The First Champion

by Sandell Wall

  “I’ve nothing to persuade you with,” Niad said. “I truly am destitute.”

  “Don’t play me for a fool,” the soldier said. “You’re a slaver. People are your currency. I’ll even be generous and take the crippled girl off your hands.”

  Lacrael risked a glance at Kaiser. He could not understand the conversation, but he did not miss the attention being paid to Tarathine. And Niad’s growing distress was obvious. Lacrael prayed that Kaiser kept his cool. Niad was negotiating. For the soldier to start with a demand so unrealistic meant she was willing to settle for far less.

  “If you give me your name, I can send back a portion of my profits as a token of gratitude,” Niad said.

  “I am Tomb Keeper Elise Winnow of House Riggor, and you’ll do that anyway, but you won’t pass unless you produce something here and now,” the soldier said. “This is your last chance. I’m growing tired of you.”

  “Perhaps… perhaps I can offer a bit of sport. Entertainment for you and your soldiers.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “My personal slave here was a warrior in her forsaken tribe. She’s a formidable fighter. Few have bested her in single combat. I offer you the glory of doing so.”

  Now, Elise did look at Lacrael. Lacrael almost swallowed her tongue. Niad’s suggestion was brilliant. Pride demanded that Elise rise to the challenge, and she would not back down in front of her comrades. The only risk was Lacrael’s life.

  “I accept,” Elise said. “I’ll teach this desert mongrel to heel. Come with me. We’ll fight on the training grounds.”

  Elise turned and entered the open doorway. The rest of her soldiers waited for Niad, Lacrael, and the rest of their party to follow before bringing up the rear.

  Niad still had not looked at Lacrael.

  Lacrael stepped through the gate. Behind her, the door slammed shut with a solid thud. She tried to calm herself. Niad was trusting her. Lacrael had an idea of what Niad expected her to do, but that understanding did not ease her mind. In the back of her head, a little voice told her that this city would be her tomb.

  Chapter 16

  MAZAREEM STAGGERED THROUGH THE concentrated miasma. Every minute produced new agony as his constitution consumed itself in an effort to fight the corruption. To combat the poison, he mixed greater and greater quantities of Abimelech’s scale with the blood that Pynel provided. The regenerative properties of the dragon tyrant’s body were the only thing holding the miasma’s toxins at bay. Mazareem tried not to think about how rapidly the scale was being used up.

  So far, Mazareem’s companions had not noticed his struggles. Pynel kept her three seplicas’ attention focused on the miasma. It had been two days since they descended to the canyon floor, and in that time, no threats had appeared to impede their progress. After the first few hours of uninterrupted travel, Dezerath decided that Pynel’s dire warnings were foolishness and stood down their defensive formation. Now, they moved for speed, weapons sheathed and in single file.

  As they neared the end of the second day in the canyon, Dezerath called a halt. Mazareem stumbled to a stop. He swayed on his feet. Each breath felt like he was sucking wet cloth into his lungs. A normal man would be on the ground, unconscious or dead. He wondered if the miasma had let them get this far because all its attention was focused on him.

  Dezerath’s soldiers grounded their torches and started the nightly routine of checking each other’s packs. The concentrated miasma taxed the poison-filtering fungus they carried to its limits. To survive in the canyon, the soldiers had to clean the fungus of contaminants nightly. Without it, they would not last more than ten minutes on the canyon floor. Dezerath had not anticipated this complication, and she pushed them to a relentless pace, eager to be free of the stifling, corrupted air before their protection ran out.

  “We rest for two hours,” Dezerath called out. “Clean your filters and sleep if you can.”

  “She hasn’t even set any guards,” Pynel said in disgust.

  The seplica captain made straight for Dezerath. Mazareem did not trust himself to stay awake if he sat, so he followed on unsteady legs.

  Dezerath saw Pynel coming and turned away from her. Not to be deterred, Pynel addressed the venerator’s back.

  “You can’t tell your soldiers to sleep without setting a watch,” Pynel said. “I refuse to believe that even you are that inept.”

  “There’s nothing down here!” Dezerath said. She whirled to face the seplica captain. “The only danger is this damnable poison.”

  “You’ve stirred up enough miasma in the last two days to attract a blight star. Only a fool would think the Ravening hasn’t noticed us.”

  “Don’t you speak that curse on us,” Dezerath hissed. She raised a gauntleted finger in accusation. “There’s no star due to pass this way for at least a year.”

  Mazareem tried to focus on their argument, but an odd awareness distracted him. Their voices droned on as he concentrated on this strange sensation. The miasma had gone absolutely still. He had never seen it stop its incessant churning. Suddenly, he could breathe easier. It was no longer focused on him. No one else seemed to have noticed the change.

  A whisper of sound slithered on the edge of hearing. Mazareem turned his ear towards the noise. Before he could identify the source, the miasma on the edge of the torchlight pulsed, once, twice, and then went still again. It happened so quickly that if he had blinked, he would have missed it. But he had felt it too, as if the air itself had vibrated.

  Too late, Mazareem realized what he had been sensing. It was the feeling of being watched. They were no longer alone on the canyon floor.

  “Captain,” Mazareem said. He broke every rule of decorum and placed a hand on Pynel’s shoulder.

  Pynel whirled on him in fury. Before she could speak, one of the soldiers seated on the ground looked up at Dezerath.

  “Venerator, I don’t feel so good,” the soldier said.

  The soldier’s hands slowed from their work of cleaning the fungus she held. Weak fingers let it drop to the ground, and she slumped forward. But rather than fall onto the fungus, something held her in place like she was rooted to the earth.

  Pynel swallowed her fury in an instant. In two quick strides, she stood at the fallen soldier’s side. She placed a hand on the soldier’s shoulder and pushed her the rest of the way down to the ground.

  Mazareem was no stranger to horrors, but what he saw beneath that soldier turned even his stomach. A roiling mass of giant, bone white worms had eaten their way into the soldier’s body, melting through the armor under her legs and backside. Their writhing bodies twisted together like glistening, fleshy rope. They were flat on the sides, and each one was as thick as Mazareem’s forearm. The worms resisted Pynel’s shove, displaying terrible strength as they pulled their meal back to the ground to hide their gruesome feast.

  After one glimpse, Pynel let the body fall back to the earth.

  “Seplica, to me!” Pynel bellowed.

  Dezerath took a step back, hands raised as if to ward off what she just witnessed. Mazareem could not see her face behind the mask she wore, but he imagined the revulsion on her countenance.

  Pynel’s seplica responded to her summons without hesitation. They sprinted across the camp, dodging Dezerath’s seated soldiers. Mazareem noted drooping heads and wilting bodies at random in the seated company. At least a third of their number was already lost to the worms. Some of the soldiers jumped to their feet as they realized what was happening. Beneath them, they discovered the ground churning with giant, carnivorous flatworms.

  A sharp snapping noise followed by the hiss of flame caused Mazareem to jerk his attention back to Pynel. She had drawn her sword from its scabbard, which had produced a spark that ignited the oil reservoir down the center of the blade. Pynel stood, flaming weapon in hand, her attention on the miasma that surrounded them.

  Mazareem followed Pynel’s gaze. A pale figure stepped from the smog. It stood about as tall as a man, but it wa
s gaunt, almost skeletal. Its naked flesh glistened like the worm’s, white skin stretched taut over muscle and bone. Hungry, bloodshot eyes peered at them from above a mouth full of needle-like teeth. Tapered claws tipped the finger of each of its hands.

  “Mistwalkers!” Pynel shouted in warning.

  The seplica drew their swords, each one a match for Pynel’s flaming blade. They took up defensive positions around Mazareem. Pynel grabbed Dezerath’s shoulder and leaned in to say something to the venerator, but before she could speak, the monster on the edge of the miasma tilted back its head and howled.

  In response to the fiend’s cry, the ground exploded upwards. Hundreds of roiling worms surged to the surface, wrapping around legs and climbing higher to constrict arms. Mazareem had never seen worms so large. They anchored soldiers to the earth like sticky white chains. Dripping with acid, their toothless maws sought purchase on hard armor. Shouts of alarm and surprise filled the air. Dezerath and her soldiers struggled, but it was a hopeless fight.

  Within seconds, every soldier still standing was constricted. The panicked soldiers beat at the ravenous mouths of the worms with their fists, desperate to keep them from melting through their armor to reach the flesh beneath. The men, who wore no armor, screamed in agony as they were devoured alive. Where the mouths of the worms touched, skin boiled.

  Mazareem watched the frenzied flatworms dislodge the face mask of one doomed soldier. She clawed at her helmet, screaming as she tried to keep it in place, but the instant her mouth was exposed, the wriggling monstrosities forced themselves down her throat. The soldier fell to the ground, gagging and convulsing. The earth seemed to open up to swallow her body.

  Another of Dezerath’s soldiers, one of the largest and strongest, managed to tear a worm free of the ground. She grasped its head between her gauntleted hands, trying to crush the life out of it. The beast writhed, the slimy coils of its body twisting around the soldier that held it. Fascinated by the creatures, Mazareem estimated the worm to be at least twenty feet in length.

  “Amazing,” Mazareem muttered under his breath.

  Pynel and her seplica spun in place, lashing out with their burning blades. Worm skin sizzled and hissed when touched by the flames. The seplica tried to defend themselves from every direction at once. They were holding the squirming mass back for the moment, but Mazareem could see that it was a losing battle. Below Mazareem, the earth stirred as curious worms sniffed at his feet. For whatever reason, they did not identify him as prey, even though they could detect his presence.

  When the worms had immobilized most of the soldiers, the humanoid monsters from the miasma joined the slaughter. Five more appeared next to the first. They loped forward on their thin legs, claws extended to tear off masks and slit throats. In front of Mazareem and Pynel, Dezerath collapsed to her knees under the weight of the worms, arms raised to protect her mask.

  To Mazareem’s left, one of the seplica had been almost completely bound by the living rope. Her sword arm was pinned—she could not bring the blade to bear against the creatures that held her. Mazareem plucked the flaming weapon from her grasp. The hilt felt foreign beneath his fingers, but his body had not forgotten how to fight. He ignored the bound seplica and went to Pynel’s aid.

  Mazareem jumped forward and lashed out with the sword. He struck at Pynel’s legs and feet, and the worms fell away from the heat of the blade.

  “Stay with me, and I’ll keep the worms off of you!” Mazareem said.

  Pynel nodded.

  Together, they turned to face the charging mistwalkers. The first one was almost on them before they could react. Its claw-tipped hand ripped through the air towards Mazareem’s stomach. His body dropped into a defensive stance—he parried the blow instinctively, and long forgotten reflexes executed a vicious riposte.

  The creature howled as Mazareem’s sword sliced through its arm. Black blood splattered onto the ground along with the severed white hand. Pynel went on the attack, meeting the next mistwalker head-on. She put her weight behind a thrust, and the onrushing monster impaled itself on her blade. It howled as it died, its slavering mouth gnashing at Pynel as it tried to sink its claws into her. Pynel stepped back, letting the dying mistwalker slide off her sword.

  Alarmed by the death of the first two, the other four mistwalkers paused. Unsure now, the one in the lead advanced another step towards Mazareem and Pynel. Mazareem snarled and flourished his blade. It seared a burning figure-eight into the air. This was enough to dissuade the surviving mistwalkers. They turned and fled for the miasma. The creatures howled as they ran, and the worms retreated into the ground.

  As quickly as the attack had begun, it was over. Mazareem and Pynel were left standing amidst the grotesque aftermath. There were precious few who had escaped unscathed. Mazareem found a switch beneath his thumb on the hilt of the sword he carried. He pressed it, cutting off the supply of oil flowing from hilt to blade. Deprived of its fuel, the flame sputtered and died.

  “Ambush predators,” Mazareem said.

  Pynel nodded as she doused her own blade. “They weren’t expecting a fight. They’ll watch and wait for another opening. We’ve got to get free of his canyon before they decide to attack again.”

  The remains of Dezerath’s grand procession lay scattered across the floor of the canyon. At least half of their number had been killed. Most of the dead lay slumped on the earth, corpses hollowed out by the insatiable worms. Only a handful of men had survived. Without armor or weapons, they had suffered the worst of the attack. Moans from the injured filled the air.

  Mazareem stooped to inspect the severed limb on the ground. He could not resist the impulse to study it. Pynel paid him no heed, so he picked up the pale hand. It was cold and clammy to the touch. He opened his mouth to remark on this, but he snapped it shut when Pynel moved away.

  Pynel stalked towards Dezerath. The seplica captain stepped over the dead and dying without sparing them a glance. Mazareem walked behind her. Dezerath appeared to be unhurt, but she was badly shaken. She swayed on her feet. Mazareem half expected her to pass out before they reached her.

  “The consequences of your foolishness are only beginning,” Pynel said when she stood before Dezerath. “But you’ll learn the truth of that soon enough. Right now, we have to move. We’ll leave the wounded behind. They’ll provide a distraction that might give us time to win free of this cursed canyon.”

  “What?” Dezerath said. She shook her head to clear it. “I’m not leaving anyone behind. These are my house troops.”

  Pynel stepped forward until her helmeted face was only a handbreadth from Dezerath’s.

  “You listen to me, you spoiled bitch,” Pynel snarled. “I’m taking command of this expedition. You ignored my counsel once already, and we all almost died because of it. I’m not letting that happen a second time. From here on out, you follow my orders. If you don’t like it, I can leave you here for the worms. Unless you think anyone will question my authority now?”

  For emphasis, Pynel stepped to the side and gestured towards the pitiful remnants of Dezerath’s troops. The reality of her incompetence finally seemed to register on Dezerath. Her shoulders slumped, and all the fight went out of her.

  “I thought so,” Pynel said.

  Now that Dezerath had been brought to heel, Pynel turned her attention to her seplica. To Pynel’s dismay, one of them had been killed by the worms. She stood silent over the corpse for a long moment. The single surviving seplica stood uninjured and awaiting orders.

  “Collect her insignia,” Pynel said, gesturing to the dead woman. “We’ll honor her when we return to Orcassus. After you do that, I want you to move amongst the survivors and tell anyone who’s fit enough to travel and fight that we set out in ten minutes. Be discreet. The wounded aren’t coming with us.”

  Upon acknowledging the orders, the lone seplica moved to obey. Mazareem and Pynel were left standing alone while they waited for the survivors to gather. Pynel collected Mazareem’s pilfered swo
rd from him, and she noticed the severed arm in Mazareem’s hand for the first time.

  “I’d not try consuming mistwalker flesh, if I were you,” Pynel said.

  Mazareem raised the limb to inspect it a second time. “I’m merely a student of my environment,” he said. “You never know what piece of seemingly trivial information might prove useful someday. This appears almost… human.”

  “That’s because it is. Mistwalkers are the final form of the Ravening’s corruption on the human body. If they live that long, anyone lost to the miasma becomes a mistwalker. Those that study such things estimate it takes anywhere from ten to twenty years for the transformation to take place.”

  As Pynel talked, Mazareem listened intently. Not only to her words, but also to her change in attitude. She was volunteering information, speaking to him almost as an equal. He wondered if she even realized she was doing it. No doubt, her opinion of him had changed after he saved her life and the life of her one remaining seplica.

  “Am I wrong in surmising the miasma to be magical in nature?” Mazareem said. He knew the answer, but he wanted to keep her talking.

  “No, you’re correct,” Pynel said, shaking her head. “It straddles the physical and the spiritual realms. Some say it exists in both at the same time. The corruption it brings is raw magic, seeping through without a sorcerer to guide it. Without the will and ability to harness the power, it makes slaves of those who seek it.”

  “You speak as if there are those who go looking for it.”

  Pynel snorted. “Aye, fools and lunatics. For some, the temptation of strength is too great. There are legends of men and women returning from the mist with incredible abilities. None of them are true, but that doesn’t stop people from believing them. People will do anything to gain an advantage over their enemies.”

  Mazareem opened his mouth to say more, but Pynel finally realized what he was up to.

  “Enough!” Pynel said. “I see what you’re doing here. You may have saved my life, but I’m not your friend. Our destination is still the City of Death, and your fate is still set.”