Shro had screamed himself hoarse, hurling a torrent of abuse at the necromancer who had long since left the secret room. Shro had taken up his staff and, in a fit of rage, stove in the skulls of the four servants chained by arcane energy within the binding circles. Now he leaned heavily upon the staff, panting as his heartbeat hammered in his ears. He glared at Fraker's body, feeling an irrational hatred toward the dead body of the legendary hero. Shro the Elder did not know how or why but he was sure that it was all Fraker's fault that Shro's plans had not come to fruition. It could not be any fault of Shro the Elder, for everything had gone exactly according to his plan.

It was Fraker's fault. The large and heavily scarred human that lay on the stone bier, his body as cold as the stone itself, it was his fault. He was the one who had ruined Shro the Elder's plans. He was the one who had denied Shro the Elder the immortality he had craved.

He was the one who...

Fraker's fingers twitched and there was a loud pop from inside the hero's torso. The fingers twitched again and another loud pop sounded out. Shro the Elder stared in shock at Fraker's hands balled into fists and the dead man took a shuddering breath. First one deep thud, then another and another shook the chest of the body, and the blackened handprint seemed to flex, almost as if it was squeezing something, in time with the sudden thudding of a heartbeat.

Before Shro the Elder's rheumy eyes, Fraker's body suddenly wavered and vanished. One minute, the body had been that of a dead man, then it had been breathing, the thunderous sound of Fraker's heartbeat filling the silent chamber, and then the stone bier was empty.

"Nooo! He's mine! He's mine!" Shro the Elder screamed at the uncaring ceiling. "I killed him! Me! He's mine!"

The graven and inlaid ceiling ignored him.

* * * * *

Lomdus sighed heavily as he stared out the graven crystal windows at the garden beyond. He could see diminutive garden faeries playing among the blossoms, and knew that they were watching over the bees pollinating the bushes and trees that made up the stately garden.

The elder statesman's whole world was in shambles. Shro the Elder had vanished, the Council of Equals had discovered that the vanished council member had absconded with nearly the entire treasury of the city. The shame had caused Shro the Younger's heart to give out and much of the rest of the Council had retired to their estates to recover from the shock of Shro the Elder's betrayal. Lomdus himself had rushed back from the Arch-Duchy of Alben to his beloved city to find it reeling in shock, leaderless and afraid of the future.

The people of the trade-town knew that Shro had betrayed them and were angry at the Council of Equals. There were ugly mutters of lynching, an angry mage who had not been paid for her work had used magic to burn Gree the Crone's manor to the ground, even the stone burning, and the guards were threatening to abandon their posts and join those who were angry and ready to riot.

Lomdus had pleaded for calm among the citizenry, opened up his treasure vaults and given deeply to the city to ensure that city workers would be paid, that grain would be bought for the common people to eat, and that the trade-town continued on.

While the rest of the Council of Equals had hidden in their manors, behind their remaining loyal guards, Lomdus had worked tirelessly to ensure that the devastation left behind by Shro's betrayal could be sorted out. The elderly man had worked from sunup to sundown to save his beloved home, had gone through almost all of his personal fortune, had even begged the High Baron Jatthew for assistance (which was surprisingly granted, exempting Gretlin from this year's taxes), had worked until his wife had feared for his health. All the while the rest of the Circle of Equals had...

...had...

Lomdus clenched his fists in anger, still staring out the window. Behind him he could hear the rustle of fine fabrics and the breathing of the surviving council members.

"Well, Lomdus, what gives you the right to summon us? Not request a meeting of the Council, but summon us, like unwashed commoners to the feet of the High Baron?" Fralla the Nine-Fingered sneered, her nasal voice setting Lomdus' teeth on edge.

Getting a rein on his temper, something that was difficult for the elder statesman to accomplish, as he'd never been one for acts of rage even in his youth, Lomdus turned from the window and the sight of the garden faeries playing in the bird-bath, and faced his 'betters' from the Council.

They were gathered around the meeting table that had been rescued from the debris of Lomdus' home, drinking from delicate crystal flutes, eating off of ancient and cultured ceramic dinnerware, and using carved and inlaid utensils, all of it passed down for generations in Lomdus' family.

An elderly war-hound got up from where it had been laying by the fireplace and wandered over to where Lomdus stood staring at the rest of the Council. The old man held out one hand and allowed the hound to lick his hand, his eyes sweeping over the rest of the occupants of the room.

Powerful men and women who headed guilds. Krevak Rockbiter, head of the grocer's guild. Prulak White-eyes, head of the money-changer's guild. Merrin duReldik, head of the baker's build. And over a dozen others. All leaders of guilds of craftsman, workmen, tradesmen, even Lord Marshal Dunklin, leader of the city guards.

All of them were familiar with Lomdus, who had worked with them closely before his elevation to the Council of Equals and even after his elevation, as the members of the Council of Equals would never stoop to dealing with the common class. Since the loss of the treasury, the betrayal of Gretlin by House of Shro, Lomdus had met with all of them many times to stabilize the trade town and secure its future.

Those not of the Council of Equals all looked nervous facing Lomdus as he stood silently, the old war-hound licking his hand, staring at those gathered within the old Council House. The Council House had been traditionally where the Circle of Equals would have met, so that the common people could watch them deliberate, but beneath Shro the Elder's guidance the Circle had instead moved to their private manors, to hold their business in private, away from the eyes of the people.

The fact that I have called them to the Council House is probably lost on them, Lomdus mused.

When Lomdus' eyes settled on the one person that was wildly out of place in the gathering, the black scaled kobold, wearing curved steel plates emblazoned with the Queen of the Arch-Duchy of Alben's sigil, winked at him and flicked his ears in reassurance.

The sight of one of the Queen's most trusted servants brought the Queen's response to his pleas for mercy and explanation of what had happened to devastate Gretlin's economy.

We shall gracefully exempt the Trade Town of Gretlin from taxes for a grace period of five years, while still allowing Gretlin to nestle against Our bosom, providing You ensure that Gretlin remains a stable influence in the region with happy productive citizenry who retains all the rights due a citizen of Alben. You shall repair this damaged jewel, until it is ready to once again shine brightly from My crown, an example to all within the Six Worlds.

Remember the Alben motto: You get what you earn.

The handwriting had been fluid, elegant, the ink precious metal that had hardened on the vellum, and the seal the eight stalks of wheat sticking up out of a cooking pot. The letter had been addressed to Lomdus, not the Circle of Equals, and the black kobold who had delivered the missive was one of the Queen's personal servants, rumored to be scions of the Son of the Black Moon himself.

The missive is what had made up his mind, set Lomdus on the course he was now beginning to embark upon, and why he had called so many diverse members of the power structure of Gretlin to the Council House of Gretlin.

"Messers and Messams," Lomdus began, nodding toward the two groups, "as we all know Gretlin, our fair town, is facing one of its most trying times. Not due to bandits, crop failure or trade embargo, but rather betrayal by one of our own and a risk of total fiscal collapse."

"Yes, yes, we know this, Lomdus." Gree the Crone snapped, waving the glass of wine and almost splashing the guardsman standing behind her. Each of the Circle of Equals had a guardsman behind them. Not the typical city guard, but men and women who had fought in the War of the City of Skyspires a handful of years before. Men and women who had been pensioned off by the Arch-Duchy of Alben, found their pensions taxed almost into oblivion by Gretlin, and had languished in poverty on farms that the trade town had sliced away chunks of to pay for 'back taxes' little by little. Prior to Lomdus reversing the decision, the Circle of Equals had decided that the veterans of that savage war were too dangerous to serve on the city guard, but now Lomdus had found that their experience and reputation were a valuable tool in keeping the most irate citizenry from doing more than talk and protest. The men and women who had served during that war had taken part in a two year occupation, and their experience had kept the majority of the populace calm.

"Enough with the flowery speech, Lomdus," Fralla whined. "We all know that the time has come for the Circle of Equals to finish the job you started." She smiled as she continued. "You were adequate, barely, during the initial problems, but while you were scrambling and reeling from crisis to crisis like a ship without a helmsman, wiser heads have come up with a proper plan to put Gretlin aright."

Lomdus felt neither surprise nor fear at her denigration of his accomplishments, just reaching out and petting the top of the old war-hound's head as his suspicions were confirmed.

"Once these men and women reaffirm their oaths of allegiance to the rightful authority of Gretlin, we shall adjourn from this rude and uncouth place and gather at my manor, where I will chair a meeting to discuss the best way to determine Gretlin's future." Fralla smiled at Lomdus as she continued. "We will also examine just how you obtained such funds as we have had reports of you spending, and also investigate reports of your collusion with the House of Shro."

Lomdus saw the shock on the faces of the guild-masters just as the members of the Council of Equals did, and unlike the Council members, he knew it wasn't surprise, but rather outrage at the accusation.

The black kobold's toe-claws clicked on the ornate tiling as he gaped his jaws in a kobold smile.

"I'm afraid that will be impossible," Lomdus said, smiling back. "You see, there are two problems with that pronouncement."

"And what are those?" Gree sneered.

"Number one, you are no longer in charge of our fair town." Lomdus smiled. The guild-masters and even the Lord Marshal began nodding as the members of the Council of Equals stared in shock. "I have decided that we can get along just fine without you."

Lomdus opened his clenched hand, letting the single coin of red-tinted silver fall from his hand. The silver was from the mines of Alben, where an impurity in the silver and gold deposits gave them a red tinge that gave rise to the nickname "blood coins" across the world.

The single coin fell toward the tiles, and before it could hit there was the sound of steel grating as long knives were drawn by the guardsmen behind each of the council members. Heads were pulled back, and the men and women who stood behind the elderly council members stared impassively at their victims as the carefully honed blades were drawn across wrinkled throats.

The coin bounced, chiming musically, across the tile as blood sprayed across the crimson silk of the table-cloth, spattering the food, the glasses, the dinnerware and the cutlery.

"And second, all of you are dead," Lomdus finished, his voice impassive as he watched his former peers thrash in their death throes. He turned his gaze upon the gathered guild-masters, who were all staring in horror, some of them suddenly realizing that behind each of them were members of the Gretlin Guardsmen.

"My friends," Lomdus began, reaching into a pocket and pulling out another silver blood coin. He made a show of twiddling it in his arthritis swollen fingers as he continued to pet the head of the war-hound. "Once the offal is disposed of, let us sit and eat and discuss the future of our fair town, and how we can once against become a jewel of our Queen's crown."

Many of the guild-masters flinched as the dying were flung out of their chairs and onto the floor. The servants made no move to clean up the blood, although they did pull chairs out that were still warm with the body heat of the dying.

"Sit, sit, my friends, and let us find a way to steer our ship through these stormy waters." Lomdus smiled, sitting down at the table. He waved at the seat next to him. "Lord Marshal, will you please join me?"

"Of course, Low Baron Lomdus," the Lord Marshal said, moving up to the seat.

"Honorable Shathass, will you join us as a representative of our beloved Queen?" Lomdus asked, pointing at the seat on his left, which was specially crafted to be comfortable to the reptilian kobold.

"My Queen has commanded me to speak in her name," the black kobold said, moving forward. He nodded at the servant who pulled out the chair. "We are eager to see Gretlin set aright."

"Sit, friends, sit," Lomdus said to the pale faced guild-masters, reaching out and pouring wine into the delicate crystal flute in front of him. He paid no mind to the way the droplets of blood that had landed on the glass smeared beneath his fingers as he lifted the glass to his lips and sipped.

"Let us deliberate, and pray we do not fail our Queen or the people of Gretlin." Lomdus smiled. "After all, we earn what we work for."

On the floor, behind the seated guild-masters, Gree the Crone stopped breathing, shat herself and went still.

But despite the beliefs of the Circle of Equals, Gretlin lived on without them.

* * * * *

Joft Firebeard moved through the brush and smiled. He could hear the screeching of one of the mottled green raptor-like little lizards that seemed to infest the part of the forest that the former bandit was hiding in. He had managed to escape the slaughter of his fellow bandits by running as soon as he saw the armored warrior enter the camp with the blazing sign of Lorshani the Bitch Queen of Carnage on his chest. Joft had served as a mercenary for a few years until the mercenary commander had foolishly taken a contract that pitted the unit against merely a score of the Bitch Queen's Holy Knights. Out of over two hundred men, Joft had been among only a dozen survivors that had fled the field, and he'd carried the memory of that blazing sigil in his nightmares.

Knowing full and well the kind of devastation a follower of Lorshani could wreak, Joft had kept moving for almost a month, hoping to eventually circle back and scout out the trade town of Gretlin again. He knew that the precious Council of Equals had hired the bandits to harass traders and force the Duke to move troops, and with a little luck Joft figured he could step up and command a force of bandits for a nice tidy profit.

Still, a week on the road had left Joft hungry. The woods he was now hiding in were thick with underbrush and wild-life, lacking the logging crews that worked so many other woods. His rations were now gone, and the first handful of berries he'd eaten had left him vomiting his toenails out. So he had figured he'd set out some snares and catch a rabbit or one of the little lizards he'd seen running around the woods. When he saw the snare he knew that his belly wouldn't be empty for long, that the snare had done its work.

The little lizard caught in the snare was roughly the size of a small cat. When it saw Joft push his way through the bushes it stopped screeching and chewing at the wire. It looked up at Joft and peeped softly with wide liquid eyes, lifting up the foot caught in the snare, balancing on one foot and its tail. Joft smiled at how meaty the little bugger looked, and noticed that the lizard had not eaten the streppleberries Joft had baited the trap with. He'd never seen one of the lizards before he came to Gretlan, and wondered how it'd tasted once it was skinned, gutted and roasted.

Joft slowly drew his dagger and the lizard peeped softly several times, hopping up and down on one foot. The former bandit saw that the wire had bitten deeply into the little reptile's leg but had not drawn blood, and he was surprised that the creature had not chewed its own leg off.

"You're a fat stupid little bugger, aren't you?" Joft sneered, starting to lean down, reaching forward with his off hand. The dumb little lizard did not even flinch back, but instead leaned back against its tail to raise the snared foot even higher.

"Don't worry about the leg, stupid, it won't matter when I skin you and drop you in my pot." Joft chuckled.

The lizard peeped softly, cocking its head at Joft. It shook its foot again. Joft leaned forward to grab at the fat little lizard, tensing up in order to grab the lizard by its neck and slit its throat.

Instead he found himself roughly grabbed by the neck and lifted into the air. The grip was like a steel trap and Joft felt his eyes bug out at the power of the squeezing grip.

"Peepers are not food, you vosh," a deep rumbling voice said from behind him and the grip impossibly squeezed tighter. Dancing bright spots appeared in Joft's vision. "They're babies, and this one must have wandered away from its keeper and packmates, who are probably looking for it frantically as we speak."

There was a loud pop, a bright light, and when the light faded Joft found himself standing naked at the rear of a long line that snaked its way through a massive cavern. Cherubs and winged demons flapped over the line, and at the far end was a set of golden gates.

The little lizard peeped again, holding out its foot, as the body fell to the ground in front of it. When the snare was removed, the crushing fingers strangely gentle, the lizard butted its head against the large palm affectionately, purring when one finger stroked the back of its thin little neck.

"Don't worry, little one," the voice said. "Why don't we raid his camp and see if we can find something to eat and drink while we wait for your keeper and packmates to find you?"

The little lizard peeped happily and did a backflip, landing on its feet. It danced around in place for a moment, pointing at the apple its rescuer had picked up off the ground and was now bouncing in one massive hand.

"No, little one, this one isn't for eating, it's a magic apple," the voice rumbled.

The baby lizard peeped again and rubbed its head against its rescuer's boot, purring happily. When its rescuer moved into the brush the lizard rushed over to the berry pile and swept some up. It peeped happily, carrying the yummy streppleberries in its arms, as it limped after its rescuer.