And she had just the plan.
Elise planted her feet steadily about halfway down the length of the platform. She faced the Champion and twisted at her hips. With a whispered prayer to no one in particular, Elise spun forward. She threw the momentum into her arm and released the shield as if it were a poorly weighted discus. The shield went spinning through the air towards the Champion. And as soon as it was out of her hands, she drew her weapons from their sheaths and charged forward, following the path of the disc.
To its credit, the Champion held its ground in the face of the flung shield. It drew its blade from its cane and deflected the oversized missile. The shield had lost too much momentum to be a great weapon anyway—it was a shield, not a throwing weapon. Elise tried to ignore the pang of loss as the familiar shield sailed into the pit, tumbling end-over-end into the murky darkness of the Temple. The part of her that felt that loss was not who she was now, and she couldn’t afford the distraction. She leapt onto the same platform as the creature, closing the distance to it before it could leverage the reach advantage of its weapons.
Elise took the offensive, driving her sword at the Champion’s gut. The baton-like sheath swept up to deflect the blow, but her dagger followed, scoring a hit. The lanky undead shifted its weight and caught the blow well across the leather armor. But the blade was sharp—untested for some time—and the ancient leather parted like mist, leaving a thin red line in the ashen-toned flesh below.
While the Champion’s expression was permanently remote and unmoving, Elise liked to think she could see slight surprise behind its eyes.
The Champion’s blade flashed down, almost faster than Elise could follow. She let instinct take over. Her shortsword came up, parrying the blade off to the left, barely past her shoulder. The creature’s sheath swept up just as fast, and Elise flinched back. It bounced off the greave on her thigh. The impact would leave a bruise, even through her armor, but she held firm against the strike. Not a rhen was given, and her footing stayed strong.
Another platform swept close, passing over the top of the one they stood on. Elise hopped backwards onto it, looking away for the barest moment to secure her footing. She stood on the edge of the platform and planted her feet, leaving no room for the Champion to join her as the two platforms intersected. It backed away along the platform it stood on and swept its weapons at Elise, trying to drive her back to make room. But she focused her efforts on defenses, parrying and dodging its blows. Her effort was consumed by landing every parry, but she didn’t need to find an opportunity to strike. She only needed to keep pushing it back.
For a few moments, the Champion just continued to attack wildly and without abandon. It tried to use its strength of arms, keeping a constant pressure against her guard. But when her guard held, it was forced to leap back off of the platform and onto one beneath. It put Elise out of arm’s reach for the time being, giving her a bare moment to catch her breath before they came together once more. She maintained her focus on defense, her sword and dagger catching the blade and baton at every turn.
As the platform the Champion was on passed beneath hers again, the creature stepped back and down smoothly. There was another platform below that, moving in the same direction as the one Elise occupied. It was moving a little faster, however. The Champion walked forward along it, maintaining proximity to Elise as it attacked relentlessly. As the dangerous blade whipped up and down, left and right, it consumed Elise’s attention. So much so that she nearly fell forward and off her platform when the Champion reached the end of its platform and stopped, letting it carry it away.
Elise wavered for a moment, catching her balance. The Champion bent at the knees and leapt almost straight up. It came down on a platform that was only a finger’s width above Elise’s, and moving in the opposite direction.
Just as she had, the Champion planted its feet at the edge of the platform, preparing to force her off the one she occupied and into the pit below, if she didn’t leap between platforms as it did to maintain her footing.
But as soon as she saw what was coming, she turned and ran. The platform she was on was only five fen long, but she used those few steps to get a running start so she could leap onto the next platform. It was lower than the one she had been on, but it was moving the same direction as the one the Champion occupied. It was slower, too, but only enough to buy her a moment of time. As soon as she landed, she kept moving, making another flying leap to the next platform.
When she landed again, Elise glanced over her shoulder. The Champion seemed content to simply stand and wait for her, and Elise couldn’t blame it. For all the ways it overshadowed her in skill and strength, its greatest advantage was time. It could stand and wait for bells, or even centuries, if that was how long it took for her to grow tired, slow down, and be forced to confront the Champion.
Elise would be weary well before a bell passed, though, at her current rate. She was struggling just to maintain her current distance from the Champion. With all her movement, and in full armor no less, she was sabotaging her own chances for survival by moving closer to exhaustion with every flying leap. She couldn’t imagine how the Champion had maintained this activity while still focused on fighting her. Was this part of a past training regime? Or was the Champion just so familiar with the Temple, to be able to traverse these platforms as easily as solid ground?
Regardless, there was no way she could keep this up forever. She could run for a while, but if she weren’t presenting a distracting threat to the Champion, Ermolt’s interference would never catch the undead off-guard enough to work.
Elise blew out a breath in frustration and dropped down onto one of the lowest platforms. It was moving back towards the Champion, but it was nearly a fen and a half below the bottom of its platform. It might be a tight fit, but she could manage it. If she couldn’t, she’d be doomed anyway.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ermolt had never been more frustrated in his life.
Every breath was a moment filled with indecision and dread. If he moved too early, he risked ruining their plan. But if he was too late, the Champion would kill Elise and all would be for naught.
Watching the ex-Conscript nimbly maneuver between the platforms, wielding Merylle’s weapons as if they were an extension of her body, was an excruciating pain all its own. He wanted to be the one who faced off against the dragon—or in this case, the ageless undead master of combat. It was his story he wanted told, his heroisms encapsulated in bardic song. No tales would be told of the clever man with a pick who felled the beast by dropping it a long distance. Instead they would be told of the ex-Conscript who faced off against the thing that had bested her so many times before, and of her victory in distracting it long enough for her bumbling friend to set off a trap.
Ermolt missed his hammer. If he had it, he might have been able to argue against Elise’s plan.
He forced himself to watch the combat instead of sulk. When the moment came, he needed to move, and needed to move with confidence.
Elise moved surely, allowing the Champion to take the offensive, but never giving too much up. She deflected attacks and put distance between them when it was necessary. Elise also worked hard to keep him to the lower platforms, making Ermolt’s job easier.
Beside him, Claus watched the elegant display of athleticism below with jaw slightly askew. He had spoken of gladiatorial combat and lilies before, and now Ermolt was sure the old man regretting using the line so soon. Here was true combat. A true fight to the death against an oppressive foe. Not some half-rotten serpent made of bone.
Elise cried out, drawing Ermolt’s attention. She had stumbled back away from the Champion, but she didn’t look injured. Just anguished. The Champion loomed over her like a displaced God. His weapons were in positions Ermolt had never seen, and he attacked with them in a way Ermolt had never learned. If it were not an undead creation bound to murder them, Ermolt could see himself studying under the Champion. Learning new skills and mastering new tec
hniques that would make him unstoppable in this modern age.
But it was also clear to Ermolt that now was the time to strike. The Champion was bearing down. He saw Elise as prey—as something small and scared ready to become a hot meal. It meant he wouldn’t notice a hulking barbarian with a mattock pick.
Ermolt stepped out onto a platform. He purposefully angled for a direction that wouldn’t take him within the sight path of the Champion. He didn’t want to alert him. For a moment he worried Elise would look his way and draw its attention to his approach, but she didn’t. Either she was also incredibly focused on their combat—a dangerous thought—or she was dedicated to the plan and would do everything she could to see it through. He desperately hoped it was the later.
The spinning platforms were an interesting puzzle piece. Crossing the room took effort and an absolute firm sense of will. All fear of falling or death had to be abandoned.
Ermolt wormed his way into position. He watched the platforms ahead for the right moment and then, when he was certain Elise and the Champion wouldn’t abandon the platform they stood on for some time, Ermolt went to work. He drove the pick end of the mattock into the support holding the platform that Elise and the Champion stood on.
The sharp crack of breaking stone blasted through the enclosed area. Ermolt flinched as it echoed back at him. He looked up and expected the Champion to be heading his way. But the undead didn’t even look at him. He only had eyes for Elise. A man swinging a pick to break stone didn’t register as noteworthy to the undead creature, just as Claus had predicted.
Ermolt struck again, flinching in anticipation of the sound. A fault line appeared on the platform, and Ermolt knew one more good hit would do it. He shouted wordlessly—a warning to Elise—and drew back for the last hit.
Elise threw herself clear of the platform just before the moment of impact. The air filled with another echoing crackle of breaking stone, but for one agonizing moment the support held. Ermolt watched as the Champion bent at the knees to pounce after the fleeing woman. But as the lanky legs shoved, it pushed the platform down. The force of his jump caused the support to fully give way with a wrenching sound of the iron that reinforced the support bending and breaking.
The ex-Conscript grunted as she landed halfway on the next platform. Her legs hung off into space, and she scrambled to climb up. Once secured, she spun around, weapons raised and ready. But the Champion wasn’t lunging in at her.
He was falling.
Ermolt watched the Champion drop. He tumbled end-over-end, just slightly above the heavy stone platform he had been standing on. His weapons tumbled through their air as the creature tossed them away. The Champion flailed his limbs, trying to catch the stone platform as he tumbled. Perhaps he felt he could get a grip and climb onto it, and then use it to leap to the stone walls that lined the pit. But Ermolt knew it was futile. And he could only watch for a moment more before the falling figure vanished into the murky darkness.
There was a crash from the bottom of the pit. It echoed up out of the depths of the Temple, at first a whisper but then a shout.
It sounded too loud. So many of the sounds in the Temple didn’t echo properly, especially in the wide-open pit. He expected it to be muted and dull. But the rumbling sound that came up out of the pit was overbearing. It reverberated off every surface. The sound filled the entire Temple. It rattled Ermolt to the core.
A moment later, there was a shudder through the stone, and Ermolt leaned back from the edge as a hot wind swept up through the shaft. It caught his hair and threw it roughly around his face.
All around him, the white globes that illuminated the area flared up, going from dull candle to bright torchlight in a flash. They even grew brighter than that, and they glowed with a pure white tone. The light cast away the murky gloom of the Temple and bathed the rotating platforms in brilliant light.
A hand fell to Ermolt’s arm, and he turned to find Claus, wide eyed and horrified. “The Champion has fallen,” he said in a voice that was streaked with fear. “All that remains… is the Favor.” The old man looked towards the far portal, but when his eyes rested on it, the fear bled away. All that was left was a fevered reverence. “Come. Let us collect our prize.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Elise gasped for air as they emerged from the final teleporter. The experience was still harrowing, and she could still see those brightly colored strings behind her eyes. What did they mean?
She was reassured by Ermolt’s hand on her shoulder, however. He squeezed gently before releasing his grip, returning his attention to the frail form draped over his shoulder.
Claus had been difficult to get through the portal. He wanted to run away, to avoid the Favor, and Elise could understand. But they needed his help. He was the High Priest of Isadon after all—his help could mean the difference between getting Athala back and having this whole trip be a waste of time.
Elise observed the way Ermolt reassured Claus, and a smile crossed her lips. She would never have gotten this far without the hulking northern barbarian. His reassurance had gotten her through the trials and tribulations of Isadon’s towering Temple. And now they were almost done.
Looking out over the top floor of the Temple, Elise could see it was similar to the previous one. They were standing on a small section of floor over the pit, but instead of rotating platforms in the center there was only a stone dais in the middle of the space. Metal cables suspended the platform over the long fall down, holding it in place over the exact center of the pit, and thus Temple. The ceiling was still high above, and there were two wide openings in the walls, too big to be windows.
Elise couldn’t imagine anything filling this space other than a dragon, though there was no sign of one. No bones, no remains, not even signs of the struggle such a beast could exhibit. Instead, what dominated the space now was a bridge that connected the suspended dais to the teleporter platform.
It was ghastly. The bridge was constructed of bones. It was lashed together with thread held in place by metal screws. The bones had once been cleaned and bleached, but now they were yellowed with age. Elise was sure the bones on the sides and handrails were from some herd beasts or large predators. They were huge. Elise didn’t have the knowledge to identify their sources, and she doubted that even Ermolt or Athala would. But those bones weren’t what caused her to gasp in horror.
The bones that made up the floor of the bridge—the walking surface—were absolutely within her capacity to identify.
They were human.
Rows of tibias, humeri, and femurs were lined up to create an uneven surface, occasionally interrupted by the arc of a ribcage.
The macabre construction swayed slightly in the after effects of the sound and breeze that had been caused by the Champion’s death. It looked rickety, and Elise considered the fact that she might have to walk across it. Her stomach lurched.
“What is this?” she asked, her voice no more than a horrified whisper.
“The path to the Favor,” Claus said in and equally disturbed tone. He pointed past the bridge to the center of the stone dais. Something there was glowing and white, hovering in the air. “And with it, the end of your quest.”
Elise averted her eyes. The whole thing felt perverse. Grisly, even. They had been fighting undead, and she had seen things in this Temple not witnessed by mortal eyes in centuries. But the bridge was more horrifying than even the Champion. Someone had created the Champion from a dead person, true, but there had been purpose. The Champion’s role could never have been fulfilled by anything except the body of the Knight-Commander.
But this bridge? It could have been made from anything. Wood, stone, even metal. It could have been made with purely animal bones. But someone had decided that human bones were required for this. Someone had made a choice, and that choice was strictly to strike fear.
She at least hoped the people who were repurposed as building materials had been long dead before their construction. But there was a voic
e in the back of her head that assured her that the type of person who would craft a bridge from human bones would be the type to use only the freshest materials to do so.
“You can’t expect me to cross that,” she said, to no one in particular.
“I would, but I can’t,” Ermolt said, quietly. He put his hand on Elise’s shoulder, and Elise turned to look at him. “I’m too heavy to walk across that. The… The bridge will never hold my weight.”
Elise swallowed, looking up at him. She could see sympathy in his eyes. He wanted to spare her this atrocity, this thing he knew was causing her physical revulsion. But he was right. This was a task she’d need to do, much like it had been his task to outmaneuver the Champion.
She sighed heavily. He was right. But that didn’t make it any easier.
Forcing her head high, Elise took a first step, cautiously, towards the bridge. She thought light thoughts. While she was smaller and thus lighter than Ermolt, she still wasn’t as thin as Athala. This would be dangerous.
A part of her wanted to scramble up onto the sides of the bridge to traverse the larger bones of the handrail. She would rather tread on the remains of cattle or boars or bears. But the uneven surface of the bridge would be dangerous enough as it was. Trying to balance on a bulbous cow femur in full armor would be risking her life.
If she fell, what would happen? Even if Ermolt found a way to reach the Favor, what would he do? There was no guarantee the Favor would work, and it was likely he couldn’t use it twice.
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