Leaving the trees and rivers behind him, General Warlock led his group away from the calm and safety of the wilderness, and they rode at a gallop down the grassy bank towards the goblin Citadel and the great gash above it in the sky. He gripped his Nightmare steed tight with his knees as he spread his arms wide, flexed his hands and stretched his fingers. The bubbling in his blood was immense as the Power sprang forth in perfect orbs floating above his flat palms. With a deep steady breath, he whispered with a hiss, “Nisgarant! I am coming for you!”

The words travelled in a rippling blanket of vibrant blue light, spreading out upon the broken mountain city, a force like an earthquake shaking it to its very foundations.

The battlefield spread before them, trolls stumbling as they rode past, surprised at what their poor vision could see. Their deep questioning bellows and the thunder of Destroyer’s hooves caught the attention of the lines of archers, and they turned to see their dead General leading a charge down the middle of the field, his glorious black stallion’s mane flowing and tail streaming straight behind as clods of earth sprayed out at their breakneck pace .

He was surrounded by a blue shimmer, the same blue they had seen light up the goblin Citadel only moments before. He had discarded his old uniform of the rat’s colours, and was instead wearing a fine silken cloak clasped about his grey neck, his fatal wound upon his upper chest clear for all to see.

Well, they knew who they were loyal to! They cheered and hollered as he and General Hemlock passed, heading to the ramp and the crushed splinters of the gate’s remains.

“General Warlock’s alive!”

“He’s gonna get revenge on the rat!”

“Nisgarant’s dead as a doornail!”

“I gotta see this!”

“You kidding? I’m out of here! Don’t stick around you idiots…”

Nisgarant’s Majors fled before them into the citadel, seeking out their Lord who had already entered the inner city on his way to execute the Royal family.

“Nightmares! Now!” Anar barked.

“Yes, master!” Destroyer dutifully replied, bellowing a terrible sound no normal horse could have uttered. Upon hearing it, the specks in the sky dived, their wings folding as they plummeted, scattering the soldiers of both sides as they tossed long jagged horns, and bit with strong ivory jaws, slashing various points and spikes and hooves to clear a path for the Warlock and his warriors.

Nisgarant and his most faithful were isolated in the middle of a lush courtyard, his wide circle of magical fire keeping the flood of Nightmares at bay. For now.

The city goblins and the rat’s soldiers raced for the sanctuary of the lower battlefield, no longer fighting each other but simply wanting to be away from whatever trouble had arrived on horseback, and the winged menace that had come upon them from the clouds.

They scattered again as a massive black stallion burst through the broken wood of the gate, its eyes wild and red, flecks trailing from its razor-sharp fangs, heat radiating from its flanks. Its rider sweeping his grey hands before them, tossing aside every piece of debris in his path in pale blue sparks, the ground trembling beneath them as they rode.

Nisgarant the rat Warlord, scourge of the realms, wielder of the Tri-Corn Horn Sceptre, gibbered and clawed at his eyes, trying not to see what was coming for him. He was just a humble skaven! He’d been quite happy with his lot, back at the magical artefact holding facility run by the Council of Sorcerer’s. It was quiet work. Honest work...

Until the Sceptre had called out to him. It had promised Power and glory, wealth beyond his imagining. All he had to do was take the Tri-Horn as far across this far-flung world as he could, and kill some important people. He would be worshipped. Adored. Live a life that millions would envy. Rule empires. Command the strongest army history had ever known.

The power had gone to his head. Killing General Warlock had been his one mistake. Now he was going to have to kill him all over again!

His bony knuckles were white as he clung to his Sceptre so tightly, screaming at his Majors, “kill them! KILL THEM!”

Threllif lifted his shield and shoved the others out of the protective flames. “You heard your Lord! Fight!”

He felt a poke at his shoulder, beneath the thick plate, and he whimpered. Slowly, he turned his head to see Nisgarant snarling down at him, lips curled, big buck front teeth mottled as he growled, the Sceptre touching fur in a warning that would only happen once.

“Go!”

Tentatively the gnoll shuffled to the fire barrier, still looking back pleadingly, wishing this was all a mistake. He had earned his place by his Lord’s side! He’d been loyal, and brutal, and without mercy.

The Sceptre was pulled back, but not in a change of heart, no, this was the move that came before the stab!

Threllif leapt away from safety with a bound, utterly broken at this betrayal of friendship.

He landed in front of Hemlock’s moving horse, and skipped to avoid having his bare hind paws crushed.

“YOU!” he roared, needing an outlet for his rage and confusion. With a whip of his wrist Threllif slashed his blade deeply at the strange pony’s white sweaty flank, causing it to groan and rear up, sending the stupid useless reptid officer crashing to the hard flagstone floor in front of an ornamental fountain as it bubbled gently.

The beast snapped its muzzle at him and he crashed his heavy shield into its long face, hearing the crack of bone. Blood sprinkled down from cavernous nostrils. It took flight with a flutter of dragonfly wings, dust swirling in a vortex as it did so.

Hemlock picked himself up, slowly and purposefully, his scaled biceps rippling as he dropped his unwanted sword and pumped his trusty fists, limbering them up for punches. His long, curved toe talons flexed. His tail flicked behind him. He’d been expecting this from Threllif.

“Traitor!” Threllif spat accusingly, facing him.

“I see loyalty got you far, dog.”

“I knew you were up to no good! Slimy reptile. Sending those idiots off for the dumb goblin girl. Helping to spread panic about that dead idiot, Warlock.”

They circled each other, ignoring the other events past their line of sight.

“You voted for me! You put me in this position! You could have been General, Threllif. Why didn’t you want to be in charge? Could it be perhaps because you knew the rat was likely to turn on you? Look at you, out here, in harm’s way. Not so good chums now, are you?”

“I’ll kill you!” the gnoll lunged, his scimitar cutting air as Hemlock ducked and dodged away from him, “I’ll show my loyalty, and then he’ll take me with him!”

Hemlock’s slim, sharp tail whipped round and left a long wound across Threllif’s muzzle.

“You’ve been listening to him in his sleep? He’s off his rocker! He’s cuckoo! Where’s he going to go? He doesn’t even know! That Sceptre talks shit to him all day, Threllif, he’s it’s puppet!”

“You’ve seen the cartloads of treasure he’s got. That Tri-Horn is a goldmine!” Threllif swerved as the dark green tail came round for him again.

“And what use is all that when you’re dead?”

The gnoll Major leapt at Hemlock, wrapping his arms around scaly thin neck, trying to bite, “you tell me! You’re gonna be the corpse, here!”

Hemlock stumbled back at the sheer weight of the Major upon his torso, crumpling down, his head cracking soundly on the ornamental edge of the fountain with enough blunt force to take off a large chunk of amber stone. He gasped loudly in pain, his foot kicking out to get the big lump of a wild dog off of him. His inner toe scythe circled, trying to find the right spot, while his thin clawed hands ripped into Threllif’s gums as he avoided bites.

The gnoll had abandoned his weapon, reverting back to a feral state of tooth and claw. Trying to get a blade tip in between plate armour was folly, but a chewed jugular never failed. His dog fangs aimed for scaly neck.

Hemlock’s vision was blurry now. His head buzzed. A pain the likes he’d never felt before wracked his body. There was a warm liquid trickle down the back of his skull that wasn’t water from the fountain. Of all the injuries to succumb to, he’d never have expected a fatal concussion. He started to feel weak and limp. Consciousness began to fade. He could feel Threllif’s warm breath close to him, trying to pierce his skin. Too close.

With one last reptid screech he kicked out with both feet, curved claws digging forward into thick fur, the full force of his body spent. With heaving chest, and eyes full of dim stars, he blacked out.

Worrel had dipped back into the secret tunnel entrance, tucked away under the inner palace steps, with his Lieutenant and other elite Royal guards as the hoofbeats had approached. The King and Queen along with the little Princes and Princesses kept quiet and unseen. This was not their fight. Whoever had come for the invading rat was capable of looking after themselves.

There was a grey man on horseback here now, surrounded by a blue glow, who was throwing magic about and shouting a lot. Whole chunks of the city were being torn from their places and sent crashing down towards the ring of fire that the rat was hiding in.

The lizard who had followed had been thrown from his horse and a big gnoll was turning on him with hatred blazing in his canine eyes.

Another lizard in curious garb turned away from the action and quietly dismounted, finding a far secluded wall, hidden in shadows, waiting.

A grey lady who did not look comfortable on horseback, nor with a sword, faced down the rat’s men. She was clearly terrified.

Then, bringing up the rear was a small green warrior brandishing slim daggers, her glossy brown hair flowing as she took charge of the situation bravely.

Worrel’s breath was taken away at this unexpected goblin visitor. The way she held her weapon, kicked her feet, and used her colossal steed as a weapon to plow into enemies three times her size! The joyful triumphant cries every time she drew blood…

She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman, and more! He straightened himself up, set back his shoulders proudly, handed Princess Lillian back to her mother who gave him a brief quizzical look, before drawing his own weapon and charging out into the fray, leaping to the side of the loveliest soldier imaginable.

Her pretty eyes flashed, “I wondered where all the other bloody goblins were! So much for a goblin city! We’re trying to help you, you do know that?” she shrilled at him.

He hacked at a wolf kneecap, “your horses drove everyone away!”

“Oh yeah. Still…”

“You have fine fighting form!” he praised.

Brook smacked her steel toecap into a wolf’s wet, black nose, making it bloody, “I bet you say that to all the girls!”

He took a shield blow to the head, furrowed his brow and butted back, splintering it, laughing as his assailant stumbled back. “I’m Worrel, by the way. Elden Worrel. I’m Captain of the Royal Guards.”

Brook sniffed, backing her Nightmare up and patting the rump behind her, inviting him onboard. “trying to impress me?”

He sprang up, it was much easier fighting wolf men if you were the same height as them! “Might be,” he grinned.

“It’s working. I’m Brook Everweather.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Worrel grabbed her by the waist tightly as their ride bucked and kicked at Brook’s command, “sorry,” he blushed.

“No, you’re not! Just don’t let them hands wander or I’ll thump you one.”

He reached out and grabbed a fuzzy ear, pulling a wolf’s head down.

Brook slashed, and a spray of warm blood coated them both.

“A pity to encounter you in such unromantic circumstances,” he said, wiping his eyes clean.

“What? I’d rather this than a soppy candlelit dinner. I don’t do dresses, neither!”

Worrel had to bite his tongue before loudly saying Brook didn’t have to wear anything if she didn’t want to. His shield thudded again as he protected her from more attacks.

“Didn’t you have a comrade? Grey girl?”

“Oh shit! She’s not dead, is she? General Warlock will kill me!”

The horse trotted to and fro, snorting loudly as they cut down the last of the remaining lupine threats. Brook could see Luci’s robe edge on the floor, the rest of her obscured by the fountain bulk. Her stomach dropped. She’d been so busy having fun with her hunky new battle pal, she’d completely forgotten to look out for the hapless aardvark. Luci needed Brook around in a fight; her sword skills were still rubbish and she was afraid of everything.

Anar was fighting a war of multiple parts. Not only was he here, on Destroyer’s broad back, cantering around Nisgarant’s protective ward, lobbing great hewn chunks of rock at him, but he was also here in another reality, doing the same thing, and another, and another.

As if that wasn’t confusing enough, he was also back in time at the start of the fight, and forward at the aftermath.

He was also having to remember to cut the mental connections to all the objects he’d interacted with. But only in this reality, and not the others, because another version of himself was there dealing with those.

Hemlock was dead.

Hemlock wasn’t dead.

Hemlock could be dead.

Nisgarant had surrendered.

Nisgarant was going to kill him again.

Nisgarant was dying.

Having the power of a dragon was not what he’d expected. The wild magic that ran in his veins had ideas of its own, and he could only guide it. Mirror worlds stretched out beyond the sight of his mind and pinning one down was a task that was far more difficult than his confidence had allowed for. Luci had tried to warn him, tried to help him, had ultimately let him decide for himself how to use his abilities.

Sweat dripped down his brow from his neat military crop of dark grey hair. Throwing rocks was doing nothing, but it killed time while he attempted to get his mental faculties under control. He’d let his mind wander too far back on the tides of time, and he’d not liked how it had made him feel. He’d also gone too far forward, and seen things beyond his comprehension.

He must keep himself confined to the present, or else he wouldn’t be able to find his way back again, and all would be lost.

He could see the terror in the rat’s wide eyes. Using up the Sceptre’s power source would lock him in this dying universe. But not using it would mean his demise at the hands of Anar’s magic.

The fire around him was already fading, losing effectiveness. Nisgarant had no choice now but to break from his area of refuge and start killing, refilling the evil Sceptre with spent life force.

Luci’s anguished cries for help reached Anar’s long, grey ears. Hemlock was dying.

But this was his moment to finally seize the rat. He couldn’t do both, no matter how hard he tried. One task at a time, that was how he could wield his powers fully.

Nisgarant’s pale horse was spurred forward, the black Sceptre headed for the two goblins, and for the Nightmare they rode upon.

He raised his hands, blue sparks leaping, crackling. He couldn’t target the Sceptre, the Dark magic would clash with his, he had to get Nisgarant instead, and hit him hard enough for the Sceptre’s protective powers to be overwhelmed.

“Luci! Use your spark! Use it!” He bellowed as blue flashes lit up the mountainside and the ground before the rat’s pale steed gave way, and everything tumbled down.