The shrew wind whispered, “You sleep an hour longer than you used to. You’ve grown comfortable with what you’ve become, mass murderer.”

  “You can’t judge a man for following orders,” the Moratte sea defended Regilon. Over the years, it had swallowed many men, both guilty and innocent. In many ways, the sea was as blood-stained as the red-eyed ascender.

  The shadows along the walls said, “No amount of justification can absolve you of your guilt. A sinner remains a sinner even after they cease to sin.”

  What else could Regilon do but brush his teeth at four in the morning? He looked at himself in the mirror, running a hand through his hair, inspecting the greys and the wrinkles around his eyes. Dreadful. “I might outlive you,” his toothbrush remarked.

  “I say this out of love. You will die soon,” said the prophetic toilet bowl.

  One hour for combing his hair, another for trimming his lashes, an hour for trying on earrings, and one to admire his face. Solvarian men were attractive men. Genevie would agree. He had won her heart once. “Keep Genevie out of your thoughts,” Regilon said to Regilon. “She’s dead and gone. Die and meet her in paradise.”

  “Hell, you mean?” retorted the comb in his hand.

  Regilon stepped out onto the balcony. The air carried the stench of decaying flesh. The hills were grey, and the sky was red. Twisted trees sprouted from the sickened soil, their vile vines slithering along the ground.

  The Home of Heroes was the most repugnant place in the Living World. From now until sunset, he had one thing he liked to do. He would sit behind the small dande tree and meditate on a family portrait that sat at the foot of the tree.

  A family of a man who once had everything. A wife and a son to call his own. Both were gone and as much as he tried, he could not find them. His fingers itched to touch the portrait, but he would not dare touch the glass, lest it shatter.

  “Tell me where you are,” he said to the Genevie in the picture. “I sense that you’re close.”

  “Hypocrite!” yelled the shadows on the floor. “You’re as corrupt as the false priests! Everything you desire lies at your feet. It is you who is blind—blind to the truth of what you are: a weak man!”

  “I fought in the Great Oppression,” Regilon stated. “Where do you think Blood Storm got his name? I may be many things, but weak is not one of them.”

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  “Talk is cheap, Blood Storm,” the ocean mocked. “Show them what you are. Return to the south and face your greatest fear.”

  “And my greatest love.”

  Regilon put on his green jacket and a red hat. That earthen boy had seen something in the forest that day. It would have taken him a minute to walk through the woodlands and back, but he returned home and wept over the ever-elusive sorceress. Fool. With God on his side, he would find her today. God is not on your side. He abhors the wicked.

  “Stop talking,” Regilon muttered to no one in particular.

  Descending from the top floor to the ground floor took eighteen steps. Another twenty-nine steps brought him to the front door. Why were soldiers approaching his gates? Men in red emerged from their vehicles, with two officers leading the way.

  They saluted, “High Gaverian.”

  Ren Talon and Ren Savage. Schemel was away in Tardis, engaged in peace talks with the Sexites. These two were the linchpins holding the entire armed forces together.

  “Trouble in Blackwood, Sir,” Talon reported. “It’s unlike anything we’ve ever seen.”

  “Really?” Regilon scoffed. “What’s happening there these days?”

  “We don’t know, Sir,” Savage replied. “That’s why we’re here.”

  “Genevie,” Regilon murmured. “Take me to the Ring.”

  Even soldiers made mistakes, and this group had made many. Their heart rates and breathing were normal, as they had prepared themselves for their encounter with him. It was their very composure that gave them away, however. All twenty-something soldiers seemed too calm.

  Neither Talon nor Savage inquired about Regilon’s intended destination before their arrival; they didn’t want to distract him from the task they needed him to fulfill. But why? What was happening in Blackwood?

  “I am retired,” said Regilon. “Why did you not ask my comrades in service? Why come to me?”

  “There is no one available,” said Talon. “All our Gaverians followed the High Commander to the Midder-Lands. We did not expect the situation to… reach the point when we thought we might need a Gaverian.”

  “How many men have you lost to the south?”

  Savage and Talon got in each other’s way to answer the question. Their rehearsed figure was the same, however. Two officers went silent, along with the village.

  “We sent seven Fireflies after them,” added Savage. “A small army to test the waters and report their findings. Nothing has come back.”

  “Who sends an army into uncertainty?” asked Regilon.

  “We underestimated the threat,” said Savage. “But it would be best if we treated this discreetly. These are sensitive times. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Schemel doesn’t know about this,” guessed Regilon.

  “No one does,” said Talon. “Not even the Primus.”

  “Erisa Zeal knows the south quite well,” Regilon said. “I also hear Jay Arson is eager for glory. How about a capable and trusted ascender like Firios?”

  “Firios is too close to the High Commander,” said Savage. “We need him to stay as close to her as possible. And Jay Arson is anything but discreet. He will draw attention to the situation. As for Erisa we don’t think she has the skill to handle this.”

  “How about the Gallant boy?” asked Regilon. “Votress Gallant. He’s not as popular as Jay Arson so the Midder-Lands would not notice his departure. If he’s anything like his father, then he does things by the books. I would pick him for such a job. Perhaps I would lend him a small army just to be safe.”

  He could smell their fraying nerves. Whatever was in Blackwood had killed a Gaverian. He stepped away from the vehicle and headed back home, wondering what it was that had convinced him to put on the green coat again.