“I make our position to be on the northern reach of the Larama desert,” said Rone. “We have to travel along the coast to reach the Holy Land. The Altan Noff mountains cut off all other routes until you reach the dwarven passes far to the west. The sand will slow us until we reach the foothills, but we should still reach Talan before nightfall.”

  “A Legion outpost used to sit at the border, just beyond the pass,” said Thildemar. “If it has not been abandoned, they should be able to give us healing and provide us with horses until we reach Norivika.”

  “The monster that attacked us last night, will it be stalking us?” Dacius asked.

  “They cannot travel in daytime,” Thildemar replied. “Direct sunlight kills them. But we must assume that it, or another Ill-creature, will attack again once darkness comes.”

  “How did it find us?” Dacius said.

  “I do not know,” Thildemar answered. “Perhaps the Dark One intercepted a message to the High Bishop. Or maybe the Ill-creatures have a way to sense our presence. The powers of evil are not to be underestimated.”

  Dacius looked at the piles of debris that were his companions around the fire. “How many of us are there?”

  “We have ten survivors,” said Thildemar.

  Ten. Pictures of broken bodies strewn along the beach ran through Dacius’ mind. “What have you been able to salvage?” he asked.

  “Primarily clothes and timber,” Rone said. “The food was spoiled, but we did find some fresh water.” He handed a flask to Dacius. “And we recovered vorpal blades from five of the fallen Legionnaires.”

  Dacius took the flask. The water stung as it washed across his tongue, but he swallowed it gratefully, quenching a thirst he hadn’t even been aware of.

  “Lord Gemine,” Thildemar said. “Concerning the dead, some of the men want to bury them before we leave, giving them at least some of the honors they deserve. Others fear that the delay will leave us short of safety when night falls; they counsel immediate departure. The outpost can send riders back tomorrow to recover the bodies and transport them home.”

  Dacius turned to Captain Rone. “How certain are you about our position?”

  “I know this coast,” Rone said. “I can see the Altan Noff range. We aren’t far from the pass. We should have no trouble making it by evening.” He paused, looking at Dacius. “Begging your pardon, lord, but that’s assuming you can travel a steady pace.”

  “Of course I—” Dacius cut himself off. This was no time to let pride rule his mind. He was injured, feverish, weak with fatigue, and sore from the night’s exertion. He faced a barefoot march over difficult terrain, and the lives of ten men might depend on his ability to keep up. He thought of Alka, remembering his friend’s body lying crumpled in the sand, eyes staring blindly into nothingness. Rage began to burn within.

  “Bury the bodies,” Dacius told Thildemar. “And hurry. We must reach the outpost by dusk.”

  As the elves turned and left, Dacius took several more long swallows of water. His thirst satisfied, he lay down in the sand. The warmth of the fire worked its way into him, driving away his chill. And he slept.

  When Thildemar shook him awake, Ellistar was already fully risen over the horizon. Dacius squinted his eyes against the brightness, but he was glad for the heat. With Thildemar’s help, he struggled to his feet. The sand felt warm under his toes.

  He looked down. “The heat might be a problem. I’ll need protection for my feet.”

  Thildemar nodded. “None of the dead had boots that would fit a human. Perhaps we can cut some material from one of the blankets and bind it around your feet.”

  “That will have to do,” Dacius said. “Are the burials finished?”

  “Yes, Lord Gemine,” the elf said. “We wait only for the words of honor. As ranking officer, that duty falls to you.”

  Dacius nodded. He motioned for Thildemar to lead, and followed the elf to a clearing which contained a dozen shallow mounds. Each grave was marked by a small circle of stones, symbolizing the unity of Creation.

  Dacius positioned himself so that his shadow fell across the grave marked as Alka Shara’s. “Most of these men,” he said, “I did not know. One, I have called friend ever since I learned what that word meant. But all of them died for the same reason.”

  Dacius drew his sword with his left hand. “This blade has hung in my hall for generations. I heard stories about the magic it held, the sacred trust it was created to uphold. But not until last night did I understand the meaning of those stories.

  “The Dark One, the evil we thought ended forever, returns to threaten the Realm. During the Wizards’ War, the Legion fought against the Ill-creatures with the greatest of Lore Masters at our side. Those wizards, and the magic they commanded, are gone. During the Wizards’ War, every Legionnaire was armed with a vorpal weapon. Now there are only these few that we carry with us. None of that matters. The High Bishop has called us, and we answer that call.

  “Last night, we saw the face of evil. We saw the reason this weapon was crafted. We saw the purpose for which the Legion was created. And these men, our comrades, our friends, gave their lives. Some of these men did not wear the crossed swords, and are not listed in the Legion’s rolls. But I name them now. They were Legionnaires. They died fighting our fight. They died defending our cause.

  “The Creator will be watching these souls, will welcome them into the Unity of the Sphere. They have earned that right. They are Legionnaires, and they served in honor.”

  Dacius looked down at the simple marker by his feet. “Good-bye, my friend. I will miss you.”

  He shut his eyes against his tears. When he looked again, he saw that many of the elves were weeping openly. “We will wait fifteen minutes,” he said, “so that each of you can say his private farewells. Then we march.”

  Dacius paused as he crested the bluff. Before him, the hills of the sea pass gave way to a broad, rocky plain. In the distance, perhaps a league from the final hills, the dusty brown of the plain transformed abruptly into a verdant green. The change was crisp, sharp, as if one could begin a step in the barren plain and end it in a lush garden.

  Thildemar came up beside him. “An amazing sight, is it not, Lord Gemine?”

  Dacius nodded. The pounding in his head kept perfect time to the throbbing ache in his wrist. His feet suffered from a dozen cuts and bruises inflicted by the rocky ground, and he leaned heavily on the makeshift staff that Thildemar had provided from the wreckage of the Otan Stin. He was hungry, thirsty, and exhausted.

  He looked to the west and smiled. Deneob was just beginning to set, and Ellistar was still well above the horizon. He could see the dark outline of a Legion outpost sitting just in front of the boundary line. He pointed at it with his staff. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late for supper.”

  An hour of hiking brought them to the gates of the outpost. It was an imposing structure of steel and gray stone. The fortification was small, but sturdy. The ramparts were high and capped with impressive parapets. The gate was fronted by two steel portcullises and protected by thick stone towers. Arrow slits and artillery casements were placed to provide covering fire for all main avenues of attack. When properly manned, Dacius judged that the fort could withstand a large assault force for several days, but he was curious about its placement.

  The sentries at the gate responded quickly to their presence. A quick check of their uniforms and condition insured that the party was ushered through the gates and settled into a large visitor’s hall. Cooks hastened to prepare food and drink, and healers were called to tend to their wounds.

  Dacius settled himself wearily onto a bench near the hearth and waited. Soon, two bearded humans wearing white robes of the Holy Order appeared. The priests glanced quickly around the room, then one of them went to Captain Rone while the other came to Dacius. He removed the makeshift sling that bound Dacius’s arm and examined his wound. The man’s touch was gentle, but Dacius still winced in pain as the wrist moved.

  “Good,” the man said. “It set well. That will make this easier.” The priest covered the joint with his hands and started to chant.

  Dacius felt a stillness move through his arm, a calmness. The pain disappeared as the feeling of harmony coursed through him. He felt rapturous, filled with love. The break in his arm made no sense; it was obviously incorrect. He considered it for a moment and felt the bones knit together and the wounded flesh heal. That was better.

  The priest moved a hand to his forehead, and Dacius realized that he still burned with fever: how unnecessary. He opened himself to the priest’s song, letting the harmony course through his spirit. The fever disappeared under its gentle soothing. The cuts and bruises disappeared from his battered feet. Even the aches of a long day’s exertion vanished. He felt wonderful, perfect, at home in Creation. All was well.

  The priest stopped his chant. Dacius felt the material world slowly take hold of him again. That was fine. It was where he belonged. He turned to thank the priest and suddenly realized that he was hungry. No, he was famished. A deep empty pit yawned where his belly should be. He placed a hand over his stomach.

  The priest smiled. “It’s all right. Food is coming. Eat heartily tonight. You need to regain the strength you have spent.” He turned away to examine one of the other Legionnaires.

  “Thank you,” Dacius said, heading over to join the group at the dining table.

  The food came almost immediately: large trays of steamed vegetables, fresh bread, and a thick corn soup. By unspoken consensus, no one attempted conversation until everyone had had a chance to satisfy their appetite. They devoured the food as if it were the finest meal from the courts of Essienkal.

  After he had eaten, Dacius took a moment to examine his new command. There was Thildemar, of course. Already Dacius had gained a firm respect for the old elf’s experience and insight. Perhaps he felt a special kinship to him because of their shared connection to Alka Shara.

  Next, there was Simon: a dark, lean elf who seldom spoke. His hair was jet-black and twisted into dozens of tight braids which swung freely around his head. He carried a long vorpal dagger in addition to his sword, and his white uniform was decorated with the purple and gold of the elven King’s personal guard.

  Then came the brothers, Leth and Gerruth. They were unmistakably kin. Their sharp chins, round faces, and laughing green eyes were nearly identical. They both wore the green and white of Alka’s Inarr Regiment.

  The other two Legionnaires were youngsters, Drup and Alve Drup wore the colors of the Endaleof Rangers, and Alve came from the Istagothe Regiment. Each was barely two hundred years old, and, like Dacius, they had inherited their weapons from their fathers.

  Finally, there was Captain Rone and his two surviving crewmen: Zubec and Pardec.

  They were a motley assortment. Ten men, counting himself, who might hold the fate of the Realm in the strength of their sword arms and their courage. He listened to the elves’ conversation, trying to gauge their frame of mind.

  “How can this be?” Gerruth asked. “The Ill-creatures were vanquished during the war, their breeding pits destroyed. How have they returned?”

  “The power of evil is great,” Thildemar said. “The Dark One was not destroyed, and he has discovered a way to bring his creatures back to the Realm. The how does not matter, only the what.”

  “That is right!” Gerruth said. “And we know the what we are up against. We served in the Wizards’ War—at least some of us did. Ten men to turn back the Dark One’s tide, it’s impossible. What hope do we have?”

  “We have the hope in our hearts,” Thildemar replied. “The High Bishop knows our strength. He would not send for us if he did not believe we could succeed. Our duty is clear. We must go to Norivika and discover what must be done. We have no other option.”

  “He is right, Gerruth,” Leth said, laying a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We must continue.”

  The others nodded agreement, though Dacius saw signs of nervousness in Alve and the two seamen. It was a sentiment he understood all too well. If just one Ill-creature had destroyed their ship, what would a host of them do?

  But Gerruth was not done. “During the war we had the power of the wizards at our side. Doesn’t this concern you, Thildemar?”

  “Of course it does,” the old elf said evenly. “But it is not something I am able to control. All I have to offer is my courage and my loyalty, to the Realm and to the Holy Land.”

  Gerruth shook his head. “So many dead,” he said. “Our brothers, our fathers, all lost for nothing. Must we fight the same war again, pay the same price?”

  There was a long silence, broken finally by the voice of Simon. “Gerruth, if you tire of battle, then turn over your weapon to someone who will fight. The Realm needs defenders.”

  Gerruth started at the remark. He looked to his brother for support. “No,” he said. “No, it’s not that I am unable to fight—but my heart grows weary at the bloodshed. I had hoped that we would never have to suffer that cost again.”

  “As did we all,” Thildemar said. “As did we all.”

  Silence hung in the air as each man considered what had been said. Now was the time to sway them.

  Dacius stood. “None of us wants this,” he said. “But we all understand what must be done. The Realm needs us. The High Bishop has summoned us. And we must not fail.” He looked around, catching the eye of each. “Take heart. The Dark One does not move against us because he thinks we cannot succeed. He fears us. I don’t know why, but he does. Already he has failed to keep us from reaching the Holy Land. Take heart, Legionnaires. This is what we were born for. We will not fail.”

  Dacius saw the men respond to his words. Even Gerruth nodded confidently.

  Dacius turned to face Rone. “Captain,” he said, “you and your men are free to choose your own course. We are at the border to the Holy Land. I consider your charter to be fulfilled, and will recommend that whatever payment you are owed be sent to whatever port you specify.”

  “Your pardon, Lord Gemine,” Rone said, “but I never let anyone but myself decide when my job is done. I signed on to make sure your party arrived in Norivika, and that’s what I aim to do.”

  “Excellent.” Dacius walked over to where the party’s supplies were stored and removed three of the spare vorpal blades. He went back to the table and set them down in front of the sailors. “Then arm yourselves. I will not have you go into battle again unprepared.”

  The seamen picked up the weapons carefully. “We can kill the monsters with these?” Pardec asked.

  “No,” Thildemar said. “It is impossible to kill them, because they are not alive. But powerful magic can break the connection to the flesh they animate. A mortal strike with a vorpal weapon drives their soul back to Firesta, or Hel as the humans name it. The weaker Ill-creatures may be destroyed by any substantial wound. Strong demons, like the one we faced last night, will fall only to the most deadly of strikes.”

  A knock at the door interrupted them. Dacius turned and saw a Legion officer walking through the open portal. “Greetings,” the man said, “I am Commander Thean. I trust you have had time to recover from your ordeal?”

  “Yes,” said Dacius. “And we thank you for your gracious hospitality.” He quickly introduced the other members of his party.

  “Well met,” Thean said. “My sentry tells me you have urgent business in the Holy City. Is there any assistance I can provide for your mission?”

  Dacius glanced down at his bare feet. “Well,” he said, “we could use reprovisioning and some fresh uniforms, and horses to speed our journey.”

  “Of course,” Thean said. “Our primary function these days is to serve as a way station for travelers and caravans. We should be able to find clothes to fit all of you, though I doubt we can match your unit colors. Will you be leaving tonight or in the morning?”

  Dacius considered. He felt strong and refreshed after the combined efforts of the healers and the cooks, but he was still tired. They were all drained from the stresses of the last day and night. “In the morning,” he said.

  “Wonderful,” said Thean. “I’ll have my quartermaster see to your provisioning. And, if you are interested, I would be honored to give you a tour of the garrison.”

  “That is kind of you,” Dacius said. “I would like that very much, as soon as I find some boots.”

  Thean laughed. “I’ll send in the quartermaster. Come by my office when you are ready.”

  Dacius made a quick list of supplies they would need and handed it to the quartermaster when he arrived. Almost immediately, a messenger returned bearing a pair of black leather boots. The fit was not perfect, but it would do. Dacius left to find the commander.

  Thean was waiting for him, and the tour began immediately. It was dusk, and the darkness leached the color from the battlement, where silhouettes of sentries could be seen passing between the merlons. Torches and cauldrons illuminated the outer courtyard, throwing shadows into the empty niches of the wall. Dacius looked into the pools of darkness and tried not to think of the Ill-creatures.

  “Your garrison is nearly a fortress,” he said. “We should sleep safely tonight.”

  “Why thank you, Lord Gemine,” Thean said, leading him around the perimeter of the outer courtyard. “I am proud to say that I had something to do with it; military construction is something of a hobby for me. The outer wall is entirely new. We completed it only three months ago. Much of the work was done by my own men, though engineers from the Holy Land gave us help on some of the more intricate details.”

  Thean pointed across the yard to the older and smaller stonework. “The inner wall was the garrison’s original bulwark. As you can see, we are still working to extend its walls and connect it to the outer fortifications. We also plan to remodel its defensive emplacements and raise the battlements an additional three cubits. By the time we are finished, this will serve as a model garrison for future construction.”

  Thean beamed in obvious pride at his accomplishment, and Dacius had to admit that it was an impressive structure.