Boots sprawled across the weathered porch boards at Arthur's feet, paws twitching as dreams of chasing rabbits flickered through his mind. The evening air had cooled nicely after the day's heat, and Arthur's rocking chair creaked in a steady rhythm that lulled the puppy into drowsy contentment.

  Arthur leaned down and scratched behind his ear. "You are a good boy. Yes, you are."

  Boots' tail thumped twice against the planks, though he didn't open his eyes. This was his favorite time of day—the work done, belly full, and someone nearby to keep watch while he napped. The rhythmic creak of the rocking chair continued, and Boots sighed, utterly relaxed. It was much quieter at the chicken-man’s house.

  Then the wind shifted.

  Boots' eyes snapped open, ember-red instead of their usual brown. His entire body went rigid. He knew the scent that hit his nostrils like a physical blow—sulfur and brimstone and the acrid stench of rotting meat. His other house smelled a bit like it, but this was strong. He hadn't smelled it this strongly since he was in the fire-place where everyone smelled like that.

  The hair along Boots' spine stood on end. A low growl rumbled from his chest, deeper and more menacing than any sound he'd made before. Wisps of smoke curled from his nostrils with each exhale.

  "Boots?" Arthur's rocking stopped. "What's gotten into you?"

  Boots rose to his feet, head lowered, lips pulled back to reveal teeth that seemed sharper than they'd been a moment ago. The air around his russet paws shimmered with heat mirages, and thin trails of smoke rose from where they touched the wood of the porch. The playful puppy who'd brought Arthur another melon that morning had vanished entirely, replaced by something terrifying and dangerous.

  The wind brought another gust, and with it, more details. Lots of them. A pack. They were in the direction of the water fence he couldn't cross, where the stone one sat. They weren't far. They might be watching the bridge and the cottage beyond it, where Chuck slept, where Elanthe worked in the garden, where the scary House Cat ruled with an iron paw.

  His pack.

  His territory.

  Boots' growl intensified, rumbling through his chest like distant thunder. The muscles in his shoulders bunched and shifted even as his black fur stood into spikes. His eyes blazed brighter—bright enough to cast a faint reddish light across the porch boards.

  "Easy, boy." Arthur leaned forward in his chair, concern creasing his weathered face. "What do you smell?"

  But Boots wasn't listening anymore. The scent filled his nostrils, his head, his entire being. Threats. Enemies. Predators near his pack while they slept, unaware of the danger so close by.

  He had to warn them.

  Boots launched himself off the porch without a backward glance, his powerful legs propelling him forward in great bounding strides. His paws flared when they struck the ground, and the flow of flames emerged from his nostrils as he ran, eyes burning like hot coals in the gathering dusk.

  "Boots! Wait!" Arthur's shout faded behind him.

  The puppy tore down the road toward the cottage, moving faster than he'd ever run before. Instinct drove him now, having completely shut out all thoughts of play. Demons were coming for his pack. His human. His elf. His House Cat.

  Boots ran even faster, leaving a trail of smoking pawprints behind him in the dirt, only slightly deviating from his straight line back to the cottage to avoid a patch of liquid shadow.

  * * *

  Elanthe looked over her shoulder and stroked Noctura's neck. "Shhh, shhh. Don't you worry about Boots. Someone at the cottage will handle him. We've got our own work to do tonight. Kiss, kiss, let's get a move on."

  The nightmare shook her head and resumed her walk down the road. The pair were invisible this night, hidden within the mare's cloak of shadow. She could sense from the elf that this was not a night when it would do to be seen.

  Elanthe and Noctura moved through Thornwell's sleeping streets like smoke, the nightmare's shadow-cloak wrapped around them both, rendering them invisible to mortal eyes. They had learned the village well over the past few days and nights, and knew exactly where they were headed and how to get there.

  They stopped a block from Ignatz's well-maintained house. Elanthe slid from Noctura's back and pressed her forehead against the mare's neck, not trusting herself to look at the neatly tended flower boxes.

  "Tell me when they're both asleep," she whispered. "Deep sleep. Pleasant dreams. The best tonight, my Buttercup. The best."

  Noctura huffed softly. The mare's consciousness slipped away, riding the currents of dream-stuff toward the house. Elanthe waited in the shadows, her hands trembling. Was this really the only way forward?

  She'd tried everything else. She'd been sure that if she got Vladimir kicked off the council, then the vote would stand at 2-1-1 and Chuck would be named Lord Protector. The evidence of Vladimir's betrayal was incontrovertible and had been enough to get him ejected, but it was insufficient to convince Ignatz of the danger the village faced. Ignatz would die before surrendering Thornwell's independence—he'd said as much. His principles were iron. It didn't make him a bad man; it just made him wrong. Wrong with deadly consequences.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Vorghammul's horde was assembling to attack. She wasn't as sensitive as the others were, but she could feel the discomfort in the cottage. She saw how they kept looking to the south. They knew what tomorrow would bring. He would attack tomorrow, and they would stand between Thornwell and the horde. They would fail, and the horde would take the village, or if they didn't, another horde would follow soon enough to finish the job, and there would be fewer of them the second time around.

  With Vladimir gone, Ignatz immovable, and now even Father Yaqub against him, Chuck didn't have the demonic legal standing to prevent the attack. Such a little thing to render the gathering horde impotent. Instead, he'd face them with force of arms. Instead, he'd die on that bridge tomorrow. She would as well, her reprieve having only lasted two weeks. Her life debt paid in full.

  There has to be another way, Elanthe thought desperately—something I haven't considered. Please, ancestors, guide me to another path. Weave me a new fate. I'm not strong enough for this one.

  But she'd been turning the possibility over in her mind for days—it wouldn’t go away. She'd examined every angle, every possibility. Chuck was trying to do good, but he was too direct in his approach. He wasn't thinking obliquely, wasn't thinking about manipulating the situation to his advantage. He never saw any other path that led to his success after the council turned him down. He was a bit too blunt an instrument.

  It's good that I'm here for him. Without me, he will fail.

  Noctura returned to herself, her eyes glowing faint purple. The mare nodded once.

  Elanthe's stomach twisted. "Both of them?"

  Another nod.

  "Will they wake if I'm careful?"

  Noctura shook her head. Elanthe pressed her palm against Noctura's nose. "Wait here, I'll be back soon. You'll have to take me home and not walk through the village. I'm going to need your help tonight after..." She couldn't finish the thought. "Just wait."

  The nightmare mare watched her with ancient, knowing eyes. There was no judgment in those eyes. It had seen into the nightmares of demons. What could possibly be worse?

  Elanthe crossed the street to Ignatz's back garden. She vaulted over the fence and landed silently, careful to avoid stepping anywhere that would take a footprint. She stole across the lawn to the unlocked back door. Why would Ignatz lock it? He was a respected elder in a peaceful village. Unlike Vladimir, he had no enemies.

  The house was dark and still. She moved through the kitchen on silent elven feet, past the sitting room where she'd taken tea with him. Tea served by his loving wife, Irina. She stole down the short hallway to the bedroom, where the door stood slightly ajar, and peeked in.

  Moonlight filtered through lace curtains, illuminating the sleeping forms of Ignatz and his wife. She lay on her side facing away from him as he lay on his back and snored quietly. Married for decades, Elanthe knew. A good marriage. A happy one. An honest husband and wife.

  Elanthe moved silently to the head of the bed, picking a pillow up off the floor as she did. Ignatz's chest rose and fell slowly, his face peaceful in sleep, untroubled. He was a good man who had voted his conscience at the council meeting. He'd done what he believed was right. He'd go to his final reward knowing that he'd served Thornwell faithfully until his last day.

  I could leave, Elanthe thought. Walk out right now. Let tomorrow come and face it honestly.

  But then she and Chuck would die. The squad would fall. Vorghammul would slaughter the villagers or enslave them. Was it not better for there to be one small evil instead of hundreds of large ones? Was it not better to sacrifice one so that the rest could live? The needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few, and all that?

  Was there any price too large to pay to deny Hell these 300 souls?

  Elanthe moved to Ignatz's side of the bed. She raised the pillow.

  Her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped it.

  I may be damning myself, but this is the only way to save this village. This is for everyone Vorghammul the Destroyer will kill tomorrow if I don't do this. I accept my fate.

  She pressed the pillow down over Ignatz's face, careful not to wake him.

  * * *

  I laid out my armor, helmet, shield, and mace. I'd go into battle with Arthur's battered and rusty chestplate instead of the one Gashi had torn asunder, and I was happy to have it. Given that I had little experience in this kind of fight, a big piece of steel between my opponent and me made me a bit more confident. Or at least, a bit more optimistic that I'd survive.

  The shield was also back to form, more or less. I'd asked Calista to use it as a training tool to see if she could punch it flat. It still looked like it had gotten hammered by a pile driver, but at least I could strap it on. My helmet was fine, silly little flag and all, and my mace was in perfect condition. It actually looked better than when I first got it, but I didn't know if someone had been secretly maintaining my gear, or if it had to do with the smiting of Gashi. Either way, it was a decent proxy for a tire iron, so it felt familiar in my hand.

  I took a moment to ponder my people. Calista was outside doing yoga, seeking to charge up her demonic chakras before the fight. That was fine with me. If I laid eyes on her tonight, I wouldn't turn her away.

  Boots, or Boots' crazy cousin perhaps, was on guard on the porch. I wasn't sure if I'd wake up to barking or a fire, but at least I knew that I wouldn't get surprised in my bed. He knew what was out there tonight.

  Mum and Pemberton were in his office, desperately reviewing the original village-grant contract, trying to find some final loophole to save this whole operation. I think they had the window open and Mum was smoking in the office, but Tengen didn't seem to be complaining, so I wasn't going to either. That reminded me that I still needed to get a box of cigars from him. When this was over…

  Elanthe was in bed; I'd heard her moving around not too long ago. I thought I'd heard the poor girl crying briefly, but it had stopped as soon as it started, so I put it down to nerves. Best that she get some sleep—she was a good kid who had been through a lot, and I was thankful that she had Buttercup to help her catch some shut-eye.

  Krag, I assumed, was at his post at the bridge. I said a silent prayer that he wasn't a dud. For all I knew, he couldn't actually move, but with the way the others had played up the ferocity of gargoyles I was happy to have him. I was counting on him, in fact.

  I kneeled on the floor to write on a parchment that I'd commandeered from Pemberton.

  Dick Breath, I failed to conquer Thornwell within the allotted time. I died defending it instead of subjugating it. I expect that this won't surprise you, given that you already know that I never intended to serve you. I am committed to the Light, not to you. I go to my death knowing that I was a good man. That's enough. Brakk you, Chuck.

  Of course, Tengen was there reading over my shoulder. Melodramatic. You're not dead yet, dummy. Why are you acting like you are? You need a vacation.

  I reached over to scratch her chin, and she rolled over to present her belly. "Cat, unless some miracle happens and the council suddenly swings in my favor I'm as good as dead—but you just gave me an idea." I jumped up and headed down to Pemberton's office for more parchment.

  Hey monkey-boy, my belly! You weren't supposed to leave.