In only a couple minutes, the horde of Eaters was rampaging down the valley, heading for the dense line of Summons in the distance, a rolling tide of death and gluttony, chasing the spawns that had to wrap around the end of the mountains he could see ahead of them…

  And which they wrapped around, chasing after the other Eater horde.

  Sir Bellas walked back slowly to the other side, and looked behind them. Behind, where the Summons were reappearing on the ice and snow steadily, as if they hadn’t been massacred and eaten away minutes before.

  The next wave of Eaters would be coming for them. Again, and again...

  “How long has this been going on?” he asked, his deep voice muted.

  “We’re not quite sure how long it took the real Eaters to multiply in numbers enough to start the process, once they stopped being killed. However, given the speed they multiply at, we figure the first real horde started the process a dozen years ago, and it’s basically expanded ever since then,” Briggs replied, stepping up next to him and looking down at the mess somberly. “Just one Eater can start the whole process rolling. They reproduce by eating. They don’t need anything beyond that, and the Fiun idiot who designed them included enough of a magical nature that they can eat ectoplasm, so they can feed on Summons, here, where there is nothing to eat… except ectoplasm gets absorbed immediately, and so doesn’t sate their hunger in the slightest.

  “It doesn’t look like it, but those Eaters down there are constantly starving, never sated.”

  Sir Bellas looked back at the unhelmed Viamontians in armor identical to the men below, watching the process in horrid fascination. “And the ones you freed?”

  “They are truly Summons, made completely of ectoplasm, slain souls trapped in shells spun of dreams, nothing more. The only way for them to become real is to start eating mortal food and drink, substituting the real for the dream. It is not a swift process, and will likely take them a year or more. But at some point, they will be of flesh and blood and bone once more, can have children, and will age and die.

  “To be perfectly blunt, they are children of dream. They don’t even recognize their own faces, it was unimportant when they were created. They carry the names they remember, but they are literally the first of their lines, without mother or father. Their only true relatives are one another.

  “I deem them to be of House Nenati. Where they take their new House will be up to them, but they died in service to others. Living for themselves, that will be something different.”

  Sir Bellas exhaled harshly. “And will you try to rescue more of these Summons?” he asked archly.

  “When we can and it is prudent.” Briggs watched more respawns popping up in the same creature types, although locations changed somewhat. “The majority are thralls of the Corcosi and its vassal Houses, and we merely send them on to their final fates, never to be re-Summoned for the amusement of the System. Then we Seal the Spawn Points, too, although that will not free the souls that remain behind.

  “The ideal is to free all the trapped souls, until the only thing it spawns are facsimiles of what were once men, and not enslaved souls. But that is a thing of time and commitment, and we have a lot of pressure on those right now.”

  “Thirty years…” the great knight mused, shaking his head. “It… does not seem like it, and yet it does.”

  “You are not alone in your thoughts on this matter. But come, we’re going to start down the mountain, and you’re going to earn your first level in a Matrix Class.”

  Sir Bellas could not help but feel a twinge of excitement at the idea. “Oh? And what is that, and why would I need it?”

  “Because the Fist of Bellenesse is a fine Weapon against things of magic, but against everything else, you need a better weapon. And the Weapons we forge use Soul Essence to make them stronger. You will be wielding the Honor of the Bellenesse.” He swept out a hand at Kris, who was standing there leaning on a sword.

  Leaning on it, because the hilt of the Sword extended higher than her head.

  She presented the Greatsword to him with both hands, and rather suddenly everyone was in a circle around them, Viamontians and Isparians alike, even the Fiuns peeking in for a look. “You will bear this as the Sword of the new Duke of the Bellenesse, and wield it not as a Fist, but as the knight and man of honor those here know you to be. Kneel and accept your Sword and your Station, Sir Bellas du Bellenesse, Duke of House Bellenesse!”

  Those pale violet eyes burned into his, and he could not deny the spirit he saw blazing behind them. He went down on one knee before her, and only after he did so did he remember that she was an Imperial Princess and it was totally acceptable for him to do so.

  He’d have done the same were she born a swineherd, he knew.

  The Sword was presented to him, and although she put it in his hands lightly, he grunted at the weight of it, his eyes widening as he realized it was easily as heavy or heavier than the Fist, which was a Greatmace!

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  He marveled at the length of it, the perfection just of the scabbard, and the way his eyes didn’t want to leave the hilt and sweeping basket hilt of its guard.

  With slow deliberateness, he pulled the long scabbard off of it silently, revealing a length of blue-black steel, so straight and true it hurt his eyes to see it, with Runes humming upon it, waiting to be awakened, and heavy, heavier than any Sword he’d ever wielded made of steel, a weight that only a superhumanly strong person like himself would be able to wield.

  Those Runes had a pattern to them, they seemed to rearrange themselves before his eyes, as something written in a script that was older than humanity was nonetheless perfectly obvious to him.

  Honor.

  His very soul shook to read the Word, and all around him, fighting men and women were dropping to the ground as the Runes slowly lit up on it in bright White Light.

  Dreams of the powerful were nebulous. Fighting for and defending your people was virtuous. But what did truly noble men fight for, for themselves, when it was just them and their fellows, facing down a foe?

  They brought with them true Honor, and not some nebulous code of conduct set by those who thought themselves above such codes. Never had what honor meant to them shone so clearly as it did from the Sword in Sir Bellas’ hands!

  Sir Bellas knew he would never defame the Sword in his hand, for it would not let him. Were he to fail it, it would fall from his grip forever!

  “I will wield it well, my Lady,” he swore to her solemnly.

  “Then rise. We go down the hill, to clear away the remnants of the Summons there, and possibly to free more Viamontians and Fiuns from the grip of the System. When the Eaters come again, we will make for the hardpoint there,” she pointed to the obvious pass leading out of the place, and a strange fortification in the middle of it, “Linejump out to Eastwatch, and from there remove those we have saved to Mayoi for the Fiuns, and Baishi for the Nenati.

  “The remnants of the House of Bellenesse await you in Baishi, Duke Bellenesse.”

  He did not know if he would ever feel comfortable with the title on his shoulders, but for now, there was nothing for it.

  Sir Bellas rose to his feet, turning to face the unhelmed Viamontian men and women who were also kneeling to him. “I declare that any of House Nenati that wish to come to Baishi and reclaim their mortality there will always be welcome. I seek no service at arms from any who wish to do so. Return to the life that was taken from us. Spurn the slavery and the death of honor we were subjected to.

  “If and when you reclaim your mortality, and can once again know what death is, come to me if you wish to serve as a warrior once more, and we shall see what we can do then.”

  “BELLENESSE!” every Viamontian present roared back, and Sir Bellas bowed his head to them.

  He turned to Commander Briggs, who was still standing and had an approving look on his face. “Commander?” he asked, recognizing quite well who was in charge here.

  Pale green eyes indicated approval. “We’re going to earn you and that Sword some appropriate Karma,” Briggs stated, picking up Endure and spinning the heavy Hammer in his fingers as if it were a drilling baton. “Form up on me and Her Highness. We use Mercy to take down the Fiuns and Viamontians, and Wolfpacks to take the rest with speed. Watch and learn the basics, and then you’ll get to play the tank for a team.” He turned and started down the ridgeline toward a scattered set of the oversized penguins down there waiting for them. “Follow me.”

  His voice wasn’t loud, but everyone heard it. Only the Viamontians and Fiuns held back, as they were in no way ready to survive multiple combats right now, and it was best for them to just watch and observe.

  --------

  “Master Oswald. I almost did not recognize you with your hair.”

  The new Duke Bellas had recognized him by his knifework, if not the heavy knife he was using. The Aluvian assassin could rip open an Eater with fantastic speed, having it kicking and squirming on the ground in mere seconds if another was distracting it. Knifework was not a skill much lauded in Viamont, but Aluvians were famous for their skill at it.

  Of course, the green cloak and leathers had been another huge clue.

  The bright emerald eyes hadn’t changed much, either, although the bright white hair was very different from the short blond cut the man had borne back then.

  They were on Eastwatch, once a Viamontian outpost, now little more than a high point on a hill with many tumbled and gnawed stones about. The Lady Magos was organizing the Teleportation Ritual that would whisk the Fiuns away to Mayoi, greatly aided by the fact the aliens were competent spellcasters themselves.

  The Viamontians would be heading to the former Sho town of Baishi, a town surrounded by woodlands, not unlike the Silyun lands settled by the people of Bellenesse who had fled through the Portal.

  “Duke Bellas,” the Aluvian replied, drawing himself up and looking the great knight in the eye. He was a full head shorter than the towering Viamontian, of course. “It’s been thirty years since I accepted that commission from your lord back then. I’m a respected elder of one of the territories that endured the Fall, now. The King here has even offered to make me his Minister of Intelligence,” he smiled slightly.

  Duke Bellas didn’t know what to think of that. He had actually wondered if the people here knew they had a skilled assassin in their midst. With the way Oswald was talking, it was plain he wasn’t afraid of anyone listening in.

  “That… is indeed a great improvement in your status,” Bellas replied neutrally. “I was informed that Varicci has perished at hands other than your own.”

  “I have no personal means to verify that, but I am accepting it based on the character of those who so informed me. They are depressingly honest and straight-forward in many manners.”

  The assassin had lost none of his irreverence for Viamontian ways, that was certain, but Sir Bellas let it pass. “It was a bloody price for cutting the rot out of our home. I am certain I will hear more on current matters, but there seems to be some consensus that you are expert on the politics raging across the islands on which we find ourselves.”

  He didn’t miss the satisfied gleam in the eyes of the man who was now almost twice his age. “Wish to hear more of the local history, good and bad, then? Well, then, this will take some time, but we’ve got nothing but that for at least a little while.” A spiral of metal swirled out of the pack on his back, leaves lined up and melted into one of the floating Disks that seemed to be common equipment about now. “Have a seat and start asking away, Your Grace…”

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