‘Wake!’ the voice hissed in the darkness.

Alder Drak was in a deep slumber and thought he was dreaming. He rolled over onto his left side, but through the drowse of sleep he became aware of the ticking of the large dwarven clock in the corner of the room.

‘Wake!’ the voice hissed again, its susurration so intense that the sound, which should have been absorbed by the wooden walls of his room, echoed and bounced from end to end.

He pulled the corner of a large, heavy pillow over his right ear, muttered, and instantly fell asleep again.

‘Weak-ness!’ came the voice once more, long and pronounced. ‘You are weak!’

The man turned over, back onto his right side this time, and tried the same trick with the pillow, pressing it to his other ear.

‘Wake!’

His bed began to shake from side to side, the wooden floorboards rattling so violently they unloosed themselves from the metal nails that fixed them.

‘Up!’

He opened his eyes. There was no tiredness. He thought he’d been asleep for days. He listened in the darkness for the voice he thought he had heard. But the only sound was the howls of pine wolves in Eastwind’s distant mountains, and the tick of the clock in the corner.

‘Light!’ the voice hushed, and four candles that stood on iron stands in each corner of the room were lit by an invisible flame. The fire, that had been reduced to dim embers of charred wood, came alive in a combustion of heat, flames flinging themselves upwards to the chimney.

Drak peered over the mounds of blanket in which he’d been sleeping and looked around the room. Everything was as it should be, bar the conflagration in the fireplace and the flickering candles—he was sure he had extinguished them before he’d gone to bed. The great axe was still propped up against the side of his bed, within easy reach. The wardrobe in the corner was closed, as he’d left it. And the clock was still ticking.

He swung his legs out of bed and stood up. A feeling of complete relaxation flowed through him, a sensation he usually enjoyed only after a good deal of butchering, drinking and sex. It was then he saw the cat. Sitting at the entrance to his room. It was perfectly white, with a rich coat of fur that thinned towards the nape of its neck and ears that sprouted little strands of soft hair. Looking into its eyes, bright and zinc-tainted, he felt himself pulled irresistibly towards the creature.

‘Dress!’ came the hiss again.

Where was that sound coming from? It hurt his head so badly that he put fleshy palms to his ears and pressed hard to make it stop. But it was no good.

‘Dress!’ it repeated vociferously. Drak thought his head would implode.

He grunted an acquiescence. His armour was where he had left it, slung across a wooden chair next to his wardrobe, and he began dressing, first pulling on the set of heavy greaves and then lifting the cuirass over his head and fastening it with an elaborate system of hinges and ties. It always took so long to put on his rings, squeezing them over each one of his gauntlet-encased fingers, but the effect was worth it. He enjoyed the envious glances of others when they saw he was the proud owner of the Equinox stones.

The cat watched him in the candlelight, its ears pricking as the cry of wolves broke the perfect stillness of the night. Whilst Drak struggled to attach his pauldrons, he tried to account for its presence. He hated cats—despised the shits. There was no way he would have willingly allowed a thing like that into his room. The way they slunk about, as arrogant as you like. And they were always hungry—he’d rather skewer them in the belly than give them a gram of fish from his plate. He looked at the window to see if the thing had snuck in that way, but like the door to his room, it was shut tight. He stared at the cat, thinking of ways he was going to torture it when he got his bracers on the creature, but it stared back, without the slightest flicker of emotion in its silvering eyes.

He thought briefly that the sound must have come from the cat, but when the voice whispered in his ear again, the creature’s mouth did not move.

‘Follow!’ it threatened, and he was compelled to go.

The cat blinked at him, its eyes shining like two huge argent rings and then turned its back, walking right through the thick oak door as if it wasn’t there.

Drak shook his head to clear the fog inside. What the fuck was in that ale last night, he found himself wondering, as he clattered towards the door. Opening it, he peered into the night to see where the animal had gone.

‘Follow!’ the voice urged.

‘Follow what?’ the man shouted to himself. ‘I can’t see a thing in this dark, damn you!’

‘Follow!’ came the whispered voice, and the power with which the word was uttered burst his eardrums. He felt a trickle of pus and blood reach his chin.

Drak snorted and coughed as the pain crushed his head. The high-pitched ringing was more like a vice now, pressing tightly on his temples and making his jaws throb. He almost fell out of the front door and into the courtyard of Highmaul.

‘Weakness. You are weak,’ repeated the voice.

The cat led him onwards. In the darkness, he could see its silver eyes flash. Turning away from him, the creature made its way through the great gates of the castle, before disappearing down the winding path that led towards town. Drak followed, the sensation in his head clearing slightly the further he walked, and the liquid from his ears freezing in the night air.

‘Follow!’ the voice repeated incessantly.

The cat reached the end of the path and headed into Eastwind, never straying so far ahead that he lost sight of it in the darkness. It rounded a bend of a street, and then another, always pausing for the man to catch up. Finally, after Drak had passed through the outer ring of the town, he found himself approaching the eastern entrance to Eastwind’s square. At this, the cat gave the man what he thought was a nod and melted into the night.

‘Wait!’ hissed the voice, more quietly now, and so he waited.

Alder Drak had heard stories of the possessed going mad from voices in their heads, and sometimes they would try to take their lives, only to be revived by their users and forced to undergo the same cycle again. The idea had appealed to him when he’d first heard it; the thought of someone enduring eternal pain was amusing, after all. Now it wasn’t quite as entertaining—he didn’t fancy having to kill himself endlessly to escape this fucking voice in his head.

He hid by the corner of a house that backed onto the square and wondered what he was waiting for. A warden was on patrol carrying an oil lantern, and a dog—what was it? a koda, yes—was sitting nearby, its green eyes watching the guard circle the open area and then leave by the southern entrance, returning a minute later. It was freezing tonight; even in this Videth armour, acquired by his user at great expense, Drak couldn’t keep out the night’s chill. He shouldn’t be out here, and not just because it was bitingly cold. The rules were very clear, and even though he had broken most of them in his life, he didn’t see the point of doing so for no obvious gain to himself.

‘Wait for what?’ he asked the darkness angrily. ‘I’m freezing my bollocks off here, damn it,’ and he put one hand on his cock to make sure it hadn’t fallen off.

He was still in considerable pain from that bitch’s assault, the one who’d stamped on his crown jewels a few nights back, and he’d been out of action ever since. He’d fantasised about what he was going to do to her when he found her again, all the ways he was going to hurt her, but the night was freezing, and for the moment he could think of nothing but staying warm. He regretted donning his cingulum, or skirt as idiots accused him of wearing before they swallowed the majority of their teeth. Despite its impressive, gladiatorial design, the thing offered him no warmth whatsoever.

Then he saw the koda move, its green eyes cleaving the darkness. The animal whelped and growled, and suddenly, when the warden once more left the square, it set off in a northerly direction, running down one of the nearby alleyways.

Drak made a move to follow, curious at what the dog had seen.

‘Wait!’ whispered the voice. And so, he waited.

After a time, the warden re-entered the square and another—a huge, red-robed figure—appeared out of nowhere, taking up position where the koda had sat.

‘Fucking odd this!’ the man whispered out loud, to himself, or to the voice—he wasn’t sure which. His hearing was returning, slowly but certainly, and the voice in his head no longer hurt when it spoke to him.

‘Watch,’ it said. ‘There.’

‘Where?’

His interest was acute, and he scanned the square for signs of disturbance. Seeing nothing, he turned his attention first to the warden who was heading south again, and then to the second burly guard who stood perfectly still.

And then he saw her. Behind the guard, Al’tis Mara had appeared as if from nowhere, and though she was partially disguised by the darkness of the passage behind her, he could make out the flash of steel. She was drawing a dagger—she was going to kill the guard.

‘Call her!’ said the voice. ‘Now!’

What in the Cailleach’s tits was that bitch doing? Drak hesitated a moment, but then, following the voice’s instruction, he bellowed with all his might.

‘Al’tis Mara!’

His voice boomed in the air, and he was surprised at how loud it was.

‘Again!’

‘Al’tis Mara of Eastwind!’ he shouted, as the patrolling warden scampered back into the square.

Drak saw the red-robed guard turn to face her and an almighty struggle broke out between them. It was obvious the girl was no match. The huge oaf lifted her up in the air and carried her into the centre of the square.

‘Call her again,’ the voice said, and so he did.

Alder Drak saw the other warden run over to assist, but then, from somewhere nearby, he heard the scampering of feet. A small figure burst from the dark, screaming and throwing himself on the warden, and bringing him to the ground. Where the fuck did this little squirt come from?

The child fought well, he thought, watching the tussle play out before him, but eventually the warden’s superior strength and weight helped him turn the boy over. Sitting astride the lad, he pounded the intruder’s face into the snow with his fists.

‘Kill the child,’ whispered the voice seductively.

‘What?

‘Kill the child,’ it repeated.

The man shrugged. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said.

He walked out into the light of the square, grabbing the warden’s hand and pulling him off the small figure. He looked at the face staring up at him and recognised the little shit who had challenged him on the bridge shortly before he’d had his balls knackered by the woman. He grinned at the child’s terrified face and felt the strength coursing through his arms. He was beginning to enjoy this.

‘Make her watch!’ the voice commanded, and so he called out to her again.

‘Al’tis Mara’ he shouted, seeing her now as clear as day. Somehow, she had bettered her opponent. The warden in red lay dead on the ground in the middle of the square, and she was approaching him, the look on her face a mixture of anger and terror.

‘Kill!’ the voice said, and so, drawing the great axe from his back, Drak swung it violently at the boy’s head and felt the steel enter it, like a knife through butter.

Green lights were appearing in the darkness, and as he pulled his axe out of the child, wiping it on the lad’s ragged clothes, he saw hundreds of koda appear from the surrounding side-streets.

‘Stop her!’ the voice cried, and Drak made to run at the woman, but she had backed off and was already at the shrine. He was too late. Within seconds, before the dogs had managed to grab her with their claws, she had disappeared.

‘What the fuck is this?’ he yelled, astonished that another possessed—clearly in ghost-form—had used a shrine for all to see. The cheeky bitch—she’d stolen his idea!

He became conscious of the dogs, who, for all their gnashing of teeth, hadn’t attacked him. Instead, all but one turned their backs on the shrine and sloped off, disappointed and unfulfilled, disappearing back into the passages from which they’d come.

A solitary koda remained by his side.

‘Go! Be my eyes. May their house be our kingdom. So let it be written, so let it be done.’

Alder Drak had no idea what the voice meant. Was he supposed to follow the bitch? Use the shrine to track her down? And then what? He was still puzzling it out when he realised he couldn’t move. He looked down and saw that a blue-purple ooze had appeared and had stuck to his feet. And it was growing.

‘Where the fuck did this crap come from?’ he said aloud, alarmed at the suddenness with which the substance was climbing up his body.

He struggled to free himself, but it was no good. The ooze dribbled slowly up his feet to his legs and onto his cuirass. He felt its congealing liquid enter through his armour, its touch freezing the skin beneath. He shouted for help but no-one came. The koda, mired in the same filth, disappeared beneath the surface without flinching, like a marble statue.

‘Be my eyes,’ the voice repeated.

By the time the slime had reached Drak’s mouth, he knew he was going to die. He forced his lips shut but the viscous sludge pried them open, flooding into his throat and lungs to choke him. It entered his nostrils and sunk itself into his eyes, so that all he could see was darkness, and all he could hear was the squelching slush of taint as it consumed his body.

He felt himself falling as the slime-covered ground beneath his feet gave way, and like a monstrous mouth, swallowed him whole.