The Conquered World. Vorlag's Throne Room.
The throne room was cold.
Not the cold of winter—the cold of absence. The cold of a place where warmth had been driven out. The walls were black stone, veined with red, pulsing faintly in the dim light. The ceiling was lost in shadow. The floor was smooth, dark, reflecting nothing.
Vorlag sat on the throne at the far end of the room.
It was not the throne of this world's dead king—he had melted that one down, reforged it into something new. Something that suited him. The black metal was cold beneath his hands, jagged, uncomfortable. He liked it that way. Comfort was weakness. Comfort was for the conquered.
The hunters stood before him.
Three of them—the same three who had watched the canyon, who had smiled as Aldric stepped through the portal, who had faded when the connection was severed. They were more solid now, their bodies no longer translucent, their red eyes burning. They had been waiting.
"You failed," Vorlag said.
The lead hunter bowed its head. "We did."
"Aldric escaped."
"He did."
Vorlag leaned forward. His red eyes gleamed in the darkness. "Where is he?"
The hunter was silent for a moment. "We do not know. The connection is severed. The thread is broken."
Vorlag's jaw tightened. "I know."
---
He stood. Walked down the steps of the dais, his footsteps echoing on the black stone. The hunters did not move. They had learned not to move when he was angry.
"Aldric is alive," Vorlag said. "I would feel it if he were dead. There would be a wound. A scar. Something."
The hunters waited.
"He is somewhere in the void between worlds. Or he has fallen into another world. Or he is hiding." Vorlag stopped before the lead hunter. "I do not care where he is. I want him found."
The hunter raised its head. "And if he is in a world you do not control?"
Vorlag smiled. It was not a kind smile.
"Then you will go in after him."
---
The hunters exchanged glances. Not fear—they did not feel fear. But something else. Uncertainty.
"We are not as strong in other worlds," the lead hunter said. "Our power is tied to yours. If we go to a world where you have no presence—"
"You will be weaker." Vorlag waved a hand. "I know."
The hunter was silent.
"But you will not be helpless. You will still be hunters. You will still be faster, stronger, harder to kill than anything in those worlds." Vorlag's eyes gleamed. "And you will have a mission. Find Aldric. Bring him back."
The lead hunter bowed its head. "And if he refuses?"
Vorlag's smile widened. "Then you will convince him."
---
The second hunter stepped forward.
"There is another matter."
Vorlag looked at it. "Speak."
"The cult. The ones who served you in Aldric's world. They have gone quiet. The connection is severed. They cannot reach you."
Vorlag was silent for a moment. "They were useful. They opened the portal. They prepared the way. But they were never essential."
The hunter nodded. "They may be watching. Waiting. Hoping you will return."
"They will wait a long time." Vorlag turned away. "The portal to that world is closed. The connection is severed. I cannot open it again. Not now. Perhaps not ever."
The hunters absorbed this.
"And if Aldric is in that world?" the lead hunter asked.
Vorlag stopped. Turned.
"He is not."
"How do you know?"
Vorlag met its eyes. "Because I would feel him. The thread would still be there, even if the portal was closed. Aldric is not in that world. He is somewhere else."
The hunters were silent.
"Find him," Vorlag said. "Search the worlds I control. Search the worlds I do not. If you find him, bring him to me."
The lead hunter bowed. "We will."
---
The hunters faded.
They did not walk away. They simply... faded. Their bodies grew translucent, then transparent, then gone. They were moving through the void, through the space between worlds, searching for a vessel that had slipped through Vorlag's fingers.
Vorlag stood alone in the throne room.
The black walls pulsed. The red veins glowed. Somewhere, in another world, another version of him was conquering a city. Somewhere, another version was planning a war. Somewhere, another version was sitting on a throne just like this one, waiting for news.
He closed his eyes.
Where are you, Aldric?
There was no answer.
But there would be.
He was patient. He had always been patient.
He opened his eyes.
The throne room was empty. The hunters were gone. The conquest was complete.
But the hunt was just beginning.