Skippii formed his men up on the north side of Thylon and raised the banners. Those of his men who were to stay behind had gone into the town at dawn with a message to the Kronaians. But they had not answered. No horns rang. No standards flew. At last, as the sun rose over the diminishing mountains to the east, he decided he'd waited long enough, and gave the word to move out.

"Let it fly," Skippii said, and Cliae unfurled their standard and held it aloft. He took the lead with his legionnaires, putting Thylon at their backs. Thirty-eight auxiliaries came after in a disorganised fashion. Mixed among them were their four pack mules and their tenders. His cavalry had ridden ahead at sunrise, and Arius accompanied them. In all, it was a miniscule force–not even the size of his old tonnage–but it was all Ikaros could hope for.

Skippii's eyes forever fell on the looming mountains, which grew before them. The land before them crested and fell like building waves against a wharf. Daunted by their task, his company remained quiet. The cart which dragged Drusilla behind them creaked down an uneven path. In the afternoon, he spotted the distant brown dots of cattle in a field. With them was a herder and his sons, and they steered their cattle with haste. From over the hill's ridge came a rider, tall and red cloaked, and with him was a company of cavalry.

The Lacustrians went to the shepherd, and Skippii's stomach twisted with anticipation.

"Thank the Gods," Orsin sighed. "A good meal again."

"I hope they don't take too many," Skippii said. "His flock is only small."

"Arius will be fair," Orsin said.

Just then, a call sounded from their rear. A horse cantered up the path towards him, and atop it sat a boy dressed in simple grey clothes.

"A message," he hailed. "For the heres Altay."

Skippii waved his hand and took the horses' stirrups as it trotted close.

"Lord Cesturos has taken command of the Kronaian Fifty-Three. We are Forty-Nine now, as some remain loyal to Demakles. The lord now marches to entreat with you, and join your quest."

Skippii scowled, taking it in. "Then march with haste, we shall not pause. Find us at our camp at sundown, and I shall entreat. But we have not the luxury of time. Now go. Tell Cesturos I suggest they double their pace."

"Yes heres." The messenger turned his horse about and spurred it into a gallop.

"Well that is good news at least," Tenoris said. "The Forty-Nine… That makes our force almost one hundred."

"If you count those sheep," Cur said. "And not for long at that."

When they came to a bridge over a gurgling stream, Skippii and Thales inspected the waters. They were clear, and did not foam by the bank.

"It comes from the mountains," Thales said.

"Safe to drink?" he asked.

Thales gave a nod, and they all filled their waterskins. Skippii observed his company during the short break. The woman whom he had taken from the Kronaian's last night now travelled at Thales' side. The old man spoke to her in soft tones, and she listened, but remained mute.

Kylinissa rode alongside them upon her black stallion, silent and brooding, twilight-blue hood ever shadowing her face. Skippii had taken her advice and dispatched a messenger to the Cover of Kylin that morning, but whether the boy would be able to find them in time, and how they would respond to his call for assistance at Ikaros was uncertain.

They marched until the sun began to set, and then a little further. His scouts returned with the carcasses of two sheep.

"We would have taken more," Arius explained, "if we had time to herd them. This meat–it will last us. Any more would be wasted."

Oddly, he waited for Skippii's response. "Yeah," he said. "Good call."

"I'd have had one to myself," Kaesii whined. "Where is he, this hereder? I'll go get another."

"Long gone," Arius grinned.

"They'll do," Skippii said. "Let's set up here then. Cook the offal and stew tonight. When the Kronaians catch up, they can have what's left. Dry out the good meat…" He stopped short. "You know what to do better than me, Arius."

The hawkish man winked at him and set about his task. Skippii fetched Cliae, and the two ventured through the forest, away from where their camp was being set. They found a small clearing, and Cliae unpacked their wax tablets and a single tome, quill and ink pen.

"I've listed your new evocations in my records," Cliae said. "Would you like to hear them?"

"Okay then," Skippii said, stretching and flexing his muscles beneath the sparse canopy.

"Bassalt Knuckles: coat one's fists in a layer of basalt, that can be moulded into the shape of spikes, or a hammer head."

While they spoke, Skippii rehearsed the evocation, reaching down and pushing his fist through the earth to form a gauntlet.

"Bassalt Shield," Cliae read. "Expand the coating, taking on more basalt to form a shield."

Skippii did so. The ground beneath his feet was warm and malleable like fresh dough. It coated his arm smoothly, then formed shape at his whim. He burned it into hardening, and out of the flames emerged a large, thin slab–almost the size of a legionnaire's shield.

"It's getting bigger," Skippii said, tapping the surface with his knuckle. "How quick was that?"

"Ten count," Cliae said, then smiled. "Room for improvement."

Skippii tensed his arm and willed the heat of the earth into his shield. It glowed orange, then started to crumble away. Shaking his arm, he rid himself of the remnants, but a crust of earth still clung to his flesh. Picking at it, he found that it did not pinch his flesh or cause him discomfort. Rather, it almost seemed to fuse with his skin itself.

A shiver ran up his spine. It was not human-like; it was something else. He averted his eyes from the rock callouses and forced his hands to his sides. "What else?"

"Ashen Shroud," Cliae read, unaware of his discomfort. "Form a cloud of smoke and mist to veil oneself."

Raising his palm, Skippii brought the heat of the earth to the surface. The air thickened, and before long, Cliae's slender figure became a blur in the shroud.

"Good," they coughed. "Next–and don't do this one with me nearby–but next is Scalding Cloud."

Swiping his hand through the air, Skippii released the heat of the earth. The wind scattered the smoke and mists, but he held a patch of the Ashen Shroud in his palm. He fed the air with his energy, cradling it like an ember. Then, with a surge of thaugia, he boiled the cloud, scalding the air about it.

"Didn't know I could do that," Skippii said.

"You just…" Cliae gawped. "That control… You… The flame was outside your body. The mist, I mean. The heat."

"Yeah," Skippii scowled. "Have I done that before?"

"I don't think so," they stammered, searching through his ordinatio. "There's Siphon Flame, but that's a single, simple command, drawing thaugia from a source the same as you would the earth. And Rockfang, but no, that's brutish; an explosion from a distance. It doesn't demonstrate control… Your Metalurgic Warp does, but that's with contact with an object; the heat of it. This… How did you do that?"

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"I nurtured it," Skippii shrugged. "I could still feel the heat of the cloud's power. It wasn't within me–it wasn't my own. Are you sure that's significant?"

"Yes," Cliae said, riffling through their tablets. "Here. Primordial Moulding, that's the name I gave to your experiments with trying to create a construct."

"Oh," Skippii said. "I'd forgotten about that."

"Well I haven't," Cliae said. "A key weakness was that as soon as you let go of your construct, it grew cold. It couldn't sustain the power."

"But, maybe by staying near, I could contain it for longer?" Skippii said. "Nurture it."

"Maybe."

"What good is that anyway?" he dismissed. "All I could do was form snakes and toads in the dirt."

"But," Cliae stressed, "What if we solved that riddle too? This evocation… It's more complex than any other, so that stems to reason that it will require more parts. More foreknowledge and practice."

Skippii sighed as his mind wandered to the Mantikhoras. What good would clay figurines do against such a beast? "Are there any other evocations we could work on?"

Cliae seemed to deflate a fraction, then flicked through his ordinatio. "I have already advised that you train this Basalt affinity, and see what else can be evoked. You might likewise raise the earth and set your body ablaze, and see what limitations there are to your power. But you have said it yourself before. Our sessions–this training–it is best to develop your ordinatio laterally. Your power… that is expanded when you are truly tested. We cannot do that here alone. I could hit you with a stick if you'd like, or you could burn some of these trees. But truly, that would not prepare you for the Mantikhorus either."

Skippii held his breath. Was he that easy to read? But of course, Cliae was one of his closest companions. Bowing his head, he pawed at the ground and sighed. "You're right, as usual, with these matters."

"That's my job."

Taking a deep breath, Skippii knelt to the earth and connected with his Magmatic Core. The earth melted to clay at his touch. He took a clump into his hand, and was struck by the ignorance of his actions. Why was he following a potter's craft when he was no potter. He was the Primordial heres. Thaugia filled his palms, and he kept it in flux, kneading the earth into a mound. What roots and rocks were inside were burned and spat out. The wart grew into a mound–still attached to the earth–still linked to the body of Cor.

Shutting his eyes, he imagined it taking the shape of a powerful guardian–the very same which he had faced at the temple of Cor. His hands worked with a mind of their own, wielding a chisel of thaugia. He felt it grow in his palms, and excitement rushed into his mind, muddying his image. He shook himself and focussed on his breath. The clay cooled beneath his hand as slowly, its connection with Cor was severed. But an ember remained at his heart–his thaugia–his to command.

He opened his eyes and beheld his creation. A twisted shape beheld him, part humanoid, part toad. It crouched at his feet, or bent over, crippled. Skippii couldn't tell.

"I thought I had it," he sighed.

"That's brilliant," Cliae gasped. "Look how much bigger it is than before."

"What even is it?" he said, searching its gloopy limbs for a face.

"It's…" Cliae stammered. "It's a construct of some sort. A… it's your creation. What were you hoping for?"

"I imagined one of those temple guardians," Skippii scoffed.

"I see the resemblance," Cliae said unconvincingly.

"Do you?"

"Well it's better than a mud-worm. Can it move?"

Skippii addressed the child-sized construct and felt, there within, the tug of his thaugia at its heart. "I'm connected to it somehow. It has a seed inside it." Raising his palms, he spoke. "Rise now."

The construct jolted to life. He startled and jumped backwards, and the construct collapsed again.

"Oh Gods," he gasped. "I didn't expect… It looks so stupid and weak."

Cliae chuckled. "Try it again."

Slower this time, he raised his palms and commanded it. "Rise."

The construct shook to life and rose on rickety legs like a newborn dear. Three limbs, it had, and a torso that was shaped like a shield, and an eyeless mound for a head gaping with crusted lips.

"Come," Skippii said.

It teetered towards him, then collapsed under its own weight.

"Is it alive?" Cliae asked.

"Gods, I hope not," Skippii said. "It looks miserable."

"Shall we…" Cliae started. "Do you think the others-"

"No," Skippii insisted. "Don't tell them. Don't show them. Look at it, they'll be horrified."

"I don't think they would." Cliae smiled. "I think they'd laugh."

He grunted. "Fantastic. But I'd rather you wait until I could make something a bit more impressive than this… thing."

"Hormunculous," Cliae said.

"Yeah."

"Better get practicing then," Cliae gleamed, and in their eyes shone the sentiment: told you I was right.

***

Cliae had nodded off by the time Skippii was done with his training. All around him lay the wreckages of hormunculi–formed from clay. None had borne a noble human shape, no matter how hard he focussed on forming its requisite parts: their legs, arms and torso all melded into a mess.

Taking Cliae into his arms, he strode back to their camp, guided by his companion's firelight. There, he found the Kronaians, encamped alongside his force. Setting Cliae down among his companeight, he summoned Tenoris.

"Come with me," he said.

"Is there trouble?" the big legionnaire said, rising.

"None," he said. "But let's not invite it."

Indeed, Lord Cesturos welcomed them both. He shook Skippii's hand firmly, but did not scowl as his prince, Demakles, had. Cesturos was the eldest of the remaining forty-nine Kronaian spearmen–wisest of their clan. He spoke of being an advisor to their king–a service which granted him the authority to lead the remaining force of mutineers. Skippii didn't care for the politics, as long as it meant more men for his task.

"I trust my men have shared with you their supper," he said.

"They have," Cesturos said. His Auctarian dialect was smoother than any of the other Kronaians, but still contained a sharp twang. "You have my thanks. We will need our strength for the mountains. Had we known such a journey was ahead, we would have packed thicker cloaks."

"Don't worry about that," Skippii said. "I can warm us all. I can melt the snow if I have to."

Lord Cesturos' eyes narrowed and he tilted his head. "Your powers… I have heard only rumour."

"Well, if we catch sight of the heretic's trail, I'll give you a proper show."

The bravado of his statement drew Cesturos' grin across his cheeks. "Then I pray to my Gods that it happens."

And so it was that on the morning of the next day, while they were packing down their camp to depart, their prayers were answered.

A horn blew from far off; high and blazing, it bore the legion's tone. Skippii dashed towards it as his companeight gathered their weapons to follow. His cavalry had all been out in the field scouting since sunrise, including Arius. The horn blew again, and they all rushed to its aid.

Boiling Blood burned in his veins as he shot through the forest. he he evoked a Blazing Armour and burst through a thicket, burning its branches to a crisp. Onwards he ran until he crested a hill and looked down over the wooded valley. To the east, a broad meadow emerged from the woodland, and over its tall grass flew a cloud of locusts. The meadow's tall grass and flowers decayed as they soared over it, leaving a trail of rotten vegetation in their wake. Three figures–like hawks–soared within the cloud. The three heretic magi that had escaped him at the temple.

Skippii bolted after them. Horns bellowed in the rushing wind. He was aware of horsemen converging on his position. His cavalry had awaited his arrival, now kept pace. One bore a red cloak–Arius–and another dark blue–Kylinissa. But over the rough terrain, he was quicker, and he burst out of the forest alone. Sprinting, he cut his own destruction through the meadow. The air warped around his fury. He would burn them and have his vengeance for Drusilla's mutilation.

The cloud grew closer, and he smelled it now, wet and pungent. A shriek rose from heretics as they gave flight–not a call to battle–but of terror. It spurred him on–the taste of their charged flesh was at his lips. He bounded broader than a horse's gait, faster than a hare. Each stride burst into flames and thrust him forward. Closer. Coming now to their folly like a storm.

Something deep beneath the earth pressed against his mind. It was not his power–not Primordial. It was cold, and cruel, and cunning. Far off, it began. With a speed that crossed the horizon in a blink, it rushed towards him.

Skippii dug his heels in and with a shower of sparks came to a stop. The meadow around him was ablaze, and through the smoke he spotted his companions on his tail.

"Run!" he shouted, and waved his arms. "Don't follow. Run!"

The earth shuddered so powerfully that the very air hummed with agony. He caught a glimpse of horses falling and baying in terror, and Arius flung from his steed. Then came an ear-splitting crack. The earth split beneath him. Skippii rolled upright and darted as a chasm opened where he had been standing. Running flat out through the meadow, he called upon his thaugia, but it came thinly, spluttering into his veins. His blood boiled but his pace was slow, and the flames were shallow on his flesh. It felt as though something had shut the door to his powers, sealing them behind a cage's bars.

There was another crash, as thunder struck his eardrums, and another chasm opened before him. Skippii turned in a blind panic and ran, but the meadow crumbled away underfoot until all that was left was a single tower of land. Horrified, he recalled the nightmarish visions he had witnessed during his Primordial awakening of the death of the realm.

The meadow caved inwards, swallowed by a gigantic maw. At the far side rose a mound. Three ridges formed its peak. The earth's trembling slowed to a stop as the land slid into its depths; stones rolled and settled like a dwindling hailstorm. Streams became waterfalls as they cascaded into its depth. Skippii panted and looked behind him. He saw only one horse, and atop it was a dark-cloaked figure.

"Kylin-" he started, but was cut off by a tremendous rumble.

You dare meddle with my domain? The deep voice reverberated through the rock and rattled his jaw. You dare impose yourself a demi-god?

Skippii turned, dreading what he would see. The mound's three ridges had transformed into gaping sockets. And in them shone three eyes: one was pure crystal with a black pupil that vibrated maniacally inside; the central eye was pure obsidian, smooth and impervious to light; the third was pearl, and reflected all colours of the spectrum–a blinding rainbow that stung his eyes.

Bastard child. The tower upon which he stood shook and its edges crumbled. Skippii fell and crawled into its centre. It grew narrower with each breath.

I claim thee my prisoner. Now to answer for your crimes.

"I am not your enemy," he cried. "I am an ally of Oyaltun's. And Kylin–she has aided me in battle. I am not your enemy, Seismorix!"

That is mine to decide.

The tower collapsed.

Skippii leapt for the far edge, but it was hopeless. He plunged into the depths of The God's domain.

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