“Have you any water?” croaked a gasping refugee, his leathery skin dry and weathered from the hot sun. “Please, some water?”

“Any food? Any crumbs?” begged another, a woman with an infant at her breast, her face gnarled and covered with warts. A bulbous growth had sprouted so close to one eye that she could hardly peer outwards, the skin calloused and cracking.

“Mercy. Please, mercy. Anything.” gasped another, tugging at her shirt as they passed. More and more of the refugees clambered forward, rising out of their sun-heated stupor as they saw the opportunity for blissful reprieve. They saw fruitless salvation, bittersweet hope in these newcomers.

Lily ignored them, ignored the pestering voices that clawed at her. These people were nothing; they would die soon with or without anything that she did. Already the small outcroppings of shade that they had built against the city walls with sticks and cloth were stinking with the odor of rot and decay. There were corpses littered amongst the crowds, some still lying in puddles of their own piss as flies settled in to feast. Many still clung to life with pathetic determination—a twitching finger here, a belabored breath there, anything to eke out another struggling heartbeat.

As she rode Irris through the crowd, a blade danced out of its sheath into her hand. Blood sprayed from the arm of one beggar who had gotten too enthusiastic, dark crimson splattering on the ground and prompting a round of screams as they fell away. Peace at last, she thought as the fools scurried away like rats. A faint smile graced her newly-healed lips as she flicked off the traces of blood from the blade, sheathing it once more in a smooth motion.

“Halt!” called a forceful voice full of command and purpose, and clearly far too young for any of it. Five and three curses, she swore, resisting the urge to roll her eyes even before she saw him. Another of these self-confident fools who parade their pride like an painted ass at Festival. Yet she kept her face neutral as she reined in Irris to a halt, the demon making no noise in the back as they clattered to a stop. She had told it to act dead, hidden under cloth and shadows. With any luck, they could get through without too many questions. If necessary, well—her eyes flickered to a bag on Irris’s side, the leather bottom long stained brown by dried blood and rot. She had not touched the head since the had thrown it there in half madness; hopefully it was not too broken by rot to have lost its use.

“King’s orders are that none are to enter the Capital.” barked a guard who strode forward, likely the commander who had spoken earlier. A black plume rose out of the top of his metal helmet, ostentatious and utterly disgusting—at least until it moved. Then, she realized that it was a massive raven, nearly the size of a grown man’s head, its plumage a glossy black and its eyes beady. It twitched as the guard walked, jerking its beak from side to side as it gazed at her.

The commander was young, perhaps ten-and-eight years, with skin too light to have served as guard for long and cheeks too round to have seen many hardships of life. A scar was carved into his skin just below the eye, in the symbol of one of a thousand runes that had long since escaped her memory. She struggled to recall the meaning, eventually giving up as the guard stopped in front of her.

“I’ve been traveling here far, all the way from the Peaks. I—I bring dire news, for the king’s ears.” she started, hoping that the guard would at least listen to her words. Her hopes were dashed when the arrogant fool sneered, spitting onto the ground as he brandished his ornate spear.

“Aye, and I’m the king meself. Nay, pretty miss, what makes you think your words are worth more than a horse’s wind? See all these lovely people waiting patiently outside?” He gestured to the crouching refugees, their shaking figures nervous at being pointed to. “They’ve all as much claim to enter as you.” The commander shook his head, the raven’s eyes fixed on her despite the movement. “The king’s words were simple: none are to enter the city.”

Lily sighed, untying the string to the sack. “I bring news of invasion. By the Malifori.” Swiftly, so that she would not think about it, she grabbed the soft hair and tugged it upwards. She wished not to see, but from the way that the guard’s face paled, she could tell that it had served its purpose.

Moktoga’s head was still undeniably Malifori despite the decay that had set in. Maggots squirmed in one eye, burrowing quickly at the unexpected sunlight. His skin had grown slack, but it was still characteristically Malifori tan. His war-braided hair was long and loose, falling off the patchy skin in clumps. They stump around his neck had grown black and soft, the blood oozing brown from the newly broken crust. The stench of rot festered all around it, making her eyes water and her lungs to burn. Yet there was no mistaking the head, the head of Altaros’s long hated foe.

“And how did you come by a brown-skin’s head?” the guard sneered, attempting to mask his fear and nausea with contempt and arrogance.

It did not work on Lily. She shrugged casually, replying, “I killed him, and then I used a knife.”

The young man blinked, shock etched into his face. “And how does a fucking slum brat too skinny to run a day like you manage to kill a Malifori warrior? A chief, from the length of his braid?”

She smiled, gesturing to the Maes that covered her face. How many times she had wished she could hide them, but now a fierce pride welled up inside her at the fear on the young man’s face. “I’m Me’jai. I burned a hole through his heart, until his legs melted off his horse. Then a threw up a wall of fire so that their arrows were burned as I took his head with me. And then I ran, to warn your crow-cursed king.” Pointing a sharp finger at the man with such ferocity that he jerked back, as if afraid that she might stab out an eye, she seethed, “So don’t fuck with me, you crow-cursed imp. Else who knows what I might do.”

The guard’s face turned a sheen of purple as bottled rage burst force. Raising his arms, he screamed, “Archers! Nock!” A rasping movement came from the crenelations on the walls, three bowmen slowly nocking arrows. There was the noise of shifting cloth from the pallet behind her, Joy clearly anticipating a fight. Lily even clenched her teeth, expecting the next commands to send arrows flying towards her throat.

Yet before those commands could come, the man suddenly winced as the tattoo in his flesh burned bright red, weeping blood down his doughy cheeks. The raven perched on his helmet let out a rattling caw, throwing its wings wide as it stared at Lily with unblinking eyes. The guard’s face went pale, losing all color as a thin sheen of sweat covered him. “Aye, m’lord.” he gasped out, before turning back.

“Raise the gates!” he screamed, stunning the men standing lazily by the massive thing of stone and metal. They paused, as if uncertain or perhaps in disbelief. Even the archers above were hesitant, unsure of their course of action.

“FUCKING OPEN THE GATES!” he howled, apparently going mad as spittle flew from his mouth. “OR I’LL ROAST YOUR FUCKING HEAD ON A PIKE!” Blood flew from his cheek, dripping onto the ground below in a dark puddle. His insanity was enough to jolt his men into action, the clattering sound of chains ringing out as a winch was turned. The stones groaned with effort as the massive gate began to raise, the enchanted portcullis behind it inching up as well.

“FASTER, DAMMIT!” wailed the commander in frustration and desperation, looking as if he would soon come to blows with his men. Lily could only glance briefly at Joy’s shrouded figure before pressing her heels into Irris’s, slowly clopping over to the massive machination.

When the gate finally slammed open, the commander snatched the reins of his horse from a fearful guard, mounting it with a look like he would just as soon take a bite from the beast’s throat. Without pause, he quickly rode into the city, Lily hurriedly following.

She had grown up in Rat’s Dam, a city that was more slum than civilization. When she had fled, she had thought Telavir large, with its streets and buildings and sheer people. Yet the Capital dwarfed them all, just from the first street. Massive constructs of magic-supported stone stretched up to the sky, winding and groaning where the architecture grew aged. Rags and cloths covered patchwork wood and walls, evidence of the poorer districts of the Capital. Yet something was off, and it took her a moment before Lily realized what it was.

The poorest parts were always the most crowded, with the alleys and streets lined with bodies of wasting and wasted. They ought to have been so crowded and flushed with the stench of sweat that they seemed more sewer than street. Yet these roads here were utterly empty, devoid of both bodies and sound. It was as if the entire population had vanished, their homes intact, save for their own presences. It was utterly bewildering and unnerving, and she asked the commander.

“Where are the people?” she called out, hesitantly expecting an answer. To her surprise, one came.

“The Capital has faced traitors in the city. The king has purged all who are evil.” he spoke with stilted words before falling quiet. “No more words. You are to be taken to the palace.”

“The palace?” she wondered aloud, but she quickly closed her mouth from the look that he gave. Winding their way through empty street after empty street, she was rendered wordless by the utter lack of people, of humanity in the Capital of Altaros. There were only guards marching in formation, the occasional flash of a glance through a cloth-covered window. Otherwise, there was nothing.

Even as they neared the heart of the city, there was no commotion. The wealthy lavished in these quarters, their gardens pruned and their estates ostentatious, yet they themselves were not present. When they finally arrived at the palace, she found herself in a disbelieving trance. “He removed those who opposed him from the city. Just how many were there? Just how many are left?” Her questions were not answered as the commander motioned for her to halt, striding forward to a pair of ornate, golden doors. Without him even knocking, without him making a single motion at all, they swung open silently of their own accord.

Suddenly, the raven let out a raucous caw, speaking with a voice like sand in an hourglass. “Lily of Rat’s Dam, Student of the Late Me’jai Horan, with one companion, a demon of the Outlands, here seeking audience with King Alerick of Altaros, the first of his name, Protector of the Heartlands.” A sudden wave of shock and fear rippled through her, that raven knew seemingly all of their secrets with such casual ease. Her throat felt dry, her heart suddenly weak as the air filled with a sudden tension. He removed those to had opposed him, she remembered, and now that sentiment felt utterly terrifying. Behind her, even Joy sucked in a sharp breath.

Slowly, they dismounted, the guards suddenly tensing as Joy clambered off of the pallet, shaking loose the cloths that had hidden him. Yet they did not act, the raven glaring at them with black eyes. Resisting the nervous tremors that seized her limbs, she strode up the steps, Joy right behind her. Yet she paused at the door, beside the commander with that massive raven. She was utterly transfixed by the beast, some urge pulling her gaze towards it until even time felt warped by its gaze.

Within the halls, a sonorous voice suddenly rang out, stirring her from her trance. It was audible at the doors as if he was right before them, as if the distance between them had been broken and remade to suit his needs. “Well then? Will they kneel before their king?”