by A W Tinney
The acolyte stepped forward. Then, Jardis hesitated. A whisper came to him. Floating ever so serenely in the back of his mind. Do not. Why should he have all the power? You are as worthy a subject as any. The Shadow Witch is already proud of you. Keep it…kill the shaman…
It took all his will to push the thoughts aside. No that is not the way. I shall be rewarded for my loyalty. Shaking, he handed the staff over to the beckoning Tchensar.
“Thank you,” the shaman said, then with a flourish drew his bladed stave across Jardis’s throat.
“Wha…,” was all he could muster as blood frothed at his mouth. A shaking hand gripped his open trachea, hot life-blood seeping through wavering fingers. The acolyte slumped to his knees, gasping through drowning breaths.
“You thought of betrayal? Do not deny it. I saw your thoughts. I have always seen your thoughts.”
The shaman’s companions cooed softly, satisfied with Jardis’s death. The acolyte whimpered softly, tears flooding from his eyes. Tchensar tutted dismissively and hovered close, close enough to brush the dying silver man’s hair with a clawed hand. “Hush. Do not despair. Can you not see? This was always the arrangement. You have served our lady well. Perhaps she will reward your soul. And then, perhaps she will not. Who among us can say? Who knows where on the Thousand Paths your soul will find itself? All things change.”
“No…,” Jardis burbled as life left him and he lay back on the cold stone of the chapel floor.
9
Kasela’s arm was heavy, breath ragged, mind numb. Rank after rank of the ar’kans came, howling, mewling, snarling vicious taunts at the defenders of Faris-Manzil. Her blade rose and fell, serving only to hold back the relentless attackers as fatigue wracked her mortal form.
“Kasela,” Nasir called out in warning.
She turned and saw a herd champion atop a silver raven flutter overhead. The beast cawed, loosing an arrow from a dark bow. The arrow shimmered with unholy vigour, passing a hairs breadth from her helm as she reared Selvar, pulling away.
The ar’kan hooted, then spluttered, falling from its mount, a crossbow bolt protruding from its throat.
Kasela nodded to Nasir, who returned the gesture. He had fallen back behind a wall of halberdiers, using the height offered from Fumina’s saddle to drive bolts into the advancing enemy. He had extinguished three full quivers so far, and had a bow string snap, but soldiers had come to his aid, refilling his bolts and repairing his weapon.
Kasela struck down on a un’kan that snickered at Selvar’s right, raking the steeds flank with a crude spear. The panthra hissed, turning to finish the creature Kasela had stunned. Heavy, rasping breaths blew from the feline’s nostrils. He was worn from a thousand cuts across his onyx furred flesh. Ichor and entrails smeared his snout, gore clung to his claws, and yet he continued to fight tearing at each and every Void beast that came too close.
The Knight of the Iron Thorn understood the bleakness of the situation. For every creature she and her steed slew, three more took its place, spilling onto the wall as yet more ladders appeared. The Manzilian guns had gone silent, their positions over-run by howling ar’kans. Dark feathered arrows fell in volleys, shot from high towers that the enemy had taken. Beneath the walls, the giant had succeeded in rupturing the lower part of the gate, forcing a narrow crevice that the Void herds spilled into. They were met by a bristling wall of spears and polearms, four hundred of the Obsidian Blades arrayed in their stark black uniforms. The Manzilian’s levelled their weapons, hacking ar’kans to pieces within moments. The Blades would hold the gatehouse, but Kasela knew it was only a matter of time before it too became over-run.
Then a shadow passed overhead, and the boom of cannon echoed.
“By Balar,” a stunned swordsman breathed.
The air ruptured with the snap of sails and the thrum of steam engines. A gnome sky-frigate loomed overhead and unloaded a deadly fusillade of carbine fire upon the ar’kans. Flesh was punctured, limbs burst, and the Void beasts wailed as the frigate spilled flaming death from above. The airship sped over the walls, unhooking a catchment of bombs that whistled serenely through the air, only to land with a calamitous detonation. Mor’kan were caught in the blast, their skin, muscle and bone reduced to ash in the alchemical explosion. More bombs fell, more carbines sang, and from the deck of the vessel, Kasela could see a lithe figure loose shimmering arrows that struck home with unerring accuracy.
The Knight witnessed the ar’kans ahead falter, turning to face the flying airship, unsure of how to combat the floating monstrosity.
“Take back the walls,” she called, slamming her feet into Selvar’s sides and loping forward into the melee once more. The stunned foe died easily, falling to her renewed vigour and strength. Even Selvar fought with fresh ferocity, hacking at a band of gibbering un’kan, their olive-dark fur reduced to bloody wisps. Nasir kept up a deadly stream of bolts, aided by a band of nearby crossbowmen. The Manzilian’s formed a line before Kasela, allowing her to dispatch any ar’kans that dared roam free. They pushed forward, shields locked, swords swinging overhead. Calls of “Balar!” and “Forger!” rang out as the ar’kans finally fell back from the wall or died under the determined advance of the defenders.
“No mercy,” Nasir called, urging Fumina forward.
The frigate came under attack from a squadron of raven riding ar’kans. Some loosed magical arrows that pierced valves and ruptured the steel hull. Others made deadly passes with cruel blades, slicing at the sky-gnome crew, drawing blood. The ship’s captain bellowed defiantly, his pistols bleaching smoke and fire. By his side stood an elf, her bow whispering sinisterly as each bodkin flew from its string.
Kasela pointed to the ship. “Nasir, clear the skies!”
“All of you, with me,” the Knight called and, together with a contingent of crossbowmen, aimed his weapon high. A volley saw the swooping ravens falter, three of them falling from the sky. The second volley saw them driven off, bolts shattering into flesh and foul void-born matter.
“Hold here,” Kasela shouted. Below, the gates were still under attack, ar’kans seeking shelter from the death that now rained from above. She saw the frigate shudder, them drop suddenly, coming level with the giant who still smashed wearily at the gate, seeking a breach into the city. A weighty clang sounded, and a cannon rolled from the prow of the ship. It boomed, spewing fire and smoke, driving its deadly payload into the giants back. The creature whined a pitiful gasp and then tumbled, dust rising as it slumped against the wall. Its dead bulk blocked the entrance it had made, and a cheer rose from the defenders.
The aircraft thrummed, coming level with the wall. The captain was on deck, his armour soot stained and chipped. He still held his pistols, barrels smoking. The elf lingered behind him. “Who is in charge here?” he called out over the chugging of the steam engine.
“I am,” Kasela replied. “I am Exemplar Kasela, Knight of the Iron Thorn. Defender of Faris Manzil.” She saluted him with her blade. “I thank you for your aid, gnome.”
“Sky-Captain Eresor Mazark,” he answered then shot a meaty thumb back at the elf. “And it’s her you should thank, not me. I’d have been halfway to the sky city by now had she not interfered.”
“I thank you, elf.”
“Nymida, Princess of the Witan Wood. And there is no need of thanks. Void creatures lay bleeding and dead. That is enough.”
The blare of herd-horns interrupted their introductions. Kasela looked out across the battlefield in confusion. The ar’kans still possesses a considerable horde, more than enough to recover and renew their assault. Yet their horns sounded the retreat and they flooded back to the woods, jittering amongst one another, barking foul challenges to the gnome sky-ship and the Manzilians.
The gnome captain viewed the retreat from his hovering craft. “Why would they…”
His answer was found when the sky ruptured, and a violet pillar burst from the city, ascending into the heavens.
10
Aurel
ian charged into the chapel, sword and Sceptre held ready. The Vigilant snarled as he bore witness to an ar’kan shaman incanting a terrible rite. Words and symbols danced around the nave as more and more eldritch power seeped forth. The dais, not hours ago a cold stone remnant of evil magic, now billowed with a shadowed storm. Aurelian howled with defiance.
The Acero Portal had been re-opened. The lives of my brothers and sisters given in vain…
He charged forward, Sceptre igniting, sword clenched in a furious grasp. The shaman turned to face him, and with a gesture sent a bolt of Void flame crashing into the Vigilant’s chest plate. Aurelian was sent spinning, clattering into the wall of the chapel. Such a blow would have obliterated a mortal man, but Aurelian was blessed with the might of the Ancient One.
The Vigilant could smell his blessed plate armour melt as the fell fire burned over him. To possess power that could sear the blessed armour of Balar told Aurelian this sorcerous champion was favoured strongly by its malign god.
The god-warrior rose, cursing the shaman. He tapped the butt of the Sceptre, letting its light spring into existance. Another bolt of violet fire came, but this time the divine illumination of the Sceptre expunged the magic. The Vigilant limped forward, armour smoking. The shaman laughed.
“Such tenacity,” he hissed, sliding across the room atop his shimmering raven. “You are formidable, bastard of Balar.”
“I am a servant of the Ancient One. My strength comes from him.”
Another cackle. “You are truly naïve. Physical strength is an illusion. It will weaken, fail you. The endless vale of the Shadow Witch is the only true power.” He turned to his three companions, blue-hued ar’kans armed with sinister bows atop ravens of their own. “Finish him,” he growled.
Aurelian held his ground as the trio advanced. They hissed, tongues flapping as they drew their bowstrings. Three onyx shafts rasped towards Aurelian. One of the arcane arrows missed, skittering harmlessly across the stone floor, sparks flying in its wake. Another was halted by the light of the Sceptre, the foul energy propelling it extinguished. The third however punctured armour and buried itself in Aurelian’s breast, sending him to one knee.
He snarled, rising and calling on the might of his god. A flash from the Sceptre shot out, burning one of the creatures to cinders. Charred silver feathers and flesh were all that remained of rider and steed.
More arrows flew, tearing rents off plate armour and burning Aurelian’s flesh with void-born energies. The Vigilant’s armour smoked from a dozen scars as the flying ar’kans advanced, drawing blades.
That was their folly. Aurelian rose with silent determination, his sword slicing the gut of the first assailant. It gurgled pathetically, dying in seconds as steaming innards pooled onto the ground. Its raven shrieked menacingly, but was stabbed in the throat, sprawling to the stone floor in a flap of pathetic resistance.
The final ar’kan proved more of a match, its cawing mount swooping in and out with rapid stabs of a mighty beak, forcing the Viligant back.
“It is over, Vigilant,” the shaman spoke. “Accept your path.”
“My path is guided by Balar, demon. And I shall die this day only if he wills it. Yet not before I have slain you.”
“Fool.” The shaman nodded. “End it.”
The final rider came in for one more strike.
And was met by a mass of bodies in green.
The Forge Born stormed the chapel, roaring Balar’s fury at the top of their lungs. Great swords rose and chopped at the silver raven, drawing blood and tearing muscle. Though only a dozen of the warriors remained, they fought with the efficiency of five times that number.
The ar’kan fought back, claiming one, then another, but the Forge Born prevailed, bringing its screaming steed down and hacking the champion to pieces with heavy blows.
Aurelian rose, armour smouldering and met the gaze of one man. The Manzilian smiled back at the Vigilant, face blackened by soot and blood. “Lord,” the man said.
Then erupted in a blaze of furious flame.
“No,” Aurelian called but the flames spiralled over him too, sending him crashing to the floor. His armour protected him, though now the armour was but a shell, its once shimmering radiance reduced to an ash grey.
“Entertaining,” the shaman growled. “Yet futile.” The ar’kan sorcerer turned towards the Portal, raising his staff. As he did, a ripple of arcane lighting lanced out, connecting the two. Somehow, the bond made the Portal intensify.
The staff, thought Aurelian. I must destroy the staff.
“Remain where you are, Balar born,” the shaman said. He smiled, rows of fanged teeth mocking. “Yes, I can hear your thoughts. You and I have been…connected of late. A bond, so to speak.”
“What?” Aurelian breathed. The Vigilant hauled himself to his feet, leaning his wounded form against the Sceptre. “You lie, demon. Treachery is your way.”
“Our paths are entwined, Balar born. Out of all the wonderous labyrinths within the Thousand Paths, we two share a common thread. Did you not see that? Did you not hear me?”
It dawned on Aurelian. “The voice…” he stammered. “You.”
“Yes. I had been searching for decades, lost without purpose. And your presence, your meditation shone to me. A beacon in the void. How easy it was to infiltrate your mind. To make you see what I wanted you to see. To blind you from the truth. And it all led to this moment.”
“No,” he said, defiant.
The shaman laughed. “And what will you do? Nothing. Once the Portal opens, this city will be reduced to dust and rebuilt in the majesty of Morigana’s might. Too long have you mortals languished in monotony, refusing to embrace the twists and turns of the Thousand Paths. Change was bound to come. Change is the constant, the eternal.”
The staff shot out again, this time causing an explosion of elemental light. The shaman cackled. In the centre of the rippling maelstrom of violet light, Aurelian could see the loping shapes of demons pawing at the ever-thinning barrier. Though all sound was lost in the churning Portal, the Vigilant could discern their mocking laughter, taunting him.
The flickering whisper returned. Your end is coming, Vigilant. You were blind, but now you see the truth. All things change.
“See the children of the void come. The vassals of Morigana. How they shall revel in the destruction of this city. They shall herd it along its new path.”
“Not as long as I have breath, demon,” the Vigilant growled.
Aurelian planted the Sceptre, praying fervently to Balar, for all the might of the heavens to come upon him in that moment. He could feel the rush of power in his veins, the deep boom of Balar’s strength rippling from his very core. Every essence of what made him a god-warrior, every fibre that had been meticulously crafted by the Ancient One was siphoned into this weapons and burned towards the Acero Portal.
The ar’kan saw his brash attack, and turned the staff to meet it.
They collided with a force that could shake mountains. Aurelian screamed, and the ar’kan laughed. “Foolish, how can you expect to face the might of a god? The Portal belongs to Morigana. The Umbral Staff belongs to Morigana. None of this can be stopped by you.”
Aurelian fought on, willing his spirit into the light. “Balar take you,” he gasped, thrusting forward with all fibre of his being.
Then, in the blaze of light, he saw a figure. An outline of a man. No, not a man. A giant. Armed with sword and spear. He saw armour wrought of celestial flame, blazing brighter than even the stars in the heavens. The figure had a face of astral radiance, so pure that Aurelian could not make out his features. Not that he needed to. In his core, he knew who had come to his aid.
The Ancient One. Balar, Father of All.
The avatar of Balar strode through the light and collided with the Portal.
Aurelian saw it all in one instance. He saw Balar’s might break the Portal, severing it from the realm entirely. He saw demons burn as celestial fire ripped into the lands beyond the a
rcane tunnel. The shaman squealed in defiance, as the staff’s connection was abruptly broken, and a rising storm rose to engulf them both in a cataclysm of raw magic.
“No,” Tchensar wailed. “No. This cannot be.”
Aurelian managed one sentence before the explosion overcame them both.
“All things change, demon.”
11
Kasela’s steel boots raised a cloud of dust on the ashen ground, all that remained of the Solder. Her ears still rang from the explosion, even though it was now night and the city was beginning to recover from the ar’kan attack. The pillar of light, whatever it had been, was now gone. It had climbed up to the Amethyst Isles that still rocked gently overhead. And it had come from here, the ruins of Goannus’s chapel, where she now tread.
“Quite the scene,” grumbled the gnome. The sky-captain had taken her to the ruins of the Solder on his ship and set down to investigate alongside her. The elf princess ranged ahead, her bow drawn and ready, keen eyes darting across every inch of the devastation. Nothing remained of the Solder. The explosion had destroyed stone, timber and metal dwellings, reducing all to a fine mauve dust. Not even vermin scuttled over the desolation. Kasela had ignored the wishes of city officials to stay from the Solder until proper examinations could be carried out. She needed to see what had happened to her city with her own eyes.
“Here,” called Nymida, holding her bow aloft. Kasela and the gnome ran to her, kicking a spray of ash that clouded their passage. They halted at the apex of the scene, where deep scorch marks burrowed into the earth and still pulsed with arcane energy. Kasela saw instantly what had caught Nymida’s attention.
Fragments of plate armour, and the ruined shaft of a Sceptre.
“The Vigilant,” Kasela said quietly. “He is gone.”
“They are warriors of Balar,” the elf offered. “Their death for your life why they have been created. The Ancient One will welcome him to Allion.”