Three nights earlier

  "Tonight, the balance shifts," Crimson Ruby had said before their departure. "Return successful, and the first act of my revenge concludes." The Dracolich's hollow eye socket pulsed. "Fail me, and the consequences will echo beyond death itself."

  Miikka and Vardan cleaved through darkness atop Shadow-Mane. They plunged into the night.

  Below them stretched the Realm's Road. A circular highway of glowing stones. Lord Thaddeus Windrider's cavaliers patrolled the ring route while sorcerers kept the magical lights aglow. They avoided the patrolled route, keeping to the shadows beyond the cavaliers' watchful eyes.

  Neither dared speak of their mission where magical ears might listen.

  The wind howled with savage intensity. Miikka tightened his grip on Vardan's cloak. His tiny hands barely clutched enough fabric to stay secure.

  His diminutive frame nearly swept away with each gust.

  "Steady your beast, Vardan!"

  Shadow-Mane's massive wings battled the raging air currents. Each powerful beat jarred Miikka with every movement. The Halfling's wiry body clung desperately to the winged horse's sleek back, his short legs barely gripping its powerful sides. The creature's enormous breadth dwarfed his tiny frame as he strained every muscle to maintain his precarious position, finding it impossible to achieve any proper balance.

  "Next time, I'll hitch a ride with something smaller," he said. "Preferably something less inclined to throw me into a ravine." His fingers twitched with nervous energy. The coin remained safely tucked in his pocket.

  "You're not my master," Vardan said, his voice a hissing whisper that slid beneath the wind's roar.

  Crimson Ruby's twisted schemes ensnared Miikka. He gripped the leather straps even tighter. His white knuckles betrayed the anxiety his cocky grin tried to hide. No amount of charm could mask his inner turmoil.

  Flying high in the night sky, Miikka gazed down at the world stretching endlessly below. The vast landscape shrank him to nothing. He clung to the winged horse's back, a speck atop a magnificent creature controlled by a man he despised.

  Vardan sat tall in the saddle above him. His back remained rigid with anticipation. Cold eyes gleamed with unholy excitement in the moonlight. The prospect of harvesting Pulse Fire Nodules fueled his twisted desires. His body betrayed his eagerness for the grim task ahead.

  Vardan leaned forward, predatory. His voice slithered back through the charged air. "Ever carved out a Pulse Fire Nodule, Miikka?" he asked. He fidgeted with his gloved hands. Each gesture pulled at invisible strings. The question lingered like venom between them.

  Miikka clung to Vardan's waist. His tiny fingers clutched at the leather straps crossing Vardan's back. The wind howled. Shadow-Mane's enormous wings cut through the night air.

  They flew over the sprawling orcish camp below. Campfires pocked the darkness like scattered embers. Smoke curled upward from each pit. The smell of charred meat and damp forest rose to meet them

  Vardan's hair danced wildly in the night wind as he spotted the Orcs below. His eyes fixed upon them with undisguised contempt. "Sweet dreams, Orc filth," he said, his voice carrying on the breeze. He spotted a clearing and guided Shadow-Mane toward it.

  "Land somewhere safe, Vardan," Miikka said over the rushing wind. "Not too close to their sentries. I'd hate for your stupidity to get us killed before work begins."

  Vardan, as always, said nothing in response. He focused ahead. Miikka hated that about him. He hated everything about Vardan.

  The rigid backbone that never bent. The self-righteous silence that never broke. The fact that only Shadow-Mane tolerated his presence. And, of course, Shadow-Mane would accept anyone who brought food.

  Shadow-Mane dove without warning toward the earth below. The sudden movement jostled Miikka. One hand clutched the saddle while the other dug into Vardan's cloak.

  The familiar weight of the coin in his pocket reminded him of his lifeline. It would ground him once his feet touched earth again.

  Swift-River tracked roots and blossoms well, Miikka thought. Plants whispered secrets that only she could hear. Her natural intuition had freed her from Crimson Ruby's grasp.

  Meanwhile, he remained trapped in the dragon's service. He still pulled apart Crimson Ruby's tangled schemes. Thread by thread, he worked. Yet he remained too blind to see the whole terrible picture.

  A smirk curdled on Vardan's pale face. "I'm not your puppet to be commanded," he said. He angled the winged beast upward toward the starlight. His eyes found a suitable clearing among the trees. Shadow-Mane descended as quietly as a whisper on the wind.

  Shadow-Mane crouched low after landing. His wings folded. The wilderness stirred around them. Night sounds cloaked the slumbering Orc tribe.

  Miikka slid off the beast's back. His small stature let him drop silently to the ground where larger creatures like humans or Orcs would have snapped twigs or rustled leaves. His boots barely brushed against the soft moss.

  He moved cat-quiet through the shadows. Each step followed a deliberate purpose. Now safely on the ground, he pulled out his coin. The metal caught moonlight as he worked it across his knuckles. His other hand drew his dagger, moonlight glinting off the blade.

  "Remember," Miikka said, glancing over his shoulder at Vardan. "No bloodshed tonight, understood? We're shadows, mate. Not barbarians crashing someone's dinner celebration."

  Miikka hated this situation. Crimson Ruby's strings pulled him like a puppet. He might stand small in stature. But he didn't appreciate being treated like a pawn.

  His usual charm couldn't ease. Everything about this mission was wrong.

  With a wicked grin, Vardan produced a small vial. The shimmering red liquid caught the moonlight.

  "Crimson Ruby's orders," Vardan said with undisguised malice. "Poison their supplies until they wither in agony."

  Revulsion and rage burned in Miikka's eyes. He snatched the vile viscous fluid from Vardan's outstretched hand. His tiny fingers curled around the deadly vial.

  The coin reappeared in his other hand almost magically. It spun frantically between his fingers.

  "No murder, and don't get caught," he said through clenched teeth. "I will not save you."

  Then, Miikka vanished into the darkness without another sound. The shadows welcomed him like an old friend as his eyes scanned the night sky for any sign of Ivory, the Dracolich's skeletal sentinel. Yet Crimson Ruby's command still bound him to this hateful task.

  Life's a rumble, he thought. Here's hoping this particular tumble doesn't turn bloody. He disappeared into the night. The faint glimmer of his dagger vanished.

  "Power lies not in strength," Vardan said to the empty air. His voice barely disturbed the night's stillness. "But in knowing precisely when to strike." His boots kissed the earth with each careful step.

  He moved toward the Orcs' campsite with predatory patience. Their guttural voices carried on the night wind. They sounded rough and careless to his ears. A perfect symphony of misplaced confidence surrounded the camp.

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  Vardan thrived on moments like this. Moments when enemies had no inkling of approaching danger. Moments before nightmares unfolded and chaos reigned supreme.

  Crouching behind an ancient oak, he withdrew another thin vial. It glinted in the moonlight with sickly purpose. Its contents swirled with a diseased green hue.

  The magic contained enough potency to seep into sleeping minds. It would twist dreams into realms of unbearable torment. Vardan savored the thought of their suffering.

  He tossed the vial with a flick of his wrist. It shattered against a smoldering log in the fire pit. The mist rose. But Vardan could see the enchantment taking hold immediately.

  Rotating his dagger, Vardan spoke words of power. "Dream deep, my napping Orcs," he said. The spell would ensure their slumber remained undisturbed by normal means.

  One by one, the Orcs' heads lolled to the side. They grew heavy with unnatural sleep. Their weapons slipped from suddenly slackened hands.

  "Sweet dreams," Vardan said.

  Under the moonlit sky, Vardan crept among the sleeping Orcs. His eyes gleamed with malevolent delight. He extended a skeletal finger laden with dark magic. It traced patterns across a resting Orc's temple.

  Sinister energy pulsed from his fingertip. It slithered into the Orc's unprotected mind. The creature twitched violently. A grimace contorted its features.

  Vardan's vicious charm orchestrated each torment.

  His lip curled back from his teeth. His breathing quickened. There. A slumbering Orc child lay partially hidden beneath furs. His eyes locked on the small form.

  Another harvest. Another collection run while Ruby hoards the real secrets.

  The thought soured his triumph. Vardan drew the sigils in the air above the child's chest, the familiar motions mechanical after so many extractions. Ruby had taught him the basics. Always the basics. The extraction process. The corruption ritual. The proper incantations to separate life-force from flesh.

  Never the architecture.

  "Anchors bind the network," Ruby had said once, drunk on power after a successful campaign. "Synchronization creates the chain. Harmonic resonance amplifies control."

  Words. Fragments. Crumbs tossed to a faithful dog.

  Vardan understood extraction. He excelled at corruption. But the system that transformed individual harvests into Ruby's vast undead army? The network that let one dracolich command thousands of zombies across hundreds of miles? That knowledge Ruby clutched like a miser counting gold.

  I am merely a gatherer. A farmhand harvesting crops for a master who refuses to explain what the harvest feeds.

  The resentment burned cold in his chest. He had served Ruby faithfully for decades. Provided hundreds of nodules. Perfected techniques that made extraction nearly painless for the collector, if not the collected. Yet Ruby still treated him as a tool rather than a partner.

  Someday, Vardan promised himself. Someday I will learn the synchronization. The binding. The chain mechanics that turn raw power into controlled armies.

  But not tonight. Tonight, he had simpler work.

  "Purified, they heal. Corrupted..." Vardan's lips stretched into a cruel smile as he approached the child. "They serve a darker purpose entirely." His blade hummed with anticipation. "And extracted from the living? So much more potent than scraping dregs from corpses."

  Vardan cast another spell. It pushed the youngling deeper into supernatural sleep. In the eerie glow of night, his cold steel blade emerged. It danced in the moonlight.

  The blade hummed a song of imminent extraction as it neared the child. Vardan reveled in the silent operation. His heart pulsed rapidly as he prepared to remove the Pulse Fire Nodule.

  His power would grow with each heartbeat stolen from its rightful owner. The thought intoxicated him.

  Miikka saw what Vardan could not in his hunger for power. Blind obsession with harvesting the Pulse Fire Nodule consumed him. The sleeping Orc child wore a distinctive pendant. The same one Miikka had watched Roar'Z himself bestow upon the youth during a ceremony of honor. The symbol marked the warlord's personal guard. This was no ordinary child, but a celebrated young hero of the tribe.

  This wasn't just a ritual now. It would potentially spark everything. Swift-River's warnings about Crimson Ruby's return would find confirmation tonight. The careful balance maintained since the dragon war would shatter completely.

  Miikka moved silently toward Vardan's hunched form. The coin in his hand had stopped spinning. Some decisions transcended calculation. As Vardan prepared for the final cut, Miikka's shadow fell across his work.

  "You fool. That's one of the heroes who fought against Crimson Ruby in the dragon war," Miikka said. "Roar'Z's honored champion."

  Startled by the sudden voice, Vardan spun around. His shocked eyes met Miikka's stone-hard expression. The unexpected interruption caused Vardan's hand to slip. The blade pierced the Nodule with unintended force. It penetrated straight into the child's heart.

  The potent energy within sparkled briefly. Then it fizzled out completely. Horror dawned on his face. The child's death would set forces in motion that not even Crimson Ruby could control.

  The air reeked of iron and damp earth as blood pooled around the child. Miikka staggered back from the horrific scene. Vardan stood frozen, his hands still on the blade.

  "What have you done?" Miikka asked, his voice barely audible.

  Rage, not fear, twisted Miikka's stomach. The coin forgotten, his hand moved to his dagger.

  "You thought I'd let you harvest children for power?" he asked. His voice remained low but sharp.

  Vardan's face contorted with rage.

  "You fool! Your interference killed the child," he said. "Not my expertise. This nodule would have served our master well."

  "You're taller, sure," Miikka said. "But I've perfected taking down threats bigger than me." He stepped closer. The moonlight caught the gleam of his drawn dagger.

  Vardan straightened. "You're too late to change anything," he said. "This death will be on your conscience, not mine…"

  Miikka silenced him with a bold, cutting laugh. "Save your excuses," he said. He gestured toward the tree line with his blade. "Hear that? The guards are coming. Your little ritual just became your execution."

  Vardan hesitated, movement in the underbrush. The crunch of leaves and snap of twigs grew louder.

  "Power at the expense of a child's life?" Miikka asked with disgust. "Your values, not mine. Not even for an Orc." He spat on the ground.

  In an uncontrolled rage, Vardan lunged toward Miikka. His blade.

  "Thieving rat!" he shouted, abandoning all pretense of stealth. His blade sliced through empty air where Miikka had stood.

  A harsh, guttural Orcish gabble pierced the night's stillness. It wasn't the chaotic noise of random warriors. These were the disciplined commands of Roar'Z's trained lieutenants. "Secure the perimeter! Protect the younglings

  "Orcs," Miikka said, his voice barely audible.

  Miikka and Vardan dashed toward the forest's edge. Their hearts raced with the sudden danger. They weaved through the slumbering horde with desperate speed. Both made a direct line toward the waiting winged steed.

  Miikka's small size allowed him to slip between sleeping bodies. His footfalls landed light as feathers on the forest floor. Vardan struggled to match his agility through the camp. Panic made him clumsy, where precision was needed most.

  Vardan stumbled over a snoring female Orc. He crashed to the ground. A stack of weapons clattered loudly as he knocked them over.

  A massive Orc warrior's head snapped. His eyes blazed with alert fury. Warriors converged on the disturbance.

  Nearby, another pair of Orc eyes fixed on a terrible sight. They glowed red. The child's misshapen heart lay glistening. Vardan had dropped it.

  The warrior recognized the ritual implements scattered beside the child's body. The curved blade and obsidian bowl matched descriptions from their scouts.

  "These are the tools of Crimson Ruby's acolytes," the warrior said.

  The warrior roared. "The dragon rises!"

  The hunting party transformed. Years of battle experience guided their swift response.

  Vardan stood discovered. Shadows and starlight revealed his trapped form. Orc warriors encircled him, weapons ready. His fate was sealed.

  RiaDaa, Roar'Z's elite commander, stepped forward. Her eyes narrowed at the glistening heart.

  "Look what crawls from the shadows," RiaDaa said. "A servant of the dead dragon." She seized Vardan's ritual dagger. "The dragon sends its puppets," she said to her warriors. "Crimson Ruby lives." The blade that had harvested innocent lives now pressed against his throat.

  The words rippled through the gathering Orcs. Battle-hardened warriors exchanged glances of grim understanding. Their greatest enemy had returned from death itself. The war they thought won had merely paused.

  RiaDaa's fingers closed around Vardan's throat.

  "You will tell us everything," she said. "Every plan, every hiding place. Every secret your master keeps." Her warriors bound him. The interrogation would begin before dawn.

  In the shadows beyond the clearing, Miikka crouched. The coin spun frantically between his fingers now. His quick eyes tracked every. The words "Crimson Ruby lives" echoed in his mind.

  Everything had changed. The Orcs had seen the evidence with their own eyes. Adamar and the Druids still traded theories and whispered suspicions. Swift-River's warning would come too late. Crimson Ruby's measured revenge plan would accelerate into open war. The Puppet Master would demand blood for this failure.

  A choice crystallized in Miikka's mind. Return to Crimson Ruby with news of failure and face his wrath. Or try to find Swift-River and the Druids to warn them. His eyes darted to the night sky.

  Ivory lurked out there somewhere. The Dracolich's skeletal sentinel with her hollow eye sockets missed nothing. Her bone wings would carry Crimson Ruby's wrath swiftly. There existed no vanishing from her gaze. The coin spun. Duty or defiance?

  He watched Vardan face the consequences of his vile actions. This night had transformed from mission to catastrophe.

  "Swift-River was right all along," he said to the darkness. "The realms need to know what's coming." He made his decision. Some warnings were worth any risk.

  The coin caught the moonlight one final time. He closed his fist around it. Miikka's lips curled into a grim, determined smile. Life's a rumble indeed. And this one had just upended the entire game board.

  As he slipped away through the shadows, Vardan's screams began to pierce the night. The Orcs extracted the first answers. By dawn, Vardan would have nothing left to hide. By daylight, the Realm would begin to tremble.

  The age of shadows and whispers had ended. The time for open confrontation had come.

  Next time: The Orcs know. The Druids don't. And Miikka runs out of shadows.

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