by Wolfe Locke
The revenant laughed a cruel laugh without any mirth behind it. “Finally, you recognize me. It took you long enough. You pretend to be a Champion, but I’ve met the real you.”
“You’re right, but things will be different this time,” Edd said, grabbing his new broadsword in his hand. “We are long overdue for a rematch, and the Arena you seem so keen on dying within is free.”
I might be able to take him, but where is Crixa? This can’t be the right thing to do. In fact, no spider-monsters were to be seen anywhere. Maybe Crixa’s absence is all the answer I need about this situation. What of the others who watch in Crixa’s stead? Edd turned and looked but found no one but two groups of Champions.
The revenant saw Edd looking around for them and smirked. “My allies have taken care of them for now. We have time before they return. You and I will not be interrupted.”
Allies?
Everyone hated Yarrl.
Well, not everyone it seemed.
The werewolf from the revenant’s new cohort howled smugly, and the sphinx crossed her lion’s paws with a look of triumph on her face. Perhaps the loathing that Edd and his group of Champions felt for the revenant wasn’t universal. It almost seemed like the revenant was liked.
“What did you do to them?” Edd asked, anger rising up within him.
“Don’t worry about them, worry about yourself,” Yarrl said. “They’re all right. You’ll see them all again. For now, you should focus on doing your best to just survive our fight.”
“Thought this was a practice bout?” Edd responded, his bony hand gripped tightly around his weapon.
“Oh really, Edd. That kind of thinking is what got you killed in the first place. Pyke Wildwood plays for keeps,” the revenant responded with a snarl.
Edd wanted to punch the revenant’s smug face but took satisfaction in the fact that the Dark Lord had changed Wildwood from a handsome hero into this rotting sack of flesh. I wonder if the Dark Lord hates heroes just as much as I do? There was justice in that, and Edd would get further justice shortly.
“Edd,” Colubra said, her snake hair standing on end. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“It feels like a trap,” the centaur agreed.
Edd ignored them, irritated. They were wasting their breath. How could they possibly understand the hatred he felt for Pyke Wildwood, the humiliation that had burned in him as the mercenary’s sword pierced his throat?
The Necromancer he had once been— even if it was a life he’d almost wholly set behind him— demanded vengeance. Edd and the revenant climbed into the Practice Arena, each holding their swords in hand. With open contempt, Edd noted Yarrl’s shuffling, dragging fighting stance.
Such a comedown from Wildwood’s famed swordplay. The other Champions gathered around the Arena, banging their practice swords on the low walls separating them from the battle. They were eager for an illicit fight. Colubra and Selesius had shoved their way close to the front, pressing against the barrier that separated them from the fighters. A barrier that sealed magic within the arena.
Notification: Sealed Arena!
The Arena has been sealed. No allied minions or champions may enter. Additionally, all activated magic abilities are currently being nullified and cannot be cast.
The two fighters faced each other, though only Edd saluted the spectators and the battle began. They circled each other warily, each looking for an opening. Yarrl dropped its shuffle and moved with a light step. Had it been acting the whole time?
“How does it feel, Xanthus?” Yarrl asked. “Did you keep your undead soldiers in cells like these? You seem to be in better shape them most of the undead I destroyed back then?”
Edd reflected uneasily that he didn’t actually know where his soldiers had lived. Maybe Yarrl was right. He suspected, though, that their accommodations had been far worse. But what does that matter? They were undead and mindless.
The revenant lashed out with his sword while Edd was distracted. He barely got his practice broadsword up in time to meet it, and they connected with a loud clack. With some unease, Edd noticed that Yarrl wasn’t using a wooden sword. His weapon was iron— dull iron, but iron just the same.
Even unsharpened metal could do serious damage if wielded by the right user— or the wrong one.
The Champions backed away from each other and circled again. This time. Edd went on the attack. Yarrl easily parried his blows, striking out with his own blade. It felt like a sparring drill, like the revenant was holding back, operating at half speed.
Edd leaped out of the way and Yarrl’s sword swished harmlessly through empty air. The revenant backed off to the other end of the ring then smiled wickedly and threw his weapon to the ground.
Edd barely had time to react before Yarrl started changing. His body became lithe and sinuous, his limbs retreating into his chest and disappearing. Fangs erupted from his mouth as he transformed into a massive undead snake called an adder. Its skeleton was visible through a membrane of skin, and its eyes were sunken in.
The adder hissed loudly and raced toward him, scales sliding easily along the Arena’s sawdust floor. Yarrl’s new form was faster and more agile than his humanoid one. Edd tried to attack it, but the snake dodged out of the way. The watching Champions jeered, calling for Edd’ death.
“Not as ssssimple as you thought, am I?” Yarrl hissed at him. “Or is it you who’s not ssssstrong enough?”
The monster knocked his sword out of his hand with a flick of its tail. Then, it wrapped itself around his body and buried its fangs in the marrow of his bones.
Edd went limp as the revenant adder’s poison took hold. He tried to force himself to attack the monster, to attack and lash out, but his limbs wouldn’t move. Yarrl looked up at him and chuckled, fangs still pumping poison into him.
A phoenix flew across the desert sky.
Edd shook his head vigorously, trying to clear his mind. He didn’t need to be seeing visions right now. But it did no good.
A phoenix flew across the desert sky, its body already in flames. It was dying. The man who had shot it stood on the plain below, bow in hand, waiting for the bird to come down to earth. He could wait all day, for he had all the time in the world.
Pyke Wildwood, captain of the finest band of mercenaries in the Eastern Lands. He had come to hunt the phoenix here in the cruel sands of the desert to prove his valor and manhood to his company. He had succeeded. The men cheered as the bird fell to the ground. Wildwood reached out for it, but its body burned too hot for him to touch. It didn’t matter. The glory was in the killing, not in the prize.
As the flames grew, Wildwood stood silhouetted against them and addressed the troops.
“Men,” he said, “from this day forward we have a new name and a new purpose. We are no longer Penumbra. We are the Blood of the Phoenix, and we will rid the Eastern Lands of corrupt monarchs and tyrants. Like the phoenix, we are the purifying fire that restores honor and justice to the land.”
The men cheered wildly. “Wildwood!” they shouted. “Wildwood! Wildwood!”
Wildwood shook his head. “No, this is not my achievement alone. I could not have done it without your bravery. Blood of the Phoenix!”
“Blood of the Phoenix!” the men chorused after him. “Blood of the Phoenix!”
Wildwood looked behind him. The phoenix’s death-fire was dying down, and something was moving in the embers. A chick emerged from the ashes, covered in soot. It squeaked in surprise to see the men surrounding it and flapped its tiny wings.
Wildwood struck out with his sword and killed the chick too.
The vision cleared. Edd was disoriented for a moment then remembered where he was: in the Practice Arena with Yarrl’s magical poison coursing through his body. The adder’s fangs were still buried in the bone of his arm.
“How did that go?” he asked, teeth gritted, trying to talk through the poison. “Did you restore honor and justice to the Eastern Lands? Or did you just plunder them for yourself?”
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Yarrl snickered and dislodged himself from Edd’ arm. “Didn’t matter to the men much. They took the gold and silver I gave them just the same.”
“At least I was honest about who I was,” Edd responded.
“You were,” Yarrl said. “Would you like to see what you were doing while I was hunting the phoenix? Might be fun.”
“No—” Edd tried to protest, but the revenant snake lashed out again, lightning-fast. The monster bit his leg, chuckling.
A parade of slaves entered the room, carrying rich dishes.
Edd tried to fight it. “You fight like a coward.”
“Who’s the coward?” Yarrl responded, still biting Edd’ leg.
Four slaves at the front brought a whole pig on a giant platter to the head table. It had been roasted slowly until the skin crackled, Western-style, surrounded by Eastern fruits and berries.
“What is the point of showing me this?” Edd asked.
“You carry yourself like a hero,” Yarrl said around a mouthful of bone. “As if you’re better than the rest of us. Perhaps you need to remember who you are.”
With a snarl, the snake lashed out and bit him again. The new injection of poison sent Edd fully into the revenant’s vision of the past.
He was in a banqueting hall, richly furnished, in the middle of an opulent feast. Kings and nobles from every neighboring kingdom filled the tables, and the air was thick with the scent of incense. And at the head table, perched on a golden throne: Xanthus.
The roast pig sat before him, and he tore it apart with his hands greedily. Grease ran down his face and dripped onto his luxurious robes. His patchy beard was full of crumbs and bits of pig flesh.
When he had eaten his fill, he clapped his hands with childish delight. “Friends!” he whined. “You have eaten and drank the best that Xanthus has to offer. But I have one more surprise for you.”
Xanthus’ sycophantic guests looked around eagerly as a burly guard brought a prisoner to the front of the room. The man’s eyes were red, as if he’d been crying.
“Watch this,” Xanthus said. “Lie down, prisoner.”
The man looked up at him, bewildered. He did not move. Xanthus gestured to the guard, and the guard shoved the man to the ground. The prisoner cried out as he hit the stone floor of the banqueting hall.
Xanthus raised his hands and began to weave a spell. The guests murmured to each other in anticipation as braids of magic surrounded the prisoner, hovering brilliantly in the air. Then, Xanthus pulled the strands tight and the boy started to scream.
No one seemed bothered by the man’s suffering. The room was silent as Xanthus’ guests waited eagerly to see what new trick the necromancer had brought them. When the storm of magic dissipated, the boy lay motionless on the floor, clearly dead.
“Wait,” Xanthus said, holding up a meaty hand. “Wait.”
The man opened his eyes. They were now the piercing black of the undead. Jerkily, he got to his feet and stood motionless, awaiting his orders.
“You always knew I could raise the dead,” Xanthus said. “Now, I can convert the living. Imagine the uses. Any kingdom you subdue, any people you conquer, could all become fodder for your armies. The fear of becoming undead will motivate your enemies to submit to you.”
He waved his hand and the undead child bowed low to the audience.
“This one will last for six months before beginning to decay. He’ll stay mobile for about a year after that. Now, what would you pay for this? What would you pay for such a soldier?”
Everyone shouted at once as the bidding started.
Edd heaved back to reality as the adder released its grip on his leg. Once again, he tried to move his limbs, but they were still immobilized by Yarrl’s poison. The only part of his body that he could move was his jaw. He tried to bite the snake, but the monster only chuckled and slithered off to a safe distance.
With a lurch of its body, it changed itself back into its man-like form. Its eyes burned yellow in their sockets as they stared down at him.
“You remember now?” it said. “You deserved what you got from me. The end I gave you was too easy. I should have made you suffer more.”
“Maybe,” Edd said, prone on the ground. “But you’re still a coward.”
“I’m a coward?” Yarrl asked, playing to the crowd of Champions surrounding them. “I fight to win.”
The sphinx and werewolf applauded, but the rest remained silent, looking uncomfortable. This was not the fight they had hoped to see.
“What should I do to him?” Yarrl asked. “He’s at my mercy.”
“Kill him!” the wolf bayed. “Finish him!”
He was the only one to speak up.
“Very well, but not yet,” Yarrl replied.
Yarrl retrieved his sword from the ground where he’d left it. Then, unhurriedly, it approached Edd.
“You showed your victims no mercy, so you will get none from me,” the revenant said, bringing the hilt of its blade down on Edd’ arm. The bone shattered with a crack. Just as in the Arena, Edd felt nothing.
“The undead don’t feel pain, fool,” Edd said. “I, of all people, would know that. You would too if you’d done any research on the matter.”
With a roar of fury, Yarrl broke Edd’ other arm. “Maybe not,” it rasped. “But you can be destroyed just the same!”
Yarrl raised its sword high, aiming at Edd’ skull. Then, eyes aflame, it brought the blade down.
A bolt made of flesh shot out from Edd’ shattered arm and lodged itself in the eyes of the revenant, tearing into the milky orbs. As Yarrl struggled to pull the animated flesh from his face, a fist of stone came out of nowhere and struck the sword from the revenant’s hand. Colubra was clambering into the Practice Arena, spear at the ready.
“Edd is right,” she hissed. “You are a coward. There’s no honor in the way you fight.”
Yarrl dove for its sword, but a massive paw knocked it further away from him. The centaur stood between the monster and the weapon with a determined look on his face.
“You like poison,” Colubra said, voice low. “I’ve got poison for you too.”
With a jolt, Edd realized he could move his arms. The revenant’s venom was draining out of him, and his shattered bones were stitching themselves back together.
“After the battle with the scorpions, which you were removed from, I learned antidotes,” the centaur said. “If this is all you have to offer, you’re a pathetic enemy indeed.”
Yarrl looked around, panicking as Edd stood up. He was still shaky but gaining strength fast. Magic crackled around his fingers as he prepared to launch his attack as the well of power within him began to rise up. This time, he would show no mercy.
“Halt!” Crixa’s voice rang out across the Practice Arena. Spider-monsters surrounded the fighters, forcing them away from each other.
“This fight is not sanctioned by the Dark Lord or by me,” Crixa said. “It ends here.”
Crixa’s subordinates started to drive the Champions back to their cells. Edd caught a glimpse of the Spider Monster before they were separated. He looked ragged, ears drooping. Where had he been?
As he passed Yarrl, the revenant dropped its jaw and let it hang, mocking him. “Next time,” it rasped.
“I look forward to it,” Edd responded, taking some comfort in the scarring under the revenant’s eyes. “For your sake, you shouldn’t be so excited. Because if there is, I’ll kill you.”
Chapter 16: Be Prepared
Crixa stopped by Edd’ cell that night. The spider monster looked tired and exhausted, each of its eyes yellow and bloodshot. For the first time, Crixa was accompanied by the smaller spider minions as if he was being escorted.
“Don’t worry about my escort. Something seems to have gotten loose and is killing minions of our Lord in the tunnels and the dark. Though, that is not why I have come. I tried to stop the revenant’s vendetta against you,” the older monster said wearily. “I asked the Dark Lord to destroy
him after the battle with the scorpions, but he refused.”
“Why did you interfere?” Edd asked, surprised. “I would have thought you would want things to be harder.”
“Sure, but not harder than they need to be. The goal is to create supersoldiers, not to destroy them. You have no idea of the battle ahead of us when Aeon comes to reap the world,” Crixa announced solemnly.
“You have not seen his Infernals that possess the strength of a hundred men and can slaughter with ease. You have not seen the blighted Wormwood that spreads with it a necrophage. He is a monster beyond anything any of us have ever faced. To lose to him and his madness would mean the annihilation of all things.”