“Aye, that they do,” he replied.
“What shall we do now?”
“I suspect our friend could use some help. And you men,” he said before turning to the villagers that had finally caught up, “have fought bravely, but the night is not over. Fly to the village, find any survivors that may be left, and lead them to safety.”
“Aye! You heard Tiberius, move out!” a villager called out.
After they departed, the two warriors turned their gaze to the field and the mass of floating rocks beyond. “Shall we?” Shayla asked.
“We shall,” Tiberius said before heading off to rejoin his friend.
***
Michael began hurling great bolts of lightning against the Revenant. The fire had stopped raining down from the body of the beast, and darkness returned to the night sky, yet the fire from its wake lit up the field and woods as though it were summer midday. Bruce had tried to stand defiant against the raging monster but fell to the ground in exhaustion.
“Are you alright!?” Michael asked, ceasing his assault to comfort the dwarf.
“A moment, please,” the Shaman gasped, trying to steady his breath. “It’s been many lifetimes since I’ve had to use magic such as this.”
“You stunted, malformed, runt!” the Revenant bellowed, “You will die for your insolence!” At his words, great tentacles exploded from its shadowed body, flailing in search of its prey. Five of them flew to the ground, determined to seize the dwarf.
Michael was on his feet, his wand wildly hurling blasts of light and fire at the groping arms that now sought them. Each blow from his wand brought out another cry of agony from the beast overhead and a renewed effort to grab hold of them. But with each attack, Michael was there to fend it off. He finally dropped to one knee, still determined to fight off the approaching death.
Without warning, a mass of tentacles landed hard on the ground across from them. They slowly turned and whirled into place before taking the shape of great black wolves such as he and his companions faced before. Their eyes glowed red and murderous under swirling misty eyelids, and their claws stretched forth from their black paws.
Michael stared in disbelief but raised his wand and conjured a spell of daylight, determined to beat them back. His eyes grew heavy from exhaustion, and his arms were like a smith’s anvil. He was spent but remained determined to hold the line against the encroaching evil. Despite his valiant attempts at defense, one of the great swirling beasts broke free from his light and leapt furiously at them.
I’m sorry, my friends, Michael thought, still trying to fight back against the wolf. I wasn’t strong enough.
But in a flash, the beast let out a tremendous demonic howl of pain and turned to smoke before his eyes. Beyond where it had been, buried in the fresh dirt, was a familiar ebony and white spear. He heard a soft thud next to him, and turning his face, saw the green and grey scaled grieves he had seen so many times on the road before. He heard heavy footsteps and the crunching of soil and snow and knew who that was without looking.
“So,” Shayla said, bringing the young Mage to his feet, “What did we miss?”
“My friends,” Michael said, steadying himself, “I’m glad you are safe and here, but I do not know what help you can provide.”
“I reckon we can hold back these beasts long enough for you to kill this thing,” Tiberius said with a small twirl of his sword to loosen his wrist. “How’s the Shaman?”
“Recovering, King’s Son,” the dwarf answered, calming his breath.
“Any idea of what to do?” Shayla asked, her eyes fixed on the wolves that stood apart from them, snarling and drooling black liquid upon the ground.
Bruce didn’t answer for a moment before closing his eyes and saying, “Yes, Mistress Knight. I know of a way to dispel this evil.”
“Then you had best get on with it!” Tiberius exclaimed. “Shayla, with me!” In a flash, the warriors sprinted against the demonic wolves, determined to beat them back as hard as they could.
“Mage,” the dwarf said solemnly, “I require your wand.”
Michael turned and stared down at the dwarf incredulously. “My wand? What good will that do?”
“Do you trust me?” the dwarf replied, now standing tall and proud.
“Yes, but---”
“Michael Deerborn! Son of Thomas! Brother of the Magi, and servant of the empire!” the dwarf boomed. “Do you trust me!”
Michael examined the stout and hearty dwarf before giving a brief nod and handing his wand over. The dwarf took it and began to look it over as he had in his village so long ago. He brought it to his ears, closed his eyes, and listened to the music only he could hear. A smile cracked his stone-hard face. Calm and happiness engulfed his spirit. He slowly opened his eyes and said in a steady voice, “The Father beckons, my friend. And I go to meet him.”
Bruce turned and began to slowly march towards an unseen destination in the field. He raised his burly arms as a child grasping for their mother, holding the ebony wand aloft. Out of his mouth, he began to shout in his people's ancient language against the raging demon. The ethereal wolves continued to bite and claw their way to get him, yet the two warriors continued to beat them off one by one as they approached.
“Come and claim me you vile abomination!” the Shaman exclaimed in the common tongue. “Or have you lost your nerve in the face of your demise!?”
“I have no fear!” the Revenant boomed. “I am fear! I am death!”
A dozen great tentacles burst from its body with such speed, none of them on the ground could react in time. The misty feelers flew past the companions, and in an instant, seized the dwarf and began to pull him into the sky. The great wolves on the ground turned to black smoke and rose to return to their master.
Shrill laughter burst out from the Revenant, triumphant at capturing its prey. “Your folly will mark your downfall! And after you, I will come for the boy! And the heathen woman! And the emperor’s son! I will cover this land in a darkness that will last a thousand generations!”
Bruce held the wand aloft, and out of the darkness, a light began to grow from the tip of the ebony shaft. Clearer and more radiant than the sun, the light started to take shape as if the water turned to fire. As if morning breaking the veil of night.
“You will no longer desecrate this land with your evil,” the dwarf declared as the light became brighter and brighter. “The Father is with us.”
On the ground below, the three companions were now huddled together and shielding their eyes against the growing light. “I hope he knows what he is doing,” Shayla said, now covering the Mage with her arm.
“So do I, Shayla,” Michael replied, his eyes fixed on the tentacles holding his mentor.
“What is this trickery?” the Revenant said, another burst of laughter escaping its void. “You think light is a match for me? You think your petty power is a match for me?”
“This is no trick, and this is not some petty power called against you,” Bruce replied, weakly but firm. “The Father’s power flows through this wand. His power and wrath are finally called against you, and you will yield to his majesty.”
“Your ‘Father’ is impotent against me, dwarf! His power is weak and in vain! I will crush you and all of your kin! Wiped clean from this world as you should have been! Then I will travel to the worlds beyond and take him as well!”
“Thrakeluhm!” Bruce shouted in defiance. “Thrakeluhm!”
At his words, the wand exploded in a radiant light brighter than the sun. A shrill scream rang out over the sky, forcing the three below to cover their ears and turn away from the brilliant light that broke the darkness. The light grew on and on until, finally, a sharp crack pierced the sky. The screaming became hoarser, quieter, and the light began to slowly dim. The Revenant that had terrorized the village was gone and all grew still in the frozen land.
Chapter 24
The Last Stand
An uneasy silence washed over the northwestern land
of the Axton Empire. The fever-pitched battle that had consumed the small village was over now. The only remnants of the mêlée between the outnumbered villagers and the treasonous soldiers of King White were the low burning woods and the same village they had struggled so hard to protect.
The companions removed their hands from their ears and returned their gaze to the black sky above. The once floating mass of the Revenant’s shadowed body began to break apart into pieces of black, almost clothlike material that floated to the ground and dissipated into nothingness. The light was growing dimmer, and using his Sight, Tiberius could see that the dwarf was no longer suspended in the air. Just the remnants of the beast that was now, finally, vanquished.
“He’s gone,” the Ranger said flatly.
Michael hung his head, stifling a sob that threatened to form in his throat. It should have been me, Michael thought.
“Wait!” Tiberius exclaimed. “I see someone.”
“Where? Is it Bruce!?” Michael exclaimed.
The black ring that had occupied the sky was now breaking apart, and sure enough, in the middle of where the mouth of the beast had been, floated a man clad in long flowing red robes. His face was twisted and ancient, his hands shriveled and pale beneath the crimson cuffs of his robe. Shayla stood, able to now see the figure that hung suspended in the sky.
Anger and coldness flashed in her. Her black eyes narrowed. “It’s a Narzeth. Bless our lord's name. It’s a Narzeth where the beast had been.”
“A Narzeth?” Michael asked as he continued fighting back the tears. “How is this possible? How could a Narzeth have conjured this beast or taken its form?”
“They hate magic,” Shayla said. “They consider it, and all who use, an evil that flies in the face of their heathen gods. I guess things have changed.”
Realization crashed in on Tiberius. Never in the long years of war and struggle against the Narzeth had the empire ever considered their enemy would resort to magic. Long had the empire held command over the powers of magic. It was the backbone of their very society and the ultimate source of their near uncontested might. Yet here, plain as the nose on his face, was a Narzeth adorned in wizard’s garb in the middle of where the Revenant had just been.
“We’ll figure this out later,” the Ranger said finally. “For now, we need to end this before he recovers.”
“How are we to do that, sir?” Michael asked. “I do not have my wand, and even Shayla cannot reach him at that height.”
Tiberius turned and placed his gloved hand on the Mage’s shoulder. “You do not need your wand, Michael.”
“Yes, I do!” the boy exclaimed. “It was the Father’s wand, and the only way left to reach magic.”
“Michael, you do not need the wand to use magic. Do you not remember the night we met? You said you healed yourself with your own hands.”
“Yes,” Michael answered, “But to fight against another wizard without the wand is futile.”
“Do you see a wand or stave in that man’s hand? He was able to use magic without it, and so can you.”
“But sir---"
Tiberius removed his hand and stared the young boy hard in the face. Drawing himself up to his full height, he said, “Michael Deerborn, I command you in the name of the emperor! Find your strength and ready yourself.”
Michael stared at Tiberius, hurt that his friend and companion would invoke the emperor to compel his actions. He stared around the destroyed field for a moment trying to gather his thoughts, when a sudden idea struck him.
After many tense minutes, he nodded back to Tiberius. “I think I have an idea, but I will need Shayla to finish him off if it is to work.”
“Then let’s get to it, my friend,” she replied, crouching low.
Michael took a deep breath and pulled back the sleeves of his robes. He hoped against all hope that he still had strength enough to do this. If this would even work at all.
As the Shaman had done before, he began to slowly circle his arms, slow and broad. He could feel his body straining to pull the magic from the void. He could feel his spirit pulling apart as he focused all his intent and concentration on what he needed to do.
Small pebbles and soil from the destroyed field began to shift under their feet. Loose dirt began to rise into the night air until finally, a small piece of earth was ripped from its place and began to climb into the sky. Michael fell to his knees from the tension but continued to swim his arms in the air, willing the small piece of earth higher and higher.
“Shayla, I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up,” Michael gasped.
Her heart began to break for the young boy straining with all his might at her side. She would not let his suffering, or the lives lost in this folly, be in vain.
“Kazduhl be with me,” she whispered, and with a mighty leap, the Dragoon flew into the sky.
Tiberius joined his companion on the ground and embraced him from behind. “You can do this, my friend,” he whispered into the boy’s ears.
Michael felt his arms and heard his words, but the exhaustion was threatening to take him over. He continued to press on.
Shayla climbed in the sky higher than she had flown in many long years. Her mighty spear at the ready by her side. Her eyes focused on the piece of earth that hung a hundred feet or more in the sky. With the precision of an expert archer, she landed square on the mark before quickly crouching low again and throwing herself again higher into the sky. Her gaze and spear aimed for the Narzeth wizard's chest.
“She made it!” Tiberius exclaimed. “Let it go!”
At his words, Michael dropped his arms and slumped in Tiberius’s embrace, fatigue having overtaken him and sending him into a deep sleep. Tiberius removed his glove and thrust two fingers to the boy’s throat, searching and finally finding a pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief before turning his eyes again to the blackened sky.
Shayla cut through the night; her dragon scaled armor shining brilliantly in the emerging moonlight. From above, with the raging fire below, she looked as if she was a dragon emerging victorious from battle. She thrust her spear forward as she flew, aimed squarely at the wizard’s chest.
Her weapon penetrated the wizard’s heart. Warm blood gushed from his wound, and his cry rang out. The Narzeth screamed and raged in a tongue never heard before in the Axton Empire. In an instant, the unseen force that had held him in place was gone. His body went limp and began to fall to the waiting ground beneath them. She gripped the spear hard and let his body remove itself from her blade as she began to fall behind the dead wizard.
She knew she was not likely to survive the fall from this height, but that was fine with her. She had promised Constance she would defend their home, and she had fulfilled her oath. For a brief moment, everything was right in the world. She spread her arms wide and looked at the winking stars in the heavens beyond.
She had never taken the time to admire them since coming to her new home. They were prettier here than they were across the sea. Bright and alive and smiling down on the land. She closed her eyes and beheld the face of Kazduhl. Felt his warm dragon fire embrace her and claim her as one of his daughters. Her thoughts shifted to her friends down below, smiling and alive and happy.
Her mind flashed to her sisters, and all they had endured in their long lives. The battles they had won together, and the battles yet to be fought in defense of their adopted country. Her only regret was that she would not be among them, to sing their King's song over the empire as they flew into battle again.
But they would continue on. They would fight, and sing, and win all for the glory of the Axton Empire. For Tiberius and Michael. For Tygahl and Michelle. For all the people of the land that had freed them from bondage and sheltered them from the evils.
A soft smile broke her face. “Mighty Kazduhl. Thank you.”
Tiberius was on his feet as the body of the wizard impacted the loose soil near him. But he looked again, and to his horror, saw Shayla right behind him, her back faci
ng the ground, arms spread and welcoming. She landed hard, driven deep into the ground next to where the motionless Narzethian now lie. He was upon her in an instant, and with great effort, pulled her from the crater she had left.
Her armor was crushed in the arms, her helmet cracked and fell apart, revealing her beautiful oval face and fierce black hair that blew in the night wind. As with Michael, he checked her pulse, but could not find one. He grew frantic and began searching again over and over to find a pulse. After many tense minutes of searching, he found one near her jaw.
It was slow, barely registerable to his numb fingers. That brought him no comfort. Alive as she was for the moment, he knew she wouldn’t last long. He had not the tools nor the skill to help her out here in the desolate field. And with Michael incapacitated, all hope for saving the beautiful and fierce Dragoon seemed lost.
He stared down at the knight and felt hot tears falling from his cheeks. Great sobs escaped his throat. He threw back his head and wailed into the night. All the fighting they had experienced together. All the long conversations on the road and all the knowledge and laughter they shared would be gone and forgotten.
How can I face her sisters and tell them I failed her? How can I comfort them with the knowledge that she had sacrificed herself for the cause of justice in a frozen land so far from them?
Regaining his composure, he picked her up and walked her slowly to wear Michael lie asleep on the ground. He placed her next to him and crossed her arms. Overcome with grief, the mighty Ranger fell to his knees, bowed his head, and began sobbing to himself until he heard the faint shuffling of feet behind him. He was on his feet, sword drawn and staring down the hulking form of Tygahl.
He was bleeding profusely from deep claw marks. One of his eyes was missing with only a bloody mass in its place. He limped on; his other leg broken in two. Tiberius dropped his sword and rushed to the Berserker’s side.
“Did we win, sir?” Tygahl asked weakly.
The Spirit of The Warrior: The Axton Empire book 1 Page 30