It is the hunger for power that tempts men to reach beyond their bounds. The insatiable desire to control another, placing the weak under foot, to abuse and neglect according to their whim. This is the perverted lust of all such beings.

But even among the dogs, there is an order to evil.

Thule dismounted his horse on the snow-covered peak. The frost crunched loudly under his boots as he walked, surveying the landscape. The hidden valley was large enough to conceal the army. The surrounding forest would yield fresh meat and wood to burn. The mountain stream would also provide ample water for soldier and beast. Even the high altitude and cloud cover were an advantage.

Dupël had chosen well once again.

Wagons rolled slowly up the hill and into camp. Beasts whined and soldiers collapsed from the forced march. Slaves heaved supplies and tools to the ground, while others began building crude pens for the beasts of burden.

If not for the powerful elixirs brewed by the Tauku alchemists, the forced march would have failed to meet his minimal expectations.

Thule’s dark, unwavering gaze watched the train of death continue to push through the mist. Five thousand strong. Not likely to be sufficient for this campaign, but they would have to do.

His wide nostrils sniffed the air. The clean, unadulterated air. Untamed nature.

It disgusted him.

Soon there would be true strength for him to command. Strength enough to do the will of darkness—to lay siege to this land. Strength enough to purge the cursed human infestation.

They will soon know their place. Soon, he thought, I will rule this land with an unyielding fist…and place every man, woman and child under my heel.

A short-legged servant collapsed at Thule’s feet in exhaustion. Scraps of leather covered little of its body, which was riddled with burn marks and gouges. It shivered from the cold. The side of its head was red and blistered, its neck red and worn from the slave shackle pulling and tugging. It reached up and scratched a small stub…the only flesh remaining of a left ear.

Thule kicked the slave in the ribs. The body flipped over and wheezed upon the ground.

“Find me Dupël and prepare my tent.”

The servant nodded and quickly scurried away.

Yes, this is the place. We will strike the blow to cripple the humans and destroy this kingdom.

“THULE!”

The thunderous roar, cut through the mist. The sound echoed against the mountain caps. Soldiers and slaves unloading wagons and pitching tents ceased their labors. They looked to their leader in anticipation.

Again the deep voice ripped through the moist air.

“THUUULE!!”

Thule turned towards the call, a sadistic smile on his face. Perhaps the day would not be a complete waste after all.

Armored soldiers waded into view, marching up the hillside. They shoved all others aside, forming a semi-circle in front of their General. Six warriors, encased in steel and leather, weapons drawn. The leader stood three heads above the rest.

Thule knew this one.

Gorack. Unrelenting in battle. Strong, fast…and not to be trusted. Good meat for the field. A giant among giants—the beast wielded a double handed sword with a blade twice the width of a mans arm. In the other hand…a heavy war shield.

The shield, covered in the blood of enemies, landed at Thule’s feet in an open challenge.

The Law of Dominion: a fight for the right to lead.

A fight to the death.

Thule looked at the stoic faces of the six behind Gorack. It required six to Second the challenge. Should Thule fall, any one of the six could take his place and finish off Gorack, claiming the title for his own. It was a cowards way of taking control. If Gorack were to lose, however, the six would be sacrificed as punishment for their treachery.

Such was the Law.

Thule’s grin stretched wider. He would soon need such a sacrifice.

It would be a pity to waste so much blood.

They were powerful warriors. Fearless. Thule regained his composure long enough to realize the cost. Before him were masterpieces of death and havoc. The loss of such animals would soon be felt upon the battlefield.

He shook the momentary weakness from his mind.

They had issued the challenge. They had made the error in stepping beyond their place and reached for what did not belong to them. No, they shall pay most painfully for their grasp at power.

Their blood would serve another purpose.

“You command us to run when we should fight!” spat Gorack. His muscular body heaved with rage. He paced as he spoke, a giant cat, hungry for the hunt. “There are villages to destroy, slaves for our bounty and women for our beds! Instead you run like a whelp and hide like a worm!”

Thule’s slave stumbled into view. His arms were wrapped around the folded black cloth of a tent. He stopped, eyes darting between the challenger and his master…and dropped the supplies. Running to Thule’s side, the slave quickly removed the chain mail and wrist guards. The Law demanded the opponents engage in combat without encumbrance or protection.

Might against might, skill against skill.

The armor fell to the dirt, revealing Thule’s perfectly chiseled torso. His skin riddled with the scars of war and ancient symbols tattooed into his flesh.

Gorack threw his chain mail to the ground. Large veins pumped adrenaline tainted blood through the monolith.

“It is MY time to lead, Thule!” he roared.

“The dead cannot lead,” Thule answered cooly. He held the challengers gaze, unblinking, as he unstrapped his sword. He handed it to the slave.

“Take up your sword and fight me!” Gorack bellowed, beating upon his chest with an anvil-sized fist. “I WILL cut you down,…coward!”

Thule entered the forming circle of giants. Supplies were cast aside, horses left roped and tent left undone.

The camp gathered in silence.

Thule tilted his head forward, enough for his naked brows to cast a shadow over his eyes. His lips curled back to reveal his sharpened canine teeth. Lightly tapping the hilt of the small knife tucked into his belt, he said, “This will be enough.”

A howling wind cut through the camp, biting flesh, cloth and plate.

An eagle passed high overhead and shrieked.

Gorack lunged across the circle, swinging the chilled blade of steel.

Thule hardly blinked before the gap between them had closed, his one good eye catching the blur of movement. Instinctively he threw his shoulders back and felt the hum of metal slice the air near his face. Snowflakes spun in its wake.

Gorack was indeed fast.

Twisting at the hips, Thule dodged a second attack…a blade thrust—allowing it to extend past his chest. He waited for the body to follow.

Dropping towards his outside knee, Thule reversed his direction, allowing gravity to increase his momentum. Opening his hand, he struck the giants windpipe with such force, the challengers mouth flew open with a reverberating pop.

Gorack’s head and shoulders stopped as his abdomen and legs continued their forward momentum. In an instant, the beast was prone on his back, unable to inhale.

“Giving up so soon, Gorack?” taunted Thule. “I expected more.”

Using the heel of his boot, he stepped on the giants unprotected fingers, grinding them into the snow and gravel.

Hacking, the challenger snatched his hand back and rolled to his side. Pushing off his good hand, Gorack got to his feet, broken fingers clawing at his throat.

Thule’s grin was unmistakable. “A leader must know when to move.”

Upon the utterance of the last word, Gorack launched a muscular leg in an attempt to kick Thule’s midsection.

Sliding his right side forward, Thule twisted once more. Letting the leg pass by, he scooped the calf with one arm and simultaneously delivered an elbow strike, just above the kneecap, with the other. There was a loud crunching sound.

Gorack gagged, trying uselessly to yell in pain, his body falling forward onto the ground.

Thule watched the pathetic spectacle drag itself through the mud, towards the fallen sword.

“A leader must know when to strike.”

Forcing himself up onto his good knee, Gorack grabbed his sword and swung desperately in a backwards arc behind him. The motion was slow and clumsy.

Thule easily ducked under the attack.

Snatching the small rune blade from his belt, Thule stabbed Gorack’s forearm and ran the knife up the Vallen’s arm in one continuous motion. The blade melted through flesh like butter, opening the flesh wide from wrist to shoulder.

Dropping the sword, Gorack’s broken fingers went from throat to arm, black blood cascading to the ground. Eyes bulging from exertion and lack of air, he wavered. Purple veins protruded from his neck and forehead, saliva and foam bubbling through clenched teeth.

Thule slid behind his challenger and whispered in his ear.

“But most importantly, Gorack, a leader must be the darkest animal of all.”

Without hesitating, Thule sank his teeth into the giants neck.

With a sharp twist of his head, flesh, muscle and the carotid artery tore free. Gorack slumped into the soil, shuddering and twitching. Thick streams of blood pumping across the ground, seeping through the snow like oil.

Thule stood motionless. Arms held away from his body, he stood poised, ready for action. He waited for the Seconds in the circle to break the Law of Dominion. Waiting. Hoping.

His eyes peered from the shadows of his brow.

Weaklings.

Slowly he opened his mouth and let Gorack’s hot flesh drop from his teeth. He sheathed the small blade and wiped the blood from his face with his forearm.

Motioning to a nearby Tauku, it slithered up and bowed low.

“Yessss, my Lord,” it hissed, “What isss thy command?”

Thule nodded to the Enforcers, standing at the ready. The soldiers elite knocked each of the traitors onto their bellies, binding them in chains. Thule looked back at the snake-headed mägo.

“Prepare the tent and see that all things are prepared for the ritual.”

He looked at the six Vallen traitors and grinned.

“We just found our volunteers.”