by Licia Troisi
“Don’t worry about me,” Nihal urged him. “I know what I’m doing. Soana has to get out of here and you have your own battle to take care of.”
Ido pulled up beside Oarf, allowing Soana to climb atop his dragon, and flew off without a word. He knew that the fates of his student and the Tyrant were intertwined, that Nihal had long been destined to pass beneath the gates of the Fortress and meet her match.
Ido let Soana off his dragon at a safe distance from the battlefront. As they said their good-byes, he could only imagine how difficult it would be for her to stand by idly as the battle raged on.
“It’s in large part thanks to the things you’ve accomplished over these last few years that we’re here today.”
The sorceress bowed her head, only to lift it a moment later and meet his gaze. “Will you face Deinforo?” she asked.
“Yes. And I’ll end this story once and for all.”
Soana reached out to touch his hand. “Be careful.”
Ido lowered his visor and tipped his sword to her in farewell. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said, and took to the air.
Not wasting an instant, Ido narrowed his eyes in search of his rival, though for a long while, Deinforo was nowhere to be found. In the meantime, the dwarf kept himself busy with simple soldiers and lesser knights, combating with every ounce of strength in his body, never for a moment holding back. Ever conscious of his last, tragic mistake, he refused to let himself be distracted, and on several occasions, he went to the aid of a friend in danger. Meanwhile, his impatience only mounted.
This would be his last opportunity to settle the score with Deinforo. Steadfast, he went on fighting, though his thirst grew with each passing hour, as layer upon layer of blood coated the blade of his sword. He was ever more impatient to see the vermillion figure of the knight against the dark gray clouds of the morning at the horizon.
Ido was among the best warriors in the field that day. In short order, he gained so much ground that he managed to reach Nihal again. He saw her from a distance flying high above the battlefield upon Oarf and fighting for all she was worth, absorbed in her mission, the Fortress always in her sights. The dwarf was soon flying by her side. The sun shone from on high, nearly at its peak. Ido could see that their troops had pushed a good way forward into the Great Land. The Fortress loomed more menacing than ever. “I see your hard work has paid off,” he said to Nihal during a brief lull in combat.
He could hear her labored breathing from beneath her helmet and the sound alarmed him. It couldn’t be from mere exhaustion. Nihal’s stamina in battle was nearly infinite.
“As you can see, I’m better off when you’re not around,” she said with a laugh, but still her breath came with difficulty. “Did you take down Deinforo?”
“Haven’t even caught a glimpse of him yet,” Ido replied.
“So you’ve given it up?”
The dwarf swept the blood and sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Don’t go spouting nonsense. I’m just waiting for him to show his ugly face.”
Deinforo made his appearance on the battlefield just as the sun passed its zenith, heralding the afternoon. A cloud of smoke rose suddenly before Ido’s eyes, and a dozen soldiers scattered in panic. As they fled to the left and the right, the dwarf found himself face-to-face with a black dragon standing directly in his path. His enemy sat upon the menacing beast, his armor flaring like a bright red flame. The moment had come.
“So we’ve come to the final act, have we?” said Deinforo.
Ido was silent, his blood boiling. Immediately, his gaze wandered to the knight’s arm. In place of his lost hand was a mechanical limb, its metal glinting in the pale light of the sun.
“It will be your life I take this time, and nothing less,” the Black Dragon Knight hissed.
“My thoughts exactly,” Ido replied, raising his sword to salute his enemy. Deinforo returned the gesture.
The two dashed at one another, their swords dancing maniacally as they rose through the air.
At first, they were merely measuring each other up. Their dragons beneath them did the same, as if they sensed the deathly stakes of the duel. Their two swords met in an arabesque of blocks and jabs, bright light sparking from the clashing metal. Their enormous leg muscles tensed, Vesa and the black dragon shot from side to side, dodging the enemy’s strikes, while the two knights writhed and twisted in their saddles, leaning into each attack and lending weight to each block.
Ido noticed immediately that the strange reflections of light normally emitted by Deinforo’s armor had disappeared, that the blade of his enemy’s sword flashed only with the glare of the afternoon sun. So it was true. All along, Deinforo’s invincibility had been thanks to an enchantment. Now, with the force of the talisman, Nihal had evened the playing field.
They battled at great length, neither managing to land a single blow. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, parrying and thrusting, almost as if they were playing. Then, with a quick feint, Ido lunged at his enemy and his sword broke through with a powerful thrust, cutting deep into Deinforo’s armor. The two split off.
Ido erupted in defiant laughter as he sought to catch his breath. “No filthy sorcery to protect you today, is there?” he taunted, pointing to the scrape in his enemy’s armor.
Deinforo slowed his panting. “Hardly enough to keep me from slaughtering you; don’t worry.”
In a violent rush, he launched at Ido. Again, the clash was on. Beneath them, the battle raged, soldier after fallen soldier dying to break through the Fortress’s sturdy gate or dying to protect it. But for the two knights, there was nothing but sky and the thirst for blood.
Each time he faced Deinforo, Ido could feel the weight of his past press upon him with its trail of ghosts and regrets. He thought back to his brother, Dola, to the thousands of enemies he’d defeated, and to the Tyrant, the horrible inheritance he had planted in Ido’s heart and all he’d taken from him, starting with his father and his brother. Ever more forcefully, he lunged into his attacks, though he knew the real duel had only just begun.
Then, Deinforo caught Ido off guard, his mechanical hand seizing Ido’s cheek in a firm grip that just missed Ido’s remaining eye.
Ido brought his sword down on Deinforo’s metal hand and it loosened its grasp, though not without taking a strip of skin with it. Once again, Ido’s field of vision flooded red, just as on the day he’d lost his eye. Frightened, he hunched close to Vesa and dashed away in retreat.
This time, it was Deinforo who laughed. “I see you haven’t forgotten our last encounter, Ido. Well neither have I. Because before that day, not a single soul had managed even to scrape me in battle. You were the first, and for that I can never forgive you, not until I’ve slashed you to pieces and you’ve paid in full for the hand you stole from me. I hate you for what you’ve done. And for your betrayal of my Lord.”
Recuperating from the intense pain, Ido wiped away the blood dripping from his face and clouding his vision. Meanwhile, Deinforo aimed his sword at his adversary and thrust forward in attack once again.
The intensity mounted. Both fighters hit their marks repeatedly. The warriors’ armor filled with nicks and dents. Ido sliced deeply into his opponent’s hip at the point where the breastplate met with his upper leg guard. Deinforo retaliated, striking the dwarf’s arm with a heavy blow.
Breathless, the two split off. For a brief moment, they kept their distance, measuring one another’s wounds. In hate and admiration, they glared at each other, their hearts gripped with a savage joy, for each knew his opponent worthy beyond reckoning.
“True warriors must face one another upon the ground,” said Deinforo, sliding his sword back in its sheath. “I propose we finish this battle without our dragons.”
Ido nodded, he too tucking away his sword. It would be beneath Deinforo’s merit as a warrior, he knew, to play so base a t
rick as to strike him with his weapon lowered.
Down below, they found an isolated clearing, far from the clamor of the battle. As they prepared to settle the score once and for all, Ido had no choice but to admit, though he loathed the thought, that his opponent was a true knight. He knew how to hold his own on the battlefield, and even though he fought in the Tyrant’s army, as mercilessly as the rest of them, he still kept to his code of honor.
“I don’t think your boss would be too happy with you. You had the chance to kill me with my guard down and you didn’t take it,” said Ido, cleaning the blood from his blade.
“My Lord knows just who he’s dealing with. Never would he ask me to betray my own beliefs. He knows me better than all those who serve him.”
Ido laughed. “How do you do it? How do you fight in that army of worms? Especially you, who once battled among our ranks? Don’t think I’ve forgotten you, Debar.”
Deinforo gave a start. “Nor have I forgotten you and your pathetic attempts at training me.”
“Training you still make use of, as far as I can tell,” Ido answered back.
Deinforo turned away quickly. “And you think your army’s any better? Did you not see the way your trusty soldiers threw themselves at the confused and defenseless Fammin? The way they laughed as they sliced them to shreds? Is that the way a true warrior is supposed to behave?”
It was true. As soon as the soldiers of the Free Lands saw that the Fammin were no longer a threat, they’d begun slaughtering them en masse. Ido had tried to stop them, to put an end to the pointless cruelty, but the slaughter raged on.
“This time you have nothing to say, do you, Ido?” Deinforo taunted him. “You abandoned our Lord to fight with that army of swine.”
“What I turned away from was the Tyrant’s blind cruelty, from a monster who forced me to slaughter the innocent,” Ido shot back. “You’re fighting for the very force that crushes all hope.”
“No, what I’m fighting for is the one chance for hope still left in this world. And I say that because he spoke to me, because he saved me from the false path I was walking. He showed me the road to salvation. Why do you think this world has never found peace, Ido? Have you ever asked yourself that question?”
“As long as men like the monster you fight for still walk these lands, this world will never find peace.”
Deinforo paid no heed to Ido’s words. “Because the people of this world are incapable of controlling themselves, because left to their own devices they do nothing but kill each other. These frauds you fight for now, these fools—it was their hatred, their cruelty that took from me everything I had. My own friends from the army, the ones who’d been there with me from the very start, they were the ones who raped my sister and lynched my family. It was only by a miracle that I escaped with my life. I wandered every corner of the world, I fled from myself, from what I once was. I had nothing left to believe in. In the end, when I reached the very depths of despair, I was taken prisoner by the Tyrant. He was the one who opened my eyes. He told me of the Two Hundred Years War, of the false peace of Nammen, of the hatred that for all eternity has ruled this earth. He told me it was time for the end to come and that he himself would bring it about. When the Eight Lands of this world are under his command, peace and justice will reign over all. That’s why I left your army, to follow in his light. And that’s why I’m going to defeat you Ido, you who betrayed my Lord.”
He lifted his helmet and Ido recognized the young boy beside whom he once had fought. He’d barely changed. Age and anguish had worn his features, but he was still the same as always. Ido, too, removed his helmet, revealing the scar that ran down half his face.
Before Ido could gather his bearings, Deinforo drew his sword. The enemy’s blade came down on his leg. Ido collapsed to his knees, and Deinforo raised his weapon, ready to deal the final blow. But Ido was not yet beaten, and the duel resumed. Twice, Ido’s blows drew blood. Both fell to the ground and the battle escalated into a furious clash, though by now both were wounded and tired, down to their last ounces of their strength.
“You can fool the others with this uplifting tale of yours,” Ido began, “but not me. I fought for the Tyrant, and I know exactly what drives men to flock around him. Peace? Harmony? No, revenge. I, too, remained in his service to quench my thirst to kill, for there were always new battles to fight, new enemies to defeat, and all the blood you could hope to spill. And that’s the only reason you’ve sided with the Tyrant.”
Deinforo rushed at him again. Now their swords moved franticly, wildly. The battle had come to its decisive moment. Suddenly, each warrior came to represent what the other had sought to bury within himself. They were fighting to survive.
“You have no right to judge me or my Lord,” Deinforo growled in the heat of the duel, striking Ido in the chest.
Ido fell again to the earth, though his breastplate had absorbed the blow. In a flash, Deinforo was upon him, hoisting his blade in the air with both hands to impale his enemy once and for all. Ido rolled rapidly to the side, dodging the blade.
“Quit feeding yourself these lies,” Ido spat, and again he saw his enemy’s eyes light up.
“Silence!” Deinforo thundered.
Ido rose to his feet. The pain in his chest was too much to bear and he leaned his weight on the butt of his sword. “Vengeance is the only reason you’re with the Tyrant,” said Ido. “The rest of it is nothing but hot air, and you know it. How many innocent men have you killed? Do you think you’re any different from the soldiers who murdered your family?”
Ido could see a glimmer of doubt in his opponent’s eyes and he knew his words had struck to the core, though in an instant, that flash of uncertainty gave way to a wild anger. Once again, Deinforo sprang at Ido.
By now, it was no longer a duel but more of brawl, a full-on scuffle to the death. They flailed and thrashed, only rarely landing a blow. Ido strained to focus, to fight with conviction, and as he glimpsed his own bloody hand, gripped tight to the handle of his sword, he remembered all that had led to this moment: the years of war, the fear he’d never make up for the evils of his past. All the reasons that had spurred him to face Deinforo came rushing to mind. It was time to uphold his commitment, to affirm the moral choice he’d made all those years ago when he abandoned the Tyrant’s army, the pledge that had been his saving grace.
He tightened the grip around his sword and dove back into the battle, calling on every last ounce of strength in his body. Deinforo staggered back in retreat, startled by his opponent’s jolt of energy.
There before his eyes, Ido watched as his enemy’s spirit fled from his limbs. All strength seemed to have gone from him, along with his desire to fight, as if he’d already been defeated. With his guard lowered, Deinforo felt his opponent’s blade pierce through his waist, just below his armor, where Ido’s sword had already broken through once or twice with ease, only this time the sharp metal sunk in deep and the knight collapsed to the ground.
Ido stared on as blood began to flow from his enemy’s wound, soaking the earth, expanding slowly into a dark red puddle. And he knew it was over. That he’d won. At last he’d tasted victory, and the taste was bitter.
“But you stopped fighting …” Ido murmured, struggling to catch his breath. He’d seen Deinforo lower his guard. “Why did you let me kill you?”
Deinforo was panting heavily, and he nodded with a smile. “There’s nothing to say. You defeated me. I’m just happy it was you who did it, that I’ll die by the hand of the strongest knight on the battlefield.”
Ido watched as Deinforo’s eyelids sank and his body fell limp to the earth. When he could no longer hear his enemy breathing, Ido began to cry without understanding why. He cried for Deinforo, for his brother, for the war and all the blood it had cost, until the shadow of night fell, swallowing him and his tears.
40
Nihal and Aster’s Wa
r
Just after Ido sped off toward Deinforo, Nihal retreated closer to the border and threw herself into the fray. At first, she fought alone, though she was soon surrounded by the troops of the Free Lands who’d pushed the battlefront farther into enemy territory.
With every moment, they inched closer to the Tyrant’s Fortress until Nihal raised her eyes and saw it towering over her. She’d never seen it so close. It was black, a tangle of spires, statues, and grotesque ornaments. Eight menacing tentacles extended outward from the center, each stretching covetously toward one of the lands of the Overworld. Like all that is truly horrifying, the structure was of an eerie, alluring beauty. Sharp barbs lined the tower, and as it rose up through the sky, it seemed to broadcast its dark ambition to the world. At its base, the tower swelled into a massive foundation. Enemy soldiers poured by the thousands from its tentacles and underground passageways, though many of them were Fammin who wandered in bewilderment through the field until the blade of an enemy sword put an end to their confusion.
For a moment, Nihal stood staring at the sky, enthralled by the magnificence of the enormous structure and by the dark mystery that seemed to emanate from its walls, her stomach gripped with a presage of danger. She shook herself and rejoined the battle. The force of the amulet stole the breath from her lungs. She could feel the energy flowing from the talisman’s eight stones, their power amassing, the stones darkening.
She fought with passion and courage, soaring atop Oarf, while the Fortress grew larger and larger in her sights, its sealed gates ever nearer.
At last, as the afternoon first graced the plain, Nihal arrived before the heavy black bars of the gate with a small squadron.
The soldiers readied the battering ram and thrust forward against the doors. Perhaps, in the past, the gates had been sealed with a powerful enchantment, but all that held them now were two heavy wooden planks that gave way easily to the blows. Before long, the gate burst open, and the two doors crashed to the earth with a resounding thud.