by Joseph Lallo
“On my mark, I want a full charge into the portal and out of the way, as quickly as possible – without trampling any gnomes,” Elisabeth added. Cyrus heard a squeak of appreciation from somewhere in the crowd in front of him.
It was a tense moment. The portal glared at them, almost defying them to enter. Cyrus could hear the heavy breathing of Vaste next to him, and caught sight of J'anda ahead, his now elven features fixed in a look of intense concentration. Yei was scratching himself.
The seconds ticked away, and nerves were chewing at Cyrus. He could hear his heart pounding; he’d never before set foot in the domain of any god. At least I'm not challenging Bellarum, Cyrus thought. The God of War had to be at least as intimidating as the God of Death, he conceded, missing the irony of that thought in the intensity of the moment.
Looking sideways in the moments before the order was given, Cyrus's gaze fixed on the smiling visage of Malpravus. The cowl of the Goliath Guildmaster's cloak was once again covering his head, leaving the dark elf's face shadowed but for the dim sunlight playing on it. His expression was bizarre, triumphant. His eyes flicked to the side and saw Cyrus looking at him. With a nod, Malpravus bowed toward the warrior.
“GO!” Elisabeth’s shout boomed across the island and in a blink, Kilgar and his group were in the portal and fading, the second group charging in behind them. Cyrus thundered forward, felt a twisting sensation in his stomach as he stepped into the darkness and his vision distorted like he was underwater; all trace of the world he had left behind on the island had disappeared.
When Cyrus's feet hit the ground he was already moving forward, sword in hand. The sky was blood red, like a sunset that had never quite finished. Spread out before him were rolling fields, as far as the eye could discern, spreading out in every direction but one. His eyes alighted on an enormous structure in the distance. It had a gigantic base, miles wide, and gradually drew to a point on top. It was the single biggest tower he had ever seen.
Cy felt a thump as someone ran into him from behind. He realized he had stopped along with everyone else and turned his head to see Cass peering around him. “Frankly,” the Daring's chief warrior said with a slightly disgruntled expression, “I was hoping for a little more combat on this side of the portal.”
Cyrus snorted. “I hope Mortus isn't lingering to give you your fondest wish.”
Elisabeth made her way to the front of the army. “I was told to anticipate more resistance at the entryway.” Lines knit across her face as she scanned the area around them.
“More resistance?” Andren said from just behind Cyrus. “How about any resistance?”
Cyrus did not stop scanning the horizon, even as the rest of the Alliance force began to relax. “These must be the Fields of Paxis,” Cyrus said under his breath.
“Indeed they are,” came the reply from Vaste, startling Cyrus. “The Realm of Death is broken into many parts to reflect the fate awaiting the worst of us.” The troll smiled. “Did you know that Mortus, even as God of Death, doesn't get all the dead?”
“I'd heard that,” Cyrus said, still looking for trouble.
“He only gets the really bad eggs; those who have done horrific things.” The troll shuddered all the way to the top of his enormous frame. “The Fields of Paxis are the entry point or sorting area for the newly arrived. The least of the offenders are sentenced to wander these fields eternally without guidance or hope of escape. The worst are judged here and sent elsewhere.” The troll gestured into the distance to the tower.
“The Eusian Tower,” Cyrus said without inflection.
“You got it,” Vaste confirmed. “Three main areas within, places of torment for the dishonored dead...” The troll's voice drifted off.
“I hate waiting.” The warrior turned his eyes back to the horizon. “I hate waiting for possible death even more.”
“You should never go on a date with Vara then,” the troll said. “Not only does she take forever to get ready, she is the very definition of 'possible death'.”
Cyrus laughed. “I don't think there's much danger of that.”
“Her killing you or you going on a date?”
Cy raised an eyebrow. “The latter. I'd actually lay odds on the former.”
The troll looked at him, face unreadable. “More than you probably realize.”
“Hah!” Cyrus laughed out loud. “The woman can't stand me.”
“An all-too-familiar experience in your dating life, I'm sure.” Ignoring Cyrus's rude gesture, the troll pressed on. “But in Vara's case, you have to understand her.”
“Do I really want to?”
“Can't answer that for you,” Vaste replied. “But I can tell you that Vara was nearly married once – to a human warrior, of all things.” The troll looked around before finishing his statement. “I heard it ended badly.”
Cyrus raised an eyebrow. “The fact that she'd ever consider marrying a human is laughable. The idea that she'd have any involvement with a warrior puts your story well into the realm of fiction. She hates –”
“Yes, yes,” Vaste cut him off. “Haven't you ever wondered why she can get along with me or Nyad, or Curatio – any one of a number of other guildmates – but not you?”
“I'm gonna go with... because she's a heinous bitch.”
Ignoring him, Vaste went on. “I'd have thought you, genius of the umpteenth order, Mr. Strategy and Tactics and 'Assessing the Battlefield', would have figured it out. She doesn't like you because you remind her of someone.”
“I don't buy it.”
“Very well then,” Vaste said, still inscrutable. “Far be it for me to disagree with the mighty Cyrus Davidon, who knows the hearts of all whom he meets.”
“Not all of them,” the warrior said. “But there's no room in that heart for love; past, present or future.”
“Perhaps not,” Vaste said and let the matter drop.
At the front of the army, Elisabeth had been consulting with Malpravus and a few others. Shaking her head, she turned from the Goliath Guildmaster to address the army. “We're going to move to the Eusian Tower now. I expect whatever enemies that aren't here but usually would be are in the tower.”
The army of the Alliance moved forward through the tall grass of the fields. The journey to the Eusian Tower took a little over an hour, during which time the color of the sky changed not at all. As they approached, Cyrus felt several times that they had to be close to the entrance, such was the size of the tower. When they finally reached the entry, he had to admit that even the Citadel in Reikonos, the tallest building he had ever seen, would easily fit into the shadow of the Eusian Tower. They marched through the doorway, and Cyrus once again found himself in near-complete darkness.
Chapter 20
Upon entering the Eusian Tower, the Alliance force paused. Vaste cast a spell next to him, and a veil lifted from Cyrus's eyes, allowing him to see in the darkness. They were in the middle of the largest open indoor space Cyrus had ever seen. It seemed to stretch for miles up and down. They crossed a massive bridge to a central platform that had three additional bridges spanning out in each direction of the compass.
As no foes were in sight, Elisabeth addressed them. “There are three wings to the Eusian Tower: one is the personal chambers of Mortus and his guards.” She looked up and gestured straight ahead from the direction they had entered, indicating a mammoth door made of solid metal, large enough that it would not have looked out of place in Kortran. “It is also where his treasure trove is. In order to gain access, we'll have to go through the other two wings of the tower,” she said, brimming with confidence. “Defeating the guards in both wings will draw out the reserve in his private chambers. We'll start with this direction.” She pointed to their right.
“How does Mortus have any treasure left if guilds are constantly stealing from his Realm and killing his guards every time he leaves?” Cy frowned.
Vaste shrugged. “If you're a god, I guess you can make
more treasure.”
“His followers pay him tribute in their temples,” Cass said from behind them. “And he can recreate his guards with ease.”
“Yeah, but if someone stole all your possessions every time you left your house, wouldn't you stop leaving?” Cyrus asked.
“They don't get all of Mortus's possessions,” Cass said. “He keeps the best of them sealed under magical barriers that only the power of a god could breach.”
They stopped talking as they crossed the bridge and entered an archway. As they progressed down a dark corridor, Cyrus felt a deep-seated chill run through him. It took him a moment to realize that it was not internal; the temperature had dropped significantly as they continued along the corridor, which had also begun to slope downward.
They emerged into a cavernous area – not nearly as tall as the entryway but which extended so far into the distance that Cyrus could not see the opposite wall. Stretching down the middle of the cavern was a frozen lake, with blocks of ice stacked around the sides.
Cyrus said with surprise, “I expected to see more dead people in the Realm of Death, y'know?”
“I know what you mean,” Vaste said. “Where's the fire and brimstone? Where's the damnation?” The troll looked at the frozen lake and shook his head in disappointment. “I was expecting more damnation.”
“Damnation is here,” a rattling voice breathed next to them. Cyrus jumped in surprise before he realized that the words issued from Malpravus, who was at his elbow. “The damned are all around you,” the dark elf said with barely contained glee. “You cannot see them.” Malpravus inhaled deeply, as though he was enjoying a particularly pleasant scent. “There is a great deal of torment present here – many, many damned souls, enslaved in the ice.”
Cyrus looked at the Goliath Guildmaster, eyes wary. “Why can you see the dead when we can't?”
Malpravus looked into Cyrus's eyes and the warrior could see a hollow blackness in the dark elf's sunken sockets that reminded him of the portal leading into Death's Realm. “I am a very powerful necromancer, boy. The dead are mine to wield; it is only natural I would be able to see them.”
“I don't think there's anything 'natural' about what you just described,” Vaste said.
A smile lit the features of the necromancer as he steepled his fingers. “Those of us who study the nearly lost art of necromancy are very misunderstood.”
“I could stand for your 'art' to get a bit more lost.” Vaste bristled. “Manipulating the bodies and souls of the dead and deriving power from them is a far beyond morbid practice.”
Malpravus remained calm in the face of Vaste's criticism. “Someday you will understand that however you must acquire it, power is the most important thing in this world.” The necromancer held a bony hand up to stay Vaste's reply.
Malpravus fixed his gaze on Cyrus, giving the warrior sudden cause to squirm internally. “I see great potential in your leadership, lad. I expect to see great things from you after the battle yesterday.” Without another word, the necromancer glided away, his cloak sweeping against the ground.
Vaste and Cyrus exchanged a look. “That was... disconcerting,” the troll said, perfectly capturing Cyrus's sentiments.
“I get the feeling that he's even creepier among his own guild.”
Whatever reply Vaste might have made was cut off by an inhuman wailing. Seeking out the source of the cacophony, Cyrus's eyes were drawn to figures moving in their direction across the frozen lake. The first of them was barely visible; a thin figure, emaciated, with skin of the grayest pallor and sunken eyes. Bloody, cracked lips uncovered sharp teeth and a nasty, nausea-inducing smell of decay preceded the shadowy beasts. The first of the rotting creatures leapt into their midst, reminding Cyrus of the first time he had met Vara.
He jumped into action, pushing through the crowd to engage the creature. “Wendigo!” he heard someone cry out. Cyrus brought his sword to bear as the wendigo's claws swiped into the crowd and sent three spell casters flying, dead.
Horrified, Cyrus struck with his sword into the grey flesh, leaving the wendigo with an enormous gash from shoulder to waist. Seeming not to notice, it lunged at him, teeth exposed, missing him by mere inches as the warrior dodged. He aimed a counter blow at the wendigo as it passed, but missed. The wendigo sliced him three times in rapid succession. Two glanced off his armor but the third landed perfectly between the joints on his left arm, digging into the muscle of his forearm.
Cyrus grimaced and dropped his left hand from his sword, holding it in his right to fend off the wendigo's advances. The point faced directly into the heart of the creature, which was keeping its distance, circling to his left to evade the tip of his blade. Cyrus pulled his injured arm against himself until he felt a spell mend the wound; he looked down to see the gash healed, but blood still trickled from beneath his armor and the painful sensation did not immediately cease.
Cyrus feinted at the wendigo, not returning his left hand to the hilt. The beast overreacted to the warrior's bluff and dodged to the side, running into three rangers who stabbed the exposed back of the creature. Cyrus smiled as the wendigo turned to face the new threat and he drove his sword with both hands into the back of its head. A piercing scream filled the air and the wendigo went limp.
“No time for a victory dance!” Andren said from behind him. Cyrus scowled and turned to face the healer. Numerous wendigos were making their way through the ranks of the army. Cyrus saw J'anda's arms sweeping about, casting spell after spell. The wendigos were halting, sunken eyes rolling back in their heads, mesmerized.
An attack from behind caught him off guard and knocked Cyrus to his knees. He felt claws grasping at him, digging into his sides just below his armpits in the vulnerable seam of his breastplate and back plate, penetrating the chain mail beneath his plate armor. The stabbing sensation increased as the wendigo that had grabbed him dug its claws in further. He reversed the grip on his sword and stabbed backward at the creature, gagging at the sickening stench of decay that filled his nose. A howl of pain told him he had not missed, and Cyrus stumbled forward, feeling the claws withdraw from his flesh.
He turned back to engage the wendigo, fighting past the agony in his side, and lunged forward, catching it on the arm with a sword thrust. A yelp filled his ears and forced a grin to the warrior's lips, even as he ignored the pain. Other fighters – rangers, paladins, dark knights – were attacking the wendigo that was focused on him.
Every time the creature started to turn, changing its attention to the others behind it, Cyrus would bellow a warcry and leap forward, hacking and stabbing, turning its attention back to him. The first three times he scored gashing blows, leaving jagged cuts in the flesh of the undead-looking beast. The fourth, as soon as he yelled at it, the wendigo immediately refocused on him, not allowing him to get a strike in.
Elisabeth brought her daggers to bear in a powerful backstabbing blow that brought the wendigo to its knees. Cyrus swept forward with all his speed and decapitated it. When it dropped, Cyrus appraised the area around him for the next fight.
J'anda stood only a few feet away, the enchanter's face a mask of concentration. “If you're looking for something to do,” the dark elf said, eyes closed and illusionless for only the second time since Cyrus had met him, “you could try killing that one before my spell breaks.” His finger rose to point at one of the gray fiends that was standing close to the ice.
“How many of these do you have mesmerized right now?” Cyrus asked him, incredulous. There were at least forty wendigos standing completely still throughout the army, as if the cold had frozen them.
“Well,” J'anda said, voice straining, “we have eight enchanters and each of the other seven has one wendigo mesmerized. So if you subtract seven from however many there are, that would be the number that I have under control.” A tight smile made its way across J'anda's blue lips. “It takes quite a bit of concentration and magical energy to create the illusion that mesmer
izes these fiends, so forgive me if I stop speaking now.”
Cyrus shook his head and trotted with the rest of his element to the wendigo that J'anda had indicated. Positioning his group around it he struck with an impaling attack at the same time that his other fighters did, making short work of the wendigo, which died with a feral scream.
A quick look at J'anda showed the enchanter pointing in the direction of another of the frozen beasts. He and his group moved through the wendigos one at a time, along with the other elements of the army, until all the gray-skinned fiends had been killed. Kilgar drove his sword through the last as a sigh of relief ran through the cavern. From behind them came the sound of very slow clapping.
Cyrus turned to see J'anda Aimant, eyes half-lidded, bringing his hands together in applause. “Well done. Perhaps someday soon we can find an enchanter with enough talent to take at least two foes at any give time?” J'anda ignored the glares of the enchanters surrounding him and snapped his fingers to become a gnome.
They stood by the edge of the frozen lake while Elisabeth again consulted with Malpravus, Tolada and a few of the other Alliance officers. Cyrus stood with Andren and Vaste, looking across the ice into the darkness. “Andren,” he asked the elf, “Malpravus told us that the dead are all around us, and being tormented. Do you suppose that's true?”
Andren did not respond at first. “Yep. There are tormented souls all around us right now.”
“Why can't we see them?” Cyrus asked, puzzled.
Andren looked at the ice at his feet and pointed down. “Do you see anything at all? A shape, a specter, anything?”
The warrior peered at the ice. “It looks a little darker, like smoke or something.”
Andren nodded. “That is one of the dead. A necromancer can see them as easily as I can tell the difference between an ale and mulled mead. Which is no great difficulty for me, but most can't. The training one goes through for his branch of magic makes him more sensitive to the spirit emanations that you can barely perceive. What looks like a faded specter to you appears to me as an old elf, buried to his face in the ice, screaming in agony and unable to see anyone around him.”