The Sorcerer sat meditating in the suite he had commandeered from the closest thing the East had to nobility. Even the “Lady” Thewar was drunken tramp, nothing compared to the delicate court flowers back in civilization. The room was crude but clean and warm. By all standards, it was lavish for this backwoods city. In the greatest of the Free Cities, Salastar, it would hardly suffice for a peasant. There were only two rooms to this suite, hardly fitting for long-term use and it didn’t even have its own private jakes, just a chamber pot but it would do. The Sorcerer wrinkled his nose at the crude, feces-filled container. He used too much energy keeping the damnable thing empty and with the latest developments, he dared to waste any more of that precious commodity. The fireplace was placed on an inside wall to keep it warm. The luxurious red Federation rugs were made from the wool of the Claisdane sheep, down near Wolfsbane. The wool was coveted for its quality of never losing its fluff, the downside was the color. The longevity of the wool was due to a chemical inside of it. After sheering, it turned red and stayed that way. All Claisdane rugs were blood red, making forgeries a problem. It felt good on his old feet, and the down-filled bed gave him sufficient rest to recover his energy levels.

The siege on Tharpe had gone much better than could be expected. Whoever this felon was, had a reputation of unsavory standing among the more influential and prominent families. It made him pause for a moment when he heard that a necromancer had a child. It had to be conjecture, an orphan taken in for charity. Since the War of the Brothers, none of the Wives of Grim had born a child. It was forbidden. Whoever this criminal was, the hatred among those people had been deep-set.

He had been communicating with the Circle back in Salastar about preparation to set up a new council in the East after the fool, Fredrick, had done all the heavy lifting for him. That is when he felt an energy surge, unlike anything he had ever felt before and then a presence beyond the power of a mortal, even beyond the power of his great master, the immortal Lich Delver. The feeling in his chest had almost collapsed him in the midst of the conference.

He had sent a thought quickly before the powerful being could recuperate, to his Master. Because as the name implied, Master Delver loved to dig for ancient knowledge and would know who this mysterious stranger was. As old a the Lich was, second-man’s history spanned forty times even his ancient life span. Delver had spent his thousands of years collecting bits of the past, in order to see it more clearly, both out of necessity and curiosity. Every sorcerer worked to free the world of the Purpose of Order. When his Master passed into immortality, he gained the true blessing of Chaos.

The night in the city churned on outside his window. The sounds reaching up through the stained glass window nearby with sounds of the nightlife. The sorcerer closed his eyes with minor irritation as he continued to meditate in the candlelit room, with the shadows dancing about on the soft, dark, wooden walls. Now all he had to do was wait. He had set aside the stuffy old robes that these dolts expected a sorcerer to be wearing and had put on his more comfortable rich blue doublet and lavender leggings. He sat cross-legged in the middle of the Symbol of Life patiently awaiting his Master’s reply.

The Sorcerer had cast an incantation to try to protect against scrying, but he could not guarantee he was not being watched against the power of this individual. Next to but a few, there were no mortals he feared, that was why the Council sent him. The Sorcerer walked among those of the First Circle and of that circle, he was the most powerful mortal in a century. When battling the Purpose of Death, it was best not to send a novice. The Purpose of Death and Order was potent in the hands of the necromancers.

His previous master had been powerful, from a long line of magical inheritance. Magical inheritance was the practice of absorbing another’s soul into one’s body. With it came the tantalizing promise of the power their soul contained. Depending on how long the line had continued, how many times the souls had been passed previous, would determine on power gained. It was the only way to increase one's power. A person by themselves only contained a finite amount of energy. Even someone with a very powerful soul would be no match for someone who had absorbed the essence of another. There were risks, like with anything in life, no guarantee of success. Like a vessel, everyone could contain varying amounts before rupturing. There was no test, no way to tell before the inheritance. It was a risk for both the master and the apprentice. If the apprentice failed to contain his master’s gift, both would be greeted by the reapers.

When he had absorbed his master's essence, he thought his mind would burst from the energy swell that took him. He lay comatose for two days afterward in his master’s study before he came back from the brink of insanity. His master had battled for control over the body and had he not come out on top; then his master would be sitting here, now on his third body. The younger sorcerer had won out. The young apprentice had not been warned by the dying master but now knew if he were strong enough, he too would live another life in his apprentice. That is if he could find the person to be the first to inherit twelve souls. That had never been done in the history of Sorcery. No, he sighed with resignation, if he could not complete the lich transformation, then he would be greeting the Grim in just a few decades.

The Circle glowed, and he sensed oncoming energies. He concentrated on the “feel” of the owner’s signature. It was his master. He had projected his image. That was something that was very taxing, especially at this distance of nearly three hundred leagues away. His Master’s presence waited outside the shielding walls of the Circle of Life. Without invitation, Delver would be unable to make an entrance into it.

“Master come in,” He invited him into the Circle of protection, “I require your wisdom.”

A skeleton wearing a short coat with a tie and a short pair of pants tucked into a high pair of boots walked into the Circle. Master Delver, outside the Grim, was the oldest being known on this continent. It was rumored he had seen the star fall from the sky that created the Western Sea ten thousand years ago. The sorcerer bowed deeply to a knee and waited for the word to rise before his master.

“Rise Sedrick,” Master Delver commanded in a rasping voice that sounded like wind through dead leaves, “You were right to call for me. Although if what you felt was true, this little circle of yours will not stop the being you felt.”

There was no contempt in his Master’s voice as Delver waved a gloved hand at the glowing circle around them. He was merely stating a fact. It left Sedrick wondering who the marvelous person could be, outside the Lich, Sedrick was the most powerful living sorcerer on the continent. If the headmaster died without completing his transformation, Sedrick would be the second most powerful being. Well, that was until a few hours ago when this mysterious stranger appeared.

“Who could contain such power? No Necromancer I know. They do not practice inheritance. To them it is blasphemy not to be reborn, to put off the Judgement.”

“It is the All-Father, The Grim. Both of us combined are of no match to him. He could end us with a twitch of a smile, for he combines both Purposes when he cast his version of sorcery. No mortal may do that. We are not permitted to mix life and death, Order and Chaos.” The Lich paced back and forth in deep thought, “But we have him in the open. This is the first time in two centuries anyone has seen him or felt the Grim. Not even when we took the Free Cities and slaughtered his precious wives, did he show his face. We can’t let this opportunity slide.”

Sedrick slammed his fist into a waiting palm with a resounding fleshy crack, “Then we must capitalize on it.”

“Nor will we youngling, his death will be ensured this very night.” The lich looked out the window at the bustling city below. The looting was in full force as the houses were ransacked from the army within the walls. Sedrick smiled with anticipation, rubbing his hands together with the anticipation of the moment of the death of the Grim. “Keep the siege going. I will provide you with a map that we took from the Temple in Salastar when we sacked it and a powerful incantation. It is difficult and might even sap too much energy and stop your heart, but it will surely collapse the Gatehouse where the Portal is located. The Temples are mostly constructed with the same design and this should suffice. The Portal itself cannot be destroyed; it is beyond even your power. But we can bury it. The Grim will perish, for he cannot make another Portal in three days.” The Lich turned to stare at his sorcerer in his red eyes. Sedrick backed up, putting his hands forth as if to ward against the assignment. When he imagined the death of the Grim he had not imagined him being the sacrifice for that said death. Sweat beaded up on his shaved head as his Master’s hollow eyes followed him.

“But Master surely there is another way, I don’t want to be the sacrament..” Sedrick stammered rapidly.

“Sedrick, always remember, I am the immortal because I feared death not. If you get the privilege someday to join me, you must prove you are ready to die first. To become a lich surely you must beat death itself, are you afraid?” The Lich taunted him, the green dots that were his eyes were following the lower sorcerer.

“Yes Master,” Sedrick sighed, his body wracked with tremors, “send them to me and let us finish this. The eons of fighting will be at the end finally.”

“Good look for me in the morning, put forth a Circle before dawn,” Master Delver gave a wave of his skeletal hand and disappeared.

Sedrick sighed and went to find Fredrick. He had to convince the imbecile to launch an offensive tomorrow morning. He needed as the Grim’s attention elsewhere when he tried his hand at whatever his Master had for him. He walked down the stairwell and found him sitting in the common room, already well on his way to being inebriated with the “Lady” Thewar. They had kicked back, with their boots upon the large table and a half-empty tankard in their hand. They had one ale barrel empty and a second broached. He waved Sedrick over and lifted him a bronze pot in salute to him.

“Sedrick, my friend,” Fredrick slurred, “We are drinking to our victory. Care for a glass or two?”

Sedrick gave a sniff in their general direction and steered towards another table and took a seat after brushing it off. He reached up a hand to smooth his goatee in irritation. How was he supposed to continue a siege when both of his leaders were drunken soots. Sedrick snorted with disgust.

“Ahh don’t be such a sour puss over there dearie,” The Lady Thewar purred patting her ample lap, “Come over here and have some celebration, then later we’ll have more private celebrations. I have always loved a man with a goatee.”

She got up and stumbled over and pet his meticulously trimmed black goatee. He jerked away and caught her hand glaring at her. She looked offended at him and reached up to lift her breast, letting it fall to jiggle in the sorcerer’s face. Sedrick jerked his head away, giving the Lady a small shove.

“What you don’t prefer these. Well, I am sorry; there is no sausage in this factory.” She turned and looked at Fredrick waggling a finger at his crotch, “I guess he’s your customer tonight. Always thought he leaned that way, especially with that shaved, shiny head. Stinking unechs.” Everyone in the room burst into drunken laughter except Fredrick and the sorcerer, who glared at each other. The hatred ran deep between the two and the only thing that kept one of them alive was the common goal of the destruction of the East.

The Sorcerer got up and took the tankards away from the two “leaders” of the army and threw the metal pots in the ale cask with a splash, the ale lapping over onto the floor in dark splotches.

“Hey you ruined the ale, now it will be no good.” The Lady pouted.

“I know,” Sedrick said with a certain amount of satisfaction in his quiet voice, “This celebration is a little premature. There is a reason you brought me, remember. To warn you if a certain someone showed up when you attacked his house. Or was that all for show and are the Council’s services no longer needed?” He left that to hang in the air for a few moments. He knew it would take their drunk minds a little time to process the information and then slowly one by one. He saw realization dawn on the people around the room.

Fredrick’s face went white as a shade, “I honestly thought he was just a myth! What can we do now? Not even the full Council of Sorcerers can stop him!”

“We will execute the prisoners in the morning and attack a full out assault on that heap of rocks.--” Sedrick said from his seat across the room, a smug smile settled on his face as he got to remind them who was really calling the shots on this rebellion, “--I have already talked to the Sorcerer Council, and they are providing me with a layout of the Temple of Tharpe and an exceptional spell.”

With the mention of an all-out assault on the Temple, a fortress that had been built to withstand the wilds of the early east, Fredrick looked like a man ready to faint. His skin greyed, losing the red from the spirits as he processed what he had just heard. All the joy of the celebration was lost, jubilation was now replaced with the stark terror of death.

“An all-out assault! Are you insane? Even in the worst of conditions, the defenders still hold an advantage. Every one man they have is as good as ten of ours. That means we need four thousand men to have an equal fight.” Fredrick bellowed, his voice growing with volume. As his gravelly voice grew louder, he emphasized his fear by getting to his feet with a little weave. He was using his hands in an exaggerated effort, waving them in wide circles, to get his point across. His eyes were as wild as his wispy grey hair, giving his protest a comic appearance.

“It is necessary to make a sacrifice for the diversion, so I have time for the spell. One day of an all-out assault for permanent freedom.” Sedrick said in rap elation, the importance of his Master’s task dawning on him. He gave them a beatific smile that sent shivers down Thewar’s bodice. She did not do well with either branch of religion. The only reason she was associating with him, he could help her get what she needed most in this sick world, revenge.

“What does this spell do?” The Lady Thewar inquired in a small, tentative and curious voice.

“We are going to kill the Grim” Sedrick said maliciously.

The Mother Matron came up beside Wallace on the battlements, her hand resting easily on the pommel of the sword that hung at her side and looked out on the city, watching the smoke curl up from the remains of the houses that burned earlier that day. They just stood there quietly, neither needing to put to words the horror before them. The three prisoners stood against the cold brisk wind coming off Lake Dim, in the smoke-filled street, shivering, visible only for the burning houses near them. Wallace then placed a hand on his General’s armored shoulder with unusual gentleness.

“Don’t worry Jen. I will get your nephew off that damn stake out there. I wanted to come up here and check on him. He has always been a close friend of mine. He looks rough.” Wallace whispered the informality quietly in her ear.

Jen’s shoulders gave a little heave as she tried to hold in the sobs. She wiped her green eyes and turned away quickly from her Master Sergeant. Wallace gave a small chuckle with the realization of the vanity of the action. Jen growled and turned back to put a finger in his nose.

“No offense intended General,” He said holding up his hands up in surrender, “But it just occurred to me, if you happened to try to be human instead of above us, then maybe the Temple would be more popular. You know, shit don’t stink.” He finished with a small shrug and looked back out at the prisoners that stood tantalizingly out in the darkness. They looked like tortured souls, tied to stakes, with the watchfires cracking around them. Now, all Faldo and company had to do is survive the onslaught of the coming battle, a raging city fire, and a rescue attempt.

She smiled and gave a small husky laugh and patted him on the shoulder, “You know, I think you are right. I will try to do that in the future. You keep advising like this and I will have the first officer in the East. It would be a sin to waste such good talent elsewhere.”

“Nah, I am just a simple man nothing more.” He said waving off the suggestion, taking his vigil back up, looking at the prisoners out just beyond bow shot. They were illuminated by street lamps and had a complement of ten men guarding them.

“Often, it is simple men that turn the tide. Simple men think practically when everyone else has lost their wits. The ballista you ordered constructed is the perfect example--” She pointed back over her shoulder to the siege machine that stood ready for destruction. “--Even before you were more than a corporal, you made a bold move that none of the other Garrisons had made. That ballista may mean the difference between success and death tonight. Now I want that ballista to start hurling some of the firebombs we have out into that city.” She gave him a grin, baring her teeth with malice, pointing to some of the distant buildings.

He turned to her with a look of exaggerated envy, “I have been dying to try just that.--” then his face took on a sad look, “--So we start?”

“We do Master Sergeant.” Jen took a deep breath to steady herself for the long night, “Muster the troops, I want archers on the walls in five minutes, and I want a troop managing that ballista in ten.” She ordered.

“Aye General Mother,” He saluted and bowed and started for the stairs yelling orders at the top of his lungs, “All right archers to the walls and get those fire arrows. I want another thirty men up here with torches to light them. Let’s fire these bastards up.”