“Look, darlin’, I ain’t tryin’ to cause any trouble, but are you sure this is the right place?”

Gell’s question wasn’t unwarranted, considering they’d been wandering through this musty cavern for several days already, and there was little sign of anything but more cavern ahead.

“Yes, I’m sure. Honestly, Gell, sometimes I think you just don’t trust me.”

They were in this hole in the first place because Sarai had determined there was another wordstone to be found here. She’d been right the previous time, and, really, there was no reason to think she didn’t know what she was talking about, but there didn’t seem to be any sign of anything interesting down here, and their provisions were dwindling to the point at which Gell was beginning to be alarmed, given the abject lack of any means of resupply in this empty cave.

“Sarai honey, you know it ain’t that I don’t trust you — it’s just that I think maybe we’re goin’ about this the wrong way. We’re lookin’ for a rock, right? Well, take a peek; this whole cave’s a bunch o’ rocks. Could be we should come back with some kinda mining crew, yeah?”

“We don’t need a mining crew, Gell, because the stone’s not in this cave.”

“Well, if it ain’t in the cave, what in blue blazes are we doin’ here?”

“Have you ever heard of the Bonerazor Clan?”

“The what now? Don’t ring a bell.”

“I have,” Katja interrupted. “A legendary group of bandits that terrorized this area a hundred years ago or so. Their captain, Bonerazor, got his name due to his disquieting habit of fashioning weapons out of the bones of his victims. So they say, anyhow.”

“It’s not just a legend, you know,” Sarai explained. “He really did that. And worse things, too.”

“Yeah, supposedly he had strange magical powers, and he could command the dead to rise and follow him. Not mindless skeletons, like we dealt with before — the story goes that Bonerazor’s followers were as intelligent as they’d been in life, and could speak and fight, but couldn’t be killed. Pretty far-fetched, if you ask me.”

“Well, I didn’t ask you,” the wordling huffed. “It just so happens that’s all true, and I have reason to believe that the source of Bonerazor’s power was a wordling.”

“That’s as maybe,” Gell interjected, “but what’s it got to do with anything? Why are we crawlin’ around in this filthy cave if there ain’t no wordstone in here?”

“Because somewhere around here there should be an entrance to Bonerazor’s hideout, that’s what. And if I’m right — and I always am — then we should be able to find the wordling Bonerazor got his powers from!”

“Lemme get this straight. This Bonerazor fella built his hideout so far underground you gotta slog through this cave for three days to get there? Don’t seem too likely to me.”

“Well… no. This isn’t the normal entrance. But it’s nearby, and I think there’s a secret back entrance in this tunnel. You see? You don’t want to go in the front door — you know how bandits are, with the traps and all.”

Gell chuckled. “Bandit treasure. Next up it’ll be pirates!”

“This is it!” Sarai exclaimed jubilantly.

Before our heroes was a section of the cave floor that had collapsed, forming a treacherous ramp down into a lower cavern. Not much of the room below could be made out in the dim light of Gell’s fading torch, but it was enough to discern that the chamber had clearly been hewed out with tools — it was a man-made cavern, in contrast to the natural tunnel they’d been wandering through.

“Come on! What are you waiting for?”

The wordling flitted excitedly down the gaping maw and into the unknown. Katja followed fairly close behind, but Gell was having trouble keeping his footing as he descended into the depths. The “ramp,” as it were, was primarily loose rocks and debris from the collapsed passageway, and it shifted alarmingly under the big man’s weight. Fortunately for all concerned, the total distance involved was not great, and Gell was able to reach the bottom in the correct posture, rather than sliding down to it on his face.

The room they were now in appeared to be, of all things, an empty cell. Three of the walls had been dug out from the rock, and the fourth was made of iron bars, with a heavy barred door set into it. The door was currently closed. Gell attempted to open it, but to no avail — it was locked.

“Well?” Sarai said, impatiently, “what are you waiting for? Smash it down with one of your fancy Puritan signs and let’s get moving.”

“Are you cracked, woman? I got two signs could possibly get us through that door — Blasting and Sundering. One of ’em makes a ripper of an explosion, and the other’s like an earthquake. You noticed lately how we’re underground and all? And half the damn ceiling’s already come down? Think I ain’t keen to risk it.”

“Well, that’s just great! I go to all the trouble of finding the stone, I figure out how we can get in here, and all I ask from you is that you open the door. And now suddenly you’re paranoid about cave-ins? I thought you were a fearless he-man type!”

“I knew it — you are completely nuts.”

“Hey guys,” Katja interrupted, “I hate to break up this exciting argument, but don’t we have a wordstone to find? Let’s save the bickering for later, shall we?”

“Can’t go noplace, darlin’, ‘less we can get that door open.”

“It’s open.”

Gell and Sarai looked at her in shock, but she spoke the truth — Katja was presently standing on the far side of the bars, and the door was hanging wide open. “It was a really simple lock,” she explained. “Either lock technology has really advanced since this place was built or they didn’t really care about the security of this cell.”

Sheepishly, Gell stepped out of the cell and into the larger block. The wing they were in appeared to have been a prison of some nature, as it was lined with cells all along the wall they’d just come from. The opposite wall bore three sturdy wooden doors: one at each end, and one in the centre. Our heroes walked the length of the corridor, examining the cells, but, unsurprisingly, none of them contained a currently-living creature, though several contained piles of bones that probably once were alive.

Gell gazed into the flow, attempting to locate the wordstone, but he sensed nothing except an eerie emanation from all around. There was definitely some type of low-level, residual magical energy here, but it didn’t seem to be concentrated on any one point.

“Wordstones don’t leave much of a footprint on the flow,” he muttered. “Can you make anything out, Sarai?”

“It’s pretty far from here,” she replied. “We should probably just pick a door and start moving; I’ll know more accurately once we get closer.”

“Which door?”

“Who knows? Let’s just pick one.”

They were closest to the central door at this time, so Gell cautiously pulled it open. Beyond, they found themselves in a small antechamber, the walls of which were lined with sets of manacles. The far wall was dominated by a great portcullis, clearly operated by a large winch set into the floor next to it. Even standing right up against the portcullis, Gell’s torch had insufficient range for the party to make out what lay on the other side; it appeared to be nothing but a large open space.

Gell grabbed the lever and attempted to winch the portcullis open, but found, to his dismay, that the chains had rusted away over the years, and the winch would no longer operate.

“Hold this, please,” Gell requested, handing the torch to Katja, who silently accepted it. The big man then grasped the portcullis with both hands, and began to heave upward as hard as he could. Slowly, agonizingly, the gate lifted up out of the ground, as Gell’s muscles strained against the rusted and decaying mechanism. “Go, quickly!” he gasped, and Katja ducked swiftly under the aperture and into the room beyond. Gell then carefully, gingerly, rotated his own form around the pivot of his hands on the bars, ever mindful of the vicious spikes that formed the base of the apparatus, and which would be only too eager to bite into his exposed torso should his grip falter. He reached the far side of the gate, and then swiftly released the bars and yanked his hands back, as the metal crashed back into the earth with an echoing bang.

After the ceiling thankfully did not collapse upon them, Gell began to look around the room. Still nothing was visible, however; this chamber was clearly beyond the illuminatory capacity of their little torch.

“Well, I don’t hear anything,” Katja muttered, “but I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

“Sure do wish we had more light,” Gell muttered right back.

“Light?” Sarai chirped. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do!” With that, the wordling began to radiate a clear white light many times brighter than their poor beleaguered torch could generate. Gell shot her a disbelieving glare.

“You can do that? All this time we’ve been fussin’ and troublin’ with goddamn torches, and you coulda just lit up the world for us like our own li’l sun?”

“That’s right! I’m pretty amazing, huh?”

Gell did not reply. This was, in part, because he had absolutely nothing to say, and in part because the light had finally grown enough to show them the room they were standing in. And what a sight it was! They were in what appeared to be some type of coliseum, having emerged, apparently, from one of the entrances used by the unlucky gladiators heading off to meet their fates. Across the gigantic arena was another portcullis exactly like the one they’d emerged from, and along the sides were two barred gates leading up into the stands.

The stands were the truly impressive thing. Beginning just at the top of the arena walls — which rose high enough that even Gell wouldn’t be able to reach the tops — and ringing almost the entire arena were thirteen rows of seats, almost every one of them still occupied by the decaying remains of what once was a spectator. The most notable exception was a giant, ornate throne sitting front-and-centre on their left side — the seats all around it were occupied, but the throne itself was conspicuously empty. At either end of the chamber, in the stands, was a large staircase leading upward.

“What the hell,” Gell stated more than asked.

“All these people…” Katja stammered, “they all died like this? Seated in the stands of this sick arena? But how?”

“Got me, love. Don’t look like there was any kinda disaster, or any kinda violence. Like they were just sittin’ there, calmly watchin’ the show, and then… poof.”

“You know, it doesn’t look like there was any kind of violence in the arena, either. I don’t see any remains down here.”

Gell nodded slowly, and then proceeded to the nearest gate into the stands. It was a very secure portal, barred from the opposite side, and even Gell’s strength wouldn’t be enough to overpower it. Still wary of using his more destructive signs this deep underground, Gell realised he’d need a new plan of attack if they didn’t want to spend the rest of their lives in this empty pit.

“Katja,” he asked, “you reckon you’d be able to get that door open from the other side? Looks like the same kinda lock as before.”

“Yes, I probably could. But if we could get to the other side, Gell, we wouldn’t need to open the door.”

“Gimme a little credit here, darlin’. I do know that much. But I reckon I can get you over there, and then you just gotta let me through.”

“How?”

The big Puritan grinned. “I’ll throw ya.”

Katja blanched. “I don’t… I don’t know about that, Gell. Why doesn’t Sarai do it? She can fly, after all, and then you wouldn’t have to throw anybody.”

“Well,” Sarai replied, “I could definitely get that lock open. I’m an old pro at that these days! But there’s no way I could lift the bar.”

“Sorry, darlin’, looks like it’s all you. That is, if you don’t wanna spend the rest o’ your days rottin’ in this pit.”

Katja did not want to rot in the pit, so, grudgingly, she consented to Gell’s cockamamie scheme. Though Gell, with his flair for the dramatic in full effect, had heavily over-dramatized the situation; it turned out that Katja could reach the top of the wall just fine standing on the big man’s shoulders, and nobody needed to get thrown at all. She touched down in the stands and began to head for the door when, from nowhere, a deep, booming horn sounded an alarmed note. Then a disembodied voice resounded through the chamber:

“The prisoners are escaping! Guards, put those dogs down!”

A form descended from each of the staircases and began charging toward Katja. They appeared vaguely human, but ashen and lifeless, and they were dressed in what appeared as though it was once highly-exquisite leathers, but was now a set of rot and decay. They emitted guttural growls as they brandished their rusted swords.

Katja immediately sprinted for the gate, but the guards were much faster than they looked, and they were almost on top of her by the time she reached it. Grabbing onto the bars, she climbed a few feet upward, and then flipped off the top and over her attackers, driving her blade clean through the heart of one of them.

It didn’t particularly seem to care, not flinching or screaming in the least, and certainly not dying, as had been the plan. Instead, it turned around sharply and chopped at her with the rusted blade, an attack she had not been expecting and which she was just barely able to roll away from. She swiftly retreated back into the stands, the two guards dogging her the whole way.

“Katja!” Gell cried uselessly, as he watched her, unable to participate in the struggle. “Sarai, can you help her? Is there anything you can do?”

The wordling said nothing, simply vanishing. In the blink of an eye she had reappeared on the other side of the wall, and behind the guardians. “Hey, stinky! Yeah, I’m talking to you! Bet you can’t catch me! Look, look, I’m escaping!”

Her taunts had no effect — the guards appeared not to notice her at all, instead chasing Katja through the aisles with dogged persistence. Sarai tried grabbing at their hair, hoping to slow them down, but merely ended up yanking it out unheeded in grotesque clumps. Roughly the same effect was achieved by catching at pieces of armour or clothing.

Katja, for her part, was taking the opportunity to slash and stab whenever it presented itself, but her attacks appeared to have no effect. Occasionally she would inflict what seemed as though it should be a serious injury — a deep chest wound, or a severed digit or a big chunk of flesh — but the guards paid no heed to the wound, chasing after her unstoppably.

Gell had had about enough of this. It was clear that Katja and Sarai couldn’t overcome these monsters, and that they were going to need his help. Grudgingly, he drew Saturnine from its scabbard, took a deep breath, and crashed the sign of Blasting into the gate.

The whole cavern shook with the force of the explosion, but, except for a few small pieces of stone or clumps of soil, remained intact. The gate was blown seven rows up into the stands before it finally stopped bouncing around and came to rest. Gell, slightly disoriented from the force of the blast, rushed through it, only to be greeted by another blast from the unseen horn.

“The prisoners are escaping!” the voice boomed yet again, “Guards, put those dogs down!”

Another two monster guards rushed down into the room. Gell, to his horror, realised only now that Katja was headed around the ring near one of the staircases — directly into the path of one of the new guards! He began running as hard as he could, trying to reach the fracas before the new arrival, but there was no hope of that — the distance was simply too large. He watched helplessly as Katja unknowingly leapt directly into the path of the entering guard… and as the guard charged heedlessly past her.

“Lucky break,” Gell muttered, realising that the new arrivals apparently cared only about him and not about his companions, just as the first two ignored Sarai’s various taunts and attacks. Whirling around, he caught the guard approaching from behind him right underneath the chin, and sent its head flying through the stands. Somewhat unsettlingly, this didn’t seem to impair its body at all, and it still lurched forward and chopped at him with its sword. Gell rolled swiftly to the side, avoiding the clumsy stroke with ease.

“What the hell?” he asked nobody in particular. “It’s like fightin’…” his eyes lit up as he began to understand the situation, “it’s like fightin’ a primal. An animated corpse. You’re nothin’ but a spell-less primal!”

Drawing the Nullification sign, Gell whirled about in a tremendous arc, catching both of his opponents in one swipe. There was a comparatively small roar and wail, and the drained corpses slumped to the ground. Flush with his newfound knowledge, Gell charged around the ring to where Katja and Sarai were still dancing around the first two guards. With a booming yell, Gell carved the black light through both guards, and, as before, a slight wail was heard as the animus drained away from them, and they collapsed. Katja collapsed also, though merely from fatigue.

“Thank you, Gell,” she gasped. “I don’t understand why I couldn’t hurt them. It’s… a little embarrassing.”

“Nothin’ to be embarrassed about. Ain’t your fault you couldn’t kill somethin’ couldn’t be killed.”

“Couldn’t be killed? But you –”

“They were primals, darlin’. Really weak ones. Not a whole lot of animus, but enough to move around. Takes a special kind o’ knack to kill that sorta thing.” He grinned cornily.

They regrouped and gave Katja a moment to catch her breath, and then they proceeded up the nearest stair. It opened into a chamber that appeared to be some type of hellish dormitory — there were no beds, no tables, and no chairs — just shelves, and piles and piles of corpses stacked atop them, each one wearing the same type of garb as the guards they had just beaten. The room was huge, roughly as large as the arena below, and apparently contained the terminus of both staircases. At the far end of the room was a large door.

“Don’t tell me we need to fight through all of these,” Katja moaned. “There must be hundreds of them!”

“No,” Sarai replied, “I don’t think we do. I don’t sense anything in here.”

“Didn’t sense anythin’ downstairs, either, darlin’.”

“I guess you didn’t notice, but, right when that horn sounded, there was a ripple in the flow. It happened both times. But now… everything’s calm.”

“Huh. Well, reckon we’ll keep our eyes open. Ain’t much else we can do.”

Cautiously, they proceeded across the chamber, glancing side-to-side uneasily, as though they expected that every step would be the one to set off the final trap. Their fears were unfounded, however, and they were able to reach the far door unmolested. Opening it, they found themselves in a narrow corridor running to the left and to the right, dotted with empty sconces, but containing no other features of note. The walls in this part of the cave were carved in an elaborate relief of a circle, probably meant to represent the sun, surrounded by wedges, probably representing rays of light. This pattern repeated down the corridor in both directions at least as far as they could see.

“Left!” Sarai declared, unprompted. “I’m sure of it.”

“What’s to the right?” Katja asked.

“Who knows? Not the wordstone, that’s for sure. Come on!”

Sarai bolted down the passage. Katja gave Gell an annoyed look, but he merely smiled and shrugged his shoulders before following the wordling.

The corridor was startlingly long. After they’d been walking a few minutes, Gell couldn’t contain himself any longer.

“Look, darlin’, I ain’t tryin’ to cause any trouble, but are you sure this is the right place?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Honestly, Gell, sometimes I think –”

“Stop!” Katja exclaimed. Gell and Sarai drew to a halt, and shot questioning glances back in her direction.

“Somethin’ the matter, darlin’?”

“Shh,” Katja whispered. “Do you hear that?”

Straining, Gell became aware of a faint metallic grinding, or perhaps a creaking — a noise of metal straining against metal, in any event. It was definitely there, but it was so faint he found himself unable to pinpoint it.

“Well, I sure do hear somethin’. But hell if I know what it is.”

“It’s a trap,” Katja whispered. “So nobody move. Not even an inch.” She began to cast her eyes over the walls, along the ceiling and floor, searching for some sign of the mechanism.

“A trap?” Sarai exclaimed. “Well, I certainly hope you’re not thinking of feeding the wordling to this one. Because the wordling does not appreciate being fed to traps, and has not forgotten what happened in the tower! Hey! Are you listening to me?”

“No,” Katja replied, quietly, “not really.”

Sarai fumed, and Katja resumed her search. Presently, she located what she was looking for — a small slit in the wall. “Aha,” she said, “found it. Floor level, horizontal. Probably a swing blade.”

“What’s that mean?” Gell asked.

“Means you were about a step away from being four inches shorter,” Katja replied.

“So what do we do now?”

“Well,” Katja smirked, “nobody makes the entrance to his evil lair impassible. I mean, he has to go that way himself, right? So there must be a way around this. We just need to find the trigger.”

“Anythin’ I can do?”

“You can stand still, since your right foot is right in the blade’s path. Any movement you make could set it off, and I don’t think you want that.”

“Yeah, reckon not.”

Katja began staring intently at the floor, looking for any indication of a trigger for the trap. Sarai flitted about above, scanning the ceiling. Suddenly, she exclaimed: “hey, what do you suppose this thing is?”

Katja’s eyes ran up along the wall to the wordling’s position. Up near the top was one of the carved relief “suns.” This one was slightly different, however — it had a small notch carved into it, and there was a matching notch in the top of its frame. And it was rotating, only a few seconds removed from lining up correctly.

“Gell!” Katja yelled, “Jump!”

Gell leapt forcefully upward. The dial completed its rotation, and, with an audible click, two blades shot out from the sides of the corridor, swept out a large area, and retreated. Gell landed from his jump, and quickly sprang back out of the path of the blades.

“Whoa,” he stammered, “that was too close for comfort. Glad you gals got it figured out in time!”

“What was that thing?” Sarai asked.

“Brilliant,” Katja said, shaking her head slowly, “absolutely brilliant. This whole corridor is one large pressure plate — you can’t avoid it. And that sun up on the wall is a timer. The trap only goes off if people are standing on the plate for too long, so the bad guys don’t need to worry about it — but it intentionally makes enough noise that we’d notice it.”

“So what you’re sayin’, if I’m readin’ this right –”

“What I’m saying is that it’s a trap that only catches people who stop to find the trap. Brilliant. The bad guys don’t need to remember where the trap is or how to avoid it — they just need to walk down the corridor normally. But the good guys will hear it, stop to search, and then…”

“Yow. Well, I sure am glad you thought a bit faster’n the trap did.”

“Don’t thank me too much. It’s my fault we were in danger to begin with.”

“Nah, you were just doin’ your job. Can’t expect every evil mastermind in creation to make it easy! Now come on, let’s get out of here before the damn thing goes off again.”

Our heroes hustled on down the corridor, now paying more attention to their surroundings in case any further traps should arise. Everything seemed in order, however, and they eventually pulled up in front of a large set of ornate double doors. Above them hung a stone plaque reading “Throne Room.”

Gell tried the doors; they were unlocked and unbarred. Slowly, he pulled them open, revealing a gigantic, regal chamber. Hewed from stone as was the rest of the complex, the throne room was crafted to a much higher standard. The entire length of the room was dotted with what appeared to be natural stone columns, and was laid with what once must have been the finest of carpets, but now were rotten and mildewed. The walls were hung with mouldering tapestries and rotting portraits, and both sides of the gallery were lined with rows of regal chairs, each inhabited by a corpse functionally indentical to the ones found in the arena below. At the far end of the room, atop a regal dais, sat a golden throne, inlaid with rubies and opals, and housing what could only be the king of the bandits.

“Bonerazor,” Sarai whispered.

It could only be he. The great king of the bandits sat atop his throne, his right hand still clutching a devilish sword made from what appeared to be bleached human bones, ground down and fused together in a truly obscene manner. In his left hand was propped a goblet containing the barest remnants of what once must have been a truly exquisite wine. He was bedecked in robes of deep purple, with stunning gold trim, and upon his head was a crown of the blackest iron. The profane spectacle was startling enough in its own right, but Gell could not escape the feeling that there was something else here. Something wrong.

“Hey Gell,” Sarai whispered, “is it just me, or does he not look quite… dead?”

Indeed he did not. It was then that it occurred to Gell what was out of place — Bonerazor appeared not to have decayed at all. Seated on his great throne, he looked as though he were deeply asleep. Even his accoutrements appeared unmolested by the passage of time — his grand robes were neither rotten nor even dirty.

“That’s weird,” Gell stated, cautiously. “Sarai, honey, is there any chance he’s still alive? Like maybe he used his wordstone to get him eternal life?”

“I don’t… think so. I can’t do that in this form, anyhow, but I suppose I don’t know for a fact that his wordling couldn’t.

“That ain’t reassurin’, love.”

“Sorry. Best I have.”

Our heroes slowly approached the dais, conscious of every motion and every sound, expecting at any moment that the great bandit king would rise up to repel the intruders. But he remained dormant even as they stepped onto the dais itself.

“Now, Sarai, you’re sure this is the place, yeah? The stone’s right here?”

“I’m sure, Gell. The stone is… it’s with Bonerazor.”

Wordlessly, Gell approached the throne. The great king of the bandits was slumped before him, motionless, lifeless, but looking as though he could spring into action at any moment.

“Wait a minute, Gell,” Sarai interjected, “the stone’s not with Bonerazor. It’s… I think it’s behind the throne.”

“Behind it?” Gell asked.

Just then, a large clanking noise emanated from halfway up the chamber. Gell whirled around to meet this new threat, only to see a rusted old helmet rolling around on the ground, seemingly devoid of any context.

“Well, that’s weird. What in the –” Gell’s rhetoric was interrupted by a blast of force that caught him square in the back and sent him tumbling off the dais. Bruised, burned, and stunned, he gathered himself up and sprang to his feet, just in time to leap out of the way of a second blast and be greeted by a maniacal cackle from the dais.

“You fell for it! I can’t believe you fell for it!” The gloating assailant was a large man, darkly coiffed, with a thick, bushy mustache, and wearing truly garish robes. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he bombasted. “I am Renault Blackwell, Dean of Technomagicology of the College of One. I have already recovered the wordstone from our friend here, and I’ll be taking it back to the College with me, along with his body, which will be a fascinating subject for study. Also I’ll be taking your wordling, Puritan.”

“That’s what you think!” Sarai spat. “But I’m not going anywhere. Gell and I are bound together for life!”

“That, my dear, will not be an obstacle.” Blackwell grinned.

Gell wasted no time on bantering, instead choosing to seize the opportunity and attack. The black glow of Saturnine whirled through the air toward Blackwell, but the mage was not to be caught off-guard quite so easily. A gout of flame erupted from the floor directly in Gell’s path, and the Puritan was forced to abandon his assault.

Blackwell cackled. “You fool! I am not so easily overcome, and not at all by a whelp of your insignificant stature. And certainly not by… you!” He whirled around and ensnared Katja in a web of magical energy. The thief had been sneaking around behind him, looking for an opening, but he had seen right through her, and now he was cruelly shocking the life right out of her. Katja screamed.

Gell was still trapped behind the wall of flames, desperately trying to come up with a way out. The flames themselves were ordinary, and his attempts to Nullify them met with no success. He had only one chance, and he knew it; swiftly, he struck at the floor with the sign of Blasting, driving himself upward into the air. Then he attempted to reorient himself in time to pull the same trick on the wall, and was propelled over the flames, crashing to the ground in a heap at the foot of the dais. Blackwell seemed unconcerned.

“Well, aren’t we the tricky one! Come one step closer, Puritan, and your friend will be history!”

Gell cursed. He knew there was no way he could cover the distance between himself and the mage in time — not with Katja in his grasp the way she was. But he had to do something; Katja’s screams were a constant reminder that inaction would be just as fatal.

Just then, Blackwell let out a piercing shriek and crumpled to the ground. The web of force holding Katja in its grip dissipated, and she slumped downward as well. Blackwell came up swiftly, his right hand clutching at a vicious-looking dart protruding from his right eye socket, and roared with anger.

“You are finished, Blackwell,” came a voice from the back of the chamber. Gell turned, and he saw a very familiar sight; a sleek-looking woman with a ferocious red mane and a stunning red bodysuit came striding boldly up the aisle. “Surrender the wordstone and I’ll allow you to keep the other eye.”

“You… valueless whore!” Blackwell roared. “How dare you!”

He raised his arms, and another dart flew from the woman’s hand almost more quickly than even Gell’s eyes could follow. But it was fruitless, as Blackwell was no longer present when the dart reached him, having vanished in a cloud of acrid smoke. “Tougher than I expected,” the woman muttered.

“Hey,” Gell said, composing himself, “don’t I know you?”

“You do not, Puritan Gell, though I understand why you would believe otherwise. I am Carmine of the Hand, and I am here to retrieve your wordstone, and to avenge the death of Sister Crimson.”

“Thought you were lookin’ for Blackwell.”

“He has fled. I have other objectives. Shall we get down to it?”

“Don’t suppose you’d rather just talk things over.”

“Your supposition is correct.” With that, she drew two wicked-looking curved blades from scabbards at her belt. Tucking the flat edges along her body, she rushed at Gell, whirling around like a dancer, and leaving him assaulted from many directions at once.

Saturnine flashed and danced, but the woman was blindingly fast, and Gell was unable to make any of his strikes count. Time and again they repeated their routine, the whirling dervish closing in, Gell leaping away and striking, Carmine repelling his strikes and closing again.

“Y’know, Carmine,” he conversed jovially as he was dodging and parrying strike after strike, “you ain’t bad. Got a pretty big flaw in your stance, though. Tell you what — you knock this off now and scoot outta here, I won’t wallop you. Sound fair?”

“Fool,” she replied coldly, “you cannot trick me with such trifling schemes.”

“Suit yourself,” the Puritan replied cheerily. He set himself and waited for her next attack. She came in, he leapt back, and this time he aimed his strike for her ankles. She was quick, however, and skillfully manoeuvred her lower blade into position and parried the strike. In doing so, however, she left her midsection momentarily unguarded, and, with a quick pivot, Gell planted his boot firmly in her abdomen.

Carmine gasped and gurgled, staggering backwards and sitting down hard on the stone of the floor. Gell stalked over to her wordlessly, and struck her hard in the temple with the pommel of Saturnine. She collapsed.

“She won’t be gettin’ up for a while,” Gell called, cheerily. “You doin’ okay, Katja?”

“I… yeah. Everything hurts, but I’m still alive. What happened, Gell? Is she dead?”

“Nah, she ain’t dead. I ain’t got the heart to kill her. She’s gonna take a nap for a little bit, and then wake up with a hell of a headache, but she’ll live. Reckon that Blackwell got away with the wordstone, though.”

“That’s not all,” Sarai interrupted, sounding worried. “Look what else he got away with.”

Gell followed her pointing finger up to the dais, and saw that Bonerazor’s throne now stood empty. “Son of a bitch,” he exclaimed in disbelief.