“You’re safe,” came a soothing voice, a deep rumble hidden behind a thick blue mane. “We’re almost there.” Except in her fever-induced fugue it wasn’t soothing, but the guttural croak-howl of a dozen demons of the void trying to speak at once.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she said, the blade of panic immediately rising inside her again, cutting off pieces of whatever its edges touched. The mane in which her face was buried came to life, each strand a black-scaled serpent, mouths opening with hisses to reveal fangs glistening with venom.

Survival instincts kicked in, her body responding from years of training as she released her hold, arching her back and springing onto her hands, flipping her feet over her head and landing upright. The snakes lashed out at her, but she dodged every one, ducking and weaving and then lunging out of the reach of the monstrous creature who commanded them, its bellowing cry chasing her as she fled down the path, deeper into the forest.

She ran, stumbling every few steps but using anything she could grab onto—tree, bush, or vine—to steady herself. Heavy stomps pursued her, but she made a pact with the wind and flew, soon outdistancing herself from the monster.

Only to stop suddenly, the wall of moss- and ivy-covered stone seeming to grow from the forest floor, as though it had become rooted like any other tree that flanked it. Her heart beat steadily in her chest as she stared at it. Not because of how firm and immoveable it was, but because half of it was in ruins, massive stone blocks broken in twain and crumbling into a pile of rubble, like some ancient city that had been lost to war and the elements a hundred years ago.

The fortress that was Comman Dur had been devastated.

Ludo

Ludo had followed that artery of Lostriver northward for several miles, before it had abruptly looped to the east, angling smack up against a stone wall. A thrill had filled him upon reaching his destination with plenty of daylight to spare, a thrill that soon gave way to tedium as he climbed a tree and settled in to surveil the fortress before deciding on his next move. From that lofty vantage point, he could make out the destruction that had been wrought on the prison, one wall completely caved in, the inner facilities battered and beaten, metal doors hanging from their hinges, wooden barrels reduced to splinters.

The bodies of prison guards littered the stonework.

Questions punched through his mind:

Had the Fire Eater done all this? And if so, why had he waited so long to make his escape? Had he been helped by someone on the outside? Convinced a deranged guard to help him continue his bloody work of murder and terror and fire? Had any guards survived? What about the other prisoners?