by C. J. Aaron
The demon had given him free rein to attack. Why had it ignored him?
The banes held their line though they writhed in agitation. Why did none press the attack? His body felt beaten, tired, yet the alexen inside still rolled with energy. Unaided by the power that flowed in his veins, his vision swam again with greater ferocity. The splotches of color still spread throughout his sight.
The high-pitched whistle of arrows this time was a welcome sound. The cheers of soldiers of House Eligar traveled in the wake of the bolts. The cloud of arrows streaked overhead.
Yet there was something more. An errant, sudden gust of wind whipped past his body as a wisp of a low-hanging cloud floated overhead.
An ember sparked in the sky above.
A feeling bloomed.
Hope.
Chapter 48
A bolt of jagged white lightning burst from the newly formed cloud. The arc skipped as it sliced through body upon body. A spray of blackened blood erupted like mist. The volley of arrows rained down upon the demons. Cramped so tightly, both lightning and projectiles had little trouble finding their fleshen marks.
Ryl only had to wait a moment for the next assault. The burning ember that scarred the sky above swelled. A smoldering tail tracked its progress as it plummeted toward the ground. It struck well inside the line of the Horde, toward the middle of the banes. The detonation shook the stone buildings that lined the avenue. Glass shattered under the force of the shock wave. The wood trim of the surrounding shops erupted into flame. Closer to the blast, two of the buildings caved inward as the old stone construction failed under the concussion. Rocks, dirt and chunks of flesh rained down as pandemonium ensued.
The wind around his own arm swelled as he prepared to charge. He was no longer alone. The scattered images in his disjointed vision had not been entirely amiss. He cursed himself for not recognizing the signatures earlier. Seven unique glowing orbs brightened his mindsight, pushing back against the darkness that had blanketed the city.
The phrenics had come.
The ground around him rumbled. The forward line of banes staggered from the blast, growling as a sheer wall of sharp rock pushed up from the stone below, rising a meter high. It looked as if the stones themselves stretched. Their crystalline features were jagged and exaggerated.
Ryl heard footsteps on the ground behind him. He felt the welcome, the familiar warmth swelled. Three charged upon his position. Four remained upon the wall. For an instant, he turned his head to the side, enough to view the companions rushing to his aid.
The ground thundered under the weight of Ramm’s massive steps. The war hammer would have been far too heavy for most to lift. He carried it in one hand as he charged, his face locked into a terrifying cry of rage. At his side, the lean hunter Paelec rushed, short sword in hand. Lagging a few meters behind was the figure that surprised him the most. Paasek, the councilor, ambled forward, though his steps were unsteady. He held a colossal great sword in two hands, primed ready to swing.
Ryl dipped into the speed as his unexpected companions neared his position. He whipped his body around to face the Horde, slashing his right arm forward. An arc of fire traveled with the width of the focused blast of wind. Together, wind and flame struck the sheer crystalline wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces. The gale that flowed from his arm carried the pieces, showering the banes with a rain of jagged projectiles.
The burning of the alexen powered through his veins. Ryl screamed, a combination of rage, aggression, and defiance as he surged forward a pace ahead of his companions. The sound that emanated from his throat was unlike any he’d experienced. It sounded nothing like the voice that he was accustomed to hearing. The emotions were correct, yet it roared with a feral ferocity.
The similarities to the war cries of the Horde were startling. His voice sounded like one of them. With only an instant to contemplate the occurrence, he pushed the troubling thought aside, whipping the glowing blades up as he barreled into the demons.
The forward line was riddled with stone shrapnel and lightning. They had been jostled by the explosion at their rear. The banes stood no chance against the ferocity of the assault. As part of a scout troop, Ryl and Ramm had trained together almost exclusively. Their actions were in tune. They understood where the other would be, how the other would bend and react when plans inevitably devolved into gritty hacking and slashing. Aside from his early phrenic training prior to his awakening, Ryl had had little time to train with Paasek. Even less had been spent with Paelec.
Though they had spent a precious few hours in simulated combat, they worked as a lethal, cohesive unit with seamless precision. Ryl hewed a path directly into the middle of the line. He moved with a speed the battered and unprepared Horde could do little to counter. His glowing green blades passed through the bodies, unfazed by flesh or bone.
Paasek followed a few meters behind off his right shoulder while Ramm mirrored the position to his left. As he drove a wedge into the center of the line, the demons scurried to avoid the green flaming death in his hands. A sickening crunching of bone echoed from his left. Limp, mangled bodies flipped uncontrollably into those at their rear. No quarter was given. None were allowed to rise where they stumbled or fell.
To his right, the massive great sword whistled as it cleaved through the air. The hum of its violent motion ceased only as it passed through the bodies who were in the range of its bite. The sturdy demons, though powerfully muscled, fell before them in devastating numbers. Behind the wedge formed by Ryl, Paasek and Ramm, Paelec darted from side to side, ending the struggle of those who sought to regain their footing, or had evaded one of the devastating attacks. Arrows still streamed over their heads. Lightning and fire crackled and burned, though the rate and ferocity had diminished.
The elementalists, though devastating, would tire before long. They sought to deal what damage they could before dangerously overextending their bodies.
It was a feeling Ryl understood all too well.
Their meteoric push into the mass of demons stalled quickly as they reached a more coordinated response. Ryl slipped to the left, letting the speedy Paelec take his right side. Together, the four spanned the width of the alley. Their enhanced speed outmatched the beasts’, which fought and died before them.
Of the group, Ryl seemed to struggle the least under the numbers that assailed them. His speed dwarfed even his phrenic companions’, yet the Horde before him seemed more hesitant. Their attacks to an extent were less enthusiastic. They struggled amongst themselves to assail one of the others standing to his side.
For some time, they held their own against the press of the Horde, yet slowly, they gave ground, bloody step by step. Still the beasts fell before them in numbers too great to count. The toll was sickening. The street ran with a flow of slick black blood and gore. The cacophony of sounds was deafening. The abominations from the Outlands screamed in anger and wailed in pain. There was a swish of fast-moving blades slicing through the air, and the high-pitched whistle of arrows barreling overhead. The crackle of lightning had all but subsided; however, the sizzle of flesh still burned in places.
The stench of burning wood, roasting rotted flesh, and putrid blood was overpowering. Ryl craved the salty tang of the sea air. He longed for a storm to rage from the sea, bringing with it a cleansing rain.
To his left a cry of pain rang out. Ryl caught a spray of blood fly from the phrenic councilor as a clawed hand raked across his leg. He stumbled back a step, growling as he slashed a deadly arc with his great sword. He stumbled as the gap opened.
“Switch sides and fall back,” Ryl yelled to Paelec as he darted behind the phrenic swordsman.
Ryl barreled into the narrow gap that threatened to close around Paasek. He felt the anger boil over in his body.
They’d already lost Deyalou and Kaep.
The thought of losing another phrenic was more than he could bear.
There were so few left.
The burning in his veins sco
rched him from the inside out. The green glow of the Leaves intensified with his anger. Only a tint of color surrounded the edges of the flames. The interior swelled with a blinding white light. For the first time he felt the heat on his skin. The Horde backed away from the fire, shielding their faces from the scorching heat.
Still swinging his great sword with lethal efficiency, Paasek dragged himself back toward the center of the avenue. To the opposite side, Ramm and Paelec pinched inward to assist. The phrenic archers fired with deadly accuracy and terrifying speed into the gap that had formed along the right side of the road, with Ryl holding the left side of the avenue at bay,
“Back,” Ryl yelled to the phrenics. The white flames of the Leaves began to flicker with sparks of green. For the first time, he could feel the chilling tendrils of fatigue creep through his body.
For the moment, Ryl held the left half of the avenue at bay, the ferocious heat of the blades staving off attack. Sliding toward the center of the avenue, he let the wind swell around his arm. The torrent ripped around his body as he held his arms out to his sides. His cloak, caught in the initial gust, snapped out behind him. Errant flames from the Leaves caught in the gale, spinning wildly around his body. What started as a localized breeze soon swelled into a storm that spread out across the avenue.
Within moments, it encompassed the width of the road. The searing heat from the Leaves traveled with the wind. Glowing streaks of green flame burned as they wrapped around the vortex. The Horde scrambled from the fire-laced gusts. The phrenics dragged their hobbled companion backward.
Ryl stood alone in the avenue. He was the stopper, holding back the entirety of the Horde from his companions and the phrenics at his back. The beasts shied from the superheated wind, shielding their faces with their arms as the heat seared their skin. He backed slowly toward the gate, careful not to engulf his companions with the spinning inferno.
As his heels struck the rubble of the destroyed buildings at the corner of the courtyard, he paused. The power massing around him grew to the breaking point. He felt the anger that swelled inside his veins mix with anxiety. His body throbbed as the power became too much to bear. The release had to come.
He felt like his body would tear apart.
Ryl screamed as he released the accumulated energy. He poured his strength out as he swung the burning blades forward. His knuckles slammed together as his hands met before his body. The terrifying force of the gale exploded outward. Closest to his release, the Horde were incinerated by the insurmountable heat. The heat dissipated rapidly, yet the fury of the wind continued. Charred bodies from the front crashed into those behind as they were all tossed from their feet. The myriad of corpses that littered the ground became projectiles, pummeling those behind them.
The Leaves faded as his hands collided. Only his scream remained. The roar was not his own. It carried on, long past the wind settled. Beyond the shrieks and cries from the Horde. Past the calls from his companions. He recognized none of the sounds that poured uncontrollably from his mouth.
The city fell silent as his voice raged on.
The call was not from the alexen in his blood.
It was not his voice.
He screamed with the rage of the Horde.
Ryl fell to his knees as the last note died in his throat. His fists pressed on the stone, now sticky with blood, partially dried by the incomprehensible heat. His elbows were locked, holding his body from collapsing forward. His chest rose and fell in dramatic motions as he sucked the precious air into his lungs. Though the stench was sickening, he was too tired to be bothered by the odor.
His head was lowered, though his eyes were raised, his burning gaze staring down the Horde before him. His final display of force had cleared the avenue of all debris that littered its surface. Bodies, stone and glass were thrust away. Only the large charred stains where the blood had once pooled remained.
For nearly twenty meters, the avenue was clear.
Ryl was in a helpless position. He doubted if he’d have the strength to muster a cohesive counter, yet the Horde remained frozen in their position. His burning gaze panned the faces of those standing in the front lines. The lanky bodies of the harriers now mixed with the battered banes. The looks in their eyes were alarming.
For the first time, he saw true fear clearly written across their features. The ever-present feeling of hatred, and anger, was dampened. The unmistakable hints of emotions that peered through startled him.
There was compliance.
Deference.
The soft crunch of footsteps on the ground belied the size of the phrenic who approached. Ramm stopped a meter away from his side. He turned his head slightly to Ryl, yet never removed his gaze from the Horde. He gripped the massive war hammer defensively in both hands, held protectively between himself and Ryl.
Ryl tilted his head to view his friend. The phrenic was soaked with splatters of black blood. His clothes were torn in several places; crimson stains swelled.
“Is it you, Ryl?” Ramm whispered. The concern, the caution in his voice was startling. “You vanished from my mindsight. I can see you now, but only a flicker of your glow remains.”
Ryl’s head fell for a moment. He squeezed his eyes shut as his gaze dropped to the ground. The sheer effort required to concentrate on his thoughts was monumental. He found that he was afraid to open his mouth. Afraid of the sound that might come out.
What had happened to him?
He opened his eyes to a view of his left arm. The skin was now drenched completely in black tattoos. The tendrils that had snaked out from the writhing void around his elbow replaced the unmarked skin to his wrist. A single wisp of black snaked onto the back of his hand.
The blackness of the mark was neither solid, complacent nor still. It writhed with motion, so subtle that it tricked the eyes. The throbbing was gone. The deep whispers that called for death had silenced. The feeling of the alexen in his fingers was faint.
Ryl squeezed his fist tighter around the Leaves still in his hand. He pictured the alexen streaming through his veins, passing through the clot of darkness. With every pump of his hand, the darkness subsided.
Understanding flowed in its wake. The information flooded his mind. He let his hand fall still.
He had vanished from the sight of his phrenic companions. The Horde before him feared him. He’d seen the look before. The collected experiences, over a thousand cycles old, jolted his brain.
Few facts were known of the demons from the wastes of the Outlands. Most conclusions were drawn from assumptions, many of those extrapolated by people without firsthand knowledge. The connection in Ryl’s mind was clear.
The Horde respected power in their own ranks as much as they hated the alexen. The tattoo. The flash of light that had seemingly eradicated the Lei Guard’s power. He’d not vanquished it, he’d absorbed it.
Just as he had before, he’d failed to understand the power that had begged for release. The foreign whisper, the unnatural lust for bloodshed, was a result of the nexela that now resided in him. By letting the blackness overtake his arm, he bathed himself in the shadow that was the taint of the Horde. The hesitance of the beasts was understandable. They saw him as one of their own.
No longer were they drawn to the power of the alexen that coursed through his body. He was one of them.
He was stronger than them.
“Ryl?” Ramm’s hushed voice questioned again. His fingers tightened on the shaft of the hammer.
Ryl looked up at his friend. The worry receded as he grinned in response.
“It is me, Ramm,” he acknowledged.
With a smile, Ramm extended his hand toward Ryl, though his pensive gaze remained on the Horde. The beasts crept forward as the moments passed.
With effort, Ryl waved off the support, leveraging his body upright using the dormant Leaves. His body felt weak. Drained. He rolled his shoulders back, standing tall. He took a purposeful step toward the Horde as he let the blackness slip down
his arm.
The line of Horde waffled at the afront.
“What?” Ramm gasped at the sight.
Ryl was in no condition to argue or explain at the moment.
“Fall back to the palisade, Ramm,” he commanded in a whisper. “I can’t carry on without a rest.”
The hushed, yet slow steps of his companion signaled his retreat.
Ryl backed slowly through the wreckage of the buildings. As he moved, the Horde maintained their distance. With every step their looks grew more suspicious, yet none contested his strength. He paused as an idea flashed into his head.
He knew of no communication by which the Horde conveyed thoughts, save one.
Emotion.
The Erlyn, the ancient woods, communicated with sensation, feelings and images. The phrenics used emotion to embolden and persuade. Fear and hatred were seemingly flowing from the beasts in a constant stream.
Ryl focused on the Horde at his front. He projected his emotions outward, forcing the command over the demons at his front. He demanded restraint. The sensation was that of fear. Fear of what would happen if his commands were disobeyed.
With a tentative motion, he moved another painful step backward.
The Horde who had been matching him move for move remained still.
Chapter 49
Ryl stopped his careful retreat, pausing as he cleared the mound of debris that marked the edge of the courtyard. Over his right shoulder he heard Paasek grunt in pain as Ramm and Paelec worked to tie a tourniquet around his leg, staunching the flow of blood. A rope ladder had been lowered from the wall. Clad in the telltale white cloak, a mender from Fay’s army descended with haste.