They descended the rotting wood stairs beneath the hidden door. While a little slick, the wood held under the group's weight. They did go well spaced though, as there was some give and little trust. The stonework walls were crude. The fieldstone basement with dirt floor construction quickly gave way to an abandoned mine motif. The lights held aloft by the party only served to make the cramped quarters seem even more sinister.

  The tunnel ended in a large, rectangular shaft, reminiscent of an old quarry. What it actually was, and why it was underground, remained unclear. Along one side a rickety wood staircase descended, turning with the rock wall as needed to wind itself downward. There was no railing on the open side and only a rusted metal length of bar sunk into the stone wall intermittently. Harding was unsure if the railing was more likely to cut you or break away.

  Runild dropped a glow munition down the shaft. It fell for longer than Harding wanted to think about. Beyond being more rotted than the last, these stairs weren't entirely even. Each step was a slightly different height and distance, a crude construction. Progress was slow and tedious.

  The stairs grew down into a landing made of the same rotting, rough-cut timber. The landing itself was double-width and built over joists that ran into the rock wall. The length ran barely twelve feet before it fed another single-width stair descent. The landing length was matched to a cutout six feet deep into the rock. In it, off-center, was a narrow passageway guarded by a rusted heavy iron gate.

  While Howie and Buckley moved quickly to the cut rock portion, Tommy peeked down the next staircase and then turned back. He shook his head. “Collapsed. Nothing down there but darkness.”

  “Maybe something's down there, might be worth exploring later,” noted Reggie. The Eights were experienced, though Harding had his doubts about Howie and Buckley.

  “Not now,” Runild agreed. “The power flows through this gate.”

  The iron gate that sat before them was half ajar. Its heavy lock didn't matter. It only took a single hefty push from Runild and its rust bound hinges squealed torturously as it broke free. Harding was sure everything down here had heard them. Runild, while trying to wipe off the rust from her hands, turned and looked back at the party. She gave a wholly Runild-like smile, somewhere between childish glee and psychopathic threat.

  This is exactly what she enjoyed.

  Hamon itched his chin through his beard and suggested, "That isn’t a great sign this domain is inhabited.”

  "But it doesn't mean it's not," Rent responded. "When the air tastes like this, trust nothing."

  Harding tried to taste the air, finding it damp and earthy. Rent most likely meant the state of the ambient though, which was sludgy. Power flowed out like it was an open, seeping wound. They began to file in, one at a time, as beyond the gate was a hallway barely wide enough to fit down. As the group began to shuffle forward, Harding looked back up the stairs. The likelihood of it being an effective escape route seemed impossible. They were in it now.

  Down the hallway, on both sides, were painted murals nearly invisible under the dust and cobwebs. Buckley idly swept her hand over it, tracing the lines. She winced. "Ow”, she complained, holding up a finger in the dim chemical light before sucking off a drop of blood from it. The revealed section of wall depicted an unsettling serpent head with a lulling forked tongue. Buckley shook her stinging hand.

  "Creepy," offered Harding.

  "Let's keep moving," Rent instructed.

  Three steps later, Buckley collapsed to the floor convulsing. Harding pulled a purple vial without hesitation from his bandolier. Unscrewing the top revealed a glass syringe inside, full of a clear liquid. Harding pulled it, but then hesitated at how to administer it. Reggie snatched it out of his hands.

  "Hold her down," he commanded. Everyone in reach jumped to obey, pinning the quaking mage in the cramped quarters. Reggie put a hand on Buckley's head and injected the serum into her neck.

  "No one touch the walls," Rent ordered. The warning seemed unnecessary, but Harding watched Howie shift around uncomfortably. He nearly spanned the whole passage. The big bouncer settled on standing sideways in an abundance of caution.

  Buckley's convulsions stopped after moments that felt like minutes, but she lay there breathing shallowly and shivering.

  "Maybe give her some of the painkiller," suggested Jarred from the back.

  "No," replied both Runild and Reggie together.

  "Can't mess with her heart rate," Reggie explained. "Unfortunately, she has to suffer."

  Harding knelt by her and placed a hand on her shoulder. He tapped leech but redirected it into his Throat gate, activating that gate simultaneously. He'd blown leech into his Throat gate before, it wasn't a big leap to expect that he could reroute it through the voidseed to the outside world. He had no idea the exact mechanics of it, but also no doubt it could be done.

  Enter.

  Buckley moaned in pain.

  "What the hell, Harding," demanded Runild.

  "Leech," Harding grunted, before realizing it would look like he had offensively cast an orange spell. One that had visibly caused Buckley pain. He added, “Boon,” to explain it and then tried to pull them back out.

  Nothing happened.

  He tried inverting the process and inhaling with the Heart, inhaling with the Throat, and even trying to push the Heart inversion through the Throat. Harding tried thought commands. None of it worked. If he could recall external leech parasites, it wasn't by any simple means he could think of. And all the while his efforts seemed to cause Buckley to writhe a little more.

  Harding was in the process of trying to pull them out with his spirit when Reggie just slapped a green boon effect on her. Harding happened to know he had repair in two gates, not quite a repair archon yet. The boon instantly collapsed the parasites, then pulsed a healing wave through her. Buckley breathed easier and settled. Harding felt his growing anxiety lessen too, though not from any effect of Reggie's. After all, the mind was not within the ability of repair to fix.

  Buckley looked up, eyes watering. She smiled weakly, "That sucked."

  "Yeah, so does their art," said Reggie off handedly. It was a dumb line, but it made Buckley smile. To Harding, seeing her show humor meant Reggie was all the more effective of a healer.

  Five minutes and two more sets of repairs later, Buckley was on her feet but not quite recovered. Nonetheless, they guardedly pushed down the long, slowly widening corridor to another gate. While matching the first in design, it was in better repair and a locked state.

  "Careful," Rent warned, "It's too tight in here to shift around if something goes wrong.”

  "I definitely don't want to fight in here," agreed an anxious Howie.

  Runild made a dismissive exhalation, put a hand to the gate lightly and bent down a bit in study. Harding felt a long series of light, rapid busts of power and then the gate swung open effortlessly. They started filling into the next room, when Rent paused to examine the gate. "We definitely have an active domain. Heads up folks."

  "How can you tell," asked Jarred. It was hard to remember that as accomplished as the Garnet youths were, they had never delved into a domain other than Black Barrow. Not that Harding had either.

  "The gate is free of both rust and dust, and swings as if it were oiled. This new room is clean," replied Rent before walking in.

  As Harding entered, he looked around. The place was a crypt. Notched into the walls on each side were slots to inter the dead. Yet they were all empty. In the middle of the room was a large pile of bones.

  "That's not obvious," chuckled Howie, rolling his shoulders and stretching.

  Reggie scoffed, "Maybe, maybe not How, it could-”

  With a loud clacking, bones flew up in a funnel and began to come together to form humanoid skeletons. The blades spread into formation. As each skeleton finished forming, they marched towards the group. Tommy, Jarred and Howie moved to meet their advance. Runild, Rent, Hamon and Jasika forming a close line behind them.

  The skeletons had no weapons and while they were obviously magical constructs, they lacked the reach or devastating power that could challenge the front fighters of the party. Which meant Reggie was mostly holding on reserve, though the occasional green blip from him suggested he was strategically fortifying members. Harding wasn’t sure of his third seed, but it seemed to be green too.

  Buckley and Harding stood in back with Reggie. Whatever Buckley was doing, the indigo power flashing with her did not manifest in any obvious way to Harding. The young lady wasn't at full strength, so Harding didn't expect much and instead focused on being ready to support the middle line with his staff out and up.

  Spells and steel broke the skeletons apart, snapping the weak spirit bindings that built them. Tommy laughed as he swung his saber, “This is easy.”

  No one responded.

  Hamon’s bec du corbin’s small head hammer head stuck with force enough to crack the bones. The group easily handled the press, steadily dismantling the skeletons as they matched forward. A skeleton got closer to Jarred and Hamon hooked it around the neck with the beak of his weapon and smashed it with his shield, ripping the head free and collapsing it.

  With ominous exactitude, a pulse of power washed out and the loose bones flew through the room back to the still surviving skeletons, clumping on to them in odd ways. Some stuck as a layer of armor while others connected as extra limbs. On one, a forearm and hand connected, sprouting from the skeleton's existing wrist. There seemed little structure to the effect.

  The new skeletons were slightly more dangerous by their unpredictability, but just as surely defeated with only a few minor wounds suffered. Harding advanced from the back, working his shod staff from a quarter, one hand at the base and the other a quarter of the way up controlling the far head. He keyed as he struck, which had a pleasing effect against the skeletons. Though admittedly sheltered from direct attack, his reach and sure footwork let him feel like he was actually aiding in the fight. Not as much as the front line and not as devastating as mages like Runild and Jasika, but at least he was doing something.

  When half of the mutant skeletons died the room triggered again. This time the skeletons grew, added to once again by the pieces of the fallen. The fighting intensified, the skeletons suddenly no longer easy to damage or deflect.

  Tommy took a broken bone stabbed into his inner thigh, but Reggie already started controlling the wound before he dropped to his knee. Rent flowed past, striking stoutly with his copy of Harding’s staff. Despite being a copy, his attacks were much more effective than Harding's, proving a continued deficiency in Harding’s offense. Harding stored the staff in his Heart as he moved to Tommy, helping him slide backwards into their group depth before getting him to stand.

  As Harding resummoned his staff, Tommy reached out and grasped it. He pulled it to him, Harding's loose hold permitting such, and leaned on it as a makeshift crutch. The youth grinned and offered the grip of his sword’s spine to Harding. Harding took the sword, seeking Tommy's purpose with an inquisitive look.

  “Go get them,” Tommy urged. He then cast some yellow effect, presumably velocity.

  Harding protested, “I don't know how to use-”

  The spell hit him.

  Whatever Tommy had cast, it was a very yellow effect. It sat in Harding, like a field of energy urging him forward. Nestled around him in that same subspace his leech infested. Something for him to think about later. In that moment was the urge to act, as if he was already starting to before he willed it.

  “You hit things with the sharp part,” Tommy grinned. The young man was downright maniacal.

  Harding pulled a yellow vial, handed it to Tommy and said, “Drink that.” Then he marched forward. He felt lighter, not just a spring in his step but a full phantom forward propulsion of foreign power. He approached the battlefront, the fine blade held out in front of him similar to how he used the staff.

  Just as he got there, the last of the latest monstrosities collapsed.

  Everyone paused, unsure.

  The pile arose, made anew and terrible. Instead of individual skeletons, it was a seething mass of bones and energy. It lashed out with a surging tentacle of spirit-laced bones and managed to grab an uncharacteristically flat-footed Runild. The appendage smashed her against the wall a couple times before she just slipped out of it. Her nose bled, but unphased she dove forward and plunged her short sword into the central base of the mass of bones. She began chanting, her power surging. Hamon blocked two attacks that targeted her, but the monstrosity still smashed into her with an arm covered in skeptical hands. Harding brought the sword down on the appendages, but being non-magical it impacted instead of severed the connections. The shock went up his arms from the heavy contact. In the chaos, the bone monster grabbed at Runild and found purchase, but before it could yank her from her feet she completed her spell.

  The bone monster exploded.

  Nose bloody, Runild grinned back at them all teeth; blood on white.

  The ambient surged and the bones flew about in a spiral. The group huddled behind the shields, but Reggie, Hamon and Howie were all impaled by flying bone fragments. Harding, Rent and Runild lashed out with spirit while Jasika launched a massive lightning strike at the thickest portion of the power. The lightning did nothing but splinter and burn flying bone fragments. From the back, Buckley managed an area spell that blasted at the windward side of the group, diverting the storm of bone upwards a bit.

  The spirit attacks against the vortex bore more fruit, breaking up the invisible glob of spirit energy powering the event and it all came crashing down, bones bouncing off walls as they lost their momentum to slide across the floor. Howie was bleeding from several wounds in his great mass. Reggie had a single wound, but it was ghastly. An ulna was buried deep in him, just above his hip. Runild started picking out the shards from Howie while Rent assisted Harding in removing the bone and getting the potions and bandages working on Reggie.

  "Hang in there, Reggie," Buckley encouraged as he sweat, battling shock. Once Harding had stabilized it, Reggie gutted out the pain of casting several repairs. Harding could tell they were weaker than his usual, the wound greatly affecting his abilities.

  Once stable himself, Howie dropped a blue boon on Reggie that Harding was unfamiliar with. Reggie relaxed, his spells increasing in potency as his body seemed to give up reacting to the wound. Harding moved on to treat Tommy's wound. In short order, they were healed enough to relax.

  "Ten minute break," called Runild. They were probably ok to continue in Harding's opinion, but why risk it when your only true healer had taken a major wound. Reggie was just going to have to gut out the domain in the back.

  While Runild sifted through the bones for loot, Harding returned the sword to Tommy, who likewise returned the staff. Tommy lowered himself and laid there after, knees slightly drawn up. “You going to be ok,” Harding asked.

  “Hope so,” he confided, “sitting in the back and throwing spells isn't my style.”

  Harding nodded understanding.

  “Don't know how you mages do it, but you do it well!”

  Harding just smiled back at Tommy, not correcting him. Harding was no mage. Runild stood up from digging in the bone pile, holding a violet seed in her hands and a look of triumph in her eyes.

  “We just get that,” queried a hopeful Harding.

  “Yep. Do you mind if I claim it for Buckley?”

  “Uh, ask the Garnet’s I guess?”

  Harding had no idea how loot worked in a situation like this. There were really three forces there since the monks were not House forces. He knew Tommy wasn’t fully-seeded, but Jarred and Jasika were archons and had no use for a violet except to enrich the house. Runild would be fair was Harding’s thought, especially with the Garnet’s present. Whatever the case, Jarred dismissed the concern lightly, coming over with Jasika to look over Tommy’s recovery.

  After a stall in the group conversation, Harding packed up his medic stuff and wandered around the room. Opposite of the entryway was a solid wall. Splashed across it was a hand-painted map of the stars. Faint lines traced presumable constellations. Beneath the star map was a mural of the heavens, the Prism to be exact. The star map extended to either side of the prism, beneath that a different star map.

  Harding backed up to the middle of the room and turned left, there was a door of solid metal. He turned right, but the wall was blank. Uninterrupted and unadorned. He switched to spirit sensing and then took a massive breath of spirit. He could see the thickness of spirit pull in from all around him in a circle. With nothing really to do with the energy, he channeled it now through the dirty Throat voidseed and it his hands. Streams of power erupted, splashing the star mural. His eyes went wide, as he watched the effects on the ambient spirit.

  "At least warn us," called out Reggie.

  Runild knew him though, "What is it?"

  "Uh, the important thing is I think I found a hidden door," Harding said as he pointed to the spot on the right. "Suck in power and watch it redistribute. There's a power source or storage or-” Harding couldn't find the word he sought and just paused. “Something behind that wall that is leaking into this room."

  Runild was up and moving before he had even finished explaining, the violet seed slipped into her bag. Harding wondered how disruptive a new seed in a combat environment really was that they wouldn’t just seal it into Buckley there. Runild once again tapped with her powers, the light triple violet activation she used as a probe.

  "Was there something else, Harding," asked Rent quietly as he approached and stood next to him.

  Harding was only partially paying attention though. Instead he watched Runild move, bending and fluid in a trance-like dance of motion along the wall. He found it mesmerizing, but also highly disturbing. There was something wrong about it, something outside human. He'd seen her flow through crowds, but this was different. As if she was not human. Or maybe not even completely her, like for a moment some other thing unused to the human form was wearing her.

  No one commented though.

  Quietly, "You saw the attack I just did, yeah?"

  "And yet you have no seed there."

  Runild swayed.

  "Exactly, but the attack hit the wall and, ah- pretty sure it damaged the mural. Not a lot or anything, but the stranger part of it was that I got spirit back. What's that even mean?"

  "You still have that contaminated voidseed in your Throat?"

  It felt, more than looked, like her bodies moved independently.

  "Yeah."

  "And what all did you contaminate it with?"

  "I use it as a filter to strain out imperfections I pick up when I pull spirit out of things and into me."

  Rent was quiet a moment

  "Think of those things, then imagine what kind of powers that might leave."

  Harding explored his memories, it was mostly the Vampire Carrots and a lot of leech parasites from all the testing. Small pieces of other people's spirits too, and maybe a small sip of the universe or something when he went too far. Harding couldn't give even a hint of knowledge to back up the emerging idea, but he had no other explanation. "Uhm, can you make godseeds?"

  "I doubt it,” responded the open-minded monk, “I suspect you're firing spirit though the seed instead of the Gate. Since your voidseed is somehow contaminated, perhaps a trace effect is carried out with it."

  "That's incredible," interjected Buckley.

  Harding and Rent both turned to find her standing right behind them, listening to their quiet conversation.

  "Uhm…"

  "Just a theory, of course," Rent hastily added.

  She shook her head in denial, hands open and palms forward. "It makes sense though. Why have voidseeds? No one uses them for anything. No one would just wander around with them inside them, so we’ve no clue if they have long term effects."

  Harding put his hands up defensively. "I certainly don't know. I haven't figured anything else out, either. Please don't talk to others about it until I get some real proo-”

  "Talk about what," asked Runild. Her breath flitting across his ear. She was being creepy again.

  Harding resisted the urge to jump when it happened, then sighed and turned to face Runild. She was so tight to him, he brushed against her when he turned and yet he had not sensed her nearness. She looked up at him with her eyes gleaming gold in the artificial light. "When I know, I'll share. For now though, we are in a domain, let's focus on that?"

  Runild grinned up at him, "Yes, I think that's good. I found the way."

  Runild turned and moved fluidly to the wall. "The passage is here," she said, putting a finger to a point in the mural. The picture beneath her finger was of the spirits lifting out of the bodies of the dead.

  "That looks promising," quipped Harding.

  "Nothing like death as an entrance requirement," added Rent.

  "It's the code for the door," asserted Buckley. "The question is, is the answer the god of death, mortality, psychopomps, souls, spirits, or something else? Seems a bit unclear."

  "Gods? The constellations on the wall," Jasika blurted and rushed over to the back wall mural.

  Harding and the others joined her, with spirit sensing open Harding could see that the stars sparkled as conduits for spirit. "I think you're supposed to activate a constellation, or maybe it’s constellations, in order?"

  "Makes sense," Howie agreed cautiously as he joined in, scratching the back of his head as he wandered closer and stared. Then he turned back to them, "I'm terrible at theology, who is the god of death?"

  "Kasagos," suggested Jarred.

  "Abathala," corrected Runild.

  "Okkor is spirits," Rent added, but then spread his hands and added, "but Scyphor is souls."

  "Mesaphia," suggested Reggie.

  "What, why," demanded Buckley.

  "She's the cycle of life."

  Hamon joined them and voiced his take on Mesaphia, "Hmm, she's more abundance of life and the hunt for survival, Kasagos is more the decay that feeds new life."

  "What about the Hidden gods," asked Harding.

  "The who," asked Howie.

  Clearly not all the Eights were clued in.

  Runild answered, "Vyx would be the psychopomp, or possibly the consumer of souls- but that's not what's depicted."

  "Seems like all of them are death gods," mused Harding.

  There was silence. Harding tried to sense the connections between wall and door, but was hesitant in his fear of accidentally triggering a trap. The connections were complex, purposefully twisted and knotted. He thought it most likely designed to confuse exactly what he was trying to do. And there were certainly plenty of strands leading back to the ritual in the middle of the room.

  What other traps are in that tangle?

  Harding left the group and walked to the door. He put his finger to the door and pressed spirit to its surface until he could feel the invisible lines of its surface. Pushing against the cracks was nearly impossible, but with a mixture of visualization and perseverance he could feel around the door. Other than the multiple bolts that crossed between threshold and door, he could find no direct connection. What was there was a familiar set of locks.

  "You're kidding," Harding mumbled.

  Runild drifted closer, "Yeah?"

  "What if the answer is none of them and really this is just a locked door?"

  "It couldn't be just a keyed thing or it would open with all the spells going off…"

  "Think seedcrypt."

  “So we need the code.”

  “Maybe not.”

  She blinked, not asking the obvious and then smiled at him. She was either happy or about to eat him, he was unsure.

  "Try it."

  Harding took a deep breath, vainly attempting to settle his nerves. Then he shoved, "Ok everyone, get ready. I'm going to try and open this door in a minute and it might be trapped."

  The group got ready for a fight. Jarred helped Tommy up, though he was fairly mobile already, while Hamon oversaw Reggie's preparations. They wandered back to the chamber entrance and setup, as if expecting to have to fight the bone ritual again.

  Harding reached out with spirit and touched the door, flooding spirit into it.

  “Please open.”

  Nothing happened.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Harding tried again, but this time he didn't ask.

  Open.

  He commanded and visualized it happening. The door swung back and up into the ceiling. Behind the door was an even narrower passageway full of cobwebs. It led off in the spill of alchemical illumination into absolute darkness. Tommy looked over the group who all seemed shocked, then shrugged, "Shall we?"

  Runild took the lead and headed down the tunnel without waiting. Her form pushing through the cobwebs, she didn't even raise a hand to bat them. The group, as much out of habit than anything else, followed. The tunnel turned to stairs, so expertly cut that Harding doubted they were meant to simulate human craftsmanship.

  "Maybe this is a bypass instead of a treasure room," Buckley suggested.

  Rent cast doubt on Buckley’s idea, gently saying, "I've never seen a secret bypass in a domain before, but I guess that doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

  "Maybe it's fo- oof," Howie exhaled as he ran into the back of Rent. Rent nearly bowled over Jasika from the impact. The group spaced out a little more to make up for the slower movement of the injured. The progression down the stairs had stopped at a new door. Runild just reached out before anyone could say anything and pushed it open. It revealed a short tunnel leading into a well lit room. They walked in and as the last one of them passed the door it swung shut.

  "That's not ominous."

  Jarred looked at Harding, "Don't say it like that."

  "Like what?"

  "Like we all are going to die."

  Tommy shrugged, looking around, "Just means we have to beat this room."

  The room was a perfect cube of pure white. There was no texture to the surfaces nor sources to the light. In the center was three steps up along each cardinal axis. Above the steps, mirroring them, hung three steps from the ceiling. In the middle, atop both sets of stairs, was a plain cube of granite on each side which was a few feet tall. The dark vein and texture of it was in stark contrast to the unnaturally sterile room. Atop the granite was a giant, clear crystal nearly five feet tall but narrow. It was mounted in goldwork to the rock. Hanging down from the ceiling was an inverted twin to the crystal. There was a small gap between the two crystals, where blue arcs of energy audibly crackled.

  Inside each notch formed between stairs, above and below, was a statue of the purest black. The blackness was so pure that Harding could not even tell what they were made of and lost understanding of their shape in places as the black surfaces merged. Only with the repetition making more than one angle visible caused him to realize it showed a naked man, kneeling on one knee resting his arms over an oddly shaped sword that looked more like an elongated cleaver.

  The light in the room was artificial. It emanated from everywhere with no effort to provide explanation. Harding only then noticed that there were no shadows. Not even the adventurers cast shadows.

  "No," Runild breathed with actual venom.

  "Mmm, what is it, auntie," asked Bethany. Runild stood at guard, crouched slightly on the balls of her feet. Harding looked around, some of the party were relaxed and others on edge.

  "Death."

  "Would people stop saying that," whined Jarred. "You're gonna cause a curse."

  "We are already here young Master, no more curse to be caused," soothed Rent.

  "So how do we solve this," asked Reggie, walking around the mirrored stairs.

  The room was so perfectly white and the lighting so alien that distance felt warped. Where the floor met the walls nearly blended into a single plane.

  "It's a mirror," mumbled Howie. Harding looked over to see him eating a howie bar. For some reason, that made Harding smile. He could be removed from the expected, but here in this weirdness, his friends were still consistent.

  Harding started the problem solving, "So the statues are obviously gargoyles or golems or something and chop you if you get close."

  Howie made a noise of agreement and swallowed the last of his bar

  Runild walked up to the edge of the stairs and went still. Harding could feel the weird tendrils of power lashing out of her, like some kind of spiritual cephalopod feeling into blind space. She swayed slowly side to side as the spirit tendrils wrapped around everything slowly. Then suddenly it all evaporated.

  "This is a portal," stated Runild. "An unnatural thing, unclaimed by the Lady of Paths."

  Harding was confused by that as he generally considered Runild to delight in anything perceived as unusual. Buckley beat him to the question though as she asked, "How could that be?"

  "This device is not magic," she stated. The tension suddenly dropped from her, her rigid posture collapsing to her normal stance. She rubbed her nose with the back of her finger. "It has no scent. It has no light. It is primal, formative, this is an unusual power."

  "So what do we do about it," asked Rent, studying Runild instead of the room. Harding wondered if Rent was sensing the recent strangeness with Runild too.

  "I'll try the door," offered Buckley, already moving towards it.

  Runild dismissed the idea, "Don't bother, it is locked and the hallway no longer exists."

  "What's that mean," tested Jarred nervously, his voice cracking slightly. Jasika stepped in close, pressed up against Jarred’s non-sword side.

  "The portal has already been activated. When the door closed, we crossed. We are no longer where we were. The question isn't how do we activate the portal, it's how do we reverse it."

  "Maybe it didn't," hoped Buckley.

  "It did."

  "Can it even be reversed," asked Reggie.

  "I should just check to be sure," continued Buckley quietly.

  "It's clear the crystals have something to do with it,” pointed out Rent.

  "I agree, they're exposed for a rea-”

  The thud of Buckley's shoulder against the door was muted, but the sound cut through the conversation. As she got ready to throw her shoulder against the door again, Runild yelled, "Stop!”

  Buckley slammed the door harder. It didn't budge. The arcing lightning between the crystals reacted, changing, growing faster and more violent. The crystals began turning cloudy grey. As Buckley began to prepare to shoulder it again, most of the party collectively yelled, "Stop!"

  She actually did and looked at them, "Can we please get out of here?"

  "We're trying," Hamon promised. "I don't like being trapped either."

  The arcing reached a crescendo, forming into a sustained, electrical discharge. Everyone stared, as it crackled, causing the air to stink as it burned. Boxes suddenly popped up out of the floor. Seamless white cubes, two each uniformly spaced in each direction.

  "The hell," Howie exclaimed as they all looked on. Harding had no idea what to do or expect. This room was surreal, fake, false and blatantly so.

  A loud pop heralded smoke billowing in the cardinal directions from each box. In seconds, those nearest started to cough. The smoke was already thick, but still thin enough that the outlines of the others were still visible. Harding heard a rapid patter of little feet, but before he could say anything Reggie shouted, "There's things in here with us!"

  Harding swept his foot along the ground, in a sliding arch, and connected with something solid. The impact sent whatever it was flying as if he'd kicked a ball. It made a sound of a quick release of air, while leaving his foot smarting.

  Runild called them out then, "They're tiny and in the smo-”.

  Howie started screaming, terror and agony. He was close to Harding, so Harding turned to the sound and started forward only to trip on one of the gas boxes and fall forward. He landed face first a couple feet from Howie's leg.

  The monster in front of him was a bit more than a foot tall, a gangly biped whose brown skin seemed a bit like bark, but waxy in surface. It has huge black eyes and was naked except for a large, conical hat-like thing that was half again its height. This one had buried the peak of the hat into Howie's leg. It giggled and gave Harding a cheerful wave as the hat suddenly started spinning and advancing. Hoodie screamed as the "hat" spun up a shaft and in a second drilled through his leg in a spray of blood.

  Harding looked for his staff, which he'd dropped when he fell. He saw it, and the shapes of more of these things, running around in the thinner smoke near the ground. Switching his goal, Harding instead grabbed his knife to crawl a little forward and kill this horror.

  Howie's screams intensified. Under it was insane laughter. Harding looked up to see the thing spinning uncontrollably, arms and legs trailing its rotation in a cartoonish fashion. As it spun, the top of the drill head held firm and instead of stopping, it was pulling the larger hat base and the monster itself slowly through the flesh, tearing an even wider path.

  Other screams were heard amid the coughing of humans and cackling of these little monsters. Harding brought the knife down but only scored a cut. He stabbed again but missed a solid blow. With inspiration, instead of stabbing at a spinning target he stabbed down sideways and let it spin itself into the blade.

  "Oof," cried a tiny, high pitched voice. The spinning head didn't stop, but it did slow as the knife blade sunk into the monster's wooden chest. Harding leaned on the knife with his strength and weight in order to keep it from being spun away, so hard was the monster's body. Little cries of dismay floated up before finally, after about five seconds it was finally cut in two.

  This didn't stop the horror. Free of drag, the hat continued to spin, flinging about the little head and upper torso of the dead thing. Sticky black-speckled grey fluid splattered everywhere. The drill head didn't stop, pulling the severed head into Howie's leg. It stopped then, but Howie's panting cries didn't. Then orangish slime burst out of the wound around the leg and into the floor before blossoming into a bed of mold.

  There were multiple sets of screams in the smoke and fear gripped Harding, knowing these things could come at him from any direction. He couldn't let Howie suffer though. He put down his knife and launched into action. He had no idea what to do with this, but a double dose of painkiller to Howie was his first step. Maybe it might kill him, but Howie was big and Harding had no idea what this stuff was or how to treat it. A tourniquet to the leg, he set about cutting the drill head free. Howie's foot was barely attached when finished, but he didn't know what else to do. A double dose of wound cleaning, then wound seal and bandages. For good measure, he focused and pushed leeches through his Throat twice into the wound. It would hurt more, but he hoped it would eat any infection.

  Harding reached for his knife to go to the next set of screams when he noticed one of the drilltop gremlins next to him, staring at his decapitated comrade and the giant pool of slime mold. Without hesitating, Harding grabbed it by the neck and spun it upside down. It threatened to break his grasp, wiggling with strength greater than its size should allow. Harding kept holding on and slammed its drilltop into the floor. The drill self-activated and began drilling through the stone of the floor. The little monster chomped down on Harding's hand, but Harding refused to let go. Hand dripping blood, Harding held it down until the second stage kicked in. Letting go, he watched the drill struggle but still slowly pull the monster's head under the floor until it stopped at the shoulders. Torso and legs flopped about, head stuck.

  Harding grabbed the knife and rushed to the next scream, careful not to trip again. He found Jarred laying on his back, holding up a bloody hand, half the palm missing. Next to him lay a dead monster, torso and head beaten to a pulp against the floor. Harding dropped to his knees to work on Jarred when lightning ripped through the room.

  Not a little lightning, nor a targeted bolt. The room lit up in a solid sheet of crackling electricity. Harding screamed in agony. Every living thing did. Jarred's eyes lulled back as he fought consciousness, perhaps his coughing the only thing keeping his body active. The smoke was filled with the sound of drill heads starting to spin. There were more than a couple, but with the spinning sounds were rhythmic thumps and high pitched squeals.

  Harding started on Jarred's wound but skipped the painkiller as he was unsure if Jarred's ability to handle it in his condition. In the room was a chump, a chop and then after a few seconds a frenzy of activity that sounded like weapons beating the floor.

  Harding bandaged Jarred's hand despite the choking, tears and mucus starting to run down his nose. He rolled Jarred onto his side as he continued to convulse into more coughing. He felt like he was drowning. All he could hear was coughing, crying and puking. He had been fighting to keep his breathing controlled, but he was feeling light headed and there seemed no relief to the smoke in the enclosed chamber. Harding accepted his fate.

  He laid down next to his friend and inhaled deeply, before coughing violently. He forced himself to inhale again. He held it then exhaled, brought in a deep breath again and choked. He didn't do it to die, he just wasn’t going to hold his breath to struggle. He felt a calm acceptance, he inhaled again. After several seconds more breaths, he realized it was affecting him less. He exhaled leech and it ate the bleeding he’d picked up, but didn't seem to affect his breathing.

  Slowly it dawned on Harding.

  He yelled, "Don't fight the smoke, inhale it. Get enough in you and you'll be fine." He grabbed Jarred and shook him, "Breath it in man, big breaths, just keep breathing it." He shook him again and repeated himself. Encouraged to see Jarred start to inhale more, he kept yelling to inhale it while he stumbled through the room. He found Reggie, who was laying against one of the broken statues, sucking wind. Reggie gave him a thumbs up and weak smile.

  "When you can, help with the wounded," said Harding, oblivious to its obviousness, and moved on.

  In the smoke he found Jasika's little body. Obviously the source of the lightning field that fried everyone, she now lay unconscious on the floor. Harding checked for breathing and found that she was, but only faintly. He took a big inhale of smoke into his mouth and bent over her. Closing her nose with one hand, he pressed his mouth to hers and blew the smoke into her. He gulped more and repeated, trying to not take it in himself. It took nearly a half-dozen mouthfuls but she started awake and immediately freaked out at Harding's mouth on hers. She shoved him weakly. He backed off and said, "Breathe deep the smoke, that’s the trick." Jasika sat up, arm extended to slap him but fell forward and grabbed his robes with both hands. Head down against his chest, she heaved violently and puked on him. He patted her hair. "It's ok Jasika. Just keep breathing, I already helped Jarred." She shuddered, sobbing and puked again though with less force.

  Harding held her lightly, continually encouraging her to continue to breath and slowly she evened out. He felt like he should be running around the room helping others, but he could hear several people moving and talking to each other. And, at that moment, Jasika seemed more important. Her small body rattled as she sobbed, not from the air but from deep emotions.

  The smoke was lifting slowly, as if the room had started to exchange the air. Jasika looked up at Harding, snot draining from her nose, lips flecked with vomit and red eyes puffed out. "This is your fault," she sobbed, blowing a bubble in the snot.

  Just then the doors burst open, fresh air crashing into the room. Standing in the hallway was a thigh-high humanoid squirrel in a blue waistcoat pushing a wheelbarrow. Jasika's head snapped over, saw the fuzzy creature and screamed with a hand held out. Lightning jumped from her hand and smashed into the squirrel, burning through its face before exploding out the back of its skull.

  Harding saw the half obscured faces of those who remained standing look over at Jasika. She turned her head back into his chest. Harding initially thought it was for comfort, but she used his robes to wipe her snot away and whispered, "Bastard."

  Jasika got up and walked over to Jarred, trying to give the appearance of being steady. Harding stood up with a glance again at the door. The squirrel-thing body laid there, tail laid out like a shadow behind it. Harding's concern was the aftermath of that encounter. Looking around revealed to him that Howie, Jarred, and Buckley were hurt.

  Runild, Jasika, Reggie and Harding were standing.

  Tommy was dead. One ankle drilled through, then another of the drilltops had hit him just along his nose. The mess was horrific. Laying next to him was one of the little monsters, without a drillhead, but four times the size. It had been savagely beaten and impaled.

  Next to it lay Rent, motionless.

  Harding ran to him and rolled him over. He gave no resistance. Harding checked for breath and found none. Grief welled with vigor. Rent was dead. In the smoke, unknown by the others, the monster had killed Tommy and grown. Alone and suffocating, Rent had killed it. Without a wound on his body, he had succumbed to the not-smoke.

  Magic hit Harding, he tensed before he recognized it. Reggie was layering repair on the survivors. Harding told himself that his teacher, his friend, would rise again soon. It helped settle his emotions, he thought. But there was some part of him that refused that rationale. Some part of him that told him it was his fault, he was so busy saving Jasika that he had let Rent die.

  This was nonsense. The thoughts were illogical. He'd been able to breathe the smoke. Runild and Buckley had managed it without his help. He reasoned that Rent must have been dead before he had shouted. Harding reached out and closed Rent's bloodshot eyes. He checked him for anything of value to make sure nothing was lost.

  Harding got up and picked up Rent's pack, then went back to the group who were collecting at the central formation. No electrical activity was currently evident between the crystals.

  "Rent's gone. Tommy too."

  Runild nodded softly. "Howie's pretty much out of the fight. I think Jarred will be able to use a sword but not his shield."

  Harding felt Reggie cast again, pushing repair on the group to increase any possible healing again.

  "How's Buckley?

  "Fuck those things," Buckley scathed.

  "Language," Runild admonished.

  "It hurts," she whined. Harding looked down and saw one shoe was off, foot wrapped in bloody bandages.

  "You give her some yellow?"

  Runild rolled her eyes, "A whole vial, she's just being dramatic."

  There was silence for a moment, other than the indecipherable whispers between the Garnets.

  "So… what do we do," asked Reggie.

  "Kill our way out, not like we have other options."

  "It's going to be rough," predicted Buckley.

  Harding nodded absently, watching the Garnets. Jasika held Jarred tight, but it seemed like Jarred was the one comforting.

  Harding policed Tommy’s seeds, handing them over to Jarred along with the saber. Runild checked the dead creatures and the room, but found nothing of value. Reggie had repaired as much as could be done by the time they decided to move forward but that hadn't fixed all that much. Buckley limped on bandages, Jared was effectively one-handed and they eventually put Howie's mass into the undersized wheelbarrow for transportation as he couldn't stand at all on the mess of his leg.

  In a normal domain, you could just leave the packs of stuff along the path to be picked up on the return. But in this instance, it didn't seem like the way would be accessible again. Harding manned Howie's wheelbarrow, while Jarred carried Rents pack. Howie had Tommy’s sword over his lap.

  They collectively limped forward, through the doors and into the passageway beyond which almost immediately opened up into a large chamber full of trees and light. Had they not passed through a door with walls extending in both directions, Harding would have sworn they were in a small woodland. The woods opened into a clearing in short order, which contained a small village of a half dozen huts around a giant tree. Smoke extended from two of the huts' chimney holes. In the giant tree was a great day of doors.

  The whole group stopped.

  "Ahh," muttered Buckley, confused.

  "Have you ever heard of a place like this," Harding asked Runild.

  "No, this is a new one to me," she answered.

  “So we-” Harding was cut off by a loud chittering from the trees. He looked up, trying to find the source of it when a nut the size of a grapefruit struck him in the forehead. He staggered, but kept his feet. Raising a hand to his forehead, he felt the wetness of blood. He pulled his hand back and looked at his fingers in shock, they were bright with blood. He gave a very delayed "owe". Harding activated a leech to stop the bleeding just before Jasika launched a group of lightning bolts into the tree.

  A ruddy-gray form fell to the ground with a muted slap. The lifeless squirrel laid motionless, fur scorched and smoking.

  "What are those things," Buckley wondered aloud.

  A scream rose from the village, another one dressed in a cornflower blue dress charged at them with a pitchfork, making a high pitched keening. Jasika boosted and blew a hole through it so wide it was almost split in two.

  “Shit," muttered Buckley.

  Runild cleared her throat.

  "Sorry, auntie."

  "You need to stop hanging out with that crowd, Buckley, they're rough characters," counselled Howie.

  Runild turned and looked at him, "And why would Mesaphisian Kni-”

  A great wail rose from the village and more squirrel people charged. The group just watched as Jasika burned them all with a giant field of lightning.

  Seven smoking corpses laid in the clearing, clutched in their claws were mostly farm implements.

  Harding looked at the others, everyone seemed a little in shock by the disparity. Jasika just strode forward towards the village. When two smaller squirrels came running out she blasted them both. One didn't die, but laid there sweating, trying to hold its organs inside itself with its claws. Jasika walked calmly to it and slashed open its throat with her sword. She walked away from it without looking back.

  The rest of the party followed. She stood before the giant door in the tree. The door looked as if it had grown as part of the tree, like a knot too perfect and detailed. In it was carved the phrase, "To enter, harvest."

  Reggie guessed, "We farm their crops?"

  Runild shook her head, "No, we farm them."

  "Farm them?"

  Jasika was already marching to the first hut. Then exited shortly and went to the next. I'm the third, the party heard screams and silence. Jasika exited, the blood barely visible on her scarlet battledress. She continued on. Shortly after she entered the fifth hut, the wooden knot door groaned and spread. Dark red sap dripped along its edges.

  The party looked at each other, shifting uncomfortably and not ready to speak. Jasika saw the door open and marched up to them. "Let's go," she ordered. The group followed.

  Through the knot-door, there was a rock tunnel. It looked as though they were in a mine, which made no sense since they'd just stepped into a tree. Their artificial lights proved useful for a bit, but the tunnel was short and it ended in a glowing portal. The surface of it was black but the light coming off it was iridescent, giving it an oily sheen.

  "You know, I really don't like this domain," announced Howie from his reclined position in the wheelbarrow.

  "This isn't the domain we started," corrected Runild. "We were diverted. This is… something else. Something else, hidden within the domain. A very, very wrong turn."

  Harding didn't say anything, but he knew whose fault it was that they hadn't just gone through the obvious door. No one would have noticed had he said nothing, all of this was because of him.

  "Let's. Keep. Going," Jasika demanded, voice quiet but firm. She gave Jarred a stuffy tug on his coat and then stepped through. Jarred followed, and Harding pushed Howie through.

  And fell.

  Below him in the distance was a speck of light, everything else was black. There was the impression of traveling at mind-blowing speeds, but no sound. After a time, the light began to get bigger. Slowly, then rapidly, until Harding could see the top of a room, as if the ceiling was removed. He was traveling way too fast, if he hit the ground at this speed he was going to be vaporized. Then he skipped suddenly, impossibly, to drop the last couple of feet in free fall. He landed on a handle of the wheelbarrow, taking it in the shin and dumping Howie on top of him. He laid there, being slowly crushed by the mountain that is a Howie. Howie was shifting around, muttering apologies as he pushed off the wheelbarrow that had rolled up on top of him.

  A sudden impact and cry of pain slammed it all back down in Harding.

  "Ah, shit. Sorry, sorry," cried Reggie who was on top of them.

  Howie managed to slide everything off them and finally Harding was free. He felt like me had bruised ribs, but he knew he was being overly dramatic. But they were out of the way as the others descended.

  Harding looked down to see Reggie resting, holding his ankle. Howie cast a blue spell again and Reggie gave a sigh of relief, exhaled and started with putting repair on himself. As far as Harding could tell, Reggie had landed on the bottom side of the wheelbarrow and twisted his ankle but he didn't explain.

  Harding looked around and was startled to see the group squared off with a monster. Jarred and Jasika had their swords out, Runild and Buckley had moved in to support. Hamon was last to arrive, but already moving. In front of them was a massive man with the head of an ox. He had to be at least eight feet tall and broadly muscled, but he wore comfortable grey slacks and a white vest with yellow buttons. For their alarm though, the being seemed to barely pay them any mind.

  There was a thin white pillar in the middle of the room, the floors were large checkered slabs of polished white and black marble. The walls were painted white and surfaced with some intricate patterns in overlapping metal leaf of four different colors and draped with tapestries.

  It was as if the scene was frozen in time. The party was not ready to fight, but they were posed to fight back if needed. The monster though, in his indifference, froze them in their confusion. As Harding walked over to the group, the thing turned slowly and looked at them. "More," it asked seemingly no one.

  "More," Runild asked back.

  It nodded to the corner, where there was a heap of bones and gear, "More."

  "You killed them all," asked Jarred. There had to be at least forty bodies there, though intermixed bones could be deceptive.

  "Eh? Oh. Some. I suppose. Perhaps all,” it rumbled, as if half asleep. "I cannot open it. I am trapped."

  "How is it that an Agent of Phiris does not know," asked Runild.

  A what? Harding apparently needed to have yet another conversation with Runild.

  It turned its head and looked at Runild, large eyes seemingly focusing suddenly. It was barely perceptible, but Runild leaned back from the weight of the gaze. "I see," it rumbled and went back to staring at the pure white pillar.

  "It is a paradox. I can recall all things known. I cannot see this solution. How was it forgotten, or was it crafted without knowing? It functions, so there must be a solution."

  "This isn't good," muttered Runild.

  The great monster sat, staring at the pillar motionless except the rise of its paced breathing. Harding walked up to the post and examined it. It was perfectly smooth. Where it entered the floor was a golden ring, the width of his hand. Carved in relief, was a word that Harding could not read.

  "What's this say," he asked the agent, though he was pretty sure it was an alph.

  "Embrace," replied Runild casually, lost in thought.

  Harding shrugged and gave the pillar a big hug. Buckley chuckled at him. He glanced at her and smiled back.

  "It was worth a try," she allowed.

  He let go of the pillar and walked up to Buckley and gave her a big hug. She giggled, but nothing else happened. "I'm ticklish," she warned as he released her.

  "I wasn't tickling you," Harding defended, confused.

  "I know," she said as she walked over to Runild and wrapped her arms around Runild from behind.

  Harding looked around the room. He didn't see a choice, he had to test everything. He walked up to the monster and gave it a big hug while it was in meditation. It startled and blew hot air from its massive nostrils in his face.

  "Why," it asked.

  "The script says to embrace."

  It let out a soft, rumbling snort. It was a massive sighing response, deep and full of belly. "Shegone doesn't mean hug, it means-” The monster gasped for air, laughing suddenly in a roar that Harding could feel vibrating his very being.

  And then the monster was gone.

  "Uhm, guys," stammered Harding.

  "What was that," asked Howie, looking uncomfortable in his wheelbarrow.

  Runild was walking towards Harding, "What did you do?"

  "I hugged him."

  "But you hugged me too," chimed Buckley.

  "Yeah, but then it laughed…"

  "He was saying something when he disappeared," promoted Howie.

  Harding nodded. "He said 'shea-go-ney’ doesn't mean hug, then he just disappeared."

  "But that's not what it," trailed off Runild as she went back to the description and read it again. "I translated this wrong, it's not 'embrace', it's to 'accept within'."

  "Like believe," asked Jarred. He'd gotten up and joined the discussion, Jasika drifting as a shadow behind him.

  "Maybe that's like faith versus knowledge," suggested Harding, "That's why the knowledge monster couldn't solve it."

  "He's not a monster, closer to a godling but not exactly. They're like immortal beings that are fundamentally different than, and subservient to, the gods."

  Harding froze. "Wait, is it a sex joke,” laughed Harding.

  The world changed. Harding was standing in the same kind of room, but the scale was much grander. Nearly three hundred yards long and fifty wide and tall. Pillars ran on either side near the wall in white where the walls were pitch black. At the far end was some kind of raised dias and throne.

  The ox-monster thing stood next to him. It looked down at him, big glossy eyes unreadable. "Good luck mortal. This is no place to be."

  It drew a sign in the air, too complex for Harding to follow and Harding felt a surge of power as his spirit began to undergo a massive change. Gasping, unable to breath he looked up at the being.

  "I normally would not. But I had debt that must be paid. I doubt I will see you again. Leave this place at once."

  The agent ceased to exist, which Harding assumed meant it had teleported. Howie popped into existence and fell on his seat. It just made him laugh harder.

  "He had to be shocked," said Howie, wiping away a tear.

  "Sorta, why… "

  Buckley popped into existence, giggling. It made Harding smile, after all that had happened, he felt her childlike laughter deeply.

  It was a couple minutes before Reggie popped into the room.

  "What's going on back there," Howie asked.

  "They're trying to get that little mage to laugh, but she is wound so tight." Reggie looked over at Harding, "No offense."

  Harding found himself confused, trying to figure out what the green mage was talking about. No one else was talking. He followed their gaze and saw that a figure had descended the dias’ stairs and was walking towards them. At the distance, details were hard to make out. The figure was dressed in all white with a thick head of white hair.

  They all watched as it approached. Harding realized from its movement and shape that it was female. She moved with the kind of grace Runild displayed, inhumanely fluid.

  As if summoned, Runild popped into existence. "Damn," she swore, started to look around and saw the figure moving towards them. Past it, back on the dais, another figure exactly like the white one but other than the black hair, partially descended the steps.

  "What's happening," Runild asked, but no one answered. Harding was aware she asked but his eyes were locked on the fast approaching figure. She was getting bigger as she approached, but the growth was independent of the speed and the lengthening strides only served to close the distance faster. Bigger and bigger she grew, her body fluidly changing shape with the size. By a hundred yards out it was ten feet tall and expanding in mass, the body rippling and surging.

  Jasika popped into being and let out a mousey squeak, seeing what approached. It was a near sixteen foot tall humanoid white tiger. The body was covered in tight, white fur with black stripes. It moved like a human, legs powerful and thick with human-like long feet. Its massive arms were too long and ended in long, clawed fingers. The head was a giant tiger head.

  Behind it, the black haired one was growing as it slowly walked towards them

  In a burst of speed, the white one covered the last fifty yards in under a second. It was impossibly fast and they didn't even react until Reggie was already torn in half, body sent flying through the air to splatter against the wall behind them.

  Harding knew they were dead. Even the Ox-alph-thing had fled. The white one crouched and reached slowly for Jasika, as if daring anyone to move. A purely feline toying with its prey. Jarred popped into being and into the grasp of the giant tigress. She snatched him up as he struggled to pull his sword. Her mouth came down on him and punched his chest with his now drawn sword waving about. Jarred hacked at the front of the tigress' face, the blade barely penetrating fur but still shallowly slicing exposed flesh. Even as he cut its nose and muzzle, it seemed to feel no pain.

  Jasika had started casting, Runild shot out her beam of inky violet-blackness, which caused the tigress' skin to ripple and crack. Howie was throwing blessings on Jasika from a kneeling position.

  Buckley strobed blue again, but it had no visible effect.

  Harding, once more, felt useless. But watching as the beast shook Jarred in its mouth, he charged with his staff. Just before he got there, Jasika's lightning went off, blasting a burning wound into its stomach big enough that Harding could crawl inside.

  Harding brought his staff down, blowing a big spirit breath through him into a boosted keying of the staff. The joint he struck with the staff waivered but held. Runild suddenly appeared behind it and slashed at its tendon above the heel. It bellowed and kicked back, throwing Runild onto her back on the floor. Harding had no idea what to do, nothing seemed to be working and this was just the first monster. The one with a limp Jarred in its mouth raised its claws to slash down on him, making an obvious show of inevitability.

  "STOP."

  It was as much in Harding's head as it was in his ears, yet the power made him nauseous. He felt his robes vibrate from its passing. Harding knew where it came from, the command wrenched his focus. Everyone's focus was wrenched. Even the tigress' heads had turned.

  There on the black throne, three hundred yards away, was the motionless figure in white. Harding could barely make out any features.

  The room instantly collapsed in length. The stairs to the throne were so close behind the tigresses that Runild was now lying prone partially on the first stair.

  On the throne sat a man in a deep hooded robe of amazing white. In the shadow of the hood, the face was obscured by a curving mask off solid bleached bone. The mask had no holes or features, just a mass of curving, textured white.

  The tigress whose paw hovered, slowly bumped Harding on the head. Even though he saw it coming, he couldn't move and the impact knocked him on his ass.

  "Keeru," the figure in white warned. The tigress shrank back a little.

  "You're not going to eat that, spit it out."

  The tigress opened her massive jaws and let Jarred fall out lifelessly onto the floor with a wet slap.