Shadow Rogue Ascendant

by Mike Truk

  “I know this is awkward,” I said, “but could someone catch me up on what’s going on? I gather we’re all about to start fighting, but I just, you know, what to understand why, exactly.”

  Both Aurora and Anadriel slowly peeled their glares away from each other to consider me. I’ve rarely been hit with that much contempt and disdain, and I’ve received more than my fair share.

  And I’ve got to admit, it rubbed me the wrong way. So I reached deep, deep into my soul, found that fiery sense of power that was growing ever more accessible to me, and raised it up so that it suffused my next words.

  “I do not jest. Tell me what you argue over before I spill your blood.”

  The force behind my words made them almost echo, and the rushing roar in my head that accompanied them left me almost breathless.

  The elves stepped back as one, blinking in confusion, but it was Aurora whose reaction was the most striking. Her face paled, and she turned so that she was facing me full on, eyes wide which shock.

  Anadriel lowered her shield a fraction. “Two years ago our mystics learned of a terrible power being used in this area, a power not sensed since in almost a millennia -”

  “Enough,” hissed Aurora, and her blade flared white once more. A lightning flash, and I saw Anadriel blink, as if coming back to herself, then raise her shield once more as her eyes narrowed with hatred.

  “You?” Aurora’s voice was little more than a whisper. “You? A kyeengtruhl? It can’t be. You?”

  “You’re saying it funny,” I said. “Kyeengtruhl? No. It’s ‘king troll,’ and yes. Fine. My dad’s one, which makes me one, and it’s why I’m here. I need to learn what that means. Nobody’s told me yet, other than the fact that I’m supposedly evil and will destroy the world, and Mother Magrathaar loves me for it, and… well, yes, I’ve got a necromancer and a dark elf on my side, but you know what? Seriously? Iris and Netherys are good people, mostly, and I’ve no intentions of taking over the world or drowning babies in blood, or whatever it is king trolls are supposed to have done. Right? I just want a little information. I’m still mostly just Kellik the handsome buffoon, and my problem isn’t with any of you, it’s with my dad, who, by the way, really does deserve all this anger you’ve got going. Not. Me.”

  Silence. I was breathing hard, heart thumping, hands shaking from an excess of emotion.

  Aurora made a complex gesture, and the coruscating white portal closed, disappearing entirely. She then lifted her helm and slowly placed it on her head. “My order was created to fight the likes of you. To prevent your kind from fulfilling your bloody destiny. Anadriel. A truce. We fight together to kill Kellik, and then we can resume our discussion.”

  “A truce,” said Anadriel, and she touched her temple, causing metallic leaves to flourish and flow up over and around her head, encasing it in a casque of green.

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “I just told you, I’m not - seriously, didn’t you hear anything I - fuck.” I sank into a combat stance, blade held at the ready. Netherys moved away from me, drawing both blades, their lengths incandescing with her purple flames. Pony put Tamara down gently against the wall and rolled his head about his neck, eliciting a series of startlingly loud pops, then took up his hammer. Elsa and Pogo both backed away.

  Cerys stepped back. “I can’t, Kellik.”

  I didn’t dare take my eyes away from Aurora and the elves who had begun to slowly move toward us, gliding forth like mist stealing across a lake at dawn. “Can’t what?”

  “I told you.” I could hear the tears in her voice. “I told you. I won’t kill good people.”

  I went to curse then caught myself. She was right. If anybody out there qualified as ‘good people’ it would be this Exemplar of the White Sun and Anadriel and her elves. Fuck!

  “Fine. Watch over Tamara then.” I took a deep breath. Time to play our trump card. “Iris?”

  All hell broke loose.

  Barrow apostles appeared behind the elves, simply phasing into view as if stepping out from behind a curtain, massive arms scything down, the shards of stone that tipped their fists suddenly gleaming with a virulent green power.

  Pony let out a rumbling roar and lurched into a charge, sledgehammer swinging back and around at Aurora.

  Netherys ran at the elven shield wall that was collapsing before the barrow apostles, her blades raging with imperial fire, her laughter swirling up in a maddening crescendo, and I found my own blade catching flame, the same purple that guided me to the left - the same direction Aurora chose as she dodged away from Pony’s hammer.

  I caught a flash of Aurora’s eyes as she came at me, leaving Pony at her flank, blade burning so brightly I couldn’t even look at it, its passage leaving an afterburn in my eyes so that it was only due to Netherys’ own magics that I was able to parry, once, twice, three times.

  The clangor of our blades meeting were engulfed by the screams and war cries coming from the elves; I couldn’t look their way but some kind of butchery was taking place.

  Couldn’t even look at Aurora for the brightness of her blade, and immediately knew I was in trouble. This was like fighting a gloom knight. She was far more skilled with the sword than I was, and driven by a fury that made each blow a hammer strike against my blade.

  I stepped back, parrying and dodging wildly, missing Yashara like there was no tomorrow, and then Pony was there, his sledgehammer swooping through the air like a boulder right over my head, its passage trailed by actual wind, to cleave through where Aurora had been standing a moment ago.

  Where - the flare of her blade seared my eyes as I saw her throw herself back in an actual somersault, and I thought to myself: who by the Hanged God’s raging cock backflips in full armor, when she caught herself on one hand, spun in a way that made no sense, and came down into a crouch, blade cleaving through the shaft of Pony’s hammer.

  Whose head sailed out across the tomb to crack off the far wall.

  Pony wasn’t fussed. He simply stabbed the haft at Aurora, who rose and cleaved anew, splitting the haft down the centerline to Pony’s fists with a chop of her blade.

  I dove in, trying to stab her in the side, but she saw me coming and swiped down and away with her arm, deflecting my blade with her armored forearm. I turned my shoulder into the charge and hit her full on, enough to send her staggering back before me.

  “Fucking cunt,” she grunted, and slammed her elbow into the side of my head. My vision doubled but I wrapped an arm around her, keeping her sword arm trapped against her side.

  She simply wrapped both arms around me and kneed me in the stomach hard enough to lift me off my feet.

  And again.

  And a third time.

  Each blow like Pony giving me an uppercut.

  I weakened enough for her to slip out of my arms. Unable to breathe, hunched over, I looked up and saw her grip her blade with both hands so as to cut my head off.

  Grimacing, feeling like a trapped wolf, I raised my sword, too slow, too late -

  - and then Pony stepped in, hammering her in the side of her head with a closed fist, the kind of punch that demolished walls.

  Aurora was lifted off her feet and thrown violently by the blow to crash to the ground with a clamor of metal on marble, blade spinning away, helm knocked off, blood matting her blonde hair and pouring forth from her nostrils and eyes.

  I stood there, stunned, forgetting for a second that I was about to puke from the blows I’d taken to the gut, and stared at the dead woman.

  It was over. Just like that. All it took was a blow from a war troll’s fist.

  Then she blinked.

  Her head moved in strange, subtle ways beneath her hair, and I realized the plates of her skull were readjusting.

  “Fuck,” I said. “She healing herself?”

  I ran at her, intent on stabbing her through the throat before she could rise, but just as I closed she raised her hand and caught the downward chop full on against the leather palm of her gauntlet.

>   My blade cut straight through her hand and about six inches down into her forearm, where it stuck like an ax in cordwood.

  Aurora didn’t hesitate. She lunged up onto one knee and punched me square in the face. I saw white, and then felt my sword be twisted out of my grip. Stumbled back and opened my eyes to see her pull my blade clear of her arm and while still kneeling swing it at me.

  Swing low.

  I felt a weird tug, a flare of something that wasn’t quite pain, and then fell over onto my side as I lost my balance.

  Stared and saw that she’d cut my left foot off mid-shin.

  Blood began gouting all over the marble floor.

  Pony came charging over, brow lowered so severely over his eyes I could barely see them. Fists swinging, he drove Aurora back, forcing her into an awkward stumbling retreat as she gained her feet and fell back.

  Shock. That’s what I was feeling. That’s why there was no pain. Because, obviously, having your foot cut off should hurt like nothing else. But I just felt a weird throbbing, a sense of some massive object slowly moving toward some internal horizon, like the sun about to break at dawn. And I knew when that sun did break, pain would immobilize me like nothing else.

  So, acting on instinct, I rolled over, grabbed my booted foot, and jammed it onto the end of my leg.

  Blood cascaded over my hands. I felt shards of bone grate. The pain hit like a collapsing store front. I fell back, screamed, but kept my foot there.

  Pony’s bellow penetrated my pain. I forced my eyes open and saw that Aurora had picked up her own blade and was now driving the war troll back, half her face sheeted in blood, hacking off fingers, chunks of his hands, slashing deep into his forearms.

  Both blades were gleaming like shards of the sun.

  Biting back a scream, I released my foot and drew my dagger. Hurled it as best I could, a clumsy side toss that sent it spinning through the air at Aurora’s head.

  She swayed aside and it missed by inches.

  I went to curse but realized something.

  My foot had remained stuck to my leg.

  For a second it was all I could do to just stare at it, and then I looked up and saw Iris kiss her father’s cheek, as if saying good bye, and point past me at where Aurora stood.

  Her father and mother, grandfather and grandmother, changed.

  Their hands extended into yard-long blades of bone, their backs hunched as vertebrae cut through their suits and dresses to form shovel-like blades, and their lower jaws distended and grew massively reinforced as huge fangs emerged from beneath their lips. Knees reversed and as one the four corpses sagged forwards, resting their weights on the tips of their blade hands.

  “Go, sweet ones,” said Iris, her voice strangely clear over the madness of battle. “Cut her to ribbons.”

  And the four undead leaped forward, springing with the speed and power of fleas, leaping over me to fall upon Aurora, arms windmilling as they sought to obey Iris’ wishes.

  Aurora let out an oath and threw herself into a roll, avoiding the attacks which sent the undead skittering past her, blade hands carving needle-thin tracks in the marble as they sought to arrest their momentum and then leap at her again.

  This time the exemplar was ready. She came up with both blades burning and spinning, making a windmill of her own, cutting the arms off the two lead undead - Iris’ parents, maybe? - only to be knocked back by the other two so that they all fell in a heap.

  Bone blades pistoned up and down, quickly turning red, and then the exemplar flared a searing white so intense I had to look away. A blast of heat whoomphed out over the room, and when I looked back, vision near ruined, I saw her rising from the tattered remnants of the dead, armor punctured in a dozen places, blood pouring forth over its steel surface.

  She blew a lock of blonde hair out of her beautiful face, lips curved into a snarl. “Going to have to do better than -”

  A barrow apostle appeared behind her and slammed its fist into her back. Aurora flew forward with a cry, hit the ground full on and slid toward me.

  I had no weapon. Take my foot off and beat her with it?

  But Pony was there, his wounds mostly healed, fingers interlaced to form a massive fist which he raised over his head and brought down with all his strength on her head.

  Or tried. She rolled onto her side and took his hammer blow on her shoulder.

  I heard bone shatter, saw her armor crumple, and she screamed.

  The sound tore at me. It was the sound of a good person being killed. I winced, half turned away, and suddenly couldn’t breathe.

  But I couldn’t quit now. I turned back, saw that she’d dropped my sword upon being hit by the barrow apostle.

  But somehow she’d held onto her own blade. Through sheer athletic strength she sat up, not even using her broken arm, and stabbed her sword deep into Pony’s chest - upon which she caused it to pulse.

  Hideous gouts of black smoke gushed forth from the wound, and Pony’s eyes burst. He let out a low moan, staggered back, and collapsed.

  A quick glance. Netherys and an undead elf were fighting the remaining two elves, the remnants of the other barrow apostle lying close by.

  I swung back to Aurora. She was back up on one knee, blade raised as she fended off the barrow apostle’s attacks. It was hammering at her, disappearing to appear behind her, only to be blocked as she spun around, only to shift again.

  It avoided her attack, phased to appear right before her and slammed both shard-tipped fists into her chest. Knocked her back onto the ground, her breastplate crumpled, but before it could pound she flung her blade like a spear, sending it through its chest where it incandesced and caused the undead monster to collapse into a host of body parts, earth, and stone coffin chunks.

  “Damn it,” I heard Iris say from the rear of the room.

  Heaving for breath, Aurora rose slowly to her feet. Her armor was so badly battered that even if she could heal beneath it she’d be in trouble, for the dented and crumpled metal would -

  She drew her knife and with quick cuts severed buckles and belts. Tore off her pauldron, her breastplate, and with a gasp of relief sent her backplate to the ground as well.

  Her white tunic was plastered to her upper body with sweat and blood. One arm hung limp, all mangled and torn. Blood bubbled from her lips. Something was deeply wrong with her breathing. One eye was glossed over crimson.

  Yet I saw her summon reserves I’d not thought possible and rise to her feet. She reached out to the ground where her blade lay, and the sword quivered, shone with white light, and then flew into her hand. “Your turn.”

  “That’s not fair,” I said, but hobbled forward regardless, my left foot weak and loose. Aurora blocked my first attack with rough contempt, smacking my blade away.

  Focusing my mind, I gripped my sword with both hands and attacked her with everything I had. I was a skilled warrior, but had no delusions of matching an exemplar. My only hope lay in killing her while she was still badly wounded.

  Even so, even though I fought with everything I had, it wasn’t enough.

  One-handed she parried, blocked, and forced me back. Limping, hunched over with pain, one eye blinded, barely able to breathe, Aurora the Exemplar of the White Sun was doing the impossible: she was beating me while nearly dead herself.

  I snarled in fury. I wouldn’t die here. I wouldn’t let this be the end. Yashara was depending on me. I redoubled my attacks, but Aurora was already standing up straighter. She smacked my blade aside, swayed back as I put too much strength into my riposte, then stepped inside my guard and slid her sword deep into my gut.

  My whole body tensed up like a fist. She stepped in real close so that our faces were but an inch apart. Her jaw was clenched, her lips pulled back from her perfect teeth, and even as I stared into her eyes I saw the crimson one clear, healing in a matter of seconds.

  “This is the end, kyeengtruhl,” she hissed. “Good -”

  Her head exploded as a bolt of blue and purple
ensorcelled fire shot through her temple. Aurora fell away, her body spun around by the force of the blow, and collapsed with a clatter of armor to the floor where she lay still, an arrow that still flickered with the powers of the gloom bow lodged deep in her head.

  I stood there, swaying, the exemplar’s blade still running me through, and turned, speechless, to stare at where Cerys stood.

  Gloom bow in hand.

  Her face was one of raw despair. Her eyes wide, her jaw clenched, her throat bobbing as she swallowed.

  Tears brimmed in her eyes and then ran down her cheeks.

  “Oh Cerys,” I whispered, “I - I’m -”

  Cerys nocked another arrow, turned, and shot the remaining elf through the chest. The gloom arrow punched through the mail, knocking the elf right off her feet to crash onto her back.

  “Finally,” gasped Netherys, staggering back and dropping both blades to place her hands on her knees.

  Silence.

  I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Cerys.

  She stood there, trembling, and then sank down into a crouch, dropping her bow so she could cup her face in both hands and sob silently, shoulders hitching.

  I tried to take a step toward her and nearly fell as my left foot rolled under my weight. Staggered, caught myself, and then remembered the exemplar’s blade that was run right through my gut.

  Almost like an afterthought.

  I took hold of it with both hands and drew it free, gasping and grimacing. When I finally pulled it out I dropped it to the floor and then sank down to my knees, all the strength flowing out of me along with another river of blood from my stomach wound. Collapsed onto all fours, and raised one hand to press it to my belly wound, willing it to close, for all the hot, strange wrongness in my gut to ease away.

  And by the Hanged God’s shit-eating grin it hurt. My ability to heal didn’t cloud the pain. So I just knelt there, grimacing and gasping, blood and sweat running everywhere, shaking and sure I was going to die, that this time my king troll blood wouldn’t be able to handle the damage.

  But somehow it did.

  Must have taken me minutes. Felt like hours. Like a lifetime spent all alone in a fevered, trembling, nauseating cell.