“There were beasts and monsters; at least, that’s how Prince Hector characterized them. I wasn’t with his vanguard—I didn’t see the initial settlement. I was allowed through the portal nearly six months after his conquest began. That’s why I’m here, on the edge of his territory and not in Heart Sorrow.”

“Heart Sorrow?” Valla asked from behind the pale woman.

“His capital in the new world. The city, well, town, really, beneath the veil star.”

“Veil star?” This time, it was Victor who prodded.

“The green light in the sky?” Victoria widened her bloodshot eyes, surprised, it seemed, by her captors’ ignorance. “It’s a ritual creation of death-attuned Energy. Prince Hector uses it to weaken the veil, the barrier between the Spirit Plane and a number of other planes where the undead thrive.”

“And that has the effect of . . .?” Valla leaned close to Victoria from behind, speaking into her ear.

“It makes Death Casters’ spells more effective and easier. It allows Prince Hector to bolster his forces with beings he pulls through the veil. It, well, it weakens the living, supplanting the natural Energy that suffuses an area with death-attuned Energy. Many such stars hang in the skies of Dark Ember.”

“Are all undead Death Casters?” Victor dug around in his ring for a chair and produced a plain, wooden one with wicker slats. When he set it down and slowly lowered his frame atop it, the slats creaked with the strain.

“All undead have some death affinity. Some have stronger affinities that they focus on, though.”

“Like blood?” Valla asked, still pacing behind their prisoner.

“Exactly.” Once again, Victoria tried to twist her head to look at Valla as she answered, but, like a cat, Valla had silently stepped away. “Will you kill me?” She turned back to Victor.

“I’m not in the habit of killing in cold blood, but there are some crimes we’ll need you to answer for. The more helpful you are now, the more it might aid your case.” He surprised himself with the answer. He wasn’t sure where it came from but supposed it was true. She had killed the two Naghelli who’d flown into the keep, but it could be argued that they were in the wrong—invading her territory, attacking the ghost. Still, she didn’t have to hang them from the walls. That was going to be hard to get the troops to forget.

On a more personal level, she’d tried to . . . do something to Victor on the Spirit Plane. Again, though, they’d been at war. Could he forgive it? He’d given her worse than he’d gotten in their little scuffle. The truth was, he wasn’t sure what he’d do with the undead woman. Was her very nature a large enough crime to warrant destruction? Were undead ever peaceful? He had too many questions, but at the moment, he needed answers to more pressing concerns. “What tier are you? What about Prince Hector?”

“Tier?”

“If the word confuses you, then tell us your level, witch.” Valla, Victor thought, was doing a fantastic job of playing bad cop. Every time she spoke, Victoria flinched.

“I . . .” She licked at her dry, pink lips, and Victor was almost surprised to see her tongue provide some moisture. Did undead create saliva? Apparently, this one did. “Forgive my hesitation. It’s not something one speaks of on Dark Ember. Still,” she held up a hand when Victor scowled, “you have me at a disadvantage. I am level fifty-nine, and Prince Hector is significantly stronger than I.”

“You don’t know his level?” Victor’s scowl deepened.

“I do not, though many have speculated that he’s above seventy.” At her words, Victor looked past Victoria’s shoulder to Valla, and she raised her eyebrows but shrugged. He knew what she was thinking—Victor had faced worse on Zaafor.

“You’re doing well, Victoria.” Victor shifted, leaning back slightly, and his chair creaked in protest. “Do you want something to drink? Do you? Drink, I mean.”

“I . . . yes, I do. Might I have a touch of wine? I’m exceedingly nervous, and my mouth is dry. The ordeal of severing the tether has . . .” She stopped speaking as Valla stepped around to face her, producing a silver cup and a dark bottle of wine. She held the cup out, Victoria took it, and then Valla carefully poured it full of the wine. “Thank you.” Valla didn’t smile or respond. She put the bottle away, sending it into one of her rings, and then she walked behind Victoria again.

Victor watched as his prisoner carefully sipped at the dark liquid. “How many troops does Hector have? I was surprised to hear that there are fifty thousand undead around this keep.”

Victoria swallowed and exhaled softly, closing her eyes as though savoring the beverage. “That wine is exquisite, Lady . . .” she trailed off, perhaps hoping Valla would respond. When she didn’t, she answered Victor’s question, “The undead in the forest around this keep are mindless chaff. They are the bulk of the lesser undead that Hector commands, though there are some thousands here and there, adding to the numbers of his more potent forces. As I’m sure you know by now, there are five perimeter keeps like this one. A baron or baroness holds each,” she gestured to herself, “and each has an army, though some, like myself, have only a few loyal guards. Well, had.”

“And past the perimeter keeps toward Hector?” Valla leaned close again, startling Victoria with her words.

“The Gateway Citadels. They guard the causeway leading to Hector’s fortress under the veil star.”

“And we can’t just go around the citadels?”

“It would be difficult. Hector’s foothold sits atop a mountain. Well, a dormant volcano, really. As I told you, I wasn’t here when he first arrived, so I don’t know if he built it into what it is or if the System deliberately placed his portal there, but sheer cliffs protect him on all sides. The citadels guard the only road leading up.”

“So, why is the undead horde here?” Victor was trying not to get bogged down in details that wouldn’t be pertinent for a while; they’d deal with the citadels when the time was right. It was enough for him to know they were there for now; he’d let his subconscious stew on the issue for a while.

“This forest and the lands to the east, which you just took from the reavers, are the northernmost border of Hector’s new domain. I believe he was gathering forces to push through the mountains.”

“You believe?”

“Hector does not confide in me. The only person who might know his full plans is his consort, Catalina.”

“Catalina?” Victor sat up, grunted, and rubbed at his head. Each question this woman answered led to five more in his head. “Are you guys from Earth?”

“Earth . . .” Victoria’s eyes grew wide, and she stared into nothing for a moment, then she refocused, looking directly at Victor. “Not we, but those who settled Dark Ember.”

Victor lifted his focus over Victoria’s head, meeting Valla’s gaze. She looked surprised, but she nodded, encouraging him to continue that line of questioning. “How long? How long ago did they ‘settle’ Dark Ember?”

“The Ebon Circle came to and conquered Dark Ember twelve hundred years ago.” She sipped her wine as Victor stared at her, silently doing math in his head, trying to imagine some powerful Death Casters leaving Earth in the eighth or ninth century. “How do you know of Earth?”

“You don’t think it’s odd that my name is similar to yours?”

“But Earth was dead, devoid of Energy . . . it’s why the founders fled!”

“Well, that might be, but people still live there.”

“You’re not that old?” Valla leaned close as she asked her question, once again startling Victoria.

“Me? I’m no founder. I’ve yet to see my first century. No, the rulers of Dark Ember weren’t invited by the System to this little conquest. The portal repels those beyond a certain threshold of power.”

Valla looked interested but shook her head and stepped back, meeting Victor’s eyes. “We need to focus.” She gestured to the windows, and though it was vague, Victor knew what she meant. They were surrounded by undead, had Borrius and Rellia waiting for information, and needed to make a decision about their next move. He stood from the chair, stretched his back, and paced in a small circle behind the poor, overtaxed piece of furniture.

“Problem is, I’ve got a million questions. How sensitive are Hector’s forces to light? Is it just my banner? Certain types of Energy? Are the other barons any stronger than Eric was? Are . . .”

“Was? Eric is dead?”

Victor held up his hand and continued his train of thought, “How many more invaders are coming? How many undead can Hector create, pulling them through the ‘veil?’ Doesn’t he need bodies for them?” He saw Victoria inhale, saw her preparing to speak, but he cut her off, “Don’t answer yet. I’ve got a dozen more questions, but we really need to focus on one thing: What will Hector do if I claim this keep?”

“He’ll assume I’m dead now that you’ve cut the tether—dead or being tortured.” She licked her lips, noticeably stained by the wine. “He may be acting already. He knows his horde is alive—he can feel his thralls, all of them, to one degree or another. He’ll assume they’re holding your army here in the keep, preventing you from marching forth. Even without you claiming this keep, I would wager that he’s already sent forces to reclaim the one meant for Eric. He’s likely sending one of his stronger Barons here, as well. He knows his horde, the mindless undead outside these walls, cannot breach these walls. He’ll send someone with siege units. Someone like Karl the Crimson.”

“Valla, come with me for a minute.” Victor walked to the door and opened it. He looked at the trio of cowled Naghelli standing on the landing outside. “Watch her. I’ll be right back.” Then he walked down the stairs a ways, putting some distance between himself and the tower. When he turned, he found Valla right behind him, still moving with near-silent steps. “We need to make some preparations here, but, more importantly, we need Borrius to hold fast in his ambush position. I hadn’t thought about Hector knowing we were trapped here.”

“Are we?” Valla frowned.

“Trapped? I mean, not you and me. Not the Naghelli, but the Ninth? I think so, Valla; there are fifty thousand undead surrounding this place by now. We have to think of a way to destroy them, or the Ninth won’t be able to leave.”

Valla nodded and pulled the Command book out of her storage. “What should I tell them?”

“Tell them to hold their position, to crush the army on its way to the keep.” Victor shook his head and rubbed his chin. “We need to think of different names for these keeps. I’m not feeling particularly creative, but we’ll call the first one Old Keep and this one Black Keep for now.”

Valla raised an eyebrow, and her mouth twisted into a half smile. Victor knew she wanted to tease him, but she didn’t, and he was grateful. “Very well. They’re to destroy the army coming to reclaim Old Keep and then come to help us?”

“No. Then they’re to push south and take whatever keep those forces came from.”

That got a reaction out of Valla. She lowered the book, still unopened, and looked at him with something like alarm. “We’re going to take on fifty thousand enemies? Plus, whatever monstrosities this Karl the Crimson is bringing?”

“We can’t risk getting our whole army bogged down with this horde. We need to deal with it. As long as we’re holding this keep and fighting them, then it’s like we’ve tied one of Hector’s hands behind his back. We’ve already beaten three of his armies. If Borrius and Rellia can kill the army coming to take back Old Keep, then take the next . . . he’s going to get desperate. Desperate enemies make mistakes.”

Valla nodded, and her expression told Victor she was trusting him, and it stressed him out more than if she’d argued. What if he was wrong? What if Karl the Crimson came here and smashed the walls, allowing that enormous army to swarm into the keep? The best he could hope for in such a scenario was for a small percentage of them to flee. Victor forced his face to remain neutral, to project confidence as he said, “I’m going to get some more answers from her.” He jerked his head up the steps. “Can you communicate with the other commanders? Can you fill Lam, Sarl, and Kethelket in on what we’ve learned? Get Edeya to help you if you want.”

“I will . . .” She paused, her mouth slightly open, and glanced up the steps. When she looked back at him, she smiled and continued, “I want to caution you about her ability to manipulate you, but I don’t think she’s your type. Something about cold, dead skin doesn’t seem like it would attract you . . .”

Victor chuckled and reached out, pulling Valla into a hug. He was three steps down from her, so she pressed nicely into his chest as he said, “She’s definitely not going to manipulate me that way, don’t worry. It wouldn’t matter if she were fully alive and beautiful; she doesn’t hold a candle to you.”

Valla pushed out of his hug, her hands on his chest, and then she reached up and grabbed the sides of his neck, tugging. Her fingers always felt cool to him, probably because he had a Core of magma inside his chest. He leaned into her pull, and she kissed him softly and briefly. Then, without another word, she was gone, slipping silently down the steps, not even her wyrm-scale armor betraying her passage. Victor turned and trudged back up to the tower door.

Inside, after the guard had left and closed the door, Victor carefully sat down in the chair again. Victoria stared at him, eyes full of concern. They were very expressive, those eyes. Her flesh was pale, but dark rings circled their hollows, and the pale irises had layers and depths that Victor could look into for a long while, guessing at the thoughts inside her head. He didn’t have time for that, though, so he asked, “Why shouldn’t I kill you?”

“I can see the oceans of blood you’ve shed in your gaze, Lord. I can see that my death would be just a feather atop a pile of lead. Still, I think it would come to weigh on you—I mean you no harm. I’m free of my bond to Prince Hector, and I want to live. Trust that, if nothing else. I will not act in a way that will make me a threat to you simply because I know you will then have a reason to slay me. Keep me bound in this tower if you like. When you win this war, you can banish me.”

“And if I lose?”

“Then Prince Hector will likely kill me. He won’t trust that I didn’t aid you. I have aided you, have I not?”

“I’ve dealt with undead and Death Casters in the past, but it was always with an axe in my hand.” Victor rested a hand on Lifedrinker’s haft in illustration. “Tell me, can the undead live peacefully among the living?”

Victoria chewed at the dry flesh of her lower lip nervously, and her eyes darted up to Lifedrinker’s haft and then back to Victor’s face. “In truth? Not easily, Lord. We must cultivate death-attuned Energy. It’s difficult to do so in a thriving environment among living things. In worlds where the undead don’t dominate, we keep to ourselves in places of death. Of course, Prince Hector has other ideas for this realm; that veil star is the first of many he intends to call into being. He means to turn this world into one much like Dark Ember—a place where the living are held in pens or kept as pets and used . . .”

“I get it. You don’t have to sell me on the idea that I need to stop Hector. Tell me how you’re going to avoid his fate. Won’t you wither away in this tower if I claim these lands and we don’t bring you near any sources of death Energy?”

“I have many reserves, Lord. I will be fine if I stay here and don’t use my Energy. It will sustain me for years. As I said, you can decide where to send me when you've won. I have suggestions . . .”

“Tell me about this Karl, guy.” Again, Victor interrupted her. He wasn't sure if he was impatient, angry, or just trying to keep her off-balance. Whatever the reason, it seemed to be working; for a woman who was at least partially dead, she seemed incredibly stressed.

“Karl is a brute! He’s a colossus of a man with gargantuan constructs of flesh and bone for soldiers.”

“Big like Eric or big like me?”

“More like you, Lord. He’s worked for centuries modifying his mortal vessel. He’s a Carnemancer—a certain type of Death Caster who uses death Energy to control and mold the undead. He, himself, is undead, and he’s done much work on his form.” Her lips twisted in distaste, and Victor chuckled at her double standard.

“You think you’re better?”

“I am! My phantoms serve me in their natural forms, growing more powerful through their cooperation with me. I don’t enslave them and warp them and . . .”

“Enough.” Victor shook his head and stood up, depositing his chair into storage. “Same rules as before—no talking unless it's to me. I’ll be back to speak to you soon enough.” She nodded, and Victor stepped out of the room and, after reiterating his expectations to the guards, he started down toward the courtyard. He had to meet with Sarl and the others; they had a siege to prepare for.