by David Adams
“These things are not your fault.” Sirora smiled in a kindly way. I had never seen her do that before. “We all make mistakes.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. We all make mistakes. I had made so many mistakes I didn’t know where to begin. All of a sudden I wasn’t sure about anything. What would Tyermumtican think about all of this?
I couldn’t think about that. He was gone. The thought made my heart hurt, far more than the corpse at my feet.
Business. I had to focus. “How far away are the humans?”
“I expect them to be here within the hour. Their pace has increased. I’m not sure why.”
I did not know either.
Lacking a better option, I got dressed, pulling on my armour. Several of my warriors assisted with the straps and buckles, their faces nervous masks, and their eyes regularly flicking to my weapon. I couldn’t blame them. I admired their loyalty.
I took one last look around to make sure that everything was ready. At the end of the corridor, dozens of spears had been glued to the floor at an angle pointing directly towards us. It felt like we were the attackers rather than the defenders, but I knew what they were for. Deep pits had been dug in the ground, three of them, each the height and a half of a human. The work was made easier by the soft earthen floor kept damp by water dripping in from above.
Everyone took off for their positions as we arranged, and then we waited.
We waited. We waited. And we waited. It felt like forever, as though time had stopped, and everything was frozen in this moment. The only sound was the dripping of water from above, seeping in through the cracks in the bottom of the lake, soaking the soil and coming down to us. It was odd to be so deep. Odder still to be fighting there.
Then, right at the very edges of my hearing, it came. Booted feet, marching together with purpose, growing louder and louder. They were coming from below. My heart quickened inside my chest. The glowbugs on the ceiling skittered away, one by one, frightened by the noise. The corridor was plunged into gloom. I drew Incinerator and let its light, red and hungry, shine in the long tunnel. It would be visible even to the humans, and it masked the entire area in crimson hues.
From around the corner came the first of the humans. Ten across, filling the length of the tunnel. They had so much light with them—little boxes that shone yellow, lit torches that burned without smoke, and the weapons of their foremost soldiers.
I stepped into the open, the spears of my army behind me, and I activated my wings. The light swallowed the red glare from Incinerator, replacing it with fiery yellows, a dawn at the tail end of a long corridor under a lake.
“I am Ren of Atikala,” I shouted to the horde, uncertain if they could truly understand me. I pointed the tip of my weapon at them, my shield tucked in close to my side. “Leader of Ssarsdale. Ren Humansbane, Scion of the Sunscale, She Who Defied Contremulus. I am your doom.”
Murmurs and shouts from the humans. I did not understand their tongue.
“You want me?” I flew off the ground, my wings beating evenly in the still tunnel air. “Come and get me.”
CHAPTER IXX
WAR.
THE HUMANS BROUGHT FORTH their archers. Hundreds of them, all standing together, strung their bows and stood side by side. Together, as one, they drew a bead on me.
Yelora and I had expected this. I glanced over my shoulder to Vaarden; he was already spellcasting, waving his hands around in a series of intricate gestures.
A wall of howling wind leapt up between me and the human horde. The arrows they fired swung away, clinking off the stone and splashing into the muddy dirt, their flight destroyed. They fired again for the same result, although one bounced off my left boot, spinning wildly.
“Waste your arrows,” I shouted over the roar of the whirling air. “It amuses me.”
A third barrage. I wasn’t sure why they bothered. Perhaps out of spite. Then they drew their swords. The metal glinted in the orange glow of my wings, their backs illuminated by their various light sources. They advanced slowly—my warriors held their ground, spears ready.
I could see their hesitation on their human faces. We were unlike the other kobolds they had faced. In the face of their fear, as I knew it would, they advanced. A hundred of them. The first wave. They walked past the spikes we had set up, turning sideways to squeeze through. They were confused. They didn’t understand. As they advanced, the spears we had set were pointed to their backs. I had to admire them for being so brave.
So stupid.
We waited. The humans advanced. Two hundred yards. A hundred. They stepped around the pits we had dug, staring in bewilderment at the entirely ineffective traps, completely out in the open. Fifty yards. I reached inside myself, and I stole the light from their fires. Streams of flame drifted towards me, a hundred tentacles of glowing embers and flame, and I swallowed it down deep.
They seemed ready for this. Immediately, flares of light struck up as the army struck flint to steel and relit their torches. Their confidence renewed, the first line of them put their boots through the wall of air.
Each of them snagged on a trip wire, and they fell onto their chest, the glue fastening them to the stone almost immediately. They struggled and kicked, thrashing around, trying to free themselves, but the substance soaked into their clothes and armour. They weren’t going anywhere.
Those behind, however, marched over the top of their prone comrades, careful to avoid sticking themselves on stray residue. The trampled ones cried out in pain, but even though I did not understand their words, there was another undercurrent there. Another word of warning.
Face down, so close to the pits, they could see into them.
They see the oil, said Magmellion. Now is the time for the first of your tricks.
Focusing inward, I spellcast, shooting a ray of heat into each of the three pits. Instantly they became flaming pillars as the oil within ignited, air forced into the flames, turning the slow-burning oil into roaring columns of heat. The flames burned around the humans, the blinding flash of light and heat causing them to shield their faces with their hands, and scorching the closest ones.
My vanguard, a select group hand selected and led by Yelora, charged forward, spears in hand. The scaled tide met the organised line of blinded invaders with the clash of steel, their sharp spears attacking the legs and abdomens of the humans. The quiet, moist tunnel erupted into a sea of fire, steel, and the roar of combat.
Yelora’s spear, shorter than the others and held in one hand, crackled with electrical energy as it dug into the gut of one of the humans. The woman jerked, spasmed, and burned from the inside out. Without wasting a beat, Yelora flung her hand out wide and cast an arc of electrical energy over another group of them, scorching and shocking them.
She was right. When the fighting started, nobody forgot the magus.
But the humans rallied. One of them had a bow, double the size of any a kobold could wield, and was past the wall of air. Quickly—almost too quickly to see—he drew an arrow from a quiver at his hip and fired it, skewering the closest warrior through the throat. Black ichor sprayed from the wound, and the kobold, gasping and choking, fell to the ice. The projectile, not stopped by such a feeble barrier, blasted the soldier behind it, blowing her back against the frozen ground, dead before she even struck it.
The bowman had to die.
Too close for fireballs. Too far away for cones of flame. I focused my energies inward, bringing forth magical darts of force. They leapt unerringly towards the bowman, slamming into his body, but he was tough as the stone. He glared up at me, our eyes met, and I knew who his next target was.
My warriors, hissing and spitting, pressed in. Behind me, Sirora pressed her claws together and fired a dark green ray over the heads of her protective wall of soldiers, blasting a hole in the monster’s long cloak. The fabric crumbled to ash, but with a snap of his wrist, the human threw off the fabric before the creeping doom reached his flesh.
Another
arrow was nocked and fired, the oversized projectile claiming two more kobolds before Yelora jammed her spear into his thigh. Once more it ignited in crackling energy, and his muscles tightened. Unable to move, his body was pierced with a dozen spears by my warriors.
A wall of blades hacked their way into my soldiers, human arms swinging their steel in wide arcs, each powerful blow catching the heads and arms of my soldiers, taking off whatever they found. Even outnumbered two to one, the sword-wielders cut through the kobolds like demons. Black blood sprayed from each wound, splattering on the floor, hissing as it fell into the flaming pit, and soaking the blades of our enemies. A blow clipped Yelora on the side, another shattering her spear. I cast, blasting away her attacker, but she fell onto the stone. A human man drove his sword into her thigh. She shrieked in pain.
My rage built within me, as loud as the clanging of steel on steel, and the screams of the wounded. We had taken our toll, but my vanguard were almost depleted for little effect. The humans had rallied. We were supposed to trade our first wave for theirs, but Yelora was out of the fight, and we had lost so many troops for nothing…
It was time I turned the tide. I flew down and landed, my wings stretching the width of the tunnel, a blinding light at my back.
Time for another trick.
The “feathers” on my wings became more than simple inert strands of flame and reached out for the line of humans, entangling them and turning flesh to ash. They died screaming, seared to the bone and into the marrow. Undulating tentacles squeezed the lifeless corpses until they popped and roasted into unrecognisable hunks of meat. I floated across the battlefield, a flaming horror snatching humans from their battle lines and destroying them.
They fled. I, alone, broke the human defenders; my presence was a spectre tearing through their forces. I hacked into any who got too close with Incinerator. A single touch turned them to charcoal, and the survivors quickly leaned to keep their distance. Their confident assault became a rout as the line of humans panicked and ran.
All save one. He looked me in the eyes, unafraid, clad in faded armour emblazoned with a dull silver symbol. One I recognised.
Banehal. He held his greatsword comfortably in both hands, posture relaxed, his face a mixture of anger, serenity, and pity. His strange red blood trickled out of a half-dozen spear wounds, but he still looked strong.
“Banehal,” I said, descending. My tentacles avoided him, seemingly unwilling to harm a paladin. “You do not belong here.”
“I belong wherever evil roams the land,” he said, his voice calm and collected.
“I do not want to hurt you,” I said.
“Interesting,” said Banehal, “for I do wish to harm you.” His dark eyes narrowed. “I saw the ashes of the town your people sacked. Burned to the ground, full of children. The elderly. None were spared the wrath of Ren the Warmonger.”
“So now you serve my father?” I spat on the ground, the white glob splattering against the black blood that coated the floor. “I thought you hated him. So much has changed since I saw you last.”
“A paladin serves no king. No master. I march with Contremulus’s men simply as a means to an end, because it puts me closer to you. Closer to ending your evil.” He adjusted his grip on his blade. “You disappoint me, Ren of Atikala. I expected better.”
“What are you talking about?” I hissed faintly, my tongue playing across my teeth. “You would side with these beasts?”
“These beasts are farmers doing their duty.” He shifted his posture, adopting an aggressive stance, as though he could strike me from the air. “Had they refused the call, their livestock would have been taken, their lands sacked, and their homes put to the torch.” The flames of the oil burned low, raising dancing shadows against the walls of the tunnel. “They fight you not because they want you to die, but because you have left them no choice.”
“Choice?” I could hardly keep the anger out of my words. “They sided with Contremulus! They gave aid to a monster!”
Banehal shook his head. “A choice between the monster at your door and the one lurking in the distance. Aiding him bought them one more day of life, not their loyalty. The villagers did not choose between wickedness and righteousness, they chose to survive. There is no evil in this.” He pointed the tip of his large sword at my face, holding it in one hand. “Only in forcing that choice on others.”
I landed, the blood around my feet hissing and spitting when my wings touched it. “You think I am evil?”
He affixed a dark stare on me. “Yes, I do. There are two parts to evil, thoughts and deeds. An evil thought is a warning to your hands. Cautioning you that, within your heart, lies the potential for wickedness. Yet even a man with the darkest mind may have a pure heart if they fight their nature and overcome the darkness within. Some say this is the purest struggle. It is easier, after all, for a good man to be good; it is harder for one who has tasted the ease of darkness and turned away.”
Anger burned within me. “You think I haven’t suffered? You have no idea what Contremulus—lord of these people—has done to me. To all of us. He murdered Khavi. He took so many other kobolds from us. He tortured me, cut my skin, carved away my scales—he kills without a care! Contremulus is a monster! He defiles the dead, he slays the innocent. He is a monster.”
“Only through deeds is a monster made. Opposing evil with evil is evil, not good. The righteous do not need to search for excuses.”
“I am not evil,” I said, full of confidence. “I am here to destroy evil.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, and a bright light shone within his pupils. I had felt this before. I accepted it, holding my hands out wide, basking in his judgement. The light cast a long shadow behind me, a perfect copy of my form. It started to move.
Dark tendrils grew from my shadow. They reached for my allies and flailed at them uselessly, trying to strangle them. Shadow claws tore at Banehal’s feet. The shadow of me had a jaw full of teeth, twisted, wicked, deformed. They snapped at all, trying frantically to chew at the corpses strewn around.
Then it saw me, and emitting a silent and terrible howl, jumped towards me. Yet it was two-dimensional and could not leave the stone.
The light faded. “Only through deeds is a monster made,” Banehal said. He gripped his blade tighter. “And I can have no mercy for monsters.”
Hearing my own words turned back against me so cruelly, in that moment surrounded by death and flame, was too much. Something broke within me. Something intangible but absolutely real. A darkness, an unspeakable wickedness, seized upon me and would not let me go.
There were too many humans. Way too many for us to beat with spears and spells that targeted them one at a time.
“Vaarden!” I shouted over my shoulder. “I changed my mind! Killing cloud—now!”
I leapt into the air, fully thirty feet away from Banehal. Seemingly untroubled by the distance, he swung his blade towards me, and a golden light shone from the tip. That light reached out towards me like a whip, and I barely had time to raise my shield before it struck with a loud snap.
It passed straight through the battered metal, into the flesh below, and it seared my arm with a golden light. I cried out.
The air wall disappeared. Vaarden wove his spell. A roiling cloud of gas sprayed out of nothing, churning as it came into being, a green-grey wall that descended towards Banehal.
It washed over him, enveloping him within its opaque walls. Then it washed over soldiers behind him. They shouted—cries of pain and panic that were suddenly, ominously, silenced. From within the gas another flash of golden light cut its way towards me. This time I didn’t block and used my wings to fly back, giving ground. Snap. It barely missed my nose.
Not even the killing cloud could stop a paladin. The stories of their power were true. “Sirora!” I shouted, summoning my magic within and hurling a golden ball into the gas, causing a flash of flame within. “Kill him!”
Abruptly, the golden light disappeared, and
the gas passed over where Banehal had stood. There was no sign of his body. Had he fallen into a pit? It seemed unlikely; someone of his coordination and strength would not die in such a manner. “Keep an eye out,” I commanded, and I took a moment to survey the battlefield.
My gut twisted as I saw all the bodies. So many kobolds. I felt aghast at the devastation the humans’ giant arrows had wrought on the comparatively tiny forms of my people. My feet were slick with black blood. Their blood.
These kobolds were only defending their home, and these monsters—led by a paladin, no less!—had found reason to slay so many of my kind after trespassing without welcome. I floated above them, staring into the glassy, dead eyes of one of my warriors, her claw still clutching her spear. So determined was my dead comrade to protect her community that she had given her life to protect it. This was not the act of a creature worthy of death.
The cloud of gas drifted down towards the humans who, wisely, broke ranks to allow it to pass. They scrambled over each other, trying to get away, but if nimble kobolds could not possibly escape it, large humans had no hope.
They screamed. And then they didn’t scream.
Now the odds were more even, but it was time for the coup de grace. I pulled out the scroll from my belt pouch and unfurled it; the writing was particular and strange, and No-Kill flashed into my mind, an image so raw and vivid that I hesitated.
I had buried her using one of these. A good act. Was this—
What are you doing? asked Magmellion, his voice hissing like water on hot rocks. You hesitate. Why? Now is not the time for fear; now is not the time to reconsider. You are exposed. Kill them all.
I recited the painfully familiar words and shifted the stone above me, opening the ceiling.
A torrent of water rushed in, a wall of it pouring through the perfectly circular hole above us. It roared like a dragon, sweeping over the living and the dead alike, picking up the corpses and tossing them around like dolls. Some were swept into the pits, roasted and beaten against the walls as the water rushed in, and the blue-white cascade thundered in the distance as a lake’s worth of water disappeared down into the depths of Drathari, sweeping away all signs that a battle had even taken place here.