You’re not very talkative, are you? Hell whispered in Garec’s mind. But then, few people are with me. It’s a shame. I’m a great conversationalist.

  Garec ignored him, as he always did when channeling. Or rather, he kept his focus on the task in front of him. Easier now than the hours it took to arrive, at least. The Company was almost finished packing, and he was running through the checklists with his officers. Not that he really felt it necessary; his men knew what they were doing, and they always did it well. He’d come to expect nothing less. Some days he felt as though his role as a Captain was just to put on appearances.

  I need to be grateful for these times, he thought to himself. There won’t be many of them soon enough.

  Many? I think you mean any, Hell said. It’s all going to fall apart. You’ll go out and get everyone killed, and people will wonder what ever happened to you. A great plan, if you ask me. There need to be more men out there like you.

  You are far more annoying than The Five Sentinels makes you out to be, Garec thought.

  Why thank you. I do tend to take on the personality that most irks the person I’m speaking with. Frankly I can’t help it, it’s just part of my nature. The fact I’m even explaining this to you is part of it. But I do love showing off, so maybe that’s not the only factor. Actually, that’s a lie. Actually, that is too. Everything is a lie. You already knew that. Useless, useless, useless information.

  Garec rolled his eyes. He was tempted to stop channeling right then, but he wanted to speak with the boys one more time before doing so. Elethe had appeared at his side asking when he would stop, and he assured her it would be only a few minutes. With another checklist out of the way, he headed back towards his wagon.

  You know, just because it takes your Emogic for you to hear me doesn’t mean I can’t influence others anywhere in the world at any time, Hell said with a sort of smugness. Your commanding officers, your soldiers, your niece, those boys. I’ll tell you what I’ll do to them if you ask.

  Garec smiled. I’ll ask if you tell me why you’re afraid of Victory.

  That was met with a good deal of expletives. Victory was a strange man in The Five Sentinels that, for no discernable reason, had a small section dedicated to short stories he supposedly told Heaven and the other Sentinels. Hell never responded well when Garec thought of him, though it was a mystery as to why.

  Making it to the back of his wagon, he found the two boys sitting next to each other. Dowyr looked at him with caution in his eyes, but Weynon looked almost eager.

  If those aren’t the faces of kids who will ruin this whole thing, I don’t know what are, Hell said.

  “I want to know I can trust you two with your Emogics,” Garec said. “And I also want you to trust me, however difficult that might be for you. I’m willing to answer any of your questions as honestly as I can to do so.”

  Dowyr nudged Weynon and signed something to him. Weynon looked back at Garec.

  “Why us? What do you need our Emogics for?” he asked.

  You don’t need them for anything, you vain imbecile, Hell said.

  “Information,” Garec said. “Being able to gain information through nature, as you can do Weynon, or through enemies we might come across using Dowyr’s telepathy and sensory manipulation. Mind reading will be essential.”

  Dowyr signed to Weynon again.

  “Won’t your commanding officers try to stop you?” Weynon asked. “How will we escape Elyssanar?”

  As stupid as they are, they’re not stupid enough to let you succeed, Hell said.

  “I’m sure they would, if they knew,” Garec said. “I don’t intend for them to know. I’m trusting you, and all my men, to keep our plan a secret. As for how… I’m not sure yet, though I imagine with Dowyr’s help it should be easy enough.”

  “Will we get to come back home some day?” Weynon asked.

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  Nope, Hell said.

  “That’s what I intend,” Garec said.

  Hell laughed. Way to skirt the truth. I approve.

  Dowyr signed to Weynon once again, though Weynon gave him an odd look this time.

  “Why do you want to know that?” Weynon asked him.

  More signs.

  “I guess that makes sense.” Weynon turned back to Garec. “What’s your favorite animal?”

  Garec gave a slight frown, mildly caught off guard at the question. Why did Dowyr want to know that?

  Snakes, Hell said.

  Garec snorted at Hell’s answer. “I’d have to say cats. Dogs have never been very fond of me for some reason.”

  That’s a weirdly roundabout way of saying snakes, Hell said.

  Garec was about ready to cut his channeling, but there was one last thing he wanted to say. “I won’t ask you to do as I say or swear you’ll help me, but I hope for the sake of ending this war before it can really start, you’ll join me willingly. If you really want to go back to the Academy, I’ll let you. But consider that you might be in for a worse fate if you do.”

  Couldn’t have said it more manipulatively myself, Hell said.

  “I’m staying,” Weynon said without hesitation. He turned to Dowyr. “We need to help.”

  Dowyr didn’t look too pleased, but he gave Garec a serious look for a moment before giving a thumbs-up.

  You can’t trust them, Hell said. There’s no way these kids want to come with you to get themselves ki—

  Garec cut his channeling and shut the mouth of Hell. “Thank you. I’ll do everything in my power to make all this as comfortable as I can for you.”

  A voice came from Dowyr’s direction, though his mouth didn’t move. “I guess I won’t ask you to get me a dog. Just as long as I don’t have to eat meat, I’ll be happy.”

  Garec smiled. “That’s doable.”

  That voice must have been Dowyr’s channeling. Interesting. It wasn’t the sort of voice he expected him to have, but then he could have any voice he wanted. Even Garec’s. If he really wanted to, he could probably fool the officers into believing he was allowed to leave.

  Garec wanted to trust him, but Elethe would have to keep an eye on him for the time being. A whisper repeated in his mind.

  You can’t trust them.

  We’ll see, Garec thought back at it.

  *

  It was late afternoon when the falling dust and ash touched the hill upon which Royce Tyrden stood. He took long, deep breaths, mildly fatigued from channeling to such a great extent. There was a sort of art to Rage. The energy of it was rabid and indiscriminate, like that of a lightning storm. With it he bent the skies and the earth, the rivers and the lakes. No mountain was too large he could not move, no valley too deep he could not raise. There was not a more fitting name the world could attribute to one who wielded Rage; Royce was the living definition of an Apocalypse. After today, everyone would know him as an avatar of destruction. And what could Heaven or any of the Sentinels do about it? Not even the Snakes would be so feared once Royce was done.

  Fear was not what Royce wanted, however. What he wanted, what he needed, was vengeance against Heaven and his pathetic world. How was it that Heaven, a being said to be filled with all that was good, could create a place with so much cruelty, injustice, idiocy, and lies? This could not be Heaven’s world. It was Hell’s. Voidspeakers claimed he said as much himself, and that was all the proof Royce needed. Existence itself must have known something was wrong, and so it had gifted him the power of the Apocalypse. He was the embodiment of Existence’s rage against Heaven. With it he would save everyone from this nightmare and restructure the world into the Garden of Paradise it should have been from the beginning.

  It was his divine calling.

  His brother Roderick stepped up beside him, gazing upon Royce’s work with a look of solemn satisfaction. Roderick was much older than him, being thirty-one, twelve years his elder. Roderick had climbed the military ranks quickly, having become a highly respected strategist through a series of successful campaigns against northern rebellions vying for control over the Great Eastern Lakes, and so he was Royce’s general.

  “Damn Parastenians should have listened,” Roderick said, his voice hard. “Perhaps the rest will see reason from now on.”

  Royce sniffed in disgust. “If they don’t, I will give it to them, or they will die.”

  “There’s no need for further examples. Word of this will spread, and the fear of it will shake the nations.”

  “Existence wills it.”

  Roderick folded his arms. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Royce. You’re the key to winning, but you cannot win alone. We need greater numbers if we are to reach Elyssanar properly, and if the Parastenians do not come willingly, we will simply have to take them.”

  “Do you think we can hold off Arkonia in the meantime? Their unexpected harrying is a nuisance, and I cannot build a wall across an entire border.” Not in one day, at least.

  “I’m not concerned about them unless they start to show some real effort. Which wouldn’t surprise me after today. But if you can divert the Missionary River to cut down their water supply, we can use that as a bargaining tool for them to leave us alone.”

  Royce waved a dismissive hand. “Child’s play.”

  Roderick gave a nod. “Good. A new lake south of Florissant would be nice. Prepare to leave tomorrow morning. I’ll go find you an escort.”

  “You’re staying behind?”

  Roderick turned back down the hill. “I have some things to take care of with the Parastenian capital, but I should return within the week.”

  Royce was left to admire his work. Before him were the ruins of a city that might as well have never existed. All that remained were towering spikes of earth thrown every which way, kilometer-long mounds burying entire neighborhoods, chasms that swallowed up marketplaces. From afar it appeared as though the skin of the land had been pierced and replaced with a rugged scab. Ash and dust clouds rose above it all, mixing with the echoes of a collective terrorized cry from Irostead’s citizens, and slowly fading to mere whispers.