The world held the doleful emptiness of a funeral: dark, silent, and still.

Hume Telrest opened his eyes and blinked — a series of blinks — and the world slowly came into focus. A high-pitched clangor rang in his ears.

What in the unholy hells had just happened?

His last recollection had been of a battle for survival. His men dying. Overwhelmed by the enemy, the monstrous Chimeras. A cloth slapped over his nose and mouth. A sweet-smelling fragrance. Confused images. An elegant study — this very room, perhaps. And words whispered in a triumphant chuckle: “The Queen will appreciate my gift of you.”

And after that… nothing.

Hume rolled to his side with a confused groan, and a deep inhalation brought him the rancid stench of vomit — his vomit. His cheek was pressed into it. The same acid tang filled his mouth, and Hume grimaced in disgust. His arms weren’t working right, but he managed to lever himself upright and gather enough saliva to spit out the sour taste of the vomit.

His arms… Hume frowned. Why was he tied up? He reflexively reached for the knife sheathed in one of his boots and quickly cut himself free.

The ringing in his ears became a rush of noise, like a wave crashing against the rocks before it, too, receded. All that was left was a loud, unfamiliar ticking. A shift of Hume’s head showed him the source of the sound: a wall clock. His head throbbed in time with its monotonous rhythm.

The clock. This room…

A semblance of thought returned like some distant revenant.

The cloth held over his face. Had it really happened? Could he have been drugged? Poisoned?

As soon as the idea came to him, he tried to dismiss it.

Poisoning was impossible. No one would do such a thing, certainly not here in the city of Hammer, the epitome of Humanity’s civilization. Poisoning only existed in stories and fables. It was a line too far for even those of dubious morality to cross.

No. He hadn’t been poisoned.

So Hume tried to convince himself.

And yet…

The cloth. There had been something cloyingly sweet about it, an undercurrent similar to the manthragora that Hume had occasionally been given as an anesthetic.

His eyes widened with understanding.

Manthragora. Yes. He’d scented the anesthetic on the cloth.

Hume’s anger flared, flickering like a matchstick moved too quickly — the manthragora still dulled his mind — but eventually his fury caught fire and held. His outrage tore apart the last cloudy muffling of the drug, and Hume rose to his feet, swaying for a moment before finding his balance.

A door opened, and Hume turned. Entering the room was an old man, a member of Caste Cherid — an old man with the warm smile of a grandfather and the cold, calculating eyes of a fiend. Who was he? Hume searched his memory. Ah, yes. Agate Yellowash, and when Agate saw Hume’s gaze upon him, his warm smile and cold eyes fell away, replaced by a tight look of terror. In his hand, the old man clutched a black-bladed knife.

Hume’s thoughts sharpened. What was Agate’s role in all this? As soon as the question was asked, Hume realized the answer. The manthragora. Agate’s countenance. The words about the Queen and a gift — it had been the old Cherid who had spoken them. Agate was why Hume was here. Agate was the reason Hume had been drugged.

The old Cherid’s fear deepened, rising off him like a miasma.

And yet, Hume held off attacking. Did he really want to kill this man? Hurt him, even?

In all the decades that Hume had served as a warrior of Caste Kumma, he had vanquished hundreds of Humanity’s enemies. Pierced lungs, pierced hearts, decapitation, evisceration, amputation, asphyxiation… Hume had ended them all, and had done so by every conceivable kind of killing. It had always been bloody, and it had always been terrible, but at no time had Hume ever killed a fellow Human. He knew of no one who had, and he did not want to be the first.

But the manthragora. The drugging. Hume left bound like a sacrificial animal.

The last of his hesitation left him.

Agate must have sensed it, too. The old Cherid licked his lips. “You were unwell when you arrived at my home,” he said, pointing to a pitcher of water beading on a mahogany desk. “I was about to fetch you some water.”

Hume didn’t bother responding. His headache receded, and his body remembered the incomparable grace for which he was famed. He conducted Jivatma — his life essence — and readied to move in the eye-blurring quickness for which Kummas — his Caste — were famed. Hume’s gaze flickered to the desk. Resting there was his sheathed sword. Agate thrust forward with the black blade, a snarl of hate on his face, but he was too slow. Before the old man had taken two steps, Hume had already snatched up his sheathed weapon, drawn the matte-black spidergrass sword, and leveled it against the Cherid’s neck. Hume’s fury rose higher, but it wasn’t fueled just by the poisoning. It was fueled by what Agate represented. He was a Human follower of Suwraith, the demonic Sorrow Bringer. Suwraith who was also called “the Queen”.

“I know who you are,” Hume said. “I know what you are, and what you’ve done.”

“Wait! I— ”

A quick stroke of Hume’s sword, and Agate’s words were forever silenced. Hume watched the Cherid, once a member of Hammer’s ruling Caste, slump lifelessly to the ground, and a part of him wanted to slump down alongside the old man. Despite knowing Agate’s treason; despite knowing that the old man’s death was justice served; even despite knowing that Agate had tried to kill him, Hume wanted to weep. He’d just killed a man. How could his soul ever be cleansed of such a sin?

It was then, during his moment of mournful contemplation, that the din of battle reached Hume. It arose as a savage roar from the streets beyond Agate’s lavishly appointed manse — the sounds of buildings burning, people dying, and pain-filled screams of terror. But over it all, like nails clawing at his mind, howled the mindless shrieks of Suwraith as She reveled in Her conquest.

Hume glanced at the clock. The time and the day. Only a few hours since the battle during which he’d been drugged, and two days since the Sorrow Bringer had come to Hammer. She’d swept over the city like an evil wind, and joining Her had been over four hundred thousand Chimeras, Her inhuman warriors. They’d ravaged Hammer, somehow breaching the city’s Oasis — for two millennia had the mystical, unbreachable bulwark stood — and now, the city lay prone and defenseless before Suwraith’s onslaught.

A single tear coursed down Hume’s cheek. Everyone he loved was either dead or dying. Everything he had ever done: all his battles, all the brother warriors he’d seen die, everything he’d struggled and fought for… had it all been for naught, as meaningless as sutures on a man already dead?

Even as Hume considered the question, he grimaced in annoyance and threw off his ennui. He was a warrior, and he was a Kumma, and Kummas didn’t simply lie down and wait for death to take them. Yes, his city had fallen and his family had likely been killed, but his work was not yet done. There might be some who yet lived, some who — with Hume’s aid — might yet survive the purging of Hammer. They could escape the city, leave for lands unknown, and perhaps even find safety.

His sword could still find a worthy use.

Hume grabbed the pitcher of water from Agate’s desk and washed his face and cleansed his mouth of the taste of vomit before exiting the Cherid’s home. He paused in the shade of a columned portico at the entrance to the manse. Before him, a set of marble stairs led down to a wide pathway of crushed white stones that bisected a long grass lawn, and in the distance stood a pair of tall, ironwood gates.

Hume took a deep breath, readying himself for what was needed. Out there was war. Out there were riotous groups of Chimeras racing about, baying for blood. Out there, heavenly Hammer was being devastated.

Hume clenched the hilt of his sword and stepped forward. He moved at a measured pace along the gravel pathway. His boots crunched with a steady rhythm, the sound like a drumbeat impelling him onward. As he approached the closed ironwood gates, he once again conducted Jivatma. The gates stood fifteen feet high, but Hume took them with a single bound. He landed in a small clearing. No Chimeras had yet noticed him, and Hume took a moment to gather his bearings.

He stood in MonWhite Clarion, the wealthiest district in Hammer. Broken, bloody corpses — an endless sea of them — lay scattered about on the streets before him. Fires raged in all directions, and the stench of burning flesh filled the air. Smoke and ash blanketed the city like a cloth of ruin, and Hume had to cover his mouth and nose in order to breathe. Fresh tears tracked down his face as he struggled to take in the unfathomable loss. The heavenly city of Hammer — his home, his only true love — had been desecrated.

An explosion shook the ground, and Hume spun about. The sound had come from Andhra Quarter, a district of humble homes, grain silos, and manufacturing. It was also where Hume’s family — his parents, brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews — lived. A long, straight boulevard provided him a vision of apocalypse. Suwraith rode the ashen skies above Andhra. She was a brooding, bruise-purple cloud, and lightning poured forth from Her. The Sorrow Bringer shrieked with laughter, a sound of flesh ripping as new fires exploded throughout the Quarter and blocks of buildings collapsed into shattered bricks and spars of wood.

Fresh grief took Hume. His family… Nothing could have survived that holocaust.

A secondary explosion lit the sky, and more flames blasted outward. They swept toward MonWhite.

Hume’s eyes widened. Unholy hells!

He conducted Jivatma and sprinted away, racing faster than the finest horse. Down the street he ran, past a claw of Tigons — a tall, cat-like species of Chimera. The stupid beasts stared after him in confusion, but Hume never slowed. The Tigons must have eventually become aware of their danger, though. Hume heard them cry out in fear. A few moments later, in agony. A few moments more, and their cries fell silent.

Air, hot enough to singe hair, bit at Hume’s heels. More buildings burned while Hume scanned ahead, searching for safety.

There!

On a nearby corner stood a tall brick building. Hume sprinted harder. He conducted more Jivatma and launched himself skyward, aiming for a third-story window. It was at a height higher than the raging fire. Hume bounced off a ledge and gained just enough clearance. A hastily formed Shield protected him as he crashed through the window and rolled along the floor.

Windows throughout the building shattered, and the entire structure shook like a tree in a tempest.

Hume held his Shield, hardening it as much as possible, and hid himself low. His heart pounded, and he hoped the building would hold, that it wouldn’t crumble away to rubble and ash beneath him. An eternity of seconds crept by, but eventually the inferno passed and a relative silence took hold.

Hume stood and took stock of his situation. He was in a single-room flat, and upon a bed lay the splintered remains of a mandolin. More mysterious, though, were the dead occupants: a middle-aged man and woman, both supine on the floor. Their last moments of life had been violent. Both had been stabbed multiple times. But that wasn’t the mystery. It was something else, something that reeked of sin.

First, their bodies hadn’t been desecrated. Other than the stab wounds, the two corpses were untouched, and a single red feather lay on the man’s chest. The Chimeras who had killed these two hadn’t stopped to feast on the flesh of their victims. More damning, though, the man had been a Sentya, dusky-hued and dark-haired, while the woman had been a Cherid, easily recognized by her red-gold skin and golden hair. Her green eyes — unusual for her Caste — were fixed in a wide stare. Regardless, men and women of different Castes didn’t intermingle. Ever. Not even to touch one another, if it could be helped. So how had these two ended up here together? Could they have been naaja — Tainted people engaged in a relationship with someone not of their Caste?

Hume puzzled over what he was seeing, but eventually he shook off his concerns.

What difference did it make if they had been naajas? Now? At the end of the world? So what if they had sought comfort with one another? It didn’t matter.

Hume lifted the bodies of the dead couple and gently placed them together on the bed before saying a brief prayer on their behalf. Maybe their next lives would be better. Maybe their next lives would allow them a chance to live longer and love deeper than in this grim world.

Hume snorted in derision.

And maybe in their next lives, they would be the cause of the Sorrow Bringer’s demise.

For any such miracles to occur, Devesh, the Lord of Creation, had to actually demonstrate a caring for Humanity. In the nearly two millennia since the fall of the First World, He never had. Or perhaps He simply didn’t exist.

Hume shook his head in disgust and set aside his concerns. Philosophy was a fool’s game, especially when he had work to attend.

Shards of glass crunched beneath his boots as he made his way out of the building and considered what next to do.

West was the harbor and the Edgeless Ocean. There would be no hope there. Earlier in the day, even as Hammer’s ships had set sail, Hume had seen them destroyed. They’d been shattered into shards by Suwraith’s lightning. And as for the massive walls and fortifications that surrounded Hammer on all sides but west — those had been cracked open and torn down like a child’s toy by the Sorrow Bringer’s might.

Where then was safety?

North and south were too hilly, too hard to swiftly travel, while east was all forest and swamp that eventually transitioned into the Wildness — the untamed lands where Suwraith reigned and where the Chimeras preyed. Hume’s eyes narrowed. But the Wildness was also vast. Not every part was mapped, nor held by hunting Chimeras. Perhaps some who escaped Hammer’s death might manage to lose themselves in those remote reaches.

East it would be, then.

His decision made, Hume traveled as quickly as he could along the wrecked roads of his once-beautiful city. All the while, he searched for others like him — survivors — even as he bypassed knots of Chimeras, many of whom were gorging themselves upon the corpses of their fallen foes. Women, children, men… all were part of the bloody feast, and as usual, the massive, cat-like Tigons were the ones at the forefront of the grim repast while the snake-like Braids and the dog-like Ur-Fels snapped for scraps.

A few turns later brought him to a small alley. A terror-filled scream split the air, and Hume sprinted. The alley widened into a courtyard, and there, he came face-to-trunk with five Balants. The creatures were a grotesque amalgam of baboon and elephant, having the size of the latter. The Balants had surrounded a cluster of women, and the creatures hooted with glee as they smashed their clubs into the ground.

The blood-red need to kill surged, but Hume didn’t let it take him. Uncontrolled passion led to mistakes. Instead, Hume mastered his emotions, and his heart filled with a cold as icy and cutting as a glacier’s breath. The world receded. Furious passion subordinated until all that was left was the emotionless, logical planning of how to kill the Balants.

Only then did Hume attack.

He conducted Jivatma and hurled a Fireball straight into the knot of Balants. It exploded through one creature and took out the one directly behind it as well. Both Chimeras crashed to the ground, dead. Hume slid forward as the other Balants searched out their attacker. A leap and thrust through an eye ended another of the elephant-sized Chimeras. Hume landed, rolled, and passed beneath a whistling swing aimed at his head. A quick slash hamstrung the attacking Balant. Even while the creature fell, Hume disemboweled it. The remaining Chimera roared challenge.

A clumsy smash was easily evaded, and Hume feinted. The Balant bit, but Hume had gone low. A Jivatma-powered kick shattered the Chimera’s knee. That would hurt like all the unholy hells. Good. The Balant fell, his injured leg unable to support his weight. Hume darted forward. A follow-up thrust to the Chimera’s throat, and the creature gurgled his last breath.

The world returned, and Hume exhaled heavily. He did his best to rid himself of the bloodlust. He’d only terrify the women if they saw him with the killing eye. He settled himself, taking the time to clean and sheathe his sword before turning to face them. There were three women, representing three of the seven Castes, and they huddled close to one another, faces carved with fear.

“Are any of you hurt?” Hume asked.

The women were terrified, but not of him. No true man would ever dare harm a woman. They were terrified by all that had happened — and was happening — to Hammer.

One of them, a young Sentya — bold for her Caste — stepped forward. Her dusky skin, several shades lighter than Hume’s own, was smudged with dirt and ash. “We’re unhurt, warrior. And blessings be upon you for saving us.”

Hume tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Then if no one’s injured, we have to go,” he said. “We can’t stay here.”

“You are no simple warrior,” said the Duriah. Her almond eyes — only one Caste had eyes of that shape — were narrowed in thought. “You are Hume.”

Hume dipped his head again in acknowledgement. Everyone in Hammer knew of him. Songs and artwork of his famous battles had been commissioned. There were even those who claimed that Hume was the finest warrior to ever stride forth from Hammer or any other city. None of it meant much, though, certainly not now, and the need to get going pressed upon him. Any moment now, another group of Chimeras might turn in to the alley and cut them off.

“Introductions can wait. We have to move,” Hume said.

“We were hoping to make it to the Sun Gate,” said the old Rahail.

“Sun Gate is likely guarded,” Hume noted. “And your Blend wouldn’t hide you from the Chimeras guarding it, just like it didn’t hide you from these Balants.”

The Rahail shrugged. “I know, but what choice do we have?”

“Can you get us out of the city?” the Sentya asked.

“Maybe,” Hume said. “But only if we can reach the canals and find ourselves a canoe. With the way the roads are clogged with Chimeras, they’ll likely find us out before we have traveled more than a half-mile.”

“If we use the alleys, we can reach them. The canals, I mean,” the Sentya replied.

Hume studied the Sentya. She was young — not much more than a girl — slight and possibly underfed. Her Caste tended to be poorer than the others, but her eyes were filled with courage and commitment.

“Can you guide us there?” he asked.

The Sentya nodded confidently. “My family, we’re poor and sometimes others leave items in alleys — trash really, but we can find a use for it.”

“Then stay right behind me,” Hume told her. “Tell me where to go, but don’t press too close. I need freedom to fight.”

The Sentya nodded again and gave Hume directions, and he led them off at a brisk pace, hoping to make a swift sprint for the canals.

Their speed, however, proved anything but swift. They weren’t able to journey at anything faster than a brisk walk. They often had to pause as they crossed major boulevards, shuffling forward in fits and starts as they edged past gangs of Chimeras. It was a slow, halting progress, and the entire time they traveled, Hume’s insides were clenched with worry.

“How much further?” gasped Teak Holder, the Rahail, when they paused in a narrow, shadow-lined alley.

During their journey, there had been enough snatches of time for Hume to learn the names of his charges. At first, he’d worried for Teak — worried that she wouldn’t be able to keep up, but thus far she’d held her own. She had her Blend — a near-perfect camouflage that hid the sight, sound, scent, and even emotion of their small group — as tight as she could make it. Doing so likely took every ounce of her concentration, but nonetheless, it was Teak who was the rock of solidity for the other two women. She was the one who urged them on, offering encouragement and keeping them calm.

“Not far,” said Jori Aprest, the slip of a Sentya, in answer to Teak’s question. “The next right, and the second left should take us to Drillmouth Sound.”

“Devesh be praised,” said Pin Telth, the Duriah, a Caste known for their piety.

“We’ll rest here for a few minutes,” Hume said, “but stay close. I don’t want anyone wandering outside the Blend.”

The women eased down to the alley floor with grateful sighs. As they rested, some of their fortitude slipped, replaced by the weary, shell-shocked visages of those who’d survived an unimaginable catastrophe. Nevertheless, despite all the pain they’d endured, there remained a calm courage to the women. They had lost everyone and everything that gave their lives meaning, but they still fought to survive, to live, and most of all, to lift each other up.

It was then that the jangling sound of feathers and deep, rumbling voices echoed down to them from the alley’s entrance.

Hume silently swore.

Baels — the commanders of Suwraith’s armies. Several of them approached. It wouldn’t be easy dealing with them. Baels were the deadliest of the Sorrow Bringer’s warriors. They were as massive and ferocious as the coral buffaloes they resembled, with deadly horns that spanned six feet or more from tip to tip. But it wasn’t their size or aggressiveness that made Baels fearsome; nor was it their tridents or their chained whips which they could ignite so they dripped fire. It was their intelligence.

The Baels were the ones who truly controlled Suwraith’s hordes. Her armies of Tigons, Braids, Ur-Fels, and Balants — all of Her creatures would have simply been an undisciplined mob of weaponized animals, easily defeated and destroyed, if not for Her horned commanders. The Baels could somehow control the savage instincts of the other Chimeras, bringing focus and discipline to them. And over the centuries, Suwraith’s commanders had accounted for just as many Human deaths as the Sorrow Bringer Herself.

Hume signaled the women to stay behind him. “Baels,” he told them.

“But how could they find us this time? I have my Blend as tight as I can make it,” Teak hissed.

“Sometimes even the best Blends fail,” Hume replied. “Even when fashioned by fully blooded Rahail and Muran warriors, they can fail.”

“What do we do?” Jori asked. She held out a kitchen knife. “I can fight alongside you if it’ll help the others escape.” Jori’s face was pinched with fear, but there was also an undaunted resoluteness about her.

In that moment, Hume made a vow. Jori would live. Courage and self-sacrifice like hers was rare, and the world was a better place because of women like her.

“You can’t help me. Not here,” Hume said. “But I promise these Baels won’t get past my sword. I’ll kill them all.”

“You can’t fight them by yourself,” Jori protested. “Come with us now. We aren’t too far from Canal Arcuate. There’s bound to be some canoes there. We can still lose them.”

Hume shook his head. “They’ll be on us while we’re trying to launch. I have to stop them here.”

“But if you fight, won’t that attract more attention?” Teak asked.

Hume turned a bleak gaze to the Rahail matron. A part of him — a large part of him — welcomed just such an outcome. He wasn’t done killing Chimeras. Not by a long margin. “I expect it will,” he said. “But all that attention will be focused on me. While I’m distracting them, the rest of you can escape. I’ll try to catch up with you if I can, but if I’m not with you soon, get the canoes in the water and push off without me. Go to Flow Grill Restaurant near Skythorn Street. There’s a sally port through Hammer’s city wall in the basement. If you’re lucky, it won’t be guarded.”

“But— ”

“Go!” Hume hissed. “They’re coming.”

There was no further time for talk, and the women hastily made their way to the other end of the alley. In a few moments, Hume could no longer hear them. Good. Either they were already far away, or Teak’s Blend was stronger than before. Even better if it were both.

Hume turned back to the mouth of the alley and stretched out his senses. A murmur of conversation reached him, but he didn’t bother waiting to find out what the Baels were deciding. He had to kill them quickly, and that could best be done outside the narrow confines of the alley, where he could utilize his speed to greater effect.

Hume gripped his sword and hardened his Shield as he stepped toward the Baels. While he approached, he listened closely to their conversation and quickly realized that the only voices he heard belonged to Baels. There were no sounds of barking Ur-Fels, hissing Braids, growling Tigons, or hooting Balants. Just Baels. A handful or so. Hume smiled to himself. A few Baels he could handle. As deadly as Suwraith’s commanders were, a Kumma was even more so.

Still, Hume was cautious when he eased past the alley’s entrance. His thoughts were cold and controlled.

Four Baels startled in surprise when he stepped forth. Feathers denoting their rank dangled from their horns, but one of the Baels possessed red feathers. Hume smiled in true pleasure. This Bael was the SarpanKum, the overall commander of all the Plagues that had attacked Hammer. And this Bael would be the first to die.

Suwraith’s commanders hissed in distress. “A Kumma,” one of them murmured in fear. The Baels readied themselves, tridents leveled and chained whips bleeding fire as red as their eyes. None of it would save them.

But just as Hume was about to launch his attack, he pulled back, starting in disbelief. He knew the SarpanKum.

The red-feathered commander appeared equally surprised as his eyes widened in sudden recognition. The SarpanKum thrust out his hand. “Step back,” he ordered his Baels. “Leave him to me.”

“He’ll kill you,” a white-feathered Bael protested.

“Nevertheless, he is mine,” the SarpanKum replied. The commander was small for his kind, almost lean, but he wore the mantle of command like a cloak. A simple gesture was all it took to silence the other Baels from further dissent.

They murmured as they stepped away from their commander, and the white-feathered one gave the SarpanKum a supportive squeeze on the shoulder. “We’ll be nearby. Call if you need us.”

After they left, the SarpanKum planted the butt of his trident against the ground. “You never explained why you spared my life,” he said.

“I’ve often wondered why, myself,” Hume replied, still unsure after all these years as to the answer.

The events had occurred long ago during a Trial to the glorious city of Ashoka. Hume had become separated from the main body of warriors in the foothills of the Privation Mountains, when he’d come across several young Baels, injured, alone, and terrified. In that moment, unexpected pity had moved Hume’s heart, and he’d held off the killing blow, choosing instead to spare the lives of the Chimeras. It hadn’t been the first time he had done so, nor the last; and years later, he still struggled with the why. Why had he offered Suwraith’s most malignant warriors such mercy?

Of course, the answer to his question was immaterial now. Hume’s act of mercy had allowed one of those young Baels to grow into the SarpanKum who had annihilated Hammer.

“You let me live when you had no reason to,” the SarpanKum said.

“And you murdered my family as thanks,” Hume said evenly. Beneath his icy demeanor, volcanic rage roiled. He struggled to control it; wasn’t sure he wanted to. More than just about anything else, Hume wanted to be done with the SarpanKum. Kill him now and atone for the terrible mistake he’d made so many years ago. But beneath the calm, there also swam curiosity. Inquisitiveness had always been Hume’s curse, and he wanted to hear what the Bael had to say.

An inscrutable expression flashed across the SarpanKum’s features. “I understand if you regret your actions, but I do not,” the Bael replied. “And since you did save me, I find myself forced to repay the debt.”

Hume snorted derision. “Save your payment. I’ll take it from your hide.”

“One shout will recall my brothers. Five breaths will call Mother.”

“Mother? You mean the Sorrow Bringer.”

The SarpanKum barked laughter and surprised Hume with his next words. “A more apt name than you realize,” he said. “But before you attack me, understand this: I know there are females of your kind nearby. If you wish their survival, then you should consider my offer.”

Hume’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

The SarpanKum blinked. “I want nothing from you. I…” He shook his head, and his feathers rattled as he frowned. The Bael appeared utterly perplexed.

“Your offer, then?” Hume asked, reining in his impatience.

The SarpanKum straightened. “I want you to live. I want your women to live. In order to accomplish that, I’ll draw my Chimeras away from this area as well as the sally ports of Hammer’s wall — the Humans who served Mother told us all their locations. That way you and those you wish to save can escape the city.”

Hume didn’t believe the SarpanKum’s offer. Why would a Bael care to save Humans? In the two millennia since the Fall of the First World, generations of Suwraith’s commanders had been relentless in their pursuit of Humanity’s eradication. Hume spent a fruitless few seconds studying the commander’s face and posture before realizing that it didn’t matter. He and the women had to flee Hammer, either through the Sun Gate or one of the sally ports. Whether the exits were guarded or not didn’t make any difference. And whether the SarpanKum spoke true or false also didn’t matter. The sally ports were the best ways out of Hammer.

Hume considered then whether to allow the Bael to live. He could just kill the SarpanKum. Be done with him. After all, it would be both justice and vengeance.

The Bael spoke again. “My kind… we are an aberration, a mistake. Mother, the Sorrow Bringer, had no hand in our creation, but She claims us as Her own, insisting that we are the instruments of Her divine retribution.” The SarpanKum shrugged and appeared unsettled. “When you saved me, I began to wonder — as many Baels have over the centuries — if violence is all we were meant to accomplish. Or can we follow a different path and be something other than instruments of war?”

“And yet none of your pious thoughts held you back from destroying my home,” Hume coolly replied.

“No, it didn’t. Mother would kill every Bael in existence if we disobeyed Her,” the SarpanKum replied.

“From my perspective, an occasion of celebration,” Hume noted.

“No doubt,” the SarpanKum replied. “But from my perspective, a disaster.”

“Much like Hammer’s desecration.”

The SarpanKum surprised Hume with his next words. “In this we are agreed,” he said. “We Baels… I wish we could be other than what Mother declares. My soul longs for something more… ” He shook his head, appearing frustrated. “I wish we could be something other than murderers and fiends. I wish for something other than this life of violence.”

His words sounded as if they were spoken in sincerity and, inexplicably, they reached Hume, touched him even through his icy thoughts. He made his decision. For now, the SarpanKum would live.

“I accept your offer,” Hume said, and he slowly backed away from the Bael, retreating into the darkness of the alley. He didn’t know what game the SarpanKum was playing, but if the Bael held true to his word, it would make saving the women that much easier. And if the Bael lied, then Hume vowed to rectify his error in judgment. He would hunt down the SarpanKum and kill him.

Hume continued backing into the alley, and as soon as the SarpanKum was no longer visible, he raced off in the direction he’d sent the women, hoping he’d find them before any lurking Chimeras did. Thankfully, he soon sensed Teak’s Blend and found her and the others secreted not too far away, hidden in an alley at the edge of Drillmouth Sound, an area of warehouses and workshops that bordered the canals. Few people lived here and, as a result, few Chimeras were in evidence either. Straight ahead was Canal Arcuate, a minor tributary of the waterways that snaked throughout Hammer.

“You took longer than we expected,” Jori said. “We were starting to worry.”

Hume grunted. “Any canoes?”

“Yes, but they’re out in the open and too far away to easily reach,” Jori replied.

“Right.” Hume risked a brief glance. The canoes were where Jori said they were: out in the open and most of a hundred yards away. The way to them appeared clear, but that didn’t mean hidden groups of Chimeras might not be lurking about.

Hume grimaced. He really didn’t want to dash across exposed ground, but what choice was there? “Go swiftly. No sound,” Hume said, before leading the women at a hunched-over trot.

They reached the canoes and quickly boarded one. A hard shove with an oar had them deeper in the canal.

Pin Telth had the thick, powerful build of Caste Duriah, and she took the oars from Hume. “Let me,” she said. “Save your strength for fighting.”

Hume nodded agreement and let her do the rowing. Pin quickly had them out in the middle of the canal with Jori calling out any changes in direction that they had to make. It helped that the river from which the canal drew its water moved sluggishly here, and fighting the current wasn’t so difficult.

As they traveled, Hume tried to ignore what was happening on the shores. The city burned with growling fires all around. Smoke poured to the heavens like Hammer’s funeral pyre as Chimeras ran amok, and over it all, Suwraith shrieked. But what Hume struggled with most were the occasional, desperate cries of his people. His jaw clenched each time it happened. He wanted to leap off the canoe and save them. But he couldn’t. Not yet anyway, and his heart ached.

“We can’t go any further,” Jori said, gesturing up ahead.

Hume had been so focused on the shores that he’d only vaguely noticed the debris littering the canal. But here, the debris had collected into a clog, and the canoe could go no farther.

It didn’t matter, though. Hammer’s wall loomed no more than a half-mile away, and nearby was a dock.

“Make for the north shore,” Hume said. “Wait for my signal before getting out.”

As soon as the canoes slapped against the dock, Hume leaped out of the boat and stretched his senses. Nothing came to him but the sounds of the dying city. No Chimeras nearby. He gestured, and the women quickly joined him on shore before the four of them hustled into the darkness of a wrecked building.

This final stretch worried Hume. All roads leading to the city wall were broad and, Blend or no Blend, they’d have to use those wide-open streets. Shelter would be rare, and it would be the most dangerous leg of their journey.

“Same as before,” Hume said. “Stay close but don’t crowd me. Sun Gate is going to be too heavily guarded, so we’ll go for the sally port at Flow Grill Restaurant like we talked about before.”

“We can use the alleys to avoid the main roads here also,” Jori said. “They go all the way to Flow Grill.”

Hume turned to her with a bemused expression. “How do you know every single alley in Hammer?” he asked.

Jori smiled. “I told you: my family was poor.”

“Then lead on,” Hume replied with an answering smile.

Jori directed him and they made their way along tunneled alleys, much as they had on their way to Drillmouth. The entire time, Hume considered what to do when he and the women managed to escape Hammer. He wasn’t ready to abandon all those others still trapped in the city.

“There’s something up ahead,” Teak whispered.

Hume held up a hand, and they halted. His gaze sharpened, and he looked to where Teak pointed. He saw nothing. “People or Chimeras?”

“People. It’s a Blend.”

“I can’t feel it.”

“You wouldn’t,” Teak said. “You Kummas can only feel a Blend if it’s right in front of you. This one is a couple hundred yards away, and it’s coming toward us, west along that road we have to cross.”

“Skythorn,” Jori said. “The road is Skythorn.”

Hume shot her a look of surprise. The whole way here, they’d hidden in alleys that were little more than narrow throats. Only the sky directly above had been visible, but if that road really was Skythorn, then they were close to their destination. Skythorn ran nearly adjacent to the city wall and passed directly in front of Flow Grill Restaurant.

“The Blend?” Teak reminded him.

“Link with it as soon as you can,” Hume said.

“No need. They’ve already Linked with us,” Teak replied. “We should be able to see them any moment now.”

Soon thereafter, three men — two Rahails and a Muran — turned the corner and stepped into the alley in which Hume and the women waited. They were warriors, and the two groups eyed one another for a moment.

Hume didn’t know the Rahails, but he recognized the Muran. Babylin Suresong. Originally from Arjun, he was a fine, young warrior and had served under Hume during a recent Trial from Samsoul to Hammer.

Babylin exhaled in relief, and his face split into a grin. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you, Sir.”

“I think I do,” Hume replied with an answering grin. He drew the younger man into a hug. “It’s good to see you, Corporal.”

“Sergeant,” Babylin corrected him. “Remember during that last Trial, I got bumped up in rank.”

Hume laughed. “That’s right. How could I forget? I was the one who did the bumping.”

Babylin’s smile fell away. “What’s the plan, Sir?”

Hume didn’t answer at first, but an idea came to him. Babylin wouldn’t like it. Neither would Jori, Teak, and Pin. “I want you to escort these women out of the city.” Hume gestured to Jori. “She can tell you how to do so while avoiding the main roads. You’re almost there now.”

“And what about you, Sir?” Babylin asked, his voice neutral.

“There are more people I might be able to save,” Hume answered. “I can’t give up on them.”

“It’s suicide to go back,” Jori protested.

“I promised to protect Hammer, to keep her safe,” Hume explained. “I failed.”

“We all failed,” Jori replied. “What good will it do to sacrifice yourself for nothing?”

“It isn’t for nothing,” Hume said. He knew what it would mean to go back into the inferno that was Hammer. He would likely die in there. But he also couldn’t shutter his ears. His people… Even now, he could hear them calling out in anguish and agony. For however long he lived, he knew he’d hear those cries.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Sir?” Babylin asked. “Going back, I mean?”

“I don’t know, but it’s the work I’m called to do,” Hume answered.

“I can go with you,” Babylin offered.

“No,” Hume replied. “You have to go with the women. Keep them safe. The sally port is in the basement of Flow Grill Restaurant.” If the SarpanKum keeps his word, and no Chimeras are guarding it. “There should be plenty of supplies there. Food, weapons, bows, arrows, knives. Take all you can, and don’t stop until you get to Mistletoed Tor.”

“That big rock formation out in the middle of nowhere?”

“That’s the one. Five miles north of it, you’ll come across a stream. Follow it east. It’ll take you to a narrow ravine that opens up on a small valley. There should be a lake and a small forest. It’ll be a good place to hole up. You’ll have trout and some other game.”

“And what about you?”

“I’ll save as many as I can and send them on to the valley,” Hume said. “Wait for them there, a week if you can.”

“Yes, Sir,” Babylin answered with a sharp nod.

“And after waiting that week, head east. All routes leading to Samsoul and Fearless are going to be heavily patrolled. I’d bypass them and go for the Privations. The Chimeras don’t worry much about the mountains.”

“We can’t change your mind, can we?” Jori asked in a brokenhearted voice.

Hume shook his head “no”.

Jori surprised him then. She hugged him, breaking the taboo against a man and woman of different Castes touching one another. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear. “And Devesh keep you safe.”

“Devesh keep us all safe,” Hume whispered, hugging her back.

He stayed long enough to see the women and the warriors safely cross Skythorn Street. They Blended then, and vanished. Hume stared after them for a moment before turning back to face Hammer’s cauldron.

He had work to attend to.

 

 

 

 

Davis Ashura Biography

 

Davis Ashura is a legend . . . in his own mind. He resides in North Carolina, sharing a house with his wonderful wife who somehow overlooked Davis' eccentricities and married him anyway. As proper recompense for her sacrifice, Davis then unwittingly turned his wonderful wife into a nerd-girl. To her sad and utter humiliation, she knows exactly what is meant by 'Kronos'. Living with them are their two rambunctious boys, both of whom have at various times helped turn Davis' once lustrous, raven-black hair prematurely white (it sure sounds prettier than the dirty gray it actually is). And of course, there are the obligatory strange, stray cats (all authors have cats—it's required by the union). They are fluffy and black with terribly bad breath. When not working—nay laboring—in the creation of works of fiction so grand that hardly anyone has read a single word of them, Davis practices medicine, but only when the insurance companies tell him he can.

 

And here's the link to my Amazon page, which is where I'd want readers to go: Amazon