Thenxi rolled her eyes. “You outsiders are all the same. You all think you know our own home better than we do.”

“You need me if you want to live,” Maeda reiterated. “If you don’t wish to bring me with you, then I will remove the keys from your possession. I’d rather we all stayed friends, however, if it’s not too late for that.”

Maeda glided across the room to stand in front of Errol. “It’s time to use the silver amulet of clarity.”

“How?” Errol asked, pulling it from his pouch and putting it over his neck. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he didn't dare countermand a Great One.

“Focus your will through it,” Maeda commanded. “Reach out to the Bridge—and to the Storm. You alone are touched by both.”

Errol closed his eyes, imagining his consciousness pouring into the amulet. It emitted a soft glow in his mind, pulling up a sheet similar to the testing stone. He reached outward, toward the Bridge, questing for his self-proclaimed “mother.”

She shimmered into existence in his mind, her incorporeal spirit clothed in a semblance of flesh and blood, a gentle smile on her lips. She hovered over to Errol, placing a hand on his cheek. Welcome, child.

A long, golden tendril trailed out behind her back, disappearing into the mists. Where it merged into the shifting twilight of the Storm, the tether thickened and twisted, pulsing with virulent, purple veins.

Vitals

Affiliation

Name: ??

Diplomacy: ???

Builders

Level: 19

Strength: ????

Presence of Place (Tier VIII)

Class: Spirit

Acuity: ???

Unknown

Health: ????? / ??????

Inner Fortitude: ????

Reputation: World Wonder

Lifeforce: SOULBOUND

Abilities

Items

Favor

Blessing of Presence

Reinforced Roads

Command Tower

Causeway

Builders

Errol sucked in air between his teeth. “She’s soulbound!”

Maeda narrowed her eyes. “As I feared. Can you confirm the darkstorm is the one bound to her?”

Errol nodded. He closed his eyes again to block out distractions. Focusing on the bond, he pursued the tether tying the Bridge to the soulbond. Violent, surging clouds of purple and green and black, like an agonizingly deep bruise, swirled around him. He stood firm, demanding entrance into the chaos of the darkstorm, and it parted before him, drawing him into its inner sanctum.

A torrent of lightning pierced Errol, shaking his body like an alley cat worrying a mouse in its jaws. A monstrous form the size of a small mountain loomed in his consciousness, dripping malice like brackish blood. It chuckled, a guttural, rusty rumble that reminded Errol of hammers on anvils. Thunder warped the air around him. The Storm shook with fury; the archetype of his childhood midnight terrors made manifest.

Errol scanned it with his amulet, probing its essence. Disjointed images and harsh, dissonant sounds burst into his mind—a panoply of violence and the overwhelming urge to dominate—sending him staggering him to his knees. Power flooded Errol in a familiar, relentless onslaught.

My lance! He wields it, too?

Pressure built up in Errol's mind. He pushed back, but his internal levees broke. A deluge crashed over him. In an instant, he knew the truth of Maeda's warning. The Storm had gifted him the power of lightning; it could take it back as it pleased.

Rage erupted from the Storm.

Vitals

Affiliation

Name: ??

Diplomacy: ??

Darkstorm

Level: 20

Strength: ????

Malignancy (Tier VII)

Class: Spirit

Acuity: ??

Unknown Division

Health: ?????? / ??????

Inner Fortitude: ???

Reputation: Terror of Nations

Lifeforce: ??????

Abilities

Items

Favor

Greater Chain Lightning, Master Tier VIII

Mist Warriors, Master Tier III

Fearmonger, Master Tier I

Darkstorm

“Get back!” Errol screamed. “Run, all of you! The Storm is angry. He’s coming in all his power. He’s level twenty, fed by centuries of fear and siphoned souls. Maeda, beware his chain lightning! It’s magnitudes greater than my shock lance.”

He fell to his knees, clutching his head. “We have a job to do, but if we open that portal, the final barrier will be gone. We'll all die.”

Meri stepped forward. Trembling, he offered a hand to Errol, pulling him to his feet. “We'll settle our differences later. The Storm has enslaved us for far too long.” He put a hand on Taras's shield. “We have the weapons we need. Taras can protect us.”

The old cleric started, as though awakening from a dream. “Very well. I will stand against the darkness.”

Rhae rushed over and hugged Taras and Meri in turn. “I'll keep up everyone's spirits! You'll stay strong and happy while I play.”

Jarkoda and Rashana strode toward the portal together, marching in lockstep. Blades adorned Rashana's arms. Bowing low, the halfdragon spoke for both of them. “Live or die, we fight.”

“I'll take the children to safety,” Gruvrik said. “Who knows where that trickster is. He ran off first sign of trouble. I can handle him and see through his illusions if something goes wrong.”

Taras reached out his hand, clasping Errol's wrist. Healing poured into Errol. “Lead on, Eel. We're behind you—at least until the job is done.”

Errol shivered at the ice in Taras's tone. He looked each one of them in the eyes. “As Jarkoda said: ‘Live or die, we fight.’”

He nodded to Thenxi, who thrust the keys into the portal. The way opened. And the Storm poured forth.

=+=

Maeda wove a barrier in the air as Thenxi activated the portal. Her heart thudded in her chest. This was it; this was the reason she had forced her way into the mission. I pray I'm equal to the task.

Storm warriors rushed in like the tide, crashing into her barriers. Their vanguard hit first, vanishing in bursts of multicolored light. The rest formed ranks, weapons at the ready, wary of the obstacle in their way.

Taras unleashed fire on them, melting a hole through the middle of their formation, and the Bridge Seers, Thenxi and Telyim, followed up with their own esoteric attacks, crippling one of the fighters and dissipating another.

The doorway yawned farther open behind the storm warriors, growing impossibly wide. It stretched on and on like an inscrutable expanse of open sea, shifting and mysterious, filled with hidden dangers below the surface. Jagged streaks of violet light illuminated the room, strobing painfully. The room spiraled out, walls misting into nothing, the horizon expanding until the darkstorm filled Maeda’s senses. She could barely locate the team around her. The storm’s presence pushed on her sensor field with overwhelming pressure, blotting out the others with its vast and terrifying power.

Here in the heart of the storm, a battle raged.

Faceless forms of dark soldiers incorporated around her, spawned from the foreboding clouds. She struck out with a Shark Bite execution technique, stolen from years of observing the First Knife at work. The energy blade sliced through the melee, eviscerating all the swirling mist soldiers in a single slash. More formed almost instantly, taking their place.

Maeda sprinted away, new tactics spinning in her mind. She couldn’t face all of the storm warriors if they could simply reappear after she vanquished them. Speed was her ally. Questing out, she located the faint signature of the Bridge itself, locked in struggle with the Storm spirit. It seemed to be waning, losing strength the longer it held off the storm spirit.

“Absorb them with your sensor field,” Errol yelled, struggling to stay upright. The Storm buffeted him with a deluge of wind and hall. He stumbled under the savage attack and went down to one knee.

With an experimental draw on their power, Maeda confirmed Errol's suggestion. A plan clicked into place. Perhaps she could delay the storm, divert its attention long enough to waste its power on a secondary fight. She turned back toward her pursuers, scything through them with an electric blast of power. She didn’t have an Eel’s lightning lance, but she’d developed exemplary control of her sensor field. Maeda siphoned off their power, draining the soldiers into nothing. Gathering their stolen energy, she reversed the field, unleashing another blast at the remaining enemies.

This time, the new storm guardians took several times longer to re-form. Jarkoda blasted them with a breath attack, evaporating a pair in the front line. He blinked forward, closing on the fighters in a flurry of strikes. His staff blurred like a whirlwind of death, but it passed through their bodies with little effect. His claws pierced their stormy centers, rending and tearing. They simply morphed back into shape and fought on until he melted another with his flame breath.

Alternating between draining and blasting, Maeda fought past Jarkoda, stopping only to siphon a bolt of lightning from a storm warrior that had incapacitated Rashana. Her bladed arms were ineffective against their arcane, storm-fueled lightning power, but she seemed particularly vulnerable to their attacks.

Maeda gripped Rashana and shouted to be heard above the howling winds. “Fall back! Help Gruvrik, or go find the heir. This fight is beyond you!”

Rashana dashed back toward the entrance, dodging stray blasts. She disappeared as she reached the portal, her metal hull warping out of sight. A pair of the storm warriors followed her, but Maeda trusted that Taras could burn them away like the sun vaporizing the morning mist. Thenxi and Telyim would have to prove their mettle again, assuming they had any strength left after all the infighting.

End this. The mission comes first. Putting aside her fears for the rest of the team, Maeda advanced, cutting a swath through the storm warriors with her drain. Stormclouds rose, twisting and twining around her feet, slowing her down. She imbued her body with energy, breaking free of the dark, grasping tendrils around her legs. Every step required her full concentration.

Hail pelted down on her, bruising her skin and stinging against her face. She lowered her head, hunching her shoulders and covering her face with an arm to protect herself, but Maeda didn’t stop her slow march toward destiny. Wind swirled around her, knocking her back, lifting her off her feet. She slammed into unseen rocks, shrouded by mist. One of her ribs cracked at the impact.

Maeda hissed in pain, but she struggled to her feet and raised her hands up, forming a cone-shaped barrier to cut through the wind. Fighting to keep her balance, she made her way forward one step at a time, cutting off grasping tendrils and absorbing blasts of lightning that would kill a lower-level mortal. A dozen Eels couldn’t output this kind of firepower. Above her, the Storm raged. Its fury at her relentless assault radiated outward. At last, she reached the center of the storm, breaking through a wall of chaos to find a sudden haven of calm.

A mottled-gray collosus with lighting for hair wrestled with a massive, black-granite lady. She looked like a more lithe version of the Builders who had created the Bridge. A thick rope of golden light tied the two together, just as Errol had told her. Cracks showed all over her surface. Lightning sought out the crevices, trying to force its way within, to dominate and to feed on the Bridge’s strength.

Maeda charged forward, pulling a short dagger with a stone blade from her belt. She had taken it from Vytautus on a hunch that now proved correct: the Bridge had been soulbound. She hadn’t wanted Vytautus to record the transaction. Errol’s amulet was suspicious enough, but any more fuel for the fire—

The Storm spirit whirled then, its full malevolence focused on Maeda. It unlatched claws from the Bridge and loped toward her, a crown of fire and lightning crackling on its brow warning her that this monster was true royalty of the spirit world—far beyond even her prodigious power. Roaring, it launched chained lightning strikes at her in a constant barrage, forcing her backward until she reached the barrier of the eye of the storm.

Jarkoda broke through the edge of the stormwall, bleeding from gouges in his scales. He toppled onto the ground, his chest heaving. The fires blazing in the depths of Jarkoda’s slitted eyes dimmed, flickering as he struggled to hang on to consciousness. “Errol . . . on his way.”

“Rest, child of dragons,” Maeda whispered as she knelt down. She placed a hand on his forehead, easing him into stasis to keep him safe. He was in no condition to lend her aid in this fight, let alone defend himself.

“One shot,” Maeda hissed to herself. Win or die. She dug her feet into the ground, bent her knees, and launched herself at the Storm spirit as it drew near, slashing with the stone knife. She reached inward, quieting her mind and focusing on her opponent. She shut out everything that competed for her attention, searching for the bond. It blazed like the sun in her mind.

Her hand snaked out faster than her eyes could track, her strike enhanced by a Shark Clan ritual that cost nearly half her lifeforce to enact. The enchanted blade sliced at its target, quick as a predator pouncing on bleeding prey. The stone blade clanged against an upraised shield of condensed darkstorm, chipping from the force of the impact.

The beast’s claws pierced her shoulder and raked across her stomach, tearing apart her flesh and breaking ribs. She shrieked in agony, her concentration shattered. Her body bounced as she was flung from the circle of calm, back into the raging tempest, and her wrist cracked on a rock. Her grip instantly went limp. She dropped the stone knife, screaming in protest. Lightning ripped along her body, searing her skin and rupturing blood vessels.

Maeda threw up, trembling as waves of agony washed over her. For once she was glad that she didn’t have a vital ring to check on the severity of her damage. She spat the bile out of her mouth and searched around the ground, looking for the stone knife.

The mist thickened, covering her eyes, obscuring her sight. She groped about, down on her knees, using her one good hand for balance. Shocks shot through her every few seconds as the Storm discharged its wrath. Her head pounded. She whimpered, feeling around and finding nothing.

Despair settled over her like a mantle. She couldn’t find the knife. And even if she did, in her weakened state, what good would a second try do? Her strike hadn’t been fast enough the first time. How? No one could possibly match the speed of the signature strike of Shark Clan. Designed as a last-resort, impossible-to-defend killing blow, it had been entrusted to the Great Ones for one-time use in a crisis. She couldn’t even use the attack again without a new ritual.

A familiar presence brushed against Maeda’s mind. She latched on to Errol’s approach in her sensor field, lifting her head to look toward his direction. Summoning her strength, she called out. “Find the knife. Sever the bond.”

Errol darted over to her side. He knelt down and ripped off a strip of his cloak, fashioning a makeshift tourniquet to stop the worst of the bleeding. “Forget the knife. This is beyond us. We have to get you out of here.”

“No! We’re so close, Errol. You can’t give up,” Maeda pleaded. “Find the stone knife.”

He shook his head, his face set like flint as he bound up her worst wounds. “Taras and Rhae can heal you if I can get you to them quickly enough.”

Maeda lifted her good arm, grabbing Errol by the tunic. She pulled him close, hissing in his ear. “It’s too late for me. Don’t make me waste my life. Let it count for something. Find. The. Knife. Now.”

The force of command hit Errol like a kick to the face. He shot to attention, scrambling on his hands and knees just like Maeda had a moment earlier. He widened his circle, searching frantically, panting with added exertion of the compulsion.

A storm warrior materialized in front of him, spear raised to strike him down. Errol drove a lightning-wrapped fist through its head, dissolving the stormcloud instantly. Energy crackled all over his body, sheathing him in lightning. Maeda grinned at the sight despite the pain. He looked like an avatar of the tempest. If they survived, Shark Clan’s strength would grow.

More warriors appeared as the Storm threw more of its soldiers against them, renewing its efforts to sweep them from its locus of power. Errol abandoned the search, cutting them apart by draining them with an overcharged sensor field and bolts of lightning. The longer they fought, the more his lances resembled the purple, fulminating attacks of the darkstorm.

Telyim appeared suddenly in their midst, phasing in and out of vision. She blinked from one fighter to the next, siphoning life, though not as quickly as Errol could. “Go! I’ll hold them off as long as I can,” she shouted to Errol.

So that’s a Stormwalker. Maeda grunted, nodding her thanks at the Seer.

Errol resumed his search. He straightened suddenly, crowing in triumph as he lifted the stone blade above his head. He streaked toward the eye of the storm, disappearing through the stormwall with a battlecry.

Maeda motioned Telyim closer. “Get me inside. I’m almost spent, but I have one last trick to spare.”

Telyim bowed low and half-carried, half-dragged Maeda toward the towering stormwall of cloud and lightning. She shouldered her way through the stormwall, setting Maeda down next to Jarkoda. A bolt of lightning arced toward her, jagged and crackling with power.

Maeda lunged, clutching Telyim’s wrist just before the moment of impact. She shunted the power into her own body, shaking as her heart and lungs sizzled within her. With a cry she fell back, knowing she breathed her final few breaths.

Maeda fumbled at her belt, withdrawing a pouch. Hands trembling, she unrolled a scrap of paper and spoke a code word. Script flowed across its surface. Two names and a sketch of a map revealed themselves on the paper. “Give this to Errol.”

Teylim nodded and tucked the paper into the inner pocket of her robes. She opened her mouth and drew in a sharp breath, but Maeda held up her working hand to silence her, pointing toward Errol, locked in battle with the Storm. “He needs to make a hard choice. Help him afterwards. He'll sacrifice himself; he's a good kid.”

Telyim gripped her hand. “Let's get you to the healers.”

“No time. Move back.” A fit of coughing interrupted her words. Maeda sucked in a ragged breath. “Last gift.”

Madea amplified her voice. “It's not every day I get to witness the death of royalty.”

The Storm broke off from trading blows with Errol and whirled to face her. Anger and an unsettling intelligence gleamed in its purple, swirling eyes. Darkstorm, corrupted by centuries of feeding off pain and fear, lurked below the surface. It hurled a bolt of arcane power at her as thick as a ship's mast.

Maeda threw her sensor field wide open. She drew in as much power as she could, not caring about the damage as the energy tore her body to shreds. Lacerated internal organs hemorrhaged. She latched on to the Storm's signature and yanked, absorbing as much of its strength as she could siphon.

Errol lunged forward then, slashing at the bond with the stone blade. The Bridge spirit twisted to meet him, drawing the tether into the path of the enchanted weapon. The knife struck true, snicking through the bond and severing it completely.

Madea clawed at the last pieces of her life as the seconds ticked down, but in the recesses of her mind, victory resounded. Peace rushed over her, despite the banshee howls of the Storm’s fury. They'd done it. The Bridge was free.

She fought to stay awake, waves of nausea passing over her with each breath. Her ribs protested when she rolled over, looking at Errol, still locked in the struggle with the Storm. Its power waned, but he needed help, needed—

The shaking stopped. An endless cold took its place. Numbness followed. Her vision dimmed.

Then nothing.