Leethva screamed and leapt to one side with all the agility her dancer's body could summon. Wolf jaws snapped shut inches from where she'd been. She drew her dagger and backed away. The wolf hunkered down and growled, thick drool dripping from its muzzle. Its eyes were glazed as if in death. It lurched a few steps toward her with a jerky motion before turning and leaping off into the heavy fog.

Brock stepped in front of Leethva, throwing axe held ready. The wolf had caught them off guard, and he inwardly chastised himself for letting it happen. Though the dwarf stood a foot shorter than the woman he was trying to protect, his stocky, muscle-knotted frame was like a wall in front of her. Some of his fiery red hair had broken free of its ponytail and hung in his eyes. He brushed it away. The moments drifted by with the rolling fog.

At last the wolf bounded into view, its head twisted sideways and its jaws split open for the kill. Brock hurled his axe into the wolf's neck. The creature staggered, blood pouring from its mouth, and collapsed. Then it tried to get up again. Brock yanked another axe from his belt and hacked off the wolf's head. Something black and shiny--like a smooth slug--crawled from the wolf's ear and slithered away into the fog.

"Gods!" Brock growled, his mouth hanging open in surprise. "Did you see that?" He wiped his axes off on the animal's fur. "Something came out of its damn ear!"

"I saw it," said Leethva, shuddering. "We should not have left the carnival, Brock. These lands are strange."

Brock shrugged. "The walk was your idea. Regardless, we didn't expect to get lost in this mist. I've never seen it so thick." He raised his bushy eyebrows. "It seems almost unnatural. And then we see a wolf serving as a host to some sort of slug. What in the seven hells is going on out here? Strange lands indeed!"

"It was you who suggested we take this walk," said Leethva. "I agreed, because it seems I have no common sense." She glared at him, but her bright blue eyes reflected more fear than anger. She was a dark-skinned beauty with curly black hair, her supple body clothed in a small amount of tight leather and her bare stomach displaying a tattoo of a hawk.

Brock was her opposite--his ugly face possessing an oversized, crooked nose that had been broken in a bar brawl. He wore a colorful--almost comical--tunic and green tights (carnival garb) with a big leather belt from which throwing axes hung. His crimson beard was set into tiny, laughably elegant braids, which had earned him the nickname of Brock Strangebeard at the carnival. "Enough," he said. "Blaming each other will get us nowhere, and we need to stay alert. Where there's one wolf, there's bound to be more. I must admit, though, that I'd like to know what that slug was and why it was lurking inside the wolf!"

"Don't talk about it," Leethva said, hugging her arms to her chest. "You've got a warped sense of curiosity that I'll never understand, Brock. We want no part of that sickening creature. Let's just leave this place!"

They started off through the fog and the damp grass in a random direction, keeping alert for wolves. Leethva stayed close to Brock, though as a former slave and bodyguard, she was capable of defending herself. Wolf howls erupted in the distance--too far off to be any threat--but that didn't mean the two carnival performers weren't being stalked.

Brock seized her arm. "I hear something." They waited in tense silence, and then human screams and shouting reached their ears. Moments later, a large black horse galloped past them and disappeared into the mist. More screams followed.

"Sounds like a slaughter!" said Brock, scowling. "Wait here."

"No way," she said.

They broke into a trot, and Leethva quickly surged ahead of Brock. "Hold on now!" he bellowed, panting as he sought to catch up to her. "Don't get too far ahead on those long legs of yours. We don't know what awaits us."

The cries grew louder and then died out. Another horse galloped past, nearly running them over, and then they came across a nightmare scene.
Leethva handled it fairly well, though she looked a little pale. On the ground before her and Brock lay seven soldiers, six of them displaying horrific wounds. Several swords lay in pieces around the fallen men, as if the weapons had been shattered like glass, and stout armor had been split apart as easily as the soldiers' limbs and torsos. Two of the men were still alive, and their shocked faces told the tale of slaughter.

With a shaking hand, Brock pulled a whiskey flask from his pocket and chugged some down. This didn't look like the work of wolves--or anything else Brock could imagine. His sharp mind struggled to grasp what he was seeing.

Leethva knelt by one of the men--an old soldier with a silver beard and mustache. "We were impaled!" the soldier said, his lip quivering. "Great black spikes rose from the earth and pierced us. And...and there were vibrations..." He placed his head in his hands. "Vibrations--like something to do with living magic. I can't explain it, but the spikes seemed alive and connected to...to everything somehow."

The other soldier opened his mouth to speak. Tears ran down his rat-like face, and his body shook. He fell onto his side in a pool of blood, his eyes glazing over.

Leethva glanced at Brock, her face grim. She pressed her hand against her stomach as if to hold in her breakfast.

"How badly are you wounded?" Brock asked.

The soldier didn't answer.

Brock took another drink and then offered the whiskey to the man. He swiped it from Brock's hand and drank a bit too deeply, coughing and gagging when he was done. He grimaced and handed it back.

"My men protected me," he said. "I was their captain. They gave their lives for me. They should have saved themselves. They...they..." He shook his head. "I've never lost so many men at the same time."

Leethva knelt and checked a few pulses--though it was hardly necessary considering the state the soldiers were in. Everyone else was dead.
Brock's eyes strayed to the heap of mangled human remains. It was hard to envision them as the young, healthy men they had undoubtedly been only moments before. Brock was a rugged brawler, as stout as they came, but he'd never seen anything like this.

"We need to find the way back to town," said the solider. "We can return later with a wagon and collect their bodies." He groaned. "What will I tell their families? There are going to be some heartbroken people tonight."

"We're lost," Brock said, motioning to the wall of fog that surrounded them. "We've been wandering around these grasslands for a few hours now trying to avoid getting devoured by wolves. That blasted fog won't let up."

Leethva pulled the captain up and they started off. He turned and glanced back at what was left of his men, but Leethva urged him along. He limped from a gash in his thigh, and Leethva helped support him. He told them his name was Galvan and that he was a soldier employed by a lord who ruled these lands. "We came here to investigate," he said. "There have been claims of dark towers appearing in the Matterkill Lowlands. I know it sounds strange, but it's been going on for a while now. And folks out here have been turning up dead and mutilated." He hung his head. "I didn't expect my men to meet the same fate..."

"Dark towers?" Brock said. "Could those have been the spikes that attacked you? I would think a spike and a tower could be the same thing."

"Maybe," the captain said. "But people have reported seeing huge towers, and the spikes that attacked us were only about ten feet tall."

Brock flipped a throwing axe in the air, catching it by the handle--a nervous action that he engaged in unconsciously. His keen brain was at work, the gears turning in an effort to grasp the situation. "Giant spikes? Or evil towers for evil inhabitants? No respectable soul would want to dwell so far above the earth. Surely this is the work of a dark mind. Your lord should put a stop to travel through this region until someone can figure out what's going on."

"And how would he do that?" muttered the captain. "Build a fence?" He paused and rubbed his forehead, his eyes distant. "I knew all their wives, their children..."

Brock patted the captain on the shoulder. "Stay strong, old fellow."

The captain shoved Brock's hand away. His eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Don't touch me. What are you two doing out here, anyway?"

"We're with the carnival," Leethva said. "We travel from village to village performing for crowds. I'm a dancer, and Brock throws axes. And sometimes he throws axes at me. Well, not at me exactly--if you get my meaning. It's all for show. We left town and got lost in the fog."

Brock walked with his head bowed, though he was aware that the captain kept turning to glare at him with distrust. Brock was a brawler, but he had no desire to have it out with a fellow whose men had just been ripped apart.
Leethva whispered words of encouragement to the captain, while Brock looked on in admiration. Not only was Leethva beautiful, but she never had an unkind word for anyone. Brock thought of her like a little sister (even though she towered over him). They had been carnival performers for many years. They were always together, and Brock was fiercely jealous and protective of her.

They wandered around for a while past boulders, twisted oaks, and through long stretches of grassland. Finally they stopped, knowing they were hopelessly lost. The area was too vast, the fog too thick. Wolf howls arose close by.

"That little man should never have brought you out here," the captain said to Leethva. He glared at Brock, and then turned back to her. "Such a lovely girl. If any harm befalls you, it's his fault."

Brock said nothing, figuring the captain was still in shock over the death of his soldiers. He ignored the accusing glares--barely--and kept walking.
"Brock isn't such a bad fellow," said Leethva. "He just takes some getting used to."

"That's right," Brock muttered sarcastically, unable to contain himself any longer. "I'm not such a bad fellow."

But the captain wasn't letting up. "This is no place for a woman. These plains are infested with dangerous animals and bandits. And now, obviously, something much worse. I don't want to see a woman torn apart like my men back there." He patted Leethva's stomach, and Brock noticed that his eyes strayed to her sparsely covered figure (not the action Brock would have expected from a soldier whose mind was only on his dead comrades). "You should be home making babies," the captain went on, "and not out here in this madness."

"And it's all thanks to me," Brock said. "Is that what you're getting at?"

The captain glowered. "Indeed."

"I didn't kill your men, captain," Brock said. "So you might as well quit blaming me. I'm sorry for what happened, but that's it."

The captain's lip twisted into a sneer. "You've got the face of a bearded devil. And I've never seen a grown man as short as you. You're some kind of...imp. Why did you lead this woman out here? Do you know what those towers are? Well, do you?"

Brock opened his mouth to reply but Leethva leapt to his defense. "As I said, captain, we're with the carnival. We spend most of our time traveling.

We don't know these lands or anything about any towers." Her face darkened. "And furthermore, I don't need to stay home and make babies. I can take care of myself just fine."

"Maybe so," said the captain. He grimaced. "But there's something dangerous about this little man. You better watch your back, girl. You might come to a bad end."

Brock knew it was a foolish thing to do, but he couldn't resist the impulse. "Like your men did, captain? Last I knew, they were with you when they died."

The captain whirled around and punched Brock in the jaw, knocking him down. His axe went flying. Brock scrambled to the weapon and pounced on it. Then he checked his jaw. It hurt, but it wasn't broken. It had been a damn fine blow, and Brock wanted to return the favor--but he knew the captain probably wasn't thinking clearly and deserved time to gather his wits.

The captain started toward Brock, drawing his sword, but Leethva seized his arm. "Just leave him be," she said. "Brock means no harm. Please!"
The captain pushed her aside, still intent on teaching Brock a lesson.

Brock raised the throwing axe, his brawler instincts taking over. "Get a grip on yourself, captain," he growled, "or this will find a home between your eyes."

"Brock!" Leethva yelled. "Enough. His men died horribly. You should be ashamed of yourself." She threw herself against the captain to hold him back.

Brock turned away, determined to calm himself. He took out his whiskey flask, wondering if he should smash it. Maybe it was the drinking that was making it hard for him to control his temper. He sighed, took a swig, and stuffed it in his tunic. "Regardless, keep your damn hand off your sword, captain. That's a call to bloodshed!"

That's when Brock spotted the towers. They rose up from the fog about thirty feet away to vanish into the misty sky--a cluster of them like a castle. Low vibrations filled the air, reminding Brock of life itself somehow--the essence of living things.

He pointed, and the others gasped. "I feel it in the air," said the captain. "That's what I felt just before we were attacked. Look at the size of them!"
"This isn't good, Brock!" Leethva whispered.

But the towers vanished again, and only the curling fog remained on the damp grasslands. Brock shivered, filled with coldness inside and unable to comprehend what he'd just witnessed. Leethva pressed close to him, shivering as well.

"I saw something out there," said the captain, pointing into the fog. He turned slowly about, his sword held forth by two trembling hands.

"Something was lurching about. It looked like a man, but I couldn't make out any details.

They stood their ground, waiting. Brock thought back to the mutilated soldiers, and he was consumed by the need to make sure Leethva didn't end up that way. It was hard for him to bear in mind that Leethva had once been a trained bodyguard. Her dark-skinned face was tense, her eyes wide with fear. Brock knew his own face undoubtedly bore a similar expression.

Something about the Matterkill Lowlands was very wrong, and Brock was chilled to the bone.

An instant later, a cloaked arm wrapped around Leethva's throat and yanked her backward. A man's pale, bruised face appeared over her shoulder. The face had empty eye sockets and a dark hole where the nose had once been. Its mouth hung open farther than a human mouth should have. A putrid stench hung in the air, like decayed meat, and Brock became aware of the buzzing of flies.

Brock sensed Leethva was about to be pulled off into the fog, and that he only had a second or so to get over his shock at the monstrosity he was seeing. With no time to take aim, he hurled his axe on instinct, and it stuck in the attacker's pale forehead. Whoever--or whatever--had hold of Leethva released her, groaned, and toppled over.

Leethva leapt away and whirled around, her dagger held ready. But the captain was already hacking at the fallen attacker with his sword--taking his head from his shoulders. The head rolled over and the mouth gaped open wider. A shiny black mass slithered from its mouth. Brock threw an axe at the dark, slug-like thing, but somehow it dodged the weapon and escaped into the fog.

Brock exchanged a stunned look with the captain. "Is that...?" He already knew the answer, for there was no other explanation.

"The walking dead," said the captain. He swallowed and nodded. "This man has been dead for several days, at least. Look at the condition of the body. But something...something was lurking inside him."

"It's linked to the towers," Brock said, pulling Leethva close to him. "They're bringing corpses to life. Slug and tower are connected somehow. I'm certain of it!" Brock was typically a man who didn't believe in anything without solid evidence, but he couldn't deny the strength of what he felt. We've got to find the bastard behind it all!"

"This can't be real," Leethva moaned. "Are you sure?"

Brock pointed at the decayed body and waited.

"Oh, Brock," Leethva said. "What kind of cursed lands have we come to? I just want to get back to the carnival and get as far away from here as possible."

The captain squatted down and put his head in his hands. Then he sighed and rubbed his face. "Something doesn't want us to leave the Matterkill Lowlands alive. And I have a feeling it's a lot stronger than we are."

Brock seized the captain's shoulder. "Come on now, old fellow. We're going to make it. We just have to find a way to move in a straight line."

The captain shoved him away. "I told you not to touch me."

Brock raised his hands. "Okay. But it's time for us to go."

"We'll just wander in circles," said the captain. "This fog isn't natural. It was put here to confuse us and make it hard to see whatever might be hunting us."

"We need to find a tall hill or a tree," said Leethva. "Then maybe we can look right over the fog and see what direction to go in."

The captain shook his head. "Not many trees in these lowlands, and probably no hills either. It's just miles of bogs and grass."

Leethva tore at her curly locks in frustration. "There has to be a way out of here! Brock, why did we ever decide to go exploring?"

He didn't answer, as it would have been pointless.

She shoved Brock in the chest. "I always knew you'd end up getting me killed, you crazy dwarf. I can't believe I ever trusted you enough to let you throw axes at me!"

"Hey, I just saved your life," Brock pointed out sullenly. "I'd been expecting a hug, at least, rather than a tongue lashing."

"I don't know why I bother with you, Brock," Leethva said. "I should have done something with my life. Now I'm going to die out here."

Brock clutched her shoulders and gazed deep into her eyes. "You're not going to die. We're going to make it out of here."

Leethva shook her head. "Great. That's reassuring."

Maybe he wasn't gazing intensely enough. Frustrated, he let her go and turned away. "We just need to find something that's familiar to the captain."

"Like what?" the captain muttered. "A rock? A tree? A bleached log? Everything looks the same out here."

"I don't know," Brock said. "But we'll find something."

Leethva groaned and turned away. "I'll never understand you. Just admit that we're in a dire situation with no answers!"

Brock said nothing, for she spoke true. There was more to him than Leethva could understand. Something had always been different about him. He didn't fit in anywhere--and not just because of his odd stature. Leethva thought of Brock as a crazy brother--part brawler and part scientist and inventor--but the strangeness ran deep within him, to levels she could never fathom. Brock saw things she could never see, and he felt the pull of destiny in ways she would never know. Leethva enjoyed the simple and the familiar, but Brock lived for adventure and discovery. Unlike her, the carnival lifestyle didn't satisfy him.

"Let's just get moving," snarled the captain. "I'm not going to stand here--"
The ground shook, and a tower--much smaller than the other ones--shot up from the earth and nearly impaled Leethva. Only her dancer's agility saved her as she leapt out of the way. She turned and stared up at the dark spike that loomed over her, screaming. Silver lightning congealed at the tower's base, and it noiselessly split open. Something reached out like a clawed hand and yanked Leethva into the hole so that her head disappeared.

With a cry, Brock flung his axes at the tower, but they shattered on impact.

The captain swung his sword against the smooth ebony spire, but his weapon broke as well.

Brock grabbed Leethva around the waist, the muscles in her belly taut against his arm. He could only imagine what was happening to her head in there. He pulled fiercely, but she was stuck. He was afraid he'd yank her head off with his brutish strength, so he had to give up. He let go and backed away, his eye wide with the horror of the situation. He imagined her head being crushed, her beautiful face mutilated.

The captain stood watching as well, his eyes smoldering with rage and anguish. "Do something!" he yelled at Brock. "Save her!"

Brock hurled himself against the tower, but it was like pushing on a thick pillar of stone. Even his great strength was no match for it.

But then the tower released Leethva and she staggered away from it. The dark spire sank into the earth, leaving only a crumbling hole to mark its passing. The other towers vanished as well. All that remained was the rolling fog.

Leethva's head had become encased in an ebony shell. She turned, and Brock gazed into a face of madness. She had no eyes, nose, or mouth--just a small round hole where the mouth should have been. She waved her arms and staggered around, making muffled noises. Meanwhile, the captain cursed at Brock like it was his fault.

Brock yanked on the dark helm, but it was bound tightly to her skull and might even have been fused right into her flesh and bone.

Brock pulled her against him and groaned, vowing he would avenge her.

* * *

Unable to find a way out of the Matterkill Lowlands, they finally stopped to rest. The captain sat with his arm around Leethva, trying to console her. It should have been Brock's task, but he had no comfort to give. He gazed at her in despair. Her body was as flawless as ever, her smooth and muscular curves exposed by the skimpy leather outfit she wore. But her head was a featureless nightmare.

Brock slowly chewed some jerky, but he didn't taste it. He wondered if Leethva could eat through that tiny mouth hole, but he was afraid if he poked some jerky in there he'd choke her. "Leethva, I'm sorry," Brock said, bowing his head. "This is all my fault. I should never have pestered you into exploring these lands with me."

She shook her head in response.

"Quit being sorry, you bum," said the captain, "and figure out how to get us out of this mess. If we can get her to town and take her to a blacksmith, maybe we can get that thing off her before she starves to death."

Leethva shook her head furiously and pointed into the fog.

Brock jumped up. "What are you trying to tell us?"

She took a stick and began writing in the dirt. It was a long, painstaking task, but eventually she wrote out what she was thinking.

"I can't read," said the captain. "What does it say?"

"She says the towers won't let us escape," Brock said. "We have to find something she calls the scroll, and smash it. She says she's connected to the towers now, and that's why she knows this stuff. She can lead us to the scroll."

"Where are the towers from?" asked the captain.

Leethva scrawled some more words in the dirt.

"She says the towers are thousands of years old," Brock said. "They were dead for centuries, but now they've returned to life. They don't want to hurt anyone. They're trying to bond with humans, but it never worked right until Leethva. They ended up killing people by mistake."

The captain's body trembled in rage. "Are you saying my men were killed by accident? I don't believe it! Those things are evil, and I'll see them destroyed."

"I'm with you on that, captain," Brock muttered. "We're going to finish them."

"I've rested enough," said the captain. "Leethva, lead us to that scroll. We're going to crush it and put an end to this."

She nodded and rose. She held out her hand, as if feeling for something. Then she started off through the mist. Glancing at each other uncertainly, the two men followed. Brock grabbed a small boulder to use as a weapon.

The land sloped downward, growing thick with mossy rocks. It grew boggy, their feet sinking into mud, while dragonflies whizzed past them. Brock felt, or heard, a buzzing in his head. He was connected to all living things in a way he'd never experienced before. He knew the will of every insect that flew near him, and he understood the value of life, that it was a mold for something new and greater--that it would shape a second form of life, one free of blood, flesh, and organs. This new life would consist of mind alone, and it would spring free from human flesh like a moth from a cocoon.

Leethva seemed more alive to Brock than ever. Her head pulsed with the second life, as if it had become pure thought and energy. He could see and feel the silver lightning that rippled over her ebony flesh, and it was purity far beyond his crude shell.

The captain got swept away in the same emotions Brock was feeling, and he threw himself against her in worship, promising to serve her forever. But Brock was strange and stout in spirit, and the closer he felt to Leethva, the more it drove him away from her.

Brock seized the captain. "Snap out of it, old fellow."

The captain shook his head, his eyes dazed. "She...she's a goddess. No...wait... What's happening to me?"

"It's not her," Brock said. "It's the towers. I think I've figured it out, captain. They--"

Two wolves leapt out of the mist, bearing the men to the ground. Brock barely got his hand up in time to ward off a snarling muzzle. He shoved the wolf off him, seized his fallen rock, and crushed the beast's skull. This time, he was ready for the slug that tried to escape, and he stomped it into the mud.

Meanwhile, the captain was still on the ground, the wolf ripping at his arm. Brock kicked the creature off the captain. Then he seized the rock and he and the wolf circled each other. The wolf finally leapt in for the kill. Brock slammed the boulder down three times on the creature's head, driving bone fragments into the mud. One arm dripping blood from a deep bite, the captain pounced on the escaping slug and squashed it in his fist.

Leethva stood quietly facing them.

The captain squared his shoulders. "I don't... I..." Once again he flung himself at Leethva's feet. "I am ready to serve, my lady."

She pushed his face into the muck, and the captain didn't fight. Brock lunged forward and dragged him away from her.

Leethva laughed--a grotesque, muffled sound. Brock backed away, filled with a mix of wonder and revulsion.

Leethva motioned for them to follow, and started off.

They traveled a bit farther and then Leethva pointed at the mud. A small cluster of black crystals surfaced--the towers as they really were. Brock wasn't sure why she'd called this cluster a scroll, but he'd been picturing something you unrolled and read.

Brock snatched it up. It felt so alive in his hands that he could never imagine destroying it. The thought was so repulsive it made him sick to his stomach. How could you crush something so vibrant and necessary? It would be like smashing your true love.

A scream snapped him out of his trance, and he whirled around. The captain hung in the air impaled on a black spire. Leethva stepped toward Brock, and her ebony helm split open to reveal a silver face. She smiled. "I finally got rid of that annoying oaf."

Brock backed away and nearly tripped.

"Are you going to smash the scroll, then?" she asked. "I'm thinking you're having second thoughts. I have a better idea. Why don't you join me? All humans will have to become what I am eventually. You might as well get it over with. And don't think your death would be an escape. Even the dead must live again in the new world that shall soon exist--as slaves that will serve superior beings like me."

"I'm going to end this," Brock growled.

"You can't." Leethva said. "Even if you smash the scroll, it's too late. The sorcery has become part of me now. I'm changing, Brock. Soon I'll be nearly immortal, and the scroll will weaken until it falls apart. It's no longer needed. All the power is in me now, to be passed from one human to another and spawn a new race."

"But you can still die," he said. "You're still partially human." It was more of a question than a statement.

"Not for long," she said. "Soon I'll be something much greater, and all of humanity will follow the path I walk. If you come to me and take my hand, I can make you what I've become. You can live forever. You can have me...again and again...like you always wanted. Don't deny the truth, Brock. You've wanted me from the first moment you saw me."

Brock turned his back to her and sat the crystals on the ground. Using his rock, he shattered them into pieces. The fragments melted into slime. He turned around, praying Leethva had changed back to normal. But her smooth silver face greeted his vision.

"I told you," she said. "It's too late. The scroll was not important. Did you think I would have revealed its location if it was? The towers have evolved--into me!"

Brock stood clutching the boulder, his head bowed in despair.

"The towers came from the ocean," Leethva said, "from a great city. They got left behind when the city vanished. They grew and changed, bending life into a new form, and finally they came here to sleep and allow knowledge to take root. They know their destiny now. They have become the catalyst for turning this world into a garden of wonders. Things will speed up, the clumsy old forms will be shed."

Brock almost smiled. Leethva had been anything but clumsy. He cradled the rock in one arm, took out his whiskey flask, and drank deeply.

"Don't despair, Brock," she said. "You don't have to anymore."

Brock finished off his whiskey and tossed the flask away. He started to turn away, and Leethva cocked her head to one side in curiosity. Then he hurled the rock into her chest with all the force his muscle-laden arms could summon. It struck with a cracking of bone.

Her eyes widened, and she staggered toward him. "Brock, how could you do... My transformation wasn't..." Blood dripped from her mouth. She flung herself into him and tried to strangle him with her unnatural might. They fell into the mud. Brock fought furiously to keep Leethva from crushing his windpipe, and just when his muscles started to fail, a shudder tore through her and she collapsed.

Brock shoved her off of him. Then he knelt over her and took a moment to grieve. At last, he said goodbye to Leethva, threw her limp body over his shoulder, and walked away. He passed the captain's corpse, which now lay in the mud. "You were right about me, captain," he said. "I'm a dangerous man. It's my lot in life, I suppose."

Moments later, Leethva groaned and stirred. Brock checked her pulse. It was faint, but there was still hope. If he could get her to a healer (and maybe a blacksmith as well), perhaps there was a chance she could be brought back.

Regardless, the carnival was no longer an option. Brock was now aware of a much larger and more fascinating world that demanded exploration. His keen mind hungered for knowledge, just as his meaty fists often hungered for a jaw to connect with in the taverns. His lust for adventure and discovery could no longer be contained.

And most importantly, Brock wanted to discover what he was.

Copyright © Robert E. Keller