by C S Marks
“Tuathas was lost in the year 6740. It’s now autumn of 7269,” said Fima.
“Second Reckoning?” asked Duinar, his eyes wide.
Fima raised both eyebrows. It had not occurred to him that the passage of ten thousand years might not seem all that strange to an Asarla. “Yes, Second Reckoning.”
Galador started toward the chamber doorway. “I have no time for history lessons and the ramblings of a confused old man,” he said. “I must act now if I am to save Rogond. You two stay here and enlighten Duinar if you will…I am going now.”
“If you do, it will mean your death,” said Duinar. “The mountains are no place for a stranger. I will guide you, if you will only give me a moment’s rest.”
“Galador, if you’re not careful you will turn into Gaelen,” said Fima. “That’s the sort of thing she would have said. I had thought the Eádram were wiser.”
At this, Duinar whispered to Fima aside. “You obviously have not met many of the Eádram.” Then he looked up at Galador’s determined face and rose to his feet. “All right,” he said. “That’s enough rest. Let’s go and look for your friends. I hope I can remember the inner paths of the mountain…it has been a long time.” He made his way to the edge of the hole and looked down into it. “They fell in there?”
Fima nodded. “I have faith that they are alive, Master, but we haven’t much time. They face a terrible enemy, and Lord Kotos guides him!”
“Kotos! That black-hearted demon of darkness! Wouldn’t I love to see to his end!” When Duinar looked at Galador again, his eyes were fierce. “I will be able to find Lord Kotos, don’t you worry about that,” he said.
“Much may have changed, Master,” said Fima. “Still, you fill me with hope. Guide us, and we will follow.”
The next sight Rogond beheld was of Gorgon emerging from the rubble and swirling ash to stand before him. They had fallen on opposite sides of the same chamber, but had not realized it. Now they faced each other with blades drawn, ready for the attack. “You are searching for the Vixen, aren’t you, Aridan?” said Gorgon in a voice that was almost cheerful. “Well, you can give up now—she is dead already. I came upon her, and I threw her into a pit of fire. A fitting end, don’t you think?”
Rogond gripped his sword-hilt tightly and favored Gorgon with a cold smile. “You’re a liar,” he said, mimicking Gorgon’s light-hearted tone. “If you killed her, where is the proof? You would have kept some token of hers, I’m certain. Prove to me now that she is dead.”
Gorgon chuckled and nodded. “Very good, Tuathan. It seems you know me well. Alas that you will not ever get to know me better, as this is your final moment.” Without warning, he leaped at Rogond, who barely managed to raise his blade in time.
Though he fought to the limit of his considerable strength, Rogond was no match for Gorgon. The poisoned air had affected him, and he gasped for breath even as Gorgon swung at him again and again.
Fortunately, Gaelen heard the sound of blades despite the echoing rumbles and hissing, bubbling vents. She traced the source of the sound to discover Rogond and Gorgon engaged in combat. Rogond appeared to be failing, and as Gorgon pressed his advantage, Gaelen knew that she must act at once or lose her beloved Thaylon. She leaped down from her vantage point and rushed at Gorgon before he could turn.
She launched her agile, whip-like form onto his broad back, a gleaming dagger in her hand, and drove it into the junction of his neck and shoulder, for there was enough of a gap in his armor to allow it. He threw his head back and roared, as much with rage as with pain.
Gaelen gripped his helmet with a strong left hand and tried to jerk it free so that she could cut his throat, but it was so heavy that she could not lift it high enough. She did effectively block his vision for a moment, and Rogond, who had regained his feet, now made for his enemy again. Gorgon now fought two enemies, and his lack of a left hand was a liability.
Rogond was out of breath, and his head swam with exertion and lack of air. Gorgon disarmed him with an unfortunate thrust to his right shoulder, causing him to cry out and drop his sword. Then Gorgon reached back over his head with his armored right arm, grabbed Gaelen by whatever part of her he encountered, and ripped her from his back, flinging her as hard as he could into the wall of the cavern.
“You see, Kotos? You didn’t need to worry,” said Gorgon. “Did you actually believe they would prevail?”
Rogond was barely conscious, but he rallied and struggled to his feet, standing before Gorgon with his sword clutched in a shaky left hand.
Gaelen had hit hard, and it took her a moment to come to herself. As Gorgon raised a killing blow over Rogond’s head, she threw her one remaining blade with all the skill she possessed. It found its mark beneath Gorgon’s right arm, and he bellowed with pain and surprise, dropping Turantil as he had done before, so long ago.
Gaelen darted toward him and grabbed the sword, then took a stance in front of Rogond, who was nearly spent with effort and blood loss. She had pulled the neck of the fire-cloak over her nose and mouth, and she breathed more freely than either Rogond or Gorgon. Her eyes narrowed and she snarled at her aggressor.
“I have recovered the sword, Turantil, yet again. It seems you cannot hold it long! Were you not armored, you would have fallen already, Ravenshade! I have already wounded you twice. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Whom are you trying to convince?” said Gorgon with a pained smile. His wounds hurt him, especially the one at his neck. “The truth is that I am armored, and the Aridan is of no use…they are such weaklings! As for you, my clever little Vixen, your time is near. That cloak will not save you when I cast you into the fire. Prepare yourself! I only regret not having more time to toy with you.”
You are the one who should prepare, thought Gaelen. She thought she knew a way to even out the battlefield. She drew forth the phial of dragon-fire, removed the stopper from it, and readied herself for another attack. She raised Turantil over her head. “You favor this blade, don’t you? Well, go and get it, then!” She hurled it into a pile of jagged rocks against the opposite wall.
At first, Gorgon just stood there. He had seen no other blade in Gaelen’s hands. Had she truly just disarmed herself? If so, then he would retrieve Turantil, and she would be helpless to defeat him. He chuckled at her. Surely the heat and the fumes were affecting her reason! He moved to retrieve the sword, delighted that she had given him the opportunity. In doing so, he turned his back to her.
She was on him before he could blink twice, clinging to his neck with her left arm around his throat. He gave a sort of startled bark, and then gripped her left arm with his strong right hand.
“You will regret wearing that armor,” she said, pouring the dragon-fire beneath his iron collar, sending it down his back, setting his flesh aflame instantly.
Gorgon’s skin was thick, but it was not without feeling, and his back was relatively free of scars. At first, he did not seem to react to the fire in his flesh, concentrating instead on crushing Gaelen’s left arm in his iron grip. She cried in pain, then gritted her teeth and hung on. Yet she could not withstand the force with which he jerked her free of him. If she had not let go, she would have lost her arm. As it was, he whipped her over his head, even as the fire took him, and he screamed.
He could not stand the flames beneath his armor, and he ripped it off piece by piece. He cast it from him, hurling it into one of the vents. The dragon-fire clinging to the armor reacted with the molten rock, sending up a wall of fire from the vent that was frightening to see. Gorgon rolled upon the rough, stony floor in an attempt to extinguish himself, to little avail. Rogond, meanwhile, had gotten to his feet. Gorgon was no longer armored, and he was on fire! Now the odds were more even.
“Please, Master, try to remember,” said Fima as the remainder of the Company moved through the mountain, following Duinar. They had made several wrong turns already. Duinar seemed confused, and they were all growing impatient. “You said you would be able to find Lor
d Kotos, Master, can you not get a sense of where he might be?”
“I know where he is, I just cannot determine how to get there,” said Duinar. “It’s not that I don’t remember…these paths have changed.”
“Someone had better figure it out,” said Galador. “Nelwyn, do you have any sense of your cousin?”
“I know that she is not yet dead, but little else,” said Nelwyn.
“You will just have to rely on me, my friends,” said Duinar. “I will see us there as soon as I can manage it.”
Galador was nearly trembling with frustration, but it was reassuring to know that Gaelen was still alive. At least it was something.
Gorgon screamed with pain as the flames worked through the thick, leathery skin of his back. He was armored now only to the waist. Much of his hair had been singed away, and the back of his head was blackened and blistered, the skin destroyed. He was in great distress.
Rogond had rallied again and stood before him with a long blade, ready to run him through, and Gorgon had no sword. He saw Gaelen struggle to her feet, her face twisted with pain. At least he had done some damage.
Run, you fool! RUN! said Kotos, and for once Gorgon did not ask questions. He turned and ran toward the only apparent way out, but Rogond blocked his path. The wall of fire…it is not that wide, said Kotos. Leap through it! Your enemies will not follow.
Gorgon turned back toward the leaping flames, but he hesitated, until he heard Rogond’s footfalls behind him. You must trust me, said Kotos, or you will end here!
Rogond raised his broadsword, ignoring the pain in his shoulder and the burning in his lungs. He gave a great cry as he prepared to bring the blade down upon Gorgon, but the wretched creature sprang through the wall of fire, and Rogond saw him no more.
Gaelen screamed in frustration. “You’re not getting away from me again, you coward!” Jerking her leather belt free, she whipped it around the right side of her neck, re-fastened it diagonally across her chest, and pulled her left arm through to stabilize it. Then she wrapped the fire-cloak around her, pulled the hood down over her face, and launched herself toward the flames, leaping through them before Rogond could stop her. She bore Turantil in her right hand.
Rogond stared at the flames, gasping and struggling to breathe. He staggered back, trying to clear his head. His vision closed around a dark tunnel as he turned back toward the passage where the air was better. Then the tunnel closed completely, his ears roared, and his legs gave way. Rogond would be of no further help to Gaelen, not this time.
At last the dragon-fire had burned itself out. Gorgon’s back was like a smoldering cinder, and it was agony to move his arms, especially to raise them. He leaned against the rock wall, pressing his forehead against it, trying to quell the pounding in his brain. Then he heard his enemy’s cry as she leaped after him. He turned to behold her standing with Turantil in her hand, her fire-cloak glittering in the red light.
She cast back the hood so that he could look into her eyes, and then rushed at him without further pause. Gorgon knew that she was determined to put an end to him, and he had no choice but to engage her.
His pride and hatred of her saw him through the pain as he met her attack. He was unarmed, but that did not dismay him. She was too small and too weary to prevail over him, blade or no blade. Like Gorgon, she now had only one working hand. Her arm would unbalance her; all he had to do was catch her in an awkward moment.
The Vixen was weary, she was unbalanced, and she was small. Still, she gave him more trouble than he had expected. Yet now, as she darted in to drive her blade home, she faltered, and he had her. He held her right arm, twisting it hard as she cried in pain.
“Drop the sword!” he roared at her.
“I will not!” she replied, her face twisting into an expression of agonized determination.
“I think you will,” said Gorgon, jerking her from the floor. She struggled and writhed in his grasp, but she could not break free of him. She managed to kick him hard several times, but he only laughed at her. “After setting my back on fire, you think a few hard kicks from your very small feet will distress me? How pathetic of you. Now, drop it, or I will simply tear your arm off. The choice is yours.”
Gaelen knew that she would not be able to hold the sword now, even if Gorgon released her. She had felt all sensation leave her right hand when Gorgon had wrenched her from the floor. He might as well tear her arm off, but she would not give him the satisfaction. She gathered herself, and put forth a last effort, bringing both legs up before her and thrusting as hard as she could into Gorgon’s throat.
This was definitely unexpected, and he reeled back, letting go of her arm. He tasted blood in his mouth, and he could not get his breath. If that blow had been just a little more forceful, it might have killed him. He sagged back against the wall, coughing and gasping, unable to breathe. The wretched Vixen could have taken him then, had she been able, but she could no longer wield a weapon.
She has taken her last bit of you, Elfhunter, said Kotos. Now, swat her and be done with it! Gorgon’s shoulders sagged with pain and weariness as he turned back around to face her. There was only one way out of this place, and that was back through the wall of fire. The Vixen would not be able to make that leap...not now…and she apparently knew it. With obvious regret, she kicked Turantil into the volcanic vent, where it was lost.
Despite the lack of weapons, it did not take more than a few moments for their conflict to end. Gaelen tried to avoid Gorgon, but she was weary and in pain, and without the use of either hand, she was not as adept. Gorgon battered her, but did not kill her, striking her with his right arm again and again. Still, she fought him. At last she lay before him and did not get up again, for although her spirit was willing, her body betrayed it. Now, as she resigned herself to her fate, even the light of her eyes had dimmed, and though Gorgon thought it strange that he should do so, he almost regretted her fading.
Chapter 26
THE FATE OF THE STONE
In Mountain-home, the defenders had rallied and driven back the enemy. They had all but sealed the breach in the south wall under the direction of Magra, who had used his inner light to bewilder beasts and Ulcas alike. Everyone who had borne witness was now in awe of him.
Yet Garthor, the night-flier, had not borne witness, and it glided silently over the eastern battlement, appearing like a great shadow through the smoke. It swooped down upon Magra, even as he turned to behold it. He reached for his great bow, but the creature extended its huge talons as it passed over, snatching Magra from the ground and taking him aloft.
Magra numbered among the strongest of Elves, yet he grappled with the dragon to no avail. The beast circled above the defenders, directed by its rider to climb to a dizzying height. From there, it would release Magra to his death. If all went as planned, his broken body would land upon the heads of the people, and their resistance would fail.
But Lord Magra would not give in so easily. He still bore his sword, sheathed at his side, and now he struggled to work it free. At last he was successful. The dragon circled higher and higher until Magra looked down upon Mountain-home to behold only the torches and oil fires, which had just about burned themselves out. The smoke had cleared, but he could not see the stars for the vast wings above his head. A pity, he thought, as he set to work.
He began hacking at the dragon’s feet, which were covered with heavy, thick scales. Yet Magra could thrust the point of the blade between them and cause great pain. This had unfortunate consequences, as the beast closed its talons. Though Magra still wore his armor, it could not withstand the force behind the great claws, which were as hard as diamond. Magra writhed and gasped as the talons slid through his flesh and bone and entrails. Despite indescribable pain, He kept to his course, goading the dragon with the sword. Finally, the beast did as desired, and snaked its head around to face Magra, intending to tear him to pieces and devour him. It opened its serpent’s mouth, long teeth gleaming in the starlight, and darted for
ward.
Magra thrust the blade of the great sword into the roof of the dragon’s mouth, even as Hallagond had described. Garthor made no sound, as though too surprised to do so, and then listed to the right, its flight now ungraceful and irregular. Its eyes glazed over, for it was dead as a stone, even as its rider now sent a shot into Magra’s breast. The great talons relaxed, but Magra could not gain his freedom. The dragon began to turn over in the air, allowing him a last sight of the stars.
Ordath had come up from her sanctuary, knowing that her people were in desperate need of her. She felt Magra’s pain as he was taken, and she rushed into the courtyard to behold the dragon’s flight high over Mountain-home. She clenched both of her hands, her blood rising in the midst of her grief, and gave a great cry of pain and loss. She flared like a blue-white torch in the courtyard, as bright as Magra had been, and brighter. No one could look at her until the light subsided.
High over the courtyard of Mountain-home, Magra the Mighty drew his last breath. He looked down upon his beloved realm and bore witness to Lady Ordath’s beacon of light. “So…she is an Asarla!” he whispered, and then he died.
The dragon fell faster and faster until it burst into flame, incinerating its rider, who had wisely taken his own life already. Magra’s body burned along with it, looking for all the world like a falling star.
Every enlightened being in Alterra felt Magra’s passing, though only a few recognized it. To most, it would seem as a sudden, unexplained sadness…a cloud across the sun. To others, Ordath and Arialde in particular, it was like a knife through the heart.
Lady Arialde had confronted Lord Shandor within the Stone of Léir in an attempt to persuade him to leave it, so that he might add his strength to the battle. When Magra gave up his spirit, Arialde felt pain like a fire in her breast. Magra has fallen, she said. Does that not convince you?