Elanthe vaulted onto Noctura's back, the parchment still damp with the fresh ink of three signatures clutched against her chest. The mare's form rippled beneath her, shadows beginning to curl from her coat as Elanthe's urgency bled into the nightmare's consciousness.

  "Arthur, form up the militia. Head to the bridge." Her voice cracked. "If I'm too late, you and yours will have to stop them. Good luck."

  She didn't wait for his response. Noctura surged forward, scattering villagers who stumbled aside with shouts of alarm. A child fell, mother yanking him clear by inches as hooves thundered past. Elanthe registered the near-miss, guilt adding another weight to the crushing burden in her chest, but she couldn't stop. She wouldn't stop for anything.

  The road blurred beneath them. Noctura stretched out, her coat darkening with each stride until liquid shadow rippled across her flanks. Purple fire kindled in her eyes. Her hoofprints in the soil of the road were outlined in frost and blood.

  "Faster," Elanthe whispered. "Run as the fire moves through prairie grass on a autumn day. Run as the rivers flow out of the mountains. Run like a falling star shoots across the night sky."

  The nightmare responded. The world compressed. Buildings and fences became streaks of brown and grey. The wind tore at Elanthe's dress, whipping it around her legs, and she bent low over Noctura's neck, pressing herself flat against the mare's withers, desperate to hang on.

  The bridge materialized ahead, and with it, Krag battling at the far end. The gargoyle stood massive against the sky, thirty feet of ancient stone and fury, but demons swarmed him like ants on honey. Four arms swept through them, crushing bodies, but more kept coming. He was terrifying. He was beautiful. He was getting pushed over.

  "No," Elanthe breathed. “Not yet.”

  The demons pushed. Coordinated. Relentless. Krag's heel slipped on the embankment. His wings flared, trying to catch air, but claws and teeth weighed them down. He toppled backward in terrible slow motion, arms still swinging, still fighting, and hit the creek. And then he was gone.

  Elanthe's vision tunneled. Chuck was alone on the bridge, not quite standing. Was his face covered in blood? Was it his? Vorghammul strode toward him, axe gleaming, and the war-demon's laugh didn't carry to her, but she could see it twisting his face. It was cruel and triumphant.

  * * *

  You know what sucks worse than losing? Getting taunted before you lose, and that's precisely what this asshole was about to do. I could tell. I'd been in his shoes enough times to know. It didn’t matter how badly I’d been beaten already. I was about to get double.

  Vorghammul took his time crossing the bridge, stepping over demon corpses like they meant nothing. His axe dragged against stone, throwing the occasional spark. Okay, I'll admit—it's a cool effect.

  "A village you couldn't dominate." His voice rumbled like an avalanche. "Two weeks. Two weeks, and you couldn't force one pathetic hamlet to kneel before you. They’ll be begging me for mercy within two minutes."

  I gave up wiping the blood off my face. It took too much effort. I finally managed to shake free of the destroyed shield. My mace felt like an anchor, but by the Light, I was not about to let go of it.

  "Your gargoyle?" Vorghammul gestured toward the creek where Krag had dissolved. "Water. Basic tactical awareness, Captain." He spat the word like it was an insult. "You positioned your strongest asset where it could be eliminated in seconds."

  He was wrong. I told myself that. Krag was precisely where he should have been right to the end. The despair felt real, though, but I knew it was just a demon's trick. It was so heavy that it still threatened to keep me pinned to the ground.

  "The succubus—distracted by her own nature. The imp fled at the first opportunity. The nightmare—" He laughed, a sound like grinding metal. "Tamed by an elf girl and run off. Do you think they'll prance through a golden meadow after you're dead?" He paused in his advance to laugh some more.

  I hoped that she'd have the good sense to take Buttercup and do just that, but I didn't believe it.

  Each word landed heavier than Krazzakk's morning star, which I assure you landed heavy. I tried to find some energy with which to resist him.

  "You know what's beautiful? The village didn't even want you." He stopped twenty feet away. "How many times did you approach them, begging them to come under your dominion? I bet you did it daily. Maybe twice a day, even. That's what you weak men always do. You're so pathetic at being a demon champion that you can't even dominate through fear or conquer by the sword, and so worthless at being good that they won't accept your protection. No matter how you look at it, you're pathetic. I don't even know if I want your blood to stain my axe."

  The brand burned beneath Arthur's dented chestplate, as if this blowhard was pissing it off. It didn't help any.

  "The Demon King thinks you're his champion. His avatar of darkness." Vorghammul spun his axe, the blade catching morning light. "You're a joke that was never funny."

  I raised my mace. Shouldn't have. Gave him something to laugh at.

  "Yes. Fight me, little paladin. Show me this divine power that defeated a three-foot skeleton."

  He moved.

  Fast. Too fast for something his size.

  I got my mace up. His axe batted it aside like a freight train hitting a drunk college kid on a scooter. The force of it drove me over to the other parapet. The bastard had used the flat of his axe. He didn't want to kill me yet.

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  I swung. He slapped the blow aside with his forearm, metal ringing against demon flesh. His backhand caught me across the face. My helmet was ripped off when my head whipped to the side. I watched it spin across the bridge, little flag flapping behind it. I was starting to like that little flag, even if I was sure it made me look like a muppet.

  I couldn't see straight, but swung anyway. Hit his shoulder. Might as well have hit a mountain. The impact jarred all the way up my arm and made my fingers go numb. That evened my hands out, at least.

  His knee drove into my stomach. Lifted me off my feet. I hit the bridge face-first, tasted copper and grit. Blood pooled as it dripped from my mouth.

  "Is this the best the Light can manage?" Vorghammul grabbed my armor, hauled me up one-handed. I tried to smash his foot, but couldn't bring the mace around fast enough and it bounced impotently off his shin. "A failed criminal who can barely hold his weapon?"

  I headbutted him. Felt like I'd rammed my forehead into a brick wall. Lacerated it, which meant now I had blood in my eyes as well. I saw nothing but stars.

  He dropped me, more from surprise than pain.

  I scrambled back, putting distance between us. Each breath felt like broken glass getting pulled across my ribs.

  "You died a piece of shit in your world." He advanced, taking his time now. "You'll die a failure in this one, too."

  Piece of grix, you mean, scumbag. I was a piece of grix. Get it right.

  * * *

  Elanthe howled curses as the demon beat Chuck. He tried to fight back, but Vorghammul was stronger, faster, better. The impacts sent Chuck sprawling. Another blow. Another. If the demon had wanted to end it, it would have been over within a heartbeat. He was toying with her master. He was toying with the one she'd sworn her life oath to.

  Elanthe kicked Noctura's flanks in her madness. She knew the mare didn't deserve such treatment, but her anger was unleashed. The nightmare mare screamed—a sound reflecting her fury. She poured everything into their charge, her mood matching that of her rider.

  * * *

  I reached for the parapet to pull myself back up and realized that I'd backed clear off the end of the bridge. I scrambled a quick two steps forward. I wanted to stay on the bridge. It seemed important.

  Vorghammul raised his axe overhead, gripping it with both hands. "Goodbye, Demon King's Champion. What a waste of—"

  Every time Mrs. Ramirez sat me down for tea and cookies, every time she didn't lecture me on morality when she could have, every moment of her gentle patience with a violent criminal who should have disgusted her, and the oath—the oath that I swore to her and reaffirmed since. It all crashed through me at once. By the Light, I would die defending these people. I would die a good man.

  My mace erupted in golden fire. Not the mere glow from the other night. Pure, searing radiance that burned away shadow, that made demons on the far bank shriek and cover their eyes, that made Mum, my poor faithful Mum, stumble away and fall on his butt.

  I swung with everything left. A wicked overhand swing with which I meant to end Vorghammul the Destroyer's existence.

  Vorghammul moved. Twisted reality sideways. My mace missed his skull by a hair's breadth. Missed his shoulder by the same. Missed his knee and his foot and hit the bridge instead.

  The world went white.

  Stone exploded. Divine power discharged in every direction, blowing cracks through the ancient stonework like lightning through a tree. The shockwave caught Vorghammul mid-dodge, picked him up, and hurled him back across the bridge. He hit the ground hard, skidded another ten feet, and knocked his underlings down like bowling pins.

  The bridge groaned beneath me. Spider-web fractures spread from where my mace had struck, pieces of stone crumbling into the creek below.

  I collapsed against the parapet, legs giving out. The mace fell from nerveless fingers, the holy light guttering and dying. My vision tunneled, edges going dark. I locked eyes with the second scariest demon I'd ever seen and stared him down.

  Vorghammul climbed to his feet at the far end of the bridge. Slower this time. His expression had changed from mockery to something more challenging to read. He dropped his eyes from mine before they snapped back.

  I tried to stand. Made it to one knee before my body said no. I settled on sitting on my heels. It was hard to hold my head up.

  "Lucky," Vorghammul called across the distance. His voice had lost its casual contempt. "But luck runs out."

  He brushed himself off.

  I had nothing left.

  Nothing.

  No divine power. No strength. No clever plan. No time. The village militia hadn't arrived. The council vote might as well have been on the moon for all the good it did me now.

  I reached for my mace anyway. Fingers pulling the lanyard until the grip was within reach, then closing around the grip.

  Mrs. Ramirez's voice in my memory: If you get a chance to live, will you serve good?

  I had. It was over now, though. Hopefully, he'd take my head with one swing.

  Vorghammul was starting back across the damaged bridge when I heard hoofbeats.

  * * *

  Divine light erupted.

  Chuck's mace blazed golden-white, brighter than the sun, brighter than anything Elanthe had ever seen. The radiance seared her vision even at a hundred yards. Chuck swung, still trying to win, but missed, and the burning weapon broke the world.

  The shockwave hit like a physical thing. Noctura stumbled mid-stride, legs tangling, and Elanthe flew. The parchment tore from her grip as she tumbled through the air arms flailing, slamming into the dirt road hard enough to drive the breath from her lungs.

  Stars burst across her vision. She rolled, gasping, tasting copper and grass. Somewhere nearby, Noctura shrieked—pain and rage mixed—flailing on her back, trying to get them back under her.

  Elanthe forced herself up. Her side screamed in protest. Her left arm hung limp, numb below the elbow. The dress Stefania had given her, now torn and dirty, tangled around her legs.

  A hundred yards away, the bridge sagged as much as a stone bridge could, its structure compromised by forces it was never meant to absorb. Vorghammul pulled himself from the pile of demons on the far side, armor scorched, movements stiff. Chuck sat unmoving at the near end, slumped and on his knees.

  Vorghammul straightened and started forward again, picking his way across shattered stone, eyes locked on Chuck's kneeling form.

  "No." Elanthe recovered the parchment and stumbled toward Noctura. The nightmare had regained her feet, coat fully transformed—living shadow that drank the morning light, purple flames dancing in her eyes, a heat she'd never seen before. Even her hooves were aflame.

  Elanthe grabbed the mare's mane and pulled herself up as it rose, screaming in pain from using her injured arm. She locked her legs around Noctura's chest and pointed her at the bridge.

  Vorghammul had reached halfway. Chuck hadn't moved.

  "Go!"

  Noctura launched forward. Not the sustained gallop from before but an explosive sprint, every muscle coiling and releasing like a crossbow bolt. The world folded and the bridge jumped closer. Shadows peeled from Noctura's flanks and eddied behind them like dark wings.

  So close. She was so close.