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  “I may not have the others or all of my powers,” I responded aloud, “but I do still have my Pride.” I turned away from the weapon rack and looped around the dais, heading back toward the center of the room.

  Please.

  The single, soft word halted me in my tracks. It was unlike Pride to ask willingly for anything, especially in such a submissive way. I paused, then turned and paced back to the weapon rack. I moved alongside it, dragging a calloused hand along the wooden frame supporting the blades. My eyes flicked from dagger to sword to falchion to kukri.

  “You may not be wrong,” I said to Pride. “I cannot recall the last time I hefted a mortal weapon.”

  The balance and weight will be familiar to you, she promised, the sound of her voice in my mind eager. Pick one up and give it a try. It will remind you of your prowess.

  I hefted a simple, straight dagger, examining my reflection in its polished, sectional blade. It was a simple killing tool, designed to be held like an ice pick and driven through armor, or gripped like a hammer and dragged across an enemy’s throat. It was sleek and efficient but not at all my style. I replaced it on the rack and picked up a massive two-handed broadsword.

  I wielded the heavy blade effortlessly in one hand, whipping it around as though it were a rapier. I drew patterns in the air with its tip as my feet carried me backward and sideways, around in a tight circle, evading the attacks of imaginary enemies as I clove through their armor to carve out their guts.

  The movement felt good, appropriate. It brought something back, something that I had forgotten during the time I was asleep. My blood pumped, my heart raced, my adrenaline spiked, and soon the thinnest sheen of sweat lined my neck. I returned to the weapon rack in a flurry of short steps and slammed the broadsword back into its home.

  You still fight like death carried on a swift breeze, Pride said in my mind, and that broadsword likes you well.

  “Perhaps,” I chuckled, rolling my muscular shoulders to keep them loose. “But it is a tad bulky. Such a showy display too often serves as a crutch for the weak.” There was still a matter of taste and style. I picked up another dagger, this one far different from the first. It had a purple amethyst inset in the pommel, and the blade was made of folded steel, viciously curved with a trio of tearing hooks along the back to open messy wounds on the pullback from any stab. I cradled the elegant weapon in both my hands and examined its polished surface. It was perfectly forged, perfectly hammered, perfectly balanced. I found a matching leather sheath on the back of the stand and strapped it and the dagger to my belt. The weight felt familiar, comforting, like an old friend’s hand resting on my shoulder.

  I picked up a bastard sword next, a smaller cousin of the two-handed broadsword. The hand-and-a-half sword had been among my favored weapons. Any strong man could wield it one-handed, meaning I could flick it around like a switch, but it had space enough on the hilt for a two-handed power stroke. Its blade was long and broad, but not quite so awkwardly cumbersome as the greatsword.

  Yes, Pride whispered, that one.

  I spun and thrust the point outward, freezing with my arms extended. I stared along the flat of the blade to check it for faults or defects. There were none. At some point, Pride or I had collected the weapon and placed it in the Pridehold. We did not do such things without thought and reason. I found the sword’s scabbard and strapped it to my left hip opposite the dagger, then slid the shining blade home.

  My belt felt balanced, and I felt stronger somehow, sturdier. A flicker of shame caused my cheeks to heat up, and I turned away from the weapon rack brusquely. I did not wish to be in this position, wielding mortal weapons out of necessity. The world should see me as the all-powerful dark lord I had been, but my Pride knew the truth. She had seen me fall to the Enemy.

  My entire body and being burned for a long moment as if I were caught up in the tormenting fires of hell itself. I would never live down the disgrace of that defeat, not until I met the Enemy again and avenged myself. He would curse his decision to leave me alive. He would face a fate far worse than any simple damnation. I would make sure of it. He would suffer first at my hands, and then at Pride’s, and then under the wares of the best torturers this new world had to offer. I would break Him with years of torment, destroying anything and everything he held dear. Only then, observing the depths of His despair and agony, would I grant the Enemy a final merciful breath.

  Fists clenched, I marched toward the center of the room, but something caught the corner of my eye. I turned toward the wall, realizing that behind a canvas painting of a bloody battlefield there was an unfamiliar door.

  I froze. Only I could open the gates of my Pridehold. Where could this door have come from? Who could have placed it there? I lifted the painting down and leaned its frame against a long chesterfield, examining the doorway more thoroughly.

  The door bore the seal of a serpent swallowing its own tail, creating a unified circle with a number of potential meanings. There were other runic symbols I did not recognize arranged in patterns across the portal, and I reached out to feel them. Although they appeared to be etched into the door’s surface, they were perfectly smooth to the touch.

  I frowned, running my hands over the symbols again and again. I needed to know what they meant, needed to spend hours and days puzzling it out if necessary. But I did not have hours and days. I had perhaps minutes before I would have to return to the new world.

  I stepped back and stared at the door for another moment, fixing its image in my mind. I studied the door until I was confident I could reproduce the symbols from memory. Then, I turned away and cast a last, longing glance at the stained glass windows.

  My view of the Pridehold shimmered and vanished.

  Chapter 4

  My vision solidified, and I found myself back in the musky underground chamber. My helm disappeared, and Pride’s slender form reappeared at my side. She pawed at her daggers and paced restlessly, as she was often given to agitation after spending time in her secondary form.

  “What did you find in the chamber beyond?” I asked, nodding to the open door through which dim light still spilled.

  “Nothing, save the strange torch that hangs from the ceiling and some old wooden furniture. The light is remarkably cool and consistent, and it does not crackle or pop like any fire I know. It only hums, like a bee buzzing in the distance.” She tossed her blonde hair back over her shoulder and stared at the open doorway like a racehorse watching the starter gate.

  “After you, then,” I smiled, gesturing with an open palm. She placed her hands on her hips, a hair’s breadth from the hilts of those lethal daggers, and strode through the opening. I followed swiftly, turning right as she turned left, delving into the darkened corner of the room and searching for movement. We circled the space in opposite directions and met against the far wall, with as much distance between us and the yellow light as possible.

  “I saw no one and no doors,” Pride reported, sheathing her blades in disappointment. It seemed her body missed the battle as much as mine.

  “Neither did I,” I replied. “This place is empty, a dead end. We were drawn like moths to the source of the light. Let us return to the first chamber and—“

  “Shh.” Pride’s hand landed delicately on my shoulder in an intimate gesture. I fell silent. “Listen,” she whispered.

  My right hand went to the hilt of my dagger. I listened for footsteps, breathing, heartbeats, or anything to betray the presence of an assailant. Instead I heard... water. It was distant, so faint I could barely hear it with my heightened senses, but there was running water gurgling beyond the earthen wall.

  “We can dig through this with ease,” Pride hissed, drawing her blades again and stabbing a single point in the wall to scoop out a section of dirt, and stabbing again. “We can follow the river until it rises above ground.”

  I nodded as I paced around behind her. I waited until her efforts had created a sizable breach in the wall, then touched her in the s
ame way she had touched me. “Stand aside.”

  She did so. I spun and delivered a thunderous kick to the damaged barrier. It was the kind of kick that could have cracked a man’s sternum. I vented all of my frustration with my current situation and my ire toward the enemy into that single technique. The sole of my boot slammed into the dirt.

  Fwwwooomphh. A section of the wall collapsed outward, but the dirt above came loose and began to collapse as well. “With me!” I cried to Pride, seizing her arm and diving through the gap as it filled back in.

  We climbed to our feet atop a walkway made of a strange smooth stone I had never seen before. We brushed dirt from our bodies and took stock of our surroundings.

  A slender river smelling of shit and piss snaked alongside the walkway, which was illuminated every dozen or so yards by more of the remarkable yellow torches ensconced behind dirty glass covers.

  “Which way?” Pride asked, the hesitation clear in her tone.

  “Let us follow the flow of the river,” I replied confidently. Whether it was the correct direction or not, it would lead us somewhere, keeping our feet moving and our minds clear.

  We moved stealthily along the walkway, our feet barely sounding on the smooth stone floor. Again I found myself drawn toward the brightest source of light, this one purer and whiter, almost certainly daylight.

  It shone down through a narrow shaft, a few mere dots of sunlight that lit up the gloomy aqueduct. A ladder reached up into the shaft, constructed of sturdy iron bolted to the immovable wall.

  “I will go first this time.” I grabbed hold of the ladder’s lower rungs before Pride could argue. As we climbed, I felt a strange vibration and heard a distinct hum, not dissimilar from the sound emanating from the torches, but much deeper and stronger. I reached the heavy metal cover at the top of the ladder, through which two pinpricks of daylight shone. “Prepare yourself,” I said quietly, glancing down. Pride could not respond, for she had the hilt of one of her daggers clenched in her teeth. I took a deep breath, flexing the muscles in my back and legs, then threw the cover upward and exploded into daylight.

  At first the brilliance blinded me. A moment later, harsh sounds deafened me, as if thunder were chasing lightning. A blare of a mighty horn sounded on my left, and I spun toward it, crouching in a low fighting stance as I shielded my eyes with one hand. I could make out the shape of a horseless wagon or iron chariot careening toward me, blaring a similar battle cry to the last.

  “Death and destruction!” I roared in response and leaped to meet the chariot. My sight adjusted, and I could see the fear in the eyes of the rider within. He had intended to run me down without challenge. He had not expected me to race straight toward him. Would he have the courage to face me from behind the flimsy sheet of glass separating us?

  No.

  The chariot swerved at the last second. I swung my fist, clipping it and knocking off one of the looking glasses adorning its sides.

  “Pride, do not follow me!” I called. “The foes here are too numerous.” Only then as I spun around did I realize that my Viceguard had already joined me in the sunlight. We stood back to back instinctively, ready to take on the attackers who converged from all sides.

  They were all cowards. The chariots swerved aside when they saw us brandish our weapons, and the infantry near the tall buildings froze in terror or ran away with shrill screams.

  “What manner of warriors does this world employ?” I hissed to Pride over the careening of the enemy’s sonic assault. “Do they think to fell us with a few loud noises? I will slay them all.” I could feel the familiar bloodlust rising within me. How long had it been since I last watched the mist of death roll over a victim’s eyes? Too long by far.

  “Perhaps we should flee rather than stand and fight,” my Viceguard suggested. “We know nothing of this world. What we see may be a mere distraction, a scouting party in advance of the main forces. We should be prudent and learn more before leaping to battle.”

  I frowned, flexing my fingers in and out of fists. I wanted to break necks and shed buckets of blood. But there was wisdom in her words.

  “Veil us,” I breathed as I led the way toward the nearest building. My elf queen’s response was immediate. As her glamor settled around us, our appearances to the others shifted to that of two ordinary people, garbed for their world, rather than two godlike strangers in battle armor wielding weapons. Thus was the power of her False Pride charm.

  More people stood by, shouting as we neared the building, and another chariot swerved away from us in a brazen display of cowardice. It careened into another vehicle, creating a debacle into which a third crashed, and then a fourth. Before long, most of the open road was blocked, and angry riders climbed out of their chariots. What witchcraft propelled these chariots at such speeds so inelegantly?

  “We should depart from here,” Pride whispered at my side. “Even with the illusion in place, people are still staring.”

  “Let them look,” I said. “I wish to witness what transpires here.”

  “At least come away from the open. Here, let us take a defensible position.” She led me to the dead end of an alleyway between two massive blockish buildings and crouched in the shadows. I leaned casually against the wall and watched the ongoing clamor.

  A new metal chariot showed up, this one painted black and white with a colored torch flashing and an eerie horn wailing.

  “Those must be the guards of this world,” Pride hissed. “Let us leave this place! We are almost certainly violating some law or rule of the land.”

  “What, you fear a measly watchman or two?” I scoffed. “What will they do? Rouse these cowardly folk to turn against us?” I could scarcely believe the lack of backbone in the people surrounding me. Even with my great strength, if they had all brought their might and their iron chariots to bear, Pride and I might have been crushed. But instead they fled like minnows from a shark. They required a stern hand to guide them. They required a ruler.

  A blue-uniformed man climbed out of the black and white vehicle and approached the people at the cluster of unmoving chariots, speaking to them in a loud voice. They responded in even louder tones, shouting and waving, then pointing, first at the uncovered shaft in the middle of the road and next at the alley where Pride and I lingered. The watchman in blue nodded, making placating gestures at them, before approaching us. He kept his hands upraised. His voice was calm and clear. I had never heard the language before, but that did not matter. It was as familiar to me as my mother tongue, as were all sentient languages.

  “Sir?” he asked. “Ma’am? I need to ask you both to step out into the open, please. Are you alright? Have you taken anything today? You’re not in trouble, I just want to make sure everyone stays safe. If I know what you took, I can make sure that both of you get to go home at the end of the day. Is that what you’d like?”

  “We must go,” Pride hissed, and I silently agreed. We stepped out of the alley and moved swiftly away from the guardsman.

  “Hey!” he shouted. I glanced back and saw him draw a short, stubby weapon, pointing it at us as if it were a crossbow. “Stop, or I’ll be forced to shoot!”

  Pride kept running. I stopped. I turned. I charged.

  I saw the same look of terror in the watchman’s eyes as I had seen in the other charioteers. None of them had any courage, not even their guards. His hands twitched, and his weapon discharged with a small explosion. I blinked as I felt a sudden impact against my chestplate. It was not strong enough to stop me in place, but it was not a childish blow, either. The guard attacked again and again. The tiny projectiles glanced harmlessly off my armor. I continued my advance, and the last shot before the weapon ceased working grazed my cheek.

  It did nothing. I smiled. So the weapons of this world were as weak as its people’s wills.

  My relentless forward path brought me face to face with the man in blue. His eyes bulged in fear and disbelief, for to his eyes, I was as mundane as he. I reached out with my left ha
nd and clutched the barrel of his weapon, crumpling it with the strength of my grip. My right hand followed my left, and I broke his arm at the elbow, cherishing the cry of agony that ripped from his throat. He found his will to live, then. He turned and tried to run, the broken arm flapping at his side like a baby bird’s wing.

  I broke his neck as easily as snapping a twig, letting the body drop carelessly by the side of the road.

  “My lord!” Pride hissed urgently from the nearest corner. “Listen!” In the distance I heard the familiar sound of the guardsmen’s chariots.

  More. I licked my lips and flexed my hands.

  “They bear the heraldry of the one you slew,” she cried. “I warned you that what we saw was not the main force of their warriors!”

  “Good,” I growled. “Let them come. I feel a powerful thirst, and only red water will quench it.”

  “This is not the time to prove your worth in pointless battle,” she stormed, striding back to me and grabbing my elbow. “We should leave now, before the entirety of this kingdom’s guard crashes down upon us. Rest assured, they will pursue us. We can make ready.”

  I felt the fire within me dampen slightly. She spoke true, prudent words, as always. I gave one last, longing look to the corpse in the gutter, but I knew there would be others... and a wise warrior chose the field of his battles.

  “Let us go, then,” I said, and we raced around the corner and into a new alley. This one was not a dead end, and we followed its shadowy twists and turns until we could no longer hear the wailing chariots.

  Chapter 5

  Under my order, Pride altered the illusion, so that we appeared as two different citizens of the strange world. At first we clung to the shadows, never venturing far from their familiarity and protection. But as we realized that the illusions were working, we moved out into the light and open areas. We explored all that the vast city had to offer, confused and amazed by the vast blockish buildings and intertwining streets full of speedy chariots and wagons.