The dragon was still terrifying people.
Hexen had stopped thinking of that as a side effect.
From eighty feet above the fortress courtyard, the great red shape circled through smoke and magical light, wings beating hard enough to scatter dust from the battlements below. Men and women who had stood their ground against the Heroes of Oxland broke when his shadow passed over them. Some fled toward towers. Others ran until the outer magical shell stopped them and then discovered there was nowhere farther to go.
A few remained.
Those were the dangerous ones.
They did not mistake fearlessness for immortality, but neither did they surrender simply because an adult red dragon had materialized inside walls built to withstand armies. Spears of pale light formed in their hands and crossed the courtyard toward Hexen. One struck scales and burst apart. Another passed beneath his wing.
Hexen banked.
Below him, Kaylor kept moving toward the temple.
That had become the only direction that mattered.
The battle behind them was collapsing. Defenders still occupied sections of the walls, but fewer with every heartbeat. Fendor advanced beneath them, the frost bow in his hands, picking targets from parapets whenever they exposed themselves. Isamu moved ahead of everyone as usual, crossing ground so quickly that distance seemed to exist only for other people.
Nethnarel flew lower behind him.
The chanting had changed.
Not in rhythm.
In weight.
The closer they came to the temple, the less it sounded like voices and the more it felt like pressure inside the skull.
Hundreds of people.
Perhaps more.
One word after another, repeated until meaning no longer mattered.
The ancient temple stood ahead of them.
Unlike the repaired houses and fortress walls surrounding it, the central structure did not belong to the settlement that had grown around it. Parts of its façade had been resurfaced. Newer stone covered older stone. Symbols of the Naked Goddess had been attached over carvings whose meanings the cult apparently preferred forgotten.
But the building underneath was ancient.
Ancient enough that the last guardian's family had watched it through generations that had forgotten why it deserved watching.
Ancient enough that it had been silent for thousands of years.
The silence was gone now.
Isamu reached the entrance first.
A broad stair climbed to a recessed doorway.
He ran up it.
Then stopped.
That alone told the others there was a problem.
Fendor called from behind him.
“Door?”
Isamu touched the space before it.
His fingers stopped.
“Another barrier.”
Fendor closed his eyes briefly.
“Of course.”
The temple had a door.
The magic had a different opinion about whether anyone should use it.
Isamu moved his hand along the invisible surface, searching for an edge.
There was none.
The spell lay inside the entrance rather than across the entire outer building, sealing the way forward after the mundane doorway.
He could break the physical door.
The thing behind it did not care.
Isamu came back out.
“There is a way into the entrance. Not through the barrier.”
Kaylor looked at the temple.
“Can we teleport?”
“Probably.”
Fendor glanced toward the courtyard behind them.
“We could also finish killing everyone shooting at us first.”
An answer arrived in the form of a spear striking Hexen.
The dragon twisted in the air.
“Good point.”
Hexen opened his jaws.
Fire came down.
The cone engulfed three of the remaining defenders.
For a moment the battlement disappeared completely inside flame. Stone darkened. Metal glowed. One celestial warrior vanished into the inferno. Two others emerged burning and somehow remained upright.
Fendor raised the frost bow.
“That seems unfair.”
Hexen's massive head turned toward him.
“What?”
“You breathed dragonfire on them.”
“Yes.”
“They survived.”
“Yes.”
Fendor fired.
One arrow struck the first survivor.
The second took the other.
The third corrected what remained of the first one's enthusiasm for living.
Fendor lowered the bow.
“Better.”
The fortress answered with magic.
A column of divine flame descended.
Kaylor saw it too late.
Fendor saw it at exactly the same time.
Neither escaped.
Fire and radiant force crashed across them in a single vertical blast. Kaylor staggered. Fendor dropped to one knee, smoke rising from his armor.
Fendor looked toward the distant caster.
“I preferred the spears.”
Kaylor straightened.
“You're fine.”
“No. I'm functioning.”
“Same thing.”
“That explains a great deal about you.”
Kaylor jumped from the wall.
Thirty feet of empty air separated him from the courtyard below.
Fendor watched him go.
“Kaylor.”
The dragonborn landed hard enough to crack loose stone and immediately rose.
Fendor stared.
“Never mind.”
Kaylor had already chosen his next opponent.
The celestial defender barely had time to turn.
The axe struck.
Radiant power followed.
The creature reeled, answered with fire, and discovered that Kaylor was considerably less impressed by flames than most people.
Fendor came in from the side.
The Vorpal Longsword replaced the bow.
The first cut opened the defender's guard.
The second finished what Kaylor had started.
The head did not leave the body cleanly.
Storm-giant strength still surged through Fendor from the potion he had consumed outside the fortress.
It compensated.
Kaylor looked at the result.
“That counts.”
“Not as a vorpal.”
“The head came off.”
“Eventually.”
“That is what off means.”
Fendor wiped the blade.
“I dislike imprecision.”
Behind them, Nethnarel reached the temple stairs.
The Portable Hole was already in her hand.
She had used it once to make a doorway through a magical wall that should not have possessed one. There was no compelling reason not to try the same insult again.
She landed on the upper step.
“Inner barrier?”
Isamu nodded.
“Inside.”
Nethnarel started forward.
Fendor saw her.
“Wait.”
Nethnarel turned.
“For what?”
“The rest of us.”
“I am waiting.”
“You are walking while saying that.”
“I can do both.”
“That isn't waiting.”
She reached the entrance.
Something moved in the wall beside her.
Not a hidden door.
Smoke.
A woman stepped from it.
For one heartbeat there was only a silhouette.
Then armor caught the light.
The warrior carried a broad shield and long spear. She looked almost human, except for the same impossible perfection the heroes had noticed among several of the fortress guardians—the quality of something shaped according to an idea of humanity rather than born into it.
Nethnarel reacted first.
She snapped the Portable Hole open across the floor.
The celestial warrior charged.
Her foot struck darkness.
She disappeared.
Nethnarel blinked.
Then folded the hole.
Fendor had seen a great many magical solutions.
This was among the better ones.
“Where is she?”
Nethnarel tucked the folded cloth away.
“Stored.”
“You put a celestial warrior in your pocket.”
“Yes.”
Fendor nodded.
“I approve.”
Then another warrior stepped out behind her.
Nethnarel did not see this one.
The shield hit first.
It caught her across the back and shoulder hard enough to drive air from her lungs. She spun, managed to stay upright, and found the spear already coming.
The point struck.
Pain flashed through her side.
Her fiery wings spread instinctively, lifting her away from the floor.
The warrior followed.
Another appeared from the opposite wall.
Nethnarel looked from one to the other.
“Oh.”
The second shield struck.
This time she fell.
She hit the stone hard enough that the world fractured into light and sound. The attacker drove the spear downward.
Nethnarel saw it.
Could not move quickly enough.
The weapon struck.
Then there was nothing.
Fendor saw her go down.
Whatever he had been about to say disappeared.
He moved toward the entrance.
The distance was too great for the sword.
So he stopped.
Raised the frost bow.
Three arrows crossed the courtyard.
The first struck the nearest woman.
The second followed into almost the same wound.
Arcane force entered the third.
It burst.
Ice and magical violence exploded across the entrance, driving the celestial warrior sideways.
Isamu was already there.
Hunter's Mark settled over the enemy.
His whip snapped.
Once.
Twice.
Then he retreated just far enough to make the woman pursue him rather than finish the unconscious sorcerer behind her.
It worked.
Mostly.
The temple defenders had been designed—or chosen—to hold ground.
They did not like being drawn from it.
The one Isamu marked followed.
Another stayed with Nethnarel.
Kaylor saw that.
He ran.
The fortress had stopped being a battlefield with fronts.
It was now several emergencies happening near one another.
Hexen remained overhead, still an adult red dragon and still terrifying anyone who looked at him for too long. Fendor and Isamu fought around the temple entrance. Kaylor was coming across the courtyard. Nethnarel lay motionless beneath the stone arch.
Then one of the priests raised a hand.
Isamu felt the spell lock onto him.
He had felt magic try to hold him before.
Freeze him.
Slow him.
Charm him.
This was different.
This magic rejected him.
The priest spoke.
Isamu vanished.
Fendor turned.
“Isamu?”
Nothing.
Kaylor looked toward the space where the monk had been.
“He's banished.”
Fendor pointed toward the priest.
“Then kill that one.”
Simple plans remained the best plans.
Fendor switched targets.
The frost bow came up.
The priest took the first arrow.
The second.
Still standing.
“Annoying.”
Above them Hexen turned.
The red dragon had not recovered its breath.
So Hexen changed dragons.
Magic swept over the enormous body.
Red scales darkened.
The head changed shape.
Wings shifted.
Blue replaced crimson.
Fendor looked up.
“You can do that?”
The blue dragon looked down.
Apparently.
Hexen climbed.
Lightning gathered inside his jaws.
The priest maintaining Isamu's banishment had just enough time to realize what was above him.
Then the dragon breathed.
Lightning crossed the courtyard in a blinding line.
The priest vanished inside it.
Stone cracked behind him.
When the light disappeared, so did the spell.
Isamu reappeared.
He stood exactly where reality had rejected him moments before.
He looked around.
Fendor nodded toward the dead priest.
“Welcome back.”
Isamu looked up at the dragon.
“Hexen?”
“Yes.”
“You changed.”
“Yes.”
Isamu nodded.
That was enough investigation.
The surviving guardians closed on them.
Fendor put the bow away.
The Vorpal Longsword returned.
He had already fought too many things today to pretend there was anything elegant remaining in the battle.
Storm-giant strength.
Action Surge.
The Vorpal Sheath.
Years of practice.
And opponents clustered close enough that every step placed another within reach.
Fendor attacked.
The first blade stroke struck badly.
The second found the line.
The sword awakened.
There was a particular resistance when steel met bone.
Then no resistance at all.
One head fell.
Fendor turned with the motion.
Another defender entered range.
The Vorpal blade passed through.
A second head fell.
For perhaps half a heartbeat Fendor wondered what the probability of that was.
Then the next opening appeared.
He struck again.
Kaylor saw the result.
“Three?”
Fendor stared at the bodies.
“Apparently.”
Kaylor smiled.
“Efficient.”
“I may never do that again.”
“Do it again.”
“That is not how probability works.”
Kaylor attacked his own opponent.
His axe hit hard enough that the creature's reply became irrelevant.
Around them, the fortress finally began to lose the battle.
Hexen's fear had removed many defenders before steel touched them. Fendor had eliminated others from the walls. Kaylor and Isamu had cut through those who remained near the temple. Nethnarel had put one celestial warrior inside an extradimensional hole.
There were very few left.
Nethnarel remained unconscious.
That mattered more.
Fendor tried to reach her.
Two women blocked him.
Both carried shields.
Both carried spears.
One slammed the shield into him.
Fendor absorbed the impact.
The second did the same.
He remained standing largely because a potion had temporarily given his body the strength of something that considered castles an inconvenience.
A spear slipped through.
Blood followed.
Fendor looked at both warriors.
“Fine.”
The Vorpal Longsword moved.
The women discovered why putting an archer at close range had stopped being the obvious solution to Fendor years ago.
Elsewhere, Kaylor reached one of the last surviving priests and destroyed him.
The spellcaster fell.
Hexen circled.
Isamu moved his Hunter's Mark again.
The fortress became quiet by degrees.
Not silent.
The chanting inside the temple remained.
But the sounds of battle outside began disappearing.
One defender.
Then another.
Then none.
Nethnarel lay on the stone.
A breath passed.
Another.
Her body remained still.
Fendor was halfway toward her when her fingers moved.
Nethnarel inhaled sharply.
Her eyes opened.
One heartbeat of life.
Nothing more than that.
But enough.
She looked upward at the sky.
Then at the blue dragon circling above.
Then at Fendor.
“What happened?”
“You died poorly.”
“I didn't die.”
“You were making a convincing attempt.”
Nethnarel tried to sit.
Pain changed her mind.
“Help.”
Fendor crouched beside her.
“That I can do.”
They regrouped beneath the temple entrance.
No one suggested pressing forward immediately.
Not even Isamu.
That was how badly the fight had hurt them.
Kaylor laid a hand against his own wounds first, closing damage that would have killed most warriors before battle even began. What power remained afterward he gave to Nethnarel, restoring enough strength that she no longer looked as though a stern conversation might knock her unconscious again.
Hexen returned to himself.
The dragon contracted.
Blue scales vanished.
Human form stood where a creature large enough to dominate the courtyard had been moments earlier.
Hexen immediately began tending the others.
Goodberries disappeared into hands.
Then stronger healing.
Fendor felt a deeper spell close wounds across his body, knitting flesh with a warmth that reached places ordinary healing had not.
Nethnarel received another enchantment.
This one did not simply restore what was lost.
It stayed.
A slow pulse of renewal settled into her body, promising to repair damage as time passed.
She flexed one hand.
“I feel strange.”
Fendor looked at her.
“You looked dead five minutes ago.”
“This is better.”
“Objectively.”
Behind them, the fortress was littered with the consequences of their arrival.
Ahead, the chanting grew louder.
No one needed Nethnarel's magic to recognize what that meant.
They had survived the outer defense.
They had spent time healing.
The ritual had spent that time continuing.
Hexen looked toward the temple.
“We move.”
Fendor checked the frost bow.
Kaylor tightened his grip on the axe.
Isamu stared at the sealed interior door.
Nethnarel stood.
The five heroes entered.
The first chamber was not what Fendor expected.
It was not a grand sanctuary.
Not yet.
Four old columns held a low ceiling above a broad entry hall. At the far end waited the inner door Isamu had already discovered.
The walls told two histories at once.
Newer repairs had been laid over ancient stone. Fresh plaster covered old carving. Symbols of the current cult had been mounted across surfaces that clearly predated the people using them.
And in several places, the newer work had begun peeling away.
Something remained underneath.
Color.
Tiny sections of mosaic.
Fendor stopped beside one.
The fragment showed only part of a shape.
Not enough to understand.
Hexen touched the edge.
“Older than the settlement.”
Kaylor looked toward the inner door.
“Later.”
The chanting answered him.
Louder now.
Almost a physical vibration through the floor.
Nethnarel focused on it.
There was magic in the voices.
She could feel that much.
Not its purpose.
Not yet.
But the congregation beyond that door was feeding something.
The inner barrier had survived everything Isamu tried earlier.
They could spend more magic attempting to dispel it.
They could search for another route.
They could teleport individually and repeat what had nearly killed Nethnarel outside.
Hexen looked at the stone surrounding the door.
Then at the door.
“Move.”
Everyone moved.
He placed one hand against the wall.
Magic entered the ancient stone.
For a moment nothing happened.
Then the surface softened.
Rock ceased behaving as rock.
The wall sagged.
Melted.
The door tilted inside its frame as the material surrounding it surrendered, then disappeared downward into the flowing stone.
A hole opened.
The chanting struck them.
Not louder.
Enormous.
Rows upon rows of people filled the sanctuary beyond.
The pilgrims who had vanished from the settlement.
Farmers.
Travelers.
Families.
Ordinary people who had walked into the mountains because someone had promised that the coming goddess would cleanse the world.
They sat or stood among long rows of pews.
Every face turned forward.
Every mouth moved.
At the far end of the sanctuary stood an altar.
Priests waited around it.
Light circled above them.
Several small luminous forms revolved through the air like fragments of something trying to become whole.
And behind the altar, inside the growing golden radiance, the suggestion of a woman had begun to take shape.
Fendor looked at the congregation.
Then at the priests.
Then at Nethnarel.
“No.”
Nethnarel had already understood.
This was not another wall.
Not another group of guards.
Not another monster they could simply shoot until the problem stopped moving.
The people in the pews were the people from the road.
The pilgrims who had smiled when Kaylor told them their goddess was evil.
The ones who had refused Nethnarel's money because coin would not matter after the world was cleansed.
They had come willingly.
Perhaps.
The chanting rose.
The forming figure above the altar brightened.
Isamu stepped through the ruined wall.
Kaylor followed.
Hexen entered behind them.
Nethnarel's renewed magic pulsed through her wounds.
Fendor raised the Oathbow.
Outside, the fortress had fallen quiet.
Inside, the Gathering had finally shown them what it was gathering for.
And this time, the heroes could not solve the problem without deciding what the people in front of them were worth.