by Chloe Hodge
She couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t believe it. They had not come all this way, lost friends and family, only to find the darkness had won. Her frame shook with anger. “This is not the end. One way or another, the darkness will pay for what he’s done. We will find another way to close the portals. I don’t care how long it takes.”
The fire in her eyes brought the men renewed vigour and they each clasped a hand on her shoulders. “You’re right,” Denavar said. “This is not the end. Where you go, I will follow.”
“As will I,” Wezlan said gruffly.
A loud snort interrupted the moment. “You won’t last five seconds without me.”
They each smiled. Only Shara could approach them so silently. Or smugly, for that matter.
They stood silent and alone on the battlefield; defiant under the night sky. Each of them resolved to stand together, to fight until their dying breaths took them to the Gods. Four figures watched the last of the battle unfold. Four Guardians understood their journey was far from done.
As the last creature uttered its dying breath, a chorus of laughing, cheering and whooping swept the lines. Elves and mages embraced, Onyxonites clapped others on the back, and Ashalea, Wezlan, Denavar and Shara just looked at each other knowingly. They may have survived this battle, but the war was far from over.
Yet in victory there is still loss. Many had fallen. As they made their way back to the Academy, the faces of the young and old stared accusingly from the mud. The tell-tale flaming hair of Farah curtained her crushed body. Denavar knelt beside her, finding her hand and squeezing it tight in silent vigil. His body shook and Ashalea realised he was crying. What connection they shared, she did not know, but it was a heavy burden, of that she had no doubt. She laid a hand on his shoulder and left him to grieve in solitude.
Gira, the commanding officer of militia, lay strewn in pieces. Around her, beasts lay felled in a circle. She gave them one hell of a fight before the fall. They averted their eyes from the carnage. Ashalea knew she’d remember the sight for the rest of her long life, if she made it that far.
Flynn had sustained critical injuries and was already being attended to by Wezlan. Boys and girls just shy of reaching adulthood littered the grounds, their eyes wide and lips parted in terror. It was a massacre fit for the pages of time, and so it would be recorded as one.
All around, everyone’s triumph turned to pain and mourning. Ashalea bowed her head shamefully as she thought of the elation she’d felt when killing. It had amounted to nothing in the end. The darkness was still out there, and he still had power enough to open more portals. She sighed in frustration.
After a short rest, she couldn’t bear it any longer and crawled up the steps to the southern entrance with wooden legs. Men and women patted her on the back and called her name in salute to her performance, but all she felt was ashamed of her failure. She left the soldiers outside and pushed open the great wooden doors to Renlock.
She stopped dead in her tracks. The first floor was bathed in blood. The bodies of both healers and patients lay limply on the ground, not one person left alive. She raised her hands to her mouth in horror. It was one thing to see the aftermath of battle, but these mages were unarmed— tending to the wounded when they were ambushed.
The boys and girls she had met earlier lay strewn behind cots as they hid in their final moments. Their angelic faces had been torn at by the beasts, their eyes still wide with fear.
The little doll was there, her blonde hair fanned around her, little hands clenched. Her porcelain face was cracked; marred with blood and gashes.
Ashalea fell to her knees, breath ceasing to fill her lungs as she gasped for air. Vomit filled her throat and she wretched a messy puddle on the floor, spit dripping from her face as she cried in anguish. Tears streamed down her face, dirty streaks of caked blood and mud.
Strong hands gripped her shoulders and Denavar was there in an instant, arms protectively shielding her. “I’ve got you,” he cooed.
“The children,” she choked. “They even got the children,” her eyes burned, and the tears fell as she keened. A heart wrenching sound that caused Denavar’s spine to tingle with pain. He drew her in until she quieted, and oxygen entered her chest in a big gulp. Wordlessly, he grabbed what clean sheets were left and draped them over the children.
Ashalea sat rocking for a time. Her eyes kept darting to the shapes under the sheets, and she kept seeing the little doll’s face. Fear and revulsion threatened to fill her throat again. It was too much to bear.
How could this happen? Why? The entrance was fully covered during the battle. No one could have breached the front lines, and the same could be said for the west, north and east entrances. Unless…
Her eyes widened and swivelled to the stairwell. “Check the upper floors! They’ve breached the building through a hidden entrance.”
“I’m on it,” Shara said.
Ashalea hadn’t even heard her come in. Before she could argue, the Onyxonite was up the stairs in a flash. A cold hand clutched at Ashalea’s heart; the icy grip of fear slowing her senses. She shook her head and sucked in deep breaths, forcing herself to get up. By this time, Wezlan and an exhausted looking Flynn had entered and were gaping at the scene.
She looked to the sheets again, which were now soaking through with blood, and shivered. At least they’re spared that sight.
She forced herself to move and realised a trap would likely be waiting. Emerald eyes widened with fear. “The upper floors… Shara… we have to go after her.”
Flynn was the first to move, his black boots pounding across the slick floor and up the stairs. The company followed in fast pursuit. Ashalea grimaced as they passed broken bodies on the stairwell, hopping over the remains of mages young and old. All weapons were at the ready. Ashalea had her bow out, Wezlan his staff, Denavar his Magicka and Flynn a pair of twin blades.
They were on the fourth floor now. Just one more to go. They glanced at each other quickly, afraid of what they’d find at the top and knowing they had to go all the same. Ashalea squeezed Denavar’s hand, and they ascended skyward.
Betrayal
The main foyer was empty. Not a sound drifted the length of the corridors. Not a body lay in sight. Everyone lowered their weapons and sighed, partly relieved but on high alert all the same. They cautiously searched each room until a small sound echoed down the hallway. It was so slight only Ashalea and Denavar heard it, their elvish ears instantly locked on the location.
They padded down the hallway on light feet. Denavar took the lead and motioned silently, Ashalea in place on the other side of the doorway. He raised his fingers.
Three, two, one.
They burst into the room and a bald man swathed in robes squealed in fright. He put his hands in the air and backed against the wall.
“Please, please I had no choice. He made me do it.”
Nervous sweat dripped down a pockmarked face and his whiny voice cracked as he begged. Wezlan rounded the door and stopped short.
“Avari?” His eyes narrowed as he spotted the saddlebags overflowing with silk robes, small goblets and candelabras that would be worth a small fortune. “You were planning to rob the Academy and make off like a rat in the night?”
The man sobbed. “I’m not a soldier. I’m just a humble mage.” He opened his mouth to continue babbling but quickly closed it as Ashalea pushed him against the wall with an arrow grasped between her knuckles.
“Speak! Who made you do what?”
“I can’t,” he puffed. “He’ll kill me.”
She growled. “I will if you’re not quick about it. What did you do, mage?”
His eyes darted to each face but seeing the same angry expressions he slumped against the wall. “The Academy and its mages were not fit for war and I knew the darkness would win so I…” he trailed off.
Ashalea placed the arrowhead on the ball of his throat and pushed hard.
He squealed. “I followed the group of mages into Shadowva
le. I wanted to see what the fuss was about. I saw what you did to him,” he glanced at Flynn, “and was there when the darkness addressed you all. I hid in the shadows and heard everything. After hearing his plans, I knew that Renlock Academy wouldn’t survive his attack. So…,” he gulped, “so I sought out his base.”
“You what!?” Denavar gaped at him incredulously.
“I offered to divulge some information regarding the Academy if he would let me keep my life, and he agreed.”
Denavar put a hand to his head and Wezlan cursed under his breath. Ashalea scowled. “Go on.”
“There are some hidden tunnels in a nearby copse of trees that lead beneath the Academy. An underground door is all that stands in the way of anyone getting in or out of Renlock. When the war began, I used the commotion to unlock it, allowing… Allowing those things to get in here.”
“Oh, my Goddess,” Ashalea breathed. “All those dead mages. The children. That was you.” She shoved his head against the wall angrily and he slid down with a grunt, his fingers coming off his shiny bald pate with blood.
“I didn’t know there would be children down there. I didn’t know,” he started sobbing.
“You didn’t know? Where else would they be? The first floor was well protected. They were with parents; they were helping the injured. They were… they were…” she turned around, unable to look at his face.
Wezlan reared at him, grasping his robes and pulling him off the ground, surprisingly strong for the old man he was. “You have sent countless individuals to their deaths because of your cowardice. Innocents. Children are dead because of you.”
Avari squirmed under his gaze. He broke down. “If you’re going to kill me, you may as well know. There’s more. I was told to bring down the Academy by whatever means necessary. I started a fire in the bowels of the building. By the time people notice, it will be too late.”
Wezlan’s words spat venom. “The mages fought to protect this sacred site with their lives. And you’ve set fire to it!? The creatures have been dispatched. The darkness is gone. As you stuff your bags with treasures, the mages of this Academy celebrate their victory among the fallen. Now, they celebrate with nothing to go home to. No children to raise.”
Avari’s face was ghostly white. “He’s gone? It can’t be.”
“For the time being, we are safe. And we will fight to keep the Academy standing, fire or not.” Ashalea said angrily.
“So, there is hope for us after all?” His pointed nose raised earnestly.
“For us, yes. Not you. You don’t get to call yourself a mage anymore. You gave up that right when you gave up their lives.” She turned to the others. “Someone should send for help. We could save the Academy before it burns down.”
“It’s too late. The fire has kindled. The flames will spread.”
Denavar punched Avari in the face, a satisfying crunch following the blow.
Avari howled in pain. “You broke my nose!”
Wezlan rested a hand on Ashalea’s arm and shook his head. “We stand together now, or not at all. Let us pray the mages can act before it’s too late.”
Denavar raked a hand through his hair and growled in fury. “You should die for what you’ve done today, Ventiri. My friends lie among the dead. My family. Perhaps you’d like to join them.”
“No.”
Everyone looked at Ashalea in surprise. Avari bobbed his head up and down in delight. “Yes, please girl. Merciful girl.” He groped at her legs and she kicked him away.
“This pitiful excuse of a man is not worth the effort. He should be stripped of all titles and wealth and forced to live out his days as an exile with the knowledge he’s a traitor and a coward. For now, though, we have someone more important to attend to.”
She turned on her heel and left the room.
Denavar eyed Avari off. “Why? Why would you do this?”
Avari raised his eyes, defeated. “I wanted to prove I am powerful. I wanted to show you all what I’m capable of, that I’m not someone to be trifled with.”
“But you didn’t, Avari. You showed us you’re weak. Untrustworthy. Unworthy. You proved that you were never meant for great things.”
“I am the one who orchestrated this. I am the one who brought the darkness into these halls.”
Denavar crouched and looked him in the eyes. “You are nothing but the dirt under his feet. The whisper of his voice. The messenger to the madman. And we all know what happens to the messenger.”
Avari’s eyes widened, and he cowered in the corner, head in his hands as he realised it was true. Denavar left the room, and Wezlan gave the weasel one final look of contempt before exiting.
Flynn followed suit, but he stopped in his tracks halfway out. He sighed, squared his shoulders and turned around. Within two steps he plunged both swords into Avari’s chest, twisting the blades slowly to inflict agonising pain.
The man’s eyes bulged as he grunted and clawed at Flynn’s face. Within seconds, he was dead.
Denavar and Wezlan whirled in surprise, hearing Ventiri’s pleas die out in a bubble of blood. They glanced at Flynn’s blades as he wiped them on his breaches and turned on their heels once again. Not a word was said. No one would mourn the death of Avari Ventiri.
◆◆◆
After their unfortunate encounter with the weasel, and his equally unfortunate end, the group made their way to the roof to hunt for Shara. Ashalea’s body tingled with anticipation and fear, and the icy grip tightened on her heart. Who else would they find at the top? She prayed that Shara was ok. Her mind raced with a million scenarios and she steeled herself for what was to come. She could feel Denavar behind her, his body tense, his muscles rigid with determination. His eyes burned into her back and she despaired at what she’d do if anything happened to him.
No. I WILL NOT allow that. I can’t. They pressed on, and as she bolted up the final stairwell she gasped, firmly planting her feet in the ground.
The darkness floated above weathered stone, its ethereal form phasing rapidly, the claws of one rotten arm gripped firmly around Shara’s neck. Her body hung limply, golden eyes wild with fright and the usually smug mouth grimacing as she sucked in limited airflow. The rain continued its onslaught, battering her face and melting away tears. The others pulled up short, forming on either side of Ashalea. She glanced at her friend and felt the first real stab of fear enter her heart.
“You’ve gone far enough. This is where it ends,” Wezlan bellowed. His burnt orange robes billowed furiously in the wind; fiery fingers defiant against the raging storm. He was a sight to behold, a soldier of the night.
The darkness’ red eyes glowered as it sneered. “Oh no, this is just the beginning, Wezlan Shadowbreaker.” It cackled. “The irony of your namesake is never lost on me, wizard. It was you who gave life to the darkness, wasn’t it?”
“Give me back my sister,” Flynn darted forward, but the darkness waggled one clawed finger, tightening his grip on Shara as he did so. Her eyes bulged, and her body flailed like a marionette on strings. Flynn stepped back cautiously, and the darkness released her ever so slightly. Shara’s eyes turned bright red as vessels popped, but she sucked in deep breaths between chokes and dribbles.
Ashalea snarled at the darkness, sudden rage taking over. “What do you want? Why are you doing this?”
It laughed. “It’s always the same question in the end, but I’m rather glad you asked. I’ve been waiting for you, Ashalea. Three years you’ve kept me guessing, but I always knew this moment would come.”
Exasperation gripped her. “So you can finish what you started? So you can rid the world of the last of the Moonglade line?”
“You really have no idea, do you?” The darkness shook his head. “Wezlan, I’m disappointed in you. All this time and you didn’t tell her?”
Ashalea’s eyes swivelled to Wezlan. “Tell me what!?”
“It was to keep you safe, Ashalea. I…” The wizard looked downcast.
“Tell me what!�
� She roared.
The darkness looked at her thoughtfully. “Decades ago, the King and Queen of the Moonglade Meadows had a son. He was gifted with Magicka abilities far superior to those of anyone else in the province, but he lacked the knowledge to wield them without the risk of harming others or himself. The King thought he was a reckless child, always getting into trouble and causing mischief.
“The boy grew to a young man, and while he lacked sufficient training to hone his Magicka skills, he was taught many things that would prepare him for the throne. But the man’s parents saw something deep and dark within his soul that made them afraid. They told him he was unfit to ascend the throne until he proved himself worthy.”
The darkness stopped phasing and the red eyes turned back to steel grey, staring into a distant memory. He continued.
“He ended up at Renlock Academy, under the tutelage of the Divine Six. He aced all his classes, was the perfect student who showed the most promise. When it came to the examinations, he passed every test but one. Frightened, like his parents once were, the Divine Six forbade the student to become a wizard. They shunned him, like so many others had when he grew up.”
As he told the story, the pit in Ashalea’s stomach grew larger. The icy grip on her heart was almost frozen now, and she knew deep down how this tale would end. She tasted bile climbing up her throat and stared blankly, waiting for the inevitable.
“The man could take no more. He unleashed the rage, buried deep for so many years. He murdered his fellow students, even his friends, and he returned to the Moonglade Meadows. He demanded the King and Queen step down, and when they did not forfeit the throne, he murdered all members of the royal line. All but one. A baby girl had been born, unbeknownst to the man, and was spirited away before she was discovered. That baby grew up, had a daughter of her own. But the man found out everything he needed and paid her a visit one fateful night just three years ago.”