by Wolfe Locke
The two fighters faced each other, though only Tetraites saluted the spectators and the battle began. They circled each other warily, each looking for an opening. Yarrl dropped its shuffle and moved with a light step. Had it been acting the whole time?
“How does it feel, Xanthus?” Yarrl said. “Did you keep your undead soldiers in cells like these? You seem to be in better shape them most of the undead I destroyed back then?”
Tetraites reflected uneasily that he didn’t actually know where his soldiers had lived. Maybe Yarrl was right. He suspected, though, that their accommodations had been far worse. But what does that matter? They were undead and mindless.
The revenant lashed out with his sword while Tetraites was distracted. He barely got his practice broadsword up in time to meet it, and they connected with a loud clack. With some unease, Tetraites noticed that Yarrl wasn’t using a wooden sword. His weapon was iron—dull iron, but iron just the same.
Even unsharpened metal could do serious damage if wielded by the right user, or the wrong one.
The Champions backed away from each other and circled again. This time Tetraites went on the attack. Yarrl easily parried his blow, then struck out with his own blade. It felt like a sparring drill, like the revenant was holding back, operating at half speed.
Tetraites leaped out of the way and Yarrl’s sword swished harmlessly through empty air. The revenant backed off to the other end of the ring, then smiled wickedly and threw his weapon to the ground.
Tetraites barely had time to react before Yarrl started changing. His body became lithe and sinuous and his limbs retreated into his chest and disappeared. Fangs erupted from his mouth as he transformed a massive undead snake called an adder. Its skeleton was visible through a membrane of skin, and its eyes were sunken in.
The adder hissed loudly and raced toward him, scales sliding easily along the Arena’s sawdust floor. Yarrl’s new form was faster and more agile than his humanoid one. Tetraites tried to attack it, but the snake dodged out of the way. The watching Champions jeered, calling for Tetraites’ death.
“Not as ssssimple as you thought, am I?” Yarrl hissed at him. “Or is it you who’s not ssssstrong enough?”
The monster knocked his sword out of his hand with a flick of its tail. Then, it wrapped itself around his body and buried its fangs in the marrow of his bones.
Tetraites went limp as the revenant adder’s poison took hold. He tried to force himself to attack the monster, to attack and lash out, but his limbs wouldn’t move. Yarrl looked up at him and chuckled, fangs still pumping poison into him.
A phoenix flew across the desert sky.
Tetraites shook his head vigorously, trying to clear his mind. He didn’t need to be seeing visions right now. But it did no good.
A phoenix flew across the desert sky, its body already in flames. It was dying. The man who had shot it stood on the plain below, bow in hand, waiting for the bird to come down to earth. He could wait all day. He had all the time in the world.
Pyke Wildwood, captain of the finest band of mercenaries in the Eastern Lands. He had come to hunt the phoenix here, in the cruel sands of the desert, to prove his valor and manhood to his company. He had succeeded. The men cheered as the bird fell to the ground. Wildwood reached out for it, but its body burned too hot for him to touch. It didn’t matter. The glory was in the killing, not in the prize.
As the flames grew, Wildwood stood silhouetted against them and addressed the troops.
“Men,” he said, “from this day forward we have a new name, and a new purpose. We are no longer Penumbra. We are the Blood of the Phoenix, and we will rid the Eastern Lands of corrupt monarchs and tyrants. Like the phoenix, we are the purifying fire that restores honor and justice to the land.”
The men cheered wildly. “Wildwood!” they shouted. “Wildwood! Wildwood!”
Wildwood shook his head. “No. This is not my achievement alone. I could not have done it without your bravery. Blood of the Phoenix!”
“Blood of the Phoenix!” the men chorused after him. “Blood of the Phoenix!”
Wildwood looked behind him. The phoenix’s death-fire was dying down, and something was moving in the embers. A chick emerged from the ashes, covered in soot. It squeaked in surprise to see the men surrounding it and flapped its tiny wings.
Wildwood struck out with his sword and killed the chick too.
The vision cleared. Tetraites was disoriented for a moment, then remembered where he was: in the Practice Arena, with Yarrl’s magical poison coursing through his body. The adder’s fangs were still buried in the bone of his arm.
“How did that go?” he said, teeth gritted, trying to talk through the poison. “Did you restore honor and justice to the Eastern Lands? Or did you just plunder them for yourself?”
Yarrl snickered and dislodged himself from Tetraites’ arm. “Didn’t matter to the men much. They took the gold and silver I gave them just the same.”
“At least I was honest about who I was.” Tetraites responded.
“You were,” Yarrl said. “Would you like to see what you were doing while I was hunting the phoenix? Might be fun.”
“No—” Tetraites tried to protest, but the revenant snake lashed out again, lightning-fast. The monster bit his leg, chuckling.
A parade of slaves entered the room, carrying rich dishes.
Tetraites tried to fight it. “You fight like a coward.”
“Who’s the coward?” Yarrl responded, still biting Tetraites’ leg.
Four slaves at the front brought a whole pig on a giant platter to the head table. It had been roasted slowly until the skin crackled, Western-style, surrounded by Eastern fruits and berries.
“What is the point of showing me this?” Tetraites asked.
“You carry yourself like a hero,” Yarrl said around a mouthful of bone. “As if you’re better than the rest of us. Perhaps you need to remember who you are.”
With a snarl, the snake lashed out and bit him again. The new injection of poison sent Tetraites fully into the revenant’s vision of the past.
He was in a banqueting hall, richly furnished, in the middle of an opulent feast. Kings and nobles from every neighboring kingdom filled the tables, and the air was thick with the scent of incense. And at the head table, perched on a golden throne: Xanthus.
The roast pig sat before him, and he tore it apart with his hands greedily. Grease ran down his face and dripped onto his luxurious robes. His patchy beard was full of crumbs and bits of pig flesh.
When he had eaten his fill, he clapped his hands with childish delight. “Friends!” he whined. “You have eaten and drunk the best that Xanthus has to offer. But I have one more surprise for you.”
Xanthus’ sycophantic guests looked around eagerly as a burly guard brought a prisoner to the front of the room. The man’s eyes were red, as if he’d been crying.
“Watch this,” Xanthus said. “Lie down, prisoner.”
The man looked up at him, bewildered. He did not move. Xanthus gestured to the guard, and the guard shoved the man to the ground. The prisoner cried out as he hit the stone floor of the banqueting hall.
Xanthus raised his hands and began to weave a spell. The guests murmured to each other in anticipation as braids of magic surrounded the prisoner, hovering brilliantly in the air. Then, Xanthus pulled the strands tight and the boy started to scream.
No one seemed bothered by the man’s suffering. The room was silent as Xanthus’ guests waited eagerly to see what new trick the necromancer had brought them. When the storm of magic dissipated, the boy lay motionless on the floor, clearly dead.
“Wait,” Xanthus said, holding up a meaty hand. “Wait.”
The man opened his eyes. They were now the piercing black of the undead. Jerkily, he got to his feet and stood motionless, awaiting his orders.
“You always knew I could raise the dead,” Xanthus said. “Now I can convert the living. Imagine the uses. Any kingdom you subdue, any people you conquer, co
uld all become fodder for your armies. The fear of becoming undead will motivate your enemies to submit to you.”
He waved his hand and the undead child bowed low to the audience.
“This one will last for six months before beginning to decay. He’ll stay mobile for about a year after that. Now. What would you pay for this?” What would you pay for such a soldier?
Everyone shouted at once as the bidding started.
Tetraites heaved back to reality as the adder released its grip on his leg. Once again he tried to move his limbs, but they were still immobilized by Yarrl’s poison. The only part of his body that he could move was his jaw. He tried to bite the snake, but the monster only chuckled and slithered off to a safe distance.
With a lurch of its body, it changed itself back into its manlike form. Its eyes burned yellow in their sockets as they stared him down.
“You remember now?” it said. “You deserved what you got from me. The end I gave you was too easy. I should have made you suffer more.”
“Maybe,” Tetraites said, prone on the ground. “But you’re still a coward.”
“I’m a coward?” Yarrl said, playing to the crowd of Champions surrounding them. “I fight to win.”
The sphinx and werewolf applauded, but the rest remained silent, looking uncomfortable. This was not the fight they had hoped to see.
“What should I do to him?” Yarrl said. “He’s at my mercy.”
“Kill him!” the wolf bayed. “Finish him!” He was the only one to speak up.
“Very well. But not yet.” Yarrl replied.
Yarrl retrieved his sword from the ground where he’d left it. Then, unhurriedly, it approached Tetraites.
“You showed your victims no mercy, so you will get none from me,” the revenant said, bringing the hilt of its blade down on Tetraites’ arm. The bone shattered with a crack. Just as in the Arena, Tetraites felt nothing.
“The undead don’t feel pain, fool,” Tetraites said. “I of all people would know that. You would too if you’d done any research on the matter.”
With a roar of fury, Yarrl broke Tetraites’ other arm. “Maybe not,” it rasped. “But you can be destroyed just the same!”
Yarrl raised its sword high, aiming at Tetraites’ skull. Then, eyes aflame, it brought the blade down.
A bolt made of flesh shot out from Tetraites’ shattered arm and lodged itself in the eyes of the revenant, tearing into the milky orbs. As Yarrl struggled to pull the animated flesh from his face, a fist of stone came out of nowhere and struck the sword from the revenant’s hand. Colubra was clambering into the Practice Arena, spear at the ready.
“Tetraites is right,” she hissed. “You are a coward. There’s no honor in the way you fight.”
Yarrl dove for its sword but a massive paw knocked it further away from him. The centaur stood between the monster and the weapon with a determined look on his face.
“You like poison,” Colubra said, voice low. “I’ve got poison for you too.”
With a jolt, Tetraites realized he could move his arms. The revenant’s venom was draining out of him, and his shattered bones were stitching themselves back together.
“After the battle with the scorpions, which you were removed from, I learned antidotes,” the centaur said. “If this is all you have to offer, you’re a pathetic enemy indeed.”
Yarrl looked around, panicked, as Tetraites stood up. He was still shaky but gaining strength fast. Magic crackled around his fingers as he prepared to launch his attack as the well of power within him began to rise up. This time, he would show no mercy.
“Halt!” Crixa’s voice rang out across the Practice Arena. Spider-monsters surrounded the fighters, forcing them away from each other.
“This fight is not sanctioned by the Dark Lord, or by me,” Crixa said. “It ends here.”
Crixa’s subordinates started to drive the Champions back to their cells. Tetraites caught a glimpse of the Spider Monster before they were separated. He looked ragged, ears drooping. Where was he?
As he passed Yarrl, the revenant dropped its jaw and let it hang, mocking him. “Next time,” it rasped.
“I look forward to it.” Tetraites responded, taking some comfort in the scarring under the revenants eyes. “For your sake. Because if there is, I’ll kill you.”
Chapter 16: Be Prepared
Crixa stopped by Tetraites’ cell that night. The spider monster looked tired and exhausted, each of its eyes yellow and bloodshot. For the first time, Crixa was accompanied by the smaller spider minions as if he was being escorted.
“Don’t worry about my escort. Something seems to have gotten loose and is killing minions of our Lord in the tunnels and the dark. Though that is not why I have come. I tried to stop the revenant’s vendetta against you,” the older monster said wearily. “I asked the Dark Lord to destroy him after the battle with the scorpions, but he refused.”
“Why did you interfere?” Tetraites said, surprised. “I would have thought you would want things to be harder.”
“Sure, but not harder than they need to be. The goal is to create supersoldiers, not to destroy them. You have no idea of the battle ahead of us when Aeon comes to reap the world.” Crixa announced solemnly.
“You have not seen his Infernals that possess the strength of a hundred men and can slaughter with ease. You have not seen the blighted Wormwood that spreads with it a necrophage. He is a monster beyond anything any of us have ever faced. To lose to him and his madness would mean the annihilation of all things.”
Tetraites thought for a moment on Crixa’s words. As a Necromancer, he knew the dangers of a Necrophage. The wild and uncontrolled spread of undeath and monsters spawned from all things. I do not desire the end of all life.
For one of the first times, Tetraites had the thought that maybe a higher purpose had driven his reincarnation. The Skeleton’s resolve hardened. “Then those of us who are damned must keep preparing, and if the revenant tries again to interfere with our purpose, I’ll kill him. ” Tetraites said stiffly. “No matter what. Even if it interferes with the rules of this place..”
“I am aware,” Crixa said as its appendages moved around anxiously. “I cannot condone this, but I will not stand in your way if it is to be done.”
“Where were you during the fight?” Tetraites asked. “I tried to avoid it. I didn’t seek conflict with him. Though I would never run away.”
The spider-monster sighed. “The revenant has made unwilling allies of the few humans the Dark Lord has placed in our realm. One of those fools came to me, screaming out of breath about an illicit fight taking place in one of the larders. Like fools, we believed them. When we moved to the storage area, the sphinx used her glass magic to barricade us in. I am not a battle mage by nature. I had to engineer a solution out of the skills I have. It was draining. The Dark Lord has been amused by this development. My request to kill the sphinx for her transgressions against me was also denied”
“Really?” Tetraites said. “That seems brazen of them, and the Dark Lord did nothing?”
“It was. Though I would never assume the Dark Lord does nothing. He has his reasons even when I cannot fathom them.” Crixa responded with a sharpness, reminding Tetraites of the difference in their positions. “But never forget Tetraites, those who hold power are do so with a grip like steel. You would do well to remember that if you were to seize it again. We are not like our master.”
The mood grew somber. As for Tetraites, he thought of Crixa’s story and couldn’t help it. He laughed. His bones cracked and clattered. The image of Crixa trying to figure out how to break down a magical glass barrier. “I wish I had seen it.”
Crixa grinned crookedly to himself. “No, you do not. It was no pleasant. Unfortunately, our larder may be without fresh meat for some time as a result.”
As suddenly as it had appeared, the creature’s smile vanished. “I am here to tell you you’ll be returning to the Arena tomorrow. The Dark Lord has plans for you. Be prepared
.”
“So soon?” Tetraites asked, caught off guard by the surprise announcement. Tetraites had half-expected the inner voice of the Dark Lord to provide an answer, but none came. The Dark Lord had been quiet towards him as of late.
“So soon. Indeed.” Crixa responded regretfully as the monster left his cell. It turned around once more to say, “I have overstayed. You have potential, Tetraites. Do not die tomorrow. Prove your worth to our master and you can join the ranks of the Cadre.”
Crixa left and the cell door slammed shut behind him. Tetraites was alone again. He hadn’t expected to go back into the Arena so quickly, but he was ready for it. Anything to take his mind off what had happened with the revenant earlier.
Once Crixa was gone, doubt began to set in. Tetraites questioned. I have found a measure of peace in this new world. I had thought it a fitting rebirth. But was Yarrl right? Tetraites had believed that the Arena was his chance to start over, to turn his back on who he had been in life. But what if that wasn’t the case? What if he could never leave Xanthus behind? I would love to have full access to my necromantic powers, but when I think of the man I was. Weak and pathetic with flesh, I cringe.
He shook his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts from his brain. Whatever happened, he would deal with it as it came. Tetraites turned his thoughts towards the animated flesh in his arm and how with the arena sealed, it had not answered his call. I will need another option, a thing of last resort.
Tetraites reached out through his magic to the minion he had set loose to consume. Once the link between them was established, Tetraites sent his command. Vilerend, the time is soon. I will maintain a more active bond between us, though for how long I cannot say. If this bond should be severed for any reason, come immediately to my aid.
The Skeleton smiled when an answer in a language none but him and other necromancers came in reply. More sound than words in a language that meant, “As you will, it master.”