It was then that he locked eyes with the creature. Jackson saw the fear in his eyes. By now there were soldiers and sailors from his ship behind him, finishing off the few pirates who were still alive. There were also soldiers wearing Faeloran colors climbing aboard the ship. He guessed this only made sense. Many of those soldiers had to be level nine with a good number of points put into Strength. Beyond that, there likely were at least a handful of Tier 2s among them. Simply being thrown from a ship was unlikely to kill those people.

  It just meant that he needed to finish his work all that much faster. He pulled his axe from his back and prepared to end the clearly suffering frog. “You tried to destroy everything around you, and now you have to pay the price. You are just fortunate that I was taught not to make any creature suffer, so your end will come quickly, much more so than all those you have drowned today.”

  “Oh, it’s you.” The froglok looked up at him almost as if seeing him for the first time. “I see a bit of you in him.” Then he looked up at the sky while his hands tried hopelessly to pull free the harpoon that was impaling him.

  Jackson could barely stand the stench of the creature’s bowels, which were exposed to the air by the gaping wound. He pulled back to end the frog again when it spoke once more. “Did you see me? I was like a god. I was wielding but a fragment of his power. That all could have been yours. It was your destiny. It was what you were brought here—”

  His words were cut short upon the magically sharp edge of Jackson’s wind axe. The blade severed the disproportionately large frog head from its body. “Destiny is something we make for ourselves.”

  Jackson looked all around him. The fighting was intense, but he didn’t want this creature’s loot to go to waste. A part of him said it wasn’t a wise decision, yet he bent down to strip the rings from its fingers. He managed to get one ring, but then when the bracelet proved too difficult to quickly remove, he snapped the harpoon shaft in half and pulled it free from the creature’s body. This allowed him to pull off the strange tunic it wore that was covered in what appeared to be small fungal growths. Up close it was oddly quite pretty.

  He then went back to working on getting the bracer off, but before succeeding, he was tackled by a charging warrior from Faelora. The still-sinking galleon had fallen partially onto this sloop. The rigging of the two ships was entangled, so the survivors from that doomed ship were able to scurry across.

  Jackson instinctively shifted his weight as he was tackled and turned it so he rolled and ended up on top of the armored warrior. A flat palm strike crushed the man’s breastplate, no small feat in its own right. Instantly the man was gasping for air, and all fight went out of him.

  The reality of a very human face choking and struggling in vain to draw another breath in front of him hit Jackson very hard. He had fought and killed frogmen, fiends, monsters in the dungeon, ghosts, golems and all manner of monsters. None of it had really bothered him. He had been in a battle in Eris’ Rise where humans and elves had fought, yet he had been so shocked that he thought perhaps he hadn’t fully appreciated what was going on around him.

  When he’d climbed onto this ship, it had been necessary for him to kick and punch a few of the pirates. He had even knocked the one out so hard he probably would have a headache for weeks. Never yet though in all the acts of violence had Jackson seen the light of life fade from a human’s eyes right before him. More than that, never had he been responsible for it.

  Jackson almost started casting Minor Healing on the man. A part of him knew that would be too little, too late. Yet Jackson’s hand trembled. In Eloria he might be on the cusp of manhood, but for most of his life, he had grown up with a very different standard. He felt tears run down his face, partially for the man he had just slain, partially for himself, but mostly for all the others he was about to have to kill.

  Even years later the battle that ensued was burned into Jackson’s mind. It was elbow-to-elbow, close-quarters fighting. He and his men, for they were truly his by the end of this battle, were outnumbered almost two to one. It didn’t matter. Moon Shadow became his nickname with the men, both because of his mixed heritage and for the way he slipped between opponents and delivered crushing blows with both his hands and feet. He was silent and deadly, neither asking quarter nor offering it.

  When the battle was over, he had far too much human blood on his hands. His own blood had been spread in significant measure too, but that had only enabled him to cast Blood Armor, which turned out to be quite impressive and allowed him to absorb or mitigate far beyond a thousand points of damage once combined with his own damage resistance.

  Eventually the battle ended. The Albians had lost almost half their men and two of the knights, but the others were alive thanks to him. His magic saved another handful by stabilizing them enough to be brought back to the other ship. Of the four vessels in the battle, only the pirate ship they had stolen remained intact. Anton got his crew busy bringing the ship, which he learned was named the Lady’s Favor, back to Rostock.

  Jackson couldn’t clear his head, and eventually when the ship was only a few hundred feet from the dock, he dove overboard and swam to shore. The water was icy, but he was hardy enough to handle it. It served another purpose though. It washed the blood off his body even if he couldn’t wash it from his soul.

  After swimming to shore, Jackson found the rest of his party waiting for him. Max yelled for a couple of women nearby to get him a towel to dry off with and some warm soup from a cooking fire that was set up. It dawned on him then that the sea battle had taken a couple of hours, including the travel, so it wasn’t that shocking the others had gotten some fires and such going. Nor was it surprising that he received a lecture from Master Meyer for recklessly following the froglok.

  Aremay said, “Bah, he just helped save your kingdom today. Without him those two ships full of enemy soldiers would have been able to land and secure this port for Faelora. Surely you can see that you are at war even if it hasn’t been officially declared.”

  Master Meyer didn’t say anything in response, so Sir Schinhofen added, “Yes, lad, you are to be commended. I hate that you had to risk yourself like that, but my report to the king will be sure to recount your bravery and contribution to this victory.”

  Max groaned from the back of a horse. The others had apparently had to help him up after the froglok’s final attack on them. He had taken the worst of it. The groan took on the sound of a laugh, and Jackson looked at him, wondering if he was okay. “Did you say something, Max?”

  “Nothing important. I just said that I would have preferred the frog that sings ‘Hello! Ma Baby.’”

  Jackson and Max both laughed as the others looked on in confusion.

  Interlude 2

  It took Jackson’s mission team another three days to clear up Rostock and make it secure enough. Sir Schinhofen was worried about leaving the port unguarded and worried that more Faeloran ships would arrive. The fact that over five hundred enemy soldiers had been drowned in the battle was hopefully going to be of huge benefit to Albia, but it would all be undone if more ships landed and there were not enough soldiers here to repel them.

  A messenger was sent to report the events to the king, but otherwise, the next few days were filled with cleanup and guard duty. The shocker came when it was discovered that Konig was under siege. The messenger returned, and what he reported was rather a jumble. He hadn’t actually been able to make it into the city, because a large army was sitting on the northern wall.

  That report, of course, elicited a great deal of confusion since the Faeloran army was expected to come up from the south. Otherwise they would have had to sneak an army through the countryside and bring it around to the other side of Konig without anyone noticing. That defied imagination, but no less than what the messenger had to say about the banners being flown by the besieging army.

  He was quite insistent in his report that the army was flying the boar of Duke Holstein. That caused even more argument. The majority of the army, which was stationed in or near Konig, had been sent south along with Tabor and a group of students to set up defenses there. One of the knights argued that the messenger must be mistaken. He assumed that the duke’s forces had only arrived to support the city.

  Eventually this news was enough to end the cleanup of Rostock and send this small force headed back toward the capital. The decision was made to leave half the soldiers here with the only remaining knight other than Schinhofen in command. Then the rest traveled back to Konig, being careful not to alert scouts.

  King Bornstein was a man beset by troubles. His wife wanted to kill him for his infidelities. Well, not really for his infidelities, but rather for being publicly caught in his infidelities. The guilds and craftsmen of town were in open protest, all demanding that they be paid more for their services as well as proposing silly things like a council of commoners from the guilds to help rule the city alongside the king.

  His available troops were spread thin. Most of them had been sent south to delay what was anticipated to be an invasion from Faelora. Then there had been the attack on Rostock. Now he was worried because he had sent messengers to General Eikhorn, ordering him to mobilize the western army. Magical messages had been blocked, and Gunidar couldn’t explain how. Mundane messages had been sent, but it would take weeks to get a reliable answer.

  Even if the western army was to start mobilizing today, they wouldn’t be able to arrive at Konig in time. It appeared that the city was on its own. Worse, even the troops and resources that had been sent north could not be called upon, for the word was that a goblin army was expected to attack from the north.

  Harold spent many an hour in his study with his head in his hands. Even within the city, there continued to be sightings of fiends attacking the populace. It was too much. All he had wanted was to build a nation that adored him and to be known for the projects created under his rule. He didn’t believe that was too much to ask for.

  Now, though, he would be the king who presided over a civil war. That snake Holstein had finally revealed his colors and instead of bringing help had brought an army. That man had the gall to demand that his daughter, the king’s former mistress, be admitted to the city so that her newborn babe could be installed as the future king, with Holstein to act as regent. Holstein accused his rightful ruler of being morally unfit and didn’t think anything of the matter that as far as the rumors ran, that MISTRESS was his own illegitimate child. All the people seemed to want to talk about was how unfairly Harold had treated the duke’s daughter and how she had borne a son rather than the daughter delivered by the queen.

  Albia was not like Miromar. There was no room for a female ruler. Queens had no real power and were meant to be beautiful and charming not authoritative. No, Harold was truly in it up to his eyebrows, and perhaps it was telling that even Eleazor couldn’t get him to focus on anything so much as how this affected him personally.

  Edwin Holstein was feeling quite the opposite of King Bornstein. His spirits were high, and why shouldn’t they be? He was about to get everything that he had ever wanted, everything that was his just due. With the power that Seimion had given him, none of them could stand against him. He was now Tier 4, and his body was powerful beyond measure.

  Only the royal mage would stand a chance, but Holstein had a plan for dealing with him. The seeds that had been planted in the city would soon bear fruit. Riots would break out, and the populace would demand that Holstein be made the ruler. Seimion had even assured him that he had agents inside the city who would cause so much trouble that when Edwin managed to defeat the monsters, he would be revered by the city and nation.

  Of course, it wasn’t all roses. There was apparently an army to the south from Faelora. That put Holstein under a bit of a rush. He couldn’t afford to slowly siege the city and wait for the internal strife to cause the city to collapse like an overripe melon. Instead he was going to actually have to try to make it through the walls without coming off as a villain.

  Far to the north another warlord was lamenting the fact that the snow had not yet melted enough for him to move his army. Thelan the Basher was unique amongst goblins and hobgoblins. His power and focus were legendary by goblin standards. Which was to say that he was a solid Tier 3 and had the attention span of a five-year-old hopped up on sugar.

  This army was annoying to control, yet every time he wanted to simply go off on a killing spree and slaughter all the goblins that annoyed him, he remembered the threats made by Seimion. He had been told in no uncertain terms that even he could understand that killing a goblin here and there wasn’t a problem, but depleting this army would draw the ire of the dark mage’s mysterious master. Thelan had never met this master, but his servant was terrifying enough. He certainly had no interest in upsetting the Master.

  Besides which, it was Seimion who had provided him with extra forces. The ogres would probably have joined the army on their own and maybe some trolls, but certainly not the mountain giants. The ghouls and shadows would never have come to his banner were it not for the wizard’s influence. That was to say nothing of the stalk fiend. That silent creature followed him everywhere and made it hard to enjoy his time with the many ladies of the tribe, but Thelan thought if the creature scared him that much, then it would terrify the feeble humans.

  The problem in his mind was that he worried, something that lesser goblins do all the time but that, in his opinion, a warlord should not have to do, about how weak the humans actually were. The four females—elves, human and half-orc—had spied on his camp and then escaped with impunity. It wasn’t that he thought they had gained anything, rather it offended him that they had gotten away. That and he felt he could have put them to good use entertaining the camp. Their torture would have been legendary.

  Still, he tried to calm himself. The hobgoblin shamans assured him that they would be able to start moving the army in two weeks or less. The weather was changing, and spring would soon be upon them. At least that was what they told him. Thelan found his pulse racing as he imagined the death and destruction he would bring on this last human village. He would then be the uncontested ruler of the land around the Sienna River. For now though, he went off in search of a goblin scout he could torment to pass the time.

  In a completely different setting, another group discussed what to do with the goblin army that Thelan thought he controlled. They were meeting in a dimly lit room inside one of the capitals. Since they had all arrived via teleportation trinkets, not even they knew what city they were in. Not that it mattered. All of them had long since sold their souls to see the work of the cult accomplished.

  The ancient writings of Alucien spoke of a ruling class, a superman so to speak, which by right of power was meant to rule over all others. These eleven members had bought into that philosophy heart and soul. Some had been members for two hundred years by dint of their life span, while others had only served the cult for the past decade.

  Backgrounds and races apart, they all had three things in common. They all craved power, not the kind of power that gave you a comfortable life. No, for them, it was about exerting their will upon others. Secondly, they had all mysteriously found copies of the biography of an ancient figure dead more than a thousand years ago, buried in the ground around the same time as the exile occurred and sent their ancestors to Talos.

  The writings resonated with each of them in a way both unique and common. They all had in common that they craved power. The biography spoke of many paths to power. It didn’t distinguish between skills and spells, between physical and mental, or even between magical and political power. To Alucien, the author of this ancient text, all power was the same. It was the birthright of those worthy enough to claim it. His text even spoke of strange contraptions like steam engines, windmills, and even discussed electricity as something other than a magical outcome.

  Finally, they all had been shocked to find out that there was more to the Cult of Alucien than some interesting, if self-serving writings. This social club meant joint advancement, and vague dreams of power became so much more.

  Their illusion of autonomy and control had been shattered little more than a year ago when a new member had arrived. When Seimion first appeared, he had been contested and fought. None of that had gone well for anyone other than the gray-robed mage.

  It was shocking enough when they learned that he was spiderkin, a race never to have set foot on Talos. None of that mattered though compared to the claims that he made. Seimion claimed that Alucien lived, after a manner, and that he was still in control. Each of them had been given visions. Each of them had heard a voice in their head. It spoke to them of power and promised rewards for obedience.

  Today they were at a hastily arranged meeting. None of them liked that because it made their cover stories harder to concoct, just as it made them nervous that something had changed. It was also different in that when they arrived today, they found Seimion waiting. That had never happened before. He was always the last to arrive as though to show his power.

  One by one they popped in, and the mage silently gestured for them to take their assigned seats, or in the case of Apolashi-nari, her spot at the table. Once all eleven of them were there, Seimion began to speak. “Greetings, my brothers and sisters. Thank you for attending on such short notice, but know that this meeting is called by the Master himself.”

  Around the room they looked at one another from within their deep hoods. Many of them still found it creepy when Seimion acted as though he had been in direct communication with Alucien. Then the mage made them truly uncomfortable as he pulled down his hood.