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“That was unnecessary,” the young soldier said, wiping the spit away. “I was trying to help you.”

“Get away from me, human,” Ceredon growled in the common tongue.

Boris put a finger to his lips. “I told you to be quiet. Should anyone notice what I’m doing, we’ll both be punished.”

“I never asked for your help.”

Boris let out a long, slow breath as he shook his head.

“You elves are impossible.”

Ceredon didn’t argue.

The soldier leaned forward again, holding out a wooden bowl filled with water.

“Listen, believe me or no, I do care what happens to you. I won’t try to make you drink again, but if I leave the bowl here, will you take it?”

Ceredon nodded.

“Good.” Boris placed the bowl down within his reach and then leaned back against the cropping of desert stones to which Ceredon was tethered. It was cold at night in the desert, a stark contrast to the day’s oppressive heat. The young man shivered, let out another long sigh, and closed his eyes. “I wish it wasn’t this way, you know.”

“Are you tired of sucking the demon’s cock?” Ceredon asked.

Boris laughed at that. “So you do know what he is. I’d wondered. The rest of the soldiers call him Crestwell, but they know his true nature. As for your elven brethren, well. . I think they know something is wrong-how can you not? But I feel they are denying it to themselves.”

“They are self-righteous and blood hungry,” said Ceredon. “Bloody fools, all.”

“Even the Dezren who joined the march?”

Ceredon hung his head. “No. Those are simply weak. And tired of the torture, the pain, the agony they endured for over a year. Their involvement is understandable. . though they deserve death just the same.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you deserve?”

Ceredon opened his mouth, then shut it. Finally, he mimicked Boris’s position, leaning against the rocks and sighing. “I allowed countless Dezren to be tortured and executed. I murdered my uncles in cold blood under the pretense of justice. I deserve death, but when it comes, I will serve my goddess.”

Boris chuckled.

“What?” Ceredon asked.

“Serve your goddess,” he said. “Tell me, how does one serve a goddess while imprisoned in chains?”

Ceredon felt his neck flush, and he remained silent at the mockery.

“Thought so,” the man said. “All bluster, no plan. I swear, you elves are better at acting indignant than actually doing something about whatever bothers you. Let me see if I can get the wheels turning in your head. Start with this one, elf: Why has the demon kept you alive?”

“I will not pretend to guess the motives of a demon,” Ceredon said. “He must seek to humiliate me. What other reason could there be?”

Boris narrowed his eyes. “My prince, you know what the beast is. Do you really think that he would keep you alive for such a petty reason? If he wanted to humiliate you, he’d eat you, shit out your corpse, and then piss on it before his army. Try again, and this time, give it some thought.”

“If you are so wise, then tell me, and stop with the games.”

The young man shook his head. “You’re no child, and I’m no mother to spoon-feed you. Put some thought into it, elf. Stay aware. You want to serve your goddess, do it with your eyes open and your mind moving.” Boris paused, and he looked to the stars. “We’re close to our destination. Come tomorrow morning, we will be upon something called the Black Spire. The village of Ang is half a day’s march from there. I thought you might like to know.”

Ceredon thought to be snide, but he fought the reaction down. This man. . something was different about this man. By no means was he trustworthy, but he seemed more aware than the others, more. . mischievous.

“And why is that?” he asked.

Boris shuffled over and knelt before him. The solemn expression in his eyes only made Ceredon further concerned.

“Because Ang won’t be enough,” Boris whispered. “Because after Darakken destroys Ker, he’ll turn his back on his promise to your people. He will fulfill the purpose he was created for: devouring elves. Stonewood will come next, then Dezerea, then Quellassar. With Ashhur preoccupied and Karak not caring, there will be nothing to stop him.”

“My goddess will intervene.”

Boris looked at him queerly. “Something you shouldn’t hold your breath for, I think. Celestia has done little to protect your people so far.”

Celestia, keep Aullienna and Kindren far away from here, he prayed. Please, keep them safe.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked Boris. “Why do you not warn the others?”

Boris shrugged and then stood.

“Not my place,” he said. “And besides. . do you really think it’d matter? For an elf to listen to a lowly human soldier like me, I think I’d need to tie them up, beat them, starve them, and then drag them through a desert. But well, it’s laughable to think I’d find an elf like that whose opinion would matter. An elf his people would listen to. Just laughable.”

He walked away, and as much as Ceredon hated to admit it, the wheels were indeed turning in his mind.

It was midday when the strange sounds first reached Bardiya’s ears. He’d been sitting on a cliff with Onna Lensbrough, overlooking the emerald-green waters of the southern Thulon Ocean, when he heard it. His first thought was that a distant storm approached from the north, but when he turned to look that way, there were blue skies and thin white clouds as far as the eye could see.

“Not thunder,” he said.

“A different kind o’ storm,” said Onna.

Bardiya nodded at the older man, whose skin was dark and rough as leather and whose hair and beard were white as bone. “ ’Tis true, Onna. Remember that Ashhur loves you, no matter what occurs.”

“What do we do?”

“We stay strong. We stay true to the teachings of the one who created us.”

Even though he meant what he said, inside Bardiya wavered. It had been difficult to trust any of his preachings of late. His mouth would speak the virtues of love and forgiveness and decry violence, yet at night his dreams were filled with blood. From outside his body he watched himself crush the heads of his enemies with the trunks of trees, his massive hands ripping entrails from their stomachs. Over the last few weeks, he’d often lain awake beneath the stars on a bed of moss, pricking himself with a sharpened stick to stay awake. He was exhausted because of it, but he would take grogginess over those terrible dreams.

But this time, it was no dream. Karak had finally come for them all, and it’d be either the peace of his sermons or the bloody massacre of his dreams.

“You scared, my Lord?” the old man beside him asked. “You be shaking.”

“I am not your lord, Onna,” sighed Bardiya. “I have told you that many times. And yes, I am more frightened than I have ever been in my life.”

Onna nodded severely. “That why Ki-Nan and the others left us? Because they were scared?”

Bardiya cringed. “We mustn’t speak of them. Come, the God of Order approaches. Let us gather our people.”

The giant slowly rose to his full twelve feet, knees popping and elbows creaking. Another wave of agony washed over him when he raised his hands over his head to adjust his spine. Of late he had taken to railing against the pain, his constant companion for eighty-eight years in his forever-growing body, but in this instance he welcomed the hurt. The pain let him ignore the name Onna had just spoken, allowed him to forget, if only a moment, that his best friend had deserted him.