A blast of fire slammed into the building he had just been leaning against. Naru, howling with pain, staggered out into the middle of the street, his great beard and mane of hair on fire. He swirled about, trying to put out the flames. Hoarse laughter came from out of the shadows and, stunned, Hammen looked up to see Zarel stalking toward them, moving with an unearthly speed. He struck Naru another blow and the giant crumpled.

Hammen turned to Norreen.

“Flee! At least find Varena and get her out.”

“We’re all finished,” Norreen snarled. “Let me die as I choose.” And, unsheathing her sword, she leaped forward to stand over Naru, who rolled about weakly on the ground.

Hammen, sighing, stepped forward to join her.

Zarel, now seeing whom he was facing, slowed, a grin of cold delight twisting his features.

With raised hands he slowly walked toward them, moving in for the kill.

Long he fell, so that he was not sure if he had slipped into eternity or if perhaps time itself had ceased to exist. He could sense as well the pursuit, though it was distant. He had slammed the door shut into the world from which he had come, but he knew that somehow he had not bolted it with sufficient mana to keep it thus barred forever.

Gradually his strength returned and he found a sudden joy, a realization that he had indeed crossed through the final barrier, that he was now a Planes Walker. The universe, with all its multiplicity of realities, awaited him if he dared. And yet he sensed as well the barriers that hemmed him in on all sides, the realms guarded so jealously by the others, and there were indeed others. He could sense them, some locked within their realms like demented misers, who kept the doors into their miserable realms locked out of fear that someone would want the squalor they had created. Others fought with a mad-insane-glee, struggling simply for the joy of it. There were triumphs and defeats, exaltation and despair. And all too rarely there was tranquility behind walls erected so high and so strong that no one could pierce into the gardens thus created. And he sensed as well the truth of how they had achieved that.

He felt temptation take hold of him, offering him all the powers of a demigod, for indeed in this brief moment that is truly what he had become, a Walker who could stride across the universe and do battle with forces dark or light as he might choose.

He hovered thus, torn between desires, and then he turned, sensing something else. And he knew. He looked back whence he had come and sensed that the barrier would fail and that his foe might again emerge. But with all the universe to race through it mattered not to him. And yet he sensed something else as well. He felt a lingering sadness, like a child called from play in a dangerous field to return to a task he wished would somehow go away, yet it would not.

He knew what he still must do, and there was an urgency to it that drew him back and downward.

Hammen did not even bother to raise his hands, knowing that it was useless even to try. Norreen would die as a Benalian, fighting with sword in hand, and thus bring honor to her caste. But as for himself, he realized that he was tired, that he was old, and, most of all, he was simply weary of the inequity of this world and wished to be quit of it forever.

“Do it, you bastard, and be done,” Hammen snarled.

And even as Zarel raised his hand to strike, laughing with demonic fury, a shadow seemed to form. Zarel hesitated, looking up.

The shadow swirled in tight, spiraling downward, and Zarel stepped back.

It took form and Hammen, stunned, sat down heavily beside Naru.

Garth One-eye stood in the middle of the street.

Zarel stood silent, mouth opened in astonishment.

“I think we have something to settle,” Garth said, his face set with a look of cold disdain.

Zarel said nothing, looking around nervously.

“Do you remember the night my father died?” Garth said sharply. “Do you remember me standing before you, a child half-blinded by your own hand? You were going to use me as a trade, yet both of us knew that you would not have honored it. You would have killed him and then me in turn. Do you remember my tearing away from your grasp and running back into the flames? You laughed when you heard my childish screams.”

Garth stood silent for a moment.

“Do you remember!” His voice was a lash.

Zarel raised his hand and a fire elemental seemed to leap out from him, the flame washing over Garth. He disappeared in the maelstrom of heat and Zarel laughed coldly, stepping forward.

A gust of icy wind swept the Plaza, dispelling the elemental, and Garth still stood there. The fighting in the streets fell away. Zarel’s warriors and fighters slowed in their frenzy, looking back fearfully. At the sight of the one whom their Master was confronting, they looked around in terror. The mob, which had been running in panic, slowed as well. Those who remained edged back toward the two foes.

Zarel backed out into the Plaza, Garth following. Blow and counterblow were struck, the two locked in a dark struggle that was filled with hatred and revenge. All the powers that both controlled were thrown into the fight so that their struggle seemed to exceed even the pitched battle that had been fought earlier between the different Houses.

Flames soared into the smoke-filled skies, dragons and flying beasts wheeled overhead, giants struggled, and dark creatures came up from the underworld below.

And Zarel slowly gave way. And as he did so all could see the growing terror in his eyes. His fear sapped the resolve of his fighters and warriors and strengthened that of the mob, so that it edged in closer.

The warriors of Zarel started to break, first one, then another and another, so that there was soon a stampede of them, swarming back toward the supposed safety of the palace. Fighters as well turned and fled in blind panic. A mighty roar arose and the mob surged after them, pulling them down, stabbing, beating, and killing without remorse those who had tormented them for so long. Here and there in the crowd Hammen’s lieutenants managed to stem the fury of the mob, allowing fighters to strip themselves of their satchels, or warriors of their weapons, sending them off into the darkness shorn of their powers, to flee into the night.

Zarel, staggered by the blows of his opponent, fell back toward his palace, from which columns of smoke were now pouring as the mob stormed into the building, looting and pillaging.

Zarel turned one final blast of flame on Garth and though Garth was stopped by it, a circle of protection diverted the blaze, which quickly died.

Zarel stood alone, panting for breath, his mana diminished to the merest flicker of power as if he was but a first-rank fighter.

Garth stepped toward him and as he did so he reached for his dagger and unsheathed it.

Zarel looked at him, wide-eyed, and drew his dagger in turn. He leaped forward with a mad cry and Garth parried the blow. Their blades locked again, and yet again, Garth drawing back, blood coursing down his cheek, which was laid open to the bone.

“I’ll cut your other eye out now,” Zarel roared.

Garth moved to parry the blow and then Zarel extended his hand. A light flashed before Garth’s face with a white-hot intensity. Garth staggered backward, momentarily blinded.

Laughing, Zarel came forward to drive his blade into Garth’s throat. And then his hand froze and, with a cry of pain, he staggered away. Fumbling, he wrenched a small dagger out of his back and threw it aside, wasting precious seconds on a healing spell to stop the pain.