CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

NAGOK HAD PITCHED HIS FORWARD CAMP JUST inside the Donderath border, an assertive claim to the lands of Meroven’s perennial adversary. The stockade was sturdy, made of wooden posts carved into a point at the top, painted black. Ropes tied with human skulls and bones hung down from the fence, a terrifying warning to all who approached. Towering wooden totems of animals stood on either side of the gate, carved with the snarling faces of predators ready to strike. Wolves, eagles, panthers, and bears, badgers, and hawks were all depicted as their prey might see them, just before the fatal strike. Beaks wide, maws open, teeth bared, and claws unsheathed, the creatures had been carved with uncanny realism, enough to make Pollard shudder as he passed.

Perched on platforms above the fence like gargoyles were a few terrifying additions that had not been among the animals in the totems. A life-sized carving of a beetle-like creature squatted with its insect eyes trained on the gate, and Pollard recognized it as a mestid, one of the magicked beasts brought by the wild-magic storms. Next to it was something that looked like a huge crab, big as a large dog, a ranin. And beside the ranin was a nightmarish winged creature with fierce talons and a sword-sharp beak, something Pollard knew from bitter experience was a gryp. All of the monstrous creatures glared down at those who dared ride through the gates, looming sentinels and reminders of Nagok’s power.

Even the wooden gates bore large carved pictures that hung down over the boards, testifying to Nagok’s power as a beast caller. In one of the scenes, it showed a cowled and cloaked man on a rise, arms outstretched, and from his feet raced snarling beasts—real and imaginary—toward a common enemy. In the second scene, the triumphant predator beasts carried home bodies and severed limbs to gift their master, while the land around them lay piled high with corpses.

Nagok likes to make a strong first impression, Pollard thought cynically. Is he mad, or just very clever?

The interior of the stockade was as theatrical as its exterior. Guards walked along the perimeter, each with a steel helmet forged in the shape of a menacing animal head. The soldiers were clad in black, wearing cloaks trimmed in wolf fur. Around their necks hung bone talismans, some with the skulls of raptors, others with the long, sharp teeth of predatory animals.

In the center of the camp was a semicircle of carved wooden heads on steel spikes, but as Pollard neared the heads, he realized they were the scowling faces of watchful gods, not trophies of vanquished foes. A small fire burned in the middle of the semicircle, and Pollard saw that offerings had been laid beneath each of the heads, and that the animals depicted matched those in the totems by the gates.

Are they gods? Pollard wondered, eyeing the fire-lit carvings. Or are we to think Nagok is a god?

Nagok’s campaign tent was large and black, with red flags streaming in the wind. It hunkered on the hill like a hungry beast, an association Pollard was certain was completely intentional. As with the outer gates, ropes tied with skulls and bones both human and animal were festooned from the tent poles. Pelts from wolves, foxes, panthers, and other predators hung from the sides of the tent, tufted with feathers from eagles, hawks, and owls, kestrels, and falcons. A garland of teeth and talons hung over the tent flap, and all who entered were obliged to bend beneath it to enter.

They say this Nagok is a beast caller, that he can force wild animals to do his bidding, Pollard thought. Yet he decorates with their skins and skulls. I doubt he treats his human allies with more loyalty. What stinking shit pile has Thrane gotten us into?

Two guards stood outside the entrance to the tent, each holding the chains that restrained large, snarling, muscular dogs that snapped their teeth as Pollard and Hennoch approached.

“Lord Thrane sent us,” Pollard said to the guard on his left, a tall man with a powerful build who wore a wolf-skin cape and a metal helmet in the shape of a wolf skull. “We’re here at Nagok’s request.”

The guard said nothing, but nodded his assent. Then he and his companion each took a step back so that the vicious dogs no longer blocked the entrance. Still, they did not retreat farther than absolutely necessary, making it a test of wills for Pollard and Hennoch to pass between the lunging, growling guard dogs that fell short of their legs and cloaks by scant inches.

Pollard had expected a strategy meeting with a general. He found himself in the receiving tent of a self-styled king, or perhaps the shrine of a dark god. There were no tables set with maps with which to plan campaigns and discuss the movement of troops. Instead, torches lit the far end of the rectangular tent, one on either side of a raised, throne-like chair of heavy, carved wood. One arm of the chair was carved in the likeness of a bear, its mouth wide open and teeth bared. The other arm of the chair was a carving of a dire wolf, a creature long gone from Donderath but present in its legends and nightmares.

“Come closer. You’re expected.” The voice was deep and resonant, and Pollard had the feeling he had somehow ended up in an elaborately produced stage play. Guards in their steel-skull helmets stood in a silent line against the shadowed walls of the tent. Pelts and hides covered the floor. The air smelled of musk and incense. And at the far end, on his carved ‘throne,’ sat Nagok.

Though Pollard took care to keep his hand well away from his sword, his mind calculated how long it would take him to draw his weapon as he and Hennoch walked toward Nagok. It wouldn’t matter, Pollard thought. Even if we could defend ourselves against him—which we probably couldn’t—the guards would be on us in a trice, and they’d loose the dogs, for good measure. Not for the first time, he wondered if he and Hennoch had been sent for Nagok to dispose of, a gift from their fickle talishte master and his maker. Then again, it’s like Thrane to play both ends against each other. He’ll use us as his spies, and read our blood when we return. We’re his tools. I know that, but does Nagok?

“So you are Vedran Pollard and Larska Hennoch. Interesting.” Nagok did not elaborate, but Pollard suspected that whatever about them Nagok found of note was likely not positive.

Pollard studied Nagok, sizing up this new competitor. He guessed Nagok was in his early thirties, broad-shouldered and average height, with long, dark hair that fell loose to his shoulders. Muscled arms showed beneath his skin cape over a coat that appeared to be made of patched-together human scalps. Nagok wore a breastplate made from human arm bones lashed together with leather strands. Next to his throne sat his steel skull helmet, more menacing than anything Pollard had glimpsed among the guards.

Nagok’s features were not handsome, but determination showed in the set of his jaw and the glint of his eyes. A scar cut across his nose and cheek, and the nose was misshapen, broken more than once. Despite all that, an undeniable aura of charisma and power radiated from Nagok, and it was clear from his expression that he was well aware of the effect he had on those around him.

Magic? Pollard wondered. Or just the natural charm of a potions seller?

“Thrane speaks of you,” Nagok said, lounging in his throne, making it clear he had no intention of rising to greet them. “Some good. Some not.”

“I’ve heard the same of you,” Pollard replied without inflection. I know his kind, Pollard thought. Young and cocky, sure old dogs like us have nothing to offer. It always comes as such a surprise when the ‘old dogs’ whip their asses.

“Your reputations precede you,” Nagok said lazily. “And rumors of your ambitions.”

“As with you.” And so we dance, Pollard thought. A game of what is said and what is implied. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to Meroven. I’ve heard the Devastation went harder on Meroven than the Cataclysm hit Donderath.”

“True,” Nagok replied. “But I’ve restored order, and consolidated power. Meroven is under control.” He smirked. “You can hardly say the same of Donderath.”

Pollard shrugged. “Less damage from the Cataclysm left more contenders to power. We’ve eliminated all but one of the threats.” Two, if I count Nagok—which I do. “We have enemies to fight. Tell us why we’ve come, and let’s get down to it. Our troops are waiting for us.”

Nagok rose languorously, like one of the great predatory cats. He moved gracefully, light on his feet like an acrobat or a well-trained swordsman. Yet as he walked closer, Pollard got the answer to the question he most wondered. He’s breathing. He’s mortal.

“Thrane’s attention has been with his blood-son, as is proper,” Nagok said. “He is my patron, and master, as he is yours,” he added. “And since we are his trusted commanders, he asked me to impart the plan to destroy Blaine McFadden and his armies.”

Do tell, Pollard thought. This should be interesting. And it raises a question: Has Thrane bound Nagok as his human servant? Likely. While technically, I belong to Reese, and through him to Thrane. Is there a way to turn that to my advantage?

“First of all, speak nothing of the details to the talishte at Solsiden,” Nagok warned. “Thrane does not trust any that are not his brood or that of Reese. He does not believe that all of the rogue Elders truly support our ascendancy.”

Of course they don’t. They’re not going to step aside and let Thrane grab all the spoils. Just because they opposed Penhallow and the Wraith Lord doesn’t mean they’re loyal to Thrane. Talishte are, first and always, loyal to themselves, Pollard thought.

“If he doubts their loyalty, I’m surprised they still exist,” Pollard replied.

Nagok’s smile was chilling. “Thrane conserves his resources,” he said. “While the talishte lords may not be united in wanting to see Thrane ascendant, they are of one mind to wish to see Penhallow fall. It will require their broods to make that happen, and to Thrane’s mind, destroying Penhallow and crippling the Wraith Lord is worth the alliance.

“In fact, that’s why your master sent you,” Nagok said in a confidential tone. “Because there’s a large battle commencing, and he wanted you well away from Solsiden.”

“What about my men?” Pollard demanded, worried that Nilo and his troops were going to be caught up in one of Thrane’s schemes. Just like Thrane to tell Nagok something he ‘neglected’ to tell me, to give Nagok the upper hand.

“Don’t worry—there’s no place for mortals when talishte war among themselves,” Nagok replied. “Thrane has no need of your army in this.” He leaned forward. “Would you like to see what’s happening? What your master knew but did not deign to tell you?” The hint of a smile touched the edges of his thin lips.

Pollard hesitated. Nagok did not share information without a price. He felt as if he were in one of the old creation myths, offered a dark secret by a darker god. It was no revelation that Thrane and his talishte kept their own counsel, particularly on matters relating to their own kind. Pollard had long ago acknowledged that he was brought into situations only when Thrane or Reese decided he could be useful. That limited knowledge might hinder Pollard’s ability to strategize with the big view in mind did not seem to be of concern to them.

Still, the chance was too good to pass up. “How is it you can show this to me?” Pollard asked, curious but cautious. Once you’ve shown curiosity, you’ve taken the bait. And he knows it.

Nagok smiled, and Pollard felt a shiver go down his spine. “Follow me.” He sauntered over to a rectangular object draped with black cloth, and pulled the covering away. Beneath it was a mirror, but one unlike anything Pollard had seen gracing the walls of manors or palaces.

The surface was not silver, and it did not reflect the scene in front of it. Instead, it was glossy obsidian, yet as Pollard stared into the mirror, the gleaming surface shifted like oil on water, with patterns that swirled and moved of their own accord. Pollard had no magic of his own, but he had been around strong magic enough to know its signature, and to understand that the prickling feeling on the back of his neck and the hair that rose on his arms was a primal warning that he was in the presence of power.

“Not much to see right now, is there?” Nagok said offhandedly. He went to a side table and selected a glass ball about the size of a large apple. Nagok lifted the ball with one hand, spoke a few murmured words, and passed his other hand over the orb. The glass ball sprang to life with an inner glow, and just as suddenly, the image of the inside of Nagok’s tent appeared in the dark reflective surface of his mirror.

“Quite handy, don’t you think?” he asked rhetorically, turning in a slow circle so that the ball took in all of the tent. It was disconcerting, Pollard thought, to see his own image looking back at him from something that was not a reflection.

Pollard forced himself to look unimpressed and gave a dismissive shrug. “What good does that do us? Thrane isn’t fighting his battle here.”

Nagok’s thin-lipped smile let Pollard know that the beast caller understood the game being played. “No, he isn’t,” Nagok conceded. “But I know where he is fighting—not far from here, actually.” From the end of the same table that held the glass balls, he took a thick leather glove and falconer’s arm sheath and fitted them on with the ease of long practice.

Nagok strode out of the tent and into the night. He raised his face to the dark sky, gave a chilling call that sounded more animal than human, and looked expectantly up at the stars.

For a moment, there was silence. Then a great dark shape winged toward them, and a raptor’s cry filled the air. An eagle descended to alight on his outstretched left arm, folding its broad, mighty wings around it. Nagok spoke in low tones to the bird, which regarded him without fear, a pet of sorts.

As frightening as Nagok’s display of power was, Pollard could not ignore the awe of seeing such a magnificent creature at close range. “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Nagok said, his voice betraying both pride of possession and the knowledge that the possession was envied. “Did you think I only call wild beasts to my service?”

Nagok held up the glass ball, and spoke again to the eagle. The creature gave a shrill cry, then lifted up from its perch on Nagok’s arm. The mage tossed the glass ball into the air and the eagle seized it in its powerful talons, then winged into the night sky.

“Have you ever wished to fly?” Nagok asked. He beckoned for them to follow him. “You’ve had a journey, and in a moment, we’ll eat and you’ll tell me of your wars. But first, I offer you this,” Nagok said, gesturing toward the obsidian mirror.

Pollard stared at the mirror, transfixed. The world spread out in miniature, bathed in moonlight. He recognized landmarks—a river, a road, a manor—but they were small compared with the wide horizon that stretched as far as the eye could see. Hennoch caught his breath, and Pollard only barely managed to dampen his wonder into an expression of ennui. Is that how the world looks to birds? How small our monuments seem, from that perspective.

Nagok whispered to the mirror, and the eagle flew lower. Pollard recognized the setting. He and Hennoch had ridden near the place just a candlemark earlier. The buildings and landscape grew magnitudes larger, and Pollard could make out figures moving so rapidly that he at first mistook them for shadows. It was a long-abandoned mining town, and the empty mines were ideal crypts for talishte. Judging from the fight under way, it appeared that their resting place had been discovered.

Pollard leaned forward to see better. The eagle made slow circles, gliding on a thermal, so that the scene took them toward and then away from the fight. At this distance, it was impossible to make out whose side the fighters were on. Still, there was no missing the terrifying brutality of the actions. One group of talishte were raiding the crypts of another.

“The creatures are my eyes and ears,” Nagok said. “I ask what they have seen, and they tell me. I command them to watch for me, and they comply.”

Secretly, Pollard was certain that Nagok’s power had less range and more limits than the beast caller suggested, but he said nothing. Maybe that’s Thrane’s real reason for sending us here. To find a weakness that he can exploit. Interesting. I’m sure Hennoch and I are being used. The question is, by whom? Or if by both, where does the greatest advantage lie to my interests?

The battle continued, both sides evenly matched in speed and ferocity. Pollard had seen talishte fight in the Battle of Valshoa and in skirmishes at Mirdalur, but that had been a handful of undead fighters against a largely mortal army. Individually, the talishte had the advantage, yet their numbers were small enough that they could not hope to prevail against so large a force. In those battles, the talishte had adapted their tactics to yield the greatest number of casualties and inspire the most fear.

Now, Pollard glimpsed what talishte fighters could really do, untrammeled by a mortal army. He watched in horrified fascination. It reminded him of the conflicts he had seen between wild beasts. Once, while riding across a barren area of northern Donderath, he had seen two male wolves fighting over a female. The wolves had been equally matched in brawn and determination, and they had fought with utter abandon. By the end of the conflict, the wolves had battled with such ferocity that one lay dead and the other was too badly wounded to claim his mate.

Perhaps I should heed the lesson of that fight, Pollard thought, suppressing a grim smile. The two dominant males destroyed each other, and the prize was no doubt claimed by a less powerful male who won by surviving.

“Whose talishte are fighting?” Pollard asked.

“Sapphire’s brood,” Nagok replied. “Along with Amber’s get. They found a nest of Penhallow’s loyalists.” That confirms the whereabouts of those two missing rogue Elders, Pollard thought. As Nilo and I suspected. But are they with Nagok as advisers or spies? Or to make sure he remains under Thrane’s control?

What an interesting show he’s putting on for us, Pollard thought cynically, observing with the vigilance that had kept him alive thus far. He demonstrates his power and his ability to place us under surveillance without needing to threaten us personally. But I wonder: Is the lesson intended for us, or for Thrane?

“If you know where the fight is, could you not send your creatures to help?” Hennoch asked. “A few wolves might turn the battle, and we’re not far from the fighting. They might reach there in minutes.”

Nagok did not appear interested in the suggestion. “I don’t think my talishte allies will need the help. Indeed, they might take offense. I suspect that by the time my wolves could reach them, the battle will be over. See? Our side is already taking the upper hand.”

From what Pollard could see, one side was gaining the advantage. But before the battle was resolved, the eagle suddenly gyred away, rising into the night sky and presumably returning to his master.

“What happened?” Hennoch asked, staring at the obsidian mirror in confusion. “The fight wasn’t over yet!”

Nagok gave a shrug. “Not finished, but decided,” he said as if the matter were of no account. “Eagles are intelligent birds. He may have feared he was discovered.”

Something about Nagok’s blithe response struck Pollard as false. Perhaps the eagle feared discovery, Pollard thought. A talishte able to fly might have been able to damage the bird. But none of the talishte were in the air. The fight was on the ground, and the eagle was high enough overhead to be of no interest to them. What if the eagle had reached its limit of compulsion? Pollard wondered. What if our beast caller can’t keep his creatures under permanent control?

He hid the shadow of a smile. Nagok has limits. The eagle was gone for somewhere between half a candlemark and a candlemark. So maybe that’s how long he can maintain his hold over a creature. Hennoch was right—sending in wolves or other hostile creatures might have turned the battle sooner, with fewer casualties for his allies. So that raises another couple of questions. Did he refrain from doing so in order to weaken his allies as well as his enemies? Or can he only control one type of creature at a time? And the fighting was close to his location. I wonder how far his range extends?

For the first time since they had set out from Solsiden, Pollard felt hopeful. Nagok is powerful, but not a god. And if Thrane’s talishte allies spend their forces battling Penhallow’s allies, it reduces the total number of powerful undead. Advantage—ours.

“Your eagle is a formidable ally,” Pollard said as they followed Nagok outside again. The huge bird of prey gave a shrill cry and flapped down, dropping the glass ball into Nagok’s hand before coming to rest on his vambrace. Nagok handed off the orb to Pollard, and reached into a small pouch on his belt, giving a treat of dried meat to the eagle before launching it on its way.

Pollard took the opportunity to examine the glass ball. In his hands, it was unremarkable. No glow hinted at latent magic, and no hidden power tingled at his touch. It was deadweight.

“Can you supply the ability to scry like that to our army?” Hennoch asked, eyeing the glass ball acquisitively. Such an advantage was something commanders could only dream of, unless they had talishte spies who could take to the air, and that was limited to nighttime spying only.

Nagok gave a condescending smile and reclaimed the glass ball from Pollard. “Unfortunately not,” he said, though his tone suggested he thought it was anything but unfortunate. “The birds won’t listen to a common mage, and it requires particular talent to also activate the orb and the scrying mirror.”

Translated message: I’m far more powerful than your mages, who can’t hold a candle to what I can do. Interesting detail—want to bet Nagok can only control one bird at a time, for a short period and a limited distance, and he’s only got one special mirror? Limits, again. Pollard stepped back half a pace, using the distance to better observe Nagok. Nagok moved with swaggering grace, every word and action designed to exert dominance and impress them with his power.

I’ve seen men of real power, from King Merrill to the Wraith Lord, Pollard thought. They couldn’t care less what others think of them, and they aren’t constantly posturing. Nagok is young and quite taken with himself. That’s likely to make him overreach. He’s using Thrane, and Thrane is using him. Both of them are using me. That’s fine for now. Donderath needs a king. And once Blaine McFadden is out of the picture, I’m still the only real option. I can be patient for a crown.

“We’ve come a long way to meet with you,” Pollard said as they returned to the tent. In the short time that they had been out of the tent, a repast of mutton and roasted vegetables had been set out for them, as well as tankards of ale and a bottle of brandy. “And while we appreciate your generous welcome, we will need to leave early on the morrow. Tell us of your plans, and we will share ours,” Pollard continued. “So that we can rid Donderath of both Penhallow and McFadden.”

“Of course,” Nagok replied. “But first, we dine.”

Under the best of circumstances, Pollard found formal dinners tedious. Now, he found his patience strained, and he wished they could get down to the business at hand. Nagok had no intention of rushing through the meal, and as they ate, he regaled them with stories of his victories in Meroven. Pollard had no doubt the litany of successes was well rehearsed for effect, and he strained to listen for insights Nagok might not have intended to reveal.

Nilo and I were right about Thrane’s meddling with the Meroven talishte and their equivalent of the Elder Council, Pollard thought. And while he claims to have defeated the other Meroven warlords, it sounds like the kingdom was in such bad shape, there wasn’t much opposition. At least, nothing that compares to what we’ve had to fight to get this far. Easy victories lead to pride. Pride’s led to many a downfall. Maybe Nagok isn’t quite as invincible as he believes.

When they finished eating and servants had cleared away the dishes, Nagok unrolled a map of Donderath on the table and anchored it open. “We have drawn Theilsson’s army to the north,” he replied. “And while Theilsson has fought well, we’ve not yet brought our full might against him. He has already taken many casualties, and his men are tired. I would suspect that he has sent word to McFadden for reinforcements—perhaps even led by McFadden himself,” Nagok said, barely hiding a smile of satisfaction with his own cleverness.

“I need you to make sure McFadden’s allies don’t come to his aid,” Nagok said, sparing a glance to Pollard and Hennoch. “As I’ve been told, it was Traher Voss’s troops that turned the balance of the Battle of Valshoa. He must be kept busy elsewhere.”

“We have been fortunate to have the Cross-Sea pirate attacks focus Voss’s men on the Castle Reach harbor,” Pollard said. “Those attacks have kept both Voss and Folville busy at home, unable to be relocated.”

“We can’t count on the Cross-Sea forces to continue their assault,” Nagok said. “I have asked Thrane to dispatch your men to attack Castle Reach, Westbain, and Rodestead House to keep those forces bottled up.”

Pollard carefully avoided a smile. Exactly as we hoped, he thought. “A wise strategy,” he said, with a warning glance at Hennoch to give no indication that they had already planned to do just that. Let Nagok bear the brunt of the fighting. His army can take the casualties for a change, and preserve my men for when I need them. Fine with me if he stays up here in the northernmost corner. I’ll thank him not to further damage the kingdom I plan to rule.

“Pressure must be kept on Penhallow’s fortifications, especially during the day when he’s at his weakest,” Nagok said. “Thrane’s allies will continue to strike at his brood and the get of his Elder supporters. Your men must whittle away at his human troops, reducing their numbers, destroying their morale. They’re no doubt bound by kruvgaldur, so I don’t expect wholesale defection. But your attacks can kill as many as possible, and pen them up so they can’t turn the tide of our battle with McFadden.”

“What of McFadden’s other allies?” Pollard asked. “Tormod Solveig the necromancer and his bloodthirsty sister. Birgen Verner and his troops. Have you factored them into your plans?”

Nagok made a dismissive gesture. “Verner is of no concern to us. The man has no ambition, and is unlikely to bestir his troops so long as he sees no immediate threat to himself. As for the Solveigs, they’re far from here, busy with their own concerns from the west. I don’t see them storming across the kingdom to come to McFadden’s defense.”

Personally, Pollard was unwilling to write off the other warlords so easily. Nagok considers nothing but their self-interest because self-interest is all that motivates him. I suspect the Solveigs and Verner are more like McFadden, damnably obliged to keep the letter of their agreements. Nagok might have a care to consider just how well Thrane will keep his promises, especially if he’s counting on being gifted with the crown of Meroven. I know to watch my back, and I’m not counting on Thrane’s largesse to get the prize I want. Neither Nagok nor Thrane care whether Donderath burns, so long as they control it. I would prefer not to rule a kingdom of corpses. In that, perhaps, McFadden and I have some sentiment in common.

“Hennoch’s troops are already near Castle Reach,” Pollard replied. “Once we return, I’ll send them on to harry the city. I will personally make sure that Westbain and Rodestead House remain under siege.” He paused, intending for his silence to be taken for thought, when he had already known his question long before.

“Can you spare any of your beasts?” Pollard asked, as if the answer was of no importance. “Could any of your lesser mages travel with our troops and command packs of wolves or panthers? We would gain a formidable advantage.”

“My mages, regrettably, have so many responsibilities with my troops that they cannot be spared,” Nagok replied. “It’s unfortunate, but it can’t be helped.”

“Ah. It was worth asking,” Pollard said with a shrug. So his beasts have the same constraints as his birds. He’s the only one who can control them. An advantage—and a liability.

“When will you make your assault on McFadden’s troops?” Hennoch said. While Pollard had been watching the interaction as intelligence gathering, sizing up Nagok as a future opponent, Hennoch had grown increasingly impatient with talk and panoply. For all his faults, Hennoch was a straightforward man who preferred action to politics. If he had his way, Hennoch no doubt would have preferred to ride back to Solsiden with his orders that very night.

“Within a fortnight,” Nagok replied. “I’ll have the rest of my forces in place by then. Right now, the positions of our adversaries work in our favor. We must strike before the circumstances change.”

With luck, Nagok, Thrane, and McFadden will destroy each other, and the kingdom will go not to the most powerful or the cleverest but to the one most invested in remaining alive the longest. I intend to be the last man standing.