It’s interesting how the Thirteen Heroes are seen as miracle-workers. We hardly see them these days, and when we do see them they barely interact with anyone else. Is this just a result of their ancient age? Or are the stories we have of their powerful magics from before the Diaspora just exaggerated by myth and distance?

  – An informal interview with Bernard Vaslin, Historian

  RAMON

  His blade sang as it arced toward the orc, flashing brilliantly in the morning sun.

  The bandit grunted loudly as he failed to bring his axe up in time, allowing the sword to slip just past the well-muscled arm and between two ribs. It slid into the flesh easily, the enchanted steel downing the raider with a direct strike to the spine that also happened to pierce several organs.

  Instinct told him to duck, so he did. He felt the close pass of the club over his head as he yanked his sword free, spinning about on his heel to use the momentum in his next swing. The next assailant lost his leg as the mystic blade sliced just above the knee, sending the orc tumbling forward with a grunt of shock.

  With the ease of a dancer deep in his routine, he swept past the toppling orc, opening up the throat of the startled warrior nearest him. A pivot, a quick duck and slash, and another of the bandits was disemboweled by the magical blade that shed the blood so easily, arterial spray fountaining across the battlefield.

  He stepped as if choreographed, weaving between each foe, and every time leaving them clutching a new wound – each one disabling and often fatal. The small band of thugs had no chance, even outnumbering him. Like taking a casual stroll, he made his way across the grass, leaving a ripple of death in his wake.

  Another step forward, and his sword leveled at the throat of the mastermind, the leader of the ruffians he had just executed in swift, effortless strokes. He pressed the point to the man’s throat—

  “Sir!”

  He blinked. This wasn’t a man. It was an orc… child? He didn’t fight children!

  “Sir, please snap out of it!”

  No, it was a goblin. Vermin! But why was a goblin leading orcs?

  “Sir, you have to stop!”

  Ramon staggered as the vision collapsed, and his legs gave out underneath him. He barely felt the hard stone beneath him as he crumpled to the floor. Beside him, the bloodied and bent sword – a decorative display never meant to be used in battle – clattered across the stone.

  Everything ached. Ramon kept himself in good shape, but he found his fine clothes soaked in sweat and blood, his lungs burning while he gulped for air. All around him, the bodies of the Nursuvis delegation lay bleeding and broken. He knew immediately that there were no survivors. The vision he’d followed had seemed smooth and elegant, but the reality was so fast his body couldn’t keep up. He’d torn through them with a savagery that they couldn’t possibly have expected.

  All this snapped into his mind in an instant as the dawning horror of what he’d just done settled in.

  Ramon wasn’t skittish about murder or even getting his hands dirty – though he’d never had to do that. What he prided himself on was his control, his easygoing demeanor, and his lack of need to perform violence personally. All that had vanished thanks to the warped vision that was all too like the strange dreams of late.

  “Sir…” Karkus croaked. The goblin’s green skin was pale, and his hand was held against his throat with blood seeping out between the fingers. “Are you… yourself again?”

  In all his years, Ramon had never seen Karkus as anything but efficient and aloof. In this instant, he saw the goblin’s eyes held terror, and the fingers were trembling.

  With a loud groan, Ramon pushed himself up to his feet. He had to steady himself against the nearby pedestal, but though his body screamed in protest, he could walk. He looked about the room with a grunt. “For now.”

  He remembered now. Just before he’d lost his own identity, he’d taken down the decorative sword from the wall to show the visiting delegation, as they’d been asking about it. A replica of Tifello’s sword, supposedly, he’d been prepared to launch into the story of how the palace had been built by the fabled hero, centuries ago.

  The story hadn’t even started.

  “Close off the room and get someone in here to clean all this up. Discreetly.” Ramon gave his orders to the goblin with a weary grumble to his voice, then had another thought. “Have that wound seen to before you find the cleaners. I’m uh… sorry.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Karkus gave him an odd look, but the tremors eased and some color returned to the assistant’s cheeks. Ramon almost never uttered real apologies, but this seemed like the time to set aside that reputation and confront the real problem. He couldn’t afford for his best assistant to think he’d lost any value for him.

  “Where are you going?” Karkus slowly eased away from the wall, but kept staring at Ramon as the human staggered toward the door, not even looking back at the carnage he’d left behind.

  “My father.”

  It was not reassuring when Ramon finally stepped into his father’s suite. The old man had barely cracked the door enough for him to enter, and he’d had to pound on the door for far too long to be let in. The guards outside looked distinctly uncomfortable despite his identity, watching a blood-soaked man thumping on their employer’s door. He was sure they’d have moved to stop him if he’d tried to actually force his way in, but fortunately Dion had relented.

  He didn’t see blood, but many of the curiosities shattered and strewn across the floor. One chair was broken into pieces, and most of the books had been hurled from the bookshelves. A few small stacks were arranged on the table by the window, a sign that Dion was already attempting to clean up and organize again.

  “I guess something similar happened to you.” Ramon looked around the room, and his father helpfully pointed to a wooden chair to use for now. Sitting on the sofa would ruin the fabric with his bloodied clothes.

  Dion pulled up a seat and settled there, his body looking haggard and exhausted. If he’d done anything like what Ramon had done, the older man might have died then and there. No wonder he didn’t want anyone seeing him like this.

  A heavy sigh, and Dion nodded. “Yes… we two have had the most contact with Tifello, so when he stirs, this happens.”

  Ramon flinched and felt a chill run up his spine. “Has this happened before? How can we stop it?”

  His old man shook his head with a low groan, leaning back in the chair. “Never. But it wasn’t hard to figure out, once I came to my senses. Something has happened to make the hero restless. I doubt he is awake or the alarms would be going off, but whatever is going on… we should take precautions.”

  “I’ll secure the palace and restrict visitors,” Ramon replied immediately. “Until we find a way to mitigate it, we can’t risk anyone else seeing us act like this. Karkus seemed unaffected, he can be an intermediary for now.”

  Dion’s nod was agreeable, but he wasn’t looking at Ramon now. His fingers were rubbing his temples, and Ramon could tell that the old man would need some real rest soon – possibly medical attention as well.

  For that matter, Ramon should also see someone about possible torn muscles and tendons.

  “A good choice. Did Karkus give you the briefing about the Gristlemaw situation?” Dion opened his eyes again and frowned, his manner turning more business-oriented. “He said you were in a meeting, but I suspect he did not have time to report in before you came to see me.”

  A quiet grunt and shake of his head gave Dion his answer. Ramon scowled, muttering to himself. “Gristlemaw may have been a bad decision.” He wouldn’t admit that in front of anyone else, but he knew his father would be ruthless about it anyway. Best to admit his mistakes before having them pointed out.

  “Perhaps,” Dion agreed. “Or perhaps not. We received an emergency courier from the Laturis system. The triple jump requirement – a good safeguard, I might add – means that this information is over twelve hours out of date, but it is concerning nonetheless. Gristlemaw’s cruiser was detected entering the system. I’m sure that has caused quite a stir even if he doesn’t go anywhere near the fourth planet.”

  Ramon’s frown deepened. “In Laturis? But that’s…” A horrible suspicion grew in his mind, but he continued anyway. “What was he doing there? Did they know?”

  The tired smile Dion gave was without humor. It was the smile that said Ramon had made the right choice… but that choice now showed things were more dangerous than ever. “Apparently, he jumped in and immediately engaged something in battle. Our courier left before anything else could be determined.”

  This complicated everything. If Gristlemaw had jumped in and started a fight, then the old pirate had known where his quarry was, somehow. And if it was the Laturis system, they were far closer to the truth than he’d believed. Ramon rubbed his chin and sighed to himself.

  “Clever. We can’t withdraw our protection now without our clients screaming at us, but the ships are useless out there if our target is already this close.” Ramon lowered his hand and flexed it a few times, the aching joints screaming at him to take a hot shower and rest.

  Later.

  He had to come up with a plan right away.

  “I don’t think what is happening with these attacks, with Gristlemaw, and our sudden visions are a coincidence.” Ramon’s eyes rolled up to look at the intricate patterns in the ceiling, letting the familiar curves and swirls draw his attention away from bodily aches. “Something is waking up Tifello, isn’t it? And it has to do with that ship. Do you think there could be another hero on it? One of the Lost, maybe?”

  Dion grunted, mirroring his son’s habit without realizing he’d been the one to give it to him. “Possible, but I doubt it. One of the heroes would be much more direct, I would think. None of the Lost were particularly subtle when they put their mind to something, but it has been centuries for some. Maybe they picked up some new tricks.”

  Drumming his fingers on the table, Ramon ignored how this made the back of his hand ache and instead used the pain to focus. “Someone got involved in the Enforcers very quickly as well. That’s the fingerprint of either a Regent or one of the Thirteen. Someone with power is now tied up in this, so it needs to be handled fast. But by the time we send ships to Laturis… do you think I should call more protection into the system, or do you think they’re trying to bait us to do that so they can track us down?”

  “Mmm, your instincts are good there,” Dion agreed. “We simply don’t know enough yet. Gristlemaw was perhaps overkill for what you first knew, but with the more dangerous foe that our mysterious enemy has proven to be, it was a fortuitous choice to involve him. That man does love a good challenge. We can be assured that he’ll either bring our problem in, or if he fails, we’ll know much more about what to do next.”

  Ramon relaxed somewhat. “Pragmatic. You’re right. We can’t do much about it right now, so I should focus on the visions problem. Minimize possible issues for now, then. Will you be all right in here?”

  Dion shrugged. “It is what I was doing before you arrived.”

  That made Ramon chuckle as he pushed himself up. “Then I will put some thought into it… while in the shower. I think we both need one.” He looked down at the caked, drying blood covering his front and arms. “… pity about the delegation though.”

  His father waved a hand. “Pity, but what’s done is done, and there is no way you could have known beforehand. We will come up with an excuse later. Focus on the problem at hand.”

  Ramon sighed and nodded before turning for the door.

  The Heat