by Jack Porter
Seeing that my predicament was not improving, I managed to hook my right leg over the wyrm’s tail for a better hold and then began to shimmy my way up the monster’s back as best I could. It wasn’t my brightest moment, and I expected to fall and die at any second. Once the wyrm finished with Alayna’s tower, it flew to the next tower and began setting fire to it. At this point, I was just behind its beating wings, and still, it hadn’t noticed me.
I nearly fell off when the wyrm reversed directions and headed for the keep, but when it landed on the roof amidst the soldiers there, I acted. The wyrm breathed more fire along the roof, sending elves screaming to their deaths. I used this new position to get up and run the rest of the way to the wyrm’s head.
Then it sensed me, but I was too close. It jerked its head around, I drew my dagger and plunged it into the wyrm’s left eye. The monster of Hell shrieked and roared, but I drove wrenched the dagger out and thrust it into its right eye, as well. Pushing in as deep as I could before the wyrm shook its head, and I flew off.
Luckily, I landed on the roof of the keep instead of flying over the battlements, but it was still one hell of a smack in the ribs to fall from that height. Grabbing a spear from the ground beside me, I rose and charged the animal once again.
The elvish weapon found its mark between two plates of scaly armor, and the wyrm began thrashing some more. I tried to dislodge the spear, but it wouldn’t budge, so I let go and looked for something else to fight with. By this time, the blinded wyrm was thrashing so madly I feared it would crush me.
Finding a sword, I hacked madly at the wyrm, which didn’t do much good but tell it exactly where I was. It reared back and breathed more fire, forcing me to run and hide beneath one of its wings. Thinking again of Ilana, only this time of her injury from the wraiths, I stabbed the wyrm’s wings with my blade.
The creature spun around, its great bulk moving more swiftly than seemed possible. And it also told me that this beast had a lot more fight left in it still. So I stabbed it again, this time in its belly. A great burst of blood bloomed from the wound, encouraging me to repeat the move.
Because of its shredded wing, the wyrm couldn’t seem to fly now. I danced around, evading its thrashing, and landed three more good hits before the wyrm’s struggling finally caught me. Its tail hit my body like a giant’s whip, sending me face first into the creature’s chest area, although it was hard to tell at this point exactly where I was. I still had a sword, so I thrust the sharp edge between scales, feeling it nick bone. Then a great gush of blood poured out of the wound.
But I couldn’t stop my own momentum and hit my head on the animal as I fell forward. Bouncing off, I fell to the roof in an uncontrolled roll. Then the last thing I remember for a time was seeing the wyrm flop over onto its side.
Right on top of me.
I felt a searing pain, saw a burst of stars, and was then transported somewhere else.
57
Once again, I had the sensation of flying over the castle, but this time, it didn’t end with a mad grab at the wyrm’s tail. Instead, I saw my body lying half under the wyrm, my legs crushed, and my left side twisted awkwardly toward the ground.
There was no feeling of any kind, just a sense of calm detachment again, and for once, I could look on the scene at the castle without fear or anxiety. Wraiths were still making their way through the city and toward the keep, but I was no longer concerned with them, like a giant doesn’t worry about the ants at his feet.
Beyond the keep, the red skies and smoke-filled air seemed to clear, and I could see far out onto the plain. Like a camera zooming in, my view changed to a group of the enemy moving toward the castle. In the center of about ten sorcerers was the Wraith King, riding that enormous Hellhound again. He looked every bit as imposing as when I had seen him in the valley a few days ago, but it didn’t affect me this time. There was no feeling of dread or fear. Only curiosity.
My view took me closer, and I saw his face for the first time. It was a masculine one, and not that of a monster.
Surprised, I found that I could move as close as I wanted to look at him. I wasn’t walking, exactly, but my view seemed to float in front of him.
Almost eight feet tall, the Wraith King was dressed in black robes that were much finer than those of the wraiths he commanded. Finer even than the gold trimmed ones of the sorcerers. They seemed to melt him into the night around him. For it was still night on the plain even though first light had touched the towers. But I didn’t have any trouble seeing him. His face was that of harsh lines and a heavy brow, but if the Wraith King hadn’t been scowling at a cowering warlock, he would have been considered handsome. His robes did nothing to hide his broad shoulders and strong body, either.
He was a necromancer at the height of his power, and everything around him bowed to him.
The King drew a long sword, and in one swoop, lopped off the head of the warlock at his feet. Wraiths scrambled forward to wipe his blade and carry the body away. The necromancer looked every inch a king, every inch a warrior.
His hood fell down, and a black crown sat upon long black hair that fell to his shoulders and parted over his ears. No points. He wasn’t an elf.
The Wraith King was human?
At my surprise, I made a noise in my throat. The necromancer looked up sharply then, his eyes darting around like he was searching for something.
And then his gaze fell on me.
I was floating at eye level and didn’t feel any fear, but I did feel a trickle of apprehension that he seemed to meet my eyes. His gaze grew from a scowl to one of pure malice, and he roared, the sound worse than that of either of his wyrms.
Realizing that if he could see me, I might not actually be dead, I backed away, thinking to return to my body. But then my view shifted once again, back to the Wraith King, and this time I couldn’t do anything to stop it.
The necromancer had his arm outstretched, his hand extended in a claw-like gesture. Then he laughed, a deep laugh that sent every creature around him scurrying for cover.
When he finished, he swept his hand away, pointing to the south, and my view shifted despite my effort to get away.
The Black Mountains now loomed ahead of me where a volcano spouted fire and ash into the air. I flew over it, and then saw the Wraith King’s fortress set high on a mountain. With its impossibly high towers and walls, it looked impregnable.
But I zoomed over it anyway, straight to the keep, and before I could raise my arms to protect myself, I went through the thick stone walls.
Down, down, down, through halls and chambers and dungeons and out into a hidden courtyard, I landed at the entrance to a cave.
It was perhaps the height of two average men. Flanked on either side by columns that were etched with ruins. I couldn’t read them and didn’t want to, for they most certainly spoke of something hideous.
Then something happened that surprised me more than anything else, and for the first time since the whole surreal ordeal began, I felt a twinge of fear.
Between the columns, a white light shimmered at the entrance to the cave. It grew brighter and brighter until I had to squint to see. Then it parted as if it was a curtain, and instead of seeing the black hole of the cave again, I saw a city.
My city in New Jersey. And the Hudson River, and across, the lights of New York City. Then the scene changed, and I saw the bridge where I had been pushed off into the water.
Home. I was seeing home.
The portal was real, and it led to my home. The twinge of longing that stayed with me at all times grew tenfold, and all I wanted to do was go through the portal. I reached out as if to touch it, but then I heard the Wraith King’s laughter growing louder.
As I thought about it, it was if he had been laughing the entire time, but I was only just now becoming aware.
The portal vanished, closed with a bright snap of light. And then my point of view was yanked back to the necromancer, who looked even more malicious despite his laughter.
I wanted to leave, to get back to my body. Or, if I was dead, to move on to wherever I was supposed to go.
With a chill, I wondered if this was where I was supposed to be, if this was my Hell, to forever hear the Wraith King laughing at me, knowing that he could send me home but that he never would.
The chill increased, and I shivered violently as if I had just been plunged into an icy lake. And then the pain returned to my legs and my side.
I screamed in agony.
The jolt brought me back to my body, snapping me away from the Wraith King in an instant. With my screams, his laughter faded. Above, I saw the black-red scales of the wyrm and a brightening red sky. My entire body cried out in torturous pain, and all I wanted to do was die. In fact, I felt around for my sword, thinking to end my life right there. Anything would be better than this pain.
But all I felt was slick blood, mine and the wyrm’s mixed together on the roof of the keep. And still, I screamed. Until I thought my throat would tear or my lungs would burst.
And then something else happened. A tingling fire mixed with the pain, which at first only increased my torture. But then it felt warm, and everywhere the fiery prickles touched, the pain subsided. First, my feet and legs, and then my left side. Then my arrow wound also tingled.
I stopped screaming, marveling at this development. Was I really dead now? But that didn’t make sense, either. Because the better I felt, the more alive I became. And the more aware of my surroundings I was.
Finally, I sensed the weight of the wyrm on top of me, but it didn’t hurt anymore. Instead, I reached up with my right hand—the only one that was free—and pushed with all my might. At first, nothing happened, but I kept pushing.
And then the beast shifted. Gradually, in a feat of strength that wasn’t at all human, I pushed until I could pull myself out from under the monster.
When I stood, I was covered in the wyrm’s blood. But I had no broken bones, no arrow wound, and no injuries of any kind.
I was healed.
58
My first thought, besides how damn lucky I was to be alive, was of finding Nya, Ilana, and of course, Syn. The soldiers on top of the keep were dead, so I stepped over their charred bodies and found the door that led down into the keep. It was charred, too, having not withstood the wyrm’s blasts. I went down the stairs, thankful that they were not wooden, and ended up in a corridor that led to the main hall.
Thinking to check on the other six rulers, I peeked inside as I passed.
But what I found wasn’t at all what I expected.
The guards were dead. Some at the door, some within the hall. Inside, bodies of the beautiful elven rulers lay slain throughout the hall.
Among them, crouched on the balls of her feet with her back toward me, was Nya, who seemed to be clutching a body. Her shoulders shook silently as if she was weeping.
Dead. They were all dead. I couldn’t believe it. Had wraiths got in here, too? But there were no wraith bodies. How had they killed the guards without some of them dying as well?
For there was no enemy of any kind. When I looked at the guards, I saw that their throats had either been slit, or they had been stabbed in the back.
Treachery had killed in here, the worst kind of enemy.
Seeking to give Nya her space to grieve, I didn’t say anything yet but maintained my distance as I walked around the hall. I counted five rulers, still dressed in their armor, most of them bloody and dirty from the battle. Nya, of course, was alive and well, but there was one absence that was telling.
Alayna was missing.
I had just realized this when the High Elven Ruler herself appeared from behind one of the thick columns supporting the arched ceiling. Her beautiful, delicate white dress was stained in bright red blood, as were her arms and hands.
She made straight for Nya, and I saw the flash of the dagger just in time.
“Nya! Look out!” I ran for Alayna, but I was too far away to do anything. Fortunately, Nya heard my warning and spun around. She had a dagger in her own hand, and before Alayna could evade her, Nya had plunged her blade into Alayna’s ribcage.
Alayna, her dagger still raised, got a stunned look on her face. She locked gazes with Nya, who surprisingly lowered Alayna gently to the stone floor, even as she drove the blade deeper into her sister’s body.
I ran over, not expecting to do anything, but only to offer support to Nya. The elf’s face held looks of triumph and grief. Alayna’s expression changed from shock to pain, and she went limp on the floor, her gaze still holding Nya’s.
The two she-elves looked at each other as Alayna’s blood pooled on the floor beneath her, mingling with the blood of her slain sisters.
“Why?” Nya finally choked out.
Alayna choked out a laugh that turned into a gurgle. “Why have I ever done anything, sister?”
“Don’t call me that!” Nya spat. “I never was your sister.”
Alayna put her bloody hand on Nya’s cheek. “You were. But the necromancer promised…” she gurgled more as if she couldn’t quite get her breath. Likely her lungs were filling with blood.
Nya leaned closer. “What did he promise?” she asked.
Alayna coughed, and blood trickled out of her mouth. “Everything.” Her eyes shot to me. “A prince.”
Nya looked at me, too. “A prince?”
“An heir to unite all of Hell.” Alayna smiled. “And I would be his queen.”
“The Wraith King’s queen?” I asked, confused by the dying elf’s words.
But Alayna only smiled, and then grimaced in pain. Her eyes became blank orbs, and the sparkle left them.
She was dead.
Nya bent over her sister, her head bent in grief. I remained silent out of respect, but when Nya rose, her eyes were dry.
“I’m sorry, Nya,” I whispered. I wanted to take her in my arms, to hold her and offer comfort. But the battle-hardened warrior didn’t look like she needed it. In fact, she looked more determined than I had ever seen her. Out of the two of us, I was probably in more need of comfort than she was.
With a brief nod, Nya acknowledged my simple condolences and looked down at her sisters splayed about the hall.
“What will happen now that you’re the only one left?” I asked.
Nya took a deep, shuddering breath. “If we survive this, we’ll appoint new rulers. There must always be seven.”
At that moment, I truly loved Nya. She was so honest and noble. The good of the realm was still on her mind, and she would honor tradition even though she was in a position to take control of the kingdom. She was both fierce and gentle, the perfect living image of that statue in the fountain by the main gates. With a sad thought, I realized that the statue was probably ruined by now. I hoped not, though.
With that, I felt a surge of anger I hadn’t yet felt throughout all of this. So much death and ruin. It deserved payback. Revenge. And, more importantly, to make sure it never happened again. The Wraith King’s army needed to be stopped.
Surprisingly, my anger was backed by a feeling of power. For the first time, I felt like I could do something about our situation, instead of just being a pawn in the battle. But I didn’t know where the power came from, and I didn’t have a chance to consider it before something else happened.
The hall doors flew open, and four sorcerers marched in, their red robes billowing around them as if a wicked wind had blown them to the keep.
Maybe it had.
Nya drew her sword, ready for battle. I reached for mine and then realized that I had lost my borrowed sword somewhere in the battle with the wyrm. I didn’t even have a dagger anymore.
I did have a whip, though. Even after all that had happened, it was still securely fastened to my belt.
The sorcerer’s whip had proved inefficient in the past, but today, it felt more like an extension of my arm. As it uncoiled, energy flowed from the dark braided leather. I snapped it back, and with a flick of my arm, cut the first sorcerer across the thr
oat. His flesh split open wide like a grotesque smile. At the same time, the whip blazed with fire.
Nya charged the two other sorcerers on the left while I cracked the whip once more for the last sorcerer on the right. He was an ugly fucker, scarred already from who-knows-what, with a malicious glint of hunger in his eyes. This time, the leather tip wrapped around his neck with the flames reaching out for his robes and hair. The sorcerer screamed in pain, but the magical fire grabbed hold of him as if he was dry tinder. Soon, his robes were blazing, and the man looked like a bonfire had been lit in the hall.
I released the whip, which hadn’t been damaged at all by the fire lashing up and down it, and turned to Nya. She was defending herself against the other two sorcerers. They were casting spells at her, which she blocked with the braces on her arms and her sword. Her armor must have been imbued with elvish magic because she didn’t seem to be injured by the fire spells the sorcerers were sending her way.
Determined to even the fight, I used my whip on the sorcerers as well, setting their robes ablaze while they weren’t looking. Needless to say, the fire distracted them, who probably thought they were impervious to magical fire, and Nya used the time to make her move. In two strokes, she had lopped off the head of one panicking sorcerer and run the other through the middle. He collapsed to the floor in a heap of fire, robes, and blood.
“You okay?” I asked.
Nya nodded and looked me over. Then, her eyes fell on the whip, which still had tendrils of fire licking up and down the leather. I wasn’t sure how to put it out, but when I gathered it to coil it again, the flames extinguished on their own.
“How?” she asked incredulously.
I shook my head. “Not sure, entirely. I think it has something to do with the wyrm I killed.”
Nya raised both eyebrows. “You killed the last wyrm?”
Smiling, I said, “Well, it was either him or me. Actually, I thought it was going to be me.” I wanted to tell her about the vision I’d had, and about how my injuries had healed, but now wasn’t exactly the time. “We’ve got to find Ilana,” I said.