She picked up her dagger and turned to where Norrec and his own foe still battled. The necromancer frowned. If the helmed stranger won, her course would be quick and clear. The dagger would see to a swift end to the second coming of the Warlord of Blood.
And if Norrec won?
Kara had no choice there, even. Without a host, the armor could cause no more harm. Whoever won between them-she would have to make certain that the victor did not live long enough to draw another breath.
Neither Norrec nor his adversary noticed the battle taking place beside them, so desperate had their own struggle become. The gauntleted hands of the two flared again and again as dark sorceries burst into life and immediately died. Although Malevolyn did not wear the armored suit of Bartuc, the helm alone gave him strength and power matching that now wielded by a willing Norrec. Because of that, the fight continued to be a stalemate, although both men knew that eventually the end would come for one.
"I am destined to take his place!" snarled Augustus Malevolyn. "I am more than just his blood! I am his kindred spirit, his will reborn! I am Bartuc come back to the mortal plane to reclaim his rightful place!"
"You're no more his successor than I am," returned Norrec, not at all aware that his own expression matched that of the arrogant commander. "His blood is mine as well! The armor chose me! Maybe you should think about that!"
"I will not be denied!" The general slipped one boot under the soldier's leg, forcing Norrec off balance.
They tumbled to the ground, Malevolyn on top. Thesand softened some of the blow when Norrec's head hit, but still the veteran fighter lay momentarily dazed. Taking advantage of the situation, General Malevolyn forced his hand toward his rival's visage.
"I will remove your face, your entire head," he hissed at Norrec. "Let us see then who the armor thinks more worthy…"
The general's red and black gauntlet blazed with wild magic, Malevolyn's fingers only an inch or two from making good his dire promise. One hand pinned by his foe's own and the other trapped between their armored bodies, Norrec had little hope of preventing the sadistic general from accomplishing what he desired…
At that moment, though, Norrec sensed movement behind him, as if a third person had joined the fray. Malevolyn looked up at the newcomer-and the triumphant sneer on his countenance switched to an expression of utter bafflement.
"You—" he managed to blurt.
Something within Norrec urged him to take advantage. He slipped the one hand free from the general's, then immediately struck Malevolyn hard in the chin. A brief burst of raw magical energy accompanied Norrec's strike, sending the helmed figure flying back as if pulled by a string attached to his head. Malevolyn dropped to the sand some distance away with a harsh thud, the general too stunned at first to rise.
Focused only on victory now, the veteran fighter rose and charged toward his fallen foe. In his growing certainty that he had been meant all along to triumph, Norrec nearly threw himself on top of the general-an action which would have cost him his life.
In Malevolyn's hand materialized one of the black blades. Norrec barely had time to twist out of its deadly reach, dropping to the sand just beside the other fighter. General Malevolyn rolled away, ending up in a crouchedposition. He kept the sword between them, his mocking expression quite evident even within the bloodred helmet.
"I have you now!"
Leaping forward, he thrust.
The tip of the ebony blade sank deep… deep into the chest of General Augustus Malevolyn.
The sinister noble's resummoning of his enchanted sword had immediately reminded Norrec that he, too, could call his own weapon back into play. In his haste to at last be done with the mercenary, Malevolyn had evidently not considered that last part. As his sword came at Norrec, Norrec rolled forward, at the same time thinking his own demonic blade into existence.
Augustus Malevolyn's thrust had come within a hair of slicing the veteran's skull in half.
Norrec's had materialized already a third of the way through his adversary's torso.
Malevolyn gaped at his wound, the blade having skewered him so quickly that his body had not quite yet registered that death was upon it. The general dropped his own weapon, which instantly faded away.
In past battles, Norrec Vizharan had taken no pleasure in the deaths of his foes. He had been paid for a task and he had performed that task, but war had never been a pleasure for him. Now, however, he felt a chill run up and down his spine, a chill that stirred him, made him desire more of such bloodshed…
He stood up, and walked over to the gaping general, who only now slipped to his knees.
"You don't need this any more, cousin."
With great force, Norrec tore the crimson helmet from Augustus Malevolyn's head. Malevolyn screamed when he did, although not from any physical pain. Norrec understood what so troubled the man more than even the lethal thrust, understood because at that moment he would have felt the same if someone had tried to rip thearmor from his body. The power inherent in Bartuc's suit seduced both of them, but in Malevolyn's case, he had lost the duel and, therefore, lost all right to that power.
Laying the helmet to the side, Norrec took hold of the hilt of his sword. With easy effort, he pulled it free, then inspected the blade itself. No blood stained it. Truly a marvel. It had served him well here, served him as grandly as it had done at Viz-jun …
Agauntleted hand grabbed at him. General Malevolyn, a manic look on his face, tried desperately to grapple with Norrec.
Norrec shoved him back and grinned. "The war's over, general." He readied the sword. "Time to retire."
One easy sweep left General Augustus Malevolyn's head rolling in the sand. The headless torso joined it a moment later.
As he reached down to retrieve the fabled helmet, a feminine voice called out to the exhausted but also exhilarated veteran. "Norrec? Are you all right?"
He turned to face Kara, pleased in more than one manner by her unexpected resurrection. In the short time since they had met, she had proven her loyalty to him by sacrificing her lesser existence for his. Had she remained dead, Norrec would have honored her memory, but now that she had somehow cheated Xazax's murderous strike he instead considered her further uses. The necromancer had shown some skill and likely had more sense than the untrustworthy Galeona. Her not unpleasing face and form also made him consider her as possibly worthy of being his consort-and what sane woman would spurn the offer of becoming consort to the Warlord of Blood?
"I'm well, Kara Nightshadow… very well!" He opened his one hand and let the magical sword fall free. As the weapon vanished, Norrec took the helmet in both hands and raised it over his head. "In fact, I am far better than well!"
"Wait!" The raven-tressed woman rushed up to him, concern in her almond-shaped eyes. Pretty eyes, the new warlord decided, eyes reminiscent of another woman he had briefly known during his apprenticeship in Kehjistan. "The helmet…"
"Yes… it's mine at last… I'm now complete."
She pressed against him, placing one hand on the breastplate. Her eyes seemed to implore. "Is this truly what you want, Norrec? After all we spoke of earlier, do you now really desire to wear the helmet, to give yourself up to Bartuc's ghost?"
"Give myself up? Woman, do you know who I am? I'm his own blood! Blood calls to blood, remember? In a way, I already am Bartuc; I just didn't know it! Who better to carry on? Who better to bear the title, the legacy?"
"Bartuc's shade himself?" she countered. "There will not be any more Norrec Vizharan, not in mind and soul… and if the armor has its way, I daresay that even in form you will begin to resemble your predecessor. It will be Bartuc who wears the suit. Bartuc who reclaims his role. Bartuc who slaughters more innocents, just as he-not you-slaughtered your friends …"
Friends… The horrific images of the mangled, bloodsoaked bodies of Sadun Tryst and Fauztin blossomed once more in Norrec's beleaguered mind. They had been brutally murdered and he had suffered terrible guilt for those m
urders for each waking moment since then. He recalled quite succinctly how the armor had slain each- and now Kara spoke of other deaths to come.
He lowered the helmet slightly, battling with himself. "No, I can't let that happen… I can't…"
His arms suddenly rose again, holding the helmet just above his head.
"No!" Norrec roared, his denial aimed now at the enchanted suit. "She's right, damn you! I won't be a part of your bloody campaign—"
But what foolishness… a voice so much like his own whispered in his mind. The power is yours… you can do with it what you wish… a world of order, where no kingdom wars, where no one is poor… that is the true legacy… that is all Bartuc sought…
It sounded so very good. Simply place the helmet on his head and Norrec would be able to change the world to what it should be. The demons would even serve him in this monumental task, their wills subservient to the power of the warlord. He would create a perfect realm, one that even Heaven would envy.
And all he had to do was put on the helmet, accept his destiny…
He suddenly felt Kara shift-
One hand slipped from the helmet, seizing the necromancer's own in an iron grip that made Kara gasp. From her own hand slipped a gleaming blade of what looked like bone or ivory.
She had been about to use it on him.
"Stupid female… " Norrec snapped, not noticing that his voice did not entirely sound as it should. He shoved her to the sand. "Stay put! I'll deal with you in a moment!"
Despite his warning, the dark mage tried to rise, but arms of sand arose from each side, pinning her to the ground. More sand flowed over her mouth, preventing her from casting any verbal spells.
Eyes bright in anticipation, Norrec took hold of the helmet again-and placed it on his head.
A world such as he had never known now lay open to him. He saw the might he wielded, the legions he could command. The destiny thwarted by his fellow Vizjerei could once more be attained.
The Warlord of Blood lived again.
But a warlord needed soldiers. Leaving Kara to struggle, Norrec climbed to the top of the dune and stared at Lut Gholein. With avid interest he watched the demonicwarriors tear at the walls and gates. The city could not be more than a few moments from bloody destruction. He would let his horde have their fun, let them race through Lut Gholein slaying every man, woman, and child-then reveal to them his return to the mortal plane.
He imagined the blood flowing everywhere, the blood of all those who feared and hated him. The blood of those who would perish at his command-
The dune exploded around him, a pair of dark forms leaping up out of the sand. Two strong sets of hands seized his arms, twisting him back.
"Hello… old friend…" a horrifyingly familiar voice whispered on one side of him. "It's been… a lifetime… since we last… saw you…"
The hold the armor had over Norrec shattered for the moment as recognition mixed with sudden terror. " SSadun?"
He turned in the direction of the voice-and stared close into the peeling, decaying visage of his dead companion.
"You haven't… forgotten us… how nice…" The ghoulish figure smiled, revealing the blackened gums and yellowed teeth.
Unable to flee, Norrec turned his head the other way- only to find Fauztin there. The murdered Vizjerei's collar had slipped, showing the tattered, crusted gap in his throat.
"No… no… no…"
They pulled him back down the dune, back toward where Kara still fought to free herself.
"We tried to… see you on… the ship… Norrec," Tryst went on. "But you certainly… didn't seem… so willing to see… us…"
Their eyes never blinked and the stench of death became apparent the longer they held him so near. Their very presence overwhelmed Norrec so much that eventhe armor could not demand control. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Sadun-Fauztin-I'm so sorry!"
"He's sorry… Fauztin," commented the wiry undead. "Did you know… that?"
Norrec glanced at the gaunt Vizjerei, who nodded solemnly.
"We accept… your apology… but… I'm afraid… we've no choice… with what we… now do… my friend…"
With remarkable speed and strength, Sadun Tryst tore the helmet from Norrec's head.
It felt as if the revenant had ripped the veteran's skull off as well, so great did the pain of separation feel. Now Norrec truly understood how Malevolyn had felt. He cried out, pulling at his captors with a fury even they grew hard-pressed to combat.
"Hold… him! Hold—"
Both gauntlets flared a furious crimson. Even caught up in the intense agony coursing through him, Norrec noted the gloves and feared… feared for his friends who had already died once because of his inability to do anything to stop the armor's damnable actions. That their troubled spirits had followed him, he understood completely. Such an injustice demanded retribution. Unfortunately, the armor had no intention of granting them that opportunity.
The area around Norrec exploded, sending the two undead hurtling away and ripping through the dune from which they had just descended. He stared in horror at the two bodies, fearing that once more they had perished.
"No! Not again! I won't let you do it again!" The veteran fighter seized one hand in the other and although both struggled, this time his determination proved too great even for Bartuc's legacy. Norrec tugged, using his own suffering to augment his strength…
The right gauntlet came free.
Without hesitation he threw it as far away as he could. Immediately the suit tried to turn that way, seek after its lost member, but Norrec would no longer be denied. He forced the armor a different direction, that of Lut Gholein, now visible through the collapsing gap in the dune.
How long he controlled the power and not the other way around, the soldier could not say. Norrec only knew that he had to try to make as much right as possible. So long as his outrage, his guilt, fueled his actions, he had the advantage-and Lut Gholein had little enough time.
He raised the free hand toward the distant city. The demons had at last torn their way past one of the gates. Norrec could hesitate no longer.
The words he spoke had never been taught to him. They had been Bartuc's words, Bartuc's magic. But Bartuc's memories-his ancestor's memories-had become just as much Norrec's by this point. He knew what they could do, knew what they had to do, and so he willingly spoke them even though that part of him still in thrall to the armor struggled to prevent it from happening.
Had he been witness to the wicked spellwork performed by Malevolyn and Xazax in the general's tent, Norrec might have noted that what he said almost sounded like Malevolyn's incantation, but chanted in reverse. As it was, he simply knew that if he did nothing, an entire city would become awash in the blood of its people.
And at the end of that incantation, the descendent of the Warlord of Blood shouted out two last words. "Mortias Diablum! Mortias Diablum!"
Within the gates of Lut Gholein, the defenders stood and fought, knowing already that they battled men without souls, men who were not men but something far more monstrous. Yet, the sultan's warriors braced themselves for death even as the citizens prepared to weather the dangerous storm waters and try to escape.
The captains of the ships had little hope, though, already one of their vessels swamped and another shattered against the side of the docks. The waves roared inland, making it dangerous even to stand near the water. Three men had already been washed off as they had tried to prepare the vessels for refugees.
But as all hope faded, a sight both unsettling and miraculous happened. Just within the city walls, the fiery-eyed soldiers in black stopped, turned their heads back in clear dismay-and then let loose with a chorus of unearthly, savage howls.
Then, from out of the backs of each erupted hideous, spectral forms with grotesque, inhuman faces and limbs twisted and clawed. Those who witnessed the event would later say they saw both rage and despair on those demonic faces just before the specters, screaming piteously, were cast out
into Aranoch in a thousand different directions.
For a moment, the army of darkness stood at attention, weapons ready, suddenly empty eyes staring straight. Then, as if all within them had been drained away along with the phantoms, each of the monstrous soldiers began to collapse in on himself. One by one, then row by row, the invaders dropped-bones, faded flesh, and fragments of plate spilling into piles that left more than one of Lut Gholein's defenders unable to hold onto the contents of their own stomachs.
One of the commanders, the very one whom General Augustus Malevolyn had ordered to find Norrec Vizharan, became the first to mouth what everyone else thought. Stepping toward the nearest of the grisly sets of remains, the officer gingerly prodded it.
"They're dead…" he finally muttered, unable to believe he and the rest of his people would live after all. "They're dead… but how?"
"Norrec."
He turned to find Kara free, the gleaming ivory dagger ready in her hand. From his left and right came the two revenants, the determination of the dead forever tattooed on their expressions.
"Kara." He glanced at his former comrades. "Fauztin. Sadun."
"Norrec," continued the necromancer. "Please listen to me."
"No!" The mercenary instantly regretted his harsh tone. She only sought to do what even he knew had to be done. "No… listen to me instead. I–I've got some control over the armor now, but I can feel that already slipping away. I guess I'm just too exhausted to fight it much longer…"
"How could you even manage to fight it at all?"
"He is… Bartuc's progeny… after all," remarked Sadun. "Something that the… armor needed… in order to… fulfill its destiny… but that it… did not… understand worked… both ways. What other… answer?"
She lowered her gaze. Norrec could read the pain in them. Although a necromancer, the pale woman felt no pleasure or satisfaction in slaying one who had not chosen to cause such evil. Yet so long as he lived, all humanity lay threatened.
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