A Land in Shadow

by Daniel Whitman

  And then he was falling, through the empty void once more.

  Nothing.

  But then something appeared. Another gnome, who was cloaked in shadow. The one he had seen before. The one who was hounding him in the forsaken forest. His brother. The gnome tried to call out, but once again, his mouth was sealed shut. He could not move, could not escape. A beautiful woman appeared, her emerald eyes sparkling with a devious light. The gnome knew he should recognize her, but he could not. His mind was blank.

  As the gnome watched, the mysterious woman approached his brother, her graceful stride like that of a stalking lion. Her lips moved, yet he could not hear what she was saying. At first, his brother seemed to cower from the wondrous woman, yet as she wove her words, he began to relax and become vulnerable to her silver charm. The gnome wanted to call out, but his body would not answer. He knew this was wrong. His brother should be running away. This woman was dangerous. Of this he was certain.

  As he watched, the shadows surrounding his brother grew thicker, weaving about in a curtain of darkness. The woman smiled, and reached out to his brother, her slender hand radiating with a shining light.

  A beacon in the dark.

  A gripping terror overwhelmed the gnome. This was not right. This was wrong. He was certain of it. Yet all he could do was watch as his brother accepted the woman’s hand. It was too late. The radiant light from the woman’s hand turned harsh and cold, like the light from the simmering eyes of a demon. It cut deep into his brother, rending his shadowy barrier apart and searing into his pale flesh. The woman turned to the gnome, and smiled, her emerald eyes burning holes in his soul. But as he watched, his body writhing in agony, her eyes turned a deep black, two endless pits in her delicate face.

  And then the butterflies appeared, rushing forth from the woman in a terrible swarm.

  They surrounded the gnome, jabbing at him in a storm of a thousand infernal needles. Each prick seemed to last an eternity, yet only a heartbeat passed.

  His vision blurred.

  He was back in the forsaken forest, with the menacing red orb floating high in the night sky. The trees reached out to him, clawing at his flesh. Shadows darted about, tugging at his blue cloak. Paralyzing agony filled his rough body, and he collapsed. But as blood pooled from his body, another butterfly appeared, and landed upon his arm.

  Another prick seared into his mind.

  The black water washed over him, smothering him in its inky waves. The thick water rushed into his lungs, driving out any air. Yet this time the gnome did not struggle. He had done this before. He knew it was hopeless. But then the butterfly appeared.

  Another prick incinerating his soul.

  The black blood surged from his lungs, and the gnome lay sprawling on the shore of the lake. The icy chill drove into him, but he did not struggle. He was living a hopeless cycle of despair. The two red eyes appeared in the murky depths, a threatening menace just beneath the waves. But then came the gentle flapping of the wings.

  Another butterfly, another prick, and another endless torrent of burning pain.

  The gnome opened his eyes. He was back in the desolate emptiness. Yet it was not as empty as he had hoped. The storm of butterflies swarmed around him, their sleek, obsidian wings dancing about in a tantalizing routine of death.

  Another prick.

  His brother appeared in front of him, battered, broken, and covered with water.

  Another prick.

  A shattered, crystalline bottle.

  Another prick.

  A decrepit gravestone, with writing that had long ago worn away.

  Another prick.

  Two emerald eyes.

  Another prick.

  A furious storm, washing away a small, huddled group of companions.

  Another prick.

  All the gnome knew was the pain. It consumed him, yet at the same time, everything seemed distant, as if he was merely an observer to this dastardly cycle. There was only the pain.

  Another prick.

  The pawn moved across the chess board.

  Another prick.

  A marvelous hammer, raised high to the sky …

  ♦♦♦

  Nalgene awoke, the cryptic dream already fading from his memory. Ro carried the gnome upon his back and was desperately trying to run through the solemn foothills. Nalgene shook his head vigorously, his senses returning. This was not another dream. He glanced around, his eyes straining in the murky darkness. It was not yet dawn.

  The other companions ran alongside Ro, their frantic footsteps being weighed down in the thick mud.

  It had been raining.

  “What in the bloody hell is goin' on?” Nalgene grumbled from Ro’s back. The draconian was not exactly a comfortable mount, and Nalgene so wished to let go and run along with his own two legs. Yet he held on.

  “We were attacked,” Ro gasped between heavy breaths. “More undead.”

  “Eh?” Nalgene grunted. “Why didn’t ye wake me? We coulda fought them.”

  “You don’t think we tried?” Ro panted, his legs growing heavy in the unrelenting mud. “We’re headed to the lake — there we can hold back the undead.”

  Nalgene snorted, but said nothing. He still could not shake the sinking feeling he had about the lake. Some memory, some pang, told him not to go, yet here they were, running to lake as if it were their holy salvation.

  The companions continued running for a short while, their heavy pants drowning any conversation. Occasionally Fasto turned around to unleash a hail of streaking arrows into the darkness. There was no doubt he found his mark. The unearthly sounds of the pursuing undead trailed behind them like the insatiable growls of a furious bloodhound. As the cold sun began to rise in the east, the companions finally made it to the shore of the great, misty lake.

  Exhausted, Ro placed Nalgene down upon the sandy shore, and turned about, his mighty greatsword drawn and ready. The others also prepared for the onslaught, creating a defensive formation behind Ro. Margaret stood by the draconian’s side, a sly smirk on her lips. Fasto had an arrow nocked in his white bow, and his laser eyes were eagerly seeking their first target. Andromeda had already disappeared into the stretching shadows. SmibSmob rushed over to his brother’s side, a concerned look twisting his already frail face.

  “Nalgene; are you alright?” he gasped. Running long-distances was never a strong suit of gnomes, and the battered condition of SmibSmob only made the ordeal worse. “We tried to wake you, but you wouldn’t stir. And then the undead attacked, so we ran.”

  “Ah, me brother, I be fine,” Nalgene said reassuringly, staring up into his brother's gentle eyes. Where would he be without him? “What do ye say we kill us some undead, eh?”

  SmibSmob smiled, and nodded, yet Nalgene did not miss the hint of nervousness on his face. Reaching up, the pale gnome took his pointed hat from his head, and turned around, ready to meet the onslaught with the others.

  Nalgene smiled. As much as he loved decimating undead with his devastating spells of water, the gnawing feeling of dread remained. This sand seemed all too familiar to the shores of his dream.

  Bloody hell.

  Shaking the thoughts away, Nalgene stood, brushed the wet sand from his blue cloak, and readied his hands, water already swirling around his clenched fists.

  “Let them come,” he growled.

  The undead washed upon the shore like a raging tsunami. Hordes of rotting zombies and shambling skeletons charged the companions, their hollow eyes eager for the taste of blood. Yet the companions held strong. They had faced many such undead before. Surely this would be no different.

  A mighty roar thundering from Ro, the draconian rushed into the fray, his shining greatsword cleaving through the surrounding undead like a farmer would to wheat. Streaking bolts of lightning burst from his maw, arcing between the undead with a brilliant shower of sparks.

  A delightful grin wide upon Margaret’s face, the orc rushed in after Ro. Her demonic arm pulsed with an icy chill
, and her devastating punched shattered bones and crushed empty skulls. A massive ax of ice appeared in her hand, and she swung it about like a mad lumberjack, cutting down anything that dared step too close.

  Fasto remained at the shore, his white bow raining an endless torrent of arrows into the throng of undead. Almost every time an undead would be about to strike one of the companions, Fasto’s arrow was there, obliterating the rotting filth. There was little shortage of shambling undead, so Fasto’s arrows pierced through the rotting ranks with ease.

  SmibSmob stood by his brother’s side, digging around in his pointed hat. His blue eyes lit with excitement, and he pulled forth a twisted black sword. Perhaps this hat could be useful. SmibSmob was certainly no sword master, but this black sword seemed to move the gnome about with its own free will, slicing through any undead that wandered too close.

  Nalgene smiled, and turned to the swarm of atrophy. A massive orb of water formed above his head, and with a feral growl, he hurled it into the horde. Without missing a beat, he opened his hands, and two steaming streams of water jetting forth, cutting deep into the rotting flesh of the undead. He formed another orb of water, this time aiming it at Margaret.

  “Aye, ye bloody orc!” Nalgene shouted, releasing the mighty spell.

  Margaret turned, and her demonic arm shot out, freezing the ball of water into a devastating sphere of ice.

  The horde did not stand a chance.

  And so, the fight wore on, the companions desperately defending against the endless swarm. Yet for every undead they cut down, two more took its place. Undead cared little for pain, or exhaustion, yet the run, and the ongoing battle, sapped the companions' strength. Dozens of cuts and bruises appeared on the companions, and blood covered the fighters — and not just from the rotting undead.

  Nalgene growled. He could see no end to the oncoming onslaught, and he feared they would not be able to hold off for much longer. Yet still he fought on, unleashing torrents of powerful spells into the vile mass of decay.

  Suddenly, razor shards of ice whistled at Nalgene, thudding into the ground around him and piercing deep into the sand.

  “What in the bloody hell is that durned orc doin?” Nalgene gasped, startled.

  Yet when he looked up, he found it was not Margaret, as she was occupied by the undead around her. His eyes wandered across the bloody battlefield, only to rest upon a group of cloaked skeletons. Icy missiles formed within their bony grasp, and with a wave of their hands, were sent soaring at the companions.

  Nalgene growled. That would not do. He had to end the skeleton mages, and fast. Yet even as he rose his hands to obliterate the mages, Andromeda streaked out of the shadows, landing amid them. Her mighty halberd ripped through the mages’ weak spines, sending shard of bone in every direction. She darted about, avoiding their piercing spears of ice and lashing out with her own devastating barrage of claw and halberd. The skeleton mages lasted only a few seconds. Andromeda looked up, meeting Nalgene’s wide eyes, and she gave him a curt nod, before disappearing back into the foggy shadows.

  Nalgene grunted. She did have her uses.

  The battle raged on as more undead fodder and skeleton mages rushed towards the companions, their unholy growls and moans drowning out all other sounds in a gruesome symphony of death. Yet as much as Nalgene was focused on the battle in front of him, he could not shake his nagging terror of the lake behind him. It was nothing, he kept telling himself. But the pang persisted.

  Bloody hell.

  Shaking his head, he braved a quick look at the misty lake behind him, hoping to quell his harrowing fear.

  He knew instantly they had made a mistake in running to the shores of this vast lake.

  The black water boiled and bubbled, as if something were about to break the murky surface. As Nalgene peered closer, two, hollow eyes filled with hatred and death appeared just below the surface. His head jerked back. He remembered this part of the dream.

  Before he could warn the others, the water exploded, and out burst a mighty, undead serpent. Its long, snaking body curled above the water like the patient coil of a viper. Long strips of rotting flesh were hanging from its body, and the once-shining scales were now black and decrepit. Massive, brown ribs could be seen through the worn skin of the serpent, and the inner organs had long ago decayed and been washed away by the dark water. Its head was that of a mighty dragon, with a gaping maw filled with rows of spear-like teeth. It seemed the decay had not taken all the serpent’s dangerous assets. Torn fins, and rotting gills hung just behind the serpent’s jaw, and a slender row of spines jutted out of the serpent's back, running down the length of the serpentine body. The two, hollow eyes of death locked onto Nalgene, boring into the gnome and driving him back across the sandy shore. The serpent’s gaze was a cold certainty. There would be nothing left alive on this shore.

  All would be devoured.

  Nalgene scrambled back, falling to the sandy shore. He wanted to call out, to warn the others, but he was paralyzed by the demonic being before him, and his words caught in his throat. His mind raced. He knew they should not have come to this lake. He told them, yet they did not listen — not even his brother. They trusted that filth Osann, and now here they were, about to be devoured by this ghastly serpent of hell.

  This be his fault, that bloody traitor! This be where he told us to come, and what good come o’ that. I be durned, if he ain’t dead yet, then I be bloody killin' him meself!

  The serpent glared at Nalgene. No doubt the gnome looked like a mere insect to the towering abomination. Its maw opened, displaying the rows of razor teeth, and a terrifying roar thundered from deep within the serpent. The unholy sound echoed across the landscape, sounding like a challenge to the gods themselves. It cut into the companions and drove back even the emotionless legions of undead.

  Terrified, the companions turned about, their eyes gaping in horror. They had barely managed to survive the titanic, rotting giant in the pass. What hope did they have against this monstrosity?

  “What … what is that?” Ro gasped, his face pale with dread.

  Beside him, Fasto visible trembled in the wake of the undead serpent. “Fasto scared,” the orc whimpered, tears beginning to stream from his face. “Fasto want friends.”

  Margaret paled. Even her demonic arm seemed like a child's toy compared to the towering serpent. “Oh good, this is just what we needed,” she muttered.

  Andromeda appeared next to Ro, her gaze wide with awe and terror. “What power …” she whispered to herself.

  “What did I tell ye, eh?” Nalgene snarled. It was Osann’s fault they were in this bloody mess. “But no, what do I know?”

  Ro glared at him and was about to argue, but at that moment the serpent let out another thunderous roar that drowned out the draconian’s words.

  Nalgene shook his head. This was no time to argue. They could bicker later, if they survived. The gnome stood up, and readied his hands, water swirling around his fists. “Come ‘ere, beastie,” he growled.

  Just as he was about to unleash upon the serpent, a small stone whistled by and bounced harmlessly off its black scales. Nalgene looked; his brother now held a small, wooden slingshot.

  Bloody hat.

  The serpent’s hollow eyes narrowed. That was all the excuse it needed to attack. With one, final growl, the serpent coiled up, and lashed out at the companions, its head whipping forward with tremendous speed.

  It was all the companions could do to dodge the lethal strike.

  The serpent’s maw crashed into the sandy shore, sending sand and dirt spraying in all directions. Its teeth cut massive gashes into the cold ground. Nalgene could only image what those fangs would do to them. Not even his wondrous healing would be able to stitch together those terrible wounds.

  The serpent reared up, once again preparing to strike. Its eyes locked on SmibSmob. This time it would not miss.

  Behind the companions, the undead horde once again continued its pursuit, mindless fodder and
skeleton mages alike.

  And so, the battle continued. It was all the companions could do to hope to survive.

  The serpent lunged, but Nalgene was ready. With a roar of fury, he launched a swirling orb of water at the serpent. With a mighty splash, the powerful spell crashed into the serpent’s head, driving the abomination’s fatal strike sideways and into the cold earth. SmibSmob looked petrified.

  “C’mon, me brother,” Nalgene roared. “Now is a bloody good time to use yer powers!”

  But SmibSmob shook his head. As much as he wanted to help, he had overexerted himself in the pass. His power would be of no help.

  Bloody hell.

  The serpent pulled its maw from the earth, quite uninjured. Fasto rained arrows at it, piercing its hide and cutting through its rotting tissue with burning holes of light. It did not even notice. Ro and Margaret had turned and were desperately trying to hold off the oncoming undead, but without the concentrated might of all the companions, there was little hope for them. Nalgene continued to pelt the serpent with mighty spells, some of which would have made the very mountains quake. Yet the most he managed to do was distract the unholy beast from his other companions. Andromeda appeared out of the shadows, and leaped upon the serpent, scaling its rotting neck with graceful agility. Her halberd plunged again and again, drawing black blood and raining decaying gore down into the lake below.

  The serpent did not even notice.

  It lunged again, this time at Nalgene. With a cry of terror, Nalgene tensed his legs, and leaped to the side, praying that he would survive. He felt the rush of air as the serpent plunged into the ground where he stood. But he was not quick enough. The side of the serpent’s head caught the gnome with a glancing blow, sending him flying across the shore to crash hard into the wet sand. His lungs seared in pain, and his shoulder screamed as if a hot iron was being plunged into his shoulder blade. All Nalgene could do was try to regain his breath.

  His vision blurry, he could barely make out the forms of his companions. Or were they undead? He could not be sure. The serpent pulled its head back, and with a violent shake, threw Andromeda off itself. The feline went soaring through the air, gracefully flipping and managing to land upon her feet. Her toxic eyes burned into the serpent. Fasto turned between firing arrows at the towering serpent and supporting those fighting against the other undead hordes. SmibSmob had regained his black, twisting sword, and was carving up any vile zombie or dreadful skeleton that dared approach him.