Their journey is long and deliberately uncomfortable. Esmeree is forced to endure days strapped across the back of her marka, its hard, powerful body grinding mercilessly into her battered one. Despite the Grey Summer heat, she is given only one drink of water a day and no food, and they refuse to provide her with any clothing beyond a rough horse’s blanket. By the time of their arrival in Ve’coDusios, she is too weak to stand and has to be dragged through the gates of the dunum, much to the entertainment of the jeering cottars.

Ve’coDusios is a dark place, a Brack dunum standing dangerously close to rraakk territory. Tall, thick walls surround the fortress, and the decaying bodies of humans, rraakks, and others hang from its parapets. On those corpses not too ravaged by ravens and the elements, Esmeree can see deep runes and sigils carved into their flesh. Similar runes are scored into the walls of the earthworks. Her ember trembles in their presence. For a place like this, its occult defenses are just as important as the physical ones, and she can feel the wards sizzle across her ember as she passes through them.

Armored Brackish cings on the walls watch her with dark eyes as the procession passes beneath them. There were six cings accompanying Aggteb that night, and in addition to her group, some of Esmeree’s former slaves chose to accompany them to Ve’coDusios to see punishment meted out. Maponos, too, was taken with them, under the watchful eye of the gwrach.

Young, braided mosacs rush out to meet the group and take possession of their mounts. Hiisi is cut from his epos, and he falls to the ground in a heap. Much to her surprise, however, as Bracks arrive to carry him, he struggles to his feet and attempts to walk under his own power. Aggteb frowns, and with a nod from her, the Brack guards strike him across the back of his legs with their gæsum spears. The cing tumbles, and he is dragged into the palace with suitable humility.

Esmeree decides not to make such a proud display–not that she has much pride left–and allows the cings to take her by the arms and drag her inside.

The palace of Ve’coDusios is brightly lit by huge fires blazing at either end of the hall, and the heat is oppressive. Tables line the walls, though no meals are underway now. Gaudy Brackish tapestries dangle from every corner, and curious slugs watch from balconies far overhead. Across the walls hang the shields and tabards of defeated cings or Seven Kingdoms knights.

At the end of the hall, a robed Brack waits on a faldstool. The guards carry Esmeree to him and drop her unceremoniously next to Hiisi. She struggles to get her hands underneath her and push herself up, only to have one of her guards strike her across the small of her back with his gæsum. She collapses with a cry.

The Brack lord stares at her with cold eyes, one hand twirling a long pale brown braid. The hairs of his beard and those at his temples are shot with gray. Beside him stands a tall, powerfully-built cing, his hand casually holding a long unsheathed spatha. The bodyguard’s eyes are only on Hiisi.

To one side stand a cluster of figures shrouded in cucullus, a vile stench radiating from them. Esmeree has the opportunity to spare them only a glance.

"Have you an idea of who I am?" the lord on the throne asks. His voice is smooth, mellow, and while he speaks Palpi, his words almost have an EroBernac accent rather than Brackish.

Esmeree is afraid to look up, lest she be hit again. The Brack extends his leg and lifts up her chin with the toe of his boot. "Have you?" he asks.

"You…" she stammers, "You are the Rix of this dunum?"

He snorts and lets her head fall. "I am Rixueramos Naw, high king of this and four other dunums."

She feels more than sees him gesture to his right. Turning her head slightly, she sees a spatha of exceptional quality driven point-down into the wood of the floor. It pins with its blade four iron crowns like a coite peg. "I rule the four tribes of Capt, Selua, Sego, Gutus, and Logan. Tribes whose lands until recently have suffered from your deprecations." He pauses, "Are you understanding me?"

Esmeree hesitates, unsure of what to do, until her guard slams the butt of his gæsum against the floor very close to her face. She screams in terror and nods, "Yes! Yes, I understand!"

"To do these things to my people. To kill, kidnap, and otherwise harm them, is to harm me!"

Esmeree shudders beneath his rage. The rixueramos sits back in his throne and is silent for a long time. "Such crimes," he sighs and gestures at Hiisi, "I would expect from this luct-marvos, but you," he points at Esmeree, "You are caragus! Adgarios! Coming as you do from the Seven Kingdoms, from a life in hiding from the Inquisition, how could you do such things to your own kind?" He shakes his head sadly, "Truly, you are nothing more than a boduus Medianist."

He glances behind him and gestures. A young man steps forward. Rare for a Brack, his face is shaved bare. As he bows to Naw, Esmeree notes he has difficulty keeping his eyes away from her. "Yäh, me lord?" he asks. His Palpi is excellent as well, though spoken with an accent.

"What is the extent of the outrages these two bagaudas have done to my lands?" Naw demands.

The braidless man bows again and still stares at Esmeree, "Me lord, tä the best of our knowledge, the walkin’ dogs have kidnapped and sold over 30 of yer serfs. Of those, perhaps 20 were sorcerers." He now looks directly into Esmeree’s eyes. "We have na way tä tell how many were killed. Nor do we know how many Chroani they took."

Naw voice sounds shocked. "Nearly a score of caragus? Can this be? To what purpose? To what profit? What was done with them?"

Esmeree remembers Hiisi’s warning and remains silent. She feels the Rixueramos’s rage rising.

"Speak!" he bellows. "Did you sell them in Ceilbyrig? Were they to be slugs?" His voice cracks with astonishment, and he points to the wooden charm Esmeree still wears. "My sources tell me you targeted sorcerers! That you fixed them with those graney fetishes! Were you to make them slugs? No sorcerer can be made a slave for long, you must know that! What became of my stone summoners!"

His face is red with rage. Esmeree trembles but remains silent.

Naw gestures, and a young slug steps forward bearing a chalice on a tray. Naw drinks deeply and then hurls the heavy metal cup at Esmeree. It hits her on the head, gouging a deep gash in her scalp. She remains motionless as her blood runs over her forehead and down her cheeks.

The Rixueramos stares at her for a long time. At last he stands. Looking at the sacardd, he says in Brackish, "This man and this girl are still bare. Clean them, clothe them, feed them. I want them strong before their judgement, you understand?"

The sacardd bows, "Yes, my lord."

Rixueramos Naw leaves the throne room.

 

* * *

 

Esmeree sits alone in her rough cell. It is little more than a closet, furnished with a copper tureen that alternately serves as her water basin and lavatory. She drinks her water early and hopes she doesn’t get thirsty later in the day. Her shackles prevent her from reaching above her chest, and so she must eat and drink from the ground like an animal.

The cell is uninhabitable–the ceiling isn’t even high enough for her to stand–but she knows Bracks don’t keep prisoners for long. She need only wait a little longer.

Her door opens suddenly, and the bare-faced sacardd steps in. Just as quickly as he appeared, he backs away. "Gods!" he curses, as he shakes his head, "That damn fetish of yers is potent, yäh?"

Esmeree blinks in confusion. It’s been days since she was locked in here, longer since they were captured by Naw’s gwrach. Since then, the wooden charm she wears has blocked of all her ember’s powers–in particular, its healing spells. She still suffers from the wounds inflicted by her former slaves on the night of her capture, and she is healing slowly.

Now she stares at the sacardd in wonder about why he should care about the fetish. Smiling, he shows her his palm and then turns it around to show the back of his hand. It is covered with multi-colored tattoos. There, just beneath the nail of his ring finger, is a small stone. So, this priest is a sorcerer as well? Esmeree is sadly reminded of poor Usk–her first victim on this blighted mission–he was a sacardd from Ve’coDusios too.

"I am Hailoken, sacardd tä the Rixueramos."

She looks away. "What is it you want from me, priest?" she asks in Brackish. She already has a good idea. She’s seen the way he watches her.

The sacardd looks surprised. "You speak Brackish!" he exclaims.

"Yes," she nods. "I speak many languages."

"Ah," he sighs speculatively as he rubs his bare chin. "A woman of many talents…" His voice trails away in thought.

"What is it you want from me?" she repeats.

"Hmmn," he shrugs, "I suppose I feel poorly for you, yäh?"

"If you feel so, perhaps you should help me."

"Ah," he sighs, "but your crimes are so severe! I’m not sure I should…"

Esmeree gingerly probes her bruised and scabbed ribs and breasts. "Listen, Brack. I’m hurt, I’m sick, I’m starving and filthy. The last thing I’m going to do right now is fuck you, understand?"

The sacardd takes a step back, obviously confused that she should see through his ruse so easily. "Now I’m not sure… How can you say such… Ah…"

She looks up at him and smiles. He immediately relaxes. Despite her less than perfect appearance, she is pleased to see it still has the desired effect on him. "However," she purrs, "Should you do what you can to ease my suffering, I assure you, I will be more than appreciative."

He licks his lips. "That is difficult, witch. You must know that."

"Do you know anything about me?"

He shakes his head.

"Before I was sent to Ceilbyrig, I was a sellâria to the finest houses of Palpin. I had the pleasure of serving even the Doge of Cliffs Reach as my patron."

"Sellâria? What is that?"

Her smile freezes temporarily. For a moment, she forgot how far from home she really is. "A sellâria is like a whore," she says, "except for her, giving pleasure to her man is an art form. It is not merely a means to earn money."

When he frowns, she adds, "Of course, you must know the difference, yes?"

He blinks and then nods. "Are you… are you really as good as that?"

"Of course I am," she says brightly, hoping her physical appearance doesn’t prove her a liar.

"What… what is it you need?"

She looks around the cell. "I’d like some more food and water. Enough, perhaps, even for me to bathe a bit. At the very least," she says, tapping her copper basin, "I’d like another tureen."

"Is that all?"

She shakes her head, "Priest, the better you take care of me, the better I can take care of you. Understand?"

He nods, so she nods. "If you really want to do me some good," she says carefully, "Perhaps you can see about getting this damn charm away from me for a little while?"

His eyes narrow suspiciously, "I would be a fool to do that. Nothing would stop you from escaping or killing us all with your damned magic."

"Of fuck escaping!" she says bitterly. "I’m hurt! I’m hurting all the time! Get this charm away from me for a little while, and my magic can heal me!"

"I hear," he says, changing the subject, "that when two sorcerers couple, it becomes something… more." It is obvious he’s been thinking about this for a while.

"Well, yes," she says carefully, "That’s true, but it won’t work if I’m still wearing this charm! In fact, it would affect you as well! The only way we can enjoy ourselves, is to get rid of it!"

He hesitates, and his face turns earnest. "Esmeree," he says, "You must understand something. Unless things change dramatically, you will die. You will die sooner than you’ll be able to reap the benefits of better food, more water, or even your healing magic. Do you understand this?"

She nods silently.

"Then," he says, "You must give me something. There must be something you know that I can use to sway the judgement of the High King."

Esmeree thinks hard before answering. Hiisi swore she would come to no good if she spoke, but what other choice does she have? She is certain she will die if she remains silent. Switching to Palpi, she says, "A Viscount from Palpin enlisted me when he found my sorcery more valuable than my lovemaking. I was to help cing Hiisi locate and capture the sorcerers and transport them to Ceilbyrig."

"And what was tä be done with them?" Hailoken asks, mirroring her Palpi.

She shakes her head, "I don’t know."

Hailoken looks troubled as he backs away and begins closing to door.

"Hailoken, wait!" she cries desperately. Her chained hands clutch at but don’t quite reach the wooden talisman around her neck. "You’ve got to get this damn thing off me! You’ve got to get me out of here!"

He pauses closing the door only briefly. "I will get yä the food and water yä need, oainjyr. The charm… well, we’ll just have tä see. It may not even matter, because I may end up doin’ yä one better."

"What is that?" she asks.

He finishes closing the door. As she hears the lock slide into place, he says, "Rixueramos Naw has called fer yer judgement. I am tä be yer barnaunos. Tomorrow at dawn, I am tä read the omens and decide yer fate."

 

A warm breeze blows from the east, and Esmeree silently performs her Morning Prayer to the rising sun.

Sharing the dunum’s highest parapet with Esmeree and Hiisi is Rixueramos Naw, Hailoken, and a collection of cings. The bodyguard stands beside his lord, his eyes deceivingly vacant. Standing away from the others is one of the robed figures she glimpsed when she just arrived at Ve’coDusios. Despite the fact the he stands downwind, his stench is still strong.

It’s been days since Esmeree has seen Hiisi. Despite the strength of his will, she can see he is weakening. His face is puffy and covered with clotted blood. The Bracks of Ve’coDusios seem to be treating him harsher than her. She leans closer to him and whispers, "What is this? What’s happening?"

The Rixueramos turns to look at her. "We are preparing to perform the augury, whore," he says in Brackish. When her eyes widen with surprise, he smiles, "Yes… My priest tells me you are a woman of many talents beyond language and rutting. You are a woman well-known in Palpin, yes? Suffice to say, you’ll be selling no more Brack stone summoners in Ceilbyrig."

Hiisi looks at her sharply, and Esmeree can only look away.

Naw grunts with satisfaction and turns to Hailoken. "Proceed, barnaunos."

With a small smile to Esmeree, he turns to a nearby cing. The warrior hands him a longbow and arrow. Nocking the arrow in the bow, he carefully scans the grassy hills beyond the walls. At last, he draws back the string and takes aim. He fires, and the arrow flies high and far.

When it finally lands, an isean fowl leaps into the air nearby, squawking in panic and straining to gain altitude as quickly as possible. It is followed by a handful more, and then the entire hillside rises into panicked flight. Hailoken drops the bow and leans against the battlements, watching the flock rise and swirl in unison. He watches as the occasional straggler struggles to catch up, he watches as the occasional bird strays from the flock, circling and spiraling on its own.

The other Bracks–evidently novice auspexes–watch the flock as well, commenting on the its various motions. Esmeree looks to Hiisi with confusion and sees that he too is watching with interest.

At last, the flock drifts away, eventually settling on a new hill. Hailoken turns solemnly to the others. "The portents are clear," he says with authority. "They do not favor the condemned."

Esmeree gasps, but Hailoken refuses to meet her gaze. Naw nods as though he was expecting this. Fingering the braids of his beard, he slowly circles Esmeree and Hiisi. "It appears," he says, "that our hospitality does not favor criminals. I trust, your example will dissuade others from attempting similar acts, yes?"

Esmeree stares at the ground, trying and failing to find the angle that will win her freedom. She knew this mission was wrong from the start, but the promise of the Viscount’s gold colored her judgement. Damn. She only has herself to blame.

"All that remains," he says as he stares out across the moors, "Is to decide your fate. Punishment must be fitting according to Brackish law, yäh?"

A gurgling hack interrupts his reflections. He turns to regard the stinking cloaked figure that up until that point had remained silent. Once the man finishes his fit of wet coughing, he bows with embarrassment. "I beg yer pardon, me lord." His voice is syrupy with mucus.

"It is no matter, Gronw," he says affectionately. Suddenly his face brightens, and he turns back to the condemned. "Ah! In our haste to see justice done, I failed to perform the appropriate introductions!"

He gestures towards the robed figure. "This is Rix Gronw, one of my vassals and ruler of the Logan clan. Sadly, the halogrwydd of leprosy savaged his lands, and all that has survived thus far are the Rix and his cings."

Naw bows to Gronw, and the halogedig painfully returns it.

The Rixueramos looks Esmeree in the eye, "His lands and people are destroyed, and now this proud man and his warriors are dependent upon my charity. Some say a wizard from the Seven Kingdoms laid the curse of leprosy upon them. Who is to know?"

He looks back at the leper. "Perhaps you, Lord Gronw, can best decide the fate of a foreign witch who likewise sought to bring down the Brack people?"

Gronw’s cowl turns to regard Esmeree, and she sees one eye gleaming in its shadowy folds. "She is comely," he gurgles, "and proud. Let her share our pleasures. Let her be condemned tä be an oainjyr fer halogedigs."

Naw laughs. "Such a fate! Yes! Let it be so!" He looks from Esmeree to Hiisi. "And we shall hobble the cing for you as well. Let him become the slug of lepers. Let him clean your whore in-between uses, yäh?"

He laughs, and several of the other Bracks join him.

Esmeree looks to Hiisi, but he almost seems to be enjoying the joke as well. Damn him!

"Lord Naw," Hiisi bellows suddenly, startling nearly everyone. "Yä and yer servants speak frequently of Brackish law and of Johlpa’s Laws of War. Let us test yer dedication."

"What is this?" Naw sneers, "The luct-marvos speaks? The outcast dares invoke the name of Johlpa?"

"Johlpa embraces me," Hiisi growls, "Me strength, me skill, me bravery will herald me into his halls."

Naw chuckles, "Not after the rotting disease has eaten it all away. How will you hold your sword without hands, thief? How will you fuck when your cock has fallen away? How can you taste the courmi with no tongue?"

Hiisi shakes his head. "A death of halogrwydd is not me fate." Esmeree frowns and cannot help but remember the words she said to him during her first vision with Maponos. She is fated to kill him. Couldn’t it be that this is exactly what she has done by speaking their secrets to Hailoken?

"What is this challenge of yours?" Naw demands.

Hiisi straightens. "By the Laws of War, by the Word of Bàs, na guilty man can prevail over one that is pure. I challenge yer finest warrior, yer best rhyswr tä battle, tä determine me guilt in this matter."

Esmeree shakes her head. Hiisi would always rather go out fighting, and even in his weakened state, she’d give him fair odds to win.

Naw ponders the challenge for a while. "Truly," he says, his voice full of sarcasm, "You must be a man of pure spirit, to issue such a challenge. Such a man certainly couldn’t have committed these crimes."

Slowly, he turns to Esmeree. "Not unless," he says, "He was under the control of a powerful witch, yäh?"

Taking a step back, Esmeree looks from Naw to Hiisi. What’s going on here? Hiisi curses silently.

"Yäh," Naw decides. "The challenge stands, but you," he says, pointing at Esmeree, "must meet it. Two days hence, you shall face my champion." For the first time she can remember, the powerful bodyguard looks at Esmeree.

Esmeree gasps, "Me? I cannot fight!"

Naw smiles. "In the eyes of Johlpa, we are all warriors. Just as your Hiisi says, if you are free of guilt, you will prevail, yäh?"

 

* * *

 

This is to be no duel. It is an execution.

For 2 days, she languished in that damn cell of hers. True to his promise–though she is not clear why–Hailoken delivered extra food and water. Not that it does her any good. Without her ember, without her healing, she is no match for a child, much less a seasoned Brackish cing.

And now, she stands before the dunum’s weaponsmith. Behind him is a full rack of blades–spathas, gæsum, bwyell–and nearly all of them are too large for her to manage. "Pick one!" the smith bellows impatiently.

Esmeree just shakes her head. "Have you any Chroani sicas?"

The smith laughs contemptuously. "A child’s blade fer a little girl?"

Esmeree sighs. "Give me a Gock-damned gully then."

The smith throws the knife onto the ground at her feet. As she bends to pick it up, his powerful arm wraps around her neck. At first, she struggles, but when his tightening lock threatens to crush her throat, she surrenders. "Sit still, oainjyr," he hisses.

Someone approaches from behind her, and she feels them remove the wooden charm from around her neck. This is replaced by a sturdier chain, around which hangs an iron basket. Much to Esmeree’s distress, she watches as her wooden charm is placed inside and the basket sealed shut. With this done, at last, her shackles are removed.

The smith slaps her across the face with satisfaction. "There’s a good witch, yäh? Now yä can fight. Can’t have yer little necklace breakin’, uh?"

Esmeree considers plunging the gully into his throat–at least she would die with one of their lives on her hands–but something inside her stays her hand.

Perhaps the death offered by the rhyswr’s blade will be kinder than a slow death of rape and leprosy?

 

The main hall of Naw’s palace has been cleared of its dining tables. Bracks from across Naw’s territory have arrived to witness Esmeree’s duel. Rixueramos Naw sits in his faldstool, his sacardd Hailoken at his side. Gronw the Leper King stands with a handful of his rotting cings, obviously hoping Esmeree can be defeated without killing her. High above, Hiisi is given an excellent view from one of the balconies. He is chained and heavily guarded–there will be no dramatic rescues from him today.

Her face falls when she sees even Maponos is present. His eyes are dark with fear and concern, and he struggles to free himself from the handmaid assigned to him.

She frowns. Where’s Aggteb? Doubtful that the bitter witch would be here. Typical of hags, it is hard to persuade her to leave her remote hermetic life. She knows of some gwraches that live days away from the dunums they serve.

Naw’s bodyguard appears from behind the crowd. He is shirtless and barefoot, wearing only dark braca. Held in his hand is his spatha. Esmeree eyes its keen edges and realizes that in just a few short seconds, it will be cutting into her flesh.

Her grip tightens on her suddenly tiny gully, and she closes her eyes. She reflects back to her life in the Mill and how CC always seemed able to overcome larger and stronger opponents. She was always able to fight with pure ferocity and confidence. She didn’t care if she won or lost.

But then, she didn’t have much to lose, did she?

"By Johlpa’s Laws of War and the Word of Bàs," Naw’s voice thunders through the hall, "This challenge has been honorably issued and accepted. May Johlpa’s will guide the hand of the virtuous. May the corrupt be exposed and debased."

The bodyguard raises his spatha. "I am Twrch mosaius Perif mosaius Tared mosaius Annwas mosaius Acwylon. I am here tä prove yä evil."

All eyes turn to Esmeree. The audience waits expectantly. She swallows, extremely unhappy about the whole situation. Raising her knife, she makes a sign of God and says, "I am Esmeree, daughter of no one. Kahedin the Pure bless me, I am here to be proven evil."

Surprised laughter circulates through the spectators, though Twrch frowns with displeasure. Esmeree shrugs.

"Silence!" Naw bellows. He leans forward in his throne. "Begin."

Esmeree blinks in surprise. That’s it? No more speeches or ceremonies?

Before she can get hear bearings, Twrch has already crossed the distance between them and swings. A last minute dive for the ground saves her from losing her right arm. She rolls, springs to her feet, and dives again. Twrch’s spatha splinters the floor where she had just laid.

Life on the streets has lent her speed and agility and taught her to trust her instincts. She considers the possibility of letting him tire himself out, but hard facts force her to abandon the thought. She is still weak, and her injuries take their tolls. Her ribs ache, her left knee is weak, and the deep wound on her scalp has already begun to bleed again.

Wiping blood from her eyes, she tries to keep track of Twrch’s spatha as it spins in the air before her. The cing bears a perpetual grimace of distaste, disgusted with having to do battle with a boduus inigena.

He swings again, and she does her best to dodge. The blade grazes her side, sending her tumbling to the floor. She rolls, the sword nearly missing her, and she kicks out. Her foot finds his knee, but the cing doesn’t flinch at all. Instead, she uses it as a springboard to roll herself backwards and away from him.

She finds her feet only with difficulty. She is nearly winded, while her cing opponent hasn’t even broken a sweat.

"Summon, brinneal-Esmeree!"

She looks over to see Maponos’s honest face. "Summon, brinneal-Esmeree!" he pleads.

She sadly shakes her head as she gestures to her new collar. He just doesn’t understand.

The distraction is nearly fatal. At the last moment, she leaps backwards into the crowd of Bracks, just as Twrch’s spatha sings through the air. Hands close on her, but she squirms away, circles behind an astonished cing, and lashes out with a vicious kick. Her foot finds its mark between Twrch’s legs.

The Brack rhyswr is staggered. Esmeree leaps at him, her knife ready to score some sort of blow. Twrch easily fends away the cut with his free hand, catching Esmeree under the arm and throwing her aside.

She leaps with the throw, letting it send her all the way across the circle. She slowly gets to her feet and is surprised to see Twrch is still on the other side. He appears to still be trying to catch his breath. At least she found one soft spot on him, she thinks with some satisfaction.

"Summon, brinneal-Esmeree! Summon, brinneal-Esmeree!" The crowd has adopted Maponos’s plea as a mocking chant, and the hall echoes with the words over and over. Her ears burn with humiliation.

She slowly becomes aware of a growing heat and the smell of burning wood. White smoke stings her eyes, and she waves it away frantically, looking for its source. It takes but a moment to realize that the source is within the basket hanging from her collar. Her wooden charm is on fire!

Ash and embers burn her skin as the fetish disintegrates. The chanting of the crowd slows and stops all together. Like an ocean’s wave passing over her, her stone’s power returns. She looks up and catches the eye of Hailoken. He smiles broadly and applauds. Bless him! He found a way to release her from the charm!

"Stop!" Naw bellows, "Stop this now!"

He points an accusing finger at Esmeree. "The witch has her power back! There is an unfair advantage! This duel must stop until we can get a new charm on her!"

"Why?" laughs Hiisi from his balcony. "If yä cares sä much about fairness, then remove the muscle and strength and skill from yer rhyswr as well! Only then will this match be ‘fair’!"

Naw can only watch with dismay as Twrch straightens. Smiling that at last he has a worthy opponent, he raises his spatha and charges. Reaching out, she summons her Hammer. The blow is capable of breaking bones, but it only slightly staggers the charging cing. She summons again and again. By the time he reaches Esmeree, his face is a bleeding mess, but his eyes are clear and keen.

Her body has filled with new stamina. As he swings, she easily dodges, summoning her Hammer to strike him deep in his groin.

Twrch gasps and falls to his knees. Esmeree swings downwards and plunges her gully into his back. The blade skips across his rips, sticking deep in the muscle of his shoulder, and the blow knocks him to the floor. His spatha falls from his senseless hands.

Taking up the huge sword, she raises it over her head with both hands and looks to Naw. The Rixueramos sags in his throne