the Iron Claw, the blade he'd used in the forest so many times.
"Forgive me, Father…"
He sobbed as he drove the blade down.
His father screamed.
Nemes wept as he worked.
When his father lay dead, Nemes stood and raised the bloody key and screamed.
"I passed the test!" His tears mingled with his blood. "I have the key! I am Nemes, a servant of Legion! The nephilim will swarm again, and the weredragons will die. They will beg and weep and I will crush them for their sins!"
He left the chamber, laughing and weeping, key held high. As he descended the stairs, he uttered the Old Words, and the shadows of his lord cloaked him. The smoky serpents writhed around him, a new cloak, a mantle of his glory. Soon the nephilim themselves would flow around him.
He passed the chamber where the mother lay dead, her babe impaled. He passed the chamber where the dog lay crushed and burnt. He entered the ground floor where the obese diner hissed and glared and smacked his lips. Nemes approached the demon, thrust his Iron Claw forward, and sliced the creature open from collarbone to navel. He laughed as bloody snakes fled the beast, leaving its sagging skin like creatures hatching from an egg. Now it was Nemes who feasted at this table. Now it was Nemes who ruled this tower and its secrets.
He stepped outside into the night, laughed, and raised the key. Lighting crashed into it, lighting the desert. Nemes saw Solina, her men, the endless leagues of sand and rock. Wind shrieked, blowing back his hair.
"The key, Nemes!" Solina shouted in the storm. She reached out for it. "Hand me the key and the trophies of Tiranor will be yours."
He stood in the tower doorway, laughing, the wind roaring. The shadows swirled and laughed around him.
"The key!" he said. "You want the key."
And why should he share it? Why should he, Nemes, give this desert queen her prize?
I can free the nephilim myself! This power can be mine, not hers. Why should I still serve? For years I knelt! For years I groveled. Now Nemes can rule; with the nephilim, no power could oppose me.
"The key, Nemes!" Solina demanded.
He laughed and snarled. "Why should I give it to you? Will you beg me, Solina? Will you kneel and—"
She leaped toward him.
Her blade flashed.
Nemes tried to pull back. She was so fast. She was a streak of gold and steel.
He screamed.
When her blade severed his arm, blood sprayed in a mist. His arm tumbled. His hand still clutched the key when it hit the ground.
"You will die for this!" Nemes screamed, clutching the stump.
Solina knelt by his severed arm. She wrenched the key free from his fingers.
"Chain him up!" she shouted to her men. "Drag him in irons to Irys. He will see the glory of the nephilim before we hang him to die upon the walls."
The guards stepped toward him, chains in their hands. Nemes hissed and turned to flee. He fell. His blood spurted. Hands grabbed him, yanked him up, and Nemes screamed before his eyes rolled back and darkness spread across him.
My glory… my power… I promised it to him.
"I'm sorry, Father," he whispered. "I'm sorry…"
Demons laughed, and dark claws grabbed him, and his soul sank into a long black night.
TREALE
"Pomegranates, fresh pomegranates, grab one to eat!" cried the boy.
He stood upon the banks of the River Pallan, a scrawny thing with deep golden skin, holding a basket laden with the red treasures.
"Grab a pomegranate, a copper a fruit!" he shouted.
Around the boy, a dozen other children stood upon the boardwalk, hawking their own wares from baskets. Behind them, longships rowed up and down the river, laden with more baskets and crates of goods.
"Carobs, dried carobs!"
"Fresh oysters, grab them while they're fresh!"
"Seashell bracelets for fertility! Wear them in bed for healthy babes!"
Treale stood upon the cobbled boardwalk, shaded under the awning of a chandlery. She wore her dark
"Forgive me, Father…"
He sobbed as he drove the blade down.
His father screamed.
Nemes wept as he worked.
When his father lay dead, Nemes stood and raised the bloody key and screamed.
"I passed the test!" His tears mingled with his blood. "I have the key! I am Nemes, a servant of Legion! The nephilim will swarm again, and the weredragons will die. They will beg and weep and I will crush them for their sins!"
He left the chamber, laughing and weeping, key held high. As he descended the stairs, he uttered the Old Words, and the shadows of his lord cloaked him. The smoky serpents writhed around him, a new cloak, a mantle of his glory. Soon the nephilim themselves would flow around him.
He passed the chamber where the mother lay dead, her babe impaled. He passed the chamber where the dog lay crushed and burnt. He entered the ground floor where the obese diner hissed and glared and smacked his lips. Nemes approached the demon, thrust his Iron Claw forward, and sliced the creature open from collarbone to navel. He laughed as bloody snakes fled the beast, leaving its sagging skin like creatures hatching from an egg. Now it was Nemes who feasted at this table. Now it was Nemes who ruled this tower and its secrets.
He stepped outside into the night, laughed, and raised the key. Lighting crashed into it, lighting the desert. Nemes saw Solina, her men, the endless leagues of sand and rock. Wind shrieked, blowing back his hair.
"The key, Nemes!" Solina shouted in the storm. She reached out for it. "Hand me the key and the trophies of Tiranor will be yours."
He stood in the tower doorway, laughing, the wind roaring. The shadows swirled and laughed around him.
"The key!" he said. "You want the key."
And why should he share it? Why should he, Nemes, give this desert queen her prize?
I can free the nephilim myself! This power can be mine, not hers. Why should I still serve? For years I knelt! For years I groveled. Now Nemes can rule; with the nephilim, no power could oppose me.
"The key, Nemes!" Solina demanded.
He laughed and snarled. "Why should I give it to you? Will you beg me, Solina? Will you kneel and—"
She leaped toward him.
Her blade flashed.
Nemes tried to pull back. She was so fast. She was a streak of gold and steel.
He screamed.
When her blade severed his arm, blood sprayed in a mist. His arm tumbled. His hand still clutched the key when it hit the ground.
"You will die for this!" Nemes screamed, clutching the stump.
Solina knelt by his severed arm. She wrenched the key free from his fingers.
"Chain him up!" she shouted to her men. "Drag him in irons to Irys. He will see the glory of the nephilim before we hang him to die upon the walls."
The guards stepped toward him, chains in their hands. Nemes hissed and turned to flee. He fell. His blood spurted. Hands grabbed him, yanked him up, and Nemes screamed before his eyes rolled back and darkness spread across him.
My glory… my power… I promised it to him.
"I'm sorry, Father," he whispered. "I'm sorry…"
Demons laughed, and dark claws grabbed him, and his soul sank into a long black night.
TREALE
"Pomegranates, fresh pomegranates, grab one to eat!" cried the boy.
He stood upon the banks of the River Pallan, a scrawny thing with deep golden skin, holding a basket laden with the red treasures.
"Grab a pomegranate, a copper a fruit!" he shouted.
Around the boy, a dozen other children stood upon the boardwalk, hawking their own wares from baskets. Behind them, longships rowed up and down the river, laden with more baskets and crates of goods.
"Carobs, dried carobs!"
"Fresh oysters, grab them while they're fresh!"
"Seashell bracelets for fertility! Wear them in bed for healthy babes!"
Treale stood upon the cobbled boardwalk, shaded under the awning of a chandlery. She wore her dark
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