The Rising

       As he made his way through the wintry nighttime forest, hunched over atop his black warhorse Velox, Kailan Althey wondered for the thousandth time why he still did what he did. All those pompous lords and ladies, drowning in their own wealth and self-importance, scoffed at his simple garments and his paltry possessions. To them he was a common mercenary with a fancy title. Of course, the noble elite looked down on all those below them in rank, but when their comfortable existence was threatened by something their ordinary human soldiers couldn’t kill, they begged and pleaded oh-so-nicely for the aid of a Venator, a hunter of monsters like Kailan Althey—“Fireblade” as he was commonly known. Even then he was treated only with the necessary level of respect owed to his position as one of the youngest Master Venators in history.

       Kailan was headed for a place called Barrow, a small backwater village nestled deep within the Witchwood. Some kind of mysterious creature had attacked a trade caravan on the forest road, leaving no survivors. Thirty or so people, mostly traders and farmers selling various goods, produce, and livestock, had been travelling from the town of Highfalls to Barrow. A few days after the convoy was supposed to arrive in Barrow, a small group of scouts set out from the village down the west road to find it. About ten miles away they found a scene of almost indescribable carnage. According to the report sent to magistrate in Highfalls by the scouts’ leader, a former soldier and experienced huntsmen by the name of Gared Hrobyn, it seemed that every man, woman, child, and animal in the convoy had been killed—or rather they had been torn apart. Kailan guessed that the horrors of war had strengthened Hrobyn’s stomach, for the letter he wrote to the magistrate was quite specific in detailing the gruesome scene. His description of the remains suggested to Kailan that the attacker possessed incredible strength, supernatural speed, and ferocity far beyond that of any normal woodland creature. In addition, as far as the scouts could tell, none of the people or livestock had been eaten, as by a bear or a pack of wolves, and they could find no tracks or trace of anything out of the ordinary. It seemed that whatever it was simply killed every living thing it could find and then vanished into thin air.

       Hrobyn and his men had ridden back to the village as quickly as they could and sent a messenger bird to Highfalls—no one would risk the three-day ride through the forest to the city—demanding assistance. By sheer coincidence Kailan had been passing through Highfalls at the time, and though he had wished to keep a low profile he was honor-bound to respond to the magistrate’s call for a Venator’s help. And so here he was, out alone in the cold, dark night, hunting something only a Venator could.

       Kailan was close to Barrow now. He had been riding for nearly three days and he hoped he would make the village before daybreak. He had found the caravan in the late afternoon and stopped to investigate himself; while Hrobyn’s account had been thorough, there were things a Venator could detect that ordinary men Hrobyn, however experienced they might be, could not. There had been plenty of dried blood and a few body parts here and there, but the carnage had been left in the woods for several days and most of the corpses had been picked clean by predators. Kailan found plenty of animal tracks and the smell of bear, wolf, and fox, and a few crows were flitting about the scene. Like the scouts, though, he found nothing to give him any more clues about the monster that had ended over thirty lives in one night.

       The sky overhead was cloudy but the moon was still visible. It was not quite midnight. Kailan, like all Venators, had greatly heightened senses, honed over three decades of physical and magical training. His eyes, with piercing golden-brown irises around dark pupils, were as sharp as a hawk’s. His vision could penetrate all but the most opaque darkness. The moonlight provided enough illumination for him to see clearly, though the shadows cast by the tall trees swaying in the wind seemed to dance around him, as if he was in some grand, eerie ballroom. The wind was gentle but it made the air cold and harsh. He wrapped his heavy black cloak tight against his leather armor to protect himself against the frigid breeze. The hood of his cloak brushed against his cheek, wool scratched softly against his light brown stubble.

       Kailan wanted nothing more than to get out of the cold, grab a pint by a warm fireplace and crawl into a nice, soft bed. He spurred Velox gently, and the horse increased its pace to a steady trot. He was only a mile or so away from the village now; he was supposed to meet Hrobyn in the morning at the sole inn in the village, the appropriately-named Frozen Huntsmen. Kailan hoped that the name was no indicator of the quality of the establishment. He imagined—

       But before Kailan could finish his thought, a shiver shot up his spine and rattled his bones. Velox whinnied, slowed and stopped, stamping his hooves and shaking his big head angrily. He took anxious, uncertain steps side-to-side.

       “Easy! Easy, Velox.” Kailan tried to sooth the horse, patting Velox’s big neck. Not much could phase Kailan’s stalwart warhorse, but something had the animal spooked. The Venator could feel it, too—something was coming, something unnatural. Kailan noticed that with the though the air had become much colder, the wind had stopped. The trees stood still and silent, and the shadows seemed to lengthen and deepen. Kailan slowed his breathing—every breath turned to grey steam before his face—in an attempt to calm his nerves. Whatever had Velox on edge was affecting his hardened resolve as well. Kailan opened his mind and expanded his awareness, but the air was heavy with a wicked, dark aura. Velox was getting more and more agitated with each passing second. They were in a miasma of pure, frozen fear, and Kailan’s will railed against it.

       “C’mon, brother, let’s go,” he urged Velox on, but the horse refused to move on. Stubborn arse, Kailan thought.

       Then a powerful blast of frigid wind shot around Kailan, cutting right through his heavy wool cloak. His muscles stiffened and his heart raced in his chest. Velox reared, nearly throwing his master from the saddle. The trees swayed forward; powdery spectral snow was thrown up and swirled amongst the thick trunks. The sounds of creaking wood and snapping branches split the night.

       Kailan shouted at Velox, trying to regain control of the frightened animal, but as the demonic wind passed by he heard which, for just a moment, sounded like a voice. It uttered a single word:

        Althey.

       The phantom murmur sent another harsh rattle through Kailan’s body and mind, and the wind seemed to halt. The pale snow that had been kicked up by the wind hung suspended, motionless in the air. Velox, too, was frozen by the voice; the great horse stood still, ears up and listening. But then the voice was gone, and the evil tempest continued its torrential passage through the Witchwood.

       Whatever it was, it was fast, and it was heading in the same direction as the Venator—it was heading to Barrow. Having regained control of his mount, Kailan spurred the horse and snapped the reins. “Go, Velox! Go now!” he shouted, and Velox charged forward, chasing the gale through the Witchwood. They were close to the village, very close. Riding at break-neck speed, Kailan figured they would reach Barrow in mere minutes. Fear and fatigue forgotten, Kailan leaned forward. He let his cloak billow behind him. His hood fell back, revealing his short cut brown hair. The silver bracers around his forearms, imbued with protective runes, sparkled in the shifting moonlight.

       “Faster, Velox! Ya!” he yelled over the furious rush of wind. He scolded himself; he should have been expecting something like this. Kailan wasn’t old, only 36, but every day he was getting careless, more distracted. What had he been thinking going so slowly? People were going to die for this. Whatever this thing was, it was moving faster than anything Kailan had ever encountered. And that wind? The cold? Kailan had encountered vengeful spirits that caused things like that, but as far as he knew ghosts and wraiths didn’t—no, couldn’t—tear people and beasts of burden to shreds like this monster did at the convoy. This was something far more sinister.

       Kailan’s longsword Aestus was wrapped up in a black leather scabbard strapped to his saddle. Keeping one hand on the reins Kailan used the other to tear off the cloth covering and drew the weapon. The legendary sword had been in the Althey family for thousands of years, first found by Valarius Althey, Kailan’s ancestor and one of the first Venators. No one knew where and when Aestus had first been forged, or by whom, but it was believed that it was ancient even when Valarius discovered it. The passage of time had no effect on Aestus; the edge did not dull, and though its power never waned, the weapon had a will of its own. It had to be treated with care and respect, or that power—which Kailan believed was beyond the understanding of mortal men—would turn against the wielder. But Kailan felt he would need that power for this hunt.

       Then he saw a light ahead, in the distance through the trees. It grew larger and brighter every second as horse and rider shot down the road; it had to be the village, but something about the light seemed off to Kailan. It was too bright for a small frontier village like Barrow. Then, he smelled it—smoke. The infernal orange light grew and grew until it filled the entire forest.

       Fire. The entire village was on fire.

       As he approached Barrow Kailan noticed that the defensive wall of sharpened tree trunk poles, which probably encircled the entire village, had become a wall of flames. True fear gripped Kailan’s heart. This wall had been meant to ward off predators and bandits; a lot of good it did the villagers now. From what he could see, large portions of the line of thick tree trunks had collapsed completely, consumed by the inferno. Directly ahead, where Kailan assumed there had once been a large wooden gatehouse, there were only splintered, smoldering cinders—the aftermath of a considerable explosion. Kailan was stunned. He had heard of warmages in the ancient days who had been strong enough to harness such raw destructive power, but he had never encountered anything like. He had fought a titanic dragon, but he would have sensed a dragon from miles away, certainly one large enough to set fire to an entire village. And the attack on the convoy? Kailan knew the work of dragons, he had hunted them before, and this did not add up.

       Kailan heard screams even before Velox burst through the charred remains of the gatehouse. Inside, Barrow was a scene of utter devastation. Nearly every building was caught in the blaze. A few burning figures stumbled out of flaming structures, performing horrible flailing dances of death before falling still and collapsing to the ground. Kailan leaped off of Velox—this was no place for him, even a near-immortal warhorse. He shouted over the noise of the roaring inferno all around him, ordering Velox away, and the animal obeyed without hesitation, dashing off the way they had come. Kailan moved his hand over Aestus’s three-foot blade, and the silvery mirror-like metal began to glow. The sword shone with white light and hummed, charged with potent energies waiting to be unleashed.

       Holding the enchanted weapon aloft in a two-handed grip, Kailan walked through the devastated village. There were pools of blood everywhere, bodies scattered all around; like the attack on the trade convoy, almost none of the corpses were intact. Arms and legs had been ripped from sockets, guts and bodily organs were strewn about. Severed heads lay on the ground amongst the gore, the villagers’ expressions captured at the very moment of death. Faces flickered in the dancing firelight, screaming silently. Eyes stared in horror, still moist with tears of despair.

       Kailan could still hear screaming from somewhere further into the burning village. The rising smoke made it difficult to see—Kailan’s hawk-eyes could deal with the absence of light but not physical material like smoke or mist—and the roar of the inferno nearly drowned out the screams, but they seemed to grow louder as he made his way through Barrow. He strode, determinedly, through the falling ash, stepping over the scattered remains of the slaughtered villagers. The radiant Aestus held in his hands, Kailan approached what he thought was the center of the town, but a flaming barrier of destroyed building blocked his path. There was no way around the churning firestorm; the street to both sides of building was blocked by debris. As he crossed courtyard before the building, stepping over yet more mutilated corpses, movement off to the right caught his eye. Kailan turned and ran over—it was a person, a middle-aged man, trapped beneath a fallen wooden beam. Next to the man lay a sign reading “The Frozen Huntsman.”

       The man turned his blackened, bloody face towards Kailan. “Help… me,” he wheezed, coughing up blood. Kailan sheathed Aestus and lifted the heavy beam off with both hands. He moved it to the side and dropped it with a thud to the ground. He knelt by man, the only survivor Kailan had found thus far, and likely the only one he would find for the screams he had been hearing had ceased. The man was badly wounded: his legs were both broken, jagged white bone showed through charred skin, and one of his arms lay useless to the side, burned black and nearly severed at the elbow. His light armor was ruined, and in some places on his body and limbs clothes had been fused to his flesh, melted from the heat of the fire. Kailan knew he was beyond saving; the man would die of infection if nothing else.

       Through the dark soot on the man’s face Kailan could see a jagged scar across his crooked nose, as well as another, more vertical mark over his left eye, which was a solid white—these were a soldier’s scars.

       Kailan met the dark gaze of the good eye as the veteran coughed up more blood and spoke, “You’re the… Venator.” The old soldier winced with pain and coughed again.

       “Yes, I’m Kailan Althey. You’re Gared Hrobyn, aren’t you?”

       “Aye… tis nice… to finally meet you… Fireblade.”

       Kailan put a hand on the doomed man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I should’ve gotten here sooner.”

       “Then you’d… have died with us. Listen… to me, son,” Hrobyn said as he reached out to Kailan with his one good arm and grabbed the Venator’s shoulder, gripping it tightly.

       “What did this? I’ve never seen—” Kailan began before Hrobyn cut him off with a hard shake.

       “Listen, damn you!” the dying soldier shouted, spittle flying into Kailan’s face. “Listen, boy. It’s too strong for you… too fast. Everything just caught fire… everywhere it went.” His brown eye was wide with fearful rage, tears began to well and stream down his cheeks. “It’s a demon… from the depths of Hell, it is!”

       Kailan reached up and grasped Hrobyn’s hand. “I promise you, it will die.”

       “No!” Hrobyn turned his head and spat out more blood. “It said… your name…”

       Kailan’s eyes grew wide. He thought, he had hoped, that he’d imagined that phantom voice in the Witchwood.

       “It… wants you, Althey. The demon…” Hrobyn said. His voice was barely a whisper over the fiery tumult all around them. “It wanted… you to come. It told me.”

       Kailan squeezed Hrobyn’s hand and said, “I’ll bathe Aestus in the bastard’s blood. I swear it.”

       Hrobyn closed his eyes resignedly and managed a small nod. Then he opened his eyes and his dark eye, no longer filled with terror, met Kailan’s gaze. “Before you go…” he turned aside and spat blood. “I’m… still a soldier. I’ll not die… like this.” He glanced down at the Venator’s legendary weapon. “I’d be honored…” Hrobyn released Kailan from his vice-like grip and laid his head back, sighing as he said, “I’d be honored… if you could give me a proper death.” Hrobyn knew his time had come, and Kailan knew it, too.

       The Master Venator took the veteran’s calloused hand and placed it on his chest. “Of course,” he said. Kailan stood, drawing Aestus from its sheath and holding it high. “You honor Aestus with you sacrifice, Gared Hrobyn.”

       “Hunt well, Fireblade.” The old warrior smiled and closed his eyes.

       “Die well, my brother.” As if in confirmation, the silver blade glowed even brighter, burning with the fury of a hundred stars, illuminating Hrobyn’s scarred, soot-covered face. He wore an expression of calm contentment. The instant Aestus pierced his heart Hrobyn’s entire body was consumed by the purifying light, and when it died away nothing remained but a small smoking pile of pale grey ash.

       His task done, Kailan lifted Aestus and turned away from Hrobyn’s remains—only to find himself face-to-face with another man, standing not twenty feet away. Kailan couldn’t discern any of the man’s features, for he was dark against the raging fire behind him. Only the man wasn’t silhouetted at all; the figure was a solid shadow, faceless and black. It appeared to absorb the light of the fire all around it. Thin wisps of oily smoke wafted from its body.

       Then Kailan heard the phantom voice again, a rasping utterance that drowned out all other noise. Althey.

       The Venator didn’t hesitate; he roared over the din of the firestorm, “You want me?” He held Aestus parallel to the ground, aiming it at the shadow. “Well here I am, you son of a bitch.” Kailan charged, but before he had taken three steps of the shadow, it vanished, melting into the air.

       Kailan stopped in his tracks, holding Aestus in both hands and turning slowly, expecting an attack. None came. Then, all around him, the wild flames started to dwindle and recede. In a moment they were gone, leaving Barrow a smoking ruin. A fierce cold, similar to the one he felt when the terrible wind passed him by in the woods, replaced the relentless heat. It descended upon him like a tidal wave. When Kailan turned back to where the dark man had stood, there appeared a procession of burning footprints leading away to the east. The fires were small compared to the firestorm of only a moment before, but they were unnaturally bright in the dark, smoke-filled night air.

       Kailan knew it wanted him to follow, that was obvious, and he remembered Hrobyn’s warning. Yes, perhaps this monster was too much for one Venator to defeat alone, but there was no time and summon reinforcements. If he didn’t end this now, who knew how many more would die? Besides, Kailan had an edge: Hrobyn’s willing submission to Aestus had empowered the sword, Kailan could feel it. The old veteran had given the last of his strength to the sword, and his blood sacrifice made both the weapon and its wielder yearn for vengeance. Aestus demanded justice, it owed a debt to Hrobyn’s soul which could only be paid in blood, and Kailan could feel the thrum of power coursing through the sword, heating his blood and igniting his fury.

       Kailan sheathed the ancient sword and whistled, summoning Velox. In less than a minute the great black horse came galloping through the smoking ruins of Barrow.

       “Let’s hunt, Velox!” Kailan shouted as he turned and ran to the east, following his quarry’s fiery tracks. As the warhorse came parallel to Kailan, the Venator gripped the reins and swung around the animal’s neck, his momentum carrying him up and into the saddle in one fluid motion. Velox never slowed down as they charged off into the wintry forest, their way lit by phantom flames of a devil’s passage.

       The night deepened as Kailan rode. The moon was now totally obscured by clouds and snow began to fall in the Witchwood. At first it was only a light powder, but as the Venator and his warhorse raced along the winter road it began to fall in earnest. Still the trail of flaming footprints extended endlessly onward, clear in the pale night. It stayed on the road, heading east towards the Draknath Mountains for several miles until the road curved north. The monster’s trail held its course, however, and Kailan followed it off the road, riding through the trees over frozen, uneven ground.

       The horses bred by the Venators were by no means ordinary mounts; they were extraordinarily hardy, unnaturally strong, and courageous to the point of recklessness. Kailan had once seen a Venator’s horse, with nearly ten arrows buried in its hide, carry its wounded master through a chaotic battlefield, and it didn’t stop until it had brought its rider to safety. The wilderness terrain barely slowed Velox’s swift gallop. Soon however, the trees grew thicker and closer together, the ground grew hard and rocky, and Kailan slowed down as he navigated Velox through the dense, labyrinthine forest.

       The flaming trail wound through the trees, on and on for what seemed to Kailan like an eternity, until finally they emerged from the forest at the foot of a mountain; before them loomed a fortress, built directly into the mountain’s rocky face. Kailan pulled back on the reins, drawing Velox to a halt before a great wooden drawbridge. Velox reared, whinnied, and stood breathing hard in the cold. Kailan dismounted and stood by the horse, patting the animal’s sweat-slicked neck.

       “You’ve still got it, brother.” Kailan laughed, then he turned about and took in the sight before him, examining the dilapidated stone structure.

       A fortress like this would have been impenetrable in its day, Kailan mused; the only possible approach was from the front, and any attacking force would have found it difficult to pass through the thick forest and across the broad moat. There was no room for siege engines of any kind. Where it was still intact, the outer wall was fifty feet high and fifteen feet thick at least. This keep had probably been a military outpost, or a hidden refuge for a warlord in some bygone era; it was clearly abandoned now. It probably had been for centuries. The fortress didn’t appear large on the outside, but Kailan imagined that the majority of the interior was within the mountain itself. In a way, the builders had made the true keep the mountain itself. If this bastion had a subterranean tunnel network, who knew how large it might be? For all Kailan knew there could be a dozen different exits on the other side of the mountain.

       But upon looking at the monster’s burning tracks, illuminating a path across the drawbridge and through the portcullis of the ancient mountain fortress, Kailan didn’t think the creature would try to escape. It had gone to great lengths to draw him out and to lead him here to this forgotten, forsaken place.

       Kailan removed his cloak, bundled it up and stored it in a saddle bag. He figured he could take the time to check his equipment; the bastard would wait a little longer. He didn’t know if the creature really was a demon as Hrobyn had claimed. The man had been a veteran soldier, but his decades of experience were in fighting normal humans like himself. Ordinary soldiers and hunters weren’t privy to the wealth of knowledge the supernatural, unlike the Venators. This was Kailan Althey’s domain.

       But the Master Venator had never encountered anything like this; the smoky, shadowy figure he had seen appeared incorporeal when it had vanished before Kailan, but it possessed a power over the elements greater than any mere spirit he’d ever faced. It commanded fire like a full-fledged warmage, but there hadn’t been any of those for hundreds of years. And if it was a spirit, how could it savagely tear people limb-from-limb? And why hadn’t it done that to Hrobyn in Barrow, or Kailan for that matter? It certainly could have; it had had plenty of time when he was speaking with the dying soldier.

       It didn’t make any difference; be it spirit, demon, or some risen, undead sorcerer, Kailan would kill it, and so he would arm himself to the teeth. He removed the cloth wrapping from his composite recurve bow, made of smooth dark wood and dragon bone, and strapped the quiver his back. Each of the twenty arrows bore a silver head, dipped lovingly in a toxin of Kailan’s own invention. Silver wasn’t the strongest of metals, but it was one of the few natural materials effective on undead monstrosities like vampires and revenants, or living breathing beings like werewolves and skinwalkers. Though many supernatural entities were immune to disease and poison, Kailan’s toxin would kill most living creatuers smaller than a fifteen-foot-tall mountain troll. In addition, the substance was flammable, and a quick spell could turn an arrow into a flaming silver lance. When the toxin spread through a living body, flesh and blood could be ignited.

       Attached to the quiver, between it and Kailan’s hardened leather vest, was a scabbard for Aestus. The sword could rest hilt-up, tilted to Kailan’s right so his main hand could quickly reach up and draw the weapon, and it was small, open at both ends, so when the scabbard was empty it didn’t restrict his movements. Kailan also possessed a silver short sword and matching dagger in twin black leather scabbards strapped to his belt on his right side. He checked both, satisfied that they were undamaged, then he knelt to check the small knife he kept hidden in his left boot. Everything was in perfect condition, clean and sharp and ready for whatever Kailan’s quarry could throw at him—or so he hoped.

       With Aestus sheathed on his back, still charged with stormy energies, and his bow gripped in his left hand, Kailan turned back to Velox. He patted the ancient animal again and stroked its coarse, black mane. “Stay here, brother. I’ll be back before you know it,” he said. Then he turned and walked across drawbridge, towards the open maw of the castle’s gate.

       The ancient wood creaked beneath his boots, but it was thick. Somehow, centuries of exposure to the elements hadn’t rotted the wood. Kailan stopped when he reached the stone on the other side. He stared through the wide gateway and looked up; the rusted iron portcullis was raised, but the downward-pointed tips of the vertical bars were still visible forty feet above him. It seemed like he was looking into the maw of a great stone-grey dragon. Should he pass through, he wouldn’t be surprised if those metal teeth came crashing down, jaws snapping shut to crush its prey.

       Drawing an arrow and notching it to the string of his bow, ready to fire the instant it was needed, Kailan stepped quietly and quickly beneath the rusty red dragon’s teeth of the massive portcullis, through the gatehouse and into courtyard beyond. The snow had stopped, and the moon was visible once more. Kailan looked around the moonlit stone plaza: a structure stood to his right next to the gatehouse, probably a guardhouse but its roof had long ago caved in. The stairs by the wall leading up to the battlements were also in ruins. He could climb them, but there was no time to explore—he knew where he needed to go. The flaming footprints led up a wide staircase at the opposite end of the courtyard. The great wooden doors of the fortress proper were wide open, inviting. He leapt silently up the stairs and stepped through the entrance into a deeper darkness.

       The main hall of the castle was large, stretching a hundred feet before Kailan and about seventy feet across. The arched ceiling rose fifty feet above him; over time large pieces of it had fallen and crashed into the floor, leaving piles of broken stone scattered around and exposing the rock of the mountain. Black iron torches lined the walls, all dark. Kailan could see where there had been several exits from the hall, but all the archways had collapsed and were blocked by rubble, save one doorway near the back of the hall to the left. There was what appeared to be a second level balcony—or rather what remained of one—about twenty feet above, but Kailan could see no way up except by scaling the walls. However, considering the state of the fortress, Kailan doubted that much of the upper levels remained intact. His instincts told him that the creature hadn’t made its home up there anyway. Kailan needed to go deeper down into the bowels of the keep, likely into the bowels of the mountain itself.

       He headed for the one accessible doorway at the far end of the room when a breath of cold, stale air blew through the hall, and suddenly every one of the dozens of torches burst into flame. Kailan’s sharp eyes adjusted quickly to the sudden flare of light, though starbursts filled his vision. Anticipating an attack, Kailan dropped his bow and rolled to the side, drawing his short sword and dagger in one swift movement. He waited, alert, but like the encounter in Barrow no attack came. As Kailan crouched, primed for combat, the light in the hall dimmed to a more natural level. Kailan stood and opened his eyes, allowing the starbursts to clear.

       The creature was toying with him. Rage began to fill Kailan’s gut, but it was tempered by doubt.

       “Why don’t you just come out and fight me?” Kailan shouted into the gloom.

       And in reply, the phantom voice returned, but this time it sounded much louder and deeper, echoing off the walls of the great hall. “Althey.”

       Startled, Kailan moved and spun, sheathing the short sword and dagger. He snatched up his bow and notched another arrow, and aimed in the direction the spectral voice had come from. At the far end of the hall, perched on an elevated stone dais opposite from the entrance, was a large throne, silhouetted against a great fire behind the dais. As Kailan approached, arrow drawn fully, he saw that on the throne sat a great, motionless armored figure.

       “I have waited a long time for a descendant of Valarius, a bearer of Aestus. Welcome.” The voice was no longer harsh but deep and resonant. In answer, Kailan aimed for the throat and loosed the arrow, and with a quick spell he ignited the coat of toxin. The flaming missile shot straight towards the statue. The Venator wasn’t taking any chances; when it struck flesh he would cast another spell and detonate the silver head.

       The arrow struck home, but the flaming tip didn’t hit flesh—it hit stone. The armored man was a statue. And then Kailan noticed that great dark chains were wrapped around the colossus, fastening it to the throne.

       The voice came again, but from all around Kailan. It laughed heartily, saying “So easily fooled, Master Althey!” Then the oily shadow creature materialized before the great statue.

       In an instant Kailan fired a second arrow and ignited it and it flew towards the sweet spot, where the solar plexus would be on a normal man. But just before the lethal arrow could reach its target, it stopped. It hovered, still burning bright yellow, before the figure. Kailan hadn’t realized the shadow had even moved. He couldn’t comprehend the speed at which it had moved its hand to intercept and catch the arrow. Before Kailan could focus his magic and detonate it, the creature snuffed out the flame, pinching the tip like the wick of a candle. Casually, it tossed the smoking shaft aside. Kailan, realizing that his bow would be useless, gently set the weapon on the ground. He drew Aestus from its sheath; the blade shone with a luminous blue light, contrasting with the fierce orange glow of the torch-lit hall.

       “Who are you?” Kailan said, focusing his rage.

       “Ah yes, the soldier’s blood has given you strength. It channels your fury. You will need it.”

       “Enough,” Kailan spat. He advanced towards the figure, holding Aestus with his left hand while is right hand curled around a ball of blue-white lightning, ready to be hurled at his opponent. “You may change your tune when I bury it up to the hilt in your gut.”

       The orange glow in the hall grew brighter as the fire behind the creature became larger. It croaked with laughter as replied, “I admire your courage, Master Althey. You have seen what I can do, yet still you court battle.”

       Kailan advanced further, now he was only twenty feet before the dais, stopping at the foot of the steps leading up to where the figure stood waiting. “After the merry chase you’ve led me on, after what you’ve done, I’m not letting you escape now.”

       “Indeed. Come then.” It beckoned Kailan, taunting him. “Let me see what has become of House Althey since my imprisonment.” It laughed again.

       Kailan was curious to find out how the creature knew so much about him, and why it seemed so interested in Aestus, but nothing mattered now but killing the bastard. Kailan charged up the steps, casting a jagged net of lightning from his left hand—which dissipated almost instantly before the shadow. Kailan leapt up the final steps, crossing the last few feet in less than a second, and slashed downward, aiming for the neck. But just when the blade was about to cleave the man in two, the room was plunged once more into darkness. All the fires had gone out instantaneously but Kailan didn’t stop. Aestus sliced through the space where the creature had stood, passing through empty air. It took a few precious seconds for his sight to readjust to the change in light; he whirled, blindly, twisting his sword to cut in a wide arc all around him but he hit nothing. The monster was gone, taking the fire with it. Kailan’s vision restored, he looked around, scanning the gloom for his opponent.

       A thunderous boom shook the whole room, drawing the Venator’s attention to the entrance of the hall: the massive doors had slammed shut. Then the shadow appeared right in front of him. Before Kailan had time to react it struck him across the face. The blow lifted Kailan off his feet; he twisted through the air, losing his grip on Aestus, and he crashed into the wall.

       Kailan struggled to his feet, spitting out blood—and a couple of teeth. “You—,” but before Kailan could say “bastard,” the shadow moved again and grabbed Kailan by the throat, lifting him into the air, choking him.

       “So slow,” it mocked. “Your weakness shames your fathers’ name.” In the shadow’s featureless face appeared two eyes that burned with a hellish fire.

       “Fuck… you!” Kailan managed to spit the words out. He summoned his short sword to his hand and stabbed at the shadow’s neck as quickly as he could, but it was far too fast. Using its free hand to knock the blade aside, the shadow spun around and threw Kailan clear across the room. He flew in an arc through the empty space, but instead of crashing into the wall fifty feet away, the creature caught him in midair and slammed him into the ground with incredible force.

       Pain exploded all over Kailan’s body. It felt as though every bone in his body had been shattered by the impact. The agony was blinding, so overwhelming that he couldn’t even scream. He shut his eyes tight, but some unseen force wrenched them open again. The smoking shadow lorded over him, eyes of fire burning into Kailan and filling his bleary vision with malevolent light. Only Kailan’s anger at being so easily beaten kept the torturous pain and fear from driving him mad.

       “I expected much more from you,” said the fire-eyed monster. “It is said that you are the mightiest of the Venators. Your forefather, Valarius, was ten times the warrior you could ever hope to be.” It placed its foot on Kailan’s broken chest, causing him to moan in agony. “Tragic. I had hoped for a battle… yet you are nothing. A child playing with fire. If this is the best the world has to offer…” It trailed off.

       Kailan couldn’t speak—he was choking and coughing on blood now, just like Hrobyn had been at the end.

       “Who… what are you?” he rasped.

       “I have been called many things—angel, demon. God. Labels invented by mortals to give shape to forces they cannot hope to comprehend. In time, Master Althey, perhaps you shall achieve some semblance of understanding. But in the end…” It removed its foot from Kailan’s chest, allowing him to breath before it continued, “… it doesn’t matter what I am.”

       Kailan managed to turn his head and cough out more black blood, nearly choking on his words. “Go on… you bastard.” Kailan could barely breathe, but he put all his effort into one last act of defiance as he looked straight into the monster’s fearsome eyes. “Get it over with.” It was like glimpsing into another world, a world full of chaos and despair. He feared death at the hands of such a being, but an Althey would never beg for mercy.

       The fire within the shadow’s eyes grew larger. After a moment, it laughed and said, “No, little Fireblade. You shall die, but not tonight.” Then, it lifted a hand and Aestus lifted off the ground from where it had landed and flew into the shadow’s grip. The pure white glow that had enveloped the blade had disappeared—now it was oily black.

       The shadow lowered Aestus, pointing the tip at Kailan’s chest. “Though you fought feebly, I admire your courage. Your body is broken, yet your spirit is strong.” It turned and walked over to the armored statue on the throne. “You see, I needed Aestus, but the Sword of Fire cannot be taken. It must be earned. It must be won, as Valarius Althey won it from me when he locked in this stone prison.”

       The demonic shade laughed as it raised the blade high and struck the chains holding the statue to the throne. The links burst apart in an explosion of metal. The shadow let go of Aestus, which hung in the air, and then the creature melted into the statue, becoming one with it. The statue stood tall, and when it grasped Aestus it was engulfed in hellfire. The great hall was illuminated with an evil, golden brilliance. The air became stiflingly hot; every breath Kailan took seemed to scorch his throat and lungs.

       The fire shot from the creature in all directions, setting the walls and ceiling ablaze. The creature stood nine feet tall, armored head to toe in reflective, mirror-like plates—just like the blade of Aestus. The sword itself had grown, the hilt becoming larger to fit the demon’s hands, the blade becoming longer and wider.

       Realization struck Kailan. “Aestus was your sword.”

       The great armored monster turned towards Kailan and approached him, saying “Yes, Master Althey, and now it has returned to its master.” It grabbed Kailan by the hair. The metal armor on its hand was incredibly hot, singing his scalp as the demon hauled him over to the dais. Kailan was forced into a sitting position upon the blackened stone of the throne. The broken chains lying on the ground melted into liquid metal; they lifted into the air and were reforged in an instant, wrapping around Kailan’s body, burning through his clothes and searing his flesh, and securing him to the throne. The broken Venator screamed in pain. He used his remaining strength to spit blood at the shadow.

       The flaming monster laughed again: “Here you shall sit, Kailan Althey, and here you shall remain. Should you muster the strength the break free of these chains, I shall congratulate you! But until then, you shall suffer as I have suffered.” The evil light of the inferno all around the hall danced off the demon’s terrible armor. It sheathed Aestus in a great scabbard on its hip, then it turned, regal and terrifying, and walked towards the arched entrance. The once-imposing wooden doors had burned to ash. Its voice thundered forebodingly, “The reckoning has come. The fire has started.” Then the ancient fire god vanished, once again taking with it the terrible hellfire and its nightmarish light.

       All become still and dark. Kailan Althey, the one called Fireblade, Master Venator, was enfolded by the great, black silence. He fell into an endless, timeless dream—a dream of darkness, heat, and pain. Beyond his throne of chains, all around him and within him, the fire began to rise.