The Eye of Verishten

K.E. Barron

© 2017 K.E. Barron

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information browsing, storage, or retrieval system, without permission in writing from K.E. Barron.

Foul Fantasy Fiction, an imprint of Bear Hill Publishing

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Edmonton, AB. T5Y 2M9

Canada

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

For Tyson

Were it not for you, all of my books would be in the Cloud where no one could find them

The Steinkamp Mantra

To fight means to kill; to kill is mercy

* * *

The Steinkamp Pledge

We hereby pledge to uphold the Steinkamp mantra at all times. We pledge to never waver and never retreat; to defend the defenseless and punish the wicked; to never cause undue suffering to our enemies and to leave no trace of ourselves behind. From the darkness we are born, in the shadows we fight, in the name of justice we kill, and in obscurity we die. We are the faceless and the nameless; we devote our lives, our blood, and our spirit to Ingleheim and the Mighty Führer as one heart, one mind, and one force.

We are Steinkamp.

Ode to Golems

Golem, take me to your land

Spare me from your powerful hand

Give yourself to me, then we shall be free

Golem, find me, here I stand.

Golem, your eye, I see through

Let me show you what we can do

Blessed by Verishten, you are of my kin

Golem, hear me, I am you.

1

PERSONS OF INTEREST

Kommandeur Wolfram and his two comrades came upon the old farm property a few miles north of the Crags. This is it, Wolfram thought. This is where the Earl of Kensloche is hiding, the last Golem Mage in Ingleheim besides the Führer. The kommandeur dismounted from his steed and tied the reins to the old wooden fence post. His comrades followed suit.

Wolfram pushed aside the gate and took one purposeful step onto the dirt path that led to a quaint little farmhouse. He stood still for a moment with his hands folded in front of him. His comrades, in full black armor and all their specialized weaponry strapped to their hips, back, and legs, waited behind him. With a deep breath, he took in all the scents of Ingleheim pastures. Wolfram had been born and raised in the high-end Eastside of the City of Deschner where the smell of sheep and their refuse was nonexistent. The smells of the countryside tended to nauseate him. Despite that, he did enjoy the lower-altitude, ash-free air of the Kensloche Mountain Range. He was going to miss the clarity and vigor it had provided during his last month on assignment.

With a short sigh and a lick of his lips, the kommandeur began his trek up the long, dusty path with his comrades tailing behind.

“Wait for me, Kristoff!” called a small child from the sheep fields to his left.

“Don’t call me that!” chastised another boy just as all three soldiers snapped their heads in the direction of the children’s voices.

A lanky boy, appearing around eight or nine, sprinted from the herd of heavily woolen sheep with a playful shepherd dog prancing at his heels. Following behind the child and his dog was a much younger boy, about five or six years of age, who struggled to catch up to his older playmate.

One of the boys we seek is also named Kristoff, Wolfram thought, becoming ever more confident that he found the right place. Yet, Kristoff was a common name. Wolfram couldn’t let himself get too excited.

The boys ran across the path of the three soldiers and halted their sprint upon taking notice of the looming figures approaching. They gazed in dreadful awe at the two shapeless and faceless figures at Wolfram’s side. Their eyes dilated, trying to discern an identifiable facial feature within the soldier’s protective masks, fashioned from thin yet durable metallic mesh and enchanted by a light-absorbing magic. As a kommandeur, Wolfram no longer had to wear the mask and belted uniform of his comrades, although he too was dressed head to toe in black to convey the dominance of the Steinkamp soldier.

Wolfram tipped his square military hat, “Greetings, young herrs. I can appreciate how startled you must be to see Steinkamp soldiers in the daylight, but we will not be here long. I don’t suppose your father is home. We have come a long way to speak with him.”

There was no need for the boys to fetch their father, for he had already left his house and made his way down the path. Dust billowed into the air with each step he took toward the soldiers. His dark hair was slick with sweat, his beard and mustache wiry and unkempt. His dirt-stained wool smock was worn loose at the neck and rolled up at the sleeves, revealing the muscular forearms of a laboring man. There was nothing to distinguish the man of the house from the rest of the shepherds Wolfram had observed on his mission—a far cry from a highborn, much less an earl.

“Good day, herr,” Wolfram said with a subtle melodiousness in his voice to help keep the sheep-shearer at ease for the time being. The two men shook hands, and the kommandeur continued, “Please do not be alarmed by our unannounced visit. I am Kommandeur Wolfram, and these are my comrades. We have come on behalf of the kanzler of this range, Herr Waldemar, in service to our Mighty Führer. If we could take a few minutes of your time, you will be able to return to your work momentarily.”

The sheep herder’s steel gaze only left the kommandeur for a brief moment to look at his boys. Wolfram caught a flash of concern behind the man’s eyes as he would expect to see when Steinkamp soldiers come sniffing around. The sheep herder nodded and allowed the kommandeur to continue.

“We have come all this way in search of persons of interest to the Regime, and we were hoping that perhaps you might have some information.” The kommandeur concluded with a warm smile.

Unlike the Steinkamp foot-soldiers he brought with him, Wolfram’s specialized training went beyond the battlefield. He was a man talented in the fine arts of persuasion, intimidation, and subterfuge, all for the purposes of gathering information. Moreover, he knew that a friendly grin often went further than a well-aimed crossbow bolt.

“Boys, get inside now,” the father said without removing his eyes from the soldiers.

“What is going on, Father?” the oldest boy asked.

The younger boy hid behind his brother, chewing on one of his dirt-stained fingers as he stared up at the daunting strangers.

“Do as I say—go help your mother.”

The two masked comrades stepped in front of the children so that they couldn’t go anywhere.

Wolfram interjected, “There’s no need for the children to be absent. We only want a few moments of your time.”

Past the bearded shepherd, a fair-haired woman in a plain dress stood at the doorway of the house.

“Ah, and that must be their lovely mother. I would like for her to join us as well if you don’t mind.” Wolfram waved her over with a warm smile on his face.

Upon noticing the Steinkamp Kommandeur and his masked comrades, her posture became rigid. She hesitated as she looked to her husband and the boys. The husband gave her a curt nod, and she slowly walked along the path to join them.

“Is there anything we can help you with, offiziers?” the woman asked, keeping her arms crossed and then stepping just behind her husband.

Wolfram removed his hat and placed it on his chest while extending a hand to her in greeting. Wolfram was sure to rub his thumb across the top of the woman’s hand, as was the customary greeting of respect among ladies of high status. She curtsied in response, yet her smile was quick and tight-lipped. She could easily be the wife of an earl, perhaps Frau Anja herself, Wolfram thought. If they were the last Golem Mage family on Wolfram’s list, then the coveted promotion to Kapitän of the Steinkamp force would finally be his.

Formal introductions were made, revealing the names of the husband and wife to be Ferdinand and Frieda. Wolfram turned to the boys and asked them for their names, but they looked up to their father with large, questioning eyes. Their father nodded.

“My name is Ernst,” the eldest boy said, placing his arm around his little brother’s shoulder, “and he is Hans.”

“Ernst and Hans, strong names for soon to be strong men,” Wolfram said.

He eyed Ernst carefully. It was common that the eldest son inherited the Eye of Verishten, the mark that indicated the abilities of a Golem Mage. Usually, the Eye manifested in the oldest son when he reached ten; then it was a year later before he would learn to control golems. Occasionally the Eye appeared on more than one son. On the rarest of occasions, a daughter may bear it. Sometimes it wouldn’t manifest in any child only to reappear in a future generation. Such abnormalities were the reasons why the Führer ordered the entire Mage family to be executed lest any member left alive grow up to challenge him.

Turning back to the parents, Wolfram got right down to business. “The Regime is in search of particular persons of interest—a family of five. The husband and wife would be middle-aged like yourselves, the man with dark hair and gray eyes, and the woman with light brown hair and brown eyes, although they may have taken measures to change their appearances. They would be traveling with two boys, years eight and five, and a girl of thirteen.”

“What is this family guilty of, Kommandeur?” asked Ferdinand.

“I am not at liberty to divulge that information, I’m afraid,” Wolfram replied without pause.

The couple looked thoughtfully at each other again then looked back at the kommandeur. Ferdinand’s eyes remained cold and severe.

“I don’t know what to say, Kommandeur, but we have not seen this family of five—at least nobody who sticks out in our minds . . . Dear?”

Ferdinand nudged his wife, and she responded with a shake of the head. Their answers did not surprise the kommandeur in the least. He knew he was not about to get a confession out of them, and he didn’t need it. The Kanzler of Kensloche gave him all the authority required in this mountain range. Wolfram’s strategy was to gauge Ferdinand and Frieda’s reactions when he described the similarities between them and his persons of interest. As they stood in silence, beads of sweat began to form on Ferdinand’s forehead.

In the past, other Steinkamp Kommandeurs used more stringent methods in hunting down Golem Mages. It was easier, in the beginning, to kick down doors and storm estates without question or warning, but those tactics only worked so well for so long. The Mages grew more careful. They went deep into hiding and often used decoys to help them escape. The Regime could no longer rely on brute force to bring the Führer’s enemies to their knees. Instead, it would rely on the honed skills of its most methodical and vigilant officers. Absolute certainty was a necessity for Wolfram in hunting and bringing down enemies of the Regime.

“Very well.” Wolfram sighed. “If I may review your identification papers quickly before I go, that would be much appreciated.”

“May we ask why?”

Wolfram adjusted the sleeves of his long, black military jacket. “For me to ascertain that you are who you say you are, and to provide evidence for my superiors that you have been questioned.”

“Yes, of course, Kommandeur.” Frieda nodded and went back to the house to fetch the papers.

“And documents for your children as well, if you please,” Wolfram called after her. She nodded and disappeared inside the house. “Our Führer is quite fond of his checks and balances,” the kommandeur commented with a smile. Ferdinand strained one of his own, nodded, and scratched at his thinning hair.

Wolfram could hardly contain his excitement at the possibility that he was standing before Earl Sigmund of Kensloche. Wolfram wondered where on his body he bore the Eye of Verishten. It was commonly known that Earl Sigmund had it; the only question was if Ferdinand was that same man.

Soon enough, Frieda returned and handed a bundle of papers to Wolfram. He unraveled the ties that held the documents together and unfolded them. Reaching into his inside coat pocket, he pulled out his reading spectacles. He was a man in his prime and hardly required lenses to read, but he quite enjoyed the duality of being a kommandeur in the deadliest military force in the world while appearing as a harmless intellectual at the same time.

The identification papers for the husband and wife read as expected. A middle-aged married couple named Ferdinand and Frieda, both born and raised in the Village of Leichstag in northern Kensloche Range.

It was the children’s papers Wolfram was most curious about. When Herrscher Heinrich took power as Führer, he had enacted a law that required children of the same family to be registered on a single document to keep parents from hiding sons required for military service. It came in handy for times such as this.

“I see a Yolanda listed here. She is your daughter, yes? Is she in the house?” Wolfram asked.

“Yes, she is in the kitchen helping me prepare for tonight’s meal,” said Frieda.

“You’ve reared her well, I see,” Wolfram commented. “My little Kriemia is just a babe. I can only hope she will be as helpful as Yolanda is when she gets to be that age.”

“Congratulations to you,” Frieda said.

“Thank you, frau,” replied Wolfram. “When I am finished here, I may get to finally return to my wife and child. I have been stationed all over Ingleheim so long, I missed the birth”

Wolfram honed in on the names of the children: Yolanda, Ernst and Hans. They were the same age and genders as Rosalinde, Kristoff, and Siegfried, the children belonging to the Earl of Kensloche. This is no coincidence.

Handing the papers to Ferdinand, Wolfram said, “Thank you for your time, herr, everything appears to be in order. We will not bother you any longer.”

Wolfram shook the hands of the couple and turned to leave while his comrades remained planted for a moment. Before the family made their way back to the house, Wolfram called out a name.

“Siegfried?”

He looked back just as the youngest boy whipped his head around in response to his true name.

“Herr Ferdinand, I ask that you remove your clothing,” Wolfram said.

“If it’s the Eye of Verishten you seek, Kommandeur, you will not find it. If I were a Mage, I’d have legions of golems upon you before you three had a chance to dismount from your horses!” Ferdinand’s top lip quivered, but his steel-gray eyes were severe.

“In that case, what is about to happen will work out in your favor.” Wolfram’s voice took an icy tone that contrasted strongly with the friendly one he had been using up until now.

The kommandeur signaled for his black-clad comrades to approach, one to restrain the wife and the other to subdue the husband. Wolfram stepped toward the boys and placed a hand on each of their shoulders to keep them from running away.

Pulling them closer to him, he whispered, “You boys should look away now.”

Ferdinand reflexively moved to attack the soldier whose intent was to grab hold of his wife. The other Steinkamp, anticipating the husband’s reaction, had already drawn a cudgel from his belt and drove it hard into Ferdinand’s abdomen. Frieda screamed and struggled as the Steinkamp pushed her face-first against the western wall of the farmhouse. The other comrade shoved her husband against the wall alongside her.

In rapid fashion, they bound the couple’s hands.

“Strip him!” Wolfram ordered.

The boys screamed as Wolfram held them in place.

He crouched down to offer them some comfort under the circumstances. “If your parents are truthful, they will be just fine. But if they lied . . . well, you should both look away, as I’ve suggested.”

Wolfram and the boys watched the soldiers slash away Ferdinand’s shirt and slacks. Wolfram’s spine tingled with anticipation, coupled with a slight fear of what he would or would not find. If somehow his hunch were wrong and this man was not a Golem Mage, Kanzler Waldemar would severely reprimand him. Furthermore, news of what happened to the poor sheep herders would spread throughout the range, possibly driving the real Earl and his family deeper underground. However, the ramifications of leaving the farmhouse without being absolutely sure would be far worse for his future under the Heinrich Regime. His hunches had never been wrong before. All he needed now was to view the undeniable proof somewhere on the earl’s body.

“Shall I strip the wife as well, Kommandeur?” asked the comrade holding onto Frieda.

“There is no point,” replied Wolfram. “The husband is the only Mage in the family. We have to execute her regardless, so it makes no difference if she were to bear the Eye as well.”

“Please, you can’t—” Frieda cried as the other Steinkamp cut away the last of her husband’s clothing.

“Kommandeur, I found it!”

The Steinkamp pointed down towards the man’s leg.

At the back of Ferdinand’s hairy calf was a circle, surrounded by three triangular burn-like marks. Wolfram exhaled euphoric relief. It is finally over.

With the side of his bearded face still pressed against the stone wall, Ferdinand started to beg, “Please understand that I have never acted against the Führer. We just want to live out the rest of our days in peace—show mercy for the sake of our children!”

“I’m afraid it is outside of my jurisdiction to offer such, Earl Sigmund of Kensloche. If you had come forward, the kanzler might have arranged an alternative for you and your family, but you chose to flee, to position yourselves as enemies of the Regime. I am under a strict directive to bring you in, dead or alive . . . preferably the former.”

“Sigmund . . .” Frau Anja sputtered before the kommandeur gave the order to dispose of them both.

Anja was the first to meet her end by a Steinkamp skewer knife through the base of her skull. Her death was over in an instant. Sigmund and his sons screamed upon watching their mother’s lifeless body hit the soft earth. The dog’s shrieking barks came soon afterward.

Wolfram swallowed hard as he kept his grip on the boys. It was not ideal to kill parents in front of their children, but the alternative of killing the children in front of the parents was unusually cruel, even if the parents’ end would follow shortly thereafter. The Steinkamp mantra was not about cruelty; it was about mercy.

“Go into the house and find the girl!” the kommandeur ordered the Steinkamp, wiping Anja’s blood from his blade.

The herding dog continued to yelp. Wolfram looked around briefly, eye twitching, but couldn’t locate the animal. Nonetheless, the barking eventually ceased.

The other Steinkamp executed Sigmund in the same manner as his wife, and he was on the ground a second later. Wolfram pushed the oldest boy ahead. “Kill this one first.”

“Yes, Kommandeur.”

As the Steinkamp soldier approached the eight-year-old, the elusive dog lunged at Wolfram from behind, taking his arm into its jaws and violently pulling it down. Kristoff managed to squirm out of Wolfram’s grasp, duck behind him, and snatch the younger boy away. The kommandeur cursed while taking his skewer knife and driving it hard and fast through the canine’s eye. It died as quickly as the earl and his wife, not having enough time to puncture Wolfram’s thick leather sleeve.

The boys ran several feet into the pasture and stopped at a rock cluster in the grass, much to Wolfram’s surprise. Kristoff picked up the loose stones and threw them at the advancing soldier. The small rocks deflected off of the Steinkamp’s armored chest.

“Get to Rosy, Siegfried!” Kristoff yelled.

Little Siegfried’s face was red from crying, his vigorous trembling keeping him in place.

At that moment, the rock cluster near the boys suddenly moved on its own. A humanoid figure made of stone stood up in guard of Siegfried and Kristoff. The creature was over seven feet tall, its misshapen arms nearly dragging on the ground. It had short and stumpy legs with bits of moss and dirt lodged in the cracks between the boulders that formed its massive torso. A crag golem, native to Kensloche. It was of the smaller, man-sized variety, but still dangerous in its own right.

This is preposterous—surely Kristoff is too young to control golems, Wolfram thought.

The golem swung its long limbs at the soldier, only to miss on account of the soldier’s superb reflexes. Having had no luck in finding the daughter inside the house, the other comrade ran out to assist.

“Kill the boy, and the golem will be released from its command,” shouted Wolfram.

The golem protected Kristoff unshakably and neither of the Steinkamp soldiers could get past its massive reach, its solitary eye shining with a green light from the middle of its lopsided head of rock.

Siegfried finally found it in himself to run away. One of the Steinkamp ducked the golem and ran after him only to be met by another, even larger. As it rose from the long grasses, the golem knocked Siegfried onto his hands and knees and the Steinkamp onto his backside. The golem raised one stone leg, caked with dirt and moss, and brought it down hard on top of the man lying on the ground. The snapping of the bone in his leg was loud enough for Wolfram to hear from where he stood a dozen feet away.

His other comrade fared better. The Steinkamp managed to duck the golem’s next swing and catch up to Kristoff, who was running for Siegfried. Kristoff and the Steinkamp were now between the two crag golems. The Steinkamp drove his blade clean through the boy’s chest, much to Wolfram’s relief.

Kristoff’s lifeless body hit the ground, but the golems did not fall into two dormant rock piles as expected. They still had the lone Steinkamp surrounded and were ready to pummel him into the earth alongside the earl’s eldest son.

He is not the one controlling the golems!

Looking around frantically, Wolfram’s eyes soon fell upon a small figure at the base of the Crags to the south. A young girl no older than thirteen stood still, her ashen braids and white apron flapping in the breeze. The girl stared at the golems protecting her brother, her eyes red, raw with rage that Wolfram could see even at such a distance.

“It’s the daughter—kill the girl!” Wolfram bellowed while pointing across the field. He felt a pang of guilt as he thought of the comment he made earlier when he’d hoped his own little girl would grow up to be like the one he had just ordered his men to eliminate.

The Steinkamp left standing took out his small dispenser of blast gel. He rolled toward the golem to avoid the swing of its arm and sprayed the clear gel all over the golem’s torso and legs. Diving to the side, the Steinkamp clenched his gloved fist to activate the fire magic infused in the gel. It ignited rapidly and exploded. The sound of splitting rock shook the air, and the golem dropped to the ground, absent its legs.

The larger golem, rather than engaging the Steinkamp, turned, scooped up the fallen Siegfried and bounded toward its master. The Steinkamp jumped to his feet and began to give chase while Wolfram jogged over to his injured comrade.

“Can you get up?”

“No . . .” the comrade grunted, holding onto his left leg, bent unnaturally at the knee.

Wolfram clenched his fists, arms stiff at his sides. “Find something to bind that leg.”

There was no time to help the Steinkamp mend his broken knee. The golem and Siegfried had already made it to the Crags. The stone creature raised Siegfried above its head, while Rosalinde reached down and pulled her brother up by the arms onto the rocky ledge to join her. If Wolfram and his last standing comrade didn’t catch up to them, they could chance to lose the children in those rigid shale cliffs forever.

The kommandeur growled in frustration. Leaving the injured comrade behind, Wolfram ran to the base of the Crags where Rosalinde had been standing just a moment before. The other comrade had already sprayed the second golem with more blast gel and detonated it, blowing its stone body apart.

The Steinkamp leaped off a large boulder that had once been part of the golem’s torso and grabbed hold of the ledge above. Pulling himself up with ease, he turned to assist his kommandeur onto the ledge with him. The two men continued their rapid climb up the treacherous shale inclines, their footing increasingly uncertain the further they went. The girl and her brother were nowhere in sight.

Adrenaline pumped through Wolfram’s veins as worrisome thoughts played out in his mind. We have to find them before the girl summons any more golems or, Verishten forbid, Cragsmen find them first. Cragsmen were lawless men and parentless whelps who lived in the Crags to avoid Regime authorities. They made their living pillaging the surrounding villages. Perhaps if the children do run into a clan of them, the commotion could help us locate them easier, Wolfram then thought.

Once the soldiers turned up the rocky path, they heard the faintest of squeaks. He halted and held out his arm for his comrade to do the same. The two men stood still and silent. A muffled cry came from behind an outcropping on the path above. Wolfram pointed it out, and his comrade went to investigate.

The Steinkamp stealthily climbed the outcropping, crouched on top of it, and peered down the other side. Wolfram watched as he pulled out his retractable sword from the short sheath strapped to his back and slowly extended the thin steel without making a sound. In the blink of an eye, the comrade reached down, and a shrill scream bounced off the shale cliffs. Rosalinde kicked and shrieked furiously in the Steinkamp’s grasp right before his blade silenced her permanently. Blood sprayed from her throat as her arms and legs ceased to move. Wolfram winced, wishing they could have arranged a cleaner death for the girl.

Continuing up the path, Wolfram arrived at the outcropping. What he found was a mess of blood soaking into the dirt and amassing between the cracks in the shale. Rosalinde’s body was wedged between two large rocks that had served as her hiding spot.

“Where is the boy?” Wolfram asked his comrade.

“He was here, but he ran when I grabbed the girl,” he replied.

“Ran where?”

“Your orders were to kill the last Mage and now it is done. What does it matter if the youngest boy escapes?”

“Because my orders are to make sure every last Mage, including their kin, are disposed of. Our Führer will accept nothing less,” said Wolfram.

The soldiers split up to cover more of the most logical paths. The echoing sound of shattering shale led Wolfram down an incline where he came to a lengthy chasm in the ground. Siegfried was there, clinging to a ledge as if trying to climb into it.

If he falls into that crevasse, it will take hours to get his body out. Wolfram approached carefully to keep from startling the boy.

“Little one?” called Wolfram.

Siegfried looked up from where he hung on for his life, his eyes red and swollen from crying.

“There you are . . . Siegfried.” The kommandeur bent down and offered the boy his hand. “I know that after what you have witnessed you must be very scared, but I urge you now to take my hand.”

Siegfried shook his head, quietly sobbing. Small pieces of shale below his feet came loose and shattered off the crevasse walls as they fell. With his tiny hands, Siegfried tried to edge further away. The masked soldier, suddenly appearing beside Wolfram, startled the boy. He attempted to move again. His right foothold fell away, and his high-pitched screams echoed down into the crevasse.

The Steinkamp reached for the crossbow strapped to his back, but Wolfram put out his hand to stop him. “Not until we get him away from this chasm,” he whispered sharply to his comrade.

Siegfried pressed his little body harder against the rocks.

“Don’t be foolish now.” Wolfram stretched his arm even farther toward him. “Attempt to flee this way, and you will surely perish.”

Siegfried shook his head again.

“You might think me a monster, but I assure you, I am not. What was done to your parents, your brother, and your sister was an act of mercy. It was not our intention to do it in front of you, but it had to be done.”

“Mercy?” Siegfried sobbed.

“Yes, my boy, mercy is precisely what it was. If you take my hand now, I promise, you will not suffer. I can take you anywhere you want to go.”

“I want to go home,” Siegfried murmured through whimpers.

“Then that is exactly where we will go.”

The boy didn’t move a muscle.

“Tell me, little one, do you like running and climbing? I know lots of little boys who love to climb.”

Siegfried sniffed back tears and nodded.

“I happen to know a place where boys like you can run for miles and miles and never get tired. You will be able to run faster than Kristoff. There you can climb the highest cliffs and never fall. If you come with me, you will be able to do all those things, but if you don’t, your little legs will surely break at the bottom of this chasm, and you will never be able to run or climb ever again. I know you don’t want that to happen. Take my hand, child, and I promise you will be able to run faster and climb higher than anyone. Wouldn’t you like that?”

The boy remained stationary. Realizing his persuasion tactics were not going to work, Wolfram motioned for his comrade to circle around the rock that Siegfried clung to. The Steinkamp lunged for him, but Siegfried reacted without thought. His left foothold broke off, and he was holding on by only his little arms. Siegfried’s five-year-old hands were too weak to support his weight and he lost his grip.

“Shit!” Wolfram’s curses echoed off the chasm walls, joining Siegfried’s high-pitched shrieks as he fell into the blackness.

“Comrade!” Wolfram barked. “Go after him!”

Before the Steinkamp could follow his kommandeur’s orders, the entire crags began to quake. Both men fell to their knees. Large chunks of shale cracked off the cliff sides and slid into the crevasse. Rocks and dirt flew toward Wolfram as he tried to get out of the way before it buried him alive.

“Comrade!” he bellowed.

The Steinkamp was nowhere to be seen. The shuddering crags separated them. Wolfram was determined to see his new daughter and held no interest in losing his life for the sake of a five-year-old boy—one who would likely never grow to bear the Eye anyway.

Kommandeur Wolfram struggled to his feet and ran for his life.

2

ODE TO GOLEMS

(Twenty years later)

“Why again, Professor, are we freezing our danglers off to study golems we already have in the laboratory?” Klemens complained.

“Not all of us have danglers to freeze off,” muttered Katja as she trudged ahead of him.

Klemens pushed his spectacles up his nose. “I should be back in the library.”

“It would do you some good to get your head out of those dusty, old books every now and again,” Katja rejoined.

“It is important that we study these creatures in their natural habitats,” said Professor Ignatius, trudging up the snow-laden path with his two best students in tow.

“Then why must their natural habitat be in the thick of Frost Woods?” Klemens said.

Ignatius chuckled. “These woods are close enough to the university to make a day’s trip and happen to be teeming with golems, most of them still untouched by the Führer. If we are ever going to conclude that people like you and I can communicate with golems, we best figure out how with the ones found out here.”

He stopped at a fork in the road and checked his map. Lightly falling snow sank into his white mustache and bushy sideburns that stuck out from his fur cap. It seemed to Katja like yesterday that his whiskers had been dark brown and his thick eyebrows even more so. She could not decide if Ignatius was a young man who was graying before his time or an old man finally starting to look his age.

“So you really believe that the golems out here have never been dominated by the Führer?” Klemens asked.

“The Führer can dominate any golem anywhere,” Katja added. “Or so they say.”

“Perhaps his power cannot stretch as far as these woods,” Ignatius surmised. “More likely, though, he can, but he just hasn’t bothered. He’d have no use for them this far north.” He rolled his map back up and headed east. “There is a clearing up this way where I believe we will find some man-sized golems to study. If we are extremely lucky, maybe even a giant one.” Ignatius looked back to his students, his brown eyes sparkling.

Katja adjusted her wool scarf to keep out the frigid breeze and followed the professor up the icy incline. Unlike Klemens, Katja treasured any time spent away from the lab or the library—rather, any time spent outside of four walls. Her whole life, she had lived within the confines of one castle or another. Her few brushes with nature had been within gated and locked gardens where no outside eye could ever catch sight of her. Such was the lot in life for many young highborn women like Katja.

Klemens jogged ahead of her. “It’s slippery here, Kat. Feel free to take my arm if you wish.”

Just as he turned to offer Katja his hand, his left foot slid out from beneath him. Klemens sat in the snow, grumbling at his own clumsiness. Katja gave a wry chortle while stepping past her wet and cold classmate.

Turning back to Klemens, she offered him her hand. “I’ll take that arm now.”

Klemens grabbed hold and hoisted himself to his feet. “Well, at the very least you could crack a smile. Some laughter would be fitting.”

Katja gave Klemens half a smirk. “I’m laughing on the inside, Klem, always on the inside.”

It was a running jest between the two of them that Klemens would make her smile before the year was up. To him, Katja’s passing grins or sarcastic smirks didn’t count. All throughout adolescence and into adulthood, people commented on her sour face, saying that she would be so much prettier if she just smiled more. More often, she would politely tell those people to shove it in some fashion.

When you smile, all I see is how Verishten has blessed you, for he’s given you intelligence beyond your years and beauty beyond measure. The memory of those words made it seem as if the man who had once spoken them whispered them now into Katja’s ear, sending shivers up and down her spine.

As the group continued up the snowy mountain trail, the path widened enough for Klemens to walk next to her. Before he could utter a word, Katja said, “Hope that fall didn’t break your flute.”

He took the long wooden wind instrument from his bag to make sure that it was intact. “Still good, although I doubt it will matter much. I know you said the golems in the lab responded to the noise, but I just don’t think these flutes are going to work.”

They had both read corroborating historical references that people thousands of years ago used flutes and other such instruments to communicate with golems. They theorized that regular folk used them to subtly influence the ones not under Golem Mage control. Once a Mage had a golem under his or her command, no other Mage could take it over until it was released. After the Golem Studies team had uncovered the ancient texts alluding to regular people communicating with golems, it offered a potential opportunity for humanity to share a little in the power that now only the Führer possessed.

“I’m with you, Klem. That’s why we’re out here. The answers are clearly not in the texts, so we take our hypothesis, however negligible, and experiment until something works.”

“Katja is right,” Ignatius joined in, still walking ahead. “We know the flutes have some effect on golems. We find out what effect it has on the untouched variety, and if it’s the same or stronger, then we direct our research accordingly. If there is minimal to no effect, then we go back to the texts and find a new lead.”

The research team finally reached the top of the hill. A small creek bisected the snow-filled clearing, trickling softly against the silence of winter. Katja frowned. This was her last year in Nordenhein before she earned her doctorate and set off for home. If she were in Deschner, the pure, white snow that fell around her now would be replaced with gray volcanic ash raining down from the Volcano of Verishten.

“Well then, shall we start playing?” Ignatius said.

“Are there even any golems here, Professor?” Klemens wondered. “It’s far too quiet.”

“No matter. Dormant golems are no different from stone and ice in these parts. There’s only one way to know if they’re here. We wake them.”

Ignatius blew three sharp notes into his flute that cut cleanly through the crisp winter air. Nothing stirred in the wilderness. Katja and Klemens joined their flute songs with Ignatius, but still no sign of the scores of golems he claimed were there.

“Perhaps we should fan out a bit more,” Ignatius suggested.

“Come with me, Kat. There might be some this way.” Klemens beckoned as he made his way toward the stream.

Katja couldn’t help but be a little annoyed by Klemens’s attempts to be alone with her. The two had studied closely together for the last two years after Klemens transferred from Military Studies with the Führer’s approval. Since then he was hardly ever far from her sight. Earlier that day, Klemens had requested to stay behind and catch up on his historical readings—until Katja expressed a keen interest in accompanying Ignatius, and suddenly a winter stroll didn’t seem so bad anymore.

There was nothing that she found particularly unattractive about Klemens. He was clearly from good highborn stock—polite, well-spoken, and his intellect was unrivalled among scholars at his level. With his spectacles, wavy brown hair, sideburns trimmed short, and a clean-shaven face of friendly features, a highborn lady like Katja could do much worse than him. However, she held no interest in marriage or starting a family. Only golems mattered to her; colossal, powerful, and ageless wonders of Verishten’s creation that had served mankind for millennia.

“I think the professor meant that we each fan out,” Katja waved her hands in a fanning motion.

Not waiting for a response, she ducked through a thicket and slid carefully down a snowhill to find a peaceful clearing cut off from the rest of the team. She held onto her thick woven skirt with one hand while steadying her descent through the deep snow with the other. To Katja’s relief, Klemens didn’t follow. She felt sorry for the way she’d dismissed him, but today she needed some distance, not just from Klemens, but from the professor as well.

She had an experiment of her own to conduct, but she was afraid to let the others in on it, especially if it happened to work. Klemens had a point that playing randomly on musical instruments to communicate with golems was not enough. The people in the Age of Man had to be playing a specific song, and Katja thought she might already know that song.

When she was a girl, she had stumbled upon an old book of sheet music in one of her father’s libraries. She had learned to play each and every song on her cello until they were second nature. Her favorite was the Ode to Golems. Eventually her father had found the sheet music left out in her music room and chastised her for taking it from the library without permission. He informed her that those songs were forbidden under the Regime, and she should never play them where outside ears might hear.

Katja walked until the others’ flutes were whispers through the leafless birch trees surrounding her. There, she began to play the Ode to Golems. She loved the simplicity of it, yet its hauntingly dark melody filled her with both solace and sorrow. It was sad, yet hopeful—such were the ancient songs of the Age of Man. She became lost in a melody she hadn’t played since she was twelve until she caught a shadow in her periphery.

Startled, she spun around to find nothing but a mess of trees and snow-covered rocks with icicle fingers connecting to the ground. She carefully inspected a cluster of soapstone, finding nothing unusual. She continued to play the Ode again while wandering around the clearing. When the song finished for the second time, the formation she had just inspected moved. The icicles shattered as one of the snow-covered soapstone boulders rose up and stood on two legs.

Katja gasped in both shock and delight. There, just a dozen feet away, was a frost golem. It was an inch or two taller than her, about six feet in height. Sweat formed under her woolen scarf. She stood mystified. This frost golem was leaner than the others of its type in the laboratory. The soapstone that made up its shape was darker in the areas not covered with snow and bits of ice. Its elliptical eye shone blue like a glowing icicle between its rigid shoulder blades. The light flashed bright, dimmed, and lit up again.

The golems in the lab do a similar thing when interacting with each other, Katja thought. This one was trying to communicate with her, but like in the lab, she couldn’t figure out how to communicate back. The golem turned away.

“Wait, come back,” she squeaked. She tried to play her flute again, but her mouth was suddenly too dry.

The creature of ice-tipped soapstone bounded away through the pine trees and disappeared more stealthily than anything of its size should be allowed. It took her breath away to watch it move so effortlessly for having a body made entirely of rock. These beings should be respected in fellowship with man, not dominated by them.

She let out a defeated sigh. Then the shadow returned to her periphery from her other side. She spun around to find nothing yet again. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

“Is someone there?” Katja called out. Her shivering voice billowed as a white mist into the frigid air. Could there be wolves this close to the university?

“Is that you, Kat?” called Klemens from afar.

Katja stared into the white stillness for a time, but without another golem to jump out at her, she decided she no longer wanted distance from her research team. “Yes. Wait there, I’m coming to find you!”

When Katja climbed back through the thicket she was met with Klemens’s smiling face, his spectacles dotted with fallen snow.

“Find any?” he asked.

Katja wanted to jump for joy with a resounding yes, but she would have to explain how she managed to awaken it with a forbidden melody of the Regime. “No. How about you?”

Ignatius, approaching from the north, chimed in, “Thought maybe for a moment I’d seen one, but it turned out to be a collapsing snowdrift.”

“Either this experiment was a failure, or there just aren’t any golems around here,” Klemens said, taking off his spectacles to wipe his lenses.

“Oh, there are,” Ignatius said. “I’ve snuck up on an entire group of them before. I know they lie here in dormancy during the winter months. If we didn’t see them, it means these blasted flutes don’t awaken golems in their natural habitat.”

“Then what’s our next step, Professor?” Katja asked.

“You two return to the library and find another clue in the history books, and I’ll see what I can discover in the lab.”

Ignatius placed his flute back in his satchel and led the team down the mountain trail with every bit the spring in his step he’d had on the way up. The professor never seemed to get discouraged, and Klemens lit up as well with the prospect of reading more history books. Katja, on the other hand, couldn’t decide how she felt after this excursion. She may have just discovered the secret behind the flutes, but it was a secret she could not divulge without bringing undue suspicion onto herself as to how she found the forbidden melody . . . although, she considered, it may have been a coincidence that the golem awakened right after she played it. Maybe it was the shadow in the woods that stirred it.

I have to come back and try again on my own, she thought.

* * *

Upon their return, the three researchers parted ways in the university atrium. The University of Nordenhein was an ancient stone structure built with the assistance of golems in the Age of Man, and then modified during modernization efforts in the Age of Kings. The more recent upgrades, within the last twenty years, made the university now resemble a small fortified city to keep out enemies of the Regime.

The atrium was one of the few places where remnants of the old architecture were displayed in breathtaking force. Massive marble pillars presented each hallway, giving Katja a glimpse into the Age of Man. The elongated green and violet stained glass windows built into the grand vaulted ceilings depicted the likenesses of renowned scholars of old and dressed the atrium in the light of the Age of Kings. The university was the perfect example of what the City of Nordenhein was known for. It was Ingleheim’s center for education and culture, and that fact was showcased through countless paintings and sculptures on every wall and in every great hall. Not even in her father’s castle back in Deschner could Katja marvel at such artistic and architectural grandiosity.

Katja walked through the green and violet beams of light made by the stained-glass windows on her way to the information desk. She checked with the clerk for any confidential messages.

“No messages have been left for you, Fraulein Katja, but you do have a visitors notice. In fact, your guest arrived thirty minutes ago and has been escorted to the Brendt meeting room, down the hall, two doors to your right.” The kind older woman handed Katja a key.

All visitors had to come in secret and wait in guarded meeting rooms for security purposes. The process kept rebel abductors from walking into the university, asking to visit a student, and making off with that student unseen. Many things had changed since Katja’s parents attended the same institution. None of the students enrolled with their true names anymore, and their family ties remained hidden from all other students and staff to lessen the risk of kidnapping.

Who would visit me here without prior warning? Katja wondered. Surely Father would never risk such an appearance.

Then she thought of another man—one not as well-known, but who possessed almost as much power. Her insides began to curdle at the thought of Meister Melikheil coming to see her again. He had left her father’s service to offer magical aid to the Kingdom of Del’Cabria in the Desert War. It had been almost two years since he visited her last, and she’d hoped that she would never see him again. Could he have returned from the desert already?

Katja removed her scarf and hat as she walked down the marble hallway. After smoothing out her wavy brown hair and refastening it with a clip, she inserted her key into the lock. She took a deep breath, silently praying that it would not be Melikheil behind the door. Her heart almost leaped out of her chest as she opened the door and entered the meeting room. It flopped instead upon seeing that the Spirit Mage waiting for her was not the darkly handsome one she expected, but one just as dangerous.

3

LITTLE DOVE

“Katja, how grand it is to see you,” chimed the woman waiting in the Brendt meeting room. “Love the name you’ve chosen, by the way.”

She sashayed over to her and gave her a light hug followed by a quick peck on the cheek. Katja returned the greeting without a thought.

“Brunhilde, whatever brings you here?” The last person she had expected to see was her stepmother.

Brunhilde was ten years older than Katja but dressed as a woman only entering her prime. Long ago, Katja had been jealous of her honey blonde locks and delicately striking facial structure, not often seen among the average Inglewoman. She wore her curls tied up in an outlandish style, held in place under a hairnet adorned with jewels and a black, lace fascinator. Her gown was made of a gorgeous, red wine silk with a wolf fur cape dyed black to match her headwear.

“Don’t look so excited to see me, Little Dove,” Brunhilde said, making Katja flinch. Little Dove was the pet name Melikheil had given her once upon a time, and Brunhilde decided to keep the name alive after he left for war. The sound of it always made the blood curdle in her veins.

“Did my father send you, or are you here on your own volition?” Katja crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Your father misses you dearly, I assure you, but he did not send me. I volunteered to make the journey. The City of Nordenhein is the place of my birth, you know. It has been too long since I’ve taken in the ash-free air. How are you finding the winters here?”

“Cold,” said Katja dully.

“I can see you are eager for conversation today.” Brunhilde rolled her eyes.

“You took a three-day journey from Deschner in the middle of winter to pay me a visit after six years . . . just for conversation?” Katja raised one eyebrow.

“Well, forgive me for wanting to catch up a little before getting down to the task. I don’t see why the two of us can’t just attempt to enjoy each other’s company once in a while,” Brunhilde huffed. “Your father and I are curious as to how your thesis is coming along. I understand it’s about communicating with golems without Mage intervention. Whatever made you choose such a bold topic?”

Katja grazed her fingertips across the cushioned frame of one of the sofas. “Quite an obvious reason, really. If something ever happens to the one and only Golem Mage, the golems and their contributions will be lost forever.”

“And what do you think is going to happen to the last Golem Mage?” Brunhilde’s eyes narrowed.

“Why, anything at all. Our nation is at war with rebel armies wishing to dismantle his regime. There are threats from a desert warlord to decimate our entire nation, not to mention the fact that all men age—and die. Worse still, he stands to leave behind no son bearing the Eye of Verishten. So you can see how my work is needed.”

Brunhilde shivered in her black fur cape. “Yes, well, I suppose that is why you are the Golem Expert.” She twisted her onyx marriage bracelet, her lips pursed with irritation. She had yet to bear Katja’s father an heir, and he was getting quite old indeed. “Your work is needed more than you know,” she went on. “The Regime has recently stumbled upon the Alpha Golem that once guarded the Pass of Halberschtad.”

Katja hardly noticed her own mouth gaping, and her arms fell straight to her sides as she struggled to catch her breath. “Y-you found the Golem of Death? It can’t be . . .”

“Oh, if only you could see it. You will have never laid eyes on a creature so gargantuan.”

“Where was it found?” Katja asked.

“That is classified. Only the highest offiziers of the Regime, myself included, know of its location. War golems are guarding it day and night, and lava golems from the mines are working to unearth it as we speak.”

“What is to be done with it once it’s uncovered? No Mage in history has been able to dominate an Alpha. They are not for any man, but for the Mighty Verishten alone to command.”

“They are to be for your Mighty Führer now,” Brunhilde said, her sparkling hazel eyes betraying her excitement. “He has sent orders to your professor to see that your research is directed toward his end.”

“Toward what end, exactly?” Katja asked. She could hardly believe that her research would actually be used for something so crucial to the Regime, for something as dangerous as the Golem of Death. She was afraid to hear her stepmother’s answer.

“To be the first Mage to dominate an Alpha, and use it to end this silly rebellion. Why else?”

“And he will be the last to do so if he thinks he can dominate the Golem of Death,” said Katja.

“Hush now, Dove,” Brunhilde cooed. “It is your father you’re talking about, and his orders are final. Curtail whatever research you have going on currently. Start looking into how Alphas can be awakened and anything else you can find out about them.”

“I’ve studied golems for six years, and now I’m supposed to find out everything there is to know about Alphas in just how many? One?” Katja sputtered.

“Hopefully, yes. But if it takes longer, then I suppose we will have to wait, though not forever, mind you.”

“Tell them to leave it where it is,” Katja warned.

“That is not for us to decide. When your father has his mind set on something—well, we know how that can turn out.”

“Are you referring to how he systematically murdered all of the other Golem Mage families so that he would remain completely unimpeded?” Katja said, crossing her arms in front of her chest again.

“To put it bluntly . . . I suppose,” replied Brunhilde, twisting her marriage bracelet a second time.

“Even you can see this is madness!”

“I will hear nothing more of it,” Brunhilde said in a sharpened tone. “Starting tonight, you and your team officially work for the Regime. All you need worry about is how to wake the Golem of Death, and garner some insights as to how it can be dominated. Truthfully, none of us know if the Mages of old ever tried to control one. It might be easy. Your father suggests studying regular ones, and hopefully they can lead you to another Alpha lying dormant somewhere. Do whatever you scholarly types do and figure out how to wake it up. We expect status reports on a biweekly basis. Do you think you can manage that?”

There was nothing else to say. Katja knew better than anyone that once one was deemed to be an instrument of the Regime, there was no backing out without severe consequences. She had to think of the safety of her team. They were a part of this too.

“Of course. I will do whatever I can to aid the Regime in this endeavor,” Katja’s eyes drifted to the floor.

“You always talk of the Regime as if you exist outside of it, when in fact you are every bit part of it as your father,” said her stepmother.

“You and I both know that I am no more part of this regime than the ghosts of the kings that were slaughtered under it. Father hardly registers my existence anymore.” That’s all she had ever been to him, a wandering spirit in his dark castle halls, growing lonelier and more vulnerable with every passing day.

Brunhilde sighed heavily. “Oh cheer up, Little Dove. Think of all the discoveries you will make as a result of this assignment. Your thesis will dominate all others in your field.”

Katja nodded in agreement, even though all she could think was how impossible the task before her was going to be. Her thesis was the least of her worries now. The Regime was attempting to awaken an Alpha, and the Golem of Death at that. Admittedly, Katja had not studied Alphas much, being that up until now they were thought to have disappeared. But if the lore were correct, the one who controls the Golem of Death would have the power to destroy anyone and anything at will. It was not only going to be the rebels that suffered under its destructive gaze, but all of Ingleheim and the kingdoms beyond. It was complete folly, and Katja wanted no part in it.

Brunhilde dismissed herself and went to the door. Katja thanked her for coming by, even though her thoughts were fervidly opposed to her words.

“Wait, there is something else you should know,” the Spirit Mage turned back to Katja, her hand still on the doorknob. “You mentioned desert warlords earlier, which reminded me of something I had neglected to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“Meister Melikheil . . .” Brunhilde struggled to appear stoic, but continued in a wavering voice. “. . . is dead.”

Katja felt as if a bag of bricks had struck her right in the midsection. The news of such a powerful sorcerer being dead was almost as much of a shock as learning that an Alpha Golem had been found. “H-how . . . how did he . . . ?” she sputtered.

“Well, you remember that silly deal he made with the King of Del’Cabria to eliminate the Overlord of Herran, Nas’Gavarr? It turns out the Great Melikheil was not great enough.”

“But he was so powerful,” Katja murmured.

“You don’t have to tell me. I’ve seen no other Mage wield both essence and spirit as effortlessly as he did. He should have been able to defeat that desert serpent.” Brunhilde’s delicate jaw clenched, and she couldn’t continue.

Katja nodded, trying her best to appear unaffected by the news. “When did all this happen?”

“When the Del’Cabrians first marched on Herran, Melikheil went with them and never returned. Our Meister–Apprentice rapport allows me to stay connected with him, and that connection was . . . brutally severed. It would seem that Nas’Gavarr’s proficiency with flesh magic won him the day.”

“That was almost a year ago. Why did you wait until now to tell me?” Katja asked shrilly.

“I’m sorry, dear. It didn’t cross my mind to tell you at the time. You were so busy studying, and things are always hectic in Deschner considering the rebellion and everything. Honestly, I didn’t think you’d care so much. How close were the two of you really?” Brunhilde let out a slight huff at the rhetorical question she posed.

You, above all others, knew exactly how close we were, Katja fumed within her mind. She still couldn’t believe what her stepmother had told her. Am I finally free of him? Brunhilde could be playing some cruel jest, but to what end? She may be the queen of deceit, but something about how distraught she sounded told Katja she was not lying. It was enough to bring a relief that she never thought she would ever get to feel, not since the day she met the iniquitous sorcerers.

“Now, I really must be going. I don’t know when I will see you again. You will need to remain here to work over the break. Hopefully you will finish soon and you can join your father and me in Breisenburg when it comes time to awaken our Alpha. Goodbye for now, Little Dove.”

A weak utterance of a goodbye was all Katja could manage in reply. Brunhilde closed the door behind her while Katja flopped down onto the sofa, trying to keep her thoughts straight. She couldn’t decide whether to feel long-overdue relief in knowing Melikheil was gone or frustration over the impossible research project she was just assigned. Her confusion about the whole situation soon led to anger.

How dare she come to my school with her wolf furs and fake niceties to drag me back into the insanity that I have been free from for six years, she seethed inwardly. In Nordenhein, Katja’s gifts could be put to a noble purpose. Here, she was more than just an isolated highborn girl without a true friend to be found. She was the university’s top Golem Studies acolyte, soon to be an expert in her field, powerful in her own right and earned on her own merits.

It was at that moment when Katja made a decision. She would sooner see the Regime fall to pieces than let that witch decide how she would make her mark.

Meister Melikheil is dead now, she thought. Do you really think you can control me in my world, Brunhilde? You say I should curtail my current research, but it is far too important to let go. She would continue to investigate ways an average human could influence golems and with that knowledge, man and golem will live the way Verishten intended. With golems on the side of all mankind, her father’s power over the people would wane, and his regime would fade away into obsolescence.

Now all Katja had to figure out was how to do that while pretending to do what the Regime had ordered her to do.

4

HEAR ME, I AM YOU

The sound of the pen scratching on the paper in her journal was one of the most satisfying sounds Katja could think of. The smell of the smooth, black ink as it flowed off her quill always put her at ease. It was week’s end, and she had the library all to herself early that morning.

“What’re you writing there?” Klemens asked from behind her.

With a screech, Katja snapped her leather-bound book shut before Klemens could make out what she scrawled. She cringed upon realizing the ink probably smudged. She wasn’t alone in the library after all.

Katja took a risk, keeping a journal in a Regime where truth was more destructive than a thousand war golems. If anyone were to read what she had written over the years, it would implicate her as an enemy of the Regime. However, that knowledge never deterred her, for she would quickly descend into madness holding all her thoughts inside her head.

“Something private, I assume.” Klemens circled around the large oak table and sat across from her.

“Um . . . not really, I was just taking notes from this tome that references writings over two thousand years old,” Katja said.

“Really?” Klemens leaned over to peek at the book Katja had in front of her. “Where did you find a tome with references that far back?”

“I got it from that crate of books brought in by Regime offiziers four days ago,” she replied. “They are being kept under lock and key in Ignatius’ office for our use only.” Katja motioned to the stack she had signed out on the table.

“Find anything that will lead us to an Alpha?” Klemens asked.

“Nope.” With a sigh, Katja closed the tome. “Even in these forbidden volumes written thousands of years ago, Alphas are barely mentioned. This assignment is ridiculous.”

“I agree that the Regime is putting a lot of pressure on us, but I for one am honored that the Mighty Führer gave us this opportunity to better it.”

Katja cringed. Every day she heard people praising her father and expressing undying loyalty to his Regime. She wondered though, how many of them actually meant it.

Klemens took a couple books from the stack and joined Katja in studying. For the next half-hour they lost themselves in the ancient texts and reference papers.

Then Klemens spoke up. “All of these writings refer to Mage abilities more than golems themselves. This may be more relevant when we look into how to wake an Alpha, but we have to find one first.”

“All the lore can tell us is what we already know. There are six Alphas, one for each mountain range. If the Golem of Death was found in Breisenburg, then we can safely assume the others will be found in the remaining five,” said Katja.

“So for example, frost golems are native to Nordenhein, so their Alpha would likely be lying dormant somewhere in this area?”

“Yes. And the Alpha of the crag golems would be in Kensloche Mountain Range, and the Alpha of the crystal golems in Untevar Range, et cetera.”

The six golem types possessed characteristics resembling the rock formations most common to the mountain ranges from which they hailed. Near the active Volcano of Verishten in Deschner Range, lava golems could be found. The crystal deposits in the Hot Lakes of Untevar were home to thousands of crystal golems, and the stormy granite cliffs of Luidfort Range is where winged golem sightings were most frequent.

“But where specifically in the mountain ranges are we to find them if the Regime doesn’t divulge exactly where they found the Golem of Death?” asked Klemens.

“I don’t think knowing the exact location of one Alpha will lead us to another. We should look to regular golems as the Führer suggested.”

“Why would he suggest that?”

“Legends say that in the Age of Golems, the Alphas cared for their own, up until mankind came along. So they must have a connection to each other.”

Klemens nodded in agreement and started searching through one of the other tomes from the pile. After another hour of gaining no new insights, the researchers decided to switch books. It was a trick they used often to help them see something the other may have overlooked. The switch eventually paid off when Katja found an excerpt that mentioned the Alphas’ exodus into dormancy thousands of years ago.

“Here it mentions that the Alphas abandoned mankind during the Age of Man, taking much of the Mages’ power with them, but nobody knows where they went or why they left.” Katja rose from her chair and went around the table to show the excerpt to Klemens. “What power did the Alphas take with them, do you think?” she asked after a second or two.

Klemens finished reading through Katja’s paragraph, then excitedly pointed out one from his own text. “I think I just read the answer here. It suggests that the first six Golem Mage families had a connection that stretched across all golem-kind, all over Ingleheim—just like the Führer can today.”

Now we are getting somewhere, thought Katja. No wonder Father felt the need to keep these volumes hidden until now. These texts could possibly reveal to the people how he came by his unique abilities, which allowed him to control golems without needing them in his sight. This skill gave him a distinct advantage over the other Mages he went up against.

“Could that be it?” she wondered aloud. “The first Mages had the power to control all golems en masse, and then the Alphas left, limiting their command to only the golems in their sight. Now an Alpha has been found—some twenty years after Herrscher Heinrich has uncovered that power.”

When Katja had asked her father why he was so much stronger than the others, he would tell her that he was the only true Golem Mage blessed by Verishten, while the rest were weak and unworthy. They needed to be eliminated for the good of Ingleheim. That was the same rhetoric the public received to convince them to accept the horrible things he did to protect them and usher in the current Age of Order.

Klemens nodded and opened up one of the books he had brought into the library. “I keep coming back to the tale of the First Steinkamp and his climb up the Volcano of Verishten. It was there he confronted the Golem of Fire and where Verishten rewarded his bravery by searing his Eye into the man’s flesh, granting him dominion over golem-kind.”

“Yes, the tale is told in the Golem Mage tomes as well. The first one, known as Siegfried, speaks of the Golem of Fire who caused the First Eruption and ushered Ingleheim out of the Age of Golems and into the Age of Man. The tomes mention a covenant between Verishten and man, one that allowed mankind to settle in the mountain ranges of Ingleheim in return for holding dominion over golem-kind, as he once had. Every scholar interprets the tale a little differently but they all agree that Siegfried faced the Alpha of Lava Golems at the top of the volcano and returned with Golem Mage abilities.”

“Well, from that tale, along with our hypothesis that the Alphas reside in each of their own mountain ranges, it is pretty obvious where we’ll find the Golem of Fire. Right where the hero Siegfried found it,” said Klemens.

“Eureka!” Katja cheered sarcastically, slumping against the side of the table with her arms crossed. “Let’s assemble the team and climb to the top of an active volcano in hopes Verishten will bless us for our bravery.”

“Most likely scorch us from the inside out for our stupidity, much like what happens to those silly pilgrims,” Klemens snorted.

The pilgrims would stop climbing once the heat and the ash overwhelmed them, but the fanatical few would persevere until they suffocated or their lungs burnt away. Even with masks, nobody was known to have made it all the way to the top and back.

“I don’t know, is it silly for people to climb a deadly volcano in order to be closer to their god?” Katja asked hypothetically.

“Hey, maybe that’s how the Führer got his power. Wouldn’t that be something?” Klemens muttered.

The thought of her father climbing to the top of an active volcano made Katja shake her head. If he had accomplished such a feat of endurance, he would have made sure everyone in Ingleheim knew about it. “How he got his power doesn’t matter. He’s not a god. He cannot control an Alpha, only Verishten can,” Katja said.

“If anyone has a chance in controlling the Golem of Death, it’s the Mighty Führer. Besides, it’s not for us to question him.”

“But doesn’t it bother you that he wants to awaken something that could destroy us all? How can you not question it?”

“I understand your concern. I too have read the lore surrounding the Golem of Death, but we need to remember that if it wasn’t for the Führer uniting the ranges under one rule, the kings would still be fighting amongst themselves and ripping Ingleheim to shreds. We are lucky to be living in this Age of Order and in the peace that it has granted us. In return, as citizens, we must trust his judgment.”

Returning to her seat at the other side of the table, Katja tried not to engage. It always disheartened her to listen to Klemens speak so fervently in support of the Regime, even though she couldn’t expect any different from someone of his rank. If more people of high standing admit that there is something wrong with the Regime, no one would have to fear it anymore, she thought. “You know better than anyone, Klem. War is inevitable, but a few battles every other generation is preferable to the systematic slaughter committed by this regime every day. The Mages fought at times, but that does not justify the mass genocide of an entire group of people, their women and children—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Klemens said while looking around the library for eavesdroppers who were not there. He continued more quietly, “The rebellion is seeking to destroy everything we hold dear. They wish to divide us, to render Ingleheim to rubble. We can’t even tell each other our real names or parentage without the risk that some traitorous ingrate abducts us and holds us for ransom. Our Führer must do everything in his power to make sure people like them don’t win. We must do everything in our power to assist him.”

“Rebellions don’t just rise up without a reason. They represent the plight of the common people. If the order provided by the Regime actually benefited them, why are so many willing to risk everything to oppose it?”

“And what would a woman like you know of the plight of the common people?” Klemens scoffed.

He had a point. Katja lived a sheltered life, completely separated from Deschner’s impoverished sectors, those of which she only heard about in passing. Furthermore, journalists were never allowed to write on the subject, courtesy of the Regime’s Censors.

“No more than you, but rebellions such as the one we are facing today never existed in the Age of Kings,” she concluded.

“Blast the Age of Kings!” Klemens slammed his fist on the table, and she jumped in her seat. “Katja, your words are becoming treasonous. Just for listening to you, I’m obligated to turn you in.”

“If the Regime were acting in the best interest of its people it wouldn’t need to imprison them for speaking the truth as they see it!” Katja raised her own voice.

“Katja, shut up!”

“Or what? Will you report me? Will you have them send me to the Iron Mines? I am not afraid of them.”

“You should be,” Klemens said in a low, stiff voice.

The doors to the library groaned open and both Klemens and Katja abruptly stopped talking as Ignatius entered the library.

“I hope that all of this shouting means you two are getting close to finding a lead,” he said sternly but with a hint of facetiousness.

“Not exactly,” Katja muttered. “I’ll let Klemens fill you in.”

She picked up her journal and inkwell, then swiftly exited the library. Klemens told Ignatius to wait a moment, and got up to go after her. He caught up to Katja in the empty hall.

“Kat, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you,” he said when he stepped in front of her. “I just don’t want to see anything bad happen to you. The things you say sometimes—if anyone were to overhear, they could report you.”

Let them report me! Katja screamed within her mind, but instead, she gave in. “I’ve hardly slept since we were put on this project. Please just forget what I said.”

“You know I would never actually turn you in.” Klemens placed a warm palm on her shoulder. “I’d hate for you to be afraid to share your opinions with me, but some opinions are very dangerous to have . . . you must be more careful.”

Katja knew Klemens was trying to help. He was afraid, just like so many others living under the Regime. Katja, however, was tired of being afraid. She was tired of people more powerful than her telling her how to think and what to feel. As long as she was in control of her own mind, she would think and act by her own mind, and nobody else’s. “Thank you for your concern, Klem. I think I should lie down for a while.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Feel better, alright?” Klemens nodded and headed back to the library.

Katja wanted so badly to sleep, but she would never be able to until she returned to Frost Woods and attempted to awaken a golem using the forbidden song one more time. She needed to wait until such a time where her team was preoccupied and would not look for her.

It was early enough in the morning. She could make a quick trip to the woods, a few miles north of the university, and still return before dark.

* * *

The horse’s hooves crunched against the packed snow of the northern university path. With her scarf wrapped tightly around her neck and face, Katja raced her bay mare toward Frost Woods in an attempt to make good time.

She couldn’t believe the gatemen had just let her go without an escort. As a researcher for the Regime, Katja had an all-access pass to the university and its grounds. She was allowed to leave the premises anytime she wanted, but for security to let her ride into the woods unaccompanied seemed a little too lenient. She had been prepared to threaten the gatemen with telling Gustaf, the Kanzler of Nordenhein, that they were inhibiting her research if they made her wait for a forest ranger. Luckily for everyone, such action was unnecessary.

Katja reached the woods in a little over an hour. She rode a mile or so farther until the frozen shrubbery grew too thick and the snow too deep. She dismounted and tied the mare to a sturdy branch, took her things from the saddle bag, and continued on foot.

With a map and compass in hand, Katja navigated through the winding paths and found her way to the clearing at the top of the hill. She continued through the thicket to where the frost golem awakened a week prior, then decided to venture farther through the pines where it had disappeared. It took ten minutes for Katja to find another clearing, but once she had, she felt like going farther still. She trudged through deeper and deeper snow, some of it falling into her boots, but her wool leggings kept her skin from freezing.

Katja continued on, pushing through snow-covered branches until she came upon a third clearing where a small waterfall fed into a stream. This is it. Her gut told her that a dormant golem would be there.

She took out her flute and played the forbidden melody. When she finished the last note, she waited, and waited some more. The only stirring in the woods was the trickling waterfall.

This just has to work. She played the Ode to Golems four more times, and as she came to the final bars, she swore she heard a deep and distant voice sing along, bringing the song to life. She immediately stopped playing, and the singing voice finished the last bar.

“. . . hear me, I am you.”

Spinning around, Katja expected to see a forest ranger or perhaps even Klemens behind her.

No one was there.

Katja gulped. Who could possibly know the words to the Ode if even she didn’t? Would a rebel know? One could be camped out here, hiding from the authorities. What if I get kidnapped? No one would think to look for me for several hours. Katja’s mind raced. Her father would never negotiate with rebels, even for his only child. They would have to kill her.

Before panic truly set in, the ground underneath Katja trembled. Mounds of snow fell from the rock formations just left of the waterfall. They began to move and fast. She screamed and backed away from the creek.

Katja gaped, her breath frozen in her throat. Snow poured down from a cliff face that was taking on a new form right before her eyes. The cliff lumbered slowly toward her, shaking the ground, and stopped just shy of the creek separating them. When the last of the snow fell away, a blue light flashed near the top of the towering soapstone creature. Ice, coating the light source, shattered away as it shone even brighter. It was a gigantic blue eye.

Katja strained her neck to look up at the giant frost golem she’d awakened. She held her breath, but still shivered profusely. The size of it petrified her. She had seen war and winged golems plenty of times, but they averaged to only fifteen feet tall; this one was closer to twenty. It was shaped similarly to its much smaller cousin she’d awakened the week before, with long limbs compared to its torso. The shoulders were positioned higher than its head, resembling jutting icicle spires. The head itself protruded from its upper chest and possessed a single elliptical eye that shone with a brilliant blue light.

For what felt like an eternity, the golem stood as frozen as the ice that coated it, staring down at Katja. Her heart raced as a smile slowly formed. How do I address this massive stone being now that it’s awake?

Like the human-sized version, the golem’s shining blue eye dimmed and brightened again. The golem then turned its back to Katja just as the last one had. The ground shuddered beneath its weight as it walked into the bush, the sound of cracking ice echoing off the crisp winter air.

“No!” She sprang to her feet and ran toward the golem, stopping short of the creek. “Don’t go!”

Her mind went blank as she watched the unstoppable colossus cleave through the foliage. The vibrations of its footsteps grew weaker the farther it went, and the woods were silent once again.

At that point, her bearings returned. She knelt down into the snow, took out her notebook and inkwell, and quickly jotted down her findings.

Observation week 2: Giant frost golem awakened after the song was played through 4 time—

Katja stopped writing. She had almost forgotten about the singing voice. It wasn’t until actual words were sung that the golem had risen.

Adrenaline of a more urgent kind took hold of Katja upon remembering she was not alone. She hurried to collect her journal, quill and inkwell, and swiftly turned to leave before whoever it was showed themselves. Maybe the golem scared them off, she hoped.

When Katja began her trek through the dead underbrush from whence she came, a figure stepped out into her field of vision. She froze. A man, wearing black from head to toe, stood as still as the thin birch trees sprouting through the snow several feet away. He stared her down with no eyes. No nose, no mouth—no face. A shapeless black mask covered it entirely.

Her alarm turned to pulse-pounding terror. A Steinkamp soldier. It didn’t make sense. Why would the Regime send an assassin after me? Father would never sanction such a thing. But what other reason is there for a Steinkamp to be in these woods if not to kill me? Whether in the Age of Kings or the Age of Order, Steinkamp soldiers were trained for only one thing. To fight means to kill!

Without another thought, Katja took off into the bush. It didn’t matter where she ran or if she got lost. If a Steinkamp soldier were sent to kill her, he would find her eventually—that much was certain.

The soldier sped along the snowdrifts, so light the snow hardly came loose, so fast that he was a shadowy blur amongst the trees’ white and charcoal bark. As soon as Katja emerged from a mass of pine tree branches the Steinkamp was in front of her. She screamed so loud the crows took from their perches and flapped and cawed overhead.

“Don’t run.” The Steinkamp’s voice was strangely temperate for someone who was about to murder a woman in the woods.

“If you’re going to kill me, just do it!” Katja meant to say those words with fortitude, but her voice quavered like a lost child’s.

“If I were here to eliminate you, you’d be dead before you ever caught sight of me,” the Steinkamp replied, his tone almost mocking. But she knew, as they say, to face a Steinkamp is death assured.

“What do you want?” she asked, still wary.

“I’ve been charged to provide the security for you and your team,” stated the Steinkamp.

“So you’re here to protect me . . . not to kill me?” Katja began to breathe normally again, but her body still shook.

The Steinkamp nodded. Katja discerned no features from behind his black mask of metallic mesh armor. It was as if all the light around it were absorbed into an inescapable void. For the few seconds she stared into the mask, her eyes ached.

“Fitting that my father would send one of you to guard me,” Katja commented. “A Steinkamp soldier for security detail is quite overzealous.”

“My orders come from the kapitan, which flow through my kommandeur. I am not at liberty to question where the command originates, whether it is from your father or the Mighty Führer himself.”

Katja’s spine tremored. She realized that this Steinkamp soldier, obviously sent by her father, witnessed her awaken a golem with a forbidden piece of music.

“How long have you been following me?”

“Since your first expedition to these woods one week ago—the same day you were put on your assignment,” the Steinkamp replied. He enunciated is words extremely well, yet his phrasing was fluid with no distinct dialect. That made it impossible for Katja to guess which range he was originally from.

“You were watching me that day.” She bit the inside of her cheek. Is he obligated to report on everything he saw?

“Affirmative.” He nodded. “It is often that a Steinkamp can better protect his charges without them being aware.”

“You don’t say. Then why show yourself to me now?”

“Your suspicious behavior has forced me to.” The Steinkamp’s voice grew deeper as he took one step closer. She reflexively took one step back, the pine needles from the tree behind her getting stuck in her braid. “Where did you learn that song?” he asked.

“The song is no concern of yours.” She stepped away from the tree and brushed the pine needles off her fur collar. “Our methods of research are top secret. You are here to protect, not to question.”

She heard a quiet grunt from behind the Steinkamp’s mask. “So top secret you came to these woods alone without your colleagues knowledge? Could it be because you play works forbidden by the Regime?”

“The Regime has no qualms about me using forbidden works if it helps to serve their interests. I hope to inform my colleagues as soon as I deem it appropriate. Again, it is not your place to comment on how I conduct my research.” Katja slung her bag over her shoulder and walked away from the nosy Steinkamp.

“If you were going to tell your team at all, you already would have,” the Steinkamp challenged as he followed her through the forest.

“Is that so?”

“As soon as the Regime demanded your services, nobody would care how or why you knew that song if it worked. It’s not the song you wish to hide from them, but the fact that you might have been successful in its use. The question that remains is why?”

This Steinkamp must have been the one who sang the last few bars of the Ode, Katja thought. She turned around sharply to face him. “I’ve never known Steinkamp to talk so much. I’ve also never known them to sing, especially forbidden songs of which no record of the lyrics exists.”

For years she wondered what the lyrics were. She had searched the entire library at home, but no such thing had ever turned up. Over time she had made up her own words, trying to imagine what people must have sung to golems during the Age of Man. She continued, “I am a well-regarded Golem Studies major working on a top-secret project, and my clearance allows me to see what the Regime has censored. I’ve seen more forbidden documents in the last week than most high standing offiziers have seen in their entire careers. You knowing the words to such a song, however, is truly suspect. I’m sure the Führer would be interested to know how my protector learned them.”

“What are you proposing?”

“I don’t tell the Regime that one of their soldiers knows the words to a song long suppressed, and you won’t inform your superiors or my colleagues what you saw here today,” Katja said.

“As you wish,” the Steinkamp replied, and he continued walking.

Katja then realized that she would need more than just his word not to tell. “And you shall teach me all the lyrics to the Ode to Golems before we return to the university.”

“My orders do not come from you, fraulein,” the Steinkamp said dully as he walked ahead of her, pushing aside some low-hanging branches and ice-tipped foliage to clear their path.

“That’s a pity. I suppose I will have to inform the Führer that the Steinkamp sent to protect me is hampering my research more than he is helping it. Given the importance of this project, he won’t take kindly to that, and then you won’t be taking orders from anybody—”

Before Katja could take her next breath, the Steinkamp spun around and grabbed her by the elbow.

“The only reason the gatemen allowed you to leave on your own today was that they knew I was already attending to you. One word to the security offiziers and you will be prohibited from ever leaving university grounds for the entirety of your attendance. If I must, I will report to my kommandeur that you act against the interests of the Regime, and they will take you away where your highborn relatives will never find you. . . . All I need to do is give them this.”

The Steinkamp raised his free arm and revealed Katja’s journal clutched within his gloved hands. She gasped and patted down her bag to find its volume significantly lacking. “Give that back!”

The soldier held fast to her arm until it ached, but all she cared about were her innermost thoughts and insurrectionist ideas being exposed at that moment.

Finally, he released her and handed the book back. She snatched it and placed it back in her bag. How the Steinkamp was able to take it without her being aware frightened her more than his menacing reaction to her meager threats.

The Steinkamp said, “I won’t do any of the aforementioned things, but I won’t just recite to you the lyrics either, not while that book is in your possession. Do you understand?”

Katja nodded begrudgingly while rubbing her elbow. She had to remember this man was not some ordinary security guard from the university. This man was Steinkamp. He would not hesitate to take her head off if commanded.

“I have no choice but to continue my research unimpeded, despite what you say,” said Katja.

“The way I see it, I have something you want, and you have something I want,” the Steinkamp said. “So, I will offer you this. Instead of telling you the lyrics, I will simply escort you on your secret excursions. I can then assist you in raising golems to your heart’s content, provided you never write the lyrics in that book, and you never tell anyone of our interactions henceforth.”

“That is all I want,” Katja agreed. “But tell me. What exactly do you want out of this?”

The Steinkamp, in a staunch voice behind his unmoving mask, said, “That is not for you to know at this time.”

“Well, then how am I supposed to trust you?”

“I don’t much care if you trust me at all.”

“Then I cannot accept this arrangement.”

“By all means, reject my offer to help you, and see how far you get the next time you decide to leave university grounds alone,” the Steinkamp said gruffly.

“Not if I turn you in.”

“A Steinkamp has been ordered to protect you; it doesn’t have to be me. However, I’m the only one that knows the lyrics you seem to need so badly. So make your choice, fraulein.”

He turned from Katja once more to continue the trek, leaving her stunned. Why does he insist on getting in my way? Unfortunately, it didn’t matter. She had to know if the words sung in conjunction with the notes would work in waking a giant golem again.

Sighing with frustration, she followed the black-clad soldier down the path. “Alright, Steinkamp. You may accompany me to these woods at the same time next week . . . and have your singing voice ready.”

“Already looking forward to it,” he muttered under his breath.

5

BLUE LIGHT

“Do you have a name, Steinkamp?”

Katja and her bodyguard had been riding silently upon the northern road toward Frost Woods for the past hour. Week’s end had come again, and she was able to break away from the rest of the team to make another trek.

“I am nameless,” was his only reply.

“So none of you have names? How does your kommandeur give you orders?”

“Our superior offiziers know our names.”

The conversation ended at that.

The Steinkamp had required no warning of Katja’s arrival at the stables earlier that day. As soon as her horse had set hoof on the northern trail, he appeared on his own horse right next to her. Even with the winter whiteness all around them, the soldier, dressed head to toe in black, could easily be mistaken for Katja’s own shadow. His uncanny ability to approach unseen made her even more uneasy around him.

He rode ahead of her, his posture unfaltering, his every movement made with calculated intention. He made the act of sitting on a horse appear as athletic as sparring or climbing. Never having seen a Steinkamp this close before, Katja took this time to study the meticulous craftsmanship of his armor. It was designed to protect every inch of his body without appearing bulky and ungainly, even with the various weapons he wore. Among them were a sword and crossbow at his back, a circular throwing blade at his hip, a cudgel at his leg, and a knife at the other. She could only guess what else hid in his various pockets.

The crossbow made her curious. She was familiar with them, as her father’s personal guard had taught her how to use one at thirteen. The Steinkamp’s however, appeared much more advanced. It was compact as to not weigh him down, and capable of holding three bolts in its barrel instead of one.

A bulky, cylindrical apparatus strapped to the Steinkamp’s left forearm irked Katja the most. To relieve some of the discomforts she felt just having him there, she decided to ask, “What is that thing on your arm?”

Glancing down at it, the Steinkamp replied, “It’s a splitting blade dispenser.”

“All that just to dispense a blade?”

The Steinkamp lifted his arm to let her get a better view. “It’s not just a blade. It is attached to a chain, wound up inside the base here,” he pointed to the largest section of the dispenser. “Then when the catch is released here,” he indicated the lever on the underside of his forearm, “the blade fires, similar to how a crossbow does. It is designed to fan into three blades at the hilt upon impact so it cannot be removed from its target easily.”

“Whatever for?” Katja asked with a grimace, starting to regret asking about it at all.

“It can be very useful in eliminating a target from a distance if it needs to be retrieved after,” the Steinkamp stated matter-of-factly.

Bile rose in Katja’s chest upon listening to the Steinkamp speak of his targets as if they were not human beings. “Do you really think you need something like that out here?”

“A Steinkamp should do his best to avoid leaving a weapon behind when he goes out on a mission. I keep replacements for almost everything in my saddle bags.”

“I suppose one cannot be too prepared,” she commented, although she still thought such weaponry was over the top for the mission he was on.

Katja couldn’t stop shivering as the fat snowflakes fell around them. The flakes landing upon the Steinkamp’s uniform melted instantly, while piling on the shoulders of her own tawny overcoat. Her long brown hair was pinned back and tucked away under her fur hat, but it did little to protect her from the winds that blew the snow into her face. She tightened her scarf around her neck. “Aren’t you cold?”

“It has been years since I felt the cold,” he answered. “All Steinkamp complete their survival training in the most extreme environments of Ingleheim, one of those places being the Glacier Peaks of Nordenhein. Temperatures drop to such dismal levels, that more than half of novices don’t make it through.”

“You lose that many . . . in training?” Katja was baffled.

“That’s why it’s called survival training. A Steinkamp who cannot face his own impending demise has no right to inflict such on his foes.”

“Even when those foes are innocent children? When does a Steinkamp train in that?”

Katja didn’t know why she asked him such a thing, but the Steinkamp’s presence was beyond vexing and she couldn’t help but lash out. Why would Father send the same type of soldier to protect me that he used to slaughter children during his rise to power? she wondered. And how in Verishten’s name does he know the Ode?

The Steinkamp replied to Katja’s sharp inquiry, “A Steinkamp’s kill training begins at the age of thirteen. We are taught to kill every manner of man and beast, but children are not among them.”

Katja’s brow furrowed as she contemplated his answer. The Regime required all boys to serve a minimum of ten years in the military when they reached sixteen. It helped to strengthen Ingleheim’s military machine and keep young men off the streets during their most tumultuous age. Katja’s father had said to her once that ‘idle hands in a regime will work to unravel it.’ Boys that skirted this crucial responsibility were often hunted down and killed by Steinkamp soldiers. Of course, there were exceptions among the wealthy and educated, like Klemens, who could petition a ruling from their kanzler that would allow them to better serve through scholastic or mercantile pursuits.

“Do they not still require novices to execute military dodgers as a part of their kill training?” Katja asked.

“Yes.”

“Are they not children?”

“If the Regime deems them man enough to fight for Ingleheim, they are man enough to suffer the consequences for not doing so.”

Katja shifted uncomfortably in her saddle as they rode into Frost Woods. “What do you have to say about the atrocities committed by your fellow comrades in the slaughter of hundreds of families, including innocent women and children?”

“I don’t know anything about what my comrades did twenty years ago nor do I care.” The Steinkamp’s voice was curt. “My mission is to see to your protection, not to kill you, murder children, or anything else you’ve imagined me and my comrades doing through the ages. Now drop it.”

Katja sighed with frustration. “Just give me the lyrics.”

“That’s not happening.”

“I promise I won’t report you.”

“The day I take the word of a spoiled highborn girl like you is the day I jump into the Mouth of Verishten.”

“Then, by all means, take the infernal leap. It would certainly simplify things.”

Katja kicked her horse and galloped ahead, her head spinning. She needed some distance from the faceless soldier.

The Steinkamp didn’t stay behind for long. He kicked his jet-black steed into a gallop and turned it in front of her. Katja’s horse danced backward to get its bearings. Fortunately for her, she was able to get the spooked mare under control rather quickly.

“What are you doing?” she huffed.

“I’m here to help you, you know.”

“You know what would really help me right now? You, returning to the shadows so that I can be blissfully unaware of you again!”

The Steinkamp maneuvered his horse across the path so that Katja’s couldn’t move past him. “I would love nothing more, but here we find ourselves.”

“Get out of the way.”

He tilted his head. “You have nothing to fear from me, fraulein.”

“I am not afraid of you.”

“Well, you’re certainly afraid of something. Is it the Regime or something else?”

Do they teach Steinkamp to read thoughts as well? Is this another Mage sent to use my mind as his plaything? Katja thought. She grew weary of the Steinkamp’s intrusions and since regretted antagonizing him in the first place. “Leave the analysis to the researcher. Just keep to what you are trained for.”

She leaned forward in her saddle and swung her right leg over the back of her horse just as a cracking branch under the other horse’s hooves spooked it. The mare shifted its weight so suddenly Katja lost her balance and fell head-first off the right side of her saddle.

Faster than she could take a breath, the Steinkamp leaped off his horse. He caught her around the waist as she fell diagonally into his arms. He then swiftly and gently twirled her into a snowdrift. The Steinkamp held her there for a moment, looking down at her with what she imagined was a smug grin behind that dark metallic mesh.

“What I’m trained for, according to you, is slaughtering children.” The Steinkamp released her once she was able to steady herself.

Katja brushed the snowflakes from her coat and scarf while reddening with embarrassment. “Perhaps I can concede that not all Steinkamp soldiers are child murderers.”

“A highborn lady, willing to concede? This is news to bring back to my comrades,” he mocked.

He continued to stare at her as she shook the snow from her hat and put it back on. Though she could not see his face, she couldn’t stop imagining a mocking grin, and it unnerved her not to know if it was really there.

It would be nice to put a face to his lack of a name. With that thought, Katja approached the Steinkamp and reached for his mask in a weak attempt to rip it from his face. Without a glance, he snatched her wrist with lightning speed and held it still.

“What do you think you are doing?” The Steinkamp’s voice was husky.

Katja’s skin flushed. “I wish to remove your mask so that I can wipe that smirk off your face!”

“Steinkamp don’t smirk.”

“Fine.” She yanked her wrist away and went to grab her things from the saddle bag. “Keep it on, then. It will make it easier for me to ignore you.”

“That’s what we count on.”

The Steinkamp and Katja finished tying their horses to a couple of low branches and continued onward down the snowy path.

They trudged through Frost Woods in relative silence. Within several minutes, they arrived at the creek where Katja awakened her first giant frost golem, and like she did on that day, she felt it prudent to venture farther.

That week’s heavy snowfall had filled any tread marks the golem left behind. Numerous times, she consulted her map and compass so she might locate another clearing close by.

The Steinkamp sighed. “Put those away and follow me.”

In half an hour, they emerged from the thick foliage above a snug valley amongst a bunch of pines growing along an icy ridge.

“Down this way,” the soldier urged as he gracefully began his descent.

The way appeared dangerous, and Katja didn’t dare move. The Steinkamp turned back and offered her his hand. She hesitated, but on his second urging, she grabbed hold of his arm, and he brought her safely to a snow-covered platform below. The remainder of the way down was a sheer drop to the snow-filled valley beneath them.

“Are you ready?” asked the Steinkamp, reaffirming his grip on Katja’s arm.

“Ready for what?”

Without replying, he leaped from the ledge, taking Katja with him. She screamed and cursed as they free-fell. But the fall and her screams were cut short when her feet abruptly made contact with the deep snow. Both Katja and the Steinkamp became buried up to their waists in the soft, fluffy flakes that she had thought were several feet down, but in reality, were not that far below the platform. Then came unfettered laughter. That laughter was Katja’s, and she was completely unprepared for it.

As quickly as glee had overcome her, she stopped laughing and cleared her throat awkwardly upon noticing the Steinkamp’s silent, masked stare.

“Oh, I suppose Steinkamp don’t laugh either.”

“Only on the inside.”

Katja paused. They were words stolen straight out of her own mouth, said so many times before to Klemens. Strange that I break down in a laughing fit in front of a masked soldier of death whom I just met, instead of the classmate I’ve known for years.

He easily climbed out of the snow. Katja tried to do the same but only sank deeper. In her frustration, she simply looked up at him—his shadow cast over her—and said, “You put me in here, now get me out.”

The Steinkamp grunted as he tugged Katja out of the snow by her arms. She couldn’t tell if he were annoyed or amused. The two of them then slid down a snowy incline to the bottom of the valley where the snow was not as deep and they could walk across the top.

The snow in the valley was light, the smell of it crisp and clean. Katja never wanted to leave Nordenhein and return to the ashen gloom of Deschner. Would Father ever consent to me permanently residing in Nordenhein Range? She wondered.

“This place is as good as any to find dormant golems, I think,” she said.

With her flute in hand, Katja first played the Ode to Golems without the words as a control experiment. As she predicted, no golems—giant or otherwise—appeared to them.

“I wonder why I was able to awaken that human-sized golem with only the notes, but the giant one needed the words,” Katja mused.

“I sang the words that day too,” the Steinkamp confessed. “I was a bit farther away, so you probably couldn’t hear me over your flute.”

“Well, that answers that question.” Katja brought the flute close to her lips again. “I guess it’s time for you to start singing then.”

The Steinkamp cleared his throat, seeming nervous all of a sudden. She surmised singing was not an art form Steinkamp were trained in, but he had insisted on being the one to do it. He crooned along to the flute’s melody, his voice low and unmelodious. Katja strained to hear it.

“Golem, take me to your land.

Spare me from your powerful hand.

Give yourself to me, then we shall be free.

Golem, find me, here I stand.”

Katja stopped playing for a moment. The lyrics were not what she’d expected.

The Steinkamp turned to her. “Does my singing voice offend you, fraulein?”

“N-no, not at all . . . keep going.”

With the next verse, his voice grew a little more confident. She couldn’t believe a Steinkamp could sing so well.

“Golem, your eye, I see through.

Let me show you what we can do.

Blessed by Verishten, you are of my kin.

Golem, hear me, I am you.”

Katja found herself overwhelmed with wonderment. It was what she had always dreamed it to be. The Ode had not been written by people who wanted to dominate golems, but by people who thought of them as their kin, something that was a part of them, something they could experience the world through. Her research to find a connection between golems and humanity felt more possible than ever. Finally, the words to my favorite melody.

When the song ended, a strange yet calming silence enveloped the space between Katja and the Steinkamp.

“Where did you learn that song?” she asked softly.

Before the Steinkamp could formulate a reply, a shudder of falling rocks erupted from behind them. They both spun around to witness the stone platform they had jumped from earlier detach from the rest of the rock face. A giant frost golem lumbered around to face them.

“It worked! It’s not a coincidence!” Katja exclaimed.

As the golem took steps toward them, the deep snow parted before it like a cold white wave. Katja took a few steps to meet the advancing colossus, her arms held out in front of her as if to brace it. She began to sing the Ode in a shaking voice, but having only heard it once, hadn’t memorized the words yet.

“Steinkamp, start singing, please.”

“What are you trying to do? Unless you’re a Golem Mage, you can’t control it,” he said.

“There is historical evidence of people in the Age of Man being able to communicate with golems. I know I can’t dominate it, but . . .”

The golem, standing about twenty feet tall, stopped a few paces away. She took another step toward it.

“Fraulein, stay back!” The Steinkamp took hold of Katja’s shoulder and pulled her back to him.

“It’s okay, let go,” she demanded.

The golem stood before them for a moment longer, flashed its blue light, and then began to turn around like all the other ones before it. I have to keep its attention this time. Katja couldn’t allow yet another golem to walk away without giving her something to document.

As the golem was leaving and the perceived threat lessened, the Steinkamp let her go. She dashed around the golem until she was again in its line of sight. It halted its stride, its blue eye flashing once more.

“Katja!” the Steinkamp barked.

“Sing the words!” She fumbled in her bag for the flute and brought it up to her dry lips.

She hardly had the chance to sound a single note when the frost golem’s blue eye shone upon her—so bright, she could no longer see. She stopped playing and shielded her eyes with her arm. A cold penetrated deep into her bones.

A shadow suddenly blocked the blue light of the golem’s eye, and shoved her to the ground. She lifted her head with a mouthful of snow and turned to witness the Steinkamp collapse in front of her, stiff, unmoving—his uniform white with frost. Lying face down, his frozen hand clutched his crossbow as if prepared to shoot.

“No!” Katja screamed.

The massive golem turned toward her again.

What just happened? Why did it attack?

Its eye shone almost white, hurting Katja’s eyes once more. The cold returned in a wave.

With adrenaline pumping fiercely through her, she leaped up from the snowdrift and dove behind a pair of large pines. The freezing cold cloaked her, taking the wind right out of her lungs.

The sound of crackling ice deafened her. Glistening, crystalline ice coated every last pine needle of the trees at Katja’s back. The ground shook as the golem drew nearer, stopping just behind the trees and causing parts of frozen branches to shake loose into the snow. Katja looked up to find the golem’s eye shining high over the top of the pine’s icicle tips, ready to freeze her on sight. She would never make the climb out of the valley before the golem reached her; she was hopelessly trapped. Why is it so hostile? Man and golem have been at peace for over two thousand years. Only when a Mage commands a golem to attack a human will it do so. Since the only Golem Mage left alive was her father, Katja never had to worry about golems attacking her. She was utterly unprepared for this.

A giant stone arm shattered the frozen pine trees that Katja hid behind. She dove to the side with a shrill screech. The golem’s eye flashed again, and she reacted without a second thought. She ran between its legs, frantically searching for a way out of the enclosed valley. There’s nowhere to go!

Directly east looked the most promising except for the mounds of snow hills that Katja couldn’t hope to run through fast enough. She looked west to where she and the Steinkamp had come. There she found something she didn’t expect to see. The dormant golem had blocked an opening in the cliffside. With the snow around it set aside, she could easily slip through it in hopes it would take her out of the valley.

But if not—I need a way to bring it down.

Katja knew that the eye was the golem’s only known vulnerability, but damaging it often required skill in projectile weapons that few people possessed.

Before the golem could turn its massive form around, Katja took a risk and dove to retrieve the Steinkamp’s crossbow from his frozen grasp. He wouldn’t need it anymore. There was nothing Katja could do for him now. She sprinted west toward the crevasse, the snow still deep enough to slow her down. Once again she felt the penetrating cold at her back, her heart humming with dreadful anticipation of it being frozen in her chest. She reached the cliff just as the stone all around her became coated with ice, but she kept moving. The cliff walls grew tighter and tighter until Katja couldn’t fit between them anymore. For all she knew, there was a dead end ahead.

The earth shook and the golem approached. Its blue eye shone through the crack in the cliff. For a moment she could make out the detail of it. There was no iris or pupil, but circular maze-like patterns with lines like crystal ice against brilliant blue. Katja was as captivated as she was terrified, but she had to keep her wits about her.

Pressed between two slabs of ice-coated rock, she cocked the crossbow with more ease than she’d expected, courtesy of a smaller cranequin, which didn’t require her to use a foot stirrup for leverage. She edged closer to the golem, the crossbow aimed and ready to release. When the blue eye lit up again, Katja squinted from the brightness and pulled the trigger.

6

CRUELTY BREEDS LOYALTY

The unbearable chill of the golem’s eye pierced through Katja’s body. The light made it impossible to see where her crossbow bolt went. She could only hear its release, and a second later, ice cracking.

Katja was so cold she feared it was the sound of ice crystallizing on her body. One more second passed before the light went out and the freezing air dissipated. She opened her eyes to see her crossbow bolt sticking out from the golem’s eye. The ground shook as the giant creature collapsed against the cliff wall, slid down, and landed on its side.

Gasping for air, Katja’s breath was a frigid white mist. The golem moved no more, but she knew it wasn’t dead, only forced into dormancy. Her mind raced as frantically as her heart. I just shot down a golem all on my own, and the Steinkamp barely stood a chance.

Katja’s breath seized. She may have miraculously survived the ordeal, but the one assigned to protect her did not. He died to save her life, and she didn’t even know his name. Calm down, Katja, he may still live, she told herself.

With the crossbow in hand, she slowly approached the fallen golem that blocked her path out of the crevasse. It would not reawaken as long as the bolt remained in its eye. As she came closer to it, Katja could clearly make out the fine cracks that made up the strange pattern within. She would have to study it some other time; right now she needed to check on the Steinkamp.

After several attempts, she finally climbed up the golem’s slippery soapstone back and slid off the other side into the open valley. She ran to the fallen soldier whose black armor was made white by a frost coating.

Her heart thumped in her throat as she turned the Steinkamp onto his back, his mask caked in ice. She removed her gloves so that she could find his pulse but quickly realized she’d feel nothing through his thick leather neck brace. Before she could figure out how to take it off, the Steinkamp jerked awake, coughing and taking in violent, gargled breaths like a man who had nearly drowned.

“You’re alive!” She gasped and brushed the ice crystals from his mask.

He struggled to sit up, the ice from his uniform cracking but ultimately keeping him from moving. The Steinkamp’s breathing grew more forced and frantic, mist bursting from behind the mesh.

“Are you all right?”

The Steinkamp’s reply came out as chattering spurts, and was barely intelligible. “H-h-hot spring . . . n-not far.”

“Where?”

“East . . . h-h-help me . . .”

Katja didn’t waste time asking more questions. She left the crossbow in the snow and positioned herself behind the shivering Steinkamp. With all her might, she lifted and pushed him to a seated position, ice chunks shattering off his torso. Katja put his left arm over her shoulder and used all her strength to lift him to his feet. More ice broke away from his legs as he rose to a standing position. Her knees buckled under the Steinkamp’s weight, even after he dropped his sword and splitting blade dispenser.

With a grunt, Katja pushed forward, using both their momenta to continue moving ahead. The Steinkamp kept some of his weight off her as they ventured onward, but it was barely enough. The snow was too deep, and her arms and legs tired trudging through it. The Steinkamp shuddered more violently against her as she half-dragged him through the snow, following his weak directives to go right, then left, then through some trees. The map she had with her didn’t indicate where the hot springs were located, although Ingleheim had no shortage of volcanic landmarks.

Just when Katja felt she would give up and let the Steinkamp freeze to death, she became immersed in a humid fog. The snow beneath their feet turned into a thick slush, its translucence making the mud and dead, flattened grass visible beneath. Precious warmth wrapped around the pair, and the Steinkamp took his first few steps without aid. Katja rubbed her sore shoulders as she followed him down a slushy embankment leading to a steaming pool cradled in a ring of dark soapstone.

The ice frozen to the Steinkamp’s uniform began to melt off as he stepped more assuredly toward the water. He threw himself into the hot spring, becoming completely submerged, then resurfaced. He floated for a while, shaking the water out through the mesh of his mask.

The steam swirled above the teal blue water, and Katja yearned to jump in with him and soothe her aching muscles but decided against it. It was better for her to stay dry. Instead, she stood holding her arms to her chest at the edge of the hot spring, watching the Steinkamp until, at last, he gained the strength to stand upright in the waist-deep water.

He then began to undo his clasps. “I have an extra uniform in my saddle bag. I need you to retrieve it for me. I cannot make it back with a wet suit. Do you think you can find your way to the horses on your own?”

The man had already removed the top armored layer and tossed the pieces onto the embankment, revealing a black undershirt of thinner material that better showcased his well-muscled forearms.

Katja swallowed. “Y-yes, I think so . . . I mean, of course, wait here.”

She clambered back up the embankment and out of sight of the Steinkamp. Now, how to get back to that valley where I left my map and compass? she thought with cold sweat beading down her back. It took her so long to come upon the valley again that she worried she’d taken a wrong turn and gotten lost. She located her shoulder bag from where the Steinkamp had shoved her into the snow. The frost golem was right where she had left it as well. I actually took down a giant golem by myself!

With the help of her map and compass, Katja found an alternate path out of the valley and back to the horses. Almost two hours passed from when she left the hot springs to when she returned with the spare uniform in hand. At first she couldn’t see the Steinkamp in the pool. Maybe he had grown impatient and decided to set off with a wet uniform after all. Then she found his entire suit in a heap on the embankment along with his mask.

Unless he set off into the winter cold in the nude, he has to be around here somewhere, Katja surmised. “Steinkamp?” she called.

Then, from behind one of the larger rocks that formed a small cave on the far side of the pool, she heard his quietly assertive voice. “Set it upon the stone and look away.”

Through the steam, Katja could make out the rudimentary outline of a shirtless man, his bottom half obscured behind the soapstone formations, his back to her so she could not see his face. She crept toward the rocks and carefully placed the uniform bundle on the flatter stone surface as instructed. She didn’t turn around right away, though. The closer she got, the more she could make out his form, and the more distinctive the muscles of his bare back, shoulders, and arms became through the thermal haze. It was known that Steinkamp soldiers were the strongest climbers in Ingleheim, and it was apparent by his definition that this one was no different. Katja let her eyes wander about him more. She noticed his closely shaved hair was light and ashen where for some reason she had expected it to be as black as the mask he wore.

“Katja, turn around and do not look my way until I tell you,” the Steinkamp demanded.

“What does it matter if I see your face now?”

“It is important for me to remain faceless just as it is for your parentage to remain secret. It protects us both. Now turn around.” His voice was harsh.

Katja had no desire to test the Steinkamp’s patience further so she did what he bid. She listened to him move through the water, snatch the uniform from the rock, and put it on without a word.

The two of them returned to the valley to collect the Steinkamp’s weapons. It was there where he finally broke the tension-filled silence. When he laid eyes on the fallen frost golem, he muttered, “How did it . . . ?”

“You may want to check your crossbow. You’re missing a bolt,” Katja said.

The Steinkamp did so and looked back to her, cocking his head to the side. “How does a highborn woman like you know how to use a crossbow so well?”

“Never mind that, wait until you see what the eye of a frost golem looks like.” Katja motioned for him to follow her.

But the Steinkamp held onto her arm fast. “Don’t go near it!”

“Don’t worry, it won’t rise again until the obstruction is—”

“If we don’t start heading back now it will be dark before you return to your dormitory!”

He was right to be concerned. At nightfall, the Dormitory Monitors knocked upon each door to ensure every student was where they were supposed to be. If Katja was not back before then, she could forget about ever coming back to these woods without her team.

She nodded while edging toward the golem once again. “I agree, but first I have to examine its eye in case it’s not here by next week’s end.”

“I said no!” The Steinkamp was brusque, clutching her arm tighter.

“Let go of me. You are not to interfere with my research, remember?” She pulled against the Steinkamp’s grip but it did not falter.

“You’ve done enough research for today.” He tugged her arm.

All she could do was look back to the golem helplessly. If anyone comes upon that golem and removes the obstruction from its eye . . .

“Wait . . .” was all Katja could utter.

The Steinkamp pulled harder, practically dragging her behind him. “My mission is all that matters to me right now, and that is to keep you alive. I ask you, how is one supposed to protect a woman with a death wish? If I had been any slower, that ice beam would have hit you dead on. If it weren’t for the fact that it only grazed me and my uniform’s propensity to withstand extreme temperatures, I would not be alive to talk some sense into you right now!”

Katja stopped struggling. “I don’t have a death wish. But this research is too important. You have to trust me on this.”

“You’re asking me to trust you?” The Steinkamp finally let go of Katja and blared at her. “You won’t even tell me why you keep your research to yourself.”

“Don’t you think I want to tell someone? Anyone? How can I be sure you won’t report this to your kapitan or some rebel?”

“So you don’t want the rebellion to know either,” the Steinkamp muttered. Katja looked at him with confusion, and he continued, “The fact that a Steinkamp has been assigned to protect you is an indication that you are vital to the Regime, and yet you speak of that Regime with about as much disregard as you have for your own safety. Your inflammatory opinions combined with your propensity for ranged weaponry suggests you may have rebel ties, but you have no intention of sharing your research with them either. Who do you actually work for?”

Katja’s heart throbbed in her ears. This Steinkamp was not sent to just protect me but to investigate me, to test my loyalties. She wasn’t sure how much she believed that. She found herself desperate to trust him, but she froze.

Truthfully, she was working for no one but herself. She rebelled against her father, against Brunhilde, and the Regime for the sake of her own research. The danger was that her findings would potentially assist the Regime in awakening the Golem of Death. Katja couldn’t let anyone find out. All of this, she wanted to divulge to the man in black. Under the circumstances, however, there was only one answer she could give to satisfy his curiosities and keep him from finding her out.

“I told you, I work for the Führer,” she declared.

“If you are so close to the Führer, then turn me in,” the Steinkamp challenged.

“For what?”

“For knowing the forbidden words to the Ode to Golems. One word from you and I will disappear, and a more obedient comrade will be assigned to your detail, and then you can continue your ever so important research unhindered.”

“Who sent you to me?” Katja asked instead.

“I told you, my orders come from my kommandeur,” was his only reply.

If he had been sent by Brunhilde, the Steinkamp would never tell her, even if he wanted to. That sorceress had ways of coercing others to keep her secrets through magical and other means. Katja hated the uncertainty, she hated the secrecy, but she didn’t know what to do about it.

“You know who my father is, don’t you?”

“I assure you, I do not know and nor do I care who your father is.”

From behind the mask, Katja could never guess if he was lying, but if he had known who her father was, he would certainly care.

“It is time to head back,” she said, exhaustion weighing heavily on her.

She needed time to think.

***

During the ride back to the university, Katja felt like a lifetime had passed since the morning when she and the Steinkamp set out.

So much was on her mind. What were the Steinkamp’s true intentions? Would she be able to study the felled golem next week? Through all of that, Katja had almost forgotten that she could have been riding alone right now, worrying about how she would explain away the death of her protector on their first excursion together. It could have been her frozen into a block of ice had it not been for the faceless man that she’d wished had never been assigned to her in the first place. A Steinkamp is sworn to defend the defenseless, to never waver; never retreat. Maybe this one had no choice but to put himself in front of that beam, but would any man, even a Steinkamp, risk his life for a woman he would later see harm to?

Katja stared at him for a moment, sitting not as straight on the saddle as before, his movements more listless, the condensed vapors of his breath blowing more forcefully out from his mask.

“Are you injured, Steinkamp?” she peeped. “You were nearly turned into a human ice sculpture back there.”

“Rest is surely needed after today,” he admitted, “but I will live. Believe it or not, I’ve felt colder during my winter survival training.”

“How did you survive it?” She nudged her mare forward to ride next to him so she could listen easier.

For a moment, he didn’t reply. Katja figured that was a story she would not get out of him today, until he began, “I almost didn’t. The other novices and I were flown by winged golem to Nordenhein’s highest peak. We were left there with no supplies, no food, and nothing more than the clothes on our backs; none of which were particularly suited for winter. Many lost their lives within the first week. We spent the entire winter living off the land, but food was scarce, and ultimately all the novices in my survival group starved to death or died of exposure.”

“Verishten have mercy,” Katja murmured.

“I spent another month alone in those woods,” the Steinkamp continued. “I would have gone the way of the others had I not stumbled upon the hot springs. The ground there was warm, so I made camp, and I stayed until spring. When I was strong enough to explore the woods again, I heard the sound of a distant bell toll. I followed the sound, and I soon found the City of Nordenhein. Only Verishten knows how long I would have wandered through those woods if it weren’t for that clock tower to guide me out.”

The Steinkamp paused for a moment and then continued quietly, “You see . . . I didn’t want to survive. I never wanted to be a Steinkamp soldier. I longed for death, but cold kills far too slowly. That clock tower was a sign from the Mighty Verishten that I was meant to be of this world.”

Sighing deeply, he went on, “About a quarter of the novices placed upon that peak had made it down before or after me. We had proven ourselves to be of true Steinkamp ilk. When our strength returned, we were subjected to two other survival tests before we were permitted to start our kill training in Breisenburg.”

“Wait, didn’t you say your kill training began at thirteen?” Katja asked, her mind still reeling from the Steinkamp’s horrible accounts.

“Yes.”

“Then that means you were only . . .”

“I was eleven,” he stated.

Breathing suddenly didn’t come easily. “What other harsh environments did they subject you to afterward?” she asked, though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.

“Next, it was the storm-ridden peaks of Luidfort Mountain Range where it rained nearly every day at that time. We were forced to survive by climbing slippery cliffs and huddling in caves. The storms were so violent that lightning repeatedly struck down. The Peaks of Luidfort are named by the town’s people as Verishten’s Wrath for good reason.”

Katja tried to lighten the subject by adding, “Yes, that peak was named after the Alpha of the Winged Golems, or the Golem of Storms. Legends say it had caused the great storms that shaped the Luidfort valleys during the Age of Golems. The great springs in the cliffs are fed by those storms. There is a religious sect unique to Luidfort that incorporated the Golem of Storms in their worship of Verishten. They believe that their prayers keep the storm waters pure for human consumption.”

“The fresh rain water was probably why we only lost one-quarter of the novices on that excursion. It was our trip to the Volcano of Verishten that really tested our resolve. We could hardly breathe up there. The ash covered everything in sight and snuffed out all life, making it impossible to find food. There was no respite from the heat or the starvation. To survive, we had to descend from the mountain as quickly as possible without falling to our deaths or slipping into a lava pit. I still have the scars on my hands and knees from crawling along the burning rocks. The cold comforts of ice and snow are welcoming after experiencing the blaze of the volcano. Even far from the reach of the ash clouds our welts would not heal, our eyes would not stop burn—”

“Please . . . stop.”

The Steinkamp turned his head to her. “Does my story bother you, fraulein?”

Katja didn’t answer the question for a time, then said, “A Regime that would require the suffering of children to protect it is not a Regime worth protecting.”

“And yet you risked your life with that golem in service to such a Regime,” the Steinkamp countered. “Funny how cruelty can breed loyalty.”

The quiet rigidity in his voice as he said those words brought Katja a painful realization. This faceless soldier assigned to her protection was every bit a victim of the Regime as those murdered under it. She thought of the accusations she made earlier that day and felt sick to her stomach.

Katja took a chance when she chose her next words. “My research must appear to better the Regime. However . . . the results they are looking for, I cannot allow them to have. It is still important for me to continue my own research and the Regime can never know. Neither can my team. I cannot put them in that position. Can I trust you will not report back what I’ve just said?”

The Steinkamp continued looking down the snowy road where the walls of the university stood in the distance with the sun sinking below them. Katja began to sweat beneath her scarf despite the chill of dusk. Did I just make a horrible mistake? Is he still going to report me despite everything that happened today?

“Cruelty breeds loyalty,” the Steinkamp finally replied, “but I understand better than most that there are some cruelties in this world we cannot forgive.”

Katja let out a sigh of relief. The risk she took in telling him the small amount she did may have been worth it. She then made another choice. “I do hope you will come with me again at week’s end . . . to study the golem eye.”

The Steinkamp snapped his head around as if he couldn’t believe she would suggest that again after the verbal thrashing he gave her earlier.

“But only if you deem it safe,” she quickly added. “And if I don’t wake up in a traitor’s cell tomorrow, I may tell you what my research is and why we must keep it secret.”

“I will escort you, but only if you agree to do everything I say, to not approach a golem without my word, and if you ever so much as set foot or hoof on this road without me beside you—”

“Not to worry,” Katja interrupted. “I will heed your every instruction. You have my word. That is, unless you’d rather jump into a volcano than accept the word of a highborn girl.”

“The hot spring was hot enough for me,” the Steinkamp said without pause.

“I bet it was luxurious. Next time, I should be the one to take a two-hour dip while you run back to the horses. Better yet, you should carry me there, it’s only fair.” Katja gave him a sidelong glance.

The Steinkamp snapped his head toward her once again. She imagined him glaring at her from behind the void of his mask.

Not looking to ruffle the faceless man any further, she gave him a smirk and kicked her horse into a canter. The Steinkamp followed close behind.

7

FIGHTING BLIND

In the dead of night, a lone Steinkamp soldier snuck through the unkempt gardens of the abandoned manor once belonging to the Earl of Deschner, one of the first Golem Mages wiped out under the Heinrich Regime. The men standing guard of the manor’s perimeter had already been dispatched, allowing the Steinkamp to approach the west window leading into the main entryway.

The old architecture from the Age of Kings gave the building a cathedral-like appearance, with a stone tower sprouting from a vaulted roof. Sigurd could only imagine what this once great house looked like in the days of its use. It had been recently taken by a band of insurgents who called themselves the Kings’ Remnants. They had abducted the Kanzler of Breisenburg on his way to Deschner to meet with the Führer. To gain recognition from his kapitän, who personally took charge of this critical mission, Sigurd convinced his kommandeur to allow him temporary leave of his ongoing assignment in Nordenhein, and a winged golem quickly flew him to Deschner.

Sigurd recalled the debriefing he received from his kapitän shortly after he had arrived in the City of Deschner.

“Remember, comrade,” Kapitän Wolfram said, “Herr Volker is not only the Kanzler of Breisenburg, but the Regime’s Chief Military Strategist, and a close personal friend of Herrscher Heinrich. The kanzler has been privy to extremely sensitive information. If it falls into rebellion hands, it will be disastrous for the Regime.”

“How long has the kanzler been their prisoner?” Sigurd asked.

“Almost four days now, so there’s a good chance that he already revealed such information. He could be dead, or kept alive for possible ransom. Your mission is not to rescue him, but to determine what the Kings’ Remnants know and to prevent any further secrets from being leaked.”

“Will I be accompanied on this mission?”

“No,” Wolfram replied. “Due to the sensitive nature of the information at stake, I intend on keeping the details of this mission between me and one other comrade.”

“I am honored that you have chosen me for this task, Kapitän.” Sigurd took to his knee out of respect for his superior. He was excited to complete this assignment. It would bring him one step closer to becoming one of the kapitäns personal comrades. Just as him agreeing to the top-secret security detail at Nordenhein University got him noticed by the kapitän in the first place.

“Here is the floor plan of the manor where we believe the Kings’ Remnants are holding Volker. Find him, eliminate him, and bring me back any rebels that may have information.” Wolfram handed Sigurd a roll of parchment for him to memorize.

Sigurd then asked, “Does the Führer not prefer his friend alive?”

“Our Führer does not tolerate weakness, especially in a military leader. Friend or not, Volker is too high of a security risk. See that you show him a Steinkamp’s mercy.”

To best follow those orders, it was imperative that Sigurd clear the entire house quickly and without detection to avoid alerting the rebels holding Volker. He couldn’t chance any of them fleeing the premises.

As he carefully peered through the ash-stained window into the manor’s great entryway, Sigurd counted six figures standing guard inside. There were two at the front doors, and four more wandering about the large open space. Candle-lit chandeliers hung above them, coating the foyer in a soft glow. Light was the Steinkamp soldier’s greatest adversary when it came to the art of stealth warfare. Twilight canisters fixed that problem.

Sigurd grabbed a small metallic canister from one of his front pockets while pulling open the window. He tossed the item into the foyer, where it struck the ground and cracked open. Every source of light was invariably shrouded by an inescapable darkness. The soldier leaped through the window, disappearing into the impenetrable shadow, his thin retractable steel blade extended and primed for the kill.

The light would begin to seep back into the room after a while, and the rebel guards were already alarmed by the sudden blackness, so Sigurd had to eliminate his targets with haste. Fortunately, being a Steinkamp not only made him an expert at vanquishing opponents more quickly and efficiently than other regime soldiers, but he could also fight blind, a highly specialized skill instilled into every comrade from the moment their training began.

Sigurd’s sword cleaved effortlessly through the flesh of the two rebels guarding the front doors. Without his sight to guide him to the rest of his foes, he relied fully on his other senses. He heard their surprise, felt their panic, and smelled their trepidation. Each body dropped at his feet just as he proceeded to feel out his next opponent. Sigurd listened carefully to every man’s croak, groan, or grunt, and when one’s cries drew out too long, he was sure to cut them off with a well-executed stab to the throat or back of the neck.

Before entering the foyer, Sigurd had counted six men, and he had since counted six men dead by his sword before the light faded back into the room. He raced up the west staircase so nimbly, the warped, old wood had little time to creak under each of his carefully placed steps. He waited at the double doors at the top of the stairs to listen for movement behind them. From the mutterings of an occurring conversation, he inferred that at least two rebels were guarding those doors on the other side.

After carefully picking the lock of the double doors, Sigurd silently entered a wide hallway. He crouched down and crept forward until he was a few feet behind the two yapping rebels. He extended his retractable blade, careful not to make a sound. Without the guards noticing the shadow below them, Sigurd stood up quickly and thrust his steel through the back of the nearest man’s neck. With two hands, he ripped the sword free and swiftly slashed the throat of the second guard in one motion.

The men hadn’t had the chance to make a peep, and the others in the large room beyond the hallway were not alerted. Sigurd dragged each dead guard into an adjacent room and continued on. Another rebel guard, armed with a crossbow, approached the hall. Keeping to the shadows behind a pillar, he waited for the guard to pass. As he did so, Sigurd grabbed him around the mouth and chest, pulling the man back into the darkened hall with him. There, the Steinkamp plunged his blade into the back of the guard’s sternum and through his heart. He lowered the body and dealt with it just as he had the others.

Not hearing footsteps approaching, Sigurd took stock of the room beyond the hallway. From the floor plan he had studied, he knew he had come to the upper balconies wrapping around a grand dining room on the first floor. He remained crouched, looking down through the balcony railings to the dining area below. There, an old oak table stood on a number of dusty frayed rugs. Four men enjoyed a meal, but from where Sigurd was positioned he couldn’t be sure if there were others. On the top floor with him, there were three more men. They would have to be dealt with first.

The Kings’ Remnants wore the old-fashioned military uniforms issued during the Age of Kings. They had long brown and red buckled coats that reached their ankles, with trousers that fit tight around the legs and buttoned down the sides, accommodating their boots, worn underneath rather than over the top of them. Upon their heads, they wore large brimmed hats with one edge fastened to the side.

These people can’t be comfortable in those, and they look so unreasonably cumbersome, Sigurd thought with a shake of his head. He figured that rebels likely didn’t care about the utility of their uniforms. It was what they represented; ghosts from the past, forever haunting the Regime that had destroyed them.

When the path was clear, Sigurd swiftly moved around the upper floor balcony, keeping to the shadows, ducking and rolling behind decorative pieces of furniture or sliding into alcoves along the walls. He successfully dispatched all three men on the top floor without any of the rebels below becoming aware. Sigurd now needed to clear the dining area, but even when peering through the balustrade he still couldn’t see every man at the table. He needed a vantage point that put him at the center of the room.

Dangling directly in front of him hung one of two massive chandeliers above the dining table. It looked like it would provide adequate cover while allowing him full visibility of the room. The only disadvantage was that he would draw attention, which meant he would have to eliminate every man in the dining room fast. A Steinkamp had various options at his disposal to make such things happen.

Taking a deep breath, he made a running leap off the balustrade and grabbed hold of the chandelier. He used the momentum from his jump to swing his legs underneath it and crouch up inside. The jostling alerted the rebels as expected and they all looked up at once.

Wrapping his legs around a brass coil at the bottom of the chandelier, Sigurd hung upside down. Now able to see in every direction, he counted six men in the room, three aiming crossbows at him, two armed with knives, and one bolting for the hallway at the south end of the chamber.

Sigurd grabbed his small circular throwing blade, infused with wind magic, from his waist belt. With a backhand toss, the wind essence within the spinning blade activated, making it appear as a small whirlwind disk in flight. In this state, the blade was receptive to the Steinkamp’s every whim. Like all their Magitech equipment, a Steinkamp’s gloves were connected to the essences infused within them and were therefore the most crucial part of the comrade’s uniform. The gloves also ensured that only a Steinkamp could activate and utilize their Magitech.

By indicating directions with one hand, Sigurd guided the wind blade in a circular sweep of the dining room, slitting the throats or cutting off the heads of the men with the crossbows first. Sigurd pointed to the man running for the hall and the blade sharply changed course in response. It found its mark, and Sigurd subsequently pulled it back into the dining room to take off the heads of the final two guards with the knives. He then summoned back the wind blade, its wind dissipating as it neared him, and its speed reducing so that he could grab it with ease. Since the blades were limited in their wind essence and could only be refueled by a Wind Mage, it was imperative that Sigurd did not resort to using the dangerous weapon unless it was absolutely necessary.

Sigurd put the blade away and switched from hanging upside down by his legs to hanging right side up by his arms. He swung back and forth on the chandelier, creating the momentum he would require to leap to the balcony railing on the other side of the room. Unfortunately, the noise resulting from his prior stunt was enough to draw the attention of someone in the next room. He made his leap and took hold of the bottom of the railing just as the north doors opened and one rebel guard entered the dining room. Sigurd hung just below the rebel’s line of sight.

“What’s going on in here?” the guard called. “Where is everyone?”

Upon walking up to the railing, the guard let out a gasp of horror, undoubtedly catching sight of the bloody display in the dining room below. Sigurd could feel fear gripping the man in that vital moment. Steinkamp soldiers learned how to pick up on the subtle cues of hesitation. It was easy to take advantage of the human inability to process the sight of death, and utilize his own serenity with it, as one who lived and breathed death from the age of ten.

Before the guard could say another word, Sigurd vaulted over the balustrade with his dagger in hand. He drove the long skewer-shaped blade cleanly through the guard’s throat, silencing him permanently. A voice then came from the opened door, followed by footsteps. He pressed his back against the wall just outside and waited for another guard to walk past and investigate what became of his partner. Before the man could react to the body slumped against the railing, Sigurd snuck up behind him, wrapped one arm around his neck in a stranglehold, and clasped the other around his mouth to muffle his cries. In one smooth movement, the Steinkamp snapped his neck to bring the rebel to a quick end.

After dragging the bodies away, the Steinkamp silently walked through the north doors into an empty hallway. He could hear more voices, but they were muffled as if coming from an attached room. Sigurd looked up to find the ceiling having rotted and peeled, exposing a few rafters. The hallway was narrow enough for him to jump off both sides of the wall, grab one of the rafters, and pull himself up. From there, he found his way to the room where the voices originated.

“When do you think the witch will crack him?” said one of the rebels.

“She’s been up there with him for two days straight,” said the other guard, motioning upward with his head. “I don’t think the kanzler is going to talk.”

“I still say good old-fashioned torture should do the trick. Volker wouldn’t hesitate to do it to one of us if he was in our position,” the first man replied.

“Well, I’ve been told that spirit magic can be every bit as torturous as a hot poker up the ass.”

“Who told you that?”

“Gregor,” the guard motioned up again.

It appears the rebellion has gained a Spirit Mage just as the Regime has lost its own, Sigurd thought. He made a note to be on the lookout for a woman, in case she happened to be the Mage in question.

“What does Gregor know about spirit magic, anyway? Although I could believe his ass has felt a hot poker or two,” the first man said.

The two guffawed. Sigurd decided he would get no more useful information from them. He took out his crossbow and shot a bolt into each of their necks.

A Spirit Mage has been with Volker for two days, and he has yet to talk, he thought. That was good news for the Regime, but Sigurd was unsure if this changed his mission objective. Should it be a rescue mission at this point?

After reloading his crossbow, he went ahead and cleared the upper rooms. The floor plan had revealed that the manor didn’t have an attic. The tower, however, could be accessed from the outside.

There was a lit fireplace in one of the rooms Sigurd had passed. Fishing into one of his vest pockets, he pulled out a packet of ice powder. He emptied the small sack of white powder, infused with water magic, into his right palm. While clenching his left fist, he cast the powder into the flames. The water essence activated with a clench of his gloved fists. The heat coming from the fireplace turned frigid and in one second the fire was out.

With ease, he climbed up the chimney and onto the rooftop of the manor. The light of the double full moons revealed the ash that coated the roof from years of neglect, but Sigurd was not bothered by it. Ash just made it easier for a Steinkamp to blend into his surroundings.

He found the tower at the north end of the manor where he took out two strands of earth bindings, the most useful of all magical items at a Steinkamp’s disposal. In their normal state, earth bindings appeared as ordinary leather straps. When squeezed tightly within a Steinkamp’s gloved palm, the earth magic within allowed the bindings to mold onto any surface they came in contact with, be it stone or human skin, with the exception of the Steinkamp’s uniform—save the belt. Only a Steinkamp or an Earth Mage could return it to leather again.

Using the bindings as secure handholds upon the ash-stained brick, Sigurd scaled the tower. He reached a thin ledge and balanced along it until he found a small window at the tower’s southern side.

Sigurd sensed movement inside. The multi-paned window was already unlocked. He ever so carefully opened one of the small panes at the bottom. Now he could hear the mutterings inside, over the groans of pain coming from Volker.

He took out his crossbow while he listened. There were at least two other people in the room with the kanzler, a man and a woman, who Sigurd assumed was the witch.

“We’ve got to get a move on, Jenn,” urged the man, his voice deep like someone larger than average. “They likely know where we are by now.”

“Stop distracting me. His mind is strong, but I almost have him,” said the woman. She sounded younger than Sigurd expected. The hard t and the strong s in the witch’s dialect revealed her to be of Deschner Mountain Range, but the guttural sound of her words indicated she was far from highborn.

I can never decide what sounds more irritating—the haughty, sanctimonious air of the highborn lady, or the aggressive grating noise of the commoner, mused Sigurd. Thoughts of Deschner dialects reminded Sigurd of Katja, back in Nordenhein, but he quickly forced himself to regain focus.

“That’s it, Kanzler,” cooed the witch after a few minutes of silence. “You know where the Golem of Death is, don’t you?”

Sigurd wondered, Golem of Death? Could this be what the Regime has Katja researching?

“No . . . I can’t tell you. . . .” Volker murmured through rattled breaths.

“As your Führer, I command you to tell me!”

“You’ve tried this several times already,” whispered the other man in the room who Sigurd presumed was Gregor. The witch ignored him.

Sigurd waited on the ledge for a long time, trying to uncover what the rebels already knew before he made his move.

“H-Heinrich . . . is that really you?” rasped Volker after a time.

“Yes, my friend, I have you now. Where are you guarding the Alpha?” Jenn asked, less harsh but no less forceful.

“Don’t you know?”

“I need to know that you know. This is very important, Volker,” Jenn pressed.

Sigurd had never witnessed a Spirit Mage at work before. He knew that unlike Essence Mages, who manipulated the six essences, fire, water, earth, air, light, and life force. Spirit Mages manipulated spirit itself, the energy that made every life form sentient. They were very rare and incredibly dangerous. They had various specialties such as the art of mind reading, brainwashing, spiritual projections, and memory manipulation, among other terrifying talents. The Great Melikheil was the only Ingle Spirit Mage Sigurd knew of, and it turned out the rebellion had now found another, but of lower birth, right there in Deschner.

“But . . . wait, you’re not—get away from me, witch!” Volker pleaded.

“Shit!” Gregor spat.

“Calm down. I can do this,” Jenn said with determination in her voice.

A few more moments passed with Jenn frantically whispering to Volker, or Gregor. From where Sigurd was perched, he couldn’t make out her mutterings, but he did not dare peer through the window in case he cast a shadow into the room and alert them.

“Are you ready to cooperate, my friend?” Jenn then said in a commanding voice once again.

“Of course, Heinrich. Of course, I will tell you.”

Sigurd now had two choices in completing his mission. Since Volker had yet to talk, he could kill Gregor and the witch, and escape with Volker alive. Or he could continue with his original orders and eliminate Volker before he revealed the information, kill Gregor, and then take Jenn back to be interrogated for any other secrets she may have learned during her two days inside Volker’s mind.

Sigurd was inclined to follow his orders exactly as his kapitän delivered and gain his favor. However, he knew that killing Volker ensured his secret died with him. I want to know what this Golem of Death is. Since Volker revealing that information was something the Regime already expected, what did it matter if it happened anyway? At least he would then have a better idea of what he protected back in Nordenhein.

He waited outside the tower window and allowed Volker to talk.

“East Breisenburg . . . the Alpha is under war golem guard in the eighth sector. No number of men can get past them.”

“You mean the abandoned Fortress of Mortlach?” Jenn asked.

“In the caverns underneath, it is buried under mounds of earth and stone,” Volker finished.

“Thank you, my friend.” Jenn was breathless.

She asked no further questions regarding what the Golem of Death was or what it could do. It appeared the rebellion already knew that much.

It was time for Sigurd to act. Aiming his crossbow through the open window pane, he shot a bolt straight into Volker’s aorta, killing him in his chair. He shot his second into Gregor’s forehead before bursting through the glass. The sorceress screamed curses and attempted to make a run for it, only to have Sigurd catch her around the neck with an earth binding and pull her hard onto her back.

He had used too much force, not realizing how light the witch was. Underneath her old military jacket, made for a man twice her size, was a mere slip of a girl. Her dark hair was chopped short like a man’s, her face narrow and cheeks sunken. She looked like a starving, street urchin. She grasped for the bindings molding to her neck’s flesh.

“Do not struggle. You’ll only rip the skin and bleed out,” Sigurd warned.

Before he could tie another set of bindings around her wrists, Jenn somehow removed the one around her neck, rendering it to leather. She must be an Earth Mage . . . who is also a competent Spirit Mage!

Jenn rolled backward and returned to her feet. Before Sigurd could restrain her, she waved her arm sharply, and the tower room erupted with a penetrating light. Sigurd’s black mesh absorbed much of it so he was not blinded by the sudden brightness. She’s a Light Mage too! The only other Mage that can manipulate more than one essence, as well as spirit, was the Great Melikheil. This girl is a rare find.

Sigurd didn’t hesitate in taking out his last twilight canister and breaking it on the floor. As the Magitech device sucked the piercing light from the room, he had the advantage once again.

Jenn ran for the staircase out of the tower as the room turned pitch black.

“Steinkamp! Steinkamp!” she screamed.

It was no use. Sigurd had already killed every last rebel on the property.

He caught up to her in a few strides and locked both of her spindly arms within his, so that if she struggled too hard she would chance to break one of them. In the dark, Sigurd found the window by following the cool draft and the sound of breaking glass under his feet. He backed himself up to the opening only to feel a blunt force against his shoulder and head, sending him and Jenn tumbling to the ground. Jenn cursed, but being the thin waif she was, slipped out of Sigurd’s grasp and made a run for it.

Before he could get up to go after her, a large male figure swung in from outside the window. Jumping from his back to his feet, Sigurd extended his retractable sword. The unseen foe attacked with such guile that he was only just able to deflect his dual knife blows. In the darkness, no man was a match for the Steinkamp soldier’s speed, agility, or accuracy, yet this man was countering all of Sigurd’s moves as if he saw each one coming a second before execution. It was reminiscent of his blindness training. I’m fighting a fellow comrade!

From the moment a Steinkamp soldier began his kill training, they were taught to defend themselves against it. It was inefficient to fight another Steinkamp with the intent to kill if such attempts were constantly undermined. Sigurd had to change tactics. The rebel Steinkamp was at a slight disadvantage, as he was not wearing the flexible body armor and metal mesh mask. A blitz attack was Sigurd’s best option.

Instead of going for the obvious mortal areas, Sigurd retracted his blade in preparation to use his fists and attack one specific region. He caught his opponent’s knife-wielding arm and twisted it, then struck the other, completely disarming him. After throwing the blades aside, Sigurd leaned into his rebel opponent and went straight for his left kidney, punching and kicking so feverishly he eventually broke through the rebel’s defenses, rapidly laying one punch after another.

The rebel Steinkamp grunted in pain and bowled hard into Sigurd with his shoulder. Sigurd was pushed backward for a moment, but he regained his stance and continued his onslaught. Sigurd’s bombardment of attacks abruptly came to an end when the rebel’s knee smashed against his mask, making the very distinctive clank of metal against metal. The force was enough to knock him fully upright. The rebel then performed a jumping roundhouse kick with the same leg, his foot impacting Sigurd in the chest with as much force as a steel hammer. The blow took the wind right out of him as he flew out the door and smacked hard against the wall at the top of the stairs, cracking the plaster boards against the underlying brick. Is this man wearing steel-plated armor under his pants?

Sigurd shook off the jarring hit and raced back into the room that was beginning to lighten again. Through the fading darkness, a large auburn-haired man ran for the broken window from whence he came. Sigurd took note of the man’s slight limping gait as he ducked through the window and disappeared into the night, his long brown and red coat fanning out behind him. Dammit . . . all he wanted to do was keep me from taking the witch away, and he succeeded, Sigurd thought to his own chagrin.

It was then that Sigurd smelled smoke coming from the bottom of the stairs. Somewhere, a fire had started. With his knife, he cut the ties that held Volker to the old wooden chair and used that rope to tie the dead body to his back so that he had use of both hands to escape the burning building. If he wasn’t able to take the witch as a witness, Sigurd had to return to his kapitän with something else to prove he’d completed his mission.

***

In a little over an hour, Sigurd arrived back at the Deschner Steinkamp headquarters and laid the corpse of Herr Volker on the table in the middle of Kapitän Wolfram’s debriefing room. Kneeling before his superior officer, Sigurd removed his mask and gave the Steinkamp salute, placing his first two fingers vertically to the top of his forehead and nodding stiffly.

“The Kanzler of Breisenburg, retrieved from rebel custody, Kapitän,” he announced.

Wolfram put on his spectacles and inspected the body. “How much did he say?”

“That, I could not ascertain,” said Sigurd. “I found him right as he was about to talk, so I kept that from happening, as was my directive.”

Wolfram’s eyebrow raised, as if Sigurd’s report came as some kind of surprise. “His close personal friend will want to know what information he managed to share with the rebellion before you saw your crossbow bolt into his heart,” he said.

At his words, the corners of Wolfram’s mouth curled into a slight grin through his close-trimmed salt and pepper beard. Such an eerily jovial expression in the presence of Volker’s corpse made Sigurd curious as to the thoughts running through his kapitän’s head. As it stood, Wolfram would likely be in the running to be appointed the next Military Strategist, which often came with the Breisenburg Kanzlership.

“Did you kill the rebels that were with him, or bring them in for interrogation?” Wolfram asked.

Sigurd shook his head. “There was a sorceress with the kanzler. She would not have gotten away had it not been for a rebel with Steinkamp training.”

With his hands held tightly behind his back, Wolfram sighed heavily and nodded. “It is as I’ve feared. The Rogue Steinkamp was behind the abduction. To succeed in such an endeavor, it would have to be planned and executed by someone with his training. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“A Steinkamp has gone rogue?” Sigurd asked, wide-eyed. “How is it that I’m hearing of this after my mission instead of prior?”

“The Rogue has to remain classified,” Wolfram said sternly. “It would not serve our comrades to know that one of their own has defected and gone to join the rebellion. A Steinkamp always stands for the Regime, never against it. The Rogue is a disease in our midst that I am ashamed to admit I could not cure, and now he has returned to make me pay for that shortcoming—that is, unless you come bearing news of his demise?”

Wolfram looked hopeful until Sigurd answered, “He lives—for now.”

“Pity,” Wolfram sighed. “For ten years now, that rogue thorn in my side has eluded justice. Obviously, you’re aware of the consequences faced by military dodgers, but do you know the punishment reserved for a Steinkamp soldier who defects?”

Sigurd nodded. “A Steinkamp defector can only receive Verishten’s justice. He is flown by winged golem to the top of the volcano and dropped into the infernal Mouth.”

“But our pledge states that we may never cause undue suffering to our enemies,” Wolfram challenged.

“A Steinkamp defector is beyond our enemy. He is a deadly infection, the lowest form of humanity. He is unredeemable by the laws of men and therefore only the Mighty Verishten can keep his soul,” Sigurd spouted off with obedient fervor, just how he knew Wolfram would like it said.

The kapitän stared at him for a moment before he smiled broadly and nodded. “Very good, comrade. Despite your inability to retain the sorceress in question, you’ve done well.” Wolfram looked down at the late Kanzler of Breisenburg again, still with the devilish glint in his eye.

From hearing about Wolfram through kommandeurs and other comrades who have worked under him over the years, Sigurd learned what made him unique from other Steinkamp Kapitäns. Wolfram had volunteered to undergo the torturous survival training that those of his high birth normally did not have to endure. This made him a truly dangerous man, and he was an ambitious one at that. He proved his drive by going from foot-soldier to kommandeur to kapitän in a span of only a few short years. After being kapitän for over two decades now, Wolfram’s unsated ambitions for a promotion long past due permeated the air around him.

The kapitän motioned for Sigurd to rise. “I’ve been watching you for a long time, and I’ve played with the thought of you serving alongside me in this coming war.”

It gave Sigurd pause to hear Wolfram’s desire to advance him so quickly. He’d expected his inability to retrieve the witch and kill the Rogue to reflect poorly on him. “You honor me, Kapitän.” Sigurd bowed his head, giving the Steinkamp salute once again.

“Nas’Gavarr and his hordes are marching toward Ingleheim.” Wolfram turned to the map hanging on the wall behind him.

Sigurd stepped up beside the kapitän. “So the Herrani are officially declaring war on us.”

“Yes. After Meister Melikheil’s crushing defeat, the Overlord of Herran took the Ingle Mage’s presence as an act of war from Ingleheim as well as Del’Cabria. He will not stop until we too are under his vicious rule.”

“Was that not the reason for Melikheil pledging allegiance to the King of Del’Cabria and renouncing Ingleheim citizenship? So that both nations could see an end to the serpent’s campaign, and Ingleheim wouldn’t have to take up arms?”

Peace had been achieved between Ingleheim and Del’Cabria for the first time in centuries. Ingleheim would finally get to extend its borders into the untouched and resource-laden lands of Del’Cabria’s Fae’ren Province in exchange for Ingleheim’s most powerful weapon to extinguish the Herrani threat in the far west. That weapon was the only Mage known that could stand against Nas’Gavarr, or so everyone had believed.

“Melikheil failed, Del’Cabria lost the war, and now the desert dogs are occupying the lands King Tiberius promised to us. However, Tiberius’ castle remains standing, and his great cities left unmolested. That can only mean the Overlord and the King made a treaty of some kind. He grants him our lands for the safety of his kingdom. Now it is up to Ingleheim to defend itself and take back what was promised.”

“Why would Nas’Gavarr pass over the abundance of wealth and resources in the Del’Cabrian Kingdom for just the forested lands of Fae’ren Province?” Sigurd inquired.

“Nas’Gavarr’s reasons for not taking Del’Cabria do not concern us at the moment. All we need to know is that he has his sights set on Ingleheim and will use the disputed borderlands to invade it. However, even if the Herrani take all the lands surrounding us, no army could hope to invade without going through the Pass of Halberschtad. It is heavily guarded and far too narrow for his vast numbers to get through.”

“The Overlord must know this. So then, how does he plan on getting here?” Sigurd asked.

Wolfram replied, “We theorize that he will use his naja to do what his men cannot. They will climb the Barrier of Kriegle to enter Luidfort and raze the villages there.” Wolfram pointed out the supposed route on the map. “From those areas, the naja will have access to our military strongholds in Breisenburg to the east, our farmlands in Untevar further north, and quite possibly our commercial center, the City of Deschner to the northwest.”

“How many naja are we talking about?” Sigurd was surprised. “Aren’t those humanoid reptilians near extinction?”

“On the contrary,” replied Wolfram. “Somehow Nas’Gavarr has amassed an entire force of them.”

“Will you have me and my comrades battle them, Kapitän?”

“No, the Führer will deploy his winged golems from Luidfort for that. I have another strategy in mind. Each naja is brainwashed so that they will bend to the will of their master, much like how a golem obeys the will of our Führer. Unlike our Führer, Nas’Gavarr is not controlling them all by himself. He has delegated their manipulation to lesser Spirit Mages in his employ—Naja Handlers. These Handlers cannot venture too far from their beasts lest those beasts escape or massacre the wrong side. I will select my best comrades, including you, to infiltrate the enemy encampments and eliminate the Handlers while our infantrymen and golems take care of the creatures on the ground.”

“You honor me with this opportunity, Kapitän, but what of my current assignment?” Sigurd asked.

“Ah yes, I think we can both agree that you have grown beyond the world of security. How is your assignment going, by the way? Your kommandeur tells me the woman may be a challenge.”

Sigurd made sure not to say too much to his kommandeur about Katja and her suspicious behavior until he found out more. But what the kommandeur thought he knew of her was a mystery to him. Though, he wasn’t wrong. Katja was more of a challenge than Sigurd would have ever expected. Killing Naja Handlers in enemy territory sounded like a more straight-forward mission than the one he was currently on. Sigurd was curious about golems and the effect of the Ode that awakened them, and in turn, awakened something in him. Hearing Katja play that song brought back childhood memories with such force, he couldn’t resist making himself known to his charge, something he rarely ever did by choice. His desire to learn more about golems and his curiosities regarding the Golem Expert he protected were pulling him in strange and conflicting directions.

“She is no trouble, Kapitän.”

“Good. Then hopefully you can manage to remain at your post for a while longer. I plan to ship out in a little over a month. We require more time to gather additional information on the whereabouts of the Naja Handlers.” Wolfram took Sigurd by the shoulders and began to lead him out of the debriefing room.

“I will return to Nordenhein and await your orders,” Sigurd assured his kapitän.

“Take this assignment and you will be working underneath me for the foreseeable future. Show me what you’re capable of, and I may deem you fit to be a kommandeur someday. You know what that means, don’t you? You can be a man with a name and a face again, marry, and bring sons into the world. What Steinkamp does not dream of that for his future?”

The truth was that Sigurd had never imagined much of a future. He was forced into the military life as many orphans were. Nobody asked Sigurd what he wanted, and there was no purpose for boys like him in Heinrich’s Regime, other than to be used as killing tools.

“With all due respect, Kapitän,” Sigurd began, “I have no desire to lead. I only wish to serve until I am forced to stop, be it by death or age.”

“That’s a shame. I think you could go far in the way of Steinkamp leadership, but nevertheless, your devotion is admirable,” Wolfram said, still with an eerily gentle smile on his face.

From behind his spectacles, Sigurd could sense that the look in his eyes was not entirely genuine.

“You are dismissed, comrade.”

Sigurd nodded and touched the top of his forehead in salute before securing his mask upon his face and walking out of the debriefing room.

The kapitän offered Sigurd a tempting opportunity, not because he desired all the perks Wolfram just proposed, but for desires solely unique to him. For the first time since he became a Steinkamp soldier, Sigurd finally had the opportunity to work directly underneath KapitänWolfram, giving him the best possible access.

His will to overcome the trials of his training came to him when he looked upon that clock tower in the City of Nordenhein. However, it wasn’t until his graduation day when he took the Steinkamp pledge that he discovered the reason why Verishten guided him from those woods. It was then he had seen Kapitän Wolfram for the first time in thirteen years. It was then he realized that all of the pain, anguish, and torture he had been put through to become the thing he hated most had been for a higher purpose.

It was from that moment Sigurd knew he would have the vengeance he had craved every day in the orphanage where he was so alone, unwanted, and ignored, and every moment in the military academy where he was beaten and spat upon. After all the survival training he endured, and all the atrocities done to him and those done by him onto others, there was finally a reason for it all. The reason was to mold Sigurd into the instrument of vengeance that would make Wolfram pay.

You’ve now made two fatal mistakes, Wolfram. One is allowing me to accompany you to war; the other was not making sure I was dead in the Crags twenty years ago.

Sigurd hummed the Ode to Golems quietly to himself. The song soothed him, brought his hatred down to a steady rhythm, and kept his rage from overpowering his faculties. It allowed him to buy his time, and the time was drawing nigh. It was not an uncommon thing for a soldier to find misfortune in the midst of war, and Sigurd would soon be in a prime position to ensure that misfortune found Wolfram.

Take my hand, child, and I promise you will be able to run faster and climb higher than anyone around. Wouldn’t you like that?

Yes, my kapitän . . . I would like that very much.

8

KILL THE MAN

It was still dark when Sigurd took shelter at a Steinkamp haven in Deschner’s run-down Westside, a strategically placed accommodation for Steinkamp soldiers during missions. There, Steinkamp could find food, bedding, transportation, medical aid, extra weapons, Magitech, and uniforms. After nearly being frozen solid a few days prior, exhaustion weighed heavily on Sigurd. It was taking longer for him to recover than he expected. He was glad there were still a few hours of dark so that he could rest before dawn.

He left his black gelding in the haven’s stables and showed his wrist branding number to the clerk.

“Welcome, comrade,” said the older man with a lumbering stature. “You will find an empty room on the third floor, two doors to your right.” Sigurd nodded curtly as the clerk continued, “I haven’t had the chance to fully stock it yet. It needs more Magitech.”

“Just bring it up at first light,” he muttered as he climbed up the stairs, left of the clerk’s desk.

Once Sigurd entered the dark, windowless chamber, he removed his mask and armored vest along with the attached weapons and let them drop to the floor in the corner. There was a small table near the door to his right upon which Sigurd found a lamp. He smelled that there was some oil left in it, so ignited it with a switch at the base.

With the room dimly lit, he turned around, expecting to see a modest bed to collapse onto. The bed was there, as was a tall man in his mid-forties sitting in the chair beside it with the long brown and red coat and the large brimmed hat of a rebel. He had one leg crossed casually over the other, hands resting comfortably on the arms. It was the Rogue Steinkamp, but Sigurd didn’t know how he got into a room with no windows. He must have been let in somehow.

“Hello, comrade,” the Rogue grinned, raising his thick auburn eyebrows mischievously.

Sigurd lunged for his sword upon the floor and extended the blade. The Rogue Steinkamp remained seated, putting his hands up languidly, still with a smug grin on his face. A Steinkamp must refrain from killing while not on duty unless it is in the interest of self-preservation. If the Rogue didn’t wish to fight, Sigurd had no grounds to kill him—at least not yet.

“What do you want, defector?” he asked, lowering his weapon.

“Ah, so your kapitän told you all about me,” the Rogue said. “I suppose he had to tell you something. It has been a while since I’ve battled another Steinkamp that lived to run home to tell Papa Wolf. How is that old bloodhound holding up these days?”

“You snuck into my haven just to ask me how my kapitän is faring? Come to your point quickly or be on your way.”

The Rogue crossed his muscular arms over his chest and looked straight into Sigurd’s unmasked eyes. “You’re right, I couldn’t care less how that bastard is doing. What I’m really interested in right now is you. May I call you by your name?”

Sigurd remained silent and stone-faced.

“. . . Right, I almost forgot. You are nameless. Well, my name is Rudiger, and I was watching you back at the tower. You were waiting there for quite some time, listening to my team extract classified information from Herr Volker, which you had ample opportunity to stop. Why did you let him talk?”

Sigurd was caught off-guard. “I cannot divulge the details of my mission to you,” was all he felt the need to reply.

Rudiger rose from his seat. “What mission entails letting highly sensitive information fall into rebel hands before executing your Führer’s Chief Military Strategist? I’ve seen how effectively you cleared that mansion; my kidneys have experienced your combat technique first hand.” Rudiger winced while touching the middle of his back. “You are not an incompetent soldier, so I will ask again. Why did you wait until after Volker talked before putting a bolt through his heart?”

This man was hiding in wait at that tower, preparing to strike me down before I could stop the interrogation. Waiting for Volker to talk may have saved my life, Sigurd realized as he felt himself breaking into a cold sweat. “I was acting on the orders of my kapitän, nothing more,” he stated. It didn’t matter what a defector said, the mask of the Steinkamp gave Sigurd complete deniability. His mission was executed to the satisfaction of Kapitän Wolfram, and that was all anyone would know.

Rudiger huffed. “Hmm, a pity. Just like all the others.”

“Others?”

“When I defected ten years ago, I managed to take a few close comrades with me, but Wolfram has kept a tight leash on the rest of you ever since. I’ve been unsuccessful in corrupting another,” Rudiger said with a cheeky grin.

“So you think you can corrupt me?” Sigurd scoffed.

“Every Steinkamp I’ve tried to recruit has sworn absolute and vehement loyalty to Papa Wolf, and I see that you are no different. I will not bother you any longer.”

Rudiger headed for the door and stopped to say, “Although, your behavior tonight struck me as odd. I had this feeling that you were not entirely acting in the best interest of the Regime, that maybe you had a directive all your own.”

“You’d be wrong,” said Sigurd.

Rudiger shrugged, scratching at his trimmed auburn beard. “Come to think of it, it does make sense that Wolfram would want the kanzler removed to secure the man’s position for himself. It’s not like he hasn’t done such a thing before. You see, when I referred to Wolfram as a bastard earlier, I meant it in the literal sense. He cannot inherit a single schlept of his family’s wealth. His only means of upward mobility is through the use of his unique skills and invaluable service to the Regime. Of course, you being one of his personal comrades, you’re probably aware of how he managed to reach such heights despite his illegitimate birth …”

“I am not his personal comrade.”

I have to shut down this interrogation, Sigurd bit his lip.

“Again, my mistake. Such an important mission, involving such sensitive information, I assumed would be handled by a Steinkamp of Wolfram’s top selection. Now I am even more curious as to why you were there at all. Maybe it is not you who acts against his kapitän, but your kapitän who acts against his Führer. That would make you . . .”—Rudiger pointed at Sigurd—“the scapegoat?”

“If you are trying to make me suspicious of my kapitän so that I will reveal details of my mission to you, it won’t work.” Sigurd’s voice wavered.

Admittedly, he hadn’t thought too hard about the fallout from that night’s mission. Wolfram was adamant that the Führer approved of Volker’s elimination to protect the Regime’s secrets, but if the Führer ever learned that those secrets could have been kept and that his friend could have been saved, would he change his mind? Heinrich could hold Wolfram accountable, who could then turn around and punish the comrade for acting against his orders—orders that he could simply change after the fact. The Rogue was right. It wasn’t the first time Wolfram lied to the Regime about the details of a mission. The fact that Sigurd was alive was proof of that.

“You’re right, it won’t work, because you already are suspicious of your kapitän.” Rudiger grinned, coming closer. “In fact, it is clear by the look in your eyes that you are more than suspicious of him. You don’t much care for him at all.”

Sigurd blinked and brought his gaze down for a moment. What does this man want from me?

“When one spends all his days hiding behind a mask, he forgets how to wear one after he takes it off. You hold no love for Kapitän Wolfram or this regime any more than I do,” Rudiger pressed.

“You want him dead,” said Sigurd. “That comes as no surprise. Your ridiculous hat says it all.”

Standing only a foot from Sigurd, Rudiger let out low, droning laughter. “It’s rare to find a comrade with a sense of humor still intact . . . well, intact enough.” He went to sit back down in the armchair. “Yes, in order for the Kings’ Remnants to return Ingleheim to the glory that was the Age of Kings, Wolfram, like many offiziers of this regime, will have to die. But as you know, killing a Steinkamp requires a Steinkamp to do it. You already took care of Volker, so I just thought—”

“That I’d kill Wolfram for you too.” Sigurd had to admit, it was a convenient proposition.

“Eventually, but I need Wolfram alive for the time being, and I need someone on the inside to keep tabs on him, among other things.”

“You want me to be a mole for the Kings’ Remnants.”

“We have moles everywhere else, why not amongst the Steinkamp?” said Rudiger. “Not to worry, though, I won’t ask you to wear a silly hat, only your mask.”

“I do not have time for rebellion vendettas,” Sigurd said dismissively. “Say you’re right and that I want Wolfram as dead as you do. Why would I agree to keep him alive for your cause, which doesn’t concern me, and miss any opportunity I have to see him fall?”

Sigurd only wanted to focus on Kapitän Wolfram’s downfall while still assisting Katja in her golem research. Furthermore, he wanted to go to bed.

“Why go after one offizier? If the objective is to kill a man, a Steinkamp will not waste his energy cutting off limbs when he can just cut off the head. The same goes for a regime. Wolfram is an arm that can grow back, but Herrscher Heinrich—”

“Is a head that cannot be cut off—he is untouchable,” Sigurd reasoned.

“No man is immortal. The late and great Melikheil has proven that to us,” Rudiger argued. “Heinrich’s wizard is not around to assist him anymore. The time to act is now. If we wait any longer, the Golem of Death may be awakened, and Verishten help us if that ever happens.”

If I can get him to tell me more about the Golem of Death and what the Remnants are planning with it, it may give me more leverage in the event the Regime comes down on me for letting the location slip. “Volker said the Alpha is in the Fortress of Mortlach surrounded by war golems. The man you want to kill happens to have control of those golems and all the golems in Ingleheim. How do the Kings’ Remnants hope to get past them and hold the fortress for any length of time?”

“Before I tell you that, I should tell you why we think the Führer can do what his deceased counterparts could not,” said Rudiger. “The theory goes, Melikheil was somehow able to combine his spirit magic with the spiritual aspects of Heinrich’s abilities, thus amplifying his reach. This is consistent with when Heinrich started displaying these powers, around the same time Melikheil was appointed the official Mage of the Regime.”

Sigurd only knew of Meister Melikheil through his work designing and supplying the Steinkamp with their Magitech weapons and uniforms. He had no knowledge of what the Mage did for the Führer. Herrscher Heinrich was an extremely secretive figure. Only the most senior officials claimed to have ever seen him on a regular basis, and even they could not attest to where he was at any given time—which castle he lived in, which mountain ranges he visited, whether he had children or even a wife. This mystery surrounding him only added to his mythos, which was perhaps the real reason he had remained in power for so long. For all Sigurd knew, the Führer could be long dead or dying, his power and authority nothing more than an illusion. The Censors did well in hiding everything regarding the Führer that weren’t tales to inspire loyalty and or fear.

Rudiger continued, “With Melikheil dead, there is a chance that the Führer doesn’t have the same control of his golems as before. We know that once a golem is commanded by its Mage to do a task, it will complete that task regardless of where the Mage is, but he must return to it to issue new commands.”

“Except Heinrich can issue commands from anywhere in the world to as many golems as he pleases,” Sigurd inputted.

“Yes, but if the theory is true, then all we have to do is dismantle the golems currently guarding the Alpha and hope that he will be unable to send more right away. He would have to personally activate and command the new ones.”

“Okay, that’s for taking the fortress, but how will you hold it after?” Sigurd asked.

“In the last twenty years, the Kings’ Remnants have recruited many talented individuals. One of them you had the pleasure of meeting. Jenn’s power has been growing stronger every day. Her earth magic abilities may be adequately robust in physically dismantling them, at least the smaller ones.”

“That won’t be enough,” Sigurd stated.

“That is where we could use your help.”

“Count me out. I am growing weary listening to this folly. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to rest,” said Sigurd.

Rudiger sighed, looking as though he had reached the end of his tether. After a thoughtful pause, he said, “I take it Wolfram never told you why I defected.”

Sigurd groaned quietly to himself as he started toward the bed. If I have to fall asleep to this man’s yapping, then I will.

Rudiger took the lack of response from Sigurd as permission to continue. “The truth is that I was wrongfully accused of treason by Wolfram.”

Sigurd snapped his head up. “What reason would Wolfram have to brand one of his own soldiers a traitor?”

“Men who are not used to making mistakes, like Wolfram, tend to overcompensate when they finally do. It all began with a mission twenty years ago,” Rudiger began.

Sigurd’s breath seized, and his heart began to pound into his throat. What mission twenty years ago?

“I will never forget it. We were fresh out of the Academy, my comrade and I, and we were assigned to accompany a Kommandeur Wolfram to hunt down the last Golem Mage family in existence. It was the day we found them that everything changed, and I paid a dear price.” Rudiger placed his left foot on the arm chair and rapped his knuckles on his shin. It sounded like knocking on a metal plate underneath the skin.

Sigurd’s head spun, his blood instantly boiled. Images from the past ripped through his mind. The tall and daunting faceless soldier in black, sword in hand, marching toward Kristoff, ready to put that sword through his chest. Sigurd could still remember the sharp crack of the Steinkamp’s leg breaking under the weight of the golem that stomped on it.

Without another thought, he leaped from the bed and tackled Rudiger off the chair. Sigurd had no weapons handy, only his bare hands. He bashed the Rogue against the wall, cracking it down the middle. He then tripped him to the floor, wrapped his hands around his neck, and squeezed with all his might.

As he pressed his left knee into the older man’s midsection to hold him down and strangle the life from him, Sigurd imagined all the things he used to fantasize about doing to the Steinkamp soldiers that carried out Wolfram’s commands. Sigurd had never been able to track them down. Such was one of the advantages of being faceless and nameless.

Rudiger didn’t stay down for long. He was heavier and stronger than Sigurd and soon pried Sigurd’s hands from around his neck and met the young Steinkamp’s face with his forehead. Sigurd fell back violently as Rudiger returned to his feet and lunged to tackle him. Using the other man’s momentum, Sigurd redirected him hard into the wall, nearly putting a giant hole through the old plaster.

He immediately started in with a barrage of punches, but Rudiger was prepared for that this time. He ducked out of the way, and Sigurd put his fist through the wall. Rudiger grabbed the old wooden chair and smashed it against Sigurd’s side. He was down, growing more exhausted despite the anger that coursed through him. However, he would not rest until Rudiger lay dead at his feet. He sprung up with new fervor, but the defector knocked him back down with an uppercut. With a throbbing jaw and blood pouring out of his nose and mouth, Sigurd finally submitted long enough for Rudiger to speak.

“I don’t believe it. It’s you!” he panted, wiping the blood from his mouth and spitting more out on the floor. “You’re the Crag boy, the Earl’s lost son. I thought that telling you of Papa Wolf’s crimes would somehow break your loyalty to him. And here we are. Verishten, the sick bastard that he is, allowed that boy in Kensloche to survive the Crags and grow up to be the very thing that killed his family. You may be more valuable to our cause than I realized.”

“My only cause right now is to bring you death!” Sigurd clambered to his feet and attacked Rudiger again, unfocused and sloppy from mixed rage and fatigue.

Rudiger quickly overtook him and cast him into the plaster head-first. Sigurd slid down onto his backside and rested breathlessly against the wall.

“Not tonight, my friend,” Rudiger said, sitting down on the bed. “Although I don’t believe it absolves me of my trespasses against you, I was young and green, following the orders of psychopaths just like you’ve been doing ever since you took that pledge.”

Sigurd knew deep down the man was right, but he didn’t want to let go of the only thing that had kept him alive for so long. The Steinkamp were a perversion of what they used to be. The pledge meant little these days. Sigurd said the words, but he only lived by one code; kill for the man so that someday you may kill the man.

With a shake of his head, Rudiger asked, “How did you survive that day?”

“I’ve been asking myself that for twenty years,” Sigurd said feebly.

“I couldn’t follow you and your sister into those Crags, obviously.” Rudiger placed his hand on his metal-plated knee. “Later that day, Wolfram reported that you fell into a chasm. Before anyone could look for your remains, a violent earthquake caved in much of it. Searching for you after that was far too risky. Though, Wolfram wouldn’t dare return without the expected number of bodies, so he and my comrade went to the orphanage in the Town of Kensloche and found a boy that matched your age and size. Wolfram presented all five bodies to Herr Waldemar, proving that all Golem Mages and their offspring were dead. Less than a year after that he was made kapitän.”

Rudiger picked his hat up from the floor near the bed and fiddled with it rather than look Sigurd in the eye. “Wolfram became insecure in his new position and paranoid that the truth would someday be revealed. He was confident that you would not have grown up to be bear the Eye, but the fact that his job was left incomplete kept him up at night. Only the other comrade and I knew the truth, and that fact made us vulnerable. Wolfram grew so paranoid that we would reveal his secret, he made arrangements to silence us. My comrade was allowed to retire early and take on a highly held position in the Regime in return for his silence.”

Placing his hat upon his head again, Rudiger finally met Sigurd’s gaze. “I, on the other hand, desired nothing like that. I had nothing Wolfram could hold over me. All I wanted was to be a good little soldier and forget about the horrible things we’d done to get Wolfram that promotion. He set me up on the mission that would brand me a traitor and I was arrested. Three of my closest comrades knew what really happened and came to my aid. Without them, I would be dead today. They helped me escape my fate, and a few years later we joined the Kings’ Remnants in hopes that someday,” Rudiger clenched his fists, “we may topple this corrupt regime and return the Steinkamp to honor, to make our pledge mean something again.”

“Say I believe you. Say you are truly repentant for your part in my family’s death. Why should I agree to help you when all I can think of is your severed head at my feet?” Sigurd hissed through gritted teeth.

“Because you need help, and who can a man like you trust in a regime built purely on lies? Trust must go both ways, or it cannot exist. To do that there can be no secrets between us, and I’ve told you mine. You need an ally in your quest, and I need a man on the inside to direct focus away from us. Then, when the time is right, we exterminate Wolfram. I promise, you will have your revenge, but only if you help us.” Rudiger rose to his feet.

“You ask me to trust the man partially responsible for the slaughter of my entire family? Are you mad?”

“I cannot bring them back, nor can I expect your forgiveness. I can only assure you that I am far more useful to your cause alive than dead.” Rudiger went to the table, the only piece of furniture left standing after the brawl, and fished out paper and a quill from the drawer. He started writing as he said, “If you need more convincing, then so be it. I can’t offer you my severed head at the moment, but I will offer you this.”

He handed the page to Sigurd. The words, written in rigid and shortened handwriting read:

Kommissar Vaughn

54 Kentin Road

City of Nordenhein

“This will prove how important your trust is to me. In two weeks, I will approach you wherever you may be stationed, and if you still wish me dead, you are welcome to try at that time,” said Rudiger.

“Who is this?” Sigurd asked warily.

“That man is the Kommissar of the Karl precinct in Nordenhein and is all-around corrupt—as Karlmen tend to be. As you know, Ingleheim’s national police force is meant to find and neutralize the underground criminal organizations that have sprung into existence, courtesy of Heinrich’s unreasonably harsh trade restrictions. Over the last several years they have assisted powerful smuggling rings all over Ingleheim by looking the other way. Under their kommissar, the squadron in Nordenhein has taken their corruption to the next level. They deposed the kingpins there and are now getting filthy rich off illicit trade and prostitution, while making life very difficult for small-time merchants. Nobody would shed a tear if such a man were to meet an abrupt end.”

“I am not your killer for hire.” Sigurd attempted to hand back the parchment to Rudiger, unsure why the man thought it was supposed to please him. “If you want him dead, kill him yourself.”

Rudiger smiled in such a way, it caused the hairs at the back of Sigurd’s neck to stand on end. “I would, only that, I thought it would be far more satisfying for you to kill him instead.”

“Why?”

“On that paper is the name and home address of the man that killed your father, your brother, your sister, and a five-year-old orphan boy that should have been you.”

Sigurd stared at the parchment, his heart racing. He let the name and address singe into his mind. The other Steinkamp.

After giving Sigurd a few moments to process his words, Rudiger asked, “So? Where will you be stationed for the next two weeks?”

“Nordenhein,” Sigurd muttered, still staring at the sheet of paper.

Patting him on the shoulder, the Rogue said, “Perfect. I’ll see you in two weeks then, Siegfried of Kensloche.”

Rudiger left the room where Sigurd remained, clutching the parchment in his trembling fist.

9

BEHIND THE MASK

“By Verishten’s mercy, it’s still here!” exclaimed Katja as she ran for the fallen golem.

Sigurd followed closely behind. It felt like almost a lifetime had passed since he had been to the snow-filled valley one week prior. “Don’t go near it until I’ve inspected it,” he cautioned the overeager Golem Expert. Upon seeing the crossbow bolt still sticking out from its eye, Sigurd allowed Katja to proceed.

The two of them climbed over the golem’s body and into the crevasse on the cliffside. Katja kneeled before the giant eye, absent its freezing blue shine. She opened her journal and started drawing what she saw, furrowing her brow and biting the inside of her cheek in concentration.

Looking over Katja’s shoulder, Sigurd watched her thin charcoal pencil swiftly move along the paper, sketching smooth and immaculate lines. She was so absorbed in her composition she didn’t seem to notice Sigurd behind her.

When she appeared finished, he started, “So that’s what a golem eye really looks like.”

Katja made a pitched cry, dropped her charcoal into the snow, and reflexively cursed in a way highborn ladies weren’t known for. Her surprisingly brazen language amused him, but he managed to hold in his laughter.

“Yes,” Katja sighed as she fished the charcoal out of the snow. “There does not seem to exist a detailed diagram of a golem’s dormant eye. It’s strange since you’d think Mages would have ample opportunity to view one when they’re building their war golems.”

“I always wondered where war golems came from,” said Sigurd.

“Earth Mages tear human-sized golems apart and remove the eye. They are then embedded into massive, iron-supported stone monuments. The eye’s power animates the man-made titan as if it were a real giant golem, but with the tactical advantage of having a miniscule eye relative to its body.

“However, war golems can only be animated through the commands of a Golem Mage, and when released, they are rendered dormant. The reason being,” Katja’s voice stiffened, “that they are not alive like other types. Removing the eye from a golem effectively kills it.”

Sigurd returned to the original topic. “They probably didn’t feel the eye’s appearance was important for their purposes. So, why do you?”

“The giant eyes are aligned with five of the six essences—frost golems with water, crystal with light, crag with earth, lava with fire, and winged with wind. But, the eye is also the golem’s soul. For all these years I’ve been studying the behavior of these beings without studying the very thing that makes them what they are.”

Sigurd found it interesting that she referred to them as beings. They weren’t merely creatures to her.

Katja rose to her feet and turned to the previous page in her book. “Yesterday I felled a frost golem in the lab in order to draw its eye and . . .”

She stopped talking as she flipped the page over then repeatedly flipped back and forth between it and the previous. Upon releasing an excited gasp, Katja ripped the one page from her journal so she could directly compare it to the other.

“These are identical, the shape and the design of the eye. Both this giant frost golem and the smaller version have exactly the same eyes!” Katja pointed to certain areas of her drawings where the two were alike and then pointed out a dark splotch in each drawing. “And even here, what I thought was a flaw, occurs in the exact same place on both.”

“Is that not normal?” Sigurd asked.

“I don’t think so.” Katja shook her head. “I mean, human eyes all look very similar in size and shape, but when inspected closer we find that, physically, every pair of eyes are unique, in not only color but design. These frost golems are unique in their body shape and size, but their eyes are identical.”

“Do you think all golems in the world have the same eye design?”

Katja’s amber eyes sparkled. “That’s what I intend to find out.”

Sigurd bent down to look into the dormant golem eye himself and found the network of cracked lines hypnotizing. “Are you ready to climb out of here now, fraulein?” he said, straightening.

“Of course not, we can’t leave it exposed like this. We should remove the bolt from its eye,” Katja stated casually, still studying her journal page.

“I’d advise against waking this golem while we’re trapped in here.”

“Not to worry, it takes about twenty minutes for a golem eye to heal after an obstruction is pulled out,” the scholar replied.

“Good. That will give us plenty of time to get far away from here.”

“This might be the only opportunity I have to try and communicate with it. Pull the bolt out, and let’s wait here for it to reawaken. If it gets testy, you are in prime position to shoot it with another.”

“We shouldn’t risk it,” Sigurd insisted.

“Trust me. It will be fine . . . this time.”

Sigurd gave her a tilt-headed glare. “You are unbelievable.”

“It’s as I’ve told you before, my research is to discover how regular people can communicate with golems. Looking at these eyes reminds me of an observation I’ve made early in my studies of how they communicate with each other. Their eyes flash bright and dim to nothing when one approaches another. In the lab, we’ve tried to replicate those light patterns ourselves, but nothing worked, and the experiment was abandoned. I think I finally know why. It’s not the light of their eye that they use to communicate—it’s the eye itself.”

“How did you reach that conclusion?”

“In the lab, we observed golems of the same type gather together while golems of different types tend to ignore each other. Such behavior makes sense for when they would have banded together to protect their mountain ranges before mankind came along. I hypothesize that they dim their lights to read each other’s eyes. That’s how they can tell if they are the same type, which leads me to predict that every golem has an eye design unique to its own type,” Katja said, all the while furiously writing in her journal with the quill.

Sigurd felt his spine tingle. Uncovering golem secrets with Katja made him think of his sister and how much fun it was to watch her play with crag golems so many years ago. To satisfy his own burning curiosity, Sigurd yanked the bolt free from the golem’s eye. The bolt was in good enough condition to be added back to the quiver, strapped to his lower back. He then grabbed his crossbow, already fully loaded, aimed it at the golem, and waited for it to heal.

To pass the time, he asked, “So, fraulein, why do you really want man to communicate with golems?”

Katja laid her quill between the pages and looked up from her book. “To ensure that Ingleheim does not fall into another Age of Golems. When the Führer inevitably passes on, there will be no Mages left. What will happen to golem-kind then? Will they seek to destroy us like this one tried to? Or will they simply fall into a permanent slumber like their Alphas? We cannot abide either scenario.”

Although he was curious as to how she knew Heinrich had no heir bearing the Eye, her mentioning the Alphas perked his interest more. “Alphas? Like the Golem of Death?”

“Yes. What do you know of it, Steinkamp?” Katja’s voice quavered.

“I know where the Regime has it and that the rebellion wants it. What they want with it is beyond my clearance,” said Sigurd.

“T-then how did you find out about it?” Katja asked in near whisper.

“Through some rather unconventional channels. I’d rather not get into it.” Sigurd sensed Katja’s disquiet and regretted bringing up the Golem of Death.

“Did a sorceress named Brunhilde tell you about this?” Katja’s voice housed an accusatory tone.

“Who?”

“Tell me the truth, Steinkamp. Otherwise, I can no longer share my research with you.”

“I do not know a witch named Brunhilde. Everything I know of the Golem of Death was learned from a member of a rebel group,” Sigurd confessed, hoping in doing so he would put his charge more at ease.

“How do I know you’re not lying?” Katja clutched her journal to her chest.

“I just told you I’ve had contact with the rebellion, which appears treasonous. Lying about something like that to a woman with connections like yours puts me in a very compromising position. If I wanted to lie, I would choose a story that doesn’t pose as much of a risk to me.”

“I suppose.” Katja slowly let her arms down. “That is very risky of you.”

“No riskier than purposely keeping your research details from the Regime,” Sigurd stated. “I suppose we best continue to keep each other’s secrets, then.” After a few more minutes with the golem still not fully restored, he said, “While we wait, how about you tell me what exactly the Golem of Death is.”

Katja began, “The only references historians have of it are in the books of legend from over two thousand years ago. They tell of how it stood guard of the Pass of Halberschtad, the one and only entrance into Ingleheim. Mankind, being directionless nomads in that age, badly wanted the lands the golems protected so fiercely. These nomads sent their strongest warriors into the Pass, and the Alpha destroyed them all before they could take a single step.”

Taking a seat on a protruding rock within the crevasse, Katja went on, “They say the Golem of Death’s eye is large, its gaze endless. Every soul it looks upon falls under its judgment, said to be the infallible judgment of Verishten himself. Its death stare has the power to inflame the life force within a man and turn him to cinders within seconds. Entire armies were sent to the Pass and all of them perished. Even women and children were put before it with hopes that their innocence would appease the Alpha, but they too died. A violent and covetous people who would send their most vulnerable against the Golem of Death were not worthy of Verishten’s favor.”

Katja put her journal back into her bag and got up to stand closer to Sigurd on the other side of the crevasse. “It soon dawned on mankind that large assaults were not going to work, but they were a stubborn people. So, they searched high and low for the bravest, strongest, and most honorable men among them to face the Alpha’s judgment. Out of all the clans, only six men were deemed noble enough to send into the Pass. These men named themselves the Steinkamp Warriors. The word Steinkamp actually derives from the ancient language to mean bravery and humility combined as one.”

“Interesting,” Sigurd murmured.

Katja wandered over to the golem to study its eye again. “The six Steinkamp faced the Golem of Death at the Pass of Halberschtad. The first man to enter its death gaze was deemed very honorable, but he’d had past sins, and although he had atoned for them, he was not worthy. Right before his life force was burned within him, the other five Steinkamp offered their lives for their one comrade. The Golem of Death found their sacrifice truly noble and as a result, it spared all six of them. It was then that the journey of the first men into Ingleheim began.”

It surprised Sigurd that he had never heard that part of the story of the first Steinkamp before, or what the word even meant. It was likely because such tales were not conducive to kill training and deemed a waste of time by the Academy. But, it was nice to hear that, at one time in history, the Steinkamp stood for something more, that they were not born of darkness and death. They were once the best mankind had to offer.

“It is not known when the Golem of Death went the way of the other Alphas into dormancy, but in Breisenburg, the Regime managed to stumble upon it. You mentioned that you know its location, so how did the rebellion find out—”

Katja’s words were cut off. The golem eye flickered to life, now fully repaired. The ice-tipped soapstone titan slowly rose to its arms and legs and peered into the crevasse. Sigurd aimed his crossbow, keeping Katja behind him. She shoved her way next to him and held the drawing of the eye out for the golem to see.

Does she think the golem will recognize a depiction of its own eye?

Katja stood still, not taking a single breath. Sigurd peered over to her to make sure she hadn’t been frozen in place. He decided to sing the first verse of the Ode hoping that it would keep the creature calm.

The light in the frost golem’s eye dimmed, revealing the delicate lines in full detail. Sigurd finished the song, and it was silent in the valley once again. Katja’s arms quivered. Standing so close beside her, Sigurd could hear her heart beating as fast as his.

The twenty-foot golem rose on two legs and moved aside, leaving space for Katja and Sigurd to edge carefully out of the crevasse.

With Sigurd keeping pace ahead of Katja, they eventually came before the golem. She still held the drawing out in front of her as if it were a shield that could deflect an ice beam. The golem then took to one knee, shaking the ground and spraying the snow outward. It stretched a snow-covered limb toward them and laid its hand on the ground at their feet—like a ramp up to its back.

“I think it expects us to crawl onto its shoulders,” Katja whispered. “With your permission, I would like to do so.”

Sigurd had once seen how Regime soldiers climbed onto their war golems that way. “Have you ever ridden a golem before?”

“No, but how hard can it be? If you come with me then you can ensure that I don’t slip off,” she pressed.

I probably shouldn’t let her ride it, but how will I ever get to ride a giant golem myself unless I take her with me? Sigurd thought, feeling the excitement of such an endeavor bubble up inside him. Without further protest, he turned to face Katja while taking out a long tether of earth bindings. “If you are so set on riding this thing, then you do so while attached to me the entire time. Understood?”

Katja nodded as her face lit up with eager anticipation. Such enthusiasm, Sigurd fully shared with her. He told her to unclasp her winter coat, and he swiftly tied the end of the bindings around her waist just above her thick woven skirt. It surprised Sigurd how petite Katja actually was underneath her bulky coat. She had the tall, willowy build of the typical Deschner-born woman, but she possessed more of a feminine curvature than most.

Once Sigurd ensured Katja’s ties were secure, he tied the other end to his belt and activated the earth magic to mold to it. Leaving ample leeway so that he could move freely while still attached to the researcher, Sigurd stepped up onto the golem’s arm first while keeping hold of her by the elbow with one hand and the slack of the tether with the other.

When the two were safely perched upon each of the golem’s shoulders, it slowly rose to a standing position. What might have been a controlled elevation to the golem was a jolting ascent for the people sitting on top of it. Katja screeched and held on tight to one of the icy spires sticking up from the golem’s right shoulder.

The giant golem set off to an unknown destination. It stepped effortlessly up steep mountain ridges, cleaved through the pines and birches and glided across the snow-filled valleys. Several minutes later, the trees became sparse, and soon enough, they left Frost Woods behind. The golem headed toward the Glacier Peaks, but still quite a few miles from where Sigurd had been dropped during his survival training. This place had nearly killed him when he was a child, but from twenty feet up it looked perfectly serene, with sparkling glacier ice and blue-gray stone jutting through the snow. Flakes of which, swirled around them as the winter winds picked up pace. The cold was bracing up so high, but the exhilaration of being there made Sigurd feel swelteringly hot beneath his armor.

Katja must have felt it too because when Sigurd looked to the golem’s other shoulder, she had removed her hat and unbound her hair. Carefully standing up and gripping the spire, she let the wind sweep through her dark brown waves. It had become somewhat frizzy from being under her hat, but that only made Katja look more natural and less like an uppity highborn lady.

Sigurd realized that he hadn’t taken the time to honestly look at her when they’d first met, at least no more than his mission required. She possessed the impressive bone structure often found in Deschner-born people of high status. Usually, pronounced cheekbones and strong jaw lines were traits more suited for men, but those features on Katja didn’t take away from her femininity due to fuller lips more commonly found on women from Luidfort Range.

He watched her spread out her one free arm and drank in the cool winter breeze, taking in its chill before letting out exhilarated laughter, her smile so big that her eyes were nearly squeezed shut by her own cheeks. It was strange to see Katja’s previously sullen and uptight features glow with such carefree bliss. Is this even the same woman? Sigurd felt a smile of his own creep in from behind his mask. It felt stranger to him than seeing one on Katja, but luckily, she didn’t have to witness the awkwardness of it.

“I can’t believe this is happening!” Katja exclaimed, practically jumping up and down upon the golem’s shoulder. She then pointed downward. “Steinkamp, look!”

Dozens of man-sized frost golems emerged one by one from beneath the snow mounds as the larger one passed. “They’re awakening in response to the giant one, and see—” she pointed again. “They’re communicating just like they do in the lab!”

Sigurd saw for himself how the golem’s blue lights flashed and then promptly dimmed as they recognized their own. They continued to follow along, some of them even latching onto the larger one’s legs.

“I want to come to the other side with you. Hold onto my rope,” Katja said.

Carefully edging her way across the golem’s icy shoulders, she suddenly slipped. Ready for that eventuality, Sigurd held fast to her bindings. She screeched while swinging across the golem’s back, but Sigurd quickly pulled her up and onto the left shoulder alongside him.

“Whoa there, fraulein, are you all right?” Sigurd asked.

Katja could barely form a reply through her gasps for air mixed with fits of laughter. “I can’t remember a time I’ve ever felt better!” she giggled, casting back her heaps of tangled hair without a care. Like Sigurd, she sat facing out behind the golem, and they watched the parade of man-sized frost golems trailing behind, more popping up from under the snow as they went.

“It astounds me that a young lady like you is not more scared of being this high up on a moving colossus,” Sigurd said.

“I’m flattered you think I’m that brave,” Katja replied. “I am terrified to be up here. But I don’t care. I’ve dreamed of this ever since I was a little girl. I’ve spent countless hours imagining what it would be like to be a Golem Mage in the Age of Man. Golems would be my loyal friends and guardians. . . .”

Katja’s grin faded somewhat as she continued to look out to the parade below. “You see, I wasn’t allowed to have any real friends as a child. My father kept me from everyone and everything. Back then I dreamed of giant golems descending from the volcano to take me away from my loneliness and boredom. In a way, that dream did come true. Golems, or the study of them, took me out of my father’s house and brought me here.”

Sigurd hadn’t realized just how alike he and Katja were. He grew up vulnerable and exposed as an orphan, not protected and isolated like her, but both of them were without a friend to call their own, and both had once dreamed of golems coming to take them away.

Her father must be a powerful man to have felt the need to keep her as isolated as he did, Sigurd thought. For the first time, he found himself worrying about who Katja’s parents might be. He already figured she was from Deschner where the Regime’s most powerful and wealthy lived. Her father could be a kanzler, possibly Volker. News of his kidnapping and subsequent death had been suppressed for the time being. She would not be aware of it yet. Sigurd cast that thought from his mind—far too unlikely.

“Will you listen to me going on and on?” Katja shook her head. “We, regular human beings have successfully communicated with a golem, without Mage assistance, for the first time in two thousand years, and I’m talking about how boring my childhood was.”

“You should be proud of this achievement,” Sigurd commented.

“I can base my entire thesis on this . . . that is, if I publish these findings, which I cannot.” She sighed, her body slumping over in defeat. “Mighty Verishten, if I tell anyone about this, it could potentially lead to awakening an Alpha, and I can’t let that happen. How do we achieve cooperation with golem-kind if I can’t share this discovery with the world?”

“At least you have one other witness to it.”

“I wish that were enough.” Katja’s usual dour disposition returned with a vengeance. “Everything I’ve done up until now won’t matter in the end, not as long as this regime still exists and that Golem of Death is unearthed. Something must be done.”

“And why must it fall upon you to fix this nation, fraulein?”

“Because I’m too close to it. I can see the damage it is doing, and I’m not talking about the violence and the corruption. I’m talking about all the secrecy that props it up. The Regime’s lies have caused more death and despair than any Steinkamp soldier can ever inflict. So many secrets . . . well, I am sick of them!” Katja began to stand up again.

Sigurd shortened the tether and kept her close. “What are you doing?” he asked, concerned.

“Look where we are.” Katja presented the vast winter scene of Nordenhein with a wave of her arms. “Who is going to hear our secrets up here?” She faced the Glacier Peaks and yelled out at the top of her lungs, “Hear me, Ingleheim! My name is Kriemhilde II of Deschner, I am riding a golem, and I am not a Golem Mage!”

“Kriemhilde?”

Katja rolled her eyes. “I know what you’re thinking: ‘why, you’re not an old woman.’ Well, fear not, I was named after my great-grandmother.”

Hearing that name brought a startling thought to Sigurd. He was aware that many girls named Kriemhilde often went by a modern version of the name in childhood since such an old-fashioned name didn’t suit the young. A well-known variation of Kriemhilde was Kriemia.

“My little Kriemia is just a babe. I can only hope she will be as helpful as Yolanda is when she gets to be her age.” So many details of that day were forever etched into Sigurd’s memory, and now this one gave him a chill of which the winter winds were not responsible. Could Katja be Wolfram’s daughter? It would explain her uncanny knowledge of Steinkamp soldiers and skill with a crossbow. But how many Kriemhildes were there? Old-fashioned names like that were common among the highborn.

He studied Katja standing beside him, looking for some resemblance or mannerism that could possibly have come from Wolfram, but he found nothing. Having the same name and relative age as Wolfram’s daughter was in no way proof of his paternity. There were also Katja’s anti-Regime sentiments that a man like Wolfram would never tolerate.

Words spoken by Wolfram the week before came to mind. Your kommandeur tells me the woman may be a challenge. It never made sense to Sigurd that his kommandeur would have reported anything about Katja back to Wolfram. It was likely Wolfram already knew Katja would be a challenge because she was his own headstrong, opinionated daughter. Perhaps reporting nothing of note to the kommandeur was actually more suspicious because he would expect her to be difficult. Something didn’t feel right, but Sigurd couldn’t let himself believe that Katja was the daughter of his worst enemy without more evidence.

Her voice broke through his worrisome thoughts. “I’m glad I got to choose an alias when I enrolled in university. I named myself after the last known female Golem Mage, Katja of Breisenburg. Both she and her husband, who also bore the Eye, were killed by the Heinrich Regime.”

The last female Golem Mage killed by the Regime was my big sister Rosalinde of Kensloche, Sigurd thought bitterly. If you were Wolfram’s daughter, would you not know that? It brought him more feelings of anger and hatred to know that his sister was not even a footnote in history. The Censors made sure of that.

Finally, the golem stopped when it reached a massive, icy cliff face. The smaller golems following them also halted. Katja screeched again as the golem bent down and lowered its arm to the ground.

“Why does it want us to stop here?” She frowned.

Sigurd and Katja safely slid down the arm and back onto the ground. Afterward, the golem stood, flashed its bright blue eye to them and turned away. Katja waved goodbye as the immense stone creature faced the cliffside, and before their eyes, became one with the ice and rock. The other golems all followed suit and went dormant along the cliff and surrounding hills. Katja quickly took out her journal to document the strangeness of all of them going dormant at the same time and in that one spot.

“It’s going to be a long way back to the horses now, fraulein. We should get going,” Sigurd suggested.

While packing everything away, Katja replied playfully, “But you have yet to share a secret with the Peaks.”

“The Peaks don’t need to know my secrets,” said Sigurd while untying the earth bindings from Katja’s waist.

“Well, maybe they don’t, but I do.”

Sigurd shook his head dismissively. He then began walking down the snowy mountain toward the woods.

“Come on, that’s hardly fair,” she pressed while trundling behind him. “I’ve told you about my research, the Golem of Death, my childhood dreams, and my real name. Can I at least know yours?”

Sigurd let out an annoyed groan realizing that, in the interest of getting her off his back, he’d have to tell her something. He’d already broken the Steinkamp pledge numerous times, what did it matter if he told one civilian his name?

“My name is Sigurd,” he relented.

Katja’s eyes widened with delight. “Sigurd? That’s interesting.”

“What’s so interesting about it?”

“Sigurd is a derivative of the name Siegfried, a name even older than mine, if you can believe it. Siegfried was the first Golem Mage and the first Steinkamp. You must know the tales.”

Everyone knew the legendary tales of Siegfried, but since they had so far to go, he allowed Katja to tell him the story anyway.

“Well—continuing from where we left off—the six Steinkamp Warriors traveled through all the mountain ranges looking for lands fit for settlement. But in every range, they came across golems and their Alphas, all fiercely committed to keeping humans out. Five of the Steinkamp perished, and it was Siegfried who was the last. Believing he had failed, he decided to leave the mountains to their golems. But while traveling through Deschner Range, he heard a mighty voice calling to him from the volcano.

“Following the voice, Siegfried climbed the treacherous mountain where he survived numerous lava golems determined to cast him down. He made it all the way to the top and requested an audience with the source of the voice calling to him. The voice was that of Verishten. Offended by Siegfried’s arrogance and angry that a mere human survived his trials, Verishten opened the very mountaintop, causing the First Eruption. Still, Siegfried survived. So, from the mouth of the volcano, Verishten sent one of his greatest weapons against him. The Golem of Fire.

“Siegfried fell to his knees before the great Alpha who called itself Verishten’s Voice. He could only grin with elation. The Golem of Fire asked him, ‘Why do you smile, human? Do you not know that you are about to die?’ and Siegfried told it, that although he feared Verishten in all his infinite strength, he was glad to be in his presence, happy to have been given the chance to better his people. Siegfried thanked the God for allowing him to make it as far as he did, and he gave his soul to him to do with what he willed. For, he trusted no other with it as long as Verishten did right by his people.

“Verishten, so touched by Siegfried’s courage and humility, decided not to kill him and instead burnt his Eye into his flesh, signifying a sacred covenant between Verishten and man, and man and golem. The first-born sons of the other five men that perished were also given the Eye so that they all could pass the gift on through their line. And on that day, the Age of Man began.”

“So Golem Mages and the Steinkamp used to be one and the same,” Sigurd said. “I wonder what changed.”

“I’ve read recently that after the Alphas had left, much of the Mage abilities went with them. Enough of it remained to allow the Mage families to rise as rulers in their own kingdoms. Being so powerful, they didn’t need to fight their own battles anymore, and instead created armies of golems and man to enact war on each other. I imagine at that point, the kings required a more brutal form of soldier, where golems would not be practical. What were once the bravest, most honorable of warriors slowly, over time, became faceless and nameless killers for a nation that had forgotten what the sacred covenant once stood for.”

Sigurd mulled over Katja’s theory and found himself agreeing with it, despite the fact that he was a product of the new type of less honorable Steinkamp. “You must strip a man of his identity and of everything that makes him human. From there you have a broken shell that can be filled with whatever it is you desire. He can be your perfect soldier, your instrument of death, or your unfaltering protector . . .”

Katja didn’t respond to Sigurd’s morbid viewpoint. She simply shivered then tugged her hat more firmly over her head.

To prevent the demise of their conversation, Sigurd asked, “So, why do you think the Alphas left?”

After a moment, Katja answered, “It’s funny that you ask that because I’ve been thinking about it ever since I heard the lyrics to the Ode.”

“Really?”

“In the Age of Man, legends tell that the first Golem Mages were powerful enough to influence golems from anywhere, like our Führer can. I believe in those early days, Verishten allowed for a broader spiritual connection between them as part of the covenant he made. A thousand years later, the Alphas disappeared. The writings suggest it caused the Mages to lose that connection.

“I’ve started to wonder. What if it was not the Alphas that severed the connection by leaving, but the Mages, giving it up in the interest of dominating golems, which in turn, caused the Alphas to leave,” theorized Katja.

“You mean like a trade off?” Sigurd inputted.

“Exactly. The Mages discovered they could dominate a golem in their immediate vicinity rather than subtly influence them from anywhere. So, by the end of the Age of Man, Mages had taken all the power to influence golems away from the common people by keeping them under their complete control. Inducing golems from anywhere in the world would no longer make sense if another Mage could command them away.”

“Instead of enjoying a fellowship with golem-kind, man chose to exact control, turning them into their mindless slaves,” said Sigurd.

“Yes, and now with only one Mage left, we have a better chance at finding golems untouched by him and rediscover the art of cooperating with them through their own free will. The Ode suggests that mankind was entrusted to care for golems as kindred. They should only dominate them when absolutely necessary. But mankind eventually succumbed to the urge to control everything around them, it seems,” Katja concluded.

“So the Alphas just left all the Golem Mages to it? Verishten doesn’t seem like the kind of god to let mankind off that easy,” Sigurd said.

“I’m not sure he did. The Second Eruption occurred at the dawn of the Age of Kings, demolishing the City of Deschner and most of the City of Untevar. The Mages’ part in repairing what was lost contributed to the separation of Ingleheim into six different kingdoms. So much of what we knew in the Age of Man was lost during that time. We can never really know why the Alphas left, but I think their absence is what has prevented the golem and man connection from ever returning.”

“Except with the Führer . . .”

“No.” Katja shook her head. “He has been able to dominate golems from all over, evidenced by the fact that the other Mages couldn’t command them away from him. His abilities are far more mysterious than we know.”

“There is a theory going around that the Führer uses spirit magic to expand his reach. Since the Great Melikheil’s death, he hasn’t been seen dominating golems the way he used to.”

Katja didn’t answer Sigurd for a long time until she murmured, “Interesting theory.”

The conversation between the two of them ended at that, and Sigurd wasn’t exactly sure why, but he didn’t move to end the silence this time.

On the ride back to the university, the sun had set, and the light of the double full moons were all that lit the way. The heavy ash fall in mountain ranges like Deschner and Breisenburg often shrouded them, making Sigurd forget how large and bright they could really be, even on an overcast night such as this.

The university is going to be put on high alert when Katja is not found in her dorm. I will have to sneak her into her room through the window to make it look like she was there all along.

“Sigurd . . .” Katja’s softened voice interrupted his internal strategizing.

“Yes, fraulein?”

“What you were saying before—about having no identity and being molded into whatever the Regime wants you to be—I hope you know that you are more than just their conditioned killer.”

“What makes you so sure?” Sigurd challenged.

“To the ignorant many, golems appear as mindless shells waiting for a Mage to give them purpose. But I have always believed that they were more than that and today we proved it. If a golem can be something more, so too can a Steinkamp soldier,” Katja concluded.

“And what exactly can a Steinkamp soldier be, other than what he is trained to be?”

“Anything he wants. You don’t have to let them steal your identity. You may have to hide it from them and everyone you serve . . . including me, but surely you are not nameless or faceless in your heart.”

Sigurd’s uniform felt unusually constricting as he and Katja rode on. He said, “I lost my identity long before I started training. The Regime didn’t have to take it from me because I never had one for them to take.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Stop trying to read me, Katja,” Sigurd said curtly. “It won’t get you anywhere.”

She sighed sharply. “I suppose after hours of looking into that black void you call a face, I’m starting to see things that aren’t really there.”

“It is a common mistake.” Sigurd could tell Katja was frustrated with him, but he couldn’t afford to let her pry any further.

The two soon arrived at the university. They tied their horses within a cluster of trees with the intention of Sigurd coming back to get them later. They continued on behind the tree line to avoid being noticed by perimeter guards. Soon they found an opening to approach the wall. Sigurd took out a lengthy set of earth bindings and quickly tied a makeshift harness around Katja’s legs and waist. He then strapped her to his back and molded part of the bindings to his belt for good measure.

“Hold on tight,” he instructed while he used a set of smaller bindings to act as handholds.

When he began to climb with Katja strapped to his back, she made a gasp and wrapped her arms around his chest even tighter. It reminded him of when he’d tied Volker’s corpse to his back in a similar fashion. Needless to say, Katja’s warmth and scent were more than preferable, and Sigurd found himself enjoying the climb and the subsequent descent.

Eventually, they reached Katja’s dorm room window on the third story without being noticed by security. After carefully setting Katja down on her narrow window ledge, he had to sit somewhat astride her in order to untie her harness. The Dormitory Monitors were probably asking around for her by now, assuming she was studying late somewhere, but it wouldn’t be long until they checked her room again and put the school on lockdown.

“You know, I’m starting to see how being without an identity would have its advantages in this day and age, when a highborn lady has to be smuggled into her own school,” Katja whispered while Sigurd continued to untie her. “If I were nameless like you, I wouldn’t have to worry about security guards and rebel abductions.”

“Be careful what you wish for, fraulein,” he replied. “You can wear your own mask and try to be no one, but no matter where you run or where you hide, you can’t get away from who you really are. Take it from me.” He ground his teeth beneath his mask, thinking of how his parents paid dearly for that same mistake.

When Katja was free of her harness, Sigurd paused for a short moment. Amber eyes looked straight through his mask and met with his own. Her eyes were thoughtful and softer than he had ever expected. There was a fragile vulnerability in her gaze, there was fear, but more than that, there was understanding. Katja’s gaze left him feeling raw, and he was compelled to look past her.

She shouldn’t be able to see me through this mask, he thought as he went to work on the window to get it open from the outside.

Once unlatched, Katja was safely within her dorm room, but she didn’t go to her bed. She remained standing before the window, directly in front of Sigurd, who still crouched on the ledge outside.

“Is there something else, Katja?” he asked in a near whisper.

“If there is nowhere to run and nowhere to hide . . . then why bother wearing a mask at all?” Katja gently placed her hand upon the seam of Sigurd’s mask and hood as if she were about to take it off.

Normally, his reflex would be to pull away, but for some reason, he didn’t move a muscle. What if he just let her remove it right then? What if she saw him, not through the metallic mesh, but truly?

A reply to Katja’s question was not forthcoming. She then leaned over the window sill and pressed her lips to Sigurd’s mask where his own lips would be. The sensation of her kiss was lost on him. His face felt only the warm moisture of her breath through the mesh. His heart beat wildly in his chest, and he broke out into a sudden sweat under his uniform. Sigurd didn’t know why she was doing this, but he now felt incapable of leaving the window ledge.

Katja’s lips left his mask, but she remained close, her hand still touching it. Her voice was quiet and breathless as she spoke. “Hide behind your mask then. Maybe you need it more than I do.”

“I . . .” Sigurd couldn’t think, let alone speak.

Katja released him and backed away, the warmth of the air between them quickly dissipating. After a long pause, as if she expected him to speak first, Katja said softly, “Thank you for everything, Sigurd. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, fraulein.”

She smiled before closing her window and drawing her curtains.

It took several moments before Sigurd found the wherewithal to leave Katja’s ledge that night.

10

ASHEN RAIN

(Nine years ago)

In the libraries of Deschner castle, Kriemhilde waited with unbearable anticipation for Meister Melikheil to summon her. He has been here for hours already, why has he not called for me yet?

She sat in the plush sofa near the fireplace, watching the rain pelt against the stained-glass window. Wet ash splattered upon the depictions of Ingle warriors and trickled down each pane. Once dried, the ashen rain would form into crackled black sludge the groundskeepers would have to scrape away when the rains ceased.

After another hour absent Melikheil’s presence, Kriemhilde tried to read one of the books she had on the side table, but it was as if she’d forgotten what the letters meant. Her ability to focus had all but left her.

I will come to you soon. Kriemhilde held Melikheil’s promise in her heart as she continued to wait.

She had almost dozed off when the sorcerer eventually entered the library at nightfall. Trembling, she jumped from her chair with a start. There, standing in the doorway was the man she loved—the man she would die for.

Melikheil closed the door behind him without removing his gaze from her. As he slowly approached, she stood paralyzed by his masterful image, from his near black locks of shoulder-length hair to immaculately trimmed facial hair along his chiseled jawline. The intensity of his dark brown eyes made her quiver to look into them.

“How is my Little Dove doing today?” Melikheil’s deep voice was as eloquent as it was foreboding, and Kriemhilde lived to hear every word he spoke. It took everything for her not to run into his arms, but Melikheil didn’t like spontaneity. Only at his word would she dare move toward him.

Curtseying respectfully, she replied, “All is well, Meister . . . now that you have returned.”

“That is good to hear,” he said.

Melikheil sat down in a chair near the fire, crossing one ankle casually over his knee without letting go of his brass staff that he always had with him. He gently and dexterously caressed the brass raven, holding a sapphire in its talons at the top of the staff. What Kriemhilde wouldn’t give to be that raven-shaped adornment right then . . . Please, Meister, just tell me what you want of me, and I will do it! her mind pleaded, but was too afraid to voice it to the ineffable Mage.

Finally, to her relief, Melikheil spoke. “I am weary from my travels, but your presence does much to stave it off. Come here.”

She walked straight to him without a moment of hesitation. “What do you require of me, Meister?” she asked dutifully.

Melikheil put his staff aside and started unbuttoning his burgundy waistcoat, revealing a fine white shirt beneath. “Remove your dress.”

Kriemhilde didn’t hesitate. She unbuttoned her bodice and pulled her dress down. Melikheil watched her strip down to her undergarments with a satisfied half-smile upon his face.

It excited her to see how pleased he was with her, but before she could untie her lace bodice, she paused, ill at ease. She knew being with Melikheil this way was wrong. Looking to the doors, Kriemhilde feared her father would walk through them and catch his young daughter in the midst of exposing herself to his Regime Sorcerer.

Her gaze quickly returned to Melikheil. Lightning flashed through the stained-glass window behind them and cast his magnificent features in blue and red hues. He is so beautiful, she thought. Nothing else mattered when he was with her. She would let nothing get in the way of their love. It was not like her father or Brunhilde ever ventured down the wing since they considered it Kriemhilde’s living space.

With a deep breath, she slid out of her undergarments, letting them fall to the floor in a ring of lace around her feet. Her entire body was exposed to the great sorcerer; the comforting heat from the fire in the hearth was cast away by a chill ripping through her.

Melikheil’s eyes hungrily draped over her naked form as he reached out and brushed her hair off her shoulders. She closed her eyes and focused on his hands, hot and cold all at once, lightly drawing across her shoulder and down her left arm. Melikheil’s every finger on her body made her shiver. She could think of nothing more than him taking her, over and over again. Kriemhilde yearned for the Mage to pull her forcefully against him, to feel the heat of his skin flush with hers while taking her in a passionate kiss, but he did not.

“Meister . . . please . . .” Why does he always make me beg?

“Please what?” He gave Kriemhilde a small tongue-biting grin.

She craved for his being to devour her own, if only for a moment, but she found it so hard to express anything in Melikheil’s consuming presence. There was no feeling Kriemhilde could think of that was more torturous than being this close to him and yet not being with him.

“Grant me your touch,” she said breathlessly.

Melikheil gently grazed his hand down Kriemhilde’s other arm. “Like this?”

It was not enough, and he knew it. Kriemhilde broke out in an eager sweat, the aching of her loins growing unbearable. “Take me. I want to feel you, Meister . . . please.”

“You’ve become quite greedy in my absence,” he teased.

Kriemhilde’s voice trembled as she felt herself growing more desperate. “I’m sorry, Meister, I don’t mean to be, but I’ve missed you so much, I—”

Placing a finger on her lips to silence her, Melikheil said, “I may oblige you, Little Dove, but only if you truly love me.”

“I do, more than anything in this world—”

“Prove it.”

“I can—I will, just tell me what you want from me,” Kriemhilde said in a shaking voice.

Melikheil put his hand out toward the fireplace. A burst of flame leaped from the hearth and formed a crackling ball in his palm. Kriemhilde watched the flames dance between his fingers, never to touch them. Witnessing how easily Melikheil could manipulate essences like fire fascinated Kriemhilde as much as it terrified her.

“If you can withstand the burning pain of this flame, then I will know how much you really love me.”

Kriemhilde’s heart raced and her stomach lurched. This wasn’t the first time Melikheil had requested that she take extreme measures in proving her love to him, but never had he requested she physically harm herself. But what was she to do? Disappointing him was something she could not abide.

Staring at the flame, Kriemhilde slowly moved her right hand toward it. The flames licked her fingertips, stinging her, but she didn’t stop. Melikheil smiled, encouraging Kriemhilde to push past the pain. Tears wet her eyes as she struggled to keep from crying out. Her skin began to sizzle as she bit her bottom lip until it bled.

It wasn’t until her tears began to stream down her cheeks that Melikheil snuffed the flame with a squeeze of his fist. “That’s enough for now. I believe your devotion to be true.” He pulled Kriemhilde onto him and kissed her fervently.

Her burning hand quickly became an afterthought.

***

Katja awoke on her stomach, practically smothering herself with a pillow and head pounding. She groaned hoarsely as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up in a daze.

Even in death, that damn sorcerer continues to taunt me.

Looking down to her hand, absent fingerprints, left her with a dull ache in her gut that she still carried with her after all this time. He’s dead now, she reminded herself. A part of her didn’t believe Melikheil was really gone, but rather that he was still out there somewhere. There were some moments when she felt like he was right beside her, this moment being one of them. She shivered despite the warmth of her bed sheets.

Katja rubbed her aching temples, trying to push the sickening memories from her mind. Doing that pulled certain other memories to the surface, memories of kissing her Steinkamp’s mask the previous night.

Collapsing back into the bed, she moaned into her pillow, “Verishten have mercy, what’s wrong with me?”

The exhilaration she’d experienced with her new discovery, combined with the thrill of sneaking past university security, had caused her to get carried away. The truth was Katja had never felt so alive, and this time, the feeling was real. It was not contrived by an emotionally sadistic Spirit Mage.

Katja hoped that she hadn’t made it awkward between her and Sigurd. Thinking about the kiss, she smiled to herself. She had to admit there was something exciting about kissing a man whom she had never seen before; to get so close yet remain so far away. It was different than when Melikheil had kept her at a distance, because this was on her own terms.

Stop it, you’re being stupid! The man is a killer and your bodyguard. He cannot be anything more than that.

Somehow Katja’s heart disagreed. Killer or not, Sigurd may be the one true friend I have right now. That will have to be enough.

She decided that it was best not to dwell on flights of fancy with a Steinkamp soldier. There was a whole new world of research to do after yesterday’s revelation. She sat down at her desk and opened to a new page in her journal where she wrote down further details of her findings. In particular, she made note of the strange way all of the golems had decided to go dormant together at the edge of the Glacier Peaks. But the more she wrote, the more anxious she felt.

Ignatius and Klemens needed to know what happened, but the professor was obligated to share his knowledge with the Regime in the bi-weekly report. How can I face my colleagues today and pretend I didn’t revolutionize human and golem interaction yesterday?

Tossing her quill into the inkwell, Katja slumped back in her desk chair and sighed. Her head still pounded incessantly. Grabbing her quill again, she took a loose page of notepaper from the drawer instead and wrote a message for a Dormitory Monitor to deliver to Professor Ignatius. She would be too ill to research today.

***

(Two nights ago)

“Y-you can’t!” Kommissar Vaughn screamed.

Sigurd dragged him across his own yard at fifty-four Kentin Road in the middle of the night. He had already broken both of Vaughn’s arms so he could not fight back. It surprised Sigurd how easy it had been to sneak into the mansion and overpower a Steinkamp-trained Karlman. Years of living in affluence earned by your illicit activities have made you careless, Herr Vaughn, he thought.

When they reached the gate at the front of the kommissar’s property, Sigurd lifted him up and held him to the steel bars by his neck.

“A Steinkamp can never cause undue suffering to his enemies!” Vaughn croaked, a terror sweat dripping down his flaccid features.

“That’s correct, Kommissar, but your suffering is long past due.” Sigurd’s retractable blade sank easily into the soft flesh of Vaughn’s midsection.

“W-Why?” he gasped, barely audible.

“I’ve been asking that question since you sliced open my sister’s throat,” Sigurd snarled. He twisted the blade.

“Wha—no!” Vaughn gargled blood as it rapidly filled his mouth.

Sigurd pulled his blade down hard, causing blood and viscera to pour onto the grass at the two men’s feet. He wasted no time molding earth bindings around Vaughn’s forearms and stringing him up to hang from his own gate. Sigurd was sure not to hit any major arteries—it would take hours for the kommissar to bleed to death from his gut wound.

Sigurd watched for a moment while Vaughn struggled, hanging by his arms, his insides exposed to the cold night. The smell was putrid, putting Sigurd off despite such scents being part of his everyday life.

One man gone, two to follow.

Sigurd turned and left the kommissar alone to bleed out.

***

Sigurd lay on the cot inside the Nordenhein haven with his head resting on his hands, listening to each bell toll as if it were a beautiful melody. There was nothing like being stationed in Nordenhein, to hear the sound of his salvation reminding him of why he still lived.

He had been up for hours before the morning light appeared, reminiscing of his most satisfying kill from the night he arrived back in Nordenhein. Vaughn had suffered far more than Kristoff and Rosalinde combined, but Sigurd believed that the violent acts committed against children should be returned tenfold.

I suppose I should check on Katja’s status.

Sigurd wondered what kind of mood she’d be in after the last night. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her kiss, and she hadn’t even touched his lips.

The decision to begin the day was made for him by a series of knocks upon his door.

“Who’s there?” he called out.

“I’m here to determine whether you are friend or foe,” said the man behind the door.

Sigurd opened the door, not bothering to put on his mask. There stood Rudiger, wearing typical civilian attire consisting of a gray and white vest and trousers. He grinned, removing his bowler hat, his hair slicked back. “The fact that you greet me in your undergarments is a good sign you don’t plan on slaying me.”

Sigurd motioned for Rudiger to come in. “It’s only been one week,” he said as he went to unlock his weapons cupboard where a clean uniform was stored.

“I gave you two weeks to follow up with that name and address I gave you,” Rudiger replied while setting his lofty frame into a chair. “I did not expect to find him strung up and gutted three days after we last spoke.”

“I don’t believe in wasting time.” Sigurd put on his undershirt and pants and reached for his armored vest.

“That, I should have guessed. It certainly looked like you got your frustrations out. I hope that whatever you imagined doing to me a week ago was exhausted on our unfortunate kommissar.”

“He got what he deserved,” was all Sigurd said in response.

“And making it appear as if I did it. That wasn’t your way of sticking it to me a little bit, then?”

Sigurd was fastening his uniform’s straps on his vest when he turned to Rudiger with a raised eyebrow.

“You made it too obvious that a Steinkamp murdered Vaughn. The streets of Nordenhein are rampant with hearsay about Steinkamp going rogue. Papa Wolf won’t like his little secret getting out,” said Rudiger with a shake of the head.

“No, he certainly won’t.” Sigurd nodded. “Maybe that will teach him to keep a better eye on his killer dogs.”

“A more vigilant Wolfram is the last thing we need! Only four men know about the body of little Siegfried having never been found: Wolfram, Vaughn, me, and you. Of course, Wolfram is not aware of you. So now that Herr Vaughn is confirmed dead by Steinkamp soldier, he will deduce that I am the only one connected to him who is capable of doing such a thing. Wolfram will understand it as a tactic of mine to draw him out. That is not good for us.”

“I know you preferred for me to make Vaughn’s murder out to be a like a rebel committed it, but I want the world to know a Steinkamp did it. I want Wolfram to be scared of his own comrades turning against him, to weaken his position among them and the Regime. Only that will make him vulnerable,” Sigurd said while pulling the snug black hood over his head.

“Everything I did for the Kings’ Remnants could have been executed by any one of my comrades that defected with me. With Vaughn, it hits a little closer to home for Papa Wolf. Because of you, he is now positive that I am still out there, wreaking havoc,” Rudiger complained.

“Better to keep his focus on finding you than for his suspicions to fall on me. This way, he is sure not to see me coming.”

Rudiger stood up from the chair, fuming, his snarky expression turning into legitimate frustration. “Curse you, Siegfried. I told you that our objective is more than just putting down the Wolf. This is no longer a solitary mission. We work together or we do not work at all, and trust me when I say, the chances of getting what we both want are much higher if you agree to the former!”

“Refrain from using the name Siegfried. He was a legendary hero who dominated golems and faced a god, none of which are attributes of mine,” said Sigurd in an icy tone.

Rudiger sighed, arms crossed. “Then what should I call you?”

“Sigurd.”

“Sigurd? That’s strangely close to Siegfried.”

“That’s the idea. In the event that I inadvertently answer to my real name, it becomes plausible that I misheard Siegfried for Sigurd as opposed to Siegfried for Hans . . . for example.”

“Many a grown man has fallen for Wolfram’s tricks,” said Rudiger. “You were only five.”

Sigurd could barely look at Rudiger right then. I am not about to speak of that day with him if I must refrain from killing him. He turned to his weapons cabinet. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. I never agreed to join your foolish rebellion. First of all, you still haven’t told me how you plan to capture and hold the Fortress of Mortlach. I don’t believe your little witch is powerful enough to do it all by herself.”

“You’re right about that,” Rudiger replied. “Our advantage comes from many sources. Before I let you in on that, however, I must ask of your current assignment. How long will you be stationed here in Nordenhein?”

“Not for much longer. In less than a month I will be joining my kapitän on the front lines to fight the incoming Herrani forces.”

“I see.” Rudiger frowned, and then suddenly he slapped himself on the metal-plated knee. “Wait a minute. You are joining Wolfram’s unit? You might be exactly what I need, and exactly where I need you!” Now with Sigurd’s interest fully captured, he continued, “You’re familiar with how to take down a golem, I presume?”

“A bolt through the eye will do the trick. However, war golem eyes are too small and are protected by an iron grating. No crossbow has the range, and no man has the skill to hit such a mark,” Sigurd said.

“Yes, crossbows are certainly useless in that regard, but a longbow will do quite nicely. Our neighbors to the southwest have the most renowned archers in the known world. My sources speak of a young man who fought in the Desert War whose archery prowess is unmatched. They say he has never missed a mark—not even during training. Some are calling him Gershlon Reborn.”

During his tactical training, Sigurd had been told of the various wars fought between the kings of Ingleheim and Del’Cabria. The bloodiest among them were the Urling Wars. It was during that time the legendary Great Gershlon, Champion of Archers, was recorded to have felled so many war golems in such a short amount of time that he singlehandedly won Del’Cabria the war, and the disputed lands in Fae’ren Province for them. They were the very same lands offered to Ingleheim more recently, before Melikheil met his untimely end.

“And this Del’Cabrian soldier is just going to volunteer his services to Ingle rebels?” Sigurd raised an eyebrow while collecting his weapons from the cupboard.

“He’s not a soldier—well, not anymore. Stories of his mastery come from my Herrani sources. They speak of a Fae’ren who turned his back on his contingent and ran away with a Herrani woman in the middle of duty.”

“And you would trust such a man to aid you in your cause?”

“Don’t judge the lad too harshly. Many young men have been rendered powerless by the insatiable whims of the Herrani woman. I can attest to that.” Rudiger made a soft grunt and ran his tongue over his teeth.

Sigurd didn’t need to know how the Rogue knew what he knew about Herrani women. He imagined Rudiger likely bedded more women now that he was free of Steinkamp discipline, which forbade intimate relations of any kind while they were faceless and nameless—not that that stopped many Steinkamp or even Sigurd from time to time. He was reminded again of Katja’s kiss, but he quickly pushed the image out of his mind.

“Anyway, I’m digressing,” Rudiger said. “The archer in question has been running with a band of desert thieves for the last year and has auspiciously joined Herran’s forces in Fae’ren Province, laying siege to the Barrier of Kriegle.”

“So a year ago this man fought with Del’Cabria, then became a desert thief, and now he has joined with the enemies that occupy the land of his birth? What kind of barbarian are we dealing with here?”

“My sources say that he’s not fighting with the Herrani, but that he’s under the guise of a Herrani warrior to gain access to Ingleheim. He intends to find and sack a Steinkamp Magitech cache in west Breisenburg.” Rudiger took out a map from his vest pocket and rolled it out on the small dining table for both of them to see, pointing out where the cache was located. “My guess is he wants to steal Steinkamp weaponry and sell it to the enemy. A full cache of Magitech is worth around sixty thousand schlepts. I’d say that could pay a thief’s way for quite a few years.”

“Well, good luck to him in getting through the Pass of Halberschtad,” scoffed Sigurd.

“He won’t need it. You’re going to help him while you’re out there. You will find him, see him safely through the Pass, and take him to the cache without incident. In return for your generosity, he will agree to lend us his talents to take the Fortress of Mortlach.”

“You really expect a traitor and a thief to risk his neck for you?” Sigurd asked.

“We’re all traitors here, and as for thieves, I expect them to follow their self-interest every bit as much as I expect you to follow yours. We give the thief something to show that we are men of our word, and promise much more upon his cooperation. We can give him a chance to hone his archery skills, and truly become the great Gershlon Reborn. With all that, as well as a massive supply of Magitech, he will not refuse, provided that you do your part and get him to me.”

His words rang true in Sigurd’s mind. Rudiger had done the same for Sigurd with giving him Herr Vaughn tied up in a bow and promising Wolfram’s head on a platter, but would he keep his word to either Sigurd or this Fae’ren archer? There was only one way to know for sure.

“So I deliver you the traitorous archer, and that’s it?”

“For now.”

Sigurd nodded and fastened his mask. “I must be off. I’m late in reporting for duty.”

“Those Golem Experts hardly require Steinkamp surveillance while behind university walls,” Rudiger commented in levity. “At any rate, I will return here by month’s end to provide you further instruct—”

“I never told you my assignment was guarding the Golem Experts. Do you have a mole among the Steinkamp ranks after all?”

Rudiger blinked a few times and grinned slightly. “You’d be the only one. You already told me your assignment was in Nordenhein. I made an educated guess, and your reaction just confirmed it.”

“That was some guess. Why would you even think the research team would have a Steinkamp detail in the first place?”

Scratching his beard, Rudiger hesitated. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but it just so happens the Remnants have a mole on the research team that you’ve been protecting. That mole made me aware of a Steinkamp on their security detail, which led me to wonder if it was you.”

Katja? She told me she wasn’t working for the rebellion, but she is acting in a rebellious way . . . It made Sigurd sick to his stomach to think that she may have lied to him, but he calmed himself, cursing his overcautious nature, and asked, “Tell me who this mole is.”

***

Sigurd reported to his post later that morning and received status reports of the research team from university security guards. Since Katja had indicated how excited she was to start studying golem eyes, Sigurd was surprised to find that she had not yet left her dorm room. Her being there actually made his task easier. Now he wouldn’t have to find a way to speak to her privately within the university. He was anxious to inform her of what he’d learned from Rudiger.

The morning sun never shone on Katja’s window, so it was still coated with a thin layer of frost when Sigurd climbed up to it. He gently scraped off a small circle with the grips of his gloves so he could peer inside.

You’d better not have gone to the woods without me after everything that happened. Sigurd’s fears were put to rest when he saw the scholar at her desk, scribbling away in her journal. Her hair was partially clipped back to keep it out of her face, save a few wavy strands that she wrapped around her fingers as she wrote. Sigurd was entranced by how every strand fell about her shoulders with abandon. He imagined running his hands through it, entangling it further. It was then that he realized he had been gazing at Katja for far too long. I’d better make myself known before she notices a shadow man peeping through her frosted window.

He rapped lightly on the glass, and Katja snapped her head around in fright. He looked away from the peephole he’d made, hoping Katja wouldn’t notice it, and waited for her to open the window.

“Sigurd, what are you doing here?” Katja held her robe tight across her chest even though she was fully clothed underneath.

“Apologies for coming to your room like this, fraulein, but I must speak with you in private.”

Katja stood hesitant, holding the window partly open to either keep out the cold morning air or the Steinkamp crouched on her ledge. After nervously glancing around her room, she moved aside. “Um . . . come in.”

Sigurd could tell letting him into her room made her uncomfortable even though she seemed all too comfortable with him the night before. Maybe she regrets what happened between us, he thought.

“What is this about?” Katja said once Sigurd climbed into the room and closed the window. She shivered and tightened her robe around her.

“Is there something amiss, fraulein?”

She wouldn’t look directly at him. “I didn’t sleep well . . . too much excitement, I suppose,” Katja ran her hand through her hair and brought it over one shoulder.

“I expected to find you in the library studying after the discoveries we made yesterday.”

“Me too—I want to—but if I uncover anything more, I won’t be able to keep it secret from my team,” she admitted. “I don’t know where to go next.”

“I think I do,” said Sigurd. Katja finally looked at him dead on with hopeful eyes. “It’s what I came here to tell you. Your professor is a mole for the rebel group known as the Kings’ Remnants.”

“What?” Katja gasped, her eyes widening in shock. “How long have you known?”

“It has just been brought to my attention.”

Katja nodded. “Your rebel contact.”

“Yes. He told me Herr Ignatius has been submitting falsified reports on your progress to the Regime in order to stall them. He’s also supposed to report to the Remnants any pertinent information gained from your research that can assist the rebellion.”

“What do the Kings’ Remnants think they are going to do with the Alpha?” Katja asked.

“They want to take the Fortress of Mortlach where it is being guarded and hold it for themselves. However, I don’t think they want to awaken it—just take it from the Führer.”

“Whatever their intention is, we can’t allow my research to fall into their hands. You haven’t told your rebel contact anything about our excursions, have you?” Katja inquired sternly.

She’s not taking this as I expected, thought Sigurd. “No, Katja. I told you I will keep your secrets just as you keep mine,” he reassured her.

“Of course, I don’t mean to doubt you, it’s just . . .” Katja sighed, looking away and hugging her arms around herself. “I don’t like this. It feels dangerous. Ignatius being their spy explains how the rebellion found out about the Alpha, but who told them the location? Only those with the highest clearances would know of it—unless—”

Before Katja could voice her theory, Sigurd said, “The public is not aware of this yet, but members of the Kings’ Remnants abducted Kanzler Volker and tortured the information from him.”

“The Kanzler of Breisenburg?” Katja gasped.

“He’s now dead.”

“Herr Volker is dead,” Katja repeated, trying to process it. “This does not bode well for the Regime.”

Unless Katja was an expert at hiding her emotions, which Sigurd didn’t believe her to be, her reaction to the kanzler’s death was not one of grief. Herr Volker was definitely not Katja’s father. Sigurd let out a quiet exhalation.

“Hence their reason for keeping it from the public, I presume. It would be disastrous for the people to know how close the rebels are getting to hurting the Führer. By taking his closest allies right out from under him,” Sigurd said.

“Volker was Steinkamp-trained. His military pursuits made him a man harder than the iron in the mines. What kind of tortures could they have subjected him to that caused such a man to talk?”

Sigurd frowned. She knew much about the senior officials of the Regime. If her father was not Volker, it was a man that knew him well enough. This worried him more.

“The Remnants enlisted a talented Spirit Mage, who extracted the information.” Katja’s lip quivered at his words. “What is it?”

“Melikheil . . . ?”

Katja’s voice was so small Sigurd could barely hear her; only her mouthing the sorcerer’s name gave him any indication of what she’d said.

“It’s a young woman—a commoner, and a real up and comer, they say.”

Katja breathed deep, hugged herself tighter, and nodded. She cleared her throat. “Thank you for telling me this, but how is this going to get me out of my dilemma?”

Sigurd took a few steps toward her and she reflexively took one step back, though still allowed him to get closer.

“You can’t shoulder this on your own, Katja. Ignatius can be your ally.”

“You’re asking me to tell a man with rebel ties about my research?” she asked warily.

“You told me, and I have those same rebel ties. Talk to him. He may be able to help you. At the very least, he is one other person on your side who won’t sell you out to the Regime.”

Katja looked away and sighed heavily. “I suppose that’s better than not telling anyone at all.”

“Find a way to gauge his loyalties, then inform him of whatever you feel comfortable with.”

Katja nodded. “I will, thank you.”

“Oh, and in case Ignatius denies his involvement with the Remnants, tell him Herr Rudiger entrusted the information to me.”

Sigurd then excused himself and went to the window. Upon him opening it, he got halfway out before Katja said, “Be careful.”

He turned to face her. It was always implied that a Steinkamp soldier would take the utmost caution on his missions so it never had to be said. Having someone say it to Sigurd though, gave him pause; it grounded him.

“I don’t trust the Kings’ Remnants any more than I trust the Regime. Their mission to capture the Golem of Death is folly, and you should not involve yourself in it.”

“I use them for information, nothing more,” he assured her while stepping out onto the ledge.

“And one more thing.” Katja walked up to the open window where Sigurd stood just outside, “Do not trust that sorceress they have.”

“Do you know of her?”

“If she is, in fact, a Spirit Mage, then I don’t have to. They are all dangerous. They will fill your head with lies, and you will never be able to trust your instincts when they are around. Just promise me, if you come across her . . . do not engage.”

“I will take that under advisement, fraulein. Good day to you.”

With that, Sigurd dropped to the ledge below and made his descent down the dormitory building.

Katja knows Meister Melikheil well enough to be afraid of him. That could mean he worked very closely with her family. He worked very closely with Wolfram too . . .

A gnawing discomfort formed in Sigurd’s gut. He thought about looking into other possible offiziers that contracted Melikheil’s services to find clues into Katja’s parentage. He needed to rule out Wolfram.

It will change nothing. Wolfram must die. In a few more weeks I will leave Katja and her research behind, and she will never know it was me who had done it anyway. Sigurd’s logic was sound, but something inside him lurched at the idea of causing Katja any kind of pain, even if he wouldn’t be there to witness it.

11

RIGHTEOUS IDEALISM

The next morning Katja felt more in control of her situation.

She found the professor in his office. After locking the door behind her, she strode up to his desk where he busily wrote in his journal. Her blouse collar suddenly felt hot and constricting. Now that she was here, she wasn’t sure how to broach the subject.

“What can I help you with, Katja?” Ignatius asked without looking up.

“Professor, I know about your ties to the Kings’ Remnants!” Katja blurted.

Ignatius smudged the words he wrote as he snapped his head up to look at her. “I don’t think—”

“It’s okay if you are,” Katja cut him off. “I might be in a position to help you, but only if you promise not to divulge anything to them about what I am going to tell you.”

“For Verishten’s sake, Katja, how did you find out about this? Who else knows?” Ignatius set down his quill and closed his journal.

“Only me and the Steinkamp,” Katja answered in a hushed voice.

“What Steinkamp!?” Ignatius’s eyes widened as he stood up from his desk chair with a start.

“The one assigned to our security. It’s all right, though. We can trust him.”

“A Steinkamp soldier on our security detail?” Ignatius was shrill, but remained hushed. “If he knows what I am doing, then it is all over.”

“If he were going to report you, he would have already. Herr Rudiger thought it acceptable to tell him about you, so he must be a man they can trust.”

“So, Rudiger got another Steinkamp to defect. Most interesting,” Ignatius muttered.

“What do you mean, another Steinkamp?”

“There are at least four other former Steinkamp soldiers, including Rudiger, who are now members of the Kings’ Remnants.”

Sigurd forgot to mention his rebel contact was a former Steinkamp. Maybe that’s how he made his acquaintance, Katja surmised inwardly. “Have you met any of them?” she asked.

“Only Rudiger, but I did hear a rumor that one of them was responsible for the murder of the Karl Kommissar here in Nordenhein recently. Steinkamp Magitech was used, but the gruesome manner in which he was killed suggests the one responsible has renounced the pledge not to cause undue suffering.”

The notion of Steinkamp defectors out there, completely unrestrained and free of the pledge, gave Katja a chill.

Ignatius stepped out from behind his desk. “So how do you propose to help me?”

“Before I get to that, I need to know—why would a man in your position join the rebellion?”

The professor walked over to his office window and stared at the tiny snow hills accumulating between the panes. “In my younger days, I was the staunchest supporter of Herrscher Heinrich. As you know, I was a Golem Studies acolyte at this university. It was here where I met who at that time were my closest colleagues: Herrs Volker, Bachman, and Heinrich.”

Katja’s eyes widened. Two of those men had become kanzlers and, of course, Heinrich became the Führer. Together they, with her father at the helm, had carved out the Age of Order.

“Bachman studied economics; Volker, military strategy; and Heinrich, politics. The three of them came up with the brilliant initiative to unify Ingleheim by centralizing the rule of authority to Deschner, under Prince Heinrich—a Golem Mage, and the heir to Deschner’s throne.

“Heinrich took me into their group since Golem Mages and Golem Experts often went hand in hand. They were all admirable in their own way—Volker in his unbreakable resolve, Bachman’s unparalleled intellect, and Heinrich with his righteous idealism.”

“The Führer was a righteous idealist?” Katja scoffed.

Ignatius huffed and turned from the window. “Time changes all men. Righteous ideals become bitter realities. When they were young, their dreams of a united Ingleheim were not only obtainable but necessary. None of us doubted that the Prince of Deschner was the man to see it done, but no one could foresee the cost of those actions until it was too late. Their well-intentioned plans to see an end to the never-ending bloodshed of warring kings brought with it more pain and suffering than any of us could have imagined.”

Taking a seat at his desk again, Ignatius ran his hands through his white whiskers. “When I learned what was happening to the other Mage families, I tried to reach out to Heinrich—tried to reason with him. He thought I was attempting to gain insight into his mysterious abilities, which admittedly I was researching at the time, unbeknownst to him. He threatened to remove me from my position, destroy all my research, even go as far as have me arrested if I insisted on getting in his way. I made a choice to protect my life’s work. . . ”

“And now you rebel against him. What changed?” asked Katja.

“I could no longer sleep at night,” Ignatius sighed. “My choice to do nothing was made out of fear, and that fear ensured Ingleheim’s future under a cruel and tyrannical government. A few years after the Regime established itself, its offiziers broke into my study and stole my research anyway, in particular my research surrounding why Heinrich can do what no other Golem Mage has done for thousands of years. That’s when I decided to do something about it.”

The professor rose to his feet again and paced around the office, eyeing his impressive collection of leather-bound tomes and historical documents upon the polished oak bookshelves. “Since then, I have been secretly rebuilding my notes from memory. After a time, I approached the Kings’ Remnants and shared with them all I knew about Heinrich’s abilities, but I could not prove my hypotheses without the help of another Golem Mage or someone close to the Führer that could study him in secret. That turned out to be impossible, so I did what I could from here to aid the rebellion. My focus now, though, is keeping the Regime from making any further progress with that blasted Golem of Death.”

Katja couldn’t believe that her own professor actually knew all those men when they were young. It was an entirely different time, when students didn’t have to hide their identities as they pursued higher education. So many more questions swam around Katja’s mind. She hardly knew what to ask first, but there would be time for scholarly inquiries later. “How long do you plan on stalling?”

“Katja. I don’t want to drag you into this. It could mean your death,” Ignatius warned.

“I’m already in too far as it is. Neither one of us is going to make it through this with our heads attached if we don’t start helping each other.”

Ignatius sighed heavily, then nodded. “I plan to stall the research project until the Kings’ Remnants take the Fortress of Mortlach. In a few more months, the Remnants will have enough archers to bring down the golems guarding it and hold it for however long is necessary.”

“And then what?” Katja said in a harsh yet quiet voice. “They wait there to be crushed by the Führer’s entire stock of war golems?”

“That’s where my old research comes in.” Ignatius picked up his notebook and flipped through it. “I theorized that Heinrich’s abilities were being amplified by Meister Melikheil during and after his rise to power. Since Melikheil’s death, we have seen no evidence that the Führer is giving golems commands from miles away. While the rebels hold the fortress, we may be able to witness golems awakening from all over. If that happens, then we’ll know he can control them from anywhere, but if they don’t, and he doesn’t send his stock until much later, then it is an indication that he needs to be present to give them commands.”

“Your experiment will put too many lives at risk.” Katja was shocked that Ignatius would go so far, but then again, she understood where he was coming from. The thrill of experimentation and the urge to uncover golem mysteries often superseded all other things, no matter how important.

“Not if my theory proves true. The Führer will be revealed as a regular Golem Mage, no different than the ones he had murdered. The people will be more likely to rise up.”

“Even if it is true, it does not mean the rebellion will win. Melikheil may be dead, but the Führer has other Mages in his employ. If you look hard enough, you could probably find plenty of examples of him giving golems commands without being present. You don’t need to take a fortress to find that out.”

Now it makes sense why Father has been so secretive over the years. Hardly anyone is aware that his wife is a Spirit Mage or that she even exists, thought Katja.

“The Kings’ Remnants have other plans that I’m not privy to—”

“I don’t care what their other plans are,” Katja snapped, causing the professor to raise a bushy eyebrow. “We can’t depend on them. The rebellion is going to lose and the names of everyone that assisted them will be brought to light. The Führer won’t care about your past friendship when he finds out you were involved.”

“I made up my mind long ago. I know well the risk I take. I’ve chosen the path in which I can prevent the Golem of Death from awakening, giving the rebellion a fighting chance at creating a better Ingleheim.”

“Not if the Regime kills them all.”

“You have yet to tell me how you can help. I suppose you have a better idea?”

“I think I might.”

“Well, let me hear it, for Verishten’s sake!”

“You keep stalling for a little while longer, and in the meantime, we delve into researching golem eyes. Now that the two of us can control the flow of information to the Regime, there is no reason not to start searching for Alphas to better our own knowledge,” Katja said.

“Pardon me?” Ignatius furrowed his brow in confusion. “Golem eyes—Alphas? How are these two things even connected?”

Katja quietly informed her professor of everything learned on her excursions with Sigurd. “If golems of the same type have the exact same eye, then we can predict that their Alpha, too, has the same eye,” she concluded.

“So to look in the eye of a golem is to look in the eye of its progenitor,” Ignatius said. “But how will that help us find one?”

“That, I don’t know yet, but it’s the best lead we have, and it’s one I can no longer investigate without you,” Katja admitted. “I need the full support of you and your faculty resources.”

“Very well, but say we do find an Alpha. What then?”

“We find out everything we can about it and what connection it has to other golems. We report back to the Regime anything that will convince them controlling an Alpha is impossible and that awakening it will be suicide. This means that from now on, all of our research notes and reports, every piece of paper that leaves this university will be falsified. If they insist on using lies and secrecy to advance their agenda, so shall we,” Katja said.

“And what agenda might that be, exactly?” Ignatius crossed his arms over his chest.

“The covenant between golem and man was not exclusive to the Mages, but was meant for everyone. Over time, the Mages’ insistence on dominating golems stripped mankind of their connection with them. I say we uncover the secrets of the Alphas to rediscover that connective power and give it back to the people. If we can do that, neither the Regime nor the Kings’ Remnants can use the Golem of Death for their own purposes.”

“That is a risky plan. What if it takes years to uncover the secrets of the Alpha Golems? Years of reporting failures to the Regime will not be tolerated. They’d sooner replace us than let the project die—and by replace, I mean drag off to the mines, or worse, put on the wrong end of a Steinkamp’s blade. I wouldn’t be surprised if this Steinkamp on our detail was here more to ensure our compliance than to protect us. At least with the Kings’ Remnants, there is a chance the Regime will be toppled before we are ever discovered.”

Katja could appreciate the professor’s reservations. He, unlike Katja would surely lose his life if they were ever found out. “The Steinkamp is no friend to the Regime nor is he to the Kings’ Remnants, and I think that is where we should stand as well. I for one am not going to sit here and watch Ingleheim enter another Age of Golems. This Regime will fall, the rebellion will fail, but the people of Ingleheim must remain. Only through golems do they have any hope of surviving this.”

Ignatius nodded and scratched at his whiskers while studying Katja. “You know, you really remind me of him sometimes.”

“Who?”

“Heinrich.”

“I remind you of the Führer?” Katja was aghast. I am nothing like him! I can’t be like him! Her stomach lurched.

“Not the Führer—the idealistic young man I once knew and admired. He was very headstrong in his principles, persuasive to a fault. He got his way by convincing others that it was their way too. He’d get the same look in his eyes that you get when you speak of your passion for golems.”

“Is that . . . a good thing?” It irked her to be compared to her father, even in his youth.

“When I knew him, Heinrich loved Ingleheim. He deeply cared about his people, and he had the means to make real change, but he lacked the humility that is paramount to a true leader. He thought he was better than the people he wanted to rule and because of that, surrounded himself with sycophants who stifled his growth into the leader I believe he was meant to be. His ideal Ingleheim became a realm of fear because he himself was afraid. I see a lot of Heinrich in you, Katja, but what I don’t see is his lack of humility and courage. I think you have what it takes to excel in whatever it is you want to do, but you won’t have to worry about falling prey to your own shortsightedness like he did.”

Katja hadn’t noticed that Ignatius had placed his hand on her shoulder until he finished speaking. She felt tears threaten to surface, so touched by Ignatius’s words, but she blinked them away and smiled instead. She wished, at that moment, that Ignatius was her father instead of the Führer. She was supremely gladdened to have confided in him. For the first time in a long time, Katja could breathe more freely than the thin mountain air of Nordenhein had ever allowed before. “Thank you, Professor. I don’t know what to say.”

“How about you and I get to the lab?” Ignatius suggested, giving her shoulder a pat.

***

By the following day, Katja had a complete set of golem eyes drawn onto separate sheets of paper. She and Ignatius had shown all of the golems in the lab the eyes, and each one responded as predicted, following the researchers around the cages. Showing an eye from a different golem type had resulted in them ignoring it. Katja had made a note that the human-sized golems followed the person that showed them their eye in the same manner that the frost ones had followed the giant one in the woods. But the question remained, where had the frost giant been leading them?

Katja was now in the library with Klemens to get his take on how the eyes were connected to their Alphas. Due to his Regime loyalties, Katja and Ignatius kept a lid on their prior day’s discussion, but they couldn’t keep him completely in the dark. If they were going to find an Alpha, they would need his help. Katja decided to tell him about the Ode since he would find out sooner or later. She also told him she and Ignatius discovered that golems communicate by their eyes in the lab. Katja felt it best to leave out anything regarding the Steinkamp, only casually mentioned that one would accompany them on future excursions as mandated by the Regime.

“I hope you’re not upset that the professor and I made these discoveries without you,” said Katja.

“Are you kidding? I’m just glad that we finally have a real lead. You know I don’t care for the lab work anyway,” Klemens replied. He studied all five eye drawings scattered about the table. It was after dark, so the library was empty, giving them use of the entire space. “You’re pretty good at drawing, Kat. These eyes really are identical.”

“Yes, and I hypothesize that these eyes are also identical to their Alphas’.”

“You’re brilliant. You know that, right?” Klemens flashed her a proud smile.

“Do you see anything unusual, any patterns emerging?” she said, trying to brush off the compliment.

“I don’t see any patterns, and that’s what’s unusual. Life forms are basically symmetrical, but these designs, however you look at them, appear random.” Klemens adjusted his spectacles and brought two drawings up to his face for closer inspection. One was the frost golem Katja had copied from her journal, the other a lava golem.

“I found that strange as well. The only things that are common in all types are these large spots.” Katja pointed to the flaws in each picture he held.

“You mean those aren’t inkblots?” he asked in surprise.

“No, I drew these exactly as they were.”

Humming and hawing, Klemens set the drawings on the table again and started arranging them in a way Katja couldn’t quite figure out, but she let him work in silence. He had always been better at recognizing patterns than her.

After at time, she blurted, “What are you doing, Klem? You look like a general contemplating war tactics on a map.”

“Wait a minute,” Klemens murmured, holding up a finger. “. . . A map.”

He briskly walked around the table and went to the back wall where he pulled down a large canvas map of Ingleheim and tied it down. He returned to the table and after a moment of staring at the sketches, he snatched the crag golem eye and took it over to the wall.

Katja’s heart picked up pace as she sauntered to the map to stand alongside Klemens. He analyzed the drawings and the topographical depictions of Kensloche Mountain Range for an excruciatingly long time. When she couldn’t take the silence any longer, she said, “Klem, what are thinking?”

Klemens pointed to the map of Kensloche, tracing the patterns of the Crags with his finger, then he pointed to the drawing. “This collection of cracks in the eye . . . it’s not random at all. The lines match almost exactly the outlines of the Crags here. See? Look. The Crags are very distinctive and so are these lines in the golem’s eye.”

Snatching the paper out of his hands, Katja tried to see what he saw. It didn’t take her long to notice the pattern of the Crags matched the pattern of the drawing.

“Let’s look at another one.” Her stomach fluttered with anticipation.

Klemens rushed back to the table while Katja pinned the crag golem eye over Kensloche on the canvas. Once he returned with the drawing of a crystal golem eye, the two researchers looked to Untevar on the map, the mountain range farthest east of Deschner. Untevar Range was harder to compare to the eye. Its map had less rigid mountain lines, with the land being made up of many massive valleys suitable for farming. Even so, the eye of the crystal golem shared a shocking resemblance to Untevar’s landscape.

“Are the eyes of a golem simply maps of the areas they derive from?” Katja twirled a loose strand of hair around her finger.

Klemens stood, growing fidgety. Katja pinned the crystal golem eye to Untevar, and both she and Klemens raced back to the table. They grabbed the rest of the drawings and dashed back to the wall, practically tripping over each other and almost falling face-first into the canvas.

After matching the landscape of Nordenhein to the frost golem eye and the map of Luidfort to the winged golem eye, they found themselves stumped when trying to match the lava golem’s to Deschner Range.

“It doesn’t match,” Katja groaned. “Why does this one have to be different?”

“Wait. Where is the golem eye for Breisenburg?” Klemens looked back to the table to find it bare.

“There are no golems native to Breisenburg—only war golems, which possess the eyes of various other types,” said Katja.

“Of course!” Klemens exclaimed, clapping a hand to his forehead. “Breisenburg Range is technically a part of Deschner Range. It was not until a few centuries ago that what is now Breisenburg broke away from the Monarchy of Deschner.”

Klemens took the picture from Katja and studied it and the map again. When Deschner and Breisenburg were treated like one range, the eye of the lava golem matched the landscape as perfectly as the others.

The two took a step back and looked at their map of golem eyes.

“It’s incredible!” Klemens said in complete awe.

“You are incredible,” Katja gushed. “I’ve been staring at these pictures for days, and they looked nothing like maps to me.”

He blushed. “Well . . . during my years studying military history, I would see maps every time I closed my eyes. I never imagined my hunch would be correct, though.”

She and Klemens continued to study the maps for a time until he announced he was going to retrieve Ignatius to share their findings with him.

“Klem, wait,” she called. “Look at the flaw on the lava golem’s eye. Look where it is on the map of Deschner Range.”

Klemens returned and peered closely at the splotch in the lava golem’s eye. It was right in the center of the Volcano of Verishten—right where legends said the Golem of Fire resided.

“If the cracks in the eyes represent the mountains of Ingleheim, then these spots could represent the locations of their Alphas,” Katja theorized.

“Or the locations of volcanic activity,” said Klemens.

“No.” Katja shook her head. “Because in Nordenhein, the eye’s spot is way out in the Glacier Peaks, and the hot springs are several miles away.”

She pointed to the location of the Nordenhein hot springs where a splotch was absent. The spot around the Glacier Peaks struck her. It was only a few miles from where all the frost golems mysteriously went into dormancy together. Could they have been trying to take Katja and Sigurd to their Alpha, only to realize it was deep in slumber and could take them no farther? Perhaps golems not dominated by a Mage felt the need to follow their Alphas the same way man-sized golems followed their giant counterparts.

Was that giant frost golem trying to tell us something? she pondered. It was as if the golems wanted humans to find their Alphas, suggesting that humans might be the key to awakening them. The question, of course, was how.

“So what do you think, Kat? Could these splotches really be Alpha Golems in dormancy?” Klemens looked to his research partner still staring at the strange dots on the paper.

“There’s only one way to find out for sure. We go to one of these locations, and we find ourselves an Alpha.” She then met eyes with Klemens.

“That sounds like quite the excursion.” He wiped away the nervous sweat forming on his brow with his sleeve.

Katja couldn’t help but squeal in delight. Their discovery, late at night in the library, was almost as exhilarating as getting to ride the golem in Frost Woods. “We did it, Klem! We’re going to find an Alpha Golem, and it’s all thanks to you. You’re a genius,” she gushed, suddenly finding her arms around him.

She pulled herself off him quickly and tried to keep her wits about her. Lately, she found it hard to contain herself with all these new discoveries.

“You’re the genius,” Klemens returned, his face reddening. “It was your intuition that led us to the golem eyes in the first place. Your thesis is going to change the world, Kat.”

Katja exhaled, smiling so wide her cheeks ached from the effort. Klemens’s jaw dropped, and she immediately closed her lips and placed her hands over her mouth.

“You’re smiling.” He pointed at her face.

“No, I’m not.” Her words came out muffled in her hands.

“I told you I’d get you to do it. You’re smiling!” Klemens guffawed.

She shook her head back and forth, giggling into her hands. “You’re mistaken, herr.”

“Let me see—you have to let me see!” Klemens reached out in an attempt to take Katja’s hands from her mouth.

Unable to stop laughing, she turned away. Klemens reached from behind her and tried to grab her arms again, but she spun around and started running. She covered her mouth any way she could as Klemens tried with all his might to peek at her laughing face.

“Get away, you lunatic!” she squealed.

Klemens finally caught her by the arm and spun her around playfully.

“Ugh, you are relentless.” Katja came down from her laughter and leaned back against the canvas map in exhaustion.

“Show me,” Klemens begged, caging her against the maps, trying to view her snickering as she turned her head to the side.

Katja was so embarrassed to smile in front of him. She was losing a two-year power struggle, but she was too tired and elated to keep up the sullen façade any longer. Katja revealed her smile, shaking her head all the while.

To her surprise, Klemens took a hold of her chin and turned her head to face his. He then leaned in close and kissed her on the mouth. Her whole body became rigid. Klemens leaned in more and Katja, with her back against the wall, had nowhere to go. She simply allowed the kiss to run its course.

When Klemens pulled away, he respectfully stepped back, allowing her to stand up straight. She immediately fixed her hair and adjusted her blouse even though neither had gotten overly tussled. Her stomach fluttered grievously, making her ill. Why did I let that happen?

“Apologies. I was caught up in the moment.” Klemens pulled at his cravat, his face redder than ever, more out of breath than Katja was.

“That’s all right,” she murmured.

“Well, I’m glad for it,” Klemens replied then took her hands in his. “You’re probably aware that I have feelings for you because I’m so awful at hiding them. Thank Verishten the Führer approved of my transfer to Golem Studies, because—”

“Klem, I—”

“I do hope that after this project or after graduation, whichever comes first, you will consider me . . . I mean—I hope you will agree to . . . uh . . .”

Katja knew the words Klemens was trying to sputter out, which made her chest so tight she was afraid she’d pass out before he stumbled upon them.

“I’d like you to be . . . my wife.”

And there it is, Katja groaned inside. What she wouldn’t give to be a Del’Cabrian noblewoman at that moment. In Del’Cabria, would-be couples of high status often underwent long, drawn out courtships before ever agreeing to marry. Ingles, however, weren’t fond of wasting time when it came to such things. If one found a suitable match, it was best to propose quickly lest someone else get there first. The only thing required to make it official was for the bride to put on the marriage bracelet presented by the groom to show she fully consented. No months of anticipation or outlandish celebrations.

“K-Klemens,” Katja stuttered, finding it hard to speak, “I . . . we don’t even know each other’s real names.”

“You needn’t worry about that. I assure you, I come from a very wealthy family. My inheritance alone will see us and our children—and our grandchildren—to a very prosperous future. It doesn’t matter where your family stands. They could be paupers for all I care.”

The library faded in and out of focus as she struggled to respond. “You don’t know me.”

“Nonsense, we’ve been working together for two whole years. So what if I don’t know your real name or your parentage? What I do know is that you love golems because you secretly wish you were a Golem Mage. I know you write in your journal, not just to record your findings but to get your frustrations out. I know you hate smiling because you think it gives your power away, and that’s okay. I think you’re beautiful even when you scowl at me. I’m sure there are many things about you I don’t know, and frankly I want to spend the rest of my life finding out what those things are—that is, if you will give me the chance.”

Katja’s heart flopped and her guts tied in knots. He knew her so well, but not nearly well enough. I love golems because they are the only things I was able to identify with growing up. I write in my journal to let my frustrations out about a regime you support unfailingly. I hate smiling because it caught the attention of a Spirit Mage who turned me into his love slave before shattering my soul into a thousand pieces with a wave of his hand. And yes, there are many more things you don’t know about me, Klem. Like how I am indirectly assisting a rebel group that according to you wants to turn Ingleheim to rubble. Oh, and I’m harboring a strange erotic fixation on a faceless, nameless killer, and possible defector. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life learning more about me?

Those were the words Katja wanted to yell at Klemens. Of course, she wouldn’t dare.

Katja swallowed the lump in her throat and said, “Klemens, you are highly intelligent, and I find you very sweet. Trust me when I say—”

She was interrupted by a messenger bursting into the library. “Message for Herr Klemens.”

“I am him, but can it wait? I’m in the middle of something here.” His eye twitched.

“I’m afraid it cannot wait. The message is of an urgent nature.”

“Well, just tell me then, if it’s so important.” Klemens’s hands grew even clammier as he continued to hold Katja’s.

“You may want to take this message privately, herr. It is dire news regarding your father.”

Klemens looked to Katja, his face tense with sudden worry. “Excuse me.” He strode toward the door and took the parchment from the messenger who bowed and swiftly exited the library. Klemens unrolled the piece of paper and read it. His usual blushing face immediately paled to the hue of cream.

It felt like several minutes of Klemens staring at the note before Katja said, “Klem, is everything all right?”

“No.” It seemed like it took all of his energy to say that word. “My father is dead.”

“Verishten have mercy.” Katja’s heart stilled. “What happened?”

“Killed by rebels.” Klemens started to wander away, unable to meet Katja’s eyes. “I have to go.”

She helplessly watched her deflated research partner slip out of the library like a disembodied spirit. When he closed the double doors behind him, her legs gave way, and she dropped to the floor in shock. Katja knew of one man who had been abducted, tortured, and killed by rebels—Kanzler Volker.

12

LOOSE SHALE

One week later, the research team set out for the Crags of Kensloche in search of their first Alpha. They chose the Golem of Stone in Kensloche Range first because it was closest to the university other than the Golem of Ice in the Glacier Peaks. Since Kensloche was far warmer in winter, it was the obvious choice between the two. Discovering the Golem of Ice would have to wait until the summer months.

Kensloche was the lowest-altitude range in Ingleheim, whereas Nordenhein was the highest. As a result, the team experienced some minor headaches and lethargy during their travels, but after the third day they grew accustomed to the thicker air. The Steinkamp kept to himself for most of the trip and spent his time scouting ahead to find the quickest and safest paths. He had indicated that the Crags of Kensloche could be treacherous since the Regime did little to police them.

The team had left their horses at the stables in the Town of Kensloche, and Sigurd had left his at some other location he referred to as a haven. It was there where he switched out his crossbow for rope and a pulley for rock climbing. He had told Katja once that a Steinkamp never left a weapon behind, but this time the crossbow would have to be sacrificed in the interest of carrying a much more useful apparatus. From there, the team continued their hike up the rugged trails and reached the Crags on the third day.

Klemens had been quiet for much of the ride to Kensloche Range. He had told the team earlier he’d been instructed not to return home, but instead continue with the assignment, which the Regime assured him was more important.

Katja caught up to her distraught friend who was growing paler as the hike progressed. “How are you faring, Klem?”

“Fine,” he muttered, though he didn’t engage her any further. They had barely talked since he had gotten the news about his father. There was still that unanswered marriage proposal dangling between them, and Klemens was likely not in the right state of mind to handle any kind of response from her just yet.

“You know you didn’t have to come with us. We would have understood if you wanted to stay behind and grieve,” Katja said.

“What good would I be to you and the professor sitting in my room thinking about my father? I still have a duty to the Regime and to my family. I am more determined now than ever to find out how to awaken the Golem of Death so this wretched rebellion can be wiped out of existence once and for all.” Klemens’s jaw was taut.

Katja cleared her throat and murmured, “Again . . . I’m so sorry.”

There was nothing else she could say. She could not allow the Regime to succeed, but her heart bled for Klemens and his loss nonetheless. Guilt gnawed on her insides for lying to him about her and the professor’s real intentions. This Alpha, if found, was not going to wake up, and that was what they were going to report to the Regime, one way or another.

A few hours into the hike, the team met Sigurd at the base of a humongous jagged cliff face.

“The quickest way to the Crags is over this cliff here,” he said.

“I thought we were in the Crags already,” returned Klemens.

“This is just a lowly mountain trail, herr. Up there is the Crags.” Sigurd presented the looming vertical cliff with his arm.

Both Ignatius and Klemens gulped in unison.

When Sigurd showed them the rope and harnesses they each would be using, Katja piped up, “Excuse me, but am I not going up there strapped to your back?”

“Whatever gave you that idea, fraulein? You will be going up on your own, just like them.” Sigurd nodded toward the men.

Katja felt the fool for almost revealing her previous experience with him. The idea of scaling such a daunting wall of rock without his assistance made her break out into a cold sweat.

Sigurd helped everyone strap into their harnesses and came to strap Katja in last. She was glad she wore hiking slacks, paired with a vest and cravat under her leather lady’s frock coat, even if doing so meant receiving some curious glances from her male counterparts. As Sigurd crouched to fasten the harness around Katja’s thighs, her entire body flushed, imagining what his hands could do while he was down there. Stop it, Katja. She could feel a drop of cold sweat drip down the back of her neck. An even colder breeze swept by, sending shivers through her, making her almost regret wearing her hair tied up and off her neck in a loose bun.

After tightening the final strap around her waist, Sigurd stood and said in a low husky voice that only she could hear, “You’ll be fine. I don’t expect any of you to climb such cliffs on your own.” He stepped away and said to the rest of the group, “I will go first and lift you all up with a pulley when I get to the top.”

“You’re going to climb that entire thing on your own?” Katja asked, her neck straining to look up at it.

“We all do our climb training in these Crags. There is nothing to it.”

Sigurd gathered the ends of all the ropes and hooked them to his belt underneath the pulley apparatus strapped to his back. The research team stood and watched the Steinkamp scramble up the rock face with the ease of a squirrel running up a tree. Katja bit her lip for several minutes until he finally disappeared over the final ledge.

A few moments later, Sigurd set the pulley and started lifting the team members up one at a time. Ignatius went first, smiling and waving down to his acolytes as he ascended. Nothing can ever get the best of the professor, it seems. Next was Klemens, who asked Katja to wish him luck as he wiped sweat from his brow and pushed his spectacles up his nose. The poor man looked petrified, but it was not long until he was at the top, and Katja began to feel her own rope tighten.

She thought she’d be more scared, but as long as she kept her eyes forward on the rocks in front of her and didn’t look down, she felt fine, other than the discomfort of the harness biting into her thighs. When she finally reached the top, Sigurd lifted her up by the arms and set her down safely. She let herself glance over the edge to see how far she’d come and her legs quaked at the distance. Sigurd, sensing her anxiety, took her by the arms again and led her well away from the edge before packing up his pulley. Katja noticed that it was sealed to the ground by solid rock at its base. As soon as Sigurd touched it, the rock reverted back into the leather bindings that he had used to hold it in place.

After a quick meal, everybody was ready to continue. Sigurd kept ahead of them as before.

“Now everyone, watch your step on these cliffs,” he called back. “There is a lot of loose—”

Just then, Klemens nearly slipped down an incline were it not for the professor keeping him upright. Chips of stone broke free and slid down the hill and off the cliff, shattering as they hit the jagged rocks below.

“—shale. So make sure your footing is solid before putting your full weight down,” Sigurd finished.

“Sound advice,” Klemens agreed as he collected himself.

The four travelers trekked downhill most of the way, and each step across the rugged trail opened up to the breathtaking landscape of Kensloche Range. Katja marveled at the sights of the cutting, gray shale ridges against seemingly smooth remnants of rockslides alongside them. Gnarled trees grew sideways out of the cracks in the rock. Mosses of every imaginable shade of green lined the path at their feet. Looking onward to the horizon, the team took in rolling snow-specked hills and luscious green pastures miles below that stretched toward the setting sun.

It was not long into dusk when the party arrived at a plateau where they could camp for the night. They set up their tents around a shallow cave, where a nearby stone outcropping served to shield them from the winds. It was nowhere near as cold in Kensloche at this time of year as it was in Nordenhein but it was winter nonetheless, and on the Crags the wind still brought with it an icy bite.

Sigurd went to work on building a fire using trace amounts of blast gel and kindling he had collected. The rest of the team worked on setting up their compact tents and bedrolls. By nightfall, the camp was nearly prepared, and the Steinkamp took off to secure a perimeter around them, whatever that entailed.

It was so strange for Katja to be out on an excursion with her entire research team again, and so far away from Nordenhein. Even stranger was having the Steinkamp with them and pretending she hadn’t met him before. She wondered if Sigurd also felt odd acting like he didn’t know her, though it seemed effortless for him, not that she’d be able to tell.

Klemens decided to take all the canteens to a spring they had passed earlier and refill them. He grabbed a lantern and set off while Katja and the professor went to feed the fire. When Klemens returned, he suddenly fell forward and rolled down the loose shale until he reached the plateau.

“Klemens!” Katja cried out, running to him. “Be careful, we almost lost you once already today!”

Klemens shot up and glared behind him as if the rocks he had tripped on committed some terrible offense against him. “I didn’t trip. I-I was pushed—someone was behind me!”

Katja wanted to chalk it all up to Klemens’s clumsiness until she heard the crunch of shale from where he had fallen. Four figures sauntered from the shadows into the lamp light, snickering amongst themselves. They were men, wearing old fur or leather smocks and outworn breaches with holes in the knees. They appeared as if they’d lived in the wild for years, apparent from their tangled beards, unkempt hair, yellowed or cracked teeth, and deadened eyes. In reaction to the blunt weapons the men carried with them, the team backed up towards the flat-sided outcropping near Katja’s tent.

“Who are you people, and what do you want?” demanded Ignatius.

These men, Katja could only assume, were Cragsmen. She had read somewhere that they lived in the Crags to hide from the Karl and made their living pillaging farms and villages in the area. Whatever it was these men wanted, it was not to share a meal by the fire.

The Cragsmen continued with their guttural laughter. One of them said, “You’ll need to tend to those cuts, boy.”

They began to close in on the three researchers. It was too dark to run, and if the researchers were to try, they’d risk twisting an ankle, tripping down a cliff, or worse. These men would know that.

Where are you, Sigurd? Katja screamed in her mind.

“Never mind him, what is it you want?” Ignatius said in a loud voice.

“What you got, old man?” said a bald Cragsman wearing a bloody handkerchief over one eye. His dialect was choppy and barely understandable.

“We have food, medicine, and not much else.”

“Give it here, then.” The one-eyed man motioned with his chin for Ignatius to go and get it.

Carefully, the professor went toward his sack of rations and exposed Katja who had been behind him. Only the one-eyed Cragsman followed the professor while the other three ventured closer to the outcropping. Klemens trembled, trying to push his glasses to his nose but found them missing. They were still on the ground where he had fallen.

“We have schlepts—lots of schlepts,” Klemens sputtered.

“What are we going to do with schlepts?” said a Cragsman with a scraggly brown ponytail down his back but not much else on the top of his head.

“I don’t know what I’d do with schlepts, but I know what I’d do with her,” said the taller one with a haggard face and the tiny eyes of a shrimp. He made kissing motions with his lips toward Katja, making her shudder in disgust.

“I don’t think she likes you, Lars,” snorted a younger Cragsman wearing a makeshift hat made from animal hide.

“Don’t matter much, never stopped me from getting my way,” the thin-faced one named Lars said as he edged closer, licking his peeling lips.

“If you value whatever it is you call lives, you will walk away now!” Katja said as loud and forcefully as she could in her terrified state.

“Pretty lady wants a fight. Well, you’ll get your fight,” said the man with the ponytail.

Lars and Ponytail advanced toward Katja, while One-Eye clasped a hand over Ignatius’s mouth before he could cry out. Klemens’s reaction was to keep shaking. The hat-wearing Cragsman lunged toward him, took him by the shirt, and threw him down, then struck him with his mallet while he was on the ground.

Katja’s scream echoed off the cliffs but it did nothing to deter the two men that came at her. Her back pressed against the outcropping as Lars grabbed her by the face. His hands stank of blood and excrement, causing her to wretch.

Before she could begin to fight back, Katja heard a sickening crunch. She stood wide-eyed as Lars’s body shuddered jarringly. His throat rattled and blood streamed down his face from his hairline. Without warning, the point of a blade pierced out the front of the man’s skull from the inside. Blood splashed, and Katja jerked her head away before any of it got into her mouth and eyes. Ponytail quickly backed away while everyone else stood frozen.

Leaping down from a protrusion in the outcropping above was Sigurd, holding the chain from his splitting blade dispenser. As he descended, Lars’s body, acting as a counterweight, lifted up into the darkness by the chain. Lars was dead before the blade had split open, but his body twitched macabrely.

Sigurd made a controlled landing on the shoulders of the ponytailed Cragsman, wrapped the chain around his neck, then pulled hard and fast. The crack of Ponytail’s spine ripped through the night air. Sigurd jumped from Ponytail’s shoulders, causing his body to fall forward. Lars’s weight ensured that the chain around Ponytail’s neck tautened before he hit the ground. Ponytail spun on his axis, the chain strangling his broken neck while Lars, the lighter of the two, continued to hang lifelessly above.

Feeling flooded back into Katja’s limbs as her flight instinct took over. She bolted away and ducked into the cave, huddling there and watching as Sigurd dodged the swing of Fur Hat’s mallet by taking cover behind Ponytail’s half hanging body. The mallet made brutal contact with Ponytail’s face, sending him flailing to the ground and jolting Lars above. With his corpse-shield gone, Sigurd rolled toward Fur Hat, extending his thin steel blade. One swing from Sigurd’s sword sliced Fur Hat’s throat wide open. A crimson waterfall poured from the man’s neck, drenching his tattered coat before he fell dead onto his back beside Klemens, who paled to the hue of a ghost and recoiled away. Sigurd paid no mind to the body he just left behind as he turned to the final Cragsman left standing.

Ignatius had already squirmed away from One-Eye, leaving him there to face off with the Steinkamp by himself. One-Eye dashed down the rocky path. Katja was afraid he’d get away when Sigurd didn’t speed after him. Instead, Sigurd tossed his circular blade, nearly invisible in the darkness, and it burst into a small cyclone that flew toward its fleeing target. One-Eye hadn’t made it ten paces before his bald head toppled from his shoulders, rolled down the shale, and off the plateau.

Katja’s hands were clasped around her mouth for several moments after all the Cragsmen were dead. She barely registered Sigurd returning to check if everyone was all right.

Once ensuring all three of the team members were relatively uninjured, he said, “I apologize for not getting here sooner, I was preoccupied by eight Cragsmen waiting to strike over the ridge there.”

“There were twelve altogether?” Ignatius asked, rubbing his arm from having it been twisted so awkwardly.

“I eliminated the entire clan. No more should come upon you tonight. Cragsmen don’t generally come up this high,” Sigurd said as if he were spouting off a morning report. “All of you tend to yourselves. I will finish securing the perimeter.”

“What about them?” Katja murmured while pointing to the bloody corpses splayed about the camp.

“I will dispose of them when I return. I will only be a few minutes,” Sigurd replied, then disapeared into the night.

It was then when a cracking slurp echoed into the air. Lars’s skull ripped free from the splitting blade; his body dropped to the ground with a splat. Klemens clambered to his feet and darted to the edge of the plateau to vomit. Katja felt like joining him but kept it down in favor of picking up a canteen and pouring it over her face to wash away the blood.

“There goes our drinking water for the night,” Ignatius said. “Allow me to refill them at the spring.”

Katja thanked the professor and handed him the now empty canteen. Once Ignatius had gone, she scanned the camp for Klemens’s spectacles while trying to avoid looking directly at the bodies scattered throughout the site. She eventually found them broken in half down the center.

As promised, Sigurd returned a few minutes later. He offered a small piece of earth binding to mold the spectacles together again, making them as good as new, save the scratched lenses. Klemens was grateful that he could still see out of them at all. Sigurd then went to quietly dispose of the bodies over the side of the plateau. He was considerate enough to do it far from camp so that no one could hear the bodies splattering onto the rocks below. Katja didn’t ask what he’d done with the eight others he had supposedly killed.

In the meantime, Katja sat with Klemens on blankets inside the cave, illuminated by a lantern. She applied disinfecting ointment to his facial wounds, some from his tumble and a few more from Fur Hat’s mallet.

“You were right. I should have stayed behind. I’m not cut out for these expeditions. It’s hard enough without barbarians clubbing me in the face.” Klemens winced as she applied the ointment just above his eyebrow.

“Nonsense, we need you out here,” Katja said consolingly, even though she wasn’t sure why she should bother. He had yet to ask her if she were okay.

“Yeah, a lot of good I’ve been so far. Almost falling to my death earlier and then freezing when that Cragsman put his filthy hands on you.”

‘Filthy’ was not an effective enough word to describe Lars’s hands. Katja didn’t want to imagine what those hands would have done to her had Sigurd not come to the rescue. “It’s all right, Klem. None of us knew what to do. I wouldn’t expect you to take on four armed men by yourself. That’s why we have the Steinkamp.”

“I understand that, but the fact remains, you’re going to be my wife someday. I should have done something—anything to protect you,” Klemens lamented.

Katja wanted to comfort Klemens, but she was irked by what he said. Even though she would rather talk about anything else, she needed to put an end to this. “Klem.” She cleared her throat. “I never actually agreed to be your wife.”

“What?” Klemens shook his head. “Oh no—I mean, of course—I knew that. I’m sorry. I’m not entirely in my right mind at the moment.”

Klemens cradled his head in his hands then ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair. Katja wasn’t sure if he was going to start crying or not. She suddenly felt the urge to add more.

“Just with everything going on right now, our research and your father . . . I think it would be best to put thoughts of marriage on hold for now.”

Klemens brought his head back up with a snap, looking toward the fire. Katja became startled as well only to see Sigurd walk by and head up the hill, probably to the spring to wash, she assumed. He didn’t seem to pay mind to her and Klemens huddled in the cave together.

Once realizing the shadow was only the Steinkamp, Klemens replied, “You’re absolutely right as always. My proposal couldn’t have come at a worse time for both of us. Right now, we need to focus on this project. As soon as we return to the university, I will take the time to mourn my father.”

“That sounds wise,” she said.

“It is not ideal, but it is for the best.” Klemens placed a hand on her knee and rubbed it affectionately. “I do intend to take you as my wife, Kat, but not for a little while. I do hope you will wait for me.”

Katja was off the hook for a time, but not completely. That made her uncomfortable still. Luckily, Klemens didn’t wait for Katja to respond. He merely patted her leg and stood up, offering his hand to her to stand up as well. She took it.

“Shall we retire for the night?” said Klemens.

Sleep was something she desperately needed, but after the night’s terror, she was afraid of what would happen when she closed her eyes. So much blood.

As if sensing Katja’s reservations to return to her tent, Klemens held onto her hand and offered, “If you’re too frightened to sleep in your tent all by yourself, you’re welcome to join me in mine.”

Katja gave him a shocked glare. She would never expect a man like Klemens to make such a forward suggestion at a time like this.

“You misunderstand, I don’t intend to—I don’t even want to—well, of course I want to, but—” He stopped himself before saying anything that would dig him into a deeper hole.

“That’s very sweet of you, but I’m not tired anymore. I think I’ll just warm up by the fire and retire to my own tent later.”

He nodded, the blushing color returning to his cheeks, visible even at night.

“Very well, I understand. It just might be safer to have someone around in case . . . never mind. Goodnight, Kat.” Klemens nodded and hesitantly ducked into his tent across from hers. She wondered if his offer was made more for his benefit, being scared to sleep alone, than it was for hers.

Sighing heavily, Katja let her hair down and hugged her coat around her. She walked to the fire and sat down on a rock. To her surprise, she saw Sigurd standing just on the other side of the flames, barely illuminated by the firelight. His own shadow cast onto the outcropping ahead was more distinctive than he was. How long has he been standing there?

After taking a few deep breaths to calm her nerves, Katja asked, “Find any signs of Cragsmen out there?”

“None, but I will keep watch, so not to worry.”

“Do you ever sleep?”

“A Steinkamp must train his body to operate effectively while sleep-deprived.”

“Right,” was all Katja could say in response.

“What about you, fraulein? You should be asleep like the rest of your team. I hear Herr Klemens is keeping a spot warm for you in his tent.”

Katja’s face suddenly grew as red as Klemens’s. So, he did overhear us! Verishten swallow me whole. “Hmm, well, the thing about Klemens is . . . he has the best of intentions . . . I think,” she sputtered.

“I am most certain he does,” Sigurd replied in levity. “However, after what happened tonight, are you sure you’re all right?”

Katja was glad to know that Sigurd was concerned for her after the days of traveling together where he barely registered her existence. “What happened tonight was no more frightening than staring down a frost golem right before it’s about to freeze you solid, or even the morning when we first met.”

Remembering the sheer terror of that moment made her shiver, despite the warmth of the flames. The Cragsmen could not compare to that, and now the man who’d made her feel that way stood by the fire across from her, and she couldn’t be more comfortable in his presence.

“But tonight was different,” Sigurd continued.

“If you call a man’s head exploding from a Steinkamp splitting blade different, then yes, tonight was very different,” Katja quipped, her sarcasm sounding more hostile than she’d intended.

Sigurd didn’t respond right away, but then said, “Not having my crossbow limits my ranged attack options.”

“You made it look so easy . . . It really is like breathing to you, isn’t it?”

Of course, killing is like breathing to a Steinkamp, you idiot! She mentally chastised herself. Knowing that, however, didn’t help with her nausea. She could still hear the sickening crack of the man’s skull being split open from the inside.

“Katja . . .” Sigurd released an irritated sigh. “Do you know what those men would have done to you had I not killed them? They would have forced you to watch them beat your professor and Klemens to death. Then they would have dragged you to where the rest of the clan was waiting and had their way with you, until you were bloodied and begging them to end your life. Trust me, those men will give far more to the world as rotting corpses.”

“I know that,” Katja said. “You gave those men a cleaner death than any of them likely deserved and we are all very grateful. But . . . that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach. I don’t have to like what you do, but I know I must accept it because honestly, Sigurd, you might be the only person in this world whom I trust with my life.”

“Really?” he asked. “What about your colleagues, you don’t trust them?”

“I wish I could, but if they knew certain things about me, they’d likely turn on me. They don’t know me like you do. I trust you, Sigurd. Is that foolish of me?”

Sigurd shook his head in response and held out his arm. “Come with me.”

She looked warily at him. “Where?”

“Just a second ago you said you trusted me more than anyone. Are you going to take my hand or not?”

“Very well.” I suppose I have a thing or two to learn about trust, she thought.

Katja took Sigurd’s hand. He led her away from the campfire and into the shadows of the night. Even walking directly in front of her, she could barely see him, only feel his cold, rough glove over her hand. Her step became more and more uncertain as they walked up an incline of shale, but she never slipped.

They finally reached a flat rock bed at the southern edge of the plateau where the light of the one-half moon and the more distant full moon shone down, casting the Steinkamp as a silhouette against darkness. Sigurd laid down on the rock with his hands behind his head, and motioned Katja to lie next to him. As cold as she was this far out from the campfire, Katja did as he bid more for curiosity than anything else.

Once she faced the night sky, she gasped in awe. Scattered above them, thousands upon thousands of blinking white eyes stared down at them, endless in their variation of size. It was as if Verishten himself, after all the horrors they had witnessed over time, was trying to assure them of his benevolent purpose. Katja realized she hadn’t taken a moment to look to the sky since the sun fell. Many Ingles went their entire lives without seeing the stars. Volcanic ash clouded the skies, in some places so thick it blotted out the sun and moons. Only in the mountain ranges farthest from the volcano was the sky clear enough to see the stars. Nordenhein was one of those places, but Katja had spent all her nights under the university roof for the last six years. She never thought about going out to see the stars on the few clear nights such as this, so busy with her studies and afraid to leave the campus. She almost forgot they existed.

“Oh, Sigurd . . .” Katja was breathless. “I never imagined them to be so dazzling.”

“You must truly be Deschner-born to have never seen the stars before.”

“Say what you want about our ashen sky, but we have resilient lungs for it.”

“They’d have to be, they’re blacker than obsidian.”

“Oh, and you would know?” Katja challenged, and then suddenly realized that Sigurd would have seen inside a body once or twice. “Well . . . maybe you would know. And I suppose your lungs are perfect specimens?”

“Maybe if I had remained in Kensloche all my life, they would be,” Sigurd said. “It is nice to return every once in a while. The air here is so rich it makes a man feel almost superhuman.”

“So you were born here? Growing up, you must have seen the stars every night.”

“I grew up in a Deschner orphanage, but I do remember when my sister would take me into the Crags nearest to our house and point out the constellations.”

“Like the pictures people see in the stars?”

Sigurd pointed out a distinctive star cluster. “That there is the Cragsman’s Club, see? Because it is in the shape of a club.”

“That’s imaginative,” Katja scoffed then pointed out a group of stars in the shape of a bell. “What about that one to the north?”

“That one is called Frau Blomgren, although I’m not sure why.”

“Oh, I know why. It’s Frau Blomgren of Nordenhein, a famous painter from the Age of Kings. My father has a few pieces of her work hanging in his study.” Katja had to stop herself from mentioning that many of the paintings had been pilfered out of Golem Mage homes after they were executed. She then pointed to a constellation southward. “What’s that one over there that looks like a dog’s face?”

“Ah yes, that one is the uh . . . Disgruntled Coyote.”

“Disgruntled Coyote? That’s ridiculous, who came up with that?”

“Me . . . just now,” Sigurd admitted sheepishly.

Katja smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand playfully, and giggling ensued. “A Steinkamp soldier makes a joke.”

“No, no, that wasn’t a joke, that was me trying to trick you. There is a distinct difference.”

“Shame on you, thinking you could pull one over on me.” Katja giggled on. To her amazement, she heard a husky chortle from behind Sigurd’s mesh mask. Could this day be any stranger? she thought, I am sitting under the stars having a laugh with a Steinkamp soldier only an hour after he brutally killed twelve men!

It was as the laughter died down when Katja felt one of Sigurd’s gloved fingers brush up against the side of her hand. Her unconscious reaction was to shift her hand away from it. Had he meant to touch her? Perhaps she shouldn’t have moved her hand.

Trying to break the odd tension beginning to form between them, Katja asked, “Sigurd, I still want to know something. How did you learn the words to the Ode to Golems?”

After a few moments, Sigurd replied with a sigh, “My mother sang it to me when I was very young.”

Katja snapped her head around. “Really? Then how did she know it?”

“I don’t know. She died when I was five,” he replied darkly, not taking his gaze from the stars.

For Sigurd’s mother to know the words to the Ode to Golems, she must have learned them before the Regime made the song forbidden. Even in the Age of Kings, that song was already over a thousand years old and wouldn’t be commonly known, but it would be better known by Golem Mages.

Could Sigurd be a survivor of a Mage family? No, that’s impossible. They were all wiped out. Every last one. Even through Katja’s logical thoughts, she still felt a twist in her gut at the notion that Sigurd was made an orphan because his father happened to bear the Eye of Verishten. She wanted to grill him further about his family, but it was obviously difficult for him to speak of them, and she didn’t want to her personal probing to end this night prematurely.

She decided to talk about her own experiences instead. “I’m sorry to hear that. At least you have fond memories of her. My mother died giving birth to me. She never even had a chance to name me. I often think the reason my father kept me locked away was less about protecting me and more to keep from having to look at me after she died. I’ve been told that I look a lot like her.”

Katja was unsure why she told Sigurd the last bit. She did not intend for the conversation to take such a dark turn.

“Katja,” Sigurd began, finally turning his head to face her. “Unless he hated your mother, I don’t think he could keep himself from looking at you.”

“Well, he hasn’t . . . not for ten years now.”

“Then he is blind.”

Sigurd’s finger touched hers again, only this time, she didn’t move her hand. She only edged it closer. Before she knew it, her fingers became entwined with his. Sigurd squeezed her hand until she felt every ridge of his glove’s grips pressing into her palm. Katja could barely breathe. How many people have these hands killed? She couldn’t help but wonder.

It was all Katja could do to not draw attention to the situation. Her stomach fluttered, and she was at a loss for what to do or say next.

“Your glove sure is rough,” she blurted. Katja hoped Sigurd would take off his glove and maybe he would actually touch her, but he removed his hand from hers instead. She wanted to kick herself for opening her mouth.

It wasn’t until Sigurd rolled onto his side to fully face her that Katja realized why he had let go of her hand. He used that arm to prop himself up. Her breath grew shorter, and her heart beat faster. What are you thinking? She wanted to ask, but she remained silent as did he.

Sigurd reached his other hand out toward her face and lightly grazed his thumb just above her eyebrow. “You have a little blood . . .”

Katja’s nerves were beyond shot. The night was cold, and she desperately longed for Sigurd’s warmth. She grabbed his hand after he finished wiping the blood from her forehead, and finger by finger she removed his glove. He made no attempt to stop her. She then entwined her fingers amongst his, feeling the warm, scarred skin of his palm flush against hers. No irritating grooves. Only him.

Sigurd’s breathing picked up pace as he examined Katja’s fingers. Can he see that I have no fingerprints on this hand? Desperate to forget about the events that caused her to lose them, Katja brought Sigurd’s hand to her cheek. From there he didn’t need any more guidance from her. He continued to caress her cheek and then run his thumb across her bottom lip. Breathing deeply, he trembled at he touch, so purposeful, but gentle in a way that made her weak.

Sigurd removed his other glove and cupped Katja’s face with both hands, bringing his body so close to her that she had to press her palms firmly against his armored chest. She found herself hating the Steinkamp uniform for separating them. Sigurd wore the cage, yet it was Katja that felt imprisoned by it. A surge of frustration crashed against her desire. Never before had she felt anything like this. She ran her hands slowly down his faceplate, his breath warming them.

Sigurd pulled Katja’s head toward him and brought her forehead to his. He breathed heavily through his nose, his frustration building behind the thin steel mesh. Katja closed her eyes and imagined she was actually touching him. One of his hands ran through her hair while the other explored her neck, making her skin flush despite the cool breeze.

This is crazy! Am I really falling for a Steinkamp? Would I want him this badly if he wasn’t wearing that blasted mask? There was only one way to know for sure.

“Take off your mask. I have to see you,” Katja whispered, her forehead still pressed against his.

It was at those words that Sigurd’s hands suddenly left her. Please don’t. Her mind begged. It felt as if Sigurd were near frozen by a frost golem’s ice beam again.

“I can’t,” he muttered and sat up.

“Why?” Katja sat up alongside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

The moment she did that he was up on his feet. “Did you hear that?”

“I didn’t hear anything.” Katja remained seated, realizing that whatever had been happening between them had run its course.

“I must patrol the perimeter. You should retire to your tent. Try to get some sleep.” The Steinkamp’s voice was colder than the icy chill of the breeze.

There was no use in arguing once Sigurd disappeared into the night, leaving Katja there alone. Luckily, the fire in the camp had not died out, and it guided her back safely.

When she returned to her tent, she was startled by a large blood and brain splatter on the rocks right in front of its entrance. Her nausea came back in a wave. The thought of trying to sleep in her tent with pieces of Cragsman just outside made her so ill that she considered taking up Klemens’s offer and climbing into his tent to pass out next to him. Realizing she would have to step over the blood to get to her bedroll anyway, she decided to sleep in her own. She didn’t want to send the wrong message to Klemens or Sigurd.

Katja tied up her tent flap and tucked herself into her chilly sleeping bag for the night. She lay there wide awake, freezing and frustrated. She had to hand it to Sigurd at any rate, instead of going to sleep with images of blood and decapitations in her head, it was the feeling of his thumb on her bottom lip and his warm hands caressing her neck that kept her from sleeping. She continued to imagine those hands doing so much more to her for the remainder of the night.

13

THE TIME IS NOW

The Steinkamp and the research team set off again early the next morning. It was all Sigurd could do not to think of him and Katja under the stars—how soft her hair was when he ran his hands through it, how warm her skin felt, and how badly he wanted to take off his mask to kiss her. It wasn’t as if he were a stranger to the touch of a woman. Despite strict rules about Steinkamp having intimate relations, soldiers still had the needs of men, as broken as those men were. It was common for some women to throw themselves at Steinkamp soldiers who fulfilled fantasies of a dangerous and unidentifiable man having their way with them.

Katja wasn’t one of those women. She had been disgusted with everything Sigurd stood for when they first met and yet she had invited him to touch her. She wanted to know the person behind the mask, unlike the other women who made a point not to think of him as a person at all.

On top of all that, she trusted him. Nothing good can come of this, he thought.

Looking to Katja following behind with the rest of her team, Sigurd hoped to gain some insight into what she was thinking or where things stood between them, but she hardly looked his way. The team appeared a little ragged after the events from the night prior and Katja was no exception, but it did little to change Sigurd’s perception of her beauty. There was something about witnessing a highborn woman removed from her finery that gave him much-desired pause.

Eventually, the team came to a dead end of sorts. The path continued gradually downward and would take them to sheep-herding country, away from where they believed the Alpha to be. Katja and her team reviewed their maps again to realize that the Alpha would be on the other side of a high ridge, beyond a deep gorge in the distance.

“It will take several hours to climb that and days to go around,” Klemens moaned.

“And according to the map, we will find no kinder terrain on the other side,” added Ignatius.

Sigurd sighed to himself, exhausted from the night before and not looking forward to lifting three people up and down the series of cliffs and drops.

“Do we just turn back now or take the long way around?” Klemens asked.

Katja then spoke, “I have a suggestion. It might sound a bit mad, but if it works, we can be over that ridge in no time.”

Sigurd had an inkling of what her suggestion might be, but he dared not hazard a guess in front of the other researchers.

“As we know, giant crag golems have the ability to manipulate earth with the light of their eyes. They can mold their bodies to other rocks much like the Steinkamp’s leather bindings. This essentially allows them to march straight up cliff faces like that one.”

“Are you suggesting we awaken a giant crag golem? What makes you think it will take us where we want to go?” Ignatius inquired.

“It might not, but what better way to practice influencing golems than in their natural habitat? Man-sized golems follow giant ones, so maybe giant golems follow their Alphas. It’s worth a try, don’t you think?” Katja said.

Does she think the giant frost golem from before was taking us to its Alpha? Sigurd wondered. He grinned behind his mask, excited to see if this hunch of hers would pay off like the last one.

“That’s a bit of a stretch, even for you, Kat,” Klemens said.

Ignatius rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Well, you know me. I’ll give anything a try. Come on, you two, start singing.”

Sigurd walked ahead of the researchers, listening to them singing the Ode to Golems behind him. After a quarter hour of walking and singing, the sound of rocks falling echoed off the shale cliffs. A giant crag golem broke free from the cliffside to their right. It proceeded to slide down the cliff, chipping off bits of shale as it went. It dropped into the gorge and out of sight. A moment later, the crag golem rose on elongated stilts of shale and effortlessly stepped out of the gorge. As it walked toward the team, the shale shed from its legs, reducing their length and the golem’s height from what could have been thirty feet down to twenty.

Sigurd had to blink a few times to make sense of what he saw. Everyone gaped at the sight of the enormous creature made entirely of shale and other stone sediments. Ignatius held up the drawing of the eye, and the crag golem took to one knee and offered its arm for the three researchers.

The professor chuckled with giddy excitement. Klemens trembled and muttered curses to himself, and Katja—she was as radiant as she had been on that first golem ride. Sigurd twinged with envy that he couldn’t join her up there, but he had to maintain his expected distance.

“Steinkamp, are you coming up?” Katja called down to him. The golem turned toward the gorge.

“That’s quite all right, I will follow on my own.”

“Nonsense, comrade. Climb on,” the professor urged.

Sigurd decided that it was probably better to stay close to the team anyway as they made the potentially dangerous climb. He made a running leap, grabbed hold of a protruding rock on the golem’s back, and hung on tight as it made its climb down the gorge.

Once the stone titan began its ascent up the cliff, Klemens’s body stiffened even more, and he repeatedly muttered, “Oh dear, dear me, Verishten be good.”

“Just don’t look down, Klem,” warned Katja.

That was precisely what Klemens did, and as a result, he grew even paler than he already was. Katja only chortled at his discomfort.

“Whatever happened to you laughing on the inside, Kat?” Klemens griped.

Katja glanced back to Sigurd hanging off the golem’s back. The way she smiled at him made his heart beat obtrusively beneath his armored vest. He returned the smile, but she would never see it. What would have happened if I had taken off my mask for her last night? He pondered. A sharp pang of regret came upon him, and he was compelled to turn his head away.

The golem finally reached the top of the steep ridge and made its descent down the other side. It eventually reached another walking path where it let the researchers off and went into dormancy.

Ignatius consulted the maps again. “Great idea, Katja. The Alpha should be another mile north of here. I wonder why the golem didn’t take us closer.”

“Maybe its connection to the Alpha is too weak after its thousand-year absence,” replied Katja.

“Or maybe the effect of the drawings only lasts for so long before the golem forgets where it’s going and returns to dormancy,” Klemens theorized.

“Take your time on this path while I scout ahead,” Sigurd said, leaving the researchers to their analysis, as much as he wanted to keep listening. He continued down the thin rocky path heading west until he was out of sight.

The landscape became startlingly familiar. During his climb training, Sigurd had only explored the higher altitude areas of the Crags. He’d never been this low down, or so he thought until he came across a view that he never dreamed he’d see again.

Around a large outcropping, Sigurd found that the rocks formed a shallow nook. It was the very hiding place that he and Rosalinde had huddled in twenty years ago. It was so much smaller than he remembered, but there was no mistaking the spot.

Sigurd struggled to control his breathing as the same paralyzing fear he felt that day came flooding back. He remembered how helpless he was, pressed against dirt and shale with his big sister’s hand clasped around his mouth to keep him from making a sound.

Running his hand along the moss-coated wall within the alcove, Sigurd could remember the horror of Rosalinde’s blood coating the rocks after the Steinkamp sliced her throat, so fast that blood sprayed in every direction. Sigurd knew that the elements would have washed it away, but he swore he could still smell her blood where it had soaked into the dirt, pooling between the cracks in the shale.

In that moment, Sigurd felt justified in the tortuous method he chose to kill Vaughn. Throat-slitting, although an effective means to eliminate a foe, was hardly the least painful death a Steinkamp could offer someone. Vaughn chose to cut open the throat of a young girl when he could have offered the more painless death of a severed spinal cord.

If only Rosalinde had been able to find more golems after the other ones were demolished . . . but she and Sigurd had been too afraid to move from the nook. Rosalinde had just been learning to dominate golems. The Eye of Verishten had appeared on the back of her shoulder only a year before that day.

Sigurd’s traumatic memories then led him to a shale incline behind him. It was there where he found the never-ending chasm from his nightmares. The blackness of it pulled him in as if he were falling again. Sigurd held his left side, remembering the shock of his ribs shattering against the rock.

“I think the Alpha is here,” said the professor from a distance, breaking Sigurd out of his painful reverie.

“No, Professor,” Klemens began. “I believe the spot on the map is farther beyond that ridge over there, although I’m not sure where we are right now.”

“You’re right, Herr Klemens,” Sigurd said. “You should continue on. I must inspect this area further—for safety.”

Ignatius and Klemens consulted their maps again while Katja carefully made her way to where Sigurd stood near the open chasm.

“You think the Alpha might be down there, don’t you?” she asked.

“I have no opinions on the matter one way or the other,” Sigurd stated. “You should go with your team. I will follow shortly.”

Sigurd returned to staring into the void below. All he could remember after falling down that hole was waking up at the base of the crags, miles from home with a broken arm and cracked ribs. He’d dragged himself to the nearest farmhouse where a ranching family took him in and tended to his injuries. When that winter came upon them, the family felt that Sigurd would take food out of their five children’s mouths and had him sent to the orphanage. But the Kensloche orphanage had not been accepting any more children at the time. Sigurd was sent to Deschner to live out his childhood in the orphanage there.

The word mercy stuck in his mind. It made him sick to think of Wolfram’s perversion of the Steinkamp mantra. There is no mercy in the slaughter of children!

Katja, having not yet left like Sigurd had told her to, quietly asked, “Is something the matter?”

“Go with your team,” Sigurd ordered.

Katja turned to them, but to Sigurd’s annoyance she said, “The Steinkamp wishes for you two to explore the area beyond the ridge while he and I check out this chasm.”

Although Ignatius and Klemens seemed suspicious of the request, they put forth no arguments and continued out of sight and earshot.

“Katja, I told you to go with them!”

“Absolutely not! You know as well as I do that the crag golem has brought us as close to the Alpha as possible, just like the one that brought us to the Glacier Peaks. The Golem of Stone has to be here. I am curious why you sent the others away, though. Do you sense danger?”

“There is always danger,” Sigurd muttered. As he continued to stare down into the darkness, the memory of falling played over and over in his mind. The Crags circled around him as pit began to pull him down into it.

Katja’s hands clutched at his arm and pulled him away from the edge. Breaking into a sudden sweat, Sigurd turned away and leaned against a boulder, struggling to breathe as his chest tightened. His uniform stifled him; he wanted nothing more than to rip it off, but a Steinkamp could never act on such an impulse.

“Sigurd, is something wrong?” Katja asked with concern. It never inspired confidence when a soldier showed signs of weakness. Keep it together, comrade.

Sigurd needed to know what was down that hole. He had to find out how he had survived, or he would be useless in his mission. Spinning around, he took purposeful steps toward the chasm again. “I’m going down there.”

“Great, I’m coming with you.”

Sigurd shook his head. “No!”

“If the Alpha is down there, I need to observe it,” Katja argued.

“For once can you do as you’re told, woman!” Sigurd snapped.

Katja took a few steps back. “I beg your pardon?” she huffed.

“You can’t follow me down there because someone needs to watch the rope in the pulley to ensure it doesn’t get caught,” Sigurd reasoned in a more controlled tone.

“Oh—well, you could have just said that,” Katja muttered.

Sigurd thought about apologizing but dismissed the idea. Just because the two of them shared a moment the night before, it did not give her license to order him around. She had to realize his primary duty was to keep her safe. Is going down into the chasm part of keeping her safe? He asked himself. He thought maybe not, but he needed to do it regardless.

After binding the pulley apparatus to the ground, Sigurd put on a harness and began his descent into the crevasse while Katja waited above. Before long, she was out of sight and darkness engulfed him. The lower he went and the farther the light of day got, the harder Sigurd’s heart beat inside his chest.

Never had he felt so uneasy climbing before. In fact, he was beyond uneasy. He was downright terrified, almost as terrified as he had been as a boy. His head spun so much he never noticed how far down he had gone. The shock of abruptly reaching ground jolted him out of his stupor.

It was total darkness at the bottom, the light from above completely cut off. Sigurd took out his cudgel. Steinkamp cudgels also acted as torches, with light magic infused at the base. He activated the light by squeezing it just above where he would usually hold it. The top portion of the cudgel shone brightly, and the chasm suddenly came into vivid detail, surprising him in how open it was.

The shale at the bottom of the chasm was more compacted, forming harder sediments. Sigurd released himself from the harness and ventured further into the chasm by foot. He had no idea what he expected to find—perhaps some indication of how he survived the fall or a tunnel leading out to the base of the Crags miles away. The eerie silence remedied only by his own footsteps started to get to him. He hummed the Ode just to hear his own voice echoing off the stone walls.

The first thing Sigurd found was a piece of Steinkamp uniform, made worn and gray by shale dust, amongst scattered bones and a human skull, barely intact. Could a Steinkamp have fallen during climb training? Sigurd wondered. It really should be my bones down here.

He then came to a cluster of boulders blocking what appeared to be a tunnel. He climbed the largest one, which took him to a flat stone platform. Beyond that was nothing more than a solid rock wall. It was a dead end. There was no way out of the chasm other than up.

Sigurd racked his mind trying to figure out how he could have gotten out of there with a broken arm and ribs. The only thing that made sense was that he had been rescued. Vaughn had to have come down here to collect his body, but why leave him at the base near a farmer’s field and go on to kill an orphan instead? Rudiger had told him there was an earthquake that caved in part of the chasm, and they had decided not to go looking for him afterward. If they didn’t come for him, then who did?

Without finding any answers, Sigurd decided to turn back. As he walked along the flat stone platform, the cavern suddenly ignited with a brilliant green light so bright it drowned out the white light from the cudgel. Sigurd grunted in pain, his eyes burning from the light emanating from below his feet, despite the protection of his mask. This was no ordinary light. Then, as suddenly as it ignited the chasm, the green light faded and Sigurd’s eyes adjusted.

He looked down. The platform below his feet turned out to be a circular disk. It was adorned with glowing, vine-like designs etched into a glossy surface beneath layers of dust. The vibrant green energy twinkled, revealing a familiar pattern. It was the same design that the researchers had been looking at throughout the expedition. A map of Kensloche. A crag golem’s eye!

“Siegfried…”

A low voice rumbled through Sigurd’s body, the force of which brought him to his hands and knees. The glowing green platform vibrated and grew brighter, blinding him once again.

The chasm quaked, and Sigurd heard himself scream.

***

Katja wrote in her journal as she waited for Sigurd to jiggle the rope and signal that he wanted to come back up. You can stay down there all day for all I care, she fumed in her mind. She was unsure of how she should feel about him. It wasn’t like she could have any sort relationship with him, so what could she possibly expect from him? The man was a killer for the Regime and probably the Kings’ Remnants as well—two things Katja wanted nothing to do with. That didn’t make what happened between them the previous night any less exciting however, or the icy wall Sigurd subsequently put up any less hurtful.

Attempting to think about anything else, Katja wrote down her most pressing research questions:

—Why do giant golems take humans in the direction of their Alphas?

—Do giant golems take their smaller counterparts to the Alpha as well, but we just haven’t observed it?

She wrote a hypothesis to her first question: Golem-kind wants us to repair the covenant we broke, but lost its ability to communicate with us, until now.

An echoing grunt from afar suddenly distracted Katja from her note-taking. She looked to the chasm and waited for Sigurd’s rope to jiggle, but it didn’t. Satisfied that he didn’t need her help, Katja started writing again, until her inkwell tipped over and spilled across the rocks.

“Shit.” She put her journal down and tried to pick up the fallen inkwell, getting ink all over her hands in the process. Katja cursed again just as she began to feel subtle vibrations from under the rocks. The vibration soon turned into a low rumbling and quickly erupted into an earth-shattering quake. Katja screamed as chunks of shale slid into the chasm and the entire opening collapsed in on itself.

“Sigurd!” She dove for the rope and pulled. It took no effort to pull it up. Sigurd was not at the end of it. Katja let it drop, hoping he could still use it to get free.

The quaking increased in severity. The rocks moved violently beneath her feet. Katja shrieked as she was thrown onto her back. The ground elevated in spots and sank in others, and she watched her journal and inkwell fall out of sight. Spinning around, she pulled herself back to her feet and scrambled to escape the rapidly rising ridge. She slid helplessly down the shale and landed on a mossy ledge.

She ran, the entire Crags tearing itself asunder, and she could no longer determine what was solid ground or falling rocks. Ignatius, Klemens, where are you? She couldn’t see them anywhere.

Before long, the ground beneath her crumbled away and she was running on air. Screaming, she plummeted to the earth with rocks and debris falling all around her. Then suddenly, a giant stone precipice swept underneath, saving her from her freefall. She found a handhold and clung to the rock formation, seemingly floating about in mid-air. It was attached to another ridge that also appeared to be levitating. The entire Crags were coming to life!

She tried to crawl across the moving platform, not sure where she was headed but too afraid to stay in place. The ridge became increasingly vertical, and she nearly slid off the edge. She screamed, noticing how far up above the rest of the Crags she really was. Katja clung to the rocks with all her might, terrified to move any farther. She looked up, desperate for a lifeline. A few yards away, she found a shining green beacon breaking through mounds of stone. A massive crag golem eye! The Golem of Stone!

With that realization, Katja’s bearings returned to her. She clung to the Alpha’s left arm, which was attached to a massive torso made of sedimentary stone. It appeared to be stuck, buried up to its waist in the Crags themselves. A thunderclap of rocks splitting apart cracked through the air, and the mountain broke away to accommodate colossal stone legs stepping out of it. The Alpha walked from its Crag prison with ease as shale and dirt rained down from its body. Old tree roots ripped from the ground. The entire section of the mountain, that Katja thought had been housing the Alpha, actually turned out to be the Alpha.

Katja looked to the Golem of Stone’s eye again, wishing to get closer to it, but she was afraid to move lest she slip and fall hundreds of feet into what was left of the terrain. The green light emanating from the eye coated the rocks below and parted them in the Alpha’s wake. On the rocky surface of its head, jutting perpendicular from its massive torso, a black-clad figure slowly rose to a standing position.

“Sigurd!” Katja screamed, but her voice sounded small over the shattering of the Crag’s destruction, and the quaking of the ground as the Alpha walked.

Sigurd noticed Katja anyway. Using his earth bindings in combination with his superb rock climbing skills, he hurried down the massive golem’s shoulder. The next thing she knew he was beside her, lifting her up by the arms and taking her around the waist.

“Hold on!” Sigurd had to yell even though he was right beside her.

With the golem’s arm swinging back and forth, it was impossible for them to find their bearings enough to tie her to his back. Katja had to settle for clinging to Sigurd with both arms while he used his to climb. Earth bindings acted as guaranteed handholds as he gradually made his way back to the shoulders. Up there it was more horizontal so the two no longer had to fear being thrown off.

Even at the top, Sigurd never let go. He took her back to the Alpha’s head where they crouched down together. They both held on as the Alpha continued to move farther away from the Crags. The noise died down and it was finally quiet enough for Katja to hear hers and Sigurd’s rapid breathing. Her adrenalin eased somewhat, and she became more aware of Sigurd’s arm still around her, keeping her steady atop the massive moving mountain.

“You awakened it!” Katja said breathlessly.

“I only hummed a few bars of the Ode. It couldn’t have been enough to awaken it. I think it woke itself up.”

“If it had awakened itself, that means Verishten must have done it.”

“Maybe the God of the Ingles will be the one to stop mankind’s foolish plan to unleash the Golem of Death,” said Sigurd.

The Golem of Stone headed into Kensloche sheep-herding country. The vibrant greens of the pastures below had a calming effect, and Katja let herself sink deeper into Sigurd’s arms.

“There is one other thing,” Sigurd said. “Before it awoke, it said my name.”

Before she could respond, the Alpha halted, causing her and Sigurd to lurch forward, but he kept them both upright. A deep rumble vibrated through her entire body.

“There it is again!” Sigurd gasped in awe—or terror; she couldn’t tell.

“There what is again?” she asked, unsure if Sigurd referred to the powerful vibrations running through them or something else that she could not hear.

“Siegfried, remember where you came from and know why you were saved. The time is now,” Sigurd said as if repeating something he just heard.

“I didn’t hear that! What does it mean?” Katja gulped.

Sigurd didn’t answer on account of the Alpha sinking to one knee and bowing down. She screamed as Sigurd tightened his grip around her. The two of them held on as the Golem of Stone lowered itself to the ground as far as it could manage, allowing them to descend safely down one of its gigantic shale arms.

Once Katja’s feet felt the grass, her legs gave way. Sigurd let her down gently and finally released her. He turned to face the Golem of Stone, standing over a hundred feet tall. The size of it took Katja’s breath away but left her petrified of what had now been unleashed.

“Where do I come from? Why was I saved?” Sigurd called up to the mountain-sized colossus.

Why did Sigurd ask it such a question? Is it really speaking to him, and I just can’t hear it? Katja wondered.

The Alpha didn’t respond. It turned away slowly and walked back toward the Crags.

Katja stood on unsteady legs and took stock of their surroundings. They were at an abandoned farmhouse with the roof completely caved in; only its crumbling stone walls still stood. The door was rotten, the fence old and rickety.

“Why did the Alpha awaken just to bring us here? What is this place?” Katja wondered aloud.

“Remember where I came from,” muttered Sigurd to himself. “It’s here.”

She approached the murmuring Steinkamp. “What do you mean?”

“I was not born here, but it was here where I was created . . . where it all began.”

“What is going on, Sigurd? What did the Alpha tell you?”

“Remember where I came from and know why I was saved. The time is now,” Sigurd repeated. Had he just received revelation from Verishten, or had he lost his mind? Katja wasn’t sure which scared her most.

Sigurd approached the farmhouse and stopped at the west wall. He stared at it, his body tense, his gloved fists clenching and unclenching repeatedly.

“Sigurd, why are you staring at a wall?”

“They were killed here,” he seethed, his voice like gravel.

“They? Your family—this was your home.” Katja finally understood.

Sigurd leaned forward, placed both palms upon the wall, and rested his masked forehead against it. His entire body shook in pain, shrouded in his rage. “I can still see the blood . . . I haven’t forgotten. I know why you kept me alive, Verishten, I need not be reminded,” he said through gritted teeth.

“If the Alpha was talking about you, why did it say Siegfried?” Katja asked softly.

Sigurd ignored her question. “I know what I have to do. I will find the man responsible. I will drag him to these Crags, and I will see him recoil in horror when I use the Alpha that saved my life to end his.”

Katja’s adrenalin gradually returned.

“But I will not stop there,” Sigurd continued. “After he is crushed by the Alpha’s mighty hand, I will hunt down every last person responsible for their deaths. It is not enough to sever one arm. I must cut off the head!”

***

They all had to die. The time is now!

Sigurd realized that he could not stop at Wolfram. The Steinkamp Kapitän was yet another man following orders. It was the Führer that propelled Wolfram on his hunt for the Golem Mages, and it was the kanzlers that oversaw Wolfram’s operations in each respective mountain range.

The wall where Sigurd’s parents were executed had become overgrown with weeds and had crumbled from decay. The stone appeared off-color as if stained with blood. Sigurd could still remember the deadened stare of his mother when she slid down that wall.

“So this is where it happened,” Katja said in a solemn voice.

Sigurd pushed off the wall and marched into the field where his brother had been slain. A child of eight throwing rocks at armored soldiers had no chance of escaping, and Kristoff must have known that. He could have run when the golem came to his rescue, but he knew the Steinkamp were determined to kill him no matter what. Sigurd hadn’t realized that at the time, but now he did. Kristoff stayed back so that Sigurd would still have a chance, and all he could do at the time was huddle in the grass like a frightened field mouse.

For Sigurd to view his last childhood home in a state of decay like an eternal relic of his family’s death brought him to his knees. He tried desperately to overcome the urge to weep. Don’t lose control now, comrade! Relentless guilt rained down on him just for being there wearing the uniform.

“I became the same monster that killed you. I didn’t ask for this. I’m so sorry . . .” If I hadn’t have answered to my real name, would they have been spared?

He thought to become a Steinkamp was a means to an end, but it was twenty years later and the men responsible for killing his family were no closer to their comeuppance. Only Vaughn had been made to suffer, but Sigurd had only found Vaughn because Rudiger sold him out. He couldn’t even be sure the kommissar was the right man. He was so eager to enact his vengeance on someone, Sigurd never stopped to think if it could just be a ruse to keep him occupied. Smugglers and rebels were often at odds in their ambitions. Rudiger could have wanted Vaughn dead for different reasons and used Sigurd to carry out the execution with fervor.

“By Verishten,” Katja gasped. “Your family was killed by . . . they were Golem Mages, weren’t they? How did you survive?”

Sigurd kept shaking his head, all the doubt and guilt weighing him down. “I didn’t,” was his weak reply.

Katja was suddenly right next to him. She placed a comforting hand upon his shoulder. Sigurd didn’t want her to touch him. He didn’t want her to feel him shaking, but he made no attempt to move.

“We should leave here and look for the others,” Katja whispered after a moment or two.

Katja was right, but he couldn’t find the strength to stand. If he left right then, he would be failing his family all over again.

“Vaughn was inconsequential. My whole quest is meaningless. I took the pledge for nothing.”

Katja took her hand off Sigurd and backed away. “It was you who murdered the kommissar!”

“Yes,” Sigurd said, finally finding the strength to rise to his feet. “Vaughn deserved to die and so do the rest of them.”

“You’re not making sense. What exactly do you think you are going to do?” Katja shivered, hugging her coat around her as the breeze cut across the fields. He gathered that she wasn’t shivering entirely because of the brisk air.

“I will end their lives with the Alpha Golem that saved mine,” Sigurd stated bluntly. There was no other explanation for why he survived that chasm other than the Alpha having seen him to safety.

“The lore surrounding the Golem of Stone refers to it as Verishten’s Grace. It makes sense that it may have saved you back then, but it cannot be used as your instrument of death now!”

“Don’t you understand? The Alpha spoke to me. This is where I came from!” Sigurd bellowed, waving his arms in the direction of the crumbling farmhouse. “This is why I was saved!”

“Saved for what?”

“For vengeance—not just for myself, but for all of them!”

Katja shook her head and backed farther away, her eyes wide with a fear that Sigurd never wanted to see in them, but he had to make her understand. He swiftly approached her and grabbed her by the shoulders. “I’ve been given the means to end this murderous regime, Katja. I can make them pay for what they’ve done!”

“Who is going to pay?” Katja hollered.

“All of them!” Sigurd replied vehemently, squeezing her arms tighter. “Kapitän Wolfram, the kanzlers—the Führer!”

Katja’s breath seized and her features stiffened. She squirmed sharply out of Sigurd’s grasp. “Have you gone mad? Going after any one of those men is suicide.”

“No harm will come to me. It is Verishten who champions me.”

Katja shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “Listen to yourself, this can’t be you, Sigurd!”

“Vengeance is all I am. It is why I still live. It is the reason why the Alpha brought me here—to remind me what I have lost and what I must do. You of all people should understand why this regime must fall. It murdered entire families and subjugates hundreds of thousands of people. It has perverted everything the Steinkamp once stood for to justify the slaughter of innocents. I aim to fix that.”

“You sound just like Herrscher Heinrich,” Katja spat. “You’re no better than them. You cannot singlehandedly topple a regime, and you cannot expect to repair the damage with more slaughter. But you don’t really want to fix things. You just want your selfish retribution and to bring the Regime down with you!”

Sigurd felt the truth behind Katja’s words, but the rage inside his heart would not heed.

Katja continued in a more controlled tone, “Nothing you do is going to bring your family back. But there is still hope for you and for Ingleheim. The Führer will die eventually. What is important now is preserving human and golem interaction for the future. We must repair the covenant!”

“The covenant no longer exists, Katja!” Sigurd yelled. “Only retribution! I’m sorry, but your way is not enough.” He took a sharp breath then slowly exhaled before continuing, “That is not to say your research is unnecessary. You should continue your search for Alphas. We are going to need them.”

“I will not get involved in this,” Katja said, a tear running down her cheek.

That tear gave Sigurd a terrible feeling deep in his gut. He turned away from her and looked out toward the Crags, now nearly unrecognizable since the Alpha tore through it. It appeared to be returning to dormancy and hopefully in the same location as they had found it.

“I don’t expect you to help me, Katja. But you should know I will be leaving soon,” said Sigurd.

“Where are you going?” Katja asked, her voice hoarse as she choked back tears.

It was never Sigurd’s intention to cause her pain, but there was no other way. He couldn’t bear to look at her while saying what he was going to say. “The kapitän has granted me an opportunity to join him in the war effort against Herran. In the interest of bringing him to justice, I must take it. I am to ship out in four days.”

“Four days from now? So, as soon as we arrive back in Nordenhein—”

“I will no longer be at your service.”

“You always knew you were going to leave, didn’t you?” Katja said accusingly. “You never even mentioned it. I was a fool to trust you!”

“Not a fool, just naïve,” Sigurd said. “Betraying your trust was the last thing I wanted to do, but it is unavoidable. Regardless of my situation, it is in both of our best interests that I leave.”

“Not if you die,” Katja said with a defeated voice.

Sigurd clenched his fists in anger. I thought she’d be on my side—why can’t she understand?

He then saw two people in the distance. The professor and Klemens had made it out of the Crags alive. The younger scholar leaned on Ignatius, appearing to have injured his leg, but miraculously managed to keep his spectacles.

“Oh no, Klemens,” Katja cried as she ran past Sigurd.

“I’m okay, kind of . . .” Klemens moaned. “My foot was just trapped under a rock slide. That’s all.”

“That quake was something else,” said Ignatius. “I was so busy trying to dig out Klem here that I barely saw what happened. Did the Golem of Stone awaken?”

“That it did, Professor,” Katja replied, taking Klemens under his other arm to relieve some of the weight off of Ignatius. “But we will have to discuss that later. We need to get Klem to a doctor.”

“How did you make it all the way out here?” Ignatius wondered.

“We were on the Alpha and managed to get off here,” she replied.

Klemens’s eyes widened. “Verishten have mercy! That must have been terrifying!”

Katja glanced back at Sigurd, still standing in place. Her eyes were wet with tears. “It was fine. The Steinkamp kept me safe—as is his duty.” The coldness in her voice brought with it a sting meant only for Sigurd.

“What were you two talking about as we were walking up?” Klemens asked. “Something appears to have upset you.”

“Of course I’m upset! I was absolutely beside myself with worry for the two of you,” she said for the benefit of Klemens, flashing Sigurd one more pained look.

He realized at that moment that he was to face his fate alone as always. Could it have turned out any other way? It would not do Katja any good to be dragged into his world of violent retribution. She belonged in the safety of Nordenhein University with her studies and fellow scholars. If he stayed with her, there was no telling how deep his feelings for her would grow, and how far into the abyss she would fall alongside him.

It is better this way.

14

FALLING FOR A MONSTER

Because of Klemens’s injury, the team decided to cut their excursion short and return to the university. The doctor in the Town of Kensloche splinted his foot and recommended he travel by coach the rest of the way. Luckily a merchant, already heading to Nordenhein, agreed to take him for a small fee. Katja volunteered to keep Klemens company while Ignatius rode alongside the coach with the other two horses on a lead.

Sigurd rode far ahead and out of sight. It brought Katja a small relief not to be in his presence for the long trip back. She wasn’t sure if she could look at him the same way again. Even if he succeeded in killing the kanzlers, if he made any attempt to kill Herrscher Heinrich, he would inevitably fail and lose his life in the process. What was there for Katja to do other than to tell Sigurd that the Führer was her father in hopes he would rethink his drastic plans? She couldn’t risk letting her secret out, not even to the man that she had trusted more than anyone. It scared her senseless realizing how much she didn’t know about the Steinkamp with whom she had spent the last month. She couldn’t remember another time she felt so foolish, yet her heart bled for him anyway. What is wrong with me? The man wants to kill my father!

A few days later when the travelers were safely behind university walls, the Steinkamp briefly wished them all good luck and informed them that he would be resigning from their service. All Katja could do was thank him for all the times he saved her life, but not much else. As if he were a stranger to her, he left without a proper goodbye, leaving her to her dreary thoughts and unanswered questions.

In an attempt to numb her pain, Katja put all her focus into helping Klemens. Traveling for three days with a splint had been hard on him, and she felt partially responsible. She should have gone to find him and the professor right after arriving at the farmhouse. Her guilt alone was enough to keep her from leaving his side.

Later that night, Klemens hobbled on his crutches down the men’s dormitory halls next to Katja, holding his books and supplies. He opened the door to his room and held out his hand to take his things back, but she instead walked past him into his room. After setting the supplies on his desk, Katja helped Klemens sit down on the sofa and went to work plumping pillows so he would be as comfortable as possible.

“Katja.” Klemens chuckled. “You know I cherish all the attention you’ve been giving me lately, but you don’t have to keep waiting on me like this, and in my dorm room no less. It’s not particularly appropriate, you know.”

Katja raised an eyebrow. “And inviting me to share a tent with you was?”

“That was different. I was thinking only of your safety.”

“And I’m thinking only of yours.” Katja fanned out a thin wool blanket and placed it over his lap.

“Can you believe the adventure we had?” he said, dropping the issue and settling into the sofa.

“You’re lucky to be alive, Klem.” Katja took a seat beside him.

“Now do you see why I don’t like to leave the library?”

She wanted to follow with a clever retort but found herself trapped in an endless internal reverie about Sigurd and when she might see him again—or if she would ever see him at all. Before she knew it, tears pooled under her eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, Kat. It’s just a small fracture. The doctor said in two months or less, I’ll be able to walk just fine.” Klemens rubbed his hand across her back to comfort her.

She couldn’t contain her sorrow any longer. Klemens was so close. It didn’t take much for her to bury her face into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be silly.” Klemens held her head on his chest. “None of us could foresee the dangers of our scholarly pursuits. In fact, I’m beginning to wish I listened to my father and joined the military like my younger brother. There hasn’t been a war in Ingleheim since Herrscher Heinrich took power. I’d probably still be in one piece right now.” Klemens put his hand to his chin thoughtfully. “On second thought, there is that naja horde at our doorstep. If left to face the likes of them I’d most definitely wet my breeches. Maybe I’ll stick with the quiet, scholarly life after all.”

Hearing Klemens talk of naja made Katja think about Sigurd having to face them. This, in turn, resulted in her crying harder. She hated herself for caring so much about a man she barely knew instead of the one she cried upon—a man who truly cared for her.

Klemens wavered for a moment, but he did his best to cheer her up. “Don’t worry. Our military is the finest in the world. Naja are just a few pesky reptiles to the Führer’s war golems.”

Katja lifted herself from his shoulder and tried to regain her composure. “Please, just stop talking.”

“Sorry. . .” Klemens sputtered. “I’ve been diagnosed with foot-in-mouth disease, the symptoms of which always seem to flare up when you’re around. Imagine that.”

Klemens brushed a strand of Katja’s hair from her forehead, which only reminded her of how Sigurd had touched her. With Klemens now silent, she looked into his dark blue eyes, so open and unrestrained. Here was a man whose face she knew, whose body she could touch, whose lips she could kiss, and he loved her.

Casting all thoughts of despair out of her mind, she took his face in her hands and joined her lips to his. A second later, Klemens kissed her right back. She fell into his arms and kissed him harder, desperate to feel something—anything but what she felt then. She couldn’t help but imagine kissing Sigurd’s lips and touching Sigurd’s face. I don’t want this. Why can’t I have these feelings for Klemens—sweet, clever Klemens?

When Katja leaned into him further, Klemens yelped in pain. She stopped immediately. “Sorry.”

“No, no, I’m okay, I’m okay,” Klemens sputtered, almost pleading. “They’re just bruises, they’ll heal.”

He pulled Katja into his arms again, but she knew going on like this wasn’t right. This isn’t fair to him.

“I’m sorry . . . I-I can’t do this.” She climbed off him and onto her feet.

In an instant, Klemens’s smile turned into a grimace, the sudden change in expression made Katja’s hair stand on end.

“Something is not right with you, Kat.” His voice took on a dark tone. “Would I be wrong in assuming it has something to do with that Steinkamp?”

The pointed question hit Katja like a crossbow bolt to the gut. “What? Why would you ask me that?”

Klemens looked down at his fidgeting hands as he replied, “I heard the two of you talking that night after the Cragsmen attacked. I couldn’t hear your conversation so I thought I’d join you since I couldn’t sleep a wink. When I left my tent, I saw you go off with him. It worried me. I thought about following you, but I decided against it . . . I was afraid of what I might see.”

“And what do you think you might have seen?” Katja asked carefully.

“I don’t know—you tell me.”

“What business is it of yours anyway?” she snapped. “Do you really think I’m the type of woman that would debase myself with a complete stranger, and a Steinkamp, no less?”

Katja felt guilty lashing out the way she did even though Klemens was clearly overstepping his bounds. She had on numerous occasions, since that night, imagined debasing herself with the Steinkamp in various ways—until she learned his vengeful secret.

“I don’t want to believe you’d do something like that, but it wouldn’t be the first time a woman has been swept away by a Steinkamp’s dark and mysterious allure.”

“Nothing happened!” Katja yelled. “How dare you compare me to one of those women!”

“I may be a fool in love, but I’m not an idiot,” Klemens shot back. “For the entire expedition, I saw how you ogled him and how eager you were to stay back with him at the chasm. Something happened, whether it was that night or at the farmhouse where we found you, something that made you avoid each other for the entire way home. I can only think of two reasons for your behavior toward him. Either he is intimidating you into doing something you’re not comfortable with, or you’re trying to hide an infatuation with him. Which is it?”

“We’re not talking about this anymore.” Katja turned to leave.

“Please Katja. Tell me. I may not have a right to ask, but I need to know. Are you afraid of him or are you in love with him?”

Katja turned back to Klemens to view the desperation written all over his face. He was right. He needed to know. It was the only way he would move on, but she despised admitting the truth to him almost as much as admitting it to herself. Defeated, she drifted into the chair across from the sofa with a heavy sigh.

“Both, maybe . . . I don’t know,” she murmured.

Klemens recoiled in what Katja could only perceive was disgust mixed with heartbreak. Removing his glasses, he rubbed the bridge of his nose, letting out a pained groan. Once he had composed himself, he put his spectacles back on. “Not exactly the reply I was hoping for.”

“I’m sorry, Klem,” Katja whispered, tears welling up again.

“No, I’m the sorry one,” he replied, not able to look at her. “You are the most brilliant woman I have ever known, but what you are doing is extremely asinine.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You’re damn right it’s not,” Klemens punctuated his statement with a dark chuckle.

Katja sighed, squeezing her hands together between her knees as she sat. “It doesn’t matter anymore. The Steinkamp is gone. I won’t be seeing him again.”

“Good. Because you’re better than this, Kat. You can’t love something like him.”

“Something like him?” Katja repeated, digging her nails into her palms.

“I know a lot about Steinkamp soldiers,” Klemens began. “My father was their kapitän before my brother was born. Through him and my Military Studies I’ve learned much about the faceless and nameless comrades.”

“So your father was Kanzler Volker,” Katja muttered, finally having confirmation.

“Yes. I know I’m not supposed to tell anyone but the rebels already got to him, so what does it matter now?” Klemens’s jaw tightened, then relaxed before he continued. “The Steinkamp are made up of orphans and boys of otherwise low birth. They live and breathe death from the moment they can hold a blade. They are shattered souls, Kat, and for good reason. They do for the Regime what no other man can do because they are not men at all—they’re weapons. There is no humanity left in them.”

“That’s not true. Your father was one of them, and you believed him devoid of humanity?”

“Highborn men like him undergo a different kind of training, one that offers higher education and turns them into leaders. Only the lowest-born stock become the foot-soldier . . . like the Steinkamp you claim to love. So, tell me, how can you love someone that has no capacity to love you back? He will only bring you pain and grief, Verishten forbid, even death.”

“He would never hurt me. You don’t know him,” Katja snapped.

“You don’t know him!” Klemens barked. “I’m trying to help you! Your Steinkamp is a monster, just like the rest of them, and if he were ordered to, he would kill us all!”

“You’re wrong! He’s not like the others. You have to understand—”

“Katja, I think you should leave, I need to be alone right now.”

“But Klem—”

“Just go!” Klemens snapped, making Katja jolt out of her chair.

It was no use. Just like there wasn’t any use convincing Sigurd not to leave. Now she was about to lose two men she cared for greatly. Saying nothing more, Katja left Klemens to his heartbroken thoughts. She tried desperately to keep tears at bay as the men’s monitors escorted her outside.

She hastily crossed the courtyard toward the women’s building. The sun was already setting, and it would soon be dark on her side of the campus. The women’s dorm monitors let her into the building. She ran up the staircase and entered her room before the tears burst from her eyes. Slamming her door and locking it, she turned to rest her forehead against the carved oak, her heart ripping apart inside her chest. Her first instinct was to take her journal out and start writing, but she remembered that she had lost it in the Crags—where she had also lost herself.

“Katja,” a quiet, husky voice said from behind her.

With a startled screech, she spun around, her heart in her throat. There was no one in the room. Then, a shadow figure appeared in the darkest corner.

“Don’t be frightened, it’s only me.”

She stood against the door, holding a hand to her chest and willing her heart to stop racing. “For Verishten’s sake, Sigurd. What are you doing here? I thought you left.”

“I leave tonight.” He remained in the shadows of the unlit room. “I came here to inform you that Rudiger is sending an ex-Steinkamp to intercept my replacement. I advise you all to lay low in the university for a while. Your professor will be informed when the switch has been made. You are not obligated to share your research with him as you have with me, but you can count on him not to report any of your activities to the Regime at least.”

After quickly wiping her tears away, Katja crossed her arms. “Thank you for the information. Is that everything?”

“No.” Sigurd clenched and unclenched his fists. “I also came to ask you something, and it is paramount that you tell me the truth.”

“And what’s that?” Katja stood on guard, her spine tingling with anticipation of what he was about to ask.

“Is Kapitän Wolfram your father?”

The question made Katja’s heart sink then proceeded to make her blood boil. “Are you serious? You came here to ask me if the man you’re about to kill is my father?” She dug her nails into the sleeves of her blouse. “What if he is? Would that change anything? Would you be inclined to spare the man that murdered your entire family?”

“No,” Sigurd admitted bluntly.

“Then why ask the question?” She finally let go of her arms and directed them toward Sigurd. “To ease your conscience? I never knew a Steinkamp to possess such a thing. You don’t need my permission to kill. That is all you’re good for, so go and do it!”

“Please tell me, Katja.”

“No,” she stated firmly.

“No, he’s not your father?”

“No, I’m not going to tell you,” Katja hissed. “That way, when you stick your blade into your kapitän’s heart, you will imagine sticking it into mine!”

She could have lied and said ‘yes, Wolfram is my father,’ and perhaps Sigurd would agree to let go of his lifelong hatred and remain in her service. However, Katja knew he would leave regardless of what she said, so she was not about to make it easier for him. She was not prepared to know that the man she trusted more than anyone was going to knowingly kill her father against her wishes.

“You told me that you accept what I am. You know what I do is necessary, and yet you stand in my way,” seethed Sigurd. “What are you so afraid of?”

“You!”

“Me?”

“Yes! I’m afraid of what you are, of what you will become if you go through with this.” Katja couldn’t stop the words from pouring out. “I’m afraid that I will never truly know you, and that you will always remain this killer in the shadows. Just tell me that they’re wrong about you. Show me that I’m not falling for a monster again—”

Katja stopped herself before she went any further. She once thought that she had been in love with Melikheil and it had almost killed her, but none of those feelings were real. For the first time her heart beat true for someone, and yet, she was terrified that this someone was just as devoid of humanity as the last. Looking to the shadows in the corner of the room, she searched him for any reaction that could prove Klemens wrong, that he did actually care for her.

Sigurd moved his hand to his mask as he said, “I never wanted to be the monster that I am, but sometimes a man must become what he fears most so that he may never know fear again.”

“So that’s what this is about. Your own fear is the reason you hide behind. . . .”

Before she could finish, Sigurd stepped into the slivers of light shining through the window’s slightly parted drapes. He was now completely in view, a dark silhouette against the last shred of light from the setting sun. His hand was still over his mask. With an audible click, finally, the mask was off.

Katja found herself gasping for air as she struggled to comprehend what was happening. Sigurd slowly walked toward her, and the first thing she saw was his eyes, gray as steel and just as unyielding. He pulled back his black hood to reveal short ashen hair. With his unforgiving facial structure and prominent brow and chin, Sigurd looked like Ingleheim itself; he had a face that knew brutality but weathered it like stone. There was defiance in his jaw, fierceness in his eyes, and power in his lips. Katja couldn’t believe that this was the face staring back at her through the black metal mesh for as long as she’d known him. Her knees buckled as Sigurd came nearer.

“It’s true,” he said. “I devoted my life, my blood, and my spirit to the Mighty Führer who ordered the death of those I loved. I let them turn me into the masked killer of my nightmares, and for a time the nightmares ended. I didn’t fear a thing because all things feared me—that is, until I met you.”

As Sigurd got closer, Katja leaned against her desk to stay upright. His quietly stern voice, spoken without the echo of his mask, disarmed her.

She could only look up at him helplessly as he continued, “Now I find myself scared of something I’ve never been scared of before. Our pledge states that ‘in obscurity, we die.’” His eyes fell to the floor for a second. “I don’t want to die nameless or faceless. I can’t leave this world already forgotten.”

He was so close now. Katja could smell the winter air from outside that still clung to his uniform. The next thing she knew, he had found the clip in her hair and removed it. She didn’t move a muscle as her hair fell loose in front of her shoulders, and Sigurd proceeded to run his fingers through it, forming fists of it in his hands, now free of his gloves. Katja’s body edged closer to him of its own accord.

“Don’t you have to go?”

“It was the Ode that first drew me to you, Katja.” The way Sigurd said her name was like he savored every last syllable. It made her heart flutter. “When I heard you playing it that day, it reminded me that I had been loved once. For that, I must thank you. Maybe I can’t expect you to support me, so instead I ask you to remember me.”

If all Sigurd wanted was to be remembered, that meant Katja would certainly never see him again. The thought angered her as much as it saddened her. “I will remember you, Sigurd.” She unabashedly gazed up at him in a state of defiance. “. . . As an utter fool.”

Sigurd’s left hand cupped the nape of her neck. His other hand took her by the waist and pulled her against him. She sharply inhaled as he bent down and pressed his lips firmly to hers. The intensity of his kiss shocked her more than the action itself, and she was quickly overwhelmed. Pushing against his chest, she freed herself from his kiss so she could catch her breath. Sigurd, with his arms still around her, studied her as if gauging her reaction.

Shaking her head, Katja muttered, “It appears I’m the fool.”

She threw her arms around his neck and returned the kiss. The passion between them multiplied as they edged toward the bed. She fell back onto the comforter, bringing Sigurd down on top of her. His lips left hers then trailed down her neck. His warm hands traced Katja’s delicate curvature through her blouse before returning to cup her face and tenderly graze his thumb over her bottom lip.

Katja released a sighing moan as she wrapped her legs around his waist. “You don’t have to go.”

Sigurd brought his forehead to hers, his lips barely touching Katja’s as he caressed her cheek. “I do,” he whispered before devouring her in another kiss. He pressed his body against her so hard that Katja thought he might penetrate her if it weren’t for his uniform and her thick wool skirt bunching around her thighs.

“Stay with me,” she pleaded between kisses. “Just for tonight.” Katja squeezed her legs tight around Sigurd with no intentions of releasing him. Her fingers traveled up the hard leather armor of his back, absent his weapons, then along his closely trimmed hair, ending at his clean-shaven face of firm features. She discovered in that moment that she loved that face, and her heart broke at the realization it was the first and last time she would ever see it.

Sigurd buried his face into Katja’s hair, nuzzling into the crook of her neck and shoulder. Katja held him there for a time feeling his breath, heavy on her neck. She thought for a moment he would lie there all night until he murmured into her ear, “You know I can’t stay.”

A tear ran down Katja’s cheek and she prayed he wouldn’t notice. Sigurd pushed himself off of her, but she held on, bringing herself up with him. She kissed him any place her lips could find, but it was no use. Sigurd took her face in his hands and kissed her soft and slow. She was completely weakened by the sudden tenderness and let her guard down. Cold air then wrapped around her in Sigurd’s place. By the time she opened her eyes, he was halfway to the window.

“Stop!”

Sigurd halted his step at the window and Katja cast her legs over the side of the bed with the intent of running after him. She didn’t. There is nothing you can do to make him stay. He’s made up his mind, she told herself.

“You’re making a mistake,” she warned as tears continued to trickle down her face.

“You may be right,” Sigurd replied, putting on his gloves and hood and securing his mask before turning back to open the window. “But, if not, I shall return.”

“There is no returning from this, Sigurd.” Her voice broke.

Sigurd had no rebuttal, he just turned his head partially toward her, but not enough to fully face her.

“Goodbye, Katja.”

The Steinkamp leaped from the window. Katja’s felt as if her heart had been pierced with a splitting blade and was now being dragged out the window at the end of his chain. There is no returning from this? Were those really the last words I chose to say to him? Katja raced to the window, cast the curtains back and leaned over the sill as far as she could. There was no sign of her Steinkamp. The night had swallowed him in shadow.

Her legs gave way, and she burst into tears. What she felt for Sigurd was stupid, but it was real, at least. That gave her some solace. This time, however, Katja couldn’t decide which was more painful—the manufactured obsession for a Mage that turned her into a cold, empty shell, or this tangible, terrifying and useless love for someone who refused to be with her.

Can I just be empty again?

15

GODS AND WOMEN

(Two months later)

Sigurd crept unseen through a Herrani Warrior encampment in Del’Cabria’s Fae’ren Province. The Herrani had clear-cut massive areas along the outskirts of its lush forest and made use of the wood to build their fortified camps and naja holding pits. Many people had been displaced, their small communes invaded and repurposed.

It made Sigurd think about the Fae’ren archer he was supposed to find. Before he had set out, Rudiger instructed him that the archer would be stationed at one of the naja camps, waiting for them to breach the Barrier of Kriegle. In the last two months, Sigurd hadn’t found any sign of him, and he was starting to not care if he ever found him.

The Fae’ren archer and the plight of his people didn’t concern him. He needed to focus on finding one of Nas’Gavarr’s most prominent Naja Handlers within one of the hundreds of encampments. And this was the largest he’d been to yet.

He kept to the shadows, easily avoiding the many Herrani sentries, male and female, armed with trident spears. They were easy enough to spot with their white hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes contrasting with their dark skin. Their builds were muscular and rigid, but short. They wore loose-fitting pants and tight brigandine armor that covered their torsos yet left their arms bare, showcasing tattoos signifying the tribe they hailed from or desert deity they worshiped. What an unnatural-looking lot, Sigurd thought. But, no more unnatural than those puny, pointy-eared urlings of Del’Cabria, I suppose.

He soon came across a tent guarded by fifteen reptilian humanoids where he believed the Naja Handler slept. The naja would be able to smell him from several yards away, so he carefully approached the camp from downwind.

The armored reptiles roamed about outside their Handler’s tent. Groups of them congregated around fire pits, ripping chunks of raw animal flesh from bone with their fangs. Sigurd wondered if amongst the scattered blood and entrails were human remains. It was rumored that Herrani defectors were executed by being thrown to the naja. Not so different than Ingle defectors being executed in Steinkamp kill training, he thought. Both regimes had monsters to feed.

When Sigurd got close enough for some of the naja to catch his scent, they began to stalk around the camp on high alert, roaming ever closer to his location but not yet pinpointing him in the dark.

Killing the Handler in his sleep would be Sigurd’s preferred way of completing the mission, but naja were next to impossible to sneak past. Eliminating them was more important than not waking the human warriors that slept in tents nearby.

Sigurd brought in hand two wind blades and threw each one in opposite directions. Guiding the blades around the camp, he expertly lopped off the heads of each and every naja in the vicinity. Ear-shattering screeches echoed through the night air as bright orange blood splattered everywhere. Several tent flaps whipped open and Herrani warriors leaped into the night to investigate the disturbance. Both male and female warriors searched the camp equipped with large tulwars, dual scimitars, and bows. A few of them climbed atop a stone wall and nocked their arrows, ready to pick off any invaders.

With his crossbow, Sigurd shot down three archers in rapid succession. The sound of the bodies falling to the ground aroused further commotion. After putting away the crossbow, he extended his blade and ran swiftly into the camp. He dove, rolled, and sliced the heels of the first two warriors ahead of him then drove his sword into their necks once they were face-down on the ground.

Soon, the rest of the warriors in the camp became aware of the soldier in their midst and had him surrounded. Sigurd ducked the Herrani attacks and moved through them like a shadow, his sword’s edge claiming a major artery with every slice. Not a single slash of his sword went to waste. To fight means to kill.

After dispatching the last warrior, Sigurd reloaded his crossbow and searched the camp thoroughly for the Handler. He didn’t have to search long. A middle-aged man with a blonde beard braided to his midsection stepped out of one of the tents right in Sigurd’s line of sight. He wore bright colored, loose-fitting robes and an elaborate headdress made of fabric wrapped around his head, attire common to desert Mages. The Handler’s eyes widened with horror at the sight of the headless reptilian creatures amongst several dead warriors outside of his tent. He bolted.

You will not get far in those bright colors, Sigurd thought.

He aimed his crossbow for the back of the Handler’s head. Before he could pull the trigger, an arrow struck Sigurd in the side of the neck, nearly piercing his neck brace. He faltered as he yanked out the arrow and checked his surroundings. There must have been an archer he hadn’t seen on his initial approach. He cursed as he turned back to find the Handler had vanished.

Movement from his periphery alerted him to a Herrani warrior standing upon the rock wall with another arrow nocked. Before he could aim his crossbow, the archer let his arrow fly straight into Sigurd’s breastplate above his heart. He staggered backward, feeling the arrowhead rip through the thick boiled leather of his vest, but thankfully not through his undershirt.

Sigurd grunted, but he made no move to take out the arrow this time lest he leave a vulnerable point in his armor for the archer to capitalize on.

The archer then spoke in a rapid, oddly cheerful dialect. “Does Steinkamp armor have any weak spots?”

“No,” Sigurd replied, taken aback that the archer would ask such a question. He shot all three of his crossbow bolts at the man on the wall. The archer managed to leap away from each bolt, the last one just scraping across his armored chest.

“Not even here?” The archer quickly recovered and launched another arrow straight at Sigurd’s face. The arrow hit the top left of his mask, denting the metallic mesh, the tip of the arrowhead scratching the skin above his left eyelid.

With a growl, Sigurd yanked the arrows out of his mask and chest. He then extended his blade and ran full-tilt toward the archer, who cursed and jumped down behind the wall and out of sight.

When Sigurd arrived on the other side of the wall, the archer was gone, only to reappear from behind him, armed with dual, sickle-shaped, scimitars. His attacks came so fast that Sigurd could barely block them. At such close proximity, he could gauge his foe more clearly. He was dressed in the loose-fitting beige pants and form-fitting charcoal brigandine of the Herrani warrior, but he was lighter-skinned, of much smaller build than most, and younger than Sigurd had first thought. Most notable was his abundance of light brown hair worn in long, matted sets and gathered up in a bundle at the back of his head. The only people he had seen to possess hair like that were the Fae’ren. Sigurd smiled to himself as he continued to clash Steinkamp steel against Herrani scimitar. Now he shows up, he thought, annoyed.

“You’re the one they call the Desert War Traitor,” Sigurd said, fending off attacks that seemed to be getting quicker.

“Great,” the Fae’ren huffed. “I’m famous in Ingleheim too. Let me guess—you either want to take my head back to King Tiberius, or take me to your superiors and have them interrogate me for information on the death of your wizard.”

The archer dodged each of Sigurd’s attacks by a hair. Even if Sigurd was allowed to go for a quick kill, he didn’t think he’d be able to on account of how superhumanly quick the Fae’ren was. It was beginning to irritate him as he tried to make sense of what the boy was saying.

“If you are referring to Meister Melikheil, it makes no difference. I don’t much care what happened to him.”

The Fae’ren made a jumping leap with his scimitars raised above his head. Sigurd acted to block them but was met instead by a knee strike to the ear, almost knocking him over. The archer flashed a cocky grin, and Sigurd seethed behind his mask. What is he smiling about? Does he not know what I could do to him?

“Then that must mean you’re trying to kill me.” The archer chuckled. “Doesn’t really seem like it, though. They say that ‘to face a Steinkamp is death assured.’ It looks like I get to put that saying to the test.” The Fae’ren circled Sigurd, spinning his scimitars about flamboyantly.

He considered killing the archer right then. How bad does Rudiger need him anyway? “You’re not the wisest fairy in the forest, are you?” Sigurd retorted while coming in for a series of attacks. He just wanted to cut him a bit, but the quick little Fae’ren blocked and dodged flawlessly.

“If you’re trying to kill me, then shouldn’t I be dead by now?”

Sigurd attacked with everything he had, only for the archer to duck and roll away just before his blade could meet flesh. Sigurd’s steel only managed to claim a lock of hair.

The Fae’ren gasped. He caught the severed lock before it fell to the ground. “You cut off my fairy lock! Fun time’s over, Steinkamp!”

With a holler of determination, the archer ran at Sigurd with a newfound confidence. He caught Sigurd’s blade between his scimitars and tore it from his grip.

Nobody disarms a Steinkamp! At that moment Sigurd found his focus, and he was able to take advantage of his opponent’s lack thereof. He grabbed the base of each of the Fae’ren’s scimitars with both hands, holding him in place long enough to kick his chest with both legs. The Fae’ren was simultaneously disarmed and knocked back. As the archer tried to get back to his feet, Sigurd rushed him, kicking the young man back down flat on his stomach. Kneeling on the back of the archer’s legs, Sigurd held down his head and arms, rendering him unable to move.

“So this is where I’m going to die,” the Fae’ren rasped.

“No, this is where I let you live.”

“Huh?”

“You want to get your hands on some Steinkamp Magitech, and I am the one that can take you to it.” Sigurd released him, who then slowly rose to his feet, breathing heavily.

Furrowing his brow in confusion, the Fae’ren asked, “And you would do that because . . . ?”

“Because in return, you are going to help me kill my kapitän.”

“But that’s treason!” the Fae’ren said, aghast, then chuckled. “Except I obviously don’t care about that. What you should know though, is that I have a rule. I have to look a man in the eye before I make a deal with him.”

At the end of his tether, Sigurd grabbed the irritating Fae’ren by the shoulders and slammed his dented mask into his arrogant face. The archer fell backward, crying out in pain.

“Did you get a close enough look just then?” asked Sigurd.

Holding onto his bleeding nose, the archer groaned, “Yeah, yeah, alright, let’s make a deal.”

The Desert War Traitor returned to his feet. Then, after wiping the blood from his nose, he bolted away. Sigurd cursed and gave chase. Taking his earth bindings in hand, he gained on the quick-footed Del’Cabrian, leaped off the side of the rock wall and tackled him. He put all of his weight on the archer once again and tied his arms behind his back.

“Hey,” the archer whined from the ground. “You Inglemen with your freakishly long legs. You have an unfair advantage.” Sigurd yanked the Fae’ren up by the hair, making him cry out, “Ow, ow, ow, mind the locks!”

“Do you want the equipment or not?” Sigurd barked.

“Of course I do, but I’m a thief. I’m supposed to steal things, not have things gifted to me—it sort of defeats the purpose. Besides, a Steinkamp soldier wanting to give away his own magical weaponry? How could that not be a trap?”

“I’m going to level with you here. My time would be better spent hunting down Naja Handlers rather than escorting a Del’Cabrian traitor to a Magitech cache. However, there are people in Ingleheim who think you are something special and are willing to make a trade. All the Magitech your little thieving heart desires in return for your archery prowess. If that sounds like a trap to you—well, I can’t help you there.”

“And I’m to assume you all want to use my archery prowess to kill the Steinkamp Kapitän?”

Sigurd nodded, though that was not part of the Remnants’ plan. For almost two months he had been sent out on one reconnaissance mission after another in search of Handlers. He never had a single opportunity to move against Wolfram or even a moment with himself to properly strategize. The Fae’ren archer provided Sigurd that much-needed opportunity.

The Fae’ren winced. “Yeah, you know, I’m flattered that you would consider me for such a monumental task. Any other day I’d be raring to help a fella like you. I mean, a chance to take out the Kapitän of the Steinkamp? What an honor . . . but, uh . . . I have a lot to live for yet, so in the interest of not ending up dead—”

“Let’s put it this way. Do as I say, and I won’t kill you right now. I can find another way to kill my kapitän, and the Magitech can remain secure in its cache.”

“What about your friends?” The archer gulped. “The ones who think I’m special?”

“A Steinkamp doesn’t have friends,” Sigurd stated bluntly.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. D-do you want to talk about it, or—?”

Sigurd socked him in the face then bent down to pick him back up.

“Now to get through the Pass,” said Sigurd, “you will have to play the prisoner. Do you think you can handle that?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Then lead the way.”

Sigurd roughly pushed his prisoner onward. “After you.”

***

Sigurd rode through the Pass of Halberschtad with the Fae’ren archer, who had introduced himself as Jeth, tied up behind him on foot. They came across three war golems blocking their entry.

“Whoa,” Jeth gasped, gazing all the way up their massive bodies of iron and stone, built like juggernauts, sixteen feet tall. These particular war golems were over twenty years old, judging by the Eye of Verishten symbol inscribed into each of their metal chest plates.

After Sigurd had spoken with the soldiers at the Pass, they ordered offiziers, one for each golem, to command them aside.

“I thought your Führer was the only one that can control golems?” Jeth asked.

“He is,” Sigurd explained. “He has given these men proxy control by commanding the golems to obey their assigned offiziers beforehand.”

With the echoing creak of the golems’ enormous iron joints, the three of them turned to the side to allow the Steinkamp and his prisoner passage.

Once they passed through another line of war golems, Sigurd flagged down a messenger on horseback and gave him a note to deliver to the Steinkamp Kapitän. It read:

The Desert War Traitor has gotten through the Pass. I tracked him to the western Steinkamp cache. I believe he intends to rob it. I will capture him alive. He may have information regarding the death of Meister Melikheil. If you wish to interrogate him, meet me at the cache where he will be held.

Sigurd signed the note with his name and the number from his wrist brand and instructed the young messenger to take it to the kapitän forthwith. Wolfram operated from a Steinkamp encampment in Fae’ren Province where Ingle forces had managed to beat the Herrani back, giving Sigurd and Jeth a head start. There would be enough time to come up with a plan while traveling to the agreed-upon location.

Part of Rudiger’s instruction involved a member of the Kings’ Remnants meeting him and the archer at the cache. What Sigurd didn’t know was whether the rebel would be waiting there for them to arrive, or if they would have to wait for the rebel to come to them. He would have to figure it all out when he got there.

It wasn’t long until Jeth complained about his bindings and how much they hurt.

“They are part of your skin now,” said Sigurd. “If you stop struggling to get out of them, they won’t hurt so much.”

Jeth scoffed. “You Inglemen and your magical weaponry. You know that’s cheating, right? And those iron monstrosities back there? Overkill, if you ask me. Del’Cabrians have gotten by with nothing more than swords, shields, spears, and bows for thousands of years, and we still managed to keep you lot from invading, when by all rights you could have clobbered us at any time. Why do you think that is?”

“Do you ever shut up?” Sigurd groaned.

“Not even in my sleep.”

“Well, you should give it a try, perhaps right now.”

Jeth did remain silent for a while, but they had barely cleared the Pass when he opened his mouth again. “So . . . why do you want to kill your kapitän? What did he ever do to you?”

Sigurd let Jeth’s question stew for a moment before he said, “He murdered my entire family.”

“Well, shit. From what you said earlier about Steinkamp not having friends, I figured that included families.”

“We all had families . . . once.” Sigurd cleared his throat. “But, this regime is an efficient producer of orphans who are then fed into the military machine.”

As Sigurd spoke, the Pass of Halberschtad opened to the charred and ashen landscape of the greater Breisenburg Mountain Range. Once a thriving kingdom in the Age of Kings, the range now was a visage of Ingleheim’s most recent battles from that time, from border skirmishes with Deschner Range in the north to the wars against Del’Cabria in the southwest. For that reason, the Führer turned Breisenburg into his regime’s military industrial complex. Cities were transformed into training facilities, great castles repurposed into armored fortresses, and the landscape peppered with armories guarded by war golems. Breisenburg was the first range outsiders would see if they ever managed to get through the Pass. What they would find was an impressive display of Ingleheim’s military might within a haunted shell of civilizations past. The scorched earth, mountains of ash, and barren landscape of gray, dead trees told those outsiders that only death flourished there. So, one best turn the other way.

“You know what an even better producer of orphans is?” Jeth said. “Plagues. My parents succumbed to the one that ravaged my people, and it’s making a deadly reappearance as of late.”

“So, you’re an orphan too? Figures. Who raised you, then? Wolves?”

“Hah, one can only dream.” Jeth chuckled, then scratched his beard with his bound hands. “It was fairies.”

Sigurd couldn’t tell if the Fae’ren was joking or not. Surely fairies were a myth—although, a couple of months ago Sigurd believed the Rogue Steinkamp was a myth too.

“Where are your pointed ears?” Sigurd then wondered.

“What? You think because I’m Del’Cabrian, I’m supposed to be an urling?” Jeth replied. “I’m a human just like you. In fact, the majority of Del’Cabrians are humans. If you Inglemen weren’t so Deity-forsaken isolationist, you’d know a thing or two about the people that exist beyond your mountains.”

“I should gag you.”

“Please don’t. Only my girl Anwarr gets to do that to me.” The thief chortled.

Sigurd was irked by the visual that Jeth forced into his mind. Never had he known a Del’Cabrian to be so brazenly crude. Most of them were uppity puritans that made highborn Ingles seem shameless by comparison. Sigurd surmised that the people of Fae’ren Province were a whole other type of Del’Cabrian, or Jeth happened to be the exception.

“Do you speak of the woman who you betrayed your king and country for?” Sigurd asked, though he wasn’t sure why he was keeping the boy talking.

Jeth burst out laughing and wouldn’t stop.

“What’s so funny now?” Sigurd sighed.

“You know, it was for a woman that I joined the Del’Cabrian forces to begin with, and because of another I betrayed them. It is true what they say. Women rule us all.”

“For a boy like you, maybe,” Sigurd commented. His entire life had been ruled by the whims of men more powerful than him, and it was all he could do to fight back. The wiles of women had always been the farthest thing from his mind. They were beings that Sigurd once viewed as just another tool in man’s arsenal to dominate everything around him, like golems or soldiers.

Had Sigurd heard Jeth’s comment a year before, he would think him unsound of mind, but after having known Katja, he felt the notion was not without some merit. Leaving her service had affected him more than he’d anticipated. He felt as if his insides had been shifted about and laid to rest where they should not be. His whole body, mind, and soul longed to be with her, and yet he was taking steps to kill the man that might be her father and thus severing any possibility of that happening.

If Wolfram is her father, she would have told me that night. She was just upset and wanted me to stay. And how badly he wanted to stay, but how could he when the men that slaughtered his family were still out there, living their highborn lives and exerting their ill-gotten authority over the weak?

“I wouldn’t expect a Steinkamp to understand, but I’m telling you, it doesn’t matter how clever, how ordinary, or how monstrous the man—there is always a woman in his life calling all the shots, even a man as powerful as your mighty Führer,” said Jeth.

“What about Verishten? What woman commands a god?”

“Are you certain your god is male? They say his spirit resides in the mouth of a volcano. From my experiences with women, my bets are on Verishten being female.” Jeth snickered.

“What can your pitiful experience tell you of gods and women anyhow? You’re practically a child.”

“I have a beard—I’m far from a child!”

“I’ve seen twelve-year-olds with fuller beards than yours, and they stand a foot or two taller as well.”

“Not all of us can be the towering, statuesque totem of masculinity that is the Ingleman,” Jeth retorted in a brutalized Ingle dialect. “You’re one to talk, anyway. For all I know you could have the face of an ogre under that mask. Just because the only time you’ve felt the touch of a woman was suckling at your mother’s teats, don’t assume my experiences are the same. You know, maybe if—”

Sigurd kicked his stallion into a sudden canter, pulling the mouthy Fae’ren off his feet and dragging him through the ash just enough for him to get a mouthful of it. Stopping the horse, Sigurd allowed the thief to stand again. “Sorry about that. You were saying?”

Jeth looked up at Sigurd sourly while wiping away the ashen mud and spitting black gobs of it from his mouth. He grinned, showing his ash-stained teeth, but he didn’t utter a word in defiance.

***

In a few hours Sigurd and Jeth came upon the Western Breisenburg Magitech cache. Like all caches, it had a fenced area protecting a bunker with a single iron door and a watchtower south of the front gates. Caches were normally guarded by one or two Steinkamp soldiers overseeing a modest contingent of military guards. Groups of Steinkamp couldn’t be wasted on guarding their own caches, but even one comrade would prove to be a challenge for a member of the rebellion. Sigurd would likely have to clear the cache of all the guards before the rebel and Wolfram arrived.

To his surprise, the fence had already been compromised. A man-sized hole had been cut through the steel links and the edges were tipped with ice. It appeared as if ice powder had been used to break through. That’s odd, Sigurd thought. All Steinkamp can access any cache simply by showing their wrist brand, no need to break in unseen.

Unless it is one of Rudiger’s defectors that I’m supposed to meet here . . . but if any of them had access to Magitech, would Rudiger not have used it against me the night we first fought?

Sigurd told the archer to keep quiet as he led him through the hole in the fence. Crossbow in hand, he scoured the grounds and eventually found all six watchmen dead at their posts. There was still no sign of the Steinkamp guard, which made the hairs on the back of Sigurd’s neck stand on end.

On the steps leading down to the door, he found the Steinkamp soldier slumped over with no blood on the body or visible wounds of any kind. The man seemed to have dropped dead for no reason at all. Sigurd’s heart rate picked up considerably.

The cache door was ajar. Pulling Jeth on his tether behind him, Sigurd ventured inside. Through the door, a dark stairwell went straight down into an even darker pit. He took his cudgel in hand and activated it, casting light on the grimy ash-stained steps.

“Whoa, that’s bright. I’m definitely taking a few of those for myself before we leave,” Jeth’s whispers echoed down the cache stairwell.

Sigurd shushed him as they continued into the bunker to find all but one shelf empty. That one shelf, to their immediate right, had on it everything required to equip a single Steinkamp. The only thing missing was a cudgel.

Turning to Jeth, Sigurd said, “I guess you don’t get your torch today.”

Jeth groaned in disappointment. “You brought me all the way here for a few scraps? Great! So, this is a trap.” His eyes darted across the room. “And someone else is here.”

Sigurd looked around, the torch uncovering every dark corner of the rectangular space. “Where? I don’t see anyone.”

“How can you see anything through that thing?” Jeth pointed to Sigurd’s mask.

“I see just fine—” Sigurd then jumped at a small figure coming into form beside a shelving unit, as if materializing from thin air. He blinked a few times to bring the woman into focus. She wore the brown and red coat and buttoned pants of a Remnant. Of course the rebel I’m supposed to meet here is the little witch.

“There you are, Light Mage, right?” Jeth pointed at Jenn with a flick of his wrist.

“I’m much more than that.” She turned to Sigurd. “Thanks for bringing him, Steinkamp. I’ll take him from here.”

Sigurd asked. “Where is all the equipment? How did you get by the Steinkamp guard?”

“How do you think? I’ve gotten past you once before.”

“Only because Rudiger came to your aid.”

“With or without Rudiger’s intervention you would not have gotten me out of that tower.” Sigurd huffed and Jenn went on, “I froze the fencing using water magic, which allowed me to break through it. A team of rebels I had brought with me came through the fence and killed the guards while I used light magic to hide in wait for the Steinkamp to investigate the disturbance. That’s when I used powerful wind magic to siphon the air away from him, and he suffocated. That’s the only way I know how to bring down one of you safely.”

“Where is the rest of your team?”

“They loaded up the Magitech and have already left. They are using some of the uniforms to pose as Steinkamp soldiers making a delivery to a cache in Deschner. I’ve been watching the Pass closely, and when I saw you with the Fae’ren, I made sure to get here before you. My men had been camped nearby for months already. I thought Rudiger explained all this to you,” Jenn shook her head in annoyance and brushed back her hair from her forehead. Although having grown out some since Sigurd last saw her, it was still extremely short.

“Can one of you tell me what in Deity’s name is going on here and what you all want with me, exactly?” asked Jeth, his nose twitching before he rubbed it with the back of his hand.

“I’ll debrief you on the way to Deschner. That is where the rest of the Magitech is,” said Jenn.

“Why not just let me have it right now?”

“Because Rudiger has a request he’d make of you first. If you’re not interested, then you are welcome to what we left behind and what you can get off the one I killed outside.”

“So what does this infamous Rudiger want?” Jeth made a flamboyant gesture with his hand as he said the Rogue’s name, almost making Sigurd chuckle.

“He wants to use your archery skills to take down the golems guarding a certain fortress our rebel group wishes to take from the Regime,” Jenn answered.

“Okay, and is that before or after I help him kill his kapitän?” Jeth bobbed his head over to Sigurd.

“Excuse me?” Jenn screeched. “Rudiger says it is not time for Wolfram yet. The archer is not for you to use for your idiotic revenge plot!”

“I don’t take orders from you, witch,” Sigurd retorted. “I am not going to waste the one opportunity I have to get my revenge by waiting for your Rogue Steinkamp to make up his damn mind. I’ve already sent a message to my kapitän to meet us here. He is no more than a day away. We will capture him upon his arrival.”

“I told Rudiger that you would be unpredictable,” Jenn griped. “Go ahead and meet your kapitän, but kill him yourself. My directive is to take the archer to Deschner and await further instruction.”

Jeth gave Jenn a finger-wiggling wave. “The name’s Jeth, by the way . . . if you wanted to know.”

She took steps toward the archer, but Sigurd stepped in front of him.

“He’s not going anywhere with you. Wolfram will not come alone. He will bring his personal comrades, and how many, I am uncertain. One way or another, it will be too many for me to take on by myself. I need both of your assistance in eliminating his guard and restraining Wolfram so that I can take him to Kensloche. It is there where I will kill him.”

“Why? What difference does it make if he dies in Breisenburg or Kensloche?” Jenn threw up her arms.

“It makes all the difference,” Sigurd replied. Wolfram needs to see what he created in those Crags. He has to die where I was supposed to, Sigurd fumed in his mind.

“We don’t have time for this. Release the archer from your bindings or I will do it myself.”

Sigurd remained planted. The slight-figured sorceress was almost shorter than Jeth and thinner than a sapling, yet she stood just as defiantly as Katja would have. Sigurd remembered Katja’s words. Just promise me, if you come across her . . . do not engage. He wondered if Jenn could suffocate him the way she did his comrade outside.

“You will have to make time,” Sigurd said. “In the letter I sent to Wolfram, I had to divulge certain pieces of information to convince him to leave his duties and meet me here.”

“What information?” Jenn’s whole body stiffened.

“I mentioned that the Kings’ Remnants are planning something with the Fortress of Mortlach and that the Desert War Traitor may be their newest recruit. If I’m unable to kill Wolfram on my own, I may be forced to reveal more details to appease him.”

“You just ruined us!” Jenn growled, making Jeth jump back. “Rudiger will have your head for this!”

“Not if Wolfram dies and you both help me do it. That way, everything he currently knows about the rebellion’s plans will die with him. Help me take Wolfram prisoner and get him to the crossroads, then you and Jeth can go about your merry way,” Sigurd offered.

Jenn’s dark brown eyes went black with anger. “Damn you, Steinkamp. Rudiger’s orders were clear. We can’t touch the kapitän yet!”

“I promised Rudiger I’d get him the archer, and I’ve done that. He promised me my revenge. I’m just choosing to take it earlier than he would prefer. I’m sure he will understand, given our . . . shared history.”

“Bullshit on your shared history, and I don’t give a damn about your revenge!” Jenn’s face contorted as if she were in pain. “The Kings’ Remnants must succeed in taking down the Regime. My mother’s life depends on it!”

Sigurd cocked his head. “What does your mother have to do with anything?”

Deflating, Jenn said, “My mother and I are indebted to a powerful smuggling ring. They forced her into prostitution, and me into using my light magic abilities to assist in trafficking illegal goods between Ingleheim and Del’Cabria. But no matter how many schlepts we made them, they never kept their word to free us. I could have gotten out, but they threatened to kill my mother if I tried to leave. Rudiger saved us and found my mother a temporary safe house.”

Jenn clenched her small fists inside her large jacket sleeves and continued, “It is only a matter of time before the ring finds us and kills us both. Rudiger said that the rebellion acts to topple a regime that gives smugglers a reason to exist. If the rebellion fails, then the smugglers win. Helping the Kings’ Remnants is all I can do to protect the only family I have.”

If what Jenn said were true, Sigurd could relate, but he couldn’t let himself think of other people’s plights at the moment. Only one thing mattered to him, and that was feeding Wolfram into the chasm.

“Can I ask something?” Jeth piped up.

“What?” Jenn snapped.

“Why doesn’t this Rudiger just pay off your debt to the smugglers so that they will leave you alone?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Well, if he really cared about helping you, the easiest thing to do is pay off the smugglers to get your mother out of immediate danger, then count on your gratitude to aid him in the rebellion. Otherwise, it looks like he’s using her life to control you just as the smugglers did. Doesn’t sound like a very trustworthy guy. Clever, for sure, but a man of his word? I’m not convinced.”

“And what does a little thief like you know about being trustworthy?” Jenn hissed.

Jeth straightened himself, taut as a bowstring. “Who are you calling little, you twig?”

“Enough!” Sigurd barked, his voice ringing off the iron walls of the bunker. Turning to Jenn, he said, “You will help us capture Wolfram, and I promise he will be dead in four days. You can still deliver Jeth before Rudiger discovers any change in his plans. The rebellion will continue, and your mother will come to no harm. Do we have an understanding?”

Jenn and Sigurd stood before one another in a face-off. He knew Jenn would have to fold. Even if she could perform some kind of spirit magic on him and compel him to hand over Jeth, she wouldn’t risk leaving Wolfram alive with information of the Remnants’ plans. Sigurd was bluffing, of course, but he needed to convince the witch to help and give her a good reason not to kill him.

As they stared each other down, Jeth spoke, “And I will get my full cache of Magitech equipment, right?”

“Yes, you’ll get your bounty . . . and the Steinkamp will get his revenge,” Jenn said bitterly then walked away.

“Alright then,” Jeth said, rubbing his hands together. “So what’s our plan in capturing this Wolf-man, or whatever his name is?”

16

MEN LIKE US

From the watchtower, Sigurd spotted Kapitän Wolfram with three of his personal comrades, arriving at the cache early the next morning. He raced down the tower and into the bunker where Jeth and Jenn had been waiting patiently.

“They’re here.”

Jeth sprang up from his seated position. “That was quick.”

“He must have already been in Breisenburg when he received my message,” Sigurd replied. He turned to Jenn who sat on the floor in the corner with her eyes closed. “What is she doing?”

“She’s recharging her essences.”

“Jenn, they’re—”

She opened her eyes and instantly rolled them. “Yeah, okay, I heard you the first time.”

“I hope you have enough wind essence for three Steinkamp,” said Sigurd.

“It’s all stored here.” Jenn pointed to the sapphire adorning her brass bracelet.

“How do you Essence Mages do that?” asked Sigurd.

“We don’t. For whatever reason, sapphire acts as a natural reserve for essence aura. Brass acts to transfer it from the sapphire to my body and back. This little blue gem can store and maintain the essence aura that my body would gradually leak out if left unused.”

Sigurd nodded. He already knew aura was the energy that made up essences and that Mages could somehow see and feel it in order to manipulate those essences. What exactly that had to do with sapphire and brass had always been a mystery to him despite his years of experience with those essences in the form of his Magitech equipment.

Rising to her feet, Jenn continued, “Anyway, if you need me, I’ll be outside suffocating more of you faceless goons.”

Jeth looked to Sigurd, as if expecting him to react to Jenn’s comment in some way, but Sigurd couldn’t care less. Instead, he tied Jeth to a shelving unit and went to meet his comrades at the gate, glad to have already cleared away the bodies the night before and switched out his dented mask for the deceased Steinkamp’s.

“Why is there no guard to greet us at the gates?” one of the comrades asked.

Sigurd saluted. “They are behind the cache, guarding the Magitech that we had to move out temporarily in order to keep our prisoner locked inside.”

Wolfram walked beside Sigurd toward the bunker. “Good thinking, keeping him away from the equipment.”

“Right this way, Kapitän.” He opened the heavy iron door for Wolfram and one of his Steinkamp guards. The two others went to investigate the yard where Jenn was waiting for them out of sight. Sigurd, Wolfram, and the third comrade descended the stairs into the empty cache. Jeth was still tied up and on his knees.

“So this is the infamous Desert War Traitor,” said Wolfram, removing his spectacles and putting them in his coat pocket. “He’s smaller than I expected.”

“No, I’m not. You are all just freakishly tall,” Jeth grumbled.

“So, you witnessed the death of Meister Melikheil?” asked Wolfram, ignoring the comment.

Jeth nodded but didn’t say anything more.

“It is told that you were on the task force charged with escorting Melikheil through the desert to face off with the Overlord. You fled before that could happen. How could you possibly have seen the Overlord take him down?”

“I was taken in by a band of thieves who told me to rob a Serpentine temple for my initiation. It was at that temple where the Mages’ battle took place.”

“And?”

“Your Mage was—for lack of a better word—pulverized.”

“Hmm, so he is dead.” Wolfram sighed and wiped his spectacles with his handkerchief. “A shame. The great sorcerer who helped to create all that once filled this cache, gone. Just like that. Ah well. What can you do?” He put his spectacles back on and turned to Sigurd. “Get him up, we are sending him to the Führer straight away. Thank you for stopping him before he made away with the Magitech. Show me that it is all accounted for, and you may return to your original mission.”

“Yes, Kapitän,” Sigurd said as he took Jeth by the earth bindings around his wrists and brought him to his feet. While doing so, he returned the bindings to their leather state. As quick as a flash, Jeth ducked forward and kicked Wolfram’s feet out from under him. Wolfram’s Steinkamp reacted immediately, but Sigurd dealt with him while Jeth went to work subduing the kapitän. The comrade’s shock at one of his own attacking him gave Sigurd the advantage. He quickly thrust his skewer knife under the man’s chin where the mask seam met the neck brace.

Wolfram bellowed for his other comrades just before Sigurd assisted Jeth in knocking him out. They tied him up and molded bindings to his wrists before removing his gloves and cleaning out his supply of ice powder as well. It took all of Sigurd’s self-control not to kill Wolfram right then.

But he had to wait.

Jenn opened the door to the bunker and called down to the men. Sigurd and Jeth carried the kapitän up the stairs and out into the ash-filled morning air.

“Watch him,” Sigurd ordered while he checked the vital signs of the other two Steinkamp lying on the ground outside.

One of them was still breathing. Jenn hadn’t suffocated him enough. To ensure they were both put down for good, Sigurd removed the Steinkamp’s neck braces and plunged his skewer knife into the base of their skulls. He felt a pang of guilt for slaying his comrades in cold blood, but he had never considered himself one of them anyway. Despite calling each other comrade, there was seldom actual camaraderie among Steinkamp. They were as nameless and faceless to each other as they were to the rest of the world.

When he returned, he saw Jenn kneeling beside Wolfram with her hands at the sides of his head. “What are you doing?”

“While he’s unconscious, his mind is vulnerable. I’m putting him into a spiritual slumber,” Jenn replied.

“I need him awake when I exact my vengeance,” said Sigurd.

“Don’t worry. He’ll be out for a day or two and disoriented when he wakes. This way he will be unable to escape before you get him to Kensloche. By the time you get there, he should be conscious enough for you to exact whatever type of vengeance you desire.”

Sigurd nodded and thanked the witch. He had been contemplating how he would get Wolfram all the way there without him finding a means of escape.

Meanwhile, Jeth had put on the spare Steinkamp uniform. Even though it was a smaller size than the average, it still didn’t fit as snug as it should, but it would have to do. The team then hoisted Wolfram onto a cart. Jenn climbed in as well, and Sigurd and Jeth covered both of them in a shroud. Jeth hopped onto one of the other Steinkamp’s horses while Sigurd hooked the cart to his own steed. From there, they set off on the northeast road. No one would pay mind to two Steinkamp soldiers carrying corpses on the back of a cart.

As they rode, Sigurd turned to Jeth riding alongside him. “All of Ingleheim believed that the Great Melikheil would defeat the Overlord of Herran, so you will have to forgive my skepticism. Did you make up that whole story you told Wolfram back there?”

“It’s all true. Melikheil put up one hell of a fight, I tell you. Nas’Gavarr used sunfire against him.”

“Sunfire?” asked Sigurd.

“A powerful combination of fire and light magic,” Jenn’s muffled voice said from the cart.

“What good would that do?”

“Well, it is told that sunfire is one of the few things that can harm the spirit within the body and can, therefore, be used to weaken Spirit Mages,” said Jeth.

Jenn shot up from under her shroud. “Where did you learn that?”

“We have a Mage on our crew who explained it to me.”

“Get back under your shroud, Jenn,” Sigurd ordered. She grumbled and lay back down. “So sunfire pulverized Melikheil?”

Jeth shook his head. “That stuff was so hot I felt like my eyes were going to burn from their sockets just looking at it, but that Ingle Mage brushed it off like it was nothing.”

“So it was a relatively even match, then?”

“I wouldn’t say even. Nas’Gavarr is the only Mage in the known world who has mastered essence, spirit, and flesh. Melikheil only knew essence and spirit, apparently, because once Nas’Gavarr realized his adversary could protect himself from the sunfire, he settled for tearing him limb from bloody limb instead.”

Jenn sat up again. “You witnessed the use of flesh magic?”

Jeth turned his faceless head toward her and nodded. Her skin paled, and she didn’t ask anything more.

Sigurd decided to let the subject drop. He wondered if Ingleheim was now in real danger. If a Mage that could use flesh magic succeeded in breaching the Barrier of Kriegle or the Pass of Halberschtad, what could Ingles do to stop him? Perhaps I should have made killing that Handler a priority instead of escorting this archer about, Sigurd thought with regret.

By late afternoon, they reached the crossroads where the northwestern road to Kensloche split from the northeastern road continuing to Deschner. The plan was that Jenn would pretend to be a rebel prisoner of Jeth’s, who would be posing as a Steinkamp. Sigurd would keep the cart so he could get Wolfram to Kensloche without suspicion.

“So if I go with you, I get a giant cart full of Magitech, right?” Jeth removed his mask and looked down to Jenn from his saddle.

“You have my word, but only after you help us take the fortress.”

“Alright, but I need to return with my bounty soon. I’m looking for this to be my last job since—well, not that either of you care, but I’m going to be a father, and I’d like to retire from the thieving life,” Jeth confessed.

“Don’t worry, Fairy Boy. As soon as you meet Rudiger, you will be debriefed of our plan. Then, in no more than two weeks, we will have that fortress and what is held beneath it,” Jenn told him.

Jeth nodded and turned to Sigurd. “Well, Steinkamp, good luck to you with all your revenge and that. If you need a place to lay low afterward, find me. I know a few places, outside of this ashen wasteland, where men like us can hide.”

Sigurd seriously contemplated the offer. As irritating as the Fae’ren was, Sigurd would probably need a place to hide out after his revenge was complete. Truthfully, though, he half-expected to die in the attempt. If he did survive, where would he go? Back to Katja? Would she be waiting for him with open arms? He wasn’t sure if he wanted her to wait for him. She deserved someone that could take care of her and support her scholastic pursuits. What kind of life could a man like him ever give her? He felt like a skewer knife was stabbing him through the heart in slow, clumsy thrusts. He was never going to see Katja again. He was never going to hear her annoyingly haughty voice. She would never again look at him with those amber eyes that had the power to pierce through all his armor, physical and mental. It was as if she had always seen him, even before he took off his mask, and that alone terrified him. A Steinkamp should never be seen.

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t believe there is a place in this world for men like us. I do wish you the best, though. I hope you always know freedom.”

“Thanks, I hope you find it,” Jeth said with a grin.

“Make sure you kill him, Steinkamp.” Jenn gave him a warnful eye. “Because if you fail and word gets out to the Regime of what we are doing—”

“Don’t worry. I never told Wolfram a thing about the fortress.”

“You lied?”

Sigurd shrugged and turned his cart down the northwestern road. “Thank you for your help. Give my regards to Rudiger, and if he moves to stop me, tell him I will reconsider our truce. My revenge will end with him instead.”

Jenn opened her mouth but said nothing. Sigurd didn’t expect her to know anything about his and Rudiger’s history, and she was smart enough not to pry. She nodded and climbed onto the back of Jeth’s horse. They trotted off down the road to Deschner, and Sigurd continued toward Kensloche with the unconscious kapitän in his cart.

***

By the time they reached the Crags a few days later, Wolfram was conscious. He was able to walk by himself upon the loose shale ridges while Sigurd pulled him along behind. Like Jenn had said, her spell left Wolfram incoherent for most of the journey. He barely opened his mouth, not even to question where he was being taken or the meaning of his abduction.

It took a long time to find the chasm at the Crags after the Alpha had returned to dormancy. Much of the landscape had changed, but finally by midday on the second day since he set off from Breisenburg, Sigurd found the familiar location. He sat the kapitän down and molded his earth bindings to a stone outcropping near the chasm.

He then approached the opening and declared, “Golem of Stone! It is Siegfried. I have returned!”

Wolfram finally decided to speak, though he was still weighed down by exhaustion. “Oh, now I see, you’re insane. That explains everything.”

“Do you not recognize this place, Kapitän?”

“One gray shale cliff after another—they all start to look the same to me. Should I know this one in particular?”

“I fell down this chasm as a child, don’t you remember? You said I’d break my little legs and never run or climb again.” He slowly turned to face his enemy. “But as you can see, I can run and climb just fine, unfortunately for you.”

“I’m sorry, comrade, but your accounts are not ringing any bells for me,” said Wolfram with indifference.

Bright hot anger flared through Sigurd’s body. He rushed his kapitän and walloped him across the face with the back of his left hand where he wore his splitting blade dispenser, giving the strike additional heft.

“That I don’t believe.” Sigurd clutched Wolfram’s coat lapels. “Your attention to detail has always been your strength. You know exactly where we are, you know exactly who I am, and you know exactly what you’ve done!”

“I’ve done a lot of things.” Wolfram’s gaze turned to ice. “I’ve killed a lot of people during my career—as have you. Are you telling me you remember every life you have ever taken, every family you’ve torn apart?”

“You do! You are too meticulous in your duties to forget a single one.”

Wolfram smirked and exhaled sharply through his nose, trying to laugh but still too weak. “You’ve always been one of my most talented soldiers. You know your kapitän better than he knows you. Yes, I remember this place well, how could I not? This is where my career catapulted to unprecedented heights. I had worked so long and hard to find your parents . . . I remember how shocked I was to discover that it was your sister who bore the Eye and not your brother.”

“What else do you remember?”

“I remember following the youngest boy to this very crevasse and him falling in before I could reach him. The entire crag erupted in quakes. I lost a good comrade that day, and I barely escaped with my life. But somehow, against all odds, you survived.” Wolfram grimaced as if he smelled something foul in the air. “How did a five-year-old boy survive the earthquake when a fully armored Steinkamp soldier could not?”

That Steinkamp didn’t survive? Then Vaughn was not the perpetrator after all! So much for no secrets between us, Rudiger, Sigurd thought bitterly. He would have to deal with that later.

“You’re about to find out.” Sigurd let go of Wolfram and walked over to the chasm again. “Golem of Stone! I have here the monster that you rescued me from twenty years ago. I ask that you finish what you started and destroy this man!”

He heard raspy chuckling from behind him. “So you think it was the Alpha of the Crag Golems that saved you. Are you so arrogant to think that you can awaken an Alpha on your command? Your body may have come away unscathed, but your mind is far gone.”

“Shut up!” Sigurd barked.

After ensuring that the kapitän was properly molded to the rock and unable to move, Sigurd took another set of earth bindings and used them to climb down the chasm to get closer to the Alpha. Using the light of his cudgel, Sigurd found the immense eye of the Golem of Stone, this time, positioned perpendicular to the bottom of the chasm but at a slight upward angle above Sigurd’s head.

Before the dormant eye, Sigurd sang the Ode to Golems. Nothing happened, so he sang it again. Last time I only hummed a few bars and it lit up the entire cavern, though I was standing on it then. He stretched his hand out and touched the cold, glossy stone and sang the Ode once more. Still nothing.

“Golem of Stone, I beg you to awaken. Help me to exact my vengeance, to make what is wrong right again. I know you hear me. Is this not why I was saved?”

The great eye remained dark, and all that answered Sigurd’s question was silence. The Alpha was right there at his fingertips, yet it was as dead as the sediments that made up its body.

His chest tightened and an overwhelming heat flowed through him. He lashed out at the gigantic eye with his cudgel, unable to cause even a hairline fissure upon it.

“Light up, damn you! Speak! This is Siegfried, and I demand you tell me what you want!” He fell to his knees and removed his mask to wipe the sweat from his brow. Breathing in the ash-free air caused his head to ache.

Katja had told him that the Alphas follow the commands of Verishten only. Believing that this Alpha would respond to him made Sigurd feel even more the fool. But why, Verishten? Why use this Alpha to save my life and again to speak to me two months ago? Sigurd began to wonder if everything he ever knew had been wrong. He was certain that revenge was the only reason he was alive. If Verishten didn’t want Sigurd to exact vengeance on the ones that murdered the Golem Mages, then what did he want?

This is ludicrous. What does it matter what Verishten wants from me? I will kill Wolfram and all of the others with or without divine assistance.

Regaining his composure, Sigurd climbed out of the crevasse, becoming winded in the process but too determined to let it affect him.

“Did everything go okay down there?” Wolfram said almost melodiously.

Sigurd touched the kapitän’s bindings and unmolded them from the outcropping. He then hoisted Wolfram to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Wolfram was shrill.

Sigurd could now finally taste the kapitän’s fear. “I’m taking you to a place where you can run and climb for an eternity.” He pushed Wolfram to his knees and brought him dangerously close to the edge of the chasm. “I managed to survive the fall. Perhaps you will too—but not after breaking every bone in your body.”

“Wait, wait! Stop!” Wolfram begged as Sigurd nearly forced him off the edge. “Don’t do it! My daughter needs me. I’m her only hope.”

“No harm will come to your daughter. That is true mercy. Something you can’t begin to comprehend the meaning of.”

Sigurd was prepared to shove Wolfram into the pit until he cried out, “Stop! You don’t understand! If I’m dead, there will be no one else who can exonerate her for the crimes of which she’s been accused.”

“What are you talking about?” Sigurd’s heart beat wildly in his chest. Wolfram had a daughter, of that Sigurd was certain, but surely his daughter couldn’t be Katja . . . although, she was guilty of crimes against the Regime.

“Not a moment before I received your message to meet you at the cache, I was visited by the Karl with a warrant for the arrest of my daughter in connection with the Kings’ Remnants,” Wolfram explained.

“Who do you speak of?” Sigurd bellowed.

“She is the woman you were assigned to protect two months ago. Her professor has been revealing Regime secrets to the Remnants, and she has been caught in the middle. I know she would never be so foolish as to consort with the enemy, at least not intentionally, but I fear the Führer will not see it that way. If I do not return to Deschner in one week to vouch for her innocence, she will be put to death!”

Sigurd roared and threw Wolfram backward, the brittle shale cracking beneath him. “What game are you playing, Wolfram!”

“If only this were a game,” the kapitän said, defenseless against Sigurd, who now loomed as a menacing shadow over him. “To think that I trusted you to guard my Kriemia when the entire time you were plotting revenge against me. The irony is as sweet as it is disconcerting.”

Even though he had suspected it all along, once Sigurd heard Katja’s true name spoken from Wolfram’s lips, his mind instantly rejected the notion. Katja would have told me. This is a trick.

“You can’t be her father!” Sigurd raged. He picked Wolfram up by the bindings and punched him in the face until blood sprayed from his mouth. “If you really cared about her and she were really about to be arrested, why did you wait until this moment to tell me? Why did you meet me at the cache in the first place? Wouldn’t going to Deschner and exonerating her be your first priority?”

“There was nothing I could have done to stop the arrest once the warrant had been issued.” Wolfram spat blood. “First of all, I wanted to wait for you to reveal yourself, so I knew who I was dealing with. Secondly, I knew I had at least three days before my daughter arrived in Deschner, and another week before she faces tribunal. I would have had plenty of time to step in and free her. In the meantime, I was not about to let the Desert War Traitor fall through my fingers. He would have made an excellent bargaining tool with the Führer in exchange for Kriemhilde’s freedom.”

“You’re lying,” Sigurd hissed, letting Wolfram down harshly.

“I don’t expect my daughter’s fate to incite sympathy from the likes of you. I know it to be pointless to lie. If you require proof, read the copy of the warrant in my left inside coat pocket.”

Sigurd propped Wolfram against a rock and fished for the document. He found the paper and read it. The document was signed by the Karl Kommissar at the Untevar precinct. It called for the immediate arrests of Herr Ignatius of Nordenhein and Fraulein Katja, Alias of Nordenhein University—true identity to be determined during tribunal. The charges: Treason.

There was no doubting the legitimacy of the document; Sigurd had seen many warrants like these throughout his career. Ignatius and Katja were going to be arrested and subsequently executed by the Regime unless someone did something to stop it. Could Sigurd let his worst enemy go in order to do that?

“Why in Untevar?” Sigurd muttered. His hand shook, still gripping the paper.

“I’m not sure,” said Wolfram. “Likely they are on an expedition to research golems or something to do with rebel activity. Do you believe me now? I beg of you, if you are going to kill me, do it after I’ve had a chance to save my daughter.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Sigurd rasped. He picked Wolfram up and forced him to walk the rest of the way down the Crags.

“I know you are no longer charged with her protection, but oftentimes residual urges to perform past duties remain with a soldier even after a mission is completed. Find that sense of duty within you to help her now. Please,” Wolfram begged, but his words sounded forced.

The two men eventually reached the dilapidated farmhouse that was Sigurd’s childhood home.

“Why are you taking me here? Is this—?”

Sigurd shoved Wolfram through the old rickety wooden door, shattering it on impact. He then rearranged the earth bindings so that one of Wolfram’s arms was free and proceeded to mold him to the stone wall. Wolfram sat beside a dusty wood stove where most of the smokestack had broken away from the rubble that had once been the home’s roof. Sigurd took out a bag of rations that he had earlier collected from a haven in the Town of Kensloche and dumped the contents at Wolfram’s feet. He also tossed his extra canteen on his lap.

“There is enough food and water there to last you about a week,” said Sigurd. “You’ll wait here until I return.”

“You can’t leave me here!” Wolfram wailed. “Where are you going? If you think you can save Kriemhilde yourself, you can forget about it. The Karl will have already arrested her. She will be arriving in Deschner any day now, and soon she’ll be escorted to a holding cell to await trial. A lone Steinkamp cannot free her. Only with my political clout does she have any hope.”

If Wolfram was telling the truth about Katja’s pending arrest, as the warrant proved, he was at least dishonest about the timing of the event. The order was dated around the time Wolfram would have received Sigurd’s message, which meant that the Karl could only have just arrested her in Untevar if at all. Depending on where in the vast range the arrest took place, it could take anywhere between one and four days to make it back to Deschner by prison coach. There was still a chance for Sigurd to intercept that coach on the road from Untevar to Deschner, but if he were too late, Sigurd would need Wolfram alive so that he may do right by his daughter and free her. If Wolfram was lying about being Katja’s father, then there was nothing he would be able to do to help. Either way, Sigurd was the only one that could help her now.

He had to put his desires for revenge on hold momentarily. Katja’s life was more important than that. He knew the shortest routes through Kensloche, and if he rode through the night, he could make it to Deschner before first light. Then it would be another two days to Untevar.

Verishten, if you’re still listening, please let me reach Katja in time, and do not allow Wolfram to escape in my absence.

Sigurd rushed out of the farmhouse as the kapitän screamed after him, “Come back! Unmold me, traitor! You will burn for this!”

Sit tight, my kapitän, I will return after saving Katja. When she reveals that you are not her real father, I will kill you. But if you are . . .

17

REGIME HANDS

On one of Untevar’s northern farm roads, Katja caught herself staring at Klemens and the new Steinkamp riding ahead. They seemed to be making conversation with one another, which struck her as odd. The Steinkamp whom Sigurd had arranged to accompany the research team for the previous two months was not one to engage in conversation, particularly with Katja. It would appear that Klemens would rather talk to a masked killer than to her these days. She didn’t blame him for his distance under the circumstances. As guilty as she felt for hurting him, she was relieved to no longer have to worry about his feelings.

Watching the new Steinkamp on his black horse made her feel dull and listless. Even though Sigurd had been gone longer than she’d known him, she still thought about him every day. Having another nameless and faceless soldier around didn’t help her forget him, even though all she wanted to do was set her mind to more important endeavors like finding the Golem of Light.

Ignatius trotted up next to Katja on his flea-bitten mare. “Is something bothering you, Katja? You’ve been unusually quiet on this trip.”

“Everything’s fine, Professor.” She sighed. “It’s just that . . . there is something more depressing about this expedition.”

“Oddly enough, I agree,” Ignatius replied. “The state of Untevar these days can make anyone depressed. I take it this is your first visit to the range.”

Katja nodded as she adjusted her large brimmed hat and the facial netting she wore to keep the airborne ash off her face and hair. It was true that traveling through Untevar did not bring with it the same adventurous flair that the Kensloche journey had. The team had taken the east road around Verishten’s volcanic regions to get to the City of Untevar. Because of their high status, the team had to rent a fully armored carriage to protect them as they made their way through the city. Over the years the once vibrant metropolis had fallen into a chaotic mess of poverty, crime, and disease. The coachman took them through the least affected areas of the city for their own safety, but Katja still saw muddy streets and ash-stained buildings with windows that no one had cleaned for what looked like years.

Crowds of people had swarmed around the gates of the highborn areas. Dirty, sunken faces stared at the passing carriages. Hundreds of them had lined up at those gates for handouts of foodstuffs and other incidentals. Some of them pushed and shoved to get to the front faster before the city officials closed the gates and sent them away to try another day. It had been a heartbreaking sight to see.

A day later, the team had crossed the River Sleban east of the City of Untevar, and they now took the more scenic farm roads on horseback. The view of the rural countryside was even more depressing than what she had seen in the city. They passed by one grain field after another with acres of unharvested crop left to rot, buried under mountains of ash without a farmer in sight.

“How could Kanzler Bachman allow his range to fall apart like this? For such an intelligent economist, he should be able to fix it,” Katja commented.

“The irony is not lost on me either. When I knew Bachman, he never stopped spouting the benefits of free markets and international trade. His thesis was on how the economic stagnation during the Age of Kings was directly caused by the lack of free trade between the competing Golem Mage Kingdoms. This consistently put them in situations where war was the most viable means of wealth accumulation. He highlighted how uninhibited trade between the four provinces of Del’Cabria led to their unsurpassed prosperity. It was Bachman’s dream to see Ingleheim take part in that growth. It paired well with Heinrich’s dream of Ingle unification.”

“Obviously, Bachman’s dreams have not become reality. Ingleheim is more isolationist than ever before.” Katja frowned.

“Yes, and Untevar suffers the most for it.”

“Why is there nobody to farm these fields?”

Ignatius shook his head. “After Heinrich took power, there were talks about redistributing the great wealth of Untevar, accumulated during the Age of Kings because of its hold on Ingleheim’s most fertile lands. The Regime developed a new taxation policy that essentially forced farmers to sell their harvests for a pittance so that all of Ingleheim would have access to inexpensive grains. This meant that regardless of how much they produced or the quality of the grain, rewards to the farmers were roughly static. Farmers who did not agree with the Regime’s new approach had their lands taken away or were imprisoned.”

“That’s awful,” Katja’s stomach knotted. “They’re basically slaves.”

“In a sense, yes. As a result, you have what we see here. Acres of food and not a thing to eat.”

“This so-called Age of Order we live in,” Katja muttered with a shake of her head. After passing by a few more ash-filled fields in silence, she changed the subject. “Professor, I’ve been wondering about something lately. You knew Herrscher Heinrich well, so you must have known his wife. It was told they wed out of university.”

“Ah yes. Ilsa of Luidfort was her name.” Ignatius smiled. “She was studying Monarch History if I remember correctly. I didn’t get the opportunity to know her as well as the others did. You see, it was more taboo in those days for men to fraternize with women of higher status than they.”

“Oh, right—I suppose she must have been of a very elevated station to have married the Prince of Deschner.”

“The highest station a young woman could hold without being from a Golem Mage family. It was a good thing too, after what Heinrich went on to do to those families,” Ignatius concluded.

“The Führer started killing them after her death, didn’t he?”

“His move against the Mages started before that, but it is true that he didn’t set out to exterminate them altogether until after Ilsa died.”

“Do you think Ilsa’s death somehow caused or inspired the Führer to kill them all?” Katja asked.

“I have no doubt Ilsa was Heinrich’s balancing force. If she had remained in his life, I sincerely believe he would have made different choices for Ingleheim. In university, everyone could see how smitten he was with her. She was a stunning beauty as women from Luidfort are known to be.” Ignatius adjusted the tie of his tweed vest and coat as he rode.

“Ample in beauty, but dull of wit. That is what they say of women from Luidfort Range.” Katja smirked.

“I’ll challenge any man that says that about Ilsa.” Ignatius wagged a finger in the air. “In a battle of wits, she would have Volker, Bachman, and Heinrich scratching their heads at every turn. She was very opinionated, and the only person that I’ve ever seen win an argument against the likes of them. I think that’s why Heinrich was so drawn to her. Intellectually they were the perfect pair.”

In an attempt to talk about something other than Untevar’s poverty and farming slaves, Katja had stumbled onto a subject even more dismal. To hear of her mother as someone so lively and with her own opinions and dreams, only for Katja to realize she would never know her, became too much to take in.

As soon as she started to tear up, Ignatius said in a lowered voice, “I’m sorry Katja. I know how hard it must be to speak of your mother.”

Her heart froze inside her chest. “My—what?”

“It’s all right. I’ve always suspected, but only after you asked about her did I know for sure.”

“When did you figure out that I was Heinrich’s daughter?” Katja asked.

“The moment you walked into your first lecture of mine. You are the exact image of both Heinrich and Ilsa. I had no doubt of your relation.”

“If you had no doubt, then how come you chose me as your top acolyte? With your rebel ties, keeping the Führer’s daughter so close was very risky.”

Ignatius looked straight into his student’s eye. “I chose you, Katja, because you are most deserving of the title. I put my responsibilities as a scholar and an educator far beyond my duty to the rebellion. You may resemble them, but you are not your parents. You make your own choices and it is by your choices that I pass judgment.”

Katja felt her heart about to burst inside her chest. “Thank you, Professor. You have no idea what it means to hear you say that. I’ve always feared that someday I will be asked to account for the atrocities committed by my father for no other reason than being his daughter. It’s nice to know that his legacy does not cloud your judgment of me.”

“You never need worry about such things when I’m around.” Ignatius’s voice was quiet enough so the riders ahead couldn’t catch a word. “Know that I never have and never will breathe a word of your parentage to anyone, especially to the Remnants.”

“Oh, I never thought you would, Professor.”

“Even so, you can trust me.”

“I do, and you can trust me as well.”

***

By the next day, the research team arrived at the Hot Lakes. It was there where one could find crystal golems in abundance. Miles away from civilization existed glistening crystal formations and smooth stone that formed into hills. Some of the larger hills formed into geysers, where steam from the ground water erupted into the sky and fed into beautiful warm lakes of dark teal blues and brilliant greens. Some of these lakes reached such staggering temperatures that the skin would sizzle off anyone who dared set foot in them.

Steam leaked from nearly every crack and crevasse in the smooth rust-colored stone, and hardly a plant or tree could grow. The team was fascinated by the many different crystal clusters that they spotted on their journey. They sang the Ode to some of them in hopes they were dormant golems; a surprising amount of them were, but none were giant. The team would have to go out much farther to find giant crystal golems and even farther than that to find the Alpha.

Their eye map indicated that they would find the Alpha at the Crystal Lake of Rainmier. It was a vast hot spring and at the center stood a crystal geyser so large that when it erupted, the warm mists of water would rain down on the terrain several miles from the lake. Katja could hardly wait to see it.

The Steinkamp knew the Hot Lakes fairly well and led them to a small valley between two hills. Because of the flatter landscape, the sun’s light stayed visible longer, so they had more than enough daylight to set up their camp.

Katja finally removed her large-brimmed sunhat and facial net. They were far enough from the volcano falling ash wouldn’t be as much of a nuisance. Ignatius and Klemens shook off their hats and brushed the ash from their beards. Klemens had taken to growing a small beard and mustache during his mourning period. She preferred the beard—it made him appear more distinguished.

That night, she fell asleep quickly only to be awakened by Klemens’s whispering voice and the jostling of the walls of her tent.

“Katja, Katja, wake up, hurry!”

Untying her tent flap just enough to stick her head through, she saw him wearing his vest and pants and holding a lantern. “What is it, Klem? It’s the middle of the night,” she croaked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Get dressed, quickly. You have to see this.”

“It can wait until morning, surely,” Katja protested.

“It can’t. I saw a group of crystal golems fighting each other.”

“But that’s impossible. Golems have never been known to attack one another absent Mage command.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Kat, but I saw it. If you hurry, you can see for yourself,” Klemens urged.

With a groan, Katja turned on her lantern and found the blue ruffled blouse and brown cotton hiking skirt she had been wearing earlier that day. She tied on her boots and exited her tent fully dressed. On her way to the horses nearby, she tied her messy hair back in a ponytail to keep it off her face. She turned back toward her tent. “Wait, I have to grab my new journal.”

Klemens took her arm and pulled her back toward the horses. “There’s no time. The golems could have moved on already.”

“Where is the professor?” asked Katja, mounting her horse that she noticed already had its saddle on.

Klemens waved a dismissive hand. “You know how long it takes to wake him. Let the old man sleep. We can report to him in the morning.”

The two galloped off in a northwestern direction, circling the wide hill behind their campsite. Katja couldn’t get rid of a sick feeling in her gut.

“Klemens, shouldn’t we at least tell the Steinkamp where we’re going?”

“Don’t worry. I took care of it.”

“Are you sure you saw golems fighting? It is highly unusual, and what’s more unusual, is how you managed to see them in the middle of the night.”

“I couldn’t sleep so I took a walk, and they were on this road. I think they went down this way,” Klemens said as they pressed onward.

They rode for a long time, and Katja continued to wonder if Klemens had seen golems at all. It didn’t make sense—not only for golems to fight each other, but for him to be the one to venture off into the night alone. He had been acting strangely aloof for the entire trip and now he was determined to lead her far from the camp where there was a good chance they could get lost.

“I don’t like this. I’m heading back.”

“Just a little further. Please, Katja, once you see it, it will change everything.”

To see golems in combat in the wild would be a significant discovery in golem behavior, but something still gnawed at her. She halted her mare. “I’m going back.”

Klemens steered his buckskin toward her and grabbed Katja’s reins to keep her from galloping away.

“What are you doing?” she asked shrilly.

“Don’t go back to the camp. Trust me.” Klemens’s voice deepened.

“You brought me here under false pretenses without the protection of the Steinkamp, and I’m supposed to trust you? Tell me what is going on!”

Katja never dreamed that Klemens would harm her, but it had been two months since she’d broken his heart, and they had hardly talked in that time. Her heart raced.

“The Steinkamp is guarding the professor until the Karl come,” explained Klemens.

“The Karl? No, Klem, we have to go back and warn him!” Katja tried to kick her horse into action, but Klemens kept his grip on her reins and pulled it back.

“We can’t go back,” Klemens snapped. “The Steinkamp knows about the professor and the Kings’ Remnants.”

“What? No, it’s not what you think!”

“The Steinkamp spotted the Karl up the road before I woke you. They will arrive at the camp any minute to arrest him. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but at least the Steinkamp warned me so that I could get you to safety.”

“I’m not the one in danger here, our professor is. He is our friend, and we can’t abandon him!”

Katja didn’t understand how the Regime found out about him and why the Steinkamp, who was supposed to be working for the same rebel group, would sell him out.

“They are going to arrest you too!” Klemens said heatedly, careful not to let his voice carry. “They think you’re his accomplice. But he knows it’s not your fault. The Steinkamp said it has something to do with this Sigurd, the one you fell for. He’s not who he seems.”

Katja’s heart sank. Klemens had been duped, and for reasons she couldn’t begin to string together.

“None of that is true. You have to believe me. We are being set up.”

“Ignatius must pay for his crimes, but you don’t have to. The Steinkamp has been gracious enough to give you this chance to clear your name. I can use whatever leverage my father has left me to convince the Führer to exonerate you. He and my father were close friends.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Just let me go!” Katja kicked her horse again, but Klemens pulled back once more.

“I know everything, Katja, so stop lying to me! I read your journal, alright? I know all about the secret research you and Sigurd had been doing. I know you want to stop the Golem of Death from being awakened, but you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into—”

A wave of fury rushed through Katja. “How could you? My innermost thoughts! When did you read it?”

“I found it in the Crags after that quake.” Klemens hung his head. “My leg was stuck under rocks, and your journal had somehow fallen right within my reach. I opened to a page where you referenced your secret excursions into Frost Woods with the Steinkamp, meaning you knew him before the Crags. I closed it immediately and planned to give it back to you, but then I noticed how the two of you were arguing at that farmhouse, and it made me crazy. I thought you were going to be my wife. I—”

“You had no right!”

“I know. I’m sorry. Once you told me that you loved him—I couldn’t help myself. I read it all in an attempt to understand why you would fall for someone like him and not me. I discovered far more incriminating things, and I wish more than anything I had never seen that book.”

“I wish you never had either,” Katja hissed. “Now, where is it? I want it back.”

“It’s at the university in my safety deposit box.”

“You idiot. If they arrest Ignatius they are sure to check all of our safety deposit boxes. You are a part of this too, Klem.”

Klemens broke eye contact. “Not exactly. A month ago, I confronted the Steinkamp to see if he had any information on my father’s death and why the rebels would target him. He told me that our professor has been leaking information to them about the Golem of Death. I felt so betrayed . . . the information he leaked is the reason why the rebellion abducted my father. I never told him about your journal, though. The Steinkamp was in the process of investigating so he asked me to keep quiet until he could mount more evidence.” He ran his hand over his hair, revealing beads of sweat on his forehead. “A week ago today, he discovered that this Sigurd had ties to the Remnants, which implicates both you and Ignatius. I was able to convince the Steinkamp that you knew not what you were doing, and he agreed to let you escape arrest for the time being. Because I agreed to cooperate, I have been absolved from any actions against the Regime that I have unknowingly committed. They will not search my safety deposit box.”

Katja screeched, “Klemens, how could you? You sold out your own professor so that you could be absolved?”

“Hey!” Klemens barked, clutching Katja’s reins again. “I am not going to pay for the crimes Ignatius committed and neither should you!”

“Don’t you see?” Katja shot back. “I am just as guilty as he is. I made my choice to team up with the professor and with Sigurd. I am not some nitwit who didn’t know what she was getting herself into. I will accept the consequences of my actions, and I will face my arrest.”

Katja knew that her father would likely vouch for her freedom as long as her journal remained in Klemens’s safety deposit box. She might even be able to convince her father to show mercy toward his old friend. All she had to do was make it back to camp.

Instead of trying to kick her horse forward, Katja pulled hard on the reins and backed the horse up. Her bay reared, jolting Klemens so suddenly, he fell from his saddle. Before galloping off, Katja stopped her horse for a moment to check if he was all right. She hated him for selling out the professor to the Regime and reading her journal, but she didn’t want to leave him alone and injured either.

“Kat, don’t do this!” Klemens yelled. He pushed himself off the ground and onto his unsteady feet. His ankle had healed enough to walk, but it still bothered him, and he needed to be careful not to overuse it.

“I don’t have a choice,” Katja declared.

“You will be executed along with Ignatius! I won’t let you die for that traitor!” Klemens cried as he staggered toward his horse.

“You’ve been deceived. The Steinkamp who is arranging all of this works for the Remnants too.”

Klemens was so taken aback that he couldn’t find the strength to lift himself back into the saddle. “The Steinkamp back at the camp . . . h-he’s a rebel?”

“He is a Steinkamp long defected. Sigurd arranged for him to be here before he set off for war,” Katja explained.

“That doesn’t make sense.” Klemens’s brow furrowed. “If he and Ignatius are working for the same rebel group, why did he arrange for him to get arrested and label Sigurd as the defector?”

Katja’s heart broke at the supposition she wished she’d had moments earlier. “I think the Regime captured Sigurd, and now the Kings’ Remnants want to scapegoat him as the Rogue Steinkamp. The Regime would demand a reason for how the Remnants got word of the Golem of Death. The professor is no longer sharing information with the rebels, and the Steinkamp in our midst knows that. Ignatius’s arrest would serve to get rid of someone no longer of use to the Remnants while satisfying the Regime that they’ve won for the time being.”

Then she thought of something else that didn’t quite fit. “. . . But the Remnants don’t seem to want me to fall into Regime hands. That’s why they wanted you to take me away.”

“So?”

“Why should I matter to them? I’m the one that convinced Ignatius to start keeping secrets from them. Why didn’t they sell out both of us? Unless—”

Her eyes widened in terror as she looked to Klemens. He only returned her glance with one of confusion.

“They know—they know who my father is,” Katja whispered in shock.

How the Remnants discovered her true identity, she had no idea. Her parentage was the one thing she never wrote in her journal. Nobody knew she was the daughter of Herrscher Heinrich, not his closest allies, not even Sigurd. Ignatius only guessed at it, and he would never tell a soul, she trusted that.

“Get on that horse, Klem,” Katja urged. “We need to leave at once. I don’t think this is about the professor.”

“You’re right about that, fraulein,” a gruff voice echoed from the darkness.

Two Steinkamp soldiers approached like manifesting shadows in the night. One pointed his crossbow straight at Klemens’s face. He jumped at the sight and put up his hands.

“You’re a sharp one,” the Steinkamp with the crossbow said to Katja. His voice didn’t sound like that of the rebel who had been guarding them for the past two months. She assumed they were the other two Steinkamp defectors Ignatius had mentioned.

“The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, does it, Princess Kriemhilde II of Deschner,” said the second Steinkamp, bowing facetiously to Katja.

“Princess?” Klemens sputtered in shock, still trembling before the crossbow.

“What do you want?” Katja murmured.

The Steinkamp with the crossbow replied, “Please step down from the horse, and do it now, or your friend here gets a bolt through the eyeball.”

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Dedication

Map

The Steinkamp Pledge

Ode to Golems

1 Persons of Interest

2 Ode to Golems

3 Little Dove

4 Hear Me, I Am You

5 Blue Light

6 Cruelty Breeds Loyalty

7 Fighting Blind

8 Kill the Man

9 Behind the Mask

10 Ashen Rain

11 Righteous Idealism

12 Loose Shale

13 The Time is Now

14 Falling for a Monster

15 Gods and Women

16 Men Like Us

17 Regime Hands