Despite his current agony and fury, or perhaps because of it, Laronius took a grim satisfaction watching his enemies scramble and trip over themselves to help the meddlesome wizard who now lay screaming and thrashing on the floor at the other side of the room. “Poor, fragile Shon,” Laronius thought to himself. “It seems his plans have literally blown up in his face.”

Not that Laronius could really claim to be doing much better. More than three quarters of his own body were composed of crumbling necromantic concrete, and the portion composed of demonic flesh couldn’t hold it together much longer. He was broken beyond repair, and nothing short of a complete rebirth could save him now. But wasn’t that exactly what he had bargained for? Wasn’t that what Gravine had promised to grant him as soon as the opportunity arose?

“Tarun, I need your help!” Seth called out, kneeling next to Shon. “You need to hold him still! This injury is worse than anything I’ve tried to heal before!”

“Can’t you use the lantern and that healing word like you did before?” Tarun asked, looking back and forth between his friend and Laronius. He clearly didn’t want to turn his back on a threat.

“I’m trying,” Seth shouted over Shon’s continued screams of pain. “But shards of that cursed crystal got under his skin, and they’re somehow resisting the healing. Please!”

“Tarun, hand me your hatchet,” said Krall, never taking his eyes off Laronius. “I’ll keep him from trying anything. You go help your friends.” Tarun handed over his only weapon and rushed to Shon’s side.

The only threat paying any attention to Laronius was a single undead orc armed with nothing but a small hand axe. Meanwhile the power and essence of his master was still swirling around the room, seeking a vessel to enter. Laronius realized that if there was ever an opportunity to turn these events to his favor, it had to be now.

“Time to fill your end of the bargain,” whispered Laronius.

“What was that?” Krall demanded, taking a step closer to Laronius.

But Laronius didn’t repeat himself. His words were intended for Gravine alone, and the ancient necromancer had hear him.

“Very well,” came the sickening voice of Gravine. “Let it begin.”

Like smoke rushing out an open window with a draft, the swirling essence of Gravine poured into Laronius. Krall raised the axe in his hand to try and intervene, but he was pushed back by a flash of green light. This transformation would not be interrupted.

Concrete flesh and demonic flesh merged into one as Laronius merged with the soul of Gravine. Laronius had assumed he would again resemble the way he had looked as a vampire, but realized he had been wrong as soon as he saw the first black feathers began to sprout from his skin. His mouth began to extend and warp into a hideous, toothy beak. His feet became grasping talons, and his arms became flightless wings with claws where his hands once were.

His thoughts became muddled as his mind and will began to merge with the soul of Gravine, but he yet retained some sense of self for the moment. “Master, what is the meaning of this?” he called out in his mind.

“Behold the true form of Gravine!” came the forceful reply. “My people were driven to extinction so long ago that none remember their name. Carriok was the name of my people, and now we shall take upon ourselves that name as the last of my kind.” There was no question, no moment to await consent. Laronius realized that in this new identity being born from the merging of master and servant, there would be little of the servant. His very existence was locked in a contest of will that he could not possibly win.

Laronius could feel himself stand and open his new beak as the last of his consciousness fused with Gravine. Then he heard a terrible, cawing voice come from deep within his own throat. “Laronius and Gravine are no more!” the terrible creature screeched. “I am Carriok. I am the ancient foe this world cannot escape. All the living will fear me, and all dead will obey me! There are none in this age who can oppose me!”

His words were cut short as something hit Carriok in the chest. He looked down and saw the handle of a hatchet sticking out from the mass of feathers in front of his heart.

“You sure about that?” Krall taunted. The orc was already breaking off a long wooden post from a nearby bed. It snapped off in a jagged point, and Krall clearly intended to use it as a makeshift javelin.

Carriok cackled like a crow taunting a squirrel. “Quite sure,” he said as the head and handle of the hatchet dissolved as if covered in acid. “You think such mundane weapons frighten me? Nothing of this world can touch me.” He then squinted his jet black eyes at Krall. “Nor can anything of this world endure my touch.”

Carriok grabbed a tuft his own feathers with the claw of his right wing. In a movement faster than the blink of an eye, he hurled the feathers at Krall. They flew forward like darts, and the impact knocked the orc back across the room. Though the undead body of Krall did not bleed, large portions of flesh had dissolved away where the feathers had hit him.

Laughing again, Carriok moved to where Krall lay defenseless on the ground. The movements of his avian legs were somewhere between a step and a hop, and gave the impression of a twisted eagerness. He opened his beak wide, showing the serrated teeth within. It had been centuries since he had eaten anything that put up a fight, and he was looking forward to it.

Standing crookedly over Krall, Carriok thrust his beak down to bite off the first morsel of his meal. But before he could make contact, there was a sharp crack against the right side of his skull, and he staggered hard to the left.

Shaking his head, Carriok looked up to see who he would be killing next. Tarun stood in front of him, his body was in a fighting stance and his face showed a grim determination. In both hands he held the silver staff that had housed the green crystal prison.

“Are you in such a hurry to die, little warrior?” Carriok squawked. But he had no sooner spoken than he was hit hard across the beak again with the staff. Tarun was in no mood to banter or play. He spun the staff in his hands, building momentum in the spiraled silver cage that served as the top and blunt end of the staff. Unlike the hatchet, the staff showed no signs of weakness to the corrosive power of Carriok’s feathers.

Carriok lashed out with his razor sharp claws at Tarun, but between the staff and the tall warrior’s own long arms, he had no trouble keeping out of Carriok’s reach. Instead, all the attack had done was leave Carriok open for Tarun to use the sharp end of the staff to pierce him deep in his right shoulder. Carriok shrieked and Tarun followed up with another spinning crack against the side of his head, this time chipping the tip of his beak off. Black ichor dripped from the wound.

“Enough!!” Carriok shouted. “I will tolerate no more of this!” Again he grabbed a tuft of feathers with his right claw and flung them at Tarun. Three of the feathers were blocked by the staff as Tarun spun it with blinding speed. But there were too many for him to block them all.

A split second before the deadly feathers hit Tarun, they were consumed by white-hot flames. The tips of the flames seemed to flicker with every color imaginable, and they disappeared as quickly as had appeared. Nothing remained of the feathers but a faint gray vapor.

Tarun turned around for a brief moment to see if Seth had somehow saved him with the light of his lantern. But no, the lantern’s light was still focused solely on Shon, as was Seth’s attention. Shon had stabilized enough for Tarun to leave his side a few moments ago, but he wasn’t in any state to counter the attack either. Krall was still struggling to pull his body into a sitting position against the wall. Wherever the white flame had come from, it wasn’t from any of his allies.

He quickly turned his attention back to Carriok, not wanting to leave himself open to another attack. Though it was difficult to read the creature’s alien expression, it seemed to Tarun that it was a look of shock and amazement. And perhaps… terror?

“You,” squawked Carriok. “You’re one of them. You’re one his enemies aren’t you? You must be. But which one?” Carriok closed his beak and narrowed his eyes at Tarun. He cocked his head to the side in a birdlike manner. “Ah, the champion. I should’ve known. Well this changes things.” He began taking a slow step backwards towards the hidden door behind the bed frame.

“Wait!” Shon suddenly called out, sitting himself up from the ground. The right side of his face was still scarred, his right eye was closed, and portions of his face were still swollen and scabbed, but he was no longer actively bleeding. “Tarun, he’s talking about Creed! He’s saying you’re one of the enemies of Creed! If he knows anything about it, we can’t let him get away! We need to find out what he knows!”

“What makes you think I would tell you anything?” Carriok squawked as he jerked his head to the other side. “Even if you could somehow capture me and torture me, which I am certain you lack the power to do, I would still refuse to reveal anything to you. There is no threat you can make that would persuade me.” He took another step towards the door.

“No threats then,” said Seth, standing up with his lantern. “How about a deal instead? A bargain you couldn’t bear to refuse?”

“There is nothing you can offer me that I cannot simply take myself,” replied Carriok.

“I can offer you the Sword of Wheat,” said Seth. Carriok stopped moving mid-step.

“Bah!” Carriok coughed a squawking laugh. “Simply more lies. Your broken wizard there already said he could offer me the same, and all he did was lead me here to this useless room where the sword used to be kept.”

“Shon didn’t lead you astray,” said Seth. “He didn’t just lead you to this room, he lead you to me. And I’m the only one with the authority to bestow the Sword of Wheat to anyone. I’m willing to bestow it upon you if you agree to cooperate with us. And for the record, I don’t lie.” The lantern glowed brighter in Seth’s hand to punctuate his last statement.

Carriok took a hesitant step forward. “How?” he asked quietly.

“The sword can only be wielded by the patriarch of my clan,” said Seth. He stood tall, spoke clearly, and looked directly into Carriok’s eyes as he spoke. “I’ve begun to claim my birthright as the new patriarch, but I haven’t finished the process. Still, I’ve claimed enough of that I now have the authority to adopt others into the clan. I also have the authority to appoint the birthright to another, if I so choose.”

“Are you sure about this?” Tarun asked, keeping himself ready for another strike. “We’ve learned what that sword can do, and we’ve seen tonight how powerful this monster already is. Do you really think we can trust him?”

“It’s not about trust,” said Seth, still looking directly at Carriok. “It’s about doing what’s right. Valuing the sword above the ideals that it represents brought four generations of darkness upon my clan, and my homeland. I won’t make that same mistake.”

“How noble,” sneered Carriok. “And what, you’re someone who always make the right choice?”

“No,” replied Seth. “But I try to.”

Carriok lifted his head and let out a long, cawing laugh. “You are a naive fool,” he said, “but fools make the best bargains. What do you have in mind?”

“Simple, straightforward, and honest,” said Seth. “You tell my friends everything you know about Creed and his enemies. In exchange, I will make you first in line to become the patriarch of my clan, and I adopt you into the clan so you can claim that inheritance for yourself. That’s the offer.”

“What, no truce?” Carriok asked. “No assurance that your friends and I won’t go back to killing each other once our exchange is done?”

“I cannot bargain on their behalf,” said Seth. “And I am sure that you are clever enough to find a loophole in any kind of truce I might suggest. But for my part, I will promise to do no harm to you other than what is necessary to protect my friends and my clan. That’s not part of the bargain, it is simply a promise I give to you freely.”

Carriok cocked his head at Seth and narrowed his eyes again, as if a clever joke had just been spoiled. “Very well,” he said. “I agree to your terms. You begin, and then I’ll tell you all what I know.”

Before Shon and Tarun could object, Seth raised his shillelagh high and spoke. “As acting patriarch, I bestow the first right of claim to the title of patriarch, leader of the clan, and wielder of the Sword of Wheat to Laronius. This birthright will be his in full upon his adoption into the clan, and none will have the power to take it from him.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Carriok demanded. “There is no more Laronius. There is only Carriok. You should have bestowed the birthright to me.”

“My friend Shon made a bargain with Laronius that he would give him the key to the Sword of Wheat,” said Seth. “I would not want to make a liar of my friend, so it is to Laronius that I fulfill that bargain. Besides, aren’t you a merged soul of both Gravine and Laronius? If I apply salt to carrots before making carrot and onion soup, will that salt not be in the soup itself?”

“You speak nonsense,” said Carriok.

“I speak the truth,” said Seth. “And you know it. You have claim to the birthright, regardless of the name I spoke, as I am sure you already feel it tugging at you. But you can also feel that you cannot yet take it. For that, I must still complete your adoption into the clan. And that I will do after you fulfill your end of the bargain.”

“Outrageous!” Carriok cried. “If you will not complete your side of the bargain, I may as well leave now.”

“But you won’t,” Seth replied. “As I said, you already feel the weight of the birthright. You would not simply walk away from your inheritance now. It tugs at the portion of your soul that was once Laronius in a way that not even Gravine could overpower.”

Carriok’s head jerked to one side, then to the other, then again as if some argument was taking place in his own head. “Fine!” he finally exclaimed. “The information is worthless to me now anyway. Why should I care whether I give it away?”

During this exchange, Tarun had carried Shon to a large cushioned chair and propped him up with some pillows. Then he had brought sheets and blankets from a closet and used them to wrap around Krall’s wounds and sat him up as well. Finally he had walked over Mendoji and was about to cover him with another large sheet just as Carriok was about to begin speaking.

“Wait a moment,” Seth said before Carriok began. “Mendoji should be awake to hear this too. Tarun, sit him up so I can heal him.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal!” Carriok squawked. “Vdekshi has no part of this.”

“The deal was that you would tell what you know to my friends,” said Seth, moving towards the minotaur. “And who I choose to claim as a friend is my business.”

“You have terrible taste in friends then,” Carriok replied with contempt.

“What’s dross to one may be precious to another,” said Seth. Then holding his lantern in front of Mendoji he said, “Almetesi.” A light shone from the lantern and dazzled off the skin of Tarun in a myriad of colors as he held the minotaur up to the light. Mendoji exhaled an immense sigh.

“I’ll wake him up,” said Shon. There was exertion on the young wizard’s face, and he was clearly still in considerable pain, but a moment later, Mendoji opened his eyes. The look of peace upon his face was short-lived however, as he sat up and saw the empty staff, Shon’s injured face and arm, and the menacing figure of Carriok across the room.

“What’s happened?” Mendoji asked.

“A lot more than we can explain at the moment,” said Shon. “But for now, how do you feel? Is the rage of the poison still in you?”

Mendoji closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When he opened his eyes again, great wet tears rolled freely down his face. “It’s gone,” he whispered. “I’m finally cured.”

“Disgusting,” spat Carriok.

“Who’s this?” Mendoji asked, trying to get to his feet. Tarun put a hand on his shoulder to keep him seated.

“Someone with information for us,” said Seth. “For now, that’s all you need to worry about.” Then turning to Carriok he added, “You know, I can heal you too before you begin. That cracked beak is still bleeding and it looks quite painful.”

“Keep that lamp away from me!” Carriok squawked. “I want nothing to do with it. Besides, I am not some frail mortal ruled by pain like the rest of you.” He held a wing in front of his face for a moment, then raised his head again. The chip in his beak remained, but it now looked like an old wound, rather than a fresh one.

“As you wish,” said Seth, lowering his lamp. “Just trying to show you some kindness.

“A waste of time to be sure,” replied Carriok. “And speaking of wasting my time, let’s get this over with. I will now tell you what I know of Creed and his enemies.”