Amazonia - Timur’s Triumph

Long, brass trumpets blast out their call as the great gate of Tesiphon opens for Timur.

The city had fallen two nights ago, when the dead Sasnayam kings each led their host of loyal corpses to different parts of the city, and the terrified citizens had panicked. The smart ones hid, while the rest rushed the gates and overwhelmed the guards, opening the gates for the White Horde as they stampeded out to our lines. Khan Timur had rushed his men forward to ‘help’ those fleeing, and held the gates until the dead had run out of Shadow mana and collapsed. Then he moved his troops inside and took the city.

War-leader Kula took command of the horde infantry holding Tesiphon while Timur remained with lancers and the rabble from the satrapies, until the city was deemed safe for him to enter. However, Timur’s never been known for his patience, and last night had sent word to Kula to stage a triumph so the people of Tesiphon could see their new master.

Which is why I’m standing beside Timur’s Warghorse in the light of the early morning as the great gates, so high that four men standing on each others shoulders could pass beneath the pointed arch, creak as their mechanisms swing the gates wide. The trumpets blow again as I glance back behind us. A hundred of Tengri’s Chosen, battle hardened warriors in Artifact armor and bearing Artifact weapons, stand in formation, while a narrow line of Warghorse lancers snake back towards our lines.

The trumpets blow a third time, and I look forward again as Timur touches heels to his Warghorse’s flanks and starts it walking. I match its stride as a voice behind us barks an order and a hundred boots strike the paving stones as one. Down the line, more orders are called out, and the scratch of claws on rock begins as well.

War-leader Kula stands alone in the gateway. His armor’s scarred and dirty, with his helm dented in several places, and I know he’s got to be exhausted. Yet his face betrays nothing as he holds a spear upright with a head stuck onto the tip. Timur glances down at me. “Kula said you were the one who chopped off the emperor’s head.”

I shrug. “I didn’t see much point in keeping him alive… and speaking of which,” my eyes meeting his, “how much longer do you want to keep Kax alive?”

Timur’s eyes narrow. “You’re becoming more ruthless the longer you remain a Shadow Knight. You know you can go back to your normal self any time you want, right?”

I shake my head. “Not until my mission’s well and truly finished.”

“Amazonia-”

“I’m fine for now. While I cannot eat or drink… and yes, Great Khan, I know it’s been several days. However, when I change back for the last time, my mortal body will be little affected.”

I’m lying, of course, since I can feel the hollowness within me. But it seems to appease him, for he looks away from me and focuses on Kula, now only a few horse-lengths away. “War-leader, is everything in hand?”

“It shouldn’t be,” Kula growls. “Tesiphon fell too easily,” he says as Timur reaches him and he hands the spear over. Timur places the spear butt into a leather cup attached to the saddle as Kula goes on. “The remaining Celestials are hiding somewhere, plotting revenge on us.”

Timur chuckles. “It’s good to see some things never change. By the way, where is Kax?”

“Going after the priests of the other temples, last I heard,” Kula growls. “Great Khan, now that we’ve taken the city, how much longer can we trust her?”

Timur glances at me a moment before turning back. “That’s a very good question. Kax would enjoy murdering us in our beds before taking control of Tesiphon, but the People of the Eternal Sky would tear her apart and she knows it. I believe we’re safe enough for now… but still,” a frown sweeping across his face, “make sure you both remain on guard.”

I incline my head as Kula says, “As the Great Khan commands. Shall I accompany you into your city?”

“My city.” A satisfied smile replaces the frown on Timur’s face. “By all means.”

Kula turns towards the column behind us and begins barking orders in their harsh language; at once, Tengri’s Chosen fall in around us while two men holding the charging boar banners in their hands take a position on either side of the khan. Trumpets blast out their call again as the column resumes its march.

We move through the gatehouse extending a dozen horse-lengths at least, and into the first plaza. The buildings to either side extend several levels up, casting deep shadows we’ll soon plunge into, with windows and doors long and narrow. All of them have the round arch the Sasnayams seem to favor. The plaza and the roads leading in different directions are paved, and though I can’t see the palace yet, Kula leads us down the center road, which skirts the necropolis before reaching the center of Sasnayam power… or at least, what used to be. What it’s going to become is no longer my concern.

Mostly silent people line the plaza and center street, wearing robes and long dresses made of bone white cloth, which is supposed to represent mourning or some such foolishness. They watch us pass with sullen faces muttering to one another and angry eyes.

The infantry soldiers watching the crowd are a thin line of squads with large gaps between them. Timur frowns. “War-leader, where are the rest of your men?”

“Still trying to dig out the nobles. There’s an entire underground city underneath our feet, and it’s been like hunting rats through the sewers.”

As we pass by a statue of a long dead ruler with a stone scroll in one hand, and a sword in the other, it’s my turn to frown. “Dancer told me you had the city well in hand.”

“It is in hand,” Kula snarls at me. “Unlike you, I cannot afford to throw my soldier’s lives away. And since we’re speaking of your Wardogs, you need to keep better watch over them. My men report they’ve been seen sneaking away and speaking with disreputable people, including Kax.”

Is this true? Or is it just dogs falling out with each other when the pack’s no longer threatened? “My Wardogs will remain loyal to me for as long as the Runesword remains intact, and since I remain loyal to Timur, they will remain loyal to him as well. No, the ones I would question, and the ones I will be keeping an eye on for changes in their symbols, are your men.”

Kula’s eyes narrow. “My men are loyal to the man and you know it.” He looks angry enough to draw on me… I hope he does.

“Enough,” Timur growls. His head turns to meet my gaze. “When we reach the palace, tell me the symbols you see over the heads of everyone waiting for us, including your Wardogs. Will you do this?”

His expression’s unyielding as the stones under our feet, and I give him a questioning look. “Of course. Khan Timur, is something wrong?”

“I want the old Amazonia back. The moment we reach the palace and you’ve discovered where everyone’s loyalty lies, you will let the Shadow Knight go and return to your normal state.”

We leave the plaza for the road snaking between blocks of buildings with narrow alleys, the crowd of people thicker here and the street shrouded in shadows. “I will do as you command,” I reply, inclining my head. Odd… the crowd’s gone silent… Forget them. I’ve got to convince Timur I’m telling him the truth, for if he gives me a direct order to change immediately, the Runesword won’t let me back out. “I’m just worried that you’ll be left at a disadvantage once the Runesword shatters and my Shadow self is gone for good. Grant me a little extra time, and I can root out all those in league against-”

“Ambush!” A man yells behind us.

Arrows hiss like serpents as they fly down. Looking up, there are leather armored bowmen with faces of the northern Horde clans, shooting down at us, while other Horde warriors and Sasnayam bravos are throwing off their white robes and charging.

“Protect the Great Khan,” Kula yells, as the Chosen rush to surround us and I whip the Runesword from its sheathe. Blades clash as the ambushers hit our lines, our warriors fighting like wolves against dogs as Artifact weapons ring like bells, or crackle as steel crashes against their armored plates. Men scream as they go down, more of them than us. But there’s a lot more of them than us.

Arrows continue to fall like steel tipped hail. One flies towards my face; I flick it away with my blade, looking for others. They’re falling around, but not at, Timur and I, as if everyone else is a target, most arrows pinging off armor while a few embed themselves in gaps between plates.

Glancing over my shoulder, more warriors and bravos have cut us off from the lancers, with different Warghorse riders approaching… carrying a banner of a greyish-silver Warg on a black field. “Khan Timur, your brother’s here.”

“And he’s not alone,” a familiar male voice shouts over the screams and clashing steel. I whip around with my blade at the ready.

Greywolf stands only a few paces away, his Artifact katana in his hands and his bone handled knife tucked into his belt. “Perfect,” the rictus of a grin coming over my face as he raises the katana in his hands. “Either you’ll kill me, or I’ll send you to the Shadowlands and meet you there myself after your friends take my life.” I raise the Runesword to a high guard position. “I’ve always wondered just how good a fighter you are.”

Greywolf’s Artifact armor’s pitted and scarred from hard use, and the sun peaking over the buildings shows me that it’s leather is cracked in places, as if he’s not had the chance to do any major repairs. My armor gleams unblemished in the sunlight. My grin widens, and as he takes a defensive stance, I leap at him with an overhead strike. He whips his sword up to defend and I drop the blade towards the weak armor covering his knee. I’ve got him now, his desperate attempt to parry too slow to block the black blade crashing against his armor…

The Runesword shatters with the crash of breaking glass. Shards fall away like pieces of black crystal, glittering in the sunlight as I stumble forward, off balance as the flat of Greywolf's blade smacks the side of my helm. The hilt, with one long shard still attached, drops from my hand as my vision fills with stars and I fall to my hands and knees.

No… no,no,no! My true self’s being pulled away from my weaker, leaving my body… hold onto it, grab the hilt and cut your throat with the shard. I thrust my hand out and grasp the hilt.

A hand clamps itself on my wrist. “Today’s not your day to die,” Greywolf snarls as I grab his hand with my other one and try to break his grip. I’m weakening… quick, throw your head down and impale your neck. I fall forward but his arm blocks my head, the both of us wrestling for control… he’s fighting me, but I’m stronger in this state… getting closer… the shard’s only a handspan away… one last push…

Cold, ghostly fingers reach inside me. “Get out of her,” Antonius’ voice snaps as the Shadow Knight’s pulled out of me and I become myself again. Pain hits hard as my flesh snaps back to normal, Greywolf ripping the hilt out of my hand and flinging it away as I clutch my body with both hands. Then the agony eases and I look up.

Antonius’ ghostly form is standing over me with the Shadow Knight’s equally ghostly form in his hands. She’s struggling, but he’s stronger, holding her fast as she turns towards me with fear in her eyes. I gasp.

The Shadow Knight is almost skeletal, with ropy cords of flesh instead of muscle over ash-grey skin, and eyes like two burning coals. Hel’s hairy backside, is that what I looked like? Around us, warriors have stopped fighting, calling to each other in fearful voices as the Shadow Knight begins shrieking like a doomed soul. Men on both sides are now either backing away or running for their lives.

Greywolf grabs me by my shoulder armor and hauls me backwards, sliding me along the paving stones until we’re a short distance away. “I’m not taking any chances,” he says in my ear as the Shadow Knight continues shrieking, her body growing tattered like a cloud in a fierce wind. All the fighting stops as she screams in mortal terror while struggling wildly in Antonius’ arms.

Then the scream fades to silence as the Shadow Knight breaks apart and dissolves. I stare wide-eyed at Antonius as he walks over to us and crouches down. “Love you, Az,” he says, quietly smiling in the way I remember… and my heart gives a lurch. No one will ever smile at me that way again after he’s gone. He nods as if reading my thoughts. “Everything is going to be better now. You will see.”

“Don’t go,” I whisper. “I don’t want to be alone again.”

“Everything’s a dream, Az. Look for me in the eyes of those who love you, and something of me will be there. I promise.” Antonius blows me a kiss as he fades… and is gone.

Sitting beside me, Greywolf exhales sharply as the sharp smells of steel and leather, along with the coppery tang of blood, hit my nose with a vengeance. Warriors in northern Horde armor have assembled nearby, their ranks opening to let a short warrior in Artifact armor through. He looks at us. “Greywolf, is Amazonia alright?”

My eyes widen. Is that Attila? Yes, it has to be as Greywolf says, “I think she’s been a Shadow Knight too long. Does anyone have watered wine on them?”

“Here.” Glancing up, Timur has climbed down off his Warghorse and is now throwing a leather skin at Greywolf, who catches it with one hand. “Don’t let her drink too much or she’s likely to throw it up.” Greywolf grumbles something about knowing that already, and begins giving me small sips as Timur turns towards his brother. “You little bastard, sneaking in through the Shadowlands like a thief and thinking to rob me of my triumph.”

He sneers at Attila. “You have all the honor Tengri gave to rats.”

Attila snorts the same way Greywolf usually does. “Exactly how honorably did you take Tesiphon, elder brother?”

Timur flushes as his eyes narrow. “War’s not a game for little boys to play at.”

“Agreement,” Attila replies. His Artifact armor is just as pitted and scarred as Greywolf’s, but the battle-axe he’s holding like a staff seems unmarred as he says, “You neglected to keep watch over the entrance to the Shadowlands, and I took advantage of your weakness. So you now have two choices. Either surrender, or fight me for the right to become Khan over both Khanates, yours and mine.”

Timur spits in Attila’s direction. “You are the one who should be surrendering. All I need do is speak a word, and my warriors-”

“Will die,” Attila says, interrupting. “You’ve been badly betrayed, older brother.”

Timur draws himself up. “No one would dare.”

From the crowd of bravos ahead of us, a man’s voice calls out, “Are you so sure?”

I gasp as Muzen steps out so he can be seen. “This cannot be,” Timur says in a strained voice. “Kax-”

“Played her part.”

Several other men and women in rich clothing form a semi-circle behind him, and Greywolf whispers in my ear, “They’re all Celestials who must have decided not to return to their home.”

Before I can ask Greywolf what he means, Muzen says, “I must admit it was fun letting the Kax side of me take control for a time, and I needed her to ally with you so I could get my empire back.” He motions at the half-dozen standing behind him. “With the Lord of Storms dead at Amazonia’s hand, the others were easily persuaded to let me resume control.” He smiles. “We Celestials are pragmatics at heart.”

“And now,” Timur snarls, “you’re going to what? Think to cast me aside like a broken sword?”

Muzen raises one painted eyebrow. “More like put you down as I would a mad beast. I would have slaughtered you and your soldiers to a man, except part of my bargain was to let Khan Attila take control of your warriors and return with them to the north.” Timur opens his mouth to speak but Muzen overrides him. “Kax bribed your Xian mercenaries with gold and a sworn promise to take them into our service, a promise I fully intend to uphold, and made a deal with the rabble from the satrapies, who you were going to sacrifice on the walls of Tesiphon.”

Glancing around us, the crossbowmen have their weapons trained on the Warghorse lancers, while some of the Sasnayam bravos are wearing armor issued them by Timur. “It’s going to be a bloodbath,” Attila says, Timur turning to look his way as he adds, “but it doesn’t have to be. Fight me, your sword and shield against my battle-axe, winner takes command of the other’s Khanate.”

Timur gives Attila an incredulous look before he starts to laugh. “Your just a stripling who’s lucky to be alive. How do I know that after I kill you, your warriors won’t just ride away?”

Attila shrugs. “Ride away where? Ghostdog brought us here through the Shadowlands, leaving the families behind in a safe place north of the sheltered valley where our brother and the rest of our people now live. He will bring the combined Khanate back there once this is over.”

Timur’s stroking his beard as Muzen adds, “You will not get a better offer. Great Khan, you have plundered much of the empire, including Tesiphon, and this will spare you the long ride back. Spend the winter in Bukhara, and in the spring, head east and regain the kingdoms which we both know have rebelled against you. Who knows, with your combined forces, you might be able to conquer the empire of Xian itself.”

Timur hesitates, lust for power wrestling with suspicion on his face. “How do I know you won’t just raise an army and march against Bukhara?”

Muzen raises one eyebrow. “What do you think the Empire of the East is going to do when word of Tesiphon’s fall travels north? I am going to be hard pressed to keep things together for years to come, let alone attempting retribution against you.” He makes an open gesture with his hands. “Slay this stripling, seize control of his men, and claim your rightful heritage as the Khan of khans. Then truly, none will dare oppose you.”

Attila spits out, “Or die like the cowardly dog you are. Are you going to fight or keep breaking wind through your mouth?”

Timur’s eyes narrow. “I’ll make this quick.”

As he unhooks his round shield from the saddle and draws his sword, Kula comes up beside him. “Great Khan, be wary. I smell a trap.”

Timur only smiles as he turns towards Attila, who’s taking position several horse-lengths away. “All I smell is youthful arrogance. After the boy is dead, take command of his warriors at once.” He glares at Muzen. “We will shake the dust of this accursed empire off our sandals. I am done with plots and counter-plots, with the serpent at your breast pretending to be a golden chain... and the dead. I am done with relying on necromancers.” He slaps the flat of his blade against his shield. “Ready to die, boy?”

As Timur stalks forward towards Attila, who is holding his battle-axe like it’s a polearm, I turn towards Greywolf. “Is Attila mad?” I hiss. “Timur’s a seasoned warrior, and he’s only a youth.”

Greywolf places his lips next to my ear. “If you believe that, then Timur will as well.”

I give him a puzzled look, but Greywolf only gives me a sly smile as warriors from both sides form a circle around us, with Greywolf and I on the inside. The two combatants circle each other, Timur’s expression confident while Attila has his face set in a neutral mask. The boy feints at Timur’s shield, Timur stepping back, then forward again as he slashes at Attila’s arm. Attila blocks with the shaft, the steel blade ringing as it bounces off, then Timur launches a flurry of slashes with his blade.

Attila blocks them all, moving like he was born with this out-sized battle-axe in his hands, beads of sweat popping out on Timur’s forehead while the boy remains cool. Timur pauses, and Attila drives his battle-axe deep into the top of the round shield. Then he wiggles it as if the axe blade’s too deeply embedded into the wood to come out.

Timur shouts in triumph. As Attila struggles, Timur swings his blade in a wide arc meant to wrap around the shaft and hit the boy in the back of his helm.

The axe blade slides out of the wood as Attila slams the shaft upward. It cracks against Timur’s elbow, knocking the blow aside as Attila pivots and drives the axe blade at Timur’s helm. Metal rings like a bell as the battle-axe dents Timur’s helm, and he reels backwards, barely staying on his feet.

Attila stalks after him. The short warrior rears back for an overhead blow… no, it’s a feint, Timur throwing his shield up to block as Attila pivots again and swings towards Timur’s leg. The axe blade bites deep into the weak metal protecting Timur’s knee just as Timur makes a wild slash at Attila’s face.

The tip of his blade cuts Attila’s cheek as Timur drops, screaming in pain while Attila staggers back a couple paces. He stops, regaining his balance, then wipes the side of his face with the back of his gauntlet. It comes back bloody. Timur’s struggling to rise but can’t as a snarl tightens Attila’s face, and as the small warrior approaches, Timur, still on his knees, raises his shield. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll gut you like a dog.”

Attila stops just out of reach of Timur’s blade. “You’ve gotten old and slow, brother, and you’ve forgotten the lessons Kula taught us about fighting against Artifact weapons.”

Blood from the wound that the dent in his helm must have caused, is dripping down Timur’s face and onto his chest armor. “Artifact weapons don’t stick like metal weapons do,” he pants. “That was a dishonorable trick.”

“Which you fell for.”

Timur winces as he waves his sword, clearly favoring his elbow. “Once I’ve killed you, I’ll have your Grey Wargs shoveling Warghorse shite for the real warriors.”

Blood’s dripping down Attila’s face onto his chest armor as well as he smiles. “A shame you weren’t with us when Titan told his war stories. He told me one about the king of Macedon, who’d threatened the king of Sparta, telling him: ‘If I come to your lands, I’ll burn your farms and enslave your people’. The king of Sparta replied, ‘If’.” Attila takes a step forward.

Then swings his battle-axe hard at Timur’s shield, cracking it right down the middle. Timur desperately swings at Attila’s legs, but the short warrior jumps back with his hands still on the haft and the blade goes wide, Attila pulling his weapon back and regaining his balance as Timur sheds the broken shield and grasps his sword with both hands.

Attila lets the shaft slip down his hands and begins using it like a staff, blocking several off balance swings before cracking Timur across the side of his head, denting the other side. Timur reels as Attila steps back. “Get on your feet and fight,” Attila yells. “Die like a warrior, or I’ll kill you by finger-lengths as a coward.” Timur shakes his head to clear it and glares up at him.

Then uses his sword to help him stand on one foot. “All I need is one good swing to take your head off,” Timur snarls, sweat and blood both streaming down his face.

“Take your best shot,” Attila replies as he moves in, “because that’s all you’re getting.” Attila runs at him with the battle-axe up, yelling a war-cry as Timur leaps at his brother, screaming his war-cry as his blade begins to swing.

Attila buries the axe-head in Timur’s face. Timur slams into him, but instead of going down, Attila catches his brother and holds on as Timur’s sword flies away to clang on the paving stones. Timur’s clawing at him, blood and gore rushing from the open wound as Attila pushes him away and Timur falls backwards. His helm smacks against stone as he bounces once, hands clawing feebly as he struggles to take another gurgling breath.

Then Timur goes still. Attila’s panting, fear and relief flashing across his face before he masters it, and looks around. “Kula? Are you with me?” The war-leader has his own sword in his hand as he leaves the spot where he’d been standing and stands beside the dead khan.

Kula drops to one knee. “For as long as you want me, Khan Attila.”

Attila’s keeping his face in its stern mask, but I can see the relief in his eyes. “Tell the warriors they belong to my Khanate now. We will burn Timur as befits a khan and a true warrior, then travel through the Shadowlands to collect our families and settle in for the winter.”

“It won’t be easy,” Kula growls. “Right now they’re in shock, but once it wears off and spring arrives-”

“We begin migrating westward. Tell them the Sasnayam empire is only the beginning. We are the storm that will sweep away the decadent Etruscan Empire of the west, and all the kingdoms feeding off it like vultures. Tell them no more dealings with the dead. Tell them, Kula; tell the People of the Eternal Sky we are going to do Tengri’s will, and will never turn our backs on him again.”

Kula rises to his feet, a strange expression on his face as he nods. “Apologies, and sorrow that I couldn’t see the blue sky for the storm clouds.”

Attila claps the taller man on his arm. “Accepted, and gratitude that you’re with me.”

As Kula turns and begins yelling to his warriors in their harsh language, Muzen draws close to us. “If there is anything I can do to help speed you on your way, you have but to ask.”

From behind me, a deep bass voice begins chuckling, and a thrill runs straight through me. For I know that voice. “Muzen,” Titan says in his deep rumble, “Attila forgot to mention one important part. You are coming with us.”

I turn to look behind me. Titan’s standing only a few paces away, while beside him stands the High Priest of Jupiter, and a bald headed man in strange clothes. “Osiris,” Muzen says in a startled voice, “Jupiter. What are you two doing here? I thought you were on your way back to your home world.”

“We were,” Jupiter’s priest… no, it must be the Celestial Jupiter himself, says. “However, Ghostdog came up with a plan to remove you from Earth and bring you to our lands, where you will be rendered as helpless as the rest of the Celestials now are.” From behind me comes a sharp metallic click, and I whip my head around.

Ghostdog must have opened a gate behind Muzen with a golden collar in his hands, because he just snapped it around Muzen’s throat. The Celestial staggers as Ghostdog steps back, waving his hands as if apologizing as Muzen spins around. “You can’t do this,” he shouts. “Take this off me at once.”

Ghostdog shrugs with a satisfied smile as the one called Osiris says, “This is for your own good. I crafted the collar specifically for you, so we could bring you with us back to our homeland.”

“You should not even be here. Tholthac-”

“Gave us a reprieve once the plan was explained to him,” Jupiter says. “He agreed that Yun is truly worth saving, so once we have arrived, devices will be implanted inside you that will cause the Kax side of you to wither and die, while helping the goodness of Yun to blossom. Tholthac told me the gardening committee has specifically asked for Yun’s help in-”

“You have no right to do this to me,” Muzen shouts.

“Did you have the right to make Wysper your slave?” Greywolf yells as he jumps to his feet. “Or the right to make humans dance to the tune you set? “

Muzen snarls at him, “War gives the right of the victor to impose any conditions he wants on the defeated.”

“And what is subterfuge except war by a different means?” Osiris shakes his head. “You did this to yourself, you know. When Ghostdog presented to you the plan to steal away the priestesses of Pan, all you could see was the advantage to yourself. All you could see was your victory.”

Muzen draws himself up. “Which you’re not taking away. I will burn you all!” He raises his hands as his eyes flare red.

Small sparks of fire fly off his fingers. “Stop being foolish,” Ghostdog says, slapping the sparks away as Muzen gapes at his hands in horror. The old man gives him a cross look. “Greywolf wanted your head on a spear beside the emperor’s, but I talked him out of it, telling him this is a much better way to make you pay for your crimes. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

The other Celestials behind Muzen grin wickedly as they grab him by the arms and shoulders. He tries shaking them off but they’re gripping him with everything they’ve got, as Osiris strides towards them. Greywolf moves to join them, but then stops, frowning at something he sees in the crowd.

Before I can ask him what’s wrong, hands grab my shoulders. “Az, thanks be to all the false gods you made it.”

I stare up at him. “Dancer, you called me by my name.”

He blinks. “I didn’t even think to call you Domina,” he says, smiling as he holds out his hands. “It’s over. We’re finally free.”

“And it’s about time… Domina.” Troll’s voice says behind me. Dancer helps me to my feet as Troll moves towards us. A Xian crossbowman is down on the paving stones, bleeding, with his Artifact crossbow in Troll’s scarred hands. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long, but Antonius would never dream of letting us do what we wanted.” An insane smile spreads over his face. “And now, he no longer controls us.”

Dancer’s gone stone still beside me as I open my hands. “Troll, what’s gotten into you?”

Laughter burbles up from deep inside him. “You don’t even remember my real name anymore. I hated you even when we were gladiators; Amazonia, the champion. Bitch goddess who could fuk any man she wanted, who got all the special favors including partnering with the last real Ogri, the bitch who had Lord Paulus wrapped around her little finger.”

The black crossbow in his hand is cracked and pitted in places from hard use; strange that I’m noticing that detail, as he places his hand on the cranking lever. “And then to have to start calling you Domina, and doing whatever you asked? It’s too much.”

From behind us, Jupiter’s voice calls out, “You will not make it out of here alive either, if you kill them.”

Troll giggles. “Do you truly think I care? I’m killing them first, then I’m turning this crossbow on everyone else until-”

A grey oval appears beside Troll and a figure steps out, Artifact sword flashing as the blade shears upward. The crossbow explodes into black shards with the sound of shattering glass. Troll screams as one of his hands goes with them. Greywolf checks his follow-through as Troll drops to his knees and presses the stump against his belly, stepping back with his katana on high guard, ready to swing again.

Lightheaded, Dancer keeps his hand locked onto my shoulder as we warily approach Troll, no it’s… “Cotus, I remember your name. It’s Cotus.”

He glares up at me. “For all the good it’s going to do you. Once I’ve healed, I’m going to follow you both to Konstanopolis, wait until you feel safe, then murder you both as you lay together.”

Anger flares up inside me. “You fukin bastard. That’s what all this is about. You’re jealous.”

Raw hatred makes his face resemble a real troll’s. “Always too high and mighty for someone like me, weren’t you?. Enjoy it while you can, bitch goddess, because the day’s gonna come when all your happiness burns away, leaving only the taste of ashes.” He taps his leather armor lightly with his remaining fist. “I got scores to settle.”

“And so do I!” Dancer rips the bone handled knife from Greywolf’s sheathe and leaps at Cotus, who’s eyes go wide in horror as the shiny black blade slashes his throat. Blood sprays, Cotus’ hand going to his windpipe as Dancer… Io, his name’s Io, brandishes the knife over him. “Do you know how much I’ve dreamed of doing this? All the insults of yours I’ve endured, all the times you almost ruined things for Az, everything… it’s like you’ve been a giant millstone around our necks.”

“More like a tumor.” Greywolf lowers his sword and holds onto it with one hand, while extending the other. “Everyone knows that tumors have to be cut out, otherwise they’ll kill you.” Io nods, stepping away from Cotus, whose face has gone corpse pale as the blood freely flows between his fingers.

Then Cotus falls to the paving stones, still making gurgling sounds as Io reverses the knife and hands it to Greywolf, who shakes the blood off and slides it back into its sheathe. Io takes a deep breath. “Apologies.”

Before Io can go on, Greywolf holds up a hand to stop him. “You saved me from taking his head myself, satisfying as that would’ve been.” As I join them, he looks me over with a critical eye. “You look like shite.” I can’t help but laugh as I get lightheaded and stagger, Greywolf grabbing my arm before I fall. “Wotan’s blood, when’s the last time you’ve eaten?”

“Days,” Io answers.

“I will take care of her,” Titan rumbles as he strides over to us, Greywolf and Io turning me over to him as he wraps me in an Ogre’s hug. “I am never leaving you ever again, no matter what happens.”

His words are the sweetest music I’ve ever heard. “I’m holding you to that,” I tell him, looking up into the ugliest face I’ve ever known.”

“Not until she has been judged,” Jupiter’s voice says from behind us.

“Judged?” Titan keeps his massive arms wrapped around me as I turn around to face the Celestial. “I did everything the emperor wanted.”

“You were supposed to be our Reaver Knight,” Jupiter replies as he stops a short distance away from us. “Instead, you became a Knight of Shadow… and I understand why it happened,” he adds, cutting off my protest, “as does the emperor. However, others will not. Therefore, I will cast my judgement of you upon the field of combat, one last time, before I leave Earth for good.”

I can’t believe I’m hearing this. “You’re sending me back to the arena as a gladiator?”

I can feel the dangerous rumble in Titan’s chest as Jupiter nods. “Trial by combat against a monster of great evil. If you win, you will be held blameless, and no one will be able to deny you the blessings the emperor promised you.”

Titan rumbles, “And if she loses?”

Jupiter spreads his hands in an apologetic gesture.