by Steven Drake
“Keep moving,” Darien said. “I’m going after the Scorpion. Get to the crossing.”
Without any further word, he was off, his legs pumping fast, charging the perhaps two hundred yards towards the hill where Kalien had to be. He turned aside another shot from the Scorpion with a gust of wind, then just as he began climbing the slope, a half dozen khaki-skinned sand trolls leapt up seemingly from nowhere, concealed by cloaks that matched the surrounding terrain nearly perfectly. Blue eyes flashed with bloodlust, dark brown tusks jutted from their oversized mouths, and lanky bodies readied for battle, long white bone knives in hand. Darien had to deal with them quickly, and conserve his energy for a possible confrontation with Alistair.
Sand trolls were fierce fighters, possessed with excellent reach, great agility, and physical strength superior to all be the strongest men. Still, they were no match for the Executioner. He first focused on the two largest trolls who stood directly in his path. Darien reached into a pocket and drew out a throwing knife, then threw it at the nearest troll. The knife impacted the troll through the neck below the chin. The troll fell to its knees, clawing at its throat. Darien then drew his aetherblade and a ribbon of light formed. With a swing, he cleaved the head off the next troll. Next, the Executioner raised an explosion of flame all around him. The remaining trolls scattered, swatting at the flames that lingered on their dirty clothes. He leaned left to dodge yet another of the Scorpion’s arrows, then charged towards the position he guessed concealed his enemy.
A second group of trolls reared up and rained arrows down at him. He dodged most and casually blew aside the few aimed well enough to necessitate intervention. He increased his pace to cover the distance quickly, and then, once he drew close to the archers, he struck the ground with his hand and sent a wave of force rippling through the sand and rock of the hill. Just as he did so, he heard another shot from Kalien streaking towards him. He flattened against the ground and it whizzed over his head, a close call. At that same moment, the wave of earth reached the trolls. Some were tossed up, while others staggered and fell. Most of them tumbled haplessly down the hill. The only troll that managed to remain standing quickly received a thrown dagger through the neck.
Darien darted back and forth randomly. Judging from the last shot, he was close, too close to react to another shot. Fortunately, none came. A moment later, Darien understood why, as a small section of the hillside in front of him burst into an explosion of fire and flying sand. Darien leapt back, and raised his cloak against the debris, but it was only a distraction. None of the debris nor the flames were large enough to inflict serious damage, but the throwing knives were. The first one tore a hole in his cloak and ripped the armor on his left side, another close call.
He would not give Kalien any more opportunities. He raised a shadow void in front of him. The swirling void swallowed a second knife, then a third, sending them into nothingness. Kalien was just a few yards ahead now, and evidently the Scorpion had had enough. He leapt up and tried to run, but not quickly enough. Darien threw the void in front of him and it ripped through Kalien’s torso, leaving a large hole where most of his vital organs had been. Kalien the Scorpion, died before his body hit the ground.
That had been too close. He had tried to minimize his exertion, but had almost paid for it dearly. Everything the Scorpion used carried deadly poison. Darien turned and saw the remaining trolls running back the way he had come, probably back to the road to meet up with the main force. With the sniper dead, the party would be able to move faster, but did they realize the sniper had fallen? With barely a breath of rest, the Executioner headed back towards the road as well.
He found the party further up the road, already engaged with another group of sand trolls. None appeared to be injured, but several of the horses were missing, and two more had fallen, pierced with several arrows each. Only four of the original ten horses remained along with Skarn’s Mhoa. The massive creature had two arrows sticking out between its scales, but seemed not to even notice. The trolls hid behind a short hastily-constructed stone barricade a dozen yards ahead, firing arrows at the group, which were continually being deflected and knocked away by the winds of the two young mages and the shields of the knights. Rana fired lightning bolts at the barricade, and Traiz had found a bow. Tobin tossed strange round balls that burned brightly, then exploded into tiny balls of fire. Several trolls already lay dead, but they held the position, a condition Darien intended to alter quickly.
He charged into the fray, a small void in his empty left hand, just enough to ruin the barrier. He threw it, and the barrier imploded, killing several trolls in the process. With the arrows interrupted, Geoffray and Oswald took the initiative and charged forward through the ruined barricade. Darien himself charged after them, and the rest of the party followed. After a short scuffle, the remainder of the trolls were defeated.
The party hastily gathered the remaining horses, and continued forward. The roaring water grew continuously louder. As they rounded a bend, they finally could see the source, a waterfall. The trail wound around the side of a hill towards the falling water, then disappeared behind the water. Just as Skarn had described it, the path was little more than a narrow ledge for most of the way, widening near the waterfall. The river ran somewhere below, concealed by a mist that rose out of the narrow canyon.
“The crossing,” Skarn pointed to the waterfall.
“Once we’re past the falls, I’ll collapse the path behind us,” Darien said. “Go.”
They moved as quickly as possible, but the path narrowed, and the ground was slippery, the rocks slicked by the mist. The group was forced to move carefully, in single file. Skarn led the way, and Darien remained in back, turning every so often to look for Alistair behind him.
Skarn reached the waterfall first, with the rest of the party strung out behind him. Just as he did, however, the world darkened, and shadows deepened around the party. It was not like nightfall, for neither moon nor stars replaced the fading sun, instead only a faded black emptiness, which even Darien’s eyes could barely penetrate, the curtain of the void, one of Alistair’s most powerful tactics. He had to be close now. Everyone froze, and all sound ceased save the crashing water of the falls, a sound that seemed now distant and muted, as if stifled underneath a thick blanket.
“What’s going on?” Jerris asked somewhere ahead. Though probably yelling, his voice seemed to be only a whisper. Other whispers hung in the darkness, the party further ahead trying to decide what to do. Geoffray and Jerris lit balls of light. The magic flared, but the light did not carry, and their spells appeared like flickering stars in an endless night.
“Keep moving forward,” Darien said, forcing his voice to carry against the darkness. He’d worked against such spells before. None of the others would be able to even see Alistair, let alone fight the beast. “Go slowly, by feel if you must. Get past the falls, and get as far away as you can. I will join you when I can.” He was not at all sure he would be able to rejoin the party at all. Aside from the Demon King himself, this was the most powerful enemy he could confront, and the odds of surviving the battle were questionable. The odds of surviving without serious injury were even worse.
Darien tensed himself, staring into the emptiness, focusing on the faint outlines of the terrain of the path. To his left was a steep ravine, where somewhere below, a raging river flowed. To his left, a steep slope made of wet, sandy, slippery rock. Neither way left any opportunity for escape, and his field of motion was limited. The location effectively nullified his primary advantages of speed, range, and strategy. There was little choice but a straightforward clash of strength against strength, and the Executioner was not at all confident he possessed sufficient. Last time he had faced the Abyss, he had been lacking. He had grown much stronger since then, but that might not be enough. Even so, he could at least allow the party to escape. He could bring down the entire area in a rockslide, and pull both himself and the Abyss into the river.
He cont
inued slowly toward the waterfall, which grew louder in degrees. The path widened. His experience told him that he was now close to the waterfall, though the sound remained muffled. He smelled the water, and he felt the mist drift across his face. He perceived through his magic sight that the party had gotten ahead of him, and were working their way around the other side. He slowed as he felt a spray of water from the falls splash against his shoulder. Here, the path was at its widest, still only a few yards across, less than he would have liked, but still better than he’d feared. He had chosen his battlefield, and perhaps his grave.
He turned and waited for Alistair, and even as he did so, another thought came into his mind, the Demon Sword. If he channeled that forbidden power, he would have a far greater chance of beating Alistair. The muted darkness of the spell played tricks on his mind. He heard faint whispering in the darkness, speaking to him, reminding him of the power he carried, the power to save his friends, to protect those who didn’t deserve to die, to destroy the thing he feared and hated that even now stepped closer. Even as he was beginning, ever so slowly, to reach over his left shoulder for the blade, he became aware of something else, a presence that cut against the whispering of the sword. Jerris? No, not Jerris, he was up at the front with Niarie.
“What are you thinking?” a woman’s voice came from beside him, surprisingly strong against the dull suppression of the spell. “If I know you, and I think I do by now, you’re thinking of throwing your life away again, either by giving yourself to the sword or blowing yourself and your enemy up together with some spell.”
“Rana, don’t interfere. The Star Sword is what’s important,” Darien said.
“Not to me,” she said, filled with a defiant will that seemed to suit her far better than the melancholy she had displayed over the past few days. She was suddenly herself, as she had not been since they had left Kadanar. Darien realized that he had missed this version of Rana, the one he had sparred with so often over the past year, the one who challenged him, the one who showed him his weaknesses, the one who reminded him of that particular value in his own life, the debt left to pay for all the pain inflicted upon her, and so many like her. “There’s no point in denying it. What I care about is you. I don’t know why. It doesn’t make any sense. Part of me hates it, but I do, and there’s no point fighting what I feel.”
“Rana, you know I don’t…”
“I know you don’t feel the same, and I don’t care. I want to stand beside you anyway, to face whatever it is you face. Like I told you before, we are tied by fate somehow. I just feel it. Whatever you face, you won’t face it alone. If you can’t think of me as a woman, at least think of me as a friend.”
Friend. That was what Ezra had said as well. She was a friend, even after how terribly he’d treated her the past few days, even after trying so hard to send her away. He did not deserve her friendship, but she offered it anyway. It confused him, but the confusion felt warm and pleasant now, rather than cold and frightening. The whispers of the sword had gone. When had that happened? “Thank you,” he finally managed to say, “but can you even see what’s going on?”
“Barely,” Rana said. “I can feel him getting closer, just like you can. Once he starts fighting, I hope I’ll be able to see his energy.”
“Rana, be careful. He is stronger than you can imagine. I can barely block his blows. You won’t be able to at all.”
“Will there be anyone with him?”
“No.” The answer came automatically, but now that he thought of it, it was strange. The void curtain would effectively prevent all but powerful sorcerers from engaging in the battle. Why was Alistair was using it when he had a numerical advantage? “Not with this darkness. He wants to face me alone, for whatever reason, but he will see you. He carries a two-handed sword, nearly as long as I am tall. Stay out of range of it. Cast from distance, until he drops the spell.”
They waited as Alistair drew closer. Darien felt the almost overwhelming presence of his enemy’s aura pressing down upon him, oppressing him, beating him down in waves. Then, a few seconds later, he saw them, twin points of eerie green in the gloom coming slowly closer, the eyes of the Abyss. Moments later, Darien could make out the outlines of the man himself, and the foggy white of the magical energy in his body. Rana lacked his ability to see in complete darkness. She would certainly be using magical sight alone.
“Well, well,” Alistair said, his voice a slow, deep, croaking rumble. “You have a woman with you. I wouldn’t have expected that. Did you remember nothing our Master taught you? I seem to recall you had a difficult time with that lesson, though.” The Abyss croaked out a derisive laugh. Darien didn’t have to see the big man to know he was smiling through his dark beard. “Doesn’t matter now, does it? I always knew I’d be the one that had to kill you. Poor Avirosa never had a chance. You had too much reason to hate him, and he hated you too much not to tell you why. Not me though. I see it in your eyes. You don’t have any reason to hate me. I’m just a weapon, just like you, Executioner. No, the only thing you feel for me is fear, because I came closer to killing you than anyone has so far, and only the Master’s word stopped me before. A pity he didn’t let me finish you then. Such a nuisance you’ve become. I hate going this far from home, I miss the dungeons. Always something fun to do there. Hmmm, perhaps I’ll take your pretty friend back there. I could have all kinds of fun with her.”
“Shut up, you fat, disgusting thing,” Rana said. “I’m not afraid of you. You’re going to the bottomless pit of the thirteenth hell, if I have to take you there personally.”
“The mouth on this one,” Alistair said. “Just like Kirin’s bitch. I suppose you pointy eared half-beasts like the ones with spirit.”
“That’s enough, Alistair,” Darien found some hidden resolve deep within, and spoke calmly and firmly. He would not be made to fear the words of the Abyss, but why was Alistair wasting time with these words? The delay worked to his advantage, not Alistair’s. Every second that passed gave the party more time to get away without trolls raining arrows down on them. Why was Alistair waiting? What part of his plan required delay, and why hold this spell? Alistair must be waiting for something, but what? He’s up to something. This trap was too well laid. He must have something else plotted that requires time. I shouldn’t give it to him. “It’s not like you to stall for time.” The words were for Rana’s benefit rather than the enemy’s. She needed to know he intended to go on the offensive soon. “You’ve spoken more to me now than you ever did when I was a Shade, and I’m already tired of listening to you, Alistair the Croaking Toad.”
Alistair shifted his weight just slightly forward, a show of anger restrained by calculation, but enough to give the tiniest opening. Within less than the time it took for a bead of sweat to fall from the Executioner’s head to the rock, he had drawn the aetherblade in his right hand and aimed it at the Abyss, a shining thin ribbon of light upon it. The massive man was already prepared to block, and did so with his massive greatsword. The burning light of the aetherblade had no effect upon the enemy’s weapon, its enchantments far too powerful.
The magical blade slammed against Alistair’s enchanted blade as if both were solid as the earth itself. The sudden impact surged back through Darien’s arms, and Alistair pushed away, knocking the aetherblade upward and to the right. Darien prepared to block with his other sword, but Alistair had already aimed a sweeping horizontal strike from the right, too high to jump, too low to duck beneath, such incredible speed. There was only time to raise both swords and block.
The blow hit hard against both blades at once. The impact nearly tore the swords from his arms, so powerful that it lifted him up, and slammed him against the rock face. His lungs exploded as the air was knocked from his chest, and Alistair kept the pressure on, trying to overpower him. Darien summoned all his strength, pushing more magic into his arms until they fairly burned with it. Alistair’s blade was finally stopped barely an inch from his chest. A second blow followed almos
t as quickly, from overhead. Darien held up his swords and blocked again, the blow fell hard sending a shock through him, and drove him to his knees. A swift kick to the chest followed, and Darien heard and felt the cracking of bone beneath his leather. Alistair raised his blade again, to finish it. Darien gasped for breath, his mind grasping for some solution. He certainly wouldn’t survive another blow.
A bolt of lightning sparked out of the emptiness, and struck the Abyss squarely in the jaw, lighting up his form like a beacon. Several more jagged bolts followed, successively. Darien took the opportunity, and rolled away to catch his breath. The onslaught of lightning continued, until Alistair raised his blade against it. The bolts seemed to flow into the blade, but Rana continued. Darien thought to yell, to tell her to stop, but it was already too late. Alistair lowered his blade, and forked lighting shot out of it. Rana had her own attack turned against her.
She took the blow in full, and staggered back, but she remained standing. Darien realized immediately that Rana had managed to direct some of the lightning into her armor, a tactic she’d used before. The Executioner moved to take advantage of Alistair’s momentary confusion. He channeled a tremendous fiery heat into his ordinary longsword. This spell required immense magical energy. Sweat poured out of him, as the metal heated up, and softened. When the metal was at just the proper temperature, just before it started dripping to the ground, Darien hurled the sword like a javelin toward the Abyss. Alistair raised his own blade to block, but as soon as the two blades impacted, the purpose of Darien’s spell became clear. The sword shattered into thousands of droplets of molten metal. The tiny shards of soft metal splattered into Alistair. Most did not get through the Abyss’ armor, but some did, and a few struck his face, where he wore no protection.