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her like a well underneath floodwaters. She felt his singular obsession, his devotion to his god overwhelming even his lust and fear. Images of his hundreds of years of life flashed before her closed eyes. His tongue flitted across hers, and she sensed the very essence of death tingling its way up and down her spine. More and more poured in, his life, his death, his unlife , all of it in random, startling detail. As his hand brushed her breast, she knew the amazing respect he held for her, as well as the tiny inkling of fear. All of him, she knew all of him, and then she saw what neither wished her to see.
    She saw a bag, its contents moving slowly against the limits.
    She felt her hatred roar to life like an unleashed demon, and at the sudden rage his own hatred spilled forth, no longer hidden behind his glowing eyes. He hated her as much as he desired her, all for her power, the power of a goddess. Her whole body trembling, she clutched her elbows and backed to the very edge of the window.
    “Get away,” she said, her voice colder than the blood in his veins. “Go now, or I will fall.”
    “I felt your desire,” he said, pulling his hood back over his face.
    “And I felt yours,” she said. “Compared to Qurrah’s inferno, you’re nothing but a firefly.”
    He moved again, and she scooted further back, her whole body hanging precariously above the castle walls. Velixar turned and left, but before he did, he offered one last piece of advice.
    “Careful of your heart,” he said. “The whole world is ending. Do not let it end you as well.”
    And then he was gone, and her sobs that came after were far greater than any she sang of in her song.

    T hulos was looking over maps when Velixar joined him in the throne room. The maps lay scattered across the floor, and the war god stalked among them, staring, analyzing, memorizing.
    “You have walked these lands for centuries,” Thulos said at his appearance. “Stay. My demons know very little, for Ulamn led them on a mad chase without the reconnaissance he should have done.”
    He pointed to the northern plains stretching above Veldaren.
    “I’ve been told orcs have run rampant here,” he said. “Is this true?”
    “The Mug Tribe has been pillaging all throughout the plains,” Velixar said, leaning down at the map and pointing. His finger traced a path around the King’s Forest to the northwest, and a castle drawn against the edge of the Vile Wedge.
    “That is the Green Castle, and Lord Sully rules there. He should be bearing the brunt of the attack by the orcs, who by now must be pouring across the Bone Ditch and into the Hillock.”
    “And there?” Thulos asked, pointing to the north-east. At the edge of the Helforn Forest was another castle, not far from the Crestwall Mountains that lined the eastern coast.
    “Felwood,” said Velixar. “Ruled by Lord Gandrem. Unless Lord Sully has already fallen, they might pose a threat. Their cavalry is much revered among the Neldaren people.”
    “It is a wonder they did not retake this city while Ulamn went on his merry chase,” Thulos muttered. Velixar chuckled.
    “We marched at the start of winter, and I’m sure the orcs have kept them on the defensive. Besides, who would believe such a tale, a city conquered by men with wings? If they are massing an army, it is because now they truly understand their danger.”
    Thulos nodded. He paced for a bit, then pointed to a different map, this one showing the lands south of Veldaren.
    “And what of here?” he asked. “This…Angelport…what might we expect there?”
    Angelport was far to the south-east, its lords ruling the area known as the Ramere, bordered between the Erze and Quellan Forests.
    “The trip will put us many weeks off the path west,” Velixar said.
    Thulos raised an eyebrow. “I asked a question, and I expect an answer.”
    Karak’s prophet chuckled.
    “So be it. Angelport is full of sellswords and men with more blood than honor. Nearly every