fragment:koth-8000-book-3

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BOOK 3

THE PRINCESS

Big Ben was collapsing. The dragon had nearly pushed it over already just be leaning on it, and the tremors caused by the colossal creature's final fall had only compounded that damage. Beside me in the belfry, Moritz staggered to his knees, barely conscious after pouring so much energy into the lightning bolt. I reached out to steady him, and no sooner had my hand made contact that the floor beneath us gave way. I gripped his robe for dear life, then wrapped his unconscious form in green light to slow his fall, as I had done before. It wasn't quite as effective this time with my added weight hanging on, but it was enough to leave us bruised instead of dead. The impact shocked him awake, and I helped him escape through the same window we'd entered through. We were met outside by Arcos, gliding unsteadily down from the top with the heavily-armored Perrin in his grasp. They were still several meters up when the bronze wings finally gave out under the weight, dropping them both in a painful heap. There was no time to assess our injuries, though, not with the tower still falling behind us. We ran, and when it became clear that we couldn't do much of that, we dove behind the dead dragon's thick tail for cover, covering our mouths and noses with our sleeves to keep out the flying dust.

Slowly, it settled. I peered over the tail and saw that the clock tower had toppled backwards and crushed the northern wing of the palace, but I didn't care about that. I cared about Horatius.

We found him atop the dragon, shoulder-deep in its oozing chest wound. Arcos scrambled up onto the corpse and helped him pull free, then carefully brought him back down. I could see on Arcos's face that the news was not good. Horatius was still alive, but his breath was ragged and his eyes were unfocused. The dragon's toxic lifeblood had sprayed all over him, and it still steamed and sizzled where it touched flesh. The sleeve of his right arm - and, I realized, the skin - had been completely destroyed. The Stylus, still clutched in his ruined hand, had disintegrated almost to the hilt. The veins on his face were turning black. Surely the pain would've been too much for anyone else to bear, but Horatius was still fighting.

"Horatius!" I wailed, rushing forward. I wanted to embrace him, but then the blood would have slain me too. I fell to my knees beside him instead, and started fumbling for a heel potion.

He blinked. Foggy eyes cleared and alit on me. "Geva," he gasped.

"It's okay, you're gonna be okay," I told myself, retrieving one of the two potions. I started to uncork the vial, only for Horatius to seize my wrist with a strength that should've been impossible for a dying man.

"No," he said, with pained certainty. "If that doesn't stop the poison, it will only make my end worse."

"But if it does-"

"No, Geva. You will need those for the others. I have met my destiny. Now you must finish it." By the end of that sentence, he was whispering. I leaned closer.

"What are you talking about?"

His only working hand released mine, then moved to his neck. "I was not fighting for honor, Geva." It closed around a leather cord. "I was fighting for vengeance." With a snap, he pulled the cord free. Looking at his clenched fist, I saw a dark metal key dangling from it.

"You have to destroy it." The capillaries in his eyes started bursting, turning their whites black.

"Destroy what?" I whispered, clutching the key.

His final words were so quiet that I almost didn't hear them, even with my ear almost touching his lips.

"The Foundation."

He inhaled sharply. His final breath slipped slowly away. The hilt of the Stylus slipped from his grip.

"Horatius!" I wept. "No…"

It didn't feel right to bury Horatius down there in the dark, but there was simply no way to haul him back up those stairs, much less all the way home to Utgard. Moritz offered to burn his body, but Perrin said not to; only D-caste were cremated in the Foundation, so doing it to Horatius would insult both of them. Instead, the four of us worked together to scoop out a shallow grave beside the dead dragon. After washing off the toxic blood with some water from the river, we put him back in his armor. Moritz carefully wrapped the remains of the Stylus in a bundle of cloth, then tucked it into his backpack. Finally, we lowered Horatius into the hole. For a headstone, Arcos stuck the painted shield upright in the mud.

"Now," he said, "if someone ever comes down here, they'll see this marker next to the dragon's bones. They'll know what he did."

For a long time, we just sat in one of the palace doorways, looking forlornly at the makeshift grave and the colossal corpse beside it. The process of digging had left us even more tired, wet, dirty, and cold than we'd already been. Eventually, we plodded a little further into the palace and just laid down messily to sleep. That was risky, if any of the Nine had in fact survived their run-in with the dragon, but it wasn't like we were in any shape to fight them anyway.

Arnven was melting.

Iron monsters with glowing horns rampaged through the streets, slaughtering soldiers with their twisted claws and crooked teeth. Smoke stained the spinning sky as blinking stars looked down in disapproval. I stood atop the Witch Image, unable to move or look away as packs of armored wolves chased children through the streets. Buildings twisted and bubbled, trapping their inhabitants in the sticky, flowing walls like insects in amber. Paper birds wheeled overhead, each scribbled with the same question. The same accusation.

"Where were you?" they chirped, as the dying moon descended like a drop of blood.

"Where were you?" they sang, as a three-headed giant with six glowing swords crested the horizon.

Where were you?" they mocked, as Saint Talloran's triptych folded closed, crushing me, crushing Arnven, crushing my people, trapping us all in its painted prison. Horatius knelt before the painting, tearing long strips of flesh from his naked back with one skeletal hand. He looked up at the outside panels, where Arcos and Perrin held each other close, putting knives in each other's backs.

I heard Moritz's voice.

"Shouldn't you be back home, protecting your people from the barbarian horde?"

I felt my melting mouth move.

"Arnven can handle itself. She…I…the Witch died for them once already, do you think I want to do it again?

I tried to scream, but Runa's spear had curled around me like a snake, like the scaly tentacle of a long, gray jacket. As the point dug into my throat, Nobody loomed above me like an Ancient monolith.

"Geva," he said, in a voice like thunder.

"Geva," he insisted, at a volume that split my ears.

"Geva!" he shouted, and it was like every soul in Corbenic was screaming at once.

"Geva," Perrin said, shaking me awake.

"Hrgh?" I grunted, still too paralyzed to scream.

"Well?" he asked.

"What?" I whimpered, groggily. My heart felt like it might leap from my chest.

"Are you gonna open it?"

"Open what?" I wasn't even sure where I was, much less what he was talking about.

"That scroll tube you and him have been trying to hide from us."

Something clicked. Slowly, I remembered where I was. And I realized what Perrin was doing.

I looked uneasily at the others, who were standing beside him a way that wasn't quite threatening. "I don't think you're supposed to see it."

"Yeah," Perrin said, "I don't really care. Whatever's in that tube is what got us into this mess in the first place. I think we have a right to know what in Corbenic it is. Don't we, fellas?"

Arcos eyed me sheepishly. "He's right, Geva. If Horatius had some kind of secret mission, we need to know about it to get out of this. It might be why the Nine are here, and if they're not all dead, it might be a reason for them to come after us." Clearly, they had talked about this during my trip to the nightmare land.

Moritz nodded. "I hate secrets."

"No!" I said, placing a protective arm over my backpack. I wondered how they'd talked Perrin out of just snatching it from me in my sleep. "You're not supposed to see it!"

"Neither were you!" Perrin growled. "You stole it!"

"I kept it safe!"

"You kept it for yourself. Everybody accuses me of being selfish, but you and him and Nobody are the ones keeping extremely important secrets from the rest of us. And the other two are dead, what a coincidence!"

I felt a chill. "What are you saying?"

"Yeah," Arcos asked, placing a hand on Perrin's shoulder. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you need to hand that damned thing over. Now." Then he lunged for my backpack. I twisted away, but he still might've gotten ahold of it if Arcos hadn't tried to pull him back. Perrin quickly slithered out of his partner's grip, and I took off running.

"Give me that!" he shouted, chasing me into the dark. "Come back here!"

I couldn't see a thing outside the light of Moritz's staff, but that just meant Perrin couldn't see me either. Quickly, I wrapped the shadows around myself again and ducked off to the left. I heard him run past me on down the street, still yelling and cursing. Arcos sprinted past him, with Mortiz limping far behind. I retreated from the light, ducking into an alley to keep my shroud of shadows intact. Somewhere in the distance, I heard a shout as Arcos tackled Perrin, and I watched as he dragged his struggling partner back into the light. They started arguing, but I didn't stick around to hear the rest.

Carefully, I crept deeper into the building where I'd hidden. The moldy smell was less overpowering here than in some of the other buildings we had seen, though the collapsed beds were as prevalent as always. I felt my way along the wall, staying low to avoid windows, until I collided with a flight of stairs. I quickly scurried up them, then settled down in a far-off corner.

With a bit of concentration, I caused my eyes to glow. They always shimmered a little when I used my talents, but now I amplified that tell-tale glow until it was just barely enough to read by. The scroll case unlocked easily, its hinged endcap springing open with a soft pop. When I upturned it, two things slid out: a parchment scroll, and an odd piece of metal shaped like the hilt of a knife. Ignoring that for now, I unfurled the scroll with trembling hands.

THIS SCROLL HATH BEEN CONSECRATED

TOP SECRET

BY ORDER OF OVERWATCH CONCLAVE

ANY NON-AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL READING THIS SCROLL SHALL BE FLAYED, BOILED ALIVE, CUT TO PIECES, AND FED TO THE EXPUNGED.

THOU HAST BEEN WARNED.

Relic #: SCP-001

Observance Class: Yesod

Sacred Containment Procedures: SCP-001 shall be recovered at all costs. Any information regarding its whereabouts is Consecrated Level 5 and shall be reported to the Overwatch Cardinals as soon as possible after discovery. Personnel below Consecration Level 5 shall not know of SCP-001's loss, and any that learn of this information shall be put to death.

Description: SCP-001 is the Holy Amulet, which houses the soul of our Lord Bright, Divine Founder of the Holy Foundation, Archministrator of the Seven Continental Provinces, Lord of the Amulet, Destroyer of the Expunged, Savior of Humanity, Thousandfold Martyr, Last of the Saints, and so forth, and so forth.

Any man or animal brought into contact with the Holy Amulet will be indwelt by the spirit of our Lord, which will consume the original soul of His new body as an offering. Lord Bright no longer loves this sinful world, and typically returns to the Holy Amulet as quickly as possible by the self-infliction of mortal injuries upon the indwelt body if not prevented. Consequently, He is typically only called forth for consultation on Earthly matters when a tie must be broken among the Overwatch Cardinals or when a theological conundrum threatens the Foundation's stability.

Addendum 1: History

After the Great Breach destroyed the Ancient Temple and the world of the Ancients, Lord Bright rose immortal from the ruins, wearing the Holy Amulet about his neck. Through the power of the Amulet and the noble sacrifice of many D-caste, our Lord was able to remain with us for over two centuries, shaping our Holy Foundation and guiding humanity out of that dark age. However, as the weight of His many lifetimes increased and He became increasingly frustrated with the inability of our flawed mortal civilization to follow His divine decrees, Lord Bright began to engage in [BLASPHEMY EXCISED]. This continued until, at the Synod of New Denver in the year 237, Lord Bright was released from His unhappy existence in this flawed mortal realm by unanimous agreement and full participation of the thirteen Overwatch Cardinals and the Ethics Court. Thereafter, Lord Bright was allowed to repose peacefully within the Holy Amulet and only brought forth when absolutely necessary and under tightly controlled conditions. Despite this, Lord Bright and the Holy Amulet remained powerful symbols of the Holy Foundation, and each Overwatch Cardinal was supplied with a replica of the Amulet as both a symbol of authority and a decoy for prospective thieves and apostates.

In the year 709, the Holy Amulet was removed from its containment reliquary at Overwatch Cathedral and sent eastward toward the city of Shyton, in an attempt to keep it from the clutches of the demon-possessed animals from the Kingdom of Romania Nova. However, the courier never arrived in Shyton, and the Holy Amulet was lost. Even after Romania Nova was razed to the ground and its heathen inhabitants exterminated, there remained no indication of the Amulet's fate.

Recognizing the harm that knowledge of the Amulet's loss would do to the cohesion, stability, and perceived legitimacy of the Foundation, the Neutralizationist Cardinals that had just taken power opted to keep this tragic event secret. One Cardinal suggested that Lord Bright, overcome with disgust for the bloody Neutralizationist coup, had deserted us. Though that heretic was promptly executed, his words did lead the remaining Cardinals to seriously consider the consequences of an uncontained Lord Bright. Were He to resurface amongst peasants who lack Level 5 Consecration, without an appropriately ordained Cardinal on hand to interpret his divinely cryptic speech and actions, it is expected that the weak and sinful minds of the peasantry would lead them to dangerous and heretical conclusions about Lord Bright and our Foundation, or even widespread apostasy and rebellion like that which has already overtaken the so-called "Free Cities".

Addendum 2: Revelation

On Febry 17th, 800 AB, D-571082453241 underwent the Rite of Knowledge in keeping with the 28th Sacred Containment Procedures. He subsequently issued the following prophecy:

In a shadow city below the ground
The soul of our Lord shall be found
Nine will be none and six will be three
On a blood-cursed island across the sea
With a long-lost blade from a same different day
The three-headed dragon, the martyr shall slay

The location of the Place of Knowledge was soon thereafter taken by the advancing forces of the Thereven Khanate. All personnel who had witnessed this prophecy were evacuated to Kannada, through which they proceeded to the northeastern portion of Foundation territory to report their findings to Overwatch. D-571082453241 disappeared in route and is believed to have either defected or been kidnapped by an enemy of the Foundation.

Addendum 3: Recovery

Though some of the prophecy’s meaning remains obscure, it seems to describe the Holy Amulet’s location as the Expunged city of UnLondon, the subterranean reflection of a long-destroyed Ancient city on the cursed island of Uk, where the legendary dragon Marscar the the Dark, Lord of Terror and Destruction, is said to reside.

It is imperative that the Holy Amulet be retrieved from UnLondon as quickly as possible, lest it fall into unworthy hands. To that end, the 11th Mobile Legion of Epsilon ("The Nine") shall be dispatched to Uk to slay Marscar the Dark and acquire the Amulet. To ensure their swift success, the Nine shall be provided the with fastest transportation and most powerful relic weapons available.

Bright be with us.

There was writing on the reverse side.

Unless you are an extraordinarily talented burglar, this scroll has been passed to you after my failure to act upon its contents. This will have been only the latest and hopefully last of my many, many failures. Here I will attempt to provide an account of them all, though I no longer ask for and never expected forgiveness. What has gone wrong cannot be set right, but perhaps you can prevent things from going even further awry.

When I was still a young man, almost a millennium ago, I became aware of a great many things that fell far outside my limited worldview and narrow life experience. In reflexive fright, I presumed the entire category of such things to be as dangerous and horrible as the first few that I encountered. Wrapped in notions of nobility and knightliness, I thought it my rightful duty to shield the rest of the world from these horrors, and to conceal the very knowledge of their existence so that others might not know the same fright they had awakened in me. Yet I was just one man, and though possessed of many means, this task was still far beyond them. I could not do this alone.

To aid me in my frankly absurd quest to secure and lock away every strange and beautiful thing in this world, I recruited thirteen others of similar persuasion. One of these thirteen was a certain Adam Bright, whose surname you no doubt recognize. This is no coincidence, for the Adam Bright who sat on my council of Overseers was the father of the man that my Foundation now calls a god. Having met the man many decades before the Great Breach, I can tell you with utter certainty that he is no god, though he certainly seemed to think himself one at times - as did we all, so bound were we in hubris and self-righteousness. We told ourselves that our work was essential, that we were saving the world by secreting away its wonders. Sometimes that was true, for there were indeed many monsters among the magic, as you well know. But more often it was a hollow justification for selfishness and cruelty. My Overseers and I drank from the Fountain of Youth while denying its power to others. We were hypocrites bound by greed and lust for power, and to fulfill that power we needed yet more people to bear our weight. Our friends, our families, and all manner of unscrupulous mercenaries, wide-eyed idealists, ill-acquired slaves, and other folk fell under our sway, until there were so many of us that our organization needed a name. That name, chosen by me, was Foundation, and they called me their Administrator.

As time went on, and as my Foundation grew, I began to lose sight of its extremities. It had taken on a life of its own, that superstitious young man's fear. We said that it was right and good to die in the dark while others lived in the light, knowing full well that it was the rest of the world being kept in the dark, not us. At the time, I was proud of myself. I had built a Foundation that would Protect the world in perpetuity, and in my self-congratulatory contentedness I let go the reigns. Adam Bright and his progeny gained ever more influence in my absence, and they abused it ever more abominably. They were not the only ones, of course; I doubt that any of your "saints" truly deserve the moniker. Perhaps I could have stepped in to steer my Foundation aright again, but that would have required me to acknowledge my initial mistakes, and it would have been intolerably hypocritical besides. I used to think that this failure to intervene when my Foundation began to go off-track - or, more accurately, my refusal to recognize that it had done so - was the root cause of the so-called Great Breach, but I have now come to understand that it was that initial act of creation, the foundation of my Foundation, if you will, that had doomed the world.

And so we come to my greatest failure of all. I could relate to you the exact sequence of events that led to the Great Breach, but most of it would mean little to you and the rest would only be further proof that my Foundation, in trying so hard to prevent the nebulous apocalypse I had so feared after my first encounter with magic, instead brought that Armageddon into being. I watched in helpless horror as the seals broke and the walls fell, as horrors overran the Earth. 7 billion people died under my self-appointed watch, and the shock of this tragedy was such that, for eight centuries, I went mad with grief. I wandered aimlessly through this broken world, whispering empty, selfish prayers to the long-dead spirits of those whom I had failed, begging for a forgiveness that I did not deserve. Do you see, now, the true depth of my sin? Even after the greatest tragedy that ever has ever befallen the human race, I was still only truly thinking of myself. My eyes were turned too far inward to realize that, though it had died with the rest of the world, my Foundation had risen again as a malevolent specter to plague the human race once more. The lunatic Jack Bright, following a contingency plan that I myself had devised, built a new Foundation in his own nightmare image. He became a madman, then a tyrant, then a god, and even after the Overwatch Cardinals buried their knives in his back they continued to rule in his name. They continued to bind this world in chains of ignorance, cruelty, and superstition, still clinging to the memory of my Foundation for reasons they no longer remembered. Yet I saw none of this, not until Fenrys burned.

I was there when the Thereven horde overran Michigan, and when they put the Free City of Fenrys to the sword. I saw men, women, and children run down by iron cavalry, torn by the teeth and claws of terrible lizards, and rendered unto dust by foul sorcery, while the Foundation fought fruitlessly back with little more than sharpened sticks and wooden planks. This was the culmination of my Foundation: a world so petrified by the "anomalous" that it would rather die in the dark than live in the light. As I walked among the refugees in Granbend, where the successors of the Seven still turn back time every September, I remembered that things had been different there. That they had done the Good Work, and that because of their work Kannada was safe from barbarian hordes and seafaring marauders. They had learned to live with the water panthers, with the mad sorcerers, with the five-headed dragons, and because of that they had survived while my Foundation was dying.

There, on the shores of Lake Huron, I finally realized that I was the problem. That I had always been. So I did the only noble thing left to me and drowned.

When I reemerged from those icy waters, I was no longer myself. I was no longer anybody. I was just the Quest: to destroy the Foundation. To free the people. To make things right. So I donned my dead self's Coat of Arms, and I did what I had to. I rescued a slave from a Foundation caravan as it hurried through Kannada from Michigan to Maine, but I could not catch the captors who had heard his prophetic words, words that have now reached the Foundation. They know where their long-lost Lord lies, and they know that their enemies do as well. Now that you possess this scroll, you are one of those enemies.

I will now ask you to do a very difficult thing. You must find the accursed Amulet, and then you must destroy it. The knife that accompanies this scroll should be sufficient; it is well-practiced at slaying those who cannot die. You must also keep this quest secret, for there are many who would seek to use the Amulet for their own gain, and in so doing deliver it back to the Foundation's evil hands, so that they might crush the world for eight more centuries. That cannot be allowed to happen. The Foundation must fall. The name of Bright must be forgotten.

The scroll fell from my fingers. My glowing eyes dimmed. Could this really be true? The Holy Amulet, here? And Nobody, the mythical Administrator? Could the Amulet really be destroyed? Should it?

There in the dark, I truly thought about the Foundation, in a way that hadn't been possible before. It was they who pulled humanity back from barbarism in the chaos that followed the Great Breach. It was they who imprisoned the monsters and guarded the gates, keeping all the people safe from the horrors of the Ancients. But it was also they who hunted witches, forcing the likes of me and Moritz to hide in the Free Cities, lest we be burned alive or worse. It was they who hunted the mountain orcs like animals and bound generations into slavery. It was they who had nearly destroyed the great city of Arnven a century ago, just to capture the Witch. And if Nobody was to be believed, it was they who had built a religion of lies on the bones of their long-dead Saints. I had never lived in Foundation territory, but even in Arnven we still venerated their Saints, those heroes of the Great Breach who had saved what remained of the world. But I had also lived my whole life in the deep shadow of the Witch. Her legend permeated everything in the city, especially the hearts of its people. As the Thereven Horde drew ever closer, they turned their hopes to her, to a long-dead child, and then to a simple street rat in whose face they pretended to see hers. When the barbarians overran that city, there would be a pile of corpses at the Witch Image's feet, all those cut down while vainly praying for a dead woman's help. And there would be more piles at the shrines of Saint Rights, Saint Gears, and Saint Clef. And, no doubt, the largest of all would fill the Brightshome where I had been raised, that vast castle and cathedral of the Lord Bright himself. The Lord Bright who, by the Holy Foundation's own admission, could not or would not extricate himself from this dragon's treasure hoard. The Lord Bright who, if Nobody was to be believed, was no more of a saint or a god than Sigurros - or me. Just one more Expunged made into something more by the desperate hopes and fears of a people too scared to face the future.

My eyes glowed once again. The polished hilt of the knife reflected them back at me, and I noticed a button its side. When I pressed it, a short blade emerged. I looked at my reflection in the steel.

I nodded.

I left the scroll tube in that building. I believed Nobody's - the Administrator's - warning about telling others what was at stake. More than that, I trusted Horatius to have made the right decision by passing this to me, and only me. But most of all, I didn't trust Perrin at all. If that rogue got his hands on the Holy Amulet, I wouldn't put it past him to try and sell it back to the Foundation (or even the Therevens) and get us all killed in the process. I was a little worried that he might still try to go after me, but I was counting on the other two to stop him from going too far. After all, I was just a kid.

Arcos found me first, or rather, I found him. He was roaming the streets around the palace with a torch, shouting my name into the dark. He was making so much ruckus that I started to wonder if the other six Nine really had been killed.

"Right here, Arcos," I said, stepping into the light. It was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one, when he ran up to hug me.

"Thank the gods," he sighed. "I was worried the Nine had gotten you!"

"So you decided to make yourself the easiest target imaginable?" Wandering alone out there in the dark, making bright light and loud noises, almost seemed wrong after all the sneaking we'd done.

"I had to make sure you wouldn't get lost. You didn't have a map or anything."

"Please," I said, feigning offense, "I know my way around cities."

"I suppose you do." Cautiously, he looked around. "Do you still have the-"

"No," I warned. "I threw it in the river."

"Do you think Perrin will believe that?"

"Do you?"

He looked closely at my unflinching eyes. Then he nodded.

"Yes, I do. Why, though? Why keep it secret?"

"It's just better that way."

"That's not an answer."

"I'm sorry, Arcos. It'll make sense in the end, I promise."

"It had better," he sighed. "Perrin will not be happy."

"Perrin can deal with it. He's the last person I'd trust with anything, after what he pulled at that castle. You don't really think he was 'acting', do you?" I realized too late that accusing Arcos's partner like that was a step too far. He glowered at me.

"Perrin would never betray us. At least," he said, uncertainly, "not like that."

"He and Runa-"

"We talked that out," Arcos interrupted, "and I am not going to talk to you about it."

That was probably for the best. "Fine. But you'd better not gang up on me again."

"I'm the one who stopped him, remember? I hate it when my friends fight."

"Then you'd better keep stopping him."

Arcos shook his head. "He won't go after you again. I promise."

"He'd better not."

In uneasy silence, Arcos led me back to the palace. Moritz was circling the dead dragon, collecting little samples of its various body parts, probably for some unpleasant magical purpose. Arcos called out to him as we approached, but he barely paid us a glance. Perrin heard the greeting and stalked back out of the palace to approach us.

"Change your mind?" he grumbled.

"I threw it in the river."

"What?!" he shouted, face twisting. "Why?!"

"So you wouldn't come after me again."

He scowled. "We have a right to know."

"No you don't. It doesn't concern you."

"Doesn't concern me? Dammit, kid, I-"

"Perrin!" Arcos interrupted. "I trust Geva. And considering that he died for us, I'm inclined to trust Horatius, too. I'm just as frustrated as you are, but there's nothing for it. We're just going to have to keep going."

"I might tell you afterwards," I half-promised.

"After what?" Perrin asked, raising an eyebrow.

There was no way to answer that, so I didn't. He glared at me, but he didn't lunge.

"Prove it."

"Prove what?"

"That you don't still have it. Dump your backpack."

"I will do no such thing!"

"Come on," Arcos urged. "It'll put us all at ease."

"Fine," I snipped. Then I undid the flap and dumped everything out, giving the pack a good shake just to prove it was empty. As expected, only an assortment of food and other people's valuables fell out. Perrin still seemed unsatisfied, but it shut him up at least.

"Are you done?" Moritz called, still scraping at one of the dragon's scales with his little knife. "I'd like to loot that treasure hoard sometime today."

That, more than anything I had said, turned Perrin's thoughts away from the secret. "Finally!" he said. "Something I can agree with."

Now that I wasn't distracted by the dragon and its attempts to kill us, I could take in the full glory of the treasure hoard. It was frankly appalling to see so much wealth in one place, when I had spent so much of my life scrabbling for scraps - though I don't think the wealth I'd witnessed as a princess could've approached the value of Marscar's hoard either. It was a terrible shame that we'd have no way to carry it all, but it probably would've taken an army (not to mention a new flight of stairs) to haul every last coin out of that underground city. Perrin said as much while he scrambled up and down the piles of treasure, already stuffing his pockets with gems and jewelry. I left him to it; hopefully, the others would be so intent on the things of monetary value that they wouldn't notice me stealing away with the most important thing of all.

If, that is, I could find it.

I knew what the Holy Amulet looked like, of course, but it would still be hard to spot against a background of other valuables. I spent several minutes afraid that it had ended up buried at the bottom of the pile, and that I'd need to contrive some excuse to dig all the way through. Or, perhaps, I could just leave the Amulet here and hope that no one else ever came down here to fish out the rest of the treasure…but no, surely someone would notice the dragon's absence eventually, and then it might only be a matter of time before Lord Bright walked the earth again. I had to find it, and quickly. But where could it be? Locked in this ivory chest bound with gold? Hidden inside this suit of ceremonial armor? Sewn into this fancy tapestry?

No, no, that didn't make any sense. I looked around at the massive heaps of gold, and especially at the floating, magical braziers that gave them their glow. The dragon clearly hadn't needed light to see, so why had it gone to the trouble of illuminating its hoard? Because it wanted to see it better, to gaze contentedly at its wealth, no doubt feeling very proud of itself, and take in the golden glint of every polished plate and gleaming facet. It would have put the Holy Amulet in a place of honor, so the dragon could stare at it and congratulate itself for stealing a whole entire religion. A place of honor…

There. A columned balcony loomed over the western end of the courtyard, supported from below by a room with huge glass windows. Between the pillars, I could just see the shadowed shapes of what might have been statues or pedestals. Furtively, I looked at my companions. Perrin was cramming bracelets and necklaces on his arms, laughing as their weight pulled him down. Arcos had stretched out in a pile of coins and was (with visible difficulty) trying to make a snow angel in them. Moritz, on the other hand, had bent down to inspect a weathered marble bust of some Ancient or another. They were all completely oblivious as I slunk over to the balcony and, with just a little magical boost, scampered up onto it.

I saw immediately that my guess had been correct; this was where the dragon stored the finest of its treasures, the ones to delicate or valuable to roll around in like the world's biggest pig in the world's most expensive mudhole. Dozens of crowns, scepters, rings, swords, and other ceremonial objects had been carefully arranged on low pedastals padded with exquisite cushions, their delicate upholstery preserved from the ever-present damp by the balcony's sheltering roof. The obvious valuables were interspersed with stranger things; a tall statue of an oddly-proportioned man with a huge, square head; a stone stele completely covered in tiny, unfamiliar letters; a gilded sarcophagus with an intricately molded death-mask built into its lid; a spiraling ivory horn more than two meters long; a marble statue of a naked man throwing a disk; and many other things that I didn't have time to gawp at. I hurried through the aisles, searching for any sign of the familiar amulet, but it still didn't seem to be here. Was it possible that the scroll had been wrong, or the unknown D-caste's prophecy misunderstood? What a horrible farce that would have been!

I stopped. There, on a pedestal at the very center of the balcony, was a box of dull, gray, unassuming metal, just a bit larger than my head. It stuck out like a sore thumb among the finery, but even more unusually, it seemed to be ticking. I don't know how I could have failed to notice the sound before. Cautiously, I approached. Could this be some form of trap, set here by Marscar the Dark as a last piece of revenge against thieves? Perhaps I ought not get too close. Instead, I used my sorcery to gently open the box from a safe distance, half-crouched behind the square-headed statue. The ticking stopped, but no poisoned needles or jets of fire shot forth. Carefully, I resumed my approach. I peered inside.

It was a circle of white gold, studded with countless tiny diamonds. Inside the circle, a delicate, flower-shaped web of golden struts supported the centerpiece, a blood-red ruby that almost seemed to smolder in the firelight. I should have felt some sense of reverence, gazing down at the vessel of an alleged god, or at least thought the object itself beautiful. Maybe, for a moment, I did. But there was something wrong with it. Those white concentric circles, that dark, gleaming shape at the center, the way it glistened in the guttering glow…it wasn't an Amulet, not really. It was an eye. A hungry, covetous, lustful eye. And it was looking right at me.

With a shudder, I slammed the box closed. Suddenly, it was not so hard to believe that the thing in there was no god. It was not hard at all to want to destroy it.

"Geva?" Arcos called. I stiffened. He must have heard me closing the lid. Quickly, I bundled the box into my backpack, carelessly flinging its previous contents aside. I didn't know how that little knife was supposed to destroy this thing - maybe by prizing the gems out? - but I was sure it'd take longer than I had before someone climbed up there with me. If the others learned what I had, it wouldn't matter what I said. There'd be no talking them out of taking it from me. No, I would have to find some way to dispose of it once we got back to the surface. For now, I'd have to play it off.

"Geva?" Arcos repeated, poking his head above the edge of the balcony. I had closed up my backpack not a moment too soon.

"Look what I found!" I said, gesturing at all the priceless things around me. The mess on the floor was pocket change by comparison.

"Wow," Arcos said, reflective eyes wide. "Perrin! The good stuff's up here!"

"The good stuff?!" he cried, incredulously. I heard a great clanking and clattering as he stumbled over, no doubt still heavy-laden with the baubles from down below. Arcos dropped down to boost him - and, shortly, Moritz - up there, then climbed the rest of the way up himself. Perrin looked positively ridiculous, wrapped nearly head-to-toe in gold jewelry. He literally squealed with delight at the sight of the dragon's prize collection. I even saw a touch of greed in Moritz's impassive eyes.

"Hey," Arcos said, "look at this." He pointed to an out-of-the-way spot between the pedestals, where a few weapons had been haphazardly piled. One of them, a short knife with a black handle and a curved, decorative sheath, still had a frozen hand and forearm stuck to it.

"What's this?" Moritz wondered, picking up some kind of baton from the pile. He pressed a button on its side, and a long bubble of electrified acid shot out, forming a blade. "Whoa," he said, pressing the button again to retract it.

Arcos picked up the frozen hand. "Perrin, you're more of a knife fighter than me."

"Huh? Ooh, that looks fancy."

"Here," he said, snapping the frozen fingers off the weapon and handing it to his partner.

"You want this?" Moritz asked, offering Arcos the weird acid baton. "I'd likely lop off my hand if I tried to swing it."

"Sure," Arcos said, accepting it.

"Hey," Perrin laughed, "here's a wooden sword for the kid." He kicked it over to me, a little practice blade like something a boy dreaming of knighthood might play with. I picked it up only begrudgingly.

Now that those had been divvied up, we turned our attention to the less practical treasures. Perrin donned a purple-lined crown so covered in jewels that I could barely see the gold underneath. "I say I say," he said, in an exaggerated posh accent, "thou peasants shalt hast to boweth before our royal self after this! We wilt be kings, sir Arcos!" Arcos laughed and donned a similar crown for himself, though it looked even sillier balanced on his giant head. I sighed in relief; no one seemed to suspect a thing. I merrily joined in the looting, donning a small tiara for myself, but I made sure not to open my backpack again. Even Moritz took part, settling a crown on his own bald head and packing a few smaller things into his robe's hidden pockets. He seemed more interested in the less shiny things, though, especially a small war horn of polished bone that he silently stashed away.

"Hmm," Moritz said, deep in thought. "How many corpses were there out front?"

"Three," I answered. I definitely wasn't going to forget that scene of carnage any time soon.

"More like two-and-half," Perrin joked, though no one laughed.

"And there were only three weapons in that pile. So where are the other six?"

There was a long, unpleasant pause.

"Well," Perrin posited, "if they got completely incinerated, maybe their weapons did too. Or maybe the dragon accidentally swallowed them, or buried them down there in that pile somewhere. Saints, maybe they didn't even all have Relics. Who cares? You really think there could still be six of those guys running around down here? We could barely get away from it, much less these thugs."

"Some of us didn't get away," I gently reminded him.

"My point exactly! Horatius was way better than these clowns, as is plainly obvious from how pathetically and easily they died out there on the porch. These weapons are in much more competent hands now."

That didn't make me feel any better.

When we had first grabbed all that loot, we hadn't been thinking about just how hard it was going to be to drag it up a kilometer of stairs. It took us more than hour just to figure out how to get the big ivory chest that Arcos was carrying - stuffed full of the fanciest things that we hadn't been able to wear - across the broken portion, and Arcos almost threw out his back in the process. In the end, we were forced to ditch some of the heavier things, though I could tell that Perrin resented every cent left behind. I did too, to be honest, but at least we had the Amulet. That metal box was very heavy, but I didn't complain for fear that someone would wonder what I'd stashed in there. The climb was dreadfully slow and even more exhausting than the trip down had been, especially since we were still bruised and sore from our struggle with the dragon. Talking was too much effort, so we spent most of the journey with only the jingling of jewelry and our own panting breaths in our ears.

I was starting to wonder if we'd ever make it back to the surface again when Perrin finally spoke.

"Geva," he nagged, "may I ask you a question?"

"What?" I grumbled. Climbing those infernal stairs was taking too much of my breath to waste any of it on his tomfoolery.

I had even less breath to spare when I felt a knife against the small of my back. His other hand seized my backpack.

"Should intermitted vengeance arm again his red right hand to plague us?"

Oh.

Arcos and Moritz froze. Slowly, they turned. Moritz looked unsurprised; Arcos looked horrified.

"Perrin!" Arcos shouted. "Let her go!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that. See, I've got a pretty strong suspicion of what's in this backpack, and I think we'd best confirm that before we take any more steps."

I started to nudge his mind, but the knife pressed harder.

"You'd best not, princess. My hands are quicker than your tricks." The point of that knife felt very sharp.

"Perrin!" Arcos repeated. He took a step down towards us.

"No no no," Perrin scolded. "You take one more step and I'll gut her."

"You wouldn't dare," Arcos said, voice growling with fury. I'd never imagined him so angry at his partner, not on my behalf. It might have been touching, had I not been so frightened.

"You know that I would, Arcos. You know that I would."

Fists clenched and teeth gritted, Arcos looked to Moritz for help. The wizard looked between us impassively.

"Sounds like you should let him have the backpack," he said.

"See," Perrin laughed, "Moritz is the smart one."

I looked to Arcos for help, but he could only shake his head. There was nothing else for it. Carefully, I shrugged of my heavy pack and stepped away from Perrin's blade. Still holding the pack with one hand, he used the other to open it. Seeing the box, he seized it with both hands and let the rest drop with a crash. I thought about trying to rush him, maybe send him hurtling down the stairs, but my odds were no good. Arcos would be just as opposed to me attacking Perrin as the reverse. I could only watch as he popped the lead lid open for all of us to see.

"Is that…" Arcos gasped, eyes wide.

"Just as I suspected," Moritz said, nodding.

"Ohoho," Perrin said. "Now that's something you don't see every day. I think you'd better let me hold onto this, little girl. Wouldn't want you to accidentally break it, now would we?"

"Horatius-"

"Is dead, and so is Nobody, and so will you be if you try to take this back."

"Why are you doing this?" Arcos asked.

"Why don't you ask the little princess that, huh? She's the one who's been told to destroy the single most valuable object in the world."

"Valuable?!" I cried. "Is this just treasure to you?"

"Oh, yes. It's the greatest treasure of all: freedom. Do you have any idea what the Foundation would do to get their god back? What we could force them to do in exchange for his safe return? Things like 'emancipate all the D-caste that you've been using as expendable slave labor and glorified livestock for 800 years'. Things like 'stop sending your mobile legions to hunt down orcs like wild animals when they're just minding their own business in the woods'. Things like 'grant the Serpent's Hand the ability to openly practice magic without being burnt at the stake'. You know, little requests like that." As he spoke, I watched the faces of my friends change. I wondered if they were still my friends.

"You don't understand!" I protested. "If we destroy Lord Bright, the Foundation will fall!"

"Are you sure about that? Not a single D-caste has been 'indwelt' by that bastard in almost a century and we are not one ounce better off for it. The Foundation just keeps on going, chucking my people onto the front lines to be slaughtered by barbarians, feeding us to the Expunged in their dungeons, and chopping off our heads if we muster the gall to complain about it. It's an honor, don't you know? Giving your body and, when this asshole was still around, your very soul to the Foundation. Destroying that Amulet won't do a damn thing for us, because the Foundation will take us with it when it falls. I'm just trying to stop that from happening. And I can tell from the looks on your faces that you don't disagree, do you, friends? I know freedom is something you value quite a lot, Arcos. And you too, Moritz. None of you had the luxury of growing up in a 'free city' like this one. What does a princess know of struggle? Of having to live in squalor, and slavery, and hiding?"

"I know more than you think," I snarled. I hadn't always been a princess, something he damn well knew.

"Then you've forgotten it, princess. All those fairy tales have gone to your head, if you think that smashing a piece of jewelry will magically fix anything. Do you even know if you can destroy it, or were you just going to throw it in the ocean and hope it never finds its way back out? This is the greatest opportunity any of us will ever have to strike back at the Foundation, and you want to throw it away to satisfy a couple of dead men? Give me a break." For emphasis, he snapped the lid shut again.

"He's right, you know," Moritz said. "That's the strongest bargaining chip there is."

I looked, pleading, at Arcos, but he couldn't meet my eyes. Perrin was grinning in a way that made me want to punch out those stupid gold teeth. "You can't do this," I begged.

"I just did. Now come get your backpack, and let's move. It's a long way back to Utgard."

Arcos tried to speak to me as I stalked past, but I ignored him. Moritz didn't bother.

The rest of our ascent passed mostly in silence. Though we sorely needed a break, we silently agreed to hurry towards the surface instead, so that we might have some more space to put between ourselves. It was night when we resurfaced, but the evil clouds had cleared to reveal a million stars. I am sure that, if not for the sour mood that had settled over us, it would have been beautiful. I was still staring up when Perrin shoved rudely past me.

"What's your hurry?" I complained, slogging after. "Have you got some secret boat we don't know about?"

"The Engine will provide," he answered, cryptically. "For now, we'll-"

Perrin did not finish, because something small and fast had carved a bloody tunnel through his head. I blinked dumbly at the corpse until, with a sound that wasn't quite a cough, another projectile whizzed past my face like some hellish hornet. I turned to run, only to collide with Arcos, who had completely frozen up, gazing in horror at Perrin's body. Moritz was beside him, facing back towards the stairs…or rather, towards the two black knights who had crept from the shadows around the secret entrance to ambush us. One wielded a huge, bloody war hammer; the other was unarmed, but wore a strange wooden mask studded with green stones, and balls of fire danced in his open hands.

"Run, Geva!" Moritz bellowed, but I was already on the move. As I sprinted past Perrin's corpse, I called the lead box to my hands. More projectiles sliced the air or struck the ground around me, Just as I reached the trees, of them blasted through a burnt trunk nearby and sent an explosion of splinters my way. One of them bit into my face, but I couldn't let the pain stop me.

I continued running through the dark, counting on the moonlight and the dim glow of my eyes to keep my feet from finding roots or rocks. Then a pale blue light lanced through the night as the knight before me unsheathed his glowing sword. I sent a blast his way, but the energy dissipated harmlessly against his black armor. A ring on his right hand pulsed red in response, and my stomach dropped. These knights were protected with Scrantonum, the same evil metal, impervious to sorcery, that had killed the Witch so long ago. I thought of running, but I was already too close. A few strides of his long legs and one good lunge would easily beat the time it'd take me to turn and flee.

Desperately, I drew my pathetic wooden sword. Yet as the glowing blade sliced towards my head, my arm seemed to move its own accord. My wooden sword - apparently much more magical than I'd thought - took the blow without so much as a scratch. I staggered backwards, letting the sword block each swing for me. I laughed, once, but my relief was short lived. Though my weapon knew how to block, it seemed just as untrained in true swordplay as I was. With a twist, the more skilled knight disarmed me and swung again at my face.

I half-ducked and half-dodged, losing my footing in the process. He stepped quickly forward, raising the blade for a fatal blow I'd be powerless to stop. But it never fell, because a four-fingered hand of transparent wood had grabbed him by the wrist. Before the knight even got a chance to struggle, the hand squeezed, crushing his arm bones to dust despite the armor around them. The glowing sword fell from his grasp and disappeared; at the same time, he dropped dead.

"Geva!" called Nobody, hurrying towards me as the alien arm retracted. Another arm reached out to help me up. "Where are the others?"

I didn't have to answer, because there was a tremendous blast of fire back in the clearing.

"God," Nobody swore. "Do you have it?"

I nodded, still clutching the lead box with one hand. With the other, I recalled my wooden sword.

"Quickly! You must…" He trailed off, because another of the Nine had found us. He stood silently a few meters away, one hand on a sword at his belt. Like a strike of lightning, he drew it - a long, curved blade of rune-carved metal, crackling with red electricity.

"Run," Nobody told me. Then his great coat flew open, revealing six lithe arms, each armed with a gleaming scimitar. Between them, I finally saw for the first time Nobody's own arms - a pair of pale, atrophied limbs, little more than skin and bone, their long-nailed hands tangled forever in a mangled prayer. As the two swordsmen rushed at each other, I rushed away.

There was a sound like a great cough, and another buzzing projectile whizzed toward me. The sword snapped up to stop it, but it still struck with such force that the sword nearly jittered from my hand. Without thinking, I dropped the box to grab the wooden hilt with my other. More projectiles came, accompanied by an awful, half-metallic roar. My arms were just a blur, darting every which way to intercept the impossibly fast attacks, though every one felt like it might knock my shoulders out of joint. This went on for two whole seconds before the awful barrage finally stopped. When my jittering arms finally ground to a halt, the sword slipped from my numb fingers.

Another knight stepped into view. He was carrying a bizarre weapon shaped something like a crossbow, with a long tube on the end instead of a bolt. He pulled the trigger again, but the weapon gave only a horribly organic gasp. Wordlessly, the knight dropped his strange weapon and drew a short knife. Its glass blade glowed white-hot. Quickly, I drew my own, the one Nobody had given me, only to fumble it from my tingling fingers. The knight lunged and I dove low, hoping to trip him with my weight. We fell in a heap, wrestling wildly and frantically for a few disorganized moments. I tried to twist the knife from his grip, but its mere proximity singed my fingers. He tried to throttle me, but I twisted away. I grabbed him around the neck, hoping to choke him out, but I fell backward and instead ripped his helm clean off. He whirled around and fell upon me, holding me down with his left arm while the right slashed that white-hot knife at my face. In its fiery glow, I saw with horror why the knights wore faceless helms, for they, too, were faceless. There was only a smooth, featureless expanse of skin glaring down at me, and I screamed helplessly at the sight. My hands seized his wrist, spending every last drop of strength to keep that glass blade away. The skin on my face began to blister as it inched ever closer.

I tried to force him away, but the energy fizzled. I tried to touch his mind, but the Scrantonum ring was like an impenetrable shield around it. It mocked me, glowing red as my blood on the same hand that held the knife. Desperately, I looked about for a weapon. Maybe if I could get my sword up, or bury my own knife in that monstrous not-face…

In the fiery glow, the ruby pupil of the Holy Amulet gleamed. It had tumbled out of the box when I dropped it. And now, as I reached for it with my mind, it hurtled through the air. Its golden edge struck the side of the black knight's exposed head, and for a single fraction of a second, he was indwelt by Lord Bright. Then the amulet bounced away, taking the lich-lord with it, but leaving no soul behind in the faceless knight. He collapsed, brain-dead, beside me.

Frantically, I scrabbled for my knife, the only thing that could end this madness. I kept trying to remember how many of the Nine were left to jump out at me, but I was too panicked to count. My blistered fingers found the knife and clenched around it for dear life. The blade slid out, nicking my index finger, but I didn't care. I rose to my knees and wheeled on the Holy Amulet. Its ruby heart glared up at me with hate and hunger as I raised the knife with both hands. But as it plunged down, I thought I saw that gaze shift to fear. The blade dug into the stone as if it were no harder than glass, shooting cracks all through it. Beams of bloody red light blasted from the gaps. They grew ever wider as the ruby disintegrated, and all the little diamonds popped into nothing with little flashes of white.

The cone of red light must have been a hundred meters high. I fell back and scrambled away, but I couldn't tear my eyes from the spectacle. Within that infernal glow, the shape of a man was forming. He was as red as the beam, and almost translucent. He was dressed in the fashion of the Ancient doctors, with a long coat that, were he solid, would've been white. The man looked at me, then down at his half-real hands. He smiled.

"Finally…" he sighed. He began to drift upwards, towards the crescent moon. Towards Corbenic.

Then a red, translucent hand seized him by the ankle. Another man had formed within the beam. He wore a numbered jumpsuit like the Ancient D-caste, as did most of the other souls coalescing in the light. Hundreds of men, women, and even children, some dressed as D-caste, some as doctors, some as common people. I saw the knight I'd killed floating near the top of the cone, though he was no longer faceless - instead, he sported a grin. A triumphant, eager grin. They all did.

It was brutal.

And then Lord of the Amulet was no more.

As his screams faded, so did the light. Now the Holy Amulet was just a puddle of melted gold with a switch knife stuck through it. I plucked the weapon from the dirt and folded it shut. With my sword in the other hand, I sprinted toward the clearing.

In the place where I'd left Nobody, there was a now a bloody pile of shattered swords and severed arms. A knight lay dead beside them, a meter away from his head. The runed sword was nowhere to be found.

At the edge of the clearing, I found it in Nobody's hands, stained with the blood of the hammer-wielding knight, whom it had cleanly bisected. Beside the corpse-

I screamed. Arcos lay motionless on the ground, his limbs brutally pulverized to raw chunks of bloody red flesh and white shards of…

…onion? And were those peppers? What?!

"Arcos?!" I said, with a tone that was half grieving wail and half hysterical laugh. This didn't make any sense. How was he even conscious?! Why wasn't he bleeding?! Wasn't he in pain?! Where were his arms and legs?!?!

Arcos opened his eyes. "Moritz," he said, distantly. "Help Moritz."

I looked towards the place I'd left him, and the sight almost drove me mad. Moritz had killed the fire-wielding knight, but at a terrible cost. His robes were just blackened rags now, melted together with his ruined skin. He stared up at me with blind, scalded eyes, gasping for breath as his body succumbed to shock.

As fast as I could, I dug for dado's heel potions. For one horrible second, it seemed like I had dropped them somewhere in the woods. But then my hand closed around the case, as tightly as if my life depended on it. Moritz gagged at the potion, but it took hold nonetheless. I had to cover my eyes as his destroyed body warped back into place. Mercifully, the pain knocked him out halfway through the process.

Yet just as he finished screaming, I heard Nobody give a cry of pain. Looking back, I saw that the ninth and final knight had emerged from the trees to throw a knife at Nobody's back. Like a whip, the scaly tentacle that had once choked me lashed out from the coat and seized the black knight by the neck. With a loud crack, he died.

As I rushed back to him, Nobody gestured at Arcos. There was no need; I wasn't about to waste the last potion on him, no matter how badly hurt he was.

"Geva," Arcos said, faintly. "You're okay."

"What happened?!" I cried.

"Hmm?" he grunted, sounding drowsy, or maybe drunk. "Oh, you mean my arms and legs." He laughed, feverishly. "Yes, awful strange, isn't it?" His lips pulled back in a grimace, and I could tell he was trying not to scream.

"I was too slow," Arcos said, voice trembling. "He got me on the elbow, and I dropped my spear. Then he got me on the shoulder. And then he…then he just got me." A pained sob escaped his tightly clenched jaw. "My legs! Where are my legs?"

"Hold on," I said. I drew forth the last potion. "You're gonna be okay."

Arcos's healing was the worst one yet. I will never shake the image of his new limbs bursting from their own stumps, or the horrible howls he made while they grew back into place. When the grisly process finished, he was weeping.

"Perrin," he sobbed. "Perrin!" Slowly, torturously, he crawled to his partner's corpse on bloody, newborn limbs. And there he stayed.

Nobody stifled another scream as an arm from the coat's collar pulled the knife from his back and dropped it beside me. The cruelly-serrated blade was stamped with the words "PROPERTY OF THE FORGE". Before my eyes, it crumbled into rust.

I looked at Nobody. He looked away.

Three of us huddled around a fire. I stared blankly into it. Nobody smoked. Moritz picked listlessly at the charred stick that had once been his staff, before the top third of it broke off in the masked knight's neck. He was wearing one of the Nine's gambesons, since his robes had been destroyed.

Arcos sat alone, by the ashes of Perrin's pyre.

"You should have told us," Arcos mumbled. "You knew they were coming."

"I didn't think they would get here so fast," Nobody weakly admitted, looking morosely at the Blue Bus.

"You should have told us. If we had known what it was, if we had known what was coming, we could have prepared."

Nobody looked at the pyre. "Perhaps you are right. But I had to keep it secret, as your dead friend so well proved."

"Why?" Arcos lamented. "Why were you so damn intent on destroying it? We could've-"

"Delivered it right back to the Foundation and let the whole corrupt institution rebuild itself, then break whatever promises they made to you as soon as it became convenient. I created this organization, I know how it operates. Nothing you extorted from them would've been worth it in the end. But now it will finally die, and whoever remains will finally be free."

"And who will remain? The Foundation will sacrifice every last D-caste to the Thereven horde before they let themselves fall."

"He's right," Moritz said. "If your plan had made sense, you wouldn't have trusted it to a fanatic and a child."

"Should I have trusted it to the Insurrectionist instead? Did you even know he was Insurrection? I certainly didn't."

Arcos didn't answer, so Nobody kept going.

"Frankly, now that I do know, I'm even more surprised that he didn't want it destroyed. Blowing things up to make a point and letting someone else pick up the pieces has always been the Insurgency's strategy."

"So you admit that's what you were doing?" Moritz retorted.

"Bright was the lynchpin that held the Foundation together. By destroying him, we've ensured that they'll never recover from these schisms, and the barbarians will finally do what I never could, what nobody ever could, and destroy it. Then the world will be better off."

"For whoever's left," Arcos said, quietly.

"You're insane," Moritz said, shaking his head. "I always knew it, but I didn't think it was this bad. You really think letting the horde overrun America is a good solution to anything? Do you have any idea how many people they'll kill?"

Nobody had no response. He just continued to sullenly smoke.

That, more than anything, angered me. Because my city, my people, were also being overrun, and they weren't even part of the Foundation Nobody was so eager to demolish. The one he'd talked me into demolishing for him. I had felt sure I was doing the right thing, that Perrin was just a lying scoundrel or mad Insurrectionist out only for himself, but the way that the other two insisted on the issue was giving me pause. Had I really done the wrong thing? Was it too late to make a difference? I had been thinking long and hard about these things, and I thought I had finally arrived at a conclusion.

"You're both wrong."

They looked at me.

"And you're both right."

They looked at each other.

"What?" Moritz asked.

"The Foundation wouldn't have honored any agreements we tried to make in ransom for that Amulet, and it really might have allowed them to stop the schisms and come back together. But destroying it, the Amulet, the Foundation, whatever, won't fix those problems either." I pointed accusingly at Nobody. "You used to be the Administrator, didn't you?"

"A long-"

"I don't care how long ago it was. After we left you, Horatius spent five minutes praying to you. Are you really telling me that you can't do anything to free the D-caste or stop the orc wars or anything? You could probably walk right into Overwatch Cathedral and half the Cardinals would fall at your feet. And you could kill the other half with all this crap the Nine just dropped. Then use your authority to actually issue a useful proclamation, instead of sneaking around feeling sorry for yourself, getting other people killed to alleviate your own selfish guilt."

Nobody seemed to shrink at my words. He started to reply, but I wasn't done.

"I read your stupid scroll, and it was the most self-indulgent crap I've ever seen. You don't atone for evil with self-pity and grand gestures. You have to get up and do something that actually helps the people you've hurt. And this? This whole stupid quest you sent us on? That hasn't helped anybody. I don't even the think the Nine could've killed that dragon. All you did was send me to the wrong damn continent while my city's about to be burned."

"You sent yourself," he grumbled. "Vehemently."

"Well," I said, crossing my arms, "now I'm gonna send myself back. That blue thing got the Nine here faster than your stupid shortcut, and it can get me back to Arnven, where I can actually make a real difference. And if you feel one ounce of all the regret and shame that you like to whine about so much, you'll come with me, so we can fix whatever's left of this mess."

"Do you even have the keys?" Nobody asked, looking around at the bodies.

"What keys?"

He sighed. "Hold on." Quickly, the long, wooden arms slithered out of his coat to poke and prod the corpses and rifle through their pockets. Eventually, one of them found what he was looking for and the rest retracted.

"These keys," he said, dangling a metal ring draped with all sorts of weird, colorful knickknacks. He pressed a button on one of them, and the Blue Bus made a weird honking sound.

"Wait," Moritz said, "we still have to return the sword. What's left of it."

"That's a long walk," Nobody said.

"The Bus could get us there faster, couldn't it?" I asked.

Nobody winced. "You won't want to use it unless you have to."

"Why not?"

"It's…weird."

"Weird? What do you mean, weird? If it was good enough for the Nine to-"

"It's alright!" Arcos interrupted. "It's okay. I'll…I'll walk it to her. You guys go ahead."

"What?" Moritz asked, squinting at him. "And then what, we can come back and pick you up?"

"No," Arcos said, sadly. "I'll just stay."

"What?" I protested. "But we-"

"But nothing. I'm staying."

"By yourself?! Forever?!"

He shrugged. "Maybe. It's a beautiful land, where it's not, you know," he gestured at the dragon-blighted scenery around us. "And besides, those Valravns had to come from somewhere. There's a whole continent to the south of this island, right?"

Nobody nodded. "South, east. More islands, too."

"See? Plenty of undiscovered lands to adventure through. Perrin would've liked that." He choked up, there at the end.

"Oh," I said, quietly.

Moritz stared at Arcos. He looked deep in thought. Slowly, his eyes glided over to Nobody.

"Is it true, what they say about Site-12?"

"What do they say about it?" he asked.

"That before the Great Breach, it somehow contained a piece of the Wanderer's Library."

Nobody nodded. "It was true then, at least. I can't be sure it's still that way."

"Hmm." Moritz retrieved the cloth bundle that held the Stylus's marred hilt. He looked back to Arcos.

"Would you like some help, bringing this back?"

Arcos raised an eyebrow. "Would you like some, getting to Site-12?"

"It'd be much appreciated. It's a Foundation Site, after all. Could be Expunged in there."

A faint smile appeared on Arcos's lips. "And maybe some more treasure?"

"Maybe. Though if I'm going to be on my own, I'll need a new focus." Moritz pointed at the runed sword. "Are you going to need that, to overthrow Overwatch or whatever it is you're going to do? I could get a lot done with that much irrilite."

Nobody looked down at the weapon. "Sure. If you give me the horn."

Poorly, Moritz feigned confusion. "What horn?"

"You know what I'm talking about. And you know that you're in no condition to resist me, if I have to take it from you."

I could tell that Moritz really thought about trying to blast him, or maybe run away, but of course he knew he didn't have the energy for either. With tangible reluctance, he reached into his backpack and withdrew the bone horn I'd seen him grab from the dragon's hoard. Nobody snatched it from him forcefully.

"Don't you know what we could do with those?" Moritz pleaded.

"I know exactly what you could do. That's why you can't be allowed to have it."

"I thought you had realized that containment was the cause of all the world's problems."

"There are still some kinds of power that people just shouldn't have."

"So what are you going to do with it?"

"I'm going to leave it somewhere only the Blue Bus can go, then drink until I forget where that was."

"Um," I cut in, "what is that?"

"That," Moritz said, "is one of the Keys of Solomon. Together with the other six, it could-"

"Destroy the world, among other things. Even without the other Keys, this horn could enslave the minds of thousands. I know that's a power you wouldn't trust in anyone else's hands," he said, glaring accusatorily at the defeated Moritz.

"Thousands?" I asked. "As in, an entire barbarian army?"

Nobody looked at me suspiciously. "What do you have in mind?"

Nobody volunteered to drive the Blue Bus, on the basis that he was the only one of us who even knew what a "car" was. He said I could sit "shotgun," then explained what that meant, too. Before I got in, though, I had to say goodbye.

"I'm really sorry, Arcos. I know you and him-"

"It's okay, Geva," he said, quietly. "Perrin and I lived dangerous lives. It was bound to happen to one of us eventually. It might've been poetic to go together, but…well, at least he died fighting for something he believed in. And if Nobody over there, or the Administrator, I suppose, can really make this right, it will have been worth it."

"Don't worry," I said. "He will."

"I'll try to send a message," Moritz said, "if there really is a piece of the Library at Site-12. The rest of the Hand will want to know about it. Maybe we could…well, I don't want to make any promises. But there's bound to be a lot of good books in there. A lot of good knowledge. Like some other way to get back across the ocean."

"I'm sure of it," I said. "And the Hand will always be welcome in Arnven. And you too, Arcos. I don't know if your people will want to live in the city, but I'll let them know that they can."

"That's very decent of you, Geva. Tell them my story, would you?"

"Of course."

There wasn't much left to say, at that point, so I dragged them both into a hug. Arcos laughed for the first time in a while, and Moritz smiled more than I'd ever seen him do.

"Be careful, friends," I said.

"Absolutely not," Arcos replied.

I laughed. "Well, at least have fun, then."

"Of course."

"Alright," I said, letting them go. "Now I've got a city to save." Arcos waved as I climbed into the Blue Bus.

"All right," Nobody said, putting the key into a hole for it near the steering wheel. "Let's get this show on the road." A whole swarm of arms boiled out of his coat and started fiddling with all the little dials and buttons at the front of the Blue Bus. One of the wooden ones reached into one of the odd little cabinets in the back and pulled out a squat cylinder of painted metal. Another flipped some kind of lever on the top, poking a hole in it with a foamy hiss.

"What's that?"

"Coca-Cola," Nobody sighed, taking a long sip. "Ahh. It's been eight hundred years since I had one of these."

"Can I have one?"

"Sure," he said, reaching back for another. "Brace your taste buds. And buckle your seat belt."

"What?" I asked, sipping at my "coka kola". It was the sweetest thing I'd ever tasted, and fizzy like beer. It was cold, too, which was weird but not unpleasant.

"See, the…hold on." Another arm reached across me to grab some weird shiny belt thing beside my right shoulder, then buckled it to a little receiver near my left hip. "Safety first," he joked.

"Is this unsafe?"

"No, but it's going to be very strange. Have you ever done drugs?"

"Why?" I might have said that a bit more defensively than was really necessary.

Nobody looked at me funny. "Well. It will be a bit like that." A dark-skinned arm reached across me and opened a little drawer in front of my seat. It rummaged around in the unidentifiable junk within, the came back holding a transparent rectangle with two little holes through it. Another hand slid the rectangle into a nearby slot while the first one closed the drawer. A third turned a little knob beside the slot as far to the right as it would go. Deafening music suddenly blared from the very walls around us. I was so startled that I dropped my drink.

"Alright," Nobody shouted, grinning. "Let's go space truckin'!" Then he turned the key, and we started our trip.

I could not describe what happened next to you if I tried. Most of it has slipped away like a strange and wonderful dream, or a weird and horrible nightmare. What remains is so disjointed and nonsensical that I would only muddle my memories further if I tried to put them in words. Nobody assured me that our trip lasted barely an instant, but it felt like hours, or maybe days, or maybe some other unit of time that there isn't really a word for, and maybe shouldn't be. It was the strangest, most beautiful, most awful thing I'd ever experienced, and I would never do it again, but I'll always be glad that I did. Does that make sense? It doesn't matter. What matters is that we got to Arnven just in time.

The Thereven Horde was the mightiest military force assembled since the Great Breach. Even the small detachment massing outside Arnven was larger than the Free City's whole army, despite the reinforcements sent to them from Eridar. Looking out at the horde from the top of the west wall, half of Arnven's defenders were already contemplating surrender. Sarah Bumaro's unstoppable cavalry sat astride their iron oxen, whose horns streamed with smoke and bullets. Dagonite reptile-riders perched in howdahs strapped to the backs of massive, three-horned monsters resurrected from a bygone age. Hulking Ionite gladiator-slaves plated with shifting chitin and wicked spikes jostled and jockeyed at the front lines. Wisconsinan mercenaries flexed their oiled muscles, ready to catch and strangle any enemy, no matter how well armed. Hundreds of conscripted Garyan archers had dug in on a low hill, surrounded by spikes and trenches that made their positions all but unassailable. They hadn't even finished setting up their siege engines. They might not need to.

The Therevens did horrible things to those who resisted them, stories of which had filtered down from the ruins of Fenrys to plague the dreams of everyone left in the soon-to-be-besieged city - and that was almost its whole population. The Holy Foundation had massed its own armies on the east bank of the Heilas, not to aid in the defense, but to make sure that Arnven sent no refugees into their land. Some had still tried to cross the river, but none had made it. All the merchant ships had departed, and if any returned, it would be to trade with the Therevens, not whatever might remain of the doomed Free City when they were through with it. And worst of all, Princess Geva, the Witch Reborn, prophesied to save the city in its time of greatest need, was nowhere to be found. For weeks, every resource not dedicated to the defense had been spent searching for her, all to no avail. It was as if she'd simply evaporated, and with her, all hope of Arnven's survival.

Outside the walls, General Quan Thereven could almost taste their despair. When the front gate opened and two people walked out, he was sure that they'd come to surrender. It wouldn't be a pleasant experience for them, for much tribute in gold and slave-soldiers and concubines would be required, but that way was easier (albeit less fun) than a conquest by force. His father, the Khan, would be most proud. Arnven had thought itself proud once, for repelling the animals of Romania Nova and the Foundation's own forces, but they had not so much as a single war-wizard. It was comically easy, knocking down these eastern cities. The Foundation had hoarded all of its magic away in sheltered sanctuaries and fortified abbeys, and refused to deploy it even in the face of sure destruction. That backward superstition would always be their doom.

As the emissaries approached, Quan spurred his iron ox toward them, flanked by mounted guards. The cattle revved their engines, snorting foul smoke in anticipation of battle. These cows were maneaters, and they were hungry. When he came close enough to see the emissaries in detail, the general almost laughed. Was this the best they could do? A little girl and an old man, stumbling as if hungover? It would've been insulting if it weren't so sad.

"So," he bellowed, "you have come to surrender!"

"Not quite," the girl said. Then she raised a horn of polished bone to her lips and blew. The man with her knew to plug his ears, but the barbarians didn't realize the danger of the sound until they were already under its sway. The general froze, body and mind kicked into standby, awaiting further orders from their new master. His eyes tracked her helplessly as Geva rose slowly into the air.

"Barbarians!" she shouted, voice magically amplified. "In this moment, I could order you to die, and you would do it. With a single word, I could stop your hearts and turn this battlefield into a mountain of your corpses. I could turn you against each other and watch as your friends and comrades tore you limb from limb. I could force you to stand here, silent and motionless, until you die of thirst, or until the summer sun bakes your brains in your skulls. The coyotes and carrion birds would feast on you for weeks, and your sun-bleached bones would turn these hills white as snow for a generation."

For a long, quiet minute, she let that sink in.

"But," she continued, "in my endless mercy, I will not subject you to this humiliation, for there would be no honor in that. Instead, you will leave this place and never return. You will return to your Khan, and you will tell him what I have done to you today, and what I have could have done, but did not. You will tell him that if another barbarian ever again sets foot within sight of my city, or east of the Heilas, or south of the Ohio, or one inch further into Sylvania, I will not be so merciful again. Now, begone!"

Like dutiful worker ants, the Therevens turned and marched into the west, mindlessly abandoning their camps and fortifications. They marched until they'd faded into the sunset.

Gently, I floated back to the ground. I almost stumbled, still shaking off the Blue Bus's aftereffects.

"That," I said, "was terrifying."

"You can see why I don't want people to have this," Nobody said, holding out a hand for the horn. I eyed him suspiciously.

"How do I know you won't just use this to take over the world?"

"Because I could only rule it for about three days." Fingers curled up from inside his collar, and they pulled it down so I could see the rust spreading up his neck.

"Fair enough," I admitted, handing him the horn. I was glad to be rid of it, honestly.

"Are you sure you'll be safe without this?" he asked, tucking it into some inscrutable pocket of his great coat.

"I think so," I said. "If they come back, we'll just threaten them with the Great Dragon's horn. They won't know the difference, and even if they do it'll at least panic all their mounts. Besides, there's plenty to conquer out West, and I just proved it's a lot less dangerous than we are."

"Still," Nobody warned, "you might want to set up some diplomatic relations while they're cowed. An unsupported peace rarely lasts long."

"Of course," I said, nodding. "I'll ask all the Free Cities to send an envoy. And you'll go deal with the Foundation."

He nodded grimly. "I certainly shall."

At that, we began our walk back to Arnven. The gates were already opening, and I could hear cheering from the other side.

"Oh!" I said, suddenly remembering. "I can't believe I forgot to ask; how in Corbenic did you get out of Portland?!"

"Oh," he said, uneasily, "I…made a deal with the Mayor."

"What kind of deal?" I asked, glaring. There was always more with this man.

He took a long drag of his pipe. "Do you think Arnven might be amenable to changing its name?"

We were greeted, of course, with cheers. The crowd carried us all the way to the Witch Image, at the base of which they deposited me. I think they expected a speech.

"The Witch returns!" someone cheered.

"Hail Princess Geva!"

"Praise to the Witch of Arnven!"

That one was the last straw. "No!" I shouted, but no one heard me. "No!" I repeated, voice now thundering through the streets just as it had across the battlefield. Slowly, the crowd fell silent. Some of them started kneeling.

"No, stop that! Get up!"

They got up, reluctantly.

"Listen to me! I'm not the Witch! I'm not her!" I said, pointing at the Witch Image behind me. I had half a mind to blow it up. "And I'm not a princess, either. I'm just a street rat that you stuffed in a fancy dress."

The people looked at each other, confused.

"I'm not a saint, or a goddess, or a savior, and neither was Sigurros. Neither are any of these people the Foundation taught you to worship."

Somebody gasped, which I took to mean it was working.

"She, and I, and they, we're all just regular people who knew a few tricks and got really lucky, and yeah, maybe we did some good things at the right time. And that's wonderful, but it's no reason to worship somebody. It's like…"

I rubbed my aching head. I had never liked giving speeches, and I was getting very tired of it. But this was important.

"Listen, folks. I have just come back from a very long and very strange adventure. I made some friends and enemies on the way, and I watched a lot of both die. And if there's one thing that they all had in common, it's that those deaths were stupid and unnecessary. One of my friends was a Knight of Saint Talloran named Horatius. He was the bravest, toughest, most selfless, most honorable person I ever met, but he didn't see himself that way. He was living forever in Saint Talloran's shadow, just like we're all living in this thing's," I said, pointing at the looming Witch Image. "I don't know if there's a way Horatius could've made it back home alive, but he didn't even try to look for one. He was too busy trying to be another Saint Talloran to see any other way out but martyrdom. And it seems like everybody else I know is just the same way. My other friend, Arcos, the orc-"

I heard a few more gasps, and that made me mad.

"Yes, the orc. And that orc was kind and wise and deeply in love. He had a bigger heart than anyone I've ever met. But he and all his people are still cursed and hated and hunted, because of something they did a million years ago! Nobody," I began, only to realize that he was not beside me as I had thought. Still, I continued. "The Administrator," I corrected, "was so wrapped up in his own mistakes that he did nothing but wander the Earth for eight hundred years, asking forgiveness for the sins of his past instead of trying to save the future. The Lady of the Lake didn't want to help us defeat the dragon, because of the way somebody misused her sword a couple thousand years ago. And the dragon itself, Marscar the Dark, was just drowning itself in the past, rolling around in wealth of the Ancients in some hollow imitation of one of their cities. I even fought the Nine out there, and they almost killed me and all my friends, just for the sake of some dead doctor who's been stuck in a piece of jewelry for a thousand years."

I could tell I was losing them. Maybe I should've explained my quest in more detail before I started lecturing them about it. Ah, well, it was too late now.

"And you!" I added, quickly. "You, people of Arnven. The only thing you have ever wanted or expected from me was to be just like Sigurros, just like the Witch of Arnven. I guess you got that wish, because I did come back here and save you. But I am not the Witch," I said, turning slowly to face the statue. "And I am not Sigurros." With that, I pointed a single crackling finger at the statue. "My name," I shouted, "is Geva!" Emerald energy blasted forth, cracking the statue into a thousand places. The crowd screamed and scattered as their hero collapsed at my feet.

Slowly, I turned back to face them. "I didn't save you all because it was my destiny, or because I wanted to be like some witch or saint. I saved you because it was the right thing to do. Because I want to make a future better than this present. Because I am sick of everyone acting like the past is some great mythical place, like the people who lived back then are somehow better than us just because they're dead! If we keep clinging to the past, then we're only going to become part of it. I don't want that. I want to be part of the future! I want us to step out of the shadow of all these Saints and Ancients and make ourselves a civilization worth celebrating. We don't have to sit here under the Foundation's ghost until it drags us down. We can be so much more than that. And the Foundation is falling! There is our chance, don't you see? We can take these Free Cities and make them a free nation, a nation where people don't have to die or live in slavery just because it's always been that way. Instead of fear, a nation built on hope and understanding. A nation like that could stand against anything. And that's where I want to stand. Now what about you?"

I watched the crowd. Slowly, some of them started to nod, or murmur a faint agreement. My proposal, if you could even call such a spontaneous thing that, was unforgivably vague. But it sounded nice, and sometimes that's enough to get the ball rolling.

I noticed some movement on a nearby rooftop. It was a street kid, a little younger than me. I smiled at him, a little uncertainly. Please, I silently begged. Believe me. Believe in me. In us.

He thought about it. Slowly, he nodded. Then, with a fist in the air, he cheered. It spread through the crowd like wildfire, turning their joy of victory into loud hope for the future. I smiled. The road ahead would be long, but at least now we were on it.

I looked around for Nobody, but he had vanished into the crowd. I'm sure he was watching, though. And I know he was smiling.

It is at this point that Geva's personal account concludes. However, I have done my best to complete the stories of the individuals involved with the resources available to me.

Geva, being a high-profile public figure, was the easiest person to find. She remains the Princess of Arnven-Portland, and as such serves on the Council of Five that leads the Free Portlands in conjunction with the Mayor. The connections between the Free Cities of Arnven-Portland, Eridar-Portland, Utgard-Portland, Necramundas-Portland, and the recently rebuilt Fenrys-Portland have made the League the greatest political and economic force in eastern America. Many provinces of the former Holy Foundation's land have willingly become vassals of the Free Portlands, thereby benefiting from greater stability, access to magical resources, and most importantly, protection from further Thereven invasions. Naturally, the absorbed provinces are also slowly but surely following Arnven-Portland's lead in abandoning the Foundation's practice of Saint-worship.

The man who wore the Coat of Many Arms and identified himself as both "Nobody" and the Ancient Foundation's Administrator is, naturally, almost impossible to trace. The only concrete piece of evidence I have found of his existence, and likely the only one that will ever exist, is the final decree issued by the Overwatch Cardinals before their assassination: the emancipation of all D-caste personnel. In the copies provided to regional authorities, this decree was signed by all thirteen Cardinals and one "Fritz Williams". Shortly after this decree was issued, the Cardinals were found brutally dismembered in their council chamber, surrounding a large, inert greatcoat and a very odd pile of rust. All subsequent attempts to appoint new Overwatch Cardinals have been met with widespread dissent, and the chambers of Overwatch Cathedral remain empty to this day. Those Foundation provinces that yet resist the Free Portlands now tend to be governed by local elected bodies or the deacon of the nearest Sanctuary or Abbey.

I am reluctant to consider any documents of Horatius's life or death as accurate, given the supposed properties of the Stylus. The Knights of Saint Talloran, as far as I can discern, died out with Horatius himself. The already-crumbling Foundation displayed no interest in reviving this heretical sect, and Geva by all accounts has actively campaigned against Saint-worship in the Free Portlands. The shrine that once stood in Utgard-Portland has been replaced by a cozy but vaguely menacing establishment called the Atherton Inn. A "cool" friend of mine has informed me, with no small amount of distaste, that the exquisite triptych entitled I Am At The Center Of Everything That Happens To Me currently resides somewhere at Geva's royal estate in Arnven-Portland, though it has never been put on display.

The actual facts of Arcos's fate are difficult to ascertain, but there is no shortage of reports. A story I collected in the Iberian province of the Horizon Imperium reports that a half-orc with a massive hammer accompanied the most recent Crusade into Italagadda and even managed to return alive with several relics of Rome. A ballad sung in the Bavaria tells of his one-man war against a greedy and tyrannical prince. A somewhat obscure Amoni tragedy includes as its deus ex machina a "gigantic, hairy man wielding a mighty hammer and flying on wings of bronze," who arrives at a pivotal moment in a battle against a Sarkic army. I have found a saga among the Valravn Clans that describes his emergence as the fearsome leader of a whole clan of orc-blooded berserkers. I even hear tales from the Wild Lands that the orc tribes there have become unusually well-organized these past few decades, and in that same time have begun to display a great proficiency with polearms that has significantly hindered the efforts of the GOC's orange cavalry. Naturally, these stories disagree on the ultimate end of the Arcos-like character. Many end with him simply departing in search of adventures elsewhere, while others conclude with a death in glorious combat. Once, I spoke to a Portuguese village elder who claims to have witnessed Arcos's ignominious death of sharing sickness. However, my favorite ending is that of the Valravn saga, which reports that, after Arcos became too old to fight, he willingly bequeathed his title to one of his children and sailed off to the northwest in search of the mythical craftsman Wotantainment. I cannot state with confidence that any of these fleeting tales are true, distorted as they have been by time and dramatization, but they are consistent enough that I cannot easily dismiss them all either.

Perrin, of course, remains dead, but as noted previously, his dream of liberating the D-caste was achieved. The freed D-caste are still finding their way in the world, but many of the liberated villages, facing prejudice from remaining Foundation lands, allied with the Free Portlands or migrated to them in masse. The Free Portlands have likewise extended invitations of citizenship to the orc tribes of Appalachia. Few orcs have accepted this offer, but the fall of the Foundation has essentially put an end to organized campaigns against them.

Moritz, if my contacts in the Serpent's Hand are to be believed, later returned to America by magical means, gathered a cadre of other wizards, and traveled with them back to Site-12. My contacts were understandably reluctant to divulge the fate of this expedition, but I imagine that, if the stories of Site-12 are true, the Hand is likely attempting to reconnect this world with the rest of the mythical Library.

The Free Portlands and their protected territories have remained safe from Khanate conquest since Geva's bloodless defeat of Quan Thereven's army, and it has become customary for each Portland to send a "learn'd eunuch" to represent their cities in the Great Khan's court. There are rumors that Angelo's eye has now been turned to the unimagined lands across the western sea.

Now that Marscar the Dark is vanquished, its former territory has already begun to entice colonists and conquers from Brasil, the Valravn Clans, and the German Occidental Confederation. While no large-scale conflict has yet broken out among Uk's new inhabitants, most scholars agree that it is only a matter of time.

Hoping to explore the historic locations recorded in Geva’a tale before the new settlers could defile them, I took an extensive detour through southern Uk during my return to Europe. Sadly, I found little in the way of evidence - if there is a Lady in Dozmary Pool, she did not deign to speak with me, and no amount of diligent searching by me or the legions of other treasure hunters that came before me has rediscovered the stairway to UnLondon. Though its Way to Portland is long gone, Portland Castle still stands; in fact, soon after Geva and her friends so forcefully expelled its infrequent Valravn residents, it was converted to a monastery by the Sworn Protectors of the Coast, who (taking advantage of the dragon’s absence) also constructed a lighthouse at the island’s southern shore. I pity the raiders who try to retake it.

And it is with this sparse epilogue that I bring our story to a close. I endorse all copies made thereof, though I of course frown on any deliberate embellishments or distortions.

I remain,

The Eighteenth Wanderman of the Principality of Gormogon, Royal Scribe to Her Majesty Secretary-Empress Fortepiano III of the German Occidental Confederation

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page revision: 11, last edited: 13 Jan 2025 16:22

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SCP Foundation

Secure, Contain, Protect

NOTICE:

BOOK 3

THE PRINCESS

THIS SCROLL HATH BEEN CONSECRATED

TOP SECRET

BY ORDER OF OVERWATCH CONCLAVE

THOU HAST BEEN WARNED.