by Phil Tucker
Tharok pounded alongside her like a charging bull. Such was his strength, his profound stamina, that he didn’t seem to mind her punishing pace in the least. He wielded his huge scimitar with the same impossible ease she’d seen before, whipping it up and down as he charged down the street, head thrust forward, boots thudding on the packed dirt. She saw him glance at her out of the corner of her eye, and then saw his scimitar erupt in black fire.
“Why not white?” she asked, feeling so dire and reckless that she wanted to laugh.
“World Breaker burns black,” he replied. “Always and forever.”
“Always and forever,” she repeated, and then gave Tiron’s longsword a flick. Its peerless length flowed with a white fire so fierce that it was almost invisible, a great shimmering of heated air that coated its silvered blade. “You visited the White Gate when you stole Aletheia?”
“Conquered,” he said, his deep voice pitched to carry. “And, yes.”
“And you went up to it?”
The street widened ahead. They’d been running down something akin to a tunnel, with the second stories leaning out so far over the street that the houses looked like they were conspiring together, whispering secrets. Now, the street turned into something wide enough to drive a cart down, and sunlight flooded the mud- and sewage-streaked cobbles, heating them so that a sweltering stink rose in a humid haze.
“I did,” he said.
A demon flew up over the roofs to their right, its wings extended to their full expanse. It was genderless, its skin a smooth and polished black, its frame slight, almost slender. But its eyes were overlarge, as black as Starkadr, and its mouth opened impossibly wide at the sight of them.
Kethe grunted as she leaped up onto a large barrel set against a wall, then shoved off to hurl herself up at the demon as it descended. Tharok simply leaped straight up with a roar, bringing his scimitar slashing across with both hands. Kethe heard a crackling tear, and several bolts of lurid green light burst forth from the shamans behind them.
The demon never had a chance.
Kethe severed its head clean from its neck in one slice, while Tharok cut straight through its torso, blasting out black ichor across the cobbled street. Four bolts of green lightning slammed into the demon’s carcass as it fell, knocking the pieces flying so that they hit the ground all over the street, sizzling and burning.
Kethe fell into a crouch and then straightened slowly, staring at the pieces that lay before her. She turned and saw Tharok grin. Acrid smoke rose from his scimitar as the flames burned the ichor away.
“All right,” she said. “I think we might be ready for more.”
“Much more,” said Tharok. “Come!”
They ran on.
They’d only progressed three more blocks before they were set upon in earnest. Entering a small square dominated by a covered well, they slowed at the sight of a score of corpses strewn about the cobblestones. The bodies jerked and spasmed as demons tore at their flesh, reaching down with claws and fangs to rend and consume raw chunks from thighs, stomachs, arms and faces.
Kethe came to a stop, blade out to the side. Tharok hunched his shoulders in preparation, and the kragh spread out into a line behind them. There had to be a dozen smaller demons crouched over the bodies, with one particularly large demon standing at the back.
It must have been nearly five yards tall, and was intimidatingly muscled, with shoulders like boulders. Huge wings of black flame draped behind its shoulders like waterfalls of midnight. It was slowly tearing a woman’s corpse in half and gnawing where the abdomen was splitting in twain. Its canine snout was smeared in offal and blood, and the fur of its face was plastered down by the gore. It didn’t set down its meal, but rather gazed over the gleaming ruin of a corpse with glittering eyes and snarled something curt to the demons.
“That’s... That’s a pretty big demon,” Kethe said as its dozen smaller kin leaped up into the air in a flurry of wings, sending gusts of wind shooting across the square.
“Yes,” said Tharok.
“You don’t sound concerned.”
Tharok chuckled, the sound akin to rocks being ground against each other in the palm of a giant’s hand. “I like good fights. For the kragh!”
With that yell, he bounded straight up into the flock of demons, crashing into their center with his scimitar scything from left to right and disappearing into the frenzy of leather wings.
“Damn it,” Kethe said, sheathing her blade in flame and darting forward.
The dozen demons were focused completely on Tharok, who had dragged two of them down from the sky and was busy eviscerating them as the others sought to pierce a shield of white light hovering a foot above his shoulders.
“How...?” She’d never seen the like. But then she was running beneath the cloud of demons, and the beauty of the White Song was coursing through her, and there was only battle.
Her blade slipped out and severed a taloned foot, then she whirled as a second demon dove down, snatching at her with a scream. Spinning away, she whipped her blade across its face and then backflipped as a third and then a fourth came after her. Their claws swiped at empty air, but she was forced to keep retreating, flipping effortlessly back as they shrieked their frustration and hurled bolts of crimson flame at where she’d been, shattering the cobbles with the intensity of their heat.
Kethe flipped one last time and then fell into a crouch from which she exploded out to one side, curving around the demons as they charged at her, carving off sections of their wings, lopping off an elbow, slicing deeply through a thigh.
The three demons flickered out of sight and appeared directly before her. Kethe didn’t have time to change her trajectory; confounded, she crashed into them, turning her shoulder so that her stumble turned into a charge. Claws raked at her chain, and a hand sought to clutch at her hair. Talons scored her scalp before tugging her bun free.
Braid unspooling down her shoulder, she tripped, fell to one knee, backpedaled and fell onto her rear, then scooted back. Claws threshed the air where she’d been but seconds before. With a cry, she rolled back over a shoulder and came up into a crouch just as a bolt of green flame took the closest demon square in the face, charred the flesh right off its skull and dropped it.
The other two demons vanished only for one to appear directly behind her, the other above. Before the flying one could blast her with flame, Tharok smashed into it with such furious power that the demon’s spine snapped, unable to bend back with sufficient flexibility over the kragh’s broad shoulder.
Kethe dropped and swung her blade through the demon’s knees. Tiron’s sword cut so cleanly, so deeply, that the demon didn’t realize that its legs had been completely truncated until it fell over screeching.
Rising to her feet, panting, she saw Tharok pin the demon under his knee and pound his fist into its face — only for it to disappear at the last second. His fist shattered a cobblestone, and he grunted in pain, leapt to his feet with surprising agility and stuck his hand in his armpit.
Turning, Kethe saw that the shamans were hurling green flame left and right, missing the demons as much as they were hitting them. The warriors protected their backs as the demons sought to appear behind them. She was about to charge in to help when Tharok called out, “He comes!”
Turning, heart thudding, Kethe saw the monstrous demon cast aside his meal, spread his wings, and leap with terrible grace into the air. He sailed up and over the covered well with effortless ease, seeming to drift despite his massive bulk, and a blade of flame appeared in his right hand.
Mesmerized, Kethe simply stood gaping as it loomed over her, blotting out the sky, only to snap out of her trance at the last moment and run aside so as to not be crushed by its landing.
It didn’t land, but disappeared instead. Kethe stumbled to a stop, casting around everywhere for some sign of it. Tharok was on the far side of the square, having backed away to flank it, and he too was looking about, World Breaker held in both fists.<
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“There!” she cried out, and pointed at where the demon had appeared, standing on the roof three stories up, holding a huge chunk of Starkadrian rock over its head. With punishing strength, it hurled the cart-sized boulder down at Tharok and then appeared beside him, swinging his blade before the rock had a chance to travel more than a few yards.
Kethe bit back a curse and charged around the well. She ducked an errant demon’s attack just as Tharok took an uppercut straight in the chest that lifted him off the ground, hurling him up right into the falling boulder.
“No!” Kethe leaped and reversed Tiron’s blade so that she fell upon the demon’s back, aiming to bury the sword’s tip between its wings.
The demon disappeared.
Tharok slammed into the boulder and ricocheted off, spinning in the air, World Breaker flying from his grasp, to hit the ground and bounce, roll, and come to a stop against a wall.
Kethe landed, and instinct told her to keep moving. She ran forward, and a swoosh of superheated air behind her betrayed the demon’s attack.
He’s too fast! Too strong! Panic clawed at her mind. Tharok was down. The shamans were busy fighting off the remaining five demons, who had proved to be cannier than their brothers. Kethe sprinted at the closest wall, then leaped, slammed her foot against the stone two yards up, and pushed back, cartwheeled off and landed in a crouch as the wall behind her was demolished by another unseen blow.
Too fast! I can’t do this!
A memory came to her of when she’d faced Mixis, when she’d stood, nearly consumed by pain, and trusted in the White Song. She’d waited, at peace, knowing she had to trust in the White Gate, to let its power guide her, direct her.
Save her.
Kethe slowed her headlong flight and came to a stop. Heart pounding, her breath coming in fast pants, she closed her eyes.
No, run. Run, you idiot. Don’t close your eyes. You’re going to die, you’re going to die, you’re going to…
Kethe forced herself to ignore that voice – the voice of reason, perhaps, that wanted nothing more than her survival. She pushed her focus deeper, into the upspring of the song, into the clarity and power of the White Gate.
Trust. Peace. Calm.
Her arm moved as if of its own accord. Instinct kicked in so powerfully that she wasn’t even aware of the incoming attack before she moved to block it. Tiron’s blade snapped up, faster than thought, and cleaved the demon’s hand in two as it descended to claw her head off.
The demon roared in pain and yanked its fist back. The sword had cut straight through to the wrist between the second and third fingers. Black blood spattered on the cobbles, causing them to hiss and sizzle. Not wasting a moment, the demon drew its wounded arm back as it swung the burning blade down upon Kethe. Instead of ducking or trying to flee, she moved Tiron’s blade into a block that was more of an attack. She swung two-handed and cleaved straight through the fiery sword.
So finely did Tiron’s blade cut that Kethe was thrown off-balance; she’d expected more resistance, and staggered as she came through the other side of the attack. The demon flickered, appeared a yard to her left, and brought its wounded fist down to pummel her head from above. Still off-balance, Kethe tried to throw herself aside but knew it was too late. Clenching her eyes shut, she turned her face away, only to hear a bestial shout erupt above her.
No blow fell. Recovering, she looked up and caught a glimpse of Tharok clinging to the demon’s shoulder, legs wrapped around its muscled arm, World Breaker raised to cleave at its head.
The demon disappeared, taking Tharok with it.
How the hell was he up there? wondered Kethe, looking around the square.
The demon appeared on the rooftop above, Tharok still holding on, hacking at its neck as if he were hewing at a tree.
The demon disappeared again and manifested on the far side of the square. It raised its palm and engulfed Tharok in flame, but the attack was rebuffed by Tharok’s white, pearlescent shield. Again, Tharok struck, his blade sinking deep, and the demon keened. Reaching out, it took hold of Tharok’s arm and hurled him away.
The Uniter sailed through the air, clipped the well’s cope, shattering the thatched wooden structure as he passed through it, and fell heavily on blood-smeared cobbles to fetch up against a corpse.
The demon disappeared, hand clamped to its egregious neck wound.
Kethe ran over and knelt alongside Tharok, who was cursing and picking himself up. He was in bad shape. Something was off with the architecture of his skull; it looked lopsided, the upper curvature on the left side strangely flattened. His right eye was bloodshot, and he couldn’t put his weight on his left leg.
“Are you... How the hell are you still alive?”
“When I was little...” He gasped and hopped forward a step, testing his left leg. “I drank a lot of mother’s milk. Very good. Fortifying.”
Kethe shook her head, bewildered, and then laughed helplessly.
The shamans together had put down the last of the demons, and even though they were sagging from exhaustion and two of their number had fallen, they were obviously proud of their accomplishment, grinning wolfishly at each other.
“Do you need to go back?” asked Kethe.
“Back?” Tharok took a second step, winced, and turned it into another hop. “No. Why?”
“You can’t walk. Your head looks flat. You’re... How are you going to fight?”
“I have almost died many times. But one time, I was very, very close to death.” Tharok grimaced and tried putting weight on his leg once more. It barely held. “I found the medusa’s cave. I woke it up by burning its dead mate. Then I challenged it to follow me. Kyrra blessed — or cursed — me with her Kiss. My skin turned black, and her fire entered my blood.”
Hissing slowly, he eased his weight onto his leg. “Since then, I heal fast. I have grown very, very strong.”
Kethe tried to process that. “You awoke... all right. But your head?”
Tharok touched it gingerly. “It will heal. World Breaker also gives me strength.” He grinned at her, baring his tusks. “I am not so easy to keep down.”
“Being punched into a falling boulder doesn’t count as easy,” said Kethe, but then she raised her hands, forestalling his response. “Fine. Good. I’m glad. How much time do you need?”
“We don’t have time,” he said. “The demon escaped. It will no doubt tell the others. Return. We have to keep moving.” He began to hobble forward, and as Kethe watched, his stride grew more firm.
She moved to keep up with him, the other kragh falling in behind. “How do you do that white shield thing? That you use to block the demon’s flame attacks?”
“This?” He raised his hand, and once more that misty white hemisphere appeared, translucent and swirling like dawn fog.
“Yes,” said Kethe. “That.”
“I don’t know,” said Tharok. He grimaced and forced himself into an awkward jog. “You cannot do it?”
“No, Tharok.” Kethe ran alongside him. “Obviously, I can’t, or I wouldn’t ask.”
“Oh,” said Tharok, and she got the sense for the first time that he was mocking her. “But it is so easy to do. Maybe your Ascendant loves me more.”
“Watch yourself, kragh,” she said. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you did in Aletheia.”
Tharok’s shuffle sped up into a ragged run. “No one will forget. Not for a thousand years. It is my legacy. But tell me, Virtue: why do I, your greatest enemy, wield your white fire?”
Kethe ran in silence, scowling, scanning the rooftops and alleys as they went deeper into the city. She didn’t know. It made no sense. Why had the Ascendant gifted him with the powers of a Virtue?
“I’m sure there’s a reason,” she said at last. It sounded weak even to her.
He grunted, shook his head, and then banged the base of his palm against his temple. “There. Vision is better. Let’s move faster.”
Somehow, he began to pull ahead of her
. Kethe let him do so for a moment so she could watch his massive back. What was he? An amalgam of Virtue, medusa-Kissed aberration and genius? In her mind’s eye, she saw him tearing Henosis apart, and even though her horror and disgust returned, it was mingled now with a growing sense of awe. He was more like a force of nature than an enemy, and they’d had the misfortune of being in his path.
Starkadr was looming ever more imposingly ahead and above them. Great clouds of demons were drifting about its peak, looking like swarms of midges from this distance. The early afternoon sunlight glinted off the stonecloud’s many facets, and the smell of smoke and blood grew ever stronger as they ran deeper into the city. She’d visited Ennoia five times in her youth as part of her father’s entourage, but her memories were of manors, ballrooms, stables and feasts. She didn’t know where in the city she was now, or what lay ahead. Starkadr was her only marker.
They didn’t encounter any more demons en route. Corpses were littered here and there, some in pieces, others hanging over the edges of eaves, some piled, others lying alone. Kethe realized that the sight no longer shocked her when she found herself leaping over the body of a young woman and worrying only about slipping on her blood. The thought gave her pause; had she become that callous, that inured to atrocity?
“There’s a problem,” said Tharok, coming to a stop.
Kethe looked around. “What? The street’s empty.”
“That’s the problem.”
He sniffed audibly and scanned the rooftops. Starkadr rose almost vertically before them a few blocks away, like an obsidian castle wall. Demons were flying far overhead, but nothing stood between them and the stonecloud itself.
One of the shamans stepped up and spoke in a low tone with Tharok, who responded with curt dismissal.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Bad spirits are in the area,” said Tharok. “The shaman said we are all going to die very badly within the next few minutes.”
“Oh,” Kethe said weakly, looking at the wizened old kragh, who glared at her with impotent fury. “He wants to flee?”