The halls and staircases leading to Caer Gobiyth's gates were littered with collapsed bodies. Most were unconscious, collapsed from exhaustion after having their life force nearly completely sapped. Those that had resisted were dead.
Merlin could hardly walk and leaned his whole weight on his staff. He shuffled as quickly as he could, knowing that if he lagged he would be disposed of. He had failed Faeryum utterly but there would be no hope if he perished. As grim as the future looked, Merlin never lost hope. Selvina, despite being banished from this world, was yet alive. As long as she lived, wherever she was, there was a sliver of a hope. It was hardly one but it was the only one and Merlin would not ignore it.
At his side walked Iktarosh, the god of conquest, his power slowly restoring with every bit of life force he absorbed. Merlin understood the god sapped the energy stored in every being's soul, effectively conquering their spirit and transferring some its power to his own body. Strong-willed victims were more difficult to subdue but Iktarosh was a god and always won out in the end. Merlin knew that from experience.
He closed his eyes and the memory of his failure immediately sprang up. He saw himself turning, guiding the portal with him, and then saw himself launching it toward a stunned Selvina. She had had no chance of avoiding it. It had consumed her fully and completely removed her existence from Faeryum. Merlin had created the spell with hopes of sending Iktarosh somewhere he could not return from but instead it had taken Selvina.
He tried to recall the final words he had uttered but his memory was clouded. Those final words had not been his own, as if his mouth had uttered them without his knowledge or intent. Confused at first, he now understood the Writer had manipulated him, just as he had done with Accolon. Those final words of the spell were the clue he needed to find Selvina's location but try as he might, he could not remember them.
The wizard glanced past the god at the other being beside him. Legatus Accolon, commander of Noyr's legions, walked with difficulty beside the god, using his sword as a cane. He looked much like Merlin did, his skin sallow, face sunken, and eyes fogged over. The god had not killed them, being aware of their usefulness, but he had only barely let them live.
Like loyal servants, the guards at the front gates opened them wide, giving the striding god a wide berth. Horns had been blown and trumpets called as word spread across Corbeau that Noyr's true leader had come to them. A great gathering of Noyrans had crowded at the gates of Caer Gobiyth to witness the spectacle. Being worshippers of the Iktaroshan religion, the Noyrans were eager to see the truth of the rumour that their god had come to them.
Iktarosh folded his wings alongside his body and Merlin watched as they flattened and thinned into a long, black cape, clasped at the front of the god's body. The god himself shrunk in height slightly and became more humanoid in form. Upon his legs his skin hardened into plates of armour and his feet became like iron boots. His horns grew smaller, curled, and wrapped around his head like a bony crown and within moments the god appeared like a true sovereign.
A herald walked forward, spreading his arms wide and gathering attention to himself. It failed utterly as everyone's gaze was firmly fixed on the god, mouths agape and eyes wide.
"Hark, citizens of Corbeau and fellow Noyrans!" the herald cried. "I present to you Iktarosh, God of Conquest, in his truest form. He stands before us as our new ruler and as our true lord! He will guide our empire in an age of prosperity we could only dream about! Bow to him! Kneel to him! Worship your god-king for he is returned and he is mighty!"
Then, like sheep in a herd, every man, woman, and child present dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. Human, elf, and dwarf alike, all swore fealty to their new ruler. No questions were asked about the empress. No one questioned the rule of a god. The empress had given the Noyrans a prosperous and powerful empire but that didn't matter anymore. Iktarosh was alive and standing before them. He was a god. He would give them more.
Merlin glanced once more at Accolon and the elf met his gaze, shaking his head ever so slightly. He had failed his people and it seemed now that they had failed him as well. The wizard dared to glance at Iktarosh and noticed the god was smiling and his eyes were glowing.
Of course, Merlin thought grimly, he is manipulating them. He is enforcing his will upon them. No wonder there is no dispute to his rule. His power is growing more quickly than I imagined it could...
The god stepped forward and gazed down at his subjects. Then, in a loud voice that carried itself over miles, the god spoke. "My loyal subjects, submit to my will and I will expand Noyr's borders across the world. Submit to me and I will bring you greatness beyond comprehension! You dub me the god of conquest, and I shall live up to the name.
"Your past ruler was clever and powerful but far too cautious. She has our armies waiting for better weather, as if a bit of snow is too much for them. I say we march onward! Why wait? The world is ripe for plucking. I say we take it all now! Obey me and you will be rewarded richly. Fight for me and you will know what it is to be a god. You will know what it is to stand in the shadow of greatness! The world is ours! We simply need to reach out and grasp it!
"I am Iktarosh and I bow to no one. I am Iktarosh and I will claim what is mine. All those who resist will fall. All those who resist will die. I have returned and I will not be denied!"
Like brainwashed fools, Merlin watched with distaste as everyone cheered. He understood they were under the god's influence but was disappointed nonetheless. He would have expected better from the stubborn and implacable Noyrans. This was their god, however, and Merlin assumed it probably took little power from Iktarosh to sway the Noyrans to his cause. It was possible that the god had used no power at all and the Noyrans were submitting to him without any need for persuasion or manipulation. They worshipped him, prayed to him, fought for him, lived their lives for him, and now he was here before them, in the flesh, as their ruler. Their acceptance to his rule was absolute.
With so many willing subjects, Iktarosh's power would only grow that much more rapidly. Each nation that fell under the heel of Iktarosh would only supply him with more subjects and more life force. Iktarosh was the god of conquest; the more he conquered, the more powerful he became. He had already claimed Corbeau's people and his influence would swiftly spread throughout Noyr. The rest of Faeryum would not be far behind.
What could be done then? How could a god of conquest be stopped? What hope did anyone in Faeryum have? What hope did everyone in the rest of the world have? What hope did anyone have?
Merlin glanced over at Accolon once more and felt his heart ache.
The general was weeping.
****
A cold wind blew as low clouds flew swiftly by as Artemian the huntsman and trophy hunter Allan Quatermain walked through the narrow, muddy streets of a small, Noyran seaside town. Captain Nemo and his dwarven crew had stayed behind with their submersible. They would spend all the time they needed to repair it and resume their voyage. The hunters, however, had had other plans.
Artemian approached a signboard littered with parchment and paper nailed on its surface. Some detailed current events while others warned of brigand and highwayman sightings. A select few, however, were exactly what he was looking for: bounties. Allan examined them as well though both men were having difficulty concentrating with all the commotion happening within the inn.
"Artemian, look," Allan said, glancing over to the side.
The huntsman gazed over and was surprised to see that the inn had suffered heavily damage. There was an ox-sized hole in the roof and a broken window that were both freshly boarded up along with a number of broken chairs and tables piled in the alley. Peering inside the inn the two men noticed that there were what looked like claw marks scratched on the wall in several places. It appeared as if an amazingly violent brawl had taken place.
Artemian glanced back at the bounties and noticed that a man dressed in a black cloak and wearing a black wide-brimmed hat was eyeing one intently. He had the pale skin and copper hair common for a man of Avalon, marking him as a traveller. The huntsman followed the man's gaze and his heart stopped as he saw the bounty. On the parchment was the drawing of a woman he knew all too well and the words "were-beast, extremely dangerous" in large, bold letters.
"Belle," Artemian whispered to Allan as he reached for the parchment.
The black-dressed man grabbed it first and ripped it from its nail, eyeing Belle's drawing closer. "Belle, you say," the man said with a grin, overhearing the whisper. "So that is her name."
"What's it to you?" Artemian growled. He only then just noticed the flintlock pistols at the man's waist and the long musket slung over his shoulder. He was a hunter.
"She caused all of this, you know," the man said, nodding to the inn. "Heard from the innkeeper that she came in nearly a week ago, asking for information about someone. If she is as beautiful as she is on this drawing then it is no surprise that she would be approached by many men, as he said she was. I don't believe I need to tell you what happened next."
Artemian and Allan exchanged a cautious glance. The man was interested in hunting Belle, and that wasn't good for business. Artemian already disliked the idea of travelling with Allan but having to compete against this man was too much. He needed to reach Belle first. He needed to find Beast and he needed to kill him. No one else!
"Find another bounty," Artemian said to him in a hard tone. "I'm already on this hunt."
The man chuckled. "Normally I don't care for bounties on men or women. She is a special case, however, being a were-beast. Where a wicked creature threatens the lives of the gods' fearing races, I will be there to put a stop to them. I urge you, politely, to stay out of my way."
The man made to leave but Artemian reached out and placed his hand on the man's chest, holding him back. "I don't think you heard me, Avalonian, but this is my hunt. Go find yourself another."
"Artemian," Allan warned. "I wouldn't do that."
The dark-cloaked man looked down at Artemian's hand and casually brushed it aside. "Listen to the boy, Artemian the Failed, and leave the monster hunts to me. From what I heard, were-beast women are your weakness." He gave Artemian a wink and tipped his hat to Allan before walking away, his black cloak swaying behind him.
Artemian eyed Allan with fire in his eyes. He growled a single word. "Why?"
Allan watched the black-cloaked hunter disappear into the crowd walking the streets before meeting Artemian's gaze. "I know that man. He is quite famous in Avalon. He's a monster hunter and is one of the best, if not the best. If we're to find Belle we had best get moving and reach her first. He's not someone you want to cross again."
"Who is he?" Artemian said, his voice losing some of its hardness.
"His name," Allan started, glancing down the street in hopes of seeing the man again, "is Van Helsing."
****
South of the seaside town, across the New Avalonian border, Queen Marian and King Arthur walked along the northern wall of Maron. The city was still a long way from being rebuilt but the walls at least were mostly finished. The sound of banging hammers, slicing saws, and scooping shovels filled the air. The men and women of New Avalon were forever busy repairing the city. Avalon's knights and soldiers were helping them and they were all making good progress.
"Have you heard anything from Merlin?" she asked the Avalonian king. "He's been gone for days now."
King Arthur shook his head. "I fear that I have not, Marian. It troubles me as he oftentimes speaks to me in my dreams when he is gone from me for an extended period. He was only going to see how Selvina was doing in Corbeau. He should have returned by now. His absence worries me."
"Could we be wrong, Arthur? Could the empress mean harm to Selvina? Have we done a mistake in not going after her?"
King Arthur sighed deeply. "I do not know. I have prayed to the gods every morning and night for Selvina's safety but I know nothing of their plans. I do not understand why the empress would take Selvina to kill her when she could have done that on the forest road."
"Something is wrong, I can feel it."
King Arthur eyed Queen Marian and nodded. "As do I. I believe we may have to send out a rescue party to Corbeau. If we can—"
"No time for that," Queen Marian said as she looked up.
"Why not?" Arthur asked curiously.
Queen Marian pointed to the sky, where the season's first snowflakes were falling lazily to the ground. "Winter is here, your highness. Sworden's armies will not be far behind."
King Arthur shook his head. Marian knew as we all as he did that they were not in a strong enough defensive position to hold out against Sworden's raids for long. When spring returned there may be no army left in New Avalon to challenge the empress. Her war would be won.
"Gods save us," King Arthur prayed before bowing his head, the old king appearing much older than he was.
For the first time in her life, Marian gazed up at the snowflake-filled sky and made a prayer of her own.
If you're out there, help us.