Fannen searched through the ruins of her hut as Tristan looked out over the ocean. He squinted in the failing light and made out a small dark cloud coming over the water towards them at a frightening speed.

“Storms coming,” he said as Jayce’s words came to mind.

She glanced at the cloud and her face paled.

“Get down,” she shouted. Tristan dived for his sword. He grabbed it and rolled into a crouching position and hid beside the overturned wagon.

A piercing cry echoed off the mountains behind them and the rushing wind of thousands of flapping wings passed overhead.

“Stormcrows,” Fannen whispered. “I should have guessed they would be drawn by the dragon’s magic.”

The Master threw a pack at Tristan. He caught it and slung it and his sword over his shoulder.

“We need to get out of here,” she said. “Things are going to get rough.”

The Master led Tristan down a back alley in the direction he’d come from. They wound between houses that were stacked on top of each other in a strange balancing act.

They stopped and crouched at an intersection where a group of stormcrows were fighting over a charred corpse.

“Don't use your magic,” she whispered. “They are drawn to it. There’s no way we could defend ourselves if their cadre attacked.”

Something dragging across the ground drew Tristan’s attention. He looked down a narrow lane. A figure emerged behind a building. It dropped whatever it had been carrying and lumbered towards them.

"Someone's coming,” Tristan said.

Fannen stood up and waved at the person to stop. The figure noticed her and began running at them.

Fannen cursed. “That fool is going to get himself killed.”

Tristan noticed something hanging from the person’s mouth. It bounced with each step it took.

A clicking noise behind them alerted Tristan and he turned in time to see a person diving at them. A clawed hand raked across his face.

Tristan heard the dull sound of a sword stabbing into flesh. Fannen was fighting the first man.

The man spat the object out of his mouth and growled at her.

The object bounced close to Tristan. It was a half eaten hand.

Fannen slashed at the man. Tristan looked away in time to see his attacker standing to his feet.

Tristan drew Unity and held the sword in front of him. The second man licked his finger nails, tasting Tristan’s blood.

The man’s eyes were as white as Tristan’s hair and his skin was completely black from the dragon’s fire.

“There’s something wrong with these guys,” Tristan shouted.

Without warning the man dived at Tristan again. Tristan swung wildly and felt his sword biting into the man's flesh. The man hit the ground and Fannen appeared beside Tristan, her assailant already dealt with. She stepped towards his attacker and drove the tip of her sword through the man's forehead.

“What are you doing?” Tristan shouted.

“They’re revenants,” she replied. She wiped her blade on the man's shirt.

“What does that mean?”

“It means they are already dead,” she said calmly.

“Like zombies?” he asked.

“I don't know that word,” she said. “What Malice’s fire kills comes back to life as revenants, the living dead.

Fannen stepped up to Tristan. “Are you wounded?” she asked. She took the backpack from him. She opened a bottle of water, took a sip then poured some of the water onto a cloth. She passed the bottle to Tristan and he drank deeply from the bottle.

The Master took his chin in her hand and tilted it up towards the moon and inspected his cuts. She dabbed his face with the wet cloth and carefully wiped away the blood. From the corner of his eye he saw her frowning.

“What is it?” he asked. “Is it infected? Am I going to turn into one of those things?”

“No,” she said and then without another word she lifted his bathrobe and inspected the side that she had sliced open earlier.

“You are full of surprises, Tristan. It's almost healed.”

Tristan looked at the wound. It had already closed but the skin was still tender to the touch.

“We need to keep moving,” she said as she took the bottle from him. “Every person that is still on this island will be dead by sunrise.”

***

They moved from building to building as quietly as possible. Fannen’s wounds slowed her down and they stopped often for her to catch her breath. At those times it was Tristan’s job to scout ahead. He found paths for them that avoided the stormcrows and roving packs of revenants. If there were any people still alive on the island Tristan saw no sign of them.

In the distance Tristan heard waves crashing gently against the shore and wooden platforms creaking.

“Where are they all?” he asked the Master.

“A ship might have come into the docks while we were on the other side of the island,” she said. “Maybe they have all left.”

Tristan nodded but the cynical part of him suspected that the town’s citizens had met a more sinister end.

“I hope you’re right,” he said.

“Will there be any boats left at the docks?” he asked. “People were fighting to get off the island when I arrived.”

She nodded. “There should be a small group of fishing boats tied to the shore on the far side of the docks,” she said. “Only the most desperate would risk crossing the Great Divide on one of those.”

A scraping of wood on a nearby roof alerted them. Fannen dropped to the ground pulling Tristan with her as a steel crossbow bolt flew inches above their heads. Fannen rolled to her feet and with a word of power a thick, oily smoke burst out around them. The green mist rolled across the ground crashing against the sides of buildings like waves against the rocks. Fannen pulled Tristan up and they started running down the street. Bolts streaked past their heads but they continued their mad sprint towards the docks.

People cloaked in red moved in the shadows, keeping their distance from them.

“Crimson Guard,” said Fannen.

“What do they want?” Tristan asked.

They arrived at an intersection and Fannen pulled Tristan left and continued running. The Crimson Guard followed along the rooftops leaping from one building to the other.

The street opened into a courtyard and a man leapt from the rooftop of a building overhead. Tristan watched the man float down to the street. The man's purple hair flew in the wind and he radiated light like an angel of wrath. In his hands he formed two orbs of dark magic that crackled and sparked golden light. The man spoke a word of power and the orbs shot out arcing towards them like black lightning.

Overhead stormcrows gathered. They shimmered as they flew through the webs of magic that crisscrossed the square.

The air cracked like thunder and the earth shattered below Tristan, cobblestone fragments scattered in all directions. Tristan propelled himself backwards, carried by the force of the spell and narrowly avoiding the attack.

The magi landed on the ground and strode up to Fannen with the arrogance of someone that knew he’d already won.

“I am Lady Matilda Fannen,” shouted the Master. “Why are Crimson Guards and a Royal magi attacking an academy researcher?”

“We were ordered to contain the island,” said the magi, in a cool level voice.

“Contain,” spat Fannen. “You mean execute.”

The magi spread his hands as if to say he had no choice.

Tristan realized that the attackers were after the Master. To them, he was just a boy that they would take care of after they’d brought down their target.

Crimson Guards leapt at the Master from multiple directions. One pounced from behind, splashing a puddle of water as he jumped. Tristan slashed wildly at the attacker and the Crimson Guard deflected his blow. He punched Tristan in the face and then turned and darted towards Fannen, without giving Tristan a second thought.

The Master ran at the two in front; gathering the water around her and turning it into razors of ice. The blades swirled around her in a deadly dance cutting through the attackers with ease.

“This is not personal, Lady Fannen,” the magi said. His voice emanated from all places simultaneously. “We live by the royal oath.” The last words he spoke bitterly. “Why resist the will of the king.”

Tristan knew how injured the Master was. Fannen could not last much longer. Tristan had seen Malice burn Porthaven to the ground and he had felt the dragon summoning his eternal rage and channeling it into hellfire. Tristan stood up and gathered all the rage he had and ran at the Master.

A steel bolt caught him in the arm, and blood sprayed as the bolt passed through his arm cleanly.

Master Fannen drew out her sword and began drawing on the ground. Under her breath she began to chant and Tristan saw the wizened old fairy appear beside her. Both of them were surrounded by a yellow halo of light.

The air buzzed as a wave of crossbow bolts flew at Fannen from the shadows. The bolts descended on her in a deadly arc.

The old fairy looked at Tristan as he ran towards them.

The fairy spoke and it's voice cut through the noise and chaos.“Protect her,” it said.

Tristan summoned the anger that had been building inside him throughout that day. Tristan visualized the burnt bodies he’d seen, the limbs protruding out of solid rock. The child’s bloodied shirt lying in the dirt. He felt sick.

Blue symbols appeared on his sword arm. Tristan funneled all his rage into his sword. He stopped in front of the Master and slashed at the descending crossbow bolts. Blue flames arced out of his sword like a wave of death. The flames melted the bolts midair and incinerated the Crimson Guards who’d fire them. The stormcrows descended onto the madness and began tearing at the charred bodies.

The magi shielded a group of Crimson Guards from Tristan’s attack and now eyed Tristan warily. The guards began mechanically reloading their crossbows as if they hadn't witnessed their companions' deaths.

Stormcrows circled above them and squawked their appreciation for the magic Tristan had offered them. Tiny sparks of light fell onto the courtyard like snowflakes from beneath their wings as they swooped overhead.

“The flames of Malice,” hissed the magi. “Kill the demon spawn.”

The magi threw out his arm and the remaining Crimson Guard spread out, surrounding them both.

The wizened fairy laid a hand on Fannen’s shoulder and began to glow as energy poured from her into the Master. With the tip of her sword Fannen drew on the ground, continuing the long complex incantation she had begun.

The Crimson Guards turned their crossbows from Fannen to Tristan. A halo surrounded the magi and shadows turned to liquid and bent in his hands. The man pointed at Tristan and black lighting arced out of the magis hand followed by a chorus of crossbows being fired.

“Down,” shouted Fannen.

She hit the ground with her bloody fist. A stormcrow cried and runes of green energy spread out in intricate patterns all around them. A dark wall of iron bolts flew towards them.

Tristan raised his hand. Something stabbed into his outstretched palm. Master Fannen's eyes widened and Tristan felt her spell take hold. The magic grabbed him by the navel and pulled him inside out.

They vanished and the bolts converged on empty space.