Kate stood alone in the ominous light of the firepot room. Hours seemed to pass without any sight of the Gnome she was supposed to make contact with.

She called for the clerk, but to no response; she was trapped.

Then her legs grew tired and she sat for many hours. Eventually fatigue caught up with her, and Kate drifted into an uneasy sleep, trying not lay on her right arm which she had, so terribly, scrapped three nights prior.

In her sleep she saw the black cloud again. A towering continent of soot that hung over the Ashevale—the same one she had seen that day when Cassius brought her and Toby into the cavern. She dreamed that she stood alone in a meadow of wildflowers. Then the cloud came tumbling down, crashing into her insignificant body. It was a great, massive thing that pulverized Kate, enveloping her in rock and ash.

She was awoken by the sound of a ladder hitting the blue-marble floor.

“Don’t move,” came a voice from above.

Kate sat up, but did not stand. Then a grey-haired, regally dressed, Crafter gingerly descended into the room. Kate could barely make out his features in the dim light, but she saw that he was rather short even for a Gnome. On his nose sat a brassy pair of bifocals with thick, circular lenses. His curly grey beard covered much of his face. The little gnome didn’t move from the base of the ladder. He just stood there examining Kate. His severe, smoldering visage appeared to gaze at her with utter contempt.

“Do I know you?” growled the gnome.

“My name is Kate Redrock. I was supposed to have a meeting with the Crafter Envoy, Sebastian Klugwyn.”

“You didn’t answer my question. DO-I-KNOW-YOU?!” snapped the little man.

“I don’t believe we’ve ever met before. No.”

“What are you doing here, Kate Redrock?” asked Klugwyn. He was a humorless, impatient man who had spent a span—at least twice that of Kate’s lifetime—as the Crafter envoy to the fountain.

“I’ve come to the Sanctum as a representative of The Redrock Forge and Fabrication Company.”

“Never heard of it. Do you mean The Fisher Forge and Fabrication Company?”

“Robert Fisher was my grandfather! They changed the name of the company when it was passed down to my father.”

“And how is old Bert? And that little girl of his… June was it?”

“My grandfather passed away three years ago, and now my mother, June, is sick too. That’s why I’m here, Mr. Klugwyn, to negotiate a medicinal supply of the water to treat her.”

“I see… time passes so swift, like the currents of a rushing river. And yet, here am I like a rock that clings to the edge.”

Kate had little interest in this man’s philosophizing. “I’ve brought prototypes for a revolutionary pistol design that could be very useful to the Sanctum Guard. That was our plan to trade the pistols and plans for water. Can you help me?”

“You’ve came half-way across the continent on the off-chance that, someone at the Citadel might listen to you? Take pity on your story?”

“We’ve got the guns. I know for a fact that the cutting-edge design will prove useful in stabilizing the region.”

“The guns? Nobody cares. Besides, what’s a Crafter doing making guns? That’s Dwarven business. The Diggers make all the cannons and small arms used by the Guard.”

“They don’t make ones like these. With the Redrock Special a soldier can get off eight shots before reloading. Think of the difference that would make against the fast shooting bows of the Centaurs.” Kate felt that Cassius would have been proud of the way she sold it with such confidence.

“Very interesting. Perhaps the time has come to divest from Digger technology. Yes, you may be of some use to us.” The short little man made a readjustment of his glasses to get a better look at Kate.

“You can set up a meeting with the Guard to demonstrate the guns?”

“This, I can arrange, but first we need to know where you stand.” From his breast pocket, Klugwyn pulled a glass flask. It was filled to the top with a pitch-black, tarry liquid. The bottle was small, perhaps only four or five ounces and sealed at the top with a ceramic cork and red wax. “Stand up, Kate Redrock.”

He walked over to the young woman and offered her the flask.

“What is it?” she asked.

“The object of your search—alchemic water in its purest form.”

“I can take this back to my mother?”

“No. There’s more where that came from, but before we can go any further you need to drink. Don’t worry. Have you ever heard of a Crafter poisoning another Crafter?”

“But… I’m not sick. Wouldn’t that be a waste of something so precious.” Kate held the flask in her hand, repulsed by the sight of the viscous water.

“Impudent girl! You think the sacramentum is some mere shaman’s remedy?! You know so little about that which you seek! Now drink or this matter is concluded.” Klugwyn was in earnest. It occurred to Kate that if she did not comply, then she might be left forever in this firepot room—till she was nothing but a rotting corpse. She had to drink it to save her mother and possibly herself.

She used her nails to peel back the waxy layer and with the full force of her grip she was able to pluck the tightly set cork from the bottle. The water effused a certain metallic, caustic odor. Kate took note of the way it slowly bubbled, thick like honey.

“Drink!” cried the Gnome.

She brought the rim of flask to her lips, and gradually consumed the water in its entirety. At first she almost choked on the foul elixir, but she held her composure and was barely able to stomach the taste before the world went entirely black and she slipped into a deep, mind-altering trance:

There is a moonlit landscape that takes the shape of an inferno—one uninterrupted ball of fire. The sleepy village of Ashevale is steadily burning to the ground. The pandemonium seems to go on without end. Centaurs let loose fiery arrows upon the workshops and businesses. They are smashing open windows and doors, looking for something amid the chaos. Some Gnomes try to fight back, but are quickly trampled by the fearsome tribe. All the while smoke keeps accumulating and horrific screams pierce through the ashen air. June and Cassius Redrock hide behind the door of their little showroom. A loud crash through the window sends them running to their backroom portal.

The gloss over Kate’s eyes went away and she was again standing between the triangular walls of the firepot room.

“I had a vision. Ashevale was burning. There was an attack. The centaurs…” Kate could have gone on rambling.

“I’ve seen it too and have made my peace with it.”

“We have to do something!” shouted Kate. “My parents were there. When did this happen?”

“Do not shout in my presence! The question is not, ‘when did this happen?’ but, ‘when will this happen.’ You have tasted the vast power of the sacramentum. Now, I can help you. Look down at your right arm, Kate.”

The cuts and bruises from the other night’s fall had all but vanished. She moved her arm to feel the changes that had occurred. No longer was there any pain; she had been healed in a matter of seconds. The way she felt too which, until then, had been tense and full of stress, was now confident—imbued with some mystical aura of courage.

“Can we stop it?” asked Kate.

“I don’t know. I’ve had many such visions as you just had and all them have come to pass, but I do not believe in prophecy the way the others, the Elves, believe. You want to save the Ashevale, Kate? Then we must stop the Centaurs. Nip their little rebellion in the bud. This is your destiny. This is why the fates and stars have sent you here to me.” Klugwyn was filled with zeal.

“But, I’m just one person, how can I even begin to take on the Centaur hoards?”

“It would appear you and the Guard have a common enemy.” Klugwyn made a devilish grin.

“The Consortium has had numerous setbacks trying to establish a presence in the Northern Plains. Every attempt at settling that region have been met with merciless slaughter. The Centaurs have powerful allies of in the Northern Plains. What they lack in technology, they make up for in a certain hermetic knowledge which we can only begin to fathom. About a month ago we stopped hearing from the last remaining base of operations in the region. A platoon of Guardsmen will be sent to assess the situation and advise on plans of future expansion.

“I’ll meet you at the gates tomorrow and take you to the Sub-Commander, Sybil Alderfey. Bring the guns and come ready to see some action. You’re going to be part of that expedition. If you make it back alive, then I’ll see to it that you receive adequate payment for the guns. I can tell you right now that The Consortium won’t allow the manufacture of production models to take place anywhere but the Sanctum, but I can negotiate a royalties for the design. The water to save your mother will only be the tip of the iceberg. Do you understand everything I’ve just told you?” Klugwyn made the look of a trained interrogator, ready to snap at any moment.

“I understand,” said Kate.

“Good. I’ll see you at the gates. Be there at dawn,” Klugwyn’s terse manner would have been entirely off-putting under any other circumstance, but he held the keys to saving June, and Kate had no other recourse.

“Wait! I have a bodyguard with me. I’ll need them to accompany me on the expedition.”

“Sure, bring whatever troll thug along for all I care.”

“She’s not a troll and she’s not a thug. She’s an elf, and I’ll need her with me.”

Klugwyn readjusted his glasses again to assess Kate’s seriousness.

“By all means bring your elf girl. I don’t care. Just be at the gates exactly at dawn. A minute later and everything’s off.”

“I got it,” said Kate, growing tired of Klugwyn’s stringency and utter lack of tact.

Without another word Klugwyn returned to the ladder and started climbing away. Kate went to follow him up, but he turned and barked, “Wait your turn, you petulant child!”

“I’m not waiting down here any longer! Let me climb up with you!” She grabbed for his shoes and long, wooden poles came down to meet her face. One good thud and she was knocked out cold. She came to in a few minutes, but it was another hour before the ladder descended again and she was shown through the hundreds of tunnels—crystalline and marble—that led back to the iron gates which separated the Citadel from the rest of the Sanctum.

When she finally made it outside of that sprawling labyrinth, she could see that it was already well into the night, in truth sometime past-midnight.

The Inner Sanctum offered little in the ways of the nightlife that might have been found in the other cities of Valenaria. For instance in Faria Junction or Old Marianna there might have been the cries of wanton libertines and wine-drunk merchants to fill the air, but the reserved facade of the Inner Sanctum glittered in total austerity. There were no parties here, no joyful laughter.

Kate took note of the towering mansions which concealed any and every sign of life behind their imposing exteriors of blackstone and crystal. The black-pavement streets were empty too, except for a single guard who made no qualms about forcefully directing Kate to the exit the district. “Follow the main road to the gatehouse, and don’t turn back. If we find you on any of the side street’s, you’ll be shot on sight.”

Kate had no interest in testing the man and made a hasty exit through the thick-walled gatehouse. A set of iron portcullises dropped into place behind her as she passed, returning to the outer ring of the city where although there were no raucous parties, there were at least subtle signs of life.

A few gilded carriages slid through the main boulevard, a wide road lined with the azure glow of lamp-light. Tucked into every possible corner were spectacular fountains, calling doves to the splash of their waters. From the brass interiors of late night coffee houses Kate could hear the quiet, private conversations of upstart socialites and rich cosmopolitans.

As she crossed the great metal bridge which connected the west bank of the Longtrout to the east, Kate could see the glow of ten-thousand lights. In that moment they held a fantastic power over her, filled her with a feeling of excitement. She craved the energy of that city. She craved the water.

She entered the lobby of the hotel to see a rat scurry across the floor. Hela sat in the far corner of the room, hand on head, trying not to fall asleep on a bench. When she saw Kate, she perked up, like she had been shocked by some gathering static.

“Where have you been?” she implored. “And what happened to your face?”

Kate had forgotten about the knock of the wooden pole and felt the painful bump with the tips of her fingers.

“The meeting took longer than I expected.”

“Doesn’t seem like it went well. Are you OK?” Hela was concerned that Kate may have suffered a concussion. She was acting strange; her voice was hollow-cold in a way Hela had not yet heard.

“Hela, when I’m back in Ashevale, remind me to call a referendum to have this Sebastian Klugwyn shot. Or maybe we should have him drawn and quartered. What’s something slow and agonizing?”

“Then you weren’t able to get a deal.” Hela was disappointed that Kate had come so far only to be shot down by some bureaucrat. “We’ll just have to steal the water.”

“We don’t have to resort to that just yet. There is a deal in place. We have to wake up in a couple of hours to meet the Sub-Commander of the Guard, then we’re going to be riding with an expedition deep into Centaur territory.”

“If you were able to make a deal than what happened to your face?”

“Arb was right: these people are animals. Hela, can I tell you something?”

“Sure, anything.”

“I have tasted the might of the fountain and, although it frightens me, I now yearn for it. Look. The cuts and bruises on my arm totally healed.”

“Forget about your arm. What about your face?”

“That happened after. The Sanctum people had me trapped in a room, and when I tried to leave with the Envoy, they knocked me out.”

“What in good heavens? Forget these people. We should steal the water or go to Uz and find Arb.”

“What’s done is done, Hela. We’ll have to be up an hour before dawn to meet the Sub-commander, so let’s get some rest.”

The two of them went upstairs and into the little room with one window. Kate made sure the chest was still in the hidden spot they had chosen beneath the dresser. Then they crawled into the rustic wood-frame beds and drifted into deep sleep.

Kate woke to the sight of Hela standing over her in the lamplight.

“You’re wearing my clothes, Hela,” noted the half-awake Gnome.

“We’re going on a dangerous expedition, and I want to have the best possible mobility. Is it OK with you that I wear them?” she asked.

“Sure. Do they fit?”

“Not really, the pants are a bit tight and the shirt doesn’t really have enough room for my… fill. But it’s better than than tripping over skirt bottoms and more durable too. Come on, we better get moving. We’ve got less than an hour to reach the Citadel gate. The sun should be up soon.”

Kate tossed herself out of bed and got dressed in the hazy glass of the hotel mirror. Soon her boots were on and they were out the door.

The streets of the Outer Sanctum bore only emptiness and silence in that pre-dawn hour. When they got to the gatehouse that separated the Outer Sanctum from the Inner, the steel grates of the double-portcullis were still down, barring entry to the district. Kate felt a rise of panic throughout her body.

She banged on the metal grate. “Open up! Hello? I need to get through I have a meeting with Envoy Klugwyn and I cannot be late! Hello? Can anybody hear me?”

The face of a poorly groomed Digger shot out of a window on the left side of the gatehouse, facing the pair of women. “What’s your name, Gnome?”

“Kate Redrock.”

The Digger went back inside for a couple of minutes as if conferring with some associate or log book, then returned out the window. “Give me a sec. I just have to get the boiler going.”

In little over fifteen-minutes, a thick billow of steam poured from the top of the building and the gate was raised. The pair of woman rushed through, Kate nervous that the hold-up may have jeopardized their meeting.

They were almost sprinting and Kate’s head was pounding. Yesterday’s knock had eventually caused a great deal of pain and the headache became much more bothersome with the introduction of physical activity. Hela carried the chest, but she could see that Kate was made uncomfortable by the running and was also too stubborn to admit it.

“I think we’re good to slow down,” said Hela.

“It’s just a little further,” said Kate.

“But it looks like you’re going to pass out at any moment,” protested the Elf.

“I’m fine. Do you need me to carry the chest?” barked Kate.

“No. I’ve got it.”

They arrived at the Citadel gate just as the first light of day brushed against the crystal architecture. The refraction of the light—through certain spires—produced an effect of full-spectrum rainbows around the looming Citadel. The vibrant and joyous splay of color contrasted sharply with the cheerless nature of Sebastian Klugwyn, who presently stood there pointing to the face of his pocket watch.

“I can see why you’re not a fan of this one,” said Hela.

“Shush… he can probably hear you,” whispered Kate.

Klugwyn had two Guardsmen with him. One opened the gate, letting the women inside. The other stayed fast to Klugwyn’s side.

“You’re late,” snickered the peevish Gnome.

“The guardhouse was locked, you cuck. Couldn’t even get into the district without waiting an hour for the boilerman to wake up.” Hela was surprised at her own ferocity.

“Hela…” whispered Kate. The Elf didn’t listen and instead passed the chest to Kate, ready to be on the offensive.

“Silence, you vulgar tramp, or I’ll have you reduced to a shriveled pile of flesh and hung above my mantle,” retaliated the pugnacious Klugwyn.

“Can it short stack!” yelled Hela. “Or today’s demonstration will be on your filthy face!” Hela’s hand hovered close to the revolver at her side.

The guards sprung into position—a second from turning the meeting into an bloodbath—but Klugwyn called them down. The old bureaucrat let out a manic, vigorous laugh, then readjusted his glasses to examine Hela. He seemed to take note of the way her clothes didn’t fit quite right.

“You’re feisty, Elf. I like feisty.”

“Ewww! Frick off, you old lecher.”

Kate stood there with the chest under her arms wondering whether they’d be forced to steal the water after all, but Klugwyn didn’t seem to miss a beat.

“As I said before being so rudely interrupted, ‘we’re late.’ Sub-Commander Alderfay expected us at the secret station ten minutes ago. Follow. Now.”

They didn’t enter through the caves which Kate had seen the day before, instead Klugwyn led them through the grand front entrance—across the palatial foyer of the Upper Citadel. In the nave, high-vaulted ceilings and buttressed arches extended hundreds of feet above their heads—everything was rendered in blue marble and shimmering crystal. In the distant foreground a wall of blackstone featured two immense metal doors, bared with an iron rod. Klugwyn led them to that wall but made a sharp turn to the right wing. Kate swore she could hear the gentle bubbling of gas and liquid—the fountain!

The party descended a wide set of stairs to a vast underground chamber, lit entirely by gas lamp. As they touched bottom, Kate and Hela were intrigued to see that this was some sort of subterranean train station. Hela went to the edge of the platform to see that the tracks seemed to run endlessly into the darkness.

“Welcome to Secret Station. Took the Diggers the better part of a decade to carve out these tunnels. And that was working night and day.”

“Where does it lead?” asked Kate.

“The way you’re heading? Fort Siger. The other way? That’s restricted information.”

There was an engine waiting for them at the platform. Attached was a single, ornate coach carriage. Klugwyn and his escorts directed the ladies to enter.

“You’re late Klugwyn!” came the mocking harangue of a woman’s voice from inside the carriage.

“Couldn’t be helped, Sub-Commander. The gatekeeper was sleeping on the job again.” The little gnome grew anxious at the Sub-Commander’s accusatory tone. He had his guards shuffle the two women into the car and made his goodbyes.

“I leave you in good hands. Sub-Commander Alderfay will brief you on the situation on the frontier.” He turned to Kate. “If you make it back, find me. I’ll make sure that you get the water.” He then turned to Hela, “Godspeed, my feisty Elf.”

She stuck her tongue out, but Klugwyn was already making his way back up the gaslit stairwell.

The train car was composed of a single lavishly decorated compartment. Brass rails and fixtures adorned all corners with at least a dozen lamps, creating a enough light to clearly see every angle of the bespoke cabinetry and elaborate furnishings. A circular table of deep walnut dominated the space. Two Sanctum Guardsmen stood proudly at the front of the carriage—stoic and bold. There were three chairs set out around the massive table; two were empty. At the third sat the imposing figure of a ripped, stern-faced woman. Unlike other women of her station, Sub-Commander Sybil Alderfay did not resort to displays of haughtiness to show superiority or as some means of garnering clout. Alderfay was a flawless operator who let her work speak for itself.

If her pale-blonde hair had not been pinned to her head, it would have covered the tips of her angular, Elven ears and tumbled down past the gleaming metal of her breast plate. Polished leather boots and khaki chinos covered her legs, but on her torso she wore the traditional armor of an Elven Valkyrie. A splatter of blood besmeared the edge of her left gauntlet.

“Ma’am,” said Hela, “I believe you’ve got some blood on your arm.”

“Blood is business. Now sit,” commanded the Guard officer.

Kate placed the chest on the ground beneath the table and the pair of women took their seats. One of the guards shut the door and the rumble of the locomotive started them down the line to Fort Siger.

“So you two and an unnamed Frognari are the only survivors of the attack on The Cross-Plains Express? Tell me exactly how two bimbos and an old man fought off hundreds of Centaurs and Goblins.” She was all business.

Kate unholstered one of the pistols and pushed it across the table to Alderfay. “This, this is how we survived the attack.”

The Sub-Commander held the weapon in her hand, analyzing the action, probing it for defects, for infelicities of any kind. Her investigation yielded nothing. The meticulous bluing of the steel could only have come from the hands of a master craftsman. The Sub-Commander, rarely impressed, felt satisfied with the workmanship and design. She then noticed the residue of black powder.

“This one’s seen a lot of action. You really shot your way out of the attack?”

“That’s right and we’ve seen action since. Had a run-in with a witch in the hills north of the Junction.” Hela felt compelled to try and match the Sub-Commander in feats and posture.

“Then you can describe for me the true form of a witch. What’d she look like?”

“Big ugly slug,” said Kate.

Alderfay made a nod of recognition. “That’s not a thing many people have lived long enough to share. And the elderly Frognari, he must have been a liability. Did it ever cross your mind to just leave him somewhere along the way?”

“Figured saving him was the right thing to do. Once we were away from the train, it didn’t matter much how he slowed us down.” Cassius certainly had gifted Kate no small amount of cunning.

“Did you catch his name? His business? It’s rather uncommon for a Frog to travel as the Ashevale.”

“He was looking for someone. That’s all we know.”

“And in the week that you were with him, he never gave his name?” Alderfay grew skeptical.

Kate quickly searched her mind for the first Frognari-sounding name that she could come up with.

“Goblack Tiz or something like that. I honestly cannot for the life of me remember.”

“Goblack? Not a name I’m familiar with. I’ll have to speak with the Frognari Envoy when we get back, see if I can track down this Go-black Tiz.”

“Or was it Go-jack?” added Hela. “That whole week is one big blur.”

“Go-jack? Hmph! Doesn’t matter. We have more important matters than the name of some Frognari senior citizen. How many prototypes do you have with you?”

“There’s twelve altogether, counting the ones on our belts.”

“When we get to Siger, I’ll distribute them among my best men. You should each keep one on you. This isn’t going to be your typical proving grounds; we’re heading into hostile territory and there’s a distinct chance that we’ll be in for a hell of a show. I didn’t agree with the decision to bring you two along, but I take my orders from the Consortium board. I’m happy to know you’re not all green, but understand that when you’re out there you better fall in line. People stop following orders and the consequences are final.”

“Understood,” returned Kate. Hela, too, made a nod of acknowledgment.

“Good. Then let’s get down to it.”

Alderfay produced a hand-drawn map of the Great Northern Plains and began making notes of the different sub-regions and the area that they would be conducting the reconnaissance. The lost outpost, Fort Burchard, was about seventy miles north of Siger in an area described as the anvil for the way it stretched between two rivers which eventually converged at a point in the north. The river continued to flow to some far north watershed, but the map didn’t go far enough to depict that distant terminus.

Outlined in red were several regions of known Centaur habitation. Most of the pockets were far from Fort Burchard, but one long strip of red cut straight through the base of the anvil, making it impossible to reach the fort without at least traversing through that particular hot-zone. There were other outlines marked in green and black, which Alderfay cryptically described as, “unrelated threats.”

The other pertinent fact was the ritual messianic search. In ordinary times the Centaurs would stay relatively close to their particular tribal region, but until the end of the current messianic cycle they would continue to confederate and act nomadically. This could work in their favor if the tribe around the anvil was away participating in the search, otherwise it would spell certain doom if the Centaurs showed up in numbers.

During the two hours that elapsed before they reached the station at Siger, Alderfay didn’t break, for even a moment, from her thorough analysis of the situation. Their objective was to determine the exact nature of the assault and return with any evidence of outlander involvement. Their were suspicions among the Consortium board that one of the factions had been giving aid to the Centaurs.

The Elves blamed the Dwarves. The Dwarves blamed the Elves—typical political backstabbing. The Crafters often found their niche by acting as a mediator between the two. The Kobolds and Frognari were utterly disinterested in the fountain and only participated in the farce to protect their lands from Elven expansion. The Goblins held exactly one seat on the Consortium board (out of seventy-three) and almost less power.

The station at Fort Siger was positively primitive compared to the one beneath the Sanctum. They pulled into what appeared to be a natural cavern, dirt floor and all. There were no newfangled gas lamps here either—only a single barrel-shaped oil lamp and the distant natural light. The women and guards had to jump to the ground as there wasn’t even a wooden platform to receive them.

They followed the soft glow of mid-morning out of the cave and into the barracks yard. As they got closer Kate could here the pounding of a heavy storm against the firmament. She hadn’t thought to bring a jacket or umbrella, so when they reached the rainy courtyard she only had the chest to use as a shield against the rain. She held it over her head to little effect, as the torrents whipped in every direction, soaking her to the bone.

Alderfay and the guards led the two woman into a covered training area. She directed Kate and Hela to stay put as she left to assemble the rest of the platoon which would be heading into the wilderness.

The fortification was of castle-like, stone construction. Three thick battlements seamlessly merged into the live edge of a rock promontory. In the muddy courtyard two Guard squads were conducting series of hand-to-hand drills. Hela could identify the four main buildings as the barracks, supply depot, stables and kitchen. Apart from the natural cave that housed the station, there were many different doors that lead into the rocky facade. From one of the doors at the far side of the battlement emerged the grizzled, war-hardened face of a Kobold officer.

The wolf-man walked with a slight limp, using an oak walking stick to help him stay upright. He descended the wooden scaffolding and into the training area. Immediately upon seeing the Commander, all of the men fell into lines and stood to attention. The squad instructors made proud, sweeping salutes, but the wolf responded by insisting, “As you were.”

The drills resumed.

The rain showed no signs of stopping and the Commander continued down the yard to the pavilion where Kate and Hela were currently leaning against a banister, waiting patiently for the return of Alderfay. As he approached the women could see of a prominent, pale scar—like a shaft of lighting against the night’s sky—extending from snout to forehead, passing through his right eye. He had the depressed look of a man who had been thrust into a position of great responsibility without consent or desire for such a status.

“You’re going on the expedition to Burchard?” he asked in a matter of fact way.

“Yes. We’re waiting for Alderfay to return with the rest of the expedition party. I expect we’ll be underway in the next hour or so,” said Kate.

The wily Kobold didn’t make a response and instead sauntered off to the supply depot. Some minutes later he emerged with two woolen cloaks clutched in his gray-streaked claws. From the rain he passed the two cloaks to the women .

“Take these. Looks like we’re in for stormy weather.”

“Thank you,” responded the Gnome and Elf.

“Least I could do.”

“It must be a wonderful thing, being a Kobold,” swooned Hela.

“It is a wonderful thing—when you can live like a Kobold. But look at me! I live in an over-sized fortress of timber and stone. How is that a wolf’s den? I get to eat fresh meat every night, but never have the satisfaction of hunting it myself. I’m forced to dress in the clothes of men and am only permitted to walk on two legs never four. When I leave that office I can’t trot and gallop in the way of my ancestors. I can neither howl at the moon or bath in the afternoon sun. And what sort of pack have I? To be surrounded by imbeciles of every race and creed, but not a single other Kobold. Do you know how my people reached Valenaria?”

“On the backs of giant turtles?” guessed Hela.

“They swam—a pack of two hundred—for thirty straight days. Now look at me…”

The Commander dipped his head and returned up the battlement without another word.

Eventually, Alderfay returned with a team of five Dwarves, three Elves, and a single Frognari. She took note of the fact that Kate and Hela were now wearing the cloaks.

“Which one of these numskulls thought they could woo you with their key to supply depot?” asked Alderfay.

“The old Kobold came down and saw that we didn’t have any rain gear,” replied Hela.

“So, Commander Okabe has finally left his office. I think the failure of the Northern Expansion Project has deeply affected him. For being the Commander, it’s rare to see him outside of official meetings.”

Kate helped Alderfay distribute the guns, making sure that each man had clear instructions on how to reload and fire the intricate prototypes. She proceeded to demonstrate the operation by blasting a training dummy to bits and reloading in a timed manner not unlike that of Cassius’ demonstration for Toby and herself.

The rain was still coming down when a group of saddled klucklucks were brought from the stables and loaded with the necessary gear and provisions for the excursion.

“Still sure you want to come with?” asked Alderfay to Kate and Hela. Up until then, there hadn’t been a choice, but Kate didn’t let the racking anticipation take control of her.

“We’re certain.”

“Alright then, saddle up!” cried Alderfay.

The platoon promptly mounted the unwieldy birds and they were off down the road. The beat of rain and claw created an ambiance of dread and foreboding. In less than an hour they made it to the paltry village that marked the farthest edge of the Rattlers tracks. They didn’t stop for nothing and kept a rapid pace into the depths of that untamed wilderness. The rolling hills of broad-leafed forests soon gave way to a vast grassland, with few lines of trees and a perfectly flat horizon in the distance.

“Giddy-up. Giddy-up. Come on now,” shouted Alderfay to the bird beneath her.

As the sun began to fall, they reached the shore of a rocky river and stopped to quench the birds and allow them a half-hours rest. From the saddlebags the riders were able of producing Ilfidi sweet breads. They had left the rain behind, but there was still little in the form of idle conversation or small talk.

“This river forms the west side of the anvil. We’ll continue to follow it east, and when it bends north we’ll be able to see the other branch in the distance. That’s going to be our hotzone. If there’s an attack, then it will most likely occur in that vicinity.” Alderfay was fearless. Everything was just more business to her.

Once the klucklucks were fed and rested, they mounted again and resumed their breakneck pace through the landscape. Much to the relief of Kate, the bend in that western river proved to be uninhabited. The anvil was a more densely vegetated strip of land than the rest of the plains had been, but still they had little trouble keeping pace up the rocky bank of that western river.

In the dark of night they continued, slower now, but still at a steady pace. At points, Kate had to pinch herself to keep from falling asleep. Hela seemed to take well to the vigors of birdback travel and offered to hold Kate on her bird, while guiding both their birds, but the stubborn Gnome assured Hela that this would be unnecessary.

The moon had already journeyed half its transit across the starry vault when they finally reached the arrow-laden heap of logs which had once been Fort Burchard. The dead were left unburied, the bodies of some three hundred soldiers and pioneers slowly rotting throughout the debris.

One of the expedition members stayed behind with the birds, as Alderfay and the rest of the party scaled the remains of the curtain wall. Although most of the structures seemed to suffer the effect of flaming arrows, some in the main yard were still intact. Alderfay speculated that the attack happened in stages. First the flaming arrows, then as the settlers needed to flee the fire the gate would have been compromised leading to their total annihilation.

Then the Sub-Commander caught sight of movement in one of the doorways and quickly let off a shot.

Bang!

“Please, don’t shoot. I’m an Elf,” came the cry of a young man’s voice.

“You can come out, but hands above your head,” returned Alderfay.

A lanky, blond-haired Elf of seventeen years of age came out of the cabin with his hands high above his head.

“Cadet Greener. I didn’t recognize your voice,” said Alderfay. She descended the pile of rubble to meet the shaking boy. “Are there any other survivors?”

“It’s just me…” bemoaned the grief-stricken Greener.

Alderfay instructed the rest of the platoon to analyze the scene in detail and to particularly keep an eye for any evidence linking the attack to outlander groups. She then entered the cabin with Greener, allowing Kate and Hela to join her.

“Can you tell us what happened here, Cadet Greener?” asked Alderfay.

“Same thing that happened at Fort Mayer and Cranswell and all the others. Centaurs attacked and for every one of us there were a hundred of them. Their flaming arrows came down on us like a ball of fire and when we could no longer stop the spread of the fire some idiots opened the gate…” Greener didn’t have it in him to continue the narrative any further.

“The attackers were Centaurs?” asked Alderfay.

“Of course they were Centaurs. Who else would it be?”

“At the Sanctum relations between the races are slowly breaking down. There’s been speculation that one of the outlander powers is purposefully aiding the Centaurs. That’s what we’re here to investigate.”

“Gods! Now that you mention it I did see something rather strange. The Centaurs had these other-worldly infantry as their vanguard. Until now I had convinced myself I was imagining things. They were men of tree-branches and leaf, with great carved pumpkins for their heads. I’ll never for the life of me forget the demonic glow of their eyes, a blood-curdling red glow. In the distance was a cloaked figure; he seemed to be controlling the pumpkin-heads somehow, but I just got a glimpse before retreating to the cabin.”

“A biomancer!” declared Alderfay.

“A witch!” cried Hela.

“Not in the sense of the old-order witch you saw near the Junction. Biomancy is a learned art, although few Outlanders have mastered it,” Alderfay turned back to Cadet Greener, “Could you see the face of the biomancer? Were they Dwarf? Elf?”

“I couldn’t—through the smoke and commotion—see past their cloak to gather such information.”

“Well, how tall were they?”

“It’s really hard to remember. They could’ve been a tall Dwarf or a shorter Elf, but I couldn’t be sure either way. Do you have food with you? The kitchen is unreachable. I’ve spent the last month eating acorns. I’d appreciate any morsel, so long as it’s not an acorn.”

They set up camp in the yard, with pairs of soldiers going over the fallen wall to watch over the klucklucks in four-hour shifts. They made good use of the remaining buildings and Kate and Hela were fortunate enough to even share a bed.

Dawn came quick. Alderfay had her men gather the dead into a pile and, using the fallen logs of the wall, a massive pyre was built on top of the remains. She lamented not being able to bury the dead, but the danger in that country was all too real and she didn’t want to spend one minute more than they needed to in such a vulnerable position. They lit the great pyre and, with the flames at their backs, they departed from the fallen outpost.

Greener shared a bird with the Sub-Commander, clinging to the back of the Elf warrior as she cried, “Giddy-up. Faster now.”

In the light of day they were able to make a track on the narrow ridge that split the anvil down its center. They could catch glimpses of the rivers, some two miles away, on either side of them. Alderfay hadn’t expected any survivors, so being able to bring Greener back proved to be an unexpected payoff to the expedition. The Sub-Commander felt like everything was, in the end, going to turn out alright… until she looked across the east river and spotted a scattered pattern of brown figures matching their course.

A quick look to the west revealed a similar mass, of unknown quantity.

“We got hoofers on both sides. Our only shot is to outrun them. Hya! Faster! Faster!”

Greener held on for dear life as the Sub-Commander used every tip and trick she knew to push the birds as fast as they could possibly go. There was a program at the Erudites Tower to develop flying cluckclucks through a therapy involving prolonged exposure to the alchemic exlir. Unfortunate, for Alderfay and the others on the expedition, that it would be half-a-decade before the project yielded the desired results. Their birds were runners nothing more. But goddamm if Alderfay couldn’t make them run faster.

“Hya! Hya!”

The hoards of Centaurs seemed to multiply each time she looked.

Kate and Hela readied their guns. If this was about to go down, they were prepared to put up one hell of a fight. The trees slowly fell off and the ridge started to slope towards valley floor.

“They still have to ford the river. If we can get just a bit more speed, we might be able to outrun them.”

The kluckluck had much more endurance than a Centaur might, but in short bursts there was no match for the speed and power of the mighty horse-people. When they got to the head of the anvil the tribe on to the east seemed to have fallen back, but the tribe on the western shore was already at the waters’ edge, preparing to make a crossing. They must have been a local group because they seemed to intuitively know the place to cross, and once they had sight of the expedition, they trod through the wet en masse.

“Form a loose, staggered line. Then fire on me,” cried Alderfay.

She waited until she could see the black of their hoofs before giving the order, “FIRE!”

Many of the shots made their target, but the Centaurs, mistaking this as the opportunity to strike during a reload, pushed faster towards the expedition. Then there was another volley of fire, taking out a half-dozen of the Centaur. The Centaurs began to shoot arrows as they neared the bank. The next volley sent ten of the Centaurs to the ground, and the one after took down twelve. Seeing that they were up against a powerful new technique, their chieftain called a retreat. Alderfay didn’t stop. She shot all eight rounds from the revolver before taking a double-barrel blunderbuss from the saddle and sending two thick walls of lead across the water.

Then she looked to her back and saw the other contingent of Centaurs rapidly approaching. They were about to be flanked. At the front of the contingent she spotted a robed kluckluck rider—the biomancer. She knew that they had only moments before the other tribe spotted the reinforcements and both would converge on them, but she had to see the face of that rider. Just a little closer.

“A Frognari female!” gasped Alderfay. Their chances of escape were now slim to none. The first set of Centaurs could now see the main wing of their attack force and were preparing to cross the river once again. “We gotta ride, now! Hya! Hya!”

If any one of them had turned around during the chase, they would have seen the mass of Centaurs stalking the expedition for the next six hours. The endless flat of the plains was conducive to such prolonged horror. None of them, however, looked back, even for an instant, until they had passed the little village at the world’s end and were safely behind the thick, stone walls of Fort Siger.