by Lana Axe
The sorcerer leaned over the side of his mount, looking into Isandra’s eyes. His visage was dark, his expression one of pure hatred. She could feel his malevolence and his sincere desire to crush her. Gripping her tighter in its talons, the wyvern squeezed with all its strength, but it could not penetrate her enchanted armor. It cried out in anger, reeling its head.
Isandra saw her moment to act. With a swift move, she struck at the talons, the runes of her sword flashing in a multitude of colors. In a single swipe, she sliced through one of the long scaly toes, watching as it dropped from the air and landed somewhere out of sight.
Crying out in pain, the creature jerked to one side, momentarily knocking the sorcerer off balance. As he swung her direction, Isandra thrust her sword at him. She heard nothing, but saw the tip of her sword dripping with blood. With regret, she realized the wound would not be deep, nor would it be life threatening. Clutching tightly to the wyvern’s leg, she attempted to climb up its scales.
Noticing that the elf warrior was approaching, the sorcerer prepared another spell. A wave of energy washed over her, forcing her to lose her grip from the beast’s foot. It took great effort to avoid dropping her sword, but Isandra instinctively tightened her grip as the energy crashed into her. Her other hand slipped from the scales, and for an instant, she was falling freely into the sky. As the beast’s tail moved into view, she grabbed on, narrowly avoiding a fall to her death. Peering at the ground below, the soldiers were too small to be seen. All she could make out were small puffs of smoke, likely caused by magical fire.
Climbing along the wyvern’s tail, Isandra had a good view of its underbelly. On most creatures, this area would be soft and vulnerable. Unfortunately, she could find no such spot on this creature. Its entire body was armored with thick, golden scales. In vain, she stabbed at the scales, hoping to find a soft place between them where the beast could be injured.
Swiveling his head, the sorcerer took notice of the elf who was still clutching to the wyvern’s tail. He had thought her finished, but still she persisted. Raising his hand, he prepared a blast of fire. Unleashing the magic from his hand, he projected it at her and waited for her screams to reach his ears.
As nimble as a lemur, the woman swung gracefully under the tail, shielding herself from the fiery attack. The magic glinted off the wyvern’s scales, bouncing to the ground below. In anger, the sorcerer pulled hard on the wyvern’s reins, knocking it slightly off-balance. It swooped low, giving Isandra the opportunity she needed. With a gentle leap, she flung herself from the creature’s tail, somersaulting onto the ground and bouncing back onto her feet. Readying her sword, she prepared for the beast to circle back.
With a piercing shriek, the monster homed in on her position. Standing her ground, she waited until the moment was right before stepping gracefully to the side. The sorcerer hurled another fireball, but Isandra’s sword caught it midair. The runed blade flashed with a blue light as the fire dissipated in a puff of steam. The sorcerer’s eyes went wide as he stared at where his fireball had been. Isandra didn’t hesitate. She swung her sword again, slashing at the rider, mortally wounding him. He toppled from the beast, landing hard on the ground, a pool of dark blood surrounding him.
The monster cried out at the death of its master, diving on Isandra’s position and knocking her off her feet. Grabbing at its injured talon, she righted herself, and positioned her sword to strike. Somewhere this creature must have a weakness, she thought. It thrashed its leg, attempting to force the woman to release her grip, but Isandra held fast. She studied the underbelly once more, but still found it impenetrable. Looking up, she realized there was a slight break in the plating where the scales of its legs met the scales of its torso. She had not noticed this before. Hoping she had finally found a soft spot, Isandra thrust her sword upward, penetrating the wyvern between its scales.
The creature’s earsplitting cry let her know she had succeeded. Thrusting the sword farther still, she pushed with all her might. Blood sprayed from the wound, the flow increasing as she twisted her blade.
The wyvern rocked and weaved, spreading its massive wings as if to take to the air, but the creature had little strength left. Isandra’s attack had found an artery, and the beast had lost too much blood to continue the fight. Slowly, it limped, dragging its injured leg as it attempted to escape its doom. Isandra pulled her sword free, unleashing a torrent of blood. Within seconds, the beast ceased to move, its final breath escaping its lungs in a long, mournful sigh.
Isandra turned toward the tower, hoping her father and his companions were safe. For a moment, she thought of returning to see if he needed further assistance, but she discerned no movement near the tower’s base. It was likely he was already inside. Turning back to the battle raging on behind her, she knew where her help was most needed.
King Rykon, whose gold-embellished helmet left no question as to how important he was, stood surrounded by servants of the enemy. Heavily armored soldiers closed in around him as he held his father’s sword high. Isandra hurried through the thick of battle, slashing at everything in her path. The king would not fall if she could reach him in time.
Slashing in an arcing motion, Rykon cut through the soldiers closest to him. Spinning around, he crossed swords with one soldier, blocking the attack that was aimed for his back. Struggling against the soldier’s strength, Rykon forced his sword upward, slamming the pommel into the man’s chin. He staggered backward, giving Rykon the opening he needed to finish him. With a thrust of his blade, he ran the soldier through. The man fell to the ground, but no blood pooled beneath him.
A look of relief came over Rykon’s face as he saw Isandra approaching. She cut down three soldiers in her path before coming to the king’s side.
“It’s good to see you,” he said.
Isandra did not respond. Her eyes were locked on the man at Rykon’s feet. A yellow glow encircled him, and he slowly made his way back to his feet, using his hands to support him on the way up.
Rykon slashed again, relieving the man of his head. “Every soldier and creature we kill comes back to life,” he told her. “It’s an impossible fight, but we’ll hold them as long as we can.”
Isandra could see that the king had spoken true. The decapitated body was searching the ground for its severed head. At her approach, the head growled and gnashed its teeth. Stepping forward, she kicked the head farther away, the body scrambling to follow. “There has to be a way to stop them,” she said.
“The mages can blast them to bits, but a sword is all but useless. I’m all ears if you have a suggestion.” Before he could speak more, the soldiers he had previously cut down were coming after him again. Their wounds were still visible, but the blood had ceased to run, and they appeared no worse for wear. Their swords held high, they rejoined the battle, challenging the Na’zoran king.
With a fierce cry, Isandra charged at the soldiers, the king swinging wildly at her side. Together they cut through the line, sending the men to their deaths once more. Their bodies slid lifelessly to the ground, crumpling without a sound.
Rykon stood over them, breathing heavily. “They’ll get back up,” he said. “I’ve been working on this same group since we arrived.” As he spoke, one of the bodies suddenly sprung to its feet, hurling itself onto the king’s back. He staggered forward, surprised by the sudden attack. Isandra grabbed the man by his shoulders, violently slamming him to the ground and stabbing her sword through his neck.
“Like I said,” Rykon said, shrugging slightly.
As the yellow light engulfed the bodies of the fallen, Isandra could bear no more. Slicing madly at the men, she hacked off limbs, heads, and exposed the corpses’ inner workings. Flesh rained down upon her, a shower of disgusting proportions. Rykon shielded his eyes as the elf warrior continued hacking away. Finally, she stepped back to observe her work.
“This would go easier with an axe,” she commented, wiping the blood away from her face.
Rykon stared into the
mass Isandra had created. The yellow light came and went, but the soldiers did not rise. They had no legs or arms to do so. Instead, the masses of flesh quivered and pulsated as they tried desperately to obey their master’s morbid command.
“Shred them to ribbons,” Rykon said. “A time-consuming solution, but effective.” He managed a smile at this small victory.
Isandra nodded once. “Let’s get to work on the rest of them,” she said. Lifting her runed sword high, she charged into the battle that raged all around her, followed closely by the king.
Chapter 24
Stepping cautiously along the dimly lit corridor, the companions encountered no resistance. All was silent within the tower, and a single light shone brightly, illuminating the spiral staircase ahead of them. The soft glow was warm, almost inviting. Their senses on high alert, they moved toward the light.
The narrow corridor made movement difficult when they tried to walk side by side. For comfort, they walked single file with River in the lead and Mel bringing up the rear. His head swiveled constantly, expecting an attack from behind at any moment. His heart pounded in his ears, each breath rapid and shallow.
No sound could be heard save the soft footfalls of the four intruders. River moved with an easy caution, his apprehension seeming to dull as they moved closer to the staircase. It surprised him that he wasn’t more nervous. He was about to face the greatest challenge of his life—the man who had murdered the Spirit who gave him life. The task before him would require immense effort, but River’s resolve was true. Leaving his family behind had been the most difficult part, and that was over. There was only one more thing he could do to protect them.
Stepping into the light, River’s shadow fell across his companions. As his foot touched the first step, a white light flashed before him, sending up a blast of energy. Knocked off balance, River crashed backward, landing hard against the stone floor. Mel and Kaiya shielded their eyes momentarily from the sparks, but Telorithan seemed unaffected. He stooped low over River, extending his hand.
Acting purely on instinct, Kaiya inserted herself between the two elves, her eyes focused on Telorithan. She did not trust him, and this would be an easy time to do River harm if that was the sorcerer’s intention. Instead, Telorithan maneuvered his arm around Kaiya, extending his hand once again to help River to his feet. River graciously accepted, giving a soft look to Kaiya, who still appeared suspicious.
Mel cut through the tense moment by pointing out River’s injury. “You’re bleeding,” he said, pointing to his own forehead.
River touched the wound with his fingers and said, “It’s only a minor scratch.”
“I’ll take the lead,” Telorithan said, his eyes flashing red. “I believe I’ll have an easier time spotting any more traps.”
River nodded, allowing the sorcerer to walk in front of him as the group continued climbing the stairs. After only a few steps, Telorithan paused, pointing a finger at an unseen device near the wall.
“There’s another one,” he said.
Kaiya stretched her neck to see around the others, her keen eyes spotting what the sorcerer had seen. Carved in yellow magic was a single rune, one that she did not recognize. It was barely noticeable, tucked between two slabs of stone.
Summoning the fire within, Telorithan’s eyes flashed red. “Take cover,” he commanded them. His companions crouched near the wall, shielding themselves with their arms. Unleashing red magic, Telorithan blasted the rune, sending yellow sparks and bits of stone tearing through the air. When the dust settled, he grinned at the others. It had been far too long since he destroyed anything with fire. Though this had been on a small scale, he still enjoyed the sound the fire made as it ripped through the trap, reducing it to ashes.
The invaders continued up the stairs, watching every inch of stone for another trap. To their surprise, they found none.
In a whisper, Kaiya asked, “Why would Ulda place only two traps, neither of which posed any real threat?”
Mel shrugged. “Maybe he wasn’t expecting us.”
“He is,” River said, “but that isn’t why he’s not trying to stop us.” He looked upward along the spiral staircase. “He wants us to come.”
Boldly, Kaiya said, “Then that will be his undoing.”
River looked back at her, the worry on his face softening. Kaiya had been strong since the first time they met, many centuries ago. He admired her courage, her determination to defend what was just no matter what she had to face. “I believe it will,” he agreed.
Mel wasn’t so sure, but he kept his doubts to himself. All of the others had centuries of magical study on him. He knew he was the weakest link here, and if their mission failed, it would likely be due to his own shortcomings. His only option was to draw strength from those around him, knowing that they probably needed little help from him.
River turned to Mel and said, “I am not reading your thoughts, but I see the doubt in your heart. You are a child of earth magic, born of the forest. The power within you will not be denied.”
Mel seemed puzzled. “I’m not denying that I have some powers,” he said. “I just don’t think it’s anywhere near your level.”
River smiled at his friend. “Many things hold us back in this life,” he said. “We must learn to overcome those things which prevent us from living as we were meant to. Unleash the power, Mel. Let it soar freely, and allow yourself to fly alongside it.”
Hearing those words, Mel felt a warmth burning inside his chest. Ever since learning he was a shaman, he had been frightened. There was much he didn’t understand, and he was afraid of trying too hard and not succeeding. He had convinced himself that magic didn’t come naturally to him, that he was just some freak of nature. If River was correct, Mel was born to create magic. All he had to do was stop fighting it and allow the magic to flow.
Kaiya suppressed a laugh, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. “I think he’s getting it now,” she whispered. “I went through similar doubts of my own, Mel. But the feeling I get when the magic channels through me is beyond anything I can describe.”
Telorithan crossed his arms impatiently. “If we’re done with the little pep talk, might we continue?”
“This one has never doubted himself,” Kaiya said, gesturing her thumb at the sorcerer.
Snapping his head around to face her, he replied, “Of course I have. Only a fool believes himself infallible.” Continuing up the stairs, he added, “Fools like this Ulda.”
As the top of the stairs came into view, a single individual stood near a wooden door, his hands held tightly together in front of him. Prin was the only remaining servant in Ulda’s tower, having chosen to remain to the last.
Only moments ago Prin heard what sounded like voices, and he knew Ulda’s enemies were closing in. Pounding on the door, he implored his master to flee, but Ulda had refused. His only response had been, “You are dismissed,” a comment that wounded the servant.
Weeks ago, Prin believed his master was wholly capable of winning this fight. But his recent descent into madness as he pored over his studies to create his undying army had changed him. No longer did he appear strong and imposing. His mannerisms still had the same cocky air, but his weary appearance betrayed the truth.
Prin could not help feeling some fondness for the man. After all, it was only thanks to Ulda that Prin had collected his wealth. Regardless of Ulda’s victory, Prin had the means to live a long, comfortable life. At this final moment, he was surprised to find himself still hoping for his master to succeed. Prin could be the second most powerful man in all Nōl’Deron.
Standing his ground as the four sorcerers approached, Prin took in a deep breath and held it. “My master is engaged,” he said, his voice refusing to crack. “You are not permitted an audience with him.”
Kaiya lunged forward, her patience gone. Grabbing Prin by his waist, she flipped him over her shoulder, slamming him wide-eyed to the ground. “I will be visiting your master today. My friends and I come bear
ing justice. No longer will he terrorize the people of this land. This is your chance to get out of here in one piece. He controls you now, but once you are relieved of him, you’ll be glad you took my offer.”
Prin stared up at her, her gray eyes flashing with flecks of silver. Swallowing hard, he said, “I cannot leave my master.”
“Stay then,” she replied. “If you interfere, I will kill you.” Her voice revealed no deception. No one would stand in her way. She was ready for this duty to be completed, and for the world to be free once more.
Prin rose slowly to his knees, his eyes taking in each of the intruders. Though Kaiya had threatened him, he could not see such a small woman doing him great harm. River’s eyes held only kindness and pity, and Prin knew the elf would not touch him. As he looked at Mel, he sensed a familiar feeling—anxiety. But as his eyes met Telorithan’s fiery gaze, a tingle ran down Prin’s spine. Here was true malice, buried deep within the body of an elf. Ulda had been right to fear this man.
Climbing to his feet, Prin glanced only once at the door that would lead him to his master. Then, in an instant, he bolted, panic spreading throughout his body. Running down the stairs, he moved as quickly as possible. At the bottom of the staircase, the stone door swung open, allowing the servant his freedom. He did not look back.
Turning his attention to the door, River laid a hand on the latch. With a nod to his companions, he turned the handle. Opening with no resistance, as River knew it would, the elf stepped inside the room. Telorithan stepped boldly behind him, Mel and Kaiya exchanging glances before following.
“Welcome,” Ulda’s voice called from within. He stood with his shoulders stooped, peering into the orb upon his desk.
“End this,” River said in a calm tone. “There is a peaceful resolution, if only you will allow it.”