After the strange creature fetched his empty bowl that evening, Sol came to lift the portcullis. He did so with little strain and his breath filled the cave with hot musty air. He gave Barin a dagger’s look.

“My Liege is ready for you.” The giant unfolded his fist and nodded for him to get in.

“No thank you, I can walk,” Barin said, lifting his chin.

A low growl came from the giant. “The only way down for you is by me. Get in.” He lay his hand on the ground again. Barin wrapped his cloak around him and stalled. Perhaps he shouldn’t do this after all. “I got sick last time I rode in there,” he stated bluntly, although his stomach already turned, and he shivered. Barin did not look forward to facing a demon.

“I’ll let some air in this time,” the giant retorted.

Barin looked him in the eye, and in that horrendous smile, he saw nothing but sadism.

“I promise.”

“Mountain giants make promises?” Barin snickered.

“As good as a man’s.”

Barin, weak and disoriented, sauntered toward the giant and climbed into Sol’s palm. “Keep your hand open, please.”

The giant grunted, but instead of encasing Barin within his stony fist, he held his palm flat as he carried the prince down the steep incline to Skotádi’s chambers.

“Why night?” Barin asked the giant, staring out at the starry sky.

“Master always works at night. Sleeps during the day. Wizard hours. Better for spells he says.”

“Is he planning to cast a spell on me?” The question barely passed Barin’s lips. Drowsiness overtook him, and he closed his eyes.

“You’ll find out.” The giant chuckled to himself and as he did, his body shook so violently that Barin awoke and, glimpsing the bottomless chasm, clung to Sol’s thumb to keep from falling.

Sol scaled a vertical cliff downward, huffing with exertion. When he came to a level ridge, the giant chuckled again and tilted his hand as if to drop Barin. The prince clung tighter and then glared at into Sol’s laughing eyes.

“Scared you?” Sol said.

“You would have to answer to your master why you killed his prisoner,” Barin reminded him as he tried to calm his racing heartbeat.

“Right.” The giant leveled his palm and continued his downward trek with no other mishap. When they came to the mouth of a cave, Sol lay his hand flat on the ground and Barin slid off onto the slate surface, glassy from melting snow. The side of the cliff in front of him shielded him from any starlight. Wind howled in the abyss below, and a skura screeched somewhere in the pinnacles above. Sol bowed, his stony form dissolving into the rocky exterior of the cavern as Skotádi emerged from shadows. The scaly demon stared at Barin—his vaporous eyes glowed in the moonlight.

“Bow, peasant,” he told the prince in a voice that made the mountainside tremble.

“I bow to my king, only.” Barin swallowed and stood taller.

“I will break you from that. Follow me.”

The Vouchsaver pivoted, his cape wafting in a draft that his presence alone made. The wind blew Barin’s hair and sent a chill to his bones.

Skotádi drew a torch and led Barin into a chamber where a smokeless fire burned, a fire fueled not with wood or kindling but sweltered by magic. A throne of obsidian faced the fires, and across from it was a bench of granite. Skotádi waved for him to sit on the stone bench as he returned his torch to the wall and stepped on his throne. On a round table to Barin’s left lay a map of the world sketched with an artist’s hand, and to the right a cast-iron kettle filled with steaming brew. Barin sat next to a small dining table and a plate of food—some sort of meat, assorted vegetables, and a sweet cake.

“Eat,” the Vouchsaver insisted.

Barin fought back his hunger and gazed at the Vouchsaver suspiciously. “And if I do, what am I consenting to?”

“We haven’t made a bargain yet. I don’t take advantage of your weakness, Prince of Tobias. I care to negotiate like two sensible adults.”

Barin frowned. Though the fire between them flamed, casting a gold hue on him and deepening the shadows on the Vouchsaver’s face, Barin could not see his eyes. Skotádi’s cowl hung low over his head. Only the vibration of his voice gave Barin any indication to his temperament.

“Eat,” the wizard repeated.

Barin picked up the meat and sniffed it, glancing at the Vouchsaver.

“Sheep. Good meat. Raised by Lord Garion’s serfs.”

Barin set it down. “Stolen.”

“Of course. Do you think the man would take coin from a devil?”

“Have you ever bothered to ask?”

Skotádi laughed and then he frowned. “Eat before you die of starvation. I can very easily bring Sol in here to take you back to your…’ room’. What are a few more bones to my collection but fodder for my darlings?””

Barin hesitated.

“What good is pride at a time like this, Prince? You’re hungry. Eat.”

Barin took a bite. The juices from the lamb dripped down his chin, the flavor, unlike anything he’d ever tasted. Of course, the emptiness of his body craved every last morsel. He gnawed the meat to the bone, stripping it of tender sinew, sucking the marrow. When he realized how ravenous he’d been, he set the bone down, wiped his chin with his sleeve, and locked eyes with the Vouchsaver who’d been watching him with a cruel smile on his face.

“You eat like a skura,” he snickered. “Finish your meal.”

Barin sat up straight, embarrassed to have displayed such predatory manners, and ate the vegetables with all the manners of a noble.

“Tea?” the Vouchsaver offered.

Barin noticed one of Skotádi’s creatures standing near the cast-iron pot, holding a flask. When the Vouchsaver spoke, the thing brought the cup to him and set it on the bench at his side.

True, the chamber had the fragrance of freshly cooked meat. But an underlying smell reminded Barin of Kairos’ study in the tower—a smell of herbs, potions, and magic. It didn’t appear the Vouchsaver had poisoned the food. Barin had eaten it and still lived. But this after-dinner tea—could this be poison?

“Surely you want to wash all that food down with something warm and liquid,” the Vouchsaver suggested. Barin took the cup, but he didn’t drink. He warmed his hands.

“Now with essentials out of our way, let’s talk,” Skotádi rose and approached the fire. “There’s a reason I’ve kept you alive. You and your father have a large army and much land.”

“Land that you would have destroyed half a decade ago if my grandfather had not rescued it.”

“We see things differently,” the Vouchsaver said. “What I see are men no better than cockroaches hoarding something that never belonged to them. But regardless, you will help me get it back.”

“Ludicrous,” Barin spat.

“Did I feed you too soon?” the Vouchsaver asked, his temperament unchanged. “You have no choice.” His eyes went to the cup that Barin held. The prince set it down, and then the Vouchsaver laughed, but he did not say why.

“Sol!” Skotádi called.

Sol’s movements resonated through the cave. The giant crawled into the chamber, his huge body too large to stand upright. “Yes, My Liege,” he said.

“Bring in the others.”

Barin stood, reaching for a sword out of habit, a sword that didn’t exist. Twenty men shuffled into the cave with their hands tied to one another. Tattered clothing, downcast faces, beaten, pale from the cold, and half-starved. The remnants of their clothing bore the markings of Fairmistle villagers, the red vests now faded and torn. Others wore Kevshire tunics. They were young men, all of them.

“Vasil,” several of the men whispered when they saw Barin.

“They call you king! This is your army, Prince,” Skotádi told him. “What would you do? Have them starved? Frozen to death? Crushed by mountain giants as you look on? Watch as I suck their souls out of them?”

Barin drew a heated breath and flexed his hands. Looking for a way of rescue, but the only means of escape for these men was by negotiation. The prince contained the flood of rage beating against his chest… for their sakes.

“Decide, son of Tobias. Freedom for you and your men to return to Prasa Potama? Or stay here and die. All of you, one by one.”

Barin studied the Vouchsaver, waiting for him to say more, but Skotádi remained silent.

“What must I do?” Barin asked.

“Be my pawn. Help me in my goal.”

“What goal?”

“Two things. There’s a journal I must find, and then I need men. Humans to make a way for me to the caves of Mount Ream.”

“There are Dragons in the caves.”

Skotádi laughed. “Surely your army isn’t afraid of a few reptiles. Join me in a toast. I am tired of taking care of you. I want to get off this mountain. I don’t particularly like the thought of having you tag along, so I’m setting you free. If you agree, that is. So?” He nodded to the creature who ladled tea into twenty-one cups and set them on the table.

“Join me?”

Skotádi drew his dagger and walked to the men, slashing their leather bonds, and ushering them to the table. Barin watched, questions racing through his mind. The firelight cast eerie shadows on the wall, or perhaps those ominous figures weren’t shadows? They could have been demons for all he knew. The drowsiness he experienced earlier returned. He took a deep breath, hoping for air, but the flames from the torches swallowed the oxygen. The fragrance of mint and ginger—infusions his sisters sometimes served—now filled his lungs.

The men were so weak that they collapsed on the ground when Skotádi cut their ropes. Their moans wrenched at Barin’s heart. Those who hadn’t fallen on the ground accepted the cup Skotádi handed them, thanking the Vouchsaver.

Thanking him! Barin frowned.

They held their flasks with two hands, absorbing the warmth as he had done with the stew. It must have been pleasing to them, for they had not been warm for weeks, having been here longer than he had.

“Why?” Barin asked Skotádi, his voice barely audible, not wanting to discourage the men. They were suffering. “Why should we fight the dragon for you?”

“I will tell you, but this isn’t for them to hear.”

Skotádi shrugged, and with a whisk of his hand sent a flame that seared every man’s ears. They groaned and fell over, spilling their cups. Barin jolted toward them, but Skotádi jetted the flame not at his ears, but at his torso, searing his shirt and scorching his chest. Barin fell to his knees as the heat traveled through his body.

The cavern imploded.

The prisoners disappeared.

On the stone bench sat a middle-aged man. Not an ugly man by any means, with a neatly trimmed beard speckled with gray. Dark eyes peered out at him, tinted by the red of the firelight. He wore skins of beaver and wolf and smelled like wild game, but he had a pleasant smile and a full set of teeth. He spoke as though Barin had known him for many years, though the prince had never seen him before.

“It hurts?” the man asked Barin.

When Barin touched the burn on his chest, the blister disappeared, and the pain faded.

“No need for injuries.” The man spat. “Get up.”

Barin rose from his knees and sat on the bench facing him.

“I once lived in a castle-like you do, Prince Barin. A beloved wizard was I serving the Crown of Casdamia.” He held his thumb under his belt, showing off the insignia of the empire he spoke of. “Best of my field in all the land. You believe that?”

“Indeed,” Barin said, wary of this man who appeared through some sort of deviltry.

“As I experimented with magic, I discovered greater powers than that of kings, armies, or the force of a man’s sword. I used my powers for the benefit of the kingdom until I realized everything the emperor had was because of me, and yet he gave me no credit. None! So, I allowed myself a little more power. Why should someone else sit on the throne and have me do the work for him, eh?” He winked at Barin. “I kept my secrets so well concealed, and so inaccessible, no one could ever steal them from me.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Barin asked.

The man nodded with a smile, but without answering his question went on. “I murdered men. Peasants mostly and took their blood to make demons out of them. Their souls I learned to drink.”

He chuckled when Barin sat erect.

“Needless to say, the more I consumed a man’s spirit, the more effect my own spells had over me. Granted, those spells made me greedy and before I realized it, I had already become addicted to the taste.” He licked his lips and looked Barin up and down. “I can no longer kill on my own, the creatures I make do that for me. But….” He stopped, picked up a cup, and tossed the contents into the fire. Flame burst at them, and they both jolted back.

“But what?” Barin asked.

“But my days are numbered. I need to reach the caves.”

“For what?”

He smiled again. “I said my days are numbered. I must go back to where I began.”

“Why the caves of Mount Ream?”

“The spell to free me lies beneath the mountain. I need an army to help me.”

“That’s where I come in?”

“You’ve seen me in Canyon Gia. Either you help me, or my creatures’ bellies will be satisfied with the flesh of those men over there. We’ll kill you all, and it will be sport for us when we do.”

Barin glowered at the man.

“You contest my power?”

Barin had never seen such power, such augury. He had nothing to counter it with, but perhaps if he got away, Kairos could help. He had to buy time.

“It’s a pact?”

Barin hesitated. Oh, for the sake of his father’s holy idols, he didn’t want to agree. But if he didn’t give in, these men would die. He was responsible for them. He was their king.

“Yes.” Barin said, his body heating with dread.

“Good. You speak for your people, Barin, son of Tobias. Let it be known that the Potamian kingdom and I are allies. Then it’s sealed.”

The man patted him on the shoulder and then touched the prince’s eyes.

A sharp pain pierced through Barin’s head and for a moment he saw fire and his eyes burned just as his chest had burned earlier. The pain quickly subsided. The man no longer sat next to him. Nor were Skotádi nor Sol nor any of the other demons in the cave, only the poor souls who had been imprisoned. They were seated by him, sharing what few morsels had been left from his plate.

“Are you well, Vasil?” one red-haired young man asked.

Barin blinked and looked around. No sign of any magic. The fire burned wood and the smoke smelled of cedar.

“Did you see him?” Barin asked.

“Who?” The young man leaned over closer, looked at him, and gasped. “Vasil! Your eyes!”

“The man. The man in furs.” Barin explained.

“Weren’t no one hereafter Skotádi and his giant left, Vasil,” one man interjected.

“No, no, maybe not,” Barin said. The memory of the man quickly faded away. Perhaps he had imagined it.

“Your eyes are red, Vasil.”

“Yes,” Barin said and blinked again. Fatigue had taken over his body, and now he had a grueling headache. Still, his hope had returned. The portcullis no longer blocked the entrance to the cave, and they were free to leave. If they could make it off this mountain, get back to the valley, and join with Neal’s men, they’d be able to fight against Skotádi.

Barin stood amazed that he had his balance.

“And you are well?” he asked them.

“We’re weak, and still cold to the bone, but we would give anything to be home again.”

“Thank you for saving us,” another man said.

Barin frowned at him and hesitated. Did he save them?

“Yes,” he answered. “Of course.”