“Grim burned most of the city,” said Morod. “Or so I hear.”

  Sipha played along. It was everyone but Grim. “The slaves that rebelled took to burning down the place nearest the colosseum. Much of the city still remains intact.”

  “How fortunate,” said Morod. “So I believe it is only symbolic that my people should see his body burn on a pyre. Not a holy funeral. A burning of a symbol. The shredding of hope that rebellion leads to anything but a fiery end.”

  As much as Morod claimed it was not a sign of ceremonial respect, Sipha couldn’t help but notice the reverence in his voice. There was the other fact that Grim was right. He would burn his body. None of them believed him when he insisted he would. Had he learned that from Galdeen? Vorza? He sounded so sure of it.

  “You sound like you admire him,” said Raffa. “Why?”

  Morod turned to Raffa and flashed a thin smile that scared Sipha more. “He is a natural consequence of my life. I pay homage to all my enemies once they are hanged, burned, or beaten. He represents a whetstone to hone my prowess on. It seems today, his own minions have turned against him. This may happen one day to me. Or maybe I fall in battle one day against a known enemy such as Grimblade. I must always respect them for I will meet my end, and all my precious wonders with me. A natural cycle of life. Akonai was foolish to not see.”

  Morod snapped his fingers and his soldiers carried Grim away.

  Sipha couldn’t believe his luck. Morod could have done anything. Stabbed him. Burned him then and there. How did Grim know? Or perhaps he did what he did because the alternative was they’d never ambush Morod. Without it Akonai stood no chance. It was a gamble to see another gamble through.

  ****

  Sipha, Raffa, and Kier followed Morod and his soldiers to the army camp. There lay tents and fires along with several wagons with supplies. Behind the supplies lay large, dusty tarps over what Sipha assumed was siege artillery for the city. Raffa and Kier shared a glance and Sipha knew that was the primary target.

  Morod beckoned his high ranking troops and gave orders for the pyre.

  “My fellow soldiers,” he said. “Here is Grimblade. He led his revolt only to find death lingering in the shadows behind him. It is human nature to spawn such heroism. It is also human nature for such stories to end as his did. Let this be yet another reminder. Another warning to the sadistic lie of rights. You are owed nothing. Everything must be bled and fought for. It is seen in the invasive species of monstrous things. It is seen in the flora that wrap over other plants so only one gets the sun. It is seen in the fauna that form tusks and claws and tough pelts. It is natural.”

  He hovered over Grim and for a moment she worried Raffa wasn’t healing him. Then she worried that maybe Kier couldn’t mask it with Blue. Finally, she worried she wasn’t doing her part. She raised her hand and channeled Red. A flare shot out from her fingers. Nothing too dramatic, or destructive. That alone consumed half her Body Source.

  All her eyes turned to her, Morod’s especially.

  A tremor ran through her, and she forced herself to channel Green, and enhance herself. The bolt of lightning slashed through the air and struck the ground where she’d been. Soldiers that stood around her burned and sizzled, falling over like timber, smoke billowing from their charred flesh. Sipha drew her knives and did what she did best.

  Her steel found the throats of several enemy soldiers. She moved faster than they could keep up. When she reached an armored foe wearing heavy ring mail, she went for the flesh under his arms or swiped at the tendon behind the knee. She kept moving and from the corner of her eye she saw several things burst into motion as planned.

  Grim rose, and Raffa tossed him his saber.

  Kier brandished her spear and skewered the nearest soldier to her, driving him back into the two behind him.

  Raffa seized a fallen enemy’s axe and shield and covered Kier’s back.

  Finally, in all of the commotion, Morod bellowed the orders for his soldiers to defend as the incoming stampede of the Grim Horde rolled in like a vengeful storm.

  ***

  ONE MONTH AGO

  Galdeen sipped his wine and Kasar suppressed the urge to swat it out of his hands. While men and women out in the recuperated due to his bloodshed he earned himself luxuries meant for better men than he would ever be. He needed his intelligence. He needed his wisdom. So the luxuries of the past tyranny served the purpose of gaining compliance.

  Today’s topic was on all the enemies they had made.

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “The rival city states. You’d have noticed they are named after their God-kings.”

  “Yes,” said Kasar. “What can you tell me about them?”

  “Where do I start?”

  “Anywhere. I need something. Every shred of information could be useful. How they talk, how they think, how they shit if you know it.”

  Galdeen scrunched his nose at that. “Pfft. Fine. Well, I can start with general information. They are not gods first of all. This is highly debated and Akonai would have stripped my flesh if I said this to him. Most are temperamental like that. Not Morod, though. He is less volatile. I’d have liked to serve him, but Akonai is not a man you leave unless one of you is dead.”

  “They are just men and women,” said Kasar.

  “Yes, with immense power, likely trained into them due to the Triscourge. The mages that decided they’d rather live in a doomed world than die for a living one. They ended up….” He twirled his pheasant leg around in a circle while eying the dessert laid out before him. He licked his lips. “... Having their cake and eating it too, I believe the saying goes.” He reached for the cake with his other hand.

  “You say as if you’d have done differently,” scoffed Kasar.

  Galdeen gave him a wicked smile. “We will never know, I suppose.”

  “Go on.”

  “The Tyranti front in the south fell first so it became the safest. The Undead front and Monstrous front had some work left. So they settled here with followers of deserters and thieves. There was money in these people’s desperation, and the God-kings had all the power to take what they could. A few bloody conflicts later we have these city states with each God-king enjoying their luxuries while they can. Very rarely do they fight anymore. No need to.”

  “And this Morod you mentioned?”

  “He is the closest to us, and most dangerous,” said Galdeen. “He might already be organizing his forces to quell your revolt.”

  “Talk about him.”

  “Mastery over Blue. A terrifying presence on the battlefield using Red. Not so much Green in his arsenal like Akonai. You can kill him if you get close, but you never will.”

  “How can I beat him?”

  “Grim,” said Galdeen with a scoff. “You can’t! I fully believe with his strength he will crush right through this city, enslave you and your little band of rebels or burn your corpses in a pyre.”

  “A funeral?” asked Kasar, frowning.

  “He likes to do that. Respecting his enemy and all that.”

  “No respect in enslavement,” said Kasar.

  “Oh, no, but the enslaved are the weak. They are the prey. The enemy is who can actually stand a chance. A threat. So I hope wherever you hail from like funerals done by cremation. It’s what you’d get.”

  Kasar shrugged. “That’s a silly way to think.”

  “Funerals?” asked Galdeen.

  “No, I meant the enslaved versus enemies.”

  “Oh, you are naive, boy. I like it about you. It’s endearing in a twisted way. Akonai was many things. Cruel, arrogant, gluttonous…” Galdeen gave his chicken leg a mournful look before taking a bite. “But naive, he was not. He knew the unfortunate lie of morality. As do most people. For even your revolt was done through might. You were mighty Grim. You killed Akonai. You raised an army and slaughtered those who resisted. You were right.”

  “No, I did it for freedom,” yelled Kasar.

  “I’m sure! Could you have done it without your might?”

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  Kasar hated where this was going.

  “You needed might to force your will upon others.”

  “I wouldn’t have done it if they didn’t force it on me first.”

  “But they did treat everyone that way,” laughed Galdeen. “Because they were mighty. It’s how it works. Even Morod’s silly tradition of burning his enemies in a funeral to show them respect exists because he not only wants to, but has the power to make it happen. If he wanted to instead crucify his enemies, he’d be doing that. Akonai wanted all the luxuries he could muster. So did I. So we did. We had the power to do so. I obey you because you have the power to make me. That’s all it is, really.” He crunched through his food again and smacked his lips.

  “I don’t believe in that,” snapped Kasar.

  Galeen waved his hand dismissively. “Pfft. How old are you?”

  “Sixteen I think,” said Kasar.

  “Fates! Ha!” He leaned forward and stared at Kasar. “I will tell you an important lesson, boy.”

  “I’m sure it will be wise,” scoffed Kasar.

  Galdeen grinned and Kasar scrunched his nose at his wine stained lips and grease marred teeth. “When you see twenty six cracks will start to form in your stubbornness. Even a mule’s back breaks. You will have seen enough to understand how the world works. When you turn thirty six, you may have crossed a few lines out of convenience or self preservation or sheer selfishness. You will see how easy it is to do things for yourself. When you hit forty six and still breathe, you will have accepted the cracks and they will splinter to your core and you will start to believe the only truth in life. Might is right. Always has been. Always will be. In your tragic attempts to live any other way, you will do terrible things and lose many more until finally you will surrender and retire. You will be a good man through it all. The best of us. When you put down your saber, you will cease to be powerful. You’ll find a spot where you can live the rest of your days in relative peace watching the world burn around you. Acceptance will not hit you like a blade or a hammer. It will sink in like the supple embrace of wine.”

  Kasar stood up and knocked his chair over. “You’re wrong. It's a weakness to surrender to it. It's a weakness to quit or crack in that way. I will not break to life. I will resist. I will defy. Whether I’m twenty, thirty, hundred, or a thousand. I will defy your rule. I will always defy you.”

  Galdeen did not falter or drop his smug grin. “If you’re right, you’ll be the most miserable man in the world.”

  Kasar spun around and stormed off.

  ****

  Kasar awoke to pain and a world on fire. The plan had worked. Vorza was right. Every shred of knowledge was imperative. He kicked the enemy soldiers back and grabbed his saber. Raffa and Kier stood back to back, fending off a horde. Morod a few paces away bellowed orders as he tried to blast Sipha with Red. He felt a surge of Red from Morod and then a churning of Green from Sipha as she darted to the side and began her dance of death.

  Morod turned to Kasar and scowled. “Well played,” he said.

  Kasar’s army started charging through the back line. Kier boosted her voice with Blue and gave the orders. Chaos broke through the rank of soldiers who came to watch a ceremonial pyre. Death had come instead, a storm of defiance.

  His battalions attacked in unison, targeting the tarps beneath which lay siege artillery. They ransacked the supplies and whisked it away for the city. Any enemies that stood in their way fell. The first minute of the ambush was the deadliest. For each free warrior that fell, five of Morod’s soldiers also met their end.

  Morod channeled Red. Kasar vaulted over his pyre to dodge the lance of flame that ripped through the air at him, igniting the wood. Kasar sensed a host of enemies advancing from his side. He kicked the bundle of flames and wood off the risen platform and watched them scream. Morod tossed another bolt of flame, and then another, and another.

  Kasar sensed them coming. He danced around them knowing when and where they’d strike. Morod regarded him with newfound respect. He channeled more Red and Kasar could feel it pricking his skin as the air around him started to heat up. The man would kill them all.

  “Retreat!” cried Kasar. It was finished. The siege artillery burned. The supplies lay either in ruin, or were gone. “Get out of here!!”

  “Retreat!” cried Kier, boosting her voice with Blue.

  The cry rippled through the warriors and they hooted and cheered as they streamed out like planned. Kasar latched onto Raffa and Kier, and yanked them away as Morod let loose his spell. An explosion the size of the stage knocked them off their feet and sent them tumbling away deeper into the war camp where more and more enemy soldiers started to reform.

  Dazed, Kasar stood.

  He heard the tremor of ground grow louder as a soldier charged at him. He parried and let the blade arc into a second behind him. Kasar kicked the first soldier’s knee and let him fall before slashing into his neck. He spun to parry again the second’s strike. He saw the angle as wild enough to instead let it glance off his saber, slide down and clip onto the hand guard, ricocheting out of control. A quick swipe of his saber sent the second to the sand sputtering blood.

  Kier screamed as Raffa healed her.

  Around them through the smoke the soldiers started closing in. Behind them was Sipha, a whirlwind of death they chose to ignore. They chose poorly. When the backline finally decided to organize up to focus on her, a hail of arrows struck them by surprise. Sipha ducked away and vanished behind some rocks. Saalia stood atop a dune having returned with her battalion of archers firing volley after volley. A line of shielded warriors stood in front of the archers to push back any advancing soldiers back down the dune.

  The soldiers’ bodies flailed and flinched as they clutched the arrows lodged in their flesh.

  Morod continued to give orders and set a defensive formation. The chaos of the ambush and his inexperience of being caught off guard, made his soldiers panic and lose cohesion. Cracks started to form. Kasar roared an order to full charge and capitalize on the weakness. Kier relayed the order and the order thundered back from around them like howls as the rest of the battalions rounded over the dunes once more.

  The enemy soldiers cursed as the free warriors charged down to clash with them in a cacophony of swords and axes and shields. Their lack of unity forced their ranks to break on impact. The ones that held found themselves surrounded and slaughtered.

  Morod’s tradition led them to watch in a clustered pack. Those that were on guard now lay dead in the initial burst of damage. Those that were off duty and in their tents fought without armor. Morod was a man who ruled with fear like Akonai. His men did not have the heart to fight a battle they thought they were losing. Kasar’s warriors did.

  Free men and women fought like Devils.

  Morod turned to Kasar and scowled. “You are inevitable,” he said. “A natural consequence of my actions. I will face you and we shall see if my time has come.” He charged up a bolt of fire in his palm and turned to fire it at Saalia’s archer battalion. Kasar surged forward and gasped when he realized the ruse.

  Morod spun around and fired away at Kasar at the last second and all the young Devil could do was watch as his death approached him. Raffa roared beside him and a shimmering Barrier formed in front of Kasar. It shattered on impact and mitigated some of the damage of the blast. Kasar felt raw heat strike his shoulder and send him sprawling onto his back. Sand dusted up around him as pain flared in his shoulder. He sensed Morod charging up another. He heard Kier scream and Raffa’s body fall. He’d overcasted Green to save Kasar.

  Guilt and rage assailed Kasar’s mind, pushing to stand. He saw Sipha rounding the corner, cutting her way through Morod’s soldiers. Morod had already sensed her. Kasar and Sipha locked eyes and nodded. A two pronged attack that Morod likely knew was coming.

  The two darted forward.

  On the sidelines, Kier dragged Raffa’s body away as their respective battalions held the line and stared to clear the area for a retreat. The enemy soldiers still numbered many and they’d done enough damage to leave victorious.

  Kasar and Sipha converged on Morod who simply fired a bolt of fire with each hand in opposite directions. Kasar dropped to a roll and let it dash a dune behind him. Sipha channeled Green and surged forward with her daggers, the bolt passing by her ear.

  Before the two made contact, Morod snapped his finger and conjured a shockwave of pure force blasted out from where he stood. No one could dodge that and both Sipha and Kasar went sprawling back again. Kier had made it out and many of the captains started to signal official retreats.

  Kasar gave Sipha a flick of his head to order her to leave. She didn’t look like someone who wanted to obey. “Sipha, get out!”

  She snarled at him and Morod, and went for another charge. Kasar darted forward as well, but rounded off at an angle, making it look like he was retreating as well. Morod turned to face Sipha who started lashing at him. Now that she’d finally gotten close, Morod had to use his limited skills in Green to deflect her blows with Barriers. Kasar saw Sipha’s daggers pierce through, but the Barrier slowed the attack enough for the edges to not deal any real injury.

  Morod continued to duel her with the Barriers and Kasar wondered if he had burned through his Body Source already. That’s a fiery blade formed behind Sipha who did not notice. It plunged toward her, carving a burning gash on her side. A scream ripped through her mouth and she hit the ground. Morod let the sword rise and angled the tip down.

  Kasar started dashing toward Sipha as the sword started plunging downward. At the last second Kasar made contact with Morod. The sword lost its connection and paused in the air. The two hit the dirt. Kasar felt him rise immediately as Morod used a telekinetic blast to send him flying back toward the fiery sword. Sipha rose with a hand clutched at her side and punched the flat end of the sword, burning her knuckles, and swatted it aside. Kasar crashed into Sipha instead of the sharp end of the sword.

  “We leave,” cried Kasar. “Now!”

  Sipha cursed at Morod before following Kasar. Around them the camp finally settled into a formation. Kasar knew a third strike would not happen tonight. He heard the sound of galloping.

  “We stole their horses!” cheered Saalia, pulling the reins of two horses. One for Sipha and the other for Kasar.

  Kasar mounted and they rode away, leaving the burning camp behind.

  “How many did we lose?” asked Kasar.

  “Just ride,” said Saalia. “We will deal with logistics when we’re safe again.”

  Behind Kasar Morod scaled the dune and glared at the fleeing party.

  A sharp pain struck Kasar in his temples and he nearly fell off the horse.

  “Grim!” cried Sipha, reaching over to him.

  “I’m okay,” he said. “I think he tried something with my mind.”

  “Don’t go crazy on us.”

  “No, it’s not that. I’m still me. I… I don’t know what it was.”

  “You’re a crazy bastard, Grim,” said Saalia. “Imagine if they did burn you alive. Imagine if Raffa failed to heal you or Kier failed to mask it.”

  “How is he?” asked Kasar. They were out of the camp’s sight now riding into the nightly desert eastward.

  “Kier’s got him on her horse,” said Saalia, pursing her lips. “He’s drooling like an idiot. I think he’s gone, Grim. He’s a shell.”

  Kasar grimaced. “He did it for me. He saved me.”

  “You saved us, first” said Saalia.

  The guilt gnawed Kasar’s guts and he wished he could forget it. But his sacrifice and everyone else that died in that skirmish deserved to be remembered. He owed them that.

  “It was a good hit,” said Sipha. “A great hit. Most of their artillery is useless. Most of their supplies are gone or with us.”

  “Fewer of their men left to eat the rations anyways,” laughed Saalia. “That second charge was worse than the first for them. They didn’t expect us to hit again!”

  “They’ll have a tough decision ahead,” said Kasar. “Keep pushing or turn around. The safer would be for them to turn, but that gives us more time as well.”

  “They’ll keep marching,” snarled Sipha. “Morod doesn't care if his soldiers live or die. Only that they serve.”

  Kasar smiled at his band of rebels. “That’s what makes us all better.”

  “Let’s hear it for the Grim Horde!” shouted Saalia. Around them hundreds of riders let the stars and moon hear their howls.