by Ben Hale
Bending his knees to cushion his landing, he threw his hands forward to catch himself. In a single fluid motion, he landed in a crouch. At the same moment, he heard a deep grinding sound from below the bridge, accompanied by a shudder in the stone at his feet. Then he felt his footing sink an inch. . .
He began to laugh as he launched himself forward. He couldn’t help it. He still had hundreds of feet to go, the bridge was about to crumble below him, and countless fiends ahead and behind were screaming for his life . . .
It reminded him of his guild training.
Legs pumping with every ounce of acceleration he could muster, he leveled out into full speed. A moment later, he heard a great blast of cracking stone, and the beam he was running on dropped several feet. With the agility of a cat, he barely slowed as the sounds of breaking stone and shrieking fiends filled his ears.
The column under him cracked and began to fall, so Jack leapt to a support that was tilting sideways. Bouncing off the end, he landed on another crossbeam. With his entire being focused on the goal at the end of the bridge—he realized he wasn’t going to make it.
Exploding into action, he reached under the cloak billowing behind him and snatched a tool from his belt. Still rushing across falling beams and tipping supports, he closed the distance to a hundred feet, and then fifty—but now the area in front of him had begun to collapse, taking him with it.
Dropping before he fell, he slid down an angled column. He struck the bridge and rolled to absorb the impact. Then he was on his feet, running again as he spun a short rope in his hands. Still thirty feet from the end, the entire bridge snapped off in a great cracking of stone and rending of metal. Jack's metal claw flew forward as he began to fall, spikes exploded out of it. It struck the ground and slid across the uneven stone. Plummeting into the canyon, Jack wrapped the cord around his arm, waiting for it to catch . . .
With a snap the cord went taught, yanking Jack to a brutal stop against the southern wall of the ravine. Looking down, he watched the ancient bridge shatter as it struck the bottom, sending a great plume of smoke and debris cascading outward.
Chuckling to himself, he began to climb.
Chapter 30: Hope's End
Braon’s mind worked harder than it had ever worked before. Barking orders and receiving reports, he manipulated the map so fast his eyes hardly registered the view before he moved on. Again and again he checked the four points that remained. The gardens were still the weakest, and even with the black elves, dwarves, Azüre, and humans defending it, the line threatened to buckle at any moment.
At the top of the city, three battalions defended the battlements. The elves held the north wall, their longbows and mages barely keeping the fiends at bay. To the west, the gnomes and orcs had already been breached numerous times, forcing Braon to keep all the druids, giants, and even mages from the other races to keep it from falling. On the eastern edge of the city, the barbarians and amazons fought like dragons, and for now, seemed to be the only battalion holding their line.
Cut to less than two hundred, the rock trolls defended the last gate to Azertorn. Located at the northern point of the compass, it led to the split in the river. As the last of their forces had retreated into the city, Braon had ordered the bridge destroyed that passed to it, but there was nothing he could do about the massive gates. On the small patch of stone between the city gates and the river, the rock trolls kept the fiends from gaining a foothold.
Braon knew that if they reached the gates, it would only be a matter of time before they broke through, and the rock trolls were the only ones strong enough to defend the small area. To prevent them from being struck by Skorpians spears, Braon had ordered a small army of mages to keep the air clear, and provide support in any way they could—but some spears still got through.
Even the mighty rock trolls could not defend against such odds.
Sipers and krakas pushed and swam their way through the river to be met by the great trolls. The furious clash of dark beings against the best warriors in Lumineia could only be described as epic, and every time Braon moved the map to check on them, he felt a chill run down his neck. The rock trolls fought with a stunning ferocity, slaying fiends even as they rose out of the water. Few made it to dry land, and the ones that did . . . didn’t survive for long. Torn kraka bodies and broken blades were thrown back into the river without mercy. Time and time again, and against enormous odds, the trolls held their line firm.
But every few minutes, a fiend got lucky, and another rock troll fell.
All around the city, thousands of black bodies threw themselves into the fast moving river and fought their way across. Hundreds were slain by mages or missiles before they made it, and their bodies were swept away by the river to the great waterfalls. But many survived the crossing, and once they found purchase in the stone of the city, they climbed with a tenacity born of fury.
Snarling quare scaled the outer battlements like giant insects. Most were slain or dislodged by spear carrying infantry, but enough got past to tear defenders from the battlements, sending them screaming to the water below. In seconds, they joined the river of dead and the current swept them over the falls.
Every minute, the only thing that kept them from being completely overrun was the rivers current. Swift and powerful, it slowed the fiends advance just enough for the allied races to keep them at bay—but the secondary channel was almost complete. Soon the entire river would be diverted, leaving the city at the mercy of an army thousands of times their size.
Braon took advantage of a small break and slid the map to check on the fiends' progress. At best, they had another hour before water would start flowing into the channel. Probably by design, it was being dug out of archer range, meaning there was nothing he could do about it.
They were running out of time.
Glancing upward, Braon felt a tremor pass through his heart as he saw the sky through the enchanted ceiling. The black cloud had filled the entire expanse in every direction, leaving a tiny section of clarity above the city. Even as he watched, the darkness pressed in on the light, fighting to extinguish it. Dulled by the cloud, the rays of the sun struggled to get through, but it was enough to see that the sun had reached its zenith. They still had six hours before sunset.
Please Taryn, defeat Draeken before we are lost, Braon thought desperately. There is no way we can survive until sunset.
Swallowing, he returned his attention to the map in front of him. Reaching his shaking hands out, he meant to move the map back to the city, but accidently moved it in the other direction. Irritated with himself, he moved to fix his error, but then he froze. The damaged map had stopped on a section of the plateau near the Lake Road, where the small rise created a knoll thirty feet off the ground. By luck or chance, that piece of the enchanted map remained relatively clear, giving him a perfect view.
The leader of the entire fiend army—and the last of Draeken’s generals—War stood on the knoll.
In a flood of memories Braon recalled all the times he'd played Stratos—and his opponents general had been vulnerable. More often than not the route to take the piece was an opportunity that he had created, and one that the other player did not see. Although the similarities were striking now, it was the difference that chilled him.
In real life taking the general would not ensure victory.
The cost of slaying this general . . . would be the person he sent to kill him.
But was it worth it? Deep down, he recognized that their entire defenses hung on a thread, and at any moment they could be overrun. If any section of their line was breached, it would be the end. There was nothing left to send. There were no reserves, no place to retreat and fight again, and no brilliant tactic that could make them outlast the day.
He had to slay War.
If they managed to do that—and their luck held—it just might disrupt the attack long enough for them to survive until Taryn succeeded . . . or failed.
Turning to Thacker, he said
, “Summon Tryton, and tell him to bring a score of his best warriors as well. Make sure he leaves one of his lieutenants behind in his place.” He suppressed the shudder of what he was about to do, of the sentence of death he was about to pronounce.
“I have something special for him to do.”
Chapter 31: Xshaltheria
Taryn watched Trin embrace his brother one last time before they separated, feeling his gut clench at the sight. He missed Siarra. Turning away, he ducked to enter the escape tunnel that would take them to the city. Already, the muted sounds of battle came from above, and they knew the fire giants had begun to draw them out. Just moments ago, the echoing of pounding footsteps in the corridors behind them signaled the fiends proximity. Captain Arrow and his men would protect the escape tunnel, leaving the four of them to slip into the city.
It seemed like such a small group to do something so difficult, and Taryn’s mind was drawn to Braon. He hoped they had survived until now. They were so close to the end, and had fought too hard for them to defeat Draeken—only to lose the war. But he had no way of knowing if Azertorn had been overrun. All they could do was hope.
His nerves on edge, Taryn crouched in the tunnel designed for dwarves, and a moment later, Liri, Mae, and Trin stepped in behind him. Without a word, they started forward. Carrying a flameless torch, Taryn worked his way around switchbacks, and it didn’t take them long to reach the end. Smelling sulfur and brimstone, Taryn whispered to those behind him, “Get ready, we are almost there.”
Stepping through an opening onto a small ledge, Taryn’s eyes lifted upward to the enormous bridge above. Although they could only see the underside of it, the sounds of furious battle and the blasting of fire from the giants bore witness to the giant's efforts. Every few seconds, a fiend was knocked flying, leaving it to plunge into the fiery depths of the volcano.
Even though no one could hear them over the din of battle, Taryn moved cautiously forward until he reached the edge. Peering over, he felt his stomach drop.
The ledge on which they stood was hidden by the bridge above and the monolithic chain below. With each link spanning over fifty feet long and twenty feet wide, its massive length reached out to the hanging city below, holding it aloft. Through and around the gaps in the chain, they could see molten lava far below. Taryn felt like an intruder in a titan’s home.
“Do you think it’s safe?” Trin whispered beside him, gesturing towards the thin stone bridge that hung from the larger one above.
Liri shrugged and stepped forward. “Only one way to find out.”
Taryn darted forward and went first, ignoring the look she flashed him. Striding out onto the thin path, he took several steps and stopped. “Let’s go,” he said. “We don’t have a choice anyway.” With the others following close behind, he picked up the pace. Too many people were already dying.
By the time they reached the other side, the sounds of battle had begun to diminish. The ruse to draw the fiends out of the city appeared to be working. Spotting an opening, Taryn ducked through the short doorway and entered the city. With his ears tuned to the slightest sound, he led them through the dark hallways, searching for a way to go down.
Taryn felt like he was trespassing on something ancient. Red light filtered through windows and other channels, barely lighting the dim corridors. Broken flameless lanterns lay scattered everywhere, and the evidence that the fire giants had been driven out littered the floor. Cookware, clothes, and broken weapons lay scattered, making their path treacherous.
Twice they dodged into side rooms just in time to avoid passing quare and sipers. Once they passed and the disturbing silence had returned, they continued their search for the descending stairs. The giants had told them there were numerous paths to the lower levels, but had suggested one in particular. Secreted behind a room marked by a dragon statue, Royl had informed them of the hidden stairwell.
Finally, they reached the statue, and in silence, they slipped into the room behind it. Smelling of ash and age, the room was situated in a part of the city that the giants had rarely used, and the chamber felt like a tomb. The remains of a large broken table stood in the center, and crumbling chairs around it indicated its original purpose. Dark dust coated everything, and every footstep caused it to puff into the air and swirl at their passing. Other footsteps of fiends marked the floor, giving Taryn the feeling their enemy had just passed.
Striding to the back, he pushed against the hidden lever the way that he'd had been told, and a section of the wall swung inward. Once all four of them were inside, Taryn closed the door behind them. The clicking of the locking mechanism sounded loud in the tight space, and Taryn winced.
Frozen in the stifling heat, he listened for any sign that they had been detected. When no one came, they breathed a collective sigh and began their descent down the spiral staircase. Occasional windows allowed the red light into the stairwell, reflecting dully off the dark steps. They worked their way down several flights and landings, with each step angling inward as it followed the outer edge of the city. From the larger levels above, to the smaller ones below, they continued until they reached the third tier from the bottom.
Arriving at a stone wall, Taryn paused at the lever next to it. “Ready?” he whispered.
When they nodded, he pulled the lever, causing the stone wall to slide out. Packed wall to wall in a massive chamber, quare and sipers turned to look at them. A rising roar of anger tore from their throats as they launched themselves at the intruders.
Drawing both his swords, Taryn took the lead. “Stay behind me!” he yelled, darting into the fray.
Long katsanas swept out in a blur of motion, cutting the first fiends down. Dodging forward, he cut a swath of death through the core of their ranks. Behind him and to his right, Trin’s longsword guarded his flank, its length preventing any from getting too close. On Taryn's left, Mae’s short sword streaked in a blinding display of skill, leaving still forms in her wake. Liri brought up the rear, her short sword dealing with the stragglers.
Even as he slew fiends on all sides, Taryn looked to the walls. Royl had told them that across from the stairwell another flight was the only route to the lowest two levels—and Draeken's chamber. Using all his skill, Taryn whipped through the black army, searching for the way down.
—There! He saw a grand arch over the descending steps. Changing direction, he blew through the enemy and reached their goal. His friends were right behind him, and as he turned to defend the landing at the top of the steps, they joined him.
“Taryn, go!” Trin shouted, chopping with his longsword. “We will hold them!” Blood stained his sleeve from an ugly bite, but he didn’t seem to notice.
In an instant of clarity, Taryn knew the truth. Although they had slain many of the fiends in the chamber, reinforcements would arrive any second. Already the sounds of their approach reverberated from above. United, the four of them could hold, but if he left . . .
“Go Taryn!” Liri yelled, her blond hair wild as she stepped back to draw her bow. In seconds, she sent three shafts down the throats of the leaders. Blood ran freely from a wound on her cheek, and her tunic was shredded from claws that had gotten too close.
Mae gave him no option as she stepped in front of him, engaging the group he’d been fighting. Her sword sped faster than anything he’d ever seen, cutting them to ribbons before they could advance.
Liri grabbed his arm and forced him backwards. “Nothing else matters except Draeken. Do what you were meant to do!”
Anguish ripped through him as the image he’d seen in the Oracle’s orb flashed before his eyes. Liri had lain dead on the very steps they now stood. Growling, he sheathed his father's sword and shifted Ianna to the magnificent bow. As fast as he could, he launched every arrow it contained at the enemy ranks. The blistering wave of missiles cut through fiends like a knife through parchment, killing the ones in front, they pierced those behind as the barbed tips blew through them until they sunk, quivering, into the back wal
l. The collapsing of their bodies striking the ground caused the ground to shake with a resounding thud. Only the wounded moved on the floor, still crawling in their direction.
Trin turned back to him, his expression wide, but Taryn couldn’t respond. Morphing and sheathing his mother's blade, he closed the distance to Liri in a rush. Gathering her into a crushing embrace, he whispered, “I love you, Liriana.”
“I love you too Taryn,” she whispered back, choking on the words.
Taryn held her for a moment, until they heard more fiends entering the room. “They’re coming!” Trin said in a rising tone.
Finally Liri pushed him away. “Go do it Taryn,” she whispered, tears glistening on her cheeks. “Save us all.”
Growling as he felt his heart tear, he ran. Sprinting downward, he tried to outdistance the pain, but the hurt just sank deeper, slicing into his soul. Unable to contain it, he ran even harder. Coming upon a small group of fiends, he killed them before they’d even registered his presence. Blasting through them in a whirlwind of deadly steel, he kept going.
In less than a minute, he reached the portal that Royl had described. Shaped in an unobtrusive arch, it looked like any other section of wall, except for the symbol on the keystone. Pausing, he put his hand against the stone, and felt nothing. Pressing forward, he slid into the illusion until he stood on the other side.
Without looking back, he moved forward until he reached the ledge at the end. Stepping into a wave of heat, he looked out over the dwarven prison. Shaped like a giant cylinder, the walls of the cavern were sheer for fifty feet straight down. In the bottom, a stone circle appeared suspended in space. Twenty paces across, it left a gap between it and the pit walls. Through the opening—and uncomfortably close—molten lava boiled.
Registering movement, Taryn’s gaze snapped upward. Directly across from him, but ten feet below his own, an identical ledge extended only a foot out from the opposite wall. Behind the chains of shimmering white, Draeken stood, bound to the wall. Standing at over six feet tall, the Lord of Chaos appeared relatively young. Black hair had begun to silver, and few wrinkles marred the sharp features. Glittering black eyes looked out from dark eyebrows.