quite cover a third odor: the thick, coppery tang of blood. It was a smell I recognized instantly, and with it came the sickly-sweet odor of fresh death. People had died ahead of us, not just one, but lots of them. I gripped my axe tightly. Whatever killed them might still be there, after all.

We burst from the woods, and I took in a scene of devastation. Thick smoke wrapped around the village, shrouding much of it in a gray-black haze. Buildings blazed furiously, flames leaping from them toward the distant Sun. Other structures lay in smoking, ember-filled ruins, their roofs collapsed and their walls tumbled inward. Bodies lay about the village, splayed in impossible poses, none moving more than weakly. Bolts and arrows jutted from their bodies; most of them looked like they’d been shot in the back as they tried to flee. A few had gaping wounds in their chests or stomachs that no longer bled without their heartbeat to push the blood out of them. The cause of the tragedy stood openly in the sunlight, leaving no doubt as to what happened to Borava.

Soldiers in gleaming armor stood around the village, moving callously through the destruction. One tossed a flaming torch onto a building that merely smoked but wasn’t burning, and a moment later, flames blazed from the roof. Another walked over to stand beside the young girl who’d driven the wagon to and from the forest for the loggers. The girl crawled weakly away, her sobs and pleas for her mother heartrending, but the soldier stabbed his spear into her body without mercy, and she fell still, collapsing on the ground.

My brain went white with rage as I took in the scene, and I broke into a sprint, headed for the nearest soldier. The man turned toward me, the motion obviously catching his eye. “More of them!” he shouted, raising his spear.

“Kill them all!” another voice called back. “You know the orders.”

The man never got to reply. He held his spear out professionally, ready to run me through. I slid beneath his thrust on one knee, slashing with the war axe. Solar and lunar energy flooded the weapon, and it cut through his thigh like butter, shearing the leg free. He screamed as fire burned its way up into his groin, but I slammed the back spike into his skull as he fell, silencing him forever.

Another soldier leveled a crossbow at me, and I rolled to the side, ducking behind the corpse of the man I’d killed. The body shook as the bolt smacked into its back. I snatched the dead soldier’s knife from his belt and rose back to a knee, my arm snapping downward, power wrapped about the blade. The knife glittered as it flew, spinning in the air and plunging into the soldier’s chest, ignoring his armor. He clutched the wound as he fell, his heart shredded by the blade and the blast of fire that rolled out from it.

I snatched my own crossbow up and leveled it at a third soldier who charged at me with an axe similar to mine. The string thrummed as the bolt leaped forth, burying itself in the man’s eye. I dropped the now-useless weapon and ran forward, grabbing up my war axe. A soldier appeared around a building, pointing a regular bow at me, and I dove forward, rolling behind the flaming remains of a house. I drew my hatchet, then flashed my war axe past the wall with one hand. An arrow sailed through space, and I stepped out, hurling the hatchet. The soldier had drawn another arrow, but the hatchet caught him in the throat before he could nock it to the string.

A man leaped around the corner, slashing with a long polearm that looked like a butcher knife stuck to a pole. I ducked, but the blade sliced across my shoulder with a dull, distant burning sensation. I stepped forward and thrust the axe, sinking the stubby spike on the end into the man’s throat through the chain collar he wore. I jerked the weapon free as a man lunged at me with a spear, knocking his thrust aside and slashing downward brutally. The soldier screamed as my axe sliced through his forearm, cutting off his hand. The return slash buried the back spike in his armpit, and he crumpled to the ground, coughing and choking as his lung filled with blood.

Pain raced down my back, and I dove forward reflexively, coming to a crouch and spinning to face a man wielding a more elaborate axe, one with a longer handle and an inward-sloping blade. The man took a step forward, then collapsed to the ground, a bolt quivering in the back of his skull. I turned and caught Renica’s eye, nodding to her in appreciation, then flung myself back into the fight.

I’d given the remaining soldiers time to prepare a defense, though, and three of them formed up in front of me, each holding a shield and a pole weapon of some sort. As one, they dropped to a knee, and I rolled sideways as two crossbowmen appeared. Pain flared in my shoulder as one of the bolts struck home, but I pushed it aside and drew my knife as I rose. The blade arced through the air and took one of the bowmen in the face, burying itself into his skull and sending him screaming to the ground.

I charged forward, my axe swinging, practically glowing with magical power. One of the soldiers held up his shield to block the attack, but the weapon sliced through the hardened wood and severed the arm holding it. The man fell back with a shout of pain, then froze as a feathered bolt seemed to sprout from his forehead. I jerked my axe, but it hung up in the man’s shield, and in my moment of distraction, the closest soldier buried his spear low in my side.

I growled in pain and grabbed the weapon, keeping him from pulling it free. His eyes went wide as a huge, shaggy figure sprang into him, bearing him to the ground. Vikarik roared a bark that hit me in the chest like a punch and staggered the last shield-bearer. I stepped back, tearing the spear from the fallen man’s grip and leaving him to the cairnik’s not-so-tender care, then pulled the spear from my side and leveled it at the final soldier.

The man recovered quickly and lowered his halberd – that was the name of the fancy-looking axe, I recalled – ducking behind his shield. I tossed the spear into the air, reversing my grip, then stepped and flung it at the man, holding the image of my Twilight Strike firmly in my brain. The spear wobbled as it flew – I hadn’t really thrown a spear or javelin before, and I wasn’t that great at it. The man cowered behind his shield, but the empowered weapon blasted through it and punched into his stomach. He groaned and dropped his weapon, trying to pull the spear out of his gut. A bolt erupted from the side of his skull an instant later, and he fell to the ground, lifeless.

A flash of movement caught my eye, and I turned to see the last soldier aiming his reloaded crossbow at me. I grabbed a shield laying at me feet and held it up in front of me with two hands, ignoring the half of an arm still attached to it. The bolt thunked into the shield, the head punching through to the other side but remaining lodged in the shield. I flung the shield to the ground and raced at the man.

The soldier dropped the bow he’d been hurriedly cranking and grabbed a short saber from a scabbard at his side. He drew it and slashed wildly at me, his face panicked. I leaned back, letting the blow slide past me, and felt a sting across my chest as the tip drew a thin line of blood. He brought the weapon back in a backhanded slash, but I stepped inside the blade’s reach and grabbed his wrist, blocking the blow. My empowered foot lashed out, crashing into his side with a loud crunch of metal. He stumbled, held in place by my grip on his wrist, and I yanked him forward, slamming my elbow into the side of his head. He took a staggering step forward, trying to jerk his wrist free, but I crashed the point of my elbow into his face, crushing his nose. He dropped the weapon with a muffled cry, and I let him fall back a bit before snapping my fist into his forehead. His eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

I stepped back and closed my eyes, pulling up the image Sara had created for me of the blood drawing back into my body and the wounds sealing shut. I poured power into it, but the energy felt weak and ineffectual.

“You don’t have enough blood magic left for that, John,” Sara said quietly. “With the sun out, you aren’t recovering lunar raju very quickly, and you’re almost out. You can maybe close one wound. I’d focus on the one in your side; that’s bleeding internally.”

I shifted the image, seeing the deep puncture in my side healing, and the energy flowed down into my wound. I hissed in pain as the puncture burned shut, but a moment later, the pain there eased, replaced with a dull throbbing that was far more tolerable. My chest stung, my back and shoulder burned, but none of those injuries seemed immediately critical.

I heard Renica’s pounding steps as she ran to my side, tears streaming from her eyes and her crossbow raised. She leveled it at the unconscious soldier, but I knocked it upward as she pulled the trigger, sending the bolt hurtling into the sky.

“What are you doing?” she screamed at me, winding the crossbow swiftly back into its cocked position. “He deserves to die, Ionat!”

I grabbed her arm and stared into her eyes. “He does,” I agreed. “And he will. I’ll even let you kill him if you want – after he tells us who did this and why.”

“Who? The soldiers did it! They killed…” She paused, and her voice broke. “They killed everyone.” She sobbed, and I wrapped my good arm around her, pulling her to my unwounded shoulder and letting her cry for a few seconds.

“Someone ordered this,” I said grimly. “I want to know who, and I want to know why.” In my heart, I was certain I knew that last part. Somehow, Vasily’s prediction had been right. My presence had drawn danger and doomed Borava.

“What if he won’t tell you?” she sniffed, pulling away from me.

“He will,” I promised grimly, then looked around. “Can you ask Vikarik to keep an eye on him? I think we should check for survivors. Maybe someone’s still alive.”

She nodded, wiping her eyes and nose on her sleeve. She looked at the dog. “Vikarik, hold,” she instructed. A tendril of brown flashed between the pair, and a moment later, the cairnik stalked over to the unconscious man and gripped him by the throat. Armor or no, Vikarik could kill him in a heartbeat, and hopefully, when he woke up, he’d realize that.

We split up and moved through the bodies, searching in vain for signs of life. I found Tedor’s corpse with the bodies of two soldiers beside him, both of them hacked to death by his axe. Serghei lay lifeless in front of a group of older women and children, the body of a soldier attesting to his valiant but doomed defense of the villagers. The woman who’d spoken to me in the bathhouse was crumpled in a heap, her body pierced with crossbow bolts. None of them lived, although their wounds showed that some of them had survived the initial attack and were killed later by the soldiers.

“Ionat!” Renica’s voice cried out urgently, and I spun to see her crouching on the other side of the village. “Hurry!”

I raced across the bloody, ash-strewn commons, then slowed as I saw Vasily, lying on his back, breathing shallowly. Four soldiers lay dead around him, but they’d left him critically wounded. Punctures in his chest and stomach bled freely, his left arm hung uselessly at his side, and blood streamed from a nasty gash in his right thigh.

“Ionat,” he gasped, his voice breathy and weak – it sounded like the wound in his chest had gotten a lung. “Y-you returned. The Lo – the Lomo…”

“Dead,” I said shortly. “Don’t talk, Vasily. I’ll try to patch you up.” I grabbed the belt from one of the fallen soldiers and wrapped it around the Elder’s thigh above the wound, cinching it tight. Vasily groaned as I fastened it, but the blood pumping from his thigh slowed to a trickle.

“Don’t – don’t bother,” the old man gasped. “Know – fatal wounds – when I see them.”

“Don’t say that, Vasily,” Renica said urgently. “You can’t die!”

“Anyone can – die, child,” he coughed, bringing up flecks of blood. There wasn’t much I could do about that, but I quickly ripped up the fallen soldier’s shirt, folded it into a pad, and placed it on the wound in his stomach, pressing gently but firmly. Vasily grunted, but I held him in place.

“I’m sorry, Vasily,” I said, looking him squarely in the eye. “You were right. I brought disaster on you. I didn’t know…”

Vasily shook his head. “Was – wrong,” he gasped. “Not you. Sorvaraji – Viora.” He coughed again. “Came for Viora.”

“The Sorvaraji?” Renica said. “Did they – is she…?”

“Alive,” he gasped. “Took her. Don’t know – why.” He coughed again, and bloody bubbles formed on his lips. He reached out and grabbed my arm. “Save – books,” he gasped.

I shook my head. “Your library is gone, Vasily,” I said sadly. “They burned everything.”

“Not – all,” he croaked. “In altar – beneath desk. Loose stone. Books – valuable ones.”

I looked over toward the altar building; it still stood, its stone ash-covered but not ablaze. I looked back at him and nodded. “I’ll find it.”

“Save – Viora!” he added, clutching my arm. “Village – needs…”

The village was gone, but I wasn’t going to tell the man that. He was dying, and all I’d done was slow it down a bit. Renica could track them, and I’d hunt them down.

“Ionat,” the man spoke, his voice growing weaker. “Have – Vanator. Took Viora.”

“A Vanator?” Renica repeated, her face white.

“We’ll get her back, Vasily,” I promised. “Vanator or no.” I gave him a grim smile. “Like you said, anyone can die.”

The man chuckled, then coughed up a spray of blood. “Sorry,” he wheezed. “Was wrong – cast you out. Foolish…” He shook his head. “Scared.” He hacked another tearing cough. “Now – dying for it.” His breath came in shallow, irregular gasps.

“John, the emblem,” Sara reminded me quietly. “He’s not going to last long.”

I silently thanked her, then pulled out the golden badge I’d taken from the Lomoraji. “Vasily, the Lomoraji had this,” I said. “Do you recognize it?”

The man’s eyes widened, and he reached for the gleaming circle. “Royal – Archivist,” he gasped. “Capitol of Mihabag. Tattoo?”

I nodded. “Yeah, he had a tattoo on his arm that matched this.”

“Vanatori,” the Elder choked. “Great Cathedral – Hidden Archives…” His breath came in rapid pants, and he clutched me fiercely. “Save – Viora!”

“I will,” I nodded. I watched as his breath caught in his chest and his face stilled. His eyes slid shut, and his body relaxed. I reached out and touched his throat, feeling for a pulse, but my fingers felt only still, silent flesh.

“Vasily!” Renica cried out, grabbing the man. “Vasily!”

“He’s gone, Renica,” I said with a sigh, shaking my head. “He’s gone.”

“No! He can’t be! He…” She looked at me desperately. “Ionat, why is this happening?”

“I don’t know,” I replied in an icy tone. “But I intend to find out.” I rose to my feet. The woman’s body shook, and her head bowed with grief, but we didn’t have time for that. Besides, one way to deal with grief was to stay too busy to think about it – at least, not until you were ready to face it.

“I need you to find the tracks of the people leaving the village, Renica,” I said firmly. “See if they took the road out or if they went into the forest. And maybe check the fields to see if anyone survived out there. Can you do that while I interrogate our prisoner?”

“I get to kill him,” she said fiercely, dashing the tears from her eyes. “When he’s done talking, I get to kill him, Ionat.”

“If you want,” I nodded. Vengeance was another way to deal with grief, after all. It wasn’t the healthiest, but then, neither was seeing everyone you loved slaughtered, and your home burned to the ground. I doubted that a little vengeance was going to be the one thing that scarred Renica after all this.

The Altar of the Sun was practically destroyed. The stone table looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, which I supposed they probably had. The desk was a cracked mess of splintered wood, with Viora’s spell book conspicuously missing from it. I slid the ruins aside and examined the stone floor below, probing with my knife until I found a seam the blade slid easily into. It only took a minute to pry out the loose flagstone and toss it aside, revealing a leather case. I pulled it out and glanced inside, seeing four books, then stuffed it into my pack. I could glance through them later, and I had things to do.

As I made to replace the flagstone, a glitter of light caught my eye. I shifted the dirt in the hole around and felt something hard beneath my fingers. A little digging revealed a long, thin dagger that I pulled out and held up in the waning sunlight. The blade was double-edged, a bit over a foot long with a needle point. The hilt guards curved upward, obviously designed to trap weapons, and the hilt itself seemed to be soft, coarse stone rather than leather with a heavy spherical knob at the end. The blade glowed golden in the warm sunlight, with a band of silver running down the spine, and a familiar gold-and-silver circle gleamed at the base of the knife. I quickly pulled up the weapon’s status and whistled in appreciation.

Imperial Twilight Dagger

Item Type: Weapon (Knife)

Abilities: Twilight Empowerment, Raju Storage, Raju Drain

This dagger is obviously a remnant of the fallen Himlenrik Empire and appears designed to be used by a Twilight Mage. Its unique construction amplifies twilight magic channeled through it, and the combination sunstone and moonstone hilt should passively collect and store solar and lunar raju. It seems that the weapon can also drain raju from any target it hits to charge itself.

“This is a pretty powerful weapon, Sara,” I said. “I wonder why they didn’t use it to protect themselves.”

“It is, but it’s also pretty obviously a relic of the old empire. I’m guessing that using it openly might draw attention to the village that they didn’t want.”

“They got it anyway,” I thought grimly, sliding the blade into my belt at the small of my back and rising. “Let’s go find out why.”

The soldier spluttered to wakefulness when I turned on the well spigot, allowing the cold water to splash across his face. He gasped, struggling to escape the flow of water, but I’d bound his hands and feet securely already, and I held him by the hair, keeping his nose and mouth directly in the stream. After several seconds of listening to him cough and gag, I yanked him out and set a large bucket beneath the flow instead. I tossed the man to the side and waited while he regained his bearings.

“What?” he gasped, coughing up more water. “Who are you?”

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I said, crouching over him and testing the blade of my hatchet with my thumb. “I’m going to ask you questions. You’re going to answer them. If I’m happy with your answers, I’ll cut you free. If I’m not….” I ran the axe along the man’s skin, and I saw him suddenly realize that he was nude.

“If I’m not,” I said softly but pleasantly, “then I’ll toss you to the hungering and let them have whatever’s left of you.” I reversed the axe and slammed the hammer side down onto his knee, crushing the bone beneath. The man screamed in pain, and I grabbed his hair, dragging him to the bucket and plunging his head into it, beneath the icy water. I held him there for a count of ten while he thrashed and struggled, then pulled him out. He sucked in a pained breath, but I slammed the hammer of the hatchet into his stomach and shoved his head back underwater again before he could catch his breath.

The problem with torture as an interrogation tool is that people will tell you whatever they think you want to hear to make it stop. That doesn’t mean that they’re telling you the truth. Pain is a great motivator, but it drives people to make up a story – any story – just to get you to quit hurting them. Plus, people develop a tolerance to pain over time, making it less and less useful.

Fear of death, though? That’s something most people can’t just set aside. However, they can’t be afraid of dying eventually. They have to be scared that they’re going to die right now, at that exact second. When people know that they’re only a heartbeat away from death, their will to resist breaks. They won’t just make up a story to appease you because they’re not trying to make something stop; they’re trying to keep something from happening again, and they won’t risk lying to you.

I waited until the man’s struggles started to weaken, then pulled him back out. He sucked in a desperate breath, but I raised the hatchet again and tightened my grip on his skull.

“Wait!” he gasped, his breath coming in sobs as he realized what I was going to do. “I’ll talk!” I put on a thoughtful expression, then slammed the hatchet into his stomach and shoved him beneath the water once more. I could tell that he still thought there was a chance he could get out of this. I had to convince him that there wasn’t. The moment his struggles ceased, I jerked him into the air. He pulled in furious breaths, his entire body shaking as he wept.

“Please!” he begged. “I’ll tell you what I know!”

“Good.” I tossed him on the ground and laid the hatchet on his face, the blade resting beside his eye. “Let’s have a chat about what happened here – and who ordered it.”