The Warlord (Rise of the Warlords 1)

In an instant, cold replaced warmth. A scattering of torches lined the wall, providing the only source of light. Like any well-used dungeon, centuries of torture and abuse stained every visible surface.

He stalked down a darkened corridor, cells on either side of him. Other hallways branched off here and there, offering more cells, but he remained on his current path. At last, the lockup at the end of the corridor came into view. The harpies roamed about in varying stages of undress. As some washed their clothes in a tub of water and snacked on fruits, breads and cheeses, they debated whether Mara qualified as a General. Taliyah’s doing?

Roux paced in front of the cell, mumbling again. What puzzle plagued him? He usually figured things out by now. “Why don’t I remember? What don’t I remember?”

“Be at ease, warrior,” Roc told him, using his gentlest voice.

The male jerked and stopped, then slowly turned, facing him. Their gazes met, those red irises haunted. “Some of the invasion is wiped from my memory. What did I do? Why did I do it?”

“You fought at my side.” At first. Minutes before the harpies issued their surrender, Roux had frozen, doing nothing, saying nothing.

“What are these thoughts?” Roux pulled at his hair. “They aren’t mine.”

Were he anyone else, Roc might suggest he showed signs of a phantom possession. But no phantoms had been present during the battle. Nor did a phantom possess the power to penetrate an Astra’s shields, not without time and never without the warlord’s awareness.

The harpies stopped what they were doing and approached the bars. Voices rang out.

“Are you our new warden? Bummer. I liked the last one. He struggled to form a complete sentence. The best quality in a man, I always say.”

“Let’s see. We’ve gotten to interact with the brainless Scarecrow and the heartless Tin Man. Does that make you the Cowardly Lion?”

“Have you ever wondered what it’s like to have your skin ripped off your body in one piece, turned inside out, then shoved on?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m here to learn more about Taliyah Skyhawk.” Why not bargain with these prisoners? Surely they desired other amenities.

“Oh, what perfect timing!” a female called. “I was just telling the girls how much I’d love to help you get to know our T-bomb better.”

“Having trouble intimidating your new bride?” another cackled. “I hope she gags you with your own testicles.”

They snickered at each other, as if he were a fool for coming here. He absolutely was.

“Do I have nothing you want?” he asked.

“I’ll give you a Taliyah fact free of charge.” The only redhead smiled slyly at him. “She’s the one who stopped the great zombie apocalypse in our nineteenth century.”

He’d caught up on the world’s history before invading Harpina. “There was no zombie apocalypse.”

“Exactly.”

“Did you know Taliyah—”

Roc lost track of her words as Silver’s voice boomed through his mind.

—We have the first phantom trapped.—

“Stay here,” he commanded Roux, wiping all thoughts of his gravita from his head. Using the mental link between them, he unearthed Silver’s location and flashed.

Halo stood at the warlord’s side. Ian appeared next to Roc. They occupied a midsize building. A bar he’d visited before, during one of his preliminary visits. The place once brimmed with harpies. Now, no bodies. Tables and chairs were pushed aside. At the edge of the dance floor, an embodied phantom trudged a continuous circle inside a prison of trinite.

Swaying from side to side, she droned, “Get inside, embody, walk around, tell Roc. Get inside, embody, walk around, tell Roc.”

Orders from her master. Whatever Erebus commanded of his creations, they repeated over and over as they obeyed. A checklist.

The phantom had pallid and waxen skin with no distinguishing marks and eyes of milky white that stared at nothing. She wore an ill-fitting gown. Widow’s weeds, of course.

Erebus always sent his phantoms in widow’s weeds. A reminder of the worst day of Roc’s life.

Black lines branched from her eye sockets, a sure sign of hunger. How long since she’d fed? Years, he would guess. Until she completed her master’s mission, she couldn’t eat.

A single meal powered most phantoms for months. Erebus preferred to keep his puppets starved for decades, however. When they finally had a chance to eat, they gorged.

“She never approached the wall,” Halo said, stroking his strong jaw. “Erebus must have flashed her in.”

Roc gripped the hilt of his three-blade. Like the Astra, Erebus didn’t need a key to enter a realm: he was a key. But he left telltale signs of his presence. A glaze of frost everywhere he stepped. Ice crystals in the air. The stench of death.

“He can’t enter the realm without alerting us.” A possibility: Erebus flashed the phantom without needing to touch her. A skill Roc had once believed only Ian possessed.