Eirik opened his eyes.

  For a moment, he couldn't process what he was seeing.

  The blood was gone. The screaming spirits, the pig-creature, the chaos of battle—all of it had vanished as if it had never existed.

  He sat up slowly.

  The plaza stretched out around him—the same plaza he had just fled, with the same altar and the same pool. But everything else had changed.

  Above him, a blue sky. The pale, clean blue of a winter morning before the first snow.

  The ruins were also gone.

  In their place stood buildings. Their walls intact, windows gleaming. Buildings with sweeping arches and columned facades, towers that rose in spirals.

  The Sunless City, restored to its former glory.

  Before Eirik could appreciate the beauty of it all, however, his mind was already assembling the pieces—some fitting cleanly, others forced into place by guesswork alone.

  The pig.

  That was him. His contamination—the vial of pig blood he'd slipped into the basin during Brenn's distraction. Velthan had insisted on Northern blood, freely given, and Eirik had poisoned the offering with something that was decidedly neither. The ritual had worked regardless, but the taint had manifested as that abomination.

  The spectral army had come from the legitimate blood—or so he guessed. Eighty-odd Northern soldiers bleeding into a bronze basin, three men dying on an altar, whatever door that opened, those spirits had been waiting for it.

  Two forces, then. One planned. One not.

  And even the Archmage hadn't seen both coming. Whatever calculations Velthan had been running in that ancient skull of his, Eirik's sabotage had thrown them sideways.

  As for the pool itself—

  The spectral army had poured out of it. If the blood was a doorway for the dead, then it stood to reason it could be a doorway for the living. A portal to whatever lay on the other side of the General's legacy—the same destination Velthan had been steering them toward from the very beginning.

  Eirik had simply chosen to walk through it on his own terms.

  Beyond that, his understanding frayed into nothing.

  He didn't know what this place was. He didn't know the rules that governed it, or what waited at its center, or whether the Archmage could follow them through.

  What he did know was simpler, and uglier.

  One more hour under Velthan's authority and the old man would have found a way to bind him completely. Whatever came next in Velthan's plan, Eirik wanted to steer as far clear of it as possible.

  "Commander?"

  Eirik turned.

  Kael was rising from the ground a few feet away. Beyond him, the other Talons were stirring—Jory, Silas, and the rest, all of them sprawled across the pristine cobblestones.

  "Sound off," Eirik ordered. "Who's here?"

  "Kael, present."

  "Jory, here."

  "Silas."

  The names came in sequence. Seven men. Eight including himself.

  No Olaf.

  Eirik's jaw tightened. The big man had been holding off Konrad when Eirik jumped. Either he'd made it through after them, or...

  Or he hadn't.

  Either way, he had to deal with what's in front of him.

  He rose to his feet, taking in their surroundings more carefully.

  Streets radiated from the central plaza like the spokes of a wheel, each one lined with buildings. In the distance, he could see what looked like a castle complex.

  But utterly, completely empty.

  "Commander." Kael had moved to his side. "Now what?"

  Eirik turned in a slow circle, taking in the absolute stillness.

  "The General's artifact," he said. "We're going to find it."

  Kael followed his gaze. "Where do we even start?"

  That was precisely the question.

  Eirik had expected—hoped, really—that jumping through that pool would deposit them directly in front of whatever prize waited at the end of this nightmare. A vault, perhaps.

  Instead, they faced a city that had about a million possibilities for treasure hunting purposes.

  "How much time do we have?" Silas asked quietly.

  "The pig and a few thousand angry ghosts should keep Velthan occupied for a while." Eirik's lips twisted. "But you're right. Our window is limited."

  He closed his eyes, forcing himself to think.

  If I were a paranoid general hiding something precious, where would I put it?

  Eirik opened his eyes and studied the city's layout with fresh purpose.

  The central plaza where they stood was obviously significant—it held the altar and the pool, but it'd be a terrible choice to hide something valuable.

  His gaze moved outward.

  To the north, the castle complex. The General's seat of power, almost certainly. If the artifact was a symbol of military authority, it might be stored in the keep's inner chambers.

  To the east, a massive cathedral. The first sacrifice had religious implications—perhaps the artifact had spiritual significance as well.

  To the west, blocky buildings arranged around a central courtyard, appeared to be an administrative district.

  And to the south...

  Eirik frowned.

  The southern quarter was different. The buildings there were smaller. Workshops and warehouses, if he had to guess.

  Four possibilities. Eight men.

  "Listen carefully," Eirik said, turning to face his Talons. "We're splitting up."

  Heads turned to him.

  "Four teams of two. Each team takes a quarter of the city." He pointed as he spoke. "Jory and Silas, you take the eastern temple complex. Look for anything that resembles a reliquary or sacred vault. Marsh and Gedrick, the western administrative district—check the archives, the record halls, anywhere documents might be stored. Torvin and Sigurd, the southern workshops."

  "And you, Commander?" Kael asked.

  "The castle." Eirik's eyes fixed on the northern towers. "You're with me."

  "What about Olaf?" Jory's voice was tight.

  "If Olaf made it through, he'll find us." Eirik kept his voice steady. "If he didn't, there's nothing we can do about it now."

  Harsh words.

  "One more thing." Eirik held up a hand before anyone could move. "Velthan is an illusionist. When he gets here—and he will get here—he'll try to use that against us. Fake messages, fake sightings, fake everything."

  The Talons exchanged uneasy glances.

  "So we need a verification system."

  He thought for a moment.

  "When you approach another team, you state your name and the number of days you've been a Talon. The other person confirms by stating their own name and the color of their mother's eyes. If anyone gets either detail wrong, assume they're hostile and act accordingly."

  "What if we don't know—" Jory started.

  "Then you better learn fast." Eirik's voice was flat. "We reconvene here in one hour. If you find something significant, send a runner. If you find nothing, return anyway. Questions?"

  Silence.

  "Move."

  Eirik turned toward the northern castle—

  "COMMANDER!"

  The shout came from behind them.

  Eirik spun, his hand going to Grave Drinker's hilt.

  A figure was hauling itself out of the blood pool.

  Olaf.

  The big man collapsed onto the plaza stones, coughing and sputtering crimson.

  "Frost's frozen teats," Olaf gasped. "That was the most disgusting thing I've ever—"

  Relief flooded through Eirik's chest, but he kept his voice controlled.

  "You're late."

  Olaf looked up. "Late? I jumped in right after ye, Commander. Couldn't have been more than thirty seconds behind."

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Eirik went still.

  "Thirty seconds?"

  "Aye. Soon as I knocked that crusty old bastard Konrad on his arse, I made for the pool. Quick as my legs could carry me."

  But they had been here for...

  Eirik looked at the position of the sun.

  Nearly half an hour.

  "Commander?" Kael's voice was sharp. "What is it?"

  The tournament portal Velthan had created—Eirik had spent what felt like days inside, but only hours had passed in the real world.

  This was the same principle.

  "Olaf experienced thirty seconds," Eirik said, thinking aloud. "We experienced thirty minutes. That's a ratio of roughly sixty to one."

  "Meaning?" Olaf was on his feet now, still dripping but alert.

  "Meaning that every minute Velthan spends fighting those spirits, we get an hour to search. If they're delayed even a short time out there, we could have days in here."

  Jory let out a whoop. "Then we're not—"

  "Don't." Eirik's voice cracked like a whip. "Don't assume anything. Velthan is a slippery old weasel who's been playing this game for fifty years. The moment we get complacent is the moment he appears behind us with a knife."

  The brief elation died as quickly as it had risen.

  "We proceed as planned. Fast and thorough. The time differential is an advantage, not a guarantee." Eirik fixed each man with a hard stare. "Move like our lives depend on it. Because they do."

  The teams dispersed again—this time with Olaf falling in beside Eirik and Kael.

  ———

  They reached the castle complex after twenty minutes of walking.

  Up close, it was even more impressive. The outer walls rose forty feet, their surfaces smooth and without handholds. The gates were massive slabs of reinforced iron, currently standing open but clearly designed to withstand any conventional assault.

  "Through there," Eirik said, pointing to the open gates. "Stay alert."

  They passed through the outer wall into a courtyard that could have held a thousand men. Barracks lined the eastern edge. Stables dominated the west. And at the northern end, the keep itself rose in a series of stepped towers.

  Still silent.

  "Where do we start?" Kael asked.

  "The keep's upper levels. If the General kept anything valuable, it would be in his private chambers." Eirik studied the tower's architecture. "Look for hidden doors."

  They split up within the keep itself—Olaf taking the lower floors, Kael the middle levels, Eirik climbing toward the top.

  Eirik searched methodically. He checked behind tapestries for hidden passages. He tested floorboards for hollow spaces. Every seemingly innocuous detail.

  Nothing.

  Nearly an hour passed.

  They reconvened in the keep's great hall—a chamber dominated by a long table that could have seated fifty. The walls were lined with shields bearing the Black Dragon sigil.

  "Anything?" Eirik asked.

  Olaf shook his head. "Searched every frost-bitten corner of the lower levels. Nothing that screamed 'ancient artifact of world-ending power.'"

  "Same," Kael reported. "The middle floors are mostly living quarters. Bedchambers, studies, a library. I checked them thoroughly."

  Eirik's jaw tightened.

  The castle had seemed like the obvious choice. The seat of power, the General's personal domain. If the artifact wasn't here...

  "There's something else," Kael said quietly.

  Eirik looked up.

  "I found a cellar. Beneath the kitchens, in the lowest level of the keep." Kael's expression was unreadable. "There are bodies."

  "Bodies?" Olaf's brow furrowed. "But the whole city's empty as a beggar's purse."

  "These aren't citizens." Kael's voice dropped lower. "Come. I'll show you."

  He led them down through the keep's narrow passages designed for servants to move unseen. The stairs spiraled downward, past the kitchens, past the storage rooms.

  The cellar was small. Perhaps fifteen feet square, with a low ceiling that forced Olaf to duck.

  And in the corner, arranged with disturbing precision, were three skeletons.

  "Well," Olaf said slowly. "That's not good."

  Eirik approached the remains carefully.

  "This is odd," he murmured.

  "What's odd?" Olaf was examining the room's corners. "Dead people in an ancient city? Seems fitting enough."

  "No, you don't understand." Eirik knelt beside the nearest skeleton. "The city above has not a single person, living or dead."

  He gestured at the skeletons.

  "But these three died here. Physically, materially died. Which means..."

  "They weren't here when the city was preserved," Kael finished, understanding dawning. "They came later. Like us."

  "Treasure seekers. Eirik said. "They came looking for the same thing we're looking for."

  "Aye, but how'd they get here?" Olaf scratched his beard. "We had to jump through a pool of blood during a ritual that took three human sacrifices. These sods just... wandered in?"

  "The barriers weakened over time," Kael reminded them. "Velthan said as much. Perhaps there were periods when entry was easier."

  Eirik knelt beside the nearest skeleton, studying the arrangement of bones.

  "Kael. What do you see?"

  The assassin moved closer.

  "The positioning is deliberate," Kael said slowly. "They didn't die where they fell. Someone arranged them afterward."

  "So?"

  Kael reached down and lifted one of the bones—a femur, long and thick.

  "Look at the surface."

  Eirik looked.

  Scoring marks. Dozens of them, concentrated near the joints where meat would have been thickest.

  "Knife marks," Kael said. "Someone butchered them."

  "Frost's frozen hell," Olaf breathed. "They ate each other?"

  "Not each other." Kael set the bone down carefully. "Look at the marks more closely. They're consistent across all three bodies. Same blade, same technique, same hand."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning one person did all the cutting." Kael rose to his feet.

  Three bodies. One butcher.

  "Where's the fourth?" Eirik asked.

  "Exactly." Kael's eyes met his. "Someone ate these three and then... what?"

  Olaf spat on the ground.

  "Well." Eirik rose from his crouch. "To be that desperate—to resort to this—probably means our fourth friend spent a very long time here. Weeks. Maybe months."

  Olaf scratched his beard. "But I saw plenty of food up in the kitchens. Dried meats, preserved grains, all sorts of frost-kept stores. Enough to feed a garrison for—"

  "If that stuff was truly edible," Eirik cut him off, "they wouldn't have resorted to eating each other."

  The big man's mouth opened, then closed.

  "Aye," he admitted grudgingly. "Suppose that's true enough."

  Kael was already following the thread of logic. "Which means whoever survived—whoever did this—spent far more time in this place than we have."

  "Exactly." Eirik's mind was racing now. "If we want to find the artifact quickly, that survivor is our shortcut."

  He looked around the cellar one more time.

  "These three died here. In the castle. That means this is where they spent most of their time—and they clearly found nothing worth staying alive for." His jaw tightened. "The survivor butchered them and moved on. Which tells us everything we need to know about this section of the city."

  "We're wasting our time here," Kael finished.

  "Precisely. Let's reconvene with the others."

  ———

  They returned to the central plaza just as the other teams were filtering in from their respective quarters.

  The blood pool sat dormant. And most importantly—no sign of Velthan or his soldiers.

  "Gather around," Eirik ordered quietly. "Keep your voices low."

  The Talons formed a loose circle near the altar's edge.

  "Verification first," Eirik said. "Jory."

  "Jory. Ninety-three days."

  "Silas, confirm."

  "Silas. My mother's eyes were brown."

  They moved through the sequence—each man stating his credentials, each partner confirming.

  Until they reached Olaf.

  The big man stood with his arms crossed, looking vaguely embarrassed.

  "Ah," he rumbled. "About this code business, Commander. I wasn't exactly... present when ye explained it."

  "Then learn it now." Eirik's voice brooked no argument. "Your name, your days served. When someone approaches you, they state theirs first. You confirm by giving your mother's eye color.

  "Olaf," the big man said. "Talon since the beginning—that's what, A hundred days? A hundred twenty?" He paused. "And me mum's eyes were blue."

  Eirik nodded slowly. "Good. If anyone gets any detail wrong—"

  "Put an axe through their skull," Olaf finished. "Simple enough."

  "Good. Now—reports." Eirik turned to face the assembled teams. "What did you find?"

  Jory and Silas exchanged glances.

  "The cathedral complex," Jory began. "Beautiful, actually—all soaring arches and stained glass. We checked the main sanctuary, the side chapels, even found a crypt beneath the altar."

  "And?"

  "Nothing." Silas's voice was flat. "The crypt was empty. Whatever bodies were supposed to be there... weren't. The whole place was hollow."

  Eirik nodded slowly. "Marsh? Gedrick?"

  The stocky veteran stepped forward.

  "Administrative district was a nightmare, Commander. More paper than a man could read in a lifetime."

  "Anything useful?"

  "Not in the time we had." Marsh shook his head. "We'd need weeks to process even a fraction of it. And half the documents were in languages I couldn't read."

  "Torvin? Sigurd?"

  The former bandit shrugged. "Southern quarter's all workshops and warehouses. Smithies, tanneries, textile mills. We poked around the larger buildings."

  "Nothing?"

  "Nothing that screamed 'ancient artifact,' Commander."

  Eirik absorbed this.

  "So," Kael said quietly, "where does that leave us?"

  "The cathedral," Jory offered. "It's connected to the ritual sacrifice stuff, right? And there tend to be hidden crypts in religious buildings."

  Several heads nodded at this logic.

  "We found three corpses in the castle cellar. Men who had been trapped in this place long enough to exhaust every obvious option." Eirik said slowly. "The cathedral was a place they would have searched extensively."

  "So?"

  "So if the artifact was in that place, those men wouldn't have starved." Eirik began to pace. "They would have found it."

  Understanding flickered across Kael's face.

  "You're saying we need to think in reverse."

  "Exactly." Eirik stopped pacing. "The obvious choices have been searched. Probably multiple times, by multiple expeditions over the centuries. Castle, cathedral, administrative archives—those are where anyone with half a brain would look first."

  He turned to face the southern quarter.

  "Which means the answer is somewhere no one thought to check."

  "The workshops?" Torvin sounded skeptical. "Commander, with respect—there's nothing down there but smithies and tanneries. What would a military artifact be doing in a textile mill?"

  Eirik didn't answer immediately.

  Instead, he looked up at the sky.

  Blue. Not a single cloud marred its surface. The light that fell across the city was warm and golden.

  Beautiful, yet totally out of place for something called The Sunless City.

  A fortress built in the frozen north, in a land where the sun barely rose above the horizon for half the year. Where the sky should be perpetually gray, choked with clouds and snow.

  But here, in this version of the city, the sky was flawless.

  He thought about the buildings they'd passed.

  Everything was too perfect. The cobblestones were even and unmarked. The walls showed no signs of weathering. The windows gleamed as if freshly polished.

  "This isn't the real Sunless City," Eirik said.

  Heads turned.

  "Commander?"

  "I thought—when we came through—that we'd traveled back in time. That we were seeing the city as it existed a thousand years ago, before the fall." Eirik shook his head slowly. "But that's not what this is."

  He gestured at the sky.

  "Look at that. And the buildings—have any of you noticed that there's no wear?"

  The Talons exchanged uncertain glances.

  "This is an idealized version of the city," Eirik continued. "A memory of what someone wished the city had been."

  "The General's memory?" Kael asked.

  "Perhaps. In any case, if this is a realm of sentiment rather than reality, then logic won't find what we're looking for."

  "Then what will?"

  Eirik turned the question over in his mind.

  "We start with charcoal," Eirik said.

  "...what?"

  "The General was a charcoal burner's son." Eirik's voice grew more certain. "In an idealized version of his city, where would the most precious thing be hidden?"

  Silence.

  "Not in the castle," Eirik answered his own question. "That represents power he gained. Not in the cathedral—that represents the divine favor he earned. Those are his achievements."

  He pointed south.

  "But the places where lower men do tough work..." His voice dropped. "That's where he began."

  "Ye want us to search for a charcoal burner's shop," Olaf said flatly.

  "I want us to search for the General's father's charcoal burner's shop. Or whatever idealized version of it exists in this place."

  Kael's eyes had narrowed thoughtfully. "It's a theory."

  "And we're running out of time to test theories." Eirik met each man's gaze in turn. "From now on, we move as one."

  Nods around the circle.

  "Then let's move."

  ———

  They traveled south with grand administrative buildings gave way to warehouses and manufacturing halls. Eirik walked at the head of the group, Kael at his shoulder, the others spread in a loose formation behind them.

  It was Gedrick who made the signal.

  The veteran with the bad leg had fallen back slightly during the march, ostensibly favoring his injury. But as they passed a narrow alley between two tanneries, his hand came up to scratch his jaw in a very specific pattern.

  Three scratches. Pause. Two more.

  Eirik didn't react visibly.

  Instead, he slowed his pace, letting the column stretch slightly. When they reached the next intersection, he raised a hand.

  "Hold here. Gedrick, Silas—scout that building on the left."

  Silas nodded and moved immediately. Gedrick hesitated just long enough for Eirik to add:

  "Gedrick, wait. Your leg's been giving you trouble. I'll come with you."

  The others began checking the surrounding structures while Eirik fell into step beside Gedrick.

  They ducked into the shadow of a doorway.

  "Talk," Eirik said quietly.

  "Commander, about Olaf."

  "Go on."

  "When we were checking codes—Olaf said his mother's eye color as blue."

  "And?"

  "His mother's eyes were brown, Commander." Gedrick's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "I know because the bastard got maudlin drunk last month and wouldn't shut up about how he had 'his da's size but his ma's brown eyes'—said it a dozen times before passing out."

  Eirik's hand drifted toward Grave Drinker's hilt.

  "You're certain."

  "As certain as I've ever been about anything." Gedrick's jaw tightened.

  Eirik's mind raced through the implications.

  Velthan.

  "Commander." Gedrick's hand moved toward his own blade. "Give me the word, and I'll take him down before he—"

  "No."

  Gedrick blinked. "No?"

  "If we act now, we tip our hand."

  "But—"

  "That's an order, Gedrick."

  The veteran's jaw worked, but he nodded.

  "Understood, Commander."

  They rejoined the group.

  Eirik made a point of clapping Olaf on the shoulder as they resumed the march.

  "Find anything useful while we were gone?"

  "Sod all." Olaf rumbled.

  Eirik laughed.

  And kept walking.

  They found the charcoal burner's shop near the southern edge of the district.